posing himself upon velvet cushions, under a canopy of state. The inscription is answerable to the monu ment; for instead of celebrating the many remarkable actions he had performed in the service of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which it was impossible for him to reap any honour. The Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an infinitely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their buildings and works of this nature than what we meet with in those of our own country. The monuments of their admirals, which have been erected at the public expense, represent them like themselves, and are adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons of sea-weed, shells, and coral. thoughtfulness that is not disagreeable. I yesterday figure of a beau, aressed in a long periwig, and 10passed a whole afternoon in the church-yard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tombstones and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one day, and died upon another; the whole history of his life being comprehended in those two circumstances that are common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed persons; who had left no other memorial of them, but that they were born, and that they died. They put me in mind of several persons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other reason but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the head. Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque.—VIRO Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a grave; and saw in every shovel-full of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skull intermixed with a kind of fresh mouldering earth that some time or other had a place in the composition of a human body. Upon this I began to consider with myself what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under the pavement of that ancient cathedral; how men and wonen, friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled amongst ore another, and blended together in the same common mass; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous heap of matter. But to return to our subject. I have left the re pository of our English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and The life of these men is finely described in holy dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy ima writ by "the path of an arrow," which is imme-ginations; but for my own part, though I am always diately closed up and lost. serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself with those objects which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombs of the great, every motion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together. After having thus surveyed the great magazine of mortality, as it were, in the lump, I examined it more particularly by the accounts which I found on several of the monuments which are raised in every quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of them were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that if it were possible for the dead person to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon him. There are others so excessively modest, that they deliver the character of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means are not understood once in a twelvemonth. In the poetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, and monuments which had no poets. I observed, indeed, that the present war has filled the church with many of these uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were perhaps buried in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosoin of the ocean. Long as to him, who works for debt, the day; Long as the night to her, whose love's away; Long as the year's dull circle scems to run When the brisk minor pants for twenty-one: So slow th' unprofitable moments roll, That lock up ali the functions of my soul; That keep me from myself, and still delay Life's instant business to a future day: That task, which as we follow, or despise, The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise: Which done, the poorest can no wants endure, And which not done the richest must be poor.-POPE. THERE is scarce a thinking man in the world, who involved in the business of it, but lives under a secret impatience of the hurry and fatigue he suffers, and has formed a resolution to fix himself, one time or other, in such a state as is suitable to the end of his being. You hear men every day in conversation I could not but be very much delighted with several modern epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and justness of thought, and therefore do honour to the living as well as the dead. As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of a nation from the turn of their public monuments and inscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of learning and genius before they are put in execution. Sir Cloudes-is Ty Shovel's monument has very often given me great offence. Instead of the brave rough English admiral, which was the distinguishing character of that plain gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by the D know I contribute more to your satisfaction, when I "Your most obliged and most humble servant. "SIR, profess, that all the honour, power, and riches, which they propose to themselves, cannot give satisfaction enough to reward them for half the anxiety they undergo in the pursuit or the possession of them. While men are in this temper (which happens very frequently,) how inconsistent are they with themselves! They are wearied with the toil they bear, "I am entirely convinced of the truth of what but cannot find in their hearts to relinquish it: re- you were pleased to say to me, when I was last with tirement is what they want, but they cannot betake you alone. You told me then of the silly way I was themselves to it. While they pant after shade and in; but you told me so as I saw you loved me, covert, they still affect to appear in the most glitter- otherwise I could not obey your commands in letting ing scenes of life. Sure this is but just as reason-you know my thoughts so sincerely as I do at preable as if a man should call for more light, when he sent. I know the creature, for whom I resign so has a mind to go to sleep. much of my character,' is all that you said of her; but then the trifler has something in her so undesigning and harmless, that her guilt in one kind disappears by the comparison of her innocence in another. Will you, virtuous man, allow no alteration of offences? Must dear Chloe be called by the hard name you pious people give to common women? I keep the solemn promise I made you, in writing to you the state of my mind, after your kind admonition; and will endeavour to get the better of this fondness, which makes me so much her humble servant, that I am almost ashamed to subscribe myself yours, "T. D." Since then it is certain that our own hearts deceive us in the love of the world, and that we cannot command ourselves enough to resign it, though we every day wish ourselves disengaged from its allurements; let us not stand upon a formal taking of leave, but wean ourselves from them while we are in the midst of them. It is certainly the general intention of the greater part of mankind to accomplish this work, and live according to their own approbation, as soon as they possibly can. But since the duration of life is so uncertain, (and that has been a common topic of discourse ever since there was such a thing as life itself,) how is it possible that we should defer a moment the beginning to live according to the rules of reason? The man of business has ever some one point to carry, and then he tells himself he will bid adieu to all the vanity of ambition. The man of pleasure resolves to take his leave at least, and part civilly with his mistress; but the ambitious man is entangled every moment in a fresh pursuit, and the lover sees new charms in the object he fancied he could abandon. It is therefore a fautastical way of thinking, when we promise ourselves an alteration in our conduct from change of place and difference of circum stances; the same passions will attend us whereever we are, till they are conquered; and we can never live to our satisfaction in the deepest retirement, unless we are capable of living so, in some measure, amidst the noise and business of the world. I have ever thought men were better known by what could be observed of them from a perusal of their private letters, than any other way. My friend the clergyman, the other day, upon serious discourse with him concerning the danger of procrastination, gave me the following letters from persons with whom he lives in great friendship and intimacy, according to the good breeding and good sense of his charac ter. The first is from a man of business, who is his convert the second from one of whom he conceives good hopes: the third from one who is in no state at all, but carried one way and another by starts. "SIR, "I know not with what words to express to you the sense I have of the high obligation you have laid upon me, in the penance you enjoined me, of doing some good or other to a person of worth every day I live. The station I am in furnishes me with daily opportunities of this kind; and the noble principle with which you have inspired me, of benevolence to all I have to deal with, quickens my application in every thing I undertake. When I relieve merit from discountenance, when I assist a friendless person, when I produce concealed worth, I am displeased with myself, for having designed to leave the world in order to be virtuous. I am sorry you decline the occasions which the condition I am in might afford me of enlarging your fortunes; but "SIR, "There is no state of life so anxious as that of a man who does not live according to the dictates of his own reason. It will seem odd to you, when I assure you that my love of retirement first of all brought me to court; but this will be no riddle when I acquaint you, that I placed myself here with a design of getting so much money as might enable me to purchase a handsome retreat in the country. At present my circumstances enable me, and my duty prompts me, to pass away the remaining part of my life in such a retirement as I at first proposed to myself; but to my great misfortune I have entirely lost the relish of it, and should now return to the country with greater reluctance than I at first came to court. I am so unhappy, as to know that what I am fond of are trifles, and that what I neglect is of the greatest importance: in short, I find a contest in my own mind between reason and fashion. I remember you once told me, that I might live in the world, and out of it, at the same time. Let me beg of you to explain this paradox more at large to me, that I may conform my life, if possible, both to my duty and my inclination. I am yours, &c. R. "R. B." Letters are directed "For the Spectator, to be leit at Mr. Buckley's, in Little Britain, post paid." N. B. In the form of a direction, this makes a figure in the last column of the Spectator in folio. and finding daily absurdities hung out upon the sign-posts of this city, to the great scandal of foreigners, as well as those of our own country, who are curious spectators of the same: I do humbly propose that you would be pleased to make me your superintendent of all such figures and devices as are or shall be made use of on this occasion; with full powers to rectify or expunge whatever I shall find irregular or defective. For want of such an officer, there is nothing like sound literature and good sense to be met with in those objects that are every where thrusting themselves out to the eye, and endeavouring to become visible. Our streets are filled with blue boars, black swans, and red lions; not to mention flying pigs, and hogs in armour, with many other creatures more extraordinary than any in the deserts of Africa. Strange! that one who has all the birds and beasts in nature to choose out of, should live at the sign of an Ens Rationis! "My first task therefore should be, like that of Hercules, to clear the city from monsters. In the second place, I would forbid that creatures of jarring and incongruous natures should be joined together in the same sign; such as the bell and the neat's tongue, the dog and the gridiron. The fox and the goose may be supposed to have met, but what has the fox and the seven stars to do together? And when did the lamb and the dolphin ever meet, except upon a sign-post? As for the cat and fiddle, there is a conceit in it; and therefore I do not intend that any thing I have here said should affect it. I must, however, observe to you upon this subject, that it is usual for a young tradesman, at his first setting up, to add to his own sign that of the master whom he served; as the husband, after marriage, gives a place to his mistress's arms in his own coat. This I take to have given rise to many of those absurdities which are committed over our heads; and, as I am informed, first occasioned the three nuns and a hare, which we see so frequently joined together. I would therefore establish certain rules, for the determining how far one tradesman may give the sign of another, and in what cases he may be allowed to quarter it with his own. "In the third place, I would enjoin every shop to make use of a sign which bears some affinity to the wares in which it deals. What can be more inconsistent than to see a bawd at the sign of the angel, or a tailor at the lion? A cook should not live at the boot, nor a shoemaker at the roasted pig; and yet, for want of this regulation, I have seen a goat set up before the door of a perfumer, and the French king's head at a sword-cutler's. "An ingenious foreigner observes, that several of those gentlemen who value themselves upon their families, and overlook such as are bred to trade, bear the tools of their forefathers in their coats of arms. I will not examine how true this is in fact. But though it may not be necessary for posterity thus to set up the sign of their forefathers, I think it highly proper for those who actually profess the trade to show some such marks of it before their doors. "When the name gives an occasion for an ingenious sign-post, I would likewise advise the owner to take that opportunity of letting the world know who he is. It would have been ridiculous for the ingenious Mrs. Salmon to have lived at the sign of the trout; for which reason she has erected before her house the figure of the fish that is her namesake. Mr. Bell has likewise distinguished himself by a device of the same rature: and here, Sir, I must beg leave to observe to you, that this particular | As for figure of a bell has given occasion to several pieces of wit in this kind. A man of your reading must know, that Abel Drugger gained great applause by it in the time of Ben Jonson. Our apocryphal heathen god is also represented by this figure; which, in conjunction with the dragon, makes a very handsome picture in several of our streets. the bell-savage, which is the sign of a savage man standing by a bell, I was formerly very much puzzled upon the conceit of it, till I accidentally fell into the reading of an old romance translated out of the French; which gives an account of a very beautiful woman who was found in a wilderness, and is called in the French La belle Sauvage; and is every where translated by our countrymen the bellsavage. This piece of philosophy will, I hope, convince you that I have made sign-posts my study, and consequently qualified myself for the employ ment which I solicit at your hands. But before I conclude my letter, I must communicate to you another remark, which I have made upon the subject with which I am now entertaining you, namely, that I can give a shrewd guess at the humour of the inhabitant by the sign that hangs before his door. A surly choleric fellow generally makes choice of a bear; as men of milder dispositions frequently live at the sign of the lamb. Seeing a punch-bowl painted upon a sign near Charing-cross, and very curiously garnished with a couple of angels hovering over it, and squeezing a lemon into it, I had the curiosity to ask after the master of the house, and found, upon inquiry, as I had guessed by the little agrémens upon his sign, that he was a Frenchman. I know, Sir, it is not requisite for me to enlarge upon these hints to a gentleman of your great abilities; so, humbly recommending myself to your favour and patronage. "I remain, &c." I shall add to the foregoing letter another, which came to me by the penny-post. "From my own apartment near Charing-cross. "HONOURED SIR, "Having heard that this nation is a great encourager of ingenuity, I have brought with me a ropedancer that was caught in one of the woods belonging to the Great Mogul. He is by birth a monkey; but swings upon a rope, takes a pipe of tobacco, and He gives great satisfaction to the quality; and if drinks a glass of ale like any reasonable creature. they will make a subscription for him, I will send for a brother of his out of Holland, that is a very good tumbler; family whom I design for my merry-andrew, as being an excellent mimic, and the greatest droll in the country where he now is. I hope to have this entertainment in readiness for the next winter; and doubt not but it will please more than the opera or puppet-show. I will not say that a monkey is a better man than some of the opera heroes; but certainly he is a better representative of a man than the most artificial composition of wood and wire, If you will be pleased to give me a good word ia your paper, you shall be every night a spectator at "I am, &c." my show for nothing. and also for another of the same C • St, George. No. 29.] TUESDAY, APRIL 3, 1711. Sermo lingua concinnus utraque Suavior: ut Chio nota si commista Falerni est. Both tongues united, sweeter sounds produce, " composer should not follow the Italian recitative too servilely, but make use of many gentle deviations from it, in compliance with his own native language. HOR. 1 Sat. x. 23. He may copy out of it all the lulling softness and dying falls," (as Shakspeare calls them) but should still remember that he ought to accommodate himself to an English audience; and by humouring the tone of our voices in ordinary conversation, have the same regard to the accent of his own language, as those persons had to theirs whom he professes to imitate. It is observed, that several of the singing birds of our own country learn to sweeten their voices and mellow the harshness of their natural notes, by practising under those that come from warmer climates. In the same manner I would allow the Italian opera to lend our English music as much as may grace and soften it, but never entirely to annihilate and destroy it. Let the infusion be as strong as you please, but still let the subject matter of it be English. THERE is nothing that has more startled our English audience, than the Italian recitativo at its first entrance upon the stage. People were wonderfully surprised to hear generals singing the word of command, and ladies delivering messages in music. Our countrymen could not forbear laughing when they heard a lover chanting out a billet-doux, and even the superscription of a letter set to a tune. The famous blunder in an old play of "Enter a king and two fiddlers solus," was now no longer an absurdity, when it was impossible for a hero in a desert, or a princess in her closet, to speak any thing unaccompanied with musical instruments. But however this Italian method of acting in recitativo might appear at first hearing, I cannot but think it much more just than that which prevailed in our English opera before this innovation: the transition from an air to recitative music being more natural than the passing from a song to plain and ordinary speaking, which was the common method in Purcell's operas. The only fault I find in our present practice, is the making use of the Italian recitativo with English words. To go to the bottom of this matter, I must observe, that the tone, or (as the French call it) the accent of every nation in their ordinary speech, is altogether different from that of every other people; as we may see even in the Welch and Scotch who border so near upon us. By the tone or accent, I do not mean the pronunciation of each particular word, but the sound of the whole sentence. Thus it is very common for an English gentleman when he hears a French tragedy, to complain that the actors all of them speak in one tone: and therefore he very wisely prefers his own countrymen, not considering that a foreigner complains of the same tone in an English actor. A composer should fit his music to the genius of the people, and consider that the delicacy of hearing and taste of harmony, has been formed upon those sounds which every country abounds with. In short, that music is of a relative nature, and what is harmony to one ear, may be dissonance to another. The same observations which I have made upon the recitative part of music, may be applied to all our songs and airs in general. Signior Baptist Lully acted like a man of sense in this particular. He found the French music extremely defective, and very often barbarous. However, knowing the genius of the people, the humour of their language, and the prejudiced ears he had to deal with, he did not pretend to extirpate the French music and plant the Italian in its stead; but only to cultivate and civilize it with innumerable graces aud modulations which he borrowed from the Italians. By this means the French music is now perfect in its kind; and when you say it is not so good as the Italian, you only mean that it does not please you so well; for there is scarce a Frenchman who would not wonder to hear you give the Italian such a preference. The music of the French is indeed very properly adapted to their pronunciation and accent, as their whole opera wonderfully favours the genius of such a gay airy people. The chorus, in which that opera abounds, gives the parterre frequent op portunities of joining in concert with the stage. This inclination of the audience to sing along with the actors, so prevails with them, that I have sometimes known the performer on the stage do no more in a celebrated song than the clerk of a parish church, who serves only to raise the psalm, and is afterwards drowned in the music of the congregation. Thus the notes of interrogation, or admiration, in Every actor that comes on the stage is a beau. The the Italian music (if one may so call them) which queens and heroines are so painted, that they appear resemble their accents in discourse on such occa as ruddy and cherry-cheeked as milk-maids. The sions, are not unlike the ordinary tones of an En- shepherds are all embroidered, and acquit themselves glish voice when we are angry; insomuch that I in a ball better than our English dancing-masters. Lave often seen our audiences extremely mistaken I have seen a couple of rivers appear in red stockas to what has been doing on the stage, and expect-ings; and Alpheus, instead of having his head coing to see the hero knock down his messenger, when vered with sedge and bull-rushes, making love in a he has been asking him a question; or fancying that full-bottom periwig and a plume of feathers; but he quarrels with his friend when he only bids him with a voice so full of shakes and quavers, that I good morrow. should have thought the murmurs of a country brook the much more agreeable music. For this reason, the recitative music, in every language, should be as different as the tone or accent of each language; for otherwise, what may properly express a passion in one language will not do it in another. Every one who has been long in Italy, knows very well that the cadences in the recitativo bear a remote affinity to the tone of their voices in ordinary conversation-or, to speak more properly, are only the accents of their language made more musical and tuneful. For this reason the Italian artists cannot agree with our English musicians in admiring Purcell's I remember the last opera I saw in that merry compositions, and thinking his tunes so wonderfully nation was the Rape of Proserpine, where Pluto, to adapted to his words; because both nations do not make the more tempting figure, puts himself in a always express the same passions by the same sounds. French equipage, and brings Ascalaphus along with I am therefore humbly of opinion, that an English | him as his valet de chambre. This is what we cail folly and impertinence; but what the French look upon as gay and polite. I shall add no more to what I have here offered, than that music, architecture, and painting, as well as poetry and oratory, are to deduce their laws and rules from the general sense and taste of mankind, and not from the principles of those arts themselves; or, in other words, the taste is not to conform to the art, but the art to the taste. Music is not designed to please only chromatic ears, but all that are capa ble of distinguishing harsh from disagreeable notes. A man of an ordinary ear is a judge whether a passion is expressed in proper sounds, and whether the melody of those sounds be more or less pleasing.-C. Complete sets of this paper for the month of March, are sold by Mr. Greaves, in St. James'sstreet; Mr. Lillie, perfumer, the corner of Beaufort-buildings; Messrs. Sanger, Knapton, Round, and Mrs. Baldwin.-Spect. in folio. but they were persons of such moderate intellects, even before they were impaired by their passion, that their irregularities could not furnish sufficient variety of folly to afford daily new impertinences; by which means that institution dropped. These fellows could express their passion by nothing but their dress but the Oxonians are fantastical now they are lovers, in proportion to their learning and understanding before they became such. The thoughts of the ancient poets on this agreeable frenzy are translated in honour of some modern beauty; and Chloris is won to-day by the same compliment that was made to Lesbia a thousand years ago. But as far as I can learn, the patron of the club is the renowned Don Quixote. The adventures of that gentle knight are frequently mentioned in the society, under the colour of laughing at the passion and themselves: but at the same time, though they are sensible of the extravagances of that unhappy warrior, they do not observe, that to turn all the reading of the best and wisest writings into rhapsodies of love, is a frenzy no less diverting than that of the aforesaid accomplished Spaniard. A gentleman, HOR. 1 Ep. vi. 65. who, I hope, will continue his correspondence, is lately admitted into the fraternity, and sent me the following letter: No. 30.] WEDNESDAY, APRIL 4, 1711. "SIR. little known in the world, is the secresy which we are obliged to live under in the university. Our constitution runs counter to that of the place wherein we live for in love there are no doctors, and we all the majority of the company. A mistress, and a Without the latter no one can be admitted; for he poem in her praise, will introduce any candidate. that is not in love enough to rhyme, is unqualified for our society. To speak disrespectfully of a woman is expulsion from our gentle society. As we are at present all of us gownsmen, instead of duelling when we are rivals, we drink together the health of our mistress. The manner of doing this, sometimes indeed creates debates; on such occasions we have recourse to the rules of love among the ancients. If nothing, as Mimnermus strives to prove, Can e'er be pleasant without mirth and love, Then live in mirth and love, thy sports pursue.-CREECH. ONE common calamity makes men extremely af"Since I find you take notice of clubs, I beg leave fect each other, though they differ in every other to give you an account of one in Oxford, which you particular. The passion of love is the most general have no where mentioned, and perhaps never heard concern among men; and I am glad to hear by my of. We distinguish ourselves by the title of the last advices from Oxford, that there are a set of Amorous Club, are all votaries of Cupid, and adsighers in that university, who have erected them-mirers of the fair sex. The reason that we are so selves into a society in honour of that tender passion. These gentlemen are of that sort of inamoratos, who are not so very much lost to common sense, but that they understand the folly they are guilty of; and for that reason separate themselves from all other company, because they will enjoy the pleasure of profess so high a passion, that we admit of no graduates in it. Our presidentship is bestowed accordtalking incoherently, without being ridiculous to any ing to the dignity of passion; our number is unlibut each other. When a man comes into the club, mited; and our statutes are like those of the Druids, he is not obliged to make any introduction to his dis-recorded in our own breasts only, and explained by course, but at once, as he is seating himself in his chair, speaks in the thread of his own thoughts: "She gave me a very obliging glance, she never looked so well in her life as this evening;" or the like reflection, without regard to any other member of the society; for in this assembly they do not meet to talk to each other, but every man claims the full liberty of talking to himself. Instead of snuff-boxes and canes, which are the usual helps to discourse with other young fellows, these have each some piece of riband, a broken fan, or an old girdle, which they play with while they talk of the fair person rememered by each respective token. According to the representation of the matter from my letters, the company appear like so many players rehearsing be hind the scenes; one is sighing and lamenting his estiny in beseeching terms, another declaiming he will break his chain, and another, in dumb-show, striving to express his passion by his gesture. It is very ordinary in the assembly for one of a sudden to rise and make a discourse concerning his passion in general, and describe the temper of his mind in such a manner, as that the whole company shall join in the description, and feel the force of it. In this case, if any man has declared the violence of his flame in more pathetic terms, he is made president for that night, out of respect to his superior passion. We had some years ago in this town, a set of people who met and dressed like lovers, and were distinguished by the name of the Fringe-glove club; Navia sex cyathis, septem Justina bibatur. Six cups to Nævia, to Justina seven. |