No. 63.] SATURDAY, MAY 12, 1711. If in a picture, Piso, you should see Or limbs of beasts, of the most different kinds, Whose incoherent style, like sick men's dreams, ROSCOMMON. It is very hard for the mind to disengage itself from a subject on which it has been long employed. The thoughts will be rising of themselves from time to time, though we give them no encouragement; as the tossings and fluctuations of the sea continue several hours after the winds are laid. It is to this that I impute my last night's dream or vision, which formed into one continued allegory the several schemes of wit, whether false, mixed, or true, that have been the subject of my late papers. Methought I was transported into a country that was filled with prodigies and enchantments, governed by the goddess of Falsehood, and entitled the Region of False Wit. There was nothing in the fields, the woods, and the rivers, that appeared natural. Several of the trees blossomed in leaf-gold, some of them produced bone-lace, and some of them precious stones. The fountains bubbled in an opera tune, and were filled with stags, wild boars, and mermaids that lived among the waters; at the same time that dolphins and several kinds of fish played upon the banks, or took their pastime in the meadows. The birds had many of them golden beaks and human voices. The flowers perfumed the air with smells of incense, ambergris, and pulvillios;* and were so interwoven with one another, that they grew up in pieces of embroidery. The winds were filled with sighs and messages of distant lovers. As I was walking to and fro in this enchanted wilderness, I could not forbear breaking out into soliloquies upon the several wonders which lay before me, when, to my great surprise, I found there were artificial echoes in every walk that, by repetitions of certain words which I spoke, agreed with me, or contradicted me, in everything I said. In the midst of my conversation with these invisible companions, I discovered in the center of a very dark grove a monstrous fabric built after the Gothic manner, and covered with innumerable devices in that barbarous kind of sculpture. I immediately went up to it, and found it to be a kind of heathen temple consecrated to the god of Dullness Upon my entrance I saw the deity of the place dressed in the habit of a monk, with a book in one hand and a rattle in the other. Upon his right hand was Industry, with a lamp burn ing before her; and on his left Caprice, with a monkey sitting on her shoulder. Before his feet there stood an altar of a very odd make, which, as I afterward found was shaped in that manner to comply with the inscription that surrounded it. Upon the altar there lay several offerings of axes, wings, and eggs, cut in paper, and inscribed with verses. The temple was filled with votaries, who applied themselves to different diversions, as *Pulvillios, sweet scents. their fancies directed them. In one part of it I saw a regiment of anagrams, who were continually in motion, turning to the right or to the left, facing about, doubling their ranks, shifting their stations, and throwing themselves into all the figures and counter-marches of the most changeable and perplexed exercise. Not far from these was the body of acrostics, made up of very disproportioned persons. It was disposed into three columns, the officers planting themselves in a line on the left hand of each column. The officers were all of them at least six feet high, and made three rows of very proper men; but the common soldiers, who filled up the spaces between the officers, were such dwarfs, cripples, and scarecrows, that one could hardly look upon them without laughing. There were behind the acrostics two or three files of chronograms, which differed only from the former as their officers were equipped like the figure of Time) with an hour-glass in one hand and a scythe in the other, and took their posts promiscuously among the private men whom they commanded. In the body of the temple, and before the very face of the Deity, methought I saw the phantom of Tryphiodorus, the lipogrammatist, engaged in a ball with four-and-twenty persons, who pursued him by turns through all the intricacies and labyrinths of a country dance, without being able to overtake him. Observing several to be very busy at the western end of the temple, I inquired into what they were doing, and found there was in that quarter the great magazine of rebuses. These were several things of the most different natures tied up in bundles, and thrown upon one another in heaps: like fagots. You might behold an anchor, a night-rail, and a hobby-horse, bound up together. One of the workmen seeing me very much surprised, told me there was an infinite deal of wit in several of those bundles, and that he would explain them to me if I pleased; I thanked him for his civility, but told him I was in very great haste at that time. As I was going out of the temple, I observed in one corner of it a cluster of men and women laughing very heartily, and diverting themselves at a game of crambo. I heard several double rhymes as I passed by them, which raised a great deal of mirth. Not far from these was another set of merry people engaged at a diversion, in which the whole jest was to mistake one person for another. To give occasion for these fudicrous mistakes, they were divided into pairs, every pair being covered from head to foot with the same kind of dress, though perhaps there was not the least resemblance in their faces. By this means an old man was sometimes mistaken for a boy, a woman for a man, and a black-a-moor for a European, which very often produced great peals of laughter. These I guessed to be a party of puns. But being very desirous to get out of this world of magic, which had almost turned my brain, I left the temple, and crossed over the fields that lay about it with all the speed I could make. I was not gone far, before I heard the sound of trumpets and alarms, which seemed to proclaim the march of an enemy; and, as I afterward found, was in reality what I apprehended it. There appeared at a great distance a very shining light, and in the midst of it a person of a most beautiful aspect; her name was Truth. On her right hand there marched a male deity, who bore several quivers on his shoulders, and grasped several arrows in his hand. His name was Wit. The approach of these two enemies filled all the territories of False Wit with an unspeakable consternation, inso- | ror. As I was gazing on him, to my un much that the goddess of those regions appeared joy he took a quiver of arrows from his in person upon her frontiers, with the several in order to make me a present of it; bu inferior deities, and the different bodies of forces reaching out my hand to receive it which I had before seen in the temple, who were knocked it against a chair, and by th now drawn up in array, and prepared to give awaked.-C. their foes a warm reception. As the march of the enemy was very slow, it gave time to the several inhabitants who bordered upon the regions of Falsehood to draw their forces into a body, with a design to stand upon their guard as neuters, and attend the issue of the combat. I must here inform my reader, that the frontiers of the enchanted region which I have before 'described, were inhabited by a species of Mixed Wit, who made a very odd appearance when they were mustered together in an army. There were men whose bodies were stuck full of darts, and women whose eyes were burning-glasses: men that had hearts of fire, and women that had breasts of snow. It would be endless to describe several monsters of the like nature, that composed this great army; which immediately fell asunder, and divided itself into two parts, the one half throwing themselves behind the banners of Truth, and the other behind those of Falsehood. The goddess of Falsehood was of a gigantic stature, and advanced some paces before the front of her army; but as the dazzling light which flowed from Truth began to shine upon her, she faded insensibly; insomuch that in a little space, she looked rather like a huge phantom, than a real substance. At length, as the goddess of Truth approached still nearer to her, she fell away entirely, and vanished amidst the brightness of her presence; so that there did not remain the least trace or impression of her figure in the place where she had been seen. As at the rising of the sun the constellations grow thin, and the stars go out one after another, till the whole hemisphere is extinguished; such was the vanishing of the goddess: and not only of the goddess herself, but of the whole army that attended her, which sympathized with their leader, and shrank into nothing, in proportion as the goddess disappeared. At the same time the whole temple sank, the fish betook themselves to the streams and the wild beasts to the woods, the fountains recovered their murmurs, the birds their voices, the trees their leaves, the flowers their scents, and the whole face of nature its true and genuine appearance. Though I still continued asleep, I fancied myself, as it were, awakened out of a dream, when I saw this region of prodigies restored to woods and rivers, fields and meadows. No. 64.] MONDAY, MAY 14, -Hic vivimus ambitiosa Paupertate omnes Juv., Sat. iii, 183. The face of wealth in poverty we wear. THE most improper things we com conduct of our lives, we are led into by of fashion. Instances might be given, a prevailing custom makes us act agains of nature, law, and common sense; but I shall confine my consideration to th has upon men's minds, by looking into vior when it is the fashion to go into The custom of representing the grief we the loss of the dead by our habits, cert its rise from the real sorrow of such as much distressed to take the proper care t of their dress. By degrees it prevailed, as had this inward oppression upon the made an apology for not joining with t the world in their ordinary diversions suited to their condition. This, therefor first assumed by such only as were u distress; to whom it was a relief that nothing about them so light and gay as some to the gloom and melancholy of the reflections, or that might misrepresent others. In process of time this laudabl tion of the sorrowful was lost, and mo now worn by heirs and widows. You se but magnificence and solemnity in the of the relict, and an air of release from in the pomp of a son who has lost a father. This fashion of sorrow has no a generous part of the ceremonial betwe and sovereigns, who, in the language tions, are styled brothers to each other on the purple* upon the death of any with whom they live in amity. Courtier who wish themselves such, are immediat with grief from head to foot upon this their prince; so that one may know by buckles of a gentleman-usher, what friendship any deceased monarch mainta the court to which he belongs. A good habit and behavior is hieroglyphical on casions. He deals much in whispers, may see he dresses according to the be gence. Upon the removal of that wild scene of wonders, which had very much disturbed my imagi- The general affectation among men, c nation, I took a full survey of the persons of Wit ing greater than they are, makes the wh and Truth; for indeed it was impossible to look run into the habits of the court. You upon the first, without seeing the other at the lady, who the day before was as various same time. There was behind them a strong bow, upon the time appointed for beg compact body of figures. The genius of Heroic mourn, as dark as a cloud. This humo Poetry appeared with a sword in her hand, and a prevail only on those whose fortunes ca laurel on her head. Tragedy was crowned with any change in their equipage, nor on t cypress, and covered with robes dipped in blood. whose incomes demand the wantonnes Satire had smiles in her look, and a dagger under appearances; but on such also who her garment. Rhetoric was known by her thun- enough to clothe them. An old acquai derbolt; and Comedy by her mask. After seve-mine, of ninety pounds a year, who has ral other figures, Epigram marched up in the rear. the vanity of being a man of fashion de who had been posted there at the beginning of heart, is very much put to it to bear the the expedition, that he might not revolt to the of princes. He made a new black suit enemy, whom he was suspected to favor in his death of the King of Spain, he turned heart. I was very much awed and delighted with King of Portugal, and he now keeps his the appearance of the god of Wit; there was while it is scouring for the Emperor. He something so amiable, and yet so piercing in his looks, as inspired me at once with love and ter-i *Royal and princely mourners are clad in economist in his extravagance, and makes only a fresh black button on his iron-gray suit for any potentate of small territories; he indeed adds his crape hat-band for a prince whose exploits he has admired in the Gazette. But whatever compliments may be made on these occasions, the true mourners are the mercers, silkmen, lacemen, and milliners. A prince of a merciful and royal disposition would reflect with great anxiety upon the prospect of his death, if he considered what numbers would be reduced to misery by that accident only. He would think it of moment enough to direct, that in the notification of his departure, the honor done to him might be restrained to those of the household of the prince to whom it should be signified. He would think a general mourning to be, in a less degree, the same ceremony which is practiced in barbarous nations, of killing their slaves to attend the obsequies of their kings. I had been wonderfully at a loss for many months together, to guess at the character of a man who came now and then to our coffee-house. He ever ended a newspaper with this reflection, "Well, I see all the foreign princes are in good health." If you asked, Pray, Sir, what says the Postman from Vienna?" He answered, "Make us thankful, the German princes are all well.""What does he say from Barcelona?"-" He does not speak but that the country agrees very well with the new Queen." After very much inquiry, I found this man of universal loyalty was a wholesale dealer in silks and ribbons. His way is, it seems, if he hires a weaver or workman, to have it inserted in his articles, "that all this shall be well and truly performed, provided no foreign potentate shall depart this life within the time above-mentioned." It happens that in all public mournings that the many trades which depend upon our habits, are during that folly either pinched with present want, or terrified with the apparent approach of it. All the atonement which men can make for wanton expenses (which is a sort of insulting the scarcity under which others labor) is, that the superfluities of the wealthy give supplies to the necessities of the poor; but instead of any other good arising from the affectation of being in courtly habits of mourning, all order seems to be destroyed by it: and the true honor which one court does to another on that occasion, loses its force and efficacy. When a foreign minister beholds the court of a nation (which flourishes in riches and plenty) lay aside, upon the loss of his master, all marks of splendor and magnificence, though the head of such a joyful people, he will conceive a greater idea of the honor done to his master, than when he sees the generality of the people in the same habit. When one is afraid to ask the wife of a tradesman whom she has lost of her family; and after some preparation, endeavors to know whom she mourns for; how ridiculous is it to hear her explain herself, "That we have lost one of the house of Austria!" Princes are elevated so highly above the rest of mankind, that it is a presumptuous distinction to take a part in honors done to their memories, ex cept we have authority for it by being related in a particular manner to the court which pays the veneration to their friendship, and seems to express on such an occasion the sense of the uncertainty of human life in general, by assuming the habit of sorrow, though in the full possession of triumph and royalty. R. No. 65.] TUESDAY, MAY 15, 1711. the -Demetri, teque, Tigelli, Discipularum inter jubeo plorare cathedras. HOR., 1, Sat. x, 90. 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 labor 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 use of it in that place. The application of wit in the theater 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 employed 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 good-nature. 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 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), 66 he will lay his life she is some awkward illfashioned country toad, who, not having above four dozen of hairs on her head, has adorned her baldness with a large white furze, that she may look sparkishly in the fore-front of the king's box at an old play," Unnatural mixture of senseless common-) on-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 de "The Man of the Mode." Sir Fopling was Beau Hewit, son of Sir Thomas Hewit, of Pishiobury, in Hertfordshire, Bart; and the author's own character is represented in Bell scribes 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 all 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, methinks, 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. No. 66.] WEDNESDAY, MAY 16, Motus doceri gaudet Ionicos HOR. 1, Od. Behold a ripe and melting maid THE two following letters are upon a very great importance, though expresse any air of gravity. "SIR, "TO THE SPECTATOR. "I take the freedom of asking your behalf of a young country kinswoman who is lately come to town, and under m It cannot be denied, but that the negligence of her education. She is very pretty, but y everything which engages the attention of the so- imagine how unformed a creature it ber and valuable part of mankind, appears very comes to my hands just as nature left well drawn in this piece. But it is denied, that finished, and without any acquired impro it is necessary to the character of a fine gentle- When I look on her I often think of man, that he should in that manner trample upon Sauvage mentioned in one of your pape all order and decency. As for the character of Mr. Spectator, help me to make her co Dorimant, it is more of a coxcomb than that of the visible graces of speech, and the d Fopling. He says of one of his companions, that quence of motion; for she is at present a good correspondence between them is their mu- stranger to both. She knows no way t tual interest. Speaking of that friend, he de- herself but by her tongue, and that alwa clares, their being much together "makes the wo-nify her meaning. Her eyes serve her o men think the better of his understanding, and with, and she is utterly a foreigner to the judge more favorably of my reputation. It makes of looks and glances. In this I fancy him pass upon some for a man of very good help her better than anybody. I have sense, and me upon others for a very civil person." two months in teaching her to sigh wh This whole celebrated piece is a perfect contra- not concerned, and to smile when sh diction to good manners, good sense, and common pleased, and am ashamed to own she ma honesty; and as there is nothing in it but what is or no improvement. Then she is nor built upon the ruin of virtue and innocence, ac- now to walk, than she was to go at a cording to the notion of merit in this comedy, I By walking, you will easily know I n take the shoemaker* to be in reality the fine gen- regular but easy motion which gives ou tleman of the play: for it seems he is an atheist, so irresistible a grace, as if we moved if we may depend upon his character as given by and is a kind of disengaged figure; or, the orange-woman, who is herself far from being so speak, recitative dancing. But the wa the lowest in the play. She says of a fine man who I cannot blame in her, for I find she h is Dorimant's companion, there is not such and means nothing by walking but to cl another heathen in the town, except the shoe- place. I could pardon too her blushin maker." His pretension to be the hero of the dra- knew how to carry herself in it, and if ma, appears still more in his own description manifestly injure her complexion. 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 than I do; I never mind her motions; she never inquires. into mine. We speak to one another civilly, hate one another heartily; and because it is vulgar to lie and soak together, we have each of us our several settlebed." That of "soaking together" is as good as if Dorimant had spoken it himself; and I think, since he puts human nature in as ugly a form as the circumstance will bear, and is a 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. *He also was a real person, and got vast employment by the representation of him in this play. 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? They tell me you are a person who the world, and are a judge of fine breedin makes me ambitious of some instructions for her improvement: which when you hav me with, I shall farther advise with you disposal of this fair forester in marriage: make it no secret to you, that her person cation are to be her fortune. "SIR, "I am, Sir, "Your very humble ser "CELI "Being employed by Celimene to mak send to you her letter, I make bold to re the case therein mentioned to your consi because she and I happen to differ a lit notions. I, who am a rough man, am a young girl is in a fair way to be spoiled: pray, Mr. Spectator, let us have your op this fine thing called fine breeding; for I it differs too much from that plain thin good breeding. "Your most humble se The general mistake among us in the e our children is, that in our daughters we mien and great agility which he had acquired by that exercise, distinguished him above the rest in the armies both of Greeks and Trojans. 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. 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 He adds, that Pyrrhus gained more reputation and admired in all the assemblies about town, by inventing the dance which is called after his when her elder brother is afraid to come into a name, than by all his other actions: that the Laceroom. From this ill management it arises, that dæmonians, who were the bravest people in we frequently observe a man's life is half spent, Greece, gave great encouragement to this diverbefore he is taken notice of; and a woman in the sion, and made their Hormus (a dance much reprime of her years is out of fashion and neglected. sembling the French Brawl) famous all over Asia: The boy I shall consider upon some other occa- that there were still extant some Thessalonian sion, and at present stick to the girl: and I am the statues erected to the honor of their best dancers; more inclined to this, because I have several let and that he wondered how his brother philosopher ters which complain to me, that my female readers could declare himself against the opinions of those have not understood me for some days last past, two persons whom he professed so much to and take themselves to be unconcerned in the pre-admire-Homer and Hesiod; the latter of which sent turn of my writing.-When a girl is safely compares valor and dancing together, and says, brought from her nurse, before she is capable of that "the gods have bestowed fortitude on some forming one single notion of anything in life, she men, and on others a disposition for dancing." 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 behavior, 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 and 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 endeavors 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 anything 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. But sure there is a middle way to be followed; the management of a young lady's person is not to be overlooked, 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. Saltare elegantius quam necesse est proba.-Sallust. Too fine a dancer for a virtuous woman. 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 defense of his favorite diversion, which, he says, was 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 * Erudition seems to be here used in an uncommon sense, for cultivation or instruction. 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 letter, which I suppose is sent me by some substantial tradesman about 'Change. "SIR, "I am a man in years, and by an honest industry in the world have acquired enough to give my children a liberal education, though I was an utter stranger to it myself. My eldest daughter, a girl of sixteen, has for some time been under the tuition of Monsieur Rigadoon, a dancing-master in the city; 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 abuses are crept into this entertainment. I was 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 |