eafinefs and credulity destroy all the other merit he has; and he has all his life been a sacrifice to others, without ever receiving thanks, or doing one good action. I will end this discourse with a speech which I heard Jack make to one of his creditors, (of whom he deserved gentler usage) after lying a whole night in custody at his fuit. Y “SIR, TOUR ingratitude for the many kindnefles I have done you, shall not make me unthankful for the good you have done ine, in letting me see there is such a man as you in the world. I am obliged to you for the • diffidence I Mall have all the rest of my life: “ I Mall * hereafter truft no inan so far as to be in his debt.' R N° 83. TUESDAY, June 5. 0.002.04.4.4.-******>--.>--Animum pičlurâ pafcit inani. Virg. Æn. 1. v. 468. And with an empty picture feeds his mind. Dryden. W HEN the weather hinders me from taking my diversions without doors, I frequently make a little party with two or three select friends, to visit any thing curious that may be seen under covert. My principal entertainments of this nature are pictures, infomuch that when I have found the weather set in to be very bad, I have taken a whole day's journey to see a gallery that is furnished by the hands of great masters. By this means, when the heavens are filled with clouds, when the earth {wims in rain, and all nature wears a lowring countenance, I withdraw myself from these uncomfortable scenes into the visionary world of art; where I meet with shining landscapes, gilded triumphs, beautiful faces, and all those other objects that fill the mind with gay ideas, and disperse that gloominess which is apt to hang upon it in those dark disconfolate seasons. I was some weeks ago in a course of these diversions, a which had taken such an entire poffeffion of my imagina- : sion, that they formed in it a short morning's dream, which I shall communicate to my reader, rather as the first sketch and outlines of a vision, than as a finished piece. I dreamt that I was admitted into a long spacious gallery which had one side covered with pieces of all the famous painters who are now living, and the other with the works of the greatest masters that are dead. On the fide of the living, I saw several persons bufy in drawing, colouring, and designing; on the side of the dead painters, I could not discover more than one person at work, who was exceeding Now in his inotions, and wonderfully nice in his touches. I was resolved to examine the several artists that stood before me, and accordingly applied myself to the fide of the living. The lirit I observed at work in this part of the gallery was Vanity, with his hair tied behind him in a ribband, and dressed like a Frenchman. All the faces he drew were very remarkable for their smiles, and a cer. tain smirking air which he bestowed indifferently on every age and degree of either fex. The toujours gai appeared. even in his judges, bishops, and privy-counsellors: In a word, all his men were petits maitres, and all his women: coquettes. The drapery of his figures was extremely wellsuited to his faces, and was made up of all the glaring colours that could be mixt together;. every part of the dress was in a futter, and endeavoured to distinguish. itself above the rest. On the left hand of Vanity stood a laborious workman, who I found was his humble adinirer, and copied after him. He was dreled like a German, and had a very hard name that founded something like Stupidity. The third artist that I looked over vas Fantasquez. dressed like a Venetian scaramouch. He had an excellent hand at chimera, and dealt very much in distortions and grimaces. He would sometimes aff:ight himself with the phantoms that flowed from his pencile. In short, the most elaborate of his pieces was at beit' but a terrifying dream; and one could say nothing more of his fineft figures, than that they were agreeable monsters. The fourth person I examined, was very remarkable. for his hafty hand, which left his pictures so unfinished, a that the beauty in the picture (which was designed to continue as a monument of it to pofterity) faded sooner than in the person after whom it was drawn. He made so much hafte to dispatch his business, that he neither gave himself time to clean his pencils, nor mix his colours. The name of this expeditious workman was Avarice, Not far from this artist I saw another of a quite different nature, who was dressed in the habit of a Dutchman, and known by the name of Industry. His figures were wonderfully laboured: If he drew the portraiture of a man, he did not omit a fingle hair in his face; if the figure of a ship, there was not a rope among the tackle that escaped him. He had likewise hung a great part of the wall with night-pieces, that seemed to show themselves by the candles which were lighted up in several parts of them; and were so inflamed by the fun-shine which accidentally fell upon them, that at first light I could scarce forbear crying out, Fira The five foregoing artists were the most confiderable on this side the gallery; there were indeed several others whom I had not time to look into. One of them, howa ever, I could not forbear observing, who was very busy in retouching the finest pieces, though he produced no originals of his own. His pencil aggravated every feature that was before overcharged, loaded every defect, and poisoned every colour it touched. Though'this workman did so much mischief on the side of the living, he never turned his eye towards that of the dead. His name was Envy. Having taken a cursory view of one side of the gallery, I turned myself to that which was filled by the works of those great masters that were dead; when immediately I fancied myself standing before a multitude of spectators, and thousands of eyes looking upon me at once; for all before me appeared fo like men and women, that I almost forgot they were pictures. Raphael's figures stood in one row, Titian's in another, Guido Rheni's in a third. One part of the wall was peopled by Hannibal Carrache, another by Correggio, and another by Rubens. To be short, there was not a great master the dead who had not contributed to the embellishment of this fide of the gallery. The persons that owed their being to these several masters, appeared all of them to be real and alive, and differed among one another only in the variety of their shapes, complexions, and clothes; so that they looked like different nations of the same species. Observing an old man (who was the fame person I before mentioned, as the only artist that was at work on this fide of the gallery) creeping up and down from one picture to another, and retouching all the fine pieces that stood before me, I could not but be very attentive to all his motions. I found his pencil was so very light, that it worked imperceptibly, and, after a thousand touches, fcarce produced any visible effect in the picture on which he was employed. However, as he busied himself incessantly, and repeated touch after touch without rest or intermission, he wore off insensibly every little disagreeable glofs that hung upon a figure. He also added such a beautiful brown to the shades, and mellowness to the colours, that he made every picture appear more perfect than when. it came fresh from the master's pencil. I could not forbear looking upon the face of this ancient workman, and immediately, by the long lock of hair upon his forehead, discovered him to be Time. Whether it were because the thread of my dreain was at an end, I cannot tell, but upon my taking a survey of this imaginary old man, my sleep left me.. с N° 84. WEDNESDAY, June 6. 44.6.4.« VIRG. Æn. 2. v. Go L OOKING: over the old manuscripts wherein the of table-book, I found many things which gave me great delight; and as human life turns upon the fame principles 6 and passions in all ages, I thought it very proper to take minutes of what passed in that age, for the initruction of this. The antiquary who lent me these papers, gave me a character of Eucrate, the favourite of Pliaramond, extracted from an author who lived in that court. The account he gives both of the prince and this his faithful friend, will not be improper to insert here, because I may have occasion to mention many of their conversations, inta: which these memorials of them may give light. • Pharamond, when he had a mind to retire for an • hour or two from the hurry of business and fatigue of ceremony, made a fignal to Eucrate, by putting his • hand to his face, placing his arm negligently on a win dow, or some such action as appeared indifferent to all • the rest of the company. Upon such notice, unobserved by others, (for their entire intimacy was always a se•cret) Eucrate repaired to his own apartment to receive • the king. There was a secret access to this part of the court, at which Eucrate used to admit many whose mean. appearance in the eyes of the ordinary waiters and doorkeepers made them be repulsed from other parts of • the palace. Such as these were let in here by the order: • of Eucrate, and had audiences of Pharamond. This « entrance Pharamond called The Guite of the Unhappy,. • and the tears of the afflicted who came before liim, he • would say, were bribes received by Encrate; for Eucrate had the most compassionate spirit of all men living, ex cept bis generous master, who was always kindled at • the least affliction which was communicated to him. In the regard for the miferable, Eucrate took particular care, that the common forms of diftress, and the idle pretenders to forrow, about courts, who wanted only fupplies to luxury, should never obtain favour by his mcans: but the distresses, which arise from the many inexplicable occurrences that happen among men, the • unaccountable alienation of parents from their children, cruelty of husbands to their wives, poverty occafioned • from shipwreck or fire, the falling out of friends, or such other terrible disasters to which the life of inan is ex• posed; in cases of this nature, Eucrate was the patron; • and enjoyed this part of the royal favour so much witha out being envied, that it was never inquired into by |