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haps, fmall flock of merit, at great intereft. What vaft returns, then, muft real merit, when thus adorned, neceffarily bring in! A prudent ufurer would with tranfport place his laft fhilling at fuch intereft, and upon fo folid a fecurity.

The man who is amiable, will make almost as many friends as he does acquaintances. I mean in the current acceptation of the word, but not fuch fentimental friends, as Pylades or Oreftes, Nyfus and Euryalus, &c, but he will make people in general with him well, and inclined to ferve him in any thing not inconfiftent with their own interest.

Civility is the effential article to wards pleafing, and is the refult of good nature and of good fenfe; but goodbreeding is the decoration, the luftre of civility, and only to be acquired by a minute attention to, and experience of, good company. A good-natured ploughman or fox-hunter, may be intentionally as civil as the politeft courtier; but their manner often degrades and vilifies the matter; whereas, in goodbreeding, the manner always adorns and dignifies the matter to fuch a degree, that I have often known give currency to bafe coin.

Civility is often attended by a ceremonioufnefs, which good-breeding corrects, but will not quite abolish. A certain degree of ceremony is a neceffary out-work of manners, as well as of reli. gion: it keeps the forward and petulant at a proper diftance, and is a very fmall reftraint to the fenfible, and to the wellbred part of the world. Chesterfield. § 21. A Dialogue between PLINY the

Elder and PLINY the Younger. Pliny the Elder. The account that you give me, nephew, of your behaviour a midst the terrors and perils that accompanied the first eruption of Vefuvius, does not please me much. There was more of vanity in it than true magnanimity. Nothing is great that is unnatural and affected. When the earth fhook beneath you, when the heavens were obfcured with fulphureous clouds, full of afhes and cinders thrown up from the bowels of the new-formed volcano,

when all nature feemed on the brink of deftruction, to be reading Livy, and making extracts, as if all had been fafe and quiet about you, was an absurd affectation. To meet danger with courage is the part of a man, but to be infenfible of it, is brutal ftupidity; and to pretend infenfibility where it cannot exift, is ridiculous falfeness. When you afterwards refufed to leave your aged mother, and fave yourself without her by flight, you indeed acted nobly. It was alfo becoming a Roman to keep up her fpirits, amidst all the horrors of that dreadful fcene, by fhewing yourfelf undifmayed and courageous. But the merit and glory of this part of your conduct is funk by the other, which gives an air of oftentation and vanity to the whole.

Pliny the Younger. That vulgar minds fhould fuppofe my attention to my ftudies in fuch a conjuncture unnatural and affected, I fhould not much wonder: but that you would blame it as fuch, I did not expect; you, who approached ftill nearer than I to the fiery ftorm, and died by the fuffocating heat of the vapour.

Pliny the Elder. I died, as a good and brave man ought to die, in doing my duty. Let me recall to your memory all the particulars, and then you shall judge yourfelf on the difference of your conduct and mine. I was the præfect of the Roman fleet, which then lay at Mifenum. Upon the firft account I received of the very unusual cloud that appeared in the air, I ordered a veffel to carry me out to fome diftance from the shore, that I might the better obferve the phenomenon, and try to dif cover its nature and caufe. This I did as a philofopher, and it was a curiosity proper and natural to a fearching, inquifitive mind. I offered to take you with me, and furely you should have defired to go; for Livy might have been. read at any other time, and fuch spectacles are not frequent: but you remained fixed and chained down to your book with a pedantic attachment. When I came out from my house, I found all the people forfaking their dwellings, and flying to the fea, as the fafeft retreat. To affist them, and all others

who

who dwelt on the coaft, I immediately ordered the fleet to put out, and failed with it round the whole bay of Naples, fteering particularly to thofe parts of the shore where the danger was greateft, and from whence the inhabitants were endeavouring to efcape with the most trepidation. Thus I fpent the whole day, and preferved by my care fome thousands of lives; noting, at the fame time, with a steady compofure and freedom of mind, the feveral forms and phenomena of the eruption. Towards night, as we approached to the foot of Vefuvius, all the gallies were covered with ashes and embers, which grew hotter and hotter; then fhowers of pumiceftones, and burnt and broken pyrites, began to fall on our heads: and we were stopped by the obftacles which the ruins of the mountain had fuddenly formed by falling into the fea, and almoft filling it up on that part of the coaft. I then commanded my pilot to fteer to the villa of my friend Pomponianus, which you know was fituated in the inmost recefs of the bay. The wind was very favourable to carry me thither, but would not allow him to put off from the fhore, as he wished to have done. We were therefore constrained to pafs the night in his houfe. They watched, and I flept, until the heaps of pumiceftones, which fell from the clouds, that had now been impelled to that fide of the bay, rose so high in the area of the apartment I lay in, that I could not have got out had I ftaid any longer; and the earthquakes were fo violent, as to threaten every moment the fall of the houfe: we therefore thought it more fafe to go into the open air, guarding our heads as well as we could with pillows tied upon them. The wind continuing adverfe, and the fea very rough, we remained on the fhore, until a fulphureous and fiery vapour oppreffed my weak lungs, and ended my life.In all this I hope that I acted as the duty of my station required, and with true magnanimity. But on this occafion, and in many other parts of your life, I muft fay, my dear nephew, that there was a vanity mixed with your virtue, which hurt and difgraced it. Without that, you would have been one of the worthieft

men that Rome has produced; for non ever excelled you in the integrity of your heart and greatness of your fentiments. Why would you lofe the fub ftance of glory by feeking the shadow? Your eloquence had the fame fault as your manners: it was too affected. You. profeffed to make Cicero your guide and your pattern: but when one reads his panegyric upon Julius Cæfar, in his oration for Marcellus, and yours upon Trajan; the first feems the language of nature and truth, raised and dignified with all the majesty of the moft fublime eloquence; the latter appears the ftudied harangue of a florid rhetorician, more defirous to fhine and fet off his own wit, than to extol the great man he was praifing.

Pliny the Younger. I have too high a refpect for you, uncle, to question your judgment either of my life or my writings; they might both have been better, if I had not been too folicitous to render them perfect. But it is not for me to fay much on that fubje&t: permit me therefore to return to the fubject on which we began our converfation. What a direful calamity was the eruption of Vefuvius, which you have now been defcribing! Do not you remember the beauty of that charming coaft, and of the mountain itself, before it was broken and torn with the violence of those fudden fires that forced their way through it, and carried defolation and ruin over all the neigh bouring country? The foot of it was covered with corn-fields and rich meadows, interfperfed with fine villas and magnificent towns; the fides of it were cloathed with the best vines in Italy, producing the richest and nobleft wines. How quick, how unexpected, how dreadful the change! all was at once overwhelmed with ashes, and cinders, and fiery torrents, prefenting to the eye the most difmal fcene of horror and de ruction!

Pliny the Elder. You paint it very truly. But has it never occurred to your mind that this change is an emblem of that which muft happen to every rich, luxurious ftate? While the inhabitants of it are funk in voluptuoufnefs, while all is smiling around

them,

them, and they think that no evil, no danger is nigh, the feeds of deftruction are fermenting within; and, breaking out on a fudden, lay wafte all their opulence, all their delights; till they are left a fad monument of divine wrath, and of the fatal effects of internal corruption.

Dialogues of the Dead.

§ 22. Humorous Scene at an Inn between

BONIFACE and AIMWELL.

Bon. This way, this way, Sir. Aim. You're my landlord, I fuppofe?

Bon. Yes, Sir, I'm old Will Boniface; pretty well known upon this road, as the faying is.

Aim. O, Mr. Boniface, your fervant, Bon. O, Sir-What will your honour pleafe to drink, as the faying is?

Aim. I have heard your town of Litchfield much famed for ale; I think I'll tafte that.

Box. Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale in Staffordshire: 'tis fmooth as oil, fweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy; and will be juft fourteen years old the fifth day of next March, old style.

Aim. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale.

Bon. As punctual, Sir, as I am in

the age of my children: I'll fhew you fuch ale!-Here, Tapfter, broach number 1706, as the faying is.- Sir, you fhall tafte my anno domini.-I have lived in Litchfield, man and boy, above eight-and-fifty years, and, I believe, have not confumed eight-and-fifty ounces of meat.

Aim. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess by your bulk.

Bon. Not in my life, Sir: I have fed purely upon ale: I have eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always fleep upon my ale.

Enter Tapfer with a Tankard. Now, Sir, you shall fee Your worfhip's health: [Drinks]-Ha! delicious, delicious!-Fancy it Burgundy, only fancy it-and 'tis worth ten fhillings a quart.

Aim. [Drinks]'Tis confounded ftrong.

Bon. Strong! it must be fo, or how would we be itrong that drink it? Aim. And have you lived fo long upon this ale, landlord?

Bon. Eight-and-fifty-years, upon my credit, Sir: but it kill'd my wife, poor woman! as the faying is

Aim. How came that to pafs ?

Bon. I don't know how, Sir,- fhe would not let the ale take its natural

courfe, Sir: fhe was for qualifying it every now and then with a dram, as the faying is; and an honest gentleman that came this way from Ireland, made her a prefent of a dozen bottles of ufquebaugh-but the poor woman was never well after-but, however, I was obliged to the gentleman, you know.

Aim. Why, was it the ufquebaugh that killed her.

Bon. My lady Bountiful faid foShe, good lady, did what could be done: fhe cured her of three tympanies: but the fourth carried her off: but she's happy, and I'm contented, as the faying is.

Aim. Who's that lady Bountiful you mentioned ?

Bon. Ods my life, Sir, we'll drink her health; [Drinks]-My lady Bountiful is one of the best of women. Her laft hufband, Sir Charles Bountiful, left her worth a thousand pounds a year; and, I believe, the lays out one-half on't in charitable ufes for the good of her neighbours.

Aim. Has the lady any children?

Bon. Yes, Sir, he has a daughter by Sir Charles; the finest woman in all our county, and the greatest fortune. She has a fon too, by her first buf band, 'fquire Sullen, who married at fine lady from London t'other day: if you pleafe, Sir, we'll drink his health. [Drinks.]

Aim. What fort of a man is he? Bon. Why, Sir, the man's well e. nough; fays little, thinks lefs, and does nothing at all, faith; but he's a man of great eftate, and values nobody.

Aim. A fportfman, I fuppofe?

Bon. Yes, he's a man of pleasure ; he plays at whift, and fmokes his pipe eight-and-forty hours together fometimes.

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Aim. A fine fportfman, truly!-and married, you fay?

Bon. Ay; and to a curious woman, Sir. But he's my landlord, and fo a man, you know, would not.- -Sir, my humble service to you. [Drinks.] Tho' I value not a farthing what he can do to me: I pay him his rent at quarter-day; I have a good running trade; I have but one daughter, and I can give her but no matter for that. Aim. You're very happy, Mr. Boniface pray, what other company have you in town?

Bon. A power of fine ladies; and

then we have the French officers.

Aim. O, that's right, you have a good many of thofe gentlemen: pray, how do you like their company?

Bon. So well, as the faying is, that I could wish we had as many more of 'em. They're full of money, and pay double for every thing they have. They know, Sir, that we paid good round taxes for the taking of 'em; and fo they are willing to reimburfe us a little: one of 'em lodges in my houfe. [Bell rings.] I beg your worship's pardon-I'll wait on you in half a minute.

$23. Endeavour to pleafe, and you can

fcarcely fail to please.

The means of pleafing vary according to time, place, and perfon; but the general rule is the trite one, Endeavour to please, and you will infallibly pieafe to a certain degree: conftantly fhew a defire to pleafe, and you will engage people's felf-love in your intereft; a most powerful advocate. This, as indeed almost every thing else, depends on attention.

Be therefore attentive to the most trifling thing that paffes where you are; have, as the vulgar phrafe is, your eyes and your ears always about you. It is a very foolish, though a very common faying, "I really did not mind it," or,

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I was thinking of quite another thing at that time." The proper anfwer to fuch ingenious excufes, and which admits of no reply, is, Why did you not mind it? you was prefent when it was faid or done. Oh! but you may fay, you was thinking of quite another

thing; if fo, why was you not in quite another place proper for that important other thing, which you fay you was thinking of? But you will fay perhaps, that the company was fo filly, that it did not deferve your attention: that, I am fure, is the faying of a filly man; for a man of fenfe knows that there is no company fo filly, that fome use may not be made of it by attention.

Let your addrefs, when you firft come into company, be modeft, but without the leaft bashfulness or fheepishness; fteady, without impudence; and unembarraffed, as if you were in your own room. This is a difficult point to hit, and therefore deferves great attention; nothing but a long ufage in the world, and in the best company, can poffibly give it.

A young man, without knowledge of the world, when he first goes into a fafhionable company, where most are his fuperiors, is commonly either annihilated by bashfulness, or, if he rouses and lafhes himfelf up to what he only thinks a modeft affurance, he runs in to impudence and abfurdity, and confequently offends inftead of pleafing, Have always, as much as you can, that gentleness of manner, which never fails to make favourable impreffions, provided it be equally free from an infipid fmile, or a pert fmirk.

Carefully avoid an argumentative and difputative turn, which too many people have, and fome even value themfelves upon, in company; and, when your opinion differs from others, maintain it only with modefty, calmness, and gentleness; but never be eager, loud, or clamorous; and, when you find your antagonist begining to grow warm, put an end to the dispute by fome genteel ftroke of humour. For, take it for granted, if the two best friends in the world difpute with eagerness upon the moft trifling fubject imaginable, they will, for the time, find a momentary alienation from each other. Difputes upon any fubject are a fort of trial of the understanding, and muft end in the mortification of one or other of the difputants. On the other hand, I am far from meaning

that

that you fhould give an univerfal affent to all that you hear faid in company; fuch an affent would be mean, and in fome cafes criminal; but blame with indulgence, and correct with gentleness.

. Always look people in the face when you fpeak to them; the not doing it is thought to imply confcious guilt; befides that, you lofe the advantage of obferving by their countenances, what impreffion your difcourfe makes upon them, In order to know people's real fentiments, I truft much more to my eyes than to my ears; for they can fay whatever they have a mind I fhould hear; but they can feldom help looking what they have no intention that I fhould know.

If you have not command enough over yourself to conquer your humours, as I am fure every rational creature may have, never go into company while the fit of ill-humour is upon you. Inftead of company's diverting you in thofe moments, you will difpleafe, and probably fhock them; and you will part worfe friends than you met: but when ever you find in yourself a difpofition to fullennefs, contradiction, or teftinefs, it will be in vain to feek for a cure abroad. Stay at home, let your humour ferment and work itfelf off. Cheerfulnefs and good-humour are of all qualifications the moft amiable in company; for, though they do not neceffarily im. ply good-nature and good-breeding, they reprefent them, at leaft, very well, and that is all that is required in mixt

company.

I have indeed known fome very illnatured people, who were very goodhumoured in company; but I never knew any one generally ill-humoured In company, who was not effentially illnatured. When there is no malevolence in the heart, there is always a cheerfulness and eafe in the countenance and manners. By good-humour and cheerfulness, I am far from meaning noify mirth and loud peals of laughter, which are the diftinguishing characteriftics of the vulgar and of the ill-bred, whofe mirth is a kind of ftorm. Obferve it, the vulgar often laugh, but never smile; whereas, well-bred people

often fmile, but feldom laugh. A witty thing never excited laughter; it pleases only the mind, and never distorts the countenance: a glaring abfurdity, a blunder, a filly accident, and those things that are generally called comical, may excite a laugh, though never a loud nor a long one, among well-bred people.

Sudden paffion is called fhort-lived madness; it is a madnefs indeed, but the fits of return fo often in choleric people, that it may well be called a continual madnefs. Should you happen to be of this unfortunate difpofition, make it your conftant ftudy to fubdue, or, at least, to check it; when you find your choler rifing, refolve neither to speak to, nor anfwer the perfon who excites it; but ftay till you find it fubfiding, and then fpeak deliberately. Endeavour to be cool and steady upon all occafions; the advantages of fuch a steady calmnefs are innumerable, and would be too tedious to relate. It may be acquired by care and reflection; if it could not, that reafon which diftinguishes men from brutes would be given us to very little purpose: as a proof of this, I never faw, and farcely ever heard of a Quaker in a paffion. In truth, there is in that fect a decorum and decency, and an amiable fimplicity, that I know in no other, Chesterfield.

§ 24. A Dialogue between M. APICIUS and DARTENEUF.

Darteneuf. Alas! poor Apicius.-I pity thee much, for not having lived in my age and my country. How many good dishes have I eat in England, that were unknown at Rome in thy days!

Apicius. Keep your pity for yourself. -How many good difhes have I eat in Rome, the knowledge of which has been loft in thefe latter degenerate days! the fat paps of a fow, the livers of fcari, the brains of phenicopters, and the tripotanum, which confifted of three forts of fifh for which you have no names, the lupus marinus, the myxo, and the murænus.

Darteneuf. I thought the muræna had been our lamprey. We have excellent ones in the Severn, Apicins

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