THE CHARACTERS, OR THE Manners of the Age.  
BY Monsieur DE LA BRVYERE, of the French Academy. Made English by several hands.  
WITH THE Characters of Theophrastus, Translated from the Greek.  
AND A Prefatory Discourse to them, by Monsieur de la Bruyere.  
To which is added, A Key to his Characters.  
LONDON, Printed for john Bullord, and Sold by Matt. Gillyflower in Westminster-Hall; Ben. Tooke, next the Temple Gate; Christopher Bateman, at the Bible in Pater-noster-Row; and Richard Parker at the Unicorn, on the Royal Exchange, Booksellers, MDC LXXXXIX.   

THE PREFACE.  
AFter so many Editions of Monsieur de la Bruyere in his own Language, as Paris and Brussels have produced, and the approbation of as many as have read him, 'twould be impertinent to say much of him.  
His design was to make his Reader a Wise, a Good man, and a fine Gentleman● and his manner of prosecuting it is entirely new: No Author on his subject has come up to his Force and Delicacy, nor has any so agreeably varied his Style. He very well knew, that though Arts and Sciences daily improve, yet Vice and Folly get footing in the World: that men will hardly be corrected, unless they are entertained at the same time, and therefore has often Bribed their Spleen to rid them of their Immoralities and Indecencies, that so being pleased to see those of others severely lashed, they might be persuaded to go a little farther, and find themselves under Correction.  
He is an Author, so very difficult, that several who are familiarly acquainted with the French Tongue, can't easily understand him, and perhaps want leisure or application to study him; and indeed nothing but his extraordinary merit could have induced the Translators to undertake him: they thought our English World had better take up with an indifferent Translation of such an Author, than want one; and were encouraged to hope, that the Readers would find something even in such an one, which would a●tone for their faults in the performance, especially if they would be so kind as to believe, that a great many seeming obscurities in the following Sheets, are owing to the short turns, and curt manner of writing, very frequent in our Author.   

A KEY to the Characters or Manners of the Age.  

PAge 6. line 16. A Certain Magistrate. Mr Poncel.  
8● 1. There never was seen any piece, etc. This is a reflection on the Dictionary of the French Academy.  
9 20. A Modern Wit. Mr. Perault of the Academy.  
— 29. Some Learned Men. Ms Racine and Boileau, who writ in favour of the Ancients, against Perault.  
13. 15. Arsenes. Mr de Treville.  
14. 17. Theocrines. Mr L'abbe Dangeau.  
16. 4 & 7. Capys and Damys. Ms Bourfault and Boileau.  
— 11. News-Monger. The Author of the Journal des Scavans at Paris.  
20. 5. Two Writers. La Mothe le Vayer and Malebranche.  
21. 12. Amphion. Seigneur baptist Lulle.  
32. 17. A man born a Christian. Mr Boileau, who the Author commonly calls Despreaux.  
— 24. Dorila● and Handburg. Varillas and Mainbourg.  
38. 25. A man of Merit. Mr Pelletier.  
40. 8. Your Son lisps. Mr de Harlay, .... General.  
— 12. Xanthus. The Marq. of Coustanvave.  
— 21. Crassus. The Marq. de Louvois●  
41. 32. One that hath not all the Learning. The Archbishop of Rheims.  
42. 4. Trophimus. Cardinal Le Camus●  
— 6. Philemon. Son to the late L● Viscount Stafford.  
43. 19 Another is humble. Father Mabillon.  
44. 10. Aemilius. The late Prince of Conde.  
45. 19 The Race of the Gods. The Sons of Princes.  
46. 31. Mopsus. The Abbot of St. Pierre.  
47. 26. Celsus. The Baron of Bretueil, Reader to the King, Envoy to Mantua.  
49. 1. Menippus. The Marshal of Villeroy.  
59 22. Roscius. Baron, a Player.  
— 33. Claudia. The Duchess of Bovillon.  
— 34. Messalina. The Mareshale de la Ferte.  
— 34. Ba●hyllus. Precourt, the Dancing-waster.  
60. 7. Cobus. Beauchamp.  
— 13. Draco. Philbert.  
61. 14. Some Women. The Duchess of Aumont.  
68 28. A Woman with Learning. Madam Scudery.  
72. 30. 'Tis certain that a Woman, etc. Madame de Villedieu.  
75. 16. There are those Women, etc. The Precedent of Boquemar 's Lady.  
76. 5. Madam L— The Precedent Ambray 's Lady.  
93. 9 Drances. The Count de Tonnerre, first Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the Duke of Orleans.  
100 30. Theodectas. Mr D' Aubigne, Brother to Madam de Maintenon.  
106. 21. Theodemus. The Abbot Rob.  
107. 13. I know a man, etc. The Abbot de Rubec.  
110. 20. Two men lived, etc. Messieurs Courtin and St. Romain, Counsellors of State.  
112. 16 G— and H— Messieurs Herve and Vedeau, Councillors in the Parliament of Paris.  
118. 31. Hermagoras. 'Tis thought the Author reflects in this place upon Isaac Vos●ius; others think 'tis upon Mr Cheureaux, who writ ●he History of the World; and others think it was levelled at Father Pezron, Author of the Book entitled, The Antiquity of Times restored.  
124. 23. A man is ugly, etc. The Duke of Vanladour.  
— 31. N— Monsieur de St. Povange, Secretary to Monsieur Louvois.  
125. 15. S. T. P. The Partisans and Financiers.  
— 30. Arsurea, Madam Belizani.  
126. 12. Croesus. Monsieur Monteron.  
— 22. Champagne. Mr Monne●ot.  
— 31. Silvanus. Mr George, a Partisan, or Farmer of the King's Revenue, called now Mr Dantaigne, Son-in-Law to the Marquis of Valance.  
127. 11. Periander. Mr de L' anglee.  
129. 19 This Youth, etc. The Archbishop of Rheims.  
— 31. Chrysippus. Mr L' anglois, one of the King's Farmers, Father-in-Law to the Marshal Tourville.  
130. 14. Ergastus. The Baron de Beauvais.  
131. 1. Brontin. Mr de Berrier, a Partisan.  
— 9 S. T. P. Partisans.  
— 14. The man, etc. Mr Fouquet.  
137. 26. Fauconets. Messieurs Berthelot, who have enriched themselves in the King's Farms under that name.  
138. 33. Orontes. Mr Melaravoye, one of the Farmers of the Revenue.  
142. 6. We can't perceive in those persons, etc. Mr Morin, a famous Gamester, very well known in England.  
143. 7. How many thousands, etc. The Precedent Robert.  
150. 24. In the City, etc. The Advocates and Officers.  
151. 31. There are a certain number, etc. The Precedent de Meme, and others.  
152. 20. The Crispin's. Messieurs Malo, Officers of the Robe.  
— 30. The Sannions. Monsieur Le Clerc de Lesseville, whose Grandfather was a Tanner at Meulan.  
154. 13. Another of them, etc. Mr de Nouveau, Governor of the Post Office.  
156. 19 There is a man, etc. The l●te Prince of Meckelburg.  
170. 12. A Courtier. The Duke of Bovillon.  
177● 31. Artemon● The Marquis of Va●des, who put in to be Governor to the Duke of Burgundy.  
181. 26. Timantes. The late Duke of Luxembourgh.  
183. 2. Tibur. Meudon.  
— 4. Plancus. Mr de Louvoy.  
— 28. Theodotus. The Abbot of Chorsy of the French Academy, Author of the Lives of Philip de Valois, and some of his Successors.  
187. 6. Xanthippus. Mr Bontemps, Governor of Versailles.  
188. 7. I have heard talk of a Country, etc. V●●sailles.  
194. 16. Aristides. Mr de Pomponne, Minister of State.  
195. 8. Straton. Mr de Lauzun, whose Amours with Mademoiselle de Montpen●●er made so great a noise in the World. He was several yea●s close Prisoner in the Citadel of Pignerol, and afterwards sent into Ireland to command the French Forces under the late King James.  
200. 30. Theophilus. The Bishop of Autumn.  
201. 26. A Person of Quality. The late King James.  
203. 4. Antiphon. Mr de la Fevillade.  
204● 24. Of Hannibal, Caesar, etc. The Author characterizes certain Noblemen, who assume the names of Gods and Demigods.  
213. 13. Theognis. The late Archbishop of Paris, Francis de Harlay.  
214. 7. Pamphilus. The Marquis of Dangeau.  
223. 12. Demophilus. The Abbot of St. Helen, who was dissatisfied with the Ministers of State.  
224. 20. Basilidius. Counsellor Aubray.  
225. 26. That such a Prince, etc. The Duke of Savoy.  
— 27. A second. The King of Spain.  
— 29. A third. The present King of England.  
239. 23. A good Monarch. The King of France.  
245. 12. Menalcas. The Count de Brancas, Chevalier d' Honneur to the Queen Mother.  
165. 32. A man died at Paris, etc. The late Prince of Conde.  
276. 20 Some men. Mr de Fevillade.  
277. 24. 'Tis easier for some men, etc. The late Archbishop of Paris, Francis de Harlay.  
278. 5. Some men, etc. The Cardinal de Bovillon and the Bishop of Noyon.  
— 12. Others begin their lives, etc. The Counts of Guiche and Bussy Rabutin.  
284. 1. Phidippus. The Abbot Dance.  
— 15. Gnathon. The Marquis de Sable.  
285. 20. Cliton. Ms D' Olonne and du Broussin.  
298. 11. Adrastus. Mr. Derbarreau.  
308. 9 Antisthene. Mr de la Bruyere, Author of this Book.  
— 16. Berylle. The Abbot Rubec.  
— 27. A Lackey is made, etc. Mr Berrier, who had been a Footman.  
— 31. One enriches himself. Benoist.  
— 32. The Mountebank. Barbereau the Empirick.  
309. 28. If the Ambassadors, etc. Those of Siam.  
310. 28. When the Bishop, etc. Cardinal le Camus.  
314. 12. Gravity too much affected. The first Precedent of the Parliament of Paris.  
320. 24. There is a thing, etc. Mr de la Fontaine.  
— 32. Another is foolish, timorous, etc. Mr Corneille, Senior.  
321. 24. Theodas. Mr Santevil de St Victor, one of the best Latin Poets alive.  
322. 15. Such an one, etc. Mr Peletier de Soucy and his Brother the Minister of State.  
325. 5. Socrates. The Author speaks of himself and of his Book in the three following Paragraphs.  
328. 23. What surprising success, etc. The● late Chancellor of France, Mr Le Tellier.  
357. 12. When a Courtier becomes humble. The Duke of Beauvilliers, Precedent of the King's Council, and Governor to the Duke of Burgundy.  
369. 4. Some men, etc. Mr de L'Anglois de Rieux.  
372. 20. A Brisk Jolly Priest. Mr Hameau Curate of S. Paul's.  
386. 8. Titius. Monsieu Hennequin.  
389. 13. Hermippus. Mr Dasserville.  
397. 15. Till such time, etc. Mr Le Tourne●r, deceased some years ago.  
398. 4. Apostolic Man. Father Seraphin, a Capuchin.  
401. 7. The man must have some Wit. The Abbot Bavyn, and others.  
402. 13. A soft Effeminate Morality. The Abbot Flechier, Bishop of Nismes.  
— 26. The Heroic Virtue. The Abbot Roquerre, Nephew to the Bishop of Authun.  
405. 24. A man starts up, etc. Pontier, Author of the Cabinet of Princes.    

ERRATA.  
〈◊〉 183. l. ●. for at ●iburs read the Tiber l. 3. for with 〈…〉 there: for the blank l. 19 r. Hur●n: ● and for 〈…〉 l. 20. r Iroquois: p. 231. l. 16. deal not: p. 265. 〈…〉 waking r. watching: p. 272. l. 12. for she r. be.   

THE CHARACTERS, OR, Manners of the Age.  
I Borrowed the subject matter of this Book from the Public, and I now restore it what it lent me. Indeed having finished the whold Work, with the utmost regard to truth, that I was capable of, 'tis but just I should make it this restitution. The world may view here the Picture I have drawn of it from Nature, and if I have hit on any defects, which it agrees with me to be such, it may at leisure correct them. This is what a man ought chiefly to propose to himself in writing, though he can't always be sure of success. However, as long● as men distaste Vice so little as they do, we should never give over reproaching them They would perhaps be worse were it not: for censure and reproof, which makes writing and preaching of absolute necessity. The Orator and Writer can't stifle the Joy they feel when they are applauded, but they ought to blush in themselves if they aim at nothing more than praise, by their discourses or writings. Besides, that the most certain and least equivocal approbation is the change of Manners in their Readers or Hearers, we should neither write nor speak but for Instruction; yet we may lawfully rejoice, if we at the same time please those to whom we address, and by this means make the truths we should advance, the more insinuating and the better received, when any thoughts or reflections slide into a Book which have neither fire, nor turn, or vivacity agreeable to the rest, though they seem at first to be set there for variety, to divert our minds, and render them more attentive on what is to follow, but otherwise are not proper, sensible, or accommodated to the capacity of the people, whom we must by no means neglect, both the Reader and Author ought to condemn 'em● This is one rule which I desire every one to remember. There's another which my particular Interest obliges me to request, may not be forgot, that is, always to have my Title in view, and to think as often as this Book is read, that I describe the Characters, or Manners of the Age; for though I frequently take 'em from the Court of France, and men of my own Nation, ●et they cannot be confined to any one Court or Country, without losing a great deal of the compass and usefulness of my Book, and destroying the design of the work, which is to paint Mankind in general, as the reasons of every Chapter, and the connexion which insensibly the reflections that compose them have one with another plainly demonstrate. After this so necessary a precaution, the consequences of which 'tis easy enough for any body to penetrate, I must protest against all chagrin complaint, all malicious interpretation, prejudice and scandal. Men must know how to read and hold their Tongues, or say nothing more or less than they have really read, but this caution will not sometimes be sufficient, unless the Readers are willing themselves to judge favourably. Without these conditions, which an exact and scrupulous Author is in the right to require of some people, as the only Recompense of his Labour, I question whether he ought to continue writing, if he prefers his private satisfaction to the public good, and a zeal for promoting Truth. I confess about the year 1690 I was divided between an impatience, to give my Book another Figure, and a better form by new Characters; and a fear lest some people should say, will the Characters never be finished? shall we never see any thing else from this Author? On one side several men of good sense told me the matter is solid, useful, pleasant, inexhaustible, live a long while, and treat on't without interruption as long as you live? What can you do better? The follies of Mankind will every year furnish you with a Volume. While others with a great deal of reason made me apprehend the capriciousness of the multitude, and the levity of the people, (with whom however I have good cause to be content). These were always suggesting to me, that for these 30 years past, few have read with any other intent than for the sake of reading and that to amuse the world there should be Chapters and a new Title● that this humour of indifference had filled the Shops, and stocked the Age with Piles of dull and tedious Books without stile or meaning, rules or order, contrary to decency or manners, written in haste, read with precipitation, and taking a while only for their Novelty. They added further, if I could not enlarge a sensible Book, I had best sit quiet and do nothings I in some measure took both their Advices, as opposite as they seem to be, and observed a medium which disagrees with neither. I don't pretend to have added any new Remarks to those which already had doubled the bulk of the first Edition of my Book, but that the public might not be obliged to read over what was done before, to come at what has been added since, and that they may immediately find out what they would only read, I have taken care to distinguish the 2d augmentation by a greater mark, and the first by a less, as well to show the progress of my Characters, as to guide the Reader in the choice, he might be willing to make. And lest they should be afraid I shall never have done with these additions, I add to all my exactness, the sincere promise to venture on nothing more of this kind. If any one accuses me with breaking my word, by adding in the sixth Edition a few remarks, I confess ingenuously I had not the power to suppress 'em. He may perceive, by mingling what was new with what was old, without any mark of distinction, I did not so much endeavour to entertain the world with novelties, as to deliver down to posterity a Book of Manners more pure, regular and complete. To conclude, what I have written are not designed for Maxims; those are like Laws in Morality, and I have neither Genius nor Authority sufficient to qualify me for a Legislator. I know well enough I have offended against the customs of Maxims, which are delivered in short and concise terms, like the manner of Oracles. Some of my remarks are of this kind, others are more extended. We think things differently one from another, and we express 'em in a turn altogether as different By a Sentence, an Argument, a Metaphor, or some other Figure, a Parallel, a simple Comparison, by one continued in all parts, or in a single passage, by a Description or a Picture, from whence proceeds the length or shortness of my Reflections. Those who write Maxims would be thought infallible; on the contrary, I allow any body to say of me, my Remarks are not always good, provided he will himself make better.  

OF Polite Learning.  
WE are come too late, after above seven thousand years that there have been men, and men have thought, to say any thing which has not been said already. The finest and most beautiful thoughts concerning manners are carried away before us, and we can do nothing now, but glean after the Ancients, and the most ingenious of the Moderns.  
* We must only endeavour to think and speak justly ourselves, without aiming to bring others over to our taste and sentiments; We shall find that too great an enterprise.  
* To make a Book, is like making a Pendulum, a Man must have Experience, as well as Wit to succeed in it. 
Pencer.  A certain Magistrate arriving by his merit to the first dignities of the Gown, thought himself qualified for every thing; He printed a Treatise of Morality, and published himself a Coxcomb.  
* 'tis not so easy to raise a reputation by a complete work, as to make an indifferent one valued by a reputation already acquired.  
* A Satire or a Libel, when 'tis handed privately from one to another with strict charge of secrecy, if 'tis but mean in itself, passes for wonderful; the printing it would ruin its reputation.  
* Take away from most of our Moral Essays, the Advertisement to the Reader, the Epistle Dedicatory, the Preface, the Table and the Commendatory Verses, there will seldom be enough left to deserve the name of a Book.  
* Several things are insupportable if they are but indifferent, as Poetry, Music, Painting and Public Speeches.  
'Tis the worst punishment in the world to hear a dull Declamation delivered with Pomp and Solemnity, and bad Verses rehearsed with the Emphasis of a wretched Poet.  
* Some Poets in their Dramatic pieces are fond of big Words and ●ounding Verses, which seem strong, elevated and sublime; The people stare, gape, and hear 'em greedily; They are transported at what they fancy is rare, and where they understand lea●t, are sure to admire most● They scarce allow themselves time to breathe, and are loath to be interrupted by Claps or Applauses: When I was young I imagined these places were clear and intelligible to the Author, the Pit, Boxes and Galleries; that the Actors understood 'em, and that I was in the wrong to know nothing of the matter after much attention: But I am now undeceived.  
* There never was seen any piece excellent in its kind, that was the joint labour of several men: Homer writ his Iliads, Virgil his Eneids● Livy his Decades, and Cicero his Orations.  
* As there is in Nature, so there is in ●rt, a point of Perfection. He who is sensible of it, and is touched with it has a good taste: He who is not sensible of it, but is wavering, has a vicious taste. Since than there is a good and a bad taste, we may with reason dispute the difference.  
* Every one has more fire than judgement, or rather there are few men of Wit, who are good Critics.  
The Lives of Heroes have enriched History, and History has adorned the Actions of Heroes: And thus 'tis difficult to tell who are most indebted, the Historians to those who furnished 'em with such noble materials, or the Great Men to their Historians.  
* 'Tis a sorry commendation that is made up of a heap of Epithets; 'tis actions and the manner of relating 'em, which speak a man's praise.  
* The chief Art of an Author consists in making good definitions, good pictures. 
† Considering him only as an A●●h●r.  Moses, Homer, Plato, Virgil and Horace, excel other Writers mostly in their Expressions and Images. Truth is the best guide to make a man write forcibly, naturally and delicately.  
* We should do by Style, as we have done by Architecture, banish entirely the Gothick order, which the Barbarians introduced in their Palaces and Temples, and recall the Doric, jonick and Corinthian. Let what we see in the Ruins of ancient Rome and old Greece shine in our Porticoes and Peristils, and become Modern: Since we cannot arrive to perfection, or, if possible, surpass the Ancients in Building or Writing, but by imitating them.  
How many Ages were lost in Ignorance before men could come back to the taste of the Ancients in the Arts and Sciences, or recover at last the Simple and the Natural.  
We nourish ourselves by the Ancients and ingenious Moderns; we draw from 'em as much as we can, and at their expense in the end become Authors: Then we quickly think we can walk alone, and without help: We oppose our benefactors, and treat 'em like those Children, who grown pert and strong with the Milk they have sucked, turn themselves against their Nurses.  
'Tis the practice of a Modern Wit to prove the Ancients inferior to us by two ways, 
Perrault.  Reason and Example. He takes the Reason from his particular Opinion, and the Example from his Writings.  
He confesses the Ancients, as unequal and incorrect as they are, have a great many good lines; he citys them, and they appear so fine, that they ruin his Criticisms.  
Some learned Men declare in favour of the Ancients against the Moderns: But we are afraid they judge in their own Cause; and so many of their Works are made after the Model of Antiquity, that we except against their Authority.  
* An Author should be fond of reading his Works to those who know how to correct and esteem ●em.  
He that will not be corrected, nor advised in his Writings is a Pedant.  
An Author ought to receive with equal Modesty the Praises and the Criticisms, which are passed on his productions.  
* Amongst all the different expressions which can render any one of our thoughts, there is but one good; we are not always so fortunate as to hit upon't in writing or speaking. However, 'tis true that it exists, That all the rest are weak, and will not satisfy a man of sense, who would make himself understood.  
A good Author who writes with care, when he meets with the Expression he has searched after for some time without knowing it, finds it at last the most simple and the most natural, and fancies it ought to have presented itself to him at first without search or enquiry.  
Those who write by Humour, are frequently subject to revise their Works, and give 'em new touches: And as their Humours are never fixed, but vary on every slight occasion, they quickly spoil their Writings by new expressions and terms which they like better than the former.  
* The same true sense which makes an Author write a great many good things, tells him that there are not enough to deserve reading.  
A Man of little sense is ravished with himself, and thinks his Writings divine; a Man of good sense is harder to be pleased, and would only be reasonable.  
* One, says Aristus, engaged me to read my Book to Zoilus: I read it; he was satisfied, and before he had leisure to dislike it, he commended it coldly in my presence; since that, he takes no notice on't, nor says a word in its favour; however I excuse him; I desire no more of an Author, and even pity him the hearing so many fine things, which were not his own making.  
Such, as by their circumstances are free from the Jealousies of an Author, have other cares and passions to distract 'em, and make 'em cold towards another Man's conceptions: 'Tis difficult to find a person whose fortune and good humour put him in a condition, to taste all the pleasure a complete pi●ce can give him.  
* The pleasure of Criticising takes away the pleasure of being sensibly charmed with very fine productions.  
* Many Men who perceive the Beau●ies of a Manuscript, when they hear it read, will not declare themselves in its favour, till they see what success it has in the world when 'tis printed, and what Character the Ingenious give it: They will not hazard their Votes before its Fortune is made, and they are carried away with the Crowd, or engaged by the Multitude. Then they are very forward to publish how early they were in their approbation, and how glad they are to find the World is of their opinion.  
These men lose a fair opportunity to convince us they are persons of capacity and insight, that they make a true judgement, and distinguish an excellent thing from one that is good. A fine piece falls into their hands, the Author's first work, before he has got a name, or they are yet prepossessed in his behalf; he has not endeavoured to make his court to the great men by flattering their Writings; neither is it required that they should proclaim to please some man of Quality or Topping Wit, who has declared himself in its favour, This is a Masterpiece: Humane Wit never went so far: We will judge of no bodies opinion, but in proportion to what thoughts he has of this Book. Extravagant and offensive expressions, which smell of the Pension or the Abbey, and are injurious to what is really commendable. Why did they not profess it by themselves, when they might have been alone in their praises, why did they not then commend it? 'Tis true, at last they cry aloud, ●tis an admirable Book, when the whole Kingdom has approv●d it; when foreigners as well as their own Countrymen are fond of it; when 'tis printed all over Europe, translated into all Languages; in short, when ●tis too late, and the Author is not obliged to ●em for their Applauses.  
* Some of 'em read a Book, collect certain lines which they don't understand, and rob 'em of their value by what they put in of their own: yet these lines so broken and disguised, that they are indeed their proper stile and thoughts, they expose to censure, maintain 'em to be bad, and as they cite 'em the World readily agree with them: But the passage they pretend to quote is never the worse for their Injustice.  
* Well, says one, what's your opinion of Hermedorus' Book? That ●tis bad, replies Anthimus; That 'tis bad, What d● ye mean, Sir? That 'tis bad, continues he, at least it deserves not the Character people give it. Have you read it? No, says Anthimus, but Fulvia and Melania have condemned it without reading, and I am a Friend to Fulvia and Melania.  
* Arsenes from the Altitudes of his Understanding contemplates Mankind, 
L' Abbe Choisy.  and at the distance from whence he beholds them, seems affrighted at their Littleness: He is commended, exalted, and mounted to the Skies, by certain persons who have reciprocally covenanted to admire one another: Contented with his own Merit, he fancies he has as much Wit as he wants, and more than he ever will have: Thus employed by his high thoughts, and full of sublime Ideas, he scarcely finds time to pronounce the sacred Oracles: He is elevated by his Character above humane Judgements, and leaves it for common Souls to value a common and uniform Life, being answerable for his inconstancy to none, but his particular friends who have resolv●d to Idolise him: for this reason, They only know how to judge or think: They only know how to write, and 'tis only in Them a duty. As for other Pieces, however received in the World, or universally liked by Men of Honour and Worth, he is so far from approving 'em, that he never condescends to read 'em, and is incapable of being corrected by this Picture, which will not be so happy, as to reach him.  

L' Abbe de Dangeau.  * Theocrines is very well acquainted with what is trivial and unprofitable: He is less profound, than methodical: He is the Abstract of Disdain, and seems continually laughing in himself at such, as he thinks despise him. By chance I once read him something of mine, he heard it out with impatience, he cried presently, is it done? And then talked of his own. But what said he of yours, say you? I have told you already, Sir, he talked of his Own.  
* The most accomplished piece, which the Age has produced would fail under the hands of the Critics and Censurers, if the Author would hearken to their Objections, and allow 'em to throw out what is not to their satisfaction.  
* Experience tells us, if there are ten persons, who would blot a thought, or an expression out of a Book, there are a like number who would oppose it: These will allege, for what would you suppress that thought? 'tis new, fine, and handsomely expressed. Those on the contrary, affirm it should be omitted, at least they would have given it another turn. In your work, says one, there is a term exceeding witty, it points out your meaning very naturally. Methinks, says another, that word is too bold, and yet does not signify so much as you would have it. 'Tis the same word, and the same line these Critics differ so much about, and yet they are all Judges, or pass for such amongst their Acquaintance. What then shall an Author do, but follow the advice of those, who approve it?  
* A serious Author is not obliged to trouble his Head with all the extravagant Banters and bad Jests which are thrown on him, or to be concerned at the impertinent Constructions, which a sort of Men may make on some pasages of his Writings, neither ought he to give himself the trouble to suppress 'em. He is convinced, that if a Man is never so exact in his manner of writing, the dull Raillery and wretched Buffooniry of certain worthless People are unavoidable; since they make use of the best things only to turn 'em into ridicule.  
* There is a prodigious difference between a Fine piece, and one that's Regular and Perfect. I question if there is any thing to be found in the last kind, it being less difficult for a rare Genius to hit upon the Great and Sublime, than to avoid all Errors. The Cid at its first appearance was universally admired. It lived in spite of Policy or Power, which attempted in vain to destroy it. The Wits, who were otherwise divided in their sentiments, united in favour of this Tragedy. The Persons of Quality, and the common People, agreed to keep it in their memory; they were beforehand with the Actors in rehearsing it at the Theatre. The Cid in short is one of the ●inest Poems which can be made; and one of the best Critics, which ever was written on any Subject, is that on the Cid.  
* Capys sets up for a Judge of Style, and fancies he writes like Bouhours or Rabutin; he opposes himself to the Voice of the People, and says all alone Damis is not a good Author: however, Damis gives way to the Multitude, and affirms ingenuously with the public, that Capys is a dull Writer.  
* ●Tis the business of a News-monger to inform us when a Book is to be published, for whom 'tis printed, for Cramoisy, or for whom else, in what Character, how bound, and what Paper, how many of 'em are gone off, and at what Sign the Bookseller lives. This is his Duty; 'tis foolish in him to pretend to be a Critic.  
The highest reach of a News-monger is an empty Reasoning on Policy, and vain Conjectures on the public Management.  
Boevius lies down at night in great Tranquillity at some false News, which dies before morning, and he is obliged to abandon it assoon as he awakes.  
* The Philosopher wastes his Life in observing Men, and exposing Foppery and Vice; he gives his thoughts no other turn than what serves to set a Truth he has found out in a proper Light, that it may make the Impression he designs. He has little of the Vanity of an Author, and yet some Readers think they do very well by him, if they say with a Magisterial Air, They have read his Book, and there is some Sense in it. But he returns them their Praises, having other ends than bare Applause in his Sweeting so much, and breaking his Rest: he has higher Aims, and acts by a more elevated Policy he requires from Mankind a greater and more extraordinary Success than Commendation, or even Rewards. He expects Amendment and Reformation.  
* A Fool reads a Book and understands nothing in it; a Little Wit reads it, and is presently master of all without exception; a Man of Sense sometimes does not comprehend it entirely, he distinguishes what is clear from what is obscure, whilst the Beaux Esprits will have those passages dark which are not, and can't understand what is really intelligible.  
* An Author endeavours in vain to make himself admired by his productions. A fool may sometimes admire him● but then he is a fool: And a Man of Sense has in him the Seeds of all Truth and Opinions; nothing is new to him. He admires little, it being his Province chiefly to approve.  
* I question if 'tis possible to find in Letters of Wit a better manner, more agreeableness, and a finer Style than we see in Balzac's and Voiture's. ●Tis true, they are void of those sentiments which have since taken amongst us, and were invented by the Ladies. That Sex excels ours in this kind of writing. Those Expressions and Graces flow from 'em, which are in us the effect of tedious Labour, and troublesome Enquiry. They are happy in their terms, and place them so justly, that every one presently lights upon their meaning: As familiar as they are, yet they have the Charm of Novelty; and seem only designed for the use they put 'em to. They only can express a whole sentence in a single word, and render a delicate thought in a turn altogether as delicate. We find in all their Letters an inimitable connexion continued thro' the whole, very naturally, and always bounded by good sen●e. If the Ladies were more correct, I might affirm, that they have produced some Letters, the best written of any thing in our Language.  
* Terence wanted nothing but Warmth: with what Purity, Exactness, Politeness, Elegance, and Characters are his Plays adorned? Moliere wanted nothing but to avoid Jargon, and to write purely. What Fire? What Naivete? What a source of good Pleasantry? What Imitation of Manners? What Images? What a Flail of Ridicule are in his Comedies? What a Man could we make of these two Comedians?  
* ay have read Malherbe and Theophile: they both understood Nature, with this difference, The first in a plain, uniform Style, discovered at once something noble, fine, simple, and natural like a good Painter, or a True Historian. The other without Choice, or Exactness, with a free and uneven Pen, sometimes loaden with Descriptions, grows heavy in particulars, and gives you an Anatomy, and sometimes he feigns, exaggerates, and goes so much beyond the natural truth, that he makes a Romance.  
* Ronsard and Balzac have each in their kind good and bad things, enough to form after 'em very great Men in Verse or Prose.  
* Marot by his turn and stile seems to have written since Ronsard. There is little difference between the first and us, but the alteration of a few words.  
* Ronsard and his Contemporaries were more prejudicial than serviceable to Style. They kept it back in the way to perfection, and exposed it to the danger of being always defective. ●Tis surprising that Marot's Works, which are so easy and natural, had not taught Ronsard, otherwise full of Rapture and Enthusiasm, to make a greater Poet than Marot, or himself; and that on the contrary, Belleau, jodelle, and St. Gelais, were so soon followed by a Racan, and a Malherbe; or that our Language ere it was scarce corrupted, should be so quickly recovered.  
* Marot and Rabelais are inexcusable for scattering so much Ribaldry in their Writings, they had both Genius and Wit enough to have omitted it, without striving to please such as would rather meet matter of Laughter, than Admiration in an Author. Rabelais is incomprehensible: his Book is an inexplicable Enigma, a mere Chimaeras it has a Woman's face, with the feet and tail of a Serpent, or some Beast more deformed: 'tis a monstrous collection of Political and ingenious Morality, with a mixture of Beastliness: Where 'tis bad 'tis abominable, and fit for the diversion of the Rabble; and where 'tis good 'tis exquisite, and may entertain the most delicate.  

La Mothe le Vayer, and Malebranche.  Two Writers in their Works have condemned Montagne: I confess he sometimes exposes himself to censure, but neither of these Gentlemen will allow him to have any thing valuable. One of ●em thinks too little to taste an Author who thinks a great deal, and the other thinks too subtilely to be pleased with what is Natural.  
A grave, serious and scrupulous stile will live a long while: Amyot and Coeffeteau are read, and who else of their Contemporaries? Balzac for his phrase and expression is less old than Voiture. But if the Wit, Genius and Manner of the last is not Modern, nor so conformable to our present Writers, 'tis because they can more easily neglect than imitate him, and that the few who followed could never overtake him.  
* The Mercure Gallant is a trifle, next to nothing, and there are many labours of the same importance; however the Author has had the good luck to live well by his Invention, and there have been Fops always ready to take off an Impression of his foolish Book: Whence we may perceive 'tis the Ignorance of the people's judgement which makes men sometimes fearful to venture abroad a great many dull pieces.  
* An Opera is the Sketch of some magnificent show, of which it serves to give one an Idea.  
I wonder how an Opera, with all its Charge and Music, should yet so suddenly tyre me.  
There are some places in an Opera which make us desire more, and others that dispose us to wish it all over, according as we are pleased or offended with the Scenes, the Action, and the things represented.  
An Opera is not now adays, a Poem, 'tis Verses; nor a Show, since Machine's have disappeared, by the dextrous management of 
* Lul.  Amphion and his race. 'Tis a consort of Voices assisted by Instruments. We are cheated by those, who tell us, Machine's are the amusements of Children, and proper only for Puppet-plays. It increases and embellishes the Fiction, and keeps the Spectators in that sweet Illusion, which is the highest pleasure of the Theatre, especially where it has a mixture of the Marvellous. There is no need of Wings, or Cars, or Metamorphoses: But 'tis however the design of an Opera, and its representation, to hold the Mind, the Eye and the Ear in an equal Enchantment.  
* The Critics, or such as would be thought so, will ever have the decisive voice at all public sights: They canton and divide themselves into parties, pushed on of both sides by a particular interest, opposite to that of the Public, or Equity, admiring only such a Poem, or such a piece of Music, and condemning all the rest. They are sometimes so warm in their prejudices, that they are at a loss how to defend 'em; and injure the reputation of their Cabal by their visible injustice and partiality. These men discourage the Poets and Musicians by a thousand contradictions, retarding the progress of the Arts and Sciences, depriving several masters of the f●uit they would draw from emulation, and the World of many excellent performances.  
* What's the reason that we laugh so freely, and are ashamed to weep at the Theatre? Is Nature less subjects to be softened by pity, than to burst forth at what is Comical? Is it the alteration of our looks that prevents us? ●Tis as great in an extraordinary Laughter, as in the most bitter Weep; and we turn away our faces to laugh as well as to weep, in the presence of people of Quality, or such as we respect. It is our backwardness to be thought tender, or to show any emotion at a false subject, where we fancy we are made Cullies? Without naming some grave men, or persons of sound judgements, who think there is as much weakness shown in Laughing excessively, as in Weeping? What is it that we look for at a Tragedy, Is it to Laugh? Does not truth reign there as lively by its Images, as in a Comedy? And does not the Soul imagine things true in either kind before it suffers itself to be moved? Or is it so easy to be pleased, that verisimility is not necessary towards it? If not, we must suppose 'tis the natural effect of a good Tragedy, to make us Weep freely in sight of the whole Audience, without any other trouble than drying our Eyes, and wiping our Faces. It being no more ridiculous to be seen Weeping, than to be heard to Laugh by the whole Theatre: On the contrary, we then conclude there was something acted very pleasantly, and to the life; and the restraint a man puts on himself to hide his tears, by an affected Grimace, plainly demonstrates that he ought not to resist the main design of a Tragedy, but give way to his Passions, and discover 'em as openly, and with as much confidence, as at a Comedy: Besides, when we have been so patient as to sit out a whole Play, we should be less ashamed to weep at the Theatre, than to ●it there three hours for nothing.  
* A Tragedy engages the Soul in the beginning, and gives it no time afterwards to wander from what 'tis employed about. If a man gets a little release, ●tis only to be plunged in new abysses, and to be involved in fresh cares: It conducts him by Terror to Pity, and reciprocally by Pity to Terror. It leads him th●o Tears, Sighs, Incertitudes, Hopes, Fears, Horrors and Surprises, to the Catastrophe: ●tis not then a collection of pretty thoughts, tender declarations, gallant discourses, agreeable pictures, soft words, or sometimes pleasant jests, followed indeed at last with a seen of Mutineers, who right or wrong knock some unfortunate man on the head, and so mak●s a clear Stage.  
* 'Tis not sufficient that the Manners of the Theatre ought not to be bad, they should be decent and instructive. Some things are so low, so mean, so dull and insignificant in themselves, that the Poet is not permitted to write, nor the Audience to be diverted by 'em. The Peasant or the Drunkard may furnish out some Scenes for a Farce-maker; they must never enter into true Comedy, for since such Characters cannot answer the main end, they should not be the main action of the Play. Perhaps you will say they are natural; so is a whistling Lackey, or a sick man on his Close-stool; by the same rule you may bring them on the Stage; or the Drunkard snoring and vomiting; Is there any thing more natural? ●Tis the property of a Beau to rise late, to pass the best part of the day at his Toilet, to adjust himself at his Glass, to be perfumed and powdered, to put on his Patches to receive and answer his Billets: When this part is brought on the Stage, if ●tis continued two or three Acts it may be the more natural, and conformable to the original, but ●tis the more dull and insipid.  
* Plays and Romances, in my opinion, may be made as useful as they are prejudicial to such as read ●em: There are so many great examples of Constancy, Virtue, Tenderness, and Disinterest; so many fine and perfect Characters, that when a young person turns his prospect thence on every thing about him, and finds nothing but unworthy objects, very much below what he came from admiring, I wonder how he can be guilty of the least weakness to possess them.  
* Corneille cannot be equalled where he is Excellent, he is then an Original and unimitable, but he is unequal; his first Plays are dry and languishing, and gave us no reason to hope he would afterwards rise to such a height, and his last Plays make us wonder he could fall from it. In some of his best pieces there are unpardonable faults against the Manners, the Action is embarrast with the declamatory stile, there are such negligences in the Verse and Expression, that we can hardly comprehend how so great a man could be guilty of ●em. The most eminent thing in him is his sublime Wit: though he is very happy sometimes in his Verses, and generally in the conduct of his Plays, where he often ventures against the rules of the Ancients: He is admirable in unravelling his Plots, and in this does not always subject himself to the judgement of the Greeks, or their great simplicity: On the contrary, he loads the Scene with events, and most commonly comes off with success. He is above all to be admired for his great variety, and the little agreement we find in his designs, amongst the great number of Poems, he composed. In Racine's Plays there are more likeness, they lead more to the same thing: But he is even and every where supported, as well in the design and conduct of his pieces, which are just, regular, full of good sense, and natural; as for the Versification, which is rich in Rhimes, elegant, numerous, harmonious, and correct. He is an exact Imitator of the Ancients, whom he follows religiously in the Simplicity of Action. He wants not the Sublime and the Marvellous; and where 'tis proper he is ever Master of the Moving and the Pathetic, as well as his Predecessor Corneille. Where can we find greater tenderness than is diffused thro' the Cid, Polieucte, and Horace? What Greatness of Soul is there in Mithradates, Porus, and Burrhus? They were both well acquainted with Horror and Pity, the favourite Passions of the Ancients, which the Poets are ●ond of exciting on the Theatre. As Orestes in the Andromache of Racine, the Phedra of the same Author, and the Oedipus and the H●race of Corneille sufficiently prove. If I may be allowed to make a comparison, or to show the talon of both the One and the Other, as 'tis to be discovered in their Writings, I should probably say; That Corneille reigns over us by his Characters and Ideas; Racines are more conformable to our own: The One paints men as they ought to be; the Other describes 'em as they are. There is in the first more of what we admire, and aught to imitate; and in the second more of what we know in others, and approve in ourselves. Corneille elevates, surprises, triumphs, and instructs. Racine pleases, affects, moves, and penetrates. The former works on us by what is ●ine, noble, and commanding. The latter insinuates himself into us by the delicacy of his passions. One is full of Maxims, Rules, and Precepts: The other of Opinions and Judgements: we are engaged more at Corneille ●s pieces, at Racine's more softened and concerned. Corneille is more Moral, Racine more Natural. The one seems to imitate Sophocles, the other Euripides.  
Some persons have a faculty of speaking alone, and a long time, joined with extravagant Gestures, a loud Voice, and strong Lungs: This the People call Eloquence. Pedants ne'er admit it but in public Orations, and can't distinguish a heap of figures from the use of good words, and the roundness of periods.  
Logic is the art to make Truth prevalent; and Eloquence a gift of the Soul that renders one master of the sense and hearts of other men, by which we persuade and inspire 'em with what we please.  
Eloquence may be found in all discourses, and all kind of Writings, 'tis rarely where we seek it, and sometimes where ●tis least expected.  
Eloquence is to the Sublime, what the whole is to its part.  
What is the Sublime? We talk much about it, but no body pretends to define it. Is it in its self a figure? Is it composed of one or more figures? Does the Sublime enter into all sorts of Writing? Or are great subjects only capable of it? Is it not in Eclogues, a fine Wit and a natural simplicity; in familiar Letters and Conversation a great delicacy; or rather is not Wit and Delicacy the Sublime of those Works where they make the Perfection? What is this Sublime, and in what does it consist?  
Synonyma's are several Dictions or Phrases that signify the same thing. An Antithesis is the opposition of two Truths, which give light to each other. A Metaphor, or comparison, borrows from a Strange thing, the natural and sensible Image of a True one. An Hyperbole expresses things above Truth, to reclaim the mind, that it may the better understand it. The Sublime paints nothing but the Truth, only in a noble subject it paints it all entire in its causes and effects: 'Tis the Expression or Image most worthy the dignity of the Truth it treats of. Little Wits cannot find the simple Expression, and use Synonyma's. Young Men are dazzled with the Lustre of an Antithesis, and generally make use of 'em. True Wits, who would be exact in their images, are for Metaphors and Comparisons. Quick Wits, full of fire and vast imagination, carry themselves above Rules or Justice; and are never satisfy●d without an Hyperbole. As for the Sublime, 'tis only in the greatest Genius's the highest Elevation they can attain.  
* Every one who would write purely, should put himself in the place of his Readers, examine his own work as a thing that is new to him, which he never read before, where he is not at all concerned, and the Author must submit to the Critic. He should not suppose another Man will understand his Writings, because he understands 'em himself, but forasmuch as they are in themselves really intelligible.  
An Author should not only endeavour to make himself understood; he must strive to inform us of such things as deserve it. He ought, 'tis true, to have pure Language and a chaste Expression; but they ought also to express lively, noble, and solid thoughts, full of good Sense and sound Reason. He prostitutes Chastity and Clearness of Style, who wastes it on some frivolous, puerile, dull and common subject; having neither Spirit, Fire, nor Novelty. Where the Reader may perhaps easily find out the meaning of the Author; but he is much more certain to be tired with his productions.  
If we aim to be profound in certain Writings: if we affect a polite Turn, and sometimes too much Delicacy, 'tis merely for the good opinion we have of our Readers.  
* We have this disadvantage in reading Books written by Men of Party and Cabal: We seldom meet with the Truth in 'em; Actions are there disguised, the reasons of both sides are not alleged with all their force, nor with an entire exactness. He who has the greatest patience must read abundance of hard, injurious reflections on the gravest men, with whom the Writer has some personal quarrel about a point of Doctrine, or matter of Controversy. These Books are particular in this, that they deserve not the prodigious Sale they find at their first appearance, nor the profound Oblivion that attends 'em afterwards: When the fury and division of these Authors cease, they are forgotten, like an Almanac out of date.  
'Tis the Glory and Merit of some men to write well, and of others not to write at all.  
* For this last twenty years we have been regular in our Writings: We have faithfully observed Construction, and enriched our Language with new Words, thrown off the yoke of Latinism, and reduced our stile to a pure French phrase: We have almost found again the numbers which Malherbe and Balza● hit upon first, and so many Authors after 'em suffered to be lost. We have, in short, brought into our discourses all the order and clearness they are capable of, and this will insensibly lead us at last to add Wit.  
* There are some Artists and skilful men, whose Genius is as vast as the Art or Science they profess: They restore with Interest, by their Contrivance and Invention, what they borrow from its Principals: They frequently break through the rules of Art to ennoble it, and thwart the common roads, if they don't conduct 'em to what is great and extraordinary. They go alone; they leave their company a long way behind, whilst they are by themselves mounting high, and penetrating far into the secrets of their profession: Emboldened by their success, and encouraged by the advantages they draw from their irregularity. Whilst men of ordinary, soft and moderate parts, as they can never reach 'em, so they never admire 'em; they can't comprehend, and much less imitate 'em. They live peaceably within the compass of their own sphere, aiming at a certain point, which makes the bounds of their insight and capacity. They go no farther, because they see nothing beyond it: They are at best but the first of a second Class, and excellent in mediocrity.  
* ay may venture to call certain Wits Inferior or Subaltern, they seem as if they were born only to collect, register and raise Magazines out of the productions of other Geniuses. They are Plagiaries, Translators, or Compilers. They ne'er think, but tell you what other men have thought: And as the good choice of thoughts proceeds from Invention, having none of their own, they are seldom just in their Collections, but choose rather to make 'em large than excellent. They know nothing of what they learn, and learn what the rest of the World are unwilling to know, a vain and useless Science, neither agreeable or profitable in commerce or conversation: Like false Money, it has no currency, for we are at once surprised with these Coxcombs reading, and tired with their company and writings: However, the Great ones and the Vulgar mistake 'em for men of Learning; but Wise men know very well what they are, and rank 'em with the Pedants.  
* Criticism is commonly a Trade, not a Science; it require● more Health than Wit, more Labour than Capacity, and Habit than Genius. If a person pretends to it who has less discernment than reading, he will be at a loss where to exercise himself, and corrupt his own judgement as well as his Readers.  
* ay advise an Author born only to Copy, who in extreme Modesty works after another Man, to choose for his patterns such Writings as are full of Wit, Imagination, and even good Learning: If he does not understand his Originals, he may at least come at 'em and read 'em. He ought on the contrary to avoid, as he would Destruction, any desire to imitate those who write by humour, who speak from their hearts, which inspires 'em with figures and terms, and draw, if I may say it, from their very Entrails, what they express on their paper. These are dangerous Models, and will infallibly make him write meanly, dully, and ridiculously. Besides, I should laugh at a Man who would seriously endeavour to speak in my tone of voice, or be like me in the face.  
* A Man born a Christian and a Frenchman, is confined in Satire: Some Subjects are forbidden him by the greatness of their quality; others are too low, but he is obliged frequently to fall on 'em to ease him of his resentment; and by this means he raises 'em in the beauties of his Style and Genius.  
* Every one should avoid imitating a Dorilas or a Handburg: in a vain Puerile Style, a Man may be sometimes bold in his Expressions, use transpositions, and any thing which paints his Subject to the Life; pitying those who are not sensible of the pleasure there is in this Liberty to such as understand it.  
* He who regards nothing more in his Works than the taste of the Age, has a greater value for his Person than his Writings: He should always aim at Perfection; and though his Contemporaries refuse him Justice, Posterity will give it him.  
* We must never put a Jest in the wrong place: It offends instead of pleasing, and vitiates our own Judgements as well as other men's. The Ridicule is only proper when it comes in with a good Grace, and in a manner which both pleases and instructs.  
* Horace and Boileau have said such a thing before you. I take your word for't, but I said it as my own, and may not I think a just thought after them, as others may do the same after me?   

OF Personal Merit.  
* WHO is there that is not convinced, he is but a useless Person, though he has never so many good Qualities, and never such an Extraordinary Merit; when he con●iders that at his Death, he leaves a World which is not likely to miss him, and where there are such Numbers to supply his Place?  
* All the Worth of some People lies in their mighty Names; Look but near 'em, and that, which we took for Merit disappears. 'Twas only the distance, which imposed on us before.  
* Tho I have a great Opinion of their Judgement, who choose to employ such as are either led by their Genius, or Profession, to the Affairs in which they engage 'em; yet I shall venture to say, that there are in the world a great many Persons, known or unknown, who are out of Employ, that would manage themselves in Public Stations very happily. And this I'm inclined to think from the strange Success of some People whom Fortune only has thrown into Posts, and from whom, till then, no great Matters were expected.  
How many great Men and extraordinary Genius's are dead without ever being talked of? And how many are there living that neither are now, nor ever will be talked of?  
* He that takes no indirect Courses to procure Reputation; he that is not engaged in any Cabal where they make it their business to proclaim one another's Panegyrics; but stands alone, and has no body to cry him up: whose Merit is his only Recommendation, how extreme difficult will he find it, to make his way thro' his Obscurity, and come to stand upon a Level with a Coxcomb in great Reputation!  
* 'Tis seldom that one Man of himself, finds out the Merit of another.  
Men are so employed about themselves, that they have not the Leisure to distinguish and penetrate into others; which is the Cause that a great Merit joined to a great Modesty, may be a long time before it is discovered.  
* A Genius and great abilities are sometimes wanting, sometimes only opportunities. Some deserve Praise for what they have done, and others for what they cou●d have done.  
* 'Tis not so hard to meet with Wit, as with those who make use of what they have● or those who put a just Value on the Wit of others.  
* There are more Tools than Workmen, and of the last more bad than good: What think you of him that took up his Plain to Saw with it, and would needs Plain his Work with his Saw?  
* There is not in the World so toilsome a Trade, as that of pursuing Fame: Life concludes before you have gone thro' with the rough part of your Labour.  
* What's to be done with this Egisippus who solicits for an Employment? Shall he have a Post in the Exchequer or in the Army? 'Tis indeed perfectly indifferent, which of 'em he has; nor can any thing but Interest decide it. For he's even as good an Accountant, as he is a Soldier. Oh! but his Friends say, he's capable of any thing, that is, He has a Talon for no one thing more than another, and that is in other terms, he's capable of nothing.  
Thus 'tis with most Men. They bestow their Youth entirely upon themselves. They debauch themselves with Idleness and Pleasure, and then falsely think when they are Old or Poor, the Commonwealth is bound to relieve 'em; never regarding that important Maxim, which says, That Men ought to employ the first Years of Life to become so qualified, that the Commonwealth may have occasion for their Knowledge or Industry. That they ought to resemble those Materials in a Building, which are of absolute Necessity, and which being set there to advantage, give a grace to the whole Fabric.  
'Tis our Duty to render ourselves perfectly well qualified for any Employment: the rest does not concern us. 'Tis the business of others.  
* To owe our Merit to ourselves alone, without any dependence on others, or to renounce our pretensions to Merit, is an inestimable Maxim, and of infinite advantage in the World. 'Tis favourable to the Insufficient, the Virtuous and the Witty, whom it either renders Masters of their Fortune, or their Ease: but pernicious to the Great, whom it would abridge of their Attendants, or rather of the number of their Slaves; would mortify their Pride with the Loss of some share of their Authority, and wou●d reduce 'em almost to their own Equipage. This would deprive 'em of the Pleasure of being courted, pressed, solicited, of the satisfaction of being attended, or of refusing, of promising, and not performing. This would thwart ●em in the humour they have sometimes of bringing Coxcombs into Play, and extenuating Merit when they chance to discern it. This would banish, from Courts Intrigues, Caballings, ill Offices, Flattery, Corruption and Deceit. This would, of a tempestuous Court, full of Plots and Contrivances, make it to resemble one of the ordinary Representations of the Theatre, where the wise are never but Spectators: This would restore Dignity to the several conditions of Men, and Serenity to their Looks, enlarge their Liberty, and revive in 'em together with the natural Talents, the habit of Labour and Exercise. This would excite 'em to Emulation, to a Desire of Glory, to a Love of Virtue; and instead of vile, unquiet, or lazy Courtiers, burdensome often to the Commonwealth, would teach 'em Prudence in the Conduct of their Families, or in the Management of their Estates, or make 'em upright Judges, or good Officers, or great Commanders, or Orators, or Philosophers; and all the Inconvenience of this to any of 'em would be perhaps to leave their Heirs not so vast an Estate as an excellent Example.  
* There is occasion for a great deal of Resolution as well as Greatness of Soul to refuse Posts and Employments, and to rest content with retirement and doing nothing.  
There are few who have Merit enough to play this part well, or know how to pass their leisure hours, without that which the vulgar call business. The Idleness of a Wise Man suffers by that Name. His Meditation, Discourse, Reading, and Repose, deserve rather to be called Employment.  
* A Man of Merit and in Place is never out of humour thro' Vanity. The Post that he is in, renders him not so uneasy, as a greater which he thinks he deserves, and which he has not, makes him humble. He may appear sometimes disturbed, but never haughty or disdainful, who judges of all People by himself.  
* 'Tis a great deal of trouble for a Man of Merit to make his Court assiduously; but not for the reason which some may presently imagine. He has more Modesty than to think, that he does the least Pleasure to a Prince, to stand constantly in his passage, to post himself just before him, and make himself taken notice of. He is more apt to fear that he's importunate, and all the Reasons drawn from Custom, and Duty are hardly sufficient to persuade him to make his appearance. While on the contrary, another who has a good opinion of himself, and one, whom the vulgar cry up for a Brisk man, takes a Pride to show himself, and makes his Court with the greater confidence, because it cannot enter into his head, that the Great, of whom he is seen every day, should think otherwise of him, than he does of himself.  
* The Pleasure, which a Man of Honour takes in being conscious to himself of having performed his Duty, is a reward which he pays himself for all his pains, and makes him the less to regret the applause, esteem and acknowledgements, which he is sometimes deprived of.  
* If I durst make a Comparison between two conditions of Life vastly different, I would say, that a Man of Courage applies himself to the Execution of his Duty, almost in the same manner, as a Tyler goes about his Work: Neither the one nor the other seeks to expose his Life, so neither of 'em is diverted by Danger. Death is an Inconvenience that happens in both their Callings, yet is never an Obstacle. The first is not more vain for having appeared in the Trenches, mounted a Breach, or forced a Retrenchment; than the other is, for having climbed to some desperate height, or to the top of some Steeple. 'Twas the endeavour of both these to do well, while the Coward only endeavours to get it said that he did so.  
* Your Son lisps, therefore do not think of making him mount the Tribunal; your Daughter too looks as if she were made for the World, never confine her among the Vestals. 
† Mr. Du Harlay.  Xanthus' your Feeed-man is timorous and feeble, therefore make no delay, but take him out of the Legions presently. You say, you would advance him. Heap Benefits on him then, load him with Lands, Titles, and Possessions. Make use of your Time, for now we live in such an Age, when they will do him more Credit than Virtue. But this will cost me too much, you reply. Ah 
* Mr. Lou●oy.  Crassus! do you now speak seriously? Do you think with a drop of Water, which you could have from the Tiber, to enrich Xanthus, Xanthus whom you love, or to save him from the ruin, which must certainly attend him by your engaging him in what he is absolutely unfit for?  
* 'Tis Virtue which should determine us in the choice of our Friends, so 'tis that alone, which we should always regard in 'em, without enquiring into their good or ill fortune; and when we find we have Resolution enough to follow 'em in adversity, than we ought boldly, and with assurance to cultivate their Friendship in their greatest Prosperity.  
* If 'tis common to be Touched with things Rare, how comes it that we are so little touched with Virtue?  
* If 'tis a happiness to be nobly Descended, 'tis no less to have so much Merit, that our Birth is the least thing considered in us.  
* There has appeared in the World from time to time, some admirable, extraordinary Men, whose Virtue and Eminent Qualities have cast a prodigious Lustre: Like those unusual Stars in the Heavens, the causes of which we are ignorant of, and what becomes of them after their disappearance, we know as little. These Men neither have Ancestors, nor Posterity: Themselves alone compose their whole Race.  
* Right Reason discovers to us our Duty, and the Obligation we lie under to perform it. If Danger attends it, to perform it in spite of Danger. It either inspires us with Courage, or serves us instead of it.  
* The Man that is single and free in the World, if he has any Wit, may raise himself above his Fortune, make a Figure, and keep the best Company: Which is not so easily done, if he's confined to a Wife. Marriage seems a Hindrance to all Advancement.  
* Next to Personal Merit, it must be owned, that Eminent Dignities and Titles give the greatest Distinction and Lustre to Men, and one that has not all the Learning of Erasmus, may hope to be made a Bishop. We know some that heap Dignity on Dignity, one Honour on another, are created Peers, Knights of the Order, Primates, Cardinals: These now want nothing but the Triple Crown; but why should Trophimus want to be made a Cardinal?  
* You tell me, that the Gold in 
† Mr. de Turenne.  Philemon's rich clothes makes a Glittering show, but does it not do the same thing at the Lace-mans'? His Clothes are made of the finest Stuffs, but are those same Stuffs less fine in the Shops, or in the whole piece? But then the Embroidery and other Trimming make 'em still more magnificent. Do they so? I think for that his Tailor's fancy is to be commended. Ask him what a Clock 'tis, he pulls out a Watch, which for the workmanship is a Masterpiece. He has an Agate for the Handle of his Sword, and on his Finger he wears so large and bright a Diamond, that it dazzles your Eyes to look on't. He wants none of all those curious Toys, which are worn more out of Ostentation than Service; and is as Extravagant in his Dress, as a young fellow that has married a rich Widow. Well! at last you have given me a Curiosity to see at least all this Finery; but, do you hear, send me hither the clothes and Jewels, and I'll excuse you for Philemon's Person.  
Thou art mightily mistaken, Philemon, with that glittering Coach, that number of Rascals behind it, and before it, and those six Horses to draw thee in state, if thou thinkst to be esteemed a whit the more: No, we make our way thro' all that Train, which is not properly Thine, to come directly to thyself, whom we find to be a Coxcomb.  
Not but sometimes such an one, who with rich Coaches, Clothes and Splendid Equipage, values himself on his Quality, and more on his Wit, may be spared in Conversation, but then he may read it in the faces and eyes of those that he talks with.  
* You have seen at Court, and often in the City, one with a long Silk Cloak, or a very fine Cloth one, a large Surcingle tied high upon his Breast, Shoes of the finest Turkey Leather, and a little Cap of the same, a starched Band, and Hair most nicely curled, and set in great order, with a fair, ruddy complexion, who has talked of Metaphysical Distinctions, of the Light of Glory and Visibility of God, etc. This thing is called a 
† Pere Mabillon●  Doctor in the Sciences; Another is humble, has been buried alive in his Closet, has studied, searched, enquired, disputed, read, or writ all his Life time. This is the true Man of Learning.  
* 'Tis with us the business of the Soldier to be brave, and for one of the Long Robe to be learned; we proceed no farther. With the Romans tho, the Gown-man was brave, and the Soldier learned. A Roman in one person united both these professions.  
* The Hero seems to be only a Soldier, while the great man is of all Professions, a Scholar, a Soldier, a Statesman and a Courtier: Take the one and the other and put 'em together; they are not both worth one honest Man.  
* In War the distinction between the Hero and the great Man is very nice. All the military Virtues go to the making up of both their Characters. The first though seems to be young, daring, bold, venturesome and dauntless. The other excels him in a profound Sense, a vast Foresight, a great Capacity, and a long Experience. Perhaps Alexander was but a Hero, and Caesar was the Great Man.  

† The late Prince of Conde.  Emilius receiv●d all those Qualities at his Birth, to which, the greatest Men do not arrive, without abundance of Rules, Study, and Application. He had no more to do in his tender years, but to give up himself entirely to the conduct of his own happy Genius. He did, he acted several things before he knew 'em, or rather he knew those things which he had never been taught. Shall I say it? Several Victories that he gained, were the Plays and Diversions of his Infancy. It would make a Life which had been attended with long Success and Experience, illustrious only to have performed the Actions of his Youth. All the Occasions which have since offered, he has embraced, and has come off victorious. His Virtue and his Stars have created Occasions on purpose for him. He was admired for what he could have done, as well as for what he had done. The People looked on him as a Man, for whom it was impossible, to yield to the Enemy, to give ground either for Numbers or Difficulty. They regarded him, as one having a Soul of a Superior Order, which by its Light and Knowledge saw further than ever any Man did before. To behold him at the head of the Legions was a sure Presage of Victory, and his single Person accounted more valuable than many Legions. He was great in Prosperity, greater by the Opposition of Fortune. The raising a Siege, a Retreat, have gained him more Honour than a Triumph. They were esteemed next to Battles won, and Towns taken. He was at once full of Glory and Modesty. He has been heard to say, I fled, with the same Grace that he has said, We fought. He was devoted to the State and his Family, sincere to God and Man, as passionate an Admirer of Merit, as if he had not been so well acquainted with it himself. Faithful, honest, magnanimous; one in whom none of all the Virtues were wanting, but those which were not Extraordinary.  
* The Race of the Gods, 
Sons, Grandsons of Kings.  if I may express myself so, are exempt from the Rules of Nature. They are like the Exceptions from a General Rule: they wait not for Time or Age. Merit in them prevents Years. They are instructed assoon as born, and arrive at the perfect State of Manhood, before ordinary Men get out of their Infancy.  
* unbiased People, I mean such who have but straight Imaginations, which never extend beyond their own little Sphere, cannot comprehend that Universality of Talents which is observable in some persons. They exclude Solidity from any thing that's agreeable; or when they discover in any one the Graces of the Body, Activity, Dexterity, Address; they will not allow them the Endowments of the Mind, Judgement, Prudence, Wisdom. Let History say what it will, they will not believe that Socrates ever danced.  
* There are few men so Accomplished, or so Necessary, but have some failings or other, which will make their friends bear the loss of 'em with the greater patience.  
* 'Tis not impossible for a Man of Wit, but of a Character free from Trick and Artifice, to fall into a Snare. He thinks no body would lay one for him, or pick him out of all mankind to make a Bubble of. This confidenc● of his makes him less cautious, and the Bouffons are very smart in their Raillery upon his Security. They who attempt him a second time will certainly pay for all. He may be once, but is not often cheated.  
I would, as it is but Justice, carefully avoid the offending any person, but above all, a Man of Wit, if I had no regard in the World but to my own Interest.  
* There are those manners and peculiar ways in men which will appear, and discover what they are, let them be never so close, or let 'em use never so much cunning, or care to conceal 'em. A Blockhead neither comes, nor goes, nor sits, nor rises, nor is silent, nor stands upon his Legs, like a Man of Sense.  
* ay came to know 
† Cardinal Camus.  Mopsus from a visit he made me once, though he had no acquaintance with me before: But 'tis common with him to desire some whom he does not know, to bring him acquainted with others to whom he's equally unknown; and to write to a Woman, whom he only knows by sight. He introduces himself into a conversation of People of Quality, that deserve the last distinction and respect, though he is a perfect stranger to every one of 'em; and there, without waiting till he's asked, or without perceiving that he's troublesome, he falls a talking after his manner, that is, both a great deal, and ridiculously. At another time, he comes into a public Assembly, and sits down any where, without any regard to others or himself. He is remould out of a place which was reserved for some Minister of State, and he goes and seats himself in one that belongs to a Duke. He is the Diversion of the Crowd, yet so grave himself, that he is the only person there who does not laugh. He is like the Dog, drive him out of the King's Chair, up he jumps in the Preachers Desk. He looks on the reflections of the world without any manner of concern or blushing. For Modesty, the Blockhead and he may very well go together.  

† The Baron of Bretueil.  Celsus is but of mean condition, yet those of the best Quality entertain him. He has no Learning, yet he has business with the Learned. He has little Merit himself, yet he is acquainted with those who have a great deal. He has no abilities, but a tongue that serves just to make him understood, and feet that carry him from one place to another. He is a fellow made to run forwards and backwards on Errands, to hear Proposals and report 'em, to thrust himself into the Office, to exceed his Commission and then to be disowned in it, to reconcile People● that fall out the first time time they see one another, to succeed in one affair and fail in a thousand, to attribute all the honour of a Success to himself, and to cast all the Odium of a Miscarriage on others. He is informed of all the News and little Stories about Town. He acts nothing himself, but only hears and repeats what others do. He is acquainted with the Secrets of Families, and concerned in the deepest Mysteries. He tells you the reason why such a one was banished, and another recalled and in favour. He knows the ground and causes of the difference between those two Brothers, and of the rupture of those two Ministers. Did not he foretell at first what would be the sad consequence of their misunderstanding? Did not he say that their Intimacy would not last long? Was not he present when such and such words were spoken? Did not he Negotiate that affair? Would they believe him? Was it minded what he said? To whom do you talk at this rate? Who has had a greater hand in all the Intrigues of the Court than Celsus? and if it were not so, if he had not thought on't, and considered it very well, would he offer to make you believe it? Or else, how do ye think he should come by that grave and politic air, which makes him look so like one newly returned from an Embassy.  
* Menippus is the Crow that is made fine with other Birds Feathers: 
† The Duke de Villeroy.  He neither speaks, nor thinks himself, but repeats other people's Thoughts and Discourse. 'Tis so natural for him to make use of their Wit, that he is the first himself that's deceived by it; for thinking to give his own Judgement, or express his own conception, he does but Echo the last man he parted with. He's pretty tolerable for a quarter of an hour, but then immediately he flags, and when his shallow memory begins to fail him, grows downright insipid. He is himself the only person that's Ignorant how far he is from being Sublime and Heroic, as he affects, and is very unfit to judge of the Extent of Wit, since he very innocently believes, that he has himself, as much, as 'tis possible for any Man to have, and accordingly assumes the air and management of one that neither desires any more, nor envies others. He is often in Soliloquy, which he so little endeavours to conceal, that you may meet him gabbling, and arguing to himself, as if some great matter were under his Deliberation. If you salute him at such a time, you put him into a strange Perplexity, to know whither he shall return your Salutation or no, and before he's come to a Resolution, you are got quite out of sight. 'Tis his Vanity that has elevated him, and made him the Man of Honour which he is not naturally. To observe him you would conclude it was his whole Employments to consider his own Person, Dress an● Motions, That he fancied all People's Eyes were fixed on him, and if they chanced to stop, that 'twas only to admire him.  
* He that has a Palace of his own with his two Apartments; One for the Summer, and the Other for the Winter: yet takes up with an uneasy Lodging in the Lovure, does not do this out of Modesty. Another, who, to preserve his fine Shape, abstains from Wine, and eats but one Meal a day, is neither Sober nor Temperate. A Third, who at the Importunity of his poor Friend, gives him some Relief, may be said to buy his Quiet; but by no means to be Liberal. 'Tis the Motive, the Inducement, that makes your Actions Meritorious, and they are then perfectly so, when we do 'em without Interest or Design.  
* False Greatness is unsociable, inaccessible, as if 'twere sensible of its weakness, and strove to conceal it. 'Twill not be seen, except just so much, as may carry on the Deceit, but dares not show its Face for fear of being discovered: Discovered how really little and mean it is. True Greatness, on the contrary, is free, complaisant, familiar, popular, suffers itself to be touched and handled, loses nothing by being viewed near at hand, is rather more known and admired for●t. It stoops out of Goodness to its Inferiors, and returns without Constraint to itself again. Sometimes 'tis all loose and negligent, lays aside all its advantages, yet never loses the power of resuming 'em, and commanding Reverence. It preserves Dignity in the greatest Liberties of Laughing, Playing, Trifling. We approach it at once with freedom and awe. It's Character is Noble and Humane, inspiring respect and assurance. This makes us to consider Princes, as exalted to the height of Greatness, without making us to reflect with Mortification, on the lowness of our own Condition.  
The Wise Man is cured of Ambition by Ambition; he aims at such great things, that Riches, Preferment, Fortune, and Favour cannot satisfy him. He sees nothing good and solid enough in such poor advantages to engage his Heart, to deserve his care, or his desire. He uses some violence with himself not to despise 'em too much. The only good that is of Temptation to him, is that kind of Honour, which is derived from pure and unmixed Virtue; but that Men will very rarely afford, and so he●s content to go without it.  
* He is good that does good to others. If he suffers for the good he does, he's better still; and if he suffers from them, to whom he did good, he is arriv●d to that height of Goodness, that nothing but an Increase of his Sufferings can add to it. If it proves his Death, 'tis certain that no Virtue could ascend higher. 'Tis Heroism complete.   

OF womans.  
* 'TIs seldom that the Merit of a Woman is universally agreed on by both Sexes, because their Interests are extremely different. The Women are Displeased with those very same Beauties in one another, which render them agreeable to the Men. A thousand Charms, which inflame us with the most violent and tender Love, move in them quite contrary passions, Aversion and Malice.  
* The Greatness of some Women is all artificial: It consists in the Motions of their Eyes, the Toss of their Head, a Stately Mien, and a Superficial Wit, that passes on those who understand no better. There is in others an easy, natural Greatness, nothing beholden to Motions, Looks or Gesture, but springs from the Heart, and is the happy consequence of their noble Extraction: Their Merit is not Noisy or Ostentatious, but Solid, accompany●d with a thousand Virtues, which, in spite of all their Modesty, break out and shine to all who have but Eyes to discern 'em.  
* ay could wish to be a Woman, that is, a Fair and Beautiful Woman, from Thirteen to Two and Twenty; but after that Age, to be a Man again.  
* Nature has been very kind to some young Ladies, but they are not sensible of the Happiness: They Spoil by Affectation, those Gifts which they enjoy by the distinguishing favour of Heaven. The Tone of their Voice, their Mien is not their own: They study, they consult their Glasses, how to Dress themselves as much out of Nature as they can; and 'tis not without a great deal of Trouble, that they are able ●o make themselves less Agreeable.  
* If 'tis the Ambition of Women only to appear Handsome in their own Eyes, they are in the right without doubt, to take what course they please to Beautify themselves, and in the choice of their Dress and Ornaments, to follow their own caprice and fancy. But if 'tis the Men whom they would charm, if 'tis for them they Wash and Paint; I have told their votes in that case, and I do assure them from all the Men, or from the greatest part, that, the White and Red they use, make 'em look hideous and frightful; that they hate as much to see Women with Paint on their Faces, as with false Teeth in their Mouths, or Balls to plump out their Cheeks, that they solemnly protest against all Art; which indeed does but make 'em ugly, and is the last and infallible means that Heaven takes to reclaim Men from their Love.  
If Women were formed by Nature what they make themselves by Art; if they were to lose in a Minute all the freshness of their their Complexion, and were to have their Faces as thick with Red and Paint, as they lay 'em on, they wou●d look on themselves as the most wretched Creatures in the World.  
* A Coquet is one that is never to be persuaded out of her Inclination, for appearing always agreeable, nor out of the good Opinion she has of her own Beauty. Time and Years she regards as things that wrinkle and decay other Women, but forgets that Age is writ in the Face, and that the same Dress which became her when she was young, does but make her look the older now. Affectation attends her ev●n sickness and pain. She dies in a High-head and coloured Ribbons.  
* Lice hears that another Coquet laughs at her pretending to Youth, and her wearing those Dresses which do not agree with a Woman of Forty. Lice is no less 'tis true; but Years with her have not twelve Months, nor do they add to her Age, that is, she thinks so, and when she looks in the Glass and lays on the Paint on her own Face, and sticks on the Patches, she confesses there is an Age, when 'tis not decent to affect to appear youthful, and that Clarice indeed with her Paint and Patches is very ridiculous.  
* Women when they expect their Lovers, make great preparation in their Dress; but if they are surprised by them in it, they immediately vanish and are seen no more. In the presence of indifferent Persons, what disorder they're sensible of, they rectify with ease, and before them make no scruple to adjust themselves, or else disappear for a moment and return dressed.  
* A fine Face is the finest of all Sights, and the sweetest Music is the Sound of her Voice whom we love.  
* That a Woman is agreeable depends on Fancy, but Beauty is something more real and independent on inclination and opinion.  
* There are Women of such perfect Beauty, and such transcendent Merit, that though 'tis impossible for us not to love 'em, yet we dare not encourage our passion to hope for any greater favour, than that of seeing 'em and conversing with ●em.  
* A Beautiful Woman that has the qualities of a Man of Honour, is of all the Conversation in the World the most delicious. In her alone is to be found all the Merit of both Sexes.  
* Every little, kind accidental thing, that comes from the Fair, is strangely moving and persuasive to the Persons in whose favour 'tis intended. 'Tis not so with the Men; their Caresses, their Words, their Actions, are sincere, and soft and transported, yet are not half so persuading.  
* Caprice from Women is inseparable, and is the Counter-poison of their Beauty. It prevents the damage which their Beauty would otherwise do the Men, and cures 'em when no other Remedy will take effect.  
* Women are engaged to Men by the Favours they grant 'em. Men are disengaged by the same Favours.  
* When a Woman no longer loves a Man, she forgets him so much, as not to remember the favours he has received from her.  
* A Woman that has but one Gallant thinks she is no Coquet: She that has more thinks herself but a Coquet.  
* A Woman may avoid the Reputation of being a Coquet, by a firm engagement to one particular Person, who yet passes for a Fool for having made a bad choice.  
* An old Gallant is of so little consideration, that he must give way to a new Husband, and a Husband is of so short duration, that a new Gallant justles him out of place.  
* An old Gallant either fears or despises a new Rival, according to the Character of the Person he serves.  
An old Gallant often wants nothing, but the name, to be a very Husband. He is obliged to that circumstance, or else he would have been discarded a thousand times.  
* Few Intrigues are secret; a great many Women are not better known by their Husband's names, than by the names of their Gallants.  
* A Woman of Gallantry is Ambitious of being belov●d; 'tis enough for a Coquet, that she's thought lovely and desirable. The business of one is to make an engagement, of the other to make a Coquest. The first passes successively from one Engagement to another, the second has a great many Amusements on her hands at once. Passion and Pleasure are predominant in one, Vanity and Levity in the other. The gallantry of this proceeds from a weakness in the Heart, or perhaps a vice in Complexion; that the other is a Coquet proceeds from an irregularity of the Mind. The Gallant Lady is feared, the Coquet hated. From these two Characters might be formed a third, which would be the worst in the World.  
* A weak Woman is one that being guilty of a Fault, reproaches herself more than she's reproached: Her Heart is in a perpetual War with her Reason. She would fain be cured of her folly, but is hardly ever cured; at lest 'tis very long first.  
* An Inconstant Woman, is one, that is no longer in Love, a False Woman is one, that is already in Love with another Person. She's Fickle, that neither knows whom she loves, nor whether she loves or no; and she's Indifferent who does not love at all.  
* Treachery in Women is an Art of Disposing every Word and Action, of Managing Oaths and Promises in the best manner to deceive; the last of which it costs 'em no more to break, than it did at first to make 'em.  
* A Faithless Woman, if known for such by the Person concerned, is but Faithless still: She is Treacherous who when she is most confided in, proves False.  
This Good we get from the Perfidiousness of Women, that it cures us of our Jealousy.  
* Some Women in their Course of Life have a double Engagement to maintain, which to break, or to dissemble is equally difficult; In one there's nothing wanting but the Ceremony of the Church, and in the other nothing but the Heart.  
* To judge of that Lady by her Beauty, her Youth, her Severity, and her Pride, you would swear none but a Hero could one day succeed with her. At last, she has made her Choice; and what is it? A little Monster, that has not one Grain of Sense.  
* Women that are past their Prime, seem Naturally to be the Refuge of Young Fellows who have no great Estates. 'Tis their Character at least, if 'tis not their Disposition, though for my part, I can't tell whose Misfortune is most to be lamented; That of a Woman advanced in Years who stands in need of a Spark; or that of a Spark who stands in need of an Old Woman.  
* One, that is the Refuse of the Court, in the City is received into the Withdrawing Room. There he triumphs; the Magistrate he routs, though he's dressed like a Beau; and the Citizen, though he's got his long Perruque and his Sword on: He beats 'em all out of the Field, and possesses himself of the place. He alone is regarded and beloved. There's no holding out against a Gold Scarf and a White Plume, no resisting a Man that talks to the King, and visits the Ministers. The Men and Women are jealous of him. He is admired and envied: four Leagues off, he is despised and pity●d.  
* A Citizen appears to a Woman that was never out of the Country, what a Courtier does to another of the Sex, that never had but City-breeding.  
* A Man that is vain, indiscreet, a great Talker, and a Bouffon, one who speaks impudently of himself, and contemptibly of others; who is extravagant, haughty, impertinent, without Morality, Honesty, or Sense, and a Libertine in Imagination; such a Man, I say, wants nothing to be adored by abundance of Women, but a few tolerable Features and a good Shape.  
* Is it for Secrecy, or from what strange Distraction, that such a Lady loves her Footman, another a Monk, and Dorinna her Physician?  
* 
† Baron the Actor.  Rofci●s treads the Stage with admirable Grace. Yes, 
| Madam de la Ferte  Lelia, so he does: I'll tell you too, his Legs are well made, he acts well, and has very long parts. He declaims with so much Ease, that as they say, 'tis only for him to open his Mouth to do it to Perfection. But is ●he the only Person of his Profession that is agreeable; or is his Profession indeed the noblest and most honourable in the World? However, Roscius is not for you: He is another's, on if he were not, he's retained. Claudia waits for him till he's disgusted with Messalina. Take 
† Precourt.  Bathyllus then, Lelia; bu● where shall you find him? I'll not promise you amongst the best quality, but you'll not miss of him amongst the Comedians. He's a young man of great hopes; there's none that in Dancing can rise so high, or cut a Caper to compare with him. Or what think you of Cobus the Tumbler, who turns himself quite round in the Air, before he lights upon the ground? but perhaps you know that he is old; and for Bathyllus you say, the Crowd about him is still too great. He refuses more Women than he can gratify. Well, than you shall have 
† Filbert.  Draco the Fiddler, none of all his profession swells a pair of Cheeks with so much decency as he does, when he gives breath either to the Flute, the Haut-bois or the Flagelet, for 'tis an infinite number of Instruments that he has skill in. So pleasant and good humoured he is too, that he condescends to play with the little Boys and Girls: Who eats or drinks more at a Feast, than Draco? He drinks down the whole Company, and is the last. Man that falls. You sigh Lelia: Is it because Draco is fixed in his choice, or that, you are unfortunately prevented in him? Is he at last engaged to 
* Madam de Bovillon.  Cesonia, who has so long pursued him, and for whom she has sacrificed such a train of Lovers, I may safely say, all the flower of Rome? to Cesonia, who is herself of a Patrician family, is Young, Beautiful and Grave. Well, I pity your misfortune, since you, I see, are touched with that Contagion which reigns in our Roman Ladies, of doting on these public men, as they're called; whose condition of life exposes 'em to the common view; what will you do now since the best of that kind are taken up? There's Brontes left still, the Executioner, every body talks of his Strength and Dexterity: He's black 'tis true, a Negro, but the Fellow is young, has broad Shoulders and a brawny Back.  
* The Women of the world look on a Gardener as a Gardener, and a Mason as a Mason: Your Recluse Ladies look on a Mason as a Man, and a Gardener as a Man: Every thing is a Temptation to them who fear it.  
* Some Women divide themselves between the Church and their Lovers: They are Gallant and Devout: They have their places within the Rails of the Altar, where they read their Billets Doux, and where for any thing you see of 'em, you wou●d think 'em at their Prayers to Heaven.  
* How is a Woman the better for being Directed? Is she more Dutiful to her Husband, kinder to her Servants, more careful of her Family, and her concerns, more zealous and sincere to serve her friends? Is she less a Slave to her Humour, less governed by Interest, and less in love with the Conveniencies of life? I do not ask if she makes large Presents to her Children that have no need of 'em, but if having Wealth enough and to spare, she furnishes 'em with what is necessary, and gives 'em what's their due. Is she more exempt from the love of herself, or further from loving others, or freer from all worldly engagements? No, say you, none of all these things. I insist upon it then, and I ask you how is a Woman the better for being directed? Oh! I understand you, she had got a Director but that●s all.  
* If the Confessor and the Director cannot agree about the Rule of Conduct, what third Person shall a Woman chose to be Arbitrator in that case?  
* 'Tis not so much a Woman's Business to provide herself with a Director, as to live so discreetly as not to need one.  
* If a Woman would tell her Confessor, among the rest of her weaknesses, That which she has for her Director, and what Time she mis-spends in his Company, perhaps her Director might be enjoined leaving her, for a Penance.  
* If I had the Liberty, which I could wish, I would certainly cry out, as loud as I were able, to some of those Holy Men who have been made Martyrs by Women, Fly Women. Do not you direct 'em, but let others, that will, a God's Name, take care of their Salvation.  
* 'Tis too much for a Man to have a Wife, both a Coquet, and a Bigot, one of these Qualities at once is enough in Conscience.  
* ay have deferred a long Time, saying something, which, for all my struggling to suppress it must out at last, and I hope my freedom may be of some Service to those Ladies, who not having enough of a Confessor to instruct 'em, use no manner of Judgement in the choice of their Directors.  
I admire, I stand amazed to behold some People that shall b● nameless. I gaze, I look fixtly on 'em; They speak, I listen, I am all Ears; They tell me some matters, I take particular notice; yet after all, cannot I comprehend for my Life, how these People, whom I think in all things to he diametrically opposite to right Reason, good Sense, all Experience of the World, Knowledge of Mankind, Religion and Morality; how, I say, they can presume that Heaven should in their Persons renew in our Days the Miracles of the Apostleship, in making them, poor, mean, ignorant Wretches, capable of the Ministry of Souls; which of all Offices, is the Noblest and most Sublime. But if on the contrary, they fancy themselves born fit for so high and difficult a Function, that few are Qualified for it, ●and persuade themselves that in undertaking it, they do but exercise their Natural Gifts, and follow it like some Ordinary Calling, I confess, I comprehend it still less.  
I see very well, 'tis the Satisfaction of being privy to the Secrets of Families, of being necessary in making Reconciliations, procuring Employments, or helping 'em to Servants; 'tis the pleasure of finding all the Doors open to 'em at Nobleman's Houses, of eating frequently at good Tables, of being carried up and down the Town in a Coach, of making a delicious Retreat in the Country, of seeing Persons of great Rank and Quality concern themselves in their Life and Health, and of managing for others and themselves all worldly Interests: I see very well, that 'tis for the sake of these things only, which makes 'em take up the laudable and specious pretence of the Care of Souls, and has propagated in the World that incredible Swarm of Directors.  
* Devotion comes upon some People, but especially upon the Women, either as a Passion, or as one of the Infirmities of Age, or as a Fashion which they are obliged to follow. They reckon the Week by the Employments of the several Days. There are their Days of Gaming, of going to the Play, the Concert, the Masquerade and to Church. On Mondays, they throw away their Money at Ismena's; on Tuesdays they throw away their Time at Climene's, and on Wednesdays their Reputation at ●elimene's. They know overnight what's to be done the next morning. They enjoy at once the present Pleasure and the future. They only wish that 'twas but possible to unite 'em both in one day. For nothing troubles 'em, nothing grieves 'em, but that when they are at the Opera, they cannot be the same moment at the Play. At other Times, they have other Manners. Their Austerity and Retirement are altogether as Extravagant. They hardly open their Eyes, they're so Demure, or make any use of their Senses, and what is indeed Incredible, they speak little. They think tho, and that very well of themselves, and ill enough of others. They Envy one another's Virtue and Reformation, as before they were Jealous upon a different account. The Pride of outvying one another, continueth still in this new course of Life, which reigned in that which they lately quitted, either out of Policy or Disgust. Their Intreaguing, Luxury and Sloth Damned them before very gayly●; now their Presumption and Envy will Damn them as surely, though not so merrily.  
* What, Hermas, if I should marry a Covetous Woman, she will be sure not to ruin me: or if I should marry one that Games, she may enrich me: or a Woman of Learning, she will know how to instruct me; or one that's Precise, she will not be Passionate; or one that's Passionate, she will exercise my Patience; or a Woman of Gallantry, she will perhaps be so Gallant as to love me in my turn; or suppose one of your Devout Ladies. But then tell me, Hermas, what ought I to expect from her, who would deceive even Heaven, and who really deceives herself?  
* A Woman is easily Governed, provided a Man gives himself the Trouble. One Man often Governs a great ma●y: He cultivates their Wit and Memory, fixes and determines them in their Religion, and undertakes to regulate their very Hearts: They neither approve nor disapprove, commend or condemn, till they have consulted his face and eyes: He is the Confident of their Joys, their Griefs, their Desires, their Jealousies, their Aversions and their Amours: He makes 'em break with their Gallants, embroils and reconciles 'em to their Husbands, and then makes his advantage of the Intervals: He takes care of their concerns, solicits their Lawsuits, and visits the Judges for 'em: He recommends to 'em their Physician, their Tradesmen and Workmen: He takes upon him to provide 'em Lodgings, to furnish 'em and order their Equipage: He is to be seen with 'em in their Coaches, in the Streets and Walks, as well as in their Pew at Church, and their Box at the Play: He makes the same visits with ●em, waits on 'em to the Bath, the Waters, and in their Journeys: He has the best Apartment at their Houses in the Country: He grows old without falling from his Authority: having a little Wit and a great deal of Leisure; he wants nothing more to preserve it. The Children, Heirs, the Daughter-in-law, the Niece, the Servants all depend on him. He began by making himself esteemed, and ends by making himself feared. This old and necessary Friend dies without being regretted, and ten or a dozen Women, over whom he was a very Tyrant, come to Inherit their Liberty by his Death.  
* Some Wom●● have endeavoured to conceal their Conduct, under an exterior form of Modesty, but the best Character they have got by the closest and most constant Dissimulation, has been to have it said, One would indeed have taken her for a Vestal.  
* 'Tis a strong proof that a Woman has a fair and established Reputation, when 'tis not blemished by the familiarity of those who do not resemble her●; and when, for all the propensity of people to make ill constructions, they are forced to have recourse to some other reason for this intimacy, than that of agreement of Manners.  
* An Actor exceeds Nature in the parts he plays; a Poet exaggerates in his descriptions. A Painter who draws after the life, heightens the Passion, the Contrast and the Postures, and he that copies him, unless he measures exactly the sizes and proportions, will make his Figures too big, and give more scope to all the parts, thro' the disposition of the whole piece, than they have in the Original. 'Tis the same with the Precise or Formal, they are but the imitators of the Wise.  
There is a false Modesty, which is Vanity; a false Glory, which is Folly; a false Grandeur, which is Meanness; a false Virtue, which is Hypocrisy; and a false Wisdom, which is Formality.  
The formal Lady is all show and words; the Conduct of the Wise Woman is better than her words. One follows her Humour and Fancy, the other her Reason and Affection. This is precise and austere, the other is on all occasions exactly what she ought to be. The first hides her Failings under a plausible outside: The second covers a rich Treasure of Virtues, under a free and careless Air. Formality puts a constraint on the Wit, neither does it hide Age or Wrinkles; it gives cause to suspect 'em often; Wisdom on the contrary palliates the Defects of the Body, and ennobles the Mind. It renders Youth more charming, and Beauty more dangerous.  
* Why should Men be blamed because Women have not Learning? What Laws, what Edicts have they published, to prohibit 'em ●rom opening their Eyes, R●ading, Remembering, or making their advantage of what they●ve read, when the● write, or when they converse? Is not this ignorance of theirs owing to a custom they have introduced themselves; or to the weakness of their Nature; or to laziness, that they will not use their Wit; or to an inconstancy, that will not let 'em prosecute any long Study; or to a Genius and Talon which they have only to employ their Fingers; or to a natural aversion for all things serious and difficult; or to a Curiosity very far from that which gratifies the Mind; or to a quite different pleasure than that of exercising the Memory. But whatever cause it is, to which Men are obliged for this Ignorance of the Women; 'tis certain they are happy, that the Women who have such Pre-eminence over 'em in so many things, should even have this advantage too, which they do not intend to grudge 'em.  
A Woman with Learning, we look on, as we do on a fine Gun: the workmanship of it is rare, 'tis engraved most curiously, and kept wonderfully bright, but then 'tis only fit to adorn a Closet, to be shown them who admire such things. 'Tis of no more use or service, either for the Camp, or for hunting than a Managed Horse, let him be never so well taught.  
Where I find Learning and Wisdom united in any one Person, I never stand to inquire the Sex, I admire 'em: And if you tell me that a Wise Woman is seldom Learned, or a Learned Woman seldom Wise; 'tis a sign you have forgot what you read just before, that the reason why Women were diverted from Science, was upon the account of certain Defects. Now do you judge yourself, if they who have fewest Defects● are not the most likely to be the wisest; and so consequently a Wise Woman bids fairest for Learning, and a Learned Woman could never be such, without having overcome a great many Defects, which is an infallible proof of her Wisdom.  
* 'Tis a difficult point to maintain a Neutrality, when two Women who are equally our friends, fall out upon Interests, in which we are not at all concerned: we must be often obliged to take one side or the other, or we lose 'em both.  
* There are those Women in the world who love their Money above their Friends, yet will part with their Money to their Lovers.  
* 'Tis strange to see Passions in some Women, stronger and more violent than that of their love to Men: I mean Ambition and Play. Such Women make the Men chaste, and have nothing of their own Sex but the clothes they wear.  
* Women are all in extremes: They ar● either better or worse than Men.  
* Most Women have no Principles. They are led by their Passions, and those whom they love form their Manners.  
* Women exceed the generality of Men in love, but in friendship we have infinitely the advantage.  
The Men are the occasion, that Women do not love one another.  
* Mocking is of ill consequence. Lice who is something in years, to make a young Woman appear ridiculous, makes herself so deformed that she is frightful. To imitate her, she uses such Grimaces, and puts herself in such distorted Figures, that now she's grown so horribly ugly, that the Person whom she mocks, cannot have a better Foil.  
* In the City, they will have it, that there are Idiots, both Men and Women, who have some Wit: At Court they will have it, that there are abundance of People who really have Wit, yet want a great deal more. These last Critics will hardly allow a Beautiful Woman to have as much Wit as the rest of her Sex.  
* A Man is sooner to be trusted with another Persons secret, than his own. A Woman on the contrary, keeps her own Secret, though she keeps no bodies else.  
* Let Love seem never so violently and so entirely to possess the Heart of a young Woman, there's room enough still left for Ambition and Interest.  
* There is a time when the richest Women ought to Marry. They seldom let slip an opportunity at first, but it costs 'em a long Repentance. The Reputation of a Fortune, decays as well as Beauty.  
On the contrary, every thing is favourable to the young of that Sex, even the men's opinion, who are fond of giving 'em all the advantages possible to render 'em still more Desirable.  
* To how many Women has a great Beauty been of no service at all, but to make 'em hope for a great Fortune?  
* Lovers, who have been ill used, have their revenge at last. They commonly see their Mistresses, though Beautiful, throw away themselves on ugly, old, or undeserving Husbands.  
* Most Women judge of the Merit and good Mein of a Person, by what impression they make on them, and very rarely allow him either, if they are not sensibly touched themselves.  
* He that is in doubt to know what alteration his Age has made in him, needs only to consult the Eyes of the Fair One he addresses to, and the tone of her Voice as she talks with him, and he will learn there what he fears to know! But oh how hard a Lesson!  
* The Woman that has her Eyes constantly fixed on one particular Person, or whose Eyes you may observe constantly to avoid him; though they are two different Motions, they make us conclude but one and the same thing of her.  
* The Women are not at so little trouble to express what they never feel, as the Men are to Express the real Sentiments of their Heart.  
* Sometimes it happens that a Woman conceals from a Man the Passion she has for him, while he only feigns the Passion he professes for her.  
* Is a man suspected of indifference? He returns presently, would any one offer to persuade a Person that he loves her, whom he has no Concernment for? But what answer can he make to this Question? Is it not easier to deceive the Woman who loves you, than her that does not?  
* A Man by feigning an Inclination may deceive a Woman, but then he must have no real Engagement elsewhere.  
* A Man for the present rails and curses at a Woman whom he no longer cares for, and quickly forgets the loss of her. A Woman is not so outrageous for being left, but the Regret lasts a long time.  
* Idleness is never cured in Women but by Vanity or Love. Tho on the contrary in Women of a brisk and sprightly Temper, 'tis the Presage of Love.  
* 'Tis cartain that a Woman who writes with warmth is agitated, though 'tis not so certain that she's truly sensible. A Passion that is sincere and tender, is more likely to be pensive and silent, and for a Woman who is no longer at Liberty, it seems to be more her Interest to be well assured of her Gallants affection, than to be too forward to convince him of her own.  
* Glycera does not love her own Sex; she hates their Conversation and their Visits; she order herself to be denied to 'em, often to her very Friends, who are not many: She's reserved to 'em, allows of nothing but bare Friendship from 'em, is uneasy with 'em, answers 'em in Monosyllables, and seems to seek all occasions to get rid of 'em. She affects to be alone, and retired at her own House. Her Gate is more strictly Guarded, and her Chamber more inaccessible than a Minister of States. Yet there is One that is expected, admitted at all Hours, Corinna, who is embraced a thousand times, Carest and Whispered with, though they're alone in the Closet, there's such attention given to all she says, that both Ears are hardly sufficient to hear her discourse. She is assured again and again, that every body else is Troublesome, and is informed of all Passages, though she learns no News, for she is the Confident of both Parties. However Glyc●ra is to be seen abroad in Company, at the Ball, the Theatre, the Walks, on the Road to Venouse, where they eat Fruit early in the Season, sometimes alone in a Chair on the way to the Grand Faubourg, where she has a delicious Orchard: Or at Canidia's Door, who professes so many rare secrets, who promises second Husbands to young Wives, and tells ●em the time when, and all the Circumstances. She appears commonly in Night-cloaths, loose and negligent, in a plain Dishabille, without Stays and in Slippers. She is Charming in this Dress, and wants nothing but a little Colour. 'Tis observable tho, that she wears about her a very curious Jewel, which she takes special care to conceal from her Husband's Eyes. Him she Caresses, is fond of, and every day invents some new, pretty Name for him, has no other Bed, but that of her dear Husbands, and would not lie from him for the world. The morning she spends at her Toilette, and in writing some necessary Billets. A Servant enters and speaks to her in private: 'Tis Parmeno, her Favourite whom she supports in spite of his Master's aversion, and his fellow-servants envy. He deserves it indeed; for who takes a hint sooner, or does a message better? who has a greater Gift of secrecy in those things which are not to be spoken of? who understands how to open a Door with less noise? who is a better Guide up a back pair of Stairs, or who has a more cleaver conveyance down again the same way?  
* ay cannot understand how a Husband who gives himself up to his own ill humour, and temper, who conceals none of his ill qualities, but on the contrary exposes them all; is covetous, slovenly, surly, rude, neglectful and sullen; I cannot conceive, I say, how such a Man can hope to Defend the heart of a young Woman from her Gallants attempts who uses Dressing, Magnificence, Complaisance, Care, Assiduity, Presents and Flattery, to win her●  
* A Husband seldom has a Rival whom he does not make himself; and whom he does not, as it were, make a Present of to his Wife. He is always praising him before her for his handsomeness, for his fine Teeth. He receives his visits, and encourages his assiduity, and next to what comes off his own ground, nothing relishes better with him, than the Fowl and Fruit his friend sends him. He makes a Treat, and bids his Guests fall to on such a thing: 'Tis Leander's, says he, and does not cost me any thing but thanks.  
* There are those Wives, who bury their Husbands before their time: That is, a Husband with one of those Ladies is not so much as mentioned in the world, 'tis doubted whether such a man is alive or no. In the Family he is a cipher, of no use, except it be to show an example of perfect Submission, Fear and Silence. He has nothing to do with Portion and Settlement: If 'twere not that he does not lie in, one would almost take him for the Wife, and her for the Husband. They may be a quarter of a year in the house together, without any danger of meeting one another. They live as if they were only Neighbours. He pays the Butcher and Cook, but 'tis my Lady that gives the Treat. They have nothing in common, neither Bed nor Table. They have not so much as the same name: They live after the Roman and Greek manner. She has her name, and he his, and 'tis a long time, and not before one is well acquainted with the Language of the Town, that one comes to know at last, that Mr B. and Madam L. have been Man and Wife this twenty years.  
* There are some Wives, who if they brought no other Plagues with 'em, are vexatious enough to their Husbands upon the account of their great Birth, and Alliances and Fortune; upon the account of their Beauty and Merit, and of that, which some People call Virtue.  
* There are few Wives so perfect, who do not give their Husband's cause once a day to repent of their Marriage, or at least to envy a Man that is unmarried.  
* Silent, stupid Grief is out of Fashion. Women now adays are very talkative in their Sorrow. They are so touched with their Husband's Death, that they do not forget to tell you, and repeat to you every circumstance of it.  
* Is it impossible for a Man to discover the art of making his Wife to love him?  
* The Woman that is Insensible, is one that has not yet seen the person whom she ought to Love.  
In Smyrna there lived a young Lady of extraordinary Beauty called Emira; who yet was not more famous for her Beauty, than for the severity of her Manners; and above all, for a strange Indifference that she had for all Men, whom, as she said, she beheld without any danger, and without any other concernment, than what she felt for her Friends, or her Brothers. She could not believe the thousandth part of all the follies, which, she was told, Love had been the cause of; and those which she saw herself, she could not comprehend. Friendship was the only thing she had any notion of, and that she made the first experiment of, in a young and beautiful person of her own Sex: She found in her friendship, something so very soft and pleasing, that her only Study was how to continue it; never imagining that any other Inclination could arise, which should make her less to cherish that esteem and confidence which she prized so much then. Her discourse was only of Euphrosina, which was the name of that faithful friend, and the discourse of all Smyrna, was only of Euphrosina and her. Their Friendship became a Proverb. Emira had two Brothers, both so young and so handsome, that all the Women of that City were in love with 'em, and whom she loved herself, as became a Sister. One of the Priests of jupiter had access to her Father's house, and being ravished with her Beauty, ventured to declare his Passion to her, but came off only with Scorn and Contempt. An old man, who relying on his great Birth and Estate, had the same assurance, met with the same success. She Triumphs on this; she was surrounded by her Brothers, a Priest, and an Old Man, and could boast herself Insensible; but these were not the greatest Trials that Heaven had reserved ●or her; yet they too, had no other effect but to render her still more Vain, and to confirm her in the reputation of being a person that was not to be touched with Love. Of three Lovers, whom her Charms had gained her, one after another, and all whose Passions she was not afraid to see and to slight, the first in an Amorous Transport stabbed himself at her feet, the second in Despair of ever succeeding, wen● to seek his Death in the Wars of Crete; and the third ended his days in a Miserable Languishment and Distraction. The man that was to revenge all these, had not yet appeared. The old Spark, who was so unfortunate in his Amours, was cured at length, by reflecting on his Age, and on the character of the person, to whom he had made his Addresses. However, he was desirous to visit her sometimes, and had her Permission. One day, he carried along with him his Son, a Youth of a most agreeable Aspect, and of a noble Mein: She beheld him with some Interest more than ordinary, but observing him very silent, as he was, in the presence of his Father, she made a judgement of his Wit from thence not much to his advantage. She could have wished he had had more. He saw her afterwards alone, and then he talked to her sufficiently, and wittily too; but when he regarded her less, and talked to her less about herself and her Beauty, than she expected, she was surprised, and had, as it were, some indignation, that a Man who was so well made, and had so much Wit, should be so little Gallant. Her Friend had expressed a Desire to see him, and was in company when she entertained him; that was the reason. 'Twas for Euphrosina alone that he had Eyes, and her Beauty alone which he commended. This made Emira, from being Indifferent, to become Jealous; and then she perceiv●d, that Ctesiphon was sensible of what he said; and that he not only was capable of Gallantry, but of Tenderness. From that time she is more reserved to her friend, yet desirous to see 'em together once more. The second Interview more than satisfied her in all her fears, her doubt was turned into certainty. She now flies from Euphrosina, no longer knows that Merit which charmed her before, she loses all relish of her conversation, she loves her no longer; and this alteration made her sensible that 'twas Love, which in her heart, had supplied the place of friendship. Ctesiphon and Euphrosina see one another every day. They love mutually; they agree to marry: They are marry●d. The news is spread about the Town, and People publish it the more for the rarity of it, that two persons who Love so well, should be blest in Enjoyment. Emira hears of it, and is all enraged, she feels then to what height her Passion was grown. She seeks out Euphrosina again, only for the pleasure of one sight of Ctesiphon, but that young Husband has not yet quitted the Lover: in a new Wife he finds all the Charms of a Mistress, which makes him that he cannot look on Emira, but as on the friend of her that's dear to him. This completes the poor Lady's misfortune. She can take no rest, refuses all sustenance, her Body grows weak, and her Mind disturbed. She mistakes her Brother for Ctesiphon, and speaks to him as to a Lover. She recollects herself, and blushes for her Distraction, yet relapses into greater, which she does not blush for. She knows not what she does. Then is she apprehensive of Men, when 'tis too late. 'Tis her Folly now. She has her Intervals of Reason; but 'tis of Reason that she most complains. In this condition she lies so sad and miserable, that the Youth of Smyrna, who before had seen her so proud and insensible, now think Heaven has punished her but too severely.   

Of the Heart.  
* PUre Friendship is something, which none can attain to the taste of, but those who are well Born.  
* There may be a Friendship between persons of different Sexes, which may subsist without Enjoyment; yet a Woman will always look upon a Man as a Man, and so will a Man still look upon a Woman as a Woman. This Engagement is neither Love, nor pure Friendship. 'Tis something of another kind.  
* Love seizes on us suddenly, without giving us time to consider, and our Disposition, or our Weakness favours the Surprise. One Look, one Glance from the Fair fixes and determins us. Friendship on the contrary is a long time in forming, and that by degrees, by a long Acquaintance and Familiarity. How much Wit, good Nature, Affection? how many good Offices and Civilities are there among Friends to do that in many years, which sometimes a fair Face, or a fair Hand does in a minute?  
* Friendship the older it grows, is the stronger; Love is the weaker for its Age.  
* Love, as long as it does last, subsists of itself; and sometimes subsists by those very means, which should seem rather to extinguish it; Severity, Cruelty, Absence, Jealousy. Friendship, on the contrary, stands in need of all helps, Care, Confidence, and Complaisance. If 'tis not supplied with these it expires.  
* 'Tis not so hard to meet with Love in Excess, as with perfect Friendship.  
* Love and Friendship exclude one another.  
* He that has had Experience of a great and violent Love neglects Friendship; and he that has consumed all his Passion upon Friendship is nothing advanced towards Love.  
* Love alone begets Love. We commence but languishing Lovers, when we have but just quitted the dearest and most affectionate Friendship.  
* Nothing more resembles the strongest Friendship, than those Engagements which we make for the Interest and Security of our Love.  
* We never Love heartily but once, and that's the first time we love. The Inclinations that succeed are more at our Command.  
* Sudden Love is longest to be cured.  
* Love, that grows slowly and leisurely, is too like Friendship ever to be a violent Passion.  
* He who loves to that degree, that he wishes he were able to love a thousand times more than he does, yields in Love to None, but to Him, who loves more than he wishes for.  
* If I should grant, that 'tis possible for those who are transported with a great and violent Passion, to love one another better than themselves. Who should I most oblige? They that love, or they that are beloved?  
* Men are sometimes inclinable enough to be in Love, but can't succeed in their Desire. They seek all Occasions of being conquered, but escape still, for which reason 'tis, if I may be allowed the Expression, that they are bound to continue free.  
* The couple who love too violently at first, contribute each of 'em, to their loving one another less in a short time, and at length to their hating one another. Who has the greatest share in this Rupture, the Man or the Woman, is not easily to be decided. The Women accuse the Men of being wild and roving; and the Men say, they are false and inconstant.  
* As nice as we are in Love, we pardon more Faults in Love, than in Friendship.  
* 'Tis a Revenge sweet to a Man that loves passionately, by all his Conduct and Carriage to an ungrateful Mistress, to make her appear extremely ungrateful.  
'Tis but an unpleasant thing to Love, when we have not a Fortune great enough to render those we love, as happy as they themselves can desire.  
* The Woman that makes no Return to our present Passion, whatever important services she may afterwards do us in the residue of our Life, will hardly meet with any thing from us but Ingratitude.  
* When we are very grateful, 'tis a sign that we have a great Inclination and Affection for the person that has obliged us.  
* To be but in the company of those we love, satisfies us: it does not signify whether we speak to 'em or not, whether we think on them or on indifferent things. To be near 'em is all.  
* Hatred is not so remote from Friendship as Antipathy.  
* 'Tis more common to see People pass from Antipathy to Love, than from that to Friendship.  
* We make a Confidence of our secret in Friendship, but in Love it escapes from us.  
'Tis possible to have some People's Confidence, and yet not to have their Hearts. But he who has the Heart has no need of Confidence, every thing is open to him.  
In Friendship we only see those Faults which may be prejudicial to our Friends. In those we love we see no Faults, but those by which we suffer ourselves.  
'Tis the first Disgust in Love only, as well as the first Fault in Friendship, which we are able to make a good use of.  
* If a Suspicion that is unjust, fantastical and groundless, has been called Jealousy, methinks that Jealousy, which is a sentiment just, natural, founded on Reason and Experience, should deserve some other Name.  
'Tis not always a great passion that is the cause of Jealousy, our natural temper has some share in it, yet 'tis a Paradox for a violent Love to be without Delicacy.  
Our Delicacy often disturbs none but ourselves ●●ealousy makes us not only uneasy ourselves, but disturbs others.  
Those Women, who while they are not at the pains of dissembling with us, are not sparing to give us all occasions of Jealousy, don't indeed deserve our Jealousy, if we had the power to regulate ourselves, more by their Sentiments and Conduct, than by our own Affections.  
* The coldnesses and disorders which happen in Friendship, have their causes. In Love there's hardly any other reason for our ceasing to love, but that we are too well beloved.  
* 'Tis no more in our power to love always, than 'tis not to love sometimes.  
* Love receives its Death's Wound from Disgust, and is buried by Oblivion.  
* We are sensible of the Beginning and Decline of Love, by the Impatience we have to be alone.  
* To cease from loving, is a sensible proof, that Man is limited, and that the Heart has its bounds.  
'Tis a Weakness to love. 'Tis sometimes another Weakness to attempt the cure of it.  
We are cured of that, just as we are comforted for our afflictions. 'Tis impossible in Nature always to grieve, or always to love.  
* There aught to be in the Heart inexhaustible sources of Grief for some Losses. ●Tis seldom that either by our virtue o● force of mind we overcome a great afflictions We weep bitterly, and are sensibly touched, but at length, we are either so weak, or so inconstant, that we take up and are comforted.  
* When an ugly Woman is beloved, it must certainly be very deperately; for either it must proceed from a strange weakness in her Lover, or from some more secret and invincible charms, than those of her Beauty.  
* Visits amongst Lovers are made for a good while out of custom and ceremony, to profess they love, by words, when 't has been a long time that their Actions and Manners have declared the contrary.  
* Would you endeavour to forget any one, 'tis the certain course to think on nothing else. Love has this in common with Scruples, that 'tis exasperated by the Reflections, which are used to free us from it. If 'twere Practicable there's nothing necessary to weaken our Passion, but never to think on't.  
* We would have it in our power, that those whom we love might receive all their good, or else all their ill fortune from our Hands.  
* 'Tis a greater happiness in comparison to regret the loss of a person we love, than to ●ive with one we hate.  
* How disinterested soever we may be in respect of those we love, we must sometimes constrain ourselves for their sakes, and have the generosity to accept of what they present us.  
He's fit to receive, who is touched with as delicate a pleasure in accepting, as his friend is sensible of in giving.  
* To give is to act. We are not to be passive in the case, to have our benefits extorted from us, by the importunity or necessity of our Petitioners.  
* If at any time we have been liberal to those we love, whatever happens afterwards, we ought by no means to reflect on our benefits.  
* It has been said in Latin, that is costs less to hate than to love, or if you will, that friendship is more chargeable than hatred. 'Tis true, we are excused from liberality to our Enemies, but is a man at no cost to revenge himself? Or if 'tis so sweet and natural to do ill to those we hate, is it less pleasing or less natural to do good to those we love? Would it not be difficult and disagreeable to us not to do so?  
* There is a pleasure to meet the Eyes of a person that we have lately obliged.  
* ay do not know whether a benefit, which falls on an ungrateful person, and so consequently on one that's unworthy, does not change its name, or whether it deserves acknowledgement.  
* Liberality consists not so much in giving a great deal, as in giving prudently.  
* If 'tis true, that in our pity and compassion we have a regard to ourselves, as we are apprehensive of being some time or other in the same circumstances with the miserable, how comes it about then, that in their misery we so seldom relieve 'em?  
* 'tis better to expose ourselves to Ingratitude, than to be wanting to the miserable.  
* Experience confirms it every Day. That our indulgence to ourselves, and hardheartedness to others, are but one and the same vice.  
The churlish, moiling, laborious man, that shows no mercy to himself, is not to be made indulgent to others, but by an excess of reason.  
* Tho the charge of maintaining an indigent person, may be very burdensome to us; yet we cannot heartily relish the new advantages which put him out of our protection. In the same manner the pleasure which we take in the exaltation of our friend, is something abated, by a little sort of a trouble we have, to see him mounted above us, or in an equal condition with us. Thus we agree but ill with ourselves. We would have others dependant on us, but to cost us nothing. We would have our friends prosperous in the World, yet when their good fortune comes, perhaps we're the last to rejoice at it.  
'Tis nothing for people to make invitations to their House and Table, to make liberal offers of their fortune and services. To be as good as their word is all.  
* One faithful friend is enough for ones self, and 'tis much to meet with such an one, yet we can't have too many for the sake of others.  
* When we have done all that's possible to gain some sort of people, and we find it in vain, there's one Reserve still left, which is, even to let 'em alone for the future.  
* To live with our Enemies in such manner, as if they should one day be our Friends, and to live with our Friends as if they should some time or other become our Enemies, is at once against the nature of Hatred, and the rules of Friendship. It may be a good Maxim in Politics, but 'tis a very bad one in Morality.  
* We ought not to make those our Enemies, who being better known, we may be glad to have in the number of our Friends. We ought to make choice of persons of such Honour for our Friends, as if they should ever cease to be so, will not abuse our Confidence, nor give us cause to fear 'em for Enemies.  
* 'Tis extremely pleasant to frequent our Friends, when we do it from Inclination and Esteem, but 'tis painful and troublesome to cultivate Friendship out of Interest. 'Tis soliciting.  
* 'Tis more allowable to use Artifice to gain their affections whom we design to oblige, than 'tis to gain their favour, from whom we have expectations of advantage.  
* We do not pursue our Settlement in the World with the same eagerness, that we do the frivolous things we fancy. Our Imagination suggests to us a kind of Liberty in following our Whimsies, and on the contrary a kind of Slavery in labouring how to make our fortune. 'Tis natural to desire it very much, but to take little pains to procure it: To think, in short, we deserve it without seeking for it.  
* He that knows how to wait for what he desires, takes the course not to be excessively grieved, if he chances to go without it. He, on the contrary, who desires a thing too impatiently, thinks the success, when it comes, cannot recompense him for all the pains he has been at about it.  
* There are those People, who so ardently and passionately desire a thing, that for fear they shall lose it, they leave nothing undone that may surely make 'em lose it.  
* Those things, which are most desired, either never are attained, or are attained with so much difficulty, after so many delays, and attended with such circumstances, as quite spoil the enjoyment of 'em.  
* We must laugh before we are happy, or else we may die before we have cause to laugh.  
* If we cannot be accounted to live, but at such times as we enjoy ourselves, I'm afraid Life will be found to be very short; since if w● were only to reckon the hours which we pass agreeably, a great number of years would not make up a Life of a few months.  
* How difficult is it to be perfectly satisfied with any one?  
'Tis imppss●ble to suppress all sense of joy, when we behold the ruin of a bad man. Then it is that we enjoy the fruit of our hatred, and that pleasure is all the satisfaction we we can expect. His Death happens at last, but then 'tis at such a conjuncture perhaps, that our Interests will not permit us to rejoice; for which he dies either too soon or too late.  
* It goes to the Heart of a haughty and proud Man, to forgive one that has taken him in a fault, and whom he knows has reason on his side. His Pride is never satisfied, till he has regained the Advantage he has lost, and made the other acknowledge himself in the wrong.  
Just in the same manner, as we grow more and more endearing to the persons that oblige us, so do we more and more violently hate those whom we have extremely offended.  
* 'Tis as difficult to stifle the Resentment of an Injury at first, as 'tis to preserve it for a great many years.  
* 'Tis Weakness which makes us hate an Enemy and se●k Revenge, and 'tis Laziness that pacifies us, and makes us not to prosecute it.  
* It proceeds from Laziness as much as from Weakness, that we suffer ourselves to be Ruled and Managed.  
There's no thinking of managing a man all at once, and without some preparation, in an affair, which perhaps may be of the last importance to him or his. He would feel you then presently, and the Ascendant you designed to gain over him, and would throw off the yoke for Shame. No, let him at first be drawn to little things, so will you be certain not to fail when you shall attempt him in greater.  
There have been those in the World who at first have had no greater influence over a Man, than that, perhaps, of making him leave the Town or Country a day or two before his time, who at length have arrived to that power, as to prescribe him what he should do in his Will, make him disinherit his only Son.  
To govern any one absolutely, and for a long time, 'tis necessary to carry a light hand, and to let him perceive, as little as possible, his Dependence.  
Some People suffer themselves to be governed just so far and no farther. Beyond that they are intractable. 'Tis impossible to move their Hearts or their Minds. Neither rough nor gentle means, force nor industry can reduce 'em. 'Tis with this difference, though, that some are thus made by reason and judgement, and others by humour and disposition.  
There are those men who will not hearken to reason, or good council, but deviate of their own Heads, purely for fear of being governed.  
There are others who yield to be governed by their friends in indifferent things, who in things serious and of moment, will have the management of themselves.  

The Coun● de Tonnerre.  Drances would fain pass for one that rules his Master, though his Master is no more sensible of it than the World. For a Servant, to talk to a Man of Quality incessantly, at such times and places as are least convenient; to be always whispering, or speaking to him in mysterious terms; to laugh aloud in his presence, to interrupt him, to interfere in his discourse with others: to treat with contempt, those that come to make their Court to his Master, to express an impatience, till they are gone. To seat himself next him, and in a posture of too great freedom, to pluck him by the Sleeve, to tread upon his Heals: in fine, to affect to be thus familiar, and to take these sorts of liberties with him, are signs of a Coxcomb rather than a Favourite.  
A Wise Man neither suffers himself to be governed, nor attempts to govern others. 'Tis his reason alone which always governs him.  
If I had a friend who was a Man of Reason, and whom I might confide in, I should not be against delivering up myself entirely to his conduct. I should then be sure to do well, without being at the pains of deliberation, and should enjoy all the tranquillity of a person that governs himself by reason.  
* All our Passions are deceitful and as much disguised as possible. We do not only strive to conceal 'em from other people's Eyes, but our own. There is no Vice which has not some resemblance of some Virtue, or other, and which does not make its advantage of it.  
* We open a Book of Devotion, and it touches us. We open a Book of Gallantry, and that too makes its impression. Shall I say it? 'Tis the Heart alone that reconciles Contrarieties, and admits of things incompatible.  
* Men done't so much blush for their Crimes, as for their Weaknesses and Vanity. Such a one makes no scruple openly, and with a bold face to be unjust, cruel, perfidious, a slanderer; yet he conceals his Love or his Ambition upon no other account, but purely to conceal it.  
* It rarely happens, that a man is brought to own that he is ambitious, or that he has been, or that he continues so; yet 'tis common for most People to confess they have loved.  
* Love begins and Ambition ends with us; so that we are often never freed from Passion till we die.  
* 'Tis nothing for our passion to get the better of our reason. It's greatest Triumph is, when it makes our interest to submit.  
* The best Conversation is that, in which the Heart has a greater share than the Head.  
* There are certain sublime Sentiments, certain noble and elevated Actions, which we own more to the goodness of our Nature, than to the force of our Mind.  
* There's no excess in the World so commendable as an excess of gratitude.  
* He must be a dull fellow indeed, whom neither Love, Malice, nor Necessity, can inspire with Wit.  
* There are some places which we admire: Others which we love.  
For my part, I believe, our Wit, Humour, Passion, Taste, and Sentiments, depend on the places where we live.  
* Those who are good, would be the only persons to be envied, if there were not a better course to be taken, which is to excel 'em. That is a revenge which is to be permitted, and which our Jealousy ought to prompt us to pursue.  
* Some stand upon their Guard against Loving and Rhyming, as two weaknesses, which they dare not own; the one of the Heart, and the other of the Head.  
* There are some pleasures to be met withal in the course of our Life, which are so dear to us, and some engagements so soft and tender, that though they are forbid, 'tis but natural to desire at least that they were allowable. Nothing can be more charming than they are, except it be the pleasure of knowing how to renounce 'em by our Virtue.   

OF Society and Conversation.  
'TIS a silly Character to have none at all.  
* 'Tis a Fool's part to be troublesome. A Wise man knows when he is agreeable or vexatious, and will not tarry long enough to make any one weary of him.  
* Buffoons are a sort of Infects which breed in all Countries; we can scarce step for fear of treading on 'em. A pleasant man is rarely to be met with; and a person though he is born so, must have a great deal of Delicacy to maintain the character a long time: But commonly he that makes one laugh is not sure to be esteemed.  
* There are abundance of obscene, a great many more railing and satirical Wits, but very few delicate. A Man must have manners and politeness to trifle with a good grace, and a copious fancy to play handsomely on little things, to create matter of raillery, and make something out of nothing.  
* If we were to listen with attention to every thing that is said in common Conversation, we should be ashamed to speak or to hear. We should perhaps condemn ourselves to a perpetual silence, which is more injurious to Commerce than unprofitable discourses: we must therefore accommodate ourselves to every Man's capacity; we must suffer as necessary Evils, false News, rambling Reflections on the Government, or the Interest of Princes: we must hear with patience the fine notions some men are continually repeating; and permit Aronce to speak Proverbs, and Melinda to talk of herself, her Vapours, Migraines, and Want of Rest.  
* In the company we keep, we shall often meet with persons who offend us with their ridiculous Jargon, the Novelty and Impropriety of their Terms and their acquaint Expressions, which come from no bodies mouth but their own, and were not designed by the first Inventors to signify what they use 'em for. They observe neither reason nor custom, but speak according to their foolish Whimsies, are always fond of Pleasantry, and affect to distinguish themselves by a particular Cant, which becomes at length their Natural Idiom: They speak in a counterfeit tone, and accompany their words with odd gestures and grimaces. However, they are well contended with themselves, and their Wit, which they imagine very diverting. Indeed we can't say they are entirely destitute; but we pity 'em for what little Wit they have, and believe if they had none at all, they wou●d be less insufferable.  
* Prithee Acis, for the satisfaction of your friends, endeavour to speak as they may understand you, for my part I do but guests at your meaning: If you would tell 'em 'tis cold, that it reins and snows; say 'tis cold, it reins, and it snows. If you see 'em in good health, and would congratulate 'em upon it, tell 'em they look well: Oh! but say you, that is so plain, and so conspicuous, any one might have said as much. 'Tis true, and what does that signify? besides, what harm is there, Sir, in being intelligible, or speaking like your Neighbours. There is one thing Acis, which you and some Gentlemen of your Complexion want very much; I know I shall surprise you, but there's certainly one thing wanting in you, which is Wit: though this is not all, there is something too abounding in you, and that is the good opinion you have of yourself, above other Men. This is the Fountain of all your pompous fustian, your big words, and your perplexed phrases. The next time I find you do so, I shall pluck you by your Sleeve, and tell you in your Ear: Don't fancy you have Wit; 'tis a mistake: your part is inconsistent with it; rather, if you can, learn some plain unaffected Language, such as those speak who you fancy have no Wit, and then, perhaps, we may think you have some yourself.  
* Who that keeps much company can promise himself to avoid meeting certain vain Blockheads, who are light, familiar and positive. These are the Speaking Men in all Conversation, and they compel every one else to hear them. They are heard in the Antichamber. They enter without Interruption: They continue their Tales without any consideration for such as come in, or go out, or for the rank or quality of the people who make up the Company. They silence him that dares to begin a piece of News, that they may tell it after thei● own fashion, which to be sure is the best. They had it of Zamet, Raccelay, or Conchini, whom they name familiarly without their Title, though they never knew 'em, or spoke to 'em in their Lives: They get themselves up sometimes to the best Man in the Company, to gratify him with something new, which no body else knows. They whisper it, and for a world will suffer none but him to partake on't. They hide Names to disguise the Story, and prevent Application. There are some things they must not tell, and some persons whom they cannot name: Their words are engaged to the contrary, 'tis a mystery, a secret of the last importance. Should you ask it, you would demand an impossibility; for whatever you imagine, they are equally ignorant of both persons and actions.  
* As we ought not to be backward in speaking, or to abstract our minds from the subject of the conversation we are in, le●t it causes us to ask a great many untimely questions, and return as unseasonable answers; ●o we ought not also to give an overcurious attention to the least trifles, that are said in company, to improve 'em, to banter 'em, to discover in 'em a mystery which the rest could not perceive, to make 'em subtle and politic, only that we may have an opportunity to show our own policy and subtlety.  
* Some Men think th●y are extraordinary persons, and are fond of their own merit, though they have indeed but very little, or none at all; he is truly unhappy who is obliged to be much in their company; what a parcel of whimsical phrases must he endure? how many bold words, which come out suddenly, live a moment, then die, and are forgotten. If they tell a piece of News, 'tis merely for the honour of telling it, and to show they can come off handsomely. It grows a Romance under their management: they make their men think after their own manner; put their own trivial expressions in their mouths, and they are all like themselves very talkative. They fall at last into Parentheses, which may pass for Epicodes, but that they have no relation to the story; and by this means the Speakers and their Hearers forget what they were about. What a terrible confusion must then attend 'em, should not some body come in luckily to break up the Company, and put an end to the Narration.  
* 
Mr. D'aubiguy.  Theodectus is heard in the Antichamber, the nearer he approaches he heightens his voice; he enters, he laughs, he stretches his mouth up to his ears, he makes a noise; he is a mere Thunderer, and no less remarkable for what he says, than the tone he speaks with. He is never out of an extreme hurry, but to stutter out some of his own follies and vanities. He has so little consideration for the time, the persons, or decency, that each has his share of his Entertainment, though he gives no attention to what he says. In short, he never sits down be●ore the whole company is disobliged by his disturbances; and he is ever so well pleased with himself, that he cannot perceive it. The Table spread he is the first in his place, and always at the upper end. The Ladies at his right and left, he eats, he drinks, talks, and interrupts; he has no respect for the Master or his Guests; but abuses the toleration they give him. Whoever makes the Feast, he has all the Authority of the Table: and 'tis more convenient to give him his way, than to dispute it with him. Eating and drinking add nothing to his Character. If he plays he wins, and banters the unfortunate, till they are offended. The langhable Men are continually on his side, and there is no sort of folly which escapes 'em. I must confess I am surfeited with his company, and despair of being able to endure Theodectus above a minute, or those who suffer him.  
Troilus is very useful to such as have too much Riches: He eases them of the trouble of their superfluities; and saves 'em the labour of hoarding up Money, making Contracts, locking Coffers, carrying the Keys, or fearing a Domestic Thief. He assists them in their pleasures, and in time becomes serviceable to 'em in their passions. He is the Oracle of the house, he triumphs in his management, he sets every one his task, he hears and decides. He says to this Slave he shall be punished, and he is whipped; to another he shall be freed, and he is set at liberty. His Creatures are very demure in his presence, they dare not Laugh for fear of offending him, and then they are dismissed: And it goes well with the Master of the House if he leaves him his Wife and Children. If he is at the Table, and says such a dish is excellent, the Master and his Guests govern themselves by his palate, are of his opinion, and fall to heartily. If he says on the contrary of other Meats they are Insipid, whoever were eating it spit it out, and dare not swallow it without Troilus approbation. Every Eye is on him, observing his looks and carriage, before he pronounces sentence on the Wine or Victuals before him. He seldom stirs out of the Family where he is Director; there he eats, drinks, sleeps and digests, quarrels with the Grooms and Valets, accounts with the Workmen, and sends back the Creditors. He swells and domineers in the Great Hall, receives there the Homages of those Servants who are more subtle than their fellows, and by his mediation alone come at their Master. If a person enters whose misfortune 'tis to have a complexion disagreeable to his humour, he frowns, turns away his Head; if he comes up to him he sits still; if he sits down, he removeth himself farther off; if he talks, he is mute; if he continues to talk, Troilus gets up into his Chamber: if he follows, he makes to the Staircase, leaps down Stairs, or gets out at a Window, rather than associate with a Man whose face or voice he dislikes. He is himself happy in both, and they serve to insinuate, and win upon such as he has occasion of. Every thing at last is below him, and he scorns to preserve his favour, by the little ways he acquired it. He sometimes sallies out of his Meditation and Silence to contradict, and to show his Wit condescends to be a Critic. Instead of expecting he should hearken to you in his turn, or be complaisant, and commend your Judgement. You are not always sure he will permit your approbation, o● suffer your complacency.  
* There is a certain Spark who never fails to be at all Cavalcades, public Feasts and Sights; he is careful to make himself known and wherever he stands seldom gives himself the trouble to inquire if the company have heard of him, but presently acquaints them with his Name, his Seat, his Country, his Estate, his Offices, his own and his Mother's Family, his Relations, and the Arms of his House: They must understand that he is Noble, that he has a Castle, fine Furniture, Retinue and a Coach.  
Some Men speak before they think, others study heavily on every thing they say; we must stay for these till they are delivered of their Notions, and assist at the Travail of their minds: 
A sort of people who a●fected to be extreme nice in their Language.  They invent Phrases and little turns of Expression, conformable to their gesture and carriage. They call themselves Puriets, and will not venture the least word where it has not all the fine effect imaginable; yet nothing comes from them easy or happy: they talk properly perhaps, but they are very tiresome.  
* The Wit of conversation consists more in finding it in others than showing a great deal yourself. He who goes out of your company pleased with his own facetiousness and ingenuity, will the sooner come into it again. Most men had rather please than admire you, and seek less to be instructed and diverted, than approved and applauded; and 'tis certainly the most delicate sort of pleasure to please another.  
* Too much fancy is not necessary in our conversation or writings; it begets vain and puerile Ideas which tend neither to make us wiser or better. Our thoughts should be produced by good sense and right reason, and aught always to be the effect of our judgement.  
* 'Tis a sad thing when Men have neither Wit enough to speak well, nor Sense enough to hold their tongues: this is the foundation of all impertinence.  
* To speak modestly on a good or bad subject, and to give the true reason for its being so requires good sense, and a happy expression. 'Tis a much more ready way to pronounce in the decisive tone, that this thing is execrable or that wonderful.  
wonderful There is nothing more displeasing to God or Man, than confirming the least things that are said in common conversation by horrid Oaths and Imprecations. An honest Man, who says Yes or No, deserves sooner to be believed; his reputation swears for him, gets him credit, and draws him all manner of confidence.  
* He who says boldly he is a Man of Truth and Honour, that he wrongs no Man, but wishes the Ills he has done others may fall upon himself, and swears that it may be believed; does not know even how to counterfeit an Honest Man.  
An honest Man with all his sincerity cannot hinder some People saying of him, what a dishonest Man could say of himself.  
* Cleon talks uncivilly or unjustly, I am sure 'tis one or the other; but he says he can't help it, he was born so, and speaks as he thinks.  
* Some men talk well, easily, justly, and to the purpose: those offend in the last kind, who speak of the Banqnets they are to be at, before such as are reduced to spare their Bread; of sound Limbs, before the Infirm; of Demesnes and Revenues, before the Poor and Needy; of fine Houses and Furniture, before such as have neither Dwelling or Movables: in a word, who speak of Prosperity, before the Miserable. This conversation is too strong for 'em, and the comparison you make between their condition and yours is odious.  
* As for you, says Entiphron, you are rich, or aught to be so, ten thousand Livres a year good Lands: Ah! this is fine, lovely, and you are certainly happy. In the mean time, the person who talks at this rate, has fifty thousand Livres a year Rent, and thinks he has not half what he deserves; he taxes you, prizes you, settles your Expense; and if he judges you worthy of a better fortune, or even what he himself aspires to, he can●t yet forbear coveting what you have. However, he is not the only man that makes such wretched estimations and odious comparisons. The world is full of Entiphrons'.  
* A pe●son who was naturally a Flatterer, and besides fond of being in the fashion, which obliges us to praise any one who has raised himself to Honour and Riches, congratulated Theodemus on a Book which he had not heard of, and no body had yet given it any character to him. The man however still talks of his Genius, his Manner, and above all, the Fidelity of his Memory, till Theodemus was confounded and put to a Nonplus.  
* Baevius never speaks, but he offends; his Disposition is sharp and bitter, his Language mingled with Gall and Wormwood: Railing, Injury, and Insolence, run from his Lips like spital. It had been well for him, had he been born stupid or mute; what little quickness and wit he has prejudices him more ●●en another man's dulness. He is not always satisfied with giving sharp answers, he attacks frequently with arrogance. He strikes whenever he speaks, and wounds the present and absent, at least in their Reputations. He bristles his forehead, and runs at all like a Ram: And since Impudence is as natural to him, as Horns to a Ram, why should we hope by this Picture to reform a Sot, so rough, wild, and untractable. We had better, as soon as we see him afar of, run from him with all our might, without looking behind us.  
* ay know a Man of such a Make and Character, that some People should be careful how they trust themselves with him: they must complain of him as little as possible, and against him 'tis not permitted for 'em to hope for Justice.  
* When two persons have had a violent quarrel, one with reason, the other with none; 'tis the custom of the Arbitrators, who are to make up the difference, to condemn both, either fearing to make a perfect decision on one side, or out of a temperament, which methinks is very ill placed: But they observe this Lesson, that 'tis good to get from the weak party as far as possible, lest they should partake with him in his wrongs.  
* I hate a man who will not let me accost him, 
Written in imitation of Montag●.  nor salute him, before he salutes me, without growing less in his esteem, or partaking in the good opinion he has of himself. Montaign would have said, I will have Elbow-room: I will be courteous and affable, according to my fancy, without fear or remorse. I can't strive against my inclinations, nor go contrary to my humour, which leads me to address myself to every one that makes towards me, if he is my Equal, and not my Enemy, I anticipate his Reception, I question him of his Health and Disposition, I offer him my Service without any more ado, or trading and haggling for them, like some People who set a price on their Favours. He displeases me, who by his Customs or Whimsies would rob me of this Freedom and Liberty. I remember him assoon as I see him afar off settling a grave and important countenance; and if I may make a comparison, putting me in mind of my own good qualities and conditions, and his bad ones; I am too much put to it to deal with such a person, I am not fit for such a stiff and unlooked for a respect; I hate Ceremony, though for the first time I may allow it, yet at the second I will take care to prevent him, since I can't put a force on myself, nor be constrained to be proud for any man.  
* A man may have virtue, capacity, and good conduct, and yet be insupportable. Manners, which we neglect as little things, are frequently what the world judge us by, and decide for or against us. A little management, to be obliging and polite before men, will prevent their bad judgements, but we must on no account be proud, uncivil, disdainful, and disobliging; and we aught less to be the contrary, if we would be esteemed.  
* Politeness does not always inspire Generosity, Equity, Complaisance, and Gratitude: it gives a man the appearances of those Virtues, and makes him seem that without, which he ought to be within.  
* We may de●ine Politeness, though we can't tell where to fix it in practice. It observes receiv●d Uses and Customs, 'tis bound to times and places, and is not the same thing in the two Sexes, or in different conditions. Wit alone cannot attain it: ●tis acquired and completed by Imitation. Some Dispositions are only Susceptive of Politeness. Others make use of great Talents and solid Vertue● 'Tis true Politeness puts Merit forward, and renders it agreeable; and a man must have eminent qualifications to support himself without it.  
The Politeness of the Mind is a certain care to make us pleasing by our discourses and manners to ourselves and others.  
* He offends against Politeness, who praises another Singing and Playing on the Music; before such as he has obliged to Sing or Play for his Diversion; or to commend another Poet, in presence of one who reads him his Verses.  
* In all the Feasts and Entertainments we give, in all the Presents we make, in all the Pleasures we procure for others, there is a way of doing it well, and of doing it according to their inclinations; the last is the best method.  
* 'Tis rude to refuse indifferently all sorts of Praises: We ought to be sensible of those which come from good men; who praise sincerely those things in us which are really commendable.  
* A Man of Wit, who is born proud, loses nothing of his pride or stiffness for being poor; on the contrary, if any thing will soften him and render him more sweet and sociable, 'tis a little Prosperity.  
* We must bear with some people's bad Characters, as we do with bad Money, for the benefit of Commerce.  
* To live with those Men, who are continually embroiled, and make you hear reciprocally the complaints of each side, is like living in a Court of Justice, and being obliged from morning to night to hear Plead and Declarations.  

Monsieur St. Martin and Mr. Rombus.  * Two Men lived in a strict union, their goods were in common, they had but one dwelling, and were never out of one another's presence: After fourscore years they saw 'twas time to part, and finish their society; they had then but one day to live, and durst not attempt passing it together, they were in haste to break before death, and had not complacence enough to last till that hour. They lived too long for a good Example; a moment sooner they had died good friends, and left behind them a rare model of perseverance in Friendship.  
* Families are within often disturbed by mistrusts, jealousies and antipathy, while without they seem content, peaceable and pleasant; and we suppose they enjoy a quiet, which they seldom possess: There being very few who could bear an Examination. The visit you make may give a cessation to the domestic quarrel, but your absence revives it.  
* In all Society Reason yields first, and the Wise man is led by the most foolish and capricious: He studies their tempers and weakness, and accommodates himself to their whimsies: He avoids running against them as much as possible, and gives 'em their way, that he may not be always insupportable. When they are the least cheerful, he commends their good humour, and to make himself easy, fears, manages, obeys, and sometimes loves them.  
* Cleantes is a very worthy Person, he chose a Wife who is the best and the most reasonable Woman in the World: They both in their several parts made all the pleasure and agreeableness of the Company they kept: One could seldom meet more Politeness or greater Probity. They parted on the sudden, and the Deed of their Separation was presently drawn up at the Notaries. There are, in short, some certain Incompatible Virtues and Merits, which are not made to be together.  
* A Man may be sure in his accounts of the Portion, Jointure and Settlement, but is very uncertain as to the Wife's disposition, how she has been bred, and in what manner she will live with him: they depend upon the frail agreement between the Mother-in-law and the Daughter-in-law, and he is often deceived in it the first year of his Marriage.  
* A Father-in-law loves his Daughter-in-law, a Mother-in-law her Son-in-law, so both are reciprocal.  
* A Cruel Stepmother hates her Husband's Children, and the more she loves her Husband, the more she hates them.  
* Stepmother's have made whole Towns and Villages desert, and peopled the Country of Beggars, Vagabonds, Servants and Slaves, more than Poverty.  

Messieurs Gedias and Harvey.  * G. and H. are Neighbours, their Lands are contiguous, they inhabit a desert and solitary Country, far from Towns or Commerce: Methinks Solitude and the love Men have for Society, should force 'em to a mutual correspondence: But they are perpetually at variance, and 'tis hard to express the trifle that causes the difference which renders 'em implacable, and continues their hatred in their descendants. Relations nor even Brothers never differed about a thing of less moment.  
Suppose there were but two men on the whole Earth, who possessed it entirely to themselves, and parted it between them, I am persuaded there would be quickly some cause of rupture created, though it were only for the limits of their Divisions.  
* 'Tis commonly easier to make peace amongst other men, than to keep it ourselves.  
* ay am now approaching a little Town, I am already on an ascent where I discover it seated in a pleasant Valley, 'tis shaded by Woods and Hills, which cover it from cold Blasts and Northern Winds; I see it in so fair a day, that I view its Tower, Steeple and Turrets; it seems on the declension of a Hill, and has a fine River running through it into lovely Meadows; I am so pleased with the prospect that I burst forth into this Exclamation, How pleasant must it be to live under so clear a Sky in so delicious an Abode: I descend into the Town, and have not lain there above two or three nights, associating with the Inhabitants, before I long to get out of it.  
* There is a certain thing which never was seen under the Heavens, and in all likelihood never will be. 'Tis a little City without Faction and Parties, where the Families are united; The Relations see one another with confidence; Where a Marriage does not raise a Civil War; Where there are not every moment Disputes and Quarrels about Precedency; Where Lying, Scolding, Prating, and Gossipping, are banished; Where the Mayor and the Sheriffs, the Assessors and the People have a good Understanding; Where the Bishop lives well with the Dean, the Dean with the Cannons, The Cannons with the Parsons, and the Parsons with their Clerks.  
* Countrymen and Fools are apt to be angry, and fancy you despise 'em if you are the least merry at their imperfections. You must never venture the most innocent and in offensive Raillery or Pleasantry, unless it be amongst polite Men, and Men of Wit.  
* Merit discerns and finds itself out reciprocally: he that would be esteemed must converse with persons who are themselves esteemable.  
* He who thinks he is by his dignity above a Jest, and will not take a Repartee, ought not to give one.  
* We are not angry at being rallied for some little defects, and we should make choice of faults of the same kind when we rally others.  
* 'Tis the Blockheads privilege to laugh at a Man of Wit, but he is in the World, what the Fool is at Court: of no consequence.  
* Buffonery is an Indigence of Wit.  
* You believe a Man your Bubble when he feigns himself to be so, who then is the greatest Bubble, He or You?  
* Observ● those People who never commend any o●e, are always railing, are con●ent with no body, and you will find them persons with whom no body is content.  
* The P●oud and Disdainful will find the contrary of what they expect, if by their Carriage they look for Esteem.  
* The pleasure of Society amongst Friends is cultivated by a likeness of Inclinations, as to Manners; and a difference in Opinion, as to Sciences: the one confirms and humours us in our sentiments; the o●h●r exercises and instructs us by disputation.  
* Two persons will not be friends a long time, if they can●t forgive each other little failings.  
* How many fine unprofitable reasons are laid before one in great Adversity to put him into a state of Tranquillity. Outward things, which we call Events, are sometimes too strong for Reason o● Nature. Eat, Drink, don't kill yourself with Melancholy, are insignificant admonitions, which are impossible to be put in practice when a Man is mastered by his Sorrows. Are you a ●●se man to put yourself to such trouble? Is it not to say, Are you not a Fool to be unfortunate?  
* There are some necessary coun●els which are frequently hurtful to those who give them● and unprofitable to the persons they are addressed to. You observe perhaps defects in Manners, which are either not confessed, or esteemed as Virtues. You blot out a passage in an Author's Writings which pleases him most, where he thought he surpassed himself, and by this means you lose the confidence's of your friends, without making them better or more ingenious.  
* Not long since certain persons of both Sexes leagued themselves together for Conversation and Witty Commerce. They left talking intelligibly to the vulgar: a thing said amongst them with a little clearness, d●ew after it another more obscure● which they enriched with bad Enigmas, and crowned with long Applauses. What they called delicacy, thought, turn, and fine expression, was a faculty they had to be unintelligible to others and themselves. Good sense, judgement, memory, or the least capacity was not necessary to furnish out their discourse, some wit was proper, though not the best sort, but that which is false, where fancy has too great a share.  
* ay know Theobaldus you are old, but would you have me think you decline? That you are no longer a Wit or a Lover, or as bad a Critic in all kind of Writings● as you are an Author? That you have nothing new, easy, natural and delicate in your Conversation? No, Sir, your free and arrogant Mien persuade and assure me of the contrary. You are the ●ame to day as you were fifty years ago, and perhaps better; for if you are so furious and lively at this Age, how could you be more brisk and airy in your Yo●●●? You who at these years infatuate the 〈◊〉 ●●nd make 'em of your Party? Wh● can prevail on 'em to swear on●● for y●u, and upon your Credit, that as of●en as you speak they presently cry out. That'● delicate, What did he say?  
* We frequently talk hastily in Company through Vanity and Humour, rarely with the necessary Caution. Every one is desirous to reply, before he has heard out the Question demanded of him; he than follows his own Notions, and explains 'em without the least Regard for another Man's Reasons. We are far from finding the Truth while we are not agreed upon what 'tis we seek after. Could a Man hear and write down these Conversations, he would see a great many good things spoken with little Consideration, and no Coherency.  
* There was a sort of silly Puerile Conversation lately in fashion, which turned all on trivial Questions concerning Tenderness and Passion: The reading of Romances first introduced it amongst the Well-bred People in Town and Court. But it was there soon discarded, and the Citizens now entertain it with their Puns, Points, and Quibbles.  
* Some City-Ladies are so nice, that they will by no means learn or speak the Names of Streets Lanes, or public Places, which they fancy are not noble enough to be known. They say nothing plainly but the Court and the Palace. They use Terms and Phrases for what is below it, and make a whole Sentence of Cheapside; or if by chance they let such a word slip, they will excuse it so well, that it renders it the less criminal. In this they are much more unnatural than the Court-Ladies, who having occasion to speak of the Exchange or Guildhall, say the Exchange and Guildhall, without being afraid of Prejudice or Scandal.  
* If we pretend sometimes to forget certain Names which we think obscure, and break 'em in their Pronunciation, 'tis through the good opinion we have of ●ur own.  
* You speak often in a good Humour, or the Liberty of Conversation several silly things which you deliver as such, and recommend only for their extreme Ridiculousness● This is mean Pleasantry: It belongs to the People, and was derived from 'em by the Youth of the Court, whom it begins to infect; but we need not fear 'twill go very far there; 'tis too rude and insipid a Diversion to make any Progress in a Country which is the Centre of Politeness and good Sense. However, it should be exposed as much as possible, and rendered odious to those who practice it; for though they are never serious when they speak it, yet it accustoms them to remember Trifles, and withholds their Minds from something better, and more decent.  
* Between Speaking bad things, and such good things which every Body knows; and yet some People would put off for new, there is so little Difference that 'tis difficult which to prefer.  
* Lucan has said a pretty thing, There's a fine Expression in Claudian, such a place may be found in Seneca. Thus you are continually quoting Latin to Men, who though they pretend to understand it, are ignorant of every word you cite. The Secret lies in having a great deal of Wit and good Sense, that after you have read the Ancients with care, and have enough of them, you may distinguish the good places from the bad; make choice of the best, and quote nothing but what is to the purpose●  
* Hermagoras knows not who is King of Hungary, and wonders to hear any one talk of the King of Bohemia. You must not say a word to him of the Wars in Holland or Flanders, at least you must excuse him from answering the Questions you ask concerning them. He knows not when they began or ended, Battles and Sieges are all new to him. But he is very well informed of the Giants Wars, he can relate 'em to the least Circumstances, and omits not the least particular. He disperses as easily the horrid Chaos of the Babylonian and Assyrian Monarchies. He is acquainted with the Original of the Egyptians and their Dynasties. He never saw Versailles, and never will see it; but he has almost seen the Tower of Babel, he has counted the Steps, he has found out how many Artificers were employed about that Building, and if required can call 'em over by their Names. Does he believe Henry IU. the Son of Henry the III? 'Tis no matter: He neglects to inform himself of the Houses of France and Austria: He can however recite from his Memory the List of the Kings of Medea and Babylon, with the Names of Apronal, Herigebal, Noesnemordach, Mardakemdad; which are as familiar to him, as those of Valois and Bourbon are to us. He is to learn if the Emperor be married; but no body can teach him that Ninus had two Wives. You say the King is in good health; he remembers then that Thetmosis a King of Egypt, was healthy, and that he deriv●d his good Complexion from his Grandfather Aliphar Matosis. What does he not know? Is there any thing in all Venerable Antiquity hid from him? He assures you Semiramis, or as some will have Serimaris, talked so much like her Son Ninyas, that they were not to be distinguished by their Voices. But he dares not decide if it were, because the Mother had so manly a Tone as her Son, or the Son so effeminate a Voice as his Mother. He reveals that Nimbrot was lefthanded, and Sesostris ambidextre: That 'tis an Error to imagine one of the Artaxerxes was called Longemanus, because his Arms reached down to his Knees, only that one of his Hands was longer than the other. He adds, there are some grave Authors who affirm 'twas his right Arm: But he believes he may with good ground maintain, that 'twas his left.  
* Profound Ignorance makes a Man dogmatic. If he knows nothing, he thinks he can teach others what he is to learn himself: Whilst he who knows a great deal, can scarce imagine any one should be unacquainted with what he says, and speaks for this reason with more Modesty.  
* Great things should be spoken simply, they are spoiled by Emphasis; Little things must be said nobly, they can't be supported without the Expression, Tone, and Manner of Delivery.  
* We speak things generally more wittily than we write them.  
* An honourable Birth, and a good Education, are not little helps to render a Man capable of keeping a Secret.  
* All Trust is dangerous if 'tis not entire; we ought on most occasions to speak all, or conceal all. We shall presently tell him too much from whom we thnk it convenient to hide the least Circumstance.  
* Nicander entertained Elisa on the sweet and complaisant manner he lived in with his Wife, from the day of their Marriage to the hour of her Death. He said before, he was sorry he had no Children by her, and now he repeats it. He talks one while of his Houses in Town, at another of his Lands in the Country; he calculates the Revenue they bring him in; he lays down the Plan of his Buildings, he describes the Situation of his Seat; he amplifies on the Conveniency of the Apartments, as well as the Richness and Neatness of the Furniture. He assures her he loves Good Cheer and fine Equipages, and complains that his late Wife was too much averse to Play and Society. You are so rich, says one of his Friends who is plac●d for the purpose, why don't you buy such an Office, or make such an Addition to your Income? Oh! Lord, Sir, replies Nicander, indeed you believe me richer than I am. In the mean time, he forgets not to talk of his Extraction and Matches: Mr. Treasurer is my Cousin, the Chancellor's Lady is my near Kinswoman. This is commonly his Style. He tells her afterwards how he became discontented with his nearest Relations, and offended with his Heirs. Ah Elisa, say he, am I not wronged? Have I any great reason to do well for them? and he desires her to be the Umpire. He than insinuates that he is in a feeble and languishing state of Health, and speaks of the Vault where he will be interred. He fawns, flatters, and is very officious to all those who have any Interest on the Lady he courts. But Elisa had not Courage enough to grow rich at the price of being his Wife. She declares herself the minute he talks to her, in favour of a Gentleman; who with his Presence alone dismounts the Batteries raised by this Citizen; he gets up melancholy and disappointed, and is now saying the same things somewhere else, which he said to Elisa.  
* Wise men sometimes avoid the World, that they may not be surfeited with it.   

OF THE Goods of Fortune.  
A Rich Man may eat Dainties, paint his Ceiling and Alcoves, regale himself at a Palace in the Country, and keep another in Town, marry his Daughter to a Duke, and buy a Title for his Son. This he may aspire to lawfully, but 'tis for other Men perhaps to live content.  
* A high Birth, or a great Fortune set off Merit, and make it the sooner to be distinguished.  
* Some Excuse to an Ambitious Coxcomb for his Ambition, is the care he takes after he has raised his Fortune, to find out some Merit which he never had before, to render him as worthy in our Opinions as he is in his own.  
* When Riches and Favour forsake a Man, we see presently he was a Fool, but no body could find it out in his Prosperity.  
* If it was not what we experience every day, we could not imagine the strange Disproportion a few, or a great many pieces of Money, set between Men.  
Every one now disposes himself to the Sword, the Gown, or the Church, there is scarce any other Vocation.  
* Two Merchants who were Neighbours, and drove the same Trade, had in the end a quite different Fortune. They had each an only Daughter: They were nursed together, and lived in a Familiarity suitable to Persons of the same Age and Condition. One of them, at last, to deliver herself from extreme misery, endeavoured to place herself abroad; she entered into the Service of a great Lady, one of the first at Court, and she who was once her Companion, is now her Mistress.  
* If the Treasurer misses his aim, the Courtier says of him, he's a Citizen, worth nothing, a mere Scoundrel. If he succeeds they demand of him his Daughter.  
* Some Men in their Youth serve an Apprenticeship to a Trade, and exercise another very different one the rest of their Lives.  
* A Man is ugly, ill-shaped, a Fool, one whispers, and tells me he has 50000 livres a year. What's that to me? I am weak indeed; if I begin to look on him with other eyes, and cannot ●e master of my own Reason.  
* 'Tis in vain to pretend to turn a rich Blockhead into ridicule, the Laughers are still on his side.  
* N .... with a clownish rude Porter, with a Porch and an Antichamber, obliges People to wait and tyre themselves with attendance on him for the most trivial Affairs. He appears afterwards with a grave mien and a regular step: He says two or three words, and sends 'em going, without conducting 'em to the Door, or showing them the least Civility; and whatever little Fellow he appears elsewhere, at home he will be thought a Person of some Consideration.  
* Let us not envy some Men their great Riches; their Burdens would be too heavy for us; we could not Sacrifice, as they do, Health, Quiet, Honour and Conscience, to obtain 'em: 'Tis to pay so dear for them that there is nothing to be got by the Bargain.  
* The S. T. P. move in us all the Passions successively. We first despise 'em for their Obscurity, we then envy 'em, and afterwards fear, hate, and sometimes esteem and respect them; we often live long enough to finish our concern for them by Compassion.  
* Sosias' from a Livery got into a small Collection, and then to be an Unde●-farmer by Extortion, Violence, and abusing his Trust, he is now advanced to a high post, on the ruins of several Families. He is ennobled by his Station, and wants nothing now but Honesty. This Prodigy, though at present so monstrous, grew up from a Churchwarden.  
* Arsurea used formerly to walk alone, unattended, and afoot to the Cathedral, heard the Sermon from a corner of the Church, where she lost half the words, and saw but one side of the Preacher. Her Virtue was obscure, but her Devotion, as well known as her Person. Her Husband on a sudden past all Offices, and is now the ruling Man in the Parish. She never comes to Church but in a Chair: Her long Train is born up; the Parson stops while she places herself: She looks him in the Face, not a Word or Motion escapes her. The Father's quarrel who shall Confess her; every one strives to give her Absolution, but the Curate is the Favourite.  
* Croesus' is carried to the Churchyard, and of all the Riches which he acquired by Rapine and Extortion, and spent in Riot and Luxury, there is nothing left to get him a decent Interment. He died insolvable, without Goods, and consequently without Succour. Jallops, Cordials, Medicines, were not to be seen at his House, nor the least Doctor who had promised him Health and Long-life.  
* Champagne rising from an extravagant Dinner, his Stomach charged, and his Head full of sweet fumes of delicious Wine, signed an Order which was presented him, that would have carried all the Bread out of the Province, if it had not otherwise been prevented. He is yet excusable, for how could a man in the first hour of digestion comprehend that any one could die with hunger.  
* Silvanus with his Money has acquired Birth and another Name, he is Lord of the Manor where his Grandfathers were Vassals; he was not formerly good enough to be Cleobulus' Page, but he is now his Son-in-law.  
* Dorus wa● carried in a Litter along the Appian way● his freemen and Slaves ran before him to turn off the People, and make way for ●im. He wa●ted nothing but Lictors He enters Rome with a Train of Coaches, where he seems to triumph over the Meanness and Poverty of his Father Sanga.  
* No one can put his Fortune to a better use than Periander. It brings him Precedence, Credit, and Authority; his Friendship is no longer Desired; but his Protection implored, he begins to say of himself, A Man of my Condition. 'Tis true he omits saying, A Man of my Quality, though he passes for such. And there are none who borrow Money of him, or eat at his Table, which is very delicate, that dare dispute it. His Seat is stately, the outside is entirely Doric. There is no Gate, but a Portico; and the People are at a loss whether 'tis a private House or a Temple. He is Lord Paramount of all the Precinct. His Neighbours envy him, and would gladly see his fall; and his Wife's Diamond Necklace makes the Ladies his Enemies. Every thing agrees in him: he acts like himself in the Grandeur he has acquired, and whatever Obligations he lies under by obtaining it, he resolves never to discharge them. Did not his feeble old Father die twenty Years ago, before any mention was made of Periander? How can he endure those odious Registers which declare men's Qualities, and frequently make the Widow or the Heir ashamed, and blush at their Pretences? Would he hide 'em from the Eyes of a Jealous, Malicious, Clear-sighted Town, at the expense of a thousand People, who will be absolute in their Precedence at all Funerals and Public Processions? Or would he have us make his Father a Nobleman, while he is himself but a Master.  
* How many Men are like those Trees, which being already tall and well grown, are transplanted into Gardens, where they surprise those who see 'em in fine places, without perceiving them in the time of their growth, and without knowing either their beginning or advances.  
* If some Dead men were to rise up again, and see their Arms born, their Lands, Castles, ancient Seats and Titles possessed by those very persons wko were once their Tenants, what opinion could they have of our Age?  
* Nothing makes us better comprehend what little things God thinks he bestows on Mankind, when he suffers 'em to abound in Riches, Gold, Settlements, Stations, and other advantages, than the dispensations he makes of them, and the sort of men who are best provided.  
* If you enter into a Kitchen where they have turned it into Art and Method, to flatter the Taste, and eat above what is necessary: If you were to examine the Particulars of all the Dishes which are prepared for you at a Feast: If you observe how many hands they go through, or what different Forms they p●ss before they become exquisite Meats, and arrive at that Neat●ess and Elegance which charm your Eyes, puzzle your Choice, and force you to taste all. If you were to see at once all the Variety that comes to a well-spread Table, how would you be disgusted and offended? If you go behind the Scenes and number the Weights, the Wheels, the Ropes, which make the Flights and Machine's at the Theatre: If you consider how many Men are employed in the Execution of their Motions; how they stretch their Arms, and extend their Nerves: You would exclaim, Are these the Springs● the Movements of so fine a Show, which seems animated and acted only by itself? You would cry out, What Efforts, what Violence? and not inquire much into the Fortune of the Actors.  
* This Youth so fresh, so flourishing and healthy, is Lord of an Abbey, and ten other Benefices; they bring him in all together, one hundred and twenty thousand Livres a year, which are paid him constantly in Gold. There are elsewhere One hundred and twenty Indigent Families, who have no Fire to warm 'em in the Winter, no clothes to cover their Nakedness, nor Bread to eat; their Poverty is extreme and shameful: Where then is the Division? Does not this clearly demonstrate a Futurity?  
* Chrysippus', a new, and the first Nobleman of his Race, wished thirty years ago for two thousand Livres a year, and this he ●aid should content him; this bounded his Desires, this was the top of his Ambition; he spoke in this manner, and there are many who remember it. Some time after he rose high enough, I know not by what means, to give as much for a Portion to his Daughter as he desired for himself during his Life; a like sum is counted in his Coffers for each of his Children, and he has many to be provided for. This is only something for the present, there are more good things to be expected at his Death. He is still alive, advanced to a great Age, and employs the rest of his time in labouring to be richer.  
* Let Ergastus alone, and he will demand a Right over every thing that dwells in the Water, or marches on dry Land; he knows how to convert Reeds, Rushes and Nettles, into Gold; he hears all Advices, and proposes every thing he hears. The Prince gives nothing to any one but at his Expense, parts with no Favours but what are his due, he has an insatiable Hunger to have and to hold.  
* Have nothing to do with Criton, who never regards any Person's Interest when his own is to be promoted. The Snare is always ready for those who deal with him. If you have a desire for his Lands, or what else is his, he will impose on you extravagant Conditions. There is no fair Dealing or Composition to be expected from a Man so full of his own Interest: Avoid him; he will certainly be too hard for you.  
* Brontin, they say, retires and locks himself up eight hours a day with the Saints; they have their Meditations, and he has his.  
* The People have very often the pleasure of a Tragedy; and see on the Theatre of the World the most odious, infamous, and mischievous Actors come to wretched ends.  
* If we divide the Lives of the S.T.P. in two parts, the first is lively and active, busied in afflicting the People. The second bordering on Death, is spent in detecting and destroying one another.  
* The Man who has made your Fortune, and several more, has not been able to maintain his own, or secure his Wife and Child's after his Death; and though you are well informed of the Misery of their Condition, you have no thoughts of sweetening it: at least you have no time for it, being too much concerned in building and keeping a good House of your own; yet in Gratitude you keep your Benefactor's Picture, which from the Closet is removed to the Antichamber, and thence without any respect, into the Wardrobe.  
* There is a Hardness of Temper, and another of Estate and Condition, from whence as much as from the first● we learn to be inflexible to the Miseries of others: I may say without Injustice, to the Misfortunes of our Family: A good Treasurer weeps not for his Friends, his Wife, or his Children.  
* Fly, Retire; You are not far enough:— How? say you, I am under the other Tropic,— get under the Pole in the other Hemisphere;— Mount to the Stars if possible, and you may be in safety:— Look down you will discover a Man covetous, inexorable, and insatiable, who will sacrifice every thing he meets in his way, whatever it costs his Neighbours, to provide for himself, enlarge his Fortunes, and abound in Riches.  
riches To make one's Fortune is so fine a Phrase, and so very significant, that 'tis universally used; it passed from the Court to the City, broke its way into the Cloisters, scaled the Walls of the Abbeys of both Sexes. There is no place sacred or profane, where it has not penetrated; it pleases Strangers, and Barbarians; 'tis met with in all Languages, and there is scarce any one now who can speak, but has learned to make use on't.  
* He who has cunning enough to make Contracts, and fill his Coffers, thinks presently he has a Head fit for Government.  
* To make one's Fortune, a Man ought to have some sort of Wit; but neither the good nor the fine, the great nor the sublime, the strong nor the delicate, I cannot exactly tell which it is, and am yet to be informed.  
Custom and Experience are more useful in making one's Fortune than Wit. We think of it too late; and when at last we resolve on't, we begin by those Faults which we have not always time, to repair: Whence perhaps it proceeds, that Fortunes are so rarely acquired.  
A Man of a little Genius may be fond of advancing himself, and in such case neglecting all things else, he will think on't from morning till night, and then break his Rest with contriving how to effect it. He begins early, and sets out in his youth in the way to Preferment: If he finds any thing oppose his passage, he naturally turns his bias, and goes on the right-hand or left according as he sees it most convenient. If new Obstacles arise here, he returns into the old path he quitted, and disposes himself by the nature of the Difficulties sometimes to surmount 'em, sometimes to avoid 'em, or take other measures, as Use, Interest, and Opportunity direct him. Is so good a Head, and such great Talents, necessary for a Traveller to follow at first sight the great Road; and if that is full or crowded, to cross the Fields, and continue in a buy and a nearer way, till by this means he gets again at last into the former Road, and finishes his Journey? Is so much Sense requisite in an ambitious Man to attain his Ends? Is he then a Wonder, or only a Coxcomb, who by his Riches purchases himself Favour and Advancement?  
There are some stupid and weak Men who place themselves in fine Stations, and die rich, yet we ought not to suppose they have contributed to it by the least Industry or Labour: Some body has directed 'em to the fountainhead, or perhaps chance only led 'em to it. They have been then asked, Would you have water? Draw,— and they have drawn it.  
* Wh●n w● ar● young w● ar● often poor; we hav● neither made Acquisitions, nor are our Inheritances fallen yet into our hands: We become rich and old at the same time; thus ●tis rare that Men can unite all their Advantages. And if perhaps any Person is so fortunate, he deserves not our Envy, since he may by Death be so great a Loser; rather when we consider his Circumstances, and the Shortness of their Continuance, we ought to pity him.  
* A Man should be thirty years old before he thinks of his Fortune: ●Tis seldom completed before fifty; he goes to Building in his old Age, and dies amongst the Painters and Glasiers.  
* What is the fruit of a great Fortune? Unless it be to possess the Vanity, Industry, Labour and Expense of those who went before us, and to work ourselves in Planting, Building, and Enlarging for our Posterity?  
* Men open their Shops, and set out their Wares every Morning to cheat their Customers, and lock 'em up at night after having cheated all day.  
* In all Conditions the poorest Man is the nearest Neighbour to Honesty, and the rich as little distant from Knavery; Ability and Cunning seldom get a Man excessive Riches.  
A show of Honesty is in all Trades the surest way to grow rich.  
* The shortest and best way to make your Fortune, is to convince People 'tis their Interest to serve you.  
* Men tempted by the Cares of Life, or a desire to acquire Riches and Glory encourage themselves in their Deceit, and cultivate wicked Talents, and Knavish Practices, forgetting the Danger and Consequence till they Quit 'em afterwards for a discreet Devotion, which was never seen in 'em before their Harvests were gathered, and they were in Possession of a well-established Fortune.  
* There are Miseries which make People Cowards. some who want Food, dread the Winter, and are afraid of living; whilst others elsewhere are eating early fruits, forcing the Earth and the Seasons, to furnish 'em with Delicates. I have known mere Citizens have the Impudence to swallow at a Morsel the Nourishment of a hundred Families, let who will set themselves against such Extremities: I●ll render myself as little obnoxious to the World as possible; and if I can will neither be happy or unhappy, but hide and secure myself in the Littleness of my Condition.  
* The Poor are troubled that they want all things, and no body comforts them. The Rich are angry that they can want the least thing, or that any one would resist them.  
* He is rich whose Receipt is more than his Expenses, and he is poor whose Expenses are more than his Receipt.  
There is nothing keeps longer than a little Fortune, and nothing is sooner done than a great one.  
Great Riches are near Neighbours to Poverty.  
If he is only rich who wants nothing, a very wise Man is a very rich Man.  
If he is only poor who desires much, and is always in want; the Ambitious and the Covetous languish in extreme Poverty.  
* The Passions tyrannize over Mankind, Ambition reigns over the rest, and gives them a little while the Appearance of all the Virtues. I once believed Tryphon, who commits every vice, sober, chaste, liberal, humble, and even devout; and I might have believed it still, if he had not made his Fortune.  
* There is no end to a Man's desire of growing rich and great; when the Cough seizes him, when Death approaches, his Face shrivelled, and his Legs weak, he cries, My Fortune, my Establishment.  
* There is but two ways of rising in the World, by your own Industry, and another's Weakness.  
* Features discover Complexion and Manners, and an Air the Goods of Fortune; you may see by a Man's Countenance if he has great or small Revenues.  
* Crysantes, a wealthy impertinent Man, would not be seen with Eugeneus, who is a Man of Wit, but poor, lest he should dishonour him. Eugeneus has the same Dispositions for Crysantes; and there's no great fear they will often run against one another.  
* If good Thoughts, good Books, and their Authors, depended on Riches, or such as have acquired 'em; What a hard Fate would the Learned lie under? What a Power would then be assumed over them? With what Authority would they treat those poor Wretches whose Merit has not advanced, or enriched them? And for this reason they would therefore not be allowed to think or write Judiciously. We must confess, the present time is for Riches, Futurity, for the Virtuous and Ingenious Homer Lives still, and will ever flourish, whilst a thousand Treasurers and Collectors are no more: They are forgot, and we may now ask if they ever have been? Are their Names, or their Country known? Were there no Pensioners in Greece? What is become of all those who despised Homer, who were careful to avoid him, who never saluted him, or saluted him bluntly, who disdained to see him at their Tables, who looked on him as one who was not rich, and had writ a Book? What is become of the Fauconets? Will they go as far in Posterity as Descartes? Born a Frenchman, and dead in Sweden?  
* The same Pride which makes a Man mount himself haughtily over his Inferiors, forces him to crawl vilely before those who are above him. The Property of this Vice, founded on Riches, Posts, Credit and useless Sciences, without personal Merit or solid Virtue, obliges one equally to despise those who are below us in Fortune, and to over-value those whose Circumstances exceed our own.  
* There are some filthy Souls fed by Nastiness and Ordure, who are inflamed by Interest and Gain, as great Souls are fired by Glory and Virtue. They taste no pleasure in any thing but getting and never losing; are covetous and nice even to the last penny, busied wholly about their Debtors, restless in making Abatements, or in railing against the Money, lost and immerged in Writings, Parchments, Titles and Covenants. These People are neither Relations, Friends, Citizens, Christians, or perhaps Men, but they have Silver and Gold in abundance.  
* Let us first except those noble and courageous Souls, if there are any of this kind in being, who are helpful to such as are in want, who make use only of their Ingenuity to grow rich, whom no Cares, Disproportions, or Malice can separate from those they once chose for their Friends: And let us after this pronounce a Truth, sad and doleful to be imagined. There's not a Man in the World whom Love, Inclination, and a long Society, have engaged to us; who has offered us a thousand Services, and sometimes given us a part of 'em that has not yet in himself by the ties of his Interest a Disposition to break with us, and become our Enemy.  
* Whilst Orontes was increasing his years, his Wealth, and his Revenue, a Girl was born in a certain Family; she grew up, flourished, and entered into her sixteenth year: He begged this witty, young, and fair Creature to marry him; and she preferred him without Birth, or the least Merit to all his Rivals.  
* Marriage, which ought to be the fountain of all good things, is often by the Disposition of men's Fortunes, a heavy Load that suppresses 'em with its weight. When their Wives and Children tempt 'em to Violence, Falsehood, and unlawful Gains for Maintenance, When they find themselves strangely situated between Indigence and Knavery.  
To marry a Widow, is in plain English to make one's Fortune, though it does not always prove as it signifies.  
* He whose Portion with his Brethren, would only maintain him like a tolerable Lawyer, is presently for being a Sergeant. The Sergeant would be a Judge, and the Judge a Chancellor; and thus he goes from one Condition to another, tempting his Fortune, forcing his Destiny, and giving himself neither Leisure or Opportunity to grow rich, but languishes in an honourable Indigence.  
* Dine well Clearcus, make a good Supper, sit by large Fires, buy you a Laced Cloak, hang your Chamber with Tapestry; what need you care who is to come after you? You have either no Heir, or you don't know him, or what is worse, you have no love for him.  
* When we are young, we keep for old Age; when we are old, we save for Death; a Prodigal Heir makes a pompous Funeral, and devours the rest.  
* The Miser spends more the day of his Death, than he did in ten years; and his Heir in ten months more than he could part with in all his Life.  
* The Prodigal robs his Heir, the sordid Miser robs himself, the middle way between both is Justice to ourselves and others.  
* Children perhaps would be dearer to their Parents, and Parents to their Children, were it not for the title of Heirs.  
* 'Tis a bad Condition, and it makes Life distasteful, to watch, sweat, submit, and depend for a little Fortune, which we expect after the last Pangs of our nearest Relations: He who masters himself so far that he does not wish his Father's Death, is an honest Man.  
* The Character of one who would be an Heir, is to be found amongst the Complaisant; we are never better flattered, better obeyed, more followed, more courted, more attended, and more carest, than by the Persons who hope to get by our Deaths, and wish they may happen quickly.  
* All Men by different Posts, Titles and Successions, look on themselves as one another's Heirs: And for this reason are ever breeding a Secret desire for each others Deaths. He is the happiest Man in each Condition who has more to leave to his Successor by his Death, than he can expect by the Decease of another.  
* 'Tis said of Play that it equals all Qualities; but there is often such strange Disproportions, and the distance between this and that Condition, is so vast and boundless that the eye is weary in reaching to such Extremities. 'Tis like Discord in Music, like Colours ill sorted, like Oaths that offend the Ear, or Sounds and Noises, which Jar, and are ungrateful. In a word, 'tis overturning all Order and Decency. If any one tells me 'tis the practice of all the West, I answer, 'tis perhaps one of those things which render us Barbarous to the other part of the World: What the Eastern People, who come this way, remark of us in their Journals; and I question not but they are as much disgusted with this excess of Familiarity, as we are shocked with their Zombaye 
* See the Relation of the Voyage to Siam. , and their other Prostrations.  
* A Room of State, or a Chamber of Justice in capital Cases, shows nothing so serious and grave as a Table of Gamesters playing for high Stakes: A melancholy Severity reigns in their Looks, implacable towards one another, and irreconcilable Enemies, while the Meeting lasts. They consider neither Friendship, Alliances, Birth nor Distinctions: Chance alone, that blind and wild Divinity, presides over the Circle, and desides Sovereignly there on all Occasions. They all adore her by a profound Silence and an Attention they can never observe elsewhere: all the passions seem suspended a while to give place to one of them; the Courtier is at this time neither sweet, flattering, complaisant, nor even devout.  
* We can't perceive in those persons who have risen by Play and Gain the least trace of their former condition by their conversation, they lose sight of their Equals, and associate with persons of the first quality: 'Tis true the fortune of the die, or Lansquenet, often sets 'em down where it took 'em up.  
* ay am not surprised that there are so many public Gaming-Houses, which are like as many Snares to betray men's Avarice, like Whirlpools where some private men's Money is sunk without hopes of return; like frightful Rocks, where such as play are lost, and dashed in pieces. The Rooks have continually their Emissaries abroad to learn who comes laden from the Country with the price of an Estate lately sold; who has got a Suit at Law which has brought him in a great Sum; who has been successful at play; what Heir has leapt into a large Inheritance; what Officer will venture his whole Cash on the turn of a Card. 'Tis true 'tis a filthy rascally Trade, and every one that deals with them are sure to be cheated; but 'tis a Trade, well known, very ancient, and a long while practised by the Men we call Gamesters. The Sign they set up at their Doors should have this Inscription, We cheat here in an honest way; for I suppose they will not pretend to be unblameable. Every one knows that to enter, and lose in these Houses is the same thing, they have always Cullies enough ready for their subsistence; but these Tricks are out of my way, and 'tis time to have done with 'em.  
* How many thousands have been ruin●d by Gaming, and yet you say foolishly you can't live without it, what excuse is this? Is there any violent and shameful passion which may not use the same Language? Would we admit one to say, he can't live without Murders, Rapes and Robberies? Is playing without bounds, without consideration or intermission, to the total ruin of your Adversary, whilst you are transported with a lawless Desire of Gain, made outrageous by Losses, and wasted by Avarice, while you expose on a Card, or the Chance of a die, your own, your Wives, and your children's Fortune; is this allowable? Is this a Sport to be admired, or what a Man ought to be diverted with? And yet are there not often worse consequences than these at Play? when push● on to a universal overthrow, you are obliged to sacrifice your clothes, your Food, and the Provisions of your Family for this unreasonable diversion.  
I allow no body to be a Knave, but I allow a Knave to be a Gamester's I forbid it to a Man of Honour; there is too much folly and puerility in exposing one's self to a great loss.  
* There is but one affliction which is lasting, and that is the loss of an Estate; Time which sweetens all others sharpens this: we feel it every moment during the course of our Lives, while we are in want of the good things we lost.  
* A man who spends his Estate without marrying his Daughters, paying his Debts, or laying it out to advantage, may be well enough approved by every one but his Wife and Children.  
* This Palace, this Furniture, these Gardens, these rare Water-works charm you, and force you to exclaim at first sight on so delicious a House, and the extreme felicity of him who possesses it, Alas! He is no more, he never lived so peaceably and agreeably as yourself: he never knew a serene day or a quiet night, he sunk beneath the Debts he contracted in adorning this Structure with the Beauties which transport you; his Creditors drove him away from it, he turned back the last time to give it the final view, he parted from it for ever, and died in a Halter.  
* We see frequently in certain Families what we call the Caprice of Fortune: for a hundred years they are never talked on, as if they were not in being, till Heaven at once opens itself in their favour, and showers down on 'em from all quarters Honours, Dignities, and Stations, and they swim in prosperity.  
Eumolpas, one of those men that ne'er heard of their Grandfathers, had a Father who was elevated so high, that every thing he desired, during the course of a long life, if obtainable he possessed it. Did this proceed from an eminent wit, or a profound capacity, either in the Father or the Son? or was it only from opportunity? But Fortune at last smiled on them no longer, she went to sport it elsewhere, and treated their Posterity as she did their Ancestors.  
* What immediately causes the Ruin and Overthrow of Men of the Long Robe and the Sword, is that their Professions alone, and not their Estates, govern their Expenses.  
If you have forgot nothing towards making your Fortune, how great was your Labour? If the least thing, how long your Repentance?  
* Giton has a fresh complexion, a smooth face, a steady and resolute look, large shoulders, a full crest, a firm and deliberate step; he speaks boldly, and must have every word repeated that is spoken to him, and is but indifferently pleased with any thing: he extends his Handkerchief, he puts it to his Nose, he blows hard enough for all to hear him, he spits about the Room, and sneezes aloud; he sleeps by day, he sleeps by night sound, he snores in company, he takes up more room than any one else in walking, or at Table; he takes the Wall of his equals, he stops, they stop; he goes forward, they go forward; all are governed by his motions, he interrupts, he informs. Let him talk as long as he thinks fit, he is never interrupted, the Company is of his opinion, and his News is constantly the truest: If he sits down you see him in an Elbow-chair, he crosses his Legs, wrinkles his Brows, pulls his Hat over his Eyes, and will be seen by no body; he raises himself afterwards, and discovers a proud and confident Forehead: He is merry, very laughable, impatient, choleric, a Libertine and a Politician; he believes himself a great Wit and a great Genius, but 'tis certain he is Rich.  
Phedon has hollow Eyes, a red Face, a lean Body, and a meager Look, his sleep is little, and his slumbers light; he is a great Dreamer, with the sense he has the air of a Blockhead, he forgets speaking what he knows, or talking of those accidents with which he is acquainted; when he sometimes speaks he is foolish and concise in his relations; he is never harkened to, or taken notice of. He praises, he laughs at others jests, he is of their opinions; he runs, he flies to do 'em little services; he is a flatterer, complaisant, busy, mysterious in his affairs, superstitious, scrupulous, a Coward, and sometimes a Liar; he steps light and softly, he seems afraid to tread the ground, he walks with his Eyes downward, he dares not raise 'em on those who pass by him; he never makes one of a company for discoursing on affairs of general concern; he puts himself behind him who speaks, he steals away with what he has heard without being observed; he uses no place, he takes up no room, he pulls his Hat over his Eyes that he may not be seen, he folds and shuts himself up in his Cloak; there is no Street or Gallery so crowded or thronged but he finds a way to sneak thro' without justling, and creeps along and no one perceives him; if he is desired to sit, he puts himself on the brink of the Seat, he talks low in conversation, and has a bad accent; however, he is free with the Public, angry with the Age, and but indifferently pleased with the Ministers and Ministry; he seldom opens his mouth but to reply, he blows his Nose under his Hat, he spits in his Handkerchief, he gets into a corner to sneeze, and the Company must never know it, he costs no body a compliment or a salutation. In short he is very poor.   

Of the City.  
AT Paris we meet as exactly without Appointment, as if it were some public Assignation; we are punctual every Evening at the Park; and the Walks to observe all Faces there, and to like none.  
We can't forbear even the Company of those Persons whom we hate and deride.  
We wait for one another at these Meetings; and as we pass by are curious in examining Coaches, Horses, and Liveries, nothing escapes our Eyes, which are in these cases very nice and malicious. We respect or disdain the People we meet, according to the Greatness or Smallness of their Equipage.  
* We all know the Long Bank which borders the River Seine, on that side where it receives the Marue at its entry into Paris. At the foot of this Bank the Men delight to bathe themselves during the Heats of the Dog-days; we can see 'em at a little distance throw themselves into the Water, and return out of it: And 'tis observable, that the City-women never walk that way till this Season comes, and when 'tis past they go on t'other side of the Water.  
* In these Places of general concourse, where the Ladies assemble only to show their fine Silks, and reap the fruit of their Toilets, People don't walk with a Company for the Benefit of Conversation, but couple together, to get a little Confidence, and be emboldened against the common Reflections that are made there. They talk here, and say nothing, or rather talk to be taken notice of by such as pass by them, for whose sake they rai●e their Voices, cringe, bow negligently, and make several turns.  
* The Town is divided into several Societies, which like so many little Republics, have their particular Laws, Customs, Jargon and Jests; and as long as they last, they will allow nothing to be well said or done, which they had no hand in, and contemn those who have not been initiated in their own Mysteries. A Man of Wit, who knows the World, and ventures to put himself amongst them, finds himself in a strange Country, where he is ignorant of the Roads, Language, Manners and Customs. He sees here a sort of People who sometimes make a Noise, sometimes Whisper, sometimes Laugh aloud, and presently fall again into a doleful Silence. He loses himself here, and can hardly tell how to put his words in any tolerable Order, or get himself to be heard. Here is always some forward Coxcomb, who with bad Jests, and wretched Buffonery, makes himself the Hero of the Society. This Man is the Director of the others Merriment, and they always laugh at his Jests before he breaks them. If at any time a Woman comes amongst them, who is not a Companion in their Pleasures, the jolly Club refuses to receive her, because she refuses to laugh at what she does not understand, and appears insensible at the Trifles which they would not be pleased with if they were not their own. They will neither forgive her, her Speech, her Silence, her Shape, or her Complexion, her Dress, nor the manner of her coming in, or going out. The same Club however never lives two years successfully; in the fi●st there are always sown those Seeds of Division which break it the next, by Quarrels about some Beauty, Disputes at Play, extravagant Feasts, which though modest in the beginning, soon degenerate into Pyramids of Victuals, and costly Banquets, to the utter overthrow of the Commonwealth. And thus in a little while there is no more talk of this People, than of the last year's Flies.  
* In the City there is the greater Robe and the less: The first of these revenge themselves on the other, for the Contempt and the Mortifications they meet with at Court. 'Tis not easily known where the Greater end, or where the Less begin, there being a considerable body of those who refuse to be of the Second Order, and who contest even for the first: They will not always give place to the other: On the contrary, they endeavour by their Gravity and Expense to equal 'em in the Magistracy, and will not yield it 'em without difficulty. We hear 'em often say, that the Nobleness of their Employs, the Independency of their Professions, their Talon at speaking, and their Personal Merit, balance at least the Bags of Money which the Sons of the Farmers or Goldsmiths, paid for their Offices.  
* You are unwise to study in your Coach, or it may be to sleep there: Make haste, take your Briefs and your Papers, read out, salute no body, take but little notice of your Clients, who are waiting on you to the Courts: They will believe you a Person of the more business. This Man, say they, is laborious and indefatigable; he reads, he works in the Street, and on the Road: Observe the least Attorney, he would be thought overladen with his Affairs; he wrinkles his Forehead, studies most profoundly, as if he had something to do, and pretends ●o much business, that he can't find time for Eating and Drinking: He is seldom seen about his House; he vanishes presently, and is lost in the Darkness of his Closet; he hides himself from the Public, avoids the Theatres, and never shows himself where there is danger of being discovered, though with much ado he finds leisure for the Gomons, and the Dehamels.  
* There are a certain number of young Magistrates, whom Pleasure and good Estates have associated to some of those we call at Court, My little Masters. They imitate them in all their Actions, and carry themselves much below the Gravity of their Robe. They believe themselves dispensed by their Age and their Fortune, from being discreet or moderate: They borrow from the Court what is worst there, and appropriate to themselves their Vanity, Luxury, Intemperance and Libertinism, as if all those Vices belonged to 'em. They affect a Character far distant from what they ought to maintain, and in the end, according to their desires, they become, the true Copies of most Wicked Originals.  
* A Man of the Robe in the City, when he appears at Court, looks like another Person; but when he comes home, he resumes the Manners, the Complexion, the Look and the Gesture, he left there. He is not so honest, nor in so much confusion.  
* The Crispin's join and club together in their Families for the six Horses which lengthen their Equipage, and with a swarm of Men in Liveries, for which each furnishes his part, they triumph at the Park or at Vincenne, with as much Splendour as a new Bridegroom, or as jason, who has ruined himself by his Vanity, or Thrason, who has disposed of his Estate, and now sets up for a Fortune.  
* ay have heard talk of the Sannions, the same Name, the same Arms: The elder House; The younger House, and the youngest Branch of the youngest House: The first bear their Arms plain, the second with a Label, and the third with a Label Indented. They blazon the same Colours with the Bourbons and the same Metal, they carry as well as they, two and one: 'Tis true, they are not flour de Luce's, but they are satisfied, and perhaps believe in their Hearts, their Bearings as honourable. They have 'em in common with Persons of the first Quality; we see 'em in their Windows, in their Chapels, on the Gates of their Castle, on the Pillars of their Seat of Justice, where many a Man is condemned to be hanged, who only deserved Banishment. You see 'em on their Movables and Immovables; they are sown up and down on their Coaches, and their Liveries are as remarkable as their Arms. But to be plain, with the Sannions, they should have had a little Patience to have tarried till the next Age, for in this their Folly appears too palpable, and in a few years those who knew their Grandfather must follow him to the Grave: They are old, they can't live long, and who then would be able to say, There he kept his Stall, and sold his Goods very dear.  
The Sannions and the Crispin's had rather be thought extravagant than covetous: They tell you a long Story of a Feast or Collation they made at one time; the Money they lost at Play at another, and are very angry at any one who they suppose have not had the same ill Success. They speak in their mysterious Jargon of the Ladies of their Acquaintance; they have ever a thousand pleasant things to tell each other, and are always making new Discoveries, passing amongst themselves for Men of very much Intrigue. One of 'em coming late from the Country, goes to Bed, gets up in the Morning, puts on his riding Accoutrements, adorns himself with Ribbons, ties back his Hair, takes his Fuzee, and passes for a Sports-man. He returns at night wet and weary, without finding the Game, tries again on the Morrow, and in this manner passes every day in missing the Thrushes and Partridges.  
Another of them with two or three Couple of bad Dogs, takes a pride in telling one this is My Pack: When they are to hunt he is sure to be informed of the place of Rendezvous; he is ready at the time appointed, and one of the first that begins the Chase; he beats the Bushes, has a Horn by his side, mingles himself with the Huntsman, and does not like, Menalippa, say, Where's the Pleasure on't? but is really transported: He is in short, a mere Hippolytus, and forgets Plead and Declarations; Menander, who saw him yesterday on account of a Suit he had in his hands, to day does not know his Advocate, but to morrow you may see him again at his Chamber, where he Judges in weighty and capital Cases, encompassed round with his Brethren, whom he informs that 'twas not his Hounds which lost the Stag, that he is hoarse with hallowing after the Dogs, who were in a fault, and after the Hunter, who dislodged him, and that he was in with the Dogs at the Death of the Game. But the Clock strikes, and he has no more time to talk of his Hounds, or the Fallow Deer: He must then to his Seat, where with the rest, he is to administer Justice.  
* How great is the Madness of some particular Men, who being possessed of great Estates which their Fathers got for them by Trade and Industry, form themselves after the manner of Princes, have their Wardrobe, their Equipage, and by excessive Expenses, and ridiculous Stateliness, provoke the Laughter of the whole Town, which they awhile fancy is dazzled with their Lustre, till they ruin themselves in the end, with striving to make themselves ridiculous: Some of 'em have not had the advantage to spread their Follies beyond the Street they live in, or to be talked of out of the Neighbourhood, which is alone the Theatre of their Vanity. We scarce know in the Isle that Andreus makes a figure, and scatters his Patrimony in the Marais. If it were at least known in the City and Suburbs, perhaps amongst so great a number of Citizens, who are seldom in the right, there might one of them be mistaken in his Extravagance, and tell abroad that he is Magnificent, or give an account of the Banquets he made for Xantus and Ariston, or the feasts he gave Elemira; but he ruins himself obscurely, and hastens to Poverty for the sake of two or three Persons, who have not the least esteem for him; and though he rides at present in a Coach, in six months you'll see he will not have Means enough left to go handsomely afoot.  
* Narcissus rises in the Morning to lie down at Night, is six hours in his Dressing-room, and as regular as the Ladies in going every day to Morning and Evening-Prayer. He is good company, and serves to make a third man at Ombre. He sits four hours together at Aricia's, and loses five or six Pistoles anight. He reads exactly the Dutch Gazzette, Barbin's Novels, and the Mercure Gallant. He has read Bergerac, Du Marets' Lesclaches, and some Collections of Poetry; he walks with the Ladies in the Park or Meadows. He is religiously punctual in his Visits: He will do the same to morrow, which he has done to day, and did yesterday. Thus he lives, and in this manner he will die.  
* There is a Man, say you, I have seen somewhere, and though I have forget where, I remember very well his Face. There are a great many others who do so too; and if possible, I'll in this assist your Memory. Was it on the Drawbridge, or on the Bastion, in the Park, or in a Box at the Playhouse? Was it at a Sermon, at a Ball, or at Rambovillets, or can you tell where you missed him? Where is he not to be met with? At a public Execution, or Fireworks, he appears in a Balcony; if there is a magnificent Cavalcade, you see him on a Scaffold; if the King receives an Ambassador, he sees the Procession, assists at the Audience, ranges himself with the Masters of the Ceremonies, and his presence is as essential at administering the Oaths to the Swiss Allies, as that of the Lord-Chancellor or Plenipotentiaries. 'Tis his Picture that in the Almanacs represents the People, and their Assemblies. He is at every Hunting Match; at every Review you see him on Horseback amongst the Officers; he has a great Passion for War, Troops and Militia. He has been as far as the Fort of Bernardi, to make a Campaign. Chanley understands Marches, jacquier, Provisions, Du Meitz the Artillery. He is the Spectator of their Professions, he has seen 'em all, and is grown old with seeing. He does nothing that a Man ought to do; he knows nothing that a Man ought to know. But he boasts he has seen every thing that was to be seen, and now he shall die in Peace: Who then will like him inform us that the Park-Gates are shut, that the Meads are marshy, and one can no longer walk there? Who will proclaim when there is a Consort, where a good Lecture, or a great Fair? Who will tell us Beaumevielle is dead, that Rochois has a Cold, and cannot sing this eight days? Who will distinguish so well an Alderman by his Arms and Liveries? Who will acquaint us that Scapin bears the Flower de Luce's; or who, in short, will be more edifying? Who will pronounce with greater Vanity and Affectation the Names and Titles of some new dignifyed Citizen, or be better furnished with Ballads and Madrigals? Who will then lend the Ladies the Gentleman's Journals, and the yearly Miscellanies? Who will sing at their Tables a whole Dialogue of an Opera, or the Deeds of Roland in one of their Apartments? To conclude, since there is in the City as well as elsewhere, a great many dull, lazy, ignorant, negligent Blockheads, why should we so readily agree with them in every thing?  
* Theramenes was rich, and had Merit; he was afterwards an Heir, and had then more Riches, and a great deal more Merit. The Women of the City courted him for a Gallant, and their Daughters for a Husband. He here opposed himself to the Cap of Authority, and there disputed with the Knights and Gentlemen, who would force 'em from his Interests. A gay, a lively and witty young Man could not be more passionately loved, nor better received. His Chariot waited at their Doors, he entered with them into the Park; every thing was free for him, to the entire Defeat of a thousand Rivals. How many hopeful Matches has he ruined? And how could he satisfy so many People who were obliged to make him account for his Actions? He was not only the Terror of the Husbands, but the Dread of all such as desired to be so, and who expected from Marriage to make up their broken Fortunes. A Man so happy, and so full of Money, aught to be banished from a well-governed City; and the fair Sex should be forbidden, on pain of Folly and Indignity, to treat him better than if he were a Person who had nothing but Merit to commend him.  
* The weakness of some City Women, in their wretched imitations of those of the Court, is more scandalous than the courseness of ordinary Women, and the rudeness of Villagers; since to the Vices of both these, you must add Affectation.  
* Oh what a subtle invention 'tis to make rich Presents in your Courtship which are not paid for, but after Marriage are to be returned.  
* Oh the advantageous and laudable practice, to spend on the day of your Marriage a third part of your Wife's Dowry. To begin with impoverishing yourselves by consent, and when you have heaped up abundance of superfluous things, to take from the main stock to pay the Cabinet-maker and Upholsterer.  
* Oh what a handsome and judicious custom 'tis for a Man, who preferring an impudent Ceremony before Modesty and Decency, to expose his Wife a whole night on a Bed as on a Theatre, where she lies a spectacle for the whole Town, friends or foes have the privilege of viewing her in this posture till morning. There is nothing wanting to make this practice entirely whimsical and incredible, but to print it in a relation of Mingrelia.  
* 'Tis a troublesome and unprofitable way of living for persons to be solicitous to come together, and impatiently bear a disappointment: yet when they are thus met to have nothing but trifles for their entertainment, and to say those things alone which both were equally acquainted with, or are of no importance to know. To enter into a Chamber purely to go out on't, and to go out after dinner only to come home at night, very well satisfied with seeing three or four Swissers in an afternoon; to have seen one Woman whom we don't know, and another whom we don't love. Whoever will rightly consider the value of his time, and how far its loss is irreparable, would mourn bitterly over such misfortunes.  
* They value themselves in the City on their rude indifference for Rural and Country affairs. They can scarce distinguish Linseed from Hemp, Wheat from Rye, and neither of 'em from Barley. They content themselves with eating and drinking, and putting on their clothes: You must not talk to 'em of Fallow Ground, Copses, Vinesprigs, or After-grass, if you design to be understood they will not take it for their Mother Tongue. To some of 'em you should discourse of Weights, Scales, Books of Rates and Measures: to others of Appeals, Petitions, Decrees and Injunctions. They pretend to know the world, and though 'tis more safe and commendable, are ignorant of Nature, her Beginnings, Growths, Gifts, and Bounties. This Ignorance is frequently voluntary, and founded on the conceit they have of there own Callings and Professions; there is never a vile Pettifogger, who dreams and smokes in the corner of his Study, with his head full of pernicious shifts and litigious suits, but prefers himself to the Husbandman, who praises God, cultivates the Earth, sows in Season, and gathers his rich Harvests. If at any time he hears talk of the first Men, or the Patriarches, of their Country Lives and good order, he blesses himself that they could live in those days without Officers and Commissioners, Precedents or Solicitors, and can't comprehend how they could then subsist without Registers, or Courts of Judicature, Coffeehouses, and Ordinaries.  
* The Roman Emperors never triumphed so luxuriously, so commodiously, nor so securely over the Wind, the Rain, the Dirt, and the Sun, as the Citizens of Paris when they rattle in their Coaches from one end of the Town to the other: What difference alas! is there between this custom and that of their Ancestors? they never knew how to deprive themselves of Necessaries, to get Superfluities; their Houses were never illuminated with Wax Candles, which were only to be seen at the Altar or the Lovure; they could warm themselves by a little fire; they never rose from a bad Dinner to get into a Coach, but were convinced that Men had Legs given 'em to walk on, and they used 'em: In dry weather they kept themselves clean, in wet they damnifyed their Shoes and Stockings, and were as ready to cross a street or a passage, as a Sportsman to skip over the ploughed Ground, or a Soldier to dirt himself in the Trenches. They had not then invented to harness two Men and put 'em to a Chair; there was then even Magistrates who walked to the Chambers of Justice and Courts of Inquests, with as good a grace as Augustus used to foot it to the Capitol. The Pewter and Brass in those days shone on their Shelves and Cupboards, the Copper and Iron in their Chimneys, whilst the Silver and Gold lay safe in their Coffers. Women were then served by Women, they had such to do their Offices even in their Kitchens. The fine Names of Governor and Governante were unknown to our Forefathers; they knew to whom the Children of great Princes were confided, but they divided the service of their Domestics with their Children, and were content to be themselves their immediate Tutors. Every thing they did agreed with their circumstances, their Expenses were proportioned to their Receipt, their Liveries, their Equipages, their Household Goods, their Tables, their City and Country Houses, were all measured by their Revenues and their Condition. They had however those outward distinctions amongst themselves that 'twas easy to distinguish the Wife of an Attorney from that of a Judge, and a Plebeian or Valet from a Gentleman. They were less studious to spend or enlarge their Patrimony than to keep it, they left it entire to their Heirs, and past from a moderate Life to a peaceable Death: there was no complaint then, 'Tis a hard Age. The Misery is great. Money is scarce. They had less than we have, and yet they had enough. Richer by their OEconomy and Modesty than their Revenues or Demesnes. To conclude, in former days they observed this Maxim, that what is Splendour, Sumptuousness and Magnificence in people of quality, is in private men Extravagance, Folly, and Impertinence.   

Of the Court.  
'TIS in one sense the most honourable Reproach we can lay on any Man, to say, he knows not the Court, for there is scarce a Virtue which we do not imply by giving him that Character.  
* A Man who frequents the Court, is master of his Gestures, his Looks and Complexion; he is profound and inpenetrable. He dissembles when he does ill Offices, smiles on his Enemies, puts a constraint on his Natural Disposition, disguises his Passions, acts against his Inclinations, speaks against his Opinion: And after all, this great Refinedness is nothing more than the Vice we call Falsehood, which is sometimes as unprofitable even for a Courtier, as Openness, Sincerity and Virtue.  
* The Court is like certain Colours which change their kind, and seem of different sorts, according to the Lights they are exposed in.  
* The Man who leaves the Court for a minute, renounces it for ever: The Courtier who saw him in the Morning, must see him at Nig●●, to know him the next Day; or in short, to be known himself.  
* A Man must be content to seem little at Court; and let him be never so vain, 'tis impossible to prevent it, but his comfort is, the evil is common to all, and the great ones themselves are but little when they appear there.  
* The Court appears afar off to the Country, as an admirable thing; but if we approach it, its Beauties diminish, like a fair Prospect which we view at too little a distance.  
* 'Twould be difficult for a great many Persons to pass their Lives in an Antichamber, a Court-yard, or a Staircase.  
* The Court cannot give a Man content, but it hinders him from ●inding it elsewhere.  
* 'Tis fit a Gentleman should make a trial of the Court; but he will discover as soon as he enters there, that he is in a new World which is wholly unknown to him; Where Politeness and Vice divide the Government, and where Good and Evil are equally useful for his Advancement.  
* The Court is like a Marble Structure, I mean 'tis composed of Men very hard, but very polite.  
* A great many P●●ple go to Court only to come back again, and at their return to be taken notice of by the Nobility of their Province, or the Bishop of the Diocese.  
* The Embroiderers and Confe●●ioners, would be superfluous if we were modest and temperate; Courts would be Departs, and Kings left alone if we were void of Vanity and Interest. Men are willing to be Slaves at Court, to Lord it in the Country. It seems as if they delivered out there by the Great, that proud, stately, and commanding Air, which our Rulers retail in their Provinces.  
They do exactly what they see done before them, and are the True Apes of Royalty.  
* There is nothing disorders a Courtier more than the presence of his Prince: We can then scarce know him by his Features; his Looks alter, and he appears perfectly contemptible: The prouder and the haughtier he is, the more he is mortified, because he is at the greater loss, whilst a civil and modest Man supports himself very well, having nothing to reform.  
* The Air of the Court is contagious, it takes at V .... as the Norman Accent prevails at R●●●n and Falaise, we find it amongst the Farriers, Controllers and Excisemen. A Man with a very little share of Wit, may make a great progress towards obtaining it. But one of an elevated Genius and solid Worth, does n●t esteem this sort o● Accomplishment ●o n●●●●●ary as to employ much time in studying it; however, to be in the fashion, he gets it without reflection, or putting himself to any pains towards acquiring it.  
* N .... arrives at Court with a great noise, turns the People aside, forces 'em to make way, pats some, strikes others, and tells his name; but they take breath awhile, and at last oblige him to enter with the Crowd.  
* There are at Court the Apparitions of bold and adventurous Men of a free and familiar Character, which they discover themselves, assuring you their Cunning is preferable to all others, and are trusted on their own Affirmations. In the mean while, they make their advantage of the public Error, or the Love which Men have for Novelty: They break through the Crowd, get up to the ear of the Prince, with whom the Courtier sees 'em talking, and is glad to be seen himself; being for this so useful to the great ones, that they are allowed, or at least suffered without Molestation. In a short time they disappear, at once rich and out of favour, and the Men who just came from being deceived by them, are ready to be deceived by others.  
* Hear you will see some Men who as they pass by you, give you a light Salute, stretch out their Shoulders, and thrust out their Breasts, like Women ask you a Question. and look another way, speak in a high tone● and think themselves above every one in thei● presence. They stop, and the Company come about them: They are the Precedents of th● Circle, have all the Discourse, persisting in their ridiculous and counterfeit Stateliness, till there comes by a great Officer, whose presence throws 'em quickly down from their affected Elevation, and reduces 'em to their Native Condition, which is less wretched.  
* Courts cannot subsist without a certain sort of Courtiers; such as can flatter, are complaisant, insinuating, and devoted to the Ladies. Whose Pleasures they manage, study their Weaknesses, and soothe their Passions; from them we receive all Modes and Fashions: They refine Luxury and Extravagance: They teach the Ladies to consume immense Sums in clothes, Furnitures and Equipages: They wear nothing but what is rich and shining, and will not live in an old Palace unless it be new built and embellished. They eat delicately, and with reflection, There is no Voluptuousness but they are experienced in. They owe their Fortunes to themselves, and they keep it with the same address as they raised it. Their Pride makes them scorn their Equals, they will have no converse with them, and scarce give ●em common Civility. 〈◊〉 speak when every one else is silent: En●●r boldly, and thrust themselves into places where the greatest Lords dare not be seen. Some Men who have lived long, have their Bodies covered with Wounds; who have fine Employs, and high Dignities, can't show such absurd Countenances and forward Faces. How many Men have the ears of the greatest Princes, are partakers in their Pleasures and Debauches, who never stir out of the Tower or Castle, and manage themselves there as if they were at home, or amongst their own Domestics? They seem to multiply themselves in a thousand places, and are always the first Faces that are seen by the new Comers to Court: They embrace, and are embraced; laugh, talk loud, tell Tales, are pleasant, convenient, agreeable, rich, but of no importance.  
* Would one not believe that Cimon and Clitamder, are charged with the whole concerns of the State, and that they are only accountable for 'em? That one has at least the Management of the Land Affairs, and the other the Maritime? Whoever shall pr●tend to represent them, may express their Hastiness, Inquietude, Curiosity and Activity, but cannot paint their Motion; we never see ●em sitting, never fixed or steady, hardly ever on the march; they are always running: They ask Questions running, speak running, and never stay for an Answer: They never go to, or come ●rom any place; they are always passing an● repassing, do not stop 'em in their 〈…〉 course, you will dismount 〈◊〉 machine's; never inquire any thing 〈◊〉 or give 'em time to breathe or remember 〈◊〉 have nothing to do, lest they stay ●ith you too long, and follow you at l●s● wherever you please to lead them. The● do not, like Jupiter's Stars, pass about, and ●●●round their Prince: But they go before ●●m, and declare when he is coming: They rush in impetuously on a crowd of Courtiers, and all they meet with are in danger. 'Tis their Profession to see and be seen, and they never go to bed without acquitting themselves of an Employ so serious, and so beneficial to the Commonwealth. They are in short, acquainted with the rise of all indifferent Accidents, and know every thing at Court which one ought to be ignorant of, having all the necessary Qualifications for a mean Advancement; they are very brisk and quicksighted about any thing they think for their advantage, but in the main a little too bold, light, and inconsiderate.  
* A Courtier who has not a name good enough for his Quality, must hide himself under a better; but if 'tis one which he dares own, he must then insinuate that his name is the most illustrious, and his House the most ancient of all others; he ought to be descended from the Princes of Lorraine, the Rohans, the Chatillions, or the Montmerencies; and if possible from the Princes of the Blood: He should talk of nothing but Cardinals, Dukes and First Ministers: He must usher his Grandfathers by Father and Mother's side, into all Discourses, and place ●em amongst the Standard-bearers in the Crusadoes: His Hall should be adorned with Genealogies, Supporters with Escutcheons of six Quarters: The Pictures of his Ancestors, and their Allies; he must value himself on their ancient Castles, the Seat of their Family, set out with Fanes, Towers and Battlements. He should be always speaking of his Race, his Branch, his Name, and his Arms: He must say of him, He is no Gentleman; of her, She is no Gentlewoman. When any one happens to tell him, Hyacynthus has a great Portion left, he demands if he is a Gentleman: If Persons laugh at his unseasonable Questions, he lets 'em laugh on: If they tell him a Story, he permits 'em to continue; but at the same time, acquaints them he goes after the Royal Family, and by dint of words will always be believed.  
* ●Tis a great Folly to carry the least Villeinage to Court, to be in a place where one is sure to be contemned for not being a Gentleman.  
* At Court we go to bed, and rise up only for our Interest: 'Tis that which employs us Morning and Evening, Night and Day: 'tis that which makes us think or speak, keeps us silent, or puts us on action: 'Tis for this end we speak to some, and neglect others; that we mount or descend: By this rule we measure all our Cares, Complacency, Esteem, Indifference or Contempt. Whatever progress any Persons make by Virtue towards Wisdom and Moderation: The first ambitious Temptation carries 'em away with the most covetous, who are the most ambitious, and the most violent in their desires. Can they stand still when every one is on the march, and putting themselves forward? Can they forbear following such as run before them? All Men believe they are accountable to themselves for their Advancement, and making their Fortunes; and he who has not raised it at Court, is enraged that 'tis not accomplished. He has not been taken notice of perhaps, but will he leave it without making an advantage by his abode there, or will he still abide without favour or reward? A Question so crabbed and hard to be decided, that an infinite number of Courtiers have grown old between saying yes or no, and have at last died in suspense.  
* There is nothing at Court so contemptible and unworthy, as a Man who can contribute nothing to our Welfare; I wonder how such a Person dares appear there.  
* He who sees a Man far behind him, who was one of his own standing and condition, who made his first appearance at Court at the same time with himself, believes there is some substantial Reasons for his getting before him, and that he ought to think better of himself than of this other Person who stopped by the way, forgetting what he thought of those that went beyond him before his Advancement.  
* If he who is in favour makes advantage of it before 'tis too late: If he takes hold of the Good Wind that blows fair for him to make his way: If he gapes after all Vacancies, Posts, Abbeys, and does but demand and receive: If he is stored with Pensions, Grants and Survivances, you will then complain that every thing tempts him, that all is his own, his Friends or Creatures, and that by the number of the various Favours bestowed on him, he has made a great many men's Fortunes. In the mean time, what shall he do to please you? Were I to judge less by your Talk, and more by the Course you would take in the same place, 'tis to do exactly what he has done already.  
We blame those who have made use of the Opportunities put in their hands to raise their Fortunes, whilst we despair by the Meanness of our own to be ever in the same Circumstances, and to be exposed to such a reproach. But if we are like to succeed, we begin to think they have done less Injury than we imagined, and are more wary in condemning them.  
* We must never exaggerate things, nor lay Crimes to the charge of the Court, which are not there. We can attempt nothing worse against true Merit, than to hinder it from being rewarded. We shall not always despise it when we can better discern it: Though 'tis indeed at Court where 'tis most neglected, and where they do nothing, or very little, for those whom they very much esteem.  
* 'Tis rare if amongst all the Instruments a Man uses in the Structure of his Fortune at Court, some of 'em don't miscarry. One of my Friends, who promised to speak for me, says not a word; another speaks very faintly, a third mistakes my Interest and his own Intentions, and does me more harm than good. One wants the Will, another the Wisdom and Cunning; neither of them would take pleasure enough in seeing me happy to contribute with all their Might towards making me so. Every one remembers what his Establishment cost him, and the helps that cleared the way to his Settlement. And we should be always for justifying the Services we receive from some Men, by those which on the like occasions we render to others, if 'twas not our chief and only care after our Fortunes are made to think of ourselves.  
* Courtiers never employ their Wit, Address or Policy to serve their Friends, when they desire it; but only to find out Evasions and Pretences, that 'tis not in their power, and by that think themselves acquitted on their side from all the Duties of Friendship and Gratitude.  
People at Court are unwilling to make use of others who offer to assist them; and judging every body by themselves, expect no one will pretend to any Services from them, and that they are by this means excused for refusing their Assistance. A soft and polite way of denying their Credit, Offices and Mediation to such as may need them.  
* How many Men almost stifle you with their Caresses, in private pretend to love and esteem you, and yet are perplexed when they meet you in public. At the Levee or Mass, they turn away their Eyes from you, and do all they can to avoid you. There is but a small number of Courtiers whose Greatness of Soul, or Confidence in themselves, qualify them to do Justice to a Man of Merit, who is alone, and destitute of Employments.  
* ay see a Man surrounded and followed, but he is in Office; another whom every one courts, but he is in Favour: One is embraced and carest even by Persons of the First rank, but he is rich; another is gazed and pointed at, but he is learned and eloquent: I perceive one whom no body misses saluting, but he is a Knave. I would be a Man who would be always good, who would be nothing more, and who is at all times willing to give an account of his Actions.  
* When a Man is advanced to a new Post, we break in upon him like an Inundation with our Praises. The Court and Chappel are full of them: The Staircase, the Hall, the Gallery, and the Withdrawing Room, resound with his Eulogies. He gets presently out of sight, and mounts so high we can hardly keep him in view. There are not two different Voices in forming his Character; Envy and Jealousy speak now like Flattery: Every one is carried away by the torrent which forces 'em to say sometimes what they think, and sometimes what they do not believe, and often to commend a Man of whom they have no knowledge. If he has a little Wit, Merit or Valour, he is in an instant a Genius of the first Size, a Hero, a Demi-God; he is so much flattered in the Pictures that are made for him, that were he to be set by either of them, he would appear deformed. 'Tis impossible for him to countenance those things which Baseness and Complaisance would tempt him to. He even blushes at his own Reputation: But let him stagger never so little in the post to which he was advanced, the World easily change their Opinion, and he entirely loses his credit. The Machine's which lifted him so high by Applause and Encomiums, were built so as to throw him down into extremest contempt: And there are none then who disdain him more, are sharper in their Censures, and say worse things of him than those who were most furious in their Praises when his Fortune smiled on him.  
* It m●y be said with reason of an eminent and delicate Post, that 'tis got with more ease than 'tis maintained.  
* We see a great many Men fall from a high Fortune, by the same Defects which raised them.  
* At Court they speak well of a Man for two reasons: The first that he may know they have commended him, and the second that he may do them the same favour.  
* 'Tis as dangerous at Court to make any Advances, as 'tis troublesome to be prevented.  
If a Man does not know the Face or Name of a Person, 'tis a good subject for a great many Men to laugh at, or despise him. They ask you if such a one is not Rousseau, Fabry, or La Couture, and would not for a world be unable to distinguish them.  
* A certain Person told me so many ill things of another, and I saw so few in him, that I began to suspect his Merit would never do any one an Injury.  
* You are an honest Man, and do not make it your business neither to please nor displease the Favourites; only are loyal to your Master, and true to your Duty; yet let me tell you after all, you are a lost Man.  
* None are impudent by choice, but by Constitution; 'tis a Vice to be so, but 'tis natural. He who is not born so, is modest; and 'tis not easy to go from this Extremity to the other, though 'twould be for his advantage to learn this Lesson, Be impudent and succeed; A bad Imitation will not profit him, he will by this means be quickly baffled; A Man ought to have at least at Court a real and native Impudence to be successful.  
* We seek, we are busy, we intrigue, we torment ourselves, we demand, are refused, we demand again, and obtain. But is there any one will tell me he got any thing without ask at a time when he thought nothing of the matter, or was thinking of something else? 'Tis an old Pretence, an innocent Deceit, yet now a-days so little specious that no body will be deceived by it.  
* A Man sets up for an eminent Station, prepares his Machine's, takes the right measures, and to be well served, some pull a littl● back whilst others push● apace forward: The Snare at last laid, and the Mine ready to play, the Candidate withdraws from Court. Who dared suspect that Artemon thought to get himself into so fine a Post, when they took him from his Lands or his Government, to settle him in't? A course Artifice, and common Policy, which the Courtiers have so often made use of, that if I would chang● the whole method of our Public Management, and spare my Ambition, I would set myself before the eye of my Prince, and receive from his own hand the Favours I should acquire otherwise with so much Application. Men are not willing we should discover the Prospects they have of their Advancement, nor find out that they think of the Dignity they aim at; persuading themselves, if they don't obtain it 'tis a shame to be refused, and if they do 'tis greater Glory to be thought worthy by him that gives it them, than to show they think themselves worthy by their Intrigues and Cabals. Thus they would at once appear adorned with Dignity and Modesty.  
Which is the greater shame to be refused a Post that we deserve, or to be put into one we do not deserve?  
'Tis much more difficult to be worthy of a place at Court, than 'tis hard to get one.  
A Man had better ask himself for what did he obtain such a Post, than why was it refused?  
A Person presents himself as fit for a place in the City, he stands for one in the Academy, or petitions for a Consulship, he would have little reason to labour the first years of his Life to render himself capable of a great Employ, if he were to demand it without Mystery and Cabal, but openly and with Confidence to serve his Country, his Prince, and the Commonwealth.  
I never saw a Courtier to whom a Prince has given a good Government, a fine Post, or a large Pension, who by Vanity, or to show his Disinterest, has not said he was less pleased with the Gift than the Manner with which ●twas given him. However, there is nothing on't certain and indubitable, but that he says it.  
'Tis clownish to give with a bad Grace● 'Tis hard and difficult to give with a Smile: There are many Men who refuse more handsomely than others know how to give; and some who make us pray so long, give so coldly, and accompany it with a manner, which forces from us such disagreeable Conditions, that the greatest favour they could do us, is to dispense with us from receiving it.  
* Some there are at Court who are so covetous that they will put on any shape to promote their Interest. Governments, Commands, Benefices, every thing agrees with them. They adjust themselves so well that they become qualified for all sorts of Favours. They are amphibuous Creatures, living by the Church and by the Sword, and are dextrous enough to join the long Robe to both of 'em. If you ask who these Men are, they are those who receive and envy every one to whom any thing is given.  
* Menophilus borrows his Manners from one Profession, his Habit from another; he masks himself every year, though his Face is discovered. He appears at Court, in the City, and elsewhere, always under a certain name, and the same disguise. We find him out, and only know what he is by his countenance.  
* There is a great and beaten road in the way to Dignity and Honour, and there is a buy path which is much the shortest.  
* We run to see Malefactors, we stare 'em in the face, we make Lanes for 'em to pass by, we crowd to Windows on purpose to observe the Features, Looks, and Behaviour of a condemned Man: Who knows he is going to die? An odious, vain, and inhuman Curiosity. If Men were wise, the places of Execution would be abandoned, and 'twould be an established Maxim, That 'tis ignominious to see such Sights. If you are so very curious, exercise your Curiosity on a noble Subject. Behold the happy Man, contemplate him in the day of his Advancement to a new Station, when he is receiving his congra●ulations, read in his Eyes an affected Calm and feigned Modesty. Observe how much he is contented and pleased with himself; what Serenity the Accomplishment of his Desires spreads over his Heart and Countenance: How he thinks now of nothing more than Health and Long-life. How at last his Joy bursts forth, and can be no longer dissembled: How he bends beneath the weight of his own Honour: What a serious and negligent Air he preserves for ●uch as are not now his Equals: He makes 'em no Answers; he turns away his Head, and seems not to see them: The Embraces and Caresses of the Great ones, whom he views now no more at a distance, begin to offend him. He studies how to disappoint and puzzle them in their Affairs, and it looks already like a Court of Alienation: You would be happy, and you desire favour, which is then the very thing you should avoid.  
* A Man when once got into a place, makes no use of his Reason or Understanding, to guide him in his Duty and Conduct towards others: He borrows his measures from his Quality and Station, and thence takes his Forgetfulness, Pride, Arrogance, Stubbornness and Ingratitude.  
* There must be Knaves at Court: The Great Men must have 'em always at hand. Those who are best inclined cannot be without them: 'Tis a very nice thing to know when to set 'em at work. At certain Times and Seasons others can't do the business. Honour Virtue, Conscience, are respectible Qualities, but frequently unprofitable, and sometimes you can hardly tell me what an honest Man is good for.  
* The Minority of a Prince makes abundance of good Fortunes.  
* Timantes is still the same, and losing nothing of that Merit which at first got him Reputation and Rewards, he would not grow less in the favour of the Courtiers: But they are weary of esteeming him; they salute him coldly, they forbear smiling on him, they no more join with him, they neither embrace him, nor take him into a corner to talk mysteriously of trivial and indifferent things; they have in short nothing to say to him, he wants a new Pension or Post to distinguish him, and revive his Virtues, almost dead in their Memories, and to refresh their Idea of him which is strangely decaying. They make him the same he was in the beginning, or but little better.  
* How many Friends, how many Relations, are born to a new Minister in one night? Some value themselves on their former Acquaintance, their being fellow Collegiates or Neighbours; others turn over their Genealogy, going back to their Great Great Grandfathers, raking 'em together by Father and Mother's side. One holds such Lands of him, and another is very willing to be his Tenant. A third cries very readily, 'Tis my Friend, I am very glad at his Promotion, I ought to take part in't, he is my near Kinsman. Vain Men! True votaries of Fortune! Inconsiderate Courtiers! Did you talk thus eight days ago? Is he since become an honester Man, or more deserving of the Favours his Prince has conferred on him? Or did you want this Circumstance to know him better?  
* What Comforts and Supports me against the little Slights I suffer sometimes from my Betters and my Equals, is what I say to myself. These Men don't despise me; 'tis my Fortune, and they have reason, it being very little: They would without doubt adore me if I were a Minister; were I suddenly to be advanced, they would with much foresight tell me they saw I was designed for't, be civil beforehand, and salute me.  
He who says, I dined yesterday at Tibur's, I sup with him to night, and repeats it very often; who shuffles in the name of Plancus on the least occasions, and says Plancus asked me, I told Plancus; even this man, should he in that very moment understand Plancus was snatched away by an extraordinary death, would hold up his hands, gather the people in the Porches and Piazza's, accuse the dead, rail at his conduct, blacken his administration, deny him the knowledge of those little things, which the Public allowed him to be Master of, and not vouchsafe him a happy Memory; refuse him the Encomium of a Sober, Laborious Person, and not do him the honour to believe him, amongst all the Enemies of the Empire, one who had Sense enough to prejudice it.  
'Tis a pleasant sight for a man of merit to see the same place at a public show, or an assembly, which was refused him, given before his face to one who has not eyes to see, nor ears to hear, nor sense to make a Judgement; who has nothing to recommend him but a few Liveries, which he has borrowed only for that day.  
* Theodotus wears a Grave Habit, and Comical Countenance, like a man making his entry upon a Stage. His Voice, his Pace, his Carriage, his Posture, agree with his Countenance. He is Wise, Cunning, Amorous, and very Politic; he comes up to you, and whispers you in the Ear, 'Tis fin● Wether, 'tis a great Thaw: if he has not great Qualifications, he has all the little ones, even those which only become a young Coxcomb. Imagine the application of a Child, building a Castle of Cards, or making a Butterfly, 'tis like Theodotus in his affairs of no consequence, and good for nothing but to keep him in motion; however he treats them seriously, as if they were concerns of Importance: He walks hard, is busy and successful; he takes breath and reposes himself, and 'tis but reasonable, for it puts him to a great deal of trouble. There are some people who are besotted to the favour of great men, they think on't all day, and study on't all night; are always running up and down stairs in a Minister's apartment, going in or coming out of an Antichamber: Whatever they pretend, they have nothing to say to him; they speak once or twice, and are content that they have spoken: If you press or crowd 'em, they are offended at your pride, arrogance and presumption; speak to 'em, they shall make you no answer; they know you not, their eyes are dazzled, and their minds alienated: It belongs to their Relations to take care of them, and lock them up, lest their folly in time should grow to madness, and the world be no longer able to endure them. Theodotus has a soft way with him, he passionately loves to be in favour, but his passion is more private, he pays it his vows secret, there he cultivates it, and keeps it a Mystery: He is ever on the watch to discover what Footman has occasion of his Inrerest, for them he sacrifices merit, alliances, friendship, engagements and gratitude. If the place of a C●ssini were vacant, and the Swiss or Postilion of a Favourite advised him to demand it, he would assist them in their pretences, and judge them worthy of the place; he would think 'em capable to make Observations, Calculations, Paralyes and Paralaxies. If you inquire concerning Theodotus, if he is an Author or a Plagiary, an Original or a Copyer, I must give you his Works, and bid you read and judge them: But whether he is a Devotee or a Courtier, who could suppose it from the Picture I have made: I should declare with more assurance what his Stars design him for: Hear, O Theodotus, I have calculated your Nativity, your advancement will be very sudden, be no more solicitous about it, print no more of your Writings, the Public demands Quarter.  
* There is a Country where their Joys are visible, but false; and their Griefs hidden, but real. Who would imagine that the raptures at the Opera, the Claps and Applauses at Molier's Comedies and Harlequin's Farces, the Feasts, Chases, Balls and Banquets which we hear of, covered so many inquietudes, so many cares and different Interests, so many hopes and fears, so many lively passions, and serious businesses.  
* The Court life is a serious melancholy game, whoever applies himself to it must range his Pieces, order his movements, have a design follow it, thwart his Adversaries, venture sometimes and play capriciously; yet after all his measures and contrivances, they will often be ineffectual. When he thought he had managed his Men well, and was in a fair way to succeed, one more cunning or more happy gets the Game.  
* The Wheels, the Springs, the Movements of a Watch are hidden, nothing appears but its Hand, which insensibly goes forward and finishes its Circuit. The true image of a Courtier, who, after having gone a great way about, comes at last frequently to the same point from whence he set out.  
* Two thirds of a man's Life is lost in Childhood and Doatage; why then should I perplex myself so much for what remains? The most shining Fortune deserves neither the torment I put myself to, nor the meannesses I must be guilty of, nor the humiliations nor shame which I am forced to endure to acquire it. Thirty years will destroy those mighty Colossuses, that raise themselves so high above our Heads, and reach almost out of our Sight. I who am so little a thing, and those from whom I expect my Greatness must in a short time disappear. The best of all good things, if there is any thing good in this world, is a soft repose, and quiet retreat, free from want and dependences. M. .... was of this opinion in his disgrace, and forgot it in his prosperity.  
* A Nobleman who resides at home in his own Province lives free, but without protection: If he lives at Court he is Protected, but is then a Slave, which makes amends for't.  
* Xanthippus, in the corner of his Province, under an old roof, in an old bed, dreamt one night that he saw his Prince, that he spoke to him, and felt an extreme joy: When he awoke he was melancholy, told his dream, and said, What strange Chimaeras a man may have in his sleep! Xanthippus lived a while after this, went to Court, saw the Prince, spoke to him, and went farther than his dream, he was made a Favourite.  
* No body is more a Slave than an assiduous Courtier, unless it be a Courtier more assiduous.  
* A Slave has but one Master, an ambitious Man a great many, all those who are useful to him in making his fortune.  
* A thousand men who are scarce known crowd every day to be seen by their Prince, who can't see a thousand at a time; and if he sees none to day but those he saw yesterday, and will see to morrow, how many will be unhappy.  
* Of all those who crowd about Great men, and make their court to 'em, a few honour 'em in their hearts, a greater number seek 'em out of Ambition or Interest, but the greatest of all through a ridiculous vanity, or a foolish impatience, to make themselves to be taken notice of.  
* There are certain Families, that by the Laws of the World, which we call Decency, aught to be irreconcilable; but they now find ways to reunite themselves, and when Religion has broken 'em to pieces, Interest without much ado joins 'em together.  
* ay have heard talk of a Country, where the old men are Gallant, Polite and Civil: the young men, on the contrary, Stubborn, Wild, without either manners or civility: They are free from Passion for Women in the Age when others begin to feel it, and prefer Feasts, Victuals, and ridiculous amours before 'em. Amongst these people he is sober who is never drunk with any thing but Wine, and the too frequent use of this bad custom has rendered them stupid: They endeavour to quicken their taste, already extinguished by Brandy, or other strong Liquors, and nothing will debauch 'em at last but Aqua Fortis. The Women of this Country hasten the decay of their Beauty, by their Artifices to preserve it: They paint their Cheeks, Eyebrows and Shoulders, which they lay open, with their Breasts, Arms and Ears, as if they were afraid to hide those places which they think will please, and never think they show enough of 'em. The Physiognomies of the people of the Country are not at all neat, but confused and embarrassed with a bundle of strange Hair, which they prefer before their natural; with this they wove something to cover their Heads, which descends down half way their bodies, hides their features, and hinders 'em from knowing men by their faces. This Nation has besides this their God and their King. The Grandees go every day at a certain hour to a Temple they call a Church, at the upper end of the Temple there stands an Altar consecrated to their God, where the Preacher celebrates the Mysteries which they call holy, sacred and dreadful. The Great men make a vast circle at the foot of the Altar, standing with their backs turned to the Preacher and the Holy Mysteries, and their faces erected towards their King, who is seen on his Knees upon a Throne, to whom they seem to apply all their hearts and all their devotion. We see in this custom a new sort of subordination, for the people appear adoring their Prince, and their Prince adoring God. The Inhabitants of this Region are called ..... 'Tis some forty eight degrees in Longitude, and more than eleven hundred leagues from the .... Seas.  
* Whoever will consider that the presence of a King is the whole Happiness of a Courtier, that he busies himself, and is satisfied during the whole course of his life to see and be seen by him, will a little comprehend how the Beatific vision can make all the glory and felicity of the Saints.  
* The Great Lords are full of respect for their Princes, 'tis their business: They have also their Inferiors. The little Courtiers ease themselves of these Duties, make 'em familiar, and live like men who have no examples to show to any one.  
* What is there wanting to make our Youth perfect? It has capacity and knowledge, at least if it does not know so much as a man may, 'tis always contented with what it does.  
* Poor deceived Creatures! a great man said of your friend Timagenes he is a Fool; I would not have you say he is a man of Wit, but do us the favour to think that he is not a Blockhead.  
* 'Tis said also that Iphicrates is a Coward; you have seen him do a brave Action, hold your tongues, I'll dispense with your publishing it, provided that after what a Prince has said of him you will still remember that you saw him do it.  
* There are very few who know how to speak to their Prince; in this all the prudence and skill of the Courtier terminates: a word may escape which strikes his ears, takes root in his memory, and sometimes reaches his heart: All his care and address will be too little to weaken its remembrance; to explain his meaning serves only to engrave it the deeper th●re, and enforce it the more: If he has talked against no body but himself, as this misfortune is not very common, so it may cure him of his levity, by making him smart for't, and instruct him by this fault to know better hereafter. But if 'tis against another, how great is his Shame! how much his Repentance! There it no better rule against this dangerous inconvenience, than to talk of others to our Sovereign, of their persons, their actions, works, manners or conduct, with the same care, precaution and management, that we talk of ourselves.  
* You know a man who breaks a Jest well, a wretched Character, I would tell him so, if he had not heard it before: Those who Injure the reputation or fortune of another for the sake of a Jest, deserve an infamous punishment. That has not been said already, and I dare say it.  
* There are certain names and phrases in the World which we lay up as in a Magazine, and take them thence to use them as we have occasion in conversation: Tho they are often spoken without any affection, and heard without thanks: Yet we must not be unprovided with 'em. They are at least the Image of the best thing in the world, which is Friendship, and since men can't depend on one another for the reality, they seem to agree amongst themselves to be contented with its appearances.  
* With five or six terms of art, and seldom more, we set up for Masters in Music, Painting, Building, and Good Cheer: We fancy presently we have more pleasure than others, in hearing, seeing, or ●ating: We impose it on such as are like us, and are so cunning to deceive ourselves.  
* The Court is never destitute o● a sor● of people, with whom fashion, politenesses and fortune, serve instead of sense, and supply the place of me●it● They think th●y ar● too good for conversation, and th● world are very well pleased with their indifference. They would have us believe 'em persons of some importance; by their long affected silence, which is never broken but for a few monosyllables: They are ridiculous in their mein, their voices, their gestures and smiles: Their understandings, if I may venture to express my self, are not two inches deep, fathom 'em you will soon find the Mud and the Gravel.  
* There are some whom favour overtakes as an accident: They durst not hope for't, are the first it surprises, and puts into a consternation: But in the end they recollect themselves, and find their Stars have done nothing for them which they did not deserve: As if stupidity and fortune were incompatible, or that it were impossible to be at once a happy man and a fool. They grow bold, I should say impudent enough to speak on all occasious, on whatever subject offers, and without any respect to the persons who are to hear them: I may add, that they become at last terrible, and disgust every one with their dullness and folly, rendering themselves an irreparable dishonour to all those who were by chance instrumental to their advancement.  
What shall I call those who are only politic in the opinion of fools? I know the cunning men rank 'em with the people they impose on.  
He is far gone in politics, who begins to find he is but indifferently politic.  
Policy is neither too good nor too bad a quality, it floats between Virtue and Vice, and there is scarce any opportunity where 'tis necessary, but it ought to be supplied with Prudence.  
Policy is the near neighbour to Cheating, the way from one to tother is very slippery. Lying only makes the difference, add that to Policy and 'tis then a Cheat.  
Amongst such as out of Policy hear all and talk little, do you say less; or if you will talk a great deal, speak little to the purpose.  
* You have a just and important affair depending on the consent of two persons; says one of 'em, I give you my hand on't, if such a one will agree to't: This done, you want nothing more than to be satisfy●d of the intentions of the other. In the mean time nothing comes on't. Months and Years roll on unprofitably; I am lost say you, and can't perceive what they mean by't: There is nothing to do now, but that they should agree together, and discourse about it. Let me tell you, friend, I who see clear and perceive their meaning, they have already talked as much as they design.  
* It seems to me, that he who solicits for others, has the confidence of one that demands Justice; and he who speaks for himself, the confusion and bashfulness of him that implores mercy.  
* If a man is not careful at Court of falling into the snares which are laid for him, to make him ridiculous, he will with all his wit, be amazed to find himself Cullyed by greater fools than himself.  
* In the course of ones Life, there are some opportunities where Truth and Simplicity are the best managers.  
* If you are in favour, all you do is well done; you commit no fault, and every step you take leads you to the right end. Otherwise all is faulty, nothing profitable, and there's no path but sets you out of the Road.  
* A man ought to have Wit to be a person of Intrigue and Cabal. He may have so much as to be above them, and can't subject himself to trick and artifice, finding better ways to make his fortune and acquire Reputation.  
* Are you not afraid, O Aristides, that your sublime Wit, your universal Learning, your Experience, Probity, and most accomplished Merit, will ruin you at Court, an● lose you the favour of the great Men at one time or other, when they shall stand in need of your fall.  
* When a Favourite watches himself very narrowly, when he makes me attend in his Antichamber, not so long as usual, when his Looks are free, his Forehead less wrinkled with frowns, when he hears me willingly, and waits on me back a little further than formerly; I think he begins to fall, and I am seldom mistaken.  
A man has very few Remedies in himself, since he wants disgraces and mortifications, to make him more humane, more tractable, less rude, and more civil.  
* If we reflect on a great many persons at Court, we shall find by their discourses and their whole conduct, that they think neither of their Grandfathers nor grandchildren. The present is what employs their thoughts, and they don't enjoy, but abuse it.  
Straton is born under two Stars, being happy and unhappy in the same degree; his Life is a Romance in every thing but the probability, he has had no adventures but good and bad Dreams in abundance, or rather, 'tis impossible to dream as he has lived. No body has been more obliged to destiny than himself, he's acquainted with the mean and the extreme; he has made a figure and has been in sufferings, nothing has escaped him. He's valued for the Virtues which he assures us very seriously are in him: He says in his praise, I have Wit, I have Courage, and every one has said after him, he has Wit, he has Courage. In both fortunes he has behaved himself like a true Courtier, and has said of himself more good, and perhaps more ill things than he ever committed. The Pretty, the Lovely, the Wonderful, the Heroic, have been employed in his Elegy; and on the contrary, in their turns have served to lessen him. His Character is equivocal, mixed, and co●●●s'd; he●s an Enigma, a question which 'tis almost impossible to decide.  
* Favour puts a man above his Equals, and the loss of it below 'em.  
* He who knows how in good time to renounce with resolution a great name, a great authority, or a great fortune, delivers himself at once from a great many broken Slumbers, and sometimes from a great many Crimes.  
* The World will be the same a hundred year hence as 'tis now; here will be the same Theatre and Decoration, though not the same Actors. All those that rejoiced at a favour received, or were sorry and despaired for one refused, are gone behind the Scenes; and there are others entered on the Stage, who act the same parts in the same Play: They vanish too in their turn, and those who were seen yesterday, and perhaps may be to day, disappear to morrow, that others may take their places: How much then should we rely on an Actor in a Play.  
* Whoever has seen the Court, has seen all that is fine, charming or glorious in the World; and he that despises the Court, after having seen it, despises the World.  
A sound Mind gets at Court a true taste of Solitude and Retirement.   

Of the Great●  
THe People are so blindly prepossessed in favour of the Great, so naturally taken with their behaviour and looks, their tone of voice and manners, that if they could condescend to be good, it would grow to Idolatry.  
* If you are born vicious, Oh Theagenes, I pity you; if you are become so out of a weakness, for some whose Interest it is that you should be debauched, who have sworn privately to corrupt you, and boast already of their success; excuse me if I despise you: If you are wise, temperate, modest, civil, generous, grateful, industrious, and besides of a Rank that ought to give examples rather than take 'em, and make rules for others rather than receive them; agree with those sort of Fellows to act out of complaisance their disorders, vices, and follies, when the respect they owe you, shall oblige them to imitate your Virtues. 'Tis an odd, but a useful Irony, very proper to secure your Manners, ruin all their Projects, and put ●em on a necessity of continuing what they are, and leaving you master of your own actions.  
The Great have in one thing a prodigious advantage over others. I don't envy 'em their good Cheer, Riches, Dogs, Horses, Equipages, Fools and Flatterers; but I envy them the happiness of having in their service men of as good Souls and Sense, and sometimes better than their own.  
* The Great delight in opening Walks in a Forest, supporting Trees by long Walls, gild their Ceilings, in Water-works and Orangeries; but to get a quiet Mind and a glad Soul, to prevent extreme cares, or remedy them, their Curiosity never reaches so far.  
* One asks, if in comparing the different conditions of men together, their sufferings and advantages, we can't observe an equal mixture, and a like sortment of good and evil, which settles them on an equality, or at least makes one as desirable as the other; the rich and powerful man who wants nothing may make the question, but a poor man must answer it.  
There is however a Charm in each different condition, of which nothing but misery can deprive it; the Great please themselves in excess, the Little in moderation. These delight in lording and commanding, those find a pleasure, and even a vanity, in serving and obeying: The Great are surrounded, saluted and respected; the Little surround, salute and cringe, yet both are content.  
* Good words cost the great ones so little, and their quality dispenses them so much with keeping the fairest promises they make, that 'tis modesty in them to be as sparing of 'em as they are.  
* Such a man, say the Great, is grown old, and almost worn out with attendance; what shall we do with him● Another more young and active raises his hopes, and obtains the Post which was refused to this unfortunate man, for no other reason than that he too well deserv●d it.  
* ay do not know how it comes to pass, say you, with a cold, and disdainful awe, Philantus has merit, wit, good humour, is industrious, sincere, and faithful to his Master, but he is not valued; he can't please, he is not at all liked. Explain yourself? Do you blame Plilantus, or the great man he serves.  
* ●Tis frequently more profitable to quit the Great, than to complain of them.  
* Who can give me any reason, why some men are lucky at play, or others fortunate in the favour of the Great.  
* The Great are so happy, that in the whole course of their Lives, they are never put to the trouble of lamenting the loss of their best Servants, or persons famous in several capacities, by whom they have been pleased and instructed. Their Flatterers are presently ready to find fault with the deceased, and to expos● their weakness, from which they pretend their Successors are entirely free; they assure them, that with the capacity and knowledge of the former, they have none ●f their defects; and this is the Language which comforts Princes in the loss of the most excellent and worthy, and makes 'em satisfied with the indifferent.  
* The Great scorn the men of Wit, who have nothing but Wit to recommend 'em, and the men of Wit despise the Great, who have nothing but their Grandeur: And the honest man pities 'em both, if they are not Virtuous, as well as Great and Witty.  
* When on the one side, I see some brisk, busy, intreaguing, bold, dangerous, and scandalous persons, at the Table, and often in the familiarity of the Great; and on the other hand, I consider with what difficulty a man of Merit approaches 'em, I don't always believe the wicked ●re suffered out of interest, or good men looked on as unprofitable, but I choose rather to confirm myself in this thought, that grandeur and discernment are two different things, and the Love of Virtue and the Virtuous a third.  
* Lucilius spends his life in rendering himself sufferable to the Great, and chooses this before being reduced to live familiarly with his equals.  
A man ought to set bounds to his desire of seeing such as are above him, for sometimes extraordinary Talents are accessary to put it in practice.  
* Oh the incurable Distemper of Theophilus! it has hung on him this thirty years, and now we despair of his recovery: He was, is, and will be always willing to govern the Great: Death only can quench his thirst of Empire, and with his Life deprive him of the ascendant over men's minds. Is it in him a zeal for his Neighbour, custom, or an excessive opinion of himself. By his insinuations he gets admittance every where, no Palace escapes him. He never stops in the middle of a Chamber, he goes on to the Window or Closet, and we must wait to be seen, or have audience, till he has finished his tedious discourses He makes himself a confident to all Families; he concerns himself in their misfortunes, and advantages; he offers himself to 'em on all occasions; they make a Feast, and he will be admitted. The care of a thousand Souls, which he must be accountable for, as much as for his own, is not enough to employ his time, and satisfy his ambition of directing. There are others of a higher rank and more consideration, whom he voluntari●y takes charge on, without being obliged to account for them. He looks out, inquires, and watches for any thing, that may nourish his intreaguing humour, and his desire of meddling with and managing other men's concerns: A Person of Quality can scarce set foot on shore, but he catches, seizes him, and says immediately, I govern him, before one would think he had so much as thought on't.  
* A coldness or neglect from our betters, makes us hate 'em, but a salutation or a smile soon reconciles us.  
* There are some proud men, whom the elevation of thei● Rivals humbles and mortifies● and this disgrace sometimes ●●●●nes 'em even to be civil● but time which sweetens all things, res●ores them at last 〈…〉 former disposition.  
* The contempt which the 〈◊〉 h●ve fo● the people, render ●em 〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉 flattery and praise they receive, and 〈◊〉 their vanity; thus Princes who are 〈◊〉 flattered by the great without measure, wo●●d be more vain, if they had a better opinion of those who praise them.  
* The Great believe themselves to be the only complete persons, and will but seldom allow a right Judgement, Ability, or Delicacy in any of a meaner rank, they seize on the riches of the mind, as things due to their Birth. 'Tis however a gross error in 'em to nourish such false prejudices; the best thoughts, the best discourses, the best writings, and perhaps the nicest conduct, do not always come from them. They have large Houses, and a long train of Ancestors; this must not be disputed with ●em.  
* Have you Wit, Quality, Civility, a good taste and discernment; shall I believe prejudice and flattery, which so boldly proclaim your merit: No, Sir, I suspect and refuse to hear 'em. I'll not be dazzled with the Air of Quality and Dignity, which set you above all words, actions, and writings, which make you seem so insensible of applause, that we can't fasten the least Encomium on you; from whence I draw a more natural conclusion, that you are fiery, rich, and in reputation. How can one describe you Antiphon? We cannot approach you, but as we do the flames, at a certain distance. To discover what you are, to make a sound and rational judgement of you, we must confront you with your Companions, your confident, your most peculiar friend, with whom you laugh, and who laughs louder than yourself. Davus, in short, I know very well, and that should be enough to give me your Character.  
* There are some, who, did they know their inferiors and themselves, they would be ashamed to be above 'em.  
* If there are few excellent Orators, are there many that would understand 'em? If there are not enough good Writers, where are those who know how to read? We are always complaining of the small number of persons qualified to counsel Kings, and assist them in the administration of their affairs. But, if at last these able and intelligent men are born, if they act according to their knowledge, are they beloved or esteemed as much as they deserve; are they commended for what they think and do for their Country. They live, that's all, and 'tis thought sufficient; they are censured if they miscarry, and envied when they prosper. Let us then blame the people, whom indeed ●twould be ridiculous to excuse. The Great look on their discontent and jealousy as inevitable things; for this reason, they matter not their opinions, but even reckon it a rule in Politics to neglect them.  
The common people hate one another for the injury they reciprocally do themselves; the Great are odious to them, for the ill they do and the good they do not; they think 'em responsible for their poverty and obscurity.  
* The Great scorn to have the same God, or Religion with the people, or to be called Peter, john, and james, names only fit for Tradesmen and Labourers: Let us avoid, say they, having any thing in common with the Multitude; let us affect, on the contrary, any distinction that may separate us from them; let the Mob appropriate to 'em the twelve Apostles, their Disciples, and the Martyrs, (like to like); let them with pleasure spend every year, such a particular day which each celebrates as his Festival. For us, let us have recourse to profane names, and baptise our Children under those of Hannibal, Caesar, and Pompey: They were indeed great men under that of Lucretia, an illustrious Roman Lady under those of Rinaldo, Rugero, or Olivier: They wear Palladins, and Romance cannot show more wonderful Heroes, under those of Hector, Achilles, or Hercules; all Demigods, under even those of Phoebus and Diana, and what should hinder us from calling 'em jupiter, or Mercury, Venus or Adonis.  
* While the Great neglect to know any thing, not only of the interest of their Prince and public affairs, but of their own private concerns; while they are ignorant of the OEconomy and Government of a Family, and value themselves on this ignorance's they are impoverished and ruined by their Servants; while they are contented to be Cullies to their Stewards, to be always eating and drinking while they sit idly at Thais' or Phyrnia's, talking of Dogs and Horses, to tell how many Stages there are between Paris and Besancon, or philipsburg; The Citizens instruct themselves in every thing that belongs to their Country, study the art of Government, become subtle and politic, know the strength and weakness of a State, think of advancing and placing themselves, are placed and advanced, become powerful, and ease their Prince of part of the public cares: The Great, who disdained, respect them, and think themselves happy if they can be accepted for their Sons-in-law.  
* If I compare the two most opposite conditions of men together, I mean the Great with the people, the last appear content if they have but necessaries, and the former unquiet and poor with superfluities. The mean person can do no harm, the Great would do no good, and is capable of the contrary; the mean exercise themselves only about things profitable, the other on what is pernicious: Here rusticity and freedom are ingenuously discovered: There a malign and corrupted disposition is hid under an Air of politeness; if the people have no Wit, the Great have no Souls. These have a good bottom and no outside, those have nothing but outside and a simple superficies. Were I to choose who I would be for, without further weighing the matter, it should be the people.  
* As profound as the Great at Court are, and whatever art they have to appear what they are not, and not to appear what they are, they canted hide their malice and extreme inclination to laugh at another's expense, and to render that ridiculous which is not really so. These fine Talents are discovered in them at first sight, admirable without doubt to puzzle a bubble, and make a fool of one who was no better before: But yet more proper, to take away from them the pleasure they might receive by a man of Wit, who knows how to turn and wind himself a thousand agreeable and pleasant ways, if the dangerous Character of a Courtier does not engage him to be too reserved. They oppose him with their Gravity, which he is forced to dissemble, and does it so well, that the Rallyers, as ill disposed as they are, can find no pretence to laugh at him.  
* A lazy life, abundance, and the calm of a great prosperity, are the reasons why Princes of all others take delight in laughing at a Dwarf, a Monkey, a Natural, or a wretched Tale; Men less happy, never laugh but to the purpose.  
* At first, it seemest that what ● pleasant to a Prince's would not be so to others, but we are deceived; Princes● like men, think of themselves, follow their own Taste, Passions and Conveniency; this is natural.  
* One would think 'twas the first rule of such as are in office, power, or societies, to give such as depend on ●em for the care of their affairs, all the obstacles they are afraid of.  
* ay can't imagine in what a great man is happier than others, if 'tis not that he has it often in his power to please them, and when such 〈◊〉 opportunity offers, it seems to me he ought to take hold on't: If 'tis in favour of an honest man, he should be afraid to let it slip; but as ●tis for a just thing, he ought to prevent solicitation, and not be seen before ●tis to be thanked; and if ●tis easy, he should not set too great a value upon't. If he refuses him, I pity 'em both.  
* There are some men born inaccessible, these are precisely such as others 〈◊〉 in need of, and on whom they depend. They are never but on one foot, and movable as Mercury. They are always noisy, and in Action, like the Paper Figures, which we see at public Festivals. They scatter Fire and Flame. They Thunder and ●●ghten, we dare not approach them; when ●t last they decline by their fall they became useless and affable.  
* The Swiss, the Valet de Chambre ● the man in a Livery, though they have no more Wit than is necessary for their condition, make no Judgement of themselves from their own baseness, but the elavation and favour of the people they serve, and think all that enter at their Gate or mount their Staircase, below either themselves or their Masters; so true it is, that a man must suffer any thing from the Great, or what belongs to 'em.  
* A man in a Post ought to love his Prince, his Wife, his Children, and after them the men of Wit; he ought to adopt them to be always furnished with, and never to want them: He cannot pay, I will not say with too large pensions, or benefits, but with too much familiarity and caresses, the service they do him when he lest thinks on't. What little tales don't they dissipate? how many stories they by their Address reduce to fable and fiction. Don't they know how to justify ill success by good intentions, and to prove the goodness of a design, and the justness of measures by a prosperous event, to raise themselves against Malice and Envy, to bring the best motives to good erterprises, to put favourable constructions on wretched appearances, to turn off little defects, and show nothing but Virtues; which they set in the best light, to scatter on a thousand occasions, advantageous actions and particulars, and make a jest of such as dare doubt the contrary. I know the great have a maxim to leave speaking and continue acting. But I know also that in many conjunctures which they m●et with, to leave speaking hinders 'em from doing.  
* To distinguish Merit, and when 'tis known to treat it well, are too great steps to be made one after another, which few Great men are capable of.  
* You are Great and Potent: This is not enough to make you worthy my esteem, that I may be sorry to lose your good Graces, or that I never could obtain 'em.  
* You say of a Great man, or person in a high station, he is very obliging, officious, and loves to be serviceable, and you confirm this by a long tale of what he has done in an affair, wherein he knew you were concerned. I understand you, you are in Credit, the Ministers know you, you are well with the powerful. What else, Sir, would you have me know by it.  
A person told you; I complain of such a one, he is proud, since his advancement, he disdains me, he will not know me. Say you, I have no reason to complain of him, on the contrary, I must commend him; he seems to me to be very civil, I believe I understand you still Sir. You would acquaint us that a man in a place has a regard for you, that he picks you in the Antichamber out of a thousand considerable persons, from whom he turns aside, that he may not fall into the inconvenience of saluting or granting them a whisper.  
To value one's self by another, or by the favour of the Great, is a delicate phrase in the Original, and without doubt signifies properly to value one's self, in saying of the Great all the good they have done us, or never thought to do us.  
We praise the Great to show we are intimate with 'em, rarely out of esteem or gratitude, we know not often those we praise, vanity and levity sometimes carry us to resentment; we are displeased, and yet we praise them.  
* If 'tis dangerous to be concerned in a suspicious affair, ●tis much more to be an accomplice with the Great, they will draw themselves out, and leave you to pay both for yourself and them.  
* A Prince has not fortune enough to pay a man for a base complacency, if he considers what it costs the man who gives it, nor too much power to punish him, if he measures his vengeance by the wrong done him.  
* The Nobility expose their lives for the safety of the State, and the glory of their Sovereign; the Magistrate discharges his Prince from the care of judging his people. Both of 'em are sublime functions, of wonderful use, men are not capable of greater things, and I can't guess whence the men of the Robe and S●ord can draw matter for their reciprocal contempt.  
* If 'tis true, that the Great run more risk in hazarding their lives, designed to be spent in laughing, pleasure, and abundance, than a private man who ventures only his miserable days; it must also be confessed, that they have a larger recompense; glory, and a high reputation. The Soldier has no thoughts of being known, he dies obscure and in a crowd, he lives indeed after the same rate, but he lives, and this is the chief cause of want of courage in low and servile conditions. On the contrary, those whose Birth distinguishes 'em from the people, and exposes 'em to the Eyes of men; to their censure and praise exert themselves as much by the force of their natural temper, as by true valour; and this disposition of Heart and Mind, which they derive from their Forefathers, is the bravery so familiar to the Nobility, and perhaps Nobility itself.  
Throw me amongst the Troops as a common Soldier, I am Thersites: put me at the head of an Army, for which I must answer to all Europe, I am Achilles.  
* Prince's without rules or methods are qualified to make a judgement. They are born elevated amidst, and in the centre of the best things, and to which they apply what they read, see, or hear, and all that does not come near enough to Lul, Racine, and Le Brun, they condemn.  
* To talk to young Princes of nothing but the care of their rank is an excess of precaution, while the whole Court reckon it their duty, and a part of their politeness to respect them; and that they are less apt to be ignorant of the regard due to their Birth, than to confound persons, and treat indifferently, or without distinction all sorts of titles and conditions. They have a native haughtiness which they find on all occasions, and want no Lessons, but how to governit, and to inspire 'em with goodness, honour, and a spirit of discernment.  
* 'Tis pure hypocrisy in a man newly advanced, at first not to take notice of the rank which is due to him, and every body is ready to grant him. It costs him nothing to be modest, to mingle with the Multitude, that would open to make way for him, to take the lowest seat at a public meeting, that every one may see him there, and run to set him higher. Modesty in men of ordinary conditions, is a more bitter practice, if they throw themselves into a Crowd, we justle and punch 'em, if they choose an incommodious Seat, they stay there.  
* Aristarchus conveys himself into the Marketplace, with an Herald and Trumpeter. The Trumpeter sounds, and the Mob get round him. Hear O ye people, says the Herald; Silence, Silence, be attentive. This very Aristarchus you see before you, to morrow is to do a good Action; I would say in a word, such a one does well and would do better; 'tis true, he did not tell it me, neither do I suspect that he designed it should be told.  
* The best actions are changed and weakened by the manner of doing them, and sometimes make us question the sincerity of a man's intentions. He who protects and commends Virtue for the sake of Virtue, or condemns and blames Vice for Vice's sake, acts without design, singularity, pride, or affectation. He neither reproves demurely and sententiously, nor yet sharply nor satirically. He never makes his correction a Scene to divert the public, but shows a good example, and acquits himself of his duty. He could furnish little for the Lady's Visits or the withdrawing Room. He gives the merry man no matter for a pleasant tale. The good he does is indeed but little known, yet he does good, and what would he do more?  
* The Great ought not to love their first years, they are not at all favourable to ●em. They are mortified to see that the rest of the world have any relation to 'em. Mankind compose together but one Family, all the difference is, we are more or less related.  
* Theoguis is very nice in adjusting himself, and as spruce as a Lady, while he's ●t his Glass he settles his Eyes and Countenance as he is to appear abroad; he comes out every way complete, and those who pass by him, meet the smiles and kind looks which he had before prepared, that nothing may escape him. He marches into the Hall, he turns himself to the right where there are many, and to the left where there is no body to observe him; he salutes those who are there, and those who are not; he embraces the first man he encounters, runs his Head into his Bosom, a●d then asks his name. A person wants his help in an affair, he finds him and begs it. Theoguis hears him favourably, is ravished that he can be serviceable to him, and makes him promise to use him on all occasions: But when the business comes before him, he tells him he will not do it, he prays him to get into his place, he judges it, and the Client goes out, waited on, carest, complimented, and almost content with his being refused.  
* A man must have a very bad opinion of men, and yet know 'em well to believe he can impose on 'em, with studied caresses, and long and barren embraces.  
* Pamphilus never entertains himself with the people he meets in the Hall, or at the Court. By his gravity and the high tone he uses, one would think he was formally receiving them, giving 'em audience, and taking a set leave. He has a parcel of terms at once, civil and haughty, a Gentlemanlike sort of carriage, very imperious, and managed without discernment; a false grandeur which abases him, and is very troublesome to his friends, who are loath to despise him.  
Pamphilus is full of his own Merit, and keeps himself always in view, he never forgets the idea he has of his grandeur, matches, posts and quality; he jumbles 'em all together and confounds them, when he endeavours to show 'em to his advantage; he●s always talking of his Order, and his Blue Ribbon; exposes or hides it out of ostentation. In short, Pamphilus would be great, he believes he is so. He is not. But he●s next to it. If at any time he smiles on one of a lower order, or a man of Wit, he chooses his time so justly, that he will never be catcht in the least familiarity with a person who is not rich, nor powerful, nor a prime Ministers Friend, Relation, nor Domestic, he blushes and is ashamed when he's so surpriz●d: He is severe and inexorable to him who has not made his fortune.  
One day he sees you in a Gallery and flies you, and the next finds you in a place less public; or if public, in the company of a great man, he takes courage, comes up to you, and says yesterday you would not see me. Sometimes he will leave you bluntly, to join himself with a Lord, or a firs● Commissioner; and sometimes if he finds you with them, he will jog and carry you away: M●et him another time, he shall not stop; you must run after him, talk loud, and expose yourself to all that pass by you. Thus the Pamphilus' live always as if they were in a Play: People bred up in falsehood, who hate nothing more than to be naturals real actors of a Comedy, true Floridors and M●ndoris's.  
We can never say enough of the Pamphilus'; they are mean and fearful before Princes and their Ministers, proud and confident before such as have nothing but Virtue to recommend them; dumb and confounded before the Learned; lively, forward, and positive, before the Ignorant: They talk of War to a Lawyer, of Politeness to a Banker, History among Women, among Doctor's Poetry, and Geometry among Poets. They don't trouble themselves with Maxims, and less with Principles: They live at a venture, pushed and driven on by the wind of favour. They have no sentiments which are properly their own, they borrow them, according as they want 'em, and he to whom they apply themselv●● is neither wise, cunning, nor virtuous, 〈…〉 of the fashion.  
* Men promise to keep your secret, but reveal it soon after: Perhaps they open not their lips, but we read it on their foreheads, in their breasts, which are transparent. They may not say exactly the same thing they were entrusted with: But yet talk in such a manner as discovers it. Some despise your secret, be it of what consequence it will; laugh and say, 'Tis a Mystery, such a one imparted it to them, forbade them telling it, and then they tell it.  
* We have a fruitless jealousy, and an impotent hatred for the great, which cannot revenge us for their splendour and elevation; but only adds to our own misery the insupportable weight of another's happiness: What is to be done against so contagious and inveterate a disease of the Soul? Let us be centented with little, and if possible with less: Let us learn to bear the losses that may befall us. The receipt is infallible, and I resolve to try it. By this means I avoid running against a Swiss, or justling a Commissioner; to be pushed back from a Gate by an innumerable number of Clients that wait on a Courtier, of whom a Ministers house disgorges itself several times a day. To languish in a Hall of audience: To demand of him, trembling and stammering, a just thing: To wipe off his Gravity and Laconism: Then I envy nor hate 'em no more: They beg nothing of me, nor I of them, we are equal, unless perhaps they are never at peace, and I am.  
am If the Great have frequent opportunities to do us good, they have seldom the will; and if they would injure us, 'tis not always in their power: Thus we may be deceived in the worship we pay them, if 'tis from no other motions than hope or fear. A man may live a long while without depending on them● out of ●he lest Interest, or being indebted to 'em for his good or bad fortune; we ought to honour 'em● since they are great, and we are little; and since there are others less than ourselves, who honour us.  
* The same passions, the same weaknesses, the same meannesses, the same contrary dispositions, the same quarrels in Families, and among Relations. The same envies and antipathies reign at Court and in the City: You find every where bad Fathers-in-law, Mothers-in-law, Husbands and Wives; divorces, ruptures, misunderstandings; every where different humours, heats and partialities, false reports and scandals. With good eyes one may easily see St. Dennis street at Versailles, and Fontainbleau: Here they hate with more fierceness and haughtiness, and perhaps more like quality; they destroy one another more politely and cunningly: their heats are more eloquent; they speak injuriously with more elegance, and in better terms: They don't injure the purity of the language, they only offend men or their reputations; all the outside of Vice is here specious: But at the bottom 'tis the same as in the most abject conditions. You meet here all their baseness, weakness and unworthiness. These men, so great by their Birth, Favour or Dignity, these strong and cunning headpieces; these women so witty and polite, are themselves the People, yet they all despise them.  
Whoever talks of the People, says several things in one; 'tis a vast expression, and we may be surprised to see what it contains, and how far it extends. There is the People, in opposition to the Great: This is the Populace and the Multitude. There is also the People, opposed to the Wise, Able and Virtuous, which includes as well the Great as the Little.  
* The Great govern themselves by fancy; lazy Souls, on whom the first impression takes; a thing happens, they talk on't too much, soon after a little, and then no more; actions, conduct, execution event, all are forgot. You must not expect from them correction, reflection, prevention, gratitude or reward.  
* We are carried to two opposite extremes with respect to certain persons: Satire after they are dead flies about among the People, while the Pulpits resound with their praise. Sometimes they deserve neither Libels nor Funeral Orations, and sometimes both.  
* The less we talk of the powerful, the better; what we say good of them, is often flattery: 'Tis dangerous to speak ill of 'em while they live, and villainous when they are dead.   

Of the Sovereign or Commonwealth.  
WHen we have run through all forms of Government, without partiality to that we were born under, we can't tell which to conclude for; there's good and ill in 'em all: 'Tis therefore most reasonable and secure to value that of our Country above all others, and submit to it.  
* There's no occasion for Arts and Sciences in the exercise of Tyranny; for the Politics which consist only in bloodshed are very shallow and gross: To murder all that are obstacles to our Ambition is what they urge us to; and this a man naturally cruel does with ease. And is indeed the most barbarous and detestable way to support or aggrandise ourselves.  
* 'tis a certain and ancient maxim in Politics, that to suffer the people to stupefy themselves with pleasures and feasts, with shows and luxury, with vanity and delicacy, to dispossess them of all things solid and valuable, and leave them fond of ridiculous trifles, is to make the greatest advances to a despotic power.  
* Under an arbitrary Government, Interest, Honour, and the service of the Prince, supply the place of a natural affection to our Country.  
* To innovate, or introduce any alterations in a State, the time is rather to be considered than the action itself; there are conjunctures when nothing is to be attempted on the people, so there are others when nothing is too gross to pass upon 'em: To day you may subvert all their rights, franchises and privileges; but to morrow you must not so much as think of altering the Signs at their doors.  
* In public Commotions we can't conceive how they should ever be appeased; nor when quiet, imagine what may disturb us.  
* A Government connives at some evils, because they prevent greater. There are others purely so by their establishment, which tho originally an abuse or ill use, are less pernicious in their practice and consequence, than the justest law or most reasonable custom. There's a sort of evil curable by novelty and change, which indeed is a very dangerous one. Others there are hid and sunk underground, like ordure in a Privy; they are secret and obscure, buried in disgrace; these you cannot closely search into without exhaling their poison and infamy: and 'tis often a question amongst the wisest men, which is to be preferred, the knowledge or the ignorance of them. The State sometimes tolerates one great evil, to keep out millions of less mischiefs and inconveniences, which would be inevitable, and without remedy. Some there are, though injurious to particular persons, which become the good of the Public, though the Public is nothing else but a body of those very particulars. So there are personal ills, which turn to the good and advantage of the family. Also those which afflict, ruin and dishonour Families, tend to the conservation and advantage of the State or Government. Some others there are which subvert Governments, and found new ones upon their ruins; and we can't but observe that vast Empires have been utterly extirpated and destroyed, to change and renew the face of the Universe.  
That Ergastus is rich, that he has a good pack of Hounds, that he has been the inventor of a great many new fashions, and a regulater of Equipages, that he abounds in superfluitses. What signifies all this to the State? Is a particular Interest to be considered when the public is in question? 'Tis some comfort for the People, when they find themselves pressed a little, to know that 'tis for the service of their Prince, and to enrich him, that they put themselves to some inconveniency. 'Tis not to Ergastus, that they think themselves obliged, for having got a vast Estate.  
* War pleads its antiquity from all ages, it has always stored the World with Widows and Orphans, drained families of their Heirs, and destroyed several Brothers in one Battle. Young Soyecour! how do I mourn thy loss, thy virtue and modesty, thy wit just ripe, sagacious, lofty and conversible. I must bemoan that untimely death which transported thee to thy magnanimous Brother, and snatched thee from a Court, where thou hadst only time to show thyself. Oh misfortune too deplorable and yet common! For Men in all ages for a little spot of Earth have agreed to destroy, burn and murder one another: which to accomplish with the greater certainty and ingenuity, they've invented exquisite rules of destruction, which they call the Art of War. The practice of which they reward with Glory, and the most lasting Honour, and every age improves in the art of mutual destruction. The Injustice of the first men made Soldiers necessary to the establishment of their right and pretensions; and doubtless was the primary source of War; for could they have been content with their own, and not violated the rights of their neighbours, the World would have enjoyed an uninterrupted peace and liberty.  
* Those who sit under their own Vines, and enjoy the goods of fortune in a secure part of the Town, where there is no danger of their lives or estates, are the Men that generally breathe Fire and Sword: They are taken up with Wars and Ruins, Conflagrations and Massacres: 'Tis with a great deal of impatience that they can bear two Armies being in the field and not meeting; or if they're in sight, that they don't engage; when they're engaged, that the fight was not more bloody; that there was scarce ten thousand killed on the spot. These are sometimes so far transported, that they would quit their darling interest, their repose and security, out of a passionate desire of change, and extravagant relish of novelty; nay, some of 'em go so far, they●d be content to see the Enemy at the very Gates of the City, and make Barricadoes, draw the Chains cross the streets in apprehension of his Assault, for the bare itch of hearing and telling the News.  
* Demophilus here on my right hand laments and cries, all's lost, we're just on the brink of ruin, how can we resist so strong and so general a Confederacy? Which way can we, I dare not say overcome, but hold out against so many and so potent enemies? 'tis unpresidented in our Monarchy, an Achilles, a Hero must succumb. Besides, we've been guilty of many gross errors in our management. I know it particularly: I've been a Soldier myself: I●ve seen some Battles, and improved very much by Reading. Then he admires Olivier de Daim and jacques Caeur: Those were men, says he, those were Ministers indeed. He disperses his News, which is the most disadvantageous and melancholy that can be feigned: Now a party is fallen into the Enemies Ambuscade, and are cut in pieces; presently some of our Troops shut up in a Castle, surrender upon discretion, and are all put to the Sword; and if you tell him this report is false, and wants confirmation, he will not hear you; but adds, that such a General's killed, though you truly assure him, that he has but a slight wound; he deplores his death, he mourns for his Widow and Children, and bemoans his own loss; he has lost a good friend, and a potent patronage: He tells us, the Dutch Horse are invincible, and turns pale if you name the Imperial Cuirassiers: If we attack that place, continueth he, we shall be obliged to raise the Siege: If we stand on the defensive, and avoid fight, we shall have the worst on't: or if we join Battle, we shall lose it; and if we are beaten, look, he cries, the Enemy's upon the Frontiers, and, according to Demophilus, will be presently in the heart of the Kingdom. He fancies the Bells ring an Alarm, he●s in pain for his Estate, he's considering whither he shall remove his Money, his Movables and Family; whether he shall fly to the Swiss Cantons, or Venice.  
But on my left Basilidius raises an Army of 300000 men in a minute, he won't abate ye a single Brigade, but has a list of the Squadrons, Batallions, Generals and Officers, not omitting the Artillery and Baggage: These Forces he absolutely disposes, some into Germany, others into Flanders, and reserves a certain number for the Alps, a lesser for the Pyrenees, and transports the rest beyond the Seas. He knows their marches, he can tell you what they have, and what they have not done; you'd think he had the King's Ear, or were the only confident to his chief Minister. If the Enemies are beaten, and lose ten thousand, he positively avers 'twas thirty, not one more or less; for his numbers are always as fixed and certain as if he had the best Intelligence: Tell him in the morning we●ve lost a paltry Village, he not only sends to excuse himself to the Guests he has invited to Dinner, but fasts himself; and if he Sups, 'tis without appetite. If we besiege a place naturally strong, regularly fortified and well stored with Ammunition and Provision, besides a good Garrison, commanded by a Hero; he tells you, the Town has its weak places, is very ill fortified, wants Powder, and its Governor Experience; and that 'twill capitulate in 8 days after the opening the Trenches. At another time, he runs himself out of breath, and after he's recovered a little, he opens, I have News, great News to tell you, They are beaten, totally routed, the General and Chief Officers, at least a great part of them are killed: There's a very great slaughter, Fortune's on our side, and we've much the best of the Game. Then he sits down and rests, after this extraordinary News, which wants this only circumstance, 'Tis certain there has not been a Battle. He assures us further, That such a Prince has renounced the League, and quitted the Confederacy; a second is inclined to follow him: He believes firmly, with the Populace, a third is dead, and names you the place of his Interment; and even, when the whole Town is undeceived, he alone offers to lay Wagers on it. He has unquestionable Intelligence, that Teckeley is very successful against the Emperor; that the Grand Signior is making great preparations, and will not hear of a Peace, and the Vizier will once more sit down before Vienna. He's in an ecstasy, as much transported as if there were not the least doubt of it. The triple Alliance is a Cerberus with him, and the Enemies so many Monsters to be knocked down. He talks of nothing but Laurels, Triumphs and Trophies; his familiar expressions run thus: Our August Hero, our Mighty Potentate, our Invincible Monarch. He's not to be persuaded to such mean expressions as these, The King has a great many Enemies, they're very Potent, they're United and Exasperated; he has overcome them, and I hope will always be Victorious. This Style, as 'tis too bold and decisive for Demophilus, so 'tis not exaggerated, nor pompous enough for Basilidius, his Head's full of ●oftier thoughts, he's taking care of Inscriptions, Triumphal Arches and Pyramids, to adorn the Capital City against the Victor's entrance; and as soon as he hears that the Armies are in sight of each other, or a Town's Invested, he's preparing to sing T● Deum in the Cathedral.  
* A principal Affair left to the decision of Public Ministers and Plenipotentiaries, requires a very deliberate and nice discussion; but the Preliminaries, the ordering Precedencies and Ceremonies, commonly spend most time.  
A Public Minister, or Plenipotentiary, is a Chameleon, a Protheus; sometimes like a cunning Gamester, he dissembles his very humour and temper, as well to avoid the conjectures and penetration of others, as to prevent any secret escaping through passion and weakness; he's always ready to put on that shape his designs or occasions require, and very artificially appears what 'tis his Interest to be thought. So when he pretends his Master is very formidable, or very low, he's resolute and inflexible, to prevent any large Demands; or easy and complacent, to give others occasion to make them, that he may be sure of the same liberty. At another time he's profound and subtle, he dissembles a truth in the speaking, because 'tis advantageous to tell it, and not to be believed; or else he's free and open, the better to disguise what he conceals, and gain a belief, that he has made his last Overtures. At the same time, he's violent and very verbose, to excite others to talk, or hinder their speaking what he desires not to hear, or acquainting him with what he would be ignorant of. He talks of indifferent things, which soften or destroy one another, and leave them confounded betwixt Confidence and Distrust, that he may make amends for a lost opportunity, by dextrously gaining another; or he's cool and silent, to engage others to talk: he hears patiently a tedious while, to obtain the same favour himself; his Discourse is lofty and weighty, his Promises and Menaces carry a great stroke with them, and are sure to shock his Antagonists. Sometimes he speaks first, the better to discover the Oppositions and Contradictions, Intrigues and Cabals of the Ministers, upon the propositions he has advanced, and to take his Measures from their Answers. At another Meeting he stays till the last, that he may be sure not to lose his labour; he can then be more exact, having nicely observed every thing that may be serviceable to his Master or his Allies. He knows what to ask, and what he can obtain. He knows how to be clear and expressive, or obscure and ambiguous; he can use equivocal words and turns, which he can render more or less forcible, as his interest or occasions require. He asks little because he won't grant much, or his requests are large that he may be sure of a little. He desires small things, which he pretends to be of no value, that they may not hinder him of greater. He avoids the gaining of an important point at first, if it's like to hinder him of several, which tho' in themselves of less value, yet united surmount the other. His Demands are extravagant, with design to be denied, that he may be furnished with a just excuse for refusing those he knows will be made. He very assiduously aggravates the enormity of these, and warmly urges the reasons why he cannot hearken to them, and as earnestly endeavours to enervate those which they pretend for their denial. He's equally concerned to aggrandise those trifles he offers, as to slight openly the little they're willing to grant. He feigns extraordinary proffers, which beget a distrust, and oblige them to reject what indeed accepted would be useless; this serves to colour his exorbitant demands, and throw the blame of the refusal on them: He grants more than they can ask, to get yet more of them. He's very importunate, and presses very hard for trivial things, and rather than fail, will suffer himself to be persuaded out of them, that he may quash all hopes and expectations of better from him. If he's persuaded to part with any thing, 'tis on condition that he may share the advantage of it. He directly, or indirectly, espouses the Interest of an Ally as he finds it profitable, or tends to advance his pretensions. He talks of nothing but Peace and Alliances, the Public Good and Tranquillity; in all which, he means only his Master's interest. Sometimes he reconciles disagreeing Parties, at other times he separates those he found united; he terrifies the strong and potent, and encourages the weak: He cements several feeble Interests against a more powerful one, to render the Balance equal; he joins with the former, that they may desire his Alliance and Protection, which he sells them at a dear rate. He knows how to interest the Ministers in his Affairs, and by a dextrous management● by fine and subtle turns, he makes them sensible of their private Advantage, the Riches and Honours they may hope for by a little easiness, which will not in the least clash with their Commissions, nor the Intentions of their Masters: And that he may not be thought impregnable on this side, he betrays some small concern for his own fortune. By this he discovers their most secret Intentions, their most profound Designs, and last Efforts; which he turns to his own advantage. If he's injured in any considerable Article he is very loud, but if he finds 'tis not so, he's yet louder, and throws the injured on their Justification and Defence. All his measures are ordered, his steps are pointed out, and his least advances prescribed by the Court; yet he appears as complacent and free, in the most difficult contests, as if all his compliances were Extempore, and purely owing to his condescending temper. He adventures to promise the Assembly, That their Proposals shall not be rejected, but approved of. By his Emissaries, he spreads false rumours concerning those things which he alone is entrusted with; he closely reserves some particular Instructions, these he never discloses, but at such extremities, as to neglect the use of them would be very pernicious. All his Intrigues tend to solid and substantial ends, for which he willingly sacrifices Punctilios, and imaginary points of Honour. He has a great deal of Moderation, and is armed with Resolution and Patience; he fatigues and discourages others, but is himself unwearied. He's forewarned and fortified against all tedious delays and affronts, jealousies and suspicions, difficulties and obstacles. He's fully persuaded that patience, and a happy conjuncture, will influence their Minds, and accomplish his desired ends. He feigns a secret Interest to break off the Negotiation, tho' he passionately desires its continuance. On the contrary, tho' he has strict Orders to use his last endeavours to break it off, yet he thinks the best way to effect it is to press its continuation. After a very great Success, he's very stiff or ve●y easy, according as 'tis advantageous or prejudicial; and if by a vast prudence he can foresee any thing advantageous to the State he follows it close, temporises and manages himself according to the hopes, fears and necessities of his Master: He takes his Measures from Time, Place and Occasion, his own strength or weakness, the Genius of the Nations he Treats with, and the particular Temper and Character of their Minister's; all his Maxims, Designs, and most refined Politics, tend only to prevent being deceived, and not to deceive others.  
* The Character of the French Nation requires gravity in their Sovereign.  
* 'Tis one of the Misfortunes of a Prince to be overburdened with secrets, the discovery of which would prove dangerous; ●ut he's happy if he can meet with a faithful Confident to discharge himself.  
* A Prince wants only a private Life to complete his happiness, a loss that nothing can render supportable, but the charms of Friendship, and the fidelity of his Friends.  
* A Monarch that deservedly fills a Throne, finds it extremely pleasant to debase himself sometimes, to leave the Theatre, quit the Buskins, and Act a more familiar Part with a Confident.  
* Nothing conduces more to the Honour of a Prince than the Modesty of his Favourite.  
* No Ties of Friendship or Consanguinity affect a Favourite; tho' he's crowded with Relations and Creatures, they've no place in his esteem; he disengages himself, and stands alone like a huge Colossus.  
* Certainly the Favourite who has an exalted Genius and a strong Reason, must be disordered and confounded at the sordid and base Flatteries, and frivolous and impertinent Applications of those who make their Court to him, and hang upon him like Slaves and Spaniels, that stick so close to him he cannot get rid of them even by Scorn and Derision.  
* You who are in great Posts, Public Ministers or Favourites, give me leave to advise you: Don't intrust the care of your Memory with your Progeny, don't expect they'll preserve the lustre of your Name; great Titles fly away, the Prince's Favour vanishes, Honours leave their Possessors, Riches disperse themselves, and Merit degenerates. 'Tis true you have Children worthy yourselves, and capable of maintaining the Character you leave them, but can you promise to be as fortunate in your grandchildren? Won't you believe me? Cast your Eyes for once on some Men, whom you cannot look on without scorn and disdain; they're descended from the very Men (great as you are) which you succeed. Be Virtuous and Affable, and if you ask what more is necessary, in answer I must tell you, Virtue and Humanity command a lasting Fame, and are independent on your Posterity; by these your Name is sure to live as long as the Monarchy endures; and when future Generations shall walk over the Ruins of your strongest Castles, and noblest Edifices, the Idea of your great Actions will still remain fresh in their Minds, they'll greedily collect your Medals and Pourtraicts: This, say ●hey, is the Effigies of a Man that dared to speak to his Prince with force and freedom, and was more afraid of injuring than displeasing him; he endeavoured to make him a generous and good Prince, the Father of his Country, and tender of his People. The Person you see painted there with a bold Countenance, an austere and majestic A●r, advances in Reputation faster than he did in Years, the greatest Politicians allow him amongst their number, his great design was to establish the Authority of the Prince, and the Safety of the People, by the suppression of the Nobility, from which neither the oppositions of strong Parties, Conspiracies, Treasons, the danger of Death, nor his own infirmities, were able to divert him, and yet he had time enough to have attempted and begun a more noble Enterprise, since pursued and accomplished by one of the best and greatest Princes in the World.  
* The most specious and the least suspected Snare, that ever was laid for great Men by their Servants, or for Kings by their Ministers, has been the Advice, above all things, to enrich themselves. An admirable Maxim, Counsel which is worth a Treasure, a Mine of Gold, or a Peru, to those who have the Address to instil it into their Masters.  
* That Nation is extreme happy, whose Prince chooses the very same Persons for his Confidents and Ministers, whom they would have chosen themselves, if the Choice had been in their power.  
* The knowledge of the more particular Affairs, and a diligent application to even the more Minute cares of the Commonwealth, are essential to a good Government, tho' too much neglected by Kings and their Ministers in these last Ages: 'Tis a knowledge we cannot too earnestly desire in the Prince that's ignorant of it, nor value too highly in him that's throughly acquainted with it. It contributes to the ease and pleasure of the Subjects, that their Prince extends the Bounds of his Empire beyond his Enemy's Territories, that he makes their Sovereignty's become Provinces of his Kingdom; that he is Victorious in Sieges and battles, that the best fortified Camps and Bastions afford no security against him; That the neighbouring Nations ask Aid of one another, and enter into Leagues, to defend themselves, and put a stop to his Conquests: That their Confederacies are vain; that he's continually advancing, and still victorious; that their last hopes are frustrated by such a vigorous Constitution of the State, which will afford the Monarch the pleasure of seeing the young Princes, his grandchildren, support and increase their Sovereignty's in Reversion; of seeing them lead an Army into the Field, destroy the strongest Fortresses, conquer new Estates, and command old and experienced Officers, rather by their Wisdom and Merit, than by their high Quality and Royal Birth; of seeing them tread in the steps of their Victorious Father, imitating his Goodness, Docility, Justice, Vigilance and Magnanimity. In a word, let my Sovereign be never so Successful, let the prudent Management of his Ministers, nay, let his Personal Merits exalt him to the highest pitch of Glory, let my Country be never so Powerful, let it be the Terror of all the Neighbouring Nations; what should I, or any of my fellow Subjects, be the better for all these things, if I wer● forced to Labour under the dismal and melancholy burden of Poverty and Oppression? If, while I were secured against the Sallies from without of a cruel Enemy, I was exposed within the Walls of our Cities to the Barbarity of a treacherous Assassin? If Rapine and Violence were less to be feared in the darkest Nights, and in the wildest Deserts, than at Midday in our Streets? If Safety, Cleanliness, and good Order, had not rendered the Sojourning in our Cities so delightful, and had not added, to true Plenty, the means of our conversing with so much ease one with another? Or, if being weak and defenceless, I was encroached upon in the Country by every neighbouring great Man? If there was not a Provision made to protect me against his Injustice? If I had not at hand so many Masters, and those eminent Masters too, to breed up my Children in those Arts and Sciences, which will one day raise their Fortunes? If the promotion of Trade had not made good substantial Stuffs for my Clothing, and wholesome Food for my Nourishment both plenty and cheap? If, to conclude, the care of my Sovereign had not given me so much reason, to be as well contented with my fortune, as his extraordinary Virtues must needs make him with his own?  
* Eight or ten thousand Men are like Money to the Prince; with their Lives he buys a Town or a Victory: but if he's very sparing of them, if he can purchase either at a cheaper rate; he's like a Merchant who best knows the value of Coin.  
* All things succeed happily in a Monarchy, where the Interests of the Sovereign and Subjects are inseparable.  
* To say a Prince is the Father of his People, is no more an Encomium to him than to call him by his Name, or define what he is.  
* There's a sort of Commerce, or reciprocal return of the Duties of the Sovereign to his Subjects, and of theirs to him, which are most strongly obliged, or most difficult in the performance, I won't determine; and 'tis not, indeed, very easy to judge between the strict Engagements of Reverence, Assistance, Service, Obedience and Dependence, on the one side, and the indispensable obligations to Goodness, Justice, and Protection, on the other: To say the Prince is the Supreme Disposer of the Lives of the People, is to tell us only that the Vices of Mankind have entailed on them a natural Subjection to Justice and the Laws, of which the Prince is the sole Repository. To add further, That he is absolute Master of all his Subjects Goods, without any Reason, or legal Process, is the Language of Flattery, or the distorted Opinion of a Favourite.  
* When on a fine Evening you observe a numerous Flock of Sheep spread over a little Hill, quietly Grazing on the fragrant Thyme, and other Productions of the Earth; or in a Meadow, nibbling the short and tender Grass, which has escaped the Scythe, the diligent and careful Shepherd, always amongst them, he will not suffer them out of his sight, he leads them, he follows them, he changes their Pasture, if they disperse he gathers them together, if the greedy Wolf approach, he sets his Dog on to beat him off, he nourishes and preserves them; the Morning finds him in the open Field, in which the Sun left him. Oh! what Care, what Vigilance and Slavery is absolutely necessary. Which Condition appears the most delicious and free, that of the Sheep or of the Shepherd? Was the Flock made for the Shepherd, or the Shepherd for the Sheep? This is a happy representation of a good Prince and his People.  
* A Luxurious and proud Monarch, is like a Shepherd adorned with Gold and Jewels, a Golden Crook in his Hand, a Collar of Gold about his Dog's Neck, and a Golden String to lead him; but what's his Flock the better for all this? Or what avails it against the Wolves?  
* How happy is that Post, which every minute furnishes opportunities of doing good to thousands! But how dangerous is that, which every moment exposes to the injuring of Millions!  
* If Men are not capable of a felicity on Earth more natural, sensible, and sublime, than to know they are tenderly beloved; and if Kings are Men, can they purchase the Hearts of their people at too dear a rate?  
* There are very few general, or certain Rules of well Governing; they depend on Times and Conjunctures, the Prudence and Designs of the Governors● tho' perfect Government is the Masterpiece of the Soul, perhaps 'tis impossible, if the Subjects don't contribute one moiety by a habitual dependence and submission.  
* Those, who under some great Monarch are possessed of the first Posts of Honour and Profit, have very easy places, they are officiated without any trouble, all their Affairs run smooth, the Authority and Genius of the Prince plains their way, rids them of all difficulties, and renders them prosperous: 'Tis they are rewarded for the Merit of their Subalterns.  
* If the Care of a single Family be so burdensome, if a Man has enough to do to answer for himself; what a weight, what a load is the Charge of a whole Realm? Is the Sovereign recompensed for all his anxious Cares by the prosternations of his Courtiers, or the pleasures an Absolute Power seems to afford? When I think on the troublesome, hazardous and dangerous paths they're forced to tread to arrive at a public Tranquillity; when I reflect on the extreme difficult, tho● necessary Methods, they are frequently obliged to use to compass a good end, that they are accountable to God himself for the good of their people; that Good and Evil are in their hands, and that Ignorance is no excuse for them, I can't forbear ask myself this question, Wouldst thou Reign? Would a Man but meanly happy in a private condition, quit it for a Throne? Is it even supportable to be born a Monarch?  
* Are not all the Celestial Gifts necessary to a good Monarch? A Royal Birth, an August and Commanding Air? A presence to satisfy the curiosity of those who crowd to see him, and to command respect from his Courtiers? His temper must be perfectly even, he must be very averse to ill-natured Raillery, or at least discountenance it: He must neither threaten, reproach, nor give way to his passion, and yet oblige an entire Obedience to all his Commands: His Humour must be complacent and engaging; his Heart so sincere and open, that all may think they sound the bottom of it: this will qualify him to gain Friends, Creatures and Allies. He must be always Secret, Profound and Impenetrable, in his Ends and Designs: He must be very Grave and Serious in Public: When in Council, or giving Answers to Ambassadors, his expressions must be brief, joined with a great deal of Justness and Grandeur● He must choose fit Objects to bestow his Favours on, and confer them with such a grace as doubles the benefit: He must be very Sagacious to penetrate into the Mind, Qualifications, and Tempers of Men, for the destribution of Places and Employments, and the choice of Generals and Ministers: He must have such a strong, solid, and decisive Judgement in Affairs, as immediately to discern the Best and most Just: A Mind so Sincere and Just, as to declare against himself in favour of his Subjects, Allies and Enemies: Such a happy Memory, as continually presents to him the Names, Faces, Petitions, and Occasions of his Subjects: A vast Capacity, that extends not only to extraneous Affairs, to Commerce, State Maxims, Political Designs, New Conquests, and the defence of them by numerous and unaccessible Forts, but knows how to confine himself at home, to consider the particular wants of the Realm, to banish all false Worship he meets with prejudicial to Sovereignty, to abolish all impious and cruel Customs, to reform the Laws and Usages if they're filled with Abuses, to make his Cities rich and easy by an exact Polity, and render them Noble and Magnificent by the addition of sumptuous Edifices: To punish scandalous Vices severely: To advance the Honour of Religion and Virtue by his Authority and Example: To Protect the Church and Clergy, their Rights and Liberties: To Govern with the tenderness of a Father, always contriving the Ease of his Subjects: To lighten their Taxes and Subsidies, that they may not be Impoverished. He must be enriched with several great endowments for War: He must be vigilant, sedulous, and unwearied: He must be able to Command numerous Armies in Person, and be sedate and composed in the midst of danger. His sole Design ought to be the Safety and Honour of his Kingdoms w●ich he must always prefer to his own Life. His Power must be of such an extent as to leave no room for underhand Solicitations● private Intrigues and Cabals, and sometimes to lessen the vast distance betwixt the Nobless and the Populace, that they may all agree to be equally subject: His Knowledge so extensive, as to enable him to see every thing with his own Eyes and act immediately and by himself: That his Generals are but his Lieutenants, and his Ministers are but his Ministers. A profound Wisdom to know when to declare War, how to overcome and to make the best use of a Victory: To know when to make Peace, and when to break it, to force his Enemies to accept it according to their several Interests: To set bounds to a vast Ambition and to know how far to extend his Conquests: To have leisure for Plays, Feasts and Shows: To Cultivate Arts and Sciences: To design and erect magnificent Structures, even when surrounded with private and declared Enemies. To conclude; A vigorous and commanding Genius, that renders him beloved by his Subjects, and feared by Strangers; and that reduces his Court and all his Realm, to that Union and good Intelligence, that they're like a single Family, perfectly united under one Head. These admirable Virtues seem to be comprised in the Idea of a Sovereign: 'Tis true, we rarely see them all meet in one Subject, several of them are owing to the Soul and Temper, others to Conjunctures and extraneous Things; yet I must tell you, it appears to me, that the Prince that unites all these in his single Person● very well deserves the Name of Great.   

Of MAN.  
LET us not be angry with Men, when we see them stubborn, ungrateful, unjust, proud, Lovers of themselves and forgetful of others; they are made so, 'tis their Nature, they ●an no more prevent it than a Stone from falling to the Ground, or Fire from flying upwards.  
* In one sense Men are not Light, or but in little things: They change their Habits, Language, Fashions, Decorums, and sometimes their Taste; but they always preserve their bad Manners, are firm and constant to what is Ill, and to an indifference for Virtue.  
* Stoicism is a sport of the Mind, an Idea, something like Plato's Republic. Stoics feign that a Man may laugh at his Poverty, be insensible of Injuries, Ingratitude, or the loss of his Estate, Parents and Friends, look coolly on Death, and regard it as an indifferent thing, which ought not to make him merry or melancholy: Never to let Pleasure or Pain master him: To undergo the torments of Fire or Sword without the least sigh, or a single tear. And this Phantom of Virtue, and imaginary Constancy, they are pleased to call Wisdom. They have left Mankind full of the same defects they found them, and not cured them of the least weakness. Instead of painting Vice in its most frightful and ridiculous forms, to correct their Minds, they have formed an Idea of Perfection and Heroicism, of which they are not capable, and exhorted them to what is impossible. Thus this Wise Man that is to be, or will never be, but in Imagination, finds himself naturally above all Ills and Events; the most painful Fit of the Gout, or the most sharp Fit of the Colic, can't extort from him the least complaint. Heaven and Earth may be turned up and down without concerning him in their fall; he would stand firm on the Ruins of the Universe, while another Man grows almost distracted, cries, despairs, looks fiery, and is out of breath, for a Dog lost, or a Porringer broke in pieces.  
* Restlessness of Mind, an inequality of Humour, an inconstancy of Heart, and an uncertainty of Conduct, are all Vices of the Soul, but different, and as like as they appear, are not always found in one Subject.  
* 'Tis difficult to decide, Whether irresolution makes a Man more unfortunate or contemptible, or even if there is not always more conveniency in being of the wrong side than of none at all.  
* A Man unequal in his temper is several Men in one, he multiplies himself as often as he changes his Taste and Manners: He is not this Minute what he was the last, and will not be the next what he is now; he is his own Successor, ask not of what Complexion he is, but what are his Complexions; nor of what Humour, but how many sorts of Humours has he. Don't deceive yourself, is it Eutichrates whom you meet? How cold is he to Day? Yesterday he would have sought you, caressed you and made his Friends jealous of you. Does he remember you? Tell him your Name.  
Menalcas goes down Stairs, opens the Door to go out, shuts it, and perceives that his Nightcap is still on, and examining himself a little better, finds but one half of his face Shaved, his Sword on the Rightside, his Stockings hanging over his Heels, and his Shirt out of his Breeches. If he walks into the Street, he feels something strikes him on his face, or stomach; he can't suppose what 'tis, till waking, and opening his Eyes, he sees himself by a Cartwheel, or under a Joiners Penthouse with the Coffins about his Ears. Sometimes you may see him run against a Blind Man, push him backwards, and aftewards fall over him. Sometimes he happens to come up Forehead to Forehead with a Prince, and obstruct his passage; with much ado he recollects himself, and has but just time to squeeze himself into a Wall, to make room for him. He seeks, quarrels, and brawls, puts himself into a heat, calls to his Servants, and tells them, one after another, every thing is lost, or out of the way, and demands his Gloves, which he has in his hands; like the Woman who asked for her Mask, when she had it on her Face. He enters an Apartment, passes under a Sconce, where his Periwig hitches, and is left hanging. The Courtiers look on him and laugh: Menaclas looks also, laughs louder than any of them, and turns his Eyes round the Company to see the Man, who shows his Ears, and has lost his Wig. If he goes into the City, after having gone pretty far, he believes himself out of his way, stands still, and asks of such as pass by, where he is. They tell him, the Street he lives in; he enters his own House, runs out in haste, fancying himself deceiv●d. He comes out of the Hall, and finding a Coach at the Stair-foot, takes it to be his own, puts himself into it: The Coachman whips, and thinks he is driving his Master home. Menalcas jumps out, crosses the Court-Yard, mounts the Staircase, runs into the Antichamber, Chamber, and Closet; all is familiar to him, nothing new, he sits down and reposes himself as at his own House. The Master comes in, he rises up to receive him, treats him very civilly, pra●s him to sit, and believes he's paying him the same Honour he uses to give such as Visit him at his own Chamber. He talks, reflects, talks again: The Master of the House is tired and astonished, and Menalcas as much as he. He will not say what he thinks, but supposes the other to be some very impertinent lazy Fellow, who will at last retire; this he hopes, and is patient. The Night comes, when with some difficulty he is undeceived. At another time he pays a Visit to a Lady, and persuading himself that she is visiting him, he sits down in her Elbow-Chair, and thinks not of going. He perceives afterwards the Lady makes long Visits, expects every moment when she will rise, and leave him at liberty, but she tarries yet longer, he grows hungry: Night comes on, and he entreats her to Sup with him; she laughs, and so loud, that at last it wakes him. He Marries in the Morning, forgets it at Night and lies abroad. Some time after his Wife dies in his Arms, he assists at her Funeral; and the next day, when his Servants come to acquaint him that Dinner is on the Table, he demands if his Wife is ready, and they have given her notice on't. This is he who enters a Church, and taking the Blind Man who is set at the Door for a Pillar, and his Dish for a Font, he plunges in his Hand and crosses his Forehead. When he hears of a sudden the Pillar speak, and offer him his Petitions, he turns towards the Choir, he fancies he sees a Desk and a Cushion, he throws himself rudely on him; the Machine bend●, bushes him off, and strives to cry out. Menalcas is surprised to see himself kneeling on the Legs of a very little Man, resting on his Back, his two Arms over his Shoulders● his Hands taking him by the Nose, and stopping his Mouth; he than retires confused and knelt elsewhere. He takes up a Book for Devotion, puts his Slipper into his Pocket instead of a Prayer Book; he is hardly got out of the Church but a Footman runs after him, pulls him by the Sleeve, and asks him, laughing, If he has not got my Lord's Slipper? Menalcas shows him his, and tells him, This is all the Slippers I have about me. The Footman, however, searches him, and gets the Bishop's Slipper whom he just left, whom he found sick by his Fireside, and from whom taking leave, he snatched it instead of a Glove, which was fallen to the Ground. Thus Menalcas goes home with a Slipper less than he came out; he plays at Tric-Trac, and calls for Drink, 'tis brought him, he is to play, and holds the Box in one Hand, and the Glass in the other, and being a very great Oaf, swallows the Dice and almost the Box, throws the Water on the Tables, and drowns the Man he played with. He walks by the Waterside, asks what●s a Clock; they show him a Watch, he scarce looks on it before he forgets both the Hour and the Watch, and throws it into the River as a thing which troubles him. He writes a long Letter, sands the Paper, and then throws it into the Ink-horn. He writes a second, makes up both, and mistakes the Superscription; one of them is sent to a Duke and Peer; and when he opens it, he reads, Mr. Oliver, Pray don't fail to send me my Quarter's Rent, that was due at Lady-day, as soon as possible. His Tenant opens the other, and finds in it, My Lord, I receive, with a blind submission, the Orders which your Grace was pleased. He writes another at Night, and after he has made it up puts out the Candle; he is surprised to be in the dark, and can hardly remember how it happened. Coming down Stairs from the Lovure, he meets another coming up; says Menalcas, You are the Man I looked for, takes him by the Hand, hauls him along with him, they cross several Courts, enter the Halls, go out and come in; he looks more narrowly on the Man he drew after him, he wonders who it should be, has nothing to say to him, lets him go, and turns another way. He often asks you a Question, and is almost out of sight before you can answer him. He finds you at another time in his way. He is ravished to meet you, he just came from your House, where he would have discoursed you about a certain Affair. He contemplates your Fingers; You have, says he, a fine Stone, had it you of Balcis? He leaves you, and continues his March; and this is the important Affair he was so earnest to discourse you about. If he is in company, he begins a Story, which he forgets to end; he laughs in himself, he discovers what he was thinking of, and gives answers to his thoughts. He sings through his Teeth, whistels, rolls up and down in his Chair, makes his moan, is hushed and believes he●s alone. When he is at a Feast, he scrapes insensibly all the Bread on his own Plate; his Neighbours, indeed, want it, as well as Knives and Forks, which he a long while plays with. There are large Spoons invented to serve them the more commodiously; he takes one of them up, plunges it into the Dish, fills it, puts it to his Mouth, and is extremely surprised to see the Porridge on his clothes and Linen, which he thought had been in his Belly. He forgets to drink at Dinner; or if he remembers it, and thinks there's too much Wine filled for him, he flings half on't in the Man's face who sits next him, drinks the rest with a great deal of composure, and can't comprehend why the People laugh, who saw him throw away the Wine he was not willing to drink; he keeps his Bed a day or two, for some light Sickness, he is visited, the Men and Women make a Circle round his Bed; he opens the Quilt before them, and driules in his Sheets. He is carried to the Chartreux; he is shown a Cloister painted by an excellent Hand. The Religious, who explain the Figures, talk of St. Bruno, the Adventure of the Canon, make a long Tale on't, and show the Story in the Picture. Menalcas, who was all the time out of the Cloister, returns and asks the good Father, if 'tis the Canon or St. Bruno who is Damned. By chance he finds himself with a young Widow, he talks to her of her deceased Husband, and asks how he died. The Woman, in whom this discourse renewed her late sorrows, weeps, sighs, and acquaints him with all the particulars of her Husband's distemper, from the Night before the Fever took him, till his last Agonies: Madam, says Menalcas, who had heard her relation very attentively, Have you never another? He bids Dinner be got presently ready, rises before the Fruit is served up, takes his leave of the Company, and you are sure to see him that day in all the noted places of the City, that excepted, where he had made an appointment about the Affair which made him in such haste, and would not suffer him to tarry till his Horses were put to his Coach, but obliged him to trudge out afoot: You may frequently hear him Scold, Chide, and be in a passion with his Domestics for being out of the way. Where are they, says he? What can they be doing? What is become of 'em? When I want them, I can never find them; I'll this Minute give them Warning. While he is speaking they come in; he asks them, in a fury, Whence they came? They answer, From the place he sent them to, and give him a faithful account of their Errand. You are very often mistaken in him and take him for what he is not: For Stupid, because he hears little, and speaks less: For a Fool, because he talks alone, and is subject to a Set of Grimaces, and careless Motions with his Head: For Proud and Uncivil, because when you salute him he takes no notice of you, passes by and neglects it: For an Inconsiderate Man, because he talks of Statutes in a Family that has a Bankrupt belonging to it; of Executions and Scaffolds before a Person whose Father was Beheaded; of Homages before rich Farmers who would pass for Gentleman. He even brings a Bastard into his Family, and pretends to let him live like his Valet; but tho' he would have his Wife and Children know nothing of the Matter, he can't forbear calling him his Son ten times a day. He resolves to marry his Son to a Tradesman's Daughter, and from time to time boasts of his House and Ancestors, and tells him the Menaloas' never used to Match below themselves. In short, he seems as if he were not present, nor heard what the Company discoursed of, when he is himself the subject of their Conversation. He thinks and talks of a sudden, but what he talks is seldom the thing he thinks on; by which means, there is little coherence in any thing he says. He says Yes, commonly instead of No; and when he says No, you must suppose he would say Yes; when he answers you, perhaps his Eyes are fixed on yours, but it does not follow that he sees you, he minds neither you, nor any one else, nor any thing in the World. All that you can draw from him, even when he is most sociable, are some such words as these: Yes, indeed, 'tis true, good, all's well, sincerely, I believe so, certainly: Ah! O Heaven! And some other Monosyllables, which are never spoken in the right place. He never is among those whom he appears to be with; he calls his Footman very seriously, Sir, and his Friend Robin. He says your Reverence to a Prince of the Blood, and your Highness to a Jesuit; he hears Mass. The Priest sneezes, and he cries out, God bless you. He is in company with a Judge, grave by his Character, and venerable by his Age and Dignity; he asks him if such a thing is so, and Menalcas replies, Yes Madam. He came once from the Country, his Lackeys attempted to Rob him and succeeded; they make him Deliver, he gives them his Purse, comes home, tells the Adventure to his Friends, who ask him the circumstances, and he turns them to his Servants: Inquire of my People, says he, they were there.  
* Incivility is not a Vice of the Soul● but the effect of several Vices; of Vanity, Ignorance of Duty, Laziness, Stupidity, Distraction, Contempt of others and Jealousy. If it discovers itself all at the outside of a Man, 'tis the more odious, because 'tis a visible and manifest defect; however, 'tis more or less Offensive, according to the effects it produces.  
* If we say of a choleric, unsteady, quarrelsome, melancholy, formal, capricious Person, 'tis his humour, we shall not excuse him, whatever we fancy; but when we acknowledge he is so without thinking on't, and that these great Errors are not to be remedied, it mitigates the matter.  
* What we call Humour, is a thing too much neglected among Men: They should understand 'tis not enough to be good, unless they also appear so, at least if they would endeavour to be Sociable, qualified for Union and Friendship; that is, if they would be Men. We don't expect the Malicious to be tender and complaisant, but they never want complacency and tenderness when they serve to ensnare the Simple, and set a price on their Artifices.  
* The Generality of Men, when they are choleric, are afterwards injurious; others are injurious, and then choleric: The surprise that we are in at such proceedings, will not always give us time for resentment.  
* Men don't apply themselves enough to embrace all opportunities● wherein they could promote each others satisfaction; when a person takes an Employment on him, it seems as if his design was to have it in his power to oblige and do nothing. The most ready thing in the World is Denial; we never grant but with reflection.  
* Every Man ought to know exactly, what he is to expect from Mankind in general, and from each of them in particular, before he ventures to throw himself into the World.  
* If Poverty is the Mother of Crimes, the defect of the Mind is the Father.  
* 'tis difficult for a Man to have Sense and be a Knave. A true and sharp Genius, Conducts to Order, Truth and Virtue. 'Tis want of Sense and Penetration, which makes a Man obstinate in Evil, as in Error: We strive in vain to correct a Blockhead by satire, which describes him to others, while he will himself not know his own Picture, 'tis like railing to a deaf Man; 'twould be well for the pleasure of Men of Wit and Honour, and for public Vengeance, if a Rogue had some feeling, and were sensible when he is corrected.  
* There are some Vices, for which we are indebted to no body, they were born with us and from time to time are fortified by Custom. There are others which we contract and were before Strangers to us; Men are sometimes born with easy Dispositions, Complacency, a desire to please, but by the treatment they meet from those they live with, or on whom they depend, they are suddenly obliged to change their Measures and even their Nature; they grow melancholy and phlegmatic, humours with which they were before unacquainted: They have another Complexion, and are astonished to find themselves petulant and stubborn.  
* Some may ask why Mankind in General don't compose but one Nation, and have not a proneness to speak one Language; to live under the same Laws, to agree amongst themselves in the same Customs and Worship: for my part, seeing the contrariety of their Inclinations, Taste and Sentiments, I wonder to see seven or eight Persons live under the same Roof, within the same Walls, and make a single Family.  
* There are some strange Fathers, who seem, during the whole course of their Lives, to be preparing Reasons for their Children to be comforted with their Deaths.  
* Every thing is strange in the Humours, Morals, and Manners of Men; one lives Sour, Passionate, Covetous, Furious, Submissive, Laborious and full of his own Interests, who was born Gay, Peaceable, Idle, Magnificent, of a noble Courage, and far from any thing Base or Pitiful: The Cares of Life, the Situation they find themselves in and the Law of Necessity, force Nature and cause such great Changes. Thus at the bottom, such a Man can●t tell what to make of himself, his Outside changes so often; has so many Alterations and Revolutions, that he is really, neither what he thinks he is himself, nor what he appears to be.  
* Life is short and tiresome, it has always something to do; we adjourn our Joy and Repose to the time to come, often the Age, when our best blessings, Youth and Health are already disappeared. The time comes, and we are still surprised with new desires: The Fever seizes or suppresses us; or, if we are cured, 'tis only to desire more time.  
* When a Man desires a favour of a Person, he renders himself to him on Discretion; when he's sure it cannot be denied him, he watches his Opportunities, Parleys and Capitulates●  
* 'Tis so common for Men not to be Happy, and so essential to all Good to be acquired with Trouble, that what is come at easily is suspected. We can hardly comprehend how any thing can be for our advantage, which costs us so little, or how we could reach the ends we proposed by such just Measures: We think we deserve Good Fortune, but ought not to have it very often.  
* The Man who says, He was not born Happy, may at least become so, if he would make use of his Friends and Relations good fortune, and did not envy rob him of this advantage.  
* Tho perhaps I have said somewhere or other that the afflicted are wronged, yet men seem to be born for Misfortune, Grief and Poverty few escape, and since all sorts of disgraces may befall them, they ought to be prepared for all sorts of disgrace.  
* Men meet one another about their affairs with so much difficulty, are so sharp where the least interest is concerned, so apt to be entangled with the least intricacies, are so willing to deceive and so unwilling to be deceived, set so great a value on what belongs to themselves, and so mean a price on what belongs to others; that I protest I know not how or which way they can conclude Marriages, Contracts, Acquisitions, Peace, Truces, Treaties, and Alliances.  
* Among some people Arrogance supplies the place of Greatness, Inhumanity of Steadfastness, and Cheating of Wit.  
Cheats easily believe others as bad as themselves. They cannot be deceived, and then will not deceive a long while.  
I would willingly purchase the Character of a Cheat, if it were only by being stupid, or passing for such.  
We are never honestly deceived, for Malice and Lying always attend Cheating.  
* We hear nothing in the Streets of great Cities, and out of the mouths of those that pass by us, but such words as these; Writs, Executions, Interrogatories, Bonds and Pleading: Is it thus because the least equity ought not to be seen in the world, or should it be on the con●●ary filled with persons who are always demanding what is not their due, or refusing very plainly to pay what they owe.  
* The Invention of Parchments is a scandal to Humanity; what a shame 'tis that men can't keep their words without being forced to it.  
If you carry away Passion, Interest and Injustice, what a Calm would there be in the greatest Cities subsistence? and the cares of Life would not make a third part of the confusion.  
* Nothing helps a man more to bear quietly the injuries he receives from Parents and Friends, than a reflection on the vices of humanity; and how costly 'tis for persons to be constant, generous and faithful, or to love any thing better than their own Interests. He knows their capacity, and does not require them to penetrate a solid, fly in the Air, or be equitable. He hates Mankind in general, for having no greater respect for Virtue. But he excuses it in particulars, he even is tempted by the highest motives to love 'em, and studies as much as possible to deserve the same indulgence.  
* There are certain Goods which we most passionately desire, and the Idea of them only moves and transports us. If we happen to obtain 'em, we enjoy them more peaceably than we thought we should, and are less busy in rejoicing over them, than in aspiring after greater.  
* There are some evils, some frightful and horrible misfortunes, which we dare not think on, the prospect of 'em only makes us tremble. If they chance to fall on us, we find more succour than we could imagine, arm ourselves against our fortune, and do better than our hopes.  
* Sometimes a pleasant House falling to us, a fine Horse, or a pretty Dog presented us, a Suit of Tapestry, or a Watch, will mitigate a vast loss.  
* ay often suppose that men were to live for ever in this world: And reflect afterwards whether 'tis possible for them to do more towards their establishment, than they do now.  
* If Life is miserable 'tis painful to live; if happy, 'tis dreadful to die; one comes from t'other.  
* There●s nothing Men are ●o fond to preserve, and less careful about it than Life.  
* We are afraid of old age, but we a●e not sure we can attain it.  
* Death never happens but once, yet we feel it every moment of our Lives. 'Tis worse to apprehend than to suffer.  
* Irene is with difficulty conveyed to the Temple of Aesculapius, to consult the God about all her Ills. She complains fi●st that she's weary and fatigued. The God pronounces 'tis occasioned by the length of her Journey. She says she has no stomach to her Supper; the Oracle bids her eat the less at Dinne●. She adds, she's troubled a nights with broken Slumbers; he bids her never lie a Bed by day. She asks how her grossness may be prevented; the Oracle replies, she ought to rise before noon, and now and then make use of her Legs a little. She declares that Wine disagrees with her; the Oracle bids her drink Water. That she has a bad digestion; he tells her she must go into a Diet. My sight, says she, fails. Use Spectacles, says Aesculapius. I grow weak, I amed half so strong and healthy as I have been. You grow old, says the God. But how, says she, shall I cure this Languishing? Why you must die like your Grandfather and Grandmother, if you●ll get rid on't quickly. What advice dost thou give me, thou Son of Apollo, cries Irene? Is this the mighty Skill which men praise and worship you for? What hast thou told me rare or mysterious? Did not I know thus much before? The God answers, Why did you not put it in practice then, without coming so far out of your way to seek me, and shortening your days by a tedious Voyage to no purpose?  
* Let us think, when we are sighing for the loss of our past youth, which will no more return; Dotage will come, than we shall regret the age of our full strength, which we now enjoy, and done't enough esteem.  
* Inquietude, fear and dejection cannot keep Death far from us, yet I question if excessive laughter becomes men who are mortal.  
* What there is in Death uncertain, is a little sweetened by what there is certain. There's something indefinite in time, which looks like infinite, and is thence called Eternity.  
* We hope to grow old, and we fear old age; that is, we are willing to live, and afraid to die.  
die One had better give way to Nature, and fear Death, than be always striving against it, arming ourselves with Reasons, and be our own Slaves, that we may not fear it.  
* If some men dy●d, and others did not, Death would indeed be a terrible affliction.  
* A long Sickness seems to be plac●d between Life and Death, that Death itself may be a comfort to those who die, and those who survive them.  
* To speak li●e Men, Death is in one thing very good: It puts an end to old age.  
The Death which prevents Dotage, comes more seasonable, than that which ends it.  
* The regret men have for the time they have ill spent, does not always induce them to spend what remains better.  
* Life is a kind of Sleep, old men sleep longest: They never begin to wake, but when they are to die. If then they run over the whole course of their lives year by year, they find frequently neither Virtues nor commendable actions enough to distinguish them one from another. They confound their different ages. They see nothing sufficiently remarkable to measure the time they have liv●d by. They have had confused Dreams, without any form or coherence. However, they fancy, like those who awake, that they have slept a long while.  
* There are but three events which happen to Mankind; Birth, Life, and Death. They know nothing of their Birth, suffer Death, and forget Life.  
* There is a time, which precedes Reason, when we live like other Animals by instinct, of which we can't trace the least footsteps. There's a second time, when Reason discovers itself when 'tis formed, and might act, if it were not obscured, and almost extinguished by the vices of Constitution, and a Chain of Passions, which succeed one another, and lead to the third and last age. Reason then is in its force, and might bring forth, but 'tis soon lessened and weakened by years, sickness and sorrow; rendered useless by the disorder of the Machine, which is now declining; yet these years, imperfect as they are, make the Life of a Man.  
* Children are haughty, disdainful, choleric, envious, inquisitive, self-interested, lazy, light, fearful, intemperate, liars, dissemblers, laugh easily, and are soon pleased, have immoderate joys and afflictions on the least subjects; would not have ill done 'em, but love to do ill. In this they are men long before they are one and twenty.  
* Children think not of what's past, nor what●s to come; but rejoice o'er the present time, which few of us do.  
* There seems to be but one character of Childhood: The Manners at that age is in all much the same, and it must be with a very nice observation, that you can perceive a difference. It augments with Reason, because with it the Passions and Vices increase, which make men so unlike one another, and so contrary to themselves.  
* Children have in their childhood what old men lose, Imagination and Memory, which are very useful to them in their little sports and amusements; by these helps they repeat what they have heard, and mimic what they see done. By these they work after others, or invent themselves a thousand little things to divert them● Make Feasts, and entertain themselves with good cheer, are transported into Enchanted Palaces and Castles, have rich equipages, and a train of followers, lead Armies, give Battle, and rejoice in the pleasure of Victory, talk of Kings and greatest Princes, are themselves Kings, have Subjects, possess Treasures, which they make of Leaves, Boughs, Shells or Sand; and what they are ignorant of in the following part of their lives. They know at this Age how to be arbiters of their fortune, and masters of their own happiness.  
* There are no exterior vices, or bodily defects, which are not perceived by Children. They strike 'em at first sight, and they know how to express 'em in agreeable words. Men could not be more happy in their terms; but when they become men, they are loaded in their turn with the same imperfections, and are themselves mocked.  
* 'Tis the only care of Children to find out their Master's weakness, and the weakness of those to whom they must be subject; when they have found it, they get above 'em, and usurp an Ascendant over them, which they never part with; for what deprived them of their Superiority, will keep them from recovering it.  
* Idleness, Negligence, and Laziness, Vices so natural to Children, are not to be seen in 'em while they are at play: They are then lively, heedful, exact, lovers of rule and order, never pardon one another the least faults: Begin again several times if but one thing is wanting. Certain presages that they may hereafter neglect their duty, but will forget nothing that can promote their pleasure.  
* To Children, Gardens, Houses, Furniture, Men and Beasts appear great. To Men, the things of the world, and I dare say, for the same reason, because they are little.  
* Children begin among themselves with a popular state, where every one is master, and what is very natural, can't agree so long before they go on to a Monarchy. One of 'em distinguishes himself from the rest, either by a greater vivacity, strength, or a more exact knowledge of their little sports and laws; some differ from him, and then they form an absolute Government, which is guided only by pleasure.  
* Who doubts but Children conceive, judge, and reason to the purpose? If 'tis on small things. Consider they are Children, and without much experience. If in bad phrases, 'tis less their fault than their Parents and Masters.  
* It balks the minds of Children to punish them for Crimes they have not really committed, or to be severe with them for light offences. They know exactly, and better than any one, what they deserve, and deserve what they fear, they know when they are chastised. If 'tis with or without reason and unjust, sufferings do 'em more harm than Impunity.  
* No Man lives long enough to profit himself by his faults, he is committing 'em during the whole course of his life, and as much as he can do at last, is to die corrected.  
Nothing pleases a man more than to know he has avoided a foolish action.  
* Men are loath to confess their faults: They hide them, or change their quality; 'tis this gives the Director an advantage over the Confessor.  
* Blockheads faults are sometimes so odd, and so difficult to foresee, that wise men are at a loss to know how they could commit 'em, and fools only can be profited by them.  
* A spirit of party and faction sets the Great men and the Mob on an equal foot.  
* Vanity and Decency make us do the same things in the same manner, which we should do by inclination and duty: A man died at Paris of a Fever, which he got by waking with his Wife, whom he hated.  
* All men in their hearts covet esteem, yet are loath any one should discover they are willing to be esteemed. Thus men pass for Virtuous, that they may draw some other advantages from it, besides Virtue itself, I would say Esteem and Praise. This should no longer be thought Virtue, but a love for Praise and Esteem, and Vanity: Men are very vain Creatures, and of all things hate to be thought so.  
* A vain man finds his account in speaking good or evil of himself, a modest man never talks of himself. We can●t better comprehend the ridiculousness of Vanity, and what a scandalous Vice 'tis, than by observing how much 'tis afraid to be seen, and how it often hides itself under the appearance of Modesty.  
False Modesty is the most cunning sort of Vanity: By this a man never appears what he is; on the contrary, raises a reputation by the Virtue, quite opposite to the Vice, which forms his Character: This is a Lie; false Glory is the Rock of Vanity; it tempts men to acquire esteem by things which they indeed possess, but are frivolous, and not fit for a man to value himself on; this is an Error.  
* Men speak of themselves in such a manner, that if they grant they are sometimes guilty of a few little faults, or have some small defects; these very faults and defects imply fine Talents and great Qualifications. Thus they complain of a bad memory, well enough contented, otherwise in their good sense and judgement; forgive people when they reproach them, for being distracted or whimsical, imagining it the sign of Wit; acknowledge they are awkard, and can do nothing with their hands, comforting themselves in the loss of these little qualities, for those of their Minds, and the gifts of their Souls, which every one allow them. Talk of their negligence in phrases which denote their disinterest, and their being void of ambition. They are not ashamed of being Slovens, which shows only that they are heedless about little things, and seems to suppose in them an application for things solid and essential. A Soldier affects to say, 'twas too much rashness and curiosity engaged him in the Trenches, or at such a dangerous post, without being on duty, or commanded there. And adds, that the General chid him for't. Thus a good hand, and a solid genius, born with all the prudence which other men endeavour in vain to acquire; who has strengthened the temper of his mind by great experience; whom the number, weight, variety, difficulty, and importance of affairs employ without incumbering; who by his large insight and penetration makes himself maste● of all events: who, very far from consulting the notions and reflections written on Government and Politics, is perhaps one of those sublime Souls born to rule others, and from whose examples those rules were made; who is led aside by the great things he does, from the pleasant and agreeable things he might read, and needs only to turn over his own life and actions; a man thus formed may say safely, without doing himself any prejudice, that he knows nothing of Books, and never reads.  
* Men would sometimes hide their imperfections, or lessen the opinion we have of 'em, by confessing them freely. A Blockhead laughs and says, I am a very ignorant fellow. A man above threescore says, I●m old and doting. And one in want, that he is wretched poor.  
* There is either no such thing as Modesty, or 'tis confounded with something in itself quite different. If we take it for an interior sentiment, which makes a man seem mean in his own eyes, this is a supernatural Virtue, and we call it Humility. Man naturally thinks proudly and haughtily of himself, and thinks thus of no body but himself. Modesty only tends to qualify this disposition; 'tis an exterior Virtue, which governs our eyes, conduct, words, tone, and obliges a man to act with others to outward appearance, as if is was not true, that he counted them for nothing.  
* The world is full of people, who making by custom and outward appearance, a comparison of themselves with others, always decide in favour of their own merit, and act accordingly.  
* You say, men must be modest. All persons well born say the same in return; then do you take care that such as give way by their modesty, may not be too much tyrannised over, and that when they bend, they be not broken to pieces.  
Thus some say, people should be modest in their Dress. Men of merit desire nothing more: But the world are for Ornament: We give it them. They are covetous of superfluity, and we show it. Some value others for their fine Linen; or rich silks, and we cannot always refuse esteem, even on these terms. There are some places where a full or a thin Sword-knot will get or hinder a man admittance.  
* Vanity, and the great value we have for ourselves, make us imagine, that others carry it very proudly towards us, which is sometimes true, and often false. A modest man has not this kind of delicacy.  
* As we ought to deny ourselves the vanity of thinking, others regard us with so much curiosity and esteem, that they are always talking of our Merit, and in our commendation. So we should have so much confidence in ourselves, that we should not fancy when any whisper, 'tis to speak ill of us, and that they never laugh, but to mock us.  
* Whence come it that Aleippus salutes me to day, smiles, and throws himself almost out of the Coach, to take notice of me. I am not rich, and am a fool, according to the Rules, he should not have seen me. Oh now I have hit on't, 'twas that I might see him in the same seat with a person of the first quality.  
* Men are so full of themselves that every thing they do partakes on't. They love to be seen, to be shown, to be saluted, even by such as don't know 'em; if they forget them, they are presently haughty. They would have people conjure to find out who they are.  
* We never seek happiness in ourselves, but in the opinion of men, whom we know to be flatterers, unsincere, unjust, envious, suspicious and prepossessed: Unaccountable folly!  
* One would think men could not laugh, but at what is really ridiculous, there are some people who laugh as well at what is not so, as at what is. If you are a fool, and inconsiderate, and something impertinent escapes you, they laugh at you. If you are wise, and say nothing but reasonable things in a proper accent, they however laugh at you.  
* Those who ravish our Wealth from us, by violence and injustice, or rob us of our honour by calumnies, show that they hate us, but 'tis not at all an argument, that they have lost all manner of esteem for us; by which means we are not rendered incapable of forgiving them, and being one time or other friends with 'em. Mocking on the contrary, is, of all injuries, the least pardonable. 'Tis the language of contempt, and the best way by which it makes itself understood, it attacks a man in his innermost entrenchment: The good opinion he has of himself; it aims at making him ridiculous in his own eyes; and thus convincing him, that the person who mocks him, cannot have a worse disposition towards him, renders him irreconcilable.  
'Tis monstrous to consider how easy and pleased we are, when we rally, play upon, and despise others, and how angry and choleric when we are ourselves rallied, played upon, and despised.  
* Sickness and Poverty once felt, harden men against others Afflictions, but while they are themselves afflicted they are very compassionate.  
* In Souls well born, Feasts, Sights and Music have so strange an Operation, that they comfort them for the misfortunes of their Friends and nearest Relations.  
* A great Soul is above injury, injustice, grief or raillery, and would be invulnerable, were it not sensible of compassion.  
* There is a kind of shame, in being happy at the sight of certain miseries.  
* Men are readily acquainted with their least advantages, and backward enough to examine their defects. They are never ignorant of their fine Eyebrows and handsome Nails, but loath to know they have lost an Eye, and will not at all be persuaded, that they want understanding. Ron●ilius puts off his Glove to show his white Hand, remembers very punctually to talk of his little Shoes, that he may be supposed to have a little Foot. He laughs at things pleasant or serious, to show his fine set of Teeth, throws back his Wig, that every one may see his Ears are well made. If he does not dance, 'tis because he is not well satisfied with his Shapes, which are somewhat too square; he knows perfectly well what is for his Interest, one thing only excepted, he wants Wit, and is always talking.  
* Men reckon the virtues of the heart worth nothing, and idolise their Wit and bodily endowments. He who says coldly of himself, and she thinks without hurting modesty, that he is good, constant, faithful sincere, just, and grateful, durst not say he is brisk, has fine Teeth, and a soft hand, he's not so vain, that would be too much for him. 'Tis true, there are two virtues which men admire; Bravery and Liberality, because there are two things which they very much esteem, and these virtues always neglect Life and Money, yet no body boasts of himself, that he●s Brave or Liberal. No body says of himself, at least without Reason, that he is beautiful, generous, or sublime. Men value those qualifications at too high a Price, they are contented with thinking so.  
* Whatever likeness appears between Jealousy and Emulation, there is as vast a difference as between Vice and Virtue: Jealousy and Emulation operate on the same object, another's Wealth or Merit with this difference; the last is a Sentiment, voluntary, bold, sincere, which renders the Soul fruitful, and profits by great examples, so far as often to excel what it admires. The former on the other hand is a violent motion, and a forced confession of the Merit it does not possess, which goes so far as even to deny the virtue of the Objects where it exists; or if 'tis compelled to confess it, refuses to commend 'em, and envies their reward. A barren passion which leaves a man in the same state it found him, fills him with high Ideas of himself and his reputation, and renders him cold and sullen on another man's Actions or Works, which makes him astonished to see any Qualifications in the world better than his own, or other men enjoy Talents that offend him. A shameful Vice which grows by its excess to vanity and presumption, and does not so much persuade him who is infected with it, that he has more Sense and Merit than others, as that he alone has Sense and Merit.  
Emulation and Jealousy are always found in persons of the same Art, the same Talents and Conditions. The vilest Artificers, are most subject to Jealousy. Those who profess the liberal Arts, or the Bell's Lettres ● as Painters, Musicians, Orators, Poets, and all those who pretend to write, ought not to be capable of any thing but emulation.  
Jealousy is never free from some sort of envy. These two passions often destroy one another. On the contrary, envy is sometimes separated from jealousy, as when it exercises itself on conditions, very much above our own on Prodigious Fortunes, Favour or Employs.  
Envy and hatred are ever united, they strengthen one another in the same object, and without being known to each other. One fixes on the Person, the other settles on his State and Condition.  
A man of Sense is not jealous of a Cuttler that works up a good Sword, or a Statuary who makes a good Figure, he's sure there are in these Arts Rules and Methods, which he does not apprehend, and Tools to be managed, whose use●, names, and forms he does not know, and he satisfies himself with not being Master of a Trade, when he considers he has not served an Apprenticeship to it; he may be on the contrary exposed to envy, and even jealousy toward a Minister of State, and those who govern, as if Reason and good Sense, which are common to both of them, were the only instruments that are made use of, in ruling a Nation and presiding over public Affairs, and that they could supply the place of Rules, Precepts, and Experience.  
* We meet with few very dull and stupid Souls, and fewer sublime and transcendent. The generality of Mankind sails between these two extremes. The interval is filled with a great number of ordinary Genius's, which are very useful, and serve to support a Commonwealth. It contains what is agreeable and profitable, Commerce, Business, War, Navigation, Arts, Trades, Memory, Intrigue, Society, and Conversation.  
* All the Sense in the world is useless to him that has none; he has no sight, and can't be profited by another man's.  
* To feel the want of Reason, is next to having it, a fool is not capable of this knowledge. The best thing we can have after Sense, is to apprehend that we need it, without Sense a man might then know how to behave himself so, as not to be a Sot, a Coxcomb, or Impertinent.  
* A man who has but a little Sense, is serious and of an even frame, he never laughs, banters, and makes any thing of a trifle, as incapable of rising higher, as of accommodating himself to what he thinks below him; he can hardly condescend to toy with his Children.  
* Every one says of a Coxcomb, that he's a Coxcomb. No body dares tell him so to his face; he dies without knowing it, and no body is revenged on him.  
* What a strange misunderstanding there is between the Heart and the Mind. Phi●losophers live wickedly with all their Maxims, and Politicians full of their notions and reflections, can't govern themselves.  
* Wit wears like other things. Sciences like food nourish us, and consume.  
* Ordinary men are sometimes blest with a thousand unprofitable virtues, having no occasion to make use of them.  
* We meet some men who support easily the weight of favour and power, who make their Greatness familiar to them, and are not giddy on the high Posts they are advanced to. On the contrary, those whom fortune, without choice or discernment, has blindly almost overwhelmed with Blessings, act proudly, and without moderation. Their Eyes, their Conduct, their Tone, and difficulty of access declare a long while the admiration they are in themselves, to see they are grown so eminent. They become in the end so wild, that their fall only can tame them.  
* A stout robust Fellow, with a broad pair of Shoulders, carries heavy burdens, with a good grace, and keeps one hand at liberty, while a Dwarf would be crushed with half on't. Thus eminent Stations make great men yet more great, and little ones less.  
* Some Men, who become extraordinary Persons, skud along with full Sail in a Sea, where others are lost and broken in pieces, are advanced and promoted, by ways quite opposite to those which seem most sure for promotion or advancement; they draw from their irregularity and folly all the advantage of a consummate Wisdom. They are devoted to others, particularly to the Great, on whom they depend, and in their favour repose all their hopes. They don't serve, but they amuse them. Men of Merit and Capacity are useful to the Great; these are necessary, they are always ready with their Jests, which are as meritorious in them, as the most valuable Actions are in others. And by being comical obtain the most grave Posts, and the most serious Dignities by continual grimaces. They have done in time, and before they are aware, find themselves in a condition, which they neither hoped nor feared; all that remains of them in the end is the example of their Fortune, which is dangerous for any one to follow.  
* 'Tis expected of some persons, who were once capable of a noble heroic Action, that without being spent by such vast efforts as were required to produce it, they should at least be as Wise and Judicious as commonly men are, that they should not be guilty of any little meanness unbecoming the reputation they acquired, that by mingling with the people, giving 'em an opportunity to view them at too little a distance, they should not suffer them to let their curiosity and admiration grow to indifference, and perhaps to contempt.  
'Tis easier for some men to enrich themselves with a thousand virtues, than to correct one single defect. They are even so unfortunate, that this Vice often agrees least with their condition, and makes ●em most ridiculous. It lessens the Splendour of their great Qualifications, hinders 'em from being perfect, and prevents 'em of a complete reputation; a greater knowledge and higher degrees of morality are not exacted of them, nor that they should be more fond of order or discipline, more faithful to their Duty, more zealous for the public good, or more laborious; we would only desire them to be less amorous.  
* Some men in the course of their lives, differ so much from themselves as to their inclinations, that we shall certainly mistake them, if we judge of them only by what appeared in them in their youth● Some were pious, wise, and learned, who by the inseparable softness of a smiling fortune too long continued, are so no more: others begin their lives, by applying all their thoughts to promote their pleasures, whom at last misfortunes have rendered religious, just, and temperate. It must indeed be very great causes which work these effects, and they are generally so, when men are prevailed on to make such changes. They get then an experienced sincerity, learned by patience and adversity. They owe their politeness, contemplation, and the high capacity they sometimes acquire, to their commerce with women, a confinement at home, and the leisure of a bad fortune.  
All men's misfortunes proceed from their inability to be alone from Gaming, Riot, Extravagance, Wine, womans, Ignorance, Railing, Envy, and forgetting their duty towards God and themselves.  
* Men are sometimes insufferable to themselves, shades and solitude trouble them, creating in them fears and vain terrors. The least evil that can befall 'em i● to give way to trouble.  
* Lazyness begets trouble, and the application which some men have for pleasure, is never free from it; Gaming, and keeping much company, has its share; but he who works hard, has enough to do with himself otherwise.  
* The greatest part of mankind employ their first years to make their last miserable.  
* There are some works which begin at one end of the Alphabet and end at the other; good, bad, and worst, all find room in 'em, nothing of whatever nature is forgot; after a great deal of pains, and much affectation, we call them the sport of the mind; and there is the same sport in men's conduct; when they have begun a thing they must end it, and try all ways to effect it; perhaps it might be better to change their design, or to let it quite alone, but the difficulty and oddness of the thing temp● 'em to proceed, they go on, and are encouraged by a spirit of contradiction and vanity, which serves instead of Reason, that gives 'em over, and desists being concerned with them. This way of management is found, even in the most virtuous actions, and often in Religion itself.  
* Duty is that which costs us most, because in practising it, we do only what we are strictly obliged to, and we are seldom praised for●t. P●aise is of all things the greatest excitement to commendable Actions and supports us in our erterprises. Nicius loves a pompous Charity, which gets him the Government over the necessities of the poor, makes him the Depository of their Income, and his house an Hospital to distribute it in; his Gates are open for any Man or Woman that has a blue Gown and a Badge. Every one sees and talks of him thus, and who is there that dare suspect his honesty besides his Creditors.  
* Gerontes died of mere old Age, without signing the Will that had lain by him thirty years: His Estate fell among several Relations, though he had been kept alive purely by the care of his Wife Asteria, who, young as she was, stood always near him, comforted his old Age, and at last closed his Eyes. But he has not left her money enough to get her another old Husband.  
* When people are loath to sell their Offices in their doatage● or to resign 'em to others; they persuade themselves that they are immortal, and hope certainly that death has nothing to do with them, or if they believe death may one time or other overtake 'em, yet their loving themselves and no body else, forces 'em to keep what they have.  
* Faustus is a Rake, a Prodigal, a Libertine, Ungrateful and Choleric, yet his Uncle Aurelius can't hate him, nor disinherit him.  
Frontin, his other Nephew, after twenty years known honesty, and a blind complaisence for this old man, could never gain his favour, nor get any thing at his Death, but a small pension, which Faustus, his Uncle's Executor, is to pay him.  
* Hatred is so durable and so obstinate, that reconciliation on a sick Bed is the greatest sign of death.  
* We insinuate ourselves into the favour of others, either by flattering their passions or pitying their afflictions. These are the only ways we have to show our concern for 'em, whence it proceeds, that the rich are least tractable.  
* Softness and voluptuousness are innate, they are born with men and die with them, happy, or unhappy accidents never cure 'em, good and bad fortune equally produce them.  
* The worst sight in the world is an old man in Love.  
* Few people remember that they have been young, and how hard it was then to live chaste and temperate. The first thing men do, when they have renounced pleasure, either out of decency, surfeit, or conviction, is to condemn it in others.  
This sort of management is however seldom free from a particular affection for those very things they left off, but they would have no body enjoy the pleasure they can no longer enjoy themselves, which proceeds more from Jealousy than any thing else.  
* 'Tis not that old men apprehend that they shall want money one time or other, which makes them covetous; for some of them have such prodigious heaps, that 'tis impossible for those fears to prevail over them. Besides, how can they fear in their doatage that they shall want necessaries, when they voluntarily deny themselves of 'em, to satisfy their Avarice? Neither is it a desire to leave vast sums to their Children, for they naturally love no body but themselves, and supposing otherwise, there are many Misers who have no Heirs. This Vice is rather the effect of Age and Constitution in old men, who as naturally abandon themselves to it, then, as they did to their pleasures in their youth, or their ambition in their Manhood.  
* There's no need of vigour, youth, or Health to be covetous, nor is there any occasion for a man●s being always scraping up Money, or giving himself the least disquiet to save it: Such deprive themselves of riches only to lock 'em up in their Coffers. This agrees with their years, 'tis a passion incident to every one that's old; and they would be more than men if it never touched them.  
There are some people who are badly lodged, lie hard, wear wretched clothes, and eat the worst meat, who deprive themselves of the society of men, and live in a continual solitude; who are in pain for the time present, past, and to come; whose Lives are a perpetual penance, who have cunningly found out the most troublesome way to Perdition. I mean the covetous.  
* Old men please themselves in remembering their youth: They love the places where they passed it. The persons with whom they then began an acquaintance are dear to them. They affect certain words which they used to speak when they were young. They keep up the old manner of singing and dancing, boast of the fashions in use formerly, in clothes, furniture, and equipages. They can't yet disapprove the things which served their passions, but are always calling 'em to mind. How can one imagine they should prefer new Customs and Modes which they have no share in, from which they have nothing to hope, which young men have invented, and in their turn get by them such great advantages over the old.  
* Too much negligence, as well as too much nicety in dressing, increases old men's wrinkles, and makes 'em look older.  
* An old man is proud, disdainful and troublesome, if he has not a great deal of sense.  
* An old man who has lived at Court has good sense, and a faithful memory, is an inestimable treasure, he is full of deeds and maxims. One may find in him the history of the Age, adorned with a great many curious circumstances, which we never met with in our reading; from him we may learn such rules for our conduct and manners, that are to be depended on, being founded on experience.  
* Young men are incapacited by their passions, for accommodating themselves to solitude, as well as the old can.  
* Phidippus, old as he is, is very nice and effeminate, even to little delicacies, he eats, drinks, sleeps, and plays by art; he scrupulously observes the least Rules he has prescribed himself, which tend to the ease of his person; and if, according to his usual measures, he ought not to break 'em, a Mistress would not tempt him to do it. He is almost overwhelmed with superfluities, which custom has at last rendered necessary for him; he does all he can to keep himself alive, and employs the remains of his life in making its loss more grievous: Imagine then if he is not enough afraid of dying.  
* Gnathon lives for no body but himself: The rest of the world are to him as if they were not in being; not satisfy●d in taking the first seat at a board, he alone fills the place of two other men; he forgets the Dinner is provided for him and all the company, he makes himself master of the Dish, and looks on each Service as his own; he never fixes himself to one sort of Meat, he tries all, tastes all, no hands are seen on the Table but his, he turns about the Dishes, manages the Meat, tears it to pieces, and if the Guests will dine, it must be on his leave. He never spares any of his nasty customs, enough to spoil the stomaches of such as are most hungry. You see the Gravy and the Sauce run over his Beard and Chin, if he takes part of a Ragou out of a Dish, he spills it by the way on other Dishes, on the Cloth, and you may distinguish his Plate by the tracts he makes to it; he eats with a great deal of bustle and noise, rolls his eyes, and uses the Table as if it were a Manger, picks his teeth, and continues eating; he thinks himself always at home, and behaves himself at a Play, as if he were in his Bedchamber; when he rides in the Coach it must be always forward, he grows pale and swoons if he's set backward; when he travels, he gets first to the Inn, chooses the best Chamber and Bed for himself: His own and other men's Servants run about his occasions, baggage and equipage, every thing is his he lays his hands on, he troubles every one, troubles himself for none, pities none, knows no evils but his own, his Spleen and Choler, weeps for no body's death, and fears no bodies but his own, and to save himself would willingly consent to the extirpation of mankind.  
* Cliton never had but two things to do in his life, to dine at noon, and sup at night; he seemed only born for digestion, his whole life was but one entertainment, he was always talking of the Courses which were served up at his last Meal, how many Soups there were, what sort, what Roast-meat, what dainties; and he never forgot the Dishes that made the first Course; he remembered the several Fruits and different kinds of Sweetmeats, all the Wines, and every sort of Liquor that was drank; he was perfectly well versed in the language of the Kitchen, and 'twould have been difficult to have dined at a good Table where he was not known; he had however a certain Palace, which he seldom changed, and was never exposed to the dismal inconveniency of making a bad Dinner,, eating a bad Ragou, or drinking indifferent Wine. He was, in short, a person admirable in his way, he brought the art of feeding one self well, to the highest perfection, and 'tis to be feared we shall never see his fellow, who will eat so much, and so nicely as h● did; he was the judge of good Bits, and it had been criminal to like any, which he did not approve. But he is no more, he was to the last gasp born to the Table, he eat in his last minutes he eats where ever he is, and should he rise again from the Grave, 'twould be only to eat.  
* Ruffinus begins to turn grey, but he's healthy; his Colour and his quick Eye, promise him at least twenty years more. He is gay, jolly, familiar, and indifferent; he laughs heartily aloud and fears nothing; he is content with himself and what belongs to him; he's satisfied with his little fortune, and calls himself happy. Some time since his only Son died, who was the hopes of the Family, and might have been its honour; he resigned his tears to others, he said, My Son is dead, 'twill be the death of his Mother, and was comforted. He has no passions, no friends nor enemies; no body troubles him; all the world agrees with him, every thing suits him, he talks to those he never saw before, with the same liberty and confidence, as to those he calls his old friends; he tells them presently all his Stories and Puns He is accosted, forsaken; he takes no notice on't, but the tale he begun to one person, he finishes to another that comes afrer him.  
* N .... is less worn out with age than disease, the poor Gentleman is but threescore and eight, but alas he has the Gout and the Gravel, looks meager, and has all the symptoms of decay, he marles his Lands, and reckons that he must not dung 'em this fifteen years; he plants a young Wood, and hopes that in less than twenty years 'twill be a good shade for him. He builds him a Stone House, makes its corners firm with Iron plates, and assures you, coughing in a weak languishing tone, that he shall never see the end on't. He walks into his Laboratory, supported by his Valets; he shows his friends what he has done● and tells them, what he designs to do: He does not build for his Children, for he has none, nor for his Heirs, they are mean persons, and he long since quarrelled with them. 'Tis for himself only who must expire to morrow.  
* Antagoras has a trivial and popular Phiz: 'Tis as well known to the Mob, as the Giants at Guildhall. Every morning he runs up and down the Courts of Justice, and every evening walks the Streets and Squares, as if he had every where a Cause on foot: He has been a Pettyfogger these 40 years, always nearer the end of his life than his business. There has not been a troublesome Suit depending since he put on the Gown, but he has had a hand in't. His name becomes the Solicitors mouth, and agrees as well with Plaintiff and Defendant, as the substantive with the adjective. He's every body's Kinsman, and every one's Enemy. There's scarce a Family but has some quarrel with him, or he with them. He is perpetually in Commissions of Bankrupt and Statutes, always putting Judgements in Execution, and scattering Writs. He finds some leisure minutes for a few private visits, where he talks of Briefs, Trials, and false News. You leave him one hour at one end of the Town, and find him the next at another. If perhaps he has been there before you, you'll hear of him by the lies he has left behind him. His fellow Lawyers meet him frequently at a Judge's Chamber, where his affairs must be first expedited, or neither they nor the Judge will have any peace with him.  
* Men live a great while, opposing some, and injuring others, and die at last, worn out with age, after having caused as many evils, as they suffered.  
* There must, I confess, be Judgements, Seizures, Prison, and Executions. But Justice and Law apart, 'tis always strange to me, when I consider with what violence and fury men act towards one another.  
* We meet with certain wild Animals, male and female, spread over the Country. They are black and tanned, united to the Earth, which they are always digging and turning up and down with an unwearyed resolution. They have something like an articulate voice, when they stand on their feet they discover a manlike face, and indeed are men, at night they retire into their Burries, where they live on black Bread, Water and Raisins. They spare other men the trouble of sowing, labouring, and reaping for their maintenance, and deserve, one would think, that they should not want the Bread they themselves sow.  
* Don Fernando in his Province lives lazy, is ignorant, quarrelsome, knavish, intemperate, and impertinent, draws his Sword against his Neighbours, and exposes his Life for nothing, he kills men for trifles, and must expect to be himself killed for as little reason.  
* A Country Nobleman, useless to his nation, family, or himself, oftentimes without house, clothes, or the least merit, tells you ten times a day, that he●s a Gentleman, despises Citizens, and Tradesmen, spends his time among Parchments and old Deeds, which he would not part with for a Chancellors Mace.  
* Power, favours, genius, richest dignity, nobility, force, industry, capacity, virtue, love, weakness, stupidity, poverty, impotence, vilenage and servility, mingle one with another in a thousand various manners, and compound one for the other in several subjects, and this agreement makes the harmony we find in different qualities and conditions. When people know each others strength and weaknesses, they act reciprocally as they believe it their duty. They know their equals, understand the respect they owe their superiors, and what others owe them, from whence proceed familiarity, deference, pride and contempt. This is the reason which induces men in places of concourse and public meeting, to be willing to avoid some, and court others; that they are proud of some, and asham●d of others. This is the reason why the very person who Complemented you, with whom you are desirous to converse, thinks you troublesome and quits you; the same perhaps finds the next step the treatment he gave. The same person that blushes to meet a man, another blushes to meet him. The same person who disdains here, is disdained there. 'Tis common enough too for people to despise such as despise them. Miserable disposition! since then 'tis certain that what we gain on one side, we lose on another; should not us do better, if we even renounced all manner of Pride and Haughtiness, which so little agree with humane frailties, and resolv●d among ourselves to treat each other with mutual goodness, by which means we should at once gain these two mighty advantages, never to be mortified ourselves, and never to mortify others.  
* Instead of being frighted or ashamed at the Title of Philosophers, every body ought to have a good knowledge in Philosophy: it agrees with every one; its practice is useful to people of all Ages, Sexes, and Conditions. It comforts us for others happinesses, and for the advancement of such as we think did not deserve it, for our own misfortunes, the declension of our Estate or Beauty; it arms us against Poverty, Age, Sickness and Death, against Fools and Buffoons. 'Twill help us to live well without a Wise, or to make her tolerable if we have one.  
* Men are one hour overjoyed with little accidents, and overcome with grief the next for the least disappointments. Nothing is more unequal and incoherent than such sudden revolutions in men●s hearts and minds. This would be prevented, if we set a true value on the things of this world●  
* ●Tis as difficult to find a vain man who believes himself too happy, as a modest man who believes he's too unhappy.  
* When I look on Princes or their Minister's Fortune, I always am prevented from thinking myself unhappy, by considering at the same time the fate of the Ploughman, Soldier and Mason.  
* There's but one real misfortune which can befall a man, and that is to find himself in a fault, or have any thing to reproach himself with.  
* Men are generally more capable of great endeavours to obtain their ends, than of a long perseverance. Their laziness and inconstancy rob them of the fruits of the best beginnings: They are overtaken by such as they left behind them, such as marched perhaps slowly, but with a constant resolution.  
* ay dare affirm, that men know better how to take good measures, than how to pursue 'em; or to resolve on what they must say and do, than to do and say what they ought. A man promises himself that in such an affair, which he is to negotiate, he will keep a certain secret, and afterwards either thro' passion, intemperance of Tongue, or a warmth of Conversation, 'tis the first thing escapes him.  
* Men act very negligently in what is their duty, but they think it meritorious, or rather please their vanity to busy themselves about such things as don●t belong to them, nor suit with their Condition and Character.  
* When a man puts on a Character which he's a stranger to, there●s as much difference between what he appears, and what he is really in himself as there is between a person's Vizard and his Face.  
Telephas has Wit, but ten times less if 'tis rightly cast up then he presumes he has. 'Tis necessary then in every thing he says, does, meditates, and projects, that he should have ten times as much Wit as he has: Thus he never acts according to the true measure of his parts and capacity. And this reasoning I●m sure is just. He is limited within certain bounds which he ought not to pass, but he leaps over 'em, gets out of hi● sphere, and though he perceives his own weakness, always discovers it by pretending most to what he least understands: he talks most about what he knows nothing or but very little of, attempts things above his power, and aims at what is too much for him: If he does something, of what kind soever, to a degree of perfection, he judges of himself by that; what he has in him good and commendable, is obscured by his affecting something great and wonderful; we can easily see what he is not, but we must strive to find out what he is. He●s a man who never measures his ability, who knows nothing of himself, cannot tell his own Character● but always takes on him one which does not belong to him  
* The greatest Wit have their ebbings and flow, they are sometimes capricious, but are not so long. If they are wise, they will then talk little and cease writing, they will not then endeavour to invent or please; should a man sing, when he has a cold? should he not rather wait till his voice is restored him?  
A Blockhead is a mere Machine; he moves by springs and weights, which turn him about always in one manner, and keep him in an equality; he is uniform, he never altars his figure, if you have seen him once, you have seen him as he eve● was: The Ox meughs, the Blackbird whistles, and he is fixed and settled by nature. I may venture to say 'tis his species to be so, what you see lest is his Soul, she never acts, is never exercised, but always at rest.  
* A Blockhead never dies, or, if according to our manner of speaking, he must once die, I may lawfully say, he gets by't, and that in the moment when others die, he begins to live; his Soul then thinks, reasons, infers, concludes, judges, foresees, and does every thing she never did before; she finds herself disengaged from a lump of Flesh, where she seemed to be buried without function, motion, or any thing becoming her dignity. She blushed to see herself lodged in such a Body, and so long confined to such brutish and imperfect Organs; ashamed that she could produce nothing better than a Blockhead or a Fool. She now goes equal with the greatest Souls; those who made the strongest heads, and informed the men of wit. And Baevius ●s Soul does not then avoid the Great Conde's richelieu's, Paschals, or Linginde's.  
* A false delicacy in familiar actions, in manners or conduct, is not so called, because 'tis feigned, b●● because 'tis exercised in little things which does not deserve it. On the contrary, a false delicacy in a man●s taste or constitution, is only so when 'tis feigned and affected. Emilia cries out with all her strength if her Coach jerks, she screams at the least danger, which could not hurt her; another nicely turns pale at a smile; a third is fond of Violets, and swoons at a Tulip.  
* Who can promise himself to content Mankind: Princes, as great and powerful as they are, should not pretend to it. What is it they would try? Should they concern themselves about their pleasures, should they serve them as well as they are served at home, and instead of being a sight themselves, only show 'em a thousand other sights to divert 'em, set their inventions at work, order consorts and feasts, and allow them all the liberty they could desire; should they associate with 'em in their amusements, should the great man become loving, or the Hero human and free, it would not be enough. Men are tyr●d in the end, with the very things that charmed t●em in the beginning, they would forsake the Table of Gods. Nectar would in time become insipid. Vanity, and a wretched delicacy would tempt 'em to criticise on the most perfect thing. Their taste, if we will believe them, is above all that we can do to satisfy it; a Royal expense would be unsuccessful, malice prompts them to do what they can to lessen the joy, which others may have in contenting them. These very people, who are commonly so civil and complaisant, can sometimes forget themselves, and one would not think they were the same persons, for we then see a true man, even in a Courtier.  
* Affectation in gesture, speech or manners, is frequently the consequence of idleness or indifference; much business and an application to serious affairs oblige a man to keep to nature.  
* Men have no certain Characters; or if they have any, 'tis that they have none which they always pursue, which never change, and by which they may be known. They are impatient in being always the same, in persevereing either in Virtue or Vice. If they sometimes leave one Virtue for another, they are more often disgusted with one Vice for the sake of another. They have several contrary passions and weaknesses. Extremes are more easy to them, than regular and natural Conduct, Enemies of moderation, outrageous in all things, in good as well as evil, and when they cannot support, they ease themselves by changing Adrastus was so great a Libertines and so debauched, that it had been difficult for him to have appeared devout, and have followed the fashion; but 'twould have cost him much more to have been honest.  
* Whence comes it, that some phlegmatic people bear the greatest disasters, with scorn and indifference, and are always so choleric on the least inconveniences. Certainly this sort of management is not Virtue; for Virtue is equal, and never does any thing that it ought not to do. 'Tis a Vice then, and nothing else but Vanity, that never awakens and rouzes herself, but at those events which make a noise in the world, and such as she cannot get much by she neglects.  
* We seldom repent talking too little, but very often talking too much, a common and trivial maxim which every body knows, and no body practices.  
* We are revenged on ourselves, and give our Enemies too much advantage over us, when we say things of them which are not ●rue, and lie to reproach 'em.  
* If men could blush at their own actions, how many sins, public and private, would they save by●t.  
* If some men are not so honest as they might have been, the fault is in their Education.  
* Some men have just Sense enough to make them prudent.  
* Ferula●s and Rods are for Children, for Men Crowns, Sceptres, Furs, Swords, Maces, Caps and Hoods. Reason and Justice without their Ornaments, would neither persuade nor deter. Men are more led by their Eyes and Ears, than their Understandings.  
Timon, the Misantropes Soul may be wild and Austere, but he is outwardly civil and ceremonious, he seldom shuns, or frowns on any man: On the contrary, he treats them decently and honourably, but he takes care not to give them any cause to be familiar; he would know them as little as possible, and like a Lady in her visits, is very cautious not to make any one his friend.  
* Reason is ever ally●d to Truth, we come at it but by one way, and have a thousand to miss. Wise men have less to study than Coxcombs, or the impertinent. He who has seen none but polite and reasonable men, who knows not Mankind, or knows them by halves, whatever Vaviety he finds in constitution or manners, Conversation and politeness have the same appearances: The outside of each resemble one another. The same thing seems common to both, and persuade us that there is nothing else belonging to 'em. He, on the contrary, who mingles himself with the people, or retires into the Country, if he has Eyes, makes presently strange discoveries, sees things perfectly new to him, which he never thought the least of before; he increases his knowledge of humanity by continual experiences, and calculates how many different ways men may be intolerable.  
* After having morally considered Mankind, and found out their false thoughts, opinions, inclinations and affections, we are forced to own, that obstinacy is more prejudicial to 'em than inconstancy.  
* How many weak, effeminate, indifferent Souls are there, who have not very great defects, and yet are good Subjects for Satir. What variety of ridiculousness is spread over the whole human Race, yet by its singularity, is of no consequence, and useless for instruction or morality. These are particular Vices which are not contagious, and are more personal than human.   

Of Judgement.  
NOthing nearer resembles a lively Conviction than an obstinate Conceit; whence proceed Parties, Cabals and Heresies.  
We are soon weary of thinking on a thing if we don●t think right, for disgust is always the consequence of ill opinion.  
* Great things astonish us, and small dishearten: Custom makes both familiar.  
* Two contrarieties equally affect us, Custom and Novelty.  
* There's nothing so mean, and so like the Mob, as to talk much in the praise of those very persons, of whom ●we thought indifferently before their promotion.  
* A Prince's favour neither excludes, nor includes merit.  
* 'Tis to be admired, that with all the Pride which puffs us up, and the vast opinion we have of our own judgement, we neglect to make use of it when we speak of other people's merit: the common vogue, popular favour, or the Prince's fancy, bear us down like a torrent, we extol what is praised, more than what deserves it.  
* I doubt whether any thing is approved and praised with so much difficulty, as what deserves most to be praised and approv●d. And if virtue, Merit, Beauty, Good Actions, and the best Writings, have a more natural and sure effect, than Envy, Jealousy, or Antipathy: 'tis not of a Saint that a Hypocrite speaks well of, but of a brother Hypocrite: if a handsome Woman allows another's beauty, you may rationally conclude she excels in what she approves: or if a Poet praise another's Verses, 'tis an even wager they are slight and frivolous.  
* Men have much ado to like one another, they have but a weak inclination to approve reciprocally of the actions, conduct, thoughts, and expressions of others; nothing pleases, nothing contents, they put in balance to what others either recite, speak or write what they should have done in such a conjuncture, what they think or have written upon such a subject, and are so full of their own Ideas, that they have no room for another's.  
* The generality of men are so inclined to irregularity and trifling, and the world is so full of examples, either pernicious or ridiculous, that I should be apt to believe Singularity, could it keep its bounds, would come very near to right reason, and a just conduct. We must do like other men; a dangerous Maxim, and for the most part signifies we must do ill; if you speak not of things purely exterior, and of no consequence, but what depends on Custom, Fashion, or Decency.  
* If men were not more like Bears and Panthers than Men, if they were more equitable, if they were just to themselves and others, what would become of Law, and the prodigious flourishes are made on it? where would you find the Plaintiff and Defendant, and all that you call Justice? to what would even they be reduced, who owe all their livelihood and grandeur to the Authority that they have given the Laws? If men were honest and impartial, whither would the quarrels of the Schools and Bar vanish? If they were temperate, chaste and moderate, the unintelligible jargon of the Physicians, that Golden Mine of wo●ds to the Practitioner, as profitable as 'tis to ●em, would then be useless. O Lawyers, Doctors and Apothecaries, what a fall would you have, could we all become wise?  
How many great men in the different exercises of Peace and ●ar, ought we to have lost? to what point of refined perfection are several Arts and Sciences brought, which ought not to be necessary, and were introduced into the world only as remedies to those evils to which Malice gave the Original?  
How many things are there since Varro, of which Varro was ignorant? what will no less knowledge than that of Plato and Socrates suffice us?  
To hear praise and dispraise on a Sermon, a piece of Music, or a Picture; and upon the very same subject to be entertained with quite opposite sentiments, is what makes me freely conclude we may safely publish any thing, good or bad, for the good pleases some, the bad others, and the worst has its admirers.  
* The Phoenix of Poetry, Chantantes, rose out of his ashes, and in one and the same day saw both the dissolution and resurrection of his Reputation; and that same infallible Judge, who is ever so obstinate (I mean the Public) changed upon his account, and either did deceive, or was deceived. He that should now say Quinaut is an ill Poet, would speak almost as bad as he that formerly said he was a good one.  
* Chapelain was rich, Corneille was not; La Pucelle and Rodogune merited each a different fate; so it has always been a question, why in this or that profession, one has made his fortune, and another mist; for this mankind must inquire the reason of their capriciousness, which in the pressing conjuncture of their affairs, either of their pleasure, health, or life, makes them often leave the best, and choose the worst.  
* The condition of a Comedian was infamous amongst the Romans, but with the Greeks honourable; what is our opinion? Why we think of them like the Romans, and live with them like the Greeks.  
* 'twas sufficient for Bathyllus to be a universal Mimic, to be courted by the Roman Ladies; for Rhius to Dance on the Theatre, or for Rosci●s and Terines' to Sing in a Chorus, to engage a crowd of Lovers. Vanity and Impudence, followed by too strong a desire, made the Romans lose the gust there is in secrecy in their pleasures; they were fond of acting their loves upon the public Stage; they had no jealousy of the Amphitheatre, nor of sharing the charms of their Mistresses with the multitude; their satisfaction lay in showing they loved not the Beauty, or the good Actress, but the Actress.  
* Nothing discovers better what disposition men have to Knowledge and Learning, and how profitable they are esteemed to the Public, than the price which is set on them, and the Idea they have form●d of those who have taken the pains to improve them; there is no Art so mechanic nor so mean, that has not a quicker and surer way to Riches; the Comedian lolling in his Coach, bespatters the very face of Corneille walking afoot: with many people Knowledge and Pedantry are synonimous.  
Often when the Rich man speaks, the man of Learning must be silent, listen, and applaud; at least if he would not pass for nothing but Learned.  
* There is a sort of Courage to be used amongst men of some humours, to support the scandal of being Learned; you find there an established opinion against knowledge; they know not the world, say they, nor how to live, neither have they any genius for society; and so despoiled they return them to their Books. Ignorance is an easy condition, and costs but little pains; and let us take the Ignorant, one with another, they form such a numerous party, in Court, City, and Country, that the Learned can't bear head against them; if they allege in their favour the names of Estree, Harley, Bossuet, Seguier, Montausier, Wardes, Cheureuse, Novion, L● Moignon, Scudery, Pelisson, and of many other persons equally learned and polite; nay, if you dare cite the great names of Chartres, Conde, Bourbon, Maine, Vandome, as Princes that knew how to join the highest knowledge to the Grecian niceness, and Roman civility, they'll not fail to tell you these are singular exampless if then you have recourse to solid reasons, alas they are too feeble to stand against the public vote; however, it seems just, that they should be somewhat more wary in giving a decisive judgement, and let them take the pains only to question whether that mind that has made so great a progress in knowledge as to be capable of thinking, judging, speaking, and writing well, could not, if it gave itself the trouble, be when it pleased Polite.  
A man with a little trouble may perfectly refine his manners, but there's much more required to polite his mind.  
* Such a one is Learned, says the Politician, he is therefore no man of business, I●d not trust him with the management of my Wardrobe; and he●s to be sure in the right: Ossat, Ximenes, Richelieu were learned, were they men of ability? did they pass for good Ministers? He understands Greek, says the Rich man, he's a Philosopher; at that rate an Athenian Fruiterer was a Philosopher, for he understood Greek: what whimsy, what contradiction is this to the wise and judicious Antonin, who says, that the people would then be happy, when the Emperor philosophied, or a Philosopher came to the Empire.  
Languages are no more than the keys of the Sciences. He that despises the one slights the other: 'tis of no Importance, whither the Languages are ancient or modern, dead or living; but whither they are barbarous or polite; whither the Books they afford us are good or bad. Suppose the French should meet with the fortune of the Greek and Roman Tongues, some Ages after it ceased to be commonly spoken; should he be thought a pedant that would then read Moliere or La Fontaine?  
* If I talk of Euripilus, you say he's a Wit; you also call him a Carpenter that lays a Floor, and he that builds a Wall a Bricklayer: but I would ask you, where does this Tradesman follow his Trade, what Sign has his Shop, and by what marks shall we know him, what are his Tools, a Hatchet, or a Chissel? where does he finish his Work, where does he expose it to Sale? An Artificer pretends to be an Artificer; Does Euripilus set up for a Wit? If he does, he's a Coxcomb, a vile Mechanic wretch, who has neither Wit nor any thing that's agreeable, and is uncapable of a serious thought; but if he pretends to nothing I'll take him for a wise and ingenious Man: Why therefore should you call this Pedant or that ill Poet a polite Man? do you believe of yourself that you have no Genius, or if you have any, thing it fine and agreeable, and should a man call you a Wit, would you not take it for an affront: however I'll give you leave to call Euripilus so, let the Irony pass upon Fools and Men of no Judgement, as Ignorant wretches pride themselves in those defects, which they find in others, and cannot discover in themselves.  
Speak no more to me of Pen, Ink or Paper; no more of Style, Printe● or the Press, do not venture to tell me Antisthene you write well, continue it, what shall we never see a piece of yours in Folio; treat of all the Virtues and Vices in one work, well pursued, methodical, (and they should add) without end or order. I renounce every thing that looks like a Book; the sight of a Cat throws Berylla into a swoon, and a Book me; am I better Fed, or finer Clothed, has my Chamber a pleasing Situation, and do I enjoy my ease after having been exposed to Sale these twenty Years; you say I have a great Name and much Glory, say rather I'm stocked with unprofitable wind; have I one grain of that Metal that produces all things, the old Practitioner reimburses himself for those charges which he never expended● and has for his Son-in-Law, a Count or a Judge; a Lackey is made a Commissioner, and in a little time becomes richer than his Master, than soon tired of his mean Character, by Money becomes a Knight; one inriches himself by a Puppet-show; another by selling of water; the Mountebank feet it to Town with his Wallet at his back, not able to defray his Charges; but goes from thence in his Coach and Six: Mercury is Mercury, and nothing more, and when they can't pay you for your meditation and invention, they give you favour and distinction; not to speak but of lawful gains, you pay a Gardener for his Skill, and the Workman for his time and labour: do you pay an Author for his thoughts and writing? if his Sense is good, do you pay him largely? does he enrich or ennoble himself by thinking or writing well? Men most be clothed and shaved, have Houses that must have doors to shut close; but do they want any Instruction? ●twere a Folly, Simplicity and Weakness (continues Antisthenes') to set up again for an Author or Philosopher; could I have a profitable Employment, which would enable me to lend my Friend, and give to those that can ne'er return, to write for sport or idleness, as Tityrus played or whistled upon his Flute; (this or nothing) I would write on these terms, and easily give way to the violence of those who throtel me, crying out will you write, they should then read for the Title of my new Book; of things Beautiful and Good, of Truth, of Ideas, of first Principles by Antisthene the Fishmonger.  
* If the Ambassadors of Foreign Princes were Apes, who had learned to walk on their hind Legs, and to make themselves understood by Interpreters; we could not have a greater surprise than what the justness of the Answers of such as are sent us, and the ingenuity which sometimes appears in their discourse give us, the opinion of our Country joined to the Pride of our Nation, makes us forget that reason belongs to all Climates, and reasonable thoughts to all places where there are men; we don't love to be so treated by those we call Barbarians; if amongst us their is any Barbarity, 'tis in being frighted to hear other People reason like us.  
All Strangers are not Barbarians, nor are our Country men all Civilised, in like manner all the Country is not Pasture, nor all the City Polite; there is in Europe a certain place, part of a Sea Province in a great Kingdom, whose Husbandmen are soft and insinuating, and their Burgesses and Magistrates rude and of an hereditary rusticity.  
* With a Language so pure, such nicety of Habit, Manners so cultivated, such good Laws, and white complexions, we are Barbarians to some sort of People.  
* If we should talk of the Eastern People, how they ordinarily drink a Liquor that takes the head, makes them mad, and forces them to vomit, we should be apt to say 'tis Barbarous.  
* When the Bishop comes no more to Court, lives retired, is no more to be seen with Women, Plays not, makes not one at Feasts and Shows, is no man of Cabal, nor has the Spirit of Intrigue, but is always in his Diocese; where he makes his continual residence, and thinks of nothing but Instructing his People by discourse, and edifying them by his Example, consumes his Riches in Charity and his Body in Penance, and is an Imitator both of the Zeal and Piety of the Apostles; the times will be changed, and he may then be threatened with a more eminent Title.  
Can't we insinuate to people of a certain Character and serious Profession, (to say no more of them) that they are not obliged to make the world talk of their Gaming or Singing, that they play the Buffoon like other men, and that to see them so pleasant and agreeable, one would not believe they were elsewhere so regular and severe; dare we urge that they digress from themselves, by that manner of politeness which they pretend to; that on the contrary, they ought to suit and conform their outward Actions to their Conditions, and avoid doing as Painters in a contrast Figure, and show the same man under such different shapes, as make the pieces entire Fantastical and Grotesque.  
* We ought not to judge of men as of a Picture or Statue, upon sight; there is a Mind and Heart to be searched: the vail of Modesty covers Merit, and the Masque of Hypocrisy disguises Malice. There are but few Judges that have knowledge to discern aright to pass Sentence, 'tis but by little and little, and perhaps even by time and occasion, that complete virtue or perfect vice come at last to show themselves.  
Pyrocles says of a certain Lady, that her Soul is like a Jewel, set to the best advantage, that all who talk to her, find something in her so reasonable and agreeable, that they can hardly distinguish their admiration from Love. She is equally qualified to make a complete Friend, or to oblige you to proceed beyond Friendship: Too young and too beautiful not to please, and too modest to design it. She esteems men for nothing but their Merit, and believes none of 'em are any thing more than her Friends● Her vivacity and sentiments surprise every body, and are so insinuating, that they engage them to be on her side. She knows perfectly well the delicacies and niceties of Conversation, but sometimes makes such happy excursions, as, among many pleasant qualities, put always the Company into the same good humour. She talks to you like one who is not learned, who seems to be in the dark, and wants to be enlightened: but she hearkens to you like one who knows a great deal, can set a true value on what you say, and will not let you lose by her Conversation. Very far from affecting to show her Wit by contradicting, or imitating Elvira, who had rather be thought brisk than a Woman of good sense and sound judgement: She appropriates your thoughts to herself, believes 'em to be her own, extends them, embellishes 'em, and makes you contented that you thought so well, or perhaps better than you yourself believed you did. She's always above Vanity, and in speaking or writing never uses Ornament instead of Reason, supposing Eloquence consists in Simplicicy. If she undertakes to serve any one, and to engage you in the same interest, she leaves raillery and politeness to Elvira, who makes use of them in all cases, and employs only sincerity, warmth, earnestness and persuasion; what is most predominant in her, is the pleasure she takes to read before persons of worth and reputation, that she may profit by their taste, not so much to be known to them, as to know them. We may prophetically commend her for the wisdom she will one day certainly have, and the merit she prepares for her riper years. Since with a just conduct she has juster designs, and some sure maxims, which are very useful to those, who, like her, are exposed to care and flattery. She is singular enough in her humour, without the least wildness, a little too much inclined to Retirement. Since she wants nothing but opportunity, or as some would call it, a large Theatre to make all her Virtues appear with Glory.  
* A handsome Woman, the more natural she is, the more beautiful; she loses nothing by being careless, and without any Ornament, but what she draws from her beauty and youth; an innocent Grace shines on her Face, animates every little Action so much, that there would be less danger to see her adorned with all the advantage of Dress and Fashion. Thus an honest man is respected independent from all those outward Actions, by which he would end eavour to make his person more grave, and his virtue more specious, and reserved; since too great a modesty, a singularity in Habit, or the State with which some walk, add nothing to sincerity, nor does it raise Merit, but hurts, and often makes it look less pure and more suspected.  
Gravity too much affected becomes comical, 'tis like Extremities that touch, whose middle is Dignity; you cannot call this being grave, but acting the part of a grave man; he that studies to be so shall never obtain it: either Gravity is natural, or there is no such thing, and 'tis easier to descend than ascend.  
* A man of parts and reputation, if he is sour and austere, he frightens youth, increases an ill opinion of Virtue, makes one suspect the reformation he pretends to, and think its practice too troublesome; if on the contrary, he is free in conversation, he is then a profitable Lesson, he shows men may live in pleasure and yet in business, be serious without renouncing honest diversions, and becomes an Example they can follow.  
* Physiogmony is not given us for a rule to judge men by, it may serve us to give a guess of 'em.  
An ingenious Air in men, is the same with regular features among Women, and this kind of Beauty the most vain may aspire to.  
* A man that has much Merit and Ingenuity, and is known to have it, is not ugly, with the most deformed features; or if there is a deformity it makes no impression.  
* How much Art is there in imitating Nature? how much time, what rules, attention and labour, to dance with the same Freedom and Grace you walk with? To sing as you speak? To speak and express yourself as you think? To give the same life and force, the same passion and persuasion to discourses you are to declare publicly, which we sometimes naturally and without meditation entertain our intimates with.  
* Those that without knowing us enough think ill of us, do us no wrong, they attack not us, but the fantome of their own imagination.  
* There are some little Rules and Duties of good manners, which belong to place, time, and persons, which are not attainable by the force of ingenuity, and which custom teaches us without any trouble; to judge of men by the faults which they commit in this kind, before they are well instructed, is to pass judgement by the Nails, or the turn of the Hair; that is, to make a judgement which will at one time or other deceive them.  
* ay know not if 'tis permitted to judge men by a single fault, if an extreme necessity, a violent passion, or a natural impulse occasioned it.  
* The contrary to the report, either of Affairs or Persons, is often the truth.  
* Without a great regard and continual attention to what we speak, we are exposed to say Yes and No, to the same thing, or on the same person in an hours time, pushed on only by a spirit of Society and Company, that naturally obliges one not to contradict this man, or that, though they talk of things quite different in themselves.  
* A partial man is perpetually exposed to little mortifications, for 'tis equally impossible that his favourite can be always happy and wise, or such as he declares himself against, be always in fault or unhappy. This puts him frequently out of Countenance, and makes him blush at his friends misfortunes, or the new Glory which those acquire to whom he wished ill.  
A man that is subject to be prepossessed, i● he dares accept a place of Authority, either Ecclesiastical or Secular, is like a blind man that would paint, a dumb man that would preach, a deaf man that judges of Symphony; these are but weak resemblances, and which express imperfectly the misery of prepossession. We should add, that 'tis a desperate malady, incurable and infectious, to all that approach the sick person, it makes us desert our Equals, Inferiors, Relations, and Friends, even our Physician; they are far from being cured, if they can't be made to understand neither their Disease nor Remedy, which are to hear, doubt, to inform themselves, & to see into things, Flatterers, Cheats, and Backbiters: they that never open their Mouths but to lie, or for their own interest, are the Knaves in whom they confide, who make 'em swallow all they please; 'tis they also that poison and kill them. Descartes rule never to decide on the least truth, before 'tis clearly and distinctly known, is convenient and just in the judgement we give of persons.  
persons Nothing revenges better the ill judgement men make of our Wit, Actions, or Manners, than the base and poor Characters of those they approve of.  
* On the same account you neglect a man of Merit, you admire a Blockhead.  
* A Blockhead is one that has not wit enough to be a Coxcomb.  
* The Coxcomb is the Blockheads man of merit. The impertinent is a forward Coxcomb.  
* A Blockhead wearies and tires, distastes, and is easily repulsed. The Impertinent repulses, irritates, and offends: he begins where the other left off: The Coxcomb is betwixt the Impertinent and the Blockhead, and is composed of one and tother.  
* Vices come from the corruption of the heart, the defects of Vice from constitution, and ridiculousness from its want of Sense.  
The ridiculous man is one, that whilst he is so, has the appearance of a Blockhead.  
The Blockhead always is ridiculous, 'tis his Character. A wise man may sometimes be ridiculous, but will not be so long.  
An error committed makes a wise man ridiculous. Dulness belongs to the Blockhead, Vanity to the Coxcomb, Impertinence to the Impertie●t: Ridiculousness seems to reside sometimes in those that are really ridiculous, and sometimes in the imagination of those that believe they see ridiculousness, where it neither is nor can be.  
* Rudeness, clownishness, and Brutality, may be the vices of a man of Sense.  
A stupid man is a silent Blockhead, and in that more supportable than a Blockhead, who is always prating.  
* What is oftentimes a jest from a man of Sense, is a blunder in a Blockhead.  
* If a Coxcomb could believe he speaks ill, he would lose his Character.  
* One sign of Mediocrity of Sense is to be always telling stories.  
* The Blockhead is perplexed with himself, the Coxcomb has an Air of freedom and assurance; the Impertinent carries it off with impudence, but modesty belongs to Merit.  
* A few small concerns dignifyed with the name of Affairs, and joined with a little sense, is enough to make some men haughty.  
A grain or two of sense, and an oun●e of Business more, makes 'em important persons.  
While you only laugh at 'em perhaps they stop there, if you complain of 'em they grow arrogant.  
* The character of a Man of Honour is equaliberial between that of the cunning man and the honest man, though in an unequal distance with respect to those two extremes. The distance from the man of honour and the cunning man grows daily less and less, and is upon the point of disappearance. The cunning man is one that hides his Passions, understands his Interest, and has either acquired wealth, or knows how to keep it. The man of honour is one that robs not on the Road, commits no murders, and in fine, a person whose Vices does not make him scandalous. We know very well that an honest man is a man of honour; but 'tis pleasant to think that every man of honour is not an honest man. An honest man is one that is neither Saint nor Hypocrite, and whose designs are only limited by virtue.  
* Natural Genius, Endowments, Judgement, Wit, and Sense, are things different, but not imcompatible.  
There is as much difference between good sense and a good taste, as between the Cause and the Effect. Genius is to Wit as in proportion, the whole is to its part. Shall I call a man confined and circumscribed to any one Art, a man of Sense, though he has any one Science in perfection, but out of that shows neither Judgement, Memory, Vivacity, Manners nor Conduct, that understands me not, is thought less, and expresses himself ill; a Musician for example, that after he has, as it were, bewitched me with his harmony, seems to be shut up with his Lute in the same case, and when he is without his Instrument he is like a dismounted Machine, we perceive quickly something wanting in him, and his Company is no longer supportable. Again, what shall I say of Play, who can define it to me? is there no occasion of forecast, cunning, or skill, to play at Ombre or Chess; or if there is, how comes it that we see men of weak parts excellent, and others of great ingenuity that can't attain to an indifferency, whom a piece of Card in their hands perplexes and puts out of Countenance.  
There is a thing in the world, if 'tis possible, incomprehensible, a person that appears dull, sottish, and stupid, knows neither how to speak, or relate what he has seen, but if he sets to write no man does it better; he makes Animals, Trees, and Stones talk; and his works are full of Elegance, Natural, Sense and Delicacy.  
Another is foolish, timorous, and of a troublesome conversation; he takes one word for another, and judges not of the Goodness of his own Writing, but by the money they bring him, he neither knows how to recite nor read what he has writ; but in his Books you find him as great as Augustus, Pompey, Nicomed, and Hercules; he talks like a King, is a Politician, and a Philosopher; he undertakes to make Heroes speak and act, he describes the Romans, and they are greater, and more Romans in his Verse than in their History.  
Would you have another prodigy? imagine a man easy, soft, complaisant, and tractable, on a sudden violent, choleric, furious and capricious, conceive ● a man simple, ingenious, credulous: a trifler, and giddy, an infant with grey hairs; but permit him to retire into himself, or rather to give himself up to a certain Genius that operates within him, perhaps without his being concerned, and it may be without his knowledge. What rapture, what elevation, what figures, what Language, d'ye ask if I speak of one and the same man? Yes, of the same Theodas, and of him alone: he cries, labours, rolls on the ground, riseth, thunder's, and roars, and from the midst of this Tempest comes a Lustre which warms delights us.  
Without a figure he talks like a fool, and thinks like a wise man, speaks truth in ridicule, and in folly shows sense and reason. What shall I say further, he talks and acts better than he understands, they are in him like two Souls that are not acquainted, have no dependence one on the other, and have each their turns or distinct functions. This Picture would want one surprising stroke, should I omit to tell you, that he is at all times covetous, and insatiable of Praise, ready to expose himself to his Critics, and in the main pliable enough to profit by their censure. I begin to think myself, that I have made the Picture of two different persons, and 'tis not impossible to find a third in Theodas, for he is a good, pleasant and excellent man.  
* After a good Judgement, Diamonds and Pearls are the rarest things to be met with.  
Such a one is known in the world for his great Capacity, and wherever he goes is honoured and cherished, but is slighted at home, and can't create an esteem in his Relations; another on the contrary is a Prophet in his own Country, amongst his Servants enjoys a good name, and is applauded by all that live with him, for his singular merit, his whole Family concur in it, he is their Idol; but this Character he leaves at home, it travels not with him.  
The world mutiny against a man that begins to be reputed, those he esteems his Friends hardly pardon a growing merit, nor the first report that seems to give him a share of the Glory they possessed, they hold out to extremity, till the Prince has declared himself by recompenses, than they immediately congratulate him, and from that day he is accounted a man of Merit.  
* We often affect to prai●e some men immoderately, who little enough deserve it; we Elevate 'em, and if we could, would advance them above such as are really Excellent.  
This proceeds either from our being weary of applauding always the same persons; or, because their Glory thus divided becomes more supportable, and we can then look on it without being so much offended as before.  
We see that the wind of Favours carries men away with full sail, in a moment they lose sight of Land, and continue their course. All things smile upon 'em and succeed with them, their words and actions are all attended with Eulogies and Rewards, they appear not but to be complemented and carest, they are like an immovable Rock on the Coast, against which all the waves split; all the winds of Power, Riches, Violence, Flattery, Authority and Favour stir them not, 'tis against the Public that these suffer Shipwreck.  
'Tis Common and Natural to judge of others labours by the agreement they have to our own. The Poet filled with great and sublime Ideas, makes small account of the Orator's discourse, that is often exercised on mean objects; and the Historian can't comprehend how a reasonable Soul can employ his time in contriving Fictions, or finding out a Rhyme. Thus the Divine thinks all other learning or knowledge dull, vain and unprofitable, whilst he perhaps is as much despised by the Geometrician.  
One may have Sense enough to excel in a particular thing, and in that to give instructions, that wants Sense to know that he ought to be silent upon another subject, of which he has but a slight knowledge; he comes off handsomely whilst he keeps within the limits of his Genius, but when he wanders he makes the man of sense talk like a blockhead.  
Heriles, whether he speaks, declaims, or writes, is continually citing; he makes the Prince of Philosophers tell you, that Wine will make you drunk, and the Roman Orator, that water tempers it; he discourses of Morals; 'tis not he but the Divine Plato, that assures you Virtue is amiable, and Vice odious, or that one and tother will turn into habit: things the most common and trivial, and which he is capable of thinking himself he will owe to the Ancient Latins and Greeks, not to give authority to what he says, nor to gain it for what he knows; but purely for the sak● of Citation.  
* You often hazard, and sometimes spoil a Jest, by owning it, 'tis dull and loses its force with the men of Wit, or those that think themselves so, who perhaps would never have said any thing so well: on the contrary it would meet with better reception if told as another's. It is like a matter of fact, which no body has any extraordinary concern for; it is more insinuating and gives less Jealousy; it offends no body, if it is diverting 'tis laughed at, if it's admirable it is admired.  
It is said of Socrates, that he was delirious and a Fool with abundance of Wit; but those Greeks who so freely Characterised that great man may not unjustly pass for Fools themselves; what whimsical Images, say they, does this Philosopher represent unto us? what strange and particular manners does he describe? whence had he, or how could he collect these extraordinary Ideas? what Colours, what Pencil, did he make use of? they are all mere Chimaeras. They deceive themselves, they are Monsters, they are Vices; but all so painted to the Life, that the very sight of them terrifies. Socrates ● is far from a Cynic, he spares their Persons, but lashes their debaucheries.  
A Man of extraordinary good sense understands a Philosopher, is throughly acquainted with his Precepts, Morals and Conduct; and does not imagine that mankind has any other end in their actions, than what he has all his life proposed to himself; but to himself he complains and believes this Maxim too strict, but he's in the wrong, has missed his way, this wind will never carry him to the prosperous port of preferment, and according to these Principles he argues justly.  
I pardon, says Antisthius, those I have praised in my Works, if they forget me; what I have done for them, they deserved it, at least I will pardon those whose Vices I have attacked without touching their persons; if they oblige me so much as to admit of my Correction: but as this is a success that never happens, it follows that neither are obliged to make me any return.  
They may, says the same Philosopher, deny my writings their due merit; but they are not able to diminish their Reputation, if they pretend to it, why should not I scorn them?  
It is an happy thing to be a Philosopher, but a very unhappy thing to wear that Character, to give him that stile, is an affront, till the suffrage of most men declare him so, and in restoring to that August name its proper Idea, you attribute to him all due esteem.  
* There is a Philosophy which raises us above Ambition and Fortune, that equals us to (what shall I say?) places us above the Rich, the Great and the Powerful; that prompts us to contemn preferments and those that procure them: that exempts us from the fatigue of cringing, petitioning, and importunate solicitations, and even prevents those excessive transports of Joy, which are the usual companions of great promotions.  
There is another Philosophy which disposes and subjects us to all these things, for the sake of our Neighbours and Friends: This is the better of the two.  
* It will shorten and rid us of a thousand tedious discussions, to take it for granted, that some persons are not capable of talking well; and to condemn all that they have, do, or will say.  
* We only approve of others for the resemblance we imagine they bear to ourselves, and so it seems, to esteem any one is to equal him to ourselves.  
* The same vices which are deformed and insupportable in others, we don't feel in ourselves, they are not burdensome to us; but seem to rest without weight, as in their proper centres. Such an one, speaking of another, draws a dismal Picture of him, not in the least imagining that at the same time he is Painting himself.  
There is nothing would make us correct our own faults so readily, as to be able to observe them in others; 'tis at this just distance, that they appear what they are, and raise in us an indignation equal to their demerit.  
Wise conduct turns upon two Centres, the past and the future; he that hath a faithful memory and a vast foresight, is out of danger of censuring in others those faults he may have been guilty of himself, or condemning an action which in a parallel case, and in like circustances, it will be impossible for him to avoid.  
* The Soldier and the Politician, like cunning Gamesters, trust nothing to chance● but they advise, they prepare themselves, and seem ready to determine; they don't only know what the Fool and the Coward are ignorant of, I mean to make use of the first opportunity; but by their measures and precaution they know how to serve themselves of this or that accident, or of several of them together: If this happens, they get by it; if that comes to pass, they also get by it; and the same accident is advantageous several different ways. These wise men ought to be commended for their good fortune, as well as wise conduct, and chance ought to be recompensed as virtue in them.  
* I place nothing above a great Politician but he that despises him, and is more and more persuaded that the World does not deserve his thoughts.  
* There is in the best Counsels something, that displeases; 'tis not our own thought, and therefore presumption and caprice furnish pretences enough to reject it at first sight, and reflection only forces its reception.  
* What surprising success accompanies some Favourites, during the whole course of their lives; what better fortune could support them, without interruption, without the least disgrace. They have the first Posts, the Prince's Ear, vast Treasures, a perfect Health and an easy Death; but what a strange account have they to give for their past life, for the Counsels they have given, for those they have neglected to give or follow, for the good deeds they have not done, and on the contrary, for the evil ones they have done, either by themselves or others; in a word, for all their Prosperity.  
We gain by our Death the praises of our Survivors, frequently without any other merit than that of ceasing to be; the same Eulogies serve at present for Cato and Piso.  
The Report runs that Piso is dead, 'tis a a great loss, he was a good Man, and deserved a longer life; he was an agreeable Man, had Wit, Resolution and Courage, he was Generous and Trusty; (Add only that he's dead.)  
* That we cry up those that distinguish themselves by their honesty, disinterest and probity, is not so much their Elegy, as a disgrace to the rest of mankind.  
* Such an one relieves the necessitous who neglects his own Family, and leaves his Son a beggar; another builds a new House, tho' he has not paid for the Lead of that which was finished ten years before; a third makes presents and largesses, and ruins his Creditors. I would fain know whether Pity, Liberality and Magnificence can be the Virtues of an unjust Man; or whether Humour and Vanity, are not rather the causes of this Injustjce.  
* Dispatch is an essential Circumstance of that Justice we owe to others, to occasion attendance is unjust.  
The first do well, they do what they ought, but to say of him that in all his management protracts time, that he does well, is to do very ill.  
* 'Tis said of a great Man who had two set meals a day, and spent the rest of his time to cause digestion, that he died of hunger; to say that he is not rich, or that his affairs are in ill Circumstances, this is figurative, it might be more literally said of his Creditors.  
* The Honesty, Respect and Politeness of those advanced in years, give me a good opinion of what we call Ancient time.  
* 'Tis an over-confidence in Parents, to have too great Expectation from the good Education of their Children, and a great Error to expect nothing and neglect it.  
* Were it true, what several affirm, that Education doth not change the Soul and Constitution, and that the alterations that it makes were not substantial, but merely superficial, I would yet forbear saying that it would be unprofitable.  
* He that speaks little, is sure of advantage, 'tis presumed he has Wit; and if indeed he does not want it, 'tis presumed he is Excellent.  
* To think only of ourselves, and the present time, is the source of Error in Politics.  
* The greatest misfortune next to that of being Convicted of a Crime, is often that of being able to justify ourselves; such a proceeding discharges and acquits us, though we still remain Criminal in the mouths of the People.  
* A Man is just to some practical rules of Religion, we see him nicely observe them; no Man commends or discommends him, he is not thought of, another reclaims after ten Years neglect of all Religious duties, he is cried up and applauded for it; every Man's judgement is free, for my part I blame his long forgetfulness of his duty, and think him happy in his Reformation.  
* The Flatterer has too weak an opinion both of himself and others.  
* Some persons are forgot in the distribution of Favours, which puts us upon inquiry why they were forgot? and if they were preferred we should be apt to ask Why were they remembered? Whence proceeds this contrariety, is it from the Characters of the Persons, or the incertitude of our Judgements, or rather from both?  
* 'Tis a common way of talking; after such an one, Who shall be Chancellor? Archbishop? or Pope? We proceed further, and every one makes the Promotion according to his wishes, or caprice, which is often of persons more aged and infirm, than those that at present enjoy those places; as there is no reason why dignity should kill the present possessors, which serves on the contrary to make them young again, and gives the Body and Soul fresh vigour; so 'tis no unusual thing for such to bury their Successors.  
* Disgrace extinguishes Hatred and Jealousy, and it may very well do so. He that is not great enough to raise our Envy, we think he has no merit. There is no Virtue so sublime, but we can pardon in him. 'Tis no Crime in him to be an Hero.  
There is nothing appears well in a Man out of Favour; Virtue and Merit are slighted, misinterpreted or miscalled Vice; if he has so much Courage that he fears neither Fire nor Sword, or does he face the Enemy with as much bravery as Bayard and Montrevel: 
* Marquis of Montrevel, Com. Gen D. L.C Lieut. Gen.  He is rash and Foolhardy, and has nothing of the Hero in him.  
I contradict myself (I confess) in accusing men, of whom I only relate their judgements: I speak not of different persons, but of those very same persons that judge so differently.  
* We need not tarry twenty years to see Men change their Opinion about the most serious things, or those that appear most certain and true. I shall not attempt to maintain that Fire in its own nature, and independent from our Senses, is void of heat, that is to say, nothing like what we feel in ourselves at its approaching, for fear lest some time or other it become as hot again as ever. Nor shall I assert that one right Line falling on another makes two right Angles, or equal to two, for fear something more or less may be discovered, and I may be rallied for my Proposition; neither shall I say with all France, that Vauban is infallible; when in a Siege, which is his peculiar Excellency, and where he decides Arbitrarily he positively assures me, we shall get the place, though he errs ofttimes, and is liable to mistakes as well as Antiphilus.  
* If you believe People exasperated against one another, over whom passion has the ascendancy; the Learned Man is a Pedant, the Magistrate a Boor or Mechanic, the Officer of the Revenue an oppressor, the Gentleman an Upstart; but it is strange that these scurrilous Names, which choler and hatred have invented, should become so familiar to us, and that disdain, as cold and peaceable as it is, should dare to use them.  
* You heat yourself, and give yourself up to the transports of Passion, especially when the Enemies begin to fly, and the Victory is no longer doubtful, or before a Town that has Capitulated. You mightily affect in a Fight, or during a Siege, to seem to be in an hundred places at once; that is to be no where; to prevent the orders of the General, for fear of obeying them, and to seek occasions rather to avoid than receive them; can you call this true Courage.  
* Place your men to maintain a Post where they may be killed, and nevertheless where they do escape: they love both Honour and Life.  
* To see how men love Life, can it be imagined that they love any thing more than it, and that Glory which they prefer to Life, is often an opinion of themselves, established in minds of a thousand People, who either don't understand or don't esteem it,  
* Some, who are neither Soldiers nor Courtiers, make Campaigns, and follow the Court; they don't form a Siege, but they assist in it; they soon satisfy their curiosity in the seat of War, how inquisitive soever it may be, concerning the Trenches, the effects of Bombs and Cannon, the Carcases, the Order and Successes of an Attack, as it occurs; they observe the opposition continues, the Rains fall, the fatigues increase, they wade thro' blood, and encounter both the Enemy and the Elements; perhaps their Lines are forced, and they're enclosed between a Town and an Army: what extremities are these? Their courage fails, they murmuring cry out, Will the raising this Siege be of so fatal consequence? Does the safety of the State depend upon one Citadel? The Heavens themselves declare against us, and shan't we submit to them, and defer the Enterprise till another Season? Then they lose all their resolution, and if they durst would rail at the obstinacy of the General, who withstands all obstacles, and is animated even by the difficulties of the Enterprise; he exposes and fatigues himself night and day to accomplish his design. But as soon as the Enemy capitulate, these dispirited wretches cry up the importance of the Conquest, by anticipating the consequences, and exaggerating the necessity he lay under of doing it, and the danger and shame which would have attended the desisting; they endeavour to prove that the Army that covered them from the Enemy was invincible; they return with the Court, as they pass thro' the Towns and Villages, are proud to be gazed at by the Inhabitants from their Windows; and they triumph on the Road, as if they were the men that took the place, imagining themselves very brave. When come home, they deafen you with Flanks, Curtains, Ravelins, Bastions, Halfmoons, and Covert-ways: They give you an account of those places where curiosity led them, the unavoidable hazards they were in, and the danger they ran of being killed, or taken by the Enemy; they are only silent concerning their fears.  
It's the least inconvenience in the World to be short in a Sermon or Oration; it leaves the Orator all that he has of Wit, good Sense, Fancy, good Manners and Instruction; and robs him of nothing; but it is very surprising that men should affect a sort of Shame and Ridicule, by exposing themselves in tedious and often unprofitable Discourse; and so run a risk of their Reputation.  
* Those that make the worst use of their time are the first that complain of its shortness; such as waste it in Dressing, Eating, Sleeping and Impertinent talk,, and in contriving what to do, and generally doing nothing at all; they want it for their business or pleasure; on the contrary, those that make the best use of it have some to spare.  
There is no Statesman so thronged with business, but trifles away two hours every day, which amounts to a great deal in a long Life; and if the evil is much greater in other stations, what an infinite waste is there made of this precious thing, which you complain you want.  
* There are a sort of God's Creatures which are called Men, who have a Soul which is a Spirit; whose whole Life is employed in, and whose most vigorous attention is taken up in sawing of Marble; this is very foolish and trivial. But there are others more astonishing, for they are entirely useless, and spend their days in doing nothing: this is yet less than sawing Marble.  
* The major part of Mankind so far forget that they have a Soul, and launch out into such Actions and Exercises, that we appear in the wrong, if we believe we speak advantageously of any Man when we say he thinks; this is become a common Elegy, and yet it raises a Man only above a Dog or an Horse.  
* How do you divert yourself? how do you spend your time? Is the Question asked both by Fools and Men of Sense: if I answer, 'tis to open my Eyes, and to see, to prepare my Ears to hear, to enjoy Health, Ease and Liberty; 'tis to say nothing, the solid, the great, and the only good is slighted, makes no impression. The Answer should be, Do you Game, do you Dance?  
Is it good for Man to have a liberty (if it were possible) so large and extensive, that it would only prompt him to desire one thing else, that is, to have less liberty.  
Liberty is not Idleness, it is a free use of time to choose our Labour and our Exercise; in one word, to be free is not to do nothing, but to be the sole Arbiter of what we do, and what we leave undone? In this Sense what good so great as Liberty.  
* Caesar not being old enough to think of the Conquest of the Universe, 
* v. Pascals Thoughts, ch. 3. where he says the contrary.  had no other happiness to endeavour after, than a brave course of Life, and a great Name after Death; he was born fierce and ambitious, enjoyed a vigorous health, he could not better employ his time, than in the World's Conquest. Alexander being too young for so serious a design, 'tis stupendious that in his juvenile years, Women and Wine had not confounded his Enterprise.  
* A young Prince of an August Race, the love and hope of his People, given by Heaven to prolong the felicity of the Earth, greater than his Progenitors, the Son of an Hero, who was his Pattern, hath now told the Universe by his divine qualities, and anticipated Virtues, that the Sons of Hero's are nearer being so than other men. 
* Contrary to the trivial Latin Maxim.   
* If the World should continue an hundred millions of years, it is still in its Spring, and is but now beginning; we ourselves are not far from the first Men and the Patriarches; and who could distinguish us from them in Ages so distant: but if we may judge of what is to come, by what is past, how many things are there unknown to us in Arts and Sciences, in Nature, nay, I durst say in History too? What vast discoveries would then be made, what different Revolutions would then happen in the States and Empires of the whole World? How great would our Ignorance appear, and how slender our Experience, that is not of above six or seven thousand years standing?  
* There is no way too tedious for him that Travels gently and without hurry: and there are no advantages too remote from those that prepare themselves with Patience.  
* To make Court to none, and not to expect Courtship from any, is an happy condition, a Golden Age, and the most Natural State of Man.  
* The World is for those that follow the Court or people Cities; but Nature is theirs who inhabit the Country; they only live, or at least only know that they live.  
* Why do you treat me with this coldness? and why do you complain on me for some Expressions of mine, in relation to some of our young Courtiers? You are not Vicious, Thrasyllus, are you? for my part I know it not, but you inform me so yourself; that which I know is, that you are not Young.  
And, you that are personally offended at what I said of some great people, don't cry out of a wound intended for another: Are you Haughty, Malicious, a Buffoon, a Flatterer, a Hypocrite? I was ignorant of it indeed, and did not think of you; but was speaking of some Great men.  
* Moderation and Prudence in Conduct leave men obscure. To be known and admired, 'tis necessary to have great Virtues, or what●s perhaps equal, great Vices.  
* Men are preengaged, prejudiced and charmed indifferently, with the conduct of great and mean persons; a fortunate C●ime wants little of being commended, as much as a real Virtue, and success supplies the place of all Virtues: 'Tis a black action, a horrid odious attempt indeed, that Success cannot justify.  
* Men, seduced by fair appearances, and specious pretences, are easily induced to like, and approve an ambitious design of some great man's contrivance. They speak of it with concern; the boldness, or the novelty pleases 'em; it becomes familiar to 'em already, and they expect nothing but the success: when on the contrary it happens to miscarry, they confidently, and without any regard to their former judgement, decide of the action, that it was rash, and could never take.  
* There a●e some designs, which are of that vast consequence, and make so great a figure; which have imploy●d the Tongues of Men so long; which have caused so much hope or fear to several People engaged in 'em; according to their different Interests● in which all the Honour and Fortunes of a man are concerned; these have made too much show to be withdrawn, without being executed. How dreadful soever the danger may be, that a man begins to foresee will be the consequence of his undertaking: He must on, though it overwhelms him; the least evil he is to expect, is the miscarriage.  
* In a ill man, there is not wherewithal to make a great man. You may commend his Insight, and his Contrivance, admire his Conduct, extol his Address, to make use of the properest and shortest means to attain his ends: if his ends are bad, Prudence has no share in them; and where Prudence is wanting, find Greatness if you can.   

Of the Fashion.  
'TIS a very foolish thing, and very much betrays our weakness, to be subject to the fashion in our Diet, way of Living, Health and Conscience. Brown Meat is out of fashion, and therefore 'tis insipid; and ●twou●d be an offence against good manners, to cure a Fever otherwise than by bleeding: It has been out of fashion this great while, to die by the hands of Theotymus; none but the populace are now saved by his Pious Exhortations; he has outlived himself.  
* Curiosity is not an inclination to what is good and beautiful; but to what is rare and singular, for those things which another can't match. 'Tis not an affection for those things which are best, but for those which are most in the fashions 'Tis not an amusement, but a passion (often so violent) that it yields to Love and Ambition, only in the meanness of its object: 'Tis not a passion for every thing that is scarce and in vogue, but only for some particular, that is rare and yet in fashion.  
The Florist has a Garden at his Countryhouse, where he spends his time, from Sunrising to Sunsetting; you'd think him planted there, that he had taken root in the midst of his Tulips, and at his Solitaire; 
* Several ●r. n●m●s 〈…〉 o● Tulips.  he rubs his hands, he stairs, stoops down, and looks nearer at it, he never saw it look so fine before; he●s in an ecstasy of Joy, he leaves that for the Orientale; then goes to the Veuve; from thence to the Drape d'or; so to the Agath, at last returns to his Solitaire, where he tires himself, sits down and forgets his Dinner, observes all its particular excellencies; its fine pod, delicate top, he contemplates and admires; but is not ●ouch●d ●ith the thoughts of God and Nature; he goes no farther than the Root of his Tulip, which he won't part with for a Thousand Crowns; tho he'll give it you for nothing when the Tulips are out, and the Cornation comes in. This reasonable Creature, that has a Soul, a divine Worship, and Religion, returns tired and famished; but infinitely pleased with his Journey: he has seen a parcel of Tulips.  
Talk to another of the Farmer's wealth, of a plentiful Harvest, or a good Vintage, he is only nice in Fruit, he understands not a word you say; discourse him of Figs and Melons, tell him that the Pear-Trees breaks with their weight of Fruit this year; that there are abundance of Peaches; this is all out of his way; he is curious in nothing but Plumbs: talk to him of them, he makes you no answer; he is only fond of a certain species of them too, and laughs at all others; he leads you to the Tree, and artificially gathers this exquisite Plumb, divides it, gives you one half, keeps the other himself; how delicious is this (says he?) Taste it, Is it not divine? the whole World can●t match it; at this his nose swells, and 'tis with a great deal of pains, that he veils his joy and vanity, under an appearance of modesty. O! exquisite man! never enough to be praised and admired! a man to be talked of in all Ages! Methinks I see his mein and shape, while he lived, I remember the features of this great man, who only amongst mortals was the happy possessor of such a Plumb.  
Visit a third, and he talks of his curious acquaintance; but especially of Diognetes; I admire him, says he, and understand him less than ever; do you imagine he endeavours to instruct himself by his Medals, that he esteems them, the speaking evidences of past transactions, or sixth unquestionable monuments of ancient History: Nothing less, perhaps you'll guests that all the pains he takes to recover an Head proceeds from the pleasure he enjoys in seeing an uninterrupted series of the Emperors; 'tis yet less, Diognetes knows nicely all parts of a Medal, he has a Case full, except one place; 'tis this vacuity is so uneasy to him; and truly and literally to ●i●● this, he spends his Estate and Life.  
Will you see my Prints, adds Democedes? and presently he draws them out, and shows them you; there you fi●d one that is neither fine●y Printed, neatly Graved, or well Designed, and therefore no● worth the preserving; he found it hanging up in the Holidays against the wall in the most public places of the City; he allows it to be ill Graved, and worse Designed; but he assures you, 'twas done by an Italian, of whom there's little extant; that 'tis the only one in France of his hand, he bought it very dear, and would not part with it for a much better. He goes on, I labour under a sensible affliction, which will oblige me to leave off troubling myself with Prints, the rest of my Life. I have all Cal●t's Works, except one Print, indeed 'tis so far from being the best, that 'tis the worst that ever he did; but how shall I complete my Sett. I have hunted after this Print these twenty years, and now I despair of ever getting it: this is very hard.  
Another satire is those who make long Voyages, either through uneasiness, or curiosity; because they keep no Journal, or furnish us with no Relations or Memoirs; they go to see, and done't see any thing, or at best forget what they have seen; they desire only to remember new Roads, and new Steeples, to pass insignificant, unknown Rivers; they go out of their Country purely to return again; they love to be absent, that they may one day come from afar; this Satirist talks well, and forces attention.  
But, when he adds, that Books are more instructive than Travelling, and gives me to understand that he he has a Library, I desire to see it, I visit this Gentleman, he receives me into his House, and at the bottom of the Stairs, I am struck down with the scent of the Russia Leather, that covers all his Books; in vain he encourages me, by telling me they are gilded on the Backs and Leaves, that they are of the best Editions, and by naming some of the best of them; he tells me, his Gallery is full of them, except one place that is painted so like Books, the fallacy is not to be discerned; he adds, that he never reads, and rarely sets foot in this Gallery, and that he did it now to oblige me; I thank him for his complaisance, but would as soon visit a Tan-Pit as his Library.  
Some people by an intemperate desire of knowledge, and an unwillingness to be ignorant of any thing, are greedy of all sorts of Learning, and masters of none, they are fonder of knowing much, than knowing well; and had rather be superficial smatterers in several Sciences, than to dive profoundly into any one alone; they every where meet with Masters to reclaim 'em, they are bubbles to their own vain Curiosity, and often by very painful efforts cannot extricate themselves from their gross Ignorance.  
Others keep the Key of Knowledge, but never enter themselves, they spend their lives in Learning the Eastern and Northern Languages, those of both Indies, those of the two Poles, nay that of the World in the Moon itself: The most useless Idioms, the most ridiculous, and Magical Characters, employ their Souls, and excite their industry; they are very angry with those who content themselves with their own Language, or at most with the Greek, and Latin. These men read all the Historians, and know nothing of History; they run thro' all Books, but are not the wiser for any; their defect is a barren ignorance of things, and principles; and indeed their best Collection, their greatest Riches, consist in abundance of words, and phrases, which they huddle together, and load their Memory withal, whilst their Souls are empty.  
A Citizen loves building, he builds himself a House, so fine and noble, that he's ashamed to live in it, and is unwilling to let it to a Nobleman, or a Statesman; he retires into the Garret, where he spends his life, whilst the Walls and Board's are worn out by Travellers; there's a continual knocking at the Gate, all desire to see the House, but none the Master.  
There are others, who have Daughters, and are not able to give them a Groat; nay, which is less, can hardly clothe and feed them; they are so poor, that they are forced to deny themselves a Bed and clean Linen; the source of their misery is very obvious, 'tis a Repository of rare Statues, which indeed would sell at a great rate; but they cannot prevail with themselves to part with them.  
Dyphilus is a lover of Birds, he began with one, and ends with a thousand; his House is so far from being the more pleasant, that 'tis pestered with them; the Hall, the Parlour, the Stair cases, the Porch, the Chamber and Closets are so many Aviaries; nothing is heard but discord and wild notes; the Autumnal winds, and most rapid Cataracts, do not make a noise so shrill and piercing; you cannot hear one another speak, but in those Chambers that are set apart for receiving visits, where you are plagued with his little yelping Curs; 'tis no longer an agreeable amusement to Dyphilus; but a toilsome fatigue; which his body can hardly undergo, he spends his days (those days that pass away and never return) in feeding his Birds and clearing their dung; he gives a man a Salary for no other service, but to teach them with a Flagelet, and take care that his Canary-birds tread one another; 'tis true, what he spends on one hand, he spares on the other; his Children have neither Tutors, nor Education. In the Evening, tired with his own pleasure, he shuts himself up without being able to enjoy the least repose, till his Birds are at roost, and those little Creatures that he only dotes on for their Song, cease their Notes; he dreams of them in his sleep, he is himself, metamorphosed into a Bird, he is copple-crowned, he chirps, he perches, he fancies in the night that he moltes, that he is brooding.  
Who can describe all the different kinds of trivial curiosity; imagine you hear one talk of his Leopard, of his Plume, of his Music, he brags that they are the most choice and rare in the World: Why does he not sell them? they cost him very dear.  
There's another an admirer of Infects, he augments his Collection every day; he is the greatest Critic in Europe, at a Butterfly; he has them of all sizes and colours. 
* Several French Names of Shells.  What time can you find to pay him a visit? he's afflicted with bitter sorrow; is in a sour Chagrin temper, to the plague of his whole Family; he has had an irreparable loss: go near him, observe what he shows you on his Finger, 'tis a Canker-worm, just dying and expiring: but 'twas such Canker-worm!  
* Duel is the triumph of fashion, and the place where her Tyranny reigns with the greatest splendour. 'Tis a custom not to permit a Coward to live; this obliges him to go to be killed by a man of more bravery than himself, and so passes undistinguished from a man of courage; it hath entailed honour and renown on an action full of folly and extravagance, it has obtained reputation by the presence of Kings; and sometimes hath had a sort of Religion to countenance its practice; it decided the Innocence of men, and whether accusations in capital Crimes were true or false, it was so deeply rooted in the opinion of the World, and got such an entire possession of the minds of men, that it has been one of the most glorious actions of the Life of a most potent Monarch, to cure them of this folly.  
* The ancient manner used in disciplining Armies, in Negotiations, or in the Eloquence of the Chair, and in Poetry, ●s now grown obsolete. Men are degenerate from what they formerly were, is it their merit which is out of date, or have we lost the taste we had of them?  
* A man of mode is not so long: Fashions are very transitory. But if perchance he is a man of merit, he cannot suffer annihilation; but by something or other will still subsist, always equally worthy of estimation, though he is less esteemed.  
Virtue has that happiness in her that she can self-subsist, she knows how to treat Admirers, Partymen and Patriots: the want of assistance and approbation doth not only not afflict her, but purifies and renders her more perfect; whether she be in fashions or out of fashion, she is still Virtue.  
* If you tell men, and especially the great ones, that such a man has Virtue, they●ll tell you, let him keep it then; that he has a great deal of Wit, and above all, that he is very pleasant and diverting; they'll answer you, so much the better for him; that he has a Wit well cultivated, and is very knowing; they'll ask you what's a Clock, what weather it is; but if you give them to understand there's a Juggler, one that turns Aqua Vitae black; 'Tis wonderful! though they often see it at Feasts: Th●n they cry out, where is he? bring him to me this evening, to morrow, or as soon as you can possibly find him; he is brought, and the wretch who is only fit to be shown in Fairs, or at private Entertainments for Money, presently becomes their familiar.  
* There's nothing brings a Man sooner in fashion than playing high; it passes from the Peer to the Bully: I would fain see a polite gallant, and witty man, were he a Catullus, or one of his disciples, dare to compare himself with him that loses eight hundred Pistoles at a sitting.  
* A fashionable man is like a certain Blue Flower, that grows spontaneously in ploughed grounds; indeed it chokes the weeds, but spoils the crop, and takes up the room of something that●s better; it has no beauty nor value, but what's owing to a slender caprice, which is born and dead in the same instant. To day he is in vogue and admired by the Ladies, to morrow he is neglected and left to the scorn of the Mob.  
On the contrary, a man of merit is a Flower, which is not valued for its colour only, we call it by its name; 'tis cultivated for its odoriferous scent and beauty; 'tis one of the graces of nature, one of those things which beautify the Creation; it has been admired by all men in all ages, our Fathers set a high value on it, and we in imitation of them have as great an opinion of it; nor can the disgust and antipathy of any particular persons injure its reputation. 'Tis a Lily, 'tis a Rose.  
* We see Eustrates placed in his small Boat, blessed with a pure Air, and a serene Sky, he sets sail with a fair wind, which in all probability is like to continue; but all of a sudden it changes, the Heavens are clouded, and the Tempest appears, a wave oversets the Boat, and he is sunk to the bottom; Eustrates rises to the surface of the Waters, endeavours to swim, and we hope at least that he will reach the shore, and save his life; but another wave sinks him, and we give him over for lost, he appears above water a second time, and our hopes revive, when a foaming billow drives him to the bottom, from whence he never rises; he is drowned.  
* Voiture and Sarazin we●e born for the Age they liv●d in, and they appeared in a time which seemed to expect them; if they had not made such haste, they had come too late, and I question whether at this time they wou●d have been what they were then: Airy and diverting conversation, gallant and familiar Letters, and the select companies, where wit only would recommend, are all vanished, and there is no talk of reviving them: All that I can say in favour of their Genius's is, that perhaps they might have excelled in another way. But the Ladies of this Age are either Hypocrites, Coquetts, Gamesters or Ambitious; and some of them all together; Luxury, Gaming, their Paramours, and their Waiting-women, have possessed themselves of the Fort, and defend it against the Men of Wit.  
* The Fops and Coxcombs are singular in their dress, their Hats are broad, their Sleeves are larger, and their Coats of clear another cut than those of other Men; they frequent all public places, that they may be taken notice of: whilst the man of sense leaves the fashion of his clothes to his Tailor: 'Tis as great a weakness to be out of fashion as to be in it.  
* We blame a fashion that divides the stature of a man into two equal parts, which takes one entire to the waste, and leaves the other for the rest of the body: we condemn those dresses which make the Lady's heads look like the base of an edifice, with numerous stories above 'em; the order and structure whereof alter with their whimsies; that separate the hair from that part of the face Nature designed it for, and raise it in the manner of Bacchanals, as if they intended the fair sex should exchange the tender and modest air of their faces, for one much more fierce and bold: We exclaim against this or that mode, which, ridiculous as 'tis, helps and embellishes Nature, as long as it lasts, and from which we reap all the advantage we could expect, which is to please; when we ought only to be surprised at the levity, and inconstancy of Men; who successively call agreeable and decorous, those things so directly opposite to each other; who use those habits in their Comedies and Masquerades, which lately were the most grave and solemn; and that so small a tim● should make such a difference.  
* N— is rich, she eats well and lies well● but her Commode grows out of wear, when she thinks least on't, and when she believes herself happy, she's out of the fashion.  
* Iphis at Church sees a new-fashioned Shoe, he looks upon his own, and blush's, and can no longer believe himself dressed; he comes to Prayers only to show himself, but now he hides himself, and you may see him held by the foot in his Chamber all the rest of the day. He has a soft hand, with which he gives you a gentle pat; he is sure to laugh often, to show his white Teeth; he sets his mouth in order, and is in a perpetual smile: he looks upon his Legs, he views himself in the Glass, and no body can have so good an opinion of another, as he has of himself: He has acquired a delicate and clear Voice, and is happy in a free way of talking; he has a turn of his Head, and a sort of sweetness in his Eyes, which he never forgets to make use of, as graces to set him off. His gate is slow, but the most diverting that you can imagine; he sometimes makes use of a little red, but 'tis very seldom, he does not make a custom of it: 'Tis true, he wears Breeches and a Hat; he has neither Earrings nor a Necklace, therefore I han't put him into the Chapter of Women.  
* Those very fashions which men so willingly follow in their persons, they won't endure in their pourtraictures, as if they really foresaw how indecent and ridiculous they will appear, when they have lost what we call the flower of a fashion, its agreeable novelty: they rather take up with the most extravagant ornaments, the most indifferent Drapery; nay, the fancy of the Painter, which is neither agreeable to the air of the face, nor the character of the person● they affect forced and indecent postures, a rough brutish and strange manner; they make a Captain of a young Abbot, a Harlequin of a Man of the long Robe; a Diana of a City Dame, an Amazon, or a Pallas, of a silly timorous Girl, a Lais of a Woman of Honour, and an Attila, of a just and magnanimous Prince.  
One fashion has hardly destroyed another, but 'tis justled out by a newer, which must itself make way for its successor; and that for a following, which will not be the last, such is our levity; during these revolutions an Age is spun out, and then all these things are ranked amongst things past, which never return: The finest mode, and which charms the eye the most, is the most ancient; which is advanced in respect by ages and years, and appears as agreeable in our Pictures, as the 
* Roman warlike Habits●  Sagum and the Roman Habit on the Theatres; as the 
* Oriental Habits.  Mantle, the 
* Oriental Habits.  Veil, or the 
* Oriental Habits.  Tiara in our Tapestries, and Paintings.  
Our Fathers have transmitted to us with the knowledge of their Persons, that of their Habits, their 
* Offensive and Defensive.  Arms, and all the Ornaments which they were fond of during their lives: A benefit we can make no other return for, than by doing our Posterity the same service.  
* Formerly the Courtier wore his own Hair, half Silk-stockings, and his Habit was loose and easy: but now he has a full Wig, a close Habit, whole stockings, and is Religious, all which he accommodates to the fashion.  
* He who after some considerable residence at Court was Religious, and therefore contrary to all reason, has narrowly escape being ridiculed, can he ever hope to come in fashion?  
* What will not a Courtier do that has his Fortune in view; if rather than not make it, he will turn religious.  
* The Colours are all prepared and the Pallet is ready; but how shall I fix this restless, light and inconstant man, who changes himself into a thousand and a thousand figures? I paint him devout, and fancy I have hit him, but he has deceived me, and is just now a Libertine: I at least expect that he continue in this ill posture, and know very well how to hit that irregularity of heart and soul, by which he would be known; but the fashion obliges, and he is devout.  
* To neglect going to Vespersas a thing obsolete and out of fashion, to know all the avenues of the Chapel, where he may be seen, and where he may be unobserved, to be intent at Church on God and his own business, to receive Visits, to give out Orders and Commissions, and at the same time to attend the Responses, to choose a Director, and rely on him more than the Gospel itself, to derive all his sanctity from the reputation of his Director, to despise all those that he has a slender opinion of, and scarce allow them to be in a state of Salvation; to be fond of the word of God only from the mouth of his Director, to prefer Mass of his celebration, and the Sacraments from his hands, before all others; to make his spiritual Repast only Books of Devotion, as if there were neither Gospels, Epistles of the Apostles, or Morals of the Fathers; to read and talk a Jargon unknown to the first ages; to be very exact to confess the sins of others, and palliate his own; to cry out of his sufferings and his patience; to talk of his small progress in Gallantry, as of a sin; to be in a secret alliance with some persons against others, to have no value for any but those of his own side and cabal, and to suspect even Virtue herself, to taste and relish prosperity and favour, to wish no body well but himself, never to assist merit, to make piety subservient to his Ambition, to go to heaven by the way of Fortune and Dignity, this is now adays the greatest effort of Devotion.  
* An Hyprocrite is one that will be an Atheist under a Ring that is so.  
Hypocrites esteem nothing a crime but incontinence, or, to speak more exactly, the reputation and appearance of it. If Pherecides passes for one that is cured of his fondness for women, and Pherenice for a chaste wife, 'tis enough, for then let them play a destructive game to ruin their credit, or to rejoice at the misfortunes of another; and to advantage themselves by it, to idolise the great, and contemn the meaner sort, to be intoxicated with their own merit, to be dried up with envy, to lie, to calumniate, to cabal, to blacken; this is their way: would you that they should usurp a place amongst good men, who with all their vices avoid pride and injustice?  
* When a Courtier becomes humble, is cured of pride and ambition, when he ceases to raise his Fortune on the ruin of his Companions; when he shall be just, indulgent to his Vassals, and pay his Creditors; when he shall be neither Knave nor Calumniator; when he shall leave off luxurious Feasting and unlawful Love; when he shall pray otherwise than with his Lips, and out of his Prince's presence; when he shall not be morose, and difficult of access to others; when he shall have no austerity in his countenance, or sourness in his mein; when he shall be no more negligent and contemplative; when by his scrupulous application to business, he shall render different affairs very compatible; when he shall harass himself, and be willing to bend his mind to vast cares and laborious employments, to those of the greatest consquence, for the good of the state and people; when his Character shall make me afraid to mention him in this place, and his modesty prevent it: If I do not name him, yet when I think of him I shall say he is Religious, or rather that he is a man given to the age, for a model of sincere virtue, and for the detection of the Hypocrite.  
* Onuphrius has nothing for his Bed but a Coverlet of grey Serge, but he lies upon Cotton and Down; he is plainly, but decently habited; I would say he wears a slight Stuff in the Summer, and a very good Cloth in the Winter; he wears extraordinary fine Shirts, but takes a great deal of care to hide them; he does not brag of his course Garment, his strict Discipline; on the contrary, he passes for what he is, an Hypocrite, and would pass for what he is not in the least, a devout man: 'Tis true, he makes us in a sort believe, without telling us that he wears a course Under-garment, and that he disciplines himself severely: he has several Books that are indifferently dispersed about his Chamber; this is the Spiritual Combat, that the Interior Christian, the other the Holy Year; his other Books are under Lock and Key; if he is going along the Streets and observes a man to whom 'tis necessary he should seem devout, downcast Eyes, a slow and modest Gate, a devout Air, are familiar to him, he plays his part: if he enters a Church, he observes whose eyes are upon him, and according to the discovery he makes, he falls upon his knees and goes to prayer, or else never thinks of kneeling or praying; if he sees a good man or a man of authority approach, that ob●serves him, he not only prays but meditates too, le's drop tears and sighs; but this good man is hardly gone, but he is silent and can scarce be perceived to breathe: another time he goes to an holy place, rushes thro' the crowd, and chooses a place for his Devotion, where all the world may see how he humbles himself; if he perceives any Courtiers who laugh and talk in the Chapel louder than in the Antichamber, he makes a greater noise than they, on purpose to silence them, and returns to his meditation, which is always the comparison he makes between those persons and himself, in which he finds his account of all things; he avoids an empty Church, where he may hear two Masses one after another, a Sermon and Vespers only between God and himself without any other witness; he loves that Parish, and frequents the Churches where there is the greatest concourse, for there he does not lose his labour, he is observ●d by the Congregation; he chooses two or three days to fast in without any occasion; towards the end of the Winter he has a Cough, his Stomach is out of order, he has the Vapours and a Fever, he begs and presses with all the earnestness in the world, to break Lent as soon as it is begun, and it is granted him in complaisance. If Onuphrius is named Abitrator amongst Relations, or in a Family ●a●se, he is for the strongest, I would say the richest side, and cannot be persuaded that he that has a plentiful Estate can ever be to blame. If he finds a rich man which he can impose upon and make his advantage of, he is his Parasite; he never cajoles his Wife, nor makes the least advances that way, but rather flies her, and will leave her a part of his Garment to be gone, unless he is as sure of her as himself; he never attempts to seduce or debauch her by his hypocritical Jargon. He never talks, because it is customary so to do, but out of design, which is always advantageous to him, and is always silent where his discourse would render him very ridiculous. He knows where to find Lady's more● sociable and agreeable than his Friend's Wife, which he very seldom absents himself from, unless it be to give occasion to a public report that he retires from the world; and how indeed should they doubt it, when they see his face fallen away, as if he never indulged himself in the least. He is like those Women who carry on their intrigues successfully under the veil of Devotion, with this difference only, that he slights those which are old, and addresses himself only to the young, and amongst them 'tis those only who are the most beautiful can please him: they go and he goes, they return and he returns, they stay and he stays; he has the happiness to see them in all places and at all hours; and who in his place but would be edified? they are Religious, and so is he: H● is sure to make the best use he can of his friends, stupidity and prepossession in his favour; sometimes he borrows money of him, at other times he manages him so dextrously, that he offers to lend it himself, and is very angry with him that he does not make use of his friends when he has occasion. Sometimes he will not receive a half penny without giving a note, when he's sure 'twon't be accepted: at another time he says he wants nothing but an inconsiderable sum: at other times he publicly extols the generosity of this man, on purpose to excite and oblige him in honour to bestow an extravagant largess on him. He does not expect any thing from his hereditary estate, nor does he imagine all his personal a Legacy: But above all things he endeavours to set aside the lawful Heir. A devout man is neither covetous, violent, unjust, nor self-interested: Onuphrius is not a devout man, but he would appear so; and by a perfect, though a false, imitation of piety, he tacitly manages his interests: he never aims at the direct line of a Family, nor insinuates himself where there's a Daughter to provide for, or a Son to settle; he knows they have a right too strong and inviolable to be shaken without a great deal of noise, which may perhaps reach the ears of his Prince, from whom he runs with all the fear in the world that he shall be discovered, and appear what really he is. He chooses the collateral line, which he can attack with greater safety; he is the terror of all the first and second Cousins, the flatterer and professed friend of all the rich Uncles; he bushes to be the heir of every rich old man that dies without issue, but if he's disappointed, if the relations succeed in the Estate, and Onuphrius can't quite throw them out of it, he will at least wrest good part on't from them: a slender calumny, a trifling slander is sufficient for that, and indeed is the talon he possesses in the highest degree of perfection, and he makes this management very often conduce to his profit; and (according to him) there are men, who he is obliged in conscience to decry, and they are those which he does not in the least affect, which he designs to injure, and impatiently desires their ruin: He acquires his ends without so much as opening his mouth. If you talk to him of Eudoxis he laughs or he weeps; ask him any thing again and again, he makes you no answer, and he has reason to be silent, he has said enough.  
* Laugh silly, be foolish and wanton, as you used to be: Whence proceeds this immoderate joy? I am rich (say you) done't you see I live at large, and now begin to have room to breathe in. Laugh louder, burst yourself, what's a great estate good for, if it brings seriousness and melancholy along with it? Imitate the great ones, who are born in the bosom of riches, they laugh sometimes, and give themselves up to their inclinations; do you therefore follow your own, le● it not be said of you, that a new place, or some thousand Livres of Rent, more or less, should make you pass from one extremity to the other. I am (say you) brought into favour by my place: I doubt it. But silly believe me, don't leave off laughing, nor laughing at me, (as several times you have done) done't fear any thing, I shan't be the more free nor familiar with you, I shan't have a less opinion of you and your post, I shall equally believe that you are rich and in favour: I am religious (you add) 'tis enough Zelie, and I can●t but remember that 'tis not the serenity and joy which a good conscience imprints on the face that you enjoy, when melancholy and anxious thoughts have taken up the best place in the soul, and dispersed themselves about; I am, indeed, astonished, to find that a false Devotion should sooner be able to make a woman proud and disdainful, than Youth or Beauty.  
* Arts and Sciences have been vastly improved in an age, and are all now refined in the highest degree, even that of Salvation is reduced to rule and method, and augmented with all that's fine and sublime which human understanding could invent. 
* False Devotion.  Devotion and Geometry have their manners of speaking, which are called terms of Art; and he that is ignorant of them is neither devout nor a Geometrician: the first Religious, who were directed by the Apostles, were ignorant of them; those simple people had only Faith and Works, which they reduced to believing and living well.  
* 'Tis a very nice thing for a Prince to reform his Court and set up Piety in it: He instructs the Courtier how he may please him, and lets him know at whose expense he must make his fortune; he manages him with prudence, he tolerates him, and conceals his dislike of him, for fear he should plunge himself into Hypocrisy or Sacrilege: He expects better success in his reformation from God and Time, than from his own Zeal and Industry.  
* 'Tis an old custom in Courts to give Pensions, and distribute favours to Fiddlers, Dancing-masters, Players, Flatterers and cringing wretches: their merit is fixed, and their excellencies certain and known, who amuse and recreate the great ones: They know that Favier dances well, and that Lorenzane composes fine Anthems. If a Religious virtuous man comes there, nothing can be spared for him, nor is it reasonable there should; 'tis a profession very daily counterfeited, and if he should be rewarded, would expose the Prince to honour dissimulation and villainy, and pay a pension to a Hypocrite.  
* 'Tis to be hoped that the piety of a Court would not hinder the residence of its Courtiers.  
* I doubt not but true Devotion is the true source of Repose; that it supports us in life, and sweetens death, but these can't be drawn from Hypocrisy.  
* Every hour in its self, as it respects us in particular, when once 'tis past 'tis entirely lost, millions of ages can't retrieve it, several Days, Months and Years are fled away and irretrievably lost, in the abyss of time and time itself shall be destroyed; 'tis but one point in the immense space of eternity, and it shall be razed out. There are several light and frivolous circumstances of time which are unstable and pass away, which I c●ll Fashions, Grandeur, Favour, Riches, Power, Authority, Dependence, Pleasure, Joy and Superfluities; what will become of these when time itself shall disappear? 'Tis Virtue alone, though least in fashion, can survive time.   

OF Certain Customs  
THere are some men who want an Estate to make them Gentlemen.  
There are others, who if they could have put off their Creditors but one half year longer, had descended from some most ancient family.  
Others again rise up Gentlemen, of as old a date, who when they lay down thought of nothing less than Gentility.  
How many of these Gentlemen are there, whose fathers and eldest brothers never pretended to that title.  
* Many a man will disown his Father, that is known to keep such a Farm, or such an Alehouse, and will brag of his Grandfather, who is dead, and might, for aught one knows, be a better man. He has perhaps a large income, some great place, and a Lord for his Son-in-law, and had he but a title too, would be as good a man as the best Peer in the Land.  
land A Gentleman was formerly said to have a grant from the King for his Title: 
The Title of Gentleman is held by Patent in France, as that of Pew in England.  This was thought a very proper expression, but now 'tis old and obsolete. Rehabilitation is the term which has supplied its place in all our Courts of Judicature, such a one who has laid up an Estate is rehabilited in his Gentility. This intimates that he was originally a Gentleman, that it is most fitting he should still be so, that however his father may have abdicated his title by driving the Plough, digging the Earth, carrying a Pedlars Pack, or wearing a Livery, he is now restored to the right of his Ancestors. And that what is now to be done is only to continue him the possession of the same Coat of Arms they always had, though it is perhaps one of his own invention, and quite different from that he had before on his Pewter. In a word, it implies that a Grant of this title is unfit for him, and proper only for one who never was a Gentleman, and whom the meanness of his birth still makes desirous of getting money.  
* As one man, by often affirming he has seen some miraculous sight, persuades himself he really has. As another, by hiding his age from others, comes to believe at last, he is as young as he would be thought. So the man, who, though meanly born, has taken a habit of talking of his Grandfather that own●d this or that great Seat, or of his Great Grandfather, that was Lord of this or that Manor, which they perhaps never heard of. This man, I say, has the pleasure of fancying himself at length to be descended from some considerable Family.  
* What man is there that's never so meanly born, who having got an Estate can want a Coat of Arms, and to this Coat a Crest, Supporters and Motto. What is become of the distinction of Casks and Helmets, the name and use of 'em are abolished; 'tis no longer in dispute whither they should be born in front or side ways, close or open, or about the number of bars: 'Tis to Coronets that they aspire, that they lay claim to. There are some Citizens that have a little modesty still left, and use not the Ducal Coronet, being content with an Earls; and some go not far in quest of it, but take it from their Signs to clap it on their Coach.  
* A Citizen is a despicable Creature: but as for one who is born in the corner of a thatched House, or perhaps in the ruins of an old Tower, which stands in the middle of a Bog, and which he qualifies with the name of Castle, let him but style himself a Gentleman, and he is one.  

This relates to a particular person, perhaps to the M— de T—  * A Gentleman strives to be respected as a Nobleman, and lives so high that none can tell but he is one. A Nobleman can be satisfied with no less than the title of Prince, changing his Coat of Arms, and producing a new Genealogy as doubtful as his pretences; he sets so many Engines to work, arrogates to himself so many great Titles, has so many disputes about ranks and precedency, that at last he really becomes a little Prince.  
* Some men are so fond of titles that they give themselves three rather than fail; one they use in the City, another in the Country, and a third elsewhere. Others are contented with one name, adding du or de to it, to make it sound genteel, as soon as their circumstances are any thing tolerable; others again, by suppressing one syllable of their name, transfer themselves from one of the meanest Families into one of the most ancient in the Kingdom. Many will suppress their whole names, which had nothing shameful in them, to adopt others that sound greater, and by which they get nothing but the being compared to a disadvantage with the great men from whom we borrow them. And as many who are born within the Walls of Paris, will feign themselves to be Flemish or Italians, as if a mean extraction could not be drawn from any Country, will lengthen their names and give them another termination to make them sound outlaudish, fancying that a name is much better for being far fetched.  
* The want of Money has taken off the inconsistence of gentility with a mean extraction, and saves many a dispute about the quartering of Scutcheons.  
* How many would be gainers by a Law that should make gentility to be drawn from the Mother's side, and how many more would be losers by it. There are few Families, but what are as near related to the greatest Princes as the meanest Peasant.  
* ay here declare it openly, and desire all men to take notice of it, that none may wonder hereafter. If ever any great man thinks me worthy of his care, if ever I happen to make my fortune, there is one Godfrey de la Bruyere, whom all the Chronicles of France place among the men of the highest rank, that followed Godfrey of Bovillon in his conquest of the Holy Land: And this Godfrey shall then be the man from whom I am descended in a direct line.  
* If Gentility be a virtue, that man loses his title that is not virtuous. If it is not a virtue it is hardly worth his care.  
* There are things, which considered in their principle and in their first institution are wonderful and incomprehensible: Who could imagine, for example, that this Abbot, who makes his dress his whole study, who wants nothing of the effeminacy or of the vanity that is observed in either Sex, and in the highest quality; who has as good a talon to insinuate himself in the Lady's favour as the greatest Beau, or the richest Banker: Nay, who outdoes them both. Who, I say, could imagine that such a man was originally, and still bears the name of the Head and Father of a Society of humble and holy men, who have devoted themselves to solitude, and to whom he should be a pattern and an example? How powerful, how absolute, how tyrannical is custom? And● not to speak of greater disorders, how great a cause have we to fear it will bring one day our Abbots to wear grey flowered Velvet, like a certain Cardinal, or to paint and patch, like Women?  
* Whether the obscenities of the Gods? whether the Venus, the Ganymede, and all the other Nudities of Caraccio, are Pictures that have been drawn for the Fathers of the Church, and for men who style themselves the successors of the Apostles, I leave you to judge from the Palace Farnese?  
* There is no fine thing but what loses of its grace by being misplaced; no perfection without an agreeableness; no agreeableness but what is grounded on reason. A Jig in a Church, or the affected tone of a Player in a Pulpit would but offend our ears. Temples are not adorned with profane Images. A Crucifix, for example, and the Judgement of Paris were never seen in the same Sanctuary. The Equipage and the Retinue of a man of the Sword, is unbecoming of a Divine.  
* We hear of no Vows nor Pilgrimages made to any Saint, in order to attain to a higher degree of benignity, gratitude, or equity, to cure us of our malignity, vanity, spleen, and uneasiness of temper.  
* What can be more extravagant, than for Christians to have their constant meetings, designed on purpose for the applauding a company of excommunicated persons, whom they at once reward and excommunicate for the pleasure they receive from them. Methinks all Theatres should be shut up, or a less severe sentence passed against Players.  
* Parish Duties amount to more for a Christening than for a Confession, and are larger for a Marriage than for a Christening. One would think there was a Tax laid upon Sacraments, by this which seems to be rated as a sort of Merchandise; yet when all is done, nothing like it can reasonably be inferred from this custom. They that receive those Duties pretend as little to sell the Sacraments, as those that pay them think to buy 'em. Such an appearance of evil, might indeed as well be laid aside, to avoid offending the weak, and being censured by the wicked.  
* A brisk jolly Priest, who is as healthy as he can wish himself, is Rector of such a Parish, and sits in his laced Surplis amongst the Judges and Magistrates, in the best place in the Church, where he ends the digestion of a plentiful Dinner, while a Monk or a Friar l●aves his Desert or his Cell, which decency and his vow should confine him to, and comes to preach before him and his flock, and is paid for his Sermon as for a piece of Stuff. The novelty and unexpectedness of such a censure startles you; you wonder at the impertinence of it, and are ready to ask me, whether I would deprive this Priest and his whole Parish from hearing the Word of God, and receiving the bread of Life. No, by no means, I would have him preach that Word, and deal that Bread to them himself, at all times, and at all places, in public and in private, in the Churches, in the Markets, and on the House tops. And I would have none to pretend to so great and so laborious an office, but with an intent and a capacity of deserving the large offerings and the great retributions that are belonging to it. I am forced, 'tis true, to excuse him for doing so. 'Tis a custom which he finds established, and he will leave after him to his Successors. But it is this odd, ill-grounded and unreasonable custom which I blame, and which I can approve as little as that of his being paid four times for the same Funeral, once for himself, a second time for his deuce, a third for his presence, and a fourth for his assistance.  
* Titus has served the Church for these twenty years in a small Living, and is not yet worthy of a better Benefice that falls vacant: Neither his parts, the solidity of his Doctrine, his exemplary life, nor the desire of the Parishioners, are sufficient to bring him in. Another man starts up, as it were from under ground, and is preferred before him. Titus has no reason to complain, Custom would have it so.  
* Who says the Chanter should pretend to make me rise to Matins? Am not I Master of the Choir? My Predecessors never went there; sure I am no worse a man than he was? Should I suffer my Dignity to be undervalued while I am in possession of it, or should I leave it to my Successor such as I found it? 'Tis not, says the Prebendary, my own Interest but my prebend's that I regard. It would be very hard that I should be tide to hear the service, whilst the Treasure●, the Arch deacon, and the Grand-Vicar, think themselves exempt from it. I have a great deal of reaso●, says the Dean, to demand my Deuce, though I never come to Prayers. Have not I slept all night for these twenty years without being disturbed? I will go on in my old way, and my carriage shall always be answerable to my dignity: Else what should I get by being chief in the Chapter? My example can be of no consequence. Thus every one strives to be exempt from praising God, and to show by a long and a continued course, that he is under no obligation of doing it. There cannot be a greater nor a more fervent emulation, than there is betwixt 'em, for absenting themselves from Divine Service. The Bells are heard in a still night, and the same Harmony which awakes the Singing-men and Choristers, serves to ●ui● the Canons into 〈…〉 and pleasant sleep, which produ●●s no dreams, but what are delightful. They ●ise up ●●e, they go to Church and receive their Salary for taking their ea●e.  
* Who would ever imagine, did not experience daily lay it before our eyes, how difficult a thing it is to persuade man to be happy? Or who would think that there should be occasion for an order of men designed for that purpose, to prepare long Speeches, to make use of all the soft and eloquent expressions they can think of, to study the very tone with which they de●iver 'em, to use such gestures and such violent motions, that they put themselves in a sweat and spend all their Spirits; who, I say, could imagine that all these things were needful for the bringing of a Christian, that is endowed with reason, and labours under a desperate fit of sickness, to choose rather to be eternally happy, than to lose his own Soul?  
* Aristipus' Daughter lies dangerously ill; she sends for her Father, would be reconciled to him, and would die in his favour: Shall so wise a man, and one whom the whole Town respects for his prudence, grant her so reasonable a request of his own accord? Shall he persuade his Wife to the same? No! Neither of them can be moved but by the engine of a spiritual Guide.  
* A Mother who makes a Nun of her Daughter, without any regard to her inclinations, takes upon herself the charge of another Soul, besides her own, and stands bound for such a Soul of God himself That this Mother may escape eternal Death, the Daughter must obtain eternal Life.  
* A broken Gamester marries his Daughter, and gives her all that he has left for her portion. The youngest is upon making herself a Nun, and all the Call she has is her Father's gaming.  
* There has been virtuous, healthy, zealous Maids, and who had a good and lawful Call; but who wanted money to devote themselves to Poverty in a rich Abbey.  
* That man is blinded by his passion, and guilty of the highest piece of folly, that marries Melita, a pretty, young, virtuous, and prudent woman, who is of a saving temper, and has as great a kindness for him as he has for her, but less money than Acgina, who is offered to him with an extraordinary good portion, and extraordinary qualifications to squander it all away, and his own estate along with it.  
* Marrying formerly was a nice thing: It was a settlement for life, a serious piece of business, and which deserved a great deal of consideration. A man was formerly to take his wife for better for worse, the same House, the same Table, and the same Bed were in common to 'em both: he was to be a husband all his life time. There was no coming off with a separate maintenance, no reconciling of a wife and family with the outward appearance and the delights of a single life.  
* Should a man be afraid of being seen with a woman that is not his Wife, I should commend his modesty. Were he loath to frequent the company of such persons whose reputation is not altogether untainted, I should never wonder at him. But what impertinent whimsy can make him blush at his own Wife? What makes him be ashamed of being seen in public, with one whom he has chosen for an inseparable Companion? one from whom he should expect all the satisfaction and delight that can be reaped from human Society? One whom he loves and admires, who is his chief Ornament, who credits him no less by her extraction, than by her wit, her merit, her extraordinary virtue. And why did he not begin by blushing at his marriage?  
* ay am not unacquainted with the prevailing power of Custom, with its ruling over the minds of men; its tyrannising over their manners, even without ground or reason● yet I should have impudence enough to walk openly in the mail, and to let who will see me there with one that was my Wife.  
* A young man deserves no blame for marrying an old woman: He rather shows his prudence in preventing a greater evil. The disparagement lies in misusing of one's Benefactriss, and in using her so as to let her perceive, that she has been imposed upon by a hypocritical and an ungrateful man. If any fiction be excusable it is that of friendship. And if deceit be allowable, it is on such an occasion as would make sincerity a a piece of cruelty. Ay, but she lives longer than was expected: Had you then computed the time she was to live, to be no longer than just what would suffice, for her to sign the Deed that clears your debts and raises your fortune: And as soon as this great work is done, is she to breathe no longer? Is a dose of Opium a necessary thing for her? Is it a crime in her to live? And if you should die before her, whose Funeral you had so well contrived, and for whom you had designed the finest Pall, and the ringing of the biggest Bell in the Pari'sh, must she be accountable for your disappointment?  

Putting Money out to use.  * There is a method of improving one's Estate, which for these many ages have been practised by some of the best of men, and blamed by some of the best Divines.  
* The Commonwealth was ever burdened with certain Offices, which seem to have been erected with no other design than to enrich one man at the expense of many, which cause a constant and a perpetual ebb in the Estates of private men, and shall I say it, from which any advantage is seldom or never reaped. Each of them is a Gulf, a Sea that receives the waters of many Rivers, but parts with none, at least disgo●ges itself through secret and subterranean Conduits in an imperceptible manner, and which lessens nothing of the extreme height to which it is swelled. 'Tis a lake that never overflows, but after it has enjoyed those Waters long, and when it can keep them no longer.  
* Have you a piece of Silver? That's not sufficient. No, nor a piece of Gold neither. 'Tis a quantity that must do the business: Add others to it if you can. Improve 'em to a heap of many bags, and leave the rest to me. You have neither birth nor wit; neither natural parts, nor any experience of the world. No matter; only keep up your heap, and I'll place you so high, that you shall stand on a level with your Master, if you have one. And he must be very eminent indeed, if with the help of your increasing metal, I raise you not even many degrees above him.  
* Oranta has been at Law for these ten years, about determining in what Court her Cause is to be heard. Her pretensions are just, of the highest consequence, and on them depends all her fortune. About five years hence she is like to know who her Judges are to be, and at what Bar she is to plead during the remaining part of her life.  
* That custom is received with applause, which has introduced itself in our Courts of Judicature, of interrupting the Council at the Bar in the middle of his discourse, of hindering his being eloquent or witty, of making him return to the matter of fact, and confining him to the bare proofs on which his Client grounds his right, and by which the justness of his cause may be demonstrated. And so severe a practice, which exposes an Orator to the regret of having left out the finest part of his discourse, which banishes eloquence from its natural place, and which is ready to fill our Courts with mutes. This practice, I say, is authorised by a substantial reason, against which there is no exception. And that is the dispatch of business: I could wish this reason was less forgot elsewhere, that it were as much regarded in all Offices belonging to each respective Court, as it is in the Court itself. That our Lawyers were obliged to aim at a conclusion in their writing as they are in their speaking.  
* The Duty of a Judge consists in the administration of Justice, and his Trade in delaying it. Some Judges understand their duty, and follow their Trade.  
* Whoever becomes a solicitor to his Judge shows him no respect at all: He questions his understanding or his honesty, he endeavours to give him a prejudice against his Adversary, or else he desires of him a downright injustice.  
* The temper of some Judges is such, that interest, authority, intimacy, or relation, render a just Cause obnoxious to 'em; their affectation of appearing not to be corrupted causing them to be unjust.  
* The love of women is of a worse consequence in a Magistrate, though he has but a few private intrigues, than in one that is a professed Whoremaster. The first is so close, that it is impossible to discover thro' whose means one may make an interest with him. The other has a thousand weak sides, on which he may be assaulted, and is wrought upon by every woman he converses with.  
* The administration of Justice is very near as much respected in the Commonwealth, as the dispensation of holy Mysteries. And the character of a Magistrate is in a manner as sacred, as that of a Priest. A man of the Gown can hardly dance at a public Ball, be seen at a Play, or forget plainness and modesty in his Apparel, without bringing contempt upon himself. And one would wonder that a Law should be necessary to regulate his carriage and his garb, and to force him at once to be grave and respected.  
* There is no Trade but what requires a Prenticeship: And if one considers the different stations of men, one may observe there is none, from the highest to the lowest, but has had a time in which he has qualified himself by practice and experience for his profession, in which the faults he has committed have been without consequence: nay, in which those faults have been like so many steps to perfection. War itself, which seems to be the production of confusion and disorder, is not without some rules belonging to it. Men must learn how to flock in the open Field together, to murder one another; 
The Judge's places in most Courts in France, are Offices which are bought and sold.  and there are proper methods of killing and destroying. The Soldier has his School: Why must the Magistrate have none? There are established practices, there are laws and customs, and why no time for enquiring after them, or why not enough for a man to digest them in his mind, and to make himself master of them? The prenticeship and the first essay of a youth, who is brought from School to mount the Tribunal, and whom his Bags have made a Judge, is the sovereign Arbiter of such causes, on which no less than our lives and fortunes depend.  
* The chief thing which makes an Orator is Probity: Without it he degenerates into a Declaimer, he disguises and exaggerates matter of fact, he is deceitful in his citations, his mouth is full of calumnies, he espouses not so much the cause as the passion, and the animosity of his Client, and may be ranked among those Advocates, of whom the Proverb says, that they are hired to be injurious.  
* 'Tis true, say● one, this sum is due to him● he has a lawful right to it, but ● know w●●●e to have him. There is a certain piece of formality where in if he fai●s, he can neve● retrieve his fault and consequently he ●oses his debt, he has undeniably abdicated his right. Now he ●hall ce●tai●●y forget this piece of formality. Such a conscience as this makes an accomplished ●awyer.  
* An excellent and useful, a prudente just and ●eas●nable Maxim, for all Cou●●s of Judicature, would be the direct contrary of that, which prefers formality to equity.  
* The Wrack is an admirable invention, and an infallible method, for taking off the innocent that is of a weak constitution, and for saving the guilty, whom nature has endowed with greater strength.  
* The punishment of a Rascal is an example for his fellows. The condemning of an innocent person, is the concern of all good men.  
I shall go near to say, because I am not a Thief nor a Murderer, I shall never be punished as such. A very bold inference!  
A deplorable condition is that of an innocent person, who, by too great a precipitation in his trial, has been found guilty. Can even that of his Judge be more dismal?  
* Should I read, that in former ages one of those Magistrates, who are appointed for the apprehending and extirpation of Pickpockets and Thiefs, had been long acquainted with all those Rascals: That he knew their names and faces, had an account of their walks, and of every particular act of theirs; could tell how many pockets had been picked, and what had been stolen out of each; could penetrate so far into the depth of their mysteries, and had so great a share in their abominable actions, that to prevent the noise that some great man was ready to make about a Jewel that was taken from him in a crowd, when coming out of a public meeting, he knew how to restore it to him; and that this Magistrate had been tried and condemned for this villainous behaviour; I should place such a relation in the same rank with those we find in History, which time has made incredible. How then should I believe that it may now most reasonably be inferred from fresh and notorious circumstances, that there is still such a pernicious connivance; and that it is looked upon as a customary thing, and hardly taken notice of.  
* How many men oppose strength to weakness; cannot be moved by compassion, stand buff against all the solicitations of the poor, have no regard for the common sort of people, show themselves rigid and severe in things of no moment, will not accept of the least gratification, nor be persuaded by their dearest friends and their nearest relations, and are biased only by women.  
* 'Tis not altogether impossible for a man in great favour to lose a cause.  
* A dying man, who speaks in his last Will may expect to be heard like an Oracle. His words will certainly create many disputes. Men will put their own constructions upon them, such constructions I mean, as will suit their interest and their inclinations best.  
* There are some men of whom one may truly say, that Death fixes not so much their Wills, as it puts a period to their unsteadiness, and their inconstancy. An angry fit while they live, moves 'em to prepare a Will. Their passion wears off, and 'tis either torn or burnt. Their Closet is no less stocked with Wills, than it is with Almanacs, and every year at least produces a new one. The second is disannulled by a third, which is made as insignificant by another more exact. And the validity of this also is destroyed by a fifth. Yet the last must stand, if opportunity, power or malignity is wanting in the person whose interest it is to suppress it. For what can more clearly show the intention of the most inconstant man, than a last Deed of his under his own hand, which has been made so late, that at least he has not had time to will the contrary?  
* Were there no Wills to regulate the rights Heirs and Successors, I question whether men would need any Tribunal, to adjust their differences and disputes, the function of a Judge would almost be reduced to that dismal part of it, the sending of Thiefs and Murderers to the Gallows. Who are those, that are continually soliciting our Magistrates, that make such a stir before their doors and in their Halls? Heirs at Law? No! Their rights are fixed of course. They are none but Legatees who are jarring about the meaning of a word or a clause in a last Will; or disinherited persons who find fault with a Testament that has been made leisurely, after mature deliberation, by a grave, a wise, and conscientious man, and not without the help of good Counsel: With a Deed in which a cunning Lawyer has displayed all his skill to make it firm and irrevocable, and has omitted none of the cramp words, and of the subtleties that are used by those of his profession. A Deed which is signed by the Testator, which is witnessed with all the necessary formalities, and which a Judge, notwithstanding all this, thinks fit to disannul and to make void.  
void Titius is hearing of a last Will read with tears in his Eyes. He is oppressed with grief for the loss of a Friend, by whose Death he is like to raise his fortune. By one clause he makes him his Successor in a good office; by another he bestows on him all his Tenements in the City; by a third a fine seat in the Country; and by a fourth he makes him master of a house richly furnished, and seated in the best part of the Town, with all its appurtenances. His grief increases, tears run down his Cheeks: How is it possible he should refrain? He is now one of his Majesties chief Officers; he has his City and his Countryhouse, his furniture is answerable: He is to keep his Coach and a noble Table. Was there ever an honester, a better humoured man than the deceased. But hold! Here is a sort of a Schedule belonging to this Will, which must be read. This Schedule gives Moevius all these things, and sends Titius back to his Garret. He has now neither honours nor money, and must be contented to walk on foot as before. Titius wipes off his tears, 'tis Moevius' business to weep.  
* Does not the Law which forbids to kill, include poisoning as well as stabbing, drowning as well as burning, private assaults as well as open violence, and whatever may contribute to the destruction of men? Did the Law, which restrains Husbands and Wives from giving any thing one to another, relate only to direct and immediate ways of giving? Has it made no provision against those that are indirect? Was it designed for the introduction of trusties? Does it so much as tolerate such an evasion, even when the dearest of Wives outlives her Husband? But does a man bequeath his Estate to a trusty friend as an acknowledgement of his friendship, or is it not rather as a mark of his reliance upon him, and of the confidence he has, that he will make a good use of what he is entrusted with? Will a man intrust his Estate to one whom he has the least ground to suspect will not restore it to the person it is really intended for? Does he need a contract or an oath from him? Must he so much as instruct him in what he is to do? And does not every man feel within his breast what he may expect from another in such a case? And if on the contrary the property of this Estate is fallen to this trusty friend, why does he lose his reputation by keeping it? What grounds does he give for a satire or Lampoon? Would you compar● him to a Trustee that betrays his trust, or to a Servant, who robs his Master of a sum of Money he had sent by him to some other person? I see no reason for it. Where lies the shame of not performing a piece of generosity, and of a man's keeping for his own use what is lawfully his? How great is the perplexity, how intolerable the burden, that such a trust draws along with it? If a man, out of reverence to the Laws of his Country, appropriates to himself such a deposit, he can no longer be thought an honest man. If out of respect for a deceased friend he acts according to his intentions, and restores such a deposit to his Widow, he must make use of deceitful practices, and transgress the Law. The Law then must differ strangely from the opinions of men. Perhaps it may be, and 'tis not fit for me to tax either with an error.  
* Typho finds a certain Nobleman, with Horses, Dogs, and what not. His protection makes him insolent: He is what he pleases in his Country, without the fear of punishment, a murderer, perjured and perfidious: He burns and destroys his Neighbours, and needs no Sanctuary. The King is obliged at last to take upon himself the care of chastizing him.  
* A Ragout, a Fricacee, and all the various names of your Dainties and Kick shaws, ●re words which should be new and unintelligible to us. And if these are not fit to be so much as mentioned in time of Peace, as serving only to promote luxury and gluttony, how come they to be so well understood in time of War and public calamities, at the besieging of a Town, the very night before a Battle. Where do we find any mention made of Scipio's, or of Marius' Table? Do we read in any Book that Miltiades, Epaminondas, or Agesilaus, were ever nice or costly in their Diet. I would have no man to commend a General for the goodness, the neatness, or the magnificence of his Table, till he had so exhausted himself on the subject of a victory, on the taking of a Town, or some other great Action, that he had nothing left to mention in his praise. Nay, I could be glad to see a General desirous to avoid such a commendation.  
* Hermippus makes himself a slave to what he calls his little conveniencies. All common practices, all established customs, all fashions, nay decency itself, must fall a sacrifice to them. He will find some in every thing: A less makes room for a greater, and not one is neglected of which the attainment is practicable. He makes them his whole study, and there is not a day but what produces some new contrivance of this kind. He leaves it for others to have set Dinners and Suppers; as for his part, the very name of 'em is loathsome to him; he eats when he is hungry, and of such meats only that suits best with his Appetite. He stands by at the making of his Bed; what hand is so skilful or so happy as to make him sleep according to his mind? He seldom goes abroad. He loves to keep his Chamber, where he is neither idle nor busy, where, (in the garb of a man that has took Physic) he does nothing, and yet is continually employed. Others, like slaves, must wait the leisure of a Smith or a Joiner, according to their occasions. As for him, he keeps a File by him, if any thing is to be smoothed; a Saw if it must be cut, and Pincers if it must be plucked out. Imagine if you can, any Tools that he has not, or that he has, and which are not better and more convenient, according to his fancy, than even those that Workmen use. He hath some that are new and unknown; that have no name, that are the contrivances of his own brain, and which he has almost forgot the use of. There is no man to be compared to him for the quick performance of a useless labour. He was forced to walk ten steps, to go from his Bed to his Wardrobe; he has now so contrived his Chamber, as to reduce these ten to nine: What abundance of steps here are saved during the whole course of his life? With others it is usual to turn the Key, to thrust backward or to pull forward, and the Door opens; what a fatigue is this! Here is one unnecessary motion which he knows how to spare; by what means? 'Tis a mystery which he keeps to himself: He indeed understands extremely well the use of Springs, and is a great master of Mechanic, such Mechanics at least, as the world can be without. Hermippus brings light to his Lodging another way than than through the Window; he has already met with the secret of going up and down the house otherwise than by the stairs; and he is now studying how to go in and out with more convenieney than thro' the Door.  
* It is a long while since Physicians have been rallied, and yet made use of; the keenness of satire, and the wit of the Stage n●ver reach their fees; they give portions to their Daughters, they place their Sons upon the Bench, and make Bishops of 'em, and they that laugh at 'em do themselves supply 'em with the money for it. Those that are well fall sick, and then they want a man whose trade it is, to assure 'em that they shan't die; as long as men may die, and are desirous to live, the Physician will still be laughed at, and well paid.  
* A good Physician is he that has Specificks; or if he wants 'em himself, allows those that have 'em to cure his Patient.  
* The rashness of Quacks, together with the dismal accidents that are occasioned by it, is that which gives a vogue to the Physician and his art: if these let you die, the others kill you.  
* Astrologers and Fortune-tellers are suffered in the Commonwealth; such as make Schemes and draw Horoscopes, such as guests at things passed by the motion of a Seive, such as show the truth in a Looking-glass, or in a glass of fair water; and these men are indeed of some use; they promise preferment to the Men, and to the Maids they promise they shall have their Sweethearts, they comfort those Children whose Fathers are too long a dying; they lull asleep the cares of those young Wives that are troubled with old Husbands: in a word, they cheat at a very easy rate those that have a mind to be cheated.  
* What can one think of Magic and Sorcery? The Theory of it is dark and intricate; its principles are wide and uncertain, and there seems to be a great deal of illusion in it: But there are some puzzling matters of fact affirmed by men of credit and reputation, who either saw 'em, or learned 'em from others as fit to be relied on as themselves. To admit 'em all, or to deny 'em all, seems equally inconvenient; and I dare say, that in this, as well as in all other extraordinary things, that go beyond the common rules, there is a medium to be found between too easy a persuasion, and too stubborn an unbelief.  
* Infancy can never be overburdened with too many languages; and methinks that the utmost care should be taken to teach 'em to children: There is no condition of a man's life in which these are not useful to him, and lead him equally to the depths of learning, or the easier and more agreeable parts of knowledge. If this kind of study, which is so painful and so laborious, is put off till men are somewhat older, and they come to that age which is styled by the name of youth, either they cannot make it the object of their choice, or if they do, they find it impossible to persevere in it; 'tis to consume that time in the quest of languages, which is set apart for the use that ought to be made of 'em: This is to confine to the knowledge of words, an age that wants already to go further, and seek for things; and it is at the best to have lost the finest and the most valuable years of one's life. So great and so necessary a foundation can never rightly be laid, unless it be when the soul naturally receives every thing, and is capable of deep impressions, when the memory is fresh, quick, and steady; when the mind and the heart are void of passions, cares and desires; and when those that have a right to dispose of us, design us for long and painful labours. I am persuaded that the small number of true Scholars● and the great number of superficial ones, comes from the neglect of this practice.  
* The study of Texts can never be sufficiently recommended; it is the shortest, the surest, and the pleasantest way to all kind of learning: take things at the best hand● go to the very root, handle the Text over and over, get it by heart, quote it upon occasions; remember above all to reach the sense of it in its full latitude, and in all its circumstances; reconcile an original Author, adjust his principles, draw yourself the consequences from 'em: Th● first Commentators were in the case in which I would have you to be; never offer to borrow their light, or to make use of their notions, unless it be when your own fail you; their interpretations are not yours, and they easily slip out of your memory; your observations, on the contrary, are born in your mind, and they abide with you; you will more frequently meet with 'em again in conversation; they will more readily occur to you in disputes and consultations: take a pleasure to see that you are not graveled in your reading, by any other difficulties, but such as cannot be overcome, and where Commentators and Scholiasts themselves are at a stand, men that are otherwise so fruitful, so copious, and so overloaded with a vain show of learning, where things are plain and easy, and where neither they nor others are at any trouble to understand what they expound. Thus let this method of studying quite convince you that men's laziness is the thing that hath encouraged Pedantism to increase the bulk of Libraries, rather than the worth of 'em, to sink the Text under the weight of Comment; and that it has in this done itself wrong, and acted contrary to its own interest, inasmuch as it hath increased that reading, those inquiries, and that labour, which it endeavoured to avoid.  
* What is it that rules men in their way of living, and in their diet? is it health and sobriety? that's doubtful; there are whole Nations that eat the Fruit first, and Meat afterwards; others do quite contrary: some begin their meal with one kind of Fruit, and end it with another. Does this proceed from use or from reason? Is it for healths sake that men wear their clothes up to their Chin, that they put on a Ruff or a Band, when they have heretofore for so many ages gone with their Breast open? Is it decency that obliges 'em to do this, especially in a time where they have found a way to appear naked with all their clothes upon 'em? And on the other side, women that show their Breasts and their Shoulders, are they of a less tender complexion than men, or less subject to decency? What kind of modesty is this, which engages these to hide their Legs and their Feet, and at the same time gives 'em leave to let their Arms go naked up to the Elbow? How came men to think heretofore that either assaulting or defending themselves was the end of going to War? And who advised 'em to wear such Arms as were both offensive and defensive? What is it that obliges 'em now to lay these aside? And whilst they put on Boots to go to a Ball, to stand without Armour and in their Doublet, by them that dig the Trenches, exposed to all the fire of a Counterscarp?   

OF The Pulpit.  
PReaching is now adays become a mere show: That Gravity, which under the Gospel is so much the life of Preaching, is absolutely laid aside; and an advantageous mien, a pretty tone of the voice, exactness of gesture, choice of expression and long repetitions, are thought to supply its place very well. To attend seriously on the dispensation of the Holy Word is no longer customary. Going to Church is an amusement among a thousand others, and Preaching a diversion. The Peachers play the Prize, and their hearers bet upon their Heads.  
* Profane Eloquence is transferred from the Bar, where it formerly reigned, to the Pulpit, where it never ought to come.  
* The Altar, nor the respect that's due to holy mysteries, are not able to protect Eloquence from being attacked. Every hearer thinks himself capable to judge of the Sermon, and accordingly censures or applauds it, but is no more converted by the Sermon which he admires, than that which he condemns. The Orator pleases some and offends others, but agrees with all in this: That as he does not endeavour to render them better, so they never trouble their heads about becoming so.  
* The Apprentice that's docible, is attentive to his Master, profits by his instructions, and becomes himself a Master of his profession; whereas a person that is indocible, while he only censures the Preachers discourses, and the Philosopher's works, improves himself neither in Religion nor Sense.  
* Till such time as there arises a Man, who in a stile formed on the Holy Scriptures, by long Study and converse with 'em, shall explain to the People the Word of God genuinely and familiarly, till than I say 'tis to be expected, that Orators and Declaimers will be followed.  
* Quotations from profane Authors, cold similes, lifeless exaggerations, Antitheses and Hyperboles, are out of doors. Elaborate descriptions are in a fair way of following 'em, and of making room for the plain exposition of the Gospel, joined to the other means that effect Conversion.  
* The man for whom I have so impatiently wished, but whom I durst not hope for in our age, is at last arrived. The Courtiers, whose good taste and knowledge in decencies could best distinguish him, have applauded him up to the Skies; and what is a thing almost incredible, have left the King's Chapel to mix themselves with the crowd, and hear the Word of God preached by this truly Apostolic man. The City was not of the same opinion with the Court. In whatever Church he preached there, not one of the Parishioners was to be found; the very Clerk and Sexton deserted. However, their own and the neighbouring Ministers stuck to him and supplied their vacant places. This is no more than what I ought to have foreseen, who knew before the invincible power of custom, or else indeed I might have been apt to say, that such a man had no more to do but to show himself and to be followed, to speak and to be heard. 'Tis about these thirty years that your Rhetoricians, Declaimers, etc. have been the only Preachers in request, and such especially, like Painters, who can at pleasure draw in great or little. 'Tis not long since the Points and Witticisms that were used in Sermons, were so smart and so ingenious, that they might have served for Epigrams. Now, I confess, they are something softened, but I fancy that they can't pass still in any thing but Madrigals. There are three things which these men never fail to cry are absolutely necessary and infinitely worthy your attention: One thing they prove in the first part of their discourse, another in the second, and another in the third. So that you are to be convinced of one truth, and that's their first point of Doctrine; of another truth, and that's their second point; and then of a third truth, and that is their third point In this manner the first reflection will instruct you in one of the fundamental principles of your Religion: The second in another principle which is not less fundamental: And the last reflection, in a third and last principle, which is the most important of 'em all, but which for want of leisure is reserved for another opportunity. In fine, to recollect what has been said, to abridge this division, and so form a Scheme of— What still, cry you, new matter, new preparations for a discourse of an hour longer. 'Tis in vain, the more these Gentlemen strive to digest and clear it to me, the less I shall understand it. I believe you indeed very easily, for 'tis the most natural effect of such a mass and confusion of Ideas, which come all to one and the same thing, but with which they unmercifully burden the memories of their hearers. To see 'em though affect and persist in this custom, one would almost think that the Grace of Conversion was tied up to such enormous divivisions. But how is it possible we should be converted by such Apostles, whom we cannot follow, reach or comprehend. For my part, I would beg 'em in the midst of their impetuous course to stop, to give their audience and themselves a little time to breathe. Oh the vain unprofitable Sermons now adays! The time of the Homilies is no more, nor are there the Basiles or the Chrysostom●● to restore it: To get out of the reach of such Preachers, one would be glad to fly into any other Diocese. The generality of men love fine phrases and handsome periods, admire what they do not understand, take themselves to be instructed upon trust, and content themselves with deciding between the first and second Doctrine, or between the last Sermon, or the last but one.  
* 'Tis not an Age ago since most of our Books were nothing but collections of Latin Quotations, there was not above a line or two of French in a page. Nor did this humour of citing stop here. Ovid and Catullus at the Bar decided Sovereignly in cases of Marriages and Wills, and were as serviceable to the Widows and Orphans as the Pandects. The Sacred and Profane Authors were inseparable, and hand in hand jumped into the Pulpit. St. Cyrill and Horace, St. Cyprian and Lucretius, spoke by turns. The Poets were positively of the same opinion with St. Austin, and the rest of the Fathers. Latin was the Language that was chose to entertain the Women with, and Greek the Clerk and Sexton. To preach so very ill was impossible, without a great deal of Learning. The times are changed, and that custom altered. The Text still continues in Latin, but the Sermon is in French, and that in the greatest purity. The Scripture is not so much as once quoted, so little learning is there requisite now adays to Preach very well.  
* School Divinity is at last banished the Pulpits of all the great Towns in the Kingdom, but 'tis only banished into the Country Villages, where it still resides, for the instruction and edification of the Ploughmen and Labourers.  
* The man must have some Wit who can charm the people in a florid discourse, who makes Morality to divert 'em, and can please 'em with figures, beautiful passages and descriptions. But after all, he has not so much Wit as he should have. One that has more, neglects these foreign ornaments, unworthy of the Gospel, and preaches naturally, strenuously, and like a Christian.  
* The Orator draws some Sins in such charming and alluring colours, and represents the sinner in the commission of 'em to have so much wit, air, address and delicacy, that for my part, if I have no inclination to resemble his Pictures, I have, at least, occasion to betake myself to some Apostle, who in a more Christian style may give me some disgust for the Vices, of which the other had made me so beautiful a description.  
* What they call a fine Sermon, is a piece of Oratory most exactly conformable to the rules and precepts of humane eloquence, and adorned with all the ornaments of Rhetoric. To those that judge nicely, there is not a passage or a thought lost. They follow the Orator in all his long ennumerations, and in all his towering flight, but to the common people it must needs be a mere Riddle.  
* What a judicious and admirable discourse is this, cry all that hears it, and 'tis true, for the most essential points of Religion, as well as the strongest motives to Conversion, were copiously handled in it. What effect does it produce in the minds and spirits of the Audience? They are convinced, they are moved and touched to that degree, that they confess from their Souls— What? Th●t this Sermon of Theodorus excels even his last.  
* A soft effeminate morality has no effect, nor is the Preacher ever the more respected for it. It neither awakens nor excites the curiosity of the men of the world, who are not so terrify●d with a severe Doctrine as some people think, but on the contrary, love it in the person, whose duty 'tis to preach it. The Church seems therefore to be divided into two sorts of men, one sort declares the whole truth, without disguise or respect of persons: The other hears it with pleasure, with satisfaction, with admiration, with applause, but never practices a word of it.  
* The Heroic Virtue of great men may be reproached with this, that it has corrupted Eloquence, or at least enervated the style of most Preachers, who instead of joining with the people in their praises to Heaven for its extraordinary gifts on those persons, have associated themselves with the Authors and Poets, and become professed Panegyrists; have even out-flattered their Verses and Dedications. The word of God they have turned into one connexion of praises, which, though just, yet are ill placed, partial, unexpected, and disagreeable to their Character. 'Tis very fortunate indeed, if they make mention of God or Religion, which they ought to preach at the same time that they celebrate their Heroes in the Church. There have been those, who have restrained the Gospel, which ought to be common to all, to the presence of a single Auditor, have been seen out of humour when he●s coming, has been prevented by some accident, and have not been able to pronounce a Christian discourse before an assembly of Christians, because 'twas not made for 'em, but have been supplied by other Orators, who, from the little leisure they had to study, have been forced to bestow their extempore praises upon God Almighty.  
* Theodulus has succeeded less than some of his hearers feared: His discourse has gratified them. He has pleased them infinitely more than he could have done, if he had charmed their ears or their minds. He has flattered their jealousy.  
* The men of the Gown and of the Sword are alike in this particular. They run a greater risque, but then they make their fortune sooner than those of another profession.  
* If you are but of some tolerable rank in the world, though you are sensible that expression is not your Talon, turn Preacher, no matter for expression. You can never rise, if you're utterly unknown; consider too for your comfort, Theodates has got a good Estate by his Sermons, which are nothing but one eternal strain of Cant and Nonsense.  
* Some for their merits have been preferred to great Bishoprics, but then the Revenues of 'em do not now exceed that of an ordinary Parsonage.  
* There is a Panegyrist that groans under a load of Titles: The weight of 'em serves to oppress him, they are hardly all to be crowded into a single Page. Examine but the man, hear him but a little, and you'll find that in the list of all his qualifications, there's one still omitted, which is, that of a very dull Preacher.  
* That the women have nothing to do, and that the men are sure to flock to the Churches, to which they resort, is the reason that gives some Preachers the reputation they never desired, and supports the credit of others, which would otherwise sink.  
* Are greatness and power the only Qualities, which entitle a Man to praise at his Funeral; and that before the Holy Altar, and from the Pulpit the seat of truth? Or is there no other greatness, but what is derived from Authority or Birth? Why is it not rather thought fit that the Person, who excelled ●n his life time in Goodness, Probity, Charity, Fidelity, and Piety, should at his Interment, be honoured with a public Panegyric? What is called a Funeral Sermon, is now adays but coldly received by most of the Hearers, if not very different and remote from a Christian discourse, or as I may otherwise say, if it does not very nearly approach to a Profane Elogium.  
* The Orator preaches to gain a Bishopric. The Apostle to gain Souls. The latter deserves what the other generally goes away with.  
* We have seen some of our Clergymen come up to Town out of the Country, where they have made no long residence, big with the Vanity of having made those Converts, who were either made to their hands, or never will be s●● we have seen 'em, I say, compare themselves to the Vincents and the Xavieres, fancy themselves Apostles, and for such labours and pains in the Ministry, think themselves scarce paid with the Government of an Abbey.  
* A man starts up on a sudden, takes Pen, Ink, and Paper, and without ever having had a thought of it before, resolves with himself, that he will write a Book. He has no Talon at writing, but he wants fifty Guineas. In vain, I cry to dissuade him, Dioscores, take a Saw, or some other Tool in your hand, work at some handicraft Trade, you may get to be Journey man to some Carpenter or joiner, and be paid your Wages: but he has never served an Apprenticeship to either. Why then copy, transcribe, correct the Press, but whatever you do, don't write: yet still he will write, and get it Printed too, and because he must not send blank Paper to the Press, he blots and scribbles a choir or two with such stuff as this; That the River Seine runs thro' the City of Paris; that there are 7 days in the week; that it reins and is bad weather, or some other things of the like importance, and this Treatise containing nothing contrary to Religion or the Government, nor being capable of doing any harm to the public, but in vitiating their taste, and using 'em to dull insipid things, passes the Licencer; is printed, and to the shame of the age, and the mortification of all good Authors, is in a short time reprinted. Just in this manner another man resolves in his heart that he will preach, and he preaches, whereas he has neither Talon nor Call to mount the Pulpit, but that he wants a good Benefice.  
* An Irreligious, profane Clergyman, does but declaim when he preaches.  
On the contrary, there are some holy men, whose Character seems to prevent their persuasion. They appear, and all the people who attend to hear 'em are moved, and are, as it were, already persuaded by their presence. Their Discourse afterwards does the rest.  
* The Bishop of Meaux, and Father Bourdelove, recall to my mind Demosthenes and Cicero: Both of 'em, as they are absolute Masters of the Eloquence of the Pulpit, have had the fate of other great Models; one of 'em has made a great many ill censurers, the other a great many ill imitators.  
* The eloquence of the Pulpit, with respect to what is merely humane, and what depends on the genius of the Orator, is concealed, and its difficulty known but to very few. How much art must there be, to please at the same time that you persuade! You are obliged to walk in none but beaten paths, to say what has been said, and what is foreseen that you would say. The subjects are great, but they are worn and stale. The principles are certain, but every one of the Auditory perceives the inference at the first glance. Others of the subjects are sublime, but who can treat of the sublime? There are mysteries to be explained, but they are better explained by the plainest instruction, than the most rhetorical Harangue. The Morals too of the Pulpit, though they comprehend matter as vast and as diversified as the manners of men, yet all turn upon the same hinge, return all to the same Image, and are extremely more confined than Satire. After the common invective against Honours, Riches, and Pleasures, there remains no more for the Orator to do, but to close up his discourse, and to dismiss the Congregation. If sometimes there are tears shed, or any one by a serious attention is moved, 'tis not attributed to the genius or character of the Preacher, but to the subject that preaches itself, or to self-interest, that gives the chief concernment. 'Tis not owned that it was so much the force of eloquence, as the steady resoluteness of the Missionary, that shook us, and gave us these emotions. In short, the Divine is not furnished as the Lawyer, with matters of fact always new, with different events and unheard of adventures. His business is not to start doubtful questions, to improve probable conjectures. All noble subjects that elevate the Genius, though they give him force and compass, yet they rather put a constraint on his Eloquence, than fix and direct it. He must, on the contrary, draw his discourse from a Spring common to all. If he deserts his common places, he ceases to be popular. He is either too abstracted, or he declaims: He no longer preaches the Gospel: A noble simplicity is all that he has occasion for, but 'twill cost him dear to attain it. 'Tis a Talon rare, and above the reach of ordinary men. Genius, Fancy, Learning, and Memory, are so far from helping, that they often hinder the attaining it.  
The profession of a Lawyer is laborious, toilsome, and requires in the Person that undertakes it, a rich fund and stock of his own. He is not like the Preacher provided with a number of Harangues composed at leisure, got by heart, and repeated with authority, without contradiction, and which being altered a little here and there, do him service and credit more than once. His Plead are grave, spoke before those Judges, who may command him silence, and against adversaries who are sure to interrupt him. This obliges him to be sharp and ready at repartee. In one and the same day he pleads in several Courts and about different matters. His house neither affords him shelter nor rest. 'Tis open to all that come to perplex him, with their difficult and doubtful cases. He is not put to Bed, rubbed down, nor is supported with Cordials. His Chamber is not a Rendezvous of people of all Qualities and Sexes, to congratulate him upon the beauty and politeness of his Language. All the repose he has after a large discourse, is immediately to set to work upon Writings still longer. His trouble continues, he only varies his fatigues, I may venture to say, he is in his way what the first Apostoli●● Men were in theirs.  
After this distinction of the Eloquence of the Bar, the profession of a Lawyer, and the eloquence of the Pulpit, and the office of a Preacher, 'twill be granted, that 'tis easier to preach, than to plead, but more difficult to preach well, than to plead well.  
* What a vast advantage has a discourse that's spoken over one that's written! Men are bubbled by tone and action; if there be but never so little pre-engagement in favour of the person that speaks, they admire him, and set themselves to comprehend him; they commend his performance before he has begun, the Sermon time they sleep, and only wake to applaud him. There are none who so warmly engage in behalf of an Author. His works are Read ●ither in the leisure of a retirement, or in the silence of a Closet. There are not public meetings to cry him up; no party zealous to prefer him to all his Rivals, and to advance him to the Prelacy. His Book, how excellent soever it may be, is read, but with an intention to find it indifferent. Every leaf is folded down and convast. 'Tis not like sounds, lost in the Air and forgotten, what is printed remains so. Sometimes 'tis expected a month or two before it comes out, with an impatience to damn it. The greatest pleasure that some find in it, is to Criticise on it. 'Tis a Vexation to 'em to meet with passages in every Page, which ought to please, nay, often they are afraid of being, diverted and quit a Book only because 'tis good. Every body does not pretend to be a Preacher. The Phrases, Figures, Memory and Gown of a Divine, are things all people are not fond of appropriating to themselves; whereas every one imagines that he thinks well, and that he can express himself still better than he thinks, which makes him less favourable, to one that thinks and writes as well as himself. In a word, the Parson is advanced to a Bishopric, sooner than the most judicious Writer is to a small Priory. New Favours still are heaped on him, while the more deserving Author is content to take up with his refuse.  
* If it happens that the wicked hate and persecute you, good men advise you to humble yourself before God, and to watch against the Vanity which may arise in you, from having displeased people of that Character; so when some certain men, subject to exclaim against all things as indifferent, disapprove your works, or your discourse, whether spoken at the Bar or in the Pulpit, humble yourself, for you can't be exposed to a greater temptation to pride.  
* A Preacher methinks aught in every one of his Sermons, to make choice of one principal truth, whether it be to move terror, or to yield instruction, and to handle that alone largely and fully, omitting all those foreign divisions and subdivisions, which are so intricate and perplexed. I would not have him presuppose a thing that's really fal●e, which is, that great Men understand the Religion they profess, and so be afraid to instruct persons of their Wit and Breeding in their Catechism, let him employ the long time he's a composing a set formal discourse, in making himself master of his subject, that so the turn and expression may of course flow easily from him. Let him, after some necessary preparation, yield himself up to his own Genius, and to the emotions with which a great subject will inspire him. Let him spare that prodigious expense of memory, which looks more like reciting for a Wager, that any thing else, and which destroys all graceful action. Let him, on the contrary, by a noble Enthusiasm, dart conviction into their Souls, and alarm their Consciences. Let him, in fine, touch the Hearts of his hearers, with another fear than that of seeing him make some blunder or mistake in his Sermon.  
* Let not him who is not yet arrived to that perfection as to forget himself in the dispensation of the holy word: Let him not, I say, be discouraged by the austere rules that are prescribed him, as if they robbed him of the means of showing his Wit, and of attaining to the Honours to which he aspires: What greater or more noble Talon can there be, than to preach like an Apostle, or which deserves a Bishopric better? Was Feneton unworthy of that Dignity? or was it possible he should have avoided his Prince's choice, if it had not been for another choice of his own?   

OF The Wits of the Age.  
HAve they who value themselves so much upon the title of Wits, have they, I say, wit enough to perceive that they are only called so by Irony? What greater want of wisdom can there be, than to be doubtful of the principle of ones own being, life, sense, knowledge, and of what will be the end of them? What can more lessen any man than his questioning whither his Soul is not material, like a Stone or a Worm, or subject to corruption, like the vilest Creatures? And is it not a much more real and a nobler sort of wit that raises our minds to the Idea of a being superior to all others, by whom and for whom all things were made, who is perfect and pure, who never had a beginning, nor will never have an end, of whom our Soul is the image: nay, of whom, if I may so speak, it makes a part, being Spiritual and Immortal?  
* A tractable and a foolish Mind are both susceptible of impressions; but good impressions are the lot of the one, and ill ones of the other: That is, the first suffers himself to be persuaded, and then sticks to his persuasion, the other is conceited and corrupted. So that the tractable mind admits of true Religion, the foolish of a false one, or of none at all. Now the modish Wit either has no Religion at all, or has one of his own invention. Therefore a Wit and a Fool are mu●h the same th●ng.  
* By a worldly, earthly or brutish man, I mean one whose heart and mind is wholly fixed on this small part of the Universe he is placed in, the Earth. One who sets a value upon nothing, nor loves any thing beyond it. Whose narrow soul is as much confined as that spot of ground he calls his Estate. The extent of which is easily measured, the acres are all numbered, and the utmost bounds are limited. 'Tis no wonder that such one, who leans as it were on an Atom, should stumble at the first step in his search after Truth. That with so short a sight he should not reach beyond the Heavens and the Stars, to behold God himself. That not being able to perceive the excellence of what is Spiritual, or the dignity of the Soul, he should feel as little how difficult it is to satisfy its appetites: How much the whole world is insufficient for it: How indispencably this makes it want an all perfect being, which is God: And how absolutely it needs a Religion to find out that God, and to be assured of his reality. And any one, on the contrary, may soon be persuaded that incredulity and indifferency is but natural to such a man: That he will make use of God and Religion as a piece of Policy only; that is, as far as it may give a fair outside; or keep in some order the things relating to his worldly concerns, which alone, in his opinion, deserve to have any thoughts bestowed on them.  
* Some men, by travelling give the last stroke to the corrupting of their Judgement and their Manners, and extinguish wholly that spark of Religion they had left: Meeting daily with new ways of Worship, new Manners, new Rites and Ceremonies, they imitate those who wander about the shops before they have resolved what kind of stuff to buy. Variety of choice disables them from choosing. Each piece hath something which pleases their fancy; yet unable to fix upon any, they always come out without purchacing.  
* The practice of Religion and Devotion is deferr`d by some till lewdness and impiety are professed by all. It being then like the vulgar, they will avoid following the crowd. They are delighted with singularity in so serious and so important a subject. They would only follow the mode in things of no moment, and which have no consequence; nay, they have, for aught I know, already plac●d a sort of undauntedness and bravery in running the risk of a future state. The truth is, a man's circumstances, as well as his share of ingenuity, and his private designs may be such, that one would scorn to believe like the learned, much more the ignorant.  
* A man in health questions whether there is a God, as he does whether Fornication be a sin. If he's sick and given over, his Miss is laid aside, and the dread of his Maker leaves no room for his doubts.  
* Your modish Wits or Libertines should examine themselves thoroughly before they set up for such, that at least, and indeed according to their own principles, they might die as they have lived. Or if they find their stock of wit is like to fail at the approaches of death, that they might be contented to live as they must die.  
die A Jest in a dying man is very unseasonable. If applied to certain subjects it is dreadful. To bequeath to others matter of laughter, at the expense of one's own eternal happiness, is extremely dismal.  
Let prejudice make you fancy what you please of a future state, dying is still a most serious work, which becomes constancy better than jest or raillery.  
* There have been in all ages many of those learned and ingenious persons, who, embracing like Slaves the loose principles of some great men, have groaned under their yoke, against the dictates of their own minds and consciences all their life time: who never lived but for other men, the humouring of whom, one would think they had looked upon to be the chief end of their Creation. Who have been ashamed to be seen by them to work out their own Salvation, and to appear outwardly such as they were perhaps within their hearts. Who have run headlong into their own ruin, out of weakness and complaisance. Shall we then imagine that this world can bestow so much greatness and power on any mortal man, as he should deserve, that his will, his humour, or his fancy should be the rule of our belief and of our lives? Nay, that we should be such Courtiers, at our very deaths, as to make such an exit, not as we think is like to be safest for our own Souls, but as we hope will be most pleasing to him?  
* One would expect from those who act contrary to all the world besides, and contradict such principles as are received by all, that they knew more than other men, that their reasons were plain, and their arguments convincing.  
* Should a just, chaste, moderate, and sober man affirm there is no God, self-interest certainly would have no hand in such an assertion. But where is this man to be found?  
* Should a just, chaste, moderate, and sober man affirm there is no God, I would think such an assertion was Impartial: But where is this man to be found?  
* Could I but see that man who was really persuaded that there is no God, I should hear at least by what strange convincing arguments he had found it out.  
* The impossibility I find myself under of proving there is no God, is a demonstration to me that there is one.  
* Good condemns and punishes those who trespass against him. And is the only Judge in this cause. Which were contrary to reason, but that his Being is the spring of all Justice and Truth. That i●, tha● he is God.  
* Some secret Instinct whispers me that there is a God, and it never does that there is none. I need no further proof. And arguments, to me, are needless. I conclude from thence that he is, and this conclusion is grounded in my nature. I took up with this principle too readily from my childhood, and my sticking close to it afterwards, hath been too natural, for me ever to have the least jealousy of any falsehood in it. Ay, but there are some men who make a shift to forsake this principle. I question whether there are or no. But if there be, it argues that there are Monsters.  
* There is no such thing as an Atheist. Your Great men who we are most apt to suspect of being given that way, are too lazy to determine in their own minds whether there is a God or no. And they indulge that temper so far, that they are utterly careless and indifferent upon this so weighty a matter, as well as upon the nature of their own Souls, and the consequences of true Religion. They neither deny nor grant any of these things, for they bestow no thoughts upon 'em.  
* A Great man falls only in a swoon, as we think, but dies in a moment. Another, in a Consumption, sees death daily creeping upon him, till he sinks under the weight of a linger distemper. These are dreadful, but useless precedents. These circumstances, though so remarkable, and so opposite to each other, are not taken notice of, affect no body, 〈◊〉 no more regarded than the fall of a 〈◊〉, or the fading of a Flower. We are inquisitive only about their vacant employments; How such and such a place was disposed of; and envy those that succeed 'em.  
* Is there so much goodness, fidelity and equity among men, that we should place such a confidence in them, as not to desire, at least, that there was a God, to whom we might appeal from their Injustice, and who might protect us against their persecutions and treacheries?  
* If the Wits find so much grandeur and sublimity in Religion, that it dazzles and confounds their understandings; they deviate from their character, and must acknowledge their own dulness and stupidity. If, on the other hand, they are offended at the meanness and simplicity of it, we must allow them to be Wits indeed, and greater Wits than so many great men who have gone before them, than the Leos, the Bazils, the Ieroms, Augustine's, and others, who notwithstanding all their learning and their extraordinary wisdom, gloried in a complete profession of Christianity.  
* Some, who never read the Fathers, are frighted at their very names: How dull, how rough, how insipid, how pedantic do they fancy 'em in their discourses, their expessions and their arguments. But how would these men wonder at the strangeness of such a notion, if they perused their writings, and found in 'em a more exa●●●●●quence, a smother style, a more ingen●●us, more expressive, and more convincing way of arguing, adorned with greater vigour of expression, and more natural graces than most of those modern books which a●e read with applause, and give the greatest reputation to their authors? With what satisfaction, if they had any love for Religion, would they see it explained, and its truth believed and asserted by men who were masters of so much wit, ingenuity and activity of judgement? Especially since any one who will but observe the vastness of their knowledge, the depth of their penetration, the true grounds of their Philosophy, their unwearyed diligence, and their capacity in unfolding holy Mysteries, the reasonableness of their inferences, the nobleness of their expressions, the purity of their principles and morals, cannot compare, for example, any author to St. Austin but Plato or Cicero.  
* Man being born a liar, cannot relish the plainness and simplicity of truth. He is altogether for pomp and ornament. Truth is not his own. 'Tis made, as it were, to his hands; and descends to him from heaven with all its perfections. But self-conceited man is fond of nothing but his own productions, of fables and inventions. Observe the generality of men, they will invent a tale, they'll add to it, and load it with a thousand silly and incredible particularities. And even the wisest of them are not altogether exempt from doing thus; sometimes their pride and vanity draw● 'em in to disguise the truth; and to make a story pass current they will often set it off with false circumstances. If an accident happens, now, in your neighbourhood, and as it were under your eye, you may hear it related by a hundred persons a hundred different ways, and whoever comes after them will make a new story of it. How then shall we believe the relation of things, that were done so many ages before this? What reliance shall we have upon the gravest of Historians? and what must become of History? was Caesar murdered in the Senate? was there ever such one as Caesar? you laugh at the impertinence of such questions: Such doubts and inferences, you think not worth your answer. And indeed I can't but commend you for doing so. But should I suppose, that the book which gives us an account of Caesar is not a profane History; that it was not writ by a man who is given to lying, that is, was not found by chance, and promiscuously amongst other manuscripts, of which some are true and others more doubtful. That on the contrary it was inspired by God; That it bears the marks of Holiness and Divinity; that it hath been kept for above these two thousand years by an innumerable society of men, who all this while would not allow the least alteration to be made in it, and have made a part of their Religion to preserve it in all its purity; nay, that these men are by their own principles indispencably obliged to believe all the transactions contained in that History, where Caesar and all his greatness is mentioned: Own it, Lucilius, would you then question whether there ever was such a man as Caesar?  
* All sorts of Music are not fit for the praises of God, and become not the Sanctuary. As all kinds of Philosophy are not fit for the discoursing worthily of his Godhead, his Power, the principles of his Operations, or his holy Mysteries. The more abstracted and notional, the more vain and useless it is, in explaining these things, which require no more than a sound judgement to be understood to a certain pitch; and which cannot be explained at all beyond it. To pretend to give an exact account of the Essence of God, of his Perfections, and, if I dare to speak, of his Actions, is indeed more than the ancient Philosophers, than the Apostles themselves, or the first Teachers of the Gospel ever did. But the choice of such a task is less prudent than theirs. Such pretenders may dig long and dig deep, but will never be the nearer to the Springs of truth. If they once set aside the words, Goodness, Mercy, Justice and Omnipotence, which are apt to form in our minds so lovely and so majestic an idea of Divinity, let them afterwards strain their Imaginations ●ever so much, they will find nothing but dry, barren, and nonsensical expressions to make use of: They must admit of wide and empty notions, must be singular in their fancies, or at least, must attain to a sort of ingenious subtlety, which by degrees will make them lose their Religion, as fast as they improve in the knowledge of their own new Metaphysics.  
* What excesses will not men be transported to by their zeal for Religion, which yet they are as far from believing, as they are from practising.  
* That same Religion which men will defend so zealously, and with so much heat and animosity, against those who are of a quite different persuasion, is encroached upon by themselves, who, fond of their own peculiar notions, add or diminish from it in their minds a thousand things, sometimes most material, according as it suits best with their conveniencies. And having thus wholly altered the frame of it, remain steadfast and unmoveable in these their persuasions. So that one may say with the vulgar, of a Nation, that it hath but one manner of Worship and one Religion: but properly speaking it really hath many, and almost every individual man in it hath one of ●is own.  
* If Religion be nothing but a respectful fear of God, what shall we think of those who dare affront him in his representatives on earth, Kings and Princes?  
● Were we assured that the secret intent of the Ambassadors, who came lately from Siam, was to persuade the most Christian King to renounce Christianity, to admit their Priests in his Kingdom, to creep into Houses, in order to allure by their discourses, our Wives, our Children, and ourselves into the principles of their Religion; to suffer them to build Temples amongst us, for the worshipping their Golden Images; with what scorn and derision should we hear the relation of such a ridiculous enterprise? Yet we think little of sailing a thousand leagues through the vast Ocean, in order to bring over to Christianity the Kingdoms of India, Siam, China, or japan; that is, with an intent, which in the eyes of all these Nations, is full as ridiculous and impertinent. And they protect our Priests and other Religious men; they give attention sometimes to their discourses; they suffer them to build Churches, and to perform all the Duties of their Mission. From whence proceeds such a temper both in them and us? Would not one think it came from that secret impulse, which truth generally carries along with it?  
* 'Tis not becoming for all men to set up for hospitality, as to have all the common beggars of the Parish daily crowding at their door, and not to suffer one to go home empty. But what man is there who is not sensible of the more secret wants of some body or other, which he is able to relieve by his intercession to others, at least, if not immediately out of his own pocket? Neither are all men qualified for the Pulpit, or fit publicly to deliver their Doctrine and Exhortations. But what man is there, who, at some time or other, doth not meet with some Sinner whom he may attempt to reclaim by his private discourses, and his friendly admonitions? should a man make but one Convert through the whole course of his Life, he could not be said to have bestowed his time in vain, or to have been a useless burden upon Earth.  
* There are two worlds, one we already dwell in, but must leave it so as never to return. The other we must shortly be transported to, there to abide for ever. Interest, Dominion, Friends, Reputation and Riches are most useful in the first. The despising of all these things is most useful for the next. Now which of them had a man best to choose?  
* Who has lived one day hath lived a thousand, still the same Sun, the same Earth, the same World, the same Enjoyments. Nothing more like this day than to morrow. Death only would be new to us. Which is but an exchange of this Bodily state, for one tha● is all Spiritual. But man, though so greedy of novelties, hath no curiosity for this. Tho unsettl'd in his mind, and still growing weary of whatever he enjoys, he never thinks his Life too long, and would perhaps consent to live for ever. What he sees of Death makes a deeper impression on his mind than what he knows of it. The fear of pain and sickness, the horror of the Grave make him lose the desire of knowing another World. And the strongest motives of Religion can but just bring him to receive his doom with submission.  
* Had God left it to our choice to die, or to live for ever: And did we consider how dismal it is for a man to see no end of his Poverty, Subjection, Sickness or Sorrow; or at best, to enjoy Riches, Greatness, Health, and Pleasure, with an absolute necessity of exchanging them shortly for their contraries, by the continual vicissitude of times; and thus to be tossed to and fro by the wheel of Fortune, betwixt Happiness and Misery: It would pose any one to make a choice. Nature having tied us to the former, saves us the labour of choosing. And the necessity of dying is made easy by Religion.  
* If my Religion be false, it is a snare at lest which you must own to be laid with such temptations that I could not avoid rushing into it, and being entangled by it. What Majesty, what Glory in its Mysteries! what a connexion in all the several parts of its Doctrine! How very rational is it? how candid and innocent in its Mora●s? and who can stand against the strength of so many millions of witnesses, the most moderate and the wisest of men, who, during three whole ages have succeeded each other? and whom the sense of the same truth, so constantly supported in their Exiles, in the darkest Dungeons, and even in death itself, and the most painful torments? Set open the Books of History, run it over through all its parts; take it from the beginning of the world, and even from before that, if you can; was there ever any thing like this? Could all the power of God himself have laid a fitter plot to seduce me? How then shall I escape? Whether shall I run? And how shall I find any thing that's better? nay, tha● is but half so good? Since I must be led into ruin, this shall be my way to it. Denying the Being of a God would indeed suit my inclinations much better, than suffering myself to be deluded, though by so plausible and so specious a pretence. But I have examined thoroughly, have endeavoured all I could, and still want the power of being an Atheist. This than must be my doom, and I am forced again to stick to my Religion.  
* The grounds on which Religion is founded, are either true or false. If false, the Religious man, and the strictest observer of all the precepts of Self-denial ventures no more than just the loss of threescore years, which I'll allow to be foolishly bestowed. But if true, the vicious man is of all men most miserable: And I tremble at the very thoughts of what unutterable and incomprehensible torments I see him daily heaping upon himself  
Tho the truth of Religion was much less demonstrated than it really is, certainly there is no prudent man but would choose to be virtuous.  
* Those who dare presume to deny the Being of a God, hardly deserve that one should strive to demonstrate it to them, or at least that one should argue with them with more seriousness than I have done hitherto. They are for the generality so ignorant, that it makes them unqualifyed for the understanding of the clearest principles, and of the truest and most natural inferences. Yet I am willing to offer this to their reading, provided they done't fancy that it is all that can be said upon the subject of so noble and so perspicuous a truth.  
Forty years ago I was not, neither was it in my power ever to be, any more than now that I am, it is in my power to cease from being. My existence therefore hath had its beginning, and is now continued thro' the influence of something which is without me, which will subsist after me, which is better and more powerful than I. Now if that something is not God, let me but know what it is.  
I exist: But this existence of mine proceeds, perhaps, you'll say, from the power only of an universal nature, which has been such as we see it now, from all Eternity. But this nature is either only spiritual, and then ●tis God; or only material, and consequently could not create that part of my Being which is spiritual, my Soul; or else it is a compound of Spirit and Matter, and then that part of it, which you say is a Spirit, is that which I call God.  
Again: Perhaps you'll add, that what I call my Soul, is nothing but a part of Matter which subsists through the power of an universal Nature, which also is material, which always was and ever will be such as we see it now: and which is not God. But at least you must grant, that what I call my Soul, let it be what it will, is something which thinks: That if it is made up of Matter, it is such a Matter as thinks, for you can never beat it into me, that at the time I am thus arguing, there is not something within me that thinks. Now this something, since you will have it to owe its being and its preservation to an universal Nature, which always was and every will be as to the first cause of both, it necessarily follows, that this universal Nature either thinks, or is nobler and more perfect than that which thinks. And if nature thus described is Matter, than it must be an universal Matter that thinks, or which is nobler and more perfect than that which does think.  
I proceed further, and I say, that such an universal Matter, if it be not a Chimerical but a real being, may be perceived by some of our senses; and that if it cannot be discovered in itself, it may be known at least through the various order of its different parts which forms all Bodies, and makes the difference betwixt them. Matter, then, is itself all these different Bodies; now since, according to the supposition, Matter is a being which thinks, or is better than that which thinks, it follows, that it is such in some of these bodies, at least, and consequently in the Stones, in Minerals, in the Earth, in the Sea, in myself, who am but a Body, as well as in all its other parts. I am then beholden for this something, which thinks within me, and which I call my Soul, to all these gross, earthy and bodily parts, which being laid together make up this Universal Matter, or this visible World. Which is absurd.  
If, on the contrary, this Universal Nature, let it be what it will, is not all those Bodies, it follows that it is not Matter, and cannot be perceived by any of our senses. And if, notwithstanding this, it has the faculty of thinking, or is more perfect than that which has the faculty of thinking, I still conclude that it is a Spirit, or something better and more perfect than a Spirit. Now if that which thinks within me, and which I call my Soul, not finding its Principle in itself, and much less in Matter, as has been just now demonstrated, is forced to acknowledge this universal Nature to be the first Cause, and the only Spring, from whence it derives its being; I'll not dispute about words. But this original Spring, of all its spiritual beings, which is itself a Spirit, or which is better than a Spirit, is that which I call God.  
In a word I think, therefore there is a God. For that which thinks within me is not a gift, which I can pretend to have bestowed on myself, since it was no more in my power to be the Author of it at first, than it is now, to be the preserver of it for one minute. And I received it not from a Being which is superior to me and which is not material, since it's impossible for Matter to be superior to that which thinks. From whence it follows, that I must have received it from a being which is superior to me, and which is not material. And that superior Being is God.  
* From the inconsistence of an universal Nature, which has the faculty of thinking, with any thing that's material, must necessarily be inferred, that any particular being, which has the faculty of thinking is also and equally inconsistent with any thing that is material. For though the Idea of an universal being, which hath the faculty of thinking, includes infinitely more Power, Independance, and Capacity, than that of a particular being, which hath the faculty of thinking, yet it does not imply a greater inconsistance with Matter, it being impossible for this inconsistance to be greatest in either, because it is, as it were, infinite in both. And it is as impossible, that what thinks within me, should be Matter, as it is inconceivable that God should be Matter. As God therefore is a Spirit, so my Soul also is a Spirit.  
* ay cannot positively know whether a Dog is Master of memory, love, fear, imagination or thought, of the faculty of choosing, etc. When therefore I am told that those actions in a Dog, which seemed to be the effect of either passion or sentiment, proceed naturally and without choice from the disposition of the material parts of its Body, which like Clockwork, put it under an absolute necessity of moving thus, I may perhaps acquiesce in this Doctrine: but as for me, I think, and I certainly know that I think. Now if one considers this or that disposition of material parts, which altogether make up what body you please, that is, an extent which wants no dimensions, which has its length, breadth, and depth, which may be divided in all these respects; pray what proportion is there betwixt such an extent and that which thinks?  
* If all things are Matter, and if thinking in me, as well as in all other men, is an effect only of the disposition of the parts of Matter, what brought into the world a notion absolutely foreign from the Idea of any thing that is material? Can Matter produce so pure, so simple, so immaterial an Idea, as that we have of a Spirit? Can Matter be the principal of that which denies and excludes itself from its own Being? How is it in man that which thinks; that is, that which is a conviction to man that he is not material?  
* There are Being's which last not long, because they are made up of things which differ much in their nature, and are destructive to each other. There are others more lasting, because they are more simple, but they perish at last, being made up of several parts, into which they may be divided. That which thinks within me must needs last very long, since it is a very pure being, free from all mixture and composition. There is no occasion why it should perish, for what can corrupt or divide a simple being, which has no parts?  
* The Soul sees colours through the Organ of the Eye, and hears sounds thro' the Organ of the Ear, but it may cease either from seeing or hearing, when those senses on those objects are removed, and yet not cease from being, because the Soul is not properly that which sees or hears, it is only that which thinks. Now how can it cease from being such? Not through the want of Organs, since it has been proved that it is not material. Nor through the want of objects, as long as there is a God and eternal Truths, so fit for its contemplation: It is then incorruptible.  
* ay can●t conceive that a Soul which God has filled with the Idea of his infinite and all-perfect Being, must be annihilated.  
* Observe, Lucilius, this spot of ground, which for neatness and ornament, exceeds the other Lands about it. Here the finest Fountains and the most curious Water-works you ever saw, there endless Walks, sheltered from all cold winds, and lined with fruitful Palissadoes, on this side a thick and shady Grove, on the other an admirable prospect. A little lower a Rivulet, whose stream running amongst the Willows and Poplars, was once hardly taken notice of, is now become a famous Canal, and its Banks supported with Freestone. And elsewhere long shady Visto's, the ends of which no eyes can reach, lead you to a noble Seat, surrounded with water. Will you say this is the effect of chance? Will you suppose that all these things met together accidentally? No certainly. You'll rather commend the order, the disposition of them, the judgement and skill of the ingenious Contriver. My thoughts will be the same with yours, and I'll suppose this must be the dwelling of one of those men who, from the very minute, they get into place, think on nothing but on the laying the Foundation of some great and sumptuous Palace. Yet what is this piece of ground so ordered, and on the beautifying of which, all the art of the most skilful Workmen have been employed, if the whole Earth is but an Atom hanging in the air, and if you'll but hear what I am going to say?  
You are placed, Lucilius, on some part of this Atom; you must needs be very little, since you hold there is so little room. Yet you have eyes imperceptible like two points: Open them however towards heaven. What is sometimes the object of your observations there? Is it the Moon, when at the full? 'Tis radiant then and very beautiful, though all its light be but the reflections of the Sun's. It appears as large as the Sun itself, larger than the other Planets, than any of the Stars. But be not deceiv●d by outward appearance; nothing in Heaven is so little as the Moon: The extent of its superficies exceeds not the thirteenth part, its solidity not the eight and fortieth part, and its Diameter, which is two thousand two hundred and fifty miles, not a quarter part of that of the Earth. And the truth is, that what makes it so great in appearance, is its proximity only: Its distance from us being no more than thirty times the Diameter of the Earth, or three hundred thousand miles Nay, and its course is nothing, in comparison of the prodigious long race of the Sun, thro' the spacious Firmament. For it is certain it runs not above sixteen hundred and twenty thousand miles a day, which is not above sixty seven thousand five hundred miles an hour, or one thousand one hundred and five and twenty miles a minute. And yet to complete this Course, it must run five thousand six hundred times faster than a Race-Horse, that goes twelve miles an hour. It must be eighty times swifter than the sound, than the noise, for example, of a Cannon, or of the Thunder, which flies eight hundred and one and thirty miles an hour.  
But if you'll oppose the Moon to the Sun, with respect to its greatness, its distance, or its course, you shall find there is no comparison to be made betwixt 'em. Remember only that the Diameter of the Earth is nine thousand miles: That of the Sun's is a hundred times as large, which is nine hundred thousand miles. Now if this be the breadth of it every way, judge you what its superficies, what its solidity must be. Do you apprehend the vastness of this extent, and that a million of such Globes as the Earth being laid together, would not exceed the Sun in bigness. How great will you cry must then the distance of it be, if one may judge of it by its smallness in appearance. 'Tis true, it is prodigious great; it is demonstrated that the Sun's distance from the Earth, can be no less than ten thousand times the Diameter of the Earth. Or, which is all one, than ninety millions of miles: Nay, and it may be four times, perhaps six times, perhaps ten times as much, for aught we know. There is no method found out for the computing of it.  
Now, for the help of your apprehension, let us suppose a Millstone falling from the Sun upon the Earth, let it come down with all the swiftness imaginable, and even swifter than the heaviest bodies falling from never so high; let us also suppose that it preserves always the same swiftness, without acquiring a greater, or losing from that it already has; that it advances forty yards every second, which is half the height of the highest Steeple, and consequently two thousand four hundred yards in a minute. But to facilitate this computation, allow it be two thousand six hundred and forty yards, which is a mile and an half, its fall will be three miles in two minutes, ninety miles in an hour, and two thousand one hundred and sixty miles in a day. Now it must fall ninety millions of miles before it comes down to the Earth, so that it can't be less than forty one thousand six hundred and sixty six days, which is above one hundred and forty years in performing this journey. Let not all this fright you, Lucilius, I'll tell you more. The distance of Saturn from the Earth, is at least ten times as much as the Sun's, so that it is no less than nine hundred thousand millions of miles, and that this Stone would be above eleven hundred and forty years in falling down from Saturn to the Earth.  
Now by this elevation of Saturn's, raise your imagination so high, if you can, as to conceive the immensity of its daily course. The Circle which Saturn describes, has above eighteen hundred millions of miles Diameter, and consequently above five thousand four hundred millions of miles circumference: So that a Race-Horse, which I'll suppose to run thirty miles an hour, must be twenty thousand five hundred and forty eight years in taking this round.  
I have not said all, Lucilius, that can be said on the miracle of this visible world: Or, to speak more like yourself, on the wonders of Chance, which alone you will allow to be the first cause of all things. It is still more wonderful in its operations than you imagine. Learn what Chance is: Or, rather be instructed in the knowledge of all the power of your God. Do you know that this distance of the Sun from the Earth, which is ninety millions of miles, and that of Saturn, which is nine hundred millions of miles, are so inconsiderable, if opposed to that of the other Stars, that no comparison can express the true measure of the latter. For indeed, what proportion is there betwixt any thing that can be measured, let its extent be what it will, and that which it is impossible to measure? The height of a Star cannot be known, it is, if I may so speak, immensurable. All Angles, Sinuses, and Paralaxes become useless, if one goes about to compute it. And should one man observe a fixed Star from Paris, and another from japan, the two lines that should reach f●om their Eyes to that Star, should make no Angle at all: And should be confounded together and make up one and the same line, so inconsiderable is the space of the whole Earth, in comparison of that distance. But though Stars have this in common with Saturn and the Sun, and I should express something more. If then two Astronomers should stand, the one on the Earth, and the other in the Sun, and from thence should observe one Star at the same time, the two visual rays of these two Astronomers should not in appearance form an Angle. But that you may conceive the same thing another way, should a man be placed on one of the Stars; this Sun, this Earth, and the ninety millions of miles that are betwixt ●em, would seem to him but as one point. There are demonstrations given for it.  
'Tis for this reason that the distance there is betwixt any two Stars, though they appear never so near one another, is not to be measured. You would think, if you judged by your eye, the Plyades almost touched one another. There is a Star seems to be placed on one of those which make the Tail of the Great Bear; your sight can hardly perceive that part of the Heavens which divides 'em, they make together as it were but one double Star: Yet if the most skilful Astronomers cannot with all their Art find out their distance from each other, how far asunder must two Stars be which appear remote from one another? And how much farther yet the two Polar Stars? How prodigious the length of that line, which reaches from one to the other? How immense the Circle which this line is the Diameter of? How unfathomable the solidity of the Globe, which this Circle is but a Section of? Shall we still wonder that these Stars, though so exceeding great, seem no larger to us than so many Sparks? Shall we not rather admire that from so vast a height they should preserve the least appearance of bodies, and that they should be seen at all? And indeed, the quantity of them that is unseen is innumerable? 'Tis true, we limit the number of the Stars, but that is only of such Stars as are visible to us; for how should we number those we cannot see? Those, for example, which make up the Via Lactea, that trace of light, which on a clear night, you may observe from North to South in the Sky. Those, I say, which being by their extraordinary height so far out of the reach of our eyes, that we cannot distinguish every individual Star amongst 'em, give a white cast only to that part of the Heavens they are placed in?  
Behold then the Earth on which we tread, it hangs loose like a grain of Sand in the air. A multitude of fiery Globes, the vastness of whose bulk confounds my imagination, and whose height exceeds the reach of my conceptions, all perpetually rolling round this grain of Sand, has been for above these six thousand years, and are still daily, crossing the wide, the immense spaces of the Heavens. Or if you desire an other, and yet as wonderful a system; the Earth itself is turning round the Sun, which is the centre of the Universe, with a swiftness that surpasses my imagination. Methinks I see the motion of all these Globes, the orderly march of these prodigious bodies; they never disorder, never hit, never touch one another, should but the least of them happen to start aside, and to run against the Earth, what must become of the Earth? But on the contrary all keep their respective stations, remain in the order prescribed to them, follow the tracts which are laid before them. And this, at least, with respect to us, is done with so little noise, that the vulgar knows not that there are such Bodies. What a strange and wonderful effect of chance! Could intelligence itself have done any thing beyond this? One only thing I cannot understand, Lucilius. These vast bodies are so exact and so constant in thei● courses, in their revolutions, and their relations to each other, that a little Animal, being confined in a corner of that wide space, which is called the world, having made their observations on them, has contrived an exact and an infallible method of foretelling in what degree of their respective Courses every one of these Stars will be two thousand; four thousand, nay, twenty thousand years hence. Here lies my scruple, Lucilius: If it be by chance that they observe such constant rules; what is order, and what are rules?  
Nay, I'll ask you what is chance? is it a Body, is it a Spirit, is it a Being which you distinguish from all other Being's, which has a particular existence, or which resides in any place? Or rather, is it not a mode or a fashion of Being? When a Bowl runs against a Stone, we are apt to say it is a chance: but is it any thing more than the accidental hitting of these bodies one against the other? If by this chance, or this hitting the Bowl, it changes its straight course into an oblique one, if its direct motion becomes more contracted, if ceasing from rolling on its Axis, i● winds and whirls like a top, shall I from thence infer, that motion in general proceeds in this Bowl from the same chance? Shall I not rather suspect that the Bowl owe it to itself, or to the impulse of the arm that threw it? Or because the circular motions of the wheels of a Clock are limited, the one by the other in their degrees of swiftness, shall I be less curious in examining what may be the cause of all these motions? Whether it lies in the wheels themselves, or is derived from the moving faculty of a weight that gives 'em the swing? But neither these Wheels nor this Bowl could produce this motion in themselves. And it does not lie in their own nature, if they can be deprived of it without changing this nature. It is therefore likely that they are moved some other way, and through a foreign power: And as for the Celestial Bodies, if they should be deprived of their motion, should therefore their nature be altered? Should they cease from being bodies? I can't believe they should: Yet they move; and since they move not of themselves, nor by their own nature, one would examine, Lucilius, whether there is not some principle without 'em that causes this motion. Whatever you find it, I call it God.  
Should we suppose these great bodies to be without motion indeed, I could not ask who moves 'em. But I should still be allowed to inquire who made them, as I may examine who made these Wheels or this Bowl. And though each of these Bodies was supposed to be but a heap of Atoms, which have accidentally knit themselves together through the figure and conformity of their parts, I should take one of those Atoms, and should say, who created this Atom? is it Matter, is it a Spirit; had it any Idea of itself before it made itself? If so, than it existed a minute before it did exist. It was and it was not at the same time. And if it be the Author of its own being, and of its manner of being, why made it itself a Body rather than a Spirit?  
Or else had this Atom no beginning? Is it Eternal? Is it Infinite? Will you make a God of this Atom?  
* The mite has eyes, and turns away if it meets with such objects as may be hurtful to it; place it on any thing that is black, for the help of your observation, and if, while it is walking, you lay but the least bit of Straw in its way, you'll see it alter its course immediately. And can you think that the Crystalline humour, t●e retina, and the optic nerve, all which convey sight to this little animal, are the product of chance?  
One may observe in a drop of Water, that a little Pepper which has been steeped in it, has excited the thirst of an infinite number of small Animals, whose figure may be perceived with the help of a Magnifying-glass, and who are moving to and fro, with an incredible swiftness, like so many Monsters in the wide Ocean. Each of these small Animals is a thousand times less than a Mite, and yet is a body that lives, which receives nourishment, which grows, which must not only have Muscles, but such Vessels also as are equivalent to Veins, Nerves, and Arteries, and a Brain to make a distribution of its Animal Spirits.  
A bit of any thing that is mouldy, though it be no bigger than a grain of Sand, appears thro' a Microscope like a heap of many Plants, of which some are plainly seen to bear Flowers, and other Fruits, some have buds only, and others are withered. How extremely small must be the Roots and Fibers through which these little plants receive their nourishment. And if one considers that these plants bear their own Seed as well as Oaks or Pines, or that these small Animals are multiplied by generation, as well as Elephants and Whales, whether will not such observations lead one? Who could work all these things, which are so fine, so exceeding small, that no eye can perceive 'em, and that they, ●s well as the Heavens, border upon infinity itself, though in the other extreme? Would not one think it was the same Being who made, and who moves with so much ease, the Heavens and the Stars, those vast Bodies which are so wonderful in their bigness, their elevation, the swiftness and the prodigious extent of their Courses?  
* Man enjoys the Sun, the Stars, the Heavens and their influences, as much as he does the Air he breathes, and the Earth on which he treads and by which he is supported. This is Matter of Fact, and if, besides the fact, I were to prove the probability of the thing, and that it is fitting he should do so, I might easily make it out, since the Heavens and all that is contained in them are not to be compared, in nobleness and dignity, with one of the meanest men on Earth. And since there can be no other porportion betwixt them, than what there is betwixt Matter, which is destitute of Sentiment, and is only an extent according to three dimensions; and a spiritual, a reasonable, or an intelligent Being. And if any one says that all these things might have served for the preservation of Man, I answer, that less could not have served for the Glory of God, and for the magnifying of his power, his goodness, and his magnificence, since let his works be never so great and wonderful, they might still have been infinitely greater.  
The whole universe, if it be made for man, is, in a literal sense, the least thing that God has done for man, the proof of which may be drawn from Religion. Man is therefore neither presumptuous nor vain, when, submitting to the evidence of Truth, he owns the advantages he has received, and might be taxed with blindness and stupidity, did he refuse to yield himself convinced thro' the multitude of proofs which Religion lays before him; to show him the greatness of his prerogatives, the certainty of his refuge, the reasonableness of his hopes, and to teach him what he is, and what he may be. Ay, but the Moon is inhabited, at least we don't know but it may. What, and to how little purpose is it you talk of the Moon, Lucilius. If you own there is a God, nothing indeed is impossible. But do you design to ask whether it is on us alone that God has bestowed such great blessings? Whether there are not other Men, or other Creatures in the Moon, whom also he has mad● the objects of his Bounty. To so vain a curiosity, to so frivolous a question, let me answer, Lucilius, that the Earth is inhabited, we are the Inhabitants of it, and we know that we are so, we have proofs, demonstrations, and convictions, for all that we are to believe of God and of ourselves. Let the Nations who inhabit the Celestial Globes, whatever those Nations are, be mindful of their own concerns. They have their cares, and we have ours. You have observed the Moon, Lucilius; you have found its spots, its deeps, its ruggedness, its elevation, its extent, its course, and its eclipses, no Astronomer has yet done more. Now contrive some new and more exact Instruments, observe it again, and see whether it is inhabited, what are its Inhabitants, whether they are like men, or whether they are really men, let me look after you, and let us both be convinced that there are men who inhabit ●he Moon, and then, Lucilius, we'll consider, whether those men are Christians or no, and whether God has made 'em to share his favours with us.  
* Many millions of years, nay, many thousand millions of years; in a word, as many as can be comprehended within the limits of time, are but an instant, being compared with the duration of God, who is Eternal. The spaces of the whole universe are but a point of an Atom, being compared with his Immensity. If it be so, as I affirm it is; for what proportion can there be between what is finite and what is infinite; I ask what is a man's life, or the extent of a grain of Sand, which is call●d the Earth; nay, of a small part of that Earth which man inhabits and enjoys? The wicked are prosperous while they live: Yes, some of them are, I own. Virtue is oppressed, and Vice remains unpunished: It happens so sometimes, 'tis true. This is then an injustice: No, not at all. You should have proved, to draw this conclusion, the wicked absolutely happy, the virtuous absolutely deprived of happiness, and vice absolutely and always remaining unpunished. That short time in which the good are oppressed, and the wicked are prosperous, should, at least, have a duration. What we call prosperity and good fortune, should be something more than a false appearance, or a vain shadow which vanishes away. This Atom, the Earth, in which Virtue and Vice so seldom meet with their deserts, should be the only stage on which they are to receive their punishments or their rewards.  
I can't infer more clearly, from my thinking that I am a Spirit, than I conclude from what I do or do not, according as I please, that I am free. Now freedom is the power of choosing, or of taking a voluntary determination towards good or evil, so that the doing of good or evil is what is called Virtue or Vice● For Vice to remain absolutely unpunished would be an injustice, 'tis true. For Vice to remain unpunished on Earth is a mystery only; yet, let us, with the Atheist, suppose that an injustice too. All injustice is a negation or a privation of justice, therefore all injustice supposes a justice: All justice is a conformity to a sovereign reason. I'll ask you then, whether it has not ever been just that Vice should be punished: Yes certainly, and the denying of it would be as ridiculous, as if one should pretend to say, that a Triangle has not three Angles. Now all conformity to reason is a truth: This conformity, as I said just now, always was. It may then be included in the number of what we call eternal truths: but this truth either is, not and cannot be, or else it is the object of a knowledge. This knowledge therefore is eternal, and this eternal knowledge is God.  
The most secret crimes are discovered so easily, notwithstanding all the care that has been taken to prevent their being brought to light: And such discoveries seem to result so naturally, even from the darkest plots that the Authors of those crimes could invent to hide their guilt, that one would think nothing but God could have produced those unexpected events. The number of these discoveries is so great, that those who are pleased to attribute them to chance, must own at least, that from all ages the effects of chance have been most wonderful.  
wonderful If you suppose that every man on Earth, without exception, is rich, and wants nothing, I'll infer from thence, that there is never a man on Earth but what is poor, and wants every thing. There are but two sorts of riches, which comprehend all the rest, Money and Land. If all were rich, who would be a Husbandman to cultivate the Earth; or who would dig and rip up its Bowels to find out Gold or Silver. Those who live remote from any place where Gold and Silver lies, could not dig for Gold and Silver: And those who inhabit barren Lands, which produce nothing but Minerals, should hardly reap any Fruits. Ay, but Trade, it is to be supposed, would supply both the one and the other. But should all men abound in riches, so that none were under a necessity of living by his labour, who would be troubled with transporting from one place to another, your Gold, your Silver, or any thing that were bought or bartered? Who would fit out your Ships? Who would take care of conducting of them to their respective ports? Who would travel in Caravannes? Even necessaries and the most useful things would then be wanted by every one. To banish necessity from the Earth, were to bid an adieu to all Arts and Sciences, all Inventions and Handicrafts; besides, such an equality amongst men, as to their riches and possessions, would occasion the like, as to their ranks in the World; would banish all subordination, and would reduce men to have no Servants but themselves, to receive no help nor succour from each other, would make Laws frivolous and useless, would draw after it an universal Anarchy, would produce violence, injuries, murders and impunity.  
If on the other hand, you suppose all men to be poor and indigent, in vain the Sun enlightens our Horizon; in vain it warms the Earth and renders it fruitful; in vain the Heavens pour out their influences on it; in vain the River's water it with their streams; in vain the Fields abound with Fruits; in vain the Sea, the Rocks, and the Mountains are ransacked and rifled of their Treasures. But if you grant that, of all the men who are scattered throughout the world, some are rich and others poor, necessity then must reconcile, unite, and bind them together. Some must serve and obey, some must labour and cultivate the Earth, some must contrive and invent, some improve and bring their inventions to perfection; others must rule, protect, assist, communicate and enjoy. Order is restored, and providence appears.  
* Should you suppose Power, Idleness and Pleasure to be the share of some men only and Subjection, Care, and Misery the lot of all the rest, either the malice of men must have removed all these things from their natural place, or else Divinity itself must want Prudence.  
Some inequality in the conditions of men, for order and subordinations sake, is the work of God, and demonstrates a providence: ●oo great a disproportion, and such as is generally seen amongst them, is their own work, and an encroachment of theirs upon one another.  
All extremes are vicious, and proceed from Men, compensation is just, and proceeds from God.  
* If these Characters don't take, I wonder they should not; but if they take, I wonder they should.   
FINIS.   

THE Moral Characters OF THEOPHRASTUS ● Made English from the Greek.  
WITH A Prefatory Discourse Concerning THEOPHRASTUS, From the French of Monsr De La Bruyere.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1698.   

A Prefatory Discourse Concerning THEOPHRASTUS.  
I Cannot conceive that Man is capable of entertaining a more vain and ridiculous thought, than to imagine that in Writing of any Art or Science, he shall be able to escape all sort of Critic, and obtain the good opinion of all his Readers.  
For without observing the differences of the Genius of Men, as strange as that of their Faces, which makes some relish speculation, others things that are practical, inclines some to turn over Books to exercise their fancy, others to form their Judgement; and amongst Readers, these love the force of demonstration, those to understand nicely, or form ratiocinations and conjectures. I confine myself only to that Science which describes Manners, examines men, and discovers their Characters; and I dare say, that works of this kind, which touch so near, and whose subject is Men themselves, will not easily meet with a favourable reception.  
Some of the Learned taste nothing but the Apothegms of the Ancients, and examples drawn from the Romans, Grecians, Persians and Egyptians; the History of the present time is insipid to them, they are not at all touched with the Men that are about them, and with whom they live, they make no observations on their Manners.  
The Ladies and Courtiers, on the contrary, and all those that have abundance of Wit without Learning, are very indifferent towards those things that preceded them, and very eager after those that pass before their Eyes, and are as it were under their hands; these they pry into, these they apprehend; they continually observe the persons that surround them, are charmed with the descriptions and representations that are made of their contemporaries and fellow Citizens' in short, of those that resemble themselves, to whom yet they think they do not bear the least similitude; as those that instruct us from the Pulpit, often judge it expedient to neglect Preaching solid Divinity to gain Men by their own weakness, and reduce them to their duty by things that please their palate, and are within their comprehension.  
The Court is ignorant of the affairs of the City, or by reason of the contemptible opinion it has of it, does not endeavour to remove the prejudice, and is not in the least touched with the images it might furnish it with; so on the contrary, the Court is represented, as it always is, full of intrigues and designs; the City does not draw enough from this description, to satisfy its curiosity, and to form a just Idea of a Place, which can no otherwise be known but by living there; on the other side, it is not very natural for men to agree about the Beauty or Delicacy of a Moral Treatise, which designs and paints themselves, and where they cannot avoid seeing their own faces, they fly into passion in condemning it, such no longer approve the Satire, than whilst it bites severely, keeps at a distance from them, and fixes its Teeth on some body else.  
What probability is there to please all the so different tastes of Men, by one single tract of Morality? Some search for Definitio●s, Divisions, Tables and Method, these are desirous to have explained to 'em, what Virtue is in general, and then every Virtue in particular, what difference there is between Valour, Fortitude and Magnanimity; the extreme Vices, either in defect or excess, between whom each virtue is placed; and of which of these two extremes it most participates: other sort of Doctrine does not at all please them. Others are satisfied to have manners reduced to the Passions, and that these be explained by the motion of the Blood, by the Fibres and Arteries, they'll excuse an Author all the rest.  
The●e ●re a third Class, who are of opinion, 〈◊〉 ●he whole Doctrine of manners ought ●o tend to their Reformation; to distinguish the good from the bad, and to discover amongst men what is vain, weak and ridiculous, from what they have that is good, solid and commendable.  
They infinitely solace themselves in the reading of Books, which supposing the principles of Natural and Moral Philosophy left in a controversial suspense by the Ancients and Moderns, immediately apply themselves to the Manners of the times, and correct men by one another, by the Images of things that are Familiar to them, and from whence nevertheless they do not deduce instructive inferences.  
Such is the Treatise of the Characters of Manners, which Theophrastus has left us; he collected them from the Ethics, and great Morals of Aristotle, whose Scholar he was; the excellent definitions, that are at the beginning of each Chapter, are established on the Ideas and Principles of this great Philosopher, and the foundation of the Characters which are there described, is taken from the s●me original; it is true he makes them mo●e particular, by the scope he gives them, and by his ingenious Satyrizing the Greeks, but especially the Athenians ●  
This Book cannot be thought other than the beginning of a much longer work, which Theophrastus had undertaken. The design of this Philosopher, as you may observe in his Preface, was to treat of all Virtues and Vices; and as he himself assures you, h● undertook this great work, at Ninety Nine Years of Age; it is probable that the shortness of his remaining Life hindered him from perfecting it. I own that the common opinion is, that he lived above an hundred years, and St Jerome in one of his Letters, which he wrote to Nepotianus, asserts that he died full an hundred and seven years old; so that I doubt not in the least, that it was an Ancient error either of the Greek Numerical Letters, which guided Diogenes Laertius, who reckoned him to have lived but Ninety five years, or in the first Manuscripts of this Historian; if that be true in others● that the Ninety Nine years, which the Author ascribes to himself in the Preface, are exactly the same in four Manuscripts in the Palatine Library; where are also the five last Chapters of the Characters of Theophrastus, which are wanting in the old Editions; and where are also two Titles, the one, The opinion the World has of the Vicious; the other, Of Sordid gain; which are found alone, without any Chapters belonging to them.  
This work is nothing but a fragment, yet notwithstanding a precious remain of Antiquity, and a Monument of the vivacity of the mind, and of the firm and solid Judgement of this Philosopher at so great an Age; it will always be a Master piece in its kind, there is nothing extant wherein the Attic taste is more remarkable, or the Grecian Eloquence more conspicuous; so that it may deserve the name of a Golden Book, the Learned are intent on the Diversity of manners there treated of, and the natural way of expressing the Characters; and compare them besides with that of the Poet Menander a Scholar of Theophrastus, who served afterwards for a Model for Terence, who in our days being so happily imitated, I cannot forbear to hint in this little work, the original of all Comedy; I mean that void of Quibbles, Obscenities and Puns, which is taken from nature, and diverts both the wise and virtuous.  
But to enhance the value of these Characters, and inspire the Reader, perhaps it may not be improper, to say something of their Author. He was of Eresus, a City of Lesbos, a Fuller's Son; his first Master in his own Country was 
* Not Leucippus the famous Philosopher Zeno 's Scholar.  Leucippus of the same C with himself, from thence he went to Plato's School, afterwards settled at Aristotle ●s; where he distinguished himself from all the rest of his Scholars. This new Ma●ster, charmed with the readiness of his Wit, and Sweetness of his elocution, changed his name, which was Tyrtamus, to that of ●uphrastus, which signifies one that talks well, but this name not answering the great estimation he had for the beauty of his genius and expressions, called him Theophrastus, that is to say● a Man whose Language is Divine. Which is like what Cic●ro says amongst his sentiments of this Philosopher, in his Book entitled Brutus, or De Claris Oratoribus; who is more fertile and copious than Plato, more solid and firm than Aristotle, more agreeable and smooth than Theoprastus; he calls him his friend, and says, that his works were familiar to him, and the reading of them had afforded him abundance of pleasure.  
Aristotle says of him and Calisthenes another of his Scholars, what Plato before had said of Aristotle himself and Xenocrates; that Calisthenes was dull of invention, and had a sluggish Fancy, and that Theophrastus on the contrary was so vivacious, piercing and penetrating, that he would comprehend all that was to be known of a thing, that the one wanted Spurs to prick him forward, the other Reins to hold him in.  
He had an especial esteem for a Character of sweetness, which equally reigned in his Style and Manners. It is said that Aristotle's Scholars seeing their Master growing in years, and of a weak constitution, begged of him to name his Successor, and as he had only two persons in his School on whom the choice could fall, Menedemus the 
There were two others of the sam● name, one a Cynic Philosopher, the other ● Scholar of Plato.  Rhodian and Theophrastus the Eresian; by a dexterous management towards him, that he designed to exclude, he declares himself after this manner. He pretending, a little time after his Disciples had made this request to him, and in their presence, that the Wine he commonly used was prejudicial to him, ordered Wine to be brought him both of Rhodes and Lesbos, he drinks of both of them, and says they did not in the least conceal their Country, and that each in its kind was excellent, the first was very strong, but that of Lesbos more pleasant, and to that it was he gave the preference. Whatsoever we read of this Story in Aulus Gellius, 'tis certain, that when Aristotle was accused by Eurimedon a Priest of Ceres, of having spoken ill of the Gods, fearing the fate of Socrates, left Athens and retired to Chal●is a City of Euboea; and left his School to a Lesbian, whom he entrusted with his Writings, on condition he should conceal them; and 'tis to this Theophrastus, that we are obliged for the works of that great Man.  
His name became so famous thro' all Greece, being successor to Aristotle, that he could reckon soon after in the School that was left him near two thousand Scholars. He was envied by Sophocles, 
Not the Tragic ●oe●.  Son to Amphiclides, and who at that time was chief Magistrate, who out of Enmity to him, but under a pretext of an exact polity, and to hinder public assemblies, made a Law which prohibited under pain of Death, any Philosopher to teach in Schools. They all submitted to it, but the following year Philo succeeding Sophocles, who was discharged his Office, the Athenians repealed this detestable Law, that the other had made; and ●aying a fine of five Talents upon him, reestablished Theophrastus and the rest of the Philosophers.  
He was in this more fortunate than Aristotle, who was forced to submit to Eurimedon. He had like to have seen one Agnonides punished by the Athenians as impious, only because he durst accuse him of Impiety; so great was the opinion this People had of him, and which he merited by his Virtue.  
They gave him the Character of a man of singular prudence, zealous for the public good, Laborious, Officious, Affable, Liberal. Plutarch reports that when Eresus was oppressed with Tyrants, who usurped the Government of the Country, he joined Phydius his Countryman, and out of his own Estate contributed with him to arm the banished men, who entering into their City expelled the Traitors, and restored the whole Isle of Lesbos to its liberty.  
His many and excellent accomplishments, did not only acquire him the good will of the People, but the esteem and familiarity of Kings: he was a friend of Cassander's, who succeeded Arideus Brother to Alexander the Great, in the Kingdom of Macedon; and Ptolemy Son of Lagus, and first King of Egypt kept a constant correspondence with this Philosopher At last he died, worn out with Age and Fatigues, and ceased at the same time both to Labour and Live, all Gr●ece lamented him, and all the Athenians assisted at his Funeral.  
It is said that in his extreme old age, not being able longer to go on Foot, he caused himself to be carried on a Litter thro' the City, that he might be seen by the people to whom he was so dear. It's reported also, that his Scholars that stood about his Bed before his Death, ask him if he had nothing to recommend to them, he addressed himself to them after this manner.  
Life deceives us, it promises us great pleasure in the possession of Honour, but Life and Misery begin together, which end in Death; there is often nothing more unprofitable than the love of reputation. Therefore my Disciples be content: if you contemn the esteem of men, you'll save yourselves a great deal of trouble; if it abate not your courage it may come to pass that Honour may be your reward: remember only that in Life are many useless things, and but few that tend to a solid end, I have now no leisure to determine what Sect I ought to espouse, but for you my Survivors you cannot too seriously consider what you ought to do. These were his last words.  
Cicero in the third Book of his Tusculan Questions says, that Theophrastus' dying complained of nature, that she had given Hearts and Crows so long a Life, which was altogether useless; and had allotted Man too short a time, in regard it was of such consequence for them to live long, that if the age of men were extended to a greater number of years, their Life would be cultivated by an universal knowledge, and all Arts and Sciences might be brought to perfection. And St. Jerome concerning the matter before cited assures us, that Theophrastus at one hundred and seven years old, taken ill of that distemper of which he died, lamented that he was obliged to quit Life, at a time when he just began to be wise.  
He used to say, we ought not to love Friends to try them, but to try them to love them: That Friends ought to be common amongst brethren, as all things are common amongst Friends. That you ought as soon to trust to a Horse without a Bridle as to a Man that speaks without Judgement. The greatest expense that a man can be at, is that of his time. He said once to a person that sat silent at Table during the entertainment, If you are a Man of sense you are to blame to say nothing, but if otherwise, you do very well. These were some of his Maxims.  
But if we speak of his works, they are infinities, and we cannot find that any of the Ancients wrote more than Theophrastus: Diogones Laertius reckoned up more than two hundred different Tracts, and the suctjects of which they treated: the greatest part of which are lost by the injuries of time, and the other remaining parts he reduces to twenty Tracts which are collected out of the Volumes of his works: there are Nine Books of the History of Plants, Six Books of their causes, he wrote of Winds, of Fire, of Stones, of Honey, of the signs of fair Wether, the signs of Tempests, of the signs of Rain, of Smells, of Sweat, of the Vertigo, of Weariness, of the Relaxations of the Nerves, of Swooning, of Fish that live out of the Water, of Animals that change their colour, of Animals that are suddenly born, of Animals subject to envy, the Characters of Manners: these are what remain of his Writings, amongst which this last only which I translate is not inferior in beauty to any of those which are preserved, but may be superior in merit to any of those which are lost.  
But if any one should coldly receive this moral Treatise, on the account of those things they may observe there, which are only applicable to the times in which they were wrote, and are not suitable to their Manners; what can they do more advantageous and obliging to themselves, than to get loose from that prepossession in favour of their own Customs and Manners, which they not only take up on trust without any deliberation, but peremptorily pronounce all others contemptible, which are not conformable to them, and thereby deprive themselves of that pleasure and instruction, which the reading of the Ancients would afford them.  
We who are now Modern shall be Ancient in a few days; then the History of our times will make Posterity relish the selling of places of Honour or Trust, that is to say, that no man can have the power to protect Innocence, to punish Gild, and of doing Justice to all the world, except he buys it with ready Money, just as he does his Farm. It will also reconcile them to the gaudy splendour of the heads of factious parties; a sort of men, treated with the last contempt amongst the Hebrews and Greeks. They'll hear of the Capital City of a Great Kingdom, which hath neither Public places, Baths, Fountains, Amphitheatres, Galleries, Porticues, nor Public Walks, which was notwithstanding a prodigious City; of some persons whose life is spent in going from one House to another; Ladies who keep neither Shops nor Inns, yet have their Houses open for those that will pay for their admission; there you may have Cards and Dice, or play at what sort of Game you please, you may eat in these Houses, and they are fit for all sort of Commerce. They'll be informed that some pass up and down the Street only to seem to be in haste; there is no familiarity or conversation there, but all is confused, and as it were an alarm of the noise of Coaches● which to avoid one must run into the middle of the Street, as fast as if he w●re running a Race. They'll believe without wonder, that the Inhabitants go to Church, visit the Ladies and Friends, with offensive arms, and that there is no person but carries at his side, wherewith at one push to murder another.  
Now if our posterity, astonished at Customs so strange and different from theirs, should therefore dislike our Memoirs, our Poetry, our Comedy and Satyrs, might not we complain that by this false delicacy they deprive themselves of the reading such excellent Works, so elaborate and so regular, and of the knowledge of the most glorious Nation that ever yet adorned History.  
Having then the same tender regard for the Books of the Ancients, which we ourselves hope for from posterity, being persuaded no Uses or Customs continue in all ages, but vary with the times, and that we are too remote from those that are past, and too near those now in vogue, to be at that due distance that is requisite to make a just observation of either. Nor will that which we call the politeness of our Manners, nor the Decorum of our Customs, ●or our State and Magnificence, afford us mor● advantage over the Athenians plain way of living, than against that of the first Men, great by themselves, and independent on a thousand exterior things, which afterwards we●e invented perhaps to supply that true Grandeur, which is now no more.  
Nature shows itself in them, in all its purity and dignity; and was not yet in the least sullied by Vanity, Luxury, and foolish Ambition. No man was honoured but on account of his Strength or Virtue; none were enriched by Places or Pensions, but by their Land and Flocks, their Children and Servants; their food was wholesome and natural, the Fruits of the Earth, and the Milk of their Beasts; their Raiment plain and uniform, made of their Wool and Fleeces; their pleasures innocent; a great Crop; the marriage of their Children; a good understanding with their Neighbours; peace in their Family. Nothing can be more opposite to our Manners than all these things, but the distance of time makes us relish them, as the distance of place occasions us to receive all that the different relations, or Books of Travels inform us of remote places and strange Countries. They tell us of one Religion, one Policy, one way of feeding, habiting, building and making War; there was no part of manners that they were ignorant of, those that approach nearest ours affect us, those that are more distant fill us with admiration, but all amuse us, less surprised at the barbarity of Manners and Customs of People so remote, which instruct and at the same time please us by their Novelty, it suffices us that those concerning whom we have the account, are Siamites, Chinese, Negro or Abyssines.  
Now those whose Manners Theophrastus' paints were Athenians, and we are French, and if we add to the diversity of Place and Climate, the long interval of time and considering that this Book was wrote the last year of the CXV Olympiad, three hundred and fourteen years before the Christian Era, and also that it is above two thousand years since the People of Athens lived of whom he draws the Picture, we may admire to know ourselves there, our friends, our enemies, those whom we live with, and that being di-distant from each other so many ages, the resemblance should be so great. In short, men's Souls and Passions change not, they are yet the same still as they were, and as they are described by Theophrastus, Vain, Dissemblers, Flatterers, Selfish, Impudent, Importunate, Distrustful, Backbiters, Quarrelsome, and Superstitio●s.  
It's true, Athens was a free City, it was the centre of the Republic, its Citizens were ●qual one with another, they walked by themselves and on foot, in a neat peaceable and spacious City, going into the Shops and Markets to buy what necessaries they wanted themselves. Court emulation did not in the least incline them to leave this common way of Life: they kept their Slaves for the Baths, for their Repasts, for their Domestic service, and for travelling, they spent one part of their time in the public places, the Temples, the Amphitheatres, on the Bridge, or under the Porticoes, and in the middle of a City of which they were equally Masters. There the people met together to deliberate of the public affairs, there they treated with Strangers. In other places the Philosophers sometimes delivered their Doctrine, sometimes conversed with their Scholar's.  
These places were at the same time the Scene of pleasure and business; there was some thing in their manners which was plain and popular, which I acknowledge little resembles ours; yet notwithstanding what such men as the Athenians in general! and what City like Athens! what Laws! what Policy! what Valour! what Discipline! what perfection in all Arts and Sciences! nay, what Politeness in their common Conversation and Language! Theophrastus, the same Theophrastus of whom so great things have been said, this agreeable Talker, this man that expresses himself Divinely, was known to be a Foreigner, and called so by an ignorant Woman, of whom he bought Herbs in the Market, who knew by a sort of Atticks nicety which he wanted (which the Romans afterwards called Urbanity) that he was no Athenian; and Cicero relates, that this great man was amazed, that having lived to old Age in Athens, and being so perfect a Master of the Attic Language, and having habituated himself to the accent so many years, that yet he could not do that, which the common people naturally, and without any difficulty do. But if we read in this Treatise the Characters of certain manners which we can't excuse, and appear ridiculous to us, we ought to remember, that Theophrastus had the same thought of them, that he looked upon them as vices, which he had drawn so to the Life, that the Picture would serve to shame and correct the Athenians.  
But being desirous to please those, who coldly receive whatsoever concerns strangers and the Ancients, and value none but their own Manners, we have added them to this Work: It may be thought hazardous to follow the design of this Philosopher, as well because it is always pernicious to imitate the works of another, and especially if he be an Ancient, or an Author of great reputation; as also because every figure which is called a description or ennumeration, employed with so great success, in these twenty eight Chapters of Characters, will now seem abundantly less, if managed by a Genius much inferior to Theophrastus.  
On the contrary, remembering that amongst the great number of Tracts of this Philosopher related, by Diogenes Laertius, there is one under the Title of Proverbs, that is to say independent pieces, as reflections or remarks; the first and greatest Book of Morality that ever was made, bears the same name in Sacred Writ; I found myself excited, by so great models, to follow according to my abilities the same method, to write of manners, and I am not at all discouraged from the undertaking, by two works of Morality which are in every one's hands; and either for want of attention or ●hro a Spirit of Criticism, some may think these remarks are imitations.  
One by the engagement of his Author makes Metaphysics subservient to Religion, explains the nature of the Soul, its Passions, its Vices, discusses the most serious motives that lead to Virtue, and will make a Man a Christian: the other, which is the production of a Soul, furnished by conversation in the World, and in which delicacy was equal to penetration, observing that self-love in Man is the cause of all his errors, he attacks without intermission every part where he finds it; and this one thought, when multiplied in a thousand different ways by choice of words and variety of expressions, hath always the grace of Novelty.  
I shall not follow either of these two ways in the work, which is joined to the Translation of these Characters, it is quite different from the other two, which I spoke of, less sublime than the first, and less delicate than the second, its sole design is to render man reasonable, by plain and common ways, and examining indifferently without any great regard to method, and according as the several Chapters there are directed by the Ages, Sexes and conditions, by the Vices, the foibles and ridicules which are there attacked.  
I have mostly applied myself to the Vices of the mind, the secrets of the heart, and to all the interior part of Man, which Theophrastus has not done, and I may say th●t as his Characters, by a thousand exterior things, which are observed of Man, by his Actions, his Words, his Gate, show what is their foundation, and lead us to the very source of their disorder; on the quite contrary, these new Characters employed about the thoughts, sentiments and inclinations of Men, discover the principle of their Villainy and Follies, making us easily foresee all that they are capable to say or do; and abate our wonder at a thousand Vicious and Frivolous actions, of which their Life is full.  
It must be acknowledged, that in the Titles of these two works, the difficulty is found near equal, for those who are not pleased with the latter may make themselves amends with the former. But with relation to the Title of the Characters of Theophrastus, the same Liberty cannot be allowed, because we are not Masters of another man's goods, but must follow the Spirit of the Author, and to render him according to the nearest sense of the Greek words, and at the same time according to the most exact conformity to their Chapters, which will be found very difficult; because very often the signification of a Greek Term translated word for word, is quite another thing in our Language; for example, Irony which with us is a raillery in conversatron or Rhetorical Trope; with Theophrastus it signifies somewhat between cheating and dissembling, which altogether is neither the one nor the other, but that very particular Vice which is described in his first Chapter.  
And in other places, the Greek have sometimes two or three terms very different to express those things that are so, which we cannot render but only by one single word; this poverty of our Language doth much embarrass us.  
You may observe in this Greek work, th●ee ●orts of troublesome persons. Flatterers of two ●orts, and as many of great Talkers, the Characters to which persons resemble, in●efere one with the other, to the prejudice of the Titles; they are not always so exactly followed and perfectly conformed to, because Theophrastus, diverted by a design which he had to make his pourtraicts, found himself obliged to these alterations by reason of the Characters and Manners of the persons he paints or Satyrizes.  
The definitions that are at the beginning of each Chapter are very difficult, they are short and concise in Theophrastus, according to the force of the Greek, and the Style of Aristotle, who furnished him with the first Ideas; I was obliged to enlarge them in the Translation to make them intelligible: there are also in this Tract some unfinished Phrases, which make but imperfect sense, but it is easy to supply the true one. You'll find in the various readings some things very abrupt, which may admit of divers explications; and to avoid wandering amongst these Ambiguities, I have followed the best interpreters  
To conclude, as this work is nothing but a plain instruction, concerning the Manners of Men, by which 'tis rather designed to make them Wise than Learned, I think my self exempt, from the trouble of long and curious observations, or of Learned Commentators, who give an exact account of Antiquity; I have only added some small notes in the Margin, to some things I thought required them, to the end that none of those who have justness and vivacity, and are pretty well read, should blame this small fault, and that they may not be obstructed in reading these Characters, or doubt one moment about the sense of Theophrastus.   

THE Moral Characters OF THEOPHRASTUS, Done from the Greek.  
BEfore I particularly applied myself to the Study of this subject, I have often wondered, (nor can I yet forbear so to do) how it comes to pass, that all Greece being situated under the same Air, and all the Grecians alike educated, yet there should be so great a disparity of Manners amongst them. I therefore (dear Policles) having for a long time studied Men, being now ninety nine years old, during which time, I have been conversant with persons of all sorts of Tempers, Humours, and Inclinations, and observing with great nicety both the Good and Bad, comparing one with the other, thought fit to describe what method each  
If you ask to borrow Money of him, or come to receive the public Taxes, he'll tell you I am no Trader: at another time you shall hear him talk of his great dealings though he has had nothing at all to do.  
When he has been listening attentively to people's discourse, he affects to seem as if he had not concerned himself about it. What he sees, he shall deny that he has ever seen, pretends forgetfulness to all his promises. Talk to him of some things, he says he'll consider of them; of others, that he knows nothing of them, he's strangely struck with admiration, concerning some other matters he was before of the sentiment with yourself. According as occasion requires these are his common expressions. I believe not a word of it.— It can never enter into me to conceive it— It amazes me— Sure I am not my own self. He always represented matters otherwise to me— This is an incredible thing, and exceeds all belief. Pray tell it some body else— shall I believe you, and think that he has imposed upon me? Be extreme cautious how you give credit to such deceitful and insinuating Harangues, than which there is nothing more pernicious. These Persons actions proceeding from ●ly and ensnaring Principles, ought more industriously to be avoided than the Venom of Vipers.  

OF Flattery.  
FLattery is a sordid way of conversation, advantageous only to the Flatterer.  
When the Flatterer walks abroad with any one, observe, says he, how the Eyes of all men are fixed on you; there is no person in the whole City so honoured besides yourself; you had an extraordinary character yesterday on the Change, there were above 30 of us together, and the discourse happening who had the best reputation in the City, you were the first in nomination, and the whole Company unanimously declared you the Man. He tells him a thousand such things as these, then falls to brushing the Lint off his clothes, and if the Wind chance to blow a little Chaff or a Straw into his Hair, he takes it out, and laughing says, because I have not seen you these two days, see how grey your Beard is grown, sure a man of your age may have as black hair as any Body. When the person begins to speak, the Flatterer enjoins   

Of Villainy.  
A Villain is a Fellow regardless of honesty or decency in his Words and Actions. This Profligate person prone to all wickedness, is often taking Oaths, but has no regard to reputation, and values not whatever the world says of him. He is Impudent, Crafty, and Tricking, and will perpetrate any thing. He is not ashamed when he is sober to go and dance the most obscene postured dances amongst the public Actors without a Mask. When the 
* Such as at our Fairs are seen in an open place.  shows are to be seen he thrusts himself in to be Receiver of the Money, and runs about demanding it of every Spectator, but if any produce him a Ticket to see gratis, he picks a quarrel with them. He's a mere Jack of all Trades: Sometimes he keeps an Alehouse, at other times he's a Cock-bawd, a Ferry man, and sometimes he's a Tax-gatherer, and because there is nothing so sordid, but he will undertake, he serves for a public Crier; then again he's a Cook, after turns Gamester; nothing comes amiss to him. He suffers his own Mother to perish for want of common subsistence. He is an arrant Thief, and is every now and then dragged to Goal, which is his place of Residence more than his own House. He is one of those that gather a crowd about them in the Street, and make a doleful complaint, in a loud and lamentable tone, abuse and rail at all those that oppose them. Some crowd to see him, others go on their way without hearing the story whilst he tells some the beginning, some the middle, others the end of his Tale: You may also observe that he chooses that time when there is the greatest concourse of people, 
* A light copper Bo● in which Lawyers carried what related to there cause●.  that there may be the more Witnesses of his Rascality. He is always in Law, either suing some body, or others suing him, some suits he keeps off by perjury, to others he appears. He is never without a Box in his bosom, and has a load of Papers relating to Law-matters in his hands, and as a singular argument of his impudence is always a Ringleader amongst Litigious Pettifoggers.  
What money he lends at Interest he demands three 
* Six Ob●li make a Drachma.  Semiobolis a day for the use of each Drachma. He is a constant Tavern haunter, and walks up and down in those places, 
Much eat by the Athenians  where Fresh and Salt fish are to be sold, and so spends in luxurious living, what he has got by his base practices. These are troublesome fellows, whose mouths are continually open to revile, and so much given to it, that the Exchange and all the Taverns, are continually disturbed by their noise and clamour.   

Of Loquacity.  
IF we would define Loquacity, it is an excessive affluence of words. This Prater will not suffer any person in company to tell his own story, but let it be what it will tells you, you mistake the matter, but I understand the thing very well, and if you please to hear me, I will make it very clear to you● if the person make any reply he suddenly interrupts him. Saying, why Sir, you forget what you were talking about, it's very well you begin to recollect yourself, see what it is for People to inform one another; Then presently says, but what was it, I was going to say? Why truly you soon take the thing right. I was waiting to see if you would be of my sentiment in this matter, always taking such occasions as these not to permit the person he talks with the liberty of breathing: and after he has thus murdered all that will hear him, he is so rude to intrude into the Company of persons, met together upon important affairs, and drives them away by his troublesome impertinence. Thence he goes into the public 
* This was punished with death at Athens by Solon's Law, from which they had derogated in Theoprastus 's time.  Schools an● places of 
* As wrestling, Fencing, &c,  Exercise, where he interrupts the Masters by his foolish prating, and hinders the Scholars ●rom improving by their instructions; if any person discover an inclination to go away, he will follow him, and not part from him till he comes to his very door. If he hear of any thing transacted in the public assemblies of the Citizens, he runs up and down to tell it to every body. He tells you a very long story of the famous Battle, that was fought when 
* The Battle of Arbela, and the victory Alexander obtained followed by the death of Darius, the news of which came to Athens. when Aristophontes the Orator was chief Magistrate.  Aristophontes the Orator was Governor; and of that of the 
* This was before the Battle of Arbela, but a very simple business.  Lacedæmonians, under the Command of Lysander. Then tells you with what general applause he made a Speech in public, repeating a great deal of it filled with invectives against the common people, which are so tiresome to those that hear him, that some forget what he says as soon as 'tis out of his Mouth, others fall asleep, and others leave him in the midst of his Harangue. If this Talker be sitting on the Bench, the Judge shall not be able to determine Matters. If he's at the Theatre, he'll neither let you see or hear any thing, or permit him that sits next to him at the Table to eat his Meat. He declares it is very hard for him to be silent, his Tongue being so well hung, that he'd rather be accounted more garrulous than a Swallow, than have his Tongue lie still, and patiently bears all ridicules, even those of his own Children, who when they want to go to rest, desire him to talk to them, that they may the sooner fall asleep.   

The News-monger.  
HE is a person that falsely relates words and actions, according to his own humour and caprice. If he meet with any of his Friends with a formal look or grave nod, asks whence come you? what good news have you? have you nothing but this? and goes on to ask him, is there no more news in the Town. I assure you there is wonderful good news, and without giving him time to answer, continueth what was it you said? I perceive that you know nothing, and therefore will entertain you with some noble matters, and this relation is either from some Soldier or Asteus the Pipers ●on, or Lycon the Prince, who is lately come from the Army, from whom he heard what he tells you, he always produces such Authors as these for his Stories, who no body can find to contradict. They also told him, that the 
* Arideas, Brother to Alexa●der the Great.  King and 
* A Captain under Alexander.  Polysperchontes have got the day● and that Cassander was fallen into their hands alive. 
This was a false report, Cassander, the Son of Antipa●er, contended with Arideus and Polyspercontes, for th● lu●●lage of Alexders' Children, and had the 〈◊〉 of it.  But if any body ask him, do you believe these things yourself, he says the thing is beyond all dispute, and the news of the whole Town; that it was continually confirmed, every body agreed in the same story concerning the Fight, that there was a very great Slaughter made, which might easily be read in the countenances of all, that were concerned in managing the public affairs, which now seemed to be quite altered. He says, he heard that a person who came from Macedonia, who was present at all the transactions, has lain hid this five days in the Magistrate's House. When he has told all this, he adds some compassionate condoling expressions, what think you Gentlemen of this success? Poor Cassander! unhappy Prince! most miserable man! see what Fortune can do! for Cassander was very brave, and had a stout Army. But pray (says he) keep this to yourself, for 'tis a great secret; and presently runs up and down the City to tell it. I must confess myself much amazed, what these raisers and spreaders of false news and reports, propose to themselves for without mentioning the sordid baseness, that always attends a lie, it often turns to their prejudice; for it often happens that they have their clothes stolen away from them in the Bath, while the people crowd about them, to hear their Romanc●●● Others after they have been victorious both by Sea and Land, on the Exchange are severely fined, for neglecting to attend their business in the Courts of Justic●; and others, who by their thundering words most valiantly conquer Cities, often are disappointed where to find a Dinner. There is nothing can be more miserable than these Folks circumcumstances, for what Porticue, what Shop, what part of the Exchange, do they not spend whole days in, to the great uneasiness of their hearers, whom they deafen with their lying Stories.   

Of Impudence occasioned by Covetousness.  
THis vice may be defined a neglect of reputation, upon the account of sordid gain. A person influenced by this principle, will ask to borrow money of one whom he has already openly cheated. The very day that he sacrifices to the Gods, he salts his consecrated flesh and keeps it for another time (instead of 
* This was the Custom amongst the Greeks.  devoutly eating it) going to Supper with some body else, and there calling in his Footboy before the whole Company, takes a great piece of Meat and Bread off the Table, gives it him, and in all their hear bids him eat heartily; when he goes himself to the Butchers, to buy the cheaper, tells him that he did him a kindness at such a time; when his meat is weighed, standing by the Scales) he will (if it be possible) put more in than is his due weight, if he be hindered from that, he will throw a Bone into the Scale, which if he can but carry off he is mightily pleased, but if he cannot he'll snatch some of the off all off the Stall, and go away laughing, When he has any Strangers with him, that desire to see a Play, and give him money to pay for their places, he always contracts for himself to come in on freecost, and have his Children and their Tutor in the next day after. What ever he sees another have that cost very cheap, he'll beg earnestly to let him have part of it. And when he comes to another's house, he'll be borrowing even Barley, or Chaff itself; and make them that he borrowed it of, send it home to his own House. He goes into the Bath, and makes use of all the bathing Vessels, and conveniencies, and servants 
* None but the poor people did so to save Charges.  baths himself, whilst the Master of the Bath makes great complaints to no purpose, who going away tells him, I have Bathed but no thanks to you.   

Of sordid Frugality.  
THis Vice is a contriving to be saving beyond what is decent and commendable. A person of this temper will publicly dun his friends that he receives Money of every month, 
The Greeks began their public entertainments with these offerings.  for a single Farthing the balance of the last account, and keeps reckoning how many Glasses each man drinks at his Table. His offering to Diana is the meanest of all the Guests. Whatsoever is bought for him, though never so good a pennyworth, he always says it is very dear. If his poor Footboy lets a pot fall, or by mischance breaks an Earthen Dish, he'll save the price of it out of his allowance. And if his Wife happen to lose but a penny, he'll remove all his Household stuff, have all the Beds taken down, turn the Trunks and Boxes out of their places, and have every Nook and Corner where the old lumber lies searched. Whatever he sells the buyer is sure to have a hard bargain of it. He●ll never let any person gather so much as a Fig out of his Garden, or go over his Field, or take up an Olive or a little branch of Palm that is fallen from his Trees. He goes over the bounds of his ground every day to see if any thing be missing, or if all things are in the same places they were. If any of his Debtors does not punctually pay him on the day when the Money is due, he'll be well paid for his forbearance, and reckon Interest upon Interest. When he invites his friends to Dinner he gives them but one little pitiful dish: going out to Market comes home empty, every thing being too dear for him. He order his Wife that she should not lend a Neighbour a little Salt, or a bit of Candle, a little Cummin, Pennyroyal, an handful of Flower, a little Garland, or a small 
* Used at sacrifices and made of Flower and Honey.  Cake; for says he, these small matters amount to a vast deal in a year. In short, this miserable Wretch's Money-chest is covered all over with mould, and his Keys all rusty. He wears clothes too short and straight for him, the least drop of Oil suffices to anoint him, his head is close shaved; at 
* For then the cold in all seasons was tolerable.  Noon he pulls off his Shoes to save them, and goes to the Fuller's earnestly begging them to use a great deal of their 
* Which also makes them thicker & more serviceable  Earth upon his clothes, that they may not be soon dirty again.   

A brazen faced Fellow.  
THis sort of Impudence is not hard to define: It is professing Villainous Tricks and sham's in an affected way of Raillery. When this Brute meets a Lady of the best Quality, he offers her all manner of rudeness and indecency even to exposing her Modesty. At the Playhouse when every body is silent he claps; and hisses those things, which the rest of the Audience hear with great satisfactions when all persons are intent upon the Play, he lies down upon his back, and sordidly falls a belching, interrupting every body, making them turn back to look upon him. He goes in a full Market to all the Stalls, where Nuts, Apples, and all sorts of Fruit are sold, and there standing eats of them all, talking all the while with those that sell them, scrapes acquaintance with every one that passes by and calls them by their names; though he never was acquainted with them, if he sees any one in haste, he'll stop him to know what he's going about. He'll go to a person that has just lost a great suit at Law, and congratulate him. When he has bought his Supper, and hired the Minstrels to play before him, he shows every body he meets what he has provided, and invites them to take part with him. You may see him standing at the 
* Places where idle Persons always met.  Barbers or Perfumers Shops, there telling what an entertainment he is to be at that night, and that he intends to be very drunk there. If he sells Wine, he'll cheat his Friends, with what is base and sophiscated: His Children are not suffered to go and see Plays, till the 
* As at our fifth Act.  time they may go in gratis. When he's is sent on an Embassy with some of his fellow Citizens, he leaves at home what was allowed him by the Public, to defray his charges, and borrows of his Associates. It is usual for him to load his Servant, that Travels with him, with as much as he can possible carry, and yet not allow him necessary subsistence. When the Ambassadors have received their presents, he immediately demands his part, that he may sell it. When he baths he calls the Boy that attends, and swears at him for buying such faetid Oil, that he cannot endure to smell it, and takes that occasion to make use of another Persons. If his Servants find but the least piece of Money in the way, he demands his part of it, making use of this expression 
* Like our crying halves.  Mercury is common. Also he has these tricks, if he measure any thing or distribute to his Servants their allowances, uses a measure whose bottom is raised up inwards, which, when he has filled, he is very careful to strike as close as he can. And if he is to pay thirty pounds, he'll take care that it shall want four 
* An h●●●dred ma● a pound Athens.  Drachmas of weight. When he makes a public entertainment, he order his own Servants to give him a particular account of the remainder of the Provision; and if there be but half a Radish missing, he carefully looks after it, lest those that wait at Table should have it.   

Of Unseasonable Conversation.  
THe ill timing of Conversation is that which makes it uneasy and troublesome to all persons. When a man is entirely taken up with affairs of his own, which are of the greatest consequence to him, an importunate troublesome fellow intrudes upon him, to communicate some of his little trifles, and desires to consult him about them. He'll also go sup with his Mistress when she is in a raging Fever. At the very moment he sees a person cast in Court for being bound for another, he desires him to do him the same favour. If he is summoned as a witness, he comes to give in his Evidence after the trial is over; if he is invited to a Wedding, then is the time he thinks fit to show his wit in railing against the Female Sex. He earnestly begs his friend that is very weary, being just come off a long and tiresome Journey, to take a walk with him. When a thing is already sold, he'll bring a Chapman that would give more for it. Sometimes you will have him rise up in the midst of a great Company● and make a relation from beginning to end of what has passed there, which every body has seen, heard and known as well as himself. He will officiously thrust himself into the management of another persons affairs, who is extremely averse to it but yet does not know how to deny him. When the 
† The G●. the sameday they sacrificed, either entertained their friends at home, or ●ent them some part of the Sacrifice. Therefore it was very unreasonable for him to demand part be●ore the Feast was appointed; he knew whether he should be invited or no.  Sacrifices are to be performed, and a Feast made by any person, he goes to him, and asks to have a part of what is provided. If any Gentleman corrects his Servant in his sight, says he, I beat one of mine upon the same occasion, and he presently went and hanged himself. Being chosen Umpire by two persons that have been long at Law, and desire to have the matter accommodated, he leaves it to themselves to agree it. At an entertainment he takes that 
* The Gr. used n●t ●o dance till all the repast was over● and the Tables taken a●●y.  person out to dance with him, whom the Wine has not yet in the least exhilerated.   

A Busybody.  
THis over-officiousness, (which is the Character of a Busybody) is an affecting to show extraordinary kindness to others, both by Words and Actions. This person shall attribute to himself the success of an affair that was far beyond his power to perform, he'll insist a long time to prove that a thing which every body is thoroughly satisfied of, was rational and beyond contradiction; he makes the Servant fill out more Wine than what the Company are able to drink. If he be where two persons are quarrelling, he effectually sets them together by the Ears. He offers his service to show you the way he himself is ignorant of, and knows not whether it will carry you. He goes to the General of the Army, and asks him when he draws up his men in Batallia to engage the Enemy, and inquires if he have no orders for him to morrow. Coming to his Father, asks him if his Mother is asleep still, and not come out of her Chamber yet; when he is ordered to keep his Chamber for a distemper, for which his Physicians think fit to forbid him the use of Wine, he will drink it on purpose to try the experiment, whether it will do him good or harm. When a Woman dies in the Neighbourhood, he is the only person to write the Epitaph, where he inscribes her Husband's name, her Fathers, her Mothers, and her own, with an account of what Country she was, and her descent, with this famous Elegy, THEY WERE ALL PERSONS OF EMINENT VIRTUE. If at any time he is obliged to make Oath in a Court of Judicatures turning himself about to the standers by, says, This is not the first time by many that I have been sworn.   

Of Stupidity.  
STupidity may be defined a dulness of thought in speaking and acting. This Blockhead, when he himself has cast up the sum, will ask him that sits next to him what the total amounts to. When he has a suit depending, and knows the very day when the same will come to an hearing, he quite forgets it, and takes a Journey into the Country; when he is at the Theatre to see a Play, he falls asleep and wakes not till the ●est of the Spectators are gone; when he hath glutted himself, at midnight, being cropsick, he'll get up and walk abroad for digestion, and so have his Neighbour's Dogs fall upon him; when he has received any thing from another, and laid it up himself, he inquires where that very thing is, not being able to find it; when he is told of the death of one of his Friends, and is invited to his Funeral, putting on a countenance full of Grief and Sorrow, and shedding tears, and then thinking of something else, says it happened very well; he carries witnesses with him when he 
The Greeks used to bring witnesses wit● them when they paid their Mon●.  receives Money, and falls out with his Servant, for not buying him Cucumbers in the midst of Winter. When his Sons are fencing or running, he'll not let them leave off till are quite spent; when he is in the Field boiling Lentules, he forgets that he has seasoned them before, and throws Salt again into the Pot, making them so briny, that no body can eat them; in a time of excessive Rain, when every one wishes for dry weather, he says, methinks this rain Water is very pleasant; if he be asked how many were carried thro' the 
* To be interred out of the City according to the Law of S●lon.  Sacred Gate to be interred, (supposing the person talked of Money) I wish you and I were worth as much.   

Brutality.  
THis brutishness is a rudeness accompanying Words and Actions. If a rude Fellow be asked where is such a person? he answers pray don't trouble me; if you compliment him, he takes no notice of it; when he has any thing to sell, if you ask him the price of it, he won't tell you, but rather angrily asks you what fault can you find wi●● it; he is used to say of those devou● persons, who at solemn times send the usual offerings to the Temples of the Gods, that if their Prayers are he●rd and they have but what they desire, they are very well requited and paid for their presents. If any one casually jostle him, or chance to tread on his toe, he'll never forgive them; when he has denied a Friend that desired to borrow Money of him, and told him that he hath none to lend, he will afterwards bring it, and disdainfully say, he has a mind to throw this away also to what he has lost before; if he stumble against a Stone in the Street he cur●es it bitterly; he will not stay one moment beyond the time appointed for any person, though it be on the account of business of great importance to himself; he has an affected singularity not to sing at a Feast, or 
* The Greeks repeated some fine passages of their Poets, and danced after the entainment was over.  repeat in his turn, nor dance with the other Company: in fine, he neither regards the Gods, nor takes any care to offer up his Vows and Sacrifices.   

Of Superstition.  
WE may define Superstition to be a timorous worshipping of the Deity. The superstitious Man, after he has washed his hands and purified himself with Holy Water, taking a Lawrel-leaf out of the Temple and putting it in his Mouth, shall walk about a whole day so: if a Weasil cross the way he goes, he'll stir no further till some body else has gone before him, or he has thrown three stones cross the way; in what part soever of the house he sees a Serpent there he builds an Altar; He pours Oil out o● his Essence bottle all over the Consecrated Stones, that are in places where three ways meet, and afterwards falls down upon his Knees, and most devoutly adores them. When a Mouse has gnawed a hole in his Sack of Meal, he goes to the soothsayers, and gravely inquires what he must do in the matter, and if the Soothsayers tell him he must send his Sack to be mended, he cannot in the least rest satisfied with this Answer: but imagining some mighty Religious consequence in thi● accident, empties the Sack, and never afterwards makes use of it. He's continually purifying his House, will never sit down on a Grave, go to the Funeral of any one, or into the Chamber of a Lying in Woman. When he has dreamt some extraordinary Dream, he immediately runs to the Interpreters of Dreams, the Soothsayers and Augurs, to know of them, to what God or Goddess, he ought to make Vows and offer Sacrifice. He's very punctual to go every month to the Priests of Orpheus, to be instructed in their mysteries, and if his Wife be not detained by business, he takes her along with him, if not his Nurse and little Children: as he goes by the Conduits he washes his head all over with water; sometimes he gets the 
* They did it by carrying a Squil or ● little Dog about the person.  Priestesses to purify him with little Dogs, or 
† Sea Onions.  Squils. To conclude, if he sees a Lunatic or a person taken ill of the Falling Sickness, being struck with extreme horror, he spews in his own bosom.   

A Splenatick Man.  
THis restless uneasy temper of mind, wherever it obtains, makes the person always complaining, without any just reason. When any of his Friends make a Feast, and send him some part of what was there, he will never return him thanks, but say to him that brought it, your Master thought me not worthy to dine at his Table, and drink of his Wine. He suspects even the caresses of his Mistress, and tells her I am very jealous whether you are sincere in your affections, and these endearments proceed from your heart. After a time of great drought, when at last it begins to rain, and he cannot then complain of the weather, that still he may continue to rail, he finds fault with Heaven that it reigned not sooner. If going along by chance he find a Purse of Money in the way, he'll grumbling say, some Folks have the good fortune to find Treasures, I, for my part, could never find any thing in my life. Likewise when he has bought a Slave very cheap, having tired the seller by his importunity in beating down the price, he immediately reputes that he bought him, and says, it's a great wonder if I am not cheated, it was impossible to buy that which is good for any thing so cheap. When any one compliments him upon the birth of a Son, as an addition to his Family, he immediately cries I am now half as poor again as I was before. If he has a suit at Law depending, he will complain that his Lawyers omitted doing, or saying a great many things that were very material for him, notwithstanding the cause has gone for him. When his Frie●ds have collected a sum of Money amongst them, for the relieving him under his present necessities, and one of them says to him, pray now be brisk and cheerful; alas, says he, how can I pretend to be merry when I consider that I have all this Money to repay to every particular person that lent it me, and shall never be quit of the obligation, but must pay a perpetual acknowledgement.   

Of Distrust.  
A Distrustful Man is of opinion, that every one cheats and imposes on him. When he has sent his man to Market to buy Provision, he order another to go after to inquire and bring him an exact account what every thing cost; if he go abroad with any Money in his pocket, he tells it over every quarter of a mile; as he lies in Bed he asks his Wife if his Chest be close shut, his Trunk well locked, and care taken to make the Porch door fast, and though she assure him that all these things are secure, nevertheless he gets out of Bed, goes naked and barefooted, and lights a Candle, to search all over the House to see that all things are safe, and notwithstanding all this he can hardly compose himself to rest; when he goes to get in Money he carries Witnesses along with him, that the persons may not be able at another time to deny their debts. He makes use of that Fuller to scour his clothes, that will give him sufficient security to return them again, never considering whether he is a good Workman or not. If any one ask to borrow any Cups, etc. of him, he usually denies them, but if perchance he do lend them, he's always sending for them till he has them home again. He makes his Footboy go before him, that he may be sure he does not run away from him. If those that buy any thing of him, bid him cast up what it comes to, and set it down to their account, he says, pray lay me down the Money, for I han't time to spare to run up and down to receive it.   

A Sloven.  
THis Vice is a lazy and beastly negligence of a Man's person, whereby he becomes so sordid, as to be offensive to those about him. You'll see him come into company when he is covered all over with a Leprosy and Scurf, and with very long Nails, and says that those Distempers were hereditary, that his Father and Grand father had them before him; he has Ulcers in his Thighs and Boils upon his Hands, which he takes no care to have cured, but lets them run on till they are gone beyond remedy; his Armpits are all hairy, and most part of his body like a wild Beast; his Teeth are black and rotten, which makes his breath stink so that you cannot endure him to come nigh you; he will also snuff up his Nose and spit it out as he eats, and uses to speak with his Mouth crammed full, and let his Victuals come out at both corners; he belches in the Cup as he is drinking, and uses nasty stinking Oil in the Bath; he will intrude into the best company in nasty ragged clothes; if he go with his Mother to the Soothsayers, he cannot then refrain from wicked and profane expressions. 
The Greeks were then especially very careful of their words.  When he is making his oblations at the Temple, he will let the Dish drop out of his hands and fall a laughing, as if he had done some brave exploit; at the finest Consort of Music, he cannot forbear clapping his hands, and making a rude noise, will pretend to sing along with them, and fall a railing that they have not done playing sooner. Sitting at Table, he spits full upon the Servant that waited there.   

A Troublesome Fellow.  
A Troublesome person is one whose conversation is very fatiguing and uneasy, though otherwise not prejudicial. He comes into his Friend's Chamber, when he is just fallen asleep, and wakes him to tell him a few impertinent idle stories; he'll desire one that is going aboard a Ship, just ready to set sail, to spend some time with him first, and so hinder him from his Voyage to no purpose. Taking the Child out of the Nurse's arms, he will feed it himself dandle it in his arms, and talk foolish gibberish to it. He chooses at Meal time, and when the Victuals is upon the Table, to tell that t'other day he took Physic, which worked upwards and downwards with him, and that he voided a great deal of nasty black Choler. He asks his Mother before a great company of people what day he was born on; he says the Water in his Cistern is cold, that he has a great many very good Potherbs in his Garden, that his house is as free for all sorts of comers and goers, as if it were a public Inn; and when he entertains any strangers has a 
* A Parasite kept by some of the Grecians.  fellow ready to talk very great things concerning him to all the Guests, whom he also keeps to divert the company and make them merry.   

Vain Glory.  
THis sort of Vain Glory which is exercised about minute and frivolous matters, may be called a sordid desire of honour. A person affected with this Vice when he is invited to a Feast, strives to sit next to him that makes the Treat. He carries his Son to 
The Greeks used to dedicate their Children before some of the Family privately, but this person does it in sight ●f of a multitude.  Delphos, where he cuts off his hair, and consecrates it to some God. He loves to have a Black for his Footman. When he pays a sum it is all in new Money. When he has sacrificed an Ox, he takes the fore part of the Head, and adorning it with Ribbons and Flowers, fixes it without doors just at the entrance to his House, that every one may see and know what he hath sacrificed. When he is returned off a Cavalcade that he and some other Citizens have made, he sends all his Equipage home but his Robe of State, in which he struts about all the rest of the day in all the public places of the City. When his little Dog dies he makes a formal burial, and erects a Tomb for it, with this Epitaph; He was of the 
* This Island had a sort of little Dogs much valued.  Malta breed. He consecrates a Brass Ring to Aesculapius, to which he hangs Garlands of all sorts of Flowers. He perfumes himself all over every day. During the time of his Magistracy, he uses a great deal of cau●ion and circumspection, and when he goes out of his Office, he gives the people an account of his management of affairs, and how many and of what sort his sacrifices were. Being clad in a white Robe, and having a garland of Flowers on his Head, he goes out and makes a Speech to the people. Oh! Athenians! We Magistrates have sacrificed to the Mother of the Gods, and paid her all the solemn worship that is due to her, therefore you may justly expect that all things will succeed very prosperously with you; this done he goes home, and tells his Wife he has come off with great applause and approbation.   

A Niggard.  
THis Vice is a base and sneaking temper in a Man, to save his Money at the expense of his reputation. The Niggard when he has won the prize of 
* Which he either made or repeated.  Tragedy, he'll consecrate to Bacchus' Garlands made of the Rind of Trees, and have his name writ on this sumptuous present. In times when the necessity of the public affairs requires the Citizens to raise extraordinary contributions that may be sufficient to supply the present exigences, he rises up and is 
* Those that would give any thing, rose up and offered what they pleased those that would not rose up and were silent.  silent, or retires as soon as he can. When he marries his Daughter, and sacrifices according to custom, he sells all the flesh of the slain Victim, besides what belongs to the 
† The Legs and Entrailss.  Priests, and hires Servants to attend during the time of the Wedding, but makes them find themselves Victuals. Being Captain of a Vessel that he built, he lets his own cabin to Passengers, and lies amongst the common Sailors. He goes to Market and buys Meat and Herbs, and carries them home himself in the lappet of his Coat. When he has sent his clothes to the Scowrers to be cleaned, he is obliged to keep at home for want of others. He shuns a poor Friend of his that has fallen into misfortunes, and desires to raise some Money amongst his acquaintance; if he sees him at a distance, he turns back and makes all the haste home he can. He never keeps his Wife any Maids, but when she has occasion to go abroad hires some to wait on her through the City. As soon as he's got up in the morning, he washes his own House, and makes the Beds, and is forced to turn his old Threadbare Cloak, when he goes into public company.   

Of Ostentation.  
OStentation is a vain humour of vaunting of those things which we are not Masters of. This Braggadochio standing on the Keys where the Ships unlade, and where there are a great many strangers, will talk of vast sums of Money that he has owing him beyond Sea, makes a long discourse concerning lending Money at Interest, telling you what a great man he is, and what great advantages he hopes to reap by it. If he can pick up a person to keep him company on the Road, he tells him that he served under Alexander, and how deserving he was in a great expedition, and that he brought away a great many rich drinking Cups set with precious stones; he affirms, contrary to the opinion of all others, that the Asians are better Artificers than the Europeans. He also shows a Letter from Antipater, which says, that he was the third person that entered into Macedonia; he takes occasion to tell him, that though the Magistrates, as a reward for his singular good services, had granted him a liberty of exporting what Commodity soever he pleased, Custom-f●ee, yet he scorned to make use of it, that he might not incur the people's ill will. He s●y 〈◊〉 declaim of Corn, he laid out abov● 〈◊〉 Talents and distributed it amongst the poor Citizens. If he be in company with those that don't know him, he desires them to take their Book and set down the number of ●hose he has been so liberal to, which he●ll make amount to above six hundred, and has fictitious names ready for them all, to make the thing appea● more formal; then adding the particular sums distributed to each, he makes it come to above ten Talents, all which he said he laid out fo● to relieve the poor; and yet, says he, I don't reckon here the Ships I built and commanded, and a great many other very chargeable things I did on the public account, for which I expect no recompense. He goes to the Jockeys that sell the finest Horses, and makes them show him some of the best. In the Fairs he goes to those Shops that sell rich clothes, and bids them show him a Suit worth two Talents, and falls in a passion with his 
* The Ancients used to ●ave their Servants to carry their Money.  Servant for following him without Money about him: and though he pays Rend for the house he lives in, yet if the person he talks to don't know it, he shall tell him that this house was left him by his Father, but being too little for the accommodation of that great number his hospitality continually drew thither, he designed to sell it.   

Of Pride.  
PRide is a contemptible opinion a man has of every one besides himself. A Proud man, though you meet him very opportunely, at his most leisure time, and only walking for his diversion, yet then will he not stay to talk with you about business, though it be of importance● and requires great expedition, but defers it till he has supped. If he has done any person a kindness, he makes him publicly acknowledge it. He's one that scorns to make the first proposal, notwithstanding it it is about an affair that concerns himself only.  
If you would buy any thing of him, or have occasion to transact, or any other business with him, he bids you call upon him early next morning; he has an affected way in going along the Streets hanging his head down, and neither sees nor speaks to any person he meets. When he condescends to entertain any of his friends, he frames excuses for not sitting down at Table, but orders some of his principal Servants to take care that his Guests want nothing; he never pays a visit before he has sent word of his coming; when he dresses and perfumes, or eats, he permits no body to be present; he will not undergo the fatigue of adjusting his own accounts, but order his Servants to do it. His stile is always lofty and commanding, and cannot write, Sir, you'll much oblige me if— but 'tis my pleasure it should be done; I have sent one to receive it of you, take care it be according to my order and no otherwise, and that as soon as may be.   

Of Cowardice.  
COwardice is a timorous dejection of the Soul, creating imaginary dangers. When this f●int-hearted Wretch is at Sea, he fancies all the Promontories are so many hu●ks of Ships that suffered wreck on the Coast; the lest agitation of the Water puts him in a panic fear, and makes him inquire whether all that are aboard are 
* The Ancients never sailed with those that were reputed impious but made 〈…〉 initiated before they took the● on board, that is, instructed in the mysteries of so●e Deit●, to ren●er ●im the more propitious to th●m in the Vo●age.  initia●ed. When he observes the Pilot to stop the Ships way, he anxiously asks whether she keeps the ●ight course, and whether the Gods seem to be 
† T●ey consulted the Gods by Sa●r 〈◊〉 or Auguries, (i. e.) by the flying, singing and feeding of Birds, or b● the ●ntrails of Beast's.  propitious or not; he tells him that sits next him a terrible story of a dismal dream he had last night, which he takes to be an ominous prefage; then plucks off his clothes to make ready for swimming, and heartily begs the Sailors to set him ashore as soon as possible● If he be in the Land service, getting his fellow Soldiers about him, he tells them it is hard to discern whether those they discover afar off are the Enemy or not, but when the greatness of the noise gives them to understand the Armies on both sides are engaged, and he sees men fall on each sid● him, he says to those that are next him, that he took the Field in such hurry and precipitation, that he forgot to bring his Sword along with him, and presently runs into his Tent to fetch it, then sends his Servant out to observe the motion of the Enemy, and in the mean time hides his Sword under the Pillow, and is employed in looking for it till the Battle is over. When he sees any of his friends brought wounded from the Camp, he runs to meet them, encourages them to have a good heart, stops their blood, and dresses their wounds, and drives away the Flies that are troublesome to them; he takes all imaginable care of them, and this or any thing else he'll do rather than fight. When he sits in the Tent with a wounded person, if he hear the Trumpeters sounding a charge, he bitterly curses them, saying, they continually make such an horrid noise that the poor man cannot take one minutes rest; he walks about besmeared all over with the blood that proceeded from the Wounds of others, and make those that lately came from the sight believe, that he ran a great risque of his own life to save one of his friends, and brings his Towns folks and Countrymen to see the very man, to each of whom he gives a particular relation, how he carried him into his Tent in his own arms.   

Of an Oligarchical Government, and the Grandees thereof  
THe principle which actuates these men, is an ambitious desire of honour and fame, without regard to the advancement of their private Estates. When the Citizens are met to choose a fit person to be an assistant to the supreme Magistrate, in managing the public shows and triumphs, one of these persons immediately stands up and peremptorily demands the honour of that employment, as the most qualified in the whole world for it. Of all the Verses in Hmer he only remembers this. 

* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  It is not good to have many Rulers,  
Let the Government be in a single person.  His usual discourse is; ●●is we ourselves ought to retire and consult what Laws are fit to be made for the Government of the Commonwealth, and take care to suppress these tumultuous and popular assemblies, and totally exclude the common people from the Magistracy. When he has received an affront from any one, he says it is impossible for the same City to hold us both. At noon he goes abroad new trimmed, and his Nails close pared, having every thing about him in most exact order, and strutting about, tells every one he meets, he cannot endure to live any longer in the Town, but is quite tired, and his Spirits almost spent in hearing and determining litigious suits and controversies, and that he is very much ashamed that persons should be admitted to sit near him, so meanly and sordidly habited. He has a mortal aversion for the Advocates that plead the cause of the common people, and blames 
* Thes●s laid the foundation of the Athenian Commonwealth in establishing an equality amongst the Citizens.  Theseus for being the first occasion of these mischiefs in the Commonwealth; with such sort of discourse as this he entertains both Strangers and the Citizens of his own Party.   

Of those that begin to learn in old age.  
AMongst those that squander and misspend the precious moments of thei● youthful and more docil years, there are some who are still desirous of improving the remaining part of their life in Arts and Sciences, which very seldom proves successful. Thus must an old fellow of threescore learn the Poets by heart, and when he is either to 
The Greeks used to sing or recite Ver●e● at their ●●asts 〈◊〉 by turr●.  sing or recite them in his turn ●t a Feast, as soon as he has begun his memory fails him, and the old dotard forgets whereabouts he was, and so ends abruptly. He gets his own Son to teach hi● Military discipline, and how to turn to the Right and Left. He borrows an Horse to ride out of Town, and when he is mounted, affecting to be complaisant to all that pass by, losens his Saddle and tumbles down and bruises his Head. You'll ●i●d him often darting at the 
* A Great Statue set up on purpose to dart 〈◊〉.  Statue, and sometimes he makes a match with his Footboy to shoot with Bow and Arrow. When he is taught any thing, he'll be pretending to instruct his Tutor, as if ●e were the best accomplished of the two, and in the very Bath he'll be practising wrestling, and is full of very fantastical and ridiculous gesticulations and postu●es.   

Of Slander.  
A Slanderer is a person of a base temper, thinking ill of all men, and afterwards venting himself in scandalous ●xpressions. If you ●sk him who such a one is, he presently gives you an account of his pedigree from his very original, as if he were an Herald; saying, his Father was at first called 
* The name of a Slave or Servant amongst ●he Gr●eks.  SOS●A, but afterwards serving in the Army, he took upon him the name of SOSISTRATUS, after that he was made free, and registered amongst the Citizens. His Mother indeed was a 
* In derision, for the Thracians came to Greece to be Servants or what was worse.  noble Thracian, because those women value themselves on the account of their great families; and yet this man, though so nobly and honourably descended, is a mere Villain and Rascal. Then (talking again of his Mo●ther) these are those 
* They kept Bawdy Houses on the Highways, where they played infamous Pranks.  Women, says he, that entice young men upon the Road, and draw them into their houses, and debauch them. If there be any person in the Company that speaks ill of another that's absent, he joins with him and says, he is indeed an intolerable fellow, I could never endure him in all my life, observe but the countenance of him, he looks so like a very Rogue, that I always hated him, but if you examine his life and conversation, there is nothing more lewd and infamous in the whole world; nay, this hard hearted wretch allows his Wife but three half pence to buy her a Dinner, and makes her wash in cold water in an hard frost in the middle of December. It is usual for him to abuse some body or other in all companies where ever he comes, he spares neither Friend nor Relation, nor can the Grave itself secure the dead from his malicious detractions.   
FINIS.   

THE CONTENTS OF Monsieur de la Bruyere's CHARACTERS.  
OF Polite Learning 
Page 6  Of Personal Merit 
34  Of Women 
52  Of the Heart 
81  Of Society and Conversation 
96  Of the Goods of Fortune 
123  Of the City 
148  Of the Court 
164  Of the Great 
197  Of the Sovereign or Commonwealth 
219  Of Man 
243  Of judgement 
301  Of the Fashion 
341  Of Certain Customs 
366  Of the Pulpit 
396  Of the Wits of the Age 
413    

The Contents of the Characters of Theophrastus.  
THe Proem 
Page 1  Of Dissimulation 
3  Of Flattery 
5  Of Impertinence 
5  Rusticity 
6  Of Wheedling 
8  Of Villainy 
10  Of Loquacity 
12  The Newsmonger 
14  Of Impudence occasioned by Covetuousness 
16  Of sordid Frugality 
17  A brazenfaced Fellow 
19  Of Unseasonable Conversation 
21  A Busy body 
23  Of Stupidity 
24  Brutality 
26  Of Superstition 
27  A splenatick Man 
28  A Sloven 
31  A Troublesome Fellow 
33  Vain Glory 
34  A Niggard 
35  Of Ostentation 
37  Of Pride 
39  Of Cowardice 
40  Of an Oligarchical Government, etc. 
4●  Of those that begin to learn in old Ag● 
43  Of Slander. 
44   
FINIS.