ficulty, and transport you two thousand leagues The most fruitful in geniuses is the French from hence, into a country where you shall be nation; we owe most of our jaunty fashions now reverenced by men as much as you were before in vogue, to some adept beau among them. this adventure.' 'I am content,' says Barsisa; Their ladies exert the whole scope of their fan'deliver me, and I will worship thee.' Give cies upon every new petticoat; every head-dress me first a sign of adoration,' replies the devil. undergoes a change; and not a lady of genius Whereupon the santon bowed his head, and will appear in the same shape two days togesaid, 'I give myself to you.' The devil then ther; so that we may impute the scarcity of raising his voice, said, 'O, Barsisa, I am satis- geniuses in our climate to the stagnation of fied; I have obtained what I desired;' and with fashions. these words, spitting in his face, he disappeared; and the deluded santon was hanged.

I HAVE in a former precaution, endeavoured to show the mechanism of an epic poem, and given the reader prescriptions whereby he may, without the scarce ingredient of a genius, compose the several parts of that great work. I shall now treat of an affair of more general importance, and make dress the subject of the following paper.

Dress is grown of universal use in the conduct of life. Civilities and respect are only paid to appearance. It is a varnish that gives a lustre to every action, a passe par tout that introduces us into all polite assemblies, and the only certain method of making most of the youth of our nation conspicuous.

The ladies among us have a superior genius to the men; which have for some years past shot out in several exorbitant inventions for the greater consumption of our manufacture. While the men have contented themselves with the retrenchment of the hat, or the various scallop of the pocket, the ladies have sunk the head-dress, inclosed themselves in the circumference of the hoop-petticoat; furbelows and flounces have been disposed of at will, the stays have been lowered behind, for the better displaying the beauties of the neck; not to mention the various rolling of the sleeve, and those other nice circumstances of dress upon which every lady employs her fancy at pleasure.

The sciences of poetry and dress have so near an alliance to each other, that the rules of the one, with very little variation, may serve for the other.

As in a poem, all the several parts of it must have a harmony with the whole; so to keep to the propriety of dress, the coat, waistcoat, and breeches, must be of the same piece.

As Aristotle obliges all dramatic writers to a strict observance of time, place, and action, in order to compose a just work of this kind of poetry; so it is absolutely necessary for a person that applies himself to the study of dress, to have a strict regard to these three particulars.

There was formerly an absurd notion among the men of letters, that to establish themselves in the character of wits, it was absolutely necessary to show a contempt of dress. This injudicious affectation of theirs flattened all their conversation, took off the force of every expres. sion, and incapacitated a female audience from giving attention to any thing they said. While the man of dress catches their eyes as well as ears, and at every ludicrous turn obtains a laughingly supplied by the Turkey handkerchief and of applause by way of compliment.

I shall lay down as an established maxim, which hath been received in all ages, that no person can dress without a genius.

A genius is never to be acquired by art, but is the gift of nature; it may be discovered even in infancy. Little master will smile when you shake his plure of feathers before him, and thrust its little knuckles in papa's full-bottom; miss will toy with her mother's Mechlin lace, and gaze on the gaudy colours of a fan; she smacks her lips for a kiss at the appearance of a gentleman in embroidery, and is frighted at the indecency of the house-maid's blue-apron: as she grows up, the dress of her baby begins to be her care, and you will see a genteel fancy open itself in the ornaments of the little machine.

To begin with the time. What is more absurd than the velvet gown in summer? and what is more agreeable in the winter? The muff and fur are preposterous in June, which are charm

the fan. Every thing must be suitable to the season, and there can be no propriety in dress without a strict regard to time.

You must have no less respect to place. What gives a lady a more easy air than the wrapping gown in the morning at the tea-table? The Bath countenances the men of dress in showing themselves at the pump in their Indian nightgowns, without the least indecorum.

Action is what gives the spirit both to writ ing and dress. Nothing appears graceful without action; the head, the arms, the legs, must all conspire to give a habit a genteel air. What distinguishes the air of the court from that of the country but action? A lady, by the careless toss of her head, will show a set of ribands to advantage; by a pinch of snuff judiciously taken will display the glittering ornament of her little We have a kind of sketch of dress, if I may finger; by the new modelling her tucker, at one so call it, among us, which, as the invention view present you with a fine turned hand, and was foreign, is called a dishabille: every thing a rising bosom. In order to be a proficient in is thrown on with a loose and careless air; yet action, I cannot sufficiently recommend the scia genius discovers itself even through this neg- ence of dancing: this will give the feet an easy ligence of dress, just as you may see the mas-gait, and the arms a gracefulness of motion. If terly hand of a painter in three or four swift a person have not a strict regard to these three strokes of the pencil. above-mentioned rules of antiquity, the richest

dress will appear stiff and affected, and the most | throughout, as curious observers of dress have gay habit fantastical and tawdry.

remarked, is changed from top to toe, in the period of five years. A poet will now and then, to serve his purpose, coin a word, so will a lady of genius venture at an innovation in the fashion; but as Horace advises, that all new-minted words should have a Greek derivation to give them an indisputable authority, so I would counsel all our improvers of fashion always to take the hint from France, which may as properly be called the fountain of dress,' as Greece was of lite

As different sorts of poetry require a different style: the elegy, tender and mournful; the ode, gay and sprightly; the epic, sublime, &c. so must the widow confess her grief in the veil; the bride frequently makes her joy and exultation conspicuous in the silver brocade; and the plume and the scarlet dye is requisite to give the soldier a martial air. There is another kind of occasional dress in use among the ladies; I mean the riding-habit, which some have not in-rature. judiciously styled the hermaphroditical, by rea- Dress may bear a parallel to poetry with reson of its masculine and feminine composition; spect to moving the passions. The greatest mo but I shall rather choose to call it the Pindaric, tive to love, as daily experience shows us, is as its first institution was at a Newmarket dress. I have known a lady at sight fly to a horse-race, and as it is a mixture of the sub-red feather, and readily give her hand to a limity of the epic with the easy softness of the fringed pair of gloves. At another time I have ode. seen the awkward appearance of her rural humble servant move her indignation; she is jealous every time her rival hath a new suit; and in a rage when her woman pins her mantua to disadvantage. Unhappy, unguarded woman! alas! what moving rhetoric has she often found in the seducing full-bottom! who can tell the resist less eloquence of the embroidered coat, the gold snuff-box, and the amber-headed cane!

There sometimes arises a great genius in dress, who cannot content himself with merely copying from others, but will, as he sees occasion, strike out into the long pocket, slashed sleeve, or something particular in the disposition of his lace, or the flourish of his embroidery. Such a person, like the masters of other sciences, will show that he hath a manner of his own.

On the contrary, there are some pretenders
to dress who shine out but by halves; whether
it be for want of genius or money. A dancing-
master of the lowest rank seldom fails of the
scarlet stocking and the red heel; and shows a
particular respect to the leg and foot, to which
he owes his subsistence; when at the same time
perhaps all the superior ornament of his body
is neglected. We may say of these sort of dress-
ers what Horace says of his patch-work poets:
Purpureus late qui splendeat unus et alter
Assuitur pannus'
Ars Poet. ver. 15.

A few florid lines
Shine thro' th' insipid dulness of the rest.'
Roscommon.

Others who lay the stress of beauty in their face, exert all their extravagance in the periwig, which is a kind of index of the mind; the full-bottom, formally combed all before, denotes the lawyer and the politician; the smart tie-wig with a black riband, shows a man of fierceness of temper; and he that burdens himself with a superfluity of white hair which flows down the back, and mantles in waving curls over the shoulders, is generally observed to be less curious in the furniture of the inward recesses of the scull, and lays himself open to the application of that censure which Milton applies to the fair sex,

- of outward form Elaborate, of inward, less exact.'

I shall conclude these criticisms with some general remarks upon the milliner, the mantuamaker, and the lady's woman, these being the three chief on which all the circumstances of dress depend.

The milliner must be thoroughly versed in physiognomy; in the choice of ribands she must have a particular regard to the complexion, and must ever be mindful to cut the head-dress to the dimensions of the face. When she meets with a countenance of large diameter, she must draw the dress forward to the face, and let the lace encroach a little upon the cheek, which casts an agreeable shade, and takes off from its masculine figure; the little oval face requires the diminutive commode, just on the tip of the crown of the head: she must have a regard to give the mother a more sedate mien than the the several ages of women: the head-dress must virgin; and age must not be made ridiculous with the flaunting airs of youth. There is a beauty that is peculiar to the several stages of life, and as much propriety must be observed in the dress of the old, as the young.

mist; and must, if judiciously chosen, have a The mantua-maker must be an expert anatohow to hide all the defects in the proportions of name of French termination; she must know the body, and must be able to mould the shape by the stays, so as to preserve the intestines, that while she corrects the body, she may not interfere with the pleasures of the palate.

The lady's woman must have all the qualities A lady of genius will give a genteel air to her of a critic in poetry; as her dress, like the cri whole dress by a well-fancied suit of knots, as a tic's learning, is at second-hand, she must, like judicious writer gives a spirit to a whole sen- him, have a ready talent at censure, and her tence by a single expression. As words grow tongue must be deeply versed in detraction; she old, and new ones enrich the language, so there must be sure to asperse the characters of the is a constant succession of dress; the fringe ladies of most eminent virtue and beauty, to insucceeds the lace, the stays shorten or extend dulge her lady's spleen; and as it hath been rethe waist, the riband undergoes divers varia-marked, that critics are the most fawning sycotions, the head-dress receives frequent rises and phants to their patrons, so must our female crifalls every year; and in short, the whole womantic be a thorough proficient in flattery: she must

add sprightliness to her lady's air, by encourag- I ing her vanity; give gracefulness to her step, by cherishing her pride; and make her show a haughty contempt of her admirers, by enumerating her imaginary conquests. As a critic must stock his memory with the names of all the authors of note, she must be no less ready in the recital of all the beaux and pretty fellows in vogue; like the male critic, she asserts, that the theory of any science is above the practice, and that it is not necessary to be able to set her own person off to advantage, in order to be a judge of the dress of others; and besides all those qualifications, she must be endued with the gift of secrecy, a talent very rarely to be met with in her profession.

By what I have said, I believe my reader will be convinced, that notwithstanding the many pretenders, the perfection of dress cannot be attained without a genius; and shall venture boldly to affirm, that in all arts and sciences whatever, epic poetry excepted, (of which I formerly showed the knack or mechanism) a genius is absolutely necessary.

will not come up to it. Is it not rather the good providence of that being, who in a supereminent degree protects and cherishes the whole race of mankind, his sons and creatures? How shall we, any other way, account for this natural affection, so signally displayed throughout every species of the animal creation, without which the course of nature would quickly fail, and every various kind be extinct? Instances of tenderness in the most savage brutes are so frequent, that quotations of that kind are altogether unnecessary.

If we, who have no particular concern in them, take a secret delight in observing the gentle dawn of reason in babes; if our ears are soothed with their half-forming and aiming at articulate sounds; if we are charmed with their pretty mimicry, and surprised at the unexpected starts of wit and cunning in these miniatures of man; what transport may we imagine in the breasts of those, into whom natural instinct hath poured tenderness and fondness for them! how amiable is such a weakness in human nature! or rather, how great a weakness is it, to give humanity so reproachful a name! The bare consideration of paternal affection should methinks create a more grateful tenderness in children toward their parents, than we generally see; and the silent whispers of nature be attend. Progeniem nidosque fovent Virg. Georg. iv. 55. ed to, though the laws of God and man did not

No. 150.]

Wednesday, September 2, 1713.

-Nescio qua dulcedine læti,

I WENT the other day to visit Eliza, who in the perfect bloom of beauty is the mother of several children. She had a little prating girl upon her lap, who was begging to be very fine, that she might go abroad; and the indulgent mother, at her little daughter's request, had just taken the knots off her own head, to adorn the hair of the pretty trifler. A smiling boy was at the same time caressing a lap-dog, which is their mother's favourite, because it pleases the children; and she, with a delight in her looks, which heightened her beauty, so divided her conversation with the two pretty prattlers, as to make them both equally cheerful.

As I came in, she said with a blush, Mr. Ironside, though you are an old bachelor, you must not laugh at my tenderness to my children.' I need not tell my reader what civil things I said in answer to the lady, whose matron-like benaviour gave me infinite satisfaction; since I myself take great pleasure in playing with children, and am seldom unprovided of plums or marbles, to make my court to such entertaining companions.

Whence is it, said I to myself when I was alone, that the affection of parents is so intense to their offspring? Is it because they generally find such resemblances in what they have produced, as that thereby they think themselves renewed in their children, and are willing to transmit themselves to future times? Or is it, because they think themselves obliged, by the dictates of humanity, to nourish and rear what is placed so immediately under their protection; and what by their means is brought into this world, the scene of misery, of necessity? These

call aloud.

These silent whispers of nature have had a marvellous power, even when their cause hath been unknown. There are several examples in story of tender friendships formed betwixt men who knew not of their near relation. Such accounts confirm me in an opinion I have long entertained, that there is a sympathy betwixt souls, which cannot be explained by the preju dice of education, the sense of duty, or any other human motive.

The memoirs of a certain French nobleman, which now lie before me, furnish me with a very entertaining instance of this secret attraction implanted by Providence in the human soul. It will be necessary to inform the reader, that the person whose story I am going to relate, was one whose roving and romantic temper, joined to a disposition singularly amorous, had led him through a vast variety of gallantries and amours. He had, in his youth, attended a princess of France into Poland, where he had been entertained by the king her husband, and married the daughter of a grandee. Upon her death he returned into his native country; where his intrigues and other misfortunes having consumed his paternal estate, he now went to take care of the fortune his deceased wife had left him in Poland. In his journey he was robbed before he reached Warsaw, and lay ill of a fever, when he met with the following adventure, which he shall relate in his own words.

'I had been in this condition for four days, when the countess of Venoski passed that way. She was informed that a stranger of good fashion lay sick, and her charity led her to see me. I remembered her, for I had often seen her with my wife, to whom she was nearly related; but when I found she knew not me, I thought fit to conceal my name. I told her I was a German;