gave me Reason to
flatter my self to think I was. Sir, this is certainly a great Fault,
and I assure you a very common one; therefore I hope you will think it
a fit Subject for some Part of a Spectator. Be pleased to acquaint us
how we must behave our selves towards this valetudinary Friendship,
subject to so many Heats and Colds, and you will oblige,
SIR, Your humble Servant,
Miranda.

SIR,

I cannot forbear acknowledging the Delight your late Spectators on
Saturdays have given me; for it is writ in the honest Spirit of
Criticism, and called to my Mind the following four Lines I had read
long since in a Prologue to a Play called Julius Caesar [1] which has
deserved a better Fate. The Verses are addressed to the little
Criticks.

Shew your small Talent, and let that suffice ye;
But grow not vain upon it, I advise ye.
For every Fop can find out Faults in Plays:
You'll ne'er arrive at Knowing when to praise.

Yours, D. G.

T.

[Footnote 1: By William Alexander, Earl of Stirling (who died in 1640);
one of his four Monarchicke Tragedies. He received a grant of Nova
Scotia to colonize, and was secretary of state for Scotland.]

* * * * *

No. 301. Thursday, February 14, 1712. Budgell.

Possint ut Juvenes visere fervidi
Multo non sine risu,
Dilapsam in cineres facem.

Hor.

We are generally so much pleased with any little Accomplishments, either
of Body or Mind, which have once made us remarkable in the World, that
we endeavour to perswade our selves it is not in the Power of Time to
rob us of them. We are eternally pursuing the same Methods which first
procured us the Applauses of Mankind. It is from this Notion that an
Author writes on, tho he is come to Dotage; without ever considering
that his Memory is impaired, and that he has lost that Life, and those
Spirits, which formerly raised his Fancy, and fired his Imagination. The
same Folly hinders a Man from submitting his Behaviour to his Age, and
makes Clodius, who was a celebrated Dancer at five and twenty, still
love to hobble in a Minuet, tho he is past Threescore. It is this, in a
Word, which fills the Town with elderly Fops, and superannuated Coquets.

Canidia, a Lady of this latter Species, passed by me Yesterday in her
Coach. Canidia was an haughty Beauty of the last Age, and was followed
by Crowds of Adorers