with his own, will strike an impression which, in the course of intimacy, will rise into esteem. On the basis of a mutual esteem of this kind, real friendship is founded. It is that benevolent sentiment which springs up in our breasts at viewing good actions in others; it is that tribute of respect and admiration which carries its own proof, that we are actuated by the same generous motives, and it seldom fails of procuring us with others the same esteem and good will which we ourselves feel. The same virtue that we respect in others, will in ourselves be respected. Thus esteem unites in the close bonds of friendship. It is this which raises the human character so high above the level of the inferiour creation; it is the result of the proper exercise of those superiour intellects with which man is endowed, which teaches him to discrimi nate between the different motives that produce other's actions; and upon this observation is grounded that sentiment, which is of such great importance to the law of life, and which adds such a value to its enjoyments. And, but for this principle of humanity, what were the satisfaction of life? Were the favours that we mutually bestow on each other to be portioned out only according to the interest we have at stake, or the advantage accruing to ourselves from

conferring them, what confidence could we have in each other? What certain rule could be drawn to guard us against treachery? But it is the sentiment of friendship which interests us for the welfare of others, where we ourselves have not the least expectation of advantage, which makes us as sincere in promoting the success of our friend as our own, and which gives us the inclination not only of watching for his personal safety, but of apprizing him of his danger when he tends towards any particular vice, and, on the recurrence of the desire in him, to give it salutary checks, which each time will lessen its impulse, and perhaps at last entirely extinguish it.

A friend is our chief enjoyment in the days of prosperity, and in adversity our sweetest consolation.

ANALECTA....No. XIV.

UNDIQUE COLLATIS MEMBRIS,

ENGLISH OTISM.

Ir is something remarkable, that in other languages, the pronoun of the first person singular is usually written with a small letter: As, y Greek; ego, Latin; ic, Saxon; je, French; io,

Italian; yo, Spanish; eu, Portuguese; ich, German; ik, Dutch. The English are the only people, who have dignified the little hero with a capital.

Mattaire, in his English Grammar, printed in 1712, and some other writers, have used the small i; but it is not probable that this method will ever be generally adopted; for it may well be supposed that custom will retain its influence and authority in every iota, when pride sanctions its claim.

AN APOLOGUE;

WHICH undoubtedly, some of our readers have seen before, and which many more have not seen; which those, who are too busy may pass over without reading, if they please, and which those, who are very fastidious, will do well not to read.

A certain Swiss, who had heard how many of his countrymen had come to London poor, and returned into their own country rich, determined likewise to try his fortune; and as he understood success in that city frequently depended more upon a foreign name, or a quaint title, than merit, he had the precaution to pay attention to this circumstance; because, though in its own

nature insignificant, if not ridiculous, it was yet necessary. He had been premier cuisinier, or first cook to a French count, where he had got much honour, but little wages; he therefore determined to take a house in the city, keep an ordinary, and call it a Table d' Hote. To London, then, he comes, and puts his design in practice. All the world is informed that Monsieur de Tripot is become a traiteur, and keeps a Table d'Hote; and all the world hearing such a string of fine words, were curious to learn something more of the man. Accordingly, the first day his cloth was laid, a numerous set of customers came in; and, as London is fuller of strangers any other city of the world, he had guests of all nations. Our Swiss, who expected a good company, had provided plentifully there were roast and boiled, fish and flesh, wild fowl and tame, puddings and pies; nay, there were patés, ragouts, and olios, for the nicer palates; besides turtle-soup, and marrow-puddings, for the citi

than

zens.

Monsieur de Tripot, who had a laudable ambition to please, and was internally satisfied of the exertions he had made, came up when dinner was over, (for on this important day he forbore to sit at table himself) hoping to receive the thanks of his customers: and, indeed, it

must be owned they had all fed heartily; and some few shook him by the hand, and thanked him for his good dinner. The greater part, however, said nothing; as it is really some trouble to bestow praise, and one gets nothing by it. But there were others who were absolutely dissatisfied. A Tartar complained his favourite dish was not there, not so much as a rasher of mare's flesh to be had; an Arab murmured that there was no grilled locusts in the dessert; a Frenchman repeated Sacristii! Diable! and Sacre Dieu! with the utmost vehemence, because he could get no fricaseed frogs; and there was a vile Hottentot, who gave himself to all the devils of Teneriffe if there was a single eatable morsel on the table, not a bit of rawgut could he find ; there was, 'tis true, tripe and chitterlings, but they were cooked in such a cleanly way, they had lost all relish. Our good Swiss was at first a little mortified to meet dissatisfaction, when he had laboured so hard for praise; but a little experience convinced him this was a grievance to which, as long as he catered for the publick, he must ever be subject. However, it was some consolation to him, that their practice of coming to his house proved that they held his ordinary to be a good one.