THE BE E. No. I. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1759. instantly offered his assistance and advice. "You must know, Sir," says he, "that the republic of letters is at present divided into three classes. One writer, for instance, excels at a THERE is not, perhaps, a more whimsically plan or a title-page, another works away the dismal figure in nature, than a man of real book, and a third is a daub at an index. modesty, who assumes an air of impudence; Thus a magazine is not the result of any who, while his heart beats with anxiety, studies single man's industry, but goes through as many ease, and affects good humour. In this situa- hands as a new pin, before it is fit for the tion, however, a periodical writer often finds public. I fancy, Sir," continues he, "I can himself, upon his first attempt to address the provide an eminent hand, and upon moderate public in form. All his power of pleasing is termis, to draw up a promising plan to smooth damped by solicitude, and his cheerfulness dash-up our readers a little, and pay them as Colonel ed with apprehension. Impressed with the terrors of the tribunal, his natural humour turns to pertness, and for real wit he is obliged to substitute vivacity. His first publication draws a crowd; they part dissatisfied; and the author, never more to be indulged with a favourable hearing, is left to condemn the indelicacy of his own address, or their want of discernment. For my part, as I was never distinguished for address, and have often even blundered in making my bow, such bodings as these had like to have totally repressed my ambition. I was at a loss whether to give the public specious promises, or give none; whether to be merry or sad on this solemn occasion. If I should decline all merit, it was too probable the hasty reader might have taken me at my word. If, on the other hand, like labourers in the magazine trade, I had, with modest im pudence, humbly presumed to promise an epitome of all the good things that ever were said or written, this might have disgusted those readers I most desire to please. Had I been merry, I might have been censured as vastly low; and had I been sorrowful, I might have been left to mourn in solitude and silence; in short, whichever way I turned, nothing presented but prospects of terror, despair, chandlers' shops, and waste paper. In this debate between fear and ambition, my publisher, happening to arrive, interrupted for a while my anxiety. Perceiving my embarrassment about making my first appearance, he Charteris paid his seraglio, at the rate of three halfpence in hand, and three shillings more in promises." He was proceeding in his advice, which, however, I thought proper to decline, by assuring him, that as I intended to pursue no fixed method, so it was impossible to form any regular plan; determined never to be tedious in order to be logical, wherever pleasure presented, I was resolved to follow. Like the Bee, which I had taken for the title of my paper, I would rove from flower to flower, with seeming inattention, but concealed choice, expatiate over all the beauties of the season, and make my industry my amusement. This reply may also serve as an apology to the reader, who expects before he sits down, a bill of his future entertainment. It would be improper to pall his curiosity by lessening bis surprise, or anticipate any pleasure I am able to procure him, by saying what shall come next. Thus much, however, he may be assured of, that neither war nor scandal shall make any part of it. Homer finely imagines his deity turning away with horror from the prospect of a field of battle, and seeking tranquillity among a nation noted for peace and simplicity. Happy, could any effort of mine, but for a moment, repress the savage pleasure some men find in the daily accounts of human misery! How gladly would I lead them from scenes of blood and altercation, to prospects of innocence and ease, where every breeze breathes health, and every sound is but the echo of tranquillity! But whatever the merit of his intentions | battles nor scandal to me as fault, instead of may be, every writer is now convinced, that he acquiescing in their censure, I must beg leave must be chiefly indebted to good fortune for find. to tell them a story. ing readers willing to allow him any degree of re. A traveller in his way to Italy, happening to putation. It has been remarked, that almost every pass at the foot of the Alps, found himself at character, which has excited either attention or last in a country where the inhabitants had praise, has owed part of his success to merit, each a large excrescence depending from the and part to a happy concurrence of circumstan- chin, like the pouch of a monkey. This deforces in its favour. Had Caesar or Cromwell mity, as it was endemic, and the people little exchanged countries, the one might have been used to strangers, it had been the custom, time a sergeant and the other an exciseman. So it immemorial, to look upon as the greatest ornais with wit, which generally succeeds more ment of the human visage. Ladies grew from being happily addressed, than from its toasts from the size of their chins, and none native poignancy. A bon mot, for instance, were regarded as pretty fellows, but such whose that might be relished at White's may lose all faces were broadest at the bottom.-It was its flavour when delivered at the Cat and Bag- sunday, a country church was at hand, and our pipes in St Giles's. A jest, calculated to traveller was willing to perform the duties of spread at a gaming-table, may be received with the day. Upon his appearance at the churcha perfect neutrality of face, should it happen to door, the eyes of all were naturally fixed upon drop in at a mackerel-boat. We have all seen the stranger: but what was their amazement, dunces triumph in such companies, when men when they found that he actually wanted that of real humour were disregarded, by a general emblem of beauty, a pursed chin! This was a decombination in favour of stupidity. To drive fect that not a single creature had sufficient gravithe observation as far as it will go, should the ty (though they were noted for being grave) tc labours of a writer who designs his performan- withstand.-Stifled bursts of laughter, winks ces for readers of a more refined appetite, fall and whispers, circulated from visage to visage, into the hands of a devourer of compilations, and the prismatic figure of the stranger's face what can he expect but contempt and confu- was a fund of infinite gaiety; even the parson, sion? If his merits are to be determined by equally remarkable for his gravity and chin, judges, who estimate the value of a book from could hardly refrain joining in the good-huits bulk, or its frontispiece, every rival must mour. Our traveller could no longer patientacquire an easy superiority, who, with persua-ly continue an object for deformity to point sive eloquence, promises four extraordinary at. "Good folks," said he, "I perceive that pages of letter-press, or three beautiful prints, I am the unfortunate cause of all this good-hucuriously coloured from nature. mour. It is true, I may have faults in abundance: but I shall never be induced to reckon my want of a swelled face among the num ber,"* But to proceed: Though I cannot promise as much entertainment, or as much elegance, as others have done, yet the reader may be assured he shall have as much of both as I can. He shall, at least, find me alive while I study his entertainment; for I solemnly assure him, I was never yet possessed of the secret at once of writing and sleeping. During the course of this paper, therefore, all the wit and learning I have are heartily at his service; which if, after so candid a confession, he should, notwithstanding, still find intolerably dull, low, or sad stuff, this I protest is more than I know. I have a clear conscience, and am entirely out of the secret. ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH. LUMINE Acon dextro capta est Leonida sinis tro, Et poterat forma vincere uterque Deos. Parve puer, lumen quod habes concede puellæ; Sic tu cæcus Amor sic erit, illa Venus. ↑ REMARKS ON OUR THEATRES. Yet I would not have him upon the perusal of a single paper, pronounce me incorrigible; he may try a second; which as there is a studied difference in subject and style, may be more suited to his taste; if this also fails, I must refer him to a third, or even to a fourth, in case of extremity. If he should still con- OUR Theatres are now opened, and all Grubtinue to be refractory, and find me dull to the street is preparing its advice to the managers. last, I must inform him, with Bays in the re-We shall undoubtedly hear learned disquihearsal, that I think him a very odd kind of fel-sitions on the structure of one actor's legs, and low, and desire no more of his acquaintance. It is with such reflections as these I endeavour to fortify myself against the future contempt or neglect of some readers, and am prepared for their dislike by mutual recrimination. If such should impute dealing neither in another's brows. We shall be told much of * Dr Goldsmith inserted this Introduction, with a lished in the year 1765. few trifling alterations, in the volume of Essays he pub † An English Epigram on the same subject, is insert. ed in p. 116. enunciations, tones and attitudes; and shall have our lightest pleasures commented upon by didactic dulness. We shall, it is feared, be told that Garrick is a fine actor; but then as a manager, so avaricious! That Palmer is a most surprising genius, and Holland likely to do well in a particular cast of character. We shall have them giving to Shuter instructions to amuse us by rule, and deploring over the ruins of desolated majesty at Covent Garden. As I love to be advising too, for advice is easily given, and bears a show of wisdom and superiority, I must be permitted to offer a few observations upon our theatres and actors, without, on this trivial occasion, throwing my thoughts into the formality of method. There is something in the deportment of all our players, infinitely more stiff and formal than among the actors of other nations. Their action sits uneasy upon them; for as the English use very little gesture in ordinary conversation, our English-bred actors are obliged to supply stage gestures by their imagination alone. A French comedian finds proper mo. dels of action in every company, and in every coffee house he enters. An Englishman is obliged to take his models from the stage itself; he is obliged to imitate nature from an imitation of nature. I know of no set of men more likely to be improved by travelling than those of the theatrical profession. The inhabitants of the continent are less reserved than here; they may be seen through upon a first acquaintance; each are the proper models to draw from; they are at once striking and are found in great abundance. Though it would be inexcusable in a comedian to add any thing of his own to the poet's dialogue. Yet, as to action, he is entirely at liberty. By this he may show the fertility of bis genius, the poignancy of his humour, and the exactness of his judgment; we scarcely see a coxcomb or a fool in common life, that has not some peculiar oddity in his action. These peculiarities it is not in the power of words to represent, and depend solely upon the actor. They give a relish to the humour of the poet, and make the appearance of nature more illusive. The Italians it is true, mask some characters, and endeavour to preserve the peculiar humour by the make of the mask; but I have seen others still preserve a great fund of humour in the face without a mask; one actor, particularly by a squint which he threw into some characters of low life, assumed a look of infinite solidity. This, though upon reflection we might condemn, yet upon representation we could not avoid being pleased with. To illustrate what I have been saying by the plays which I have of late gone to see: in the Miser, which was played a few nights ago at Covent-Garden, Lovegold appears through the whole in circumstances of exaggerated avarice; all the player's action, therefore, should conspire with the Doet's design and represent him as an epitome of penury. The French comedian in this character, in the midst of one of his most violent | passions, while he appears in an ungovernable rage feels the demon of avarice still upon him, and stoops down to pick up a pin, which he quilts into the flap of his coat pocket with great assiduity. Two candles are lighted up for his wedding: he flies and turns one of them into the socket: it is however lighted up again; he then steals to it, and privately crams it into his pocket. The Mock-Doctor was lately played at the other house. Here again the comedian had an opportunity of heightening the ridicule by action. The French player sits in a chair with a high back, and then begins to show away by talking nonsense, which he would have thought Latin by those he knows do not understand a syllable of the matter. At last he grows enthusiastic, enjoys the admiration of the company, tosses his legs and arms about, and, in the midst of his raptures and vociferation, he and the chair fall back together.- All this appears dull enough in the recital, but the gravity of Cato could not stand it in the representation. In short there is hardly a character in comedy to which a player of any real humour might not add strokes of vivacity that could not fail of applause. But instead of this, we too often see our fine gentlemen do nothing through a whole part, but strut and open their snuff-box; our pretty fellows sit indecently with their legs across, and our clowns pull up their breeches. These, if once, or even twice repeated, might do well enough; but to see them served up in every scene, argues the actor almost as barren as the character he would expose. ; The magnificence of our theatres is far superior to any others in Europe, where plays only are acted. The great care our performers take in painting for a part, their exactness in all the minutiae of dress, and other little scenical proprieties, have been taken notice of by Ricoboni, a gentleman of Italy, who travelled Europe with no other design but to remark upon the stage! but there are several improprieties still continued, or lately come into fashion. As, for instance, spreading a carpet punctually at the beginning of the death scene, in order to prevent our actors from spoiling their clothes this immediately apprises us of the tragedy to follow; for laying the cloth is not a more sure indication of dinner, than laying the carpet of bloody work at Drury-lane. Our little pages also with unmeaning faces, that bear up the train of a weeping princess, and our awkward lords in waiting, take off much from her distress. Mutes of every kind divide our attention, and lessen our sensibility; but here it is entirely ridiculous as we see them seriously employed in doing nothing. If we must have dirty-shirted guards upon the theatres, they should be taught to keep their eyes fixed on the actors, and not roll them round upon the audience, as if they were ogling the boxes. Beauty, methinks, seems a requisite qualification in an actress. This seems scrupulously observed elsewhere, and for my part, I could wish to see it observed at home, I can never conceive a hero dying for love of a lady totally destitute of beauty. I must think, performed, and nothing now remained but her the part unnatural; for I cannot bear to hear being conducted in triumph to the apartment of him call that face angelic, where even paint the intended bridegroom. cannot hide its wrinkles. I must condemn him of stupidity, and the person whom I can accuse for want of taste, will seldom become the object of my affections or admiration. But if this be a defect, what must be the entire perversion of scenical decorum, when, for instance, we see an actress, that might act the Wapping landlady without a bolster, pining in the character of Jane Shore, and, while unwieldy with fat, endeavouring to convince the audience that she is dying with hunger! For the future, then, I could wish that the parts of the young or beautiful were given to performers of suitable figures; for I must own, I could rather see the stage filled with agreeable objects, though they may sometimes bungle a little, than see it crowded with withered or misshapen figures, be their emphasis, as I think it is called, ever so proper. The first may have the awkward appearance of new raised troops; but in viewing the last, I cannot avoid the mortification of fancying myself placed in an hospital of invalids. An exultation in his own happiness, or his being unable to enjoy any satisfaction without making his friend Septimius a partner, prevailed upon him to introduce his mistress to his fellow-student, which he did with all the gaiety of a man who found himself equally happy in friendship and love. But this was an interview fatal to the peace of both. Septimius no sooner saw her, but he was smit with an involuntary passion. He used every effort, but in vain, to suppress desires at once so imprudent and unjust. He retired to his apartment in inexpressible agony; and the emotions of his mind in a short time became so strong, that they brought on a fever, which the physicians judged incurable. During this illness, Alcander watched him with all the anxiety of fondness, and brought his mistress to join in those amiable offices of friendship. The sagacity of the physicians, by this means, soon discovered the cause of their patient's disorder; and Alcander, being apprised of their discovery, at length extorted a confession from the reluctant dying lover. It would but delay the narrative to describe the conflict between love and friendship in the breast THE STORY OF ALCANDER AND of Alcander on this occasion; it is enough to say, SEPTIMIUS. TRANSLATED FROM A BYZANTINE HISTORIAN. ATHENS, even long after the decline of the Roman empire, still continued the seat of learning, politeness, and wisdom. The emperors and generals, who, in these periods of approaching ignorance, still felt a passion for science, from time to time added to its buildings, or increased its professorships. Theodoric, the Ostrogoth, was of the number; he repaired those schools which barbarity was suffering to decay, and continued those pensions to men of learning, which avaricious governors had monopolized to themselves. In this city, and about this period, Alcander and Septimius were fellow-students together. The one the most subtile reasoner of all the Lyceum; the other the most eloquent speaker in the academic grove. Mutual admiration soon begot an acquaintance, and a similitude of disposition made them perfect friends. Their fortunes were nearly equal, their studies the same, and they were natives of the two most celebrated cities in the world; for Alcander was of Athens, Septimius came from Rome. In this mutual harmony they lived for some time together, when Alcander, after passing the first part of his youth in the indolence of philosophy, thought at length of entering into the busy world, and as a step previous to this, placed his affections on Hypatia, a lady of exquisite beauty. Hypatia showed no dislike to his addresses. The day of their intended nup. tials was fixed, the previous ceremonies were that the Athenians were at this time arrived to such refinement in morals, that every virtue was carried to excess. In short, forgetful of his own felicity, he gave up his intended bride, in all her charms to the young Roman. They were married privately by his connivance; and this unlooked-for change of fortune wrought as unexpected a change in the constitution of the now happy Septimius. In a few days he was perfectly recovered, and set out with his fair partner for Rome. Here, by an exertion of those talents of which he was so eminently possessed, he in a few years arrived at the highest dignities of the state, and was constituted the city judge, or prætor. Meanwhile, Alcander not only felt the pain of being separated from his friend and mistress, but a prosecution was also commenced against him by the relations of Hypatia, for his having basely given her up, as was suggested, for money. Neither his innocence of the crime laid to his charge, nor his eloquence in his own defence, was able to withstand the influence of a powerful party. He was cast and condemned to pay an enormous fine. Unable to raise so large a sum at the time appointed, his possessions were confiscated, himself stript of the habit of freedom, exposed in the market-place, and sold as a slave to the highest bidder. A merchant of Thrace becoming his purchaser, Alcander, with some other companions of distress, was carried into the region of desolation and sterility. His stated employment was to follow the herds of an imperious master; and his skill in hunting was all that was allowed him to supply a precarious subsistence. Condemned confessed his crime. He was brought bound to the same tribunal, and acquitted every other person of any partnership in his guilt. Need the sequel be related? Alcander was acquitted, shared the friendship and the honours of his friend Septimius, lived afterwards in happiness and ease, and left it to be engraved on his tomb, "That no circumstances are so desperate which Providence may not relieve.” to a hopeless servitude, every morning waked | impossible to describe his joy and his pain on him to a renewal of famine or toil, and every this strange occasion; happy in once seeing change of season served but to aggravate his un- the person he most loved on earth, distressed sheltered distress. Nothing but death or at finding him in such circumstances. Thus flight was left him, and almost certain death agitated by contending passions, he flew from was the consequence of his attempting to fly. his tribunal, and, falling on the neck of his After some years of bondage, however, an op- dear benefactor, burst into an agony of distress. portunity of escaping offered; he embraced it The attention of the multitude was soon howwith ardour, and travelling by night, and lodg- ever, divided by another object. The robber ing in caverns by day, to shorten a long story, who had been really guilty, was apprehended he at last arrived in Rome. The day of Al-selling his plunder, and, struck with a panic, cander's arrival Septimius sat in the forum administering justice; and hither our wanderer came, expecting to be instantly known, and publicly acknowledged. Here he stood the whole day among the crowd, watching the eyes of the judge, and expecting to be taken notice of; but so much was be altered by a long succession of hardships, that he passed entirely without notice; and, in the evening, when he was going up to the prætor's chair, he was brutally repulsed by the attending lictors. The attention of the poor is generally driven from one ungrateful object to another. Night coming on, he now found himself under a necessity of seeking a place to lie in, and yet knew not where to apply. All emaciated and in rags as he was, none of the citizens would harbour so much wretchedness, and sleeping in the streets might be attended with interruption or danger in short, he was obliged to take up his lodging in one of the tombs without the city, the usual retreat of guilt, poverty, or despair. In this mansion of horror, laying his head upon an inverted urn, he forgot his miseries for a while in sleep; and virtue found, on this flinty couch more ease than down can supply to the guilty. It was midnight when two robbers came to make this cave their retreat, but happening to disagree about the division of their plunder, one of them stabbed the other to the heart, and left him weltering in blood at the entrance. In these circumstances he was found next morning, and this naturally induced a further inquiry. The alarm was spread, the cave was examined, Alcander was found sleeping, and immediately apprehended and accused of robbery and murder. The circumstances against him were strong, and the wretchedness of his appearance confirmed suspicion. Misfortune and he were now so long acquainted, that he at last became regardless of life. He detested a world where he had found only ingratitude, falsehood, and cruelty, and was determined to make no defence. Thus lowering with resolution, he was dragged, bound with cords, before the tribunal of Septimius. The proofs were positive against him, and he offered nothing in his own vindication; the judge, therefore, was proceeding to doom him to a most cruel and ignominious death, when, as if illuminated by a ray from Heaven, he discovered, through all his misery, the features, though dim with sorrow, of his long lost, loved Alcander. It is MY DEAR WILL, A LETTER FROM A TRAVELLER. Cracow, Aug. 2, 1758. You see by the date of my letter that I am arrived in Poland. When will my wanderings be at an end? When will my restless disposition give me leave to enjoy the present hour? When at Lyons, I thought all happiness lay beyond the Alps; when in Italy I found myself still in want of something, and expected to leave solicitude behind me by going into Romelia; and now you find me turnning back, still expecting ease every where but where I am. It is now seven years since I saw the face of a single creature who cared a farthing whether I was dead or alive. Secluded from all the comforts of confidence, friendship, or society, I feel the solitude of a hermit, but not his ease. The prince of *** has taken me in his train, so that I am in no danger of starving for this bout. The prince's governor is a rude ignorant pedant, and his tutor a battered rake; thus, between two such characters, you may imagine he is finely instructed. I made some attempts to display all the little knowledge I had acquir ed by reading or observation; but I find myself regarded as an ignorant intruder. The truth is, I shall never be able to acquire a power of expressing myself with ease in any language but my own; and, out of my own country, the highest character I can ever acquire, is that of being a philosophic vagabond. When I consider myself in the country which was once so formidable in war, and spread terror and desolation over the whole Roman empire, I can hardly account for the present wretchedness and pusillanimity of its inhabitants; a prey to every invader; their cities plundered without an enemy; their magistrates seeking redress by complaints, and not by vigour. Every thing conspires to raise my compassion for their miseries, were not my thoughts too busi |