our spirits; and the musical airs which are exasperating than that of Richard, when he inplayed to us, put the whole company into a par. sults his superiors? To beseech gracefully, to ticipation of the same pleasure, and by conse-approach respectfully, to pity, to mourn, to love, quence, for that time, equal in humour, in for- are the places wherein Wilks may be made to tune, and in quality. Thus far we gain only by shine with the utmost beauty. To rally pleacoming into an audience; but if we find, added santly, to scorn artfully, to flatter, to ridicule, to this, the beauties of proper action, the force and to neglect, are what Cibber would perform of eloquence, and the gaiety of well-placed lights with no less excellence. and scenes, it is being happy, and seeing others happy, for two hours: a duration of bliss not at all to be slighted by so short-lived a creature as man. Why then should not the duty of the player be had in much more esteem than it is at present? If the merit of a performance is to be valued according to the talents which are necessary to it, the qualifications of a player should raise him much above the arts and ways of life which we call mercenary or mechanic. When we look round a full house, and behold so few that can, though they set themselves out to show as much as the persons on the stage do, come up to what they would appear even in dumb show; how much does the actor deserve our approbation, who adds to the advantage of looks and motions, the tone of voice, the dignity, the humility, the sorrow, and the triumph, suitable to the character he personates? When actors are considered with a view to their talents, it is not only the pleasure of that hour of action, which the spectators gain from their performance; but the opposition of right and wrong on the stage, would have its force in the assistance of our judgments on other occasions. I have at present under my tutelage a young poet, who, I design, shall entertain the town the ensuing winter. And as he does me the honour to let me see his comedy as he writes it, I shall endeavour to make the parts fit the geniuses of the several actors, as exactly as their habits can their bodies. And because the two I have mentioned are to perform the principal parts, I have prevailed with the house to let the Careless Husband' be acted on Tuesday next, that my young author may have a view of the play, which is acted to perfection both by them and all concerned in it; as being born within the walls of the theatre, and written with an exact knowledge of the abilities of the It may possibly be imagined by severe men, that I am too frequent in the mention of the theatrical representations; but who is not ex-performers. Mr. Wilks will do his best in this cessive in the discourse of what he extremely likes? Eugenio can lead you to a gallery of fine pictures, which collection he is always in creasing. Crassus, through woods and forests, to which he designs to add the neighbouring counties. These are great and noble instances of their magnificence. The players are my pictures, and their scenes my territories. By communicating the pleasure I take in them, it may in some measure add to men's gratification this way; as viewing the choice and wealth of Eugenio and Crassus augments the enjoyments of those whom they entertain, with a prospect of such possessions as would not otherwise within the reach of their fortunes. play, because it is for his own benefit; and Mr. Cibber, because he writ it. Besides which, all the great beauties we have left in town, or within call of it, will be present, because it is the last play this season. This opportunity will, I hope, inflame my pupil with such generous notions, from seeing so fair an assembly as will be then present, that his play may be composed of sentiments and characters proper to be presented to such an audience. His drama at present has only the outlines drawn. There are, I find, to be in it all the reverend offices of life (such as regard to parents, husbands, and honourfallable lovers) preserved with the utmost care; and, at the same time, that agreeableness of behaviour, with the intermixture of pleasing passions which arise from innocence and virtue, interspersed in such a manner, as that to be charming and agreeable, shall appear the natural consequence of being virtuous. This great end is one of those I propose to do in my censorship; but if I find a thin house on an occasion when such work is to be promoted, my pupil shall return to his commons at Oxford, and Sheer-lane and the theatres be no longer correspondents. It is a very good office one man does another, when he tells him the manner of his being pleased; and I have often thought, that a comment upon the capacities of the players would very much improve the delight that way, and impart it to those who otherwise have no sense of it. The first of the present stage are Wilks and Cibber, perfect actors in their different kinds. Wilks has a singular talent in representing the graces of nature; Cibber the deformity in the affectation of them. Were I a writer of plays, I should never employ either of them in parts which had not their bent this way. This is seen in the inimitable strain and run of good humour which is kept up in the character of Wildair, and in the nice and delicate abuse of understanding in that of Sir Novelty. Cibber, in another light, hits exquisitely the flat civility of an affected gentleman-usher, and Wilks the easy frankness of a gentleman. If you would observe the force of the same capacities in higher life, can any thing be more ingenuous than the behaviour of prince Harry, when his father checks him? any thing more conversations. Can then the most generous motive of life, the good of others, be so easily banished the breast of man? Is it possible to draw all our passions inward? Shall the boiling heat of youth be sunk in pleasures, the ambition of manhood in selfish intrigues? Shall all that is glorious, all that is worth the pursuit of great minds, be so easily rooted out? When the universal bent of a people seems diverted from the sense of their common good and common glory, it looks like a fatality, and crisis of impending" misfortune. The generous nations we just now mentioned understood this so very well, that there was hardly an oration ever made, which did not turn upon this general sense, That the love of their country was the first and most essential quality in an honest mind.' Demosthenes, in a cause wherein his fame, reputation, and fortune, were embarked, puts his all upon this issue; 'Let the Athenians,' says he, 'be benevolent to me, as they think I have been zealous for them.' This great and discerning orator knew, there was nothing else in nature could bear him up against his adversaries, but this one quality of having shown himself willing or able to serve his country. This, certainly, is the test of merit ; and the first foundation for deserving good will, is having it yourself. The adversary of this orator at that time was Eschines, a man of wily arts and skill in the world, who could, as occasion served, fall in with a national start of passion, or sullenness of humour, which a whole nation is sometimes taken with, as well as a private man, and by that means divert them from their common sense, into an aversion for receiving any thing in its true light. But when Demosthenes had awakened his audience, with that one hint, of judging by the general tenor of his life towards them, his services bore down his opponent before him, who fled to the covert of his mean arts, until some more favourable occasion should offer against the superior merit of Demosthenes. planted, that might, if rightly cultivated, ennoble their lives, and make their virtue venerable to futurity; how can they, without tears, reflect on the universal degeneracy from that public spirit, which ought to be the first and principal motive of all their actions? In the Grecian and Roman nations, they were wise enough to keep up this great incentive, and it was impossible to be in the fashion without being a patriot. All gallantry had its first source from hence; and to want a warmth for the public welfare, was a defect so scandalous, that he who was guilty of it had no pretence to honour or manhood. What makes the depravity among us in this behalf the more vexatious and irksome to reflect upon, is, that the contempt of life is carried as far amongst us, as it could be in those memorable people; and we want only a proper application of the qualities which are frequent among us, to be as worthy as they. There is hardly a man to be found who will not fight upon any occasion, which he thinks may taint his own honour. Were this motive as strong in every thing that regards the public, as it is in this our private case, no man would pass his life away without having distinguished himself by some gallant instance of his zeal towards it in the respective incidents of his life and profession. But it is so far otherwise, that there cannot at present be a more ridiculous animal, than one who seems to regard the good of others. He, in civil life, whose thoughts turn upon schemes which may be of general benefit, without further reflection, is called a projector: and the man whose mind seems intent upon glorious achievements, a knight-errant. The ridicule among us runs strong against laudable actions; nay, in the ordinary course of things, and the common regards of life, negligence of the public is an epidemic vice. The brewer in his excise, the merchant in his customs, and, for aught we know, the soldier in his muster-rolls, think never the worse of themselves for being guilty of their respective frauds towards the public. This evil It were to be wished, that love of their counis come to such a fantastical height, that he is a try were the first principle of action in men man of a public spirit, and heroically affected to of business, even for their own sakes; for, when his country, who can go so far as even to turn the world begins to examine into their conduct, usurer with all he has in her funds. There is the generality, who have no share in, or hopes not a citizen in whose imagination such a one of any part in power or riches, but what is the does not appear in the same light of glory as effect of their own labour or property, will judge Codrus, Scævola, or any other great name in old of them by no other method, than that of how Rome. Were it not for the heroes of so much profitable their administration has been to the per cent. as have regard enough for themselves whole? They who are out of the influence of and their nation, to trade with her with their men's fortune or favour, will let them stand or wealth, the very notion of public love would long fall by this one only rule; and men who can before now have vanished from among us. But bear being tried by it, are always popular in however general custom may hurry us away in their fall. Those, who cannot suffer such a the stream of a common error, there is no evil, scrutiny, are contemptible in their advancement. no crime, so great as that of being cold in matters which relate to the common good. This is in nothing more conspicuous than in a certain willingness to receive any thing that tends to the diminution of such as have been conspicuous instruments in our service. Such inclinations proceed from the most low and vile corruption, of which the soul of man is capable. This of faces not only the practice, but the very approbation of honour and virtue and has had such an effect, that, to speak freely, the very sense of public good has no longer a part even of our But I am here running into shreds of maxims from reading Tacitus this morning, that has driven me from my recommendation of public spirit, which was the intended purpose of this lucubration. There is not a more glorious instance of it, than in the character of Regulus. This same Regulus was taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, and was sent by them to Rome, in order to demand some Punic noblemen, who were prisoners, in exchange for himself; and was bound by an oath, that he would return to Carthage if he failed in his commission. He proposes this to the senate, who were in suspense | the strictest decency, and raise the warmest inupon it, which Regulus observing, without hav-clinations. ing the least notion of putting the care of his own life in competition with the public good, desired them to consider, that he was old, and almost useless; that those demanded in exchange were men of daring tempers, and great merit in military affairs; and wondered they would make any doubt of permitting him to go back to the short tortures prepared for him at Carthage, where he should have the advantage of ending a long life both gloriously and usefully. This generous advice was consented to; and he took his leave of his country and his weeping friends, to go to certain death, with that cheerful composure, as a man, after the fatigue of business in a court or a city, retires to the next village for the air. This was the economy of the legislature for the increase of people, and at the same time for the preservation of the genial bed. She who was the admiration of all who beheld her while unmarried, was to bid adieu to the pleasure of shining in the eyes of many, as soon as she took upon her the wedded condition. However, there was a festival of life allowed the newmarried, a sort of intermediate state between celibacy and matrimony, which continued certain days. During that time, entertainments, equipages, and other circumstances of rejoicing, were encouraged; and they were permitted to exceed the coinmon mode of living, that the bride and bridegroom might learn from such freedoms of conversation to run into a general conduct to each other, made out of their past and future state, so to temper the cares of the man and the wife with the gayeties of the lover and the mistress. In those wise ages the dignity of life was kept up, and on the celebration of such solemnities there were no impertinent whispers, and senseless interpretations put upon the unaffected cheerfulness or accidental seriousness of the bride; but men turned their thoughts upon the general reflections, on what issue might probably be expected from such a couple in the suc ceeding course of their life, and felicitated them accordingly upon such prospects. THERE are certain occasions of life which give propitious omens of the future good conduct of it, as well as others which explain our present inward state, according to our behaviour in them. I must confess, I cannot, from any ancient Of the latter sort, are funerals; of the former, manuscripts, sculptures, or medals, deduce the weddings. The manner of our carriage when rise of our celebrated custom of throwing the we lose a friend, shows very much our temper, stocking; but have a faint memory of an acin the humility of our words and actions, and a count a friend gave me of an original picture in general sense of our destitute condition, which the palace of Aldobrandini in Rome. This runs through all our deportment. This gives a seems to show a sense of this affair very differsolemn testimony of the generous affection we ent from what is usual among us. It is a Grebore our friends, when we seem to disrelish cian wedding; and the figures represented are every thing now we can no more enjoy them, a person offering sacrifice, a beautiful damsel or see them partake in our enjoyments. It is dancing, and another playing on the harp. The very proper and humane to put ourselves, as it bride is placed in her bed, the bridegroom sits were, in their livery after their decease, and at the foot of it, with an aspect which intimates, wear a habit unsuitable to prosperity, while those his thoughts were not only entertained with the we loved and honoured are mouldering in the joys with which he was surrounded; but also grave. As this is laudable on the sorrowful with a noble gratitude, and divine pleasure in side, so on the other, incidents of success may the offering, which was then made to the gods no less justly be represented and acknowledged to invoke their influence on his new condition. in our outward figure and carriage. Of all such There appears in the face of the woman a mixoccasions, that great change of a single life into ture of fear, hope, and modesty; in the bridemarriage is the most important; as it is the groom a well-governed rapture. As you see in source of all relations, and from whence all other great spirits, grief, which discovers itself the friendship and commerce do principally arise. more by forbearing tears and complaints, you The general intent of both sexes is to dispose may observe also the highest joy is too big for of themselves happily and honourably in this utterance; the tongue being, of all the organs, state; and, as all the good qualities we have, are the least capable of expressing such a circumexerted to make our way into it, so the best ap. stance. The nuptial torch, the bower, the marpearance, with regard to their minds, their per- riage song, are all particulars which we meet sons, and their fortunes, at the first entrance with in the allusions of the ancient writers; into it, is a due to each other in the married and in every one of them something is to be pair, as well as a compliment to the rest of the observed, which denotes their industry to agworld. It was an instruction of a wise law-grandize and adorn this occasion above all giver, that unmarried women should wear such foose habits, which, in the flowing of their garb, should incite their beholders to a desire of their persons; and that the ordinary motion of their bodies might display the figure and shape of their limbs in such a manner, as at once to preserve others. With us all order and decency in this point is perverted, by the insipid mirth of certain animals we usually call Wags. These are a specics of all men the most insupportable. One cannot without some reflection say, whether their flat mirth provokes us more to pity or to scorn; but if one considers with how great af fectation they utter their frigid conceits, commiseration immediately changes itself into contempt. A Wag is the last order even of pretenders to wit and good humour. He has generally his mind prepared to receive some occasion of merriment, but is of himself too empty to draw any out of his own set of thoughts; and therefore laughs at the next thing he meets, not because it is ridiculous, but because he is under a necessity of laughing. A Wag is one that never in its life saw a beautiful object; but sees, what it does see, in the most low, and most inconsiderable light it can be placed. There is a certain ability necessary to behold what is amiable and worthy of our approbation, which little minds want, and attempt to hide by a general disregard to every thing they behold above what they are able to relish. Hence it is, that a Wag in an assembly is ever guessing, how well such a lady slept last night, and how much such a young fellow is pleased with himself. The Wag's gayety consists in a certain professed ill-breeding, as if it were an excuse for committing a fault, that a man knows he does so. Though all public places are full of persons of this order; yet, because I will not allow impertinence and affectation to get the better of native innocence and simplicity of manners, I have, in spite of such little disturbers of public entertainments, persuaded my brother Tranquillus, and his wife, my sister Jenny, in favour of Mr. Wilks, to be at the play to-morrow evening. They, as they have so much good sense as to act naturally, without regard to the observation of others, will not, I hope, be discomposed, if any of the fry of Wags should take upon them to make themselves merry upon the occasion of their coming, as they intend, in their wedding clothes. My brother is a plain, worthy, and honest man; and as it is natural for men of that turn to be mightily taken with sprightly and airy women, my sister has a vivacity which may perhaps give hopes to impertinents, but will be esteemed the effect of innocence among wise men. They design to sit with me in the box, which the house have been so complaisant as to offer me whenever I think fit to come thither in my public character. I do not in the least doubt, but the true figure of conjugal affection will appear in their looks and gestures. My sister does not affect to be gorgeous in her dress; and thinks the happiness of a wife is more visible in a cheerful look than a gay apparel. It is a hard task to speak of persons so nearly related to one with decency; but I may say, all who shall be at the play will allow him to have the mien of a worthy English gentleman; her, that of a notable and deserving wife. Their neighbourhood acquaintance early bred, From my own Apartment, June 14. As soon as I was up this morning, my man gave me the following letter; which, since it leads to a subject that may prove of common use to the world, I shall take notice of with as much expedition as my fair petitioner could desire. declared yourself a patron of the distressed, I 'MR. BICKERSTAFF,-Since you have so often must acquaint you, that I am daughter to a country gentleman of good sense, and may expect three or four thousand pounds for my fortune. I love and am beloved by Philander, a young gentleman who has an estate of five hundred pounds per annum, and is our next neighbour in the country every summer. My father, though he has been a long time acquainted with it, constantly refuses to comply with our mutual is, that if ever I speak in commendation of my lover, he is much louder in his praises than and esteem for Philander, as well as his daughmyself; and professes, that it is out of pure love ter, that he can never consent we should marry do so much better. It must indeed be confessed, each other; when, as he terms it, we may both that two gentlemen of considerable fortunes made their addresses to me last winter, and Philander, as I have since learned, was offered a young heiress with fifteen thousand pounds; but it seems we could neither of us think, that accepting those matches would be doing better Your thoughts, upon the whole, may perhaps than remaininng constant to our first passion. have some weight with my father, who is one of your admirers, as is your humble servant, inclinations: but what most of all torments me 'SYLVIA. 'P. S. You are desired to be speedy, since my father daily presses me to accept of, what he calls, an advantageous offer.' There is no calamity in life that falls heavier upon human nature than a disappointment in love; especially when it happens between two persons whose hearts are mutually engaged to each other. It is this distress which has given occasion to some of the finest tragedies that were ever written, and daily fills the world with melancholy, discontent, frenzy, sickness, despair and death. I have often admired at the barbarity of parents, who so frequently interpose their authority in this grand article of life. I would fain ask Sylvia's father, whether he thinks he can bestow a greater favour on his daughter, than to put her in a way to live hap pily? Whether a man of Philander's character, with five hundred pounds per annum, is not more likely to contribute to that end, than many a young fellow whom he may have in his thoughts with so many thousands? Whether he can make amends to his daughter by any increase of riches, for the loss of that happiness she proposes to herself in her Philander? Or, whether a father should compound with his daughter to be miserable, though she were to are your real sentiments, the prince's life is out of danger; it is Stratonice for whom he dies.' Seleucus immediately gave orders for solemnizing the marriage; and the young queen, to show her obedience, very generously exchanged the father for the son. No. 186.] Saturday, June 17, 1710. Claud. Emitur sola virtute potestas. Sheer-lane, June 16. get twenty thousand pounds by the bargain? I suppose he would have her reflect with esteem on his memory after his death: and does he think this a proper method to make her do so, when, as often as she thinks on the loss of her Philander, she must, at the same time, remember him as the cruel cause of it? Any transient ill-humour is soon forgotten; but the reflection of such a cruelty must continue to raise resentments as long as life itself; and, by this one piece of barbarity, an indulgent father loses the merit of all his past kindness. It is not impossible but she may deceive herself in the happiness which she proposes from Philander; but, as in such a case she can have no one to blame but herself, she will bear the disappointment with greater patience; but if she never makes the experiment, however happy she As it has been the endeavour of these our may be with another, she will still think she labours to extirpate from among the polite or might have been happier with Philander. There busy part of mankind, all such as are either is a kind of sympathy in souls, that fits them prejudicial or insignificant to society, so it for each other; and we may be assured, when ought to be no less our study to supply the we see two persons engaged in the warmths of havock we have made, by an exact care of the a mutual affection, that there are certain quali-growing generation. But when we begin to ties in both their minds which bear a resem-inculcate proper precepts to the children of this blance to one another. A generous and constant passion in an agreeable lover, where there is not too great a disparity in other circumstances, is the greatest blessing that can be fall the person beloved; and, if overlooked in one, may perhaps never be found in another. I shall conclude this with a celebrated instance of a father's indulgence in this particular; which, though carried to an extravagance, has some thing in it so tender and amiable, as may justly reproach the harshness of temper that is to be met with in many a British father. Antiochus, a prince of great hopes, fell passionately in love with the young queen Stratonice, who was his mother-in-law, and had bore a son to the old king, Seleucus, his father. The prince, finding it impossible to extinguish his passion, fell sick; and refused all manner of nourishment, being determined to put an end to that life which was become insupportable. island, except we could take them out of their nurse's arms, we see an amendment is almost impracticable; for we find the whole species of our youth, and grown men, is incorrigibly prepossessed with vanity, pride, or ambition, according to the respective pursuits to which they turn themselves; by which means the world is infatuated with the love of appearances instead of things. Thus the vain man takes praise for honour; the proud man, ceremony for respect, the ambitious man, power for glory. These three characters are indeed of very near resemblance, but differently received by mankind. Vanity makes men ridiculous; pride odious: and ambition terrible. The foundation of all which is, that they are grounded upon falsehood: for if men, instead of studying to appear considerable, were in their own hearts possessors of the requisites for esteem, the acceptance they otherwise unfortunately aim at would be as inErasistratus, the physician, soon found that separable from them, as approbation is from love was his distemper; and observing the truth itself. By this means they would have alteration in his pulse and countenance, whenso- some rule to walk by; and they may ever be ever Stratonice made him a visit, was soon sa- assured, that a good cause of action will cer tisfied that he was dying for his young mother-tainly receive a suitable effect. It may be a in-law. Knowing the old king's tenderness for his son, when he one morning inquired of his health, he told him, that the prince's distemper was love; but that it was incurable, because it was impossible for him to possess the person whom he loved. The king, surprized at his account, desired to know how his son's passion could be incurable? Why, sir,' replied Erasistratus, because he is in love with the person I am married to.' · The old king immediately conjured him by all his past favours, to save the life of his son and successor. Sir,' said Erasistratus, would your majesty but fancy yourself in my place, you would see the unreasonableness of what you desire ?' 'Heaven is my witness,' said Selcucus, I could resign even my Stratonice to save my Antiochus.' At this, the tears ran down cheeks; which when the physician saw, king him by the hand, 'Sir,' says he, if these useful hint in such cases for a man to ask of himself, whether he really is what he has a mind to be thought? If he is, he need not give himself much further anxiety. What will the world say? is the common question in matters of difficulty; as if the terror lay wholly in the sense which others, and not we ourselves, shall have of your actions. From this one source arise all the impostors in every art and profession, in all places, among all persons, in conversation, as well as in business. Hence it is, that a vain fellow takes twice as much pains to be ridiculous, as would make him sincerely agreeable. Can any one be better fashioned, better bred, or has any one more good nature, than Damasippus ? But the whole scope of his looks and actions tend so immediately to gain the good opinion of all he converses with, that he loses it for that only reason. As it is the nature of |