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nd, that all glory and prince, because he has nes. It is therefore the

guilt of princes to let which is against their shion and duty walk tout the guilt of a court, infashionable to do what he dominions of Pharant custom, which is mise duellist kills his friend ge condemns the duellist naviour. Shame is the avail laws, when death them, and shame obe. oh Pharamond, were it neless kinds of compuncel, when I reflect upon mer familiarity, my mind innot be resisted enough of Pharamond. . (With tears, and wept aloud.) d hear the anguish he

in time to come? Let ey feel who have given

his administration, and ance called for by those gligence.” R.

you are speaking to your friend. If the circumstances of your distress will admit of it, you shall find me so." To whom the stranger : « Oh, excellent Pharamond, name not a friend to the unfortunate Spinamont*. I had one but he is dead by my own hand; but, oh Pharamond, though it was by the hand of Spinamont, it was by the guilt of Pharamond. I come not, oh excellent prince, to implore your pardon; I come to relate my sorrow, a sorrow too great for human life to support; from henceforth shall all occurrences appear dreams, or short intervals of amusement, from this one affiiction which has seized my very being. Pardon me, oh Pharamond, if my griefs give me leave, that I lay before

yon, in the anguish of a wounded mind, that you, good as you are, are guilty of the generous blood spilt this day by this unhappy hand. Oh that it had perished before that instant!” Here the stranger paused, and recollecting his mind, after some little meditation, he went on in a calmer tone and gesture as follows.

“ There is an authority due to distress, and as none of human race is above the reach of sorrow, none should be above the hearing the voice of it; I am sure Pharamond is not. Know then, that I have this morning unfortunately killed in a duel, the man whom of all men living I most loved. I command myself too much in your royal presence, to say Pharamond gave me my

friend! Pharamond has taken him from me! I will not say, shall the merciful Pharamond destroy his own subjects? Will the father of his country murder his people? But the merciful Pharamond does destroy his subjects, the father of his country does murder his people. Fortune is so

* Mr. Thornhill, the gentleman here alluded to, under the fictitious or translated name of Spinamont, killed Sir Cholmondley Deering, of Kent, bart. in a duel, May 9, 1711.

much the pursuit of mankind, that all glory and honour is in the power of a prince, because he has the distribution of their fortunes. It is therefore the inadvertency, negligence, or guilt of princes to let any thing grow into custom which is against their laws. A court can make fashion and duty walk together; it can never without the guilt of a court, happen, that it shall not be unfashionable to do what is unlawful. But alas ! in the dominions of Pharamond, by the force of a tyrant custom, which is misnamed a point of honour, the duellist kills his friend whom he loves; and the judge condemns the duellist while he approves his behaviour. Shame is the greatest of all evils ; what avail laws, when death only attends the breach of them, and shame obedience to them? As for me, oh Pharamond, were it possible to describe the nameless kinds of compunctions and tendernesses I feel, when I reflect upon the little accidents in our former familiarity, my mind swells into sorrow which cannot be resisted enough to be silent in the presence of Pharamond. . (With that he fell into a flood of tears, and wept aloud.) Why should not Pharamond hear the anguish he only can relieve others from in time to come? Let him hear from me, what they feel who have given death by the false mercy of his administration, and form to himself the vengeance called for by those who have perished by his negligence.” R.

N° 85. THURSDAY, JUNE 7, 1711.

Interdum speciosa lo is, morataque rectè
Fabula, nullius Veneris, sine pondere & arte,
Valdiùs oblectat populum, meliùsque moratur,
Quàm versus inopes rerum, nugrque canore.

HOR. Ars Poet. v 319.
When the sentiments and manners please,
And all the characters are wrought with ease,
Your Tale, tho' void of beauty, force, and art,
More strongly shall delight, and warm the heart;
Than where a liseless pomp of verse appears,
Aud with sonorous trifles charms our ears.

FRANCIS.

It is the custom of the Mahometans, if they see any printed or written paper upon the ground, to take it up and lay it aside carefully, as not knowing but it may contain some piece of their Alcoran. I must confess I have so much of the Mussulman in me, that I cannot forbear looking into every printed paper which comes in my way, under whatsoever despicable circumstances it may appear; for as no mortal author, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude of things, knows to what use his works may some time or other be applied, a man may often meet with

very celebrated names in a paper of tobacco. I have lighted my pipe more than once with the writings of a prelate; and know a friend of mine, who, for these several years, has converted the essays of a man of quality into a kind of fringe for his candlesticks. I remember in particular, after having read over a poem of an eminent author on a victory, I met with several fragments of it upon the next rejoicing day, which had been employed in

squibs and crackers, and by that means celebrated its subject in a double capacity. I once met with a page of Mr. Baxter under a Christmas-pye. Whe. ther or no the pastry-cook had made use of it through chance or waggery, for the defence of that superstitious viande, I know not; but upon the pesusal of it, I conceived so good an idea of the author's piety, that I bought the whole book. I have often profited by these accidental readings, and have sometimes found very curious pieces that are either out of print, or not to be met with in the shops of our London booksellers. For this reason, when my friends take a survey of my library, they are very much surprised to find upon the shelf of folios, two long band-boxes standing upright among my books; till I let them see that they are both of them lined with deep erudition and abstruse literature. I might likewise mention a paper-kite, from which I have received great improvement; and a hat-case which I would not exchange for all the beavers in Great-Britain. This my inquisitive temper, or rather impertinent humour of prying into all sorts of writing, with my natural aversion to loquacity, give me a good deal of employment when I enter any house in the country; for I cannot for my heart leave a room, before I have thoroughly studied the walls of it, and examined the several printed papers which are usually pasted upon them. The last piece that I met with upon this occasion gave me a most exquisite pleasure. My reader will think I am not serious, when I acquaint him that the piece I am going to speak of, was the old ballad of the Two Children in the Wood, which is one of the darling songs of the common people, and has been the delight of most Englishmen in some part of their age.

This song is a plain simple copy of nature, destin

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