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am hid from the eyes of mankind, and begin to appear contemptible in my own. The image of my former felf haunts and feems to upbraid me whereever I go I meet it under the gloom of every fhade; it even intrudes itfelf into your prefence, and chides me from your arms. O goddefs! unless you have power to lay that troublesome fpirit, unless you can make me forget myfelf, I cannot be happy here, I fhall every day be more wretched.

Circe, May not a wife and good man who has spent all his youth in active life and honourable danger, when he begins to decline have leave to retire, and enjoy the rest of his days in quiet and pleasure ?

Ulyffes. No retreat can be honourable to a wife and good man, but in company with the Mules; I am deprived of that facred fociety here. The Mufes will not inhabit the abodes of voluptuoufnefs and fenfual pleasure. How can I ftudy, how can I think, while fo many beafts (and the worst beafts I know are men turned into beafts) are howling, or roaring, or grunting about me?

Circe. There is fomething in this; but this is not all you fupprefs the ftrongest reafon that draws you to Ithaca. There is another image, befides that of your former felf, which appears to you in all parts of this ifland, which follows your walks, which interpofes itfelf between you and me, and chides you from my arms: it is Penelope, Ulyffes, I know it is. Do not pretend to deny it: you figh for her in my bofom itfelf.-And yet fhe is not an immortal. She is not, as I am, endowed with the gift of unfading youth feveral years have paft fince her's has been faded. I think, without vanity, that he was never fo handfome as I. But what is fhe now?

Ulyffes. You have told me yourself, in a former converfation, when I inquired of you about her, that he is true to my bed, and as fond of me now, after twenty years abfence, as when I left her to go to Troy. I left her in the bloom of her youth and her beauty. How much must her conflancy have been tried fince that time! how meritorious is her fidelity! Shall I reward her with falfehood? fhall I forget her who cannot forget me; who

has nothing fo dear to her as my remembrance?

Circe. Her love is preferved by the continual hope of your speedy return. Take that hope from her: let your companions return, and let her know that you have fixed your abode here with me; that you have fixed it for ever let her know that the is free to difpofe of her heart and her hand as the pleases. Send my picture to her; bid her compare it with her own face.-If all this does not cure her of the remains of her paffion, if you do not hear of her marrying Eurymachus in a twelvemonth, I underftand nothing of womankind.

Ulyffes. O cruel goddefs! why will you force me to tell you thofe truths I wish to conceal? If by fuch unjust, fuch barbarous ufage, I could lofe her heart, it would break mine. How should I endure the torment of thinking that I had wronged fuch a wife? what could make me amends for her not being mine, for her being another's? Do not frown, Circe; I own, (fince you will have me fpeak) I own you could not with all your pride of immortal beauty, with all your magical charms to affift those of nature, you are not fuch a powerful charmer as the. You feel defire, and you give it; but you never felt love, nor can you infpire it. How can I love one who would have degraded me into a beaft? Penelope raifed me into a hero her love ennobled, invigorated, exalted my mind, She bid me go to the fiege of Troy, tho' the parting with me was worse than death to herfelf: the bid me expofe myfelf there to all perils among the foremost heroes of Greece, though her poor heart trembled to think of the leaft I should meet, and would have given all its own blood to fave a drop of mine. Then there was fuch a conformity in all our inclinations! when Minerva taught me the leffons of wisdom, fhe loved to be prefent; fhe heard, fhe retained the moral inftructions, the fublime truths of nature, fhe gave them back to me, foft. tened and fweetened with the peculiar graces of her own mind. When we unbent our thoughts with the charms of poetry, when we read together the poems of Orpheus, Mufæus, and Linus, with what tafte did the mark every excellence

in them! My feelings were dull, compared to her's. She feemed herfelf to be the Mufe who had infpired thofe verfes, and had tuned their lyres to infufe into the hearts of mankind the love of wisdom and virtue, and the fear of the gods. How beneficent was fhe, how good to my people! what care did fhe take to inftruct them in the finer and more elegant arts; to relieve the neceffities of the fick and the aged; to fuperintend the education of children; to do my fubjects every good office of kind interceffion; to lay before me their wants; to affift their petitions; to mediate for those who were objects of mercy; to fue for those who deferved the favours of the crown! And fhall I banish my felf for ever from fuch a confort? fhall I give up her fociety for the brutal joys of a fenfual life, keeping indeed the form of a man, but having loft the human foul, or at least all its noble and godlike powers? Oh, Circe, forgive me; I can not bear the thought.

Circe. Begone do not imagine I ask you to stay. The daughter of the Sun is not fo mean-fpirited as to folicit a mortal to fhare her happiness with her. It is a happiness which I find you cannot enjoy. I pity you and defpife you. That which you feem to value fo much I have no notion of. All you have faid feems to me a jargon of fentiments fitter for a filly woman than for a great man. Go, read, and fpin too, if you pleafe, with your wife. I forbid you to remain another day in my ifland. You fhall have a fair wind to carry you from it. After that, may every form that Neptune can raise purfue and overwhelm you! Begone, I fay, quit my fight.

Ulyffes. Great goddefs, I obey-but remember your oath.

§ 13. Love and Joy, a Tale. In the happy period of the golden age, when all the celeftial inhabitants defcended to the earth, and converfed fa. miliarly with mortals, among the most cherished of the heavenly powers were twins, the offspring of Jupiter, Love and Joy. Where they appeared the flowers fprung up beneath their feet, the fun fhone with a brighter radiance, and all nature seemed embellished by their pre

fence. They were infeparable companions, and their growing attachment was favoured by Jupiter, who had decreed that a lafting union fhould be folemnized between them fo foon as they were arrived at maturer years but in the mean time the fons of men deviated from their native innocence; vice and ruin over- ran the earth with giant ftrides; and Aftrea, with her train of celeftial vifitants, forfook their polluted abodes: Love alone remained, having been ftolen away by Hope, who was his nurfe, and conveyed by her to the forefts of Arcadia, where he was brought up among the fhepherds. But Jupiter af figned him a different partner, and commanded him to efpoufe Sorrow, the daughter of Até: he complied with reluctance; for her features were harsh and difagreeable; her eyes funk, her fore head contracted into perpetual wrinkles, and her temples were covered with a wreath of cyprefs and wormwood. From this union fprung a virgin, in whom. might be traced a strong resemblance to both her parents; but the fullen and unamiable features of her mother were so mixed and blended with the sweetness of her father, that her countenance, though mournful, was highly pleafing. The maids and fhepherds of the neighbouring plains gathered round, and called her Pity. A red-breast was obferved to build in the cabin where the was born; and while fhe was yet an infant, a dove purfued by a hawk flew into her bofom. This nymph had a dejected appearance, but fo foft and gentle a mien, that he was beloved to a degree of enthufiafm. Her voice was low and plaintive, but inexpreffibly fweet; and the loved to lie for hours together on the banks of fome wild and melancholy ftream, finging to her lute. She taught men to weep, for fhe took a ftrange delight in tears; and often, when the vir gins of the hamlet were affembled at their evening fports, fhe would steal in amongst them, and captivate their hearts. by her tales full of a charming fadnefs. She wore on her head a garland compofed of her father's myrtles twisted with her mother's cyprefs.

One day, as the fat mufing by the waters of Helicon, her tears by chance fell

into

into the fountain; and ever fince the Mufes' fpring has retained a strong tafte of the infufion. Pity was commanded by Jupiter to follow the fteps of her mother through the world, dropping balm into the wounds fhe made, and binding up the hearts fhe had broken. She follows with her hair loose, her bofom bare and throbbing, her garments torn by the briars, and her feet bleeding with the roughness of the path. The nymph is mortal, for her mother is fo; and when fhe has fulfilled her deftined courfe upon the earth, they fhall both expire together, and Love be again united to Joy, his immortal and long-betrothed bride. Aikin's Mifcel.

14. Scene between Colonel RIVERS and
Sir HARRY; in which the Colonel, from
Principles of Honour, refuses to give his
Daughter to Sir HARRY.

Sir Har. Colonel, your moft obedient: I am come upon the old bufinefs; for, unless I am allowed to entertain hopes of Mifs Rivers, I fhall be the moft miferable of all human beings.

Riv. Sir Harry, I have already told you by letter, and I now tell you perfonally, I cannot listen to your propofals.

Sir Har. No, Sir !

Riv. No, Sir: I have promifed my daughter to Mr. Sidney. Do you know that, Sir?

Sir Har. I do but what then? Engagements of this kind, you know-Riv. So then, you do know I have promised her to Mr. Sidney?

Sir Har. I do-But I alfo know that matters are not finally fettled between Mr. Sidney and you; and I moreover know, that his fortune is by no means equal to mine: therefore

Riv. Sir Harry, let me ask you one question before you make your confequence.

Sir Har. A thousand, if you please, Sir.

Riv. Why then, Sir, let me afk you, what you have ever obferved in me, or my conduct, that you defire me fo familiarly to break my word? I thought, Sir, you confidered me as a man of honour ?

Sir Har. And fo I do, Sir-a man of the nicest honour.

Riv. And yet, Sir, you ask me to violate the fanctity of my word; and tell me directly, that it is my interest to be a rafcal.

Sir Har. I really don't understand you, Colonel; I thought, when I was talking to you, I was talking to a man who knew the world; and as you have not yet figned-

Riv. Why, this is mending matters with a witnefs! And fo you think, becaufe I am not legally bound, I am under no neceffity of keeping my word! Sir Harry, laws were never made for men of honour: they want no bond but the rectitude of their own fentiments; and laws are of no ufe but to bind the villains of fociety.

Sir Har. Well! but, my dear Colonel, if you have no regard for me, fhew fome little regard for your daughter.

Riv. I fhew the greatest regard for my daughter, by giving her to a man of honour; and I muft not be infulted with any farther repetition of your propofals.

Sir Har. Infult you, Colonel! Is the offer of my alliance an infult? Is my readiness to make what fettlements you think proper

Riv. Sir Harry, I fhould confider the offer of a kingdom an infult, if it were to be purchafed by the violation of my word. Befides, though my daughter fhall never go a beggar to the arms of her husband, I would rather fee her happy than rich; and if the has enough to provide handsomely for a young family, and fomething to fpare for the exigencies of a worthy friend, I fhall think her as affluent as if he were mistress of Mexico.

Sir Har. Well, Colonel, I have done; but I believe

Riv. Well, Sir Harry, and as our conference is done, we will, if you please, retire to the ladies. I fhall be always glad of your acquaintance, though I cannot receive you as a fon-in-law; for a union of intereft I look upon as a union of difhonour, and confider a marriage for money at beft but a legal proftitution.

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$15. On Dignity of Manners.

There is a certain dignity of manners abfolutely neceffary, to make even the moft valuable character either refpected or refpectable.

Horfe-play, romping, frequent and loud fits of laughter, jokes, waggery, and indifcriminate familiarity, will fink both merit and knowledge into a degree, of contempt. They compofe at moft a merry fellow; and a merry fellow was never yet a refpectable man. Indifcriminate familiarity either offends your fuperiors, or elfe dubs you their dependent and led captain. It gives your inferiors juft, but troublesome and improper claims of equality. A joker is near akin to a buffoon; and neither of them is the leaft related to wit. Whoever is admitted or fought for, in company, upon any other account than that of his merit and manners, is never refpected there, but only made ufe of. We will have fuch-a-one, for he fings prettily; we will invite fuch-a-one to a ball, for he dances well; we will have fuch-a-one at fupper, for he is always joking and laughing; we will ask ano. ther, because he plays deep at all games, or because he can drink a great deal. These are all vilifying diftinctions, mortifying preferences, and exclude all ideas of esteem and regard. Whoever is had (as it is called) in company, for the fake of any one thing fingly, is fingly that thing, and will never be confidered in any other light; confequently never refpected, let his merits be what they will.

This dignity of manners, which I recommend fo much to you, is not only as different from pride, as true courage is from bluftering, or true wit from joking, but is abfolutely inconfiftent with it; for nothing vilifies and degrades more than pride. The pretenfions of the proud man are oftener treated with fneer and contempt, than with indignation; as we offer ridiculously too little to a tradefman, who afks ridiculously too much for his goods; but we do not haggle with one who only asks a juft and reasonable price.

Abject flattery and indifcriminate affentation degrade, as much as indifcri

minate contradiction and noisy debate difguft. But a modeft affertion of one's own opinion, and a complaifant acquiefcence in other people's, preserve dignity.

Vulgar, low expreffions, aukward motions and addrefs, vilify, as they imply either a very low turn of mind, or low education, and low company.

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Frivolous curiofity about trifles, and laborious attention to little-objects, which neither require nor deserve a moment's thought, lower a man; who from thence is thought (and not unjustly) incapable of greater matters. Cardinal de Retz, very fagaciously, marked out Cardinal Chigi for a little mind, from the moment that he told him he had wrote three years with the fame pen, and that it was an excellent good one ftill.

A certain degree of exterior ferioufnefs in looks and motions gives dignity, without excluding wit and decent cheerfulness, which are always ferious themfelves. A conftant fmirk upon the face, and a whiffling activity of the body, are ftrong indications of futility. Whoever is in a hurry, fhews that the thing he is about is too big for him-hafte and hurry are very different things.

I have only mentioned fome of thofe things which may, and do, in the opinion of the world, lower and fink cha racters, in other refpects valuable enough; but I have taken no notice of thofe that affect and fink the moral characters: they are fufficiently obvious. A man who has patiently been kicked, may as well pretend to courage, as a man blafted by vices and crimes, to dignity of any kind. But an exterior decency and dignity of manners, will even keep fuch a man longer from finking, than otherwise he would be: of fuch confequence is the TO PETOV, or decorum, even though affected and put on!

Lord Chesterfield.

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frequent good company, they muft want attention and observation very much, if they do not lay it quite afide; and in deed if they do not, good company will be very apt to lay them afide. The various kinds of vulgarifms are infinite; I cannot pretend to point them out to you; but I will give fome famples, by which you may guess at the rest.

A vulgar man is captious and jealous; eager and impetuous about trifles: he fufpects himself to be flighted; thinks every thing that is faid meant at him; if the company happens to laugh, he is perfuaded they laugh at him; he grows angry and tefty, fays fomething very impertinent, and draws himself into a fcrape, by fhewing what he calls a proper fpirit, and afferting himself. A man of fashion does not fuppofe himself to be either the fole or principal object of the thoughts, looks, or words of the company; and never fufpects that he is either flighted or laughed at, unless he is confcious that he deferves it. And if (which very feldom happens) the company is abfurd or ill-bred enough to do either, he does not care two-pence, unless the infult be fo grofs and plain as to require fatisfaction of another kind. As he is above trifles, he is never vehement and eager about them; and, wherever they are concerned, rather acquiefces than wrangles. Avulgar man's converfation always favours ftrongly of the lowness of his education and company: it turns chiefly upon his domeftic affairs, his fervants, the excellent order he keeps in his own family, and the little anecdotes of the neighbourhood; all which he relates with emphafis, as interefting matters. He is a man-goffip.

Vulgarifm in language is the next, and diftinguishing characteristic of bad company, and a bad education. A man of fashion avoids nothing with more care than this. Proverbial expreflions and trite fayings are the flowers of the rhe toric of a vulgar man. Would he fay, that men differ in their taftes; he both fupports and adorns that opinion, by the good old faying, as he refpectfully calls it, that "what is one man's meat is ano"ther man's poifon." If any body attempts being Smart, as he calls it, upon him; he gives them tit for tat, aye, that

he does. He has always fome favourite word for the time being; which, for the fake of ufing often, he commonly abufes. Such as vaftly angry, vaftly kind, vaftly handfome, and vastly ugly. Even his pronunciation of proper words carries, the mark of the beaft along with it. He calls the earth yearth; he is obleiged not obliged to you. He goes to wards and not towards fuch a place. He fometimes affects hard words, by way of ornament, which he always mangles. A man of fafhion never has recourfe to proverbs and vulgar aphorifms; ufes neither favourite words nor hard words; but takes great care to speak very correctly and gram. matically, and to pronounce properly; that is, according to the ufage of the beft companies.

An aukward addrefs, ungraceful attitudes and actions, and a certain lefthandinefs (if I may use that word) loudly proclaim low education and low company; for it is impoffible to fuppose that a man can have frequented good com. pany, without having catched fomething, at least, of their air and motions. A new-raifed man is diftinguished in a regiment by his aukwardness; but he muft be impenetrably dull, if, in a month or two's time, he cannot perform at least the common manual exercife, and look like a foldier. The very accoutrements of a man of fashion are grievous incumbrances to a vulgar man. He is at a lofs what to do with his hat, when it is not upon his head; his cane (if unfortunately he wears one) is at perpetual war with every cup of tea or coffee he drinks; deftroys them firft, and then accompanies them in their fall. His fword is formidable only to his own legs, which would. pofiibly carry him faft enough out of the way of any fword but his own. His cloaths fit him fo ill, and constrain him fo much, that he seems rather their prifoner than their proprietor. He prefents himself in company like a criminal in a court of justice; his very air condemns him; and people of fashion will no more connect themselves with the one, than people of character will with the other. This repulfe drives and finks him into low company; a gulph from whence no man, after a certain age, ever emerged. Lord Chesterfield.

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