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If we would examine into the secret springs of action in the impudent and the abfurd, we shall find, though they bear a great refemblance in their behaviour, that they move upon very different principles. The impudent are preffing, though they know they are disagreeable; the abfurd are importunate, becaufe they think they are acceptable; impudence is a vice, and abfurdity a folly. Sir Francis Bacon talks very agreeably upon the subject of impudence. He takes notice, that the orator being afked, what was the first, fecond, and third requifite to make a fine speaker? still answered, " Action.” "This," faid he, "is the very outward form of speaking, and yet it is what, with the generality, has more force than the moft confummate abilities. Impudence is to the reft of mankind of the fame use which action is to orators."

The truth is, the grofs of men are governed more by appear ances than realities, and the impudent man in his air and behaviour undertakes for himself that he has ability and merit, while the modest or diffident gives himself up, as one who is poffeffed of neither. For this reafon, men of front carry things before them with little oppofition, and make so skilful a use of their talent, that they can grow out of humour like men of confequence, and be four, and make their difatisfaction do them the fame service as defert. This way of thinking has often furnished me with an apology for great men who confer favours on the impudent. In carrying on the government of mankind, they are not to confider what men they themselves approve in their closets and private converfations, but what men will extend themselves furtheft, and more generally pass upon the world for fuch as their patrons want in fuch and fuch stations, and confequently take fo much work off the hands of those who employed them.

Far be it that I fhould attempt to leffen the acceptance which men of this character meet with in the world; but I humbly propofe only, that they who have merit of a different kind, would accomplish themselves in fome degree with this quality of which I am now treating. Nay, I allow these gentlemen to prefs as forward as they please in the advancements of their interests and fortunes, but not to intrude upon others in con

versation alfo; let them do what they can with the rich and great, as far as they are fuffered, but let them not interrupt the easy and agreeable. They may be useful as fervants in ambition, but never as affociates in pleasure. However, as I would still drive at something inftructive in every lucubration, I must recommend it to all men who feel in themselves an impulfe towards attempting laudable actions, to acquire fuch a degree of affurance, as never to lofe the poffeffion of themselves in publick or private, fo far as to be incapable of acting with a due decorum on any occafion they are called to. It is a mean want of fortitude in a good man, not to be able to do a virtuous action with as much confidence as an impudent fellow does an ill one. There is no way of mending fuch false modesty, but by laying it down for a rule that there is nothing shameful but what is criminal.

The Jefuits, an order whofe institution is perfectly calculated for making a progrefs in the world, take care to accomplish their disciples for it by breaking them of all impertinent bashfulness, and accuftoming them to a ready performance of all indifferent things. I remember in my travels, when I was once at a publick exercife in one of their schools, a young man made a moft admirable fpeech, with all the beauty of action, cadence of voice, and force of argument imaginable, in defence of the love of glory. We were all enamoured with the grace of the youth, as he came down from the desk where he spoke, to present a copy of his speech to the head of the fociety. The principal received it in a very obliging manner, and bid him go to the market-place and fetch a joint of meat, for he fhould dine with him. He bowed, and in a trice the orator returned, full of the sense of glory in this obedience, and with the best shoulder of mutton in the market.

This treatment capacitates them for every scene of life. I therefore recommend it to the confideration of all who have the inftruction of youth, which of the two is the more inexcufable, he who does everything by the mere force of his impudence, or who performs nothing through the oppreffion of his modesty? In a word, it is a weakness not to be able to attempt what a man thinks he ought, and there is no modesty but in self-denial.

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MR. BICKERSTAFF'S JOURNEY TO THE LAND'S END MORALISED.

Tecum vivere amen, tecum obeam lubens.

HOR. 3 OD. ix. v. ult.

I could willingly live and die with you.

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OME years fince I was engaged with a coach full of friends to take a journey as far as the Land's End. We were very well pleafed with one another the first day, every one endeavouring to recommend himself by his good humour and complaifance to the reft of the company. This good correfpondence did not laft long; one of our party was foured the very first evening by a plate of butter which had not been melted to his mind, and which spoiled his temper to fuch a degree, that he continued upon the fret to the end of our journey. A fecond fell off from his good humour the next morning, for no other reason, that I could imagine, but because I chanced to step into the coach before him, and place myself on the fhady fide. This, however, was but my own private guefs, for he did not mention a word of it, nor, indeed, of anything else for three days following. The rest of our company held out very near half the way, when on a fudden Mr. Sprightly fell asleep, and instead of endeavouring to divert and oblige us, as he had hitherto done, carried himself with an unconcerned, careless, drowsy behaviour, till we came

to our last stage. There were three of us who ftill held up our heads and did all we could to make our journey agreeable, but, to my fhame be it fpoken, about three miles on this fide Exeter, I was taken with an unaccountable fit of fullennefs, that hung upon me for above threefcore miles; whether it were for want of respect, or from an accidental tread upon my foot, or from a foolish maid's calling me the old gentleman, I cannot tell. In fhort, there was but one who kept his good humour to the Land's End.

There was another coach that went along with us, in which I likewife obferved that there were many fecret jealoufies, heart-burnings, and animofities; for when we joined companies at night, I could not but take notice that the passengers neglected their own company, and ftudied how to make themselves esteemed by us, who were altogether strangers to them, till at length they grew fo well acquainted with us, that they liked us as little as they did one another. When I reflect upon this journey I often fancy it to be a picture of human life, in refpect to the feveral friendships, contracts, and alliances that are made and diffolved in the feveral periods of it. The most delightful and most lafting engagements are generally those which pafs between man and woman; and yet upon what trifles are they weakened or entirely broken? Sometimes the parties fly affunder even in the midst of courtship, and fometimes grow cool in the very honey-month. Some feparate before the first child, and fome after the fifth; others continue good till thirty, others till forty, while fome few, whose fouls are of a happier make, and better fitted to one another, travel on together to the end of their journey in a continual intercourfe of kind offices and mutual endearments.

When we therefore choose our companions for life, if we hope to keep both them and ourselves in good humour to the last stage of it, we must be extremely careful in the choice we make, as well as in the conduct on our part. When the perfons to whom we join ourselves can ftand an examination and bear the fcrutiny, when they mend upon our acquaintance with them, and discover new beauties the more we search into

their characters, our love will naturally rife in proportion to their perfections.

But because there are very few poffeffed of fuch accomplishments of body and mind, we ought to look after thofe qualifications both in ourselves and others, which are indifpenfibly necessary towards this happy union, and which are in the power of every one to acquire, or at least to cultivate and improve. These, in my opinion, are cheerfulness and conftancy. A cheerful temper joined with innocence, will make beauty. attractive, knowledge delightful, and wit good natured. It will lighten sickness, poverty, and affliction, convert ignorance into an amiable fimplicity, and render deformity itself agreeable.

Conftancy is natural to perfons of even tempers and uniform difpofitions, and may be acquired by thofe of the greatest fickleness, violence, and paffion, who confider feriously the terms of union upon which they come together, the mutual interest in which they are engaged, with all the motives that ought to incite their tenderness and compaffion towards those who have their dependence upon them, and are embarked with them for life in the fame ftate of happiness or misery. Constancy, when it grows in the mind upon confiderations of this nature, becomes a moral virtue, and a kind of good nature, that is not subject to any change of health, age, fortune, or any of those accidents which are apt to unfettle the best difpofitions, that are founded rather in constitution than in reason. Where such a constancy as this is wanting, the most inflamed paffion may fall away into coolnefs and indifference, and the most melting tenderness degenerate into hatred and averfion. I fhall conclude this paper with a story that is very well known in the North of England.

About thirty years ago, a packet-boat that had several paffengers on board was caft away upon a rock, and in fo great danger of finking, that all who were in it endeavoured to fave themselves as well as they could, though only those who could fwim well had a bare poffibility of doing it. Among the paffengers there were two women of fashion, who feeing themselves in fuch a disconfolate condition, begged of their husbands not to leave them. One of them chofe rather to die

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