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the works of those great masters that were dead; when immediately I fancied myself standing before a multitude of spectators, and thousands of eyes looking upon me at once; for all before nie appeared so like men and women, that I almost forgot they were pictures. Raphael's figures stood in one row, Titian's in another, Guido Rheni's in a third. One part of the wall was peopled by Hannibal Carrache, another by Correggio, and another by Rubens. To be short, there was not a great master among the dead who had not contributed to the embellishment of this side of the gallery. The persons that owed their being to these several masters, appeared all of them to be real and alive, and differed among one another only in the variety of their shapes, complexions and clothes ; so that they looked like different nations of the same species.

Observing an old man (who was the same person I before mentioned, as the only artist that was at work on this side of the gallery) creeping up and down from one picture to another, and retouching all the fine pieces that stood before me, I could not but be very attentive to all his motions. I found his pencil was so very light, that it worked imperceptibly, and after a thousand touches scarce produced any visible effect in the picture on which he was employed. However, as he busied himself incessantly, and repeated tonch after touch without rest or intermission, he wore off insensibly every little disagreeable gloss that hung upon a figure. He also added such a beautiful brown to the shades, and mellowness to the colours, that he made every picture appear more perfect than when it came fresh from the master's pencil

. I could not forbear looking upon the face of this ancient workman, and immediately, by the long lock of hair upon his forehead, discovered bim to be Time',

Whether it were because the thread of my dream was at an end I cannot tell ; but upon my taking a survey of this imaginary old man, my sleep left me.

C.

ADDISON,

N° 84. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6, 1711,

-Quis talia fando
Myrmidonum Dolopumue aut duri miles Ulyssei
Temperet à lachrymis ?

VIRG. En. ii. 6.
Who can such woes relate, without a tear,
As stern Ulysses must have wept to hear?

LOOKING over the old manuscript wherein the private actions of Pharamond are set down by way of table-book, I found many things which gave me great delight; and as human life turns upon the same principles and passions in all ages, I thought it very proper to take minutes of what passed in that age, for the instruction of this. The antiquary who lent me these papers, gave me a character of Eucrate the favourite of Pharamond, extracted from an author who lived in that court. The account he gives both of the prince and this his faithful friend, will not be improper to insert here, because I may have occasion to mention many of their conversations, into which these memorials of them may give light.

' Hogarth, "however, in his < Analysis of Beauty, strongly controverts the received opinion, that time improves the colouring of pictures.

• Pharamond, when he had a mind to retire for an hour or two from the hurry of business and fatigue of ceremony, made a signal to Eucrate, by putting his hand to his face, placing his arm negligently on a window, or some such action as appeared indifferent to all the rest of the company. Upon such notice, unobserved by others, (for their intire intimacy was always a secret) Eucrate repaired to his own apartment to receive the king. There was a secret access to this part of the court, at which Eucrate used to admit many whose mean appearance in the eyes of the ordinary waiters and door-keepers made them be repulsed from other parts of the palace. Such as these were let in here by order of Eucrate, and had audiences of Pharamond. This entrance Pharamond called • The gate of the unhappy; and the tears of the afflicted who came before him, he would say, were bribes received by Eucrate; for Eucrate had the most compassionate spirit of all men living, except his generous master, who was always kindled at the least affliction which was communicated to him. In the regard for the miserable, Eucrate took particular care, that the common forms of distress, and the idle pretenders to sorrow, about courts, who wanted only supplies to luxury, should never obtain favour by his means : but the distresses which arise from the many inexplicable occurrences that happen among men, the unaccountable alienation of parents from their children, cruelty of husbands to wives, 'poverty occasioned from shipwreck or fire, the falling-out of friends, or such other terrible disasters, to which the life of man is exposedl ; in cases of this nature, Eucrate was the patron; and enjoyed this part of the royal favour so much without being envied, that it was never en

quired into, by whose means what no one else cared for doing, was brought about.

One evening when Pharamond came into the apartment of Eucrate, he found him extremely dejected; upon which he asked (with a smile which was natural to him) “ What, is there any one too miserable to be relieved by Pharamond, that Eucrate is melancholy:"_“I fear there is," answered the favourite : “ A person without, of a good air, well dressed, and, though a man in the strength of his life, seems to faint under some inconsolable calamity. All his features seem suffused with agony of mind; but I can observe in him, that it is more inclined to break away in tears, than rage. I asked him what he would have. He said he would speak to Pharamond. I desired his business. He could hardly say to me, Eucrate, carry me to the king, my story is not to be told twice; I fear I shall not be able to speak it at all.” Pharamond commanded Eucrate to let him enter; he did so, and the gentleman approached the king with an air which spoke him under the greatest concern in what manner to demean himself. The king, who had a quick discerning, relieved him from the oppression he was under : and with the most beautiful complacency said to him, “ Sir, do not add to that load of sorrow I see in your countenance the awe of my presence. Think you are speaking to your friend. If the circumstances of your distress will admit of it, you shall find me so.” To whom the stranger : "Oh excellent Pharamond, name not a friend to the unfortunate Spinamont ?: I

2 The person here alluded to was a Mr. Thornhill, who killed Sir Cholmley Dering in a duel in Tothil Fields, on the 9th of May 1711. They fought so close, that the muzVOL. II.

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had one, but he is dead by my own hand; but, oh Pharamond, though it was by the hand of Spiñamont, it was by the guilt of Pharamond. I come not, oh excellent prince, to implore your pardon ; I come to relate my sorrow, a sorrow too great for human life to support: from henceforth shall all occurrences appear dreams, or short intervals of amusement, from this one affliction which has seized my very being. Pardon me, oh Pharamond, if my griefs give me leave, that I lay before you, in the anguish of a wounded mind, that you, good as you are, are guilty of the generous blood spilt this day by this unhappy hand. Oh that it had perished before that instant!” Here the stranger paused, and recollecting his mind, after some little meditation, he went on in a calmer tone and gesture, as follows:

“There is an authority due to distress, and as none of human race is above the reach of sorrow, none should be above the hearing the voice of it; I am sure Pharamond is not. Know then, that I have this morning unfortunately killed in a duel, the man whom of all men living I most loved. I command myself too much in your royal presence, to say, Pharamond give me my friend ! Pharamond has taken him from me! I will not say, shall the merciful Pharamond destroy his own subjects? Will the father of his country murder his people ? But the merciful Pharamond does destroy his. subjects, the father of his country does murder his people. Fortune is so much the pursuit of mankind, that all glory and honour is in the power of a prince, bezles of their pistols touched each other. Mr. Thornhill was tried at the Old Bailey on the 18th, and found guilty of manslaughter. Three months after, he was himself assassinated on Turnham Green.

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