As to the generosity of his temper, he tells his poor footi "If he did not wait better," he would turn him away, in insolent phrase of, "I'll uncase you.” Now for Mrs. Harriot. She laughs at obedience to an al mother, whose tenderness Busy describes to be very exquisit "that she is so pleased with finding Harriot again, that she not chide her for being out of the way." This witty daughter fine lady, has so little respect for this good woman, that she cules her air in taking leave, and cries, "In what struggle i poor mother yonder! See, see her head tottering, her eyes sta and her under lip trembling." But all this is atoned for, bet "she has more wit than is usual in her sex, and as much m though she is as wild as you could wish her, and has a demuri in her looks that makes it so surprising!" Then to recom her as a fit spouse for his hero, the poet makes her speak sense of marriage very ingenuously.-"I think," says she might be brought to endure him, and that is all a reason woman should expect in an husband." It is methinks unnal that we are not made to understand how, she that was bred t a silly pious old mother, that would never trust her out a sight, came to be so polite. It cannot be denied, but that the negligence of everyt which engages the attention of the sober and valuable pa mankind, appears very well drawn in this piece. But it is de that it is necessary to the character of a fine gentleman, th should in that manner trample upon all order and decency. for the character of Dorimant, it is more of a coxcomb than of Fopling. He says of one of his companions, that a correspondence between them is their mutual interest. Speɛ of that friend, he declares, their being much together "make women think the better of his understanding, and judge favourably of my reputation. It makes him pass upon som a man of very good sense, and me upon others for a very person." This whole celebrated piece is a perfect contradiction to manners, good sense, and common honesty; and as the nothing in it but what is built upon the ruin of virtue and i cence, according to the notion of merit in this comedy, I tak Shoemaker to be, in reality, the fine gentleman of the play: 1 seems he is an atheist, if we may depend upon his characte given by the orange woman, who is herself far from being lowest in the play. She says of a fine man, who is Dorim companion, there' is not such another heathen in the t except the Shoemaker." His pretension to be the hero of drama appears still more in his own description of his wa living with this lady. "There is," says he, "never a mai merry; some of them concluded it was written by a madman, and others by somebody that had been taking notes out of the SPECTATOR. One who had the appearance of a very substantial citizen told us, with several political winks and nods, that he wished there was no more in the paper than what was expressed in it: that for his part, he looked upon the dromedary, the gridiron, and the barber's pole, to signify something more than what was usually meant by those words; and that he thought the coffeeman could not do better than to carry the paper to one of the secretaries of state. He further added, that he did not like the name of the outlandish man with the golden clock in his stockings. A young Oxford scholar, who chanced to be with his uncle at the coffee-house, discovered to us who this Pactolus was: and by that means turned the whole scheme of this worthy citizen into ridicule. While they were making their several conjectures upon this innocent paper, I reached out my arm to the boy as he was coming out of the pulpit, to give it to me; which he did accordingly. This drew the eyes of the whole company upon me; but after having cast a cursory glance over it, and shook my head twice or thrice at the reading of it, I twisted it into a kind of match, and lighted my pipe with it. My profound silence, together with the steadiness of my countenance, and the gravity of my behaviour during this whole transaction, raised a very loud laugh on all sides of me; but as I had escaped all suspicion of being the author, I was very well satisfied, and, applying myself to my pipe and the Postman, took no farther notice of any thing that passed about me. My reader will find, that I have already made use of above half the contents of the foregoing paper; and will easily suppose, that those subjects, which are yet untouched, were such provisions as I had made for his future entertainment. But as I have been unluckily prevented by this accident, I shall only give him the letters which relate to the two last hints. The first of them I should not have published, were I not informed that there is many an husband who suffers very much in his private affairs by the indiscreet zeal of such a partner as is hereafter mentioned; to whom I may apply the barbarous inscription quoted by the Bishop of Salisbury in his travels:* "Dum nimis pia est, facta est impia." "Through too much piety she became impious." "SIR, "I am one of those unhappy men, that are plagued with a gospel-gossip, so common among dissenters (especially friends). Lectures in the morning, church-meetings at noon, and prepara • Dr. Burnet's Letters, &c. Let. I. tion sermons at night, take up so much of her time, it is very rare she knows what we have for dinner, unless when the preacher is to be at it. With him come a tribe, all brothers and sisters it seems; while others, really such, are deemed no relations. If at any time I have her company alone, she is a mere sermon pop-gun, repeating and discharging texts, proofs, and applications, so perpetually, that however weary I may go to bed, the noise in my head will not let me sleep till towards morning. The misery of my case, and great numbers of such sufferers, plead your pity and speedy relief; otherwise must expect, in a little time, to be lectured, preached, and prayed into want, unless the happiness of being sooner talked to death prevent it. I am, &c. "R. G." The second letter, relating to the ogling-master, runs thus— "MR. SPECTATOR, "I am an Irish gentleman that have travelled many years for my improvement; during which time I have accomplished myself in the whole art of ogling, as it is at present practised in the polite nations of Europe. Being thus qualified, I intend, by the advice of my friends, to set up for an ogling-master. I teach the church ogle in the morning, and the playhouse ogle by candle light. I have also brought over with me a new flying ogle fit for the ring; which I teach in the dusk of the evening, or in any hour of the day, by darkening one of my windows. I have a manuscript by me, called "The Complete Ögler," which I shall be ready to shew you on any occasion. In the mean time, I beg you will publish the substance of this letter in an advertisement, and you will very much oblige, MR. HOBBES, in his Discourse of Human Nature, which, in my humble opinion, is much the best of all his works, after some very curious observations upon laughter, concludes thus-“The passion of laughter is nothing else but sudden glory arising from some sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly: for men laugh at the follies of themselves past, when they come suddenly to remembrance, except they bring with them any present dishonour. According to this author, therefore, when we hear a man laugh excessively, instead of saying he is very merry, we ought to tell him he is very proud. And, indeed, if we look into the bottom of this matter, we shall meet with many observations to confirm us in his opinion. Every one laughs at somebody that is in an inferior state of folly to himself. It was formerly the custom for every great house in England to keep a tame fool dressed in petticoats, that the heir of the family might have an opportunity of joking upon him, and diverting himself with his absurdities. For the same reason, idiots are still in request in most of the courts of Germany, where there is not a prince of any great magnificence, who has not two or three dressed, distinguished, undisputed fools in his retinue, whom the rest of the courtiers are always breaking their jests upon. The Dutch, who are more famous for their industry and applieation, than for wit and humour, hang up in several of their streets what they call the sign of the Gaper, that is, the head of an idiot dressed in a cap and bells, and gaping in a most immoderate manner. This is a standing jest at Amsterdam. Thus every one diverts himself with some person or other that is below him in point of understanding, and triumphs in the superiority of his genius, whilst he has such objects of derision before his eyes. Mr. Dennis has very well expressed this in a couple of humorous lines, which are part of a translation of a satire in Monsieur Boileau. "Thus one fool lolls his tongue out at another, Mr Hobbes's reflection gives us the reason why the insignificant people above mentioned are stirrers-up of laughter among men of a gross taste: but as the more understanding part of mankind do not find their risibility affected by such ordinary objects, it may be worth the while to examine into the several provocatives of laughter, in men of superior sense and knowledge. In the first place I must observe, that there is a set of merry drolls, whom the common people of all countries admire, and seem to love so well," that they could eat them," according to the old proverb: I mean those circumforaneous wits whom every nation calls by the name of that dish of meat which it loves best: in Holland they are termed Pickled Herrings; in France, Jean Pottages; in Italy, Maccaronies; and in Great Britain, Jack Puddings. These merry wags, from whatsoever food they receive their titles, that they may make their audiences laugh, always appear in a fool's coat, and commit such blunders and mistakes in every step they take, and every word they utter, as those who listen to them would be ashamed of. But this little triumph of the understanding, under the disguise of laughter, is no where more visible than in that custom which prevails everywhere among us on the first day of the present month, when every body takes it in his head to make as many fools as he can. In proportion as there are more follies discovered, so there is more laughter raised on this day than on any other in the whole year. A neighbour of mine, who is a haberdasher by trade, and a very shallow conceited fellow, makes his boast that for these ten years successively he has not made less than an hundred April fools. My landlady had a falling out with him about a fortnight ago, for sending every one of her children upon some sleeveless errand, as she terms it. Her eldest son went to buy an half pennyworth of inkle at a shoemaker's; the eldest daughter was despatched half a mile to see a monster; and, in short, the whole family of innocent children made April fools. Nay, my landlady herself did not escape him. This empty fellow has laughed upon these conceits ever since. This art of wit is well enough, when confined to one day in a twelvemonth; but there is an ingenious tribe of men sprung up of late years, who are for making April fools every day in the year. These gentlemen are commonly distinguished by the name of Biters: a race of men that are perpetually employed in laughing at those mistakes which are of their own production. Thus we see, in proportion as one man is more refined than another, he chooses his fool out of a lower or higher class of mankind, or, to speak in a more philosophical language, that secret elation or pride of heart, which is generally called laughter, arises in him, from his comparing himself with an object below him, whether it so happens that it be a natural or an artificial fool. It is, indeed, very possible, that the persons we laugh at may in the main of their characters be much wiser men than ourselves; but if they would have us laugh at them, they must fall short of us in those respects which stir up this passion. I am afraid I shall appear too abstracted in my speculations, if I shew that when a man of wit makes us laugh, it is by betraying See No. 504, and Tat. No. 12. Rowe produced a comedy on the subject, with the title of "The Biter;" which, however, added nothing to his reputation as an author. |