Not Hebrew, Arabic, Syriac, Coptic, nor even the Chinese language, seems half so difficult to me as the language of refusal.

I actually dreamed that somebody told me I must not print my pieces separate; that certain stars would, if single, be hardly conspicuous, which, united in a narrow compass, form a very splendid constellation.

The ways of ballad-singers, and the cries of halfpenny pamphlets, appeared so extremely humorous, from my lodgings in Fleet-street, that it gave me pain to observe them without a companion to partake. For, alas! laughter is by no means a solitary entertainment.

Had I a fortune of eight or ten thousand pounds a year, I would, methinks, make myself a neighbourhood. I would first build a village, with a church, and people it with inhabitants of some branch of trade that was suitable to the country round: I would then, at proper distances, erect a number of genteel boxes of about a thousand pounds a-piece, and amuse myself with giving them all the advantages they could receive from taste. These would I people with a select number of well-chosen friends, assigning to each annually the sum of two hundred pounds for life. The salary should be irrevocable, in order to give them independency; the house of a more precarious tenure, that, in cases of ingratitude, I might introduce another inhabitant. How plausible, however, this may appear in speculation, perhaps a very natural and lively novel might be founded upon the inconvenient consequences of it, when put in execution.

I think, I have observed universally that the

quarrels of friends in the latter part of life, are never truly reconciled. "Malè sarta gratia nequicquam coit, et rescinditur;" a wound in the friendship of young persons, as in the bark of young trees, may be so grown over, as to leave no scar. The case is very different in regard to old persons and old timber. The reason of this may be accountable from the decline of the social passions, and the prevalence of spleen, suspicion, and rancour, towards the latter part of life.

There is nothing, to me, more irksome than to hear weak and servile people repeat, with admiration, every silly speech that falls from a mère person of rank and fortune. It is "crambe bis cocta." The nonsense grows more nauseous through the medium of their admiration, and shows the venality of vulgar tempers, which can consider fortune as the goddess of wit.

What pleasure it is to pay one's debts! I remember to have heard Sir T. Lyttleton make the same observation. It seems to flow from a combination of circumstances, each of which is productive of pleasure. In the first place, it removes that uneasiness, which a true spirit feels from dependence and obligation: it affords pleasure to the creditor, and therefore gratifies our social affection: it promotes that future confidence, which is so very interesting to an honest mind: it opens a prospect of being readily supplied with what we want on future occasions: it leaves a consciousness of our own virtue and it is a measure we know to be right, both in point of justice and of sound economy. Finally, it is a main support of simple reputation.

It is a maxim with me (and I would recommend it to others also, upon the score of prudence) whenever I lose a person's friendship, who generally commences enemy, to engage a fresh friend in his place and this may be best effected by bringing over some of one's enemies; by which means one is a gainer, having the same number of friends at least, if not an enemy the less. Such a method of proceeding, should, I think, be as regularly ob served, as the distribution of vacant ribbons, upon the death of knights of the garter.

It has been a maxim with ine to admit of an easy reconciliation with a person, whose offence proceeded from no depravity of heart; but where I was convinced it did so, to forego, for my own sake, all opportunities of revenge; to forget the persons of my enemies as much as I was able, and to call to remembrance, in their place, the more pleasing idea of my friends. I am convinced that I have derived no small share of happiness from this principle.

I have been formerly so silly as to hope, that every servant I had might be made a friend: I am now convinced that the nature of servitude generally bears a contrary tendency. People's characters are to be chiefly collected from their education and place in life; birth itself does but little. Kings in general are born with the same propensities as other men; but yet, it is probable, that from the licence and flattery that attends their education, that they will be more haughty, more luxurious, and more subjected to their passions, than any men beside. I question not but there are many attorneys born with open and honest hearts: but I know not one,

that has had the least practice, who is not selfish, trickish, and disingenuous. Só it is the nature of servitude to discard all generous motives of obedience, and to point out no other than those scoundrel ones of interest and fear. There are, however, some exceptions to this rule, which I know by my own experience.

XXV. ON DRESS.

DRESS, like writing, should never appear the effect of too much study and application. On this ac count, I have seen parts of dress, in themselves extremely beautiful, which at the same time subject the wearer to the character of foppishness and af fectation.

A man's dress in the former pårt of life should rather tend to set off his person, than to express riches, rank, or dignity: in the latter, the reverse.

Extreme elegance in liveries, I mean such as is expressed by the more languid colours, is altogether absurd. They ought to be rather gaudy than genteel; if for no other reason, yet for this, that elegance may more strongly distinguish the appearance of the gentleman.

It is a point out of doubt with me, that the ladies are most properly the judges of the men's dress, and the men of that of the ladies.

I think, till thirty, or with some a little longer, people should dress in a way that is most likely to procure the love of the opposite sex.

There are many modes of dress, which the world

esteems handsome, which are by no means calculated to show the human figure to advantage.

Love can be founded upon nature only, or the appearance of it, for this reason; however a peruke may tend to soften the human features, it can very seldom make amends for the mixture of artifice which it discovers.

A rich dress adds but little to the beauty of a person. It may possibly create a deference, but that is rather an enemy to love:

"Non bene conveniunt, nec in unâ sede morantur, Majestas et Amor."

Ovid.

Simplicity can scarce be carried too far, provided it be not so singular as to excite a degree of ridicule. The same caution may be requisite in regard to the value of your dress: though splendour be not necessary, you must remove all appearance of poverty, the ladies being rarely enough sagacious to acknowledge beauty through the disguise of poverty. Indeed, I believe sometimes they mistake grandeur of dress for beauty of person.

A person's manner is never easy, whilst he feels a consciousness that he is fine. The country fellow, considered in some lights, appears genteel; but it is not when he is dressed on Sundays, with a large nosegay in his bosom: it is when he is reaping, making hay, or when he is hedging in his hurden frock it is then he acts with ease, and thinks himself equal to his apparel.

When a man has run all lengths himself with regard to dress, there is but one means remaining, which can add to his appearance; and this consists in having recourse to the utmost plainness of his