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No. 13. THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 1710-11.
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Die mihi, siftieris tu-led, qualis eris & MART.
Were you a lion, how would you behave?

Theme is nothing that of late years has afforded matter of greater amusement to the town than Signior Nicolini’s" combat with a lion in the Haymarket, which has been very often exhibited to the general satisfaction of most of the nobility and gentry in the kingdom of Great Britain. Upon the first rumour of this intended combat, it was confidently affirmed, and is still believed, by many in both galleries, that there would be a tame lion sent from the Tower every opera night, in order to be killed by Hydaspes; this report, though altoSether groundless, so universally prevailed in the tipper regions of the playhouse, that some of the most refined politicians in those parts of the audience, gave it out in whisper, that the lion was a cousin-german of ...No. who made his appearance in King William’s days, and that the stage would be supplied with lions at the public expense, during the whole\session. Many likewise were the conjectures of She treatment which this lion was to meet with from the hands of Signior Nicolini; some supposed that he was to subdue him in recitativo, as orpheus used to serve the Wild beasts in his time, {nd afterwards to knock him on the head; some fancied that the lion would not pretend to lay hi,s paws upon the hero, by reason of the receivesd opinion, that a lion will not hurt a virgin. oral, who pretended to have seen the opera in losaly, had informed their friends, that the lion was so act a part in High Dutch, and roar twice or throce to a thorough-bass, before he fell at the feet of Hydaspes. To clear up a matter that was so va, .ously reported, I have made it my business to examine whether this pretended lion is really the 'savage he appears to be, or only a counterfeit. But beforse I communicate my discoveries, I most acqua Ant the reader, that upon my walking behins, they scenes last winter, as i was thinking on something else, I accidentally justled against a animal that extremely startled me, and,

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soot intend to hurt any body.' I thanked him very kindly, and passed by him : and in a little time after saw him leap upon the stage, and act his part with very great applause. It has been observed by several, that the lion has changed his manner of acting twice or thrice since his first appearance; which will not seem strange, when I acquaint Iny reader that the lion has been changed upon the audience three several times. The first lion was a candle-snuffer, who, being a fellow of a testy choJeric temper, overdid his part, and would not suffer himself to be killed so easily as he ought to have done ; beside, it was observed of him that he grew more surly every time he came out of the lion; and having dropped some words in ordinary conversation, as if he had not fought his best, and that he suffered himself to be thrown upon his back in the scuffle, and that he would wrestle with Mr. Nico. lini for what he pleased, out of his lion's skin, it

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was thought proper to discard him: and it is verily believed to this day, that had he been brought upon the stage another time, he would certainly have done mischief. Besides, it was objected against the first lion, that he reared himself/so high upon his hinder paws, and walked in so effect a posture, that he looked more like an oldo man than a lion. is The second lion was a tailor by trade, who be.

a mild and peaceable man in his profession. If the former was too furious, this was too sheepish for his part; insomuch, that after a short modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first touch of Hydaspes, without grappling with him, and giving him an opportunity of showing his va. riety of Italian trips. It is said, indeed, that he once gave him a rip in his flesh-colour doublet; but this was only to make work for himself, in his private character of a tailor. I must not omit that it was this second lion who treated me with so much humanity behind the scenes. The acting lion at present is, as I am informed, a country gentleman, who does it for his diversion, but desires his name may be concealed. He says, very handsomely, in his own excuse, that he does not act for gain : that he indulges an innocent pleasure in it; and that it is better to pass away an evening in this manner than in gaming and drinking : but at the same time says, with a very agreeable raillery upon himself, that if his name should be known, the ill-natured world might call him, ‘the ass in the lion’s skin.” This gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture of the mild and the choleric, that he outdoes both his predecessors, and has drawn together greater audiences than have been known in the memory of man. I must not conclude my narrative, without taking notice of a groundless report that has been raised to a gentleman's disadvantage, of whom I must declare myself an admirer; namely that Signior Nicolini and the lion have been seen sitting peaceably by one another, and smoking a pipe together behind the scenes; by which their enemies would insinuate, that it is but a sham combat which they represent upon the stage; but upon inquiry I find, that if any such correspondence has passed between them, it was not till the combat was over, when the lion was to be looked upon as dead, according to the received rules of the drama. what is practised every day in Westminster-hall, where nothing is more usual than to see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing each other to pieces in the court, embracing one another as soon as they are out of it. I would not be thought, in any part of this relation, to reflect upon Signior Nicolini, who in o: ing this part only complies with the wretched taste of his audience : he knows very well, that the lion has many more admirers than himself; as they say of the famous equestrian statue on the Pont-Neuf at Paris, that more people go to see the horse than the king who sits upon it. On the contrary, it gives me a just indignation to see a person whose action gives new najesty to kings, resolution to heroes, and softness to sovers, thus sinking from the greatness of his behaviour, and degraded into the character of a London ‘Prentice. I have often wished that our tragedians would copy after this great master in action. Could they make the same use of their arms and legs, and inform their faces with as significant looks and passions, how glorious

would an English tragedy appear with that action

longed to the playhouse, and had the character bio

Besides this is,

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which is capable of giving dignity to the forced thoughts, cold cenceits, and unnatural expressions of an Italian opera! In the mean time, I have related this combat of the lion, to show what are a present the reigning entertainments of the poor part of Great Britain. Audiences have oftenbeen reproached by writers othe coarseness of their taste: but our present once does not seem to be the want of a good sit, but of common sense, unois0M, C.

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to reflecting this morning upon the spirit and or of the public diversions five and twenty “ago, and those of the present time ; and laoed to myself, that, though in those days they oted their morality, they kept up their good x, but that the beau-monde, at present, is only on more childish, not more innocent, than the ot. While I was in this train of thought, an Blow, whose face I have often seen at the use, gave me the following letter with these is: 'Sir, the Lion presents his humble service oddesired me to give this into your own o “From my den in the Haymarket, March 15. o, of read all your papers, and have stifled "mentagainst your reflections upon operas, that of this day, wherein you plainly insi. that Signior Nicolini and myself have a ondence more friendly than is consistent * valour of his character, or the fierceness * I desire you would, for your own sake, touch intimations for the future; and must a great piece of ill-nature in you, to show o an esteem for a foreigner, and to discou. Lon that is your own countryman. ke notice of your fable of the lion and out am so equally concerned in that matter, all not be offended to whichsoever of the the superiority is given. You have misreedime, in saying that I am a country genwho act only É. my diversion; whereas, || the same woods to range in which I 1 when I was a fox-hunter, I should not manhood for a maintenance; and assure ow as my circumstances are at present, I sch a man of honour, that I would scorn beast for bread, but a lion. “Yours, &c.”

to sooner ended this, than one of my landolten brought me in several others, with hich I shall make up my present paper, wing a tendency to the same subject, “gance of our present diversions.

*Covent-Garden, March 13.

seen for twenty years under-sexton of or St. Paul's, Covent-Garden, and have i tolling in to prayers six times in all to which office I have performed to my otion, until this fortnight last past, oth time I find my congregation take the

warning of my bell, morning and evening, to go to a puppet-show set forth by, one Powell under the Piazzas. By this means I have not only lost my two customers, whom I used to place for sixpence a piece, over against Mrs. Rachael Eyebright, but Mrs. Rachael herself is gonethither also. There now appear among us none but a few ordinary people, who come to church only to say their prayers, so that I have no work worth speaking of but on Sundays. I have placed my son at the Piazzas, to acquaint the ladies, that the bell rings for church, and that it stands on the other side of the Garden; but they only laugh at the child. “I desire you would lay this before all the world, that I may not be made such a tool for the future, and that Punchinello may choose hours less canonical. As things are now, Mr. Powell has a full congregation, while we have a very thin house; which if you can remedy, you will very much oblige, ‘SIR, yours, &c.

The following epistle I find is from the undertaker of the masquerade.

“sin, ‘I have observed the rules of my mask" so carefully (in not inquiring into persons,) that I cannot tell whether you were one of the company or not, last Tuesday; but if you were not, and still design to come, I desire you would, for your own entertainment, please to admonish, the town, that all persons indifferently are not fit for this sort of diversion. I could wish, sir, you could make them understand, that it is a kind of acting to go in masquerade, and a man should be able to say or do things proper for the dress in which he appears. We have now and then rakes in the habit of Roman senators, and grave politicians in the dress of rakes. The misfortune of the thing is, that people dress themselves in what they have a mind to be, and not what they are fit for. There is not a girl in the town, but let her have her will in going to a mask, and she shall dress as a shepherdess. But let me beg of them to read the Arcadia, or some other good romance, before they appear in any such character at my house. The last day we presented, every body was so rashly habited, that when they came to speak to each other, a nymph. with a crook had not a word to say but in the pert style of the pit bawdry ; and a man in the habit of a philosopher was speechless, till an occasion offered of expressing himself in the refuse of the tyring rooms. We had a judge that danced a minuet, with a quaker for his partner, while half a dozen harlequins stood by as spectators: a Turk drank me off two bottles of wine, and a Jew eat me up half a ham of bacon. If I can bring my design to bear, and make the maskers preserve their characters in my assemblies, I hope you will allow there is a foundation laid for more elegant and improving gallantries than any the town at present affords: and consequently that you will give your approbation to the endeavours of silt,

“Your most obedient humble servant.”

I am very glad the following epistle obliges me to mention Mr. Powell a second time in the same paper; for indeed there cannot be too great encouragement given to his skill in motions,f provided he is under proper restrictions.

“sist, • Tae opera at the Haymarket, and that under the

• see Nos. 8 and 101; Guard. Nos.143 and 154.

* See No. 11,

+ Puppet shows were formerly so called.

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little Piazza in Covent-Garden, being at present the two leading diversions of the town, and Mr. Powell professing in his advertisements to set up Whittington and his Cat against Rinaldo and Armida, my curiosity led me, the beginning of last week, to view both these performances, and make my observations upon them. * First, therefore, I cannot but observe, that Mr. Powell wisely forbearing to give his company a bill of fare beforehand, every scene is new and wnexpected; whereas it is certain, that the undertakers of the Haymarket, having raised too great an expectation in their printed opera, very much disappoint their audience on the stage. “The King of Jerusalem is obliged to come from the city on foot, instead of being drawn in a triumphant chariot by white horses, as my opera-book had promised me; and thus, while I expected Armida's dragons should rush forward towards Argentes, I found the hero was obliged to go to Armida, and hand her out of her coach. We had also but a very short allowance of thunder and lightning; though I cannot in this place omit doing justice to the boy who had the direction of the two painted dragons, and made them spit fire and smoke. He flashed out his rosin in such just proportions, and in such due time, that I could not forbear conceiving hopes of his being one day a most excellent player. I saw, indeed, but two things wanting to render his whole action complete, I mean the keeping his head a little lower, and hiding his candle. * I observe that Mr. Powell and the undertakers of the opera had both the same thought, and I think much about the same time, of introducing animals on their several stages, though indeed with very different success. The sparrows and chaf. finches at the Haymarket, fly as yet very irregularly over the stage; and instead of perching on the trees, and performing their parts, these young actors either get into the galleries, or put out the candles ; whereas Mr. Powell has so well disciplined his pig, that in the first scene he and Punch danced a minuet together. I am informed, however, that Mr. Powell resolves to excel his adversaries in their own way; and introduce larks in his inext opera of Susannah, or Innocence Betrayed, which will be exhibited next week, with a pair of new Elders. “The moral of Mr. Powell's drama is violated, 3 confess, by Punch's national reflections on the French, and king Harry's laying his leg upon the queen’s lap, in too ludicrous a mammer before so great an assembly. “As to the mechanism and scenery, everything, indeed, was uniform, and of a-piece, and the scenes were managed very dexterously; which calls on me to take notice that at the Haymarket, the undertakers forgetting to change the side-scenes, we were presented with a prospect of the ocean in the midst of a delightful grove; and though the gentlemen on the stage had very much contributed to the beauty of the grove, by walking up and down between the trees, I must own I was not a little astonished to see a well-dressed young fellow, in a full-bottomed wig, appear in the midst of the sea, and without any visible concern taking snuff. “I shall only observe one thing further, in which both dramas agree; which is, that by the squeak of their voices the heroes of each are eunuchs: and as the wit in both pieces is equal, I must prefer the performance of Mr. Powell, because it is in our own language. “I am, &c.”

Apweit'Tis extext. On the first of .ipril will be performed, at the playhouse in the Haymarket, an opera called “The Cruelty of .1treus.” N B. The scene, wherein Thyestes eats his own children, is to be performed by the famous. Mr. Psal

manazar," lately arrived from Formosa ; the whole supper being set to kettle-drums. STEELE. Ie.

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No 15. SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 1710-11.

Parpa leves captunt animos —-
- - OW iD. Ars Am. i. 159.
Light minds are pleased with trifles.

Whes I was in France, I used to gaze with great astonishment at the splendid equipages and party coloured habits of that fantastic nation. I was one day in particular contemplating a lady that sat in a coach adorned with gilded Cupids, and finely painted with the loves of Venus and Adonis. The coach was drawn by six milk-white horses, and loaded behind with the same number of powdered footmen. Just before the lady were a couple of beautiful pages, that were stuck among the har. ness, and by their gay dresses and smiling features, looked like the elder brothers of the little boys that were carved and painted in every corner of the coach. o The lady was the unfortunate Cleanthe, who afterwards gave an occasion to a pretty melan: , choly novel. She had for several years received the addresses of a gentleman, whom, after a long and intimate acquaintance, she forsook, upon the account of this shining equipage, which had been offered to her by one of great riches, but a crazy constitution. The circumstances in which I saw her were, it seems, the disguises only of a broken ... heart, and a kind of pageantry to cover distres; for in two months after she was carried to her grave with the same pomp and magnificence; be: ing sent thither partly by the loss of one lover, and partly by the possession of another. o I have often reflected with myself on this unac. countable humour in womankind, of being smitten with every thing that is showy and superficial; an on the numberless evils that befal the sex from this light fantastical disposition. I myself remember, a young lady that was very warmly solicited by: couple of importunate rivals, who, for severa months together, did all they could to recomment themselves, by complacency of behaviour an agreeableness of conversation. At length, when the "" competition was doubtful, and the lady undeter. mined in her choice, one of the young lovers ver; luckily bethought himself of adding a supernume o rary lace to his liveries, which had so good an efo fect that he married her the very week after. The usual conversation of ordinary women ver, much cherishes this natural yeahoo!. -: , with outside and appearance. Talk of a new maroo ried couple, and you immediately hear whethel they keep their coach and six, or eat in plate Mention the name of an absent lady, and it is to to one but you learn something of her gown an o petticoat. A ball is a great help to discourse, an a birth-day furnishes conversation for a twelvo on month after. A furbelow of precious stones,” of hat buttoned with a diamond, a brocade waistco"

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* * For an account of this singular character, see the Gentlem"

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or petticoat, are standing topics. In short, they consider only the drapery of the species, and never cataway a thought on those ornaments of the mind that make persons illustrious in themselves, and useful to others. When women are thus perpetually dazzling one another's imaginations, and filing their heads with nothing but colours, it is no wonder that they are more attentive to the superficial parts of life, than the solid and substantial blessings of it. A girl, who has been trained up in this kindofconversation, is in danger of every emhmdered coat that comes in her way. A pair of finged gloves may be her ruin. In a word, lace irdribbands, silver and gold galloons, with the like guering gewgaws, are so many lures to women of weak minds andlow educations, and, when artifitill displayed, areable to fetch down the most airy oquettefrom the wildest of her flightsandrambles. True Happiness is of a retired nature, and an tomy to pomp and noise : it arises, in the first Fict, from the enjoyment of one's self; and in to next, from the friendship and conversation of : sew select companions: it loves shade and solior, and naturally haunts groves and fountains, to and meadows; in short, it feels every thing wants within itself, and receives no addition from ouloudes of witnesses and spectators. On the mory, False Happiness loves to be in a crowd, oto draw the eyes of the world upon her. She “not receive any satisfaction from the applauses oth she gives herself, but from the admiration oth she raises in others. She flourishes in courts * Malaces, theatres and assemblies, and has no once but when she is looked upon. Aurelia, though a woman of great quality, desols in the privacy of a country life, and passes great part of her time in her own walks gardens. Her husband, who is her bosom o! and companion in her solitudes, has been ove with her ever since he knew her. They "ound with good sense, consummate virtue, a mutual esteem; and are a perpetual enterout to one another. Their family is under so sor an economy, in its hours of devotion and *', employment and diversion, that it looks * - little commonwealth within itself. They * So into company, that they may return with ocater delight to one another; and sometimes a town, not to enjoy it so properly, as to **ary of it, that they may renew in them*the relish of a country life. By this means ore happy in each other, beloved by their *D, adored by their servants, and are be* the envy, or rather the delight, of all that * 'lem. "different to this is the life of Fulvia' she *her husband as her steward, and looks scretion and good housewifery as little do**tues, unbecoming a woman of quality. oks life lost in her own family, and fancies out of the world when she is not in the * Playhouse or the drawing-room. She operpetual motion of body and restlessought, and is never easy in any one place, *thinks there is more company in another. o; of an opera the first night, would be osing to her than the death of a child. She oil the valuable part of her own sex, and oy woman of a prudent, modest, and reo, a poor-spirited, unpolished creature. tortification would it be to Fulvia, if she *her setting herself to view, is but ex**ls, and that she grows contemptible by officuous' - +

I cannot conclude my paper without observing, that Virgil has very finely touched upon this female passion for dress and show, in the character of Camilla; who, though she seems to have shaken off all the other weaknesses of her sex, is still described as a woman in this particular. The poet tells us that, after having made a great slaughter of the enemy, she unfortunately cast her eye on a Trojan, who wore an embroidered tunic, a beautiful coat of mail, with a mantle of the finest purple, “A. golden bow,” says he, “hung upon his shoulder : his garment was buckled with a golden clasp; and his head covered with an helmet of the same shining metal.” The Amazon immediately singled out this well-dressed warrior, being seized with a woman’s longing for the pretty trappings that he was adorned with :

*— Totumque incautaper agnen

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This heedless pursuit after these glittering trifles, the poet (by a nice-concealed moral) represents to have been the destruction of his female hero.

Addison. C.

No 16. MONDAY, MARCH 19, 1710-11.

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Quid verum atque decens, curo et rogo, et omnis in hoc sutu.
HOR. 1 Ep. i. 11.

what right, what true, what fit we justly call,
Let this be all my care-for this i.
FOPE.

I nave received a letter, desiring me to be very satirical upon the little muff that is now in fashion; another informs me of a pair of silver garters buckled below the knee, that have been lately seen at the Rainbow Coffee-house in Fleet-Street; a third sends me an heavy complaintagainst fringed gloves. To be brief, there is scarce an ornament of either sex which one or the other of my correspondents has not inveighed against with some bitterness, and recommended to my observation. I must, therefore, once for all, inform my readers, that it is not my intention to sink the dignity of this my paper with reflections upon red-heels or top-knows; but rather to enter into the passions of mankind, and correct those depraved sentiments that give birth to all those little, extravaganeies which ap. pear in their outward dress and behaviour. pish and fantastic ornament are only indications of vice, not criminal in themselves. Extinguish vanity in the mind, and you naturally retrench the little superfluities of garniture and equipage. The blossoms will fall of themselves when the root that nourished them is destroyed. I shall therefore, as I have said, apply my remedies to the first seeds and principles of an affected dress, without descending to the dressitself, though at the same time I must own, that I have thoughts of creating an officer under me, to be entitled, The Censor of Small Wares, and of allotting him one day in the week for the execution of such his office. An operator of this nature might act under me, with the same regard as a surgeon to a physician; the one might be employed in healing those blotches and tumours which break out in the body, while the other is sweetening the blood, and rectifying the constitution. To speak truly, the young people of both sexes are so wonderfully apt to shoot out into long swords or sweeping trains, bushy head-dresses, or full-bottomed periwigs, with several other encumbrances of dress, that they

FopSINCE our persons are not of our own making, so when they are such as appear defective or uncome- V. ly, it is, methinks, an honest and laudable fortitude to dare to be ugly; at least to keep ourselves from being abashed with a consciousness of imperfec- or tions which we cannot help, and in which there is . no guilt. I would not defend an haggard beau, , for passing away much time at a glass, and givin; , softness and languishing graces to deformity: all intend is, that we ought to be contented with our countenance and shape, so far, as never to give our so. selves an uneasy reflection on that subject. It is to the ordinary people, who are not accustomed to , make very proper remarks on any occasion, mat: . ter of great jest, if a man enters with a prominent pair of shoulders into an assembly, or is distin. guished by an expansion of mouth, or obliquity of aspect. . . It is o for a man that has any of these oddnesses about him, if he can be as merry upon himself, as others are apt to be upon that oo casion. When he can possess bimself with such a . cheerfulness, women and children, who are at first frighted at him, will afterwards be as much pleas

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stand in need of being pruned very frequently, lest they should be oppressed with ornaments, and overrun with the luxuriancy of their habits. I am much in doubt, whether I should give the preference to a quaker that is trimmed close, and almost cut to the quick, or to a beau that is loaden with such a redundance of excrescences. I must therefore desire my correspondents to let me know how they approve my project, and whether they think the erecting of such a petty censorship may not turn to the emolument of the public; for I would not do any thing of this nature rashly and without advice. There is another set of correspondents to whom I must address myself in the second place; I mean such as fill their letters with private scandal, and black accounts of particular persons and families. The world is so full of ill-nature, that I have lampoons sent me by people who cannot spell, and satires composed by those who scarce know how to write. By the last post in particular, I received a packet of scandal which is not legible; and have a whole bundle of letters in women's hands, that are full of blots and calumnies, insomuch, that when I see the name Caelia, Phillis, Pastora, or the like, at the bottom of a scrawl, I conclude of course that it brings me some account of a fallen virgin, a faithless wife, or an amorous widow. I must therefore inform these my correspondents, that it is not my design to be a publisher of intrigues and cuckoldoms, or to bring little infamous stories out of their present lurking holes into broad day-light. If I attack the vicious, I shall only set upon them in a body; and will not be provoked by the worst usage I can receive from others, to make an example of any particular criminal. In short, I have so much of a Drawcansir” in me, that I shall pass over a single foe to charge whole ar. mies. It is not Lais or Silenus, but the harlot and the drunkard, whom I shall endeavour to expose ; and shall consider the crime as it appears in a species, not as it is circumstanced in an individual. 1 *hink it was Caligula, who wished the whole city of Rome had but one neck, that he might behead them at a blow. I should do, out of humanity, what that emperor would have done in the cruelty of his temper, and aim every stroke at a collective body of offenders. At the same time I am very sensible that nothing spreads a paper like private • calumny and defamation j but as my speculations are not under this necessity, they are not exposed to this temptation. In the next place, I must apply myself to my party correspondents, who are continually teasing me to take notice of one another's proceedings. How often am I asked by both sides, if it is possible for me to be an unconcerned spectator of the rogueries that are committed by the party which is opposite to him that writes the letter? About two days since, I was reproached with an old Grecian law, that forbids any man to stand as neuter, or a looker-on in the divisions of his country. However, as I am very sensible my paper would lose its whole effect, should it run out into the outrages of a party, I shall take care to keep clear of every thing which looks that way. If I can any way assuage private inflammations, or allay public ferments, I shall apply myself to it, with my utinost endeavours; but will never let my heart reproach me with having done any thing towards increasing those feuds and animosities, that extinguish religion, deface government, and make a na. tion miserable.

What I have said under the three foregoing heads, will, I am afraid, very much retrench the number of my correspondents. I shall therefore acquaint my reader, that if he has started any hint which he is not able to pursue, if he has met with any surprising story which he does not know how to tell, if he has discovered any epidemical vice which has escaped my observation, or has heard of any uncommon virtue which he would desire to publish; in short, if he has any materials that can furnish out an innocent diversion, I shall promise him my best assistance in the working of them up for a public entertainment. This paper my reader will find was intended for an answer to a multitude of correspondents: but I hope he will pardon me if I single out one , of them in particular, who has made me so very . humble a request, that I cannot forbear complying . with it. * To THE SPECTATon. f March 15, 1710-11. “sin, ‘I AM at present so unfortunate, as to have nothing to do but to mind my own business : and therefore * beg of you that you will be pleased to put me into * some small post under you. F observe that you have appointed your printer and publisher to receive letters and advertisements for the city of London; and shall think myself very much honour. ed by you, if you will appoint me to take in letters and advertisements for the city of Westminster and the duchy of Lancaster. Though I cannot o promise to fill such an employment with sufficient of abilities, I will endeavour to make up with industry of and fidelity, what I want in parts and genius. of “I am, SIR, ‘Your most obedient servant, ‘olian Les Lillis.” ADDISON. (*

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• A sharacter in the comedy of The Rehearsal,

ed with him, As it is barbarous in others to rally

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