§17. On Good-breeding.

A friend of yours and mine has very justly defined good-breeding to be, "the refult of much good fenfe, fome goodnature, and a little felf-denial for the fake of others, and with a view to obtain the fame indulgence from them." Taking this for granted (as I think it can not be difputed) it is aftonishing to me, that any body, who has good fenfe and good-nature, can effentially fail in goodbreeding. As to the modes of it, indeed, they vary according to perfons, places, and circumftances; and are only to be acquired by obfervation and experience; but the fubftance of it is every where and eternally the fame. Good manners are, to particular focieties, what good morals are to fociety in general, their cement, and their fecurity. And as laws are enacted to enforce good morals, or at least to prevent the ill effects of bad ones; fo there are certain rules of civility, univerfally implied and received, to enforce good manners, and punish bad ones. And indeed there feems to me to be lefs difference both between the crimes and punishments, than at firft one would imagine. The immoral man, who invades another's property, is juftly hanged for it; and the ill-bred man, who, by his ill-manners, invades and difturbs the quiet and comforts of private life, is by common confent as justly banifhed fociety. Mutual complaifances, attentions, and facrifices of little conveniencies, are as natural an implied compact between civilized people, as protection and obedience are between kings and fubjects: whoever, in either cafe, violates that compact, juftly forfeits all advantages arifing from it. For my own part, I really think, that, next to the confcioufnefs of doing a good action, that of doing a civil one is the most pleafing and the epithet which I fhould covet the moft, next to that of Ariftides, would be that of well-bred. Thus much for goodbreeding in general; I will now confider fome of the various modes and degrees of it.

Very few, fcarcely any, are wanting in the refpect which they should fhew to those whom they acknowledge to be infinitely their fuperiors; fuch as crowned heads, princes, and public perfons of

diftinguished and eminent pofts. It is the manner of fhewing that refpect which is different. The man of fashion, and of the world, expreffes it in its fullest extent; but naturally, eafily, and without concern: whereas a man, who is not ufed to keep good company, expreffes it aukwardly; one fees that he is not used to it, and that it cofts him a great deal: but I never faw the worft-bred man liv

ing guilty of lolling, whiftling, fcratching his head, and fuch like indecencies, in company that he refpected. In fuch companies, therefore, the only point to be attended to is, to fhew that refpect which every body means to fhew, in an eafy, unembarraffed, and graceful man

ner.

This is what obfervation and experience muft teach you.

In mixed companies, whoever is admitted to make part of them, is for the time at least, fuppofed to be upon a footing of equality with the reft; and, confequently, as there is no one principal object of awe and refpect, people are apt to take a greater latitude in their behaviour, and to be lefs upon their guard; and fo they may, provided it be within certain bounds, which are upon no occafion to be tranfgreffed. But, upon thefe occafions, though no one is entitled to diftinguished marks of respect, every one claims, and very justly, every mark of civility and good-breeding. Ease is al lowed, but careleffnefs and negligence are ftrictly forbidden. If a man accofts you, and talks to you ever fo dully or frivolously, it is worfe than rudeness, it is brutality, to fhew him, by a manifest inattention to what he fays, that you think him a fool or a blockhead, and not worth hearing. It is much more fo with regard to women; who, of whatever rank they are, are entitled, in confideration of their fex, not only to an attentive, but an officious good-breeding from men. Their little wants, likings, dif likes, preferences, antipathies, and fancies, muft be officioufly attended to, and, if poffible, gueffed at and anticipated, by a well-bred man. You must never ufurp to yourself thofe conveniencies and gratifications which are of common right; fuch as the best places, the best dishes, &c. but on the contrary, always decline them yourself, and offer them to others; who, in their turns, wil offer

Tt 2

them

them to you: fo that, upon the whole, you will, in your turn, enjoy your fhare of the common right. It would be endlefs for me to enumerate all the particular inftances in which a well-bred man fhews his good-breeding in good company; and it would be injurious to you to fuppofe that your own good fenfe will not point them out to you; and then your own good-nature will recommend, and your felf-intereft enforce the practice.

There is a third fort of good-breeding, in which people are the most apt to fail, from a very mistaken notion that they cannot fail at all. I mean, with regard to one's most familiar friends and acquaintances, or those who really are our inferiors; and there, undoubtedly, a greater degree of eafe is not only allowed, but proper, and contributes much to the comforts of a private, focial life. But eafe and freedom have their bounds, which muft by no means be violated. A certain degree of negligence and careleffness becomes injurious and infulting, from the real or fuppofed inferiority of the perfons and that delightful liberty of converfation among a few friends, is foon destroyed, as liberty often has been, by being carried to licentioufnefs. But example explains things beft, and I will put a pretty strong cafe :-Suppofe you and me alone together; I believe you will allow that I have as good a right to unlimited freedom in your company, as efther you or I can poffibly have in any other; and I am apt to believe, too, that you would indulge me in that freedom, as far as any body would. But, notwithstanding this, do you imagine that I fhould think there was no bounds to that freedom? I affure you, I fhould not think fo; and I take myfelf to be as much tied down by a certain degree of good manners to you, as by other degrees of them to other people. 'The most familiar and intimate habitudes, connections, and friendships, require a degree of good-breeding, both to preferve and cement them. The beft of us have our bad fides; and it is as imprudent as it is ill-bred, to exhibit them. I thall not ufe ceremony with you; it would be misplaced between us: but I shall certainly obferve that degree of good-breeding with you, which is, in the first place, decent, and which,

I am fure, is abfolutely neceffary to make us like one another's company long. Lord Chesterfield.

§ 18. A Dialogue betwixt MERCURY, an English Duellift, and a North- American Savage.

Duellift. Mercury, Charon's boat is on the other fide of the water; allow me, before it returns, to have fome converfation with the North American Savage, whom you brought hither at the fame time as you conducted me to the fhades. I never faw one of that species before, and am curious to know what the ani mal is. He looks very grim.-Pray, Sir, what is your name? I understand you fpeak English.

Savage. Yes, I learned it in my childhood, having been bred up for fome years in the town of New-York: but before I was a man I returned to my countrymen, the valiant Mohawks; and being cheated by one of yours in the fale of fome rum, I never cared to have any thing to do with them afterwards. Yet I took up the hatchet for them with the rest of my tribe in the war against France, and was killed while I was out upon a fcalping party. But I died very well fatisfied: for my friends were victorious, and before I was hot I had fcalped seven men and five women and children. In a former war I had done ftill greater exploits. My name is The Bloody Bear: it was given me to exprefs my fiercenefs and valour.

Duellift. Bloody Bear, I refpect you, and am much your humble fervant. My name is Tom Pufhwell, very well known at Arthur's. I am a gentleman by my birth, and by profeffion a gamester, and man of honour. I have killed men in fair fighting, in honourable fingle combat, but do not understand cutting the throats of women and children.

Savage. Sir, that is our way of making war. Every nation has its own cuf. toms. But by the grimness of your countenance, and that hole in your breaft, I prefume you were killed, as I was myself, in fome fcalping party. How happened it that your enemy did not take off your fcalp?

Duellift. Sir, I was killed in a duel. A friend of mine had lent me fome money; after two or three years, being in

great

this? what can I do with this fellow? I have neither fword nor piftol; and his fhade feems to be twice as ftrong as mine.

Mercury. You must answer his quef. tions. It was your own defire to have a converfation with him. He is not well-bred; but he will tell you fome truths which you must hear in this place. It would have been well for you if you had heard them above. He afked you what you could do befides eating and dancing.

--

Duellift. I fung very agreeably. Savage. Let me hear you fing your death-fong, or the war-hoop. I challenge you to fing. The fellow is mute. Mercury, this is a liar. He tells us nothing but lies. out his tongue. Duellift. The lie given me!-and, alas I dare not refent it. Oh, what a difgrace to the family of the Pufhwells! this indeed is damnation.

Let me pull

Mercury. Here, Charon, take thefe two favages to your care. How far the barbarifm of the Mohawk will excufe his horrid acts, 1 leave Minos to judge; but the Englishman, what excufe can he plead? The custom of duelling? A bad excufe at the best! but in his cafe cannot avail. The fpirit that made him draw his fword in this combat against his friend is not that of honour; it is the fpirit of the furies, of Alecto herself. To her he must go, for fhe hath long dwelt in his merciless bofom.

Savage. If he is to be punished, turn him over to me. I understand the art of tormenting. Sirrah, I begin with this kick on your breech. Get you into the boat, or I'll give you anothen I am impatient to have you condemned.

Duellift. Oh, my honour, my honour, to what infamy art thou fallen! Dialogues of the Dead.

19. BAYES's Rules for Compofition. Smith. How, Sir, helps for wit! Bayes. Ay, Sir, that's my pofition: and I do here aver, that no man the fun e'er fhone upon, has parts fufficient to furnish out a flage, except it were by the help of thefe my rules.

Smith. What are thofe rules, I pray?

Bayes. Why, Sir, my first rule is the rule of tranfverfion, or regula duplex, changing verfe into profe, and profe into verfe, alternately, as you please. Smith. Well, but how is this done by rule, Sir?

Bayes. Why thus, Sir; nothing fo eafy, when underfood. I take a book in my hand, either at home or elfewhere (for that's all one); if there be any wit in't (as there is no book but has fome) I tranfverfe it; that is, if it be profe, put it into verfe (but that takes up fome time); and if it be verfe, put it into profe.

Smith. Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that putting verfe into profe, fhould be called tranfprofing.

Bayes. By my troth, Sir, it is a very good notion, and hereafter it fhall be fo.

Smith. Well, Sir, and what d'ye do with it then?

Bayes. Make it my own: 'tis fo changed, that no man can know it.My next rule is the rule of concord, by way of table-book. Pray obferve.

Smith. I hear you, Sir: go on.

Bayes. As thus: I come into a coffee. houfe, or fome other place where witty men refort; I make as if I minded nothing (do ye mark ?) but as foon as any one fpeaks-pop, I flap it down, and make that too my own.

Smith. But, Mr. Bayes, are you not fometimes in danger of their making you reftore by force, what you have gotten thus by art?

Bayes. No, Sir, the world's unmindful; they never take notice of these things.

Smith. But pray, Mr. Bayes, among all your other rules, have you no one rule for invention ?

Bayes. Yes, Sir, that's my third rule: that I have here in my pocket.

Smith. What rule can that be, I wonder?

Bayes. Why, Sir, when I have any thing to invent, I never trouble my head about it, as other men do, but prefently turn over my book of Drama common-places, and there I have, at one view, all that Perfius, Montaigne, Seneca's tragedies, Horace, Juvenal,

Claudian,

Claudian, Pliny, Plutarch's Lives, and the reft, have ever thought upon this fubject; and fo, in a trice, by leaving out a few words, or putting in others of my own-the bufinefs is done.

Smith. Indeed, Mr. Bayes, this is as fure and compendious a way of wit as ever I heard of.

Bayes. Sir, if you make the leaft fcruple of the efficacy of thefe my rules, do but come to the play-houfe, and you fhall judge of them by the effects.-But now, pray, Sir, may I ask how do you do when you write?

what do you

Smith. Faith, Sir, for the moft I am in pretty good health. Bayes. Ay, but I mean, do when you write? Smith. I take pen, ink, and paper, and fit down.

Bayes. Now I write ftanding; that's one thing and then another thing is with what do you prepare yourself? Smith. Prepare myfelf! What the devil does the fool mean?

Bayes. Why I'll tell you now what I do:If I am to write familiar things, as fonnets to Armida, and the like, I make use of stew'd prunes only; but when I have a grand defign in hand, I ever take phyfic, and let blood: for when you would have pure fwiftnefs of thought, and fiery flights of fancy, you must have a care of the penfive part. In fine-you must purge the belly.

Smith. By my troth, Sir, this is a most admirable receipt for writing. Bayes. Aye, 'tis my fecret; and, in good earnest, I think one of the best I

have.

Smith. In good faith, Sir, and that may very well be.

Bayes. May be, Sir! I'm fure on't. Experto crede Roberto. But I must give you this caution by the way-be fure you never take snuff when you write.

Smith. Why fo, Sir?

Bayes. Why, it fpoiled me once one of the fparkifheft plays in all England. But a friend of mine, at Grefham-college, has promifed to help me to fome fpirit of brains-and that shall do my bufinefs.

§ 20. The Art of Pleafing. The defire of being pleafed is univer

your power to confer upon others, by an air of infolent protection, or by a cold and comfortless manner, which ftifles them in their birth. Humanity inclines, religion requires, and our moral duties oblige us, as far as we are able, to relieve the diftreffes and miferies of our fellow-creatures: but this is not all; for a true heart-felt benevolence and tenderness will prompt us to contribute what we can to their ease, their amufement, and their pleasure, as far as innocently we may. Let us then not only scatter benefits, but even ftrew flowers for our fellow-travellers, in the rugged ways of this wretched world.

There are fome, and but too many in this country particularly, who, with out the leaft vifible taint of ill-nature or malevolence, feem to be totally indifferent, and do not fhew the leaft defire to please; as, on the other hand, they never defignedly offend. Whether this proceeds from a lazy, negligent, and liftlefs difpofition, from a gloomy and melancholic nature, from ill health, low fpirits, or from a fecret and fullen pride, arifing from the consciousness of their boafted liberty and independency, is hard to determine, confidering the various movements of the human heart, and the wonderful errors of the human head. But, be the caufe what it will, that neutrality, which is the effect of it, makes thefe people, as neutralities do, defpicable, and mere blanks in fociety. They would furely be roused from their indifference, if they would seriously confider the infinite utility of pleafing. The perfon who manifefts a conftant defire to please, places his, perTt4 haps,