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"song," said I. "'Tis a good motion," said Mr. Bearskin," I second it; Miss Betsy Blubber sings "an excellent English song."-Miss Betsy denied stoutly that she ever sung at all; but evidence being produced against her, she, at last, said she would try if she could make out, "The Maid's Choice." " Ay, "6 ay, Betsy," said her father," a very good song ; "I have heard it before."

"If I could but find,

I care not for fortune-Umh!-a man to my mind."

Miss Betsy began the song accordingly, and to make up for her want of voice, accompanied it with a great deal of action. Either from the accident of his being placed opposite to her, or from a sly application to his state as an old bachelor, she chose to personify the maid's choice in the figure of Umphraville, and pointed the description of the song particularly at him. Umphraville, with all his dignity, his abilities, and his knowledge, felt himself uneasy and ridiculous under the silly allusion of a ballad; he blushed, attempted to laugh, blushed again, and still looked with that awkward importance which only the more attracted the ridicule of the fools around him. long after the ladies retired; and no persuasion of his cousin could induce him to stay the evening, or even to enter the drawing-room where they were assembled at tea.

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"Thank Heaven!" said Umphraville, when the door was shut, and we had got fairly into the street. "Amen!" 1 replied, smiling, "for our good dinner "and excellent wine!"- "How the devil, Charles,' said he, "do you contrive to bear all this nonsense "with the composure you do?"" Why, I have "often told you, my friend, that our earth is not a "planet fitted up only for the reception of wise men. "Your Blubbers and Bearskins are necessary parts

"of the system; they deserve the enjoyments they are capable of feeling;-and I am not sure if he who suffers from his own superiority does not deserve his sufferings."

I

No. XXXV. TUESDAY, MAY 25.

SIR,

To the Author of the Mirror.

TILL I arrived at the age of twenty, my time was divided between my books, and the society of a few friends, whom a similarity of pursuits and dispositions recommended to me. About that period, finding that the habits of reserve and retirement had acquired a power over me, which my situation, as heir to a considerable fortune, would render inconvenient, I was prevailed upon, partly by a sense of this, partly by the importunity of my relations, to make an effort for acquiring a more general acquaintance, and fashionable deportment. As I was conscious of an inclination to oblige, and a quick sense of propriety, two qualities which I esteemed the ground of goodbreeding; as my wit was tolerably ready, and my figure not disadvantageous, I own to you that I enter tained some hopes of success.

I was, however, unsuccessful. The novelty of the scenes in which I found myself engaged, the multiplicity of observances and attention requisite upon points which I had always regarded as below my notice, embarrassed and confounded me. The feelings to which I had trusted for my direction, served only to make me awkward, and fearful of offending. My obsequious services in the drawing-room passed unre

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warded; and my observations, when I ventured to mingle, either in the chat of the women, being delivered with timidity and hesitation, were overlooked or neglected. Some of the more elderly and discreet among the former seemed to pity me; and I could not help remarking, that they often, as if they had meant the hint for me, talked of the advantage to be derived from the perusal of Lord Chesterfield's Letters. To this author, then, as soon as I learned his subject, I had recourse, as to a guide that would point out my way, and support me in my journey. But, how much was I astonished, when, through a veil of wit, ridicule, elegant expression, and lively illustration, I discerned a studied system of frivolity, meanness, flattery, and dissimulation, inculcated as the surest and most eligible road to eminence and popularity!

Young as I am, Mr. MIRROR, and heedless as I may consequently be supposed, I cannot think that this work is a code proper for being held up to us as the regulator of our conduct. The talents insisted on with peculiar emphasis, the accomplishments most earnestly recommended, are such as, in our days, if they ought to be treated of at all, should be mentioned only to put us on our guard against them. If riches naturally tend to render trifles of importance; if they direct our attention too much toward exterior accomplishments; if they propagate the courtly and complying spirit too extensively at any rate, we certainly, in this country, so wealthy and luxurious, have no need of exhortation to cultivate or acquire those qualifications. The habits that may arrest for a little time the progress of this corruption, ought now to be insisted on. Independence, fortitude, stubborn integrity, and pride that disdains the shadow of servility; these are the virtues which a tutor should inculcate; these the blessings which a fond father should supplicate from Heaven for his offspring.

It is, throughout, the error of his lordship's system, to consider talents and accomplishments, according to the use that may be made of them, rather than their intrinsic worth. In his catechism, applause is rectitude, and success is morality. That, in our days, a person may rise to eminence by trivial accomplishments, and become popular by flattery and dissimulation, may, perhaps, be true. But, from this it surely does not follow, that these are the means which an honourable character should employ. There is a dignity in the mind, which cultivates those arts alone that are valuable, which courts those characters alone that are worthy, which disdains to conceal its own sentiments, or minister to the foibles of others; there is, I say, a conscious dignity and satisfaction in these feelings, which neither applause, nor power, nor popularity, without them, can ever bestow.

Many of his lordship's distinctions are too nice for my faculties. I cannot, for my part, discern the difference between feigned confidence and insincerity; between the conduct that conveys the approbation of a sentiment, or the flattery of a foible, and the words that declare it. I should think the man whose countenance was open, and his thoughts concealed, a hypocrite; I should term him, who could treat his friends as if they were at the same time to be his enemies, a monster of ingratitude and duplicity. It is dangerous to trifle thus upon the borders of virtue. By teaching us that it may insensibly be blended with vice, that their respective limits are not in every case evident and certain, our veneration for it is di minished. Its chief safeguard is a jealous sensibility, that startles at the colour or shadow of deceit. When this barrier has been insulted, can any other be opposed at which conscience will arise and proclaim, thus far, and no farther, shalt thou advance?

The love of general applause, recommended by his lordship, as the great principle of conduct, is a folly and a weakness. He that directs himself by

this compass, cannot hope to steer through life with steadiness and consistency. He must surrender his own character, and assume the hue of every company he enters. To court the approbation of any one, is, in a tacit manner, to do homage to his judgment or his feelings. He that extends his courtship of it beyond the praise-worthy, violates the exclusive privilege of virtue, and must seek it by unworthy arts.

On the other hand, though I am by no means a friend to rash and unguarded censure, yet I cannot help considering the conduct of him who will censure nothing, who will speak his sentiments of no character with freedom, who palliates every error, and apologizes for every failing, as more nearly allied to meanness, timidity, and a time-serving temper, than it is connected with candour, or favourable to the cause of virtue.

Nor can I persuade myself that his lordship's system will be attended with general success. The real character is the only one that can be maintained at all times, and in all dispositions. Professions of friendship and regard will lead to expectations of sérvice that cannot be answered. The sentiments delivered in one company, the manners assumed upon one occasion, will be remembered, and contrasted with those that are presented on another. Suspicion, once awakened, will penetrate the darkest cloud which art can throw around a person in the common intercourse of life.

Let us consider, too, were this system generally adopted, what a dull insipid scene must society become? No distinction, no natural expression, of character; no confidence in professions of any kind; no assurance of sincerity; po secret sympathy, nor delightful correspondence of feeling. All the sallies of wit, all the graces of polite manners, would but ill supply the want of these pleasures, the purest and most elegant which human life affords. EUGENIUS.

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