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I will swim over the river: I can swim chine of a Frenchman, or his leg, or his like a duck.

Toulder? there is fine eating! I have eat Miercury. Swim over the Styx! it must twenty:-My table was always well served. not be done; it is against the laws of Plu. My wife was the best cook for dressing of to's empire. You must go in the boat, man's Acth in all North America. You and be quiet.

will not pretend to compare your eating Savage. Do not tell me of laws: I am with mine. a Savage: I value no laws. Talk of laws Duellift. I danced very finely. to the Englithman : there are laws in his Savage. I will dance with thee for thy country, aud yet you see he did not regard ears.- 1 can dance all day long. I can them. For they could never allow him to dance the war-dance with more spirit and kill his fellow-subject in time of peace, be- vigour than any man of my nation: let us cause he asked him to pay a debt. I know see thee begin it. How thou standest like that the English are a barbarous nation ; a poit! Has Mercury struck thee with his but they cannot be so brutal as to make enfeebling rod ? or art thou ashamed to let such things lawful.

us see how awkward thou art? If he would Mercury. You reason well against him. permit me, I would teach thee to dance in But how comes it that you are lo offended a way that thou hast not yet learnt. I would with murder: you who have mafiacred make thec caper and leap like a buck. women in their sleep, and children in their But what else canst thou do, thou bragging cradles?

rascal ? Savage. I killed none but my enemies; Duellif. Oh, heavens! mult I bear I never killed my own countrymen: I never this? what can I do with this fellow? I killed my friend. Here, take my blanket, have neither sword nor pistol; and his shade and let it come over in the boat; but fee seems to be twice as strong as mire. that the murderer does not fit upon it, or Mercury. You must answer his questouch it; if he does I will burn it in the tions. It was your own desire to have a fire I see yonder. Farewell.-I am re- conversation with him. He is not wellfolved to swim over the water.

bred; but he will tell you some truths Mercury. By this touch of my wand I which you must hear in this place. It would take all thy firength from thee. Swim have been well for you if you had heard now if thou canit.

them above. He asked you

could Savage. This is a very potent enchan- do besides eating and dancing. ter.--Restore me my strength, and I will Duellift. I sung very agreeably. obey thee.

Savage. Let me hear you sing your Mercury. I refore it; but be orderly, death-long,orrhe war-whoop. I challenge and do as I bid you, otherwise worfe will you to fing,--the fellow is mute.- Mer

cury, this is a liar.-He tells us nothing Duellist

. Mercury, leave him to me. I but lies. Let me pull out his tongue. will tutor him for you. Sirrah, Savage, Duellif. The lie given me!-and, alas! doft thou pretend to be athamed of my I dare not recent itOh, what a disgrace company? Dost thou know that I have to the family of the Pushwell's ! this inkept the best company in England ? deed is damnation.

Savage. I know thou art a scoundrel. Mercury. Here Charon, take these two -Not pay thy debts! kill thy friend, who savages to your care. How far the barbalent thee money, for asking thee for it! rism of the Mohawk will excuse his horrid Get out of my sight. I will drive thee acts, I leave Minos to judge; but the Enginto Styx.

lishman, what excuse can he plead? The Mercury. Stop-I command thee. No custom of duelling? A bad excuse at the violence.-Talk to him calmly.

best! but in his case cannot avail. The Savage. I must obey thee.-Well, Sir, spirit that made him draw his sword in this let me know what merit you had to intro- combat against his friend is not that of hoduce you into good company? What could nour; it is the spirit of the furies, of Alecto

herself. To her he must go, for the hath Duellift. Sir, I gamed, as I told you.- long dwelt in his merciless bofom. Befides, I kept a good table.--I eat as well

Savage. If he is to be punished, turn as any man in England or France. him over to me. I understand the art of

Savage. Eat! Did you ever eat the tormenting. Sirrah, 1 begin with this kick

what you

befal you.

you do?

on your breech.. Get you into the boat, Smith. What rule can that be, I wonor I'll give you another. I am impatient der? to have you condemned.

Bayes. Why; Sir, when I have any Duellif. Oh, my honour, my honour, thing to invent, I never trouble my head to what infamy art thou fallen!

about it, as other men do, but presently Dialogues of the Dead. turn over my book of Drama common

places, and there I have, at one view, all

that Persius, Montaigne, Seneca's trage§ 19. Bayes's Rules for Composition. dies, Horace, Juvenal, Claudian, Pliny, Smith. How, Sir, helps for wit! Plutarch's Lives, and the rest, have ever

Bayes. Ay, Sir, that's my position : and thought upon this subject; and so, in a I do here aver, that no man the fun e'er trice, by leaving out a few words, or putThone upon,


parts sufficient to furnish ting in others of my own—the business is out a stage, except it were by the help of done. these my rules.

Smith. Indeed, Mr. Bayes, this is as Smith. What are those rules, I pray? sure and compendious a way of wit as ever Bayes. Why, Sir, my first rule is the I heard of. rule of transversion or regula duplex, chang- Bayes. Sir, if you make the least scru. ing verse into prose, and prose into verte, ple of the efficacy of these my rules, do alternately, as you please.

but come to the play-house, and you shall Smith. Well, but how is this done by judge of them by the effects.—But now, rule, Sir?

pray, Sir, may I ask you how you do when Bayes. Why thus, Sir; nothing so easy, you write? when understood. I take a book in my Smith. Faith, Sir, for the most


I hand, either at home or elsewhere (foram in pretty good health. that's all one); if there be any wit in't Bayes. Ay, but I mean, what do you (as there is no book but has some) I tranf- do when you write? verse it; that is, if it be prose, put it into Smith. I take pen, ink, and paper, and verse (but that takes up some time); and sit down. if it be verse put it into prose.

Bayes. Now I write standing ; that's Smith. Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that put- one thing: and then another thing is ting verse into prose, fhould be called with what do you prepare yourself? transposing:

Smith. Prepare myself! What the deBayes. By my troth, Sir, it is a very vil does the fool mean? good notion, and hereafter it shall be so. Bayes. Why I'll tell you now what I

Smith. Well, Sir, and what d'ye do do:- If I am to write familiar things, as with it then?

sonnets to Armida, and the like, I make Bayes. Make it my own: 'tis so chang- use of itew'd prunes only; but when I have ed, that no man can know it-My next a grand delign in hand, I ever take phyrule is the rule of concord, by way of fic and let blood: for when you would table-book. Pray observe.

have pure swiftness of thought, and fiery Smith, I hear you, Sir: go on.

fights of fancy, you must have a care of Bayes. As thus : I come into a coffee- the pensive part.-In fine, you must purge house, or some other place where witty the belly. men resort; I make as if I minded no- Smith. By my troth, Sir, this is a most thing (do ye mark?) but as soon as any admirable receipt for writing. one speaks-pop, I slap it down, and make Bayes. Ay, 'tis my secret; and, in that too my own.

good earnest, I think one of the best I Smith. But, Mr. Bayes, are you not have. sometimes in danger of their making you Smith. In good faith, Sir, and that may restore by force, what you have gotten very well be, thus by art?

Bayes. May be, Sir! I'm sure on't. Bayes. No, Sir, the world's unmindful; Experto crede Roberto, But I must give you they never take notice of thele things. this caution by the way- be sure you never

Smith. But pray, Mr. Bayes, among take snuff when you write. all your other rules, have you no one rule Smith. Why so, Sir ? for invention?

Bayes. Why, it spoiled me once one Bayes. Yes, Sir, that's my third rule: of the sparkilheft plays in all England. that I have here in my pocket,

But a friend of mine, ac Grelham-college,



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has promifed to help me to some spirit of adorned, neceffarily bring in ! A prudent brains and that shall do


business. usurer would with transport place his laft $ 20. The Art of Pleasing,

Shilling at such intereft, and upon so solid a

. security. The desire of being pleased is universal:

The man who is amiable, will make althe desire of pleasing should be so too. It moft as many friends as he does acquaintis included in that great and fundamental I mean in the current acceptation principle of morality, of doing to others of the word, but not such sentimental what one wishes they should do to us. friends, as Pylades or Orestes, Nyfus and There are indeed some moral duties of a Euryalus, &c. but he will make people in much higher nature, but none of a more general with him well, and inclined to serve amiable; and I do not hesitate to place it him in any thing not inconsistent with their at the head of the minor virtues.

own intereft. The manner of conferring favours or Civility is the effential article towards benefits is, as to pleasing, almost as im- pleasing, and is the result of good-nature portant as the matter ițielf

. Take care, and of good sense; but good-breeding is then, never to throw away the obligations, the decoration, the luftre of civility, and which perhaps you may have it in your only to be acquired by a minute attention power to confer upon others, by an air of to, and experience of good company. A infolent protection, or by a cold and com- good-natured ploughman er fox-hunter, fortless manner, which ftiples them in their may be intentionally as civil as the politest birth. Humanity inclines, religion re- courtier; but their manner often degrades quires, and our moral duties oblige us, as and vilifies the matter; whereas, in goodfar as we are able, to relieve the distresses breeding, the manner always adorns and and miseries of our fellow-creatures : but dignifies the matter to such a degree, that this is not all; for a true heart-felt benevo. I have often known it give currency to lence and tenderness will prompt us to con- base coin. tribute what we can to their ease, their Civility is often attended by a ceremoamusement, and their pleasure, as far as niousness, which good-breeding corrects, innocently we may. Let us then not only but will not quite abolish. A certain descatter benefits, but even strew flowers for gree of ceremony is a neceffary out-work our fellowtsavellers, in the rugged ways of manners, as well as of religion : it keeps of this wretched world.

the forward and petulant at a proper difThere are some, and but too many in tance, and is a very small restraint to the this country particularly, who, without the sensible, and to the well-bred part of the least visible taint of ill.nature or malevo- world.

Chesterfield. lence, seem to be totally indifferent, and do not thew the least desire to please ; as, § 21. A Dialogue between Pliny the Elder on the other hand, they never designedly

and PLINY the Younger. offend. Whether this proceeds from a la- Pliny the Elder. The account that you zy, negligent, and littlels disposition, from give me, nephew, of your behaviour amidst a gloomy and melancholic nature, from ill the terrors and perils that accompanied the health, low spirits, or from a secret and first eruption of Vesuvius, does not pleafe sullen pride, arising from the consciousnels me much. There was more of vanity in of their boasted liberty and independency, it than true magnanimity. Nothing is great is hard to determine, considering the va

that is unnatural and affected. When the rious movements of the human heart, and earth thook beneath you, when the heavens the wonderful errors of the human head, were obscured with sulphureous clouds, full But, be che caufe what it will, that neutra- of athes and cinders thrown up from the lity, which is the effect of it, makes these bowels of the new-formed volcano, when people, as neutralities do, despicable, and all nature seemed on the brink of demere blanks in society, They would surely struction, to be reading Livy, and making be roused from their indifference, if they extracts, as if all had been safe and quiet would seriously consider the infinite utility about you, was an absurd affectation. To of pleasing.

meet danger with courage is the part of a The person who manifests a constant man, but to be insensible of it, is brutal ftudesire to please, places his, perhaps, small pidity; and to pretend infenfibility where ftock of merit at great intereft. What vaft it cannot exist, is ridiculous falleness. When feturns, then, mult real merit, when thus you afterwards refused to leave your aged

mother, mother, and save yourself without her by and we were stopped by the obstacles which flight, you indeed acte". 'nobly. It was the ruins of the mountains had suddenly allo becoming a Roman to keep up her spis formed by falling into the sea, and almoit rits, amidit all the horors of that dreadfulfilling it up on the part of the coast. I scene, by Mewing yourself undismayed and then commanded my pilot to iteer to the courageous. But the merit and glory of villa of my friend Pomponianus, which you this part of your conduct is funk by' the know was situated in the inmost recels of other, which gives an air of ostentation and the bay. The wind was very favourable vanity to the whole.

to carry me thither, but would not allow Pliny the Younger. That vulgar minds him to put off from the shore, as he wished should suppose my attention to my studies to have done. We were therefore conin such a conjuncture unnatural and affect. ftrained to pass the night in his house. ed, I should not much wonder: but that you They watched, and I Nept, until the heaps would blame it as such, I did not expect; of pumice-stones, which fell from the clouds, you, who approached still nearer than I to that had now been impelled to that side of the fiery storm, and died by the suffocating the bay, rose so high in the area of the heat of the vapour.

apartment I lay in, that I could not have Pliny the Elder. I died, as a good and got out had I staid any longer; and the brave man ought to die, in doing my du- earthquakes were fo violent, as to threaten ty. Let me recall to your memory all the every moment the fall of the house : we particulars, and then you shall judge your therefore thought it more safe to go into self on the difference of your conduct and the open air, guarding our heads as well mine. I was the præfect of the Roman as we could with pillows tied upon them. fleet, which then lay at Misenum. Upon The wind continuing adverse, and the sea the first account I received of the very very rough, we remained on the shore, un. unusual cloud that appeared in the air, í til a sulphureous and fiery vapour oppressed ordered a vessel to carry me out to some my weak lungs, and ended my life. In distance from the shore, that I might the all this I hope that I acted as the duty of better observe the phenomenon, and try to my station required, and with true magnadiscover its nature and cause, This I did nimity. But on this occasion, and in many as a philosopher, and it was a curiosity pro- other parts of your life, I must say, my dear per and natural to a searching, inquisitive nephew, that there was a vanity mixed with mind. I offered to take you with me, and your virtue, which hurt and disgraced it. surely you should have défired to go; for Without that, you would have been one of Livy might have been read at any other the worthiest men that Rome has produced; time, and such spectacles are not frequent: for none ever excelled you in the integrity but you remained fixed and chained down of your heart and greatness of your sentito your book with a pedantic attachment. ments. Why would you lose the substance When I came out from my house, I found of glory by seeking the shadow ? Your all the people forsaking their dwellings, eloquence had the fame fault as your manand Aying to the sea, as the fafest retreat. ners: it was too affected. You professed To afüft them, and all others who dwelt on to make Cicero your guide and your patthe coast, I immediately ordered the fleet tern: but when one reads his panegyric to put out, and failed with ic round the upon Julius Cæsar, in his oration for Marwhole bay of Naples, steering particularly cellus, and yours upon Trajan ; the firt to those parts of the shore where the dan- seems the language of nature and truth, ger was greatest, and from whence the in- raised and dignified with all the majesty of habitants were endeavouring to escape with the most sublime eloquence; the latter apthe most trepidation. Thus I spent the pears the studied harangue of a florid rhewhole day, and preserved by my care some torician, more desirous to shine and set off thousands of lives; noting at the same his own wit, than to extol the great man he time, with a steady composure and freedom was praising. of mind, the several forms of and phenomena Pliny the Younger. I have too high a of the eruption. Towards night, as we respect for you, uncle, to question your approached to the foot of Vesuvius, all the judgment either of my life or my writings ; gallies were covered with alhes and em- they might both have been better, if I had bers, which grew hotter and hotter; then not been too solicitous to render them pershowers of pumice. stones, and burnt and feet. But it is not for me to say much on broken pyrites, began to fall on our heads: that subject : permit me therefore to re

turn to the subject on which we began our as the saying is-Sir, you shall taste my conversation. What a direful calamity anno domini. have lived in Litchfield, was the eruption of Vesuvius, which you man and boy, abwe eight-and-fifty years. have now been describing ! Do not you and, I believe, have not consumed eightremember the beauty of that charming and fifty ounces of meat. coast, and of the mountain itself, before it Aim. At a meal, you mean, if one may was broken and torn with the violence of guess by your bulk. those sudden fires that forced their way Bon. Not in my life, Sir; I have fed through it, and carried desolation and ruin purely upon ale: I have eat my ale, drank over all the neighbouring country? The my ale, and I always sleep upon my ale. foot of it was covered with corn-fields and rich meadows, interspersed with fine villas

Enter Tapster with a Tankard. and magnificent towns; the sides of it were Now, Sir, you shall see-Your worship's clothed with the best vines in Italy, pro- health : [Drinks)-Ha! delicious, deliciducing the richest and noblest wines. How ous :-Fancy it Burgundy, only fancy itquick, how unexpected, how dreadful the and 'tis worth ten shillings a quart. change! all was at once overwhelmed with Aim. (Drinks) 'Tis confounded strong. alhes, and cinders, and fiery torrents, pre

Bon. Strong! it must be fo. or how senting to the eye the most dismal scene of would we be strong that drink it? horror and destruction !

Aim. And have you lived so long upon Pliny the Elder. You paint it very tru

this ale, landlord ? ly.—But has it never occurred to your

Bon. Eight-and-fifty years, upon my mind, that this change is an emblem of credit, Sir: but it kill'd my wife, poor that which must happen to every rich, woman! as the saying is. luxurious state? While the inhabitants of Aim. How came that to pass ? it are sunk in voluptuousness, while all is Bon. I don't know how, Sir the would smiling around them, and they think that not let the ale take its natural course, Sir: no evil, no danger is nigh, the feeds of she was for qualifying it every now and destruction are fermenting within ; and, then with a dram, as the saying is; and an breaking out on a sudden, lay waste all honest gentleman that came this way from their opulence, all their delights; till they Ireland, made her a present of a dozen are left a sad monument of divine wrath, bottles of usquebaugh--but the poor woand of the fatal effects of internal corrup- man was never well after-but, however, I tion. Dialogues of the Dead. was obliged to the gentleman you know.

Aim. Why, was it the usquebaugh that

killed her? § 22. Humorous Scene at an Inn between

Bon. My lady Bountiful faid fo-She, BONIFACE and AIMWELL.

good lady, did what could be done: the Bon. This way,


cured her of three tympanies: but the fourth Aim. You're my landlord, I suppose ? carried her off: but she's happy, and I'm

Bon. Yes, Sir, I'm old Will Boniface; contented, as the saying is. pretty well known upon this road, as the Aim. Who's that lady Bountiful you saying is.

mentioned? Aim. O, Mr. Boniface, your servant. Bon. Odds my life, Sir, we'll drink her

Bon. O, Sir,-What will your honour health : [Drinks)— My lady Bountiful is please to drink, as the saying is ?

one of the best of women,

Her laft hurAim. I have heard your town of Litch- band, Sir Charles Bountiful, left hier worth field much famed for ale; I think I'll taste a thousand pounds a year ; and, I believe, that.

he lays out one-half on't in charitableuses Bor. Sir, I have now in my cellar, ten for the good of her neighbours. ton of the best ale in Staffordshire : 'tis Aim. Has the lady any children? fmooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as am- Bon. Yes, Sir, she has a daughter by her, and strong as brandy; and will be just Sir Charles ; the finest woman in all our fourteen years old the fifth day of next county, and the greatest fortune. She has March, old style.

a son too, by her first hulband, 'squire SulAim. You're very exact, I find, in the len, who married a fine lady from London age your

t'other day: if you please, Sir, we'll drink Bon. As punctual, Sir, as I am in the his health. [Drinks.) age of my children: I'll shew you such Aim. What sort of a man is he? ale. Here, tapiter; broach number 1706, Bon, Why, Sir, the man's well enough: 4




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