kings. The first, if I remember, is a sort of a buff for some time in the school of affliction; who waistcoat, made antique fashion, very plain, and weigh happiness against glory, and teach their roywithout the least ornaments; the second, which al pupils the real value of fame; who are ever was even more remarkable, consisted only of a showing the superior dignity of man to that of coarse blue cloth coat, a large hat of less value, a royalty: that a peasant who does his duty is a noshirt of coarse linen, large boots, and buff gloves bler character than a king of even middling repumade to cover a great part of the arm. His saddle, tation. Happy, I say, were princes, could such his pistols, and his sword, have nothing in them men be found to instruct them; but those to whom remarkable; the meanest soldier was in this respect such an education is generally intrusted, are men no way inferior to his gallant monarch. I shall who themselves have acted in a sphere too high to use this opportunity to give you some particulars know mankind. Puffed up themselves with the of the life of a man already so well known, which ideas of false grandeur, and measuring merit by I had from persons who knew him when a child, adventitious circumstances of greatness, they geneand who now, by a fate not unusual to courtiers, rally communicate those fatal prejudices to their spend a life of poverty and retirement, and talk pupils, confirm their pride by adulation, or increase over in raptures all the actions of their old victo- their ignorance by teaching them to despise that rious king, companion, and master. wisdom which is found among the poor. Courage and inflexible constancy formed the baBut not to moralize when I only intend a story, sis of this monarch's character. In his tenderest what is related of the journeys of this prince is no years he gave instances of both. When he was less astonishing. He has sometimes been on yet scarcely seven years old, being at dinner with horseback for four-and-twenty hours successively, the queen his mother, intending to give a bit of and thus traversed the greatest part of his kingbread to a great dog he was fond of, this hungry dom. At last none of his officers were found caanimal snapped too greedily at the morsel, and bit pable of following him; he thus consequently his hand in a terrible manner. The wound bled rode the greatest part of his journeys quite alone, copiously, but our young hero, without offering to without taking a moment's repose, and without cry, or taking the least notice of his misfortune, any other subsistence but a bit of bread. In one endeavoured to conceal what had happened, lest of these rapid courses he underwent an adventure his dog should be brought into trouble, and wrap-singular enough. Riding thus post one day, all ped his bloody hand in the napkin. The queen, alone, he had the misfortune to have his horse fall perceiving that he did not eat, asked him the reason. dead under him. This might have embarrassed He contented himself with replving, that he thanked an ordinary man, but it gave Charles no sort of her, he was not hungry. They thought he was taken uneasiness. Sure of finding another horse, but ill, and so repeated their solicitations; but all was in not equally so of meeting with a good saddle and vain, though the poor child was already grown pistols, he ungirds his horse, claps the whole equipale with the loss of blood. An officer who at tended at table at last perceived it; for Charles would sooner have died than betrayed his dog, who ne knew intended no injury. page on his own back, and thus accoutred marches on to the next inn, which by good fortune was not far off. Entering the stable, he here found a horse entirely to his mind; so, without further ceremony, At another time, when in the small-pox, and his he clapped on his saddle and housing with great case appeared dangerous, he grew one day very composure, and was just going to mount, when uneasy in his bed, and a gentleman who watched the gentleman who owned the horse was apprised him, desirous of covering him up close, received of a stranger's going to steal his property out of from the patient a violent box on his ear. Some the stable. Upon asking the king, whom he had hours after, observing the prince more calm, he never seen, bluntly, how he presumed to meddle entreated to know how he had incurred his dis- with his horse, Charles coolly replied, squeezing in pleasure, or what he had done to have merited a his lips, which was his usual custom, that he took blow. A blow, replied Charles, I don't remember the horse because he wanted one; for you see, any thing of it; I remember, indeed, that I thought continued he, if I have none, I shall be obliged to myself in the battle of Arbela, fighting for Darius, carry the saddle myself. This answer did not where I gave Alexander a blow which brought him seem at all satisfactory to the gentleman, who into the ground. stantly drew his sword. In this the king was not What great effects might not these two qualities much behind-hand with him, and to it they were of courage and constancy have produced, had they going, when the guards by this time came up, and at first received a just direction. Charles, with testified that surprise which was natural to see proper instructions, thus naturally disposed, would arms in the hand of a subject against his king. have been the delight and the glory of his age. Imagine whether the gentleman was less surpris Happy those princes who are educated by men ed than they at his unpremeditated disobedience. who are at once virtuous and wise, and have been His astonishment, however, was soon dissipated by 434 They who, like him, can place themselves on the king, who, taking him by the hand, assured him he was a brave fellow, and himself would that side of the world, in which every thing aptake care he should be provided for. This pro- pears in a ridiculous or pleasing light, will find mise was afterwards fulfilled, and I have been as-something in every occurrence to excite their good humour. The most calamitous events, either to sured the king made him a captain. themselves or others, can bring no new affliction; the whole world is to them a theatre, on which comedies only are acted. All the bustle of heroism, or the rants of ambition, serve only to heighten the absurdity of the scene, and make the humour more poignant. They feel, in short, as little WHEN I reflect on the unambitious retirement anguish at their own distress, or the complaints in which I passed the earlier part of my life in the of others, as the undertaker, though dressed in country, I can not avoid feeling some pain in think-black, feels sorrow at a funeral. HAPPINESS, IN A GREAT MEASURE, Of all the men I ever read of, the famous Car ing that those happy days are never to return. In that retreat all nature seemned capable of affording dinal de Retz possessed this happiness of temper pleasure: I then made no refinements on happi- in the highest degree. As he was a man of galness, but could be pleased with the most awkward lantry, and despised all that wore the pedantic apefforts of rustic mirth; thought cross-purposes the pearance of philosophy, wherever pleasure was to highest stretch of human wit, and questions and be sold he was generally foremost to raise the auccommands the most rational amusement for spend- tion. Being a universal admirer of the fair sex, ing the evening. Happy could so charming an when he found one lady cruel, he generally fell in illusion still continue! I find age and knowledge love with another, from whom he expected a more only contribute to sour our dispositions. My pre favourable reception; if she too rejected his adsent enjoyments may be more refined, but they are dresses, he never thought of retiring into deserts, infinitely less pleasing. The pleasure Garrick or pining in hopeless distress: he persuaded himgives can no way compare to that I have received self, that instead of loving the lady, he only fan from a country wag, who imitated a quaker's ser- cied he had loved her, and so all was well again. The music of Matei is dissonance to what When fortune wore her angriest look, when he at I felt when our old dairy-maid sung me into tears last fell into the power of his most deadly enemy, with Johnny Armstrong's Last Good Night, or Cardinal Mazarine, and was confined a close prisoner in the castle of Vincennes, he never attemptthe cruelty of Barbara Allen. Writers of every age have endeavoured to showed to support his distress by wisdom or philosothat pleasure is in us, and not in the objects offer-phy, for he pretended to neither. He laughed at If the soul be happily dis- himself and his persecutor, and seemed infinitely ed for our amusement. posed, every thing becomes a subject of entertain-pleased at his new situation. In this mansion of ment, and distress will almost want a name. distress, though secluded from his friends, though Every occurrence passes in review like the figures denied all the amusements, and even the conveof a procession: some may be awkward, others ill-dressed, but none but a fool is for this enraged with the master of the ceremonies. mon. niences of life, teased every hour by the impertinence of wretches who were employed to guard him, he still retained his good-humour, laughed at I remember to have once seen a slave in a forti- all their little spite, and carried the jest so far as to fication in Flanders, who appeared no way touch-be revenged, by writing the life of his gaoler. ed with his situation. He was maimed, deformed, All that philosophy can teach, is to be stubborn and chained; obliged to toil from the appearance or sullen under misfortunes. The cardinal's exof day till nightfall, and condemned to this for life; ample will instruct us to be merry in circumstances yet, with all these circumstances of apparent of the highest affliction. It matters not whether wretchedness, he sung, would have danced, but our good-humour be construed by others into inthat he wanted a leg, and appeared the merriest, sensibility, or even idiotism; it is happiness to ourhappiest man of all the garrison. What a prac-selves, and none but a fool would measure his satistical philosopher was here! a happy constitution faction by what the world thinks of it. Dick Wildgoose was one of the happiest silly supplied philosophy, and though seemingly destitute of wisdom, he was really wise. No reading fellows I ever knew. He was of the number of or study had contributed to disenchant the fairy those good-natured creatures that are said to do no land around him. Every thing furnished him harm to any but themselves. Whenever Dick fell with an opportunity of mirth; and though some into any misery, he usually called it seeing life. thought him from his insensibility a fool, he was such an idiot as philosophers might wish in vain to unitate If his head was broke by a chairman, or his pocket picked by a sharper, he comforted himself by imitating the Hibernian dialect of the one. or the more fashionable cant of the other. Nothing came house, or at least to see, as well as be seen. Her umiss to Dick. His inattention to money matters eyes are always, at first, intently fixed upon the had incensed his father to such a degree, that all persons of the drama, and she lifts them by dethe intercession of friends in his favour was fruit-grees, with enchanting diffidence, upon the specless. The old gentleman was on his death-bed. tators. Her first speech, or at least the first part The whole family, and Dick among the number, of it, is delivered with scarcely any motion of gathered round him. "I leave my second son An- the arm; her hands and her tongue never set out drew," said the expiring miser, "my whole estate, together; but the one prepares us for the other. and desire him to be frugal." Andrew, in a sor-She sometimes begins with a mute eloquent attirowful tone, as is usual on these occasions, "prayed tude; but never goes forward all at once with hands, Heaven to prolong his life and health to enjoy it eyes, head, and voice. This observation, though himself.”—“I recommend Simon, my third son, it may appear of no importance, should certainly to the care of his elder brother, and leave him be- be adverted to; nor do I see any one performer side four thousand pounds.”—“Ah! father," cried (Garrick only excepted) among us, that is not in Simon (in great affliction to be sure), "may Hea- this particular apt to offend. By this simple beven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself!" ginning, she gives herself a power of rising in the At last, turning to poor Dick, "As for you, you passion of the scene. As she proceeds, every geshave always been a sad dog, you'll never come to ture, every look, acquires new violence, till at last good, you'll never be rich; I'll leave you a shilling transported, she fills the whole vehemence of the to buy a halter.”—“ Ah! father,” cries Dick, with- part, and all the idea of the poet. out any emotion, " may Heaven give you life and Her hands are not alternately stretched out, and health to enjoy it yourself!" This was all the then drawn in again, as with the singing women trouble the loss of fortune gave this thoughtless at Saddler's Wells; they are employed with graceimprudent creature. However, the tenderness of an ful variety, and every moment please with new and uncle recompensed the neglect of a father; and unexpected eloquence. Add to this, that their moDick is not only excessively good-humoured, but tion is generally from the shoulder; she never competently rich. flourishes her hands while the upper part of her The world, in short, may cry out at a bankrupt arm is motionless, nor has she the ridiculous apwho appears at a ball; at an author, who laughs pearance, as if her elbows were pinned to her hips. at the public which pronounces him a dunce; at a But of all the cautions to be given to our rising general, who smiles at the reproach of the vulgar; actresses, I would particularly recommend it to or the lady who keeps her good-humour in spite them never to take notice of the audience, upon of scandal; but such is the wisest behaviour they any occasion whatsoever; let the spectators applaud can possibly assume. It is certainly a better way never so loudly, their praises should pass, except to oppose calamity by dissipation, than to take up at the end of the epilogue, with seeming inattenthe arms of reason or resolution to oppose it: by tion. I can never pardon a lady on the stage, who, the first method we forget our miseries, by the last when she draws the admiration of the whole auwe only conceal them from others. By struggling dience, turns about to make them a low courtesy with misfortunes, we are sure to receive some for their applause. Such a figure no longer conwounds in the conflict: the only method to come tinues Belvidera, but at once drops into Mrs. Ciboff victorious, is by running away. ON OUR THEATRES. ber. Suppose a sober tradesman, who once a-year takes his shilling's-worth at Drury-Lane, in order to be delighted with the figure of a queen, the queen of Sheba, for instance, or any other queen; this honest man has no other idea of the great but from MADEMOISELLE CLAROIN, a celebrated actress their superior pride and impertinence; suppose at Paris, seems to me the most perfect female figure I have ever seen upon any stage. Not perhaps that nature has been more liberal of personal beauty to her, than some to be seen upon our theatres at home. There are actresses here who have as much of what connoisseurs call statuary grace, by which 18 meant elegance unconnected with motion, as she; but they all fall infinitely short of her, when the soul comes to give expression to the limbs, and animates every feature. such a man placed among the spectators, the first figure that appears on the stage is the queen herself, courtesying and cringing to all the company: how can he fancy her the haughty favourite of King Solomon the wise, who appears actually more submissive than the wife of his bosom? We are all tradesmen of a nicer relish in this respect, and such conduct must disgust every spectator, who loves to have the illusion of nature strong upon him. Yet, while I recommend to our actresses a skilful Her first appearance is excessively engaging; attention to gesture, I would not have them study she never comes in staring round upon the com- it in the looking-glass. This, without some prepany, as if she intended to count the benefits of the caution, will render their action formal; by too great an intimacy with this, they become stiff and or to seem to have it, is the only way to have more. affected. People seldom improve when they have Ovid finely compares a man of broken fortune to no other model but themselves to copy after. I re- a falling column; the lower it sinks, the greater member to have known a notable performer of the weight it is obliged to sustain. Thus, when a other sex, who made great use of this flattering man has no occasion to borrow, he finds numbers monitor, and yet was one of the stifflest figures willing to lend him. Should he ask his friend to ever saw. I am told his apartment was hung round lend him a hundred pounds, it is possible, from with looking-glasses, that he might see his person the largeness of his demand, he may find credit for twenty times reflected upon entering the room; and I will make bold to say, he saw twenty very ugly fellows whenever he did so. THE BEE, No. III. ON THE USE OF LANGUAGE. twenty; but should he humbly only sue for a trifle, it is two to one whether he might be trusted for twopence. A certain young fellow at George's, whenever he had occasion to ask his friend for a guinea, used to prelude his request as if he wanted two hundred, and talked so familiarly of large sums, that none could ever think he wanted a small one. The same gentleman, whenever he wanted credit for a new suit from his tailor, always made a proposal in laced clothes; for he found by experience, that if he appeared shabby on these occasions, Mr. Lynch had taken an oath against trusting; or, what was every bit as bad, his foreman was out of the way, and would not be at home these two days. THE manner in which most writers begin their treatises on the use of language, is generally thus: "Language has been granted to man, in order to There can be no inducement to reveal our wants, discover his wants and necessities, so as to have except to find pity, and by this means relief; but them relieved by society. Whatever we desire, before a poor man opens his mind in such circumwhatever we wish, it is but to clothe those desires or stances, he should first consider whether he is conwishes in words, in order to fruition; the principal tented to lose the esteem of the person he solicits use of language, therefore," say they, "is to ex-and whether he is willing to give up friendshiponly press our wants, so as to receive a speedy redress." to excite compassion. Pity and friendship are pas Such an account as this may serve to satisfy sions incompatible with each other, and it is imgrammarians and rhetoricians well enough, but possible that both can reside in any breast for men who know the world maintain very contrary the smallest space, without impairing each other maxims; they hold, and I think with some show of Friendship is made up of esteem and pleasure reason, that he who best knows how to conceal his pity is composed of sorrow and contempt; the mind necessity and desires, is the most likely person to may for some time fluctuate between them, but find redress; and that the true use of speech is not it never can entertain both together. so much to express our wants, as to conceal them. Yet, let it not be thought that I would exclude When we reflect on the manner in which man- pity from the human mind. There are scarcely kind generally confer their favours, we shall find, any who are not, in some degree possessed of this that they who seem to want them least, are the pleasing softness; but it is at best but a short-lived very persons who most liberally share them. There passion, and seldom affords distress more than is something so attractive in riches, that the large transitory assistance: with some it scarcely lasts heap generally collects from the smaller; and the from the first impulse till the hand can be put into poor find as much pleasure in increasing the enor- the pocket; with others it may continue for twice mous mass, as the miser, who owns it, sees happi- that space, and on some extraordinary sensibility I ness in its increase. Nor is there any thing in this have seen it operate for half an hour. But, howrepugnant to the laws of true morality. Seneca ever, last as it will, it generally produces but beghimself allows, that in conferring benefits, the pre-garly effects: and where, from this motive, we give sent should always be suited to the dignity of the a halfpenny, from others we give always pounds. receiver. Thus the rich receive large presents, In great distress, we sometimes, it is true, feel the and are thanked for accepting them. Men of influence of tenderness strongly; when the same middling stations are obliged to be content with distress solicits a second time, we then feel with presents something less; while the beggar, who diminished sensibility, but, like the repetition of an may be truly said to want indeed, is well paid if a echo, every new impulse becomes weaker, till at farthing rewards his warmest solicitations. last our sensations lose every mixture of sorrow, and degenerate into downright contempt. Jack Spindle and I were old acquaintance; but is, must have frequently experienced the truth of he's gone. Jack was bred in a counting-house. this doctrine, and must know, that to have much, and his father dying just as he was out of his time, Every man who has seen the world, and has had his ups and downs in life, as the expression left him a handsome fortune, and many friends to ance from love, which he could not have from advise with. The restraint in which he had been friendship. Miss Jenny Dismal had a fortune in brought up had thrown a gloom upon his temper, her own hands, and she had already made all the which some regarded as a habitual prudence, and advances that her sex's modesty would permit. from such considerations, he had every day re- He made his proposal, therefore, with confidence, peated offers of friendship. Those who had mo- but soon perceived, "No bankrupt ever found the ney were ready to offer him their assistance that fair one kind." Miss Jenny and Master Billy way; and they who had daughters, frequently in Galloon were lately fallen deeply in love with each the warmth of affection advised him to marry. Jack, other, and the whole neighbourhood thought it however, was in good circumstances; he wanted would soon be a match. neither money, friends, nor a wife, and therefore modestly declined their proposals. Every day now began to strip Jack of his former finery; his clothes flew piece by piece to the Some errors in the management of his affairs, pawnbrokers; and he seemed at length equipped and several losses in trade, soon brought Jack to a in the genuine mourning of antiquity. But still different way of thinking; and he at last thought it he thought himself secure from starving; the numhis best way to let his friends know, that their offers berless invitations he had received to dine, even were at length acceptable. His first address was, after his losses, were yet unanswered; he was, therefore, to a scrivener, who had formerly made him therefore, now resolved to accept of a dinner befrequent offers of money and friendship, at a time cause he wanted one; and in this manner he acwhen, perhaps, he knew those offers would have tually lived among his friends a whole week withbeen refused. out being openly affronted. The last place I saw Jack, therefore, thought he might use his old poor Jack was at the Rev. Dr. Gosling's. He friend without any ceremony; and, as a man con- had, as he fancied, just nicked the time, for he fident of not being refused, requested the use of a came in as the cloth was laying. He took a chair hundred guineas for a few days, as he just then without being desired, and talked for some time had an occasion for money. "And pray, Mr. without being attended to. He assured the comSpindle," replied the scrivener, "do you want all pany, that nothing procured so good an appetite as this money?"—" Want it, sir,” says the other, "if a walk to White-Conduit-House, where he had 'I did not want it, I should not have asked it."— been that morning. He looked at the table-cloth, "I am sorry for that," says the friend; "for those and praised the figure of the damask, talked of a who want money when they come to borrow, will feast where he had been the day before, but that want money when they should come to pay. To the venison was overdone. All this, however, prosay the truth, Mr. Spindle, money is money now-cured the poor creature no invitation, and he was a-days. I believe it is all sunk in the bottom of the not yet sufficiently hardened to stay without being sea, for my part; and he that has got a little, is a asked; wherefore, finding the gentleman of the fool if he does not keep what he has got." house insensible to all his fetches, he thought proNot quite disconcerted by this refusal, our ad-per, at last, to retire, and mend his appetite by a venturer was resolved to apply to another, whom walk in the Park. he knew to be the very best friend he had in the You then, O ye beggars of my acquaintance, world. The gentleman whom he now addressed, whether in rags or lace; whether in Kent-street or received his proposal with all the affability that the Mall; whether at Smyrna or St. Giles's; might could be expected from generous friendship.-"Let | I advise you as a friend, never seem in want of the me see, you want a hundred guineas; and pray, favour which you solicit. Apply to every passion dear Jack, would not fifty answer ?"—"If you have but fifty to spare, sir, I must be contented." "Fifty to spare! I do not say that, for I believe I have but twenty about me."—"Then I must borrow the other thirty from some other friend." —“And pray,” replied the friend, "would it not be the best way to borrow the whole money from If then you would ward off the gripe of poverty, that other friend, and then one note will serve for pretend to be a stranger to her, and she will at least all, you know? Lord, Mr. Spindle, make no cere-use you with ceremony. Hear not my advice, but mony with me at any time; you know I'm your that of Offellus. If you be caught dining upon a friend, when you choose a bit of dinner or so, halfpenny porringer of peas soup and potatoes, You, Tom, see the gentleman down. You won't praise the wholesomeness of your frugal repast. forget to dine with us now and then? Your very You may observe, that Dr. Cheyne has prescribed humble servant." peas broth for the gravel; hint that you are not one Distressed, but not discouraged at this treat- of those who are always making a god of your belly. gent, he was at last resolved to find that assist-If you are obliged to wear a flimsy stuff in the but pity for redress. You may find relief from vanity, from self-interest, or from avarice, but seldom from compassion. The very eloquence of a poor man is disgusting; and that mouth which is opened even for flattery, is seldom expected to close without a petition, |