crouded Windows as thou
passest, and universal Joy shall overspread each _British_ Face on
that Blest Day.

If then, my Scholar, thou shouldst happen to be placed in a Window
near some lovely Girl, who, fired with the Glories of the young
Conqueror, should enquire into all his matchless Labours[26], his
Wound at _Dettingen_; his Danger and Intrepidity at _Fontenoy_; his
Toils at home, in defiance of Cold and Fatigue; his Pursuit to
_Carlisle_; his Victory at _Culloden_; and many more which will then
be as well known; repeat all if thou canst, and if thy Memory fails,
go on nevertheless: for Invention cannot here outdo the Reality, and
thy Fictions shall recommend thee equal with Truth to her Ears.

Again, when thou dost sit down at table among the Women, thou may'st
reap other Pleasures besides those of Wine: For, to speak
figuratively, _Cupid_ with glowing Cheeks often presses the Horns of
_Bacchus_ in his tender Arms; and the Wings of the little God of Love
being wetted with Wine, he is unable to fly off: And if he happens to
shake his wet Wings, he may possibly sprinkle the Bosom of your
Mistress with Love.

In more intelligible Language, Wine fills our Minds with Courage, and
makes them susceptible of other warm Passions. Care flies away, and is
dissolved in much Liquor. Then comes Laughter, the poor Man becomes
bold, and Grief and Solicitude, and knitted Brows vanish. Then it is
that Simplicity, a rare Virtue in our Age, opens our Hearts, Wine
having divested us of Cunning. At this Season, many a watchful young
Fellow hath gained the Heart of his Mistress[27]. And Love hath sprung
from Wine, as the Flame doth from Fire.

However, do not confide too much at this time to the Light of a
Candle: for Night and Wine obstruct us in forming a true Judgment of
Beauty. _Paris_ beheld the Goddesses in open Daylight, when he gave
the Preference to _Venus_. Indeed by Candle-light, and in a Side-Box,
almost every one is a Beauty: Jewels, Clothes, and Women, are all best
discerned by the Light of the Sun.

And here if I should recount all the rural Haunts in which a Lover may
find his Game, I might write more Volumes than _Oldmixon_,
_Tunbridge_, and _Scarborough_, and _Cheltenham_, and _Holt_, and many
other Places shall be therefore omitted; but, Bath[28], thy sulphurous
Waters must not be past by. Hence Master _Dapperwit_ bringing home the
Wounds made by fair Eyes in his Bosom, cries out, on his Return, _The
Waters are