their hands, which formerly were hid under the cushion; they now lisp their double meanings with so much grace, and talk over the raptures they bestow with such little reserve, that I am sometimes reminded of a custom among the entertainers in China, who think it a piece of necessary breeding to whet the appetites of their guests, by letting them smell dinner in the kitchen, before it is served up to table.

The veneration we have for many things, entirely proceeds from their being carefully concealed. Were the idolatrous Tartar permitted to lift the veil which keeps his idol from view, it might be a certain method to cure his future superstition; with what a noble spirit of freedom, therefore, must that writer be possessed, who bravely paints things as they are who lifts the veil of modesty who displays the most hidden recesses of the temple, and shows the erring people that the object of their vows is either, perhaps a mouse or a monkey!

However, though this figure be at present so much in fashion-though the professors of it are so much caressed by the great, those perfect judges of literary excellence, -yet it is confessed to be only a revival of what was once fashionable here before. There was a time, when, by this very manner of writing, the gentle Tom Durfey, as I read in English authors, acquired his great reputation, and became the favourite of a king.1

The works of this orginal genius, though they never travelled abroad to China, and scarce have reached posterity at home, were once found upon every fashionable toilet, and made the subject of polite, I mean very polite conversation. "Has your grace seen Mr. Durfey's last new thing, the Oylet Hole?—a most facetious piece!". Sure, my lord, all the world must have seen it; Durfey is certainly the most comical creature alive. It is impos

1 The author of Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy,' and some thirty plays, &c. He was long popular as a song writer and satirist, and was a great favourite of Charles the Second. Addison remembered to have seen this King, more than once, leaning on Tom's shoulder, and humming over a song with him (vide Guardian,' No. 67). D'Urfey also enjoyed some countenance in King William's and Queen Anne's court. Nevertheless he died poor, at a great age, Feb. 26, 1723.ED.

sible to read his things and live. Was there ever any thing so natural and pretty, as when the 'Squire and Bridget meet in the cellar? And then the difficulties they both find in broaching the beer barrel, are so arch and so ingenious! We have certainly nothing of this kind in the language." 1 In this manner they spoke then, and in this manner they speak now; for though the successor of Durfey does not excel him in wit, the world must confess he outdoes him in obscenity.

There are several very dull fellows, who, by a few mechanical helps, sometimes learn to become extremely brilliant and pleasing, with a little dexterity in the management of the eyebrows, fingers, and nose. By imitating a cat, a sow and pigs,-by a loud laugh, and a slap on the shoulder, the most ignorant are furnished out for conversation. But the writer finds it impossible to throw his winks, his shrugs, or his attitudes upon paper; he may borrow some assistance, indeed, by printing his face at the title page; but, without wit, to pass for a man of ingenuity, no other mechanical help but downright obscenity will suffice. By speaking of some peculiar sensations, we are always sure of exciting laughter, for the jest does not lie in the writer, but in the subject.

But Bawdy is often helped on by another figure, called Pertness; and few indeed are found to excel in one that are not possessed of the other. As in common conversation, the best way to make the audience laugh is by first laughing yourself; so, in writing, the properest manner is to show an attempt at humour, which will pass upon most for humour in reality. To effect this, readers must be treated with the most perfect familiarity in one page the author is to make them a low bow, and in the next to pull them by the nose; he must talk in riddles, and. then send them to bed in order to dream for the solution. He must speak of himself, and

:

1 "He [D'Urfey] makes all the merriment in our entertainments, and but for him there would be so miserable a dearth of catches that I fear they would, sans cérémonie, put either the parson or me upon making some for them. Any man of any quality, is heartily welcome to the best toping-table of our gentry, who can roundly hum out some fragments or rhapsodies of his works."-Pope to Henry Cromwell, April 10, 1710, Elwin's edit. of Pope, vol. vi., p. 92.—ED.

his chapters, and his manner, and what he would be at, and his own importance, and his mother's importance, with the most unpitying prolixity; now and then testifying his contempt for all but himself, smiling without a jest, and without wit professing vivacity.' Adieu.

LETTER LIV.

To the Same.

THE CHARACTER OF AN IMPORTANT TRIFLER, [BEAU TIBBS].2

THOUGH naturally pensive, yet I am fond of gay company, and take every opportunity of thus dismissing the mind from duty. From this motive, I am often found in the centre of a crowd; and wherever pleasure is to be sold, am always a purchaser. In those places, without being remarked by any, I join in whatever goes forward; work my passions into a similitude of frivolous earnestness, shout as they shout, and condemn as they happen to disapprove. A mind thus sunk for a while below its natural standard, is qualified for stronger flights, as those first retire who would spring forward with greater vigour.

Attracted by the serenity of the evening, my friend and I lately went to gaze upon the company in one of the public walks near the city. Here we sauntered together for some time, either praising the beauty of such as were handsome, or the dresses of such as had nothing else to recommend them. We had gone thus deliberately forward for some time, when, stopping on a sudden, my

1 The first and third editions read "possessing vivacity." Percy's edition has "professing." The Public Ledger version ends thus:"Ever smiling without a jest, and without wit possessed of vivacity, he may use what freedoms he thinks proper, provided he now and then throws out a hint of being too contemptible for resentment."-Ed.

2 This and the following Letter, upon Beau Tibbs and his family, were afterwards (1765) printed by Goldsmith in his Essays'-Nos. X. and XI. The dates in the Public Ledger were July 2 and Aug. 1, 1760. The differences of the three versions are slight; and are mostly noted below.-ED.

friend caught me by the elbow, and led me out of the public walk. I could perceive by the quickness of his pace, and by his frequently looking behind, that he was attempting to avoid somebody who followed: we now turned to the right, then to the left: as we went forward, he still went faster, but in vain: the person whom he attempted to escape hunted us through every doubling, and gained upon us each moment, so that at last we fairly stood still, resolving to face what we could not avoid.

Our pursuer soon came up, and joined us with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance. "My dear Drybone,' cries he, shaking my friend's hand, "where have you been hiding this half a century? Positively I had fancied you were gone down to cultivate matrimony and your estate in the country." During the reply, I had an opportunity of surveying the appearance of our new companion: his hat was pinched up with peculiar smartness; his looks were pale, thin, and sharp; round his neck he wore a broad black riband, and in his bosom a buckle studded with glass; his coat was trimmed with tarnished twist; he wore by his side a sword with a black hilt; and his stockings of silk, though newly washed, were grown yellow by long service. I was so much engaged with the peculiarity of his dress, that I attended only to the latter part of my friend's reply, in which he complimented Mr. Tibbs on the taste of his clothes, and the bloom in his countenance. "Pshaw, pshaw! Will," cried the figure, "no more of that, if you love me: you know I hate flattery,―on my soul I do; and yet, to be sure, an intimacy with the great will improve one's appearance, and a course of venison will fatten; and yet, faith, I despise the great as much as you do; but there are a great many damn'd honest fellows among them, and we must not quarrel with one half, because the other wants weeding. If they were all such as my Lord Mudler, one of the most good-natured creatures

3

In the Essays' version the Beau calls the Man in Black "Charles." Both the Public Ledger and the Citizen' have "Drybone." See the notes to Letters XIII., XXVI., XXVII., &c., on the supposed identity of the Man in Black with Goldsmith's father.-ED.

2 The Essays' version has "Charles."-ED.

3 The Essays' version reads "wants breeding."—ED.

that ever squeezed a lemon, I should myself be among the number of their admirers. I was yesterday to dine at the Duchess of Piccadilly's. My lord was there. Ned,' says he to me, 'Ned,' says he, 'I'll hold gold to silver I can. tell where you were poaching last night.' Poaching, my lord?' says I, 'faith you have missed already; for I staid at home, and let the girls poach for me. That's my way: I take a fine woman as some animals do their prey-stand still, and swoop, they fall into my mouth.'

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Ah, Tibbs, thou art a happy fellow," cried my companion, with looks of infinite pity; "I hope your fortune is as much improved as your understanding in such company." ."—"Improved," replied the other; "You shall know, but let it go no further a great secret-five hundred a-year to begin with.-My lord's word of honour for it. His lordship took me down in his own chariot yesterday, and we had a tête-a-tête dinner in the country, where we talked of nothing else."-"I fancy you forget, Sir," cried I, you told us but this moment of your dining yesterday in town."-" Did I say so?" replied he coolly; "to be sure if I said so, it was so-Dined in town; egad, now I do remember, I did dine in town; but I dined in the country too; for you must know, my boys, I eat two dinners. By the by, I am grown as nice as the devil in my eating. I'll tell you a pleasant affair about that:We were a select party of us to dine at Lady Grogram's-an affected piece, but let it go no farther a secret - Well, there happened to be no asafoetida in the sauce to a turkey, upon which,' says I, "I'll hold a thousand guineas, and say done first, that-But, dear Drybone, you are an honest creature; lend me half-a-crown for a minute or two, or so, just till. but hearkee, ask me for it the next time we meet, or it may be twenty to one but I forget to pay you."

1

When he left us, our conversation naturally turned upon so extraordinary a character. "His very dress," cries my friend, "is not less extraordinary than his conduct. If you meet him this day, you find him in rags; if the next, in embroidery. With those persons of distinction of whom

1.1 Omitted in the Essays' version.-ED.