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Fame is as natural a follower of merit, as a shadow is of a body. It is true, when crowds press upon you, this shadow cannot be seen, but when they separate. from around you, it will again appear. The lazy, the idle, and the froward, are the persons who are most pleased with the little tales which pass about the town to the disadvantage of the rest of the world. Were it not for the pleasure of speaking ill, there are numbers of people who are too lazy to go out of their own houses, and too ill-natured to open their lips in conversation. It was not a little diverting the other day to observe a lady reading a post-letter, and at these words, "After all her airs, he has heard some story or other, and the match is broke off," give orders in the midst of her reading, Put to the horses. That a young woman of merit has missed an advantageous settlement, was news not to be delayed, lest somebody else should have given her malicious acquaintance that satisfaction before her. The unwillingness to receive good tidings is a quality as inseparable from a scandalbearer, as the readiness to divulge bad. But, alas, how wretchedly low and contemptible is that state of mind, that cannot be pleased but by what is the subject of lamentation. This temper has ever been in the highest degree odious to gallant spirits. The Persian soldier, who was heard reviling Alexander the Great, was well admonished by his officer: "Sir, you are paid to fight against Alexander, and not to rail at him."

Cicero in one of his pleadings, defending his client from general scandal, says very handsomely, and with much reason, "There are many who have particular engagements to the prosecutor: there are many who are known to have ill-will to him for whom I appear; there are many who are naturally addicted to defamation, and envious of any good to any man, who may have contributed to spread reports of this kind: for nothing is so swift as scandal, nothing is more easily sent abroad, nothing received with more wel

come, nothing diffuses itself so universally. I shall not desire, that if any report to our disadvantage has any ground for it, you would overlook or extenuate it: but if there be any thing advanced without a person who can say whence he had it, or which is attested by one who forgot who told him it, or who had it from one of so little consideration that he did not then think it worth his notice, all such testimonies as these, I know, you will think too slight to have any credit against the innocence and honour of your fellow-citizen." When an ill report is traced, it very often vanishes among such as the orator has bere recited. And how despicable a creature must that be, who is in pain for what passes among so frivolous a people? There is a town in Warwickshire of good note, and formerly pretty famous for much animosity and dis sention, the chief families of which have now turned all their whispers, backbitings, envies, and private malices, into mirth and entertainment, by means of a peevish old gentlewoman, known by the title of the Lady Bluemantle. This heroine had for many years together outdone the whole sisterhood of gossips, in invention, quick utterance, and unprovoked malice. This good body is of a lasting constitution, though extremely decayed in her eyes, and decrepit in her feet. The two circumstances of being always at home from her lameness, and very attentive from her blindness, make her lodgings the receptacle of all that passes in town, good or bad; but for the latter, she seems to have the better memory. There is another thing to be noted of her, which is, that as it is usual with old people, she has a livelier memory of things which passed when she was very young, than of late years. Add to all this, that she does not only not love any body, but she hates every body. The statue in Rome does not serve to vent malice half so well, as this old lady does to disappoint it. She does not know the author of any thing that is told her, but can readily repeat the matter itself; therefore, though she exposes all

the whole town, she offends no one body in it. She is so exquisitely restless and peevish, that she quarrels with all about her, and sometimes in a freak will instantly change her habitation. To indulge this humour, she is led about the grounds belonging to the same house she is in, and the persons to whom she is to remove, being in the plot, and ready to receive her at her own chamber again. At stated times, the gentlewoman at whose house she supposes she is at the time, is sent for to quarrel with, according to her common custom: when they have a mind to drive the jest, she is immediately urged to that degree, that she will board in a family with which she has never yet been; and away she will go this instant, and tell them all that the rest have been saying of them. By this means she has been an inhabitant of every house in the place without stirring from the same habitation; and the many stories which every body furnishes her with to favour that deceit, make her the general intelligencer of the town of all that can be said by one woman against another. Thus groundless stories die away, and sometimes truths are smothered under the general word: when they have a mind to discountenance a thing, Oh! that is in my Lady Bluemantle's memoirs.

Whoever receives impressions to the disadvantage of others without examination, is to be had in no other credit for intelligence than this good Lady Bluemantle, who is subjected to have her ears imposed upon for want of other helps to better information. Add to this, that other scandal-bearers suspend the use of these faculties which she has lost, rather than apply them to do justice to their neighbours; and I think, for the service of my fair readers, to acquaint them, that there is a voluntary Lady Bluemantle at every visit in town.

T.

MESSIAH.

A SACRED ECLOGUE, COMPOSED OF SEVERAL PASSAGES OF ISAIAH THE PROPHET.

Aggredere, O magnos, aderit jam tempus, ho

nores.

VIRG. Ecl. iv. ver. 48.

Mature in years, to ready honours move.

DRYDEN.

Written in imitation of Virgil's Pollio.

YE nymphs of Solyma! begin the song,

To heav'nly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pindus, and th' Aonian maids,
Delight no more-O thou my voice inspire,
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!
Rapt into future times, the bard begun,
A virgin shall conceive, a virgin bear a son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies*.
Th' ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic dove.
Ye heav'ns! froin high the dewy nectar pourt,
And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r!
The sick and weak, the healing plant shall aid ‡,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail;
Returning justice lift aloft her scales;

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-rob'd innocence from heav'n descend.
Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn!
Oh, spring to light, auspicious Babe be born!

Isa. cap. 11. v. 1.
Cap. 25. v. 4.

+ Cap. 45. v. 8.
Cap. 9. v. 7.

See nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring, With all the incense of the breathing spring *: See lofty Lebanon his head advance,

See nodding forests on the mountains dance; See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise, And Carmel's flow'ry top perfumes the skies! Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheerst; Prepare the way! a God, a God appears! A God! a God! the vocal hills reply, The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity. Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies! Sink down ye mountains, and ye vallies rise! With heads declin'd, ye cedars, homage pay! Be smooth ye rocks, ye rapid floods give way! The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold: Hear him ye deaf, and all ye blind beholdt! He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day. 'Tis he th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear, And bid new music charm th' unfolding ear; The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, And leap exulting like the bounding roe. No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear, From ev'ry face he wipes off ev'ry tear. In adamantine chains shall death be bound §, And hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound. As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, Seeks freshest pastures and the purest air, Explores the lost, the wand'ring sheep directs, By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; The tender lambs he raises in his arms, Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms: Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage, The promis'd father of the future age ¶.

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