endeavour to be as little liable to be disputed with as possible, dressed immediately, that I might make no one wait. The first preparation for our setting-out was, that the Captain's half pike was placed near the coachman, and a drum behind the coach. In the mean time the drummer, the Captain's equipage, was very loud, that none of the Captain's things should be placed so as to be spoiled; upon which his cloke-bag was fixed in the seat of the coach: and the Captain himself, according to a frequent, though invidious behaviour of military men, ordered his man to look sharp, that none but one of the ladies should have the place he had taken fronting to the coach-box.

We were in some little time fixed in our seats, and sat with that dislike which people not too good-natured usually conceive of each other at first sight. The coach jumbled us insensibly into some sort of familiarity and we had not moved above two miles, when the Widow asked the Captain what success he had in his recruiting? The Officer, with a frankness he believed very graceful, told her, That indeed he had but very little luck, and had suffered much by desertion, therefore should be glad to end his warfare in the service of her or her fair daughter. In a word, continued he, I am a soldier, and to be plain is my character: you see me, Madam, young, sound, and impudent; take me yourself, Widow, or give me to her, I will be wholly at your disposal. I am a soldier of fortune, ha!"* This was followed by a vain laugh of his own, and a deep silence of all the rest of the company. I had nothing left for it but to fall fast asleep, which I did with all speed. 'Come, said he, resolve upon it, we will make a wedding

VOL. III.

D

*SMOLLET in his Roderic Random very naturally and strongly exhibits the vanity here ridiculed. Ensign WHIFLE in the waggon, and the swearing boasting Lieutenant in the stage-coach, are happy instances of ignorant contemptible fellows assuming importance among strangers.

ding at the next town; we will wake this pleasant companion who is falling asleep, to be the brideman, and (giving the quaker a clap on the knee) he concluded, This sly saint, who, I will warrant, understands what is what as well as you or I, Widow, shall give the bride as father.' The quaker, who happened to be a man of smartness, answered, Friend, I take it in good part that thou hast given me the authority of a father over this comely and virtuous child; and I must assure thee, that if I have the giving her, I shall not bestow her on thee. Thy mirth, friend, savoureth of folly: thou art a person of a light mind; thy drum is a type of thee, it soundeth because it is empty. Verily, it is not from thy fullness, but thy emptiness that thou hast spoken this day. Friend, friend, we have hired this coach in partnership with thee, to carry us to the great city; we cannot go any other way. This worthy mother must hear thee if thou wilt needs utter thy follies; we cannot help it, friend, I say: if thou wilt, we must hear thee; but if thou wert a man of understanding, thou wouldst not take advantage of thy courageous countenance to abash us children of peace. Thou art, thou sayest, a soldier; give quarter to us, who cannot resist thee. Why didst thou fleer at our friend, who feigned himself asleep? He said nothing; but how dost thou know what he containeth? If thou speakest improper things in the hearing of this virtuous young virgin, consider it is an outrage against a 'distressed person that cannot get from thee: to speak indiscreetly what we are obliged to hear, by being hasped up with thee in this public vehicle, is in some degree assaulting on the high road.'

Here EPHRAIM paused, and the Captain, with a happy and uncommon impudence (which can be convicted and support itself at the same time) cries, Faith friend I thank thee; I should have been a little impertinent if thou hadst not reprimanded me. Come, thou art, I see, a smoky old fellow, and I will be very orderly the ensuing

3

suing part of the journey. I was going to give myself airs, but ladies, I beg pardon.'

The Captain was so little out of humour, and our company was so far from being soured by this little ruffle, that EPHRAIM and he took a particular delight in being agreeable to each other for the future; and assumed their different provinces in the conduct of the company. Our reckonings, apartments, and accommodation, fell under EPHRAIM: and the Captain looked to all disputes on the road, as the good behaviour of our coachman, and the right we had of taking place, as going to London, of all vehicles coming from thence. The occurrences we met with were ordinary, and very little happened which could entertain by the relation of them: but when I considered the company we were in, I took it for no small good-fortune, that the whole journey was not spent in impertinences, which to one part of us might be an entertainment, to the other a suffering. What therefore EPHRAIM said when we were almost arrived at London, had to me an air not only, of good understanding, but good breeding. Upon the young lady's expressing her satisfaction in the journey, and declaring how delightful it had been to her, EPHRAIM declared himself as follows: There is no ordinary part of human life which expresses so much a good mind, and a right inward man, as his behaviour upon meeting with strangers, especially such as may seem the most unsuitable companions to him: such a man, when he falleth in the way with persons of simplicity and innocence, however knowing he may be in the ways of men, will not vaunt himself thereof: but will the rather hide his superiority to them, that he may not be painful unto them. My good friend (continued he, turning to the officer) thee and I are to part by and by, and peradventure we may never meet again : but be advised by a plain man; modes and apparels are but trifles to the real man, therefore do not think such a man as thyself terrible for thy garb, nor such a one as me contempti

ble for mine. When two such as thee and I meet, with affections as we ought to have towards each other, thou shouldst rejoice to see my peaceable demeanour, and I should be glad to see thy strength and ability to protect me in it.'

"Such was his worth, our loss is such,

"We cannot love too well, or grieve too much."

ON DEATH.

OLDISWORTH.

THERE is a sort of delight, which is alternately mixed with terror and sorrow, in the contemplation of death. The soul has its curiosity more than ordinarily awakened, when it turns its thoughts upon the conduct of such who have behaved themselves with an equal, a resigned, a chearful, a generous or heroic temper in that extremity. We are affected with these respective manners of behaviour, as we secretly believe the part of the dying person imitable by ourselves, or such as we imagine ourselves more particularly capable of. Men of exalted minds march before us like princes, and are, to the ordinary race of mankind, rather subjects for their admiration than example. However, there are no ideas strike more forcibly upon our imaginations, than those which are raised from reflections upon the exits of great and

excellent

excellent men. Innocent men who have suffered as criminals, though they were benefactors to human society, seem to be persons of the highest distinction, among the vastly greater number of human race, the dead. When the iniquity of the times brought SOCRATES to his execution, how great and wonderful is it to behold him, unsupported by any thing but the testimony of his own conscience and conjectures of hereafter, receive the poison with an air of mirth and good-humour, and as if going on an agreeable journey, bespeak some deity to make it fortunate!

When PHOCION's good actions had met with the like reward from his country, and he was led to death with many others of his friends, they bewailing their fate, he walking composedly towards the place of execution, how gracefully does he support his illustrious character to the very last instant! One of the rabble spitting at him as he passed, with his usual authority he called to know if no one was ready to teach this fellow how to behave himself. When a poor-spirited creature that died at the same time for his crimes bemoaned himself unmanfully, he rebuked him with this question, "Is it no consolation to such a man as thou art to die with PHOCION?" At the instant when he was to die, they asked what commands he had for his son: he answered, “To forget this injury of the Athenians." NIOCLES, his friend, under the same sentence, desired he might drink the potion before him: PHOCION said, “because he never had denied him any thing, he would not even this, the most difficult request he had ever made."

These instances were very noble and great, and the reflections of those sublime spirits had made death to them what it is really intended to be by the author of nature, a relief from a various being, ever subject to sorrows and difficulties.

EPAMINONDAS, the Theban General, having received in fight a mortal stab with a sword, which was left in his body, lay in that posture until he had intelligence that