infinitely more agreeable, if you did not think fo. Confider, Madam, I befeech you, that if you come to me ten thousand Times a Day, I cannot make you a Bit the better, or the handfomer: But fhall certainly deftroy one of the fineft Ornaments of Beauty, by rendering you too well acquainted with your own Perfections. Whenever you ftand before me, with all your Charms fet forth to the best Advantage, I perceive you are apt to view yourself with too great Pleasure, and grow proud and conceited of your own Beauty, which, in Time, will make other People defpife and ridicule you; and therefore I honeftly and ingenuously intreat you, to avoid my Company; for, Madam, I muft confefs, that the worst Enemy the Fair Ones have, can't do them so much Prejudice as I their chief Favourite. It grieves me to the Heart to find it fo, and often puzzles me extremely to account for their Fondness of me, when I fo continually do them Mifchief:- Whether it be, as a witty Gentleman once faid of me, from my Talent of cafting Reflections; or whether it be from the large Quantity of Quickfilver which belongs to me, and without which I am useless as well as innocent; for as the Learned obferve, Madam, Mercury is highly prejudicial to your Sex, either where there is too much of it in the Compofition of a Fair Lady, or when it is ufed externally as an Help to Beauty: As, in the former Cafe, it is generally the Caufe of extenfive Levity, fo, in the latter it is always obferved to hurt the Eyes, and deface thofe Charms which it is defigned to affift and improve:Or whether my gaily gilded Frame is too apt to infect the Mind of the Beholder with Vanity:Or laftly, whether it be from the Brittleness of my other Materials, which, by a Kind of Sympathy, affect People who are too frequently converfant with me. From

whatever Caufe it proceeds, a Lady who has a fine Face, might almoft as well fall into the Small Pox, as to be often in my Company. How many charming Creatures have I fpoiled, and made Beauty the greatest Misfortune that could befal them!I can't think on't without Concern :- Why am I fatal to be thus unlucky, and injure thofe the moft that love me beft ?

Alas!

Alas! Why was I made a Looking-Glafs! Was it my Defire to be covered with Silver, and inclosed in a Frame of Gold!--Did I afpire to be fixed in this honourable Place, and become a Lady's Favourite !Oh! that I had been fome meaner Piece of Furniture, lefs refpected, and lefs mifchievous. Keep off, dear Madam, I befeech you from an unhappy Thing, which Destiny makes pernicious to the lovelieft Creature under Heaven, or I fhall foon infect you with the worft Defeafe incident to Beauty; and that is Vanity. I am, 'tis true, a ufeful Servant, if employ'd only when I ought to be, which is feldom; but if a Lady grows fo fond me, that the runs to ask my Opinion of every Look; if the confults me forty Times for once that fhe goes to her Prayer-Book or Bible, I fhall certainly prove much more hurtful to her than Age or Uglinefs. I beg, Madam, that you'll interpret what your poor Servant fays, to proceed wholly from Refpect and Love for you:-The tender Regard I have for your Ladyfhip, together with fome Symptoms I lately have difcovered, make me fearful for you. -I dread the Apprehenfion of bringing Contempt on fo good a Miftrefs, and would not for the World be the Occafion of your lofing any one Grace of a fine Woman:-No! rather let me be broken into a thoufand Pieces! I am not without Fear of giving Offence by the Freedom I have taken; but though you banish me your Prefence, I cannot forbear fpeaking in a Cafe where your Ladyfhip's Good feems fo much concerned; and, indeed, if what I dread fhould come to pafs, it would be better for us to part for ever.- -Better for you to be without my Service, than fuffer by it; and better for me to lofe my Lady, and be thrown into a Corner, than remain where I am, and be acceffary and inftrumental in fpoiling as much Sweetness and Beauty as ever Looking Glafs had the Happiness to fhew. I am,

Madam, with the moft dutiful Refpect,

Your most faithful and devoted humble Servant,
PARLOUR LOOKING-GLASS.

LETTER VII.

From Hortenfius, to his Friend Palemon, giving him an Account of his Happiness in Retirement.

Write this while Cleora is angling by my Side, under

I the Shade of a fpreading Elm that hangs over the
Banks of the River. A Nightingale, more harmonious
even than Strada's, is ferenading us from a Hawthorn
Bush, which fmiles with all the Gaiety of Youth and
Beauty; while

Gentle Gales,
Fanning their odorif'rous Wings, difperfe
Native Perfumes, and whisper whence they fiole.
Those balmy Spoils,
MILTON.

While I am thus enjoying the innocent Luxury of this vernal Delight, I look back upon thofe Scenes of Turbulence wherein I was engaged, with more than ordinary Diftafte, and defpife myself for ever having entertained fo mean a Thought as to be rich and great. One of our Monarchs ufed to fay, "That he looked upon "thofe to be the happieft Men in the Nation, whofe "Fortune had placed them in the Country above a "High-Conftable, and below the Trouble of a Juf"tice of Peace." It is in a Mediocrity of this happy Kind that I here pass my Life, with a Fortune far above the Neceffity of engaging in the Drudgery of Bufinefs, and with Defires much too humble to have any Relifh for the fplendid Baits of Ambition. You muft not, however, imagine that I affect the Stoic, or pretend to have eradicated all my Paffions: The Sum of my Philofophy amounts to no more, than to cherish none but fuch as I may eafily and innocently gratify, and to banish all the reft as fo many bold Intruders upon my Repofe. I endeavour to practife the Maxim of a French Poet, by confidering every Thing that is not within my Poffeffion as not worth having: Is it impoffible, Palemon, to reconcile you to these unafpiring Sentiments, and to lower your Flight to the humble Level of genuine Happiness? Let me at leaft prevail with you to fpare a Day or two

from

from the Certamina Divitiarum, (as Horace, I think, calls them) from thofe fplendid Contests in which you are engaged, juft to take a View of the Sort of Life we lead in the Country. If there is any Thing wanted to complete the Happiness I here find, it is, that you are fo feldom a Witnefs to it. Adieu! I am, &c.

I

LETTER VIII.

A Letter of Confolation on the Death of a Friend.

Should never have believed, Madam, that one of your Letters could have afflicted me, how bad News foever it had brought me. The bare Sight of your Writing feemed to me a Remedy against every Evil that I could imagine; but I acknowledge to you is is an extreme Grief to me that I have been informed of the Lofs we have had. Our Friend was valuable in every Refpect, he was beautiful, tender and generous, witty, and of fo juft a Judgment, that the valued you above every Thing in the World. She had over and above in dying, the only good Quality which the wanted during her Life; that is, the bore with Refolution a Thing, the bare Name of which had always made her tremble. She accompanied this Greatnefs of Soul with fo truly a Chriftian Piety, that I think we ought not to mourn for her. It is loving her with too felfish an Affection to be forrowful when the leaves us in order to be better, and when he goes to enjoy in the other World a Repofe which he could never find in this. 1 fhall endeavour to make Advantage of the Exhortation you gave me to follow fo good an Example, and it will not be the first Time that you have made me a better Man. The Troubles I have hitherto had will not ill affift your Admonitions; for, I think, few Things contribute more to make us die without Reluctancy, than to have no Pleasure in Life: Not that I fhould be very glad to finish my Career too haftily, feeing that you must return foon. You may guess whether it be eafy for me to renounce the Ad

vantage

vantage of feeing you again, and of protesting to you to what a Degree I am, &c.

From a Gentleman to his Son, just arrived from Paris, against fervile Complaifance and Talkativeness; with fame Directions how to behave politely in Company.

Dear Tom,

HERE is fomething in your Behaviour fince your Return from Paris that difpleafes me, and muft frankly tell you, that I don't think you are at all benefitted by travelling. You have, by keeping Company with Coxcombs, or by miftaking Ceremony for Politeness, contracted a Habit of not only talking much, and in a very frothy trifling Manner, but of facrificing every Thing to Compliment. Even your Sincerity is offered up to Ceremony; and you think yourself obliged, in Point of Good Manners, to agree, like Polonius in the Play, with every Thing that is faid, whether right or wrong. You don't want Underftanding, Tom; nor are you without a good Share of Learning: And yet that eternal Simper, that Cringe and Obfequioufnefs, render both fufpected, and tire all your Acquaintance, who (I am told) laugh at your Behaviour, and fpeak of this behind your Back, though they have not Friendship enough to confefs it to your Face. But your Father, who loves you fincerely, and who confiders you as a Part of himfelf, can never fee you do any Thing that may tend to your Difadvantage, without warning you of the Confequence; for that Father muft have a very bad Heart, or a very bad Head, indeed, who does not inform his Son of his Faults. Yours is not an Error of Difpofition, but of Judgment, and therefore it may be easily rectified. You, I know, my dear, Tom, intend it for Civility and Politenefs; but you are mistaken. Forced and affected Compliments are the Reverse. Politeness is ever attained with Eafe and Freedom, and defpifes every Thing that is unnatural. Befides this, Cringing and Fawning render your Sincerity fufpected. Thofe who make large Profeffions to every-body, are esteemed by no-body.

It