N° 38.mediately follow'd by a Reflexion or Conscience, which tells you whether that which was fo prefented is graceful or unbecoming. This Act of the Mind discovers it felf in the Gefture, by a proper Behaviour in those whose Consciousness goes no further than to direct them in the juft Progrefs of their present Thought or Action; but betrays an Interruption in every fecond Thought, when the Confcioufnels is employed in too fondly approving a Man's own Conceptions; which fort of Consciousness is what we call Affectation.

AS the Love of Praise is implanted in our Bofoms as a ftrong Incentive to worthy Actions, it is a very difficult Task to get above a Defire of it for things that fhould be wholly indifferent. Women, whose Hearts are fixed upon the Pleasure they have in the Consciousness that they are the Objects of Love and Admiration, are ever changing the Air of their Countenances, and altering the Attitude of their Bodies, to strike the Hearts of their Beholders with new Sense of their Beauty. The dreffing Part of our Sex, whose Minds are the fame with the fillier Part of the other, are exactly in the like uneafy Condition to be regarded for a welltied Cravat, an Hat cocked with an unusual Briskness, a very well-chofen Coat, or other Inftances of Merit, which they are impatient to fee unobserved.

BUT this apparent Affectation, arifing from an illgoverned Consciousness, is not fo much to be wondered at in fuch loofe and trivial Minds as thefe: But when you fee it reign in Characters of Worth and Distinction, it is what you cannot but lament, not without fome Indignation. It creeps into the Heart of the wife Man as well as that of the Coxcomb. When you fee a Man of Senfe look about for Applaufe, and discover an itching Inclination to be commended; lay Traps for a little Incense, even from those whofe Opinion he values in nothing but his own Favour; Who is fafe against this Weakness? or who knows whether he is guilty of it or not? The best way to get clear of fuch a light Fondnefs for Applaufe, is to take all poffible Care to throw off the Love of it on Occafions that are not in themselves laudable, but it appears, we hope for no Praise from them. Of this ture are all Graces in Mens Perfons, Drefs and bodily

Deport

Deportment; which will naturally be winning and attractive if we think not of them, but lose their Force in proportion to our Endeavour to make them fuch.

WHEN our Confcioufnefs turns upon the main Defign of Life, and our Thoughts are employed upon the chief Purpofe either in Bufinefs or Pleasure, we fhall never betray an Affectation, for we cannot be guilty of it: But when we give the Paffion for Praise an unbridled Liberty, our Pleasure in little Perfections robs us of what is due to us for great Virtues, and worthy Qualities. How many excellent Speeches and honeft Actions are loft, for want of being indifferent where we ought? Men are oppreffed with regard to their Way of speaking and acting, instead of having their Thoughts bent upon what they fhould do. or fay; and by. that means bury a Capacity for great things, by their fear of failing in indifferent things. This, perhaps, cannot be called Affectation; but it has fome Tincture. of it, at least so far, as that their Fear of erring in a thing of no Confequence, argues they would be too much pleafed in performing it.

IT is only from a thorough Difregard to himself in, fuch Particulars, that a Man can act with a laudable. Sufficiency: His Heart is fixed upon one Point in view; and he commits no Errors, because he thinks nothing ans Error but what deviates from that Intention.

THE wild Havock Affectation makes in that Part of the World which fhould be moft polite, is vifible; where-ever we turn our Eyes: It pushes Men not only into Impertinencies in Converfation, but also in their premeditated Speeches. At the Bar it torments the Bench, whofe Bufinefs it is to cut off all Superfluities in what is fpoken before it by the Practitioner; as well as feveral little Pieces of Injuftice which arife from the Law it felf. I have feen it make a Man run from the Purpose before a Judge, who was, when at the Bar himself, fo close and logical a Pleader, that with all the Pomp of Eloquence in his Power, he never spoke a Word too much.

IT might be born even here, but it often afcends. the Pulpit it felf; and the Declaimer, in that facred Place, is frequently fo impertinently witty, fpeaks of

the

the laft Day it felf with fo many quaint Phrafes, that there is no Man who understands Rallery, but muft refolve to fin no more: Nay, you may behold him fometimes in Prayer, for a proper Delivery of the great Truths he is to utter, humble himself with so very wellturned Phrase, and mention his own Unworthinefs in a Way fo very becoming, that the Air of the pretty Gentleman is preserved, under the Lowliness of the Preacher.

I fhall end this with a fhort letter I writ the other Day to a very witty Man, over-run with the Fault I am Speaking of.

6

Dear SIR,

Spent fome time with you the other Day, and muft take the Liberty of a Friend to tell you of "the unfufferable Affectation you are guilty of in all you fay and do. When I gave you an Hint of it, you " asked me whether a Man is to be cold to what his Friends think of him? No; but Praise is not to be the Entertainment of every Moment: He that hopes for it must be able to fufpend the Poffeffion * of it till proper Periods of Life, or Death it felf. If you would not rather be commended than be Praiseworthy, contemn little Merits; and allow no Man to be fo free with you, as to praife you to your Face. Your Vanity by this means will want its Food. At the fame time your Paffion for Efteem will be more fully gratified; Men will praise you in their Actions: Where you now receive one Compliment, you will ⚫ then receive twenty Civilities. Till then you will never have of either, further than,

SIR,

T

Your humble Servant.

Saturday,

N° 39. Saturday, April 14.

Multa fero, ut placem genus irritabile Vatum,

Cùm fcribo

Hor. Ep. 2. 1. 2. v. 102..

IMITATED.

Much do I fuffer, much, to keep in Peace

This jealous, wafpifh, wrong-head, rhiming Race. POPE.

Sa perfect Tragedy is the nobleft Production of human Nature, fo it is capable of giving the Mind one of the most delightful and most improving Entertainments. A virtuous Man (fays Seneca) ftruggling with Misfortunes, is fuch a Spectacle as Gods might look upon with Pleafure: and fuch a Pleasure it is which one. meets with in the Reprefentation of a well-written Tragedy. Diverfions of this kind wear out of our Thoughts every thing that is mean and little. They cherish and cultivate that Humanity which is the Ornament of our Nature. They foften Infolence, footh Affliction, and fubdue the Mind to the Difpenfations of Providence.

IT is no wonder therefore that in all the polite Nations of the World, this part of the Drama has met with publick Encouragement.

THE modern Tragedy excels that of Greece and Rome, in the Intricacy and Difpofition of the Fable; but, what a Christian Writer would be afhamed to own, falls infinitely short of it in the moral Part of the Performance.

THIS I may fhew more at large hereafter; and in the mean time, that I may contribute fomething towards the Improvement of the English Tragedy, I fhall take notice, in this and in other following Papers, of fome particular Parts in it that feem liable to Exception.

ARISTOTLE obferves, that the Iambick Verfe in the Greek Tongue was the most proper for Tragedy: Because at the fame time that it lifted up the Difcourfe from Profe, it was that which approached nearer to it than

any

any other kind of Verse. For, says he, we may observe that Men in ordinary Discourse very often speak Iambicks, without taking notice of it. We may make the fame Obfervation of our English Blank Verfe, which often enters into our common Difcourfe, though we do not attend to it, and is such a due Medium between Rhyme and Profe, that it feems wonderfully adapted to Tragedy. I am therefore very much offended when I fee a Play in Rhyme; which is as abfurd in English, as a Tragedy of Hexameters would have been in Greek or Latin. The Solecifm is, I think, ftill greater in those Plays that have fome Scenes in Rhyme and fome in Blank Verse, which are to be looked upon as two feveral Languages; or where we fee fome particular Similes dignified with Rhyme, at the fame time that every thing about them lies in Blank Verfe. I would not however debar the Poet from concluding his Tragedy, or, if he pleases every Act of it, with two or three Couplets, which may have the fame Effect as an Air in the Italian Opera after a long Recitativo, and give the Actor a graceful Exit. Befides that we fee a Diverfity of Numbers in fome Parts of the Old Tragedy, in order to hinder the Ear from being tired with the fame continued Modulation of Voice. For the fame Reason I do not dislike the Speeches in our English Tragedy that clofe with an Hemiftick, or half Verfe, notwithstanding the Perfon who fpeaks after it begins a new Verfe, without filling up the preceding one; nor with abrupt Pauses and Breakings-off in the middle of a Verfe, when they humour any Paffion that is expreffed by it.

SINCE I am upon this Subject, I muft obferve that our English Poets have fucceeded much better in the Stile, than in the Sentiments of their Tragedies. Their Language is very often Noble and Sonorous, but the Sense either very trifling or very common. On the contrary, in the Ancient Tragedies, and indeed in thofe of Corneille and Racine, tho' the Expreffions are very great, it is the Thought that bears them up and fwells them. For my own part, I prefer a noble Sentiment that is depreffed with homely Language, infinitely before a vulgar one that is blown up with all the Sound and Energy of Expreffion. Whether this Defect in our Tragedies may arise

from