6 · them, or the scorn they have for such trifling | A wicked rogue-An execrable wretch commendations, enjoy their stock of knowledge, Was there ever such a monster!" The young like a hidden treasure, with satisfaction and ladies upon this began to be affrighted, and silence. Pedantry, indeed, in learning is like asked, whether any one had hurt him? He hypocrisy in religion, a form of knowledge answered nothing, but still talked to himself. without the power of it; that attracts the eyes To lay the first scene,' says he, ' in St. James's of the common people; breaks out in noise and park, and the last in Northamptonshire !'' Is show; and finds its reward not from any inward that all,' said I? Then I suppose you have pleasure that attends it, but from the praises been at the rehearsal of a play this morning." and approbations which it receives from men. Been!' says he, 'I have been at Northampton, Of this shallow species there is not a more in the Park, in a lady's bed-chamber, in a importunate, empty, and conceited animal, dining-room, every where; the rogue has led than that which is generally known by the name me such a dance-.' Though I could scarce forof a Critic. This, in the common acceptation bear laughing at his discourse, I told him I was of the word, is one that, without entering into glad it was no worse, and that he was only the sense and soul of an author, has a few metaphorically weary. In short, sir,' says he, general rules, which, like mechanical instru- the author has not observed a single unity ments, he applies to the works of every writer; in his whole play; the scene shifts in every and as they quadrate with them, pronounces dialogue; the villain has hurried me up and the author perfect or defective. He is master down at such a rate, that I am tired off my of a certain set of words, as Unity, Style, Fire, legs.' I could not but observe with some Phlegm, Easy, Natural, Turn, Sentiment, and pleasure, that the young lady whom he made the like; which he varies, compounds, divides, love to, conceived a very just aversion towards and throws together, in every part of his dis- him, upon seeing him so very passionate in course, without any thought or meaning. The trifles. And as she had that natural sense marks you may know him by are, an elevated which makes her a better judge than a thoueye and dogmatical brow, a positive voice and sand critics, she began to rally him upon this a contempt for every thing that comes out, foolish humour. 'For my part,' says she, 'I never whether he has read it or not. He dwells knew a play take that was written up to your altogether in generals. He praises or dispraises rules, as you call them.' How, madam!' says in the lump. He shakes his head very fre- he, is that your opinion? I am sure you have quently at the pedantry of universities, and a better taste.' It is a pretty kind of magic,' bursts into laughter when you mention an says she, the poets have, to transport an author that is not known at Will's. He hath audience from place to place without the help formed his judgment upon Homer, Horace, of a coach and horses; I could travel round and Virgil, not from their own works, but from the world at such a rate. It is such an enterthose of Rapin and Bossu. He knows his own tainment as an enchantress finds when she strength so well, that he never dares praise any fancies herself in a wood, or upon a mountain, thing in which he has not a French author for at a feast, or a solemnity; though at the same his voucher. time she has never stirred out of her cottage.' With these extraordinary talents and accom-Your simile, madam,' says sir Timothy, is plishments, sir Timothy Tittle puts men in vogue, or condemns them to obscurity; and sits as judge of life and death upon every author that appears in public. It is impossible to represent the pangs, agonies, and convulsions, which sir Timothy expresses in every feature of his face, and muscle of his body, upon the reading of a bad poet. About a week ago, I was engaged, at a friend's house of mine, in an agreeable conversation with his wife and daughters, when, in the height of our mirth, sir Timothy, who makes love to my friend's eldest daughter, came in amongst us, puffing and blowing as if he had been very much out of breath. He immediately called for a chair, and desired leave to sit down without any further ceremony. I asked him, where he had been? whether he was out of order? He only replied, that he was quite spent, and fell a cursing in soliloquy. I could hear him cry, Henry Cromwell, Esq. is said, to have been the ongi ual of sir Timothy Tittle. 6 by no means just.' 'Pray,' says she, let my similes pass without a criticism. I must confess, continued she, (for I found she was resolved to exasperate him) I laughed very heartily at the last new comedy which you found so much fault with.' 'But, madam,' says he, 'you ought not to have laughed; and I defy any one to show me a single rule that you could laugh by.' Ought not to laugh!' says she; 'pray who should hinder me?' Madam,' says he, there are such people in the world as Rapin, Dacier, and several others, that ought to have spoiled your mirth.' 'I have heard,' says the young lady,' that your great critics are always very bad poets: I fancy there is as much difference between the works of the one and the other, as there is between the carriage of a dancing-master and a gentleman. I must confess,' continued she, 'I would not be troubled with so fine a judgment as yours is; for I find you feel more vexation in a bad comedy, than I do in a deep tragedy.' 'Madam,' says · Sir Timothy, that is not my fault; they should learn the art of writing.' For my part,' says the young lady, 'I should think the greatest art in your writers of comedies is to please.' 'To please! says sir Timothy; and immediately fell a-laughing. Truly,' says she,' that is my opinion. Upon this, he composed his countenance, looked upon his watch, and took his leave. I hear that sir Timothy has not been at my friend's house since this notable conference, to the great satisfaction of the young lady, who by this means has got rid of a very impertinent fop. I must confess, I could not but observe, with a great deal of surprise, how this gentleman, by his ill-nature, folly, and affectation, had made himself capable of suffering so many imaginary pains, and looking with such a senseless severity upon the common diversions of life. Francis. act by instruction; and their words are no more their own, than those of a puppet.' He was going on with his ribaldry, when on a sudden he looked on his watch, and said, ́ he had twenty visits to make,' and drove away without further ceremony. I was then at leisure to reflect upon the tasteless manner of life, which a set of idle fellows lead in this town, and spend youth itself with less spirit, than other men do their old age. These expletives in human society, though they are in themselves wholly insignificant, become of some consideration when they are mixed with others. I am very much at a loss how to define, or under what character, distinction, or denomination, to place them; except you give me leave to call them the order of the Insipids. This order is in its extent like that of the Jesuits; and you see of them in every way of life, and in every profession. Tom Modely has long appeared to me at the head of this species. By being habitually in the best company, he knows perfectly well when a coat is well cut, or a periwig well mounted. As soon as you enter the place where he is, he tells the next man to him, who is your tailor, and judges of you more from the choice of your periwigmaker than of your friend. His business in this world is to be well dressed; and the greatest circumstance that is to be recorded in his annals is, that he wears twenty shirts a week. Thus, without ever speaking reason among the men, or passion among the women, he is every where well received; and, without any one man's esteem, he has every man's indulgence. White's Chocolate-house, May 1. THE word is so overgrown with singularities in behaviour, and method of living, that I have no sooner laid before mankind the absurdity of one species of men, but there starts up to my view some new sect of impertinents that had before escaped notice. This afternoon, as I was This order has produced great numbers of talking with fine Mrs. Sprightly's porter, and tolerable copiers in painting, good rhymers in desiring admittance upon an extraordinary poetry, and harmless projectors in politics. You occasion, it was my fate to be spied by Tom may see them at first sight grow acquainted Modely, riding by in his chariot. He did me by sympathy; insomuch, that one who had the honour to stop, and asked, 'what I did not studied nature, and did not know the true there on a Monday?' I answered, that I had cause of their sudden familiarities, would think business of importance, which I wanted to that they had some secret intimation of each communicate to the lady of the house.' Tom other, like the Free-masons. The other day is one of those fools, who look upon knowledge at Will's I heard Modely, and a critic of the of the fashion to be the only liberal science; same order, show their equal talents with great and was so rough as to tell me, that a well-delight. The learned Insipid was commending bred man would as soon call upon a lady, who Racine's turns; the genteel Insipid, Devillier's keeps a day, at midnight, as on any day but curls. that which she professes being at home. "There are rules and decorums,' adds he, 'which are never to be transgressed by those who understand the world; and he who offends in that kind, ought not to take it ill if he is turned away, even when he sees the person look out at her window whom he enquires for. Nay,' said he, my lady Dimple is so positive in this rule, that she takes it for a piece of good breed-trivial to raise any reflections which may put ing and distinction to deny herself with her well-bred persons to the trouble of thinking. own mouth. Mrs. Comma, the great scholar, insists upon it, and I myself have heard her assert, That a lord's porter, or a lady's woman, cannot be said to lie in that case, because they These creatures, when they are not forced into any particular employment, for want of ideas in their own imaginations, are the constant plague of all they meet with, by enquiries for news and scandal, which makes them the heroes of visiting-days; where they help the design of the meeting, which is to pass away that odious thing called time, in discourses too From my own Apartment, May 1. I was looking out of my parlour-window this morning, and receiving the honours which Margery, the milk-maid to our lane, was doing sons unbecoming airs, shall be immediately me, by dancing before my door with the plate forfeited and sold; and of the sum arising of half her customers on her head, when Mr. from the sale thereof, a ninth part shall be paid Clayton, the author of Arsinoe, made me a to the poor, and the rest to the overseers. visit, and desired me to insert the following advertisement in my ensuing paper. The pastoral masque, composed by Mr. Clayton, author of Arsinoe, will be performed on Wednesday, the third instant, in the great room at York-buildings. Tickets to be had at White's Chocolate-house, St. James's Coffeehouse, in St. James's-street, and Young Man's Coffee-house. Note. The tickets delivered out for the twenty-seventh of April, will be then taken.' When I granted his request, I made one to him, which was, that the performers should put their instruments in tune before the audience came in; for that I thought the resentment of the eastern prince, who, according to the old story, took tuning for playing, to be very just and natural. He was so civil, as not only to promise that favour; but also to assure me, that he would order the heels of the performers to be muffled in cotton, that the artists in so polite an age as ours, may not intermix with their harmony, a custom, which so nearly resembles the stamping-dances of the West-Indians or Hottentots. ADVERTISEMENTS. No. 167.] Thursday, May 4, 1710. Segnius iritant animos demissa per aures, Hor. With weaker passion will affect the heart, From my own Apartment, May 2. HAVING received notice, that the famous actor, Mr. Betterton, was to be interred this evening in the cloysters near Westminsterabbey, I was resolved to walk thither; and see the last office done to a man whom I had always very much admired, and from whose action I had received more strong impressions of what is great and noble in human nature, than from the arguments of the most solid philosophers, or the descriptions of the most charming poets I had read. As the rude and untaught multitude are no way wrought upon more effectually, than by seeing public punishments and executions; so men of letters and education feel their humanity most forcibly exercised, when they attend the obsequies of men who had arrived at any perfection in liberal accom call that an art which cannot be attained by art. Voice, stature, motion, and other gifts, must be very bountifully bestowed by nature, or labour and industry will but push the unhappy endeavourer in that way the further off his wishes. A Bass-viol of Mr. Bickerstaff's acquain-plishments. Theatrical action is to be esteemed tance, whose mind and fortune do not very as such, except it be objected that we cannot exactly agree, proposes to set himself to sale by way of lottery. Ten thousand pounds is the sum to be raised, at threepence a ticket, in consideration that there are more women who are willing to be married, than that can spare a greater sum. He has already made over his person to trustees for the said money to be forthcoming, and ready to take to wife the fortunate woman that wins him. Such an actor as Mr. Betterton ought to be recorded with the same respect as Roscius among the Romans. The greatest orator has thought fit to quote his judgment, and cele N. B. Tickets are given out by Mr. Charles Lillie, and by Mr. John Morphew. Each ad-brate his life. Roscius was the example to all venturer must be a virgin, and subscribe her name to her ticket. that would form themselves into proper and winning behaviour. His action was so well adapted to the sentiments he expressed, that Whereas the several churchwardens of most the youth of Rome thought they wanted only of the parishes within the bills of mortality to be virtuous, to be as graceful in their aphave in an earnest manner applied themselves pearance as Roscius. The imagination took a Dy way of petition, and have also made a pre-lively impression of what was great and good; sentment, of the vain and loose deportment and they, who never thought of setting up for during divine service, of persons of too great the art of imitation, became themselves inimitfigure in all their said parishes for their reproof:able characters. and whereas it is therein set forth, that by salutations given each other, hints, shrugs, ogles, playing of fans, fooling with canes at their mouths, and other wanton gesticulations, their whole congregation appears rather a theatrical audience, than a house of devotion; it is hereby ordered, that all canes, cravats, bosom-laces, muffs, fans, snuff-boxes, and all other instruments made use of to give per There is no human invention so aptly cal culated for the forming a free-born people as that of a theatre. Tully reports, that the celebrated player of whom I am speaking, used frequently to say, 'The perfection of an actor is only to become what he is doing.' Young men, who are too unattentive to receive lectures, are irresistibly taken with performances. Hence it is, that I extremely lament the little relish the gentry of this nation have, at present, for the just and noble representations in some of our tragedies. The operas, which are of .ate introduced, can leave no trace behind them that can be of service beyond the present moment. To sing and to dance, are accomplishments very few have any thoughts of practising; but to speak justly, and move gracefully, is what every man thinks he does perform, or wishes he did. I have hardly a notion, that any performer of antiquity could surpass the action of Mr. Betterton in any of the occasions in which he has appeared on our stage. The wonderful agony which he appeared in, when he examined the circumstance of the handkerchief in Othello; the mixture of love that intruded upon his mind, upon the innocent answers Desdemona makes, betrayed in his gesture such a variety and vicissitude of passions, as would admonish a man to be afraid of his own heart; and perfectly convince him, that it is to stab it, to admit that worst of daggers, jealousy. WhoI ever reads in his closet this admirable scene, will find that he cannot, except he has as warm an imagination as Shakspeare himself, find any but dry, incoherent, and broken sentences: but a reader that has seen Betterton act it, observes, there could not be a word added; that longer speeches had been unnatural, nay, impossible, in Othello's circumstances. charming passage in the same tragedy, where he tells the manner of winning the affection of his mistress, was urged with so moving and graceful an energy, that, while I walked in the cloisters, I thought of him with the same concern as if I waited for the remains of a person The Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player The mention I have here made of Mr. Betterton, for whom I had, as long as I have known any thing, a very great esteem and gratitude for the pleasure he gave me, can do him no good; but it may possibly be of service to the unhappy woman he has left behind him, to have it known, that this great tragedian was never in a scene half so moving, as the circumstances of his affairs created at his departure. His wife, after a cohabitation of forty years in the strictest amity, has long pined away with a sense of his decay, as well in his person as his little fortune; and, in proportion to that, she has herself decayed both in her health and reason. Her husband's death, added to her age and infirmities, would certainly have determined her life, but that the greatness of her distress has been her relief, by a present depri vation of her senses. This absence of reason is her best defence against age, sorrow, poverty, and sickness. I dwell upon this account so distinctly, in obedience to a certain great spirit, who hides her name, and has by letter applied to me to recommend to her some object of compassion, from whom she may be concealed. This, I think, is a proper occasion for exerting such heroic generosity; and as there is an ingenuous shame in those who have known better fortune, to be reduced to receive obligations, as well as a becoming pain in the truly generous to receive thanks; in this case both those delicacies are preserved; for the person obliged is as incapable of knowing her benefactress, as her benefactress is unwilling to be known by her. ADVERTISEMENT. who had in real life done all that I had seen him represent. The gloom of the place, and faint lights before the ceremony appeared, Whereas it hath been signified to the Cencontributed to the melancholy disposition 1 sor, that under the pretence that he has enwas in; and I began to be extremely afflicted, couraged the Moving Picture, and particularly that Brutus and Cassius had any difference; admired the Walking Statue, some persons that Hotspur's gallantry was so unfortunate; within the liberties of Westminster have vended and that the mirth and good humour of Fal-walking Pictures, insomuch that the said picstaff could not exempt him from the grave. Nay, this occasion, in me who look upon the distinctions amongst men to be merely scenical, raised reflections upon the emptiness of all human perfection and greatness in general; and I could not but regret, that the sacred heads which lie buried in the neighbourhood of this little portion of earth, in which my poor old friend is deposited, are returned to dust as well as he, and that there is no difference in the grave between the imaginary and the real monarch. This made me say of human life itself, with Macbeth, To-morrow, to-morrow, and to-morrow, tures have, within few days after sales by auction, returned to the habitations of their first proprietors; that matter has been narrowly looked into, and orders are given to Pacolet, to take notice of all who are concerned in such frauds, with directions to draw their pictures, that they may be hanged in effigy, in terrorem to all auctions for the future. No. 168.] Saturday, May 6, 1710. From my own Apartment, May 5. NEVER was man so much teazed, or suffered half so much uneasiness, as I have done this evening between a couple of fellows, with whom I was unfortunately engaged to sup, where there were also several others in company. One of them is the most invincibly impudent, and the other as incorrigibly absurd. Upon hearing my name, the man of audacity, as he calls himself, began to assume an awkward way of reserve by way of ridicule upon me as a Censor, and said,' he must have a care of his behaviour, for there would notes be writ upon all that should pass.' The man of freedom and ease, for such the other thinks himself, asked me, whether my sister Jenny was breeding or not?' After they had done with me, they were impertinent to a very smart but well bred man; who stood his ground very well, and let the company see they ought, but could not, be out of countenance. I look upon such a defence as a real good action; for while he received their fire, there was a modest and worthy young gentleman sat secure by him, and a lady of the family at the same time guarded against the nauseous familiarity of the one, and the more painful mirth of the other. This conversation, where there were a thousand things said not worth repeating, made me consider with myself, how it is that men of these disagreeable characters often go great lengths in the world, and seldom fail of out-stripping men of merit; nay, succeed so well, that, with a load of imperfections on their heads, they go on in opposition to general disesteem; while they who are every way their superiors, languish away their days, though possessed of the approbation and good-will of all who know them. If we would examine into the secret springs of action in the impudent and the absurd, we shall find, though they bear a great resemblance in their behaviour, that they move upon very different principles. The impudent are pressing, though they know they are disagreeable; the absurd are importunate, because they think they are acceptable. Impudence is a vice and absurdity a folly. Sir Francis Bacon talks very agreeably upon the subject of Impudence. He takes notice, that the orator being asked, what was the first, second, and third requisite to make a fine speaker? still answered, action. This, said he, is the very outward form of speaking; and yet it is what with the generality has more force than the most consummate abilities. Impudence is to the rest of mankind of the same use which action is to orators. has often furnished me with an apology for great men who confer favours on the impudent. In carrying on the government of mankind, they are not to consider what men they themselves approve in their closets and private conversations; but what men will extend themselves furthest, and more generally pass upon the world for such as their patrons want in such and such stations, and consequently take so much work off the hands of those who employ them. Far be it, that I should attempt to lessen the acceptance which men of this character meet with in the world; but I bumbly propose only, that they who have merit of a different kind would accomplish themselves in some degree with this quality of which I am now treating. Nay, I allow these gentlemen to press as forward as they please in the advancements of their interests and fortunes, but not to intrude upon others in conversation also. Let them do what they can with the rich and the great, as far as they are suffered; but let them not interrupt the easy and agreeable. They may be useful as servants in ambition, but never as associates in pleasure. However, as I would still drive at something instructive in every lucubration, I must recommend it to all men who feel in themselves an impulse towards attempting laudable actions, to acquire such a degree of assurance, as never to lose the possession of themselves in public or private, so far as to be incapable of acting with a due decorum on any occasion they are called to. It is a mean want of fortitude in a good man, not to be able to do a virtuous action with as much confidence as an impudent fellow does an ill There is no way of mending such false modesty, but by laying it down for a rule, that there is nothing shameful but what is criminal. one. The Jesuits, an order whose institution is perfectly calculated for making a progress in the world, take care to accomplish their disciples for it, by breaking them of all impertinent bashfulness, and accustoming them to a ready performance of all indifferent things. I remember in my travels, when I was once at a public exercise in one of their schools, a young man made a most admirable speech, with all the beauty of action, cadence of voice, and force of argument imaginable, in defence of the love of glory. We were all enamoured with the grace of the youth, as he came down from the The truth is, the gross of men are governed more by appearances than realities; and the mpudent man in his air and behaviour under-desk where he spoke, to present a copy of his takes for himself that he has ability and merit, while the modest or diffident gives himself up as one who is possessed of neither. For this reason, men of front carry things before them with little opposition; and make so skilful a use of their talent, that they can grow out of humour like men of consequence, and be sour, and make their dissatisfaction do them the same service as desert. This way of thinking speech to the head of the society. The principal received it in a very obliging manner, and bid him go to the market-place and fetch a joint of meat, for he should dine with him. He bowed, and in a trice the orator returned, full of the sense of glory in this obedience, and with the best shoulder of mutton in the market. This treatment capacitates them for every scene of life. I therefore recommend it to the |