appears through the whole in circumstances of exaggerated avarice; all the player's action, therefore, should conspire with the poet'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 the stage; but there are several imp prieties still continued, or lately come to fashion. As, for instance, spreadina carpet punctually at the beginning of death scene, in order to prevent our ad from spoiling their clothes: this imm ately apprises us of the tragedy to folle for laying the cloth is not a more indication of dinner, than laying the d pet of bloody work at Drury Lane. little pages, also, with unmeaning face that bear up the train of a weep princess, and our awkward lords in w ing, take off much from her distre Mutes of every kind divide our attentio and lessen our sensibility; but here it entirely ridiculous, as we see them serious employed in doing nothing. If we mu have dirty-shirted guards upon the th atres, they should be taught to keep the eyes fixed on the actors, and not roll the round upon the audience, as if they we ogling the boxes.

co

Beauty, methinks, seems a requisi qualification in an actress. This seen scrupulously observed elsewhere, and, i my part, I could wish to see it observ at home. I can never conceive an he dying for love of a lady totally destitu of beauty. I must think the part u natural; for I cannot bear to hear hi call that face angelic, where even pai cannot hide its wrinkles. I must demn him of stupidity; and the pers whom I can accuse for want of taste w seldom become the object of my affectic or admiration. But if this be a defe what must be the entire perversion scenical decorum, when, for instance, see an actress that might act the Wappi landlady without a bolster, pining in i character of Jane Shore, and, while wieldy with fat, endeavouring to convir the audience that she is dying w hunger!

For the future, then, I could wish t the parts of the young or beautiful w given to performers of suitable figur for I must own I could rather see the st: filled with agreeable objects, though t might sometimes bungle a little, than it crowded with withered or misshap figures, be their emphasis, as I think it

led, ever so proper. The first may have awkward appearance of new raised ops; but in viewing the last I cannot aid the mortification of fancying myself aced in an hospital of invalids.

THE STORY OF ALCANDER AND
SEPTIMIUS,

Translated from a Byzantine Historian. THINS, even long after the decline of e Roman empire, still continued the seat leming, politeness, and wisdom. The perors and generals, who in these er's of approaching ignorance still felt passion for science, from time to time d to its buildings, or increased its proserships. Theodoric, the Ostrogoth, was fe number: he repaired those schools | barbarity was suffering to fall into ey, and continued those pensions to men ming which avaricious governors had napolized to themselves.

this city, and about this period, Aller and Septimius were fellownts together the one the most we reasoner of all the Lyceum, the der the most eloquent speaker in the Atemic grove. Mutual admiration soon or an acquaintance, and a similitude position made them perfect friends. fortunes were nearly equal, their is the same, and they were natives of to most celebrated cities in the world; Alcander was of Athens, Septimius from Rome.

this mutual harmony they lived for time together, when Alcander, after g the first part of his youth in the ace of philosophy, thought at length ering into the busy world, and, as a revious to this, placed his affections Hypatia, a lady of exquisite beauty. ia showed no dislike to his addresses. day of their intended nuptials was the previous ceremonies were perel, and nothing now remained but xing conducted in triumph to the ment of the intended bridegroom. exultation in his own happiness, or ng unable to enjoy any satisfaction et making his friend Septimius a , prevailed upon him to introduce stress to his fellow-student, which he

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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; for 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 of Alcander on this occasion; it is enough to say, that the Athenians were at this time arrived at 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 confis

cated, himself stripped 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 that 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 to hopeless servitude, every morning waked him to a renewal of famine or toil, and every change of season served but to aggravate his unsheltered distress. Nothing but death or flight was left him, and almost certain death was the consequence of his attempting to fly. After some years of bondage, however, an opportunity of escaping offered; he embraced it with ardour, and travelling by night, and lodging in caverns by day, to shorten a long story, he at last arrived in Rome. The day of Alcander'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 he 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 ca to make this cave their retreat; but h pening to disagree about the division their plunder, one of them stabbed other to the heart, and left him welter in blood at the entrance. In these cumstances he was found next morni and this naturally induced a farther quiry. The alarm was spread, the c was examined, Alcander was found sle ing, and immediately apprehended accused of robbery and murder. 7 circumstances against him were stro and the wretchedness of his appearan confirmed suspicion. Misfortune and were now so long acquainted, that he last became regardless of life. He detest a world where he had found only ingra tude, falsehood, and cruelty, and w determined to make no defence. Th lowering with resolution, he was dragge bound with cords, before the tribunal Septimius. The proofs were positi against him, and he offered nothing in h own vindication; the judge, therefor was proceeding to doom him to a mo cruel and ignominious death, when, as illumined by a ray from Heaven, he di covered, through all his misery, the fe tures, though dim with sorrow, of his lor lost, loved Alcander. It is impossible describe his joy and his pain on this strang occasion; happy in once more seeing tì person he most loved on earth, distresse at finding him in such circumstances. Th agitated by contending passions, he fle from his tribunal, and, falling on the ne of his dear benefactor, burst into an ago of distress. The attention of the multitu was soon, however, divided by anoth object. The robber who had been real guilty was apprehended selling his plu der, and, struck with a panic, confess his crime.

He was brought bound to f same tribunal, and acquitted every oth person of any partnership in his gui Need the sequel be related? Alcand was acquitted, shared the friendship a the honours of his friend Septimius, liv afterwards in happiness and ease, and 1 it to be engraved on his tomb, that " circumstances are so desperate whi Providence may not relieve."

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE LATE MR. MAUPERTUIS.

MR. MAUPERTUIS, lately deceased, was the first to whom the English philosophers owed their being particularly admired by the rest of Europe. The romantic system of Des Cartes was adapted to the taste of the superficial and the indolent; the foreign universities had embraced it with ardour, and such are seldom convinced of their errors till all others give up such false opinions as untenable. The philosophy of Newton and the metaphysics of Locke appeared; but, like all new truths, they were at once received with opposition and contempt. The English, it is true, studied, understood, and, consequently, admired them: it was very different on the Continent. Fontenelle, who seemed to preside over the republic of letters, unwilling to acknowledge that all his life had been spent in erroneous philosophy, joined in the universal disapprobation, and the English philosophers seemed entirely unknown.

Maupertuis, however, made them his study: he thought he might oppose the physics of his country, and yet still be a good citizen; he defended our countrymen, wrote in their favour, and, at last, as he had truth on his side, carried his cause. Almost all the learning of the English, till very lately, was conveyed in the language of France. The writings of Maupertuis spread the reputation of his master, Newton, and by a happy fortune have united his fame with that of our human prodigy.

The first of his performances, openly in vindication of the Newtonian system, is his treatise entitled "Sur la Figure des Astres," if I remember right; a work at once expressive of a deep geometrical knowledge and the most happy manner of delivering abstruse science with ease. This met with violent opposition from a people, though fond of novelty in every thing else, yet, however, in matters of science, attached to ancient opinions with bigotry. As the old and obstinate fell away, the youth of France embraced the new opinions, and now seem more eager to defend Newton than even his country

en.

The oddity of character which grea men are sometimes remarkable for, Mar pertuis was not entirely free from. If w can believe Voltaire, he once attempte to castrate himself; but whether this be true or no, it is certain he was extremel whimsical. Though born to a large for tune, when employed in mathematical inquiries he disregarded his person to such a degree, and loved retirement so much, that he has been more than once put or the list of modest beggars by the curates of Paris, when he retired to some private quarter of the town, in order to enjoy his meditations without interruption. The character given of him by one of Voltaire's antagonists, if it can be depended upon, is much to his honour. "You," says this writer to Mr. Voltaire, were entertained by the King of Prussia as a buffoon, but Maupertuis as a philosopher." It is certain that the preference which this royal scholar gave to Maupertuis was the cause of Voltaire's disagreement with him. Voltaire could not bear to see a man whose talents he had no great opinion of preferred before him as president of the Royal Academy. His "Micromegas" was designed to ridicule Maupertuis; and, probably, it has brought more disgrace on the author than the subject. Whatever absurdities men of letters have indulged, and how fantastical soever the modes of science have been, their anger is still more subject to ridicule.

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No. II.-Saturday, October 13, 1759

ON DRESS.

FOREIGNERS observe that there are no ladies in the world more beautiful, or more ill dressed, than those of England. Our countrywomen have been compared to those pictures where the face is the work of a Raphael, but the draperies thrown out by some empty pretender, destitute of taste, and entirely unacquainted with design.

If I were a poet, I might observe on thi occasion, that so much beauty set off with all the advantages of dress would be to powerful an antagonist for the opposit sex; and, therefore, it was wisely ordere