so it is, that without regard to our obliging pains, we are all equally set aside in the present opera. Our application, therefore, to you is, only to insert this letter in your paper, that the town may know we have all three joined together, to make entertainments of music, for the future, at Mr. Clayton's house in York-buildings. What we promise ourselves is, to make a subscription of two guineas, for eight times; and that the entertainment, with the names of the authors of the poetry, may be printed, to be sold in the house, with an account of the several authors of the vocal as well as instrumental music for each night; the money to be paid at the receipt of the tickets, at Mr. Charles Lillie's. It will, we hope, Sir, be easily allowed, that we are capable of undertaking to exhibit, by our joint force and different qualifications, all that can be done in music; but, lest you should think so dry a thing as an account of our proposal should be a matter unworthy of your paper, which generally contains something of public use, give us leave to say, that favouring our design is no less than reviving an art, which runs to ruin by the utmost barbarism, under an affectation of knowledge. We aim at establishing some settled notion of what is music; at recovering from neglect and want, very many families who depend upon it; at making all foreigners who pretend to succeed in England, to learn the language of it as we ourselves have done, and not to be so insolent as to expect a whole nation, a refined and learned nation, should submit to learn them. In a word, Mr. Spectator, with all deference and humility, we hope to behave ourselves in this undertaking in such a manner, that all Englishmen who have any skill in music, may be furthered in it for their profit or diversion, by what new things we shall produce; never pretending to surpass others, or asserting that any thing which is a science is not attainable by all men of all nations who have proper genius for it. We say, Sir, what we hope for, it is not expected will arrive to us by contemning others, but through the utmost diligence recommending ourselves. T "We are, SIR, "Your most humble servants, "THOMAS CLAYTON, 66 NICOLINO HAYM, No. 259. THURSDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1711. Quod decet honestum est, et quod honestum est decet. TULL. What is becoming honourable, and what is honourable is becoming. THERE are some things which cannot come under certain rules, but which one would think could not need them. Of this kind are outward civilities and salutations. These, one would imagine, might be regulatedby every man's common sense, without the help of an instructor: but that which we call common sense, suffers under that word; for it sometimes implies no more than that faculty which is common to all men, but sometimes signifies right reason, and what all men should consent to. In this latter acceptation of the phrase, it is no great wonder people err so much against it, since it is not every one who is possessed of it, and there are fewer, who against common rules and fashions dare obey its dictates. As to salutations, which I was about to talk of, I observe, as I stroll about town, there are great enormities committed with regard to this particular. You shall sometimes see a man begin the offer of a salutation, and observe a forbidding air, or escaping eye, in the person he is going to salute, and stop short in the poll of his neck. This in the person who believed he could do it with a good grace, and was refused the opportunity, is justly resented with a coldness the whole ensuing season. Your great beauties, people in much favour, or, by any means, or for any purpose, over-flattered, are apt to practise this, which one may call the preventing aspect, and throw their attention another way, lest they should confer a bow or a courtesy upon a person who might not appear to deserve that dignity. Others you shall find so obsequious, and so very courteous, as there is no escaping their favours of this kind. Of this sort may be a man who is in the fifth or sixth degree of favour with a minister. This good creature is resolved to show the world, that great honours cannot at all change his manners; he is the same civil person he ever was; he will venture his neck to bow out of a coach in full speed, at once to show he is full of business, and yet not so taken up as to forget his old friend. With a man who is not so well formed for courtship and elegant behaviour, such a gentleman as this seldom finds his account in the return of his compliments; but he will still go on, for he is in his own way, and must not omit let the neglect fall on your side, or where it will, his business is still to be well-bred to the end. I think I have read, in one of our English comedies, a description of a fellow that affected knowing every body, and, for want of judgement in time and place, would bow and smile in the face of a judge sitting in the court; would sit in an opposite gallery, and smile in the : pos relish it an object of desire, placed out of the sibility of fruition. It may indeed fill the mind for a while with a giddy kind of pleasure, but it is such a pleasure as makes a man restless and uneasy under it and which does not so much satisfy the present thirst, as it excites fresh desires, and sets the soul on new enterprises. For how few ambitious men are there, who have got as much fame as they desired, and whose thirst after it has not been as eager in the very height of their reputation, as it was before they became known and eminent among men! There is not any circumstance in Cæsar's character which gives me a greater idea of him, than a saying which Cicero tells us he frequently made use of in private conversation, That he was satisfied with his share of life and fame.-Se satis vel ad naturam, vel ad gloriam vixisse. Many indeed have given over their pursuits after fame; but that has proceeded either from the disappointments they have met in it, or from their experience of the little pleasure which attends it, or from the better informations or natural coldness of old age; but' seldom from a full satisfaction and acquiescence in their present enjoyments of it. Nor is fame only unsatisfying in itself, but the desire of it lays us open to many accidental troubles which those are free from, who have no such a tender regard for it. How often is the ambitious man cast down and disappointed, if he receives no praise where he expected it! Nay, how often is he mortified with the very praises he receives, if they do not rise so high as he thinks they ought; which they seldom do, unless increased by flattery, since few men have so good an opinion of us as we have of ourselves! But if the ambitious man can be so much grieved even with praise itself, how will he be able to bear up under scandal and defamation? for the same temper of mind which makes him desire fame, makes him hate reproach. If he can be transported with the extraordinary praises of men, he will be as much dejected by their censures. How little, therefore, is the happiness of an ambitious man, who gives every one a dominion over it, who thus subjects himself to the good or ill speeches of others, and puts it in the power of every malicious tongue to throw him into a fit of melancholy, and destroy his natural rest and repose of mind; especially when we consider that the world is more apt to censure than applaud, and himself fuller of imperfections than virtues! We may further observe, that such a man will be more grieved for the loss of fame, than he could have been pleased with the enjoyment of it. For though the presence of this imaginary good cannot make us happy, the absence of it may make us miserable : because, in the enjoyment of an object, we only find that share of pleasure which it is capable of giving us, but, in the loss of it, we do not proportion our grief to the real value it bears, but to the value our fancies and imaginations set upon it. So inconsiderable is the satisfaction that fame brings along with it, and so great the disquietudes to which it makes us liable! The desire of it stirs up very uneasy motions in the mind, and is rather inflamed than satisfied by the presence of the thing desired. The enjoyment of it brings but very little pleasure, though the loss or want of it be very sensible and afflicting; and even this little happiness is so very precarious, that it wholly depends upon the will of others. We are not only tortured by the reproaches which are offered us, but are disappointed by the silence of men when it is unexpected; and humbled even by their praises. C |