Skip to main content

Full text of "The Spectator;"

See other formats 


CORNELL 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 


GIFT  OF 
Florence  Andrus 


CORNELL  "'*'\fM,mY||ll|l'|MIH 


ll 

3j 


Date  Due 


PR 


" Almost  from  the  day 

Of  earliest  childhood  to  tlie  present  hour, 

******  Books,  DSAK  Books, 

Have  been,  and  are,  my  comforts :  Morn  and  night. 

Adversity,  prosperity,  at  home. 

Abroad,  health,  sickness, — good  or  ill  report, 

The  same  firm  friends ;  the  same  refreshment  rich. 

And  source  of  consolation  !" 

DODD 


"WILLIAM  ANDRUS. 


.pl    Cornell  University 
P    Library 


The  original  of  tiiis  book  is  in 
tine  Cornell  University  Library. 

There  are  no  known  copyright  restrictions  in 
the  United  States  on  the  use  of  the  text. 


http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924091319503 


THE 


SPECTATOR 


A  NEW  EDITION,  CAREFULLY  REVISED, 


IN    SIX   VOLUMES; 


PREFACES  HISTORICAL  AND  BIOGRAPHICAL, 

BY 

ALEXANDER  CHALMERS,  A.  M. 


VOL  V. 


NEW-YORK  : 
D.  APPLETON    &    COMPANY, 

200  BROADWAY. 
1853. 

El 
'  r,-i(Ai<v 


\  dCp'3 


1^5^ 


/^/  f^'O  9^  ^ 


DEDICATION* 

TO 

ME.  METHUEN.' 

SIR,  [1712.] 

It  is  with  great  pleasure  I  take  an  opportunity  of 
publishing  the  gratitude  I  owe  you  for  the  place 
you  allow  me  in  your  friendship  and  familiarity.  I 
will  not  acknowledge  to  you  that  I  have  often  had 
you  in  my  thoughts,  when  I  have  endeavoured  to 
draw,  in  some  parts  of  these  discourses,  the  charac- 
ter of  a  good-natured,  honest,  and  accomplished 
gentleman.       But    such  representations   give   my 

*  This  dedication  includes  Nos.  474-555. 

"  Afterwards  Sir  Paul  Methuen,  knight  of  the  Bath.  This  very  in- 
genious gentleman,  whilst  ambassador  at  the  court  of  Portugal,  concluded 
the  famous  commercial  treaty  which  bears  his  name :  and,  iu  the  same 
capacity,  at  the  court  of  Savoy,  exerted  himself  nobly  as  a  military  hero. 
On  his  return  he  was  successively  appointed  to  several  important  offices 
in  the  state ;  a  commissioner  of  the  admiralty,  Nov.  8,  1*709  ;  of  the  trea- 
sury, Oct.  13,  1714;  comptroller  of  the  household,  June  4,  1720;  treasurer 
of  the  household,  1725  ;  and  a  commissioner  for  inspecting  the  law,  Sept. 
16,  1732.  Ho  represented  the  borough  of  Brackley  in  the  several  parlia- 
ments which  met  in  1713,  1714,  1722,  1727,  and  1734;  and  died  April  11, 
1757,  aged  86. 


4  DEDICATION. 

reader  an  idea  of  a  person  blameless  only,  or  only 
laudable  for  such  perfections  as  extend  no  farther 
than  to  his  own  private  advantage  and  reputation. 

But  when  I  speak  of  you,  I  celebrate  one  who 
has  had  the  happiness  of  possessing  also  those  quali- 
ties which  make  a  man  useful  to  society,  and  of 
having  had  opportunities  of  exerting  them  in  the 
most  conspicuous  manner. 

The  great  part  you  had  as  British  ambassador, 
in  procuring  and  cultivating  the  advantageous  com- 
merce between  the  courts  of  England  and  Portugal, 
has  purchased  you  the  lasting  esteem  of  all  who  un- 
derstand the  interest  of  either  nation. 

Those  personal  excellences  which  are  overrated 
by  the  ordinary  world,  and  too  much  neglected  by 
wise  men,  you  have  applied  with  the  justest  skill 
and  judgment.  The  most  graceful  address  in  horse- 
manship, in  the  use  of  the  sword,  and  in  dancing, 
has  been  employed  by  you  as  lower  arts ;  and  as 
they  have  occasionally  served  to  cover  or  introduce 
the  talents  of  a  skilful  minister. 

But  your  abilities  have  not  appeared  only  in  one 
nation.  When  it  was  your  province  to  act  as  her 
majesty's  minister  at  the  court  of  Savoy,  at  that  time 
encamped,  you  accompanied  that  gallant  prince 
through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  his  fortune,  and  shared 
by  his  side  the  dangers  of  that  glorious  day  in  which 
he  recovered  his  capital.  As  far  as  it  regards  per- 
sonal qualities,  you  attained,  in  that  one  hour,  the 
highest  military  reputation.     The  behaviour  of  our 


DEDICATION.  5 

minister  in  the  action,  and  the  good  offices  done  the 
vanquished  in  the  name  of  the  queen  of  England, 
gave  both  the  conqueror  and  the  captive  the  most 
lively  examples  of  the  courage  and  generosity  of  the 
nation  he  represented. 

Your  friends  and  companions,  in  your  absence, 
frequently  talk  these  things  of  you  ;  and  you  can- 
not hide  from  us  (by  the  most  discreet  silence  in 
any  thing  which  regards  yourself),  that  the  frank 
entertainment  we  have  at  your  table,  your  easy  con- 
descension in  little  incidents  of  mirth  and  diversion, 
and  general  complacency  of  manners,  are  far  from 
being  the  greatest  obligations  we  have  to  you.  I 
do  assure  you,  there  is  not  one  of  your  friends  has 
a  greater  sense  of  your  merit  in  general,  and  of  the 
favours  you  every  day  do  us,  than, 

SIB, 

Your  most  obedient. 

And  most  humble  Servant, 

RICHARD  STEELE. 


THE  SPECTATOE. 


No.  406.     MONDAY,  June  16,  1712. 

Hfflc  stndia  adolescentiam  aliint,  senectatem  oblectant,  Becunda?  res  omant,  adversis  sola- 
tium et  perfugium  praebent ;  delectant  doml,  non  impedimit  foris ;  pernoctant  noblscnm 
percgrinantur,  rosticantur.  Tull. 

These  studies  nourish  youth ;  delight  old  age;  are  the  ornaments  of  prosperity,  the  solaoo- 
ment  and  tho  reftige  of  adversity;  they  are  delectable  at  home, and  not  burthensome 
abroad ;  they  gladden  ns  at  nights,  and  on  our  journeys,  and  in  the  country. 

The  following  letters  bear  a  pleasing  image  of  the 
joys  and  satisfactions  of  a  private  life.  The  first  is 
from  a  gentleman  to  a  friend,  for  whom  he  has  a 
very  great  respect,  and  to  whom  he  communicates 
the  satisfaction  he  takes  in  retirement :  the  other  is 
a  letter  to  me  occasioned  by  an  ode  written  by  my 
Lapland  lover  :*  this  correspondent  is  so  kind  as  to 
translate  another  of  Schefier's  songs  in  a  very  agreea- 
ble manner.  I  publish  them  together,  that  the  young 
and  old  may  find  something  in  the  same  paper  which 
may  be  suitable  to  their  respective  tastes  in  solitude  ; 
for  I  know  no  fault  in  the  description  of  ardent  de- 
sires, provided  they  are  honourable. 

'  DEAR   SIR, 

'  You  have  obliged  me  with  a  very  kind 
letter  ;  by  which  I  find  you  shift  the  scene  of  your 
life  from  the  town  to  the  country,  and  enjoy  that 

■*  See  No.  366,  and  note. 


8  THE  SPECTATOK.  [No.  406. 

mixt  State  which  wise  men  both  delight  in  and  are 
qualified  for.  Methinks  most  of  the  philosophers 
and  moralists  have  run  too  much  into  extremes,  in 
praising  entirely  either  solitude  or  public  life :  in  the 
former,  men  generally  grow  useless  by  too  much 
rest,  and  in  the  latter,  are  destroyed  by  too  much 
precipitation :  as  waters  lying  still,  putrefy  and  are 
good  for  nothing ;  and  running  violently  on,  do  but 
the  more  mischief  in  their  passage  to  others,  and  are 
swallowed  up  and  lost  the  sooner  themselves.  Those 
who,  like  you,  can  make  themselves  useful  to  all 
states,  should  be  like  gentle  streams,  that  not  only 
glide  through  lonely  vales  and  forests  amidst  the 
flocks  and  shepherds,  but  visit  populous  towns  in 
their  course,  and  are  at  once  of  ornament  and  ser- 
vice to  them.  But  there  is  another  sort  of  people 
who  seem  designed  for  solitude  ;  those  I  mean  who 
have  more  to  hide  than  to  show.  As  for  my  own 
part,  I  am  one  of  those  whom  Seneca  says,  "  Tarn 
umhratiles  sunt,  ut  putent  in  turhtdo  esse  quicqutd  in 
luce  esty  Some  men,  like  pictures,  are  fitter  for  a 
corner  than  a  full  light ;  and  I  believe  such  as  have 
a  natural  bent  to  solitude,  are  like  waters,  which 
may  be  forced  into  fountains,  and,  exalted  to  a  great 
height,  may  make  a  much  nobler  figure  and  a  much 
louder  noise,  but  after  all  run  more  smoothly,  equal- 
ly, and  plentifully,  in  their  own  natural  course  upon 
the  ground.  The  consideration  of  this,  would  make 
me  very  well  contented  with  the  possession  only  of 
that  quiet  which  Cowley  calls  the  companion  of  ob- 
scurity ;  but  whoever  has  the  muses  too  for  his  com- 
panions can  never  be  idle  enough  to  be  uneasy. 
Thus,  Sir,  you  see  I  would  flatter  myself  into  a  good 
opinion  of  my  own  way  of  living.  Plutarch  just  now 
told  me,  that  it  is  in  human  life  as  in  a  game  at  ta- 


No.  406.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  9 

bles,  one  may  -wisli  he  had  the  highest  cast,  but,  if 

his  chance  be  otherwise,  he  is  even  to  play  it  as  well 

as  he  can,  and  make  the  best  of  it. 

'  I  am,  Sir, 

'Your  most  obliged,  and  most  humble  servant.' 

'MR.    SPECTATOR, 

'  The  town  being  so  well  pleased  with  the 
fine  pictures  of  artless  love,  which  Nature  inspired 
the  Laplander  to  paint  in  the  ode  you  lately  print- 
ed ;"  we  were  in  hopes  that  the  ingenious  translator 
would  have  obliged  it  with  the  other  also  which 
Scheffer  has  given  us  ;  but  since  he  has  not,  a  much 
inferior  hand  has  ventured  to  send  you  this. 

'  It  is  a  custom  with  the  northern  lovers  to  divert 
themselves  with  a  song  whilst  they  journey  through 
the  fenny  moors  to  pay  a  visit  to  their  mistresses. 
This  is  addressed  by  the  lover  to  his  rein-deer,  which 
is  the  creature  that  in  that  country  supplies  the 
want  of  horses.  The  circumstances  which  succes- 
sively present  themselves  to  him  in  his  way,  are,  I 
believe  you  wHl  think,  naturally  interwoven.  The 
anxiety  of  absence,  the  gloominess  of  the  roads,  and 
his  resolution  of  frequenting  only  those,  since  those 
only  can  carry  him  to  the  object  of  his  desires ;  the 
dissatisfaction  he  expresses  even  at  the  greatest 
swiftness  with  which  he  is  carried ;  and  his  joyful 
surprise  at  an  unexpected  sight  of  his  mistress,  as 
she  is  bathing,  seem  beautifully  described  in  the 
original. 

'  If  those  pretty  images  of  rural  nature  are  lost 
in  the  imitation,  yet  possibly  you  may  think  fit  to 

'  See  Speci  No.  366,  and  No.  393,  and  note. 


10  THE   SPECTATOR.  C^O-  ^06. 

let  this  supply  the  place  of  a  long  letter,  when  want 
of  leisure,  or  indisposition  for  writing,  will  not  per- 
mit our  being  entertained  by  your  own  hand.  1 
propose  such  a  time,  because,  though  it  is  natural 
to  have  a  fondness  for  what  one  does  oneself,  yet  I 
assure  you  I  would  not  have  any  thing  of  mine  dis- 
place a  single  line  of  yours. 


"  Haste,  my  rein-deer !  and  let  us  nimbly  go 

Our  am'rous  journey  through  this  dreary  waste ; 
Haste,  my  rein-deer !  still,  still  thou  art  too  slow, 
Impetuous  love  demands  the  lightning's  haste. 


"  Around  us  far  the  rushy  moors  are  spread : 
Soon  wiU  the  sun  withdraw  his  cheerfui  ray : 
Darkling  and  tir'd  we  shall  the  marshes  tread. 
No  lay  unsung  to  cheat  the  tedious  way. 


"  The  wat'ry  length  of  these  unjoyous  moors 
Does  all  the  flow'ry  meadows'  pride  excel : 
Through  these  I  fly  to  her  my  soul  adores ; 
Ye  flow'ry  meadows,  empty  pride,  farewell. 


"  Each  moment  from  the  charmer  I'm  confin'd, 
My  breast  is  tortur'd  with  impatient  fires ; 
Fly,  my  rein-deer,  fly  swifter  than  the  wind. 
Thy  tardy  feet  wing  with  my  fierce  desires. 


"  Our  pleasing  toil  will  then  be  soon  o'erpaid. 
And  thou,  in  wonder  lost,  shalt  view  my  fair. 
Admire  each  feature  of  the  lovely  maid. 
Her  artless  charms,  her  bloom,  her  sprightly  air. 


"  But  lo !  with  graceful  motion  there  she  swims, 
Gently  removing  each  ambitious  wave ; 
The  crowding  waves  transported  clasp  her  limbs : 
When,  when,  oh  when  shall  I  such  freedoms  have ! 


No.  407.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  11 


"  In  vain  ye  envious  streams,  so  fast  you  flow, 
To  hide  her  from  a  lover's  ardent  gaze : 
From  every  touch  you  more  transparent  grow, 
And  aE  reveal'd,  the  beauteous  wanton  plays.' 


No.  407.    .TUESDAY,  June  17,  1712. 


abest  facnndis  gratia  dictis, 

Ora).  Met  xili.  12T. 
Eloquent  words  a  graceftil  maimer  want 

Most  foreign  writers  who  have  given  any  character 
of  the  English  nation,  whatever  vices  they  ascribe 
to  it,  allow,  in  general,  that  the  people  are  naturally 
modest.  It  proceeds  perhaps  from  this  our  national 
■  virtue,  that  our  orators  are  observed  to  make  use 
of  less  gesture  or  action  than  those  of  other  coun- 
tries. Our  preachers  stand  stock  still  in  the  pulpit, 
and  will  not  so  much  as  move  a  finger  to  set  off  the 
best  sermons  in  the  world.  We  meet  with  the  same 
speaking  statues  at  our  bars,  and  in  all  public  places 
of  debate.  Our  words  flow  from  us  in  a  smooth, 
continued  stream,  without  those  strainings  of  the 
voice,  motions  of  the  body,  and  majesty  of  the  hand, 
which  are  so  much  celebrated  in  the  orators  of 
Greece  and  Rome.  We  can  talk  of  life  and  death 
in  cold  blood,  and  keep  our  temper  in  a  discourse 
which  turns  upon  every  thing  that  is  dear  to  us. 
Though  our  zeal  breaks  out  in  the  finest  tropes  and 
figures,  it  is  not  able  to  stir  a  limb  about  us.  I 
have  heard  it  observed  more  than  once,  by  those 

'  By  Mr.  Steele.    Transcribed.    See  note  to  No.  324. 


12  THE   SPECTATOR.  C^"'  '^^'^• 

who  have  seen  Italy,  that  an  untravelled  English- 
man cannot  relish  all  the  beauties  of  Italian  pictures, 
because  the  postures  which  are  expressed  in  them 
are  often  such  as  are  peculiar  to  that  country.  One 
who  has  not  seen  an  Italian  in  the  pulpit,  will  not 
know  what  to  make  of  that  noble  gesture  in  Rapha- 
el's picture  of  St.  Paul  preaching  at  Athens,  where 
the  apostle  is  represented  as  lifting  up  both  his  arms, 
and  pouring  out  the  thunder  of  his  rhetoric  amidst 
an  audience  of  pagan  philosophers. 

It  is  certain,  that  proper  gestures  and  vehement 
exertions  of  the  voice  cannot  be  too  much  studied 
by  a  public  orator.     They  are  a  kind  of  comment  to 
what  he  utters,  and  enforce  every  thing  he  says, 
with  weak  hearers,  better  than  the  strongest  argu- 
ment he  can  make  use  of     They  keep  the  audience 
awake,  and  fix  their  attention  to  what  is  delivered 
to  them,  at  the  same  time  that  they  show  the  speak-* 
er  is  in  earnest,  and  affected  himself  with  what  he 
so  passionately  recommends    to    others.      Violent 
gesture  and  vociferation  naturally  shake  the  hearts 
of  the  ignorant,  and  fill  them  with  a  kind  of  reli- 
gious horror.     Nothing  is  more  frequent  than  to  see 
women  weep  and  tremble  at  the  sight  of  a  moving 
preacher,  though  he  is  placed  quite  out  of  their 
hearing ;  as  in  England,  we  very  frequently  see  peo- 
ple lulled  asleep  with  solid  and  elaborate  discourses 
of  piety,  who  would  be  warmed  and  transported 
out  of  themselves  by  the  bellowing  and  distortions 
of  enthusiasm. 

'If  nonsense,  when  accompanied  with  such  an 
emotion  of  voice  and  body,  has  such  an  influence 
on  men's  minds,  what  might  we  not  expect  from 
many  of  those  admirable  discourses  which  are  print- 
ed in  our  tongue,  were  they  delivered  with  a  be- 


No.  407-1;  THE   SPECTATOE.  13 

coming  feTvour,  and  with  the  most  agreeable  graces 
of  voice  and  gesture  ? 

We  are  told  that  the  great  Latin  orator  very 
much  impaired  his  health  by  this  laterum  contention 
the  vehemence  of  action,  with  which  he  used  to  de- 
liver hiniself  The  Greek  orator  Itvas  likewise  so 
very  famous  for  this  particular  in  rhetoric,  that  one 
of  his  antagonists,  whom  he  had  banished  from 
Athens,  reading  oyer  the  oration  which  had  procured 
his  banishment,  and  seeing  his  friends  admire  it, 
could  not  forbear  asking  them,  if  they  were  so  much 
affected  by  the  bare  reading  of  it,  how  much  more 
they  would  have  been  alarmed  had  they  heard  him 
actually  throwing  out  such  a  storm  of  eloquence  ? 

How  cold  and  dead  a  figure,  in  comparison  of 
these  two  great  men,  does  an  orator  often  make  at 
the  British  bar,  holding  up  his  head  with  the  most 
insipid  serenity,  and  stroking  the  sides  of  a  long  wig 
that,  reaches  down  to  his  middle !  The  truth  of  it  is, 
there  is  often  nothing  more  ridiculous  than  the  ges- 
tures of  an  English  speaker ;  you  see  some  of  them 
running  their  hands  into  their  pockets  as  far  as  ever 
they  can  thrust  them,  and  others,  looking  with  great 
attention  on  a  piece  of  paper  that  has  nothing  writ- 
ten on  it;  you  may  see  many  a  smart  rhetorician 
turning  his  hat  in  his  hands,  moulding  it  into  several 
different  cocks,  examining  sometimes  the  lining  of  it, 
and  sometimes  the  button,  during  the  whole  coutse 
of  his  harangue.  A  deaf  man  would  think  he  was 
cheapening  a  beaver,  when  perhaps  he  is  talking  of 
the  fate  of  the  British  nation.  I  remember,  when  I 
was  a  young  man,  and  used  to  frequent  Westminster- 
hall,  there  was  a  counsellor  who  never  pleaded  with- 
out a  piece  of  packthread  in  his  hand,  which  he  used 
to  twist  about  a  thumb  or  a  finger  all  the  while  he 


14  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  408. 

was  speaking:  the  wags  of  those  days  used  to  call  it 
'  the  thread  of  his  discourse,'  for  he  was  not  able  to 
utter  a  word  without  it.  One  of  his  clients,  who 
was  more  merry  than  wise,  stole  it  from  him  one  day 
in  the  midst  of  his  pleading :  but  he  had  better  have 
let  it  alone,  for  Mfe  lost  his  cause  by  his  jest. 

I  have  all  along  acknowledged  myself  to  be  a 
dumb  man,  and  therefore  may  be  thought  a  very  im- 
proper person  to  give  rules  for  oratory ;  but  I  be- 
lieve every  one  will  agree  with  me  in  this,  that  we 
ought  either  to  lay  aside  all  kinds  of  gesture  (which 
seems  to  be  very  suitable  to  the  genius  of  our  nation), 
or  at  least  to  make  use  of  such  only  as  are  graceful 
and  expressive.  0.^ 

Adv.  June  14.  Signer  cavaliero  Nicolini  Grimaldi  'will  take  his  leave 
of  England  in  the  opera  of  Antioehus.  Boxes  Ss. — Pit  5a. — ^First  Gallery 
2s.  6i — Upper  Gallery  Is.  6d. — ^Boxes  on  the  stage  10s.  6d. — Speot  in 
folio,  No.  403.     See  No.  405,  Jnne  14,  1712. 


No.  408.     WEDNESDAY,  June  18,  1712. 

Decet  affectns  animl  neqae  so  niminm  erigere,  nee  subjacere  serviliter. 

Tinx.  de  Finlbns. 
The  affections  of  the  heart  oaght  not  to  be  too  much  indulged,  nor  servilely  depressed. 

'me.  SPECTATOR, 

'  I  HAVE. always  been  a  very  great  lover  of 
your  speculations,  as  well  in  regard  to  the  subject, 
as  to  your  manner  of  treating  it.  Human  nature  I 
always  thought  the  most  useful  object  of  human  rea- 
son, and,  to  make  the  consideration  of  it  pleasant  and 
entertaining,  I  always  thought  the  best  employment 
of  human  wit ;  other  parts  of  philosophy  may  per- 

s  By  Addison,  dated,  it  is  supposed,  from  his  office.     See  notes  to  No. 
334,  and  No.  221,  on  Addison's  signatures,  C,  L,  I,  0. 


No.  408.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  15 

haps  make  us  wiser,  but  this  not  only  answers  that 
end,  but  makes  us  better  too.  Hence  it  was,  that 
the  oracle  pronounced  Socrates  the  wisest  of  all  men 
living,  because  he  judiciously  made  choice  of  human 
nature  for  the  object  of  his  thoughts;  an  inquiry  into 
which  as  much  exceeds  all  other  learning,  as  it  is  of 
more  consequence  to  adjust  the  true  nature  and  meas- 
ures of  right  and  wrong,  than  to  settle  the  distances 
of  the  planets,  and  compute  the  times  of  their  circum- 
volutions. 

'  One  good  effect  that  will  immediately  arise  from 
a  near  observation  of  human  nature  is,  that  we  shall 
cease  to  wonder  at  those  actions  which  men  are  used 
to  reckon  wholly  unaccountable ;  for  as  nothing  is 
produced  without  a  cause,  so,  by  observing  the  na- 
ture and  course  of  the  passions,  we  shall  be  able  to 
trace  every  action  from  its  first  conception  to  its 
death.  We  shall  no  more  admire  at  the  proceedings 
of  Catiline  or  Tiberius,  when  we  know  the  one  was 
actuated  by  a  cruel  jealousy,  the  other  by  a  furious 
ambition ;  for  the  actions  of  men  follow  their  pas- 
sions, as  naturally  as  light  does  heat,  or  as  any  other 
effect  flows  from  its  cause ;  reason  must  be  employed 
in  adjusting  the  passions,  but  they  must  ever  remain 
the  principles  of  action. 

'  The  strange  and  absurd  variety  that  is  so  appar- 
ent in  men's  actions,  shows  plainly  they  can  never 
proceed  immediately  from  reason ;  so  pure  a  foun- 
tain emits  no  such  troubled  waters.  They  must  ne- 
cessarily arise  from  the  passions,  which  are  to  the 
mind  as  the  winds  to  a  ship ;  they  only  can  move  it, 
and  they  too  often  destroy  it ;  if  fair  and  gentle,  they 
guide  it  into  the  harbour ;  if  contrary  and  furious, 
they  overset  it  in  the  waves.  In  the  same  manner 
is  the  mind  assisted  or  endangered  by  the  passions ; 


16  THE   SPECTATOR.  V^°-  ^''8- 

Reason  must  then  take  the  place  of  pilot,  and  can 
never  fail  of  securing  her  charge,  if  she  be  not  want- 
ing to  herself  The  strength  of  the  passions  will 
never  be  accepted  as  an  excuse  for  complying  with 
them;  they  were  designed  for  subjection;  and  if  a 
man  suffers  them  to  get  the  upper  hand,  he  then  be- 
trays the  liberty  of  his  own  soul. 

'  As  Nature  has  framed  the  several  species  of  be- 
ings as  it  were  in  a  chain,  so  man  seems  to  be  placed 
as  the  middle  link  between  angels  and  brutes.  Hence 
he  participates  both  of  flesh  and  spirit  by  an  admi- 
rable tie,  which  in  him  occasions  perpetual  war  of 
passions ;  and,  as  a  man  inclines  to  the  angelic  or 
brute  part  of  his  constitution,  he  is  then  denominated 
good  or  bad,  virtuous  or  wicked :  if  love,  mercy,  and 
good  nature  prevail,  they  speak  him  of  the  angel : 
if  hatred,  cruelty,  and  envy  predominate,  they  declare 
his  kindred  to  the  brute.  Hence  it  was  that  some  of 
the  ancients  imagined,  that  as  men,  in  this  life,  in- 
clined more  to  the  angel  or  the  brute,  so,  after  their 
death,  they  should  transmigrate  into  the  one  or  the 
other ;  and  it  would  be  no  unpleasant  notion  to  con- 
sider the  several  species  of  brutes,  into  which  we 
may  imagine  that  tyrants,  misers,  the  proud,  mali- 
cious, and  ill-natured,  might  be  changed. 

'  As  a  consequence  of  this  original,  all  passions 
ai-e  in  all  men,  but  all  appear  not  in  all :  constitution, 
education,  custom  of  the  country,  reason,  and  the 
like  causes,  may  improve  or  abate  the  strength  of 
them,  but  still  the  seeds  remain,  which  are  ever  ready 
to  sprout  forth  upon  the  least  encouragement.  I 
have  heard  a  story  of  a  good  religious  man,  who, 
having  been  bred  with  the  milk  of  a  goat,  was  very 
modest  in  public,  by  a  careful  reflection  he  made  on 
his  actions ;  but  he  frequently  had  an  hour  in  secret, 


No.  408.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  17 

wherein  he  had  his  frisks  and  capers ;  and  if  we  had 
an  opportunity  of  examining  the  retirement  of  the 
strictest  philosophers,  no  doubt  but  we  should  find 
perpetual  returns  of  those  passions  they  so  artfully 
conceal  from  the  public.  I  remember  Machiavel  ob- 
serves, that  every  state  should  entertain  a  perpetual 
jealousy  of  its  neighbours,  that  so  it  should  never  be 
unprovided  when  an  emergency  happens;  in  like 
manner,  should  the  reason  be  perpetually  on  its  guard 
against  the  passions,  and  never  suffer  them  to  carry 
on  any  design  that  may  be  destructive  of  its  security ; 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  it  must  be  careful,  that  it  don't 
so  far  break  their  strength,  as  to  render  them  con- 
temptible, and  consequently  itself  unguarded. 

'  The  understanding  being  of  itself  too  slow  and 
lazy  to  exert  itself  into  action,  it  is  necessary  it  should 
be  put  in  motion  by  the  gentle  gales  of  the  passions, 
which  may  preserve  it  from  stagnating  and  corrup- 
tion ;  for  they  are  necessary  to  the  health  of  the 
mind,  as  the  circulation  of  the  animal  spirits  is  to 
the  health  of  the  body ;  they  keep  it  in  life,  and 
strength,  and  vigour,  nor  is  it  possible  for  the  mind 
to  perform  its  offices  without  their  assistance.  These 
motions  are  given  us  with  our  being ;  they  are  little 
spirits  that  are  born  and  die  with  us ;  to  some  they 
are  mild,  easy,  and  gentle  ;  to  others,  wayward  and 
unruly,  yet  never  too  strong  for  the  reins  of  reason 
and  the  guidance  of  judgment. 

'  We  may  generally  observe  a  pretty  nice  propor- 
tion between  the  strength  of  reason  and  passion  ;  the 
greatest  geniuses  have  commonly  the  strongest  affec- 
tions, as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  weaker  understand- 
ings have  generally  the  weaker  passions ;  and  'tis 
fit  the  fury  of  the  coursers  should  not  be  too  great 
for  the  strength  of  the  charioteer.     Young  men, 

VOL.  V. 2 


18  THE   SPECTATOR.  f^"-  4°^- 

■whose  passioBS  are  not  a  little  unruly,  give  small 
hopes  of  their  ever  being  considerable ;  the  fire 
of  youth  will  of  course  abate,  and  is  a  fault,  if  it 
be  a  fault,  that  mends  every  day ;  but  surely,  un- 
less a  man  has  fire  in  his  youth,  he  can  hardly  have 
warmth  in  old  age.  "We  must  therefore  be  very 
cautious,  lest,  while  we  think  to  regulate  the  pas- 
sions, we  should  quite  extinguish  them,  which  is  put- 
ting out  the  light  of  the  soul ;  for  to  be  without  pas- 
sion, or  to  be  hurried  away  with  it,  makes  a  man 
equally  blind.  The  extraordinary  severity  used  in 
most  of  our  schools,  has  this  fatal  effect,  it  breaks 
the  spring  of  the  mind,  and  most  certainly  destroys 
more  good  geniuses,  than  it  can  possibly  improve. 
And  surely  it  is  a  mighty  mistake  that  the  passions 
should  be  so  entirely  subdued :  for  little  irregulari- 
ties are  sometimes  not  only  to  be  borne  with,  but  to 
be  cultivated  too,  since  they  are  frequently  attended 
with  the  greatest  perfections.  All  great  geniuses 
have  faults  mixed  with  their  virtues,  and  resemble 
the  flamingbush  which  has  thorns  amongst  lights. 

'  Since  therefore  the  passions  are  the  principles 
of  human  actions,  we  must  endeavour  to  manage 
them  so  as  to  retain  their  vigour,  yet  keep  them  un- 
der strict  command  ;  we  must  govern  them  rather 
like  free  subjects  than  slaves,  lest,  while  we  intend 
to  make  them  obedient,  they  become  abject,  and  un- 
fit for  those  great  purposes  to  which  they  were  de- 
signed. For  my  part,  I  must  confess,  I  could  never 
have  any  regard  to  that  sect  of  philosophers,  who  so 
much  insisted  upon  an  absolute  indifference  and  va- 
cancy from  all  passions ;  for  it  seems  to  me  a  thing 
very  inconsistent,  for  a  man  to  divest  himself  of  hu- 
manity, in  order  to  acquire  tranquillity  of  mind,  and 


No.  409.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  19 

to  eradicate  the  very  principles  of  action,  because 
it's  possible  they  may  produce  ill  effects. 

'  I  am,  Sib,  Your  affectionate  admirer, 
Z."  '  T.  B.' 


No.  409.    THUKSDAY,  June  19,  1712. 

— ^MuBsso  contiDgore  cuncta  lepore. 

LnoB.  i.  938. 
To  Gprace  each  subject  with  enlly'iiing  wit. 

Gtratian'  very  often  recommends  fine  taste  as  the 
utmost  perfection  of  an  accomplished  man. 

As  this  word  arises  very  often  in  conversation, 
I  shall  endeavour  to  give  some  account  of  it,  and  to 
lay  down  rules  how  we  may  know  whether  we  are 
possessed  of  it,  and  how  we  may  acquire  that  fine 
taste  of  writing  which  is  so  much  talked  of  among 
the  polite  world. 

Most  languages  make  use  of  this  metaphor,  to 
express  that  faculty  of  the  mind  which  distinguishes 
all  the  most  concealed  faults  and  nicest  perfections 
in  writing.  We  may  be  sure  this  metaphor  would 
not  have  been  so  general  in  all  tongues,  had  there 
not  been  a  very  great  conformity  between  that  men- 
tal taste  which  is  the  subject  of  this  paper,  and  that 
sensitive  taste  which  gives  us  a  relish  of  every  differ- 

k  As  the  same  train  of  thought  that  runs  through  this  paper  occars  not 
unfrequently  in  Pope's  works,  and  is  illustrated  very  happily  in  his  Essay 
on  Man,  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  Pope  might  be  the  writer  of 
the  papers  marked  with  the  signature  Z,  of  which  there  are  four  in  this 
volume.  See  Nos.  404, 425,  and  467.  See  also  in  confirmation  of  this  sup- 
position, Spect.  No.  655,  where  we  have  the  testimony  of  Steele,  that  Pope 
was  a  writer  in  The  Spectator. 

'  See  Spect.  Wo.  293,  note ;  and  Wo.  379.    See  also  Guard.  No.  24. 


20  THE   SPECTATOR.  1^°'  ^°^- 

ent  flavour  that  affects  the  palate.  Accordingly 
we  find,  there  are  as  many  degrees  of  refinement  in 
the  intellectual  faculty,  as  in  the  sense  which  is  mark- 
ed out  by  this  common  denomination. 

I  knew  a  person  who  possessed  the  one  in  so  great 
a  perfection,  that,  after  having  tasted  ten  different 
kinds  of  tea,  he  wdtld  distinguish,  without  seeing 
the  colour  of  it,  the  particular  sort  which  was  offered 
him ;  and  not  only  so,  but  any  two  sorts  of  them  that 
were  mixed  together  in  an  equal  proportion ;  nay, 
he  has  carried  the  experiment  so  far,  as,  upon  tast- 
ing the  composition  of  three  different  sorts,  to  name 
the  parcels  from  whence  the  three  several  ingre- 
dients were  taken.  A  man  of  fine  taste  in  writing 
will  discern,  after  the  same  manner,  not  only  the 
general  beauties  and  imperfections  of  an  author,  but 
discover  the  several  ways  of  thinking  and  expressing 
himself,  which  diversify  him  from  all  other  authors, 
with  the  several  foreign  infusions  of  thought  and  lan- 
guage, and  the  particular  authors  from  whom  they 
were  borrowed. 

After  having  thus  far  explained  what  is  generally 
meant  by  a  fine  taste  in  writing,  and  shown  the  pro- 
priety of  the  metaphor'  which  is  used  on  this  occa- 
sion, I  think  I  may  define  it  to  be  '  that  faculty  of 
the  soul,  which  discerns  the  beauties  of  an  author 
with  pleasure,  and  the  imperfections  with  dislike.' 
If  a  man  would  know  whether  he  is  possessed  of 
this  faculty,  I  would  have  him  read  over  the  cele- 
brated works  of  antiquity,  which  have  stood  the  test 
of  so  many  different  ages  and  countries,  or  those 
works  among  the  moderns  which  have  the  sanction 
of  the  politer  part  of  our  contemporaries.  If,  upon 
the  perusal  of  such  writings,  he  does  not  find  him- 
self delighted  in  an  extraordinary  manner,  or  if,  upon 


No-  409.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  21 

reading  the  admired  passages  in  such  authors,  he 
finds  a  coldness  and  indifference  in  his  thoughts,  he 
ought  to  conclude,  not  (as  is  too  usual  among  taste- 
less readers)  that  the  author  wants  those  perfections 
which  have  been  admired  in  him,  but  that  he  him- 
self wants  the  faculty  of  discovering  them. 

He  should,  in  the  second  place,  be  very  careful 
to  observe,  whether  he  tastes  the  distinguishing  per- 
fections, or,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  call  them  so,  the 
specific  qualities  of  the  author  whom  he  peruses ; 
whether  he  is  particularly  pleased  with  Livy  for  his 
manner  of  telling  a  story,  with  Sallust  for  his  enter- 
ing into  those  internal  principles  of  action  which 
arise  from  the  characters  and  manners  of  the  persons 
he  describes,  or  with  Tacitus  for  his  displaying  those 
outward  motives  of  safety  and  interest,  which  give 
birth  to  the  whole  series  of  transactions  which  he 
relates. 

He  may  likewise  consider,  how  differently  he  is 
affected  by  the  same  thought  which  presents  itself 
in  a  great  writer,  from  what  he  is  when  he  finds  it 
delivered  by  a  person  of  an  ordinary  genius ;  'for 
there  is  as  much  difference  in  apprehending  a 
thought  clothed  in  Cicero's  language,  and  that  of  a 
common  author,  as  in  seeing  an  object  by  the  light 
of  a  taper,  or  by  the  light  of  the  sun. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  lay  down  rules  for  the  ac- 
quirement of  such  a  taste  as  that  I  am  here  speaking 
of  The  faculty  must,  in  some  degree,  be  born  with 
us ;  and  it  very  often  happens,  that  those  who  have 
other  qualities  in  perfection  are  wholly  void  of  this. 
One  of  the  most  eminent  mathematicians  of  the  age 
has  assured  me,  that  the  greatest  pleasure  he  took 
in  reading  Virgil,  was  in  examining  ^neas  his  voy- 
age by  the  map;  as  I  question  not  but  many  a 


22  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  409. 

modern  compiler  of  history  would  be  delighted  with 
little  more  in  that  divine  author  than  the  bare  matters 
of  fact. 

But,  notwithstanding  this  faculty  must,  in  some 
measure,  be  born  with  us,  there  are  several  methods 
for  cultivating  and  improving  it,  and  without  which 
it  will  be  very  uncertain,  and  of  little  use  to  the  per- 
son that  possesses  it.  The  most  natural  method  for 
this  purpose  is  to  be  conversant  among  the  writings 
of  the  most  polite  authors.  A  man  who 'has  any  re- 
lish for  fine  writing,  either  discovers  new  beauties, 
or  receives  stronger  impressions,  from  the  masterly 
strokes  of  a  great  author  every  time  he  peruses  him ; 
besides  that  he  naturally  wears  himself  into  the  same 
manner  of  speaking  and  thinking. 

Conversation  with  men  of  a  polite  genius,  is  ano- 
ther method  for  improving  our  natural  taste.  It  is 
impossible  for  a  man  of  the  greatest  parts  to  consider 
any  thing  in  its  whole  extent,  and  in  all  its  variety 
of  lights.  Every  man,  besides  those  general  obser- 
vations which  are  to  be  made  upon  an  author,  forms 
several  reflections  that  are  peculiar  to  his  own  manner 
of  thinking ;  so  that  conversation  will  naturally  fur- 
nish us  with  hints  which  we  did  not  attend  to,  and 
make  us  enjoy  other  men's  parts  and  reflections  as 
well  as  our  own.  This  is  the  best  reason  I  can  give 
for  the  observation  which  several  have  made,  that 
men  of  great  genius  in  the  same  way  of  writing  sel- 
dom rise  up  singly,  but  at  certain  periods  of  time 
appear  together,  and  in  a  body ;  as  they  did  at 
Rome  in  the  reign  of  Augustus,  and  in  Greece  about 
the  age  of  Socrates.  I  cannot  think  that  Corneille, 
Racine,  Moliere,  Boileau,  la  Fontaine,  Bruyere, 
Bossu,  or  the  Daciers,  would  have  written  so  well  as 


No.  409.J  THE   SPECTATOR.  23 

they  liave  done,  had  they  not  been  friends  and  con- 
temporaries. 

It  is  likewise  necessary  for  a  man  who  would 
form  to  himself  a  finished  taste  of  good  writing,  to 
be  well  versed  in  the  works  of  the  best  critics,  both 
ancient  and  modern.  I  must  confess  that  I  could 
wish  there  were  authors  of  this  kind,  who  beside 
the  mechanical  rules,  which  a  man  of  very  little  taste 
may  discourse  upon,  would  enter  into  the  very  spirit 
and  soul  of  fine  writing,  and  show  us  the  several 
sources  of  that  pleasure  which  rises  in  the  mind  upon 
the  perusal  of  a  noble  work.  Thus,  although  in 
poetry  it  be  absolutely  necessary  that  the  unities  of 
time,  place,  and  action,  with  other  points  of  the  same 
nature,  should  be  thoroughly  explained  and  under- 
stood ;  there  is  still  something  more  essential  to  the 
art,  something  that  elevates  and  astonishes  the  fancy, 
and  gives  a  greatness  of  mind  to  the  reader,  which 
few  of  the  critics  besides  Longinus  have  considered. 
Our  general  taste  in  England  is  for  epigram, 
turns  of  wit,  and  forced  conceits,  which  have  no 
manner  of  influence,  either  for  the  bettering  or  en- 
larging the  mind  of  him  who  reads  them,  and  have 
been  carefully  avoided  by  the  greatest  writers,  both 
among  the  ancients  and  moderns.  I  have  endea- 
voured, in  several  of  my  speculations,  to  banish  this 
gothic  taste,  which  has  taken  possession  among  us. 
I  entertained  the  town,  for  a  week  together,  with  an 
essay  upon  wit,''  in  which  I  endeavoured  to  detect 
several  of  those  false  kinds  which  have  been  admired 
in  the  different  ages  of  the  world,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  show  wherein  the  nature  of  true  wit  consists. 
I  afterwards  gave  an  instance  of  the  great  force 

k  See  Ifos.  58,  61,  62,  &c. 


24  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  410. 

which  lies  in  a  natural  simplicity  of  thought  to  affect 
the  mind  of  the  reader,  from  such  vulgar  pieces  as 
have  little  else  besides  this  single  qualification  to 
recommend  them.  I  have  likewise  examined  the 
works  of  the  greatest  poet  which  our  nation,  or  per- 
haps any  other,  has  produced,  and  particularized 
most  of  those  rational  and  manly  beauties  which 
give  a  value  to  that  divine  work.'  I  shall  next 
Saturday  enter  upon  an  essay  on  '  The  Pleasures  of 
the  Imagination,'  which,  though  it  shall  consider  the 
subject  at  large,  will  perhaps  suggest  to  the  reader 
what  it  is  that  gives  a  beauty  to  many  passages  of 
the  finest  writers  both  in  prose  and  verse.  As  an 
undertaking  of  this  nature  is  entirely  new,  I  question 
not  but  it  will  be  received  with  candour. 


No.  410.    FRIDAY,  June  20, 1712. 


—  Dum  foris  sunt,  nihil  Tidetur  mundius, 

Nee  magis  compositam  quidquam,  nee  magis  elegans : 

QujB,  cum  amatore  suo  cilm  coenant,  liguriunt 

Harum  Tidere  inglnviem,  sordes,  inopiam : 

Qu^m  inbonestffi  solae  eint  domi,  atque  avidaa  cibl, 

Quo  pacto  ex  jure  hesterno  panem  atrum  vorent : 

N6sse  omnia  heec,  salus  est  adolescentnlia 

Tee,  Eun.  Act  v.  Se.  4 

"When  they  are  abroad,  nothing  so  clean,  and  nicely  dressed ;  and  when  at  supper  with  a 
gallant,  they  do  but  piddle,  and  pick  the  choicest  bits:  but  to  see  their  nastineas  and 
poverty  at  home,  their  gluttony,  and  how  they  devour  black  crusts  dipped  in  yesterday's 
broth,  is  a  perfect  antidote  against  wenching. 

Will  Honeycomb,  who  disguises  his  present  decay 
by  visiting  the  wenches  of  the  town  only  by  way  of 

'  See  the  critique  upon  Milton,  No.  267,  and  the  subsequent  Saturday 
papers. 

•"  By  Addison,  dated,  it  is  thought,  from  his  office,  See  No.  334,  final 
note. 


No.  410.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  25 

humour,  told  us,  that  the  last  rainy  night  he,  with 
sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  was  driven  into  the  Temple 
cloister,  whither  had  escaped  also  a  lady  most  exact- 
ly dressed  from  head  to  foot.  Will  made  no  scruple 
to  acquaint  us,  that  she  saluted  him  very  familiarly 
by  his  name,  and,  turning  immediately  to  the  knight, 
she  said,  she  supposed  that  was  his  good  friend  sir 
Roger  de  Coverley :  upon  which  nothing  less  could 
follow  than  sir  Roger's  approach  to  salutation,  with 
'  Madam,  the  same,  at  your  service.'  She  was  dressed 
in  a  black  tabby  mantua  and  petticoat,  without  ri- 
bands, her  linen  striped  muslin,  and  in  the  whole  an 
agreeable  second  mourning ;  decent  dresses  being 
often  affected  by  the  creatures  of  the  town,  at  once 
consulting  cheapness  and  the  pretension  to  modesty. 
She  went  on  with  a  familiar  easy  air,  '  Your  friend, 
Mr.  Honeycomb,  is  a  little  surprised  to  see  a  woman 
here  alone  and  unattended ;  but  I  dismissed  my 
coach  at  the  gate,  and  tripped  it  down  to  my  coun- 
sel's chambers ;  for  lawyers'  fees  take  up  too  much 
of  a  small  disputed  jointure  to  admit  any  other  ex- 
penses but  mere  necessaries.'  Mr.  Honeycomb 
begged  they  might  have  the  honour  of  setting  her 
down,  for  sir  Roger's  servant  was  gone  to  call  a 
coach.  In  the  interim  the  footman  returned,  with 
no  coach  to  be  had ;  and  there  appeared  nothing  to 
be  done  but  trusting  herself  with  Mr.  Honeycomb 
and  his  friend,  to  wait  at  the  tavern  at  the  gate  for 
a  coach,  or  to  be  subjected  to  all  the  impertinence 
she  must  meet  with  in  that  public  place.  Mr. 
Honeycomb,  being  a  man  of  honour,  determined 
the  choice  of  the  first,  and  sir  Roger,  as  the  better 
man,  took  the  lady  by  the  hand,  leading  her  through 
all  the  shower,  covering  her  with  his  hat,  and  gal- 
lanting  a   familiar  acquaintance  through   rows   of 


26  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  410. 

young  fellows,  who  winked  at  Sukej  in  the  state  she 
marched  off,  Will  Honeycomb  bringing  up  the 
rear." 

Much  importunity  prevailed  upon  the  fair  one 
to  admit  of  a  collation,  where,  after  declaring  she 
had  no  stomach,  and  eaten  a  couple  of  chickens, 
devoured  a  truss  of  sallet,  and  drunk  a  full  bottle 
to  her  share,  she  sung  the  Old  Man's  Wish  to  sir 
Koger.  The  knight  left  the  room  for  some  time  af- 
ter supper,  and  writ  the  following  billet,  which  he 
conveyed  to  Sukey,  and  Sukey  to  her  friend  Will 
Honeycomb.  Will  has  given  it  to  sir  Andrew  Free- 
port,  who  read  it  last  night  to  the  club. 

'  I  am  not  so  mere  a  country  gentleman, 
but  I  can  guess  at  the  law-business  you  had  at  the 
Temple.  If  you  would  go  down  to  the  country,  and 
leave  off  all  your  vanities,  but  your  singing,  let  me 
know  at  my  lodgings  in  Bow-street,  Covent-garden, 
and  you  shall  be  encouraged  by 

'  Your  humble  servant, 

'  Roger  de  Coverlet.' 

My  good  friend  could  not  well  stand  the  raillery 
which  was  rising  upon  him ;  but  to  put  a  stop  to  it, 
I  delivered  Will  Honeycomb  the  following  letter, 
and  desired  him  to  read  it  to  the  board. 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  Having  seen  a  translation  of  one  of  the 
chapters  in  the  Canticles  into  English  verse  inserted 
among  your  late  papers ; "  I  have  ventured  to  send 

■"  See  Bee,  No.  i.  p.  26.  See  also  Spect.  No.  517,  and  note.  The  char- 
acter of  Sir  Koger  de  Coverley  -was  the  creature  not  of  Addison's,  but  of 
Steele's  imagination.     See  Spect.  No.  2,  and  note. 

°  See  No.  388. 


No.  410.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  27 

you  the  viith  chapter  of  the  Proverbs,  in  a  poetical 
dress.  If  you  think  it  worthy  appearing  among  your 
speculations,  it  will  be  a  sufficient  reward  for  the 
trouble  of 

'  Your  constant  reader,         A.  B.' 

"  My  son,  tV  instruction  that  my  words  impart, 
'Grave  on  the  living  tablet  of  thy  heart ; 
And  all  the  wholesome  precepts  that  I  give, 
Observe  with  strictest  reverence,  and  live. 
"  Let  &\1  thy  homage  be  to  Wisdom  paid, 
Seek  her  protection  and  implore  her  aid ; 
That  she  may  keep  thy  soul  from  harm  secure, 
And  turn  thy  footsteps  from  the  harlot's  door ; 
Who  with  curs'd  charms  lures  the  unwary  in, 
And  sooths  with  flattery  their  souls  to  sin. 

"  Once  from  my  window  as  I  cast  mine  eye 
On  those  that  passed  in  giddy  numbers  by, 
A  youth  among  the  foolish  youths  I  spy'd. 
Who  took  not  sacred  Wisdom  for  his  guide. 

"  Just  as  the  sun  withdrew  his  cooler  light. 
And  evening  soft  led  on  the  shades  of  night. 
He  stole  in  covert  twilight  to  his  fate. 
And  passed  the  corner  near  the  harlot's  gate ! 
When,  lo,  a  woman  comes ! — 
Loose  her  attire,  and  such  her  glaring  dress. 
As  aptly  did  the  harlot's  mind  express : 
Subtle  she  is,  and  practis'd  in  the  arts 
By  which  the  wanton  conquer  heedless  hearts : 
Stubborn  and  loud  she  is ;  she  hates  her  home ; 
Varying  her  place  and  form,  she  loves  to  roam : 
Now  she's  within,  now  in  the  street  does  stray. 
Now  at  each  corner  stands,  and  waits  her  prey. 
The  youth  she  seiz'd ;  and,  laying  now  aside 
All  modesty,  the  female's  justest  pride, 
She  said  with  an  embrace,  '  Here  at  my  house 
Peace-offerings  are,  this  day  I  paid  my  vows. 
I  therefore  came  abroad  to  meet  my  dear. 
And,  lo,  in  happy  hour,  I  find  thee  here. 
My  chamber  I've  adorn'd,  and  o'er  my  bed 
Are  cov'rings  of  the  richest  tap'stry  spread ; 
With  linen  it  is  declc'd  from  Egypt  brought. 
And  carvings  by  the  curious  artist  wrought : 
Its  wants  no  glad  perfume  Arabia  yields 
In  all  her  citron  groves,  and  spicy  fields ; 


28  THE   SPECTATOR.  t^O-  410. 

Here  all  her  store  of  richest  odours  meets, 
I'll  lay  thee  in  a  wilderness  of  sweets : 
"Whatever  to  the  sense  can  grateful  be 

I  have  coUeoted  there 1  want  hut  thee. 

My  husband's  gone  a  journey  far  away, 
Much  gold  he  took  abroad,  and  long  will  stay. 
He  named  for  his  return  a  distant  day. 

"  Upon  her  tongue  did  such  smooth  mischief  dwell, 
And  from  her  lips  such  welcome  flatt'ry  fell, 
Th'  unguarded  youth,  in  silken  fetters  ty'd, 
Eesign'd  his  reason,  and  with  ease  oomply'd. 
Thus  does  the  ox  to  his  own  slaughter  go,     _ 
And  thus  is  senseless  of  th'  impending  blow. 
Thus  flies  the  simple  bird  into  the  snare 
That  skilful  fowlers  for  his  life  prepare. 
But  let  my  sons  attend.    Attend  may  they 
Whom  youthful  vigour  may  to  sin  betray : 
Let  them  false  charmers  fly,  and  guard  their  hearts 
Against  the  wily  wanton's  pleasing  arts ; 
With  care  direct  their  steps,  nor  turn  astray 
To  tread  the  paths  of  her  deceitful  way  ; 
Lest  they  too  late  of  her  fell  power  complain. 
And  fall,  where  many  mightier  have  been  slain." 

rp  p 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

For  the  benefit  of  Miss  Porter,  at  the  theatre  the  upper  end  of  St.  Mar- 
tin's Lane,  near  Litchfield  Street,  on  Wednesday,  June  18,  will  be  presented 
^  comedy  called  The  Busy  Body.  The  part  of  the  Busy  Body  by  young 
Pervil ;  Sir  Zealous  Traffic  by  young  Ray ;  Sir  Geo.  Airy  by  young  Boman ; 
Charles  by  young  Mills;  Whisper  by  young  Norris.  Miranda  by  Miss 
Younger;  Isabinda  by  Miss  Porter;  Patch  by  Miss  Lydell ;  and  all  the 
other  parts  to  the  best  advantage.  With  a  new  epilogue  by  Miss  Porter, 
Ac— Speot  in  folio.  No.  408. 

P  The  first  part  of  this  paper  was  most  probably  written,  not  by  Steele, 
as  Dr.  Johnson  unauthoritatively  affirms,  but  by  Mr.  Thomas  Tiokell,  who 
seems  to  have  marked  his  own  papers,  as  Steele  did  such  as  he  communi- 
cated or  composed  from  the  letter-box,  with  the  signature  T.  See  No,  324, 
note  on  T ;  No.  310,  and  note ;  from  which  it  appears  that  Steele  and  Mr. 
Tickell  had  some  altercation  about  a  paper  or  papers  distinguished  by  the 
signature  T,  instead  of  which  Steele  seems  to  agree  to  the  substitution  of 
R  in  an  instance,  or  instances. 


No.  411.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  29 

No.  411.    SATURDAY,  June  21,  1712. 

PAPER   I. 

(!Dn  tjiB  :^ljasiirBJi  nf  tjjt  Snmginatinn. 

OoNTEiirTS. — The  perfection  of  our  sight  above  our  other  senses.  The 
pleasures  of  the  imagination  arise  originally  from  sight.  The  plea- 
sures of  the  imagination  divided  under  two  heads.  The  pleasures 
of  the  imagination  in  some  respects  equal  to  those  of  the  under- 
standing. The  extent  of  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination.  The 
advantages  a  man  receives  from  a  relish  of  these  pleasures.  In 
what  respect  they  are  preferable  to  those  of  the  understanding. 

Avift  Pieiidum  peragro  loca,  nuUius  antd 
Trita  solo:  juvat  Integros  accedere  fonteis, 
Atqno  hanrire — 

LuoK.  I  925. 
In  wild  uncleared,  to  Muses  a  retreat, 
O'er  ground  untrod  before  I  devious  roam, 
And  deep-enamour'd  into  latent  springs 
Fiesnme  to  poep  at  coy  virgin  Naiads. 

Our  sight  is  the  most  perfect  and  most  delightful 
of  all  our  senses.  It  fills  the  mind  with  the  largest 
variety  of  ideas,  converses  with  its  objects  at  the 
greatest  distance,  and  continues  the  longest  in 
action,  without  being  tired  or  satiated  with  its  pro- 
per enjoyments.  The  sense  of  feeling  can  indeed 
give  us  a  notion  of  extension,  shape,  and  all  other 
ideas  that  enter  at  the  eye,  except  colours ;  but  at 
the  same  time  it  is  very  much  strained  and  confined 
in  its  operations,  to  the  number,  bulk,  and  distance 
of  its  particular  objects.  Our  sight  seems  designed 
to  supply  all  these  defects,  and  may  be  considered 
as  a  more  delicate  and  diffusive  kind  of  touch,  that 
spreads  itself  over  an  infinite  multitude  of  bodies, 
comprehends  the  largest  figures,  and  brings  into 
our  reach  some  of  the  most  remote  parts  of  the  uni-^ 
verse.  • 


30  THE   SPECTATOB.  L^O-  41 1- 

It  is  this  sense  whicli  furnishes  the  imagination 
with  its  ideas;  so  that  by  'the  pleasures  of  the 
imagination,'  or  'fancy,'  (which  I  shall  use  pro- 
miscuously,) I  here  mean  such  as  arise  from  visible 
objects,  either  when  we  have  them  actually  in  our 
view,  or  when  we  call  up  their  ideas  into  our  minds 
by  paintings,  statues,  descriptions,  or  any  the  like 
occasion.  We  cannot  indeed  have  a  single  image 
in  the  fancy  that  did  not  make  its  first  entrance 
through  the  sight ;  but  we  have  the  power  of  re- 
taining, altering,  and  compounding  those  images, 
which  we  have  once  received,  into  all  the  varieties 
of  picture  and  vision  that  are  most  agreeable  to  the 
imagination :  for  by  this  faculty  a  man  in  a  dungebn 
is  capable  of  entertaining  himself  with  scenes  and 
landscapes  more  beautiful  than  any  that  can  be 
found  in  the  whole  compass  of  nature. 

There  are  few  words  in  the  English  language 
which  are  employed  in  a  more  loose  and  uncircum- 
scribed  sense  than  those  of  the  fancy  and  the  ima- 
gination, I  therefore  thought  it  necessary  to  fix 
and  determine  the  notion  of  these  two  words,  as  I 
intend  to  make  use  of  them  in  the  thread  of  my 
following  speculations,  that  the  reader  may  conceive 
rightly  what  is  the  subject  which  I  proceed  upon. 
I  must  therefore  desire  him  to  remember,  that  by 
'  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,'  I  mean  only  such 
pleasures  as  arise  originally  from  sight,  and  that  I 
divide  these  pleasures  into  two  kinds :  my  design 
being,  first  of  all,  to  discourse  of  those  primary 
pleasures  of  the  imagination  which  entirely  proceed 
from  such  objects  as  are  before  our  eyes ;  and,  in 
the  next  place,  to  speak  of  those  secondary  plea- 
sures of  the  imagination  which  flow  from  the  ideas 
'•  of  visible  objects,  when  the  objects  are  not  actually 


No.  411.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  3l 

before  the  eye,  but  are  called  up  into  our  memories, 
or  formed  into  agreeable  visions  of  things  that  are 
either  absent  or  fictitious. 

The  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  taken  in  their 
fall  extent,  are  not  so  gross  as  those  of  sense,  nor  so 
refined  as  those  of  the  understanding.  The  last  are 
indeed  more  preferable,  because  they  are  founded 
on  some  new  knowledge  or  improvement  in  the  mind 
of  man  ;  yet  it  must  be  confessed,  that  those  of  the 
imagination  are  as  great  and  as  transporting  as  the 
other.  A  JDeautiful  prospect  delights  the  soul,  as 
much  as  a  demonstration ;  and  a  description  in  Ho- 
mer has  charmed  more  readers  than  a  chapter  in 
Aristotle.  Besides,  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination 
have  this  advantage  above  those  of  the  understand- 
ing, that  they  are  more  obvious,  and  more  easy  to 
be  acquired.  It  is  but  opening  the  eye,  and  the 
scene  enters.  The  colours  paint  themselves  on  the 
fancy,  with  very  little  attention  of  thought  or  appli- 
cation of  mind  in  the  beholder.  We  are  struck,  we 
know  not  how,  with  the  symmetry  of  any  thing  we 
see,  and  immediately  assent  to  the  beauty  of  an  ob- 
ject, without  inquiring  into  the  particular  causes  and 
occasions  of  it. 

A  man  of  a  polite  imagination  is  let  into  a  great 
many  pleasures  that  the  vulgar  are  not  capable  of 
receiving.  He  can  converse  with  a  picture,  and  find 
an  agreeable  companion  in  a  statue.  He  meets  with 
a  secret  refreshment  in  a  description,  and  often  feels 
a  greater  satisfaction  in  the  prospect  of  fields  and 
meadows,  than  another  does  in  the  possession.  It 
gives  him,  indeed,  a  kind  of  property  in  every  thing 
he  sees,  and  makes  the  most  rude  uncultivated  parts 
of  nature  administer  to  his  pleasures :  so  that  he  looks 
upon  the  world  as  it  were  in  another  light,  and  dis- 


32  THE   SPECTATOB.  l^°-  4^*- 

covers  in  it  a  multitude  of  charms  that  conceal  them- 
selves from  the  generality  of  mankind. 

There  are  indeed  but  very  few  who  know  how 
to  be  idle  and  innocent,  or  have  a  relish  of  any  plea- 
sures that  are  not  criminal;  every  diversion  they 
take  is  at  the  expense  of  some  one  virtue  or  another, 
and  their  very  first  step  out  of  business  is  into  vice 
or  folly.  A  man  should  endeavour,  therefore,  to 
make  the  sphere  of  his  innocent  pleasures  as  wide  as 
possible,  that  he  may  retire  into  them  with  safety, 
and  find  in  them  such  a  satisfaction  as  a  wise  man 
would  not  blush  to  take.  Of  this  nature  are  those 
of  the  imagination,  which  do  not  require  such  a  bent 
of  thought  as  is  necessary  to  our  more  serious  em- 
ployments, nor,  at  the  same  time,  suffer  the  mind  to 
sink  into  that  negligence  and  remissness,  which  are 
apt  to  accompany  our  more  sensual  delights,  but, 
like  a  gentle  exercise  to  the  faculties,  awaken  them 
from  sloth  and  idleness,  without  putting  them  upon 
any  labour  or  difficulty. 

We  might  here  add,  that  the  pleasures  of  the 
fancy  are  more  conducive  to  health  than  those  of  the 
understanding,  which  are  worked  out  by  dint  of 
thinking,  and  attended  with  too  violent  a  labour  of 
the  brain.  Delightful  scenes,  whether  in  nature, 
painting,  or  poetry,  have  a  kindly  influence  on  the 
body  as  well  as  the  mind ;  and  not  only  serve  to  clear 
and  brighten  the  imagination,  but  are  able  to  dis- 
perse grief  and  melancholy,  and  to  set  the  animal 
spirits  in  pleasing  and  agreeable  motions.  For  this 
reason,  sir  Francis  Bacon,  in  his  Essay  upon  Health, 
has  not  thought  it  improper  to  prescribe  to  his  reader 
a  poem,  or  a  prospect,  where  he  particularly  dis- 
suades him  from  knotty  and  subtle  disquisitions,  and 
advises  him  to  pursue  studies  that  fill  the  mind  with 


No.  412.]  THE  SPECTATOE.  33 

splendid  and  illustrious  objects,  as  histories,  fables, 
and  contemplations  of  nature. 

I  have  in  this  paper,  by  way  of  introduction,  set- 
tled the  notion  of  those  pleasures  of  the  imagination 
which  are  the  subject  of  my  present  undertaking, 
and  endeavoured,  by  several  considerations,  to  re- 
commend to  my  reader  the  pursuit  of  those  plea- 
sures. I  shall,  in  my  next  paper,  examine  the  sev- 
eral sources  from  whence  these  pleasures  are  derived. 

0." 


No.  412.    MONDAY,  June  23,  1712. 


PAPER   II. 

dDtt  tjit  ^iBasms  nf  tji^  SmEgiDDtiDD. 

OoNTENTS. — Three  sources  of  all  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  in 
our  survey  of  outward  objects.  How  what  is  great  pleases  the  ima- 
gination. How  what  is  new  pleases  the  imagination.  How  what 
is  beautiful  in  our  own  species  pleases  the  imagination.  How 
what  is  beautiful  in  general  pleases  the  imagination.  What  other 
accidental  causes  may  contribute  to  the  heightening  of  thoso 
pleasures. 

—  Dirismn,  sio  breve  fiet  opus. 

Maet.  Ep.  Iv.  88. 
The  work,  divided  aptly,  eliorter  grows. 

I  SHALL  first  consider  those  pleasures  of  the  imagina- 
tion which  arise  from  the  actual  view  and  survey  of 
outward  objects:  and  these,  I  think,  all  proceed 
from  the  sight  of  what  is  great^uncommon,  or  beau- 
tiful.    There  may,  indeed,  be  something  so  terrible 

■J  By  Addison,  dated  from  his  ofSce,  or  sketched,  it  maybe,  when  a  stu- 
dent at  Oxford.  See  Hos.  6,  and  221,  notes  on  Addison's  signatures,  C,  L, 
1,0. 

VOL.  V. 3 


34  THE   SPEOTATOB.  [No.  412. 

or  offensive,  that  the  horror  or  loathsomeness  of  an 
object  may  overbear  the  pleasure  which  results  from 
its  greatness,  novelty,  or  beauty ;  but  still  there  will 
be  siich  a  mixture  of  delight  in  the  very  disgust  it 
gives  us,  as  any  of  these  three  qualifications  are  most 
conspicuous  and  prevailing. 

By  greatness,  I  do  not  only  mean  the  bulk  of  any 
single  object,  but  the  largeness  of  a  whole  view, 
considered  as  one  entire  piece.  Such  are  the  pros- 
pects of  an  open  champaign  country,  a  vast  unculti- 
vated desert,  of  huge  heaps  of  mountains,  high  rocks, 
and  precipices,  or  a  wide  expanse  of  water,  where 
we  are  not  struck  with  the  novelty  or  beauty  of  the 
sight,  but  with  that  rude  kind  of  magnificence  which 
appears  in  many  of  these  stupendous  works  of  Na- 
ture. Our  imagination  loves  to  be  filled  with  an 
object,  or  to  grasp  at  any  thing  that  is  too  big  for 
its  capacity.  We  are  flung  into  a  pleasing  astonish- 
ment at  such  unbounded  views,  and  feel  a  delight- 
ful stillness  and  amazement  in  the  soul  at  the  appre- 
hension of  them.  The  mind  of  man  naturally  hates 
every  thing  that  looks  like  a  restraint  upon  it,  and  is 
apt  to  fancy  itself  under  a  sort  of  confinement,  when 
the  sight  is  pent  up  in  a  narrow  compass,  and  short- 
ened on  every  side  by  the  neighbourhood  of  walls 
or  mountains.  On  the  contrary,  a  spacious  horizon 
is  an  image  of  liberty,  where  the  eye  has  room  to 
range  abroad,  to  expatiate  at  large  on  the  immensi- 
ty of  its  views,  and  to  lose  itself  amidst  the  variety 
of  objects  that  offer  themselves  to  its  observation. 
Such  wide  and  undetermined  prospects  are  as  pleas- 
ing to  the  fancy,  as  the  speculations  of  eternity  or 
infinitude  are  to  the  understanding.  But  if  there  be 
a  beauty  or  uncommonness  joined  with  this  gran- 
deur, as  in  a  troubkd  ocean,  a  heaven  adorned  with 


No.  412.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  35 

stars  and  meteors,  or  a  spacious  landscape  cut  out 
into  rivers,  woods,  rocks,  and  meadows,  tlie  pleasure 
still  grows,  upon  us,  as  it  arises  from  more  than  a 
single  principle.  ^ 

Every  thing  that  is  new  or  uncommon  raises  a 
pleasure  in  the  imagination,  because  it  fills  the  soul 
with  an  agreeable  surprise,  gratifies  its  curiosity, 
and  gives  it  an  idea  of  which  it  was  not  before  pos- 
sessed. We  are  indeed  so  often  conversant  with 
one  set  of  objects,  and  tired  out  with  so  many  re- 
peated shows  of  the  same  things,  that  whatever  is 
new  or  uncommon  contributes  a  little  to  vary  human 
life,  and  to  divert  our  minds  for  a  while  with  the 
strangeness  of  its  appearance.  It  serves  us  for  a 
kind  of  refreshment,  and  takes  off  from  that  satiety 
we  are  apt  to  complain  of  in  our  usual  and  ordinary 
entertainments.  It  is  this  that  bestows  charms  on 
a  monster,  and  makes  even  the  imperfections  of  na- 
ture please  us.  It  is  this  that  recommends  variety, 
where  the  mind  is  every  instant  called  off"  to  some- 
thing new,  and  the  attention  not  suffered  to  dwell 
too  long  and  waste  itself  on  any  particular  object. 
It  is  this,  likewise,  that  improves  what  is  great  or 
beautiful,  and  makes  it  afford  the  mind  a  double 
entertainment.  Groves,  fields,  and  meadows,  are, 
at  any  season  of  the  year,  pleasant  to  look  upon, 
but  never  so  much  as  in  the  opening  of  the  spring, 
when  they  are  all  new  and  fresh,  with  their  first 
gloss  upon  them,  and  not  yet  too  much  accustomed 
and  familiar  to  the  eye.  For  this  reason,  there  is 
nothing  that  more  enlivens  a  prospect  than  rivers, 
jetdeaus,  or  falls  of  water,  where  the  scene  is  per- 
petually shifting  and  entertaining  the  sight  every 
moment  with  something  that  is  new.  We  are 
quickly  tired  with  looking  upon  hills  and  valleys,, 


36  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  412. 

where  every  thing  continues  fixed  and  settled  in 
the  same  place  and  posture,  but  find  our  thoughts 
a  little  agitated  and  relieved  at  the  sight  of  such 
objects  as  are  ever  in  motion,  and  sliding  away  from 
beneath  the  eye  of  the  beholder. 

But  there  is  nothing  that  makes  its  way  more 
directly  to  the  soul  than  beauty,  which  immediately 
diffuses  a  secret  satisfaction  and  complacency  through 
the  imagination,  and  gives  a  finishing  to  any  thing 
that  is  great  or  uncommon.  The  very  first  discovery 
of  it  strikes  the  mind  with  an  inward  joy,  and  spreads 
a  cheerfulness  and  delight  through  all  its  faculties. 
There  is  not  perhaps  any  real  beauty  or  deformity 
more  in  one  piece  of  matter  than  another,  because 
we  might  have  been  so  made,  that  whatsoever  now 
appears  loathsome  to  us  might  have  shown  itself 
agreeable ;  but  we  find,  by  experience,  that  there 
are  several  modifications  of  matter  which  the  mind, 
without  any  previous  consideration,  pronounces  at 
first  sight  beautiful  or  deformed.  Thus  we  see  that 
every  different  species  of  sensible  creatures  has  its 
different  notions  of  beauty,  and  that  each  of  them 
is  most  affected  with  the  beauties  of  its  own  kind. 
This  is  no  where  more  remarkable  than  in  birds  of 
the  same  shape  and  proportion,  where  we  often  see 
the  male  determined  in  his  courtship  by  the  single 
grain  or  tincture  of  a  feather,  and  never  discovering 
any  charms  but  in  the  colour  of  its  species. 

'  Scit  thalamo  servare  fidem,  sanctasque  veretur 
Oonimbii  leges ;  non  ilium  in  peotare  candor 
Solicitat  niveus ;  neque  pravum  aooendit  amorem 
Splendida  lanugo,  vel  honesta  in  vertice  crista, 
Purpureusve  nitor  pennarum ;  ast  agmina  latd, 
Foeminea  explorat  cautus,  maculasque  requirit 
Cognatas,  paribusque  interlita  corpora  guttis : 
Ni  faceret,  pictis  sylvam  circum  undique  monstris 


No.  412.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  37 

Confusam  aspioeres  vulg6,  partusque  biformes, 

Et  genus  ambiguum,  et  veneris  monumenta  nefandaa. 

'  Hinc  Merula  in  nigro  se  oblectat  nigra  tnarito, 
Hino  socium  lasciva  petit  Philomela  canorum, 
Agnoscitque  pares  sonitus,  hinc  Noctua  tetram 
Oanitiem  alarum,  et  glaucos  miratur  ocellos. 
Nempe  sibi  semper  constat,  oresoitque  quotannis 
Lucida  progenies,  castos  confessa  parentes ; 
Dum  yirides  inter  saltus  lucosque  sonoros 
Vere  novo  exultat,  plumasque  decora  juventus 
Explicat  ad  solem  patriisque  coloribus  ardet.' ' 

'  The  feather'd  husband  to  his  i^aitner  true, 
Preserves  connubial  rites  inviolate. 
"With  cold  indifference  every  charm  he  sees. 
The  milky  whiteness  of  the  stately  neck. 
The  shining  down,  proud  crest,  and  purple  wings : 
But  cautious  with  a  searching  eye  explores 
The  female  tribes,  his  proper  mate  to  find, 
With  kindred  colours  mark'd :  did  he  not  so, 
The  grove  with  painted  monsters  would  abound, 
Th'  ambiguous  product  of  unnatural  love. 
The  blackbird  hence  selects  her  sooty  spouse ; 
The  nightingale,  her  musical  compeer, 
Lur'd  by  the  well-known  voice :  the  bird  of  night, 
Smit  with  his  dusky  wings  and  greenish  eyes, 
Wooes  his  dun  paramour.     The  beauteoas  race 
Speak  the  chaste  loves  of  their  progenitors ; 
When,  by  the  spring  invited,  they  exult 
In  woods  and  fields,  and  to  the  sun  unfold 
Their  plumes,  that  with  paternal  colours  glow.' 

There  is  a  second  kind  of  beauty  that  we  find 
in  the  several  products  of  art  and  nature,  which  does 
not  work  in  the  imagination  with  that  warmth  and 
violence  as  the  beauty  that  appears  in  our  proper 
species,  but  is  apt  however  to  raise  in  us  a  secret  de- 
light, and  a  kind  of  fondness  for  the  places  or  objects 
in  which  we  discover  it.  This  consists  either  in  the 
gaiety  or  variety  of  colours,  in  the  symmetry  and 

'  It  would  seem,  from  his  manner  of  introducing  them,  that  Mr.  Addi- 
son was  himself  the  author  of  these  fine  verses. 


38  THE   SPECTATOR.  C^"-  ^'^ 

proportion  of  parts,  in  the  arrangement  and  dispo- 
sition of  bodies,  or  in  a  just  mixture  and  concur- 
rence of  all  together.  Among  these  several  kinds 
of  beauty,  the  eye  takes  most  delight  in  colours. 
We  no  where  meet  with  a  more  glorious  or  pleasing 
show  in  nature,  than  what  appears  in  the  heavens 
at  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun,  which  is  wholly 
made  up  of  those  different  stains  of  light  that  show 
themselves  in  clouds  of  a  different  situation.  For 
this  reason  we  find  the  poets,  who  are  always  ad- 
dressing themselves  to  the  imagination,  borrowing 
more  of  their  epithets  from  colours  than  from  any 
other  topic. 

As  the  fancy  delights  in  every  thing  that  is 
great,  strange,  or  beautiful,  and  is  still  more  pleased 
the  more  it  finds  of  these  perfections  in  the  same 
object,  so  is  it  capable  of  receiving  a  new  satisfac- 
tion by  the  assistance  of  another  sense.  Thus  any 
continued  sound,  as  the  music  of  birds,  or  a  fall  of 
water,  "awakens  every  moment  the  mind  of  the  be- 
holder, and  makes  him  more  attentive  to  the  sev- 
eral beauties  of  the  place  that  lie  before  him.  Thus, 
if  there  arises  a  fragrancy  of  smells  or  perfumes, 
they  heighten  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  and 
make  even  the  colours  and  verdure  of  the  landscape 
appear  more  agreeable  ;  for  the  ideas  of  both  senses 
recommend  each  other,  and  are  pleasanter  together 
than  when  they  enter  the  mind  separately  :  as  the 
different  colours  of  a  picture,  when  they  are  well 
disposed,  set  off  one  another,  and  receive  an  addi- 
tional beauty  from  the  advantage  of  their  situation. 

=  By  Addison,  dated,  as  the  signature  seems  to  imply,  from  his  office  ; 
or  sketched,  it  may  be,  originally  at  Oxford.  See  No.  489,  adfinem,  note  ; 
and  No.  221,  final  note  on  A.ddison's  signatures,  C,  L,  I,  0 ;  of  the  meaning 
of  which  a  more  satisfactory  explication  seems  to  he  wanting 


No.  413.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  39 


No.  413.     TUESDAY,  June  24,  1712. 

PAPER  III. 

dDB  t|ii  f  liaraiM  nf  tin  SmitgiuEtimi.* 

Contents. — Why  the  necessary  cause  of  our  being  pleased  with  what 
is  great,  new,  or  beautiful,  unknown.  Why  the  final  cause  more 
known  and  more  useful.  The  final  cause  of  our  being  pleased  with 
what  is  great.  The  final  cause  of  our  being  pleased  with  what  is 
new.  The  final  cause  of  our  being  pleased  with  what  is  beautiful 
in  our  own  species.  The  final  cause  of  our  being  pleased  with 
what  is  beautiful  in  general. 

— Causa  latet,  vis  est  notissima — 

Ovid.  Met  ix.  20T. 

The  cause  is  secret,  but  th'  effect  is  known. 
Addison. 

Though  in  yesterday's  paper,  we  considered  how 
every  thing  that  is  great,  new,  or  beautiful,  is  apt 
to  affect  the  imagination  with  pleasure,  we  must  own 
that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  assign  the  necessary 
cause  of  this  pleasure,  because  we  know  neither  the 
nature  of  an  idea,  nor  the  substance  of  a  human  soul, 
which  might  help  us  to  discover  the  conformity  or 
disagreeableness  of  the  one  to  the  other ;  and  there- 
fore, for  want  of  such  a  light,  all  that  we  can  do  in 
speculations  of  this  kind  is,  to  reflect  on  those  ope- 
rations of  the  soul  that  are  most  agreeable,  and  to 
range  under  their  proper  heads  what  is  pleasing  or 
displeasing  to  the  mind,  without  being  able  to  trace 
out  the  several  necessary  and  efficient  causes  from 
whence  the  pleasure  or  displeasure  arises. 

Final  causes 'lie  more  bare  and  open  to  our  ob- 
servation, as  there  are  often  a  greater  variety  that 
belong  to  the  same  effect ;  and  these,  though  they 

*  See  the  two  preceding  and  the  nine  following  papers. 


40  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  413. 

are  not  altogether  so  satisfactory,  are  generally  more 
useful  than  the  other,  as  they  give  us  greater  occa- 
sion of  admiring  the  goodness  and  wisdom  of  the 
first  Contriver. 

One  of  the  final  causes  of  our  delight  in  any  thing 
that  is  great,  may  be  this.  The  Supreme  Author  of 
our  being  has  so  formed  the  soul  of  man,  that 
nothing  but  himself  can  be  its  last,  adequate,  and 
proper  happiness.  Because,  therefore,  a  great  part 
of  our  happiness  must  arise  from  the  contemplation 
of  his  being,  that  he  might  give  our  souls  a  just 
relish  of  such  a  contemplation,  he  has  made  them 
naturally  delight  in  the  apprehension  of  what  is 
great  or  unlimited.  Our  admiration,  which  is  a 
very  pleasing  motion  of  the  mind,  immediately  rises 
at  the  consideration  of  any  object  that  takes  up  a 
great  deal  of  room  in  the  fancy,  and,  by  conse- 
quence, will  improve  into  the  highest  pitch  of  as- 
tonishment and  devotion,  when  we  contemplate  His 
nature,  that  is  neither  circumscribed  by  time  nor 
place,  nor  to  be  comprehended  by  the  largest  capa- 
city of  a  created  being. 

He  has  annexed  a  secret  pleasure  to  the  idea  of 
any  thing  that  is  new  or  uncommon,  that  he  might 
encourage  us  in  the  pursuit  after  knowledge,  and  en- 
gage us  to  search  into  the  wonders  of  his  creation  ; 
for  every  new  idea  brings  such  a  pleasure  along 
with  it,  as  rewards  any  pains  we  have  taken  in  its 
acquisition,  and  consequently  serves  as  a  motive  to 
put  us  upon  fresh  discoveries. 

He  has  made  every  thing  that  is  beautiful  in  our 
own  species  pleasant,  that  all  creatures  might  be 
tempted  to  multiply  their  kind,  and  fill  the  world 
with  inhabitants;  for  it  is  very  remarkable,  that 
wherever  nature  is  crossed  in  the  production  of  a 


No.  413.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  41 

monster  (the  result  of  any  unnatural  mixture),  the 
breed  is  incapable  of  propagating  its  likeness,  and  of 
founding  a  new  order  of  creatures : .  so  that,  unless 
all  animals  were  allured  by  the  beauty  of  their  own 
species,  generation  would  be  at  an  end,  and  the 
earth  unpeopled. 

In  the  last  place,  he  has  made  every  thing  that 
is  beautiful  in  all  other  objects  pleasant,  or  rather 
has  made  so  many  objects  appear  beautiful,  that  he 
might  render  the  whole  creation  more  gay  and  de- 
lightful. He  has  given  almost  every  thing  about 
us  the  power  of  raising  an  agreeable  idea  in  the 
imagination :  so  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  be- 
hold his  works  with  coldness  or  indifference,  and  to 
survey  so  many  beauties  without  a  secret  satisfac- 
tion and  complacency.  Things  would  make  but  a 
poor  appearance  to  the  eye,  if  we  saw  them  only  in 
their  proper  figures  and  motions  :  and  what  reason 
can  we  assign  for  their  exciting  in  us  many  of  those 
ideas  which  are  different  from  any  thing  that  exists 
in  the  objects  themselves  (for  such  are  light  and 
colours),  were  it  not  to  add  supernumerary  orna- 
ments to  the  universe,  and  make  it  more  agreeable 
to  the  imagination  ?  We  are  every  where  enter- 
tained with  pleasing  shows  and  apparitions ;  we 
discover  imaginary  glories  in  the  heavens,  and  in 
the  earth,  and  see  some  of  this  visionary  beauty 
poured  out  upon  the  whole  creation ;  but  what  a 
rough  unsightly  sketch  of  nature  should  we  be  en- 
tertained with,  did  all  her  colouring  disappear,  and 
the  several  distinctions  of  light  and  shade  vanish  ? 
In  short,  our  souls  are  at  present  delightfully  lost 
and  bewildered  in  a  pleasing  delusion,  and  we  walk 
about  like  the  enchanted  hero  of  a  romance,  who 
sees  beautiful  castles,  woods,  and  meadows,  and  at 


42  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  413. 

the  same  time  hears  the  warbling  of  birds  and  the 
purling  of  streams  ;  but,  upon  the  finishing  of  some 
secret  spell,  the  fantastic  scene  breaks  up,  and  the 
disconsolate  knight  finds  himself  on  a  barren  heath 
or  in  a  solitary  desert.  It  is  not  improbable  that 
something  like  this  may  be  the  state  of  the  soul  after 
its  first  separation,  in  respect  of  the  images  it  will 
receive  from  matter,  though  indeed  the  ideas  of 
colours  are  so  pleasing  and  beautiful  in  the  imagina- 
tion, that  it  is  possible  the  soul  will  not  be  deprived 
of  them,  but  perhaps  find  them  excited  by  some 
other  occasional  cause,  as  they  are  at  present  by  the 
different  impressions  of  the  subtle  matter  on  the 
organ  of  sight. 

I  have  here  supposed  that  my  reader  is  ac- 
quainted with  that  great  modern  discovery,  which 
is  at  present  universally  acknowledged  by  all  the 
inquirers  into  natural  philosophy ;  namely,  that  light 
and  colours,  as  apprehended  by  the  imagination, 
are  only  ideas  in  the  mind,  and  not  qualities  that 
have  any  existence  in  matter.'  As  this  is  a  truth 
which  has  been  proved  incontestably  by  many 
modern  philosophers,  and  is  indeed  one  of  the  finest 
speculations  in  that  science,  if  the  English  reader 
would  see  the  notion  explained  at  large,  he  may 
find  it  in  the  eighth  chapter  of  the  second  book  of 
Mr.  Locke's  Essay  on  Human  Understanding. 

0.^ 

'  See  Dr.  Eeid's  Enquiry  into  the  Human  Mind ;  and  Dr.  Seattle's  Es- 
say on  tlie  Immutability  of  Trutli,  passim.  The  curious  reader  may  see 
some  ingenious  remarks,  chiefly  on  the  style  and  composition  of  Addison's 
papers  on  the  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,  in  Dr.  Blair's  Lectures  on 
Ehetorio,  and  the  Belles  Lettres,  in  3  vols.  8vo.  ITST. 

"  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  his  office  ;  or  sketched  at  Oxford. 
See  No.  489,  note  on  signature  0  ;  and  final  note  to  N"o.  221 ;  extract  from 
Steele's  dedication  of  The  Drummer  to  Mr.  Congreve. 


No.  413.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  43 

The  following  letter  of  Steele  to  Addison  is  re-printed 
here  from  the  original  edition  of  The  Spectator 
in  folio. 

'MR.  SPECTATOR,  'June,  24,  1712. 

'  I  "WOULD  not  divert  the  course  of  your 
discourses,  when  you  seem  bent  upon  obliging  the 
"world  "with  a  train  of  thinking,  "which,  rightly  at- 
tended to,  may  render  the  life  of  every  man  "who 
reads  it  more  easy  and  happy  for  the  future.  The 
pleasures  of  the  imagination  are  what  bewilder  life, 
when  reason  and  judgment  do  not  interpose  ;  it  is 
therefore  a  worthy  action  in  you  to  look  carefully 
into  the  powers  of  fancy,  that  other  men,  from  the 
knowledge  of  them,  may  improve  their  joys,  and 
allay  their  griefs,  by  a  just  use  of  that  faculty.  I 
say,  Sir,  T  would  not  interrupt  you  in  the  progress  of 
this  discourse ;  but  if  you  will  do  me  the  favour  of 
inserting  this  letter  in  your  next  paper,  you  will  do 
some  service  to  the  public,  though  not  in  so  noble  a 
way  of  obliging,  as  that  of  improving  their  minds. 
Allow  me.  Sir,  to  acquaint  you  with  a  design  (of 
which  I  am  partly  author),  though  it  tends  to  no 
greater  a  good  than  that  of  getting  money.  I  should 
not  hope  for  the  favour  of  a  philosopher  in  this  mat- 
ter, if  it  were  not  attempted  under  all  the  restrictions 
which  you  sages  put  upon  private  acquisitions.  The 
first  purpose  which  every  good  man  is  to  propose  to 
himself,  is  the  service  of  his  prince  and  country ; 
after  that  is  done,  he  cannot  add  to  himself,  but  he 
must  also  be  beneficial  to  them.  This  scheme  of 
gain  is  not  only  consistent  with  that  end,  but  has  its 
very  being  in  subordination  to  it ;  for  no  man  can  be 
a  gainer  here,  but  at  the  same  time  he  himself,  or 


44  THE    SPECTATOR.  C^O.  413. 

some  other,  must  succeed  in  their  dealings  with  the 
government.  It  is  called  '  The  Multiplication  Table,' 
and  is  so  far  calculated  for  the  immediate  service  of 
her  majesty,  that  the  same  person  who  is  fortunate 
in  the  lottery  of  the  state,  may  receive  yet  farther 
advantage  in  this  table.  And  I  am  sure  nothing  can 
be  more  pleasing  to  her  gracious  temper  than  to  find 
out  additional  methods  of  increasing  their  good  for- 
tune who  adventure  any  thing  in  her  service,  or  lay- 
ing occasions  for  others  to  become  capable  of  serving 
their  country  who  are  at  present  in  too  low  circum- 
stances to  exert  themselves.  The  manner  of  exe- 
cuting the  design  is,  by  giving  out  receipts  for  half 
guineas  received,  which  shall  entitle  the  fortunate 
bearer  to  certain  sums  in  the  table,  as  is  set  forth  at 
large  in  the  proposals  printed  the  23d  instant. 
There  is  another  circumstance  in  this  design  which 
gives  me  hopes  of  your  favour  to  it ;  and  that  is 
what  TuUy  advises,  to  wit,  that  the  benefit  is  made 
as  diffusive  as  possible.  Every  one  that  has  half  a 
guinea  is  put  into  the  possibility,  from  that  small 
sum,  to  raise  himself  an  easy  fortune :  when  these 
little  parcels  of  wealth  are,  as  it  were,  thus  thrown 
back  again  into  the  redonation  of  Providence,  we 
are  to  expect  that  some  who  live  under  hardship  or 
obscurity  may  be  produced  to  the  world  in  the  figure 
they  deserve  by  this  means.  I  doubt  not  but  this 
last  argument  will  have  force  with  you,  and  I  can- 
not add  another  to  it,  but  what  your  severity  will, 
I  fear,  very  little  regard,  which  is,  that  I  am,  Sir, 
'  Your  greatest  admirer, 

'Richard  Steele.' 


See  the  advertisement  annexed  to  No,  ill,  and  note  in  this  edition. 
The  advertisement  referred  to,  and  the  letter  here  given,  are  restored  from 


No.  414.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  45 


No.  414.     WEDNESDAY,  June  25,  1712. 

PAPER   IT. 

dDtt  tli5  3|lteiiOT  nf  tjjj  SmogiiiotinE.* 

OoNTENTS. — The  works  of  nature  more  pleasant  to  the  imagination  than 
those  of  art.  The  works  of  natm-e  still  more  pleasant,  the  more  they 
resemble  those  of  art.  The  works  of  art  more  pleasant  the  more 
they  resemble  those  of  nature.  Our  English  plantations  and  gar- 
dens considered  in  the  foregoing  light. 

— Alterious  sic 
Altera  poBcit  opem  res  ct  conjurat  amlc6. 

Hoe.  Ars  Poet  411. 
Bat  mutaally  they  need  each  other's  help. 

KOSCOMMON. 

If  we  consider  the  works  of  nature  and  art  as  they 
are  qualified  to  entertain  the  imagination,  we  shall 
find  the  last  very  defective  in  comparison  of  the  for- 
mer :  for  though  they  may  sometimes  appear  as 
beautiful  or  strange,  they  can  have  nothing  in  them 
of  that  vastness  and  immensity  which  afford  so  great 
an  entertainment  to  the  mind  of  the  beholder.  The 
one  may  be  as  polite  and  delicate  as  the  other,  but 
can  never  show  herself  so  august  and  magnificent  in 
the  design.     There  is  something  more  bold  and  mas- 

the  original  papers  of  the  Spectator  in  folio,  haying  been  dropped  in  all  the 
subsequent  editions,  to  illustrate  a  circumatanoe  in  Steele's  history  un- 
fairly and  invidiously  stated  by  Swift,  where  in  hia  journal  letters  to  Mrs. 
Johnson  he  tells  her,  with  an  illiberal  exultation,  or  an  unfriendly  and  un- 
feeling jocularity,  '  Steele  was  the  other  day  arrested  for  a  scheme  of  a 
lottery  contrary  to  act  of  parliament ;  but  it  is  thought  the  prosecution 
will  be  dropt  out  of  tenderness  to  him ' — or  words  to  the  same  purpose,  for 
the  annotator  is  under  the  necessity  here  of  quoting  from  memory.  The 
curious  reader  may  easily  be  satisfied  of  the  futility  of  this  idle  informa- 
tion, by  having  recourse  to  the  preceding  references.  It  is  almost  need- 
less to  add,  that  when  Steele  was  obstructed  in  his  design,  he  religiously 
repaid  the  subscriptions. 

*  See  the  three  preceding  and  the  eight  following  papers. 


46  THE   SPECTATOR.  [.^°-  '^^4. 

terly  in  the  rough  careless  strokes  of  nature,  than  in 
the  nice  touches  and  embellishments  of  art.  The 
beauties  of  the  most  stately  garden  or  palace  lie  in  a 
narrow  compass,  the  imagination  immediately  runs 
them  over,  and  requires  something  else  to  gratify 
her ;  but  in  the  wide  fields  of  nature,  the  sight  wan- 
ders up  and  down  without  confinement,  and  is  fed 
with  an  infinite  variety  of  images,  without  any  cer- 
tain stint  or  number.  For  this  reason  we  always  find 
the  poet  in  love  with  the  country  life,  where  nature 
appears  in  the  greatest  perfection,  and  furnishes  out 
all  those  scenes  that  are  most  apt  to  delight  the 
imagination. 

'  Soriptorum  chorus  omnis  amat  nemus,  et  fugit  urbes.' 

Hoe.  2  Ep.  ii.  77. 
' —  To  grottos  and  to  groves  we  run, 
To  ease  and  silence,  ev'ry  muse's  son.' 

Pope. 
'  Hio  seoura  quies,  et  nesoia  fallere  vita, 
Dives  opum  variarum ;  hio  latis  otia  fundis, 
SpelunoBB,  vivique  laous,  hio  frlgida  Tempe, 
Mugitusque  bouni,  mollesqne  sub  arbore  somni.' 

ViEa.  Georg.  ii.  476. 

'  Here  easy  quiet,  a  secure  retreat, 
A  harmless  life  that  knows  not  how  to  cheat, 
With  home-bred  plenty  the  rich  owner  bless. 
And  rural  pleasures  crown  his  happiness. 
IJnvex'd  with  quarrels,  undisturb'd  with  noise, 
The  country  king  his  peaceful  realm  enjoys: 
Oool  grots,  and  living  lakes,  the  flow'ry  pride 
Of  meads,  and  streams  that  through  the  valley  glide ; 
And  shady  groves  that  easy  sleep  invite, 
And,  after  toilsome  days,  a  sweet  repose  at  night.' 

Detden. 

But  though  there  are  several  of  these  wil^  scenes 
that  are  more  delightful  than  any  artificial  shows, 
yet  we  find  the  works  of  nature  still  more  pleasant, 
the  more  they  resemble  those  of  art:  for  in  this  case 
our  pleasure  rises  from  a  double  principle — from  the 


No.  414.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  47 

agreeableness  of  the  objects  to  the  eye,  and  from 
their  similitude  to  other  objects.  We  are  pleased 
us  well  with  comparing  their  beauties,  as  with  sur- 
veying them,  and  can  represent  them  to  our  minds 
either  as  copies  or  originals.  Hence  it  is  that  we 
take  delight  in  a  prospect  which  is  well  laid  out,  and 
diversified  with  fields  and  meadows,  woods  and 
rivers ;  in  those  accidental  landscapes  of  trees,  clouds, 
and  cities,  that  are  sometimes  found  in  the  veins  of 
marble,  in  the  curious  fretwork  of  rocks  and  grottos; 
and,  in  a  word,  in  any  thing  that  hath  such  a  variety 
or  regularity  as  may  seem  the  effect  of  design  in 
what  we  call  the  works  of  chance. 

If  the  products  of  nature  rise  in  value  according 
as  they  more  or  less  resemble  those  of  art,  we 
may  be  sure  that  artificial  works  receive  a  greater 
advantage  from  their  resemblance  of  such  as  are 
natural;  because  here  the  similitude  is  not  only 
pleasant,  but  the  pattern  more  perfect.  The  pret- 
tiest landscape  I  ever  saw,  was  one  drawn  on  the 
walls  of  a  dark  room,  which  stood  opposite  on  one 
side  to  a  navigable  river,  and  on  the  other  to  a  park. 
The  experiment  is  very  common  in  optics.'"  Here 
you  might  discover  the  waves  and  fluctuations  of 
the' water  in  strong  and  proper  colours,  with  the 
picture  of  a  ship  entering  at  one  end,  and  sailing 
by  degrees  through  the  whole  piece.  On  another 
there  appeared  the  green  shadows  of  trees  waving 
to  and  fro  with  the  wind,  and  herds  of  deer  among 
them  in  miniature,  leaping  about  upon  the  wall.  I 
must  confess,  the  novelty  of  such  a  sight  may  be 
one  occasion  of  its  pleasantness  to  the  imagination ; 

"  This  refers  to  the  fine  representations  of  nature  produced  by  the  op- 
tical instruments  called  the  camera  obscura,  the  eye,  (fee.  in  a  darkened 
room,  -which  were  probably  new  at  the  date  of  this  paper. 


48  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No  414. 

but  certainly  the  chief  reason  is  its  near  resemblance 
to  nature,  as  it  does  not  only,  like  other  pictures, 
give  the  colour  and  figure,  but  the  motion  of  the 
things  it  represents. 

We  have  before  observed  that  there  is  generally 
in  nature  something  more  grand  and  august  than 
what  we  meet  with  in  the  curiosities  of  art.  When, 
therefore,  we  see  this  imitated  in  any  measure,  it 
gives  us  a  nobler  and  more  exalted  kind  of  pleasure 
than  what  we  receive  from  the  nicer  and  more  ac- 
curate productions  of  art.  On  this  account  our 
English  gardens  are  not  so  entertaining  to  the  fancy 
as  those  in  France  and  Italy,  where  we  see  a  large 
extent  of  ground  covered  over  with  an  agreeable 
mixture  of  garden  and  forest,  which  represent  every- 
where an  artificial  rudeness,  much  more  charming 
than  that  neatness  and  elegancy  which  we  meet 
with  in  those  of  our  own  country.  It  might  indeed 
be  of  ill  consequence  to  the  public,  as  well  as  un- 
profitable to  private  persons,  to  alienate  so  much 
ground  from  pasturage  and  the  plough,  in  many 
parts  of  a  country  that  is  so  weU  peopled,  and  cul- 
tivated to  a  far  greater  advantage.  But  why  may 
not  a  whole  estate  be  thrown  into  a  kind  of  garden 
by  frequent  plantations,  that  may  turn  as  much  to 
the  profit  as  the  pleasure  of  the  owner?  A  marsh 
overgrown  with  willows,  or  a  mountain  shaded  with 
oaks,  are  not  only  more  beautiful  but  more  benefi- 
cial than  when  they  lie  bare  and  unadorned.  Fields 
of  corn  make  a  pleasant  prospect ;  and  if  the  walks 
were  a  little  taken  care  of  that  lie  between  them,  if 
the  natural  embroidery  of  the  meadows  were  helped 
and  improved  by  some  small  additions  of  art,  and 
the  several  rows  of  hedges  set  off  by  trees  and 
flowers  that  the  soil  was  capable  of  receiving,  a  man 


No.  414.1  THE  SPECTATOR.  49 

miglit  make   a  pretty  landscape  of  his  own  pos- 
sessions. 

Writers  wlio  have  given  us  an  account  of  China 
tell  us  the  inhabitants  of  that  country  laugh  at  the 
plantations  of  our  Europeans,  which  are  laid  out  by 
the  rule  and  line ;  because,  they  say,  any  one  may 
place  trees  in  equal  rows  and  uniform  figures.  They 
chobse  rather  to  show  a  genius  in  works  of  this  na- 
ture, and  therefore  always  conceal  the  art  by  which 
they  direct  themselves.  They  have  a  word,  it 
seems,  in  their  language,  by  which  they  express  the 
particular  beauty  of  a  plantation  that  thus  strikes 
the  imagination  at  first  sight,  without  discovering 
what  it  is  that  has  so  agreeable  an  effect.  Our 
British  gardeners,  on  the  contrary,  instead  of  hu- 
mouring nature,  love  to  deviate  from  it  as  much  as 
possible.  Our  trees  rise  in  cones,  globes,  and  pyra- 
mids. We  see  the  marks  of  the  scissors  upon  every 
plant  and  bush.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  singu- 
lar in  my  opinion,  but,  for  my  own  part,  I  would 
rather  look  upon  a  tree  in  all  its  luxuriancy  and 
diffusion  of  boughs  and  branches,  rather  than  when 
it  is  thus  cut  and  trimmed  into  a  mathematical 
figure;  and  cannot  but  fancy  that  an  orchard  in 
flower  looks  infinitely  more  delightful  than  all  the 
little  labyrinths  of  the  most  finished  parterre.  But 
as  our  great  modellers  of  gardens  have  their  maga- 
zines of  plants  to  dispose  of,  it  is  very  natural  for 
them  to  tear  up  all  the  beautiful  plantations  of  fruit 
trees,  and  contrive  a  plan  that  may  most  turn  to 
their  own  profit,  in  taking  off  their  evergreens,  and 
the  like  moveable  plants,  w;ith  which  their  shops 
are  plentifully  stocked.  O.'' 

"  By  AddisoD,  dated,  it  seems,  from  his  office,  or  perhaps  composed  from 
VOL.  V. — 4 


50  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  415. 

No.  415.    THUKSDAY,  June  26,  1712. 

PAPER   V. 

Contents. — Of  arohitectnre,  as  it  affects  the  imagination.  Greatness 
ia  architecture  relates  either  to  the  bulk  or  to  the  manner.  Great- 
ness of  bulk  in  the  ancient  oriental  buildings.  The  ancient  accounts 
of  these  buildings  confirmed,  1.  Ei-om  the  advantages  of  raising 
such  works,  in  the  first  ages  of  the  world,  and  in  the  eastern  cli- 
mates ;  2.  From  several  of  them  which  are  still  extant.  Instances 
how  greatness  of  manner  afifeots  the  imagination.  A  French  au- 
thor's observations  on  this  subject.  Why  concave  and  convex 
figures  give  a  greatness  of  manner  to  works  of  architecture.  Every 
thing  that  pleases  the  imagination  in  architecture,  is  either  great, 
beautiful,  or  new. 

Addo  tot  egregias  urbes,  operamque  laborem. 

YiBa.  Georg.  U.  155. 
Witness  our  cities  of  illustrions  name. 
Their  costly  labour,  and  stupendous  &ame. 

Having  already  shown  how  the  fancy  is  affected  by 
the  works  of  nature,  and  afterwards  considered  in 
general  both  the  works  of  nature  and  of  art,  how 
they  mutually  assist  and  complete  each  other  in  form- 
ing such  scenes  and  prospects  as  are  most  apt  to 
delight  the  mind  of  the  beholder,  I  shall  in  this  pa- 
per throw  together  some  reflections  on  that  particu- 
lar art,  which  has  a  more  immediate  tendency,  than 
any  other,  to  produce  those  primary  pleasures  of 
the  imagination,  which  have  hitherto  been  the  sub- 
ject of  this  discourse.     The  art  I  mean  is  that  of 

sketches  in  his  common-plaoe-boot  written  -when  at  Oxford.  See  the  final 
notes  to  the  two  preceding  papers. 

It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  observe  here,  that  these  eleven  papers  of 
Addison  gave  rise  to  Dr.  Akenside's  fine  poem,  intitled  '  The  Pleasures  of 
the  Imagination,'  of  which  there  are  now  so  many  editions. 

*  See  the  four  preceding  and  seven  following  papers. 


No.  415.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  51 

architecture,  "which  I  shall  consider  only  with  regard 
to  the  light  in  which  the  foregoing  speculations 
have  placed  it,  without  entering  into  those  rules  and 
maxims  which  the  great  masters  of  architecture  have 
laid  down  and  explained  at  large  in  numberless 
treatises  upon  that  subject. 

Greatness,  in  the  works  of  architecture,  may  be 
considered  as  relating  to  the  bulk  and  body  of  the 
structure,  or  to  the  manner  in  which  it  is  built.  As 
for  the  first,  we  find  the  ancients,  especially  among 
the  eastern  nations  of  the  world,  infinitely  superior 
to  the  moderns. 

Not  to  mention  the  tower  of  Babel,  of  which  an 
old  author  says,  there  were  the  foundations  to  be 
seen  in  his  time,  which  looked  like  a  spacious  moun- 
tain ;  what  could  be  more  noble  than  the  walls  of 
Babylon,  its  hanging  gardens,  and  its  temple  to  Ju- 
piter Belus,  that  rose  a  mile  high  by  eight  several 
stories,  each  story  a  furlong  in  height,  and  on  the 
top  of  which  was  the  Babylonian  observatory  ?  I 
might  here,  likewise,  take  notice  of  the  huge  rock 
that  was  cut  into  the  figure  of  Semiramis,  with  the 
smaller  rocks  that  lay  by  it  in  the  shape  of  tribu- 
tary kings ;  the  prodigious  basin,  or  artificial  lake, 
which  took  in  the  whole  Euphrates,  till  such  time 
as  a  new  canal  was  formed  for  its  reception,  with 
the  several  trenches  through  which  that  river  was 
conveyed.  I  know  there  are  persons  who  look  upon 
some  of  these  wonders  of  art  as  fabulous  :  but  I  can- 
not find  any  grounds  for  such  a  suspicion ;  unless  it 
be  that  we  have  no  such  works  among  us  at  present. 
There  were  indeed  many  greater  advantages  for 
building  in  those  times,  and  in  that  part  of  the 
world,  than  have  been  met  with  ever  since.  The 
earth  was  extremely  fruitful ;  men  lived  generally 


52  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  415. 

on  pasturage,  which  requires  a  much  smaller  num- 
ber of  hands  than  agriculture.  There  were  few 
trades  to  employ  the  busy  part  of  mankind,  and 
fewer  arts  and  sciences  to  give  work  to  men  of  spec- 
ulative tempers :  and,  what  is  more  than  all  the  rest, 
the  prince  was  absolute ;  so  that  when  he  went  to 
war,  he  put  himself  at  the  head  of  a  whole  people ; 
as  we  find  Semiramis  leading  her  three  millions  to 
the  field,  and  yet  overpowered  by  the  number  of 
her  enemies.  'Tis  no  wonder,  therefore,  when  she 
was  at  peace,  and  turned  her  thoughts  on  building, 
that  she  could  accomplish  so  great  works  with  such 
a  prodigious  multitude  of  labourers ;  besides  that  in 
her  climate  there  was  small  interruption  of  frosts 
and  winters,  which  make  the  northern  workmen  lie 
half  the  year  idle.  I  might  mention  too,  among 
the  benefits  of  the  climate,  what  historians  say  of 
the  earth,  that  it  sweated  out  a  bitumen  or  natural 
kind  of  mortar,  which  is  doubtless  the  same  with 
that  mentioned  in  holy  writ  as  contributing  to  the 
structure  of  Babel:  'Slime  they  used  instead  of 
mortar.' 

In  Egypt  we  still  see  their  pyramids,  which  an- 
swer to  the  descriptions  that  have  been  made  of  them ; 
and  I  question  not  but  a  traveller  might  find  out 
some  remains  of  the  labyrinth  that  covered  a  whole 
province,  and  had  a  hundred  temples,  disposed 
among  its  several  quarters  and  divisions. 

The  wall  of  China  is  one  of  these  eastern  pieces 
of  magnificence,  which  makes  a  figure  even  in  the 
map  of  the  world,  although  an  account  of  it  would 
have  been  thought  fabulous,  were  not  the  wall  itself 
still  extant. 

We  are  obliged  to  devotion  for  the  noblest 
buildings  that  have  adorned  the  several  countries 


No.  415.]i  THE   SPECTATOE.  53 

of  the  world.  It  is  thi^  -whicli  has  set  men  at  work  on 
temples  and  public  places  of  worship,  not  only  that 
they  might,  by  the  magnificence  of  the  building,  invite 
the  Deity  to  reside  within  it,  but  that  such  stupen- 
dous works  might,  at  the  same  time,  open  the  mind 
to  vast  conceptions,  and  fit  it  to  converse  with  the 
divinity  of  the  place.  For  every  thing  that  is  ma- 
jestic imprints  an  awfulness  and  reverence  on  the 
mind  of  the  beholder,  and  strikes  in  with  the  natu- 
ral greatness  of  the  soul. 

In  the  second  place  we  are  to  consider  greatness 
of  manner  in  architecture,  which  has  such  force  upon 
the  imagination,  that  a  small  building,  where  it  ap- 
pears, shall  give  the  mind  nobler  ideas  than  one  of 
twenty  times  the  bulk,  where  the  manner  is  ordinary 
or  little.  Thus,  perhaps,  a  man  would  have  been 
more  astonished  with  the  majestic  air  that  appeared 
in  one  of  Lysippus's  statues  of  Alexander,  though  no 
bigger  than  the  life,  than  he  might  have  been  with 
mount  Athos,  had  it  been  cut  into  the  figure  of  the 
hero,  according  to  the  proposal  of  Phidias,^  with  a 
river  in  one  hand,  and  a  city  in  the  other. 

Let  any  one  reflect  on  the  disposition  of  mind  he 
finds  in  himself,  at  his  first  entrance  into  the  Pan- 
theon at  Rome,  and  how  his  imagination  is  filled  with 
something  great  and  amazing ;  and  at  the  same  time, 
consider  how  little,  in  proportion,  he  is  affected  with 
the  inside  of  a  gothic  cathedral,  though  it  be  five 
times  larger  than  the  other ;  whice  can  arise  from 
nothing  else  but  the  greatness  of  the  manner  in  the 
one,  and  the  meanness  in  the  other. 

I  have  seen  an  observation  upon  this  subject  in 
a  French  author,  which  very  much  pleased  me.     It 

7  Diuocrates. 


54  THE   SPECTATOR.  V^^-  '^^^■ 

is  in  monsieur  Preart's  Parallel  of  the  ancient  and 
modern  Architecture.  I  shall  give  it  the  reader  with 
the  same  terms  of  art  which  he  has  made  use  of.  '  I 
am  observing,'  says  he,  'a  thing  which,  in  my  opin- 
ion, is  very  curious,  whence  it  proceeds  that  in  the 
same  quantity  of  superficies,  the  one  manner  seems 
great  and  magnificent,  and  the  other  poor  and  tri- 
fling ;  the  reason  is  fine  and  uncommon.  I  say  then, 
that  to  introduce  in  architecture  this  grandeur  of 
manner,  we  ought  so  to  proceed,  that  the  division 
of  the  principal  members  of  the  order  may  consist 
but  of  few  parts ;  that  they  be  all  great,  and  of  a 
bold  and  ample  relievo,  and  swelling ;  and  that  the 
eye  beholding  nothing  little  and  mean,  the  imagina- 
tion may  be  more  vigorously  touched  and  affected 
with  the  work  that  stands  before  it.  For  example ; 
in  a  cornice,  if  the  gola  or  cymatium  of  the  corona, 
the  coping,  the  modillions  or  dentelli,  make  a  noble 
show  by  their  graceful  projections,  if  we  see  none 
of  that  ordinary  confusion  which  is  the  result  of  those 
little  cavities,  quarter  rounds  of  the  astragal,  and  I 
know  not  how  many  other  intermingled  particulars, 
which  produce  no  effect  in  great  and  massy  works, 
and  which  very  unprofitably  take  up  place  to  the 
prejudice  of  the  principal  member,  it  is  most  certain 
that  this  manner  will  appear  solemn  and  great ;  as, 
on  the  contrary,  that  it  will  have  but  a  poor  and 
mean  effect,  where  there  is  a  redundancy  of  those 
smaller  ornaments  which  divide  and  scatter  the  an- 
gles of  the  sight  into  such  a  multitude  of  rays,  so 
pressed  together  that  the  whole  will  appear  but  a 
confusion.' 

Among  all  the  figures  in  architecture  there  are 
none  that  have  a  greater  air  than  the  concave  and 
the  convex ;  and  we  find  in  all  the  ancient  and  mod- 


No-  415.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  55 

ern  architecture,  as  well  in  the  remote  parts  of  Chi- 
na, as  in  countries  nearer  home,  that  round  pillars 
and  vaulted  roofs  make  a  great  part  of  those  build- 
ings which  are  designed  for  pomp  and  magnificence. 
The  reason  I  take  to  be,  because  in  these  figures  we 
generally  see  more  of  the  body  than  in  those  of  other 
kinds.  There  are  indeed  figures  of  bodies  where  the 
feye  may  take  in  two  thirds  of  the  surface ;  but  as 
in  such  bodies  the  sight  must  split  upon  several  an- 
gles, it  does  not  take  in  one  uniform  idea,  but  sev- 
eral ideas  of  the  same  kind.  Look  upon  the  outside 
of  a  dome,  your  eye  half  surrounds  it ;  look  up  into 
the  inside,  and  at  one  glance  you  have  all  the  pros- 
pect of  it ;  the  entire  concavity  falls  into  your  eye 
at  once,  the  sight  being  as  the  center  that  collects 
and  gathers  into  it  the  lines  of  the  whole  circumfer- 
ence ;  in  a  square  pillar,  the  sight  often  takes  in  but 
a  fourth  part  of  the  surface ;  and  in  a  square  concave, 
must  move  up  and  down  to  the  different  sides,  before 
it  is  master  of  all  the  inward  surface.  For  this  rea- 
son, the  fancy  is  infinitely  more  struck  with  the  view 
of  the  open  air  and  skies,  that  passes  through  an  arch, 
than  what  comes  through  a  square,  or  any  other 
figure.  The  figure  of  the  rainbow  does  not  contri- 
bute less  to  its  magnificence,  than  the  colours  to  its 
beauty,  as  it  is  very  poetically  described  by  the  son 
of  Sirach  :  '  Look  upon  the  rainbow,  and  praise  Him 
that  made  it ;  very  beautiful  it  is  in  its  brightness ; 
it  encompasses  the  heavens  with  a  glorious  circle, 
and  the  hands  of  the  Most  High  have  bended  it.' 

Having  thus  spoken  of  that  greatness  which  af- 
fects the  mind  in  architecture,  I  might  next  show 
the  pleasure  that  rises  in  the  imagination  from  what 
appears  new  and  beautiful  in  this  art ;  but  as  every 
beholder  has  naturally  a  greater  taste  of  these  two 


56  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0-  416. 

perfections  in  every  building  which  offers  itself  to 
his  view,  than  of  that  which  I  have  hitherto  consi- 
dered, I  shall  not  trouble  my  reader  with  any  reflec- 
tions upon  it.  It  is  sufficient  for  my  present  pur- 
pose to  observe,  that  there  is  nothing  in  this  whole 
art  which  pleases  the  imagination,  but  as  it  is  great, 
uncommon,  or  beautiful.  0.^ 

*„*  Whereas  the  proposal  called  the  Multiplication  Table  ia  under  an 
information  from  the  attorney-general,  in  humble  submission  and  duty  to 
her  majesty  the  said  undertaking  is  laid  down,  and  attendance  is  this  day 
given  in  Ship-yard,  in  Bartholomew-lane,  to  repay  the  sums  that  have 
been  paid  into  the  said  Table  without  deduction. — Speot  in  folio.  No.  ill. 
See  Spect.  No.  413,  ad  finem;  and  Swift's  Works,  edit  in  crown  8vo.  1768, 
24  vols,  volume  xix.  p.  169.  'Steele  was  arrested  the  other  day  for  mak- 
ing a  lottery,  directly  against  an  act  of  parliament.  He  is  now  under 
prosecution,  <fec.'    July  1,  1'712.     Let.  to  Miu  Dingley. 


No.  416.    FEIDAY,  June  27,  1712. 

PAPER   VI. 

dDn  tIjB  iKHEtoni  f  iBnrarrs  nf  tjit  §niitgiiiotinn.* 

Contents.— The  secondary  pleasures  of  the  imagination.  The  several 
sources  of  these  pleasures  (statuary,  painting,  description,  and  mu- 
sic) compared  together.  The  final  cause  of  our  receiving  pleasure 
from  these  several  sources.  Of  descriptions  in  particular.  The 
power  of  words  over  the  imagination.  Why  one  reader  is  more 
pleased  with  descriptions  than  another. 

Quatenus  hoc  simile  est  oculis,  quod  mcnto  yidemua. 

LucR.  Iv.  754. 
So  far  88  what  we  see  with  oar  minds  hears  similitnde  to  what  we  see  with  our  eyes. 

I  AT  first  divided  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination 
into  such  as  arise  from  objects  that  are  actually  be- 

•  By  Addison,  dated  apparently  from  his  office  ;  or  the  signature  may 
mean  that  it  was  sketched  originally  at  Oxford,  when  he  was  a  student 
there. 

*  See  thfl  five  preceding  and  six  following  papers. 


No.  416.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  57 

fore  our  eyes,  or  that  once  entered  in  at  our  eyes, 
and  are  afterwards  called  up  into  the  mind  either 
barely  by  its  own  operations,  or  on  occasion  of  some- 
thing without  us,  as  statues,  or  descriptions.  We 
have  already  considered  the  first  division ;  and  shall 
therefore  enter  on  the  other,  which,  for  distinction 
sake,  I  have  called  '  The  Secondary  Pleasures  of  the 
Imagination.'  When  I  say  the  ideas  we  receive  from 
statues,  descriptions,  or  such  like  occasions,  are  the 
same  that  were  once  actually  in  our  view,  it  must 
not  be  uifterstood  that  we  had  once  seen  the  very 
place,  action,  or  person,  that  are  carved  or  described. 
It  is  sufficient  that  we  have  seen  places,  persons,  or 
actions  in  general,  which  bear  a  resemblance,  or  at 
least  some  remote  analogy,  with  what  we  find  repre- 
sented ;  since  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  imagination, 
when  it  is  once  stocked  with  particular  ideas,  to  en- 
large, compound,  and  vary  them  at  her  own  plea- 
sure. 

Among  the  different  kinds  of  representation,  sta- 
tuary is  the  most  natural,  and  shows  us  something 
nicest  the  object  that  is  represented.  To  make  use 
of  a  common  instance :  let  one  who  is  born  blind 
take  an  image  in  his  hands,  and  trace  out  with  his 
fingers  the  different  furrows  and  impressions  of  the 
chissel,  and  he  will  easily  conceive  how  the  shape 
of  a  man,  or  beast,  may  be  represented  by  it ;  but 
should  he  draw  his  hand  over  a  picture,  where  all 
is  smooth  and  uniform,  he  would  never  be  able  to 
imagine  how  the  several  prominences  and  depres- 
sions of  a  human  body  could  be  shown  on  a  plain 
piece  of  canvass,  that  has  in  it  no  unevenness  or  ir- 
regularity. Description  runs  yet  farther  from  the 
things  it  represents  than  painting :  for  a  picture 
bears  a  real  resemblance  to  its  original,  which  letters 


58  THE   SPECTATOE.  \^°-  ^16. 

and  syllables  are  wliolly  void  of.  Colours  speak  all 
languages,  but  words  are  understood  only  by  such  a 
people  or  nation.  For  this  reason,  though  men's 
necessities  quickly  put  them  on  finding  out  speech, 
writing  is  probably  of  a  later  invention  than  paint- 
ing ;  particularly  we  are  told  that  in  America,  when 
the  Spaniards  first  arrived  there,  expresses  were  sent 
to  the  emperor  of  .Mexico  in  paint,  and  the  news  of 
his  country  delineated  by  the  strokes  of  a  pencil, 
which  was  a  more  natural  way  than  that  of  writing, 
though  at  the  same  time  much  more  imperfect,  be- 
cause it  is  impossible  to  draw  the  little  connexions  of 
speech,  or  to  give  the  picture  of  a  conjunction  or  an 
adverb.  It  would  be  yet  more  strange  to  represent 
visible  objects  by  sounds  that  have  no  ideas  annexed 
to  them,  and  to  make  something  like  description  in 
music.  Yet  it  is  certain,  there .  may  be  confused 
imperfect  notions  of  this  nature  raised  in  the  imagi- 
nation by  an  artificial  composition  of  notes  ;  and  we 
find  that  great  masters  in  the  art  are  able,  sometimes, 
to  set  their  hearers  in  the  heat  and  hurry  of  a  battle, 
to  overcast  their  minds  with  melancholy  scenes  and 
apprehensions  of  deaths  and  funerals,  or  to  lull  them 
into  pleasing  dreams  of  groves  and  elysiums. 

In  all  these  instances,  this  secondary  pleasure  of 
the  imagination  proceeds  from  that  action  of  the 
mind,  which  compares  the  ideas  arising  from  the 
original  objects  with  the  ideas  we  receive  from  the 
statue,  picture,  description,  or  sound  that  represents 
them.  It  is  impossible  for  us  to  give  the  necessary 
reason  why  this  operation  of  the  mind  is  attended 
with  so  much  pleasure,  as  I  have  before  observed  on 
the  same  occasion ;  but  we  find  a  great  variety  of 
entertainments  derived  from  this  single  principle: 
for  it  is  this  that  not  only  gives  us  a  relish  of  statu- 


No.  416.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  59 

ary,  painting,  and  description,  but  makes  ns  delight 
in  all  the  actions  and  arts  of  mimicry  :  it  is  this  that 
makes  the  several  kinds  of  wit  pleasant,  which  con- 
sists, as  I  have  formerly  shown,  in  the  afi&nity  of 
ideas :  and,  we  may  add,  it  is  this  also  that  raises 
the  little  satisfaction  we  sometimes  find  in  the  dif- 
ferent sorts  of  false  wit ;  whether  it  consists  in  the 
afl&nity  of  letters,  as  an  anagram,  acrostic ;  or  of  sylla- 
bles, as  in  doggrel  rhimes,  echoes ;  or  of  words,  as 
in  puns,  quibbles ;  or  of  a  whole  sentence  or  poem, 
to  wings  and  altars.  The  final  cause,  probably,  of 
annexing  pleasure  to  this  operation  of  the  mind,  was 
to  quicken  and  encourage  us  in  our  searches  after 
truth,  since  the  distinguishing  one  thing  from  an- 
other, and  the  right  discerning  betwixt  our  ideas, 
depends  wholly  upon  our  comparing  them  together, 
and  observing  the  congruity  or  disagreement  that 
appears  among  the  several  works  of  nature. 

But  I  shall  here  confine  myself  to  those  pleasures 

of  the  imagination  which  proceed  from  ideas  raised 

by  words,  because  most  of  the  observations  that 

agree  with  descriptions   are  equally  applicable  to 

•^painting  and  statuary. 

Words,  when  well  chosen,  have  so  great  a  force 
in  them,  that  a  description  often  gives  us  more  lively 
ideas  than  the  sight  of  things  themselves.  The 
reader  finds  a  scene  drawn  in  stronger  colours,  and 
painted  more  to  the  life  in  his  imagination,  by  the 
help  of  words,  than  by  an  actual  survey  of  the  scene 
which  they  describe.  In  this  case  the  poet  seems 
to  get  the  better  of  nature :  he  takes,  indeed,  the 
landscape  after  her,  but  gives  it  more  vigorous 
touches,  heightens  its  beauty,  and  so  enlivens  the 
whole  piece,  that  the  images  which  flow  from'  the 
objects  themselves  appear  weak  and  faint,  in  compa- 


60  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  416. 

rison  of  those  that  come  from  the  expressions.  The 
reason  probably  may  be,  because,  in  the  survey  of 
any  object,  we  have  only  so  much  of  it  painted  on 
the  imagination  as  comes  in  at  the  eye  ;  but  in  its  de- 
scription, the  poet  gives  us  as  free  a  view  of  it  as  he 
pleases,  and  discovers  to  us  several  parts,  that  either 
we  did  not  attend  to,  or  that  lay  out  of  our  sight 
when  we  first  beheld  it.  As  we  look  on  any  object, 
our  idea  of  it  is,  perhaps,  made  up  of  two  or  three 
simple  ideas ;  but  when  the  poet  represents  it,  he 
may  either  give  us  a  more  complex  idea  of  it,  or 
only  raise  in  us  such  ideas  as  are  most  apt  to  afiect 
the  imagination. 

It  may  be  here  worth  our  while  to  examine  how 
it  comes  to  pass  that  several  readers,  who  are  all  ac- 
quainted with  the  same  language,  and  know  the 
meaning  of  the  words  they  read,  should  neverthe- 
less have  a  different  relish  of  the  same  descriptions. 
We  find  one  transported  with  a  passage,  which 
another  runs  over  with  coldness  and  indifference ; 
or,  finding  the  representation  extremely  natural, 
where  another  can  perceive  nothing  of  likeness  and 
conformity.  This  different  taste  must  proceed  either 
from  the  perfection  of  imagination  in  one  more  than 
in  another,  or  from  the  different  ideas  that  several 
readers  affix  to  the  same  words.  For,  to  have  a 
true  relish,  and  form  a  right  judgment  of  a  descrip- 
tion, a  man  should  be  born  with  a  good  imagination, 
and  must  have  well  weighed  the  force  and  energy 
that  lie  in  the  several  words  of  a  language,  so  as  to 
be  able  to  distinguish  which  are  most  significant 
and  expressive  of  their  proper  ideas,  and  what 
additional  strength  and  beauty  they  are  capable  of 
receiving  from  conjunction  with  others.  The  fancy 
must  be  warm,  to  retain  the  print  of  those  images  it 


No.  416.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  61 

hath  received  from  outward  objects ;  and  the  judg- 
ment discerning,  to  know  what  expressions  are  most 
proper  to  clothe  and  adorn  them  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. A  man  who  is  deficient  in  either  of  these 
respects,  though  he  may  receive  the  general  notion 
of  a  description,  can  never  see  distinctly  all  its  par- 
ticular beauties ;  as  a  person  with  a  weak  sight  may 
have  the  confused  prospect  of  a  place  that  lies  before 
him,  without  entering  into  its  several  parts,  or  dis- 
cerning the  variety  of  its  colours  in  their  full  glory 
and  perfection.  0.* 

'  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  hia  office.    See  final  note  to  the 
preceding  paper. 


62  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No.  417. 

No.  417.    SATUKDAY,  June  28,  1712. 


PAPER  vn. 

(Du  tin;  '^Inmm  nf  tju  Smngmflto.* 

OoNTENTS.-^How  a  whole  set  of  ideas  hang  together,!  &o.  A  natural 
cause  assigned  for  it.  How  to  perfect  the  imagination  of  a  writer. 
Who  among  the  ancient  poets  had  this  faculty  in  its  greatest  per- 
fection. Homer  excelled  in  imagining  what  is  great;  Virgil  in 
imagining  what  is  beautiful;  Ovid  in  imagining  what  is  new.  Our 
own  countryman  Milton  very  perfect  in  all  these  three  respects. 

Quein  ta,  Melpomene,  Bemel 
Nascentem  placido  lumine  videria, 

Non  ilium  labor  Isthmius 
Clarablt  pngilem,  non  equus  impiger,  &c 
Bed  quEO  Tibur  aquie  fertile  perflumit, 

Et  spissse  nemorum  comaa 
Fingent  JEolio  carmine  nobilem. 

Hob.  4  04.  iii  1 
He,  on  whose  birtb  the  lyric  qaeen 

Of  numbers  smil'd,  shall  never  grace 
The  Isthmian  gauntlet,  or  he  seen 

First  in  the  fam'd  Olympic  race. 
But  him  the  streams  that  warbling  flow 

Eich  Tibur's  fertile  meads  along, 
And  shady  groves,  his  haunts  shall  know 

The  master  of  the  JEolian  song. 

Attebbitbt. 

We  may  observe,  that  any  single  circumstance  of 
what  we  have  formerly  seen,  often  raises  up  a  whole 
scene  of  imagery,  and  awakens  numberless  ideas 
that  before  slept  in  the  imagination ;  such  a  parti- 
cular smell  or  colour  is  able  to  fill  the  mind,  on  a 
sudden,  with  a  picture  of  the  fields  or  gardens  where 
we  first  met  with  it,  and  to  bring  up  into  view  all 
the  variety  of  images  that  once  attended  it.  Our 
imagination  takes  the  hint,  and  leads  us  unexpect- 
edly into  cities  or  theatres,  plains  or  meadows.  We 
may  farther  observe,  when  the  fancy  thus  reflects  on 

*  See  the  six  preceding  and  five  following  papers. 


No.  417.]  THE  SPECTATOB.  63 

the  scenes  that  have  past  in  it  formerly,  those  which 
were  at  first  pleasant  to  behold  appear  more  so  upon 
reflection,  and  that  the  memory  heightens  the  de- 
lightfulness  of  the  original.  A  Cartesian  would 
account  for  both  these  instances  in  the  following 
manner. 

The  set  of  ideas  which  we  received  from  such  a 
prospect  or  garden,  having  entered  the  mind  at  the 
same  time,  have  a  set  of  traces  belonging  to  them  in 
the  brain,  bordering  very  near  upon  one  another ; 
when,  therefore,  any  one  of  these  ideas  arises  in  the 
imagination,  and  consequently  despatches  a  flow  of 
animal  spirits  to  its  proper  trace,  these  spirits,  in  the 
violence  of  their  motion,  run  not  only  into  the  trace 
'  to  which  they  were  more  particularly  directed,  but 
into  several  of  those  that  lie  about  it.  By  this  means 
they  awaken  other  ideas  of  the  same  set,  which  im- 
mediately determine  a  new  despatch  of  spirits,  that 
in  the  same  manner  open  other  neighbouring  traces, 
till  at  last  the  whole  set  of  them  is  blown  up,  and 
the  whole  prospect  or  garden  flourishes  in  the  im- 
agination. But  because  the  pleasure  we  receive 
from  these  places  far  surmounted  and  overcame  the 
little  disagreeableness  we  found  in  them ;  for  this 
reason  there  was  at  first  a  wider  passage  worn  in 
the  pleasure  traces,  and,  on  the  contrary,  so  narrow 
a  one  in  those  which  belonged  to  the  disagreeable 
ideas,  that  they  were  quickly  stopt  up,  and  rendered 
incapable  of  receiving  any  animal  spirits,  and  con- 
sequently of  exciting  any  unpleasant  ideas  in  the 
memory. 

It  would  be  in  vain  to  inquire,  whether  the  power  of 
imagining  things  strongly  proceeds  from  any  greater 
perfection  in  the  soul,  or  from  any  nicer  texture  in 
the  brain  of  one  man  than  of  another.     But  this  is 


64  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  417. 

certain,  that  a  noble  writer  should  be  born  with  this 
faculty  in  its  full  strength  and  vigour,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  receive  lively  ideas  from  outward  objects,  to 
retain  them  long,  and  to  range  them  together,  upon 
occasion,  in  such  figures  and  representations  as  are 
most  likely  to  hit  the  fancy  of  the  reader.  A  poet 
should  take  as  much  pains  in  forming  his  imagina- 
tion, as  a  philosopher  in  cultivating  his  understand- 
ing. He  must  gain  a  due  relish  of  the  works  of 
nature,  and  be  thoroughly  conversant  in  the  various 
scenery  of  a  country  life. 

When  he  is  stored  with  country  images,  if  he 
would  go  beyond  pastoral  and  the  lower  kinds  of 
poetry,  he  ought  to  acquaint  himself  with  the  pomp 
and  magnificence  of  courts.  He  should  be  very  well 
versed  in  every  thing  that  is  noble  and  stately  in 
the  productions  of  art,  whether  it  appear  in  painting 
or  statuary,  in  the  great  works  of  architecture  which 
are  in  their  present  glory,  or  in  the  ruins  of  those 
which  flourished  in  former  ages. 

Such  advantages  as  these  help  to  open  a  man's 
thoughts,  and  to  enlarge  his  imagination,  and  will 
therefore  have  their  influence  on  all  kinds  of  writ- 
ing, if  the  author  knows  how  to  make  right  use  of 
them.  And  among  those  of  the  learned  languages 
who  excel  in  this  talent,  the  most  perfect  in  their 
several  kinds  are  perhaps  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Ovid. 
The  first  strikes  the  imagination  wonderfully  with 
what  is  great,  the  second  with  what  is  beautiful,  and 
the  last  with  what  is  strange.  Reading  the  Iliad  is 
like  travelling  through  a  country  uninhabited,  where 
the  fancy  is  entertained  with  a  thousand  savage 
prospects  of  vast  deserts,  wide  uncultivated  marshes, 
huge  forests,  misshapen  rocks  and  precipices.  On 
the  contrary,  the  JEneid  is  like  a  well-ordered  gar- 


No.  417.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  65 

den,  where  it  is  impossible  to  find  out  any  part  un- 
adorned, or  to  cast  our  eyes  upon  a  single  spot  that 
does  not  produce  some  beautiful  plant  or  flower. 
But  when  we  are  in  the  Metamorphosis,  we  are  walk- 
ing on  enchanted  ground,  and  see  nothing  but  scenes 
of  magic  lying  round  us. 

Homer  is  in  his  province,  when  he  is  describing 
a  battle  or  a  multitude,  a  hero  or  a  god.  Virgil  is 
never  better  pleased  than  when  he  is  in  his  elysium, 
or  copying  out  an  entertaining  picture.  Homer's 
epithets  generally  mark  out  what  is  great ;  Virgil's, 
what  is  agreeable.  Nothing  can  be  more  magnifi- 
cent than  the  figure  Jupiter  makes  in  the  first  Iliad, 
nor  more  charming  than  that  of  Venus  in  the  first 
Mueid. 

'H,  (cai  Kvavijicnv  in  o<j)pi(Ti,  Vfvae  Kpovlav ' 
'AfJi^poaiai  S'  apa  j^airai  iireppixravTO  avoKTos 
Kparos  air  aSavdroio-  p,lyav  8'  iKiKi^tv  "OXvpnov. 

Iliad,  a.  528. 

'  He  spoke,  and  awM  bends  his  sable  brows ; 
Shakes  his  ambrosial  curls,  and  gives  the  nod, 
The  stamp  of  fate,  and  sanction  of  the  god : 
High  heav'n  with  trembling  the  dread  signal  took. 
And  all  Olympus  to  the  centre  shook.' 

Pope. 

'  Dixit,  et  avertens  roseS.  cervice  refnlsit : 
Ambrosiseque  comse  divinum  vertioe  odorem 
Spiravfire :  pedes  Testis  defluxit  ad  imos, 
Et  Tera  incessu  patuit  dea — ' 

Ma.  i.  406. 

'  Thus  having  said,  she  turn'd  and  made  appear 
Her  neck  refulgent,  and  dishevel'd  hair ; 
Which,  flowing  from  her  shoulders  reached  the  ground, 
And  widely  spread  ambrosial  scents  around ; 
In  length  of  train  descends  her  sweeping  gown, 
And  by  her  graceful  walk  the  queen  of  love  is  known. 

Detdbn. 

Homer's  persons  are  most  of  them  godlike  and  ter- 


66  THE   SPECTATOR.  C^O.  417, 

rible :  Virgil  has  scarce  admitted  any  into  his  poem 
who  are  not  beautiful ;  and  has  taken  particular  care 
to  make  his  hero  so. 

'  — Inmenque  juvento 
Purpuremn,  et  Isetoa  ocnlis  afflavit  honores.' 

^n.  i.  594. 

'And  gave  his  rolling  eyes  a  sparkling  grace, 
And  breath'd  a  youthful  vigour  on  his  face.' 

Detden. 

In  a  word,  Homer  fills  his  readers  with  sublime 
ideas,  and  I  believe  has  raised  the  imagination  of  aU 
the  good  poets  that  have  come  after  him.  I  shall 
only  instance  Horace,  who  immediately  takes  fire  at 
the  first  hint  of  any  passage  in  the  Iliad  or  Odyssey, 
and  always  rises  above  himself  when  he  has  Homer 
in  his  view.  Virgil  has  drawn  together  into  his 
^neid  all  the  pleasing  scenes  his  subject  is  capable 
of  admitting,  and  in  his  Georgics  has  given  us  a  col- 
lection of  the  most  delightful  landscapes  that  can  be 
made  out  of  fields  and  woods,  herds  of  cattle,  and 
swarms  of  bees. 

Ovid,  in  his  Metamorphoses,  has  shown  us  how 
the  imagination  may  be  affected  by  what  is  strange. 
He  describes  a  miracle  in  every  story,  and  always 
gives  us  the  sight  of  some  new  creature  at  the  end 
of  it.  His  art  consists  chiefly  in  well  timing  his 
description,  before  the  first  shape  is  quite  worn  off, 
and  the  new  one  perfectly  finished :  so  that  he  every 
where  entertains  us  with  something  we  never  saw 
before,  and  shows  monster  after  monster  to  the  end 
of  the  Metamorphoses. 

If  I  were  to  name  a  poet  that  is  a  perfect  master 
in  all  these  arts  of  working  on  the  imagination,  I 
think  Milton  may  pass  for  one :  and  if  his  Paradise 


No.  417.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  '  67 

Lost  falls  short  of  the  ^neid  or  Iliad  in  this  respect, 
it  proceeds  rather  from  the  fault  of  the  language  in 
which  it  is  written,  than  from  any  defect  of  genius 
in  the  author.  So  divine  a  poem  in  English,  is  like 
a  stately  palace  built  of  briok,  where  one  may  see 
architecture  in  as  great  a  perfection  as  in  one  of 
marble,  though  the  materials  are  of  a  coarser  nature. 
But  to  consider  it  only  as  it  regards  our  present 
subject :  what  can  be  conceived  greater  than  the 
battle  of  angels,  the  majesty  of  Messiah,  the  stature 
and  behaviour  of  Satan  and  his  peers !  What  more 
beautiful  than  Pandemonium,  Paradise,  Heaven, 
Angels,  Adam  and  Eve  !  What  more  strange  than 
the  creation  of  the  world,  the  several  metamorphoses 
of  the  fallen  angels,  and  the  surprising  adventures 
their  leader  meets  with  in  his  search  after  Paradise  ! 
No  other  subject  could  have  furnished  a  poem  with 
scenes  so  proper  to  strike  the  imagination,  as  no 
other  poet  could  have  painted  those  scenes  in  more 
strong  and  lively  colours. 

0." 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

Whereas  the  proposal  called  the  Multiplication  Table  is  under  an  infor- 
mation from  the  attorney-general ;  in  humble  submission  and  duty  to  her 
majesty  the  said  undertaking  is  laid  down,  and  attendance  is  this  day 
given,  at  the  last  house  on  the  left  hand  in  Ship-yard,  Bartholomew-lane, 
in  order  to  repay  such  sums  as  have  been  paid  in  the  said  table,  without 
deduction. 

See  the  letter  annexed  to  No.  413,  in  this  edition,  and  Swift's  Worts, 
vol.  xviii.  p.  162.  '  Steele  was  arrested  the  other  day  for  making  a  lottery 
directly  against  an  act  of  parliament,'  <fec. 

^  By  Addison,  dated  probably  from  bis  oflSce,  or  it  might  be  written 
originally  at  Oxford. 


68  THE   SPEOTATOE.  i^'^-  '^^^■ 


No.  418.    MONDAY,  June  30,  1712. 

PAPER   VIII. 

m  tjiB  f  tenrBS  nf  \^t  Sraaginiite-* 

Contents.— Wly  any  thing  that  is  unpleasant  to  hehold  pleases  the 
imagination  when  well  described.  Why  the  imagination  receives 
a  more  exqnisite  pleasure  from  the  description  of  what  is  great, 
new,  or  beautiful.  The  pleasure  still  heightened,  if  what  is  de- 
scribed raises  passion  in  the  mind.  Disagreeable  passions  pleasing 
when  raised  by  apt  descriptions.  Why  terror  and  grief  are  pleas- 
ing to  the  mind  when  excited  by  description.  A  particular  advan- 
tage the  writers  in  poetry  and  fiction  have  to  please  the  imagina- 
tion.    What  liberties  are  allowed  them. 

— ^feret  et  rubuB  aapor  amomum. 

Vies.  Eel.  lii.  89. 

The  ragged  thorn  shall  bear  the  fragrant  rose. 

The  pleasures  of  these  secondary  views  of  tlie  ima- 
gination are  of  a  wider  and  more  universal  nature 
than  those  it  has  when  joined  with  sight;  for  not 
only  what  is  great,  strange,  or  beautiful,  but  any 
thing  that  is  disagreeable  when  looked  upon,  pleases 
us  in  an  apt  description.  Here,  therefore,  we  must 
inquire  after  a  new  principle  of  pleasure,  which  is 
nothing  else  but  the  action  of  the  mind,  which  com- 
pares the  ideas  that  arise  from  words  with  the  ideas 
that  arise  from  the  objects  themselves ;  and  why 
this  operation  of  the  mind  is  attended  with  so  much 
pleasure,  we  have  before  considered.  For  this 
reason,  therefore,  the  description  of  a  dunghill  is 
pleasing  to  the  imagination,  if  the  image  be  pre- 
sented to  our  minds  by  suitable  expressions ;  though 
perhaps  this  may  be  more  properly  called  the  plea- 
sure of  the  understanding  than  of  the  fancy,  because 

*  See  the  seven  preceding  and  three  following  papers. 


No.  418.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  69 

we  are  not  so  much  delighted  with  the  image  that 
is  contained  in  the  description,  as  with  the  aptness 
of  the  description  to  excite  the  image. 

But  if  the  description  of  what  is  little,  common, 
or  deformed,  be  acceptable  to  the  imagination,  the 
description  of  what  is  great,  surprising,  or  beautiful, 
is  much  more  so ;  because  here  we  are  not  only 
delighted  with  comparing  the  representation  with 
the  original,  but  are  highly  pleased  with  the  original 
itself.  Most  readers,  I  believe,  are  more  charmed 
with  Milton's  description  of  paradise  than  of  hell : 
they  are  both  perhaps  equally  perfect  in  their  kind ; 
but  in  the  one  the  brimstone  and  sulphur  are  not  so. 
refreshing  to  the  imagination,  as  the  beds  of  flcJfrers 
and  the  wilderness  of  sweets  in  the  other. 

There  is  yet  another  circumstance  which  recom- 
mends a  description  more  than  all  the  rest ;  and  that 
is,  if  it  represents  to  us  such  objects  as  are  apt  to 
raise  a  secret  ferment  in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  and 
to  work  with  violence  upon  his  passions.  For,  in 
this  case,  we  are  at  once  warmed  and  enlightened, 
so  that  the  pleasure  becomes  more  universal,  and  is 
several  ways  qualified  to  entertain  us.  Thus  in 
painting,  it  is  pleasant  to  look  on  the  picture  of  any 
face  where  the  resemblance  is  hit ;  but  the  pleasure 
increases  if  it  be  the  picture  of  a  face  that  is  beau- 
tiful, and  is  still  greater  if  the  beauty  be  softened 
with  an  air  of  melancholy  or  sorrow.  The  two 
leading  passions  which  the  more  serious  parts  of 
poetry  endeavour  to  stir  up  in  us,  are  terror  and 
pity.  And  here,  by  the  way,  one  would  wonder 
how  it  comes  to  pass  that  such  passions  as  are  very 
unpleasant  at  all  other  times,  are  very  agreeable 
when  excited  by  proper  descriptions.  It  is  not 
strange  that  we  should  take  delight  in  such  passages 


70  THE   SPECTATOR.  V^°-  ■*18. 

as  are  apt  to  produce  hope,  joy,  admiration,  love, 
or  the  like  emotions  in  us,  because  they  never  rise 
in  the  mind  without  an  inward  pleasure  which 
attends  them.  But  how  comes  it  to  pass,  that  we 
should  take  delight  in  being  terrified  or  dejected 
by  a  description,  when  we  find  so  much  uneasiness 
in  the  fear  or  grief  which  we  receive  from  any  other 
occasion  ? 

If  we  consider,  therefore,  the  nature  of  this  plea- 
sure, we  shall  find  .that  it  does  not  arise  so  properly 
from  the  description  of  what  is  terrible,  as  from  the 
reflection  we  make  on  ourselves  at  the  time  of  reading 
it.  Wheh  we  look-  on  such  hideous  objects,  we  are 
not  a  little  pleased' to  think  we  are  in  no  danger  of 
them."  We  consider  them,  at  the  same  time,  as 
dreadful  and  harmless ;  so  that  the  more  frightful 
appearance  they  make,  the  greater  is  the  pleasure  we 
receive  from  the  sense  of  our  own  safety.  In  short, 
we  look  upon  the  terrors  of  a  description  with  the 
same  curiosity  and  satisfaction  that  we  survey  a  dead 
monster. 

— '  Informe  cadaver 
Protrajiitur :  nequeunt  expleri  corda  tueiido 
Terribiles  ooulos,  vultum,  villosavue  setis 
Peotora  semiferi,  atque  extinotos  faucibus  ignes. 

VmG.  jEn.  viii.  264. 

— '  They  drag  him  from  his  den. 
The  wond'ring  neighbourhood,  with  glad  surprise, 
Beheld  his  shagged  breast,  his  giant  size. 
His  mouth  that  flames  no  more,  and  his  extinguish'd  eyes.' 

Deyden. 

It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  we  are  delighted 
with  the  reflecting  upon  dangers  that  are  past,  or  in 

"  Suave  mare  duloi  turbantibua  taquora  vertia,  &e. 

LuCb. 


No.  418.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  71 

looking  on  a  precipice  at  a  distance,  whicli  would  fill 
us  with  a  different  kind  of  horror,  if  we  saw  it  hang- 
ing over  our  heads. 

In  the  like  manner,  when  we  read  of  torments, 
wounds,  deaths,  and  the  like  dismal  accidents,  our 
pleasure  does  not  flow  so  properly  from  the  grief 
which  such  melancholy  descriptions  give  us,  as  from 
the  secret  comparison  which  we  make  betweefl  our- 
selves and  the  person  who  suffers.  Such  representa- 
tions teach  us  to  set  a  just  value  upon  our  own  con- 
dition, and  make  us  prize  our  good  fortune,  which 
exempts  us  from  the  like  calamities.  This  is,  how- 
ever, such  a  kind  of  pleasure  as  we  are  not  capable 
of  receiving,  when  we  see  a  person  actually  lying 
under  the  tortures  that  we  meet  with  in  a  description ; 
because,  in  this  case,  the  object  presses  too  close 
upon  our  senses,  and  bears  so  hard  upon  us,  that  it 
does  not  give  us  time  or  leisure  to  reflect  on  our- 
selves. Our  thoughts  are  so  intent  upon  the  miseries 
of  the  sufferer,  that  we  cannot  turn  them  upon  our 
own  happiness.  Whereas,  on  the  contrary,  we  con- 
sider the  misfortunes  we  read  in  history  or  poetry, 
either  as  past  or  as  fictitious ;  so  that  the  reflection 
upon  ourselves  rises  in  us  insensibly,  and  overbears 
the  sorrow  we  conceive  for  the  sufferings  of  the 
afflicted. 

But  because  the  mind  of  man  requires  something 
more  perfect  in  matter  than  what  it  finds  there,  and 
can  never  meet  with  any  sight  in  nature  which  suffi- 
ciently answers  its  highest  ideas  of  pleasantness ;  or, 
in  other  words,  because  the  imagination  can  fancy  to 
itself  things  more  great,  strange,  or  beautiful,  than 
the  eye  ever  saw,  and  is  still  sensible  of  some  defect 
in  what  it  has  seen ;  on  this  account  it  is  the  part  of 
a  poet  to  humour  the  imagination  in  its  own  notions, 


72  THE  SPECTATOE.  [No.  418. 

by  mending  and  perfecting  nature  where  he  describes 
a  reality,  and  by  adding  greater  beauties  than  are 
put  together  in  nature  where  he  describes  a  fiction. 
He  is  not  obliged  to  attend  her  in  the  slow  ad- 
vances which  she  makes  from  one  season  to  another, 
or  to  observe  her  conduct  in  the  successive  produc- 
tion of  plants  and  flowers.  He  may  draw  into  his 
description  all  the  beauties  of  the  spring  and  autumn, 
and  make  the  whole  year  contribute  something  to 
render  it  the  more  agreeable.  His  rose-trees,  wood- 
bines, and  jessamines,  may  flower  together,  and  his 
qeds  be  covered  at  the  same  time  with  lilies,  violets, 
and  amaranths.  His  soil  is  not  restrained  to  any  par- 
ticular set  of  plants,  but  is  proper  either  for  oaks  or 
myrtles,  and  adapts  itself  to  the  products  of  every 
climate.  Oranges  may  grow  wild  in  it ;  myrrh  may 
be  met  with  in  every  hedge;  and,  if  he  thinks  it 
proper  to  have  a  grove  of  spices,  he  can  quickly  com- 
mand sun  enough  to  raise  it.  If  all  this  will  not 
furnish  out  an  agreeable  scene,  he  can  make  several 
new  species  of  flowers,  with  richer  scents  and  higher 
colours  than  any  that  grow  in  the  gardens  of  nature. 
His  concerts  of  birds  may  be  as  full  and  harmonious, 
and  his  woods  as  thick  and  gloomy,  as  he  pleases. 
He  is  at  no  more  expense  in  a  long  vista  than  a  short 
one,  and  can  as  easily  throw  his  cascades  from  a  pre- 
cipice of  half  a  mile  high,  as  from  one  of  twenty 
yards.  He  has  his  choice  of  the  winds,  and  can  turn 
the  course  of  his  rivers  in  all  the  variety  of  meanders 
that  are  most  delightful  to  the  reader's  imagination. 
In  a  word,  he  has  the  modelling  of  nature  in  his  own 
hands,  and  may  give  her  what  charms  he  pleases, 
provided  he  does  not  reform  her  too  much,  and  run 
into  adsurdities  by  endeavouring  to  excel.        0.^ 

^  By  Addison,  written,  it  Beems,  at  his  ofSoe,  ov  at  Oxford. 


No.  419.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  73 

No.  419.    TUESDAY,  Jtjlt  1,  1712. 

PAPER  IX. 

(Dn  tjre  ^tenrss  nf  tjit  SmiigiinitinD.* 

Contents. — Of  that  kind  of  poetry  which  Mr.  Dryden  calls  '  the  fairy 
way  of  writing.'  How  a  poet  should  be  qualified  for  it.  The  plea- 
sures of  the  imagination  that  arise  from  it.  In  this  respect  why  the 
moderns  excel  the  ancients.  Why  the  English  excel  the  moderns. 
Who  the  best  among  the  English.    Of  emblematical  persons. 

— mentis  gratissiniTis  error. 

Hob.  2  Ep.  U.  140. 
The  sweet  delusion  of  a  raptnr*d  mind. 

There  is  a  kind  of  writing,  wherein  the  poet  quite 
loses  sight  of  nature,  and  entertains  his  reader's  ima- 
gination with  the  characters  and  actions  of  such  per- 
sons as  have  many  of  them  no  existence  but  what  he 
bestows  on  them.  Such  are  fairies,  witches,  magicians, 
demons,  and  departed  spirits.  This  Mr.  Dryden 
calls  the  '  fairy  way  of  writing,'  which  is  indeed  more 
difficult  than  any  other  that  depends  on  the  poet's 
fancy,  because  he  has  no  pattern  to  follow  in  it,  and 
must  work  altogether  out  of  his  own  invention. 

There  is  a  very  odd  turn  of  thought  required  for 
this  sort  of  writing ;  and  it  is  impossible  for  a  poet  to 
succeed  in  it,  who  has  not  a  particular  cast  of  fancy, 
and  an  imagination  naturally  fruitful  and  supersti- 
tious. Besides  this,  he  ought  to  be  very  well  versed 
in  legends  and  fables,  antiquated  romances,  and  the 
traditions  of  nurses  and  old  women,  that  he  may  fall 
in  with  our  natural  prejudices,  and  humour  those  no- 
tions which  we  have  imbibed  in  our  infancy.  For 
otherwise  he  will  be  apt  to  make  his  fairies  talk  like 

*  See  the  eight  preceding  papers 


74  THE   SPECTATOR.  E^"-  ^^^• 

people  of  his  own  species,  and  not  like  other  sets  of 
beings,  who  converse  with  different  objects,  and  think 
in  a  different  manner  from  that  of  mankind. 

'  Sylvis  deduct!  oaveant,  me  judioe,  fauni, 
Ne,  velut  innati  triviis  ac  pene  forenses, 
Aut  nimium  teneris  juvenentur  versibus — ' 

HoK.  Ars/Poet.  244. 

'Let  not  the  wood-born  satyr  fondly  sport 
With  am'rous  verses,  as  if  bred  at  court.' 

FKiNOIS. 

I  do  not  say,  with  Mr.  Bays  in  the  Rehearsal,  that 
spirits  must  not  be  confined  to  speak  sense ;  but  it 
is  certain  their  sense  ought  to  be  a  little  discoloured, 
that  it  may  seem  particular,  and  proper  to  the  per- 
son and  condition  of  the  speaker. 

These  descriptions  raise  a  pleasing  kind  of  hor- 
ror in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  and  amuse  his  ima- 
gination with  the  strangeness  and  novelty  of  the 
persons  who  are  represented  in  them.  They  bring 
up  into  our  memory  the  stories  we  have  heard  in 
our  childhood,  and  favour  those  secret  terrors  and 
apprehensions  to  which  the  mind  of  man  is  natural- 
ly subject.  We  are  pleased  with  surveying  the  dif- 
ferent habits  and  behaviours  of  foreign  countries ; 
how  much  more  must  we  be  delighted  and  surprised 
when  we  are  led,  as  it  were,  into  a  new  creation, 
and  see  the  persons  and  manners  of  another  species ! 
Men  of  cold  fancies  and  philosophical  dispositions 
object  to  this  kind  of  poetry,  that  it  has  not  proba- 
bility enough  to  affect  the  imagination.  But  to  this 
it  may  be  answered,  that  we  are  sure,  in  general, 
there  are  many  intellectual  beings  in  the  world  be- 
sides ourselves,  and  several  species  of  spirits  who 
are  subject  to  different  laws  and  economies  from 
those  of  mankind.     When  we  see  therefore  any  of 


No.  419.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  75 

these  represented  naturally,  we  cannot  look  upon 
the  representation  as  altogether  impossible;  nay, 
many  are  prepossessed  with  such  false  opinions,  as 
dispose  them  to  believe  these  particular  delusions  ; 
at  least  we  have  all  heard  so  many  pleasing  relations 
in  favour  of  them,  that  we  do  not  care  for  seeing 
through  the  falsehood,  and  willingly  give  ourselves 
up  to  so  agreeable  an  imposture. 

The  ancients  have  not  much  of  this  poetry  among 
them ;  for  indeed  almost  the  whole  substance  of  it 
owes  its  original  to  the  darkness  and  superstition  of 
later  ages,  when  pious  frauds  were  made  use  of  to 
amuse  mankind,  and  frighten  them  into  a  sense  of 
their  duty.  Our  forefathers  looked  upon  nature 
with  more  reverence  and  horror  before  the  world 
was  enlightened  by  learning  and  philosophy ;  and 
loved  to  astonish  themselves  with  the  apprehensions 
of  witchcraft,  prodigies,  charms,  and  enchantments. 
There  was  not  a  village  in  England  that  had  not  a 
ghost  in  it;  the  churchyards  were  all  haunted; 
every  large  common  had  a  circle  of  fairies  belong- 
ing to  it ;  and  there  was  scarce  a  shepherd  to  be 
met  with  who  had  not  seen  a  spirit* 

Among  all  the  poets  of  this  kind,  our  English 
are  much  the  best,  by  what  I  have  yet  seen ;  wheth- 
er it  be  that  we  abound  with  more  stories  of  this 
nature,  or  that  the  genius  of  our  country  is  fitter 
for  this  sort  of  poetry.  For  the  English  are  natural- 
ly fanciful,  and  very  often  disposed,  by  that  gloom- 
iness and  melancholy  of  temper  which  is  so  frequent 
in  our  nation,  to  many  wild  notions  and  visions,  to 
which  others  are  not  so  liable. 

Among  the  English,  Shakspeare  has  incompara- 

•  See  Speot.  Noa.  110,  and  111. 


76  THE   SPECTATOR.  C^o.  419. 

bly  excelled  all  others.  That  noble  extravagance 
of  fancy,  which  he  had  in  so  great  perfection,  thor- 
oughly qualified  him  to  touch  this  weak  superstitious 
part  of  his  reader's  imagination ;  and  made  him  ca- 
pable of  succeeding,  where  he  had  nothing  to  sup- 
port him  besides  the  strength  of  his  own  genius. 
There  is  something  so  wild,  and  yet  so  solemn,  in 
the  speeches  of  his  ghosts,  fairies,  witches,  and  the 
like  imaginary  persons,  that  we  cannot  forbear 
thinking  them  natural,  though  we  have  no  rule  by 
which  to  judge  of  them,  and  must  confess,  if  there 
are  such  beings  in  the  world,  it  looks  highly  proba- 
ble they  should  talk  and  act  as  he  has  represented 
them. 

There  is  another  sort  of  imaginary  beings,  that 
we  sometimes  meet  with  among  the  poets,  when 
the  author  represents  any  passion,  appetite,  virtue, 
or  vice,  under  a  visible  shape,  and  makes  it  a  person 
or  an  actor  in  his  poem.  Of  this  nature  are  the  de- 
scriptions of  Hunger  and  Envy  in  Ovid,  of  Fame  in 
Virgil,  and  of  Sin  and  Death  in  Milton.  We  find  a 
whole  creation  of  the  like  shadowy  persons  in 
Spenser,  who  had  an  admirable  talent  in  represen- 
tations of  this  kind.  I  have  discoursed  of  these  em- 
blematical persons  in  former  papers,'  and  shall  there- 
fore only  mention  them  in  this  place.  Thus  we  see 
how  many  ways  poetry  addresses  itself  to  the  ima- 
gination, as  it  has  not  only  the  whole  circle  of  na- 
ture for  its  province,  but  makes  new  worlds  of  its 
own,  shows  us  persons  who  are  not  to  be  found  in 
being,  and  represents  even  the  faculties  of  the  soul, 
with  her  several  virtues  and  vices,  in  a  sensible 
shape  and  character. 

'  See  Speot.  No.  2lZ. 


No.  420.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  77 

I  shall  in  my  two  following  papers  consider  in 
general  how  other  kinds  of  writing  are  qualified  to 
please  the  imagination ;  with  which  I  intend  to  con- 
clude this  essay.  O.s 


No.  420.    WEDNESDAY,  July  2,  1712, 

PAPER   X. 

dDtt  tjiB  f  koBEtBS  nf  tli5  Sniitgraato.* 

Contents. — ^What  authors  please  the  imagination.  Who  have  nothing 
to  do  with  fiction.  How  history  pleases  the  imagination.  How 
the  authors  of  the  new  philosophy  please  the  imagination.  The 
Tjounds  and  defects  of  the  imagination.  Whether  these  defects  are 
essential  to  the  imagination. 

—  Qndcimque  yolunt  mentem  anditoris  agnnto. 

Hoe.  Are  Poot  100. 
And  raise  men's  passions  to  wliat  lieight  tbey  will. 

BoscoHuoir. 

As  the  writers  in  poetry  and  fiction  borrow  their 
several  materials  from  outward  objects,  and  join 
them  together  at  their  own  pleasure,  there  are  others 
who  are  obliged  to  follow  nature  more  closely,  and 
to  take  entire  scenes  out  of  her.  Such  are  histori- 
ans, natural  philosophers,  travellers,  geographers, 
and,  in  a  word,  all  who  describe  visible  objects  of  a 
real  existence. 

It  is  the  most  agreeable  talent  of  an  historian  to 
be  able  to  draw  up  his  armies  and  fight  his  battles  in 
proper  expressions,  to  set  before  our  eyes  the  divi- 
sions, cabals,  and  jealousies  of  great  men,  to  lead  us 
step  by  step  into  the  several  actions  and  events  of 

e  By  Addison,  written,  it  seems,  at  his  office,  or  it  may  be  at  Oxford. 
*  See  the  nine  preceding  and  the  following  paper. 


78  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No-  420. 

his  history.  We  love  to  see  the  subject  unfolding 
itself  by  just  degrees,  and  breaking  upon  us  insen- 
sibly, that  so  we  may  be  kept  in  a  pleasing  suspense, 
and  have  time  given  us  to  raise  our  expectations, 
and  to  side  with  one  of  the  parties  concerned  in  the 
relation.  I  confess  this  shows  more  the  art  than  the 
veracity  of  the  historian ;  but  I  am  only  to  speak  of 
him  as  he  is  qualified  to  please  the  imagination ;  and 
in  this  respect  Livy  has,  perhaps,  excelled  all  who 
went  before  him,  or  have  written  since  his  time.  He 
describes  every  thing  in  so  lively  a  manner,  that  his 
whole  history  is  an  admirable  picture,  and  touches 
on  such  proper  circumstances  in  every  story,  that 
his  reader  becomes  a  kind  of  spectator,  and  feels  in 
himself  all  the  variety  of  passions  which  are  corres- 
pondent to  the  several  parts  of  the  relation. 

But  among  this  set  of  writers  there  are  none 
who  more  gratify  and  enlarge  the  imagination,  than 
the  authors  of  the  new  philosophy,  whether  we  con- 
sider their  theories  of  the  earth  or  heavens,  the  dis- 
coveries they  have  made  by  glasses,  or  any  other  of 
their  contemplations  on  nature.  We  are  not  a  little 
pleased  to  find  every  green  leaf  swarm  with  millions 
of  animals,  that  at  their  largest  growth  are  not  visi- 
ble to  the  naked  eye.  There  is  something  very  en- 
gaging to  the  fancy,  as  well  as  to  our  reason,  in  the 
treatises  of  metals,  minerals,  plants,  and  meteors. 
But  when  we  survey  the  whole  earth  at  once,  and 
the  several  planets  that  lie  within  its  neighbourhood, 
we  are  filled  with  a  pleasing  astonishment,  to  see  so 
many  worlds  hanging  one  above  another,  and  sliding 
round  their  axles  in  such  an  amazing  pomp  and  so- 
lemnity.    If,  after  this,  we  contemplate  those  wide^ 

*  Vide  ed.  in  folio. 


No.  420.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  79 

fields  of  ether,  that  reach  in  height  as  far  as  from 
Saturn  to  the  fixed  stars,  and  run  abroad  almost  to 
an  infinitude,  our  imagination  finds  its  capacity  filled 
with  so  immense  a  prospect,  and  puts  itself  upon  the 
stretch  to  comprehend  it.  But  if  we  yet  rise  higher, 
and  consider  the  fixed  stars  as  so  many  vast  oceans 
of  flame,  that  are  each  of  them  attended  with  a  dif 
ferent  set  of  planets,  and  still  discover  new  firma- 
ments and  new  lights,  that  are  sunk  farther  in  those 
unfathomable  depths  of  ether,  so  as  not  to  be  seen 
by  the  strongest  of  our  telescopes,  we  are  lost  in  such 
a  labyrinth  of  suns  and  worlds,  and  confounded  with 
the  immensity  and  magnificence  of  nature. 

Nothing  is  more  pleasant  to  the  fancy,  than  to 
enlarge  itself  by  degrees  in  its  contemplation  of  the 
various  proportions  which  its  several  objects  bear  to 
each  other,  when  it  compares  the  body  of  man  to 
the  bulk  of  the  whole  earth,  the  earth  to  the  circle 
it  describes  round  the  sun,  that  circle  to  the  sphere 
of  the  fixed  stars,  the  sphere  of  the  fixed  stars  to  the 
circuit  of  the  whole  creation,  the  whole  creation  it- 
self to  the  infinite  space  that  is  every  where  diffused 
about  it ;  or  when  the  imagination  works  downward, 
and  considers  the  bulk  of  a  human  body  in  respect 
of  an  animal  a  hundred  times  less  than  a  mite,  the 
particular  limbs  of  such  an  animal,  the  diff'erent 
springs  which  actuate  the  limbs,  the  spirits  which 
set  these  springs  a-going,  and  the  proportionable 
minuteness  of  these  several  parts,  before  they  have 
arrived  at  their  full  growth  and  perfection ;  but  if, 
after  all  this,  we  take  the  least  particle  of  these  ani- 
mal spirits,  and  ^nsider  its  capacity  of  being 
wrought  into  a  world  that  shall  contain  within  those 
narrow  dimensions  a  heaven  and  earth,  stars  and 
planets,  and  every  different  species  of  living  crea- 


80  THE   SPECTATOR.  V^°-  ^^°- 

tures,  in  the  same  analogy  and  proportion  they  bear 
to  each  other  in  our  own  universe ;  such  a  specu- 
lation, by  reason  of  its  nicety,  appears  ridiculous  to 
those  who  have  not  turned  their  thoughts  that  way, 
though  at  the  same  time  it  is  founded  on  no  less 
than  the  evidence  of  a  demonstration.  Nay,  we 
might  yet  carry  it  farther,  and  discover  in  the  small- 
est particle  of  this  little  world  a  new  exhausted  fund 
of  matter,  capable  of  being  spun  out  into  another 
universe. 

I  have  dwelt  the  longer  on  this  subject,  because 
I  think  it  may  show  us  the  proper  limits,  as  well  as 
the  defectiveness  of  our  imagination  ;  how  it  is  con- 
fined to  a  very  small  quantity  of  space,  and  immedi- 
ately stopt  in  its  operations  when  it  endeavours  to 
take  in  any  thing  that  is  very  great  or  very  little. 
Let  a  man  try  to  conceive  the  different  bulk  of  an 
animal,  which  is  twenty,  from  another  which  is  a 
hundred  times  less  than  a  mite,  or  to  compare  in  his 
thoughts  a  length  of  a  thousand  diameters  of  the 
earth  with  that  of  a  million ;  and  he  will  quickly 
find  that  he  has  no  different  measures  in  his  mind 
adjusted  to  such  extraordinary  degrees  of  grandeur 
or  minuteness.  The  understanding,  indeed,  opens 
an  infinite  space  on  every  side  of  us ;  but  the  ima- 
gination, after  a  few  faint  efforts,  is  immediately  at 
a  stand,  and  finds  herself  swallowed  up  in  the  im- 
mensity of  the  void  that  surrounds  it:  our  reason 
can  pursue  a  particle  of  matter  through  an  infinite 
variety  of  divisions ;  but  the  fancy  soon  loses  sight 
of  it,  and  feels  in  itself  a  kind  of  chasm,  that  wants 
to  be  filled  with  matter  of  a  moge  sensible  bulk.  We 
can  neither  widen  nor  contract  the  faculty  to  the 
dimensions  of  either  extreme.  The  object  is  too  big 
for  our  capacity  when  we  would  comprehend  the 


No.  420.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  81 

circumference  of  a  world,  and  dwindles  into  nothing 
when  we  endeavour  after  the  idea  of  an  atom. 

It  is  possible  this  defect  of  imagination  may  not 
be  in  the  soul  itself,  but  as  it  acts  in  conjunction 
with  the  body.  Perhaps  there  may  not  be  room  in 
the  brain  for  such  a  variety  of  impressions,  or  the 
animal  spirits  may  be  incapable  of  figuring  them  in 
such  a  manner  as  is  necessary  to  excite  so  very  large 
or  very  minute  ideas.  However  it  be,  we  may  well 
suppose  that  beings  of  a  higher  nature  very  much 
excel  us  in  this  respect,  as  it  is  probable  the  soul 
of  man  will  be  infinitely  more  perfect  hereafter  in 
this  faculty,  as  well  as  in  all  the  rest ;  insomuch  that, 
perhaps,  the  imagination  will  be  able  to  keep  pace 
with  the  understanding,  and  to  form  in  itself  dis- 
tinct ideas  of  all  the  different  modes  and  quantities 
of  space.  0.' 

^  ADVERTISEMENT. 

Not  acted  for  fifteen  years,  on  Tuesday,  July  1,  the  day  preceding  the 
date  of  this  paper,  was  revived  at  Drury  Lane,  the  second  part  of  The 
Destruction  of  Jerusalem,  by  Titus  Vespasian.  Titus,  by  Mr.  Booth; 
Phraartez,  Mr.  Mills ;  Tiberius,  Mr.  Keen ;  John,  Mr.  Powell.  Berenice, 
Mrs.  Rogers ;  Clarona,  Mrs.  Bradshaw.  N.  B.  The  company  will  act  on 
every  Tuesday  and  Thursday  this  summer. — Spect.  in  folio,  No.  419. 

i  By  Addison,  written  probably  at  his  office,  perhaps  at  Oxford.  See 
No.  234,  note  on  Addison's  signatures,  C,  L,  I,  0. 


VOL.  T. — 6 


82  THE   SPECTATOR.  C^"'  *^^" 

No.  421.     THURSDAY,  July  3,  1712. 

PAPER  XI. 

(fl)n  ilu  f  tonus  nf  tju  Sniitgraoto  * 

I 

Contents.— How  those  please  the  imagination,  who  treat  of  subjects 
abstracted  from  matter,  by  allusions  taken  from  it.  What  allusions 
most  pleasing  to  the  imagination.  Great  writers  how  faulty  in  this 
respect.  Of  the  art  of  imagining  in  general.  The  imagination  ca- 
pable of  pain  as  well  as  pleasure.  In  what  degree  the  imagination 
is  capable  either  of  pain  or  pleasure. 

Ignotis  errare  locis,  ignota  videre. 

Flumina  gaudebat ;  studio  miuuente  laborem. 

Ovid.  Met.  iv.  294. 

He  sought  fresh  fountaius  in  a  foreign  soil ; 

The  pleasure  leason'd  the  attending  toil. 

Addison. 

The  pleasures  of  the  imagination  are  not  vrhoUy  con- 
fined to  sucli  particular  authors  as  are  conversant  in 
materiar objects,  but  are  often  to  be  met  with  among 
the  polite  masters  of  morality,  criticism,  and  other 
speculations  abstracted  from  matter,  who,  though 
they  do  not  directly  treat  of  the  visible  parts  of  na- 
ture, often  draw  from  them  their  similitudes,  meta- 
phors, and  allegories.  By  these  allusions,  a  truth  in 
the  understanding  is,  as  it  were,  reflected  by  the 
imagination ;  we  are  able  to  see  something  like  colour 
and  shape  in  a  notion,  and  to  discover  a  scheme  of 
thoughts  traced  out  upon  matter.  And  here  the 
mind  receives  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction,  and  has 
two  of  its  faculties  gratified  at  the  same  time,  while 
the  fancy  is  busy  in  copying  after  the  understanding, 


*  The  essay,  perhaps  originally  planned  at  Oxford,  and  thrown  after- 
wards into  a  new  form,  continued  throughout  the  ten  preceding  numbers, 
is  concluded  in  this  paper. 


No.  421.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  83 

and  transcribing  ideas  out  of  the  intellectual  -world 
into  the  material. 

The  great  art  of  a  writer  shows  itself  in  the  choice 
of  pleasing  allusions,  which  are  generally  to  be  taken 
from  the  great  or  beautiful  works  of  art  or  nature  ; 
for  though  whatever  is  new  or  uncommon  is  apt  to 
delight  the  imagination,  the  chief  design  of  an  allu- 
sion being  to  illustrate  and  explain  the  passages  of 
an  author,  it  should  be  always  borrowed  from  what 
is  more  known  and  common  than  the  passages  which 
are  to  be  explained. 

Allegories,  when  well  chosen,  are  like  so  many 
tracts  of  light  in  a  discourse,  that  make  every  thing 
about  them  clear  and  beautiful.  A  noble  metaphor, 
when  it  is  placed  to  an  advantage,  casts  a  kind  of 
glory  round  it,  and  darts  a  lustre  through  a  whole 
sentence.  These  different  kinds  of  allusion  are  but 
so  many  different  manners  of  similitude :  and  that 
they  may  please  the  imagination,  the  likeness  ought 
to  be  very  exact  or  very  agreeable,  as  we  love  to  see 
a  picture  where  the  resemblance  is  just,  or  the  pos- 
ture and  air  graceful.  But  we  often  find  eminent 
writers  very  faulty  in  this  respect :  great  scholars  are 
apt  to  fetch  their  comparisons  and  allusions  from  the 
sciences  in  which  they  are  most  conversant,  so  that  a 
man  may  see  the  compass  of  their  learning  in  a  trea- 
tise on  the  most  indifferent  subject.  I  have  read  a 
discourse  upon  love,  which  none  but  a  profound  chy- 
mist  could  understand ;  and  have  heard  many  a  ser- 
mon that  should  only  have  been  preached  before  a 
congregation  of  Cartesians.  On  the  contrary,  your 
men  of  business  usually  have  recourse  to  such  in- 
stances as  are  too  mean  and  familiar.  They  are  for 
drawing  the  reader  into  a  game  of  chess  or  tennis,  or 
for  leading  him  from  shop  to  shop,  in  the  cant  of 


84  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  421, 

particular  trades  and  employments.  It 'is  certain 
there  may  be  found  an  infinite  variety  of  very  agree- 
able allusions  in  both  these  kinds ;  but,  for  the  gene- 
rality, the  most  entertaining  ones  lie  in  the  works  of 
nature,  which  are  obvious  to  all  capacities,  and  more 
delightful  than  what  is  to  be  found  in  arts  and 
sciences. 

It  is  this  talent  of  affecting  the  imagination,  that 
gives  an  embellishment  to  good  sense,  and  makes  one 
man's  compositions  more  agreeable  than  another's. 
It  sets  off  all  writings  in  general,  but  is  the  very  life 
and  highest  perfection  of  poetry  :  where  it  shines 
in  an  eminent  degree,  it  has  preserved  several  poems 
for  many  ages,  that  have  nothing  else  to  recommend 
them ;  and  where  all  the  other  beauties  are  present, 
the  work  appears  dry  and  insipid  if  this  single  one 
be  wanting.  It  has  something  in  it  like  creation.  It 
bestows  a  kind  of  existence,  and  draws  up  to  the 
reader's  view  several  objects  which  are  not  to  be 
found  in  being.  It  makes  additions  to  nature,  and 
gives  a  greater  variety  to  God's  works.  In  a  word, 
it  is  able  to  beautify  and  adorn  the  most  illustrious 
scenes  in  the  universe,  or  to  fill  the  mind  with  more 
glorious  shows  and  apparitions  than  can  be  found  in 
any  part  of  it. 

We  have  now  discovered  the  several  originals 
of  those  pleasures  that  gratify  the  fancy ;  and  here, 
perhaps,  it  would  not  be  very  difficult  to  cast  under 
their  proper  heads  those  contrary  objects  which  are 
apt  to  fill  it  with  distaste  and  terror ;  for  the  imagi- 
nation is  as  liable  to  pain  as  pleasure.  When  the 
brain  is  hurt  by  any  accident,  or  the  mind  disorder- 
ed by  dreams  or  sickness,  the  fancy  is  overrun  with 
wild  dismal  ideas,  and  terrified  with  a  thousand 
hideous  monsters  of  its  own  framing. 


No.  421.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  85 

'Enmenidum  veluti  demens  videt  agraina  Pentheus, 
Et  solem  geminum,  et  duplices  se  ostendere  Thebas  : 
Aut  Agamemnonius  scenis  agitatus  Orestes, 
Armatam  facibus  matrera  et  serpentibus  atris 
Oilm  fugit,  ultricesque  sedent  in  limine  dirse.' 

YiEG.  ^n.  iv.  469. 

'  Like  Pentbeus,  when  distracted  with  his  fear, 
He  saw  two  suns,  and  double  Thebes  appear : 
Or  mad  Orestes,  when  his  mother's  ghost 
Full  in  his  face  infernal  torches  tost. 
And  shook  her  snaky  locks :  he  shuns  the  sight, 
Elies  o'er  the  stage,  surpris'd  with  mortal  fright ; 
The  furies  guard  the  door,  and  intercept  his  flight.' 

Detden. 

There  is  not  a  sight  in  nature  so  mortifying  as 
that  of  a  distracted  person,  when  his  imagination  is 
troubled  and  his  whole  soul  disordered  and  confused. 
Babylon  in  ruins  is  not  so  melancholy  a  spectacle. 
But  to  quit  so  disagreeable  a  subject,  I  shall  only 
consider,  by  way  of  conclusion,  what  an  infinite  ad- 
vantage this  faculty  gives  an  almighty  Being  over 
the  soul  of  man,  and  how  great  a  measure  of  happi- 
ness or  misery  we  are  capable  of  receiving  from  the 
imagination  only. 

We  have  already  seen  the  influence  that  one  man 
has  over  the  fancy  of  another,  and  with  what  ease 
he  conveys  into  it  a  variety  of  imagery  :  how  great 
a  power  then  may  we  suppose  lodged  in  Him  who 
knows  all  the  ways  of  affecting  the  imagination,  who 
can  infuse  what  ideas  he  pleases,  and  fill  those  ideas 
with  terror  and  delight  to  what  degree  he  thinks 
fit !  He  can  excite  images  in  the  mind  without  the 
help  of  words,  and  make  scenes  rise  up  before  us, 
and  seem  present  to  the  eye  without  the  assistance 
of  bodies  or  exterior  objects.  He  can  transport  the 
imagination  with  such  beautiful  and  glorious  visions 
as  cannot  possibly  enter  into  our  present  concep- 


86  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  422. 

tions,  or  haunt  it  with  such  ghastly  spectres  and  ap- 
paritions as  would  make  us  hope  for  annihilation, 
and  think  existence  no  better  than  a  curse.  In 
ghort,  he  can  so  exquisitely  ravish  or  torture  the 
soul  through  this  single  faculty,  as  might  suffice  to 
make  up  the  whole  heaven  or  hell  of  any  finite 
being. 

[This  essay  on  the  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination 
having  been  published  in  separate  papers,  I  shall 
conclude  it  with  a  table  of  the  principal  contents  of 
each  paper. ^]  0.' 


No.  422.    FEIDAY,  July  4,  1712. 

Hfflc  scrips!  non  otii  abundantly,  sed  amoris  erga  te. 

TuLL.  Epist 
I  have  written  this,  not  out  of  abundance  of  leisure,  but  of  my  affection  towards  you, 

I  DO  not  know  any  thing  which  gives  greater  dis- 
turbance to  conversation,  than  the  false  notion  some 
people  have  of  raillery.  It  ought  certainly  to  be  the 
first  point  to  be  aimed  at  in  society,  to  gain  the  good- 
will of  those  with  whom  you  converse :  the  way  to 
that,  is  to  show  you  are  well  inclined  towards  them : 
what  then  can  be  more  absurd,  than  to  set  up  for 
being  extremely  sharp  and  biting,  as  the  term  is,  in 
your  expressions  to  your  familiars  ?  A  man  who  has 
no  good  quality  but  courage,  is  in  a  very  ill  way 
towards  making  an  agreeable  figure  in  the  world, 
because  that  which  he  has  superior  to  other  people 

^  These  contents  are  printed  all  together  in  the  original  folio,  at  the 
end  of  No.  421,  but  are  in  this  edition  arranged  in  their  proper  places,  and 
placed  at  the  beginnings  of  the  several  papers. 

'  By  Addison,  written  probably  at  his  office,  or  at  Oxford. 


No.  422.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  87 

cannot  be  exerted  without  raising  Mmself  an  enemy. 
Your  gentleman  of  a  satirical  vein  is  in  the  like  con- 
dition. To  say  a  thing  which  perplexes  the  heart  of 
him  you  speak  to,  or  brings  blushes  into  his  face,  is 
a  degree  of  murder ;  and  it  is  I  think  an  unpardon- 
nable  offence  to  show  a  man  you  do  not  care  whether 
he  is  pleased  or  displeased.  But  won't  you  then  take 
a  jest  ?  Yes  :  but  pray  let  it  be  a  jest.  It  is  no  jest 
to  put  me,  who  am  so  unhappy  as  to  have  an  utter 
aversion  to  speaking  to  more  than  one  man  at  a  time, 
under  a  necessity  to  explain  myself  in  much  compa- 
ny, and  reducing  me  to  shame  and  derision,  except 
I  perform  what  my  infirmity  of  silence  disables  me 
to  do. 

Callisthenes  has  great  wit,  accompanied  with  that 
quality  without  which  a  man  can  have  no  wit  at  all 
— a  sound  judgment.  This  gentleman  rallies  the  best 
of  any  man  I  know ;  for  he  forms  his  ridicule  upon 
a  circumstance  which  you  are  in  your  heart  not  un- 
willing to  grant  him :  to  wit,  that  you  are  guilty  of 
an  excess  in  something  which  is  in  itself  laudable. 
He  very  well  understands  what  you  would  be,  and 
needs  not  fear  your  anger  for  declaring  you  are  a 
little  too  much  that  thing.  The  generous  will  bear 
being  reproached  as  lavish,  and  the  valiant  as  rash, 
without  being  provoked  to  resentment  against  their 
monitor.  What  has  been  said  to  be  a  mark  of  a  good 
writer  will  fall  in  with  the  character  of  a  good  com- 
panion. The  good  writer  makes  his  reader  better 
pleased  with  himself,  and  the  agreeable  man  makes 
his  friends  enjoy  themselves  rather  than  him,  while 
he  is  in  their  company.  Callisthenes  does  this  with 
inimitable  pleasantry.  He  whispered  a  friend  the 
other  day  so  as  to  be  overheard  by  a  young  officer, 
who  gave  symptoms  of  cocking  upon  the  company, 


88  THE   SPECTATOB.  1^°-  ^^'^^ 

'  That  gentleman  has  very  much  the  air  of  a  general 
officer.'  The  youth  immediately  put  on  a  composed 
behaviour,  and  behaved  himself  suitably  to  the  con- 
ceptions he  believed  the  company  had  of  him.  It  is 
to  be  allowed  that  Callisthenes  "  will  make  a  man 
run  into  impertinent  relations  to  his  own  advantage, 
and  express  the  satisfaction  he  has  in  his  own  dear 
self  till  he  is  very  ridiculous ;  but  in  this  case  the 
man  is  made  a  fool  by  his  own  consent,  and  not  ex- 
posed as  such  whether  he  will  or  no.  I  take  it  there- 
fore that  to  make  raillery  agreeable,  a  man  must 
either  not  know  he  is  rallied,  or  think  never  the 
worse  of  himself  if  he  sees  he  is. 

Acetus  is  of  a  quite  contrary  genius,  and  is  more 
generally  admired  than  Callisthenes,  but  not  with 
justice.  Acetus  has  no  regard  to  the  modesty  or 
weakness  of  the  person  he  rallies ;  but  if  his  quality 
or  humility  gives  him  any  superiority  to  the  man  he 
would  fall  upon,  he  has  no  mercy  in  making  the 
onset.  He  can  be  pleased  to  see  his  best  friend  out 
of  countenance,  while  the  laugh  is  loud  in  his  own 
applause.  His  raillery  always  puts  the  company 
into  little  divisions  and  separate  interests,  while  that 
of  Callisthenes  cements  it,  and  makes  every  man  not 
only  better  pleased  with  himself,  but  also  with  all 
the  rest  in  the  conversation. 

To  rally  well,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that 
kindness  must  run  through  all  you  say;  and  you 
must  ever  preserve  the  character  of  a  friend  to  sup- 
port your  pretensions  to  be  free  with  a  man.  Ace- 
tus ought  to  be  banished  human  society,  because  he 


'"  If  the  testimony  of  Swift  can  be  relied  upon,  Addison  delighted  and 
excelled  in  this  species  of  raillery. 


No.  422.]  THE  SPECTATOB.  89 

raises  his  mirth  upon  giving  pain  to  the  person  upon 
■whom  he  is  pleasant.  Nothing  but  the  malevolence 
which  is  too  general  towards  those  who  excel,  could 
make  his  company  tolerated ;  but  they  with  whom 
he  converses  are  sure  to  see  some  man  sacrificed 
wherever  he  is  admitted ;  and  all  the  credit  he  has 
for  wit,  is  owing  to  the  gratification  it  gives  to  other 
men's  ill-nature. 

Minutius  has  a  wit  that  conciliates  a  man's  love 
at  the  same  time  that  it  is  exerted  against  his  faults. 
He  has  an  art  of  keeping  the  person  he  rallies  in 
countenance,  by  insinuating  that  he  himself  is  guilty 
of  the  same  imperfection.  This  he  does  with  so 
much  address,  that  he  seems  rather  to  bewail  him- 
self than  fall  upon  his  friend. 

It  is  really  monstrous  to  see  how  unaccountably 
it  prevails  among  men,  to  take  the  liberty  of  dis- 
pleasing each  other.  One  would  think  sometimes 
that  the  contention  is  who  shall  be  most  disagreeable. 
Allusions  to  past  follies,  hints  which  revive  what  a 
man  has  a  mind  to  forget  for  ever,  and  desires  that 
all  the  rest  of  the  world  should,  are  commonly  brought 
forth  even  in  company  of  men  of  distinction.  They 
do  not  thrust  with  the  skill  of  fencers,  but  cut  up 
with  the  barbarity  of  butchers.  It  is  methinks  be- 
low the  character  of  men  of  humanity  and  good- 
manners,  to  be  capable  of  mirth  while  there  is  any 
one  of  the  company  in  pain  and  disorder.  They 
who  have  the  true  taste  of  conversation,  enjoy 
themselves  in  communication  of  each  other's  excel- 
lences, and  not  in  a  triumph  over  their  imperfec- 
tions. Fortius  would  have  been  reckoned  a  wit,  if 
there  had  never  been  a  fool  in  the  world :  he  wants 
not  foils  to  be  a  beauty,  but  has  that  natural  plea- 


90  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  422. 

sure  in  observing  perfection  in  others,  that  his  own 
faults  are  overlooked  out  of  gratitude  by  all  his  ac- 
quaintance. 

After  these  several  characters  of  men  who  suc- 
ceed or  fail  in  raillery,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  reflect 
a  little  farther  what  one  takes  to  be  the  most  agree- 
able kind  of  it ;  and  that  to  me  appears  when  the 
satire  is  directed  against  vice,  with  an  air  of  con- 
tempt of  the  fault,  but  no  ill-will  to  the  criminal. 
Mr.  Congreve's  Doris  is  a  masterpiece  in  this  kind. 
It  is  the  character  of  a  woman  utterly  abandoned ; 
but  her  impudence,  by  the  finest  piece  of  raillery,  is 
made  only  generosity. 

'  Peculiar,  therefore,  is  her  way, 

Whether  by  nature  taught, 
I  shall  not  undertake  to  say, 
Or  by  experience  bought. 

'  Por  -who  o'ernight  obtain'd  her  grace, 

She  can  next  day  disown. 
And  stare  upon  the  strange  man's  face 
As  one  she  ne'er  had  known. 

'  So  well  she  can  the  truth  disguise. 

Such  artful  wonder  frame. 
The  lover  or  distrusts  his  eyes. 
Or  thinks  'twas  aU  a  dream. 

'  Some  censure  this  as  lewd  or  low, 

Who  are  to  bounty  blind ; 

But  to  forget  what  we  bestow 

Bespeaks  a  noble  mind.' 


rr  n 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


By  her  majesty's  company  of  comedians,  at  the  Theatre-royal  in  Drury- 
lane,  to-morrow,  being  Friday,  July  4,  will  be  presented  a  comedy  called 
The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  ;  or,  Sawney  the  Scot.    The  part  of  the  Shrew 

"  By  Steele.    See  note  to  No.  324,  on  signature  T. 


No.  423.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  91 


No.  423.     SATUKDAY,  July  5,  1712. 

— Nnper  idonens. 

Hoe.  8  Od.  xxvi.  1. 
Once  fit  myaelH 

I  LOOK  upon  myself  as  a  kind  of  guardian  to  the 
fair,  and  am  always  "watcliful  to  observe  any  thing 
which  concerns  their  interest.  The  present  paper 
shall  be  employed  in  the  service  of  a  very  fine  young 
woman ;  and  the  admonitions  I  give  her  may  not  be 
nnuseful  to  the  rest  of  her  sex.  Gloriana  shall  be 
the  name  of  the  heroine  in  to-day's  entertainment ; 
and  when  I  have  told  you  that  she  is  rich,  witty, 
young,  and  beautiful,  you  will  believe  she  does  not 
want  admirers.  She  has  had,  since  she  came  to 
town,  about  twenty -five  of  those  lovers  who  made 
their  addresses  by  way  of  jointure  and  settlement: 
these  come  and  go  with  great  indifi'erence  on  both 
sides ;  and  as  beauteous  as  she  is,  a  line  in  a  deed 
has  had  exception  enough  against  it,  to  outweigh 
the  lustre  of  her  eyes,  the  readiness  of  her  under- 
standing, and  the  njerit  of  her  general  character. 
But  among  the  crowd  of  such  cool  adorers,  she  has 
two  who  are  very  assiduous  in  their  attendance. 
There  is  something  so  extraordinary  and  artful  in 
their  manner  of  application,  that  I  think  it  but  com- 
mon justice  to  alarm  her  in  it.  I  have  done  it  in  the 
following  letter. 

by  Mrs.  Bradsha-w ;  Lord  Beaufoy  by  Mr.  Keen ;  Petraobio,  Mr.  Mills ; 
Geraldo,  Mr.  Husband;  Winlove,  Mr.  Bickerstaff;  Woodal,  Mr.  Jobnson; 
Jammy,  Mr.  Norris ;  and  Sawney  tbe  Soot,  by  Mr.  Bullock.  To  which 
■will  be  added,  the  last  new  farce  of  one  act,  called  The  Petticoat-Plotter. 
The  principal  parts  to  be  performed  by  Mr.  Bullock,  Mr.  Norris,  Mr.  Pack 
and  Mr.  Leigh. — Spect.  in  folio. 


92  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  423. 

'madam, 

'  I  HATE  for  some  time  taken  notice  of 
two  gentlemen  wlio  attend  you  in  all  public  places, 
both  of  whom  have  also  easy  access  to  you  at  your 
own  house.  But  the  matter  is  adjusted  between  them ; 
and  Damon,  who  so  passionately  addresses  you,  has 
no  design  upon  you ;  but  Strephon,  who  seems  to 
be  indifferent  to  you,  is  the  man  who  is,  as  they  have 
settled  it,  to  have  you.  The  plot  was  laid  over  a 
bottle  of  wine ;  and  Strephon,  when  he  first  thought 
of  you,  proposed  to  Damon  to  be  his  rival.  The 
manner  of  his  breaking  of  it  to  him,  I  was  so  placed 
at  a  tavern  that  I  could  not  avoid  hearing.  "  Damon," 
said  he,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "I  have  long  languished 
for  that  miracle  of  beauty,  Gloriana ;  and  if  you  will 
be  very  steadfastly  my  rival,  I  shall  certainly  obtain 
her.  Do  not,"  continued  he,  "be  offended  at  this 
overture ;  for  I  go  upon  the  knowledge  of  the  temper 
of  the  woman,  rather  than  any  vanity  that  I  should 
profit  by  any  opposition  of  your  pretensions  to  those 
of  your  humble  servant.  Gloriana  has  very  good 
sense,  a  quick  relish  of  the  satisfactions  of  life,  and 
will  not  give  herself,  as  the  crowd  of  women  do,  to 
the  arms  of  a  man  to  whom  she  is  indifferent.  As 
she  is  a  sensible  woman,  expressions  of  rapture  and 
adoration  will  not  move  her  neither :  but  he  that 
has  her  must  be  the  object  of  her  desire,  not  her 
pity.  The  way  to  this  end,  I  take  to  be,  that  a 
man's  general  conduct  should  be  agreeable,  without 
addressing  in  particular  to  the  woman  he  loves. 
Now,  Sir,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  sigh  and  die 
for  Gloriana,  I  will  carry  it  with  great  respect  to- 
wards her,  but  seem  void  of  any  thoughts  as  a  lover. 
By  this  means  I  shall  be  in  the  most  amiable  light 
of  which  I  am  capable ;  I  shall  be  received  with 


No.  423.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  93 

jfreedom,  you  witli  reserve."  Damon,  who  has  him- 
self no  designs  of  marriage  at  all,  easily  fell  into  the 
scheme ;  and  you  may  observe,  that  wherever  you 
are,  Damon  appears  also.  You  see  he  carries  on  an 
unaffected  exactness  in  his  dress  and  manner,  and 
strives  always  to  be  the  very  contrary  of  Strephon. 
They  have  already  succeeded  so  far  that  your  eyes 
are  ever  in  search  of  Strephon,  and  turn  themselves 
of  course  from  Damon.  They  meet  and  compare 
notes  upon  your  carriage ;  and  the  letter  which  was 
brought  to  you  the  other  day,  was  a  contrivance  to 
remark  your  resentment.  When  you  saw  the  billet 
subscribed  Strephon,  and  turned  away  with  a  scorn- 
ful air,  and  cried  "impertinence!"  you  gave  hopes 
to  him  that  shuns  you,  without  mortifying  him  that 
languishes  for  you. 

'  What  I  am  concerned  for.  Madam,  is,  that  in 
the  disposal  of  your  heart  you  should  know  what 
you  are  doing,  and  examine  it  before  it  is  lost. 
Strephon  contradicts  you  in  discourse  with  the 
civility  of  one  who  has  a  value  for  you,  but  gives  up 
nothing  like  one  that  loves  you.  This  seeming  un- 
concern gives  his  behaviour  the  advantage  of  sin- 
cerity, and  insensibly  obtains  your  good  opinion, 
by  appearing  disinterested  in  the  purchase  of  it. 
If  you  watch  these  correspondents  hereafter,  you 
will  find  that  Strephon  makes  his  visit  of  civility 
immediately  after  Damon  has  tired  you  with  one  of 
love.  Though  you  are  very  discreet,  you  will  find 
it  no  easy  matter  to  escape  the  toils  so  well  laid,  as 
when  one  studies  to  be  disagreeable  in  passion,  the 
other  to  be  pleasing  without  it.  All  the  turns  of 
your  temper  are  carefully  watched,  and  their  quick 
and  faithful  intelligence  gives  your  lovers  irresistible 
advantage.     You  will  please.  Madam,  to  be  upon 


94  THE  SPECTATOR.  [^0.  423. 

your  guard,  and  take  all  the  necessary  precautions 
against  one  wlio  is  amiable  to  you  before  you  know- 
he  is  enamoured. 

'  I  am,  Madam, 

'  Your  most  obedient  servant' 

Strephon  makes  great  progress  in  this  lady's 
good  graces;  for  most  women  being  actuated  by 
some  little  spirit  of  pride  and  contradiction,  he  has 
the  good  effects  of  both  those  motives  by  this  covert- 
way  of  courtship.  He  received  a  message  yester- 
day from  Damon  in  the  following  words,  super- 
scribed '  With  speed.' 

'  All  goes  well ;  she  is  very  angry  at  me,  and  I 
dare  say  hates  me  in  earnest.  It  is  a  good  time  to 
visit.  '  Yours.' 

The  comparison  of  Strephon's  gaiety  to  Damon's 
languishment,  strikes  her  imagination  with  a  pros- 
pect of  very  agreeable  hours  with  such  a  man  as 
the  former,  and  abhorrence  of  the  insipid  prospect 
with  one  like  the  latter.  To  know  when  a  lady  is 
displeased  with  another,  is  to  know  the  best  time 
of  advancing  yourself  This  method  of  two  persons 
playing  into  each  other's  hand  is  so  dangerous,  that 
I  cannot  tell  how  a  woman  could  be  able  to  with- 
stand such  a  siege.  The  condition  of  Gloriana,  I 
am  afraid,  is  irretrievable ;  for  Strephom  has  had 
so  many  opportunities  of  pleasing  without  suspicion, 
that  all  which  is  left  for  her  to  do,  is  to  bring  him, 
now  she  is  advised,  to  an  explanation  of  his  passion, 
and  beginning  again,  if  she  can  conquer  the  kind 
sentiments  she  has  already  conceived  for  him. 
When  one  shows  himself  a  creature  to  be  avoided, 


No.  424.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  95 

the  other  proper  to  be  fled  to  for  succour,  they  have 
the  whole  woman  between  them,  and  can  occasion- 
ally rebound  her  love  and  hatred  from  one  to  the 
other,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  keep  her  at  a  distance 
from  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  cast  lots  for  the 
conquest. 

N.  B.  I  have  many  other  secrets  which  concern 
the  empire  of  love ;  but  I  consider,  that  while  I 
alarm  mv  women,  I  instruct  my  men.  T.° 


No.  424.     MONDAY,  July  7,  1712. 

Est  Ulubris,  animns  si  te  non  deficit  aquas. 

Hoe.  1  Ep.  li.  80. 
'Tis  not  the  place  disgust  or  pleasure  brings : 
Erom  our  own  mind  our  satisfaction  springs. 

'  MR.  SPECTATOK,  '  London,  June  24. 

'  A  MAN  who  has  it  in  his  power  to  choose 
his  own  company,  would  certainly  be  much  to  blame 
should  he  not,  to  the  best  of  his  judgment,  take 
such  as  are  of  a  temper  most  suitable  to  his  own ; 
and  where  that  choice  is  wanting,  or  where  a  man 
is  mistaken  in  his  choice,  and  yet  under  a  necessity 
of  continuing  in  the  same  company,  it  will  certainly 
be  his  interest  to  carry  himself  as  easily  as  possible. 
'  In  this  I  am  sensible  I  do  but  repeat  what  has 
been  said  a  thousand  times,  at  which,  however,  I 
think  nobody  has  any  title  to  take  exception  but 
they  who  never  failed  to  put  this  in  practice.  Not 
to  use  any  longer  preface,  this  being  the  season  of 
the  year  in  which  great  numbers  of  all  sorts  of  peo- 

"  By  Steele.    See  note  to  signature  T,  'No.  324,  ad  finem. 


96  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^o.  424. 

pie  retire  from  this  place  of  business  and  pleasure 
to  country  solitude,  I  think  it  not  improper  to  ad- 
vise them  to  take  with  them  as  great  a  stock  of 
good-humour  as  they  can ;  for  though  a  country 
life  is  described  as  the  most  pleasant  of  all  others, 
and  though  it  may  in  truth  be  so,  yet  it  is  only  so 
to  those  who  know  how  to  enjoy  leisure  and  retire- 
ment. 

'  As  for  those  who  can't  live  without  the  constant 
helps  of  business  or  company,  let  them  consider, 
that  in  the  country  there  is  no  Exchange,  there  are 
no  play-houses,  no  variety  of  coffee-houses,  nor 
many  of  those  other  amusements,  which  serve  here 
as  so  many  reliefs  from  the  repeated  occurrences  in 
their  own  families  ;  but  that  there  the  greatest  part 
of  their  time  must  be  spent  within  themselves,  and 
consequently  it  behoves  them  to  consider  how  agree- 
able it  will  be  to  them  before  they  leave  this  dear 
town. 

'  I  remember,  Mr.  Spectator,  we  were  very  well 
entertained  last  year  with  the  advices  you  gave  us 
from  sir  Roger's  country-seat ;  ^  which  I  the  rather 
mention,  because  it  is  almost  impossible  not  to  live 
pleasantly  where  the  master  of  the  family  is  such  a 
one  as  you  there  describe  your  friend,  who  cannot 
therefore  (I  mean  as  to  his  domestic  character)  be 
too  often  recommended  to  the  imitation  of  others. 
How  amiable  is  that  affability  and  benevolence  with 
which  he  treats  his  neighbours  and  every  one,  even 
the  meanest  of  his  own  family !  and  yet  how  seldom 
imitated!  Instead  of  which,  we  commonly  meet 
with  ill-natured  expostulations,  noise,  and  chidings. 
And  this  I  hinted,  because  the  humour  and  dispo- 

P  See  Speot.  No.  lOY. 


No.  424]  THE    SPECTATOR.  97 

sition  of  the  head  is  what  chiefly  influences  all  the 
other  parts  of  a  family. 

'An  agreement  and  kind  correspondence  be- 
tween friends  and  acquaintance  is  the  greatest  plea- 
sure of  life.  This  is  an  undoubted  truth  ;  and  yet 
any  man  who  judges  from  the  practice  of  the  world 
will  be  almost  persuaded  to  believe  the  contrary  ; 
for  how  can  we  suppose  people  should  be  so  indus- 
trious to  make  themselves  uneasy  ?  What  can  en- 
gage them  to  entertain  and  foment  jealousies  of  one 
another  upon  every  the  least  occasion  ?  Yet  so  it 
is,  there  are  people  who  (as  it  should  seem)  delight 
in  being  troublesome  and  vexatious,  who  (as  TuUy 
speaks)  mira  sunt  alacritate  ad  liiigandum^  '  have  a 
certain  cheerfulness  in  wrangling.'  And  thus  it 
happens  that  there  are  very  few  families  in  which 
there  are  not  feuds  and  animosities,  though  it  is 
every  one's  interest,  there  more  particularly,  to 
avoid  them,  because  there  (as  I  would  willingly 
hope)  no  one  gives  another  uneasiness,  without  feel- 
ing some  share  of  it.  But  I  am  gone  beyond  what 
I  designed,  and  had  almost  forgot  what  I  chiefly 
proposed  ;  which  was,  barely  to  tell  you  how  hard- 
ly we,  who  pass  most  of  our  time  in  town,  dispense 
with  a  long  vacation  in  the  country  ;  how  uneasy 
we  grow  to  ourselves  and  to  one  another,  when  our 
conversation  is  confined ;  insomuch  that,  by  Mi- 
chaelmas, 'tis  odds  but  we  come  to  downright 
squabbling,  and  make  as  free  with  one  another  to 
our  faces,  as  we  do  with  the  rest  of  the  world  be- 
hind their  backs.  After  I  have  told  you  this,  I  am 
to  desire  that  you  would  now  and  then  give  us  a 
■  lesson  of  good  humour,  a  family-piece,  which,  since 
we  are  all  very  fond  of  you,  I  hope  may  have  some 
influence  upon  us. 

VOL.  V. — 7 


98  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  424. 

'  After  these  plain  observations,  give  me  leave 
to  give  you  an  hint  of  what  a  set  of  company  of  my 
acquaintance  who  are  now  gone  into  the  country, 
and  have  the  use  of  an  absent  nobleman's  seat,  have 
settled  among  themselves,  to  avoid  the  inconveni- 
ences above-mentioned.     They  are  a  collection  of 
ten  or  twelve,  of  the  same  good  inclination  towards 
each  other,  but  of  very  different  talents  and  inclina- 
tions ;  from  hence  they  hope,  that  the  variety  of  their 
tempers  will  only  create  variety  of  pleasures.     But  as 
there  always  will  arise,  among  the  same  people,  either 
for  want  of  diversity  of  objects,  or  the  like  causes, 
a  certain  satiety,  which  may  grow  into  ill-humour  or 
discontent,  there  is  a  large  wing  of  the  house  which 
they  design  to  employ  in  the  nature  of  an  infirmary. 
Whoever  says  a  peevish  thing,  or  acts  any  thing 
which  betrays  a  sourness  or  indisposition  to  compa- 
ny, is  immediately  to  be  conveyed  to  his  chambers 
in  the  infirmary ;  from  whence  he  is  not  to  be  re- 
lieved, till  by  his  manner  of  submission,  and  the  sen- 
timents expressed  in  his  petition  for  that  purpose, 
he  appears  to  the  majority  of  the  company  to  be 
again  fit  for  society.    You  are  to  understand  that  all 
ill-natured  words  or  uneasy  gestures  are  sufficient 
cause  for  banishment :  speaking  impatiently  to  ser- 
vants, making  a  man  repeat  what  he  says,   or  any 
thing  that  betrays  inattention  or  dishumour,  are  also 
criminal  without  reprieve.     But  it  is  provided  that 
whoever  observes   the  ill-natured  fit  coming  upon 
himself,  and  voluntarily  retires,  shall  be  received  at 
his  return  from  the  infirmary  with  the  highest  marks 
of  esteem.     By  these  and  other  wholesome  methods, 
it  is  expected  that  if  they  cannot  cure  one  another, 
yet  at  least  they  have  taken  care  that  the  ill-humour 
of  one  shall  not  be  troublesome  to  the  rest  of  the 


No.  425.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  99 

company.  There  are  many  other  rules  which  the 
society  have  established  for  the  preservation  of  their 
ease  and  tranquillity,  the  effects  of  which,  with  the 
incidents  that  arise  among  them,  shall  be  communi- 
cated to  you  from  time  to  time,  for  the  public  good, 
by 

'  SiE,  your  most  humble  servant, 
T.I  '  E.  0.' 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  Bavarian  red  liquor,  a  paint  for  ladies,  is  advertised  in  the  Speet. 
in  folio,  and  likewise  the  assured  cure  for  leanness. — See  Spect.  in  folio. 
See  Nos.  427,  428.  See  also  Spect.  No.  672.  A  paper  by  Dr.  Z.  Pearec, 
late  bishop  of  Rochester. 


No.  425.     TUESDAY,  July  8,  1712. 

Frigora  mitescunt  zepbyrie,  ver  proterit  ffistas 

Interitura,  simul 
Pomifer  autumnus  frugea  effuderit ;  et  mox 
Bruma  recurrit  iners. 

Hob.  4  Od.  vii.  9. 
The  cold  grows  soft  with  western  gales. 
The  summer  over  spring  prevails, 

But  yields  to  autumn's  fruitful  rain. 
As  this  to  winter  storms  and  hails ; 

Each  loss  the  hasting  moon  repairs  again. 

SiK  W.  Temple. 

'me.    SPECTATOR, 

'  There  is  hardly  any  thing  gives  me  a 
more  sensible  delight  than  the  enjoyment  of  a  cool 
still  evening  after  the  uneasiness  of  a  hot  sultry  day. 
Such  a  one  I  passed  not  long  ago,  which  made  me 
rejoice  when  the  hour  was  come  for  the  sun  to  set, 
that  I  might  enjoy  the  freshness  of  the  evening  in 
my  garden,  which  then  affords  me  the  pleasantest 
hours  I  pass  in  the  whole  four  and  twenty.    I  imme- 

1  By  Steele.    See  No.  429. 


1 00  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  425. 

diately  rose  from  my  couch,  and  went  down  into  it. 
You  descend  at  first  by  twelve  stone  steps  into  a 
large  square  divided  into  four  grass-plots,  in  each  of 
which  is  a  statue  of  white  marble.  This  is  separated 
from  a  large  parterre  by  a  low  wall ;  and  from  thence 
through  a  pair  of  iron  gates,  you  are  led  into  a  long 
broad  walk  of  the  finest  turf,  set  on  each  side  with 
tall  yews,  and  on  either  hand  bordered  by  a  canal, 
which  on  the  right  divides  the  walk  from  a  wilder- 
ness parted  into  variety  of  alleys  and  arbours,  and 
on  the  left  form  a  kind  of  amphitheatre,  which  is  the 
receptacle  of  a  great  number  of  oranges  and  myr- 
tles. The  moon  shone  bright,  and  seemed  then  most 
agreeably  to  supply  the  place  of  the  sun,  obliging 
me  with  as  much  light  as  was  necessary  to  discover 
a  thousand  pleasing  objects,  and  at  the  same  time 
divested  of  all  power  of  heat.  The  reflection  of  it 
in  the  water,  the  fanning  of  the  wind  rustling  on 
the  leaves,  the  singing  of  the  thrush  and  nightin- , 
gale,  and  the  coolness  of  the  walks,  all  conspired  to 
make  me  lay  aside  all  displeasing  thoughts,  and 
brought  me  into  such  a  tranquillity  of  mind,  as  is  I 
believe  the  next  happiness  to  that  of  hereafter.  In 
this  sweet  retirement  I  naturally  fell  into  the  repe- 
tition of  some  lines  out  of  a  poem  of  Milton's,  which 
he  intitles  II  Penseroso,  the  ideas  of  which  were 
exquisitely  suited  to  my  present  wanderings  of 
thought. 

"  Sweet  bird !  that  shun'st  the  noise  of  folly, 
Most  musical !  most  melancholy  ! 
Thee,  chauntress,  oft,  the  woods  among, 
I  woo  to  Lear  thy  evening  song  : 
And  missing  thee  I  walk  unseen 
On  the  dry  smooth-shaven  green. 
To  behold  the  wand'ring  moon, 
Eiding  near  her  highest  noon, 


No.  425.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  101 

Like  one  that  hath  been  led  astray, 
Through  the  heav'ns  "wide  pathless  way, 
And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 

"  Then  let  some  strange  mysterious  dream 
Wave  with  his  wings  in  airy  stream. 
Of  lively  protraiture  display'd, 
Softly  on  my  eyelids  laid : 
And  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 
Above,  about,  or  underneath. 
Sent  by  spirits  to  mortals  good. 
Or  the  unseen  genius  of  the  wood." 

'  I  reflected  then  upon  the  sweet  vicissitudes  of 
night  and  day,  on  the  charming  disposition  of  the 
seasons,  and  their  return  again  w  a  perpetual  circle : 
and  oh !  said  I,  that  I  could  from  these  my  declining 
years  return  again  to  my  first  spring  of  youth  and 
vigour ;  but  that,  alas !  is  impossible :  all  that  re- 
mains within  my  power  is  to  soften  the  inconveni- 
ences I  feel  with  an  easy  contented  mind,  and  the 
enjoyment  of  such  delights  as  this  solitude  aiFords 
me.  In  this  thought  I  sat  me  down  on  a  bank  of 
flowers,  and  dropt  into  slumber,  which,  whether  it 
were  the  effect  of  fumes  and  vapours,  or  my  present 
thoughts,  I  know  not ;  but  methought  the  genius  of 
the  garden  stood  before  me,  and  introduced  into  the 
walk  where  I  lay  this  drama  and  different  scenes  of 
the  revolution  of  the  year,  which  whilst  I  then  saw, 
even  in  my  dream,  I  resolved  to  write  down,  and 
send  to  the  Spectator. 

'  The  first  person  whom  I  saw  advancing  towards 
me,  was  a  youth  of  a  most  beautiful  air  and  shape, 
though  he  seemed  not  yet  arrived  at  that  exact  pro- 
portion and  symmetry  of  parts  which  a  little  more 
time  would  have  given  him ;  but  however  there  was 
such  a  bloom  in  his  countenance,   such   satisfaction 


102  THE   SPECTATOR.  l^°-  ^'^^' 

and  joy,  that  I  thought  it  the  most  desirable  form 
that  I  had  ever  seen.     He  was  clothed  in  a  flowing 
mantle  of  green  silk,  interwoven  with  flowers :  he 
had  a  chaplet  of  roses  oij  his  head,  and  a  narcissus 
in  his  hand ;  primroses  and  violets  sprang  up  under 
his  feet,  and  all  nature  was  cheered  at  his  approach. 
Flora  was  on  one  hand,  and  Vertumnus  on  the  other, 
in  a  robe  of  changeable  silk.     After  this  1  was  sur- 
prised to  see  the  moon-beams  reflected  with  a  sudden 
glare  from  armour,   and  to  see   a  man  completely 
armed  advancing  with  his  sword  drawn.    I  was  soon 
informed  by  the  genius  it  was  Mars,  who  had  long 
usurped  a  place  among  the  attendants  of  the  Spring. 
He  made  way  for  a  softer  appearance.    It  was  Venus, 
without  any  ornament  but  her  own  beauties,  not  so 
much  as  her  own  cestus,  with  which  she  had  encom- 
passed a  globe,  which  she  held  in  her  right  hand, 
and  in  her  left  she  had  a  sceptre  of  gold.    After  her 
followed   the   Graces,    with   their    arms   entwined 
within  one  another :  their  girdles  were  loosed,  and 
they  moved  to  the  sound  of  soft  music,  striking  the 
ground  alternately  with  their  feet.     Then  came  up 
the  three  months  which  belong  to  this  season.     As 
March  advanced  towards  me,  there  was  methought 
in  his  look  a  lowering  roughness,  which  ill  befitted 
a  month  which  was  ranked  in  so  soft  a  season  ;  but 
as  he  came  forwards,  his  features  became  insensibly 
more  mild  and  gentle ;  he  smoothed  his  brow,  and 
looked  with  so  sweet  a  countenance,  that  I  could 
not  but  lament  his  departure,  though  he  made  way 
for  April.     He  appeared  in  the  greatest  gaiety  ima- 
ginable, and  had  a  thousand   pleasures  to  attend 
him :  his  look  was  frequently  clouded,  but  immedi- 
ately returned  to  its  first  composure,  and  remained 
fixed  in  a  smile.     Then  came  May,   attended  by 


No.  425.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  103 

Cupid  -with  his  bow  strung,  and  in  a  posture  to  let 
fly  an  arrow :  as  lie  passed  by,  methought  I  heard 
a  confused  noise  of  soft  complaints,  gentle  ecstasies. 
and  tender  sighs  of  lovers  ;  vows  of  constancy,  and 
as  many  complainings  of  perfidiousness  ;  all  which 
the  winds  wafted  away  as  soon  as  they  had  reached 
my  hearing.  After  these  I  saw  a  man  advance  in 
the  full  prime  and  vigour  of  his  age  ;  his  complexion 
was  sanguine  and  ruddy,  his  hair  black,  and  fell 
down  in  beautiful  ringlets  not  beneath  his  shoulders ; 
a  mantle  of  hair-coloured  silk  hung  loosely  upon 
him ;  he  advanced  with  a  hasty  step  after  the  Spring, 
and  sought  out  the  shade  and  cool  fountains  which 
played  in  the  garden.  He  was  particularly  well 
pleased  when  a  troop  of  Zephyrs  fanned  him  with 
their  wings.  He  had  two  companions  who  walked 
on  each  side,  that  made  him  appear  the  most  agree- 
able ;  the  one  was  Aurora  with  fingers  of  roses,  and 
her  feet  dewy,  attired  in  gray  ;  the  other  was  Ves- 
per, in  a  robe  of  azure  beset  with  drops  of  gold, 
whose  breath  he  caught  whilst  it  ,  passed  over  a 
bundle  of  honey-suckles  and  tuberoses  which  he  held 
in  his  hand.  Pan  and  Ceres  followed  them  with 
four  reapers,  who  danced  a  morrice  "■  to  the  sound  of 
oaten  pipes  and  cymbals.  Then  came  the  attendant 
months.  June  retained  still  some  small  likeness  of 
the  Spring ;  but  the  other  two  seemed  to  step  with 
a  less  vigorous  tread,  especially  August,  who  seemed 
almost  to  faint,  whilst,  for  half  the  steps  he  took,  the 
dog-star  levelled  his  rays  full  at  his  head.  They 
passed  on,  and  made  way  for  a  person  that  seemed 
to  bend  a  little  under  the  weight  of  years ;  his  beard 

'  See  an  account  of  the  morrice  dance  in  Hawkins's  Hist,  of  Music,  vol. 
ii.  p.  134 


104  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  425. 

and  hair,  which  were  full  grown,  were  composed  of 
an  equal  number  of  black  and  gray ;  he  wore  a  robe 
which  he  had  girt  round  him,  of  a  yellowish  cast, 
not  unlike  the  colour  of  fallen  leaves,  which  he 
walked  upon.  I  thought  he  hardly  made  amends 
for  expelling  the  foregoing  scene  by  the  large  quan- 
tity of  fruits  which  he  bore  in  his  hands.  Plenty 
walked  by  his  side  with  an  healthy  fresh  counte- 
nance, pouring  out  from  an  horn  all  the  various 
products  of  the  year.  Pomona  followed  with  a  glass 
of  cyder  in  her  hand,  with  Bacchus  in  a  chariot 
drawn  by  tigers,  accompanied  by  a  whole  troop  of 
satyrs,  fauns,  and  sylvans.  September,  who  came 
next,  seemed  in  his  looks  to  promise  a  new  Spring, 
and  wore  the  livery  of  those  months.  The  suc- 
ceeding month  was  all  soiled  with  the  juice  of 
grapes,  as  if  he  had  just  come  from  the  wine-press. 
November,  though  he  was  in  this  division,  yet  by 
the  many  stops  he  made  seemed  rather  inclined  to 
the  Winter,  which  followed  close  at  his  heels.  He 
advanced  in  the  shape  of  an  old  man  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  age ;  the  hair  he  had  was  so  very  white, 
it  seemed  a  real  snow ;  his  eyes  were  red  and 
piercing,  and  his  beard  hung  with  great  quantity  of 
icicles ;  he  was  wrapt  up  in  furs,  but  yet  so  pinched 
with  excess  of  cold,  that  his  limbs  were  all  con- 
tracted, and  his  body  bent  to  the  ground,  so  that  he 
could  not  have  supported  himself  had  it  not  been 
for  Comus,  the  god  of  revels,  and  Necessity,  the 
mother  of  Fate,  who  sustained  him  on  each  side. 
The  shape  and  mantle  of  Comus  was  one  of  the 
things  that  most  surprised  me;  as  he  advanced 
towards  me,  his  countenance  seemed  the  most  de- 
sirable I  had  ever  seen.  On  the  forepart  of  his 
mantle  was  pictured  joy,  delight,  and  satisfaction. 


No.  425.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  105 

with  a  thousand  emblems  of  merriment,  and  jests 
with  faces  looking  two  ways  at  once ;  but  as  he 
passed  from  me,  I  was  amazed  at  a  shape  so  little 
correspondent  to  his  face :  his  head  was  bald,  and 
all  the  rest  of  his  limbs  appeared  old  and  deformed. 
On  the  hinder  part  of  his  mantle  was  represented 
Murder"  with  dishevelled  hair  and  a  dagger  all 
bloody,  Anger  in  a  robe  of  scarlet,  and  Suspicion 
squinting  with  both  eyes ;  but,  above  all,  the  most 
conspicuous  was  the  battle  6f  Lapithas  and  the  cen- 
taurs. I  detested  so  hideous  a  shape,  and  turned 
my  eyes  upon  Saturn,  who  was  stealing  away  be- 
hind him,  with  a  scythe  in  one  hand  and  an  hour- 
glass in  t'other,  unobserved.  Behind  Necessity 
was  Vesta,  the  goddess  of  fire,  with  a  lamp  which 
was  perpetually  supplied  with  oil,  and  whose  flame 
was  eternal.  She  cheered  the  rugged  brow  of  Ne- 
cessity, and  warmed  her  so  far  as  almost  to  make 
her  assume  the  features  and  likeness  of  Choice. 
December,  January,  and  February,  passed  on  after 
the  rest,  all  in  furs ;  there  was  little  distinction  to  < 
be  made  amongst  them ;  and  they  Were  only  more 
or  less  displeasing  as  they  discovered  more  or  less 
haste  towards  the  grateful  return  of  Spring. 

Z.* 

'  The  English  are  branded,  perhaps  unjustly,  with  being  addicted  to 
suicide  about  this  time  of  the  year. 

'  Probably  by  Pope,  or  Dr.  Parnell.— See  Speot.  No.  555.  Excepting 
in  one  or  two  instances  of  unquestionable  authority,  the  explication  of  the 
signature  Z  in  this  edition  is  merely  conjectural. 


lOG  THE  SPECTATOR.  C^o.  426. 


No.  426.    WEDNESDAY,  July  9,   1712. 

—  Quid  non  mortalia  pectora  cogia, 
Auri  sacra  fames  ? 

YmG.  .^jH.  iii  56. 

0  cursed  hunger  of  pernicious  gold  1 
What  bands  of  faith  can  impious  lucre  hold! 
Dktdem". 

A  VERT  agreeable  friend  of  mine,  the  other  day, 
carrying  me  in  his  coach  into  the  country  to  dinner, 
fell  into  discourse  concerning  the  '  care  of  parents 
due  to  their  children,'  and  the  'piety  of  children  to- 
wards their  parents.'  He  was  reflecting  upon  the 
succession  of  particular  virtues  and  qualities  there 
might  be  preserved  from  one  generation  to  another, 
if  these  regards  were  reciprocally  held  in  venera- 
tion :  but  as  he  never  fails  to  mix  an  air  of  mirth 
and  good-humour  with  his  good  sense  and  reasoning, 
he  entered  into  the  following  relation. 

'  I  will  not  be  confident  in  what  century,  or  under 
what  reign  it  happened,  that  this  want  of  mutual 
confidence  and  right  understanding  between  father 
and  son  was  fatal  to  the  family  of  the  Valentines  in 
Germany.  Basilius  Valentinus  was  a  person  who 
had  arrived  at  the  utmost  perfection  in  the  hermetic 
art,  and  initiated  his  son  Alexandrinus  in  the  same 
mysteries ;  but,  as  you  know  they  are  not  to  be  at- 
tained but  by  the  painful,  the  pious,  the  chaste,  and 
pure  of  heart,  Basilius  did  not  open  to  him,  because 
of  his  youth,  and  the  deviations  too  natural  to  it,  the 
greatest  secrets  of  which  he  was  master,  as  well 
knowing  that  the  operation  would  fail  in  the  hands 
of  a  man  so  liable  to  errors  in  life  as  Alexandrinus. 
But  believing,  from  a  certain  indisposition  of  mind 
as  well  as  body,  his  dissolution  was  drawing  nigh, 
he  called  Alexandrinus  to  him,  and  as  he  lay  on  a 


No.  426.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  107 

couch,  over-against  wliicli  his  son  was  seated,  and 
prepared  by  sending  out  the  servants  one  after  an- 
other, and  admonition  to  examine  that  no  one  over- 
heard them,  he  revealed  the  most  important  of  his 
secrets  with  the  solemnity  and  language  of  an  adept. 
"  My  son,"  said  he,  "  many  have  been  the  watch- 
ings,  long  the  lucubrations,  constant  the  labours  of 
thy  father,  not  only  to  gain  a  great  and  plentiful 
estate  to  his  posterity,  but  also  to  take  care  that  he 
should  have  no  posterity.  Be  not  amazed,  my 
child  ;  I  do  not  mean  that  thou  shalt  be  taken  from 
me,  but  that  I  will  never  leave  thee,  and  conse- 
quently cannot  be  said  to  have  posterity.  Behold, 
my  dearest  Alexandrinus,  the  effect  of  what  was 
propagated  in  nine  months.  We  are  not  to  contra- 
dict nature,  but  to  follow  and  to  help  her ;  just  as 
long  as  an  infant  is  in  the  womb  of  its  parent,  so 
long  are  these  medicines  of  revivification  in  prepar- 
ing. Observe  this  small  phial  and  this  little  galli- 
pot, in  this  an  unguent,  in  the  other  a  liquor.  In 
these,  my  child,  are  collected  such  powers  as  shall 
revive  the  springs  of  life  when  they  are  yet  but  just 
ceased,  and  give  new  strength,  new  spirits,  and,  in 
a  word,  wholly  restore  all  the  organs  and  senses  of 
the  human  body  to  as  great  a  duration,  as  it  had 
before  enjoyed  from  its  birth  to  the  day  of  the 
application  of  these  my  medicines.  But,  my  be- 
loved son,  care  must  be  taken  to  apply  them  within 
ten  hours  after  the  breath  is  out  of  the  body,  while 
yet  the  clay  is  warm  with  its  late  life,  and  yet 
capable  of  resuscitation.  I  find  my  frame  grown 
crazy  with  perpetual  toil  and  meditation  ;  and  I  con- 
jure you,  as  soon  as  I  am  dead,  to  anoint  me  with 
this  unguent ;  and  when  you  see  me  begin  to  move, 
pour  into  my  lips  this  inestimable  liquor,  else  the 


108  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  426. 

force  of  the  ointment  will  be  ineffectual.  By  this 
means  you  will  give  me  life  as  I  have  you,  and  we 
will  from  that  hour  mutually  lay  aside  the  authority 
of  having  bestowed  life  on  each  other,  but  live  as 
brethren,  and  prepare  new  medicines  against  such 
another  period  of  time  as  will  demand  another  ap- 
plication of  the  same  restoratives."  In  a  few  days 
after  these  wonderful  ingredients  were  delivered  to 
Alexandrinus,  Basilius  departed  this  life.  But  such 
was  the  pious  sorrow  of  the  son  at  the  loss  of  so  ex- 
cellent a  father,  and  the  first  transports  of  grief  had 
so  wholly  disabled  him  from  all  manner  of  business, 
that  he  never  thought  of  the  medicines  till  the  time 
to  which  his  father  had  limited  their  efi&cacy  was  ex- 
pired. To  tell  the  truth,  Alexandrinus  was  a  man 
of  wit  and  pleasure,  and  considered  his  father  had 
lived  out  his  natural  time  ;  his  life  was  long  and  uni- 
form, suitable  to  the  regularity  of  it ;  but  that  he 
himself,  poor  sinner,  wanted  a  new  life,  to  repent 
of  a  very  bad  one  hitherto,  and  in  the  examination 
of  his  heart  resolved  to  go  on  as  he  did  with  this 
natural  being  of  his,  but  repent  very  faithfully,  and 
spend  very  piously  the  life  to  which  he  should  be 
restored  by  application  of  these  rarities,  when  time 
should  come  to  his  own  person. 

'  It  has  been  observed  that  Providence  frequently 
punishes  the  self-love  of  men,  who  would  do  immo- 
derately for  their  own  offspring,  with  children  very 
much  below  their  characters  and  qualifications,  in- 
somuch that  they  only  transmit  their  names  to  be 
borne  by  those  who  give  daily  proofs  of  the  vanity 
of  the  labour  and  ambition  of  their  progenitors. 

'  It  happened  thus  in  the  family  of  Basilius ;  for 
Alexandrinus  began  to  enjoy  his  ample  fortune  in 
all  the  extremities  of  household  expense,  furniture, 


No.  426.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  109 

and  insolent  equipage ;  and  this  lie  pursued  till  the 
day  of  his  own  departure  began,  as  he  grew  sensible 
to  approach.  As  Basilius  was  punished  with  a  son 
very  unlike  him,  Alexandrinus  was  visited  by  one 
of  his  own  disposition.  It  is  natural  that  ill  men 
should  be  suspicious ;  and  Alexandrinus,  besides  that 
jealousy,  had  proofs  of  the  vicious  disposition  of  his 
son  Renatus,  for  that  was  his  name. 

'  Alexandrinus,  as  I  have  observed,  having  very 
good  reasons  for  thinking  it  unsafe  to  trust  the  real 
secret  of  his  phial  and  gallipot  to  any  man  living, 
projected  to  make  sure  work,  and  hope  for  his  suc- 
cess depending  from  the  avarice,  not  the  bounty  of 
his  benefactor. 

'  With  this  thought  he  called  Renatus  to  his  bed- 
side, and  bespoke  him  in  the  most  pathetic  gesture 
and  accent : — -"As  much,  my  son,  as  you  have  been 
addicted  to  vanity  and  pleasure,  as  I  also  have  been 
before  you,''  you  nor  I  could  escape  the  fame,  or  the 
good  effects  of  the  profound  knowledge  of  our  pro- 
genitor, the  renowned  Basilius.  His  symbol  is  very 
well  known  in  the  philosophic  world ;  and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  venerable  air  of  his  countenance, 
when  he  let  me  into  the  profound  mysteries  of  the 
smaragdine  table  of  Hermes.  'It  is  true,'  said  he, 
'  and  far  removed  from  all  colour  of  deceit ;  that 
which  is  inferior  is  like  that  which  is  superior,  by 
which  are  acquired  and  perfected  all  the  miracles  of 
a  certain  work.  The  father  is  the  sun,  the  mother 
the  moon,  the  wind  is  the  womb,  the  earth  is  the 
nurse  of  it,  and  mother  of  all  perfection.  All  this 
must  be  received  with  modesty  and  wisdom.'     The 

"  The  word  '  neither '  seems  omitted  here,  though  it  is  not  in  the  origi- 
nal publication  in  folio,  or  in  the  edit,  in  8to.  of  1712. 


110  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  426. 

chymical  people  carry,  in  all  their  jargon,  a  whim- 
sical sort  of  piety  which  is  ordinary  with  great  lov- 
ers of  money,  and  is  no  more  but  deceiving  them- 
selves, that  their  regularity  and  strictness  of  man- 
ners, for  the  ends  of  this  world,  has  some  affinity  to 
the  innocence  of  heart  which  must  recommend  them 
to  the  next.  Renatus  wondered  to  hear  his  father 
talk  so  like  an  adept,  and  with  such  a  mixture  of 
piety  ;  while  Alexandrinus,  observing  his  attention 
fixed,  proceeded.  "  This  phial,  child,  and  this  little 
earthen  pot,  will  add  to  thy  estate  so  much  as  to 
make  thee  the  richest  man  in  the  German  empire. 
I  am  going  to  my  long  home,  but  shall  not  return 
to  common  dust."  Then  he  resumed  a  countenance 
of  alacrity,  and  told  him,  that  if  within  an  hour  after 
his  death  he  anointed  his  whole  body,  and  poured 
down  his  throat  that  liquor  which  he  had  from  old 
Basilius,  the  corpse  would  be  converted  into  pure 
gold.  I  will  not  pretend  to  express  to  you  the  un- 
feigned tenderness  that  passed  between  these  two 
extraordinary  persons  ;  but  if  the  father  recommend- 
ed the  care  of  his  remains  with  vehemence  and  af- 
fection, the  son  was  not  behindhand  in  professing 
tliat  he  would  not  cut  the  least  bit  of  him  but  upon 
the  utmost  extremity,  or  to  provide  for  his  younger 
brothers  and  sister. 

'  Well,  Alexandrinus  dies,  and  the  heir  of  his 
body  (as  our  term  is)  could  not  forbear,  in  the  wan- 
tonnesses  of  his  heart,  to  measure  the  length  and 
breadth  of  his  beloved  father,  and  cast  up  the  ensu- 
ing value  of  him  before  he  proceeded  to  operation. 
When  he  knew  the  immense  reward  of  his  pains,  he 
began  the  work:  but  lo!  when  he  had  anointed 
the  corpse  all  over,  and  began  to  apply  the  liquor 


No.  427.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  Ill 

the  body  stirred,   and  Renatus,  in  a  fright,  broke 
the  phial'  T.'^ 


No.  427.     THUESDAY,  July  10,  1712. 

Quantilm  h  rermn  turpitadlne  abes,  tantdm  te  h  verbormn  libertate  Bejangas, 

Toll. 

We  should  be  as  careful  of  our  words  as  oni  actions;  and  as  far  from  speaking  as  from 
doing  ill. 

It  is  a  certain  sign  of  an  ill  heart  to  be  inclined  to 
defamation.  They  who  are  harmless  and  innocent 
can  have  no  gratification  that  way ;  but  it  ever  arises 
from  a  neglect  of  what  is  laudable  in  a  man's  self, 
and  an  impatience  of  seeing  it  in  another.  Else  why 
should  virtue  provoke  ?  Why  should  beauty  dis- 
please in  such  a  degree,  that  a  man  given  to  scandal 
never  lets  the  mention  of  either  pass  by  him,  without 
offering  something  to  the  diminution  of  it  ?  A  lady 
the  other  day  at  a  visit,  being  attacked  somewhat 
rudely  by  one  whose  own  character  has  been  very 
rudely  treated,  answered  a  great  deal  of  heat  and 
intemperance  very  calmly,  '  Good  madam,  spare  me, 
who  am  none  of  your  match  ;  I  speak  ill  of  nobody, 
and  it  is  a  new  thing  to  me  to  be  spoken  ill  of 
Little  minds  think  fame  consists  in  the  number  of 
votes  they  have  on  their  side  among  the  multitude, 
whereas  it  is  really  the  inseparable  follower  of  good 
and  worthy  actions.  Fame  is  as  natural  a  follower 
of  merit,  as  a  shadow  is  of  a  body.  It  is  true,  when 
crowds  press  upon  you,  this  shadow  cannot  be  seen ; 
but  when  they  separate  from  around  you,  it  will 

»  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  234. 


112  THE   SPECTATOR.  i^°-  ^^''• 

again  appear.  The  lazy,  the  idle,  and  the  froward, 
are  the  persons  who  are  most  pleased  with  the  little 
tales  which  pass  about  the  town  to  the  disadvantage 
of  the  rest  of  the  world.  Were  it  not  for  the  plea- 
sure of  speaking  ill,  there  are  numbers  of  people 
who  are  too  lazy  to  go  out  of  their  own  houses,  and 
too  ill-natured  to  open  their  lips  in  conversation.  It 
was  not  a  little  diverting  the  other  day  to  observe 
a  lady  reading  a  post-letter,  and  at  these  words, 
'  After  all  her  airs  he  has  heard  some  story  or  other, 
and  the  match  is  broke  off,'  gives  orders  in  the  midst 
of  her  reading,  '  Put  to  the  horses.'  That  a  young 
woman  of  merit  had  missed  an  advantageous  settle- 
ment was  news  not  to  be  delayed,  lest  somebody 
else  should  have  given  her  malicious  acquaintance 
that  satisfaction  before  her.  The  unwillingness  to 
receive  good  tidings  is  a  quality  as  inseparable  from 
a  scandal-bearer  as  the  readiness  to  divulge  bad. 
But,  alas !  how  wretchedly  low  and  contemptible  is 
that  state  of  mind  that  cannot  be  pleased  but  by  what 
is  the  subject  of  lamentation.  This  temper  has  ever 
been,  in  the  highest  degree,  odious  to  gallant  spirits. 
The  Persian  soldier,  who  was  heard  reviling  Alex- 
ander the  Great,  was  well  admonished  by  his  officer, 
'  Sir,  you  are  paid  to  fight  against  Alexander,  and 
not  to  rail  at  him.' 

Cicero,  in  one  of  his  pleadings,  defending  his 
client  from  general  scandal,  says  very  handsomely, 
and  with  much  reason,  '  There  are  many  who  have 
particular  engagements  to  the  prosecutor :  there  are 
many  who  are  known  to  have  ill-will  to  him  for  whom 
I  appear :  there  are  many  who  are  naturally  addicted 
to  defamation,  and  envious  of  any  good  to  any  man, 
who  may  have  contributed  to  spread  reports  of  this 
kind :  for  nothing  is  so  swift  as  scandal,  nothing  is 


No.  427.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  113 

more  easily  sent  abroad,  nothing  received  ■with  more 
welcome,  nothing  diffuses  itself  so  universally.  T 
shall  not  desire,  ihat  if  any  report  to  our  disadvan- 
tage has  any  ground  for  it,  you  would  overlook  or 
extenuate  it :  but  if  there  be  any  thing  advanced, 
without  a  person  who  can  say  whence  he  had  it,  or 
which  is  attested  by  one  who  forgot  who  told  him  it, 
or  who  had  it  from  one  of  so  little  consideration  that 
he  did  not  then  think  it  worth  his  notice ;  all  such 
testimonies  as  these,  I  know,  you  will  think  too  slight 
to  have  any  credit  against  the  innocence  and  honour 
of  your  fellow-citizen.'  When  an  ill  report  is  traced, 
it  very  often  vanishes  among  such  as  the  orator  has 
here  recited.  And  how  despicable  a  creature  must 
that  be,  who  is  in  pain  for  what  passes  among  so  fri- 
volous a  people !  There  is  a  town  in  Warwickshire, 
of  good  note,  and  formerly  pretty  famous  for  much 
animosity  and  dissension,  the  chief  families  of  which 
have  now  turned  all  their  whispers,  backbitings, 
envies,  and  private  malices  into  mirth  and  entertain- 
ment, by  means  of  a  peevish  old  gentlewoman, 
known  by  the  title  of  the  lady  Bluemantle.  This 
heroine  had,  for  many  years  together,  outdone  the 
whole  sisterhood  of  gossips  in  invention,  quick  utter- 
ance, and  unprovoked  malice.  This  good  body  is  of 
a  lasting  constitution,  though  extremely  decayed  in 
her  eyes,  and  decrepid  in  her  feet.  The  two  circum- 
stances of  being  always  at  home  from  her  lameness, 
and  very  attentive  from  her  blindness,  make  her 
lodgings  the  receptacle  of  all  that  passes '  in  town, 
good  or  bad ;  but  for  the  latter  she  seems  to  have 
the  better  memory.  There  is  another  thing  to  be 
noted  of  her,  which  is,  that,  as  it  is  usual  with  old 
people,  she  has  a  livelier  memory  of  things  which 
passed  when  she  was  very  young,  than  of  late  years. 

VOL.  V. — 8 


114  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  427. 

Add  to  all  this,  that  she  does  not  only  not  love  any- 
body, but  she  hates  every  body.  The  statue  in  Rome  ^ 
does  not  serve  to  vent  malice  half  so  well,  as  this  old 
lady  does  to  disappoint  it.  She  does  not  know  the 
author  of  any  thing  that  is  told  her,  but  can  readily 
repeat  the  matter  itself;  therefore  though  she  ex- 
poses all  the  whole  town,  she  offends  no  one  body 
in  it.  She  is  so  exquisitely  restless  and  peevish,  that 
she  quarrels  with  all  about  her,  and  sometimes  in  a 
freak  will  instantly  change  her  habitation.  To  in- 
dulge this  humour  she  is  led  about  the  grounds  be- 
longing to  the  same  house  she  is  in ;  and  the  persons 
to  whom  she  is  to  remove,  being  in  the  plot,  are 
ready  to  receive  her  at  her  own  chamber  again.  At 
sta,ted  times  the  gentlewoman  at  whose  house  she 
supposes  she  is  at  the  time,  is  sent  for  to  quarrel  with, 
according  to  her  common  custom.  When  they  have 
a  mind  to  drive  the  jest,  she  is  immediately  urged 
to  that  degree,  that  she  will  board  in  a  family  with 
which  she  has  never  yet  been ;  and  away  she  will  go 
this  instant,  and  tell  them  all  that  the  rest  have  been 
saying  of  them.  By  this  means  she  has  been  an  in- 
habitant of  every  house  in  the  place,  without  stirring 
from  the  same  habitation:  and  the  many  stories 
which  every  body  furnishes  her  with  to  favour  the 
deceit,  make  her  the  general  intelligencer  of  the 
town  of  all  that  can  be  said  by  one  woman  against 
another.  Thus  groundless  stories  die  away,  and 
sometimes  truths  are  smothered  under  the  general 
word,  when  they  have  a  mind  to  discountenance  a 
thing,  '  Oh !  that  is  in  my  lady  Bluemantle's  Me- 
moirs.' 


y  A  statue  of  Pasquin  in  that  city,  on  which  sarcastic  remarks  were 
passed,  and  thence  called  Pasquinades. 


No.  428.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  115 

Whoever  receives  impressions  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  others,  without  examination,  is  to  be  had  in 
no  other  credit  for  intelligence  than  this  good  lady 
Bluemantle,  who  is  subjected  to  have  her  ears  im- 
posed upon  for  want  of  otBer  helps  to  better  infor- 
mation. Add  to  this,  that  other  scandal-bearers 
suspend  the  use  of  these  faculties  which  she  has  lost, 
rather  than  apply  them  to  do  justice  to  their  neigh- 
bours ;  and  I  think  for  the  service  of  my  fair  readers, 
to  acquaint  them,  that  there  is  a  voluntary  lady 
Bluemantle  at  every  visit  in  town.  T.^ 


No.  428.    FEIDAY,  July  11,  1712. 

Occupet  extremum  scabies  — 

Hoe,  Ats  Poet.  417. 

The  devil  talte  the  hindmost ! 

[English  Proverb.] 

It  is  an  impertinent  and  unreasonable  fault  in  con- 
versation, for  one  man  to  take  up  all  the  discourse. 
It  may  possibly  be  objected  to  me  myself,  that  I  am 
guilty  in  this  kind,  in  entertaining  the  town  every 
day,  and  not  giving  so  many  able  persons,  who  have 
it  more  in  their  power,  and  as  much  in  their  inclina 
tion,  an  opportunity  to  oblige  mankind  with  their 
thoughts.  'Besides,'  said  one  whom  I  overheard 
the  other  day,  '  why  must  this  paper  turn  altogether 
upon  topics  of  learning  and  morality !  Why  should 
it  pretend  only  to  wit,  humour,  or  the  like  ?  things 
which  are  useful  only  to  amuse  men  of  literature  and 
superior  education  ?  I  would  have  it  consist  also  of 
aU  things  which  may  be  necessary  or  useful  to  any 

'  By  Steele.     See  final  note  to  U"o.  234. 


116  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  428. 

part  of  society ;  and  the  mechanic  arts  should  have 
their  place  as  well  as  the  liberal.  The  ways  of  gain, 
husbandry,  and  thrift,  will  serve  a  greater  number 
of  people,  than  discourses  upon  what  was  well  said 
or  done  by  such  a  philosopher,  hero,  general,  or 
poet.'  I  no  sooner  heard  this  critic  talk  of  my 
works,  but  I  minuted  what  he  had  said ;  and  from 
that  instant  resolved  to  enlarge  the  plan  of  my  spec- 
ulations, by  giving  notice  to  all  persons  of  all  orders, 
and  each  sex,  that  if  they  are  pleased  to  send  me 
discourses,  with  their  names  and  places  of  abode  to 
them,  so  that  I  can  be  satisfied  the  writings  are 
authentic,  such  their  labours  shall  be  faithfully  in- 
serted in  this  paper.  It  will  be  of  much  more  con- 
sequence to  a  youth,  in  his  apprenticeship,  to  know 
by  what  rules  and  arts  such  a  one  became  sheriff  of 
the  city  of  London,  than  to  see  the  sign  of  one  of 
his  own  quality  with  a  lion's  heart  in  each  hand. 
The  world  indeed  is  enchanted  with  romantic  and 
improbable  achievements,  when  the  plain  path  to 
respective  greatness  and  success,  in  the  way  of  life 
a  man  is  in,  is  wholly  overlooked.  Is  it  possible 
that  a  young  man  at  present  could  pass  his  time 
better  than  in  reading  the  history  of  stocks,  and 
knowing  by  what  secret  springs  they  have  had  such 
suddeu  ascents  and  falls  in  the  same  day  ?  Could 
he  be  better  conducted  in  his  way  to  wealth,  which 
is  the  great  article  of  life,  than  in  a  treatise  dated 
from  Change-alley  by  an  able  proficient  there? 
Nothing  certainly  could  be  more  useful,  than  to  be 
well  instructed  in  his  hopes  and  fears  ;  to  be  difl&dent 
when  others  exult,  and  with  a  secret  joy  buy  when 
others  think  it  their  interest  to  sell.  I  invite  all  per- 
sons who  have  any  thing  to  say  for  the  profitable  in- 
formation of  the  public,  to  take  their  turns  in  my 


No.  428.J  THE   SPECTATOR.  117 

paper:  they  are  welcome,  from  the  late  noble  in- 
ventor of  the  longitude,  to  the  humble  author  of  strops 
for  razors.  If  to  carry  ships  in  safety,  to  give  help 
to  a  people  tossed  in  a  troubled  sea,  without  know- 
ing to  what  shores  they  bear,  what  rocks  to  avoid,  or 
what  coast  to  pray  for  in  their  extremity,  be  a  worthy 
labour,  and  an  invention  that  deserves  a  statue ;  at 
the  same  time,  he  who  has  found  a  means  to  let  the 
instrument  which  is  to  make  your  visage  less  horrid, 
and  your  person  more  smug,  easy  in  the  operation, 
is  worthy  of  some  kind  of  good  reception.  If  things 
of  high  moment  meet  with  renown,  those  of  little 
consideration,  since  of  any  consideration,  are  not  to 
be  despised.  In  order  that  no  merit  may  lie  hid, 
and  no  art  unimproved,  I  repeat  it,  that  I  call  arti- 
ficers as  well  as  philosophers  to  my  assistance  in  the 
public  service.  It  would  be  of  great  use  if  we  had 
an  exact  history  of  the  successes  of  every  great  shop 
within  the  city -walls, "  what  tracts  of  land  have  been 
purchased  by  a  constant  attendance  within  a  walk 
of  thirty  foot.  If  it  could  also  be  noted  in  the  equi- 
page of  those  who  are  ascended  from  the  successful 
trade  of  their  ancestors  into  figure  and  equipage, 
such  accounts  would  quicken  industry  in  the  pursuit 
of  such  acquisitions,  and  discountenance  luxury  in 
the  enjoyment  of  them. 

To  diversify  these  kind  .of  informations,  the  in- 
dustry of  the  female  world  is  not  to  be  unobserved. 
She  to  whose  household  virtues  it  is  owing  that  men 
do  honour  to  her  husband,  should  be  recorded  with 
veneration  ;  she  who  has  wasted  his  labours,  with 
infamy.     When  we  are  come  into  domestic  life  in 


*  Sic;  but  the  insertion  of  the  particle  'of  seems  necessary  to  make 
the  sentence  grammar. 


118  THE   SPECTATOR.  C^"-  428. 

this  manner,  to  awaken  caution  and  attendance  to 
the  main  point,  it  would  not  be  amiss  to  give  now 
and  then  a  touch  of  tragedy,  and  describe  that  most 
dreadful  of  all  human  conditions,  the  case  of  bank- 
ruptcy :  how  plenty,  credit,  cheerfulness,  full  hopes, 
and  easy  possessions,  are  in  an  instant  turned  into 
penury,  faint  aspects,  dif&dence,  sorrow  and  misery ; 
how  the  man,  who  with  an  open  hand  the  day  before 
could  administer  to  the  extremities  of  others,  is 
shunned  to-day  by  the  friend  of  his  bosom.  It  would 
be  useful  to  show  how  just  this  is  on  the  negligent, 
how  lamentable  on  the  industrious.  A  paper  written 
by  a  merchant  might  give  this  island  a  true  sense 
of  the  worth  and  importance  of  his  character :  it  might 
be  visible  from  what  he  could  say,  that  no  soldier 
entering  a  breach  adventures  more  for  honour,  than 
the  trader  does  for  wealth,  to  his  country.  In  both 
cases  the  adventurers  have  their  own  advantage ; 
but  I  know  no  cases  wherein  every  body  else  is  a 
sharer  in  the  success. 

It  is  objected  by  readers  of  history,  that  the 
battles  in  those  narrations  are  scarce  ever  to  be  un- 
derstood. This  misfortune  is  to  be  ascribed  to  the 
ignorance  of  historians  in  the  methods  of  drawing 
up,  changing  the  forms  of  a  battalia,  and  the  enemy 
retreating  from,  as  well  as  approaching  to,  the 
charge.  But  in  the  discourses  from  the  correspond- 
ents whom  I  now  invite  the  danger  will  be  of  an- 
other kind ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  caution  them  only 
against  using  terms  of  art,  and  describing  things 
that  are  familiar  to  them  in  words  unknown  to  the 
reader.  I  promise  myself  a  great  harvest  of  new 
circumstances,  persons,  and  things,  from  this  pro- 
posal ;  and  a  world,  which  many  think  they  are  well 
acquainted  with,  discovered  as  wholly  new.     This 


No.  429.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  119 

sort  of  intelligence  -will  give  a  lively  image  of  the 
chain  and  mutual  dependance  of  human  society,  take 
off  impertinent  prejudices,  enlarge  the  minds  of  those 
whose  views  are  confined  to  their  own  circumstances ; 
and,  in  short,  if  the  knowing  in  several  arts,  profes- 
sions, and  trades,  will  exert  themselves,  it  cannot 
but  produce  a  new  field  of  diversion  and  instf  uction, 
more  agreeable  that  has  yet  appeared.  T.*" 


*j(f*  June  llth,  at  Drury-lane,  a  comedy  called  The  City  Politics,  ■writ- 
ten by  Mr.  Crown.  Podeste,  by  Mr.  Bullock ;  Florio,  by  Mr.  Powell ; 
Artall,  by  Mr.  Booth ;  Dr.  Pancby,  by  Mr.  Cross ;  Crafty,  by  Mr.  Pack ; 
Bricklayer,  by  Mr.  Pinkethman.  Eosara,  by  Mrs.  Bradsbaw  ;  and  Lucinda, 
by  Miss  Willis. — Spect.  in  folio. 


No.  429.     SATURDAY,  July  12,  1712. 

— Populumque  falsis  dedocet  uti 

Vocibus—  Hoe.  2  Od.  ii.  19. 

From  cbeata  of  words  the  crowd  she  brings 

To  real  estimates  of  things.  Creeoh. 

'  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

'  Since  I  gave  an  account  of  an  agreeable 
set  of  company  which  were  gone  down  into  the 
country,  I  have  received  advices  from  thence  that 
the  institution  of  an  infirmary  for  those  who  should 
be  out  of  humour  has  had  very  good  effects."  My 
letters  mention  particular  circumstances  of  two  or 
three  persons  who  had  the  good  sense  to  retire  of 
their  own  accord,  and  notified  that  they  were  with- 
drawn, with  the  reasons  of  it  to  the  company  in  their 
respective  memorials. 

«■  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324. 
°  See  Spect.  No.  424. 


120  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  429. 

"  The  Memorial  of  Mrs.  Ma/ry  Damty,  Spinster, 

"  Humbly  showeth, 

"That,  conscious  of  lier  own  want  of  merit, 
accompanied  with  a  vanity  of  being  admired,  she  had 
gone  into  exile  of  her  own  accord. 

"  She  is  sensible  that  a  vain  person  is  the  most 
insufferable  creature  living  in  a  well-bred  assembly. 

"  That  she  desired,  before  she  appeared  in  public 
again,  she  might  have  assurances,  that  though  she 
might  be  thought  handsome,  there  might  not  more 
address  of  compliment  by  paid  to  her  than  to  the 
rest  of  the  company. 

"  That  she  conceived  it  a  kind  of  superiority  that 
one  person  should  take  upon  him  to  commend  an- 
other. 

"  Lastly,  That  she  went  into  the  infirmary  to  avoid 
a  particular  person,  who  took  upon  him  to  profess 
an  admiration  of  her. 

"  She  therefore  prayed  that  to  applaud  out  of  due 
place  might  be  declared  an  offence,  and  punished  in 
the  same  manner  with  detraction,  in  that  the  latter 
did  but  report  persons  defective,  and  the  former 
made  them  so. 

"  All  which  is  submitted,  &c." 

'  There  appeared  a  delicacy  and  sincerity  in  this 
memorial  very  uncommon  ;  but  my  friend  informs 
me  that  the  allegations  of  it  were  groundless,  inso- 
much that  this  declaration  of  an  aversion  to  being 
praised  was  understood  to  be  no  other  than  a  secret 
trap  to  purchase  it,  for  which  reason  it  lies  still  on 
the  table  unanswered. 


No.  429.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  121 

"  The  TiumMe  Memorial  of  the  Lady  Lydia  LoUer, 

"■  Showeth, 

"  That  the  lady  Lydia  is  a  woman  of  qua- 
lity ;   married  to  a  private  gentleman. 

"  That  she  finds  herself  neither  well  nor  ill. 

"  That  her  husband  is  a  clown. 

"That  lady  Lydia  cannot  see  company. 

"  That  she  desires  the  infirmary  may  be  her  apart- 
ment during  her  stay  in  the  country. 

"  That  they  would  please  to  make  merry  with 
their  equals. 

"That  Mr.  Loller  might  stay  with  them  if  he 
thought  fit." 

'  It  was  immediately  resolved  that  lady  Lydia  was 
still  at  London. 

"  The  humble  Memorial  of  Thomas  Sudden,  esq.  of 
the  Inner  Temple, 

"  Showeth, 

"  That  Mr.  Sudden  is  conscious  that  he  is 
too  much  given  to  argumentation. 

"That  he  talks  loud. 

"  That  he  is  apt  to  think  all  things  matter  of  de- 
bate. 

"That  he  stayed  behind  in  Westminster-hall, 
when  the  late  shake  of  the  roof  happened,  only  be- 
cause a  counsel  of  the  other  side  asserted  it  was 
coming  down. 

"  That  he  cannot  for  his  life  consent  to  anything. 

"  That  he  stays  in  the  infirmary  to  forget  him- 
self. 


]22  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  429. 

"  That  as  soon  as  lie  has  forgot  himself,  he  "will 
wait  on  the  company." 

'  His  indisposition  was  allowed  to  be  sufficient  to 
require  a  cessation  from  company. 

"  The  Memorial  of  Frank  Jolly ^ 

"■  Showeth, 

"  That  he  hath  put  himself  into  the  infir- 
mary, in  regard  he  is  sensible  of  a  certain  rustic  mirth 
which  renders  him  unfit  for  polite  conversation. 

"  That  he  intends  to  prepare  himself  by  absti- 
nence and  thin  diet  to  be  one  of  the  company. 

"  That  at  present  he  comes  into  a  room  as  if  he 
were  an  express  from  abroad. 

"  That  he  has  chosen  an  apartment  with  a  matted 
anti-chamber  to  practise  motion  without  being  heard. 

"  That  he  bows,  talks,  drinks,  eats,  and  helps  him- 
self, before  a  glass,  to  learn  to  act  with  moderation. 

"That  by  reason  of  his  luxuriant  health  he  is 
oppressive  to  persons  of  composed  behaviour. 

"  That  he  is  endeavouring  to  forget  the  word 
'pshaw,  pshaw.' 

"  That  he  is  also  weaning  himself  from  his  cane. 

"  That  when  he  has  learnt  to  live  without  his  said 
cane,  he  will  wait  on  the  company,  &c." 

"  The  Memorial  of  John  Bhubarl,  esq. 
"Showeth, 

"That  your  petitioner  has  retired  to  the 
infirmary,  but  that  he  is  in  perfect  good  health,  ex- 
cept that  he  has  by  long  use  and  for  want  of  dis- 
course contracted  an  habit  of  complaint  that  he  is 
sick. 

"That  he  wants  for  nothing  under  the  sun  but 


No.  429.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  123 

what  to  say,  and  therefore  has  fallen  into  this  un- 
happy malady  of  complaining  that  he  is  sick. 

"That  this  custom  of  his  makes  him,  by  his  own 
confession,  fit  only  for  the  infirmary,  and  therefore 
he  has  not  waited  for  being  sentenced  to  it. 

"  That  he  is  conscious  there  is  nothing  more  im- 
proper than  such  a  complaint  in  good  company,  in 
that  they  must  pity,  whether  they  think  the  lamenter 
ill  or  not ;  and  that  the  complainant  must  make  a 
silly  figure  whether  he  is  pitied  or  not. 

"  Your  petitioner  humbly  prays  that  he  may  have 
time  to  know  how  he  does,  and  he  will  make  his 
appearance." 

'  The  valetudinarian  was  likewise  easily  excused : 
and  the  society  being  resolved  not  only  to  make  it 
their  business  to  pass  their  time  agreeably  for  the 
present  season,  but  also  to  commence  such  habits  in 
themselves  as  may  be  of  use  in  their  future  conduct 
in  general,  are  very  ready  to  give  into  a  fancied  or 
real  incapacity  to  join  with  their  measures,  in  order 
to  have  no  humorist,  proud  man,  impertinent,  or 
sufScient  fellow,  break  in  upon  their  happiness. 
Great  evils  seldom  happen  to  disturb  company ;  but 
indulgence  in  particularites  of  humour  is  the  seed 
of  making  half  our  time  hang  in  suspense,  or  waste 
away  under  real  discomposures. 

'  Among  other  things  it  is  carefully  provided  that 
there  may  not  be  disagreeable  familiarities.  No  one 
is  to  appear  in  the  public  rooms  undressed,  or  enter 
abruptly  into  each  other's  apartment  without  intima- 
tion. Every  one  has  hitherto  been  so  careful  in  his 
behaviour,  that  there  has  but  one  offender,  in  ten 
days'  time,  been  sent  into  the  infirmary,  and  that 
was  for  throwing  away  his  cards  at  whist. 


124  THE  SPECTATOE.  [No.  430. 

'  He  has  offered  his  submission  in  the  following 
terms: — 

"  The  humble  Petition  of  Jeoffry  Hotspur,  esq. 

"  Showeth, 

"  Though  the  petitioner  swore,  stamped, 
and  threw  down  his  cards,  he  has  all  imaginable  re- 
spect for  the  ladies  and  the  whole  company. 

"That  he  humbly  desires  it  may  be  considered 
in  the  case  of  gaming,  there  are  many  motives  which 
provoke  the  disorder. 

"  That  the  desire  of  gain,  and  the  desire  of  vic- 
tory, are  both  thwarted  in  losing. 

"That  all  conversations  in  the  world  have  in- 
dulged human  infirmity  in  this  case. 

"  Your  petitioner  therefore  most  humbly  prays 
that  he  may  be  restored  to  the  company ;  and  he 
hopes  to  bear  iU-fortune  with  a  good  grace  for  the 
future,  and  to  demean  himself  so  as  to  be  no  more  than 
cheerful  when  he  wins,  than  grave  when  he  loses." 

m  d 


No.  430.     MONDAY,  July  14,   1712. 

Qaiere  peregrinum  vicinia  rauca  reclamat. 

Hoii.  1  Ep.  XTii.  62. 
—  The  crowd  replies, 
Go  seek  a  stranger  to  believe  thy  lies. 

CiiEEOa. 

'sir, 

'  As  you  are  a  Spectator-general,  you  may 
with  authority  censure  whatsoever  looks  ill  and  is 

^  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324,  adfinem. 


No.  430.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  125 

offensive  to  tlie  sight ;  the  worst  nuisance  of  which 
kind,  methinks,  is  the  scandalous  appearance  of  the 
poor  in  all  parts  of  this  wealthy  city.  Such  miser- 
able objects  affect  the  compassionate  beholder  with 
dismal  ideas,  discompose  the  cheerfulness  of  his  mind, 
and  deprive  him  of  the  pleasure  that  he  might 
otherwise  take  in  surveying  the  grandeur  of  our 
metropolis  ?  Who  can  without  remorse  see  a  dis- 
abled sailor,  the  purveyor  of  our  luxury,  destitute 
of  necessaries  ?  Who  can  behold  the  honest  soldier, 
that  bravely  withstood  the  enemy,  prostrate  and  in 
want  among  his  friends  ?  It  were  endless  to  men- 
tion all  the  variety  of  wretchedness,  and  the  num- 
berless poor  that  not  only  singly,  but  in  companies, 
implore  your  charity.  Spectacles  of  this  nature 
every  where  occur;  and  it  is  unaccountable  that 
amongst  the  many  lamentable  cries  that  infest  this 
town,  your  comptroller-general*  should  not  take  no- 
tice of  the  most  shocking,  viz.,  those  of  the  needy 
and  afflicted.  I  can't  but  think  he  waved  it  merely 
out  of  good  breeding,  choosing  rather  to  stifle  his 
resentment  than  upbraid  his  countrymen  with  in- 
humanity :  however,  let  not  charity  be  sacrificed  to 
popularity  ;  and  if  his  ears  were  deaf  to  their  com- 
plaint, let  not  your  eyes  overlook  their  persons. 
There  are,  I  know,  many  impostors  among  them. 
Lameness  and  blindness  are  certainly  very  often 
acted ;  but  can  those  who  have  their  sight  and  limbs 
employ  them  better  than  in  knowing  whether  they 
are  counterfeited  or  not  ?  I  know  not  which  of  the 
two  misapplies  his  senses  most — he  who  pretends 
himself  blind  to  move  compassion,  or  he  who  be- 
holds a  miserable  object  without  pitying  it.     But  in 

•  See  Speet  No.  23 1. 


126  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  430. 

order  to  remove  such  impediments,  I  wish,  Mr. 
Spectator,  you  would  give  us  a  discourse  upon  beg- 
gars, that  we  may  not  pass  by  true  objects  of 
charity,  or  give  to  impostors.  I  looked  out  of  my 
window  the  other  morning  earlier  than  ordinary, 
and  saw  a  blind  beggar,  an  hour  before  the  passage 
he  stands  in  is  frequented,  with  a  needle  and  thread, 
thriftily  mending  his  stockings.  My  astonishment 
was  still  greater  when  I  beheld  a  lame  fellow,  whose 
legs  were  too  big  to  walk,  within  an  hour  after  bring 
him  a  pot  of  ale.  I  will  not  mention  the  shakings, 
distortions,  and  convulsions,  which  many  of  them 
practise  to  gain  an  alms ;  but  sure  I  am  they  ought 
to  be  taken  care  of  in  this  condition,  either  by  the 
beadle  or  the  magistrate.  They,  it  seems,  relieve 
their  posts  according  to  their  talents.  There  is  the 
voice  of  an  old  woman  never  begins  to  beg  till  nine 
in  the  evening  ;  and  then  she  is  destitute  of  lodging, 
turned  out  for  want  of  rent,  and  has  the  same  ill 
fortune  every  night  in  the  year.  You  should  em- 
ploy an  officer  to  hear  the  distress  of  each  beggar 
that  is  constant  at  a  particular  place,  who  is  ever  in 
the  same  tone,  and  succeeds  because  his  audience  is 
continually  changing,  though  he  does  not  alter  his 
lamentation.  If  we  have  nothing  else  for  our 
money,  let  us  have  more  invention  to  be  cheated 
with.  All  which  is  submitted  to  your  spectatorial 
vigilance :  and 

'  I  am.  Sib,  your  most  humble  servant.' 

'sib, 

'  I  WAS  last  Sunday  highly  transported  at 
our  parish-church;  the  gentleman  in  the  pulpit 
pleaded  movingly  in  behalf  of  the  poor  children,  and 
they  for  themselves  much  more  forcibly  by  singing 


No.  430.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  127 

a  hymn  ;  and  I  had  the  happiness  of  being  a  contri- 
butor to  this  little  religious  institution  of  innocents, 
and  am  sure  I  never  disposed  of  money  more  to  my 
satisfaction  and  advantage.  The  inward  joy  I  find 
in  myself,  and  the  good-will  I  bear  to  mankind, 
make  me  heartily  wish  these  pious  works  may  be 
encouraged,  that  the  present  promoters  may  reap 
the  delight,  and  posterity  the  benefit  of  them.  But 
whilst  we  are  building  this  beautiful  edifice,  let  not 
the  old  ruins  remain  in  view  to  sully  the  prospect. 
Whilst  we  are  cultivating  and  improving  this  young 
hopeful  offspring,  let  not  the  ancient  and  helpless 
creatures  be  shamefully  neglected.  The  crowds  of 
poor,  or  pretended  poor,  in  every  place,  are  a  great 
reproach  to  us,  and  eclipse  the  glory  of  all  other 
charity.  It  is  the  utmost  reproach  to  society  that 
there  should  be  a  poor  man  unrelieved,  or  a  poor 
rogue  unpunished.  I  hope  you  will  think  no  part 
of  human  life  out  of  your  consideration,  but  will,  at 
your  leisure,  give  us  the  history  of  plenty  and 
want,  and  the  natural  gradations  towards  them, 
calculated  for  the  cities  of  London  and  Westminster. 
'  I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'T.  D.' 

'  'MB.  SPEOTATOK, 

'  I  BEG  you  would  be  pleased  to  take  notice 
of  a  very  great  indecency,  which  is  extremely  com- 
mon, though,  I  think,  never  yet  under  your  censure. 
It  is,  Sir,  the  strange  freedoms  some  ill-bred  married 
people  take  in  company  ;  the  unseasonable  fondness 
of  some  husbands,  and  the  ill-timed  tenderness  of 
some  wives.  They  talk  and  act  as  if  modesty  was 
only  fit  for  maids  and  bachelors,  and  that  too  before 
both.     I  was  once,  Mr.  Spectator,  where  the  fault  I 


128  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^°-  ^^^• 

speak  of  was  so  very  flagrant,  that  (being,  you  must 
know,  a  very  bashful  fellow,  and  several  young  ladies 
in  the  room)  I  protest  I  was  quite  out  of  counte- 
nance. Lucina,  it  seems,  was  breeding ;  and  she 
did  nothing  but  entertain  the  company  with  a  dis- 
course upon  the  difficulty  of  reckoning  to  a  day,  and 
said  she  knew  those  who  were  certain  to  an  hour ; 
then  fell  a  laughing  at  a  silly  inexperienced  creature 
who  was  a  month  above  her  time.  Upon  her  hus- 
band's coming  in,  she  put  several  questions  to  him, 
which  he  not  caring  to  resolve,  "Well,"  cries 
Lucina,  "  I  shall  have  'em  all  at  night." — But  lest 
I  should  seem  guilty  of  the  very  fault  I  write  against, 
I  shall  only  intreat,  Mr.  Spectator,  to  correct  such 
misdemeanours. 

"  For  higher  of  the  genial  bed  by  far, 
And  with  mysterious  reverence,  I  deem.'' 

'  I  am,  Sib,  your  humble  servant, 

T.*  'T.  MBAJfWELL.' 


No.  431.    TUESDAY,  July  15,  1712. 

Quid  dulciua  homiDum  generl  k  natura  datum  est,  quam  sui  quiquo  liberi  ? 

TniL. 
"What  is  tliere  in  nature  so  dear  to  a  man  as  his  own  children  ? 


I  HAVE  lately  been  casting  in  my  thoughts  the  seve- 
ral unhappinesses  of  life,  and  comparing  the  infeli- 
cities of  old  age  to  those  of  infancy.  The  calamities 
of  children  are  due  to  the  negligence  or  misconduct 
of  parents :  those  of  age,  to  the  past  life  which  led 

'  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324. 


No.  431.]  THE  SPEOTATOE.  129 

to  it.  I  have  here  the  history  of  a  boy  and  girl  to 
their  wedding-day,  and  think  I  cannot  give  the 
reader  a  livelier  image  of  the  insipid  way  which 
time  uncultivated  passes,  than  by  entertaining  him 
with  their  authentic  epistles,  expressing  all  that  was 
remarkable  in  their  lives,  till  the  period  of  their  life 
above-mentioned.  The  sentence  at  the  head  of  this 
paper,  which  is  only  a  warm  interrogation,  '  What 
is  there  in  nature  so  dear  as  a  man's  own  children  to 
him  ?'  is  all  the  reflection  I  shall  at  present  make  on 
those  who  are  negligent  or  cruel  in  the  education 
of  them. 

'me.  SPEOTATOE, 

'  I  AM  now  entering  into  my  one  and  twen- 
tieth year,  and  do  not  know  that  I  had  one  day's 
thorough  satisfaction  since  I  came  to  years  of  any 
reflection,  till  the  time  they  say  others  lose  their 
liberty,  the  day  of  my  marriage.  I  am  son  to  a 
gentleman  of  a  very  great  estate,  who  resolved  to 
keep  me  out  of  the  vices  of  the  age ;  and,  in  order 
to  it,  never  let  me  see  any  thing  that  he  thought 
could  give  me  the  least  pleasure.  At  ten  years  old 
I  was  put  to  a  grammar-school,  where  my  master 
received  orders  every  post  to  use  me  very  severely, 
and  have  no  regard  to  my  having  a  great  estate. 
At  fifteen  I  was  removed  to  the  university,  where 
I  lived,  out  of  my  father's  great  discretion,  in  scan- 
dalous poverty  and  want,  till  I  was  big  enough  to 
be  married,  and  I  was  sent  for  to  see  the  lady  who 
sends  you  the  underwritten.  When  we  were  put 
together,  we  both  considered  that  we  could  not  be 
worse  than  we  were  in  taking  one  another,  and  out 
of  a  desire  of  liberty,  entered  into  wedlock.     My 

VOL.  V. — ^9 


130  THE   SPECTATOB.  [No.  431. 

father  says  I  am  now  a  man,  and  may  speak  to  him 
like  another  gentleman. 

'  I  am,  SiE,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'  Richard  Eentfree.' 

'me.  spec, 

'  I  GREW  tall  and  wild  at  my  mother's,  who 
is  a  gay  widow,  and  did  not  care  for  showing  me, 
till  about  two  years  and  a  half  ago  ;  at  which  time 
my  guardian  uncle  sent  me  to  a  boarding-school, 
with  orders  to  contradict  me  in  nothing,  for  I  had 
been  misused  enough  already.  I  had  not  been 
there  above  a  month,  when,  being  in  the  kitchen,  I 
saw  some  oatmeal  on  the  dresser ;  I  put  two  or 
three  corns  in  my  mouth,  liked  it,  stole  a  handful, 
went  into  my  chamber,  chewed  it,  and  for  two 
months  after  never  failed  taking  toll  of  every  pen- 
nyworth of  oatmeal  that  came  into  the  house  :  but 
one  day  playing  with  a  tobacco-pipe  between  my 
teeth,  it  happened  to  break  in  my  mouth,  and  the 
spitting  out  the  pieces  left  such  a  delicious  rough- 
ness on  my  tongue,  that  I  could  not  be  satisfied  till 
I  had  champed  up  the  remaining  part  of  the  pipe. 
I  forsook  the  oatmeal,  and  stuck  to  the  pipes  three 
months,  in  which  time  I  had  dispensed  with  thirty- 
seven  foul  pipes,  all  to  the  bowls ;  they  belonged 
to  an  old  gentleman,  father  to  my  governess.  He 
locked  up  the  clean  ones.  I  left  off  eating  pipes, 
and  fell  to  licking  of  chalk.  I  was  soon  tired  of 
this.  I  then  nibbled  all  the  red  wax  of  our  last 
ball-tickets,  and,  three  weeks  after,  the  black  wax 
from  the  burying  tickets  of  the  old  gentleman. 
Two  months  after  this  I  lived  upon  thunder-bolts, 
a  certain  long  round  bluish  stone  which  I  found 
among  the  gravel  in  our  garden.     I  was  wonder- 


No.  431. J  THE   SPECTATOR.  131 

Mly  delighted  with  this ;  but  thunder-bolts  grow- 
ing scarce,  I  fastened  tooth  and  nail  upon  our 
garden-wall,  which  I  stuck  to  almost  a  twelve- 
month, and  had  in  that  time  peeled  and  devoured 
half  a  foot  towards  our  neighbour's  yard.  I  now 
thought  myself  the  happiest  creature  in  the  world ; 
and  I  believe,  in  my  conscience,  I  had  eaten 
quite  through,  had  I  had  it  in  my  chamber ;  but 
now  I  became  lazy  and  unwilling  to  stir,  and  was 
obliged  to  seek  food  nearer  home.  I  then  took  a 
strange  hankering  to  coals ;  I  fell  to  scranching 
'em,  and  had  already  consumed,  I  am  certain,  as 
much  as  would  have  dressed  my  wedding  dinner, 
when  my  uncle  came  for  me  home.  He  was  in 
the  parlour  with  my  governess  when  I  was  called 
down.  I  went  in,  fell  on  my  knees,  for  he  made 
me  call  him  father ;  and  when  I  expected  the  bless- 
ing I  asked,  the  good  gentleman,  in  a  surprise,  turns 
himself  to  my  governess,  and  asks  whether  this 
(pointing  to  me)  was  his  daughter  ?  "  This,"  added 
he,  "is  the  very  picture  of  death.  My  child  was  a 
plump-faced,  hale,  fresh-coloured  girl ;  but  this  looks 
as  if  she  was  half-starved,  a  mere  skeleton."  My 
governess,  who  is  really  a  good  woman,  assured  my 
father  I  had  wanted  for  nothing ;  and  withal  told 
him  I  was  continually  eating  some  trash  or  other, 
and  that  I  was  almost  eaten  up  with  the  green  sick- 
ness, her  orders  being  never  to  cross  me.  But  this 
magnified  but  little  with  my  father,  who  presently, 
in  a  kind  of  pet,  paying  for  my  board,  took  me  home 
with  him.  I  had  not  been  long  at  home,  but  one 
Sunday  at  church  (I  shall  never  forget  it)  I  saw  a 
young  neighbouring  gentleman  that  pleased  me 
hugely  ;  I  liked  him  of  all  men  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life,  and  began  to  wish  I  could  be  as  pleasing  to  him. 


132  THE   SPECTATOB.  [No.  432. 

The  very  next  day  he  came  with  his  father  a  visit- 
ing to  our  house  :  we  were  left  alone  together,  with 
directions  on  both  sides  to  be  in  love  with  one  ano- 
ther ;  and  in  three  weeks  time  we  were  married.  I 
regained  my  former  health  and  complexion,  and  am 
now  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long.  Now,  Mr.  Spec,  I 
desire  you  would  find  out  some  name  for  these  crav- 
ing damsels,  whether  dignified  or  distinguished  un- 
der some  or  all  of  the  following  denominations ;  to 
wit,  "  Trash  eaters,  Oatmeal-chewers,  Pipe-champers, 
Chalk-lickers,  Wax-nibblers,  Coal-scranchers,  Wall- 
peelers,  or  Gravel-diggers:"  and,  good  Sir,  do  your 
utmost  endeavour  to  prevent  (by  exposing)  this  un- 
accountable folly,  so  prevailing  among  the  young 
ones  of  our  sex,  who  may  not  meet  with  such  sud- 
den good  luck,  as, 

SIR, 

'  Your  constant  reader,  and  very  humble  servant, 

'  Sabina  Gbeen, 
T.^  '  Now  Sabina  Rentfree.' 


No.  432.    WEDNESDAY,  July  16,  1712. 

—Inter  strepit  anser  olores. 

ViBG.  EcL  ix.  86. 
He  gabbles  Uke  a  goose,  amidst  the  swaa-Ilke  quire. 

Detdbw. 

'  MB.  SPECTATOR,  Oxford,  JulyU. 

'  According  to  a  late  invitation  in  one  of 
your  papers  to  every  man  who  pleases  to  write,  I 

»  Steele.    Speot.  is  folio,  and  edit,  of  1712,  in  8vo.  and  12nio.   See  note 
to  No.  824,  ad  finem. 


No.  432.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  133 

have  sent  you  the  following  short  dissertation  against 
the  vice  of  being  prejudiced. 

'  Your  most  humble  servant.' 

"  Man  is  a  sociable  creature,  and  a  lover  of  glory ; 
whence  it  is,  that  when  several  persons  are  united  in 
the  same  society,  they  are  studious  to  lessen  the  re- 
putation of  others,  in  order  to  raise  their  own.  The 
wise  are  content  to  guide  the  springs  in  silence,  and 
rejoice  in  secret  at  their  regular  progress.  To  prate 
and  triumph  is  the  part  allotted  to  the  trifling  and 
superficial.  The  geese  were  providentially  ordained 
to  save  the  Capitol.  Hence  it  is,  that  the  invention 
of  marks  and  devices  to  distinguish  parties,  is  owing 
to  the  beaux  and  belles  of  this  island.^  Hats,  mould- 
ed into  different  cocks  and  pinches,  have  long  bid 
mutual  defiance;  patches  have  been  set  against 
patches  in  battle-array  ;  stocks  have  risen  and  fallen 
in  proportion  to  head-dresses ;  and  peace  or  war  been 
expected,  as  the  white  or  the  red  hood  hath  prevail- 
ed. These  are  the  standard-bearers  in  our  contend- 
ing armies,  the  dwarfs  and  squires  who  carry  the 
impresses  of  the  giants  or  knights,  not  born  to  fight 
themselves,  but  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  ensuing 
combat. 

"It  is  matter  of  wonder  to  reflect  how  far  men 
of  weak  understanding  and  strong  fancy  are  hurried 
by  their  prejudices,  even  to  the  believing  that  the 
whole  body  of  the  adverse  party  are  a  band  of  vil- 
lains and  demons.  Foreigners  complain  that  the  En- 
glish are  the  proudest  nation  under  heaven.  Per- 
haps they  too  have  their  share :  but,  be  that  as  it 
will,  general  charges  against  bodies  of  men  is  the 

•>  See  Spect.  Nos.  81,  265,  and  319. 


134  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  432. 

fault  I  am  writing  against.  It  must  be  owned,  to 
our  shame,  that  our  common  people,  and  most  who 
have  not  travelled,  have  an  irrational  contempt  for 
the  language,  dress,  customs,  and  even  the  shape  and 
minds  of  other  nations.'  Some  men,  otherwise  of 
sense,  have  wondered  that  a  great  genius  should 
spring  out  of  Ireland;  and  think  you  mad  in  affirm- 
ing, that  fine  odes  have  been  written  in  Lapland. 

"  This  spirit  of  rivalship,  which  heretofore  reign- 
ed in  the  two  universities,  is  extinct,  and  almost  over 
betwixt  college  and  college.  In  parishes  and  schools 
the  thirst  of  glory  still  obtains.  At  the  seasons  of 
foot-ball  and  cock-fighting,  these  little  republics  re- 
assume  their  national  hatred  to  each  other.  My 
tenant  in  the  country  is  verily  persuaded,  that  the 
parish  of  the  enemy  hath  not  one  honest  man  in  it. 

"  I  always  hated  satires  against  women,  and  sa- 
tires against  men :  I  am  apt  to  suspect  a  stranger  who 
laughs  at  the  religion  of  the  faculty :  my  spleen  rises 
at  a  dull  rogue,  who  is  severe  upon  mayor  and  alder- 
ihen ;  and  I  was  never  better  pleased  than  with  a 
piece  of  justice  executed  upon  the  body  of  a  Templar, 
who  was  very  arch  upon  parsons. 

"  The  necessities  of  mankind  require  various  em- 
ployments; and  whoever  excels  in  his  province  is 
worthy  of  praise.  All  men  are  not  educated  after 
the  same  manner,  nor  have  all  the  same  talents. 
Those  who  are  deficient  deserve  our  compassion,  and 
have  a  title  to  our  assistance.  All  cannot  be  bred 
in  the  same  place ;  but  in  all  places  there  arise,  at 
different  times,  such  persons  as  do  honour  to  their 
society,  which  may  raise  envy  in  little  souls,  but  are 
admired  and  cherished  by  generous  spirits. 

'  See  Spect.  Nos.  366,  and  406. 


No.  432.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  135 

"  It  is  certainly  a  great  happiness  to  be  educated 
in  societies  of  great  and  eminent  men.  Their  in- 
structions and  examples  are  of  extraordinary  ad- 
vantage. It  is  highly  proper  to  instil  such  a  rever- 
ence of  the  governing  persons,  and  concern  for  the 
honour  of  the  place,  as  may  spur  the  growing  mem- 
bers to  worthy  pursuits  and  honest  emulation ;  but 
to  swell  young  minds  with  vain  thoughts  of  the  dig- 
nity of  their  own  brotherhood,  by  debasing  and  vili- 
fying all  others,  doth  them  a  real  injury.  By  this 
means  I  have  found  that  their  efforts  have  become 
languid,  and  their  prattle  irksome,  as  thinking  it  suf- 
ficient praise  that  they  are  children  of  so  illustrious 
and  ample  a  family.  I  should  think  it  a  surer  as  well 
as  more  generous  method,  to  set  before  the  eyes  of 
youth  such  persons  as  have  made  a  noble  progress  in 
fraternities  less  talked  of;  which  seems  tacitly  to  re- 
proach their  sloth,  who  loll  so  heavily  in  the  seats  of 
mighty  improvement.  Active  spirits  hereby  would 
enlarge  their  notions ;  whereas,  by  a  servile  imitation 
of  one,  or  perhaps  two,  admired  men  in  their  own 
body,  they  can  only  gain  a  secondary  and  derivative 
kind  of  fame.  These  copiers  of  men,  like  those  of 
authors  or  painters,  run  into  affectations  of  some 
oddness,  which  perhaps  was  not  disagreeable  in  the 
original,  but  sits  ungracefully  on  the  narrow-souled 
transcriber. 

"  By  such  early  corrections  of  vanity,  while  boys 
are  growing  into  men,  they  will  gradually  learn  not 
to  censure  superficially ;  but  imbibe  those  principles 
of  general  kindness  and  humanity,  which  alone  can 
make  them  easy  to  themselves,  and  beloved  by  others. 

"  Reflections  of  this  nature  have  expunged  all 
prejudice  out  of  my  heart ;  insomuch,  that,  though  I 
am  a  firm  protestant,  I  hope  to  see  the  pope  and 


136  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  432. 

cardinals  without  violent  emotions ;  and  though.  I 
am  naturally  grave,  I  expect  to  meet  good  company 
at  Paris. 

"  I  am,  Sir, 

"Your  obedient  servant." 

*MR.   SPECTATOR, 

'I  FIND  you  are  a  general  undertaker,  and 
have,  by  your  correspondents  or  self,  an  insight  into 
most  things  ;  which  makes  me  apply  myself  to  you 
at  present  in  the  sorest  calamity  that  ever  befel  man. 
My  wife  has  taken  something  ill  of  me,  and  has  not 
spoke  one  word,  good  or  bad,  to  me,  or  anybody  in 
the  family,  since  Friday  was  seven-night.  W  hat  must 
a  man  do  in  that  case  ?  Your  advice  would  be  a  great 
obligation  to, 

'  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'Ralph  Thimbleton.' 

'MR.   spectator,  July  16, 1712. 

'  When  you  want  a  trifle  to  fill  up  a  paper, 
in  inserting  this  you  will  lay  an  obligation  on 

'  Your  humble  servant, 

'  Olivia.'     , 

"  dear  olivia, 

"It  is  but  this  moment  I  have  had  the 
happiness  of  knowing  to  whom  I  am  obliged  for  the 
present  I  received  the  second  of  April.  I  am  heartily 
sorry  it  did  not  come  to  hand  the  day  before ;  for  I 
can't  but  think  it  very  hard  upon  people  to  lose 
their  jest,  that  offer  at  one  but  once  a-year.  I  con- 
gratulate myself,  however,  upon  the  earnest  given 
me  of  something  farther  intended  in  my  favour,  for 
I  am  told,  that  the  man  who  is  thought  worthy  by  a 


No.  433.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  137 

lady  to  make  a  fool  of,  stands  fair  enough,  in  her 
opinion  to  become  one  day  her  husband.  Till  such 
time  as  I  have  the  honour  of  being  sworn,  I  take 
leave  to  subscribe  myself, 

'  Dear  Olivia,  your  fool  elect, 

T.'  '  NiCODEMUNCIO.' 


No.  433.    THUKSDAY,  July  17,  1712. 

Ferlege  Mieonio  cantatas  carmine  ranas, 
Et  ftontem  nugis  Golvere  disco  meis. 

Mabt.  Epig.  clxxziii.  14 
To  banisli  anxious  thonglit,  and  qniet  pain, 
Bead  Homer^s  itogs,  or  my  more  trifling  strain. 

The  moral  world,  as  consisting  of  males  and  females, 
is  of  a  mixed  nature,  and  filled  with  several  customs, 
fashions,  and  ceremonies,  which  would  have  no  place 
in  it  were  there  but  one  sex.  Had  our  species  no 
famales  in  it,  men  would  be  quite  different  creatures 
from  what  they  are  at  present :  their  endeavours  to 
please  the  opposite  sex  polishes  and  refines  them  out 
of  those  manners  which  are  most  natural  to  them, 
and  often  sets  them  upon  modelling  themselves,  not  * 
according  to  the  plans  which  they  approve  in  their 
own  opinions,  but  according  to  those  plans  which 
they  think  are  most  agreeable  to  the  female  world. 
In  a  word,  man  would  not  only  be  an  unhappy,  but 
a  rude  unfinished  creature,  were  he  conversant  with 
none  but  those  of  his  own  make. 

Women,  on  the  other  side,  are  apt  to  form  them- 
selves in  every  thing  with  regard  to  that  other  half 
of  reasonable  creatures,  with  whom  they  are  here 
blended  and  confused:    their  thoughts  are   ever 

k  By  Steele.    See  note  at  the  end  of  No.  324,  on  letter  T. 


138  THE  SPEOTATOE.  [No.  433. 

turned  upon  appearing  amiable  to  the  other  sex ; 
they  talk,  and  move,  and  smile,  with  a  design  upon 
us;  every  feature  .of  their  faces,  every  part  of  their 
dress,  is  filled  with  snares  and  allurements.  There 
would  be  no  such  animals  as  prudes  or  coquettes 
in  the  world,  were  there  not  such  an  animal  as  man. 
In  short  it  is  the  male  that  gives  charms  to  woman- 
kind, that  produces  an  air  in  their  faces,  a  grace  in 
their  motions,  a  softness  in  their  voices,  and  a  delicacy 
in  their  complexions. 

As  this  mutual  regard  between  the  two  sexes 
tends  to  the  improvement  of  each  of  them,  we  may 
observe  that  men  are  apt  to  degenerate  into  rough 
and  brutal  natures  who  live  as  if  there  were  no  such 
things  as  women  in  the  world ;  as,  on  the  contrary, 
women  who  have  an  indifference  or  aversion  for 
their  counterparts  in  human  nature  are  generally 
sour  and  unamiable,  sluttish  and  censorious. 

I  am  led  into  this  train  of  thoughts  by  a  little 
manuscript  which  has  lately  fallen  into  my  hands, 
and  which  I  shall  communicate  to  the  reader,  as  I 
have  done  some  other  curious  pieces  of  the  same 
nature,  without  troubling  him  with  any  inquiries 
about  the  author  of  it.  It  contains  a  summary 
account  of  two  different  states  Which  bordered 
upon  one  another.  The  one  was  a  commonwealth 
of  Amazons,  or  women  without  men ; '  the  other 
was  a  republic  of  males,  that  had  not  a  woman  in 
their  whole  community.  As  these  two  states  bor- 
dered upon  one  another,  it  was  their  way,  it  seems, 
to  meet  upon  their  frontiers  at  a  certain  season  of 
the  year,  where  those  among  the  men  who  had  not 
made  their  choice  in  any  former  meeting,  associated 

'  See  Speot.  No.  434. 


No.  433.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  139 

themselves  with  particular  ■women,  whom  they  were 
afterwards  obliged  to  look  upon  as  their  wives,  in 
every  one  of  those  yearly  rencounters.  The  children 
that  sprung  from  this  alliance,  if  males,  were  sent  to 
their  respective  fathers ;  if  females,  continued  with 
their  mothers.  By  means  of  this  anniversary  carnival, 
which  lasted  about  a  week,  the  commonwealths  were 
recruited  from  time  to  time,  and  supplied  with  their 
respective  subjects. 

These  two  states  were  engaged  together  in  a 
perpetual  league,  offensive,  and  defensive ;  so  that 
if  any  foreign  potentate  offered  to  attack  either  of 
them,  both  the  sexes  fell  upon  him  at  once,  and 
quickly  brought  him  to  reason.  It  was  remarkable 
that  for  many  ages  this  agreement  continued  invio- 
lable between  the  two  states,  notwithstanding,  as 
was  said  before,  they  were  husbands  and  wives: 
but  this  will  not  appear  so  wonderful,  if  we  consider 
that  they  did  not  live  together  above  a  week  in  a 
year. 

In  the  account  which  my  author  gives  of  the  male 
republic,  there  were  several  customs  very  remarkable. 
The  men  never  shaved  their  beards,  or  pared  their 
nails,  obove  once  in  a  twelvemonth,  which  was  pro- 
bably about  the  time  of  the  great  annual  meeting 
upon  their  frontiers.  I  find  the  name  of  a  minister 
of  state  in  one  part  of  their  history,  who  was  fined 
for  appearing  too  frequently  in  clean  linen ;  and  of 
a  certain  great  general  who  was  turned  out  of  his 
post  for  effeminacy,  it  having  been  proved  upon  him 
by  several  credible  witnesses  that  he  washed  his 
face  every  morning.  If  any  member  of  the  com- 
monwealth had  a  soft  voice,  a  smooth  face,  or  a 
supple  behaviour,  he  was  banished  into  the  com- 
monwealth of  females,  where  he  was  treated  as  a 


140  THE   SPECTATOB.  [.^°-  ^^3- 

a  slave,  dressed  in  petticoats,  and  set  a  spinning. 
They  had  no  titles  of  honour  among  them  but  such 
as  denoted  some  bodily  strength  or  perfection,  as 
such  an  one  '  the  tall,'  such  an  one  '  the  stocky,'  such 
an  one  '  the  gruff.'  Their  public  debates  were 
generally  managed  with  kicks,  and  cuffs,  insomuch 
that  they  often  came  from  the  council-table  with 
broken  shins,  black  eyes,  and  bloody  noses.  When 
they  would  reproach  a  man  in  the  most  bitter  terms, 
they  would  tell  him  his  teeth  were  white,  or  that  he 
had  a  fair  skin  and  a  soft  hand.  The  greatest  man 
I  meet  with  in  their  history,  was  one  who  could  lift 
five  hundred  weight,  and  wore  such  a  prodigious  pair 
of  whiskers  as  had  never  been  seen  in  the  common- 
wealth before  his  time.  These  accomplishments  it 
seems  had  rendered  him  so  popular,  that,  if  he  had 
not  died  very  seasonably,  it  is  thought  he  might 
have  inslaved  the  republic.  Having  made  this  short 
extract  out  of  the  history  of  the  male  commonwealth, 
I  shall  look  into  the  history  of  the  neighbouring 
state,  which  consisted  of  females  ;  and,  if  I  find 
any  thing  in  it,  will  not  fail  to  communicate  it  to 
the  public.  C.™ 

*»*  On  Friday,  July  18,  at  Drury-lane,  will  be  performed  a  play 
called  Sophonisba,  or  Hannibal's  Overthrow.  Masinissa,  by  Mr.  Booth; 
Sophonisba,  by  Mrs.  Rogers;  and  Rosalinda,  by  Mrs.  Bradshaw.  To  which 
will  be  added  the  last  new  farce  called  The  Petticoat  Plotter.  The  princi- 
pal parts  by  Messrs.  Bullock,  Norris,  Pack,  and  Bullock,  jun. — Spect.  in 
folio. 

'-  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  Chelsea.  See  note  to  No.  6,  on 
signature  C. 


No.  434.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  141 


No.  434.    FEIDAY,  July  18,  1712. 


Quales  Threicise,  cum  llnzniaa  Thermodoontia 
Fulsant  et  pictls  bellantur  Amazones  armis ; 
Sea  clrcum  Hippolyten,  Beu  ciim  se  Hartia  carm 
Fenthesilea  refert,  magnoque  ululante  tumultu, 
Fffimiaea  exultant  lunatifi  agmina  peltis. 

ViEQ.  iEn.  xL  66 
Bo  marched  the  Tbraciaa  Axaazons  of  old, 
When  Thermodon  with  bloody  billows  rolVd ; 
Such  troops  as  those  in  Bhining  arms  were  seen, 
When  Theseus  met  in  light  their  maiden  queen. 
Such  to  the  field  Fenthesilea  led, 
From  the  fierce  virgin  when  the  (rrecians  fled. 
With  such  return'd  triumphant  from  the  war, 
Her  maids  with  cries  attend  the  lofty  car ; 
They  clash  with  manly  force  their  moony  shields ; 
With  female  shouts  resound  the  Fhrygian  fields. 

DETDBiir. 


Having  carefully  perused  the  manuscript  I  mention- 
ed in  my  yesterday's  paper,  so  far  as  it  relates  to 
tlie  republic  of  women,  I  find  in  it  several  particulars 
wHch  may  very  well  deserve  the  reader's  attention. 
The  girls  of  quality,  from  six  to  twelve  years  old, 
were  put  to  public  schools,  where  they  learned  to 
box  and  play  at  cudgels,  with  several  other  accom- 
plishments of  the  same  nature  ;  so  that  nothing  was 
more  usual  than  to  see  a  little  miss  returning  home 
at  night  with  a  broken  pate,  or  two  or  three  teeth 
knocked  out  of  her  head.  They  were  afterwards 
taught  to  ride  the  great  horse,  to  shoot,  dart,  or 
sling,  and  listed  into  several  companies,  in  order  to 
perfect  themselves  in  military  exercises.  No  woman 
was  to  be  married  till  she  had  killed  her  man.  The 
ladies  of  fashion  used  to  play  with  young  lions  in- 
stead of  lap-dogs ;  and  when  they  made  any  parties 
of  diversion,  instead  of  entertaining  themselves  at 
ombre  and  piquet,  they  would  wrestle  and  pitch  the 
bar  for  a  whole  afternoon  together.  There  was 
never  any  such  thing  as  a  blush  seen,  or  a  sigh 


142  THE  SPECTATOE,  [No.  434. 

heard,  in  the  whole  commonwealth.  The  women 
never  dressed  but  to  look  terrible ;  to  which  end 
they  would  sometimes  after  a  battle  paint  their 
cheeks  with  the  blood  of  their  enemies.  For  this 
reason,  likewise,  the  face  which  had  the  most 
scars  was  looked  upon  as  the  most  beautiful. 
If  they  found  lace,  jewels,  ribands,  or  any  orna- 
ments in  silver  or  gold,  among  the  booty  which 
they  had  taken,  they  used  to  dress  their  horses  with 
it,  but  never  entertained  a  thought  of  wearing  it 
themselves.  There  were  particular  rights  and  pri- 
vileges allowed  to  any  member  of  the  common- 
wealth who  was  a  mother  of  three  daughters.  The 
senate  was  made  up  of  old  women ;  for,  by  the  laws 
of  the  country,  none  was  to  be  a  counsellor  of  state 
that  was  not  past  child-bearing.  They  used  to 
boast  that  their  republic  had  continued  four  thou- 
sand years,  which  is  altogether  improbable,  unless 
we  may  suppose,  what  I  am  apt  to  think,  that  they 
measured  their  time  by  lunar  years. 

There  was  a  great  revolution  brought  about  in 
this  female  republic  by  means  of  a  neighbouring 
king,  who  had  made  war  upon  them  several  years 
with  various  success,  and  at  length  overthrew  them 
in  a  very  great  battle.  This  defeat  they  ascribe  to 
several  causes ;  some  say  that  the  secretary  of  state, 
having  been  troubled  with  the  vapours,  had  com- 
mitted some  fatal  mistakes  in  several  despatches 
about  that  time.  Others  pretend  that  the  first  min- 
ister, being  big  with  child,  could  not  attend  the 
public  affairs,  as  so  great  an  exigency  of  state  re- 
quired ;  but  this  I  can  give  no  manner  of  credit  to, 
since  it  seems  to  contradict  a  fundamental  maxim  in 
their  government,  which  I  have  before  mentioned. 
My  author  gives  the  most  probable  reason  of  this 
great  disaster ;  for  he  affirms  that  the  general  was 


No.  434.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  143 

brought  to  bed,  or  (as  others  say)  miscarried,  the 
very  night  before  the  battle :  however  it  was,  this 
single  overthrow  obliged  them  to  call  in  the  male 
republic  to  their  assistance ;  but,  notwithstanding 
their  common  efforts  to  repulse  the  victorious  ene- 
my, the  war  continued  for  many  years  before  they 
could  entirely  bring  it  to  a  happy  conclusion. 

The  campaigns  which  both  sexes  passed  together 
made  them  so  well  acquainted  with  one  another, 
that  at  the  end  of  the  war  they  did  not  care  for 
parting.  In  the  beginning  of  it  they  lodged  in 
separate  camps,  but  afterwards,  as  they  grew  more 
familiar,  they  pitched  their  tents  promiscuously. 

From  this  time,  the  armies  being  checquered 
with  both  sexes,  they  polished  apace.  The  men 
used  to  invite  their  fellow-soldiers  into  their  quar- 
ters, and  would  dress  their  tents  with  flowers  and 
boughs  for  their  reception.  If  they  chanced  to  like 
one  more  than  another,  they  would  be  cutting  her 
name  in  the  table,  or  chalking  out  her  figure  upon 
a  wall,  or  talking  of  her  in  a  kind  of  rapturous  lan- 
guage, which  by  degrees  improved  into  verse  and 
sonnet.  These  were  as  the  first  rudiments  of  archi- 
tecture, painting,  and  poetry,  among  this  savage 
people.  After  any  advantage  over  the  enemy,  both 
sexes  used  to  jump  together,  and  make  a  clattering 
with  their  swords  and  shields,  for  joy,  which  in  a 
few  years  produced  several  regular  tunes  and  set 
dances. 

As  the  two  armies  romped  on  these  occasions, 
the  women  complained  of  the  thick  bushy  beards 
and  long  nails  of  their  confederates,  who  thereupon 
took  care  to  prune  themselves  into  such  figures 
as  were  most  pleasing  to  their  female  friends  and 
allies. 

When  they  had  taken  any  spoils  from  the  enemy, 


144  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  434. 

the  men  would  make  a  present  of  every  thing  that 
was  rich  and  showy  to  the  women  whom  they  most 
admired,  and  would  frequently  dress  the  necks,  or 
heads,  or  arms  of  their  mistresses,  with  any  thing 
which  they  thought  appeared  gay  or  pretty.  The 
women,  observing  that  the  men  took  delight  in  look- 
ing upon  them  when  they  were  adorned  with  such 
trappings  and  gewgaws,  set  their  heads  at  work  to 
find  out  new  inventions,  and  to  outshine  one  another 
in  all  councils  of  war  or  the  like  solemn  meetings. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  men,  observing  how  the 
women's  hearts  were  set  on  finery,  began  to  embel- 
lish themselves,  and  look  as  agreeably  as  they  could 
in  the  eyes  of  their  associates.  In  short,  after  a  few 
years  conversing  together,  the  women  had  learnt  to 
smile,  and  the  men  to  ogle,  the  women  grew  soft, 
and  the  men  lively. 

When  they  had  thus  insensibly  formed  one  ano- 
ther, upon  finishing  of  the  war,  which  concluded 
with  an  entire  conquest  of  their  common  enemy,  the 
colonels  in  one  army  married  the  colonels  iu  the 
other;  the  captains  in  the  same  manner  took  the 
captains  to  their  wives ;  the  whole  body  of  common 
soldiers  were  matched  after  the  example  of  their 
leaders.  By  this  means  the  two  republics  incorpo- 
rated with  one  another,  and  became  the  most  flourish- 
ing and  polite  government  in  the  part  of  the  world 
which  they  inhabited.  C.° 

*»*  At  Drury-lane,  July  28,  Sophonisba,  or  Hannibal's  Overthroir. 
Masinissa,  by  Mr.  Booth.  Sophonisba,  Mrs.  Rogers ;  and  Rosalinda,  by 
Mrs.  Bradshaw. — Speot  in  folio. 

"  By  Addison,  dated  from  Chelsea,    See  No.  6,  adjinem. 


No.  435.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  145 


No.  435.     SATUEDAY,  July  19,  1712. 

Nee  dno  sunt  at  forma  duplex,  nee  foemioa  diei 

Nee  puer  ut  possint,  neutrumque  et  ntrumque  videntar. 

Ovid.  Met.  iv.  878. 
Both  bodies  in  a  single  body  mix, 
A  single  body  with  a  double  sex. 

Addison, 

Most  of  the  papers  I  give  the  public  are  written  on 
subjects  that  never  vary,  but  are  for  ever  fixed  and 
immutable.  Of  this  kind  are  all  my  more  serious 
essays  and  discourses  ;  but  there  is  another  sort  of 
speculations,  which  I  consider  as  occasional  papers, 
that  take  their  rise  from  the  folly,  extravagance,  and 
caprice  of  the  present  age.  For  I  look  upon  myself 
as  one  set  to  watch  the  manners  and  behaviour  of 
my  countrymen  and  contemporaries,  and  to  mark 
down  every  absurd  fashion,  ridiculous  custom,  or 
affected  form  of  speech,  that  makes  its  appearance 
in  the  world  during  the  course  of  my  speculations. 
The  petticoat  no  sooner  began  to  swell,  but  I  ob- 
served its  motions.  The  party-patches  had  not  time 
to  muster  themselves  before  I  detected  them.  I  had 
intelligence  of  the  coloured  hood  the  very  first  time 
it  appeared  in  a  public  assembly."  I  might  here 
mention  several  other  the  like  contingent  subjects, 
upon  which  I  have  bestowed  distinct  papers.  By 
this  means  I  have  so  effectually  quashed  those  irre- 
gularities which  gave  occasion  to  them,  that  I  am 
afraid  posterity  will  scarce  have  a  sufficient  idea  of 
them  to  relish  those  discourses  which  were  in  no 
little  vogue  at  the  tijtne  when  they  were  written. 
They  will  be  apt  to  think  that  the  fashions  and  cus- 
toms I  attacked  were  some  fantastic  conceits  of  my 

»  See  Speot.  Nos.  81,  127,  and  266. 
VOL.  T. 10 


146  THE   SPECTATOR.  1^°-  ^^5- 

own,  and  that  their  great  grandmothers  could  not 
be  so  whimsical  as  I  have  represented  them.  For 
this  reason,  when  I  think  on  the  figure  my  several 
volumes  of  speculations  will  make  about  a  hundred 
years  hence,  I  consider  them  as  so  many  pieces  of 
old  plate,  where  the  weight  will  be  regarded,  but 
the  fashion  lost. 

Among  the  several  female  extravagances  I  have 
already  taken  notice  of,  there  is  one  which  still 
keeps  its  ground.  I  mean,  that  of  the  ladies  who 
dress  themselves  in  a  hat  and  feather,  a  riding  coat 
and  periwig,  or  at  least  tie  up  their  hair  in  a  bag  or 
riband,  in  imitation  of  the  smart  part  of  the  opposite 
sex.  As  in  my  yesterday's  paper  I  gave  an  account 
of  the  mixture  of  two  sexes  in  one  commonwealth,  I 
shall  here  take  notice  of  this  mixture  of  two  sexes 
in  one  person.  I  have  already  shown  my  dislike  of 
this  immodest  custom  more,  than  once ;  but,  in  con- 
tempt of  every  thing  I  have  hitherto  said,  I  am  in- 
formed that  the  highways  about  ■  this  great  city  are 
still  very  much  infested  with  these  female  cavaliers. 

I  remember  when  I  was  at  my  friend  sir  Roger 
de  Coverley's  about  this  time  twelvemonth,  an  eques- 
trian lady  of  this  order  appeared  upon  the  plains 
which  lay  at  a  distance  from  his  house.  I  was  at 
that  time  walking  in  the  fields  with  my  old  friend ; 
and  as  his  tenants  ran  out  on  every  side  to  see  so 
strange  a  sight,  sir  Roger  asked  one  of  them  who 
came  by  us,  what  it  was  ?  To  which  the  country 
fellow  replied,  "Tis  a  gentlewoman,  saving  your 
worship's  presence,  in  a  coat  and  hat.'  This  pro- 
duced a  great  deal  of  mirth  at  the  knight's  house, 
where  we  had  a  story  at  the  same  time  of  another  of 
his  tenants,  who,  meeting  this  gentleman-like  lady 
on  the  highway,  was  asked  by  her  whether  that  was 
Coverley-hall  ?      The  honest  man  seeing  only  the 


No.  435.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  147 

male  part  of  the  querist,  replied,  '  Yes,  Sir ; '  but 
upon  the  second  question,  whether  sir  Roger  de 
Coverley  was  a  married  man  ?  having  dropped  his 
eye  upon  the  petticoat,  he  changed  his  note  into 
'No,  Madam.' 

Had  one  of  these  hermaphrodites  appeared  in 
Juvenal's  days,  with  what  an  indignation  should  we 
have  seen  her  described  by  that  excellent  satirist! 
He  would  have  represented  her  in  a  riding  habit,  as 
a  greater  monster  than  the  centaur.  He  would  have 
called  for  sacrifices  of  purifying  waters,  to  expiate 
the  appearance  of  such  a  prodigy.  He  would  have 
invoked  the  shades  of  Portia  or  Lucretia,  to  see  into 
what  the  Roman  ladies  had  transformed  themselves. 

For  my  own  part,  I  am  for  treating  the  sex  with 
greater  tenderness,  and  have  all  along  made  use  of 
the  most  gentle  methods  to  bring  them  off  from  any 
little  extravagance  into  which  they  have  sometimes 
unwarily  fallen.  I  think  it  however  absolutely  ne- 
cessary to  keep  up  the  partition  between  the  two 
sexes,  and  to  take  notice  of  the  smallest  encroach- 
ment which  the  one  makes  upon  the  other.  I  hope 
therefore  I  shall  not  hear  any  more  complaints  on 
this  subject.  I  am  sure  my  she-disciples,  who  pe- 
ruse these  my  daily  lectures,  have  profited  but  little 
by  them,  if  they  are  capable  of  giving  into  such  an 
amphibious  dress.  This  I  should  not  have  men- 
tioned, had  I  not  lately  met  one  of  these  my  female 
readers  in  Hyde-park,  who  looked  upon  me  with  a 
masculine  asvsurance,  and  cocked  her  hat  full  in  my 
face. 

For  my  part,  I  have  one  general  key  to  the  be- 
haviour of  the  fair  sex.  When  I  see  them  singular 
in  any  part  of  their  dress,  I  conclude  it  is  not  with- 
out some  evil  intention  :  and  therefore  question  not 
but  the  design  of  this  strange  fashion  is  to  smite  more 


148  THE  SPECTATOE.  [No.  435. 

effectually  their  male  beholders.  Now  to  set  them 
right  in  this  particular,  I  would  fain  have  them  con- 
sider with  themselves,  whether  we  are  not  more  like- 
ly to  be  struck  by  a  figure  entirely  female,  than  with 
such  an  one  as  we  may  see  every  day  in  our  glasses. 
Or,  if  they  please,  let  them  reflect  upon  their  own 
hearts,  and  think  how  they  would  be  affected  should 
they  meet  a  man  on  horseback,  in  his  breeches  and 
jack-boots,  and  at  the  same  time  dressed  up  in  a 
commode  and  a  nightrail. 

I  must  observe  that  this  fashion  was  first  of  all 
brought  to  us  from  France,  a  country  which  has  in 
fected  aU  the  nations  of  Europe  with  its  levity.  I 
speak  not  this  in  derogation  of  a  whole  people,  hav- 
ing more  than  once  found  fault  with  those  general 
reflections  which  strike  at  kingdoms  or  common- 
wealths in  the  gross  :  a  piece  of  cruelty,  which  an 
ingenious  writer  of  our  own  compares  to  that  of  Ca- 
ligula, who  wished  that  the  Roman  people  had  all 
but  one  neck,  that  he  might  behead  them  at  a  blow. 
I  shall  therefore  only  remark,  that,  as  liveliness  and 
assurance  are  in  a  peculiar  manner  the  qualifications 
of  the  French  nation,  the  same  habits  and  customs 
will  not  give  the  same  offence  to  that  people  which 
they  produce  among  those  of  our  own  country.  Mo- 
desty is  our  distinguishing  character,  as  vivacity  is 
theirs :  and  when  this  our  national  virtue  appears  in 
that  female  beauty  for  which  our  British  ladies  are 
celebrated  above  all  others  in  the  universe,  it  makes 
up  the  most  amiable  object  that  the  eye  of  man  can 
possibly  behold.  Q_v 

*»*  Dutch  Alliances.  An  Account  of  the  Massacre  of  Amboyna,  from 
a  manuscript  of  Mr.  Beaumont,  who  escaped  assassination.  With  affida- 
vits.— Speot.  in  folio,  No.  438. 

f  By  Addison,  Chelsea.    See  No.  5. 


No.  436.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  149 


No.  436.     MONDAY,  Jolt  21,  1712. 

— ^Verso  pollice  vulgi 
Qaemlibet  occidant  populariter — 

Jur.  Sat  iii,  86. 

With  thumbs  bent  back  they  popularly  kill. 

Dbtdbn. 

Being  a  person  of  insatiable  curiosity,  I  could  not 
forbear  going  on  Wednesday  last  to  a  place  of  no 
small  renown  for  the  gallantry  of  the  lower  order  of 
Britons,  namely,  to  the  Bear-garden  at  Hockley  in  the 
Hole ;  where  (as  a  whitish  brown  paper,  put  into 
my  hand  in  the  street,  informed  me)  there  was  to  be 
a  trial  of  skill  exhibited  between  two  masters  of  the 
noble  science  of  defence,  at  two  of  the  clock  pre- 
cisely. I  was  not  a  little  charmed  with  the  solem- 
nity of  the  challenge,  which  ran  thus  : 

'  I,  James  Miller,  sergeant,  (lately  come  from  the 
frontier  of  Portugal,)  master  of  the  noble  science  of 
defence,  hearing  in  most  places  where  I  have  been 
of  the  great  fame  of  Timothy  Buck,  of  London,  mas- 
ter of  the  said  science,  do  invite  him  to  meet  me, 
and  exercise  at  the  several  weapons  following,  viz. 

'  Back  sword.  Single  falchion. 

'  Sword  and  dagger.  Case  of  falchions, 

'  Sword  and  buckler,  Quarter  staff.' 

If  the  generous  ardour  in  James  Miller  to  dispute 
the  reputation  of  Timothy  Buck,  had  something  re- 
sembling the  old  heroes  of  romance,  Timothy  Buck 
returned  answer  in  the  same  paper  with  the  like  spi- 
rit, adding  a  little  indignation  at  being  challenged, 
and  seeming  to  condescend  to  fight  James  Miller, 


150  THE   SPECTATOR.  C^*'-  ^^^■ 

not  in  regard  to  Miller  himself,  but  in  that,  as  the 
fame  went  about,  he  had  fought  Parkes,  of  Coven- 
try. Tha  acceptance  of  the  combat  ran  in  these 
"words : 

'  I  Timothy  Buck,  of  Clare-market,  master  of  the 
noble  science  of  defence,  hearing  he  did  fight  Mr. 
Parkes,'  of  Coventry,  will  not  fail  (God  willing)  to 
meet  this  fair  inviter  at  the  time  and  place  appoint- 
ed, desiring  a  clear  stage  and  no  favour. 

'Vivat  Regina.^ 

I  shall  not  here  look  back  on  the  spectacles  of 
the  Greeks  and  Romans  of  this  kind,  but  must  be- 
lieve this  custom  took  its  rise  from  the  ages  of 
knight-errantry;  from  those  who  loved  one  woman 
so  well,  that  they  hated  all  men  and  women  else ; 
from  those  who  would  fight  you,  whether  you  were 
or  were  not  of  their  mind ;  from  those  who  demand- 
ed the  combat  of  their  contemporaries,  both  for  ad- 
miring their  mistress  or  discommending  her.  I  can- 
not therefore  but  lament  that  the  terrible  part  of 
the  ancient  fight  is  preserved,  when  the  amorous 
side  of  it  is  forgotten-  We  have  retained  the  bar- 
barity, but  lost  the  gallantry  of  the  old  combatants. 
I  could  wish,  methinks,  these  gentlemen  had  con- 

1  On  a  large  tomb  in  the  great  church-yard  of  Coventry,  is  the  follow- 
ing inscription : — 

'  To  the  memory  of  Mr.  John  Spai'kes,  a  native  of  this  city ;  he  was  a 
man  of  a  mild  disposition,  a,  gladiator  by  profession,  who,  after  having 
fought  350  battles  in  the  principal  parts  of  Europe  with  honour  and  ap- 
plause, at  length  quitted  the  stage,  sheathed  his  sword,  and,  with  Chris- 
tian resignation,  submitted  to  the  grand  victor  in  the  62d  year  of  his  age. 

'Anno  salutis  humanse,  I'TSS.' 

His  friend,  sergeant  Miller,  here  mentioned,  a  man  of  vast  athletic  ac- 
complishments, was  advanced  afterwards  to  the  rank  of  a  captain  in  the 
British  army,  and  did  notable  service  in  Scotland  under  the  duke  of  Cum- 
berland in  1745. 


No.  436.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  151 

suited  me  in  the  promulgation  of  the  conflict.  I  was 
obliged  by  a  fair  young  maid,  whom  I  understood 
to  be  called  Elizabeth  Preston,  daughter  of  the  keep- 
er of  the  garden,  with  a  glass  of  water;  whom  I 
imagined  might  have  been,  for  form's  sake,  the  gen- 
eral representative  of  the  lady  fought  for,  and  from 
her  beauty  the  proper  Amarillis  on  these  occasions. 
It  would  have  ran  better  in  the  challenge,  '  I  James 
Miller,  sergeant,  who  have  travelled  parts  abroad, 
and  came  last  from  the  frontiers  of  Portugal,  for  the 
love  of  Elizabeth  Preston,  do  assert,  that  the  said 
Elizabeth  is  the  fairest  of  women.'     Then  the  an- 
swer :   '  I  Timothy  Buck,  who  have  staid  in  Great 
Britain  during  all  the  war  in  foreign  parts,  for  the 
sake  of  Susanna  Page,  do  deny  that  Elizabeth  Pres- 
ton is  so  fair  as  the  said  Susanna  Page.     Let  Susan- 
na Page  look  on,  and  I  desire  of  James  Miller  no 
favour. ' 

This  would  give  the  battle  quite  another  turn  ; 
and  a  proper  station  for  the  ladies,  whose  complex- 
ion was  disputed  by  the  sword,  would  animate  the 
disputants  with  a  more  gallant  incentive  than  the 
expectation  of  money  from  the  spectators  ;  though 
I  would  not  have  that  neglected,  but  thrown  to  that 
fair  one  whose  lover  was  approved  by  the  donor. 

Yet,  considering  the  thing  wants  such  amend- 
ments, it  was  carried  with  great  order.  James  Mil- 
ler came  on  first ;  preceded  by  two  disabled  drum- 
mers, to  show,  I  suppose,  that  the  prospect  of  maim- 
ed bodies  did  not  in  the  least  deter  him.  There  as- 
cended with  the  daring  Miller  a  gentleman,  whose 
name  I  could  not  learn,  with  a  dogged  air,  as  unsatis- 
fied that  he  was  not  principal.  This  son  of  anger 
lowered  at  the  whole  assembly,  and  weighing  him- 
self as  he  marched  round  from  side  to  side,  with  a 


152  THE  SPEOTATOE.  [No.  43fi. 

stiff  knee  and  shoulder,  he  gave  intimations  of  the 
purpose  he  smothered  till  he  saw  the  issue  of  this 
encounter.  Miller  had  a  blue  riband  tied  round 
the  sword  arm ;  which  ornament  I  conceive  to  be 
the  remain  of  that  custom  of  wearing  a  mistress's 
favour  on  such  occasions  of  old. 

Miller  is  a  man  of  six  foot  eight  inches  height, 
of  a  kind  but  bold  aspect,  well  fashioned,  and  ready 
of  his  limbs  ;  and  such  a  readiness  as  spoke  his  ease 
in  them,  was  obtained  from  a  habit  of  motion  in  mil- 
itary exercise. 

The  expectation  of  the  spectators  was  now  al- 
most at  its  height,  and  the  crowd  pressing  in,  sev- 
eral active  persons  thought  they  were  placed  rather 
according  to  their  fortune  than  their  merit,  and  took 
it  in  their  heads  to  prefer  themselves  from  the  open 
area  or  pit  to  the  galleries.  This  dispute  between 
desert  and  property  brought  many  to  the  ground, 
and  raised  others  in  proportion  to  the  highest  seats 
by  turns,  for  the  space  of  ten  minutes,  till  Timothy 
Buck  came  on,  and  the  whole  assembly  giving  up 
their  disputes,  turned  their  eyes  upon  the  cham- 
pions. Then  it  was  that  every  man's  affection  turned 
to  one  or  the  other  irresistibly.  A  judicious  gen- 
tleman near  me  said,  '  I  could,  methinks,  be  Miller's 
second,  but  I  had  rather  have  Buck  for  mine.'  Mil- 
ler had  an  audacious  look,  that  took  the  eye ;  Buck, 
a  perfect  composure,  that  engaged  the  judgment. 
Buck  came  on  in  a  plain  coat,  and  kept  all  his  air 
till  the  instant  of  engaging ;  at  which  time  he  un- 
dressed to  his  shirt,  his  arm  adorned  with  a  bandage 
of  red  riband.  No  one  can  describe  the  sudden  con- 
cern in  the  whole  assembly ;  the  most  tumultuous 
crowd  in  nature  was  as  still  and  as  much  engaged 
as  if  all  their  lives  depended  on  the  first  blow.     The 


No.  436.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  153 

combatants  met  in  the  middle  of  the  stage,  and 
shaking  hands  as  removing  all  malice,  they  re- 
tired with  much  grace  to  the  extremities  of  it;  from 
whence  they  immediately  faced  about,  and  ap- 
proaced  each  other ;  Miller  with  an  heart  full  of  res- 
olution, Buck  with  a  watchful  untroubled  counte- 
nance ;  Buck  regarding  principally  his  own  defence, 
Miller  chiefly  thoughtful  of  annoying  his  opponent. 
It  is  not  easy  to  describe  the  many  escapes  and  im- 
perceptible defences  between  two  men  of  quick 
eyes  and  ready  limbs ;  but  Miller's  heat  laid  him 
open  to  the  rebuke  of  the  calm  Buck,  by  a  large  cut 
on  the  forehead.'  Much  effusion  of  blood  covered 
his  eyes  in  a  moment,  and  the  huzzas  of  the  crowd 
undoubtedly  quickened  the  anguish.  The  assem- 
bly was  divided  into  parties  upon  their  different 
ways  of  fighting ;  while  a  poor  nymph  in  one  of  the 
galleries  apparently  suffered  for  Miller,  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears.  As  soon  as  his  wound  was 
wrapped  up,  he  came  on  again  with  a  little  rage, 
which  still  disabled  him  farther.  But  what  brave 
man  can  be  wounded  into  more  patience  and  cau- 
tion ?  The  next  was  a  warm  eager  onset,  which 
ended  in  a  decisive  stroke  on  the  left  leg  of  Miller. 
The  lady  in  the  gallery,  during  this  second  strife, 
covered  her  face ;  and  for  my  part,  I  could  not  keep 
my  thoughts  from  being  mostly  einployed  on  the 
consideration  of  her  unhappy  circumstance  that  mo- 
ment, hearing  the  clash  of  swords,  and  apprehend- 
ing life  or  victory  concerned  her  lover  in  every 
blow,  but  not  daring  to  satisfy  herself  on  whom 
they  fell.  The  wound  was  exposed  to  the  view  of 
all  who  could  delight  in  it,  and  sewed  up  on  the 

'  See  Speot.  No.  449,  last  let. 


154  THE   SPECTATOR.  l^°-  '^^^■ 

Stage.  The  surly  second  of  Miller ,  declared  at  this 
time,  that  he  would  that  day  fortnight  fight  Mr. 
Buck  at  the  same  weapons,  declaring  himself  the 
master  of  the  renowned  Gorman ;  but  Buck  denied 
him  the  honour  of  that  courageous  disciple,  and,  as- 
serting that  he  himself  had  taught  that  champion, 
accepted  the  challenge. 

There  is  something  in  nature  very  unaccountable 
on  such  occasions,  when  we  see  the  people  take  a 
certain  painful  gratification  in  beholding  these  en- 
counters. Is  it  cruelty  that  administers  this  sort  of 
delight  ?  Or  is  it  a  pleasure  which  is  taken  in  the 
exercise  of  pity?  It  was,  methought,  pretty  re- 
markable, that  the  business  of  the  day  being  a  trial 
of  skill,  the  popularity  did  not  run  so  high  as  one 
would  have  expected  on  the  side  of  Buck.  Is  it 
that  people's  passions  have  their  rise  in  self-love, 
and  thought  themselves  (in  spite  of  all  the  courage 
they  had)  liable  to  the  fate  of  Miller,  but  could  not 
so  easily  think  themselves  qualified  like  Buck  ? 

TuUy  speaks  of  this  custom  with  less  horror  than 
one  would  expect,  though  he  confesses  it  was  much 
abused  in  his  time,  and  seems  directly  to  approve 
of  it  under  its  first  regulations,  when  criminals  only 
fought  before  the  people.  '  Crudele  gladiatorum 
spectaculum  et  inhumanum  nonnullis  videri  solet  •  et 
liaud  scio  annon  ita  sit  ut  nunc  Jit  y  cum  vero  sontes 
ferro  depugnabant,  aurihus  fortasse  multa^  oculis 
quidem  nulla,  poterat  esse  fortior  contra  dolorem  et 
mortem  disciplina.''  'The  shows  of  gladiators  may 
be  thought  barbarous  and  inhuman,  and  I  know  not 
but  it  is  so  as  it  is  now  practised :  but  in  those 
times,  when  only  criminals  were  combatants,  the 
ear  perhaps  might  receive  many  better  instructions, 


No.  437.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  155 

but  it  is  impossible  that  any  tWng  which  affects  our 
eyes  should  fortify  us  so  well  against  pain  and 
death.'  T.« 


No.  437.     TUESDAY,  July  22,  1712. 


Tune  impnn6  hsec  facias  F    Tune  bic  homines  adolescentulos, 
Imperitos  reram,  eductos  iiberS,  in  fraudem  illicis  ? 
Sollicitando  et  polllcitando  eonim  animus  lactas  ? 
Ac  meretricios  amures  nuptiis  conglutinas  1 

Tek.  And.  Act.  v.  Sc.  4 

Shall  you  escape  with  Impunity :  you  who  lay  snares  for  young  men,  of  a  liberal  education, 
but  nnacquainted  with  the  world,  and,  by  force  of  importunity  and  promises,  draw  them 
in  to  marry  harlots  ? 


The  other  day  passed  by  me  in  her  chariot  a  lady 
with  that  pale  and  wan  complexion  which  we  some- 
times see  in  young  people  who  are  fallen  into  sor- 
row and  private  anxiety  of  mind,  which  antedate 
age  and  sickness.  It  is  not  three  years  ago  since 
she  was  gay,  airy,  and  a  little  towards  libertine  in 
her  carriage ;  but,  methought,  I  easily  forgave  her 
that  little  insolence,  which  she  so  severely  pays  for 
in  her  present  condition.  Flavilla,  of  whom  I  am 
speaking,  is  married  to  a  sullen  fool  with  wealth. 
Her  beauty  and  merit  are  lost  upon  the  dolt,  who 
is  insensible  of  perfection  in  any  thing.  Their 
hours  together  are  either  painful  or  insipid.  The 
minutes  she  has  to  herself  in  his  absence  are  not 
sufficient  to  give  vent  at  her  eyes  to  the  grief  and 
torment  of  his  last  conversation.  This  poor  crea- 
ture was  sacrificed  with  a  temper  (which,  under 
the  cultivation  of  a  man  of  sense,  would  have  made 
the  most  agreeable  companion)  into  the  arms  of 

'  By  Steele.     See  No.  324,  at  the  end. 


156  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0-  437. 

this  loathsome  yoke-fellow  by  Sempronia.  Sempro- 
nia  is  a  good  lady,  who  supports  herself  in  an  afflu- 
ent condition,  by  contracting  friendship  with  rich 
young  widows,  and  maids  of  plentiful  fortunes  at 
their  own  disposal,  and  bestowing  her  friends  upon 
worthless  indigent  fellows ;  on  the  other  side,  she 
ensnares  inconsiderate  and  rash  youths  of  great  es- 
tates into  the  arms  of  vicious  women.  For  this 
purpose,  she  is  accomplished  in  all  the  arts  which 
can  make  her  acceptable  at  impertinent  visits  ;  she 
knows  all  that  passes  in  every  quarter,  and  is  well 
acquainted  with  all  the  favourite  servants,  busy- 
bodies,  dependants,  and  poor  relations,  of  all  per- 
sons of  condition  in  the  whole  town.  At  the  price 
of  a  good  sum  of  money,  Sempronia,  by  the  instiga- 
tion of  Flavilla's  mother,  brought  about  the  match 
for  the  daughter  ;  and  the  reputation  of  this,  which 
is  apparently,  in  point  of  fortune,  more  than  Fla- 
villa  could  expect,  has  gained  her  the  visits  and 
frequent  attendance  of  the  crowd  of  mothers  who 
had  rather  see  their  children  miserable  in  great 
wealth,  than  the  happiest  of  the  race  of  mankind  in 
a  less  conspicuous  state  of  life.  When  Sempronia 
is  so  well  acquainted  with  a  woman's  temper  and 
circumstances,  that  she  believes  marriage  would  be 
acceptable  to  her,  and  advantageous  to  the  man 
who  shall  get  her,  her  next  step  is  to  look  out  for 
some  one  whose  condition  has  some  secret  wound 
in  it,  and  wants  a  sum,  yet  in  the  eye  of  the  world  not 
unsuitable  to  her.  If  such  is  not  easily  had,  she 
immediately  adorns  a  worthless  fellow  with  what 
estate  she  thinks  convenient,  and  adds  as  great  a 
share  of  good  humour  and  sobriety  as  is  requisite. 
After  this  is  settled,  no  importunities,  arts,  and  de- 
vices are  omitted  to  hasten  the  lady  to  her  happi- 


No.  437.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  157 

ness.  In  the  general,  indeed,  she  is  a  person  of  so 
strict  justice,  that  she  marries  a  poor  gallant  to  a 
rich  wench,  and  a  moneyless  girl  to  a  man  of  for- 
tune. But  then  she  has  no  manner  of  conscience 
in  the  disparity,  -when  she  has  a  mind  to  impose  a 
poor  rogue  for  one  of  an  estate :  she  has  no  remorse 
in  adding  to  it,  that  he  is  illiterate,  ignorant,  and 
unfashioned ;  but  makes  those  imperfections  argu- 
ments of  the  truth  of  his  wealth  ;  and  will,  on  such 
an  occasion,  with  a  very  grave  face,  charge  the 
people  of  condition  with  negligence  in  the  educa- 
tion of  their  children.  Exception  being  made 
t'other  day  against  an  ignorant  booby  of  her  own 
clothing,  whom  she  was  putting  off  for  a  rich  heir  : 
'  Madam,'  said  she,  '  you  know  there  is  no  making 
children,  who  know  they  have  estates,  attend  their 
books.' 

Sempronia,  by  these  arts,  is  loaded  with  pre- 
sents, importuned  for  her  acquaintance,  and  admired 
by  those  who  do  not  know  the  first  taste  of  life,  as 
a  woman  of  exemplary  good  breeding.  But  sure, 
to  murder  and  to  rob  are  less  iniquities,  than  to 
raise  profit  by  abuses  as  irreparable  as  taking  away 
life ;  but  more  grievous,  as  making  it  lastingly  un- 
happy. To  rob  a  lady  at  play  of  half  her  fortune, 
is  not  so  ill  as  giving  the  whole  and  herself  to  an 
unworthy  husband.  But  Sempronia  can  administer 
consolation  to  an  unhappy  fair  at  home,  by  leading 
her  to  an  agreeable '  gallant  elsewhere.  She  can 
then  preach  the  general  condition  of  all  the  married 
world,  and  tell  an  unexperienced  young  woman  the 
methods  of  softening  her  affliction,  and  laugh  at  her 
simplicity  and  want  of  knowledge,  with  an  '  Oh ! 
my  dear,  you  will  know  better.' 

The  wickedness  of  Sempronia,  one  would  think, 


158  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  437. 

should  be  superlative ;  but  I  cannot  but  esteem 
that  of  some  parents  equal  to  it :  I  mean,  such  as 
sacrifice  the  greatest  endowments  and  qualifications 
to  base  bargains.  A  parent  who  forces  a  child  of  a 
liberal  and  ingenious'  spirit  into  the  arms  of  a 
clown  or  a  blockhead,  obliges  her  to  a  crime  too 
odious  for  a  name.  It  is  in  a  degree  the  unnatural 
conjunction  of  rational  and  brutal  beings.  Yet 
what  is  there  so  common,  as  the  bestowing  an  ac- 
complished woman  with  such  a  disparity  ?  And  I 
could  name  crowds  who  lead  miserable  lives  for 
want  of  knowledge  in  their  parents  of  this  maxim, 
that  good  sense  and  good  nature  always  go  toge- 
ther. That  which  is  attributed  to  fools,  and  called 
good  nature,  is  only  an  inability  of  observing  what 
is  faulty,  which  turns,  in  marriage,  into  a  suspicion 
of  every  thing  as  such  from  a  consciousness  of  that 
inability. 

'  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

'  I  AM  entirely  of  your  opinion  with  rela- 
tion to  the  equestrian  females  who  affect  both  the 
masculine  and  feminine  air  at  the  same  time ;  and 
cannot  forbear  making  a  presentment  against  another 
order  of  them,  who  grow  very  numerous  and  power- 
ful ;  and  since  our  language  is  not  very  capable  of 
good  compound  words,  I  must  be  contented  to  call 
them  only  "the  naked  shouldered."  These  beauties 
are  not  contented  to  make  lovers  wherever  they 
appear,  but  they  must  make  rivals  at  the  same  time. 
Were  you  to  see  Gatty  walk  the  Park  at  high  mall, 
you  would  expect  those  who  followed  her  and  those 
who  met  her  could  immediately  draw  their  swords 

'  Ingenuous. 


No.  437.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  159 

for  her.  I  hope,  Sir,  you  will  provide  for  the  future, 
that  wonien  may  stick  to  their  faces  for  doing  any 
farther  mischief,  and  not  allow  any  but  direct  tra- 
ders in  beauty  to  expose  more  than  the  fore  part  of 
the  neck,  unless  you  please  to  allow  this  after-game 
to  those  who  are  very  defective  in  the  charms  of  the 
countenance.  I  can  say  to  my  sorrow,  the  present 
practice  is  very  unfair,  when  to  look  back  is  death ; 
and  it  may  be  said  of  our  beauties,  as  a  great  poet 
did  of  bullets, 

"They  kiU  and  wound  like  Parthians  as  they  fly." 

'  I  submit  this  to  your  animadversion  ;  and  am, 
for  the  little  while  I  have  left, 

'  Your  humble  servant,  the  languishing 

'  Philanthus.' 

'  P.  S.  Suppose  you  mended  my  letter,  and  made 
a  simile  about  the  "  porcupine ;  "  but  I  submit  that 
also.' 

rp  n 

*»*  At  Drury-lane,  on  July  22d,  not  acted  these  twelve  years,  Love 
and  a  Battle,  by  Mr.  Geo.  Farquhar.  Squire  Mock-Mode,  by  Mr.  Bullock ; 
Koebuck,  Mr.  Mills ;  Lovewell,  Mr.  Bullock,  jun. ;  Lyric,  Mr.  Johnson ; 
Pamphlet,  Mr.  Norris ;  Club,  Mr.  Pinkethman;  Brush,  Mr.  Pack.  Lucin- 
da,  Mrs.  Kogers ;  and  Leanthe,  by  Miss  Willis. — Spect.  in  folio. 

"  By  Steele.     See  final  note  to  No.  324,  on  signature  T. 


160  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  438, 


No.  438.     WEDNESDAY,  July  23,  1712. 

—  Animam  rege ;  qui,  nisi  paret, 
Imperat — 

Hoe.  1  Ep.  ii.  62. 

—  Curb  thy  soul, 

And  check  thy  rage,  'which  must  be  rul'd  or  rule. 

Gkebou. 

It  is  a  very  common  expression,  that  such  a  one  is 
very  good-natured,  but  very  passionate.  The  ex- 
pression, indeed,  is  very  good-natured  to  allow 
passionate  people  so  much  quarter ;  but  I  think  a 
passionate  man  deserves  the  least  indulgence  ima- 
ginable. It  is  said  it  is  soon  over  ;  that  is,  all  the 
mischief  he  does  is  quickly  despatched,  which,  I 
think,  is  no  great  recommendation  to  favour.  I  have 
known  one  of  those  good-natured  passionate  men 
say  in  a  mixed  company,  even  to  his  own  wife  or 
child,  such  things  as  the  most  inveterate  enemy  of 
his  family  would  not  have  spoken,  even  in  imagi- 
nation. It  is  certain  that  quick  sensibility  is  in- 
separable from  a  ready  understanding ;  but  why 
should  not  that  good  understanding  call  to  itself  all 
its  force  on  such  occasions,  to  master  that  sudden 
inclination  to  anger  ?  One  of  the  greatest  souls  now 
in  the  world  "^  is  the  most  subject  by  nature  to  anger, 
and  yet  so  famous  for  a  conquest  of  himself  this  way, 
that  he  is  the  known  example  when  you  talk  of 
temper  and  a  CQmmand  of  a  man's  self  To  contain 
the  spirit  of  anger,  is  the  worthiest  discipline  we 
can  put  ourselves  to.  When  a  man  has  made  any 
progress  this  way,  a  frivolous  fellow  in  a  passion  is 
to  him  as  contemptible  as  a  froward  child.  It  ought 
to  be  the  study  of  every  man,  for  his  own  quiet  and 
peace.     When  he  stands  combustible  and  ready  to 

•  Lord  Somers. 


No.  438.1  THE  SPECTATOR.  161 

flame  upon  every  thing  that  touches  him,  life  is  as 
uneasy  to  himself  as  it  is  to  all  about  him.  Syn- 
cropius  leads,  of  all  men  living,  the  most  ridiculous 
life ;  he  is  ever  offending,  and  begging  pardon.  If 
his  man  enters  the  room  without  what  he  was  sent 
for — '  That  blockhead,'  begins  he — '  Gentlemen,  I 
ask  your  pardon,  but  servants  now-a-days — '  The 
wrong  plates  are  laid,  they  are  thrown  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room ;  his  wife  stands  by  in  pain  for  him, 
which  he  sees  in  her  face,  and  answers  as  if  he  had 
heard  all  she  was  thinking  ; — '  Why !  what  the 
devil !  Why  don't  you  take  care  to  give  orders  in 
these  things  ? '  His  friends  sit  down  to  a  tasteless 
plenty  of  every  thing,  every  minute  expecting  new 
insults  from  his  impertinent  passions.  In  a  word, 
to  eat  with  or  visit  Syncropius,  is  no  other  than 
going  to  see  him  exercise  his  family,  exercise  their 
patience,  and  his  own  anger. 

It  is  monstrous  that  the  shame  and  confusion  in 
which  this  good-natured  angry  man  must  needs  be- 
hold his  friends,  while  he  thus  lays  about  him,  does 
not  give  him  so  much  reflection  as  to  create  an 
amendment.  This  is  the  most  scandalous  disuse  of 
reason  imaginable ;  all  the  harmless  part  of  ]tiiin  is 
no  more  than  that  of  a  bull-dog ;  they  are  tame  no 
longer  than  they  are  not  offended.  One  of  those 
good-natured  angry  men  shall,  in  an  instant,  assem- 
ble together  so  many  allusions  to  secret  circum- 
stances, as  are  enough  to  dissolve  the  peace  of  all 
the  families  and  friends  he  is  acquainted  with  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  and  yet  the  next  moment  be  the 
best  natured  man  in  the  whole  world.  If  you  would 
see  passion  in  its  purity,  without  mixture  of  reason, 
behold  it  represented  in  a  mad  hero,  drawn  by  a 
mad  poet.     Nat  Lee  makes  his  Alexander  say  thus: 

VOL.  V. —  1 1 


162  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No.  438. 

'  Away !  begone  1  and  give  a  whirlwind  room, 
Or  I  will  blow  you  up  like  dust !  Avaunt ! 
Madness  but  meanly  represents  my  toil. 
Eternal  discord  1 

Fury !  revenge  1  disdain  and  indignation  ! 
Tear  my  swol'n  breast,  make  way  for  fire  and  tempest. 
My  brain  is  burst,  debate  and  reason  quencb'd ; 
The  storm  is  up,  and  my  hot  bleeding  heart 
Splits  with  the  rack,  while  passions,  like  the  wind. 
Rise  up  to  heaven,  and  put  out  all  the  stars.' 

Every  passionate  fellow  in  town  talks  half  the  day 
with  as  little  consistency,  and  threatens  things  as 
much  out  of  his  power. 

The  next  disagreeable  person  to  the  outrageous 
gentleman,  is  one  of  a  much  lower  order  of  anger, 
and  he  is  what  we  commonly  call  a  peevish  fellow. 
A  peevish  fellow  is  one  who  has  some  reason  in 
himself  for  being  out  of  humour,  or  has  a  natural 
incapacity  for  delight,  and  therefore  disturbs  aU 
who  are  happier  than  himself  with  Pishes  and 
Pshaws,  or  other  well-bred  interjections,  at  every 
thing  that  is  said  or  done  in  his  presence.  There 
should  be  physic  mixed  in  the  food  of  all  which 
these  fellows  eat  in  g(;od  company.  This  degree  of 
anger  passes,  forsooth,  for  a  delicacy  of  judgment, 
that  won't  admit  of  being  easily  pleased ;  but  none 
above  the  character  of  wearing  a  peevish  man's 
livery  ought  to  bear  with  his  ill  manners.  All 
things  among  men  of  sense  and  condition  should 
pass  the  censure,  and  have  the  protection  of  the  eye 
of  reason. 

No  man  ought  to  be  tolerated  in  an  habitual 
humour,  whim,  or  particularity  of  behaviour,  by  any 
who  do  not  wait  upon  him  for  bread.  Next  to  the 
peevish  fellow  is  the  snarler.  This  gentleman  deals 
mightily  in  what  we  call  the  irony ;  and  as  these 
«ort  of  people  exert  themselves  most  against  those 


No.  438.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  163 

below  them,  you  see  their  humour  best  in  their  talk 
to  their  servants.  '  That  is  so  like  you ;  You  are  a 
fine  fellow ;  Thou  art  the  quickest  head-piece  ;'  and 
the  like.  One  would  think  the  hectoring,  the 
storming,  the  sullen,  and  all  the  different  species  and 
subordinations  of  the  angry,  should  be  cured,  by 
knowing  they  live  only  as  pardoned  men ;  and  how 
pitiful  is  the  condition  of  being  only  suffered !  But 
I  am  interrupted  by  the  pleasantest  scene  of  anger, 
and  the  disappointment  of  it,  that  I  have  ever 
known,  which  happened  while  I  was  yet  writing,  and 
.1  overheard  as  I  sat  in  the  back-room  at  a  French 
bookseller's.  There  came  into-  the  shop  a  very 
learned  man  with  an  erect  solemn  air ;  and,  though 
a  person  of  great  parts  otherwise,  slow  in  under- 
standing any  thing  which  makes  against  himself 
The  composure  of  the  faulty  man,  and  the  whimsi- 
cal perplexity  of  him  that  was  justly  angry,  is  per- 
fectly new.  After  turning  over  many  volumes,  said 
the  seller  to  the  buyer,  '  Sir,  you  know  I  have  long 
asked  you  to  send  me  back  the  first  volume  of 
French  sermons  I  formerly  lent  you.'  '  Sir,'  said 
the  chapman,  '  I  have  often  looked  for  it,  but  can- 
not find  it ;  it  is  certainly  lost,  and  I  know  not  to 
whom  I  lent  it,  it  is  so  many  years  ago.'  '  Then, 
Sir,  here  is  the  other  volume ;  Til  send  you  home 
that,  and  please  to  pay  for  both.'  '  My  friend,'  re- 
plied he,  '  canst  thou  be  so  senseless  as  not  to  know 
that  one  volume  is  as  imperfect  in  my  library  as  in 
your  shop  ?'  '  Yes,  Sir,  but  it  is  you  have  lost  the 
first  volume;  and,  to  be  short,  I  will  be  paid.' 
'Sir,'  answered  the  chapman,  'you  are  a  young 
man,  your  book  is  lost ;  and  learn  by  this  little  loss 
to  bear  much  greater  adversities,  which  you  must 
expect  to  meet  with.'     '  Yes,  Sir,  I'll  bear  when  I 


164  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  438. 

must,  but  I  have  not  lost  now,  for  I  say  you  have 
it,  and  shall  pay  me.'  '  Friend,  you  grow  warm  ;  I 
tell  you  the  book  is  lost ;  and  I  foresee,  in  the  course 
even  of  a  prosperous  life,  that  you  will  meet  afflic- 
tions to  make  you  mad  if  you  cannot  bear  this  trifle.' 
'  Sir,  there  is,  in  this  case,  no  need  of  bearing,  for 
you  have  the  book.'  '  I  say,  Sir,  I  have  not  the 
book ;  but  your  passion  will  not  let  you  hear  enough 
to  be  informed  that  I  have  it  not.  Learn  resigna- 
tion of  yourself  to  the  distresses  of  this  life  :  nay,  do 
not  fret  and  fame ;  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you,  that 
you  are  of  an  impatient  spirit,  and  an  impatient 
spirit  is  never  without  woe.'  'Was  ever  any  thing 
like  this  ?'  '  Yes,  Sir,  there  have  been  many  things 
like  this ;  the  loss  is  but  a  trifle,  but  your  temper 
is  wanton,  and  incapable  of  the  least  pain ;  there- 
fore let  me  advise  you,  be  patient ;  the  book  is  lost, 
but  do  not  you  for  that  reason  lose  yourself 

rji  y 

*,*  At  the  famous  Water-theatre  of  the  late  ingenioua  Mr.  Winstanley, 
between  5  and  6  o'clock,  The  greatest  curiosities  in  Water-works.  Kre 
mingling  with  the  water,  several  sorts  of  liquor  both  hot  and  cold.  With 
an  entertainment  of  music,  both  vocal  and  instrumentEiL  Boxes  3«. — Pit 
2«.  6d. — ^First  Gallery  2s. — ^Upper  Gallery  6rf. 

y  By  Steele.    See  No.  324,  adfinem. 

This  scene  passed  in  the  shop  of  Mr.  Vaillant,  late  Mr.  Ehusly's,  and 
now  Mr.  Colling  wood's,  in  the  Strand ;  and  the  subject  of  it  was  (for  it  is 
BtiU  in  remembrance)  a  volume  of  Massillon's  Sermons. 


No.  439.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  165 


No.  439.     THUESDAY,  July  24,  1712. 

Hi  narrata  ferunt  ali6 :  menBuraque  ficti 
Crescit ;  et  auditis  aliqnid  novus  a^jicit  aactor. 

Ovid.  Met  xii.  67. 
Some  tell  what  they  have  heard,  or  tales  devise; 
Each  fiction  still  improvM  with  added  lies. 

Ovid  describes  the  palace  of  Fame  as  situated  in  the 
very  centre  of  the  universe,  and  perforated  with  so 
many  windows  and  avenues  as  gave  her  the  sight  of 
every  thing  that  was  done  in  the  heavens,  in  the  earth, 
and  in  the  sea.  The  structure  of  it  was  contrived  in 
so  admirable  a  manner,  that  it  echoed  every  word 
which  was  spoken  in  the  whole  compass  of  nature ; 
so  that  the  palace,  says  the  poet,  was  always  filled 
with  a  confused  hubbub  of  low  dying  sounds,  the 
voices  being  almost  spent  and  worn  out  before  they 
arrived  at  this  general  rendezvous  of  speeches  and 
whispers. 

I  consider  courts  with  the  same  regard  to  the 
governments  which  they  superintend,  as  Ovid's  pal- 
ace of  Fame  with  regard  to  the  universe.  The  eyes 
of  a  watchful  minister  run  through  the  whole  people. 
There  is  scarce  a  murmur  or  complaint  that  does  not 
reach  his  ears.  They  have  news-gatherers  and  in- 
telligencers distributed  in  their  several  walks  and 
quarters,  who  bring  in  their  respective  quotas,  and 
make  them  acquainted  with  the  discourse  and  con- 
versation of  the  whole  kingdom  or  commonwealth 
where  they  are  employed.  The  wisest  of  kings,  al- 
luding to  these  invisible  and  unsuspected  spies,  who 
are  planted  by  kings  and  rulers  over  their  fellow- 
citizens,  as  well  as  to  those  voluntary  informers  that 
are  buzzing  about  the  ears  of  a  great  man,  and  mak- 
ing their    court  by  such  secret  methods  of  intelli- 


166  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  439. 

gence,  has  given  us  a  very  prudent  caution :  '  Curse 
not  the  king,  no  not  in  thy  thought,  and  curse  not 
the  rich  in  thy  bed-chamber :  for  a  bird  of  the  air 
shall  carry  the  voice,  and  that  which  hath  wings 
shall  tell  the  matter.'"' 

'  As  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  rulers  to  make 
use  of  other  people's  eyes  and  ears,  they  should  take 
particular  care  to  do  it  in  such  a  manner,  that  it  may 
not  bear  too  hard  on  the  person  whose  life  and  con- 
versation are  inquired  into.  A  man  who  is  capable 
of  so  infamous  a  calling  as  that  of  a  spy,  is  not  very 
much  to  be  relied  upon.  He  can  have  no  great  ties 
of  honour,  or  checks  of  conscience,  to  restrain  him 
in  those  covert  evidences,  where  the  person  accused 
has  no  opportunity  of  vindicating  himself  He  will 
be  more  industrious  to  carry  that  which  is  grateful 
than  that  which  is  true.  There  will  be  no  occasion 
for  him  if  he  does  not  hear  and  see  things  worth  dis- 
covery :  so  that  he  naturally  inflames  every  word  and 
circumstance,  aggravates  what  is  faulty,  perverts 
what  is  good,  and  misrepresents  what  is  indifferent. 
Nor  is  it  to  be  doubted  but  that  such  ignominious 
wretches  let  their  private  passions  into  these  their 
clandestine  informations,  and  often  wreak  their  par- 
ticular spite  and  malice  against  the  person  whom 
they  are  set  to  watch.  It  is  a  pleasant  scene  enough, 
which  an  Italian  author  describes  between  a  spy, 
and  a  cardinal  who  employed  him.  The  cardinal  is 
represented  as  minuting  down  every  thing  that  is 
told  him.  The  spy  begins  with  a  low  voice,  '  Such 
an  one,  the  advocate,  whispered  to  one  of  his  friends, 
within  my  hearing,  that  your  eminence  was  a  very 
great  poltroon ; '  and,  after  having  given  his  patron 

•  Eccl.  X.  20. 


No.  439.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  167 

time  to  take  it  down,  adds  that  another  called  him 
a  mercenary  rascal  in  a  public  conversation.  The 
cardinal  replies,  '  Very  -well,'  and  bids  him  go  on. 
The  spy  proceeds,  and  loads  him  with  reports  of  the 
same  nature,  till  the  cardinal  rises  in  great  wrath, 
calls  him  an  impudent  scoundrel,  and  kicks  him  out 
of  the  room. 

It  is  observed  of  great  and  heroic  minds,  that  they 
have  not  only  shown  a  particular  disregard  to  those 
unmerited  reproaches  which  have  been  cast  upon 
them,  but  have  been  altogether  free  from  that  im- 
pertinent curiosity  of  inquiring  after  them,  or  the 
poor  revenge  of  resenting  them.  The  histories  of 
Alexander  and  Csesar  are  full  of  this  kind  of  instances. 
Vulgar  souls  are  of  a  quite  contrary  character.  Dio- 
nysius,  the  tyrant  of  Sicily,  had  a  dungeon  which 
was  a  very  curious  piece  of  architecture;  and  of 
which,  as  I  am  informed,  there  are  still  to  be  seen 
some  remains  in  that  island.  It  was  called  Diony- 
sius's  Ear,  and  built  with  several  little  windings  and 
labyrinths,  in  the  form  of  a  real  ear.  The  structure 
of  it  made  it  a  kind  of  whispering  place,  but  such  a 
one  as  gathered  the  voice  of  him  who  spoke  into  a 
funnel  which  was  placed  at  the  very  top  of  it.  The 
tyrant  used  to  lodge  all  his  state  criminals,  or  those 
whom  he  supposed  to  be  engaged  together  in  any 
evil  designs  upon  him,  in  this  dungeon.  He  had  at 
the  same  time  an  apartment  over  it,  where  he  used 
to  apply  himself  to  the  funnel,  and  by  that  means 
overheard  every  thing  that  was  whispered  in  the  dun- 
geon. I  believe  one  may  venture  to  afl&rm,  that  a 
C^sar  or  an  Alexander  would  have  rather  died  by  the 
treason,  than  have  used  such  disengenuous  means  for 
the  detecting  of  it. 

A  man  who  in  ordinary  life  is  very  inquisitive 


168  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  439. 

after  every  thing  -whicli  is  spoken  Ul  of  him,  passes 
his  time  but  very  indifferently.  He  is  wounded  by 
every  arrow  that  is  shot  at  him,  and  puts  it  in  the 
power  of  every  insignificant  enemy  to  disquiet  him. 
Nay,  he  will  suffer  from  what  has  been  said  of  him, 
when  it  is  forgotten  by  those  who  said  or  heard  it. 
For  this  reason  I  could  never  bear  one  of  those  offi- 
cious friends,  that  would  be  telling  every  malicious 
report,  every  idle  censure  that  passed  upon  me.  The 
tongue  of  man  is  so  petulant,  and  his  thoughts  so  va- 
riable, that  one  should  not  lay  too  great  a  stress  up- 
on any  present  speeches  or  opinions.  Praise  and 
obloquy  proceed  very  frequently  out  of  the  same 
mouth  upon  the  same  person,  and  upon  the  same  oc- 
casion. A  generous  enemy  will  sometimes  bestow 
commendations,  as  the  dearest  friend  cannot  some- 
times refrain  from  speaking  ill.  The  man  who  is  in- 
different in  either  of  these  respects,  gives  his  opinion 
at  random,  and  praises  or  disapproves  as  he  finds 
himself  in  humour. 

I  shall  conclude  this  essay  with  part  of  a  charac- 
ter, which  is  finely  drawn  by  the  earl  of  Clarendon, 
in  the  first  book  of  his  history,  and  which  gives  us  the 
lively  picture  of  a  great  man  teasing  himself  with  an 
absurd  curiosity. 

'  He  had  not  that  application  and  submission,  and 
reverence  for  the  queen,  as  might  have  been  expect- 
ed from  his  wisdom  and  breeding ;  and  often  crossed 
her  pretences  and  desires  with  more  rudeness  than 
was  natural  to  him.  Yet  he  was  impertinently  so- 
licitous to  know  what  her  majesty  said  of  him  in  pri- 
vate, and  what  resentments  she  had  towards  him. 
And  when  by  some  confidents,  who  had  their  ends 
upon  him  from  those  offices,  he  was  informed  of  some 
bitter  expressions  fallen  from  her  majesty,  he  was  so 


No.  440.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  169 

exceedingly  afflicted  and  tormented  with  the  sense 
of  it,  that  sometimes  by  passionate  complaints  and 
representations  to  the  king,  sometimes  by  more  du- 
tiful addresses  and  expostulations  with  the  queen  in 
bewailing  his  misfortune,  he  frequently  exposed  him- 
self, and  left  his  condition  worse  than  it  was  before. 
and  the  eclaircissement  commonly  ended  in  the  dis- 
covery of  the  persons  from  whom  he  had  received 
his  most  secret  intelligence.  C." 


No.  440.     FEIDAY,  June  25,  1712. 

Vivere  si  recte  nescis,  discedo  perids. 

HoR.  2  Ep.  ii.  213. 
Learn  to  live  weU,-or  feirly  make  your  will. 

Popa 

I  HAVE  already  given  my  reader  an  account  of  a  set 
of  merry  fellows  who  are  passing  their  summer  toge- 
ther in  the  country,  being  provided  of  a  great  house, 
where  there  is  not  only  a  convenient  apartment  for 
every  particular  person,  but  a  large  infirmary  for  the 
reception  of  such  of  them  as  are  any  way  indisposed 
or  out  of  humour.**  Having  lately  received  a  letter 
from  the  secretary  of  the  society,  by  order  of  the 
whole  fraternity,  which  acquaints  me  with  their  be- 
haviour during  the  last  week,  I  shall  here  make  a 
present  of  it  to  the  public. 

'MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  We  are  glad  to  find  that  you  approve  the 
establishment  which  we  have  here'  made  for  the  re- 
trieving of  good  manners  and  agreeable  conversa- 

■  By  Addison,  dated  from  Chelsea.     See  final  note  to  No.  6. 
^  See  Speot.  Nos.  424,  and  429. 


170  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  440. 

tion,  and  shall  use  our  best  endeavours  so  to  improve 
ourselves  in  this  our  summer  retirement,  that  we  may- 
next  winter  serve  as  patterns  to  the  town.  But  to 
the  end  that  this  our  institution  may  be  no  less  ad- 
vantageous to  the  public  than  to  ourselves,  we  shall 
communicate  to  you  one  week  of  our  proceedings, 
desiring  you  at  the  same  time,  if  you  see  any  thing 
faulty  in  them,  to  favour  us  with  your  admonitions ; 
for  you  must  know.  Sir,  that  it  has  been  proposed 
amongst  us  to  choose  you  for  our  visitor;  to  which 
I  must  farther  add,  that  one  of  the  college  having 
declared  last  week  he  did  not  like  the  Spectator  of 
the  day,  and  not  being  able  to  assign  any  just  reasons 
for  such  dislike,  he  was  sent  to  the  infirmary  nemine 
Gontradicente. 

'  On  Monday  the  assembly  was  in  very  good  hu- 
mour, having  received  some  recruits  of  French  claret 
that  morning ;  when  unluckily,  towards  the  middle 
of  the  dinner,  one  of  the  company  swore  at  his 
servant  in  a  very  rough  manner,  for  having  put  too 
much  water  in  his  wine.  Upon  which  the  president 
of  the  day,  who  is  always  the  mouth  of  the  company, 
after  having  convinced  him  of  the  impertinence  of 
his  passion,  and  the  insult  it  had  made  upon  the  com- 
pany, ordered  his  man  to  take  him  from  the  table, 
and  convey  him  to  the  infirmary.  There  was  but 
one  more  sent  away  that  day  ;  this  was  a  gentleman 
Avho  is  reckoned  by  some  persons  one  of  the  greatest 
wits,  and  by  others  one  of  the  greatest  boobies 
about  town.  This  you  will  say  is  a  strange  character ; 
but  what  makes  it  strange  yet,  is  a  very  true  one, 
for  he  is  perpetually  the  reverse  of  himself,  being 
always  merry  or  dull  to  excess.  We  brought  him 
hither  to  divert  us,  which  he  did  very  well  upon  the 
road,  having  lavished  away  as  much  wit  and  laughter 


No.  440.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  171 

upon  the  hackney-coachmaa  as  might  have  served 
him  during  his  whole  stay  here,  had  it  been  duly 
managed.  He  had  been  lumpish  for  two  or  three 
days,  but  .was  so  far  connived  at,  in  hopes  of  recov- 
ery, that  we  despatched  one  of  the  briskest  fellows 
among  the  brotherhood  into  the  infirmary  for  having 
told  him  at  table  he  was  not  merry.  But  our  presi- 
dent observing  that  he  indulged  himself  in  this  long 
fit  of  stupidity,  and  construing  it  as  a  contempt  of 
the  college,  ordered  him  to  retire  into  the  place 
prepared  for  such  companions.  He  was  no  sooner 
got  into  it,  but  his  wit  and  mirth  returned  upon  him 
in  so  violent  a  manner,  that  he  shook  the  whole  in- 
firmary with  the  noise  of  it,  and  had  so  good  an  effect 
upon  the  rest  of  the  patients,  that  he  brought  them 
all  out  to  dinner  with  him  the  next  day. 

'  On  Tuesday  we  were  no  sooner  sat  down,  but 
one  of  the  company  complained  that  his  head  ached ; 
upon  which  another  asked  him,  in  an  insolent  man- 
ner, what  he  did  there  then :  this  insensibly  grew 
into  some  warm  words;  so  that  the  president,  in 
order  to  keep  the  peace,  gave  directions  to  take 
them  both  from  the  table,  and  lodge  them  in  the 
infirmary.  Not  long  after,  another  of  the  company 
telling  us  he  knew,  by  a  pain  in  his  shoulder,  that 
we  should  have  some  rain,  the  president  ordered 
him  to  be  removed,  and  placed  as  a  weather-glass 
in  the  apartment  above  mentioned. 

'  On  Wednesday  a  gentleman,  having  received  a 
letter  written  in  a  woman's  hand,  and  changing 
colour  twice  or  thrice  as  he  read  it,  desired  leave 
to  retire  into  the  infirmary.  The  president  con- 
sented, but  denied  him  the  use  of  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  till  such  time  as  he  had  slept  upon  it.  >  One 
of  the  company  being  seated  at  the  lower  end  of 


172  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  440. 

the  table,  and  discovering  his  secret  discontent,  by 
finding  fault  with  every  dish  that  was  served  up,  and 
refusing  to  laugh  at  any  thing  that  was  said,  the 
president  told  him,  that  he  found  he  was  in  an  un- 
easy seat,  and  desired  him  to  accommodate  himself 
better  in  the  infirmary.  After  dinner,  a  very  honest 
fellow  chanced  to  let  a  pun  fall  from  him ;  his  neigh- 
bour cried  out,  "  To  the  infirmary  ;  "  at  the  same 
time  pretending  to  be  sick  at  it,  as  having  the  same 
natural  antipathy  to  a  pun,  which  some  have  to  a 
cat.  This  produced  a  long  debate.  Upon  the 
whole  the  punster  was  acquitted,  and  his  neighbour 
sent  off. 

'  On  Thursday  there  was  but  one  delinquent. 
This  was  a  gentleman  of  strong  voice,  but  weak 
understanding.  He  had  unluckily  engaged  himself 
in  a  dispute  with  a  man  of  excellent  sense,  but  of  a 
modest  elocution.  The  man  of  heat  replied  to  every 
answer  of  his  antagonist  with  a  louder  note  than 
ordinary,  and  only  raised  his  voice  when  he  should 
have  enforced  his  argument.  Finding  himself  at 
length  driven  to  an  absurdity,  he  still  reasoned  in 
a  more  clamorous  and  confused  manner;  and  to 
make  the  greater  impression  upon  his  hearers,  con- 
cluded with  a  loud  thump  upon  the  table.  The 
president  immediately  ordered  him  to  be  carried  off, 
and  dieted  with  water  gruel,  till  such  time  as  he 
should  be  sufficiently  weakened  for  conversation. 

'  On  Friday  there  passed  very  little  remarkable, 
saving  only,  that  several  petitions  were  read  of  the 
persons  in  custody  desiring  to  be  released  from  their 
confinement,  and  vouching  for  one  another's  good 
behaviour  for  the  future. 

'  On  Saturday  we  received  many  excuses  from 
persons  who  had  found  themselves  in  an  unsociable 


No.  441.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  173 

temper,  and  had  voluntarily  shut  themselves  up. 
The  infirmary  was,  indeed,  never  so  full  as  on  this 
day,  which  I  was  at  some  loss  to  account  for,  till, 
upon  my  going  abroad,  I  observed  that  it  was  an 
easterly  wind.  The  retirement  of  most  of  my  friends 
has  given  me  opportunity  and  leisure  of  writing  you 
this  letter,  which  I  must  not  conclude  without  as- 
suring you,  that  all  the  members  of  our  college,  as 
well  those  who  are  under  confinement  as  those  who 
are  at  liberty,  are  your  very  humble  servants,  though 
none  more  than, 

C."  &c.' 


No.  441.     SATUEDAY,  July  26,  1712. 


81  firactoB  illabatur  orbis, 
ImpaTidmn  ferient  ruinEB. 

Hoe.  8  Od.  iH.  7. 
Should  the  whole  frame  of  nature  round  him  break. 

In  ruin  and  confusion  hurrd, 
He,  nnconcernM,  would  bear  the  mighty  crack, 
Aud  stand  secure  amidst  a  falling  world. 
Anon. 


Man,  considered  in  himself,  is  a  very  helpless  and 
a  very  wretched  being.  He  is  subject  every  mo- 
ment to  the  greatest  calamities  and  misfortunes.  He 
is  beset  with  dangers  on  all  sides;  and  may  be- 
come unhappy  by  numberless  casualties  which  he 
could  not  foresee,  nor  have  prevented  had  he  fore- 
seen them. 

It  is  our  comfort,  while  we  are  obnoxious  to  so 
many  accidents,  that  we  are  under  the  care  of  One 
who  directs  contingencies,  and  has  in  his  hands  the 
management  of  every  thing  that  is  capable  of  annoy- 

•  By  Addison.     Chelsea.    See  No.  6,  adfinem,  N. 


174  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  441. 

ing  or  offending  us ;  who  knows  the  assistance  we 
stand  in  need  of,  and  is  always  ready  to  bestow  it 
on  those  who  ask  it  of  him. 

The  natural  homage  which  such  a  creature  bears 
to  so  infinitely  wise  and  good  a  Being,  is  a  firm  re- 
liance on  him  for  the  blessings  and  conveniences  of 
life,  and  an  habitual  trust  in  him  for  deliverance  out 
of  all  such  dangers  and  difficulties  as  may  befall  us. 

The  man  who  always  lives  in  this  disposition  of 
mind,  has  not  the  same  dark  and  melancholy  views 
of  human  nature,  as  he  who  considers  himself  ab- 
stractedly from  this  relation  to  the  Supreme  Being. 
At  the  same  time  that  he  reflects  upon  his  own  weak- 
ness and  imperfection,  he  comforts  himself  with  the 
contemplation  of  those  divine  attributes  which  are 
employed  for  his  safety  and  his  welfare.  He  finds 
his  want  of  foresight  made  up  by  the  omniscience  of 
Him  who  is  his  support.  He  is  not  sensible  of  his 
own  want  of  strength,  when  he  knows  that  his  helper 
is  almighty.  In  short,  the  person  who  has  a  firm 
trust  on  the  Supreme  Being  is  powerful  in  His  power, 
wise  by  His  wisdom,  happy  by  His  happiness.  He 
reaps  the  benefit  of  every  divine  attribute,  and 
loses  his  own  insufficiency  in  the  fulness  of  infinite 
perfection. 

To  make  our  lives  more  easy  to  us,  we  are  com- 
manded to  put  our  trust  in  Him  who  is  thus  able  to 
relieve  and  succour  us ;  the  divine  goodness  having 
made  such  reliance  a  duty,  notwithstanding  we 
should  have  been  miserable  had  it  been  forbidden  us. 

Among  several  motives  which  might  be  made 
use  of  to  recommend  this  duty  to  us,  I  shall  only 
take  notice  of  these  that  follow. 

The  first  and  strongest  is,  that  we  are  promised 
He  will  not  fail  those  who  put  their  trust  in  Him. 


No.  441.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  175 

But  without  considering  the  supernatural  bless- 
ing which  accompanies  this  duty,  we  may  observe 
that  it  has  a  natural  tendency  to  its  own  reward,  or, 
in  other  words,  that  this  firm  trust  and  confidence 
in  the  great  Disposer  of  all  things,  contributes  very 
much  to  the  getting  clear  of  any  affliction,  or  to  the 
bearing  it  manfully.  A  person  who  believes  he  has 
his  succour  at  hand,  and  that  he  acts  in  the  sight  of 
his  friend,  often  exerts  himself  beyond  his  abilities, 
and  does  wonders  that  are  not  to  be  matched  by 
one  who  is  not  animated  with  such  a  confidence  of 
success.  I  could  produce  instances  from  history,  of 
generals,  who,  out  of  belief  that  they  were  under 
the  protection  of  some  invisible  assistant,  did  not 
only  encourage  their  soldiers  to  do  their  utmost, 
but  have  acted  themselves  beyond  what  they  would 
have  done,  had  they  not  been  inspired  by  such  a 
belief  I  might  in  the  same  manner  show  how  such 
a  trust  in  the  assistance  of  an  Almighty  Being 
naturally  produces  patience,  hope,  cheerfulness,  and 
all  other  dispositions  of  the  mind  that  alleviate  those 
calamities  which  we  are  not  able  to  remove. 

The  practice  of  this  virtue  administers  great  com- 
fort to  the  mind  of  man  in  times  of  poverty  and  af- 
fliction, but  most  of  all  in  the  hour  of  death.  When 
the  soul  is  hovering  in  the  last  moments  of  its  sepa- 
ration, when  it  is  just  entering  on  another  state  of 
existence,  to  converse  with  scenes,  and  objects,  and 
companions  that  are  altogether  new, — what  can  sup- 
port her  under  such  tremblings  of  thought,  such 
fear,  such  anxiety,  such  apprehensions,  but  the  cast- 
ing of  all  her  cares  upon  Him  who  first  gave  her 
being,  who  has  conducted  her  through  one  stage  of 
it,  and  will  be  always  with  her  to  guide  and  comfort 
her  in  her  progress  through  eternity  ? 


176  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  441. 

David  has  very  beautifully  represented  this 
steady  reliance  on  God  Almighty  in  his  twenty-third 
psalm,  which  is  a  kind  of  pastoral  hymn,  and  filled 
with  those  allusions  which  are  usual  in  that  kind  of 
writing.  As  the  poetry  is  very  exquisite,  I  shall  pre- 
sent my  reader  with  the  following  translation  of  it. 

I. 

'  The  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare, 
And  feed  me  with  a  shepherd's  care: 
His  presence  shall  my  wants  supply, 
And  guard  me  with  a  watchful  eye ; 
My  noonday  walks  He  shall  attend, 
And  all  my  midnight  hours  defend. 

n. 
'  When  in  the  sultry  glebe  I  faint. 
Or  on  the  thirsty  mountain  pant ; 
To  fertile  vales  and  dewy  meads 
My  weary,  wand'ring  steps  He  leads ; 
Where  peaceful  rivers,  soft  and  slow. 
Amid  the  verdant  landscape  flow. 

m. 
'  Though  in  the  paths  of  death  I  tread, 
With  gloomy  horrors  overspread,  , 

My  steadfast  heart  shall  fear  no  ill. 
For  thou,  O  Lord,  art  with  me  still ; 
Thy  friendly  crook  shall  give  me  aid, 
And  guide  me  through  the  dreadful  shade. 

IT. 

'  Though  in  a  bare  and  rugged  way. 
Through  devious,  lonely  wilds  I  stray. 
Thy  bounty  shall  my  pains  beguile  : 
The  barren  wilderness  shall  smile, 
With  sudden  greens  and  herbage  crown'd 
And  streams  shall  murmur  all  around.'  Q  '^ 

*ff*  At  Drury-lane  theatre,  July  25,  was  revived  a  comedy  by  Mr.  Gr. 
Farquhar,  called  Love  and  a  Bottle.  Squire  Mock-Mode,  by  Mr.  Bullock, 
sen. ;  Roebuck,  Mr.  Mills ;  Lovewell,  Mr.  Bullock,  jun. ;  Brush,  Mr.  Pack ; 
and  Club,  Mr.  Pinkethman.  Lucinda,  Mrs.  Rogers :  and  Leanthc,  by  Mrs. 
Willis. — Spect.  in  folio. 

^  By  Addison.  Chelsea.  See  final  notes  to  Ifos.  6,  835,  489,  &c.  on 
Addison's  signatures,  C,  L,  I,  0. 


No.  442.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  177 

No.  442.    MONDAY,  July  28,  1712. 

Scribimns  Isdocti  doctiqae— 

Hoe,  2  Ep.  i.  IIT. 
— ^Those  who  cannot  write,  and  those  who  can, 
All  rhyme,  and  scrawl,  and  scribble,  to  a  man. 

Pope. 

I  DO  not  know  whether  I  enough  explained  myself 
to  the  world,  when  I  invited  all  men  to  be  assistant 
to  me  in  this  my  work  of  speculation ;  ®  for  I  have 
not  yet  acquainted  my  readers,  that,  besides  the  let- 
ters and  valuable  hints  I  have  from  time  to  time  re- 
ceived from  my  correspondents,  I  have  by  me  sev- 
eral curious  and  extraordinary  papers  sent  with  a 
design  (as  no  one  will  doubt  when  they  are  publish- 
ed) that  they  may  be  printed  entire,  and  without 
any  alteration,  by  way  of  Spectator.  I  must  acknow- 
ledge also,  that  I  myself  being  the  first  projector  of 
the  paper,  thought  I  had  a  right  to  make  them  my 
own,  by  dressing  them  in  my  own  style,  by  leaving 
out  what  would  not  appear  like  mine,  and  by  add- 
ing whatever  might  be  proper  to  adapt  them  to  the 
character  and  genius  of  my  paper,  with  which  it  was 
almost  impossible  these  could  exactly  correspond,  it 
being  certain  that  hardly  two  men  think  alike  ;  and, 
therefore,  so  many  men,  so  many  Spectators.  Be- 
sides, I  must  own  my  weakness  for  glory  is  such, 
that,  if  I  consulted  that  only,  I  might  be  so  far  sway- 
ed by  it,  as  almost  to  wish  that  no  one  could  write 
a  Spectator  besides  myself;  nor  can  I  deny  but,  upon 
the  first  perusal  of  those  papers,  I  felt  some  secret 
inclinations  of  ill-will  towards  the  persons  who  wrote 
them.     This  was  the  impression  I  had  upon  the  first 

»  See  Spect.  No.  428. 
VOL.  V. — 12 


178  THE   SPECTATOR.  (No.  442. 

reading  them ;  but,  upon  a  late  review  (more  for  the 
sake  of  entertainment  than  use),  regarding  them  with 
another  eye  than  I  had  done  at  first  (for  by  convert- 
ing them  as  well  as  I  could  to  my  own  use,  I  thought 
I  had  utterly  disabled  them  from  ever  offending  me 
again  as  Spectators),  I  found  myself  moved  by  a 
passion  very  different  from  that  of  envy ;  sensibly 
touched  with  pity,  the  softest  and  most  generous  of 
all  passions,  when  I  reflected  what  a  cruel  disappoint- 
ment the  neglect  of  those  papers  must  needs  have 
been  to  the  writers  who  impatiently  longed  to  see 
them  appear  in  print,  and  who,  no  doubt,  triumphed 
to  themselves  in  the  hopes  of  having  a  share  with  me 
in  the  applause  of  the  public ;  a  pleasure  so  great, 
that  none  but  those  who  have  experienced  it  can  have 
a  sense  of  it.  In  this  manner  of  viewing  those  pa- 
pers,' I  really  found  I  had  not  done  them  justice, 
there  being  something  so  extremely  natural  and  pe- 
culiarly good  in  some  of  them,  that  I  will  appeal  to 
the  world  whether  it  was  possible  to  alter  a  word 
in  them  without  doing  them  a  manifest  hurt  and 
violence ;  and  whether  they  can  ever  appear  rightly, 
and  as  they  ought,  but  in  their  own  native  dress  and 
colours.  And  therefore  I  think  I  should  not  only 
wrong  them,  but  deprive  the  world  of  a  considerable 
satisfaction,  should  I  any  longer  delay  the  making 
them  public. 

After  I  have  published  a  few  of  these  Spectators, 
I  doubt  not  but  I  shall  find  the  success  of  them  to 
equal,  if  not  surpass,  that  of  the  best  of  my  own. 
An  author  should  take  all  methods  to  humble  him- 
self in  the  opinion  he  has  of  his  own  performances. 
When  these  papers  appear  to  the  world,  I  doubt  not 
but  they  will  be  followed  by  many  others  ;  and  I 


No.  442.]  THE   SPECTATOK.  179 

shall  not  repine,-  thougli  I  myself  shall  have  left  me 
but  a  very  few  days  to  appear  in  public :  but  pre- 
ferring the  general  weal  and  advantage  to  any  con- 
siderations of  myself,  I  am  resolved  for  the  future 
to  publish  any  Spectator  that  deserves  it  entire,  and 
without  any  alteration;  assuring  the  world  (if  there 
can  be  need  of  it)  that  it  is  none  of  mine  ;  and  if  the 
authors  think  fit  to  describe  their  names,  I  will  add 
them. 

I  think  the  best  way  of  promoting  this  generous 
and  useful  design,  will  be  by  giving  out  subjects  or 
themes  of  all  kinds  whatsoever,  on  which  (with  a 
preamble  of  the  extraordinary  benefit  and  advantage 
that  may  accrue  thereby  to  the  public)  I  will  invite 
all  manner  of  persons,  whether  scholars,  citizens, 
courtiers,  gentlemen  of  the  town  or  country,  and  all 
beaux,  rakes,  smarts,  prudes,  coquettes,  housewifes, 
and  all  sorts  of  wits,  whether  male  or  female,  and 
however  distinguished,  whether  they  be  true  wits, 
whole  or  half  wits,  or  whether  arch,  dry,  natural, 
acquired,  genuine,  or  depraved  wits ;  and  persons 
of  all  sorts  of  tempers  and  complexions,  whether  the 
severe,  the  delightful,  the  impertinent,  the  agreeable, 
the  thoughtful,  the  busy  or  careless,  the  serene  or 
cloudy,  jovial  or  melancholy,  untowardly  or  easy, 
the  cold,  temperate,  or  sanguine ;  and  of  what  man- 
ners or  dispositions  soever,  whether  the  ambitious 
or  humble-minded,  the  proud  or  pitiful,  ingenuous 
or  base-minded,  good  or  ill-natured,  public-spirited 
or  selfish  ;  and  under  what  fortune  or  circumstance 
soever,  whether  the  contented  or  miserable,  happy 
or  unfortunate,  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor  (whether  so 
through  want  of  money  or  desire  of  more),  healthy 
or  sickly,  married  or  single ;  nay,  whether  tall  or 


180  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No-  442. 

short,  fat  or  lean ;  and  of  what  trade,  occupation, 
profession,  station,  country,  faction,  party,  persua- 
sion, quality,  age,  or  condition  soever;  who  have 
ever  made  thinking  a  part  of  their  business  or  di- 
version, and  have  any  thing  worthy  to  impart  on 
these  subjects  to  the  world  according  to  their  several 
and  respective  talents  and  geniuses ;  and  as  the  sub- 
jects given  out  hit  their  tempers,  humours,  or  cir- 
cumstances, or  may  be  made  profitable  to  the  public 
by  their  particular  knowledge  or  experience  in  the 
matter  proposed,  to  do  their  utmost  on  them  by 
such  a  time,  to  the  end  they  may  receive  the  inex- 
pressible and  irresistible  pleasure  of  seeing  their  es- 
says allowed  of  and  relished  by  the  rest  of  mankind. 

I  will  not  prepossess  the  reader  with  too  great 
expectation  of  the  extraordinary  advantage  which 
must  redound  to  the  public  by  these  essays,  when  the 
different  thoughts  and  observations  of  all  sorts  of  per- 
sons, according  to  their  quality,  age,  sex,  education, 
profession,  humours,  manners,  and  conditions,  &c. 
shall  be  set  out  by  themselves  in  the  clearest  and 
most  genuine  light,  and  as  they  themselves  would 
wish  to  have  them  appear  to  the  world. 

The  thesis  proposed  for  the  present  exercise  of 
the  adventurers  to  write  Spectators,  is  Money ;  on 
which  all  persons  are  desired  to  send  in  their 
thoughts  within  ten  days  after  the  date  hereof 

T.' 

*»*  At  the  desire  of  several  persons  of  quality,  by  her  majesty's  com- 
pany of  comedians,  at  the  Theatre-royal  in  Drury-lane,  on  Tuesday  next, 
being  the  first  of  August,  will  be  presented  a  play  called  the  Orphan,  or 
The  Unhappy  Marriage.  The  part  of  Castalio  by  Mr.  Booth ;  Polidore 
by  Mr.  Powell ;  Chamont  by  Mr.  Keen ;  and  Monimia  by  Mrs.  Bradshaw. 
The  Farce,  The  Petticoat-Plotter.— Spect.  in  folio. 

f  By  Steele.    Bee  final  note  to  No.  234,  on  signature  T. 


No.  443.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  18l 


No.  443.     TUESDAY,  July  29,  1V12. 


Sublatiun  ex  ocalis  qasBiimus  invidi 

HoR,  8  Od.  xxiv. 
Snatch'd  from  our  sight,  we  eagerly  pursue, 
And  fondly  would  recall  her  to  our  view. 


CAMILLAS  TO   THE  SPECTATOR. 
'  MB.  SPECTATOR,  <  Venice,  July  10,  K  S. 

'  I  TAKE  it  extremely  ill  that  you  do  not 
reckon  conspicuous  persons  of  your  nation  are  within 
your  cognizance,  though  out  of  the  dominions  of 
Great  Britain.  I  little  thought,  in  the  green  years 
of  my  life,  that  I  should  ever  call  it  an  happiness 
to  be  out  of  dear  England ;  but  as  I  grew  to  woman, 
I  found  myself  less  acceptable  in  proportion  to  the 
increase  of  my  merit.  Their  ears  in  Italy  are  so 
differently  formed  from  the  make  of  yours  in  Eng- 
land, that  I  never  come  upon  the  stage,  but  a 
general  satisfaction  appears  in  every  countenance 
of  the  whole  people.  When  I  dwell  upon  a  note, 
I  behold  all  the  men  accompanying  me  with  heads 
inclining  and  falling  of  their  persons  on  one  side,  as 
dying  away  with  me.  The  women  too  do  justice  to 
my  merit,  and  no  ill-natured  worthless  creature 
cries,  "The  vain  thing!"  when  I  am  wrapp'd  up  in 
the  performance  of  my  part,  and  sensibly  touched 
with  the  effect  my  voice  has  upon  all  who  hear  me. 
I  live  here  distinguished  as  one  whom  nature  has 
been  liberal  to  in  a  graceful  person,  an  exalted  mien, 
and  heavenly  voice.  These  particularities  in  this 
strange  country,   are   arguments   for  respect  and 

K  See  Tat  No.  20,  ed.  I'?  86,  or.  8vo.  6  vol.  note  on  Mrs.  Tofts,  who 
played  the  part  of  Camilla  in  the  opera  of  that  name;  or  ed.  8vo.  1789. 


182  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  443. 

generosity  to  her  who  is  possessed  of  them.  The 
Italians  see  a  thousand  beauties  I  am  sensible  I  have 
no  pretence  to,  and  abundantly  make  up  to  me  the 
injustice  I  received  in  my  own  country,  of  disallow- 
ing me  what  I  really  had.  The  humour  of  hissing 
which  you  have  among  you,  I  do  not  know  any 
thing  of;  and  their  applauses  are  uttered  in  sighs, 
and  bearing  a  part  at  the  cadences  of  voice  with 
the  persons  who  are  performing.  I  am  often  put  in 
mind  of  those  complaisant  lines  of  my  own  country- 
man,^ when  he  is  calling  all  his  faculties  together  to 
hear  Arabella. 

"  Let  all  be  hushed,  each  softest  motion  cease, 
Be  ev'ry  loud  tumultuous  thought  at  peace ; 
And  ev'ry  ruder  gasp  of  breath 
Be  calm  as  in  the  arms  of  death : 
And  thou,  most  fickle,  most  uneasy  part. 
Thou  restless  wanderer,  my  heart. 
Be  still ;  gently,  ah  I  gently  leave. 
Thou  busy,  idle  thing  to  heave : 
Stir  not  a  pulse ;  and  let  my  blood. 
That  turbulent,  unruly  flood. 

Be  softly  staid ; 
Let  me  be  all,  but  my  attention,  dead." 

The  whole  city  of  Venice  is  as  still  when  I  am  sing- 
ing as  this  polite  hearer  was  to  Mrs.  Hunt.  But 
when  they  break  that  silence,  did  you  know  the 
pleasure  I  am  in,  when  every  man  utters  his  ap- 
plauses, by  calling  me  aloud,  "  The  Dear  Creature  ! 
The  Angel !  The  Venus !  what  attitude  she  moves 
with! — Hush,  she  sings  again!  "  We  have  no  bois- 
terous wits  who  dare  disturb  an  audience,  and  break 
the  public  peace  merely  to  show  they  dare.  Mr. 
Spectator,  I  write  this  to  you  thus  in  haste,  to  tell 

I"  Mr.  Congreve. 


No.  443.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  183 

you  I  am  so  very  much  at  ease  here,  that  I  know 
nothing  but  joy  ;  and  I  will  not  return,  but  leave 
you  in  England  to  hiss  all  merit  of  your  own  growth 
off  the  stage.  I  know,  Sir,  you  were  always  my 
admirer,  and  therefore  I  am  yours, 

'  Camilla. 


'  P.  S.     I  am  ten  times  better  dressed  than  ever 
I  was  in  England.' ' 

'MB.  SPECTATOR, 

'  The  project  in  yours  of  the  11th  instant,'' 
of  furthering  the  correspondence  and  knowledge 
of  that  considerable  part  of  mankind,  the  trading 
world,  cannot  but  be  highly  commendable.  Good 
lectures  to  young  traders  may  have  very  good  effects 
on  their  conduct :  but  beware  you  propagate  no 
false  notions  of  trade  :  let  none  of  your  correspon- 
dents impose  on  the  world  by  putting  forth  base 
methods  in  a  good  light,  and  glazing  them  over 
with  improper  terms.  I  would  have  no  means  of 
profit  set  for  copies  to  others,  but  such  as  are  laud- 
able in  themselves.  Let  not  noise  be  called  industry, 
nor  impudence  courage.  Let  not  good  fortune  be 
imposed  on  the  world  for  good  management,  nor 
poverty  be  called  folly :  impute  not  always  bank- 
ruptcy to  extravagance,  nor  an  estate  to  foresight. 
Niggardliness  is  not  good  husbandry,  nor  generosity 
profusion. 

'  Honestus  is  a  well-meaning  and  judicious  trader, 
hath  substantial  goods,  and  trades  with  his  own 


1  See  Tat.  No.  20,  note  on  Mrs.  Tofta ;  and  Memoira  from  the  N.  Ata- 
lantia,  vol.  i.  passim. 

k   See  Bpect.  Nos.  428,  and  442 ;  and  Guard  Ifo.  170. 


184  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  443. 

stock,  husbands  his  money  to  the  best  advantage, 
"without  taking  all  the  advantages  of  the  necessities 
of  his  workmen,  or  grinding  the  face  of  the  poor. 
Fortunatus  is  stocked  with  ignorance,  and  conse- 
quently with  self-opinion ;  the  quality  of  his  goods 
cannot  but  be  suitable  to  that  of  his  judgment. 
Honestus  pleases  discerning  people,  and  keeps  their 
custom  by  good  usage ;  makes  modest  profit  by 
modest  means,  to  the  decent  support  of  his  family : 
while  Fortunatus,  blustering  always,  pushes  on,  pro- 
mising much  and  performing  little ;  with  obsequi- 
ousness offensive  to  people  of  sense,  strikes  at  all, 
catches  much  the  greater  part,  and  raises  a  consider- 
able fortune  by  imposition  on  others,  to  the  dis- 
couragement and  ruin  of  those  who  trade  in  the  same 
way. 

'  I  give  here  but  loose  hints,  and  beg  you  to  be 
very  circumspect  in  the  province  you  have  now  un- 
dertaken :  if  you  perform  it  successfully,  it  will  be 
a  very  great  good ;  for  nothing  is  more  wanting 
than  that  mechanic  industry  were  set  forth  with  the 
freedom  and  greatness  of  mind  which  ought  always 
to  accompany  a  man  of  a  liberal  education. 

'  Your  humble  servant, 

From  my  ahop  under  -K.   'J. 

the  Koyal-Exchange,  July  14. 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR,  .  July  24,  1712. 

'  Notwithstanding  the  repeated  censures 
that  your  spectatorial  wisdom  has  passed  upon  people 
more  remarkable  for  impudence  than  wit,  there  are 
yet  some  remaining,  who  pass  with  the  giddy  part 
of  mankind  for  sufficient  sharers  of  the  latter,  who 
have  nothing  but  the  former  qualification  to  recom- 
mend them.     Another  timely  animadversion  is  ab- 


No.  443.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  185 

solutely  necessary :  be  pleased  therefore,  once  for  all, 
to  let  these  gentlemen  know,  that  there  is  neither 
mirth  nor  good  humour  in  hooting  a  young  fellow 
out  of  countenance ;  nor  that  it  will  ever  constitute 
a  wit,  to  conclude  a  tart  piece  of  buffoonery  with  a 
"  What  makes  you  blush  ?  "  Pray  please  to  inform 
them  again,  that  to  speak  what  they  know  is  shock- 
ing, proceeds  from  ill-nature  and  sterility  of  brain  ; 
especially  when  the  subject  will  not  admit  of  rail- 
lery, and  their  discourse  has  no  pretension  to  satire 
but  what  is  in  their  design  to  disoblige.  I  should 
be  very  glad  too  if  you  would  take  notice,  that  a 
daily  repetition  of  the  same  over-bearing  insolence 
is  yet"  more  insupportable,  and  a  confirmation  of 
very  extraordinary  dullness.  The  sudden  publica- 
tion of  this  may  have  an  effect  upon  a  notorious 
offender  of  this  kind,  whose  reformation  would  re- 
dound very  much  to  the  satisfaction  and  quiet  of 
'  Your  most  humble  servant, 
T."  'F.  B.'^ 

f  If  Drury-lane,  Aug.  1,  The  Orphan.  Caatalio,  Mr.  Booth ;  Polydore, 
Mr.  Powell ;  Chamont,  Mr.  Keen.  Monimia,  Mrs.  Bradshaw.  The  farce, 
The  Petticoat-Plotter.  Messrs.  Bullocks,  Morris,  and  Pack,  perform  the 
principal  parts. 

*jf*  This  is  to  give  notice,  that  Hampstead  Fair  is  to  be  kept  upon  the 
Lower  Flask-tavern-walk,  on  Friday  the  first  of  August,  and  holds  fop 
four  days. — Spect.  in  folio.  i 

'  Francis  Beasniffe  is  said  to  have  been  the  author  of  this  last  letter. 
"  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324. 


IS 6  THE  SPECTATOR.  C^o.  444. 

No.  444.    WEDNESDAY,  July  30,  1712. 

Parturiunt  montes  — 

Hoe.  Ars  Poet.  189. 

The  monntain  labonis.  " 

It  gives  me  much  despair  in  the  design  of  reform 
ing  the  world  by  my  speculations,  when  I  find  there 
always  arise,  from  one  generation  to  another,  suc- 
cessive cheats  and  bubbles,  as  naturally  as  beasts  of 
prey,  and  those  which  are  to  be  their  food.  There 
is  hardly  a  man  in  the  world,  one  would  think  so 
ignorant,  as  not  to  know  that  the  ordinary  quack- 
doctors,  who  publish  their  great  abilities  in  little 
brown  billets,  distributed  to  all  that  pass  by,  are  to 
a  man  impostors  and  murderers ;  yet  such  is  the  cre- 
dulity of  the  vulgar,  and  the  impudence  of  those 
professors,  that  the  affair  still  goes  on,  and  new 
promises  of  what  was  never  done  before  are  made 
every  day.  What  aggravates  the  jest  is,  that  even 
this  promise  has  been  made  as  long  as  the  memory 
of  man  can  trace  it,  yet  nothing  performed,  and  yet 
still  prevails.  As  I  was  passing  along  to-day,  a  pa- 
per given  into  my  hand  by  a  fellow  without  a  nose, 
tells  us,  as  follows,  what  good  news  is  come  to  town, 
«to  wit,  that  there  is  now  a  certain  cure  for  the 
French  disease,  by  a  gentleman  just  come  from  his 
travels. 

'In  Russel-court,  over-against  the  Cannon-ball, 
at  the  Surgeon's-arms  in  Drury-lane,  is  lately  come 
from  his  travels   a   surgeon   who   hath    practised 

n  Former  Motto : — Quid  dignum  tanto  feret  hio  promissor  hiatu. 

HOR. 

Great  cry  and  little  wool. 

Enolish  Pkotekb. 


No.  444]  THE   SPECTATOE.  187 

surgery  and  physic,  both  by  sea  and  land,  these 
twenty -four  years.  He  (by  the  blessing)  cures  the 
yellow  jaundice,  green-sickness,  scurvy,  dropsy,  sur- 
feits, long  sea-voyages,  campaigns,  and  women's 
miscarriages,  lying-in,  &c.  as  some  people  that  has 
been  lame  these  thirty  years  can  testify :  in  short,  he 
cureth  all  diseases  incident  to  men,  women,  or  chil- 
dren.' 

If  a  man  could  be  so  indolent  as  to  look  upon 
this  havoc  of  the  human  species,  which  is  made  by 
vice  and  ignorance,  it  would  be  a  good  ridiculous 
work  to  comment  upon  the  declaration  of  this  ac- 
complished traveller.  There  is  something  unac- 
countably taking  among  the  vulgar  in  those  who 
come  from  a  great  way  off.  Ignorant  people  of 
quality,  as  many  there  are  of  such,  doat  excessively 
this  way ;  many  instances  of  which  every  man  will 
suggest  to  himself,  without  my  enumeration  of 
them.  The  ignorants  of  lower  order,  who  cannot, 
like  the  upper  ones,  be  profuse  of  their  money  to 
those  recommended  by  coming  from  a  distance,  are 
no  less  complaisant  than  the  others,  for  they  venture 
their  lives  from  the  same  admiration. 

'  The  doctor  is  lately  come  from  his  travels,'  and 
has  practised  both  by  sea  and  land,'  and  therefore 
cures  '  the  green-sickness,  long  sea-voyages,  cam- 
paigns, and  lyings-in.'  Both  by  sea  and  land! — 1 
will  not  answer  for  the  distempers  called  sea- voyages 
and  campaigns ;  but  I  dare  say  those  of  green-sick 
ness  and  lying-in  might  be  as  well  taken  care  of  if 
the  doctor  staid  ashore.  But  the  art  of  managing 
mankind  is  only  to  make  them  stare  a  little,  to  keep 
up  their  astonishment,  to  let  nothing  be  familiar  to 
them,  but  ever  have  something  in  their  sleeve,  in 
which  they  must  think  you  are  deeper  than  they  are. 


188  THE   SPECTATOB.  [No.  444. 

There  is  an  ingenious  fellow,  a  barber,  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, who,  besides  his  broken  fiddle  and  a 
dried  sea-monster,  has  a  twine-cord,  strained  with 
two  nails  at  each  end,  over  his  window,  and  the 
words  'rainy,  dry,  wet,'  and  so  forth,  written  to  de- 
note the  weather,  according  to  the  rising  or  falling 
of  the  cord.  We  very  great  scholars  are  not  apt  to 
wonder  at  this  :  but  I  observed  a  very  honest  fellow, 
a  chance  customer,  who  sat  in  the  chair  before  me 
to  be  shaved,  fix  his  eye  upon  this  miraculous  per- 
formance during  the  operation  upon  his  chin  and 
face.  When  those  of  his  head  also  were  cleared  of 
all  incumbrances  and  excrescences,  he  looked  at  the 
fish,  then  at  the  fiddle,  still  grubbling  in  his  pockets, 
and  casting  his  eye  again  at  the  twine,  and  the 
words  writ  on  each  side ;  then  altered  his  mind  as 
to  farthings,  and  gave  my  friend  a  silver  sixpence. 
The  business,  as  I  said,  is  to  keep  up  the  amazement ; 
and,  if  my  friend  had  had  only  the  skeleton  and  kit, 
he  must  have  been  contented  with  a  less  payment 
But  the  doctor  we  were  talking  of,  adds  to  his  long 
voyages,  the  testimony  of  some  people  '  that  has 
been  thirty  years  lame.'  When  I  received  my  paper, 
a  sagacious  fellow  took  one  at  the  same  time,  and 
read  till  he  came  to  the  thirty  years  confinement 
of  his  friends,  and  went  oflF  very  well  convinced  of 
the  doctor's  sufficiency.  You  have  many  of  these 
prodigious  persons,  who  have  had  some  extraordi- 
nary accident  at  their  birth,  or  a  great  disaster  in 
some  part  of  their  lives.  Any  thing,  however 
foreign  from  the  business  the  people  want  of  you, 
will  convince  them  of  your  ability  in  that  you  pro- 
fess. There  is  a  doctor  in  Mouse-alley,  near  Wap- 
ping,  who  sets  up  for  curing  ca.taracts  upon  the 
credit  of  having,  as  his  bill  sets  forth,  lost  an  eye  in 


No.  444.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  189 

the  emperor's  service.  His  patients  come  in  upon 
this,  and  he  shows  the  muster-roll,  which  confirms 
that  he  was  in  his  imperial  majesty's  troops  ;  and  he 
puts  out  their  eyes  with  great  success.  Who  would 
believe  that  a  man  should  be  a  doctor  for  the  cure 
of  bursten  children,  by  declaring  that  his  father  and 
grandfather  were  both  bursten  ?  But  Charles  In- 
goltson,  next  door  to  the  Harp,  in  Barbican,  has 
made  a  pretty  penny  by  that  asseveration.  The 
generality  go  upon  their  first  conception,  and  think 
no  farther ;  all  the  rest  is  granted.  They  take  it, 
that  there  is  something  uncommon  in  you,  and  give 
you  credit  for  the  rest.  You  may  be  sure  it  is  upon 
that  I  go,  when  sometimes,  let  it  be  to  the  purpose 
or  not,  I  keep  a  Latin  sentence  in  my  front ;  and  I 
was  not  a  little  pleased,  when  I  observed  one  of  my 
readers  say,  casting  his  eye  on  my  twentieth  paper, 
'  More  Latin  still  ?  What  a  prodigious  scholar  is 
this  man ! '  But  as  I  have  here  taken  much  liberty 
with  this  learned  doctor,  I  must  make  up  all  I  have 
said  by  repeating  what  he  seems  to  be  in  earnest  in, 
and  honestly  promises  to  those  who  will  not  receive 
him  as  a  great  man;  to  wit,  that  from  eight  to 
twelve,  and  from  two  to  six,  he  attends  for  the 
good  of  the  public  to  bleed  for  three-pence. 

m  o 

"  By  Steele ;  see  note  at  the  end  of  No.  324,  on  T. 


190  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  445. 


No.  445.     THUESDAY,  July  31,  1712. 

Tanti  non  es  ais.    Sapis,  Luperce. 

Maet.  Epig.  1  lis. 
Toa  say,  Lupercus,  what  I  write 
IVt  worth  so  much:  you're  in  the  right. 

This  is  the  day  on  which  many  eminent  authors  will 
probably  publish  their  last  words.  I  am  afraid  that 
few  of  our  weekly  historians,  who  are  men  that 
above  all  others  delight  in  war,  will  be  able  to  sub- 
sist under  the  weight  of  a  stamp  ^  and  an  approach- 
ing peace.  A  sheet  of  blank  paper  that  must  have 
this  new  imprimatur  clapped  upon  it,  before  it  is 
qualified  to  communicate  any  thing  to  the  public, 
will  make  its  way  in  the  world  but  very  heavily. 
In  short,  the  necessity  of  carrying  a  stamp,  and  the 
improbability  of  notifying  a  bloody  battle,  will,  I 
am  afraid,  both  concur  to  the  sinking  of  those  thin 
folios,  which  have  every  other  day  retailed  to  us 
the  history  of  Europe  for  several  years  past.  A 
facetious  friend  of  mine,  who  loves  a  pun,  calls  this 
present  mortality  among  authors,  '  The  fall  of  the 
leaf 

I  remember  upon  Mr.  Baxter's  death,  there  was 
published  a  sheet  of  very  good  sayings,  inscribed 
'  The  last  words  of  Mr.  Baxter.'  The  title  sold  so 
great  a  number  of  these  papers,  that  about  a  week 
after  there  came  out  a  second  sheet,  inscribed, 
'  More  last  words  of  Mr.  Baxter.'   In  the  same  man- 


p  Aug.  1,  17 12,  the  stamp  duty  here  alluded  to  took  place,  and  every 
single  half-sheet  paid  a  halfpenny  to  the  queen.  '  Have  you  seen  the  red 
stamp?  Methinks  the  stamping  is  worth  a  halfpenny.  The  Observator  is 
fallen;  the  Medleys  are  jumbled  together  with  the  Flying-Post;  the  Ex- 
aminer is  deadly  sick.    The  Spectator  keeps  up  and  doubles  its  price.' 

Swift's  Works,  cr.  8vo.  vol  xix.  p.  1'78. 


No.  445.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  191 

ner  I  have  reason  to  think,  that  several  ingenious 
writers,  who  have  taken  their  leave  of  the  public  in 
farewell  papers,  will  not  give  over  so,  but  intend  to 
appear  again,  though  perhaps  under  another  form 
and  with  a  different  title.  Be  that  as  it  will,  it  is 
my  business,  in  this  place,  to  give  an  account  of  my 
own  intentions,  and  to  acquaint  my  reader  with  the 
motives  by  which  I  act,  in  this  great  crisis  of  the 
republic  of  letters. 

I  have  been  long  debating  in  my  own  heart, 
whether  I  should  throw  up  my  pen,  as  an  author 
that  is  cashiered  by  the  act  of  parliament  which  is 
to  operate  within  these  four  and  twenty  hours,  or 
whether  I  should  still  persist  in  laying  my  specula- 
tions, from  day  to  day,  before  the  public.  The  ar- 
gument which  prevails  with  me  most  on  the  first 
side  of  the  question  is,  that  I  am  informed  by  my 
bookseller  he  must  raise  the  price  of  every  single 
paper  to  two-pence,  or  that  he  shall  not  be  able  to 
pay  the  duty  of  it.  Now  as  I  am  very  desirous 
my  readers  should  have  their  learning  as  cheap  as 
possible,  it  is  with  great  difficulty  that  I  comply 
with  him  in  this  particular. 

However,  upon  laying  my  reasons  together  in 
the  balance,  I  find  that  those  who  plead  for  the  con- 
tinuance of  this  work,  have  much  the  greater  weight. 
For,  in  the  first  place,  in  recompence  for  the  expense 
to  which  this  will  put  my  readers,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
they  may  receive  from  every  paper  so  much  instruc- 
tion as  will  be  a  very  good  equivalent.  And,  in 
order  to  this,  I  would  not  advise  any  one  to  take  it 
in,  who,  after  the  perusal  of  it,  does  not  find  him- 
self two-pence  the  wiser  or  the  better  man  for  it ; 
or  who,  upon  examination,  does  not  believe  that  he 


192  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  445. 

has  had  two-penny-worth  of  mirth  or  instruction  for 
his  naoney. 

But  I  must  confess  there  is  another  motive  which 
prevails  with  me  more  than  the  former.  I  consider 
that  the  tax  on  paper  was  given  for  the  support  of 
the  government ;  and  as  I  have  enemies  who  are  apt 
to  pervert  every  thing  I  do  or  say,'  I  fear  they  would 
ascribe  the  laying  down  my  paper,  on  such  an  occa- 
sion, to  a  spirit  of  malcontentedness,  which  I  am  re- 
solved none  shall  ever  justly  upbraid  me  with.  No, 
I  shall  glory  in  contributing  my  utmost  to  the  public 
weal ;  and,  if  my  country  receives  five  or  six  pounds 
a-day  by  my  labours,  I  shall  be  very  well  pleased  to 
find  myself  so  useful  a  member.  It  is  a  received 
maxim,  that  no  honest  man  should  enrich  himself  by 
methods  that  are  prejudicial  to  the  community  in 
which  he  lives ;  and,  by  the  same  rule,  I  think  we 
may  pronounce  the  person  to  deserve  very  well  of 
his  countrymen,  whose  labours  bring  more  into  the 
public  coffers  than  into  his  own  pocket. 

Since  I  have  mentioned  the  word  enemies,  I  must 
explain  myself  so  far  as  to  acquaint  my  reader,  that 
I  mean  only  the  insignificant  party  zealots  on  both 
sides :  men  of  such  poor  narrow  souls,  that  they  are 
not  capable  of  thinking  on  any  thing  but  with  an 
eye  to  whig  or  tory.  During  the  course  of  this  paper, 
I  have  been  accused  by  these  despicable  wretches 
of  trimming,  time-serving,  personal  reflection,  secret 
satire,  and  the  like.  Now,  though  in  these  my  com- 
positions it  is  visible  to  any  reader  of  common  sense 
that  I  consider  nothing  but  my  subject,  which  is  al- 
ways of  an  indifferent  nature ;  how  is  it  possible  for 
me  to  write  so  clear  of  party,  as  not  to  lie  open  to 

«  See  Guard.  No.  166,  note  on  the  subject. 


No.  445.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  193 

the  censures  of  those  who  will  be  applying  every  sen- 
tence, and  finding  out  persons  and  things  in  it  which 
it  has  no  regard  to  ? 

Several  paltry  scribblers  and  declaimers  have 
done  me  the  honour  to  be  dull  upon  me  in  reflec- 
tions of  this  nature  ;  but,  notwithstanding  my  name 
has  been  sometimes  traduced  by  this  contemptible 
tribe  of  men,  I  have  hitherto  avoided  all  animadver- 
sions upon  them.  The  truth  of  it  is,  I  am  afraid  of 
making  them  appear  considerable  by  taking  notice 
of  them ;  for  they  are  like  those  imperceptible  in- 
sects which  are  discovered  by  the  microscope,  and 
cannot  be  made  the  subject  of  observation  without 
being  magnified. 

Having  mentioned  those  few  who  have  shown 
themselves  the  enemies  of  this  paper,  I  should  be 
very  ungrateful  to  the  public,  did  I  not  at  the  same 
time  testify  my  gratitude  to  those  who  are  its  friends, 
in  which  number  I  may  reckon  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  persons,  of  all  conditions,  parties,  and 
professions,  in  the  isle  of  Great  Britain.  I  am  not 
so  vain  as  to  think  approbation  is  so  much  due  to 
the  performance  as  to  the  design.  There  is,  and 
ever  will  be,  justice  enough  in  the  world,  to  afford 
patronage  and  protection  for  those  who  endeavour 
to  advance  truth  and  virtue,  without  regard  to  the 
passions  and  prejudices  of  any  particular  cause  or 
faction.  If  I  have  any  other  merit  in  me,  it  is  that 
I  have  new-pointed  all  the  batteries  of  ridicule.  They 
have  been  generally  planted  against  persons  who 
have  appeared  serious  rather  than  absurd :  or,  at  best, 
have  aimed  rather  at  what  is  unfashionable  than  what 
is  vicious.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  endeavoured 
to  make  nothing  ridiculous  that  is  not  in  some  mea- 
sure criminal.      I  have  set  up  the  immoral  man  as 

VOL.  V. — 1& 


194  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  446. 

the  object  of  derision.  In  short,  if  I  have  not  form- 
ed a  new  weapon  against  vice  and  irreligion,  I  have 
at  least  shown  how  that  weapon  may  be  put  to  a 
right  use  which  has  so  often  fought  the  battles  of 
impiety  and  profaneness.  C' 


No.  446.    FKIDAY,  August  1,  1712. 


Quid  deceat,  quid  non ;  qu6  virtos,  qud  ferat  error. 

Hob.  Ai8  Poet  808. 
What  fit^  what  not ;  what  excellent,  or  ilL 

BOSOOMUOH. 


Since  two  or  three  writers  of  comedy  who  are  now 
living  have  taken  their  farewell  of  the  stage,  those 
who  succeed  them,  finding  themselves  incapable  of 
rising  up  to  their  wit,  humour,  and  good  sense,  have 
only  imitated  them  in  some  of  those  loose  unguarded 
strokes,  in  which  they  complied  with  the  corrupt 
taste  of  the  more  vicious  part  of  their  audience. 
When  persons  of  a  low  genius  attempt  this  kind  of 
writing,  they  know  no  difference  between  being 
merry  and  being  lewd.  It  is  with  an  eye  to  some 
of  these  degenerate  compositions  that  I  have  written 
the  following  discourse. 

Were  our  English  stage  but  half  so  virtuous  as 
that  of  the  Greeks  or  Romans,  we  should  quickly 
see  the  influence  of  it  in  the  behaviour  of  all  the 
politer  part  of  mankind.  It  would  not  be  fashion- 
able to  ridicule  religion,  or  its  professors ;  the  man 
of  pleasure  would  not  be  the  complete  gentleman ; 
vanity  would  be  out  of  countenance;    and  every 

*  By  Addison,  dated  Chelsea.    See  No.  461,  last  letter. 


No.  446.1  THE   SPECTATOB.  195 

quality  which  is  ornamental  to  human  nature  would 
meet  with  that  esteem  which  is  due  to  it. 

If  the  English  stage  were  under  the  same  regula- 
tions the  Athenian  was  formerly,  it  would  have  the 
same  effect  that  had,  in  recommending  the  religion, 
the  government,  arid  public  worship  of  its  country. 
Were  our  plays  subject  to  proper  inspections  and 
limitations,  we  might  not  only  pass  away  several  of 
our  vacant  hours  in  the  highest  entertainments,  but 
should  always  rise  from  them  wiser  and  better  than 
we  sat  down  to  them. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  unaccountable  things  in  our 
age,  that  the  lewdness  of  our  theatre  should  be  so 
much  complained  of,  so  well  exposed,  and  so  little 
redressed.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  some  time  or  other 
we  may  be  at  leisure  to  restrain  the  licentiousness  of 
the  theatre,  and  make  it  contribute  its  assistance  to 
the  advancement  of  morality,  and  to  the  reformation 
of  the  age.  As  matters  stand  at  present,  multitudes 
are  shut  out  from  this  noble  diversion,  by  reason  of 
those'  abuses  and  corruptions  that  accompany  it.  A 
father  is  often  afraid  that  his  daughter  should  be 
ruined  by  those  entertainments  which  were  invented 
for  the  accomplishment  and  refining  of  human  nature. 
The  Athenian  and  Roman  plays  were  written  with 
such  a  regard  to  morality,  that  Socrates  used  to  fre- 
quent the  one,  and  Cicero  the  other. 

It  happened  once  indeed,  that  Cato  dropped  into 
the  Roman  theatre,  when  the  Ploralia  were  to  be 
represented  ;  and  as  in  that  performance,  which  was 
a  kind  of  religious  ceremony,  there  were  several  in- 
decent parts  to  be  acted,  the  people  refused  to  see 
them  whilst  Cato  was  present.  Martial,  on  this  hint, 
made  the  following  epigram,  which  we  must  suppose 
was  applied  to  some  grave  friend  of  his,  that  had 


196  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  446. 

been  accidentally  present  at  some  such  entertain- 
ment. 

'  Nosses  jocossB  duloe  cum  sacrum  Florae, 
Festoaque  lusus,  et  lioentiam  vulgi, 
Cur  in  theatrum,  Cato  scTcre,  venisti  ? 
An  ideo  tantum  veneras,  ut  exires  ? '     ' 

Maet.  1.  Epig.  3. 

'  Why  dost  thou  come,  great  censor  of  thy  age, 
To  see  the  loose  diversions  of  the  stage  ? 
With  awful  countenance,  and  brow  severe, 
What  in  the  name  of  goodness  dost  thou  here  ? 
See  the  mixt  crowd !  how  giddy,  lewd,  and  vain ! 
Didst  thou  come  in,  but  to  go  out  again  ? ' 

An  accident  of  this  nature  might  happen  once 
in  an  age  among  the  Greeks  and  Romans ;  but  they 
were  too  wise  and  good  to  let  the  constant  nightly 
entertainment  be  of  such  a  nature,  that  people  of 
the  most  sense  and  virtue  could  not  be  at  it.  What- 
ever vices  are  represented  upon  the  stage,  they  ought 
to  be  so  marked  and  branded  by  the  poet,  as  not  to 
appear  either  laudable  or  amiable  in  the  person  who 
is  tainted  with  them.  But  if  we  look  into  the  Eng- 
lish comedies  above  mentioned,  we  would  think  they 
were  formed  upon  a  quite  contrary  maxim,  and  that- 
this  rule,  though  it  held  good  upon  the  heathen 
stage,  was  not  to  be  regarded  in  Christian  theatres. 
There  is  another  rule  likewise,  which  was  observed 
by  authors  of  antiquity,  and  which  these  modern 
geniuses  have  no  regard  to,  and  that  was,  never  to 
choose  an  improper  subject  for  ridicule.  Now  a 
subject  is  improper  for  ridicule,  if  it  is  apt  to  stir  up 
horror  and  commiseration  rather  than  laughter.  For 
this  reason,  we  do  not  find  any  comedy,  in  so  polite 
an  author  as  Terence,  raised  upon  the  violations  of 
the  marriage-bed.  The  falsehood  of  the  wife  or 
husband  has  given  occasion  to  noble  tragedies ;  but 


No.  446.]  xHE  SPECTATOR.  197 

a  Scipio  or  a  Lelius  would  have  looked  upon  incest 
or  murder  to  have  been  as  proper  subjects  for 
comedy.  On  the  contrary,  cuckoldom  is*  the  basis 
of  most  of  our  modern  plays.  If  an  alderman  ap- 
pears upon  the  stage,  you  may  be  sure  it  is  in  order 
to  be  cuckolded.  An  husband  that  is  a  little  grave 
or  elderly,  generally  meets  with  the  same  fate. 
Knights  and  baronets,  country  squires,  and  justices 
of  the  quorum,  come  up  to  the  town  for  no  other 
purpose.  I  have  seen  poor  Dogget  cuckolded  in 
all  these  capacities.  In  short,  our  English  writers 
are  as  frequently  severe  upon  this  innocent  unhappy 
creature,  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  a  cuck- 
old, as  the  ancient  comic  w];'iters  were  upon  an  eat- 
ing parasite,  or  a  vain-glorious  soldier. 

At  the  same  time  the  poet  so  contrives  matters, 
that  the  two  criminals  are  the  favourites  of  the  au- 
dience. We  sit  still,  and  wish  well  to  them  through 
the  whole  play,  are  pleased  when  they  meet  with 
proper  opportunities,  and  out  of  humour  when  they 
are  disappointed.  The  truth  of  it  is;  the  accom- 
plished gentleman  upon  the  English  stage  is  the 
person  that  is  familiar  with  other  men's  wives,  and 
indifferent  to  his  own ;  as  the  fine  woman  is  gener- 
ally a  composition  of  sprightliness  and  falsehood. 
I  do  not  know  whether  it  proceeds  from  barrenness 
of  invention,  depravation  of  manners,  or  ignorance 
of  mankind,  but  I  have  often  wondered  that  our 
ordinary  poets  cannot  frame  to  themselves  the  idea 
of  a  fine  man  who  is  not  a  whore-master,  or  a  fine 
woman  that  is  not  a  jilt. 

I  have  sometimes  thought  of  compiling  a  system 
of  ethics  out  of  the  writings  of  these  corrupt  poets 
under  the  title  of  Stage  Morality.  But  I  have  been 
diverted  from  this  thought  by  a  project  which  has 


198  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  447. 

been  executed  by  an  ingenious  gentleman  of  my 
acquaintance.  He  has  composed,  it  seems,  the  his- 
tory of  a  young  fellow  who  has  taken  all  his  notions 
of  the  world  from  the  stage,  and  who  has  directed 
himself,  in  every  circumstance  of  his  life  and  con- 
versation, by  the  maxims  and  examples  of  the  fine 
gentleman  in  English  comedies.  If  I  can  prevail 
upon  him  to  give  me  a  copy  of  this  new-fashioned 
novel,  I  will  bestow  on  it  a  place  in  my  works,  and 
question  not  but  it  may  have  as  good  an  effect  upon 
the  drama  as  Don  Quixote  had  upon  romance. 


No.  447.     SATURDAY,  August  2,  1712. 

Tairijv  ay^patroTtTt  TeAetSrsxrai'  tpiffitf  elvat. 

Long  exercise,  my  Mend,  loures  the  mind; 
And  what  we  once  disliked,  we  pleasing  find. 

There  is  not  a  common  saying  which  has  a  better 
turn  of  sense  in  it,  than  what  we  often  hear  in  the 
mouths  of  the  vulgar,  that  '  custom  is  a  second  na- 
ture.' It  is  indeed  able  to  form  the  man  anew,  and 
to  give  him  inclinations  and  capacities  altogether 
different  from  those  he  was  born  with.  Dr.  Plot,  in 
his  history  of  Staffordshire,  tells  us  of  an  idiot,  that, 
chancing  to  live  within  the  sound  of  a  clock,  and  al- 
ways amusing  himself  with  counting  the  hour  of  the 
day  whenever  the  clock  struck,  the  clock  being 
spoiled  by  accident,  the  idiot  continued  to  strike 
and  count  the  hour  without  the  help  of  it,  in  the 
same  manner  as  he  had  done  when  it  was  entire. 
Though  I  dare  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this  story, 

1  By  Addison.   Dated  from  Chelsea.    See  final  note  to  No.  5. 


No.  447.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  199 

it  is  very  certain  that  custom  lias  a  mechanical  effect 
upon  the  body,  at  the  same  time  that  it  has  a  very 
extraordinary  influence  upon  the  mind. 

I  shall  in  this  paper  consider  one  very  remarka- 
ble effect  which  custom  has  upon  human  nature,  and 
which,  if  rightly  observed,  may  lead  us  into  very 
useful  rules  of  life.  What  I  shall  here  take  notice 
of  in  custom,  is  its  wonderful  ef&cacy  in  making 
every  thing  pleasant  to  us.  A  person  who  is  addict- 
ed to  play  or  gaming,  though  he  took  but  little  de- 
light in  it  at  first,  by  degrees  contracts  so  strong  an 
inclination  towards  it,  and  gives  himself  up  so 
entirely  to  it,  that  it  seems  the  only  end  of  his 
being.  The  love  of  a  retired  or  busy  life  will 
grow  upon  a  man  insensibly,  as  he  is  conversant  in 
the  one  or  the  other,  until  he  is  utterly  unqualified 
for  relishing  that  to  which  he  has  been  for  some 
time  disused.  Nay,  a'  man  may  smoke,  or  drink,  or 
take  snuff,  until  he  is  unable  to  pass  away  his  time 
without  it ;  not  to  mention  how  our  delight  in  any 
particular  study,  art,  or  science,  rises  and  improves 
in  proportion  to  the  application  which  we  bestow 
upon  it.  Thus,  what  was  at  first  an  exercise,  be- 
comes at  length  an  entertainment.  Our  employ- 
ments are  changed  into  our  diversions.  The  mind 
grows  fond  of  those  actions  which  she  is  accustomed 
to,  and  is  drawn  with  reluctancy  from  those  paths 
in  which  she  has  been  used  to  walk. 

Not  only  such  actions  as  were  at  first  indifferent 
to  us,  but  even  such  as  are  painful,  will  by  custom 
and  practice  become  pleasant.  Sir  Francis  Bacon 
observes  in  his  natural  philosophy,  that  our  taste  is 
never  pleased  better  than  with  those  things  which 
at  first  created  a  disgust  in  it.  He  gives  particular 
instances,  of  claret,  coffee,  and  other  liquors,  which 


200  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  447. 

the  palate  seldom  approves  upon  the  first  taste ;  but, 
when  it  has  once  got  a  relish  for  them,  generally 
retains  it  for  life.  The  mind  is  constituted  after  the 
same  manner ;  and,  after  having  habituated  herself 
to  any  particular  exercise  or  employment,  not  only 
loses  her  first  aversion  towards  it,  but  conceives  a 
certain  fondness  and  affection  for  it.  I  have  heard 
one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  this  age  has  produced,* 
who  had  been  trained  up  in  all  the  polite  studies  of 
antiquity,  assure  me,  upon  his  being  obliged  to 
search  into  several  rolls  and  records,  that,  notwith- 
standing such  an  employment  was  at  first  very  dry 
and  irksome  to  him,  he  at  last  took  an  incredible 
pleasure  in  it,  and  preferred  it  even  to  the  reading 
of  Virgil  or  Cicero.'  The  reader  will  observe  that  I 
have  not  here  considered  custom  as  it  makes  things 
easy,  but  as  it  renders  them  delightful ;  and  though 
others  have  often  made  the' same  reflections,  it  is 
possible  they  may  not  have  drawn  those  uses  from 
it,  with  which  I  intend  to  fill  the  remaining  part  of 
this  paper. 

If  we  consider  attentively  this  property  of  hu- 
man nature,  it  may  instruct  us  in  very  fine  morali- 
ties. In  the  first  place,  I  would  have  no  man  dis- 
couraged with  that  kind  of  life,  or  series  of  action, 
in  which  the  choice  of  others,  or  his  own  necessities, 
may  have  engaged  him.  It  may  perhaps  be  very 
disagreeable  to  him  at  first ;  but  use  and  application 
will  certainly  render  it  not  only  less  painful,  but 
pleasing  and  satisfactory. 

In  the  second  place,  I  would  recommend  to  every 
one  that  admirable  precept  which  Pythagoras  is  said 
to  have  given  to  his  disciples,  and  which  that  phi- 

•  Dr.  Atterbury. 


No<  447.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  201 

losopher  must  have  drawn  from  the  observation  I 
have  enlarged  upon.  Optimum  vitoe  gernts  eligifo, 
nam  consuetudo  faciet  jucundissimum  ;  '  Pitch  upon 
that  course  of  life  which  is  the  most  excellent,  and 
custom  will  render  it  the  most  delightful.'  Men, 
whose  circumstances  will  permit  them  to  choose 
their  own  way  of  life,  are  inexcusable  if  they  do  not 
pursue  that  which  their  judgment  tells  them  is  the 
most  laudable.  The  voice  of  reason  is  more  to  be 
regarded  than  the  bent  of  any  present  inclination, 
since,  by  the  rule  above-mentioned,  inclination  will 
at  length  come  over  to  reason,  though  we  can  never 
force  reason  to  comply  with  inclination. 

In  the  third  place,  this  observation  may  teach 
the  most  sensual  and  irreligious  man  to  overlook 
those  hardships  and  difficulties  which  are  apt  to  dis- 
courage him  from  the  prosecution  of  a  virtuous  life. 
'  The  gods,'  said  Hesiod,  '  have  placed  labour  before 
virtue ; '  the  way  to  her  is  at  first  rough  and  difficult, 
but  grows  more  smooth  and  easy  the  farther  you 
advance  in  it.'  The  man  who  proceeds  in  it  with 
steadiness  and  resolution,  will  in  a  little  time  find 
that  '  her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  that  all 
her  paths  are  peace.' 

To  enforce  this  consideration,  we  may  farther 
observe,  that  the  practice  of  religion  will  not  only 
be  attended  with  that  pleasure  which  naturally  ac- 
companies those  actions  to  which  we  are  habituated, 
but  with  those  supernumerary  joys  of  heart  that 
rise  from  the  consciousness  of  such  a  pleasure,  from 
the  satisfaction  of  acting  up  to  the  dictates  of  reason, 
and  from  the  prospect  of  an  happy  immortality. 

In  the  fourth  place,  we  may  learn  from  this  ob- 


202  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  447. 

servation,  which  we  have  made  on  the  mind  of  man, 
to  take  particular  care,  when  we  are  once  settled  in 
a  regular  course  of  life,  how  we  too  frequently  in- 
dulge ourselves  in  any  of  the  most  innocent  diver- 
sions and  entertainments ;  since  the  mind  may  in- 
sensibly fall  off  from  the  relish  of  virtuous  actions, 
and,  by  degrees,  exchange  that  pleasure  which  it 
takes  in  the  performance  of  its  duty,  for  delights  of 
a  much  more  inferior  and  unprofitable  nature. 

The  last  use  which  I  shall  make  of  this  remarkable 
property  in  human  nature,  of  being  delighted  with 
those  actions  to  which  it  is  accustomed,  is  to  show 
how  absolutely  necessary  it  is  for  us  to  gain  habits 
of  virtue  in  this  life,  if  we  would  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  the  next.  The  state  of  bliss  we  call  heaven  will 
not  be  capable  of  affecting  those  minds  which  are 
not  thus  qualified  for  it ;  we  must,  in  this  world,  gain 
a  relish  of  truth  and  virtue,  if  we  would  be  able  to 
taste  that  knowledge  and  perfection  which  are  to 
make  us  happy  in  the  next.  The  seeds  of  those 
spiritual  joys  and  raptures,  which  are  to  rise  up  and 
flourish  in  the  soul  to  all  eternity,  must  be  planted 
in  her  during  this  her  present  state  of  probation. 
In  short,  heaven  is  not  to  be  looked  upon  only  as 
the  reward,  but  as  the  natural  effect  of  a  religious 
life. 

On  the  other  hand,  those  evil  spirits,  who,  by  long 
custom,  have  contracted  in  the  body  habits  of  lust 
and  sensuality,  malice  and  revenge,  an  aversion 
to  every  thing  that  is  good,  just,  or  laudable,  are 
naturally  seasoned  and  prepared  for  pain  and  mis^ery. 
Their  torments  have  already  taken  root  in  them ; 
they  cannot  be  happy  when  divested  of  the  body, 
unless  we  may  suppose,  that  Providence  will  in  a 
manner  create  them  anew,  and  work  a  miracle  in  the 


No.  447.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  203 

rectification  of  their  faculties.  They  may,  indeed, 
taste  a  kind  of  malignant  pleasure  in  those  actions 
to  which  they  are  accustomed,  whilst  in  this  life ; 
but  when  they  are  removed  from  all  those  objects 
which  are  here  apt  to  gratify  them,  they  will  natu- 
rally become  their  own  tormentors,  and  cherish  in 
themselves  those  painful  habits  of  mind  which  are 
called  in  scripture  phrase,  '  the  worm  which  never 
dies.'  This  notion  of  heaven  and  hell  is  so  conform- 
able to  the  light  of  nature,  that  it  was  discovered  by 
several  of  the  most  exalted  heathens.  It  has  been 
finely  improved  by  many  eminent  divines  of  the  last 
age,  as  in  particular  by  archbishop  Tillotson  and  Dr. 
Sherlock :  but  there  is  none  who  has  raised  such 
noble  speculations  upon  it  as  Dr.  Scott,  in  the  first 
book  of  his  Christian  Life,  which  is  one  of  the  finest 
and  most  rational  schemes  of  divinity  that  is  written 
in  our  tongue,  or  in  any  other.  That  excellent  au- 
thor has  shown  how  every  particular  custom  and 
habit  of  virtue  will,  in  its  own  nature,  produce  the 
heaven,  or  a  state  of  happiness,  in  him  who  shall 
hereafter  practise  it :  as,  on  the  contrary,  how  every 
custom  or  habit  of  vice  will  be  the  natural  hell  of 
him  in  whom  it  subsists.  C.  "^ 

"  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  Chelsea.     Sec  final  note  to  No.  5. 


204  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  448. 


No.  448.  MONDAY,  August  4,  1712. 


Fcedius  hoc  aliqaid  qnaadoqno  andebis. 

Jut.  Sat  ii  85 
In  time  to  greater  baseness  you'll  proceed. 


The  first  steps  towards  ill  are  very  carefully  to  be 
avoided,  for  men  insensibly  go  on  when  they  are 
once  entered,  and  do  not  keep  up  a  lively  abhor- 
rence of  the  least  unworthiness.  There  is  a  certain 
frivolous  falsehood  that  people  indulge  themselves 
in,  which  ought  to  be  had  in  greater  detestation  than 
it  commonly  meets  with.  What  I  mean  is  a  neglect 
of  promises  made  on  small  and  indifferent  occasions, 
such  as  parties  of  pleasure,  entertainments,  and 
sometimes  meetings  out  of  curiosity,  in  men  of  like 
faculties,  to  be  in  each  other's  company.  There  are 
many  causes  to  which  one  may  assign  this  light  in- 
fidelity. Jack  Sippet  never  keeps  the  hour  he  has 
appointed  to  come  to  a  friend's  to  dinner ;  but  he  is 
an  insignificant  fellow  who  does  it  out  of  vanity. 
He  could  never,  he  knows,  make  any  figure  in  com- 
pany, but  by  giving  a  little  disturbg,nce  at  his  entry, 
and  therefore  takes  care  to  drop  in  when  he  thinks 
you  are  just  seated.  He  takes  his  place  after  having 
discomposed  every  body,  and  desires  there  may  be 
no  ceremony ;  then  does  he  begin  to  call  himself 
the  saddest  fellow,  in  disappointing  so  many  places 
as  he  was  invited  to  elsewhere.  It  is  the  fop's 
vanity  to  name  houses  of  better  cheer,  and  to  ac- 
quaint you  that  he  chose  yours  out  of  ten  dinners 
which  he  was  obliged  to  be  at  that  day.  The  last 
time  I  had  the  fortune  to  eat  with  him,  he  was  ima- 
gining how  very  fat  he  should  have  been  had  he 
eaten  all  he  had  ever  been  invited  to.     But  it  is  im- 


No.  448.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  205 

pertinent  to  dwell  upon  the  manners  of  such  a 
wretch  as  obliges  all  whom  he  disappoints,  though 
his  circumstances  constrain  them  to  be  civil  to  him. 
But  there  are  those  that  every  one  would  be  glad 
to  see,  who  fall  into  the  same  detestable  habit.  It 
is  a  merciless  thing  that  any  one  can  be  at  ease,  and 
suppose  a  set  of  people  who  have  a  kindness  for 
him,  at  that  moment  waiting  out  of  respect  to  him, 
and  refusing  to  taste  their  food  or  conversation  with 
the  utmost  impatience.  One  of  these  promisers 
sometimes  shall  make  his  excuses  for  not  coming  at 
all,  so  late  that  half  the  company  have  only  to  la- 
ment that  they  have  neglected  matters  of  moment 
to  meet  him  whom  they  find  a  trifler.  They  imme- 
diately repent  of  the  value  they  had  for  him  ;  and 
such  treatment  repeated,  makes  company  never  de- 
pend upon  his  promise  any  more ;  so  that  he  often 
comes  at  the  middle  of  a  meal,  where  he  is  se- 
cretly slighted  by  the  persons  with  whom  he  eats, 
and  cursed  by  the  servants,  whose  dinner  is  delayed 
by  his  prolonging  their  masters'  entertainment.  It 
is  wonderful  that  men  guilty  this  way  could  never 
have  observed,  that  the  whiling  time,  and  gathering 
together,  and  waiting  a  little  before  dinner,  is  the 
most  awkwardly  passed  away  of  any  part  in  the 
four  and  twenty  hours.  If  they  did  think  at  all, 
they  would  reflect  upon  their  guilt,  in  lengthening 
such  a  suspension  of  agreeable  life.  The  constant 
offending  this  way,  has  in  a  degree  an  effect  upon 
the  honesty  of  his  mind  who  is  guilty  of  it,  as  com- 
mon swearing  is  a  kind  of  habitual  perjury.  It 
makes  the  soul  unattentive  to  what  an  oath  is,  even 
while  it  utters  it  at  the  lips.  Phocion  beholding  a 
wordy  orator,  while  he  was  making  a  magnificent 
speech  to  the  people,  full  of  vain  promises ;  '  Me- 


206  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No;  448. 

thinks,'  said  he,  ''I  am  now  fixing  my  eyes  upon  a 
cypress-tree ;  it  has  all  the  pomp  and  beauty  ima- 
ginable in  its  branches,  leaves,  and  height,  but  alas ! 
it  bears  no  fruit.' 

Though  the  expectation  which  is  raised  by  im- 
pertinent promises  is  thus  barren,  their  confidence, 
even  after  failures,  is  so  great,  that  they  subsist  by 
still  promising  on.  I  have  heretofore  discoursed  of 
the  insignificant  liar,  the  boaster,  and  the  castle 
builder,''  and  treated  them  as  no  ill  designing  men 
(though  they  are  to  be  placed  among  the  frivolous 
false  ones),  but  persons  who  fall  into  that  way 
purely  to  recommend  themselves  by  their  vivacities ; 
but  indeed  I  cannot  let  heedless  promisers,  though 
in  the  most  minute  circumstances,  pass  with  so 
slight  a  censure.  If  a  man  should  take  a  resolution 
to  pay  only  sums  above  an  hundred  pounds,  and 
yet  contract  with  different  people  debts  of  five  and 
ten,  how  long  can  we  suppose  he  will  keep  his 
credit  ?  This  man  will  as  long  support  his  good 
name  in  business,  as  he  will  in  conversation,  who 
without  difficulty  makes  assignations  which  he  is 
indifferent  whether  he  keeps  or  not. 

I  am  the  more  severe  upon  this  vice,  because  I 
have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  a  very  great 
criminal  myself  Sir  Andrew  Freeport,  and  all  my 
other  friends  who  are  scrupulous  to  promises  of  the 
meanest  consideration  imaginable,  from  an  habit  of 
virtue  that  way,  have  often  upbraided  me  with  it. 
I  take  shame  upon  myself  for  this  crime,  and  more 
particularly  for  the  greatest  I  ever  committed  of 

'  See  Sped.  Nob.  136,  and  161. 

7  See  Swift's  Works,  or.  8vo.  vol.  xxii.  p.  125. — Steele  is  reproached 
■with  the  same  fault  by  Mrs.  C.  Talbot.  See  her  Essays,  toL  i.  ess.  xvi.  p. 
132  ;  and  Tatler,  No.  176,  note. 


No.  448.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  207 

the  sort,  that  when  as  agreeable  a  company  of  gen- 
tlemen and  ladies  as  ever  were  got  together,  and  I 
forsooth,  Mr.  Spectator,  to  be  of  the  party  with 
women  of  merit,  like  a  booby  as  I  was,  mistook  the 
time  of  meeting,  and  came  the  night  following.  I 
wish  every  fool,  who  is  negligent  in  this  kind,  may 
have  as  great  a  loss  as  I  had  in  this ;  for  the  same 
company  will  never  meet  more,  but  are  dispersed 
into  various  parts  of  the  world,  and  I  am  left  under 
the  compunction  that  I  deserve,  in  so  many  different 
places  to  be  called  a  trifler. 

This  fault  is  sometimes  to  be  accounted  for,  when 
desirable  people  are  fearful  of  appearing  precise  and 
reserved  by  denials ;  but  they  will  find  the  appre- 
hension of  that  imputation  will  betray  them  into  a 
childish  impotence  of  mind,  and  make  them  pro- 
mise all  who  are  so  kind  to  ask  it  of  them.  This 
leads  such  soft  creatures  into  the  misfortune  of 
seeming  to  return  overtures  of  good-will  with  in- 
gratitude. The  first  steps  in  the  breach  of  a  man's 
integrity  are  much  more  important  than  men  are 
aware  of  The  man  who  scruples  not  breaking  his 
word  in  little  things,  would  not  suffer  in  his  own 
conscience  so  great  pain  for  failures  of  consequence, 
as  he  who  thinks  every  little  offence  against  truth 
and  justice  a  disparagement.  We  should  not  make 
any  thing  we  ourselves  disapprove  habitual  to  us,  if 
we  would  be  sure  of  our  integrity. 

I  remember  a  falsehood  of  the  trivial  sort,  though 
not  in  relation  to  assignations,  that  exposed  a  man 
to  a  very  uneasy  adventure.  Will  Trap  and  Jack 
Stint  were  chamber-fellows  in  the  Inner  Temple 
about  twenty-five  years  ago.  They  one  night  sat 
in  the  pit  together  at  a  comedy,  where  they  both 
observed  and  liked  the  same  young  woman  in  the 


208  THE  SPECTATOE.  [No.  448. 

boxes.  Their  kindness  for  her  entered,  both  hearts 
deeper  than  they  imagined.  Stint  had  a  gopd 
faculty  in  writing  letters  of  love,  and  made  his  ad- 
dress privately  that  way  ;  while  Trap  proceeded  in 
the  ordinary  course,  by  money  and  her  waiting-maid. 
The  lady  gave  them  both  encouragement,  received 
Trap  into  the  utmost  favour,  answering  at  the  same 
time  Stint's  letters,  and  giving  him  appointments  at 
third  places.  Trap  began  to  suspect  the  epistolary 
correspondence  of  his  friend,  and  discovered  also 
that  Stint  opened  all  his  letters  which  came  to  their 
common  lodgings,  in  order  to  form  his  own  assig- 
nations. After  much  anxiety  and  restlessness.  Trap 
came  to  a  resolution,  which  he  thought  would  break 
off  their  commerce  with  one  another  without  any 
hazardous  explanation.  He  therefore  writ  a  letter 
in  a  feigned  hand  to  Mr.  Trap  at  his  chambers  in 
the  Temple.  Stint,  according  to  custom,  seized  and 
opened  it,  and  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  the 
inside  directed  to  himself,  when,  with  great  pertur- 
bation of  spirit  he  read  as  follows : 

'me.  stint, 

'  You  have  gained  a  slight  satisfaction  at 
the  expense  of  doing  a  very  heinous  crime.  At  the 
price  of  a  faithful  friend,  you  have  obtained  an  in- 
constant mistress.  I  rejoice  in  this  expedient  I  have 
thought  of  to  break  my  mind  to  you,  and  tell  you, 
you  are  a  base  fellow,  by  a  means  which  does  not 
expose  you  to  the  affront  except  you  deserve  it.  1 
know,  Sir,  as  criminal  as  you  are,  you  have  still 
shame  enough  to  avenge  yourself  against  the  hardi- 
ness of  any  one  that  should  publicly  tell  you  of  it. 
I  therefore,  who  have  received  so  many  secret  hurts 
from  you,  shall  take  satisfaction  with  safety  to  my- 


No.  449.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  209 

self.  I  call  you  base,  and  you'  must  bear  it,  or  ac- 
knowledge it ;  I  triumpli  over  you  that  you  cannot 
come  at  me  ;  nor  do  I  think  it  dishonourable  to  come 
ia  armour  to  assault  him,  who  was  in  ambuscade 
when  he  wounded  me. 

'  What  need  more  be  said  to  convince  you  of  be- 
ing guilty  of  the  basest  practice  imaginable,  than  that 
it  is  such  as  has  made  you  liable  to  be  treated  after 
this  manner,  while  you  yourself  cannot  in  your  own 
conscience  but  allow  the  justice  of  the  upbraidings 
of 

'  Your  injured  friend. 

T.^  '  Ralph  ^Tbap.' 

*»*  At  Drury-lane,  not  acted  for  ten  years,  reyived,  on  Tuesday  the 
6th  of  August,  The  Guardian,  or  The  Cutter  of  Colmau  Street,  by  Mr.  A. 
Cowley.  Colonel  Jolly,  Mr.  Keen ;  Cutter,  Mr.  Powell ;  Wprm,  Mr.  5or- 
ris  ;  Puny,  Mr.  Pack ;  and  Trueman,  Mr.  Booth.  Lucia,  Mrs.  Bradshaw ; 
Aurelia,  Mrs.  Saunders ;  Barebottle,  Mrs.  WilUs ;  and  Tabitha,  Miss  Willis. 
A  new  prologue  spoken  by  Mr  Pack. — Spect.  irf  folio. 


No.  449.     TUESDAY,  August  5,  1712. 

— Tibiscriptus,  matrona,  libellus. 

Mabt,  111.  68. 

A  book  the  chastest  matron  may  porose. 

When  I  reflect  upon  my  labours  for  the  public,  I 
cannot  but  observe,  that  part  of  the  species,  of  which 
I  profess  myself  a  friend  and  guardian,  is  sometimes 
treated  with  severity ;  that  is,  there  are  in  my  wri- 
tings many  descriptions  given  of  ill  persons,  and  not 
yet  any  direct  encomium  made  of  those  who  are  good. 
When  I  was  convinced  of  this  error,  I  could  not  but 
immediately  call  to  mind  several  of  the  fair  sex  of 

«  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324. 
VOL.  V. — 14 


210  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  449. 

my  acquaintance,  whose  characters  deserve  to  be 
transmitted  to  posterity  in  writings  which  will  long 
outlive  mine.  But  I  do  not  think  that  a  reason  why 
I  should  not  give  them  their  place  in  my  diurnal  as 
long  as  it  will  last.  For  the  service  therefore  of  my 
female  readers,  I  shall  single  out  some  characters  of 
maids,  wives,  and  widows,  which  deserve  the  imita- 
tion of  the  sex.  She  who  shall  lead  this  small  illus- 
trious number  of  heroines  shall  be  the  amiable  Fi- 
delia. 

Before  I  enter  upon  the  particular  parts  of  her 
character,  it  is  necessary  to  preface,  that  she  is  the 
only  child  of  a  decrepid  father,  whose  life  is  bound 
up  in  hers.  This  gentleman  has  used  Fidelia  from 
her  cradle  with  all  the  tenderness  imaginable,  and 
has  viewed  her  growing  perfections  with  the  parti- 
ality of  a  parent,  that  soon  thought  her  accomplished 
above  the  children  of  all  other  men,  but  never  thought 
she  was  come  to  the  utmost  improvement  of  which 
she  herself  was  capable.  This  fondness  has  had  very 
happy  effects  upon  his  own  happiness ;  for  she  reads, 
she  dances,  she  sings,  uses  her  spinet  and  lute  to  the 
utmost  perfection :  and  the  lady's  use  of  of  all  these 
excellences,  is  to  divert  the  old  man  in  his  easy  chair, 
when  he  is  out  of  the  pangs  of  a  chronical  distem- 
per. Fidelia  is  now  in  the  twenty-third  year  of  her 
age ;  but  the  application  of  many  lovers,  her  vigo- 
rous time  of  life,  her  quick  sense  of  all  that  is  truly 
gallant  and  elegant  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  plentiful 
fortune,  are  not  able  to  draw  her  from  the  side  of 
her  good  old  father.  Certain  it  is,  that  there  is  no 
kind  of  affection  so  pure  and  angelic  as  that  of  a  fa- 
ther to  a  daughter.  He  beholds  her  both  with,  and 
without,  regard  to  her  sex.  In  love  to  our  wives 
there  is  desire,  to  our  sons  there  is  ambition ;  but  in 


No.  449.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  211 

that  to  our  daughters,  there  is  something  which  there 
are  no  words  to  express.  Her  life  is  designed  wholly 
domestic,  and  she  is  so  ready  a  friend  and  compan- 
ion, that  every  thing  that  passes  about  a  man,  is  ac- 
companied with  the  idea  of  her  presence.  Her  sex 
also  is  naturally  so  much  exposed  to  hazard,  both  as 
to  fortune  and  innocence,  that  there  is  perhaps  a  new 
cause  of  fondness  arising  from  that  consideration  al- 
so.* None  but  fathers  can  have  a  true  sense  of  these 
sort  of  pleasures  and  sensations ;  but  my  familiarity 
with  the  father  of  Fidelia  makes  me  let  drop  the 
words  which  I  have  heard  him  speak,  and  observe 
upon  his  tenderness  towards  her. 

Fidelia,  on  her  part,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  as 
accomplished  as  she  is,  with  all  her  beauty,  wit,  air, 
and  raien,  employs  her  whole  time  in  care  and  at- 
tendance upon  her  father.  How  have  I  been  charm- 
ed to  see  one  of  the  most  beauteous  women  the  age 
has  produced,  on  her  knees  helping  on  an  old  man's 
slipper !  Her  filial  regard  to  him  is  what  she  makes 
her  diversion,  her  business,  and  her  glory.  When 
she  was  asked  by  a  friend  of  her  deceased  mother  to 
admit  of  the  courtship  of  her  son,  she  answered,  that 
she  had  a  great  respect  and  gratitude  to  her  for  the 
overture  in  b,ehalf  of  one  so  near  to  her,  but  that 
during  her  father's  life  she  would  admit  into  her  heart 
no  value  for  any  thing  that  should  interfere  with  her 
endeavours  to  make  his  remains  of  life  as  happy  and 
easy  as  could  be  expected  in  his  circumstances.  The 
lady  admonished  her  of  the  prime  of  life  with  a  smile ; 
which  Fidelia  answered  with  a  frankness  that  always 
attends  unfeigned  virtue :  '  It  is  true.  Madam,  there 
are  to  be  sure  very  great  satisfactions  to  be  expected 
in  the  commerce  of  a  man  of  honour,  whom  one  ten- 
derly loves ;  but  I  find  so  much  satisfaction  in  the 


212  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  ,449. 

reflection  how  mucli  I  mitigate  a  good  man's  pains, 
■whose  welfare  depends  upon  my  assiduity  about  him, 
that  I  willingly  exclude  the  loose  gratifications  of 
passion  for  the  solid  reflections  of  duty.  I  know  not 
whether  any  man's  wife  would  be  allowed,  and  (what 
I  still  more  fear)  I  know  not  whether  I,  a  wife, 
should  be  willing  to  be  as  officious  as  I  am  at  present 
about  my  parent.'  The  happy  father  has  her  decla- 
ration that  she  will  not  marry  during  his  life,  and  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  that  resolution  not  uneasy  to  her. 
Were  one  to  paint  filial  affection  in  its  utmost  beauty, 
he  could  not  have  a  more  lively  idea  of  it  than  in 
beholding  Fidelia  serving  her  father  at  his  hours  of 
rising,  meals,  and  rest. 

When  the  general  crowd  of  female  youth  are  con- 
sulting their  glasses,  preparing  for  balls,  assemblies, 
or  plays  ;  for  a  young  lady,  who  could  be  regarded 
among  the  foremost  in  those  places,  either  for  her 
person,  wit,  fortune,  or  conversation,  and  yet  con- 
temn all  these  entertainments,  to  sweeten  the  heavy 
hours  of  a  decrepid  parent,  is  a  resignation  truly  he- 
roic. Fidelia  performs  the  duty  of  a  nurse  with  all 
the  beauty  of  a  bride ;  nor  does  she  neglect  her  per- 
son, because  of  her  attendance  on  him,  when  he  is 
too  ill  to  receive  company,  to  whom  she  may  make 
an  appearance. 

Fidelia,  who  gives  him  up  her  youth,  does  not 
think  it  any  great  sacrifice  to  add  to  it  the  spoiling 
of  her  dress.  Her  care  and  exactness  in  her  habit, 
convince  her  father  of  the  alacrity  of  her  mind ;  and 
she  has  of  all  women  the  best  foundation  for  affect- 
ing the  praise  of  a  seeming  negligence.  What  adds 
to  the  entertainment  of  the  good  old  man  is,  that  Fi- 
delia, where  merit  and  fortune  cannot  be  overlooked 
by  epistolary  lovers,  reads  over  the  accounts  of  her 


No.  449.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  213 

conquests,  plays  on  her  spinet  the  gayest  airs,  (and 
while  she  is  doing  so  you  would  think  her  formed 
only  for  gallantry,)  to  intimate  to  him  the  pleasures 
she  despises  for  his  sake. 

Those  who  think  themselves  the  patterns  of  good- 
breeding  and  gallantry  would  be  astonished  to  hear 
that  in  those  intervals  when  the  old  gentleman  is  at 
ease,  and  can  bear  company,  there  are  at  his  house, 
in  the  most  regular  order,  assemblies  of  people  of  the 
highest  merit ;  where  there  is  conversation  without 
mention  of  the  faults  of  the  absent,  benevolence  be- 
tween men  and  women  without  passion,  and  the 
highest  subjects  of  morality  treated  of  as  natural  and 
accidental  discourse ;  all  which  is  owing  to  the  ge- 
nius of  Fidelia,  who  at  once  makes  her  father's  way 
to  another  world  easy,  and  herself  capable  of  being 
an  honour  to  his  name  in  this. 

'  ME.  SPECTATOR, 

'  I  WAS  the  other  day  at  the  Bear-garden 
in  hopes  to  have  seen  your  short  face ;®  but  not  being 
so  fortunate,  I  must  tell  you  by  way  of  letter,  that 
there  is  a  mystery  among  the  gladiators  which  has 
escaped  your  spectatorial  penetration.  For,  being 
in  a  box  at  an  alehouse  near  that  renowned  seat  of 
honour  above  mentioned,  I  overheard  two  masters 
of  the  science  agreeing  to  quarrel  on  the  next  op- 
portunity. This  was  to  happen  in  the  company  of 
a  set  of  the  fraternity  of  basket-hilts,  who  were  to 
meet  that  evening.  When  this  was  settled,  one  ask- 
ed the  other,  "  Will  you  give  cuts  or  receive  ?"  The 
other  answered,  "Receive."  It  was  replied,  "Are 
you  a  passionate  man?"     "  No,  provided  you  cut 

»  See  Spect.  No.  467. 


214  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  450. 

no  more  nor  no  deeper  than  we  agree."  1  thought 
it  my  duty  to  acquaint  you  with  this,  that  the  peo- 
ple may  not  pay  their  money  for  fighting,  and  be 
cheated. 

'  Your  humble  servant, 
T."  '  Scabbard  Rusty.' 

*tf*  Instead  of  the  play  announced  in  the  preceding  paper  for  Aug.  5, 
on  that  day  will  be  presented  The  Feigned  Innocence,  or  Sir  Martin  Marr 
All.  Sir  Martin,  Mr.  Bullock;  and  Warner,  Mr.  Powell.  Farce,  Tht 
Stage-Coaoh.  Nicodemus  Somebody,  by  Mr.  Pack.  A  dialogue  between 
a  drunken  rake  and  a  town's  miss,  sung  by  Mr.  Pack  and  Mr.  Rainton ; 
and  the  last  new  morriee-dance  by  Mr.  Prince  and  others. — Spect.  in  folio. 


No.  450.     WEDNESDAY,  August  6,  1712. 

— QuiErenda  pecunia  primum, 
Virtus  postnmnmos. 

Hoe.  1  Ep.  i.  63. 

—Get  money,  moDey  still : 
And  then  let  virtue  follow  if  she  will 

POPB. 

'  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

'All  men,  through  different  paths,  make 
at  the  same  common  thing,  money ;  °  and  it  is  to  her 
we  owe  the  politician,  the  merchant  and  the  lawyer ; 
nay,  to  be  free  with  you,  I  believe  to  that  also  we 
are  beholden  for  our  Spectator.  I  am  apt  to  think, 
that,  could  we  look  into  our  own  hearts,  we  should 
see  money  engraved  in  them  in  more  lively  and 
moving  characters  than  self-preservation ;  for  who 
can  i^eflect  upon  the  merchant  hoisting  sail  in  a 
doubtful  pursuit  of  her,  and  all  mankind  sacrificing 
their  quiet  to  her,  but  must  perceive  that  the  cha- 

'  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324. 
"  See  Spect.  No.  442. 


No.  450.]  THE   SPEOTATOB.  215 

racters  of  self-preservation  (which  were  doubtless 
originally  the  brightest)  are  sullied,  if  not  wholly- 
defaced  ;  and  that  those  of  money  (which  at  first  was 
only  valuable  as  a  mean  to  security)  are  of  late  so 
brightened,  that  the  characters  of  self-preservation, 
like  a  less  light  set  by  a  greater,  are  become  almost 
imperceptible  ?  Thus  has  money  got  the  upper- 
hand  of  what  all  mankind  formerly  thought  most 
dear,  viz.  security :  and  I  wish  I  could  say  she  had 
here  put  a  stop  to  her  victories  :  but  alas !  common 
honesty  fell  a  sacrifice  to  her.  This  is  the  way  scho- 
lastic men  talk  of  the  greatest  good  in  the  world  : 
but  I,  a  tradesman,  shall  give  you  another  account 
of  this  matter  in  the  plain  narrative  of  my  own  life. 
I  think  it  proper,  in  the  first  place,  to  acquaint  my 
readers  that,  since  ndy  setting  out  in  the  world, 
which  was  in  the  year  1660, 1  never  wanted  money ; 
having  begun  with  an  indifferent  good  stock  in  the 
tobacco  trade,  to  which  I  was  bred  ;  and  by  the  con- 
tinual successes  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  bless  my 
endeavours  with,  I  am  at  last  arrived  at  what  they 
call  a  plumb.*  To  uphold  my  discourse  in  the  man- 
ner of  your  wits  and  philosophers,  by  speaking  fine 
things,  or  drawing  inferences,  as  they  pretend,  from 
the  nature  of  the  subject,  I  account  it  vain ;  having 
never  found  any  thing  in  the  writings  of  such  men 
that  did  not  savour  more  of  the  invention  of  the  brain, 
or  what  is  styled  speculation,  than  of  sound  judg- 
ment or  profitable  observation.  I  will  readily  grant, 
indeed,  that  there  is  what  the  wits  call  natural  in 
their  talk  ;  which  is  the  utmost  those  curious  authors 
can  assume  to  themselves,  and  is  indeed  all  they  en- 
deavour at,  for  they  are  but  lamentable  teachers. 

^  A  cant  word  used  by  oommeroial  people,  to  signify  an  100,000/. 


216  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  450. 

And  what  I  pray  is  natural  ?  That  which  is  pleasing 
and  easy.  And  what  are  pleasing  and  easy  ?  Forsooth, 
a  new  thought  or  conceit  dressed  up  in  smooth  quaint 
language,  to  make  you  smile  and  wag  your  head,  as 
being  what  you  never  imagined  before,  and  yet 
wonder  why  you  had  not ;  mere  frothy  amusements, 
fit  only  for  boys  or  silly  women  to  be  caught  with ! 

'  It  is  not  my  present  intention  to  instruct  my 
readers  in  the  methods  of  acquiring  riches  ;  that  may 
be  the  work  of  another  essay :  but  to  exhibit  the 
real  and  solid  advantages  I  have  found  by  them  in 
my  long  and  manifold  experience ;  nor  yet  all  the 
advantages  of  so .  worthy  and  valuable  a  blessing, 
(for  who  does  not  know  or  imagine  the  comforts  of 
being  warm,  or  living  at  ease,  and  that  power  and 
pre-eminence  are  their  inseparable  attendants  ?)  but 
only  to  instance  the  great  supports  they  afford  us 
under  the  severest  calamities  and  misfortunes;  to 
show  that  the  love  of  them  is  a  special  antidote 
against  immorality  and  vice  ;  and  that  the  same  does 
likewise  naturally  dispose  men  to  actions  of  piety 
and  devotion.  All  which  I  can  make  out  by  my 
own  experience,  who  think  myself  no  ways  particu- 
lar from  the  rest  of  mankind,  nor  better  nor  worse 
by  nature  than  generally  other  men  are. 

'In  the  year  1665,  when  the  sickness"  was,  I 
lost  by  it  my  wife  and  two  children,  which  were  all 
my  stock.  Probably  I  might  have  had  more,  con- 
sidering I  was  married  between  four  and  five  years ; 
but  finding  her  to  be  a  teeming  woman,  I  was  care- 
ful, as  having  then  little  above  a  brace  of  thousand 
pounds  to  carry  on  my  trade  and  maintain  a  family 
with.     I  loved  them  as  usually  men  do  their  wives 

'  The  plague. 


No.  450.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  217 

and  children,  and,  therefore,  could  not  resist  the  first 
impulses  of  nature  on  so  wounding  a  loss;  but  I 
quickly  roused  myself,  and  found  means  to  alleviate, 
and  at  last  conquer,  my  affliction,  by  reflecting  how 
that  she  and  her  children  having  been  no  great  ex- 
pense to  me,  the  best  part  of  her  fortune  was  still 
left;  that  my  charge  being  reduced  to  myself,  a 
journeyman,  and  a  maid,  I  might  live  far  cheaper 
than  before  ;  and  that  being  now  a  childless  widow- 
er, I  might  perhaps  marry  a  no  less  deserving 
woman,  and  with  a  much  better  fortune  than  she 
brought,  which  was  but  i6800.  And,  to  convince 
my  readers  that  such  considerations  as  these  were 
proper  and  apt  to  produce  such  an  effect,  I  remem- 
ber it  was  the  constant  observation  at  that  deplorable 
time  when  so  many  hundreds  were  swept  away  daily, 
that  the  rich  ever  bore  the  loss  of  their  families  and 
relations  far  better  than  the  poor  ;  the  latter  having 
little  or  nothing  before-hand,  and  living  from  hand 
to  mouth,  placed  the  whole  comfort  and  satisfaction 
of  their  lives  in  their  wives  and  children,  and  were 
therefore  inconsolable. 

'  The  following  year  happened  the  fire ;  at  which 
time,  by  good  providence,  it  was  my  fortune  to  have 
converted  the  greatest  part  of  my  effects  into  ready 
money,  on  the  prospect  of  an  extraordinary  advan- 
tage which  I  was  preparing  to  lay  hold  on.  This 
calamity  was  very  terrible  and  astonishing,  the  fury  of 
the  flames  being  such,  that  whole  streets,  at  several 
distant  places,  were  destroyed,  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  so  that  (as  it  is  well  known)  almost  all  our 
citizens  were  burnt  out  of  what  they  had.  But 
what  did  I  then  do  ?  I  did  not  stand  gazing  on  the 
ruins  of  our  noble  metropolis ;  I  did  not  shake  my 
head,  wring  my  hands,  sigh  and  shed  tears ;  I  con- 


218  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  45Q. 

sidered  with  myself  what  could  this  avail :  I  fell  a 
plodding  what  advantages  might  be  made  of  the  first 
ready  cash  I  had ;  and  immediately  bethought  myself 
that  wonderful  pennyworths  might  be  bought  of  the 
goods  that  were  saved  out  of  the  fire.  In  short,  with 
about  2000Z.  and  a  little  credit,  I  bought  as  much 
tobacco  as  raised  my  estate  to  the  value  of  10,000Z. 
I  then  "looked  on  the  ashes  of  our  city,  and  the 
misery  of  its  late  inhabitants,  as  an  effect  of  the  just 
wrath  and  indignation  of  heaven  towards  a  sinful 
and  perverse  people." 

'  After  this  I  married  again ;  and  that  wife  dying, 
I  took  another :  but  both  proved  to  be  idle  baggages : 
the  first  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  plague  and  vexation 
by  her  extravagances,  and  I  became  one  of  the  by- 
words of  the  city.  I  knew  it  would  be  to  no  manner 
of  purpose  to  go  about  to  curb  the  fancies  and  incli- 
nations of  women,  which  fly  out  the  more  for  being 
restrained  ;  but  what  I  could  I  did  ;  I  watched  her 
narrowly,  and  by  good  luck  found  her  in  the  em- 
braces (for  which  I  had  two  witnesses  with  me)  of 
a  wealthy  spark  of  the  court-end  of  the  town  ;  of 
whom  I  recovered  15,000Z.,  which  made  me  amends 
for  what  she  had  idly  squandered,  and  put  a  silence 
to  all  my  neighbours,  taking  off  my  reproach  by  the 
gain  they  saw  I  had  by  it.  The  last  died  about 
two  years  after  I  married  her,  in  labour  of  three 
children.  I  conjecture  they  were  begotten  by  a 
country -kinsman  of  hers,  whom,  at  her  recommenda- 
tion, I  took  into  my  family,  and  gave  wages  to  as  a 
journeyman.  What  this  creature  expended  in  deli- 
cacies and  high  diet  with  her  kinsman  (as  well  as  I 
could  compute  by  the  poulterer's,  fishmonger's,  and 
grocer's  bills)  amounted  in  the  said  two  years  to 
one  hundred  eighty-six  pounds,  four  shillings,  and 


No.  450.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  219 

five-pence  halfpenny.  The  fine  apparel,  bracelets, 
lockets,  and  treats,  &c.  of  the  other,  according  to  the 
best  calculation,  came,  in  three  years  and  about 
three  quarters,  to  seven  hundred  forty-four  pounds, 
seven  shillings,  and  nine-pence.  After  this  I  resolved 
never  to  marry  more,  and  found  I  had  been  a  gain- 
er by  my  marriages,  and  the  damages  granted  me 
for  the  abuses  of  my  bed  (all  charges  deducted), 
eight  thoilsand  three  hundred  pounds,  within  a  trifle. 
'  I  come  now  to  show  the  good  effects  of  the  love 
of  money  on  the  lives  of  men,  towards  rendering 
them  honest,  sober,  and  religious.  When  I  was  a 
young  man,  I  had  a  mind  to  make  the  best  of  my 
wits,  and  over-reached  a  country-chap  in  a  parcel  of 
unsound  goods  ;  to  whom,  upon  his  upbraiding,  and 
threatening  to  expose  me  for  it,  I  returned  the 
equivalent  of  his  loss ;  and  upon  his  good  advice, 
wherein  he  clearly  demonstrated  the  folly  of  such 
artifices,  which  can  never  end  but  in  shame,  and  the 
ruin  of  all  correspondence,  I  never  after  transgressed. 
Can  your  courtiers,  who  take  bribes,  or  your  lawyers 
or  physicians  in  their  practice,  or  even  the  divines 
who  intermeddle  in  worldly  affairs,  boast  of  making 
but  one  slip  in  their  lives,  and  of  such  a  thorough 
and  lasting  reformation  ?  Since  my  coming  into  the 
world  I  do  not  remember  I  was  ever  overtaken  in 
drink,  save  nine  times,  once  at  the  christening  of 
my  first  child,  thrice  at  our  city  feasts,  and  five 
times  at  driving  of  bargains.  My  reformation  I  can 
attribute  to  nothing  so  much  as  the  love  and  esteem 
of  money,  for  I  found  myself  to  be  extravagant  in 
my  drink,  and  apt  to  turn  projector,  and  make  rash 
bargains.  As  fer  women,  I  never  knew  any  except 
my  wives  :  for  my  reader  must  know,  and  it  is  what 
we  may  confide  in  as  an  excellent  recipe,  that  the 


220  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  450, 

love  of  business  and  money  is  the  greatest  mortifier 
of  inordinate  desires  imaginable,  as  employing  the 
mind  continually  in  the  careful  oversight  of  what  one 
has,  in  the  eager  quest  after  more,  in  looking  after 
the  negligences  and  deceits  of  servants,  in  the  due 
entering  and  stating  of  accounts,  in  hunting  after 
chaps,  and  in  the  exact  knowledge  of  the  state  of 
markets ;  which  things  whoever  thoroughly  attends, 
will  find  enough  and  enough  to  employ  his  thoughts 
on  every  moment  of  the  day  ;  so  that  I  cannot  call 
to  mind,  that  in  all  the  time  I  was  a  husband,  which, 
off  and  on,  was  about  twelve  years,  I  ever  once 
thought  of  my  wives  but  in  bed.  And,  lastly,  for 
religion,  I  have  ever  been  a  constant  churchman, 
both  forenoons  and  afternoons  on  Sundays,  never 
forgetting  to  be  thankful  for  any  gain  or  advantage 
I  had  had  that  day  ;  and  on  Saturday  nights,  upon 
casting  up  my  accounts,  I  always  was  grateful  for 
the  sum  of  my  week's  profit,  and  at  Christmas  for 
that  of  the  whole  year.  It  is  true  perhaps  that  my 
devotion  has  not  been  the  most  fervent ;  which  I 
think  ought  to  be  imputed  to  the  evenness  and  se- 
dateness  of  my  temper,  which  never  would  admit  of 
any  impetuosities  of  any  sort :  and  I  can  remember 
that  in  my  youth  and  prime  of  manhood,  when  my 
blood  ran  brisker,  I  took  greater  pleasure  in  reli- 
gious exercise  than  at  present,  or  many  years  past, 
and  that  my  devotion  sensibly  declined  as  age, 
which  is  dull  and  unwieldy,  came  upon  me. 

'I  have,  I  hope,  here  proved,  that  the  love  of 
money  prevents  all  immorality  and  vice  ;  which  if 
you  will  not  allow,  you  must,  that  the  pursuit  of  it 
obliges  men  to  the  same  kind  of  life  as  they  would 
follow  if  they  were  really  virtuous ;  which  is  all  I 
have  to  say  at  present,  only  recommending  to  you, 


No-  451.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  221 

tbat  you  would  think  of  it,  and  turn  ready  wit  into 
ready  money  as  fast  as  you  can.     I  conclude, 

'  Your  servant, 
T.*^  'Ephraim  Weed.' 


*jt*  At  Drury-lane,  on  the  8th  of  August,  being  Friday  next,  will  be 
revived  a  comedy  called  The  London  Cuckolds.  Ramble,  Mr.  Mills ; 
Townly,  Mr.  Husband ;  Doodle,  Mr.  Johnson ;  Wiseacre,  Mr.  Bnlloek, 
sen.;  Dashwell,  Mr.  Bowen;  and  Loveday,  Mr.  Bullock,  jun.  Anabella, 
Mrs.  Bradshaw;  and  Peggy,  Miss  Willis.  With  the  last  new  morrice, 
dance,  by  Mr.  Prince  and  others. — Spect.  in  folio. 


No.  451.    THUESDAY,  August  7,  1712. 

—  Jam  SBDVus  apertam 
In  rabiom  Terti  coeplt  jocus,  et  per  honcstas 
Iro  domos  impune  mloax — 

HoR.  2  Ep.  L  148. 

—  Times  corrupt,  and  nature  ill-inclin'd 
Produced  the  point  tliat  loft  the  sting  behind ; 
Till  friond  with  friend,  and  families  at  strife, 
Triumphant  malice  rag'd  thro'  private  life. 

POPB. 

There  is  nothing  so  scandalous  to  a  government,  and 
detestable  in  the  eyes  of  all  good  men,  as  defamatory 
papers  and  pamphlets ;  but  at  the  same  time  there 
is  nothing  so  difficult  to  tame  as  a  satirical  author. 
An  angry  writer,  who  cannot  appear  in  print,  na- 
turally vents  his  spleen  in  libels  and  lampoons.  A 
gay  old  woman,  says  the  fable,  seeing  all  her  wrinkles 
represented  in  a  large  looking-glass,  threw  it  upon 
the  ground  in  a  passion,  and  broke  it  into  a  thousand 
pieces;  but  as  she  was  afterwards  surveying  the 
fragments  with  a  spiteful  kind  of  pleasure,  she  could 
not  forbear  uttering  herself  in  the  following  solilo- 
quy.    '  What  have  I  got  by  this  revengeful  blow  of 

f  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324,  on  letter  T. 


222  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  451. 

mine  ?  I  have  only  multiplied  my  deformity,  and 
see  an  hundred  ugly  faces,  where  before  I  saw  but 
one.' 

It  has  been  proposed  to  oblige  every  person  that 
writes  a  book,  or  a  paper,  to  swear  himself  the  author 
of  it,  and  enter  down  in  a  public  register  his  name 
and  place  of  abode. 

This  indeed  would  have  effectually  suppressed 
all  printed  scandal,  which  generally  appears  under 
borrowed  names,  or  under  none  at  all.  But  it  is  to 
be  feared  that  such  an  expedient  would  not  only 
destroy  scandal,  but  learning.  It  would  operate 
promiscuously,  and  root  up  the  corn  and  tares  to- 
gether. Not  to  mention  some  of  the  most  celebrated 
works  of  piety  which  have  proceeded  from  anony- 
mous authors,  who  have  made  it  their  merit  to  con- 
vey to  us  so  great  a  charity  in  secret,  there  are  few 
works  of  genius  that  come  out  at  first  with  the 
author's  name.  The  writer  generally  makes  a  trial 
of  them  in  the  world  before  he  owns  them;  and  I 
believe  very  few  who  are  capable  of  writing  would 
set  pen  to  paper,  if  they  knew  beforehand  that  thejr 
must  not  publish  their  productions  but  on  such  con- 
ditions. For  my  own  part,  I  must  declare,  the 
papers  I  present  the  public  are  like  fairy  favours, 
which  shall  last  no  longer  than  while  the  author  is 
concealed. 

That  which  makes  it  particularly  difficult  to  re- 
strain these  sons  of  calumny  and  defamation  is,  that 
all  sides  are  equally  guilty  of  it,  and  that  every  dirty 
scribbler  is  countenanced  by  great  names,  whose  in- 
terests he  propagates  by  such  vile  and  infamous 
methods.  I  have  never  yet  heard  of  a  ministry  who 
have  inflicted  an  exemplary  punishment  on  an  author 
that  has  supported  their  cause  with  falsehood  and 


No.  451.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  223 

scandal,  and  treated  in  a  most  cruel  manner  the 
names  of  those  "who  have  been  looked  upon  as  their 
rivals  and  antagonists.  Would  a  government  set  an 
everlasting  mark  of  their  displeasure  upon  one  of 
those  infamous  writers  who  makes  his  court  to  them 
by  tearing  to  pieces  the  reputation  of  a  competitor, 
we  should  quickly  see  an  end  put  to  this  race  of 
vermin,  that  are  a  scandal  to  government  and  a  re- 
proach to  human  nature.  Such  a  proceeding  would 
make  a  minister  of  state  shine  in  history,  and  would 
fill  all  mankind  with  a  just  abhorrence  of  persons 
who  should  treat  him  unworthily,  and  employ 
against  him  those  arms  which  he  scorned  to  make 
use  of  against  his  enemies. 

I  cannot  think  that  any  one  will  be  so  unjust  as 
to  imagine  what  I  have  here  said  is  spoken  with  a 
respect  to  any  party  or  faction.  Every  one  who 
has  in  him  the  sentiments  either  of  a  Christian  or  a 
gentleman,  cannot  but  be  highly  offended  at  this 
wicked  and  ungenerous  practice,  which  is  so  much 
in  use  among  us  at  present,  that  it  is  become  a  kind 
of  national  crime,  and  distinguishes  us  from  all  the 
governments  that  lie  about  us.  I  cannot  but  look 
upon  the  finest  strokes  of  satire,  which  are  aimed  at 
particular  persons,  and  which  are  supported  even 
with  the  appearances  of  truth,  to  be  the  marks  of 
.an  evil  mind,  and  highly  criminal  in  themselves. 
Infamy,  like  other  punishments,  is  under  the  direc- 
tion and  distribution  of  the  magistrate,  and  not  of 
any  private  person.  Accordingly  we  learn,  from  a 
fragment  of  Cicero,  that  though  there  were  very 
few  capital  punishments  in  the  twelve  tables,  a  libel 
or  lampoon  which  took  away  the  good  name  of  an- 
other, was  to  be  punished  by  death.  But  this  is  far 
from  being  our  case.     Our  satire  is  nothing  but 


224  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  451. 

ribaldry  and  billingsgate.  Scurrility  passes  for  wit ; 
and  he  who  can  call  names  in  the  greatest  variety 
of  phrases,  is  looked  upon  to  have  the  shrewdest 
pen.  By  this  means  the  honour  of  families  is  ruined, 
the  highest  posts  and  greatest  titles  aire  rendered 
cheap  and  vile  in  the  sight  of  the  people,  the  no- 
blest virtues  and  most  exalted  parts  exposed  to  the 
contempt  of  the  vicious  and  the  ignorant.  Should 
a  foreigner,  who  knows  nothing  of  our  private  fac- 
tions, or  one  who  is  to  act  his  part  in  the  world 
when  our  present  heats  and  animosities  are  forgot ; 
should,  I  say,  such  an  one  form  to  himself  a  notion 
of  the  greatest  men  of  all  sides  in  the  British  nation, 
who  are  now  living,  from  the  characters  which  are 
given  them  in  some  or  other  of  those  abominable 
writings  which  are  daily  published  among  us,  what 
a  nation  of  moiisters  must  we  appear  ! 

As  this  cruel  practice  tends  to  the  utter  subver- 
sion of  all  truth  and  humanity  among  us,  it  deserves 
the  utmost  detestation  and  discouragement  of  all 
who  have  either  the  love  of  their  country,  or  the 
honour  of  their  religion,  at  heart.  I  would  there- 
fore earnestly  recommend  it  to  the  consideration  of 
those  who  deal  in  these  pernicious  arts  of  writing, 
and  of  those  who  take  pleasure  in  the  reading  of 
them.  As  for  the  first,  I  have  spoken  of  them  in 
former  papers,  and  have  not  stuck  to  rank  them 
with  the  murderer  and  assassin.  Every  honest  man 
sets  as  high  a  value  upon  a  good  name  as  upon  life 
itself;  and  I  cannot  but  think  that  those  who  privily 
assault  the  one,  would  destroy  the  other,  might  they 
do  it  with  the  same  secresy  and  impunity. 

As  for  persons  who  take  pleasure  in  the  reading 
and  dispersing  of  such  detestable  libels,  I  am  afraid 
they  fall  very  little  short  of  the  guilt  of  the  first  com- 


No.  451.J  XHB   SPECTATOR.  225 

posers.  By  a  law  of  the  emperors  Valentinian  and 
Valens,  it  was  made  death  for  any  person  not  only 
to  write  a  libel,  but,  if  he  met  with  one  by  chance, 
not  to  tear  or  burn  it.  But  because  I  would  not  be 
thought  singular  in  my  opinion  of  this  matter,  I  shall 
conclude  my  paper  with  the  words  of  monsieur 
Bayle,  who  was  a  man  of  great  freedom  of  thought 
as  well  as  of  exquisite  learning  and  judgment. 

'  I  cannot  imagine  that  a  man  who  disperses  a 
libel,  is  less  desirous  of  doing  mischief  than  the  au- 
thor himself  But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  pleasure 
which  a  man  takes  in  the  reading  of  a  defamatory 
libel  ?  Is  it  not  an  heinous  sin  in  the  sight  of  God  ? 
We  must  distinguish  in  this  point.  This  pleasure  is 
either  an  agreeable  sensation  we  are  affected  with, 
when  we  meet  with  a  witty  thought  which  is  well 
expressed,  or  it  is  a  joy  which  we  conceive  from  the 
dishonour  of  the  person  who  is  defamed.  I  will  say 
nothing  to  the  first  of  these  cases,  for  perhaps  some 
would  think  that  my  morality  is  not  severe  enough, 
if  I  should  affirm  that  a  man  is  not  master  of  those 
agreeable  sensations,  any  more  than  of  those  occa- 
sioned by  sugar  or  honey,  when  they  touch  his  tongue ; 
but  as  to  the  second,  every  one  will  own  that  plea- 
sure to  be  a  heinous  sin.  The  pleasure  in  the  first 
case  is  of  no  continuance :  it  prevents  our  reason 
and  reflection,  and  may  be  immediately  followed  by 
a  secret  grief  to  see  our  neighbour's  honour  blasted. 
If  it  does  not  cease  immediately,  it  is  a  sign  that  we 
are  not  displeased  with  the  ill-nature  of  the  satirist, 
but  are. glad  to  see  him  defame  his  enemy  by  all 
kinds  of  stories ;  and  then  we  deserve  the  punish- 
ment to  which  the  writer  of  the  libel  is  subject.  I 
shall  here  add  the  words  of  a  modern  author.  St. 
Gregory,  upon  excommunicating  those  writers  who 

VOL.  V. 15 


226  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  .452. 

had  dishonoured  Castorius,  does  not  except  those 
who  read  their  works :  because,  says  he,  if  calum- 
nies have  always  been  the  delight  of  the  hearers,  and  a 
gratification  of  those  persons  who  have  no  other  ad- 
vantage over  honest  men,  is  not  he  who  takes  plea- 
sure in  reading  them  as  guilty  as  he  who  composed 
them?  It  is  an  uncontested  maxim,  that  they  who 
approve  an  action,  would  certainly  do  it  if  they 
could ;  that  is,  if  some  reason  of  self-love  did  not 
hinder  them.  There  is  no  difference,  says  Cicero, 
between  advising  a  crime,  and  approving  it  when 
committed.  The  Roman  law  confirmed  this  maxim, 
having  subjected  the  approvers  and  authors  of  this 
evil  to  the  same  penalty.  We  may  therefore  con- 
clude that  those  who  are  pleased  with  reading  de- 
famatory libels,  so  far  as  to  approve  the  authors  and 
dispersers  of  them,  are  as  guilty  as  if  they  had  com- 
posed them ;  for  if  they  do  not  write  such  libels 
themselves,  it  is  because  they  have  not  the  talent  of 
writing,  or  because  they  will  run  no  hazard.' 

The  author  produces  other  authorities  to  confirm 
his  judgment  in  this  particular.  C.® 


No.  452.    FEIDAY,  August  8,  1712. 

Est  Datura  hominnm  novitatia  avida. 

Fx-rcr.  apnd  LiUimn. 
Human  nature  Is  fond  of  novelty. 

Theke  is  no  humour  in  my  countrymen  which  I  am 
more  inclined  to  wonder  at  than  their  general  thirst 

e  By  Addison,  dated  from  Chelsea.     Old  Toneon  told  a  writer  in  these 
papers,  Chai  he  seldom  called  upon  Addison  when  he  did  not  find  Bayle's 


No.  452.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  227 

after  news.  There  are  about  half  a  dozen  ingenious 
men  who  live  very  plentifully  upon  this  curiosity  of 
their  fellow  subjects.  They  all  of  them  receive  the 
same  advices  from  abroad,  and  very  often  in  the 
same  words ;  but  their  way  of  cooking  it  is  so  dif- 
ferent, that  there  is  no  citizen  who  has  an  eye  to  the 
public  good,  that  can  leave  the  coffee-house  with  a 
peace  of  mind  before  he  has  given  every  one  of 
them  a  reading.  These  several  dishes  of  news  are 
so  very  agreeable  to  the  palate  of  my  countrymen, 
that  they  are  not  only  pleased  with  them  when  they 
are  served  up  hot,  but  when  they  are  again  set  cold 
before  them,  by  those  penetrating  politicians  who 
oblige  the  public  with  their  reflections  and  observa- 
tions upon  every  piece  of  intelligence  that  is  sent 
us  from  abroad.  The  text  is  given  us  by  one  set 
of  writers,  and  the  comment  by  another. 

But  notwithstanding  we  have  the  same  tale  told 
us  in  so  many  different  papers,  and,  if  occasion  re- 
quires, in  so  many  articles  of  the  same  paper ;  not- 
withstanding in  a  scarcity  of  foreign  posts  we  hear 
the  same  story  repeated  by  different  advices  from 
Paris,  Brussels,  the  Hague,  and  from  every  great 
town  in  Europe ;  notwithstanding  the  multitude  of 
annotations,  explanations,  reflections,  and  various 
readings  which  it  passes  through,  our  time  lies  heavy 
on  our  hands  till  the  arrival  of  a  fresh  mail :  we  long 
to  receive  farther  particulars,  to  hear  what  will  be 
the  next  step,  or  what  will  be  the  consequences  of 
that  which  has  been  already  taken.  A  westerly 
wind  keeps  the  whole  town  in  suspense,  and  puts  a 
stop  to  conversation. ' 

This  general  curiosity  has  been  raised  and  in- 

Diotionary  lying  open  upon  his  table.     See  there  his  curious  dissertation 
on  libels.     Gen.  Die.  vol.  x.  p.  330,  10  vols.  fol. 


228  THE   SPECTATOR.  \.^^-  452. 

flamed  by  our  late  wars,  and  if  rightly  directed  might 
be  of  good  use  to  a  person  who  has  such  a  thirst 
awakened  in  him.  Why  should  not  a  man  who 
takes  delight  in  reading  every  thing  that  is  new,  ap- 
ply himself  to  history,  travels,  and  other  writings  of 
the  same  kind,  where  he  will  find  perpetual  fuel  for 
his  curiosity,  and  meet  with  much  more  pleasure 
and  improvement  than  in  these  papers  of  the  week  ? 
An  honest  tradesman,  who  languishes  a  whole 
summer  in  expectation  of  a  battle,  and  perhaps  is 
balked  at  last,  may  here  meet  with  half  a  dozen  in 
a  day.  He  may  read  the  news  of  a  whole  campaign 
in  less  time  than  he  now  bestows  upon  the  products 
of  any  single  post.  Fights,  conquests,  and  revolu- 
tions, lie  thick  together.  The  reader's  curiosity  is 
raised  and  satisfied  every  moment,  and  his  passions 
disappointed  or  gratified,  without  being  detained  in 
a  state  of  uncertainty  from  day  to  day,  or  laying  at 
the  mercy  of  the  sea  and  wind ;  in  short,  the  mind 
is  not  here  kept  in  a  perpetual  gape  after  knowledge, 
nor  punished  with  that  eternal  thirst  which  is  the 
portion  of  all  our  modern  newsmong'ers  and  coffee- 
house politicians. 

All  matters  of  fact,  which  a  man  did  not  know 
before,  are  news  to  him ;  and  I  do  not  see  how  any 
haberdasher  in  Cheapside  is  more  concerned  in  the 
present  quarrel  of  the  Cantons,  than  he  was  in  that 
of  the  League.  At  least,  I  believe,  every  one  will 
allow  me,  it  is  of  more  importance  to  an  Englishman 
to  know  the  history  of  his  ancestors,  than  that  of 
his  contemporaries  who  live  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Danube  or  the  Boristhenes.  As  for  those  who  are 
of  another  mind,  I  shall  recommend  to  them  the  fol- 
lowing letter  from  a  projector,  who  is  willing  to  turn 


No.  452!]  THE  SPBCTATOE.  229 

a  penny  by  this  remarkable  curiosity  of  his  country- 
men. 

'  MB.  SPECTATOR,    , 

'  You  must  have  observed,  that  men  who 
frequent  coffee-houses,  and  delight  in  news,  are 
■pleased  with  every  thing  that  is  matter  of  fact,  so  it 
be  what  they  have  not  heard  before.  A  victory,  or 
a  defeat,  are  equally  agreeable  to  them.  The  shut- 
ting of  a  cardinal's  mouth  pleases  them  one  post,  and 
the  opening  of  it  another.  They  are  glad  to  hear 
the  French  court  is  removed  to  Marli,  and  are  after- 
wards as  much  delighted  with  its  return  to  Versailles. 
They  read  the  advertisements  with  the  same  curi- 
osity as  the  articles  of  public  news;  and  are  as 
pleased  to  hear  of  a  pyebald  horse  that  is  strayed 
out  of  a  field  near  Islington,  as  of  a  whole  troop 
that  has  been  engaged  in  any  foreign  adventure. 
In  short,  they  have  a  relish  for  every  thing  that  is 
news,  let  the  matter  of  it  be  what  it  will;  or,  to 
speak  more  properly,  they  are  men  of  a  voracious 
appetite,  but  no  taste.  Now,  Sir,  since  the  great 
fountain  of  news,  I  mean  the  war,  is  very  near  being 
dried  up ;  and  since  these  gentlemen  have  contracted 
such  an  inextinguishable  thirst  after  it;  I  have 
taken  their  case  and  my  own  into  consideration,  and 
have  thought  of  a  project  which  may  turn  to  the 
advantage  of  us  both.  I  have  thoughts  of  pub- 
lishing a  daily  paper,  which  shall  comprehend  in  it 
all  the  most  remarkable  occurrences  in  every  little 
town,  village,  and  hamlet,  that  lie  within  ten  miles 
of  London,  or,  in  other  words,  within  the  verge  of 
the  penny-post.  I  have  pitched  upon  this  scene  of 
intelligence  for  two  reasons ;  first,  because  the  car- 


230  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No-  452. 

riage  of  letters  will  be  very  jcheap;  and,  secondly, 
because  I  may  receive  them  every  day.  By  this 
means  my  readers  will  have  their  news  fresh  and 
fresh,  and  many  worthy  citizens,  who  cannot  sleep 
with  any  satisfaction  at  present,  for  want  of  being 
informed  how  the  world  goes,  may  go  to  bed  con- 
tentedly, it  being  my  design  to  put  out  my  paper 
every  night  at  nine  o'clock  precisely.  I  have  al- 
ready established  correspondences  in  these  several 
places,  and  received  very  good  intelligence. 

'  By  my  last  advices  from  Knightsbridge,  I  hear, 
that  a  horse  was  clapped  into  the  pound  on  the 
third  instant,  and  that  he  was  not  released  when  the 
letters  came  away. 

'  We  are  informed  from  Pankridge,''  that  a  dozen 
weddings  were  lately  celebrated  in  the  mother 
church  of  that  place,  but  are  referred  to  their  next 
letters  for  the  names  of  the  parties  concerned. 

'  Letters  from  Brompton  advise,  that  the  widow 
Blight  had  received  several  visits  from  John  Mill- 
dew,  which  affords  great  matter  of  speculation  in 
those  parts. 

'  By  a  fisherman  which  lately  touched  at  Ham- 
mersmith, there  is  advice  from  Putney,  that  a  cer- 
tain person,  well  known  in  that  place,  is  like  to  lose 
his  election  for  churchwarden ;  but  this  being  boat- 
news,  we  cannot  give  entire  credit  to  it. 

'  Letters  from  Paddington  bring  little  more  than 
that  William  Squeak,  the  sow-gelder,  passed  through 
that  place  the  fifth  instant. 

'  They  advise  from  Fulham,  that  things  remained 
there  in  the  same  state  they  were.  They  had  intel- 
ligence, just  as  the  letters  came  away,  of  a  tub  of 

•■  Panoras,  then  a  fashionable  place  for  -weddings. 


No.  453.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  231 

excellent  ale  just  set  abroach  at  Parsons  Green ;  but 
this  wanted  confirmation. 

'  I  have  here,  Sir,  given  you  a  specimen  of  the 
news  with  which  I  intend  to  entertain  the  town,  and 
which,  when  drawn  up  regularly  in  the  form  of  a 
newspaper,  will,  I  doubt  not,  be  very  acceptable  to 
many  of  those  public-spirited  readers,  who  take 
more  delight  in  acquainting  themselves  with  other 
people's  'business  than  their  own.  I  hope  a  paper 
of  this  kind,  which  lets  us  know  what  is  done  near 
home,  may  be  more  useful  to  us  than  those  which 
are  filled  with  advices  from  Zug  and  Bender,  and 
make  some  amends  for  that  dearth  of  intelligence 
which  we  may  justly  apprehend  fi:om  times  of  peace. 
If  I  find  that  you  receive  this  project  favourably,  I 
will  shortly  trouble  you  with  one  or  two  more ;  and 
in  the  mean  time  am,  most  worthy  Sir,  with  all  due 
respect, 

'  Your  most  obedient  and  humble  Servant.' 
C. 


No.  453.     SATUEDAY,  August  9,  1712. 


Non  usitatft  nee  tenul  ferar 
Fenn& — 

Hob.  a  Od.  zx  1 
No  weak,  no  common  wing  shall  bear 
My  rising  body  through  the  air. 

Cbe&gh, 


There  is  not  a  more  pleasing  exercise  of  the  mind 
than  gratitude.  It  is  accompanied  with  such  an 
inward  satisfaction,  that  the  duty  is  sufficiently  re- 
warded by  the  performance.      It  is  not  like  the 

■  By  Addison,  Chelsea.    See  final  note  to  No.  6. 


232  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  453. 

practice  of  many  other  virtues,  difficult  and  painful, 
but  attended  with  so  much  pleasure,  that  were  there 
no  positive  command  which  enjoined  it,  nor  any 
recompence  laid  up  for  it  hereafter,  a  generous  mind 
would  indulge  in  it,  for  the  natural  gratification  that 
accompanies  it. 

If  gratitude  is  due  from  man  to  man,  how  much 
more  from  man  to  his  Maker  ?  The  Supreme  Being 
does  not  only  confer  upon  us  those  bounttes  which 
proceed  more  immediately  from  his  hand,  but  even 
those  benefits  which  are  conveyed  to  us  by  others. 
Every  blessing  we  enjoy,  by  what  means  soever  it 
may  be  derived  upon  us,  is  the  gift  of  Him  who  is 
the  great  Author  of  good,  and  Father  of  mercies. 

If  gratitude,  when  exerted  towards  one  another, 
naturally  produces  a  very  pleasing  sensation  in  the 
mind  of  a  grateful  man ;  it  exalts  the  soul  into  rap- 
ture, when  it  is  employed  on  this  great  object  of 
gratitude,  on  this  beneficent  Being  who  has  given 
us  every  thing  we  already  possess,  and  from  whom 
we  expect  every  thing  we  yet  hope  for. 

Most  of  the  works  of  the  pagan  poets  were  either 
direct  hymns  to  their  deities,  or  tended  indirectly 
to  the  celebration  of  their  respective  attributes  and 
perfections.  Those  who  are  acquainted  with  the 
works  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets  which  are  still 
extant,  will,  upon  reflection,  find  this  observation  so 
true,  that  I  shall  not  enlarge  upon  it.  One  would 
wonder  that  more  of  our  Christian  poets  have  not 
turned  their  thoughts  this  way,  especially  if  we 
consider,  that  our  idea  of  the  Supreme  Being  is  not 
only  infinitely  more  great  and  noble  that  what  could 
possibly  enter  into  the  heart  of  an  heathen,  but 
filled  with  every  thing  that  can  raise  the  imagina- 


No.  453.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  233 

tion,   and   give  an  opportunity   for  the   sublimest 
thoughts  and  conceptions. 

Plutarch  tells  us  of  a  heathen  who  was  singing 
an  hymn  to  Diana,  in  which  he  celebrated  her  for 
her  delight  in  human  sacrifices,  and  other  instances 
of  cruelty  and  revenge ;  upon  which  a  poet,  who 
was  present  at  this  piece  of  devotion,  and  seems  to 
have  had  a  truer  idea  of  the  divine  nature,  told  the 
votary,  by  way  of  reproof,  that,  in  recompense  for 
his  hymn,  he  heartily  wished  he  might  have  a 
daughter  of  the  same  temper  with  the  goddess  he 
celebrated.  It  was  indeed  impossible  to  write  the 
praises  of  one  of  those  false  deities,  according  to  the 
pagan  creed,  without  a  mixture  of  impertinence  and 
absurdity. 

The  Jews,  who,  before  the  time  of  Christianity, 
were  the  only  people  that  had  the  knowledge  of  the 
true  God,  have  set  the  Christian  world  an  example 
how  they  ought  to  employ  this  divine  talent  of 
which  I  am  speaking.  As  that  nation  produced 
men  of  great  genius,  without  considering  them  as 
inspired  writers,  they  have  transmitted  to  us  many 
hymns  and  divine  odes,  which  excel  those  that  are 
delivered  down  to  us  by  the  ancient  Greeks  and 
Romans,  in  the  poetry,  as  much  as  in  the  subject  to 
which  it  was  consecrated.  This  I  think  might 
easily  be  shown,  if  there  were  occasion  for  it. 

I  have  already  communicated  to  the  public  some 
pieces  of  divine  poetry ;  ^  and,  as  they  have  met 
with  a  very  favourable  reception,  I  shall  from  time 
to  time  publish  any  work  of  the  same  nature,  which 
has  not  yet  appeared  in  print,  and  may  be  accepta- 
ble to  my  readers. 

>■  See  Speot.  Nos.  378,  388,  410,  and  441. 


234  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  453. 


'  When  all  thy  mercies,  O  my  God, 

My  rising  soul  surveys ; 
Transported  with  the  view,  I'm  lost 
In  wonder,  love,  and  praise : 


'  0  how  shall  words  with  equal  warmth 

The  gratitude  declare 
That  glows  within  my  ravish'd  heart? 
But  thou  canst  read  it  there. 

m. 
'  Thy  providence  my  life  sustain'd, 

And  all  my  wants  redrest, 

When  in  the  silent  womb  I  lay, 

And  hung  upon  the  breast. 


'  To  all  my  weak  complaints  and  cries, 

Thy  mercy  lent  an  ear, 
Ere  yet  my  feeble  thoughts  had  learnt 
To  form  themselves  in  pray'r. 


'  Unnumber'd  comforts  to  my  soul 

Thy  tender  care  bestow'd, 
Before  my  infant  heart  conceiv'd 
From  whom  those  comforts  flow'd. 


'  When  in  the  slipp'ry  paths  of  youth 

With  heedless  steps  I  ran. 
Thine  arm  unseen  convey'd  me  safe. 
And  led  me  up  to  man. 


'  Through  hidden  dangers,  toils,  and  deaths, 

It  gently  olear'd  my  way. 
And  through  the  pleasing  snares  of  vice. 
More  to  he  fear'd  than  they. 


'  When  worn  with  sickness,  oft  hast  Thou 
With  health  renew'd  my  face. 
And  when  in  sins  and  sorrows  sunk, 
Eeviv'd  my  soul  with  grace. 


No.  454]  THE   SPECTATOR.  235 


'Thy  bounteous  hand  with  worldly  blisa 

Has  made  my  cup  run  o'er, 
And  in  a  kind  and  faithful  friend 
Has  doubled  all  my  store. 


'  Ten  thousand  thousand  precious  gifts 
My  daily  thanks  employ ; 
For  is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart, 
That  tastes  those  gifts  with  joy. 


'  Through  every  period  of  my  life 

Thy  goodness  I'll  pursue ; 
And  after  death  in  distant  worlds 
The  glorious  theme  renew. 


'  When  nature  fails,  and  day  and  night 
Divide  thy  works  no  more. 
My  ever  grateful  heart,  O  Lord, 
Thy  mercy  shall  adore. 


'  Through  all  eternity  to  Thee 

A  joyful  song  I'll  raise. 

For,  oh !  eternity's  too  short 

To  utter  all  Thy  praise.' 


No.  454.  MONDAY,  August  11,  1712. 

Sine  me,  Tacivum,  tempus  ne  quod  dam  mihi 
LaboriB. 

Tee.  Heant  Act  i.  Sc  1. 

Give  me  leave  to  allow  myself  no  respite  from  labour. 

It  is  an  inexpressible  pleasure  to  know  a  little  of  the 
world,  and  be  of  no  character  or  significancy  iti  it. 

'  By  Addison,  Chelsea.    See  final  note  to  No.  6. 


236  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  454. 

To  be  ever  unconcerned,  and  ever  looking  on 
new  objects  with  an  endless  curiosity,  is  a  delight 
known  only  to  those  who  are  turned  for  specula- 
tion: nay,  they  who  enjoy  it  must  value  things 
only  as  they  are  the  objects  of  speculation,  without 
drawing  any  worldly  advantage  to  themselves  from 
them,  but  just  as  they  are  what  contribute  to  their 
amusement,  or  the  improvement  of  the  mind.  I 
lay  one  night  last  week  at  Richmond;  and  being 
restless,  not  out  of  dissatisfaction,  but  a  certain  busy 
inclination  one  sometimes  has,  I  rose  at  four  in  the 
morning,  and  took  boat  for  London,  with  a  resolu- 
tion to  rove  by  boat  and  coach  for  the  next  four 
and  twenty  hours,™  till  the  many  different  objects 
I  must  needs  meet  with  should  tire  my  imagina- 
tioQ,  and  give  me  an  inclination  to  a  repose  more 
profound  than  I  was  at  that  time  capable  of  I  beg 
people's  pardon  for  an  odd  humour  I  am  guilty  of, 
and  was  often  that  day,  which  is,  saluting  any  per- 
son whom  I  like,  whether  I  know  him  or  not.  This 
is  a  particularity  would  be  tolerated  in  me,  if  they 
considered  that  the  greatest  pleasure  I  know  I  re- 
ceive at  my  eyes,  and  that  I  am  obliged  to  an  agree- 
able person  for  coming  abroad  into  my  view,  as 
another  is  for  a  visit  of  conversation  at  their  own 
houses. 

The  hours  of  the  day  and  night  are  taken  up  in 
the  cities  of  London  and  Westminster,  by  people  as 
different  from  each  other  as  those  who  are  born  in 
different  centuries.  Men  of  six  o'clock  give  way 
to  those  of  nine ;  they  of  nine  to  the  generation  of 
twelve ;  and  they  of  twelve  disappear,  and  make 

'"  See  Spect.  No.  408. 


No.  454.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  237 

room  for  the  fashionable  world,  who  have  made 
two  o'clock  the  noon  of  the  day. 

When  we  first  put  off  from  shore,  we  soon  fell 
in  with  a  fleet  of  gardeners,  bound  for  the  several 
market-ports  of  London ;  and  it  was  the  most  pleas- 
ing scene  imaginable  to  see  the  cheerfulness  with 
which  those  industrious  people  plyed  their  way  to 
a  certain  sale  of  their  goods.  The  banks  on  each 
side  are  as  well  peopled,  and  beautified  with  as 
agreeable  plantations,  as  any  spot  on  the  earth ; 
but  the  Thames  itself,  loaded  with  the  product  of 
each  shore,  added  very  much  to  the  landscape.  It 
was  very  easy  to  observe  by  their  sailing,  and  the 
countenances  of  the  ruddy  virgins,  who  were  super- 
cargoes, the  parts  of  the  town  to  which  they  were 
bound.  There  was  an  air  in  the  purveyors  for 
Covent-garden,  who  frequently  converse  with  morn- 
ing rakes,  very  unlike  the  seeming  sobriety  of  those 
bound  for  Stocks-market. 

Nothing  remarkable  happened  in  our  voyage ; 
but  I  landed  with  ten  sail  of  apricot  boats,  at  Strand- 
bridge,  .  after  having  put  in  at  Nine-Elms,  and  taken 
in  melons,  consigned  by  Mr.  Cuffe,  of  that  place,  to 
Sarah  SeweU  and  company,  at  their  stall  in  Covent- 
garden.  We  arrived  at  Strand-bridge  at  six  of  the 
clock,  and  were  unloading,  when  the  hackney- 
■  coachmen  of  the  foregoing  night  took  their  leave 
of  each  other  at  the  Dark-House,  to  go  to  bed  be- 
fore the  day  was  too  far  spent.  Chimney-sweepers 
passed  by  us  as  we  made  up  to  the  market,  and 
some  raillery  happened  between  one  of  those  fruit- 
wenches  and  those  black  men,  about  the  Devil  and 
Eve,  with  allusion  to  their  several  professions.  I 
could  not  believe  any  place  more  entertaining  than 


238  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  454. 

Covent-garden ;  "where  I  strolled  from  one  fruit-shop 
to  another,  with  crowds  of  agreeable  young  women 
around  me,  who  were  purchasing  fruit  for  their  re- 
spective families.     It  was  almost  eight  of  the  clock 
before  I  could  leave  that  variety  of  objects.     I  took 
coach,   and  followed  a  young   lady,  who  tripped 
into  another  just  before  me,  attended  by  her  maid. 
I  saw  immediately  she  was  of  the  family  of  the 
Vainloves.     There  are  a  set  of  these,  who,  of  all 
things,  affect  the  play  of  Blindman's-buff,  and  lead- 
ing men  into  love  for  they  know  not  whom,  who 
are  fled  they  know  not  where.     This  sort  of  woman 
is  usually  a  janty  slattern  :  she  hangs  on  her  clothes, 
plays  her  head,  varies  her  posture,  and  changes 
place  incessantly,  and  all  with  an  appearance  of 
striving  at  the  same  time  to  hide  herself,  and  yet 
give  you  to  understand  she  is  in  humour  to  laugh 
at  you.     You  must  have  often  seen  the  coachmen 
make  signs  with  their  fingers,  as  they  drive  by  each 
other,  to  intimate  how  much  they  have  got  that 
day.     They  can  carry  on  that  language  to  give  in- 
telligence where  they  are  driving.     In  an  instant 
my  coachman  took  the  wink  to  pursue :  and  the 
lady's   driver   gave   the   hint  that   he  was   going 
through  Long-acre  towards  St.  James's :  while  he 
whipped  up  James-street,  we  drove  for  King-street, 
to  save  the  pass  at  St.  Martin's-lane.     The  coach- 
men took  care  to  meet,  jostle,  and  threaten  each 
other  for  way,  and  be  entangled  at  the  end  of  New- 
port-street and  Long-acre.     The  fright,  you  must 
believe,  brought  down  the  lady's  coach-door,  and 
obliged  her,  with  her  mask  off,  to  inquire  into  the 
bustle,  when  she  sees  the  man  she  would  avoid. 
The  tackle  of  the  coach-window  is  so  bad  she  can- 
not draw  it  up  again,  and  she  drives  on,  sometimes 


No.  454.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  239 

wholly  discovered,  and  sometimes  half  escaped,  ac- 
cording to  the  accident  of  carriages  in  her  way. 
One  of  these  ladies  keeps  her  seat  in  a  hackney- 
coach,  as  well  as  the  best  rider  does  on  a  managed 
horse.  The  laced  shoe  of  her  left  foot,  with  a  care 
less  gesture,  just  appearing  on  the  opposite  cushion, 
held  her  both  firm,  and  in  a  proper  attitude  to  re- 
ceive the  next  jolt. 

As  she  was  an  excellent  coachwoman,  many 
were  the  glances  at  each  other  which  we  had  for 
an  hour  and  an  half,  in  all  parts  of  the  town,  by  the 
skill  of  our  drivers ;  till  at  last  my  lady  was  conve- 
"niently  lost,  with  notice  from  her  coachman  to  ours, 
to  make  off,  and  he  should  hear  where  she  went. 
This  chace  was  now  at  an  end ;  and  the  fellow  who 
drove  her  came  to  us,  and  discovered  that  he  was 
ordered  to  come  again  in  an  hour,  for  that  she  was 
a  silk-worm.  I  was  surprised  with  this  phrase,  but 
found  it  was  a  cant  among  the  hackney  fraternity 
for  their  best  customers,  women  who  ramble  twice 
or  thrice  a-week  from  shop  to  shop,  to  turn  over  all 
the  goods  in  town  without  buying  any  thing.  The 
silk-worms  are,  it  seems,  indulged  by  the  trades- 
men ;  for  though  they  never  buy,  they  are  ever 
talking  of  new  silks,  laces,  and  ribands,  and  serve 
the  owners  in  getting  them  customers,  as  their  com- 
mon dunners  do  in  making  them  pay. 

The  day  of  people  of  fashion  began  now  to  break, 
and  carts  and  hacks  were  mingled  with  equipages 
of  show  and  vanity ;  when  I  resolved  to  walk  it, 
out  of  cheapness  :  but  my  unhappy  curiosity  is  such, 
that  I  find  it  always  my  interest  to  take  coach  ;  for 
some  odd  adventure  among  beggars,  ballad-singers, 
or  the  like,  detains  and  throws  me  into  expense. 
It  happened  so  immediately  ;  for  at  the  corner  of 


240  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  454. 

Warwick-street,  as  I  was  listening  to  a  new  ballad, 
a  ragged  rascal,  a  beggar  who  knew  me,  came  up 
to  me,  and  began  to  turn  the  eyes  of  the  good  com- 
pany upon  me,  by  telling  me  he  was  extremely  poor, 
and  should  die  in  the  street  for  want  of  drink,  ex- 
cept I  immediately  would  have  the  charity  to  give 
him  sixpence  to  go  into  the  next  ale-house  and  save 
his  life.  He  urged,  with  a  melancholy  face,  that  all 
his  family  had  died  of  thirst.  All  the  mob  have 
humour,  and  two  or  three  began  to  take  the  jest ; 
by  which  Mr.  Sturdy  carried  his  point,  and  let  me 
sneak  off  to  a  coach.  As  I  drove  along,  it  was 
a  pleasing  reflection  to  see  the  world  so  prettily 
checkered  since  I  left  Richmond,  and  the  scene 
still  filling  with  children  of  a  new  hour.  This  satis- 
faction increased  as  I  moved  towards  the  city  ;  and 
gay  signs,  well-disposed  streets,  magnificent  public 
structures,  and  wealthy  shops,  adorned  with  con- 
tented faces,  made  the  joy  still  rising  till  we  came 
into  the  centre  of  the  city,  and  centre  of  the  -^vorld 
of  trade,  the  Exchange  of  London.  As  other  men 
in  the  crowds  about  me  were  pleased  with  their 
hopes  and  bargains,  I  found  my  account  in  observ- 
ing them  in  attention  to  their  several  interests.  I 
indeed  looked  upon  myself  as  the  richest  man  that 
walked  the  Exchange  that  day ;  for  my  benevo- 
lence made  me  share  the  gains  of  every  bargain 
that  was  made.  It  was  not  the  least  of  the  satisfac- 
tions in  my  survey,  to  go  up  stairs,  and  pass  the 
shops  of  agreeable  females :  to  observe  so  many 
pretty  hands  busy  in  the  folding  of  ribands,  and 
the  utmost  eagerness  of  agreeable  faces  in  the  sale 
of  patches,  pins,  and  wires,  on  each  side  of  the 
counters,  was  an  amusement  in  which  I  should 
longer  have  indulged  myself,  had  not  the  dear  crea- 


No.  454.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  241 

tures  called  to  me,  to  ask  what  I  "wanted,  when  I 
could  not  answer,  only  '  To  look  at  you.'  I  went 
to  one  of  the  windows  which  opened  to  the  area 
below,  where  all  the  several  voices  lost  their  dis- 
tinction, and  rose  up  in  a  confused  humming ;  which 
created  in  me  a  reflection  that  could  not  come  into 
the  mind  of  any  but  of  one  a  little  too  studious ; 
for  I  said  to  myself,  with  a  kind  of  pun  in  thought, 
'  What  nonsense  is  all  the  hurry  of  this  world  to 
those  who  are  above  it  ? '  In  these,  or  not  much 
wiser  thoughts,  I  had  liked  to  have  lost  my  place 
at  the  chop-house,  where  every  man,  according  to 
the  natural  bashfulness  or  suUenness  of  our  nation, 
eats  in  a  public  room  a  mess  of  broth,  or  chop  of 
meat,  in  dumb  silence,  as  if  they  had  no  pretence  to 
speak  to  each  other  on  the  foot  of  being  men,  ex- 
cept they  were  of  each  other's  acquaintance. 

I  went  afterwards  to  Eobin's,  and  saw  people  who 
had  dined  with  me  at  the  five-penny  ordinary  just 
before,  give  bills  for  the  value  of  large  estates ;  and 
could  not  but  behold  with  great  pleasure,  property 
lodged  in,  and  transferred  in  a  moment  from  such  as 
would  never  be  masters  of  half  as  much  as  is  seem- 
ingly in  them,  and  given  from  them  every  day  they 
live.  But  before  five  in  the  afternoon  I  left  the  city, 
came  to  my  common  scene  of  Covent-garden,  and 
passed  the  evening  at  Will's,  in  attending  the  dis- 
courses of  several  sets  of  people,  who  relieved  each 
other  within  my  hearing,  on  the  subjects  of  cards, 
dice,  love,  learning,  and  politics.  The  last  subject 
kept  me  till  I  heard  the  streets  in  the  possession  of 
the  bell-man,  who  had  now  the  world  to  himself,  and 
cry'd  '  Past  two  o'clock.'  This  roused  me  from  my 
seat;  and  I  went  to  ray  lodging,  led  by  a  light, 
whom  I  put  into  the  discourse  of  his  private  ecou- 
VOL.  V. — 16 


242  THE   SPEOTATOB.  [."^o.  455. 

omy,  and  made  him  give  me  an  account  of  the  charge, 
hazard,  profit,  and  loss  of  a  family  that  depended 
upon  a  link,  with  a  design  to  end  my  trivial  day  with 
the  generosity  of  six-pence,  instead  of  a  third  part 
of  that  sum.  When  I  came  to  my  chamber,  I  writ 
down  these  minutes ;  but  was  at  a  loss  what  instruc 
tion  I  should  propose  to  my  reader  from  the  enume- 
ration of  so  many  insignificant  matters  and  occur- 
rences :  and  I  thought  it  of  great  use,  if  they  could 
learn  with  me  to  keep  their  minds  open  to  gratifica- 
tion, and  ready  to  receive  it  from  any  thing  it  meets 
with.  This  one  circumstance  will  make  every  face 
you  see  give  you  the  satisfaction  you  now  take  in 
beholding  that  of  a  friend ;  will  make  every  object 
a  pleasing  one ;  will  make  all  the  good  which  arrives 
to  any  man,  an  increase  of  happiness  to  yourself. 

rp  n 


No.  455.    TUESDAY,  August  12,  1712. 

—  "Ego,  apis  HatinsB 
More  modoqae, 
Grata  carpenUs  tbyma  per  laborem. 
Plnrimnm — 

Hoe.  4  Od.  ii  27. 
—  My  timorons  muse 
Unambitious  tracts  pursues ; 
Does  with  weak  unballast  winga, 
About  the  mossy  brooks  and  springs, 

Iiike  the  iaborloua  bee, 
For  little  drops  of  honey  fly, 

And  there  with  humble  sweets  contents  her  industry. 

Cowley. 

The  following  letters  have  in  them  reflections  which 
will  seem  of  importance  both  to  the  learned  world, 
and  to  domestic  life.     There  is  in  the  first  an  alle- 

^  By  Steele. 


No.  455.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  243 

gory  so  well  carried  on,  that  it  cannot  but  be  very 
pleasing  to  those  who  have  a  taste  of  good  writing : 
and  the  other  billets  may  have  their  use  in  common 
life. 


'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  As  I  walked  t'other  day  in  a  fine  gar- 
den, and  observed  the  great  variety  of  improvements 
in  plants  and  flowers,  beyond  what  they  otherwise 
would  have  been,  I  was  naturally  led  into  a  reflection 
upon  the  advantages  of  education,  or  modern  culture : 
how  many  good  qualities  in  the  mind  are  lost,  for 
want  of  the  like  due  care  in  nursing  and  skilfully 
managing  them ;  how  many  virtues  are  choked  by 
the  multitude  of  weeds  which  are  sufi'ered  to  grow 
among  them ;  how  excellent  parts  are  often  starved 
and  useless,  by  being  planted  in  a  wrong  soil ;  and 
how  very  seldom  do  these  moral  seeds  produce  the 
noble  fruits  which  might  be  expected  from  them,  by 
a  neglect  of  proper  manuring,  necessary  pruning, 
and  an  artful  management  of  our  tender  inclinations 
and  first  spring  of  life.  These  obvious  speculations 
made  me  at  length  conclude,  that  there  is  a  sort  of 
vegetable  principle  in  the  mind  of  every  man  when 
he  comes  into  the  world.  In  infants,  the  seeds  lie 
buried  and  undiscovered,  till  after  a  while  they 
sprout  forth  in  a  kind  of  rational  leaves,  which  are 
words;  and  in  a  due  season  the  flowers  begin  to 
appear  in  variety  of  beautiful  colours,  and  all  the 
gay  pictures  of  youthful  fancy  and  imagination ;  at 
last  the  fruit  knits  and  is  formed,  which  is  green 
perhaps  at  first,  sour  and  unpleasant  to  the  taste, 
and  not  fit  to  be  gathered ;  till,  ripened  by  due  care 
and  application,  it  discovers  itself  in  all  the  noble 
productions  of  philosophy,  mathematics,,  close  reason- 


244  THE   SPECTATOR.  V^°-  455- 

ing,  and  handsome  argumentation.      These  fruits, 
when  they  arrive  at  just  maturity,  and  are  of  a  good 
kind,  afford  the  most  vigorous  nourishment  to  the 
minds  of  men.    I  reflected  farther  on  the  intellectual 
leaves  before  mentioned,  and  found  almost  as  great 
a  variety  among  them,  as  in  the  vegetable  world. 
I  could  easily  observe  the  smooth  shining  Italian 
leaves,  the  nimble  French  aspen  always  in  motion, 
the  Greek  and  Latin  ever-greens,  the  Spanish  myrtle, 
the  English  oak,  the  Scotch  thistle,  the  Irish  sham- 
brogue,  the  prickly  German,  and  Dutch  holly,  the 
Polish  and  Russian  nettle,  besides  a  vast  number  of 
exotics  imported  from  Asia,  Africa,  and  America. 
I  saw  several  barren  plants,  which  bore  only  leaves, 
without  any  hopes  of  flower  or  fruit.    The  leaves  of 
some  were  fragrant  and  well-shaped,  and  others  ill- 
scented  and  irregular.     I  wondered  at  a  set  of  old 
whimsical  botanists,  who  spent  their  whole  lives  in 
the    contemplation    of    some   withered   Egyptian, 
Coptic,  Armenian,  or  Chinese  leaves;  while  others 
made  it  their  business  to  collect,  in  voluminous 
herbals,  aU  the  several  leaves  of  some  one  tree.    The 
flowers  afforded  a  most  diverting  entertainment,  in 
a  wonderful  variety  of  figures,  colours,  and  scents ; 
however,  most  of  them  withered  soon,  or  at  best  are 
but  annuals.     Some  professed  florists  make  them 
their  constant  study  and  employment,  and  despise 
all  fruit ;  and  now  and  then  a  few  fanciful  people 
spend  aU  their  time  in  the  cultivation  of  a  single 
tulip,   or  a  carnation.      But  the  most  agreeable 
amusement  seems  to  be  the  well  choosing,  mixing, 
and  binding  together  these  flowers  in  pleasing  nose- 
gays, to  present  to  ladies.      The  scent  of  Italian 
flowers  is  observed,  like  their  other  perfumes,  to  be 
too  strong,  and  to  hurt  the  brain ;  that  of  the  French, 


No.  455.]  THE  SPECTATOR,  245 

with  glaring  gaudy  colours,  yet  faint  and  languid ; 
German  and  northern  flowers  have  little  or  no  smell, 
or  sometimes  an  unpleasant  one.  The  ancients  had 
a  secret  to  give  a  lasting  beauty,  colour,  and  sweet- 
ness, to  some  of  their  choice  flowers,  which  flourish 
to  this  day,  and  which  few  of  the  moderns  can  effect. 
These  are  becoming  enough  and  agreeable  in  their 
season,  and  do  often  handsomely  adorn  an  entertain- 
ment ;  but  an  over-fondness  of  them  seems  to  be  a 
disease.  It  rarely  happens  to  find  a  plant  vigorous 
enough  to  have  (like  an  orange-tree)  at  once  beauti- 
ful shining  leaves,  fragrant  flowers,  and  delicious, 
nourishing  fruit. 

'SiE,  yours,  &c.' 

'  DEAR  SPEC,  August  6,  1712. 

'  You  have  given  us,  in  your  Spectator  of 
Saturday  last,"  a  very  excellent  discourse  upon  the 
force  of  custom,  and  its  wonderful  efficacy  in  making 
every  thing  pleasant  to  us.  I  cannot  deny  but  that 
I  received  above  two-pennyworth  of  instruction  from 
your  paper,P  and  in  the  general  was  very  well  pleas- 
ed with  it ;  but  I  am,  without  a  compliment,  sincere- 
ly troubled  that  I  cannot  exactly  be  of  your  opinion, 
that  it  makes  every  thing  pleasing  to  us.  In  short, 
I  have  the  honour  to  be  yoked  to  a  young  lady,  who 
is,  in  plain  English,  for  her  standing,  a  very  eminent 
scold.  She  began  to  break  her  mind  very  freely 
both  to  me  and  to  her  servants,  about  two  months 
after  our  nuptials ;  and  though  I  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  this  humour  of  hers  these  three  years,  yet 
I  do  not  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me,  but  I  am 
no  more  delighted  with  it  than  I  was  at  the  very 

»  Speot  No.  4i1.  P  Spect  No.  445. 


246  THE   SPECTATOE.  t^O.  455. 

first.  I  have  advised  with  her  relations  about  her, 
and  they  all  tell  me  that  her  mother  and  her  grand- 
mother before  her  were  both  taken  much  after  the 
same  manner ;  so  that,  since  it  runs  in  the  blood,  1 
have  but  small  hopes  of  her  recovery.  I  should  be 
glad  to  have  a  little  of  your  advice  in  this  matter.  I 
would  not  willingly  trouble  you  to  contrive  how  it 
may  be  a  pleasure  to  me ;  if  you  will  but  put  me  in 
a  way  that  I  may  bear  it  with  indifference,  I  shall 
rest  satisfied. 

'  Dear  Spec,  your  very  humble  servant. 

'  P.  S.  I  must  do  the  poor  girl  the  justice  to  let 
you  know,  that  this  match  was  none  of  her  own 
choosing  (or  indeed  of  mine  either) ;  in  consideration 
of  which  I  avoid  giving  her  the  least  provocation ; 
and  indeed  we  live  better  together  than  usually  folks 
do  who  hated  one  another  when  they  were  first  joined. 
To  evade  the  sin  against  parents,  or  at  least  to  ex- 
tenuate it,  my  dear  rails  at  my  father  and  mother, 
and  I  curse  hers  for  making  the  match.' 

'MB.  SPECTATOR,  Augusts,  1712. 

'I  LIKE  the  theme  you  lately  gave  out' 
extremely,  and  should  be  as  glad  to  handle  it  as  any 
man  living.  But  I  find  myself  no  better  qualified  to 
write  about  money  than  about  my  wife ;  for,  to  tell 
you  a  secret,  which  I  desire  may  go  no  farther,  I  am 
master  of  neither  of  those  subjects. 

'  Yours,       Pill  Garlick.' 

'MR.  SPECTATOR, 

I  DESIRE  you  will  print  this  in  italic,  so 
as  it  may  be  generally  taken  notice  of.     It  is  de- 

i  See  Speot.  Nos.  442,  and  460. 


No.  45e.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  247 

signed  only  to  admonish  all  persons  wlio  speak 
either  at  the  bar,  pulpit,  or  any  public  assembly 
"whatsoever,  how  they  discover  their  ignorance  in  the 
use  of  similies.  There  are  in  the  pulpit  itself,  as  well 
as  other  places,  such  gross  abuses  in  this  kind,  that  I 
give  this  warning  to  all  I  know.  I  shall  bring  them 
for  the  future  before  your  spectatorial  authority. 
On  Sunday  last,  one  who  shall  be  nameless,  reprov- 
ing several  of  his  congregation  for  standing  at  pray- 
ers, was  pleased  to  say,  "  One  would  think,  like  the 
elephant,  you  had  no  knees."  Now  I  myself  saw  an 
elephant,  in  Bartholomew-fair,  kneel  down  to  take 
on  his  back  the  ingenious  Mr.  William  Pinkethman.' 
'Your  most  humble  servant.' 

m  8 


No.  456.     WEDNESDAY,  August  13,  1712. 

De  qno  libelli  in  celeberrimis  locis  propontmtur,  buic  ne  periie  quidem  tacitd  conceditnr. 

Tnu,, 

The  man  whose  conduct  is  publicly  arraigned,  is  not  Buffered  even  to  be  undone  quietly. 

Otway,  in  his  tragedy  of  Venice  Preserved,  has  de- 
scribed the  misery  of  a  man  whose  effects  are  in  the 
hands  of  the  law,  with  great  spirit.  The  bitterness 
of  being  the  scorn  and  laughter  of  base  minds,  the 
anguish  of  being  insulted  by  men  hardened  beyond 
the  sense  of  shame  or  pity,  and  the  injury  of  a  man's 
fortune  being  wasted  under  pretence  of  justice,  are 
excellently  aggravated  in  the  following  speech  of 
Pierre  to  Jaffier. 


■■  See  Tat.  No.  4,  and  note ;  No.  188,  and  Spect  Nos.  31,  and  370. 
"  By  Steele,  composed,  or  communicated  from  the  letter-box. 


248  THE   SPECTATOB.  [No. '456. 

'  I  pass'd  this  very  moment  by  thy  doors, 
And  found  them  guarded  by  a  troop  of  villains ; 
The  sons  of  public  rapine  were  destroying. 
They  told  me,  by  the  sentence  of  the  law, 
They  had  commission  to  seize  all  thy  fortune : 
Nay  more,  Prinli's  cruel  hand  had  sign'd  it. 
Here  stood  a  rufiSan  with  a  horrid  face, 
Lording  it  o'er  a  pile  of  massy  plate, 
Tumbled  into  a  heap  for  public  sale. 
There  was  another  making  villainous  jests 
At  thy  undoing.    He  had  ta'en  possession 
Of  all  thy  ancient  most  domestic  ornaments : 
Eich  hangings  intermix'd  and  wrought  with  gold; 
The  very  bed,  which  on  thy  wedding  night 
Eeceiv'd  thee  to  the  arms  of  Belvidera, 
The  scene  of  all  thy  joys,  was  violated 
By  the  coarse  hands  of  filthy  dungeon  villains, 
And  thrown  amongst  the  common  lumber.' 

Nothing  indeed  can  be  more  unhappy  than  the 
condition  of  bankruptcy.  The  calamity  which  hap- 
pens to  us  by  ill  fortune,  or  by  the  injuries  of  others, 
has  in  it  some  consolation ;  but  what  arises  from  our 
own  misbehaviour  or  error,  is  the  state  of  the  most 
exquisite  sorrow.  When  a  man  considers  not  only 
an  ample  fortune,  but  even  the  very  necessaries  of 
life,  his  pretence  to  food  itself,  at  the  mercy  of  his 
creditors,  he  cannot  but  look  upon  himself  in  the 
state  of  the  dead,  with  his  case  thus  much  worse,  that 
the  last  office  is  performed  by  his  adversaries  instead 
of  his  friends.  From  this  hour  the  cruel  world  does 
not  only  take  possession  of  his  whole  fortune,  but  even 
of  every  thing  else,  which  had  no  relation  to  it.  All 
his  indifferent  actions  have  new  interpretations  put 
upon  them ;  and  those  whom  he  has  favoured  in  his 
former  life,  discharge  themselvesof  their  obligations 
to  him,  by  joining  in  the  reproaches  of  his  enemies. 
It  is  almost  incredible  that  it  should  be  so ;  but  it  is 
too  often  seen  that  there  is  a  pride  mixed  with  the 


No.  456.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  249 

impatience  of  the  creditor ;  and  there  are  who  would 
rather  recover  their  own  by  the  downfall  of  a  pros- 
perous man,  than  be  discharged  to  the  common 
satisfaction  of  themselves  and  their  creditors.  The 
wretched  man,  who  was  lately  master  of  abundance, 
is  now  under  the  direction  of  others  ;  and  the  wis- 
dom, economy,  good  sense,  and  skill  in  human  life 
before,  by  reason  of  his^  present  misfortune,  are  of 
no  use  to  him  in  the  disposition  of  any  thing.  The 
incapacity  of  an  infant  or  a  lunatic  is  designed  for 
his  provision  and  accommodation ;  but  that  of  a 
bankrupt,  without  any  mitigation  in  respect  of  the 
accidents  by  which  it  arrived,  is  calculated  for  his 
utter  ruin,  except  there  be  a  remainder  ample 
enough,  after  the  discharge  of  his  creditors,  to  bear 
also  the  expense  of  rewarding  those  by  whose  means 
the  effect  of  all  his  labours  was  transferred  from  him. 
This  man  is  to  look  on  and  see  others  giving  direc- 
tions upon  what  terms  and  conditions  his  goods 
are  to  be  purchased ;  and  all  this  usually  done,  not 
with  an  air  of  trustees  to  dispose  of  his  effects,  but 
destroyers  to  divide  and  tear  them  to  pieces. 

There  is  something  sacred  in  misery  to  great 
and  good  minds ;  for  this  reason  all  wise  lawgivers 
have  been  extremely  tender  how  they  let  loose  even 
the  man  who  has  right  on  his  side,  to  act  with  any 
mixture  of  resentment  against  the  defendant.  Vir- 
tuous and  modest  men,  though  they  may  be  used 
with  some  artifice,  and  have  it  in  their  power  to 
avenge  themselves,  are  slow  in  the  application  of 
that  power,  and  are  ever  constrained  to  go  into 
rigorous  measures.  They  are  careful  to  demonstrate 
themselves  not  only  persons  injured,  but  also  that  to 
bear  it  longer  would  be  a  means  to  make  the 
offender  injure  others,  before  they  proceed.     Such 


250  THE   SPECTATOB.  [No.  456. 

men  clap  their  hands  upon  their  hearts,  and  con- 
sider what  it  is  to  have  at  their  mercy  the  life  of  a 
citizen.  Such  would  have  it  to  say  to  their  own 
souls,  if  possible,  that  they  were  merciful  when  they 
could  have  destroyed,  rather  than  when  it  was  in 
their  power  to  have  spared  a  man,  they  destroyed. 
This  is  a  due  to  the  common  calamity  of  human  life, 
due  in  some  measure  to  our  very  enemies.  They 
who  scruple  doing  the  least  injury,  are  cautious  of 
exacting  the  utmost  justice. 

Let  any  one  who  is  conversant  in  the  variety  of 
human  life  reflect  upon  it,  and  he  will  find  the  man 
who  wants  mercy  has  a  taste  of  no  enjoyment  of  any 
kind.  There  is  a  natural  disrelish  of  every  thing 
which  is  good  in  his  very  nature,  and  he  is  born  an 
enemy  to  the  world.  He  is  ever  extremely  partial 
to  himself  in  all  his  actions,  and  has  no  sense  of  ini- 
quity but  from  the  punishment  which  shall  attend  it. 
The  law  of  the  land  is  his  gospel,  and  all  his  cases 
of  conscience  are  determined  by  his  attorney.  Such 
men  know  not  what  it  is  to  gladden  the  heart  of  a 
miserable  man,  that  riches  are  the  instruments  of 
serving  the  purposes  of  heaven  or  hell,  according  to 
the  disposition  of  the  possessor.  The  wealthy  can 
torment  or  gratify  all  who  are  in  their  power,  and 
choose  to  do  one  or  other,  as  they  are  affected  with 
love  or  hatred  to  mankind.  As  for  such  who  are 
insensible  of  the  concerns  of  others,  but  merely  as 
they  affect  themselves,  these  men  are  to  be  valued 
only  for  their  morality,  and  as  we  hope  better  things 
for  their  heirs.  I  could  not  but  read  with  great  de- 
light a  letter  from  an  eminent  citizen,  who  has  failed, 
to  one  who  was  intimate  with  him  in  his  better  for- 
tune, and  able  by  his  countenance  to  retrieve  his  lost 
condition. 


No.  456.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  251 

'  SIR, 

'It  is  in  vain  to  multiply  words,  and  make 
apologies  for  what  is  never  to  be  defended  by  the 
best  advocate  in  the  world,  the  guilt  of  being  unfor- 
tunate.    All  that  a  man  in  my  condition  can  do  or 
say,  will  be  received  with  prejudice  by  the  gener- 
ality of  mankind,  but  I  hope  not  with  you :  you 
have  been  a  great  instrument  in  helping  me  to  get 
what  I  have  lost ;  and  I  know  (for  that  reason,  as 
well  as  kindness  to  me)  you  cannot  but  be  in  pain  to 
see  me  undone.     To  show  you  I  am  not  a  man  in- 
capable of  bearing  calamity,  I  will,  though  a  poor 
man,  lay  aside  the  distinction  between  us,  and  talk 
with  the  frankness  we  did  when  we  were  nearer  to 
an  equality:  as  all  I  do  will  be  received  with  pre- 
judice, all  you  do  will  be  looked  upon  with  par- 
tiality.    What  I  desire  of  you  is,  that  you,  who  are 
courted  by  all,  would  smile    upon   me,   who   am 
shunned  by  all.     Let  that  grace  and  favour  which 
your  fortune  throws  upon  you,  be  turned  to  make 
up  the  coldness  and  indifference  that  is  used  towards 
me.     All  good  and  generous  men  will  have  an  eye 
of  kindness  for  me  for  my  own  sake,  and  the  rest  of 
the  world  will  regard  me  for  yours.     There  is  a 
happy  contagion  in  riches,  as  well  as  a  destructive 
one  in  poverty :   the  rich  can  make  rich  without 
parting  with  any  of  their  store  ;  and  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  poor  makes  men  poor,  though  they  bor- 
row nothing  of  them.     How  this  is  to  be  accounted 
for  I  know  not ;  but  men's  estimation  follows  us  ac- 
cording to  the  company  we  keep.     If  you  were 
what  you  were  to  me,  you  can  go  a  great  way  to- 
wards my  recovery  ;  if  you  are  not,  my  good  for- 
tune, if  ever  it  returns,  will  return  by  slower  ap- 
proaches.    I  am,  Sib, 

'  Your  affectionate  friend,  and  humble  servant.' 


252  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  457. 

This  was  answered  by  a  condescension  that  did 
not,  by  long  impertinent  professions  of  kindness,  in- 
sult his  distress,  but  was  as  follows : 

'  DEAR  TOM, 

'  I  AM  very  glad  to  hear  that  you  have 
heart  enough  to  begin  the  world  a  second  time.  I 
assure  you,  I  do  not  think  your  numerous  family  at 
all  diminished  (in  the  gifts  of  nature,  for  which  I 
have  ever  so  much  admired  them)  by  what  has  so 
lately  happened  to  you.  I  shall  not  only  counte- 
nance your  affairs  with  my  appearance  for  you,  but 
shall  accommodate  you  with  a  considerable  sum  at 
common  interest  for  three  years.  You  know  I  could 
make  more  of  it ;  but  I  have  so  great  a  love  for  you, 
that  I  can  wave  opportunities  of  gain  to  help  you  ; 
for  I  do  not  care  whether  they  say  of  me  after  I  am 
dead,  that  I  had  an  hundred  or  fifty  thousand  pounds 
more  than  I  wanted  when  I  was  living. 

'  Your  obliged  humble  servant' 
T.* 


No.  457.  THURSDAY,  August  14, 1712. 

— Multa  et  prsclara  minantls. 

HOR.  2  Sat.  iii.  9. 
Seeming  to  promise  sometliing  wond^rous  great 

I  SHALL  this  day  lay  before  my  readers  a  letter 
written  by  the  same  hand  with  that  of  last  Friday,'' 
which  contained  proposals  for  a  printed  news-paper 

'  By  Steele.  See  final  note  to  No.  324. — Written  perhaps  about  the 
time  that  Steele's  house  at  Hampton-Wick  was  sold,  or  with  a  view  to 
that  event.  See  Tat.  with  notes,  toI.  i.  dedication  to  vol.  iv.  and  note,  p. 
xlyi.  &c.  edit.  1786,  cr.  8vo.  6  vols. 

"  See  Speet.  No.  452,     By  Addison. 


No.  457.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  253 

that  should  take  in  the  whole  circle  of  the  penny- 
post. 

'SIR, 

'  The  kind  reception  you  gave  my  last 
Friday's  letter,  in  -which  I  broached  my  project  of  a 
news-paper,  encourages  me  to  lay  before  you  two  or 
three  more ;  for,  you  must  know,  Sir,  that  we  look 
upon  you  to  be  the  Lowndes ""  of  the  learned  world, 
and  cannot  think  any  scheme  practicable  or  rational 
before  you  have  approved  of  it,  though  all  the  money 
we  raise  by  it  is  in  our  own  funds,  and  for  our  pri- 
vate use. 

'  I  have  often  thought  that  a  news-letter  of  whis- 
pers, written  every  post,  and  sent  about  the  king- 
dom, after  the  same  manner  as  that  of  Mr.  Dyer,'' 
Mr.  Dawkes,  or  any  other  epistolary  historian,  might 
be  highly  gratifying  to  the  public,  as  well  as  benefi- 
cial to  the  author.  By  whispers,  I  mean  those  pieces 
of  news  which  are  communicated  as  secrets,  and 
which  bring  a  double  pleasure  to  the  hearer ;  first, 
as  they  are  private  history ;  and,  in  the  next  place, 
as  they  have  always  in  them  a  dash  of  scandal.  These 
are  the  two  chief  qualifications  in  an  article  of  news, 
which  recommend  it,  in  a  more  than  ordinary  man- 
ner, to  the  ears  of  the  curious.  Sickness  of  persons 
in  high  posts,  twilight  visits  paid  and  received  by 
ministers  of  state,  clandestine  courtships  and  mar- 
riages, secret  amours,  losses  at  play,  applications  for 
places,  with  their  respective  successes  or  repulses, 
are  the  materials  in  which  I  chiefly  intend  to  deal. 
I  have  two  persons,  that  are  each  of  them  the  repre- 

•  Secretary  at  this  time  of  the  treasury,  and  director  of  the  mint 

y  See  Tat.  with  notes,  No.  18,  note  on  Dyer's  letter,  Ac.  edit,  ut  supra. 


254  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  457. 

sentative  of  a  species,  who  are  to  furnish  me  with 
those  whispers  which  I  intend  to  convey  to  my  cor- 
respondents. The  first  of  these  is  Peter  Hush,  de- 
scended from  the  ancient  family  of  the  Hushes.  The 
other  is  the  old  lady  Blast,  who  has  a  very  numerous 
tribe  of  daughters  in  the  two  great  cities  of  London 
and  Westminster.  Peter  Hush  has  a  whispering-hole 
in  most  of  the  great  coffee-houses  about  town.  If 
you  are  alone  with  him  in  a  wide  room,  he  carries 
you  up  into  a  corner  of  it,  and  speaks  in  your  ear. 
I  have  seen  Peter  seat  himself  in  a  company  of  seven 
or  eight  persons,  whom  he  never  saw  before  in  his 
life  ;  and,  after  having  looked  about  to  see  there  was 
no  one  that  overheard  him,  has  communicated  to 
them  in  a  low  voice,  and  under  the  seal  of  secrecy, 
the  death  of  a  great  man  in  the  country,  who  was, 
perhaps,  a  fox-hunting  the  very  moment  this  account 
was  given  of  him.  If  upon  your  entering  into  a  cof- 
fee-house you  see  a  circle  of  heads  bending  over  the 
table,  and  lying  close  to  one  another,  it  is  ten  to  one 
but  my  friend  Peter  is  among  them.  I  have  known 
Peter  publishing  the  whisper  of  the  day  by  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning  at  Garraway's,  by  twelve  at 
Will's,  and  before  two  at  the  Smyrna.  When  Peter 
has  thus  effectually  launched  a  secret,  I  have  been 
very  well  pleased  to  hear  people  whispering  it  to 
one  another  at  second  hand,  and  spreading  it  about 
as  their  own  ;  for  you  must  know,  Sir,  the  great  in- 
centive to  whispering  is  the  ambition  which  every 
one  has  of  being  thought  in  the  secret,  and  being 
looked  upon  as  a  man  who  has  access  to  greater  peo- 
ple than  one  would  imagine.  After  having  given 
you  this  account  of  Peter  Hush,  I  proceed  to  that 
virtuous  lady,  the  old  lady  Blast,  who  is  to  commu- 
nicate to  me  the  private  transactions  of  the  crimp- 


No.  457;]  THE   SPECTATOR.  255 

table,  with  all  the  arcana  of  the  fair  sex.  The  lady 
Blast,  you  must  understand,  has  such  a  particular  ma- 
lignity in  her  whisper,  that  it  blights  like  an  easterly 
wind,  and  withers  every  reputation  that  it  breathes 
upon.  She  has  a  particular  knack  at  making  private 
weddings,  and  last  winter  married  above  five  women 
of  quality  to  their  footmen.  Her  whisper  can  make 
an  innocent  young  woman  big  with  child,  or  fill  an 
healthful  young  fellow  with  distempers  that  are  not  to 
be  named.  She  can  turn  a  visit  into  an  intrigue,  and 
a  distant  salute  into  an  assignation.  She  can  beggar 
the  wealthy,  and  degrade  the  noble.  In  short,  she 
can  whisper  men  base  or  foolish,  jealous  or  ill-natur- 
ed ;  or  if  occasion  requires,  can  tell  you  the  slips  of 
their  great  grandmothers,  and  traduce  the  memory  of 
honest  coachmen  that  have  been  in  their  graves  above 
these  hundred  years.  By  these  and  the  like  helps, 
I  question  not  but  I  shall  furnish  out  a  very  hand- 
some news-letter.  If  you  approve  my  project,  I  shall 
begin  to  whisper  by  the  very  next  post,  and  ques- 
tion not  but  every  one  of  my  customers  will  be  very 
well  pleased  with  me,  when  he  considers  that  every 
piece  of  news  I  send  him  is  a  word  in  his  ear,  and 
lets  him  into  a  secret. 

Having  given  you  a  sketch  of  this  project,  I 
shall,  in  the  next  place,  suggest  to  you  another  for 
a  monthly  pamphlet,  which  I  shall  likewise  submit 
to  your  spectatorial  wisdom.  I  need  not  tell  you. 
Sir,  that  there  are  several  authors  in  France,  Ger- 
many, and  Holland,  as  well  as  in  our  own  country,* 
who  publish  every  month  what  they  call,  An  Ac- 
count of  the  Works  of  the  Learned,  in  which  they 


•  Mr.  Michael  De  la  Roche,  38  vols.  8vo.  in  EngL  under  different  titles ; 
and  in  Fr.  8  tomes  24to. 


256  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  457. 

give  us  an  abstract  of  all  such  books  as  are  printed 
in  any  part  of  Europe.  Now,  Sir,  it  is  my  design 
to  publish  every  month.  An  Account  of  the  Works 
of  the  Unlearned.  Several  late  productions  of  my 
own  countrymen,  who  many  of  them  make  a  very 
eminent  figure  in  the  illiterate  world,  encourage  me 
in  this  undertaking.  I  may,  in  this  work,  possibly 
make  a  review  of  several  pieces  which  have  appeared 
in  the  foreign  accounts  above  mentioned,  though  they 
ought  not  to  have  been  taken  notice  of  in  works 
which  bear  such  a  title.  I  may,  likewise,  take  into 
consideration  such  pieces  as  appear,  from  time  to 
time,  under  the  names  of  those  gentlemen  who  com- 
pliment one  another  in  public  assemblies,  by  the 
title  of  "  the  learned  gentlemen."  Our  party-authors 
will  also  afford  me  a  great  variety  of  subjects,  not 
to  mention  the  editors,  commentators,  and  others, 
who  are  often  men  of  no  learning,  or,  what  is  as  bad, 
of  no  knowledge.  I  shall  not  enlarge  upon  this 
hint ;  but,  if  you  think  any  thing  can  be  made  of  it, 
I  shall  set  about  it  with  all  the  pains  and  application 
that  so  useful  a  work  deserves. 

'  I  am  ever,  most  worthy.  Sir,  &c.' 

-  B;^  Addison,  dated  probably  &om  Chelsea,    See  note  to  No.  6. 


No.  4&8.]  THE   SPEOTATOE.  257 

•    No.  458.  FRIDAY,  August  15,  1711. 

— ^Pudormalus—  Hoe. 

false  modesty. 

I  COULD  not  but  smile  at  the  account  that  was 
yesterday  given  me  of  a  modest  young  gentleman, 
who,  being  invited  to  an  entertainment,  though  he 
was  not  used  to  drink,  had  not  the  confidence  to 
refuse  his  glass  in  his  turn ;  when  on  a  sudden  he 
grew  so  flustered,  that  he  took  all  the  talk  of  the 
table  in  his  own  hands,  abused  every  one  of  the  com- 
pany, and  flung  a  bottle  at  the  gentleman's  head 
who  treated  him.  This  has  given  me  occasion  to  re- 
flect upon  the  ill  effects  of  a  vicious  modesty,  and  to 
remember  the  saying  of  Brutus,  as  it  is  quoted  by 
Plutarch,  that  '  the  person  has  had  but  an  ill  educa- 
tion, who  has  not  been  taught  to  deny  any  thing.' 
This  false  kind  of  modesty  has,  perhaps,  betrayed 
both  sexes  into  as  many  vices  as  the  most  abandoned 
impudence  ;  and  is  the  more  inexcusable  to  reason, 
because  it  acts  to  gratify  others  rather  than  itself, 
and  is  punished  with  a  kind  of  remorse,  not  only 
like  other  vicious  habits  when  the  crime  is  over,  but 
even  at  the  very  time  that  it  is  committed. 

Nothing  is  more  amiable  than  true  modesty,  and 
nothing  is  more  contemptible  than  the  false.  The 
one  guards  virtue,  the  other  betrays  it.  True  mo- 
desty is  ashamed  to  do  any  thing  that  is  repugnant 
to  the  rules  of  right  reason;  false  modesty  is,  ashamed 
to  do  any  thing  that  is  opposite  to  the  humour  of 

•■  The  motto  from  Heeiod  was  not  prefixed  to  this,  paper  in  the  Spect 
in  folio. 

VOL.  V. — 17 


258  THE   SPECTATOR.  l^°-  '^^S- 

the  company.  True  modesty  avoids  every  thing 
that  is  criminal ;  false  modesty  every  thing  that  is 
unfashionable.  The  latter  is  only  a  general  undeter- 
mined instinct ;  the  former  is  that  instinct,  limited  and 
cii'cumscribed  by  the  rules  of  prudence  and  religion. 

We  may  conclude  that  modesty  to  be  false  and 
vicious  which  engages  a  man  to  do  any  thing  that 
is  ill  or  indiscreet,  or  which  restrains  him  from 
doing  any  thing  that  is  of  a  contrary  nature.  How 
many  men,  in  the  common  concerns  of  life,  lend 
sums  of  money  which  they  are  not  able  to  spare, 
are  bound  for  persons  whom  they  have  but  little 
friendship  for,  give  recommendatory  characters  of 
men  whom  they  are  not  acquainted  with,  bestow 
places  on  those  whom  they  do  not  esteem,  live  in 
such  manner  as  they  themselves  do  not  approve, 
and  all  this  merely  because  they  have  not  the  con- 
fidence to  resist  solicitation,  importunity,  or  example  ? 

Nor  does  this  false  modesty  expose  us  only  to 
such  actions  as  are  indiscreet,  but  very  often  to  such 
as  are  highly  criminal.  When  Xenophanes  was 
called  timorous,  because  he  would  not  venture  his 
money  in  a  game  at  dice  ;  '  I  confess,'  said  he,  '  that 
I  am  exceeding  timorous,  for  I  dare  not  do  an  ill 
thing.'  On  the  contrary,  a  man  of  vicious  modesty 
complies  with  every  thing,  and  is  only  fearful  of  do- 
ing what  may  look  singular  in  the  company  where 
he  is  engaged.  He  falls  in  with  the  torrent,  and 
lets  himself  go  to  every  action  or  discourse,  how- 
ever unjustifiable  in  itself,  so  it  be  in  vogue  among 
the  present  party.  This,  though  one  of  the  most 
common,  is  one  of  the  most  ridiculous  dispositions 
in  human  nature,  that  men  should  not  be  ashamed 
of  speaking  or  acting  in  a  dissolute  or  irrational  man- 
ner, but  that  one  who  is  in  their  company  should  be 


No.  458.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  259 

ashamed  of  governing  himself  by  the  principles  of 
reason  and  virtue. 

In  the  second  place,  we  are  to  consider  false 
modesty,  as  it  restrains  a  man  from  doing  what  is 
good  and  laudable.  My  reader's  own  thoughts  will 
suggest  to  him  many  instances  and  examples  under 
this  head.  I  shall  only  dwell  upon  one  reflection, 
which  I  cannot  make  without  a  secret  concern. 
We  have  in  England  a  particular  bashfulness  in 
every  thing  that  regards  religion.  A  well-bred 
man  is  obliged  to  conceal  any  serious  sentiment  of 
this  nature,  and  very  often  to  appear  a  greater 
libertine  than  he  is,  that  he  may  keep  himself  in 
countenance  among  the  men  of  mode.  Our  excess 
of  modesty  makes  us  shame-faced  in  all  the  exercises 
of  piety  and  devotion.  This  humour  prevails  upon 
us  daily  ;  insomuch  that,  at  many  well-bred  tables, 
the  master  of  the  house  is  so  very  modest  a  man, 
that  he  has  not  the  confidence  to  say  grace  at  his 
own  table  ;  a  custom  which  is  not  only  practised  by 
all  the  nations  about  us,  but  was  never  omitted  by 
the  heathens  themselves.  English  gentlemen,  who 
travel  into  Roman-catholic  countries,  are  not  a  little 
surprised  to  meet  with  people  of  the  best  quality 
kneeling  in  their  churches,  and  engaged  in  their  pri- 
vate devotions,  though  it  be  not  at  the  hours  of 
public  worship.  An  officer  of  the  army,  or  a  man 
of  wit  and  pleasure  in  those  countries,  would  be 
afraid  of  passing  not  only  for  an  irreligious,  but  an 
ill-bred  man,  should  he  be  seen  to  go  to  bed,  or  sit 
down  at  table,  without  offering  up  his  devotions  on 
such  occasions.  The  same  show  of  religion  appears 
in  all  the  foreign  reformed  churches,  and  enters  so 
much  into  their  ordinary  conversation,  that  an  English- 
man is  apt  to  term  them  hypocritical  and  precise. 


260  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  458. 

This  little  appearance  of  a  religious  deportment 
in  our  nation,  may  proceed  in  some  measure  from 
that  modesty  which  is  natural  to  us  ;  but  the  great 
occasion  of  it  is  certainly  this.  Those  swarms  of 
sectaries  that  over-ran  the  nation  in  the  time  of  the 
great  rebellion,  carried  their  hypocrisy  so  high,  that 
they  had  converted  our  whole  language  into  a  jar- 
gon of  enthusiasm ;  insomuch  that,  upon  the  restora- 
tion, men  thought  they  could  not  recede  too  far 
from  the  behaviour  and  practice  of  those  persons 
who  had  made  religion  a  cloak  to  so  many  villanies. 
This  led  them  into  the  other  extreme ;  every  ap- 
pearance of  devotion  was  looked  upon  as  puritani- 
cal, and  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  '  ridiculers'  who 
flourished  in  that  reign,  and  attacked  every  thing 
that  was  serious,  it  has  ever  since  been  out  of  coun- 
tenance among  us.  By  this  means  we  are  gradually 
fallen  into  that  vicious  modesty,  which  has  in  some 
measure  worn  out  from  among  us  the  appearance  of 
Christianity  in  ordinary  life  and  conversation,  and 
which  distinguishes  us  from  all  our  neighbours. 

Hypocrisy  cannot  indeed  be  too  much  detested, 
but  at  the  same  time  it  is  to  be  preferred  to  open 
impiety.  They  are  both  equally  destructive  to  the 
person  who  is  possessed  with  them ;  but,  in  regard 
to  others,  hypocrisy  is  not  so  pernicious  as  barefaced 
irreligion.  The  due  mean  to  be  observed  is  '  to  be 
sincerely  virtuous,  and  at  the  same  time  to  let  the 
world  see  we  are  so.'  I  do  not  know  a  more  dread- 
ful menace  in  the  holy  writings,  than  that  which  is 
pronounced  against  those  who  have  this  perverted 
modesty,  to  be  ashamed  before  men  in  a  particular 
of  such  unspeakable  importance.  C* 

-  By  Addison.     Subscribed  C  in  the  editions  of  1712  in  8vo.  and 
'  12IU0. ;  not  lettered  in  the  Spect.  in  folio.    See  final  note  to  No.  5. 


No.  459.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  261 


No.  459.     SATUEDAY,  August  16,  1712. 

— Quicquid  dignum  eapiente  bonoque  est 
,  ,  HoK.  1  Ep.  iv.  5. 

WhateVr  befits  the  wise  and  good. 

GBBEOa. 

Religion  may  be  considered  under  two  general 
heads.  The  first  comprehends  what  we  are  to  be- 
lieve, the  other  what  we  are  to  practise.  By  those 
things  which  we  are  to  believe,  I  mean  whatever  is 
revealed  to  us  in  the  holy  writings,  and  which  we 
could  not  have  obtained  the  knowledge  of  by  the 
light  of  nature ;  by  the  things  which  we  are  to 
practise,  I  mean  all  those  duties  to  which  we  are 
directed  by  reason  or  natural  religion.  The  first  of 
these  I  shall  distinguish  by  the  name  of  faith,  the 
second  by  that  of  morality. 

If  we  look  into  the  more  serious  part  of  man- 
kind, we  find  many  who  lay  so  great  a  stress  upon 
faith,  that  they  neglect  morality  ;  and  many  who 
build  so  much  upon  morality,  that  they  do  not  pay 
a  due  regard  to  faith.  The  perfect  man  should  be 
defective  in  neither  of  these  particulars,  as  will  be 
very  evident  to  those  who  consider  the  benefits 
which  arise  from  each  of  them,  and  which  I  shall 
make  the  subject  of  this  day's  paper. 

Notwithstanding  this  general  division  of  Chris- 
tian duty  into  morality  and  faith,  and  that  they  have 
both  their  peculiar  excellences,  the  first  has  the  pre- 
eminence in  several  respects. 

First,  Because  the  greatest  part  of  morality  (as 
I  have  stated  the  notion  of  it)  is  of  a  fixed  eternal 
nature,  and  will  endure  when  faith  shall  fail,  and  be 
lost  in  conviction. 

Secondly,  Because  a  person  may  be  qualified  to 


262  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  459. 

do  greater  good  to  mankind,  and  become  more  bene- 
ficial to  the  world,  by  morality  witliout  faith,  than 
by  faith  without  morality. 

Thirdly,  Because  morality  gives  a  greater  per- 
fection to  human  nature,  by  quieting  the  mind,  mo- 
derating the  passions,  and  advancing  the  happiness 
of  every  man  in  his  private  capacity. 

Fourthly,  Because  the  rule  of  morality  is  much 
more  certain  than  that  of  faith,  all  the  civilized  na- 
tions of  the  world  agreeing  in  the  great  points  of 
morality,  as  much  as  they  differ  in  those  of  faith. 

Fifthly,  Because  infidelity  is  not  of  so  malignant 
a  nature  as  immorality ;  or,  to  put  the  same  reason 
in  another  light,  because  it  is  generally  owned  there 
may  be  a  salvation  for  a  virtuous  infidel  (particular- 
ly in  the  case  of  invincible  ignorance),  but  none  for 
a  vicious  believer. 

Sixthly,  Because  faith  seems  to  draw  its  princi- 
pal, if  not  all  its  excellency,  from  the  influence  it  has 
upon  morality ;  as  we  shall  see  more  at  large,  if  we 
consider  wherein  consists  the  excellency  of  faith,  or 
the  belief  of  revealed  religion  ;  and  this  I  think  is. 

First,  In  explaining  and  carrying  to  greater 
heights,  several  points  of  morality. 

Secondly,  In  furnishing  new  and  stronger  mo- 
tives to  enforce  the  practice  of  morality. 

Thirdly,  In  giving  us  more  amiable  ideas  of  the 
Supreme  Being,  more  endearing  notions  of  one  ano- 
ther, and  a  truer  state  of  ourselves,  both  in  regard 
to  the  grandeur  and  vileness  of  our  natures. 

Fourthly,  By  showing  us  the  blackness  and  de- 
formity of  vice,  which  in  the  Christian  system  is  so 
very  great,  that  He  who  is  possessed  of  all  perfec- 
tion, and  the  sovereign  judge  of  it,  is  represented  by 
several  of  our  divines  as  hating  sin  to  the  same  de- 


No.  459.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  263 

gree  that  He  loves  the  sacred  person  who  has  made 
the  propitiation  of  it. 

Fifthly,  In  being  the  ordinary  and  prescribed  me- 
thod of  making  morality  effectual  to  salvation. 

I  have  only  touched  on  these  several  heads,  which 
every  one  who  is  conversant  in  discourses  of  this  na- 
ture will  easily  enlarge  upon  in  his  own  thoughts, 
and  draw  conclusions  from  them  which  may  be  use- 
ful to  him  in  the  conduct  of  his  life.  One  I  am  sure 
is  so  obvious,  that  he  cannot  miss  it ;  namely,  that  a 
man  cannot  be  perfect  in  his  scheme  of  morality,  who 
does  not  strengthen  and  support  it  with  that  of  the 
Christian  faith. 

Besides  this,  I  shall  lay  down  two  or  three  other 
maxims,  which  I  think  we  may  deduce  from  what 
has  been  said. 

First,  That  we  should  be  particularly  cautious  of 
making  any  thing  an  article  of  faith  which  does  not 
contribute  to  the  confirmation  or  improvement  of 
morality. 

Secondly,  That  no  article  of  faith  can  be  true  and 
authentic  which  weakens  or  subverts  the  practical 
part  of  religion,  or  what  I  have  hitherto  called  mo- 
rality. 

Thirdly,  That  the  greatest  friend  of  morality  and 
natural  religion  cannot  possibly  apprehend  any 
danger  from  embracing  Christianity,  as  it  is  pre- 
served pure  and  uncorrupt  in  the  doctrines  of  our 
national  church.^ 

There  is  likewise  another  maxim  which  I  think 
may  be  drawn  from  the  foregoing  considerations, 
which  is  this,  that  we  should,  in  all  dubious  points, 
consider  any  ill  consequences  that  may  arise  from 

•"  The  GospaL 


264  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  459. 

them,  supposing  they  should  be  erroneous,  before 
we  give  up  our  assent  to  them. 

For  example :  In  that  disputable  point  of  perse- 
cuting men  for  conscience  sake,  besides  the  imbitter- 
ing  their  minds  with  hatred,  indignation,  and  all  the 
vehemence  of  resentment,  and  insnaring  them  to  pro- 
fess what  thev  do  not  believe ;  we  cut  them  off  from 
the  pleasures  and  advantages  of  society,  afflict  their 
bodies,  distress  their  fortunes,  hurt  their  reputations, 
ruin  their  families,  make  their  lives  painful,  or  put 
an  end  to  them.  Sure  when  I  see  such  dreadful 
consequences  rising  from  a  principle,  I  would  be  as 
fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of  it  as  of  a  mathemati- 
cal demonstration,  before  I  would  venture  to  act 
upon  it,  or  make  it  a  part  of  my  religion. 

In  this  case  the  injury  done  our  neighbour  is 
plain  and  evident ;  the  principle  that  puts  us  upon 
doing  it,  of  a  dubious  and  disputable  nature.  Mo- 
rality seems  highly  violated  by  the  one  ;  and  whether 
or  no  a  zeal  for  what  a  man  thinks  the  true  system 
of  faith  may  justify  it,  is  very  uncertain.  I  cannot 
but  think,  if  our  religion  produces  charity  as  well  as 
zeal,  it  will  not  be  for  showing  itself  by  such  cruel 
instances.  But  to  conclude  with  the  words  of  an  ex- 
cellent author,  '  We  have  just  enough  of  religion  to 
make  us  hate,  but  not  enough  to  make  us  love  one 
another.' " 

'  The  conclusion  of  this  paper  is  a  quotation  from  archbishop  Tillotson, 
or  Dr.  Whitehcote. 

^  By  Addison.  Dated,  it  is  thought,  from  Chelsea.  See  No.  465,  and 
No.  5,  ad  finem. 


No.  460.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  265 


No  460.     MONDAY,  August  18,  1712. 

Decipimur  specie  recti — 

Hob.  Ars  Poet.  26. 
Deluded  by  a  seeming  excellence. 

EOSCOMHON. 

Our  defects  and  follies  are  too  often  unknown  to  us ; 
nay,  they  are  so  far  from  being  known  to  us,  that 
they  pass  for  demonstrations  of  our  worth.  This 
makes  us  easy  in  the  midst  of  them,  fond  to  show 
them,  fond  to  improve  them,  and  to  be  esteemed  for 
them.  Then  it  is  that  a  thousand  unaccountable 
conceits,  gay  inventions,  and  extravagant  actions, 
must  afford  us  pleasures,  and  display  us  to  others  in 
the  colours  which  we  ourselves  take  a  fancy  to  glory 
in.  Indeed  there  is  something  so  amusing  for  the 
time  in  this  state  of  vanity  and  ill-grounded  satis- 
faction, that  even  the  wiser  world  has  chosen  an  ex- 
alted word  to  describe  its  enchantments,  and  called 
it,  '  The  Paradise  of  Pools.' 

Perhaps  the  latter  part  of  this  reflection  may 
seem  a  false  thought  to  some,  and  bear  another  turn 
than  what  I  have  given  ;  but  it  is  at  present  none 
of  my  business  to  look  after  it,  who  am  going  to 
confess  that  I  have  been  lately  amongst  them  in  a 
vision. 

Methought  I  was  transported  to  a  hill,  green, 
flowery,  and  of  an  easy  ascent.  Upon  the  broad  top 
of  it  resided  squint-eyed  Error,  and  Popular  Opinion 
with  many  heads  ;  two  that  dwelt  in  sorcery,  and 
were  famous  for  bewitching  people  with  the  love  of 
themselves.  To  these  repaired  a  multitude  from 
every  side,  by  two  different  paths  which  lead  to- 
wards each  of  them.  Some  who  had  the  most  as- 
suming air,  went  directly  of  themselves  to  Error, 


266  THE  SPECTATOE.  [No,  46Q'. 

without  expecting  a  conductor  ;  others  of  a  softer 
nature  went  first  to  Popular  Opinion,  from  whence, 
as  she  influenced  and  engaged  them  with  their  own 
praises,  she  delivered  them  over  to  his  government. 

When  we  had  ascended  to  an  open  part  of  the 
summit  where  Opinion  abode,  we  found  her  enter- 
taining several  who  had  arrived  before  us.  Her 
voice  was  pleasing ;  she  breathed  odours  as  she  spoke. 
She  seemed  to  have  a  tongue  for  every  one  ;  every 
one  thought  he  heard  of  something  that  was  valuable 
in  himself,  and  expected  a  paradise  which  she  pro- 
mised as  the  reward  of  his  merit.  Thus  were  we  drawn 
to  follow  her,  till  she  should  bring  us  where  it  was  to 
be  bestowed :  and  it  was  observable  that  all  the  way 
we  went,  the  company  was  either  praising  them- 
selves for  their  qualifications,  or  one  another  for  those 
qualifications  which  they  took  to  be  conspicuous  in 
their  own  characters,  or  dispraising  others  for  want- 
ing theirs,  or  vying  in  the  degrees  of  them. 

At  last  we  approached  a  bower,  at  the  entrance  of 
which  Error  was  seated.  The  trees  were  thick  woven, 
and  the  place  where  he  sat  artfully  contrived  to 
darken  him  a  little.  He  was  disguised  in  a  whitish 
robe,  which  he  had  put  on  that  he  might  appear  to 
us  with  a  nearer  resemblance  to  Truth :  and  as  she 
has  a  light  whereby  she  manifests  the  beauties  of 
nature  to  the  eyes  of  her  adorers,  so  he  had  provided 
himself  with  a  magical  wand,  that  he  might  do  some- 
thing in  imitation  of  it,  and  please  with  delusions. 
This  he  lifted  solemnly,  and,  muttering  to  himself, 
bid  the  glories  which  he  kept  under  enchantment  to 
appear  before  us.  Immediately  we  cast  our  eyes  on 
that  part  of  the  sky  to  which  he  pointed,  and  ob- 
served a  thin  blue  prospect,  which  cleared  as  moun- 


No.  460.]  xHE   SPECTATOR.  267 

tains  in  a  summer  morning  when  the  mists  go  off, 
and  the  palace  of  Vanity  appeared  to  sight. 

The  foundation  seemed  hardly  a  foundation,  but 
a  set  of  curling  clouds,  which  it  stood  upon  by  ma- 
gical contrivance.  The  way  by  which  we  ascended 
was  painted  like  a  rainbow ;  and,  as  we  went,  the 
breeze  that  played  about  us  bewitched  the  senses. 
The  walls  were  gilded  all  for  show  ;  the  lowest  set 
of  pillars  were  of  the  slight  fine  Corinthian  order, 
and  the  top  of  the  building,  being  rounded,  bore  so 
far  the  resemblance  of  a  bubble. 

At  the  gate  the  travellers  neither  met  with  a  por- 
ter, nor  waited  till  one  should  appear  ;  every  one 
thought  his  merits  a  sufficient  passport,  and  pressed 
forward.  In  the  hall  we  met  with  several  phantoms, 
that  roved  amongst  us,  and  ranged  the  company  ac- 
cording to  their  sentiments.  There  was  decreasing 
Honour,  that  had  nothing  to  show  in,  but  an  old 
coat  of  his  ancestor's  achievements.  There  was  Os- 
tentation, that  made  himself  his  own  constant  sub- 
ject, and  Gallantry  strutting  upon  his  tip-toes.  At 
the  upper  end  of  the  hall  stood  a  throne,  whose  ca- 
nopy glittered  with  all  the  riches  that  gaiety  could 
contrive  to  lavish  on  it ;  and  between  the  gilded  arms 
sat  Vanity,  decked  in  the  peacock's  feathers,  and 
acknowledged  for  another  Venus  by  her  votaries. 
The  boy  who  stood  beside  her  for  a  cupid,  and  who 
made  the  world  to  bow  before  her,  was  called  Self- 
Conceit.  His  eyes  had  every  now  and  then  a  cast 
inwards  to  the  neglect  of  all  objects  about  him ;  and 
the  arms  which  he  made  use  of  for  conquest  were 
borrowed  from  those  against  whom  he  had  a  design. 
The  arrow  which  he  shot  at  the  soldier  was  fledged 
from  his  own  plume  of  feathers ;  the  dart  he  directed 


268  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^°-  460. 

against  the  man  of  wit  was  winged  from  the  quills 
he  writ  with ;  and  that  which  he  sent  against  those 
who  presumed  upon  their  riches  was  headed  with 
gold  out  of  their  treasuries.  He  made  nets  for  states- 
men from  their  own  contrivances ;  he  took  fire  from 
the  eyes  of  ladies,  with  which  he  melted  their  hearts ; 
and  lightning  from  the  tongues  of  the  eloquent,  to 
enflame  them  with  their  own  glories.  At  the  foot  of 
the  throne  sat  three  false  graces :  Flattery  with  a 
shell  of  paint,  Affectation  with  a  mirror  to  practise 
at,  and  Fashion  ever  changing  the  posture  of  her 
clothes.  These  applied  themselves  to  secure  the  con- 
quests which  Self-ConCeit  had  gotten,  and  had  each 
of  them  their  particular  politics.  Flattery  gave  new 
colours  and  complexions  to  all  things ;  Affectation, 
new  airs  and  appearances,  which,  as  she  said,  were 
not  vulgar  ;  and  Fashion  both  concealed  some  home 
defects,  and  added  some  foreign  external  beauties. 
As  I  was  reflecting  upon  what  I  saw,  I  heard  a 
voice  in  the  crowd  bemoaning  the  condition  of  man- 
kind, which  is  thus  managed  by  the  breath  of  Opinion, 
deluded  by  Error,  fired  by  Self-Conceit,  and  given 
up  to  be  trained  in  all  the  courses  of  Vanity,  till 
Scorn  or  Poverty  come  upon  us.  These  expressions 
were  no  sooner  handed  about,  but  I  immediately  saw 
a  general  disorder,  till  at  last  there  was  a  parting  in 
one  place,  and  a  grave  old  man,  decent  and  resolute, 
was  led  forward  to  be  punished  for  the  words  he  had 
uttered.  He  appeared  inclined  to  have  spoken  in 
his  own  defence,  but  I  could  not  observe  that  any 
one  was  willing  to  hear  him.  Vanity  cast  a  scornful 
smile  at  him ;  Self-Conceit  was  angry ;  Flattery,  who 
knew  him  for  Plain-Dealing,  put  on  a  vizard,  and 
turned  away ;  Affectation  tossed  her  fan,  made  mouths, 
and  called  him  Envy  or  Slander ;  and  Fashion  would 


No.  460.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  269 

have  it  that  at  least  he  must  be  Ill-Manners.  Thus 
slighted  and  despised  by  all,  he  was  driven  out  for 
abusing  people  of  merit  and  figure ;  and  I  heard  it 
firmly  resolved,  that  he  should  be  used  no  better 
wherever  they  met  with  him  hereafter. 

I  had  already  seen  the  meaning  of  most  part  of 
that  warning  which  he  had  given,  and  was  consider- 
ing how  the  latter  words  should  be  fulfilled,  when  a 
mighty  noise  was  heard  without,  and  the  door  was 
blackened  by  a  numerous  train  of  harpies  crowding 
in  upon  us.  Folly  and  Broken-Credit  were  seen  in 
the  house  before  they  entered.  Trouble,  Shame,  In- 
famy, Scorn,  and  Poverty,  brought  up  the  rear.  Vani- 
ty, with  her  Cupid  and  Graces,  disappeared ;  her  sub- 
jects ran  into  holes  and  corners ;  but  many  of  them 
were  found  and  carried  off"  (as  I  was  told  by  one 
who  stood  near  me)  either  to  prisons  or  cellars,  soli- 
tude or  little  company,  the  mean  arts  or  the  viler 
crafts  of  life.  '  But  these,'  added  he  with  a  disdain- 
ful air,  '  are  such  who  would  fondly  live  here,  when 
their  merits  neither  matched  the  lustre  of  the  place, 
nor  their  riches  its  expenses.  We  have  seen  such 
scenes  as  these  before  now ;  the  glory  you  saw  will 
all  return  when  the  hurry  is  over.'  I  thanked  him 
for  his  information,  and  believing  him  so  incorrigible 
as  that  he  would  stay  till  it  was  his  turn  to  be  taken, 
I  made  off  to  the  door,  and  overtook  some  few,  who, 
though  they  would  not  hearken  to  Plain-Dealing, 
were  now  terrified  to  good  purpose  by  the  example  of 
others.  But  when  they  had  touched  the  threshold, 
it  was  a  strange  shock  to  them  to  find  that  the  delu- 
sion of  Error  was  gone,  and  they  plainly  discerned 
the  building  to  hang  a  little  up  in  the  air  without 
any  real  foundation.  At  first  we  saw  nothing  but  a 
desperate  leap  remained  for  us,  and  I  a  thousand 


270  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  460. 

times  blamed  my  unmeaning  curiosity  that  had 
brought  me  into  so  much  danger.  But  as  they  be- 
gan to  sink  lower  in  their  own  minds,  methought 
the  palace  sunk  along  with  us,  till  they  were  arrived 
at  the  due  point  of  esteem  which  they  ought  to  have 
for  themselves ;  then  the  part  of  the  building  in 
which  they  stood  touched  the  earth,  and  we  depart- 
ing out,  it  retired  from  our  eyes.  Now,  whether 
they  who  stayed  in  the  palace  were  sensible  of  this 
descent,  I  cannot  tell ;  it  was  then  my  opinion  that 
they  were  not.  However  it  be,  my  dream  broke 
up  at  it,  and  has  given  me  occasion  all  my  life  to 
reflect  upon  the  fatal  consequences  of  following  the 
suggestions  of  vanity." 

'  ME.   SPECTATOR, 

'  I  WRITE  to  you  to  desire  that  you  would 
again'  touch  upon  a  certain  enormity,  which  is 
chiefly  in  use  among  the  politer  and  better-bred 
part  of  mankind;  I  mean,  the  ceremonies,  bows, 
courtesies,  whisperings,  smiles,  winks,  nods,  with 
other  familiar  arts  of  salutation,  which  take  up  in 
our  churches  so  much  time  that  might  be  better 
employed,  and  which  seem  so  utterly  inconsistent 
with  the  duty  and  true  intent  of  our  entering  into 
those  religious  assemblies.  The  resemblance  which 
this  bears  to  our  indeed  proper  behaviour  in  thea- 
tres, may  be  some  instances  of  its  incongruity  in  the 
above-mentioned  places.  In  Roman-catholic  church- 
es and  chapels  abroad,  I  myself  have  observed,  more 
than  once,  persons  of  the  first  quality,  of  the  nearest 
relation,  and  intimatest   acquaintance,  passing  by 

8  By  Dr.  Thomas  ParnelL    See  STo.  601. 
f  See  Speet.  No.  269. 


No.  460.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  271 

one  another  unknowing  as  it  were,  and  unknown, 
and  with  so  little  notices  of  each  other,  that  it 
looked  like  having  their  minds  more  suitably  and 
more  solemnly  engaged ;  at  least  it  was  an  acknow- 
ledgment that  they  ought  to  have  been  so.  I  have 
been  told  the  same  even  of  the  Mahometans,  with 
relation  to  the  propriety  of"  their  demeanour  in  the 
conventions  of  their  erroneous  worship :  and  I  can- 
not but  think  either  of  them  sufl&cient  and  laudable 
patterns  for  our  imitation  in  this  particular. 

'  I  cannot  help,  upon  this  occasion,  remarking 
on  the  excellent  memories  of  those  devotionists,  who 
upon  returning  from  church  shall  give  a  particular 
account  how  two  or  three  hundred  people  were 
dressed :  a  thing,  by  reason  of  its  variety,  so  difficult 
to  be  digested  and  fixed  in  the  head,  that  it  is  a 
miracle  to  me  how  two  poor  hours  of  divine  service 
can  be  time  sufficient  for  so  elaborate  an  under- 
taking, the  duty  of  the  place  too  being  jointly,  and 
no  doubt  oft  pathetically,  performed  along  with  it. 
Where  it  is  said  in  sacred  Writ,  that  "the  woman 
ought  to  have  a  covering  on  her  head  because  of 
the  angels,"  that  last  word  is  by  some  thought  to  be 
metaphorically  used,  and  to  signify  young  men. 
Allowing  this  interpretation  to  be  right,  the  text 
may  not  appear  to  be  wholly  foreign  to  our  present 
purpose. 

'  When  you  are  in  a  disposition  proper  for  writing 
on  such  a  subject,  I  earnestly  recommend  this  to 
you ;  and  am, 

'  Sib,  your  very  humble  servant.' 
ij  g 

K  By  Steele.    See  note  on  letter  T  at  the  end  of  No.  324. 


272  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  461. 

No.  461.   TUESDAY,  August  19,  1712. 

—  Sed  non  ego  crednliB  illus. 

ViBQ.  Eel.  Ix.  84. 
But  I  discern  their  flait'iy  from  their  praise. 

DETDElf. 

For  want  of  time  to  substitute  something  else  in  the 
room  of  them,  I  am  at  present  obliged  to  publish 
compliments  above  my  desert  in  the  following  let- 
ters. It  is  no  small  satisfaction  to  have  given  occa- 
sion to  ingenious  men  to  employ  their  thoughts  upon 
sacred  subjects  from  the  approbation  of  such  pieces 
of  poetry  as  they  have  seen  in  my  Saturday's  papers. 
I  shall  never  publish  verse  on  that  day  but  what  is 
written  by  the  same  hand ;  ^  yet  shall  I  not  accom- 
pany those  writings  with  eulogiums,  but  leave  them 
to  speak  for  themselves. 

FOR  THE  SPECTATOK. 

'MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  You  very  much  promote  the  interests  of 
virtue,  while  you  reform  the  taste  of  a  profane  age ; 
and  persuade  us  to  be  entertained  with  divine  po- 
ems, while  we  are  distinguished  by  so  many  thou- 
sand humours,  and  split  into  so  many  different  sects 
and  parties ;  yet  persons  of  every  party,  sect,  and 
humour,  are  fond  of  conforming  their  taste  to  yours. 
You  can  transfuse  your  own  relish  of  a  poem  into 
all  your  readers,  according  to  their  capacity  to  re- 
ceive ;  and  when  you  recommend  the  pious  passion 
that  reigns  in  the  verse,  we  seem  to  feel  the  devo- 
tion, and  grow  proud  and  pleased  inwardly,  that  we 

•■  Addison. 


No.  461.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  273 

have  souls  capable  of  relishing  what  the  Spectator 
approves. 

'  Upon  reading  the  hymns  that  you  have  pub- 
lished in  some  late  papers,  I  had  a  mind  to  try  yes- 
terday "whether  I  could  write-  one.  The  hundred 
and  fourteenth  psalm  appears  to  me  an  admirable 
ode,  and  I  began  to  turn  it  into  our  language.  As 
I  was  describing  the  journey  of  Israel  from  Egypt, 
and  added  the  divine  presence  amongst  them,  I 
perceived  a  beauty  in  the  psalm  which  was  entirely 
new  to  me,  and  which  I  was  going  to  lose ;  and  that 
is,  that  the  poet  utterly  conceals  the  presence  of  God 
in  the  beginning  of  it,  and  rather  lets  a  possessive 
pronoun  go  without  a  substantive,  than  he  will  so 
much  as  mention  any  thing  of  divinity  there.  "  Ju- 
dah  was  his  sanctuary,  and  Israel  his  dominion  or 
kingdom."  The  reason  now  seems  evident,  and  this 
conduct  necessary :  for,  if  God  had  appeared  before, 
there  could  be  no  wonder  why  the  mountains  should 
leap,  and  the  sea  retire ;  therefore,  that  this  convul- 
sion of  nature  may  be  brought  in  with  due  surprise, 
his  name  is  not  mentioned  till  afterwards,  and  then 
with  a  very  agreeable  turn  of  thought  God  is  intro- 
duced at  once  in  all  his  majesty.  This  is  what  I 
have  attempted  to  imitate  in  a  translation  without 
paraphrase,  and  to  preserve  what  I  could  of  the 
spirit  of  the  sacred  author. 

'  If  the  following  essay  be  not  too  incorrigible, 
bestow  upon  it  a  few  brightenings  from  your  genius, 
that  I  may  learn  how  to  write  better,  or  to  write  no 
more. 

'Your  daily  admirer  and  humble  servant,  &e/ 


VOL.  V. — 18 


274  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  461. 

PSALM  CXIV. 


"  When  Israel,  freed  from  Pharaoh's  hand, 
Left  the  prond  tyrant  and  his  land, 
The  tribes  with  cheerful  homage  own 
Their  king,  and  Judah  was  his  throne. 


'  Across  the  deep  their  journey  lay. 
The  deep  divides  to  make  them  way ; 
The  streams  of  Jordan  saw,  and  fled 
With  backward  current  to  their  head. 


"  The  mountains  shook  like  frighted  sheep, 
Like  lambs  the  little  hillocks  leap ; 
Not  Sinai  on  her  base  could  stand, 
Conscious  of  sov'reign  pow'r  at  hand. 


"  What  power  could  make  the  deep  divide  ? 
Make  Jordan  backward  roll  his  tide? 
Why  did  ye  leap,  ye  little  hills  ? 
And  whence  the  fright  that  Sinai  feels  ? 


"  Let  ev'ry  mountain,  ev'ry  flood. 
Retire,  and  know  th'  approaching  God, 
The  King  of  Israel.    See  him  here : 
Tremble,  thou  earth,  adore,  and  fear. 


"  He  thunders — and  all  nature  mourns : 
The  rock  to  standing  pools  he  turns ; 
Flints  spring  with  fountains  at  his  word. 
And  fires  and  seas  confess  their  Lord." ' 


'MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  There  are  those  who  take  the  advantage 
of  your  putting  an  halfpenny  value  upon  yourself 
above  the  rest  of  our  daily  writers,  to  defame  you  in 

'  By  Dr.  Isaac  Watte. 


No.  461.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  275 

public  conversation,  and  strive  to  make  you  unpop- 
ular upon  the  account  of  this  said  halfpenny.  But, 
if  I  were  you,  I  would  insist  upon  that  small  ac- 
knowledgment for  the  superior  merit  of  yours,  as 
being  a  work  of  invention.  Give  me  leave,  there- 
fore, to  do  you  justice,  and  say  in  your  behalf,  what 
you  cannot  yourself,  which  is,  that  your  writings 
have  made  learning  a  more  necessary  part  of  good- 
breeding  than  it  was  before  you  appeared:  that 
modesty  is  become  fashionable,  and  impudence 
stands  in  need  of  some  wit ;  since  you  have  put  them 
both  in  their  proper  lights.  Profaneness,  lewdness, 
and  debauchery,  are  not  now  qualifications ;  and  a 
man  may  be  a  very  fine  gentleman,  though  he  is 
neither  a  keeper  nor  an  infidel. 

I  would  have  you  tell  the  town  the  story  of  the 
Sibyls,  if  they  deny  giving  you  two-pence.  Let 
them  know  that  those  sacred  papers  were  valued  at 
the  same  rate  after  two  thirds  of  them  were  de- 
stroyed, as  when  there  was  the  whole  set.  There 
are  so  many  of  us  who  will  give  you  your  own  price, 
that  you  may  acquaint  your  non-conformist  readers, 
that  they  shall  not  have  it,  except  they  come  in 
within  such  a  day,  under  three-pence.  I  don't  know 
but  you  might  bring  in  the  Date  Obolum  Belisario 
with  a  good  grace.  The  witlings  come  in  clusters 
to  two  or  three  coffee-houses  which  have  left  you 
off;  and  I  hope  you  will  make  us,  who  fine  to  your 
wit,  merry  with  their  characters  who  stand  out 
against  it. 

'  I  am  your  most  humble  servant. 

'  P.  S.  I  have  lately  got  the  ingenious  authors 
of  blacking  for  shoes,  powder  for  colouring  the  hair, 
pomatum  for  the  hands,  cosmetic  for  the  face,  to  be 


276  THE   SPECTATOR.  E^"'  ^'^^■ 

your  constant  customers ;  so  that  your  advertise- 
ments will  as  much  adorn  the  outward  man,  as  your 
paper  does  the  inward.'  T. 


No.  462.     WEDNESDAY,  August  20,  1712. 

Nil  ego  prsetnlerim  jucando  sanus  amico. 

Hob.  1  Sat  t.  44. 
Nothing  so  grateful  as  a  pleasant  fifiend. 

People  are  not  aware  of  the  very  great  force  which 
pleasantry  in  company  has  upon  all  those  with  whom 
a  man  of  that  talent  converses.     His  faults  are  gen- 
erally overlooked  by  all  his  acquaintances ;  and  a 
certain  carelessness  that  constantly  attends  all  his  ac- 
tions, carries  him  on  with  greater  success,  than  dili- 
gence and  assiduity  does  others  who  have  no  share 
of  this  endowment.    Dacinthus  breaks  his  word  upon 
all  occasions  both  trivial  and  important ;   and  when 
he  is  sufficiently  railed  at  for  that  abominable  quality, 
they  who  talk  of  him  end  with  'After  all  he  is  a  very 
pleasant  fellow.'  Dacinthus  is  an  ill-natured  husband, 
and  yet  the  very  women  end  their  freedom  of  dis- 
course upon  his  subject,  '  But  after  all  he  is  very 
pleasant  company.'  Dacinthus  is  neither,  in  point  of 
honour,  civility,  good-breeding,  nor  good-nature,  un- 
exceptionable ;  and  yet  all  is  answered,  '  For  he  is 
a  very  pleasant  fellow.'     When  this  quality  is  con- 
spicuous in  a  man  who  has,  to  accompany  it,  manly 
and  virtuous  sentiments,  there  cannot  certainly  be 
any  thing  which  can  give  so  pleasing  a  gratification 
as  the  gaiety  of  such  a  person ;  but  when  it  is  alone, 

*  By  Steele.    See  fiaal  note  to  No.  824. 


No.  462.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  277 

and  serves  only  to  gild  a  crowd  of  ill  qualities,  there 
is  no  man  so  much  to  be  avoided  as  your  pleasant 
fellow.  A  very  pleasant  fellow  shall  turn  your  good 
name  to  a  jest,  make  your  character  contemptible, 
debauch  your  wife  or  daughter,  and  yet  be  received 
by  the  rest  of  the  world  with  welcome  wherever  he 
appears.  It  is  very  ordinary  with  those  of  this  cha- 
racter to  be  attentive  only  to  their  own  satisfactions, 
and  have  very  little  bowels  for  the  concerns  or  sor- 
rows of  other  men ;  nay,  they  are  capable  of  pur- 
chasing their  own  pleasures  at  the  expense  of  giving 
pain  to  others.  But  they,  who  do  not  consider  this 
sort  of  men  thus  carefully,  are  irresistibly  exposed 
to  his  insinuations.  The  author  of  the  following 
letter  carries  the  matter  so  high,  as  to  intimate  that 
the  liberties  of  England  have  been  at  the  mercy  of  a 
prince  merely  as  he  was  of  this  pleasant  character. 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  There  is  no  one  passion  which  all  man- 
kind so  naturally  give  into  as  pride,  nor  any  other 
passion  which  appears  in  such  different  disguises.  It 
is  to  be  found  in  all  habits  and  all  complexions.  Is 
it  not  a  question  whether  it  does  more  harm  or  good 
in  the  world ;  and  if  there  be  not  such  a  thing  as 
what  we  may  call  a  virtuous  and  laudable  pride  ? 

'  It  is  this  passion  alone,  when  misapplied,  that 
lays  us  so  open  to  flatterers  ;  and  he  who  can  agree- 
ably condescend  to  sooth  our  humour  or  temper, 
finds  always  an  open  avenue  to  our  soul ;  especially 
if  the  flatterer  happen  to  be  our  superior. 

'  One  might  give  many  instances  of  this  in  a  late 
English ' monarch,  under  the  title  of  "The  gaieties 
of  king  Charles  II."  This  prince  was  by  nature  ex- 
tremely familiar,  of  very  easy  access,  and  much  de- 


278  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  462. 

lighted  to  see  and  be  seen ;  and  this  happy  tem- 
per, which  in  the  highest  degree  gratified  his  peo- 
ple's vanity,  did  him  more  service  with  his  loving 
subjects  than  all  his  other  virtues,  though  it  must  be 
confessed  he  had  many.  He  delighted,  though  a 
mighty  king,  to  give  and  take  a  jest,  as  they  say  : 
and  a  prince  of  this  fortunate  disposition,  who  were 
inclined  to  make  an  ill  use  of  his  power,  may  have 
any  thing  of  his  people,  be  it  never  so  much  to  their 
prejudice.  But  this  good  king  made  generally  a 
very  innocent  use,  as  to  the  public,  of  this  insnaring 
temper ;  for,  it  is  well  known,  he  pursued  pleasure 
more  than  ambition.  He  seemed  to  glory  in  being 
the  first  man  at  cock-matches,  horse-races,  balls  and 
plays :  he  appeared  highly  delighted  on  those  occa- 
sions, and  never  failed  to  warm  and  gladden  the  heart 
of  every  spectator.  He  more  than  once  dined  with 
his  good  citizens  of  London  on  their  lord-mayor's  day, 
and  did  so  the  year  that  sir  Robert  Viner  was  mayor. 
Sir  Robert  was  a  very  loyal  man,  and,  if  you  will 
allow  the  expression,  very  fond  of  his  sovereign; 
but,  what  with  the  joy  he  felt  at  heart  for  the  hon- 
our done  him  by  his  prince,  and  through  the  warmth 
he  was  in  with  continual  toasting  healths  to  the  royal 
family,  his  lordship  grew  a  little  fond  of  his  majesty, 
and  entered  into  a  familiarity  not  altogether  so  grace- 
ful in  so  public  a  place.  The  king  understood  very 
well  how  to  extricate  himself  in  all  kind  of  difficul- 
ties, and  with  an  hint  to  the  company  to  avoid  cere- 
mony, stole  off  and  made  towards  his  coach,  which 
stood  ready  for  him  in  Guildhall  yard.  But  the 
mayor  liked  his  company  so  well,  and  was  grown  so 
intimate,  that  he  pursued  him  hastily,  and  catching 
him  fast  by  the  hand,  cried  out  with  a  vehement  oath 
and  accent,   "  Sir,  you  shall  stay  and  take  t'other 


No.  462.]  THE   SPECTATOK.  279 

bottle."  The  airy  monarch  looked  kindly  at  him 
over  his  shoulder,  and  with  a  smile  and  graceful  air 
(for  I  saw  him  at  the  time,  and  do  now)  repeated 
this  line  ,of  the  old  song, 

"He  that's  drunk  is  as  great  as  a  king,'' 

and  immediately  returned  back  and  complied  with 
his  landlord. 

'  I  give  you  this  story,  Mr.  Spectator,  because, 
as  I  said,  I  saw  the  passage ;  and  I  assure  you  it  is 
very  true,  and  yet  no  common  one ;  and  when  I  tell 
you  the  sequel,  you  will  say  I  have  yet  a  better  rea- 
son for  it.  This  very  mayor  afterwards  erected  a 
statue  of  his  merry  monarch  in  Stocks-market,'  and 
did  the  crown  many  and  great  services  ;  and  it  was 
owing  to  this  humour  of  the  king,  that  his  family 
had  so  great  a  fortune  shut  up  in  the  exchequer  of 
their  pleasant  sovereign.  The  many  good-natured 
condescensions  of  this  prince  are  vulgarly  known ; 
and  it  is  excellently  said  of  him  by  a  great  hand," 
which  writ  his  character,  that  he  was  not  a  king  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  together  in  his  whole  reign.   He 

'  The  equestrian  statue  of  Charles  11.  in  Stocks-market,  erected  at  the 
sole  charge  of  sir  Robert  Viner,  was  originally  made  for  John  Sobieski, 
king  of  Poland ;  but,  by  some  accident,  it  had  been  left  on  the  -workman's 
hands.  To  save  time  and  expense,  the  Polander  -was  converted  into  a 
Briton,  and  the  Turk  underneath  his  horse  into  Oliver  Cromwell,  to  com- 
plete the  compliment.  Unfortunately  the  turban  on  the  Turk's  head  was 
overlooked,  and  left  an  undeniable  proof  of  this  story.  See  Stowe's  Sur- 
vey, &c.  ed.  1766,  p.  517,  vol.  I  and  Ralph's  Review,  <fee.  edit.  1736,  p.  9. 
See  also  Tat.  with  notes,  No.  18,  and  note,  ed.  1786,  in  6  vols. 

This  equestrian  statue  of  white  marble  was  erected  on  a  neat  conduit, 
in  1676  :  but  when,  in  1735,  the  city-council  fixed  on  Stoeks-market  for 
the  site  of  a  house  of  residence  for  the  lord-mayors  of  London,  the  statue 
was  removed,  to  make  way  for  the  Mansion-house :  the  first  stone  of  which 
was  laid  Oct  26,  1789,  by  Micajah  Perry,  esq.  then  lord-mayor. 

■"  Sheffield,  duke  of  Buckingham,  who  said,  that  '  on  premeditation 
Charles  II.  could  not  act  the  part  of  a  king  for  a  moment' 


280  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  463. 

"Would  receive  visits  even  from  fools  and  half  mad- 
men ;  and  at  times  I  have  met  with  people  who  have 
boxed,  fought  at  back-sword,  and  taken  poison  be- 
fore king  Charles  II.  In  a  word,  he  was  so  pleasant 
a  man,  that  no  one  could  be  sorrowful  under  his  go- 
vernment. This  made  him  capable  of  baffling,  with 
the  greatest  ease  imaginable,  all  suggestions  of  jea- 
lousy ;  and  the  people  could  not  entertain  notions 
of  anj  thing  terrible  in  him,  whom  they  saw  every 
way  agreeable.  This  scrap  of  the  familiar  part  of 
that  prince's  history  I  thought  fit  to  send  you,  in  com- 
pliance to  the  request  you  lately  made  to  your  cor- 
respondents. 

'I  am,  Sib,  your  most  humble  servant.' 


No.  463.    THURSDAY,  August  21,  1712. 

Omnia  qusB  sonsu  volvuntur  vota  diarno. 

Pectore  sopito  reddit  arnica  quies. 
a         Tenator  defessa  toro  cum  membra  reponlt, 

Mens  tamen  ad  sylvas  et  sua  lustra  redit  ; 
JudicibxLS  lites,  aurigis  somnia  cumia, 

Yanaque  nocturnis  meta  cavetur  equis. 
He  quoque  Musarum  stadium  sub  nocte  silenti 

Artibus  assuetis  solUcitare  solet 

Clattd. 
In  sleep,  when  fancy  is  let  loose  to  play, 
Our  dreams  repeat  the  wishes  of  the  day. 
Though  ikrther  toil  his  tired  limbs  refuse, 
The  dreaming  hunter  still  the  chase  pursues. 
The  judge  a-bed  dispenses  still  the  laws. 
And  sleeps  again  o^er  the  unfinished  cause. 
The  dozing  racer  hears  his  chariot  roll, 
Smacks  the  vain  whip,  and  shuns  the  Ibncy'd  goal. 
Me  too  the  Muses,  in  the  silent  night, 
With  wonted  chimes  of  gingllng  verae  delight. 

I  WAS  lately  entertaining  myself  with  comparing  Ho- 
mer's balance,  in  which  Jupiter  is  represented  as 

"  By  Steele.    See  Nos.  428,  442,  and  final  note  to  No.  324,  on  T. 


No.  463.]  THE   SPBCTATOB.  281 

weighing  the  fates  of  Hector  and  Achilles,  with  a 
passage  of  Virgil,  wherein  that  deity  is  introduced 
as  weighing  the  fates  of  Turnus  and  ^neas.  I  then 
considered  how  the  same  way  of  thinking  prevailed 
in  the  eastern  parts  of  the  world,  as  in  those  noble 
passages  of  scripture,  wherein  we  are'kild,  that  the 
great  king  of  Babylon,  the  day  before  his  death, 
had  been  '  weighed  in  the  balance,  and  been  found 
wanting.'  In  other  places  of  the  holy  writings,  the 
Almighty  is  described  as  weighing  the  mountains 
in  scales,  making  the  weight  for  the  winds,  knowing 
the  balancings  of  the  clouds ;  and  in  others,  as  weigh- 
ing the  actions  of  men,  and  laying  their  calamities 
together  in  a  balance.  Milton,  as  I  have  observed 
in  a  former  paper,"  had  an  eye  to  several  of  these 
foregoing  instances,  in  that  beautiful  description 
wherein  he  represents  the  archangel  and  the  evil 
spirit  as  addressing  themselves  for  the  combat,  but 
parted  by  the  balance  which  appeared  in  the  hea- 
vens, and  weighed  the  consequences  of  such  a  battle. 


'  Th'  Eternal,  to  prevent  such  horrid  fray. 
Hung  forth  in  heav'n  his  golden  scales,  yet  seen 
Betwixt  Astrea  and  the  Scorpion  sign ; 
Wherein  all  things  created  first  he  weigh'd, 
The  pendulous  round  e^-th,  with  balanc'd  air, 
In  counterpoise,  now  ponders  all  events, 
Battles  and  realms ;  in  these  he  put  two  weights, 
The  sequel  each  of  parting  and  of  fight. 
The  latter  quick  up  flew,  and  kiok'd  the  heam ; 
Which  Gabriel  spying,  thus  bespake  the  fiend : 

"  Satan,  I  know  thy  strength,  and  thou  know'st  mine : 
Neither  our  own,  but  giv'n.     What  folly  then 
To  boast  what  arms  can  do,  since  thine  no  more 
Than  heav'n  permits ;  nor  mine,  though  doubled  more 
To  trample  thee  as  mire !  For  proof  look  up, 
And  read  thy  lot  in  yon  celestial  sign, 

»  See  Speot.  No.  321. 


282  THE   SPEOTATOB.  [No.  463 

"Where  thou  art  weigh'd,  and  shewn  how  light,  how  weak, 
If  thou  resist."    The  fiend  look'd  up,  and  knew 
His  mounted  scale  aloft ;  nor  more ;  but  fled 
Murm'ring,  and  with  him  fled  the  shades  of  night.' 

These  several  amusing  thoughts,  having  taken 
possession  of  my  mind  some  time  before  I  went  to 
sleep,  and  mingling  themselves  with  my  ordinary 
ideas,  raised  in  my  imagination  a  very  odd  kind  of 
vision.  I  was,  methought,  replaced  in  my  study, 
and  seated  in  my  elbow-chair,  where  I  had  indulged 
the  foregoing  speculations,  with  my  lamp  burning 
by  me  as  usual.  Whilst  I  was  here  meditating  on 
several  subjects  of  morality,  and  considering  the 
nature  of  many  virtues  and  vices,  as  materials  for 
those  discourses  with  which  I  daily  entertain  the 
public,  I  saw,  methought,  a  pair  of  golden  scales 
hanging  by  a  chain  of  the  same  metal  over  the  table 
that  stood  before  me ;  when,  on  a  sudden,  there  were 
great  heaps  of  weights  thrown  down  on  each  side  of 
them.  I  found,  upon  examining  these  weights,  they 
showed  the  value  of  every  thing  that  is  in  esteem 
among  men.  I  made  an  essay  of  them,  by  putting 
the  weight  of  Wisdom  in  one  scale,  and  that  of 
Riches  in  another  ;  upon  which  the  latter,  to  show 
its  comparative  lightness,  immediately  flew  up  and 
kicked  the  beam. 

But,  before  I  proceed  I  must  inform  my  reader, 
that  these  weights  did  not  exert  theii-  natural  gravi- 
ty, till  they  were  laid  on  the  golden  balance,  inso- 
much that  I  could  not  guess  which  was  light  or 
heavy,  whilst  I  held  them  in  my  hand.  This  I  found 
by  several  instances ;  for,  upon  my  laying  a  weight 
in  one  of  the  scales,  which  was  inscribed  by  the  word 
'  Eternity,'  though  I  threw  in  that  of  Time,  Prosperi- 
ty, Affliction,  Wealth,   Poverty,   Interest,   Success, 


No.  463.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  283 

with  many  other  weights,  which  in  my  hand  seemed 
very  ponderous,  they  were  not  able  to  stir  the  op- 
posite balance;  nor  could  they  have  prevailed, 
though  assisted  with  the  weight  of  the  Sun,  the 
Stars,  and  the  Earth. 

Upon  emptying  the  scales,  I  laid  several  titles  and 
honours,  with  Pomps,  Triumphs,  and  many  weights 
of  the  like  nature,  in  one  of  them ;  and  seeing  a  little 
glittering  weight  lie  by  me,  I  threw  it  accidentally 
into  the  other  scale,  when,  to  my  great  surprise,  it 
proved  so  exact  a  counterpoise,  that  it  kept  the  bal- 
ance in  an  equilibrium.  This  little  glittering  weight 
was  inscribed  upon  the  edges  of  it  with  the  word 
'  Vanity.'  I  found  there  were  several  other  weights 
which  were  equally  heavy,  and  exact  counterpoises 
to  one  another :  a  few  of  them  I  tried,  as  Avarice 
and  Poverty,  Riches  and  Content,  with  some  others. 

There  were  likewise  several  weights  that  were 
of  the  same  figure,  and  seemed  to  correspond  with 
each  other,  but  were  entirely  different  when  thrown 
into  the  scales  :  as  Religion  and  Hypocrisy,  Pedant- 
ry and  Learning,  Wit  and  Vivacity,  Superstition 
and  Devotion,  Gravity  and  Wisdom,  with  many 
others. 

I  observed  one  particular  weight  lettered  on 
both  sides  ;  and,  upon  applying  myself  to  the  read- 
ing of  it,  I  found  on  one  side  written,  '  In  the  dialect 
of  men,'  and  underneath  it,  'Calamities:'  on  the 
other  side  was  written,  'In  the  language  of  the 
gods,'  and  underneath  '  Blessings.'  I  found  the  in- 
trinsic value  of  this  weight  to  be  much  greater  than 
I  imagined,  for  it  overpowered  Health,  Wealth, 
(jOod-Fortune,  and  many  other  weights,  which  were 
much  more  ponderous  in  my  hand  than  the  other. 

There  is  a  saying  among  the  Scotch,  that  an 


284  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  463. 

ounce  of  mother  is  worth  a  pound  of  clergy  :P  I  was 
sensible  of  the  truth  of  this  saying,  when  I  saw  the 
diiference  between  the  weight  of  Natural  Parts,  and 
that  of  Learning.  The  observations  which  I  made 
upon  these  two  weights,  opened  to  me  a  new  field 
of  discoveries ;  for,  notwithstanding  the  weight  of 
Natural  Parts  was  much  heavier  than  that  of  Learn- 
ing, I  observed  that  it  weighed  an  hundred  times 
heavier  than  it  did  before,  when  I  put  Learning  into 
the  same  scale  with  it.  I  made  the  same  observation 
upon  Faith  and  Morality  ;^  for,  notwithstanding  the 
latter  outweighed  the  former  separately,  it  received 
a  thousand  times  more  additional  weight  from  its 
conjunction  with  the  former,  than  what  it  had  by 
itself  This  odd  phenomenon  showed  itself  in  other 
particulars,  as  in  Wit  and  Judgment,  Philosophy  and 
Religion,  Justice  and  Humanity,  Zeal  and  Charity, 
depth  of  Sense  and  perspicuity  of  Style,  with  innum- 
erable other  particulars  too  long  to  be  mentioned  in 
this  paper. 

As  a  dream  seldom  fails  of  dashing  seriousness 
with  impertinence,  mirth  with  gravity,  methought 
I  made  several  other  experiments  of  a  more  ludi- 
crous nature,  by  one  of  which  I  found  that  an  Eng- 
lish octavo  was  very  often  heavier  than  a  French 
folio ;  and,  by  another  that  an  old  Greek  or  Latin 
author  weighed  down  a  whole  library  of  moderns. 
Seeing  one  of  my  Spectators  laying  by  me,  I  laid  it 
into  one  of  the  scales,  and  flung  a  two-penny  piece 
into  the  other.  The  reader  will  not  inquire  into  the 
event,  if  he  remembers  the  first  trial  which  I  have 
recorded  in  this  paper.    I  afterwards  threw  both  the 

P  See  Dr.  Beattie's  Essay  on  the  Nature  and  Immutability  of  Truth, 
chap.  i.  p.  45,  2d  edit.  1771. 
1  See  Spect.  No.  469. 


No.  463.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  285 

sexes  into  the  balance ;  but  as  it  is  not  my  interest  to 
disoblige  either  of  them,  I  shall  desire  to  be  excused 
from  telling  the  result  of  this  experiment.  Having 
an  opportunity  of  this  nature  in  my  hands,  I  could 
not  forbear  throwing  into  one  scale  the  principles  of 
a  tory,  and  in  the  other  those  of  a  whig ;  but  as  I 
have  all  along  declared  this  to  be  a  neutral  paper,  I 
shall  likewise  desire  to  be  silent  under  this  head 
also,  though,  upon  examining  one  of  the  weights,  I 
saw  the  word  '  tekbl  '  engraven  on  it  in  capital 
letters. 

I  made  many  other  experiments ;  and,  though  I 
have  not  room  for  them  all  in  this  day's  speculation, 
I  may  perhaps  reserve  them  for  another.  I  shall 
only  add,  that,  upon  my  awaking,  I  was  sorry  to 
find  my  golden  scales  vanished ;  but  resolved  for 
the  future  to  learn  this  lesson  from  them,  not  to  de- 
spise or  value  any  things  for  their  appearances,  but 
to  regulate  my  esteem  and  passions  towards  them 
according  to  their  real  and  intrinsic  value. 

*»*  This  day  is  published  The  Shining  Sisters,  a  poem,  written  at  Tan- 
bridge  ;  and  the  Iliad  of  Homer,  with  a  preface,  life,  and  notes,  by  madam 
Dacier :  some  notes  by  Mr.  Johnson,  &a.  Printed  curiously,  with  an  El- 
zevir letter,  for  B.  Lintot. — Spect.  in  folio. 

\\\  At  Drury-lane,  on  Friday,  August  22,  the  last  revived  comedy, 
called  The  London  Cuckolds.  Ramble,  Mr.  Mills ;  Townly,  Mr.  Husband  ; 
Doodle,  Mr.  Johnson ;  Wiseacre,  Mr.  Bullock ;  Dashwell,  Mr.  Bowen  ;  and 
Loveday,  Mr.  Bullock,  jun.  Arabella,  Mrs.  Bradshaw ;  and  Peggy,  Miss 
Willis. — Ibidem. 

'  By  Addison,  dated  it  seems  from  Chelsea.     See  final  note  to  No.  5. 

K  B.  The  tale  of  Basilius  Valentinus  and  Alexandrinus,  in  No,  426,  is 
taken  from  the  Ambassador's  Travels  of  Olearius,  the  English  translation, 
book  V.  p.  189.     J.  B.  B. 


286  THE   SPECTATOR,  [^<»-  ^^*- 


No.  464.    FRIDAY,  August  22,  1712. 

Anream  qnisquis  mediocritatem 
Diligit,  tutus  caret  obsoleti 
Sordibos  tecti,  caret  invidendft 
Sobrius  aula. 

HoR.  2  Od.  X.  5. 
The  golden  mean,  as  sbe's  too  nice  to  dwell 
Among  the  mlns  of  a  filthy  cell, 
So  is  her  modesty  withal  as  great, 
To  balk  the  envy  of  a  princely  seat 

NOBBIS. 

I  AM  wonderfully  pleased  when  I  meet  with  any  pas- 
sage in  an  old  Greek  or  Latin  author,  that  is  not 
blown  upon,  and  which  I  have  never  met  with  in  a 
quotation.  Of  this  kind  is  a  beautiful  saying  in 
Theognis  ;  '  Vice  is  covered  by  wealth,  and  virtue 
by  poverty  ;  '  or,  to  give  it  in  the  verbal  translation, 
'  Among  men  there  are  some  who  have  their  vices 
concealed  by  weatth,  and  others  who  have  their 
virtues  concealed  by  poverty.'  Every  man's  obser- 
vation will  supply  him  with  instances  of  rich  men, 
who  have  several  faults  and  defects  that  are  over- 
looked, if  not  entirely  hidden,  by  means  of  their 
riches ;  and,  I  think,  we  cannot  find  a  more  natural 
description  of  a  poor  man,  whose  merits  are  lost  in 
his  poverty,  than  that  in  the  words  of  the  wise  man : 
'  There  was  a  little  city,  and  few  men  within  it ; 
and  there  came  a  great  king  against  it,  and  besieged 
it,  and  built  great  bulwarks  against  it.  Now  there 
was  found  in  it  a  poor  wise  man,  and  he,  by  his 
wisdom,  delivered  the  city ;  yet  no  man  remember- 
ed that  same  poor  man.  Then,  said  I,  wisdom  is 
better  than  strength ;  nevertheless,  the  poor  man's 
wisdom  is  despised,  and  his  words  are  not  heard.' 

The  middle  condition  seems  to  be  the  most  ad- 
vantageously situated  for  the  gaining  of  wisdom. 


No.  464.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  287 

Poverty  turns  our  thoughts  too  much  upon  the  sup- 
plying of  our  wants,  and  riches  upon  enjoying  our 
superfluities ;  and,  as  Cowley  has  said  in  another 
case,  '  It  is  hard  for  a  man  to  keep  a  steady  eye  upon 
truth,  who  is  always  in  a  battle,  or  a  triumph.' 

If  we  regard  peverty  and  wealth,  as  they  are  apt 
to  produce  virtues  or  vices  in  the  mind  of  man,  one 
may  observe  that  there  is  a  set  of  each  of  these  grow- 
ing out  of  poverty,  quite  different  from  that  which 
rises  out  of  wealth.  Humility  and  patience,  industry 
and  temperance,  are  very  often  the  good  qualities  of 
a  poor  man.  Humanity  and  good-nature,  magnanim- 
ity and  a  sense  of  honour,  are  as  oftsn  the  qualifi- 
cations of  the  rich.  On  the  contrary,  poverty  is  apt 
to  betray  a  man  into  envy,  riches  into  arrogance ; 
poverty  is  too  often  attended  with  fraud,  vicious 
compliance,  repining,  murmur,  and  discontent. 
Riches  expose  a  man  to  pride  and  luxury,  a  foolish 
elation  of  heart,  and  too  great  a  fondness  for  the 
present  world.  In  short,  the  middle  condition  is 
most  eligible  to  the  man  who  would  improve  him- 
self in  virtue  ;  as  I  have  before  shown,  it  is  the  most 
advantageous  for  the  gaining  of  knowledge.  It 
was  upon  this  consideration  that  Agur  founded 
his  prayer,  which  for  the  wisdom  of  it  is  recorded 
in  holy  writ.  '  Two  things  have  I  required  of  thee ; 
deny  me  them  not  before  I  die.  Remove  far  from  me 
vanity  and  lies ;  give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches ; 
feed  me  with  food  convenient  for  me  :  lest  I  be  full 
and  deny  thee,  and  say.  Who  is  the  Lord?  or  lest 
I  be  poor  and  steal,  and  take  the  name  of  my  God 
in  vain.' 

I  shall  fill  the  remaining  part  of  my  paper  with 
a  very  pretty  allegory,  which  is  wrought  into  a  play 
by  Aristophanes  the  Greek  comedian.     It  seems 


288  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No-  464. 

originally  designed  as  a  satire  upon  the  rich,  though, 
in  some  parts  of  it,  it  is  like  the  foregoing  discourse, 
a  kind  of  comparison  between  wealth  and  poverty. 
Chremylus,  who  was  an  old  and  a  good  man, 
and  withal  exceeding  poor,  being  desirous  to  leave 
some  riches  to  his  son,  consults  the  oracle  of  Apollo 
upon  the  subject.  The  oracle  bids  him  follow  the 
first  man  he  should  see  upon  his  going  out  of  the 
temple.  The  person  he  chanced  to  see  was  to  ap- 
pearance an  old  sordid  blind  man ;  but  upon  his 
following  him  from  place  to  place,  he  at  last  found, 
by  his  own  confession,  that  he  was  Plutus  the  god 
of  riches,  andjihat  he  was  just  come  out  of  the  house 
of  a  miser.  Plutus  farther  told  him,  that  when  he 
was  a  boy,  he  used  to  declare,  that  as  soon  as  he 
came  to  age  he  would  distribute  wealth  to  none  but 
virtuous  and  just  men  ;  upon  which  Jupiter,  con- 
sidering the  pernicious  consequences  of  such  a  reso- 
lution, took  his  sight  away  from  him,  and  left  him 
to  stroll  about  the  world  in  the  blind  condition 
wherein  Chremylus  beheld  him.  With  much  ado 
Chremylus  prevailed  upon  him  to  go  to  his  house, 
where  he  met  an  old  woman  in  a  tattered  raiment, 
who  had  been  his  guest  for  many  years,  and  whose 
name  was  Poverty.  The  old  woman  refusing  to 
turn  out  so  easily  as  he  would  have  her,  he  threat- 
ened to  banish  her  not  only  from  his  own  house, 
but  out  of  all  Greece,  if  she  made  any  more  words 
about  the  matter.  Poverty  on  this  occasion  pleads 
her  cause  very  notably,  and  represents  to  her  old 
landlord,  that  should  she  be  driven  out  of  the  coun- 
try, all  their  trades,  arts,  and  sciences,  would  be 
driven  out  with  her ;  and  that  if  every  one  was 
rich,  they   would  never  be  supplied  with  those 


No.  464.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  289 

pomps,  ornaments,  and  conveniences  of  life  which 
made  riches  desirable.  She  likewise  represented  to 
him  the  several  advantages  which  she  bestowed 
upon  her  votaries,  in  regard  to  their  shape,  their 
health,  and  their  activity,  by  preserving  them  from 
gouts,  dropsies,  unwieldiness,  and  intemperance. 
But  whatever  she  had  to  say  for  herself,  she  was  at 
last  forced  to  troop  off.  Chremylus  immediately 
considered  how  he '  might  restore  Plutus  to  his 
sight;  and,  in  order  to  it,  conveyed  him  to  the 
temple  of  Jilsculapius,  who  was  famous  for  cures 
and  miracles  of  this  nature.  By  this  means  the  deity 
recovered  his  eyes,  and  began  to  make  a  right  use  of 
them,  by  enriching  every  one  that  was  distinguished 
by  piety  towards  the  gods,  and  justice  towards 
men ;  and  at  the  same  time  by  taking  away  his  gifts 
from  the  impious  and  undeserving.  This  produces 
several  merry  incidents,  till  in  the  last  act  Mercury 
descends  with  great  complaints  from  the  gods,  that 
since  the  good  men  were  grown  rich,  they  had  re- 
ceived no  sacrifices  ;  which  is  confirmed  by  a  priest 
of  Jupiter,  who  enters  with  a  remonstrance,  that 
since  this  late  innovation  he  was  reduced  to  a  starv- 
ing condition,  and  could  not  live  upon  his  oflQce. 
Chremylus,  who  in  the  beginning  of  the  play  was 
religious  in  his  poverty,  concludes  it  with  a  propo- 
sal, which  was  relished  by  all  the  good  men  who 
were  now  grown  rich  as  well  as  himself,  that  they 
should  carry  Plutus  in  a  solemn  procession  to  the 
temple,  and  instal  him  in  the  place  of  Jupiter. 
This  allegory  instructed  the  Athenians  in  two 
points :  first,  as  it  vindicated  the  conduct  of  Provi- 
dence in  its  ordinary  distributions  of  wealth ;  and 
in  the  next  place,  as  it  showed  the  great  tendency 

VOL.  V. — 19 


2.90  THE  SPECTATOB.  [No.  465. 

of  riclies  to  corrupt  the  morals  of  those  who  pos- 
sessed them.  C.° 


No.  465.  SATURDAY,  August  23,  1712. 

Qaa  ratione  qneas  traducere  leniter  cevum  : 
Ne  te  semper  inops  agitet  vexetqae  capido ; 
Ne  payor,  et  rerum  mediocriter  utiliam  spcs. 

Hoe.  1  Ep.  xviii  97. 
How  you  may  glide  with  gentle  ease 
AAown  the  current  of  your  days ; 
Nor  Tex'd  hy  mean  and  low  desires, 
Nor  warm'd  by  wild  ambitious  fires ; 
By  hope  alarm'd,  depress'd  by  fear. 
For  things  but  little  worth  your  care. 

F&AHOIS. 

Having  endeavoured  in  my  last  Saturday's  paper, 
to  show  the  great  excellency  of  faith,  I  shall  here 
consider  what  are  the  proper  means  of  strengthening 
and  confirming  it  in  the  mind  of  man.  Those  who 
delight  in  reading  books  of  controversy,  which 
are  written  on  both  sides  of  the  question  on  points 
of  faith,  do  very  seldom  arrive  at  a  fixed  and  set- 
tled habit  of  it.  They  are  one  day  entirely  con- 
vinced of  its  important  truths,  and  the  next  meet 
with  something  that  shakes  and  disturbs  them.  The 
doubt  which  was  laid  revives  again,  and  shows  it- 
self in  new  difficulties,  and  that  generally  for  this 
reason,  because  the  mind,  which  is  perpetually  tost 
in  controversies  and  disputes,  is  apt  to  forget  the 
reasons  which  had  once  set  it  at  rest,  and  to  be  dis- 
quieted with  any  former  perplexity,  when  it  appears 
lin  a  new  shape,  or  is  started  by  a  different  hand. 
As  nothing  is  more  laudable  than  an  inquiry  after 

■  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  Chelsea.    See  final  notes  to  Nos. 
•5,  and  335,  on  C  and  L. 
«  See  Spect.  No.  459. 


No.  465.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  291 

truth,  so  nothing  is  more  irrational  than  to  pass 
away  our  whole  lives  without  determining  ourselves 
one  way  or  other  in  those  points  which  are  of  the 
last  importance  to  us.  There  are  indeed  many 
things  from  which  we  may  withhold  our  assent  ; 
but  in  cases  by  which  we  are  to  regulate  our  lives 
it  is  the  greatest  absurdity  to  be  wavering  and  un- 
settled, without  closing  with  that  side  which  appears 
the  most  safe  and  the  most  probable.  The  first  rule, 
therefore,  which  I  shall  lay  down,  is  this,  that  when 
by  reading  or  discourse  we  find  ourselves  thoroughly 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  any  article,  and  of  the 
reasonableness  of  our  belief  in  it,  we  should  never 
after  suffer  ourselves  to  call  it  into  question.  We 
may  perhaps  forget  the  arguments  which  occasioned 
our  conviction,  but  we  ought  to  remember  the 
strength  they  had  with  us,  and  therefore  still  to  re- 
tain the  conviction  which  they  once  produced. 
This  is  no  more  than  what  we  do  in  every  common 
art  or  science ;  nor  is  it  possible  to  act  otherwise, 
considering  the  weakness  and  limitation  of  our  in- 
tellectual faculties.  It  was  thus  that  Latimer,  one 
of  the  glorious  army  of  martyrs,  who  introduced 
the  reformation  in  England,  behaved  himself  in  that 
great  conference  which  was  managed  between  the 
most  learned  among  the  protestants  and  papists  in 
the  reign  of  queen  Mary.  This  venerable  old  man, 
knowing  how  his  abilities  were  impaired  by  age, 
and  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  recollect  all 
those  reasons  which  had  directed  him  in  the  choice 
of  his  religion,  left  his  companions,  who  were  in  the 
full  possession  of  their  parts  and  learning,  to  baffle 
and  confound  their  antagonists  by  the  force  of  rea- 
son. As  for  himself,  he  only  repeated  to  his  adver- 
saries the  articles  in  which  he  firmly  believed,  and 


292  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  465. 

in  the  profession  of  which  he  was  determined  to  die. 
It  is  in  this  manner  that  the  mathematician  proceeds 
upon  propositions  which  he  has  once  demonstrated ; 
and,  though  the  demonstration  may  have  slipped  out 
of  his  memory,  he  builds  upon  the  truth,  because  he 
knows  it  was  demonstrated.  This  rule  is  absolutely 
necessary  for  weaker  minds,  and  in  some  measure 
for  men  of  the  greatest  abilities ;  but  to  these  last  I 
would  propose,  in  the  second  place,  that  they  should 
lay  up  in  their  memories,  and  always  keep  by  them 
in  readiness,  those  arguments  which  appear  to  them 
of  the  greatest  strength,  and  which  cannot  be  got 
over  by  all  the  doubts  and  cavils  of  infidelity. 

But,  in  the  third  place,  there  is  nothing  which 
strengthens  faith  more  than  morality.  Faith  and 
morality  naturally  produce  each  other.  A  man  is 
quickly  convinced  of  the  truth  of  religion,  who  finds 
it  is  not  against  his  interest  that  it  should  be  true. 
The  pleasure  he  receives  at  present,  and  the  happi- 
ness which  he  promises  himself  from  it  hereafter, 
will  both  dispose  him  very  powerfully  to  give  credit 
to  it,  according  to  the  ordinary  observation  that  we 
are  easy  to  believe  what  we  wish.  It  is  very  cer- 
tain, that  a  man  of  sound  reason  cannot  forbear 
closing  with  religion  upon  an  impartial  examination 
of  it ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  as  certain,  that 
faith  is  kept  alive  in  us,  and  gathers  strength  from 
practice  more  than  from  speculation. 

There  is  still  another  method,  which  is  more 
persuasive  than  any  of  the  former ;  and  that  is,  an 
habitual  adoration  of  the  Supreme  Being,  as  well  in 
constant  acts  of  mental  worship,  as  in  outward  forms. 
The  devout  man  does  not  only  believe,  but  feels 
there  is  a  Deity.  He  has  actual  sensations  of  him ; 
his  experience  concurs  with  his  reason  ;  he  sees  him 


No.  465.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  293 

more  and  more  in  all  Ms  intercourses  with  him,  and 
even  in  this  life  almost  loses  his  faith  in  conviction. 
The  last  method  which  I  shall  mention  for  the 
giving  life  to  a  man's  faith,  is  frequent  retirement 
from  the  world,  accompanied  with  religious  medita- 
tion. When  a  man  thinks  of  any  thing  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  whatever  deep  impressions  it  may 
make, in  his  mind,  they  are  apt  to  vanish  as  soon  as 
the  d^y  breaks  about  him.  The  light  and  noise  of 
the  day,  which  are  perpetually  soliciting  his  senses, 
and  calling  off  his  attention,  wear  out  of  his  mind 
the  thoughts  that  imprinted  themselves  in  it,  with 
so  much  strength,  during  the  silence  and  darkness 
of  the  night.  A  man  finds  the  same  difference  as 
to  himself  in  a  crowd  and  in  a  solitude  :  the  mind 
is  stunned  and  dazzled  amidst  that  variety  of  ob- 
jects which  press  upon  her  in  a  great  city.  She 
cannot  apply  herself  to  the  consideration  of  those 
things  which  are  of  the  utmost  concern  to  her. 
The  cares  or  pleasures  of  the  world  strike  in  with 
every  thought,  and  a  multitude  of  vicious  examples 
give  a  kind  of  justification  to  our  folly.  In  our  re- 
tirements every  thing  disposes  us  to  be  serious.  In 
courts  and  cities  we  are  entertained  with  the  works 
of  men  ;  in  the  country  with  those  of  God.  One  is 
the  province  of  art,  the  other  of  nature.  Faith  and 
devotion  naturally  grow  in  the  mind  of  every  rea- 
sonable man,  who  sees  the  impressions  of  divine 
power  and  wisdom  in  every  object  on  which  he 
casts  his  eye.  The  Supreme  Being  has  made  the 
best  arguments  for  his  own  existence,  in  the  forma- 
tion of  the  heavens  and  the  earth :  and  these  are 
arguments  which  a  man  of  sense  cannot  forbear  at- 
tending to,  who  is  out  of  the  noise  and  hurry  of 
human  affairs.     Aristotle  says,  that  should  a  man 


294:  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  465. 

live  under  ground,  and  there  converse  with  works 
of  art  and  mechanism,  and  should  afterwards  be 
brought  up  into  the  open  day,  and  see  the  several 
glories  of  the  heaven  and  earth,  he  would  immedi- 
ately pronounce  them  the  works  of  such  a  being  as 
we  define  God  to  be.  The  Psalmist  has  very  beau- 
tiful strokes  of  poetry  to  this  purpose,  in  that  exalt- 
ed strain  :  '  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God ; 
and  the  firmament  showeth  his  handy  work.  -  One 
day  telleth  another ;  and  one  night  certifieth  an- 
other. There  is  neither  speech  nor  language  ;  but 
their  voices  are  heard  among  them.  Their  sound  is 
gone  out  into  all  lands ;  and  their  words  into  the 
ends  of  the  world.'  As  such  a  bold  and  sublime 
manner  of  thinking  furnishes  very  noble  matter  for 
an  ode,  the  reader  may  see  it  wrought  into  the  fol- 
lowing one. 


"  The  spaoioTis  firmament  on  high, 
With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 
And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame. 
Their  great  Original  proclaim : 
Th'  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day. 
Does  his  Creator's  power  display, 
And  publishes  to  every  land 
The  work  of  an  almighty  hand. 


"  Soon  as  the  ev'ning  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale. 
And  nightly  to  the  list'ning  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth : 
WhUat  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll, 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 


"  What  though,  in  solemn  silence,  aU 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball ; 


No.  466.]  iHE  SPECTATOR.  295 

What  though  nor  real  voice  nor  sound 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found ; 
In  reason's  ear,  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice. 
For  ever  singing,  as  they  shine. 
The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine.'' 


No.  466.     MONDAY,  August  25,  1712. 

—  Vera  incessa  patuit  dea. 

YiKS.  Mn.  I  409. 
And  by  her  graceful  walk  the  qaeea  of  love  is  known. 

Dryden. 

When  ^neas,  the  hero  of  Virgil,  is  lost  in  the  wood, 
and  a  perfect  stranger  in  the  place  on  which  he  is 
landed,  he  is  accosted  by  a  lady  in  an  habit  for  the 
chase.  She  inquires  of  him,  whether  he  has  seen 
pass  by  that  way  any  young  woman  dressed  as  she 
was  ?  whether  she  were  following  the  sport  in  the 
wood,  or  any  other  way  employed,  according  to  the 
custom  of  huntresses  ?  The  hero  answers  with  the 
respect  due  to  the  beautiful  appearance  she  made  ;f 
tells  her  he  saw  no  such  person  as  she  inquired  for ; 
but  intimates  that  he  knows  her  to  be  of  the  deities, 
and  desires  she  would  conduct  a  stranger.  Her  form 
from  her  first  appearance  manifested  she  was  moi'e 
than  mortal ;  but,  though  she  was  certainly  a  god- 
dess, the  poet  does  not  make  known  to  be  the  goddess 
of  beauty  till  she  moved.  All  the  charms  of  an  agree- 
able person  are  then  in  their  highest  exertion,  every 
limb  and  feature  appears  with  its  respective  grace. 
It  is  from  this  observation  that  I  cannot  help  being 

"  By  Addison,  dated,  it  is  thought,  from  Chelsea.    See  the  concluding 
note  to  the  preceding  paper. 


296  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  466. 

SO  passionate  an  admirer  as  I  am  of  good  dancing.'' 
As  all  art  is  an  imitation  of  nature,  this  is  an  imitation 
of  nature  in  its  highest  excellence,  and  at  a  time 
when  she  is  most  agreeable.  The  business  of  danc- 
ing is  to  display  beauty ;  and  for  that  reason  all  dis- 
tortions and.  mimicries,  as  such,  are  what  raise  aversion 
instead  of  pleasure :  but  things  that  are  in  themselves 
excellent,  are  ever  attended  with  imposture  and  false 
imitation.  Thus,  as  in  poetry  there  are  labouring 
fools  who  write  anagrams  and  acrostics,  there  are 
pretenders  in  dancing,  who  think  merely  to  do  what 
others  cannot  is  to  excel.  Such  creatures  should  be 
rewarded  like  him  who  had  acquired  a  knack  of 
throwing  a  grain  of  corn  through  the  eye  of  a 
needle,  with  a  bushel  to  keep  his  hands  in  use.  The 
dancers  on  our  stage  are  very  faulty  in  this  kind ; 
and  what  they  mean  by  writhing  themselves  into 
such  postures  as  it  would  be  a  pain  for  any  of  the 
spectators  to  stand  in,  and  yet  hope  to  please  those 
spectators,  is  unintelligible.  Mr.  Prince  has  a 
genius,  if  he  were  encouraged,  would  prompt  him  to 

tetter  things.  In  all  the  dances  he  invents,  you  see 
e  keeps  close  to  the  characters  he  represents.  He 
does  not  hope  to  please  by  making  his  performers 
move  in  a  manner  in  which  no  one  else  ever  did, 
but  by  motions  proper  to  the  characters  he  repre- 
sents. He  gives  to  clowns  and  lubbards  clumsy 
graces  ;  that  is,  he  makes  them  practise  what  they 
would  think  graces :  and  I  have  seen  dances  of  his, 
which  might  give  hints  that  would  be  useful  to  a 
comic  writer.  These  performances  have  pleased 
the  taste  of  such  as  have  not  reflection  enough  to 
know  their  excellence,  because  they  are  in  nature  ;' 

»  Spect.  Nos.  66,  61,  834,  S10,  .376.     Tat.  Noa.  34,  and  68. 


No.  466.J  THE  SPECTATOR.  297 

and  the  distorted  motions  of  others  have  offended 
those  who  could  not  form  reasons  to  themselves  for 
their  displeasure,  from  their  being  a  contradiction  to 
nature. 

When  one  considers  the  inexpressible  advantage 
there  is  in  arriving  at  some  excellence  in  this  art, 
it  is  monstrous  to  behold  it  so  much  neglected.  The 
following  letter  has  in  it  something  very  natural  on 
this  subject. 

'MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  I  AM  a  widower  with  but  one  daughter  ; 
she  was  by  nature  much  inclined  to  be  a  romp ;  and 
^I  had  no  way  of  educating  her,  but  commanding  a 
young  woman,  whom  I  entertained  to  take  care  of 
her,  to  be  very  watchful  in  her  care  and  attendance 
about  her.  I  am  a  man  of  business,  and  obliged  to 
be  much  abroad.  The  neighbours  have  told  me, 
that  in  my  absence  our  maid  has  let  in  the  spruce 
servants  in  the  neighbourhood  to  junketings,  while 
my  girl  played  and  romped  even  in  the  street.  To 
tell  you  the  plain  truth,  I  catched  her  once,  at 
eleven  years  old,  at  chuck-farthing  among  the  boys. 
This  put  me  upon  new  thoughts  about  my  child, 
and  I  determined  to  place  her  at  a  boarding-school ; 
and  at  the  same  time  gave  a  very  discreet  young 
gentlewoman  her  maintenance  at  the  same  place  and 
rate,  to  be  her  companion.  I  took  little  notice  of 
my  girl  from  time  to  time,  but  saw  her  now  and 
then  in  good  health,  out  of  harm's  way,  and  was 
satisfied.  But  by  much  importunity,  I  was  lately 
prevailed  with  to  go  to  one  of  their  balls.  I  cannot 
express  to  you  the  anxiety  my  silly  heart  was  in, 
when  I  saw  my  romp,  now  fifteen,  taken  out:  I 
never  felt  the  pangs  of  a  father  upon  me  so  strongly 


298  THE  SPECTATOK.  [No.  466 

in  my  whole  life  before  ;  and  I  could  not  have  suf- 
fered more  had  my  whole  fortune  been  at  stake. 
My  girl  came  on  with  the  most  becoming  modesty 
I  had  ever  seen,  and  casting  a  respectful  eye,  as  if 
she  feared  me  more  than  all  the  audience,  I  gave  a 
nod,  which  I  think  gave  her  all  the  spirit  she  as- 
sumed upon  it ;  but  she  rose  properly  to  that  dig- 
nity of  aspect.  My  romp,  now  the  most  graceful 
person  of  her  sex,  assumed  a  majesty  which  com- 
manded the  highest  respect ;  and  when  she  turned 
to  me,  and  saw  my  face  in  rapture,  she  fell  into  the 
prettiest  smile,  and  I  saw  in  all  her  motions  that 
she  exulted  in  her  father's  satisfaction.  You,  Mr. 
Spectator,  will,  better  than  I  can  tell  you,  ima- 
gine to  yourself  all  the  different  beauties  and 
changes  of  aspect  in  an  accomplished  young  woman 
setting  forth  all  her  beauties  with  a  design  to  please 
no  one  so  much  as  her  father.  My  girl's  lover  can 
never  know  half  the  satisfaction  that  I  did  in  her 
that  day.  I  could  not  possibly  have  imagined,  that 
so  great  improvement  could  have  been  wrought  by 
an  art  that  I  always  held  in  itself  ridiculous  and  con- 
temptible. There  is,  I  am  convinced,  no  method 
like  this  to  give  young  women  a  sense  of  their  own 
value  and  dignity ;  and  I  am  sure  there  can  be  none 
so  expeditious  to  communicate  that  value  to  others. 
As  for  the  flippant  insipidly  gay,  and  wantonly  for- 
ward, whom  you  behold  among  dancers,  that  car- 
riage is  more  to  be  attributed  to  the  perverse  genius 
of  the  performers,  than  imputed  to  the  art  itself 
For  my  part,  my  child  has  danced  herself  into  my 
esteem ;  and  I  have  as  great  an  honour  for  her  as 
ever  I  had  for  her  mother,  from  whom  she  derived 
those  latent  good  qualities  which  appeared  in  her 


No.  466,]  THE   SPECTATOR.  299 

countenance  when  she  was  dancing ;  for  my  girl, 
though  I  say  it  myself,  showed  in  one  quarter  of  an 
hour  the  innate  principles  of  a  modest  virgin,  a  ten- 
der wife,  a  generous  friend,  a  kind  mother,  and  an 
indulgent  mistress.  I'll  strain  hard  but  I  will  pur- 
chase for  her  an  husband  suitable  to  her  merit.  I 
am  your  convert  in  the  admiration  of  what  I  thought 
you  jested  when  you  recommended ;  and  if  you 
please  to  be  at  my  house  on  Thursday  next,  I  make 
a  ball  for  my  daughter,  and  you  shall  see  her  dance, 
or,  if  you  will  do  her  that  honour,  dance  with  her. 
'  I  am,  Sib,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'  Philipateb.' 

I  have  some  time  ago  spoken  of  a  treatise  writ- 
ten by  Mr.  Weaver  on  this  subject,  which  is  now,  I 
understand,  ready  to  l%e  published.''  This  work  sets 
this  matter  in  a  very  plain  and  advantageous  light ; 
and  I  am  convinced  from  it,  that  if  the  art  was  un- 
der proper  regulations,  it  would  be  a  mechanic  way 
of  implanting  insensibly,  in  minds  not  capable  of  re- 
ceiving it  so  well  by  any  other  rules,  a  sense  of  good- 
breeding  and  virtue. 

Were  any  one  to  see  Mariamne  ^  dance,  let  him 
be  never  so  sensual  a  brute,  I  defy  him  to  entertain 
any  thoughts  but  of  the  highest  respect  and  esteem 
towards  her.  I  was  showed  last  week  a  picture  in 
a  lady's  closet,  for  which  she  had  an  hundred  differ- 
ent dresses,  that  she  could  clap  on  round  the  face  on 
purpose  to  demonstrate  the  force  of  habits  in  the 
diversity  of  the  same  countenance.  Motion,  and 
change  of  posture  and  aspect,  has  an  effect  no  less 

r  Speot.  No.  334. 

'  Probably  Mrs.  Bioknell. 


300  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  4661 

surprising   on  the  person  of  Mariamne  when  she 
dances. 

Chloe  is  extremely  pretty,  and  as  silly  as  she  is 
pretty.  This  idiot  has  a  very  good  ear,  and  a  most 
agreeable  shape ;  but  the  folly  of  the  thing  is  such, 
that  it  smiles  so  impertinently,  and  affects  to  please 
so  sillily,  that  while  she  dances  you  see  the  simple- 
ton from  head  to  foot.  For  you  must  know  (as  tri- 
vial as  this  art  is  thought  to  be)  no  one  ever  was  a 
good  dancer,  that  had  not  a  good  understanding.  If 
this  be  a  truth,  I  shall  leave  the  reader  to  judge, 
from  that  maxim,  what  esteem  they  ought  to  have 
for  such  impertinents  as  fly,  hop,  caper,  tumble, 
twirl,  turn  round,  and  jump  over  their  heads !  and, 
in  a  word,  play  a  thousand  pranks  which  many  ani- 
mals can  do  better  than  a  man,  instead  of  perform- 
ing to  perfection  what  the  hqpian  figure  only  is  ca- 
pable of  performing. 

It  may  perhaps  appear  odd,  that  I,  who  set  up 
for  a  mighty  lover  at  least  of  virtue,  should  take  so 
much  pains  to  recommend  what  the  soberer  part  of 
mankind  look  upon  to  be  a  trifle :  but,  under  favour 
of  the  soberer  part  of  mankind,  I  think  they  have 
not  enough  considered  this  matter,  and  for  that  rea- 
son only  disesteem  it.  I  must  also,  in  my  own  jus- 
tification, say,  that  I  attempt  to  bring  into  the  ser- 
vice of  honour  and  virtue  every  thing  in  nature  that 
can  pretend  to  give  elegant  delight.  It  may  possi- 
bly be  proved,  that  vice  is  in  itself  destructive  of 
pleasure,  and  virtue  in  itself  conducive  to  it.  If  the 
delights  of  a  free  fortune  were  under  proper  regula- 
tions, this  truth  would  not  want  much  argument  to 
support  it ;  but  it  would  be  obvious  to  every  man, 
that  there  is  a  strict  aflftnity  between  all  things  that 
are  truly  laudable  and  beautiful,  from  the  highest 


No.  467.]  THE    SPECTATOR,  301 

sentiment  of  the  soul  to  the  most  indifferent  gesture 
of  the  body. 


No.  467.     TUESDAY,  August,  26,  1712. 

— Quodcunque  meEB  potenint  aadere  Gamcense, 
Seu  tibl  par  poterunt,  seu,  quod  spes  abnult,  ultra ; 
Sive  minus  ;  certeque  canent  minus :  omne  vovemus 
Hoc  tibi :  ne  tanto  careat  mlhi  nomine  charta. 

TmuLL.  ad  Messalem,  1  Eleg.  iv.  24. 
Wbate'er  my  Muse  adventurous  dares  indite, 
"Whether  the  niceness  of  thy  piercing  sight 
Applaad  my  lays,  or  censure  what  I  write ; 
To  theo  I  sing,  and  hope  to  borrow  fame. 
By  adding  to  my  page  Messala's  name.' 

The  love  of  praise  is  a  passion  deeply  fixed  in  the 
mind  of  every  extraordinary  person ;  and  those  who 
are  most  affected  with  it  seem  most  to  partake  of 
that  particle  of  the  divinity  which  distinguishes  man- 
kind from  the  inferior  creation.  The  Supreme  Be- 
ing itself  is  most  pleased  with  praise  and  thanksgiv- 
ing :  the  other  part  of  our  duty  is  but  an  acknow- 
ledgment of  our  faults,  whilst  this  is  the  immediate 
adoration  of  his  perfections.  'Twas  an  excellent  ob- 
servation, that  we  then  only  despise  commendation 
when  we  cease  to  deserve  it :  and  we  have  still  ex- 
tant two  orations  of  TuUy  and  Pliny,  spoken  to  the 
greatest  and  best  princes  of  all  the  Roman  emperors, 
who,  no  doubt,  heard  with  the  greatest  satisfaction, 
what  even  the  most  disinterested  persons,  and  at  so 
large  a  distance  of  time,  cannot  read  without  admi- 
ration. '  Caesar  thought  his  life  consisted  in  the  breath 
of  praise,  when  he  professed  he  had  lived  long  enough 

-  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  Wo.  324,  on  let.  T. 


302  THE   SPECTATOB.  [No.  467. 

for  himself,  when  he  had  for  his  glory.  Others  have 
sacrificed  themselves  for  a  name  which  was  not  to 
begin  till  they  were  dead,  giving  away  themselves 
to  purchase  a  sound  which  was  not  to  commence  till 
they  were  out  of  hearing.  But  by  merit  and  supe- 
rior excellences,  not  only  to  gain,  but,  whilst  living, 
to  enjoy  a  great  and  universal  reputation,  is  the  last 
degree  of  happiness  which  we  can  hope  for  here. 
Bad  characters  are  dispersed  abroad  with  profusion, 
I  hope  for  example  sake,  and  (as  punishments  are 
designed  by  the  civil  power)  more  for  the  deterring 
the  innocent,  than  the  chastising  the  guilty.  The 
good  are  less  frequent,  whether  it  be  that  there  are 
indeed  fewer  originals  of  this  kind  to  copy  after,  or 
that,  through  the  malignity  of  our  nature,  we  rather 
delight  in  the  ridicule  than  the  virtues  we  find  in 
others.  However,  it  is  but  just,  as  well  as  pleasing, 
even  for  variety,  sometimes  to  give  the  world  a  re- 
presentation of  the  bright  side  of  human  nature,  as 
well  as  the  dark  and  gloomy.  The  desire  of  imita- 
tion may,  perhaps,  be  a  greater  incentive  to  the 
pi'actice  of  what  is  good,  than  the  aversion  we  may 
conceive  at  what  is  blameable ;  the  one  immediately 
directs  you  what  you  should  do,  whilst  the  other 
only  shows  you  what  you  should  avoid ;  and  I  can- 
not at  present  do  this  with  more  satisfaction,  than 
by  endeavouring  to  do  some  justice  to  the  character 
of  Manilius. 

It  would  far  exceed  my  present  design,  to  give 
a  particular  description  of  Manilius  through  all  the 
parts  of  his  excellent  life.  I  shall  now  only  draw 
him  in  his  retirement,  and  pass  over  in  silence  the 
various  arts,  the  courtly  manners,  and  the  undesign- 
ing  honesty  by  which  he  attained  the  honours  he 
has  enjoyed,  and  which  now  give  a  dignity  and 


No.  467.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  303 

veneration  to  the  ease  lie  does  enjoy.  'Tis  here 
that  he  looks  back  with  pleasure  on  the  waves  and 
billows  through  which  he  has  steered  to  so  fair  an 
haven ;  he  is  now  intent  upon  the  practice  of  every 
virtue,  which  a  great  knowledge  and  use  of  man- 
kind has  discovered  to  be  the  most  useful  to  them. 
Thus  in  his  private  domestic  employments  he  is  no 
less  glorious  than  in  his  public ;  for  it  is  in  reality 
a  more  difficult  task  to  be  conspicuous  in  a  sedentary 
inactive  life,  than  in  one  that  is  spent  in  hurry  and 
business  :  persons  engaged  in  the  latter,  like  bodies 
violently  agitated,  from  the  swiftness  of  their  mo- 
tion have  a  brightness  added  to  them,  which  often 
vanishes  when  they  are  at  rest ;  but  if  it  then  still 
remain,  it  must  be  the  seeds  of  intrinsic  worth  that 
thus  shine  out  without  any  foreign  aid  or  assistance. 
His  liberality  in  another  might  almost  bear  the 
name  of  profusion  :  he  seems  to  think  it  laudable 
even  in  the  excess,  like  that  river  which  most  en- 
riches when  it  overflows.''  But  Manilius  has  too 
perfect  a  taste  of  the  pleasure  of  doing  good,  ever 
to  let  it  be  out  of  his  power ;  and  for  that  reason  he 
will  have  a  just  economy,  and  a  splendid  frugality 
at  home,  the  fountain  from  whence  those  streams 
should  flow  which  he  disperses  abroad.  He  looks 
with  disdain  on  those  who  propose  their  death  as  the 
time  when  they  are  to  begin  their  munificence  :  he 
will  both  see  and  enjoy  (which  he  then  does  in  the 
highest  degree)  what  he  bestows  himself;  he  will 
be  the  living  executor  of  his  own  bounty,  whilst 
they  who  have  the  happiness  to  be  within  his  care 
and  patronage,  at  once  pray  for  the  continuation  of 
his  life,  and  their  own  good  fortune.     No  one  is  out 

•>  The  Nile. 


304  THE   SPECTATOK.  [No-  467. 

of  the  reach  of  his  obligations ;  he  knows  how,  by 
proper  and  becoming  methods,  to  raise  himself  to  a 
level  with  those  of  the  highest  rank  ;  and  his  good- 
nature is  a  sufficient  warrant  against  the  want  of 
those  who  are  so  unhappy  as  to  be  in  the  very 
lowest.  One  may  say  of  him,  as  Pindar  bids  his 
muse  say  of  Theron, 

'  Swear,  that  Theron  sure  has  sworn. 
No  one  near  him  should  be  poor. 
Swear,  that  none  e'er  had  such  graceful  art. 
Fortune's  free-gifts  as  freely  to  impart. 
With  an  unenvious  hand,  and  an  unbounded  heart.' 

Never  did  Atticus  succeed  better  in  gaining  the 
universal  love  and  esteem  of  all  men  ;  nor  steer  with 
more  success  between  the  extremes  of  two  contend- 
ing parties.  'Tis  his  peculiar  happiness  that,  while 
he  espouses  neither  with  an  intemperate  zeal,  he  is 
not  only  admired,  but,  what  is  a  more  rare  and  un- 
usual felicity,  he  is  beloved  and  caressed  by  both ; 
and  I  never  yet  saw  any  person,  of  whatever  age  or 
sex,  but  was  immediately  struck  with  the  merit  of 
Manilius.  There  are  many  who  are  acceptable  to 
some  particular  persons,  whilst  the  rest  of  mankind 
look  upon  them  with  coldness  and  indifference  ;  but 
he  is  the  first  whose  entire  good  fortune  it  is  ever 
to  please  and  be  pleased,  wherever  he  comes  to  be 
admired,  and  wherever  he  is  absent  to  be  lamented. 
His  merit  fares  like  the  pictures  of  Raphael,  which 
are  either  seen  with  admiration  by  all,  or  at  least  no 
one  dare  own  he  has  no  taste  for  a  composition 
which  has  received  so  universal  an  applause.  Envy 
and  malice  find  it  against  their  interest  to  indulge 
slander  and  obloquy.  'Tis  as  hard  for  an  enemy  to 
detract  from,  as  for  a  friend  to  add  to  his  praise. 


No.  467.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  305 

An  attempt  upon  his  reputation  is  a  sure  lessening 
of  one's  own ;  and  there  is  but  one  way  to  injure 
him,  which  is  to  refuse  him  his  just  commendations, 
and  be  obstinately  silent. 

It  is  below  him  to  catch  the  sight  with  any  care 
of  dress ;  his  outward  garb  is  but  the  emblem  of  his 
mind.  It  is  genteel,  plain,  and  unaffected ;  he  knows 
that  gold  and  embroidery  can  add  nothing  to  the 
opinion  which  all  have  of  his  merit,  and  that  he  gives 
a  lustre  to  the  plainest  dress,  whilst  'tis  impossible 
the  richest  should  communicate  any  to  him.  He  is 
still  the  principal  figure  in  the  room.  He  first  en- 
gages your  eye,  as  if  there  were  some  point  of  light 
which  shone  stronger  upon  him  than  on  any  other 
person. 

He  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  story  of  the  famous 
Bussy  d'Ambroise,  who,  at  an  assembly  at  court, 
where  every  one  appeared  with  the  utmost  magnifi- 
cence, relying  upon  his  own  superior  behaviour,  in- 
stead of  adorning  himself  like  the  rest,  put  on  that 
day  a  plain  suit  of  clothes,  and  dressed  all  his  servants 
in  the  most  costly  gay  habits  he  could  procure.  The 
event  was,  that  the  eyes  of  the  whole  court  were 
fixed  upon  him ;  all  the  rest  looked  like  his  attend- 
ants, whilst  he  alone  had  the  air  of  a  person  of  quality 
and  distinction. 

Like  Aristippus,  whatever  shape  or  condition  he 
appears  in,  it  still  sits  free  and  easy  upon  him ;  but 
in  some  part  of  his  character,  'tis  true,  he  differs  from 
him ;  for  as  he  is  altogether  equal  to  the  largeness  of 
his  present  circumstances,  the  rectitude  of  his  judg- 
ment has  so  far  corrected  the  inclinations  of  his  am- 
bition, that  he  will  not  trouble  himself  with  either 
the  desires  or  pursuits  of  any  thing  beyond  his  present 

enjoyments. 
VOL.  V. — 20 


306  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  467. 

A  thousand  obliging  things  flow  from  him  upon 
every  occasion ;  and  they  are  always  so  just  and  na- 
tural, that  it  is  impossible  to  think  he  was  at  the  least 
pains  to  look  for  them.  One  would  think  it  was  the 
demon  of  good  thoughts  that  discovered  to  him 
those  treasures,  which  he  must  have  blinded  others 
from  seeing,  they  lay  so  directly  in  their  way.  No- 
thing can  equal  the  pleasure  that  is  taken  in  hearing 
him  speak,  but  the  satisfaction  one  receives  in  the 
civility  and  attention  he  pays  to  the  discourse  of 
others.  His  looks  are  a  silent  commendation  of  what 
is  good  and  praiseworthy,  and  a  secret  reproof  to 
what  is  licentious  and  extravagant.  He  knows  how 
to  appear  free  and  open  without  danger  of  intrusion, 
and  to  be  cautious  without  seeming  reserved.  The 
gravity  of  his  conversation  is  always  enlivened  with 
his  wit  and  humour,  and  the  gaiety  of  it  is  tempered 
with  something  that  is  instructive,  as  well  as  barely 
agreeable.  Thus  with  him  you  are  sure  not  to  be 
merry  at  the  expense  of  your  reason,  nor  serious  with 
the  loss  of  your  good-humour ;  but,  by  a  happy  mix- 
ture of  his  temper,  they  either  go  together,  or  per- 
petually succeed  each  other.  In  fine,  his  whole  be- 
haviour is  equally  distant  from  constraint  and  neg- 
ligence, and  he  commands  your  respect,  whilst  he 
gains  your  heart. 

There  is  in  his  whole  carriage  such  an  engaging 
softness,  that  one  cannot  persuade  one's  self  he  is 
ever  actuated  by  those  rougher  passions,  which, 
wherever  they  find  place,  seldom  fail  of  showing 
themselves  in  the  outward  demeanour  of  the  person 
they  belong  to :  but  his  constitution  is  a  just  tem- 
perature between  indolence  on  one  hand  and  violence 
on  the  other.  He  is  mild  and  gentle,  wherever  his 
affairs  will  give  him  leave  to  follow  his  own  inclina- 


No.  468.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  307 

tions ;  but  yet  never  failing  to  exert  himself  with 
vigour  and  resolution  in  the  service  of  his  prince,  his 
country,  or  his  friend.  Z. 


No.  468.     WEDNESDAY,  August  27,  1712. 

Erat  homo  ingeniosns,  acutus,  acer,  et  qui  plnrimnm  et  salis  haboretet  fellis,  nee  candoris 
minus.  Plin.  Epist 

Ho  was  an  ingenious,  pleasant  fellow,  and  one  who  had  a  great  deal  of  wit  and  satire,  with 
an  equal  share  of  good-humour. 

My  paper  is  in  a  kind  a  letter  of  news,  but  it  regards 
rather  what  passes  in  the  world  of  conversation  than 
that  of  business.  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  have  at 
present  a  circumstance  before  me,  which  is  of  very 
great  importance  to  all  who  have  a  relish  for  gaiety, 
wit,  mirth,  or  humour ;  I  mean  the  death  of  poor 
Dick  Eastcourt.*  I  have  been  obliged  to  him  for  so 
many  hours  of  jollity,  that  it  is  but  a  small  recom- 
pence,  though  all  I  can  give  him,  to  pass  a  moment 
or  two  in  sadness  for  the  loss  of  so  agreeable  a  man. 
Poor  Eastcourt !  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  we  were 
plotting  to  show  the  town  his  great  capacity  for  act- 
ing in  his  full  light,  by  introducing  him  as  dictating 
to  a  set  of  young  players,  in  what  manner  to  speak 
this  sentence,  and  utter  t'other  passion.  He  had  so 
exquisite  a  discerning  of  what  was  defective  in  any 
object  before  him,  that  in  an  instant  he  could  show 

"  It  is  suspected  that  this  paper,  No.  467,  was  a  tribute  of  gratitude 
and  friendship  from  Mr.  John  Hughes  to  his  worthy  patron  lord  Cowper. 
Mr.  John  Hughes  uses  the  signature  Z  to  one  paper  of  his,  or  at  least 
Steele  lettered  it  so.  See  Hughes's  Correspondence,  vol.  i.  letters  to  and 
from  lord  Cowper. 

'  See  Spect     Nos.  358,  and  370. 


308  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No.  468. 

you  the  ridiculous  side  of  what  would  pass  for  beau- 
tiful and  just,  even  to  men  of  no  ill  judgment,  before 
he  had  pointed  at  the  failure.  He  was  no  less  skil- 
ful in  the  knowledge  of  beauty;  and,  I  dare  say, 
there  is  no  one  who  knew  him  well,  but  can  repeat 
more  well-turned  compliments,  as  well  as  smart  re- 
partees of  Mr.  Eastcourt's,  than  of  any  other  man  in 
England.  This  was  easily  to  be  observed  in  his  in- 
imitable faculty  of  telling  a  story,  in  which  he  would 
throw  in  natural  and  unexpected  incidents  to  make 
his  court  to  one  part,  and  rally  the  other  part  of  the 
company.  Then  he  would  vary  the  usage  he  gave 
them,  according  as  he  saw  them  bear  kind  or  sharp 
language.  He  had  the  knack  to  raise  up  a  pensive 
temper,  and  mortify  an  impertinently  gay  one,  with 
the  most  agreeable  skill  imaginable.  There  are  a 
thousand  things  which  crowd  into  my  memory,  which 
make  me  too  much  concerned  to  tell  on  about  him. 
Hamlet  holding  up  the  skuU  which  the  grave-digger 
threw  to  him,  with  an  account  that  it  was  the  head 
of  the  king's  jester,  falls  into  very  pleasing  reflections, 
and  cries  out  to  his  companion, 

'  Alas,  poor  Yorick !  I  knew  him,  Horatio,  a  fel- 
low of  infinite  jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy ;  he  hath 
borne  me  on  his  back  a  thousand  times :  and  now 
how  abhorred  in  my  imagination  it  is !  my  gorge 
rises  at  it.  Here  hung  those  lips  that  I  have  kissed 
I  know  not  how  oft.  Where  be  your  gibes  now, 
your  gambols,  your  songs,  your  flashes  of  merri- 
ment that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar  ?  Not 
one  now  to  mock  your  own  grinning :  quite  chap 
fallen.  Now  get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber,  and  tell 
her,  let  her  paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this  favor  she  must 
come.     Make  her  laugh  at  that.' 

It  is  an  insolence  natural  to  the  wealthy,  to  affix. 


No.  468.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  309 

as  much  as  in  them  lies,  the  character  of  a  man  to 
his  circumstances.  Thus  it  is  ordinary  with  them  to 
praise  faintly  the  good  qualities  of  those  below  them, 
and  say,  it  is  very  extraordinary  in  such  a  man  as  he 
is,  or  the  like,  when  they  are  forced  to  acknowledge 
the  value  of  him  whose  lowness  upbraids  their  ex- 
altation. It  is  to  this  humour  only,  that  it  is  to  be 
ascribed,  that  a  quick  wit  in  conversation,  a  nice 
judgment  upon  any  emergency  that  could  arise,, and 
a  most  blameless  inoffensive  behaviour,  could  not 
raise  this'  man  above  being  received  only  upon  the 
foot  of  contributing  to  mirth  and  diversion.  But  he 
was  as  easy  under  that  condition,  as  a  man  of  so  ex- 
cellent talents  was  capable ;  and  since  they  would 
have  it,  that  to  divert  was  his  business,  he  did  it  with 
all  the  seeming  alacrity  imaginable,  though  it  stung 
him  to  the  heart  that  it  was  his  business.  Men  of 
sense,  who  could  taste  his  excellence,  were  well 
satisfied  to  let  him  lead  the  way  in  conversation,  and 
play  after  his  own  manner ;  but  fools,  who  provoked 
him  to  mimicry,  found  he  had  the  indignation  to  let 
it  be  at  their  expense  who  called  for  it,  and  he  would 
show  the  form  of  conceited  heavy  fellows  as  jests  to 
the  company  at  their  own  request,  in  revenge  for  in- 
terrupting him  from  being  a  companion  to  put  on 
the  character  of  a  jester. 

What  was  peculiarly  excellent  in  this  memorable 
companion,  was,  that  in  the  accounts  he  gave  of 
persons  and  sentiments,  he  did  not  only  hit  the  figure 
of  their  faces,  and  manner  of  their  gestures,  but  he 
would  in  his  narrations  fall  into  their  very  way  of 
thinking,  and  this  when  he  recounted  passages, 
wherein  men  of  the  best  wit  were  concerned,  as  well 
as  such  wherein  were  represented  men  of  the  lowest 
rank  of  understanding.     It  is  certainly  as  great  an 


310  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  468. 

instance  of  self-love  to  a  weakness,  to  be  impatient 
of  being  mimicked,  as  any  can  be  imagined.  There 
were  none  but  the  vain,  the  formal,  the  proud,  or 
those  who  were  incapable  of  amending  their  faults, 
that  dreaded  him ;  to  others  he  was  in  the  highest 
degree  pleasing  ;  and  I  do  not  know  any  satisfaction 
of  any  indifferent  kind  I  ever  tasted  so  much,  as  hav- 
ing got  over  an  impatience  of  my  seeing  myself  in 
the  air  he  could  put  me  when  I  have  displeased  him. 
It  is  indeed  to  his  exquisite  talent  this  way,  more 
than  any  philosophy  I  could  read  on  the  subject, 
that  my  person  is  very  little  of  my  care ;  and  it 
is  indifferent  to  me  what  is  said  of  my  shape,  my 
air,  my  manner,  my  speech,  or  my  address.  It  is  to 
poor  Eastcourt  I  chiefly  owe  that  I  am  arrived  at 
the  happiness  of  thinking  nothing  a  diminution  to 
me,  but  what  argues  a  depravity  of  my  will. 

It  has  as  much  surprised  me  as  any  thing  in  na- 
ture, to  have  it  frequently  said  that  he  was  not  a 
good  player ;  but  that  must  be  owing  to  a  partiality 
for  former  actors  in  the  parts  in  which  he  succeeded 
them,  and  judging  by  comparison  of  what  was  liked 
before,  rather  than  by  the  nature  of  the  thing.  When 
a  man  of  his  wit  and  smartness  could  put  on  an  utter 
absence  of  common  sense  in  his  face,  as  he  did  in 
the  character  of  Bullfinch  in  the  Northern  Lass,  and 
an  air  of  insipid  cunning  and  vivacity  in  the  char- 
acter of  Pounce  in  The  Tender  Husband,  it  is  folly 
to  dispute  his  capacity  and  success  as  he  was  an 
actor. 

Poor  Eastcourt !  let  the  vain  and  proud  be  at 
rest,  thou  wilt  no  more  disturb  their  admiration  of 
their  dear  selves ;  and  thou  art  no  longer  to  drudge 
in  raising  the  mirth  of  stupids,  who  know  nothing 
of  thy  merit,  for  thy  maintenance. 


No.  468.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  311 

*It  is  natural  for  the  generality  of  mankind  to  run 
into  reflections  upon  our  mortality,  when  disturbers 
of  the  world  are  laid  at  rest,  but  to  take  no  notice 
when  they  who  can  please  and  divert  are  pulled 
from  us.  But  for  my  part,  I  cannot  but  think  the 
loss  of  such  talents  as  the  man  of  whom  I  am  speak- 
ing was  master  of,  a  more  melancholy  instance  of 
mortality  than  the  dissolution  of  persons  of  never  so 
high  characters  in  the  world,  whose  pretensions 
were  that  they  were  noisy  and  mischievous. 

But  I  must  grow  more  succinct,  and,  as  a  Specta- 
tor, give  an  account  of  this  extraordinary  man,  who, 
in  his  way,  never  had  an  equal  in  any  age  before 
him  or  in  that  wherein  he  lived.  I  speak  of  him  as  a 
companion,  and  a  man  qualified  for  conversation. 
His  fortune  exposed  him  to  an  obsequiousness  to- 
wards the  worst  sort  of  company,  but  his  excellent 
qualities  rendered  him  capable  of  making  the  best 
figure  in  the  most  refined.  I  have  been  present  with 
him  among  men  of  the  most  delicate  taste  a  whole 
night,  and  have  known  him  (for  he  saw  it  was  de- 
sired) keep  the  discourse  to  himself  the  most  part 
of  it,  and  maintain  his  good-humour  with  a  counte- 
nance and  a  language  so  delightful,  without  offence  to 
any  person  or  thing  upon  earth,  still  preserving  the 
distance  his  circumstances  obliged  him  to  ;  I  say,  I 
have  seen  him  do  all  this  in  such  a  charming  man- 
ner, that  I  am  sure  none  of  those  I  hint  at  will  read 
this,  without  giving  him  some  sorrow  for  their  abun- 
dant mirth,  and  one  gush  of  tears  for  so  many  bursts 
of  laughter.  I  wish  it  were  any  honour  to  the  plea- 
sant creature's  memory,  that  my  eyes  are  too  much 
suffused  to  let  me  go  on T.* 

°  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  824. 


312  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  469 

*»*  The  following  severe  passage  in  this  number  of  the  Spectator  in 
folio,  apparently  levelled  at  Dr.  Radoliffe,  was  suppressed  in  all  the  subse- 
quent editions. 

'It  is  a  felicity  his  friends  may  rejoice  in,  that  he  had  his  senses,  and 
used  them  as  he  ought  to  do,  in  his  last  moment'i.  It  is  remarkable,  that 
hb  judgment  was  in  its  calm  perfection  to  the  utmost  article ;  for  when 
his  wife,  out  of  her  fondness,  desired  she  might  send  for  a  certain  illiterate 
humourist  (whom  he  had  accompanied  in  a  thousand  mirthful  moments, 
and  whose  insolence  makes  fools  think  he  assumes  from  conscious  merit), 
he  answered,  "  Do  what  you  please,  but  he  won't  come  near  me."  Let 
poor  Eastcourt*s  negligence  about  this  message  convince  the  unwary  of  a 
triumphant  empiric's  ignorance  and  inhumanity.' 

f  •|.-|-  It  being  the  time  of  Bartholomew-fair,  at  the  theatre-royal,  Dru- 
ry-lane,  was  presented  on  the  26th  of  August,  Tuesday,  the  comedy  called 
Bartholomew  Fair,  By  Ben  Jonson.  Quarlous,  by  Mr.  Mills:  Cokesby, 
Mr.  Bullock ;  Wasp,  Mr.  Johnson ;  Littlewit,  by  Mr.  Norris ;  Busy,  Mr. 
Pack;  and  Wen,  by  Mrs.  Saunders.  Morrice  dance  by  Mr.  Prince  and 
others.     The  last  time  of  acting  this  summer. — Spect.  in  folio. 


No.  469.     THTJK8DAY,  August  28,  1712. 

Detrahero  aliquid  alteri,  et  hominem  bomiDis  incommoclo  snnm  augere  commodam,  magis 
est  contra  naturam  quilm  mora,  qu^m  pauportas,  qu^m  dolor,  qn4m  castera  quse  possant 
aut  corpori  aecidcre,  awt  rebus  externis.  Tinii. 

To  detract  any  thing  from  another,  and  for  one  man  to  multiply  his  own  conTeniences  by 
the  inconveniences  of  another,  is  more  against  nature  than  death,  than  poverty,  than 
pain,  and  the  other  things  which  can  befall  the  body,  or  external  circumstances. 

I  AM  persuaded  that  there  are  few. men  of  generous 
principles  who  would  seek  after  great  places,  were 
it  not  rather  to  have  an  opportunity  in  their  hands 
of  obliging  their  particular  friends,  or  those  whom 
they  look  upon  as  men  of  worth,  than  to  procure 
wealth  and  honour  for  themselves.  To  an  honest 
mind  the  best  perquisites  of  a  place  are  the  advan- 
tages it  gives  a  man  of  doing  good. 

Those  who  are  under  the  great  officers  of  state, 
and  are  the  instruments  by  which  they  act,  have 
more  frequent  opportunities  for  the  exercise  of  com- 


No.  469.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  313 

passion  and  benevolence,  than  their  superiors  them- 
selves. These  men  know  every  little  case  that  is  to 
come  before  the  great  man,  and,  if  they  are  possessed 
with  honest  minds,  will  consider  poverty  as  a  recom- 
mendation in  the  person  who  applies  himself  to  them, 
and  make  the  justice  of  his  cause  the  most  powerful 
solicitor  in  his  behalf  A  man  of  this  temper,  when 
he  is  in  a  post  of  business,  becomes  a  blessing  to  the 
public.  He  patronises  the  orphan  and  the  widow, 
assists  the  friendless,  and  guides  the  ignorant.  He 
does  not  reject  the  person's  pretensions,  who  does 
not  know  how  to  explain  them,  or  refuse  doing  a 
good  ofiice  for  a  man  because  he  cannot  pay  the  fee 
of  it.  In  short,  though  he  regulates  himself  in  all 
his  proceedings  by  justice  and  equity,  he  finds  a 
thousand  occasions  for  all  the  good-natured  offices 
of  generosity  and  compassion. 

A  man  is  unfit  for  such  a  place  of  trust,  who  is 
of  a  sour  untractable  nature,  or  has  any  other  passion 
that  makes  him  uneasy  to  those  who  approach  him. 
Roughness  of  temper  is  apt  to  discountenance  the 
timorous  or  modest.  The  proud  man  discourages 
those  from  approaching  him,  who  are  of  a  mean  con- 
dition, and  who  most  want  his  assistance.  The  im- 
patient man  will  not  give  himself  time  to  be  informed 
of  the  matter  that  lies  before  him.  An  officer,  with 
one  or  more  of  these  unbecoming  qualities,  is  some- 
times looked  upon  as  a  proper  person  to  keep  off 
impertinence  and  solicitation  from  his  superior ;  but 
this  is  a  kind  of  merit,  that  can  never  atone  for  the 
injustice  which  may  very  often  arise  from  it. 

There  are  two  other  vicious  qualities,  which  ren 
der  a  man  very  unfit  for  such  a  place  of  trust.     The 
first  of  these  is  a  dilatory  temper,  which  commits  in- 
numerable cruelties  without  design.     The  maxim 


314  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No.  469. 

which  several  have  laid  down  for  a  man's  conduct  in 
ordinary  life,  should  be  inviolable  with  a  man  in 
oifice,  never  to  think  of  doing  that  to-morrow  which 
may  be  done  to-day.  A  man  who  defers  doing  what 
ought  to  be  done,  is  guilty  of  injustice  so  long  as  he 
defers  it.  The  despatch  of  a  good  office  is  very 
often  as  beneficial  to  the  solicitor  as  the  good  ofl&ce 
itself  In  short,  if  a  man  compared  the  inconveni- 
ences which  another  suffers  by  his  delays,  with  the 
trifling  motives  and  advantages  which  he  himself 
may  reap  by  such  a  delay,  he  would  never  be  guilty 
of  a  fault  which  very  often  does  an  irreparable  pre- 
judice to  a  person  who  depends  upon  him,  and  which 
might  be  remedied  with  little  trouble  to  himself 

But  in  the  last  place  there  is  no  man  so  improper 
to  be  employed  in  business,  as  he  who  is  in  any  de- 
gree capable  of  corruption  ;  and  such  an  one  is  the 
man  who,  upon  any  pretence  whatsoever,  receives 
more  than  what  is  the  stated  and  unquestioned  fee 
of  his  office.  Gratifications,  tokens  of  thankfulness, 
despatch  money,  and  the  like  specious  terms,  are  the 
pretences  under  which  corruption  very  frequently 
shelters  itself  An  honest  man  will  however  look 
on  all  these  methods  as  unjustifiable,  and  will  enjoy 
himself  better  in  a  moderate  fortune  that  is  gained 
with  honour  and  reputation,  than  in  an  overgrown 
estate  that  is  cankered  with  the  acquisitions  of  rapine 
and  exaction.  Were  all  our  offices  discharged  with 
such  an  inflexible  integrity,  we  should  not  see  men 
in  all  ages,  who  grow  up  to  exorbitant  wealth,  with 
the  abilities  which  are  to  be  met  with  in  an  ordinary 
mechanic.  I  cannot  but  think  that  such  a  corrup- 
tion proceeds  chiefly  from  men's  employing  the  first 
that  offer  themselves,  or  those  who  have  the  charac- 
ter of  shrewd  worldly  men,  instead  of  searching  out 


No.  470.}  THE   SPECTATOR.  315 

such  as  have  had  a  liberal  education,  and  have  been 
trained  up  in  the  studies  of  knowledge  and  virtue. 

It  has  been  observed,  that  men  of  learning  who 
take  to  business,  discharge  it  generally  with  greater 
honesty  than  men  of  the  world.  The  chief  reason 
for  it  I  take  to  be  as  follows.  A  man  that  has  spent 
his  youth  in  reading,  has  been  used  to  find  virtue 
extolled,  and  vice  stigmatised.  A  man  that  has  past 
his  time  in  the  world,  has  often  seen  vice  triumphant, 
and  virtue  discountenanced.  Extortion,  rapine,  and 
injustice,  which  are  branded  with  infamy  in  books, 
often  give  a  man  a  figure  in  the  world ;  while  several 
qualities  which  are  celebrated  in  authors,  as  gene- 
rosity, ■  ingenuity  and  good-nature,  impoverish  and 
ruin  him.  This  cannot  but  have  a  proportionable 
effect  on  men  whose  tempers  and  principles  are 
equally  good  and  vicious. 

There  would  be  at  least  this  advantage  in  em- 
ploying men  of  learning  and  parts  in  business ;  that 
their  prosperity  would  sit  more  gracefully  on  them, 
and  that  we  should  not  see  many  worthless  persons 
shoot  up  into  the  greatest  figure  of  life. 

0.' 


No.  470.     FKIDAY,  August  29,  1712.     • 

Tarpe  est  difficUes  habere  nugas, 
Et  stultns  labor  est  ineptlarum. 

Mast.  2  Epig.  Ixxxvi.  9. 

'Tls  folly  only,  and  defect  of  sense, 
Turns  trifles  into  things  of  consequence. 

I  HAVE  been  very  often  disappointed  of  late  years 
when,  upon  examining  the  new  edition  of  a  classic 

'  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  his  office,  more  tlian  the  stated  un- 
questioned fees  of  which,  he  himself  never  received,  as  appears  from  his 


316  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  470. 

author,  I  have  found  above  half  the  volume  taken 
up  with  various  readings.  When  I  have  expected  to 
meet  with  a  learned  note  upon  a  doubtful  passage  in 
a  Latin  poet,  I  have  only  been  informed,  that  such 
or  such  ancient  manuscripts  for  an  et  write  an  ac,  or 
of  some  other  notable  discovery  of  the  like  impor- 
tance. Indeed,  when  a  different  reading  gives  us  a 
different  sense,  or  a  new  elegance  in  an  author,  the 
editor  does  very  well  in  taking  notice  of  it;  but 
when  he  only  entertains  us  with  the  several  ways  of 
spelling  the  same  word,  and  gathers  together  the 
various  blunders  and  mistakes  of  twenty  or  thirty 
different  transcribers,  they  only  take  up  the  time  of 
the  learned  reader,  and  puzzle  the  minds  of  the  ig- 
norant. I  have  often  fancied  with  myself  how  en- 
raged an  old  Latin  author  would  be,  should  he  see 
the  several  absurdities  in  sense  and  grammar,  which 
are  imputed  to  him  by  some  or  other  of  these  various 
readings.  In  one  he  speaks  nonsense ;  in  another 
makes  use  of  a  word  that  was  never  heard  of :  and 
indeed  there  is  scarce  a  solecism  in  writing  which 
the  best  author  is  not  guilty  of,  if  we  may  be  at 
liberty  to  read  him  in  the  words  of  some  manuscript, 
which  the  laborious  editor  has  thought  fit  to  ex- 
amine in  the  prosecution  of  his  work. 

I  question  not  but  the  ladies  and  pretty  fellows 
will  be  very  curious  to  understand  what  it  is  that  I 
have  been  hitherto  talking  of  I  shall  therefore  give 
them  a  notion  of  this  practice,  by  endeavouring  to 
write  after  the  manner  of  several  persons  who  make 
an  eminent  figure  in  the  republic  of  letters.    To  this 

short  correspondence  with  Major  Dunbar,  recorded  by  Curll.  This  No. 
469,  is  lettered  C  in  the  Spect.  in  folio,  and  the  8vo.  edition  of  1712.  See 
.Johnson's  Lives  of  English  Poets,  vol.  ii.  p.  36,  ed.  8vo.  1781 ;  and  Spect. 
No.  489,  note  on  0.  adfinem. 


No.  470.]  THE  SPECTATOE.  317 

end  we  will  suppose  that  the  following  song  is  an  old 
ode,  which  I  present  to  the  public  in  a  new  edition, 
with  the  several  various  readings  which  I  find  of  it 
in  former  editions,  and  in  ancient  manuscripts.  Those 
who  cannot  relish  the  various  readings,  will  perhaps 
find  their  account  in  the  song,  which  never  before 
appeared  in  print. 

'  My  love  was  fickle  once  and  changing, 

Nor  e'er  would  settle  in  my  heart ; 
From  beauty  still  to  beauty  ranging. 
In  ev'ry  fece  I  found  a  dart. 

'  'Twas  first  a  charming  shape  enslav'd  me, 
An  eye  then  gave  the  fatal  stroke : 
Till  by  her  wit  Oorinna  sav'd  me. 
And  all  my  former  fetters  broke. 

'  But  now  a  long  and  lasting  anguish 
For  Belvidera  I  endure ; 
Hourly  I  sigh,  and  hourly  languish, 
Nor  hope  to'flrid  the  wonted  cure. 

'  For  here  the  false  unconstant  lover. 
After  a  thousand  beauties  shown. 
Does  new  surprising  charms  discover, 
And  finds  variety  in  one.' 

Variolic  Readings." 

Stanza  the  first,  verse  the  first.  And  changing.'] 
The  and  in  some  manuscripts  is  written  thus,  &,  but 
that  in  the  Cotton  library  writes  it  in  three  distinct 
letters. 

Verse  the  second.  Nor  e'er  would.']  Aldus  reads 
it  ever  would  y  but  as  this  would  hurt  the  metre,  we 
have  restored  it  to  its  genuine  reading,  by  observing 

s  See  Nichols's  Select  Collection  of  Poems,  with  notes  biog.  and  hist. 
vol  ii.  p.  68,  et  seg.  Note  on  a  remark  in  the  Chef-d'ceuvre  d'uu  Inconnu, 
relative  to  this  No.  and  critique. 


318  THE  SPECTATOR,  [No.  470. 

that  synseresis  which  had  been  neglected  by  ignorant 
transcribers. 

Ibid.  In  my  heart.l  Scaliger  and  others,  on  my 
fj,eart. 

Verse  the  fourth.  I  found  a  dart.']  The  Vatican 
manuscript  for  /reads  ^i,  but  this  must  have  been 
the  hallucination  of  the  transcriber,  who  probably 
mistook  the  dash  of  the  /for  a  T. 

Stanza  the  second,  verse  the  second.  The  fatal 
stroke.]  Scioppius,  Salmasius,  and  many  others,  for 
the  read  a,  but  I  have  stuck  to  the  usual  reading. 

Verse  the  third.  Till  hy  her  wit]  Some  manu- 
scripts have  it  his  wit^  others  your.,  others  their  wit. 
But  as  I  find  Corinna  to  be  the  name  of  a  woman  in 
other  authors,  I  cannot  doubt  but  it  should  be  her. 

Stanza  the  third,  verse  the  first.  A  long  and 
lasting  anguish.]  The  German  manuscript  reads  a 
lasting  passion.,  but  the  rhime  will  not  admit  it. 

Verse  the  second.  For  Belvidera  I  endure.]  Did 
all  the  manuscripts  reclaim,  I  should  change  Belvi- 
dera into  Pelvidera  ;  Pelvis  being  used  by  several  of 
the  ancient  comic  writers  for  a  looking-glass,  by  which 
means  the  etymology  of  the  word  is  very  visible, 
and  Pelvidera  will  signify  a  lady  who  often  looks  in 
her  glass ;  as  indeed  she  had  very  good  reason,  if  she 
had  all  those  beauties  which  our  poet  here  ascribes 
to  her. 

Verse  third.  Hourly  I  sigh,  and  hourly  lan- 
guish.] Some  for  the  word  hourly  read  daily.,  and 
others  nightly  j  the  last  has  great  authorities  of  its 
side. 

Verse  the  fourth.  The  wonted  cure.]  The  elder 
Stephens  reads  wanted  cure. 

Stanza  the  fourth,  verse  the  second.  After  a 
thousand  beauties.]     In  several  copies  we  meet  with 


No.  471. J  THE    SPECTATOR.  319 

a  hundred  beauties,  by  the  usual  error  of  the  tran- 
scribers, who  probably  omitted  a  cipher,  and  had 
not  taste  enough  to  know  that  the  word  thousand  was 
ten  times  a  greater  compliment  to  the  poet's  mistress 
than  an  hundred. 

Verse  the  fourth.  And  finds  variety  in  one.^  Most 
of  the  ancient  manuscripts  have  it  in  two.  Indeed 
so  many  of  them  concur  in  this  last  reading,  that  I 
am  very  much  in  doubt  whether  it  ought  not  to  take 
place.  There  are  but  two  reasons,  which  incline  me 
to  the  reading  as  I  have  published  it :  first,  because 
the  rhime ;  and  secondly,  because  the  sense  is  pre- 
served by  it.  It  might  likewise  proceed  from  the 
oscitancy  of  transcribers,  who,  to  despatch  their  work 
the  sooner,  used  to  write  all  numbers  in  cipher,  and 
seeing  the  figure  1  followed  by  a  little  dash  of  the 
pen,  as  is  customary  in  old  manuscripts,  they  perhaps 
mistook  the  dash  for  a  second  figure,  and  by  casting 
up  both  together,  composed  out  of  them  the  figure 
2.  But  this  I  shall  leave  to  the  learned,  without  de- 
termining any  thing  in  a  matter  of  so  great  uncer- 
tainty. C.'' 


No.  471.     SATURDAY,  August  30, 1712. 

Etjeiph). 
The  wlso  with  hope  support  the  pains  of  life. 

The- time  present  seldom  affords  sufficient  employ- 
ment to  the  mind  of  man.  Objects  of  pain  or  pleas- 
ure, love  or  admiration,  do  not  lie  thick  enough  to- 

'■  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  Chelsea.    See  No.  5,  final  note  on 
C,  and  Addison's  signatures. 


320  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  471. 

gether  in  life  to  keep  the  soul  in  constant  action, 
and  supply  an  immediate  exercise  to  its  faculties.  In 
order,  therefore,  to  remedy  this  defect,  that  the  mind 
may  not  want  business,  but  always  have  materials  for 
thinking,  she  is  endowed  with  certain  powers,  that 
can  recall  what  ,is  passed,  and  anticipate  what  is  to 
come. 

That  wonderful  faculty,  which  we  call  the  memo- 
ry, is  perpetually  looking  back,  when  we  have  noth- 
ing present  to  entertain  us.  It  is  like  those  reposi- 
tories in  several  animals  that  are  filled  with  stores  of 
their  former  food,  on  which  they  may  ruminate  when 
their  present  pasture  fails. 

As  the  memory  relieves  the  mind  in  her  vacant 
moments,  and  prevents  any  chasms  of  thought  by 
ideas  of  what  is  past,  we  have  other  faculties  that 
agitate  and  employ  her  for  what  is  tb  come.  These 
are  the  passions  of  hope  and  fear. 

By  these  two  passions  we  reach  forward  into  fu- 
turity, and  bring  up  to  our  present  thoughts  objects 
that  lie  hid  in  the  remotest  depths  of  time.  We 
suffer  misery,  and  enjoy  happiness,  before  they  are 
in  being ;  we  can  set  the  sun  and  stars  forward,  or 
lose  sight  of  them  by  wandering  into  those  retired 
parts  of  eternity,  when  the  heavens  and  earth  shall 
be  no  more. 

By  the  way,  who  can  imagine  that  the  existence 
of  a  creature  is  to  be  circumscribed  by  time,  whose 
thoughts  are  not  ?  But  I  shall,  in  this  paper,  confine 
myself  to  that  particular  passion  which  goes  by  the 
name  of  hope. 

Our  actual  enjoyments  are  so  few  and  transient, 
that  man  would  be  a  very  miserable  being,  were  he 
not  endowed  with  this  passion,  which  gives  him  a 
taste  of  those  good  things  that  may  possibly  come  in- 


No.  471. J  THE   SPECTATOR.  321 

to  his  possession.  '  "We  should  hope  for  every  thing 
that  is  good,'  says  the  old  poet  Linus,  '  because  there 
is  nothing  which  may  not  be  hoped  for,  and  nothing 
but  what  the  gods  are  able  to  give  us.'  Hope  quick- 
ens all  the  still  parts  of  life,  and  keeps  the  mind 
awake  in  her  most  remiss  and  indolent  hours.  It  gives 
habitual  serenity  and  good  humour.  It  is  a  kind  of 
vital  heat  in  the  soul,  that  cheers  and  gladdens  her, 
when  she  does  not  attend  to  it.  It  makes  pain  easy, 
and  labour  pleasant. 

Beside  these  several  advantages  which  rise  from 
hope,  there  is  another  which  is  none  of  the  least,  and 
that  is,  its  great  efficacy  in  preserving  us  from  setting 
too  high  a  value  on  present  enjoyments.  The  saying 
of  Ceesar  is  very  well  known.  When  he  had  given 
away  all  his  estate  in  gratuities  amongst  his  friends, 
one  of  them  asked  what  he  had  left  for  himself;  to 
which  that  great  man  replied,  'Hope.'  His  natural 
magnanimity  hindered  him  from  prizing  what  he  was 
certainly  possessed  of,  and  turned  all  his  thoughts 
upon  something  more  valuable  that  he  had  in  view. 
I  question  not  but  every  reader  will  draw  a  moral 
from  this  story,  and  apply  it  to  himself  without  my 
direction. 

The  old  story  of  Pandora's  box  (which  many  of 
the  learned  believe  was  formed  among  the  heathens 
upon  the  tradition  of  the  fall  of  man)  shows  us  how 
deplorable  a  state  they  thought  the  present  life  with- 
out hope.  To  set  forth  the  utmost  condition  of  mi- 
sery, they  tell  us,  that  our  forefather,  according  to 
the  pagan  theology,  had  a  great  vessel  presented  him 
by  Pandora.  Upon  his  lifting  up  the  lid  of  it,  says 
the  fable,  there  flew  out  all  the  calamities,  and  dis- 
tempers incident  to  men,  from  which,  till  that  time, 
they  had  been  altogether  exempt.     Hope,,  who  had 

VOL.  V. 21 


322  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  471. 

been  inclosed  in  the  cup  with  so  much  bad  company, 
instead  of  flying  off  with  the  rest,  stuck  so  close  to 
the  lid  of  it,  that  it  was  shut  down  upon  her. 

I  shall  make  but  two  reflections  upon  what  I  have 
hitherto  said.  First,  that  no  kind  of  life  is  so  happy 
as  that  which  is  full  of  hope,  especially  when  the  hope 
is  well  grounded,  and  when  the  object  of  it  is  of  an 
exalted  kind,  and  in  its  nature  proper  to  make  the 
person  happy  who  enjoys  it.  This  proposition  must 
be  very  evident  to  those  who  consider  how  few  are 
the  present  enjoyments  of  the  most  happy  man,  and 
how  insufficient  to  give  him  an  entire  satisfaction  and 
acquiescence  in  them. 

My  next  observation  is  this,  that  a  religious  life 
is  that  which  most  abounds  in  a  well-grounded  hope, 
and  such  an  one  as  is  fixed  on  objects  that  are  capa- 
ble of  making  us  entirely  happy.  This  hope  in  a 
religious  man  is  much  more  sure  and  certain  than 
the  hope  of  any  temporal  blessing,  as  it  is  strength- 
ened not  only  by  reason,  but  by  faith.  It  has  at  the 
same  time  its  eye  perpetually  fixed  on  that  state, 
which  implies,  in  the  very  notion  of  it,  the  most  fuU 
and  complete  happiness. 

I  have  before  shown  how  the  influence  of  hope  in 
general  sweetens  life,  and  makes  our  present  condi- 
tion supportable,  if  not  pleasing ;  but  a  religious  hope 
has  still  greater  advantages.  It  does  not  only  bear 
up  the  mind  under  her  sufferings,  but  makes  Ijier  re- 
joice in  thetn,  as  they  may  be  the  instruments  of  pro- 
curing her  the  great  and  ultimate  end  of  all  her  hope. 

Religious  hope  has  likewise  this  advantage  above 
any  other  kind  of  hope,  that  it  is  able  to  revive  the 
dying  man,  and  to  fill  his  mind  not  only  with  secret 
comfort  and  refreshment,  but  sometimes  with  rap- 
ture and  transport.     He  triumphs  in  his  agonies, 


No.  472.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  323 

whilst  the  soul  springs  forward  with  delight  to  the 
great  object  which  she  has  always  had  in  view,  and 
leaves  the  body  with  an  expectation  of  being  re- 
united to  her  in  a  glorious  and  joyful  resurrection. 
I  shall  conclude  this  essay  with  those  emphatical 
expressions  of  a  lively  hope  which  the  Psalmist 
made  use  of  in  the  midst  of  those  dangers  and  ad- 
versities which  surrounded  him:  for  the  following 
passage  had  its  present  and  personal,  as  well  as  its 
future  and  prophetic  sense.  '  I  have  set  the  Lord 
always  before  me.  Because  he  is  at  my  right  hand 
I  shall  not  be  moved.  Therefore  my  heart  is  glad, 
and  my  glory  rejoice th.  My  flesh  also  shall  rest  in 
hope.  For  thou  wilt  not  leave  my  soul  in  hell, 
neither  wilt  thou  suffer  thine  holy  one  to  see  cor- 
ruption. Thou  wilt  show  me  the  path  of  life.  In 
thy  presence  is  fulness  of  joy,  at  thy  right  hand 
there  are  pleasures  for  evermore.'  C* 


No.  472.     MONDAY,  September  1,  1712. 

— ^Voluptaa 
Solamenque  mali — 

ViEO.  jEn.  la  660. 
This  only  solace  his  hard  fortune  sends. 

I  RECEIVED  some  time  ago  a  proppsal,  which  had  a 
preface  to  it,  wherein  the  author  discoursed  at  large 
of  the  innumerable  objects  of  charity  in  a  nation, 
and  admonished  the  rich,  who  were  afflicted  with 
any  distemper  of  body,  particularly  to  regard  the 
poor  in  the  same  species  of  affliction,  and  confine 

■  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  Chelsea.   See  final  notes  to  Nos.  6 
365,  and  489,  on  Addison's  signatures,  C,  L,  1.  O. 


324  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  472. 

their  tenderness  to  them,  since  it  is  impossible  to 
assist  all  who  are  presented  to  them.  The  pro- 
poser had  been  relieved  from  a  malady  in  his  eyes, 
by  an  operation  performed  by  sir  William  Read,'' 
and,  being  a  man  of  condition,  had  taken  a  resolu- 
tion to  maintain  three  poor  blind  men  during  their 
lives,  in  gratitude  for  that  great  blessing.  This  mis- 
fortune is  so  very  great  and  unfrequent,  that  one 
"would  think  an  establishment  for  all  the  poor  under 
it  might  be  easily  accomplished,  with  the  addition 
of  a  very  few  others  to  those  wealthy  who  are  in 
the  same  calamity.  However,  the  thought  of  the 
proposer  arose  from  a  very  good  motive  ;  and  the 
parcelling  of  ourselves  out,  as  called  to  particular 
acts  of  beneficence,  would  be  a  pretty  cement  of 
society  and  virtue.  It  is  the  ordinary  foundation 
for  men's  holding  a  commerce  with  each  other, 
and  becoming  familiar,  that  they  agree  in  the  same 
sort  of  pleasure ;  and  sure  it  may  also  be  some  rea- 
son for  amity,  that  they  are  under  one  common  dis- 
tress. If  all  the  rich  who  are  lame  in  the  gout, 
from  a  life  of  ease,  pleasure,  and  luxury,  would  help 
those  few  who  have  it  without  a  previous  life  of 
pleasure,  and  add  a  few  of  such  laborious  men  who 
are  become  lame  from  unhappy  blows,  falls,  or 
other  accidents  of  age  or  sickness;  I  say,  would 
such  gouty  persons  administer  to  the  necessities  of 
men  disabled  like  themselves  ;  the  consciousness  of 
such  a  behaviour  would  be  the  best  julep,  cordial, 
and  anodyne,  in  the  feverish,  faint,  and  tormenting 
vicissitudes  of  that  miserable  distemper.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  all  other,  both  bodily  and  intellec- 
tual, evils.    These  classes  of  charity  would  certainly 

*  See  Tat.  with  notes,  No.  224,  note  et  passim 


No.  472.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  325 

bring  down  blessings  upon  an  age  and  people ;  and 
if  men  were  not  petrified  with  the  love  of  this 
worid,  against  all  sense  of  the  commerce  which 
ought  to  be  among  them,  it  would  not  be  an  un- 
reasonable bill  for  a  poor  man  in  the  agony  of  pain, 
aggravated  by  want  and  poverty,  to  draw  upon  a 
sick  alderman  after  this  form : 

'  Mr.  Basil  Plenty. 
'Sir, 
j  'You  have  the  gout  and  stone,   with  sixty 

thousand  pounds  sterling ;  I  have  the  gout 
and  stone,  not  worth  one  farthing;  I  shall 
pray  for  you,  and  desire  you  would  pay  the 
bearer  twenty  shillings  for  value  received 
from, 
Crippiegate,  '  SiR,  Your  humble  servant, 

Aug.  29,  im.  '  Lazarus  Hopeful.' 

The  reader's  own  imagination  will  suggest  to 
him  the  reasonableness  of  such  correspondences,  and 
diversify  them  in  a  thousand  forms ;  but  I  shall 
close  this,  as  I  began,  upon  the  subject  of  blind- 
ness.' The  following  letter  seems  to  be  written  by 
a  man  of  learning,  who  is  returned  to  his  study 
after  a  suspense  of  ability  to  do  so.  The  benefit  he 
reports  himself  to  have  received,  may  well  claim 
the  handsomest  encomium  he  can  give  the  operator. 

'  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

'  Ruminating  lately  on  your  admirable  dis- 
courses  on   the  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,"  I 

'  A  benevolent  institution  in  favour  of  blind  people,  and  Swift's  hospi- 
tal, seem  to  have  originated  from  this  paper ;  certainly  from  the  principles 
of  humanity  stated  in  it. 

"  See  No.  411,  and  the  ten  following  numbers. 


326  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No.  472. 

began  to  consider  to  -which  of  our  senses  we  are 
obliged  for  the  greatest  and  most  important  share 
of  those  pleasures ;  and  I  soon  concluded  that  it 
was  to  the  sight.  This  is  the  sovereign  of  the  sen- 
ses, and  mother  of  all  the  arts  and  sciences,  that  have 
refined  the  rudeness  of  the  uncultivated  mind  to  a 
politeness  that  distinguishes  the  fine  spirits  from 
the  barbarous  gout  of  the  great  vulgar  and  the 
small.  The  sight  is  the  obliging  benefactress  that 
bestows  on  us  the  most  transporting  sensations  that 
we  have,  from  the  various  and  wonderful  products 
of  nature.  To  the  sight  we  owe  the  amazing  dis- 
coveries of  the  height,  magnitude,  and  motion  of 
the  planets ;  their  several  revolutions  about  their 
common  centre  of  light,  heat,  and  motion,  the  sun. 
The  sight  travels  yet  farther  to  the  fixed  stars,  and 
furnishes  the  understanding  with  solid  reasons  to 
prove  that  each  of  them  is  a  sun,  moving  on  its 
own  axis,  in  the  centre  of  its  own  vortex  or  tur- 
billion,  and  performing  the  same  offices  to  its  de- 
pendent planets  that  our  glorious  sun  does  to  this. 
But  the  inquiries  of  the  sight  will  not  be  stopped 
here,  but  make  their  progress  through  the  immense 
expanse  to  the  Milky  Way,  and  there  divide  the 
blended  fires  of  the  galaxy  into  infinite  and  different 
worlds,  made  up  of  distinct  suns,  and  their  peculiar 
equipages  of  planets,  till,  unable  to  pursue  this 
track  any  farther,  it  deputes  the  imagination  to  go 
on  to  new  discoveries,  till  it  fill  the  unbounded 
space  with  endless  worlds. 

'The  sight  informs  the  statuary's  chisel  with 
power  to  give  breath  to  lifeless  brass  and  marble, 
and  the  painter's  pencil  to  swell  the  flat  canvas  with 
moving  figures  actuated  by  imaginary  souls.    Music 


No.  472.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  327 

indeed  may  plead  anotlier  original,"  since  Jubal,  by 
the  different  falls  of  his  hammer  on  the  anvil,  disco- 
vered by  the  ear,  the  first  rude  music  that  pleased 
the  antediluvian  fathers ;  but  then  the  sight  has 
not  only  reduced  those  wilder  sounds  into  artful 
order  and  harmony,  but  conveys  that  harmony  to 
the  most  distant  parts  of  the  world,  without  the 
help  of  sound.  To  the  sight  we  owe  not  only  all 
the  discoveries  of  philosophy,  but  all  the  divine 
imagery  of  poetry  that  transports  the  intelligent 
reader  of  Homer,  Milton,  and  Virgil. 

'  As  the  sight  has  polished  the  world,  so  does  it 
supply  us  with  the  most  grateful  and  lasting  plea- 
sure. Let  love,  let  friendship,  paternal  affection, 
filial  piety,  and  conjugal  duty,  declare  the  joys  the 
sight  bestows  on  a  meeting  after  absence.  But  it 
would  be  endless  to  enumerate  all  the  pleasures  and 
advantages  of  sight ;  every  one  that  has  it,  every 
hour  he  makes  use  of  it,  finds  them,  feels  them,  en- 
joys them. 

'  Thus  as  our  greatest  pleasures  and  knowledge 
are  derived  from  the  sight,  so  has  Providence  been 
more  curious  in  the  formation  of  its  seat,  the  eye, 
than  of  the  organs  of  the  other  senses.  That  stu- 
pendous machine  is  composed  in  a  wonderful  man- 
ner of  muscles,  membranes,  and  humours.  Its 
motions  are  admirably  directed  by  the  muscles ; 
the  perspicuity  of  the  humours  transmit  the  rays  of 
light ;  the  rays  are  regularly  refracted  by  their 
figure,  the  black  lining  of  the  sclerotes  effectually 
prevents  their  being  confounded  by  reflection.  It 
is  wonderful  indeed  to  consider  how  many  objects 

°  Mr.  Weaver  ascribes  the  discovery  to  Pythagoras. — See  Speot.  No. 
334. 


328  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  472. 

the  eye  is  fitted  to  take  in  at  once,  and  successively 
in  an  instant ;  and  at  the  same  time,  to  make  a 
judgment  of  their  position,  figure,  and  colour.  It 
watches  against  our  dangers,  guides  our  steps,  and 
lets  in  all  the  visible  objects,  whose  beauty  and 
variety  instruct  and  delight. 

'  The  pleasures  and  advantages  of  sight  being  so 
great,  the  loss  must  be  very  grievous;  of  which 
Milton,  from  experience,  gives  the  most  sensible 
idea,  both  in  the  third  book  of  his  Paradise  Lost, 
and  in  his  Samson  Agonistes. 

'  To  light  in  the  former — 

"  —  Thee  I  revisit  safe, 
And  fell  thy  sov'reign  vital  lamp ;  hut  thou 
Eevisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  but  find  no  dawn.'' 

'  And  a  little  after — 

"  Seasons  retnrn,  but  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  ev'n  or  morn, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 
Or  flocks  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine ; 
But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark. 
Surround  me :  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 
Cut  off,  and  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair, 
Presented  with  an  universal  blank 
Of  nature's  works,  to  me  expung'd  and  raz'd, 
And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out." 

'  Again,  in  Samson  Agonistes — 

"—But  chief  of  all, 
O  loss  of  sight!  of  thee  I  most  complain: 
Blind  among  enemies  I  0  worse  than  chains, 
Dungeon,  or  beggary,  or  decrepit  age ! 
Light,  the  prime  work  of  God,  to  me'a  extinct, 
And  all  her  various  objects  of  delight 
AnnuU'd— 

"  —  Still  as  a  fool, 
In  pow'r  of  others,  never  in  my  own, 


No.  472.1  THE   SPECTATOR.  329 

Scarce  half  I  seem  to  live,  dead  more  than  half: 
O  dark  I  dark !  dark !  amid  the  blaze  of  noon  : 
Irrecoverably  dark,  total  eclipse, 
Without  all  hopes  of  day.'' 

'  The  enjoyment  of  sight  then  being  so  great  a 
blessing,  and  the  loss  of  it  so  terrible  an  evil,  how 
excellent  and  valuable  is  the  skill  of  that  artist 
which  can  restore  the  former,  and  redress  the  lat- 
ter ?  My  frequent  perusal  of  the  advertisements  in 
the  public  newspapers  (generally  the  most  agreea- 
ble entertainment  they  afford)  has  presented  me 
with  many  and  various  benefits  of  this  kind  done  to 
my  countrymen  by  that  skilful  artist  Dr.  Grant,  her 
majesty's  oculist  extraordinary,  whose  happy  hand 
has  brought  and  restored  to  sight  several  hundreds 
in  less  than  four  years.  Many  have  received  sight 
by  his  means,  who  came  blind  from  their  mother's 
womb,  as  in  the  famous  instance  of  Jones  of  New- 
ington."  I  myself  have  been  cured  by  him  of  a 
weakness  in  my  eyes  next  to  blindness,  and  am 
ready  to  believe  any  thing  that  is  reported  of  his 
ability  this  way  ;  and  know  that  many  who  could 
not  purchase  his  assistance  with  money,  have  en- 
joyed it  from  his  charity.  But  a  list  of  particulars 
would  swell  my  letter  beyond  its  bounds ;  what  I 
have  said  being  sufficient  to  comfort  those  who  are 
in  the  like  distress,  since  they  may  conceive  hopes 

»  See  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  March,  1181,  p.  196 ;  Tatler  with 
notes,  No.  56,  note ;  and  a  pamphlet,  entitled,  '  A  full  and  true  account 
of  a  miraculous  Cure  of  a  young  Man  in  Newington,'  <fec.  8vo.  1739,  15 
pages.  The  substance  of  this  publication  is  faithfully  given  in  the  Maga- 
zine above  mentioned.  This  ostentatious  oculist  was,  it  seems,  originally 
a  cobbler  or  tinker,  afterwards  a  preacher  in  a  congregation  of  Baptists. 
William  Jones  was  not  born  blind,  and  was  but  very  little,  if  at  all,  bene- 
fited by  Grant's  operation,  who  appears  to  have  been  guilty  of  great  fraud 
and  downright  forgery  in  his  account  and  advertisements  of  this  pretended 
cure. 


330  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  473, 

of  being  no  longer  miserable  in  this  kind,  while 
there  is  yet  alive  so  able  an  oculist  as  Dr.  Grant. 
'  I  am  the  Spectator's  humble  servant, 
T.P  '  Philanthropus.' 


No.  473.     TUESDAY,  Septembeb  2,  1712. 


Quid  ?  si  quis  Tultu  torvo  ferus  et  pada  nudo,  ^ 
Exiguseque  togte  simulet  toxtore  Catonem ; 
Yirtutemue  rapTaosentet,  moresque  Catonis  ? 

Hob.  1  £p.  xix.  12. 

Suppose  a  man  the  coarsest  gown  should  wear, 
No  shoes,  his  forehead  rough,  his  looks  severe, 
And  ape  great  Gate  in  his  form  and  dress. 
Must  he  his  virtues  and  his  mind  express  ? 
Gbeeoh. 


'TO  THE  SPECTATOK. 


'  SIR, 


'  I  AM  now  in  the  country,  and  employ 
most  of  my  time  in  reading,  or  thinking  upon  what 
I  have  read.  Your  paper  comes  constantly  down 
to  me,  and  it  affects  me  so  much,  that  I  find  my 
thoughts  run  into  your  way  ;  and  I  recommend  to 
you  a  subject  upon  which  you  have  not  yet  touched, 
and  that  is,  the  satisfaction  some  men  seem  to  take 
in  their  imperfections :  I  think  one  may  call  it 
glorying  in  their  insufficiency.  A  certain  great 
author  is  of  opinion  it  is  the  contrary  to  envy, 
though  perhaps  it  may  proceed  from  it.  Nothing 
is  so  common  as  to  hear  men  of  this  sort,  speaking 
of  themselves,  add  to  their  own  merit  (as  they 
think)  by  impairing  it,  in  praising  themselves  for 
their  defects,  freely  allowing  they  commit  some  few 

P  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324,  on  letter  T. 


No.  473.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  331 

frivolous  errors,  in  order  to  be  esteemed  persons  of 
uncommon  talents  and  great  qualifications.  They 
are  generally  professing  an  injudicious  neglect  of 
dancing,  fencing,  and  riding,  as  also  an  unjust  con- 
tempt for  travelling,  and  the  modern  languages ;  as 
for  their  part,  say  they,  they  never  valued  or  trou- 
bled their  heads  about  them.  This  panegyrical' 
satire  on  themselves  certainly  is  worthy  of  your  an- 
imadversion. I  have  known  one  of  these  gentlemen 
think  himself  obliged  to  forget  the  day  of  an  ap- 
pointment, and  sometimes  even  that  you  spoke  to 
him ;  and  when  you  see  'em,  they  hope  you'll  par- 
don 'em,  for  they  have  the  worst  memory  in  the 
world.  One  of  'em  started  up  t'other  day  iu  some 
confusion,  and  said  "Now I  think  on't,  I  am  to  meet 
Mr.  Mortmain  the  attorney,  about  some  business, 
but  whether  it  is  to-day,  or  to-morrow,  faith,  I  can't 
tell."  Now,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  he  knew  his 
time  to  a  moment,  and  was  there  accordingly. 
These  forgetful  persons  have,  to  heighten  their 
crime,  generally  the  best  memories  of  any  people, 
as  I  have  found  out  by  their  remembering  some- 
times through  inadvertency.  Two  or  three  of  'em 
'  that  I  know  can  say  most  of  our  modern  tragedies 
by  heart.  I  asked  a  gentleman  the  other  day  that 
is  famous  for  a  good  carver  (at  which  acquisition  he 
is  out  of  countenance,  imagining  it  may  detract  from 
some  of  his  more  essential  qualifications)  to  help  me 
to  something  that  was  near  him ;  but  he  excused 
himself,  and  blushing  told  me,  "  Of  all  things  he 
could  never  carve  in  his  life ; "  though  it  can  be 
proved  upon  him  that  he  cuts  up,  disjoints,  and  un- 
cases with  incomparable  dexterity.  I  would  not  be 
understood  as  if  I  thought  it  laudable  for  a  man  of 
quality  and  fortune  to  rival  the  acquisitions  of  arti- 


332  THE   SPECTATOR.  V^°-  ^'^^■ 

ficers,  and  endeavour  to  excel  in  little  handy  quali- 
ties :  no,  I  argue  only  against  being  ashamed  at 
Tvrhat  is  really  praise-worthy.  As  these  pretences 
to  ingenuity  show  themselves  several  ways,  you  will 
often  see  a  man  of  this  temper  ashamed  to  be  clean, 
and  setting  up  for  wit  only  from  negligence  in  his 
habit.  Now  I  am  upon  this  head,  I  cannot  help 
observing  also  upon  a  very  different  folly  proceed- 
ing from  the  same  cause.  As  these  above-mentioned 
arise  from  affecting  an  equality  with  men  of  greater 
talents,  from  having  the  same  faults,  there  are  others 
who  would  come  at  a  parallel  with  those  above  them, 
by  possessing  little  advantages  which  they  want.  T 
heard  a  young  man  not  long  ago,  who  has  sense, 
comfort  himself  in  his  ignorance  of  Greek,  Hebrew, 
and  the  Orientals :  at  the  same  time  that  he  pub- 
lished his  aversion  to  these  languages,  he  said  that 
the  knowledge  of  them  was  rather  a  diminution  than 
an  advancement  of  a  man's  character  :  though  at  the 
same  time  I  know  he  languishes  and  repines  he  is 
not  master  of  them  himself  Whenever  I  take  any 
of  these  fine  persons  thus  detracting  from  what  they 
don't  understand,  I  tell  them  I  will  complain  to  you, 
and  say  I  am  sure  you  will  not  allow  it  an  excep- 
tion against  a  thing,  that  he  who  contemns  it  is  an 
Ignorant  in  it. 

'  I  am,  Sir, 
'  Your  most  humble  servant, 

'  S.  P.' 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  I  AM  a  man  of  a  very  good  estate,  and 
am  honourably  in  love.  I  hope  you  will  allow, 
when  the  ultimate  purpose  is  honest,  there  may  be, 
without  trespass  against  innocence,  some  toying  by 


No.  473.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  333 

the  way.  People  of  condition  are  perhaps  too  dis- 
tant and  formal  on  those  occasions ;  but  however 
that  is,  I  am  to  confess  to  you  that  I  have  writ  some 
verses  to  atone  for  my  offence.  You  professed  au- 
thors are  a  little  severe  upon  us,  who  write  like 
gentlemen  :  but  if  you  are  a  friend  to  love,  you  will 
insert  my  poem.  You  cannot  imagine  how  much 
service  it  will  do  me  with  my  fair-one,  as  well  as 
reputation  with  all  my  friends,  to  have  something 
of  mine  in  the  Spectator.  My  crime  was,  that  I 
snatched  a  kiss,  and  my  poetical  excuse  as  follows  : 

I. 

"  Belinda,  see  from  yonder  flowers, 
The  bee  flies  loaded  to  its  cell ; 
Can  you  perceive  what  it  devours? 
Are  they  impair'd  in  show  or  smell  ? 

II. 
"  So,  though  I  robb'd  you  of  a  kiss, 
Sweeter  than  their  ambrosial  dew ; 
Why  are  you  angry  at  my  bliss  ? 
Has  it  at  all  impoverish'd  you  ? 

ni. 
"  'Tis  by  this  cunning  I  contrive. 
In  spite  of  your  unkind  reserve. 
To  keep  my  famish'd  love  alive, 
Which  you  inhumanly  would  starve." 

I  am,  Sir,  Your  humble  servant, 

Timothy  Stanza.' 

'  gjB  '  August  23,  1712. 

'  Having  a  little  time  upon  my  hands,  I 
could  not  think  of  bestowing  it  better,  than  in  writ- 
ing an  epistle  to  the  Spectator,  which  I  now  do,  and 
am,  Sir, 

'  Your  humble  servant, 

'  Bob  Short. 


334  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  474. 

'  P.  S.  If  you  approve  of  my  style,  I  am  likely 
enough  to  become  your  correspondent.  I  desire 
your  opinion  of  it.  I  design  it  for  that  way  of 
writing  called  by  the  judicious  "  the  familiar." 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

At  Woodford,  in  Essex,  upon  Epping-forest,  is  kept  a  boarding-school 
for  young  gentlewomen,  by  James  Greenwood,  author  of  the  Essay  towards 
a  Practical  English  Grammar,  Ac.  See  Tatler,  No.  234,  and  note  on  Mr. 
Greenwood,  of  which  this  advertisement  is  a  confirmation.  Tat.  ed.  cr. 
8vo.  1186,  ToL  vi.  p.  135,  et  ieqq. 


No.  474.     WEDNESDAY,  September  3,  1712. 


Asperitas  agrestis,  et  inconcinna. 

Hon.  1  Ep.  xvijl  6. 
Bude,  rastic,  and  inelegant 


'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  Being  of  the  number  of  those  that  have 
lately  retired  from  the  centre  of  business  and  pleasure, 
my  uneasiness  in  the  country  where  I  am,  arises  rather 
from  the  society  than  the  solitude  of  it.  To  be 
obliged  to  receive  and  return  visits  from  and  to  a 
circle  of  neighbours,  who,  through*  diversity  of  age 
or  inclinations,  can  neither  be  entertaining  nor  ser- 
viceable to  us,  is  a  vile  loss  of  time,  and  a  slavery 
from  which  a  man  should  deliver  himself,  if  possible : 
for  why  must  I  lose  the  remaining  part  of  my  life 
because  they  have  thrown  away  the  former  part  of 
theirs  ?  It  is  to  me  an  insupportable  affliction,  to  be 
tormented  with  the  narrations  of  a  set  of  people,  who 

4  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324,  on  the  signature  T. 


No.  474.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  335 

are  warm  in  their  expressions  of  the  quick  relish  of 
that  pleasure,  which  their  dogs  and  horses  have  a 
more  delicate  taste  of  I  do  also  in  my  heart  detest 
and  abhor  that  damnable  doctrine  and  position  of 
the  necessity  of  a  bumper,  though  to  one's  own 
toast ;  for  though  it  is  pretended  that  these  deep 
potations  are  used  only  to  inspire  gaiety,  they  cer- 
tainly drown  that  cheerfulness  which  would  survive 
a  moderate  circulation.  If  at  these  meetings  it  were 
left  to  every  stranger  either  to  fill  his  glass  accord- 
ing to  his  own  inclination,  or  to  make  his  retreat 
when  he  finds  he  has  been  sufl&ciently  obedient  to 
that  of  others,  these  entertainments  would  be  gov- 
erned with  more  good  sense,  and  consequently  with 
more  good  breeding,  than  at  present  they  are.  In- 
deed, where  any  of  the  guests  are  known  to  measure 
their  fame  or  pleasure  by  their  glass,  proper  exhor- 
tations might  be  used  to  these  to  push  their  fortunes 
in  this  sort  of  reputation  ;  but  where  it  is  unseason- 
ably insisted  on  to  a  modest  stranger,  this  drench 
may  be  said  to  be  swallowed  with  the  same  neces- 
sity, as  if  it  had  been  tendered  in  the  horn  *"  for  that 
purpose,  with  this  aggravating  circumstance,  that  it 
distresses  the  entertainer's  guest  in  the  same  degree 
as  it  relieves  his  horses. 

'  To  attend  without  impatience  an  account  of 
five-barred  gates,  double  ditches,  and  precipices,  and 
to  survey  the  orator  with  desiring  eyes,  is  to  me  ex- 
tremely difficult,  but  absolutely  necessary  to  be  upon 
tolerable  terms  with  him ;  but  then  the  occasional 
burstings  out  into  laughter  is  of  all  other  accomplish- 
ments the  most  requisite.  I  confess  at  present  I  have 
not  that  command  of  these  convulsions  as  is  necessary 

^  A  horn  is  used  to  administer  potions  to  horses. 


336  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  474. 

to  be  good  company ;  therefore  I  beg  you  -would 
publish  this  letter,  and  let  me  be  known  all  at  once 
for  a  queer  feUow,  and  avoided.  It  is  monstrous  to 
me.  that  we,  who  are  given  to  reading  and  calm 
conversation,  should  ever  be  visited  by  these  roarers : 
but  they  think  they  themselves,  as  neighbours,  may 
come  into  our  rooms  with  the  same  right  that  they 
and  their  dogs  hunt  in  our  grounds. 

'  Your  institution  of  clubs  I  have  always  admired, 
in  which  you  constantly  endeavoured  the  union  of 
the  metaphorically  defunct,  that  is,  such  as  are  neither 
serviceable  to  the  busy  and  enterprising  part  of  man- 
kind, nor  entertaining  to  the  retired  and  speculative. 
There  should  certainly  therefore,  in  each  county,  be 
established  a  club  of  the  persons  whose  conversations 
I  have  described,  who,  for  their  own  private,  as  also 
the  public  emolument,  should  exclude,  and  be  ex- 
cluded, all  other  society.  Their  attire  should  be  the 
same  with  their  huntsmen's,  and  none  should  be  ad- 
mitted into  this  green  conversation-piece,  except 
he  had  broke  his  collar-bone  thrice.  A  broken  rib 
or  two  might  also  admit  a  man,  without  the  least  op- 
position. The  president  must  necessarily  have  bro 
ken  his  neck,  and  have  been  taken  up  dead  once  oi 
twice :  for  the  more  maims  his  brotherhood  shall 
have  met  with,  the  easier  will  their  conversation 
flow  and  keep  up ;  and  when  any  one  of  these  vigor- 
ous invalids  had  finished  his  narration  of  the  collar- 
bone, this  naturally  would  introduce  the  history  of 
the  ribs.  Besides,  the  different  circumstances  of 
their  falls  and  fractures  would  help  to  prolong  and 
diversify  their  relations.  There  should  also  be  an- 
other club  of  such  men,  who  have  not  succeeded  so 
well  in  maiming  themselves,  but  are  however  in  the 
constant  pursuit  of  these  accomplishments.    I  would 


No.  474.]  THE  SPECTATOE.  337 

by  no  means  be  suspected,  by  what  I  have  said,  to 
traduce  in  general  the  body  of  fox-hunters;  for 
whilst  I  look  upon  a  reasonable  creature  full  speed 
after  a  pack  of  dogs,  by  way  of  pleasure,  and  not  of 
business,  I  shall  always  make  honourable  mention 
of  it. 

'  But  the  most  irksome  conversation  of  all  others 
I  have  met  with  in  the  neighbourhood,  has  been 
among  two  or  three  of  your  travellers  who  have 
overlooked  men  and  manners,  and  have  passed 
through  France  and  Italy  with  the  same  observation 
that  the  carriers  and  stage-coachmen  do  through 
Great  Britain ;  that  is,  their  stops  and  stages  have 
been  regulated  according  to  the  liquor  they  have 
met  with  in  their  passage.  They  indeed  remember 
the  names  of  abundance  of  places,  with  the  particu- 
lar fineries  of  certain  churches :  but  their  distinguish- 
ing mark  is  certain  prettinesses  of  foreign  languages, 
the  meaning  of  which  they  could  have  better  ex- 
pressed in  their  own.  The  entertainment  of  these 
fine  observers,  Shakspeare  has  described  to  consist 

"  In  talking  of  the  Alps  and  Apennines, 
The  Pyrenean,  and  the  river  Po  ; " 

and  then  concludes  with  a  sigh, 

"  Now  this  is  worshipful  society ! " 

'  I  would  not  be  thought  in  all  this  to  hate  such 
honest  creatures  as  dogs ;  I  am  only  unhappy  that 
I  cannot  partake  in  their  diversions.  But  I  love 
them  so  well,  as  dogs,  that  I  often  go  with  my  pock- 
ets stuffed  with  bread,  to  dispense  my  favours,  or 
make  my  way  through  them  at  neighbours'  houses. 
There  is,  in  particular,  a  young  hound  of  great  ex- 
voL.  V. — 22 


338  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  474, 

pectation,  vivacity,  and  enterprize,  that  attends  my 
flights  wherever  he  spies  me.  This  creature  obsei'ves 
my  countenance,  and  behaves  himself  accordingly. 
His  mirth,  his  frolic  and  joy,  upon  the  sight  of  me 
has  been  observed,  and  I  have  been  gravely  desired 
not  to  encourage  him  so  much,  for  it  spoils  his  parts ; 
but  I  think  he  shows  them  sufficiently  in  the  sev- 
eral boundings,  friskings,  and  scourings,  when  he 
makes  his  court  to  me :  but  I  foresee,  in  a  little  time, 
he  and  I  must  keep  company  with  one  another  only, 
for  we  are  fit  for  no  other  in  these  parts.  Having 
informed  you  how  I  do  pass  my  time  in  the  country 
where  I  am,  I  must  proceed  to  tell  you  how  I  would 
pass  it,  had  I  such  a  fortune  as  would  put  me  above 
the  observance  of  ceremony  and  custom. 

'  My  scheme  of  a  country  life  then  should  be  as 
follows.  As  I  am  happy  in  three  or  four  very  agree- 
able friends,  these  I  would  constantly  have  with 
me ;  and  the  freedom  we  took  with  one  another  at 
school  and  the  university,  we  would  maintain  and 
exert  upon  all  occasions  with  great  courage.  There 
should  be  certain  hours  of  the  day  to  be  employed 
in  reading,  during  which  time  it  should  be  impossi- 
ble for  any  one  of  us  to  enter  the  other's  chamber, 
unless  by  storm.  After  this  we  would  communicate 
the  trash  or  treasure  we  had  met  with,  with  our  own 
reflections  upon  the  matter ;  the  justness  of  which 
we  would  controvert  with  good-humoured  warmth, 
and  never  spare  one  another  out  of  that  complaisant 
spirit  of  conversation,  which  makes  others  affirm 
and  deny  the  same  matter  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
If  any  of  the  neighbouring  gentlemen,  not  of  our 
turn,  should  take  it  in  their  heads  to  visit  me,  I 
should  look  upon  these  persons,  in  the  same  degree, 
enemies  to  my  particular  state  of  happiness,  as  ever 


No.  474.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  339 

the  Frencli  were  to  that  of  the  public,  and  I  would 
be  at  an  annual  expense  in  spies  to  observe  their 
motions.  Whenever  I  should  be  surprised  with  a 
visit,  as  I  hate  drinking,  I  would  be  brisk  in  swilling 
bumpers,  upon  the  maxim,  that  it  is  better  to  trou- 
ble others  with  my  impertinence,  than  to  be  troubled 
myself  with  theirs.  The  necessity  of  an  infirmary " 
makes  me  resolve  to  fall  into  that  project ;  and  as 
we  should  be  but  five,  the  terrors  of  an  involuntary 
separation,  which  our  number  cannot  so  well  admit 
of,  would  make  us  exert  ourselves  in  opposition  to 
all  the  particulars  mentioned  in  your  institution  of 
that  equitable  confinement.  This,  my  way  of  life, 
I  know  would  subject  me  to  the  imputation  of  a 
morose,  covetous,  and  singular  fellow.  These  and 
all  other  hard  words,  with  all  manner  of  insipid 
jests,  and  all  other  reproach,  would  be  matter  of 
mirth  to  me  and  my  friends :  besides,  I  would  de- 
stroy the  application  of  the  epithets  morose  and 
covetous,  by  a  yearly  relief  of  my  undeservedly  ne- 
cessitous neighbours,  and  by  treating  my  friends 
and  domestics  with  an  humanity  that  should  express 
the  obligation  to  lie  rather  on  my  side ;  and  as  for 
the  word  singular,  I  was  always  of  opinion  every 
man  must  be  so,  to  be  what  one  would  desire  him. 
'  Your  very  humble  servant,         J.  R.*^ 

°  See  Spect  Wos.  429,  4S7,  and  440. 

*  This  letter  was  probably  written  by  Steele's  fellow  collegian  and 
friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Eichard  Parker.  This  acoomplished  scholar  was  for 
many  years,  vicar  of  Embleton,  in  Northumberland,  a  living  in  the  gift  of 
Merton  college,  where  he  and  Steele  lived  in  the  most  cordial  familiarity. 
Not  relishing  the  rural  sports  of  Bamboroughshire,  he  declined  the  inter- 
change of  visits  with  most  of  the  hospitable  gentlemen  in  his  neighbour- 
hood ;  who,  invigorated  by  their  diversions,  indulged  in  copious  meals,  and 
were  apt  to  be  vociferous  in  their  mirth,  and  over  importunate  with  their 
guests,  to  join  in  their  conviviality.  See  Tat.  No.  112,  and  note;  Johnson's 
Lives  of  English  Poets,  8vo.  1781,  vol  ii.  p.  241,  art.  Smith;  and  Biog. 
Brit  art.  Steele. 


340  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  474. 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  About  two  years  ago  I  was  called  upon 
by  the  younger  part  of  a  country  family,  by  my 
mother's  side  related  to  me,  to  visit  Mr.  Campbell,* 
the  dumb  man,  for  they  told  me  that  that  was  chiefly 
what  brought  them  to  town,  having  heard  wonders 
of  him  in  Essex.  I,  who  always  wanted  faith  in 
matters  of  that  kind,  was  not  easily  prevailed  on  to 
go ;  but,  lest  they  should  take  it  ill,  I  went  with 
them ;  when,  to  my  surprise,  Mr.  Campbell  related 
all  their  past  life  ;  in  short,  had  he  not  been  pre- 
vented, such  a  discovery  would  have  come  out,  as 
would  have  ruined  the  next  design  of  their  coming 
to  town,  viz.  buying  wedding  clothes.  Our  names, 
— though  he  never  heard  of  us  before, — and  we  en- 
deavoured to  conceal,— were  as  familiar  to  him  as  to 
ourselves.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Spectator,  he  is  a  very 
learned  and  wise  man.  Being  impatient  to  know  my 
fortune,  having  paid  my  respects  in  a  family  Jacobus, 
he  told  me  (after  his  manner)  among  several  other 
things,  that  in  a  year  and  nine  months,  I  should  fall  ill 
of  a  new  fever,  be  given  over  by  my  physicians,  but 
should  with  much  difficulty  recover:  that  the  first  time 
I  took  the  air  afterwards,  I  should  be  addressed  to  by  a 
young  gentleman  of  a  plentiful  fortune,  good  sense, 
and  a  generous  spirit.  Mr.  Spectator,  he  is  the  purest 
man  in  the  world,  for  all  he  said  is  come  to  pass, 
and  I  am  the  happiest  she  in  Kent.  I  have  been  in 
quest  of  Mr.  Campbell  these  three  months,  and  can- 
not find  him  out.     Now,  hearing  you  are  a  dumb 

«  Duncan  Campbell  announced  himself  to  the  public  as  a  Scotch  high- 
lander,  gifted  with  the  second  sight.  He  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  deaf 
and  dumb,  and  succeeded  in  making  a  fortune  to  himself,  by  practising  for 
some  years,  on  the  credulity  of  the  vulgar,  in  the  ignominious  character 
of  a  fortune-teller.     See  Taller ;  and  Speet.  No.  560. 


No.  475.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  341 

man  too,  I  thought  you  might  correspond,  and  be 
able  to  tell  me  something ;  for  I  think  myself  highly 
obliged  to  make  his  fortune,  as  he  has  mine.  It  is 
very  possible  your  worship,  who  has  spies  all  over 
this  town,  can  inform  me  how  to  send  to  him.  If 
you  can,  I  beseech  you  be  as  speedy  as  possible,  and 
you  will  highly  oblige 

'  Your  constant  reader  and  admirer, 

'DULCIBELLA  ThANKLBT.' 

Ordered,  That  the  inspector  I  employ  about 
wonders,  inquire  at  the  Golden-Lion,  opposite  to  the 
Half-Moon  tavern  in  Drury-lane,  into  the  merit  of 
this  silent  sage,  and  report  accordingly.  T/ 


No.  475.     THUESDAY,  September  4,  1712. 

— Qaas  res  in  se  neque  consilium  neqne  modom 
Habet  nllum,  earn  consilio  rogere  non  potes. 

Tbr.  Eun.  Act  i.  Sc.  1. 
The  tMng  that  in  itself  has  neither  measnre  nor  consideration,  counsel  cannot  role. 

It  is  an  old  observation,  which  has  been  made  of 
politicians  who  would  rather  ingratiate  themselves 
with  their  sovereign,  than  promote  his  real  service, 
that  they  accommodate  their  counsels  to  his  inclina- 
tions, and  advise  him  to  such  actions  only  as  his 
heart  is  naturally  set  upon.  The  privy  counsellor 
of  one  in  love  must  observe  the  same  conduct,  un- 
less he  would  forfeit  the  friendship  of  the  person 
who  desires  his  advice.  I  have  known  several  odd 
cases  of  this  nature.  Hipparchus  was  going  to 
marry  a  common  woman,  but,  being  resolved  to  do 

'  By  Steele,  probably  composed,  or  communicated,  from  the  letter^ 
box. 


342  THE   SEBCTATOE.  [No.  475. 

nothing  without  the  advice  of  his  friend  Philander, 
he  consulted  him  upon  the  occasion.  Philander  told 
him  his  mind  freely,  and  represented  his  mistress  to 
him  in  such  strong  colours,  that  the  next  morning 
he  received  a  challenge  for  his  pains,  and  before 
twelve  o'clock  was  run  through  the  body  by  the 
man  who  had  asked  his  advice.  Celia  was  more 
prudent  on  the  like  occasion.  She  desired  Leonilla 
to  give  her  opinion  freely  upon  a  young  fellow  who 
made  his  addresses  to  her.  Leonilla,  to  oblige  her, 
told  her,  with  great  frankness,  that  she  looked  upon 
him  as  one  of  the  most  worthless — Celia,  foreseeing 
what  a  character  she  was  to  expect,  begged  her  not 
to  go  on,  for  that  she  had  been  privately  married  to 
him  above  a  fortnight.  The  truth  of  it  is,  a  woman 
seldom  asks  advice,  before  she  has  bought  her 
wedding  clothes.  When  she  has  made  her  own 
choice,  for  form's  sake,  she  sends  a  conge  d'elire  to 
her  friends. 

If  we  look  into  the  secret  springs  and  motives 
that  set  people  at  work  on  these  occasions,  and  put 
them  upon  asking  advice  which  they  never  intend 
to  take,  I  look  upon  it  to  be  none  of  the  least,  that 
they  are  incapable  of  keeping  a  secret  which  is  so 
very  pleasing  to  them.  A  girl  longs  to  tell  her  con- 
fidante, that  she  hopes  to  be  married  in  a  little  time  ; 
and,  in  order  to  talk  of  the  pretty  fellow  that  dwells 
so  much  in  her  thoughts,  asks  her  very  gravely, 
what  she  would  advise  her  to  in  a  case  of  so  much 
difficulty.  Why  else  should  Melissa,  who  had  not  a 
thousand  pounds  in  the  world,  go  into  every  quar- 
ter of  the  town  to  ask  her  acquaintance  whether 
they  would  advise  her  to  take  Tom  Townly,  that 
made  his  addresses  to  her  with  an  estate  of  five 
thousand  a  year  ?     It  is  very  pleasant  on  this  occa- 


No.  475.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  343 

sion,  to  hear  the  lady  propose  her  doubts,  and  to  see 
the  pains  she  is  at  to  get  over  them. 

I  must  not  here  omit  a  practice  that  is  in  use 
among  the  vainer  part  of  our  own  sex,  who  will 
often  ask  a  friend's  advice  in  relation  to  a  fortune 
which  they  are  never  like  to  come  at.  Will  Honey- 
comb, who  is  now  on  the  verge  of  threescore,  took 
me  aside  not  long  since,  and  asked  me,  in  his  most 
serious  look,  whether  I  would  advise  him  to  marry 
my  lady  Betty  Single,  who,  by  the  way,  is  one  of 
the  greatest  fortunes  about  town.  I  stared  him  full 
in  the  face  upon  so  strange  a  question  ;  upon  which 
he  immediately  gave  me  an  inventory  of  her  jewels 
and  estate,  adding  that  he  was  resolved  to  do  no- 
thing in  a  matter  of  such  consequence  without  my 
approbation.  Finding  he  would  have  an  answer,  I 
told  him,  if  he  could  get  the  lady's  consent,  he  had 
mine.  This  is  about  the  tenth  match,  which,  to  my 
knowledge.  Will  has  consulted  his  friends  upon, 
without  ever  opening  his  mind  to  the  party  herself 

I  have  been  engaged  in  this  subject  by  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  which  comes  to  me  from  some  notable 
young  female  scribe,  who,  by  the  contents  of  it, 
seems  to  have  carried  matters  so  far,  that  she  is 
ripe  for  asking  advice ;  but  as  I  would  not  lose  her 
good  will,  nor  forfeit  the  reputation  which  I  have 
with  her  for  wisdom,  I  shall  only  communicate  the 
letter  to  the  public,  without  returning  any  answer 
to  it. 

'MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'Now,  Sir,  the  thing  is  this;  Mr.  Shapely 
is  the  prettiest  gentleman  about  town.  He  is  very 
tall,  but  not  too  tall  neither.  He  dances  like  an 
angel.     His  mouth  is  made  I  don't  know  how,  but 


344  THE  SPECTATOE.  [No.  475. 

it  is  the  prettiest  that  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  He  is 
always  laughing,  for  he  has  an  infinite  deal  of  wit. 
If  you  did  but  see  how  he  rolls  his  stockings  !  He 
has  a  thousand  pretty  fancies,  and  I  am  sure,  if  you 
saw  him,  you  would  like  him.  He  is  a  very  good 
scholar,  and  can  talk  Latin  as  fast  as  English.  I 
wish  you  could  but  see  him  dance.  Now  you  must 
understand  poor  Mr.  Shapely  has  no  estate ;  but 
how  can  he  help  that,  you  know?  And  yet  my 
friends  are  so  unreasonable  as  to  be  always  teasing 
me  about  him,  because  he  has  no  estate  ;  but  I  am 
sure  he  has  that  that  is  better  .than  an  estate ;  for 
he  is  a  good-natured,  ingenious,  modest,  civil,  tall, 
well-bred,  handsome  man  ;  and  I  am  obliged  to  him 
for  his  civilities  ever  since  I  saw  him.  I  forgot  to 
tell  you  that  he  has  black  eyes,  and  looks  upon  me 
now  and  then  as  if  he  had  tears  in  them.  And  yet 
my  friends  are  so  unreasonable,  that  they  would 
have  me  be  uncivil  to  him.  I  have  a  good  portion 
which  they  cannot  hinder  me  of,  and  I  shall  be 
fourteen  on  the  29  th  day  of  August  next,  and  am 
therefore  willing  to  settle  in  the  world  as  soon  as  I 
can,  and  so  is  Mr.  Shapely.  But  every  body  I  ad- 
vise with  here  is  poor  Mr.  Shapely's  enemy.  I  de- 
sire therefore  you  will  give  me  your  advice,  for  I 
know  you  are  a  wise  man ;  and  if  you  advise  me 
well,  I  am  resolved  to  follow  it.  I  heartily  wish  you 
could  see  him  dance  ;  and  am,  Sir, 

'  Your  most  humble  servant, 

'B.  D. 
'  He  loves  your  Spectators  mightily.' 

t 

S  By  Addison ;  dated  perhaps  from  Chelsea. 


No.  476.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  345 


No.  476,     FRIDAY,  September  5,  1712. 

— ^Lucidas  ordo. 

Hoe.  Ats  Poet  il. 

Method  gives  light 

Among  my  daily  papers  which  I  Viestow  on  the  pub- 
lic, there  are  some  which  are  written  with  regu- 
larity and  method,  and  others  that  run  out  into  the 
wildness  of  those  compositions  which  go  by  the 
name  of  essays.  As  for  the  first,  I  have  the  whole 
scheme  of  the  discourse  in  my  mind  before  I  set  pen 
to  paper.  In  the  other  kind  of  writing,  it  is  suffi- 
cient that  I  have  several  thoughts  on  a  subject,  with- 
out troubling  myself  to  range  them  in  such  order, 
that  they  may  seem  to  grow  out  of  one  another, 
and  be  disposed  under  the  proper  heads.  Seneca 
and  Montaigne  are  patterns  for  writing  in  this  last 
kind,^  as  Tully  and  Aristotle  excel  in  the  other. 
When  I  read  an  author  of  genius  who  writes  with- 
out method,  I  fancy  myself  in  a  wood  that  abounds 
with  a  great  many  noble  objects,  rising  among  one 
another  in  the  greatest  confusion  and  disorder. 
When  I  read  a  methodical  discourse,  I  am  in  a  re- 
gular plantation,  and  can  place  myself  in  its  several 
centres,  so  as  to  take  a  view  of  all  the  lines  and 
walks  that  are  struck  from  them.  You  may  ramble 
in  the  one  a  whole  day  together,  and  every  moment 
discover  something  or  other  that  is  new  to  you ; 
but  when  you  have  done,  you  will  have  but  a  con- 
fused imperfect  notion  of  the  place  :  in  the  other 
your  eye  commands  the  whole  prospect,  and  gives 
you  such  an  idea  of  it  as  is  not  easily  worn  out  of 
the  memory. 

Irregularity  and  want  of  method  are  only  sup- 


346  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  476. 

portable  in  men  of  great  learning  or  genius,  who  are 
often  too  full  to  be  exact,  and  therefore  choose  to 
throw  down  their  pearls  in  heaps  before  the  reader, 
rather  than  be  at  the  pains  of  stringing  them. 

Method  is  of  advantage  to  a  work,  both  in  re- 
spect to  the  writer  and  the  reader.  In  regard  to  the 
first,  it  is  a  great  help  to  his  invention.  When  a  man 
has  planned  his  discourse,  he  finds  a  great  many 
thoughts  rising  out  of  every  head,  that  do  not  offer 
themselves  upon  the  general  survey  of  a  subject. 
His  thoughts  are  at  the  same  time  more  intelligible, 
and  better  discover  their  drift  and  meaning,  when 
they  are  placed  in  their  proper  lights,  and  follow 
one  another  in  a  regular  series,  than  when  they  are 
thrown  together  without  order  and  connection. 
There  is  always  an  obscurity  in  confusion;  and  the 
same  sentence  that  would  have  enlightened  the 
reader  in  one  part  of  a  discourse,  perplexes  him  in 
another.  For  the  same  reason,  likewise,  every 
thought  in  a  methodical  discourse  shows  itself  in  its 
greatest  beauty,  as  the  several  figures  in  a  piece  of 
painting  receive  new  grace  from  their  disposition  in 
the  picture.  The  advantages  of  a  reader  from  a 
methodical  discourse  are  correspondent  with  those 
of  the  writer.  He  comprehends  every  thing  easily, 
takes  it  in  with  pleasure,  and  retains  it  long. 

Method  is  not  less  requisite  in  ordinary  conver- 
sation than  in  writing,  provided  a  man  would  talk  to 
make  himself  understood.  I,  who  hear  a  thousand 
coffee-house  debates  every  day,  am  very  sensible  of 
this  want  of  method  in  the  thoughts  of  my  honest 
countrymen.  There  is  not  one  dispute  in  ten  which 
is  managed  in  those  schools  of  politics,  where,  after 
the  three  first  sentences,  the  question  is  not  entirely 
lost.     Our  disputants  put  me  in  mind  of  the  cuttle- 


No.  476.]  THE  SPECTATOE.  347 

fish,  that  when  he  is  unable  to  extricate  himself, 
blackens  all  the  water  about  him  till  he  becomes  in- 
visible. The  man  who  does  not  know  how  to  me- 
thodize his  thoughts,  has  always,  to  borrow  a  phrase 
from  the  Dispensary,  '  A  barren  superfluity  of 
words  ;'  the  fruit  is  lost  amidst  the  exuberance  of 
leaves. 

Tom  Puzzle  is  one  of  the  most  eminent  immetho- 
dical  disputants  of  any  that  has  fallen  under  my  ob- 
servation. Tom  has  read  enough  to  make  him  very 
impertinent ;  his  knowledge  is  sufficient  to  raise 
doubts,  but  not  to  clear  them.  It  is  pity  that  he  has 
so  much  learning,  or  that  he  has  not  a  great  deal 
more.  With  these  qualifications  Tom  sets  up  for  a 
free-thinker,  finds  a  great  many  things  to  blame  in 
the  constitution  of  his  country,  and  gives  shrewd  in- 
timations that  he  does  not  believe  in  another  world. 
In  short.  Puzzle  is  an  atheist  as  much  as  his  parts 
wiU  give  him  leave.  He  has  got  about  half  a  dozen 
common-place  topics,  into  which  he  never  fails  to 
turn  the  conversation,  whatever  was  the  occasion  of 
it.  Though  the  matter  in  debate  be  about  Douay 
or  Denain,  it  is  ten  to  one  but  half  his  discourse  runs 
upon  the  unreasonableness  of  bigotry  and  priest- 
craft. This  makes  Mr.  Puzzle  the  admiration  of  aU 
those  who  have  less  sense  than  himself,  and  the  con- 
tempt of  all  those  who  have  more.  There  is  none 
in  town  whom  Tom  dreads  so  much  as  my  friend 
Will  Dry.  WiU,  who'  is  acquainted  with  Tom's  lo- 
gic, when  he  finds  him  running  off"  the  question, 
cuts  him  short  with  a  '  What  then  ?  We  allow  aU 
this  to  be  true  ;  but  what  is  it  to  our  present  pur- 
pose ?'  I  have  known  Tom  eloquent  half  an  hour 
together,  and  triumphing,  as  he  thought,  in  the  su- 
periority of  the  argument,  when  he  has  been  non- 


348  THE  SPECTATOR.  [^0.  477. 

plussed  on  a  sudden  by  Mr.  Dry's  desiring  him  to 
tell  the  company  what  it  was  that  he  endeavoured 
to  prove.  In  short,  Dry  is  a  man  of  a  clear  metho- 
dical head,  but  few  words,  and  gains  the  same  ad- 
vantages over  Puzzle  that  a  small  body  of  regular 
troops  would  gain  over  a  numberless  undisciplined 
militia. 

C." 

*»*  At  Woodford  in  Essex,  upon  Epping-forest,  is  kept  a  boarding- 
school  for  young  gentlemen,  by  James  Greenwood,  author  of  the  Essay 
towards  a  Practical  English  Grammar.     See  Tatler,  No.  23i,  and  note. 

•flf  Just  published,  A  Poem  upon  Tea,  by  Peter  Motteux.  Sold  by 
John  Morphew,  near  Stationer's-hall,  price  6d.  See  Tatler,  Ifo.  106,  note ; 
and  Spect.  No.  552. 


No.  477.     SATUKDAT,  Septkmbee  6,  1712. 

— An  me  ludit  amabilis 
Insania  f  audire  et  videoT  pios 
Erraro  per  Incos,  amceDse 
Quos  et  aqufB  subeunt  ct  auroa. 

Hob.  8,  Oi  iv.  5. 
— ^Does  airy  faocy  cheat 
My  mind,  well-pleas'd  with  the  deceit  ? 
I  seem  to  hear,  I  seem  to  move, 
And  waoder  thro'  the  happy  grove, 
"Where  smooth  springs  flow,  and  mtumMng  breezo 
Wantons  through  the  waving  trees, 

Obbech. 

'sib, 

'  Having  lately  read  your  essay  on  The 
Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,'  I  was  so  taken  with 
your  thoughts  upon  some  of  our  English  gardens, 
that  I  cannot  forbear  troubling  you  with  a  letter 
upon  that  subject.  I  am  one,  you  must  know,  who 
am  looked  upon  as  an  humourist  in  gardening.     I 

■i  By  Addison,  dated  perhaps  from  Chelsea,  or  sketched  at  college. 
'  See  Spect.  No.  411,  to  421,  inclusive. 


No.  477.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  349 

have  several  acres  about  my  Louse,  wMcli  I  call  my 
garden,  and  which  a  skilful  gardener  would  not 
know  what  to  call.  It  is  a  confusion  of  kitchen  and 
parterre,  orchard  and  flower  garden,  which  lie  so 
mixed  and  interwoven  with  one  another,  that  if  a  for- 
eigner, who  had  seen  nothing  of  our  country,  should 
be  conveyed  into  my  garden  at  his  first  landing,  he 
would  look  upon  it  as  a  natural  wilderness,  and  one  of 
the  uncultivated  parts  of  our  country.  My  flowers 
grow  up  in  several  parts  of  the  garden  in  the  greatest 
luxuriancy  and  profusion.  I  am  so  far  from  being 
fond  of  any  particular  one,  by  reason  of  its  rarity, 
that  if  I  meet  with  any  one  in  the  field  which  pleases 
me,  I  give  it  a  place  in  my  garden.  By  this  means, 
when  a  stranger  walks  with  me,  he  is  surprised  to  see 
several  large  spots  of  ground  covered  with  ten  thou- 
sand different  colours,  and  has  often  singled  out 
flowers  that  he  might  have  met  with  under  a  common 
hedge,  in  a  field,  or  in  a  meadow,  as  some  of  the 
greatest  beauties  of  the  place.  The  only  method  I 
observe  in  this  particular,  is  to  range  in  the  same 
quarter  the  products  of  the  same  season,  that  they 
may  make  their  appearance  together,  and  compose  a 
picture  of  the  greatest  variety.  There  is  the  same 
irregularity  in  my  plantations,  which  run  into  as 
great  a  wilderness  as  their  natures  will  permit.  I  take 
in  none  that  do  not  naturally  rejoice  in  the  soil ;  and 
am  pleased,  when  I  am  walking  in  a  labyrinth  of  my 
own  raising,  not  to  know  whether  the  next  tree  I 
shall  meet  with  is  an  apple,  or  an  oak,  an  elm,  or  a 
pear-tree.  My  kitchen  has  likewise  its  particular 
quarters  assigned  it;  for,  besides  the  wholesome 
luxury  which  that  place  abounds  with,  I  have  always 
thought  a  kitchen  garden  a  more  pleasant  sight  than 
the  finest  orangery  or  artificial  green-house.     I  love 


350  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No.  477. 

to  see  every  thing  in  its  perfection ;  and  am  more 
pleased  to  survey  my  rows  of  colworts  and  cabbages, 
with  a  thousand  nameless  pot-herbs,  springing  up  in 
their  fuU  fragrancy  and  verdure,  than  to  see  the  ten- 
der plants  of  foreign  countries  kept  alive  by  artifi- 
cial heats,  or  withering  in  an  air  and  soil  that  are 
not  adapted  to  them.  I  must  not  omit,  that  there  is 
a  fountain  rising  in  the  upper  part  of  my  garden, 
which  forms  a  little  wandering  rill,  and  administers 
to  the  pleasure  as  well  as  the  plenty  of  the  place. 
I  have  so  conducted  it,  that  it  visits  most  of  my 
plantations ;  and  have  taken  particular  care  to  let  it 
run  in  the  same  manner  as  it  would  do  in  an  open 
field,  so  that  it  generally  passes  through  banks  of 
violets  and  primroses,  plats  of  willow,  or  other  plants, 
that  seem  to  be  of  its  own  producing.  There  is 
another  circumstance  in  which  I  am  very  particular, 
or,  as  my  neighbours  call  me,  very  whimsical :  as  my 
garden  invites  into  it  all  the  birds  of  the  country, 
by  offering  them  the  conveniency  of  springs  and 
shades,  solitude  and  shelter,  I  do  not  suff'er  any  one 
to  destroy  their  nests  in  the  spring,  or  drive  them 
from  their  usual  haunts  in  fruit-time ;  I  value  my 
garden  more  for  being  full  of  black-birds  than  cher- 
ries, and  very  frankly  give  them  fruit  for  their  songs. 
By  this  means  I  have  always  the  music  of  the  season 
in  its  perfection,  and  am  highly  delighted  to  see  the 
jay  or  the  thrush  hopping  about  my  walks,  and  shoot- 
ing before  my  eye  across  the  several  little  glades 
and  alleys  that  I  pass  through.  I  think  there  are  as 
many  kinds  of  gardening  as  of  poetry :  your  makers 
of  parterres  and  flower-gardens  are  epigrammatists 
and  sonneteers  in  this  art ;  contrivers  of  bowers  and 
grottos,  treiUages  and  cascades,  are  romance  writers. 
Wise  and  London  are  our  heroic  poets ;  and  if,  as  a 


No.  477.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  351 

critic,  I  may  single  out  any  passage  of  their  -works 
to  commend,  I  shall  take  notice  of  that  part  in  the 
upper  garden  at  Kensington,  which  was  at  first 
nothing  but  a  gravel  pit.  It  must  have  been  a  fine 
genius  for  gardening  that  could  have  thought  of 
forming  such  an  unsightly  hollow  into  so  beautiful 
an  area,  and  to  have  hit  the  eye  with  so  uncommon 
and  agreeable  a  scene  as  that  which  it  is  now  wrought 
into.  To  give  this  particular  spot  of  ground  the 
greater  effect,  they  have  made  a  very  pleasing  con- 
trast ;  for  as  on  one  side  of  the  walk  you  see  this  hol- 
low bason,  with  its  several  little  plantations,  lying  so 
conveniently  under  the  eye  of  the  beholder ;  on  the 
other  side  of  it  there  appears  a  seeming  mount,  made 
up  of  trees  rising  one  higher  than  another,  in  pro- 
portion as  they  approach  the  centre.  A  spectator, 
who  has  not  heard  this  account  of  it,  would  think 
this  circular  mount  was  not  only  a  real  one,  but  that 
it  had  been  actually  scooped  out  of  that  hollow  space 
which  I  have  before  mentioned.  I  never  yet  met 
with  any  one,  who  has  walked  in  this  garden,  who 
was  not  struck  with  that  part  of  it  which  I  have  here 
mentioned.  As  for  myself,  you  will  find,  by  the  ac- 
count which  I  have  already  given  you,  that  my  com- 
positions in  gardening  are  altogether  after  the  Pin- 
daric manner,  and  run  into  the  beautiful  wildness  of 
nature,  without  affecting  the  nicer  elegances  of  art. 
What  I  am  now  going  to  mention  will,  perhaps,  de- 
serve your  attention  more  than  any  thing  I  have  yet 
said.  I  find  that,  in  the  discourse  which  I  spoke  of 
at  the  beginning  of  my  letter,  you  are  against  filling 
an  English  garden  with  evergreens ;  and  indeed  I  am 
so  far  of  your  opinion,  that  I  can  by  no  means  think 
the  verdure  of  an  evergreen  comparable  to  that 
which  shoots  out  annually,  and  clothes  our  trees  in 


352  THE  SPECTATOE.  [No.  477. 

the  summer  season.  But  I  have  often  wondered  that 
those  who  are  like  myself,  and  love  to  live  in  gardens, 
have  never  thought  of  contriving  a  winter  garden, 
which  should  consist  of  such  trees  only  as  never  cast 
their  leaves.  We  have  very  often  little  snatches  of 
sunshine  and  fair  weather  in  the  most  uncomfortable 
parts  of  the  year,  and  have  frequently  several  days 
in  November  and  January  that  are  as  agreeable  as 
any  in  the  finest  months.  At  such  times,  therefore, 
I  think  there  could  not  be  a  greater  pleasure  than  to 
walk  in  such  a  winter-garden  as  I  have  proposed. 
In  the  summer  season  the  whole  country  blooms,  and 
is  a  kind  of  garden ;  for  which  reason  we  are  not  so 
sensible  of  those  beauties  that  at  this  time  may  be 
every  where  met  with ;  but  when  nature  is  in  her 
desolation,  and  presents  us  with  nothing  but  bleak 
and  barren  prospects,  there  is  something  unspeaka- 
bly cheerful  in  the  spot  of  ground  which  is  covered 
with  trees  that  smile  amidst  all  the  rigours-  of  winter, 
and  give  us  a  view  of  the  most  gay  season  in  the  midst 
of  that  which  is  the  most  dead  and  melancholy.  I 
have  so  far  indulged  myself  in  this  thought  that  I 
have  set  apart  a  whole  acre  of  ground  for  the  execu- 
ting of  it.  The  walls  are  covered  with  ivy  instead 
of  vines.  The  laurel,  the  horn-beam,  and  the  holly, 
with  many  other  trees  and  plants  of  the  same  nature, 
grow  so  thick  in  it  that  you  cannot  imagine  a  more 
lively  scene.  The  glowing  redness  of  the  berries, 
with  which  they  are  hung  at  this  time,  vies  with  the 
verdure  of  their  leaves,  and  is  apt  to  inspire  the  heart 
of  the  beholder  with  that  vernal  delight  which  you 
have  somewhere  taken  notice  of  in  your  former  pa- 
pers."    It  is  very  pleasant,  at  the  same  time,  to  see  the 

k  See  Spect.  No.  893. 


No.  478.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  353 

several  kinds  of  birds  retiring  into  this  little  green  spot, 
and  enjoying  themselves  among  the  branches  and 
foliage,  when  my  great  garden,  which  I  have  before 
mentioned  to  you,  does  not  afford  a  single  leaf  for 
their  shelter. 

'  You  must  know.  Sir,  that  I  look  upon  the  plea- 
sure which  we  take  in  a  garden  as  one  of  the  most 
innocent  delights  in  human  life.  A  garden  was  the 
habitation  of  our  first  parents  before  the  fall.  It  is 
naturally  apt  to  fill  the  mind  with  calmness  and 
tranquillity,  and  to  lay  all  its  turbulent  passions  at 
rest.  It  gives  us  a  great  insight  into  the  contrivance 
and  wisdom  of  Providence,  and  suggests  innumera- 
ble subjects  for  meditation.  I  cannot  but  think  the 
very  complacency  and  satisfaction  which  a  man  takes 
in  these  works  of  nature  to  be  a  laudable,  if  not  a 
virtuous,  habit  of  mind.  For  all  which  reasons  I  hope 
you  will  pardon  the  length  of  my  present  letter. 
G}  'lam,  Sib,  &c.' 


No.  478.  MONDAY,  September  8,  1712. 

— tTsns 
Quern  penea  arbitrium  est^  et  jns  et  norma — 

Hon.  Are  Poet  T3. 
Fashion,  sole  arbitress  of  dresa. 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  It  happened  lately  that  a  friend  of  mine, 
who  had  many  things  to  buy  for  his  family,  would 
oblige  me  to  walk  with  him  to  the  shops.  He  was 
very  nice  in  his  way,  and  fond  of  having  every  thing 

•  By  Addison,  dated  perhaps  from  Chelsea,  or  sketched  at  college,  and 
originally  connected  with  his  papers  on  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination. 
VOL.  v.— 23 


354  THE  SPEOTATOB.  [No.  478. 

shown,  which  at  first  made  me  very  uneasy ;  but, 
as  his  humour  still  continued,  the  things  which  I  had 
been  staring  at  along  with  him  began  to  fill  my 
head,  and  led  mp  into  a  set  of  amusing  thoughts  con- 
cerning them. 

'  I  fancied  it  must  be  very  surprising  to  any  one 
who  enters  into  a  detail  of  fashions  to  consider  how 
far  the  vanity  of  mankind  has  laid  itself  out  in  dress, 
what  a  prodigious  number  of  people  it  maintains, 
and  what  a  circulation  of  money  it  occasions.  Pro- 
vidence in  this  case  makes  use  of  the  folly  which  we 
will  not  give  up,  and  it  becomes  instrumental  to  the 
support  of  those  who  are  willing  to  labour.  Hence 
it  is  that  fringe-makers,  lace-men,  tire-women,  and  a 
number  of  other  trades,  which  would  be  useless  in 
a  simple  state  of  nature,  draw  their  subsistence ; 
though  it  is  seldom  seen  that  such  as  these  are  ex- 
tremely rich,  because  their  original  fault  of  being 
founded  upon  vanity,  keeps  them  poor  by  the  light 
inconstancy  of  its  nature.  The  variableness  of  fashion 
turns  the  stream  of  business,  which  flows  from  it, 
now  into  one  channel,  and  anon  into  another ;  so 
that  the  different  sets  of  people  sink  or  flourish  in 
their  turns  by  it. 

'  From  the  shops  we  retired  to  the  tavern,  where 
I  found  my  friend  express  so  much  satisfaction  for 
the  bargains  he  had  made,  that  my  moral  reflections 
(if  I  had  told  them)  might  have  passed  for  a  reproof ; 
so  I  chose  rather  to  fall  in  with  him,  and  let  the  dis- 
course run  upon  the  use  of  fashions. 

'  Here  we  remembered  how  much  man  is  gov- 
erned by  his  senses,  how  lively  he  is  struck  by  the 
objects  which  appear  to  him  in  an  agreeable  man- 
ner, how  much  clothes  contribute  to  make  us  agree- 


No.  478.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  355 

able  objects,  and  how  much  we  owe  it  to  ourselves 
that  we  should  appear  so." 

'  "We  considered  man  as  belonging  to  societies ; 
societies  as  formed  of  different  ranks  ;  and  different 
ranks  distinguished  by  habits,  that  all  proper  duty 
or  respect  might  attend  their  appearance. 

'  We  took  notice  of  several  advantages  which  are 
met  with  in  the  occurrences  of  conversation :  how  the 
bashful  man  has  been  sometimes  so  raised,  as  to  ex- 
press himself  with  an  air  of  freedom,  when  he  ima- 
gines that  his  habit  introduces  him  to  company  with 
a  becoming  manner ;  and  again,  how  a  fool  in  fine 
clothes  shall  be  suddenly  heard  with  attention,  till 
he  has  betrayed  himself;  whereas  a  man  of  sense, 
appearing  with  a  dress  of  negligence,  shall  be  but 
coldly  received,  till  he  be  proved  by  time,  and  es- 
tablished in  a  character.  Such  things  as  these  we 
could  recollect  to  have  happened  to  our  own  know- 
ledge so  very  often,  that  we  concluded  the  author 
had  his  reasons,  who  advises  his  son  to  go  in  dress 
rather  above  his  fortune  than  under  it." 

'At  last  the  subject  seemed  so  considerable,  that 
it  was  proposed  to  have  a  repository  built  for  fash- 
ions, as  there  are  chambers  for  medals  and  other 
rarities.  The  building  maybe  shaped  as  that  which 
stands  among  the  pyramids,  in  the  form  of  a  wo- 
man's head."  This  may  be  raised  upon  pillars, 
whose  ornaments  shall  bear  a  just  relation  to  the 
design.  Thus  there  may  be  an  imitation  of  fringe 
carved  in  the  base,  a  sort  of  appearance  of  lace  in 
the  frieze,  and  a  representation  of  curling  locks,  with 
bows  of  riband  sloping  over  them,  may  fill  up  the 

■"  Spect  No.  360. 

"  Osborne's  Advice  to  his  Son 

">  The  sphinx. 


356  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  478. 

■work  of  the  cornice.  The  inside  may  be  divided 
into  two  apartments  appropriated  to  each  sex.  The 
apartments  may  be  filled  with  shelves,  on  which 
boxes  are  to  stand  as  regularly  as  books  in  a  library. 
These  are  to  have  folding-doors,  which,  being 
opened,  you  are  to  behold  a  baby^  dressed  out  in 
some  fashion  which  has  flourished,  and  standing 
upon  a  pedestal,  where  the  time  of  its  reign  is 
marked  down.  For  its  farther  regulation,  let  it  be 
ordered,  that  every  one  who  invents  a  fashion  shall 
bring  in  his  box,  whose  front  he  may  at  pleasure 
have  either  worked  or  painted  with  some  amorous 
or  gay  device,  that,  like  books  with  gilded  leaves 
and  covers,  it  may  the  sooner  draw  the  eyes  of  the 
beholders.  And  to  the  end  that  these  may  be  pre- 
served with  all  due  care,  let  there  be  a  keeper  ap- 
pointed, who  shall  be  a  gentleman  qualified  with  a 
competent  knowledge  in  clothes ;  so  that  by  this 
means  the  place  will  be  a  comfortable  support  for 
some  beau  who  has  spent  his  estate  in  dressing. 

'  The  reasons  offered,  by  which  we  expected  to 
gain  the  approbation  of  the  public,  were  as  follows : 

'First,  That  every  one  who  is  considerable 
enough  to  be  a  mode,  and  has  any  imperfection  of 
nature  or  chance,  which  it  is  possible  to  hide  by 
the  advantage  of  clothes,  may,  by  coming  to  this 
repository,  be  furnished  herself,  and  furnish  all  who 
are  under  the  same  misfortune,  with  the  most  agree- 
able manner  of  concealing  it ;  and  that,  on  the  other 
side,  every  one,  who  has  any  beauty  in  face  or  shape, 
may  also  be  furnished  with  the  most  agreeable  man- 
ner of  showing  it. 

'  Secondly,  That  whereas  some  of  our  young  gen- 

f  No.  211. 


No.  478.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  357 

tlemen,  who  travel,  give  us  great  reason  to  suspect 
that  they  only  go  abroad  to  make  or  improve  a  fan- 
cy for  dress,  a  project  of  this  nature  may  be  a  means 
to  keep  them  at  home,  which  is  in  effect  the  keep- 
ing of  so  much  money  in  the  kingdom.  And  per- 
haps the  balance  of  fashion  in  Europe,  which  now 
leans  upon  the  side  of  France,  may  be  so  altered  for 
the  future,  that  it  may  become  as  common  with 
Frenchmen  to  come  to  England  for  their  finishing 
stroke  of  breeding,  as  it  has  been  for  Englishmen  to 
go  to  France  for  it. 

'  Thirdly,  Whereas  several  great  scholars,  who 
might  have  been  otherwise  useful  to  the  world,  have 
spent  their  time  in  studying  to  describe  the  dresses 
of  the  ancients  from  dark  hints,  which  they  are  fain 
to  interpret  and  support  with  much  learning ;  it  will 
from  henceforth  happen,  that  they  shall  be  freed 
from  the  trouble,  and  the  world  from  useless  vol- 
umes. This  project  will  be  a  registry,  to  which 
posterity  may  have  recourse,  for  the  clearing  such 
obscure  passages  as  tend  that  way  in  authors ;  and 
therefore  we  shall  not  for  the  future  submit  ourselves 
to  the  learning  of  etymology,  which  might  persuade 
the  age  to  come,  that  the  farthingale  was  worn  for 
cheapness,  or  the  furbelow  for  warmth. 

'  Fourthly,  Whereas  they,  who  are  old  them- 
selves, have  often  a  way  of  railing  at  the  extrava- 
gance of  youth,  and  the  whole  age  in  which  their 
children  live ;  it  is  hoped  that  this  ill-humour  will 
be  much  suppressed,  when  we  can  have  recourse  to 
the  fashions  of  their  times,  produce  them  in  our  vin- 
dication, and  be  able  to  show,  that  it  might  have 
been  as  expensive  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time  only  to 
wash  and  quill  a  ruff,  as  it  is  now  to  buy  cravats  or 
neck  handkerchiefs. 


358  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  478. 

'  We  desire  also  to  have  it  taken  notice  of,  that 
because  we  "would  show  a  particular  respect  to  for- 
eigners, which  may  induce  them  to  perfect  their 
breeding  here  in  a  knowledge  which  is  very  proper 
for  pretty  gentlemen,  we  have  conceived  the  motto 
for  the  house  in  the  learned  language.  There  is  to 
be  a  picture  over  the  door,  with  a  looking-glass  and 
a  dressing  chair  in  the  middle  of  it :  then  on  one 
side  are  to  be  seen,  above  one  another,  patch-boxes, 
pin-cushions,  and  little  bottles ;  on  the  other  pow- 
der-bags, puffs,  combs,  and  brushes  ;  beyond  these, 
swords  with  fine  knots,  whose  points  are  hidden, 
and  fans  almost  closed,  with  the  handles  downward, 
are  to  stand  out  interchangeably  from  the  sides,  till 
they  meet  at  the  top,  and  form  a  semicircle  over  the 
rest  of  the  figures :  beneath  all,  the  writing  is  to  run 
in  this  pretty  sounding  manner : 

"  Adeste,  O  quotquot  sunt,  Veneres,  Gratise,  Cupidines, 
En  vobis  adsunt  in  promptu 
Faces,  vincula,  spicula ; 
Hino  eligite,  sumite,  regite." 

"All  ye  Venuses,  Graces,  and  Cupids,  attend : 
See  prepared  to  your  hands, 
Darts,  torches,  and  bands : 
Your  weapons  here  choose,  and  your  empire  extend." 

'  I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'A.  B.' 

The  proposal  of  my  correspondent  I  cannot  but 
look  upon  as  an  ingenious  method  of  placing  per- 
sons (whose  parts  make  them  ambitious  to  exert 
themselves  in  frivolous  things)  in  a  rank  by  them- 
selves. In  order  to  this,  I  would  propose  that  there 
be  a  board  of  directors  of  the  fashionable  society  ; 
and,  because  it  is  a  matter  of  too  much  weight  for  a 
private  man  to  determine  alone,  I  should  be  highly 


No.  478.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  359 

obliged  to  my  correspondents,  if  they  would  give  in 
lists  of  persons  qualified  for  this  trust.  If  the  chief 
coffee-houses,  the  conversations  of  which  places  are 
carried  on  by  persons,  each  of  whom  has  his  little 
number  of  followers  and  admirers,  would  name  from 
among  themselves  two  or  three  to  be  inserted,  they 
should  be  put  up  with  great  faithfulness.  Old  beaux 
are  to  be  presented  in  the  first  place ;  but  as  that 
sect,  with  relation  to  dress,  is  almost  extinct,  it  will, 
I  fear,  be  absolutely  necessary  to  take  in  all  time- 
servers,  properly  so  deemed ;  that  is,  such  as,  with- 
out any  conviction  of  conscience,  or  view  of  interest, 
change  with  the  world,  and  that  merely  from  a  ter- 
ror of  being  out  of  fashion.  Such  also,  who  from 
.  facility  of  temper  and  too  much  obsequiousness,  are 
vicious  against  their  will,  and  follow  leaders  whom 
they  do  not  approve,  for  want  of  courage  to  go  their 
own  way,  are  capable  persons  for  this  superinten- 
dency.  Those  who  are  loth  to  grow  old,  or  would 
do  any  thing  contrary  to  the  course  and  order  of 
things,  out  of  fondness  to  be  in  fashion,  are  proper 
candidates.  To  conclude,  those  who  are  in  fashion 
without  apparent  merit,  must  be  supposed  to  have 
latent  qualities,  which  would  appear  in  a  post  of 
direction ;  and  therefore  are  to  be  regarded  in  form- 
ing these  lists.  Any,  who  shall  be  pleased  accord- 
ing to  these,  or  what  farther  qualifications  may  occur 
to  himself,  to  send  a  list,  is  desired  to  do  it  within 
fourteen  days  after  this  date. 

N.  B.  The  iplace  of  the  physician  to  this  society, 
according  to  the  last-mentioned  qualification,  is  al- 
ready engaged.  T.' 

1  By  Steele.    See  No.  324 ;  note  on  signature  T,  at  the  end. 


360  THE   SPECTATOK.  ^0.  479. 


No.  479.     TUESDAY,  Septembbr  9,  1712. 

— Dare  jura  maritis. 

Hoe.  Are  Poet  398. 
To  regulate  the  matrimonial  life. 

Many  are  the  epistles  I  every  day  receive  from  hus- 
bands who  complain  of  vanity,  pride,  but,  above  all, 
ill-nature  in  their  wives.  I  cannot  tell  how  it  is, 
but  I  think  I  see  in  all  their  letters  that  the  cause  of 
their  uneasiness  is  in  themselves ;  and  indeed  I  have 
hardly  ever  observed  the  married  condition  un- 
happy, but  from  want  of  judgment  or  temper  in  the 
man.  The  truth  is,  we  generally  make  love  in  a 
style,  and  with  sentiments  very  unfit  for  ordinary  , 
life  :  they  are  half  theatrical,  and  half  romantic.  By 
this  means  we  raise  our  imaginations  to  what  is  not 
to  be  expected  in  human  life ;  and,  because  we  did 
not  beforehand  think  of  the  creature  we  were  ena- 
moured of,  as  subject  to  dishumour,  age,  sickness, 
impatience,  or  suUenness,  but  altogether  considered 
her  as  the  object  of  joy;  human  nature  itself  is  of- 
ten imputed  to  her  as  her  particular  imperfection, 
or  defect. 

I  take  it  to  be  a  rule  proper  to  be  observed  in 
all  occurrences  of  life,  but  more  especially  in  the 
domestic,  or  matrimonial  part  of  it,  to  preserve  al- 
ways a  disposition  to  be  pleased.  This  cannot  be 
supported  but  by  considering  things  in  their  right 
light,  and  as  Nature  has  formed  them,  and  not  as  our 
own  fancies  or  appetites  would  have  them.  He  then 
who  took  a  young  lady  to  his  bed,  with  no  other 
consideration  than  the  expectation  of  scenes  of  dal- 
liance, and  thought  of  her  (as  I  said  before)  only  as 
she  was  to  administer  to  the  gratification  of  desire  ; 


No.  479.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  361 

as  that  desire  flags,  will,  without  her  fault,  think  her 
charms  and  her  merit  abated ;  from  hence  must  fol- 
low indifference,  dislike,  peevishness  and  rage.  But 
the  man  who  brings  his  reason  to  support  his  passion, 
and  beholds  what  he  loves,  as  liable  to  all  the  cala- 
mities of  human  life  both  in  body  and  mind,  and  even 
at  the  best  what  must  bring  upon  him  new  cares, 
and  new  relations;  such  a  lover,  I  say,  will  form 
himself  accordingly,  and  adapt  his  mind  to  the  na- 
ture of  his  circumstances.  This  latter  person  will  be 
prepared  to  be  a  father,  a  friend,  an  advocate,  a  stew- 
ard for  people  yet  unborn,  and  has  proper  affections 
ready  for  every  incident  in  the  marriage  state.  Such 
a  man  can  hear  the  cries  of  children  with  pity  in- 
stead of  anger ;  and,  when  they  run  over  his  head, 
he  is  not  disturbed  at  their  noise,  but  is  glad  of  their 
mirth  and  health.  Tom  Trusty  has  told  me,  that  he 
thinks  it  doubles  his  attention  to  the  most  intricate 
affair  he  is  about,  to  hear  his  children,  for  whom  all 
his  cares  are  applied,  make  a  noise  in  the  next  room : 
on  the  other  side.  Will  Sparkish  cannot  put  on  his 
periwig,  or  adjust  his  cravat  at  the  glass,  for  the 
noise  of  those  damned  nurses,  and  squalling  brats ; 
and  then  ends  with  a  gallant  reflection  upon  the 
comforts  of  matrimony,  runs  out  of  hearing,  and 
drives  to  the  chocolate-house. 

According  as  'the  husband  is  disposed  in  himself, 
every  circumstance  of  his  life  is  to  give  him  torment, 
or  pleasure.  When  the  affection  is  well  placed,  and 
supported  by  the  considerations  of  duty,  honour,  and 
friendship,  which  are  in  the  highest  degree  engaged 
in  this  alliance,  there  can  nothing  rise  in  the  common 
course  of  life,  or  from  the  blows  or  favours  of  for- 
tune, in  which  a  man  will  not  find  matters  of  some 
delight  unknown  to  a  single  condition. 


362  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  479. 

He  that  sincerely  loves  his  -wife  and  family,  and 
studies  to  improve  that  affection  in  himself,  conceives 
pleasure  from  the  most  indifferent  things  ;  while  the 
married  man,  who  has  not  bid  adieu  to  the  fashions 
and  false  gallantries  of  the  town,  is  perplexed  with 
every  thing  around  him.  In  both  these  cases  men 
c!!annot,  indeed,  make  a  sillier  figure,  than  in  repeat- 
ing such  pleasures  and  pains  to  the  rest  of  the  world  ; 
but  I  speak  of  them  only,  as  they  sit  upon  those  who 
are  involved  in  them.  As  I  visit  all  sorts  of  people 
I  cannot  indeed  but  smile,  when  the  good  lady  tells 
her  husband  what  extraordinary  things  the  child 
spoke  since  he  went  out.  No  longer  than  yesterday 
I  was  prevailed  with  to  go  home  with  a  fond  hus- 
band ;  and  his  wife  told  him,  that  his  son,  of  his  own 
head,  when  the  clock  in  the  parlor  struck  two,  said 
papa  would  come  home  to  dinner  presently.  While 
the  father  has  him  in  a  rapture  in  his  arms,  and  is 
drowning  him  with  kisses,  the  wife  tells  me  he  is  but 
just  four  years  old.  Then  they  both  struggle  for 
him,  and  bring  him  up  to  me,  and  repeat  his  obser- 
vation of  two  o'clock.  I  was  called  upon,  by  looks 
upon  the  child,  and  then  at  me,  to  say  something, 
and  I  told  the  father  that  this  remark  of  the  infant 
of  his  coming  home,  and  joining  the  time  with  it, 
was  a  certain  indication  that  he  would  be  a  great 
historian  and  chronologer.  They  are  neither  of  them 
fools,  yet  received  my  compliment  with  great  ac- 
knowledgment of  my  prescience.  I  fared  very  well 
at  dinner,  and  heard  many  other  notable  sayings  of 
their  heir,  which  would  have  given  very  little  enter- 
tainment to  one  less  turned  to  reflection  than  I  was  ; 
but  it  was  a  pleasing  speculation  to  remark  on  the 
happiness  of  a  life,  in  which  things  of  no  moment 
give  occasion  of  hope,  self-satisfaction,  and  triumph. 


No.  479,]  THE  SPECTATOR.  363 

On  the  other  hand,  I  have  known  an  ill-natured  cox- 
comb, who  was  hardly  improved  in  any  thing  but 
bulk,  for  want  of  this  disposition,  silence  the  whole 
family  as  a  set  of  silly  women  and  children,  for  re- 
counting things  which  were  really  above  his  own 
capacity. 

When  I  say  all  this  I  cannbt  deny  but  there  are 
perverse  jades  that  fall  to  men's  lots,  with  whom  it 
requires  more  than  common  proficiency  in  philo- 
sophy to  be  able  to  live.  When  these  are  joined  to 
men  of  warm  spirits,  without  temper,  or  learning, 
,  they  are  frequently  corrected  with  stripes ;  but  one 
of  our  famous  lawyers '  is  of  opinion,  that  this  ought 
to  be  used  sparingly ;  as  I  remember,  those  are  his 
very  words  ;  but  as  it  is  proper  to  draw  some  spirit- 
ual use  out  of  all  afflictions,  I  should  rather  recom- 
mend to  those  who  are  visited  with  women  of  spirit, 
to  form  "themselves  for  the  world  by  patience  at 
home.  Socrates,  who  is  by  all  accounts  the  undoubted 
head  of  the  sect  of  the  hen-pecked,  owned  and  ac- 
knowledged that  he  owed  great  part  of  his  virtue 
to  the  exercise  which  his  useful  wife  constantly  gave 
it.  There  are  several  good  instructions  may  be 
drawn  from  his  wise  answers  to  the  people  of  less 
fortitude  than  himself  on  this  subject.  A  friend,  with 
indignation,  asked  how  so  good  a  man  could  live 
with  so  violent  a  creature  ?  He  observed  to  him, 
that  they  who  learn  to  keep  a  good  seat  on  horse- 
back, mount  the  least  manageable  they  can  get ;  and, 
when  they  have  mastered  them,  they  are  sure  never 
to  be  discomposed,  on  the  backs  of  steeds  less  restive. 
At  several  times,  to  different  persons,  on  the  same 
subject  he  has  said,  '  My  dear  friend,  you  are  behol- 

'  Braoton.     See  Spect.  No.  482,  paragr.  1. 


364  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  479. 

den  to  Xantippe,  that  I  bear  so  well  your  flying  out 
in  a  dispute.'  To  another,  'My  hen  clacks  very 
much,  but  she  brings  me  chickens.  They  that  live 
in  a  trading  street  are  not  disturbed  at  the  passage 
of  carts.'  I  would  have,  if  possible,  a  wise  man  be 
contented  with  his  lot,  even  with  a  shrew ;  for  though 
he  cannot  make  her '  better,  he  may,  you  see,  make 
himself  better  by  her  means. 

But,  instead  of  pursuing  my  design  of  displaying 
conjugal  love  in  its  natural  beauties  and  attractions, 
I  am  got  into  tales  to  the  disadvantage  of  that  state 
of  life.  I  must  say,  therefore,  that  I  am  verily  per- 
suaded that  whatever  is  delightful  in  human  life,  is 
to  be  enjoyed  in  greater  perfection  in  the  married 
than  in  the  single  condition.  He  that  has  this  pas- 
sion in  perfection,  in  occasions  of  joy,  can  say  to 
himself,  besides  his  own  satisfaction,  '  How  happy 
will  this  make  my  wife  and  children ! '  up'on  occur- 
rences of  distress,  or  danger,  can  comfort  himself, 
'  But  all  this  while  my  wife  and  children  are  safe.' 
There  is  something  in  it  that  doubles  satisfactions, 
because  others  participate  them ;  and  dispels  afflic- 
tions, because  others  are  exempt  from  them.  All 
who  are  married  without  this  relish  of  their  circum- 
stance are  in  either  a  tasteless  indolence  and  negli- 
gence which  is  hardly  to  be  attained,  or  else  live  in 
the  hourly  repetition  of  sharp  answers,  eager  up- 
braidings,  and  distracting  reproaches.  In  a  word, 
the  married  state,  with  and  without  the  affection 
suitable  to  it,  is  the  completest  image  of  heaven  and 
hell  we  are  capable  of  receiving  in  this  life. 

ry  B 
'  By  Steele.    See  No.  482 ;  and  No.  324,  note  on  the  signature  T. 


No.  480.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  365 


No.  480.    WEDKESDAY,  September  10,  1712. 

Eesponsare  cupidinibus,  contemnere  honores, 
Tortis ;  et  in  seipso  totus,  teres  atque  rotundas. 

Hob.  2  Sat  vii.  85. 
He,  Sir,  is  proof  to  grandeur,  pride,  or  pelf, 
And  greater  still,  he's  master  of  himself: 
Not  to  and  fro  by  fears  and  factions  hurl'd. 
But  loose  to  all  th'  interests  of  the  world : 
And  while  the  world  turns  round,  entire  and  wholo, 
He  keeps  the  sacred  tenour  of  his  soul. 

Pitt. 

The  other  day,  looking  over  those  old  manuscripts 
of  which  I  have  formerly  given  some  account,  and 
which  relate  to  the  character  of  the  mighty  Phara- 
mond  of  France,  and  the  close  friendship  between 
him  and  his  friend  Bucrate,*  I  found  among  the 
letters  which  had  been  in  the  custody  of  the  latter 
an  epistle  from  a  country  gentleman  to  Pharamond, 
wherein  he  excuses  himself  from  coming  to  court. 
The  gentleman,  it  seems,  was  contented  with  his 
condition,  had  formerly  been  in  the  king's  service ; 
but  at  the  writing  the  following  letter  had,  from 
leisure  and  reflection,  quite  another  sense  of  things 
than  that  which  he  had  in  the  more  active  part  of 
his  life. 

'  Monsieur  Ghezluy  to  Pharamond. 

'  DREAD  SIR, 

'I  HAVE  from  your  own  hand  (inclosed 
under  the  cover  of  Mr.  Eucrate,  of  your  majesty's 
bed-chamber)  a  letter  which  invites  me  to  court. 
I  understand  this  great  honour  to  be  done  me  out 
of  respect  and  inclination  to  me,  rather  than  regard 
to  your  own  service  :  for  which  reason  I  beg  leave 

*  See  Spect.  Nos.  76,  84,  and  97. 


366  THE   SPECTATOB.  [^0.  480. 

to  lay  before  your  majesty  my  reasons  for  declining 
to  depart  from  home ;  and  -will  not  doubt  but,  as 
your  motive  in  desiring  my  attendance  was  to  make 
me  an  happier  man,  when  you  think  that  will  not 
be  effected  by  my  remove,  you  will  permit  me  to 
stay  where  I  am.  Those  who  have  an  ambition  to 
appear  in  courts,  have  ever  an  opinion  that  their 
persons  or  their  talents  are  particularly  formed  for 
the  service  or  ornament  of  that  place  ;  or  else  are 
hurried  by  downright  desire  of  gain,  or  what  they 
call  honour,  to  take  upon  themselves  whatever  the 
generosity  of  their  master  can  give  them  opportu- 
nities to  grasp  at.  But  your  goodness  shall  not  be 
thus  imposed  upon  by  me  :  I  will  therefore  confess 
to  you,  that  frequent  solitude,  and  long  conversation 
with  such  who  know  no  arts  which  polish  life,  have 
made  me  the  plainest  creature  in  your  dominions. 
Those  less  capacities  of  moving  with  a  good  grace, 
bearing  a  ready  affability  to  all  around  me,  and 
acting  with  ease  before  many,  have  quite  left  me. 
I  am  come  to  that,  with  regard  to  my  person,  that 
I  consider  it  only  as  a  machine  I  am  obliged  to  take 
care  of,  in  order  to  enjoy  my  soul  in  its  faculties 
with  alacrity ;  well  remembering,  that  this  habita- 
tion of  clay  will  in  a  few  years  be  a  meaner  piece  of 
earth  than  any  utensil  about  my  house.  When  this  is, 
as  it  really  is,  the  most  frequent  reflection  I  have,  you 
will  easily  imagine  how  well  I  should  become  a  draw- 
ing-room: add  to  this,  what  shall  a  man  without 
desires  do  about  the  generous  Pharamond?  Monsieur 
Eucrate  has  hinted  to  me  that  you  have  thoughts  of 
distinguishing  me  with  titles.  As  for  myself,  in  the 
temper  of  my  present  mind,  appellations  of  honour 
would  but  embarrass  discourse,  and  new  behaviour 
towards  me,  perplex  me  in  every  habitude  of  life. 


No.  480.]  THE  SPECTATOR,  367 

I  am  also  to  acknowledge  to  you,  that  my  children, 
of  -whom  your  majesty  condescended  to  inquire,  are 
all  of  them  mean,  both  in  their  persons  and  genius. 
The  estate  my  eldest  son  is  heir  to,  is  more  than  he 
can  enjoy  with  a  good  grace.  My  self-love  will  not 
carry  me  so  far  as  to  impose  upon  mankind  the  ad- 
vancement of  persons  (merely  for  their  being  related 
to  me)  into  high  distinctions,  who  ought  for  their 
own  sakes,  as  well  as  that  of  the  public,  to  affect 
obscurity.  I  wish,  my  generous  prince,  as  it  is  in 
your  power  to  give  honours  and  ofi&ces,  it  were  also 
to  give  talents  suitable  to  them:  were  it  so,  the 
noble  Pharamond  would  reward  the  zeal  of  my 
youth  with  abilities  to  do  him  service  in  my  age. 

'  Those  who  accept  of  favour  without  merit  sup- 
port themselves  in  it  at  the  expense  of  your  majesty. 
Give  me  leave  to  tell  you.  Sir,  this  is  the  reason 
that  we  in  the  country  hear  so  often  repeated  the 
word  prerogative.  That  part  of  your  law  which  is 
reserved  in  yourself,  for  the  readier  service  and 
good  of  the  public,  slight  men  are  eternally  buzzing 
in  our  ears,  to  cover  their  own  follies  and  miscar- 
riages. It  would  be  an  addition  to  the  high  favour 
you  have  done  me,  if  you  would  let  Eucrate  send 
me  word  how  often  and  in  what  cases  you  allow  a 
constable  to  insist  upon  the  prerogative.  From  the 
highest  to  the  lowest  of&cer  in  your  dominions, 
something  of  their  own  carriage  they  would  exempt 
from  examination,  under  the  shelter  of  the  word 
prerogative.  I  would  fain,  most  noble  Pharamond, 
see  one  of  your  officers  assert  your  prerogative  by 
good  and  gracious  actions.  When  is  it  used  to 
help  the  afflicted,  to  rescue  the  innocent,  to  comfort 
the  stranger  ?  Uncommon  methods,  apparently  un- 
dertaken to  attain  worthy  ends,  would  never  make 


368  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  480. 

power  invidious.  You  see,  Sir,  I  talk  to  you  with 
the  freedom  your  noble  nature  approves  in  all  whom, 
you  admit  to  your  conversation. 

'  But,  to  return  to  your  majesty's  letter,  I  humbly 
conceive  that  all  distinctions  are  useful  to  men,  only 
as  they  are  to  act  in  public  ;  and  it  would  be  a  ro- 
mantic madness  for  a  man  to  be  a  lord  in  his  closet. 
Nothing  can  be  honourable  to  a  man  apart  from  the 
world,  but  the  reflection  upon  worthy  actions ;  and 
he  that  places  honour  in  a  consciousness  of  well- 
doing, will  have  but  little  relish  for  any  outward 
homage  that  is  paid  him,  since  what  gives  him  dis- 
tinction to  himself  cannot  come  within  the  observa- 
tion of  his  beholders.  Thus  all  the  words  of  lord- 
ship, honour,  and  grace,  are  only  repetitions  to  a 
man  that  the  king  has  ordered  him  to  be  called  so  ; 
but  no  evidences  that  there  is  any  thing  in  himself, 
that  would  give  the  man,  who  applies  to  him,  those 
ideas,  without  the  creation  of  his  master. 

I  have,  most  noble  Pharamond,  all  honours  and 
all  titles  in  your  own  approbation ;  I  triumph  in  them 
as  they  are  your  gift,  I  refuse  them  as  they  are  to 
give  me  the  observation  of  others.  Indulge  me,  my 
noble  master,  in  this  chastity  of  renown ;  let  me 
know  myself  in  the  favour  of  Pharamond ;  and  look 
down  upon  the  applause  of  the  people.  I  am, 
'  In  all  duty  and  loyalty, 

'  Your  Majesty's  most  obedient 
'  subject  and  servant, 

'  Jean  Chbzluy. 


'  I  NEED  not  tell  with  what  disadvantages 
men  of  low  fortunes  and  great  modesty  come  into 
the  world;  -what  wrong  measures  their  diffidence  of 


No.  480.]  THE  SPEOTATOB.  369 

themselves  and  fear  of  offending  often  oblige  them 
to  take ;  and  what  a  pity  it  is  that  their  greatest 
virtues  and  qualities,  that  should  soonest  recommend 
them,  are  the  main  obstacles  in  the  way  of  their  pre- 
ferment. 

'  This,  Sir,  is  my  case ;  I  was  bred  at  a  country- 
school,  where  I  learned  Latin  and  Greek.  The  mis- 
fortunes of  my  family  forced  me  up  to  town,  where 
a  profession  of  the  politer  sort  has  protected  me 
against  infamy  and  want.  I  am  now  clerk  to  a 
lawyer,  and  in  times  of  vacancy  and  recess  from  busi- 
ness have  made  myself  master  of  Italian  and  French ; 
and  though  the  progress  I  have  made  in  my  busi- 
ness has  gained  me  reputat^pn  enough  for  one  of  my 
standing,  yet  my  mind  suggests  to  me  every  day 
that  it  is  not  upon  that  foundation  I  am  to  build  my 
fortune. 

'  The  person  I  have  my  present  dependance  upon, 
has  it  in  his  nature,  as  well  as  in  his  power,  to  ad- 
vance me,  by  recommending  me  to  a  gentleman  that 
is  going  beyond  sea  in  a  public  employment.  I 
know  the  printing  this  letter  would  point  me  out  to 
those  I  want  confidence  to  speak  to,  and  I  hope  it 
is  not  in  your  power  to  refuse  making  any  body 
happy. 

September  9,  1712.  '  YourS,  &C. 

'M.  D.'^ 

rp  n 

°  By  Steele.    See  No.  234,  note  on  signature  T. 

•  This  letter  was  written  by  Mr.  Robert  Harper  of  Lineolu's-inn,  an 
eminent  conveyancer.  Steele  omitted  some  parts  of  it,  and  made  some 
alterations  in  it ;  at  least  the  author's  original  draught  of  it  in  his  letter- 
book,  communicated  to  the  annotator  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Harper  of  the 
British  Museum,  is  somewhat  diflferent.  This  letter  was  sent  to  the  Speot. 
Aug.  9,  1712,  as  appears  from  the  author's  autograph  endorsement.  See 
Tat.  No.  269. 

VOL.  V. — 24 


370  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  481. 


No.  481.     THURSDAY,  September  11,  1712. 

—  Utinon 
Gompositas  melius  cum  Bitbo  Bacchins,  ii^nB 
Acres  procurrunt — 

Hob.  1.  Sat  yil  19. 
Who  shall  decide  when  doctors  disagree, 
And  soundest  casuists  doubt  like  you  and  me  ? 

POPB. 

It  is  sometimes  pleasant  enough  to  consider  the  dif- 
ferent notions  which  diflferent  persons  have  of  the 
same  thing.  If  men  of  low  condition  very  often  set 
a  value  on  things,  which  are  not  prized  by  those  who 
are  in  a  higher  station  of  life,  there  are  many  things 
these  esteem  which  ar^  in  no  value  among  persons 
of  an  inferior  rank.  Common  people  are,  in  particu- 
lar, very  much  astonished  when  they  hear  of  those 
solemn  contests  and  debates  which  are  made  among 
the  great  upon  the  punctilios  of  a  public  ceremony ; 
and  wonder  to  hear  that  any  business  of  consequence 
should  be  retarded  by  those  little  circumstances, 
which  they  represent  to  themselves  as  trifling  and 
insignificant.  I  am  mightily  pleased  with  a  porter's 
decision  in  one  of  Mr.  Southern's  plays,  which  is 
founded  upon  that  fine  distress  of  a  virtuous  woman's 
marrying  a  second  husband,  while  her  first  was  yet 
living.  The  first  husband,  who  was  supposed  to 
have  been  dead,  returning  to  his  house  after  a  long 
absence,  raises  a  noble  perplexity  for  the  tragic  part 
of  the  play.  In  the  mean  while,  the  nurse  and  the 
porter  cohferring  upon  the  difficulties  that  would 
ensue  in  such  a  case,  honest  Samson  thinks  the  mat- 
ter may  be  easily  decided,  and  solves  it  very  judi- 
ciously by  the  old  proverb,  that,  if,  his  first  master 
be  still  living,  '  the  man  must  have  his  mare  again.' 
There  is  nothing  in  my  time  which  has  so  much  sur- 


No.  481. J  THE   SPECTATOR.  371 

prised  and  confounded  the  greatest  part  of  my  honest 
countrymen,  as  the  present  controversy  between 
count  Rechteren  and  monsieur  Mesnager,  which 
employs  the  wise  heads  of  so  many  nations,  and 
holds  all  the  affairs  of  Europe  in  suspense. 

Upon  my  going  into  a  coffee-house  yesterday, 
and  lending  an  ear  to  the  next  table,  which  was  en- 
compassed with  a  circle  of  inferior  politicians,  one 
of  them,  after  having  read  over  the  news  very  at- 
tentively, broke  out  into  the  following  remarks.  '  I 
am  afraid,'  says  he,  '  this  unhappy  rupture  between 
the  footmen  at  Utrecht  will  retard  the  peace  of 
Christendom.  I  wish  the  pope  may  not  be  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  His  holiness  has  a  very  good  hand 
at  fomenting  a  division,  as  the  poor  Swiss  cantons 
have  lately  experienced  to  their  cost.  If  monsieur 
What-d'ye-call-him's  domestics  will  not  come  to  an 
accommodation,  I  do  not  know  how  the  quarrel  can 
be  ended  but  by  a  religious  war.' 

'Why,  truly,'  says  a  wiseacre  that  sat  by  him, 
'  were  I  as  the  king  of  France,  I  would  scorn  to  take 
part  with  the  footmen  of  either  side :  here's  all  the 
business  of  Europe  stands  still,  because  monsieur 
Mesnager's  man  has  had  his  head  broke.  If  count 
Rectrum  *  had  given  them  a  pot  of  ale  after  it,  all 
would  have  been  well,  without  any  of  this  bustle  ; 
but  they  say  he's  a  warm  man,  and  does  not  care  to 
be  made  mouths  at' 

Upon  this,  one  that  had  held  his  tongue  hitherto, 
began  to  exert  himself;  declaring,  that  he  was  very 
well  pleased  the  plenipotentiaries  of  our  Christian 
princes  took  this  matter  into  their  serious  considera- 
tion ;  for  the  lackeys  were  never  so  saucy  and  prag- 

»  Count  Eechteren, 


372  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  481. 

matical  as  they  are  now-a-days,  and  that  lie  should 
be  glad  to  see  them  taken  down  in  the  treaty  of 
peace,  if  it  might  be  done  without  prejudice  to  the 
public  affairs. 

One  who  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  ta,ble,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  the  interests  of  the  French  king, 
told  them,  that  they  did  not  take  the  matter  right, 
for  that  his  most  christian  majesty  did  not  resent 
this  matter  because  it  was  an  injury  done  to  mon- 
sieur Mesnager's  footmen;  'for,'  says  he,  'what  are 
monsieur  Mesnager's  footmen  to  him  ?  but  because 
it  was  done  to  his  subjects.  Now,'  says  he,  'let  me 
tell  you,  it  would  look  very  odd  for  a  subject  of 
France  to  have  a  bloody  nose,  and  his  sovereign 
not  to  take  notice  of  it.  He  is  obliged  in  honour 
to  defend  his  people  against  hostilities ;  and,  if  the 
Dutch  will  be  so  insolent  to  a  crowned  head  as,  in 
any  wise,  to  cuff  or  kick  those  who  are  under  his 
protection,  I  think  he  is  in  the  right  to  call  them  to 
an  account  for  it.' 

This  distinction  set  the  controversy  upon  a  new 
foot,  and  seemed  to  be  very  well  approved  by  most 
that  heard  it,  until  a  little  warm  fellow,  who  had 
declared  himself  a  friend  to  the  house  of  Austria, 
fell  most  unmercifully  upon  his  Gallic  majesty,  as 
encouraging  his  subjects  to  make  mouths  at  their 
betters,  and  afterwards  screening  them  from  the 
punishment  that  was  due  to  their  insolence.  To 
which  he  added,  that  the  French  nation  was  so  ad- 
dicted to  grimace,  that,  if  there  was  not  a  stop  put 
to  it  at  the  general  congress,  there  would  be  no 
walking  the  streets  for  them  in  a  time  of  peace, 
especially  if  they  continued  masters  of  the  West 
Indies.  The  little  man  proceeded  with  a  great  deal 
of  warmth,  declaring  that,  if  the  allies  were  of  his 


No.  481.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  373 

mind,  lie  would  oblige  the  French  king  to  burn  his 
galleys,  and  tolerate  the  protestant  religion  in  his 
dominions,  before  he  would  sheath  his  sword.  He 
concluded  with  calling  monsieur  Mesnager  an  in- 
significant prig. 

The  dispute  was  now  growing  very  warm,  and 
one  does  not  know  where  it  would  have  ended,  had 
not  a  young  man  of  about  one-and-twenty,  who 
seems  to  have  been  brought  up  with  an  eye  to  the 
law,  taken  the  debate  into  his  hand,  and  given  it  as 
his  opinion,  that  neither  count  Rechteren  nor  mon- 
sieur Mesnager  had  behaved  themselves  right  in  this 
afiair.  'Count  Rechteren,'  says  he,  'should  have 
made  affidavit  that  his  servants  had  been  affronted, 
and  then  monsieur  Mesnager  would  have  done  him 
justice,  by  taking  away  their  liveries  from  them,  or 
some  other  way  that  he  might  have  thought  the 
most  proper  ;  for,  let  me  tell  you,  if  a  man  makes  a 
mouth  at  me,  I  am  not  to  knock  the  teeth  out  of  it 
for  his  pains.  Then  again,  as  for  monsieur  Mesna- 
ger, upon  his  servants  being  beaten,  why,  he  might 
have  had  his  action  of  assault  and  battery.  But  as 
the  case  now  stands,  if  you  will  have  my  opinion,  I 
think  they  ought  to  bring  it  to  referees.' 

I  heard  a  great  deal  more  of  this  conference,  but 
I  must  confess  with  little  edification  ;  for  all  I  could 
learn  at  last  from  these  honest  gentlemen  was,  that 
the  matter  in  debate  was  of  too  high  a  nature  for 
such  heads  as  theirs,  or  mine,  to  comprehend. 

y  Addison '■was  the  author  of  this  fine  banter  on  political  equabhles, 
dated  from  his  office,  as  the  signature  0  seems  to  imply. 


374  THE   SPECTATOE.  [N'o.  482. 

No  482.     FKIDAY,  September  12,  1712. 

Floriferis  nt  apes  in  saltibns  omnia  libant 

LiJOB.  iii.  11. 
As  from  the  sweetest  flower  the  lab'ring  hee 
Extracts  her  precioas  sweets. 

When  I  have  published  any  single  paper  that  falls 
in  with  the  popular  taste,  and  pleases  more  than  or- 
dinary, it  always  brings  me  in  a  great  return  of 
letters.  My  Tuesday's  discourse,  wherein  I  gave 
several  admonitions  to  the  fraternity  of  the  hen- 
pecked, has  already  produced  me  very  many  cor- 
respondents ;  the  reason  I  cannot  guess  at,  unless  it 
be  that  such  a  discourse  is  of  general  use,  and  every 
married  man's  money.  An  honest  tradesman,  who 
dates  his  letter  from  Cheapside,  sends  me  thanks  in 
the  name  of  a  club,  who,  he  tells  me,  meet  as  often 
as  their  wives  will  give  them  leave,  and  stay  to- 
gether till  they  are  sent  for  home.  He  informs  me, 
that  my  paper  has  administered  great  consolation  to 
their  whole  club,  and  desires  me  to  give  some  far- 
ther account  of  Socrates,  and  to  acquaint  them  in 
whose  reign  he  lived  ;  whether  he  was  a  citizen  or 
a  courtier  ;  whether  he  buried  Xantippe  ;  with  many 
other  particulars ;  for  that,  by  his  sayings,  he  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a  very  wise  man,  and  a  good 
Christian.  Another,  who  writes  himself  Benjamin 
Bamboo,  tells  me  that,  being  coupled  with  a  shrew, 
he  had  endeavoured  to  tame  her  by  such  lawful 
means  as  those  which  I  mentioned  in  my  last  Tues- 
day's paper,  and  that  in  his  wrath  he  had  often  gone 
farther  than  Bracton  allows  in  those  cases  ;  but  that 
for  the  future  he  was  resolved  to  bear  it  like  a  man 
of  temper  and  learning,  and  consider  her  only  as 
one  who  lives  in  his  house  to  teach  him  philosophy. 
Tom  Dapperwit  says,  that  he  agrees  with  me  in  that 


No.  482.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  375 

whole  discourse,  excepting  only  the  last  sentence, 
where  I  affirm  the  married  state  to  be  either  a  heaven 
or  an  hell.  Tom  has  been  at  the  charge  of  a  penny 
upon  this  occasion  to  tell  me,  that  by  his  experience 
it  is  neither  one  nor  the  other,  but  rather  that  mid- 
dle kind  of  state,  commonly  known  by  the  name  of 
purgatory. 

The  fair  sex  have  likewise  obliged  me  with  their 
reflections  upon  the  same  discourse.  A  lady,  who 
calls  herself  Euterpe,  and  seems  a  woman  of  letters, 
asks  me  whether  I  am  for  establishing  the  Salic  law 
in  every  family,  and  why  it  is  not  fit  that  a  woman 
who  has  discretion  and  learning  should  sit  at  the 
helm,  when  the  husband  is  weak  and  illiterate? 
Another,  of  a  quite  contrary  character,  subscribes 
herself  Xantippe,  and  tells  me  that  she  follows  the 
example  of  her  namesake  ;  for,  being  married  to  a 
bookish  man,  who  has  no  knowledge  of  the  world, 
she  is  forced  to  take  their  affairs  into  her  own  hands, 
and  to  spirit  him  up  now  and  then,  that  he  may 
not  grow  musty,  and  unfit  for  conversation. 

After  this  abridgment  of  some  letters  which  are 
come  to  my  hands  upon  this  occasion,  I  shall  publish 
one  of  them  at  large. 

'MR.   SPECTATOR, 

'  You  have  given  us  a  lively  picture  of  that 
kind  of  husband  who  cdmes  under  the  denomination 
of  the  hen-pecked ;  but  I  do  not  remember  that  you 
have  ever  touched  upon  one  that  is  quite  of  the  dif- 
ferent character,  and  who,  in  several  places  in  Eng- 
land, goes  by  the  name  of  "  a  cot-queen."  I  have 
the  misfortune  to  be  joined  for  life  with  one  of  this 
character,  who  in  reality  is  more  a  woman  than  I  am. 
He  was  bred  up  under  the  tuition  of  a  tender  mo- 


376  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No.  482. 

ther,  till  she  had  made  him  as  good  an  housewife 
as  herself.  He  could  preserve  apricots,  and  make 
jellies,  before  he  had  been  two  years  out  of  the  nur- 
sery. He  was  never  suffered  to  go  abroad,  for  fear 
of  catching  cold  :  when  he  should  have  been  hunt- 
ing down  a  buck,  he  was  by  his  mother's  side,  learn- 
ing how  to  season  it,  or  put  it  in  crust ;  and  was 
making  paper  boats  with  his  sisters,  at  an  age  when 
other  young  gentlemen  are  crossing  the  seas,  or 
travelling  into  foreign  countries.  He  has  the  whit- 
est hand  that  you  ever  saw  in  your  life,  and  raises 
paste  better  than  any  woman  in  England.  These 
qualifications  make  him  a  sad  husband.  He  is  per- 
petually in  the  kitchen,  and  has  a  thousand  squab- 
bles with  the  cook-maid.  He  is  better  acquainted 
with  the  milk-score  than  his  steward's  accounts.  I 
fret  to  death  when  I  hear  him  find  fault  with  a  dish 
that  is  not  dressed  to  his  liking,  and  instructing  his 
friends  that  dine  with  him  in  the  best  pickle  for  a 
walnut,  or  sauce  for  an  haunch  of  venison.  With 
all  this,  he  is  a  very  good-natured  husband,  and 
never  fell  out  with  me  in  his  life  but  once,  upon  the 
over-roasting  of  a  dish  of  wild-fowl.  At  the  same 
time  I  must  own,  I  would  rather  he  was  a  man  of  a 
rough  temper,  that  would  treat  me  harshly  some- 
times, than  of  such  an  effeminate  busy  nature,  in  a 
province  that  does  not  belong  to  him.  Since  you 
have  given  us  the  character  Of  a  wife  who  wears  the 
breeches,  pray  say  something  of  a  husband  that 
wears  the  petticoat.  Why  should  not  a  female  cha- 
racter be  as  ridiculous  in  a  man,  as  a  male  charactei 
in  one  of  our  sex  ? 

'  I  am,  &c.' 

^  By  Addison,  dated,  it  is  thought,  from  his  office. 


No.  483.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  377 


No.  483.     SATUEDAY,  September  13,  1712. 

Nee  dens  intersit,  nisi  dlgnns  vindice  nodus 
Inciderit— 

Hob.  Ais  Poet.  191. 
Never  presume  to  make  a  god  appear, 
But  for  a  business  worthy  of  a  god,  a 

EOSOOMMON. 

We  cannot  be  guilty  of  a  greater  act  of  uncharita- 
bleness  than  to  interpret  the  afflictions  which  befal 
our  neighbours  as  punishments  and  judgments.  It 
aggravates  the  evil  to  him  who  suffers,  when  he 
looks  upon  himself  as  the  mark  of  divine  vengeance, 
and  abates  the  compassion  of  those  towards  him, 
who  regard  him  in  so  dreadful  a  light.  This  hu- 
mour, of  turning  every  misfortune  into  a  judgment, 
proceeds  from  wrong  notions  of  religion,  which  in 
its  own  nature  produces  good-will  towards  men, 
and  puts  the  mildest  construction  upon  every  acci- 
dent that  befals  them.  In  this  case,  therefore,  it  is 
not  religion  that  sours  a  man's  temper,  but  it  is  his 
temper  that  sours  his  religion.  People  of  gloomy, 
uncheerful  imaginations,  or  of  envious,  malignant 
tempers,  whatever  kind  of  life  they  are  engaged  in, 
will  discover  their  natural  tincture  of  mind  in  all 
their  thoughts,  words,  and  actions.  As  the  finest 
wines  have  often  the  taste  of  the  soil,  so  even  the 
most  religious  thoughts  often  draw  something  that 
is  particular  from  the  constitution  of  the  mind  in 
which  they  arisa  When  folly  or  superstition  strike 
in  with  this  natural  depravity  of  temper,  it  is  not  in 
the  power  even  of  religion  itself  to  preserve  the 
character  of  the  person  who  is  possessed  with  it 
from  appearing  highly  absurd  and  ridiculous. 

»  The  same  motto  is  prefixed  to  No.  315. 


378  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  483. 

An  old  maiden  gentlewoman,  wliom  I  shall  con- 
ceal under  tke  name  of  Nemesis,  is  the  greatest  dis- 
coverer of  judgments  that  I  have  met  with.  She 
can  tell  you  what  sin  it  was  that  set  such  a  man's 
house  on  fire,  or  blew  down  his  barns.  Talk  to  her 
of  an  unfortunate  young  lady  that  lost  her  beauty 
by  the  small-pox,  she  fetches  a  deep  sigh,  and  tells 
you,  that  when  she  had  a  fine  face  she  was  always 
looking  on  it  in  her  glass.  Tell  her  of  a  piece  of 
good  fortune  that  has  befallen  one  of  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  she  wishes  it  may  prosper  with  her,  but 
her  mother  used  one  of  her  nieces  very  barbarously. 
Her  usual  remarks  turn  upon  people  who  had  great 
estates,  but  never  enjoyed  them  by  reason  of  some 
flaw  in  their  own  or  their  father's  behaviour.  She 
can  give  you  the  reason  why  such  an  one  died 
childless ;  why  such  an  one  was  cut  off  in  the  flower 
of  his  youth  ;  why  such  an  one  was  unhappy  in  her 
marriage  ;  why  one  broke  his  leg  on  such  a  partic- 
ular spot  of  ground ;  and  why  another  was  killed 
with  a  back-sword,  rather  than  with  any  other  kind  of 
weapon.  She  has  a  crime  for  every  misfortune  that 
can  befaJ  any  of  her  acquaintance ;  and  when  she 
hears  of  a  robbery  that  has  been  made,  or  a  murder 
that  has  been  committed,  enlarges  more  on  the  guilt 
of  the  suffering  person,  than  on  that  of  the  thief,  or 
the  assassin.  In  short,  she  is  so  good  a  Christian, 
that  whatever  happens  to  herself  is  a  trial,  and  what- 
ever happens  to  her  neighbours  is  a  judgment. 

The  very  description  of  this  folly,  in  ordinary 
life,  is  sufficient  to  expose  it ;  but,  when  it  appears 
in  a  pomp  and  dignity  of  style,  it  is  very  apt  to 
amuse  and  terrify  the  mind  of  the  reader.  Herodo- 
tus and  Plutarch  very  often  apply  their  judgments 
as  impertinently  as  the  old  woman  I  have  before 


No.  483.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  379 

mentioned,  though  their  manner  of  relating  them 
makes  the  folly  itself  appear  venerable.  Indeed, 
most  historians,  as  well  Christian  as  pagan,  have 
fallen  into  this  idle  superstition,  and  spoken  of  ill 
success,  unforeseen  disasters,  and  terrible  events, 
as  if  they  had  been  let  into  the  secrets  of  .Provi- 
dence, and  made  acquainted  with  that  private  con- 
duct by  which  the  world  is  governed.  One  would 
think  several  of  our  own  historians  in  particular  had 
many  revelations  of  this  kind  made  to  them.  Our 
old  English  monks  seldom  let  any  of  their  kings  de- 
part in  peace,  who  had  endeavoured  to  diminish  the 
power  or  wealth  of  which  the  ecclesiastics  were  in 
those  times  possessed.  William  the  Conqueror's 
race  generally  found  their  judgments  in  the  New 
Forest,  where  their  father  had  pulled  down  churches 
and  monasteries.  In  short,  read  one  of  the  chroni- 
cles written  by  an  author  of  this  frame  of  mind,  and 
you  would  think  you  were  reading  an  history  of  the 
kings  of  Israel  and  Judah,  where  the  historians  were 
actually  inspired,  and  where,  by  a  particular  scheme 
of  Providence,  the  kings  were  distinguished  by  judg- 
ments, or  blessings,  according  as  they  promoted 
idolatry  or  the  worship  of  the  true  God. 

I  cannot  but  look  upon  this  manner  of  judging 
upon  misfortunes,  not  only  to  be  very  uncharitable 
in  regard  to  the  person  on  whom  they  fall,  but  very 
presumptuous  in  regard  to  him  who  is  supposed  to 
inflict  them.  It  is  a  strong  argument  for  a  state  of 
retribution  hereafter,  that  in  this  world  virtuous 
persons  are  very  often  lunfortunate,  and  vicious  per- 
sons prosperous  ;  which  is  wholly  repugnant  to  the 
nature  of  a  Being  who  appears  infinitely  wise  and 
good  in  all  his  works,  unless  we  may  suppose  that 
such  a  promiscuous  and  undistinguishing  distribution 


380  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No;  483. 

of  good  and  evil,  which  was  necessary  for  carrying 
on  the  designs  of  Providence  in  this  life,  will  be 
rectified,  and  made  amends  for,  in  another.  We 
are  not  therefore  to  expect  that  fire  should  fall  from  / 
heaven  in  the  ordinary  course  of  providence ;  nor 
when  we  see  triumphant  guilt  or  depressed  virtue 
in  particular  persons,  that  Omnipotence  will  make 
bare  his  holy  arm  in  the  defence  of  the  one  or  pun- 
ishment of  the  other.  It  is  sufficient  that  there  is  a 
day  set  apart  for  the  hearing  and  requiting  of  both, 
according  to  their  respective  merits. 

The  folly  of  ascribing  temporal  judgments  to 
any  particular  crimes,  may  appear  from  several  con- 
siderations. I  shall  only  mention  two.  Eirst,  that, 
generally  speaking,  there  is  no  calamity  or  affliction 
which  is  supposed  to  have  happened  as  a  judgment 
to  a  vicious  man,  which  does  not  sometimes  happen 
to  men  of  approved  religion  and  virtue.  When 
Diagoras  the  atheist  was  on  board  one  of  the  Athe- 
nian ships,  there  arose  a  very  violent  tempest :  upon 
which  the  mariners  told  him,  that  it  was  a  just  judg- 
ment upon  them  for  having  taken  so  impious  a  man 
on  board.  Diagoras  begged  them  to  look  upon  the 
rest  of  the  ships  that  were  in  the  same  distress,  and 
asked  them  whether  or  no  Diagoras  was  on  board 
every  vessel  in  the  fleet.  We  are  all  involved  in  the 
same  calamities,  and  subject  to  the  same  accidents : 
and,  when  we  see  any  one  of  the  species  under  any 
particular  oppression,  we  should  look  upon  it  as 
arising  from  the  common  lot  of  human  nature,  rather 
than  from  the  guilt  of  the  person  who  suffers. 

Another  consideration,  that  may  check  our  pre- 
sumption in  putting  such  a  construction  upon  a  mis- 
fortune, is  this,  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  know 
what  are  calamities  and  what  are  blessings.  How 
many  accidents  have  passed  for  misfortunes,  which 


No.  483.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  381 

have  turned  to  the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  the 
persons  in  whose  lot  they  have  fallen !  How  many 
disappointments  have  in  their  consequences  saved  a 
man  from  ruin !  If  we  could  look  into  the  effects 
of  every  thing,  we  might  be  allowed  to  pronounce 
boldly  upon  blessings  and  judgments  ;  but  for  a  man 
to  give  his  opinion  of  what  he  sees  but  in  part,  and 
in  its  beginnings,  is  an  unjustifiable  piece  of  rashness 
and  folly.  The  story  of  Biton  and  Clitobus,  which 
was  in  great  reputation  among  the  heathens,  (for  we 
see  it  quoted  by  all  the  ancient  authors,  both  Greek 
and  Latin,  who  have  written  upon  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,)  may  teach  us  a  caution  in  this  matter. 
These  two  brothers,  being  the  sons  of  a  lady  who 
was  priestess  to  Juno,  drew  their  mother's  chariot  to 
the  temple  at  the  time  of  a  great  solemnity,  the  per- 
sons being  absent  who  by  their  office  were  to  have 
drawn  her  chariot  on  that  occasion.  The  mother 
was  so  transported  with  this  instance  of  filial  duty, 
that  she  petitioned  her  goddess  to  bestow  upon  them 
the  greatest  gift  that  could  be  given  to  men  ;  upon 
which  they  were  both  cast  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  the 
next  morning  found  dead  in  the  temple.  This  was 
such  an  event,  as  would  have  been  construed  into  a 
judgment,  had  it  happened  to  the  two  brothers  after 
an  act  of  disobedience,  and  would  doubtless  have 
been  represented  as  such  by  any  ancient  historian 
who  had  given  us  an  account  of  it. 

0.* 

*»*  This  day  is  published,  an  Essay  towards  a  History  of  Dancing, 
in  which  the  whole  art,  and  its  various  excellences,  are  in  some  measure 
explained.  Containing  the  several  sorts  of  dancing,  antique,  and  modern, 
serious,  soenical,  grotesque,  <fec.  With  the  use  of  it  as  an  exercise,  qualifi 
cation,  diversion,  &c. — Spect.  in  folio,  No.  481.  This  was  Weaver's  book. 
—See  Spect.  Nos.  334,  and  466. 

•■  By  Addison,  dated  from  his  office,  as  the  signature  is  thought  to  sig- 
nify. ■» 


382  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  484. 


No.  484.    MONDAY,  September  15, 1712. 

NeqTie  ouiqnam  tam  statim  clanun  iDgenmm  eaf^  ut  possit  emergere ;  nisi  llli  material  oo- 
casio,  fautor  etiam,  commendaix)rqae  contingat. 

Pun.  Epist. 

Nor  has  any  one  so  bright  a  genius  as  to  become  illustrions  instantaueonsly,  unless  it  fortu- 
nately meets  \7lth  occasion  and  employment,  with  patronage  too,  and  commendation. 

'MB.  SPECTATOR, 

'  Of  all  the  young  fellows  who  are  in  their 
progress  through  any  profession,  none  seem  to  have 
so  good  a  title  to  the  protection  of  the  men  of  emi- 
nence in  it,  as  the  modest  man ; "  not  so  much  be- 
cause his  modesty  is  a  certain  indication  of  his  merit, 
as  because  it  is  a  certain  obstacle  to  the  producing  of 
it.  Now,  as  of  all  professions  this  virtue  is  thought 
to  be  more  particularly  unnecessary  in  that  of  the 
law  than  in  any  other,  I  shall  only  apply  myself  to 
the  relief  of  such  who  follow  this  profession  with  this 
disadvantage.  What  aggravates  the  matter  is,  that 
those  persons  who,  the  better  to  prepare  themselves 
for  this  study  have  made  some  progress  in  others, 
have,  by  addicting  themselves  to  letters,  increased 
their  natural  modesty,  and  consequently  heightened 
the  obstruction  to  this  sort  of  preferment ;  so  that 
every  one  of  these  may  emphatically  be  said  to  be 
such  a  one  as  "laboureth  and  taketh  pains,  and  is 
still  the  more  behind."  It  may  be  a  matter  worth 
discussing,  then,  why  that,  which  made  a  youth  ^ 
amiable  to  the  ancients,  should  make  him  appear  so 
ridiculous  to  the  moderns :  and  why,  in  our  days, 
there  should  be  neglect,  and  even  oppression  of 
young  beginners,  instead  of  that  protection  which 
was  the  pride  of  theirs.  In  the  profession  spoken  of, 
it  is  obvious  to  every  one  whose  attendance  is  re- 

"  See  Tat  No.  52,  note  on  sir  C.  Wren. 


No.  484.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  383 

quired  at  Westminster-hall,  witli  -what  difficulty  a 
youth  of  any  modesty  has  been  permitted  to  make 
an  observation,  that  could  in  no  wise  detract  from 
the  merit  of  his  elders,  and  is  absolutely  necessary 
for  the  advancing  his  own.  I  have  often  seen  one 
of  these  not  only  molested  in  his  utterance  of  some- 
thing very  pertinent,  but  even  plundered  of  his 
question,  and  by  a  strong  Serjeant  shouldered  out  of 
his  rank,  which  he  has  recovered  with  much  difficul- 
ty and  confusion.  Now,  as  great  part  of  the  busi- 
ness of  this  profession  might  be  despatched  by  one 
that  perhaps 

"  Abest  virtute  diserti 

Messalea,  neo  soit  quantum  Oascellius  Aulug ;" 

Hoe.  Ars  Poet.  370. 

''  wants  Messala's  powerful  eloquence, 

And  is  less  read  than  deep  Oascellius ;" 

EOSOOMMON. 

so  I  cannot  conceive  the  injustice  done  to  the  public, 
if  the  men  of  reputation  in  this  calling  would  intro- 
duce such  of  the  young  ones  into  business,  whose 
application  to  this  study  will  let  them  into  the  secrets 
of  it,  as  much  as  their  modesty  will  hinder  them  from 
the  practice  :  I  say,  it  would  be  laying  an  everlast- 
ing obligation  upon  a  young  man,  to  be  introduced 
at  first  only  as  a  mute,  till  by  this  countenance,  and 
a  resolution  to  support  the.  good  opinion  conceived 
of  him  in  his  betters,  his  complexion  shall  be  so  well 
settled,  that  the  litigious  of  this  island  may  be  secure 
of  his  obstreperous  aid.  If  I  might  be  indulged  to 
speak  in  the  style  of  a  lawyer,  I  would  say,  that  any 
one  about  thirty  years  of  age  might  make  a  common 
motion  to  the  court  with  as  much  elegance  and  pro- 
priety as  the  most  aged  advocates  in  the  hall. 

'  I  cannot  advance  the  merit  of  modesty  by  any 


384  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  484. 

argument  of  my  own  so  powerfully,  as  by  inquiring 
into  the  sentiments  the  greatest  among  the  ancients 
of  different  ages  entertained  upon  this  virtue.  If  we 
go  back  to  the  days  of  Solomon,  we  shall  find  favour 
a  necessary  consequence  to  a  shame-faced  man. 
Pliny,  the  greatest  lawyer  and  most  elegant  writer 
of  the  age  he  lived  in,  in  several  of  his  epistles  is 
very  solicitous  in  recommending  to  the  public  some 
young  men  of  his  own  profession,  and  very  often 
undertakes  to  become  an  advocate,  upon  condition 
that  some  one  of  these  his  favourites  might  be  joined 
with  him,  in  order  to  produce  the  merit  of  such 
whose  modesty  otherwise  would  have  suppressed  it. 
It  may  seem  very  marvellous  to  a  saucy  modern,  that 
multum  sanguinis^  Tnultum  verecundice^  multum  soUi- 
citudinis  in  ore  •  to  have  the  "  face  first  full  of  blood, 
then  the  countenance  dashed  with  modesty,  and  then 
the  whole  aspect  as  of  one  dying  with  fear,  when  a 
man  begins  to  speak ;"  should  be  esteemed  by  Pliny 
the  necessary  qualifications  of  a  fine  speaker.  Shak- 
speare  also  has  expressed  himself  in  the  same  favour- 
able strain  of  modesty,  when  he  says, 

"  In  the  modesty  of  fearftil  duty 

I  read  as  much  as  from  the  rattling  tongue 
Of  saucy  and  audacious  eloquence." 

'  Now,  since  these  authors  have  professed  them- 
selves for  the  modest  man,  even  in  the  utmost  con- 
fusions of  speech  and  countenance,  why  should  an 
intrepid  utterance  and  a  resolute  vociferation  thun- 
der so  successfully  in  our  courts  of  justice?  And 
why  should  that  confidence  of  speech  and  behaviour, 
which  seems  to  acknowledge  no  superior,  and  to  de- 
fy all  contradiction,  prevail  over  that  deference  and 
resignation  with  which  the  modest  man  implores  that 


No.  484.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  385 

favourable  opinion  which  the  other  seems  to  com- 
mand? 

'  As  the  case  at  present  stands,  the  best  consola- 
tion that  I  can  administer  to  those  who  cannot  get 
into  that  stroke  of  business  (as  the  phrase  is)  which 
they  deserve,  is  to  reckon  every  particular  acquisi- 
tion of  knowledge  in  this  study  as  a  real  increase  of 
their  fortune ;  and  fully  to  believe,  that  one  day  this 
imaginary  gain  will  certainly  be  made  out  by  one 
more  substantial.  I  wish  you  would  talk  to  us  a  lit- 
tle on  this  head ;  you  would  oblige, 

'Sir,  your  humble  servant' 

The  author  of  this  letter  is  certainly  a  man  of 
good  sense  ;  but  I  am  perhaps  particular  in  my  opin- 
ion on  this  occasion ;  for  I  have  observed  that,  under 
the  notion  of  modesty,  men  have  indulged  them- 
selves in  a  spiritless  sheepishness,  and  been  for  ever 
lost  to  themselves,  their  families,  their  friends,  and 
their  country.  When  a  man  has  taken  care  to  pre- 
tend to  nothing  but  what  he  may  justly  aim  at,  and 
can  execute  as  well  as  any  other,  without  injustice  to 
any  other ;  it  is  ever  want  of  breeding,  or  courage, 
to  be  brow-beaten,  or  elbowed  out  of  his  honest  am- 
bition.* I  have  said  often,  modesty  must  be  an  act 
of  the  will,  and  yet  it  always  implies  self-denial :  for, 
if  a  man  has  an  ardent  desire  to  do  what  is  laudable 
for  him  to  perform,  and  from  an  unmanly  bashful- 
ness  shrinks  away,  and  lets  his  merit  languish  in  si- 
lence, he  ought  not  to  be  angry  at  the  world  that  a 
more  unskilful  actor  succeeds  in  his  part  because  he 
has  not  confidence  to  come  upon  the  stage  himself 
The  generosity  my  correspondent  mentions  of  Pliny 

«  See  Speot.  Nos.  231,  234,  and  458. 
VOL,  V. — 25 


386  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  484. 

cannot  be  enough  applauded.  To  cherish  the  dawn 
of  merit,  and  hasten  its  maturity,  was  a  work  worthy 
a  noble  Roman  and  a  liberal  scholar.  That  concern 
which  is  described  in  the  letter,  is  to  all  the  world 
the  greatest  charm  imaginable ;  but  then  the  modest 
man  must  proceed,  and  show  a  latent  resolution  in 
himself;  for  the  admiration  of  his  modesty  arises 
from  the  manifestation  of  his  merit.  I  must  confess 
we  live  in  an  age  wherein  a  few  empty  blusterers 
carry  away  the  praise  of  speaking,  while  a  crowd  of 
fellows  overstocked  with  knowledge  are  run  down 
by  them :  I  say  overstocked,  because  they  certainly 
are  so,  as  to  their  service  of  mankind,  if  from  their 
very  store  they  raise  to  themselves  ideas  of  respect, 
and  greatness  of  the  occasion,  and  I  know  not  what, 
to  disable  themselves  from  explaining  their  thoughts. 
I  must  confess,  when  I  have  seen  Charles  Frankair 
rise  up  with  a  commanding  mien,  and  torrent  of 
handsome  words,  talk  a  mile  off  the  purpose,  and 
drive  down  twenty  bashful  boobies  of  ten  times  his 
sense,  who  at  the  same  time  were  envying  his  impu- 
dence and  despising  his  understanding,  it  has  been 
matter  of  great  mirth  to  me ;  but  it  soon  ended  in  a 
secret  lamentation,  that  the  fountains  of  every  thing 
praiseworthy  in  these  realms,  the  universities,  should 
be  so  muddled  with  a  false  sense  of  this  virtue,  as  to 
produce  men  capable  of  being  so  abused.  I  will  be 
bold  to  say,  that  it  is  a  ridiculous  education  which 
does  not  qualify  a  man  to  make  his  best  appearance 
before  the  greatest  man  and  the  finest  woman  to 
whom  he  can  address  himself  Were  this  judiciously 
corrected  in  the  nurseries  of  learning,  pert  coxcombs 
would  know  their  distance :  but  we  must  bear  with 
this  false  modesty  in  our  young  nobility  and  gentry, 


Na  485.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  387 

till  they  cease  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  to  grow 
dunib  in  the  study  of  eloquence.  T.* 


***  See  more  on  this  subject  in  Tatler,  Wo.  62,  note  on  sir  Christoplier 
Wren.  Speot.  Nos.  373,  390,  242,  206,  350,  400,  454;  and  Guard.  Ifoa.  87, 
and  100. 


No.  485.     TUESDAY,  September  16,  1712. 

Nihil  tarn  firmum  est,  cui  periculam  non  &it,  etiom  ab  inralido. 

Quint.  Oitrt.  1.  vil.  c.  8. 
Tlie  strougest  thiDgs  are  not  so  well  established  as  to  be  out  of  danger  from  the  weakest 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  My  lord  Clarendon  has  observed  that  few 
men  have  done  more  harm  than  those  who  have 
been  thought  to  be  able  to  do  least ;  and  there  can- 
not be  a  greater  error,  than  to  believe  a  man,  whom 
we  see  qualified  with  too  mean  parts  to  do  good,  to 
be  therefore  incapable  of  doing  hurt.  There  is  a 
supply  of  malice,  of  pride,  of.  industry,  and  even  of 
folly,  in  the  weakest,  when  he  sets  his  heart  upon  it, 
that  makes  a  strange  progress  in  mischief.  What 
may  seem  to  the  reader  the  greatest  paradox  in  the 
reflection  of  the  historian  is,  I  suppose,  that  folly, 
which  is  generally  thought  incapable  of  contriving 
or  executing  any  design,  should  be  so  formidable  to 
those  whom  it  exerts  itself  to  molest.  But  this  will 
appear  very  plain,  if  we  remember  that  Solomon 
says  "  it  is  a  sport  to  a  fool  to  do  mischief;  "  and 
that  he  might  the  more  emphatically  express  the  ca- 
lamitous circumstances  of  him  that  falls  under  the 
displeasure  of  this  wanton  person,  the  same  author 

°By  Steele.     See  No.  324,  note  on  signature  T. 


388  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  485. 

adds  farther,  that  "  A  stone  is  heavy,  and  the  sand 
weighty,  but  a  fool's  wrath  is  heavier  than  them 
both."   It  is  impossible  to  suppress  my  own  illustra- 
tion upon  this  matter,  which  is,  that  as  the  man  of 
sagacity  bestirs  himself  to  distress  his  enemy  by  me- 
thods probable  and  reducible  to  reason,  so  the  same 
reason  will  fortify  his  enemy  to  elude  these  his  re- 
gular efforts;  but  your  fool  projects,  acts,  and  con- 
cludes, with  such  notable  inconsistence,  that  no  re- 
gular course  of  thought  can  evade  or  counterplot 
his  prodigious  machinations.     My  frontispiece,  I  be- 
lieve, may  be  extended  to  imply,  that  several  of  our 
misfortunes  arise  from  things,  as  well  as  persons,  that 
seem  of  very  little  consequence.     Into  what  tragical 
extravagances  does  Shakspeare  hurry  Othello,  upon 
the  loss  of  an  handkerchief  only  ?  And  what  barba- 
rities doesDesdemona  suffer  from  a  slight  inadver- 
tency in  regard  to  this  fatal  trifle  ?  If  the  schemes  of 
all  the  enterprising  spirits  were  to  be  carefully  exa- 
mined, some  intervening  accident,  not  considerable 
enough  to  occasion  any  debate  upon,  or  give  them 
any  apprehension  of  ill  consequence  from  it,  will  be 
found  to  be  the  occasion  of  their  ill  success,  rather 
than  any  error  in  points  of  moment  and  difficulty, 
which  naturally  engaged  their  maturest  delibera- 
tions.    If  you  go  to  the  levee  of  any  great  man,  you 
will  observe  him  exceeding  gracious  to  several  very 
insignificant  fellows ;  and  this  upon  this  maxim,  that 
the  neglect  of  any  person  must  arise  from  the  mean 
opinion  you  have  of  his  capacity  to  do  you  any  ser- 
vice or  prejudice  ;  and  that  this  calling  his  sufficien- 
cy in  question  must  give  him  inclination,  and  where 
this  is  there  never  wants  strength  or  opportunity  to 
annoy  you.     There  is  nobody  so  weak  of  invention, 
than  cannot  aggravate  or  make  some  little  stories  to 


No.  485.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  389 

vilify  his  enemy  ;  and  there  are  very  few  but  have 
good  inclinations  to  hear  them ;  and  it  is  infinite 
pleasure  to  the  majority  of  mankind  to  level  a  per- 
son superior  to  his  neighbours.  Besides,  in  all  mat- 
ter of  controversy,  that  party  which  has  the  greatest 
abilities  labours  under  this  prejudice,  that  he  will 
certainly  be  supposed,  upon  account  of  his  abilities, 
to  have  done  an  injury,  when  perhaps  he  has  receiv- 
ed one.  It  would  be  tedious  to  enumerate  the  strokes 
that  nations  and  particular  friends  have  suffered, 
from  persons  very  contemptible. 

'  I  think  Henry  IV.  of  France,  so  formidable  to 
his  neighbours,  could  no  more  be  secured  against 
the  resolute  villany  of  Ravaillac,  than  Villiers  duke 
of  Buckingham  could  be  against  that  of  Felton.  And 
there  is  no  incensed  person  so  destitute,  but  can  pro- 
vide himself  with  a  knife  or  a  pistol,  if  he  finds  sto- 
mach to  apply  them.  That  things  and  persons  of 
no  moment  should  give  such  powerful  revolutions 
to  the  progress  of  those  of  the  greatest,  seems  a  pro- 
vidential disposition  to  baffle  and  abate  the  pride  of 
human  sufficiency ;  as  also  to  engage  the  humanity 
and  benevolence  of  superiors  to  all  below  them,  by 
letting  them  into  this  secret,  that  the  stronger  de- 
pends upon  the  weaker. 

'  I  am.  Sir,  your  very  humble  servant.' 

'  DEAR  SIR,  'Temple,  Paper-buildings. 

'  I  RECEIVED  a  letter  from  you  some  time 
ago,  which  I  should  have  answered  sooner,  had  you 
informed  me  in  yours  to  what  part  of  this  island  I 
might  have  directed  my  impertinence  ;  but  having 
been  let  into  the  knowledge  of  that  matter,  this 
handsome  excuse  is  no  longer  serviceable.  My  neigh- 
bour Pretty  man  shall  be  the  subject  of  this  letter ; 


390  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  485. 

who,  falling  in  with  the  Spectator's  doctrine  concern- 
ing the  month  of  May/  began  from  that  season  to 
dedicate  himself  to  the  service  of  the  fair  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner.  I  observed  at  the  beginning  of  the 
month  he  bought  him  a  new  night-gown,  either  side 
to  be  worn  outwards,  both  equally  gorgeous  and  at- 
tractive ;  but  till  the  end  of  the  month  I  did  not  en- 
ter so  fully  into  the  knowledge  of  his  contrivance, 
as  the  use  of  that  garment  has  since  suggested  to  me. 
Now  you  must  know,  that  all  new  clothes  raise  and 
warm  the  wearer's  imagination  into  a  conceit  of 
his  being  a  much  finer  gentleman  than  he  was  be- 
fore, banishing  all  sobriety  and  reflection,  and  giv- 
ing him  up  to  gallantry  and  amour.  Inflamed  there- 
fore with  this  way  of  thinking,  and  full  of  the  spirit 
of  the  month  of  May,  did  this  merciless  youth  re- 
solve upon  the  business  of  captivating.  At  first  he 
confined  himself  to  his  room  only,  now  and  then  ap- 
pearing at  his  window  in  his  night-gown,  and  prac- 
tising that  easy  posture  which  expresses  the  very 
top  and  dignity  of  languishment.  It  was  pleasant 
to  see  him  diversify  his  loveliness,  sometimes  oblig- 
ing the  passengers  only  with  a  side-face,  with  a  book 
in  his  hand ;  sometimes  being  so  generous  as  to  ex- 
pose the  whole  in  the  fulness  of  its  beauty ;  at  other 
times,  by  a  judicious  throwing  back  his  periwig,  he 
would  throw  in  his  ears.  You  know  he  is  that  sort 
of  person  which  the  mob  call  a  handsome  jolly  man ; 
which  appearance  cannot  miss  of  captives  in  this 
part  of  the  town.  Being  emboldened  by  daily  suc- 
cess, he  leaves  his  room  with  a  resolution  to  extend 
his  conquests ;  and  I  have  apprehended  him  in  his 

'  See  Speot.  Nos.  365,  396,  and  426. 


No.  485.]  THE  SPECTATOE.  391 

night-gown  smiting  in  all  parts  of  this  neighbour- 
hood. 

'  This,  I,  being  of  an  amorous  complexion,  saw 
with  indignation,  and  had  thoughts  of  purchasing  a 
wig  in  these  parts ;  into  which,  being  at  a  greater 
distance  from  the  earth,  I  might  have  thrown  a  very- 
liberal  mixture  of  white  horse-hair,  which  would 
make  a  fairer,  and  consequently  a  handsomer  ap- 
pearance, while  my  situation  would  secure  me  against 
any  discoveries.  But  the  passion  to  the  handsome 
gentleman  seems  to  be  so  fixed  to  that  part  of  the 
building,  that  it  must  be  extremely  difficult  to  divert 
it  to  mine  ;  so  that  I  am  resolved  to  stand  boldly  to 
the  complexion  of  my  own  eyebrow,  and  prepare 
me  an  immense  black  wig  of  the  same  sort  of  struc- 
ture with  that  of  my  rival.  Now  though  by  this  I 
shall  not,  perhaps,  lessen  the  number  of  the  admirers 
of  his  complexion,  I  shall  have  a  fair  chance  to  di- 
vide the  passengers  by  the  irresistible  force  of  mine. 

'  I  expect  sudden  despatches  from  you,  with  ad- 
vice of  the  family  yoij  are  in  now,  how  to  deport 
myself  upon  this  so  delicate  a  conjuncture ;  with 
some  comfortable  resolutions  in  favour  of  the  hand- 
some black  man  against  the  handsome  fair  one. 
'I  am.  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant.' 

N.  B.  He  who  writ  this  is  a  black  man,  two  pair 
of  stairs  ;  the  gentleman  of  whom  he  writes  is  fair, 
and  one  pair  of  stairs. 


e  The  part  of  this  paper  distinguished  by  Addison's  signature  is  not 
reprinted  in  the  edition  of  his  Works  by  Mr.  Tiokell ;  it  seems  therefore 
to  have  been  the  signature  of  the  Templar  to  whose  letter  it  is  subscribed. 


392  THE  SPECTATOB.  [No.  485. 

'MR.  SPECTATOB, 

'  I  ONLT  say,  that  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  say  how  much  I  am.  Yours, 

'  Robin  Shorter. 

'  P.  S.  I  shall  think  it  is  a  little  hard,  if  you  do 
not  take  as  much  notice  of  this  epistle,  as  you  have 
of  the  ingenious  Mr.  Short's.  I  am  not  afraid  to  let 
the  world  see  which  is  the  deeper  man  of  the  two.' 

ADVEKTISEMENT. 

London,  September,  16. 

Whereas  a  young  woman  on  horseback,  in  an 
equestrian  habit,  on  the  13th  instant  in  the  evening, 
met  the  Spectator  within  a  mile  and  a  half  of  this 
town,  and,  flying  in  the  face  of  justice,  pulled  off 
her  hat,  in  which  there  was  a  feather,  with  the  mien 
and  air  of  a  young  officer,  saying  at  the  same  time, 
'  Your  servant,  Mr.  Spec,'  or  words  to  that  purpose ; 
this  is  to  give  notice,  that  if  any  person  can  discover 
the  name  and  place  and  abo^e  of  the  said  offender, 
so  as  she  can  be  brought  to  justice,  the  informant 
shall  have  all  fitting  encouragement. 

T.''  Spect.  in  folio. 

■"  By  Steele.    See  No.  324,  note  on  the  signature  T,  adfinem. 


No.  486.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  393 


No.  486.    WEDNESDAY,  September  17,  1712. 

ATidire  est  operEe  pretium,  procedero  rect© 
Qui  mcechis  non  YUltis — 

Hob.  1  Sat  U.  83. 

IMITATED. 

All  yon  who  think  the  city  no*er  can  thrive, 
Till  ev'ry  cuckold  maker's  flea'd  alive, 
Attend— 

Pope. 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  There  are  very  many  of  my  acquaintance 
followers  of  Socrates,  with  more  particular  regard  to 
that  part  of  his  philosophy  which,  we  among  our- 
selves, call  his  domestics,  under  which  denomina- 
tion, or  title,  we  include  all  the  coujugal  joys  and 
sufferings.  We  have  indeed  with  very  great  plea- 
sure observed  the  honour  you  do  the  whole  fraterni- 
ty of  the  hen-pecked  in  placing  that  illustrious  man 
at  our  head,  and  it  does  in  a  very  great  measure  baf- 
fle the  raillery  of  pert  rogues,  who  have  no  advan- 
tage above  us  but  in  that  they  are  single.  But,  when 
you  look  about  into  the  crowd  of  mankind,  you  will 
find  the  fair  sex  reigns  with  greater  tyranny  over 
lovers  than  husbands.  You  shall  hardly  meet  one 
in  a  thousand  who  is  wholly  exempt  from  their  do- 
minion, and  those  that  are  so  are  capable  of  no  taste 
of  life,  and  breathe  and  walk  about  the  earth  as  in- 
significants.  But  I  am  going  to  desire  your  farther 
favour  in  behalf  of  our  harmless  brotherhood,  and 
hope  you  will  show  in  a  true  light  the  unmarried 
hen-pecked,  as  well  as  you  have  done  justice  to  us 
who  submit  to  the  conduct  of  our  wives.  I  am  very 
particularly  acquainted  with  one  who  is  under  en- 
tire submission  to  a  kind  girl,  as  he  calls  her ;  and 
though  he  knows  I  have  been  witness  both  to  the 
ill  usage  he  has  received  from  her,  and  his  inability 


394  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  486. 

to  resist  her  tyranny,  he  still  pretends  to  make  a  jest 
of  me  for  a  little  more  than  ordinary  obsequious- 
ness to  my  spouse.  No  longer  than  Tuesday  last  he 
took  me  with  him  to  visit  his  mistress ;  and  he  hav- 
ing, it  seems,  been  a  little  in  disgrace  before,  thought 
by  bringing  me  with  him  she  would  constrain  her- 
self, and  insensibly  fall  into  a  general  discourse  with 
him ;  and  so  he  might  break  the  ice,  and  save  him- 
self all  the  ordinary  compunctions  and  mortifications 
she  used  to  make  him  suffer  before  she  would  be 
reconciled  after  any  act  of  rebellion  on  his  part. 
When  we  came  into  the  room,  we  were  received 
with  the  utmost  coldness  ;  and  when  he  presented 
me  as  Mr.  Such-a-one,  his  very  good  friend,  she  just 
had  patience  to  suffer  my  salutation  ;  but  when  he 
himself,  with  a  very  gay  air,  offered  to  follow  me, 
she  gave  him  a  thundering  box  on  the  ear,  called 
him  a  pitiful  poor-spirited  wretch — ^how  durst  he  see 
her  face  ?  His  wig  and  hat  fell  on  different  parts 
of  the  floor.  She  seized  the  wig  too  soon  for  him  to 
recover  it,  and  kicking  it  down  stairs,  threw  herself 
into  an  opposite  room,  pulling  the  door  after  her 
with  a  force,  that  you  would  have  thought  the 
hinges  would  have  given  way.  We  went  down,  you 
must  think,  with  no  very  good  countenances  ;  and, 
as  we  sneaked  off  and  were  driving  home  together, 
he  confessed  to  me,  that  her  anger  was  thus  highly 
raised,  because  he  did  not  think  fit  to  fight  a  gen- 
tleman who  had  said  she  was  what  she  was  ;  "  but," 
says  he,  "a  kind  letter  or  two,  or  fifty  pieces,  will 
put  her  in  humour  again."  I  asked  him  why  he  did 
not  part  with  her  ;  he  answered,  he  loved  her  with 
all  the  tenderness  imaginable,  and  she  had  too  many 
charms  to  be  abandoned  for  a  little  quickness  of 
spirit.     Thus  does  this  illegitimate  hen-pecked  over- 


No.  486.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  395 

look  the  hussy's  having  no  regard  to  his  very  life 
and  fame,  in  putting  him  upon  an  infamous  dispute 
about  her  reputation  :  yet  has  he  the  confidence  to 
laugh  at  me,  because  I  obey  my  poor  dear  in  keep- 
ing out  of  harm's  way,  and  not  staying  too  late  from 
my  own  family,  to  pass  "through  the  hazards  of  a 
town  full  of  ranters  and  debauchees.  You  that  are 
a  philosopher  should  urge  in  our  behalf,  that,  when 
we  bear  with  a  forward  woman,  our  patience  is  pre- 
served, in  consideration  that  a  breach  with  her  might 
be  a  dishonour  to  children  who  are  descended  from 
us,  and  whose  concern  makes  us  tolerate  a  thousand 
frailties,  for  fear  they  should  redound  dishonour 
upon  the  innocent.  This  and  the  like  circumstances, 
which  carry  with  them  the  most  valuable  regards  of 
human  life,  may  be  mentioned  for  our  long-suffering ; 
but  in  the  case  of  gallants,  they  swallow  ill  usage 
from  one  to  whom  they  have  no  obligation,  but  from 
a  base  passion,  which  it  is  mean  to  indulge,  and 
which  it  would  be  glorious  to  overcome. 

'  These  sort  of  fellows  are  very  numerous,  and 
some  have  been  conspicuously  such,  without  shame ; 
nay,  they  have  carried  on  the  jest  in  the  very  arti- 
cle of  death,  and,  to  the  diminution  of  the  wealth 
and  happiness  of  their  families,  in  bar  of  those  hon- 
ourably near  to  them,  have  left  immense  wealth  to 
their  paramours.  What  is  this  but  being  a  cully  in 
the  grave !  Sure  this  is  being  hen-pecked  with  a 
vengean  ce !  But,  without  dwelling  upon  these  less 
frequent  instances  of  eminent  cuUyism,  what  is  there 
so  common  as  to  hear  a  fellow  curse  his  fate  that  he 
cannot  get  rid  of  a  passion  to  a  jilt,  and  quote  a  half 
line  out  of  a  miscellany  poem  to  prove  his  weakness 
is  natural  ?  If  they  will  go  on  thus,  I  have  nothing 
to  say  to  it ;  but  then  let  them  not  pretend  to  be 


396  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  486. 

free  all  this  while,  and  laugh  at  us  poor  married  pa- 
tients. 

,  '  I  have  known  one  wench  in  this  town  carry  a 
haughty  dominion  over  her  lovers  so  well,  that  she 
has  at  the  same  time  been  kept  by  a  sea-captain  in 
the  Straits,  a  merchant  in  the  city,  a  country  gen- 
tleman in  Hampshire,  and  had  all  her  correspon- 
dences managed  by  one  whom  she  kept  for  her  own 
uses.  This  happy  man  (as  the  phrase  is)  used  to 
write  very  punctually,  every  post,  letters  for  the 
mistress  to  transcribe.  He  would  sit  in  his  night- 
gown and  slippers,  and  be  as  grave  giving  an  ac- 
count, only  changing  names,  that  there  was  nothing 
in  these  idle  reports  they  had  heard  of  such  a  scoun- 
drel as  one  of  the  other  lovers  was ;  and  how  could 
he  think  she  could  condescend  so  low,  after  such  a 
fine  gentleman  as  each  of  them  ?  For  the  same  epis- 
tle said  the  same  thing  to,  and  of,  every  one  of  them. 
And  so  Mr.  Secretary  and  his  lady  went  to  bed  with 
great  order. 

'  To  be  short,  Mr.  Spectator,  we  husbands  shall 
never  make  the  figure  we  ought  in  the  imaginations 
of  young  men  growing  up  in  the  world,  except  you 
can  bring  it  about  that  a  man  of  the  town  shall  be 
as  infamous  a  character  as  a  woman  of  the  town. 
But,  of  all  that  I  have  met  with  in  my  time,  com- 
mend me  to  Betty  Duall :  she  is  the  wife  of  a  sailor, 
and  the  kept  mistress  of  a  man  of  quality;  she 
dwells  with  the  latter  during  the  sea-faring  of  the 
former.  The  husband  asks  no  questions,  sees  his 
apartments  furnished  with  riches  not  his  when  he 
comes  into  port,  and  the  lover  is  as  joyful  as  a  man 
arrived  at  his  haven  when  the  other  puts  to  sea. 
Betty  is  the  most  eminently  victorious  of  any  of  her 
sex,  and  ought  to  stand  recorded  the  only  woman 


No.  487. J  THE   SPECTATOE.  397 

of  the  age  in  which  she  lives,  who  has  possessed  at 
the  same  time  two  abused,  and  two  contented — ' 

T.' 


No.  487.    THUESDAY,  September  18,  1712. 

— Ciim  prostrata  sopore 
Urget  membra  quies,  et  mens  sine  pondere  Indit 

Pete. 
While  sleep  oppresses  the  tir'd  limbs,  the  mind 
Plays  without  weight,  and  wantons  nnconfln'd. 

Though  there  are  many  authors  who  have  written 
on  dreams,  they  have  generally  considered  them 
only  as  revelations  of  what  has  already  happened  in 
distant  parts  of  the  world,  or  as  presages  of  what  is 
to  happen  in  future  periods  of  time. 

I  shall  consider  this  subject  in  another  light,  as 
dreams  may  give  us  some  idea  of  the  great  excel- 
lency of  a  human  soul,  and  some  intimations  of  its 
independency  on  matter. 

In  the  first  place,  our  dreams  are  great  instances 
of  that  activity  which  is  natural  to  the  human  soul, 
and  which  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  sleep  to  deaden 
or  abate.  When  the  man  appears  tired  and  worn 
out  with  the  labours  of  the  day,  this  active  part  in 
his  composition  is  still  busied  and  unwearied.  When 
the  organs  of  sense  want  their  due  repose  and  neces- 
sary reparations,  and  the  body  is  no  longer  able  to 
keep  pace  with  that  spiritual  substance  to  which 
it  is  united,  the  soul  exerts  herself  in  her  several 
faculties,  and  continues  in  action  until  her  partner 
is  again  qualified  to  bear  her  company.     In  this 

'  By  Steele.     See  No.  324,  note  on  signature  T,  ad  finem. 


398  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  487. 

case  dreams  look  like  the  relaxations  and  amuse- 
ments of  the  soul  when  she  is  disencumbered  of  her 
machine ;  her  sports  and  recreations,  when  she  has 
laid  her  charge  asleep. 

In  the  second  place,  dreams  are  an  instance  of 
that  agility  and  perfection  which  is  natural  to  the 
faculties  of  the  mind  when  they  are  disengaged 
from  the  body.  The  soul  is  clogged  and  retarded 
in  her  operations  when  she  acts  in  conjunction 
with  a  companion  that  is  so  heavy  and  unwieldy  in 
its  motion.  But  in  dreams  it  is  wonderful  to  ob- 
serve with  what  a  sprightliness  and  alacrity  she 
exerts  herself  The  slow  of  speech  make  unpre- 
meditated harangues,  or  converse  readily  in  lan- 
guages that  they  are  but  little  acquainted  with. 
The  grave  abound  in  pleasantries,  the  dull  in  repar- 
tees and  points  of  wit.  There  is  not  a  more 
painful  action  of  the  mind  than  invention ;  yet  in 
dreams  it  works  with  that  ease  and  activity,  that 
we  are  not  sensible  when  the  faculty  is  employed. 
For  instance,  I  believe  every  one,  some  time  or 
other,  dreams  that  he  is  reading  papers,  books,  or 
letters;  in  which  case  the  invention  prompts  so 
readily,  that  the  mind  is  imposed  upon,  and  mis- 
takes its  own  suggestions  for  the  compositions  of 
another. 

I  shall,  under  this  head,  quote  a  passage  out  of 
the  Religio  Medici,''  in  which  the  ingenious  author 
gives  an  account  of  himself  in  his  dreaming  and  his 
waking  thoughts.  '  We  are  somewhat  more  than 
ourselves  in  our  sleeps,  and  the  slumber  of  the  body 
seems  to  be  but  the  waking  of  the  soul.  It  is 
the  ligation  of  sense,  but  the  liberty  of  reason ; 

"  B7  sir  T.  Brown,  M.  D. 


No.  487.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  399 

and  our  waking  conceptions  do  not  match  the  fan- 
cies of  our  sleeps.  At  my  nativity  my  ascendant 
was  the  watery  sign  of  Scorpius :  I  was  born  in  the 
planetary  hour  of  Saturn,  and  I  think  I  have  a  piece 
of  that  leaden  planet  in  me.  I  am  no  way  facetious, 
nor  disposed  for  the  mirth  and  galliardize  of  com- 
pany ;  yet  in  one  dream  I  can  compose  a  whole 
comedy,  behold  the  action,  apprehend  the  jests,  and 
laugh  myself  awake  at  the  conceits  thereof  Were 
my  memory  as  faithful  as  my  reason  is  then  fruitful, 
I  would  never  study  but  in  my  dreams ;  and  this 
time  also  would  I  choose  for  my  devotions  ;  but  our 
grosser  memories  have  then  so  little  hold  of  our  ab- 
stracted understandings,  that  they  forget  the  story, 
and  can  only  relate  to  our  awaked  souls  a  confused 
and  broken  tale  of  that  that  has  passed.  Thus  it  is 
observed  that  men  sometimes,  upon  the  hour  of 
their  departure,  do  speak  and  reason  above  them- 
selves ;  for  then  the  soul,  beginning  to  be  freed 
from  the  ligaments  of  the  body,  begins  to  reason 
like  herself,  and  to  discourse  in  a  strain  above  mor- 
tality.' 

We  may  likewise  observe,  in  the  third  place, 
that  the  passions  affect  the  mind  with  greater 
strength  when  we  are  asleep  than  when  we  are 
awake.  Joy  and  sorrow  give  us  more  vigorous 
sensations  of  pain  or  pleasure  at  this  time  than  any 
other.  Devotion  likewise,  as  the  excellent  author 
above-mentioned  has  hinted,  is  in  a  very  particular 
manner  heightened  and  inflamed  when  it  rises  in 
the  soul  at  a  time  that  the  body  is  thus  laid  at  rest. 
Every  man's  experience  will  inform  him  in  this 
matter,  though  it  is  very  probable  that  this  may 
happen  differently  in  different  constitutions.  I  shall 
conclude  this  head  with  the  two  following  problems, 


400  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  487. 

which  I  shall  leave  to  the  solution  of  my  reader. 
Supposing  a  man  always  happy  in  his  dreams,  and 
miserable  in  his  waking  thoughts,  and  that  his  life 
was  equally  divided  between  them ;  whether  would 
he  be  more  happy  or  miserable  ?  Were  a  man  a 
king  in  his  dreams,  and  a  beggar  awake,  and 
dreamt  as  consequentially,  and  in  as  continued  un- 
broken schemes,  as  he  thinks  when  awake ;  whether 
he  would  be  in  reality  a  king  or  beggar ;  or,  rather, 
whether  he  would  not  be  both  ? 

There  is  another  circumstance,  which  methinks 
gives  us  a  very  high  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  soul, 
in  regard  to  what  passes  in  dreams :  I  mean,  that 
innumerable  multitude  and  variety  of  ideas  which 
then  arise  in  her.  Were  that  active  and  watchful 
being  only  conscious  of  her  own  existence  at  such  a 
time,  what  a  painful  solitude  would  her  hours  of 
sleep  be.  Were  the  soul  sensible  of  her  being 
alone  in  her  sleeping  moments  after  the  same  man- 
ner that  she  is  sensible  of  it  while  awake,  the  time 
would  hang  very  heavy  on  her,  as  it  often  actually 
does  when  she  dreams  that  she  is  in  such  a  solitude. 

—  '  Semperque  relinqui 

Sola  sibi,  semper  longam  inoomitata  videtur 
Ire  viam  — ' 

ViKG.  Mr\..  iv.  466. 

—  '  She  seems  alone 

To  wander  in  lier  sleep  through  ways  unknown, 
Guideless  and  dark.' 

Detdbn. 

But  this  observation  I  only  make  by  the  way. 
What  I  would  here  remark  is,  that  wonderful  power 
in  the  soul  of  producing  her  own  company  upon 
these  occasions.  She  converses  with  numberless 
beings  of  her  own  creation,  and  is  transported  into 


No.  487.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  401 

ten  thousand  scenes  of  her  own  raising.  She  is  her- 
self the  theatre,  the  actor,  and  the  beholder.  This 
puts  me  in  mind  of  a  saying  which  I  am  infinitely 
pleased  with,  and  which  Plutarch  ascribes  to  Herac- 
litus,  that  all  men  whilst  they  are  awake  are  in  one 
common  world ;  but  that  each  of  them  when  he  is 
asleep  is,  in  a  world  of  his  own.  The  waking  man 
is  conversant  in  the  world  of  nature :  when  he  sleeps, 
he  retires  to  a  private  world  that  is  particular  to 
himself  There  seems  something  in  this  considera- 
tion that  intimates  to  us  a  natural  grandeur  and  per- 
fection in  the  soul,  which  is  rather  to  be  admired 
than  explained. 

I  must  not  omit  that  argument  for  the  excellency 
of  the  soul,  which  I  have  seen  quoted  out  of  Ter- 
tullian,  namely,  its  power  of  divining  in  dreams. 
That  several  such  divinations  have  been  made,  none 
can  question  who  believes  the  holy  writings,  or  who 
has  but  the  least  degree  of  a  common  historical 
faith ;  there  being  innumerable  instances  of  this  na- 
ture in  several  authors,  both  ancient  and  modern, 
sacred  and  profane.  Whether  such  dark  presages, 
such  visions  of  the  night,  proceed  from  any  latent 
power  in  the  soul,  during  this  her  state  of  abstrac- 
tion, or  from  any  communication  with  the  Supreme 
Being,  or  from  any  operation  of  subordinate  spirits, 
has  been  a  great  dispute  among  the  learned ;  the 
matter  of  fact  is,  I  think,  incontestable,  and  has  been 
looked  upon  as  such  by  the  greatest  writers,  who 
have  been  never  suspected  either  of  superstition  or 
enthusiasm. 

I  do  not  suppose  that  the  soul,  in  these  instances, 

is  entirely  loose  and  unfettered  from  the  body ;  it  is 

suflBcient  if  she  is  not  so  far  sunk  and  immersed  in 

matter,  nor  entangled  and  perplexed  in  her  opera- 

voL.  V. — 26 


402  THE  SPECTATOR.  V^°-  488. 

tions  with  such  motions  of  blood  and  spirits,  as  when 
she  actuates  the  machine  in  its  waking  hours.  The 
corporeal  union  is  slackened  enough  to  give  the 
mind  more  play.  The  soul  seems  gathered  within 
herself,  and  recovers  that  spring  which  is  broke  and 
weakened,  when  she  operates  more  in  concert  with 
the  body. 

The  speculations  I  have  here  made,  if  they  are 
not  arguments,  they  are  at  least  strong  intimations, 
not  only  of  the  excellency  of  a  human  soul,  but  of 
its  independence  on  the  body ;  and,  if  they  do  not 
prove,  do  at  least  confirm,  these  two  great  points, 
which  are  established  by  many  other  reasons  that  are 
altogether  unanswerable.  0.' 


No.  488.     FEIDAY,  September  19,  1712. 


Quantiempte!  parvo.    Qnanti  ergo !  octo  assibTis.    £henl 

Hob.  2  Sat  iii.  166. 

What  doth  It  cost?   Not  much,  upon  my  word. 

How  much,  pray  ?    Why,  Two-pence.    Two-pence !  O  Lord  I 

Ceezch. 


I  FIND,  by  several  letters  which  I  receive  daily,  that 
several  of  my  readers  would  be  better  pleased  to  pay 
three  half-pence  for  my  paper  than  two-pence.  The 
ingenious  T.  W.™  tells  me  that  I  have  deprived  him 
of  the  best  part  of  his  breakfast;  for  that,  since  the 
rise  of  my  paper,  he  is  forced  every  morning  to 
drink  his  dish  of  coffee  by  itself,  without  the  ad- 

By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  his  office,  or  perhaps  originally 
written  at  Oxford. 

°  Dr.  Thomas  Walker,  head  master  of  the  Charter-house  school,  whose 
scholars  Addison  and  Steele  had  been.  The  doctor  was  head  master  forty- 
nine  years,  and  died  June  12,  1728,  in  the  81st  year  of  his  age. 


No.  488.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  403 

dition  of  the  Spectator,  that  used  to  be  better  than 
lace  "  to  it.  Eugenius  informs  me,  very  obligingly, 
that  he  never  thought  he  should  have  disliked  any 
passage  in  my  paper,  but  that  of  late  there  have 
been  two  words  in  every  one  of  them  which  he 
could  heartily  wish  left  out,  viz.  '  Price  Two-pence.' 
I  have  a  letter  from  a  soap-boiler,  who  condoles 
with  me  very  affectionately  upon  the  necessity  we 
both  lie  under  of  setting  an  higher  price  on  our 
commodities,  since  the  late  tax  has  been  laid  upon 
them,  and  desiring  me,  when  I  write  next  on  that 
subject,  to  speak  a  word  or  two  upon  the  present 
duties  on  Castile  soap.  But  there  is  none  of  these 
my  correspondents,  who  writes  with  a  greater  turn 
of  good  sense  and  elegance  of  expression  than  the 
generous  Philomedes,  who  advises  me  to  value  every 
Spectator  at  six-pence,  and  promises  that  he  himself 
will  engage  for  above  a  hundred  of  his  acquaintance, 
who  shall  take  it  in  at  that  price. 

Letters  from  the  female  world  are  likewise  come 
to  me,  in  great  quantities,  upon  the  same  occasion  ; 
and  as  I  naturally  bear  a  great  deference  to  this  part 
of  our  species,  I  am  very  glad  to  find  that  those 
who  approve  my  conduct  in  this  particular,  are 
much  more  numerous  than  those  who  condemn  it, 
A  large  family  of  daughters  have  drawn  me  up  a 
very  handsome  remonstrance,  in  which  they  set 
forth  that  their  father  having  refused  to  take  in  the 
Spectator  since  the  additional  price  was  set  upon  it, 
they  offered  him  unanimously  to  bate  him  the  article 
of  bread  and  butter  in  the  tea-table  account,  pro- 
vided the  Spectator  might  be  served  up  to  them 
every  morning  as  usual.     Upon  this,  the  old  gen- 

"  A  little  brandy  or  rum. 


404  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  488. 

fcleman,  being  pleased,  it  seems,  with  their  desire 
of  improving  themselves,  has  granted  them  the 
continuance  both  of  the  Spectator  and  their  bread 
and  butter,  having  given  particular  orders  that  the 
tea-table  shall  be  set  forth  every  morning  with  its 
customary  bill  of  fare,  and  without  any  manner  of 
defalcation.  I  thought  myself  obliged  to  mention 
this  particular,  as  it  does  honour  to  this  worthy 
gentleman ;  and  if  the  young  lady  Leetitia,  who 
sent  me  this  account,  will  acquaint  me  with  his 
name,  I  will  insert  it  at  length  in  one  of  my  papers, 
if  he  desires  it. 

I  should  be  very  glad  to  find  out  any  expedient 
that  might  alleviate  the  expense  which  this  my 
paper  brings  to  any  of  my  readers ;  and,  in  order 
to  it,  must  propose  two  points  to  their  considera- 
tion. First,  that  if  they  retrench  any  the  smallest 
particular  in  their  ordinary  expense,  it  will  easily 
make  up  the  half-penny  a  day  which  we  have  now 
under  consideration.  Let  a  lady  sacrifice  but  a 
single  riband  to  her  morning  studies,  and  it  will  be 
sufficient :  let  a  family  burn  but  a  candle  a  night 
less  than  the  usual  number,  and  they  may  take  in 
the  Spectator  without  detriment  to  their  private 
affairs. 

In  the  next  place,  if  my  readers  will  not  go  to 
the  price  of  buying  my  papers  by  retail,  let  them 
have  patience,  and  they  may  buy  them  in  the  lump, 
without  the  burthen  of  a  tax  upon  them.  My  spec- 
ulations, when  they  are  sold  single,  like  cherries 
upon  the  stick,  are  delights  for  the  rich  and  wealthy : 
after  some  time,  they  come  to  market  in  greater 
quantities,  and  are  every  ordinary  man's  money. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  they  have  a  certain  flavour  at 
their  first  appearance,  from  several  accidental  cir- 


No.  488.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  405 

cumstances  of  time,  place,  and  person,  "whicli  they 
may  lose  if  they  are  not  taken  early  ;  but,  in  this 
case,  every  reader  is  to  consider,  whether  it  is  not 
better  for  him  to  be  half  a  year  behind-hand  with 
the  fashionable  and  polite  part  of  the  world,  than  to 
strain  himself  beyond  his  circumstances.  My  book- 
seller has  now  about  ten  thousand  of  the  third  and 
fourth  volumes,  which  he  is  ready  to  publish,  hav- 
ing already  disposed  of  as  large  an  edition  both  of 
the  first  and  second  volumes.  As  he  is  a  person 
whose  head  is  very  well  turned  to  his  business,  he 
thinks  they  would  be  a  very  proper  present  to  be 
made  to  persons  at  christenings,  marriages,  visiting 
days,  and  the  like  joyful  solemnities,  as  several 
other  books  are  frequently  given  at  funerals.  He 
has  printed  them  in  such  a  little  portable  volume,' 
that  many  of  them  may  be  ranged  together  upon  a 
single  plate ;  and  is  of  opinion,  that  a  salver  of 
Spectators  would  be  as  acceptable  an  entertainment 
to  the  ladies,  as  a  salver  of  sweetmeats. 

I  shall  conclude  this  paper  with  an  epigram 
lately  sent  to  the  writer  of  the  Spectator,  after  hav- 
ing returned  my  thanks  to  the  ingenious  author 
of  it. 

'SIB, 

'  Having  heard  the  following  epigram  very 
much  commended,  I  wonder  that  it  has  not  yet  had 
a  place  in  any  of  your  papers ;  I  think  the  suffrage 
of  our  poet  laureat  should  not  be  overlooked,  which 

"  This  early  edition  of  the  Speot.  in  12mo.  ann.  1712,  not  inelegant  or 
■unconmion,  consists  only  of  t  volumes,  and  is  very  correct.  If  there  ever 
was  an  8th  vol.  to  perfect  this  copy,  it  could  not  have  been  printed  till 
after  the  Guardian,  Englishman,  and  Spectator,  were  laid  down,  and  there- 
fore not  sooner  than  the  year  IT  16.  In  the  set  now  before  the  writer,  the 
8th  is  dated  in  1*720,  and  said  to  be  the  6th  edition. 


406  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  489. 

shows  the  opinion  he  entertains  of  your  paper,  whe- 
ther the  notion  he  proceeds  upon  be  true  or  false. 
I  make  bold  to  convey  it  to  you,  not  knowing  if  it 
has  yet  come  to  your  hands. 

ON  THE  SPECTATOR. 

BY  MR.  TATB.P 

—  Aliusqne  et  idem 
Nascoris  — 

Hob.  Carm.  Saec.  10. 
Ton  rise  another  and  the  same. 

"Whbn  first  the  Tatler  to  a  mnte  was  turn'd, 
Great  Britain  for  her  censor's  silence  monm'd; 
Eobb'd  of  his  sprightly  beams,  she  wept  the  night, 
Till  the  Spectator  rose,  and  blaz'd  as  bright. 
So  the  first  man,  the  sun's  first  setting  view'd, 
And  sigh'd  till  circling  day  his  joys  renew'd. 

Tet,  doubtful  how  that  second  sun  to  name, 
Whether  a  bright  successor,  or  the  same ; 
So  we :  but  now  from  this  suspense  are  freed. 
Since  all  agree,  who  both  with  judgment  read, 
'Tis  the  same  sun,  and  does  himself  succeed. 


No.  489.     SATUEDAT,  September  20,  1712. 

HOMEE. 

The  mighty  force  of  ocean^s  troubled  flood. 

'sir, 

'  Upon  reading  your  essay  concerning  the 
pleasures  of  the  imagination,  I  find,  among  the  three 

"  Ifahum  Tate,  poet  laureat  after  Shadwell,  the  son  of  Dr.  Faithful 
Tate,  was  horn  at  Dublin  in  1662,  admitted  in  the  college  there  in  1668, 
and  died  in  1716. 

1  By  Addison,  dated  perhaps  from  his  oflaoe.    See  No.  489,  adf/nem. 


No.  489.]  THE   SPECTATOR,  407 

sources  of  those  pleasures  whicli  you  have  discov- 
ered, that  greatness  is  one.  This  has  suggested  to 
me  the  reason  why,  of  all  objects  that  I  have  ever 
seen,  there  is  none  which  affects  my  imagination  so 
much  as  the  sea,  or  ocean.  I  cannot  see  the  heav- 
ings  of  this  prodigious  bulk  of  waters,  even  in  a 
calm,  without  a  very  pleasing  astonishment ;  but 
when  it  is  worked  up  in  a  tempest,  so  that  the  hori- 
zon on  every  side  is  nothing  but  foaming  billows 
and  floating  mountains,  it  is  impossible  to  describe 
the  agreeable  horror  that  rises  from  such  a  prospect. 
A  troubled  ocean,  to  a  man  who  sails  upon  it,  is,  I 
think,  the  biggest  object  that  he  can  see  in  motion, 
and,  consequently,  gives  his  imagination  one  of  the 
highest  kinds  of  pleasure  that  can  arise  from  great- 
ness. I  must  confess,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  sur- 
vey this  world  of  fluid  matter,  without  thinking  on 
the  Hand  that  first  poured  it  out,  and  made  a  pro- 
per channel  for  its  reception.  Such  an  object  natur- 
ally raises  in  my  thoughts  the  idea  of  an  Almighty 
Being,  and  convinces  me  of  his  existence  as  much 
as  a  metaphysical  demonstration.  The  imagination 
prompts  the  understanding,  and,  by  the  greatness 
of  the  sensible  object,  produces  in  it  the  idea  of  a 
Being  who  is  neither  circumscribed  by  time  nor 
space. 

'  As  I  have  made  several  voyages  upon  the  sea, 
I  have  often  been  tossed  in  storms,  and  on  that  oc- 
casion have  frequently  reflected  on  the  descriptions 
of  them  in  ancient  poets.  I  remember  Longinus 
highly  recommends  one  in  Homer,  because  the  poet 
has  not  amused  himself  with  little  fancies  upon  the 
occasion,  as  authors  of  an  inferior  genius,  whom  he 
mentions,  had  done,  but  because  he  has  gathered  to- 
gether those  circumstances  which  are  the  most  apt 


408  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  489. 

to  terrify  the  imagination,  and  which  really  happen 
in  the  raging  of  a  tempest.  It  is  for  the  same  rea- 
son that  I  prefer  the  following  description  of  a  ship 
in  a  storm,  which  the  Psalmist  has  made,  before  any- 
other  I  have  ever  met  with : — "  They  that  go  down 
to  the  sea  in  ships,  that  do  business  in  great  waters ; 
these  see  the  works  of  the  Lord,  and  his  wonders  in 
the  deep.  For  he  commandeth  and  raiseth  the 
stormy  wind,  which  lifteth  up  the  waters  thereof 
They  mount  up  to  heaven,  they  go  down  again  to 
the  depths,  their  soul  is  melted  because  of  trouble. 
They  reel  to  and  fro,  and  stagger  like  a  drunken 
man,  and  are  at  their  wit's  end.  Then  they  cry 
unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble,  and  he  bringeth  them 
out  of  their  distresses.  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm, 
so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still.  Then  they  are 
glad,  because  they  be  quiet,  so  he  bringeth  them 
unto  their  desired  haven."' 

'  By  the  way  ;  how  much  more  comfortable,  as 
well  as  rational,  is  this  system  of  the  Psalmist,  than 
the  pagan  scheme  in  Virgil,  and  other  poets,  where 
one  deity  is  represented  as  raising  a  storm,  and  an- 
other as  laying  it  ?  Were  we  only  to  consider  the 
sublime  in  this  piece  of  poetry,  what  can  be  nobler 
than  the  idea  it  gives  us  of  the  Supreme  Being,  thus 
raising  a  tumult  among  the  elements,  and  recover- 
ing them  out  of  their  confusion,  thus  troubling  and 
becalming  nature  ? 

'  Great  painters  do  not  only  give  us  landscapes 
of  gardens,  groves,  and  meadows,  but  very  often 
employ  their  pencils  upon  sea-pieces.  I  could  wish 
you  would  follow  their  example.  If  this  small 
sketch  may  deserve  a  place  among  your  works  I 

'  Pb.  cvii.  28,  (t  segg. 


No.  489.]  THE  SPECTATOE.  409 

shall  accompany  it  with  a  divine  ode,  made  by  a 
gentleman  upon  the  conclusion  of  his  travels. 


I. 

"  How  are  Thy  servants  blest,  O  Lord ; 
How  sure  is  their  defence ! 
Eternal  "Wisdom  is  their  guide. 
Their  help,  Omnipotence. 


"  In  foreign  realms  and  lands  remote. 
Supported  by  Thy  care. 
Through  burning  climes  I  pass'd  unhurt. 
And  breath'd  in  tainted  air. 

m. 
"  Thy  mercy  sweeten'd  every  boU, 
Made  ev'ry  region  please : 
The  hoary  Alpine  hUls  it  warm'd. 
And  smooth'd  the  Tyrrhene  seas. 


"  Think,  O  my  soul,  devoutly  think. 
How,  with  affrighted  eyes, 
Thou  saw'st  the  wide  extended  deep 
In  aU  its  horrors  rise  I 


"  Confusion  dwelt  in  ev'ry  face. 
And  fear  in  ev'ry  heart ; 
When  waves  on  waves,  and  gulfs  in  gulfs, 
O'ercame  the  pilot's  art. 


"  Yet  then  from  all  my  griefs,  0  Lord, 
Thy  mercy  set  me  free. 
Whilst,  in  the  confidence  of  prayer. 
My  soul  took  hold  on  Thee. 


"^or  though  in  dreadful  whirls  we  hung 
High  on  the  broken  wave, 
I  knew  Thou  wert  not  slow  to  hear, 
Nor  impotent  to  save. 


410  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  489. 


"  The  storm  was  laid,  the  •winds  retir'd, 
Obedient  to  Thy  will; 
The  sea  that  roar'd  at  Thy  command, 
At  Thy  command  was  stiU. 

DC 

"  In  midst  of  dangers,  fears  and  death, 
Thy  goodness  I'll  adore. 
And  praise  Thee  for  Thy  mercies  past. 
And  hnmbly  hope  for  more. 

X. 

"  My  life,  if  Thou  preserv'st  my  life, 
Thy  sacrifice  shall  he ; 
And  death,  if  death  must  be  my  doom, 
Shall  join  my  soul  to  Thee. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  author  of  the  Spectator  having  received 
the  pastoral  hymn  in  his  441st  paper,  set  to  music 
by  one  of  the  most  eminent  composers  of  our  own 
country,  and  by  a  foreigner  who  has  not  put  his 
name  to  his  ingenious  letter,  thinks  himself  obliged 
to  return  his  thanks  to  these  gentlemen  for  the 
honour  they  have  done  him. 

*,*  Drury-lane,  on  Sat  20th  inst.  The  Careless  Husband.  Lord  Fop- 
pington,  by  Mr.  Gibber ;  Lord  Morelove,  Mr.  Mills ;  Sir  Charles  Easy,  Mr. 
Wilkes ;  Lady  B.  Modish,  by  Mrs.  Oilfield  ;\  Lady  Easy,  by  Mrs.  Knight ; 
Lady  Graveairs,  by  Mrs.  Porter ;  and  Mrs.  Edgin,  Mrs.  BignelL  Spect.  in 
folio. — f  N.  B.  Cibber  tells  us  that  he  drew  this  character  from  her,  and 
made  it  for  her. 

Adv.  Tliis  day  is  published  a  new  translation  of  C.  Nepos,  to  which  is 
added  the  lives  of  the  kings  with  their  chronology ;  also  the  life  of  M"epos 
new  written.     Non  pluribus  impar. — Spect.  in  f.  No.  485. 

'  By  Addison,  dated  it  seems  from  his  office,  as  the  signature  is  supposed 
to  imply.  Steele,  on  the  first  inspection  of  the  signatures  by  which  Addi- 
son had  distinguished  his  papers  in  the  Spectator,  precisely  in  the  order 
they  occur,  found  they  made  the  name  of  the  muse  CLIO,  but  it  cannot  be 
thought  that  Addison  adopted  them  on  purpose  to  m<(ke  up  this  word, 
which  they  formed  most  probably  by  mere  accident.  Certainly  they  are 
Addison's  signatures,  and  in  their  natural  order ;  but  the  real  signification 
of  them  is  very  uncertain. 


No.  490.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  411 


No.  490.     MONDAY,  September  22,  1712. 

—  Domos  et  plscens 
Uxor.— 

Hob.  2  Od.  zIt.  21. 
Thy  bonso  and  pleasing  wife. 

Cbseoh. 

I  HAVE  very  long  entertained  an  ambition  to  make 
the  word  wife  the  most  agreeable  and  delightful 
name  in  nature.  If  it  be  not  so  in  itself,  all  the 
wiser  part  of  mankind,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world  to  this  day,  has  consented  in  an  error.  But 
our  unhappiness  in  England  has  been,  that  a  few 
loose  men  of  genius  for  pleasure  have  turned  it  all 
to  the  gratification  of  ungoverned  desires,  in  despite 
of  good  sense,  form,  and  order ;  when,  in  truth,  any 
satisfaction  beyond  the  boundaries  of  reason  is  but 
a  step  towards  madness  and  folly.  But  is  the  sense 
of  joy,  and  accomplishment  of  desire,  no  way  to  be 
indulged  or  attained  ?  And  have  we  appetites  given 
us  to  be  at  all  gratified  ?  Yes,  certainly.  Marriage 
is  an  institution  calculated  for  a  constant  scene  of 
as  much  delight  as  our  being  is  capable  of.  Two  per- 
sons who  have  chosen  each  other  out  of  all  the  spe- 
cies, with  design  to  be  each  other's  mutual  comfort 
and  entertainment,  have  in  that  action  bound  them- 
selves to  be  good-humoured,  affable,  discreet,  for- 
giving, patient,  and  joyful,  with  respect  to  each 
other's  frailties  and  perfections,  to  the  end  of  their 
lives.  The  wiser  of  the  two  (and  it  always  happens 
one  of  them  is  such)  will,  for  her  or  his  own  sake, 
keep  things  from  outrage  with  the  utmost  sanctity. 
When  this  union  is  thus  preserved  (as  I  have  often 
said),  the  most  indifferent  circumstance  administers 
delight.     Their  condition  is  an  endless  source  of 


412  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  490. 

new  gratifications.  The  married  man  can  say,  "  If 
I  am  unacceptable  to  all  the  world  beside,  there  is 
one  whom  I  entirely  love,  that  will  receive  me  with 
joy  and  transport,  and  think  herself  obliged  to 
double  her  kindness  and  caresses  of  me  from  the 
gloom  with  which  she  sees  me  overcast.  I  need 
not  dissemble  the  sorrow  of  my  heart  to  be  agreea- 
ble there :  that  very  sorrow  quickens  her  affection.' 

This  passion  towards  each  other,  when  once  well 
fixed,  enters  into  the  very  constitution,  and  the 
kindness  flows  as  easily  and  silently  as  the  blood  in 
the  veins.  When  this  affection  is  enjoyed  in  the 
most  sublime  degree,  unskilful  eyes  see  nothing  of 
it ;  but  when  it  is  subject  to  be  changed,  and  has  an 
allay  in  it  that  may  make  it  end  in  distaste,  it  is  apt 
to  break  into  rage,  or  overflow  into  fondness,  before 
the  rest  of  the  world. 

Uxander  and  Viramira  are  amorous  and  young ; 
and  have  been  married  these  two  years ;  yet  do  they 
so  much  distinguish  each  other  in  company,  that  in 
your  conversation  with  the  dear  things,  you  are  still 
put  to  a  sort  of  cross  purposes.  Whenever  you  ad- 
dress yourself  in  ordinary  discourse  to  Viramira,  she 
turns  her  head  another  way,  and  the  answer  is  made 
to  the  dear  Uxander.  If  you  tell  a  merry  tale,  the 
application  is  still  directed  to  her  dear ;  and  when 
she  should  commend  you,  she  says  to  him,  as  if  he 
had  spoke  it,  '  That  is,  my  dear,  so  pretty.'  This 
puts  me  in  mind  of  what  I  have  somewhere  read  in 
the  admired  memoirs  of  the  famous  Cervantes ; 
where,  while  honest  Sancho  Panca  is  putting  some 
necessary  humble  question  concerning  Rosinante,  his 
supper,  or  his  lodging,  the  knight  of  the  sorrowful 
countenance  is  ever  improving  the  harmless  lowly 
hints  of  his  squire  to  the  poetical  conceit,  rapture, 


No.  490.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  413 

and  flight,  in  contemplation  of  the  dear  dulcinea  of 
his  affections. 

On  the  other  side,  Dictamnus  and  Moria  are  ever 
squabbling ;  and  you  may  observe  them,  all  the 
time  they  are  in  company,  in  a  state  of  impatience. 
As  Uxander  and  Viramira  wish  you  all  gone,  that 
they  may  be  at  freedom  for  dalliance,  Dictamnus 
and  Moria  wait  your  absence,  that  they  may  speak 
their  harsh  interpretations  on  each  other's  words 
and  actions  during  the  time  you  were  with  them. 

It  is  certain  that  the  greater  part  of  the  evils  at- 
tending this  condition  of  life,  arises  from  fashion. 
Prejudice  in  this  case  is  turned  the  wrong  way ;  and, 
instead  of  expecting  more  happiness  than  we  shall 
meet  with  in  it,  we  are  laughed  into  a  prepossession 
that  we  shall  be  disappointed  if  we  hope  for  lasting 
satisfactions. 

With  all  persons  who  have  made  good  sense  the 
rule  of  action,  marriage  is  described  as  the  state  ca- 
pable of  the  highest  human  felicity.  TuUy  has  epis- 
tles full  of  affectionate  pleasure,  when  he  writes  to 
his  wife,  or  speaks  of  his  children.  But,  above  all 
the  hints  of  this  kind  I  have  met  with  in  writers  of 
ancient  date,'  I  am  pleased  with  an  epigram  of  Mar- 
tial, in  honour  of  the  beauty  of  his  wife  Cleopatra. 
Commentators  say  it  was  written  the  day  after  his 
wedding-night.  When  his  spouse  was  retired  to  the 
bathing-room,  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  he,  it  seems, 
came  in  upon  her  when  she  was  just  going  into  the 
water.  To  her  beauty  and  carriage  on  this  occasion 
we  owe  the  following  epigram,  which  I  showed  my 
friend  Will  Honeycomb  in  French,  who  has  translat- 
ed it  as  follows,  without  understanding  the  original. 
I  expect  it  will  please  the  English  better  than  the 
Latin  reader. 


414  THE   SPECTATOE.  [No.  490. 

'  "When  my  bright  consort,  now  nor  wife  nor  maid ; 
Asham'd  and  wanton,  of  embrace  afraid, 
ried  to  the  streams,  the  streams  my  fair  betray'd ; 
To  my  fond  eyes,  she  all  transparent  stood : 
She  blush'd ;  I  smil'd  at  the  slight  covering  flood. 
Thus  throngh  the  glass  the  lovely  lily  glows ; 
Thus  through  the  ambient  gem  shines  forth  the  rose. 
I  saw  new  charms,  and  plung'd  to  seize  my  store, 
Kisses  I  snatch'd — ^the  waves  prevented  more.' 

My  friend  would  not  allow  that  this  luscious  ac- 
count could  be  given  of  a  wife,  and  therefore  used 
the  word  consort ;  which,  he  learnedly  said,  would 
serve  for  a  mistress  as  well,  and  give  a  more  gen- 
tlemanly turn  to  the  epigram.  But,  under  favour 
of  him  and  all  other  such  fine  gentlemen,  I  cannot 
be  persuaded  but  that  the  passion  a  bridegroom  has 
for  a  virtuous  young  woman  will,  by  little  and  little, 
grow  into  friendship,  and  then  it  is  ascended  to  an 
higher  pleasure  than  it  was  in  its  first  fervour.  With- 
out this  happens,  he  is  a  very  unfortunate  man  who 
has  entered  into  this  state,  and  left  the  habitudes  of 
life  he  might  have  enjoyed  with  a  faithful  friend. 
But  when  the  wife  proves  capable  of  filling  serious 
as  well  as  joyous  hours,  she  brings  happiness  un- 
known to  friendship  itself  Spenser  speaks  of  each 
kind  of  love  with  great  justice,  and  attributes  the 
highest  praise  to  friendship  ;  and  indeed  there  is  no 
disputing  that  point,  but  by  making  that  friendship 
take  its  place  between  two  married  persons. 

'  Hard  is  the  doubt,  and  difficult  to  deem. 
When  all  three  kinds  of  love  together  meet. 
And  do  dispart  the  heart  with  power  extreme. 
Whether  shall  weigh  the  balance  down :  to  wit. 
The  dear  affection  unto  kindred  sweet, 
Or  raging  fire  of  love  to  womankind. 
Or  zeal  of  friends,  combin'd  by  virtues  meet : 
But,  of  them  all,  the  band  of  virtuous  mind, 
Methinks  the  gentle  heart  should  most  assured  bind. 


No.  491.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  415 

'  For  natural  affection  soon  doth  cease, 
And  quenched  is  with  Cupid's  greater  flame ; 
But  faithful  friendship  doth  them  both  suppress, 
And  them  with  mastering  discipline  doth  tame, 
Through  thoughts  aspiring  to  eternal  fame. 
For  as  the  soxil  doth  rule  the  earthly  mass. 
And  all  the  service  of  the  body  frame ; 
So  love  of  soul  doth  love  of  body  pass, 
No  less  than  perfect  gold  surmounts  the  meanest  brass.' 

T.' 


No.  491.  TUESDAY,  September  23, 1712. 

— Digna  saUs  forttma  revisit 

ViKG.  ^n.  lU.  818. 
Ajnst  reverse  of  fortune  on  him  waits. 

It  is  common  "with  me  to  run  from  book  to  book, 
to  exercise  my  mind  with  many  objects,  and  qualify 
myself  for  my  daily  labours.  After  an  hour  spent 
in  this  loitering  way  of  reading,  something  will  re- 
main to  be  food  to  the  imagination.  The  writings 
that  please  me  most  on  such  occasions  are  stories, 
for  the  truth  of  which  there  is  good  authority.  The 
mind  of  man  is  naturally  a  lover  of  justice  ;  and  when 
we  read  a  story  wherein  a  criminal  is  overtaken,  in 
whom  there  is  no  quality  which  is  the  object  of  pity, 
the  soul  enjoys  a  certain  revenge  for  the  offence  done 
to  its  nature,  in  the  wicked  actions  committed  in  the 
preceding  part  of  the  history.  This  wiU  be  better 
understood  by  the  reader  from  the  following  narra- 
tion itself,  than  from  any  thing  which  I  can  say  to 
introduce  it. 

When  Charles  duke  of  Burgundy,  surnamed  The 
Bold,  reigned  over  spacious  dominions  now  swal- 

'  By  Steele.    See  no.  324,  note  on  signature  T,  adfinem. 


416  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  491. 

lowed  up  by  the  power  of  France,  he  heaped  many 
favours  and  honours  upon  Claudius  Rhynsault,  a 
German,  who  had  served  him  in  his  wars  against  the 
insults  of  his  neighbours.  A  great  part  of  Zealand 
was  at  that  time  in  subjection  to  that  dukedom.  The 
prince  himself  was  a  person  of  singular  humanity 
and  justice.  Rhynsault,  with  no  other  real  quality 
than  courage,  had  dissimulation  enough  to  pass  upon 
his  generous  and  unsuspicious  master  for  a  person 
of  blunt  honesty  and  fidelity,  without  any  vice  that 
could  bias  him  from  the  execution  of  justice.  His 
highness,  prepossessed  to  his  advantage,  upon  the 
decease  of  the  governor  of  his  chief  town  of  Zealand, 
gave  Rhynsault  that  command.  He  was  not  long 
seated  in  that  government,  before  he  cast  his  eyes 
upon  Sapphira,  a  woman  of  exquisite  beauty,  the 
wife  of  Paul  Danvelt,  a  wealthy  merchant  of  the  city 
under  his  protection  and  government.  Rhynsault 
was  a  man  of  a  warm  constitution,  and  violent  incli- 
nation to  women,  and  not  unskilled  in  the  soft  arts 
which  win  their  favour.  He  knew  what  it  was  to 
enjoy  the  satisfactions  which  are  reaped  from  the 
possession  of  beauty,  but  was  an  utter  stranger  to 
the  decencies,  honours,  and  delicacies  that  attend  the 
passion  towards  them  in  elegant  minds.  However, 
he  had  so  much  of  the  world,  that  he  had  a  great 
share  of  the  language  which  usually  prevails  upon 
the  weaker  part  of  that  sex ;  and  he  could  with  his 
tongue  utter  a  passion,  with  which  his  heart,  was 
wholly  untouched.  He  was  one  of  those  brutal  minds 
which  can  be  gratified  with  the  violation  of  inno- 
cence and  beauty,  without  the  least  pity,  passion,  or 
love,  to  that  with  which  they  are  so  much  delighted. 
Ingratitude  is  a  vice  inseparable  to  a  lustful  man  ; 
and  the  possession  of  a  woman  by  him,  who  has  no 


No.  491.]  THE   SPECTATOR'.  417 

thouglit  but  allaying  a  passion  painful  to  himself,  is 
necessarily  followed  by  distaste  and  aversion.    Rhyn- 
sault,  being  resolved  to  accomplish  his  will  on  the 
wife  of  Danvelt,  left  no  arts  untried  to  get  into  a 
familiarity  at  her  house ;  but  she  knew  his  character 
and  disposition  too  well,  not  to  shun  all  occasions 
that  might  ensnare  her  into  his  conversation.     The 
governor,  despairing  of  success  by  ordinary  means, 
apprehended  and  imprisoned  her  husband,  under 
pretence  of  an  information  that  he  was  guilty  of  a 
correspondence  with  the  enemies  of  the  duke  to  be- 
tray the  town  into  their  possession.    This  design  had 
its  desired  effect ;  and  the  wife  of  the  unfortunate 
Danvelt,  the  day  before  that  which  was  appointed 
for  his  execution,  presented  herself  in  the  hall  of  the 
governor's  house ;  and,  as  he  passed  through  the 
apartment,  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and,  holding  his 
knees,  beseeched  his  mercy.     Rhynsault  beheld  her 
with  a  dissembled  satisfaction  ;  and,  assuming  an  air 
of  thought  and  authority,  he  bid  her  arise,  and  told 
her  she  must  follow  him  to  his  closet ;   and,  asking 
her  whether  she  knew  the  hand  of  the  letter  he  pul- 
led out  of  his  pocket,  went  from  her,  leaving  this 
admonition  aloud :  '  If  you  would  save  your  husband 
you  must  give  me  an  account  of  all  you  know,  with- 
out prevarication ;  for  every  body  is  satisfied  he  was 
too  fond  of  you  to  be  able  to  hide  from  you  the  names 
of  the  rest  of  the  conspirators,  or  any  other  particu- 
lars whatsoever.'     He  went  to  his  closet,  and  soon 
after  the  lady  was  sent  for  to  an  audience.     The 
servant  knew  his  distance  when  matters  of  state  were 
to  be  debated ;  and  the  governor,  laying  aside  the 
air  with  which  he  had  appeared  in  public,  began  to 
be  the  supplicant,  to  rally  an  afl&iction  which  it  was 
in  her  power  easily  to  remove.     She  easily  perceived 

VOL.  V. — 27 


418  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  491. 

his  intention ,  and,  bathed  in  tears,  began  to  depre 
cate  so  wicked  a  design,  to  relieve  an  innocent  man 
from  his  imprisonment.  Lust,  like  ambition,  takes 
in  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind  and  body  into  its 
service  and  subjection.  Her  becoming  tears,  her 
honest  anguish,  the  wringing  of  her  hands,  and  the 
many  changes  of  her  posture  and  figure,  in  the  vehe- 
mence of  speaking,  were  but  so  many  attitudes  in 
which  he  beheld  her  beauty,  and  farther  incen- 
tives of  his  desire.  All  humanity  was  lost  in  that 
one  appetite  ;  and  he  signified  to  her,  in  so  many 
plain  terms,  that  he  was  unhappy  till  he  had  possess- 
ed her,  and  nothing  less  should  be  the  price  of  her 
husband's  life  ;  and  she  must,  before  the  following 
noon,  pronounce  the  death  or  enlargement  of  Danvelt. 
After  this  notification,  when  he  saw  Sapphira  enough 
again  distracted  to  make  the  subject  of  their  dis- 
course to  common  eyes  appear  different  from  what 
it  was,  he  called  servants  to  conduct  her  to  the  gate. 
Loaded  with  insupportable  affliction,  she  immediate- 
ly repairs  to  her  husband ;  and,  having  signified  to 
his  gaolers  that  she  had  a  proposal  to  make  to  her 
husband  from  the  governor,  she  was  left  alone  with 
him,  revealed  to  him  all  that  had  passed,  and  repre- 
sented the  endless  conflict  she  was  in  between  love 
to  his  person  and  fidelity  to  his  bed.  It  is  easy  to 
imagine  the  sharp  affliction  this  honest  pair  was  in 
upon  such  an  incident,  in  lives  not  used  to  any  but 
ordinary  occurrences.  The  man  was  bridled  by 
shame  from  speaking  what  his  fear  prompted  upon 
so  near  an  approach  of  death ;  but  let  fall  words  that 
signified  to  her,  he  should  not  think  her  polluted, 
though  she  had  not  yet  confessed  to  him  that  the 
governor  had  violated  her  person,  since  he  knew  her 
will  had  no  part  in  the  action.     She  parted  from  him 


No.  491.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  419 

with  this  oblique  permission  to  save  a  life  he  had 
not  resolution  enough  to  resign  for  the  safety  of  his 
honour. 

The  next  morning  the  unhappy  Sapphira  attended 
the  governor,  and,  being  led  into  a  remote  apart- 
ment, submitted  to  his  desires.  Rhynsault  com- 
mended her  charms,  claimed  a  familiarity  after  what 
passed  between  them,  and  with  an  air  of  gaiety,  in 
the  language  of  a  gallant,  bid  her  return,  and  take 
her  husband  out  of  prison  :  but,  continued  he,  my 
fair  one  must  not  be  offended  that  I  have  taken  care 
he  should  not  be  an  interruption  to  our  future  assig- 
nations. These  last  words  foreboded  what  she  found 
when  she  came  to  the  gaol — her  husband  executed 
by  the  order  of  Rhynsault ! 

It  was  remarkable  that  the  woman,  who  was  full 
of  tears  and  lamentations  during  the  whole  course  of 
her  affliction,  uttered  neither  sigh  nor  complaint,  but 
stood  fixed  with  grief  at  this  consummation  of  her 
misfortunes.     She  betook  herself  to  her  abode  ;  and, 
after  having  in  solitude  paid  her  devotions  to  him 
who  is  the  avenger  of  innocence,  she  repaired  pri- 
vately to  court.    Her  person,  and  a  certain  grandeur 
of  sorrow,  negligent  of  forms,  gained  her  passage  in- 
to the  presence  of  the  duke  her  sovereign.     As  soon 
as  she  came  into  the  presence,  she  broke  forth  into 
the  following  words  :   '  Behold,  0  mighty  Charles,  a 
wretch  weary  of  life,  though  it  has  always  been  spent 
with  innocence  and  virtue.     It  is  not  in  your  power 
to  redress  my  injuries,  but  it  is  to  avenge  them. 
And  if  the  protection  of  the  distressed,  the  punish- 
ment of  oppressors,  is  a  task  worthy  a  prince,  I  bring 
the  duke  of  Burgundy  ample  matter  for  doing  hon- 
our to  his  own  great  name,  and  wiping  infamy  off 
of  mine.' 


420  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  491. 

When  she  had  spoke  this,  she  delivered  the  duke 
a  paper  reciting  her  story.  He  read  it  with  all  the 
emotions  that  indignation  and  pity  could  raise  in  a 
prince  jealous  of  his  honour  in  the  behaviour  oT  his 
officers  and  prosperity  of  his  subjects. 

Upon  an  appointed  day,  Rhynsault  was  sent  for 
to  court,  and,  in  the  presence  of  a  few  of  the  coun- 
cil, confronted  by  Sapphira ;  the  prince  asking  '  Do 
you  know  that  lady  ?  '  Rhynsault,  as  soon  as  he  could 
recover  his  surprise,  told  the  duke  he  would  marry 
her,  if  his  highness  would  please  to  think  that  a  re- 
paration. The  duke  seemed  contented  with  his  an- 
swer, and  stood  by  during  the  immediate  solemniza- 
tion of  the  ceremony.  At  the  conclusion  of  it  he 
told  Rhynsault,  '  Thus  far  you  have  done  as  con- 
strained by  my  authority  :  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  of 
your  kind  usage  of  her,  without  you  sign  a  gift  of 
your  whole  estate  to  her  after  your  decease.'  To 
the  performance  of  this  also  the  duke  was  a  witness. 
When  these  two  acts  were  executed,  the  duke  turn- 
ed to  the  lady,  and  told  her,  '  It  now  remains  for 
me  to  put  you  in  quiet  possession  of  what  your  hus- 
band has  so  bountifully  bestowed  on  you  ; '  and  or- 
dered the  immediate  execution  of  Rhynsault. 

m  n 

1  By  Steele.    See  No.  824,  note  on  T. 


No.  492.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  421 


No.  492.    WEDNESDAY,  September  24,  1712, 

Qaicquid  est  boni  moris  levitate  extinguitar. 

Senega. 
Levity  of  bebavionr  is  the  bane  of  all  that  is  good  and  virtuous, 

'DEAR  MR,  SPECTATOR,  '  Tunbridge,  Sept.  18. 

'  I  AM  a  young  ■woman  of  eighteen  years  of 
age,  and  I  do  assure  you  a  maid  of  unspotted  repu- 
tation, founded  upon  a  very  careful  carriage  in  all 
my  looks,  words,  and  actions.  At  the  same  time, 
I  must  own  to  you,  that  it  is  with  much  constraint 
to  flesh  and  blood,  that  my  behaviour  is  so  strictly 
irreproachable  ;  for  I  am  naturally  addicted  to  mirth, 
to  gaiety,  to  a  free  air,  to  motion  and  gadding.  Now, 
what  gives  me  a  great  deal  of  anxiety,  and  is  sotie 
discouragement  in  the  pursuit  of  virtue,  is  that  the 
young  women  who  run  into  greater  freedoms  with 
the  men  are  more  taken  notice  of  than  I  am.  The 
men  are  such  unthinking  sots,  that  they  do  not  pre- 
fer her  who  restrains  all  her  passions  and  affections, 
and  keeps  much  within  the  bounds  of  what  is  lawful, 
to  her  who  goes  to  the  utmost  verge  of  innocence, 
and  parleys  at  the  very  brink  of  vice,  whether  she 
shall  be  a  wife  or  a  mistress.  But  I  must  appeal  to 
your  Spectatorial  wisdom,  who,  I  find,  have  passed 
very  much  of  your  time  in  the  study  of  woman, 
whether  this  is  not  a  most  unreasonable  proceeding. 
I  have  read  somewhere  that  Hobbes  of  Malmesbury 
asserts,  that  continent  persons  have  more  of  what 
they  contain  than  those  who  give  a  loose  to  their 
desires.  According  to  this  rule,  let  there  be  equal 
age,  equal  wit,  and  equal  good-humour,  in  the  wo- 
man of  prudence,  and  her  of  liberty ;  what  stores 
has  he  to  expect  who  takes  the  former?  what  refuse 


422  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  492. 

must  he  be  contented  witli  who  chooses  the  latter? 
Well,  but  I  sat  down  to  write  to  you  to  vent  my  in- 
dignation against  several  pert  creatures  who  are  ad- 
dressed to  and  courted  in  this  place,  while  poor  I 
and  two  or  three  like  me  are  wholly  unregarded. 

'  Every  one  of  these  aifect  gaining  the  hearts  of 
your  sex.  This  is  generally  attempted  by  a  parti- 
cular manner  of  carrying  themselves  with  familiarity. 
Grlycera  has  a  dancing  walk,  and  keeps  time  in  her 
ordinary  gait.  Cloe,  her  sister,  who  is  unwilling  to 
interrupt  her  conquests,  comes  into  the  room  before 
her  with  a  familiar  run.  Dulcissa  takes  advantage 
of  the  approach  of  the  winter,  and  has  introduced  a 
very  pretty  shiver ;  closing  up  her  shoulders,  and 
shrinking  as  she  moves.  All  that  are  in  this  mode, 
calby  their  fans  between  both  hands  before  them. 
Dulcissa  herself,  who  is  author  of  this  air,  adds  the 
pretty  run  to  it  :  and  has  also,  when  she  is  in  very 
good  humour,  a  taking  familiarity  in  throwing  her- 
self into  the  lowest  seat  in  the  room,  and  letting  her 
hooped  petticoats  fall  with  a  lucky  decency  about 
her.  I  know  she  practises  this  way  of  sitting  down 
in  her  chamber ;  and  indeed  she  does  it  as  well  as 
you  may  have  seen  an  actress  fall  down  dead  in  a 
tragedy.  Not  the  least  indecency  in  her  posture. 
If  you  have  observed  what  pretty  carcases  are  car- 
ried off  at  the  end  of  a  verse  at  the  theatre,  it  will 
give  you  a  notion  how  Dulcissa  plumps  into  her  chair. 
Here  is  a  little  country  girl  that  is  very  cunning,  that 
makes  her  use  of  being  young  and  unbred,  and  out- 
does the  ensnarers  who  are  almost  twice  her  age. 
The  air  that  she  takes  is  to  come  into  company  after 
a  walk,  and  is  very  successfully  out  of  breath  upon 
occasion.     Her  mother  is  in  the  secret,  and  calls  her 


No.  492.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  423 

romp,  and  then  looks  round  to  see  what  young  men 
stare  at  her. 

'  It  would  take  up  more  than  can  come  into  one 
of  your  papers,  to  enumerate  all  the  particular  airs 
of  the  younger  company  in  this  place.  But  I  can- 
not omit  Dulceorella,  whose  manner  is  the  most  in- 
dolent imaginable,  but  still  as  watchful  of  conquest 
as  the  busiest  virgin  among  us.  She  has  a  peculiar 
art  of  staring  at  a  young  fellow,  till  she  sees  she  has 
got  him,  and  inflamed  him  by  so  much  observation. 
When  she  sees  she  has  him,  and  he  begins  to  toss 
his  head  upon  it,  she  is  immediately  short-sighted, 
and  labours  to  observe  what  he  is  at  a  distance,  with 
her  eyes  half  shut.  Thus  the  captive  that  thought 
her  first  struck,  is  to  make  very  near  approaches,  or 
be  wholly  disregarded.  This  artifice  has  done  more 
execution  than  all  the  ogling  of  the  rest  of  the 
women  .here,  with  the  utmost  variety  of  half  glan- 
ces, attentive  heedlessnesses,  childish  inadvertences, 
haughty  contempts,  or  artificial  oversights.  After 
I  have  said  thus  much  of  ladies  among  us  who  fight 
thus  regularly,  I  am  to  complain  to  you  of  a  set  of 
familiar  romps,  who  have  broken  through  all  com- 
mon rules,  and  have  thought  of  a  very  effectual  way 
of  showing  more  charms  than  all  of  us.  These,  Mr. 
Spectator,  are  the  swingers.  You  are  to  know  these 
careless  pretty  creatures  are  very  innocents  again  ; 
and  it  is  to  be  no  matter  what  they  do,  for  it  is  all 
harmless  freedom.  They  get  on  ropes,  as  you  must 
have  seen  the  children,  and  are  swung  by  their  men 
visitants.  The  jest  is,  that  Mr.  Such-a-one  can  name 
the  colour  of  Mrs.  Such-a-one's  stockings ;  and  she 
tells  him  he  is  a  lying  thief,  so  he  is,  and  full  of  ro- 
guery ;  and  she  will  lay  a  wager,  and  her  sister  shall 


424  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  492. 

tell  the  truth  if  he  says  right,  and  he  cannot  tell 
what  colour  her  garters  are  of.  In  this  diversion 
there  are  very  many  pretty  shrieks,  not  so  much  for 
fear  of  falling,  as  that  their  petticoats  should  untie  ; 
for  there  is  a  great  care  had  to  avoid  improprieties ; 
and  the  lover  who  swings  the  lady  is  to  tie  her  clothes 
very  close  with  his  hatband,  before  she  admits  him 
to  throw  up  her  heels. 

'  Now,  Mr.  Spectator,  except  you  can  note  these 
wantonnesses  in  their  beginnings,  and  bring  us  sober 
girls  into  observation,  there  is  no  help  for  it ;  we 
must  swim  with  the  tide ;  the  coquettes  are  too 
powerful  a  party  for  us.  To  look  into  the  merit  of 
a  regular  and  well-behaved  woman  is  a  slow  thing. 
A  loose  trivial  song  gains  the  affections,  when  a 
wise  homily  is  not  attended  to.  There  is  no  other 
way  but  to  make  war  upon  them,  or  we  must  go 
over  to  them.  As  for  my  part,  I  will  show  ■  all  the 
world  it  is  not  for  the  want  of  charms  that  I  stand 
so  long  unasked :  and  if  you  do  not  take  measures 
for  the  immediate  redress  of  us  rigids,  as  the  fellows 
call  us,  I  can  move  with  a  speaking  mien,  can  look 
significantly,  can  lisp,  can  trip,  can  loll,  can  start, 
can  blush,  can  rage,  can  weep,  if  I  must  do  it,  and 
can  be  frightened  as  agreeably  as  any  she  in  England. 
All  which  is  humbly  submitted  to  your  Spectatorial 
consideration,  with  all  humility,  by 

'  Your  most  humble  servant, 
T."  '  Matilda  Mohair.' 

"  By  Steele.    See  Speot.  No.  S24,  note  on  signature  T. 


No.  493.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  425 


No.  493.     THURSDAY,  September  25,  1712. 

Qnalem  commendes,  etiam  atqne  etiam  adspice ;  ne  mox 
Incutiant  alieDa  tibi  peccata  pudorem. 

HOK.  1  Ep.  xviii.  76. 
Commend  not,  till  a  man  Is  throughly  known ; 
A.  rascal  praised,  you  make  his  faults  your  own. 

Anon. 

It  is  no  unpleasant  matter  of  speculation  to  consider 
the  recommendatory  epistles  that  pass  round  this 
town  from  hand  to  hand,  and  the  abuse  people  put 
upon  one  another  in  that  kind.  It  is  indeed  come 
to  that  pass,  that,  instead  of  being  the  testimony  of 
merit  in  the  person  recommended,  the  true  reading 
of  a  letter  of  this  sort  is,  '  The  bearer  hereof  is  so 
uneasy  to  me,  that  it  will  be  an  act  of  charity  in  you 
to  take  him  off  my  hands ;  whether  you  prefer  him 
or  not,  it  is  all  one ;  for  I  have  no  manner  of  kind- 
ness for  him,  or  obligation  to  him  or  his ;  and  do 
what  you  please  as  to  that.'  As  negligent  as  men 
are  in  this  respect,  a  point  of  honour  is  concerned 
in  it ;  and  there  is  nothing  a  man  should  be  more 
ashamed  of,  than  passing  a  -worthless  creature  into 
the  service  or  interests  of  a  man  who  has  never 
injured  you.  The  women  indeed  are  a  little  too  keen 
in  their  resentments  to  trespass  often  this  way  :  but 
you  shall  sometimes  know,  that  the  mistress  and  the 
maid  shall  quarrel,  and  give  each  other  very  free 
language,  and  at  last  the  lady  shall  be  pacified  to 
turn  her  out  of  doors,  and  give  her  a  very  good 
word  to  any  body  else.  Hence  it  is  that  you  see, 
in  a  year  and  a  half's  time,  the  same  face  a  domestic 
in  all  parts  of  the  town.  Good-breeding  and  good- 
nature lead  people  in  a  great  measure  to  this  injus- 
tice :   when  suitors  of  ao  consideration  will  have 


426  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  493. 

confidence  enougli  to  press  upon  their  superiors,  those 
in  power  are  tender  of  speaking  the  exceptions  they 
have  against  them,  and  are  mortgaged  into  promises 
out  of  their  impatience  of  importunity.  In  this  latter 
case,  it  would  be  a  very  useful  inquiry  to  know  the 
history  of  recommendations.  There  are,  you  must 
know,  certain  abettors  of  this  way  of  torment,  who 
make  it  a  profession  to  manage  the  affairs  of  candi- 
dates. These  gentlemen  let  out  their  impudence  to 
their  clients,  and  supply  any  defective  recommenda- 
tion, by  informing  how  such  and  such  a  man  is  to 
be  attacked.  They  will  tell  you,  get  the  least  scrap 
from  Mr.  Such-a-one,  and  leave  the  rest  to  them. 
When  one  of  these  undertakers  has  your  business  in 
hand,  you  may  be  sick,  absent  in  town  or  country, 
and  the  patron  shall  be  worried,  or  you  prevail.  I 
remember  to  have  been  shown  a  gentleman  some 
years  ago,  who  punished  a  whole  people  for  their 
facility  in  giving  their  credentials.  This  person  had 
belonged  to  a  regiment  which  did  duty  in  the  West 
Indies,  and,  by  the  mortality  of  the  place,  happened 
to  be  commanding  officer  in  the  colony.  He  op- 
pressed his  subjects  with  great  frankness,  till  he  be- 
came sensible  that  he  was  heartily  hated  by  every 
man  under  his  command.  When  he  had  carried  his 
point  to  be  thus  detestable,  in  a  pretended  fit  of 
dishumour,  and  feigned  uneasiness  of  living  where 
he  found  he  was  so  universally  unacceptable,  he  com- 
municated to  the  chief  inhabitants  a  design  he  had 
to  return  for  England,  provided  they  would  give 
him  ample  testimonials  of  their  approbation.  The 
planters  came  into  it  to  a  man ;  and  in  proportion 
to  his  deserving  quite  the  contrary,  the  words  jus- 
tice, generosity,  and  courage,  were  inserted  in  his 
commission,  not  omitting  the  general  good-liking  of 


No.  493.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  427 

people  of  all  conditions  in  the  colony.  The  gentle- 
man returns  for  England,  and  within  a  few  months 
after,  came  back  to  them  their  governor,  on  the 
strength  of  their  own  testimonials. 

Such  a  rebuke  as  this  cannot  indeed  happen  to 
easy  recommenders,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things, 
from  one  hand  to  another ;  but  how  would  a  man  bear 
to  have  it  said  to  him,  '  the  person  I  took  into  con- 
fidence on  the  credit  you  gave  him,  has  proved  false, 
unjust,  and  has  not  answered  any  way  the  character 
you  gave  me  of  him  ? ' 

I  cannot  but  conceive  very  good  hopes  of  that 
rake  Jack  Toper  of  the  Temple,  for  an  honest  scru- 
pulousness in  this  point.  A  friend  of  his  meeting 
with  a  servant  that  had  formerly  lived  with  Jack, 
and  having  a  mind  to  take  him,  sent  to  him  to  know 
what  faults  the  fellow  had,  since  he  could  not  please 
such  a  careless  fellow  as  he  was.  His  answer  was 
as  follows : 

'sir, 

'  Thomas  that  lived  with  me  was  turned 
away  beca.use  he  was  too  good  for  me.  You  know 
I  live  in  taverns ;  he  is  an  orderly  sober  rascal,  and 
thinks  much  to  sleep  in  an  entry  till  two  in  the 
morning.  He  told  me  one  day,  when  he  was  dress- 
ing me,  that  he  wondered  I  was  not  dead  before 
now,  since  I  went  to  dinner  in  the  evening,  and  went 
to  supper  at  two  in  the  morning.  We  were  coming 
down  Essex-street  one  night  a  little  flustered,  and  I 
was  giving  him  the  word  to  alarm  the  watch ;  he 
had  the  impudence  to  tell  me  it  was  against  the  law. 
You  that  are  married,  and  live  one  day  after  another 
the  same  way,  and  so  on  the  whole  week,  I  dare  say 
will  like  him,  and  he  will  be  glad  to  have  his  meat 


428  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  493. 

in  due  season.     The  fellow  is  certainly  very  honest. 
My  service  to  your  lady. 

'  Yours,  J.  T.' 

Now  this  was  very  fair  dealing.  Jack  knew  very 
well,  that  though  the  love  of  order  made  a  man  very 
awkward  in  his  equipage,  it  was  a  valuable  quality 
among  the  queer  people  who  live  by  rule ;  and  had 
too  much  good  sense  and  good-nature  to  let  the 
fellow  starve,  because  he  was  not  fit  to  attend  his 
vivacities. 

I  shall  end  this  discourse  with  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation from  Horace  to  Claudius  Nero.  You  will 
see  in  that  letter  a  slowness  to  ask  a  favour,  a  strong 
reason  for  being  unable  to  deny  his  good  word  any 
longer,  and  that  it  is  a  service  to  the  person  to  whom 
he  recommends,  to  comply  with  what  is  asked ;  all 
which  are  necessary  circumstances  both  in  justice 
and  good  breeding,  if  a  man  would  ask  so  as  to  have 
reason  to  complain  of  a  denial :  and  indeed  a  man 
should  not  in  strictness  ask  otherwise.  In  hopes 
the  authority  of  Horace,  who  perfectly  understood 
how  to  live  with  great  men,  may  have  a  good  effect 
towards  amending  this  facility  in  people  of  condition, 
and  the  confidence  of  those  who  apply  to  them  with- 
out merit,  I  have  translated  the  epistle. 

'  TO  CLAUDIUS  NEKO. 

'  SIR, 

'  Septimius,  who  waits  upon  you  with  this,  is 
very  well  acquainted  with  the  place  yoti  are  pleased 
to  allow  me  in  your  friendship.  For  when  he  be- 
seeches me  to  recommend  him  to  your  notice,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  be  received  by  you,  who  are 
delicate  in  the  choice  of  your  friends  and  domestics, 


No.  494.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  429 

he  knows  our  intimacy,  and  understands  my  ability 
to  serve  him  better  than  I  do  myself.  I  have  de- 
fended mysftlf  against  his  ambition  to  be  yours,  as 
long  as  I  possibly  could ;  but  fearing  the  imputation 
of  hiding  my  power  in  you  out  of  mean  and  sdfish 
considerations,  I  am  at  last  prevailed  upon  to  give 
you  this  trouble.  Thus,  to  avoid  the  appearance  of 
a  greater  fault,  I  have  put  on  this  confidence.  If  you 
can  forgive  this  transgression  of  modesty  in  behalf 
of  a  friend,  receive  this  gentleman  into  your  interests 
and  friendship,  and  take  it  from  me  that  he  is  an 
honest  and  a  brave  man.' 

*jf*  At  Drury-lane  was  advertised  for  Tuesday,  Sept.  23,  a  comedy 
called  The  Chances.  Don  John,  by  Mr.  Wilks ;  Don  Frederick,  Mr.  Mills  ; 
Don  Antonio,  Mr.  Pinkethman ;  Anthony,  Mr.  Norris.  Constantia,  Mrs. 
Oldfield.  The  fa^'ce  of  The  Country  Wake.  Hob,  by  Mr.  Doggett; 
Friendly,  Mr.  Pack ;  Sir  Thomas  Testy,  Mr.  Bullock ;  and  Flora,  by  Mrs. 
Santlow. — Spect.  in  folio.  No.  491. 


No.  494.     FEIDAY,  September  26, 1712. 

.^gritudinem  laudare,  unam  rem  maximS  detestabilem;  quorum  est  tandom  philosopho- 

rum  ?  CiOKBO. 

What  kind  of  philosophy  is  it  to  extol  melancholy,  the  most  detestable  thing  in  nature  ? 

About  an  age  ago  it  was  the  fashion  in  England  for 
every  one  that  would  be  thought  religious  to  throw 
as  much  sanctity  as  possible  into  his  face,  and  in  par- 
ticular to  abstain  from  all  appearances  of  mirth  and 
pleasantry,  which  were  looked  upon  as  the  marks  of 
a  carnal  mind.  The  saint  was  of  a  sorrowful  coun- 
tenance, and  generally  eaten  up  with  spleen  and 

y  By  Steele.    See  Wo.  324,  note  on  T,  ad  finem. 


430  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  494. 

melanclioly.  A  gentleman,  who  was  lately  a  great 
ornament''  to  the  learned  world,  has  diverted  me 
more  than  once  with  an  account  of  tbe  reception 
which  he  met  with  from  a  very  famous  independent 
minister,  who  was  head  of  a  college "  in  those  times. 
This  gentleman  was  then  a  young  adventurer  in  the 
republic  of  letters,  and  just  fitted  out  for  the  univer- 
sity with  a  good  cargo  of  Latin  and  Greek.  His 
friends  were  resolved  that  he  should  try  his  fortune 
at  an  election  which  was  drawing  near  in  the  college, 
of  which  the  independent  minister  whom  I  have  be- 
fore mentioned  was  governor.  The  youth,  according 
to  custom,  waited  on  him  in  order  to  be  examined. 
He  was  received  at  the  door  by  a  servant  who  was 
one  of  that  gloomy  generation  that  were  then  in 
fashion.  He  conducted  him,  with  great  silence  and 
seriousness,  to  a  long  gallery,  which  was  darkened 
at  noon-day,  and  had  only  a  single  candle  burning 
in  it.  After  a  short  stay  in  this  melancholy  apart- 
ment, he  was  led  into  a  chamber  hung  with  black, 
where  he  entertained  himself  for  some  time  by  the 
glimmering  of  a  taper,  till  at  length  the  head  of  the 
college  came  out  to  him,  from  an  inner  room,  with 
half  ja  dozen  night-caps  upon  his  head,  and  religious 
horror  in  his  countenance.  The  young  man  trem- 
bled :  but  his  fears  increased,  when,  instead  of  being 
asked  what  progress  he  had  made  in  learning,  he  was 

"  The  gentleman  here  nlluded  to  as  a  late  great  ornament  to  the 
learned  ■world,  was  Anthony  Henley,  esq.  who  died  much  lamented,  in 
Aug.  1711.     See  Tat.  Nos.  11,  25,  26,  44;  and  notes  on  A.  Henley,  esq. 

"  The  head  of  a  college  was  Dr.  Thomas  Goodwin,  S.  T.  P.  president  of 
Magdalen  College  in  Oxford,  and  one  of  the  assembly  of  dwines  who  sat 
at  Westminster.  Mr.  Wood  says,  'Dr.  T.  Goodwin  and  Dr.  Owen  were  the 
two  atlases  and  patriarchs  of  independency.'  Dr.  Goodwin  attended  his 
friend  and  patron  0.  Cromwell  on  his  death-bed ;  the  doctor's  portrait,  said 
to  be  a  strong  likeness,  with  a  double  cap  on  his  head,  is  prefixed  to  his 
works  in  2  vols,  folio,  1681. 


No.  494.]  iHE  SPECTATOR.  431 

examined  how  lie  abounded  in  grace.  His  Latin  and 
Greek  stood  him  in  little  stead ;  he  was  to  give  an 
account  only  of  the  state  of  his  soul ;  whether  he  was 
of  the  number  of  the  elect ;  what  was  the  occasion  of 
his  conversion ;  upon  what  day  of  the  month,  and 
hour  of  the  day  it  happened ;  how  it  was  carried  on, 
and  when  completed.  The  whole  examination  was 
summed  up  with  one  short  question,  namely,  wheth- 
er he  was  prepared  for  death  ?  The  boy,  who  had 
been  bred  up  by  honest  parents,  was  frighted  out  of 
his  wits  at  the  solemnity  of  the  proceeding,  and  es- 
pecially by  the  last  dreadful  interrogatory ;  so  that, 
upon  making  his  escape  out  of  this  house  of  mourn- 
ing, he  could  never  be  brought  a  second  time  to  the 
examination,  as  not  being  able  to  go  through  the 
terrors  of  it. 

Notwithstanding  this  general  form  and  outside 
of  religion  is  pretty  well  worn  out  among  us,  there 
are  many  persons  who,  by  a  natural  uncheerfulness 
of  heart,  mistaken  notions  of  piety,  or  weakness  of 
understanding,  love  to  indulge  this  uncomfortable 
way  of  life,  and  give  up  themselves  a  prey  to  grief 
and  melancholy.  Superstitious  fears  and  groundless 
scruples  cut  them  off  from  the  pleasures  of  conversa- 
tion, and  all  those  social  entertainments  which  are 
not  only  innocent  but  laudable ;  as  if  mirth  was  made 
for  reprobates,  and  cheerfulness  of  heart  denied  those 
who  are  the  only  persons  that  have  a  proper  title 
to  it.  ■ 

Sombrius  is  one  of  these  sons  of  sorrow.  He 
thinks  himself  obliged  in  duty  to  be  sad  and  discon- 
solate. He  looks  on  a  sudden  fit  of  laughter  as  a 
breach  of  his  baptismal  vow.  An  innocent  jest  star- 
tles him  like  blasphemy.  Tell  him  of  one  who  is 
advanced  to  a  title  of  honour,  he  lifts  up  his  hands 


432  THE   SPECTATOR.  fNo.  494. 

and  eyes ;  describe  a  public  ceremony,  he  shakes  his 
head;  show  him  a  gay  equipage,  he  blesses  him- 
self. All  the  little  ornaments  of  life  are  pomps  and 
vanities.  Mirth  is  wanton,  and  wit  profane.  He  is 
scandalized  at  youth  for  being  lively,  and  at  child- 
hood for  being  playful.  He  sits  at  a  christening  or 
a  marriage-feast  as  at  a  funeral ;  sighs  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  a  merry  story  ;  and  grows  devout  when  the 
rest  of  the  company  grow  pleasant.  After  all,  Som- 
brius  is  a  religious  man,  and  would  have  behaved 
himself  very  properly,  had  he  lived  when  Christian- 
ity was  under  a  general  persecution. 

I  would  by  no  means  presume  to  tax  such  cha- 
racters with  hypocrisy,  as  is  done  too  frequently  ; 
that  being  a  vice  which  I  think  none  but  He  who 
knows  the  secrets  of  men's  hearts  should  pretend  to 
discover  in  another,  where  the  proofs  of  it  do  not 
amount  to  a  demonstration.  On  the  contrary,  as 
there  are  many  excellent  persons  who  are  weighed 
down  by  this  habitual  sorrow  of  heart,  they  rather 
deserve  our  compassion  than  our  reproaches.  I 
think,  however,  they  would  do  well  to  consider 
whether  such  a  behaviour  does  not  deter  men  from 
a  religious  life,  by  representing  it  as  an  unsociable 
state,  that  extinguishes  all  joy  and  gladness,  darkens 
the  face  of  nature,  and  destroys  the  relish  of  being 
itself 

I  have,  in  former  papers,  shown  how  great  a  ten- 
dency there  is  to  cheerfulness  in  religion,  and  how 
such  a  frame  of  mind  is  not  only  the  most  lovely,  but 
the  most  commendable  in  a  virtuous  person.  In  short, 
those  who  represent  religion  in  so  unamiable  a  light, 
are  like  the  spies  sent  by  Moses  to  make  a  discovery 
of  the  land  of  promise,  when  by  their  reports  they 
discouraged  the  people  from  entering  upon  it.   Those 


No.  494.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  433 

who  show  us  the  joy,  the  cheerfulness,  the  good  hu- 
mour, that  naturally  spring  up  in  this  happy  state, 
are  like  the  spies  bringing  along  with  them  the  clus- 
ters of  grapes  and  delicious  fruits,  that  might  invite 
their  companions  into  the  pleasant  country  which 
produced  them.'' 

An  eminent  pagan  writer"  has  made  a  discourse 
to  show  that  the  atheist,  who  denies  a  God,  does 
him  less  dishonour  than  the  man  who  owns  his  being, 
but  at  the  same  time  believes  him  to  be  cruel,  hard 
to  please,  and  terrible  to  human  nature.  '  For  my 
own  part,'  says  he,  '  I  would  rather  it  should  be  said 
of  me,  that  there  was  never  any  such  man  as  Plu- 
tarch, than  that  Plutarch  was  ill-natured,  capricious, 
or  inhuman.' 

If  we  may  believe  our  logicians,  man  is  distin- 
guished from  all  other  creatures  by  the  faculty  of 
laughter.  He  has  a  heart  capable  of  mirth,  and  na- 
turally disposed  to  it.  It  is  not  the  business  of  vir- 
tue to  extirpate  the  affections  of  the  mind,  but  to 
regulate  them.  It  may  moderate  and  restrain,  but 
was  not  designed  to  banish  gladness  from  the  heart 
of  man.  Religion  contracts  the  circle  of  our  pleas- 
ures, but  leaves  it  wide  enough  for  her  votaries  to 
expatiate  in.  The  contemplation  of  the  Divine  Be- 
ing and  the  exercise  of  virtue  are,  in  their  own  na- 
ture, so  far  from  excluding  all  gladness  of  heart,  that 
they  are  perpetually  sources  of  it.  In  a  word,  the 
true  spirit  of  religion  cheers,  as  well  as  composes, 
the  soul ;  it  banishes,  indeed,  all  levity  of  behaviour, 
all  vicious  and  dissolute  mirth,  but  in  exchangie  fills 
the  mind  with  a  perpetual  serenity,  uninterrupted 

^  Numbers,  ch.  xiiL 

°  Plut.  nepl  AeiiriSainoi/las.    Plut.  Opera,  torn.  I  p.  286.    H.  Stepk 
1672,  12mo. 

VOL.  v.— 28 


434  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  495. 

cheerfulness,  and  an  habitual  inclination  to  please 
others,  as  well  as  to  be  pleased  in  itself. 

*,j*  By  her  majesty's  company  of  comedians,  at  the  Theatre-royal  in 
Drnry-lane,  on  Thursday,  Sept.  25,  was  advertised  to  be  presented  a 
comedy  called  The  Amorous  Widow,  or  The  Wanton  Wife.  The  part  of 
Barnaby  Brittle,  by  Mr.  Doggett;  the  Wanton  Wife,  by  Mrs.  Oldiield; 
Lovemore,  by  Mr.  Wilks ;  Cunningham,  by  Mr.  Mills ;  Sir  Peter  Pride,  by 
Mr.  Johnson ;  Merryman,  by  Mr.  Piukethman ;  Clodpole,  by  Mr.  Bullock ; 
Jeffery,  by  Mr.  Pack.  Philadelphia,  by  Mrs.  Porter;  and  Damaris  by 
Mrs.  Bicknell. — On  Saturday  next,  the  last  new  tragedy  called  the  Dis- 
trest  Mother. — Spect.  in  folio,  No.  492. 

flf  On  Tuesday,  Sept  30,  The  Recruiting  Officer.  Captain  Plume, 
Mr.  Wilks;  Worthy,  Mr.  Mills;  Captain  Brazen,  Mr.  Gibber;  Serjeant 
Kite,  Mr.  Pack;  Recruits,  Mr.  ISforris  and  Bullock,  jun.  Melinda,  Mrs. 
Rogers ;  Sylvia,  Mrs.  Bicknell ;  and  Rosa,  Miss  Younger. — Spect.  in  folio. 

N.  B.  The  curious  reader  may  see  an  account  of  the  real  persons 
alluded  to  in  this  comedy,  in  a  note  on  Tat  No.  20. 


No.  495.     SATURDAY,  September  27,  1Y12. 

Duris  ut  ilex  tODsa  bipennibns 
NigrsB  feraci  ftrondis  in  algido, 
Per  damna,  per  casdes,  ab  ipso 
Ducit  opes  animumque  ferro. 

HoK.  4  Od.  It.  57. 
— Like  an  oak  on  some  cold  mountain  brow, 
At  ev'ry  wound  they  sprout  and  grow : 
Tho  axe  and  sword  new  vigour  give. 
And  by  their  ruins  they  revive. 

Anon. 

As  I  am  one  who,  by  my  profession,  am  obliged  to 
look  into  all  kinds  of  men,  there  are  none  whom  I 
consider  with  so  much  pleasure,  as  those  who  have 
any  thing  new  or  extraordinary  in  their  characters 
or  ways  of  living.  For  this  reason,  I  have  often 
amused  myself  with  speculations  on  the  race  of  peo- 

<*  Addison  ^was  the  author  of  this  paper,  No.  494,  dated,  it  seems,  from 
his  office.     See  Noa.  6,  and  7,  final  notes. 


No.  495.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  435 

pie  called  Jews,  many  of  whom  I  have  met  with  in 
most  of  the  considerable  towns  which  I  have  passed 
through  in  the  course  of  my  travels.  They  are,  in- 
deed, so  disseminated  through  all  the  trading  parts 
of  the  world,  that  they  are  become  the  instruments 
by  which  the  most  distant  nations  converse  with  one 
another,  and  by  which  mankind  are  knit  together 
in  a  general  correspondence.  They  are  like  the 
pegs  and  nails  in  a  great  building,  which,  though 
they  are  but  little  valued  in  themselves,  are  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  keep  the  whole  frame  together. 

That  I  may  not  fall  into  any  common  beaten 
tracks  of  observation,  I  shall  consider  this  people  in 
three  views.  First,  with  regard  to  their  number : 
secondly,  their  dispersion  :  and  thirdly,  their  adhe- 
rence to  their  religion :  and  afterwards  endeavour  to 
show,  first,  what  natural  reasons,  and  secondly,  what 
providential  reasons  may  be  assigned  for  these  three 
remarkable  particulars. 

The  Jews  are  looked  upon  by  many  to  be  as 
faumerous  at  present  as  they  were  formerly  in  the 
land  of  Canaan. 

This  is  wonderful,  considering  the  dreadful 
slaughter  made  of  them  under  some  of  the  Roman 
emperors,  which  historians  describe  by  the  death  of 
many  hundred  thousands  in  a  war ;  and  the  innumer- 
able massacres  and  persecutions  they  have  under- 
gone in.  Turkey,  as  well  as  in  all  Christian  nations  of 
the  world.  The  rabbins,  to  express  the  great  havoc 
which  has  been  sometimes  made  of  them,  tell  us, 
after  their  usual  manner  of  hyperbole,  that  there 
were  such  torrents  of  holy  blood  shed,  as  carried 
rocks  of  an  hundred  yards  in  circumference  about 
three  miles  into  the  sea. 

Their  dispersion  is  the  second  remarkable  parti- 


436  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  495. 

cular  in  this  people.  They  swarm  over  all  the  East ; 
and  are  settled  in  the  remotest  parts  of  China.  They 
are  spread  through  most  of  the  nations  in  Europe 
and  Africa,  and  many  families  of  them  are  establish- 
ed in  the  West  Indies :  not  to  mention,  whole  na- 
tions bordering  on  Prester-John's  country,  and  some 
discovered  in  the  inner  parts  of  America,  if  we  may 
give  any  credit  to  their  own  writers. 

Their  firm  adherence  to  their  religion  is  no  less 
remarkable  than  their  numbers  and  dispersion,  espe- 
cially considering  it  as  persecuted  or  contemned 
over  the  face  of  the  whole  earth.  This  is  likewise 
the  more  remarkable  if  we  consider  the  frequent 
apostasies  of  this  people,  when  they  lived  under  their 
kings  in  the  land  of  promise,  and  within  sight  of 
their  temple. 

If,  in  the  next  place,  we  examine  what  may  be 
the  natural  reasons  for  these  three  particulars  which 
we  find  in  the  Jews,  and  which  are  not  to  be  found 
in  any  other  religion  or  people,  I  can,  in  the  first 
place,  attribute  their  numbers  to  nothing  but  their 
constant  employment,  their  abstinence,  their  exemp- 
tion from  wars,  and,  above  all,  their  frequent  mar- 
riages ;  for  they  look  on  celibacy  as  an  accursed 
state,  and  generally  are  married  before  twenty,  as 
hoping  the  Messiah  may  descend  from  them. 

The  dispersion  of  the  Jews  into  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth,  is  the  second  remarkable  particular  of 
that  people,  though  not  so  hard  to  be  accounted  for. 
They  were  always  in  rebellions  and  tumults  while 
they  had  the  temple  and  holy  city  in  view ;  for  which 
reason  they  have  often  been  driven  out  of  their  old 
habitations  in  the  land  of  promise.  They  have  as 
often  been  banished  out  of  most  other  places  where 
they  have  settled,  which  must  very  much  disperse 


No.  495.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  437 

and  scatter  a  people,  and  oblige  them  to  seek  a  live- 
lihood where  they  can  find  it.  Besides,  the  whole 
people  is  now  a  race  of  such  merchants  as  are  wan- 
derers by  profession,  and,  at  the  same  time,  are  in 
most,  if  not  all  places,  incapable  of  either  lands  or 
offices  that  might  engage  them  to  make  any  part  of 
the  world  their  home. 

This  dispersion  would  probably  have  lost  their 
religion,  had  it  not  been  secured  by  the  strength  of 
its  constitution  :  for  they  are  to  live  all  in  a  body, 
and  generally  within  the  same  enclosure  ;  to  marry 
among  themselves,  and  to  eat  no  meats  that  are  not 
killed  or  prepared  their  own  way.  This  shuts  them 
out  from  all  table  conversation,  and  the  most  agree- 
able intercourses  of  life ;  and,  by  consequence,  ex- 
cludes them  from  the  most  probable  means  of  con- 
version: 

If,  in  the  last  place,  we  consider  what  providen- 
tial reason  may  be  assigned  for  these  three  particu- 
lars, we  shall  find  that  their  numbers,  dispersion,  and 
adherence  to  their  religion,  have  furnished  every 
age,  and  every  nation  of  the  world,  with  the  strong- 
est arguments  for  the  Christian  faith  ;  not  only  as 
these  very  particulars  are  foretold  of  them,  but  as 
they  themselves  are  the  depositaries  of  these  and  all 
the  other  prophecies  which  tend  to  their  own  con- 
fusion. Their  number  furnishes  us  with  a  sufficient 
cloud  of  witnesses  that  attest  the  truth  of  the  Old 
Bible.  Their  dispersion  spreads  these  witnesses 
through  all  parts  of  the  world.  The  adherence  to 
their  religion  makes  their  testimony  unquestionable. 
Had  the  whole  body  of  Jews  been  converted  to 
Christianity,  we  should  certainly  have  thought  all 
the  prophecies  of  the  Old  Testament,  that  relate  to 
the  coming  and  history  of  our   Blessed   Saviour, 


438  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  496. 

forged  by  Christians,  and  have  looked  upon  them, 
with  the  prophecies  of  the  Sibyls,  as  made  many 
years  after  the  events  they  pretended  to  foretell. 

0." 


No.  496.     MONDAY,  September  29,  1712. 

Gnatum  pariter  nti  his  decuit,  aut  etiam  amplius,  , 

Quod  ilia  ffitas  magis  ad  hsec  utenda  idonea  est 

TflaENT.  Heant  Act.  1,  Sc.  1. 

Tom  son  onght  to  hare  Blared  in  these  things,  because  youth  is  best  suited  to 
the  enjoyment  of  them. 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  Those  ancients  who  were  the  most  accu- 
rate in  their  remarks  on  the  genius  and  temper  of 
mankind,  by  considering  the  various  bent  and  scope 
of  our  actions  throughout  the  progress  of  life,  have 
with  great  exactness  allotted  inclinations  and  objects 
of  desire  particular  to  every  stage,  according  to  the 
different  circumstances  of  our  conversation  and  for- 
tune through  the  several  periods  of  it.  Hence  they 
were  disposed  easily  to  excuse  those  excesses  which 
might  possibly  arise  from  a  too  eager  pursuit  of  the 
affections  more  immediately  proper  to  each  state. 
They  indulged  the  levity  of  childhood  with  tender- 
ness, overlooked  the  gaiety  of  youth  with  good  na- 
ture, tempered  the  forward  ambition  and  impatience 
of  ripened  manhood  with  discretion,  and  kindly  im- 
puted the  tenacious  avarice  of  old  men  to  their  want 
of  relish  for  any  other  enjoyment.  Such  allowances 
as  these  were  no  less  advantageous  to  common 
society  than  obliging  to  particular  persons  ;  for  by 

•  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  his  office,  or  it  may  be,  ■written 
originally  at  Oxford.  See  Nos.  6,  6,  and  7,  and  notes  on  the  signature,  0, 
ad  Jinem. 


No.  496.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  439 

maintaining  a  decency  and  regularity  in  the  course 
of  life,  they  supported  the  dignity  of  human  nature, 
which  then  suffers  the  greatest  violence  when  the 
order  of  things  is  inverted ;  and  in  nothing  is  it  more 
remarkably  vilified  and  ridiculous,  than  when  fee- 
bleness preposterously  attempts  to  adorn  itself  with 
that  outward  pomp  and  lustre  which  serve  only  to 
set  off  the  bloom  of  youth  with  better  advantage. 
I  was  insensibly  carried  into  reflections  of  this  na- 
ture, by  just  now  meeting  Paulino  (who  is  in  his 
climacteric)  bedecked  with  the  utmost  splendour  of 
dress  and  equipage,  and  giving  an  unbounded  loose 
to  all  manner  of.pleasure,  whilst  his  only  son  is  de- 
barred all  innocent  diversion,  and  may  be  seen  fre- 
quently solacing  himself  in  the  Mall,  with  no  other 
attendance  than  one  antiquated  servant  of  his  fa- 
ther's for  a  companion  and  director. 

'  It  is  a  monstrous  want  of  reflection,  that  a  man 
cannot  consider,  that  when  he  cannot  resign  the 
pleasures  of  life  in  his  decay  of  appetite  and  inclina- 
tion to  them,  his  son  must  have  a  much  uneasier  task 
to  resist  the  impetuosity  of  growing  desires.  The 
skill  therefore  should  methinks  be,  to  let  a  son  want 
no  lawful  diversion  in  proportion  to  his  future  for- 
tune and  the  figure  he  is  to  make  in  the  world.  The 
first  step  towards  virtue  that  I  have  observed  in 
young  men  of  condition  that  have  run  into  excesses, 
has  been  that  they  had  a  regard  to  their  quality  and 
reputation  in  the  management  of  their  vices.  Nar- 
rowness in  their  circumstances  has  made  many 
youths,  to  supply  themselves  as  debauchees,  com- 
mence cheats  and  rascals.  The  father  who  allows 
his  son  to  his  utmost  ability,  avoids  this  latter  evil, 
which  as  to  the  world  is  much  greater  than  the  for- 
mer.    But  the  contrary  practice  has  prevailed  so 


440  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  496. 

mucli  among  some  men,  that  I  have  known  them  deny 
them  what  was  merely  necessary  for  education  suitable 
to  their  quality.  Poor  young  Antonio  is  a  lamentable 
instance  of  ill-conduct  in  this  kind.  The  young  man 
did  not  want  nattiral  talents ;  but  the  father  of  him 
was  a  coxcomb,  who  affected  being  a  fine  gentleman 
so  unmercifully,  that  he  could  not  endure  in  his 
sight,  or  the  frequent  mention  of  one,  who  was  his 
son,  growing  into  manhood,  and  thrusting  him  out 
of  the  gay  world.  I  have  often  thought  the  father 
took  a  secret  pleasure  in  reflecting,  that,  when  that 
fine  house  and  seat  came  into  the  next  hands,  it 
would  revive  his  memory,  as  a  person  who  knew 
how  to  enjoy  them,  from  observation  of  the  rusticity 
and  ignorance  of  his  successor.  Certain  it  is  that  a 
man  may,  if  he  will,  let  his  heart  close  to  the  having 
no  regard  to  any  thing  but  his  dear  self,  even  with 
exclusion  of  his  very  children.  I  recommend  this 
subject  to  your  consideration,  and  am. 

Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

'T.  B.' 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR,  London,  Sept  26,  lIU. 

'  I  AM  just  come  from  Tunbridge,  and  have 
since  my  return  read  Mrs.  Matilda  Mohair's  letter 
to  you.  She  pretends  to  make  a  mighty  story  about 
the  diversion  of  swinging  in  that  place.  What  was 
done,  was  only  among  relations ;  and  no  man  swung 
any  woman  who  was  not  second  cousin  at  farthest. 
She  is  pleased  to  say,  care  was  taken  that  the  gallants 
tied  the  ladies'  legs  before  they  were  wafted  into  the 
air.  Since  she  is  so  spiteful,  I  will  tell  you  the  plain 
truth. — There  was  no  such  nicety  observed,  since  we 
were  all,  as  I  just  now  told  you,  near  relations;  but 
Mrs.  Mohair  herself  has  been  swung  there,  and  she 


No.  496.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  441 

invents  all  this  malice,  because  it  was  observed  slie 
has  crooked  legs,  of  which  I  was  an  eye-witness. 
'       '  Your  humble  servant, 

'Rachel  Shoestring.' 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR,  Tunbridge,  Sept.  26,  1112. 

'  We  have  just  now  read  your  paper  con- 
taining Mrs.  Mohair's  letter.  It  is  an  invention  of 
her  own  from  one  end  to  the  other ;  and  I  desire 
you  would  print  the  enclosed  letter  by  itself,  and 
shorten  it  so  as  to  come  within  the  compass  of  your 
half  sheet.  She  is  the  most  malicious  minx  in  the 
world,  for  all  she  looks  so  innocent.  Don't  leave 
out  that  part  about  her  being  in  love  with  her  father's 
butler,  which  makes  her  shun  men ;  for  that  is  the 
truest  of  it  all. 

'  Your  humble  servant, 

'Sarah  Trice. 
'  P.  S.  She  has  crooked  legs.' 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR,  Tunbridge,  Sept.  26,  1712. 

'  All  that  Mrs.  Mohair  is  so  vexed  at 
against  the  good  company  of  this  place,  is,  that  we 
all  know  she  has  crooked  legs.  This  is  certainly 
true.  I  don't  care  for  putting  my  name,  because 
one  would  not  be  in  the  power  of  the  creature. 
'  Your  humble  servant,  unknown.' 

'  MR.  SPECTATOR,  Tunbridge,  Sept.  16,  1712. 

*  That  insufferable  prude,  Mrs.  Mohair, 
who  has  told  such  stories  of  the  company  here,  is 
with  child,  for  all  her  nice  airs  and  her  crooked  legs. 
Pray  be  sure  to  put  her  in  for  both  those  two  things, 
and  you  will  oblige  every  body  here,  especially 
'  Your  humble  servant, 
T.'  '  Alice  Bluegarter.' 

'  This  paper.  No.  496,  is  ascribed  to  Steele,  being  distinguished  by  a 


442:>  THE  SPECTATOR. '  C^o-  497. 


No.  497.     TUESDAY,  September  30,  1712. 

Mekaitdeb. 
A  cunning  old  fox  thia ! 

A  FAVOUE  well  bestowed  is  almost  as  great  an  honour 
to  him  who  confers  it,  as  to  him  who  receives  it. 
What  indeed  makes  for  the  superior  reputation  of 
the  patron  in  this  case  is,  that  he  is  always  sur- 
rounded with  specious  pretences  of  unworthy  can- 
didates, and  is  often  alone  in  the  kind  inclination 
he  has  towards  the  well  deserving.  Justice  is  the 
first  quality  in  the  man  who  is  in  a  post  of  direction ; 
and  I  remember  to  have  heard  an  old  gentleman 
talk  of  the  civil  wars,  and  in  his  relation  give  an  ac- 
count of  a  general  officer,  who  with  this  one  quality, 
without  any  shining  endowments,  became  so  popu- 
larly beloved  and  honoured,  that  all  decisions  be- 
tween man  and  man  were  laid  before  him  by  the 
parties  concerned,  in  a  private  way ;  and  they  would 
lay  by  their  animosities  implicitly,  if  he  bid  them  be 
friends,  or  submit  themselves  in  the  wrong  without 
reluctance,  if  he  said  it,  without  waiting  the  judg- 
ment of  court-martials.  His  manner  was  to  keep 
the  dates  of  all  commissions  in  his  closet,  and  wholly 
dismiss  from  the  service  such  who  were  deficient  in 
their  duty ;  and  after  that  took  care  to  prefer  ac- 
cording to  the  order  of  battle.  His  familiars  were 
his  entire  friends,  and  could  have  no  interested 
views  in  courting  his  acquaintance ;  for  his  affection 
was  no  step  to  their  preferment,  though  it  was  to 
their  reputation.     By  this  means  a  kind  asiaect,  a 

T,  supposed  to  be  hia  editorial  signoture.  See  final  notes  to  TSos.  6,  7,  and 
324. 


No.  497.1  THE  SPECTATOR.  443 

salutation,  a  smile,  and  giving  out  his  hand,  had 
the  weight  of  what  is  esteemed  by  vulgar  minde 
more  substantial.  His  business  ^as  very  short; 
and  he  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  justice,  was 
never  affronted  with  a  request  of  a  familiar  daily 
visitant  for  what  was  due  to  a  brave  man  at  a  dis- 
tance. Extraordinary  merit  he  used  to  recommend 
to  the  king  for  some  distinction  at  home,  till  the 
order  of  battle  made  way  for  his  rising  in  the  troops. 
Add  to  this,  that  he  had  an  excellent  manner  of 
getting  rid  of  such  whom  he  observed  were  good  at 
a  halt,  as  his  phrase  was.  Under  this  description 
he  comprehended  all  those  who  were  contented  to 
live  without  reproach,  and  had  no  promptitude  in 
their  minds  towards  glory.  These  fellows  were 
also  recommended  to  the  king,  and  taken  off  of  the 
general's  hands  into  posts  wherein  diligence  and 
common  honesty  were  all  that  were  necessary. 
This  general  had  no  weak  part  in  his  line,  but 
every  man  had  as  much  care  upon  him,  and  as  much 
honour  to  lose  as  himself  Every  of&cer  could  an- 
swer for  what  passed  where  he  was,  and  the  general's 
presence  was  never  necessary  any  where,  but  where 
he  had  placed  himself  at  the  first  disposition,  except 
that  accident  happened  from  extraordinary  efforts 
of  the  enemy  which  he  could  not  foresee ;  but  it 
was  remarkable  that  it  never  fell  out  from  failure  in 
his  own  troops.  It  must  be  confessed  the  world  is 
just  so  much  out  of  order,  as  an  unworthy  person 
possesses  what  should  be  in  the  direction  of  him 
who  has  better  pretensions  to  it. 

Instead  of  such  a  conduct  as  this  old  fellow  used 
to  describe  in  his  general,  all  the  evils  which  have 
ever  happened  among  mankind  have  arose  from  the 
wanton  disposition  of  the  favours  of  the  powerful. 


444  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  497. 

It  is  generally  all  that  men  of  modesty  and  virtue 
can  do,  to  fall  in  with  some  whimsical  turn  in  a 
great  man,  to  make  way  for  things  of  real  and  abso- 
lute service.  In  the  time  of  Don  Sebastian  of  Por- 
tugal, or  some  time  since,  the  first  minister  would 
let  nothing  come  near  him  but  what  bore  the  most 
profound  face  of  wisdom  and  gravity.  They  carried 
it  so  far,  that,  for  the  greater  show  of  their  profound 
knowledge,  a  pair  of  spectacles  tied  on  their  noses, 
with  a  black  riband  round  their  heads,  was  what 
completed  the  dress  of  those  who  made  their  court 
at  his  levee,  and  none  with  naked  noses  were  ad- 
mitted to  his  presence.  A  blunt  honest  fellow,  who 
had  a  command  in  the  train  of  artillery,  had  at- 
tempted to  make  an  impression  upon  the  porter  day 
after  day  in  vain,  till  at  length  he  made  his  appear- 
ance in  a  very  thoughtful  dark  suit  of  clothes,  and 
two  pair  of  spectacles  on  at  once.  He  was  con- 
ducted from  room  to  room,  with  great  deference, 
to  the  minister ;  and,  carrying  on  the  farce  of  the 
place,  he  told  his  excellency  that  he  had  pretended 
in  this  manner  to  be  wiser  than  he  really  was,  but 
with  no  ill  intention ;  but  he  was  honest  Such-a-one 
of  the  train,  and  he  came  to  tell  him  that  they 
wanted  wheelbarrows  and  pick-axes.  The  thing 
happened  not  to  displease,  the  great  man  was  seen 
to  smile,  and  the  successful  officer  was  re-conducted 
with  the  same  profound  ceremony  out  of  the  house. 

When  Leo  X.  reigned  pope  of  Rome,  his  holi- 
ness, though  a  man  of  sense,  and  of  an  excellent 
taste  of  letters,  of  all  things  affected  fools,  buffoons, 
humourists,  and  coxcombs.  Whether  it  were  from 
vanity,  and  that  he  enjoyed  no  talents  in  other  men 
but  what  were  inferior  to  him,  or  whatever  it  was, 
he  carried  it  so  far,  that  his  whole  delight  was  in 


No.  497.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  445 

finding  out  new  fools,  and,  as  our  phrase  is,  playing 
them  off,  and  making  them  show  themselves  to  ad- 
vantage. A  priest  of  his  former  acquaintance  suf- 
fered a  great  many  disappointments  in  attempting 
to  find  access  to  him  in  a  regular  character,  till  at 
last  in  despair  he  retired  from  Rome,  and  returned 
in  an  equipage  so  very  fantastical,  both  as  to  the 
dress  of  himself  and  servants,  that  the  whole  court 
were  in  an  emulation  who  should  first  introduce 
him  to  his  holiness.  What  added  to  the  expecta- 
tion his  holiness  had  of  the  pleasure  he  should  have 
in  his  follies,  was,  that  this  fellow,  in  a  dress  the 
most  exquisitely  ridiculous,  desired  he  might  speak 
to  him  alone,  for  he  had  matters  of  the  highest  im- 
portance upon  which  he  wanted  a  conference.  No- 
thing could  be  denied  to  a  coxcomb  of  so  great 
hope ;  but  when  they  were  apart,  the  impostor  re- 
vealed himself,  and  spoke  as  follows : 

'  Do  not  be  surprised,  most  holy  Father,  at  see- 
ing, instead  of  a  coxcomb  to  laugh  at,  your  old 
friend,  who  has  taken  this  way  of  access  to  admonish 
you  of  your  own  folly.  Can  any  thing  show  your 
holiness  how  unworthily  you  treat  mankind,  more 
than  my  being  put  upon  this  difficulty  to  speak  with 
you  ?  It  is  a  degree  of  folly  to  delight  to  see  it  in 
others,  and  it  is  the  greatest  insolence  imaginable 
to  rejoice  in  the  disgrace  of  human  nature.  It  is  a 
criminal  humility  in  a  person  of  your  holiness's  un- 
derstanding, to  believe  you  cannot  excel  but  in  the 
conversation  of  half-wits,  humourists,  coxcombs,  and 
buffoons.  If  your  holiness  has  a  mind  to  be  diverted 
like  a  rational  man,  you  have  a  great  opportunity 
for  it,  in  disrobing  all  the  impertinents  you  have 
favoured  of  all  their  riches  and  trappings  at  once, 


446  THE  SPEOTATOE.  [No.  497. 

and  bestowing  them  on  the  humble,  the  virtuous, 
and  the  meek.  If  your  holiness  is  not  concerned 
for  the  sake  of  virtue  and  religion,  be  pleased  to  re- 
flect, that  for  the  sake  of  your  own  safety  it  is  not 
proper  to  be  so  very  much  in  jest.  When  the  pope 
is  thus  merry,  the  people  will  in  time  begin  to  think 
many  things,  which  they  have  hitherto  beheld  with 
great  veneration,  are  in  themselves  objects  of  scorn 
and  derision.  If  they  once  get  a  trick  of  knowing 
how  to  laugh,  your  holiness's  saying  this  sentence 
in  one  night-cap,  and  the  other  with  the  other,  the 
change  of  your  slippers,  bringing  you  your  staff  in 
the  midst  of  a  prayer,  then  stripping  you  of  one 
vest,  and  clapping  on  a  second  during  divine  ser- 
vice, will  be  found  out  to  have  nothing  in  it.  Con- 
sider, Sir,  that  at  this  rate  a  head  will  be  reckoned 
never  the  wiser  for  being  bald,  and  the  ignorant 
will  be  apt  to  say,  that  going  barefoot  does  not  at 
all  help  on  in  the  way  to  heaven.  The  red  cap  and 
the  cowl  will  fall  under  the  same  contempt;  and 
the  vulgar  will  tell  us  to  our  faces,  that  we  shall 
have  no  authority  over  them,  but  from  the  force  of 
our  arguments,  and  the  sanctity  of  our  lives.' 

%*  At  Drury-lane  on  Thursday,  Oct.  2,  Rule  a  Wife  and  have  a  Wife. 
Leon,  by  Mr.  Powell ;  Copper  Captain,  by  Mr.  Wilks ;  Estifania,  by  Mrs. 
Oldfield ;  Cacafogo,  by  Mr.  Bullock  ;  Margaretta,  by  Mrs.  Knight ;  Altea, 
by  Mrs.  Bignell;  and  Old  Woman,  by  Mrs.  Norris. — Spect.  in  folio. 

K  By  Steele.    See  note  on  T,  No.  324,  ad  finem. 


No.  498.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  447 


No.  498.     WEDNESDAY,  Octobek  1,  1712 

— ^Frustra  rotinacula  tendens 
Fertur  equls  anriga,  neque  audit  currus  hal^enas. 

TiEO.  Georg.  1  513. 
Nor  reins,  nor  curbs,  nor  cries  tbe  horses  fear. 
But  force  along  the  trembling  charioteer. 

Drtden. 

TO   THE    SPECTATOR-GENERAL   OF    GREAT   BRITAIN. 

'  From  the  farther  end  of  the  Widow's  Coffee-house  in  Devereux-Court, 
Monday  evening,  twenty-eight  minutes  and  a  half  past  six. 

'  DEAR   DUMB, 

'  In  short,  to  use  no  farther  preface,  if  I 
should  tell  you  that  I  have  seen  an  hackney-coach- 
man, when  he  has  come  to  set  down  his  fare,  which 
has  consisted  of  two  or  three  very  fine  ladies,  hand 
them  out,  and  salute  overy  one  of  them  with  an  air 
of  familiarity,  without  giving  the  least  offence,  you 
would  perhaps  think  me  guilty  of  a  gasconade.  But 
to  clear  myself  from  that  imputation,  and  to  explain 
this  matter  to  you,  I  assure  you  that  there  are  many 
illustrious  youths  within  this  city,  who  frequently 
recreate  themselves  by  driving  of  a  hackney-coach : 
but  those  whom,  above  all  others,  I  would  recom- 
mend to  you,  are  the  young  gentlemen  belonging  to 
the  inns  of  court.  We  have,  I  think,  about  a  dozen 
coachmen  who  have  chambers  here  in  the  Temple  ; 
and,  as  it  is  reasonable  to  believe  others  will  follow 
their  example,  we  may  perhaps  in  time  (if  it  shall 
be  thought  convenient)  be  drove  to  Westminster 
by  our  own  fraternity,  allowing  every  fifth  person 
to  apply  his  meditations  this  way,  which  is  but  a 
modest  computation,  as  the  humour  is  now  likely  to 
take.  It  is  to  be  hoped  likewise,  that  there  are  in 
the  other  nurseries  of  the  law  to  be  found  a  propor- 


448  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  498. 

tionable  number  of  these  hopeful  plants,  springing 
up  to  the  everlasting  renown  of  their  native  coun- 
try. Of  how  long  standing  this  humour  has  been, 
I  know  not.  The  first  time  I  had  any  particular 
reason  to  take  notice  of  it  was  about  this  time  twelve- 
month, when  being  upon  Hampstead-heath  with 
some  of  the  studious  young  men,  who  went  thither 
purely  for  the  sake  of  contemplation,  nothing  would 
serve  them  but  I  must  go  through  a  course  of  this 
philosophy  too  ;  and,  being  ever  willing  to  embel- 
lish myself  with  any  commendable  qualification,  it 
was  not  long  ere  they  persuaded  me  into  the  coach- 
box ;  nor  indeed  much  longer  before  I  underwent 
the  fate  of  my  brother  Phaeton ;  for  having  drove 
about  fifty  paces  with  pretty  good  success,  through 
my  own  natural  sagacity,  together  with  the  good 
instructions  of  my  tutors,  who,  to  give  them  their 
due,  were  on  all  hands  encouraging  and  assisting 
me  in  this  laudable  undertaking ;  I  say.  Sir,  having 
drove  about  fifty  paces  with  pretty  good  success,  I 
must  needs  be  exercising  the  lash,  which  the  horses 
resented  so  ill  from  my  hands,  that  they  gave  a  sud- 
den start,  and  thereby  pitched  me  directly  upon  my 
head,  as  I  very  well  remembered  about  half  an  hour 
afterwards,  which  not  only  deprived  me  of  all  the 
knowledge  I  had  gained  for  fifty  yards  before,  but 
had  like  to  have  broke  my  neck  into  the  bargain. 
After  such  a  severe  reprimand,  you  may  imagine  I 
was  not  very  easily  prevailed  with  to  make  a  second 
attempt ;  and  indeed,  upon  mature  deliberation,  the 
whole  science  seemed,  at  least  to  me,  to  be  sur- 
rounded with  so  many  difficulties,  that,  notwith- 
standing the  unknown  advantages  which  might 
have  accrued  to  me  thereby,  I  gave  over  all  hopes 
of  attaining  it ;  and  I  believe  had  never  thought 


No.  498.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  449 

of  it  more,  but  that  my  memory  has  been  lately  re- 
freshed by  seeing  some  of  these  ingenious  gentle- 
men ply  in  the  open  streets,  one  of  which  I  saw 
receive  so  suitable  a  reward  to  his  labours,  that 
though  I  know  you  are  no  friend  to  story-telling, 
yet  I  must  beg  leave  to  trouble  you  with  this  at 
large. 

'  About  a  fortnight  since,  as  I  was  diverting  my- 
self with  a  pennyworth  of  walnuts  at  the  Temple- 
gate,  a  lively  young  fellow  in  a  fustian  jacket  shot 
by  me,  beckoned  a  coach,  and  told  the  coachman  he 
wanted  to  go  as  far  as  Chelsea.  They  agreed  upon 
the  price,  and  this  young  gentleman  mounts  the 
coach-box;  the  fellow,  staring  at  him,  desired  to 
know  if  he  should  not  drive  till  they  were  out 
of  town.  No,  no,  replied  he.  He  was  then  going 
to  climb  up  to  him,  but  received  another  check, 
and  was  then  ordered  to  get  into  the  coach,  or  be- 
hind it,  for  that  he  wanted  no  instructors ;  "  but  be 
sure,  you  dog  you,"  says  he,  "don't  you  bilk  me." 
The  fellow  thereupon  surrendered  his  whip,  scratched 
his  head,  and  crept  into  the  coach.  Having  myself 
occasion  to  go  into  the  Strand  about  the  same  time, 
we  started  both  together ;  but  the  street  being  very 
full  of  coaches,  and  he  not  so  able  a  coachman  as 
perhaps  he  imagined  himself,  I  had  soon  got  a  little 
way  before  him;  often,  however,  having  the  curi- 
osity to  cast  my  eye  back  upon  him,  to  observe  how 
he  behaved  himself  in  this  high  station ;  which  he 
did  with  great  composure,  till  he  came  to  the  pass, 
which  is  a  military  term  the  brothers  of  the  whip 
have  given  the  strait  at  St.  Clement's  church.  When 
he  was  arrived  near  this  place,  where  are  always 
coaches  in  waiting,  the  coachmen  began  to  suck  up 
the  muscles  of  their  cheeks,  and  to  tip  the  wink 
VOL.  V. — 29 


450  THE   SPECTATOR.  V^°-  ^^^' 

upon  each  other,  as  if  they  had  some  roguery  in 
their  heads,  which  I  was  immediately  convinced  of; 
for  he  no  sooner  came  within  reach,  but  the  first  of 
them  with  his  whip  took  the  exact  dimension  of 
his  shoulders,  which  he  very  ingeniously  called  en- 
dorsing :  and  indeed,  I  must  say,  that  every  one  of 
them  took  due  care  to  endorse  him  as  he  came 
through  their  hands.  He  seemed  at  first  a  little 
uneasy  under  the  operation,  and  was  going  in  all 
haste  to  take  the  numbers  of  their  coaches ;  but  at 
length,  by  the  mediation  of  the  worthy  gentleman 
in  the  coach,  his  wrath  was  assuaged,  and  he  pre- 
vailed upon  to  pursue  his  journey ;  though  indeed 
T  thought  they  had  clapped  such  a  spoke  in  his 
wheel,  as  had  disabled  him  from  being  a  coachman 
for  that  day  at  least ;  for  I  am  only  mistaken,  Mr. 
Spec,  if  some  of  these  endorsements  were  not  wrote 
in  so  strong  a  hand  that  they  are  still  legible.  Upon 
my  inquiring  the  reason  of  this  unusual  salutation, 
they  told  me,  that  it  was  a  custom  among  them, 
whenever  they  saw  a  brother  tottering  or  unstable 
in  his  post,  to  lend  him  a  hand,  in  order  to  settle 
him  again  therein.  For  my  part  I  thought  their  al- 
legations but  reasonable,  and  so  marched  offi  Be- 
sides our  coachmen,  we  do  abound  in  divers  other 
sorts  of  ingenious  robust  youth,  who,  I  hope,  will 
not  take  it  ill  if  I  defer  giving  you  an  account  of 
their  several  recreations  to  another  opportunity.  In 
the  mean  time,  if  you  would  but  bestow  a  little  of 
your  wholesome  advice  upon  our  coachmen,  it 
might  perhaps  be  a  reprieve  to  some  of  their  necks. 
As  I  understand  you  have  several  inspectors  under 
you,  if  you  would  but  send  one  amongst  us  here  in 
the  Temple,  I  am  persuaded  he  would  not  want  em- 


No.  499.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  451 

ployment.     But  I  leave  tMs  to  your  own  considera- 
tion, and  am,  Sir, 

'Your  very  humble  servant, 

'Moses  Grbbnbag. 

'P.  S.  I  have  heard  our  critics  in  the  coffee- 
houses hereabout  talk  mightily  of  the  unity  of  time 
and  place.  According  to  my  notion  of  the  matter, 
I  have  endeavoured  at  something  like  it  in  the  be- 
ginning of  my  epistle.  I  desire  to  be  informed  a 
little  as  to  that  particular.  In  my  next  I  design  to 
give  you  some  account  of  excellent  watermen,  who 
are  bred  to  the  law,  and  far  outdo  the  land  students 
above-mentioned.' 


No.  499.    THUESDAY,  October  2,  1712. 

— Nimisuncis 
Naribns  indulges — 

PcBS.  Sftt  i  40. 
—  Ton  drive  the  jest  too  far. 

DETDBlf. 

Mt  friend  Will  Honeycomb  has  told  me,  for  above 
this  half  year,  that  he  had  a  great  mind  to  try  his 
hand  at  a  Spectator,  and  that  he  would  fain  have 
one  of  his  writing  in  my  works.  This  morning  I 
received  from  him  the  following  letter,  which,  after 
having  rectified  some  little  orthographical  mistakes, 
I  shall  make  a  present  of  to  the  public, 

'dear  spec, 

'  I  was  about  two  nights  ago  in  company 
with  very  agreeable  young  people  of  both  sexes, 

^  This  paper,  No.  498,  is  ascribed  to  Steele,  being  marked  witb  a  T,  on 
which  signature  see  the  final  notes  on  Nos.  6,  7,  and  321. 


452  THE   SPECTATOR.  1^°-  ^^'^■ 

where,  talking  of  some  of  your  papers  wliicli  are 
written  on  conjugal  love,  there  arose  a  dispute  among 
us  whether  there  were  not  more  bad  husbands  in  the 
world  than  bad  wives.  A  gentleman,  who  was  advo- 
cate for  the  ladies,  took  this  occasion  to  tell  us  the 
story  of  a  famous  siege  in  Germany,  which  I  have 
since  found  related  in  my  historical  dictionary,  after 
the  following  manner.  When  the  emperor  Conrade 
the  Third  had  besieged  G-uelphus,  duke  of  Bavaria, 
in  the  city  of  Hensberg,  the  women,  finding  that  the 
town  could  not  possibly  hold  out  long,  petitioned 
the  emperor  that  they  might  depart  out  of  it  with 
so  much  as  each  of  them  could  carry.  The  emperor, 
knowing  they  could  not  convey  away  many  of  their 
effects,  granted  them  their  petition ;  when  the  women, 
to  his  great  surprise,  came  out  of  the  place  with  every 
one  her  husband  upon  her  back.  The  emperor  was 
so  moved  at  the  sight,  that  he  burst  into  tears ;  and, 
after  having  very  much  extolled  the  women  for  their 
conjugal  affection,  gave  the  men  to  their  wives,  and 
received  the  duke  into  his  favour. 

'  The  ladies  did  not  a  little  triumph  at  this  story, 
asking  us  at  the  same  time,  whether  in  our  consciences 
we  believed  that  the  men  of  any  town  in  Great 
Britain  would,  upon  the  same  offer,  and  at  the  same 
conjuncture,  have  loaden  themselves  with  their 
wives ;  or  rather,  whether  they  would  not  have  been 
glad  of  such  an  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  them  ?  To 
this  my  very  good  friend,  Tom  Dapperwit,  who  took 
upon  him  to  be  the  mouth  of  our  sex,  replied,  that 
they  would  be  very  much  to  blame  if  they  would 
not  do  the  same  good  ofi&ce  for  the  women,  consider- 
ing that  their  strength  would  be  greater,  and  their 
burdens  lighter.  As  we  were  amusing  ourselves 
with  discourses  of  this  nature,  in  order  to  pass  away 


No.  499.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  453 

the  evening,  wliicli  now  begins  to  grow  tedious,  we 
fell  into  that  laudable  and  primitive  diversion  of 
questions  and  commands.  I  was  no  sooner  vested 
with  the  regal  authority,  but  I  enjoined  all  the  ladies, 
under  pain  of  my  displeasure,  to  tell  the  company 
ingenuously,  in  case  they  had  been  in  the  siege 
above  mentioned,  and  had  the  same  offers  made 
them  as  the  good  women  of  that  place,  what  every 
one  of  them  would  have  brought  off  with  her,  and 
have  thought  most  worth  the  saving.  There  were 
several  merry  answers  made  to  my  question,  which 
entertained  us  till  bed-time.  This  filled  my  mind 
with  such  an  huddle  of  ideas,  that,  upon  my  going 
to  sleep,  I  fell  into  the  following  dream. 

'  I  saw  a  town  of  this  island,  which  shall  be  name- 
less, invested  on  every  side,  and  the  inhabitants  of 
it  so  straitened  as  to  cry  for  quarter.  The  general 
refused  any  other  terms  than  those  granted  to  the 
above  mentioned  town  of  Hensberg,  namely,  that 
the  married  women  might  come  out  with  what  they 
could  bring  along  with  them.  Immediately  the  city- 
gates  flew  open,  and  a  female  procession  appeared, 
multitudes  of  the  sex  following  one  another  in  a  row, 
and  staggering  under  their  respective  burdens.  I 
took  my  stand  upon  an  eminence  in  the  enemy's 
camp,  which  was  appointed  for  the  general  rendez- 
vous of  these  female  carriers,  being  very  desirous  to 
look  into  their  several  ladings.  The  first  of  them 
had  a  huge  sack  upon  her  shoulders,  which  she  set 
down  with  great  care.  Upon  the  opening  of  it, 
when  I  expected  to  have  seen  her  husband  shot  out 
of  it,  I  found  it  was  filled  with  china-ware.  The 
next  appeared  in  a  more  decent  figure,  carrying  a 
handsome  young  fellow  upon  her  back :  I  could  not 
forbear  commending  the  young  woman  for  her  con- 


454  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  499. 

jugal  affection,  when  to  my  great  surprise  I  found 
that  she  had  left  the  good  man  at  home,  and  brought 
away  her  gallant.  I  saw  the  third,  at  some  distance, 
with  a  little  withered  face  peeping  over  her  shoulder, 
whom  I  could  not  suspect  for  any  but  her  spouse, 
till  upon  her  setting  him  down  I  heard  her  call  him 
dear  pug,  and  found  him  to  be  her  favourite  mon- 
key. A  fourth  brought  a  huge  bale  of  cards  along 
with  her ;  and  the  fifth  a  Bolonia  lap  dog ;  for  her 
husband,  it  seems,  being  a  very  burly  man,  she 
thought  it  would  be  less  trouble  for  her  to  bring 
away  little  Cupid.  The  next  was  the  wife  of  a  rich 
usurer,  loaden  with  a  bag  of  gold :  she  told  us  that 
her  spouse  was  very  old,  and  by  the  course  of  nature 
could  not  expect  to  live  long  ;  and  that  to  show  her 
tender  regards  for  him,  she  had  saved  that  which  the 
poor  man  loved  better  than  his  life.  The  next  came 
towards  us  with  her  son  upon  her  back,  who,  we 
were  told,  was  the  greatest  rake  in  the  place,  but  so 
much  the  mother's  darling,  that  she  left  her  husband 
behind,  with  a  large  family  of  hopeful  sons  and 
daughters,  for  the  sake  of  this  graceless  youth. 

'  It  would  be  endless  to  mention  the  several  per- 
sons, with  their  several  loads,  that  appeared  to  me 
in  this  strange  vision.  All  the  place  about  me  was 
covered  with  packs  of  ribands,  brocades,  embroidery, 
and  ten  thousand  other  materials,  sufficient  to  have 
furnished  a  whole  street  of  toy-shops.  One  of  the 
women  having  a  husband,  who  was  none  of  the 
heaviest,  was  bringing  him  off  upon  her  shoulders, 
at  the  same  time  that  she  carried  a  great  bundle  of 
Flanders  lace  under  her  arm ;  but  finding  herself  so 
overloaden  that  she  could  not  save  both  of  them, 
she  dropped  the  good  man,  and  brought  away  the 
bundle.     In  short,  I  found  but  one  husband  among 


No.  499.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  455 

this  great  mountain  of  baggage,  who  was  a  lively- 
cobbler,  that  kicked  and  spurred  all  the  while  his 
wife  was  carrying  him  on,  and,  as  it  was  said,  had 
scarce  passed  a  day  in  his  life  without  giving  her 
the  discipline  of  the  strap. 

'  I  cannot  conclude  my  letter,  dear  Spec,  without 
telling  thee  one  very  odd  whim  in  this  my  dream. 
I  saw,  methought,  a  dozen  women  employed  in 
bringing  off  one  man ;  I  could  not  guess  who  it 
should  be,  till  upon  his  nearer  approach  I  discoverd 
thy  short  phiz.  The  women  all  declared  that  it  was 
for  the  sake  of  thy  works,  and  not  thy  person,  that 
they  brought  thee  off,  and  that  it  was  on  condition 
that  thou  shouldst  continue  the  Spectator.  If  thou 
thinkest  this  dream  will  make  a  tolerable  one,  it  is 
at  thy  service,  from,         '  Dear  Spec, 

'  Thine  sleeping  and  waking, 

'Will  Honeycomb.' 

The  ladies  will  see  by  this  letter  what  I  have 
often  told  them,  that  Will  is  one  of  those  old-fash- 
ioned men  of  wit  and  pleasure  of  the  town,  that 
shows  his  parts  by  raillery  on  marriage,  and  one 
who  has  often  tried  his  fortune  that  way  without 
success.  I  cannot  however  dismiss  his  letter,  with- 
out observing,  that  the  true  story  on  which  it  is 
built  does-honour  to  the  sex,  and  that,  in  order  to 
abuse  them,  the  writer  is  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  dream  and  fiction. 

0.' 

%*  At  Drury-lane,  Oct.  4,  Hamlet.  The  part  of  Hamlet,  by  Mr. 
Wilks ;  Ophelia,  by  Mrs.  Mountfort ;  the  King,  by  Mr.  Keen ;  Horatio,  by 
Mr.  Mills;  Ghost,  by  Mr.  Booth;  the  Queen,  by  Mrs.  Knight;  and  the 
Grave-digger,  by  Mr.  Johnson. — Spect.  in  folio. 

'  By  Addison,  dated  it  is  supposed  from  his  offioe.  See  final  note  on 
No.  7. 


456  THE   SPECTATOR.  V^°-  ^00. 


No.  500.     FEIDAY,  October  3,  1712. 


—  Hqc  natas  adjice  septem, , 
Et  totideni  juvenes ;  et  mox  generosque  numsqae : 
QDserite  nunc,  habeat  qnam  nostra  superbia  causam. 

Ovid.  Met  tL  182. 
Seven  are  my  daughters  of  a  form  divine, 
With  seven  fair  sons,  an  indefective  line. 
Go,  fools,  consider  this,  and  ask  the  cause 
From  which  my  pride  its  strong  presumption  draws. 

Cboxal. 


'  SIR, 


'  You,  who  are  so  well  acquainted  with 
the  story  of  Socrates,  must  have  read  how,  upon  his 
making  a  discourse  concerning  love,  he  pressed  his 
point  with  so  much  success,  that  all  the  bachelors 
in  his  audience  took  a  resolution  to  marry  by  the 
first  opportunity,  and  that  all  the  married  men  im- 
mediately took  horse  and  gallopped  home  to  their 
wives.  I  am  apt  to  think  your  discourses,  in  which 
you  have  drawn  so  many  agreeable  pictures  of  mar- 
riage, have  had  a  very  good  effect  this  way  in 
England.  We  are  obliged  to  you,  at  least,  for  hav- 
ing taken  off  that  senseless  ridicule  which  for  many 
years  the  witlings  of  the  town  have  turned  upon 
their  fathers  and  mothers.  For  my  own  part,  I  was 
born  in  wedlock,  and  I  do  not  care  who  knows  it : 
for  which  reason,  among  many  others,  I  should  look 
upon  myself  as  a  most  insufferable  coxcomb,  did  I 
endeavour  to  maintain  that  cuckoldom  was  insepa- 
rable from  marriage,  or  to  make  use  of  husband  and 
wife  as  terms  of  reproach.  Nay,  Sir,  I  will  go  one 
step  farther,  and  declare  to  you  before  the  whole 
world,  that  I  am  a  married  man,  and  at  the  same 
time  I  have  so  much  assurance  as  not  to  be  ashamed 
of  what  I  have  done. 

'  Among  the  several  pleasures  that  accompany 
this  state  of  life,  and  which  you  have  described  in 


No.  500.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  457 

your  former  papers,  there  are  two  you  have  not 
taken  notice  of,  and  which  are  seldom  cast  into  the 
account  by  those  who  write  on  this  subject.  You 
must  have  observed,  in  your  speculations  on  human 
nature,  that  nothing  is  more  gratifying  to  the  mind 
of  man  than  power  or  dominion  ;  and  this  I  think 
myself  amply  possessed  of,  as  I  am  the  father  of  a 
family.  I  am  perpetually  taken  up  in  giving  out 
orders,  in  prescribing  duties,  in  hearing  parties,  in 
administering  justice,  and  in  distributing  rewards 
and  punishments.  To  speak  in  the  language  of  the 
centurion,  I  say  unto  one.  Go,  and  he  goeth ;  and 
to  another,  Come,  and  he  cometh ;  and  to  my  servant. 
Do  this,  and  he  doeth  it.  In  short,  Sir,  I  look  upon 
my  family  as  a  patriarchal  sovereignty,  in  which  I 
am  myself  both  king  and  priest.  All  great  govern- 
ments are  nothing  else  but  clusters  of  these  little 
private  royalties,  and  therefore  I  consider  the  mas- 
ters of  families  as  small  deputy-governors  presiding 
over  the  several  little  parcels  and  divisions  of  their 
fellow  subjects.  As  I  take  great  pleasure  in  the 
administration  of  my  government  in  particular,  so  I 
look  upon  myself  not  only  as  a  more  useful,  but  as 
a  much  greater  and  happier  man  than  any  bachelor 
in  England  of  my  rank  and  condition. 

'  There  is  another  accidental  advantage  in  mar- 
riage, which  has  likewise  fallen  to  my  share ;  I  mean, 
the  having  a  multitude  of  children.  These  I  cannot 
but  regard  as  very  great  blessings.  When  I  see  my 
little  troop  before  me,  I  rejoice  in  the  additions 
which  I  have  made  to  my  species,  to  my  country, 
and  to  my  religion,  in  having  produced  such  a 
number  of  reasonable  creatures,  citizens,  and  Chris- 
tians. I  am  pleased  to  see  myself  thus  perpetuated ; 
and  as  there  is  no  production  comparable  to  that 


458  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  500. 

of  a  human  creature,  I  am  more  proud  of  having 
been  the  occasion  of  ten  such  glorious  productions, 
than  if  I  had  built  an  hundred  pyramids  at  my  own 
expense,  or  published  as  many  volumes  of  the  finest 
wit  and  learning.     In  what  a  beautiful  light  has  the 
holy  scripture  represented  Abdon,  one  the  judges 
of  Israel,  who  had  forty  sons  and  thirty  grandsons, 
that  rode  on  threescore  and  ten  ass-colts,  according 
to  the  magnificence  of  the  eastern  countries  !     How 
must  the  heart  of  the  old  man  rejoice,  when  he  saw 
such  a  beautiful  procession  of  his  own  descendants, 
such  a  numerous  cavalcade  of  his  own  raising !     For 
my  own  part,  I  can  sit  in  my  parlour  with  great 
content,  when  I  take  a  review  of  half  a  dozen  of 
my  little  boys  mounted  upon  their  hobby-horses, 
and  of  as  many  little  girls  tutoring  their  babies, 
each  of  them  endeavouring  to  excel  the  rest,  and  to 
do  something  that  may  gain  my  favour  and  appro- 
bation.    I  cannot  question  but  He  who  has  blessed 
me  with  so  many  children,  will  assist  my  endeavours 
in  providing  for  them.     There  is  one  thing  I  am 
able  to  give  each  of  them,  which  is  a  virtuous  edu- 
cation.    I  think  it  is  sir  Francis  Bacon's  observa- 
tion, that  in  a  numerous  family  of  children,  the  eld- 
est is  often  spoiled  by  the  prospect  of  an  estate,  and 
the  youngest  by  being  the  darling  of  the  parents ; 
but  that  some  one  or  other  in  the  middle,  who  has 
not  perhaps  been  regarded,  has  made  his  way  in  the 
world,  and  overtopped  the  rest.     It  is  my  business 
to  implant  in  every  one  of  my  children  the  same 
seeds  of  industry,  and  the  same  honest  principles. 
By  this  means  I  think  I  have  a  fair  chance,  that  one 
or  other  of  them  may  grow  considerable  in  some  or 
other  way  of  life,  whether  it  be  in  the  army,  or  in 
the  fleet,  in  trade,  or  any  of  the  three  learned  pro- 


No.  500.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  459 

fessions ;  for  you  must  know,  Sir,  that  from  long 
experience  and  observation,  I  am  persuaded  of  what 
seems  a  paradox  to  most  of  those  with  whom  I  con- 
verse ;  namely,  that  a  man  who  has  many  children, 
and  gives  them  a  good  education,  is  more  likely  to 
raise  a  family,  than  he  who  has  but  one,  notwith- 
standing he  leaves  him  his  whole  estate.  For  this 
reason,  I  cannot  forbear  amusing  myself  with  find- 
ing out  a  general,  an  admiral,  or  an  alderman  of 
London,  a  divine,  a  physician,  or  a  lawyer,  among 
my  little  people  who  are  now  perhaps  in  petticoats ; 
and  when  I  see  the  motherly  airs  of  my  little  daugh- 
ters when  they  are  playing  with  their  puppets,  I 
cannot  but  flatter  myself  that  their  husbands  and 
children  will  be  happy  in  the  possession  of  such 
wives  and  mothers. 

'  If  you  are  a  father,  you  will  not  perhaps  think 
this  letter  impertinent ;  but  if  you  are  a  single  man, 
you  will  not  know  the  meaning  of  it,  and  probably 
throw  it  into  the  fire.  Whatever  you  determine  of 
it,  you  may  assure  yourself  that  it  comes  from  one 
who  is 

'  Tour  most  humble  servant, 
'  and  well-wisher, 

'  Philogamus.' 

'^  By  Addison,  dated  it  is  supposed  from  his  office.    See  final  note  on 
No.  7. 


460  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  501. 


No.  501.    SATUEDAY,  Octobke  4,  1712. 

Durum  1  sed  levius  fit  patentia 
Quicquid  corrigere  est  nefas. 

Hob.  1.  Od.  xdv.  19. 
'Tis  hard :  but  when  we  needs  must  bear. 
Enduring  patience  makes  the  burden  light 
Gbeeoh. 

As  some  of  the  finest  compositions  among  the 
ancients  are  in  allegory,  I  have  endeavoured,  in 
several  of  my  papers,  to  revive  that  way  of  writing, 
and  hope  I  have  not  been  altogether  unsuccessful  in 
it ;  for  I  find  there  is  always  a  great  demand  for 
those  particular  papers,  and  cannot  but  observe  that 
several  authors  have  endeavoured  of  late  to  excel 
in  works  of  this  nature.  Among  these,  I  do  not 
know  any  one  who  has  succeeded  better  than  a  very 
ingenious  gentleman,  to  whom  I  am  obliged  for  the 
following  piece,  and  who  was  the  author  of  the 
vision  in  the  460th  paper. 

How  are  we  tortured  with  the  absence  of  what 
we  covet  to  possess,  when  it  appears  to  be  lost  to  us ! 
What  excursions  does  the  soul  make  in  imagination 
after  it !  and  how  does  it  turn  into  itself  again,  more 
foolishly  fond  and  dejected  at  the  disappointment! 
Our  grief,  instead  of  having  recourse  to  reason, 
which  might  restrain  it,  searches  to  find  a  farther 
nourishment.  It  calls  upon  memory  to  relate  the 
several  passages  and  circumstances  of  satisfactions 
which  we  formerly  enjoyed ;  the  pleasures  we  pur- 
chased by  those  riches  that  are  taken  from  us  ;  or 
the  power  and  splendour  of  our  departed  honours  ; 
or  the  voice,  the  words,  the  looks,  the  temper,  and 
afi'ections  of  our  friends  that  are  deceased.  It  needs 
must  happen  from  hence  that  the  passion  should 


No.  501.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  461 

often  swell  to  such  a  size  as  to  burst  the  heart  wliich 
contains  it,  if  time  did  not  make  these  circum- 
stances less  strong  and  lively,  so  that  reason  should 
become  a  more  equal  match  for  the  passion,  or  if 
another  desire  which  becomes  more  present  did  not 
overpower  them  with  a  livelier  representation. 
These  are  thoughts  which  I  had  when  I  fell  into  a 
kind  of  vision  upon  this  subject,  and  may  therefore 
stand  for  a  proper  introduction  to  a  relation  of  it. 

I  found  myself  upon  a  naked  shore,  with  com- 
pany whose  afflicted  countenances  witnessed  their 
conditions.  Before  us  flowed  a  water,  deep,  silgnt, 
and  called  the  River  of  Tears,  which,  issuing  from 
two  fountains  on  an  upper  groun^,  encompassed  an 
island  that  lay  before  us.  The  boat  which  plied  in 
it  was  old  and  shattered,  having  been  sometimes 
overset  by  the  impatience  and  haste  of  single  pas- 
sengers to  arrive  at  the  other  side.  This  immediately 
was  brought  to  us  by  Misfortune,  who  steers  it,  and 
we  were  all  preparing  to  take  our  places,  when  there 
appeared  a  woman,  of  a  mild  and  composed  behav- 
iour, who  began  to  deter  us  from  it,  by  representing 
the  dangers  which  would  attend  our  voyage.  Here- 
upon some  who  knew  her  for  Patience,  and  some  oi 
those  too  who  until  then  cried  the  loudest,  were  per- 
suaded by  her,  and  returned  back.  The  rest  of  us 
went  in,  and  she  (whose  good-nature  would  not  suf- 
fer her  to  forsake  persons  in  trouble)  desired  leave 
to  accompany  us,  that  she  might  at  least  administer 
some  small  comfort  or  advice  while  we  sailed.  We 
were  no  sooner  embarked  but  the  boat  was  pushed 
off,  the  sheet  was  spread,  and  being  filled  with  sighs, 
which  are  the  winds  of  that  country,  we  made  a 
passage  to  the  farther  bank,  through  several  difficul- 
ties of  which  the  most  of  us  seemed  utterly  regardless. 


462  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  501. 

When  we  landed,  we  perceived  the  island  to  be 
strangely  overcast  with  fogs,  which  no  brightness 
could  pierce,  so  that  a  kind  of  gloomy  horror  sat 
always  brooding  over  it.  This  had  something  in  it 
very  shocking  to  easy  tempers,  insomuch  that  some 
others,  whom  Patience  had  by  this  time  gained  over, 
left  us  here,  and  privily  conveyed  themselves  round 
the  verge  of  the  island  to  find  a  ford  by  which  she 
told  them  they  might  escape. 

For  my  part,  I  still  went  along  with  those  who 
were  for  piercing  into  the  centre  of  the  place  ;  and, 
joijiing  ourselves  to  others  whom  we  found  upon  the 
same  journey,  we  marched  solemnly  as  at  a  funeral, 
through  bordering  Jiedges  of  rosemary,  and  through 
a  grove  of  yew-trees,  which  love  to  overshadow 
tombs  and  flourish  in  church-yards.  Here  we  heard 
on  every  side  the  wailings  and  complaints  of  several 
of  the  inhabitants,  who  had  cast  themselves  discon- 
solately at  the  feet  of  trees  ;  and  as  we  chanced  to 
approach  any  of  these,  we  might  perceive  them 
wringing  their  hands,  beating  their  breasts,  tearing 
their  hair,  or  after  some  other  manner  visibly  agi- 
tated with  vexation.  Our  sorrows  were  heightened 
by  the  influence  of  what  we  heard  and  saw,  and  one 
of  our  number  was  wrought  up  to  such  a  pitch  of 
wildness,  as  to  talk  of  hanging  himself  upon  a  bough 
which  shot  temptingly  across  the  path  we  travelled 
in ;  but  he  was  restrained  from  it  by  the  kind  en- 
deavours of  our  above-mentioned  companion. 

We  had  now  gotten  into  the  most  dusky  silent 
part  of  the  island,  and  by  the  redoubled  sounds  of 
sighs,  which  made  a  doleful  whistling  in  the  branches, 
the  thickness  of  air,  which  occasioned  faintish  respi- 
ration, and  the  violent  throbbings  of  heart  which 
more  and  more  affected  us,  we  found  that  we  ap- 


No.  501.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  463 

proaclied  the  Grotto  of  Grief.  It  was  a  wide,  hol- 
low, and  melanclioly  cave,  sunk  deep  in  a  dale,  and 
watered  by  rivulets  that  had  a  colour  between  red 
and  black.  These  crept  slow  and  half-congealed 
amongst  its  windings,  and  mixed  their  heavy  mur- 
mur with  the  echo  of  groans  that  rolled  through  all 
the  passages.  In  the  most  retired  parts  of  it  sat  the 
doleful  being  herself;  the  path  to  her  was  strewed 
with  goads,  stings,  and  thorns ;  and  her  throne  on 
which  she  sat  was  broken  into  a  rock,  with  ragged 
pieces  pointing  upwards  for  her  to  lean  upon.  A 
heavy  mist  hung  above  her :  her  head,  oppressed 
with  it,  reclined  upon  her  arm.  Thus  did  she  reign 
over  her  disconsolate  subjects,  full  of  herself  to  stu- 
pidity, in  eternal  pensiveness,  and  the  profoundest 
silence.  On  one  side  of  her  stood  Dejection  just 
dropping  into  a  swoon,  and  Paleness  wasting  to  a 
skeleton ;  on  the  other  side  were  Care  inwardly 
tormented  with  imaginations,  and  Anguish  suffering 
outward  troubles  to  suck  the  blood  from  her  heart 
in  the  shape  of  vultures.  The  whole  vault  had  a 
genuine  dismalness  in  it,  which  a  few  scattered  lamps, 
whose  bluish  flames  arose  and  sunk  in  their  urns,  dis- 
covered to  our  eyes  with  increase.  Some  of  us  fell 
down  overcome  and  spent  with  what  they  suffered 
in  the  way,  and  were  given  over  to  those  tormentors 
that  stood  on  either  hand  of  the  presence  ;  others, 
galled  and  mortified  with  pain,  recovered  the  en- 
trance, where  Patience,  whom  we  had  left  behind, 
was  still  waiting  to  receive  us. 

With  her  (whose  company  was  now  become  more 
grateful  to  us  by  the  want  we  had  found  of  her)  we 
winded  round  the  grotto,  and  ascended  at  the  back 
of  it,  out  of  the  mournful  dale  in  whose  bottom  it 
lay.     On  this  eminence  we  halted,  by  her  advice, 


464  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  501. 

to  pant  for  breath  ;  and  lifting  our  eyes,  -which  till 
then  were  fixed  downwards,  felt  a  sullen  sort  of  sa- 
tisfaction, in  observing  through  the  shades  what 
numbers  had  entered  the  island.  This  satisfaction, 
which  appears  to  have  ill-nature  in  it,  was  excuseable, 
because  it  happened  at  a  time  when  we  were  too 
much  taken  up  with  our  own  concern  to  have  re- 
spect to  that  of  others ;  and  therefore  we  did  not 
consider  them  as  suffering,  but  ourselves  as  not  suf- 
fering in  the  most  forlorn  estate.  It  had  also  the 
ground-work  of  humanity  and  compassion  in  it, 
though  the  mind  was  then  too  dark  and  too  deeply 
engaged  to  perceive  it ;  but  as  we  proceeded  on- 
wards, it  began  to  discover  itself,  and  from  observ- 
ing that  others  were  unhappy,  we  came  to  question 
one  another  when  it  was  that  we  met,  and  what  were 
the  sad  occasions  that  brought  us  together.  Then 
we  heard  our  stories,  we  compared  them,  we  mutu- 
ally gave  and  received  pity,  and  so  by  degrees  be- 
came tolerable  company. 

A  considerable  part  of  the  troublesome  road  was 
thus  deceived ;  at  length  the  openings  among  the 
trees  grew  larger,  the  air  seemed  thinner,  it  lay  with 
less  oppression  upon  us,  and  we  could  now  and  then 
discern  tracks  in  it  of  a  lighter  grayness,  like  the 
breakings  of  day,  short  in  duration,  much  enliven- 
ing, and  called  in  that  country  gleams  of  amusement. 
Within  a  short  while  these  gleams  began  to  appear 
more  frequent,  and  then  brighter  and  of  a  longer 
continuance ;  the  sighs  that  hitherto  filled  the  air 
with  so  much  dolefulness,  altered  to  the  sound  of 
common  breezes,  and  in  general  the  horrors  of  the 
island  were  abated. 

When  we  had  arrived  at  last  at  the  ford  by  which 
we  were  to  pass  out,  we  met  with  those  fashionable 


No.  502.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  465 

mourners  who  had  been  ferried  over  along  with  us, 
and  who,  being  unwilling  to  go  as  far  as  we,  had 
coasted  by  the  shore  to  find  the  place  where  they 
waited  our  coming ;  that  by  showing  themselves  to 
the  world  only  at  the  time  when  we  did,  they  might 
seem  also  to  have  been  among  the  troubles  of  the 
grotto.  Here  the  waters  that  rolled  on  the  other 
side  so  deep  and  silent  were  much  dried  up,  and  it 
was  an  easier  matter  for  us  to  wade  over. 

The  river  being  crossed,  we  were  received  upon 
the  farther  bank,  by  our  friends  and  acquaintance, 
whom  Comfort  had  brought  out  to  congratulate  our 
appearance  in  the  world  again.  Some  of  these 
blamed  us  for  staying  so  long  away  from  them ;  oth- 
ers advised  us  against  all  temptations  of  going  back 
again ;  every  one  was  cautious  not  to  renew  our 
trouble,  by  asking  any  particulars  of  the  journey ; 
and  all  concluded  that  in  a  case  of  so  much  melan- 
choly and  affliction,  we  could  not  have  made  choice 
of  a  fitter  companion  than  Patience.  Here  Patience, 
appearing  serene  at  her  praises,  delivered  us  over  to 
Comfort.  Comfort  smiled  at  his  receiving  the  charge ; 
immediately  the  sky  purpled  on  that  side  to  which 
he  turned,  and  double  day  at  once  broke  in  upon 
me.  ' 


No.  502.    MONDAY,  October  6, 1712. 


Melius,  pegus,  prosit,  obsit,  nil  vident  nisi  quod  lubent 

Teb.  Heaut  Act  iv.  So.  1 
Better  or  worse,  profitable  or  disadvantageous,  tbey  see  nothing  but  what  they  list. 

When  men  read,  they  taste  the  matter  with  which 
they  are  entertained,  according  as  their  own  respect- 

'  This  paper.  No.  501,  was  written  by  Dr.  Tliomas  Parnell. 
VOL.  V. — 30 


466  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  502. 

ive  studies  and  inclinations  have  prepared  them,  and 
make  their  reflections  accordingly.  Some,  perusing 
a  Roman  writer,  would  find  in  them  whatever  the 
subject  of  the  discourses  were,  parts  which  implied 
the  grandeur  of  that  people  in  their  warfare  or  their 
politics.  As  for  my  part,  who  am  a  mere  Spectator, 
I  drew  this  morning  conclusions  of  their  eminence 
in  what  I  think  great,  to  wit,  in  having  worthy  sen- 
timents, from  the  reading  a  comedy  of  Terence. 
The  play  was  the  Self-tormentor.  It  is  from  the  be- 
ginning to  the  end  a  perfect  picture  of  human  life, 
but  I  did  not  observe  in  the  whole  one  passage  that 
could  raise  a  laugh.  How  well-disposed  must  that 
people  be,  who  could  be  entertained  with  satisfaction 
by  so  sober  and  polite  mirth  !  In  the  first  scene  of 
the  comedy,  when  one  of  the  old  men  accuses  the 
other  of  impertinence  for  interposing  in  his  affairs, 
he  answers,  '  I  am  a  man,  and  cannot  help  feeling 
any  sorrow  that  can  arrive  at  man.'™  It  is  said  this 
sentence  was  received  with  an  universal  applause. 
There  cannot  be  a  greater  argument  of  the  general 
good  understanding  of  a  people,  than  a  sudden  con- 
sent to  give  their  approbation  of  a  sentiment  which 
has  no  emotion  in  it.  If  it  were  spoken  with  never 
so  great  skill  in  the  actor,  the  manner  of  uttering  that 
sentence  could  have  nothing  in  it  which  could  strike 
any  but  people  of  the  greatest  humanity,  nay,  peo- 
ple elegant  and  skilful  in  observations  upon  it.  It  is 
possible  he  might  have  laid  his  hand  on  his  breast, 
and,  with  a  winning  insinuation  in  his  countenance, 


■^  Homo  sum:  humani  nihil  k  me  alienum  puto. 

Teb.  Heant  1.  1.  25. 
I  am  a  man  ;  and  all  calamities 
That  touch  humanity,  come  home  to  me. 

COLMAM. 


No.  502.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  467 

expressed  to  his  neighbour  that  he  was  a  man  who 
made  his  case  his  own ;  yet  I  will  engage  a  player 
in  Covent-garden  might  hit  such  an  attitude  a  thou- 
sand times  before  he  would  have  been  regarded.  I 
have  heard  that  the  minister  of  state  in  the  reign  of 
queen  Elizabeth  had  all  manner  of  books  and  ballads  " 
brought  to  him,  of  what  kind  soever,  and  took  great 
notice  how  much  they  took  with  the  people  ;  upon 
which  he  would,  and  certainly  might,  very  well  judge 
of  their  present  dispositions,  and  the  most  proper 
way  of  applying  them  according  to  his  own  purposes. 
What  passes  on  the  stage,  and  the  reception  it  meets 
from  the  audience,  is  a  very  useful  instruction  of  this 
kind.  According  to  what  you  may  observe  there  on 
our  stage,  you  see  them  often  moved  so  directly 
against  all  common  sense  and  humanity,  that  you 
would  be  apt  to  pronounce  us  a  nation  of  savages. 
It  cannot  be  called  a  mistake  of  what  is  pleasant,  but 
the  very  contrary  to  it  is  what  most  assuredly  takes 
with  them.  The  other  night  an  old  woman,  carried 
off  with  a  pain  in  her  side,  with  all  the  distortions 
and  anguish  of  countenance  which  is  natural  to  one 
in  that  condition,  was  laughed  and  clapped  off  the 
stage.  Terence's  comedy,  which  I  am  speaking  of, 
is  indeed  written  as  if  he  hoped  to  please  none  but 
such  as  had  as  good  a  taste  as  himself  I  could  not 
but  reflect  upon  the  natural  description  of  the  inno- 
cent young  woman  made  by  the  servant  to  his  mas- 
ter. '  When  I  came  to  the  house,'  said  he,  'an  old 
woman  opened  the  door,  and  I  followed  her  in,  be- 
cause I  could,  by  entering  upon  them  unawares,  bet- 

■■  '  I  knew,'  says  an  ingenious  and  a  fine  ■writer,  '  a  very  wise  man  who 
believed,  that  if  a  man  were  permitted  to  make  all  the  ballads,  he  need 
not  care  who  should  make  the  laws  of  a  nation,'  Political  Works  of  Andrew 
Fletcher,  esq.  Lond.  17  3Y,  p.  372. 


468  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  502. 

ter  observe  what  was  your  mistress's  ordinary  man- 
ner of  spending  her  time,  the  only  way  of  judging 
any  one's  inclinations  and  genius.  I  found  her  at 
her  needle  in  a  sort  of  second  mourning,  which  she 
wore  for  an  aunt  she  had  lately  lost.  She  had  noth- 
ing on  but  what  showed  she  dressed  only  for  herself. 
Her  hair  hung  negligently  about  her  shoulders.  She 
had  none  of  the  arts  with  which  others  use  to  set 
themselves  off,  but  had  that  negligence  of  person 
which  is  remarkable  in  those  who  are  careful  of  their 
minds.  Then  she  had  a  maid  who  was  at  work  near 
her  that  was  a  slattern,  because  her  mistress  was 
careless  ;  which  I  take  to  be  another  argument  of 
your  security  in  her :  for  the  go-betweens  of  women 
of  intrigue  are  rewarded  too  well  to  be  dirty.  When 
you  were  named,  and  I  told  her  you  desired  to  see 
her,  she  threw  down  her  work  for  joy,  covered  her 
face,  and  decently  hid  her  tears.'  He  must  be  a  very 
good  actor,  and  draw  attention  rather  from  his  own 
character  than  the  words  of  the  author,  that  could 
gain  it  among  us  for  this  speech,  though  so  full  of 
nature  and  good  sense. 

The  intolerable  folly  and  confidence  of  players 
putting  in  words  of  their  own,  does  in  a  great  mea- 
sure feed  the  absurd  taste  of  the  audience.  But 
however  that  is,  it  is  ordinary  for  a  cluster  of  cox- 
combs to  take  up  the  house  to  themselves,  and 
equally  insult  both  the  actors  and  the  company. 
These  savages,  who  want  all  manner  of  regard  and 
deference  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  come  only  to  show 
themselves  to  us,  without  any  other  purpose  than 
to  let  us  know  they  despise  us. 

The  gross  of  an  audience  is  composed  of  two 
sorts  of  people ;  those  who  know  no  pleasure  but  of 
the  body,  and  those  who  improve  or  command  cor- 


No.  502.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  469 

poreal  pleasures,  by  the  addition  of  fine  sentiments 
of  the  mind.  At  present  the  intelligent  part  of  the 
company  are  wholly  subdued  by  the  insurrections 
of  those  who  know  no  satisfactions  but  what  they 
have  in  common  with  all  other  animals. 

This  is  the  reason  that  when  a  scene  tending  to 
procreation  is  acted,  you  see  the  whole  pit  in  such  a 
chuckle,  and  old  letchers,  with  mouths  open,  stare 
at  the  loose  gesticulations  on  the  stage  with  shame- 
ful earnestness ;  when  the  justest  pictures  of  human 
life  in  its  calm  dignity,  and  the  properest  sentiments 
for  the  conduct  of  it,  pass  by  like  mere  narration,  as 
conducing  only  to  somewhat  much  better  which  is 
to  come  after.  I  have  seen  the  whole  house  at  some 
times  in  so  proper  a  disposition,  that  indeed  I  have 
trembled  for  the  boxes,  and  feared  the  entertain- 
ment would  end  in  a  representation  of  the  rape  of 
the  Sabines. 

I  would  not  be  understood  in  this  talk  to  argue, 
that  nothing  is  tolerable  on  the  stage  but  what  has 
an  immediate  tendency  to  the  promotion  of  virtue. 
On  the  contrary,  I  can  allow,  provided  there  is 
nothing  against  the  interests  of  virtue,  and  is  not 
offensive  to  goodlnanners,  that  things  of  an  indiffer- 
ent nature  may  be  represented.  For  this  reason  I 
have  no  exception  to  the  well-drawn  rusticities  in 
the  Country  Wake;  and  there  is  something  so  mi- 
raculously pleasant  in  Dogget's"  acting  the  awkward 
triumph  and  comic  sorrow  of  Hob  in  different  cir- 
cumstances, that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  stay  away 
whenever  it, is  acted.  All  that  vexes  me  is,  that  the 
gallantry  of  taking  the  cudgels  for  Gloucestershire, 

0  Dogget  acted  the  part  of  Hob  in  a  farce  called  the  Country  Wake, 
added  to  the  play-advertisement  for  Oct,  2,  No.  499,  ad  finem. 


470  THE   SP.BOTATOE.  [No.  502. 

with,  the  pride  of  heart  in  tucking  himself  up,  and 
taking  aim  at  his  adversary,  as  well  as  the  other's 
protestation  in  the  humanity  of  low  romance,  that 
he  could  not  promise  the  squire  to  break  Hob's  head, 
but  he  would,  if  he  could,  do  it  in  love ;  then  flour- 
ish and  begin :  I  say  what  vexes  me  is,  that  such 
excellent  touches  as  these,  as  well  as  the  squire's 
being  out  of  all  patience  at  Hob's  success,  and  ven- 
turing himself  into  the  crowd,  are  circumstances 
hardly  taken  notice  of,  and  the  height  of  the  jest  is 
only  in  the  very  point  that  heads  are  broken.  I  am 
confident,  were  there  a  scene  written,  wherein  Pin- 
kethman  should  break  his  leg  by  wrestling  with 
Bullock,  and  Dickey  come  in  to  set  it,  without  one 
word  said  but  what  should  be  according  to  the  exact 
rules  of  surgery  in  making  this  extension  and  bind- 
ing up  the  leg,  the  whole  house  should  be  in  a  roar 
of  applause  at  the  dissembled  anguish  of  the  patient, 
the  help  given  by  him  who  threw  him  down,  and 
the  handy  address  and  arch  looks  of  the  surgeon. 
To  enumerate  the  entrance  of  ghosts,  the  embattling 
of  armies,  the  noise  of  heroes  in  love,  with  a  thou- 
sand other  enormities,  would  be  to  transgress  the 
bounds  of  this  paper,  for  which  reason  it  is  possible 
they  may  have  hereafter  distinct  discourses;  not 
forgetting  any  of  the  audience  who  shall  set  up  for 
actors  and  interrupt  the  play  on  the  stage:  and 
players  who  shall  prefer  the  applause  of  fools  to  that 
of  the  reasonable  part  of  the  company.  T.^ 

POSTSCKIPT  TO  SPECTATOK,  No.  502. 

N.  B.  Tkere  are  in  the  play  of  the  Self-Tormentor  of  Te- 
rence, which  is  allowed  a  most  excellent  comedy,  several  inci- 

V  This  paper,  No.  S02,  is  ascribed  to  Steele.     See  tlie  final  note  to  No. 
324,  on  the  signature  T ;  and  No.  6,  note  adfinem,  on  Steele's  signatvires. 


No.  503.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  471 

dents  which  would  draw  tears  from  any  man  of  sense,  and  not  one 
which  would  move  his  laughter. — Speet.  in  folio,  No.  521. 

This  speculation,  No.  502,  is  controverted  in  the  Guard.  No. 
59,  by  a  writer  under  the  fictitious  name  of  John  Lizard ;  per- 
haps Dr.  Edw.  Young. 

***  At  the  Theatre-royal  in  Drm-y-lane,  on  "Wednesday,  Oct.  8,  The 
Spanish  Friar.  The  Friar,  by  Mr.  Bullock ;  Lorenzo,  by  Mr.  Wilks ;  Go- 
mez, by  Mr.  Norris ;. Elvira,  by  Mrs.  Oldfield ;  Torismond,  by  Mr.  Powell ; 
Bertran,  by  Mr.  Mills ;  Raymond,  by  Mr.  Bowman ;  Pedro,  by  Mr.  Bick- 
erstaflf. — Spect.  in  folio. 


No.  503.     TUESDAY,  October  7,  1712. 

—  Deleo  omnes  dehinc  ex  animo  mulicrcs. 

Tee.  Eun.  Act  ii.  So.  3. 
From  henceforward  I  blot  out  of  my  thoughts  all  memory  of  womankind. 

'MB.  SPECTATOR, 

'You  have  often  mentioned  with  great 
vehemence  and  indignation  the  misbehaviour  of 
people  at  church ;  but  I  am  at  present  to  talk  to  you 
on  that  subject,  and  complain  to  you  of  one,  whom 
at  the  same  time  I  know  not  what  to  accuse  of,  ex- 
cept it  be  looking  too  well  there,  and  diverting  the 
eyes  of  the  congregation  to  that  one  object.  How- 
ever I  have  this  to  say,  that  she  might  have  staid  at 
her  own  parish,  and  not  come  to  perplex  those  who 
are  otherwise  intent  upon  their  duty. 

'Last  Sunday  was  seven-night  I  went  into  a 
church  not  far  from  London-bridge ;  but  I  wish  I  had 
been  contented  to  go  to  my  own  parish,  I  am  sur6 
it  had  been  better  for  me.  I  say  I  went  to  church 
thither,  and  got  into  a  pew  very  near  the  pulpit.  I 
had  hardly  been  accommodated  with  a  seat,  before 
there  entered  into  the  aisle  a  young  lady  in  the  v6ry 
bloom  of  youth  and  beauty,  and  dressed  in  the  most 


472  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  503. 

elegant  manner  imaginable.    Her  form  was  such  that 
it  engaged  the  eyes  of  the  whole  congregation  in  an 
instant,  and  mine  among  the  rest.     Though  we  were 
all  thus  fixed  upon  her,  she  was  not  in  the  least  out 
of  countenance  or  under  the  least  disorder,  though 
unattended  by  any  one,  and  not  seeming  to  know 
particularly  where  to  place  herself.     However  she 
had  not  in  the  least  a  confident  aspect,  but  moved 
on  with  the  most  graceful  modesty,  every  one  making 
way  till  she  came  to  a  seat  just  over  against  that  in 
which  I  was  placed.     The  deputy  of  the  ward  sat  in 
that  pew,  and  she  stood  opposite  to  him,  and  at  a 
glance  into  the  seat,  though  she  did  not  appear  the 
least  acquainted  with  the  gentleman,  was  let  in,  with 
a  confusion  that  spoke  much  admiration  at  the  no- 
velty of  the  thing.     The  service  immediately  began, 
and  she  composed  herself  for  it  with  an  air  of  so 
much  goodness  and  sweetness,  that  the  confession 
which  she  uttered,  so  as  to  be  heard  where  I  sat, 
appeared  an  act  of  humiliation  more  than  she  had 
occasion  for.    The  truth  is,  her  beauty  had  something 
so  innocent,  and  yet  so  sublime,  that  we  all  gazed 
upon  her  like  a  phantom.     None  of  the  pictures 
which  we  behold  of  the  best  Italian  painters,  have 
any  thing  like  the  spirit  which  appeared  in  her  coun- 
tenance at  the  different  sentiments  expressed  in  the 
several  parts  of  divine  service.     That  gratitude  and 
joy  at  a  thanksgiving,  that  lowliness  and  sorrow  at 
the  prayers  for  the  sick  and  distressed,  that  triumph 
at  the  passages  which  gave  instances  of  the  divine 
mercy,  which  appeared  respectively  in  her  aspect, 
will  be  in  my  memory  to  my  last  hour.     I  protest  to 
you.  Sir,  she  suspended  the  devotion  of  every  one 
around  her ;  and  the  ease  she  did  every  thing  with 
soon  dispersed  the  churlish  dislike  and  hesitation  in 


No.  503."  THE   SPECTATOR.  473 

approving  what  is  excellent,  too  frequent  among  us, 
to  a  general  attention  and  entertainment  in  observing 
her  behaviour.  All  the  while  that  we  were  gazing 
at  her,  she  took  notice  of  no  object  about  her,  but 
had  an  art  of  seeming  awkwardly  attentive,  whatever 
else  her  eyes  were  accidentally  thrown  upon.  One 
thing  indeed  was  particular,  she  stood  the  whole  ser- 
vice, and  never  kneeled  or  sat :  I  do  not  question  but 
that  was  to  show  herself  with  the  greater  advantage, 
and  set  forth  to  better  grace  her  hands  and  arms, 
lifted  up  with  the  most  ardent  devotion ;  and  her 
bosom,  the  fairest  that  ever  was  seen,  bare  to  obser- 
vation ;  while  she,  you  must  think,  knew  nothing  of 
the  concern  she  gave  others,  any  other  than  as  an 
example  of  devotion,  that  threw  herself  out,  without 
regard  to  dress  or  garment,  all  contrition,  and  loose 
of  all  worldly  regards,  in  ecstasy  of  devotion.  Well : 
now  the  organ  was  to  play  a  voluntary,  and  she  was 
so  skilful  in  music,  and  so  touched  with  it,  that  she 
kept  time  not  only  with  some  motion  of  her  head, 
but  also  with  a  different  air  in  her  countenance. 
When  the  music  was  strong  and  bold,  she  looked  ex- 
alted, but  serious ;  when  lively  and  airy,  she  was 
smiling  and  gracious  ;  when  the  notes  were  more  soft 
and  languishing,  she  was  kind  and  full  of  pity.  When 
she  had  now  made  it  visible  to  the  whole  congrega- 
tion, bjr  her  motion  and  ear,  that  she  could  dance, 
and  she  wanted  now  only  to  inform  us  that  she  could 
sing  too  ;  when  the  psalm  was  given  out,  her  voice 
was  distinguished  above  all  the  rest,  or  rather  people 
did  not  exert  their  own  in  order  to  hear  her.  Never 
was  any  heard  so  sweet  and  so  strong.  The  organist 
observed  it,  and  he  thought  fit  to  play  to  her  only, 
and  she  swelled  every  note,  when  she  found  she  had 
thrown  us  all  out,  and  had  the  last  verse  herself  in 


474  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  503. 

such,  a  manner  as  the  whole  congregation  was  intent 
upon  her,  in  the  same  manner  as  you  see  in  cathe- 
drals they  are  on  the  person  who  sings  alone  the 
anthem.  Well,  it  came  at  last  to  the  sermon,  and 
our  young  lady  would  not  lose  her  part  in  that  nei- 
ther ;  for  she  fixed  her  eye  upon  the  preacher,  and 
as  he  said  any  thing  she  approved,  with  one  of  Charles 
Mather's  fine  tablets  she  set  down  the  sentence,  at 
once  showing  her  fine  hand,  the  gold  pen,  her  readi- 
ness in  writing,  and  her  judgment  in  choosing  what 
to  write.  To  sum  up  what  I  intend  by  this  long  and 
particular  account,  I  mean  to  appeal  to  you,  whether 
it  is  reasonable  that  such  a  creature  as  this  shall  come 
from  a  janty  part  of  the  town,  and  give  herself  such 
violent  airs,  to  the  disturbance  of  an  innocent  and 
inoffensive  congregation  with  her  sublimities.  The 
fact,  I  assure  you,  was  as  I  have  related ;  but  I  had 
like  to  have  forgot  another  very  considerable  par- 
ticular. As  soon  as  church  was  done,  she  immedi- 
ately stepped  out  of  her  pew,  and  fell  into  the  finest 
pitty-pat  air,  forsooth,  wonderfully  out  of  counte- 
nance, tossing  her  head  up  and  down,  as  she  swam 
along  the  body  of  the  church.  I,  with  several  others 
of  the  inhabitants,  followed  her  out,  and  saw  her  hold 
up  her  fan  to  an  hackney-coach  at  a  distance,  who 
immediately  came  up  to  her,  and  she  whipped  into 
it  with  great  nimbleness,  pulled  the  door  with  a  bow- 
ing mien,  as  if  she  had  been  used  to  a  better  glass. 
She  said  aloud,  "  You  know  where  to  go,"  and  drove 
off.  By  this  time  the  best  of  the  congregation  was 
at  the  church  door,  and  I  could  hear  some  say,  "  a 
very  fine  lady;"  others,  "I'll  warrant  you  she  is  no 
better  than  she  should  be :"  and  one  very  wise  old 
lady  said  she  ought  to  have  been  taken  up.  Mr. 
Spectator,  I  think  this  matter  lies  wholly  before  you  : 


.  No.  503.]  THE  SPECTATOE.  475 

for  the  offence  does  not  come  under  any  law,  though 
it  is  apparent  this  creature  came  among  us  only  to 
give  herself  airs,  and  enjoy  her  full  swing  in  being 
admired.  I  desire  you  would  print  this,  that  she  may 
be  confined  to  her  own  parish ;  for  I  can  assure  you 
there  is  no  attending  any  thing  else  in  a  place 
where  she  is  a  novelty.  She  has  been  talked  of  among 
us  ever  since  under  the  name  of  "  the  phantom :"  but 
I  would  advise  her  to  come  no  more  ;  for  there  is  so 
strong  a  party  made  by  the  women  against  her,  that 
she  must  expect  they  will  not  be  excelled  a  second 
time  in  so  outrageous  a  manner,  without  doing  her 
some  insult.  Young  women,  who  assume  after  this 
rate,  and  affect  exposing  themselves  to  view  in  con- 
gregations at  the  other  end  of  the  town,  are  not  so 
mischievous,  because  they  are  rivalled  by  more  of  the 
same  ambition,  who  will  not  let  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany be  particular  :  but  in  the  name  of  the  whole 
congregation  where  I  was,  I  desire  you  to  keep  these 
agreeable  disturbances  out  of  the  city,  where  sobri- 
ety of  manners  is  still  preserved,  and  all  glaring  and 
ostentatious  behaviour,  even  in  things  laudable,  dis- 
countenanced. I  wish  you  may  never  see  the  phan- 
tom, and  am. 

Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 
T.'  'Ralph  Wonder.' 

5  By  Steele.    See  the  sequel,  Noa.  515,  and  324,  note  adjinem  on  the 
signature  T. 


476  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  504.- 


No.  504.     WEDNESDAY,  Octobee  8,  1712. 

Lepus  tate  es,  et  palpamentnm  qnseris. 

Tek.  Enn.  Act  iii.  So.  1. 

T  ou  are  a  hare  yourself,  and  Tvant  daiutiee,  forsooth. 

It  is  a  great  convenience  to  those  who  want  wit  to 
furnish  out  a  conversation,  that  there  is  something  or 
other  in  all  companies  where  it  is  wanted  substituted 
in  its  stead,  which,  according  to  their  taste,  does  the 
business  as  well.  Of  this  nature  is  the  agreeable  pas- 
time in  country  halls  of  cross  purposes,  questions  and 
commands,  and  the  like.  A  little  superior  to  these 
are  those  who  can  play  at  crambo,  or  cap  verses. 
Then  above  them  are  such  as  can  make  verses,  that 
is,  rhyme ;  and,  among  those  who  have  the  Latin 
tongue,  such  as  use  to  make  what  they  call  golden 
verses.  Commend  me  also  to  those  who  have  not 
brains  enough  for  any  of  these  exercises,  and  yet  do 
not  give  up  their  pretensions  to  mirth.  These  can 
slap  you  on  the  back  unawares,  laugh  loud,  ask  you 
how  you  do  with  a  twang  on  your'  shoulders,  say  you 
are  dull  to-day,  and  laugh  a  voluntary  to  put  you  in 
humour ;  the  laborious  way  among  the  minor  poets, 
of  making  things  come  into  such  and  such  a  shape, 
as  that  of  an  egg,  an  hand,  an  axe,  or  any  thing 
that  nobody  had  ever  thought  on  before  for  that 
purpose,  or  which  would  have  cost  a  great  deal  of 
pains  to  accomplish  if  they  did.'  But  all  these  me- 
thods, though  they  are  mechanical,  and  may  be  ar- 
rived at  with  the  smallest  capacity,  do  not  serve  an 
honest  gentleman  who  wants  wit  for  his  ordinary 
occasions ;  therefore  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that 

■•  See  Tat.  No.  12,  and  note;  Spect.  No.  4=1,  on  biters. 


No.  504. j  THE   SPEOTATOE,  477 

the  poor  in  imagination  should  have  something  which 
may  be  serviceable  to  them  at  all  hours  upon  all 
common  occurrences.  That  which  we  call  punning, 
is  therefore  greatly  affected  by  men  of  small  intel- 
lects. These  men  need  not  be  concerned  with  you 
for  the  whole  sentence ;  but  if  they  can  say  a  quaint- 
thing,  or  bring  in  a  word  which  sounds  like  any  one 
word  you  'have  spoken  to  them,  they  can  turn  the 
discourse,  or  distract  you  so  that  you  cannot  go  on, 
and  by  consequence,  if  they  cannot  be  as  witty  as 
you  are,  they  can  hinder  your  being  any  wittier  than 
they  are.  Thus,  if  you  talk  of  a  candle,  he  '  can 
deal '  with  you  ;  and  if  you  ask  to  help  you  to  some 
bread,  a  punster  should  think  himself  very  'ill-bred' 
if  he  did  not ;  and  if  he  is  not  as  '  well-bred  '  as 
yourself,  he  hopes  for  '  grains '  of  allowance.  If  you 
do  not  understand  that  last  fancy,  you  must  recollect 
that  bread  is  made  of  grain ;  and  so  they  go  on  for 
ever,  without  possibility  of  being  exhausted. 

There  are  another  kind  of  people  of  small  facul- 
ties, who  supply  want  of  wit  with  want  of  breeding ; 
and  because  women  are  both  by  nature  and  education 
more  offended  at  any  thing  which  is  immodest  than 
we  men  are,  these  are  ever  harping  upon  things  they 
ought  not  to  allude  to,  and  deal  mightily  in  double 
meanings.  Every  one's  own  observation  will  suggest 
instances  enough  of  this  kind,  without  my  men- 
tioning any ;  for  your  double  meaners  are  dispersed 
up  and  down  through  all  parts  of  town  or  city,  where 
there  are  any  to  offend,  in  order  to  set  off  themselves. 
These  men  are  mighty  loud  laughers,  and  held  very 
pretty  gentlemen  with  the  sillier  and  unbred  part  of 
womankind.  But  above  all  already  mentioned,  or 
any  who  ever  were  or  ever  can  be  in  the  world,  the 
happiest  and  surest  to  be  pleasant  are  a  sort  of  people 


478  THE  SPECTATOR.  [^0.  504. 

■whom  we  have  not  indeed  lately  heard  much  of, 
and  those  are  your  '  biters.' 

A  biter  is  one  who  tells  you  a  thing  you  have  no 
reason  to  disbelieve  in  itself,  and  perhaps  has  given 
you,  before  he  bit  you,  no  reason  to  disbelieve  it  for 
his  saying  it ;  and,  if  you  give  him  credit,  laughs  in 
your  face,  and  triumphs  that  he  has  deceived  you. 
In  a  word,  a  biter  is  one  who  thinks  you  a  fool,  be- 
cause you  do  not  think  him  a  knave.  This  descrip- 
tion of  him  one  may  insist  upon  to  be  a  just  one ; 
for  what  else  but  a  degree  of  knavery  is  it  to  depend 
upon  deceit  for  what  you  gain  of  another,  be  it  in 
point  of  wit,  or  interest,  or  any  thing  else  ? 

This  way  of  wit  is  called  'biting '  by  a  metaphor 
taken  from  beasts  of  prey,  which  devour  harmless 
and  unarmed  animals,  and  look  upon  them  as  their 
food  wherever  they  meet  them.  The  sharpers  about 
town  very  ingeniously  understood  themselves  to  be 
to  the  undesigning  part  of  mankind  what  foxes  are 
to  lambs,  and  therefore  used  the  word  biting  to  ex- 
press any  exploit  wherein  they  had  over-reached  any 
innocent  and  inadvertent  man  of  his  purse.  These 
rascals  of  late  years  have  been  the  gallants  of  the 
town,  and  carried  it  with  a  fashionable  haughty  air, 
to  the  discouragement  of  modesty  and  all  honest  arts. 
Shallow  fops,  who  are  governed  by  the  eye,  and  ad- 
mire every  thing  that  struts  in  vogue,  took  up  from 
the  sharpers  the  phrase  of  biting,  and  used  it  upon 
all  occasions,  either  to  disown  any  nonsensical  stuff 
they  should  talk  themselves,  or  evade  the  force  of 
what  was  reasonably  said  by  others.  Thus,  when 
one  of  these  cunning  creatures  was  entered  into  a 
debate  with  you,  whether  it  was  practicable  in  the 
present  state  of  affairs  to  accomplish  such  a  propo- 
sition, and  you  thought  he  had  let  fall  what  destroyed 


No.  504.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  479 

his  side  of  the  question,  as  soon  as  you  looked  with 
an  earnestness  ready  to  lay  hold  of  it,  he  immediately 
cried,  '  Bite,'  and  you  were  immediately  to  acknow- 
ledge all  that  part  was  in  jest.  They  carry  this  to 
all  the  extravagance  imaginable,  and  if  one  of  these 
witlings  knows  any  particulars  which  may  give  au- 
thority to  what  he  says,  he  is  still  the  more  ingenious 
if  he  imposes  upon  your  credulity.  I  remember  a 
remarkable  instance  of  this  kind.  There  came  up  a 
shrewd  young  fellow  to  a  plain  young  man,  his  coun- 
tryman, and  taking  him  aside  with  a  grave  concerned 
countenance,  goes  on  at  this  rate :  '  I  see  you  here, 
and  have  you  heard  nothing  out  of  Yorkshire  ? — 
You  look  so  surprised  you  could  not  have  heard  of 
it — and  yet  the  particulars  are  such  that  it  cannot 
be  false  :  I  am  sorry  I  am  got  into  it  so  far  that  I 
now  must  tell  you ;  but  I  know  not  but  it  may  be 
for  your  service  to  know.  On  Tuesday  last,  just 
after  dinner — you  know  his  manner  is  to  smoke — 
opening  his  box,  your  father  fell  down  dead  in  an 
apoplexy.'  The  youth  showed  the  filial  sorrow  which 
he  ought :  upon  which  the  witty  man  cried  '  Bite,' 
there  was  nothing  in  all  this. 

To  put  an  end  to  this  silly,  pernicious,  frivolous 
way  at  once,  I  will  give  the  reader  one  late  instance 
of  a  bite,  which  no  biter  for  the  future  will  ever  be 
able  to  equal,  though  I  heartily  wish  him  the  same 
occasion.  It  is  a  superstition  with  some  surgeons 
who  beg  the  bodies  of  condemned  malefactors,  to  go 
to  the  gaol,  and  bargain  for  the  carcase  with  the  cri- 
minal himself.  A  good  honest  fellow  did  so  last  ses- 
sions, and  was  admitted  to  the  condemned  men  on 
the  morning  wherein  they  died.  The  surgeon  com- 
municated his  business,  and  fell  into  discourse  with  a 
little  fellow,  who  refused  twelve  shillings,  and  insist- 


480  THE   SPECTATOR.  [^0.  505. 

ed  upon  fifteen  for  his  body.  The  fellow,  who  killed 
the  ofiicer  of  Newgate,  very  forwardly,  and  like  a 
man  who  was  willing  to  deal,  told  him,  '  Look  you, 
Mr.  Surgeon,  that  little  dry  fellow,  who  has  been 
half-starved  all  his  life,  and  is  now  half  dead  with 
fear,  cannot  answer  your  purpose.  I  have  ever  lived 
high  and  freely,  my  veins  are  full,  I  have  not  pined 
in  imprisonment ;  you  see  my  crest  swells  to  your 
knife,  and  after  Jack  Catch  has  done,  upon  my  hon- 
our, you  will  find  me  as  sound  as  e'er  a  bullock  in 
any  of  the  markets.  Come,  for  twenty  shillings  I 
am  your  man.'  Says  the  surgeon,  '  Done,  there  is 
a  guinea.'  This  witty  rogue  took  the  money,  and 
soon  as  he  had  it  in  his  fist,  cries,  '  Bite,  I  am  to  be 
hang'd  in  chains.'  T.° 


No.  505.     THURSDAY,  October  9,  1712. 

Non  habeo  denlque  nauci  Marsum  augarem, 
Non  vicanos  aruspices,  non  de  circo  aatrologos. 
Non  Isiacos  conjectores,  non  interpretes  somnium: 
Non  enim  sunt  ii  aut  scientia,  aat  arte  divini, 
Sed  superstitiosi  vates,  impudentesque  harioli. 
Ant  inertes,  aut  insani,  aut  quibus  egestas  imperat : 
Qui  sui  qiiestus  causa  fictas  suscitant  sententias, 
Qui  sibi  somitam  non  snpiunt,  alteri  monstant  viam, 
Quibus  divitias  pollicentur,  ab  iis  drachmam  petunt : 
De  divitiis  deducant  drachmam,  reddant  cmtcra. 

Ennius. 
Augurs  and  soothsayers,  astrologers. 
Diviners,  and  interpreters  of  dreams, 
I  ne'er  consult,  and  heartily  despise : 
Tain  their  pretence  to  more  than  human  skill : 
For  gain,  imaginary  schemes  they  draw ; 
"Wand'rers  themselves,  they  guide  another's  steps ; 
And  for  poor  sixpence  promise  countless  wealth : 
Let  them,  if  they  expect  to  bo  believed. 
Deduct  the  sixpence,  and  bestow  the  rest 

Those  who  have  maintained  that  men  would  be  more 
miserable  than  beasts  were  their  hopes  confined  to 

"  By  Steele.     See  final  note  to  No.  324. 


No.  505.]-  THE   SPECTATOE.  481 

this  life  only,  among  other  considerations  take  notice 
that  the  latter  are  only  afflicted  with  the  anguish  of 
the  present  evil,  whereas  the  former  are  very  often 
pained  by  the  reflection  on  what  is  passed,  and  the 
fear  of  what  is  to  come.  This  fear  of  any  future 
difficulties  or  misfortunes  is  so  natural  to  the  mind, 
that,  were  a  man's  sorrows  and  disquietudes  summed 
up  at  the  end  of  his  life,  it  would  generally  be  found 
that  he  had  suffered  more  from  the  apprehension  of 
such  evils  as  never  happened  to  him,  than  from  those 
evils  which  had  really  befallen  him.  To  this  we  may 
add,  that,  among  those  evils  which  befal  us,  there 
are  many  that  have  been  more  painful  to  us  in  the 
prospect  than  by  their  actual  pressure. 

This  natural  impatience  to  look  into  futurity,  and 
to  know  what  accidents  may  happen  to  us  hereafter, 
has  given  birth  to  many  ridiculous  arts  and  inven- 
tions. Some  found  their  prescience  on  the  lines  of 
a  man's  hand,  others  on  the  features  of  his  face ;  some 
on  the  signatures  which  nature  has  impressed  on  his 
body,  and  others  on  his  own  hand- writing ;  some 
read  men's  fortunes  in  the  stars,  as  others  have 
searched  after  them  in  the  entrails  of  beasts  or  the 
flights  of  birds.  Men  of  the  best  sense  have  been 
touched  more  or  less  with  these  groundless  horrors 
and  presages  of  futurity,  upon  surveying  the  most 
indifferent  works  of  nature.  Can  any  thing  be  more 
surprising  than  to  consider  Cicero,'  who  made  the 
greatest  figure  at  the  bar  and  in  the  senate  of  the 
Roman  commonwealth,  and  at  the  same  time  out- 
shined  all  the  philosophers  of  antiquity  in  his  library 
and  in  his  retirements,  as  busying  himself  in  the  col- 

«  This  censure  of  Cicero  seems  to  be  unfounded,  for  it  is  said  of  him, 
that  he  wondered  how  one  augur  could  meet  another  without  laughing  in 
his  face. 

VOL.  V. — 31 


482  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  505. 

lege  of  augurs,  and  observing  with  a  religious  atten- 
tion, after  what  manner  the  chickens  pecked  the  sev- 
eral grains  of  corn  which  were  thrown  to  them  ? 

Notwithstanding  these  follies  are  pretty  well 
worn  out  of  the  minds  of  the  wise  and  learned  in  the 
present  age,  multitudes  of  weak  and  ignorant  per- 
sons are  still  slaves  to  them.  There  are  numberless 
arts  of  prediction  among  the  vulgar  which  are  too 
trifling  to  enumerate ;  and  infinite  observations  of 
days,  numbers,  voices,  and  figures,  which  are  regard- 
ed by  them  as  portents  and  prodigies.  In  short, 
every  thing  prophesies  to  the  superstitious  man ; 
there  is  scarce  a  straw,  or  a  rusty  piece  of  iron,  that 
lies  in  his  way  by  accident. 

It  is  not  to  be  conceived  how  many  wizards,  gip- 
seys,  and  cunning  men,  are  dispersed  through  all 
the  counties  and  market  towns  of  Great  Britain,  not 
to  mention  the  fortune-tellers  and  astrologers,  who 
live  very  comfortably  upon  the  curiosity  of  several 
well-disposed  persons  in  the  cities  of  London  and 
Westminster. 

Among  the  many  pretended  arts  of  divination, 
there  is  none  which  so  universally  amuses  as  that  by 
dreams.  I  have  indeed  observed  in  a  late  specula- 
tion," that  there  have  been  sometimes,  upon  very 
extraordinary  occasions,  supernatural  revelations 
made  to  certain  persons  by  this  means  ;  but  as  it  is 
the  chief  business  of  this  paper  to  root  out  popular 
errors,  I  must  endeavour  to  expose  the  folly  and  su- 
perstition of  those  persons,  who,  in  the  common  and 
ordinary  course  of  life,  lay  any  stress  upon  things  of 
so  uncertain,  shadowy,  and  chimerical  a  nature. 
This  I  cannot  do  more  effectually  than  by  the  fol- 

"  See  No.  iSl,  paragr.  8. 


No.  505. J  THE   SPECTATOR.  483 

lowing  letter,  wliich  is  dated  from  a  quarter  of  the 
town  that  has  always  been  the  habitation  of  some 
prophetic  Philomath  ;  it  having  been  usual,  time  out 
of  mind,  for  all  such  people  as  have  lost  their  wits 
to  resort  to  that  place  either  for  their  cure  or  for 
their  instruction. 

'  ME.    SPECTATOR,  Moorfields,  Oct.  4,  1712. 

'  Having  long  considered  whether  there 
be  any  trade  wanting  in  this  great  city,  after  having 
surveyed  very  attentively  all  kinds  of  ranks  and  pro- 
fessions, I  do  not  find  in  any  quarter  of  the  town  an 
oneiro- critic,  or,  in  plain  English,  an  interpreter  of 
dreams.  For  want  of  so  useful  a  person,  there  are 
several  good  people  who  are  very  much  puzzled  in 
this  particular,  and  dream  a  whole  year  together 
without  being  ever  the  wiser  for  it.  I  hope  I  am 
pretty  well  qualified  for  this  office,  having  studied 
by  candle-light  all  the  rules  of  art  which  have  been 
laid  down  upon  this  subject.  My  great  uncle  by  my 
wife's  side  was  a  Scotch  highlander,  and  second- 
sighted.  I  have  four  fingers  and  two  thumbs  upon 
one  hand,  and  was  born  on  the  longest  night  of  the 
year.  My  christian  and  surname  begin  and  end 
with  the  same  letters.  I  am  lodged  in  Moorfields, 
in  a  house  that  for  these  fifty  years  has  been  always 
tenanted  by  a  conjuror. 

'  If  you  had  been  in  company,  so  much  as  my- 
self, with  ordinary  women  of  the  town,  you  must 
know  that  there  are  many  of  them  who  every  day 
in  their  lives,  upon  seeing  or  hearing  of  any  thing 
that  is  unexpected,  cry,  "My  dream  is  out;"  and 
cannot  go  to  sleep  in  quiet  the  next  night  'till  some- 
thing or  other  has  happened  which  has  expounded 
the  visions  of  the  preceding  one.     There  are  others 


484  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  505, 

who  are  in  very  great  pain  for  not  being  able  to  re- 
cover the  circumstances  of  a  dream  that  made  strong 
impressions  upon  them  while  it  lasted.  In  short, 
Sir,  there  are  many  whose  waking  thoughts  are 
wholly  employed  on  their  sleeping  ones.  For  the 
benefit  therefore  of  this  curious  and  inquisitive  part 
of  my  fellow-subjects,  I  shall  in  the  first  place  tell 
those  persons  what  they  dreamt  of,  who  fancy  they 
never  dream  at  all.  In  the  next  place,  I  shall  make 
out  any  dream  upon  hearing  a  single  circumstance 
of  it !  and  in  the  last  place,  shall  expound  to  them 
the  good  or  bad  fortune  which  such  dreams  portend. 
If  they  do  not  presage  good  luck,  I  shall  desire  no- 
thing for  my  pains  ;  not  questioning  at  the  same 
time,  that  those  who  consult  me  will  be  so  reasona- 
ble as  to  afford  me  a  moderate  share  out  of  any  con- 
siderable estate,  profit,  or  emolument,  which  I  shall 
thus  discover  to  them.  I  interpret  to  the  poor  for 
nothing,  on  condition  that  their  names  may  be  in- 
serted in  public  advertisements,  to  attest  the  truth 
of  such  my  interpretations.  As  for  people  of  quality, 
or  others  who  are  indisposed,  and  do  not  care  to 
come  in  person,  I  can  interpret  their  dreams  by  see- 
ing their  water.  I  set  aside  one  day  in  the  week 
for  lovers ;  and  interpret  by  the  great  for  any  gen- 
tlewoman who  is  turned  of  sixty,  after  the  rate  of 
half-a-crown  per  week,  with  the  usual  allowances  for 
good  luck.  I  have  several  rooms  and  apartments 
fitted  up,  at  reasonable  rates,  for  such  as  have  not 
conveniences  for  dreaming  at  their  own  houses. 

'  Titus  Trophonius.' 
'  N.  B.  I  am  not  dumb.' 

»  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  his  office.     See  the  final  note  to 
No.  7,  on  Addison's  signatures,  C,  L,  I,  0 ;  No.  221,  and  note. 


No.  506.]  THE  SPECTATOR. 


485 


»**  By  the  desire  of  several  ladies  of  quality,  on  Tliursday,  Oct.  9, 
The  Careless  Husband.  Lord  Foppington,  by  Mr.  Cibber ;  Lord  Morelove' 
by  Mr.  Mills;  Sir  Charles  Easy,  by  Mr.  Willis.  Lady  Betty  Modish,  by 
Mrs.  Oldfield,  for  whom,  and  from  whom,  the  part  was  written;  Lady 
Easy,  by  Mrs.  Knight;  and  Lady  Graveairs,  by  Mrs.  Porter.  To  which 
will  be  added  a  farce  called  The  Country  Wake.  The  part  of  Hob,  by  Mr. 
Dogget. 

fj-f  To-morrow,  being  Friday,  will  be  presented  a  comedy,  called  The 
Old  Bachelor.  Fondlewife,  by  Mr.  Dogget;  Sir  Joseph  Witall,  by  Mr. 
BuUook;  Belmour,  by  Mr.  Wilks;  Vainlove,  by  Mr.  Booth;  Heartwell, 
by  Mr.  Keen;  Sharper,  by  Mr.  Mills ;  Captain  Bluff,  by  Mr.  Johnson;  Set- 
ter, by  Mr.  Norris.  Belinda,  by  Mrs.  Rogers ;  Araminta,  by  Mrs.  Brad- 
shaw;  Letitia,  by  Mrs.  Knight;  and  Lucy,  by  Mrs.  Saunders.  Oct.  1], 
The  Humorous  Lieutenant. — Spect.  in  folio. 


No.  506.    FKIDAY,  October  10,  1712. 

Candida  perpetuo  reside,  concordia,  lecto, 

Tamque  pari  semper  sit  Venus  lequajugo. 
Diligat  ilia  senem  quoudam;  sed  et  ipsa  marito, 

Tunc  quoque  cum  fuerit,  non  videatur  anus. 

MAfiT.  4  Epig.  xiii.  7. 
Perpetual  liarmony  their  bed  attend, 
And  Venus  still  the  well-match'd  pair  befriond. 
May  she,  when  time  baa  sunk  him  into  years, 
Love  her  old  man,  and  cherish  his  white  hairs ; 
Nor  be  perceive  her  charms  thro'  age  decay, 
But  think  each  bappy  sun  bis  bridal  day. 

The  following  essay  is  written  by  the  gentleman, 
to  whom  the  world  is  obliged  for  those  several  ex- 
cellent discourses  which  have  been  marked  with  the 
letter  X.  ^ 

I  HAVE  somewhere  met  with  a  fable  that  made 
Wealth  the  father  of  Love.  It  is  certain  that  a  mind 
ought,  at  least,  to  be  free  from  the  apprehensions  of 
want  and  poverty,  before  it  can  fully  attend  to  all 
the  softnesses  and  endearments  of  this  passion.     Not- 

y  See  No.  655,  explanation  of  X. 


486  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  506. 

withstanding,  we  see  multitudes  of  married  people, 
who  are  utter  strangers  to  this  delightful  passion 
amidst  all  the  afftuence  of  the  most  plentiful  for- 
tunes. 

It  is  not  sufficient  to  make  a  marriage  happy  that 
the  humours  of  two  people  should  be  alike  ;  I  could 
instance  an  hundred  pair  who  have  not  the  least  sen- 
timent of  love  remaining  for  one  another,  yet  are  so 
like  in  their  humours,  that,  if  they  were  not  already 
married,  the  whole  world  would  design  them  for 
man  and  wife. 

The  spirit  of  love  has  something  so  extremely 
fine  in  it,  that  it  is  very  often  disturbed  and  lost  by 
some  little  accidents,  which  the  careless  and  unpo- 
lite  never  attend  to  until  it  is  gone  past  recovery. 

Nothing  has  more  contributed  to  banish  it  from 
a  married  state  than  too  great  a  familiarity,  and  lay- 
ing aside  the  common  rules  of  decency.  Though  I 
could  give  instances  of  this  in  several  particulars,  I 
shall  only  mention  that  of  dress.  The  beaux  and 
belles  about  town,  who  dress  purely  to  catch  one 
another,  think  there  is  no  farther  occasion  for  the 
bait  when  their  first  design  has  succeeded.  But  be- 
sides the  too  common  fault  in  point  of  neatness,  there 
are  several  others  which  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
seen  touched  upon,  but  in  one  of  our  modern  come- 
dies,''  where  a  French  woman,  offering  to  undress 
and  dress  herself  before  the  lover  of  the  play,  and 
assuring  his  [her]  mistress  that  it  was  very  usual  in 
France,  the  lady  tells  her,  that  is  a  secret  in  dress 
she  never  knew  before,  and  that  she  was  so  unpo- 
lished an  English  woman,  as  to  resolve  never  to  learn 
even  to  dress  before  her  husband. 

'  The  Funeral,  or  Grief  A-la-mode,  by  Steele. 


No.  506.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  487 

There  is  something  so  gross  in  the  carriage  of 
some  wives,  that  they  lose  their  husbands'  hearts  for 
faults  which,  if  a  man  has  either  good-nature  or  good- 
breeding,  he  knows  not  how  to  tell  them  of  I  am 
afraid,  indeed,  the  ladies  are  generally  most  faulty 
in  this  particular ;  who,  at  their  first  giving  into  love, 
find  the  way  so  smooth  and  pleasant,  that  they  fancy 
it  is  scarce  possible  to  be  tired  in  it. 

There  is  so  much  nicety  and  discretion  required 
to  keep  love  alive  after  marriage,  and  make  con- 
versation still  new  and  agreeable  after  twenty  or 
thirty  years,  that  I  know  nothing  which  seems  rea- 
dily to  promise  it,  but  an  earnest  endeavour  to  please 
on  both  sides,  and  superior  good  sense  on  the  part 
of  the  man. 

By  a  man  of  sense,  I  mean  one  acquainted  with 
business  and  letters. 

A  woman  very  much  settles  her  esteem  for  a 
man,  according  to  the  figure  he  makes  in  the  world, 
and  the  character  he  bears  among  his  own  sex.  As 
learning  is  the  chief  advantage  we  have  over  them, 
it  is,  methinks,  as  scandalous  and  inexcusable  for  a 
man  of  fortune  to  be  illiterate,  as  for  a  woman  not 
to  know  how  to  behave  herself  on  the  most  ordinary 
occasions.  It  is  this  which  sets  the  two  sexes  at  the 
greatest  distance  :  a  woman  is  vexed  and  surprised 
to  find  nothing  more  in  the  conversation  of  a  man 
than  in  the  common  tattle  of  her  own  sex. 

Some  small  engagement,  at  least  in  business,  not 
only  sets  a  man's  talents  in  the  fairest  light,  and  al- 
lots him  a  part  to  act,  in  which  a  wife  cannot  well 
intermeddle ;  but  gives  frequent  occasions  for  those 
little  absences,  which,  whatever  seeming  uneasiness 
they  may  give,  are  some  of  the  best  preservatives  of 
love  and  desire. 


488  THE   SPECTATOK.  [No.  506. 

The  fair  sex  are  so  conscious  to  themselves  that 
they  have  nothing  in  them  -which  can  deserve  en- 
tirely to  engross  the  whole  man,  that  they  heartily 
despise  one,  who,  to  use  their  own  expression,  is  al- 
ways hanging  at  their  apron-strings. 

Lsetitia  is  pretty,  modest,  tender,  and  has  sense 
enough  ;  she  married  Erastus,  who  is  in  a  post  of 
some  business,  and  has  a  general  taste  in  most  parts 
of  polite  learning.  Lastitia,  wherever  she  visits,  has 
the  pleasure  to  hear  of  something  which  was  hand- 
somely said  or  done  by  Erastus.  Erastus  since  his  mar- 
riage, was  more  gay  in  his  dress  than  ever,  and  in  all 
companies  is  as  complaisant  to  Lsetitia  as  to  any  other 
lady.  I  have  seen  him  give  her  her  fan  when  it  has 
dropped  with  all  the  gallantry  of  a  lover.  When 
they  take  the  air  together,  Erastus  is  continually 
improving  her  thoughts,  and  with  a  turn  of  wit  and 
spirit  which  is  peculiar  to  him,  giving  her  an  insight 
into  things  she  had  no  notions  of  before.  Lsetitia  is 
transported  at  having  a  new  world  thus  opened  to 
her,  and  hangs  upon  the  man  that  gives  her  such 
agreeable  informations.  Erastus  has  carried  this 
point  still  farther,  as  he  makes  her  daily  not  only 
more  fond  of  him,  but  infinitely  more  satisfied  with 
herself  Erastus  finds  a  justness  or  beauty  in  what- 
ever she  says  or  observes  that  Lastitia  herself  was 
not  aware  of,  and  by  his  assistance,  she  has  discover- 
ed an  hundred  good  qualities  and  accoinplishments 
in  herself  which  she  never  before  once  dreamed  of 
Erastus,  with  the  most  artful  complaisance  in  the 
world,  by  several  remote  hints,  finds  the  means  to 
make  her  say  or  propose  almost  whatever  he  has  a 
mind  to,  which  he  always  receives  as  her  own  dis- 
covery, and  gives  her  all  the  reputation  of  it. 

Erastus  has  a  perfect  taste  in  painting,  and  car- 


No.  506.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  489 

ried  Lsetitia  with  him  the  other  day  to  see  a  collec- 
tion of  pictures.  I  sometimes  visit  this  happy  cou- 
ple. As  we  were  last  week  walking  in  the  long 
gallery  before  dinner,  '  I  have  lately  laid  out  some 
money  in  painting,'  says  Erastus ;  '  I  bought  that 
Venus  and  Adonis  purely  upon  L^titia's  judgment ; 
it  cost  me  threescore  guineas,  and  I  was  this  morn- 
ing offered  an  hundred  for  it.'  I  turned  towards 
Lsetitia,  and  saw  her  cheeks  glow  with  pleasure, 
while  at  the  same  time  she  cast  a  look  upon  Erastus 
the  most  tender  and  affectionate  I  ever  beheld. 

Flavilla  married  Tom  Tawdry :  she  was  taken 
with  his  laced  coat  and  rich  sword-knot ;  she  has 
the  mortification  to  see  Tom  despised  by  all  the 
worthy  part  of  his  own  sex.  Tom  has  nothing  to 
do  after  dinner,  but  to  determine  whether  he  wiU 
pare  his  nails  at  St.  James's,  White's,  or  his  own 
house.  He  has  said  nothing  to  Flavilla  since  they 
were  married,  which  she  might  not  have  heard  as 
well  from  her  own  woman.  He  however  takes 
great  care  to  keep  up  the  saucy  ill-natured  author- 
ity of  a  husband.  Whatever  Flavilla  happens  to 
assert,  Tom  immediately  contradicts  with  an  oath 
by  way  of  preface,  and,  '  My  dear,  I  must  tell  you 
you  talk  most  confoundedly  silly.'  Flavilla  had  a 
heart  naturally  as  well  disposed  for  all  the  tender- 
ness of  love  as  that  of  Laetitia  ;  but  as  love  seldom 
continues  long  after  esteem,  it  is  difficult  to  deter- 
mine at  present,  whether  the  unhappy  Flavilla  hates 
or  despises  the  person  most  whom  she  is  obliged  to 
lead  her  whole  life  with. 

X." 

=  By  Mr.  Eustace  Budgell.     See  Spect.  No.  655,  paragr.  3. 


490  THE   SPECTATOll.  [^0.  507. 


No.  507.    SATUEDAY,  Octobbe  11,  1712. 

Defendlt  nameras,  jnncteqae  umbone  phalanges. 

Jfv.  Sat.  U.  46. 

Preserv'd  from  shame  by  numbers  on  our  side 

There  is  something  very  sublime,  thougH  very  fan- 
ciful, in  Plato's  description  of  the  Supreme  Being ; 
that  '  truth  is  his  body,  and  light  his  shadow.' 
According  to  this  definition,  there  is  nothing  so  con- 
tradictory to  his  nature  as  error  and  falsehood.  The 
Platonists  have  so  just  a  notion  of  the  Almighty's 
aversion  to  every  thing  which  is  false  and  erroneous, 
that  they  looked  upon  truth  as  no  less  necessary 
than  virtue  to  qualify  a  human  soul  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  separate  state.  For  this  reason,  as  they 
recommended  moral  duties  to  qualify  and  season  the 
will  for  a  future  life,  so  they  prescribed  several  con- 
templations and  sciences  to  rectify  the  understand- 
ing. Thus  Plato  has  called  mathematical  demon- 
strations the  cathartics  or  purgatives  of  the  soul,  as 
being  the  most  proper  means  to  cleanse  it  from 
error,  and  to  give  it  a  relish  of  truth  ;  which  is  the 
natural  food  and  nourishment  of  the  understanding, 
as  virtue  is  the  perfection  and  happiness  of  the  will. 
There  are  many  authors  who  have  shown  wherein 
the  malignity  of  a  lie  consists,  and  set  forth  in  pro- 
per colours  the  heinousness  of  the  offence.  I  shall 
here  consider  one  particular  kind  of  this  crime, 
which  has  not  been  so  much  spoken  to ;  I  mean, 
that  abominable  practice  of  party -lying.  This  vice 
is  so  very  predominant  among  us  at  present,  that  a 
man  is  thought  of  no  principles  who  does  not  pro- 
pagate a  certain  system  of  lies.  The  coffee-houses 
are  supported  by  them,  the  press  is  choked  with 


No.  507.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  491 

them,  eminent  authors  live  upon  them.  Our  bottle 
conversation  is  so  infected  with  them,  that  a  party- 
lie  is  grown  as  fashionable  an  entertainment  as  a 
lively  catch  or  a  merry  story.  The  truth  of  it  is, 
half  the  great  talkers  in  the  nation  would  be  struck 
dumb  were  this  fountain  of  discourse  dried  up. 
There  is  however  one  advantage  resulting  from  this 
detestable  practice  ;  the  very  appearances  of  truth 
are  so  little  regarded,  that  lies  are  at  present  dis- 
charged in  the  air,  and  begin  to  hurt  nobody. 
When  we  hear  a  party-story  from  a  stranger,  we 
consider  whether  he  is  a  whig  or  a  tory  that  relates 
it,  and  immediately  conclude  they  are  words  of 
course,  in  which  the  honest  gentleman  designs  to 
recommend  his  zeal  without  any  concern  for  his 
veracity.  A  man  is  looked  upon  as  bereft  of  com- 
mon sense  that  gives  credit  to  the  relations  of  par- 
ty-writers ;  nay,  his  own  friends  shake  their  heads 
at  him,  and  consider  him  in  no  other  light  than  as 
an  officious  tool  or  a  well-meaning  idiot.  When  it 
was  formerly  the  fashion  to  husband  a  lie,  and  trump 
it  up  in  some  extraordinary  emergency,  it  generally 
did  execution,  and  was  not  a  little  serviceable  to 
the  faction  that  made  use  of  it :  but  at  present 
every  man  is  upon  his  guard  :  the  artifice  has  been 
too  often  repeated  to  take  effect. 

I  have  frequently  wondered  to  see  men  of  pro- 
bity, who  would  scorn  to  utter  a  falsehood  for  their 
own  particular  advantage,  give  so  readily  into  a  lie, 
when  it  is  become  the  voice  of  their  faction,  not- 
withstanding they  are  thoroughly  sensible  of  it  as 
such.  How  is  it  possible  for  those  who  are  men  of 
honour  in  their  persons,  thus  to  become  notorious 
liars  in  their  party  ?  If  we  look  into  the  bottom 
of  this  matter,  we  may  find,  I  think,  three  reasons 


492  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  507. 

for  it,  and  at  the  same  time  discover  the  insuflBciency 
of  these  reasons  to  justify  so  criminal  a  practice. 

In  the  first  place,  men  are  apt  to  think  that  the 
guilt  of  a  lie,  and  consequently  the  punishment,  may 
be  very  much  diminished,  if  not  wholly  worn  out, 
by  the  multitudes  of  those  who  partake  in  it. 
Though  the  weight  of  a  falsehood  would  be  too 
heavy  for  one  to  bear,  it  grows  light  in  their  imagi- 
nations when  it  is  shared  among  many.  But  in  this 
case  a  man  very  much  deceives  himself ;  guilt,  when 
it  spreads  through  numbers,  is  not  so  properly  di- 
vided as  multiplied.  Every  one  is  criminal  in  pro- 
portion to  the  offence  which  he  commits,  not  to  the 
number  of  those  who  are  his  companions  in  it. 
Both  the  crime  and  the  penalty  lie  as  heavy  upon 
every  individual  of  an  offending  multitude,  as  they 
would  upon  any  single  person  had  none  shared  with 
him  in  the  offence.  In  a  Word,  the  division  of  guilt 
is  like  to  that  of  matter ;  though  it  may  be  separated 
into  infinite  portions,  every  portion  shall  have  the 
whole  essence  of  matter  in  it,  and  consist  of  as  many 
parts  as  the  whole  did  before  it  was  divided. 

But  in  the  second  place,  though  multitudes,  who 
join  in  a  lie,  cannot  exempt  themselves  from  the 
guilt,  they  may  from  the  shame  of  it.  The  scandal 
of  a  lie  is  in  a  manner  lost  and  annihilated  when 
diffused  among  several  thousands  ;  as  a  drop  of  the 
blackest  tincture  wears  away  and  vanishes  when 
mixed  and  confused  in  a  considerable  body  of 
water ;  the  blot  is  still  in  it,  but  is  not  able  to  dis- 
cover itself  This  is  certainly  a  very  great  motive 
to  several  party-offenders,  who  avoid  crimes,  not  as 
they  are  prejudicial  to  their  virtue,  but  to  their 
reputation.     It  is  enough  to  show  the  weakness  of 


No.  507.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  493 

this  reason,  whicli  palliates  guilt  without  removing 
it,  that  every  man  who  is  influenced  by  it,  declares 
himself  in  effect  an  infamous  hypocrite,  prefers  the 
appearance  of  virtue  to  its  reality,  and  is  determined 
in  his  conduct  neither  by  the  dictates  of  his  own 
conscience,  the  suggestions  of  true  honour,  nor  the 
principles  of  religion. 

The  third  and  last  great  motive  for  men's  joining 
in  a  popular  falsehood,  or,  as  I  have  hitherto  called 
it,  a  party-lie,  notwithstanding  they  are  convinced 
of  it  as  such,  is  the  doing  good  to  a  cause  which 
every  party  may  be  supposed  to  look  upon  as  the 
most  meritorious.  The  unsoundness  of  this  princi- 
ple has  been  so  often  exposed,  and  is  so  universally 
acknowledged,  that  a  man  must  be  an  utter  stranger 
to  the  principles  either  of  natural  religion  or  Chris- 
tianity, who  suffers  himself  to  be  guided  by  it.  If 
a  man  might  promote  the  supposed  good  of  his 
country  by  the  blackest  calumnies  and  falsehoods, 
our  nation  abounds  more  in  patriots  than  any  other 
of  the  Christian  world.  When  Pompey  was  desired 
not  to  set  sail  in  a  tempest  that  would  hazard  his 
life,  '  It  is  necessary  for  me,'  says  he,  '  to  sail,  but 
it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  live.'  Every  man 
should  say  to  himself,  with  the  same  spirit,  '  It  is 
my  duty  to  speak  truth,  though  it  is  not  my  duty 
to  be  in  an  office.'  One  of  the  fathers  hath  carried 
this  point  so  high  as  to  declare  he  would  not  tell  a 
lie  though  he  were  sure  to  gain  heaven  by  it. 
However  extravagant  such  a  protestation  may  ap- 
pear, every  one  will  own  that  a  man  may  say,  very 
reasonably,  he  would  not  tell  a  lie  if  he  were  sure 
to  gain  hell  by  it ;  or,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  soften 
the  expression,  that  he  would  not  tell  a  lie  to  gain 


494  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  508. 

any  temporal  reward  by  it,  when  he  should  run  the 
hazard  of  losing  much  more  than  it  was  possible  for 
him  to  gain. 

0." 


No.  508.    MONDAY,  Octobek  13,  1712. 

Onmes  antem  et  habentor  et  dlctmtur  tyraimi,  qui  potestate  stmt  perpetua,  in  ea  civitate 

qu8e  libertate  iisa  est 

Corn.  Nepos  in  Milt.  c.  8. 
For  all  those  are  accounted  and  denominated  tyrants,  who  exercise  a  perpetual  power  in 

that  state  which  was  before  free. 

The  following  letters  complain  of  what  I  have  fre- 
quently observed  with  very  much  indignation ; 
therefore,  I  shall  give  them  to  the  public  in  the 
words  with  which  my  correspondents,  who  suffer 
under  the  hardships  mentioned  in  them,  describe 
them. 

'  MR.  spectator, 

'  In  former  ages  all  pretensions  to  dominion 
have  been  supported  and  submitted  to,  either  upon 
account  of  inheritance,  conquest,  or  election;  and 
all  such  persons,  who  have  taken  upon  them  any 
sovereignty  over  their  fellow-creatures  upon  any  oth- 
er account,  have  been  always  called  tyrants,  not  so 
much  because  they  were  guilty  of  any  particular 
barbarities,  as  because  every  attempt  to  such  a  supe- 
riority was  in  its  nature  tyrannical.  But  there  is  an- 
other sort  of  potentates,  who  may  with  greater  pro- 
priety be  called  tyrants  than  those  last  mentioned, 
both  as  they  assume  a  despotic  dominion  over  those 

^  Addison  was  the  author  of  this  fine  paper,  No.  SOY,  •which  seems,  by 
the  signature  0,  to  have  heen  dated  from  his  office. — See  final  note  to  Nos. 
1,  221,  and  note. 


No.  508.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  485 

as  free  as  themselves,  and  as  they  support  it  by  acts 
of  notable  oppression  and  injustice ;  and  these  are 
the  rulers  in  all  clubs  and  meetings.  In  other  gov- 
ernments, the  punishments  of  some  have  been  alle- 
viated by  the  rewards  of  others ;  but  what  makes  the 
reign  of  these  potentates  so  particularly  grievous  is, 
that  they  are  exquisite  in  punishing  their  subjects  at 
the  same  time  they  have  it  not  in  their  power  to  re- 
ward them.  That  the  reader  may  the  better  com- 
prehend the  nature  of  these  monarchs,  as  well  as  the 
miserable  state  of  those  that  are  their  vassals,  I  shall 
give  an  account  of  the  king  of  the  company  I  am 
fallen  into,  whom  for  his  particular  tyranny  I  shall 
call  Dionysius ;  as  also  of  the  seeds  that  sprung  up  to 
this  odd  sort  of  empire. 

'  Upon  all  meetings  at  taverns,  it  is  necessary 
some  one  of  the  company  should  take  it  upon  him  to 
get  all  things  in  such  order  and  readiness  as  may 
contribute  as  much  as  possible  to  the  felicity  of  the 
convention  ;  such  as  hastening  the  fire,  getting  a  suf- 
ficient number  of  candles,  tasting  the  wine  with  a 
judicious  smack,  fixing  the  supper,  and  being  brisk 
for  the  despatch  of  it.  Know  then,  that  Dionysius 
went  through  these  offices  with  an  air  that  seemed  to 
express  a  satisfaction  rather  in  serving  the  public, 
than  in  gratifying  any  particular  incUnation  of  his 
own.  We  thought  him  a  person  of  an  exquisite  pa- 
late, and  therefore  by  consent  beseeched  him  to  be 
always  our  proveditor;  which  post,  after  he  had 
handsomely  denied,  he  could  do  no  otherwise  than 
accept.  At  first  he  made  no  other  use  of  his  power 
than  in  recommending  such  and  such  things  to  the 
company,  ever  allowing  these  points  to  be  disputable ; 
insomuch  that  I  have  often  carried  the  debate  for 
partridge,  when  his  majesty  has  given  intimation  of 


496  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  508. 

the  high  relish  of  duck,  but  at  the  same  time  has 
cheerfully  submitted,  and  devoured  his  partridge 
with  most  gracious  resignation.  This  submission  on 
his  side  naturally  produced  the  like  on  ours ;  of 
which  he  in  a  little  time  made  such  barbarous  advan- 
tage, as  in  all  those  matters,  which  before  seemed  in- 
different to  him,  to  issue  out  certain  edicts  as  uncon- 
troulable  and  unalterable  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians.  He  is  by  turns  outrageous,  peevish, 
froward,  and  jovial.  He  thinks  it  our  duty  for  the 
little  offices,  as  proveditor,  that  in  return  all  conver- 
sation is  to  be  interrupted  or  promoted  by  his  incli- 
nation for  or  against  the  present  humour  of  the  com- 
pany. We  feel,  at  present,  in  the  utmost  extremity, 
the  insolence  of  office ;  however,  I,  being  naturally 
warm,  ventured  to  oppose  him  in  a  dispute  about  a 
haunch  of  venison.  I  was  altogether  for  roasting, 
but  Dionysius  declared  himself  for  boiling  with  so 
much  prowess  and  resolution,  that  the  cook  thought 
it  necessary  to  consult  his  own  safety,  rather  than  the 
luxury  of  my  proposition.  With  the  same  authority 
that  he  orders  what  Ave  shall  eat  and  drink,  he  also 
commands  us  where  to  do  it ;  and  we  change  our 
taverns  according  as  he  suspects  any  treasonable 
practices  in  the  settling  the  bill  by  the  master,  or 
sees  any  bold  rebellion  in  point  of  attendance  by  the 
waiters.  Another  reason  for  changing  the  seat  of 
empire,  I  conceive  to  be  the  pride  he  takes  in  the 
promulgation  of  our  slavery,  though  we  pay  our  club 
for  our  entertainments,  even  in  these  palaces  of  our 
grand  monarch.  When  he  has  a  mind  to  take  the 
air,  a  party  of  us  are  commanded  out  by  way  of  life 
guard,  and  we  march  under  as  great  restrictions  as 
they  do.  If  we  meet  a  neighbouring  king,  we  give 
or  keep  the  way,  according  as  we  are  out-numbered 


No.  508.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  497 

or  not ;  and  if  the  train  of  eacli  is  equal  in  number, 
rather  than  give  battle,  the  superiority  is  soon  ad- 
justed by  a'  desertion  from  one  of  them. 

'Now,  the  expulsion  of  these  unjust  rulers  out  of 
all  societies  -would  gain  a  man  as  everlasting  a  repu- 
tation, as  either  of  the  Brutus's  got  from  their  en- 
deavours to  extirpate  tyranny  from  among  the  Ro- 
mans. I  confess  myself  to  be  in  a  conspiracy  against 
the  usurper  of  our  club ;  and  to  show  my  reading, 
as  well  as  my  merciful  disposition,  shall  allow  him 
till  the  ides  of  March  to  dethrone  himself  If  he 
seems  to  affect  empire  till  that  time,  and  does  not 
gradually  recede  from  the  incursions  he  has  made 
upon  our  liberties,  he  shall  find  a  dinner  dressed 
which  he  has  no  hand  in,  and  shall  be  treated  with 
an  order,  magnificence,  and  luxury,  as  shall  break 
his  proud  heart ;  at  the  same  time  that  he  shall  be 
convinced  in  his  stomach  he  was  unfit  for  his  post, 
and  a  more  mild  and  skilful  prince  receive  the  accla- 
mations of  the  people,  and  be  set  up  in  his  room :  but 
as  Milton  says, 

—  "These  thoughts 
Fnll  counsel  must  mature.    Peace  is  despair'd, 
And  who  can  think  submission  ?    War  then,  war, 
Open,  or  understood,  must  be  resolv'd." 

'  I  am.  Sir, 
'  Your  most  obedient  humble  servant' 

'MB.  SPBCTATOB, 

'  I  AM  a  young  woman  at  a  gentleman's 
seat  in  the  country,  who  is  a  particular  friend  of  my 
father's,  and  came  hither  to  pass  away  a  month  or 
two  with  his  daughters.  I  have  been  entertained 
with  the  utmost  civility  by  the  whole  family,  and 
VOL.  v.— 32 


498  THE   SPECTATOR.  fNo.  508. 

nothing  has  been  omitted  which  can  make  my  stay 
easy  and  agreeable  on  the  part  of  the  family ;  but 
there  is  a  gentleman  here,  a  visitant  as  I  am,  whose 
behaviour  has  given  me  great  uneasiness.  When  I 
first  arrived  here,  he  used  me  with  the  utmost  com- 
plaisance ;  but,  forsooth,  that  was  not  with  regard  to 
my  sex ;  and,  since  he  has  no  designs  upon  me,  he 
does  not  know  why  he  should  distinguish  me  from 
a  man  in  things  indifferent.  He  is,  you  must  know, 
one  of  those  familiar  coxcombs,  who  have  observed 
some  well-bred  men  with  a  good  grace  converse  with 
women,  and  say  no  fine  things,  but  yet  treat  them 
with  that  sort  of  respect  which  flows  from  the  heart 
and  the  understanding,  but  is  exerted  in  no  profes- 
sions or  compliments.  This  puppy,  to  imitate  this 
excellence,  or  avoid  the  contrary  fault  of  being  trou- 
blesome in  complaisance,  takes  upon  him  to  try  his 
talent  upon  me,  insomuch  that  he  contradicts  me 
upon  all  occasions,  and  one  day  told  me  I  lied.  If  I 
had  stuck  him  with  my  bodkin,  and  behaved  myself 
like  a  man,  since  he  will  not  treat  me  as  a  woman,  I 
had,  I  think,  served  him  right.  I  wish.  Sir,  you 
would  please  to  give  him  some  maxims  of  behaviour 
in  these  points,  and  resolve  me  if  all  maids  are  not 
in  point  of  conversation  to  be  treated  by  all  bache- 
lors as  their  mistresses.  If  not  so,  are  they  not  to  be 
used  as  gently  as  their  sisters  ?  Is  it  sufiferable  that 
the  fop  of  whom  I  complain  should  say,  that  he 
would  rather  have  such-a-one  without  a  groat,  than 
me  with  the  Indies?  What  right  has  any  man  to 
make  suppositions  of  things  not  in  his  power,  and 
then  declare  his  will  to  the  dislike  of  one  that  has 
never  ofi'ended  him  ?  I  assure  you  these  are  things 
worthy  your  consideration,  and  I  hope  we  shall  have 
yo.ur  thoughts  upon  them.      I  am,  though  a  woman 


No.  509.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  499 

justly  offended,  ready  to  forgive  all  this,  because  I 
have  no  remedy  but  leaving  very  agreeable  compa- 
ny sooner  than  I  desire.  This  also  is  an  heinous  ag- 
gravation of  his  ofifence,  that  he  is  inflicting  banish- 
ment upon  me.  Your  printing  this  letter  may  per- 
haps be  an  admonition  to  reform  him ;  as  soon  as  it 
appears  I  will  write  my  name  at  the  end  of  it,  and 
lay  it  in  his  way :  the  making  which  just  reprimand, 
I  hope  you  will  put  in  the  power  of.  Sib, 

'Your  constant  reader,  and  humble  servant.' 

rr  o 

*»*  At  Drury-lane,  Saturday,  October,  11,  The  Humourous  Lieutenant. 
The  part  of  the  King,  by  Mr.  Keen ;  Demetrius,  by  Mr.  Wilks ;  Leontins, 
by  Mr.  Powel! ;  the  Lieutenant,  by  Mr.  Pintethman.  Celia,  by  Mrs.  Old- 
field  ;  Leucippe,  by  Mr.  Pack  ;  and  all  the  other  parts  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. 

f  ^-t  Ibidem.  On  Monday,  Oct  13,  The  Committee,  or  The  Faithful 
Irishman.  Ruth,  by  Mrs.  Mountfort ;  Arabella,  by  Mrs.  Porter ;  Careless, 
by  Mr.  Wilks ;  Blunt,  by  Mr.  Mills ;  Teague,  by  Mr.  Bowen ;  Mr.  Dainty, 
by  Mr.  Pinkethman ;  Obadiah,  by  Mr.  Johnson ;  and  Bookseller,  by  Mr. 
Norris. — Spect.  in  folio. 


No.  509.  TUESDAY,  October  14,  1712. 

Hominls  fhigl  et  temperantls  fanctns  ofiictmn. 

Tbb.  Heant  Act  ill  Be.  8. 
DlscliaTgiDg  the  part  of  a  good  economist 

The  useful  knowledge  in  the  following  letter  shall 
have  a  place  in  my  paper,  though  there  is  nothing 
in  it  which  immediately  regards  the  polite  or  the 
learned  world ;  I  say  immediately,  for  upon  reflec- 
tion every  man  will  find  there  is  a  remote  influence 
upon  his  own  affairs,  in  the  prosperity  or  decay  of 
the  trading  part  of  mankind.     My  present  corres- 

«  By  Steele.     See  final  note  to  No.  324. 


500  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  509. 

pondent,  I  believe,  was  never  in  print  before  ;  but 
what  he  says  well  deserves  a  general  attention, 
though  delivered  in  his  own  homely  maxims,  and  a 
kind  of  proverbial  simplicity  ;  which  sort  of  learning 
has  raised  more  estates  than  ever  were,  or  will  be, 
from  attention  to  Virgil,  Horace,  TuUy,  Seneca,  Plu- 
tarch, or  any  of  the  rest,  whom,  I  dare  say,  this 
worthy  citizen  would  hold  to  be  indeed  ingenious 
but  unprofitable  writers.     But  to  the  letter. 


'  Mr.  WILLIAM  SPECTATOR.' 

'  SIR,  'Broad  Street,  Oct.  10,  17 12. 

'  I  ACCUSE  you  of  many  discourses  on  the 
subject  of  money,  which  you  have  heretofore  pro- 
mised the  public,  but  have  not  discharged  yourself 
thereof  But,  forasmuch  as  you  seemed  to  depend 
upon  advice  from  others  what  to  do  in  that  point, 
have  sat  down  to  write  you  the  needful  upon  that 
subject.  But,  before  I  enter  thereupon,  I  shall  take 
this  opportunity  to  observe  to  you,  that  the  thriving 
frugal  man  shows  it  in  every  part  of  his  expense, 
dress,  servants,  and  house  ;  and  I  must  in  the  first 
place  complain  to  you,  as  Spectator,  that  in  these 
particulars  there  is  at  this  time  throughout  the  city 
of  London  a  lamentable  change  from  that  simplicity 
of  manners  which  is  the  true  source  of  wealth  and 
prosperity.  I  just  now  said,  the  man  of  thrift  shows 
regularity  in  every  thing ;  but  you  may,  perhaps, 
laugh  that  I  take  notice  of  such  a  particular  as  I  am 
going  to  do,  for  an  instance  that  this  city  is  declining, 
if  their  ancient  economy  is  not  restored.  The  thing 
which  gives  me  this  prospect,  and  so  much  offence, 
is  the  neglect  of  the  Royal  Exchange,  I  mean  the 
edifice  so  called,  and  the  walks  appertaining  there- 


No.  509.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  501 

unto.  The  Royal  Exchange  is  a  fabric  that  well  de- 
serves to  be  so  Called,  as  well  to  express  that  our 
monarchs'  highest  glory  and  advantage  consists  in 
being  the  patrons  of  trade,  as  that  it  is  commodious 
for  business,  and  an  instance  of  the  grandeur  both 
of  prince  and  people.  But,  alas !  at  present  it  hardly 
seems  to  be  set  apart  for  any  such  use  or  purpose. 
Instead  of  the  assembly  of  honourable  merchants, 
substantial  tradesmen,  and  knowing  masters  of  ships ; 
the  mumpers,  the  halt,  the  blind,  and  the  lame ;  your 
venders  of  trash,  apples,  plums ;  your  ragamufl&ns, 
rakeshames,  and  wenches  ;  have  justled  the  greater 
number  of  the  former  out  of  that  place.  Thus  it  is, 
especially  on  the  evening  change :  so  that  what  with 
the  din  of  squallings,  oaths,  and  cries  of  beggars,  men 
of  greatest  consequence  in  our  city  absent  themselves 
from  the  place.  This  particular,  by  the  way,  is  of 
evil  consequence  ;  for,  if  the  Change  be  no  place  for 
men  of  the  highest  credit  to  frequent,  it  will  not  be 
a  disgrace  to  those  of  less  abilities  to  absent.  I  re- 
member the  time  when  rascally  company  were  kept 
out,  and  the  unlucky  boys  with  toys  and  balls  were 
whipped  away  by  a  beadle.  I  have  seen  this  done 
indeed  of  late,  but  then  it  has  been  only  to  chase 
the  lads  from  chuck,  that  the  beadle  might  seize  their 
copper. 

'  I  must  repeat  the  abomination,  that  the  walnut- 
trade  is  carried  on  by  old  women  within  the  walks, 
which  makes  the  place  impassable  by  reason  of  shells 
and  trash.  The  benches  around  are  so  filthy,  that 
no  one  can  sit  down,  yet  the  beadles  and  officers 
have  the  impudence  at  Christmas  to  ask  for  their 
box,*  though  they  deserve  the  strapado.     I  do  not 

^  Swift,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Johnson,  about  the  end  or  beginning  of  a 


502  THE    SPECTATOR.  [No.  50S. 

think  it  impertinent  to  have  mentioned  this,  because 
it  speaks  a  neglect  in  the  domestic  care  of  the  city, 
and  the  domestic  is  the  truest  picture  of  a  man  every 
where  else. 

'  But  I  designed  to  speak  on  the  business  of  mo- 
ney and  advancement  of  gain.  The  man  proper  for 
this,  speaking  in  the  general,  is  of  a  sedate,  plain, 
good  understanding,  not  apt  to  go  out  of  his  way, 
but  so  behaving  himself  at  home,  that  business  may 
come  to  him.  Sir  William  Turner,  that  valuable 
citizen,  has  left  behind  him  a  most  excellent  rule, 
and  couched  it  in  very  few  words,  suited  to  the 
meanest  capacity.  He  would  say,  "Keep  your  shop, 
and  your  shop  will  keep  you. "°  It  must  be  confessed, 
that  if  a  man  of  a  great  genius  could  add  steadiness 
to  his  vivacities,  or  substitute  slower  men  of  fidelity 
to  transact  the  methodical  part  of  his  affairs,  such  a 
one  would  outstrip  the  rest  of  the  world ;  but  busi- 
ness and  trade  is  not  to  be  managed  by  the  same 
heads  which  write  poetry,  and  make  plans  for  the 
conduct  of  life  in  general.  So,  though  we  are  at  this 
day  beholden  to  the  late  witty  and  inventive  duke 
of  Buckingham  for  the  whole  trade  and  manufacture 
of  glass,*^  yet  I  suppose  there  is  no  one  will  aver, 

year,  wishes  that  he  had  the  custom  of  paying  Christmas-boxes  to  describe 
as  an  antiquated  fashion. 

°  Alderman  Thomas,  a  mercer,  made  this  one  of  the  mottos  in  his  shop 
in  Paternoster-row. — ^Blundell's  MS.  note. 

f  When  one  '  reflects  what  incredible  improvement  our  artificers  of 
England  have  made  in  manufacture  of  glass  in  thirty  years  time,  and  can 
suppose  such  an  alteration  of  our  affairs  in  other  parts  of  commerce,  it  is 
demonstrable  that  the  nations  who  are  possessed  of  mines  of  gold  are  but 
drudges  to  a  people  whose  arts  and  industry,  with  other  advantages  natu- 
ral to  us,  may  make  itself  the  shop  of  the  world.  We  are  arrived  at  such 
perfection  in  this  ware  of  which  I  am  speaking,  that  it  is  not  m  the  power 
of  any  potentate  of  Europe  to  have  so  beautiful  a  mirror  as  he  may  pur- 
chase here  for  a  trifle,  by  all  the  cost  and  charge  that  he  can  lay  out  in  his 
dominiona    It  is  a  modest  computation,  that  England  gains  fifty  thousand 


No.  509.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  503 

that,  were  his  grace  yet  living,  they  would  not  rather 
deal  with  my  diligent  friend  and  neighbour,  Mr.  Gum- 
ley,  for  any  goods  to  be  prepared  and  delivered  on 
such  a  day,  than  he  would  with  that  illustrious  me- 
chanic above-mentioned. 

'  No,  no,  Mr.  Spectator,  you  wits  must  not  pre- 
tend to  be  rich ;  and  it  is  possible  the  reason  may 
be,  in  some  measure,  because  you  despise,  or  at  least 
you  do  not  value  it  enough  to  let  it  take  up  your 
chief  attention ;  which  the  trader  must  do,  or  lose  his 
credit,  which  is  to  him  what  honour,  reputation, 
fame,  or  glory,  is  to  other  sort  of  men. 

'  I  shall  not  speak  to  the  point  of  cash  itself,  till 
I  see  how  you  approve  of  these  my  maxims  in  gene- 
ral :  but  I  think  a  speculation  upon  "  many  a  little 
makes  a  mickle — a  penny  saved  is  a  penny  got — 
penny  wise  and  pound  foolish — it  is  need  that  makes 
the  old  wife  trot,"  would  be  very  useful  to  the  world ; 
and,  if  you  treated  them  with  knowledge,  would  be 
useful  to  yourself,  for  it  would  make  demands  for 
your  paper  among  those  who  have  no  notion  of  it  at 
present.     But  of  these  matters  more  hereafter.     If 


pounds  a-year  by  eirporting  this  commodity  for  the  service  of  foreign  na- 
tions ;  the  whole  owing  to  the  inquisitive  and  mechanic  as  well  as  liberal 
genius  of  the  late  duke  of  Buckingham.  This  prodigious  eflfeet  by  the  art 
of  man,  from  parts  of  nature  that  are  as  unlikely  to  produce  it,  as  one 
would  suppose  a  man  could  burn  common  earth  to  a  tulip,  opens  a  pleasing 
field  of  contemplation,  &e.'  Steele.  See  Lover,  No.  34,  May  13,  1714. 
Tatler,  with  notes.  No.  240,  ad  finem ;  advertisements  passim.  Ibidem, 
Nos.  77,  209,  and  210,  and  Spect.  No.  19,  advert,  adfinem.  In  the  year 
1670,  some  Venetian  artists,  the  principal  of  whom  was  Eosetti,  arrived 
in  England  under  the  patronage  of  the  duke  of  Buckingham,  who  estab- 
lished the  manufactory  at  Fox-hall,  in  the  parish  of  Lambeth,  and  carried 
it  on  with  amazing  success,  in  the  firm  of  Dawson,  Bowles,  and  Co.,  so  as 
to  excel  the  Venetians,  or  any  other  nation,  in  blown  plate-glass.  The 
emoluments  acquired  by  the  proprietors  were  prodigious,  till  about  five 
years  ago,  when  a  total  stop  was  put  to  this  great  acquisition,  and  a  de- 
scendant of  Eosetti's  ungratefully  left  in  extreme  poverty.  Hist,  of  Lam- 
beth, 1786,  p.  120. 


504  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  509. 

you  did  this,  as  you  excel  many  writers  of  the  pre- 
sent age  for  politeness,  so  you  would  outgo  the  author 
of  the  true  strops  of  razors  for  use. 

'  I  shall  conclude  this  discourse  with  an  explana- 
tion of  a  proverb,  which  by  vulgar  error  is  taken 
and  used  when  a  man  is  reduced  to  an  extremity, 
whereas  the  propriety  of  the  maxim  is  to  use  it  when 
you  would  say  there  is  plenty,  but  you  must  make 
such  a  choice  as  not  to  hurt  another  who  is  to  come 
after  you. 

'  Mr.  Tobias  Hobson,  from  whom  we  have  the 
expression,  was  a  very  honourable  man,  for  I  shall 
ever  call  the  man  so  who  gets  an  estate  honestly. 
Mr.  Tobias  Hobson  was  a  carrier  ;  and,  being  a  man 
of  great  abilities  and  invention,  and  one  that  saw 
where  there  might  good  profit  arise,  though  the  duller 
men  overlooked  it,  this  ingenious  man  was  the  first 
in  this  island  who  let  out  hackney -horses.  He  lived 
in  Cambridge ;  and,  observing  that  the  scholars  rid 
hard,  his  manner  was  to  keep  a  large  stable  of  horses, 
with  boots,  bridles,  and  whips,  to  furnish  the  gentle- 
men at  once,  without  going  from  college  to  college 
to  borrow,  as  they  have  done  since  the  death  of  this 
worthy  man.  I  say,  Mr.  Hobson  kept  a  stable  of 
forty  good  cattle,  always  ready  and  fit  for  travelling ; 
but,  when  a  man  came  for  an  horse,  he  was  led  into 
the  stable,  where  there  was  great  choice,  but  he 
obliged  him  to  take  the  horse  which  stood  next  to  the 
stable-door ;  so  that  every  customer  was  alike  well 
served  according  to  his  chance,  and  every  horse  rid- 
den with  the  same  justice  :  from  whence  it  became 
a  proverb,  when  what  ought  to  be  your  election  was 
forced  upon  you,  to  say,  "Hobson's  choice."  This 
memorable  man  stands  drawn  in  fresco  at  an  inn 
(which  he  used)  in  Bishopsgate  street,  with  an  hun- 


No.  510.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  505 

dred  pound  bag  under  his  arm,  with  this  inscription 
upon  the  said  bag  : 

"  The  fruitful  mother  of  an  hundred  more." 

'  Whatever  tradesman  will  try  the  experiment, 
and  begin  the  day  after  you  publish  this  my  dis- 
course to  treat  his  customers  all  alike,  and  all  rea- 
sonably and  honestly,  I  will  ensure  him  the  same 
success.  '  I  am.  Sib,  your  loving  friend, 

T.8  '  Hezekiah  Thbift.' 


No.  510.     WEDNESDAY,  Ootobek  15,  1712 

—  Bi  sapis 
Neqae,  prBeterquam  quas  ipse  amor  molestias 
Habet,  addas,  et  Ulas  quas  liabet,  recte  feras. 

Tee.  Eun.  Act  1.  Sc.  1. 
If  you  are  wise,  add  not  to  the  troubles  whicli  attend  the  passion  of  love,  and  bear  patiently 
those  which  are  Inseparable  from  it. 

I  WAS  the  other  day  driving  in  an  hack  through  Ger- 
rard-street,  when  my  eye  was  immediately  catched 
with  the  prettiest  object  imaginable,  the  face  of  a 
very  fair  girl,  between  thirteen  and  fourteen,  fixed 
at  the  chin  to  a  painted  sash,  and  made  part  of  the 
landscape.  It  seemed  admirably  done,  and,  upon 
throwing  myself  eagerly  out  of  the  coach  to  look  at 
it,  it  laughed,  and  flung  from  the  window.  This 
amiable  figure  dwelt  upon  me  ;  and  I  was  consider- 
ing the  vanity  of  the  girl,  and  her  pleasant  coquetry 
in  acting  a  picture  till  she  was  taken  notice  of,  and 
raised  the  admiration  of  her  beholders.  This  little 
circumstance  made  me  run  into  reflections  upon  the 

e  By  Steele. 


506  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  510. 

force  of  beauty,  and  the  wonderful  influence  the 
female  sex  has  upon  the  other  part  of  the  species. 
Our  hearts  are  seized  with  their  enchantments,  and 
there  are  few  of  us  but  brutal  men,  who  by  that 
hardness  lose  the  chief  pleasure  in  them,  can  resist 
their  insinuations,  though  never  so  much  against 
our. own  interests  and  opinion.  It  is  common  with 
women  to  destroy  the  good  effects  a  man's  following 
his  own  way  and  inclination  might  have  upon  his 
honour  and  fortune,  by  interposing  'their  power 
over  him  in  matters  wherein  they  cannot  influence 
him  but  to  his  loss  and  disparagement.  I  do  not 
know  therefore  a  task  so  diSicult  in  human  life,  as 
to  be  proof  against  the  importunities  of  a  woman  a 
man  loves.'*  There  is  certainly  no  armour  against 
tears,  sullen  looks,  or  at  best  constrained  familiari- 
ties, in  her  whom  you  usually  meet  with  transport 
and  alacrity.  Sir  "Walter  Raleigh  was  quoted  in  a 
letter  (of  a  very  ingenious  correspondent  of  mine) 
on  this  subject.  That  author,  who  had  lived  in 
courts,  camps,  travelled  through  many  countries, 
and  seen  many  men  under  several  climates,  and  of 
as  various  complexions,  speaks  of  our  impotence  to 
resist  the  wiles  of  women  in  very  severe  terms.  His 
words  are  as  follow  : 

'  What  means  did  the  devil  find  out,  or  what  in- 
struments did  his  own  subtlety  present  him,  as  fit- 
test and  aptest  to  work  his  mischief  by  ?  Even  the 
unquiet  vanity  of  the  woman ;  so  as  by  Adam's 
hearkening  to  the  voice  of  his  wife,  contrary  to  the 
express  commandment  of  the  living  God,  mankind 
by  that  her  incantation  became  the  subject  of  la- 
bour, sorrow,  and  death:  the  woman  being  given 

•■  See  Steele's  Letters,  vol.  i.  passim. 


No.  510.]  THE   SPECTATOB.  507 

to  man  for  a  comforter  and  companion,  but  not  for  a 
counsellor.  It  is  also  to  be  noted  by  whom  the 
woman  was  tempted ;  even  by  the  most  ugly  and 
unworthy  of  all  beasts,  into  whom  the  devil  entered 
and  persuaded.  Secondly,  What  was  the  motive 
of  her  disobedience  ?  Even  a  desire  to  know  what 
was  most  unfitting  her  knowledge ;  an  affection 
which  has  ever  since  remained  in  all  the  posterity 
of  her  sex.  Thirdly,  What  was  it  that  moved  the 
man  to  yield  to  her  persuasions?  even  the  same 
cause  which  hath  moved  all  men  since  to  the  like 
consent,  namely,  an  unwillingness  to  grieve  her,  or 
make  her  sad,  lest  she  should  pine,  and  be  overcome 
with  sorrow.  But  if  Adam  in  the  state  of  perfec- 
tion, and  Solomon  the  son  of  David,  God's  chosen 
servant,  and  himself  a  man  endued  with  the  greatest 
wisdom,  did  both  of  them  disobey  their  Creator  by 
the  persuasion  and  for  the  love  they  bare  to  a  wo- 
man, it  is  not  so  wonderful  as  lamentable  that  other 
men  in  succeeding  ages  have  been  allured  to  so 
many  inconvenient  and  wicked  practices  by  the 
persuasion  of  their  wives,  or  other  beloved  darlings, 
who  cover  over  and  shadow  many  malicious  purpo- 
ses with  a  counterfeit  passion  of  dissimulate  sorrow 
and  unquietness.' 

The  motions  of  the  minds  of  lovers  are  no  where 
so  well  described  as  in  the  works  of  skilful  writers 
for  the  stage.  The  scene  between  Pulvia  and  Cu- 
rius,  in  the  second  act  of  Jonson's  Catiline,  is  an 
excellent  picture  of  the  power  of  a  lady  over  her 
gallant.  The  wench  plays  with  his  affections ;  and 
as  a  man  of  all  places  in  the  world  wishes  to  make 
a  good  figure  with  his  mistress,  upon  her  upbraiding 
him  with  want  of  spirit,  he  alludes  to  enterprises 
which  he  cannot  reveal  but  with  the  hazard  of  his 


508  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  510. 

life.  When  he  is  worked  thus  far,  with  a  little  flat- 
tery of  her  opinion  of  his  gallantry,  and  desire  to 
know  more  of  it  out  of  her  overflowing  fondness  to 
him,  he  brags  to  her  till  his  life  is  in  her  disposal. 

When  a  man  is  thus  liable  to  be  vanquished  by 
the  charms  of  her  he  loves,  the  safest  way^'is  to  de- 
termine what  is  proper  to  be  done,  but  to  avoid  all 
expostulation  with  her  before  he  executes  what  he 
has  resolved.'  Women  are  ever  too  hard  for  us 
upon  a  treaty ;  and  one  must  consider  how  sense- 
less a  thing  it  is  to  argue  with  one  whose  looks  and 
gestures  are  more  prevalent  with  you,  than  your 
reason  and  arguments  can  be  with  her.  It  is  a 
most  miserable  slavery  to  submit  to  what  you  dis- 
approve, and  give  up  a  truth  for  no  other  reason 
but  that  you  had  not  fortitude  to  support  you  in 
asserting  it.  A  man  has  enough  to  do  to  conquer 
his  own  unreasonable  wishes  and  desires ;  but  he 
does  that  in  vain,  if  he  has  those  of  another  to  gra- 
tify. Let  his  pride  be  in  his  wife  and  family  ;  let 
him  give  them  all  the  conveniences  of  life  in  such  a 
manner  as  if  he  were  proud  of  them ;  but  let  it  be 
his  own  innocent  pride,  and  not  their  exorbitant 
desires,  which  are  indulged  by  him.  In  this  case 
all  the  little  arts  imaginable  are  used  to  soften  a 
man's  heart,  and  raise  his  passion  above  his  under- 
standing. But  in  all  concessions  of  this  kind,  a 
man  should  consider  whether  the  present  he  makes 
flows  from  his  own  love  or  the  importunity  of  his 
beloved.  If  from  the  latter,  he  is  her  slave ;  if  from 
the  former,  her  friend.  We  laugh  it  off,  and  do  not 
weigh  this  subjection  to  women  with  that  serious- 
ness which  so  important  a  circumstance  deserves. 

'  See  Steele's  Letters,  vol.  i.  let.  Ix.  p.  4S. 


No.  511.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  509 

Why  -was  courage  given  to  man,  if  his  wife's  fears 
are  to  frustrate  it  ?  When  this  is  once  indulged, 
you  are  no  longer  her  guardian  and  protector,  as  you 
were  designed  by  nature ;  but  in  compliance  to  her 
weaknesses,  you  have  disabled  yourself  from  avoid- 
ing the  misfortunes  into  which  they  will  lead  you 
both,  and  you  are  to  see  the  hour  in  which  you  are 
to  be  reproached  by  herself  for  that  very  complai- 
sance to  her.  It  is  indeed  the  most  difficult  mastery 
over  ourselves  we  can  possibly  attain,  to  resist  the 
grief  of  her  who  charms  us  ;  but  let  the  heart  ache, 
be  the  anguish  never  so  quick  and  painful,  it  is 
what  must  be  suffered  and  passed  through,  if  you 
think  to  live  like  a  gentleman,  or  be  conscious  to 
yourself  that  you  are  a  man  of  honesty.  The  old 
argument,  that  '  you  do  not  love  me  if  you  deny  me 
this,'  which  was  first  used  to  obtain  a  trifle,  by  ha- 
bitual success  will  oblige  the  unhappy  man  who 
gives  way  to  it  to  resign  the  cause  even  of  his 
country  and  his  honour.     .  T."" 


No.  511.    THURSDAY,  Octobek  16,  1712. 

Qnls  Bon  inronit  turM  quod  ameret  in  lU&i 

Otid.  Art  Am.  j.  1T6. 
—  Who  could  fail  to  find, 
In  BQcfa  a  crowd,  a  'mistress  to  his  mind  ? 

'  DEAR  SPEC, 

'Finding  that  my  last  letter  took,  I  do 
intend  to  continue  my  epistolary  correspondence 
with  thee,  on  those  dear  confounded  creatures,  wo- 
men.    Thou  knowest  all  the  little  learning  I  am 

*  By  Steele.    See  Steele's  Letters  to  Mrs.  Scurlock,  afterwards  lady 
Steele,  passim;  and  final  note  to  No  824. 


510  THE    SPECTATOR.  [^0.  511. 

master  of  is  upon  that  subject ;  I  never  looked  in  a 
book,  but  for  their  sakes.  I  have  lately  met  with 
two  pure  stories  for  a  Spectator,  which  I  am  sure 
will  please  mightily,  if  they  pass  through  thy  hands. 
The  first  of  them  I  found  by  chance  in  an  English 
book,  called  Herodotus,  that  lay  in  my  friend  Dap- 
perwit's  window,  as  I  visited  him  one  morning.  It 
luckily  opened  in  the  place  where  I  met  with  the  fol- 
lowing account.  He  tells  us  that  it  was  the  manner 
among  the  Persians  to  have  several  fairs  in  the 
kingdom,  at  which  all  the  young  unmarried  women 
were  annually  exposed  to  sale.  The  men  who 
wanted  wives  came  hither  to  provide  themselves. 
Every  woman  was  given  to  the  highest  bidder ;  and 
the  money  which  she  fetched  laid  aside  for  the  pub- 
lic use,  to  be  employed  as  thou  shalt  hear  by  and 
■by.  By  this  means  the  richest  people  had  the 
choice  of  the  market,  and  culled  out  all  the  most  ex- 
traordinary beauties.  As  soon  as  the  fair  was  thus 
picked,  the  refuse  was  to  be  distributed  among  the 
poor,  and  among  those  who  could  not  go  to  the 
price  of  a  beauty.  Several  of  these  married  the 
agreeables,  without  paying  a  farthing  for  them,  un- 
less somebody  chanced  to  think  it  worth  his  while 
to  bid  for  them,  in  which  case  the  best  bidder  was 
always  the  purchaser.  But  now  you  must  know. 
Spec,  it  happened  in  Persia,  as  it  does  in  our  own 
country,  that  there  were  as  many  ugly  women  as 
beauties  or  agreeables;  so  that,  by  consequence, 
after  the  magistrates  had  put  off  a  great  many, 
there  were  still  a  great  many  that  stuck  upon  their 
hands.  In  order  therefore  to  clear  the  market,  the 
money  which  the  beauties  had  sold  for  was  disposed 
of  among  the  ugly  ;  so  that  a  poor  man,  who  could 
not  afford  to  have  a  beauty  for  his  wife,  was  forced 


No.  511.]  THE    SPECTATOR.  511 

to  take  up  with  a  fortune ;  the  greatest  portion 
being  always  given  to  the  most  deformed.  To  this 
the  author  adds,  that  every  poor  man  was  forced  to 
live  kindly  with  his  wife,  or,  in  case  he  repented  of 
his  bargain,  to  return  her  portion  with  her  to  the 
next  public  sale. 

'  What  I  would  recommend  to  thee  on  this  occa- 
sion is,  to  establish  such  an  imaginary  fair  in  Great 
Britain :  thou  couldst  make  it  very  pleasant,  by 
matching  women  of  quality  with  cobblers  and  car- 
men, of  describing  titles  and  garters  leading  off  in 
great  ceremony  shopkeepers'  and  farmers'  daughters. 
Though,  to  tell  thee  the  truth,  I  am  confoundedly 
afraid,  that  as  the  love  of  money  prevails  in  our 
island  more  than  it  did  in  Persia,  we  should  find 
that  some  of  our  greatest  men  would  choose  out  the 
portions,  and  rival  one  another  for  the  richest  piece 
of  deformity ;  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  the  toasts 
and  belles  would  be  bought  up  by  extravagant  heirs, 
gamesters  and  spendthrifts.  Thou  couldst  make 
very  pretty  reflections  upon  this  occasion  in  honour 
of  the  Persian  politics,  who  took  care,  by  such  mar- 
riages, to  beautify  the  upper  part  of  the  species,  and 
to  make  the  greatest  persons  in  the  government  the 
most  graceful.  But  this  I  shall  leave  to  thy  judi- 
cious pen. 

'  I  have  another  story  to  tell  thee,  which  I  like- 
wise met  with  in  a  book.  It  seems  the  general  of 
the  Tartars,  after  having  laid  siege  to  a  strong  town 
in  China,  and  taken  it  by  storm,  would  set  to  sale 
all  the  women  that  were  found  in  it.  Accordingly 
he  put  each  of  them  into  a  sack,  and  after  having 
thoroughly  considered  the  value  of  the  woman  who 
was  inclosed,  marked  the  price  that  was  demanded 
for  her  upon  the  sack.     There  were  a  great  conflu- 


512  THE  SPECTATOE.  [No.  511. 

ence  of  chapmen,  that  resorted  from  every  part, 
with  a  design  to  purchase,  which  they  were  to  do 
'  unsight  unseen.'  The  book  mentions  a  merchant 
in  particular,  who,  observing  one  of  the  sacks  to  be 
marked  pretty  high,  bargained  for  it,  and  carried  it 
off  with  him  to  his  house.  As  he  was  resting  with  it 
upon  a  halfway  bridge,  he  was  resolved  to  take  a 
survey  of  his  purchase :  upon  opening  the  sack,  a 
little  old  woman  popped  her  head  out  of  it;  at 
which  the  adventurer  was  in  so  great  a  rage,  that 
he  was  going  to  shoot  her  out  into  the  river.  The 
old  lady,  however,  begged  him  first  of  all  to  hear 
her  story,  by  which  he  learned  that  she  was  sister 
to  a  great  Mandarin,  who  would  infallibly  make  the 
fortune  of  his  brother-in-law  as  soon  as  he  should 
know  to  whose  lot  she  fell.  Upon  which  the  mer- 
chant again  tied  her  up  in  his  sack,  and  carried  her 
to  his  house,  where  she  proved  an  excellent  wife, 
and  procured  him  all  the  riches  from  her  brother 
that  she  hkd  promised  him. 

'  I  fancy,  if  I  was  disposed  to  dream  a  second 
time,  I  could  make  a  tolerable  vision  upon  this  plan. 
I  would  suppose  all  the  unmarried  women  in  Lon- 
don and  Westminster  brought  to  market  in  sacks, 
with  their  respective  prices  on  each  sack.  The  first 
sack  that  is  sold  is  marked  with  five  thousand  pound. 
Upon  the  opening  of  it,  I  find  it  filled  with  an 
admirable  housewife,  of  an  agreeable  countenance. 
The  purchaser,  upon  hearing  her  good  qualities, 
pays  down  her  price  very  cheerfully.  The  second 
I  would  open  should  be  a  five  hundred  pound  sack. 
The  lady  in  it,  to  our  surprise,  has  the  face  and 
person  of  a  toast.  As  we  are  wondering  how  she 
came  to  be  set  at  so  low  a  price,  we  hear  that  she 
would  have  been  valued  at  ten  thousand  pound,  but 


No.  5 11.  J  THE   SPECTATOR.  513 

that  the  public  had  made  those  abatements  for  her 
being  a  scold.  I  would  afterwards  find  some  beau- 
tiful, modest,  and  discreet  woman,  that  should  be 
the  top  of  the  market :  and  perhaps  discover  half  a 
dozen  romps  tied  up  together  in  the  same  sack,  at 
one  hundred  pound  a  head.  The  prude  and  the 
coquette  should  be  valued  at  the  same  price,  though 
the  first  should  go  off  the  better  of  the  two.  I  fancy 
thou  wouldst  like  such  a  vision,  had  I  time  to  finish 
it ;  because,  to  talk  in  thy  own  way,  there  is  a  mor- 
al in  it.  Whatever  thou  mayest  think  of  it,  pr'ythee 
do  not  make  any  of  thy  queer  apologies  for  this  let- 
ter, as  thou  didst  for  my  last.  The  women  love  a 
gay  lively  fellow,  and  are  never  angry  at  the  raille- 
ries of  one  who  is  their  own  admirer.  I  am  always 
bitter  upon  them,  but  well  with  them. 

'  Thine, 
0.'  '0  '  Honeycomb.' 

*»*  At  the  Theatre-royal  in  Drury-lane,  on  this  present  Thursday,  Oct. 
16,  will  be  presented  a  comedy,  called  The  Stratagem.  Aimwell,  by  Mr. 
Mills ;  Archer,  by  Mr.  Wilks ;  Sullen,  by  Mr.  Keen ;  Boniface,  by  Mr. 
BuUook,  sen. ;  Scrub,  by  Mr.  Norris.  Mrs.  SuUen,  by  Mrs.  Oldfield ;  Do- 
rinda,  by  Mrs.  Bradshaw.  The  Farce,  The  Country  Wake. — Spect.  in 
folio. 

The  dance  called  The  Amiable  Vainqueur  is  writ  in  the  new  character 
from  Mr.  Feuillet,  by  Mr.  Shirley,  dancing-mastei:.    Ibidem. 

f  jf  Angelic  Snuff,  <fee.     Ibidem. 

'  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  his  office.    See  final  note  to  "So.  7. 


VOL.  V. — 33 


514  THE   SPECTATOH.  L^°-  S^^- 


No.  512.    FRIDAY,  October  17,  1712. 

Lectorem  delectando,  pariterqne  monendo. 

Hob.  Ais  Poet  314. 
Mizllig  together  profit  and  delight. 

There  is  nothing  ■which  we  receive  "with  so  much 
reluctance  as  advice.  We  look  upon  the  man  who 
gives  it  us  as  offering  an  affront  to  our  understand- 
ing, and  treating  us  like  children  or  idiots.  We  con- 
sider the  instruction  as  an  implicit  censure,  and  the 
zeal  which  any  one  shows  for  our  good  on  such  an 
occasion  as  a  piece  of  presumption  or  impertinence. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  the  person  who  pretends  to  ad- 
vise, does,  in  that  particular,  exercise  a  superiority 
over  us,  and  can  have  no  other  reason  for  it,  but  that, 
in  comparing  us  with  himself,  he  thinks  us  defective 
either  in  our  conduct  or  our  understanding.  For 
these  reasons,  there  is  nothing  so  difficult  as  the  art 
of  making  advice  agreeable ;  and,  indeed,  all  the 
writers,  both  ancient  and  modern,  have  distinguished 
themselves  among  one  another,  according  to  the  per- 
fection at  which  they  have  arrived  in  this  art.  How 
many  devices  have  been  made  use  of  to  render  this 
bitter  potion  palatable  ?  Some  convey  their  instruc- 
tions to  us  in  the  best  chosen  words,  others  in  the 
most  harmonious  numbers ;  some  in  points  of  wit, 
and  others  in  short  proverbs. 

But,  among  all  the  different  ways  of  giving  coun- 
sel, I  think  the  finest,  and  that  which  pleases  the 
most  universally,  is  fable,  in  whatsoever  shape  it  ap- 
pears. If  we  consider  this  way  of  instructing  or  giv- 
ing advice,  it  excels  all  others,  because  it  is  the 
least  shocking,  and  the  least  subject  to  those  excep- 
tions which  I  have  before  mentioned. 


No.  512.]  THE  SPECTATOB.  515 

This  -will  appear  to  us,  if  we  reflect  iu  the  first 
place,  that  upon  the  reading  of  a  fable  we  are  made 
to  believe  we  advise  ourselves.  We  peruse  the  au- 
thor for  the  sake  of  the  story,  and  consider  the  pre- 
cepts rather  as  our  own  conclusions  than  his  instruc- 
tions. The  moral  insinuates  itself  imperceptibly; 
we  are  taught  by  surprise,  and  become  wiser  and 
better  unawares.  In  short,  by  this  method,  a  man  is 
so  far  over-reached  as  to  think  he  is  directing  him- 
self, whilst  he  is  following  the  dictates  of  another,  and 
consequently  is  not  sensible  of  that  which  is  the  most 
unpleasing  circumstance  in  advice. 

In  the  next  place,  if  we  look  into  human  nature, 
we  shall  find  that  the  mind  is  never  so  much  pleased 
as  when  she  exerts  herself  in  any  action  that  giveS 
her  an  idea  of  her  own  perfections  and  abilities.  This 
natural  pride  and  ambition  of  the  soul  is  very  much 
gratified  in  the  reading  of  a  fable ;  for,  in  writings  of 
this  kind,  the  reader  comes  in  for  half  of  the  per- 
formance ;  every  thing  appears  to  him  like  a  discov- 
ery of  his  own ;  he  is  busied  all  the  while  in  apply- 
ing characters  and  circumstances,  and  is,  in  this  res- 
pect, both  a  reader  and  a  composer.  It  is  no  won- 
der, therefore,  that  on  such  occasions,  when  the  mind 
is  thus  pleased  with  itself,  and  amused  with  its  own 
discoveries,  it  is  highly  delighted  with  the  writing 
which  is  the  occasion  of  it.  For  this  reason  the  Ab- 
salom and  Achitophel  was  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar poems  that  appeared  in  English.  The  poetry  is 
indeed  very  fine,  but  had  it  been  much  finer,  it  would 

■"  A  memorable  satire  written  by  Dryden  against  the  faction  which,  by 
lord  Shaftesbury's  incitement,  set  the  dute  of  Monmouth  at  their  head. 
Of  this  poem,  in  which  personal  satire  is  applied  to  tlie  support  of  public 
principles,  the  s-ale  was  so  large,  that  it  is  said  not  to  have  been  equalled 
but  by  Saoheverell's  trial. 


516  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  512. 

not  have  so  much  pleased,  -without  a  plan  which  gave 
the  reader  an  opportunity  of  exerting  his  own  tal- 
ents. 

This  oblique  manner  of  giving  advice  is  so  inof- 
fensive, that  if  we  look  into  ancient  histories,  we  find 
the  wise  men  of  old  very  often  chose  to  give  coun- 
sel to  their  kings  in  fables.  To  omit  many  which 
will  occur  to  every  one's  memory,  there  is  a  pretty 
instance  of  this  nature  in  a  Turkish  tale,  which  I  do 
not  like  the  worse  for  that  little  oriental  extrava- 
gance which  is  mixed  with  it. 

We  are  told  that  the  sultan  Mahmoud,  by  his 
perpetual  wars  abroad  and  his  tyranny  at  home,  had 
filled  his  dominions  with  ruin  and  desolation,  and 
half  unpeopled  the  Persian  empire.  The  visier  to 
this  great  sultan  (whether  an  humourist  or  an  enthu- 
siast, we  are  not  informed)  pretended  to  have  learned 
of  a  certain  dervise  to  understand  the  language  of 
birds,  so  that  there  was  not  a  bird  that  could  open 
his  mouth  but  the  visier  knew  what  it  was  he  said. 
As  he  was  one  evening  with  the  emperor,  in  their 
return  from  hunting,  they  saw  a  couple  of  owls  upon 
a  tree  that  grew  near  an  old  wall  out  of  a  heap  of 
rubbish.  '  I  would  fain  know,'  says  the  sultan, 
'  what  those  two  owls  are  saying  to  one  another ; 
listen  to  their  discourse,  and  give  me  an  account  of 
it.'  The  visier  approached  the  tree,  pretending  to 
be  very  attentive  to  the  two  owls.  Upon  his  return 
to  the  sultan,  'Sir,'  says  he,  'I  have  heard  part  of 
their  conversation,  but  dare  not  tell  you  what  it  is.' 
The  sultan  would  not  be  satisfied  with  such  an  an- 
swer, but  forced  him  to  repeat  word  for  word  every 
thing  that  the  owls  had  said.  '  You  must  know  then,' 
said  the  visier,  '  that  one  of  those  owls  has  a  son,  and 
the  other  a  daughter,  between  whom  they  are  now 


No.  512.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  517 

upon  a  treaty  of  marriage.  The  father  of  the  son 
said  to  the  father  of  the  daughter,  in  my  hearing, 
"  Brother,  I  consent  to  this  marriage,  provided  you 
will  settle  upon  your  daughter  fifty  ruined  villages 
for  her  portion."  To  -which  the  father  of  the  daugh- 
ter replied,  "Instead  of  fifty,  I  will  give  her  five 
hundred,  if  you  please.  God  grant  a  long  life  to  sul- 
tan Mahmoud;  whilst  he  reigns  over  us,  we  shall 
never  want  ruined  villages."" 

The  story  says,  the  sultan  was  so  touched  with 
the  fable,  that  he  rebuilt  the  towns  and  villages 
which  had  been  destroyed,  and  from  that  time  for- 
ward consulted  the  good  of  his  people. 

To  fill  up  my  paper,  I  shall  add  a  most  ridiculous 
piece  of  natural  magic,  which  was  taught  by  no  less 
a  philosopher  than  Demoeritus ;  namely,  that  if  the 
blood  of  certain  birds,  which  he  mentioned,  were 
mixed  together,  it  would  produce  a  serpent  of  such 
a  wonderful  virtue,  that  whoever  did  eat  it  should 
be  skilled  in  the  language  of  birds,  and  understand 
every  thing  they  said  to  one  another.  Whether  the 
dervise  above  mentioned  might  not  have  eaten  such 
a  serpent,  I  shall  leave  to  the  determinations  of  the 
learned. 

0." 

■•  This  story,  as  I  collect  from  the  picture,  is  in  the  superb  Persian  MS. 
in  the  public  library,  Cambridge.    A. 

"  By  Addison,  written,  it  is  thought,  at  his  office.     See  No.  1,  note  ad 


518  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  513. 


No.  513.  SATURDAY,  October  18,  1712. 

— Afflata  est  numlne  quando 
Jam  propiore  del — 

ViBO,  ^n.  vi.  60. 
"When  all  the  God  came  rushing  on  her  souL 
Dbtdbn. 

The  following  letter  comes  to  me  from  that  excel- 
lent man  in  holy  orders,  whom  I  have  mentioned 
more  than  once  as  one  of  that  society  who  assists  me 
in  my  speculations.  It  is  a  thought  in  sickness,  and 
of  a  very  serious  nature,  for  which  reason  I  give  it 
a  place  in  the  paper  of  this  day. 

'sib, 

'  The  indisposition  which  has  long  hung 
upon  me,  is  at  last  grown  to  such  a  head,  that  it  must 
quickly  make  an  end  of  me,  or  of  itself  You  may 
imagine,  that  whilst  I  am  in  this  bad  state  of  health, 
there  are  none  of  your  works  which  I  read  with 
greater  pleasure  than  your  Saturday's  papers.  I 
should  be  very  glad  if  I  could  furnish  you  with  any 
hints  for  that  day's  entertainment.  Were  I  able  to 
dress  up  several  thoughts  of  a  serious  nature,  which 
have  made  great  impressions  on  my  mind  during  a 
long  fit  of  sickness,  they  might  not  be  an  improper 
entertainment  for  that  occasion. 

'  Among  all  the  reflections  which  usually  rise  in 
the  mind  of  a  sick  man,  who  has  time  and  inclination 
to  consider  his  approaching  end,  there  is  none  more 
natural  than  that  of  his  going  to  appear  naked  and 
unbodied  before  Him  who  made  him.  When  a  man 
considers,  that  as  soon  as  the  vital  union  is  dissolved, 
he  shall  see  that  Supreme  Being  whom  he  now  con- 
templates at  a  distance,  and  only  in  his  works ;  or, 
to  speak  more  philosophically,  when,  by  some  fac- 


N**'  513.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  519 

ulty  in  the  soul,  he  shall  apprehend  the  Divine  Being, 
and  be  more  sensible  of  his  presence  than  we  are 
now  of  the  presence  of  any  object  which  the  eye 
beholds,  a  man  must  be  lost  in  carelessness  and  stu- 
pidity who  is  not  alarmed  at  such  a  thought.  Dr. 
Sherlock,  in  his  excellent  Treatise  upon  Death,  has 
represented,  in  very  strong  and  lively  colours,  the 
state  of  the  soul  in  its  first  separation  from  the  body, 
with  regard  to  that  invisible  world  which  every 
where  surrounds  us,  though  we  are  not  able  to  dis- 
cover it  through  this  grosser  world  of  matter,  which 
is  accommodated  to  our  senses  in  this  life.  His 
words  are  as  follow : 

"  That  death,  which  is  our  leaving  this  world,  is 
nothing  else  but  our  putting  off  these  bodies,  teaches  us 
that  it  is  only  our  union  to  these  bodies  which  inter- 
cepts the  sight  of  the  other  world.  The  other  world 
is, not  at  such  a  distance  from  us  as  we  may  imagine ; 
the  throne  of  God  indeed  is  at  a  great  remove  from 
this  earth,  above  the  third  heavens,  where  he  displays 
his  glory  to  those  blessed  spirits  which  encompass  his 
throne ;  but  as  soon  as  we  step  out  of  these  bodies,  we 
step  into  the  other  world,  which  is  not  so  properly 
another  world  (for  there  is  the  same  heaven  and 
earth  still)  as  a  new  state  of  life.  To  live  in  these 
bodies  is  to  live  in  this  world ;  to  live  out  of  them 
is  to  remove  into  the  next ;  for  while  our  souls  are 
confined  to  these  bodies,  and  can  look  only  through 
these  material  casements,  nothing  but  what  is  mate- 
rial can  affect  us ;  nay,  nothing  but  what  is  so  gross, 
that  it  can  reflect  light,  and  convey  the  shapes  and 
colours  of  things  with  it  to  the  eye  :  so  that,  though 
within  this  visible  world  there  be  a  more  glorious 
scene  of  things  than  what  appears  to  us,  we  perceive 


520  THE  SPECTATOR.  [No.  513. 

nothing  at  all  of  it ;  for  this  veil  of  flesh  parts  the 
visible  and  invisible  world ;  but  when  we  put  off 
these  bodies,  there  are  new  and  surprising  wonders 
present  themselves  to  our  views ;  when  these  mate- 
rial spectacles  are  taken  off,  the  soul  with  its  own 
naked  eyes  sees  what  was  invisible  before :  and  then 
we  are  in  the  other  world,  when  we  can  see  it,  and 
converse  with  it.  Thus  St.  Paul  tells  us,  that '  when 
we  are  at  home  in  the  body  we  are  absent  from 
the  Lord,  but  when  we  are  absent  from  the  body,  we 
are  present  with  the  Lord ;'  2  Cor.  v.  6,  8.  And 
methinks  this  is  enough  to  cure  us  of  our  fondness 
for  these  bodies,  unless  we  think  it  more  desirable 
to  be  confined  to  a  prison,  and  to  look  through  a 
grate  all  our  lives,  which  gives  us  but  a  very  narrow 
prospect,  and  that  none  of  the  best  neither,  than  to 
be  set  at  liberty  to  view  all  the  glories  of  the  world. 
What  would  we  give  now  for  the  least  glimpse  of 
that  invisible  world  which  the  first  step  we  take  out 
of  these  bodies  will  present  us  with  ?  There  are  such 
things  '  as  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither 
hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive.' 
Death  opens  our  eyes,  enlarges  our  prospect,  presents 
us  with  a  new  and  more  glorious  world,  which  we  can 
never  see  while  we  are  shut  up  in  flesh;  which 
should  make  us  as  willing  to  part  with  this  veil,  as 
to  take  the  film  off  of  our  eyes,  which  hinders  our 
sight." 

'  As  a  thinking  man  cannot  but  be  very  much  af- 
fected with  the  idea  of  his  appearing  in  the  presence 
of  that  Being  "whom  none  can  see  and  live,"  he 
must  be  much  more  affected  when  he  considers  that 
this  Being  whom  he  appears  before,  will  examine  all 
the  actions  of  his  past  life,  and  reward  or  punish  him 


No.  513.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  521 

accordingly.  I  must  confess  that  I  think  there  is  no 
scheme  of  religion,  besides  that  of  Christianity, 
which  can  possibly  support  the  most  virtuous  per- 
son under  this  thought.  Let  a  man's  innocence  be 
what  it  will,  let  his  virtues  rise  to  the  highest  pitch 
of  perfection  attainable  in  this  life,  there  will  be  still 
in  him  so  many  secret  sins,  so  many  human  frailties, 
so  many  offences  of  ignorance,  passion,  and  preju- 
dice, so  many  unguarded  words  and  thoughts,  and 
in  short  so  many  defects  in  his  best  actions,  that, 
without  the  advantages  of  such  an  expiation  and 
atonement  as  Christianity  has  revealed  to  us,  it  is 
impossible  that  he  should  be  cleared  before  his  Sov- 
ereign Judge,  or  that  he  should  be  able  to  "  stand 
in  his  sight."  Our  holy  religion  suggests  to  us  the 
only  means  whereby  our  guilt  may  be  taken  away, 
and  our  imperfect  obedience  accepted. 

'  It  is  this  series  of  thought  that  I  have  endeav- 
oured to  express  in  the  following  hymn,  which  1 
have  composed  during  this  my  sickness. 


"  Whbit,  rising  from  the  bed  of  death, 
O'erwhelm'd  with  guilt  and  fear, 
I  see  my  Maker  face  to  face, 
O  how  shall  I  appear ! 


"  If  yet,  while  pardon  may  be  fonnd, 
And  mercy  may  be  sought, 
My  heart  with  inward  horror  shrinks, 
And  trembles  at  the  thought ; 


"  When  Thou,  0  Lord,  shalt  stand  disclos'd 
In  majesty  severe, 
And  sit  in  judgment  on  my  soul, 
0  how  shall  I  appear  I 


522  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  513. 

TV. 

"  But  Thou  hast  told  the  troubled  mind, 
Who  does  her  sins  lament, 
The  timely  tribute  of  her  tears 
Shall  endless  woe  prevent. 


"Then  see  the  sorrows  of  my  heart, 
Ere  yet  it  be  too  late  : 
And  hear  my  Saviour's  dying  groans. 
To  give  those  sorrows  weight. 

VL 

"  For  never  shall  my  soul  despair  . 

Her  pardon  to  procure. 
Who  knows  Thine  only  Son  has  dy'd 
To  make  her  pardon  sure." 

'  There  is  a  noble  hymn  in  French,  which  Mon- 
sieur Bayle  has  celebrated  for  a  very  fine  one,  and 
which  the  famous  author  of  the  Art  of  Speaking  calls 
an  admirable  one,  that  turns  upon  a  thought  of  the 
same  nature.  If  I  could  have  done  it  justice  in 
English,  I  would  have  sent  it  you  translated.  It 
was  written  by  Monsieur  des  Barreux,  who  had  been 
one  of  the  greatest  wits  and  libertines  in  France, 
but  in  his  last  years  was  as  remarkable  a  penitent. 

"  Grand  Dieu,  tes  jugemens  sont  remplis  d'equite ; 
Tofljours  tu  prens  plaisir  a,  nous  etre  propioe. 
Mais  j'ai  tant  fait  de  mal,  que  jamais  ta  bonte 
Ne  me  pardonnera,  sans  choquer  ta  justice. 
Oui,  mon  Dieu,  la  grandeur  de  mon  impiete 
N"e  laisse  i  ton  pouvoir  que  le  choix  du  supplioe : 
Ton  interdt  s'  oppose  i  ma  felicitfe : 
Et  ta  clemence  meme  attend  que  je  perisse. 
Oontente  ton  desir,  puis  qu'il  t'est  glorieux ; 
Offense  toy  des  pleurs  qui  coulent  de  mes  yeux ; 
Tonne,  frappe,  il  est  temps,  reus  moi  guerre  pour  guerre ; 
J'adore  en  perissant  la  raison  qui  t'  aigrit. 
Mais  dessus  quel  endroit  tombera  ton  tonnere, 
Qui  ne  soit  tout  convert  du  sang  de  Jesus  Christ." 


No.  514.]  TjjE   SPECTATOR.  523 

'  If  these  thoughts  may  be  serviceable  to  you,  I 
desire  you  would  place  them  in  a  proper  light,  and 
am  ever,  with  great  sincerity, 

'  Sir,  yours,  &c.' 

*,*  At  Drury-lane,  this  present  Friday,  Oct.  1"!,  will  be  presented  the 
comedy  called  The  Feigned  Innocence,  or  Sir  Martin  Marall.  Sir  Martin, 
by  Mr.  Bullock ;  Warner,  by  Mr.  Powell;  Moody,  by  Mr.  Johnson.  Milli- 
sent,  by  Mrs.  Porter;  Rose,  by  Mrs.  Saunders.  The  farce  called  The  Comi- 
cal Rivals,  or  The  School-Boy.  The  School-boy,  by  Mr.  Gibber;  Major 
Rakeish,  by  Mr.  Pinkethman-;  Jack  Rakeish,  by  Mr.  Mills.  And  to-mor- 
row, being  Saturday,  will  be  presented  The  Distrest  Mother,  with  the  epi- 
logue.    Spect.  in  folio,  No.  512. 


No.  514.     MONDAY,  October  20, 1712. 

—Me  Parnassi  deserta  per  ardua  dnicis 

Eaptat  amor ;  juvat  ire  jugis,  qua  DuUa  prioram 

Castaliam  molli  devertitar  orbita  clivo. 

"ViRG.  Georg.  iii  291. 
But  the  commanding  muse  my  chariot  guides, 
"Which  o'er  the  dubious  cliff  securely  rides : 
And  pleas'd  I  am  no  beaten  road  to  take, 
But  first  the  way  to  new  discovM^  make. 

DSYDEN. 

'MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  I  CAME  home  a  little  later  than  usual  the 
other  night ;  and  not  finding  myself  inclined  to  sleep, 
I  took  up  Virgil,  to  divert  me  till  I  should  be  more 
disposed  to  rest.  He  is  the  author  whom  I  always 
choose  on  such  occasions ;  no  one  writing  in  so  di- 
vine, so  harmonious,  nor  so  equal  a  strain,  which 
leaves  the  mind  composed  and  softened  into  an  agree- 
able melancholy ;  the  temper  in  which,  of  all  others, 
I  choose  to  close  the  day.  The  passages  I  turned  to 
were  those  beautiful  raptures  in  his  Georgics,  where 

t  By  Addison,  dated,  it  seems,  from  his  office.    See  final  note  to  No.  7, 
on  Addison's  signatures  C,  L,  I,  0 ;  and  note  on  No.  221,  ad  Jinem. 


524  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  514. 

he  professes  himself  entirely  given  up  to  the  Muses, 
and  smit  with  the  love  of  poetry,  passionately  wish- 
ing to  be  transported  to  the  cool  shades  and  retire- 
ments of  the  mountain  Hsemus.  I  closed  the  book, 
and  went  to  bed.  What  I  had  just  before  been  read- 
ing made  so  strong  an  impression  on  my  mind,  that 
fancy  seemed  almost  to  fulfil  to  me  the  wish  of  Virgil, 
in  presenting  to  me  the  following  vision. 

'  Methought  I  was  on  a  sudden  placed  in  the  plains 
of  Boeotia,  where  at  the  end  of  the  horizon  I  saw  the 
mountain  Parnassus  rising  before  me.  The  prospect 
was  of  so  large  an  extent,  that  I  had  long  wandered 
about  to  find  a  path  which  should  directly  lead  me 
to  it,  had  I  not  seen  at  some  distance  a  grove  of 
trees,  which,  in  a  plain  that  had  nothing  else  remark- 
able enough  in  it  to  fix  my  sight,  immediately  de- 
termined me  to  go  thither.  When  I  arrived  at  it,  I 
found  it  parted  out  into  a  great  number  of  walks  and 
alleys,  which  often  widened  into  beautiful  openings, 
as  circles  or  ovals,  set  round  with  yews  and  cypresses, 
with  niches,  grottos,  and  caves  placed  on  the  sides, 
encompassed  with  ivy.  There  was  no  sound  to  be 
heard  in  the  whole  place,  but  only  that  of  a  gentle 
breeze  passing  over  the  leaves  of  the  forest ;  every 
thing  beside  was  buried  in  a  profound  silence.  I 
was  captivated  with  the  beauty  and  retirement  of 
the  place,  and  never  so  much,  before  that  hour,  was 
pleased  with  the  enjoyment  of  myself  I  indulged 
the  humour,  and  suffered  myself  to  wander  without 
choice  or  design.  At  length,  at  the  end  of  a  range 
of  trees,  I  saw  three  figures  seated  on  a  bank  of  moss, 
with  a  silent  brook  creeping  at  their  feet.  I  adored 
them  as  the  tutelar  divinities  of  the  place,  and  stood 
still  to  take  a  particular  view  of  each  of  them.  The 
middlemost,  whose  name  was  Solitude,  sat  with  her 


No.  514.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  525 

arms  across  each  other,  and  seemed  rather  pensive, 
and  wholly  taken  up  with  her  own  thoughts,  than 
any  ways  grieved  or  displeased.  The  only  compan- 
ions which  she  admitted  into  that  retirement  was 
the  goddess  Silence,  who  sat  on  her  right  hand,  with 
her  finger  on  her  mouth  ;  and  on  her  left,  Contem- 
plation, with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  heavens.  Be- 
fore her  lay  a  celestial  globe,  with  several  schemes 
of  mathematical  theorems.  She  prevented  my  speech 
with  the  greatest  affability  in  the  world.  "  Fear  not," 
said  she,  "  I  know  your  request  before  you  speak  it ; 
you  would  be  led  to  the  mountain  of  the  Muses ;  the 
only  way  to  it  lies  through  this  place,  and  no  one  is 
so  often  employed  in  conducting  persons  thither  as 
myself"  When  she  had  thus  spoken,  she  rose  from 
her  seat,  and  I  immediately  placed  myself  under  her 
direction  ;  but  whilst  I  passed  through  the  grove  I 
could  not  help  inquiring  of  her  who  were  the  persons 
admitted  into  that  sweet  retirement.  "  Surely,"  said 
I,  "  there  can  nothing  enter  here  but  virtue  and  vir- 
tuous thoughts ;  the  whole  wood  seems  designed  for 
the  reception  and  reward  of  such  persons  as  have 
spent  their  lives  according  to  the  dictates  of  their 
conscience,  and  the  commands  of  the  gods."  "  You 
imagine  right,"  said  she ;  "  assure  yourself  this  place 
was  at  first  designed  for  no  other  :  such  it  continued 
to  be  in  the  reign  of  Saturn,  when  none  entered  here 
but  holy  priests,  deliverers  of  their  country  from  op- 
pression and  tyranny,  who  reposed  themselves  here 
after  their  labours,  and  those  whom  the  study  and 
love  of  wisdom  had  fitted  for  divine  conversation. 
But  now  it  is  become  no  less  dangerous  than  it  was 
before  desirable :  vice  has  learned  so  to  mimic  virtue, 
that  it  often  creeps  in  hither  under  its  disguise.  See 
there !  just  before  you.  Revenge  stalking  by,  habited 


526  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  514. 

in  the  robe  of  Honour.  Observe,  not  far  from  him, 
Ambition  standing  alone ;  if  you  ask  him  his  name, 
he  will  tell  you  it  is  Emulation,  or  Glory.  But  the 
most  frequent  intruder  we  have  is  Lust,  who  succeeds 
now  the  deity  to  whom  in  better  days  this  grove  was 
entirely  devoted.  Virtuous  love,  with  Hymen,  and 
the  graces  attending  him,  once  reigned  over  this 
happy  place ;  a  whole  train  of  virtues  waited  on  him, 
and  no  dishonourable  thought  durst  presume  for  ad- 
mittance. But  now,  how  is  the  whole  prospect 
changed !  and  how  seldom  renewed  by  some  few 
who  dare  despise  sordid  wealth,  and  imagine  them- 
selves fit  companions  for  so  charming  a  divinity!" 

'  The  goddess  had  no  sooner  said  thus,  but  we 
were  arrived  at  the  utmost  boundaries  of  the  wood, 
which  lay  contiguous  to  a  plain  that  ended  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain.  Here  I  kept  close  to  my  guide, 
being  solicited  by  several  phantoms,  who  assured  me 
they  would  show  me  a  nearer  way  to  the  mountain  of 
the  Muses.  Among  the  rest.  Vanity  was  extremely 
importunate,  having  deluded  infinite  numbers,  whom 
I  saw  wandering  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  I  turned 
away  from  this  despicable  troop  with  disdain ;  and, 
addressing  myself  to  my  guide,  told  her  that  as  I  had 
some  hopes  I  should  be  able  to  reach  up  part  of  the 
ascent,  so  I  despaired  of  having  strength  enough  to 
attain  the  plain  on  the  top.  But  being  informed  by 
her  that  it  was  impossible  to  stand  upon  the  sides, 
and  that  if  I  did  not  proceed  onwards  I  should  irre- 
vocably fall  down  to  the  lowest  verge,  I  resolved  to 
hazard  any  labour  and  hardship  in  the  attempt :  so 
great  a  desire  had  I  of  enjoying  the  satisfaction  I 
hoped  to  meet  with  at  the  end  of  my  enterprize ! 

'  There  were  two  paths,  which  led  up  by  differ- 
ent ways  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain ;   the  one 


No.  514.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  527 

was  guarded  by  the  genius  which  presides  over  the 
moment  of  our  births.  He  had  it  in  charge  to  ex- 
amine the  several  pretensions  of  those  who  desired 
to  pass  that  way,  but  to  admit  none  excepting  those 
only  on  whom  Melpomene  had  looked  with  a  propi- 
tious eye  at  the  hour  of  their  nativity.  The  other 
way  was  guarded  by  Diligence,  to  whom  many  of 
those  persons  applied  who  had  met  with  a  denial  the 
other  way ;  but  he  was  so  tedious  in  granting  their 
request,  and  indeed  after  admittance  the  way  was  so 
very  intricate  and  laborious,  that  many,  after  they 
had  made  some  progress,  chose  rather  to  return  back 
than  proceed,  and  very  few  persisted  so  long  as  to 
arrive  at  the  end  they  proposed.  Besides  these  two 
paths,  which  at  length  severally  led  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  there  was  a  third  made  up  of  these  two, 
which  a  little  after  the  entrance  joined  in  one.  This 
carried  those  happy  few,  whose  good  fortune  it  was 
to  find  it,  directly  to  the  throne  of  Apollo.  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  should  even  now  have  had  the  res- 
olution to  have  demanded  entrance  at  either  of  these 
doors,  had  I  not  seen  a  pleasant-like  man  (followed 
by  a  numerous  and  lovely  train  of  youth  of  both 
sexes)  insist  upon  entrance  for  all  whom  he  led  up. 
He  put  me  in  mind  of  the  country  clown  who  was 
painted  in  the  map  for  leading  prince  Eugene  over 
the  Alps.  He  had  a  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand ; 
and  producing  several  that  he  said  were  given  to  him 
by  hands  which  he  knew  Apollo  would  allow  as  pass- 
es ;  among  which,  methought,  I  saw  some  of  my  own 
writing ;  the  whole  assembly  was  admitted,  and  gave 
by  their  presence  a  new  beauty  and  pleasure  to  these 
happy  mansions.  I  found  the  man  did  not  pretend 
to  enter  himself,  but  served  as  a  kind  of  forester  in 
the  lawns,  to  direct  passengers  who,  by  their  own 


528  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  514. 

merit,  or  instructions  lie  procured  for  them,  had  vir- 
tue enough  to  travel  that  way.  I  looked  very  at- 
tentively upon  this  kind  homely  benefactor,  and  for- 
give me,  Mr.  Spectator,  if  I  own  to  you  I  took  him 
foj  yourself  We  were  no  sooner  entered,  but  we 
were  sprinkled  three  times  with  the  water  of  the 
fountain  Aganippe,  which  had  power  to  deliver  us 
from  all  harms  but  only  envy,  which  reacheth  even 
to  the  end  of  our  journey.  We  had  not  proceeded 
far  in  the  middle  path  when  we  arrived  at  the  sum- 
mit of  the  hill,  where  there  immediately  appeared  to 
us  two  figures,  which  extremely  engaged  my  atten- 
tion :  the  one  was  a  young  nymph  in  the  prime  of 
her  youth  and  beauty ;  she  had  wings  on  her  shoul- 
ders and  feet,  and  was  able  to  transport  herself  to 
the  most  distant  regions  in  the  smallest  space  of  time. 
She  was  continually  varying  her  dress,  sometimes  in- 
to the  most  natural  and  becoming  habits  in  the  world, 
and  at  others  into  the  most  wild  and  freakish  garb 
that  can  be  imagined.  There  stood  by  her  a  man 
full  aged  and  of  great  gravity,  who  corrected  her  in- 
consistencies by  showing  them  in  this '  mirror,  and 
still  flung  her  affected  and  unbecoming  ornaments 
down  the  mountain,  which  fell  in  the  plain  below, 
and  were  gathered  up  and  wore '  with  great  satisfac- 
tion by  those  that  inhabited  it.  The  name  of  the 
nymph  was  Fancy,  the  daughter  of  Liberty,  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  the  mountain  nymphs :  the  other  was 
Judgment,  the  offspring  of  Time,  and  the  only  child 
he  acknowledged  to  be  his.  A  youth,  who  sat  upon 
a  throne  just  between  them,  was  their  genuine  off- 
spring ;  his  name  was  Wit,  and  his  seat  was  compo- 
sed of  the  works  of  the  most  celebrated  authors.     I 


No.  514.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  529 

could  not  but  see  with  a  secret  joy,  that  though  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  made  the  majority,  yet  our  own 
countrymen  were  the  next  both  in  number  and  dig- 
nity. I  was  now  at  liberty  to  take  a  full  prospect 
of  that  delightful  region.  I  was  inspired  with  new 
vigour  and  life,  and  saw  every  thing  in  nobler  and 
more  pleasing  views  than  before :  I  breathed  a  purer 
ether  in  a  sky  which  was  a  continued  azure,  gilded 
with  perpetual  sunshine.  The  two  summits  of  the 
mountain  rose  on  each  side,  and  formed  in  the  midst 
a  most  delicious  vale,  the  habitation  of  the  Muses  and 
of  such  as  had  composed  works  worthy  of  immortality. 
Apollo  was  seated  upon  a  throne  of  gold,  and  for  a 
canopy  an  aged  laurel  spread  its  boughs  and  its  shade 
over  his  head.  His  bow  and  quiver  lay  at  his  feet. 
He  held  his  harp  in  his- hand,  whilst  the  Muses  round 
about  him  celebrated  with  hymns  his  victory  over 
the  serpent  Python,  and  sometimes  sung  in  softer 
notes  the  loves  of  Lucothoe  and  Daphnis.  Homer, 
Virgil,  and  Milton,  were  seated  the  next  to  them. 
Behind  were  a  great  number  of  others ;  among  whom 
I  was  surprised  to  see  some  in  the  habit  of  Lapland- 
ers, who,  notwithstanding  the  uncouthness  of  their 
dress,  had  lately  obtained  a  place  upon  the  moun- 
tain. I  saw  Pindar  walking  all  alone,  no  one  daring 
to  accost  him,  till  Cowley  joined  himself  to  him:  but, 
growing  weary  of  one  who  almost  walked  him  out 
of  breath,  he  left  him  for  Horace  and  Anacreon,  with 
whom  he  seemed  infinitely  delighted. 

'A  little  farther  I  saw  another  group  of  figures ; 
I  made  up  to  them,  and  found  it  was  Socrates  dictat- 
ing to  Xenophon,  and  the  spirit  of  Plato ;  but,  most 
of  all,  Musseus  had  the  greatest  audience  about  him. 
I  was  at  too  great  a  distance  to  hear  what  he  said, 
or  to  discover  the  faces  of  his  hearers ;  only  I  thought 
VOL.  V. — 34 


530  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  514. 

I  now  perceived  Virgil,  who  had  joined  them,  and 
stood  in  a  posture  full  of  admiration  at  the  harmony 
of  his  words. 

'  Lastly,  at  the  very  brink  of  the  hill,  I  saw  Boc- 
calini  sending  despatches  to  the  world  below  of  what 
happened  upon  Parnassus ;  but  I  perceived  he  did  it 
without  leave  of  the  Muses,  and  by  stealth,  and  was 
unwilling  to  have  them  revised  by  Apollo.  I  could 
now,  from  this  height  and  serene  sky,  behold  the  in- 
finite cares  and  anxieties  with  which  mortals  below 
sought  out  their  way  through  the  maze  of  life.  I 
saw  the  path  of  Virtue  lie  straight  before  them,  whUst 
Interest,  or  some  malicious  demon,  still  hurried  th6m 
out  of  the  way.  I  was  at  once  touched  with  pleasure 
at  my  own  happiness,  and  compassion  at  the  sight  of 
their  inextricable  errors.  Here  the  two  contending 
passions  rose  so  high,  that  they  were  inconsistent 
with  the  sweet  repose  I  enjoyed ;  and,  awaking  with 
a  sudden  start,  the  only  consolation  I  could  admit  of 
for  my  loss,  was  the  hopes  that  this  relation  of  my 
dream  will  not  displease  you.' 

m  9 

*„*  A  letter  written  October  14,  dated  Middle  Temple,  has  been  over- 
looked, by  reason  it  was  not  directed  to  the  Spectator  at  the  usual  places ; 
and  the  letter  of  the  18th,  dated  from  the  same  place,  is  groundless,  the 
author  of  the  paper  of  Friday  last,  not  having  ever  seen  the  letter  of  the 
lith.  In  all  circumstances,  except  the  place  of  birth  of  the  person  to 
whom  the  letters  were  written,  the  writer  of  them  is  misinformed. — Spect. 
in  folio. 

"  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324,  on  T. 


No.  515.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  531 


No.  515.     TUESDAY,  October  21,  1'712. 

— Padet  me  et  miseret,  qui  harnm  mores  cantabat  mihi 
MoDuisse  frnetra — 

Tke.  Heant  Act.  iL  Sc.  8. 

I  am  ashamed  and  grieved  that  I  neglected  his  advice  who  gave  me  the  character  of  these 
creatnres. 

'MR.  SPECTATOR, 

'  I  AM  obliged  to  you  for  printing  the 
account  I  lately  sent  you  of  a  coquette  who  disturbed 
a  sober  congregation  in  the  city  of  London.*  That 
intelligence  ended  at  her  taking  a  coach,  and  bid- 
ding the  driver  go  where  he  knew.  I  could  not 
leave  her  so,  but  dogged  her  as  hard  as  she  drove, 
to  Paul's  church-yard,  where  there  was  a  stop  of 
coaches  attending  company  coming  out  of  the  cathe- 
dral. This  gave  me  opportunity  to  hold  up  a 
crown  to  her  coachman,  who  gave  me  the  signal,  and 
that  he  Tvould  hurry  on  and  make  no  haste,  as  you 
know  the  way  is  when  they  favour  a  chase.  By  his 
many  kind  blunders,  driving  against  other  coaches 
and  slipping  off"  some  of  his  tackle,  I  could  keep  up 
with  him,  and  lodged  my  fine  lady  in  the  parish  of 
St.  James's.  As  I  guessed  when  I  first  saw  her  at 
church,  her  business  is  to  win  hearts,  and  throw 
them  away,  regarding  nothing  but  the  triumph.  I 
have  had  the  happiness,  by  tracing  her  through  all 
with  whom  I  heard  she  was  acquainted,  to  find  one 
who  was  intimate  with  a  friend  of  mine,  and  to  be 
introduced  to  her  notice.  I  have  made  so  good  use 
of  my  time,  as  to  procure  from  that  intimate  of  hers 
one  of  her  letters,  which  she  writ  to  her  when  in 
the  country.  This  epistle  of  her  own  may  serve  to 
alarm  the  world  against  her  in  ordinary  life,  as  mine, 

I  See  Speot.  No.  603. 


532  THE   SPECTATOE.  [N&.  515. 

I  hope,  did  those  who  shall  behold  her  at  church. 
The  letter  was  written  last  winter  to  the  lady  who 
gave  it  me ;  and  I  doubt  not  but  you  will  find  it 
the  soul  of  an  happy  self-loving  dame,  that  takes  all 
the  admiration  she  can  meet  with,  and  returns  none 
of  it  in  love  to  her  admirers. 

"  DEAR  JENNY, 

"  I  AM  glad  to  find  you  are  likely  to  be 
disposed  of  in  marriage  so  much  to  your  approba- 
tion as  you  tell  me.  You  say  you  are  afraid  only  of 
me,  for  I  shall  laugh  at  your  spouse's  airs.  I  beg 
of  you  not  to  fear  it,  for  I  am  too  nice  a  discerner 
to  laugh  at  any  one  but  whom  most  other  people 
think  fine  fellows  ;  so  that  your  dear  may  bring  you 
hither  as  soon  as  his  horses  are  in  case  enough  to 
appear  in  town,  and  you  be  very  safe  against  any  rail- 
lery you  may  apprehend  from  me ;  for  I  am  surround- 
ed with  coxcombs  of  my  own  making,  who  are  all 
ridiculous  in  a  manner  [wherein]  your  good  man,  I 
presume,  cannot  exert  himself.  As  men  who  can- 
not raise  their  fortunes,  and  are  uneasy  under  the 
incapacity  of  shining  in  courts,  rail  at  ambition  ;  so 
do  awkward  and  insipid  women,  who  cannot  warm 
the  hearts  and  charm  the  eyes  of  men,  rail  at  affec- 
tation :  but  she  that  has  the  joy  of  seeing  a  man's 
heart  leap  into  his  eyes  at  beholding  her,  is  in  no 
pain  for  want  of  esteem  among  a  crew  of  that  part 
of  her  own  sex,  who  have  no  spirit  but  that  of  envy, 
and  no  language  but  that  of  malice.  I  do  not  in 
this,  I  hope,  express  myself  insensible  of  the  merit 
of  Leodacia,  who  lowers  her  beauty  to  all  but  her 
husband,  and  never  spreads  her  charms  but  to  glad- 
den him  who  has  a  right  to  them ;  I  say,  I  do  hon- 
our to  those  who  can  be  coquettes,  and  are  not  such ; 


No-  515.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  533 

but  I  despise  all  who  would  be  so,  and,  in  despair 
of  arriving  at  it  themselves,  hate  and  vilify  all  those 
who  can.  But  be  that  as  it  will,  in  answer  to  your 
desire  of  knowing  my  history :  one  of  my  chief 
present  pleasures  is  in  country-dances  ;  and,  in  obe- 
dience to  me,  as  well  as  the  pleasure  of  coming  up 
to  me  with  a  good  grace,  showing  themselves  in 
their  address  to  others  in  my  presence,  and  the  like 
opportunities,  they  are  all  proficients  that  way  :  and 
I  had  the  happiness  of  being  the  other  night  where 
we  made  six  couple,  and  every  woman's  partner  a 
professed  lover  of  mine.  The  wildest  imagination 
cannot  form  to  itself,  on  any  occasion,  higher  delight 
than  I  acknowledge  myself  to  have  been  in  all  that 
evening.  I  chose  out  of  my  admirers  a  set  of  men 
who  most  love  me,  and  gave  them  partners  of  such 
of  my  own  sex  who  most  envied  me. 

"  My  way  is,  when  any  man  who  is  my  admirer 
pretends  to  give  himself  airs  of  merit,  as  at  this  time 
a  certain  gentleman  you  know  did,  to  mortify  him 
by  favouring  in  his  presence  the  most  insignificant 
creature  I  can  find.  At  this  ball  I  was  led  into  the 
company  by  pretty  Mr.  Fanfly,  who,  you  know,  is 
the  most  obsequious,  well  shaped,  well  bred  woman's 
man  in  town.  I  at  first  entrance  declared  him  my 
partner,  if  I  danced  at  all ;  which  put  the  whole 
assembly  into  a  grin,  as  forming  no  terrors  from  such 
a  rival.  But  we  had  not  been  long  in  the  room  be- 
fore I  overheard  the  meritorious  gentleman  above 
mentioned  say  with  an  oath,  '  There  is  no  raillery  in 
the  thing,  she  certainly  loves  the  puppy.'  My 
gentleman,  when  we  were  dancing,  took  an  occasion 
to  be  very  soft  in  his  oglings  upon  a  lady  he  danced 
with,  and  whom  he  knew  of  all  women  I  lov&  most 
to  outshine.     The  contest  began  who  should  plague 


534  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  515. 

the  other  most.  I,  who  do  not  care  a  farthing  for 
him,  had  no  hard  task  to  outvex  him.  I  made  Fanfly, 
with  a  very  little  encouragement,  cut  capers  coupee^ 
and  then  sink  with  all  the  air  and  tenderness  imagi- 
nable. When  he  performed  this,  I  observed  the 
gentleman  you  knew  of  fall  into  the  same  way,  and 
imitate  as  well  as  he  could,  the  despised  Fanfly.  I 
cannot  well  give  you,  who  are  so  grave  a  country 
lady,  the  idea  of  the  joy  we  have  when  we  see  a  stub- 
born heart  breaking,  or  a  man  of  sense  turning  fool  for 
our  sakes ;  but  this  happened  to  our  friend,  and  I 
expect  his  attendance  whenever  I  go  to  church,  to 
court,  to  the  play,  or  the  park.  This  is  a  sacrifice 
due  to  us  women  of  genius,  who  have  the  eloquence 
of  beauty,  an  easy  mien.  I  mean  by  an  easy  mien, 
one  which  can  be  on  occasion  easily  affected :  for  I 
must  tell  you,  dear  Jenny,  I  hold  one  maxim  which 
is  an  uncommon  one,  to  wit,  that  our  greatest  charms 
are  owing  to  affectation.  It  is  to  that  that  our 
arms  can  lodge  so  quietly  over  our  hips,  and  the 
fan  can  play  without  any  force  or  motion  but  just 
of  the  wrist.  It  is  to  affectation  we  owe  the  pensive 
attention  of  Deidamia  at  a  tragedy,  the  scornful  ap- 
probation of  Dulcimara  at  a  comedy,  and  the  lowly 
aspect  of  Lanquicelsa  at  a  sermon. 

"  To  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  I  know  no  pleasure 
but  in  being  admired,  and  have  yet  never  failed  of 
attaining  the  approbation  of  the  man  whose  regard  I 
had  a  mind  to.  You  see  all  the  men  who  make  a 
figure  in  the  world  (as  wise  a  look  as  they  are  pleased 
to  put  upon  the  matter)  are  moved  by  the  same 
vanity  as  I  am.  What  is  there  in  ambition,  but  to 
make  other  people's  wills  depend  upon  yours?  This 
indeed,  is  not  to  be  aimed  at  by  one  who  has  a  genius 
no  higher  than  to  think  of  being  a  very  good  house- 


No.  515.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  535 

wife  in  a  country  gentleman's  family.  The  care  of 
poultry  and  pigs  are  great  enemies  to  the  counte- 
nance ;  the  vacant  look  of  a  fine  lady  is  not  to  be 
preserved  if  she  admits  any  thing  to  take  up  her 
thoughts  but  her  own  dear  person.  But  I  interrupt 
you  too  long'from  your  cares,  and  myself  from  my 
conquests. 

"  I  am,  Madam, 

"  Your  most  humble  servant." 

'  Give  me  leave,  Mr.  Spectator,  to  add  her 
friend's  answer  to  this  epistle,  who  is  a  very  discreet 
ingenious  woman. 

"  DEAR  GATTT, 

"  I  TAKE  your  raillery  in  very  good  part, 
and  am  obliged  to  you  for  the  free  air  with  which 
you  speak  of  your  own  gaieties.  But  this  is  but  a 
barren  superficial  pleasure;  fcg:,  indeed,  Gatty,  we 
are  made  for  man  ;  and  in  serious  sadness  I  must  tell 
you,  whether  you  yourself  know  it  or  no,  all  these 
gallantries  tend  to  no  other  end  but  to  be  a  wife  and 
mother  as  fast  as  you  can. 
"  I  am.  Madam, 

"  Your  most  obedient  servant." 

rp  u 

»  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324,  on  signature  T. 


536  THE   SPECTATOR.  1^0.  516. 

No.  516.    WEDNESDAY,  October  22,  1712. 

Xmmortale  odium,  et  nunquam  sanabilo  vulnus ; 

*  :lf  *  *  * 

Inde  f oror  vnl^,  qnod  nnmina  Tjcinornm 
Odit  uterqne  locos  ;  qanm  Bolos  credat  habendos 
Esse  decs,  quos  ipso  colit — 

JiTT.  Bat.  XV.  .84. 
— ^A  gmtch,  time  out  of  mind,  began, 
And  matually  bequeathed  from  sire  to  son ; 
Eeligioos  spite  and  pious  spleen  bred  first 
The  quarrel  which  so  long  the  bigots  nurst : 
Each  calls  the  other's  god  a  senseless  stock ; 
His  own  di^-ine. 

Tate. 

Of  all  the  monstrous  passions  and  opinions  which 
have  crept  into  the  world,  there  is  none  so  wonderful 
as  that  those,  who  profess  the  common  name  of 
Christians,  should  pursue  each  other  with  rancour 
and  hatred  for  differences  in  their  way  of  following 
the  example  of  their  Saviour.  It  seems  so  natural 
that  all  who  pursue  the  steps  of  any  leader  should 
form  themselves  after  his  manners,  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  account  for  e^cts  so  different  from  what  we 
might  expect  from  those  who  profess  themselves  fol- 
lowers of  the  highest  pattern  of  meekness  and  cha- 
rity, but  by  ascribing  such  effects  to  the  ambition 
and  corruption  of  those  who  are  so  audacious,  with 
souls  full  of  fury,  to  serve  at  the  altars  of  the  God 
of  Peace. 

The  massacres  to  which  the  church  of  Rome  has 
animated  the  ordinary  people,  are  dreadful  instances 
of  the  truth  of  this  observation  ;  and  whoever  reads 
the  history  of  the  Irish  rebellion,  and  the  cruelties 
which  ensued  thereupon,  will  be  sufficiently  convin- 
ced to  what  rage  poor  ignorance  may  be  worked  up 
'  by  those  who  profess  holiness,  and  become  incen- 
diaries, and,  under  the  dispensation  of  grace,  pro- 
mote evils  abhorrent  to  nature. 


No.  516.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  537 

The  subject  and  catastrophe,  which  deserve  so 
well  to  be  remarked  by  the  protestant  world,  will, 
I  doubt  not,  be  considered,  by  the  reverend  and 
learned  prelate  that  preaches  to-morrow  before  many 
of  the  descendants  of  those  who  perished  on  that  la- 
mentable day,  in  a  manner  suitable  to  the  occasion, 
and  worthy  his  own  great  virtue  and  eloquence. 

1  shall  not  dwell  upon  it  any  farther,  but  only 
transcribe  out  of  a  little  tract,  called  the  Christian 
Hero,  published  in  1701,  what  I  find  there  in  hon- 
our of  the  renowned  hero,  William  III.  who  rescued 
that  nation  from  the  repetition  of  the  same  disasters. 
His  late  majesty,  of  glorious  memory,  and  the  most 
christian  king,  are  considered  at  the  conclusion  of 
that  treatise  as  heads  of  the  protestant  and  Roman 
catholic  world  in  the  following  manner. 

'  There  were  not  ever,  before  the  entrance  of  the 
Christian  name  into  the  world,  men  who  have  main- 
tained a  more  renowned  carriage,  than  the  two  great 
rivals  who  possess  the  full  fame  of  the  present  age, 
and  will  be  the  theme  and  examination  of  the  future. 
They  are  exactly  formed  by  nature  for  those  ends  to 
which  heaven  seems  to  have  sent  them  amongst  us : — 
both  animated  with  a  restless  desire  of  glory,  but 
pursue  it  by  different  means,  and  with  different  mo- 
tives. To  one  it  consists  in  an  extensive  undisputed 
empire  over  his  subjects ;  to  the  other,  in  their  ra- 
tional and  voluntary  obedience.  One's  happiness  is 
founded  in  their  want  of  power,  the  other's  in  their 
want  of  desire  to  oppose  him.  The  one  enjoys  the 
summit  of  fortune  with  the  luxury  of  a  Persian,  the 
other  with  the  moderation  of  a  Spartan.  One  is 
made  to  oppress,  the  other  to  relieve  the  oppressed. 
The  one  is  satisfied  with  the  pomp  and  ostentation  of 
power  to  prefer  and  debase  his  inferiors,  the  other 


538  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  516. 

delighted  only  with  the  cause  and  foundation  of  it 
to  cherish  and  protect  them.  To  one  therefore  re- 
ligion is  but  a  convenient  disguise,  to  the  other  a 
vigorous  motive  of  action. 

'  For,  without  such  ties  of  real  and  solid  honour, 
there  is  no  way  of  forming  a  monarch  but  after  the 
Machiavelian  scheme,*  by  which  a  prince  must  ever 
seem  to  have  all  virtues,  but  really  to  be  master  of 
none ;  but  is  to  be  liberal,  merciful,  and  just,  only 
as  they  serve  his  interests  ;  while,  with  the  noble  art 
of  hypocrisy,  empire  would  be  to  be  extended,  and 
new  conquests  be  made  by  new  devices,  by  which 
prompt  address  his  creatures  might  insensibly  give 
law  in  the  business  of  life,  by  leading  men  in  the  en- 
tertainment of  it. 

'  Thus,  when  words  and  show  are  apt  to  pass  for 
the  substantial  things  they  are  only  to  express,  there 
would  need  no  more  to  enslave  a  country  but  to 
adorn  a  court ;  for,  while  every  man's  vanity  makes 
him  believe  himself  capable  of  becoming  luxury, 
enjoyments  are  a  ready  bait  for  sufferings,  and  the 
hopes  of  perferment  invitations  to  servitude ;  which 
slavery  would  be  coloured  with  all  the  agreements, 
as  they  call  it,  imaginable.  The  noblest  arts  and 
artists,  the  finest  pens  and  most  elegant  minds,  jointly 
employed  to  set  it  off  with  the  various  embellish- 
ments of  sumptuous  entertainments,  charming  assem- 
blies, and  polished  discourses,  and  those  apostate 
abilities  of  men,  the  adored  monarch  might  profusely 
and  skilfuUy  encourage,  while  they  flatter  his  virtue, 
and  gild  his  vice  at  so  high  a  rate,  that  he,  without 
scorn  of  the  one,  or  love  of  the  other,  would  alter- 
nately and  occasionally  use  both :  so  that  his  bounty 

*  Scene  ia  the  folio  and  first  8vo.  and  12nio.  editions. 


No.  516.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  539 

should  support  him  in  his  rapines,  his  mercy  in  his 
cruelties. 

'  Nor  is  it  to  give  things  a  more  severe  look  than 
is  natural,  to  suppose  such  must  be  the  consequences 
of  a  prince's  having  no  other  pursuit  than  that  of 
his  own  glory  ;  for  if  we  consider  an  infant  born  into 
the  world,  and  beholding  itself  the  mightiest  thing 
in  it,  itself  the  present  admiration  and  future  pros- 
pect of  a  fawning  people,  who  profess  themselves 
great  or  mean  according  to  the  figure  he  is  to  make 
amongst  them,  what  fancy  would  not  be  debauched 
to  believe  they  were  but  what  they  professed  them- 
selves, his  mere  creatures,  and  use  them  as  such  by 
purchasing  with  their  lives  a  boundless  renown, 
which  he,  for  want  of  a  more  just  prospect,  would 
place  in  the  number  of  his  slaves,  and  the  extent  of 
his  territories !  Such  undoubtedly  would  be  the 
tragical  effects  of  a  prince's  living  with  no  religion, 
which  are  not  to  be  surpassed  but  by  his  having 
a  false  one. 

'  If  ambition  were  spirited  with  zeal,  what  would 
follow,  but  that  his  people  should  be  converted  into 
an  army,  whose  swords  can  make  right  in  power, 
and  solve  controversy  in  belief?  And  if  men  should 
be  stiff-necked  to  the  doctrine  of  that  visible  church, 
let  them  be  contented  with  an  oar  and  a  chain,  in 
the  midst  of  stripes  and  anguish,  to  contemplate  on 
Him  whose  yoke  is  easy  and  whose  burden  is  light. 

'  With  a  tyranny  begun  on  his  own  subjects,  and 
indignation  that  others  draw  their  breath  indepen- 
dent of  his  frown  or  smile,  why  should  he  not  pro- 
ceed to  the  seizure  of  the  world  ?  And  if  nothing 
but  the  thirst  of  sway  were  the  motive  of  his  actions, 
why  should  treaties  be  other  than  mere  words,  or 
solemn  national  compacts  be  any  thing  but  an  halt 


540  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No..  515. 

in  the  march  of  that  army,  who  are  never  to  lay 
down  their  arms  till  all  men  are  reduced  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  hanging  their  lives  on  his  wayward  will ; 
who  might  supinely,  and  at  leisure,  expiate  his  own 
sins  by  other  men's  sufferings,  while  he  daily  medi- 
tates new  slaughter  and  new  conquest  ? 

'For  mere  man,  when  giddy  with  unbridled 
power,  is  an  insatiate  idol,  not  to  be  appeased  with 
myriads  offered  to  his  pride,  which  may  be  puffed  up 
by  the  adulation  of  a  base  and  prostrate  world  into 
an  opinion  that  he  is  something  more  than  human, 
by  being  something  less ;  and,  alas !  what  is  there 
that  mortal  man  will  not  believe  of  himself,  when 
complimented  with  the  attributes  of  God  ?  He  can 
then  conceive  thoughts  of  a  power  as  omnipresent 
as  his.  But,  should  there  be  such  a  foe  of  mankind 
now  upon  earth,  have  our  sins  so  far  provoked  Hea- 
ven that  we  are  left  utterly  naked  to  his  fury  ?■  Is 
there  no  power,  no  leader,  no  genius,  that  can  con- 
duct and  animate  us  to  our  death,  or  our  defence  ? 
Yes ;  our  great  God  never  gave  one  to  reign  by  his 
permission,  but  he  gave  to  another  also  to  reign  by 
his  grace. 

'AH  the  circumstances  of  the  illustrious  life  of 
our  prince  seem  to  have  conspired  to  make  him  the 
check  and  bridle  of  tyranny ;  for  his  mind  has  been 
strengthened  and  confirmed  by  one  continued  strug- 
gle, and  Heaven  has  educated  him  by  adversity  to  a 
quick  sense  of  the  distresses  and  miseries  of  man- 
kind, which  he  was  born  to  redress.  In  just  scorn 
of  the  trivial  glories  and  light  ostentations  of  power, 
that  glorious  instrument  of  Providence  moves,  like 
that,  in  a  steady,  calm,  and  silent  course,  indepen- 
dent either  of  applause  or  calumny ;  which  renders 
him,  if  not  in  a  political,  yet  in  a  moral,  a  philoso- 


No.  516.]  THE  SPECTATOR.  541 

phic,  an  heroic,  and  a  Christian  sense,  an  absolute 
monarch ;  who,  satisfied  with  this  unchangeable,  just 
and  ample  glory,  must  needs  turn  all  his  regards  from 
himself  to  the  service  of  others  ;  for  he  begins  his 
enterprises  with  his  own  share  in  the  success  of  them  ; 
for  integrity  bears  in  itself  its  reward,  nor  can  that 
which  depends  not  on  event  ever  know  disappoint- 
ment. 

'  With  the  undoubted  character  of  a  glorious  cap- 
tain, and  (what  he  much  more  values  than  the  most 
splendid  titles)  that  of  a  sincere  and  honest  man, 
he  is  the  hope  and  stay  of  Europe,  an  universal  good ; 
not  to  be  engrossed  by  us  only,  for  distant  potentates 
implore  his  friendship,  and  injured  empires  court  his 
assistance.  He  rules  the  world,  not  by  an  invasion 
of  the  people  of  the  earth,  but  the  address  of  its 
princes  ;  and,  if  that  world  should  be  again  roused 
from  the  repose  which  his  prevailing  arms  had 
given  it,  why  should  we  not  hope  that  there  is  an 
Almighty,  by  whose  influence  the  terrible  enemy 
that  thinks  himself  prepared  for  battle  may  find  he 
is  but  ripe  for  destruction  ? — and  that  there  may  be 
in  the  womb  of  time  great  incidents,  which  may 
make  the  catastrophe  of  a  prosperous  life  as  unfor- 
tunate as  the  particular  scenes  of  it  were  successful  ? 
— for  there  does  not  want  a  skilful  eye  and  resolute 
arm  to  observe  and  grasp  the  occasion.  A  prince, 
who  from 

— '  fuit  Ilinm  et  ingens 
Gloria—' 

ViEG.  Mn.  ii.  325. 


T. 


Troy  is  no  more,  and  Ilium  was  a  town. 

Detdbn. 


»  By  Steele.    See  final  note  to  No.  324. 


542  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  517. 


No.  517.     THUESDAY,  October  23,  1712. 

Hen  pietas!  heu  priaca  fides  1  — 

Ties.  Ma,  vi  8T8. 

Mirror  of  ancient  faith  I 

Undaunted  worth  !    Inviolable  truth  I 
Dktden. 

We  last  niglit  received  a  piece  of  ill-news  at  our 
club,  which  very  sensibly  afflicted  every  one  of  us. 
I  question  not  but  my  readers  themselves  will  be 
troubled  at  the  hearing  of  it.  To  keep  them  no 
longer  in  suspense,  sir  Roger  de  Coverley  is  dead.'' 
He  departed  this  life  at  his  house  in  the  country, 
after  a  few  weeks'  sickness.  Sir  Andrew  Freeport 
has  a  letter  from  one  of  his  correspondents  in  those 

y  'Mr.  Addison  was  so  fond  of  this  character,  that  a  little  before  he 
laid  down  the  Spectator,  (foreseeing  that  some  nimble  gentleman  would 
catch  np  his  pen  the  moment  he  quitted  it,)  he  said  to  an  intimate  friend, 
with  a  certain  warmth  in  his  expression,  which  he  was  not  often  guilty  of 
"  By  G — ,  I'll  kill  sir  Roger,  that  nobody  else  may  murder  him."  Ac- 
cordingly the  whole  Spectator,  No.  61Y,  consists  of  nothing  else  but  an 
account  of  the  old  knight's  death,  and  some  moving  circumstances  which 
attended  it.' — Bee,  No.  L  for  February,  1753,  p.  26. 

The  Bee  was  a  weekly  pamphlet  set  up,  and  carried  on  for  a  consider- 
able length  of  time,  by  Mr.  Eustace  Budgell,  who  was  himself  a  writer  in 
the  Spectator,  a  relation  to  Mr.  Addison,  and  probably  that  intimate  friend 
alluded  to  in  the  preceding  paragraph.  The  curious  may  see  another 
pregnant  instance  of  Addison's  uneasiness  at  finding  a  character  which  he 
had  finely  worked  up,  represented  as  acting  inconsistently,  Spect.  No.  410, 
note.  See  also  Dr.  Johnson's  Lives  of  English  Poets,  Vol.  ii.  p.  366,  and 
367.  After  all  that  Mr.  E.  Budgell  has  said,  and  Dr.  Johnson  repeated 
after  him,  it  seems  most  probable  that  the  character  of  sir  Roger  de  Cover- 
ley  originated  in  Steele's  fertile  imagination,  as  that  of  Bickerstaff  like- 
wise did,  though  Steele  owns  that  he  borrowed  the  name  from  Swift. 
Addison,  and  even  Mr.  Eustace  Budgell,  worked  upon  this  character,  and 
ploughed  with  Steele's  heifer ;  but  Mr.  Tiokell,  whose  partiality  was  un- 
questionably on  the  side  of  Addison,  bears  testimony  to  Steele's  original 
delineation  of  sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  and  apologises  for  inserting  Spect. 
No.  2,  containing  this,  among  other  characters  drawn  by  Steele,  in  his  edi- 
tion of  Addison's  Works,  because,  as  he  says,  this  paper  of  Steele  contains 
the  dramatis  persons.     See  Spect.  No.  2,  note. 


No.  517.]  THE   SPECTATOE.  643 

parts,  that  informs  him  the  old  man  caught  a  cold  at 
the  county  sessions,  as  he  was  very  warmly  promoting 
an  address  of  his  own  penning,  in  which  he  succeed- 
ed according  to  his  wishes.  But  this  particular 
comes  from  a  whig  justice  of  peace,  who  was  always 
sir  Roger's  enemy  and  antagonist.  I  have  letters 
both  from  the  chaplain  and  captain  Sentry,  which 
mention  nothing  of  it,  but  are  filled  with  many  par- 
ticulars to  the  honour  of  the  good  old  man.  I  have 
likewise  a  letter  from  the  butler,  who  took  so  much 
care  of  me  last  summer  when  I  was  at  the  knight's 
house.  As  my  friend  the  butler  mentions,  in  the 
simplicity  of  his  heart,  several  circumstances  the 
others  have  passed  over  in  silence,  I  shall  give  my 
reader  a  copy  of  his  letter,  without  any  alteration 
or  diminution. 

'  HONOURED    SIB, 

'  Knowing  that  you  was  my  old  master's 
good  friend,  I  could  not  forbear  sending  you  the 
melancholy  news  of  his  death,  which  has  afflicted 
the  whole  country,  as  well  as  his  poor  servants,  who 
loved  him,  I  may  say,  better  than  we  did  our  lives. 
I  am  afraid  he  caught  his  death  the  last  county- 
sessions,  where  he  would  go  to  see  justice  done  to 
a  poor  widow  woman  and  her  fatherless  children, 
that  had  been  wronged  by  a  neighbouring  gentle- 
man ;  for  you  know.  Sir,  my  good  master  was  always 
the  poor  man's  friend.  Upon  his  coming  home,  the 
first  complaint  he  made  was,  that  he  had  lost  his 
roast-beef  stomach,  not  being  able  to  touch  a  sir- 
loin, which  was  served  up  according  to  custom ; 
and  you  know  he  used  to  take  great  delight  in  it. 
From  that  time  forward  he  grew  worse  and  worse, 
but  still  kept  a  good  heart  to  the  last.     Indeed,  we 


544     •  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.  517. 

were  once  in  great  hope  of  Ms  recovery,  upon  a 
kind  message  that  was  sent  him  from  the  widow 
lady  whom  he  had  made  love  to  the  forty  last  years 
of  his  life  ;  but  this  only  proved  a  lightning  before 
death.  He  has  bequeathed  to  this  lady,  as  a  token 
of  his  love,  a  great  pearl  necklace,  and  a  couple  of 
silver  bracelets  set  with  jewels,  which  belonged  to 
my  good  old  lady  his  mother.  He  has  bequeathed 
the  fine  white  gelding  that  he  used  to  ride  a-hunt- 
ing  upon,  to  his  chaplain,  because  he  thought  he 
would  be  kind  to  him,  and  has  left  you  all  his  books. 
He  has,  moreover,  bequeathed  to  the  chaplain  a 
very  pretty  tenement  with  good  lands  about  it. 
It  being  a  very  cold  day  when  he  made  his  will,  he 
left  for  mourning,  to  every  man  in  the  parish  a  great 
frize-coat,  and  to  every  woman  a  black  riding-hood. 
It  was  a  most  moving  sight  to  see  him  take  leave 
of  his  poor  servants,  commending  us  all  for  our 
fidelity,  whilst  we  were  not  able  to  speak  a  word 
for  weeping.  As  we  most  of  us  are  grown  gray- 
headed  in  our  dear  master's  service,  he  has  leit  us 
pensions  and  legacies,  which  we  may  live  very  com- 
fortably upon  the  remaining  part  of  our  days.  He 
has  bequeathed  a  great  deal  more  in  charity,  which 
is  not  yet  come  to  my  knowledge,  and  it  is  peremp- 
torily said  in  the  parish  that  he  has  left  money  to 
build  a  steeple  to  the  church  ;  for  he  was  heard  to 
say  some  time  ago,  that,  if  he  lived  two  years  longer, 
Coverley  church  should  have-  a  steeple  to  it.  The 
chaplain  tells  every  body  that  he  made  a  very  good 
end,  and  never  speaks  of  him  without  tears.  He 
was  buried,  according  to  his  own  directions,  among 
the  family  of  the  Coverleys,  on  the  left  hand  of  his 
father  sir  Arthur.  The  coffin  was  carried  by  six  of 
his  tenants,  and  the  pall  held  up  bv  six  of  the  quo- 


No;  517.]  THE   SPECTATOR.  545 

rum.  The  whole  parish  foUo-wed  the  corpse  with 
heavy  hearts,  and  in  their  mourning  suits ;  the  men 
in  frize,  and  the  women  in  riding-hoods.  Captain 
Sentry,  my  master's  nephew,  has  taken  possession 
of  the  Hall-house,  and  the  whole  estate.  When  my 
old  master  saw  him  a  little  before  his  death,  he 
shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  wished  him  joy  of  the 
estate  which  was  falling  to  him,  desiring  him  only 
to  make  a  good  use  of  it,  and  to  pay  the  several 
legacies,  and  the  gifts  of  charity,  which  he  told  him 
he  had  left  as  quitrents  upon  the  estate.  The  cap- 
tain truly  seems  a  courteous  man,  though  he  says 
but  little.  He  makes  much  of  those  whom  my  mas- 
ter loved,  and  shows  great  kindness  to  the  old  house- 
dog, that  you  know  my  poor  master  was  so  fond  of 
It  would  have  gone  to  your  heart  to  have  heard  the 
moans  the  dumb  creature  made  on  the  day  of  my 
master's  death.  He  has  never  joyed  himself  since ; 
no  more  has  any  of  us.  It  was  the  melancholiest 
day  for  the  poor  people  that  ever  happened  in  Wor- 
cestershire. This  being  all  from, 
'  Honoured  Sir, 
'  Your  most  sorrowful  servant, 

'Edward  Biscuit. 

'  P.  S.  My  master  desired,  some  weeks  before 
he  died,  that  a  book,  which  comes  up  to  you  by  the 
carrier,  should  be  given  to  sir  Andrew  Freeport  in 
his  name.' 

This  letter,  notwithstanding  the  poor  butler's 
manner  of  writing  it,  gave  us  such  an  idea  of  our 
good  old  friend,  that  upon  the  reading*  of  it  there 
was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  club.  Sir  Andrew,  open- 
ing the  book,  found  it  to  be  a  collection  of  acts  of 
VOL.  V. — 35 


546  THE   SPECTATOR.  [No.'  517. 

parliament.  There  was  in  particular  the  Act  of 
Uniformity,  with  some  passages  in  it  marked  by  sir 
Roger's  own  hand.  Sir  Andrew  found  that  they 
related  to  two  or  three  points  which  he  had  disputed 
with  sir  Roger  the  last  time  he  appeared  at  the  club. 
Sir  Andrew,  who  would  have  been  merry  at  such 
an  incident  on  another  occasion,  at  the  sight  of  the 
old  man's  handwriting,  burst  into  tears,  and  put  the 
book  in  his  pocket.  Captain  Sentry  informs  me 
that  the  knight  has  left  rings  and  mourning  for 
every  one  in  the  club. 

0.* 

*^*  At  Drury-lane,  on  this  eyening  King  Lear,  thus  cast;  K.  Lear, 
Mr.  Powell ;  Edgar,  Mr.  Wilks ;  Gloster,  Mr.  Gibber ;  Edmund,  Mr.  Mills ; 
Kent,  Mr.  Keen;  Gentleman  Usher,  Mr.  Pinkethman.  Cordelia,  Mrs. 
Bradshaw. — Speet.  in  folio. 

'  By  Addison,  dated,  it  is  supposed,  from  his  office.  See  final  note  to 
No.  1,  on  Addison's  signatures,  C,  L,  I,  0  ;  and  Spect.No.  221,  note  on  caba- 
listical  letters,  &c. 


INDEX  TO  THE  FIFTH  VOLUME. 


TIte  Figures  in  this  Index  refer  to  the  Numbers  of  the  Spectator. 

AcETus,  his  charactei',  422. 

Admiration,  a  pleasing  motion  of  the  mind,  413. 

Advice,  usually  received  with  reluctance,  512. 

Affectation  described,  460. 

Afflictions,  how  to  be  alleviated,  601. 

Allegories :  like  light  to  a  discourse,  421 ;  eminent  writers  faulty  in  them, 
ibid.  ;  the  reception  the  Spectator's  allegorical  writings  met  with  from 
the  public,  501. 

Allusions,  the  great  art  of  a  writer,  421. 

Almighty,  his  power  over  the  imagination,  421 ;  Aristotle's  saying  of  his 
being,  465. 

Amazons,  their  commonwealth,  433 ;  how  they  educated  their  children, 
434 ;  their  wars,  ibid.  ;  they  marry  their  male  allies,  ibid. 

Americana  used  painting  instead  of  writing,  416. 

Ancients  in  the  east,  their  way  of  living,  415. 

Appearances :  things  not  to  be  trusted  for  them,  464. 

Applause,  public,  its  pleasure,  442. 

April,  month  of,  described,  426. 

Arabella,  verses  on  her  singing,  443. 

Architecture,  the  ancients'  perfection  in  it^  416 ;  the  greatness  of  the  man- 
ner how  it  strikes  the  fancy,  ibid. ;  of  the  maner  of  both  ancients  and 
moderns,  ibid. ;  the  concave  and  convex  figures  have  the  greatest  air, 
ibid. ;  every  thing  that  pleases  the  imagination  in  it,  is  either  great, 
beautiful,  or  new,  ibid. 

Art,  works  of,  defective  to  entertain  the  imagination,  414 ;  receive  great 
advantage  from  their  likeness  to  those  of  nature,  ibid. 

Audience :  the  gross  of  an  audience,  of  whom  composed,  502 ;  the  vicious 
taste  of  our  English  audiences,  ibid. 

August  and  July,  months  o^  described,  426. 

Babel,  Tower  of,  415. 

Bacon,  sir  Francis,  prescribes  his  reader  a  poem  or  prospect  as  conductive 

to  health,  411 ;  what  he  says  of  the  pleasures  of  taste,  447. 
Bamboo,  Benjamin,  the  philosophical  use  he  resolves  to  make  of  a  shrew 

of  a  wife,  482. 


548  INDEX. 

Bankruptcy,  the  misery  of  it,  428,  456. 

Bar-oratory  in  England,  reflections  on  it,  407. 

Basilius  Valentinus,  and  his  son,  their  story,  426. 

Baxter,  Mr.  his  last  words,  455  ;  more  last  words,  ibid. 

Bayle,  Mr.  what  he  says  of  libels,  451. 

Bear-garden,  a  combat  there,  436 ;  the  cheats  of  i(,  449. 

Beauty  heightened  by  motion,  406 ;  the  force  of  it,  610 ;  beauty  of  objects, 

what  understood  by  it,  412;  nothing  makes  its  way  more  directly  to  the 

soul,  ibid.  ;  every  species  of  sensible  creatures  has  different  notions  of 

it,  ibid.  ;  a  second  kind  of  it,  ibid. 
Beggars,  the  grievance  of  them,  430. 
Belvidera,  a  critique  on  a  song  upon  her,  470. 
Belus,  Jupiter,  temple  of,  415. 
Birds,  how  affected  by  colours,  412. 
Biting,  a  kind  of  mongrel  wit  described  and  exploded  by  the  Spectator, 

504. 
Biton  and  Clitobus,  their  story  related,  and  applied  by  the  Spectator,  488. 
Blast,  lady,  her  character,  457. 
Bluemantle,  lady,  an  account  of  her,  427. 
Buck,  Timothy,  his  answer  to  James  Miller's  challenge,  436. 
Buffoonery  censured,  442. 
Business,  men  o^  their  error  in  similitudes,  421 ;  of  learning  fittest  for  it, 

469. 
Bussy  d'Amboisc,  a  story  of  him,  467, 

Calamities  not  to  be  distinguished  from  blessings,  483. 

Calisthenes,  his  character,  422. 

Calumny,  the  ill  cfifeots  of  it,  451. 

Camilla's  letter  to  the  Spectator  from  Venice,  443  ;  how  applauded  there, 
ibid 

Campbell,  Mr.  the  dumb  fortune-teller,  an  extraordinary  person,  474. 

Cartesian,  how  he  would  account  for  the  ideas  formed  by  the  fancy,  from 
a  single  circumstance  of  the  memory,  417. 

Cato,  the  respect  paid  him  at  the  Roman  theatre,  446. 

Charity,  the  great  want  of  it  among  Christians,  616. 

Charity  schools  to  be  encouraged,  430. 

Charles  II.,  his  gaieties,  462. 

Chastity  of  renown,  what,  480. 

Children,  their  duty  to  their  parents,  426 ;  ill  education  of  them  fatal,  431 ; 
a  multitude  of  them  one  of  the  blessings  of  the  marriage  state,  500. 

Chinese  laugh  at  our  gardens,  and  why,  414. 

Chremylus,  his  character  out  of  Aristophanes,  464. 

Cicero,  the  great  Koman  orator,  what  he  says  of  scandal,  427  ;  of  the  Ro- 
man gladiators,  436  ;  his  extraordinary  superstition,  506. 

Clarendon,  earl  of,  his  character  of  a  person  of  a  troublesome  curiosity, 
439 ;  a  reflection  of  that  historian's,  486. 

Clubs,  the  institution  and  use  of  them,  474. 

Chloe,  the  idiot,  466. 

Coffee-house  debates  seldom  regular  or  methodical,  476. 


INDEX.  '  549 

Colours,  the  eye  takes  most  delight  in  them,  412  ;  why  the  poets  borrow 

most  epithets  from  them,  ibid.;  only  ideas  in  the  mind,  413  ;  speak  all 

languages,  416. 
Comedies,  English,  vicious,  446. 
Comfort,  an  attendant  on  patience,  501. 
Commonwealth  of  Amazons,  433. 

Company,  temper  chiefly  to  be  considered  in  the  choice  of  it,  424. 
Concave  and  convex  figures  in  architecture  have  the  greatest  air,  and  why, 

415. 
Contemplation  the  way  to  the  mountain  of  the  Muses,  514. 
Conversation,  an  improvement  of  taste  in  letters,  409. 
Cot-queans  described  by  a  lady,  who  has  one  for  her  husband,  482. 
Country  life,  why  the  poets  in  love  with  it,  414 ;  what  Horace  and  Virgil 

say  of  it,  ibid.  ;  rules  for  it,  424 ;  a  scheme  of  it,  474. 
Country-wake,  a  farce,  commended  by  the  Spectator,  502. 
Courage  wants  other  good  qualities  to  set  it  off,  422. 
Coverley,  sir  Roger  de,  his  adventure  with  Sukey,  410 ;  his  good  humour, 

424;  an  account  of  his  death  brought  to  the  Spectator's  club,  51T  ;  his 

legacies,  ibid. 
Critics,  French,  friends  to  one  another,  409. 
Cuckoldom  abused  on  the  stage,  446. 
Curiosity,  absurd,  an  instance  of  it,  439. 
Custom,  a  second  nature,  437  ;  the  effect  of  it,  ibid  ;  how  to  make  a  good 

use  of  it,  ibid  ;  cannot  make  every  thing  pleasing,  455. 

Dacinthus,  his  character,  462. 

Dainty,  Mrs.  Mary,  her  memorial  from  the  country  infirmary,  429. 

Damon  and  Strephon,  their  amour  with  Gloriana,  423. 

Dancing  displays  beauty,  466  ;  on  the  stage  faulty,  ibid.  ;  the  advantages 
of  it,  ibid. 

Dangers,  pastj  why  the  reflection  of  them  pleases,  418. 

Dapperwit,  Tom,  his  opinions  of  matrimony,  482. 

Day,  the  several  times  of  it  in  several  parts  of  the  town,  454. 

Defamation,  the  sign  of  an  ill  heart,  427  ;  papers  of  that  kind  a  scandal  to 
the  government,  451 ;  to  be  punished  by  good  ministers,  ibid. 

Denying,  sometimes  a  virtue,  458. 

Deportment,  religious,  why  so  little  appearance  of  it  in  Englsnd,  448. 

Descriptions  come  short  of  statuary  and  painting,  416;  please  sometimes 
more  than  the  sight  of  things,  ibid  ;  the  same  not  alike  relished  by  all, 
ibid  ;  what  pleases  in  them,  .418 ;  what  is  great,  surprising,  and  beauti- 
ful, more  acceptable  to  the  imagination  than  what  is  little,  common,  or 
deformed,  ibid. 

Devotion,  the  noblest  buildings  owing  to  it,  415. 

Diagoras  the  atheist,  his  behaviour  to  the  Athenians  in  a  storm,  483. 

Diana's  cruel  sacrifices  condemned  by  an  ancient  poet,  453. 

Dionysius's  ear,  what  it  was,  439  ;  a  club  tyrant,  508. 

Discourse  in  conversation  not  to  be  engrossed  by  one  man,  428. 

Distracted  persons,  the  sight  of  them  the  most  mortifying  thing  in  nature, 
421. 


550  INDEX. 

Dogget  the  comedian,  how  cuckolded  on  the  stage,  446 ;  for  what  com- 
mended by  the  Spectator,  502. 

Domestic  life,  reflections  concerning  it,  456. 

Doris,  Mr.  Congreve's  character  of  her,  422. 

Dream  of  the  seasons,  425 ;  of  golden  scales,  463. 

Dreams,  in  what  manner  considered  by  the  Spectator,  487 ;  the  folly  of 
laying  any  stress  upon,  or  drawing  consequences  from  our  dreams,  605. 

Dress,  the  ladies'  extravagance  in  it,  435  ;  an  ill  intention  in  their  singu- 
larity, ibid.  ;  the  English  character  to  be  modest  in  it,  ibid. 

Drint,  the  effects  it  has  on  modesty,  458. 

Dry,  Will,  a  man  of  a  clear  head,  but  few  words,  476. 

Eastcourt,  Dick,  his  character,  468. 
Editors  of  the  classics,  their  faults,  470. 

Education  of  children,  errors  in  it,  431 ;  a  letter  on  that  subject,  465 ;  gar- 
dening applied  to  it,  ibid. 
Emblematical  persons,  419. 

Employments,  whoever  excels  in  any,  worthy  of  praise,  432. 
Emulation,  the  use  of  it,  432. 

English  naturally  modest,  407,  436  ;  thought  proud  by  foreigners,  432. 
Epistles  recommendatory,  the  injustice  and  absurdity  of  most  of  them,  498. 
Equestrian  ladies,  who,  435. 

Error,  his  habitation  described,  460  ;  how  like  to  truth,  ibid. 
Essay  on  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination,  from  411  to  421. 
Essays,  wherein  differing  from  methodical  discourses,  476. 
fither,  fields  of,  the  pleasures  of  surveying  them,  420. 
Euphrates,  river,  contained  in  one  basin,  416. 
Exchange,  Royal,  described,  464. 

Fables,  the  great  usefulness  and  antiquity  of  them,  512. 

Fairs  for  buying  and  selling  of  women,  customary  among  the  Persians, 
511. 

Fairy  writing,  419  ;  the  pleasures  of  imagination  that  arise  from  it,  ibid.  ; 
more  difficult  than  any  other,  and  why,  ibid. ;  the  English  are  the  best 
poets  of  this  sort,  ibid. 

Faith,  the  benefit  of  it,  459 ;  the  means  of  confirming  it,  465. 

Fame  a  foljower  of  merit,  426  ;  the  palace  of,  described,  439 ;  courts  com- 
pared to  it,  ibid. 

Familiarities  indecent  in  society,  429. 

Fancy,  all  its  images  enter  by  the  sight,  411 ;  the  daughter  of  Liberty,  514. 

Fashion,  a  description  of  it,  460 ;  the  variety  of  fashions  wherein  benefi- 
cial, 478 ;  a  repository  proposed  to  be  built  for  them,  ibid. ;  the  balance 
of  fashions  leans  on  the  side  of  France,  ibid.  ;  the  evil  infiuence  of  fashion 
on  the  married  state,  490. 

Fashionable  society,  a  board  of  directors  of  the  proposed,  with  the  requisite 
qualifications  of  the  members,  478. 

Father,  the  affection  of  one  for  a  daughter,  449. 

Fear,  passion  of,  treated,  471. 


INDEX.  551 

Feeling  not  so  perfect  a  sense  as  sight,  411. 

Fiction,  the  advantage  the  writers  have  in  it  to  please  the  imagination, 

419 ;  what  other  writers  please  in  it,  420. 
Fidelia,  her  duty  to  her  father,  449. 

Final  causes  of  delight  in  objects,  413  ;  lie  bare  and  open,  ibid. 
Flattery  described,  460. 
Flavilla,  spoiled  by  a  marriage,  437. 
Flora,  an  attendant  on  the  spring,  425. 

Follies  and  defects  mistaken  by  us  in  ourselves  for  worth,  460. 
Fools  naturally  mischievous,  488. 
Fortius,  his  character,  422. 
Fortunatus,  the  trader,  his  character,  443. 
Frankair,  Charles,  a  powerful  and  successful  speaker,  484. 
Freat,  monsieur,  what  he  says  of  the  manner  of  both  ancients  and  moderns 

in  architecture,  415. 
French,  their  levity,  436 ;  much  addicted  to  grimace,  481. 
Friendship,  a  necessary  ingredient  in  the  marriage  state,  490 ;  preferred 

by  Spenser  to  love  and  natural  affection,  ibid. 


Gardening,  errors  in  it,  414 ;  why  the  English  gardens  not  so  entertaining 
to  the  fancy  as  those  in  France  and  Italy,  ibid.  ;  observations  concerning 
its  improvement  both  for  benefit  and  beauty,  ibid.  ;  applied  to  educa- 
tion, 455  ;  the  innocent  delights  of  a  garden,  477  ;  what  part  of  the  gar- 
den of  Kensington  to  be  most  admired,  ibid. ;  in  what  manner  gardening 
may  be  compared  to  poetry,  ibid. 

Georgics,  Virgil's,  the  beauty  of  their  subjects,  417. 

Gesture  good  in  oratory,  407. 

Ghosts,  what  they  say  should  be  a  little  discoloured,  41 9 ;  the  description 
of  them  pleasing  to  the  fancy,  ibid.  ;  why  we  incline  to  believe  them, 
ibid ;  not  a  village  in  England  formerly  without  one,  ibid. ;  Shaks- 
peare's  the  best,  ibid. 

Gladiators  of  Rome,  what  Cicero  says  of  them,  436. 

Gladness  of  heart  to  be  moderated  and  restrained  but  not  banished  by 
virtue,  494. 

Gloriana,  the  design  upon  her,  423. 

Goats-milk,  the  effect  it  had  upon  a  man  bred  with  it,  480. 

God,  a  being  of  infinite  perfections,  513. 

Good  sense  and  good-nature  always  go  together,  437. 

Grace  at  meals  practised  by  the  Pagans,  458. 

Grandeur  and  minuteness,  the  extremes  pleasing  to  the  fancy,  420. 

Gratitude,  the  most  pleasing  exercise  of  the  mind,  453 ;  a  divine  poem 
upon  it,  ibid. 

Greatness  of  objects,  what  understood  by  it  in  the  pleasures  of  the  imagi- 
nation, 412,  413. 

Green-sickness,  Sebina  Rentfree's  letter  about  it,  431. 

Guardian  of  the  fair  sex,  the  Spectator  so,  449. 

Harlot,  a  description  of  one  out  of  the  Proverbs,  410. 


552  INDEX.  ' 

Heads  nerer  wiser  for  being  bald,  49'7. 

Health,  the  pleasures  of  the  fancy  more  conducive  to  it  than  those  of  the 
understanding,  411. 

Heaven  and  hell,  the  notion  of,  conformable  to  the  light  of  nature,  447. 

Heavens,  verses  on  the  glory  of  them,  465. 

Heraelitus,  a  remarkable  saying  of  his,  487. 

Herodotus,  wherein  condemned  by  the  Spectator,  483. 

Hesiod's  saying  of  a  virtuous  life,  447. 

Historian,  his  most  agreeable  talent,  420 ;  how  history  pleases  the  imagi- 
nation, ibid. ;  descriptions  of  battles  in  it  scarce  ever  understood,  428. 

Hobson,  Tobias,  the  Cambridge  carrier,  the  first  man  in  England  who  let 
out  hackney-horses,  509 ;  his  justice  in  his  employment,  and  the  suc- 
cess of  it,  ibid. 

Hockley  in  the  Hole  gladiators,  436. 

Homer's  description  charms  more  than  Aristotle's  reasoning,  411;  com- 
pared with  Virgil,  417  ;  when  he  is  in  his  province,  ibid. 

Honestus  the  trader,  his  character,  443. 

Honeycomb,  Will,  his  adventure  with  Sukey,  410 ;  resolved  not  to  marry 
without  the  advice  of  his  friends,  475 ;  his  translation  from  the  French 
of  an  epigram  by  Martial  in  honour  of  the  beauty  of  his  wife  Cleopatra, 
490 ;  his  letters  to  the  Spectator,  499,  611. 

Hope,  passion  of,  treated,  471. 

Horace  takes  fire  at  every  hint  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  417  ;  his  recom- 
mendatory letter  to  Claudius  Nero  in  behalf  of  his  friend  Septimus,  493. 

Hotspur,  Jeffery,  esq.,  his  petition  from  the  country  infirmary,  429. 

Human  nature  the  best  study,  408. 

Humour,  good,  the  best  companion  in  the  country,  424. 

Husband,  a  fond  one  described,  479. 

Hush,  Peter,  his  character,  457. 

Hymn,  David's  pastoral  one  on  Providence,  441 ;  on  gratitude,  453 ;  on 
the  glories  of  the'  heaven  and  earth,  465. 

Hypocrisy  to  be  preferred  to  open  impiety,  458. 

Ideas,  how  a  whole  set  of  them  hang  together,  416. 

Idiot,  the  story  of  one  by  Dr.  Plot,  447. 

Idle  and  innocent,  few  know  how  to  be  so,  411, 

Jews,  considered  by  the  Spectator  in  relation  to  their  number,  dispersion, 
and  adherence  to  their  religion,  495 ;  and  the  reasons  assigned  for  it, 
ibid.  ' 

niad,  the  reading  of  it  like  travelling  through  a  country  uninhabited, 
417 

Imaginary  beings  in  poetry,  419 :  instances  in  Ovid,  Virgil,  and  Milton, 
ibid. 

Imagination,  its  pleasures  in  some  respects  equal  to  those  of  the  under- 
standing, in  some  preferable,  411 ;  their  extent,  ibid. ;  the  advantages 
of  them,  ibid.  ;  what  is  meant  by  them,  ibid. ;  two  kinds  of  them,  ibid. ; 
awaken  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  without  fatiguing  or  perplexing  it, 
ibid  ;  more  conducive  to  health  than  those  of  the  understanding,  ibid. ; 
raised  by  other  senses  as  well  as  the  sight,  412 ;  the  cause  of  them  not 


INDEX.  553 

to  be  assigned,  413 ;  works  of  art  not  so  perfect  as  those  of  nature  to 
entertain  the  imagination,  414 ;  the  secondary  pleasures  of  the  fancy, 
416  ;  the  power  of  it,  ibid. ;  whence  its  secondary  pleasures  proceed, 
iUd. ;  of  a  wider  and  more  univereal  nature  than  those  it  has  when 
joined  with  sight,  418;  how  poetry  contributes  to  its  pleasures,  419; 
how  historians,  philosophers,  and  other  writers,  420,  421 ;  the  delight 
it  takes  in  enlarging  itself  by  degrees,  as  in  the  survey  of  the  earth  and 
the  universe,  ibid.  ;  and  when  it  works  from  great  things  to  little,  ibid. ; 
where  it  falls  short  of  the  understanding,  Hid.  ;  how  affected  by  simili- 
tudes, 421 ;  as  liable  to  pain  as  pleasure,  ibid  ;  how  much  of  either  it  is 
capable  of,  ibid. ;  the  power  of  the  Almighty  over  it,  ibid. 

Imagining,  the  art  of  it  in  general,  421. 

Impertinent  and  trifling  persons,  their  triumph,  432. 

Impudence  mistaken  for  wit,  443. 

Independent  minister,  the  behaviour  of  one  at  his  examination  of  a  scholar, 
who  was  in  election  to  be  admitted  into  a  college  of  which  he  was  gov- 
ernor, 494. 

Infinnary,  one  for  good  humour,  429,  437,  440 ;  a  farther  account  of  it 
from  the  country,  ihid. 

Ingoltson,  Charles,  of  Barbican,  his  cures,  444. 

Ingratitude,  a  vice  inseparable  from  a  lustful  mind,  491. 

Invention,  the  most  painful  action  of  the  mind,  487. 

Invitation,  the  Spectator's,  to  all  artificers  as  well  as  philosophers  to  assist 
him,  428,  442 ;  a  general  one,  ibid. 

Jolly,  Frank,  esq.  his  memorial  from  the  country  infirmary,  429. 

Irony,  who  deal  in  it,  438. 

July  and  August,  months  of,  described,  425. 

June,  month  of,  described,  425. 

Justice,  to  be  esteemed  as  the  first  quality  in  one  who  is  in  a  post  of  power 
and  distinction,  479. 

Landscape,  a  pretty  one,  414. 

Lapland  ode  translated,  406. 

Latimer,  the  martyr,  his  behaviour  at  a  conference  with  the  papists,  465. 

Laughter,  the  distinguishing  faculty  in  man,  494. 

Law-suits,  the  misery  of  them,  456. 

Leaf,  green,  swarms  with  millions  of  animals,  420. 

Learning,  men  of,  who  take  to  business,  best  fit  for  it,  469  ;  highly  neces- 
sary to  a  man  of  fortune,  606. 

Leo  X.  a  great  lover  of  buffoons  and  coxcombs,  497  ;  in  what  manner  re- 
proved for  it  by  a  priest,  ibid. 

Letters  from  a  bankrupt  to  his  friend,  456  ;  the  answer,  bid;  from  Lazarus 
Hopeful  to  Basil  Plenty,  472. 

Letters  to  the  Spectator:  about  a  city  and  a  country  life,  406';  with  a 
translation  of  a  Lapland  ode,  ibid.  ;  on  the  passions,  408-;  concerning 
Gloriana,  423  ;  of  good-humour,  424 ;  of  the  country  infirmary,  4'29 ;  of 
common  beggars,  430 ;  of  charity-schools,  ibid. ;  the  freedoms  of  married 
men  and  women,  ibid  ;  from  Eiohard  and  Sabina  Eentfree,  431 ;  about 
prejudice  and  emulation,  432  ;  naked  shoulders,  437 ;;  a;  country  sooiety 


554  INDEX. 

and  infirmary,  ibid. ;  from  Camilla,  443  ;  from  an  exchange  man,  ibid. ; 
about  buffoonery,  ibid.  ;  from  Ephraim  Weed,  450 ;  from  a  projector  for 
news,  452,  457 ;  about  education,  455 ;  from  one  who  had  married  a 
scold,  ibid. ;  from  Pill  Garlick,  ibid. ;  about  the  use  and  abuse  of  simi- 
lies,  ibid ;  salutations  at  churches,  460 ;  with  the  translation  of  the 
114th  Psalm,  461 ;  about  the  advance  on  the  paper  for  the  stamps,  ibid. ; 
about  king  Charles  the  Second's  gaieties,  462;  about  dancing,  466 ;  about 
sight,  472 ;  about  panegyrical  satires  on  ourselves,  473 ;  from  Timothy 
Stanza,  ibid  ;  from  Bob  Short,  ibid  ;  from  J.  R.  complaining  of  his 
neighbours,  and  the  turn  of  their  conversation  in  the  country,  474 ;  from 
Dulcibella  Thankley,  who  wants  a  direction  to  Mr.  Campbell,  the  dumb 
fortune-teller,   ibid. ;  from  B.  D.  desiring   the   Spectator's  advice  in  a 

■weighty  affair,  476 ;  from containing  a  description  of  his  garden, 

477 ;  from  A.  B.  with  a  dissertation  on  fashions,  and  a,  proposal  for  a 
building  for  the  use  of  them,  478 ;  from  Monsieur  Chezluy  to  Pharamond, 

480 ;  from ,  a  clerk,  to  a  lawyer,  ibid ;  from ,  being  a  lady, 

married  to  a  cot-quean,  482 ;  from ,  with  a  dissertation  on  modesty, 

484 ;  from ,  containing  reflections  on  the  powerful  effects  of  trifles 

and  trifling  persons,  485 ;  from  a  handsome  black  man,  two  paij  of 
stairs  in  the  Paper-buildings  in  the  Temple,  who  rivals  a  handsome  fair 
man  up  one  pair  of  stairs  in  the  same  buildings,  ibid  ;  from  Robin 
Shorter,  with  a  postscript,  ibid  ;  from ,  with  an  account  of  the  un- 
married henpecked,  and  a  vindication  of  the  married,  486  ;  from , 

with  an  epigram  on  the  Spectator,  by  Mr.  Tate,  488 ;  from ,  with 

some  reflections  on  the  ocean,  considered  both  in  a  calm  and  a  storm, 
and  a  divine  ode  on  that  occasion,  489  ;  from  Matilda  Mohair,  at  Tun- 
bridge,  complaining  of  the  disregard  she  meets  with,  on  account  of  h«r 
strict  virtue,  from  the  men,  who  take  more  notice  of  the  romps  and  co- 
quettes than  the  rigids,  492  ;  from  T.  B.  complaining  of  the  behaviour  of 
some  fathers  towards  their  eldest  sons,  496 ;  from  Rachael  Shoestring, 
Sarah  Trice,  an  Humble  Servant  Unknown,  and  Alice  Bluegarter,  in  an- 
swer to  that  of  Matilda  Mohair,  who  is  with  child,  and  has  crooked 
legs,  ibid  ;  from  Moses  Greenbag,  the  lawyer,  giving  an  account  of  some 
new  brothers  of  the  whip  who  have  chambers  in  the  Temple,  498 ;  from 
Will  Honeycomb,  with  his  dream,  intended  for  a  Spectator,  499  ;  from 
Philogamus,  in  commendation  of  the  married  state,  540 ;  from  Ralph 
Wonder,  complaining  of  the  behaviour  of  an  unknown  lady  at  the  par- 
ish church  near  the  Bridge,  603  ;  from  Titus  Trophonius,  an  interpreter 

of  dreams,  505  ;  from ,  complaining  of  the  oppression  and  injustice 

observed  in  the  rules  of  all  clubs  and  meetings,  608  ;  from  Hezekiah 
Thrift,  containing  a  discourse  on  trade,  609 ;  from  Will  Honeycomb,  oc- 
casioned by  two  stories  he  had  met  with  relating  to  a  sale  of  women  in 
Persia  and  China,  511 ;  from  the  Spectator's  clergyman,  being  a  Thought 

on  Sickness,   513;  from  ,   with  a  vision  of  Parnassus,   614;  from 

,  with  two  enclosed,  one  from  a  celebrated  town-coquette  to  her 

friend  newly  married  in  the  country,  and  her  friend's  answer,  616  ;  from 
Ed.  Biscuit,  sir  Roger  de  Coverley's  butler,  with  an  account  of  his  mas- 
ter's death,  617. 
Libels,  a  severe  law  against  them,  461 ;  those  that  write  or  read  them,  ex- 
communicated, ibid. 


INDEX.  555 

Light  and  colours  only  ideas  in  the  mind,  412. 

Livy,  in  what  he  excels  all  other  historians,  409,  420. 

Leller,  lady  Lydia,  her  memorial  from  the  country  infirmary,  422. 

London,  Mr.  the  gardener,  an  heroic  poet^  ill. 

Love,  the  capricious  nets  of  it,  475 ;  the  romantic  style  in  which  it  is  made, 

4*79  ;  a  nice  and  fickle  passion,  506  ;  a  method  proposed  to  preserve  it 

alive  after  marriage,  ibid. 
Lying,  the  malignity  of  it,  SOt ;  party  lying,  the  prevalency  of  it,  ibid. 

Man,  the  middle  link  between  angels  and  brutes,  408  ;  what  he  is,  consid- 
ered in  himself,  441 ;  the  homage  he  owes  his  Creator,  ibid.  ;  by  what 
chiefly  distinguished  from  all  other  animals,  494 ;  suffers  more  from 
imaginary   than  real  evils,  605  ;  his  subjection  to  the  female  sex,  510. 

Manilius,  his  character,  467. 

March,  month  of,  described,  425. 

Mariamne  the  first  dancer,  466. 

Married  condition  rarely  unhappy  but  from  want  of  judgment  or  temper 
in  the  husband,  479;  the  advantages  preferable  to  a  single  state,  ibid. 
500;  termed  purgatory  by  Tom  Dapperwit,  482;  the  excellence  of  its 
institution,  490 ;  the  pleasure  and  uneasiness  of  married  persons,  to  what 
imputed,  606. 

Mars,  an  attendant  on  the  spring,  425. 

Martial,  on  epigram  of  his  on  a  grave  man's  being  at  a  lewd  play,  446. 

Machiavel,  his  observation  on  the  wise  jealousy  of  states,  408. 

May,  month  o^  described,  425. 

Meanvell,  Thomas,  his  letters  about  the  freedoms  of  married  men  and 
women,  430. 

Memory,  how  improved  by  the  ideas  of  the  imagination,  417. 

Merchant,  the  worth  and  importance  of  his  character,  428. 

Mercy,  wlioever  wants  it  has  no  taste  of  enjoyment,  456. 

Metamorphoses,  Ovid's,  like  enchanted  ground,  417. 

Metaphor,  when  noble,  costs  a  glory  round  it,  421. 

Method,  the  want  of  it,  in  whom  only  supportable,  476 ;  the  use  and  neces- 
sity of  it  in  writings,  ibid. ;  seldom  found  in  coffee-house  debates,  ibid. 

Miller,  James,  his  challenge  to  Timothy  Buck,  436. 

Milton,  his  vast  genius,  417  ;  his  poem  of  II  Penseroso,  425 ;  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  archangel  and  the  evil  spirits  addressing  themselves  for  the 
combat,  463. 

Mimicry,  art  of,  why  we  delight  in  it,  416. 

Minister,  a  watchful  one  described,  439. 

Minutius,  his  character,  422. 

Misfortunes,  the  judgments  upon  them  reproved,  483. 

Modesty,  false,  the  danger  of  it,  458  ;  distinguished  from  the  true,  ibid.  ; 
an  unnecessary  virtue  in  the  professors  of  the  law,  484 ;  the  sentiments 
entertained  of  it  by  the  ancients,  ibid. ;  rules  recommended  to  the  mo- 
dest man  by  the  Spectator,  ibid. 

Monsters,  novelty  bestows  charms  on  them,  412 ;  incapable  of  propaga- 
tion, 413  ;  what  gives  satisfaction  in  the  sight  of  them,  418. 

Money,  the  Spectator  proposes  it  as  a  thesis,  442 ;  the  power  of  it,  450 ; 
the  love  of  it  very  commendable,  ibid. 


556  INDEX. 

Moorfields,  by  whom  resorted  to,  505. 

Morality,  the  benefits  of  it,  459 ;  strengthens  faith,  465. 

Mouse-alley  doctor,  444. 

Music,  church,  may  raise  confused  notions  of  things  in  the  fancy,  416. 

Naked  shouldered,  437. 

Names  of  authors  to  be  put  to  their  ■works,  the  hardships  and  inconve- 
niences of  it,  451. 

Nature,  the  most  useful  object  of  human  reason,  408 ;  her  works  more  per- 
fect than  those  of  art  to  delight  the  fancy,  414 ;  yet  the  more  pleasant 
the  more  they  resemble  them,  ibid. ;  more  grand  and  august  than  those 
of  art,  ibid. 

Necessary,  cause  of  our  being  pleased  with  what  is  great,  new,  and  beau- 
tiful, 413. 

Nemesis,  an  old  maid,  a  great  discoverer  of  judgment,  483. 

New  or  uncommon,  why  every  thing  that  is  so  raises  a  pleasure  in  the 
imagination,  411;  what  understood  by  the  term  with  respect  to  ob- 
jects, 412  ;  improves  what  is  great  and  beautiful,  ibid. ;  why  a  secret 
pleasure  annexed  to  its  idea,  413 ;  every  thing  so  that  pleases  in  archi- 
tecture, 415. 

News,  how  the  English  thirst  after  it,  452 ;  project  for  a  supply  of  it, 
ibid. ;  of  whispers,  457. 

Nicodomuncio's  letter  to  Olivia,  433. 

Night-walk  in  the  country,  425. 

November,  month  of,  described,  425. 

Ode,  Laplander's,  to  his  mistress,  406. 

Opinion,  popular,  described,  460. 

Ostentation,  one  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  paradise  of  fools,  460. 

Otway,  his  admirable  description  of  the  miseries  of  law-suits,  456. 

Ovid,  in  what  he  excels,  417  ;  his  description  of  the  palace  of  Fame,  439. 

Pamphlets,  defamatory,  detestable,  451. 

Pantheon  at  Rome,  how  it  strikes  the  imagination  at  the  first  entrance 

415. 
Paradise  of  fools,  460. 

Paradise  Lost,  Milton's,  its  fine  imagery,  417. 
Parents,  their  care  due  to  their  children,  426. 
Parnassus,  the  vision  of  it,  614, 
Party  prejudices  in  England,  432. 
Passions  treated  of,  408 ;  what  moves  them  in  descriptions  most  pleasing, 

418 ;  in  all  men,  but  appear  not  in  all,  ibid.  ;  of  hope  and  fear,  471. 
Passionate  people,  their  faults,  438  ;  Nat.  Lee's  description  of  it,  ibid. 
Patience,  an  allegorical  discourse  upon  it,  601. 
Peevish  fellow  described,  438. 
Penseroso,  poem  oj^  by  Milton,  425. 
Persecution  in  religious  matters  immoral,  459. 
Persian  soldier,  reproved  for  railing  against  an  enemy,  427. 
Phidias,  his  proposal  of  a  prodigious  statue  of  Alexander,  415. 


INDEX.  557 

Phocion's  saying  of  a  vain  promiser,  448. 

Philopater's  letter  about  his  daughter's  dancing,  466. 

Philips,  Mr.  pastoral  verses  of  his,  409. 

Philosophy,  new,  the  authors  of  it  gratify  and  enlarge  the  imagination, 
420. 

Picture  not  so  natural  a  representation  as  a  statue,  416 ,  what  pleases 
most  in  one,  418. 

Pindar's  saying  of  Theron,  467. 

Pity,  that  and  terror  leading  passions  in  poetry,  418. 

Places  of  trust,  who  most  fit  for  them,  469 ;  why  courted  by  men  of  gen- 
.  erous  principles,  ibid. 

Planets,  to  survey  them  fills  us  with  astonishment,  420. 

Plato,  his  description  of  the  Supreme  Being,  507. 

Players,  wherein  to  be  condemned,  502. 

Pleasant  fellows  to  be  avoided,  462. 

Pleasantry  in  conversation,  the  faults  it  covers,  462. 

Pliny:  the  necessary  qualifications  of  a  fine  speaker  according  to  that  au- 
thor, 484. 

Plutarch,  for  what  reproved  6y  the  Spectator,  483. 

Poems,  several  preserved  for  their  similies,  421. 

Poetry  has  the  whole  circle  of  nature  for  its  proving,  419. 

Poets :  the  pains  they  should  take  to  form  their  imagination,  417;  sliould 
mend  nature,  and  add  to  her  beauties,  418 ;  how  much  they  are  at  lib- 
erty in  it,  ibid. 

Polite  imagination  let  into  a  gi'eat  many  pleasures  the  vulgar  are  not  capa- 
ble of,  411. 

Poor,  the  scandalous  appearance  of  them^  464. 

Poverty  the  loss  of  merits  464. 

Praise,  the  love  of  it  deeply  fixed  in  men's  minds,  467. 

Precipice,  distant,  why  its  prospect  pleases,  418. 

Prediction,  the  many  arts  of  it  in  use  among  the  vulgar,  506. 

Prejudice,  a  letter  about  it  as  it  respects  parties  in  England,  432. 

Prerogative,  when  and  how  to  be  asserted  with  honour,  480. 

Promises,  neglect  of,  through  frivolous  falsehood,  448. 

Promisers  condemned,  448. 

Prospect,  a  beautiful  one  delights  the  soul  as  much  as  a  demonstration, 
411;  wide  ones  pleasing  to  the  fancy,  ibid.;  enlivened  by  nothing  so 
much  as  rivers,  and  falls  of  water,  412 ;  that  of  hills  and  valleys  soon 
tires,  ibid. 

Proverbs,  the  7th  chapter  of,  turned  into  verse,  410. 

Psalm,  114th,  translated,  461. 

Psalmist,  of  Providence,  441. 

Punning,  a  pun  of  thought,  454 ;  by  whom  affected,  504. 

Punsters,  their  talents,  604. 

Puzzle,  Tom,  a  most  eminent  immethodical  disputant^  476. 

Pyramids  of  Egypt,  415. 

Quack  bill,  444 ;  doctors,  the  cheats  of  them,  ibid. 
Raillery  in  conversation,  the  absurdity  of  it,  422. 


558  INDEX. 

Eainbow,  the  figure  of  one  contributes  to  its  magnificence,  as  much  as  the 
colours  to  its  beauty,  416. 

Baleigh,  sir  Walter,  his  opinions  of  womankind,  610. 

Ramble,  from  Richmond  by  water  to  London,  and  about  it,  by  the  Specta- 
tor, 454. 

Raphael,  the  excellence  of  his  pictures,  46Y. 

Read,  sir  William,  his  operations  on  the  eyes,  472. 

Reason  the  pilot  of  the  passions,  408  ;  a  pretty  nice  proportion  between 
that  and  passion,  ibid. 

Religion  considered,  459 ;  a  morose  melancholy  behaviour,  which  is  ob 
served  in  several  precise  professors  of  it,  reproved  by  the  Spectator, 
494 ;  the  true  spirit  of  it  not  only  composes,  but  cheers,  the  soul,  ibid. 

Renatus  Valentinus,  his  father  and  grandfather,  their  story,  426. 

Rentfree,  Sabina,  her  letter  about  the  green  sickness,  413. 

Repository  for  fashions,  a  building  proposed  and  described,  48'7 ;  the  use- 
fulness of  it,  ibid. 

Retirement,  a  dream  of  it,  426. 

Rhubarb,  John,  esq.  his  memorial  from  the  country  infirmary,  429. 

Riches  corrupt  men's  morals,  464. 

Rich  men,  their  defects  overlooked,  464. 

Ridicule  put  to  a  good  use,  446. 

Riding-dress  of  ladies,  the  extravagance  of  it,  435. 

Romans :  an  instance  of  the  general  good  understanding  of  the  ancient 
Romans,  602. 

Rusty,  Scabbard,  his  letter  to  the  Spectator,  449. 

Rynsault,  the  unjust  governor,  in  what  manner  punished  by  Charles,  duka 
of  Burgundy,  his  sovereign,  491. 

,  Sallust,  his  excellence,  409. 

Salutations  in  churches  censured,  460. 

Satires,  the  English,  ribaldry  and  Billingsgate,  451 ;  panegyrical  on  our- 
selves, 473. 

Scales,  golden,  a  dream  of  them,  463. 

Scandal,  to  whom  most  pleasing,  426  ;  how  monstrous  it  renders  us,  451. 

Scott,  Dr.  his  Christian  life,  its  merit,  447. 

Scribblers  against  the  Spectator,  why  neglected  by  him,  445. 

Seasons,  a  dream  of  them,  425. 

Self-eonceit,  one  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  paradise  of  fools,  460. 

Semiramis,  her  prodigious  works  and  power,  415. 

Sempronia  the  match  maker,  437. 

Sentry,  Captain,  takes  possession  of  his  uncle  sir  Roger  de  Coveriey's 
estate,  617. 

September,  month  of,  described,  425. 

Sexes,  the  advantages  of  amity  to  each,  433. 

Shakspeare  excels  all  writers  in  his  ghosts,  419. 

Sherlock,  Dr.  improved  the  notion  of  heaven  and  hell,  447. 

Sickness,  a  thought  on  it,  613. 

Sight,  the  most  perfect  sense,  411 ;  .the  pleasures  of  the  imagination  arise 
originally  from  it,  ibid.  ;  furnishes  it  with  ideas,  ibid. 

Silk-worm,  a  character  of  one,  464. 


INDEX.  559 

Similitudes,  eminent  writers  faulty  in  them,  421 ;  the  preservation  of  sev- 
eral poems,  ibid. ;  an  ill  one  in  a  pulpit,  465. 

Sippet,  Jack,  his  character,  448. 

Snarlers,  438. 

Socrates,  why  the  oracle  pronounced  him  the  wisest  of  men,  408 ;  head  of 
the  sect  of  the  hen-pecked,  479 ;  his  domestics  what,  486  ;  the  effect  of  a 
discourse  of  his  own  marriage  had  with  his  audience,  500. 

Soul,  the  excellency  of  it  considered  in  relation  to  dreams,  48*7. 

Song  with  notes,  470. 

Soul,  its  happiness  the  contemplation  of  God,  413 ;  state  of  it  after  separa- 
tion, ibid. 

Sounds,  how  improper  for  description,  416. 

Sparkish,  Will,  a  modish  husband,  479. 

Spectator,  his  invitation  to  all  sorts  of  people  to  assist  him,  442 ;  about  the 
stamps,  445  ;  guardian'  of  the  fair  sex,  449  ;  his  advertisements,  461 ; 
about  the  price  of  his  paper,  ibid.  ;  put  into  the  golden  scales,  463 ;  a 
sort  of  news-letter,  468  ;  his  account  of  a  coffee-house  debate,  relating  to 
the  difference  between  count  Rechtereu  and  monsieur  Mesnager,  481 ; 
the  different  sense  of  his  readers  upon  the  rise  of  its  paper,  and  the 
Spectator's  proposals  upon  it,  488. 

Spenser,  his  whole  creation  of  shadowy  persons,  419. 

Spirits,  several  species  in  the  world  besides  ourselves,  419. 

Spring,  a  description  of  it,  423 ;  its  attendants,  ibid. 

Spies,  not  to  be  trusted,  493 ;  despised  by  great  men,  ibid.  « 

Stamps,  how  fatal  to  weekly  historians,  445. 

Stars,  fixed,  how  their  immensity  and  magnificence  confound  us,  420. 

Statuary  the  most  natural  representation,  416. 

Stint,  Jack,  and  WUl  Trap,  their  adventure,  448. 

Stripes,  the  use  of  them  to  perverse  wives,  479. 

Sudden,  Thomas,  esq.  his  memorial  from  the  country  infirmary,  429, 

Sukey's  adventure  with  Will  Honeycomb  and  sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  410. 

Sun-rising  and  setting  the  most  glorious  show  in  nature,  412. 

Swingers,  a  set  of  familiar  romps  at  Tunbridge,  492. 

Symmetry  of  objects,  how  it  strikes,  411. 

Syucopius  the  passionate,  his  character,  438. 

Tale-bearers  censured,  439. 

Taste  of  writing,  what  it  is,  and  how  it  may  be  acquired,  409 ;  the  perfec- 
tion of  a  man's  as  a  sense,  ibid.;  defined,  ibid  ;  that  of  the  English,  ibid. 
Terence,  the  Spectator's  observations  on  one  of  his  plays,  502. 
Terror  and  pity,  why  those  passions  please,  418. 
Thames,  its  banks,  and  the  boats  on  it  described,  454. 
Theognis,  a  beautiful  saying  of  his,  464. 
Thimbleton,  Ralph,  his  letter  to  the  Spectator,  432. 
Tillotson,  archbishop,  improved  the  notion  of  heaven  and  hell,  447. 
Titles,  the  insignificancy  and  abuse  of  them,  480. 
Toper  Jack,  his  recommendatory  letter  in  behalf  of  a  servant,  493. 
Torture,  why  the  description  of  it  pleases,  and  not  the  prospect,  418. 
Transmigration  of  souls,  how  believed  by  the  ancients,  408. 


660  INBEX. 

Trap,  Mr.  his  letter  to  Mr.  Stint,  448. 

Travellers,  the  generality  of  them  exploded,  4Y4. 

Trees,  more  beautiful  in  all  their  luxuriancy  than  when  cut  and  trimmed, 

414. 
Trimming,  the  Spectator  unjustly  accused  of  it,  445. 
Trusty,  Tom,  a  tender  husband  and  careful  father,  479. 
Truth,  the  excellence  of  it,  607. 
Turner,  sir  William,  his  excellent  maxims,  609. 
Tyrants,  why  so  called,  608. 

Vainloves,  the  family  of,  454. 

Valentinus,  Basilius,  and  Alexandrinus,  their  story,  426. 

Vanity,  the  paradise  of  fools,  460 ;  -  yision  of  her  and  her  attendants, 
ibid. 

Venus,  the  charming  figure  she  makes  in  the  first  .lEneid,  417 ;  an  attend- 
ant on  the  spring,  426. 

Vertumnus,  an  attendant  on  the  Spring,  425. 

Viner,  sir  Robert,  his  familiarity  with  Mug  Charles  the  Second,  402. 

Virgil  compared  with  Homer,  417  ;  when  he  is  best  pleased,  ibid. 

Understanding,  wherein  more  perfect  than  the  imagination,  420 ;  reasons 

for  it,  ibid. ;  should  master  the  passions,  438. 
Universe,  how  pleasing  the  contemplation  of  it,  420. 

Wall,  the  pro^fgious  one  of  China,  415. 

Wars,  the  late,  made  us  so  greedy  of  news,  452. 

Wealth,  the  father  of  love,  606. 

Wealthy  men  fix  the  characters  of  persons  to  their  circumstances,  469. 

Weed,  Ephraim,  his  letter  to  the  Spectator  about  his  marriages  and  estate, 

450. 
Whispering-place,  Dionysius  the  tyrant's,  439. 
Whisperers,  political,  457. 
Wife,  the  most  delightful  name  in  nature,  404. 
Wig,  long  one,  the  eloquence  of  the  bar,  407. 

WilKam  III.  King  of  England,  compared  with  the  French  king,  516. 
Winter-gardens,  recommended  and  described,  477. 
Wise,  Mr.  the  gardener,  an  heroic  poet,  477. 

Wit,  false,  why  it  sometimes  pleases,  416  ;  nothing  without  judgment,  422. 
Wits,  minor,  the  several  species  of  them,  604  ;  wits  ought  not  to  pretend 

to  be  rich,  509. 
Witchcraft  generally  believed  by  our  forefathers,  419. 
Wives,  perverse,  how  to  be  managed,  479. 
Women  have  always  designs   upon  men,  433 ;   greater  tyrants  to  their 

lovers  than  husbands,  486  ;  reproved  for  their  neglect  of  dress  after  they 

are  married,  506  ;  their  wonderful  influence  upon  the  other  sex,  510. 
Words,  the  pleasures  proceeding  to  the  imagination  from  the  ideas  raised 

by  them,  416. 
Writer,  how  to  perfect  his  imagination,  417;   who  among  the  ancient 

poets  had  this  faculty,  ibid. 

Youth,  instructions  to  them  to  avoid  harlots,  410. 


-S(fi