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such, I am told, as have their minds worst dressed and least ornamented. Besides, the ladies generally find something in the bodily mirror which pleases them; but your mental looking-glass is one of such just reflection, that, if my ladies should view themselves in it, I am afraid they would be so dissatisfied and displeased with seeing their minds so unadorned as they really are, that they would go away in very bad humour, and without laying out a sixpence in ornaments for their persons.

I must, therefore, before I venture upon this step, consider farther of it, and have the opinion of my friends on the matter. I have a good mind, Sir, to consult yourself upon it. I think so highly of you, that I scruple not to abide by your determination. Be so good, therefore, as to tell me in your answer, whether you think I ought to venture to take in your MIRROR to lie on my counter.

Q

I am, SIR,

Your very humble servant,

LETITIA LAPPET.

N° 90. SATURDAY, MARCH 18, 1780.

Verum etiam amicum qui intuetur tanquam exemplar aliquod intuetur sui. Quocirca et absentes adsunt, et egentes abundant, et imbecilles valent, et, quod difficilius dictu est, mortui vivunt; tantus eos bonos, memoria, desiderium prosequitur amicorum. Ex quo illorum beata mors videtur, borum vita laudabilis.

CICERO.

LIFE,' says Sir William Temple, is like wine; * who would drink it pure, must not draw it to the dregs.' Such, I confess, has ever been my opinion, although, in reckoning up the good things of this world, long life is commonly estimated as one of its chief blessings.

I am ready to allow, that an old man, looking back on a well-spent life, in which he finds nothing to regret, and nothing to be ashamed of, and waiting with dignity for that event which is to put a period to his existence, is one of the most venerable and respectable of all objects. The idea that he is soon to quit the busy scenes of life throws a tenderness around him, similar to that we feel in bidding adieu to a friend who is to leave us for a long time.

There is, however, something wonderfully unpleasant in the decay of the powers of mind and body, the necessary consequence of extreme old age. To those around them, particularly to those with whom they are more nearly connected, the imbecility which almost always attends persons in a very advanced period of life, affords one of the most affecting spectacles that can well be conceived. It is a situation truly interesting; and, while it teaches us

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to make every allowance for the weakness disposes us, by every attention, by every observance, to smooth the steps of the age remove, as much as possible, those clouds t on the evening of life.

It must, at the same time, be admitted, t are men who live to a very great age, in the session of their faculties, and, what is st with all the affections of the mind alive and u Yet, even where this is the case, I cannot, consider long life as an object much t

There is one circumstance, which with me sufficient to decide the question. If there thing that can compensate the unavoidable ev which this life is attended, and the numberle mities to which mankind are subject, it is th sure arising from the society of those we l esteem. Friendship is the cordial of life every one who arrives at extreme old age, mus his account with surviving the greater part, p the whole, of his friends. He must see the from him by degrees, while he is left alone, and unsupported, like a leafless trunk, expo every storm and shrinking from every blast.

I have been led to these reflections by a lately sustained in the sudden and unlook death of a friend, to whom, from my earliest I had been attached by every tie of the most affection. Such was the confidence that sub between us, that, in his bosom, I was wont to every thought of my mind, and every weakn my heart. In framing him, nature seemed to thrown together a variety of opposite qua which happily tempering each other, formed o the most engaging characters I have ever kn An elevation of mind, a manly firmness, a Ca

sense of honour, accompanied with a bewitching sweetness, proceeding from the most delicate attention to the situation and the feelings of others. In his manners simple and unassuming; in the company of strangers modest to a degree of bashfulness; yet possessing a fund of knowledge, and an extent of ability, which might have adorned the most exalted station. But it was in the social circle of his friends that he appeared to the highest advantage; there the native benignity of his soul diffused, as it were, a kindly influence on all around him, while his conversation never failed at once to amuse and to instruct.

Not many months ago I paid him a visit at his seat in a remote part of the kingdom. I found him engaged in embellishing a place, of which I have often heard him talk with rapture, and the beauties of which I found his partiality had not exaggerated. He shewed me all the improvements he had made, and pointed out those he meant to make. He told me all his schemes and all his projects. And while I live, I must ever retain a warm remembrance of the pleasure I then enjoyed in his society.

The day I meant to set out on my return, he was seized with a slight indisposition, which he seemed to think somewhat serious; and, indeed, if he had a weakness, it consisted in rather too great anxiety with regard to his health. I remained with him till he thought himself almost perfectly recovered; and, in order to avoid the unpleasant ceremony of taking leave, I resolved to steal away early in the morning, before any of the family should be astir. About daybreak I got up, and let myself out. At the door I found an old and favourite dog of my friend's, who immediately came and fawned upon me. He walked with me through the park. At the gate he stopped, and looked up wishfully in my face; and, though I

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do not well know how to account for it, 1 that moment when I parted with the faithfu a degree of tenderness, joined with a melan pleasing that I had no inclination to check that frame of mind I walked on (for I had ord horses to wait me at the first stage) till I the summit of a hill, which I knew comman last view I should have of the habitation friend. I turned to look back on the del scene. As I looked, the idea of the owne full into my mind; and, while I contempla many virtues and numberless amiable qualities, gestion arose, if he should be cut off, what a parable loss it would be to his family, to his fr and to society. In vain I endeavoured to c this melancholy forboding, by reflecting on th common vigour of his constitution, and the prospect it afforded of his enjoying many days. impression still recurred, and it was some con able time before I had strength of mind sufficie conquer it.

I had not been long at home when I receive counts of his being attacked by a violent disten and in a few days after I learned that it had pu end to his life.

This blow, for a time, unmanned me quite. E now, the chief consolation I find is in the society few chosen friends. Should they also be torn from the world would to me be as a desert; and, tho I should still endeavour to discharge my duty that station which Providence has assigned me in 1 I should never cease to look forward, not with impatience, to those peaceful mansions where weary are at rest, and where only we can hope meet again with those from whom we have be parted by the inexorable hand of death.

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