part I

have endeavoured to illustrate and explain several things, that were obscure and only hinted at in the first.

Whilst I was forming this design, I found, on the one hand, that, as to myself, the easiest way of executing it, would be by dialogue; but I knew, on the other, that to discuss opinions, and manage controversies, it is counted the most unfair manner of writing. When

## partial men have a mind to demolish an adversary, and triumph over

him with little expence, it has long been a frequent practice to attack him with dialogues, in which the champion, who is to lose the battle, appears at the very beginning of the engagement, to be the victim that is to be sacrificed, and seldom makes a better figure than cocks on Shrove-Tuesday, that receive blows, but return none, and are visibly set up on purpose to be knocked down. That this is to be said against dialogues, is certainly true; but it is as true, that there is no other manner of writing, by which greater reputation has been obtained. Those, who have most excelled all others in it, were the two most famous authors of all antiquity, Plato and Cicero: the one wrote almost all his philosophical works in dialogues, and the other has left us nothing else. It is evident, then, that the fault of those, who have not succeeded in dialogues; was in the management, and not in the manner of writing; and that nothing but the ill use that has been made of it, could ever have brought it into disrepute. The reason why Plato preferred dialogues to any other manner of writing, he said, was, that things thereby might look, as if they were acted, rather than told: the same was afterwards given by Cicero in the same words, rendered into his own language. The greatest objection that in reality lies against it, is the difficulty there is in writing them well. The chief of Plato's interlocutors was always his master Socrates, who every where maintains his character with great dignity; but it would have been impossible to have made such an extraordinary person speak like himself on so many emergencies, if Plato had not been as great a man as Socrates.

Cicero, who studied nothing more than to imitate Plato, introduced in his dialogues some of the greatest men in Rome, his contemporaries, that were known to be of different opinions, and made them maintain and defend every one his own sentiments, as strenuously, and in as lively a manner, as they could possibly have done themselves; and in reading his dialogues a man may easily imagine himself to be in company with several learned men of different tastes and studies. But to do this, a man must have Cicero's capacity. Lucian likewise, and several others among the ancients, chose for their speakers, persons of known characters. That this interests and engages the reader more than strange names, is undeniable; but then, when the personages fall short of those characters, it plainly shows, that the author undertook what he was not able to execute. To avoid this inconveniency, most dialogue-writers among the moderns, have made use of fictitious names, which they either invented themselves or borrowed of others. These are, generally speaking, judicious compounds, taken from the Greek, that serve for short characters of the imaginary persons they are given to, denoting either the party they side with, or what it is they love or hate. But of all these happy compounds, there is not one that has appeared equally charming to so many authors of different views and talents, as Philalethes; a plain demonstration of the great regard mankind generally have to truth. There has not been a paper-war of note, these two hundred years, in which both parties, at one time or other, have not made use of this victorious champion; who, which side soever he has fought on, has hitherto, like Dryden's Almanzor, been conqueror, and constantly carried all before him. But, as by this means the event of the battle must always be known, as soon as the combatants are named, and before a blow is struck; and as all men are not equally peaceable in their dispositions, many readers have complained, that they had not sport enough for their money, and that knowing so much before hand, spoiled all their diversion. This humour having prevailed for some time, authors are grown less solicitous about the names of the personages they introduce. This careless way, seeming to me at least as reasonable as any other, I have followed; and had no other meaning by the names I have given my interlocutors, than to distinguish them, without the least regard to the derivation of words, or any thing relating to the etymology of them: all the care I have taken about them, that I know of, is, that the pronunciation of them should not be harsh, nor the sounds offensive.

But though the names I have chosen are feigned, and the circumstances of the persons fictitious, the characters themselves are real, and as faithfully copied from nature as I have been able to take them. I have known critics find fault with play-wrights for annexing short characters to the names they gave the persons of the drama; alleging, that it is forestalling their pleasure, and that whatever the actors are represented to be, they want no monitor, and are wise enough to find it out themselves. But I could never approve of this censure: there is a satisfaction, I think, in knowing one's company; and when I am to converse with people for a considerable time, I desire to be well acquainted with them, and the sooner the better. It is for this reason, I thought it proper to give the reader some account of the persons that are to entertain him. As they are supposed to be people of quality, I beg leave, before I come to particulars, to premise some things concerning the beau monde in general; which, though most people perhaps know them every body does not always attend to. Among the fashionable part of mankind throughout Christendom, there are, in all countries, persons, who, though they feel a just abhorrence to atheism and professed infidelity, yet have very little religion, and are scarce half-believers, when their lives come to be looked into, and their sentiments examined. What is chiefly aimed at in a refined education, is to procure as much ease and pleasure upon earth, as that can afford: therefore men are first instructed in all the various arts of rendering their behaviour agreeable to others, with the least disturbance to themselves. Secondly, they are imbued with the knowledge of all the elegant comforts of life, as well as the lessons of human prudence, to avoid pain and trouble, in order to enjoy as much of the world, and with as little opposition, as it is possible. Whilst thus men study their own private interest, in assisting each other to promote and increase the pleasures of life in general, they find by experience, that to compass those ends, every thing ought to be banished from conversation, that can have the least tendency of making others uneasy; and to reproach men with their faults or imperfections, neglects or omissions, or to put them in mind of their duty, are offices that none are allowed to take upon them, but parents or professed masters and tutors; nor even they before company: but to reprove and pretend to teach others, we have no authority over, is ill manners, even in a clergyman out of the pulpit; nor is he there to talk magisterially, or ever to mention things, that are melancholy or dismal, if he should pass for a polite preacher: but whatever we may vouchsafe to hear at church, neither the certainty of a future state, nor the necessity of repentance, nor any thing else relating to the essentials of Christianity, are ever to be talked of when we are out of it, among the beau monde, upon any account whatever. The subject is not diverting: besides, every body is supposed to know those things, and to take care accordingly; nay, it is unmannerly to think otherwise. The decency in fashion being the chief, if not the only, rule, all modish people walk by, not a few of them go to church, and receive the sacrament, from the same principle that obliges them to pay visits to one another, and now and then to make an entertainment. But as the greatest care of the beau monde is to be agreeable, and appear well-bred, so most of them take particular care, and many against their consciences, not to seem burdened with more religion than it is fashionable to have, for fear of being thought to be either hypocrites or bigots.

Virtue, however, is a very fashionable word, and some of the most luxurious are extremely fond of the amiable sound; though they mean nothing by it, but a great veneration for whatever is courtly or sublime, and an equal aversion to every thing that is vulgar or unbecoming. They seem to imagine, that it chiefly consists in a strict compliance to the rules of politeness, and all the laws of honour, that have any regard to the respect that is due to themselves. It is the existence of this virtue, that is often maintained with so much pomp of words, and for the eternity of which so many champions are ready to take up arms: whilst the votaries of it deny themselves no pleasure, they can enjoy, either fashionably or in secret, and, instead of sacrificing the heart to the love of real virtue, can only condescend to abandon the outward deformity of vice, for the satisfaction they receive from appearing to be well-bred. It is counted ridiculous for men to commit violence upon themselves, or to maintain, that virtue requires self-denial: all court philosophers are agreed, that nothing can be lovely or desirable, that is mortifying or uneasy. A civil behaviour among the fair in public, and a deportment inoffensive both in words and actions, is all the chastity the polite world requires in men. What liberties soever a man gives himself in private, his reputation shall never suffer, whilst he conceals his amours from all those that are not unmannerly inquisitive, and takes care that nothing criminal can ever be proved upon him. Si non caste, saltem caute, is a precept that sufficiently shows what every body expects; and though incontinence is owned to be a sin, yet never to have been guilty of it is a character which most single men under thirty would not be fond of, even amongst modest women.

As the world everywhere, in compliment itself, desires to be counted really virtuous, so bare-faced vices, and all trespasses committed in sight of it, are heinous and unpardonable. To see a man drunk in the open street, or any serious assembly at noon-day, is shocking; because it is a violation of the laws of decency, and plainly shows a want of respect, and neglect of duty, which every body is supposed to owe to the public. Men of mean circumstances likewise may be blamed for spending more time or money in drinking, than they can afford; but when these and all worldly considerations are out of the question, drunkenness itself, as it is a sin, an offence to Heaven, is seldom censured; and no man of fortune scruples to own, that he was at such a time in such a company, where they drank very hard. Where nothing is committed, that is either beastly, or otherwise extravagant, societies, that meet on purpose to drink and be merry, reckon their manner of passing away the time as innocent as any other, though most days in the year they spend five or six hours of the four and twenty in that diversion. No man had ever the reputation of being a good companion, that would never drink to excess; and if a man's constitution be so strong, or himself so cautious, that the dose he takes overnight, never disorders him the next day, the worst that shall be said of him, is, that he loves his bottle with moderation: though every night constantly he makes drinking his pastime, and hardly ever goes to bed entirely sober.

Avarice, it is true, is generally detested; but as men may be as guilty of it by scraping money together, as they can be by hoarding it up, so all the base, the sordid, and unreasonable means of acquiring wealth, ought to be equally condemned and exploded, with the vile, the pitiful, and penurious way of saving it: but the world is more indulgent; no man is taxed with avarice, that will conform with the beau monde, and live every way in splendour, though he should always be raising the rents of his estate, and hardly suffer his tenants to live under him; though he should enrich himself by usury, and all the barbarous advantages that extortion can make of the necessities of others: and though, moreover, he should be a bad paymaster himself, and an unmerciful creditor to the unfortunate; it is all one, no man is counted covetous, who entertains well, and will allow his family what is fashionable for a person in his condition. How often do we see men of very large estates unreasonably solicitous after greater riches! What greediness do some men discover in extending the perquisites of their offices! What dishonourable condescensions are made for places of profit! What slavish attendance is given, and what low submissions and unmanly cringes are made to favourites for pensions, by men that could subsist without them! Yet these things are no reproach to men, and they are never upbraided with them but by their enemies, or those that envy them, and perhaps the discontented and the poor. On the contrary, most of the well-bred people, that live in affluence themselves, will commend them for their diligence and

## activity; and say of them, that they take care of the main chance;

that they are industrious men for their families, and that they know how, and are fit, to live in the world.

But these kind constructions are not more hurtful to the practice of Christianity, than the high opinion which, in an artful education, men are taught to have of their species, is to the belief of its doctrine, if a right use be not made of it. That the great pre-eminence we have over all other creatures we are acquainted with, consists in our rational faculty, is very true; but it is as true, that the more we are taught to admire ourselves, the more our pride increases, and the greater stress we lay on the sufficiency of our reason: For as experience teaches us, that the greater and the more transcendent the esteem is, which men have for their own worth, the less capable they generally are to bear injuries without resentment; so we see, in like manner, that the more exalted the notions are which men entertain of their better part, their reasoning faculty, the more remote and averse they will be from giving their assent to any thing that seems to insult over or contradict it: And asking a man to admit of any thing he cannot comprehend, the proud reasoner calls an affront to human understanding. But as ease and pleasure are the grand aim of the beau monde, and civility is inseparable from their behaviour, whether they are believers or not, so well-bred people never quarrel with the religion they are brought up in: They will readily comply with every ceremony in divine worship they have been used to, and never dispute with you either about the Old or the New Testament, if, in your turn, you will forbear laying great stress upon faith and mysteries, and allow them to give an allegorical, or any other figurative sense to the History of the Creation, and whatever else they cannot comprehend or account for by the light of nature.

I am far from believing, that, among the fashionable people, there are not, in all Christian countries, many persons of stricter virtue, and greater sincerity in religion, than I have here described; but that a considerable part of mankind have a great resemblance to the picture I have been drawing, I appeal to every knowing and candid reader. Horatio, Cleomenes, and Fulvia, are the names I have given to my interlocutors: The first represents one of the modish people I have been speaking of, but rather of the better sort of them as to morality, though he seems to have a greater distrust of the sincerity of clergymen, than he has of that of any other profession, and to be of the opinion, which is expressed in that trite and specious, as well as false and injurious saying, priests of all religions are the same. As to his studies, he is supposed to be tolerably well versed in the classics, and to have read more than is usual for people of quality, that are born to great estates. He is a man of strict honour, and of justice as well as humanity; rather profuse than covetous, and altogether disinterested in his principles. He has been abroad, seen the world, and is supposed to be possessed of the greatest part of the accomplishments that usually gain a man the reputation of being very much of a gentleman.

Cleomenes had been just such another, but was much reformed. As he had formerly, for his amusement only, been dipping into anatomy, and several parts of natural philosophy; so, since he was come home from his travels, he had studied human nature, and the knowledge of himself, with great application. It is supposed, that, whilst he was thus employing most of his leisure hours, he met with the Fable of the Bees; and, making a great use of what he read, compared what he felt himself within, as well as what he had seen in the world, with the sentiments set forth in that book, and found the insincerity of men fully as universal, as it was there represented. He had no opinion of the pleas and excuses that are commonly made to cover the real desires of the heart; and he ever suspected the sincerity of men, whom he saw to be fond of the world, and with eagerness grasping at wealth and power, when they pretended that the great end of their labours was to have opportunities of doing good to others upon earth, and becoming themselves more thankful to Heaven; especially, if they conformed with the beau monde, and seemed to take delight in a fashionable way of living: He had the same suspicion of all men of sense, who, having read and considered the gospel, would maintain the possibility that persons might pursue worldly glory with all their strength, and, at the same time, be good Christians. Cleomenes himself believed the Bible to be the word of God, without reserve, and was entirely convinced of the mysterious, as well as historical truths that are contained in it. But as he was fully persuaded, not only of the veracity of the Christian religion, but likewise of the severity of its precepts, so he attacked his passions with vigour, but never scrupled to own his want of power to subdue them, or the violent opposition he felt from within; often complaining, that the obstacles he met with from flesh and blood, were insurmountable. As he understood perfectly well the difficulty of the task required in the gospel, so he ever opposed those easy casuists, that endeavoured to lessen and extenuate it for their own ends; and he loudly maintained, that men's gratitude to Heaven was an unacceptable offering, whilst they continued to live in ease and luxury, and were visibly solicitous after their share of the pomp and vanity of this world. In the very politeness of conversation, the complacency with which fashionable people are continually soothing each other's frailties, and in almost every part of a gentleman's behaviour, he thought there was a disagreement between the outward appearances, and what is felt within, that was clashing with uprightness and sincerity. Cleomenes was of opinion, that of all religious virtues, nothing was more scarce, or more difficult to acquire, than Christian humility; and that to destroy the possibility of ever attaining to it, nothing was so effectual as what is called a gentleman's education; and that the more dexterous, by this means, men grew in concealing the outward signs, and every symptom of pride, the more entirely they became enslaved by it within. He carefully examined into the felicity that accrues from the applause of others, and the invisible wages which men of sense and judicious fancy received for their labours; and what it was at the bottom that rendered those airy rewards so ravishing to mortals. He had often observed, and watched narrowly the countenances and behaviour of men, when any thing of theirs was admired or commended, such as the choice of their furniture, the politeness of their entertainments, the elegancy of their equipages, their dress, their diversions, or the fine taste displayed in their buildings.

Cleomenes seemed charitable, and was a man of strict morals, yet he would often complain that he was not possessed of one Christian virtue, and found fault with his own actions, that had all the appearances of goodness; because he was conscious, he said, that they were performed from a wrong principle. The effects of his education, and his aversion to infamy, had always been strong enough to keep him from turpitude; but this he ascribed to his vanity, which he complained was in such full possession of his heart, that he knew no gratification of any appetite from which he was able to exclude it. Having always been a man of unblameable behaviour, the sincerity of his belief had made no visible alteration in his conduct to outward appearances; but in private he never ceased from examining himself. As no man was less prone to enthusiasm than himself, so his life was very uniform; and as he never pretended to high flights of devotion, so he never was guilty of enormous offences. He had a strong aversion to rigorists of all sorts; and when he saw men quarrelling about forms and creeds, and the interpretation of obscure places, and requiring of others the strictest compliance to their own opinions in disputable matters, it raised his indignation to see the generality of them want charity, and many of them scandalously remiss in the plainest and most necessary duties. He took uncommon pains to search into human nature, and left no stone unturned, to detect the pride and hypocrisy of it, and, among his intimate friends, to expose the stratagems of the one, and the exorbitant power of the other. He was sure, that the satisfaction which arose from worldly enjoyments, was something distinct from gratitude, and foreign to religion; and he felt plainly, that as it proceeded from within, so it centered in himself: The very relish of life, he said, was accompanied with an elevation of mind, that seemed to be inseparable from his being. Whatever principle was the cause of this, he was convinced within himself, that the sacrifice of the heart, which the gospel requires, consisted in the utter extirpation of that principle; confessing, at the same time, that this satisfaction he found in himself, this elevation of mind, caused his chief pleasure; and that, in all the comforts of life, it made the greatest part of the enjoyment.

Cleomenes, with grief, often owned his fears, that his attachment to the world would never cease whilst he lived; the reasons he gave, were the great regard he continued to have for the opinion of worldly men; the stubbornness of his indocile heart, that could not be brought to change the objects of its pride; and refused to be ashamed of what, from his infancy, it had been taught to glory in; and, lastly, the impossibility, he found in himself, of being ever reconciled to contempt, and enduring, with patience, to be laughed at and despised for any cause, or on any consideration whatever. These were the obstacles, he said, that hindered him from breaking off all commerce with the beau monde, and entirely changing his manner of living; without which, he thought it mockery to talk of renouncing the world, and bidding adieu to all the pomp and vanity of it.

The part of Fulvia, which is the third person, is so inconsiderable, she just appearing only in the first dialogue, that it would be impertinent to trouble the reader with a character of her. I had a mind to say some things on painting and operas, which I thought might, by introducing her, be brought in more naturally, and with less trouble, than they could have been without her. The ladies, I hope, will find no reason, from the little she does say, to suspect that she wants either virtue or understanding.

As to the fable, or what is supposed to have occasioned the first dialogue between Horatio and Cleomenes, it is this. Horatio, who had found great delight in my Lord Shaftsbury's polite manner of writing, his fine raillery, and blending virtue with good manners, was a great stickler for the social system; and wondered how Cleomenes could be an advocate for such a book as the Fable of the Bees, of which he had heard a very vile character from several quarters. Cleomenes, who loved and had a great friendship for Horatio, wanted to undeceive him; but the other, who hated satire, was prepossessed, and having been told likewise, that martial courage, and honour itself, were ridiculed in that book, he was very much exasperated against the author and his whole scheme: he had two or three times heard Cleomenes discourse on this subject with others; but would never enter into the argument himself; and finding his friend often pressing to come to it, he began to look cooly upon him, and at last to avoid all opportunities of being alone with him: till Cleomenes drew him in, by the stratagem which the reader will see he made use of, as Horatio was one day taking his leave after a short complimentary visit.

I should not wonder to see men of candour, as well as good sense, find fault with the manner, in which I have chose to publish these thoughts of mine to the world: There certainly is something in it, which I confess I do not know how to justify to my own satisfaction. That such a man as Cleomenes, having met with a book agreeable to his own sentiments, should desire to be acquainted with the author of it, has nothing in it that is improbable or unseemly; but then it will be objected, that, whoever the interlocutors are, it was I myself who wrote the dialogues; and that it is contrary to all decency, that a man should proclaim concerning his own work, all that a friend of his, perhaps, might be allowed to say: this is true; and the best answer which I think can be made to it, is, that such an impartial man, and such a lover of truth, as Cleomenes is represented to be, would be as cautious in speaking of his friend's merit, as he would be of his own. It might be urged likewise, that when a man professes himself to be an author's friend, and exactly to entertain the same sentiments with another, it must naturally put every reader upon his guard, and render him as suspicious and distrustful of such a man, as he would be of the author himself. But how good soever the excuses are, that might be made for this manner of writing, I would never have ventured upon it, if I had not liked it in the famous Gassendus, who, by the help of several dialogues and a friend, who is the chief personage in them, has not only explained and illustrated his system, but likewise refuted his adversaries: him I have followed, and I hope the reader will find, that whatever opportunity I have had by this means, of speaking well of myself indirectly, I had no design to make that, or any other ill use of it.

As it is supposed, that Cleomenes is my friend, and speaks my sentiments, so it is but justice, that every thing which he advances should be looked upon and considered as my own; but no man in his senses would think, that I ought to be equally responsible for every thing that Horatio says, who is his antagonist. If ever he offers any thing that favours of libertinism, or is otherwise exceptionable, which Cleomenes does not reprove him for in the best and most serious manner, or to which he gives not the most satisfactory and convincing answer that can be made, I am to blame, otherwise not. Yet from the fate the first part has met with, I expect to see in a little time several things transcribed and cited from this, in that manner, by themselves, without the replies that are made to them, and so shown to the world, as my words and my opinion. The opportunity of doing this will be greater in this part than it was in the former, and should I always have fair play, and never be attacked, but by such adversaries, as would make their quotations from me without artifice, and use me with common honesty, it would go a great way to the refuting of me; and I should myself begin to suspect the truth of several things I have advanced, and which hitherto I cannot help believing.

A stroke made in this manner,----which the reader will sometimes meet with in the following dialogues, is a sign, either of interruption, when the person speaking is not suffered to go on with what he was going to say, or else of a pause, during which something is supposed to be said or done, not relating to the discourse.

As in this