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The knight then asked me if I had seen Prince Eugenio, and made me promise to get him a stand in some convenient place where he might have a full sight of that extraordinary man, whose presence did so much honor to the British nation. He dwelt very long on the praises of this great general, and I have found that since I was with him in the country, he had drawn many observations together out of his reading in Baker's Chronicle and other authors, who always lie in his hall-window, which very much redound to the honor of this prince.

cession?" But without giving me time to answer | any one object of beauty, may fix his imagination him, "Well, well," says he, "I know you are a to his disquiet; but the contemplation of a whole wary man, and do not care to talk of public assembly together is a defense against the enmatters." croachment of desire. At least to me, who have taken pains to look at beauty abstracted from the consideration of its being the object of desire; at power, only as it sits upon another, without any hopes of partaking any share of it; at wisdom and capacity, without any pretensions to rival or envy its acquisitions: I say to me, who am really free from forming any hopes by beholding the persons of beautiful women, or warming myself into ambition from the successes of other men, this world is not only a mere scene, but a very pleasant one. Did mankind but know the freedom which there is in keeping thus aloof from the Having passed away the greatest part of the world, I should have more imitators, than the morning in hearing the knight's reflections, which powerfullest man in the nation has followers. To were partly private and partly political, he asked be no man's rival in love, or competitor in busi me if I would smoke a pipe with him over a dishness, is a character which, if it does not recom of coffee at Squire's? As I love the old man, I take delight in complying with everything that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to the coffee-house, where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of the whole room. He had no sooner seated himself at the upper end of the high table, but he called for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax-candle, and the Supplement, with such an air of cheerfulness and good-humor, that all the boys in the coffee-room (who seemed to take pleasure in serving him) were at once employed on his several errands, insomuch that nobody else could come at a dish of tea, until the knight had got all his conveniences about him.-L.

No. 270.] WEDNESDAY, JAN. 9, 1711-12.
Discit enim citius, meminitque libentius illud,
Quod quis deridet, quam, quod probat.
HOR. 1 Ep. ii, 262.
For what's derided by the censuring crowd,
Is thought on more than what is just and good.

There is a lust in man no power can tame,
Of loudly publishing his neighbor's shame;
On eagle's wings invidious scandals fly,
While virtuous actions are but born, and die.

DRYDEN.

E. of CORKE.

mend you as it ought to benevolence among those whom you live with, yet has it certainly this ef fect, that you do not stand so much in need of their approbation, as you would if you aimed at it more, in setting your heart on the same things which the generality doat on. By this means, and with this easy philosophy, I am never less at a play than when I am at the theater; but indeed I am seldom so well pleased with action as in that place; for most men follow nature no longer than while they are in their nightgowns, and all the busy part of the day are in characters which they neither become, nor act in with pleasure to them. selves or their beholders. But to return to my la dies: I was very well pleased to see so great a crowd of them assembled at a play, wherein the heroine, as the phrase is, is so just a picture of the vanity of the sex in tormenting their admirers. The lady who pines for the man whom she treats with so much impertinence and inconstancy, is drawn with much art and humor. Her resolutions to be extremely civil, but her vanity rising just at the instant she resolved to express herself kindly, are described as by one who had studied the sex. But when my admiration is fixed upon this excellent character, and two or three others in the play, I must confess I was moved with the utmost indignation, at the trivial, senseless, and unnatural representation of the chaplain. It is possible there may be a pedant in holy orders, and we have seen one or two of them in the world: but such a I Do not know that I have been in greater de- driveler as Sir Roger, so bereft of all manner of light for these many years, than in beholding the pride, which is the characteristic of a pedant, is boxes at the play the last time The Scornful Lady what one would not believe would come into the was acted. So great an assembly of ladies placed head of the same man who drew the rest of the in gradual rows in all the ornaments of jewels, play. The meeting between Welford and him silks, and colors, gave so lively and gay an im- shows a wretch without any notion of the dignity pression to the heart, that methought the season of his function; and it is out of all common sense of the year was vanished; and I did not think it that he should give an account of himself " as one an ill expression of a young fellow who stood sent four or five miles in a morning, on foot, for near me, that called the boxes those "beds of tu- eggs." It is not to be denied, but this part, and lips." It was a pretty variation of the prospect, that of the maid whom he makes love to, are exwhen any one of those fine ladies rose up and did cellently well performed; but a thing which is honor to herself and friend at a distance, by court-blamable in itself, grows still more so by the suc seying; and gave opportunity to that friend to show her charms to the same advantage in return ing the salutation. Here that action is as proper and graceful, as it is at church unbecoming and impertinent. By the way I must take the liberty to observe that I did not see any one who is usually so full of civilities at church, offer at any such indecorum during any part of the action of the play. Such beautiful prospects gladden our minds, and when considered in general, give innocent and pleasing ideas. He that dwells upon

Sooner we learn, and seldomer forget,
What critics scorn, than what they highly rate.
HUGHES'S LETTERS, vol. ii, p. 222.

A periodical paper

cess in the execution of it. It is so mean a thing to gratify a loose age with a scandalous representation of what is reputable among men, not to say what is sacred, that no beauty, no excellence in an author ought to atone for it; nay, such excellence is an aggravation of his guilt, and an argument that he errs against the conviction of his own understanding and conscience. Wit should be tried by this rule, and an audience should rise

*In former times priests were distinguished by the addi tion of Sir to their Christian names, as if they had been knights. See Dodsley's Old Plays, passim.

"SIR,

against such a scene as throws down the reputa- imaginations, and produce the three following let tion of anything. which the consideration of reli- ters for the entertainment of the day:gion or decency should preserve from contempt. But all this evil arises from this one corruption of mind, that makes men resent offenses against their virtue, less than those against their understanding. An author shall write as if he thought there was not one man of honor or woman of chastity in the house, and come off with applause: for an insult upon all the ten commandments with the little critics is not so bad as the breach of a unity of time and place. Half wits do not apprehend the miseries that must necessarily flow from a degeneracy of manners; nor do they know that order is the support of society. Sir Roger and his mistress are monsters of the poet's own forming; the sentiments in both of them are such as do not arise in fools of their education. We all know that a silly scholar, instead of being below every one he meets with, is apt to be exalted above the rank of such as are really his superiors: his arrogance is always founded upon particular notions of distinction in his own head, accompanied with a pedantic scorn of all fortune and pre-eminence, when compared with his knowledge and learning. This very one character of Sir Roger, as silly as it really is, has done more toward the disparagement of holy orders, and consequently of virtue itself, than all the wit of that author, or any other, could make up for in the conduct of the longest life after it. I do not pretend, in saying this, to give myself airs of more virtue than my neighbors, but assert it from the principles by which mankind must always be governed. Sallies of imagination are to be overlooked, when they are committed out of warmth in the recommendation of what is praiseworthy; but a deliberate advancing of vice, with all the wit in the world, is as ill an action as any that comes before the magistrate, and ought to be received as such by the people.-T.

No. 271.] THURSDAY, JAN. 10, 1711-12.

Mille trahens varios adverso sole colores.

VIRG., En. iv, 701. Drawing a thousand colors from the light.-DRYDEN. I RECEIVE a double advantage from the letters of my correspondents; first, as they show me which of my papers are most acceptable to them; and in the next place, as they furnish me with materials for new speculations. Sometimes indeed I do not make use of the letter itself, but form the hints of it into plans of my own invention; sometimes I take the liberty to change the language or thought into my own way of speaking and thinking, and always (if it can be done without prejudice to the sense) omit the many compliments and applauses which are usually bestowed upon me.

Beside the two advantages above-mentioned, which I receive from the letters that are sent me, they give me an opportunity of lengthening out my paper by the skillful management of the subscribing part at the end of them, which perhaps does not a little conduce to the ease both of my self and reader.

Some will have it, that I often write to myself, and am the only punctual correspondent I have. This objection would indeed be material, were the letters I communicate to the public stuffed with my own commendations; and if instead of endeavoring to divert or instruct my readers, I admired in them the beauty of my own performances. But I shall leave these wise conjecturers to their own

“I was last Thursday in an assembly of ladies, where there were thirteen different colored hoods. Your Spectator of that day lying upon the table, they ordered me to read it to them, which I did with a very clear voice, until I came to the Greek verse at the end of it. I must confess I was a little startled at its popping upon me so unexpectedly. However, I covered my confusion as well as I could, and after having muttered two or three hard words to myself, laughed heartily, and cried, 'a very good jest, faith." The ladies desired me to explain it to them; but I begged their pardon for that, and told them, that if it had been proper for them to hear, they might be sure the author would not have wrapped it up in Greek. I then let drop several expressions, as if there was something in it that was not fit to be spoken before a company of ladies. Upon which the matron of the assembly, who was dressed in a cherrycolored hood, commended the discretion of the writer for having thrown his filthy thoughts into Greek, which was likely to corrupt but few of his readers. At the same time she declared herself very well pleased that he had not given a decisive opinion upon the new-fashioned hoods; for to tell you truly,' says she, 'I was afraid he would have made us ashamed to show our heads.' Now, Sir, you must know, since this unlucky accident happened to me in a company of ladies, among whom I passed for a most ingenious man, I have consulted one who is well versed in the Greek language, and he assures me upon his word that your late quotation means no more than that

manners, not dress, are the ornaments of a woman." If this comes to the knowledge of my female admirers, I shall be very hard put to it to bring myself off handsomely. In the meanwhile,

give you this account, that you may take care hereafter not to betray any of your well-wishers into the like inconveniences. It is in the number of these that I beg leave to subscribe myself, "TOM TRIPPIT."

"MR. SPECTATOR,

I am

"Your readers are so well pleased with your character of Sir Roger de Coverley, that there appeared a sensible joy in every coffee-house, upon hearing the old knight was come to town. now with a knot of his admirers, who make it their joint request to you, that you would give us public notice of the window or balcony where the knight intends to make his appearance. He has already given great satisfaction to several who have seen him at Squires's coffee-house. If you think fit to place your short face at Sir Roger's left elbow, we shall take the hint, and gratefully acknowledge so great a favor.

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"Knowing that you are very inquisitive after everything that is curious in nature, I will wait on you if you please, in the dusk of the evening, with my show upon my back, which I carry about with me in a box, as only consisting of a man, a woman, and a horse. The two first are married, in which state the little cavalier has so well ac quitted himself, that his lady is with child. The big-bellied woman and her husband, with their whimsical palfrey, are so very light, that when they are put together into a scale, an ordinary

336

man may weigh down the whole family. The
ittle man is a bully in his nature; but when he
grows choleric, I confine him to his box until his
wrath is over, by which means I have hitherto
prevented him from doing mischief. His horse is
likewise very vicious, for which reason I am
forced to tie him close to his manger with a pack-
thread. The woman is a coquette. She struts as
much as it is possible for a lady of two feet high,
and would ruin me in silks, were not the quantity
that goes to a large pincushion sufficient to make
her a gown and petticoat. She told me the other
day, that she heard the ladies wore colored hoods,
and ordered me to get her one of the finest blue.
I am forced to comply with her demands while she
is in her present condition, being very willing to
have more of the same breed. I do not know what
she may produce me, but provided it be a show I
Such novelties*
shall be very well satisfied.
should not, I think, be concealed from the British
Spectator; for which reason I hope you will ex-
cuse this presumption in

L.

"Your most dutiful, most obedient,

66 'and most humble Servant,

"S. T."

valued herself, and underrated all her pretenders, that they have deserted her to a man and she knows no comfort but that common one to all in her condition, the pleasure of interrupting the amours of others. It is impossible but you must have seen several of these volunteers in malice, who pass their whole time in the most laborious way of life in getting intelligence, running from place to place with new whispers, without reaping any other benefit but the hopes of making others as unhappy as themselves. Mrs. Jane happened to be at a place where I, with many others well acquainted with my passion for Belinda, passed a Christmas evening. There was among the rest a young lady, so free in mirth, so amiable in a just reserve that had accompanied it; I wrong her to call it a reserve, but there appeared in her a mirth or cheerfulness which was not a forbearance of more immoderate joy, but the natural appearance of all which could flow from a mind possessed of a habit of innocence and purity. I must have utterly forgot Belinda to have taken no notice of one who was growing up to the same womanly virtues which shine to perfection in her, had I not distinguished one who seemed to promise to the world the same life and conduct with my faithful and lovely Belinda. When the company broke

No. 272.] FRIDAY, JANUARY, 11, 1711-12. up, the fine young thing permitted me to take

-Longa est injuria, longæ

Ambages

VIRG. En., i, 345.

Great is the injury, and long the tale.

MR. SPECTATOR,

mit.

"The occasion of this letter is of so great importance, and the circumstances of it such, that I know you will but think it just to insert it, in preference of all other matters that can present themselves to your consideration. I need not, after I have said this, tell you that I am in love. The circumstances of my passion I shall let you understand as well as a disordered mind will adThat cursed pickthank, Mrs. Jane!' Alas, I am railing at one to you by her name, as familiarly as if you were acquainted with her as well as myself: but I will tell you all, as fast as the alternate interruptions of love and anger will give me leave. There is the most agreeable young woman in the world, whom I am passionately in love with, and from whom I have for some space of time received as great marks of favor as were fit for her to give, or me to desire. The successful progress of the affair, of all others the most essential toward a man's happiness, gave a new life and spirit not only to my behavior and discourse, but also a certain grace to all my actions in the commerce of life, in all things however remote from love. You know the predominant passion spreads itself through all a man's transactions, and exalts or depresses him according to the nature of such passion. But alas! I have not yet begun my story, and what is the use of making sentences and observations when a man is pleading for his life? To begin then. This lady has corresponded with me under the names of love, she my Belinda, I her Cleanthes. Though I am thus well got into the account of my affair, I cannot keep in the thread of it so much as to give you the character of Mrs. Jane, whom I will not hide under a borrowed name; but let you know, that this creature has been, since I knew her, very handsome (though I will not allow her even she has been' for the future,) and during the time of her bloom and beauty, was so great a tyrant to her lovers, so over

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*Three dwarfs, a little man, a woman equally diminutive and a horse proportionably so, were on exhibition in London about this time.

you

the

care of her home. Mrs. Jane saw my particular
regard to her, and was informed of my attending
her to her father's house. She came early to Be-
linda the next morning, and asked her if Mrs.
Such-a-one had been with her?'-'No.'-'If Mr.
Such-a-one's lady?—No.-Nor your cousin
Such-a-one?'— No.'-' Lord,' says Mrs. Jane,
what is the friendship of women?-Nay, they
may well laugh at it. And did no one tell you
anything of the behavior of your lover, Mr. What-
d'ye-call, last night? But perhaps it is nothing
to you that he is to be married to young Mrs.
on Tuesday next?' Belinda was here ready to
die with rage and jealousy. Then Mrs. Jane
goes on: 'I have a young kinsman who is clerk
to a great conveyancer, who shall show
rough draught of the marriage settlement. The
world says, her father gives him two thousand
pounds more than he could have with you.' I
went innocently to wait on Belinda as usual, but
was not admitted; I wrote to her, and my letter
was sent back unopened. Poor Betty, her maid,
bering, and told me the whole matter.
who is on my side, has been here just now blub-
she did not think I could be so base; and that she
is now so odious to her mistress, for having so
often spoke well of me, that she dare not mention
me more. All our hopes are placed in having
these circumstances fairly represented in the Spec-
as soon as it is brought in; and has promised
tator, which Betty says she dare not but bring up
when you have broke the ice, to own this was laid
between us, and when I can come to a hearing, the
young lady will support what we say by her testi-
mony, that I never saw her but that once in my
whole life. Dear Sir, do not omit this true rela
tion, nor think it too particular, for there are
crowds of forlorn coquettes who intermingle
themselves with our ladies, and contract familiari
ties out of malice, and with no other design but
to blast the hopes of lovers, the expectation of pa-
rents, and the benevolence of kindred. I doubt
"Your most obliged, humble Servant,
not but I shall be, Sir,
CLEANTHES."

"SIR,

"

She says

Will's Coffee-house, Jan. 10. "The other day entering a room adorned with the fair sex, I offered, after the usual manner, te

each of them a kiss; but one, more scornful than
the rest, turned her cheek, I did not think it
proper to take any notice of it until 1 had asked
your advice.
"Your humble Servant,

"E. S."

are beautiful, but common. We must not forget. the parts of Sinon, Camilla, and some few others. which are fine improvements on the Greek poe: In short, there is neither that variety nor novelty in the persons of the Eneid, which we meet with in those of the Iliad.

ty

The correspondent is desired to say which cheek shall find that he has introduced all the variety the offender turned to him.

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If we look into the characters of Milton, we his fable was capable of receiving. The whole species of mankind was in two persons at the time to which the subject of his poem is confined. We have, however, four distinct characters in these two persons. We see man and woman in the highest innocence and perfection, and in the most abject state of guilt and infirmity. The two last characters are, indeed, very common and obvious, but the two first are not only more magnifi cent, but more new than any characters either in Virgil or Homer, or indeed in the whole circle of

No. 273.] SATURDAY, JANUARY 12, 1711-12. nature.

-Notandi sunt tibi mores.

HOR., Ars. Poet., ver. 156.

Note well the manners.

HAVING examined the action of Paradise Lost, let us in the next place consider the actors. This is Aristotle's method of considering, first the fable, and secondly the manners; or, as we generally call them, in English, the fable and the cha

racters.

Homer has excelled all the heroic poets that ever wrote in the multitude and variety of his characters. Every God that is admitted into his poem, acts a part which would have been suitable to no other deity. His princes are as much distinguished by their manners, as by their dominions; and even those among them, whose characters seem wholly made up of courage, differ from one another as to the particular kinds of courage in which they excel. In short, there is scarce a speech or action in the Iliad, which the reader may not ascribe to the person who speaks or acts, without seeing his name at the head of it.

Milton was so sensible of this defect in the subject of his poem, and of the few characters it would afford him, that he has brought into it, twoactors of a shadowy and fictitious nature, in the persons of Sin and Death, by which means he has wrought into the body of his fable a very beautiful and well-invented allegory. But notwithstanding the fineness of this allegory may atone for it in some measure, I cannot think that persons of such a chimerical existence are proper actors in an epic poem; because there is not that measure of probability annexed to them, which is requisite in writings of this kind, as I shall show more at large hereafter.

Virgil has indeed admitted Fame as an actress in the Eneid, but the part she acts is very short, and none of the most admired circumstances in that divine work. We find in mock-heroic poems, particularly in the Dispensary and the Lutrin, several allegorical persons of this nature, which are very beautiful in these compositions, and may perhaps be used as an argument, that the authors of them were of opinion such characters might have a place in an epic work. For my own part, I should be glad the reader would think so, for the sake of the poem I am now examining: and must further add, that if such empty, unsubstantial beings may be ever made use of on this occasion, never were any more nicely imagined, and employed in more proper actions, than those of which I am now speaking.

Homer does not only outshine all other poets in the variety, but also in the novelty of his characters. He has introduced among his Grecian princes a person who had lived thrice the age of man, and conversed with Theseus, Hercules, Polyphemus, and the first race of heroes. His principal actor is the son of a goddess, not to mention the offspring of other deities, who have likewise a place in his poem, and the venerable Trojan prince, Another principal actor in this poem is the who was the father of so many kings and heroes. great enemy of mankind. The part of Ulysses in There is in these several characters of Homer, a Homer's Odyssey is very much admired by Ariseertain dignity as well as novelty, which adapts totle, as perplexing that fable with very agreeable them in a more peculiar manner to the nature of a plots and intricacies, not only by the many adheroic poem. Though, at the same time, to give ventures in his voyage, and the subtilty of his bethem the greater variety, he has described a Vul-havior, but by the various concealments and discan, that is a buffoon, among his gods, and a Ther-coveries of his person in several parts of that sites among his mortals.

Virgil falls infinitely short of Homer in the characters of his poem, both as to their variety and novelty. Eneas is indeed a perfect character; but as for Achates, though he is styled the hero's friend, he does nothing in the whole poem which may deserve that title. Gyas, Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthes, are all of them men of the same stamp and character:

-Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthem. There are, indeed, several natural incidents in the part of Ascanius; and that of Dido cannot be sufficiently admired. I do not see anything new or particular in Turnus. Pallas and Evander are remote copies of Hector and Priam, as Lausus and Mezentius are almost parallels to Pallas and Evarder. The characters of Nisus and Euryalus

poem. But the crafty being I have now mentioned makes a much longer voyage than Ulysses, puts in practice many more wiles and stratagems, and hides himself under a greater variety of shapes and appearances, all of which are severally detected, to the great delight and surprise of the reader.

We may likewise observe with how much art the poet has varied several characters of the persons that speak in his infernal assembly. On the contrary, how has he represented the whole Godhead exerting itself toward man in its full benevolence under the threefold distinction of a Creator, a Redeemer, and a Comforter!

Nor must we omit the person of Raphael, who, amidst his tenderness and friendship for man, shows such a dignity and condescension in all his speech and behavior, as are suitable to a superior

nature. The angels are, indeed, as much diversi- advance, as well as what I have already written, fied in Milton, and distinguished by their proper will not only serve as a comment upon Milton, parts, as the gods are in Homer and Virgil. The but upon Aristotle.-L

reader will find nothing ascribed to Uriel, Gabriel,

Michael, or Raphael; which is not in a particular manner suitable to their respective characters.*

There is another circumstance in the principal

Audire est operæ pretium, procedere recte
Qui machis non vultis-

HOR. 1 Sat. ii, 37

All you, who think the city ne'er can thrive
Till every cuckold-maker's flay'd alive,
Attend.
POPE.

actors of the Iliad and Eneid, which gives a pe- No. 274.] MONDAY, JANUARY 14, 1711-12. culiar beauty to those two poems, and was therefore contrived with very great judgment. I mean the authors having chosen for their heroes, persons who were so nearly related to the people for whom they wrote. Achilles was a Greek, and Æneas the remote founder of Rome. By this means their countrymen (whom they principally propose to themselves for their readers) were particularly attentive to all the parts of their story, and sympathized with their heroes in all their adventures. A Roman could not but rejoice in the escapes, successes, and victories, of Æneas, and be grieved at any defeats, misfortunes, or disappointments that befel him; as a Greek must have had the same regard for Achilles. And it is plain, that each of those poems have lost this great advantage, among those readers to whom their heroes are as strangers, or indifferent persons.

I HAVE upon several occasions (that have occur red since I first took into my thoughts the present state of fornication) weighed with myself in behalf of guilty females, the impulses of flesh and blood, together with the arts and gallantries of crafty men; and reflect with some scorn that most part of what we in our youth think gay and polite, is nothing else but a habit of indulging a pruriency that way. It will cost some labor to bring people to so lively a sense of this, as to recover the manly modesty in the behavior of my men readers, and the bashful grace in the faces Milton's poem is admirable in this respect, since of my women; but in all cases which come into it is impossible for any of its readers, whatever debate, there are certain things previously to be nation, country, or people, he may belong to, not done before we can have a true light into the subto be related to the persons who are the principal ject matter: therefore it will, in the first place, be actors in it; but what is still infinitely more to its necessary to consider the impotent wenchers and advantage, the principal actors in this poem are industrious hags, who are supplied with, and are not only our progenitors, but our representatives. constantly supplying, new sacrifices to the devil We have an actual interest in everything they do, of lust. You are to know, then, if you are so hap and no less than our utmost happiness is concern-py as not to know it already, that the great havoe ed, and lies at stake in all their behavior.

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which is made in the habitations of beauty and innocence, is committed by such as can only lay waste and not enjoy the soil. When you observe the present state of vice and virtue, the offenders are such as one would think should have no im

I shall subjoin, as a corollary to the foregoing remark, an admirable observation out of Aristotle, which has been very much misrepresented in the quotations of some modern critics: 'If a man of perfect and consummate virtue falis into a misfor-pulse to what they are pursuing; as in business, tune, it raises our pity, but not our terror, because we do not fear that it may be our own case, who do not resemble the suffering person." But, as that great philosopher adds "if we see a man of virtue mixed with infirmities fall into any misfortune, it does not only raise our pity but our terror; because we are afraid that the like misfortunes may happen to ourselves, who resemble the character of the suffering person."

I shall take another opportunity to observe, that a person of an absolute and consummate virtue should never be introduced into tragedy, and shall only remark in this place, that the foregoing observation of Aristotle, though it may be true in other occasions, does not hold in this; because in the present case, though the persons who fall into misfortune are of the most perfect and consummate virtue, it is not to be considered as what may possibly be, but what actually is our own case; since we are embarked with them on the same bottom, and must be partakers of their happiness or misery.

In this, and some other very few instances, Aristotle's rules for epic poetry (which he had drawn from his reflections upon Homer) cannot be supposed to quadrate exactly with the heroic poems which have been made since his time; since it is plain his rules would still have been more perfect, could he have perused the Eneid, which was made some hundred years after his death.

In my next; I shall go through other parts of Milton's poem; and hope that what I shall there

*These two last sentences were not in the original paper

in folio.

It is a com

you see sometimes fools pretend to be knaves, so
in pleasure, you will find old men set up for
wenchiers. This latter sort of men are the great
basis and fund of iniquity in the kind we are
speaking of; you shall have an old rich man often
receive scrawls from the several quarters of the
town, with descriptions of the new wares in their
hands, if he will please to send word when he
will be waited on. This interview is contrived,
and the innocent is brought to such indecencies, as
from time to time banish shame and raise desire.
With these preparatives the hags break their
wards by little and little, until they are brought
to lose all apprehensions of what shall befall them
in the possession of younger men.
mon postscript of a hag to a young fellow whom
she invites to a new woman, "She has, I assure
you, seen none but old Mr. Such-a-one." It
pleases the old fellow that the nymph is brought
to him unadorned, and from his bounty she is ac-
commodated with enough to dress her for other
lovers. This is the most ordinary method of
bringing beauty and poverty into the possession
of the town: but the particular cases of kind
keepers, skillful pimps, and all others who drive
a separate trade, and are not in the general society
or commerce of sin, will require distinct conside-
ration. At the same time that we are thus severe
on the abandoned, we are to represent the case of
others with that mitigation as the circumstances
demand. Calling names does no good; to speak
worse of anything than it deserves, does only
take off from the credit of the accuser, and has
implicitly the force of an apology in the behalf
of the person accused. We shall, therefore, ac-
cording as the circumstances differ vary our ap

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