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such thou dwelleft; of such thou art the form ; nor is it a thing more possible to separate thee from such, than it would be to separate thee from thy own existence..

VII. Flattery. FLATTERY is a manner of conversation very shameful

in itself, but beneficial to the fatterer,

If a flatrerer is upon a public walk with you, “ Do but mind," says he,“ how every-one's eye is upon you. Sure there is not a man in Athens that is taken so mucb notice of. _You had justice done you yesterday in the portico. There were above i hirty of us together; and, the question being started who was the most considerable person in the commonwealth-the whole company was of the same fide. In short, Sir, every one made fami. liar with your name." "He follows this whisper with a thousand other flatteries of the fame nature,

Whenever the person to whom he would make his court begins to speak, the sycophant begs the company to be filent, molt impudently praises liiin to his face, iş in raptures all the while he talks, and, as soon as he has done, cries out, That is perfectly right! When his patron aims at being witty upon any man, be is ready to . burst at the imartness of his raillery, and stops his inouih with his handkerchief that he may not laugh out. If he calls his children about him, the flatterer has a pocket. ful of apples for them, which he distributes among them with a great deal of fondness, wonders to see so many fine boys, and, tnrning about to the father, tells him they are all as like him as they can stare.

When he is invited to a feast, he is the first man that calls for a glass of wine, and is wonderfully pleased with the delicioufness of the flavour; gets as near as possible to the man of the house, and tells himn with much con. cern that he eats nothing himself. He fingles ont fome particular dish, and recommends it to the rett of the company for a rarity. He defires the master of the feast to sit in a warmer part of the room, begs him to take more care of his health, and advises him to put on a supernumerary garment in this cold weather. He is in a ciofe whisper with him during the whole entertainment, and

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ties list of the coach, crosses the court, ascends the

has neither eyes nor ears for any one else in the company.

If a man shows him his house, he extols the architect, admires the gardens, and expatiates upon the furniture. If the owner is grossly flattered in a picture, he outflatters the painter ; and, though he discovers a great likeness in it, can by no means allow that it does jutice to the original.-In Thört, his whole business is to ingratiate himself with those who hear him, and to wheedle them out of their senses.

IX. The abfent Man. MENALCAS comes down in the morning: opens his

door to go out ; bút shuts it again, because he perceives he has his night-cap on; and, examining himself further, finds that he is but half-shaved, that he has stuck his sword on his right fide, that his stockings are about his heels, and that his shirt is over his breeches.

When he is dressed, he goes to court ; comes into the . drawing-room; and, walking upright under a branch of candlefticks, his wig is caught up by one of them, md hang's dangling in the 'air. All the courtiers fall alaughing; but Menalcas laughs louder than any of them, and looks about for the person that is the jest of the company: Coming down to the court-gate, he finds a coach; which, taking for his own, he whips into it; and the coachman drives off, not doubting but he car

master. As soon as he stops, Menalcas throws himself out stair-case, and runs through all the chambers with the greateft faniiliarity, reposes himself on a couch, and fan. cies himfelf at home. The master of the house at lalt comes in Menalcas risés to receive him, and desires him to fit dowit. He talks, muses, and then talks again. The gentleman of the house is tired and amazed. Nenalças is no less fo ; but is every moment'in hopes that his impertinent guest will at last end his tedious visit. Night comes on, when Menalcas is hardly convinced.

Wien he is playing at backgammon, he calls for a full glass of wine and water. It is his turn to throw. He has the box in one hand, and his glass in the other; and, being extremely dry and unwilling to lose time, he swala

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lows down both the dice, and at the same time throws his wine into the tables. He writes a letter, and flings the fand into the ink-bottle. He writes a second, and mistakes the firperscription. A nobleman receives one of them, and, upon opening it, reads as follows: “I would have you, honelt Jack, immediately upon the receipt of this, take in hay enough to serve the winter." His farmer receives the other, and is amazed to fee in it, “ My Lord, I received your Grace's commands.”

If he is at an entertainment, you may see the pieces of bread continually multiplying round his plate: 'tis true the company want it, as well as their knives and forks, which Menalcas does not let them keep long. Sometimes in a morning he puts his whole family in a hurry, and at last goes out without being able to stay for his coach or breakfait; and, for that day, you may fee him in every part of the town, except the very place where he had appointed to be upon business of impor: tance.

You would often take him for every thing that he is not--For a fellow quite ftupid, for he bears nothings for a fool, for he talks to himself, and has a hundred grimaces and motions with his head which are altogether involuntary ; for a proud man, for he looks full upon you, and takes no notice of your faluting him. The truth of it is, his eyes are open, but he makes no use of them, and neither fees you, nor any man, nor any thing elle. He came once from his country-house, and his own footmen undertook to rob him, and fucceeded. 'They held a flambeau to his throat, and bid him deliver his purse. He did fo; and coming home, told his friends he had been robbed. They desire to know the particulars-“ Aik my servants,” said Menalcas; " for they were with me."

X. The Monk. A

POor monk of the order of St Francis came into

the room to beg something for his convent. The moment I calt my eyes upon him, I was determined not to give him a single fous ; and accordingly I put my purse into my pocket-buttoned it up--set myself a Little more upon my centre, and advanced up gravely to

account.

him: there was something, I fear, forbidding in my looks I lave his figure this moment before my eyes, and think there was that in it which deserved better.

The mouk, as I judged from the break in his tonfure, á few fcattered white hairs upon his temples being all that remained of it, might be about severty--but from his eyes, and that sort of fire which was in them, which feemed inore tempered by courtefy than years, could be no more than fixty-Truth miglit lie between--He was certainly fixty-five ; and the general air of his countenance, notwithstanding fomething seemed to have been planting wrinkles in it before their time, agreed to the

It was one of those heads wleich Guido has often painted--inild, pale -penetrating į free from all common-place ideas of fát contentedignorance looking downwards upon the earth-It looked forwards; but looked as if it looked at fomething beyond this world. How one of his order came by it, Heaven above, who let it fall upon a monk's Moulders, best knows: but it would have suited a Bramin ; and had I met it upon the plains of Indoftan, I had reverenced it.

The rest of his outline may be given in a few strokes: one miglit put it into the hands of any one to design ;for it was neither elegant not otherwise, but as character and expreffion made it fo. It was a thin, spare form, fomething above the common size, if it lost not the distinction by a bend-forwards in the figure-but it. was the attitude of intreaty; and, as it now ftands pre. fent to my imagination, it gained more ihan it loft by it,

When he had entered the room three paces, he stood fill; and, laying his left hand upon his breast (a flender white staff with which he journeyed being in his right) --when I had got close up to him, he introduced himself with the little story of the wants of his convent, and the poverty of his order—and did it with iso simple a grace--and such an air of deprecatiou was there in the whole cast of his look and figure-I was bewitched not to have been struck with it

-A better reason was, I hagi pre-determined not to give him a single fous.

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'Tis very true, faid I, replying to a cast upwards with his eyes, with which he had concluded his address --'ris very true and Heaven be their resource who have no oiher but the charity of the world; the stock of which, I fear, is no way sufficient for the many great claims which are hourly made upon it.

As I pronounced the words great claims, he gave a light glance with his eye downwards upon the fleeve of his tunic-I felt the full force of the appeal-I acknowledge it, said I-a coarse habit, and that but once in three years, with meagre diet-are no great matters: but the true point of pity is, as they can be earned in the world with so little industry, that your order should wish to procure them by pressing upon a fund which is the property of the lame, the blind, the aged, and the infirm: the captive who lies down counting over and over again the days of his afflictions, languishes also for his share of it; and hard you been of the order of mercy instead of the order of St Francis, poor as I am, continued I, pointing at my portmantean, full cheerfully hould it have been opened to you for the ransom of the unfortunate. The monk made me a bow. But, resumed I, the unfortunate of our own country, furely, have the first rights; and I have left thousands in diftress upon the English fhore-The monk gave a cor. dial wave with his head as much as to say, No doubt, there is milery enough in every corner of the world, as well as within our conventBut we distinguish, faid 1, laying my hand upon the sleeve of his tunic, in return for his appeal-we diftinguish, my good father, betwixt those who wish only to eat the bread of their own labour and those who eat the bread of other people's, and have no other plan in life, but to get through it in foth and ignorance, for the love of God.

The poor Franciscan made no reply: a hectie of a moment passed across his chetk, but could not tarry-, Nature seemed to have done with her resentments in him; he showed none-but letting his 1taff fall within his arm, he presled both his hands with refignation upon his breast, and retired.

My heart (mote me the moment he shut the door Phaw! said I with an air of carelessness, three several

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