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tually suck in the several passions and depraved inclinations of their nurses, as anger, malice, fear, melancholy, sadness, desire, and aversion. This Diodorus, lib. 2, witnesses, when he speaks, saying, that Nero the emperor's nurse had been very much addicted to drinking; which habit Nero received from his nurse, and was so very particular in this, that the people took so much notice of it, as instead of Tiberius Nero, they called him Biberius Mero. The same Diodorus also relates of Caligula, predecessor to Nero, that his nurse used to moisten the nipples of her breast frequently with blood, to make Caligula take the better hold of them; which, says Diodorus, was the cause that made him so blood-thirsty and cruel all his lifetime after, that he not only committed frequent murder by his own hand, but likewise wished that all humankind wore but one neck, that he might have the pleasure to cut it off. Such like degeneracies astonish the parents, who, not knowing after whom the child can take, see one to incline to stealing, another to drinking, cruelty, stupidity; yet all these are not minded. Nay, it is easy to

when brought to light and before her eyes, and when by its cry it implores her assistance and the office of a mother. Do not the very cruellest of brutes tend their young ones with all the care and delight imaginable For how can she be called a mother that will not nurse her young onés” The earth is called the mother of all things, not because she produces, but because she maintains and nurses what she produces. The generation of the infant is the effect of desire, but the care of it argues virtue and choice. I am not ignorant but that there are some cases of necessity, where a mother cannot give suck, and then out of two evils the least must be chosen; but there are so very few, that I am sure in a thousand there is hardly one real instance; for if a woman does but know that her husband can spare about three or six shillings a week extraordinary, (although this is but seldom considered) she certainly, with the assistance of her gossips, will soon persuade the good man to send the child to nurse, and easily impose upon him by pretending indisposition. This cruelty is

supported by fashion, and nature gives place to

demonstrate, that a child, although it be born from custom.

the best of parents, may be corrupted by an ill- “sin, f

tempered nurse. How many children do we see ‘Your humble servant.” streele, T.

daily brought into fits, consumptions, rickets, &c. merely by sucking their nurses when in a passion or fury But indeed almost any disorder of the nurse is a disorder to the child, and few nurses can be found in this town but what labour under some distemperor other. The first question that is generally asked a young woman that wants to be a nurse, why she should be a nurse to other people's children, is answered, by her having an ill husband, and that she must make shift to live. I think now this very answer is enough to give any body a shock, if duly considered; for an ill husand may, or ten to one if he does not, bring home to his wife an ill distemper, or at least vexa. tion and disturbance. Besides, as she takes the child out of mere necessity, her food will be accordingly, or else very coarse at best; whence proseeds anill-concocted and coarse food for the child; or as the blood, so is the milk; and hence I am "o well assured proceeds the scurvy, the evil, * many other distempers. I beg of you, for the * of the many poor infants that may and will he saved by weighing this case seriously, to exhort *People with the utmost vehemencë, to let the *ildren suck their own mothers, both for the *nefit of mother and child. For the general *onent, that a mother is weakened by giving * to her children, is vain and simple. "I wis *intain, that the mother grows stronger by it, * will have her health better than she would *se otherwise, she will find it the greatest cure *d preservative for the vapours and future mis. ****, much beyond any other remedy whatso. ... Her children will be like giants, whereas wherwise they are but living shadows, and like "'Po fruit; and certainly if a woman is strong oh to bring forth a child, she is beyond ai Abt strong enough to nurse it afterwards. It §: the to observe and consider how many poor : o *re daily ruined by careless nurses; and ; * “nder ought they to be of a poor infant, tite o: !. or blow, especially upon the :*, may make i - o: . senseless, stupid, or otherwise o onnot well leave this subject as yet; that so Wome very unnatural, that a woman **d a child as part of herself for nine

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WE are told by some ancient authors, that Socrates was instructed in eloquence by a woman, whose name, if I am not mistaken, was Aspasia. I have indeed very often looked upon that art as the most proper for the female sex, and I think the universities would do well to consider whether they should not fill the rhetoric chairs with sheprofessors. It has been said in the praise of some men, that they could talk whole hours together upon any thing; but it must be owned to the honour of the other sex, that there are many among them who can talk whole hours together upon nothing. I have known a woman branch out into a long extempore dissertation upon the edging of a petticoat, and chide her servant for breaking a china cup, in all the figures of rhetoric. Were women admitted to plead in courts of judicature, I am persuaded they would carry the eloquence of the bar to greater heights than it has yet arrived at. If any one doubts this, let him but be present at those debates which frequently arise among the ladies of the British fishery. The first kind therefore of female orators which I shall take notice of, are those who are employed in stirring up the passions; a part of rhetoric in which Socrates's wife had perhaps made a greater. proficiency than his above-mentioned teacher. The second kind of female orators are those who deal in invectives, and who are commonly known

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The streaming bev'rage to her infant” crics."

by the name of the censorious. The imagination and elocution of this set of rhetoricians is wonderful. With what a fluency of invention, and copiousness of expression, will they enlarge upon every little slip in the behaviour of another ? With how many different circumstances, and with what variety of phrases will they tell over the same story I have known an old lady make an unhappy marriage the subject of a month’s conversation. She blamed the bride in one place ; pitied her in another; laughed at her in a third: wondered at her in a fourth; was an with her in a fifth ; and, in short, wore out a pair of coach-horses in expressing her concern for her. At length, after having quite exhausted the subject on this side, she made a visit to the new-married pair, praised the wife for the prudent choice she had made, told her the unrea. sonable reflections which some malicious people had cast upon her, and desired that they might be better acquainted. The censure and approbation of this kind of women are therefore only to be considered as helps to discourse. A third kind of female orators may be comprehended under the word gossips. Mrs. Fiddlefaddle is perfectly accomplished in this sort of eloquence; she launches out into descriptions of christenings, runs divisions upon an head-dress, knows every dish of meat that is served up in her neighbourhood, and entertains her company a whole afternoon together with the wit of her little boy, before he is able to speak. The coquette may be looked upon as a fourth kind of female orator. To give herself the larger field for discourse, she hates and loves in the same breath, talks to her lap-dog or parrot, is uneasy in all kinds of weather, and in every part of the room. She has false quarrels and feigned obligations to all the men of her acquaintance; sighs when she is not sad, and laughs when she is not merry. The coquette is in particular a great mistress of that part of oratory which is called action, and indeed seems to speak for no other purpose, but as it gives her an opportunity of stirring a limb, or varying a feature, of glancing her eyes, or playing with her fan. As for news-mongers, politicians, mimics, storytellers, with other characters of that nature which give birth to loquacity, they are as commonly found among the men as the women; for which reason I shall pass them over in silence. I have often been puzzled to assign a cause why women should have this talent of a ready utterance in so much greater perfection than men. I have sometimes fancied that they have not a retentive power, or the faculty of suppressing their thoughts, as men have, but that they are necessitated to speak everything they think; and if so, it would perhaps furnish a very strong argument to the Car. tesians for the supporting of their doctrine that the soul always thinks. But as several are of opinion that the fair sex are not altogether strangers to the art of dissembling and concealing their thoughts, I have been forced to relinquish that opinion, and have therefore endeavoured to seek after some better reason. ... In order to it, a friend of mine, who is an excellent anatomist, has promised me by

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or whether the fibres of it may not finer or more pliant thread; or e not in it some particular must up and down by such sudden or whether, in the last

ble or flippant, be made up of a whether there as cles which dart i

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why those who can talk on trifles speak with the greatest fluency; namely, that the tongue is likea race-horse, which runs the faster the lesser weight it carries. Which of these reasons soever may be looked upon as the most probable, I think the Irishnan's thought was very natural, who after some host conversation with a female orator told her, that he believed her tongue was very glad when she wo asleep, for that it had not a moment's rest all the while she was awake. That excellent old ballad of The Wanton Wł. of Bath, f has the following remarkable lines:

If a tongue would be talking without a mouth, what could it have done when it had all its org"

of speech, and accomplices of sound about". I
might here mention the story of the Pippin wo
man had I not some reason to look upon "*
fabulous.# -
I must confess I am so wonderfully charmed wo
the music of this little instrument, that I wouldo
no means discourage it. All that I aim at by *
dissertation is, to cure it of several disagreeabl;
notes, and in particular of those little jarrings
dissonances which arise from anger, censon*,
ness, gossiping, and coquetry. in short, two
always have it tuned by good-nature, truth, dis"
tion, and sincerity,

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even in that posture:

Comprensam forcipe linguam
Abstulit ense fero, radir mirat ultima linguæ.
Ipsajaret, terracque tremens immurmurat atro;
Utgue salire solet mutilata, cauda colubra.
Palpitat -

Met, lib, vi. ver, 3%

n o: bladeo tion root
r tongue sheer close to the trembling root;
The mangled part still quiver'd on the ground,
Murmuring with a faint imperfect sound;
§: as a serpent . his yo. train,
neas ting, an sess'd with pain.
y, panting, and pos &A.

Addison. C.
* Part iii. canto 2. ver, 443.
- Still his tongue ran on the less
Of weight it bore, with greater ease.
t Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. iii.
t This story of Doll, an app & woman, who, when the To"

tal yields; she sinks, she dies;

*The crackling §:
, from her lost shoulders flies;

er head, chopto


“I think, quoth Thomas, women's tongues o

aspen leaves are made.” iro

And Ovid, though in the description of a ten s: barbarous circumstance, tells us, that when the .

tongue of a beautiful female was cutout, and thro" o

upon the ground, it could not forbear mutter"; in

glances and vibrations;


No. 248, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1711.
He marime officii ent, ut quirque marime opio indigeat, itaei
poissimum pitulari. TUL

It is a principal point of duty, to assist another most, when he
o most in need of assistance.

to mothere are none who deserve superiority over into others in the esteem of mankind, who do not make *:: it their endeavour to be beneficial to society; and To who upon all occasions which their circumstances Ho of life can administer, do not take a certain unto seigned pleasure in conferring benefits of one kind orother. Those whose great talents and high birth so have placed them in conspicuous stations of life o, "to indispensably obliged to exert some noble intimations for the service of the world; or else * such advantages become misfortunes, and shade ind privacy are a more eligible portion. Where

**** opportunities and inclinations are given to the "... one person, we sometimes see sublime instances ".. fortue, which so dazzle our imaginations, that * *lock with scorn on all which in lower scenes of ** if we may ourselves be able to practise. But this ** Vicious way of thinking; and it bears some oice of romantic madness, for a man to imagine that he must grow ambitious, or seek adventures, * to be able to do great actions. It is in every * *m's power in the world who is above mere po. to oty, not only to do things worthy, but heroic. The great foundation of civil virtue is self-denial;

o there is no one above the necessities of life, o: * has opportunities of exercising that noble * Toy, and doing as much as his circumstances * "illbear for the ease and convenience of other a. *; and he who does more than ordinary men Polise upon such occasions as occur in his life,

E. deserves t e value of his friends, as if he had done *prises which are usually attended with the ighest glory. Men of public spirit differ rather in *ir circumstances than their virtue ; and the man who does allhe can, in a low station, is more a hero than he who omits any worthy action he is able to *mplish in a great one, it is not many years **ince Lapirius, in wrong of his elder brother, *togreatestate by gift of his father, by reason “the dissolute behaviour of the first-born. Shame *contrition reformed the life of the disinherited youth, and he became as remarkable for his good *ties as formerly for his errors. Lapirius, who *rved his brother's amendment, sent him, on a *Year's day in the morning, the following letter:

'hosounen BR0thER, "close to you the deeds whereby my father * me this house and land. Had he lived till ", he would not have bestowed it in that man*; he took it from the man you were, and I re*ore it to the man you are.

* I am sin,

‘Your affectionate brother,
‘and humble servant,
* P. T.”

As #. and exalted spirits undertake the purout of hazardous actions for the good of others, at the same time gratifying their passion for glory;

"do worthy minds in the domestic way of lifel

deny themselves many advantages, to satisfy age"ousbenevolence,which they bear to their friends "PPressed with distresses and calamities. Such na"*one may call stores of Providence, which are *uated by a secret celestial influence to under

value the ordinary gratifications of wealth, to give

comfort to an heart loaded with affliction, to save

a falling family, to preserve a branch of trade in

their neighbourhood, and give work to the indus

trious, preserve the portion of the helpless infant,

and raise the head of the mourning father. People whose hearts are wholly bent towards pleasure, or intent upon gain, never hear of the noble occurrences among men of industry and humanity. It would look like a city romance, to tell them of the generous merchant, who the other day sent this billetto an eminent trader under difficulties to support himself, in whose fall many hundreds besides himself had perished: but because I think there is more spirit and true gallantry in it than in any letter I have ever read from Strephon to Phillis, I shall insert it even in the mercantile honest style in which it was sent :

“sin, ‘I have heard of the casualties which have involved you in extreme distress at this time : and knowing you to be a man of great good-nature, industry, and probity, have resolved to stand by you. Be of good cheer; the bearer brings with him five thousand pounds, and has my order to answer your drawing as much more on my account. I did this in haste, for fear I should come too late for your relief; but you may value yourself with me to the sum of fifty thousand pounds; for I can yery cheerfully run the hazard of being so much less rich than I am now, to save an honest man whom I love. ‘Your friend and servant, w, s.”

I think there is somewhere in Montaignef mention made of a family-book, wherein all the occurrences that happened from one generation of that house to another were recorded. Were there such a method in the families which are concerned in this generosity, it would be an hard task for the greatest in Europe to give in their own, an instance of a benefit better placed, or conferred with a more graceful air. . It has been heretofore urged, how barbarous, and inhuman is any unjust step made to the disadvantage of a trader; and by how much such an act towards him is detestable, by so much an act of kindness towards him is laud. able. I remember to have heard a bencher of the Temple tell a story of a tradition in their house, where they had formerly acustom ofchoosing kings for such a season, and allowing him his expenses at the charge of the society. One of our kings,s said my friend, carried his royal inclination a littie too far, and there was a committee ordered to look into the management of his treasury. Among other things it appeared, that his majesty walking incog. in the cloister, had overheard a poor man say to another, “Such a small sum would make me the happiest man in the world.” The king, out of his royal compassion, o inquired into his character, and finding him a proper object of charity, sent him the money. When the committee read the report, the house passed his accounts with a plaudite without further examination, upon the recital of this article in them : For making a man happy 100 01.

strel E. T.

* The merchant involved in distress by casualties was one Mr. Moreton; a linen-draper; and the generous merchant, here so justly ecietrored, was Sir William Scawen. t Montaigne’s Essays, vol. i. 8vo edit. 4 See No. 218. - - - § Beau Nash, master of the ceremonies (with the title of King) at Bath. See his life in the Biographical Dictionary, vol. xi. are many admirable buffoons that animadvertupon | # every single defect in another, without everds. . No 249. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1711. |covering the least beauty of their own. By this means, these unlucky little wits often gain reputa. - - - - - **** - tion in the esteem of vulgar minds, and raise them. . ." Taxa: axxpo” or £golot: Jurov kazov. selves above persons of much more laudable chu. so Frag. Vet. Poet. racters. o Mirth out of season is a grievous ill. If the talent of ridicule were employed to laugh loo men out of vice and folly, it might be of some use *

edit. 1798.


When I make choice of a subject that has not
been treated on by others, I throw together my
reflections on it without any order or method, so
that they may appear rather in the looseness and
freedom of an essay, than in the regularity of a set
discourse. It is after this manner that I shall con-
sider laughter and ridicule in my present paper.
Man is the merriest species of the creation; all
above and below him are serious. He sees things
in a different light from other beings, and finds his
mirth arising from objects that perhaps cause some-
thing like pity or displeasure in higher natures.
Laughter is indeed a very good counterpoise to the
spleen; and it seems but reasonable that we should
be capable of receiving joy from what is no real
good to us, since we can receive grief from what
is no real evil.
I have in my forty-seventh paper raised a specu-
lation on the notion of a modern philosopher,” who
describes the first motive of laughter to be a secret
comparison which we make between ourselves and
the persons we laugh at ; or, in other words, that

satisfaction which we receive from the opinion of

some pre-eminence in ourselves, when we see the
absurdities of another, or when we reflect on any
ast absurdities of our own. This seems to hold
in most cases, and we may observe that the vainest
part of mankind are the most addicted to this
I have read a sermon of a conventual in the
church of Rome, on those words of the wise man,
• I said of laughter, it is mad; and of mirth, what
does it?" Upon which he laid it down as a point of
doctrine, that laughter was the effect of original
sin, and that Adam could not laugh before the fall.
Laughter, while it lasts, slackens and unbraces
the mind, weakens the faculties, and causes a kind
of remissness and dissolution in all the powers of
the soul; and thus far it may be looked upon as a
weakness in the composition of human nature. But
if we consider the frequent reliefs we receive
from it, and how often it breaks the gloom which
is apt to depress the mind and damp our spirits,
with transient unexpected gleams of joy, one
would take care not to grow too wise for so great
a pleasure of life. - - --
The talent of turning men into ridicule, and ex-
posing to laughter those one converses with, is the
gualification of little ungenerous tempers. A
young man with this cast of mind cuts himself off
from all manner of improvement. Every one has his
flaws and weaknesses; nay, the greatest blemishes
are often found in the most shining characters; but
what an absurd thing is it to pass over all the va-
luable parts of a man, and fix our attention on his
infirmities 2 to observe his imperfections more than
his virtues 2 and to make use of him for the sport
of others, rather than for our improvement 2
We therefore very often find, that persons the
most accomplished in ridicule are those who are
very shrewdin hitting a blot, without exerting any
thing masterly in themselves. ...As there are many
emissent critics who never writ a good line, there

to the world; but instead of this, we find that it is generally made use of to laugh men out of virtue and good sense, by attacking every thing that is solemn and serious, decent and praise-worthy, in . human life.

We may observe, that in the first ages of the world, when the great souls and master-pieces of

human nature were produced, men shined by 1 ° |
noble simplicity of behaviour, and were strangers
to those little embellishments which are sofashion.
able in our present conversation. And it is rer so.
remarkable, that notwithstanding we fall short it o
present of the ancients in poetry, painting, orators,
history, architecture, and all the noble arts and ||
sciences which depend more upon genius thane: o
perience, we exceed them as much in doggle, o
humour, burlesque, and all the trivial arts of ridi joke
cule. We meet with more raillery among them.
derns, but more good sense among the ancienti. ot
The two great branches of ridicule in writing o
- - - # *
are comedy and burlesque. The first ridicula ! th
persons by drawing them in their proper charac. o o
ters, the other by drawing them quite unlike their s, loé
selves. Burlesque is therefore of two kinds; the o:

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to fields and meadows when they are in flower,"
to trees when they are in blossom, runs through -
languages ; which I have not observed of any others
metaphor, excepting that of fire and burning when ||
they are applied to love. This shows that we no
turally regard laughter, as what is in itself both
amiable and beautiful. For this reason likewise
Venus has gained the title of outdo, “to jok
laughter-loving dame,’ as waller has translated",
and is represented by Horace as the goddess *
delights in laughter. Milton, in a joyous assembly so
of imaginary persons, has given us a very poet
figure of laughter. His whole band of mirth iss"
finely described, that I shall set down the pass:
at length:

* Hobbes.

* Botcome thou goddess fair and free,
In heav'nyclep'd'Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more,

To ivy crowned Bacchus bore,

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"The first eye of consequence (under the invisi*Author of all) is the visible luminary of the "else. This glorious Spectator is said never to on his eyes at his rising in a morning, without ong a whole kingdom of adorers in Persian sk waiting at his levee. Millions of creatures deove their sight from this original, who, besides his *śthe great director of optics, is the surest test "hether eyes be of the same species with that of ***gle, or that of an owl. The one he emboldens with a manly assurance to look, speak, act, or Plead before the faces of a numerous assembly; the other he dazzles out of countenance into a opish dejectedness. . The sun-proof eye dares od up a dance in a full court; and without "king at the lustre of beauty, can distribute an * of proper complaisance to a room crowded * Company, each of which deserves particular ord; while the other sneaks from conversation, ** a fearful debtor who never dares to look out, onen he can see nobody, and nobody him. The next instance of optics is the famous Ar* who (to speak the language of Cambridge) ** One of a hundred; and being used as a spy in * affairs of jealousy, was obliged to have all his ‘Yes about him. We have no account of the parocular colours, casts, and turns of this body of "Yes; but as he was pimp for his mistress Juno, it *Probable he used all the modernleers, sly glances, ind other ocular activities, to serve his purpose. Some look upon him as the then king at arms to he heathenish deities; and make no more of his ots than of so many spangles of his herald's coat "The next upon the optic list is old Janus, who "olin a double-sighted capacity, like a person

placed betwixt two opposite looking-glasses, and so took a sort of retrospective cast at one view. Co.

ies of this double faced way are not yet out of ashion with many professions, and the ingenious artists pretend to keep up this species by doubleheaded canes and spoons," but there is no mark. of this faculty, except in the emblematical way of a wise general having an eye to both front and rear, or a pious man taking a review and prospect of his past and future state at the same time.

“I must own, that the names, colours, qualities,

and turns of eyes, vary almost in every head; for, not to mention the common appellations of the black, the blue, the white, the grey, and the like : the most remarkable are those that borrow their titles from animals, by virtue of some particular

uality of resemblance they bear to the eyes of the respective creatures; as that of a greedy rapacious aspect takes its name from the cat, that of a sharp piercing nature from the hawk, those of an amorous roguish look derive their title even from the sheep, and we say such a one has a sheep’s eye, not so much to denote the innocence as the simple slyness of the cast. Nor is this metaphorical inoculation a modern invention, for we find Homer taking the freedom to place the eye of an ox, bull, or cow, in one of his principal goddesses, by that frequent expression of

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“Now as to the peculiar qualities of the eye, that fine part of our constitution seems as much the receptacle and seat of our passions, appetites, and inclinations, as the mind itself; and at least it is the outward portal to introduce them to the house within, or rather the common thoroughfare to let our affections pass in and out. Love, anger, pride, and avarice, all visibly move in those little orbs. I know a young lady that cannot see a cer. tain gentleman pass by without showing a secret desire of seeing him again by a dance in her eyeballs; nay, she cannot, for the heart of her, help looking half a street’s length after any man in a gay dress. You cannot behold a covetous spirit walk by a goldsmith's shop, without casting a wishful eye at the heaps upon the counter. Does not a haughty person show the temper of his soul in the supercili. ous roll of his eye and how frequently, in the height of passion, does that moving picture in our head start and stare, gather a redness and quick Hashes of lightning, and make all its humours sparkle with fire, as Virgil finely describes it,

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