with readiness and alacrity; so he denies what he does not care to engage in, in a manner that convinces you, that you ought not to have asked it.  His judgment is so good and unerring, and accompanied with so cheerful a spirit, that his conversation is a continual feast, at which he helps some, and is helped by others, in such a manner, that the equality of society is perfectly kept up, and every man obliges as much as he is obliged:  for it is the greatest and justest skill in a man of superior understanding, to know how to be on a level with his companions.  This sweet disposition runs through all the actions of Sophronius, and makes his company desired by women, without being envied by men.  Sophronius would be as just as he is, if there were no law; and would be as discreet as he is, if there were no such thing as calumny.

In imitation of this agreeable being, is made that animal we call a Pretty Fellow; who being just able to find out, that what makes Sophronius acceptable, is a natural behaviour; in order to the same reputation, makes his own an artificial one.  Jack Dimple is his perfect mimic, whereby he is of course the most unlike him of all men living.  Sophronius just now passed into the inner room directly forward:  Jack comes as fast after as he can for the right and left looking-glass, in which he had but just approved himself by a nod at each, and marched on.  He will meditate within for half an hour, till he thinks he is not careless enough in his air, and come back to the mirror to recollect his forgetfulness.

Will’s Coffee-house, May 27.

This night was acted the comedy, called, “The Fox";[249] but I wonder the modern writers do not use their interest in the house to suppress such representations.  A man that has been at this, will hardly like any other play during the season:  therefore I humbly move, that the writings, as well as dresses, of the last age, should give way to the present fashion.  We are come into a good method enough (if we were not interrupted in our mirth by such an apparition as a play of Jonson’s) to be entertained at more ease, both to the spectator and the writer, than in the days of old.  It is no difficulty to get hats, and swords, and wigs, and shoes, and everything else, from the shops in town, and make a man show himself by his habit, without more ado, to be a counsellor, a fop, a courtier, or a citizen, and not be obliged to make those characters talk in different dialects to be distinguished from each other.  This is certainly the surest and best way of writing:  but such a play as this makes a man for a month after overrun with criticism, and inquire, what every man on the stage said?  What had such a one to do to meddle with such a thing?  How came the other, who was bred after such a manner, to speak so like a man conversant among a different people?  These questions rob us of all our pleasure; for at this rate, no one sentence in a play should be spoken by any