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sumption of being wiser than they. They could not raise their little ideas above the consideration of him, in those circumstances familiar to them, or conceive that he, who appeared not more terri ble or pompous should have anything more exalted than themselves; he in that place, therefore, would no longer ineffectually exert a power which was incapable of conquering the prepossession of their narrow and mean conceptions.

Multitudes followed him, and brought him the dumb, the blind, the sick, and maimed; whom when their Creator had touched, with a second life they saw, spoke, leaped, and ran. In affection to him, and admiration of his actions, the crowd could not leave him, but waited near him till they were almost as faint and helpless as others they brought for succor. He had compassion on them, and by a miracle supplied their necessities. Oh, the ecstatic entertainment, when they could behold their food immediately increase to the distributor's hand, and see their God in person feeding and refreshing his creatures! Oh envied happiness! But why do I say envied? as if our God did not still preside over our temperate meals, cheerful hours, and innocent conversations.

Ir is owing to pride, and a secret affectation of a certain self-existence, that the noblest motive for action that ever was proposed to man is not acknowledged the glory and happiness of their being. The heart is treacherous to itself, and we do not let our reflections go deep enough to receive religion as the most honorable incentive to good and worthy actions. It is our natural weakness to flatter ourselves into a belief, that if we search into our inmost thoughts, we find ourselves wholly But though the sacred story is everywhere full disinterested, and divested of any views arising of miracles not inferior to this, and though in the from self-love and vain-glory. But however spirits midst of those acts of divinity he never gave the of a superficial greatness may disdain at first sight least hint of a design to become a secular prince, to do anything, but from a noble impulse in them- yet had not hitherto the apostles themselves any selves, without any future regards in this or any other than hopes of worldly power, preferment, other being; upon stricter inquiry they will find, others, and pomp; for Peter, upon an accident of to act worthily, and expect to be rewarded only in ambition among the apostles, hearing his Master another world, is as heroic a pitch of virtue as explain that his kingdom was not of this world, human nature can arrive at. If the tenor of our was so scandalized that he whom he had so long actions have any other motive than the desire to followed should suffer the ignominy, shame, and be pleasing in the eye of the Deity, it will neces- death, which he foretold, that he took him aside sarily follow that we must be more than men, if and said, "Be it far from thee, Lord; this shall we are not too much exalted in prosperity and de-not be unto thee;" for which he suffered a severe pressed in adversity. But the Christian world has a Leader, the contemplation of whose life and sufferings must administer comfort in affliction, while the sense of his power and omnipotence must give them humiliation in prosperity.

It is owing to the forbidding and unlovely constraint with which men of low conceptions act when they think they conform themselves to religion, as well as to the more odious conduct of hypocrites, that the word Christian does not carry with it at first view all that is great, worthy, friendly, generous, and heroic. The man who suspends his hopes of the reward of worthy actions till after death, who can bestow unseen, who can overlook hatred, do good to his slanderer, who can never be angry at his friend, never revengeful to his enemy, is certainly formed for the benefit of society. Yet these are so far from heroic virtues, that they are but the ordinary duties of a Chris

reprehension from his Master, as having in his view the glory of man rather than that of God.

The great change of things began to draw near, when the Lord of nature thought fit, as a Savior and Deliverer, to make his public entry into Jerusalem with more than the power and joy, but none of the ostentation and pomp, of a triumph: he came humble, meek, and lowly with an unfelt new ecstasy, multitudes strewed his way with garments and olive-branches, crying with loud gladness and acclamation, “Hosannah to the Son of David! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!" At this great King's accession to the throne, men were not ennobled, but saved; crimes were not remitted, but sins forgiven. He did not bestow medals, honors, favors; but health, joy, sight, speech. The first object the blind ever saw was the Author of sight; while the lame ran before, and the dumb repeated the hosannah. Thus attended, he entered into his own house, the sacred temple, and by his divine authority expelled traders and worldlings that profaned it; and thus did he for a time, use a great and despotic power, to let unbelievers understand that it was not want of, but superiority to, all worldly dominion, that made him not exert it. But is this, then, the Savior? Is this the Deliverer? Shall this obscure Nazarene command Israel, and sit on the throne of David? Their proud and disdainHow pleasing is the contemplation of the lowly ful hearts, which were petrified with the love and steps our Almighty Leader took in conducting us pride of this world, were impregnable to the reto his heavenly mansions! In plain and apt par- ception of so mean a benefactor; and were now able, similitude, and allegory, our great Master enough exasperated with benefits to conspire his enforced the doctrine of our salvation; but they death. Our Lord was sensible of their design, of his acquaintance, instead of receiving what and prepared his disciples for it, by recounting to. they could not oppose, were offended at the pre-them now more distinctly what should befall him;"

tian.

When a man with a steady faith looks back on the great catastrophe of this day, with what bleeding emotions of heart must he contemplate the life and sufferings of his Deliverer! When his agonies occur to him, how will he weep to reflect that he has often forgot them for the glance of a wanton, for the applause of a vain world, for a heap of fleeting past pleasures, which are at present aching sorrows!

*This paper was published on Good Friday, 1712.

but Peter, with an ungrounded resolution, and in a flush of temper, made sanguine protestation,

that though all men were offended in him, yet would not he be offended. It was a great article of our Savior's business in the world to bring us to a sense of our inability, without God's assist ance, to do anything great or good; he therefore told Peter, who thought so well of his courage and fidelity, that they would both fail him, and even he should deny him thrice that very night. "But what heart can conceive, what tongue utter the sequel? Who is that yonder, buffeted, mocked, and spurned? Whom do they drag like a felon? Whither do they carry my Lord, my King, my Savior, and my God? And will he die to expiate those very injuries? See where they have nailed the Lord and Giver of life! How his wounds blacken, his body writhes, and heart heaves with pity and with agony! O Almighty sufferer, look down, look down from thy triumphant infamy! Lo, he inclines his head to his sacred bosom! Hark, he groans! See, he expires! The earth trembles, the temple rends, the rocks burst, the dead arise! Which are the quick? Which are the dead? Sure nature, all nature is departing with her Creator?"--T.

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Who can relate such woes without a tear?† THE tenth book of Paradise Lost has a greater variety of persons in it than any other in the whole poem. The author, upon the winding up of his action, introduces all those who had any concern in it, and shows with great beauty the influence which it had upon each of them. It is like the last act of a well-written tragedy, in which all who had part in it are generally drawn up before the audience, and represented under those circumstances in which the determination of the action places them.

I shall therefore consider this book under four heads, in relation to the celestial, the infernal, the human, and the imaginary persons, who have their respective parts allotted in it.

To begin with the celestial persons. The guardian angels of Paradise are described as returning to heaven upon the fall of man, in order to approve their vigilance; their arrival, their manner of reception, with the sorrow which appeared in themselves, and in those spirits who are said to rejoice at the conversion of a sinner, are very finely laid together in the following lines:

Up into heav'n from Paradise in haste
Th' angelic guards ascended, mute and sad
For man; for of his state by this they knew:
Much wond'ring how the subtile fiend had stol'n
Entrance unseen. Soon as th' unwelcome news
From earth arriv'd at heav'n's gate, displeas'd
All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare
That time celestial visages; yet, mixt
With pity. violated not their bliss.
About the new-arriv'd, in multitudes
Th' ethereal people ran to hear and know,
How all befell. They tow'rds the throne supreme
Accountable made haste, to make appear,
With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance,
And easily approv'd; when the Most High
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud
Amidst, in thunder utter'd thus his voice.

*Transcribed from Steele's Christian Hero.

The motto to this paper, in the original publication in folio, the same with that which is now prefixed to No. 279.

Reddere persona scit convenientia cuique.
HOR., Ars. Poet., 316.
Tc each character he gives what best befits.

The same Divine Person, who in the foregon.g parts of this poem interceded for our first parents before their fall, overthrew the rebel angels, and created the world, is now represented as descending to Paradise, and pronouncing sentence upon the three offenders. The cool of the evening being a circumstance with which holy writ introduces this great scene, it is poetically described by our author, who has also kept religiously to the form of words in which the three several sentences were passed upon Adam, Eve, and the serpent. He has rather chosen to neglect the numerousness of his verse, than to deviate from those speeches which are recorded on this great occasion. The guilt and confusion of our first parents, standing naked before their judge, is touched with great beauty. Upon the arrival of Sin and Death into the works of the creation, the Almighty is again introduced as speaking to his angels that surrounded him.

See! with what heat these dogs of hell advance,
To waste and havoc yonder world, which I
So fair and good created, etc.

The following passage is formed upon that glorious image in holy writ, which compares the voice of an innumerable host of angels uttering hallelujahs, to the voice of mighty thunderings, or of many waters:

He ended, and the heav'nly audience loud
Sung hallelujah, as the sound of seas,

Through multitude that sung: "Just are thy ways,
Righteous are thy decrees in all thy works:
Who can extenuate thee?"

Though the author, in the whole course of his poem, and particularly in the book we are now examining, has infinite allusions to places of Scripture, I have only taken notice in my remarks of such as are of a poetical nature, and which are woven with great beauty into the body of his fable. Of this kind is that passage in the present book, where, describing Sin and Death as marching through the works of nature, he adds,

-Behind her Death

Close following pace for pace, mounted yet
On his pale horse-

Which alludes to that passage in Scripture so wonderfully poetical, and terrifying to the imagination: "And I looked, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him and power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with sickness, and with the beasts of the earth." Under this first head of celestial persons we must likewise take notice of the command which the angels received, to produce the several changes in nature, and sully the beauty of the creation. Accordingly they are represented as infecting the stars and planets with malignant influences, weakening the light of the sun, bringing down the winter into the milder regions of nature, planting winds and storms in several quarters of the sky, storing the clouds with thunder, and, in short, perverting the whole frame of the universe to the condition of its criminal inhabitants. As this is a noble incident in the poem, the following lines, in which we see the angels heaving up the earth, and placing it in a different posture to the sun from what it had before the fall of man, are conceived with that sublime imagination which was so poculiar to the author:

Some say he bid his angels turn askance
The poles of earth twice ten degrees and more
From the sun's axle; they with labor push'd
Oblique the centric globe-

We are in the second place to consider the infernal agents under the view which Milton has given us of them in this book. It is observed, by those who would set forth the greatness of Virgil's plan, that he cc ducts his reader through all the parts of the eartn which were discovered in his time. Asia, Africa, and Europe, are the several scenes of his fable. The plan of Milton's poem is of an infinitely greater extent, and fills the mind with many more astonishing circumstances. Satan, having surrounded the earth seven times, departs at length from Paradise. We then see him steering his course anong the constellations; and, after having traversed the whole creation, pursuing his voyage through the chaos, and entering into his own infernal dominions.

His first appearance in the assembly of fallen angels is worked up with circumstances which give a delightful surprise to the reader: but there is no incident in the whole poem which does this more than the transformation of the whole audience, that follows the account their leader gives them of his expedition. The gradual change of Satan himself is described after Ovid's manner, and may vie with any of those celebrated transformations which are looked upon as the most beautiful parts in that poet's works. Milton never fails of improving his own hints, and bestowing the last finishing touches to every incident which is admitted into his poem. The unexpected hiss which arises in this episode, the dimensions and bulk of Satan, so much superior to those of the infernal spirits who lay under the same transformation, with the annual change which they are supposed to suffer, are instances of this kind. The beauty of the diction is very remarkable in this whole episode, as I have observed in the sixth paper of these my remarks the great judgment with which it was contrived.

And equal to reduce me to my dust, Desirous to resign, and render back All I receiv'd

He immediately after recovers from his presumption, owns his doom to be just and begs that the death which is threatened him may be inflicted on him:

-Why delays

His hand to execute what his decree
Fix'd on this day? Why do I over-live?

Why am I mock'd with death, and lengthen'd out
To deathless pain? How gladly would I meet
Mortality my sentence, and be earth
Insensible! how glad would lay me down,
As in my mother's lap! There I should rest
And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no more
Would thunder in my ears: no fear of worse
To me, and to my offspring, would torment me
With cruel expectation-

This whole speech is full of the like emotion, and varied with all those sentiments which we may suppose natural to a mind so broken and disturbed. I must not omit that generous concern which our first father shows in it for his posterity, and which is so proper to affect the reader:

Hide me from the face

Of God, whom to behold was then my height
Of happiness! yet well, if here would end
The misery: I deserved it and would bear
My own deservings: but this will not serve:
All that I eat, or drink, or shall beget,
1s propagated curse. O voice once heard
Delightfully, "Increase and multiply ;”
Now death to hear!-

-In me all

Posterity stands curst! Fair patrimony,
That I must leave ye, sons! O were I able
To waste it all myself, and leave ye none!
So disinherited, how would ye bless

Me, now your curse! Ah, why should all mankind
For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemn'd,
If guiltless? But from me what can proceed
But all corrupt?-

The parts of Adam and Eve, or the human perWho can afterward behold the father of mansons, come next under our consideration. Milton's kind extended upon the earth, uttering his midart is nowhere more shown, than in his conduct-night complaints, bewailing his existence, and ing the parts of these our first parents. The rep-wishing for death, without sympathizing with resentation he gives of them, without falsifying him in his distress!

the story, is wonderfully contrived to influence the reader with pity and compassion toward them. Though Adam involves the whole species in misery, his crime proceeds from a kness which every man is inclined to pardon an commiserate, as it seems rather the frailty of human nature, than of the person who offended. Every one is apt to excuse a fault which he himself might have fallen into. It was the excessive love for Eve that ruined Adam and his posterity. I need not add, that the author is justified in this particular by many of the fathers and the most orthodox writers. Milton has by this means filled a great part of his poem with that kind of writing which the French critics call the tendre, and which is in a particular manner engaging to all sorts of readers."

Adam and Eve, in the book we are now considering, are likewise drawn with such sentiments as do not only interest the reader in their afflictions, but raise in him the most melting passions of humanity and commiseration. When Adam sees the several changes of nature produced about him, he appears in a disorder of mind suitable to one who had forfeited both his innocence and his happiness; he is filled with horror, remorse, despair in the anguish of his heart, he expostulates with his Creator for having given him an unasked existence:

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
To mould me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me? or here place
In this delicious garden? As my will
Concurr'd not to my being, 'twere but right

Thus Adam to himself lamented loud

Through the still night; not now (as ere man fell)
Wholesome and cool, and mild, but with black air,
Accompanied with damps and dreadful gloom,
Which to his evil conscience represented

All things with double terror. On the ground
Outstretch'd he lay; on the cold ground! and oft
Curs'd his creation; death as oft accus'd
Of tardy execution-

The part of Eve in this book is no less passionate and apt to sway the reader in her favor. She is represented with great tenderness as approaching Adam, but is spurned from him with a spirit of upbraiding and indignation, conformable to the nature of man, whose passions had now gair ed the dominion over him. The following passage, wherein she is described as renewing her addresses to him, with the whole speech that follows it, have something in them exquisitely moving and pathetic:

He added not, and from her turn'd: but Eve
Not so repuls'd, with tears that ceas'd not flowing,
And tresses all disorder'd, at his feet
'Fell humble; and embracing them besought
His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint:
"Forsake me not thus, Adam! Witness, Heav'n,
What love sincere, and rev'rence in my heart
I bear thee, and unweeting have offended,
Unhappily deceiv'd! Thy suppliant

I beg, and clasp thy knees. Bereave me not
(Whereon I live), thy gentle looks, thy aid,
Thy counsel in this uttermost distress,
My only strength and stay! Forlorn of thee,
Whither shall I betake me? where subsist?
While yet we live (scarce one short hour, perhaps)
Between us two let there be peace," etc.

Adam's reconcilement to her is worked up in | Hours unbarred the gates of light; that Discord the same spirit of tenderness. Eve afterward pro-was the daughter of Sin. Of the same nature are poses to her husband, in the blindness of her those expressions, where, describing the singing despair, that, to prevent their guilt from descend- of the nightingale, he adds, “Silence was pleased;" ing upon posterity, they should resolve to live and upon the Messiah's bidding peace to the chaos, childless; or, if that could not be done, they "Confusion heard his voice." might add innushould seek their own deaths by violent methods. merable instances of our poet's waiting in this As those sentiments naturally engage the reader beautiful figure. It is plain that these I have to regard the mother of mankind with more than mentioned, in which persons of an imaginary naordinary commiseration, they likewise contain a ture are introduced, are such short allegories as very fine moral. The resolution of dying to end are not designed to be taken in the literal sense, our miseries does not show such a degree of mag- but only to convey particular circumstances to the nanimity as a resolution to bear them, and submit reader, after an unusual and entertaining manner. to the dispensations of Providence. Our author, But when, such persons are introduced as princihas, therefore, with great delicacy, represented pal actors, and engaged in a series of adventures, Eve as entertaining this thought, and Adam as they take too much upon them, and are by no disapproving it. means proper for an heroic poem, which ought to appear credible in its principal parts, I cannot forbear, therefore, thinking, that Sir and Death are as improper agents in a work of this nature, as Strength and Necessity in one of he tragedies of Eschylus, who represented the two persons nailing down Prometheus to a rock, for which he has been justly censured by the greatest critics. I do not know any imaginary per on made use of in a more sublime manner of thinking than that in one of the prophets, who, describing God as descending from heaven, and visiting the sins of mankind, adds that dreadful circumstance, "Before him went the Pestilence." It is certain that this imaginary person might Lave been described in all her purple spots. The Fever might have marched before her, Pain might have stood at her right hand, Frenzy on her left, and Death in her rear. She might have been introduced as gliding down from the tail of a comet, or darted upon the earth in a flash of lightning. She might have tainted the atmosphere with her breath. The very glaring of her eyes might have scattered infection. But I believe every reader will think, that in such sublime writings the mentioning of her, as it is done in Scripture, has something in it more just, as well as great, than all that the most fanciful poet could have bestowed upon her in the richness of his imagination.—L.

We are, in the next place, to consider the imaginary persons, or Death and Sin, who act a large part in this book. Such beautiful extended allegories are certainly some of the finest compositions of genius; but, as I have below observed, are not agreeable to the nature of an heroic poem. This of Sin and Death is very exquisite in its kind, if not considered as a part of such a work. The truths contained in it are so clear and open, that I shall not lose time in explaining them; but shall only observe, that a reader, who knows the strength of the English tongue, will be amazed to think how the poet could find such apt words and phrases to describe the actions of those two imaginary persons, and particularly in that part where death is exhibited as forming a bridge over the chaos; a work suitable to the genius of Milton.

Since the subject I am upon gives me an opportunity of speaking more at large of such shadowy and imaginary persons as may be introduced into heroic poems, I shall beg leave to explain myself in a matter which is curious in its kind, and which none of the critics have treated of. It is certain Homer and Virgil are full of imaginary persons, who are very beautiful in poetry, when they are just shown without being engaged in any series of action. Homer, indeed, represents Sleep as a person, and ascribes a short part to him in his Iliad; but we must consider, that though we now regard such a person as entirely shadowy and unsubstantial, the heathens made statues of him, placed him in their temples, and looked upon him as a real deity. When Homer makes use of other allegorical persons, it is only in short expressions, which convey an ordinary thought to the mind in the most pleasing manner; and may rather be looked upon as poetical phrases, than allegorical descriptions. Instead of telling us that men naturally fly when they are terrified, he introduces the persons of Flight and Fear, who, he tells us, are inseparable companions. Instead of saying that the time was come when Apollo ought to have received his recompense, he tells us, that the Hours brought him his reward. Instead of describing the effects which Minerva's ægis produced in battle, he tells us that the brims of it were encompassed by Terror, Rout, Discord, Fury, Pursuit, Massacre, and Death. In the same figure of speaking, he represents Victory as following Diomedes; Discord as the mother of funerals and mourning; Venus as dressed by the Graces; Bellona as wearing Terror and Consternation like a garment. I might give several other instances out of Homer, as well as a great many out of Virgil. Milton has likewise very often made use of the same way of speaking, as where he tells us that Victory sat on the right hand of the Messiah, when he marched forth against the rebel angels; that, at the rising of the sun, the

No. 359.] MONDAY, APRIL 21, 1712.
-Desipere in loco.

HOR. 4 Od. xii, 1. ult.
"Tis joyous folly that unbends the mind.-FRANCIS.
CHARLES LILLIE attended me the other day, and
made me a present of a large sheet of paper, on
which is delineated a pavement in Mosaic work,
lately discovered at Stunsfield near Woodstock.
A person who has so much the gift of speech as
Mr. Lillie, and can carry on a discourse without a
reply, had great opportunity on that occasion to
expatiate upon so fine a piece of antiquity. Among
other things, I remember he gave me his opinion,
which he drew from the ornaments of the work,
that this was the floor of a room dedicated to
Mirth and Concord. Viewing this work, made
my fancy run over the many gay expressions I
had read in ancient authors, which contained in-
vitations to lay aside care and anxiety, and give
a loose to that pleasing forgetfulness wherein men
put off their characters of business, and enjoy
their very selves. These hours were usually
passed in rooms adorned for that purpose, and set
out in such a manner, as the objects all around
the company gladdened their hearts; which, joined
to the cheerful looks of well-chosen and agreeable

Engraved by Vertue in 1712. See an account of it in Gough's British Topography, vol. ii, p. 88.

No. 359.] TUESDAY, APRIL 22, 1712.
Torva leana lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam:
Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella.

friends, gave new vigor to the airy, produced the peculiarly happy in it; but it is a talent one cannot latent fire of the modest, and gave grace to the name in a man, especially when one considers, slow humor of the reserved. A judicious mixture that it is never very graceful but where it is reof such company, crowned with chaplets of flowers, garded by him who possesses it in the second place. and the whole apartment glittering with gay lights, The best man that I know of for heightening the cheered with a profusion of roses, artificial falls revel gayety of a company is Estcourt, whose of water, and intervals of soft notes to songs of jovial humor diffuses itself from the highest love and wine, suspended the cares of human person at an entertainment to the meanest waiter, life, and made a festival of mutual kindness. Merry tales, accompanied with apt gestures and Such parties of pleasure as these, and the reports lively representations of circumstances and persons, f the agreeable passages in their jollities, have in beguile the gravest mind into a consent to be as all ages awakened the dull part of mankind to humorous as himself. Add to this, that when a pretend to mirth and good humor, without capa- man is in his good graces, he has a mimicry that city for such entertainments; for, if I may be al does not debase the person he represents; but lowed to say so, there are a hundred men fit which, taking from the gravity of the character, for any employment, to one who is capable of adds to the agreeableness of it. This pleasant passing a night in company of the first taste, fellow gives one some idea of the ancient pantowithout shocking any member of the society, over-mime, who is said to have given the audience in rating his own part of the conversation, but dumb-show, an exact idea of any character or equally receiving and contributing to the pleasure passion, or an intelligible relation of any public of the whole company. When one considers such occurrence, with no other expression than that of collections of companies in past times, and such his looks and gestures. If all who have been as one might name in the present age, with how obliged to these talents in Estcourt will be at Love much spleen must a man needs reflect upon the for Love to-morrow night, they will but pay him awkward gayety of those who affect the frolic with what they owe him, at so easy a rate as being prean ill grace! I have a letter from a correspondent sent at a play which nobody would omit seeing, of mine, who desires me to admonish all loud, that had, or had not, ever seen it before.-T. mischievous, airy, dull companions, that they are mistaken in what they call a frolic. Irregularity, in itself, is not what creates pleasure and mirth; but to see a man, who knows what rule and decency are, descend from them agreeably in our company, is what denominates him a pleasant companion. Instead of that, you find many whose mirth consists only in doing things which do not become them, with a secret consciousness that all the world knows they know better: to this is always added something mischievous to them- As we were at the club last night, I observed selves or others. I have heard of some very merry that my old friend Sir Roger, contrary to his fellows among whom the frolic was started, and usual custom, sat very silent, and instead of mindpassed by a great majority, that every man should ing what was said by the company, was whistling immediately draw a tooth; after which they have to himself in a very thoughtful mood, and playgone in a body and smoked a cobbler. The same ing with a cork. I jogged Sir Andrew Freeport, company, at another night, has each man burned who sat between us; and, as we were both observhis cravat: and one perhaps, whose estate would ing him, we saw the knight shake his head, and bear it, has thrown a long wig and laced hat into heard him say to himself, "A foolish woman; I the same fire. Thus they have jested themselves can't believe it." Sir Andrew gave him a gentle stark-naked, and run into the streets and fright-pat upon the shoulder, and offered to lay him a ened women very successfully. There is no in-bottle of wine that he was thinking of the widow. habitant of any standing in Covent-garden, but My old friend started, and recovering out of his cau tell you a hundred good humors, where people brown study, told Sir Andrew, that once in his have come off with a little bloodshed, and yet life he had been in the right. In short, after some scoured all the witty hours of the night. I know a gentleman that has several wounds in the head by watch-poles, and has been thrice run through the body to carry on a good jest. He is very old for a man of so much good humor; but to this day he is seldom merry but he has occasion to be valiant at the same time. But, by the favor of these gentlemen, I am humbly of opinion, that a man may be a very witty man, and never offend one statute of this kingdom, not excepting even that of stabbing.

The writers of plays have what they call unity of time and place, to give a justness to their representation; and it would not be amiss if all who pretend to be companions would confine their actions to the place of meeting; for a frolic carried further may be better performed by other animals than men. It is not to rid much ground, or do much mischief, that should denominate a pleasant fellow, but that is truly frolic which is the play of the mind, and consists of various and unforced sallies of imagination. Festivity of spirit is a very uncommon talent, and must proceed from an assemblage of agreeable qualities in the same person. There are some few whom I think

VIRG., Ecl. ii, 63.

Lions the wolves, and wolves the kids pursue,
The kids sweet thyme,-and still I follow you.

WARTON.

little hesitation, Sir Roger told us, in the fullness of his heart, that he had just received a letter from his steward, which acquainted him that his old rival and antagonist in the country, Sir David Dundrum, had been making a visit to the widow. " However," says Sir Roger, "I can never think that she'll have a man that's half a year older than I am, and a noted republican into the bargain."

Will Honeycomb, who looks upon love as his particular province, interrupting our friend with a janty laugh, "I thought, knight," said he, "thou hadst lived long enough in the world not to pin thy happiness upon one that is a woman, and a widow. I think that, without vanity, I may pretend to know as much of the female world as any mau in Great Britain; though the chief of my knowledge consists in this, that they are not to be known." Will immediately, with his usual fluency, rambled into an account of his own amours. "I am now," says he, "upon the verge of fifty" (though, by the way, we all knew he was turned of threescore). "You may easily guess," tinued Will," that I have not lived so long in the world without having had some thoughts of

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