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thought to resemble fire; for which reason the words fire and flame are made use of to signify love. The witty poets therefore have taken an advantage from the double meaning of the word fire, to make an infinite number of witticisms. Cowley observing the cold regard of his mistress's eyes, and at the same time their power of producing love in him, considers them as burning-glasses made of ice; and finding himself able to live in the greatest extremities of love, concludes the torrid zone to be habitable. When his mistress had read his letter written in juice of lemon, by holding it to the fire, he desires her to read it over a second time by love's flame. When she weeps, he wishes it were inward heat that distilled those drops from the limbec. When she is absent, he is beyond eighty, that is, thirty degrees nearer the pole than when she is with him. His ambitious love is a fire that naturally mounts upwards; his happy love is the beams of heaven, and his unhappy love flames of hell. When it does not let him sleep, it is a flame that sends up no smoke; when it is opposed by counsel and advice, it is a fire that rages the more by the winds blowing upon it. Upon the dying of a tree, in which he had cut his loves, he observed that his written flames had burnt up and withered the tree. When he resolves to give over his passion, he tells us, that one burnt like him for ever dreads the fire. His heart is in Ætna, that instead of Vulcan's shop, encloses Cupid's forge in it. His endeavouring to drown his love in wine, is throwing oil upon the fire. He would insinuate to his mistress, that the fire of love, like that of the sun (which produces so many living creatures,) should not only warm, but beget. Love in another place cooks pleasure at his fire. Sometimes the poet's heart is frozen in every breast, and sometimes scorched in every eye. Sometimes he is drowned in tears, and burnt in love, like a ship set on fire in the middle of the sea.

author that ever writ; and indeed all other talents of an extraordinary genius.

It may be expected, since I am upon this subject, that I should take notice of Mr. Dryden's definition of wit: which, with all the deference that is due to the judgment of so great a man, is not so properly a definition of wit as of good writing in general. Wit, as he defines it, is a propriety of words and thoughts adapted to the subject.' If this be a true definition of wit, I am apt to think that Euclid was the greatest wit that ever put pen to paper. It is certain there never was a greater propriety of words and thoughts adapted to the subject, than what that author has made use of in his Elements. I shall only appeal to my reader, if this definition agrees with any notion he has of wit. If it be a true one, I am sure Mr. Dryden was not only a better poet, but a greater wit than Mr. Cowley; and Virgil a much more facetious man than either Ovid or Martial.

Bouhours, whom I look upon to be the most penetrating of all the French critics, has taken pains to show, that it is impossible for any thought to be beautiful which is not just, and has not its foundation in the nature of things; that the basis of all wit is truth; and that no thought can be valuable of which good sense is not the groundwork. Boileau has endeavoured to inculcate the same notion in several parts of his writings, both in prose and verse. This is that natural way of writing, that beautiful simplicity, which we so much admire in the compositions of the ancients; and which no body deviates from, but those who want strength of genius to make a thought shine in its own natural beauties. Poets who want this strength of genius to give that majestic simplicity to nature, which we so much admire in the works of the ancients, are forced to hunt after foreign ornaments, and not to let any piece of wit of what kind soever escape them. I look upon these writers as Goths in poetry, who, like those The reader may observe in every one of in architecture, not being able to come these instances, that the poet mixes the up to the beautiful simplicity of the old qualities of fire with those of love; and in Greeks and Romans, have endeavoured to the same sentence, speaking of it both as supply its place with all the extravagances a passion and as real fire, surprises the of an irregular fancy. Mr. Dryden makes reader with those seeming resemblances a very handsome observation on Ovid's or contradictions, that make up all the wit writing a letter from Dido to Æneas, in in this kind of writing. Mixt wit, there- the following words: 'Ovid,' says he, fore, is a composition of pun and true wit, speaking of Virgil's fiction of Dido and and is more or less perfect, as the resem- Æneas, takes it up after him even in the blance lies in the ideas or in the words. same age, and makes an ancient heroine of Its foundations are laid partly in falsehood Virgil's new created Dido; dictates a letand partly in truth; reason puts in her ter for her just before her death, to the unclaim for one half of it, and extravagance grateful fugitive, and very unluckily for for the other. The only province there- himself, is for measuring a sword with a fore for this kind of wit, is epigram, or man so much superior in force to him on those little occasional poems, that in their the same subject. I think I may be judge own nature are nothing else but a tissue of of this, because I have translated both. epigrams. I cannot conclude this head of The famous author of the Art of Love has mixt wit, without owning that the admira- nothing of his own; he borrows all from a ble poet, out of whom I have taken the ex-greater master in his own profession, and amples of it, had as much true wit as any which is worse, improves nothing which

he finds. Nature fails him, and being forced to his old shift, he has recourse to witticism. This passes indeed with his soft admirers, and gives him the preference to Virgil in their esteem.'

If in a picture, Piso, you should see
A handsome woman with a fish's tail,
Or a man's head upon a horse's neck,

Or limbs of beast, of the most different kinds,
Cover'd with feathers of all sorts of birds;
Would you not laugh, and think the painter mad?
Trust me that book is as ridiculous,

Whose incoherent style, like sick men's dreams,
Varies all shapes, and mixes all extremes.

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.

Were not I supported by so great an • authority as that of Mr. Dryden, I should not venture to observe, that the taste of most of our English poets, as well as readers, is extremely Gothic. He quotes Monsieur Segrais for a threefold distinction of the readers of poetry; in the first of which he comprehends the rabble of readers, whom he does not treat as such with regard to their quality, but to their numbers and the coarseness of their taste. His words are as follow: 'Segrais has distinguished the readers of poetry, according to their capacity of judging, into three classes. [He might have said the same of writers, too, if he had pleased.] In the lowest form Methought I was transported into a counhe places those whom he calls Les Petits try that was filled with prodigies and enEsprits, such things as are our upper-gal-chantments, governed by the goddess of lery audience in a playhouse; who like no- Falsehood, and entitled the region of False thing but the husk and rind of wit, and Wit. There was nothing in the fields, the prefer a quibble, a conceit, an epigram, be- woods, and the rivers, that appeared natufore solid sense and elegant expression. ral. Several of the trees blossomed in leafThese are mob readers. If Virgil and Mar- gold, some of them produced bone-lace, tial stood for parliament-men, we know and some of them precious stones. The already who would carry it. But though fountains bubbled in an opera tune, and were they niake the greatest appearance in the filled with stags, wild boars, and mermaids field, and cry the loudest, the best on it is, that lived among the waters; at the same they are but a sort of French hugonots, or time that dolphins and several kinds of fish Dutch boors, brought over in herds, but played upon the banks, or took their pasnot naturalized; who have not lands of two time in the meadows. The birds had many pounds per annum in Parnassus, and there- of them golden beaks, and human voices. fore are not privileged to poll. Their au- The flowers perfumed the air with smells thors are of the same level, fit to represent of incense, ambergris, and pulvillios*; and them on a mountebank's stage, or to be were so interwoven with one another, that masters of the ceremonies in a bear-garden: they grew up in pieces of embroidery. The yet these are they who have the most ad- winds were filled with sighs and messages mirers. But it often happens, to their mor- of distant lovers. As I was walking to and tification, that as their readers improve fro in this enchanted wilderness, I could not their stock of sense (as they may by read- forbear breaking out into soliloquies upon ing better books, and by conversation with the several wonders which lay before me, men of judgment) they soon forsake them. when to my great surprise, I found there I must not dismiss this subject without were artificial echoes in every walk, that observing, that as Mr. Locke in the pas- by repetitions of certain words which I sage above mentioned has discovered the spoke, agreed with me, or contradicted me, most fruitful source of wit, so there is an-in every thing I said. In the midst of my other of a quite contrary nature to it, which does likewise branch itself out into several kinds. For not only the resemblance, but the opposition of ideas does very often produce wit; as I could show in several little points, turns, and antitheses, that I may possibly enlarge upon in some future speculation. a

No. 63.] Saturday, May 12, 1711.

Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam
Jungere si velit, et varias inducere plumas
Undique collatis membris, ut turpiter atrum
Desinat in piscem mulier formosa superne:
Spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amici?
Credite, Pisones, isti tabulæ fore librum
Persimilem. cujus, velut ægri somnia, vanæ
Fingentur species-
Hor. Ars Poet, ver. 1.

conversation with these invisible companions, I discovered in the centre 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 dulness. 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 burning 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 afterwards found, was shaped in that manner to comply with

* Pulvillios sweet-scented powders.

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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 dif-
ferent diversions, as their fancies directed
them. In one part of it I saw a regiment
of anagrams, who were continually in mo-
tion, 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 exercises.
Not far from these was the body of acros-proclaim the march of an enemy; and, as I
tics, made up of very disproportioned per-
sons. 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 suched several arrows in his hand. His name
dwarfs, cripples, and scare-crows, that one
could hardly look upon them without laugh-
ing. There were behind the acrostics two
or three files of chronograms, which dif-
fered 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 pro-
miscuously among the private men whom
they commanded.

though perhaps there was not the least re-
semblance 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
an European, which very often produced
great peals of laughter. These I guessed
to be a party of puns. But being very de- .
sirous 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
afterwards found, was in reality what I ap-
prehended 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 grasp-

was Wit. The approach of these two enemies filled all the territories of False Wit with an unspeakable consternation, insomuch that the goddess of those regions appeared in person upon her frontiers, with the several inferior deities, and the different bodies of forces which I had before seen in the temple, who were now drawn up in array, and prepared to give 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

In the body of the temple, and before the very face of the deity, methought I saw the phantom of Tryphiodorus, the lipogram-regions of Falsehood to draw their forces matist, engaged in a ball with four-andtwenty 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 rebusses. These were several things of the most different natures tied up in bundles, and thrown upon one another in heaps like faggots. 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 ludicrous mistakes, they were divided into pairs, every pair being covered from head to foot with the same kind of dress,

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 the species of Mixt 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 constella

THE SPECTATOR

tions 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 shrunk into nothing, in proportion as the goddess disappeared. At the same time the whole temple sunk, 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.

Upon the removal of that wild scene of wonders, which had very much disturbed my imagination, I took a full survey of the persons of Wit and Truth; for indeed it was impossible to look upon the first, without seeing the other at the same time. There was behind them a strong compact body of figures. The genius of Heroic Poetry appeared with a sword in her hand, and a laurel on her head. Tragedy was crowned with cypress, and covered with robes dipped in blood. Satire had smiles in her look, and a dagger under her garment. Rhetoric was known by her thunderbolt; and Comedy by her mask. After several other figures, Epigram marched up in the rear, who had been posted there at the beginning of the expedition, that he might not revolt to the enemy, whom he was suspected to favour in his heart. I was very much awed and delighted with the appearance of the god of Wit; there was something so amiable, and yet so piercing in his looks, as inspired me at once with love and terror. As I was gazing on him, to my unspeakable joy he took a quiver of arrows from his shoulder, in order to make me a present of it; but as I was reaching out my hand to receive it of him, I knocked it against a C. chair, and by that means awaked.

No. 64.] Monday, May 14, 1711.

-Hic vivimus ambitiosa
Juv. Sat. iii. 183.

Paupertate omnes
The face of wealth in poverty we wear.

THE most improper things we commit
in the conduct of our lives, we are led into
by the force of fashion. Instances might
be given, in which a prevailing custom
makes us act against the rules of nature,
law, and common sense; but at present I
shall confine my consideration to the effect
it has upon men's minds, by looking into
our behaviour when it is the fashion to go
into mourning. The custom of represent-
ing the grief we have for the loss of the
dead by our habits, certainly had its rise
from the real sorrow of such as were too

much distressed to take the proper care
they cught of their dress. By degrees it
prevailed, that such as had this inward op-
pression upon their minds, made an apolo-
gy for not joining with the rest of the world
in their ordinary diversions by a dress suit-
ed to their condition. This therefore was
at first assumed by such only as were un-
der real distress; to whom it was relief that
they had nothing about them so light and
gay as to be irksome to the gloom and me-
lancholy of their inward reflections, or that
might misrepresent them to others. In
process of time this laudable distinction of
the sorrowful was lost, and mourning is
now worn by heirs and widows. You see
nothing but magnificence and solemnity in
lease from servitude in the pomp of a son
the equipage of the relict, and an air of re-
who has lost a wealthy father. This
fashion of sorrow is now become a generous
part of the ceremonial between princes
and sovereigns, who, in the language of all
nations, are styled brothers to each other,
and put on the purple* upon the death of
any potentate with whom they live in ami-
ty. Courtiers, and all who wish them-
selves such, are immediately seized with
grief from head to foot upon this disaster
to their prince; so that one may know by
the very buckles of a gentleman-usher
what degree of friendship any deceased
monarch maintained with the court to
which he belongs. A good courtier's habit
and behaviour is hieroglyphical on these
occasions. He deals much in whispers,
and you may see he dresses according to
the best intelligence.

The general affectation among men, of
appearing greater than they are, makes
the whole world run into the habit of the
court. You see the lady, who the day be-
fore was as various as a rainbow, upon the
time appointed for beginning to mourn, as
dark as a cloud. This humour does not
prevail only on those whose fortunes can
support any change in their equipage, nor on
those only whose incomes demand the wan-
tonness of new appearances; but on such
also who have just enough to clothe them.
An old acquaintance of mine, of ninety
pounds a year, who has naturally the vanity
of being a man of fashion deep at his heart,
is very much put to it to bear the mortality
of princes. He made a new black suit upon
the death of the King of Spain, he turned
it for the King of Portugal, and he now
keeps his chamber while it is scouring for
the Emperor. He is a good 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 hatband for a prince whose
exploits he has admired in the gazette.
But whatever compliments may be made
on these occasions, the true mourners are

[graphic]

Royal and princely mourners were usually clad in

R.

the mercers, silkmen, lacemen, and milli-ries, except we have authority for it, by ners. A prince of a merciful and royal being related in a particular manner to the disposition would reflect with great anxiety court which pays the veneration to their upon the prospect of his death if he consi- friendship, and seems to express on such an dered what numbers would be reduced to occasion the sense of the uncertainty of humisery by that accident only. He would man life in general, by assuming the habit of think it of moment enough to direct, that sorrow, though in the full possession of in the notification of his departure, the triumph and royalty. honour done to him might be restrained to those of the household of the prince to whom it should be signified. He would No 65.] Tuesday, May 15, 1711. think a general mourning to be in a less degree the same ceremony which is practised in barbarous nations, of killing their slaves to attend the obsequies of their kings.

-Demetri, teque, Tigelli, Discipularum inter jubeo plorare cathedras. Hor. Lib. 1. Sat. x. 90. Demetrius and Tigellius, know your place; Go hence, and whine among the school-boy race. I had been wonderfully at a loss for many months together, to guess at the cha- AFTER having at large explained what racter of a man who came now and then to wit is, and described the false appearances our coffee-house. He ever ended a news- of it, all that labour seems but an useless paper with this reflection, 'Well, I see all inquiry, without some time be spent in conthe foreign princes are in good health. If sidering the application of it. The seat of you asked,Pray, sir, what says the Post- wit, when one speaks as a man of the town man from Vienna?' He answered, 'Make and the world, is the playhouse; I shall us thankful, the German Princes are all therefore fill this paper with reflections well.'--'What does he say from Barcelona?' upon the use of it, in that place. The ap'He does not speak but that the country plication of wit in the theatre has as strong agrees very well with the new Queen.' an effect upon the manners of our gentleAfter very much inquiry, I found this man men, as the taste of it has upon the wriof universal loyalty was a wholesale dealer tings of our authors. It may, perhaps, look in silks and ribands. His way is, it seems, like a very presumptuous work, though not if he hires a weaver or workman, to have it foreign from the duty of a Spectator, to tax inserted in his articles, that all this shall the writings of such as have long had the be well and truly performed, provided no general applause of a nation; but I shall foreign potentate shall depart this life with- always make reason, truth, and nature the in the time above-mentioned.' It happens measures of praise and dispraise; if those in all public mournings that the many are for me, the generality of opinion is of trades which depend upon our habits, are no consequence against me; if they are during that folly either pinched with pre- against me, the general opinion cannot long sent want, or terrified with the apparent support me. approach of it. All the atonement which men can make for wanton expenses (which is a sort of insulting the scarcity under which others labour) 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 honour 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 splendour and magnificence, though the head of such a joyful people, he will conceive a greater idea of the honour 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 endeavours to know whom she mourns for; how ridiculous it is to hear her explain herself, That we have lost one of The Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter, a comethe house of Austria!' Princes are ele-dy, by Sir George Etheridge. The character of Sir Fopvated so highly above the rest of mankind,ling was that of Beau Hewit, son of Sir Thomas Hewit, that it is a presumptuous distinction to wilmot earl of Rochester; and Bellair, that of the au take a part in honours done to their memo- thor himself.

Without further 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 Harriot 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

of Pishiobury, in Hertfordshire; of Dorimant, that of

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