The fool of quality: or, the history of Henry Earl of Moreland. In four volumes. By Mr. Brooke. [pt.2]

CHAP. IX.

MR. CLEMENT, said Mr. Fenton, I am singularly obliged and instruct∣ed by your Story. The Incidents of your Life have been very extraordinary, and have been evidently accompanied by the Controul and Attention of a peculiar Pro∣vidence. The same Providence is, un∣doubtedly, with, and over all his Works; though we are not willing to admit him in, what we call, common Occurrences, and which, we think, we can account for, without his Interposition. But, in the Passages of your Story, we see Omnipo∣tence walking along with you, Step for Step; by sudden Successes, by Calamities as sudden, compelling you to attend to Him; wrenching every other Prop and Support from your Dependence, shutting every other Prospect and Resource from your Sight; and, never forsaking you, in Weal or in Woe, till he had fully convin∣ced you of his Fellowship and Regard, and had reconciled you to the bitterest of the Dispensations of your Creator.

Your Story, my dear Friend, has been, generally, conversant in middle, or low Life; and I observe that there is scarce a Circumstance, in it, which might not

have happened to any Body, on any Day of the Year. And yet, in the Whole, I find a Chain of more surprizing and af∣fecting Events, than I have met with, in History, or even in Romance.

God, I see, has made use of very severe Methods, to call you, and as I may say, to compel you to come in. But, do you think, Mr. Clement, that any Methods, less severe, would have been equally ef∣fectual? You must admit they would not. And, this demonstrates to me the Difficul∣ty, and almost the Impossibility, of divert∣ing any Man from that Habit of thinking and acting, which he contracts from the People with whom he is daily conversant. In a World of Saints, a Sinner must be a Devil; but, in a World of Sinners, the Man, who has Grace to deviate, must be a Saint indeed.

Had I been in your Situation, on the Day in which you say my Charity relieved you; I should have thought myself very little beholden to that Person, who would have plucked me back from my opening Paradise, into a World of whose Woes I had been so justly weary. No, no, my Friend, I did you and your Arabella the worst Office, as I think, that ye will ever receive. It was not to you that God in∣tended

any Benefit, by restoring you to Life; it was to those, and I hope they are many in Number; who are to have the Advantage of your Example and Instructi∣ons. It is an Advantage of which I, also, propose to avail myself; and I request you, in Behalf of my little Harry in particular, to accept your first Retainer from our Hands.

So saying, Mr. Fenton carelessly slid a Purse of a hundred Guineas into Clements's Coat Pocket, and, hastily calling to know if Supper was ready, left the Room with∣out Ceremony.

In about an Hour the Cloth was laid, and Mr. Fenton ordered his Family to be called together. He had seldom seen Ara∣bella, and never had noticed her, for fear of adding to that Confusion with which he saw her oppressed at their first Meeting. But now his Senses were all open and alive for Observation, and, on her Entrance, he saluted her, as he would have received and saluted a descending Seraph.

She had not yet recovered her Flesh or her Complexion; and Mr. Fenton, for some Time looked at her, in vain, to discover those striking and irresistable Beauties, to which Lust had fallen a Victim, by which Friendship had been seduced, and to

which a whole People had borne joint Tes∣timony, by a Voucher of public Prostrati∣on and Applause. But, of all that Mr. Fenton had previously thought necessary for producing such extraordinary and asto∣nishing Effects; he saw nothing but a Sentiment of Lowliness, throughout; a something, in Face, in Voice, and in Mo∣tion, that was lovely, for no other Reason, that He could find, but for its being quite impossible that it should not be beloved.

When they had sat down to Table, and eat, and chatted awhile on indifferent Matters; Dada, says Harry, sure Mrs. Cle∣ment is a greater Scholar than Mr. Vindex; and she taught me a latin Lesson to Day; and I would rather learn five Lessons from her than one from him; for she can't look so cross at me as Mr. Vindex, do you think she can, Dada? No, Harry, I think not, says Mr. Fenton; if she can find in her Heart to be cross, she can't find it in her Face, and so we shall know nothing of the Matter. Well, well, Dada, says Harry, for all that, I'm sure she can't find in her Heart to whip Half so hard, and so I don't repent of my Bargain. What Bargain, Harry? Why, says Harry, you must know that she is to be my Tutor, and I am to pay her at the rate of twenty Kisses a Day. But, indeed, it is not an honest Bargain, as you shall hear, poor Mrs. Clement has

cheated herself most sadly; for every Kiss I give her, I take Two away; and they are the sweetest Kisses you ever got in your Life.

Here poor Arabella was put, sadly, to the Blush, though she could not help join∣ing in the Laugh of the Company.

Harry, says Mr. Fenton, you talk, as feelingly of Kisses, as if you had been the Son and Heir of one Secundus, who wrote a very ingenious Treatise on the Subject. But, pray Mrs. Clement, do you under∣stand the Languages? Ah, Sir, said Ara∣bella, again blushing, I fear that my young Lover has brought me into a sad Scrape. I know nothing indeed, Sir, that does not serve to put me in mind of my own Igno∣rance. Ah, what a Boast is there, replied Mr. Fenton, the Wisdom of Solomon, and all subsequent Philosophers fall infinitely short of such an Extent of Knowledge. But, tell me, Hammel, continued Mr. Fenton, does your Arabella understand the Latin and Greek Languages? Not that ever I knew of, I do assure you, Sir, said Cle∣ment; and, yet, I thought I had discover∣ed the Limits of her Talents; tho' I de∣spaired of ever reaching the Extent of her Virtues.

Hammy, Hammy, said Arabella, would you banish me from a Table, where Con∣versation makes the Feast, and Mr. Fenton is a Speaker? But, Sir, since my Desire of instructing this your little Harry, the dearest and loveliest of all human Crea∣tures, has brought me to the Shame of betraying a foolish Smattering in such Mat∣ters, I will tell you how it happened.

My dear good Father was a Clergyman, and, as his Living was very small, he de∣rived his principal Income from Boarding, and Instructing the Children of the neigh∣bouring Gentlemen. As I was his only Child, he loved me to a faulty Excess, and hardly ever suffered me to be out of his Sight. I used therefore to Work at my Sampler, in his School-Room; and, the frequent Repetitions, which the Boys made of their Lessons, insensibly and in∣voluntarily forced themselves upon my Memory. I was, by Degrees, infected with the Desire of knowing something of what engaged the whole Attention of all about me. The Floor and the Windows were, often, spread with Books, which I took up and perused in private at my Pleasure. And, at length, I was applied to, by most of the Scholars, as well for my Assistance in framing their Exercises,

as for my powerful Mediation in saving them from the Lash.

My Error, in thus wandering from the Sphere of my Sex, will appear, as I hope, the more excusable; when I assure you, Sir, that, from the Moment I entered the World with my dear deceased Aunt, I ne∣ver looked into one of those my favourite Authors; though I still retain many of the Passages in them. But, above all, I shall never forget the Indiscretion of Homer, in his Character of Hector, the great Enemy of Greece. The Poet appears to make a mighty Parade of the Power, the Valour, and Virtue of his Countrymen. He fur∣ther gives them the whole Merit and Jus∣tice of the Cause; and he calls upon Gods and Men, in their Favour, for the Righting and Reformation of Iniquity and Offence. But, does he give you the sensible and odious Instances of this Iniquity on the Part of the Adversary? By no Means, as I take it. He sums up all Troy, and even all Asia, in the Character and Prowess of a single Man. On the Part of the Tro∣jans, on the Side of the Delinquents, you see nothing but Hector, you hear of no∣thing but Hector. And again, what do you hear of him, or what do you see of him? Even all that is admirable; all that is amiable; whatever can be, severally, culled and collected, from the Worth and

the Sweetnesses of human-Nature; in his Submissions to his King, in his Attach∣ments to his Country, in his filial Affecti∣ons, in his conjugal Delicacies, in his pa∣ternal Fears and Feelings, in his Ardour for his Friends, in his Humanity to his Enemies, and, even in his Piety to the Gods that he worshipped (no Deduction from his Courage according to ancient Arithmetic) I should be glad, I say, to know in what History, true or feigned, I might find his Fellow.

How injudiciously, then, did this Au∣thor connect an iniquitous Cause with so righteous a Person; to whom no one liv∣ing could take Exception; and, with whom no one living could cordially be at Vari∣ance. In favour therefore of Hector, you wish well to the Abettors of the Ravishers of Helen. And, in Favour of Hector, you are, almost, tempted to wish ill to those generous Patriots, who, at the Risque of their Honours, their Fortunes, and their Lives, came to vindicate the undoubted Rights of their Country; and consequently the Rights of all Mankind. — But — but — Is there no one so friendly, here, as to in∣terrupt me, before all my Folly is let out?

You have no such Friend here, I assure you, Madam, said Mr. Fenton.

Well, well, Gentlemen, said Arabella, blushing deeper than before, I leave ye to laugh away; and I would stay, and laugh with ye with all my Heart, at any Ex∣pence but that of female Learning, ye know. And so saying, up she started, and away she would have flown; but Mr. Fenton got between her and the Door.

Mrs. Clement, Mrs. Clement, said he, would you serve us so? Do but think, what Sort of a World this would be with∣out a Woman; and then think what a Figure this Hum-drum Hammy, of yours, and I should make without you. So say∣ing, he took her Hand and replaced her in her Chair. But why, continued he, why all this Blushing, my dear Mrs. Cle∣ment? indeed my Child it is a Compliment that we cannot deserve.

Ah, Sir, cried Mrs. Clement, it is a Compliment which I would very gladly spare, if I could help it. But, I must be a very guilty Body to be sure; and my Faults I find must be very much my Ene∣mies, when they are ready to fly in my Face, every Moment.

Why, Mrs. Clement, said Mr. Fenton, do you hold Blushing to be any Evidence of Guilt? Certainly, Sir, said Arabella, it

can be nothing but a Consciousness of somewhat amiss, that ought to give Shame to any sensible Person. Mr. Serjeant Cle∣ment, cried Mr. Fenton, pray, what is your Judgment on the Case in Hand?

In truth, Sir, said Clement, it is a Case to which I am not prepared to plead. I have, indeed, heard many and various Opinions on the Subject, though generally coinciding with that of my Arabella. And, more particularly, in Conversations of ri∣bald Entendre, I have heard it affirmed, that the Blushing of a Woman is a sure Proof of her understanding much more than became her.

Hold there, cried Mr. Fenton, the mere understanding of Good or Evil, can no more be a Fault in the Creature than in the Creator, the Essence of Guilt bears no Reference to Knowledge, but consists in the Approbation of Evil alone. A Woman therefore, who blushes at what she disap∣proves, blushes not for herself, but for the Faults of her rude and ill-mannered Com∣pany, who have not the Grace to blush for themselves.

When I speak here of Blushing; I would not be understood, by any Means, to in∣clude the Flushings of Desire, or the Red∣denings of Anger, or any such like turbu∣lent

and irregular Emotions. I mean no other than that ready Expression of Shame, which, as our Arabella sweetly hinted just now, arises from an Apprehension of some∣thing being amiss in ourselves, or others. But who or what is it that apprehends, in this Case? Is it Guilt that is afraid or ashamed of Guilt? No surely. It is Vir∣tue, alone, that can fear or be ashamed of the Neighbourhood of its Adversary.

I will take an Instance from a Person, who is actually guilty of something very enormous, and who blushes, on his being questioned or suspected of the Transgres∣sion. His blushing here demonstrates his Sensibility; and his Sensibility demonstrates some Principle within him, that disapproved and reproached him for what he had com∣mitted. And so long as this Spark or Principle remains unquenched in the Bo∣som; so long as the wicked themselves can feel Compunction and be ashamed of wick∣edness; so long their Recovery is not to be despaired of.

It is therefore from the Fountain of Vir∣tue, alone, that this Flush of Shamefaced∣ness can possibly flow. And a Delicacy of Compunction, on such Occasions, is as a sensitive Plant of Divinity in the Soul, that feels, shrinks, and is alarmed on the slight∣est Apprehension of approaching Evil.

Well, Sir, said Arabella, allowing all that you have advanced in Behalf of Blush∣ers, (and that is doing them more Favour than I fear they deserve) can it amount to more than this, that, however faulty they may be, they still have Goodness enough to acknowledge their Guilt, or in other Words, that they have the Justice to be ashamed of themselves?

Yes, Madam, said Mr. Fenton, it a∣mounts to much more, and you know that it does. But you are a wicked little Sophister, and deserve to be punished, by our yielding to you the Cause that you have undertaken against yourself.

When I observed that nothing, but Vir∣tue, could undesignedly express a Disap∣probation of Vice; I ought further to have observed that, the greater and the purer, the more excellent and more vivid that this Virtue is, the more apt it will be to take Alarm, at the bare Apprehension of hav∣ing said or done, or of being suspected to have said, or done, or thought of any thing amiss, or contrary to its own Na∣ture.

As far as a guilty Person loves and is reconciled to Guilt, it becomes a Part of himself, and he cannot blush at it. But

Goodness will blush in a Closet, in a De∣sart, in Darkness, on fearing it was in Danger to have said or done any Thing unbecoming or disgustful to its own Sen∣sibilities. For a delicate Virtue is, like a delicate Chastity, that will blush to have been seen, or, even suspected to have been seen within the Suburbs of Drury.

But again, where such a delicate Virtue is accompanied by Lowliness, there needs not any Thing amiss, nor the slightest Apprehension of any Thing amiss, to ex∣cite this sweet Confusion in the Soul and in the Countenance. Humility will blush to be found in the Presence of those whom it reveres; it will blush to be thought of, either too meanly or too highly, by those whose favourable Opinion it wishes to merit; and I once knew a Lady blush, for being detected of Accomplishments that would have been Matter of Pride and Boasting to any other Woman.

This graceful Effusion of a virtuous and humble Heart is, as I once hinted, the highest and, generally, the most grateful Compliment that a Person can pay to the Company; as it is an Expression of De∣ference, and a comparative Acknowledg∣ment of superior Merit. But, it is more peculiarly amiable in your Sex, Mrs. Cle∣ment; it is that Shamefacedness, so grateful

to God and Man, and which, in Scripture, is called the most becoming Cloathing, and best Ornament of a Woman.

However, my dear Child, as this Emo∣tion is generally attended with some little Matter of Pain; the present Company are too much your Friends, to receive any kind of Pleasure from a Compliment as unmerited, as it is wholly unnecessary. And, in Truth, there is but one Thing, that I can think of, for which Mrs. Clement ought to blush.

Pray, Sir, don't hold me in Pain, what is it, I beseech you? It is for being a Re∣proach almost to her whole Sex.

Ah, Sir, cried Arabella, rising, smiling, and blushing, and curtsying down to the Ground; excuse me if I don't stay to hear myself so abused; and, turning, away she swam and disappeared in an Instant.

As soon as she was gone, Clement took out his Purse of a hundred Guineas, and, pray Sir, said he, what shall I do with all this Money? O, as for that Matter, said Mr. Fenton, I know People, not half so ingenious as you are, who could quickly contrive to get rid of a much larger Sum. Lay it out in decent Cloathing for yourself

and your Arabella, and I will find some way to have you reimbursed. In short, Hammel, I can't think of parting with you, if my Fortune may serve for a sufficient Cement. I will pay you two hundred Guineas yearly, while you stay with me; and I will settle on you, one thousand Pounds, in case of my Mortality, to put you into some little Station of Indepen∣dence.

Sir, Sir, cried Clement, hesitatingly, you oppress me, you — Hush, hush, said Mr. Fenton, putting his Hand to his Mouth, no Compliments, my dear Friend. It is not your Thanks but your Services that I want; and you may readily make them more than an Equivalent to such Matters. I value the Instilling of a single Principle of Goodness or Honour, into the Mind of my dear Harry, beyond all the Wealth that the Indies can remit. Ah, Hammel, why wasn't that Brat of yours a Girl, in∣stead of a Boy? She might one Day have been the Wife of my precious Harry; and I should then have had some of the Breed of this wonderful Arabella.

But, Hammy, continued Mr. Fenton, I would not have you, through any Zeal, or Attachment to me, think of pushing my Boy into Learning or the Languages, beyond his own Pleasure. Neither would

I have you oppress or perplex his infant Mind, with the deep or mysterious Parts of our holy Religion. First, be it your Care to instruct him in Morality; and let the Law precede the Gospel, for such was the Education which God appointed for the World. Give him, by familiar and his∣torical Instances, an early Impression of the shortness of human Life, and of the Nature of the World in which he is placed. Let him learn, from this Day forward, to distinguish between natural and imaginary Wants; and, that nothing is estimable or ought to be desirable, but so far as it is necessary, or useful to Man. Instruct my Darling, daily and hourly, if possible, in a Preference of Manners and Things that bear an intrinsic Value, to those that re∣ceive their Value and Currency from the arbitrary and fickle Stamp of Fashion. Shew him also, my Hammel, that the same Toils and Sufferings; the same Poverty and Pain, from which People now fly as they would from a Plague, were once the Desire of Heroes and the Fashion of Na∣tions. And, that Thousands of Patriots, of Captains, and Philosophers, through a Love of their Country, or of Glory, of Applause during Life or Distinction after Death, have rejected Wealth and Pleasure, embraced Want and Hardship; and suffer∣ed more, from a voluntary Mortification and Self-denial, than our Church seems to

require in these Days, for the Conquest of a sensual World into which we are fallen, and for entitling us to a Crown in the Kingdom of Eternity.

So saying, Mr. Fenton got up from Ta∣ble, and observing that it was late, wished Clement a good Night.

Our Hero was now eight Years of Age; and weekly, and daily, continued to be exercised, in Feats of bodily Prowess and Agility; and in Acts of mental Benevo∣lence, and Service to Mankind.

Mr. Fenton had, already, provided his Favourite with a Dancing-Master, the most approved for Skill in his Profession; as also, with a noted Fencing-Master, who further taught him the noble Sciences of the Cudgel and Quarter-Staff. He was now on the Search for the most distin∣guished Champion of the Bear-Garden, in order to accomplish our Hero in the Mys∣teries of Bruising, of Wrestling, and of Tripping; and having, in a short Time, procured the Person desired; he purchased for his Harry a small but beautiful Spanish Jennett that was perfectly dressed, as they call it, or rid to the Manage; and, once in every Week or Fortnight, he accom∣panied his Darling to the Riding-House in Islington, where he saw him instructed in

all the Arts and Elegancies of Horseman∣ship.

Thus, Harry had his little Hands as full of Business as they could hold. But he was, naturally, of an active and vivid Dis∣position; and Time, unemployed, lay up∣on him as the heaviest and most irksome of all Burdens. He, therefore, proceeded from his Book to his Exercises, and from one Exercise to another, as an Epicure does among a number of Dishes; where the Variety of the Seasoning excites in him a new Appetite to Each.

Within a few Weeks after the late Dis∣sertation upon Blushing, the same Com∣pany being present and Dinner removed; Harry, says Mr. Fenton, tell me which of the Two is the Richest, the Man who wants least, or the Man who has most? Let me think, Dada, says Harry — Why, sure, they are the same Thing; aren't they, Dada? By no Means, my Darling, cried Mr. Fenton.

There lived two famous Men, at the same Time, the one was called Diogenes, and the other Alexander. Diogenes refused to accept of any worldly Goods, save one wooden Cup to carry Water to his Mouth; but, when he found that he could drink, by lying down and putting his Mouth to

the Stream, he threw his Cup away as a Thing that he did not want.

Alexander, on the other Side, was a great Conqueror. And, when he had conquered and got Possession of all the World, he fell a crying because there was not a hundred more such Worlds for him to conquer. Now, which of these two was the richest, do you think?

O Dada, exclaimed Harry, Diogenes to be sure, Diogenes to be sure. He who wants nothing is the richest Man in the World. Diogenes, Dada, was richer than Alexander by a hundred Worlds.

Very true, my Love, rejoin'd Mr. Fen∣ton. Alexander had a whole World more than Diogenes wanted, and yet desired a hundred Worlds more than he had. Now, as no Man will allow that he wants what he does not desire, and all affirm that they want whatsoever they do desire, Desires and Wants are generally accounted as one and the same Thing. And yet, my Harry, there is a Thing, of which it may be said, that the more we desire it the less we want it, and that the less we desire of it the greater is our Want.

What in the World can that be, Dada? — It is Goodness, my Love. Well, says

Harry, I will not puzzle my Brains about nice Matters. All I know is, that no Man has more Goodness than he wants, except it be yourself. I don't talk of Women, for I believe Mrs. Clement, here, is very good; pray look in her Face, Dada, don't you think she is very good?

I see, Harry, said Mr. Fenton, that young as you are, you are a perfect Physiogno∣mist. Why, pray Sir, said Arabella, is it, in earnest, your Opinion, that the Cha∣racter of Mind or Manners, may, in any Measure, be gathered from the Form of the Countenance? Is not the World filled with Stories of the Deceit and Treachery of such false Appearances? You remember how Horace says that a prudent Mariner puts no Trust in the Gildings or Paintings of a Ship; such superficial Glossings, as one might think, ought, rather, to be suspect∣ed of an Intention to conceal the Rottenness of the Timber. And then, the Passage of the famous Physiognomists, at Athens, so often quoted as a Proof of Capacity and Knowledge in this Way, proves wholly the Reverse, as I take it; their Judgment of Socrates is opposite to Truth in every In∣stance; they pronounce him the most de∣bauched, irascible, and malicious of Men; and it is a very poor Apology that Socrates makes for their Ignorance, when he affirms that he was, by Birth, the very Person they

deemed him, but that Philosophy had given him a new Nature; for if Education can change the Heart, without changing the Countenance, how can we form any Con∣jecture of the one by the other?

Though I insist, Mrs. Clement, that you are wrong in your Thesis, replied Mr. Fenton, I admit that you are perfectly just in your Inference. For, if a Change of Mind or Manners can make no Change in the Aspect, the whole Science of Physiog∣nomy must fall to the Ground. I there∣fore take this Passage, relating to Socrates, to be a mere Fiction; and I affirm that neither Philosophy, nor Christianity, can make a new Heart or a new Nature in Man, without making a suitable Alteration in his Visage.

As the Heavens are made expressive of the Glory of God, though frequently over∣cast with Clouds and Tempest, and some∣times breaking forth in Thunders that terrify, and Lightenings that blast; so, the general Tenour of a human Countenance is made expressive of the Nature of the Soul that lives within; and, to which it is ordained an involuntary Interpreter.

Many Persons have made it the Study of great Part of their Lives, to counteract Providence in this honest Appointment;

to shut this Window, by which, an im∣pertinent World is so apt to peep in, and spy what they are about; and, as far as possible, to make the Expressions of their Countenance, to belie every Sentiment and Emotion of their Heart.

I have known Hypocrisy, Treachery, Pride, Malice, and Lust, assume the opposite Sem∣blance of Saintship, Fidelity, Lowliness, Be∣nevolence, and Chastity: But, it is painful to keep the Bow of Nature long bent; its Elasticity will still struggle to have it re∣stored; and a skillful Discerner, at the Time of such Delusion, will often detect the Difference between a real Character and the acting of a Part. For, when Na∣ture dictates, the whole Man speaks; all is uniform and consenting in Voice, Mien, Motion, the turn of each Feature, and the Cast of the Eyes. But, when Art is the Spokesman, and that Nature is not alto∣gether suppressed; the Turn of the Eye may contradict the Tongue; and the Muscles of the Face may counteract each other in their several Workings. And, thus, I have known an Expression of Re∣sentment remain on the Brow, while the Face laboured to invest itself with a Smile of Complacence; and, I have known the Eye to burn with ill-governed Concupi∣scence, while Voice, Action, and Address,

united in the Avowal of chaste and ho∣nourable Regards.

I perceive, Sir, said Mr. Clement, by your own Account, that he must be a ve∣ry learned Proficient, in the Study of Phy∣siognomy, who can decide, with any kind of Certainty, on an Art that requires such Attention and Penetration.

I beg leave to differ, answered Mr. Fen∣ton. The Science is much more obvious than you may imagine; and I fancy there are very few Persons, who do not trust, without reflecting, to their own Skill in this Way; and who do not, inadvertently, form a Character to themselves of almost all the People with whom they are con∣versant.

I am persuaded that there is not a single Sentiment, whether tending to Good or Evil, in the human Soul, that has not its distinct and respective Interpreter in the Glance of the Eye, and in the Muscling of the Countenance. When Nature is permitted to express Herself with Free∣dom by this Language of the Face, she is understood by all People; and those who never were taught a Letter can in∣stantly read her Signatures and Impressi∣ons; whether they be of Wrath, Hatred, Envy, Pride, Jealousy, Vexation, Con∣tempt;

Pain, Fear, Horror and Dismay; or of Attention, Respect, Wonder, Sur∣prize, Pleasure, Transport, Complacence, Affection, Desire, Peace, Lowliness, and Love.

Now, all Persons are born with Propen∣sities (whether they be mental or constitu∣tional) to some Passions and Affections, ra∣ther than to Others. I will take two In∣stances; the one, of a Male Infant who is born with a Propensity to Pride and Arro∣gance: The other of a Female Infant, who is born with a Propensity to Bashful∣ness and Lowliness. In either Case, it is evident, that, from the first Occasion that may serve to excite these several Affecti∣ons, in these several Infants, the Senti∣ments of their Souls will be suitably and intelligibly expressed in their Aspects; and every further Occasion of renewing the same Impressions will render them more obvious and legible to every Eye. Inso∣much that, if no future Influence, arising from Accident or Education, shall check the Pride of the one or divert the Lowli∣ness of the other; the Male will be seen to look on those about him with an habi∣tual Self-sufficiency and Contempt of his Species; and the Female will be seen to regard Humankind, with an amiable Dif∣fidence and a complacent Respect.

Let us see however, how far Education may be able to change these Sentiments; and, how far a Change of Sentiments may produce a Change of Face.

If the Scorner should be so happy as to meet with worthy Tutors, wise, and dili∣gent to inculcate the Insufficiency of all Creatures, and more particularly the Wants, Weaknesses, and Vileness, of our lapsed Natures; and that no Honour can belong to Man in this his State of Depravity. But above all, should this Scorner prove so happy as to be educated in the never failing School of Christian Meekness; even the School of Adversity, of Pain, Sickness, depressing Poverty, and Mortification; his lofty Crest by Degrees will be effectually unplumed; his Sufficiency and high Mind∣edness will sink to an humble Prayer and look out for Relief; and he will respect even the Wretched, because he will ac∣quire a social Sense and Fellow-feeling of their Wretchedness.

Here, then, is another Man, as new made and as different from his former Self as he can possibly be supposed from any other of the human Species. But, will this total Change of Sentiment produce no Change of Aspect, think you? Will this benevo∣lent and lowly Man retain the same Front

of Haughtiness, the same Brow of Over∣bearance, the same Eye of Elevation, the same Lip of Ridicule, and the same Glance of Contempt? It cannot be said, it cannot be imagined.

When God, by his inspired Penmen, expresses his Detestation of a lofty Look, was he quarrelling, do ye think, with the natural and unavoidable Cast of an unhap∣py Countenance? No, no, my dear Friends. In condemning a proud Aspect, he con∣demned a proud Heart; forasmuch as he knew that a Loftiness of Look and a Sauciness of Soul could not be divided.

But, to clear up this Question from any remaining Doubt, let us suppose that the female Infant, with bashful and lowly Propensities, is just brought down, blush∣ing and trembling, from the Nursery. Let us suppose her Education to be taken in Hand, by a Mama of Figure and Fashi∣on, and by other Dames of Quality, whose Estimate of Happiness is measured merely by the Mode. She now becomes instructed in more Instances of Self-Denial, than such as dictated and tuned by Chris∣tianity, would have sainted her for Eterni∣ty. She is taught to suppress her natural Feelings and Inclinations, and to bridle the Impulses of an affectionate and humble Heart. She is taught to prize what she

dislikes, and to praise what she disap∣proves; to affect Coldness and Distance to Inferiors whom she regarded, and to pro∣portion her Appearance of Inclination, and Respect, to the Station of the Party.

As I have been Ear-witness to several of these Quality Lectures, I might give you many familiar Instances of their Nature and Tendency. Fye Harriet, says my La∣dy, what does the Girl blush at? You are handsome and well-shaped, my Dear, and have nothing to be ashamed of, that I know. No one blushes now a Days, ex∣cept silly Country Wenches who are igno∣rant of the World. But, if you have any naughty Thoughts that make you blush, why, keep 'em to yourself Child, and we shall never be the wiser. But, don't let your Face be a Town-Crier, Harriet, to let every Body know what you have in your Mind. To be ashamed, my Girl, is the greatest of all Shames.

Again, my Dear, I warn you, that you must not be so fond of the Miss Collesses, who used to visit you in the Nursery. For, though they are good sort of Girls, their Parents are People in but middling Life, and we never admit 'em when there's Company in the House. And then, there's the Miss Sanclairs, how low you curtsied

to 'em Yesterday: and what a Rout you made about welcoming and entertaining them; but, let me have no more of that, for though they are rich, they are Cits, and People of Business; and a Nod of your Head, or Inclination toward a Curtsy, with some Yeses and Noes when they ask you a Question, will be Matter enough of Salute and Discourse from you to them.

You say that your Stays are too low be∣fore, and that they pain you about the Waste; but I know it is impossible; for a young Lady must never dislike or be pained, by any Thing that shews the Fineness of her Skin or Shape to Advan∣tage.

I must further advise you, Harriet, not to heap such Mountains of Sugar, nor to pour such a Deluge of Cream into your Tea; People will certainly take you for the Daughter of a Dairy-Maid. There is young Jenny Quirp, who is a Lady, by Birth, and she has brought herself to the Perfection of never suffering the Tincture of her Tea to be spoiled by Whitening, nor the Flavour to be adulterated by a Grain of Sweet. And then you say you can't like Coffee; and I could not but laugh, though I was quite asham'd at the wry Faces you made the other Day, when you mistook the Olives for Sweetmeats.

But these Things, my Child, are relished by Persons of Taste, and you must force yourself to swallow and relish them, also.

I was talking awhile ago of young Lady Jane Quirp. There's a Pattern for you, Harriet; one who never likes or dislikes, or says or does any Thing a Hair's Breadth beyond the Pink of the Mode. She is ugly, it is true, and very ill-natured; but then she is finely bred, and has all the be∣coming Airs of a Miss of Distinction. Her you must love, my Child, and to her you must pay your Court; for you must learn to love and prefer such Matters and Persons, alone, as will serve, in the Beau-Monde, to render you noted and respected for the Accomplishments in vogue.

These Lessons and Efforts, in Time, have their Influence. Miss comes to accommo∣date her Taste, and Relish of Things, to the Taste and Relish of those whom she is proud to resemble. She now is ashamed of Nothing, but in Proportion as it is be∣low the Top of the Mode; and she blush∣es at no Indecency that Fashion is pleased to adopt. Her whole Soul and Essence is futilized and extracted into Shew and Su∣perficials. She learns that Friendship, in high Life, is nothing but Compliment; and Visits, Intimacies, and Connections,

the polite Grimace of People of Distincti∣on. That, to talk elegantly upon No∣thing, is the Sum of Conversation. That Beauty and Dress are the Constituents of female Perfection. And that the more we depreciate and detract from others, the more eminently we ourselves shall shine forth and be exalted. She is follow∣ed by Fops, she is worshipped by Fortune∣hunters. She is mounted aloft upon the Wings of Flattery, and is hardened against public Opinion by Self conceit. While she beholds a circling Group, of the Tay∣lor's Creation, admiring the Harmony of her Motions, the Fineness of her Com∣plexion, and the Lustre of her Ornaments, the same Vanity, that bids her to be de∣sirous of Conquests, bids her also to de∣spise them: But, for the vulgar World, she regards it as the Dust beneath her Steps, created to no End, save to be look∣ed down upon, and trodden under Foot.

Will ye now affirm, or can ye conceive, that any Trace of native Bashfulness and Lowliness should remain in the Frontlet of this Piece of Court-Petrefaction? No such Trace can remain.

As I observed to ye before, that every Affection of the human Soul has its dis∣tinct and respective Interpreter in the

Countenance; I am further to take No∣tice that each, of those many Interpreters, hath its respective Set of Tubes and Fibres leading thereto, through which the Blood and Spirits flow on their respective Emoti∣on. Thus, whatever the general Tenour of a Person's Temper may be, such as joyous, or melancholy, irascible, or placid, and so forth; the Vessels, relative to these Affections, are kept open and full, by an almost constant Flow of the Blood and animal Spirits, and impress such evident Characters of that Person's Disposition, as are not to be suppressed, except for a Time, and that too by some powerful and opposite Passion. For the Muscles, so em∣ploy'd, grow stronger and more conspicu∣ous by Exercise; as we see the Legs of a Chairman, and the Shoulders of a Porter, derive Bulk and Distinction from the Pe∣culiarity of their Occupation.

Now, I will take the Argument in the strongest Light against myself. I will sup∣pose a Man to be naturally of a melan∣choly Cast of Countenance; that he has the additional unhappiness of a bileous Constitution; and, that he is confirmed in this Look and Habit of Despondence, by a Train of distressful Circumstances, till he arrives at his twentieth or thirtieth Year. I will then suppose that his Habit of Body, and Temper of Mind are totally

changed, by Medicine, a Flow of Success, a happy Turn of Reason and Resignation, or perhaps of Complacence in the divine Dispensations. He now grows sociable, benevolent, chearful, always joyous when in Company and placid when alone. I ask, on this Occasion, will ye continue to see the same Cast and Habit of Melancho∣ly in this Man's Countenance? No more than ye can see the Gloom of last Winter, in the smiling Serene of a Summer's-Even∣ing. For some Time, I admit, it will be difficult for the Set of joyous Muscles, and Glances, to overpower their Adversaries who have so long kept the Field; but, in the End, they must prevail; they will re∣ceive constant Supplies, from within; and the Passages, for their Reinforcement, will be opened more and more; while their Opponents daily subside, give Place, and disappear.

What I have observed, with respect to Melancholy, may be equally affirmed of any other Affection, whose opposite gets an habitual Empire in the Mind. I say habitual, because there are some Persons of such variable and fluctuating Tempers, now furious, now complacent; now chur∣lish, now generous; now mopingly me∣lancholy, now merry to Madness; now pious, now profane; now cruelly hard∣hearted, now meltingly humane; that a

Man can no more judge of what Nature or Disposition such People are, than he can determine what Wind shall predomi∣nate next April; and yet, when the Wind blows, he can tell by every Cloud and Weather Cock, from what Point it comes; and may as easily decypher the present Temper, by the Aspect.

But, Sir, said Arabella, might not Na∣ture impress, as in the Case of Socrates, such conspicuous Characters of Vice (in his peculiar Cast of Countenance and strong Turn of muscling) as no internal Virtues should be able to retract?

By no means Madam, answered Mr. Fenton. For, if such Characters are im∣pressed by Nature on the Countenance, in∣dependent of any such Characters in the Mind, this would, first, overthrow the whole System of the Physiognomists, who judged of the Mind by the Countenance alone. And, secondly, it would ower∣throw the Opinion of Socrates himself, who allowed that his Countenance had re∣ceived such Impressions from the natural Bent and Disposition of his Mind. But, again, if the Mind has really a Power to impress her own Character or Likeness on the Countenance; what should take away this Power, why does she not retain it? Why should not a total Change of Cha∣racter

in the Soul, make some suitable Change of Character in the Aspect? It does, Madam, it does make a total Change. And there are thousands of Faces, in yon∣der sanctified City, that, once, expressed all the Sweetness of bashful Modesty; and yet are, now, as much hardened and bronzed over with Impudence; as the Face of the Statue at Charing-Cross.

In the soft and pliable Features of In∣fancy and Youth, the Mind can express it∣self with much more Force and Perspicui∣ty, than in the Features of People more advanced in Years. The Nerves and Fi∣bres, in our early Age, are all open, ac∣tive, and animated; They reach to the outward Surface of the Skin; and the Soul looks forth, and is seen through them, as a Spanish Beauty is seen through a Veil of Gauze. But Time destroys many of these intelligible Fibres; it also obstructs others; and it renders the Remainder less suscepti∣ble of those Offices and mental Impressions, for which they were ordained; till the Sur∣face of the Countenance grows so callous and rigid, that the Beauties of the Soul can no more be discovered through it, than the Luminaries of Heaven through an Atmosphere of Clouds. Scarce any Thing, save sudden Passion, can then be discernible, like Flashes of Lightening that break through the Gloom.

For this very Reason, my dear Mrs. Clement, were it possible for you to advance in Virtues, as you advance in Years; you will however grow less amiable in the Eyes of Mortals, as your Beauties will be, more and more, shut in from their Observation.

This brings me to my last and most im∣portant Remark, on the Nature and Power of Beauty, itself. And here we must note that, though Nothing can be affectingly lovely or detestable, that does not arise from some Sentiment of the Soul, there is yet, in many Faces, such a natural Sym∣metry or Disproportion, as is generally called by the Name of Beauty, and Ugli∣ness. Thus, in some Countenances, you perceive a due Relation and Agreement between the Parts. While in others, the Forehead may overwhelm the nether Face; or the Mouth threaten to devour the other Features; or the Nose may ap∣pear as a huge Steeple that hides a small Church; or, as a Mountain that is the whole of a Man's Estate; insomuch that, as some may be said to want a Nose to their Face, in the present Case they may be said to want a Face to their Nose. But this Species of Beauty and Ugliness excites no other kind of Pleasure or Dis∣gust save such as we receive from two

Pieces of Architecture, where one is exe∣cuted with Propriety, and the other is ob∣viously out of all Rule. And, to continue the Simile, if People should be seen look∣ing out at the Windows of those two Buildings; we may come to detest and avoid the First, and to love and frequent the Latter, for the Sake of those who live therein. And just so it is, with regular Faces that express a Deformity of Soul; and, with disproportioned Features that may, however, be pregnant with the Beauty of Sentiment.

By Beauty, therefore, I do not mean the Beauty of Lines, or Angles; of Moti∣on, or Music; of Form, or Colour; of numerical Agreements, or Geometrical Proportions; nor that which excites the Passion, of some pragmatical Inamoratos, for a Shell, a Tulip, or a Butter-fly. All these have, undoubtedly, their peculiar Beauty; but, then, that Beauty has no Relation to the Power or Perception of that which contains it; it is derived from something that is, altogether, foreign; and owes the whole of its Merit to the supe∣rior Art and Influence of God or Man.

In the Designings of Sculptors, of Pain∣ters and Statuaries, we, however, see very great and truly affecting Beauty. I have, at times, been melted into Tears thereby;

and have felt within my Bosom the actual Emotions of Distress, and Compassion, of Friendship and of Love. I ask then what it was that excited these Sensations? Could any Lines, Colourings, or mere Symmetry of inanimate Parts, inspire Affections, of which in themselves they were incapable? No. They could only serve, as the Ve∣hicles of something intended to inspire such Sensibilities, nothing further. We must, therefore, look higher for a Cause more adequate to such extraordinary Effects; and the first that presents itself is the De∣signer, who must have conceived amiable Sentiments within himself, before he could impress their Beauty on these his Interpre∣ters, in order to excite suitable Affections in others.

Here then it is evident that, whatever we affect or love, in the Design, is no o∣ther than the Sentiment or Soul of the Designer; though we neither see nor know any Thing further concerning him. And thus, a Sculptor, a Painter, a Statu∣ary, or amiable Author, by conveying their Sentiments, in lasting and intelligible Characters to Mankind, may make the World Admirers and Lovers of their Beau∣ty, when their Features shall be rigid and incapable of Expression, and, when they themselves shall no longer exist among Men.

From hence it should seem, as indeed I am fully persuaded, that Mind can affect∣ingly love nothing but Mind; and, that universal Nature can exhibit no single Grace or Beauty, that does not arise from Sentiment alone.

The Power of this sentimental Beauty, as I may say, is, in many Cases, great, amazing! and has not yet been accounted for, that I know of, by any Philosopher, Poet, or Author; tho' several have made it their peculiar Study and Subject. We have seen, and read of many Instances, where it carries People, as it were, quite out of themselves; and gives them to live, and to be interested, in the Object of their Affections alone. They will run to fight, bleed, suffer, and even to die in its De∣fence. And in its Absence, they will pine, and despair, and attempt to destroy them∣selves, rather than bear to be divided from what they love, in a Manner, above their own Existence.

This is wonderful, perhaps mysterious! and may possibly be involved in impenetra∣ble Darkness. Let us try however if we can throw any probable Lights upon it.

We have already seen that human Ar∣tificers can impress the Beauty of their

own Sentiments on their inanimate Works. Suppose, then, that God should be barely the same to universal Nature, that a finite Designer is to the Piece he has in Hand. He finds that the Stuff or Material, which he is to form and to inform, is, in itself, utterly incapable of any Thing that is beautiful, and consequently incapable of any Thing that is desirable. He, there∣fore, finds himself under the Necessity of imparting to his Works, some faint Ma∣nifestation or Similitude of Himself; for otherwise they cannot be amiable; neither can he see his Shadow in them with any Delight. On Matter therefore, he, first, impresses such distant Characters of his own Beauty, as the Subject will bear; in the Glory of the Heavens, in the Move∣ment of the Planets, in the Symmetry of Form, in the Harmony of Sounds, in the Elegance of Colours, in the elaborate Tex∣ture of the smallest Leaf; and, in the in∣finitely fine Mechanism of such Insects, and Minims of Nature, as are scarce visi∣ble to Eyes of the clearest Discernment.

But, when God comes toward Home, if the Phrase may be allowed; when he impresses on intelligent Spirits a nearer Resemblance of himself, and imparts to them, also, a Perception and Relish of the Beauty, with which he has inform'd them,

he then delights to behold, and will eter∣nally delight to behold his Image, so fair∣ly reflected by such a living Mirror. Yet, still, they are no other than his own Beauties that he beholds in his Works; for, his Omnipotence can impress, but cannot possibly detach a single Grace from himself.

I am not quite singular in this Opinion. I have somewhere read the following Stanza.

'Tis Goodness forms the Beauty of the Face, The Line of Virtue is the Line of Grace.

Here is also a little Poem, lately pub∣lished on a Lady, who was beholden to the Graces of her Mind alone for all the Attractions of her Person and Countenance.

What is Beauty? is it Form, Proportion, Colours pale or warm? Or is it, as by some defin'd, A Creature of the Lover's Mind?

No — It is internal Grace Pregnant in the Form and Face; The Sentiment that's hear'd, and seen, In Act, and Manners, Voice, and Mein; It is the Soul's caelestial Ray, Breaking through the Veil of Clay; 'Tis the Godhead, in the Heart, Touching each external Part;

Wrapt in Matter, else too bright For our Sense, and for our Sight. BEAUTY (Envy be thou dumb) Is DIVINITY in —

Here we reach at the Nature of that Enchantment, or Magnetism, with which some Persons are so powerfully indued, as to engage the Liking of all who barely be∣hold them; an Enchantment often attrac∣tive of Friendship, Affection, Passion, to Tenderness, Languishment, Pain, Sick∣ness, and Death.

Here also we discover why the Bliss, which we reach after, eludes our Grasp; why it vanishes, as it were, in the Mo∣ment of Enjoyment, yet still continues to fascinate and attract as before; forasmuch as the BEAUTY, after which we sigh, is not essentially in the Mirror where we be∣hold its Similitude. Thus, Ixion is said to have clasped a Cloud, without reflecting that it was but a bare Resemblance of the real Divinity who had excited his Passion.

This will at once account for all the won∣derful Effects of Beauty. For, if nothing but GOD is lovely, if nothing else can be beloved; he is himself the universal and irresistable Magnet, that draws all intelli∣gent and affectionate Beings, through the Medium of Creatures, to the Graces of

their Creator; till the Veil shall finally be taken away, and that he himself shall ap∣pear, in his eternal, unclouded and un∣speakable Beauty, infinitely lovely and in∣finitely beloved.

But, I have out talked my Time, says Mr. Fenton, rising, and looking at his Watch. I am engaged for an Hour or two above Street, and wish ye a good Evening.

While Mr. Fenton was abroad. Ned, who would not willingly have exchanged his Unluckiness for the Heirship of an Es∣tate, happened to take a little Ramble through the Town. He held a Stick, to the End of which he had a long Ferule of hollow Tin, which he could take off at Pleasure; and, from the Extremity of the Ferule, there arose a small collateral Pipe, in an Angle of about forty five Degrees. He had filled this Ferule with Puddle∣water; which, by a sudden Pressure of the Stick, he could squirt out, to double the Height of his own Stature.

On his Return, he saw an an elderly Gentleman advancing, whose Shadow, be∣ing lengthened by the declining Sun, at∣tended, with a slow and stately Motion. As Ned approached, he exclaimed, with a

well counterfeited Fear, look, look! what's that behind you? take Care of yourself, Sir, for Heaven's sake, take Care!

The Gentleman, alarmed hereat, in∣stantly started, turned pale, and looked terrified behind him, and on either Side; when Ned, recovering his Countenance, said, O Sir, I beg Pardon, I believe it's nothing but your Shadow. What Sirrah, cried the Gentleman, in a Tone highly exasperated, have you learned no better Manners than to banter your Superiors? and then, lifting a Kane Switch, he gave our merry Companion a few smart Strokes across the Shoulders.

Friend.

This, I presume, must be some very respectable Personage, some extraor∣dinary Favourite of yours; since, within a few Lines you stile him, three or four Times, by your most venerable of all Titles, the Title of a Gentleman.

Author.

Sir, I would not hold three Words of Conversation with any Man who did not deserve the Appellation of Gentle∣man, by many Degrees, better than this Man does.

Fr.

Why then do you write or speak with such acknowledged Impropriety?

Aut.

I think for myself, but I speak for the People. I may think as I please, for I understand my own Thoughts; but, would I be understood when I speak to o∣thers also, I must speak with the People, I must speak in common Terms according to their common or general Acceptation.

There is no Term, in our Language, more common than that of Gentleman; and, whenever it is heard, all agree in the general Idea of a Man some way elevated above the Vulgar. Yet, perhaps no two, living, are precisely agreed, respecting the Qualities they think requisite for consti∣tuting this Character. When we hear the Epithets of a fine Gentleman, a pretty Gen∣tleman, much of a Gentleman, Gentlemanlike, something of a Gentleman, nothing of a Gen∣tleman, and so forth; all these different Appellations must intend a Peculiarity an∣nexed to the Ideas of those who express them; though no two of them, as I said, may agree in the constituent Qualities of the Character they have formed in their own Mind.

There have been Ladies who deemed a Bag-Wig, tasseld Waistcoat, new fashioned

Snuff-Box, and Sword-Knot, very capital Ingredients in the Composition of — a Gen∣tleman.

A certain easy Impudence acquired by low People, by casually being conversant in high Life, has pass'd a Man current thro' many Companies for — a Gentleman.

In the Country a laced Hat and long Whip makes — a Gentleman.

In Taverns and in Brothels, he who is the most of a Bully is the most of — a Gentleman.

With Heralds, every Esquire is, indis∣putably, — a Gentleman.

And the Highway Man, in his Manner of taking your Purse; and your Friend, in his Manner of debauching your Wife, may however be allowed to have — much of the Gentleman.

Fr.

As you say, my Friend, our Ideas of this Matter are very various and ad∣verse. In our own Minds, perhaps, they are also indetermined; and I question if any Man has formed, to himself, a Con∣ception of this Character with sufficient

Precision. Pray — was there any such Character among the Philosophers?

Aut.

Plato, among the Philosophers, was the most of a Man of Fashion; and therefore allowed, at the Court of Syracuse, to be — the most of a Gentleman.

But seriously, I apprehend that this Cha∣racter is pretty much upon the Modern. In all ancient or dead Languages we have no Term, any way adequate, whereby we may express it. In the Habits, Manners, and Characters, of old Sparta and old Rome, we find an Antipathy to all the Ele∣ments of modern Gentility. Among those rude and unpolished People, you read of Philosophers, of Orators, Patriots, He∣roes, and Demigods; but you never hear of any Character so elegant as that of — a pretty Gentleman.

When those Nations, however, became refined into what their Ancestors would have called Corruption. When Luxury introduced, and Fashion gave a Sanction to certain Sciences, which Cynics would have branded with the illmannered Ap∣pellations of Debauchery, Drunkenness, Whoredom, Gambling, Cheating, Lying, &c. the Practitioners assumed the new Ti∣tle of Gentlemen, till such Gentlemen became as plenteous as Stars in the Milky-Way,

and lost Distinction merely by the Con∣fluence of their Lustre.

Wherefore, as the said Qualities were found to be of ready Acquisition, and of easy Descent to the Populace from their Betters, Ambition judg'd it necessary to add further Marks and Criterions, for se∣vering the general Herd from the nobler Species — of Gentlemen.

Accordingly, if the Commonalty were observed to have a Propensity to Religion; their Superiors affected a Disdain of such vulgar Prejudices; and a Freedom that cast off the Restraints of Morality, and a Cou∣rage that spurned at the Fear of a God, were accounted the distinguishing Charac∣teristics of — a Gentleman.

If the Populace, as in China, were in∣dustrious and ingenious, the Grandees, by the Length of their Nails and the cramping of their Limbs, gave Evidence that true Dignity was above Labour or Utility, and that to be born to no End was the Prero∣gative — of a Gentleman.

If the common Sort, by their Conduct, declare a Respect for the Institutions of civil Society and good Government; their Betters despise such pusillanimous Confor∣mity, and the Magistrates pay becoming

Regard to the Distinction, and allow of the superior Liberties and Privileges — of a Gentleman.

If the lower Set shew a Sense of Com∣mon-Honesty and Common-Order; those, who would figure in the World, think it incumbent to demonstrate that Compla∣cence to Inferiors, common Manners, com∣mon Equity, or any Thing common is quite beneath the Attention or Sphere — of a Gentleman.

Now, as Underlings are ever ambiti∣ous of imitating and usurping the Man∣ners of their Superiors; and as this State of Mortality is incident to perpetual Change and Revolution; it may happen that when the Populace, by encroaching on the Pro∣vince of Gentility, have arrived to their ne plus ultra of Insolence, Debaucherry, Ir∣religion, &c. the Gentry, in order to be again distinguished, may assume the Station that their Inferiors had forsaken, and, however ridiculous the Supposition may appear at present, Humanity, Equity, Utility, Compla∣cence, and Piety may, in Time, come to be the distinguishing Characteristics — of a Gentleman.

Fr.

From what you have said, it ap∣pears that the most general Idea, which People have formed of a Gentleman, is

that of a Person of Fortune, above the Vulgar, and embellished by Manners that are fashionable in high Life. In this Case, Fortune and Fashion are the two constituent Ingredients in the Composition of modern Gentlemen; for, whatever the Fashion may be, whether moral or immoral, for or a∣gainst Reason, right or wrong, it is e∣qually the Duty of a Gentleman to con∣form.

Aut.

And yet, I apprehend that true Gentility is altogether independent of For∣tune or Fashion, of Time, Customs, or Opinions of any Kind. The very same Qualities that constituted a Gentleman, in the first Age of the World, are perma∣nently, invariably, and indispensably ne∣cessary to the Constitution of the same Character, to the End of Time.

Fr.

By what you say, I perceive that we have not yet touch'd on your most reverable of all Characters. I am quite impatient to hear your Definition, or rather Description of your favourite Gentleman.

Aut.

The very first Time you tire, I will indulge you, if you desire it.