and deliberate openings, with many volun- | There is the angry flutter, the modish tary fallings asunder in the fan itself, that flutter, the timorous flutter, the confused are seldom learned under a month's practice. This part of the exercise pleases the spectators more than any other, as it discovers on a sudden an infinite number of cupids, garlands, altars, birds, beasts, rainbows, and the like agreeable figures, that display themselves to view, whilst every one in the regiment holds a picture in her hand. flutter, the merry flutter, and the amorous flutter. Not to be tedious, there is scarce any emotion in the mind which does not produce a suitable agitation in the fan; insomuch, that if I only see the fan of a disciplined lady, I know very well whether she laughs, frowns, or blushes. I have seen a fan so very angry, that it would have been dangerous for the absent lover who Upon my giving the word to Discharge provoked it to have come within the wind their fans, they give one general crack that of it; and at other times so very languishmay be heard at a considerable distance ing, that I have been glad for the lady's when the wind sits fair. This is one of the sake the lover was at a sufficient dismost difficult parts of the exercise, but I tance from it. I need not add, that a fan is have several ladies with me, who at their either a prude or coquette, according to the first entrance could not give a pop_loud nature of the person who bears it. To conenough to be heard at the farther end of a clude my letter, I must acquaint you that I room, who can now discharge a fan in such have from my own observations compiled a a manner, that it shall make a report like little treatise for the use of my scholars, ena pocket pistol. I have likewise taken care titled, The Passions of the Fan; which I (in order to hinder young women from let- will communicate to you, if you think it ting off their fans in wrong places or on un- may be of use to the public. I shall have a suitable occasions) to show upon what sub-general review on Thursday next; to which ject the crack of a fan may come in properly. I have likewise invented a fan, with which a girl of sixteen, by the help of a little wind which is enclosed about one of the largest sticks, can make as loud a crack as a woman of fifty with an ordinary fan. "When the fans are thus discharged, the word of command in course is to ground you shall be very welcome if you will honour it with your presence. I am, &c. 'P. S. I teach young gentlemen the whole art of gallanting a fan. 'N. B. I have several little plain fans made for this use, to avoid expense.' -Sibi quivis their fans. This teaches a lady to quit her No. 103.] Thursday, June 28, 1711. fan gracefully when she throws it aside in order to take up a pack of cards, adjust a curl of hair, replace a falling pin, or apply herself to any other matter of importance. This part of the exercise, as it only consists in tossing a fan with an air upon a long table (which stands by for that purpose,) may be learned in two days' time as well as in a twelvemonth. 'When my female regiment is thus disarmed, I generally let them walk about the room for some time; when on a sudden (like ladies that look upon their watches after a long visit) they all of them hasten to their arms, catch them up in a hurry, and place themselves in their proper stations upon my calling out, Recover your fans. This part of the exercise is not difficult, provided a woman applies her thoughts to it. L. Speret idem: sudet multum, frustraque laboret My friend, the divine, having been used with words of complaisance (which he thinks could be properly applied to no one living, and I think could be only spoken of him, and that in his absence,) was so extremely offended with the excessive way of speaking civilities among us, that he made a discourse against it at the club, which hẹ concluded with this remark, that he had not heard one compliment made in our society since its commencement.' Every one was pleased with his conclusion; and as each knew his good-will to the rest, he was The fluttering of the fan is the last, and convinced that the many professions of indeed the master-piece of the whole exer- kindness and service, which we ordinarily cise; but if a lady does not mispend her meet with, are not natural where the heart time, she may make herself mistress of it is well inclined; but are a prostitution of in three months. I generally lay aside the speech, seldom intended to mean any part dog-days and the hot time of the summer of what they express, never to mean all for the teaching this part of the exercise; they express. Our reverend friend, upon for as soon as ever I pronounce Flutter this topic, pointed to us two or three parayour fans, the place is filled with so many graphs on this subject in the first sermon zephyrs and gentle breezes as are very re- of the first volume in the late archbishop's freshing in that season of the year, though posthumous works.* I do not know that I they might be dangerous to ladies of a ten-ever read any thing that pleased me more, der constitution in any other. There is an infinite variety of motions to be made use of in the flutter of a fan. from John, chap. i. ver. 47, being the last discourse he preached, July 29, 1694. He died Nov. 24. following. * See Archbishop Tillotson's Sermon on Sincerity, and as it is the praise of Longinus, that he | in justification of this hollow kind of conspeaks of the sublime in a style suitable to versation, that there is no harm, no real it, so one may say of this author upon sin- deceit in compliment, but the matter is cerity, that he abhors any pomp of rhetoric well enough, so long as we understand one on this occasion, and treats it with a more another; et verba valent ut nummi, “ words than ordinary simplicity, at once to be a are like money;" and when the current preacher and an example. With what value of them is generally understood, no command of himself does he lay before us, man is cheated by them. This is something, in the language and temper of his profes- if such words were any thing; but being sion, a fault, which, by the least liberty and brought into the account, they are mere warmth of expression, would be the most cyphers. However, it is still a just matter lively wit and satire! But his heart was of complaint, that sincerity and plainness better disposed, and the good man chastised are out of fashion, and that our language is the great wit in such a manner, that he was running into a lie; that men have almost able to speak as follows: quite perverted the use of speech, and made words to signify nothing; that the greatest part of the conversation of mankind is little else but driving a trade of dissimulation; insomuch, that it would make a man heartily sick and weary of the world to see the little sincerity that is in use and practice among men.? When the vice is placed in this contemptible light, he argues unanswerably against it, in words and thoughts so natural, that any man who reads them would imagine he himself could have been the author of them. -Amongst too many other instances of the great corruption and degeneracy of the age wherein we live, the great and general want of sincerity in conversation is none of the least. The world is grown so full of dissimulation and compliment, that men's words are hardly any signification of their thoughts; and if any man measures his words by his heart, and speaks as he thinks, and does not express more kindness to every man, than men usually have for any man, he can hardly escape the censure of want of breeding. The old English plainness and sincerity, that generous integrity of nature, If the show of any thing be good for any and honesty of disposition, which always thing, I am sure sincerity is better: for why argues true greatness of mind, and is usu- does any man dissemble, or seem to be that ally accompanied with undaunted courage which he is not, but because he thinks it and resolution, is in a great measure lost good to have such a quality as he pretends amongst us. There has been a long endea- to? For to counterfeit and dissemble, is to vour to transform us into foreign manners put on the appearance of some real exceland fashions, and to bring us to a servile lence. Now the best way in the world to imitation of none of the best of our neigh-seem to be any thing, is really to be what bours, in some of the worst of their qualities. he would seem to be. Besides that, it is The dialect of conversation is now-a-days many times as troublesome to make good so swelled with vanity and compliment, and so surfeited (as I may say) of expressions of kindness and respect, that if a man that lived an age or two ago should return into the world again, he would really want a dictionary to help him to understand his own language, and to know the true intrinsic value of the phrase in fashion, and would hardly at first believe at what a low rate the highest strains and expressions of kindness imaginable do commonly pass in current payment: and when he should come to understand it, it would be a great while before he could bring himself with a good countenance and a good conscience to converse with men upon equal terms, and in their own way. the pretence of a good quality, as to have it; and if a man have it not, it is ten to one but he is discovered to want it; and then all his pains and labour to seem to have it, are lost.' In another part of the same discourse he goes on to show, that all artifice must naturally tend to the disappointment of him that practises it. 'Whatsoever convenience may be thought to be in falsehood and dissimulation, it is soon over; but the inconvenience of it is perpetual, because it brings a man under an everlasting jealousy and suspicion, so that he is not believed when he speaks truth, nor trusted when perhaps he means honestly. When a man hath once forfeited the reputation of his integrity, he is set fast, and nothing will then serve his turn, neither truth nor falsehood.' R. 'And in truth it is hard to say, whether it should more provoke our contempt or our pity, to hear what solemn expressions of respect and kindness will pass between men, almost upon no occasion; how great honour and esteem they will declare for No. 104.] Friday, June 29, 1711. one whom perhaps they never saw before, and how entirely they are all on a sudden devoted to his service and interest, for no reason; how infinitely and eternally obliged to him; for no benefit; and how extremely they will be concerned for him, yea and afflicted too, for no cause. I know it is said, Harpalyce -Qualis equos Threissa fatigat Dryden. Ir would be a noble improvement, rather a recovery of what we call g breeding, if nothing were to pass amongst | were suddenly called from these inanimate objects by a little party of horsemen I saw us for agreeable which was the least transgression against the rule of life called decorum, or a regard to decency. This would command the respect of mankind, because it carries in it deference to their good opinion, as humility lodged in a worthy mind is always attended with a certain homage, which no haughty soul, with all the arts imaginable, will ever be able to purchase. Tully says, Virtue and decency are so nearly related, that it is difficult to separate them from each other but in our imagination. As the beauty of the body always accompanies the health of it, so certainly is decency concomitant to virtue. As beauty of body, with an agreeable carriage, pleases the eye, and that pleasure consists in that we observe all the parts with a certain elegance are proportioned to each other; so does decency of behaviour which appears in our lives obtain the approbation of all with whom we converse, from the order, consistency, and moderation of our words and actions. This flows from the reverence we bear towards every good man, and to the world in general; for to be negligent of what any one thinks of you, does not only show you arrogant but abandoned. In all these considerations we are to distinguish how one virtue differs from another. As it is the part of justice never to do violence, it is of modesty never to commit offence. In this last particular lies the whole force of what is called decency; to this purpose that excellent moralist above-mentioned talks of decency; but this quality is more easily comprehended by an ordinary capacity, than expressed with all his eloquence. This decency of behaviour is generally transgressed among all orders of men; nay, the very women, though themselves created as it were for an ornament, are often very There is an objection which naturally much mistaken in this ornamental part of presents itself against these occasional perlife. It would methinks be a short rule for plexities and mixtures of dress, which is behaviour, if every young lady, in her dress, that they seem to break in upon that prowords, and actions, were only to recom- priety and distinction of appearance in mend herself as a sister, daughter, or wife, which the beauty of different characters is and make herself the more esteemed in preserved; and if they should be more freone of those characters. The care of them-quent than they are at present, would look selves, with regard to the families in which women are born, is the best motive for their being courted to come into the alliance of other houses. Nothing can promote this end more than a strict preservation of decency. I should be glad if a certain equestrian order of ladies, some of whom one meets in an evening at every outlet of the town, would take this subject into their serious consideration. In order thereunto, the following letter may not be wholly unworthy their perusal. like turning our public assemblies into a general masquerade. The model of this Amazonian hunting-habit for ladies, was, as I take it, first imported from France, and well enough expresses the gayety of a people who are taught to do any thing, so it be with an assurance: but I cannot help thinking it sits awkwardly yet on our English modesty. The petticoat is a kind of incumbrance upon it, and if the Amazons should think fit to go on in this plunder of our sex's ornaments, they ought to add to their spoils, and complete their triumph over us, by wearing the breeches.* 'MR. SPECTATOR,-Going lately to take the air in one of the most beautiful evenings this season has produced; as I was admiring * On this passage Mr. Drake observes,' At a period the serenity of the sky, the lively colours when the riding-habit has become as familiar as any of the fields, and the variety of the land-bly smile at the reproof and apprehensions of the Specother mode of female dress, my fair readers will probascape every where around me, my eyes tator; time has ascertained its utility as a travelling If it be natural to contract insensibly the manners of those we imitate, the ladies who are pleased with assuming our dresses will do us more honour than we deserve, but they will do it at their own expence. Why should the lovely Camilla deceive us in more shapes than her own, and affect to be represented in her picture with a gun and a spaniel; while her elder brother, the heir of a worthy family, is drawn in silks like his sister? The dress and air of a man are not well to be divided; and those who would not be content with the latter ought never to think of assuming the former. There is so large a portion of natural agreeableness | among the fair sex of our island, that they seem betrayed into these romantic habits without having the same occasion for them with their inventors: all that needs to be desired of them is, that they would be themselves, that is, what nature designed them. And to see their mistake when they depart from this, let them look upon a man who affects the softness and effeminacy of a woman, to learn how their sex must appear to us, when approaching to the resemblance of a man. I am, sir, your most humble servant.' No. 105.] Saturday, June 30, 1711. -Id arbitror T. Adprime in vita esse utile, ne quid nimis. Too much of any thing is good for nothing. Eng. Prov. My friend Will Honeycomb values himself very much upon what he calls the knowledge of mankind, which has cost him many disasters in his youth: for Will reckons every misfortune that he has met with among the women, and every rencounter among the men, as parts of his education; and fancies he should never have been the man he is, had he not broke windows, knocked down constables, disturbed honest people with his midnight serenades, and beat up a lewd woman's quarters, when he was a young fellow. The engaging in adventures of this nature Will calls the studying of mankind; and terms this knowledge of the town, the knowledge of the world. Will ingenuously confesses that for half his life his head ached every morning with reading of men overnight; and at present comforts himself under certain pains which he endures from time to time, that without them he could not have been acquainted with the gallantries of the age. This Will looks upon as the learning of a gentleman, and regards all other kinds of science as the accomplishments of one whom he calls a scholar, a bookish-man, or a philosopher. For these reasons Will shines in mixed company, where he has the discretion not to go out of his depth, and has often a certain way of making his real ignorance appear a seeming one. Our club however has frequently caught him tripping, at which times they never spare him. For as Will often insults us with his knowledge of the town, we sometimes take our revenge upon him by our knowledge of books. He was last week producing two or three letters which he writ in his youth to a coquette lady. The raillery of them was natural, and well enough for a mere man of the town; but, very unluckily, several of the words were wrong spelt. Will laughed this off at first as well as he could; but finding himself pushed on all sides, and especially by the Templar, he told us with a little passion, that he never liked pedantry in spelling, and that he spelt like a gentleman, and not like a scholar: upon this Will had recourse to his old topic of showing the narrow-spiritedness, the pride and ignorance of pedants; which he carried so far, that upon my retiring to my lodgings, I could not forbear throwing together such reflections as occurred to me upon that subject. A man who has been brought up among books, and is able to talk of nothing else, is a very indifferent companion, and what we call a pedant. But, methinks, we should enlarge the title, and give it to every one that does not know how to think out of his profession and particular way of life. What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the town? Bar him the play-houses, a catalogue of the reigning beauties, and an account of a few fashionable distempers that have befallen him, and you strike him dumb. How many a pretty gentleman's knowledge lies all within the verge of the court! He will tell you the names of the principal favourites, repeat the shrewd sayings of a man of quality, whisper an intrigue that is not yet blown upon by common fame: or, if the sphere of his observations is a little larger than ordinary, will perhaps enter into all the incidents, turns and revolutions in a game of ombre. When he has gone thus far he has shown you the whole circle of his accomplishments, his parts are drained, and he is disabled from any farther conversation. What are these but rank pedants? and yet these are the men who value themselves most on their exemption from the pedantry of colleges. I might here mention the military pedant who always talks in a camp, and is stormbattles from one end of the year to the ing towns, making lodgments, and fighting other. Every thing he speaks smells of gunpowder; if you take away his artillery from him, he has not a word to say for Drake's Essays, vol. iii. p. 42. himself. I might likewise mention the law dress, and, I believe, neither the chastity nor the modesty of the sex has suffered by the experiment. Could our amiable moralist revisit the light of day, he would have infinitely more reason to be shocked at the present Gallic fashion of going nearly naked, than at the warm cevering of broadcloth usurped by the beauties of his day.' pedant, that is perpetually putting cases, who is very well acquainted with my hurepeating the transactions of Westminster-mour, lets me rise and go to bed when I hall, wrangling with you upon the most in-please, dine at his own table or in my different circumstances of life, and not to be chamber, as I think fit, sit still and say noconvinced of the distance of a place, or of the most trivial point in conversation, but by dint of argument. The state pedant is wrapt up in news, and lost in politics. If you mention either of the kings of Spain or Poland, he talks very notably; but if you go out of the Gazette, you drop him. In short, a mere courtier, a mere soldier, a mere scholar, a mere any thing, is an insipid pedantic character, and equally ridiculous. thing without bidding me be merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only shows me at a distance. As I have been walking in his fields, I have observed them stealing a sight of me over a hedge, and have heard the knight desiring them not to let me see them, for that hated to be stared at. I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it consists of sober and staid persons; for as the knight is the best masOf all the species of pedants, which I ter in the world, he seldom changes his serhave mentioned, the book-pedant is much vants; and as he is beloved by all about the most supportable; he has at least an him, his servants never care for leaving exercised understanding, and a head which him: by this means his domestics are all in is full though confused, so that a man who years, and grown old with their master. converses with him may often receive from You would take his valet de chambre for him hints of things that are worth knowing, his brother, his butler is gray-headed, his and what he may possibly turn to his own groom is one of the gravest men that I have advantage, though they are of little use to ever seen, and his coachman has the looks the owner. The worst kind of pedants of a privy counsellor. You see the goodamong learned men, are such as are natu- ness of the master even in the old houserally endued with a very small share of dog, and in a gray pad that is kept in the common sense, and have read a great num-stable with great care and tenderness out of ber of books without taste or distinction. The truth of it is, learning, like travelling, and all other methods of improvement, as it finishes good sense, so it makes a silly man ten thousand times more insufferable, by supplying variety of matter to his impertinence, and giving him an opportunity of abounding in absurdities. Shallow pedants cry up one another much more than men of solid and useful learning. To read the titles they give an editor, or collector of a manuscript, you would take him for the glory of the commonwealth of letters, and the wonder of his age, when perhaps upon examination you find that he has only rectified a Greek particle, or laid out a whole sentence in proper commas. They are obliged indeed to be thus lavish of their praises, that they may keep one another in countenance; and it is no wonder if a great deal of knowledge, which is not capable of making a man wise, has a natural tendency to make him vain and arrogant. No. 106.] Monday, July 2, 1711. -Hinc tibi copia L. Manabit ad plenum, benigno Here plenty's liberal horn shall pour regard to his past services, though he has been useless for several years. I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of them could not refrain from tears at the sight of their old master; every one of them pressed forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the same time the good old knight, with a mixture of the father and the master of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs with several kind questions relating to themselves. This humanity and good-nature engages every body to him, so that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good humour, and none so much as the person whom he diverts himself with: on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy for a stander-by to observe a secret concern in the looks of all his servants. My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because they have often heard their master talk of me as of his particular friend. My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man who is ever with Sir Roger, and has lived at his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of good sense and some learning, of a very regular life and obliging conversation: he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is very much in the old knight's esteem, so that he lives |