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nourable; but in this cafe, the very attempt is become very ridiculous: but in spite of all the raillery of the world, truth is still truth, and will have beauties inseparable from it. I should, upon this occasion, bring examples of heroic chastity, were I not afraid of having my paper thrown away by the modish part of the town, who go no farther at best, than the mere absence of ill, and arc contented to be rather irreproachable, than praise-worthy. In this particular, a gentleman in the court of Cyrus reported to his majesty the charms and beauty of Panthea; and ended his panegyric by telling him, that since he was at leisure, he would carry him to visit her. But that prince, who is a very great man to this day, answered the pimp, because he was a man of quality, without roughness, and said, with a smile, "If I should visit her upon your introduction, now I have leisure, I don't know but I might go again upon her own invitation, when I ought to be better employed." But when I cast about all the instances which I have met with in all my reading, I find not one so generous, so honest, and so noble, as that of Joseph in holy writ. When his master had trusted him so unreservedly (to speak it in the emphatical manner of the scripture) "He knew not aught he had save the bread which he did eat," he was so unhappy as to appear irresistibly beautiful to his mistress; but when this shameless woman proceeds to solicit him, how gallant is his answer! •* Behold my master wotteth not what is with me in the house, and hath committed all that he hath to my hand; there is none greater in the house than F, neither hath he kept back any thing from me but thee, because thou art his wife." The fame argument, which a base mind would have made to itself for committing the evil, was to this brave man the greatest motive for for. bearing it, that he could do it with impunity; the malice and salshood of the disappointed woman naturally arose on that occasion, and there is but a short step from the practice of virtue to the hatred of it. It would therefore be worth serious consideration in both

sexes, and the matter is of importance enough to them, to asle themselves whether they would change lightness of heart, indolence of mind, chearful meals, untroubled slumbers, and gentle dispositions, for a constant pruriency which shuts out all things that are great or indifterent, clouds the imagination with insensibility and prejudice to all manner of delight, but that which is common to all creatures that extend their species.

A loose behaviour, and an inattention to every thing that is serious, flowing from some degree of this petulancy, is observable in the generality of the youth of both sexes in this age. It is the one common face of most public meetings, and breaks in upon the sobriety, I will not say severity, that we ought to exercise in churches. The pert boys and flippant girls are but faint followers of those in the seme inclinations at more advanced years. I know not who can oblige them to mend their manners; all that I pretend to, is to enter my protest, that they are neither fine gentlemen nor fine ladies for this behaviour. As for the portraitures which I would propose, as the images of agreeable men and women, if they are not imitated or regarded, lean only answer, as I remember Mr. Dryden did on the like occasion, when a young fellow, just come from the play of Cleomenes, told him in raillery against the continency of his principal character, If I had been alone with a lady, I should not have passed my time like your Spartan : "That may be," answered the bard with a very grave face; "but give me leave to tell you, Sir, you are no hero." Guardian.

i 115. The Cbaraliers of Gamesters.

The whole tribe of gamesters may be ranked under two divisions: Every man who makes carding, dicing, and betting his daily practice, is either a dupe or a searper; two characters equally the objects cf envy and admiration. The dupe is generally a person of great fortune and weak intellects,

«« Who will as tenderly be led by th' nose, •« As asses are." Shakespxark.

He

He plays, not that he has any delight in cajds and dice, buc because it is the , fashion; and is whist or hazard are proposed, he wiil no more refuse to make one at the table, than among a set of .hard drinkers he would object drinking his glass in turn, because he is not dry.

There are some few instances of men of fense, as well as family and fortune, who have been dupes and bubbles. Such an unaccountable itch of play has seized them, that they have sacrificed every thing to it, and have seemed wedded to seven's the main, and the odd trick. There is not a more melancholy object than a gentleman of fense thus infatuated. He makes himself and family a prey to a gang of villains more infamous than highwaymen; and perhaps when his ruin is- completed, ■he is glad to join with the very scoundrels that destroyed him, and live upon the spoil of others, whom he can draw into the fame follies that proved so fatal to himself.

Here we may take a survey of the character of a sharper ; and that he may have no room to complain of soul play, let us begin with his excellencies. You will perhaps be startled, Mr. Town, when I mention the excellencies of a sharper; but a gamester, who makes a decent figure in the world, must be endued with many amiable qualities, which would undoubtedly appear with great lustre, were they not eclipsed by the odious character affixed to his trade. In order to carry on the common bustness of his profeslion, he must be a man of quick and lively parts, attended with a stoical calmness of temper, and a constant presence of mind. He must smile at the loss of thousands; and is not to be discomposed, though ruin stares him in the lace. As he is to live among the great, he must not want politeness and affability; he must be fubmislive, but not servile; he must be master of an ingenuous liberal air, and have a seeming openness of behaviour.

These must be the chief accomplishments of onr hero: but lest I should be accused of giving too favourable a likeness of him, now we have seen his outside, let as take a view of his heart. There we (hall find avarice the main*

spring that moves the whole machine. Every gamester is eaten up with avarice; and when this passion is in full force, it is more strongly predominant than any other. It conquers even lust; and conquers it more effectually than age. At sixty we look at a fine woman with pleasure; but when cards and dice have engrossed our attention, women and all their charms are flighted at fi veand-twenty. A thorough gamester renounces Venus and Cupid for Plutus and Ames-ace, and owns no mistress of his heart except the q ueen of trumps. His insatiable avarice can only be gratified by hypocrisy; so that all thosespecious virtues already mentioned, and which, if real, might be turned to the benefit of mankind, must be directed in a gamester towards the destruction of his fellow-creatures. His. quick and lively parts serve only to instruct and assist him in the most dexterous method of packing the cards and cogging the dice ; his fortitude, which, enables him to lose thousands without emotion, must often be practised against the stings and reproaches of his own. conscience, and his liberal deportment and affected openness is a specious veil to rerommend and conceal the blackest: villainy.

It is now necessary to take a second survey of his heart; and as we have seen its vices, let us consider its miseries. The covetous man who has not sufficient courage or inclination to encrease his fortune by bets, cards, or dice, but is contented to hoard up thousands by thefts less public, or by cheats less liable to uncertainty, lives in a state of perpetual suspicion and terror; but the avaricious fears of the gamester are infinitely greater. He is constantly to wear a mafle; and like Monsieur St. Croix, coadjutcur to that famous empoi/onneuse. Madame Brinvillier, if his mask falls off, he runs the hazard of being suffocated by the stench of his own poisons. I have seen some examples of this sort not many years ago at White's. I am uncertain whether the wretches are still alive; but if they are, they breathe like toads under ground, crawling amidst old walls, and paths bng since unfrequented.

But

Bat supposing that the Sharper's hypocrisy remains undetected, in what a state of mind must that man be, whose fortune depends upon the insincerity of his heart, the dilingenuity of his behaviour, and the false bias of hit dice i What sensations mull he suppress, when he is obliged to smile, although he is provoked; when he must look serene in the height of despair: and when he mult act the stoic, without the conso. lation of one virtuous sentiment, or one moral principle! How unhappy must he be even in that situation from which he hopes to reap most benefit; I mean amidst stars, garters, and the various herds of nobility 1 Their lordships are not always in a humour for play : they choose to laugh; they choose to joke; in the mean while our hero must patiently await the good hour, and must not only join in the laugh, and applaud the joke, but must humour every turn and caprice to which that set of spoiled children, called bucks of quality, are liable. Surely his brother Thicket's employment, of sauntering on horseback in the wind and rain till the Reading coach passes through Smallberrygreen, is the more eligible, and no less honest occupation.

The Sharper has also frequently the mortification of being thwarted in his designs. Opportunities of fraud will not for ever present themselves. The false dice cannot be constantly produced, nor the packed cards always be placed upon the table. It is then our gamester is in the greatest danger. But even then, when he is in the power of fortune, and has nothing but mere luck and fair play on his side, he must stand the brunt, and perhaps give away his last guinea, as coolly as he would lend a nobleman a (hilling.

Our hero is now going off the stage, and his catastrophe is very tragical. The next news we hear of him is his death, atchieved by his own hand, and with his own pistol. An inquest is bribed, he is buried at midnight, and forgotten before fun-rife.

These two portraits of a Sharper, wherein I have endeavoured to (hew different likenesses in the fame man, put me in mind of an old print, which

I remember at Oxford, of count Guiscard. At first sight he was exhibited in a fall-bottomed wig, a hatand feather, embroidered cloaths, diamond buttons, and the full court dress of those days; but by pulling a string the folds of the paper were shifted, the face only remained, a new body came forward, and count Guiscard appeared to be a devil. Connoijseur.

§ n6. Tie Tatler'j Ad-vice to bit Sijler Jenny; a good Lejson for young Ladies.

My brother Tranquillus being gone out of town lot some days, my sister Jenny sent me word she would come and dine with me, and therefore desired me to have no other company. I took Care accordingly, and was not a little pleased to see her enter the room with a decen t and matron-like behaviour.which I thought very much became her. I saw she had a great deal to say to me, and easily discovered in her eyes, and the air of her countenance, that (he had abundance of satisfaction in her heart, which (he longed to communicate. However, I was resolved to let her break into her discourse her own way, and reduced her to a thousand little devices and intimations to bring me to the mention of her husband. But finding I was resolved not to name him, she began of her own accord ; " My husband," says (he, "gives his humble service to you j" to which I only answered, <« I hope he is well;" and without waiting for a reply, fell into other subjects. She at last was out of all patience, and said, with a smile and manner that I thought had more beauty and spirit than I had ever observed before in her; " I did not' think, brother, you had been so illnatured. You have seen ever since I came in, that I had a mind to talk of my huiband, and you will not be so kind as to give me an occasion." ** I did not know," said I," but it might be a disagreeable subject to you. You do not take me for so old-fashioned a fellow as to think of entertaining a young lady with the discourse os her husband. I know nothing is more acceptable than to speak of one who is to be so; but to speak of one who is so—indeed, Jenny, 3 D lam

f am a better bred inan than you think me." She shewed a little dislike to my >aillery> and by her bridling up, I perceived flie expected to be treated hereafter not as Jenny Distaff, but Mrs. Tranquillusi I was very well pleased with the change in her humour, and tipon talking with her on several subjects, 1 could not but fancy that I saw a great deal of her husband's way and manner in her remarks, her phrases, the tone1 of her voice; and the very air of her countenance. This gave me an unspeakable satisfaction, not only because 1 had sound her a husband from' ■whom she could learn many things that were laudable, but also because I looked upon her imitation of him as an infallible sign that she entirely loved him. This is an observation that I never knew sail, though I do not remember that any other has made it. The natural slyness of her sex hindered her from telling me thegreatnessof herown passion,bull easily collected it from the representation stie gave me of his. " I have every thing in Tranquillus," fays she, " that I can wish for and enjoy in him (what indeed you told me were to be met with in a good husband) the fondness of a lover, the tenderness of a parent, and the intimacy of a friend." It transported me to see her eyes swimming in tears of affection when she spoke. "And is there not, dear siller," said I," more pleasure 5n the possession of such a man, than in all the little impertinences of balls, assemblies, and equipage, which it cost me so much pains to make you contemn?" She answered smiling, " Tranquillus has made me a sincere convert in a few weeks, though I am afraid you could not have done it in your whole life. To tell you truly, I have only one fear hanging upon me, which is apt to give me trouble in the midst of ail my satisfactions: lam afraid, you must know, that 1 shall not always make the fame amiable appearance in his eyes, that I do at present. You know, brother Bickerstaff, that you have the reputation of a conjurer, 2nd if you have any one secret ia your art to make your sister always beautiful, I should be happier than if I were mistress of all the y. or klj you have shewn me in a starry

night." "Jenny/' said T, »* without having recourse to magic, I shall givfc you one plain rule, that will not fail of making you always amiable to a mail who has so great a passion for you, and is of so equal and reasonable a temper as Tranquillus; Endeavour to please, and you must please. Be always in the fame disposition as you are when you ask for this secret, and you may take "my word, you will never want it: an inviolable fidelity, good-humour, and complacency of temper, outlive all the charms of a sine face, and make the decays of it invisible." Tatler.

§117. Curiosity.

The love of variety, or curiosity of" seeing new things, which is the fame or at least a sister passion to it,— seems wove into the frame of every son and daughter of Adam; we usually speak of it as one of nature's levities, though planted within us for the solid purposes of carrying forward the mind to fresh enquiry and knowledge: strip us of it; the mind (I fear) would doze for ever: over the present page; and we should all of us rest at ease with such objects as presented themselves in the parish or province where we first drew breath.

It is to this spur which is ever in our sides, that we owe the impatience of this desire for travelling: the passion is no ways bad,—but as others are^-in its mismanagement or excess j—order it rightly, the advantages are worth the pursuit; the chief of which are—to learn the languages, the laws and customs, and understand the government and interest of other nations,'—to acquire an urbanity and confidence of behaviour, and sit the mind more easily for conversation and discourse ;—to take us out of the company of our aunts and grandmothers, and from the tracks of nursery mistakes; and by shewing us new objects, or old ones in new lights, to reform our judgments—by tasting perpetually the varieties of nature, to know what is good—by observing the address and arts of men, to conceive what is sincere,— and by seeing the difference of so many various humcirs and manners—— to look into ourselves and form our own,

Yliis is some part of the cargo we might return with; but the impulse os feeing new sights, augmented with that oe getting clear from all lessons both of wisdom and reproof at home—carries our youth too early out, to turn this venture to much accounts on the contrary, if the scene painted of the prodigal in his travels, 'looks more like a copy than an original—will it not be well if such an adventurer, with so unpromising a setting-out,—without care, —without compass,—be not cast away for ever,—and may he not be said to escape well—if he returns to his country only as naked as he first left it?

But you will send an able pilot with your son—a scholar.—

If wisdom could spealc no Other language but Greek or Latin—you do well—or if mathematics will make a gentleman,—or natural philosophy but teach him to make a bow,—he may be of some service in introducing your son into good societies, and supporting him in them when he has done—but the upshot will be generally this, that in the most pressing occasions of address, if he is a mere man of reading, the unhappy youth will have the tutor to carry, —and not the tutor to carry him.

But you will avoid this extreme; he /hall be escorted by one who knows the ■world, not merely from books—but from his own experience :—a man who Tias been employed on such services, and thrice made the tour of Europe with success.

—That is,without breaking his own, or his pupil's neck;—for if he is such as my eyes have seen! some broken Swiss valet-de-chambre some general undertaker, who will perform the journey in so many months, " if God perjnit,"—much knowledge will not accrue;— some profit at least,— he will learn the amount to a halfpenny, of every stage from Calais to Rome ;—he will be carried to the best inns,—instructed where there is the best wine, and sup a livre cheaper, than if the youth had been left, to make the tour and bargain himself. Look at our governor! I beseech you :—see, he is an i-.ch taller as he relates the advantages,—

—And here endeth his pride—-his knowledge, and his use.

But when your son gets abroad, he will be taken out of his hand, by his society with men of rank and letters, with whom he will pass the greatest part of his time.

Let me observe, in the first place,—that company which is really good, is very rare—and very ihy: but you have surmounted this difficulty, and procured him the best letters of recommendation to the most eminent and respectable in every capital.

And I answer, that he will obtain air by them, which courtesy strictly stands obliged to pay on such occasions,—but no more.

There is nothing in which we are so much deceived, as in the advantages proposed from our connections and discourse with the literati, &c. in foreign parts; especially if the experiment is made before we are matured by years or study.

Conversation i* a trasfiefc; and if you enter into it, without some stock of knowledge, 10 balance the account perpetually betwixt you,—the trade drops at once: and this is the reason,—howeves it may be boasted to the contrary, why travellers have so little (especially good) conversation with natives,— owing to their suspicion,—or perhaps conviction, that there is nothing to be extracted from the conversation of young itinerants, worth the trouble of their bad language,—or the interruption of their visits.

The pain on these occasions is usually reciprocal; the consequence of which, is, that the disappointed youth seeks an easier society; and as bad company is always ready/— ind ever laying in wait —the career is soon finished; and the poor prodigal returns the fame object of pity, with the prodigal in the gospel. £ ter tie's Sermons.

§118. Controversy seldom decently conduP.cd.

'Tis no uncommon circumstance in

controversy, for the parties to engage ia

all the fury of disputation, without pre

3 D z «isel)'

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