THAT vanity which keeps every man important
in his own eyes, inclines me to believe that
neither you nor your readers have yet forgotten the
name of Eumathes, who sent you a few months ago
an account of his arrival at London, with a young
nobleman his pupil. I shall therefore continue my
narrative without preface or recapitulation.
My pupil, in a very short time, by his mother's
countenance and direction, accomplished himself
with all those qualifications which constitute puerile
politeness. He became in a few days a perfect master
of his hat, which with a careless nicety he could put
off or on, without any need to adjust it by a second
motion. This was not attained but by frequent
consultations with his dancing-master, and constant
practice before the glass, for he had some rustick
habits to overcome; but, what will not time and
industry perform? A fortnight more furnished him
with all the airs and forms of familiar and respectful
salutation, from the clap on the shoulder to the
humble bow; he practises the stare of strangeness,
and the smile of condescension, the solemnity of
promise, and the graciousness of encouragement, as
if he had been nursed at a levee; and pronounces,
with no less propriety than his father, the
monosyllables of coldness, and sonorous periods of
respectful profession.
He immediately lost the reserve and timidity
which solitude and study are apt to impress upon
the most courtly genius; was able to enter a crowded
room with airy civility; to meet the glances of a
hundred eyes without perturbation; and address those
whom he never saw before with ease and confidence.
In less than a month his mother declared her satisfaction
at his proficiency by a triumphant observation,
that she believed NOTHING WOULD MAKE HIM BLUSH.
The silence with which I was contented to hear
my pupil's praises, gave the lady reason to suspect
me not much delighted with his acquisitions; but
she attributed my discontent to the diminution of
my influence, and my fears of losing the patronage
of the family; and though she thinks favourably of
my learning and morals, she considers me as wholly
unacquainted with the customs of the polite part
of mankind; and therefore not qualified to form
the manners of a young nobleman, or communicate
the knowledge of the world. This knowledge she
comprises in the rules of visiting, the history of the
present hour, an early intelligence of the change of
fashions, an extensive acquaintance with the names
and faces of persons of rank, and a frequent appearance
in places of resort.
All this my pupil pursues with great application.
He is twice a day in the Mall, where he studies the
dress of every man splendid enough to attract his
notice, and never comes home without some observation
upon sleeves, button-holes, and embroidery.
At his return from the theatre, he can give an
account of the gallantries, glances, whispers, smiles,
sighs, flirts, and blushes of every box, so much to
his mother's satisfaction, that when I attempted to
resume my character, by inquiring his opinion of the
sentiments and diction of the tragedy, she at once
repressed my criticism, by telling me, "that she
hoped he did not go to lose his time in attending
to the creatures on the stage."
But his acuteness was most eminently signalized
at the masquerade, where he discovered his acquaintance
through their disguises, with such wonderful
facility, as has afforded the family an inexhaustible
topick of conversation. Every new visitor is
informed how one was detected by his gait, and
another by the swinging of his arms, a third by the
toss of his head, and another by his favourite phrase;
nor can you doubt but these performances receive
their just applause, and a genius thus hastening to
maturity is promoted by every art of cultivation.
Such have been his endeavours, and such his
assistances, that every trace of literature was soon
obliterated. He has changed his language with his dress,
and instead of endeavouring at purity or propriety,
has no other care than to catch the reigning phrase
and current exclamation, till, by copying whatever
is peculiar in the talk of all those whose birth or
fortune entitles them to imitation, he has collected every
fashionable barbarism of the present winter, and
speaks a dialect not to be understood among those
who form their style by poring upon authors.
To this copiousness of ideas, and felicity of
language, he has joined such eagerness to lead the
conversation, that he is celebrated among the ladies as
the prettiest gentleman that the age can boast of,
except that some who love to talk themselves, think
him too forward, and others lament that, with so
much wit and knowledge, he is not taller.
His mother listens to his observations with her
eyes sparkling and her heart beating, and can
scarcely contain, in the most numerous assemblies,
the expectations which she has formed for his future
eminence. Women, by whatever fate, always
judge absurdly of the intellects of boys. The vivacity
and confidence which attract female admiration,
are seldom produced in the early part of life,
but by ignorance at least, if not by stupidity; for
they proceed not from confidence of right, but
fearlessness of wrong. Whoever has a clear apprehension,
must have quick sensibility, and where he has
no sufficient reason to trust his own judgment, will
proceed with doubt and caution, because he perpetually
dreads the disgrace of errour. The pain of
miscarriage is naturally proportionate to the desire
of excellence; and, therefore, till men are hardened
by long familiarity with reproach, or have attained,
by frequent struggles, the art of suppressing their
emotions, diffidence is found the inseparable associate
of understanding.
But so little distrust has my pupil of his own
abilities, that he has for some time professed himself
a wit, and tortures his imagination on all occasions
for burlesque and jocularity. How he supports
a character which, perhaps, no man ever assumed
without repentance, may be easily conjectured.
Wit, you know, is the unexpected copulation of
ideas, the discovery of some occult relation between
images in appearance remote from each other; an
effusion of wit, therefore, presupposes an accumulation
of knowledge; a memory stored with notions,
which the imagination may cull out to compose
new assemblages. Whatever may be the native vigour
of the mind, she can never form many combinations
from few ideas, as many changes cannot be
rung upon a few bells. Accident may indeed
sometimes produce a lucky parallel or a striking contrast;
but these gifts of chance are not frequent, and he
that has nothing of his own, and yet condemns
himself to needless expenses, must live upon loans or
theft.
The indulgence which his youth has hitherto
obtained, and the respect which his rank secures, have
hitherto supplied the want of intellectual qualifications;
and he imagines that all admire who applaud,
and that all who laugh are pleased. He therefore
returns every day to the charge with increase of
courage, though not of strength, and practises all the
tricks by which wit is counterfeited. He lays trains
for a quibble; he contrives blunders for his footman;
he adapts old stories to present characters; he mistakes
the question, that he may return a smart answer;
he anticipates the argument, that he may
plausibly object; when he has nothing to reply, he
repeats the last words of his antagonist, then says,
"your humble servant," and concludes with a laugh
of triumph.
These mistakes I have honestly attempted to
correct; but what can be expected from reason
unsupported by fashion, splendour, or authority? He
hears me, indeed, or appears to hear me, but is soon
rescued from the lecture by more pleasing avocations;
and shows, diversions, and caresses, drive my
precepts from his remembrance.
He at last imagines himself qualified to enter the
world, and has met with adventures in his first sally,
which I shall, by your paper, communicate to the
publick.