No. 65.1 TUESDAY, MAY 15, 1711. -Demetri, teque, Tigelli, Demetrius and Tigellius, know your place; Go hence, and whine among the school-boy race. AFTER having at large explained what wit is, and described the false appearances of it, all that labour seems but a useless inquiry, without some time be spent in considering the application of it. The seat of wit, when one speaks as a man of the town and the world, is the playhouse; I shall therefore fill this paper with reflections upon the use of it in that place. The application of wit in the theatre has as strong an effect upon the manners of our gentlemen, as the taste of it has upon the writings of our authors. It may, perhaps, look like a very presumptuous work, though not foreign from the duty of a Spectator, to tax the writings of such as have long had the general applause of a nation; but I shall always make reason, truth, and nature, the measures of praise and dispraise; if those are for me, the generality of opinion is of no consequence against me; if they are against me, the general opinion cannot long support me. Without farther preface, I am going to look into some of our most applauded plays, and see whether they deserve the figure they at present bear in the imaginations of men or not. In reflecting upon these works, I shall chiefly dwell upon that for which each respective play is most celebrated. The present paper shall be enployed upon Sir Fopling Flutter. The received character of this play is, that it is the pattern of genteel comedy. Dorimant and Harriet are the characters of greatest consequence, and if these are low and mean, the reputation of the play is very unjust. I will take for granted, that a fine gentleman should be honest in his actions, and refined in his language. Instead of this, our hero in this piece is a direct knave in his designs, and a clown in his language. Bellair is his admirer and friend; in return for which, because he is forsooth a greater wit than his said friend, he thinks it reasonable to persuade him to marry a young lady, whose virtue, he thinks, will last no longer than till she is a wife, and then she cannot but fall to his share, as he is an irresistible fine gentleman. The falsehood to Mrs. Loveit, and the barbarity of triumphing over her anguish for losing him, is another instance of his honesty as well as his goodnature. As to his fine language, he calls the orange-woman, who, it seems, is inclined to grow fat, "An overgrown jade, with a flasket of guts before her;" and salutes her with "The Man of the Mode." Sir Fopling was Beau Hewit, son of Sir Thon.as Hewit, of Pishiobury, in Hertfordshire, Bart.; and the author's own character is represented in Bellair. a pretty phrase of "How now, Double Tripe ?" Upon the mention of a country-gentlewoman, whom he knows nothing of (no one can imagine why), "he will lay his life she is some awkward ill-fashioned country toad, who, not having above four dozen of hairs on her head, has adorned her baldness with a large white furz, that she may look sparkishly in the fore-front of the king's box at an old play." Unnatural mixture of senseless common-place! As to the generosity of his temper. he tells his poor footman, "If he did not wait better," he would turn him away-in the insolent phrase of, "I'll uncase you." Now for Mrs. Harriet. She laughs at obedience to an absent mother, whose tenderness Busy describes to be very exquisite, for, "that she is so pleased with finding Harriet again, that she cannot chide her for being out of the way." This witty daughter and fine lady has so little respect for this good woman, that she ridicules her air in taking leave, and cries, "In what struggle is my poor mother yonder! See, see, her head tottering, her eyes staring, and her under-lip trembling." But al! this is atoned for, because she has more wit than is usual in her sex, and as much malice, though she is as wild as you could wish her, and has a demureness in her looks that makes it so surprising." Then to recommend her as a fit spouse for his hero, the poet makes her speak her sense of marriage very ingenuously: I think," says she, "I might be brought to endure him, and that is all a reasonable woman should expect in a husband." It is me. thinks unnatural, that we are not made to understand, how she that was bred under a silly pious old mother, that would never trust her out of her sight, came to be so polite. It cannot be denied, but that the negligence of every thing which engages the attention of the sober and valuable part of mankind, appears very well drawn in this piece. But it is denied, that it is necessary to the character of a fine gentleman, that he should in that manner trample upon all or der and decency. As for the character of Dorimant, it is more of a coxcomb than that of Fopling. He says of one of his companions, that a good correspondence between them is their mutual interest. Speaking of that friend, he declares, their being much together" makes the women think the better of his understanding, and judge more favourably of my reputation. It makes him pass upon some for a man of very good serce, and me upon others for a very civil person." This whole celebrated piece is a perfect contradiction to good manners, good sense, and common honesty; and as there is nothing in it but what is built upon the ruin of virtue and innocence, according to the notion of merit in this comedy, I take the shoemaker to be in reality the fine gentleman of the play: for it seems ne is an atheist, if we may depend upon his character as given by the orange-woman, who is herself far from being the lowest in the play. She says of a fine man who is Dorimant's companion, there is not such another heathen in the town, except the shomaker." His pretension to be the hero of the drama, appears still more in his own description of his way of living with his lady. "There is," says he, "never a man in town lives more like a gentleman with his wife He also was a real person, and got vast employment by the representation of him in this play." than I do; I never mind her motions; she never "They tell me you are a person who have seen inquires into mine. We speak to one another the world, and are a judge of fine breeding; which civilly, hate one another heartily; and because it is makes me ambitious of some instructions from you vulgar to lie and soak together, we have each of us for her improvement: which when you have faour several settle-bed." That of "soaking toge- voured me with, I shall farther advise with you ther" is as good as if Dorimant had spoken it him- about the disposal of this fair forester in marriage: self; and I think, since he puts human nature in as for I will make it no secret to you, that her person ugly a form as the circumstance will bear, and is a and education are to be her fortune. staunch unbeliever, he is very much wronged in having no part of the good fortune bestowed in the last act. To speak plain of this whole work, I think nothing but being lost to a sense of innocence and virtue, can make any one see this comedy, without observing more frequent occasion to move sorrow and indignation, than mirth and laughter. At the same time I allow it to be nature, but it is nature in its utmost corruption and degeneracy.*-R. No. 66.1 WEDNESDAY, MAY 16, 1711. De tenero meditatur ungui.-Hor. 1 Od. vi. 21. Behold a ripe and melting maid Bound 'prentice to the wanton traue: Instruct her in the mysteries of vice, What nets to spread, where subtle baits to lay; And with an early hand they form the temper'd clay. ROSCOMMON. THE two following letters are upon a subject of very great importance, though expressed without any air of gravity. "SIR, "TO THE SPECTATOR. "I take the freedom of asking your advice in behalf of a young country kinswoman of mine who is lately come to town, and under my care for her education. She is very pretty, but you cannot imagine how unformed a creature it is. She comes to my hands just as nature left her, half finished, and without any acquired improvements. When I look on her I often think of the Belle Sauvage mentioned in one of your papers. Dear Mr. Spectator, help me to make her comprehend the visible graces of speech, and the dumb eloquence of motion; for she is at present a perfect stranger to both. She knows no way to express herself but by her tongue, and that always to signify her meaning. Her eyes serve her only to see with, and she is utterly a foreigner to the language of looks and glances. In this I fancy you could help her better than any body. I have bestowed two months in teaching her to sigh when she is not concerned, and to smile when she is not pleased, and am ashamed to own she makes little or no improvement. Then she is no more able now to walk, than she was to go at a year old. By walking, you will easily know I mean that regular but easy motion which gives our persons so irresistible a grace as if we moved to music, and is a kind of disengaged figure; or, if I may so speak, recitative dancing. But the want of this I cannot blame in her, for I find she has no ear, and means nothing by walking but to change her place. I could pardon too her blushing, if she knew how to carry herself in it, and if it did not manifestly injure her complexion. How could it be otherwise, when the author of this play was Sir George Etheridge, and the character of Dorimant that of Wilmot, Earl of Rochester? "SIR, "I am Sir, "Your very humble servant, "CELIMENE." "Being employed by Celimene to make up and send to you her letter, I make bold to recommend the case therein mentioned to your consideration, because she and I happen to differ a little in our notions. I, who am a rough man, am afraid the young girl is in a fair way to be spoiled: therefore, pray, Mr. Spectator, let us have your opinion of this fine thing called fine breeding; for I am afraid it differs too much from that plain thing called good breeding. "Your most humble servant." From The general mistake among us in the educating our children is, that in our daughters we take care of their persons and neglect their minds; in our sons we are so intent upon adorning their minds, that we wholly neglect their bodies. It is from this that you shall see a young lady celebrated and admired in all the assemblies about town, when her elder brother is afraid to come into a room. this ill management it arises, that we frequently observe a man's life is half spent, before he is taken notice of; and a woman in the prime of her years is out of fashion and neglected. The boy I shall consider upon some other occasion, and at present stick to the girl and I am the more inclined to this, because I have several letters which complain to me, that my female readers have not understood me for some days last past, and take themselves to be unconcerned in the present turn of my writing. -When a girl is safely brought from her nurse, before she is capable of forming one single notion of any thing in life, she is delivered to the hands of her dancing master; and with a collar round her neck, the pretty wild thing is taught a fantastical gravity of behaviour, and forced to a particular way of holding her head, heaving her breast, and moving with her whole body; and all this under pain of never having a husband, if she steps, looks, or moves awry. This gives the young lady wonderful workings of imagination, what is to pass between her aud this husband, that she is every moment told of, and for whom she seems to be educated. Thus her fancy is engaged to turn all her endeavours to the ornament of her person, as what must determine her good and ill in this life and she naturally thinks, if she is tall enough, she is wise enough, for any thing for which her education makes her think she is designed To make her an agreeable person is the main purpose of her parents; to that is all their cost, to that all their care directed; and from this general folly of parents we owe our present numerous race of coquettes. These reflections puzzle me, when I think of giving my advice on the subject of managing the wild thing mentioned in the letter of my correspondent. sure there is a middle way to be followed; the management of a young lady's person is not to be over But looked, but the erudition of her mind is much more to be regarded. According as this is managed, you will see the mind follow the appetites of the body, or the body express the virtues of the mind. Cleomira dances with all the elegance of motion imaginable; but her eyes are so chastised with the simplicity and innocence of her thoughts, that she raises in her beholders admiration and good-will, but no loose hope or wild imagination. The true art in this case is, to make the mind and body improve together; and, if possible, to make gesture follow thought, and not let thought be employed upon gesture.-R. No. 67.] THURSDAY, MAY 17, 1711. LUCIAN, in one of his dialogues, introduces a philosopher chiding his friend for his being a lover of dancing and a frequenter of balls. The other undertakes the defence of his favourite diversion, which, he says, was at first invented by the goddess Rhea, and preserved the life of Jupiter himself from the cruelty of his father Saturn. He proceeds to show, that it had been approved by the greatest men in all ages; that Homer calls Merion a fine dancer; and says, that the graceful mien and great agility which he had acquired by that exercise, distinguished him above the rest in the armies both of Greeks and Trojans. He adds, that Pyrrhus gained more reputation by inventing the dance which is called after his name, than by all his other actions: that the Lacedæmonians, who were the bravest people in Greece, gave great encouragement to this diversion, and made their Hormus (a dance much resembling the French Brawl) famous all over Asia: that there were still extant some Thessalonian statues erected to the honour of their best dancers; and that he wondered how his brother philosopher could declare himself against the opinions of those two persons whom he professed so much to admire-Homer and Hesiod; the latter of which compares valour and dancing together, and says, that " the gods have bestowed fortitude on some men, and on others a disposition for dancing." Lastly, he puts him in mind that Socrates (who, in the judgment of Apollo, was the wisest of men), was not only a professed admirer of this exercise in others, but learned it himself when he was an old man. The morose philosopher is so much affected by these and some other authorities, that he becomes a convert to his friend, and desires he would take him with him when he went to his next ball. I love to shelter myself under the examples of great men; and I think I have sufficiently showed that it is not below the dignity of these my speculations to take notice of the following lette, which I suppose is sent me by some substantial tradesman about 'Change. and I was prevailed upon by her and her mother to go last night to one of his balls. I must own to you, Sir, that having never been to such a place before, I was very much pleased and surprised with that part of his entertainment which he called French Dancing. There were several young men and women whose limbs seemed to have no other motion but purely what the music gave them. After this part was over, they began a diversion which they call country dancing, and wherein there were also some things not disagreeable, and divers emblematical figures, composed, as I guess, by wise men, for the instruction of youth. Among the rest, I observed one which, I think, they call Hunt the Squirrel,' in which, while the woman flies, the man pursues her; but as soon as she turns, he runs away, and she is obliged to follow. "The moral of this dance does, I think, very aptly recommend modesty and discretion to the female sex. "But as the best institutions are liable to corruption, so, Sir, I must acquaint you, that very great I was abuses are crept into this entertainment. amazed to see my girl handed by and handing young fellows with so much familiarity; and I could not have thought it had been in the child. They very often made use of a most impudent and lascivious step called Setting,' which I know not how to describe to you, but by telling you that it is the very reverse of Back to Back.' At last an impudent young dog bid the fiddlers play a dance called Moll Pately,' and after having made two or three capers, ran to his partner, locked his arms in hers, and whisked her round cleverly above ground in such a manner that I, who sat upon one of the lowest benches, saw farther above her shoe than I can think fit to acquaint you with. I could no longer endure those enormities; wherefore, just as my girl was going to be made a whirligig, I ran in, seized on the child, and carried her home. "Sir, I am not yet old enough to be a fool. I suppose this diversion might be first invented to keep up a good understanding between young men and women, and so far I am not against it; but I shall never allow of these things. I know not what you will say to this case at present, but am sure, had you been with me, you would have seen matter of great speculation. "I am, yours," &c. I must confess I am afraid that my correspondent had too much reason to be a little out of humour at the treatment of his daughter, but I conclude that he would have been much more so, had he seen one of those kissing dances in which Will Honeycomb assures me they are obliged to dwell almost a minute on the fair one's lips or they will be too quick for ! the music, and dance quite out of time. I am not able, however to give my final sentence against this diversion; and am of Mr. Cowley's opinion, that so much of dancing, at least, as belongs to the behaviour and a handsome carriage of the body, is extremely useful, if not absolutely ne cessary. We generally form such ideas of people at first sight, as we are hardly ever persuaded to lay aside | afterward; for this reason, a man would wish to have nothing disagreeable or uncomely in his approaches, and to be able to enter a room with a good grace. little rules of good breeding, gives a man some asI might add, that a moderate knowledge in the surance, and makes him easy in all companies. For want of this, I have seen a professor of a liberal science at a loss to salute a lady; and a most excel lent mathematician not able to determine whether he should stand or sit while my lord drank to him.. It is the proper business of a dancing-master to regulate these matters; though I take it to be a just observation, that unless you add something of your own to what these fine gentlemen teach you, and which they are wholly ignorant of themselves, you will much sooner get the character of an affected fop than a well-bred man. As for country dancing, it must indeed be confessed that the great familiarities between the two sexes on this occasion may sometimes produce very dangerous consequences; and I have often thought that few ladies' hearts are so obdurate as not to be melted by the charms of music, the force of motion, and a handsome young fellow, who is continually playing before their eyes, and convincing them that he has the perfect use of all his limbs. But as this kind of dance is the particular invention of our own country, and as every one is more or less a proficient in it, I would not discountenance it; but rather suppose it may be practised innocently by others as well as myself, who am often partner to my landlady's eldest daughter. structive, and unreserved discourse, is that which passes between two persons who are familiar and intimate friends. On these occasions, a man gives a loose to every passion and every thought that is uppermost, discovers his most retired opinions of per sons and things, tries the beauty and strength of his sentiments, and exposes his whole soul to the examination of his friend. Tully was the first who observed, that friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy, and dividing of our grief; a thought in which he hath been followed by all the essayers upon friendship that have written since his time. Sir Francis Bacon has finely described other advantages, or, as he calls them, fruits of friendship; and, indeed, there is no subject of morality which has been better handled and more exhausted than this. Among the several fine things which have been spoken of it, I shall beg leave to quote some out of a very ancient author, whose book would be regarded by our modern wits as one of the most shining tracts of morality that is extant, if it appeared under the name of a Confucius, or of any celebrated Grecian philosopher: I mean the little apocryphal treatise, entitled The Wisdom of the Son of Sirach. How Having heard a good character of the collection finely has he described the art of making friends by of pictures which is to be exposed to sale on Friday an obliging and affable behaviour!-and laid down next; and concluding from the following letter, that that precept, which a late excellent author has dethe person who collected them is a man of no inele-livered as his own, That we should have many wellgant taste, I will be so much his friend as to publish wishers, but few friends. "Sweet language will it, provided the reader will only look upon it as multiply friends; and a fair-speaking tongue will infilling up the place of an advertisement: crease kind greetings. Be in peace with many, ne. vertheless have but one counsellor of a thousand." From the Three Chairs, in the Piazzas, Covent Garden. With what prudence does he caution us in the choice May 16, 1711. “SIR, POSTSCRIPT. "As you are a spectator, I think we who make it our business to exhibit any thing to public view, ught to apply ourselves to you for your approbation. I have travelled Europe to furnish out a show for you, and have brought with me what has been admired in every country through which I passed. You have declared in many papers, that your greatest delights are those of the eye, which I do not doubt but I shall gratify with as beautiful objects as yours ever beheld. If castles, forests, ruins, fine women, and graceful men, can please you, I dare promise you much satisfaction, if you will appear at my auction on Friday next. A sight is, I suppose, as grateful to a Spectator as a treat to another person, and therefore I hope you will pardon this invitation from, "Sir, X. "Your most obedient humble servant, of our friends! And with what strokes of nature 66 (I could almost say of humour) has he described the behaviour of a treacherous and self-interested friend! "If thou wouldst get a friend, prove him first, and be not hasty to credit him: for some man is a friend for his own occasion, and will not abide in the day of thy trouble. And there is a friend, who being turned to enmity and strife, will discover thy reproach." Again, "Some friend is a companion at the table, and will not continue in the day of thy affliction: but in thy prosperity he will be as thyself, and will be bold over thy servants. If thou be brought low he will be against thee, and hide himself from thy face."+ What can be more strong and pointed than the following verse? Separate thyself from thine enemies, and take heed of thy friends." In the next words he particularizes one of those fruits of friendship which is described at length by the two famous authors above mentioned, and falls into a general eulogium of friendship, which is very just as well as very sublime. faithiul friend is a strong defence; and he that hath found such a one hath found a treasure. Nothing doth countervail a faithful friend, and his excellen v ONE would think that the larger the company is is invaluable. A faithful friend is the medicine of in which we are engaged, the greater variety of life; and they that fear the Lord shall find him. thoughts and subjects would be started in discourse; Whoso feareth the Lord shall direct his friendship but instead of this, we find that conversation is never aright; for as he is, so shall his neighbour (that is so much straitened and confined as in numerous as- his friend) be also." I do not remember to nave semblies. When a multitude meet together on any met with any saying that has pleased me more than subject of discourse, their debates are taken up that of a friend's being the medicine of life, to exchiefly with forms and general positions; nay, if we press the efficacy of friendship in healing the pains come into a more contracted assembly of men and and anguish which naturally cleave to our existence women, the talk generally runs upon the weather, in this world; and am wonderfully pleased with the fashion, news, and the like public topics. In pro- turn in the last sentence, that a virtuous man shall portion as conversation gets into clubs and knots of as a blessing meet with a friend who is as virtuous friends, it descends into particulars, and grows more as himself. There is another saying in the same free and communicative: but the most open, in-, Ecclus. vi. 5, 6. ↑ Ibid. vi. 7, et seqq. Ibid, vi. 15-16. No. 68.] FRIDAY, MAY 18, 1711. G "A author, which would have been very much admired in a heathen writer: "Forsake not an old friend, for the new is not comparable to him: a new friend is as new wine; when it is old thou shalt drink it with pleasure.' With what strength of allusion, and force of thought, has he described the breaches and violations of friendship ?" Whoso casteth a stone at the birds frayeth them away; and he that upbraideth his friend, breaketh friendship. Though thou drawest a sword at a friend, yet despair not, for there may be a returning to favour. If thou hast opened thy mouth against thy friend, fear not, for there may be a reconciliation; except for upbraiding, or pride, or disclosing of secrets, or a treacherous wound; for, for these things every friend will depart." We may observe in this and several other precepts in this author, those little familiar instances and illustrations which are so much admired in the moral writings of Horace and Epictetus. There are very beautiful instances of this nature in the following passages, which are likewise written on the same subject: "Whoso discovereth secrets loseth his credit, and shall never find a friend to his mind. Love thy friend, and be faithful to him; but if thou bewrayeth his secret, follow no more after him: for as a man hath destroyed his enemy, so hast thou lost the love of thy friend; as one that letteth a bird go out of his hand, so hast thou let thy friend go, and shall not get him again: follow after him no more, for he is too far off; he is as a roe escaped out of the snare. As for a wound it may be bound up, and after reviling there may be a reconciliation; but he that Lewrayeth secrets is without hope."‡ (In hopes of palms) a race of running steeds. This is th' original contract; these the laws Impos'd by nature, and by nature's cause.-DRYDEN, THERE is no place in the town which I so much love to frequent as the Royal Exchange. It gives me a secret satisfaction, and in some measure gratifies my vanity, as I am an Englishman, to see so rich an assembly of countrymen and foreigners, consult. ing together upon the private business of mankind, and making this metropolis a kind of emporium for the whole earth. I must confess I look upon highchange to be a great council, in which all considerable nations have their representatives. Factors in the trading world are what ambassadors are in the politic world; they negotiate affairs, conclude treaties, and maintain a good correspondence between those wealthy societies of men that are divided from one another by seas and oceans, or live on the diffeAmong the several qualifications of a good friend, rent extremities of a continent. I have often been this wise man has very justly singled out constancy pleased to hear disputes adjusted between an inhaand faithfulness, as the principal: to these, others bitant of Japan and an alderman of London; or to have added virtue, knowledge, discretion, equality in see a subject of the Great Mogul entering into a age and fortune, and, as Cicero calls it, Morum co-league with one of the Czar of Muscovy. I am inritas, "a pleasantness of temper." If I were to give my opinion upon such an exhausted subject, I should join to these other qualifications, a certain equability or evenness of behaviour. A man often contracts a friendship with one whom perhaps he does not find out till after a year's conversation; when on a sudden some latent ill humour breaks out ipon him, which he never discovered or suspected at is first entering into an intimacy with him. There are several persons who in some certain periods of their lives are inexpressibly agreeable, and in others is odious and detestable. Martial has given us a ery pretty picture of one of this species, in the following epigram: Difficilis, facilis, jucundus, acerbus es idem, It is very unlucky for a man to be entangled in a Ecclus ix, 10. ↑ Ibid. xxii. 20-22, ↑ Ibid. xxvii. 16, et seqq. finitely delighted in mixing with these several ministers of commerce, as they are distinguished by their different walks and different languages. Sometimes I am jostled among a body of Armenians; sometimes I am lost in a crowd of Jews; and sometimes make one in a group of Dutchmen. I am a Dane, Swede, or Frenchman, at different times; or rather fancy myself like the old philosopher, who upon being asked what countryman he was, replied, that he was a citizen of the world Though I very frequently visit this busy multitude of people, I am known to nobody there but my friend Sir Andrew, who often smiles upon me as he sees me bustling in the crowd, but at the same time connives at my presence without taking farther notice of me. There is indeed a merchant of Egypt, who just knows me by sight, having formerly remitted me some money to Grand Cairo; but as I am not versed in modern Coptic, our conferences go no farther than a bow and a grimace. As This grand scene of business gives me an infini.e variety of solid and substantial entertainments. I am a great lover of mankind, my heart naturally overflows with pleasure at the sight of a prosperous and happy multitude, insomuch that at many public! solemnities I cannot forbear expressing my joy with tears that have stolen down my cheeks. For tais reason I am wonderfully delighted to see such a body of men thriving in their own private fortunes, and at the same time promoting the public stock; or, in other words, raising estates for their own families, by bringing into their country whatever is wanting and carrying out of it whatever is superfluous. Nature seems to have taken a particular care c |