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companions.

add sprightliness to her lady's air, by encouraging her vanity; give gracefulness to her step, by cherishing her pride; and make her show a haughty contempt of her admirers, by enumerating her imaginary conquests. As a critic must stock his memory with the names of all the authors of note, she must be no less ready in the recital of all the beaux and pretty fellows in vogue; like the male critic, she asserts, that the theory of any science is above the practice, and that it is not necessary to be able to set her own person off to advantage, in order to be a judge of the dress of others; and besides all those qualifications, she must be endued with the gift of secrecy, a talent very rarely to be met with in her profession. By what I have said, I believe my reader will be convinced, that notwithstanding the many pretenders, the persection of dress cannot be attained without a genius; and shall venture boldly to affirm, that in all arts and sciences what

ever, epic poetry excepted, (of which I formerly

showed the knack or mechanism) a

genius is absolutely necessary.

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I west the other day to visit Eliza, who in the perfect bloom of beauty is the mother of several children. She had a little prating girl upon her lap, who was begging to be very fine, that she might go abroad; and the indulgent mother, at her little daughter's request, had just taken the knots off her own head, to adorn the hair of the pretty trifler. A smiling boy was at the same time caressing a lap-dog, which is their mother's favourite, because it pleases the children; and she, with a delight in her looks, which heightened her beauty, so divided her conversation with the two pretty prattlers, as to make them both equally cheerful. -

As I came in, she said with a blush, “Mr. fronside, though you are an old bachelor, you must not laugh at lay tenderness to my children.' I need not tell my reader what civil things I said in answer to the lady, whose matron-like be. haviour gave me infinite satisfaction : since I myself take great pleasure in playing with chil. dren, and am seldom u provided of ploras or marbles, to make may court to such cntertaining

Whence is it, said I to myself when I was alone, that the affection of parents is so inteneo to their offspring Is it because they generally find such resemblances in what they fitye produced, as that thereby they think themselves renewed in their children, and are wiłłing to trans. mit themselves to future times Or is it, be. cause they think themselves obliged, by the dic. tates of humanity, to nourish and rear what is placed so immediately under their protection; and what by their means is brought into this world, the scene of wo of necessity ? These - - 2 C.

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will not come up to it. Is it not rather the good providence of that being, who in a supereminent degree protects and cherishes the whole race of mankind, his sons and creatures 2 How shall we, any other way, account for this natural af. fection, so signally displayed throughout every species of the animal creation, without which the course of nature would quickly fail, and every various kind be extinct 2 Instances of tenderness in the most savage brutes are so frequent, that quotations of that kind are altogether unnecessary. If we, who have no particular concern in them, take a secret delight in observing the gentle dawn of reason in babes ; if our ears are soothed with their half.sorming and aiming at articulate sounds; if we are charmed with their pretty mimicry, and surprised at the unexpected starts of wit and cunning in these miniatures of luan ; what transport may we imagine in the breasts of those, into whom natural instinct hath poured tenderness and fondness for them : how amiable is such a weakness in human nature : or rather, how great a weakness is it, to give humanity so reproachful a name ! The bare consideration of paternal affection should me. thinks create a more grateful tenderness in children toward their parents, than we generally sce; and thc silent whispers of nature be attend. ed to, though the laws of God and man did not call aloud. These silent whispers of nature have had a marvellous power, even when their cause hath been unknown. There are several examples in story of tender friendships formed betwixt men who knew not of their near relation. Such accounts confirm me in an opinion I have long entertained, that there is a sympathy betwixt souls, which cannot be explained by the prejudice of education, the sense of duty, or any other human motive. The memoirs of a certain French nobleman, which now lie before me, furnish me with a very entertaining instance of this secret attraction insplanted by Providence in the human soul. It will be necessary to inform the reader, that the person whose story I am going to relate, was one whose roving and romantic temper, joined to a disposition singularly amorous, had i. Lium through a vast variety of gallantries and amours. He had, in his youth, attended a princess of France into Poland, where he had been entertained by the king her husband, and married the daughter of a grandee. Upon her death he returned into his native country; where his intrigues and other misfortunes having consumed his patcrual estate, he now went to take care of the fortune his deceased wife had left him in Poland. In his journey he was robbed before he reached Warsaw, and lay ill of a fever, when he met with the following adventure, which he shall relate in his own words. * I had been in this condition for four days, when the countess of Veno, ki passed that way. She was informed that a stranger of good fashion lay sick, and her charity led her to see me. I remembered her, for I had often seen her with my wife, to whom she was nearly related ; but when I found she knew not me, I thought fit to conceal my name. I told her I was a German;

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that I had been robbed; and that if she had the charity to send me to Warsaw, the queen would acknowledge it; I having the honour to be known to her majesty. The countess had the goodness to take compassion of me; and order. ing me to be put in a litter, carried me to War. saw, where I was lodged in her house until my health should allow me to wait on the queen. ”

“My fever increased after my journey was over, and I was confined to my bed for fifteen days. When the countess first saw me, she had a young lady with her about eighteen years of age, who was much taller and better shaped than the Polish women generally are. She was very fair, her skin exceeding fine, and her hair and shape inexpressibly beautiful. I was not so sick as to overlook this young beauty; and I felt in my heart such emotions at the first view, as made me fear that all my misfortunes had not armed me sufficiently against the charms of the fair sex. The amiable creature seemed afflicted at my sickness; and she appeared to have so much concern and care for me, as raised in me a great inclination and tenderness for her. She came every day into my chamber to inquire after my health; I asked who she was, and I was answered, that she was niece to the count. ess of Venoski.

“I verily believe that the constant sight of this charming maid, and the pleasure I received from her careful attendance, contributed more to my recovery than all the medicines the phy. sicians gave me. In short, my fever left me, and I had the satisfaction to see the lovely creature overjoyed at my recovery. She came to see me oftener as I grew better; and I already felt a stronger and more tender affection for her than I ever bore to any woman in my life; when I began to perceive that her constant care of me was only a blind, to give her an opportunity of seeing a young Pole, whom I took to be her lover. He seemed to be much about her age, of a brown complexion, very tall, but finely shaped. Every time she came to see me, the young gentleman came to find her out; and they usually retired to a corner of the chamber, where they seemed to converse with great earnestness. The aspect of the youth pleased me wonderfully ; and if I had not suspected that he was my rival, I should have taken delight in his person and friendship.

“They both of then often asked me if I were in reality a German, which, when I continued to affirm, they seemed very much troubled. One day, I took notice that the young lady and gentleman, having retired to a window, were very intent upon a picture; and that every now and then they cast their eyes upon me, as if they had found some resemblance betwixt that and my features. . I could not-forbear to ask the meaning of it; upon which the lady answered, that if I had been a Frenchman, she should have imagined that I was the person for whom the picture was drawn, because it so exactly resembled me. I desired to see it; but how great was my surprise, when I sound it to be the very painting which I had sent to the queen five years before, and which she commanded me to get drawn to be given to my children. After s had viewed the picce, I cast my eyes upon the young

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lady, and then upon the gentleman I had thought to be her lover. My heart beat, and I felt a secret emotion which filled me with wonder. I thought I traced in the two young persons some of my own features, and at that moment I said to myself, “Are not these my children " The tears came into my cyes, and I was about to run and embrace them; but constraining myself with pain, I asked whose picture it was 2 The maid, perceiving that I could not speak without tears, fell a weeping. ‘Her tears absolutely confirmed me in my opinion, and falling upon her neck, “Ah, my dear child,” said I, “yes, I am your father.” I could say no more. The youth seized my hands at the same time, and kissing, bathed them with his tears. Throughout my life, I never felt a joy equal to this; and it must be owned, that mature inspires more lively emotions and pleasing tenderness than the passions can possibly excite.'.

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‘OLD NEston, I believe you distance me not so much in years as in wisdom, and therefore since you have gained so deserved a reputation, I beg your assistance in correcting the manners of an untoward lad, who perhaps may listen to your admonitions, sooner than to all the severe checks, and grave reproofs of a father. Without any longer preamble, you must know, sir, that about two years ago, Jack, my eldest son | and heir, was sent up to London, to be admitted of the Temple, not so much with a view of his studying the law, as a desire to improve his breeding. This was done out of complaisance to a cousin of his, an airy lady, who was continually teazing me, that the boy would shoot up into a mere country booby, if he did not see a little of the world, She herself was bred chiefly in town, and since she was married into the country, neither looks, nor talks, nor dresses like any of her neighbours, and is grown the admiration of every one but her husband. The latter end of last month some important business called me up to town, and the first thing I did, the next morning about ten, was to pay a visit to my son at his chambers; but as I began to knock at the door, I was interrupted by the bedYmaker in the staircase, who told me her master seldom rose till about twelve, and about one I might be sure to find him drinking tea. I bid her somewhat hastily hold her prating, and open the door, which accordingly she did. The first thing I observed upon the table was the secret amours of , and by it stood a box of pills: on a chair lay a snuff-box with a fan half broke, and on the floor a pair of soils. IIaving seen this furniture, I entered his hed-chamber, not

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upon a table a jolly piece of cold roast beef, or

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swear at his bed-maker (as he thought) for disturbing him so soon, and was turning about for the other nap, when he discovered such a thin, pale, sickly visage, that had I not heard his voice, I should never have guessed him to have been my son. How different was this countenance from that ruddy,'hale complexion, which he had at parting with me from home! After I had waked him, he gave me to understand, that he was but lately recovered out of a violent sever, and the reason why he did not acquaint me with it, was, lest the melancholy news might occasion too many tears among his relations, and be an unsupportable grief to his mother. To be short with you, old Nestor, I hurried my young spark down into the country along with me, and there am endeavouring to plump him up, so as to be no disgrace to his pedigree; for, I assure you, it was never known in the memory of man, that any one of the family of the Ringwoods ever fell into a consumption, except Mrs. Dorothy Ringwood, who died a maid at fortyfive. In order to bring him to himself, and to be one of us again, I make him go to bed at ten, and rise half an hour past five; and when he is pulling for bohea tea and cream, I place

well powdered ham, and bid him eat and live; then take him into the fields to observe the reap. ers, how the harvest goes forwards. There is nobody pleased with his present constitution but his gay cousin, who spirits him up, and tells him, he looks fair, and is grown well-shaped; but the honest tenants shake their heads, and cry, “Lack-a-day, how thin is poor young master fallen!” The other day, when I told him of it, he had the impudence to reply, “I hope, sir, you would not have me as fat as Mr. Alas! what would then become of me? how would the ladies pish at such a great monstrous thing !”—If you are truly, what your title inports, a Guardian, pray, sir, be pleased to consider what a noble generation must, in all pro. bability, ensue from the lives which the townbred gentlemen too often lead. A friend of mine, not long ago, as we were complaining of the times, repeated two stanzas out of my lord Roscommon, which, I think, may here be applicable: . “'Twas not the spawn of such as these,

That dy'd with Punic blood the conquer'd seas,

And quash'd the stern . ides ; Made the proud Asian ino

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arch foe! How weak his gold was alainst Europe steel: Fore'd een dire Hannibal to yield, And won the long-disputed world at Zama's fatal field: But soldiers of a rustic inauld, Rough, hardly, season'd, mainly, bold. Either they dug the stubborn ground. . Or thro’ hewn woods their weighty strokes did And after the declining sun Had changed the shadows, and their task was done, Home with their weary team they took their way, And drown'd in friendly bowls the labours of the day.”

‘I am, sir, votir very Humble servant, “JONATH AN IN ING WOOD. ‘P. S. I forgot to tell you, that while I waited in my son's anti-chamber, I found upon the table the following bill: . - - -

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There is no rule in Longinus which I more admire than that wherein he advises an author who would attain to the sublime, and writes for eternity, to consider, when he is engaged in his composition, what Homer, or Plato, or any other of those heroes in the learned world, would have said or thought upon the same occasion. I have often practised this rule, with regard to the best authors among the ancients, as well as among the moderns. With what success, I must leave to the judgment of others. I may at least venture to say with Mr. Dryden, where he professes to have imitated Shakspeare's style, that in imitating such great authors I have always excelled myself. : *

I have also, by this means, revived several antiquated ways of writing, which, though very instructive and entertaining, had been laid aside and forgotten for some ages. I shall in this place only mention those allegories wherein virtues, vices, and human passions are intro

|duced as real actors. Though this kind of com

position was practised by the finest authors among the ancients, our countryman Spenser is the last writer of note who has applied himself to it with success. That an allegory may be both delightful and instructive; in the first place, the fable of it ought to be perfect, and, if possible, to be filled with surprising turns and incidents. In the next, there ourht to be useful morals and reflections couched under it, which still receive a greater value from their being new and unconmon; as also from their appearing difficult to have been thrown into emblematical types and shadows. - • I was once thinking to have written a whole canto in the spirit of Spenser, and in order to it, contrived a fable of imaginary persons and eharacters. I raised it on that common dispute between the comparative perfections and proeminence of the two sexes, each of which have very frequently had their advocates among the men of letters. Since I have not time to accomplish this work, I shall present my reader with the naked fable, reserving the embellishments of verse and poetry to another opportunity. The two sexes contending for superiority, were once at war with each other, which was chiefly carried on by their auxiliaries. The males were drawn up on the one side of a very spacious plain, the females on the other; between them was left a very large interval for their auxiliaries to engage in. At each extreinity of this middle space lay encamped several bodies of neutral forces, who waited for the event of the battle before they would declare themselves, that they might then act as they saw occasion. The main body of the male auxiliaries was commanded by Fortitude; that of the female by Beauty. Fortitude begun the onset on Beauty, but found to his cost, that she had such a particular witchcraft in her looks, as withered all his strength. She played upon him so many smiles and glances that she quite weakened and disarmed him. In short, he was ready to call for quarter, had not Wisdom come to his aid : this was the commander of the male right wing, and would have turned the sate of the day, had not he been timely opposed by Cunning, who commanded the left wing of the female auxiliaries. Cunning was the chief engineer of the fair army; but upon this occasion was posted, as I have here said, to receive the attacks of Wisdom. It was very entertaining to see the workings of these two antagonists; the conduct of the one, and the stratagems of the other. Never was there a more equal match. Those who beheld it, gave the victory sometimes to the one, and sometimes to the other, though most declared the advantage was on the side of the female commander. In the mean time the conflict was very great in the left wing of the army, where the battle began to turn to the male side. This wing was commanded by an old experienced officer called Patience, and on the female side by a general known by the name of Scorn. The latter, that fought after the manner of the Parthians, had the better of it all the beginning of the day; but being quite tired out with the long pursuits, and repeated attacks of the enemy, who had been repulsed above a hundred times, and rallied as often, began to think of yielding; when on a sudden a body of neutral forces began to move. The leader was of an ugly look, and gigantic stature. He acted like a draw.cansir, sparing neither friend nor foe. His name was Lust. On the female side he was opposed by a select body of forces, commanded by a young officer that had the face of a cherubim, and the name of Modesty. This beautiful young hero was sup. ported by one of a more masculine turn, and fierce behaviour, called by men, Honour, and by the gods, Pride. This last made an obstinate defence, and drove back the enemy more than once, out at length resigned at discretion.

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The dreadful Laonster, after having overturned

whole squadrons in the female army, fell in

among the males, where he made a more terrible havoc than on the other side. He was here opposed by Reason, who drew up all his forces against him, and held the fight in suspense sor some time, but at length quitted the field. After a great ravage on both sides, the two armies agreed to join against this common foe. And in order to it, drew out a small chosen band, whom they placed by consent under the conduct of Virtue, who in a little time drove this soul ugly monster out of the field. Upon his retreat, a second neutral leader, whose name was Love, marched in between the two armies. He headed a body of ten thousand winged boys, that threw their darts and arrows promiscuously among both armies. The wounds they gave were not the wounds of an enemy. They were pleasing to those that felt them ; and had so strange an effect, that they wrought a spirit of mutual friendship, reconciliation, and good-will in both sexes. The two armies now looked with cordial love on each other, and stretched out their arms with tears of joy, as longing to forget old animosities, and embrace one another. The last general of neutrals that appeared in the field, was Hymen, who marched immediately after Love, and scronding the good inclinations which he had inspired, joined the hands of both armies. Love generally accompanied him, and recommended the sexes, pair by pair, to his good offices. But as it is usual enough for several persons to dress themselves in the habit of a great leader, Ambition and Avarice had taken on

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, Admiranda tibi levium spectacula rerum. - . . . Pirg, Georg. iv. 3. A nighty pomp, though made of little things. - - - Joryden.

TimeRE is no passion which steals into the heart more imperceptibly, and covers itself under more disguises, than pride. For my own part, I think if there is any passion or vice which I am wholly a stranger to, it is this; though at the same time, perhaps this very judgment which I form of myself proceeds in some measure from this corrupt principle.

I have been always wonderfully delighted with that sentence in holy writ, “Pride was not made for man.' There is not indeed any single view of human nature under its present condition, which is not sufficient to extinguish in us all the secret seeds of pride; and, on the contrary, to sink the soul into the lowest state of humility, and what the school-men call self. annihilation. Pride was not made for man, as he is, - . . 1. A sinful, - - * 2. An ignorant, 3. A miserable being. • . There is nothing in his understanding, in his. will, or in his present condition that can tempt any considerate creature to pride or vanity. These three very reasons why he should not be proud, are, notwithstanding the reasons why he is so. Were not he a sinful creature, he would not be subject to a passion which rises from the depravity of his nature; were he not an ignorant creature, he would see that he has nothing to be proud of; and were not the whole species miserable, he would not have those wretched objects of comparison before his eyes, which are the occasions of his passion, and which make one man value himself more than another. - A wise man will be contented that his glory be deferred until such time as he shall be truly glorified; when his understanding shall be cleared, his will rectified, and his happiness assured ; or in other words, when he shall be neither sinful, nor ignorant, nor miserable. If there be any thing which makes human nature appear ridiculous to beings of superior faculties, it must be pride. They know so well the vanity of those imaginary perfections that swell the heart of man, and of those little supernumerary advantages, whether in birth, fortune, or title, which one man enjoys above another, that it must certainly very much astonish, if it does not very much divert them, when they see a mortal puffed up, and valuing himself above his neighbours on any of these accounts, at the same time that he is obnoxious to all the common calamities of the species. ... To set this thought in its true light, we will fancy, if you please, that yonder mole-hill is inhabited by reasonable creatures, and that every pismire (his shape and way of life only excepted) is endowed with human passions. How should we smile to hear one give us an account of the pedigrees, distinctions, and titles that reign among them : Observe how the whole swarm divide and make way for the pismire that passes through them : stand he is an emmet of quality, and has better blood in his veins than any pistoire in the molehill. Do not you see how sensible he is of it, how slow he marches forward, how the whole rabble of ants keep their distance 2 Here you may observe one placed upon a little eminence, and looking down on a long row of labourers. He is the richest insect on this side the hillock, he has a walk of half a yard in length, and a quarter of an inch in breadth, he keeps a hundred menial servants, and has at least fifteen barley-corns in his granary. He is now chiding and beslaving the emmet that stands before him, and who, for all that we can discover, is as good an eminet as himself. But here comes an insect of figure: Do not you take notice of a little white straw that he carries in his mouth 7. That straw, you must understand, he would not part with for the longest tract about the mole-hill: did you but know what he has undergone to purchase it! See how the ants of all qualities and conditions swarm about him " Should this straw drop out of his mouth, you would see all this numerous circle of attendants follow the next that took it up, and leave the discarded insect, or run over his back to come at his successor.

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If now you have a mind to see all the ladies of the mole-hill, observe first the pismire that listens to the emmet on her left hand, at the same time that she seems to turn away her head from him. He tells this poor insect that she is a goddess, that her cyes are brighter than the sun, that life and death are at her disposal. She believes him, and gives herself a thousand little airs upon it. Mark the vanity of the pismire on your left hand. She can scarce crawl with age ; but you must know she values herself upon her birth; and if you mind, spurns at every one that comes within her reach. The little nimble coquette that is running along by the side of her, is a wit. She has broke many a pismire’s heart. Do but observe what a drove of lovers are running after her.

We will here finish this imaginary scene; but first of all, to draw the parallel closer, will suppose, if you please, that death comes down upon

the mole-hill, in the shape of a cock-sparrow,

who picks up, without distinction, the pismire of quality and his flatterers; the pismire of substance and day-labourers; the white-straw officer and his sycophants; with all the goddesses, wits, and beauties of the mole-hill. May we not imagine that beings of superior natures and perfections, regard all the instances of pride and vanity, among our own species, in the same kind of view, when they take a survey of those who inhabit the earth : or in the language of an ingenious French poet; of those pistmires that people this heap of dirt, which human vanity has divided into climates and regious. - -- * .* ->

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“To Nestor Ironside, Esq. Per via leonis.

‘SiR,--I could scarce ever go into good company, but the discourse was on the ambassador, the politeness of his entertainments, the goodness of his Burgundy and Champaign, the gayety of his masquerades, with the odd fantastical dresses which were made use of in those midnight solemnities. The noise these diversions made, at last raised my curiosity, and sor once I resolved to be present at them, being at the same time provoked to it by a lady I then made my addresses to, one of a sprightly humour, and a great admirer of such novelties. In order to it, I hurried my habit, and got it ready a week before the time, for I grew impatient to be initiated in these new mysteries. Every morning

I drest myself in it, and acted before the look

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