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of men; in the country with those of God. One is the province of art, the other of nature. Faith and devotion naturally grow in the mind of every reasonable man, who sees the impressions of divine power and wisdom in every object on which he casts his eye. The Supreme Being has made the best arguments for his own existence, in the formation of the heavens and the earth; and these are arguments which a man of sense cannot forbear attending to, who is out of the noise and hurry of human affairs. Aristotle says, that should a man live under ground, and there converse with works of art and mechanism, and should afterward be brought up into the open day, and see the several glories of the heaven and earth, he would immediately pronounce them the works of such a Being as we define God to be. The psalmist has very beautiful strokes of poetry to this purpose, in that exalted strain: "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handy-work. One day telleth another; and one night certifieth another. There is neither speech nor language; but their voices are heard among them. Their sound is gone out into all lands; and their words into the ends of the world." As such a bold and sublime manner of thinking nishes very noble matter for an ode, the reader may tee it wrought into the following one :
The spacious firmament on high,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
What though, in solemn silence all
And utter forth a glorious voice;
goddess of beauty till she moved. All the charms of an agreeable person are then in their highest exertion, every limb and feature appears with its respective grace. It is from this observation that I can. not help being so passionate an admirer as I am of good dancing. As all art is an imitation of nature, this is an imitation of nature in its highest excellence, and at a time when she is most agreeable. The business of dancing is to display beauty; and for that reason all distortions and mimicries, as such, are what raise aversion instead of pleasure; bat things that are in themselves excellent, are ever attended with imposture and false imitation. Thus, as in poetry there are labouring fools who write anagrams and acrostics, there are pretenders in dancing, who think merely to do what others cannot, is to excel. Such creatures should be rewarded like him who had acquired a knack of throwing a grain of corn through the eye of a needle, with a bushel to keep his hands in use. The dancers on our stage are very faulty in this kind; and what they mean by writhing themselves into such postures, as it would be a pain for any of the spectators to stand in, and yet hope to please those spectators, is unintel fur-ligible. Mr. Prince has a genius, if he were en couraged, would prompt him to better things. In all the dances he invents, you see he keeps close to the characters he represents. He does not hope to please by making his performers move in a manner in which no one else ever did, but by motions proper to the characters he represents. He gives to clowas and lubbards clumsy graces; that is, he makes them practise what they would think graces; and I have seen dances of his, which might give hints that would be useful to a comic writer. These performances have pleased the taste of such as have not reflection enough to know their excellence, because they are in nature; and the distorted motions of others have offended those who could not form reasons to themselves for their displeasure, from their being a contradiction to nature.
No. 466.] MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 1712.
When one considers the inexpressible advantage there is in arriving at some excellence in this art, it is monstrous to behold it so much neglected. The following letter has in it something very natural on this subject:
"I am a widower with but one daughter: she was by nature much inclined to be a romp; and I had no way of educating her, but commanding a young woman, whom I entertained, to take care of her, to be very watchful in her care and attendance about her. I am a man of business, and obliged to be much abroad. The neighbours have told me, that in my absence our maid has let in the spruce servants in the neighbourhood to junketings, while my WHEN Æneas, the hero of Virgil, is lost in the girl played and romped even in the street. To tell wood, and a perfect stranger in the place on which you the plain truth, I catched her once, at eleven he is landed, he is accosted by a lady in a habit for years old, at chuck-farthing among the boys. This the chase. She inquires of him, whether he has seen put me upon new thoughts about my child, and I pass by that way any young woman dressed as she determined to place her at a boarding-school; and was? whether she were following the sport in the at the same time gave a very discreet young gentle wood, or any other way employed, according to the woman her maintenance at the same place and rate, 'custom of huntresses? The hero answers with the to be her companion. I took little notice of my girl respect due to the beautiful appearance she made; from time to time, but saw her now and then in good tells her he saw no such person as she inquired for; health, out of harm's way, and was satisfied. But, but intimates that he knows her to be of the deities, by much importunity, I was lately prevailed with and desires she would conduct a stranger. Her form, to go to one of their balls. I cannot express to you from her first appearance, manifested she was more the anxiety my silly heart was in, when I saw my than mortal, but, though she was certainly a god-romp, now fifteen, taken out: I never felt the pangs dess. the poet does not make her known to be the of a father upon me so strongly in my whole life,
before, and I could not have suffered more had my whole fortune been at stake. My girl came on with the most becoming modesty I had ever seen, and casting a respectful eye, as if she feared me more than all the audience, I gave a nod, which I think gave her all the spirit she assumed upon it: but she rose properly to that dignity of aspect. My romp, now the most graceful person of her sex, assumed a majesty, which commanded the highest respect; and when she turned to me, and saw my face in rapture, she fell into the prettiest smile, and I saw in all her motions that she exulted in her father's satisfaction. You, Mr. Spectator, will, better than I can tell you, imagine to yourself all the different beauties and changes of aspect in an accomplished young woman, setting forth all her beauties with a design to please no one so much as her father. My girl's lover can never know half the satisfaction that I did in her that day. I could not possibly have imagined that so great improvement could have been wrought by an art that I always held in itself ridiculous and contemptible. There is, I am convinced, no method like this, to give young women a sense of their own value and dignity; and I am sure there can be none so expeditious to communicate that value to others. As for the flippant, insipidly gay, and wanuly forward, whom you behold among dancers, that carriage is more to be attributed to the perverse genius of the performers, than imputed to the art itself. For my part, my child has danced herself into my esteem; and I have as great an honour for her As ever I had for her mother, from whom she derived those latent good qualities which appeared in her countenance when she was dancing; for my girl, though I say it myself, showed in one quarter of an hour the innate principles of a modest virgin, a tender wife, a generous friend, a kind mother, and an indulgent mistress. I'll strain hard but I will purchase for her a husband suitable to her merit. I am your convert in the admiration of what I thought you Jested when you recommended; and if you please to be at my house on Thursday next, I make a ball for my daughter, and you shall see her dance, or, if you will do ber that honour, dance with her.
"I am, Sir, your humble Servant,
so silly, that while she dances you see the simpleton from head to foot. For you must know (as trivial as this art is thought to be), no one ever was a good dancer that bad not a good understanding. If this be a truth, I shall leave the reader to judge, from that maxim, what esteem they ought to have for such impertinents as fly, hop, caper, tamble, twirl, turn round, and jump over their heads; and, in a word, play a thousand pranks which many animals, cau do better than a man, instead of performing to perfection what the human figure only is capable of performing.
It may perhaps appear odd, that I, who set up for a mighty lover, at least, of virtue, should take so much pains to recommend what the soberer part of mankind look upon to be a trifle; but, under favour of the soberer part of mankind, I think they have not enough considered this matter, and for that reason only disesteem it. I must also, in my own justification, say, that I attempt to bring into the service of honour and virtue every thing in nature that can pretend to give elegant delight. It may possibly be proved, that vice is in itself destructive of pleasure, and virtue in itself conducive to it. If the delights of a free fortune were under proper regulations, this truth would not want much argument to support it; but it would be obvious to every man, that there is a strict affinity between all things that are truly laudable and beautiful, from the highest sentiment of the soul to the most indifferent gesture of the body.-T,
No. 467.] TUESDAY, AUGUST 26, 1712.
THE love of praise is a passion deeply fixed in the mind of every extraordinary person; and those who are most affected with it seem most to partake of that particle of the divinity which distinguishes manI have some time ago spoken of a treatise written kind from the inferior creation. The Supreme Beby Mr. Weaver on this subject, which is now, I un- ing himself is most pleased with praise and thanksderstand, ready to be published. This work sets this giving: the other part of our duty is but an acknowmatter in a very plain and advantageous light; and ledgment of our faults, whilst this is the immediate I am convinced from it, that if the art was under adoration of his perfections. 'Twas an excellent Proper regulations, it would be a mechanic way of observation, that we then only despise commendaimplanting insensibly, in minds not capable of re- tion when we cease to deserve it; and we have still ceiving it so well by any other rules, a sense of good-extant two orations of Tully and Pliny, spoken to breeding and virtue.
Were any one to see Mariamne* dance, let him be never so sensual a brute, I defy him to entertain any thoughts but of the highest respect and esteem towards her, I was showed last week a picture in a lady's closet, for which she had a hundred different dresses, that she could clap on round the face on purpose to demonstrate the force of habits in the diversity of the same countenance. Motion, and change of posture and aspect, has an effect no less surprising on the person of Mariamne when she
Chloe is extremely pretty, and as silly as she is pretty. This idiot has a very good ear, and a most agreeable shape; but the folly of the thing is such, that it smiles so impertinently, and affects to please
• Probably Mrs. Bicknell.
the greatest and best princes of all the Roman emperors, who, no doubt, heard with the greatest satisfaction, what even the most disinterested persons, and at so large a distance of time, cannot read without admiration. Cæsar thought his life consisted in the breath of praise, when he professed he had lived long enough for himself, when he had for his glory. Others have sacrificed themselves for a name which was not to begin till they were dead, giving away themselves to purchase a sound which was not to commence till they were out of hearing. But by merit and superior excellences, not only to gain, but, whilst living, to enjoy a great and universal reputation, is the last degree of happiness which we can hope for here. Bad characters are dispersed abroad with confusion, I hope for example sake, and (as punishments are designed by the civil power) more for the deterring the innocent than the chas
tising the guilty. The good are less frequent, whe-ing parties. Tis his peculiar happiness that, while ther it be that there are indeed fewer originals of he espouses neither with an intemperate zeal, he is this kind to copy after, or that, through the malignot only admired, but, what is a more rare and unnity of our nature, we rather delight in the ridicule usual felicity, he is beloved and caressed by both; than the virtues we find in others. However, it is and I never yet saw any person, of whatever age or but just, as well as pleasing, even for variety, some-sex, but was immediately struck with the merit of times to give the world a representation of the Manilius. There are many who are acceptable to bright side of human nature, as well as the dark and some particular persons, whilst the rest of mankind gloomy. The desire of imitation may, perhaps, be look upon them with coldness and indifference; but a greater incentive to the practice of what is good, he is the first whose entire good fortune it is ever to than the aversion we may conceive at what is blame- please and to be pleased, wherever he comes to be able: the one immediately directs you what you admired, and wherever he is absent to be lamented. should do, whilst the other only shows what you His merit fares like the pictures of Raphael, which should avoid; and I cannot at present do this with are either seen with admiration by all, or at least so more satisfaction, than by endeavouring to do some one dare own that he has no taste for a composition justice to the character of Manilius. which has received so universal an applause. Eavy and malice find it against their interest to indulge slander and obloquy. Tis as hard for an enemy lo detract from, as for a friend to add to, his praise. An attempt upon his reputation is a sure lessening of one's own; and there is but one way to injure him, which is to refuse him his just commendations, and be obstinately silent.
It would far exceed my present design, to give a particular description of Manilius through all the parts of his excellent life. I shall now only draw him in his retirement, and pass over in silence the various arts, the courtly manners, and the undesigning honesty by which he attained the honours he has enjoyed, and which now give a dignity and veneration to the ease he does enjoy. 'Tis here that It is below him to catch the sight with any care of he looks back with pleasure on the waves and billows dress; his outward garb is but the emblem of his through which he has steered to so fair a haven: he mind. It is genteel, plain, and unaffected; he is now intent upon the practice of every virtue, knows that gold and embroidery can add nothing which a great knowledge and use of mankind has to the opinion which all have of his merit, and that discovered to be the most useful to them. Thus in he gives a lustre to the plainest dress, whilst 'uşămhis private domestic employments he is no less glo- possible the richest should communicate any to him, rious than in his public; for it is in reality a more He is still the principal figure in the room. He first difficult task to be conspicuous in a sedentary inac-engages your eye, as if there were some point of tive life, than in one that is spent in hurry and light which shone stronger upon him than on any business: persons engaged in the latter, like bodies other person. violently agitated, from the swiftness of their motion have a brightness added to them, which often vanishes when they are at rest; but if it then still remain, it must be the seeds of intrinsic worth that thus shine out without any foreign aid or assistance. His liberality in another might almost bear the name of profusion; he seems to think it laudable even in the excess, like that river which most enriches when it overflows. But Manilius has too perfect a taste of the pleasure of doing good ever to let it be out of his power; and for that reason he will have a just economy and a splendid frugality at Like Aristippus, whatever shape or condition he home, the fountain from whence those streams should appears in, it still sits free and easy upon him; but How which he disperses abroad. He looks with dis- in some part of his character, 'tis true, he differs dain on those who propose their death as the time from him; for as he is altogether equal to the large when they are to begin their munificence; he will ness of his present circumstances, the rectitude of both see and enjoy (which he then does in the high-his judgment has so far corrected the inclinations of est degree) what he bestows himself; he will be the living executor of his own bounty, whilst they who have the happiness to be within his care and patronage at once pray for the continuation of his life and their own good fortune. No one is out of the reach of his obligations; he knows how, by proper and becoming methods, to raise himself to a level with those of the highest rank; and his good-nature is a sufficient warrant against the want of those who are so unhappy as to be in the very lowest. One may say of him, as Pindar bids his Muse say of Theron,
He puts me in mind of a story of the famous Bussy d'Amboise, who, at an assembly at court, where every one appeared with the utmost magnificence, relying on his own superior behaviour, instead of adorning himself like the rest, put on that day a plain suit of clothes, and dressed all his servants in the most costly gay habits he could procure. The event was, that the eyes of the whole court were fixed upon him; all the rest looked like his attendants, while he alone had the air of a person of quality and distinction.
his ambition, that he will not trouble himself with either the desires or pursuits of any thing beyond his present enjoyments.
A thousand obliging things flow from him upon every occasion; and they were always so just and natural, that it is impossible to think he was at the least pains to look for them. One would think it was the demon of good thoughts that discovered to him those treasures, which he must have blinded others from seeing, they lay so directly in their way. Nothing can equal the pleasure that is taken in hearing him speak, but the satisfaction one receives in the civility and attention he pays to the discourse of others. His looks are a silent commendation of what is good and praiseworthy, and a secret reproof to what is licentious and extravagant. He knows Never did Atticus succeed better in gaining the how to appear free and open without danger of inuniversal love and esteem of all men; nor steer with trusion, and to be cautious without seeming reserved. more success between the extremes of two contend-The gravity of his conversation is always enlivened
Swear that Theron sure has sworn
No one near him should be poor.
With an unensious hand, and an unbounded heart.
with his wit and humour, and the gaiety of it is tem pered with something that is instructive, as well as
barely agreeable. Thus, with him you are sure not not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gam to be merry at the expense of your reason, nor se-bols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that rious with the loss of your good-humour; but, by a were wont to set the table on a roar? not one now happy mixture of his temper, they either go together, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now or perpetually succeed each other. In fine, his get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let ber whole behaviour is equally distant from constraint paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. and negligence, and he commands your respect Make her laugh at that." whilst he gains your heart.
There is in his whole carriage such an engaging softness, that one cannot persuade one's self he is ever actuated by those rougher passions, which, wherever they find place, seldom fail of showing themselves in the outward demeanour of the person they belong to; but his constitution is a just temperature between indolence on one hand, and violence on the other. He is mild and gentle, whereever his affairs will give him leave to follow his own inclinations; but yet never failing to exert himself with vigour and resolution in the service of his prince, his country, or his friend.-Z.
No. 468.] WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1712.
Erat homo- ingeniosus, acutus, acer, et qui plurimum et salis
It is an insolence natural to the wealthy, to affix, as much as in them lies, the character of a man to his circumstances. Thus it is ordinary with them to praise faintly the good qualities of those below them, and say, It is very extraordinary in such a man as he is, or the like, when they are forced to acknowledge the value of him whose lowness upbraids their exaltation. It is to this humour only, that it is to be ascribed, that a quick wit in conversation, a nice judgment upon any emergency that could arise, aud a most blameless inoffensive behaviour, could not raise this man above being received only upon the foot of contributing to mirth and diversion. But he was as easy under that condition, as a man of so excellent talents was capable; and since they would all the seeming alacrity imaginable, though it stung have it, that to divert was his business, he did it with
him to the heart that it was his business. Men of sense, who could taste his excellences, were well satisfied to let him lead the way in conversation, and play after his own manner; but fools, who provoked him to mimicry, found he had the indignation to let it be at their expense who called for it, and he would show the form of conceited heavy fellows as jests to the company at their own request, in revenge for interrupting him from being a companion to put on the character of a jester.
What was peculiarly excellent in this memorable companion was, that in the accounts he gave of persons and sentiments, he did not only hit the figure of their faces, and manner of their gestures, but he would in his narrations fall into their very way of thinking, and this when he recounted passages wherein men of the best wit were concerned, as well as such wherein were represented men of the lowest rank of understanding. It is certainly as great an instance of self-love to a weakness, to be impatient of being mimicked, as any can be imagined. There were none but the vain, the formal, the proud, or those who were incapable of amending their faults, that dreaded him; to others he was in the highest degree pleasing; and I do not know any satisfaction of any indifferent kind I ever tasted so much, as having got over an impatience of my seeing myself in the air he could put me when I have displeased him. It is indeed to his exquisite talent this way, more than any philosophy I could read on the subject, that my person is very little of my care, and it is indifferent to me what is said of my shape, my air, my manner, my speech, or my address. It is to poor Estcourt I chiefly owe that I am arrived at the happiness of thinking nothing a diminution to me, but what argues a depravity of my will.
It has as much surprised me as any thing in nature, to have it frequently said, that he was not a good player: but that must be owing to a partiality for former actors in the parts in which he succeeded them, and judging by comparison of what was liked before, rather than by the nature of the thing. When a man of his wit and smartness could put on an utter absence of common sense in his face, as he did in the character of Bullfinch in the Northern Luss, and an air of insipid cunning and vivacity in the character of Pounce in the Tender Husband, it is folly to dispute his capacity and success, as he was an actor.
Poor Estcourt! let the vain and proud be at rest, thou wilt no more disturb their admiration of their dear selves; and thou art no longer to drudge in raising the mirth of stupids, who know nothing of thy merit, for thy maintenance.
It is natural for the generality of mankind to run into reflections upon our mortality, when disturbers of the world are laid at rest, but to take no notice when they who can please and divert are pulled from us. But for my part, I cannot but think the loss of such talents, as the man of whom I am speaking was master of, a more melancholy instance of mortality than the dissolution of persons of never so high characters in the world, whose pretensions were that they were noisy and mischievous.
But I must grow more succinct, and, as a Spectator, give an account of this extraordinary man, who, in his way, never had an equal in any age before him, or in that wherein he lived. I speak of him as a companion, and a man qualified for conversation. His fortune exposed him to an obsequiousness towards the worst sort of company, but his excellent qualities rendered him capable of making the best figure in the most refined. I have been present with him among men of the most delicate taste a whole night, and have known him (for he saw it was desired) keep the discourse to himself the most part of it, and maintain his good-humour with a countenance, in a language so delightful, without offence to any person or thing upon earth, still preserving the distance his circumstances obliged him to; I say, I have seen him do all this in such a charming manner, that I am sure none of those I hint at will read this without giving him some sorrow for their abundant mirth, and one gush of tears for so many bursts of laughter. I wish it were any honour to the pleasant creature's memory, that my eyes are too much suffused to let me go on--.T.
The following severe passage in this number of the Spectator in folio, apparently levelled at Dr. Radcliffe, was suppressed in all the subsequent editions:-It is a felicity his friends may rejoice in, that he had his senses, and used them as he ought to do, in his last moments. It is remarkable that his judgment was in its calm perfection to the utmost article: for when his wife, out of her fondness, desired she might send for a certain illiterate humorist (whom he had accompanied in a thousand mirthful moments, and whose insolence makes fools think he assumes from conscious merit), he answered, "Do what you please, but he will not come near me." Let poor Estcourt's negligence about this message convince the unwary of a triumphant empiric's ignorance and inhumanity.
passion and benevolence, than their superiors themselves. These men know every little case that is to come before the great man, and, if they are possessed with honest minds, will consider poverty as a recommendation in the person who applies himself to them, and make the justice of his cause the most powerful solicitor in his behalf. A man of this temper, when he is in a post of business, becomes a blessing to the public. He patronizes the orphan and the widow, assists the friendless, and guides the ignorant. He does not reject the person's pretensions, who does not know how to explain them, or refuse doing a good office for a man because he cannot pay the fee of it. In short, though he regulates himself in all his proceedings by justice and equity, he finds a thousand occasions for all the good-natured offices of generosity and compassion.
A man is unfit for such a place of trust, who is of a sour untractable nature, or has any other passion that makes him uneasy to those who approach him. Roughness of temper is apt to discountenance the timorous or modest. The proud man discourages those from approaching him, who are of a mean condition, and who most want his assistance. The impatient man will not give himself time to be informed of the matter that lies before him. An offcer, with one or more of these unbecoming qualities, is sometimes looked upon as a proper person to keep off impertinence and solicitation from his superior; but this is a kind of merit that can never atone for injustice which may very often arise from it.
There are two other vicious qualities which render a man very unfit for such a place of trust. The first of these is a dilatory temper, which commits innumerable cruelties without design. The maxim which several have laid down for a man's conduct in ordinary life, should be inviolable with a man in office, never to think of doing that to-morrow which may be done to-day. A man who defers doing what ought to be done, is guilty of injustice so long as he defers it. The dispatch of a good office is very often as beneficial to the solicitor as the good office itself. In short, if a man compared the inconve niences which another suffers by his delays, with the trifling motives and advantages which he himself may reap by such a delay, he would never be guilty of a fault which very often does an irrepara ble prejudice to the person who depends upon him, and which might be remedied with little trouble to himself.
But in the last place there is no man so improper to be employed in business, as he who is in any de gree capable of corruption; and such a one is the man who, upon any pretence whatsoever, receives more than what is the stated and unquestioned fee of his office. Gratifications, tokens of thankfulness,
No. 469.] THURSDAY, AUGUST 28, 1712. Detrahere aliquid alteri, et hominem hominis incommodo suum augere commodum, magis est contra naturam quam mors, quam paupertas, quam dolor, quam cætera quæ possunt aut corpori accidere, aut rebus externis.-TULL To detract any thing from another, and for one man to multi-dispatch-money, and the like spacious terms, are ply his own conveniences by the inconveniences of another, is more against nature than death, than poverty, than pain, and the other things which can befal the body, or external
I AM persuaded there are few men, of generous principles, who would seek after great places, were it not rather to have an opportunity in their hands of obliging their particular friends, or those whom they look upon as men of worth, than to procure wealth and honour for themselves. To an honest mind, the best perquisites of a place are the advantages it gives a man of doing good.
Those who are under the great officers of state, and are the instruments by which they act, have more frequent opportunities for the exercise of com
the pretences under which corruption very frequently shelters itself. An honest man will, however, look on all these methods as unjustifiable, and will enjoy himself better in a moderate fortune that is gained with honour and reputation, than in an overgrown state that is cankered with the acquisitious of rapine and exaction. Were all our offices dis charged with such an inflexible integrity, we should not see men in all ages, who grow up to exorbitant wealth, with the abilities which are to be met with in an ordinary mechanic. I cannot but think that such a corruption proceeds chiefly from men's employing the first that offer themselves, or those who have the character of shrewd worldly men, instead of searching out such as have bad a