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those blessings with which Providence has thought
nt to distinguish them.-C.

and his ring to a sharper at play, and he has not attempted to make a verse since.

(But of all contractions or expedients for wit, I admire that of an ingenious projector whose book I have seen. This virtuoso being a mathemati

No. 220.] MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1711. cian, has, according to his taste, thrown the art of

"SIR,

Rumoresque serit varios

A thousand rumors spreads.

VIRG. Æn., xii, 228.

poetry into a short problem, and contrived tables, by which any one, without knowing a word of grammar or sense, may to his great comfort be able to compose, or rather to erect, Latin verses.* His tables are a kind of poetical logarithms, which being divided into several squares, and all inscribed with so many incoherent words, appear to the eye somewhat like a fortune-telling screen. What a joy must it be to the unlearned operator to find that these words being carefully collected and written down in order according to the problem, start of themselves into hexameter and pentameter verses? A friend of mine, who is a student in astro

"WHY will you apply to my father for my love? I cannot help it if he will give you my person; but I assure you it is not in his power, nor even in my own, to give you my heart. Dear Sir, do but consider the ill-consequence of such a match; you are fifty-five, I twenty-one. You are a man of business, and mightily conversant in arithmetic and making calculations; be pleased therefore to consider what proportion your spirits bear to mine; and when you have made a just estimate of the necessary decay on one side, and the redund-verses to the next of his acquaintance, who hap ance on the other, you will act accordingly. This perhaps is such language as you may not expect from a young lady; but my happiness is at stake, and I must talk plainly. I mortally hate you; and so, as you and my father agree, you may take me or leave me: but if you will be so good as never to see me more, you will forever oblige, "Sir, your most humble Servant, "HENRIETTA."

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"There are so many artifices and modes of false wit, and such a variety of humor discovers itself among its votaries, that it would be impossible to exhaust so fertile a subject, if you would think fit to resume it. The following instances may, if you think fit, be added by way of appendix to your discourses on that subject.

66

That feat of poetical activity mentioned by Horace, of an author who could compose two hundred verses while he stood upon one leg, has been imitated (as I have heard) by a modern writer; who, priding himself on the hurry of his in vention, thought it no small addition to his fame to have each piece minuted with the exact number of hours or days it cost him in the composition. He could taste no praise until he had acquainted you in how short space of time he had deserved it; and was not so much led to an ostentation of his art, as of his dispatch:

-Accipe, si vis,

Accipe jam tabulas; detur nobis locus, hora,
Custodes: videamus uter plus scribere possit.

HOR. 1 Sat. iv, 14.

Here's pen and ink, and time, and place; let's try,
Who can write most, and fastest, you or I.-CREECH.
"This was the whole of his ambition; and
therefore I cannot but think the flights of this ra-
pid author very proper to be opposed to those la-
borious nothings which you have observed were
the delight of the German wits, and in which
they so happily got rid of such a tedious quantity
of their time.

"I have known a gentleman of another turn of
humor, who, despising the name of an author,
never printed his works, but contracted his talent,
and by the help of a very fine diamond which he
wore on his little finger, was a considerable poet
upon glass. He had a very good epigrammatic
wit; and there was not a parlor or tavern window
where he visited or dined for some years, which
did not receive some sketches or memorials of it.
It was his misfortune at last to lose his genius

logy, meeting with this book, performed the oper
ation, by the rules there set down; he showed his
pened to understand Latin; and being informed
they described a tempest of wind, very luckily
prefixed them, together with a translation, to an
almanac he was just then printing, and was sup-
posed to have foretold the last great storm.

would be that which the late Duke of Bucking-
"I think the only improvement beyond this
ham mentioned to a stupid pretender to poetry,
as a project of a Dutch mechanic, viz. a mill to
make verses. This being the most compendious
method of all which have been yet proposed, may
deserve the thoughts of our modern virtuosi who
are employed in new discoveries for the public
good; and it may be worth the while to consider,
whether in an island where few are content with-
out being thought wits, it will not be a common
benefit that wit, as well as labor, should be made
cheap.) "I am, Sir, your humble Servant," etc.
"MR. SPECTATOR,

"I often dine at a gentleman's house where
there are two young ladies in themselves very
agreeable, but very cold in their behavior, be-
cause they understand me for a person that is to
break my mind,' as the phrase is, very suddenly
to one of them. But I take this way to acquaint
them that I am not in love with either of them,
in hopes they will use me with that agreeable
freedom and indifference which they do all the
rest of the world, and not to drink to one another
only, but sometimes cast a kind look, with their
servicc to,
"Sir, your humble Servant."

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"I am a young gentleman, and take it for a piece of good-breeding to pull off my hat when I see anything peculiarly charming in any woman, whether I know her or not. I take care that there is nothing ludicrous or arch in my manner, as if I were to betray a woman into a salutation by way of jest or humor; and yet except I am acquainted with her, I find she ever takes it for a rule, that she is to look upon this civility and homage I pay to her supposed merit, as an impertinence or forwardness which she is to observe and neglect. I wish, Sir, you would settle the business of salutation; and please to inform me how I shall resist the sudden impulse I have to be civil to what gives an idea of merit; or tell

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these creatures how to behave themselves in re- | unacquainted with any of the Fathers, he digested turn to the esteem I have for them. My affairs are such that your decision will be a favor to me, if it be only to save the unnecessary expense of wearing out my hat so fast as I do at present. "I am, Sir, yours,

POSTSCRIPT.

"There are some that do know me, bow to me."

into his sermon the whole book of Qua Genus, adding however such explications to it as he thought might be for the benefit of his people. He afterward entered upon As in Præsenti, which he converted in the same manner to the use of his parishioners. This in a very little time thickened his audience, filled his church, and routed his antagonist. and won't

"T. D."

No 221.]
Usque ad mala-
HOR., Sat. 3, 1. 1, v. 6.
From eggs, which first set are upon the board,
To apples ripe, with which it last is stor'd.
WHEN I have finished any of my speculations
it is my method to consider which of the ancient
authors have touched upon the subject that I treat
of. By this means I meet with some celebrated
thought upon it, or a thought of my own ex-
pressed in better words, or some similitude for
the illustration of my subject. This is what gives
birth to the motto of a speculation, which I rather
choose to take out of the poets than the prose-
writers, as the former generally give a finer turn
to a thought than the latter, and by couching it
in few words, and in harmonious numbers, make
it more portable to the memory.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1711.
Ab ovo

My reader is therefore sure to meet with at least one good line in every paper, and very often finds his imagination entertained by a hint that awakens in his memory some beautiful passage of a classic author.

It was a saying of an ancient philosopher, which I find some of our writers have ascribed to Queen Elizabeth, who perhaps might have taken occasion to repeat it, that a good face is a letter of recommendation. It naturally makes the beholders inquisitive into the person who is the owner of it, and generally prepossesses them in his favor. A handsome motto has the same effect. Beside that it always gives a supernumerary beauty to a paper, and is sometimes in a manner necessary, when the writer is engaged in what may appear a paradox to vulgar minds, as it shows that he is supported by good authorities, and is not singular in his opinion.

The natural love to Latin, which is so prevalent in our common people, makes me think that my speculations fare never the worse among them for that little scrap which appears at the head of them; and what the more encourages me in the use of quotations in an unknown tongue, is, that I hear the ladies, whose approbation I yalue more than that of the whole learned world, declare themselves in a more particular manner pleased with my Greek mottoes.

Designing this day's work for a dissertation upon the two extremities of my paper, and having already dispatched my motto, I shall, in the next place, discourse upon those single capital letters, which are placed at the end of it, and which have afforded great matter of speculation to the curious. I have heard various conjectures upon this subject. Some tell us that C is the mark of those papers that are written by the clergymen, though others ascribe them to the club in general: that the papers marked with R were written by my friend Sir Roger; that L signifies the lawyer, whom I have described in my second speculation; and that T stands for the trader or merchant. letter X, which is placed at the end of some few of my papers, is that which has puzzled the whole town, as they cannot think of any name which begins with that letter, except Xenophon and Xerxes, who can neither of them be supposed to have had any hand in these speculations.

you

But the

In answer to these inquisitive gentlemen, who have many of them made inquiries of me by letter, I must tell them the reply of an ancient philosopher, who carried something hidden under his cloak. A certain acquaintance desiring him to let him know what it was he covered so carefully: "I cover it," says he, on purpose that should not know." I have made use of these obscure marks for the same purpose. They are, perhaps, little amulets or charms to preserve the paper I must confess the motto is of little use to an against the fascination and malice of evil eyes: unlearned reader, for which reason I consider it for which reason I would not have my reader suronly as "a word to the wise." But as for my un-prised, if hereafter he sees any of my papers learned friends, if they cannot relish the motto, I take care to make provision for them in the body of my paper. If they do not understand I shall however so far explain myself to the the sign that is hung out, they know very well reader, as to let him know that the letters C, L, by it that they may meet with entertainment in and X, are cabalistical, and carry more in them the house; and I think I was never better pleased than it is proper for the world to be acquainted than with a plain man's compliment, who upon with. Those who are versed in the philosophy of his friend's telling him that he would like the | Pythagoras, and swear by the Tetrarchtys, that is Spectator much better if he understood the motto, the number four, will know very well that the replied that "good wine needs no bush."

I have heard of a couple of preachers in a country town, who endeavored which should outshine one another, and draw together the greatest congregation. One of them being well versed in the Fathers, used to quote every now and then a Latin sentence to his illiterate hearers, who it seems found themselves so edified by it, that they flocked in greater numbers to this learned man than to his rival. The other finding his congregation mouldering every Sunday, and hearing at length what was the occasion of it, resolved to give his parish a little Latin in his turn; but being

* Aristotle, or, according to some Diogenes. See Diogenes Laertius, lib. v, cap. 1, n. 11.

marked with a Q, a Z, a Y, etc., or with the word Abracadabra *

number ten, which is signified by the letter X
(and which has so much perplexed the town), has
in it many particular powers; that it is called by
the Platonic writers the complete number; that
one, two, three, and four put together make up
the number ten; and that ten is all. But these
are not mysteries for ordinary readers to be let
into. A man must have spent many years in hard

* A noted charm for agues: said to have been invented by

Basilides, a heretic of the second century, who taught that very sublime mysteries were contained in the number 365, (viz: not only the days of the year, but the different orders of celestial beings, etc.), to which number the Hebrew letters that compose the word Abracadabra, are said to amount.

+See Stanley's Lives of the Philosophers, page 527, 2d edit. 1687, folio.

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We had a rabbinical divine in England, who was chaplain to the Earl of Essex, in Queen Elizabeth's time, that had an admirable head for secrets of this nature. Upon his taking the doctor of divinity's degree, he preached before the university of Cambridge, upon the first verse of the first chapter of the first book of Chronicles, "in which," says he, "you have the three following words:

'Adam, Sheth, Enosh.'"

tate out of nothing, and be the founder of a family capable of being very considerable in their country, and doing many illustrious services to it. That this observation is just, experience has put beyond all dispute. But though the fact be so evident and glaring, yet the causes of it are still in the dark; which makes me persuade myself, that it would be no unacceptable piece of entertainment to the town, to inquire into the hidden sources of so unaccountable an evil.

"I am, Sir, your most humble servant." He divided this short text into many parts, and What this correspondent wonders at, has been by discovering several mysteries in each word, matter of admiration ever since there was any made a most learned and elaborate discourse. The such thing as human life. Horace reflects upon name of this profound preacher was Dr. Alabas- this inconsistency very agreeably in the character ter, of whom the reader may find a more particu- of Tigellius, whom he makes a mighty pretender lar account in Dr. Fuller's book of English Wor- to economy, and tells you, you might one day hear thies. This instance will, I hope, convince my him speak the most philosophic things imaginable readers that there may be a great deal of fine concerning being contented with a little, and his writing in the capital letters which bring up the contempt of everything but mere necessaries; and rear of my paper, and give them some satisfac-in half a week after spend a thousand pounds. tion in that particular. But as for the full explication of these matters, I must refer them to time, which discovers all things.-C.

No. 222.] WEDNESDAY; NOV. 14, 1711.
Cur alter fratrum, cessare, et ludere, et ungi,
Præferat Herodis palmetis pinguibus-

HOR. 2 Ep. ii, 133.
Why, of two brothers, one his pleasure loves,
Prefers his sports to Herod's fragrant groves.-CREECH.

MR. SPECTATOR,

When he says this of him with relation to ex-
pense, he describes him as unequal to himself in
every other circumstance of life. Indeed, if we
consider lavish men carefully, we shall find it
always proceeds from a certain incapacity of pos-
sessing themselves, and finding enjoyment in their
own minds. Mr. Dryden has expressed this very
excellently in the character of Zimri:

A man so various that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome.
Stiff in opinion, always in the wrong,
Was everything by starts, and nothing long!
But in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon,
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,
Beside ten thousand freaks that died in thinking;
Bless'd madman, who could every hour employ
In something new to wish, or to enjoy!

In squandering wealth was his peculiar art,
Nothing went unrewarded but desert.

This loose state of the soul hurries the extravagant from one pursuit to another; and the reason that his expenses are greater than another's, is, that his wants are also more numerous. But what makes so many go on in this way to their lives' end, is, that they certainly do not know how contemptible they are in the eyes of the rest of mankind, or, rather, that indeed they are not so contemptible as they deserve. Tully says, it is the greatest of wickedness to lessen your paternal estate. And if a man would thoroughly consider how much worse than banishment it must be to his child, to ride by the estate which should have been his, had it not been for his father's injustice to him, he would be smitten with the reflection more deeply than can be understood by any but one who is a father. Sure there can be nothing more afflicting, than to think it had been happier for his son to have been born of any other man living than himself.

"THERE is one thing I have often looked for in your papers, and have as often wondered to find myself disappointed; the rather, because I think it a subject every way agreeable to your design, and by being left unattempted by others, it seems reserved as a proper employment for you; I mean a disquisition, from whence it proceeds, that men of the brightest parts, and most comprehensive genius, completely furnished with talents for any province in human affairs; such as by their wise lessons of economy to others, have made it evident that they have the justest notions of life, and of true sense in the conduct of it; from what unhappy contradictious cause it proceeds, that persous thus finished by nature and by art, should so often fail in the management of that which they so well understand, and want the address to make a right application of their own rules. This is certainly a prodigious inconsistency in behavior, and makes much such a figure in morals, as a monstrous birth in naturals; with this difference only, which greatly aggravates the wonder, that it happens much more frequently and what a blemish does it cast upon wit and learning in the general account of the world! In how disadvan- It is not perhaps much thought of, but it is certageous a light does it expose them to the busy tainly a very important lesson, to learn how to class of mankind, that there should be so many enjoy ordinary life, and to be able to relish your instances of persons who have so conducted their being without the transport of some passion, or lives in spite of these transcendent advantages, as gratification of some appetite. For want of this neither to be happy in themselves nor useful to capacity, the world is filled with whetters, tipplers, their friends; when everybody sees it was entirely cutters, sippers, and all the numerous train of in their own power to be eminent in both these those who, for want of thinking, are forced to be characters! For my part, I think there is no re-ever exercising their feeling or tasting. It would flection more astonishing, than to consider one of tLese gentlemen spending a fair fortune, running ir everybody's debt without the least apprehension of a future reckoning, and at last leaving not only his own children, but possibly those of other people, by his means, in starving circumstances: while a fellow, whom one would scarce suspect to bave a human soul, shall perhaps raise a vast es

be hard on this occasion to mention the harmless smokers of tobacco, and takers of snuff.

The slower part of mankind, whom my correspondent wonders should get estates, are the more immediately formed for that pursuit. They can expect distant things without impatience, because they are not carried out of their way either y violent passion, or keen appetite to anything. To

men addicted to delights, business is an interruption; to such as are cold to delights, business is an entertainment. For which reason it was said to one who commended a dull man for his application, "No thanks to him; if he had no business, he would have nothing to do.”—T

that passion. Sappho tried the cure, but perished in the experiment.

After having given this short account of Sappho, so far as it regards the following ode, I shall subjoin the translation of it as it was sent me by a friend whose admirable Pastorals and Winterpiece have been already so well received. The reader will find in it that pathetic simplicity, which is so peculiar to him, and so suitable to the

No. 223.] THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1711. ode he has here translated. This ode in the Greek

O suavis anima! qualem te dicam bonam Antehac fuisse, tales cum sint peliquiæ! PHÆDR., iii, 1, 5. sweet soul! how good must you have been heretofore, when your remains are so delicious!

WHEN I reflect upon the various fate of those multitudes of ancient writers who flourished in Greece and Italy, I consider time as an immense ocean, in which many noble authors are entirely swallowed up, many very much shattered and damaged, some quite disjointed and broken into pieces, while some have wholly escaped the common wreck; but the number of the last is very small,

Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto,

VIRG. En., i, ver. 122. One here and there floats on the vast abyss. Among the mutilated poets of antiquity there is none whose fragments are so beautiful as those of Sappho. They give us a taste of her way of writing, which is perfectly conformable with that extraordinary character we find of her in the remarks of those great critics who were conversant with her works when they were entire. One may see by what is left of them, that she followed nature in all her thoughts, without descending to those little points, conceits, and turns of wit with which many of our modern lyrics are so miserably infected. Her soul seems to have been made up of love and poetry. She felt the passion in all its warmth, and described it in all its symptoms. She is called by ancient authors the tenth muse; and by Plutarch is compared to Cacus the son of Vulcan, who breathed out nothing but flame. I do not know by the character that is given of her works, whether it is not for the benefit of mankind that they are lost. They are filled with such bewitching tenderness and rapture, that it might have been dangerous to have given them a reading.

An inconstant lover, called Phaon, occasioned great calamities to this poetical lady. She fell desperately in love with him, and took a voyage into Sicily, in pursuit of him, he having withdrawn himself thither on purpose to avoid her. It was in that island, and on this occasion, she is supposed to have made the Hymn to Venus, with a translation of which I shall present my reader. Her Hymn was ineffectual for procuring that happiness which she prayed for in it. was still obdurate, and Sappho so transported with the violence of her passion, that she was resolved to get rid of it at any price.

Phaon

There was a promontory in Acarnania called Leucate, on the top of which was a little temple dedicated to Apollo. In this temple it was usual for despairing lovers to make their vows in secret, and afterward to fling themselves from the top of the precipice into the sea, where they were sometimes taken up alive. This place was therefore called the Lover's Leap; and whether or no the fright they had been in, or the resolution that could push them to so dreadful a remedy, or the bruises which they often received in their fall, banished all the tender sentiments of love, and gave their spirits another turn; those who had taken this leap were observed never to relapse into

(beside those beauties observed by Madam Dacier) has several harmonious turns in the words, which are not lost in the English. I must further add, that the translation has preserved every image and sentiment of Sappho, notwithstanding it has all the ease and spirit of an original. In a word, if the ladies have a mind to know the manner of writing practiced by the so much celebrated Sappho, they may here see it in its genuine and natural beauty, without any foreign or affected ornaments.

A HYMN TO VENUS.

O VENUS, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Full of love-perplexing wiles;
O goddess! from my heart remove
The wasting cares and pains of love.

If ever thou hast kindly heard
A song in soft distress preferr'd,
Propitious to my tuneful vow,
O gentle goddess! hear me now.
Descend, thou bright, immortal guest,
In all thy radiant charms confess'd.
Thou once didst leave almighty Jove,
And all the golden roofs above:
The car thy wanton sparrows drew,
Hovering in air they lightly flew:
As to my bower they wing'd their way,
I saw their quivering pinions play.

The birds dismiss'd (while you remain)
Bore back their empty car again:
Then you with looks divinely mild,
In every heavenly feature smil'd,
And ask'd what new complaints I made.
And why I call'd you to my aid?

What frenzy in my bosom rag'd,
And by what cure to be assuag'd?
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils secure?
Who does thy tender heart subdue,
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who?

Though now he shuns thy longing arms,
He soon shall court thy slighted charms;
Though now thy offerings he despise,
He soon to thee shall sacrifice;
Though now he freeze, he soon shall burn,
And be thy victim in his turn.

Celestial visitant, once more Thy needful presence I implore! In pity come, and ease my grief, Bring my distemper'd soul relief, Favor thy suppliant's hidden fires, And give me all my heart desires. Madam Dacier observes, there is something very pretty in that circumstance of this ode, wherein Venus is described as sending away her chariot upon her arrival at Sappho's lodgings, to denote that it was not a short transient visit which she intended to make her. This ode was preserved by an eminent Greek critic, who inserted it entire in his works, as a pattern of perfection in the structure of it.

Longinus has quoted another ode of this great poetess, which is likewise admirable in its kind, and has been translated by the same hand with the foregoing one. I shall oblige my reader with it in another paper. In the meanwhile, I cannot but wonder, that these two finished pieces have never been attempted before by any of our own

countrymen. But the truth of it is, the composi- | tions of the ancients, which have not in them any of those unnatural witticisms that are the delight of ordinary readers, are extremely difficult to render into another tongue, so as the beauties of the original may not appear weak and faded in the translation.--C.

Great Julius, on the mountains bred,
A flock perhaps or herd had led:
Hle that the world subdu'd, had been
But the best wrestler on the green.

That he subdued the world, was owing to the accidents of art and knowledge; had he not met with those advantages, the same sparks of emulation would have kindled within him, and prompted him to distinguish himself in some enterprise of a lower nature. Since therefore no man's fot is so unalterably fixed in this life, but that a thousand accidents may either forward or disappoint his advancement, it is, methinks, a pleasant and inoffensive speculation, to consider a great man as divested of all the adventitious circumstances of fortune, and to bring him down in one's imagination to that low station of life, the nature of which bears some distant resemblance to that high one he is at present possessed of. Thus one may view him exercising in miniature those talents of nature, which being drawn out by education to their full length. enable him for the discharge of some important employment. On the other hand, one may raise uneducated merit to such a pitch of greatness, as may seem equal to the possible extent of his improved capacity.

No. 224.] FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1711. -Fulgente trahit constrictos gloria curru Non minus ignotos generosis-HOR. 1 Sat. vi, 23. Chain'd to her shining car, Fame draws along With equal whirl the great and vulgar throng. If we look abroad upon the great multitude of mankind, and endeavor to trace out the principles of action in every individual, it will, I think, seem highly probable, that ambition runs through the whole species, and that every man, in proportion to the vigor of his complexion, is more or less actuated by it. It is, indeed, no uncommon thing to meet with men, who by the natural bent of their inclinations, and without the discipline of philosophy, aspire not to the heights of power and grandeur; who never set their hearts upon a Thus nature furnishes man with a general apnumerous train of clients and dependencies, nor petite of glory, education determines it to this or other gay appendages of greatness; who are con- that particular object. The desire of distinction tented with a competency, and will not molest is not, I think, in any instance more observable their tranquillity to gain an abundance. But it is than in the variety of outsides and new appcarnot therefore to be concluded that such a man is ances, which the modish part of the world are not ambitious; his desires may have cut out an obliged to provide, in order to make themselves other channel, and determined him to other pur- remarkable; for anything glaring and particular, suits; the motive however, may be still the same; either in behavior or apparel, is known to have and in these cases likewise the man may be this good effect, that it catches the eye, and will equally pushed on with the desire of distinction. not suffer you to pass over the person so adorned Though the pure consciousness of worthy ac- without due notice and observation. It has liketions, abstracted from the views of popular ap-wise, upon this account, been frequently resented plause, be to a generous mind an ampie reward, as a very great slight, to leave any gentleman out yet the desire of distinction was doubtless im- of a lampoon or satire, who has as much right to planted in our natures as an additional incentive to exert ourselves in virtuous excellence.

This passion, indeed, like all others, is frequently perverted to evil and ignoble purposes: so that we may account for many of the excel lencies and follies of life upon the same innate principle, to-wit, the desire of being remarkable: for this, as it has been differently cultivated by education, study, and converse, will bring forth suitable effects as it falls in with an ingenuous disposition, or a corrupt mind. It does accord ingly express itself in acts of magnanimity or selfish cunning, as it meets with a good or a weak understanding. As it has been employed in embellishing the mind, or adorning the outside, it renders the man eminently praiseworthy or ridiculous. Ambition therefore is not to be confined only to one passion or pursuit; for as the same humors in constitutions, otherwise different, affect the body after different manners, so the same aspiring principle within us sometimes breaks forth upon one object, sometimes upon another.

be there as his neighbor. because it supposes the person not eminent enough to be taken notice of. To this passionate fondness for distinction are owing various frolicsome and irregular practices, as sallying out into nocturnal exploits, breaking of windows, singing of catches, beating the watch, getting drunk twice a day, killing a great number of horses; with many other enterprises of the like fiery nature; for certainly many a man is more rakish and extravagant than he would willingly be, were there not others to look on and give their approbation.

One very common, and at the same time the most absurd ambition that ever showed itself in human nature, is that which comes upon a man with experience and cld age, the season when it might be expected he should be wisest; and therefore it cannot receive any of those lessening circumstances which do, in some measure, excuse the disorderly ferments of youthful blood; I mean the passion for getting money, exclusive of the character of the provident father, the affectionate It cannot be doubted, but that there is as great husband, or the generous friend. It may be rea desire of glory in a ring of wrestlers or cudgel-marked, for the comfort of honest poverty, that players, as in any other more refined competition for superiority. No mau that could avoid it, would ever suffer his head to be broken but out of a principle of honor. This is the secret spring that pushes them forward; and the superiority which they gain above the undistinguished many, does more than repair those wounds they have received in the combat. It is Mr. Waller's opinion, that Julius Caesar, had he not been master of the Roman empire, would, in all probability, 2ave made an excellent wrestler:

this desire reigns most in those who have but few good qualities to recommend them. This is a weed that will grow in a barren soil. Humanity, good-nature, and the advantages of a liberal edu cation, are incompatible with avarice. It is strange to see how suddenly this abject passion kills all the noble sentiments and generous ambitions that adorn human nature; it renders the man who is overrun with it a peevish and cruel master, a severe parent, and unsociable husband, a distant and mistrustful friend. But it is more

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