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es good as if Dorimant had | voured me with, I shall further advise with you
about the disposal of this fair forester in marriage;
for I will make it no secret to you, that her per-
son and education are to be her fortune.
'I am, SIR,

I think, since he puts huform as the circumstance nch unbeliever, he is very no part of the good for

t act.

s whole work, I think noa sense of innocence and -ne see this comedy, withent occasion to move sorn mirth and laughter. At to be nature, bat it is nation and degeneracy.

DAY, MAY 16, 1711.


ir artubus




HOR. 3 Od. vi. 21.

ting maid

e wanton trade:

ty price,

teries of vice,

ere subtle baits to lay;
they form the temper'd clay.

#ters are upon a subject of
though expressed without


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"Your very humble servant,


'BEING employed by Celimene to make up and
send to you her letter, I make bold to recommend
the case therein mentioned to your consideration,
because she and I happen to differ a little in our
notions. 1, who am a rough man, am afraid the
young girl is in a fair way to be spoiled: there-
fore, pray, Mr. Spectator, let us have your opinion
of this fine thing called fine breeding; for I am
afraid it differs too much from that plain thing
called good breeding.

'Your most humble servant *."

The general mistake among us in the educating our children is, that in our daughters we take care 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 and admired in all the assemblies about town, when her elder brother is afraid to come into a room. quently observe a man's life is half spent before he From this ill management it arises, that we freis taken notice of; and a woman in the prime of her years is out of fashion and neglected. The boy I shall consider upon some other occasion, and at present stick to the girl: and I am the more inclined to this, because I have several letters which complain to me, that my female readers have not understood me for some days last past, and take themselves to be unconcerned in the present turn of my writing. When a girl is safely brought from her nurse, before she is capable of forming one simple notion of any thing in life, she 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 behaviour, 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 an 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 is engaged to turn all her endeavours to the ornaThus her fancy ment 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 any thing 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 costs, 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 subnd she has no ear, and means ject of managing the wild thing mentioned in the ut to change her place. I letter of my correspondent. But sure there is a blushing, if she knew how to middle way to be followed; the management of a nd if it did not manifestly in-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.

of asking your advice in bey kinswoman of mine, who and under my care for her y pretty, but you cannot a creature it is. She comes ature left her, half finished, ed improvements. When I hink of the Belle Sauvage = of your papers*. Dear e to make her comprehend speech, and the dumb elo. r she is at present a perfect e knows no way to express e, and that always to signify es serve her yet only to see ya foreigner to the language In this I fancy you could any body. I have bestowed g her to sigh when she is not Ele when she is not pleased, wn she makes little or no im■e is no more able now to to go at a year old. By y know, I mean that regular ch gives our persons so irreve moved to music, and is a gure; or, if I may so speak, But the want of this I cannot

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Cleomira dances with all the elegance of motion | surprised with that part of his entertainment which imaginable; but her eyes are so chastised with the he called French dancing. There were several simplicity and innocence of her thoughts, that she young men and women, whose limbs seemed to raises in her beholders admiration and good-will, have no other motion but purely what the music but no loose hope or wild imagination. The true gave them. After this part was over, they began art in this case is, To make the mind and body a diversion which they call country dancing, and improve together; and if possible, to make gesture wherein there were also some things not disagreefollow thought, and not let thought be employed able, and divers emblematical figures, composed, as I guess, by wise men, for the instruction of youth.

upon gesture.


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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 defence of his favourite diversion, which, he says, was at 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 mien and | great agility which he had acquired by that exercise distinguished him above the rest in the armies both of Greeks and Trojans.

He adds, that Pyrrhus gained more reputation by inventing the dance which is called after his name, than by all his other actions: that the Lacedæmonians, who were the bravest people in Greece, gave great encouragement to this diversion, and made their Hormus (a dance much resembling the French Brawl) famous over all Asia: that there were still extant some Thessalian statues erected to the honour of their best dancers: and that he wondered how his brother philosopher could declare himself against the opinions of those two persons, whom he professed so much to admire, Homer and Hesiod; the latter of which compares valour and dancing together, and says, that the gods have bestowed fortitude on some men, and on others a disposition for dancing.'

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.

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.

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 corruptions, 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 ground in such a manner, that I who sat upon one of the lowest benches, saw further above her shoe than I could think fit to acquaint you with. I could no longer endure these enormities; wherefore just as my girl was going to be made a whirligig, I ran in, seized on the child, and carried her home.

Sir, I am not yet old enough to be a fool. I suppose this diversion might be at first invented to keep up a good understanding between young men and women, and so far I am not against it; but I shall never allow of these things. I know not what you will say to this case at present, but am sure had you been with me, you would have seen matter of great speculation. I am

'Yours, &c.'

I must confess I am afraid that my correspondent had too much reason to be a little out of humour at the treatment of his daughter; but I conclude that he would have been much more so, had he seen one of those kissing dances, in which Will Honeycomb assures me they are obliged to dwell almost a minute on the fair one's lips, or they will be too quick for the music; and dance quite out of time.

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 specu- I am not able, however, to give my final sen. lations to take notice of the following letter, which, tence against this diversion; and am of Mr. CowI suppose, is sent me by some substantial trades-ley's opinion, that so much of dancing, at least, as man about 'Change.


'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 any such place before, I was very much pleased and

belongs to the behaviour and an handsome carriage of the body, is extremely useful, if not absolutely necessary.

We generally form such ideas of people at first sight, as we are hardly ever persuaded to lay aside afterwards: for this reason, a man would wish to have nothing disagreeable or uncomely in his ap|proaches, and to be able to enter a room with a good grace.

I might add, that a moderate knowledge in the little rules of good-breeding, gives a man some assurance, and makes him easy in all companies. For want of this, I have seen a professor of a


Oss to salute a lady; and a hatician not able to deterI stand or sit while my lord

ess of a dancing-master to though I take it to be a nless you add something of e fine gentlemen teach you, olly ignorant of themselves, get the character of an well-bred man. ing, it must indeed be conmiliarities between the two may sometimes produce very ; and I have often thought are so obdurate as not to be of music, the force of moyoung fellow, who is conre their eyes, and conas the perfect use of all his

ance is the particular inveny, and as every one is more it, I would not discounteppose it may be practised as well as myself, who am dlady's eldest daughter. character of the collection o be exposed to sale on luding from the following ho collected them is a man I will be so much his friend d the reader will only look place of an advertisement:

in the Piazza, Covent-garden. May 16, 1711.

tor, I think we who make it any thing to public view, es to you for your approed Europe to furnish out a brought with me what has country through which I lared in many papers, that re those of the eye, which all gratify with as beautiful beheld. If castles, forests, graceful men, can please much satisfaction, if you ction on Friday next. A rateful to a Spectator, as a and therefore I hope you on from,

bedient humble servant,

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tisement, which was subjoined been thought not improper to

on, or the Temple of Heatben ears, consisting of five pictures, of which is beyond expression' bove one hundred, move their rs, so exactly in what they pere another like living-creatures, med the greatest wonder of the Covent-garden. Price 1s. 6d.;

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ONE would think that the larger the company is in which we are engaged, the greater variety of thoughts and subjects would be started in discourse; but instead of this, we find that conversation is never so much straitened and confined as in nume rous assemblies. When a multitude meet together on any subject of discourse, their debates are taken up chiefly with forms and general positions; nay, if we come into a more contracted assembly of men and women, the talk generally runs upon the weather, fashions, news, and the like public topics. In proportion as conversation gets into clubs and knots of friends, it descends into particulars, and grows more free and communicative: but the most open, instructive, and unreserved discourse, is that which passes between two persons who are familiar and intimate friends. On these occasions, a man gives a loose to every passion and every thought that is uppermost, discovers his most retired opinions of persons and things, tries the beauty and strength of his sentiments, and exposes his whole soul to the examination of his friend.

Tully was the first who observed, that friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy, and dividing of our grief; a thought in which he hath been followed by all the essayers upon friendship, that have written since his time. Sir Francis Bacon has finely described other advantages, or, as he calls them, fruits of friendship; and, indeed, there is no subject of morality which has been better handled and more exhausted than this. Among the several fine things which have been spoken of it, I shall beg leave to quote some out of a very ancient author, whose book would be regarded by our modern wits as one of the most shining tracts of morality that is extant, if it appeared under the name of a Confucius, or of any celebrated Grecian philosopher: I mean the little apocryphal treatise, entitled The Wisdom of the Son of Sirach.' How finely has he described the art of making friends, by an obliging and affable behaviour! And laid down that pre cept, which a late excellent author has delivered as his own, That we should have many well-wishers, but few friends. Sweet language will multiply friends; and a fair-speaking tongue will increase kind greetings. Be in peace with many, nevertheless have but one counsellor of a thousand. With what prudence does he caution us in the choice of our friends! And with what strokes of nature (I could almost say of humour) has he described the behaviour of a treacherous and self-interested friend! If thou wouldest get a friend, prove him first, and be not hasty to credit him: for some man is a friend for his own occasion, and will not abide in the day of thy trouble. And there is a friend, who being turned to enmity and strife will discover thy reproach.' Again, Some friend is a companion at the table, and will not continue in the day of thy affliction: but in thy prosperity he will be as thyself, and will be bold over thy servants. If thou be brought low he will be against thee, and hide himself from thy face.' What can

Ecclus. vi, 5, 6.

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'Difficilis, facilis, jucundus, acerbus es idem,
Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te.'


EPIG. xlvii. 12.

N° 69. SATURDAY, MAY 19, 1711.


be more strong and pointed than the following|pected at his first entering into an intimacy with verse? Separate thyself from thine enemies, and him. There are several persons who in some certake heed of thy friends.' In the next words he tain periods of their lives are inexpressibly agreeparticularises one of those fruits of friendship able, and in others as odious and detestable, which is described at length by the two famous Martial has given us a very pretty picture of one authors above mentioned, and falls into a general of this species, in the following epigram: eulogium of friendship, which is very just as well as very sublime. A faithful friend is a strong defence; and he that hath found such an one, hath found a treasure. Nothing doth countervail 'In all thy humours, whether grave or mellow, a faithful friend, and his excellency is unvaluable. Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow; A faithful friend is the medicine of life; and they Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee, There is no living with thee, nor without thee.' that fear the Lord shall find him. Whoso feareth the Lord shall direct his friendship aright; for as It is very unlucky for a man to be entangled in a he is, so shall his neighbour (that is his friend) be friendship with one, who, by these changes and also. I do not remember to have met with any vicissitudes of humour, is sometimes amiable, and saying that has pleased me more than that of a sometimes odious and as most men are at some friend's being the medicine of life, to express the times in an admirable frame and disposition of efficacy of friendship in healing the pains and mind, it should be one of the greatest tasks of anguish which naturally cleave to our existence in wisdom to keep ourselves well when we are so, this world; and am wonderfully pleased with the and never to go out of that which is the agreeable turn in the last sentence, that a virtuous man shall part of our character. as a blessing meet with a friend who is as virtuous as himself. There is another saying in the same author, which would have been very much admired in an Heathen writer: Forsake not an old friend, for the new is not comparable to him: a new friend is as new wine; when it is old thou shalt drink it with pleasure. With what strength of allusion, and force of thought, has he described the breaches and violations of friendship! Whoso casteth a stone at the birds frayeth them away; and be that upbraideth his friend, breaketh friendship. Though thou drawest a sword at a friend, yet despair not, for there may be a returning to favour, If thou hast opened thy mouth against thy friend fear not, for there may be a reconciliation; except for upbraiding, or pride, or disclosing of secrets, or a treacherous wound; for, for these things every friend will depart +.' We may observe in this and several other precepts in this author, those little familiar instances and illustrations which are so much admired in the moral writings of Horace and Epictetus. There are very beautiful instances of this nature in the following passages, which are likewise written upon the same subject: Whoso discovereth secrets, loseth his credit, and shall never find a friend to his mind. Love thy friend, and be faithful unto him; but if thou bewrayest his secrets, follow no more after him: for as a man hath destroyed his enemy, so hast thou lost the love of thy friend; as one that letteth a bird go out of his hand, so hast thou let thy friend go, and shalt not get him again: follow after him no more, for he is too far off; he is as a roe escaped out of the snare. As for a wound it may be bound up, and after reviling there may be a reconciliation; but he that bewrayeth secrets, is without hope ‡.'

Among the several qualifications of a good friend, this wise man has very justly singled out constancy and faithfulness as the principal: to these, others have added virtue, knowledge, discretion, equality in age and fortune, and as Cicero calls it, Morum comitas,' ' a pleasantness of temper.' If I were to give my opinion upon such an exhausted subject, I should join to these other qualifications a certain equability or evenness of behaviour. A man often contracts a friendship with one whom perhaps he does not find out till after a year's conversation; when on a sudden some latent ill-humour breaks out upon him, which he never discovered or sus

Ecclus. ix. 10.

+ Ibid. ix. 20, 21, 22.
Ibid. xxvii. 16–21.

Hic segetes, illic veniunt felicius uvæ ;
Arborei fætus alibi, atque injussa virescunt
Gramina, Nonne vides, croceos ut Tmolus odores,
India mittit ebur, molles sua thura Sabai?
At Chalybes nudi ferrum, virosaque Pontus
Castorca, Eliadum palmas Epirus equarum?
Continuo has leges, æternaque faderu certis
Imposuit natura locis

VIRG. Georg. i. 54

This ground with Bacchus, that with Ceres suits;
That other loads the trees with happy fruits;
A fourth with grass, unbidden, decks the ground:
Thus Tmolus is with yellow saffron crown'd;
India black ebon and white iv'ry bears;
And soft Idume weeps her od'rous tears:
Thus Pontus sends her beaver stones from far;
And naked Spaniards temper steel for war :
Epirus for th' Elean chariot breeds

(In hopes of palms) a race of running steeds.
This is th' original contract; these the laws
Impos'd by nature, and by nature's cause.


THERE is no place in the town which I so much love to frequent as the Royal Exchange. It gives me a secret satisfaction, and in some measure gratifies my vanity, as I am an Englishman, to see so rich an assembly of countrymen and foreigners, Consulting together upon the private business of mankind, and making this metropolis a kind of emporium for the whole earth. I must confess I look upon high-change to be a great council, in which all considerable nations have their representatives. Factors in the trading world are what ambassadors are in the politic world; they nego ciate affairs, conclude treaties, and maintain a good correspondence between those wealthy so cieties of men that are divided from one another by seas and oceans, or live on the different extre mities of a continent. I have often been pleased to hear disputes adjusted between an inhabitant o Japan and an alderman of London, or to see a subject of the Great Mogul entering into a leagu with one of the Czar of Muscovy. I am infinitely delighted in mixing with these several ministers o commerce, as they are distinguished by their diffe rent walks and different languages. Sometimes am justled among a body of Armenians; some times I am lost in a crowd of Jews; and sometime make one in a group of Dutchmen. I am a Dane

ferent times; or rather philosopher, who upon man he was, replied, world.

filled with pyramids of China, and adorned with the workmanship of Japan. Our morning's draught comes to us from the remotest corners of the earth. We repair our bodies by the drugs of America, y visit this busy multi- and repose ourselves under Indian canopies. My n to nobody there but friend Sir Andrew calls the vineyards of France o often smiles upon me our gardens; the spice-islands, our hot-beds; the crowd, but at the same Persians our silk-weavers, and the Chinese our ce without taking fur-potters. Nature indeed furnishes us with the bare necessaries of life, but traffic gives us a great variety of what is useful, and at the same time supplies us with every thing that is convenient and ornamental. Nor is it the least part of this our happiness, that whilst we enjoy the remotest products of the North and South, we are free from those extremities of weather which give them birth; that our eyes are refreshed with the green fields of Britain, at the same time that our palates are feasted with fruits that rise between the tropics.

s indeed a merchant of e by sight, having foroney to Grand Cairo; n the modern Coptic, her than a bow and a

ness gives me an infinite tial entertainments. As Lind, my heart naturally the sight of a prosperinsomuch that at many t forbear expressing my stolen down my cheeks. derfully delighted to see ng in their own private time promoting the pubrds, raising estates for nging into their country carrying out of it what

aken a particular care to among the different rean eye to this mutual nong mankind, that the s of the globe might have pon one another, and be ommon interest. Almost omething peculiar to it. n one country, and the uits of Portugal are corBarbadoes, and the inis sweetened by the pith = Philippic islands give a bowls. The single dress of often the product of an muff and the fan come nt ends of the earth. The orrid zone, and the tippet The brocade petticoat of Peru, and the diamond els of Indostan.

wn country in its natural f the benefits and advanat a barren uncomfortable share! Natural historians Tows originally among us, acorns and pig-nuts, with like nature; that our clihout the assistance of art, advances towards a plumb ies an apple to no greater b: that our melons, our apricots, and cherries, are ported in different ages, and ish gardens; and that they nd fall away into the trash they were wholly neglected Et to the mercy of our sun ic more enriched our veges improved the whole face Our ships are laden with the te. Our tables are stored and wines. Our rooms are See No 1.

For these reasons there are not more useful members in a commonwealth than merchants. They knit mankind together in a mutual intercourse of good offices, distribute the gifts of nature, find work for the poor, add wealth to the rich, and magnificence to the great. Our English merchant converts the tin of his own country into gold, and exchanges its wool for rubies. The Mahometans are clothed in our British manufacture, and the inhabitants of the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our sheep.

When I have been upon the 'Change, I have often fancied one of our old kings standing in person, where he is represented in effigy, and looking down upon the wealthy concourse of people with which that place is every day filled. In this case, how would he be surprised to hear all the lan guages of Europe spoken in this little spot of his former dominions, and to see so many private men, who in his time would have been the vassals of some powerful baron, negociating like princes for greater sums of money than were formerly to be met with in the royal treasury! Trade, without enlarging the British territories, has given us a kind of additional empire. It has multiplied the number of the rich, made our landed estates infinitely more valuable than they were formerly, and added to them an accession of other estates as valuable as the lands themselves.

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WHEN I travelled, I took a particular delight in
hearing the songs and fables that are come from
father to son, and are most in vogue among the
common people of the countries through which I
passed; for it is impossible that any thing should
be universally tasted and approved by a multitude,
though they are only the rabble of a nation, which
hath not in it some peculiar aptness to please and
gratify the mind of man. Human nature is the
same in all reasonable creatures; and whatever
falls in with it, will meet with admirers amongst
readers of all qualities and conditions. Moliere,
as we are told by Monsieur Boileau, used to read
all his comedies to an old woman who was his
housekeeper, as she sat with him at her work by

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