 mortals call felicity! Love and his mother disappeared very soon, as I have related; and to them succeeded impetuous passion, intense, raging, terrible, with all the furies in the train. The masked hero I had married was a Phalaris, a miser, a papist; a wretch who had no taste for love, no conception of virtue, no sense of charms; but to gold and popery would sacrifice every thing that is fair and laudable. Le Diable a quatre he shined in as a player, and was the Devil himself in flesh and blood.

Where is the rest of your with uplifted arm, was the thundering cry in my ears. You shall be a catholic, damn you, or I'll pinch off the flesh from your bones.
*Here the beautiful Leonora had done, and I wondered very greatly at her relation: Nor was her action in speaking it, and the spirit with which she talked, less surprising. With admiration I beheld her, and was not a little pleased, that I had found in my neighbourhood so extraordinary a person, and so very fine an original. This lady had some reason to abhor the word catholic, and might well be angry with popery, tho' she carried her resentment a little too far; but had the Reader seen her attitude, her energies, and the faces she made, when she mentioned the corruptions of popery, or the word husband; sure I am, it would be thought much more striking than Garrick in Richard, or Shuter in his exhibition of Old Philpot. I was greatly delighted with her, and as she was very agreeble in every thing, I generally went every second day to visit her, while I continued in Richmondshire; but this was not long. I journeyed from thence to pay my respects to Dr. Stanvil and his lady, whom I have mentioned before. And what happened there, I shall relate in the next Section: Only stop a few minutes my good Reader, to peruse the

translation of the tenth Satire of Juvena1; which is placed here by way of entertainment, as I said in another place, and to make good my assertion, that we know not what we would be at in our fancies and our fears.
The Tenth Satire of Juvenal.
SURVEY mankind, muster the herd
From smoothest chin to deepest beard;
Search ev'ry climate, view each nation,
From lowest to the highest station;
From Eastern to the Western Indies,
From frozen Poles to th' line that singes;
Scarce will you find one mortal wight,
Knows good from ill, or
