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Now all the wide extended sky,

And all th' harmonious worlds on high,

And Virgil's sacred work shall die.

which arise and disappear in the mind of man, and There is no other method of fixing those thoughts transmitting them to the last periods of time; no other method of giving a permanency to our ideas, and preserving the knowledge of any particular person, when his body is mixed with the common mass of matter, and his soul retired into the world of spirits. Books are the legacies that a great genius leaves to mankind, which are delivered down from generation to generation, as presents to the posterity of those who are yet unborn.

camp unobserved, through several defiles,' in one tion, mentioning the destruction of the universe, has of which they met with a party of French that had these admirable lines: been marauding,' and made them all prisoners at discretion. The day after a drum arrived at our camp, with a message which he would communicate to none but the general; he was followed by a trumpet, who they say behaved himself very saucily, with a message from the Duke of Bavaria. The next morning our army, being divided into two corps,' made a movement towards the enemy. You will hear in the public prints how we treated them, with the other circumstances of that glorious day. I had the good fortune to be in that regiment that pushed the gens d'armes.' Several French battalions, which some say were a 'corps de reserve,' made a show of resistance; but it only proved a gasconade,' for upon our preparing to fill up a little fossé,' in order to attack them, they beat the 'chamade,' and sent us a carte blanche.' Their 'commandant,' with a great many other general officers, and troops without number, are made prisoners of war, and will, I believe, give you a visit in England, the cartel' not being yet settled. Not questioning but these particulars will be very welcome to you, I congratulate you upon them, and am your most dutiful son," &c.

The father of the young gentleman, upon the perusal of the letter, found it contained great news, but could not guess what it was. He immediately communicated it to the curate of the parish, who, upon the reading of it, being vexed to see any thing he could not understand, fell into a kind of passion, and told him, that his son had sent him a letter that was neither fish, flesh, nor good red-herring. "I wish," says he," the captain may be compos mentis: he talks of a saucy trumpet, and a drum that carries messages; then who is this carte blanche ?" He must either banter us, or he is out of his senses." The father, who always looked upon the curate as a learned man, began to fret inwardly at his son's usage, and producing a letter which he had written to him about three posts before, You see here," says he, "when he writes for money he knows how to speak intelligibly enough; there is no man in England can express himself clearer, when he wants a new furniture for his horse." In short, the old man was so puzzled upon the point, that it might have fared ill with his son, had he not seen all the prints about three days after filled with the same terms of art, and that Charles only writ like other men.-L.

but a short time.
All other arts of perpetuating our ideas continue
sands of years, edifices fewer, and colours still
Statues can last but a few thou
fewer than edifices. Michael Angelo, Fontana, and
Raphael, will hereafter be what Phidias, Vitruvius,
and Apelles are at present; the names of great sta-
tuaries, architects, and painters, whose works are
lost. The several arts are expressed in mouldering
materials. Nature sinks under them, and is not able
to support the ideas which are impressed upon it.

The circumstance which gives authors an advantage above all these great masters is this, that they can multiply their originals: or rather can make copies of their works, to what number they please, which shall be as valuable as the originals themselves. This gives a great author something like a prospect of eternity, but at the same time deprives him of those other advantages which artists meet with. The artist finds greater returns in profit, as the author in fame. What an inestimable price would a Virgil or a Homer, a Cicero or an Aristotle bear, were their works, like a statue, a building, or a picture, to be confined only in one place, and made the property of a single person!

If writings are thus durable, and may pass from age to age through the whole course of time, how careful should an author be of committing any thing to print that may corrupt posterity, and poison the minds of men with vice and error! Writers of great talents, who employ their parts in propagating immorality, and seasoning vicious sentiments with wit and humour, are to be looked upon as the pests of society, and the enemies of mankind. They leave books behind them (as it is said of those who die in distempers which breed an ill-will towards their own species,) to scatter infection and destroy their posterity. They act the counterparts of a

No. 166.] MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1711. Confucius or a Socrates; and seem to have been

-Quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis,

Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas.
OVID, Met. xv. 871.

-Which nor dreads the rage

Of tempests, fire, or war, or wasting age.-WELSTED. ARISTOTLE tells us, that the world is a copy or transcript of those ideas which are in the mind of the first Being, and that those ideas which are in the mind of man are a transcript of the world. To this we may add, that words are the transcript of those ideas which are in the mind of man, and that writing or printing is the transcript of words.

sent into the world to deprave human nature, and sink it into the condition of brutality.

I have seen some Roman Catholic authors who tell us that vicious writers continue in purgatory so long as the influence of their writings continues upon posterity: "for purgatory," say they, "is nothing else but a cleansing us of our sins, which cannot be said to be done away, so long as they continue to operate, and corrupt mankind. The vicious author," say they, "sins after death; and so long as he continues to sin, so long must he expect to be punished." Though the Roman Catholic notion of purgatory be As the Supreme Being has expressed, and as it indeed very ridiculous, one cannot but think, that if were, printed his ideas in the creation, men express the soul after death has any knowledge of what their ideas in books, which by this great invention passes in this world, that of an immoral writer would of these latter ages may last as long as the sun and receive much more regret from the sense of corruptmoon, and perish only in the general wreck of na-ing, than satisfaction from the thought of pleasing, ture. Thus Cowley in his poem on the Resurrec- his surviving admirers,

In all but this, a man of sober life,
Fond of his friend, and civil to his wife;
Not quite a madman, though a pasty fell,
And much too wise to walk into a well

Him the damn'd doctor and his friends immur'd;
They bled, they cupp'd, they purg'd, in short they cur'd,
Whereat the gentleman began to stare-

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My friends!" he cry'd: "pox take you for your care! That from a patriot of distinguish'd note,

Have bled and purg'd me to a simple vote."-POPE

That corres

To take off from the severity of this speculation, I shall conclude this paper with a story of an atheistical author, who at a time when he lay dangerously sick, and had desired the assistance of a neighbouring curate, confessed to him with great contrition, that nothing sat more heavy at his heart than the sense of his having seduced the age by his writings, and that their evil influence was likely to continue even after his death. The curate upon farther examination finding the penitent in the utmost ago- by the check of reason and judgment, was the subThe unhappy force of an imagination unguided nies of despair, and being himself a man of learn-ject of a former speculation. My reader may reing, told him, that he hoped his case was not so member that he has seen in one of my papers a desperate as he apprehended, since he found that he complaint of an unfortunate gentleman, who was was so very sensible of his fault, and so sincerely re- unable to contain himself (when any ordinary matpented of it. The penitent still urged the evil ten-ter was laid before him) from adding a few circumdency of his book to subvert all religion, and the stances to enliven plain narrative. little ground of hope there could be for one whose pondent was a person of too warm a complexion to writings would continue to do mischief when his be satisfied with things merely as they stood in nabody was laid in ashes. The curate, finding no ture, and therefore formed incidents which should other way of comforting him, told him that he did have happened to have pleased him in the story. well in being afflicted for the evil design with which The same ungoverned fancy which pushed that corhe published his book; but that he ought to be very respondent on, in spite of himself, to relate public thankful that there was no danger of its doing any and notorious falsehoods, makes the author of the hurt: that his cause was so very bad, and his argu- following letter do the same in private; one is a ments so weak, that he did not apprehend any ill effects of it in short, that he might rest satisfied prating, the other a silent liar. his book could do no more mischief after his death, than it had done whilst he was living. To which he added, for his farther satisfaction, that he did not believe any besides his particular friends and acquaintance had ever been at the pains of reading it, or that any body after his death would ever inquire after it. The dying man had still so much the frailty of an author in him, as to be cut to the heart with these consolations; and, without answering the good man, asked his friends about him (with a peevishness that is natural to a sick person) where they had picked up such a blockhead? and whether they thought him a proper person to attend one in his condition? The curate, finding that the author did not expect to be dealt with as a real and sincere penitent, but as a penitent of importance, after a short admonition withdrew; not questioning but he should be again sent for if the sickness grew desperate. The author however recovered, and has since written two or three other tracts with the same spirit, and very luckily for his poor soul, with the same success.*-C.


these worthies, but mere present amusement: but There is little pursued in the errors of either of the folly of him who lets his fancy place him in distant scenes untroubled and uninterrupted, is very much preferable to that of him who is ever forcing a belief, and defending his untruths with new inventions. But I shall hasten to let this liar in solilohimself with the same unreservedness as formerly quy, who calls himself a castle-builder, describe man were to be serious on this subject, he might appeared in my correspondent above mentioned. If give very grave admonitions to those who are following any thing in this life, on which they think to place their hearts, and tell them they are really castle-builders. Fame, glory, wealth, honour, have in the prospect pleasing illusions; but they who dients towards happiness, to be regarded only in come to possess any of them will find they are ingrethe second place: and that when they are valued in the first degree they are as disappointing as any of the phantoms in the following letter:

"MR. SPECTATOR, September 6, 1711. "I am a fellow of a very odd frame of mind, as you will find by the sequel; and think myself fool enough to deserve a place in your paper. I am un

No. 167.] TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1711. happily far gone in building, and am one of that

-Fuit haud ignobilis Argis,

Qui se credebat miros audire tragœdos,
In vacuo lætus sessor plausorque theatro;
Cætera qui vitæ servaret munia recte
More; bonus sane vicinus, amabilis hospes,
Comis in uxorem; posset qui ignoscere servis,
Et signo læso non insanire lagenæ ;

Posset qui rupem et puteum vitare patentem.
Hic, ubi cognatorum opibus curisque refectus,
Expulit elleboro morbum bilemque meraco,,
Et redit ad sese: Pol me occidistis, amici,
Non servastis, ait; cui, sic extorta voluptas,
Et demptus per vim mentis gratissimus error.


HOR. 2 Ep. ii. 128.

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species of men who are properly denominated castlebuilders, who scorn to be beholden to the earth for a foundation, or dig in the bowels of it for materials; but erect their structures in the most unstable of elements, the air; fancy alone laying the line, marking the extent, and shaping the model. It would be difficult to enumerate what august palaces and stately porticos have grown under my forming imagination, or what verdant meadows and shady groves have started into being by the powerful feat of a warm fancy. A castle-builder is even just what he pleases, and as such I have grasped imaginary sceptres, and delivered uncontrollable edicts, from a throne to which conquered nations yielded obeisance. I have made I know not how many inroads into France, and ravaged the very heart of that kingdom; I have dined in the Louvre, and drank champaign at Versailles; and I would have you take notice, I am not only able to vanquish a people already cowed' and accustomed to flight

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but I could, Almanzor-like, drive the British ge- You may boast that the incomparably wise Quintineral from the field, were I less a Protestant, or lian and you are of one mind in this particular. had ever been affronted by the confederates. There' Si cui est (says he) mens tam illiberalis ut objurgais no art or profession, whose most celebrated masters I have not eclipsed. Wherever I have afforded my salutary presence, fevers have ceased to burn and agues to shake the human fabric. When an eloquent fit has been upon me, an apt gesture and proper cadence have animated each sentence, and gazing crowds have found their passions worked up into rage, or soothed into a calm. I am short, and not very well made; yet upon sight of a fine woman, I have stretched into proper stature, and killed with a good air and mien. These are the gay phantoms that dance before my waking eyes, and compose my day-dreams. I should be the most contented happy man alive, were the chimerical happiness which springs from the paintings of fancy less fleeting and transitory. But alas! it is with grief of mind I tell you, the least breath of wind has often demolished my magnificent edifices, swept away my groves, and left no more trace of them than if they had never been. My exchequer has sunk and vanished by a rap on my door; the salutation of a friend has cost me a whole continent; and in the same moment I have been pulled by the sleeve, my crown has fallen from my head. The ill consequence of these reveries is inconceivably great, seeing the loss of imaginary possessions makes impressions of real woe. Besides, bad economy is visible and apparent in builders of invisible mansions. My tenants' advertisements of ruins and dilapidations often cast a damp on my spirits, even in the instant when the sun, in all his splendour, gilds my eastern palaces. Add to this, the pensive drudgery in building, and constant grasping aerial trowels, distracts and shatters the mind, and the fond builder of Babels is often cursed with an incoherent diversity and confusion of thoughts. I do not know to whom I can more properly apply myself for relief from this fantastical evil, than to yourself; whom I earnestly implore to accommodate me with a method how to settle my head and cool my brain-pity but we had a set of men, polite in their behapan. A dissertation on castle-building may not only be serviceable to myself, but all architects, who display their skill in the thin element. Such a favour would oblige me to make my next soliloquy not contain the praises of my dear self, but of the Spectator, who shall, by complying with this, make me His obliged humble servant, "VITRUVIUS."

tione non corrigatur, is etiam ad plagas, ut pessima quæque mancipia, durabitur;' i, e. If any child be of so disingenuous a nature, as not to stand corrected by reproof, he, like the very worst of slaves, will be hardened even against blows themselves.' And afterward, 'Pudet dicere in quæ probra nefandi homines isto cædendi jure abutantur;' i. e. I blush to say how shamefully those wicked men abuse the power of correction.'

"I was bred myself, Sir, in a very great school,* of which the master was a Welshman, but certainly descended from a Spanish family, as plainly appeared from his temper as well as his name. + I leave you to judge what sort of a schoolmaster a Welshman ingrafted on a Spaniard would make. So very dreadful had he made himself to me, that although it is above twenty years since I felt his heavy hand, yet still once a month at least I dream of him, so strong an impression did he make on my mind. It is a sign he has fully terrified me waking, who still continues to haunt me sleeping.


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"And yet I may say without vanity, that the business of the school was what I did without great difficulty; and I was not remarkably unlucky; and yet such was the master's severity, that once a month, or oftener, I suffered as much as would have satisfied the law of the land for a petty larceny.

"Many a white and tender hand, which the fond mother had passionately kissed a thousand and a thousand times, have I seen whipped until it was covered with blood; perhaps for smiling, or for going a yard and a half out of a gate, or for writing an o for an ▲, or an a for an o. These were our great faults! Many a brave and noble spirit has been there broken; others have run from thence, and were never heard of afterward. It is a worthy attempt to undertake the cause of distressed youth; and it is a noble piece of knight-errantry to enter the list against so many armed pedagogues. It is

viour and method of teaching, who should be put into a condition of being above flattering or fearing the parents of those they instruct. We might then possibly see learning become a pleasure, and children delighting themselves in that which they now abhor for coming upon such hard terms to them. What would be still a greater happiness arising from the care of such instructors, would be, that we should have no more pedants, nor any bred to learning who had not genius for it.

66 I am, with the utmost sincerity, Sir,

"Your most affectionate humble servant." "MR. SPECTATOR, Richmond, Sept. 5, 1711. "I am a boy, of fourteen years of age, and have for this last year been under the tuition of a doctor of divinity, who has taken the school of this place under his care. From the gentleman's great tenderness to me and friendship to my father, I am very happy in learning my book with pleasure. We never leave off our diversions any farther than to salute him at hours of play when he pleases to look on. It is impossible for any of us to love our own parents better than we do him. He never gives any of us a harsh

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word, and we think it the greatest punishment in the world when he will not speak to any of us. My brother and I are both together inditing this letter. He is a year older than I am, but is now ready to break his heart that the doctor has not taken any notice of him these three days. If you please to print this he will see it, and, we hope, taking it for my brother's earnest desire to be restored to his favour, he will again smile upon him.

T. S."

"Your most obedient servant, "MR. SPECTATOR, "You have represented several sort of impertinents singly; I wish you would now proceed and describe some of them in sets. It often happens in public assemblies, that a party who came thither together, or whose impertinencies are of an equal pitch, act in concert, and are so full of themselves as to give disturbance to all that are about them. Sometimes you have a set of whisperers who lay their heads together in order to sacrifice every body within their observation; sometimes a set of laughers that keep up an insipid mirth in their own corner, and by their noise and gestures show they have no respect for the rest of the company. You frequently meet with these sets at the opera, the play, the water-works, and other public meetings, where their whole business is to draw off the attention of the spectators from the entertainment, and to fix it upon themselves; and it is to be observed that the impertinence is ever loudest, when the set happens to be made up of three or four females who have got what you call a woman's man among them.

"I am at a loss to know from whom people of fortune should learn this behaviour, unless it be from the footmen who keep their places at a new play, and are often seen passing away their time in sets at all-fours in the face of a full house, and with a perfect disregard to the people of quality sitting on each side of them.

"For preserving therefore the decency of public assemblies, methinks it would be but reasonable that those who disturb others should pay at least a double price for their places; or rather women of birth and distinction should be informed, that a levity of behaviour in the eyes of people of understanding degrades them below their meanest attendants; and gentlemen should know that a fine coat is a livery, when the person who wears it covers no higher sense than that of a footman. "I am, Sir, Your most humble servant." "Bedfordshire, Sept. 1, 1711.

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His manner of life was this: to bear with every body's humours; to comply with the inclinations and pursuits of those he conversed with; to contradict nobody; never to assume a superiority over others. This is the ready way to gain applause without exciting envy.

by the very condition of humanity, and yet, as if MAN is subject to innumerable pains and sorrows nature had not sown evils enough in life, we are continually adding grief to grief, and aggravating the common calamity by our cruel treatment of one another. Every man's natural weight of afflictions is still made more heavy by the envy, malice, trea chery, or injustice of his neighbour. At the same time that the storm beats upon the whole species, we are falling foul upon one another.

Half the misery of human life might be extinguished, would men alleviate the general curse they lie under, by mutual offices of compassion, benevolence, and humanity. There is nothing, therefore, which we ought more to encourage in ourselves and others, than that disposition of mind which in our language goes under the title of good-nature, and which I shall choose for the subject of this day's speculation.

Good-nature is more agreeable in conversation than wit, and gives a certain air to the countenance, which is more amiable than beauty. It shows virtue in the fairest light, takes off in some measure from the deformity of vice, and makes even folly and impertinence supportable.

in the world without good-nature, or something There is no society or conversation to be kept up which must bear its appearance, and supply its place. For this reason mankind have been forced to invent a kind of artificial humanity, which is what we express by the word good-breeding. For if we examine thoroughly the idea of what we call so, we shall find it to be nothing else but an imitation and mimicry of good-nature, or, in other terms, affabi lity, complaisance, and easiness of temper reduced into an art.

These exterior shows and appearances of humadis-nity render a man wonderfully popular and beloved, when they are founded upon a real good-nature; but without it, are like hypocrisy in religion, or a bare form of holiness, which, when it is discovered, makes a man more detestable than professed impiety.

Good-nature is generally born with us; health, prosperity, and kind treatment from the world are great cherishers of it where they find it; but nothing is capable of forcing it up, where it does not grow of itself. It is one of the blessings of a happy constitution, which education may improve, but not produce.

"MR. SPECTATOR, "I am one of those whom every body calls a poacher, and sometimes go out to course with a brace of grey hounds, a mastiff, and a spaniel or two; and when I am weary with coursing, and have killed hares enough,† go to an alehouse to refresh myself. I beg the favour of you (as you set up for a reformer) to send us word how many dogs you will allow us to go with, how many full pots of ale to Xenophon, in the life of his imaginary prince, drink, and how many hares to kill in a day, and whom he describes as a pattern for real ones, is alyou will do a great piece of service to all the sports-ways celebrating the philanthropy or good-nature of Be quick, then, for the time of coursing is his hero, which he tells us he brought into the world with him, and gives many remarkable instances of it in his childhood, as well as in all the several parts of his life. Nay, on his death-bed, he describes him as being pleased, that while his soul returned to him who made it, his body should incorporate with the great mother of all things, and by that means


come on. T.

Yours in haste, "ISAAC HEDGEBITCH." This was the Water-theatre, a famous show of these times, invented by one Mr. Winstanley, and exhibited at the lower end of Piccadilly; consisting of sea-gods, goddesses, nymphs, mermaids, tritons, &c, playing and spouting out water, and fire mingled with water, &c. performed every evening between five and six.

↑ Enow.

* Xenoph. De Cyri Instit. lib. viii. cap. vii, ec. 3. edit. J. A. Era. 8vo. tom. i. p. 550.

become beneficial to all mankind. For which reason he gives his sons a positive order not to enshrine it ia gold or silver, but to lay it in the earth as soon as the life was gone out of it.

An instance of such an overflowing of humanity, such an exuberant love to mankind, could not have entered into the imagination of a writer, who had not a soul filled with great ideas, and a general benevolence to mankind.

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In that celebrated passage of Sallust, where Cæsar and Cato are placed in such beautiful, but opposite lights, Caesar's character is chiefly made up of good-nature, as it showed itself in all its forms towards his friends or his enemies, his servants or dependants, the guilty or the distressed. As for Cato's character, it is rather awful than amiable. Justice seems most agreeable to the nature of God, and mercy to that of man. A being who has nothing to pardon in himself, may reward every man according to his works; but he whose very best actions must be seen with grains of allowance, cannot be too mild, moderate, and forgiving. For this reason, among all the monstrous characters in human nature, there is none so odious, nor indeed so exquisitely ridiculous, as that of a rigid severe temper in

a worthless man.

This part of good-nature, however, which consists in the pardoning and overlooking of faults, is to be exercised only in doing ourselves justice, and that too in the ordinary commerce and occurrences of life: for in the public administrations of justice, mercy to one may be cruelty to others.

It is grown almost into a maxim, that goodnatured men are not always men of the most wit. This observation, in my opinion, has no foundation in nature. The greatest wits I have conversed with, are men eminent for their humanity. I take, therefore, this remark to have been occasioned by two reasons. First, because ill-nature among ordinary observers passes for wit. A spiteful saying gratifies so many little passions in those who hear it, that it generally meets with a good reception. The laugh rises upon it, and the man who utters it is looked upon as a shrewd satirist. This may be one reason, why a great many pleasant companions appear so surprisingly dull, when they have endeavoured to be merry in print; the public being more just than private clubs or assemblies, in distinguish

ing between what is wit, and what is ill-nature. Another reason why the good-natured man may sometimes bring his wit in question, is, perhaps, be. cause he is apt to be moved with compassion for those misfortunes or infirmities, which another would turn into ridicule, and by that means gain the reputation of a wit. The ill-natured man, though but of equal parts, gives himself a larger field to expatiate in; he exposes those failings in human nature which the other would cast a veil over, laughs at vices which the other either excuses or conceals, gives utterance to reflections which the other stifles, falls indifferently upon friends or enemies, exposes the person who has obliged him, and, in short, sticks at nothing that may establish his character as a wit. It is no wonder, therefore, that he succeeds in it better than the man of humanity,† as a person who makes use of indireet methods is more likely to grow rich than the fair trader.-L.

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In love are all these ills: suspicions, quarrels, Wrongs, reconcilements, war, and peace again-COLEMAN. UPON looking over the letters of my female correspondents, I find several from women complaining of jealous husbands, and at the same time protesting their own innocence; and desiring my advice on this occasion. I shall therefore take this subject into my consideration; and the more willingly, because I find that the Marquis of Halifax, who, in his Advice to a Daughter, has instructed a wife how to behave herself towards a false, an intemperate, a choleric, a sullen, a covetous, or a silly husband, has not spoken one word of a jealous husband.

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Jealousy is that pain which a man feels from the apprehension that he is not equally beloved by the person whom he entirely loves." Now because our inward passions and inclinations can never make themselves visible, it is impossible for a jealous man to be thoroughly cured of his suspicions. His thoughts hang at best in a state of doubtfulness and uncertainty; and are never capable of receiving any satisfaction on the advantageous side; so that his inquiries are most successful when they discover nothing. His pleasure arises from his disappointments, and his life is spent in pursuit of a secret that destroys his happiness if he chance to find it.

An ardent love is always a strong ingredient in his passion; for the same affection which stirs up the jealous man's desires, and gives the party beloved so beautiful a figure in his imagination, makes him believe she kindles the same passion in others, and appears as amiable to all beholders. And as jealousy thus arises from an extraordinary love, it is of so delicate a nature, that it scorns to take up with any thing less than an equal return of love. Not the warmest expressions of affection, the softest and most tender hypocrisy, are able to give any satisfaction where we are not persuaded that the affection is real, and the satisfaction mutual. For the jealous man wishes himself a kind of deity to the person he loves. He would be the only pleaand is angry at every thing she admires, or takes sure of her senses, the employment of her thoughts; delight in, besides himself.

Phædra's request to his mistress, upon his leaving her for three days, is inimitably beautiful and natural :

Cum milite isto præsens, absens ut sies:
Dies noctesque me ames: me desideres:
Me somnies: me expectes: de me cogites:
Me speres: me te oblectes: mecum tota sis:
Meus fac sis postremo animus, quando ego sum tuus.
TER. Eun. act. i. sc. 2.

Be with yon soldier present, as if absent.
All night and day love me, still long for me:
Dream, ponder still "on" me: wish, hope for me:
Delight in me; be all in all with me:

Give your whole heart, for mine's all yours, to me.

The jealous man's disease is of so malignant a nature, that it converts all it takes into its own nourishment. A cool behaviour sets him on the rack, and is interpreted as an instance of aversion and looks too much like dissimulation and artifice. or indifference; a fond one raises his suspicions, If the person he loves be cheerful, her thoughts must be employed on another; and if sad, she is

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