far as not to break into open violences, while they equally suffered the torments of a regulated anger. The mothers, as it is usual, engaged in the quarrel, and supported the several pretensions of their daughters with all that ill-chosen sort of expense which is common with people of plentiful fortunes and mean taste. The girls preceded their parents like queens of May, in all the gaudy. colours imaginable, on every Sunday to church, and were exposed to the examination of the audience for superiority of beauty. Brunetta During this constant struggle, it happened, that Phillis one day at public prayers smote the heart of a gay West Indian, who appeared in all the colours which can affect an eye that could not distinguish between being fine and tawdry. This American, in a summer-island suit, was too shining and too gay to be resisted by Phillis, and too intent upon her charms to be diverted by any of the laboured attractions of Brunetta. Soon after, Brunetta had the mortification to see her rival disposed of in a wealthy marriage, while she was only addressed to in a manner that showed she was the admiration of all men, but the choice of none. Phillis was carried to the habitation of her spouse in Barbadoes. had the ill nature to inquire for her by every opportunity, and had the misfortune to hear of her being attended by numerous slaves, fanned into slumbers by successive bands of them, and carried from place to place in all the pomp of barbarous magnificence. Brunetta could not endure these repeated advices, but employed all her arts and charms in laying baits for any of condition of the same island, out of a mere ambition to confront her once more before she died. She at last succeeded in her design, and was taken to wife by a gentleman whose estate was contiguous to that of her enemy's husband. It would be endless to enumerate the many occasions on which these irreconcileable beauties laboured to excel each other; but in process of time it happened, that a ship put into the island consigned to a friend of Phillis, who had directions to give her the refusal of all goods for apparel, before Brunetta could be alarmed of their arrival. He did so, and Phillis was dressed in a few days in a brocade more gorgeous and costly than had ever before appeared in that latitude. Brunetta languished at the sight, and could by no means come up to the bravery of her antagonist. She communicated her anguish of mind to a faithful friend, who by an interest in the wife of Phillis's merchant, procured a remnant of the same silk for Brunetta. Phillis took pains to appear in all public places where she was sure to meet Brunetta; Brunetta was now prepared for the insult, and came to a public ball in a plain black silk mantua, attended by a beautiful negro girl in a petticoat of the same brocade with which Phillis was attired. This drew the attention of the whole company, upon which the unhappy Phillis swooned away, and was immediately conveyed to her house. As soon as she came to herself, she reason perhaps may be, because no other vice implies a want c courage so much as the making of a lie; and therefore telling man he lies, is touching him in the most sensible part of honou and indirectly calling him a coward. I cannot omit under th head what Herodotus tells us of the ancient Persians, that fro the age of five years to twenty, they instruct their sons only in thr things, to manage the horse, to make use of the bow, and to spe truth. The placing the point of honour in this false kind of courag has given occasion to the very refuse of mankind, who have neith virtue nor common sense, to set up for men of honour. English peer, who has not been long dead,* used to tell a pleasa story of a French gentleman that visited him early one morning Paris, and, after great professions of respect, let him know that had it in his power to oblige him; which, in short, amounted this, that he believed he could tell his lordship the person's nar who justled him as he came out from the opera; but before would proceed, he begged his lordship, that he would not de him the honour of making him his second. The English lord, avoid being drawn into a very foolish affair, told him, he w under engagements for his two next duels to a couple of particu friends. Upon which the gentleman immediately withdrew, hopi his lordship would not take it ill if he meddled no farther in affair from whence he himself was to receive no advantage. The beating down this false notion of honour, in so vain a lively a people as those of France, is deservedly looked upon as o of the most glorious parts of their present king's reign. It is p but the punishment of these mischievous notions should have in some particular circumstances of shame and infamy; that th who are slaves to them may see, that, instead of advancing th reputations, they lead them to ignominy and dishonour. Death is not sufficient to deter men who make it their glory despise it; but if every one that fought a duel were to stand on pillory, it would quickly lessen the number of these imaginary of honour, and put an end to so absurd a practice. When honour is a support to virtuous principles, and runs rallel with the laws of God and our country, it cannot be too m cherished and encouraged: but when the dictates of honour: contrary to those of religion and equity, they are the greates: pravations of human nature, by giving wrong ambitions and f ideas of what is good and laudable; and should therefore be ploded by all governments, and driven out as the bane and plag of human society. ADDISON. Thought to be William Cavendish, first duke of Devonshire. L SIMILITUDE of manners and studies is usually mentioned as one of the strongest motives to affection and esteem; but the passionate veneration I have for your Lordship, I think, flows from an admiration of qualities in you, of which, in the whole course of these papers, I have acknowledged myself incapable. While I This very distinguished wit and statesman was fourth, son of the Hon. George Montague, of Harton, in Northamptonshire, son of Henry the first Earl of Manchester, and born April 16th, 1661. He was educated at Westminster School, and at Trinity College, Cambridge; showed very early a most pregnant genius, and quickly made great progress in learning. In 1684 he wrote a poem "On the Death of King Charles II.," in which he displayed his genius to such advantage, that he was invited by the Earl of Dorset to London, where he soon increased his fame, particularly by a piece coming any part of our life after we are out of the nurse's arm Such an aversion to labour creates a constant weariness, and of would think should make existence itself a burden. The indoler man descends from the dignity of his nature, and makes that heir which was rational merely vegetative. His life consists only the mere increase and decay of a body, which, with relation to t rest of the world, might as well have been uninformed, as t habitation of a reasonable mind. Of this kind is the life of that extraordinary couple, Harry T sett and his lady. Harry was in the days of his celibacy one those pert creatures who have much vivacity and little understan ing; Mrs. Rebecca Quickly, whom he married, had all that t fire of youth and a lively manner could do towards making agreeable woman. These two people of seeming merit fell in` each other's arms; and passion being sated, and no reason good sense in either to succeed it, their life is now at a stan their meals are insipid, and their time tedious; their fortune b placed them above care, and their loss of taste reduced them bel diversion. When we talk of these as instances of inexistence, we not mean, that in order to live, it is necessary we should always in jovial crews, or crowned with chaplets of roses, as the me fellows among the ancients are described; but it is intended, considering these contraries to pleasure, indolence, and too mu delicacy, to shew that it is prudence to preserve a disposition ourselves to receive a certain delight in all we hear and see. This portable quality of good humour seasons all the parts s occurrences we meet with, in such a manner, that there are moments lost; but they all pass with so much satisfaction, t the heaviest of loads (when it is a load), that of time, is ne felt by us. Varilas has this quality to the highest perfection, a communicates it wherever he appears. The sad, the merry, severe, the melancholy, shew a new cheerfulness when he con amongst them. At the same time no one can repeat anything ti Varilas has ever said that deserves repetition; but the man I that innate goodness of temper, that he is welcome to everybo because every man thinks he is so to him. He does not seem contribute anything to the mirth of the company; and yet up reflection you find it all happened by his being there. I thoug it was whimsically said of a gentleman, that if Varilas had wit would be the best wit in the world. It is certain when a well rected lively imagination and good breeding are added to a swi disposition, they qualify it to be one of the greatest blessings well as pleasures of life. Men would come into company with ten times the pleasure th do, if they were sure of hearing nothing which would shock ther as well as expected what would please them. When we k whose whole discourse is at once animated by the strength and force of reason, and adorned with all the graces and embellishments of wit! When learning irradiates common life, it is then in its highest use and perfection: and it is to such as your Lordship, that the sciences owe the esteem which they have with the active part of mankind. Knowledge of books in recluse men, is like that sort of lantern which hides him who carries it, and serves only to pass through secret and gloomy paths of his own, but in the possession of a man of business, it is as a torch in the hand of one who is willing and able to show those who were bewildered, the way which leads to their prosperity and welfare. A generous concern for your country, and a passion for every thing which is truly great and noble, are what actuate all your life and actions; and I hope you will forgive me that I have an ambition this book may be placed in the library of so good a judge of what is valuable; in that library where the choice is such, that it will not be a disparagement to be the meanest author in it. Forgive me, my Lord, for taking this occasion of telling all the world how ardently I love and honour you; and that I am, with the utmost gratitude for all your favours, My Lord, Your Lordship's most obliged, Most obedient, And most humble servant, THE SPECTATOR. ་ t |
