Eventually, of course, he discovers the lodger is a dancing-master, and on asking to see the book he is studying Addison “could not make anything of it.” Whereupon the _maître_ explains that he had been reading a dance or two ... “which had been written by one who taught at an academy in France,” adding the interesting comment “that now articulate motions, as well as sounds, were expressed by proper characters; and that there is nothing so common as to communicate a dance by a letter.” Ultimately Addison begs him to practise in a ground-room, and returns to his own residence “meditating on the various occupations of rational creatures.” To return, however, to the later publication, _The Spectator_, in which Addison was also assisted by Steele and other writers of such varied character as Motteaux (debauchee, tea-merchant and translator of _Don Quixote_), Ambrose Philips (whom Swift nicknamed “Namby Pamby”), and Isaac Watts--the famous hymn-writer. In a comparatively early number a short note introduces in very learned fashion a quaint letter purporting to be from “some substantial tradesman about ‘Change,’” in which the writer grows querulous over the way in which his daughter (who “has for some time been under the tuition of Monsieur Rigadoon, a dancing-master in the city”), has been taught to behave at a ball he takes her to. With some of the dancing the old man is delighted, as he is with the art generally, but presently he has to complain: “But as the best institutions are liable to corruptions, so, sir, I must acquaint you that very great abuses are crept into this entertainment. I was amazed to see my girl handed by and handing young fellows with so much familiarity,” and he finds that fault especially with “a most impudent step called ‘Setting.’” There can be little doubt, however, that the good citizen was shocked by a dance that was probably quite innocuous, and only seemed to suggest a familiarity of behaviour unusual to his prim eyes, viewing a ball-room for the first time. Almost the whole of one issue of _The Spectator_ is taken up with a letter from John Weaver, to whom Steele gives a fine advertisement by not only printing the letter _in extenso_, but introducing it with sapient comments from himself. One point he makes somewhat recalls to mind the complaint of Arbeau’s young friend, the law-student Capriol, who had grown dusty over his studies. Speaking of dancing, Steele says: “I know a gentleman of great abilities, who bewailed the want of this part of his education to the end of a very honourable life. He observed that there was not occasion for the common use of _great_ talents; that they are but seldom in demand; and that these very great talents were often rendered useless to a man for want of small attainments.” One can hardly perhaps consider dancing to-day as a “small attainment,” however it may have been considered in the reign of Queen Anne.