vernors spent most part of the Day in hearing their mutual Accufations one against the other, whether for Violence, Cheating, Slander, or Ingratitude; and taught them how to give Judgment against thofe who were found to be any ways guilty of thefe Crimes. I omit the Story of the long and fhort Coat, for which Cyrus himself was punifhed, as a Cafe equally known with any

' in Littleton.

THE Method, which Apuleius tells us the Indian Gymnofophifts took to educate their Difciples, is ftill more ⚫ curious and remarkable. His Words are as follows: When ⚫ their Dinner is ready, before it is ferved up, the Mafters ⚫ enquire of every particular Scholar how he has employ'd his Time fince Sun-rifing; fome of them answer, that ⚫ having been chofen as Arbiters between two Perfons they ⚫ have compofed their Differences, and made them Friends; fome, that they have been executing the Orders of their Parents; and others, that they have either found out fomething new by their own Application, or learnt it 'from the Inftructions of their Fellows: But if there happens to be any one among them, who cannot make it appear that he has employed the Morning to advantage, he is immediately excluded from the Company, and obliged to work while the reft are at Dinner.

It is not impoffible, that from thefe feveral Ways of producing Virtue in the Minds of Boys, fome general Method might be invented. What I would endeavour to inculcate, is, that our Youth cannot be too foon taught the Principles of Virtue, feeing the first Impref• fions made on the Mind are always the strongest.

THE Archbishop of Cambray makes Telemaches fay that tho' he was young in Years, he was old in the Art of knowing how to keep both his own and his Friend's Se⚫ crets. When my Father, fays the Prince, went to the Siege of Troy, he took me on his Knees, and after having embraced and bleffed me, as he was furrounded by • the Nobles of Ithaca, O my Friends, fays he, into your • Hands I commit the Education of my Son; if ever you lov'd his Father, fhew it in your Care towards him: but above all, do not omit to form him juft, fincere and

: faith

'faithful in keeping a Secret. These Words of my Father, fays Telemachus, were continually repeated to me by his • Friends in his abfence; who made no scruple of com'municating to me their Uneafinefs to fee my Mother 'furrounded with Lovers, and the Measures they defign⚫ed to take on that occafion. He adds, that he was fo ravished at being thus treated like a Man, and at the • Confidence repofed in him, that he never once abused it; nor could all the Infinuations of his Father's Rivals ever get him to betray what was committed to him under the Seal of Secrecy.

THERE is hardly any Virtue which a Lad might not thus learn by Practice and Example.

I have heard of a good Man, who ufed at certain times to give his Scholars Six Pence apiece, that they might tell him the next day how they had employ'd it. The third part was always to be laid out in Charity, and every Boy was blamed or commended as he could make it appear that he had chofen a fit Object.

IN fhort, nothing is more wanting to our publick • Schools, than that the Masters of them fhould use the ⚫ fame care in fafhioning the Manners of their Scholars, as in forming their Tongues to the learned Languages. • Where-ever the former is omitted, I cannot help agreeing with Mr. Locke, That a Man muft have a very ftrange Value for Words, when preferring the Lan· guages of the Greeks and Romans to that which made ⚫ them fuch brave Men, he can think it worth while to ⚫ hazard the Innocence and Virtue of his Son for a little Grek and Latin.

AS the Subject of this Effay is of the higheft Importance, and what I do not remember to have yet feen treated by any Author, I have fent you what oc⚫ curr'd to me on it from my own Obfervation or Reading, and which you may either suppress or publish as you think fit.

X

I am, Sir, Yours, &c.

Friday,

No 338, Friday, March 28.

Nihil fuit unquam

Tam difpar fibi

Hor.

Find the Tragedy of the Diftreft Mother is publish'd today: The Author of the Prologue, I fuppofe, pleads an

old Excufe I have read fomewhere, of being dull with Defign; and the Gentleman who writ the Epilogue, has, to my knowledge, fo much of greater moment to value himself upon, that he will eafily forgive me for publifhing the Exceptions made against Gayety at the end of ferious Entertainments, in the following Letter: I should be more unwilling to pardon him than any body, a praЄtice which cannot have an ill Confequence, but from the Abilities of the Person who is guilty of it.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

'I

Had the Happiness the other Night of fitting very near you, and your worthy Friend Sir ROGER, at the acting of the new Tragedy, which you have in a late Paper or two fo juftly recommended. I was highly pleafed with the advantageous Situation Fortune had given me in placing me fo near two Gentlemen, from one of which I was fure to hear fuch Reflections! on ⚫ the feveral Incidents of the Play, as pure Nature fuggefted, and from the other fuch as flowed from the exacteft Art and Judgment: Tho' I must confefs that my Curiofity led me fo much to obferve the Knight's Reflections, that I was not fo well at leifure to improve my felf by yours. Nature, I found, play'd her Part in the Knight pretty well, till at the laft concluding Lines fhe entirely forfook him. You must know, Sir, that it was always my Cuftom, when I have been well : entertained at a Tragedy, to make my Retreat before

: the

،

the facetious Epilogue enters; not but that thofe Pieces are often very well writ, but having paid down my Half Crown, and made a fair Purchase of as much of the pleafing Melancholy as the Poet's Art can afford me, or my own Nature admit of, I am willing to carry fome of it home with me; and can't endure to be at ⚫ once trick'd out of all, tho' by the wittieft Dexterity in the World. However, I kept my Seat t'other Night, in hopes of finding my own Sentiments of this Matter favour'd by your Friend's; when, to my great Surprize, I found the Knight entering with equal Pleafure into both Parts, and as much fatisfied with Mrs. Oldfield's Gaiety, as he had been before with Andromache's Greatnefs. Whether this were no other than an Effect of 'the Knight's peculiar Humanity, pleas'd to find at laft, that after all the tragical Doings every thing was fafe ' and well, I don't know. But for my own part, I must confefs, I was fo diffatisfied, that I was forry the Poet had faved Andromache, and could heartily have wished " that he had left her stone-dead upon the Stage. For

་

you

cannot imagine, Mr. SPECTATOR, the Mifchief fhe · was referv'd to do me. I found my Soul, during the Action, gradually work'd up to the highest Pitch; and felt the exalted Paffion which all generous Minds conceive at the Sight of Virtue in Diftrefs. The Impreffion, believe me, Sir, was fo ftrong upon me, that I am perfuaded, if I had been let alone in it, I could at an Extremity have ventured to defend your felf and Sir ROGER against half a Score of the fiercest Mohocks: But the ludicrous Epilogue in the Clofe extinguifh'd all my Ardour, and made me look upon all fuch noble Atchievements, as downright filly and ro⚫mantick. What the rest of the Audience felt, I can't fo well tell For my felf, I muft declare, that at the end of the Play I found my Soul uniform, and all of a Piece; but at the end of the Epilogue it was fo jumbled together, and divided between Jeft and Earnest, that if you will forgive me an extravagant Fancy, I will here ⚫fet it down. I could not but fancy, if my Soul had at ⚫ that Moment quitted my Body, and defcended to the poe

་

'tical Shades in the Pofture it was then in, what a strange Figure it would have made among them. They would ( not have known what to have made of my motley Spectre, half Comick and half Tragick, all over refembling a ridiculous Face, that at the fame time laughs on one fide and cries o' t'other. The only Defence, I 'think, I have ever heard made for this, as it seems to me, moft unnatural Tack of the Comick Tail to the Tragick Head, is this, that the Minds of the Audience ⚫ must be refreshed, and Gentlemen and Ladies not fent away to their own Homes with too difmal and melancholy Thoughts about them: For who knows the Confequence of this? We are much obliged indeed to the Poets for the great Tenderness they exprefs for the Safety of our Perfons, and heartily thank the mfor it. But if that be all, pray, good Sir, affure them, that we are none of us like to come to any great Harm; and C that, let them do their beft, we fhall in all probability live out the Length of our Days, and frequent the Theatres more than ever. What makes me more defirous to have fome Reformation of this matter, is be⚫ caufe of an ill Confequence or two attending it: Fora great many of our Church-Muficians being related to the Theatre, they have, in Imitation of thefe Epilogues, introduced in their farewell Voluntaries a fort of Mufick quite foreign to the defign of Church-Services, to the great prejudice of well-difpofed People. Thofe fingering Gentlemen fhould be informed, that they ought to fuit their Airs to the Place, and Bufinefs; and that the 'Mufician is obliged to keep to the Text as much as the

،

Preacher. For want of this, I have found by Expe⚫rience a great deal of Mischief: For when the Preacher has often, with great Piety and Art enough, handled his Subject, and the judicious Clark has with utmost Diligence culled out two Staves proper to the Discourse, and I have found in my felf and in the rest of the Pew good Thoughts and Difpofitions, they have been all in a ⚫ moment diffipated by a merry Jigg from the Organ-Loft. One knows not what further ill Effects the Epilogues I • have been fpeaking of may in time produce: But this I VOL. V.

E

am