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afterward she had given the selfsame character of me to him; but, however, I was so much persuaded by her, I hastened on the match for fear he should die before the time came: he had the same fears, and was so pressing, I married him in a fortnight, resolving to keep it private a fortnight longer. During this fortnight Mr. Waitfort came to make me a visit: he told me he had waited on me sooner, but had that respect for me, he would not interrupt me in the first day of my affliction for my dear lord; that as soon as he heard I was at liberty to make another choice, he had broke off a match very advantageous for his fortune, just upon the point of conclusion, and was forty times more in love with me than ever. I never received more pleasure in my life than from this declaration; but I composed my face to a grave air, and said the news of his ergagement had touched me to the heart, that in a rash jealous fit I had married a man I never could have thought on, if I had not lost all hopes of him.

was married I received a penitential letter from the Honourable Mr. Edward Waitfort, in which he begged pardon for his passion, as proceeding from the violence of his love. I triumphed when I read it, and could not help, out of the pride of my heart, showing it to my new spouse; and we were very merry together upon it. Alas! my mirth lasted a short time; my young husband was very much in debt when I married him, and his first action afterward was to set up a gilt chariot and six in fine trappings before and behind. I had married so hastily, I had not the prudence to reserve my estate in my own hands; my ready money was lost in two nights at the Groom-porter's; and my diamond necklace, which was stole I did not know how, I met in the street upon Jenny Wheedle's neck. My plate vanished piece by piece: and I had been reduced to downright pewter, if my officer had not been deliciously killed in a duel, by a fellow that had cheated him of five hundred pounds, and afterward, at his own request, satisfied him and me too, by run-Good-natured Mr. Waitfort had liked to have dropped ning him through the body. Mr. Waitfort was still in love, and told me so again; and, to prevent all fear of ill usage, he desired me to reserve every thing in my own hands; but now my acquaintance began to wish me joy of his constancy, my charms were declining, and I could not resist the delight I took in showing the young flirts about town it was yet in my power to give pain to a man of sense; this, and some private hopes he would hang himself, and what a glory would it be for me, and how I should be envied, made me accept of being third wife to my Lord Friday. I proposed, from my rank and his estate, to live in all the joys of pride; but how was I mistaken! he was neither extravagant, nor ill-natured, nor debauched. I suffered, however, more with him than with all my others. He was splenetic. I was forced to sit whole days hearkening to his imaginary ails; it was impossible to tell what would please him; what he liked when the sun shined made him sick when it rained; he had no distemper, but lived in constant fear of them all; my good genius dictated to me to bring him acquainted with Dr. Gruel: from that day he was always contented, because he had names for all his complaints; the good doctor furnished him with reasons for all his pains, and prescriptions for every fancy that troubled him; in hot weather he lived upon juleps, and let blood to prevent fevers; when it grew cloudy he generally apprehended a consumption; to shorten the history of this wretched part of my life, he ruined a good constitution by endeavouring to mend it; and took several medicines, which ended in taking the grand remedy which cured both him and me of all our uneasiness. After his death I did not expect to hear any more of Mr. Waitfort. I knew he had renounced me to all his friends, and been very witty upon my choice, which he affected to talk of with great indifferency. I gave over thinking of him, being told that he was engaged with a pretty woman and a great fortune; it vexed me a little, but not enough to make me neglect the advice of my cousin Wishwell, that came to see me the day my lord went into the country with Russell; she told me experimentally, nothing put an unfaithful lover and a dear husband so soon out of one's head as a new one, and at the same time proposed to me a kinsman of hers. You understand enough of the world,' said she, 'to know money is the most valuable consideration; he is very rich, and I am sure he cannot live long; he has a cough that must carry him off soon.' I knew

down dead at hearing this, but went from me with
such an air as plainly showed me he had laid all the
blame upon himself, and hated those friends that had
advised him to the fatal application; he seemed as
much touched by my misfortune as his own, for he
had not the least doubt I was still passionately in love
with him. The truth of the story is, my new hus-
band gave me reason to repent I had not stayed for
him; he had married me for my money, and I soon
found he loved money to distraction; there was no-
thing he would not do to get it; nothing he would
not suffer to preserve it; the smallest expense kept
him awake whole nights; and when he paid a bill,
it was with as many sighs, and after as many delays,
as a man that endures the loss of a limb. I heard
nothing but reproofs for extravagancy, whatever I
did. I saw very well that he would have starved
me, but for losing my jointures; and he suffered
agonies between the grief of seeing me have so
good a stomach, and the fear that if he had made me
fast, it might prejudice my health. I did not doubt
he would have broken my heart, if I did not break
his, which was allowable by the law of self-defence.
The way was very easy. I resolved to spend as
much money as I could; and, before he was aware
of the stroke, appeared before him in a two thou-
sand pound diamond necklace: he said nothing, but
went quietly to his chamber, and, as it is thought,
composed himself with a dose of opium. I behaved
myself so well upon the occasion, that to this day I
believe he died of an apoplexy. Mr. Waitfort was
resolved not to be too late this time, and I heard
from him in two days. I am almost out of my weeds
at this present writing, and very doubtful whether I
will marry him or no. I do not think of a seventh
for the ridiculous reason you mention, but out of
pure morality that I think so much constancy should
be rewarded, though I may not do it after all, per-
haps. I do not believe all the unreasonable malice
of mankind can give a pretence why I should have
been constant to the memory of any of the deceased,
or have spent much time in grieving for an insolent,
insignificant, negligent, extravagant, splenetic, or
covetous husband;-my first insulted me, my second
was nothing to me, my third disgusted me, the fourth
would have ruined me, the fifth tormented me,
the sixth would have starved me. If the other ladies
you name would thus give in their husbands' pictures
at length, you would see they have had as little reason
as myself to lose their hours in weeping and wailing."


No. 574.

FRIDAY, JULY 30, 1714.

Non possidentem multa vocaveris
Recte beatum. Rectius occupat
Nomen beati, qui Deorum
Maneribus sapienter uti,

Duramque callet pauperiem pati.-Hor 4 Od. ix. 45
Believe not those that lands possess,

And shining heaps of useless ore,
The only lords of happiness;

But rather those that know
For what kind fates bestow,
And have the heart to use the store
That have the generous skill to bear
The hated weight of poverty-CREECH.

than they want, there are few rich men in any of the politer nations, but among the middle sort of people, who keep their wishes within their fortunes, and have more wealth than they know how to enjoy. Persons of a higher rank live in a kind of splendid poverty, and are perpetually wanting, because, instead of acquiescing in the solid pleasures of life, they endeavour to outvie one another in shadows and appearances. Men of sense have at all times beheld, with a great deal of mirth, this silly game that is playing over their heads, and, by contracting their desires, enjoy all that secret satisfaction which I was once engaged in discourse with a Rosicru- others are always in quest of. The truth is, this cian about "the great secret." As this kind of ridiculous chase afte. imaginary pleasures cannot men (I mean those of them who are not professed be sufficiently exposed, as it is the great source of cheats) are overrun with enthusiasm and philosophy, those evils which generally undo a nation. Let a it was very amusing to hear this religious adept des- man's estate be what it will, he is a poor man if he canting on his pretended discovery. He talked of does not live within it, and naturally sets himself to the secret as of a spirit which lived within an eme-sale to any one that can give him his price. When rald, and converted every thing that was near it to Pittacus, after the death of his brother, who had left the highest perfection it is capable of. "It gives a him a good estate, was offered a great sum of money Justre," says he, " to the sun, and water to the dia- by the King of Lydia, he thanked him for his kindmond. It irradiates every metal, and enriches leadness, but told him he had already more by half than with all the properties of gold. It heightens smoke he knew what to do with. In short, content is equiinto flame, flame into light, and light into glory." valent to wealth, and luxury to poverty; or, to give He further added, "that a single ray of it dissipates the thought a more agreeable turn, "Content is pain, and care, and melancholy, from the person on whom it falls. In short," says he, " its presence naturally changes every place into a kind of heaven." After he had gone on for some time in this unintelligible cant, I found that he jumbled natural and moral ideas together into the same discourse, and that his great secret was nothing else but content.

This virtue does indeed produce, in some measure, all those effects which the alchymist usually ascribes to what he calls the philosopher's stone; and if it does not bring riches, it does the same thing, by banishing the desire of them. If it cannot remove the disquietudes arising out of a man's mind, body, or fortune, it makes him easy under them. It has indeed a kindly influence on the soul of man, in respect of every being to whom he stands related. It extinguishes all murmur, repining, and ingratitude, towards that Being who has allotted him his part to act in this world. It destroys all inordinate ambition, and every tendency to corruption, with regard to the community wherein he is placed. It gives sweetness to his conversation, and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts.

Among the many methods which might be made use of for the acquiring of this virtue, I shall only mention the two following. First of all, a man should always consider how much he has more than he wants and secondly, how much more unhappy he might be than he really is.

natural wealth," says Socrates; to which I shall add, "Luxury is artificial poverty." I shall therefore recommend to the consideration of those who are always aiming after superfluous and imaginary enjoyments, and will not be at the trouble of contracting their desires, an excellent saying of Bion the philosopher; namely, that "no man has so much care as he who endeavours after the most happiness."

In the second place, every one ought to reflect how much more unhappy he might be than he really is. The former consideration took in all those who are sufficiently provided with the means to make themselves easy; this regards such as actually lie under some pressure or misfortune. These may receive great elevation from such a comparison as the unhappy person may make between himself and others, or between the misfortune which he suffers, and greater misfortunes which might have befallen him.

I like the story of the honest Dutchman, who, upon breaking his leg by a fall from the mainmast, told the standers-by, it was a great mercy that it was not his neck. To which, since I am got into quotations, give me leave to add the saying of an old philosopher, who, after having invited some of his friends to dine with him, was ruffled by his wife, that came into the room in a passion, and threw down the table that stood before them: "Every First of all a man should always consider how one," says he, " has his calamity, and he is a happy much he has more than he wants. I am wonder-man that has no greater than this." We find an fully pleased with the reply which Aristippus made to one who condoled him upon the loss of a farm: "Why," said he, "I have three farms still, and you have but one; so that I ought rather to be afflicted for you than you for me.” On the contrary, foolish men are more apt to consider what they have lost than what they possess; and to fix their eyes upon those who are richer than themselves, rather than on those who are under greater difficulties. All the real pleasures and conveni ences of life lie in a narrow compass; but it is the humour of mankind to be always looking forward, and straining after one who has got the start of them in wealth and honour. For this reason, as there are mone can be properly called rich who have not more

instance to the same purpose in the Life of Doctor Hammond, written by Bishop Fell. As this good: man was troubled with a complication of distempers, when he had the gout upon him he used to thank God that it was not the stone; and when he had the stone, that he had not both these distempers on him at the same time.

I cannot conclude this essay without observing that there was never any system besides that of Christianity which could effectually produce in the mind of man the virtue I have hitherto been speaking of. In order to make us content with our present condition, many of the ancient philosophers tell us that our discontent only hurts ourselves, with out being able to make any alteration in our cir

cumstances; others, that whatever evil befalls us is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to which the gods themselves are subject; while others very gravely tell the man who is miserable, that it is necessary he should be so to keep up the harmony of the universe, and that the scheme of Providence would be troubled and perverted were he otherwise. These, and the like considerations, rather silence than satisfy a man. They may show him that his discontent is unreasonable, but are by no means sufficient to relieve it. They rather give despair than consolation. In a word, a man might reply to one of these comforters, as Augustus did to his friend who advised him not to grieve for the death of a person whom he loved, because his grief could not fetch him again: "It is for that very reason," said the emperor," that I grieve."

den poverty by threats of eternal punishment, and enjoined to pursue our pleasures under pain of damnation? He would certainly imagine that we were influenced by a scheme of duties quite opposite to those which are indeed prescribed to us. And truly, according to such an imagination, he must conclude that we are a species of the most obedient creatures in the universe; that we are constant to our duty; and that we keep a steady eye on the end for which we were sent hither.

But how great would be his astonishment when he learned that we were beings not designed to exist in this world above threescore and ten years, and that the greatest part of this busy species fall short even of that age? How would he be lost in horror and admiration, when he should know that this set of creatures, who lay out all their endeavours for this On the contrary, religion bears a more tender life, which scarce deserves the name of existenceregard to human nature. It prescribes to every when, say, he should know that this set of creamiserable man the means of bettering his condition;tures are to exist to all eternity in another life, for nay, it shows him that the bearing of his afflictions which they make no preparations? Nothing can as he ought to do, will naturally end in the removal | be a greater disgrace to reason, than that men, who of them; it makes him easy here, because it can make him happy hereafter.

Upon the whole, a contented mind is the greatest blessing a man can enjoy in this world; and if in the present life his happiness arises from the subduing of his desires, it will arise in the next from the gratification of them.

No. 575.] MONDAY, AUGUST 2, 1714.

-Nec morti esse locum

VIRG. Georg iv. 223.

No room is left for death-DRYDEN.

are persuaded of these two different states of being, should be perpetually employed in providing for a life of threescore and ten years, and neglecting to make provision for that, which after many myriads of years will be still new, and still beginning; espe cially when we consider that our endeavours for making ourselves great, or rich, or honourable, or whatever else we place our happiness in, may after all prove unsuccessful: whereas, if we constantly and sincerely endeavour to make ourselves happy in the other life, we are sure that our endeavous will succeed, and that we shall not be disappointed of our hope.

The following question is started by one of the A LEWD young fellow seeing an aged hermit go schoolmen :-Supposing the whole body of the by him barefoot, Father," says he, "you are in a earth were a great ball or mass of the finest saud, very miserable condition if there is not another and that a single grain or particle of this sand world."-"True, son," said the hermit, "but what should be annihilated every thousand years: Supis thy condition if there is ?" Man is a creature posing then that you had it in your choice to be designed for two different states of being, or rather happy all the while this prodigious mass of saud for two different lives. His first life is short and was consuming by this slow method, until there was transient; his second permanent and lasting. The not a grain of it left, on condition you were to be question we are all concerned in is this, in which of miserable for ever after? Or, supposing that you these two lives it is our chief interest to make our-might be happy for ever after on condition that you selves happy? Or, in other words, whether we should endeavour to secure to ourselves the pleasures and gratifications of a life which is uncertain and precarious, and at its utmost length of a very inconsiderable duration or to secure to ourselves the pleasures of a life which is fixed and settled, and will never end? Every man upon the first hearing of this question, knows very well which side of it he ought to close with. But however right we are in theory, it is plain that in practice we adhere to the wrong side of the question. We make provisions for this life as though it were never to have an end, and for the other life as though it were never to have a begining

Should a spirit of superior rank, who is a stranger to human nature, accidentally alight upon the earth, and take a survey of its inhabitants, what would his notions of us be? Would not he think that we were a species of beings made for quite different ends and purposes than what we really are? Must not ne imagine that we were placed in this world to get viches and honours? Would not he think that it was our duty to toil after wealth, and station, and Nay, would not he believe we were forbid


• The indicative for the potential mood.

would be miserable until the whole mass of sand were thus annihilated at the rate of one sand in a thousand years:—which of these two cases would you make your choice?

It must be confessed in this case, so many thou sands of years are to the imagination as a kind of eternity, though in reality they do not bear so great a proportion to that duration which is to follow them. as a unit does to the greatest number which you can put together in figures, or as one of those sands to the supposed heap. Reason therefore tells us, with out any manner of hesitation, which would be the better part in this choice. However, as I have be fore intimated, our reason might in such case be so overset by the imagination, as to dispose some persons to sink under the consideration of the great length of the first part of this duration, and of the great distance of that second duration which is to succeed it. The mind, I say, might give itself up to that happiness which is at hand, considering that it is so very near, and that it would last so very, long. But when the choice we actually have before us is this, whether we will choose to be happy for the space of only threescore and ten, nay, perhaps, of only twenty or ten years, I might say of only a day or an hour, and miserable to all eternity; 95,

on the contrary, miserable for this short term of years, and happy for a whole eternity: what words are sufficient to express that folly and want of consideration which in such a case makes a wrong choice?

I here put the case even at the worst, by supposing, what seldom happens, that a course of virtue makes us miserable in this life: but if we suppose, as it generally happens, that virtue would make us more happy even in this life than a contrary course of vice, how can we sufficiently admire the stupidity or madness of those persons who are capable of making so al-surd a choice?

Every wise man, therefore, will consider this life only as it may conduce to the happiness of the other, and cheerfully sacrifice the pleasures of a few years to those of an eternity.

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I steer against their motions, nor am I Borne back by all the current of the sky.-ADDISON. I REMEMBER a young man of very lively parts, and of a sprightly turn in conversation, who had only one fault, which was an inordinate desire of appearing fashionable. This ran him into many amours, and consequently into many distempers. He never went to bed until two o'clock in the morning, because he would not be a queer fellow; and was every now and then knocked down by a constable to signalize his vivacity. He was initiated into half a dozen clubs before he was oneand-twenty; and so improved in them his natural gaiety of temper, that you might frequently trace him to his lodgings by a range of broken windows, and other the like monuments of wit and gallantry. To be short, after having fully established his reputation of being a very agreeable rake, he died of old age at five-and-twenty.

There is indeed nothing which betrays a man into so many errors and inconveniences as the desire of not appearing singular; for which reason it is very necessary to form a right idea of singularity, that we may know when it is laudable, and when it is vicious. In the first place, every man of sense will agree with me, that singularity is laudable when, in contradiction to a multitude, it adheres to the dictates of conscience, morality, and honour. In these cases we ought to consider that it is not custom, but duty, which is the rule of action; and that we should be only so far sociable, as we are reasonable creatures. Truth is nevertheless so for not being attended to; and it is the nature of actions, not the number of actors, by which we ought to regulate our behaviour. Singularity in concerns of this kind is to be looked upon as heroic bravery, in which a man leaves the species only as he soars above it. What greater instance can there be of a weak and pusillanimous temper, than for a man to pass his whole life in opposition to his own sentiments? or not dare to be what he thinks he ought to be?

Singularity, therefore, is only vicious when it makes men act contrary to reason, or when it puts them upon distinguishing themselves by trifles. As for the first of these, who are singular in any thing that is irreligious, immoral, or dishonourable, believe every one will easily give them up. I shall therefore speak of those only who are remarkable for their singularity in things of no importance; as in SPECTATOR Nos. 83 & 84.

dress, behaviour, conversation, and all the little intercourses of life. In these cases there is a certain deference due to custom; and notwithstanding there may be a colour of reason to deviate from the multitude in some particulars, a man ought to sacrifice his private-inclinations and opinions to the practice of the public. It must be confessed that good sense often makes a humourist; but then it unqualifies him from being of any moment in the world, and renders him ridiculous to persons of a much inferior understanding.

I have heard of a gentleman in the north of England, who was a remarkable instance of this foolish singularity. He had laid it down as a rule within himself, to act in the most indifferent parts of life according to the most abstracted notions of reason and good sense, without any regard to fashion or example. This humour broke out at first in many little oddnesses: he had never any stated hours tor his dinner, supper, or sleep; because, said he, we ought to attend the calls of nature, and not set our appetites to our meals, but bring our meals to our appetites. In his conversation with country gentie men he would not make use of a phrase that was not strictly true: he never told any of them that he was his humble servant, but that he was his well-wisher; and would rather be thought a mal-content than drink the king's health when he was not dry. He would thrust his head out of his chamber-window every morning, and after having gaped for fresh air about half an hour, repeat fifty verses as loud as he could bawl them, for the benefit of his lungs: to which end he generally took them out of Homerthe Greek tongue, especially in that author, being more deep and sonorous, and more conducive to expectoration than any other. He had many other particularities, for which he gave sound and philosophical reasons. As this humour still grew upon him, he chose to wear a turban instead of a periwig; concluding very justly that a bandage of clean linen about his head was much more wholesome, as well as cleanly, than the caul of a wig, which is soiled by frequent perspirations. He afterwards judiciously observed, that the many ligatures in our English dress must naturally check the circulation of the blood; for which reason he made his breeches and his doublet of one continued piece of cloth, after the manner of the hussars. In short, by following the pure dictates of reason, he at length departed so much from the rest of his countrymen, and indeed from his whole species, that his friends would have clapped him into Bedlam, and have begged his estate: but the judge, being informed that he did no harm, contented himself with issuing out a commission of lunacy against him, and putting his estate into the hands of proper guardians.

The fate of this philosopher puts me in mind of a remark in Monsieur Fontenelle's "Dialogues of the Dead." "The ambitious and the covetous," says he, are madmen to all intents and purposes as much as those who are shut up in dark rooms; but they have the good luck to have numbers on their side; whereas the frenzy of one who is given up for a lunatic is a frenzy hors d'œuvre," that is, in other words, something which is singular in its kind, and does not fall in with the madness of a multitude.

The subject of this essay was occasioned by a letter which I received not long since, and which, for want of room at present, I shall insert in my next paper.

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not seem altogether easy; I took notice that the butler was never after this accident ordered to leave the bottle upon the table after dinner. Add to this, that I frequently overheard the servants mention me by the name of the crazed gentleman, the gen

THE letter mentioned in my last paper is as tleman a little touched, the mad Londoner,' and the follows:

"SIR, :

like. This made me think it high time for me to shift my quarters, which I resolved to do the first "You have so lately decried that custom, too handsome opportunity; and was confirmed in this much in use among most people, of making them-resolution by a young lady in the neighbourhood selves the subjects of their writings and conversation, who frequently visited us, and who one day, after that I had some difficulty to persuade myself to give having heard all the fine things I was able to say, you this trouble, until I had considered that though was pleased with a scornful smile to id me go to I should speak in the first person, yet I could not sleep." be justly charged with vanity, since I shall not add my name: as also, because what I shall write will not, to say the best, redound to my praise, but is only designed to remove a prejudice conceived against me, as I hope, with very little foundation. My short history is this:

"The first minute I got to my lodgings in town, I set pen to paper to desire your opinion, whether, upon the evidence before you, I am mad or not. I can bring certificates that I behave myself soberly before company, and I hope there is at least some merit in withdrawing to be mad. Look you, Sir, I "I have lived for some years last past altogether am contented to be esteemed a little touched as they in London, until about a month ago an acquaint-phrase it, but should be sorry to be madder than my ance of mine, for whom I have done some small neighbours; therefore, pray let me be as much in services in town, invited me to pass part of the my senses as you can afford. I know I could bring summer with him at his house in the country. I yourself as an instance of a man who has confessed accepted his invitation, and found a very hearty talking to himself; but yours is a particular case, welcome. My friend, an honest plain man, not and cannot justify me, who have not kept silence being qualified to pass away his time without the any part of my life. What if I should own myself reliefs of business, has grafted the farmer upon the in love? You know lovers are always allowed the gentleman, and brought himself to submit even comfort of soliloquy-But I will say no more upon to the servile parts of that employment, such as this subject, because I have long since observed the inspecting his plough, and the like. This neces-ready way to be thought mad is to contend that you sarily takes up some of his hours every day; and, as I have no relish for such diversions, I used at these times to retire either to my chamber or a shady walk near the house, and entertain myself with some agreeable author. Now, you must know, Mr. Spectator, that when I read, especially if it be poetry, it is very usual with me, when I meet with any passage or expression which strikes me much, to pronounce it aloud, with that tone of the voice which I think agreeable to the sentiments there expressed; and to this I generally add some motion or action of the body. It was not long before I was observed by some of the family in one of these heroic fits, who thereupon received impressions very much to my disadvantage. This, however, I did not soon discover, nor should have done probably, had it not been for the following accident. I had one day shut myself up in my chamber, and was very deeply engaged in the second book of Milton's Paradise Lost. I walked to and fro with the book in my hand; and, to speak the truth, I fear I made no little noise; when, presently coming to the following


On a sudden open fly,
With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,*
Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder, &c.

are not so; as we generally conclude that man drunk who takes pains to be thought sober. I will therefore leave myself to your determination; but am the more desirous to be thought in my senses, that it may be no discredit to you when I assure you that I have always been very much

"Your Admirer. "P.S. If I must be mad, I desire the young lady may believe it is for her."

"The humble Petition of John a Nokes and John a Styles,


"That your petitioners have had causes depending in Westminster hall above five hundred years, and that we despair of ever seeing them brought to an issue; that your petitioners have not been involved in these lawsuits out of any litigious temper of their own, but by the instigation of contentious persons; that the young lawyers in our inns of court are continually setting us together by the ears, and think they do us no hurt, because they plead for us without a fee; that many of the gentlemen of the robe have no other clients in the world besides us two; that when they have nothing else to do, they make us plaintiffs and defendants, though they were never retained by either of us; that they traduce, I in great transport threw open the door of my condemn, or acquit us, without any manner of rechamber, and found the greatest part of the family gard to our reputations and good names in the world, standing on the outside in a very great consterna-Your petitioners, therefore, being thereunto encou tion. I was in no less confusion, and begged pardon for having disturbed them; addressing myself particularly to comfort one of the children who received an unlucky fall in this action, while he was too intently surveying my meditations through the keyhole. To be short, after this adventure I easily observed that great part of the family, especially the women and children, looked upon me with some apprehensions of fear; and my friend himself, though he still continued his civilities to me, did

raged by the favourable reception which you lately gave to our kinsman Blank, do humbly pray that you will put an end to the controversies which have been so long depending between us your said peti tioners, and that our enmity may not endure from generation to generation; it being our resolution to live hereafter as it becometh men of peaceable dispositions.

"And your petitioners, as in duty bound, shall

ever pray," &c."

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