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grace to all
• with her as well as myself: but I will tell you all, as • faft as the alternate interruptions of love and anger
will give me leave. There is a most agreeable young • woman in the world whom I am paffionately in love
with, and from whom I have for some fpace of time • received as great marks of favour as were fit for her
to give, or me to desire. The fuccessful progress of ( the affair of all others the most essential towards a 'man's happiness, gave a new life and spirit not only to my behaviour and discourse, but also a certain
actions in the commerce of life in all things though never fo remote from love. You know • the predominant passion spreads itself through all a
man's transactions, and exalts or depresses him accord
ing to the nature of such passion. But alas! I have not " yet begun my story, and what is making sentences
and observations, when a man is pleading for his life? • To begin then : this lady has corresponded with me • under the names of love, the my Belinda, I her Cle
anthes. Though I am thus well got into the account
of my affair, I cannot keep in the thread of it so much 'as to give you the character of Mrs. Jane, whom I • will not hide under a borrowed name; but let you
know that this creature has been since I knew her very • handsome, (though I will not allow her even she has • been for the future) and during the time of her bloom ' and beauty was so great a tyrant to her lovers, so • over-valued herself, and under-rated all her pretend
ers, that they have deserted her to a man; and the
knows no confort but that common one to all in her ' condition, the pleasure of interrupting the amours of • others. It is impossible but you must have seen several • of these volunteers in malice, who påss their whole • time in the most laborious way of life, in getting in-,
telligence, running from place to place with new whispers, without reaping any other benefit but the
hopes of making others as unhappy as themselves. • Mrs. Jane happened to be at a place where I, with * many others well acquainted with my passion for Be• linda, passed a Christmas-evening:
There was among ' the rest a young lady, so free in mirth, fo amiable in å just reférve that accompanied it; I wrong her to call
• it a reserve, but there appeared in her a mirth or chear• fulness which was not a forbearance of more immode• rate joy, but the natural appearance of all which could • flow from a mind possessed of an habit of innocence and 'purity. I must have utterly forgot Belinda to have • taken no notice of one who was growing up to the same • womanly virtues which shine to perfection in her, had • I not distinguished one who seemed to promise to the • world the same life and conduct with my faithful and
lovely Belinda. When the company broke up, the fine young thing permitted me to take care of her home. Mrs. Jane saw my particular regard to her, and was · informed of my attending her to her father's house. • She came early to Belinda the next morning, and asked • her if Mrs. Such-a.one had been with her? No. If * Mr. Such-a-one's lady? No. Nor your coufin Such
a-one ? No. Lord, says Mrs. Jane, what is the friend. fhip of women! Nay, they may well laugh at
it. And did no one tell you any thing of the behaviour * of your lover Mr. What-d'ye-call last night? But perhaps it is nothing to you that he is to be married to
on Tuesday next? Belinda was here jeady to die with rage and jealousy. Then Mrs. Jane goes on: I have a young kinsman who is clerk to a great conveyancer, who fall few you the rough draught of the marriage settlement. The world says
her father gives him two thousand pounds more than he • could have with you. I went innocently to wait on • Belinda as usual, but was not admitted; I writ to her,
letter was sent back unopened. Poor Betty her • maid, who is on my side, has been here just now blub
bering, and told me the whole matter. She says she • did not think I could be so base; and that she is now so • odious to her mistress for having so often spoke well of • me, that she dare not mention me more. All our hopes
are placed in having these circumstances fairly repre« sented in the Spectator, which Betty says she dare not • but bring up as soon as it is brought in ; and has pro• mised when you have broke the ice to own this was laid • between us : and when I can come to an hearing, the
young lady will support what we say by her testimony, « that. I never saw her but that once in my whole life..
Dear Sir, do not omit this true relation, nor think it too particular; for there are crowds of forlorn co
quettes who intermingle themselves with other ladies, • and contract familiarities out of malice, and with no • other design but to blast the hopes of lovers, the ex
pectation of parents, and the benevolence of kindred. • I doubt not but I shall be, Sir, Your most obliged humble servant,
Will's Coffee house, Jan. 10. THE
HE other day entering a room adorned with the
fair sex, I offered, after the usual manner, to • each of them a kiss; but one, more scornful than the
rest, turned her cheek. I did not think it proper to “.take any notice of it until I had asked your advice.
• Your humble servant,
The correspondent is desired to fay which cheek the offender turned to him.
From the parish-vestry, January 9. “ All ladies who come to church in the new-fashioned “ hoods, are desired to be there before divine service be" gins, lest they divert the attention of the congregation. т
Saturday, January 12.
- Notandi furt tibi mores.
Hor. Ars Poet. ver. 156.
Note well the manners.
Having examined the action of Paradise Lof, let us Aristotle's method of confidering, first the fable, and fecondly the manners; or, as we generally call them in English, the fable and the characters.
Homer has excelled all the heroic poets that ever wrote in the multitude and variety of his characters: every god that is admitted into his poem, 'acts a part which would have been suitable to no other deity. His princes are as much diftinguished by their manners, as by their dominions; and even those among them, whose characters seem wholly made
of courage, differ from one another as to the particular kinds of courage in which they excel. In short, there is scarce a' fpeech or action in the Hiad, which the reader may not ascribe to the person that speaks or acts, without seeing his name at the head of it.
Homer does not only outshine all other poets in the variety, but also in the norelty of his characters. He has introduced among his Grecian princes a person who had lived thrice the age of man, and conversed with Theseus, Hercules, Polyphemus, and the first race of heroes. His principal actor is the son of a goddess, not to mention the offspring of other deities, who have likewise a place in his poem, and the venerable Trojan prince, who was the father of so many kings and heroes. There is in these several characters of Homer, a certain dignity as well as novelty, which adapts them in a more peculiar manner to the nature of an heroic poem. Though at the same time, to give them the greater variety, he has described a Vulcan, that is a buffoon among his gods, and a Therfites among his mortals.
Virgil falls infinitely short of Homer in the characters of his poem, both as to their variety and novelty: Æneas is indeed a perfect character, but as for Achates, though he is stiled the hero's friend, he does nothing in the whole poem which may deserve that title. Gyas, Mnestheus, Sergeftus and Cloanthus, are all of them'men' of the famë ftamp and character.
-"Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthum." There are indeed several natural incidents in the part of Afcanius ; as that of Dido cannot be sufficiently admired. I do not see any thing new or particular in Turnus. Pallas and Evander are remote copies of Hector and Priam, as Laufus and Mezentius are almost parallels to Pallas and Evander. The characters of Nisus and Euryalus are beautiful, but common. We must not forget the parts of Sinon, Camilla, and some few others, which are fine improvements on the Greek poet. In short, there is neither' that variety nor novelty in the persons of the Æneid, which we meet with in those of the Iliad.
If we look into the characters of Milton, we shall find that he has introduced all the variety his fable was capable of receiving. The whole" species of mankind was in two persons at the time to which the subject of his poem is confined. We have, however, four distinct characters in these two persons. We fee man and woman in the highest innocence and perfection, and in the most abject state of guilt and infirmity. The two laft characters are, indeed, very common and obvious, but the two firft are not only more magnificent, but more new than any characters either in Virgil or Homer, or indeed in the whole circle of nature.
Milton was fo fenfible of this defect in the subject of his poem, and of the few characters it would afford him, that he has brought into it two actors of a shadowy and fictitious nature, in the persons of Sin and Death, by which means he has wrought into the body of his fable
beautiful and well-invented allegory. But notwithstanding the fineņėss of this allegory may atoné fór it in some measure, I cannot think that persons' of such a chimèrical existence are proper actors in an epic poem; because there is not that measure of probability annexed