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fweetnefs of her father, that her countenance, though mournful, was highly pleafing. The maids and thepherds of the neighbouring plains gathered round, and called her Pity. A red breaft was obferved to build in the cabin where she was born; and while he was yet an infant, a dove purfued by a hawk flew into her bofom. This nymph had a dejected appearance, but fo foft and gentle a mien, that he was beloved to a degree of enthufiafm. Her voice was low and plaintive, but inexpreffibly fweet; and the loved to lie for hours together on the banks of fome wild and melancholy ftream, finging to her lute. She taught men to weep, for fhe took a ftrange delight in tears; and often, when the virgins of the hamlet were affembled at their evening fports, the would fieal in amongst them, and captivate their hearts by her tales, full of a charming fadnefs. She wore on her head a garland compofed of her father's myrtles twifted with her mother's cyprefs.

One day, as the fat mufing by the waters of Helicon, her tears by chance fell into the fountain; and ever fince the Mufes' fpring has retained a strong taste of the infufion. Pity was commanded by Jupiter to follow the fteps of her mother through the world, dropping balm into the wounds the made, and binding up the hearts fhe had broken. She follows with her hair loofe, her bofom bare and throbbing, her garments torn by the briars, and her feet bleeding with the roughness of the path. The nymph is mortal, for her mother is fo; and when he has fulfilled her defined courfe upon the earth, they fhall both expire together, and Love be again united. to Joy, his immortal and long-betrothed bride. Aikin's Mifcell,

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Sir Har. I do: but what then? Engagements of this kind, you know-Riv. So then, you do know I have promifed her to Mr. Sidney?

Sir Har. I do-But I also know that matters are not finally fettled between Mr. Sidney and you; and I moreover know, that his fortune is by no means equal to mine; therefore――

Riv. Sir Harry, let me afk you one queftion before you make your confequence.


Sir Har. A thoufand, if you please,

Riv. Why then, Sir, let me afk you, what you have ever obferved in me, or my conduct, that you defire me fo familiarly to break my word? I thought, Sir, you confidered me as a man of honour?

Sir Har. And fo I do, Sir-a man of the nicest honour.

Riv. And yet, Sir, you afk me to violate the fanctity of my word; and tell me directly, that it is my intereft to be a rafcal!

Sir Har. I really don't understand you, Colonel; I thought, when I was talking to you, I was talking to a man who knew the world; and as you have not yet figned--

Riv.. Why, this is mending matters with a witnefs! And fo you think, becaufe I am not legally bound, I am under no neceffity of keeping my word! Sir Harry, laws were never made for men of honour: they want no bond but the rectitude of their own fentiments; and laws are of no ufe but to bind the villains of fociety,

Sir Har. Well! but, my dear Colonel, if you have no regard for me, fhew fome little regard for your daughter.

Riv. I fhew the greatest regard for my daughter, by giving her to a man of honour; and I must not be infulted with any farther repetition of your propofals.

Sir Har. Infult you, Colonel! Is the offer of my alliance an infult? Is my readinefs to make what fettlements you think proper~~~~

Riv. Sir Harry, I should confider the offer of a kingdom an infult, if it were to be purchased by the violation of my word. Befides, though my daughter fhall never go a beggar to the arms of her husband, I would rather fee her happy than rich; and if the has enough to provide handsomely for a young family, and fomething to spare for the exigencies of a worthy friend, I shall



think her as affluent as if she were mistress of Mexico.

Sir Har. Well, Colonel, I have done; but I believe-

Riv. Well, Sir Harry, and as our conference is done, we will, if you pleafe, retire to the ladies. I fhall be always glad of your acquaintance, though I cannot receive you as a fon-in-law; for a union of intereft I look upon as a union of difhonour, and confider a marriage for money at beft but a legal prostitution.

§ 15. On Dignity of Manners. There is a certain dignity of manners abfolutely neceffary, to make even the moft valuable character either refpected or refpectable.

Horfe-play, romping, frequent and loud fits of laughter, jokes, waggery, and indifcriminate familiarity, will fink both merit and knowledge into a degree of contempt. They compofe at most a merry fellow; and a merry fellow was never yet a refpectable man. Indifcriminate familiarity either offends your fuperiors, or else dubs you their dependent and led captain. It gives your inferiors juft, but trouble fome and improper claims of equality. A joker is near akin to a buffoon; and neither of them is the leaft related to wit. Whoever is admitted or fought for, in company, upon any other account than that of his merit and manners, is never respected there, but only made ufe of. We will have fuch-a-one, for he fings prettily; we will invite fuch-a-one to a ball, for he dances well; we will have fuch-a-one at fupper, for he is always joking and laughing; we will ask another, because he plays deep at all games, or because he can drink a great deal. These are all vilifying diftinctions, mortifying preferences, and exclude all ideas of efteem and regard. Whoever is bad, (as it is called) in company, for the fake of any one thing fingly, is fingly that thing, and will never be confidered in any other light; confequently never refpected, let his merits be what they


This dignity of manners, which I recommend fo much to you, is not only as different from pride, as true courage is from bluftering, or true wit from joking, but is abfolutely inconfiftent with it; for nothing vilifies and degrades more than pride. The pretenfions of the proud man are oftener treated with fneer and contempt, than with indignation; as we offer

ridiculously too little to a tradesman, who afks ridiculously too much for his goods; but we do not haggle with one who only afks a juft and reasonable price.

Abject flattery and indiscriminate affentation degrade, as much as indifcriminate contradiction and noisy debate disgust. But a modeft affertion of one's own opinion, and a complaifant acquiefcence in other people's, preferve dignity.

Vulgar, low expreffions, awkward motions and addrefs, vilify, as they imply either a very low turn of mind, or low education, and low company.

Frivolous curiofity about trifles, and a laborious attention to little objects, which neither require nor deferve a moment's thought, lower a man; who from thence is thought (and not unjustly) incapable of greater matters. Cardinal de Retz, very fagacioufly, marked out Cardinal Chigi for a little mind, from the moment that he told him he had wrote three years with the fame pen, and that it was an excellent good one till.

A certain degree of exterior feriousness in looks and motions gives dignity, without excluding wit and decent cheerfulness, which are always ferious themselves. A conftant fmirk upon the face, and a whiffling activity of the body, are strong indications of futility. Whoever is in a hurry, fhews that the thing he is about is too big for him-hafte and hurry are very different things.

I have only mentioned fome of those things which may, and do, in the opinion of the world, lower and fink characters, in other refpects valuable enough; but I have taken no notice of thofe that affect and fink the moral characters: they are fufficiently obvious. A man who has patiently been kicked, may as well pretend to courage, as a man blafted by vices and crimes, to dignity of any kind. But an exterior decency and dignity of manners, will even keep fuch a man longer from finking, than otherwife he would be: of fuch confequence is the To wperor, or decorum, even though affected and Lord Chesterfield.

put on.

§ 16. On Vulgarity.

A vulgar, ordinary way of thinking, a&ting, or speaking, implies a low education, and a habit of low company. Young people contract it at school, or among fervants, with whom they are too often used to converfe; but, after they frequent good company, they must want attention and obferva

tion very much, if they do not lay it quite afide; and indeed, if they do not, good company will be very apt to lay them afide. The various kinds of vulgariíms are infinite; I cannot pretend to point them out to you; but I will give fome famples, by which you may guess at the reft.

A vulgar man is captious and jealous; eager and impetuous about trifles: he fufpects himself to be flighted; thinks every thing that is faid meant at him; if the company happens to laugh, he is perfuaded they laugh at him; he grows angry and tefty, fays fomething very impertinent, and draws himself into a fcrape, by fhewing what he calls a proper fpirit, and afferting himself. A man of fashion does not fuppofe himself to be either the fole or principal object of the thoughts, looks, or words of the company; and never fufpects that he is either flighted or laughed at, unless he is conscious that he deferves it. And if (which very feldom happens) the company is abfurd or ill-bred enough to do either, he does not care two-pence, unlefs the infult be fo grofs and plain as to require fatisfaction of another kind. As he is above trifles, he is never vehement and eager about them; and wherever they are concerned, rather acquiefces than wrangles. A vulgar man's converfation always favours ftrongly of the lownefs of his education and company: it turns chiefly upon his domeftic affairs, his fervants, the excellent order he keeps in his own family, and the little anecdotes of the neighbourhood; all which he relates with emphasis, as interefting matters.-He is a man-goffip.

Vulgarifm in language is the next, and diftinguishing characteristic of bad company, and a bad education. A man of fashion avoids nothing with more care than this. Proverbial expreffions and trite fayings are the flowers of the rhetoric of a vulgar man. Would he say, that men differ in their taftes; he both fupports and adorns that opinion, by the good old faying, as he refpectfully calls it, that "what "is one man's meat is another man's "poifon." If any body attempts being Smart, as he calls it, upon him; he gives them tit for tat, aye, that he does. He has always fome favourite word for the time being; which, for the fake of ufing often, he commonly abuses. Such as, vaftly angry, vastly kind, vastly handfome, and vastly ugly. Even his pronunciation of proper words carries the mark of the

beaft along with it. He calls the earth yearth; he is obliged, not obliged to you. He goes to wards, and not towards fuch a place. He fometimes affects hard words, by way of ornament, which he always mangles. A man of fashion never has recourfe to proverbs and vulgar aphorifms; ufes neither favourite words nor hard words; but takes great care to speak very correctly and grammatically, and to pronounce properly; that is, according to the ufage of the beft companies.

An awkward addrefs, ungraceful attitudes and actions, and a certain left-handedness (if I may ufe that word) loudly proclaim low education and low company; for it is impoffible to fuppofe, that a man can have frequented good company, without having catched fomething, at least, of their air and motions. A new-raised man is diftinguished in a regiment by his awkwardnefs; but he must be impenetrably dull, if, in a month or two's time, he cannot perform at least the common manual exercife, and look like a foldier. The very accoutrements of a man of fashion are grievous incumbrances to a vulgar man. He is at a loss what to do with his hat, when it is not upon his head; his cane (if unfortunately he wears one) is at perpetual war with every cup of tea or coffee he drinks; deftroys them first, and then accompanies them in their fall. His fword is formidable only to his own legs, which would poffibly carry him faft enough out of the way of any fword but his own. His cloaths fit him fo ill, and conftrain him fo much, that he feems rather their prifoner than their proprietor. He prefents himself in company like a criminal in a court of juftice; his very air condemns him; and people of fashion will no more connect themfelves with the one, than people of character will with the other. This repulfe drives and finks him into low company; a gulph from whence no man, after a certain age, ever emerged.

Lord Chesterfield.

§ 17. On Good-breeding.

A friend of yours and mine has very juftly defined good-breeding to be, "the refult of much good fenfe, fome goodnature, and a little felf-denial for the fake of others, and with a view to obtain the fame indulgence from them." Taking this for granted (as I think it cannot be difputed) it is aftonishing to me, that any body, who has good fenfe and good-na


ture, can effentially fail in good-breeding. As to the modes of it, indeed, they vary according to perfons, places, and circumftances; and are only to be acquired by obfervation and experience; but the fubftance of it is every where and eternally the fame. Good manners are, to particular focieties, what good morals are to fociety in general, their cement and their fecurity. And as laws are enacted to enforce good morals, or at leaf to prevent the ill effects of bad ones; fo there are. certain rules of civility, univerfally implied and received, to enforce good manners, and punish bad ones. And, indeed, there feems to me to be lefs difference both between the crimes and punishments, than at first one would imagine. The immoral man, who invades another's property, is july hanged for it; and the ill-bred inan who, by his ill-manners, invades and difturbs the quiet and comforts of private life, is by common confent as juftly banifhed fociety. Mutual complaifances, attentions, and facrifices of little conveniencies, are as natural an implied compact between civilized people, as protection and obedience are between kings and fubjects; whoever, in either cafe, violates that compact, juítly forfeits all advantages arifing from it. For my own part, I really think, that, next to the confcioufnefs of doing a good action, that of doing a civil one is the most pleasing: and the epithet which I fhould covet the moft, next to that of Ariftides, would be that of well-bred. Thus much for good-breeding in general; I will now confider fome of the various modes and degrees of it.

Very few, fcarcely any, are wanting in the refpect which they fhould fhew to thofe whom they acknowledge to be infinitely their fuperiors; fuch as crowned heads, princes, and public perfons of diftinguithed and eminent pofts. It is the manner of fhewing that refpect which is different. The man of fashion, and of the world, expreffes it in its fullest extent; but naturally, eafily, and without concern: whereas a man, who is not ufed to keep good company, expreffes it awkwardly; one fees that he is not ufed to it, and that it costs him a great deal: but I never faw the worft-bred man living guilty of lolling, whittling, fcratching his head, and fuchlike indecencies, in companies that he refpected. In fuch companies, therefore, 'the only point to be attended to is, to fhew that refpect which every body means

to fhew, in an eafy, unembarraffed, and graceful manner. This is what obfervation and experience muft teach you.

In mixed companies, whoever is admitted to make part of them, is, for the time at leaft, fuppofed to be upon a footing of equality with the reft; and, confequently, as there is no one principal object of awe and refpect, people are apt to take a greater latitude in their behaviour, and to be lefs upon their guard; and fo they may, provided it be within certain bounds, which are upon no occafion to be tranfgreffed. But, upon thefe occafions, though no one is entitled to diftinguished marks of refpect, every one claims, and very juftly, every mark of civility and good-breeding. Eafe is allowed, but careleffness and negligence are strictly forbidden. If a man accofts you, and talks to you ever fo dully or frivolously; it is worfe than rudeness, it is brutality, to thew him, by a manifeft inattention to what he fays, that you think him a fool or a blockhead, and not worth hearing. It is much more fo with regard to women; who, of whatever rank they are, are entitled, in confideration of their fex, not only to an attentive, but an officious good-breeding from men. Their little wants, likings, diflikes, preferences, antipathies, and fancies, must be officiously attended to, and, if poffible, gueffed at and anticipated, by a well-bred man. You must never ufurp to yourself thofe conveniencies and gratifications which are of common right; fuch as the best places, the beft dishes, &c. but on the contrary, always decline them yourfelf, and offer · them to others; who, in their turns, will offer them to you: fo that, upon the whole, you will, in your turn, enjoy your fhare of the common right. It would be endless for me to enumerate all the particular inftances in which a well-bred man fhews his good-breeding in good company; and it would be injurious to you to fuppofe that your own good fense will not point them out to you; and then your own good-nature will recommend, and your felf-intereft enforce the practice.

There is a third fort of good-breeding, in which people are the most apt to fail, from a very mistaken notion that they cannot fail at all. I mean, with regard to one's moft familiar friends and acquaintances, or those who really are our inferiors; and there, undoubtedly, a greater degree of eafe is not only allowed, but proper, and contributes much to the comforts of a pri

vate, focial life. But cafe and freedom have their bounds, which must by no means be violated. A certain degree of negligence and careleffnefs becomes injurious and infulting, from the real or fuppofed inferiority of the perfons; and that delightful liberty of converfation among a few friends, is foon deftroyed, as liberty often has been, by being carried to licentioufnefs. But example explains things beft, and I will put a pretty ftrong cafe: -Suppofe you and me alone together; I believe you will allow that I have as good a right to unlimited freedom in your company, as either you or 1 can poffibly have in any other; and I am apt to believe too, that you would indulge me in that freedom, as far as any body would. But, notwithstanding this, do you imagine that I fhould think there was no bounds to that freedom? I affure you, I fhould not think fo; and I take my felf to be as much tied down by a certain degree of good manners to you, as by other degrees of them to other people. The moit familiar and intimate habitudes, connec tions, and friendships, require a degree of good-breeding, both to preferve and cement them. The best of us have our bad fides; and it is as imprudent as it is illbred, to exhibit them. I fhall not ufe ceremony with you; it would be mifplaced between us but I fhall certainly obferve that degree of good-breeding with you, which is, in the first place, decent, and which, I am fure, is abfolutely neceffary to make us like one another's company long. Lord Chefterfield.

18. A Diologue betwixt MERCURY, an English Duellift, and a North-American Savage.

Duellift. Mercury, Charon's boat is cn the other fide of the water; allow me, before it returns, to have fome converfation with the North-American Savage, whom you brought hither at the fame time as you conducted me to the fhades. I never faw one of that fpecies before, and am curious to know what the animal is. He looks very grim.-Pray, Sir, what is your name? I understand you fpeak English.

Savage. Yes, I learned it in my childhood, having been bred up for fome years in the town of New-York: but before I was a man I returned to my countrymen, the valiant Mohawks; and being cheated

by one of yours in the fale of fome rum, I never cared to have any thing to do with them afterwards. Yet I took up the hatchet for them with the rest of my tribe in the war against France, and was killed while I was out upon a fcalping party. But I died very well fatisfied: for my friends were victorious, and before I was fhot I had fcalped feven men and five women and children. In a former war I had done ftill greater exploits. My name is The Bloody Bear: it was given me to express my fiercenefs and valour.

Duellift. Bloody Bear, I refpe&t you, and am much your humble fervant. My name is Tom Pufhwell, very well known at Arthur's. I am a gentleman by my birth, and by profeffion a gamefter, and man of honour. I have killed men in fair fighting, in honcurable fingle combat, but do not underftand cutting the throats of women and children.

Savage. Sir, that is our way of making war. Every nation has its own cuftoms. But by the grimnefs of your countenance, and that hole in your breaft, I prefume you were killed, as I was mytelf, in fome fcalping party. How happened it that your enemy did not take off your fcalp?

Duellift. Sir, I was killed in a duel. A friend of mine had lent me fome money; after two or three years, being in great want himself, he asked me to pay him; I thought his demand an affront to my honour, and fent him a challenge. We met in Hyde-Park; the fellow could not fence: I was the adroiteft fwordsman in England. I gave him three or four wounds; but at last he ran upon me with fuch impetuofity, that he put me out of my play, and I could not prevent him from whipping me through the lungs. I died the next day, as a man of honour fhould, without any fniveling figns of repentance: and he will follow me foon, for his furgeon has declared his wounds to be mortal. It is faid that his wife is dead of her fright, and that his family of feven children will be undone by his death. So I am well revenged; and that is a comfort. For my part, I had no wife-I always hated marriage: my whore will take good care of herfelf, and my children are provided for at the Foundling Hofpital.

Savage. Mercury, I won't go in a boat with that fellow. He has murdered his countryman; he has murdered his friend : I fay, I won't go in a boat with that fellow.

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