he who is revelling every night in the arms of a common strumpet (though blessed with an indulgent wife), when he ought to be minding his business, will never thrive in this world. He will find himself soon mistaken, his finances decrease, his friends shun him, customers fall off, and himself thrown into a gaol. I would earnestly recommend this adage to every mechanic in London, "Keep your shop, and your shop will keep you. A strict observance of these words will, I am sure, in time gain them estates. Industry is the road to wealth, and honesty to happiness; and he who strenuously endeavours to pursue them both may never fear the critic's lash or the sharp cries of penury and want. SABINUS AND OLINDA. IN a fair, rich, and flourishing country, whose cliffs are washed by the German ocean, lived Sabinus, a youth formed by nature to make a conquest wherever he thought proper; but the constancy of his disposition fixed him only with Olinda. He was indeed superior to her in fortune; but that defect on her side was so amply supplied by her merit, that none was thought more worthy of his regards than she. He loved her he was beloved by her; and in a short time, by joining hands publicly, they avowed the union of their hearts. But, alas! none, however fortunate, however happy, are exempt from the shafts of envy and the malignant effects of ungoverned appetite. How unsafe, how detestable, are they who have this fury for their guide! How certainly will it lead them from themselves, and plunge them in errors they would have shuddered at, even in apprehension! Ariana, a lady of many amiable qualities, very nearly allied to Sabinus, and highly esteemed by him, imagined herself slighted and injuriously treated since his marriage with Olinda. By incautiously suffering this jealousy to corrode in her breast, she began to give a loose to passion; she forgot those many virtues for which she had been so long and so justly applauded. Causeless suspicion and mistaken resent ment betrayed her into all the gloom of Content; she sighed without ceasing; ppiness of others gave her intolerable pain; she thought of nothing but reve How unlike what she was, the cheeri the prudent, the compassionate Ariana She continually laboured to disturb union so firmly, so affectionately four.de and planned every scheme which s thought most likely to disturb it. Fortune seemed willing to promotel unjust intentions: the circumstances Sabinus had been long embarrassed by tedious lawsuit, and the court determin the cause unexpectedly in favour of opponent, it sank his fortune to the low pitch of penury from the highest affluen From the nearness of relationship, Satta expected from Ariana those assistances. present situation required; but she w insensible to all his entreaties and the i tice of every remonstrance, unless he separated from Olinda, whom she regar with detestation. Upon a complica with her desires in this respect, she pa mised that her fortune, her interest, a her all should be at his command. nus was shocked at the proposal; he lov his wife with inexpressible tenderness a refused those offers with indignation wa were to be purchased at so high a pro Ariana was no less displeased to fi offers rejected, and gave a loose that warmth which she had long voured to suppress. Reproach ge produces recrimination; the quarrel to such a height, that Sabinus w marked for destruction, and the very he day, upon the strength of an old f debt, he was sent to gaol, with no h Olinda to comfort him in his mis In this mansion of distress they together with resignation, and even w comfort. She provided the frugal and he read to her while employed a little offices of domestic concern. Th fellow-prisoners admired their corta ment, and whenever they had a des relaxing into mirth, and enjoying th little comforts that a prison affords, nus and Olinda were sure to be of party. Instead of reproaching each of for their mutual wretchedness, they lightened it, by bearing each a shar the load imposed by Providence. W ever Sabinus showed the least concert his dear partner's account, she conju n by the love he bore her, by those nder ties which now united them for er, not to discompose himself; that so ng as his affection lasted, she defied all ills of fortune and every loss of fame friendship; that nothing could make er miserable but his seeming to want #ppiness; nothing pleased but his symthising with her pleasure. A continuace in prison soon robbed them of the ale they had left, and famine began to ake its horrid appearance; yet still was either found to murmur: they both oked upon their little boy, who, insenble of their or his own distress, was haying about the room, with inexpressible silent anguish, when a messenger came inform them that Ariana was dead, and ant her will in favour of a very distant dation, who was now in another country, ight easily be procured and burnt, in hich case all her large fortune would wert to him, as being the next heir at A proposal of so base a nature filled runhappy couple with horror; they tdered the messenger immediately out Ithe room, and, falling upon each other's eck, indulged an agony of sorrow, for ow even all hopes of relief were banished. he messenger who made the proposal, wever, was only a spy sent by Ariana sound the dispositions of a man she at ace loved and persecuted. This lady, ough warped by wrong passions, was aturally kind, judicious, and friendly. be found that all her attempts to shake e constancy or the integrity of Sabinus ere ineffectual; she had therefore begun reflect, and to wonder how she could long and so unprovoked injure such common fortitude and affection. She had, from the next room, herself eard the reception given to the messenger, ad could not avoid feeling all the force superior virtue: she therefore reassumed er former goodness of heart; she came to the room with tears in her eyes, and eknowledged the severity of her former eatment. She bestowed her first care providing them all the necessary supies, and acknowledged them as the most eserving heirs of her fortune. From this oment Sabinus enjoyed an uninterrupted happiness with Olinda, and both were happy in the friendship and assistance of Ariana, who, dying soon after, left them in possession of a large estate, and in her last moments confessed, that virtue was the only path to true glory; and that, however innocence may for a time be depressed, a steady perseverance will in time lead it to a certain victory. One THE SENTIMENTS OF A FRENCHMAN ON THE TEMPER OF THE ENGLISH. NOTHING is so uncommon among the English as that easy affability, that instant method of acquaintance, or that cheerfulness of disposition, which make in France the charm of every society. Yet in this gloomy reserve they seem to pride themselves, and think themselves less happy if obliged to be more social. may assert, without wronging them, that they do not study the method of going through life with pleasure and tranquillity like the French. Might not this be a proof that they are not so much philosophers as they imagine? Philosophy is no more than the art of making ourselves happy; that is, of seeking pleasure in regularity, and reconciling what we owe to society with what is due to ourselves. This cheerfulness, which is the cha racteristic of our nation, in the eye of an Englishman passes almost for folly. But is their gloominess a greater mark of their wisdom? and, folly against folly, is not the most cheerful sort the best? If our gaiety makes them sad, they ought not to find it strange if their seriousness makes us laugh. As this disposition to levity is not familiar to them, and as they look on everything as a fault which they do not find at home, the English who live among us are hurt by it. Several of their authors reproach us with it as a vice, or at least as a ridicule. Mr. Addison styles us a comic nation. In my opinion, it is not acting the philosopher on this point, to regard as a fault that quality which contributes most to the pleasure of society and happiness of life. Plato, convinced that whatever makes men happier makes them better, advises to neglect nothing that may excite and convert to an early habit this sense of joy in children. Seneca places it in the first rank of good things. Certain it is, at least, that gaiety may be a concomitant of all sorts of virtue, but that there are some vices with which it is incompatible. As to him who laughs at everything, and him who laughs at nothing, neither of them has sound judgment. All the difference I find between them is, that the last is constantly the most unhappy. Those who speak against cheerfulness prove nothing else but that they were born melancholic, and that, in their hearts, they rather envy than condemn that levity they affect to despise. The Spectator, whose constant object was the good of mankind in general, and of his own nation in particular, should, according to his own principles, place cheerfulness among the most desirable qualities; and, probably, whenever he contradicts himself in this particular, it is only to conform to the tempers of the people whom he addresses. He asserts that gaiety is one great obstacle to the prudent conduct of women. But are those of a melancholy temper, as the English women generally are, less subject to the foibles of love? I am acquainted with some doctors in this science, to whose judgment I would more willingly refer than to his. And perhaps, in reality, persons naturally of a gay temper are too easily taken off by different objects to give themselves up to all the excesses of this passion. Mr. Hobbes, a celebrated philosopher of his nation, maintains that laughing. proceeds from our pride alone. This is only a paradox, if asserted of laughing in general, and only argues that misanthropical disposition for which he was remarkable. To bring the causes he assigns for laughing under suspicion it is sufficient to remark, that proud people are commonly those who laugh least. Gravity is the inseparable companion of pride. To say that a man is vain, because the humour of a writer, or the buffooneries of harlequin, excite his laughter, would vancing a great absurdity. We should distinguish between laughter spired by joy and that which arises fr mockery. The malicious sneer is imp perly called laughter. It must be own that pride is the parent of such laugh as this: but this is, in itself, vicio whereas the other sort has nothing its principles or effects that deserves a demnation. We find this amiable others, and is it unhappiness to fee disposition towards it in ourselves? When I see an Englishman laugh fancy I rather see him hunting after, than having caught it; and this is m particularly remarkable in their wom whose tempers are inclined to melancho A laugh leaves no more traces on the countenance than a flash of lightning the face of the heavens. The most lang ing air is instantly succeeded by the m gloomy. One would be apt to think th their souls open with difficulty to joy, at least, that joy is not pleased with i habitation there. In regard to fine raillery, it must allowed that it is not natural to the E lish, and, therefore, those who endeavo at it make but an ill figure. Some their authors have candidly confesse that pleasantry is quite foreign to the character; but, according to the reas they give, they lose nothing by this c fession. Bishop Sprat gives the followi one: "The English," says he, "have to much bravery to submit to be deride and too much virtue and honour to others." No. VIII.-Saturday, November 24, 19 ON DECEIT AND FALSEHOOD THE following account is so judicios conceived, that I am convinced the rea will be more pleased with it than w anything of mine; so I shall make apology for this new publication: To the Author of the Bee. SIR,-Deceit and falsehood have been an overmatch for truth, and follow and admired by the majority of manki If we inquire after the reason of this, shall find it in our own imaginatio which are amused and entertained w the perpetual novelty and variety tion affords, but find no manner of deght in the uniform simplicity of homely th, which still sues them under the me appearance. He, therefore, that would gain our arts, must make his court to our fancy, ch, being sovereign controller of the ssions, lets them loose, and inflames em more or less, in proportion to the ree and efficacy of the first cause, which ever the more powerful the more new Thus, in mathematical demonstraas themselves, though they seem to at pure truth and instruction, and to addressed to our reason alone, yet I ink it is pretty plain, that our undernding is only made a drudge to gratify invention and curiosity, and we are sed, not so much because our disseries are certain, as because they are W. I do not deny but the world is still Eased with things that pleased it many es ago, but it should at the same time considered, that man is naturally so ach a logician, as to distinguish between atters that are plain and easy, and others at are hard and inconceivable. What #understand we overlook and despise, d what we know nothing of we hug d delight in. Thus there are such ings as perpetual novelties; for we are eased no longer than we are amazed, nothing so much contents us as that ich confounds us. This weakness in human nature gave tasion to a party of men to make such inful markets as they have done of our edulity. All objects and facts whatEr now ceased to be what they had been ever before, and received what make meaning it was found convenient to upon them: what people eat, and ank, and saw, was not what they eat, drank, and saw, but something farther, hich they were fond of because they tre ignorant of it. In short, nothing is itself, but something beyond itself; d by these artifices and amusements the ds of the world were so turned and oxicated, that at last there was scarce ound set of brains left in it. already deluded that there was an actual society and communion between human creatures and spiritual demons. And when they had thus put people into the power and clutches of the devil, none but they alone could have either skill or strength to bring the prisoners back again. But so far did they carry this dreadful drollery, and so fond were they of it, that to maintain it and themselves in profitable repute they literally sacrificed for it, and made impious victims of, numberless old women and other miserable persons, who either through ignorance could not say what they were bid to say, or through madness said what they should not have said. Fear and stupidity made them incapable of defending themselves, and frenzy and infatuation made them confess guilty impossibilities, which produced cruel sentences, and then inhuman executions. Some of these wretched mortals, finding themselves either hateful or terrible to all, and befriended by none, and perhaps wanting the common necessaries of life, came at last to abhor themselves as much as they were abhorred by others, and grew willing to be burned or hanged out of a world which was no other to them than a scene of persecution and anguish. Others of strong imaginations and little understandings were, by positive and repeated charges against them of committing mischievous and supernatural facts and villanies, deluded to judge of themselves by the judgment of their enemies, whose weakness or malice prompted them to be accusers. And many have been condemned as witches and dealers with the devil for no other reason but their know. ing more than those who accused, tried, and passed sentence upon them. In these cases credulity is a much greater error than infidelity, and it is safer to believe nothing than too much. A man that believes little or nothing of witchcraft will destroy nobody for being under the imputation of it; and so far he certainly acts with humanity to others and safety to himself; but he that credits all or too much, upon that article, is obliged, if he acts consistently with his In this state of giddiness and infatuation persuasion, to kill all those whom he takes was no very hard task to persuade the ❘ to be the killers of mankind; and such are witches. It would be a jest and a contradiction to say that he is for sparing them who are harmless of that tribe, since the received notion of their supposed contract with the devil implies, that they are engaged, by covenant and inclination, to do all the mischief they possibly can. I have heard many stories of witches, and read many accusations against them; but I do not remember any that would have induced me to have consigned over to the halter or the flame any of those deplorable wretches, who, as they share our likeness and nature, ought to share our compassion, as persons cruelly accused of impossibilities. But we love to delude ourselves, and often fancy or forge an effect, and then set ourselves as gravely as ridiculously to find out the cause. Thus, for example, when a dream or the hyp has given us false terrors or imaginary pains, we immediately conclude that the infernal tyrant owes us a spite, and inflicts his wrath and stripes upon us by the hands of some of his sworn servants among us. For this end an old woman is promoted to a seat in | Satan's privy-council, and appointed his executioner in chief within her district. So ready and civil are we to allow the devil the dominion over us, and even to provide him with butchers and hangmen of our own make and nature. I have often wondered why we did not, in choosing our proper officers for Beelzebub, lay the lot rather upon men than women, the former being more bold and robust, and more equal to that bloody service; but, upon inquiry, I find it has been so ordered for two reasons: first, the men, having the whole direction of this affair, are wise enough to slip their own necks out of the collar; and, secondly, an old woman is grown by custom the most avoided and most unpitied creature under the sun, the very name carrying contempt and satire in it. And so far, indeed, we pay but an uncourtly sort of respect to Satan, in sacrificing to him nothing but the dry sticks of human nature. We have a wondering quality within which finds huge gratification when we trange feats done, and cannot at the ne see the doer or the cause. Such actions are sure to be attributed to se witch or demon; for if we come to they are slily performed by artists of own species, and by causes purely nate our delight dies with our amazement. It is, therefore, one of the most untha ful offices in the world, to go abou expose the mistaken notions of witche and spirits; it is robbing mankind d valuable imagination, and of the privil of being deceived. Those who at time undertook the task have always with rough treatment and ill language their pains, and seldom escaped the putation of atheism, because they wo not allow the devil to be too powerful the Almighty. For my part, I am much a heretic as to believe that G Almighty, and not the devil, governs i world. If we inquire what are the com marks and symptoms by which wi are discovered to be such, we shall how reasonably and mercifully those pe creatures were burned and hanged unhappily fell under that name. In the first place, the old woman be prodigiously ugly; her eyes hollow red, her face shrivelled; she goes de and her voice trembles. It frecu happens that this rueful figure frighte a child into the palpitation of the hear home he runs, and tells his mamma th Goody Such-a-one looked at him, acil is very ill. The good woman cries o her dear baby is bewitched, and serà f the parson and the constable. It is moreover necessary that she 1 very poor. It is true her master, Sa has mines and hidden treasures in I gift; but no matter, she is, for all thi very poor, and lives on alms. She to Sisly the cook-maid for a dish of be or the heel of a loaf, and Sisly denies th to her. The old woman goes away tering, and perhaps in less than a non time Sisly hears the voice of a cat, strains her ankles, which are certain that she is bewitched. A farmer sees his cattle die of the n rain, and his sheep of the rot, and Goody is forced to be the cause of death, because she was seen talking herself the evening before such a |