No. 75.] Saturday, May 26, 1711. Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res. vail, as the standards of behaviour, in the country wherein he lives. What is opposite to the eternal rules of reason and good sense, must be excluded from any place in It was with some mortification that II confess, explain myself enough on this the carriage of a well-bred man. I did not, suffered the raillery of a fine lady of my subject, when I called Dorimant a clown, acqaintance, for calling, in one of my pa- and made it an instance of it, that he called pers,* Dorimant a clown. She was so un- the orange-wench, Double Tripe: I should merciful as to take advantage of my invincible taciturnity, and on that occasion have shown, that humanity obliges a gen with great freedom to consider the air, the tleman to give no part of humankind re height, the face, the gesture of him, who proach, for what they, whom they re could pretend to judge so arrogantly of gal- the most virtuous and worthy amongst us. gal-proach, may possibly have in common with lantry. She is full of motion, janty and When a gentleman speaks coarsely, he has lively in her impertinence, and one of those dressed himself clean to no purpose. The that commonly pass, among the ignorant, clothing of our minds certainly ought to be for persons who have a great deal of huShe had the play of Sir Fopling in regarded before that of our bodies. To beher hand, and after she had said it was tray in a man's talk a corrupt imagination, her hand, and after she had said it was is a much greater offence against the conhappy for her there was not so charming a creature as Dorimant now living, she began versation of a gentleman, than any negliwith a theatrical air and tone of voice to gence of dress imaginable. But this sense read, by way of triumph over me, some of of the matter is so far from being received his speeches. 'Tis she! that lovely air, among people even of condition, that Vocifer passes for a fine gentleman. He is loud, that easy shape, those wanton eyes, and all those melting charms about her mouth, haughty, gentle, soft, lewd, and obsequious which Medley spoke of. I'll follow the by turns, just as a little understanding and lottery, and put in for a prize with my sent moment. He passes among the silly great impudence prompt him at the prefriend Bellair. part of our women for a man of wit, because he is generally in doubt. He contra dicts with a shrug, and confutes with a mour. 'In love the victors from the vanquish'd fly; They fly that wound, and they pursue that die.' Then turning over the leaves, she reads certain sufficiency, in professing such and alternately, and speaks, 'And you and Loveit to her cost shall find I fathom all the depths of woman-kind.' Oh the fine gentleman! But here, continues she, is the passage I admire most, where he begins to tease Loveit, and mimic Sir Fopling. Oh, the pretty satire, in his resolving to be a coxcomb to please, since noise and nonsense have such powerful charms. 'I, that I may successful prove, Transform myself to what you love.' such a thing is above his capacity. What makes his character the pleasanter is, that he is a professed deluder of women; and because the empty coxcomb has no regard to any thing that is of itself sacred and inviolable. I have heard an unmarried lady of fortune say, It is a pity so fine a gentleman as Vocifer is so great an atheist. The crowds of such inconsiderable creatures, that infest all places of assembling, every reader will have in his eye from his own observation; but would it not be worth Then how like a man of the town, so wild considering what sort of figure a man and gay is that! 'The wise will find a diff'rence in our fate, You wed a woman, I a good estate.' It would have been a very wild endeavour for a man of my temper to offer any opposition to so nimble a speaker as my fair enemy is; but her discourse gave me very many reflections, when I had left her company. Among others, I could not but consider with some attention, the false impressions the generality (the fair sex more especially) have of what should be intended, when they say a fine gentleman;' and could not help revolving that subject in my thoughts, and settling, as it were, an idea of that character in my own imagina tion. 6 No man ought to have the esteem of the rest of the world, for any actions which are disagreeable to those maxims which pre * Spect. No. 65. who formed himself upon those principles among us, which are agreeable to the dictates of honour and religion, would make in the familiar and ordinary occurrences of life? I hardly have observed any one fill his several duties of life better than Ignotus. All the under parts of his behaviour, and such as are exposed to common observation, have their rise in him from great and noble motives. A firm and unshaken expectation of another life makes him become this; humanity and good-nature, fortified by the sense of virtue, has the same effect upon him as the neglect of all goodness has in all matters of importance, that certain upon many others. Being firmly established inattention which makes men's actions look easy, appears in him with greater beauty. lencies, he is perfectly master of them. by a thorough contempt of little excelThis temper of mind leaves him under no necessity of studying his air, and he has this : peculiar distinction, that his negligence is alliances. A man who is but a mere Spec unaffected. tator of what passes around him, and not engaged in commerces of any consideration, is but an ill judge of the secret motions of the heart of man, and by what degrees it is actuated to make such visible alterations in the same person: but at the same time, when a man is no way concerned in the He that can work himself into a pleasure in considering this being as an uncertain one, and think to reap an advantage by its discontinuance, is in a fair way of doing all things with a graceful unconcern, and a gentleman-like ease. Such a one does not behold his life as a short, transient, per-effect of such inconsistencies in the behaplexing state, made up of trifling pleasures and great anxieties; but sees it in quite another light; his griefs are momentary and his joys immortal. Reflection upon death is not a gloomy and sad thought of resigning every thing that he delights in, but it is a short night followed by an endless day. What I would here contend for is, that the more virtuous a man is, the nearer he will naturally be to the character of genteel and agreeable. A man whose fortune is plentiful, shows an ease in his countenance, and confidence in his behaviour, which he that is under wants and difficulties cannot assume. It is thus with the state of the mind; he that governs his thoughts with the everlasting rules of reason and sense, must have something so inexpressibly graceful in his words and actions, that every circumstance must become him. The change of persons or things around him does not alter his situation, but he looks disinterested in the occurrences with which others are distracted, because the greatest purpose of his life is to maintain an indifference both to it and all its enjoyments. In a word, to be a fine gentleman, is to be a generous and a brave man. What can make a man so much in constant good humour, and shine, as we call it, than to be supported by what can never fail him, and to believe that whatever happens to him was the best thing that could possibly befal him, or else he on whom it depends, would not have permitted it to have befallen him at all. viour of men of the world, the speculation must be in the utmost degree both diverting and instructive; yet to enjoy such observations in the highest relish, he ought to be placed in a post of direction, and have the dealings of their fortunes to them. I have therefore been wonderfully diverted with some pieces of secret history, which an antiquary, my very good friend, lent me as a curiosity. They are memoirs of the private life of Pharamond of France. 'Pharamond,' says my author, was a prince of infinite humanity and generosity, and at the same time the most pleasant and facetious companion of his time. He had a peculiar taste in him, which would have been unlucky in any prince but himself; he thought there could be no exquisite pleasure in conversation, but among equals; and would pleasantly bewail himself that he always lived in a crowd, but was the only man in France that could never get into company. This turn of mind made him delight in midnight rambles, attended only with one person of his bed-chamber. He would in these excursions get acquainted with men (whose temper he had a mind to try) and recommend them privately to the particular observation of his first minister. He generally found himself neglected by his new acquaintance as soon as they had hopes of growing great; and used on such occasions to remark, that it was a great injustice to tax princes of forgetting themselves in their high fortunes, when there were so few that could with constancy bear the favour of their very creatures.' 'My author in these loose hints has one passage that gives us a very lively idea of the uncommon genius of Pharamond. He met with one man whom he had put to all the usual proofs he made of those he had a mind to know thoroughly, and found him for his purpose. THERE is nothing so common as to find In discourse with him one day, he gave him a man whom in the general observation of an opportunity of saying how much would nis carriage you take to be of a uniform satisfy all his wishes. The prince immetemper, subject to such unaccountable starts diately revealed himself, doubled the sum, of humour and passion, that he is as much and spoke to him in this manner: Sir, you unlike himself, and differs as much from have twice what you desired, by the favour the man you at first thought him, as any of Pharamond; but look to it, that you are two distinct persons can differ from each satisfied with it, for it is the last you shall other. This proceeds from the want of ever receive. I from this moment consider forming some law of life to ourselves, or you as mine; and to make you truly so, I fixing some notion of things in general, give you my royal word you shall never be which may affect us in such a manner as to greater or less than you are at present. create proper habits both in our minds and Answer me not (concluded the prince smilbodies. The negligence of this, leaves using,) but enjoy the fortune I have put you exposed, not only to an unbecoming levity in our usual conversation, but also to the same instability in our friendships, interests, and R. No. 76.] Monday, May 28, 1711. Creech. in, which is above my own condition; for you have hereafter nothing to hope or fear. His majesty having thus well chosen and ble and generous use of his observations, and did not regard his ministers as they were agreeable to himself, but as they were useful to his kingdom. By this means, the king appeared in every officer of state; and no man had a participation of the power, who had not a similitude of the virtue of Pharamond. R. bought a friend and companion, he enjoyed | which no man else can ever have an opalternately all the pleasures of an agreeable portunity of enjoying. He gave fortune te private man, and a great and powerful mo- none but those whom he knew could renarch. He gave himself, with his compa-ceive it without transport. He made a nonion, the name of the merry tyrant; for he punished his courtiers for their insolence and folly, not by any act of public disfavour, but by humorously practising upon their imaginations. If he observed a man untractable to his inferiors, he would find an opportunity to take some favourable notice of him, and render him insupportable. He knew all his own looks, words, and actions, had their interpretations; and his friend Monsieur Eucrate (for so he was called) having a great soul without ambition, he No. 77.] Tuesday, May 29, 1711. could communicate all his thoughts to him, and fear no artful use would be made of that freedom. It was no small delight when they were in private, to reflect upon all which had passed in public. Non convivere licet, nec urbe tota Quisquam est tam prope tam proculque nobis. Mart. Epig. 87. I. i. What correspondence can I hold with you, Who are so near, and yet so distant too? My friend Will Honeycomb is one of those sort of men who are very often absent in conversation, and what the French call a reveur and a distrait. A little before our club-time last night, we were walking together in Somerset-gardens, where Will had picked up a small pebble of so odd a make, that he said he would present it to a friend of his, an eminent virtuoso. After we had walked some time, I made a full stop with my face towards the west, which Will knowing to be my usual method of asking what's o'clock, in an afternoon, immediately pulled out his watch, and told me we had seven minutes good. We took a turn or two more, when to my great surprise, I saw him squir away his watch a considerable way into the Thames, and with great sedateness in his looks put up the pebble, he had before found, in his fob. As I have naturally an aversion to much speaking, and do not love to be the messenger of ill news, especially when it comes too late to be useful, I left him to be convinced of his mistake in due time, and continued my walk, reflecting on these little absences and distractions in mankind, and resolving to make them the subject of a future speculation. Pharamond would often, to satisfy a vain fool of power in his country, talk to him in a full court, and with one whisper make him despise all his old friends and acquaintance. He was come to that knowledge of men by long observation, that he would profess altering the whole mass of blood in some tempers, by thrice speaking to them. As fortune was in his power, he gave himself constant entertainment in managing the mere followers of it with the treatment they deserved. He would, by a skilful cast of his eye, and half a smile, make two fellows who hated, embrace, and fall upon each other's necks with as much eagerness, as if they followed their real inclinations, and intended to stifle one another. When he was in high good humour, he would lay the scene with Eucrate, and on a public night exercise the passions of his whole court. He was pleased to see a haughty beauty watch the looks of the man she had long despised, from observation of his being taken notice of by Pharamond; and the lover conceive higher hopes, than to follow the woman he was dying for the day before. In a court, where men speak affection in the strongest terms, and dislike in the faintest, it was a comical mixture of incidents to see disguises thrown aside in one case, and increased on the other, according as favour or disgrace attended the respective objects of men's approbation or disesteem. Pharamond, in his mirth upon the meanness of mankind, used to say, As he could take away a man's five senses, he could give him a hundred. The man in disgrace shall immediately lose all his natural endowments, and he that finds favour have the attributes of an angel.' He would carry it so far as to say, "It should not be only so in the opinion of the lower part of his court, but the men themselves shall think thus meanly or greatly of themselves, as they are out or in the good graces of a court. A monarch, who had wit and humour like Pharamond, must have pleasures I was the more confirmed in my design, when I considered that they were very often blemishes in the characters of men of excellent sense; and helped to keep up the reputation of that Latin proverb, which Mr. Dryden has translated in the following lines: 'Great wit to madness sure is near ally'd, And thin partitions do their bounds divide."* My reader does, I hope, perceive, that 1 distinguish a man who is absent, because he thinks of something else, from one who is absent, because he thinks of nothing at all. The latter is too innocent a creature to be taken notice of; but the distractions of the * Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiæ Seneca De Tranquil. Anim cap. xv former may, I believe, be generally ac-house about 'Change. I was his bail in counted for from one of these reasons. the time of the Popish plot, when he was taken up for a Jesuit.' If he had looked on me a little longer, he had certainly described me so particularly, without ever considering what led him into it, that the whole company must necessarily have found me out; for which reason, remembering the old proverb, "Out of sight out of mind,' I left the room; and upon meeting him an hour afterwards, was asked by him, with a great deal of good humour, in what part of the world I lived, that he had not seen me these three days. or, Either their minds are wholly fixed on some particular science, which is often the case of mathematicians and other learned men; or are wholly taken up with some violent passion, such as anger, fear or love, which ties the mind to some distant object, lastly, these distractions proceed from a certain vivacity and fickleness in a man's temper, which while it raises up infinite numbers of ideas in the mind, is continually pushing it on, without allowing it to rest on any particular image. Nothing therefore is more unnatural than the thoughts and conceptions of such a man, which are seldom occasioned either by the company he is in, or any of those objects which are placed before him. While you fancy he is admiring a beautiful woman, it is an even wager that he is solving a proposition in Euclid; and while you may imagine he is reading the Paris Gazette, it is far from being impossible, that he is pulling down and rebuilding the front of his countryhouse. Monsieur Bruyere has given us the character of an absent man, with a great deal of humour, which he has pushed to an agreeable extravagance: with the heads of it I shall conclude my present paper. 'Menalcas,' says that excellent author, comes down in a morning, opens his door to go out, but shuts it again, because hẹ he perceives that he has his night-cap on: and examining himself further, finds that he is but half shaved, that he has stuck his sword on his right side, that his stockings At the same time that I am endeavouring are about his heels, and that his shirt is to expose this weakness in others, I shall over his breeches. When he is dressed, readily confess that I once laboured under he goes to court, comes into the drawingthe same infirmity myself. The method I room, and walking bolt-upright under a took to conquer it was a firm resolution branch of candlesticks, his wig is caught up to learn something from whatever I was by one of them, and hangs dangling in the obliged to see or hear. There is a way of air. All the courtiers fall a-laughing, but Methinking, if a man can attain to it, by which nalcas laughs louder than any of them and he may strike somewhat out of any thing. looks about for the person that is the jest of I can at present observe those starts of good the company. Coming down to the courtsense, and struggles of unimproved reason gate he finds a coach, which taking for his in the conversation of a clown, with as much own, he whips into it; and the coachman satisfaction as the most shining periods of drives off, not doubting but he carries his the most finished orator; and can make a master. As soon as he stops, Menalcas shift to command my attention at a pup-throws himself out of the coach, crosses pet-show or an opera, as well as at Hamlet or Othello. I always make one of the company I am in; for though I say little myself, my attention to others, and those nods of approbation which I never bestow unmerited, sufficiently show that I am among them. Whereas Will Honeycomb, though a fellow of good sense, is every day doing and saying a hundred things, which he afterwards confesses, with a well-bred frankness, were somewhat mal à propos, and undesigned. I chanced the other day to go into a coffee-house, where Will was standing in the midst of several auditors, whom he had gathered round him, and was giving them an account of the person and character of Moll Hinton. My appearance before him just put him in mind of me, without making him reflect that I was actually present. So that, keeping his eyes full upon me, to the great surprise of his audience, he broke off his first harangue, and proceeded thus:-'Why now there's my friend,' mentioning me by my name, he is a feliow that thinks a great deal, but never opens his mouth; I warrant you he is now thrusting his short face into some coffee the court, ascends the stair-case, and runs through all the chambers with the greatest familiarity; reposes himself on a couch, and fancies himself at home. The master of the house at last comes in; Menalcas rises to receive him, and desires him to sit down; he talks, muses, and then talks again. The gentleman of the house is tired and amazed; Menalcas is no less so, but is every moment in hopes that his impertinent guest will at last end his tedious visit. Night comes on, when Menalcas is hardly undeceived. When he is playing at backgammon, he calls for a full glass of wine and water it is his turn to throw, he has the box in one hand, and his glass in the other; and being extremely dry, and unwilling to lose time, he swallows down both the dice, and at the same time throws his wine into the tables. He writes a letter, and flings the sand into the ink-bottle; he writes a second and mistakes the superscription. A nobleman receives one of them, and upon open ing it reads as follows: 'I would have you, honest Jack, immediately upon the receipt of this, take in hay enough to serve me the winter.' His farmer receives the other, X. and is amazed to see in it, "My lord, I re- | per season; on which account this is to as ceived your grace's commands, with an en- sure you that the club of Ugly Faces was tire submission to-.' If he is at an enter- instituted originally at Cambridge, in the enter-instituted tainment, you may see the pieces of bread merry reign of King Charles II. As in continually multiplying round his plate. It great bodies of men it is not difficult to find is true, the rest of the company want it as members enough for such a club, so (I rewell as their knives and forks, which Me- member) it was then feared, upon their nalcas does not let them keep long. Some-intention of dining together, that the hall times in a morning he puts his whole family belonging to Clare-hall, the ugliest then in in a hurry, and at last goes out without be- the town (though now the neatest) would ing able to stay for his coach or dinner, not be large enough handsomely to hold and for that day you may see him in every the company. Invitations were made to part of the town, except the very place great numbers, but very few accepted where he had appointed to be upon a busi- them without much difficulty. One pleadness of importance. You would often take ed, that being at London, in a bookseller's him for every thing that he is not; for a shop, a lady going by with a great belly fellow quite stupid, for he hears nothing; longed to kiss him. He had certainly been for a fool, for he talks to himself, and has excused, but that evidence appeared, that an hundred grimaces and motions with his indeed one in London did pretend she longhead, which are altogether involuntary; ed to kiss him, but that it was only a pickfor a proud man, for he looks full upon pocket, who during his kissing her stole you, and takes no notice of your saluting away all his money. Another would have him. The truth of it is, his eyes are open, got off by a dimple in his chin; but it was but he makes no use of them, and neither proved upon him, that he had, by coming sees you, nor any man, nor any thing else. into a room, made a woman miscarry, and He came once from his country-house, and frightened two children into fits. A third his own footmen undertook to rob him, and alleged, that he was taken by a lady for succeeded. They held a flambeau to his another gentleman, who was one of the throat, and bid him deliver his purse; he handsomest in the university: but upon did so, and coming home told his friends he inquiry it was found that the lady had achad been robbed; they desired to know the tually lost one eye, and the other was very particulars, Ask my servants,' says Me- much upon the decline. A fourth pro nalcas, for they were with me. duced letters out of the country in his vin dication, in which a gentleman offered him his daughter, who had lately fallen in love with him, with a good fortune; but it was made appear, that the young lady was amorous, and had like to have run away with her father's coachman, so that it was supposed, that her pretence of falling in love with him, was only in order to be well married. It was pleasant to hear the several excuses which were made, insomuch that some made as much interest to be excused, as they would from serving sheriff; however, at last the society was formed, and proper officers were appointed; and the day was fixed for the entertainment, which was in venison season. A pleasant fellow of King's-college (commonly called Crab, from his sour look, and the only man who did not pretend to get off) was nominated for chaplain; and nothing was wanting but some one to sit in the elbow-chair, by way of president, at the upper end of As to the Cambridge affair, the hu- the table; and there the business stuck, for mour was really carried on in the way I there was no contention for superiority describe it. However, you have a full there. This affair made so great a noise, commission to put out or in, and to do that the King, who was then at Newmarwhatever you think fit with it. I have al-ket, heard of it, and was pleased merrily ready had the satisfaction of seeing you and graciously to say, 'He could not be take that liberty with some things I have there himself, but he would send them a before sent you. Go on, sir, and prosper. brace of bucks.' You have the best wishes of, sir, your very affectionate and obliged humble servant. Cambridge. No. 78.] Wednesday, May 30, 1711. Cum talis sis, utinam noster esses! Could we but call so great a genius ours! The following letters are so pleasant, that I doubt not but the reader will be as much diverted with them as I was. I have nothing to do in this day's entertainment, but taking the sentence from the end of the Cambridge letter, and placing it at the front of my paper, to show the author I wish him my companion with as much earnestness as he invites me to be his. 'SIR,--I send you the enclosed, to be inserted (if you think them worthy of it) in your Spectator; in which so surprising a genius appears, that it is no wonder if all mankind endeavours to get somewhat into a paper which will always live. 9 MR. SPECTATOR,—You well know it is of great consequence to clear titles, and it is of importance that it be done in the pro 'I would desire you, sir, to set this affair in a true light, that posterity may not be misled in so important a point; for when the wise man who shall write your true history,' shall acquaint the world, that you had a diploma sent from the Ugly Club at |