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النشر الإلكتروني

THE

OBSERVER.

NUMBER CIX.

Οὐδὲν γὰρ οὕτως ἡδὺ ἀνθρώποις ἔφυ,
Ως τὸ λαλέειν τ ̓ ἀλλότρια.—MENANDER.
Still to be tattling, still to prate,
No luxury in life so great.

THE humours and characters of a populous county town at a distance from the capital, furnish matter of much amusement to a curious observer. I have now been some weeks resident in a place of this description, where I have been continually treated with the private lives and little scandalizing anecdotes of almost every person of any note in it. Having passed most of my days in the capital, I could not but remark the striking difference between it and these subordinate capitals in this particular: in London we are in the habit of looking to our own affairs, and caring little about those with whom we have no dealings: here every body's business seems to be no less his neighbour's concerns than his own: a set of tattling gossips (including all the idlers in the place, male as well as female) seem to have no other employment for their time or tongue, but to run from house to house, and circulate their silly stories up and down. A few of these contemptible impertinents I shall now describe.

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