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of the world, who fall in with the measures of civil societies. Lest you should think I speak this as being, according to the senseless rude phrase, a malicious old maid, I shall acquaint you I ani a woman of condition, not now three-and-twenty, and have had proposals from at least ten different men, and the greater number of them have upon the upshot refused me. Something or other is always amiss when the lover takes to some new wench: a settlement is easily excepted against ; and there is very little recourse to avoid the vicious part of our youth, but throwing one's self away upon some lifeless blockhead, who, though he is without vice, is also without virtue. Now-a-days we must be coutented if we can get creatures which are not bad, good are not to be expected. I hope you'll take no. tice of these evils, and print this memorial, dictated from the disdainful heavy heart of,

“ Your most obedient

“ humble servant, T.




fruges consumere nati.
Born to drink and eat.


AUGUSTUS, a few moments before his death,

asked his friends who stood about him, if they thought he bad acted his part well; and upon receive ing such an answer as was die to his extraordinary merit, Let me then, says he, go off the stage with your applause; using the expression with which the Roman actors made tbeir exit at the conclusion of a dramatic piece. I could wish that inen, while they are in health, would consider well the nature of the part they áre engaged in, and what figure it will make in the minds of those they leave behind them: whether it was worth coming into the world for; whether it be suitable to a reasonable being; in short, whether it appears graceful in this life, or will turn to an advan. tage in the next. Let the sycophant or buffoon, the satirist or the good companion, consider with himself, when his body shall be laid in the grave, and his soul pass into another state of existence, how much it will redound to his praise to have it said of him, that no man in England ale better, that he had an admirable talent at turuing his friends into ridicule, that nobody outdid him at an ill-natured jest, or that he never went to bed before he had dispatched his third bottle. These are, however, very common fnneral orations and eulogiums on deceased persons who have acted among mankind with some figure and reputation.

But if we look into the bulk of our species, they are such as are not likely to be remembered a moment after their disappearance. They leave behind them no traces of their existence, but are forgotten as though they had never been. They are neither wanted by the poor, regretted by the rich, nor celebrated by the learned. They are neither missed in the commonwealth, nor lamented by private persons. Their actions are of no significancy to mankind, and might have been performed by creatures of much less dignity than those who are distinguished by the faculty of rea. son. An erineut French author speaks somewbere to the following purpose: I have often seen from my chamber window two noble creatures, botb of them of an erect countenance, and endowed with reason, These two intellectual beings are employed from morviug to night, in rubring two smooth stones one upon another; that is, as the vulgar phrase is, in po. lishing marble.

My friend, Sir Andrew, gave me an account of a

sober citizen, who died a few days since. This ho nest man being of grea'er consequence in his own thoughts, than in the eye of the world, had for some years past kept a journal of his life. Sir Andrew showed me one week of it. Since the occurrences set down in it mark out such a road of action as that I have been speaking of, I shall present my reader with a faithful copy of it; after having first informed hiin, that the deceased person had in his youth been bred to trade, but finding himself not so well turned for business, he had for several years last past lived altogether upon a moderate annuity.

Monday, eight o'clock. I put on my clothes and walked into the parlour,

Nine a-clock ditto. Tied my knee-strings, and washed my hands.

Hours ten, eleven, and twelve. Smoked three pipes of Virginia. Read the Supplement and Daily Courant. Things go ill in the north. Mr. Nisby's opinion thereupon.

One a-clock in the afternoon. Chid Ralph for mislaying my tobacco-box.

Two a-clock. Sat down to divner. Mem. Too many plumbs, and no suet.

From three to four. Took my afternoon's nap.

From four to six. Walked into the fields. Wind S.S.E.

From six to ten. At the club. Mr. Nisby's opinion about the peace.

Ten a-clock. Went to bed, slept sound.

Tuesday, being holiday, eight a-clock. Rose as usual.

Nine a-clock. Washed hands and face, shaved, put on my double soaled shoes.

Ten, eleven, twelve. Took a walk to Islington.
Oue. Took a pot of mother Cob's mild.

Between two and three. Relarned, dined on a knuckle of veal and bacon.' Mem. Sprouts wanting.

Three. Nap as usual.

From four to six. Coffee-house. Read the news, A dish of twist. Grand Vizier strangled.

From six to ten. At the club. Mr. Nisby's ac. count of the Great Turk.

Dream of the Grand Vizier. Broken sleep.


Wednesday, eight a-clock. Tongne of my shoe. buckle broke. Hands but not face.

Nine. Paid off the butcher's bill. Mem. To be allowed for the last leg of mutton.

Ten, eleven. At the coffee-house. More work in the vorth. Stranger in a black wig asked me how stocks went.

From twelve to one. Walked in the fields. Wind to the south.

From one to two. Smoked a pipe and an balf.
Two. Dined as usual. Stomach good.

Three. Nap broke by the falling of a pewter dish. Mem. Cook-maid in love, and grown careless.

From four to six. At the coffee-house. Advice from Smyrna, that the Grand Vizier was first of all strangled, and afterwards beheaded.

Six a-clock in the evening. Was half an hour in the club before any body else came. Mr. Nisby of opinion that the Grand Vizier was not strangled the sixth instant.

Ten at night. Went to bed. Slept without waking till vine next morning.

Thursday, nine a-clock. Staid within till two a-clock for Sir Timothy; who did not bring me my annuity according to his promise.

Two in the afternoon. Sat down to dinner. Loss of appetite. Small-beer sour. Beef over-corned.

Three. Could not take my nap.

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Four and five. Gave Ralph a box on the ear. Turned off my cook-maid. Sent a messenger to Sir Timothy. Mem. I did not go to the club to-night. Went to bed at vine o'clock.

Friday, passed the morning in meditation upon Sir Timothy, who was with me a quarter before twelve.

Twelve a-clock. Bought a new head to my cane, and tongue to my buckle. Drank a glass of purl to recover appetite.

Two and three. Dined, and slept well.

From four to six. Went to the coffee-house. Met Mr. Nisby there. Smoked several pipes. Mr. Nisby of opinion that laced coffee is bad for the head.

Six a-clock. At the club as steward. Sat late.

Twelve a-clock. Went to bed, dreamt that I drank small beer with the Grand Vizier.

Saturday, waked at eleven, walked in the fields. Wind N. E.

Twelve. Caught in a shower.

One in the afternoon. Returned home, and dried myself.

Two. Mr. Nisby dined with me. First course, marrow-bones; second, ox-cheek, with a bottle of Brooks and Hellier.

Three a-clock. Overslept myself,

Six. Went to the club. Like to have fallen into a gutter. Grand Vizier certainly dead, &c.

I question not but the reader will be surprised to find the above-mentioned journalist taking so much care of a life that was filled with such inconsiderable actions, and received so very small improvements; and yet, if we look into the behaviour of many whom we daily converse with, we shall find that most of their hours are takeu up in those three important articles of eating, drinking, and sleeping. I do not

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