the stage, not only what it would utter in the situation there represented, but in the same For manner in which it would express it. which reason I cannot allow rhymes in Comedy, unless they were put into the mouth, and But came out of the mouth of a mad poet. it is impossible to deceive one's self enough (nor is it the least necessary in Comedy) to suppose a dull rogue of an uşurer cheating, or gros Jean blundering, in the finest rhymes in the world. As for Operas, they are essentially too absurd and extravagant to mention: I look upon them as a magic scene, contrived to please the eyes and the ears, at the expense of the understanding; and I consider singing, rhyming, and chiming Heroes, and Princesses, and Philosophers, as I do the hills, the trees, the birds, and beasts, who amicably joined in one common country dance, to the irresistible tune of Orpheus' lyre. Whenever I go to an Opera, I leave my sense and reason at the door with my half guinea, and deliver myself up to my eyes and my ears. DRESS. Your dress (as insignificant a thing as dress is in itself) is now become an object worthy of some attention; for, I confess, I cannot help forming some opinion of a man's sense and character from his dress; and I believe most people do as well as myself. Any affectation whatsoever in dress implies, in my mind, a flaw in the understanding. Most of our young fellows here display some character or other by their dress; some affect the tremendous, and wear a great and fiercely cocked hat, an enormous sword, a short waistcoat, and a black cravat; these I should be almost tempted to swear the peace against, in my own defence, if I were not convinced that they are but meek asses in lions' skins. Others go in brown frocks, leather breeches, great oaken cudgels in their hands, their hats uncocked, and their hair unpowdered; and imitate grooms, stagecoachmen, and country bumpkins so well, in their outsides, that I do not make the least doubt of their resembling them equally in their insides. A man of sense carefully avoids any particular character in his dress; he is accurately clean for his own sake; but all the rest is for other people's. He dresses as well, and in the same manner, as the people of sense and fashion of the place where he is. If he dresses better, as he thinks, that is, more than they, he is a fop; if he dresses worse, he is inpardonably negligent: but, of the two, I would rather have a young fellow too much than too little dressed; the excess on that side will wear off, with a little age and reflection but, if he is negligent at twenty, he will be a sloven at forty, and stink at fifty years old Dress yourself fine, where others are fine, 7 and plain, where others are plain: but take care always, that your clothes are well made, and fit you, for otherwise they will give you a very awkward air. When you are once well dressed for the day, think no more of it afterwards; and, without any stiffness for fear of discomposing that dress, let all your motions be easy and natural, as if you had no clothes on at all. So much for dress, which I maintain to be a thing of consequence in the polite world. THE DRINKING CLUB. An old friend and fellow student of mine at the university called on me the other morning, and found me reading Plato's Symposion. I laid down my book to receive him, which, after the first usual compliments, he took up, saying, "You will give me leave to see what was the object of your studies."- "Nothing less than the divine Plato," said I, "that amiable philosopher""with whom," interrupted my friend, Cicero declares that he would rather be in the wrong, than in the right with any other." -"I cannot,” replied I, "carry my veneration for him to that degree of enthusiasm; but yet, whenever I understand him, for I confess I do not every where, I prefer him to all the ancient philosophers. His Symposion more particularly engages and entertains me, as I see there the manners and characters of the most emi nent men, of the politest times, of the politest city of Greece. And, with all due respect to the moderns, I much question whether an account of a modern Symposion, though written by the ablest hand, could be read with so much pleasure and improvement.""I do not know that," replied my friend; "for, though I revere the ancients as much as you possibly can, and look upon the moderns as pygmies, when compared to those giants, yet, if we come up to or near them in any thing, it is in the elegance and delicacy of our convivial intercourse. I was the more surprised at this doubt of my friend's, because I knew that he implicitly subscribed to, and superstitiously maintained, all the articles of the classical faith. I therefore asked him, "whether he was serious." He answered me, "that he was: that, in his mind, Plato spun out that silly affair of love too fine and too long; and that, if I would but let him introduce me to the club of which he was an unworthy member, he believed I should at least entertain the same doubt, or perhaps even decide in favour of the moderns." I thanked my friend for his kindness, but added that, in whatever society he was an unworthy member, I should be still a more unworthy guest. That, moreover, my retired and domestic turn of life was as inconsistent with the engagements of a club, as my natural taciturnity among strangers would be misplaced in the midst of all that festal mirth and gayety. "You -- mistake me," answered my friend; 66 every member of our club has the privilege of bringing one friend along with him, who is by no means thereby to become a member of it; and as for your taciturnity, we have some silent members, who, by the way, are none of our worst. Silent people never spoil company; but, on the contrary, by being good hearers, encourage good speakers."- -"But I have another difficulty," answered I, "and that, I doubt, a very solid one, which is, that I drink nothing but water.""So much the worse for you," replied my friend, who, by the by, loves his bottle most academically; "you will pay for the claret you do not drink. We use no compulsion: every one drinks as little as he pleases""which, I presume," interrupted I, "is as much as he can."-"That is just as it happens," said he; "sometimes, it is true, we make pretty good sittings, but, for my own part, I choose to go home always before eleven: for, take my word for it, it is the sitting up, and not the drink, that destroys the constitution." As I found that my friend would have taken a refusal ill, I told him that for this once I would certainly attend him to the club, but desired him to give me previously the outlines of the characters of the sitting members, that I might know how to behave myself properly. “Your precaution," said he, "is a prudent one; and I will make you so well acquainted with them beforehand, that you shall not seem a stranger |