* something new, we are many times impatient • of staying long enough upon a question that « requires some time to resolve it; or, which is « worse, persuade ourselves that we are masters • of the subject before we are so, only to be at • the liberty of going upon a fresh scent: in Mr. · Locke's words, we see a little, presume a great « deal, and fo jump to the conclusión.

• A farther advantage of our inclination for « novelty, as at present circumstantiated, is, that sit annihilates all the boasted distinctions among o mankind. Look not up with envy to those « above thee! Sounding titles, stately buildings,

fine gardens, gilded chariots, rich equipages, what are they? They dazzle every one but the • poffeffor : to him that is accustomed to them - they are cheap and regardless things: they

supply him not with brighter images, or more < sublime satisfactions, than the plain man may • a great measure preserves it, in spite of all the « care of man to introduce artificial distinctions. No 627. Wednesday, December 1, 1714.

have, whose small estate will just enable him " to support the charge of a simple unencum" bered life. He enters heedless into his rooms 6 of state, as you or I do under our poor sheds. • The noble paintings and costly furniture are " lost on him; he sees them not: as how can it 6 be otherwise, when by custom a fabrick, in

finitely more grand and finished, that of the universe, stands unobserved by the inhabitants, " and the everlasting lamps of heaven are lighted • up in vain, for any notice that mortals.take of ç them! Thanks to indulgent nature, which not

only placed her children originally upon a level, but still, by the strength of this principle, in Аа 4

' a great

• To add no more-is not this fondness for < novelty, which makes us out of conceit with : * all we already have, a convincing proof of a

future state? Either man was made in vain, or " this is not the only world he was made for : • for there cannot be a greater initance of vanity 6 than that to which man is liable, to be deluded • from the cradle to the grave with fleeting

shadows of happiness. His pleasures, and those • not considerable neither, die in the poffeffion, • and fresh enjoyments do not rise fait enough 6 to fill up half his life with satisfaction. When • I see persons sick of themselves any longer

than they are called away by something that • is of force to chain down the present thought;

when I see them hurry from country to town, " and then from the town back again into the 5 country, continually shifting postures, and • placing life in all the different lights they can o think of; furely, say I to myself, life is vain,

and the man beyond expreffon fupid or preju. 6 diced, who from the vanity of life cannat gather " that he is designed for immortality.'*

* See Dr. Amory's preface to his edition of his uncle Ms. Grove's works, and the Biographia Britannica, Art, GROVE.

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Tantum inter densas umbrosa cacumina fagos
Afhdue veniebat; ibi bæi incondita folus
Montibus et sylvis studio jactabat inani.


THE following account, which came to my

1 hands some time ago, may be no disagreeable entertainment to luch of my readers as have tender hearts, and nothing to do.

• Mr. SPECTATOR, 6 A FRIEND of mine died of a fever last "A week, which he caught by walking • too late in a dewy evening amongst his reap« ers. I must inform you that his greatest plea• sure was in husbandry and gardening. He had • some humours which seemed inconsistent with • that good sense he was otherwise master of. • His uneasiness in the company of women was • very remarkable in a man of such perfect good 6 breeding; and his avoiding one particular walk

in his garden, where he had used to pass the greatest part of his time, raised abundance of

idle conjectures in the village where he lived. - Upon looking over his papers we found out the s reason, which he never intimated to his nearest • friends. He was, it seems, a passionate lover m in his youth, of which a large parcel of letters • he left behind him are a witness. I send you 6 a copy of the last he ever wrote upon that sub

• ject,

«ject, by which you will find that he concealed • the true name of his mistress under that of « Zelinda.

66 A LONG month's absence would be in“ A supportable to me, if the business I “ am employed in were not for the service of “ my Zelinda, and of such a nature as to place “ her every moment in my mind. I have fur" nished the house exactly according to your “ fancy, or, if you please, my own; for I “ have long since learned to like nothing but “ what you do. The apartment designed for “ your use is so exact a copy of that which you " live in, that I often think myself in your “ house when I step into it, but sigh when I so find it without its proper inhabitant. You 56 will have the most delicious prospect from " your closet window that England affords: I “ am sure I should think it so, if the landscape " that shews such variety did not at the same s time suggest to me the greatness of the space " that lies between us.

“ The gardens are laid out very beautifully ; “ I have dressed up every hedge in woodbines, 66 sprinkled bowers and arbours in every corner, 66 and made a little paradise round me; yet I am 66 still like the first man in his folitude, but 66 half bleft without a partner in my happiness. $ I have directed one walk to be made for two 56 persons, where I promise ten thousand fatis. so factions to myself in your conversation. I al" ready take my evening's turn in it, and have 56 worn a path upon the edge of this little alley, 56 while I foothed myself with the thought of “ your walking by my side. I have held many so imaginary discourses with you in this retire“ ment; and when I have been weary have 6 sat down with you in the midst of a row of 66 jessamines. The many expressions of joy and 66 rapture I use in these silent conversations have 66 made me for some time the talk of the parish; “ but a neighbouring young fellow, who makes “ love to the farmer's daughter, hath found me « out, and made my case known to the whole 66 neighbourhood.

56 wor!

" In planting of the fruit-trees I have not 5 forgot the peach you are so fond of. I have “ made a walk of elms along the river side, and “ intend to sow all the place about with cow

slips, which I hope you will like as well as so that I have heard you talk of by your father's 66 house in the country,

“Oh! Zelinda, what a scheme of delight “ have I drawn up in my imagination! What “ day-dreams do I indulge myself in! When 56 will the six weeks be at an end, that lie

between me and my promised happiness ! " How could you break off so abruptly in ' your last, and tell me you must go and dress “ for the play? If you loved as I do, you would “ find no more company in a crowd than I “ have in my folitude. I am, &c.

. On the back of this letter is written, in the • hand of the deceased, the following piece of history :

| 4: Mem.

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