extend to them; and he may be esteemed the bestbred man in the world who is a very brute to his servants and dependents. This I cannot help considering as a matter of regret; and it were to be wished that the same humanity and refinement, which recommends an equal attention to all in the rank of gentlemen, would extend some degree of that attention to those who are in stations below them. It will require but little observation to be satisfied that all men, in whatever situation, are endowed with the same feelings (though education or example may give them a different modification); and that one in the lowest rank of life may be sensible of a piece of insolence, or an affront, as well as one in the highest. Nay, it ought to be considered, that the greater the disproportion of rank, the affront will be the more sensibly felt; the greater the distance from which it comes, and the more unable the person affronted to revenge it, by so much the heavier will it fall. It is not meant that in our transactions with men of a very low station, and who, from their circumstances, and the wants of society, must be employed in servile labour, we are to behave in all respects as to those who are in the rank of gentlemen. The thing is impossible, and such men do not expect it. But in all our intercourse with them we ought to consider that they are men possessed of like feelings with ourselves, which nature has given them, and which no situation can or ought to eradicate. When we employ them in the labour of life, it ought to be our study to demand that labour in the manner easiest to them; and we should never forget that gentleness is part of the wages we owe them for their service. Yet how many men, in other respects of the best and most respectable characters, are, from inadvertency, or the force of habit, deaf to those considerations! and, indeed, the thing has been so little attended to, that in this, which has been called a polite age, complaisance to servants and dependents is not, as I have already observed, at least in this country, considered as making any part of politeness. But there is another set of persons still more exposed to be treated roughly than even domestic servants, and these are the waiters at inns and taverns. Between a master and servant a certain connexion subsists, which prevents the former from using the latter very ill. The servant, if he is good for any thing, naturally forms an attachment to his master, and to his interests, which produces a mutual intercourse of kindness between them. But no connexion of this sort can be formed with the temporary attendants above-mentioned. Hence the monstrous abuse which such persons frequently suffer; every traveller, and every man who enters a tavern, thinks he is entitled to vent his own ill-humour upon them, and volleys of curses are too often the only language they meet with. Having mentioned the waiters in inns and taverns, I cannot avoid taking particular notice of the treatment to which those of the female sex, who are employed in places of that sort, are often exposed. Their situation is, indeed, peculiarly unfortunate. If a girl in an inn happen to be handsome, and a parcel of young thoughtless fellows cast their eyes upon her, she is immediately made the subject of taunt and merriment; coarse and indecent jokes are often uttered in her hearing, and conversation shocking to modest ears is frequently addressed to her. The poor girl, all the while, is at a loss how to behave : if she venture on a spirited answer, the probable consequence will be to raise the mirth of the facetious company, and to expose her to a repetition of insults. If, guided by the feelings of modesty, she avoid the presence of the impertinent guests, she is complained of for neglecting her duty; she loses the little perquisite which, otherwise, she would be entitled to; perhaps disobliges her mistress, and loses her place. Whoever attends but for a moment to the case of a poor girl so situated, if he be not lost to all sense of virtue, must feel his heart relent at the cruelty of taking advantage of such a situation. But the misfortune is, that we seldom attend to such cases at all: we sometimes think of the fatigues and sufferings incident to the bodies of our inferiors, but we scarcely ever allow any sense of pain to their minds. Among the French, whom we mimic in much false politeness, without learning from them, as we might do, much of the true, the observances of goodbreeding are not confined merely to gentlemen, but extend to persons of the lowest ranks. Thus a Frenchman hardly ever addresses any man, however mean his condition, without calling him Monsieur, and the poorest woman in a country village is addressed by the appellation of Madame. The accosting, in this manner, people of so very low a rank, in the same terms with those so much their superiors, may perhaps appear extravagant; but the practice shows how much that refined and elegant people are attentive to the feelings of the meanest, when they have extended the rules and ceremonial of politeness even to them. S. No. 27. TUESDAY, APRIL 27, 1779. There is a kind of mournful eloquence In thy dumb grief, which shames all clamorous sorrow. A VERY amiable and much respected friend of mine, whose real name I shall conceal under that of Wentworth, had lately the misfortune of losing a wife, who was not only peculiarly beautiful, but whose soul was the mansion of every virtue and of every elegant accomplishment. She was suddenly cut off in the flower of her age, after having lived twelve years with the best and most affectionate of husbands. A perfect similarity of temper and disposition, a kindred delicacy of taste and sentiment, had linked their hearts together in early youth, and each succeeding year seemed but to add new strength to their affection. Though possessed of an affluent fortune, they preferred the tranquillity of the country to all the gay pleasures of the capital. In the cultivation of their estate, in cherishing the virtuous industry of its inhabitants, in ornamenting a beautiful seat, in the society of one another, in the innocent prattle of their little children, and in the company of a few friends, Mr. Wentworth and his Amelia found every wish gratified, and their happiness complete. My readers will judge, then, what must have been Mr. Wentworth's feelings when Amelia was thus suddenly torn from him, in the very prime of her life, and in the midst of her felicity. I dreaded the effects of it upon a mind of his nice and delicate sensibility; and, receiving a letter from his brother, requesting me to come to them, I hasted thither, to endeavour by my presence to assuage his grief, and prevent those fatal consequences of which I was so apprehensive. As I approached the house, the sight of all the well-known scenes brought fresh into my mind the remembrance of Amelia; and I felt myself but ill qualified to act the part of a comforter. When my carriage stopped at the gate I trembled, and would have given the world to go back. A heart-felt sorrow sat on the countenance of every servant; and I walked into the house without a word being uttered. In the hall I was met by the old butler, who has grown grey-headed in the family, and he hastened to conduct me up stairs. As I walked up, I commanded firmness enough to say, 'Well, William, how is Mr. Wentworth?' The old man, turning about with a look that pierced my heart, said, "Oh, sir, our excellent lady! -Here his grief overwhelmed him; and it was with difficulty he was able to open to me the door of the apartment. Mr. Wentworth ran and embraced me with the warmest affection; and, after a few moments, assumed a firmness, and even an ease, that surprised me. His brother, with a sister of Amelia's, and some other friends that were in the room, appeared more overpowered than my friend himself, who, by the fortitude of his behaviour, seemed rather to moderate the grief of those around him than to demand their compassion for himself. By his gentle and kind attentions, he seemed anxious to relieve their sorrow; and, by a sort of concerted tranquillity, strove to prevent their discovering any symptoms of the bitter anguish which preyed upon his mind. His countenance was pale, and his eyes betrayed that his |