thirst and weariness: who are beholden to stuces for their food, and to their food for their weariness. I have often wondered, considering the excellent and choice spirits that we have among our divines, that they do not think of putting vicious habits into a more contemptible and unlovely figure than they do at present. So many men of wit and spirit as there are in sacred orders, have it in their power to make the fashion of their side. The leaders in human society are more effectually prevailed upon this way than can easily be imagined. I have more than one in my thoughts at this time, capable of doing this against all the opposition of the most witty, as well as the most voluptuous. There may possibly be more acceptable subjects; but sure there are none more useful. It is visible, that though men's fortunes, circumstances, and pleasures, give them prepossessions too strong to regard any mention either of punishments or rewards, they will listen to what makes them inconsiderable or mean in the imaginations of others, and, by degrees, in their own.

It is certain such topies are to be touched upon, in the light we mean, only by men of the most consummate prudence, as well as excellent wit: for these discourses are to be made, if made, to run into example, before such as have their thoughts more intent upon the propriety, than the reason of the discourse. What indeed leads me into this way of thinking is, that the last thing I read was a sermon of the learned doctor South, upon The ways of pleasantness. This admirable discourse was made at court, where the preacher was too wise a man not to believe, the greatest argument in that place against the pleasures then in vogue, must be, that they lost greater pleasures by prosecuting the course they were in. The charming discourse has in it whatever wit and wisdom can put together. This gentleman has a talent of making all his faculties bear to the great end of his hallowed profession. Happy genius! he is the better man for being a wit. The best way to praise this author is to quote him; and I think I may defy any man to say a greater thing of him, or his ability, than that there are no paragraphs in the whole discourse I speak of below these which follow. After having recommended the satisfaction of the mind, and the pleasure of conscience, he proceeds: 'An ennobling property of it is, that it is such a pleasure as never satiates or wearies; for it properly affects the spirit; and a spirit feels no weariness, as being privileged from the causes of it. But can the epicure say so of any of the pleasures that he so much dotes upon? Do they not expire while they satisfy, and, after a few minutes' refreshment, determine in loathing and unquietness? How short is the interval between a pleasure and a burden! How undiscernible the transition from one to the other! Pleasure dwells no longer upon the appetite than the necessities of nature, which are quickly and easily provided for; and then all that follows is a load and an oppression. Every morsel to a satisfied Hunger, is only a new labour to a tired digestion. Every draught to him that has quenched his thirst, is but a further quenching of nature, and a provision for rheum and diseases, a drowning of the quickness and activity of the spirits.

'He that prolongs his meals, and sacrifices his time, as well as his other conveniences, to his luxury, how quickly does he outset his pleasure! And then, how is all the following time bestowed upon ceremony and surfeit! until at length, after a long fatigue of eating, and drinking, and babbling, he con

cludes the great work of dining genteely, and so makes a shift to rise from table, that he may he down upon his bed; where, after he has slept himself into some use of himself, by much ado be staggers to his table again, and there acts over the same brutish scene: so that he passes his whole life in a dozed condition, between sleeping and waking, with a kind of drowsiness and confusion upon his senses, which, what pleasure it can be, is hard to conceive. All that is of it dwells upon the tip of his tongue and within the compass of his palate. A worthy prize for a man to purchase with the loss of his time, his reason, and himself!'

No. 206.] THURSDAY, AUGUST 3, 1710.
Metiri se quemque suo modulo ac pede verum est.
Hor. I Ep. vii. ver. ult.

-All should be confined
Within the bounds, which nature bath assign'd.
Francis.

From my own Apartment, August 2.
THE general purposes of men in the conduct of
their lives, I mean with relation to this life only, end
in gaining either the affection or the esteem of those
with whom they converse. Esteem makes a man
powerful in business, and affection desirable in con-
versation; which is certainly the reason that very
agreeable men fail of their point in the world, and
those who are by no means such, arrive at it with
much ease. If it be visible in a man's carriage that
he has a strong passion to please, no one is much at
a loss how to keep measures with him; because
there is always a balance in people's hands to make
up with him, by giving him what he still wants in
exchange for what you think fit to deny him. Such
a person asks with diffidence, and ever leaves room
for denial by that softness of his complexion. At
the same time he himself is capable of denying
nothing, even what he is not able to perform. The
other sort of man who courts esteem, having a quite
different view, has as different a behaviour; and
acts as much by the dictates of his reason as the
other does by the impulse of his inclination. You
must pay for every thing you have of him.
He con-
siders mankind as a people in commerce, and never
gives out of himself what he is sure will not come in
with interest from another. All his words and ac
tions tend to the advancement of his reputation and
his fortune, towards which he makes hourly progress,
because he lavishes no part of his good-will upon
such as do not make some advances to merit it. The
man who values affection, sometimes becomes po-
pular; he who aims at esteem, seldom fails of grow.
ing rich.

Thus far we have looked at these different men, as persons who endeavoured to be valued and beloved from design or ambition; but they appear quite in another figure, when you observe the men who are agreeable and venerable from the force of their natural inclinations. We affect the company of him who has least regard of himself in his carriage, who throws himself into unguarded gaiety, voluntary mirth, and general good humour; who has nothing in his head but the present hour, and seems to have all his interest and passions gratified, if every man else in the room is as unconcerned as himself. This man usually has no quality or character among his companions; let him be born of whom he will, have what great qualities he please; let him be capable of assuming for a moment what

Fai

figure he pleases, he still dwells in the imagination of all who know him but as Jack such-a-one. This makes Jack brighten up the room wherever he enters, and change the severity of the company into that gaiety and good humour, into which his conversation generally leads them. It is not unpleasant to observe even this sort of creature go out of his character, to check himself sometimes for his familiarities, and pretend so awkwardly at procuring to himself more esteem than he finds he meets with. I was the other day walking with Jack Gainly towards Lincoln's-inn-walks: we met a fellow who is a lower officer where Jack is in the direction. Jack cries to him, So, how is it, Mr.?' He answers, Mr. Gainly, I am glad to see you well.' This expression of equality gave my friend a pang, which appeared in the flush of his countenance. Pr'ythee Jack,' says I, do not be angry at the man; for do what you will, the man can only love you; be contented with the image the man has of thee; for if thou aimest at any other, it must be hatred or contempt.' I went on, and told him, Look you, Jack, I have heard thee sometimes talk like an oracle for half an hour, with the sentiments of a Koman, the closeness of a schoolman, and the integrity of a di. vine; but then, Jack, while I admired thee, it was upon topics which did not concern thyself; and where the greatness of the subject, added to thy being personally unconcerned in it, created all that was great in thy discourse.' I did not mind his being a little out of humour; but comforted him, by giving him several instances of men of our acquaintance, who had no one quality in any eminence, that were much more esteemed than he was with very many: * but the thing is, if your character is to give pleasure, men will consider you only in that light, and not in those acts which turn to esteem and veneration.'

takes, the good widow Flavia would certainly do it. But for fear of Lucia's escape, the mother is forced to be constantly attended with a rival that explains her age, and draws off the eyes of her admirers. The jest is, they can never be together in strangers' company, but Lucy is eternally reprimanded for something very particular in her behaviour; for which she has the malice to say, she hopes she shall always obey her parents.' She carried her passion of jealousy to that height the other day, that, coming suddenly into the room, and surprising Colonel Lofty speaking rapture on one knee to her mother, she clapped down by him, and asked her blessing.

I do not know whether it is so proper to tell family occurrences of this nature; but we every day see the same thing happen in public conversation of the world. Men cannot be contented with what is laudable, but they must have all that is laudable. This affectation is what decoys the familiar man into pretences to take state upon him, and the contrary character to the folly of aiming at being winning and complaisant. But in these cases men may easily lay aside what they are, but can never arrive at what they are not.

Harry Bickerstaff; but William Bickerstaff, the most prudent man of our family, shall be my exe cutor.

As to the pursuits after affection and esteem, the fair sex are happy in this particular, that with them the one is much more nearly related to the other than in men. The love of a woman is inseparable from some esteem of her; and as she is naturally the object of affection, the woman who has your esteem has also some degree of your love. A man that dotes on a woman for her beauty, will whisper his friend, that creature has a great deal of wit when you are well acquainted with her.' And if you examine the bottom of your esteem for a woman, you will find you have a greater opinion of her beauty than any body else. As to us men, I deWhen I think of Jack Gainly, I cannot but re-sign to pass most of my time with the facetious flect also upon his sister Gatty. She is young, witty, pleasant, innocent. This is her natural character; but when she observes any one admired for what they call a fine woman, she is all the next day womanly, prudent, observing, and virtuous. She is every moment asked in her prudential behaviour, whether she is not well? Upon which she as often answers in a fret, Do people think one must be always romping, always a jack-pudding?' I never fail to inquire of her, if my lady such-a-one, that awful beauty, was not at the play last night? She knows the connexion between that question and her change of humour, and says, 'It would be very well if some people would examine into themselves as much as they do into others.' Or, 'Sure there is nothing in the world so ridiculous as an amorous old man.'

No. 207.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 5, 1710.

From my own Apartment, August 4. HAVING yesterday morning received a paper of Latin verses, written with much elegance in honour of these my papers, and being informed at the same time, that they were composed by a youth under age, I read thein with much delight, as an instance of his improvement. There is not a greater pleasure to old age, than seeing young people entertain themselves in such a manner as that we can partake of their enjoyments On such occasions we flatter ourselves, that we are not quite laid aside in As I was saying, there is a class which every man the world; but that we are either used with gratiis in by his post in nature, from which it is impos-tude for what we were, or honoured for what we are. sible for him to withdraw to another, and become it. A well-inclined young man, and whose good-breedTherefore it is necessary that each should be con- ing is founded upon the principles of nature and tented with it, and not endeavour at any progress virtue, must needs take delight in being agreeable out of that tract. To follow nature is the only to his elders, as we are truly delighted when we are agreeable course, which is what I would fain incul- not the jest of them. When I say this, I must concate to those jarring companions, Flavia and Lucia. fess I cannot but think it a very lamentable thing, They are mother and daughter. Flavia, who is the that there should be a necessity for making that a mamma, has all the charms and desires of youth rule of life, which should be, methinks, a mere instill about her, and is not much turned of thirty. stinct of nature. If reflection upon a man in poLucia is blooming and amorous, and but a little verty, whom we once knew in riches, is an argument above fifteen. The mother looks very much of commiseration with generous minds; sure old younger than she is, the girl very much older. If it age, which is a decay from that vigour which the were possible to fix the girl to her sick bed, and pre-young possess, and must certainly, if not prevented serve the portion, the use of which the mother par- against their will, arrive at, should be more forcibly

the object of that reverence which honest spirits are inclined to, from a sense of being themselves liable to what they observe has already overtaken others. My three nephews, whom, in June last was twelvemonth, I disposed of according to their several capacities and inclinations; the first to the university, the second to a merchant, and the third to a woman of quality as her page, by my invitation dined with me to-day. It is my custom often, when I have a mind to give myself a more than ordinary cheerfulness, to invite a certain young gentlewoman of our neighbourhood to make one of the company. She did me that favour this day. The presence of a beautiful woman of honour, to minds which are not trivially disposed, displays an alacrity which is not to be communicated by any other object. It was not unpleasant to me, to look into her thoughts of the company she was in. She smiled at the party of pleasure I had thought of for her, which was composed of an old man and three boys. My scholar, my citizen, and myself, were very soon neglected; and the young courtier, by the bow he made to her at her entrance, engaged her observation without a rival. I observed the Oxonian not a little discomposed at this preference, while the trader kept his eye upon his uncle. My nephew Will had a thousand secret resolutions to break in upon the discourse of his younger brother, who gave my fair companion a full account of the fashion, and what was reckoned most becoming to this complexion, and what sort of habit appeared best upon the other shape. He proceeded to acquaint her, who of quality was well or sick within the bills of mortality, and named very familiarly all his lady's acquaintance, not forgetting her very words when he spoke of their characters. Besides all this, he had a road of flattery; and upon her inquiring, what sort of woman Lady Lovely was in her person, 'Really, madam,' says the jackanapes, she is exactly of your height and shape; but as you are fair, she is a brown woman.' There was no enduring that this fop should outshine us all at this unmerciful rate; therefore I thought fit to talk to my young scholar concerning his studies; and because I would throw his learning into present service, I desired him to repeat to me the translation he had made of some tender verses in Theocritus. He did so, with an air of eloquence peculiar to the college to which I sent him. I made some exceptions to the turns of the phrases; which he defended with much modesty, as believing in that place the matter was rather to consult the softness of a swain's passion, than the strength of his expressions. It soon appeared, that Will had out- They rub th' unsweating brow, and swear they sweat.

life. But all distinctions of disparagement, merely from our circumstances, arc such as will not bear the examination of reason. The courtier, the trader, and the scholar, all should have an equal pretension to the denomination of a gentleman. That tradesman who deals with me in a commodity which I do not understand, with uprightness, has much more right to that character, than the cour tier who gives me false hopes, or the scholar who laughs at my ignorance.

The appellation of gentleman is never to be affixed to a man's circumstances, but to his behaviour in them. For this reason I shall ever, as far as 1 am able, give my nephews such impressions as shall make them value themselves rather as they are useful to others, than as they are conscious of ment in themselves. There are no qualities for which we ought to pretend to the esteem of others, but such as render us serviceable to them: for free men have no superiors but benefactors,' I was going on like a true old fellow to this purpose to my guests, when I received the following epistle 'SIR,

'I have yours, with notice of a benefit ticket of
four hundred pounds per annum, both inclosed ty
Mr. Elliot, who had my numbers for that purpose.
Your philosophic, advice came very seasonably to
me with that good fortune; but I must be so sincere
with you as to acknowledge, I owe my present mode-
ration more to my own folly than to your wisdom.
You will think this strange until I inform you, that
I had fixed my thoughts upon the thousand pounds
a-year, and had, with that expectation, laid down so
many agreeable plans for my behaviour towards my
new lovers and old friends, that I have received this
favour of fortune with an air of disappointment
This is interpreted, by all who know not the springs
of my heart, as a wonderful piece of humility. I
hope my present state of mind will grow into that;
but I confess my conduct to be now owing to an-
other cause. However, I know you will approve
my taking hold even of imperfections to find my
way towards virtue; which is so feeble in us, at the
best, that we are often beholden to our faults for the
first appearances of it. 'I am, Sir,

Your most humble servant
'CHLOE.'

No. 208.] TUESDAY, AUGUST 8, 1710.
Si dixeris, æstuo, sudat.-
Juv. Sat. iii. 103.
If you complain of heat,

From my own Apartment, August 7.

Dryden.

stripped his brother in the opinion of our young lady. A little poetry, to one who is bred a scholar, has the same effect that a good carriage of his person has on one who is to live in courts. The fa- An old acquaintance, who met me this morning, vour of women is so natural a passion, that I envied seemed overjoyed to see me, and told me I looked both the boys their success in the approbation of my as well as he had known me do these forty years: guest; and I thought the only person invulnerablebut,' continued he, 'not quite the man you were was my young trader. During the whole meal I when we visited together at Lady Brightly's. Oh! could observe in the children a mutual contempt and Isaac, those days are over. Do you think there are scorn of each other, arising from their different way any such fine creatures now living as we then conof life and education, and took that occasion to ad- versed with?' He then went on with a thousand vertise them of such growing distastes; which incoherent circumstances, which, in his imagina might mislead them in their future life, and disap- tion, must needs please me; but they had the quite point their friends, as well as themselves, of the contrary effect. The flattery with which he began, advantages which might be expected from the diver-in telling me how well I wore, was not disagreeablez sity of their professions and pursuits.

The prejudices which are growing up between these brothers from the different ways of education, are what create the most fatal misunderstandings in

but his indiscreet mention of a set of acquaintance we had out-lived, recalled ten thousand things to my memory, which made me reflect upon my present condition with regret. Had he indeed been sok:40.

as, after a long absence, to felicitate me upon an indolent and easy old age; and mentioned how much he and I had to thank for, who at our time of day could walk firmly, eat heartily, and converse cheer fully, he had kept up my pleasure in myself. But of all mankind, there are none so shocking as these injudicious civil people. They ordinarily begin upon something that they know must be a satisfaction; but then, for fear of the imputation of flattery, they follow it with the last thing in the world of which you would be reminded. It is this that perplexes civil persons. The reason that there is such a general outcry among us against flatterers is that, there are so very few good ones. It is the nicest art in this life, and is a part of eloquence which does not want the preparation that is necessary to all other parts of it, that your audience should be your well-wishers; for praise from an enemy is the most pleasing of all commendations.

when she minded such vanities, as she is pleased to call them, though she so much approves the mention of them. It is to be noted, that a woman's flatterer is generally elder than herself; her years serving at once to recommend her patroness's age, and to add weight to her complaisance in all other particulars.

It

We gentlemen of small fortunes are extremely necessitous in this particular. I have indeed one who smokes with me often; but his parts are so low, that all the incense he does me is to fill his pipe with me, and to be out at just as many whiffs as I take. This is all the praise or assent that he is capable of; yet there are more hours when I would rather be in his company than in that of the brightest man I know. It would be a hard matter to give an account of this inclination to be flattered; but if we go to the bottom of it, we shall find, that the pleasure in it is something like that of receiving money which we lay out. Every man thinks he It is generally to be observed, that the person has an estate of reputation, and is glad to see one most agreeable to a man for a constancy is he that that will bring any of it home to him. It is no mat has no shining qualities, but is a certain degree ter how dirty a bag it is conveyed to him in, or by above great imperfections; whom he can live with how clownish a messenger, so the money be good. as his inferior, and who will either overlook, or not All that we want, to be pleased with flattery, is to observe his little defects. Such an easy companion believe that the man is sincere who gives it us. as this either now and then throws out a little flat-is by this one accident, that absurd creatures often tery, or lets a man silently flatter himself in his su- outrun the most skilful in this art. Their want of periority to him. If you take notice, there is ability is here an advantage; and their bluntness, hardly a rich man in the world, who has not such a as it is the seeming effect of sincerity, is the best led friend of small consideration, who is a darling cover to artifice. for his insignificancy. It is a great case to have Terence introduces a flatterer talking to a coxone in our own shape a species below us, and who, comb, whom he cheats out of a livelihood; and a without being listed in our service, is by nature of third person on the stage makes on him this pleaour retinue. These dependants are of excellent use sant remark, This fellow has an art of making on a rainy day, or when a man has not a mind to fools madmen.' The love of flattery is, indeed, dress; or to exclude solitude, when one has neither sometimes the weakness of a great mind; but you a mind to that or to company. There are of this see it also in persons, who otherwise discover no good-natured order, who are so kind as to divide manner of relish of anything above mere sensuality. themselves, and do these good offices to many. Five These latter it sometimes improves; but always deor six of them visit a whole quarter of the town, bases the former. A fool is in himself the object of and exclude the spleen, without fees, from the fami- pity, until he is flattered. By the force of that, his lies they frequent. If they do not prescribe physic, stupidity is raised into affectation, and he becomes they can be company when you take it. Very great of dignity enough to be ridiculous. I remember a benefactors to the rich, or those whom they call droll; that upon one's saying, "The times are so people at their ease, are your persons of no conse-ticklish, that there must great care be taken what quence. I have known some of them, by the help of a little cunning, make delicious flatterers. They know the course of the town, and the general characters of persons; by this means they will sometimes tell the most agreeable falsehoods imaginable. They will acquaint you, that such a-one of a quite contrary party said, 'That though you were engaged in different interests, yet he had the greatest respect. for your good sense and address. When one of these has a little cunning, he passes his time in the utmost satisfaction to himself and his friends; for his position is never to report or speak a displeasing thing to his friend. As for letting him go on in an error, he knows, advice against them is the office of persons of greater talents and less discretion.

The Latin word for a flatterer, assentator, implies no more than a person that barely consents; and indeed such a-one, if a man were able to purchase or maintain him, cannot be bought too dear. Such a-one never contradicts you; but gains upon you, not by a fulsome way of commending you in broad terms, but liking whatever you propose or utter; at the same time, is ready to beg your pardon, and gainsay you, if you chance to speak iH of yourself. An old lady is very seldom without such a companion as this, who can recite the names of all her lovers, and the matches refused by her in the days

one says in conversation; answered, with an air of surliness and honesty, If people will be free, let them be so in the manner that I am, who never abuse a man but to his face." He had no reputa. tion for saying dangerous truths; therefore when it was repeated, You abuse a man but to his face?' Yes,' says he, I flatter him.'

It is indeed the greatest of injuries to flatter any but the unhappy, or such as are displeased with themselves for some infirmity. In this latter case we have a member of our club, who, when Sir Jeffery falls asleep, wakens him with snoring. This makes Sit Jeffery hold up for some moments the longer, to see there are men younger than himself among us, who are more lethargic than he is.

When flattery is practised upon any other consideration, it is the most abject thing in nature; nay, I cannot think of any character below the flatterer, except he that envies him. You meet with fellows prepared to be as mean as possible in their condescensions and expressions; but they want persons and talents to rise up to such a baseness. As a coxcomb is a fool of parts, so is a flatterer a knave of parts.

The best of this order, that I know, is one who disguises it under a spirit of contradiction or reproof. He told an arrant driveller the other day,

that he did not care for being in company with him, because he heard he turned his absent friends into ridicule. And upon lady Autumn's disputing with him about something that happened at the Revolution, he replied with a very angry tone, Pray, madam, give me leave to know more of a thing in which I was actually concerned, than you who were then in your nurse's arms.'

No. 209.] THURSDAY, AUGUST 10, 1710.

From my own Apartment, August 9.

A NOBLE painter, who has an ambition to draw a history piece, has desired me to give him a subject, on which he may show the utmost force of his art and genius. For this purpose, I have pitched upon that remarkable incident between Alexander the Great and his physician. This prince, in the midst of his conquests in Persia, was seized by a violent fever; and, according to the account we have of his vast mind, his thoughts were more employed about his recovery, as it regarded the war, than as it concerned his own life. He professed, a slow method was worse than death to him; because it was, what he more dreaded, an interruption of his glory. He desired a dangerous, so it might be a speedy remedy. During this impatience of the king, it is well known that Darius had offered an immense sum to any one who should take away his life. But Philippus, the most esteemed and most knowing of his physicians, promised that within three days' time he would prepare a medicine for him, which would restore him more expeditiously than could be imagined. Immediately after this engagement, Alexander receives a letter from the most considerable of his captains, with intelligence that Darius had bribed Philippus to poison him. Every circumstance imaginable favoured this suspicion; but this monarch, who did nothing but in an extraordinary manner, concealed the letter; and while the medicine was preparing, spent all his thoughts upon his behaviour in this important incident. From his long soliloquy, he came to this resolution: Alexander must not lie here alive to be oppressed by his enemy. I will not believe my physician guilty; or, I will perish rather by his guilt, than my own diffidence.'

for being thought false. How shall we contrive to express the highest admiration, mingled with disdain! How shall we in strokes of a pencil say, what Philippus did to his prince on this occasion? Sir, my life never depended on yours more that it does now. Without knowing this secret, I prepared the potion, which you have taken as what concerned Philippus no less than Alexander; and there is nothing new in this adventure, but that it makes me still more admire the generosity and confidence of my master.' Alexander took him by the hand, and said, 'Philippus, I am confident you had rather I had any other way to have manifested the faith I have in you, than a case which so nearly concerns me; and in grati tude I now assure you, I am anxious for the effect of your medicine, more for your sake than my own. My painter is employed by a man of sense and wealth to furnish him a gallery; and I shall jem with my friend in the designing part. It is the great use of pictures, to raise in our minds either agreeable ideas of our absent friends, or high images of eminent personages. But the latter design is, methinks, carried on in a very improper way; for to fill a room full of battle-pieces, pompous histories of sieges, and a tall hero alone in a crowd of insignificant figures about him, is of no consequence to private men. But to place before our eyes great and illustrious men in those parts and circumstances of life, wherein their behaviour may have an effect upon our minds as being such as we partake with them merely as they were men; such as these, I say, may be just and useful ornaments of an elegant apartment. In this collection therefore that we are making, we will not have the battles, but the sentiments of Alexander. The affair we were just now speaking of has circumstances of the highest nature; and yet their grandeur has little to do with his for tune. If, by observing such a piece as that of his taking a bowl of poison with so much magnanimity, a man, the next time he has a fit of the spleen, is less froward to his friend or his servants; thus far is some improvement.

I have frequently thought, that if we had many draughts which were historical of certain passions, and had the true figure of the great men we see transported by them, it would be of the most solid At the appointed hour, Philippus enters with the advantage imaginable. To consider this mighty potion. One cannot but form to one's self on this man on one occasion, administering to the wants of occasion the encounter of their eyes, the resolution a poor soldier benumbed with cold, with the greatest in those of the patient, and the benevolence in the humanity; at another, barbarously stabbing a faithcountenance of the physician. The hero raised ful officer; at one time, so generously chaste and himself in his bed, and, holding the letter in one virtuous as to give his captive Statira her liberty; hand, and the potion in the other, drank the medi- at another, burning a town at the instigation of cine. It will exercise my friend's pencil and brain Thais. These changes in the same person are what to place this action in its proper beauty. A prince would be more beneficial lessons of morality, than observing the features of a suspected traitor, after the several revolutions in a great man's fortune. having drunk the poison he offered him, is a circum- There are but one or two in an age, to whom the stance so full of passion, that it will require the pompous incidents of his life can be exemplary; bat highest strength of his imagination to conceive it, I, or any man, may be as sick, as good-natured, as much more to express it. But as painting is elo- compassionate, and as angry, as Alexander the quence and poetry in mechanism, I shall raise his Great. My purpose in all this chat is, that so exideas, by reading with him the finest draughts of the cellent a furniture may not for the future have so passions concerned in this circumstance, from the romantic a turn, but allude to incidents which come most excellent poets and orators. The confidence within the fortunes of the ordinary race of men. "I which Alexander assumes from the air of Philip-do not know but it is by the force of this senseless pus's face as he is reading his accusation, and the generous disdain which is to rise in the features of a falsely accused man, are principally to be regarded. In this particular he must heighten his thoughts, by reflecting, that he is not drawing only an innocent man traduced, but a man zealously affected to his person and safety, full of resentment

custom, that people are drawn in postures they would not for half they are worth be surprised in. The unparalleled fierceness of some rural esquires drawn in red, or in armour, who never dreamed to destroy anything above a fox, is a common and ordinary offence of this kind. But I shall give an account of our whole gallery on another occasion.".