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195.UN Temperance Addisov. 

196. On Easiness — a Love-case Stbili. 

197. Contentious Conversation of Gentlemen of 

the Long Robe — Advice on Disputes • • Budobix, 

198. Character of the Salamanders — Story of a 

Castilian and his Wife Adoii on. 

199. Letter on the mercenary Practiees af Hen in 

the choice of Wives STtBLt. 

200. Poetical Arithmetic — Roles for Population 

Mr. U. Martyn. 

SOI. Devotion — Knthosiasm Addison. 

f02. Folly of the Pride of Birth or Fortune- 
Letters from Servants Steelv. 

203. On Seducers, and their illicit Progeny — 

• Letter fhmi a Natural Son Addison* 

S04. Letters from Belinda to the Sothadet— D. to 

bis Coquette Mistress — to a Husband • • • • Steele. 

S05* Description of a Female Pander — affected 
Method of Psalm-singing — Erratum m the 
Paper on Dnnking Addison. 

t06. Modesty, Diffidence, Self-denial Steele. 

207. Notions of the Heathens on Devotion •••• Addison. 

208. Depraved Taste on the Theatre— Letters on 

Visiting — Seduction— from a Lover •••• Steele. 
2D9. Siaonides' Satire on Women AddisoK. 



flO. tmniiTUi\lf «t thr Html tliiAniK. 

ttl> Tnuniniiintion of Nnalii— I^'rtpnon ninm- 

iriiln' ttatirr nn Women Addkiin. 

f19. Uller rntm h llfn-jwkt IIiiiIimmI (Inti-r- 

minrd lo 1i* frwi Hrr.n.K. 

f)3. On InbiiinljiiMid Jnl'ntintn AriiiKim. 

SI4. Oh I'Nimm wtd ilirlf <;liri]lt Hrr.ri.r. 

fl.'i. Eilimtlim— diiiJiwrcdlnHniliiinrp Aiirii«>i*. 

flG. fhirrruoftb^ ll*«-|r*chl Kiwlimil HH'Ttnl- 

iH-il lo b« flvn HTKri.B. 

91T. CHibtri'Mi^Hinnpit— Lrimim Imlolkiirj 

—fVrnndnDid M*i<l--afio<< Hviuikij.- 

fllB. Pwnc— hnpDUIIaii (Vedit 

•IV. cjnality— VMrfij uriloiMniniinilTiilr* ■. Atiiii<i>i«, 
990. HtirvtiimtifnnnneAUner HtBitr.ic. 

V»\»« y/n nxl Mi'«lMi4io PoMry llM.iir.*. 

I*»i>— hliiMtioru 

nl. Ua«< of M(ttto»— Lut" "t 1-Bl)'> ■mnng tlm 

l^mlniFB Proplit- MKlMliirc LPltct* ' ' ■• AftMUoii. 
9M. lnroiu)tlrMi:I«a of MniorTalnatii witb rc>- 

j»wt to Rruiionij flTKiiF.ii 

»»3. Ai!finnt of ll«|iplio - AtKiiDun' 

ittr Hjom tti Venm Am, I'h i (.i r\ 

■34. lljilvriMliif nf Ambiiioii-'lii wrant INrrc- 

Uon» Hr/oiiM^ 

Hft. UlMrvUiii Mid l^nnlntl AHUimm, 

f fS, On NaphMrl'ii CarlAun* NrxKhit. 

tir. Leller on Uh^ l/itrr*! Lrap •■ Ai>ni«(ia 

StS. InquMliTO DIupMltioii— Mpmoily for loud 

THllK^rJ HT8BI.F, 

law. Fnntnmf nf Biijipho ■ AiinnoN 

*aa II' lii'i^.MiiF.n . I^tlcrofl'llny .. Hvnm*. 

Vlm-i.x. l.,.4'niy «TH«l.ll. 

J31, I*tWt"H f-Mlitiilrp'.i. IIIJDIIRK 

Hiflri'lioiituli M'liknty Alinraoi,- 

«7?. ^yr^fii/n-w I''r''''|t»r(<Opil)kiDd'tV«KKM'' Wunum.t.. 
Aur. /a«<o/^(rftlicLov«r'l Uuf ksnivix. 


934. Good-natured Species of Lies — Account of 

a Freetlnnker Steele. 

235. Account of the Trunkmaker in the Theatre Addison. 

236. Letters on cruel Husbands — on improper 

Behaviour at Church • • • ' Steele. 

f37» On the Ways of Providence Addison. 

238. On the Love of Flattery — ^Translation from 

Aristaenetus Steele. 

239. Various Ways of manajipng a Debate Addison* 

240. Grateful Letter on heroic Virtue— Country 

Breeding — Behaviour of a Beau at the 

Theatre Steele. 

241. Letter on the Absence of LovA's — Reme- 

dicsproposed Addison. 

242. Letters on improper behaviour in a Stage- 

Coach — Story of a Lottery-Ticket— from 

the Guardian of two Nieces Steele. 

243. On tlie Beauty and Loveliness of Virtue * • Addison. 

244. Letters on Raphael's Cartoons — on Female 

Apes Steele. 

245. Simplicity of Character— Letters on in- 

nocent Diversions — Absent Lovers — from 

a Trojan Addison. 

246. Mischief of Mothers not nursing their Chil- 

dren Steele. 

247. Difierent Clares of Female Orators Addison. 

248. On Beneficeuct', with Examples Stkele. 

249. Laughter and Ridicule Addison. 

250. On the Eyes • Golding. 

Complaint of Starers Steele. 

251. Letter on tlic Cries of London ••••-••.... Addison. 

252. Letters on the Eye— Cure for a bad Hus- 

band Steele. 

Female Oratory Hughes. 

?j;l. On Detraction among bad Poets — Pope's 

Essay on Criticism \l>l>\%0^ 



No. 195. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13^ 171 L 

Ov^'oo^y ly i^otXcix^ re SI ac^oiiXu upy tyc»iBp. 

Hes. Oper. k Diexv 1. i. 4#. 

FooU not to know that half exceeds the whole, 
• How Uett the sparing meal and temperate bowl. 

1 HERE is a story in the Arabian Nights Tales of 
a king who had long languished under an ill hab- 
it of body, and had taken abundance of remedies 
to no purpose. At length, says the fable, a phy- 
sician cured him by the following method : He 
took a hollow ball of wood, and filled it with sev- 
eral drugs ; after which he closed it up so artifi- 
cially that nothing appeared. He likewise took 
a mall, and after having hollowed the handle, and 
that part which strikes the ball, he enclosed in 
them several drugs after the same manner as in 
the ball itself. He then ordered the sultan, who 
was his patient, to exercise himself early in the 
morning with these rightly prepared instruments, 
till such time as he should sweat : when, as the 
Story goes, the virtue of the medicamtxvX.'&^e.^^^v 

10 . SPECTATOR. No. 19^. 

ring through the wood had so good an influence 
on the sultan's constitution, that they cured him 
of an indisposition which all the compositions he 
had taken inwardly had not been able to remove. 
This eastern allegory is finely contrived to shew 
us how beneficial bodily labour is to health, and 
that exercise is the most effectual physic. I have 
described in my hundred and fifteenth paper, from 
the general structure and mechanism of an hu- 
man body, how absolutely necessai^ exercise is 
for its preservation. I shall in this place recom- 
mend another great preservative of health, which 
in many cases produces the same effects as exer- 
cise, and may, in some measure, supply its place, 
where opportunities of exercise are wanting. The 
preservative I am speaking of is temperance, 
which has those particular advantages above all 
other means of health, that it may be practised by 
all ranks and conditions, at any season, or in any 
place. It is a kind of regimen into which every 
man may put himself, without interruption to bu- 
siness, expense of money, or loss of time. If ex- 
ercise throws off all superfluities, temperance 
prevents them; if exercise clears the vessels, 
temperance neither satiates nor overstrains them; 
if exercise raises proper ferments in the hu- 
mours, and promotes the circulation of the blood, 
temperance gives nature her full play, and enables 
her to exert herself in all her force and vigour ; 
if exercise dissipates a growing distemper, tem- 
perance starves it. 

Physic, for the most part, is nothing else but 
the substitute of exercise or temperance. Med- 
icines are indeed absolutely necessary in acute 
distempers, that cannot wait the slow operations 
of these two great instruments of healtli ; but did 
men live in an habitual course of exercise and 

Ho. 195. SPECTATOR, 11 

temperance, there would be but little occasion 
for Uiem. Accordingly we find that those parts 
of the world are the most healthy, where they 
subsist by the chase ; and that men lived longest 
when their lives were employed in hunting, and 
when they had little food besides what the/ 
caught. Blistering, cupping, bleeding, are sel- 
dom of use but to the idle and intemperate ; as all 
those inward applications which are so much in 
practice among us, are for the most part nothing 
else but expedients to make luxury consistent 
with health. The apothecary is perpetually em- 
ployed in countermining the cook and the vint- 
ner. It is said of Diogenes, that meeting a young 
nan who was going to a feast, he took him up in 
the street and carried him home to his friends, 
as one who was running into imminent danger, 
had not he prevented him.* What would that 
philosopher have said, had he been present at the 
gluttony of a modern meal f Would not he have 
thought the master of a family mad, and have 
begged his servants to tie down his hands, had he 
seen him devour fowl, fish, and fiesh ; swallow oil 
and vinegar, wines and spices ; throw down sal- 
lads of twenty different herbs, sauces of an hun- 
dred ingredients, confections and fruits of number- 
less sweets and flavours? What unnatural mo- 
tions and counter-ferments must such a medley 
of intemperance produce in the body? For my 
part, when I behold a fashionable table set out in 
all its magnificence, I fancy that I see gouts and 
dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other innu- 
merable distempers lying m ambuscade among* 
the dishes. 

^ DlQg. h%^, VitSB Fbilosopb. lib. yi- cap. 2. n* 0. 

19 SPECTATOn. No. 105. 

Nature delights in the most plain and simple 
diet. Everjr animul, but many keepn to one dish. 
Herbs are the food of this species, fish of that, and 
flesh of a third. Man falls upon every thing that 
comes in his way ; not the smallest fruit or ex- 
crescence of the earth, scarce a berry ^r a mush* 
room can escape him. 

It is impossible to lay down any determinate 
rule for temperance, because what is luxury in 
one may be temperance in another ; but there are 
few that hare lived any time in the world, who 
are not judges of their own constitutions, so fiur 
as to know what kinds and what proportions of 
food do best agree with them. Were I to consi* 
der my readers as my patients, and to prescribe 
such a kind of temperance as is accommodated to 
all persons, and such as is particularly suitable to 
our climate and way of living, I would copy the 
following rules of a very eminent physician* 
* Make your whole repast out of one dish. If you 
indulge in a second, avoid drinking any thing 
strong until you have finished your meal ; at the 
same time abstain from all sauces, or at least such 
as are not the most plain and simple.' A man 
could not be well guilty of gluttony, if he stuck 
to these few obvious and easy rules. In the first 
case there would be no variety of tastes to solicit 
his palate, and occasion excess; nor in the second, 
any artificial provocatives to relieve satiety, and 
create a false appetite. Were I to prescribe a 
rule for drinking, it should be formed upon a say- 
ing quoted by Sir William Temple ; * The first 
glass for myself, the second for my friends, the 
third for good-humour, and the fourth for mine en- 
emies.' But because it is impossible for one who 
lives in the world to diet himself always in so phi- 
/osopWcal a manner, I think every man should 


hare his days of abstinence, according as his con* 
stitution will permit. These are great reliefs to 
nature, as they qualify her for struggling with 
huneer and thirst, whenever any distemper or du- 
ty of life may put her upon such difficulties; and 
at the same time give her an opportunity of extri- 
cating herself from her oppressions, and recover- 
ing the several tones and springs of her distended 
vessels. Besides that, abstinence well-timed, of- 
ten kills a sickness in embryo, and destroys the 
first seeds of an indisposition. It is observed by 
two or three ancient authors,* that Socrates, not- 
withstanding he lived in Athens during that great 
plague, which has made so much noise through 
all ages, and has been celebrated at different times 
by such eminent hands ; I say, notwithstanding 
that he lived in the time of this devouring pesti- 
lence, he never caught the least infection, which 
those writers unanimously ascribe to that unin- 
terrupted temperance which he alwuys observed. 
And here I cannot but mention an observation 
which I have often made, upon reading the lives 
of the philosophers, and comparing them with any 
series of kings or great men of the same number. 
H we consider these ancient sages, a great part 
of whose philosophy consisted in a temperate and 
abstemious course of life, one would think the 
life of a philosopher and the life of a man were 
of two different dates. For we find that the ge- 
nerality of these wise men were nearer an hnn-p 
dred than sixty years of age, at the time of their 
respective deaths. But the most rcniurkublc in- 
stance of the efficacy of temperance towards the 
procuring of long life, is what we meet with in a 
little book published by Lewis Coniaro the Vc- 

* Diogenes Laertius in Yit Socrati^.— >£Han in Vitr. liist. 
Ub. la. Mp. UJ, &c. 

VOL» ir, B 

M SPECTATOR. Iflfa 19S. 

netian ; which I the rather mention, because it is 
of undoubted credit, as the late Venetian ambas- 
sador, who was of the same family, attested more 
than once in conversation, when he resided in 
England. Comaro, who was the author of the 
little treatise I am mentioning, was of an infirm 
constitution, until about forty, when by obstinate- 
ly persisting in an exact course of temperance, he 
recovered a perfect state of health ; insomuch 
that at fourscore he published his book, which has 
been tnuislated into English under the title of 
Sure and Ceitain Methods of Attaining a Long 
and Healthy Life. He lived to give a third or 
fourth edition of it ; and after having passed his 
hundredth year, died without pain or agony, and 
like one who falls asleep. The treatise I men- 
tion has been taken notice of by several eminent 
authors, and is written with such a spirit of cheer- 
fulness, religion, and good sense, as are the natu- 
ral concomitants of temperance and sobriety. The 
mixture of the old man in it is rather a recom- 
mendation than a discredit to it. 

Having designed this paper as the sequel to 
that upon exercise, I have not here considered 
temperance as it is a moral virtue, which 1 shall 
make the subject of a future speculation, but only 
as it is the means of health. L. 

i^o. 106. SPECTATOR. 15 

No. 196. MONDAY, OCTOBER 15, ITll. 

Sst UlubriSi animus w te non deficit aquus. 

II OR. 1 Ep.xi. 50. 

Tnie happiness is to no place confin'd. 
But still is found in a contented mind. 


* There is a particular fault which I have ob- 
served in most of the moralists in all ages, and 
that is, that they are always professing themselves, 
and teaching others, to be happy. This state is 
not to be arrived at in this life, therefore I would 
recommend to vou to talk in an humbler strain 
than your predecessors have done, and instead of 
presuming to be happy, instruct us only to be 
easy. The thoughts of him who would be dis- 
creet, and aim at practicable things, should turn 
upon allaying our pain, rather than promoting 
our joy. Great inquietude is to be avoided, but 
great felicity is not to be attained. The great 
lesson is equanimity, a regularity of spirit, which 
is a little above cheerfulness and below mirth. 
Cheerfulness is,always to be supported if a man 
is out of pain, but mirth to a prudent man should 
always be accidental. It should naturally arise 
out of the occasion, and the occasion seldom be 
laid for it ; for those tempers who want mirth to 
he pleased, are like the constitutions which flag 
Avithout the use of brandy. Therefore, I say, let 
your precept be, ' be easy.' That mind is disso- 
lute and unt^overncd, which must be hurried out 
of itself by loud laughter or sensual pleasure, or 
else be wholly unactivc. 

' There are u con pie of old feWov?^ ol Twy ^v:.- 

qtmititttficc who meet «vrry rlny utid nmokc u pipef 
and by their tiittiirttl love to cuch othcff tlurUKh 
they hiivr hrrti men of htmiticM und biif^tlc in the 
world, rnjoy u ^rrriittr trum|itillity thuti rithcr 
could huvn workrd hlriiftrlf into by any ctmptcr of 
H<^nr< M. ItKJol'^ncc of body und mind, when wc 
nim ut no more, ia very freniirntly enjoyed ; but 
the very in<)uiry ttfier huppmesn Iimh nomething 
refit)e»» in it, whir.h a mun wtio liven in h nerics 
of tempet«ite tnciiU, friendly converft.ttionii, mid 
citfiy Alumbem, ^ive» hiimiclf no trouble dbout. 
While men of refinement arc talking of tnimjuil- 
lity, he posneiiiieM it. 

* WhtU I would by thcfie broken exoreiiftionft re- 
commend to you, Mr. Hnccttttor, in, thut you 
would npeuk of the wmv of life wtiich pluin men 
fnuy purnue, to fill up the upaceii of time with na* 
tinrTtion. It in n lamentable circumfttunce, that 
wlndom, or, iinyou cull it, philosophy, »hou Id fur« 
tiiifh ideas only for the learned ) and that a man 
tTiUAt be a philosopher to know how to pass away 
liis titnc agreeably. It would therefore be worth 
your pains to place in a hatulsome light the rela* 
tions and affinities among men, which render their 
conversation with each other so grateful, that the 
highest talents give but an impotent pleasure in 
comparison with them. You may find deserip- 
tibiis and discourses which will render the fire- 
Hide of an honest artiHccr as entertaining, as your 
own club is 10 you. Cicmd-naturc has an endless 
source of pleasures in it; and the representation 
of domestic life filled with its natural giatifica- 
tions, instead of the necessary vexattofis which 
are generally insisted upon in the writings of tho 
witty, will be. a very good office to society. 

*The vicissitudes of labour und rest in the 
lofTcr pun oi mutikind) mskke lUelr bein^ past 

Ka 196. SPECTATOR. i? 

away with that sort of relish which we express by 
the word comfort ; and should be treated of by 
you, who are a spectator, as well as such subjects 
which appear indeed more speculative, but are 
less instructive. In a word, sir, I would have 
you turn your thoughts to the advantage of such 
as want you most; and shew that simplicity, in- 
nocence, industry, and temperance, are arts which 
lead to tranquillity, as much as learning, wisdom, 
knowledge, and contemplation. 

I am, SIR, 
Your most humble servant, 

T. B.* 


* MR. SPECTATOR, Hacjcney, October 12. 

* I AM the young woman whom you did so 
much justice to some time ago, in acknowledging 
that I am perfect mistress of the fan, and use it 
with the utmost knowledge and dexterity. Indeed 
the world, as malicious as it is, will allow, that 
from a hurry of laughter I recollect myself the 
most suddenly, make a curtsey, and let fall r*,y 
hands before me, closing my fan at the same in^ 
stant, the best of any woman in England. I am 
not a little delighted that 1 have had your notice 
and approbation ; and however other young wo- 
men may rally me out ol envy, I triumpli in it, 
and demand a place in your friendship. You must 
therefore permit me to lay before you the present 
state of my mind. I was reading your Spectator 
of the 9th instant, and thought the circuaistance 
of the ass divided between the two buiidies oi hay 
which equu.'ly ullectcd his senses, was a lively re- 
presentation of my present ondition, lor you arc 
to know that I am extremely enamoured with two 
young gentlemen who at this time pretend to mc. 
One must hide nothing when oug is a^VXw^ •eA.* 


It tPECTATOB. ITo. Ifi. 

vice, therefore I will own to yoOf that I am veij 
amorous, and ver^r covetous. My lover Will is 
very rich, and my lover Tom very handsome. I 
can have either ot them when I please : but when 
I debate the question in my •wn mind, I cannot 
take Tom for fear of losing Will's estate, nor 
enter upon Will's estate, and bid adieu to Tom's 
person. I am very young, and yet no one in the 
vorld, dear sir, has the main chance more in her 
head than myself. Tom is the ^yest, the blithest 
creature 1 He dances well, is very civil, and 
diverting at all hours and seasons. Oh ! he is 
the joy of my eyes ! But then again Will is so 
very rich and careful of the main. How many 
pretty dresses does Tom appear in to charm me ! 
But then it immediately occurs to me, that a man 
of his circumstances is so much the poorer. 
Upon the whole, I have at last examined both 
these desires of love and avarice, and upon strictly 
weighing the matter, I begin to think 1 shall be 
covetous longer than fond ; therefore if you have 
lathing to say to the contrary, I shall take Will. 
Alas, poor Tom! 

Your humble servant, 
T. Biddy Lovkless.* 


No. 197. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1711. 

AUer rixatur de land tape caprindf 

J*rofntjpuU nu^ armatu9 .' aciUeet, utnon 

Sic fmm prima fide% / tty veri giiod placet, ut mm 

Jlcriter euUrem ? PreHutn mtOB altera aordet. 

Ambi£itttr quid enim / Castor adat, on JDociHe plutg 

jBrunduaium ^unUct meUiia via ducat, an Appi, 

HoR. 1 Ep. XTiii. 15. 

On trifles some are eamestlj absurd ; 
Toall thmk the world depends on eTcnr word. 
What ! is not ererj mortal free to speak ? 
m CTe my reasons, tfaoagh I break my neck ! 
And what s the question ? If it shines, or rains ; 
Whether 'tis twelve, or fifteen miles to Staines. 


Evert age a man passes through, and way of life 
he engages in, has some particular vice or imper- 
fection naturally cleaving to it, which it will re* 
quire his nicest care to avoid. The several weak* 
nesses to which youth, old age, and manhood are 
exposed, have long since been set down by many 
both of the poets and philosophers ; but I do not 
remember to have met with any author who has 
treated of those ill habits men are subject to, not 
so much by reason of their different ages and 
tempers, as the particular professions or business 
in which they were educated and brought up. 

I am the more surprised to find this subject so 
little touched on, since what I am here speaking 
of is so apparent, as not to escape the most vulgar 
observation. The business men are chiefly con- 
versant in, does not only give a certain cast or 
turn to their minds, but is very often appai'ent in 
their outward behaviour, and some of the most 
indifferent actions of their lives. It is this air 

iiSvksiDg itself over the whole m^ri) v(Yac\x Yi^V^^ 


us to find out a person at his first appearance ; so 
that the most careless observer fancies he can 
scarce be mistaken in the carriage of a scamani or 
the gait of a tailor. 

The liberal arts^ though the^ may possibly have 
less effect on our external mien and behaviour^ 
make so deep an impression on the mind, as is 
very apt to bend it wholly one way. 

The mathematician will take little less than de- 
monstration in the most common discourse, and 
the schoolman is as great a friend to definition 
and syllogysms. The physician and divine are 
often heard to dictate in private companies with 
the same authority which they exercise over their 
patients and disciples ; while the lawyer is putting 
cases, and raising matter for disputation, out of 
every thing that occurs. 

I may possibly some time or other animadvert 
more at large on the particular fault each profes- 
sion is most infected with ; but shall at present 
wholly apply myself to the cure of what I last 
mentioned, namely, that spirit of strife and con- 
tention in the conveil'sations of gentlemen of the 
long robe. 

This is the more ordinary, because those gen- 
tlemen, regarding argument as their own proper 
province, and very often making ready -money of 
it, think it unsafe to yield before company. They 
are shewing in common talk how zealously they 
could defend a cause in court, and therefore fre- 
quently forget to keep that temper which is abso- 
lutely requisite to render conversation pleasant 
and instructive. 

Captain Sentry pushes this matter so far, that 
I have heard him say, ' he has known but few 
pleaders that were tolerable company.* 

The capttduf yfho U a iXMiii ol ^ood t&civ!^e> but 

Mm. Iff. SraCI^ATOft. U 

dry convenatioDy was last night giving me an ac- 
count of a discourse, in which he had lately beea 
engaged with a young wrangler in the law. ^ I 
was giving my opinion,' says the captain, < with- 
out apprehending any debate that might arise 
from It, of a generaFs behaviour in a battle that 
was fought some years before either th^ Templar 
or myself were bom. The young lawyer imme« 
diately took me up, and by reasoning above a 
quarter of an hour upon a subject which I saw he 
understood nothing of, endeavoured to shew me 
that my opinions were ill-grounded. ^ Upon 
which,' says the captain, < to avoid any farther 
contests, I told him, that truly I had not consi- 
dered those several arguments which he had 
brought against me, and that there might be a 
great deal in them.' ^ Ay, but,' says my antago- 
nistf who would not let me escape so, ^ there are 
several things to be urged in favour of your opin- 
ion which you have omitted ;' and thereupon be- 
gun to shine on the other side of the question. 
* Upon this,' says the captain, ^ I came over to my 
first sentiments, and entirely acquiesced in his 
reasons for my so doing. Upon which the Tem- 
plar again recovered his former posture, and con- 
futed both himself and me a third time. In 
short,' says my friend, * I found he was resolved 
to keep me at sword's length, and never let me 
close with him ; so that I had nothing left but to 
hold my tongue, and give my antagonist free leave 
to smile at his victory, who I found, like Hudi- 
bras, could still change sides, and still confute.*. 
For my own part, 1 have ever regarded our 
inns of court as nurseries of statesmen and law- 
givers, which makes me often frequent that part 
of the town with great pleasure. 

* Fart L ciat. 1. ver. 69i 70. 

92 SreCTATOR. Ko. 107 

Upon my calling in lately at one of the most no- 
ted Temple coffee-houscSf I found the whole room 
-which was full of youngs students, divided into se« 
-veral parties, each of which was deeply engaged 
in some controversy. The management of the late 
ministry was attacked and defended with great 
vigour ; and several preliminaries to the peace 
'Were proposed by sonic, and rejected by others ; 
the demolishing of Dunkirk was so eagerly in- 
sisted on, and so warmly controverted, as had 
like to have produced a challenge. In short, I 
observed that the desire of victory, whetted with 
the little prejudices of party and interest, gene- 
rally carried the argument to such a height, as 
made the disputants insensibly conceive an aver- 
sion towards each other, and part with the high- 
est dissatisfaction on both sides. 

The managing an argument handsomely being 
so nice a point, and what 1 have seen so very few 
excel in, 1 shall here set down a few rules on that 
head, which, among other things, I gave in writ- 
ing to a young kinsman of mine, who had made 
so great a proficiency in the law, that he began to 
plead in company, upon every subject that was 

Having the entire manuscript by me, I may, 
perhaps, from time .to time, publish such parts of 
it as I shall think requisite for the instruction of 
the British youth. What regards my present 
purpose is as follows : 

Avoid disputes as much as possible. In order 
to appear easy and well-bred in conversation, you 
may assure yourself that it requires more wit, as 
well as more good humour, to improve than to. 
contradict the notions of another : but if you are 
at any time obliged to enter on an argument, give 
your rcMon» with the utmost coolncna and mo- 


y«. 197. SPKCTATOK. S5 

destyy two things which scarce ever fail of mak« 
ing an impression on the hearers. Besides, if 
you are neither dogmatical, nor shew either by 
your actions or words, that you are full of your- 
self^ all will the more heartily rejoice at your vic- 
tory. Nay, should you be pinched in your argu* 
ment, you may make your retreat with a very 
good grace. You were never positive, and are 
now glad to be better informed. This has made 
some approve the Socratical way of reasoning, 
where, while you scarce affirm any thing, you can 
hardly be caught in an absurdity ; and though 
possibly you are endeavouring to bring over 
another to your opinion, which is firmly fixed, 
you seem only to desire information from him. 

In order to keep that temper which is so diffi- 
cult, and yet so necessary to preserve, you may 
please to consider, that nothing can be more un- 
just or ridiculous, than to be angry with another 
because he is not of your opinion. The interests, 
education, and means by which men attain their 
knowledge, are so very different, that it is impos- 
sible they should all think alike ; and he has at 
least as much reason to be angry with you, as you 
with him. Sometimes to keep yourself cool, it 
may be of service to ask yourself fairly, what 
might have been your opinion, had you all the 
biases of education and interest your adversary 
may possi})ly have ? But if you contend for the 
honour of victory alone, you may lay down this as 
an infallible maxim, that you cannot make a more 
false step, or give your antagonists a greater ad- 
vantage over you, than by falling into a passion. 

When an argument is over, how many weighty 
reasons does a man recollect, which his heat and 
violence made him utterly forget ? 

It is yet more absurd to be angry with ^ \sxss!l 

m fKOTATM* W: m. 

beetufe he doef not apprehend the Cvree off oitr 
reaeontf or (fire* weak onei of hU own. If ytm 
•rgue for reptttationt thi« nutke* your vietonr the 
eetier; he U certftlnlf In all reiipectf en oiijeeC 
of your pity, mther than anger f and if he cannot 
comprehend what you do, you ourht to thank 
nature for her faroun, wlio haf» given you to 
much the clearer undemtanding. 

You may pieaf»e to add tliif conaideratlont that 
among your equaift no one value* your anger^ 
which only preya upon it* master ( and perhapa 
you RUiy And it not very confii»tent either with 
prudence or your eaae to puninh yourself when- 
ever you meet with a fool or a knave. 

Laatly, if you propofMs to youraelf the true end 
of argument, wnicn i» information, it may he a 
acatonable check to your pawiion i for if vou iieareb 
purely alter truth, it will be aimont indifferent to 
you where vou And it I cannot in thif» place onrft 
an obaervation which I iutve often made, namely^ 
That nothing procure* a man more eiitcem and 
le»» envy from the whole companv, tiian if he 
chooaeft the part of a moderator, without ^ngag- 
ing directly on either tide in a dispute. Tma 
rivef him the cliaracter of impartial, fumiahea 
him with an opportuuitr of Nhimng thingf to the 
bottom, nhewing hi* juagment, and of aometimef 
making handsome compliments to each of the 
contending parties. 

I shall close this subject with giving you one 
cautbn. When you have gained a victory, do 
not push it too far; it is suAcient to let the com* 

Kny and your adversary see it is in your powerf 
t that you are too generous to make use of it. 

Ho. t^ «PECTAT09» $ 

No. 198. WEDNESDAY, OCT. 17, 1711. 

Cerva* luporum prteda rapaciunif 
Sectamur ultroy guos opimua 
FaUert et ejjf\igere ett triumphus. 

HoR.4 $SH 

We, Iflte ' weak hinds,' the brinded wolf proTDke^ 
And when retreat is victory, 
Bush on though sure to die. 


ThshB is a species of women, whom I shall dis- 
tinguish by the name of salamanders. Now a 
salamander is a kind of heroine in chastity, that 
treads upon fire, and lives in the midst of flames 
without being hurt. A salamander knows no dis- 
tinction of sex in those she converses with, grows 
familiar with a stranger at first sight, and is not 
so narrow-spirited as to observe whether the per- 
son she talks to be in breeches or petticoats. She 
admits a male visitant to her bed-side, plays with 
him a whole afternoon at picquet, walks with him 
two or three hours by moon-light, and is ex- 
tremely scandalized at the unreasonableness of a 
husband, or the severity of a parent, that would 
de])ar the sex from such innocent liberties. Your 
salamander is therefore a perpetual declaimer 
against jealousy, an admirer of the French good- 
breeding, and a great stickler for freedom in con- 
versation. In short the Salamander lives in an 
invincible state of simplicity and innocence. Her 
constitution is preserved in a kind of natural frost. 
She wonders what people mean by temptations, 

• An the editions of Horace read cervi : the Spectator al- 
tered it to oerrss, t9 adapt it more peenUarlj to the subject (tf 
^lis paper. 

r#x. JT' c 


and defies mankind to do their worst. Her chas* 
tity is engaged in a constant ordeal, or fiery trial : 
like good Queen Emma, the pretty innocent 
walks blindfold among burning plough-shares, 
without being scorched or singed by them. 

It is not therefore for the use of the salaman- 
der, whether in a married or a single state of life, 
that I design the following paper ; but for such 
females only as are made of fiesh and blood, and 
find themselves subject to human frailties. 

As for this part of the fair sex who are not of 
the salamander kind, I would most earnestly ad- 
vise them to observe a quite difierent conduct iu 
their behaviour ; and to avoid as mueh as possible 
what religion calls temptations, and the world 
opportunities. Did they but know how many 
thousands of their sex have been gradually betray- 
ed from innocent freedoms to ruin and infamy ; 
and how many millions of ours have begun with 
flatteries, protestations, and endearments, but en- 
ded with reproaches, perjury, and perfidiousness; 
they would shun like death the very first ap- 
proaches of one that might lead them into inex- 
tricable labyrinths of guilt and misery. I must so 
far give up the cause of the male world, as to 
exhort the female sex in the language of Chamont 
in the Orphan : 

Trust not to man, we are by nature false j 
IMssembling, subUe, cruel, and inconstant : 
Wben a man talks of love with caution trust him ; 
But if he swears, he'll^ certainly deceive thee. 

I mi^ht very much enlarge upon this subject, 
but shall conclude it with a story which 1 lately- 
heard from one of our Spanish ofiicers,* and 

* Viz. one of the English officers wbo had been employed Qk 
the war in Spam^ 

Ifo. 1»«. SPECTATOR. 9r 

which may shew the danger a woman incurs by 
too great familiarities with a male companion. 

An inhabitant of the kingdom of Castile, being 
a man of more than ordinary prudence, and of a 

frave composed behaviour, determined about the 
ftieth year of his age to enter upon wedlock* 
In order to make himself easy in it, he cast his 
eye upon a young woman who had nothing to 
recommend her but her beauty and her educa« 
tion, her parents having been reduced to great 
poverty by the wars, which for some years have 
laid that whole country waste. The Castilian 
having made his addresses to her and married her, 
they lived together in perfect happiness for some 
time; when at length the husband's affcurs made 
it necessary for him to take a voyage to the king- 
dom of Naples, where a great part of his estate 
lay. The wife loved him too tenderly to be left 
behind him^ They had not been a shipboard 
above a day, when they unluckily fell into the 
hands of an Algerine pirate, who carried the 
whole company oji shore, and made them slaves. 
The Castilian and his wife had the comfort to be 
under the same master; who seeing how dearly 
they loved one another, and gasped after their 
liberty 9 demanded a most exorbitant price for 
their ransom. The Castilian, though he would 
rather have died in slavery himself, than have 
paid such a sum as he found would go near to ruin 
him, was so moved with compassion towards his 
wife, that he sent repeated orders to his friend in 
Spain, (who happened to be his next relation) to 
sell his estate, and transmit the money to him. 
His friend, hoping that the terms of his ransom 
might be made more reasonable, and unwilling to 
sell an estate which he himself had some prospect 
4»f inheritii}^^ formed so many delay^^ \^^ \^^^^ 

m BPBCTATOB. W%, 111. 

whole yearf passed away without any thing being 
done for the scttuig them at lil^erty. 

There happened to live a French renegado in 
the same place where the Castilian and his wife 
were kept prisoners. As this fellow had in him 
all the vivacity of his nutiony he often entertained 
the captives with accounts of his own adventures ; 
to which he sometimes added a song or a danccf 
or some other piece of mirth, to divert them du- 
ring their confinement His acquaintance with 
the maimers of the Algerincs enabled him like* 
wise to do tiiem several good ofllices. The Cat* 
tliian, as he was one day in conversation with this 
renegadoy discovered to him the negligence and 
treachery of his correspondent in Castile, and at 
the same time asked his advice how he should 
behave himself in that exigency ; he further told 
the renegado, tliat he found it would be imposti* 
ble for him to raise the monev, unless he himself 
might go over to dispose of his estate. The rene* 
gado, after having represented to him that his 
Algerine master would never consent to hia 
release upon such a pretence, at length contrived 
a mctliod for the Castilian to make his escape in 
the haliit of a seaman. The Castilian succeeded 
in his attempt ; and having sold his estate, being 
afraid lest the money should miscarry by the way^ 
and determining to perish with it rather than lose 
one who was much dearer to him than his life» be 
returned himself in a little vessel that was going 
to Algiers. It is impossible to describe the joy 
he felt upon this occasion, when he considered 
that he should soon see the wife whom he so 
much loved, and endear himself more to her, by 
this uncommon piece of generosity. 

The rencgado, during the husband's absence^ 
«» iasinuAtod himself inxo Xha ^ood ^racea of hk 

Hko. 19t. SPfiCTATXm. JOI 

young wife, and so turned her head with stories of 
i;allantry, that she quickly thought him the finest 
gentleman she had ever conversed with. To be 
brief, her mind was quite alienated from the 
honest Castilian, whom she was taught to look up- 
on as a formal old fellow unworthy the possession 
of so charming a creature. She had been in- 
structed by the renegado how to manage herself 
upon his arrival ; so that she received him with 
an appearance of the utmost love and gratitude, 
and at length persuaded him to trust their com- 
mon friend the renegado with the money he had 
brought over for their ransom; as not questioning 
but he would beat down the terms of it, and 
negotiate the affair more to their advantage than 
they themselves could do. The good man admi- 
red her prudence, and followed her advice. I 
wish I could conceal the sequel of this story, but 
since I cannot, I shall dispatch it in as few words 
as possible. The Castilian having slept longer than 
ordinary the next morning, upon his awaking 
found his wife had left him. He immediately 
arose and inquired after her, but was told that sho 
was seen with the renegado about break of day« 
In a word, h&r lover having got all things ready 
for their departure, they soon made their escape 
out of the territories of Algiers, carried away the 
money, and left the Castilian in captivity ; who 
partly through the cruel treatment of the incen- 
sed Algerine his master, and partly through the 
unkind usage of his unfaitliful wife, died some 
few months after. L. 


aPECTATOH. Ma 199» 

No. 199. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 18, 1711. 

«««- Scriberejumi amor, 

OriD. £p. IT. 1U» 

Lore bade me write. 

Thb following letters are written with such an 
air of sincerity that I cannot deny the inserting of 


* Though you are every where in your 
writings a friend to women, I do not remember 
that you have directly considered the mercenary 
practice of men in the choice of wives. If you 
Vrill please to employ your tl^oughts upon that 
subject) you would easily conceive the miserable 
condition many of us are in, who not only from 
the laws of custom and modesty are restrained 
from making any advances towards our wishes, 
but are also, from the circumstance of fortune, 
out of all hopes of being addressed to by those 
lehom we love. Under all these disadvantages 
I am obliged to apply myself to you, and hope I 
shall prevul with you to print in your very next 
paper the loilowing letter, which is a declaration 
of passion to one who has made some fiednt ad* 
dresses to me for some time. I believe he ar* 
dently loves me, but the inequality of my fortune 
makes him thiiiK he cannot answer it to the 
world, if he pursues his designs by way of mar- 
riage; and I believe, as he does not want discern- 
ing, he discovered me looking at him the other 
day unawares, in such a manner, as has raised his 
hopes <?f gaixuDg ne on tenca tlxe msu call easier. 

No. M9. SPECTATOR. 51 

But my heart was very full on this occasion^ and 
if you know what love and honour are, you will 
pardon me that I use no farther arguments with 
you, but hasten to my letter to him, whom I call 
Oroondates ;* because if I do not succeed, it shall 
look like romance; and if I am regarded, you 
shall receive a pair of gloves at my wedding, sent 
to you under the name of Statira.' 


* SIR, 

* After vpry much perplexity in myself, 
and revolving how to acquaint you with my own 
tentiments, and expostulate with you concerning 
yours, I have chosen this way, by which means I 
ean be at once revealed to you, or if you please, 
lie concealed. If I do not within a few days find 
the effect which I hope from this, the whole af- 
fair shall be buried in oblivion. But alas 1 what 
am I going to do, when I am about to tell you that 
I love you ? But after I have done so, I am to as- 
sure you, that with all the passion which ever en- 
tered a tender heart, I know I can banish you 
from my sight for ever, when I am convinced that 
you have no inclinations towards me but to my 
dishonour. But alas! sir, why should you sacri- 
fice the real and essential happiness of life to the 
•pinion of a world, that moves upon no other 
foundation but professed error and prejudice? 
You all can observe that riches alone do not make 
you happy, and yet give up every thing else 
when it stands in competition with riches. Since 
the world is so bad, that religion is left to us silly 
women, and you men act generally upon prin- 

* A celebrated name in Mademoiselle Scudeiy'i French 
tpBuaceofThe Gnuid CyruSf kc. 


ciplcft of profit and plcafiure, I will talk to you 
witiiout arguing from any thing but what may be 
moHt to your advantage, aii a man of the world. 
And 1 will lay before you the state of the catCi 
suppoHing that you had it in ^our power to make 
me your mUtrc«» or your wife, and hope to con- 
vince you that the latter is more for your interest} 
and will contribute more to your pleasure. 

^ We will suppose then the scene was laid, and 
you were now in expectation oi the approaching 
evening wherein 1 was to meet you, and be carried 
to what convenient corner of the town you thought 
fit, to consummate all which your wanton imagin- 
ation has promised to you in the possession oi one 
who is in the bloom oi youth, and in the reputation 
of innocence. You would soon have enough of 
me, as I am sprightly, young, gay, and airy. When 
fancy is sated, and finds all the promises it made 
itself false, where is now th« innocence which 
charmed you ? The first hour you are alone, yuu 
will find that the pleasure of a debauchee is only 
that of a destroyer. He blasts ail tho fruit he 
tastes ; and where the brute has been devouring} 
there is nothing left worthy the relish of the man. 
Reason resumes her place after imagination is 
cloyed ; and 1 am with the utmost distress and 
confusion to behold myself the cause of uneasy 
reflections to you, to be visited by stealth, and 
dwell for the future with two companions (the 
most unfit for each other in the world) solitude 
and guilt. I will not insist upon the shameful 
obscurity we should pass our time in, nor run over 
the little short snatches of fresh air, and free 
commerce, which all people must be satisfied 
with, whose actions will not bear examination, 
but leave them to your reflections, who have seen 

enough of tliat life, of which I have but a mere 

Vo. 119. SPECTATf R. jIt 

* On the other hand, if yt)u cjon be so good and 
generous as to make me your wife, you may 
promise yourself all the obedience and ten- 
derness with which gratitude can inspire a vir- 
tuous woman. Whatever gratifications you may 
promise yourself from an agreeable person, 
whatever compliances from an easy temper, what- 
ever consolations from a sincere friendship, you 
may expect as the due of your generosity. What 
at present in your ill view you promise yourself 
from me, will be followed with distaste and sar 
tiety; but the transports of a virtuous love are 
Ihe least part of its happiness. The raptures of 
innocent passion are but like lightning to the day, 
they rather interrupt than advance Uie pleasure 
of it. How happy then is that life to be, where 
the highest pleasures of sense are but the lowest 
parts of its felicity ? 

* Now am I to repeat to you the unnatural re- 
quest of taking me in direct terms. I know there 
etands between me and that happiness, the haughty 
daughter of a man who can give you suitability to 
your fortune. But if you weigh the attendance 
and behaviour of her who comes to you in pari 
nership of your fortune, and expects an equiV^^ 
lent, with that of her who enters your house til%\tj^^ 
honoured and obliged by that permission, whofll'- 
of the two will you choose ? You, perhaps, will 
think fit to spend a day abroad in the common en- 
tertainments of men of sense and fortune ; she 
will think herself ill used in that absence, and 
contrive at home an expense proportioned to the 
appearance which you make in the world. She 

is in all things to have a regard to the fortune 
which she brought you, I to the fortune to 
which you introduce me. The commerce be- 
tween you two will eternally have lYv^ «it ol ^ 
Bwgain, between us of a friendaVup •• \o^ vi>\\ 

H aPRCTATOR. 1^ W9l 

ever enter into the room with you, and kind 
wishes attend my benefactor when he leaves it. 
Ask yourself how would you be pleased to enjoy 
for ever the pleasure of having laid an immediate 
obligation on a grateful mind r Such vUl be your 
case with me. In the other marriage you will 
Uve in a constant comparison of benefits, and ne« 
ver know the happiness of conferring or receivin^p 

< It m&f be you will, after all, act rather in the * 
prudential way, according to the sense of the or- 
dinary world. I know not what I think or say^ 
when that melancholy reflection comes upon me; 
but shall only add more, that it is in your power 
to make me your grateful wife, but never your 
abandoned mistress.' T. 


JJ^. 200. FRIDAY, OCTOBER 19, 171 1. 

Vincit amor patridt-^'^ 

ViRG. JEn. vi. 831. 

.The noblest motive is the public good. 

The ambition of princes is many times as hurt- 
ful to themselves as to their people. This can- 
not be doubted of such as prove unfortunate in 
ttu^ir wars, but it is often true too of those who 
are celebrated for their successes. If a severe 
riew were to be taken of their conduct, if the pro- 
fit and loss by their wars could be justly balancedi 
it would be rarely found that the conquest is suf- 
ficient to repay the cost. 

As I was the other day looking over the lettera 
«f my correspondents) 1 tooW tV^^ l\v\xt fr«m that 

iTo. 919. SPECTATOR. |5 

of Philarithmus ; which has turned irvy present 
thoughts upon political arithmetic, an art of great- 
er use than entertainment. My friend has offer- 
ed an Essay towards proving that Louis XIV. 
with all his acquisitions is not master of more 
people than at the beginning of his wars, nay, that 
for every subject he had acquired, he had lost 
three that were his inheritance. If Philarithmus 
is not mistaken in his calculations, Lewis must 
have been impoverished by his ambition. 

The prince for the public good has a sovereign 
property in every private person's estate ; and 
consequently his riches must increase or decrease 
in proportion to the number and riches of his sub- 
jects. For example ; if sword or pestilence should 
destroy all the people of this metropolis, (God 
forbid there should be room for such a supposi- 
tion ! but if this should be the case) the queen 
must needs lose a great part of her revenue, or 
at least, what is charged upon the city, must in- 
crease the burden upon the rest of her subjects. 
Perhaps the inhabitants here are not above a tenth 
part of the whole ; yet as they are better fed,, and 
clothed, and lodged, than her other subjects, the 
customs and excises upon their consumption, the 
imposts upon their houses, and other taxes, do 
very probably make a fifth part of the whole re- 
venue of the crown. But this is not all ; the con- 
sumption of the city takes off a great part of the 
fruits of the whole island ; and as it pays such a 
proportion of the rent or yearly value of the lands 
m the country, so it is the cause of paying such a 
proportion of taxes upon those lands. The loss 
then of such a people must needs be sensible to 
the prince, and visible to th£ whole kingdom. 

On the other hand, if it should please God 19 
drop from heaven a new people equttl Vxv iv>OLic^tt 

34 8PECTAT0B. ^m, 

tnd riches to the city, I should be ready to think 
their excises^ customs, and house-rent would 
raise as great a revenue to the crown as would be 
lost in the former case. And as the consump* 
tion of this new body would be a new market for 
the fruits of the country, all the lands, especiallf 
those most adjacent, would rise in their yearlf 
▼aluc, and pay greater yearly taxes to the public 
The gain in this case would be as sensible as the 
former loss. 

Whatsoever is assessed upon the general, is 
levied upon individuals. It were worth the while 
then to consider what is paid by, or by means ol^ 
the meanest subjects, in order to compute the va« 
lue of every subject to the prince. 

For my own part, I should believe that seven- 
eighths of the people are without property in 
themselves, or the heads of their families, and 
forced to work for their daily bread ; and that of this 
sort there are seven millions in the whole island 
of Great fiiitain : and yet one would imagine that 
seven-eighths of the whole people should con- 
sume at least three-fourths of the whole fruits of 
the country. If this is the case, the subjects 
without property pay three-fourths of the rentSy 
and consequently enable the landed men to pay 
three-fourths of their taxes. Now if so great a 
part of the land-tax were to be divided by seven 
millions, it would amount to more than three 
shillings to every head And thus as the poor 
are the cause, without which the rich could not 
pay this tax, even the poorest subject is, upon 
this account, worth three shillings yearly to the 

Again, one would imagine the consumption of 
•even-eighths of the whole people should pay two- 
tbirdB of aU the custotoa sAii «il»&6v Axk if ttatt 

9a. sot). SPECTATOR. »7 

sum too should be divided by seven millions) viz. 
the number of poor people, it vrould amount to 
more than seven shillings to every head: and 
therefore with this and the former sum every 
poor subject, without property, except of his limbs 
or labour, is worth at least ten shillings yearly to 
the sovereign. So much then the queen loses 
with eveiy one of her old, and gains with every 
one of her new subjects. 

When I was got into this way of thinking, I 
presently grew conceited of the argument, and 
was just preparing to write a letter of advice to a 
member of parliament, for opening the freedom 
of our towns and trades, for taking away all man- 
ner of distinctions between the natives and fo- 
reigners, for repealing our laws of parish settle- 
ments, and removing every other obstacle to the 
increase of the people. But as soon as I had re- 
collected with what inimitable eloquence my fel- 
low-labourers had exaggerated the mischiefs of 
selling the birth-right of Britons for a shilling,* 
of spoiling the pure British blood with foreign 
mixtures, of introducing a confusion of languages 
and religions, and of letting in strangers to eat 
the bread out of the mouths of our own people, I 
became so humble as to let my project fall to the 
ground, and leave my country to increase by the 
ordinary way of generation. 

As I have always at heart the public good so I 
am ever contriving schemes to promote it; and I 
think I may without vanity pretend to have con- 
trived some as wise as any of the castle-builders. 

• This 18 an ironical allusion to some of the popular argu- 
jnents tliat had been urged in the year 1708, when a bill wu!i 
broug;ht in for the naturalization of forei^ protestante; which, 
on account of the odium railed against it, did not pass into a 

VOL, ir> M 

M ftPECTATOB. No. 40% 

I had no sooner given up my former project, but 
my head was presently full of draininf^ fens and 
marshes, banking out. the sea, and joining new 
lands to my country ; for since it is thought im« 

{>racticable to increase the people to the land, I 
ell immediately to consider how much would be 
gained to the prince by increasing the land to the 

It the same omnipotent power which made the 
world, should at this time raise out of the occan^ 
and join to Great Britain an equul extent of lundf 
with equal buildings, com, cattle, and other con- 
veniences and necessaries of life, but no men, 
women, nor children, 1 should hardly believe thii 
would add either to the riches of the people, or 
revenue of the prince ; for since the present buil- 
dings are sufficient for all the inhubitantH, if any 
of them should forttake the old to inhabit the new 
part of the island, the increuie of house -rent in 
this would be attended with at least an equal de* 
crease of it in the other. Besides, we have such 
a sufficiency of corn and cattle, that we give boun- 
ties to our neighbours to take what exceeds of the 
former off our hands, and we will not suffer any 
of the latter to be imported upon us by our fellow* 
subjects; and for the remaining product of the 
country, 'tis already equal to all our markets. 
But if all these things should be doubled to the 
same buyers, the owners must be glad with hall 
their present prices, the landlords with half theii 
present rents : and thus by so great an enlarge* 
mcntof the country, the rents in the whole wouk 
not increase, nor the taxes to the public. 

On the contrary, I should believe they wouk 

be very much diminished ; for as the land is onl) 

valuable for its fruits, and these are all perishable 

Mnd for the most part must Qvthct be used within 

Ifo. fOa. SFECTATOR. 99 

tiie year, or perish without use, the owners will 
get rid of them at any rate, rather than they 
•hould waste in their possc&sion; so that it is 
probable the annual production of those perisha- 
ble things, eyen of the tenth part of them, beyond 
all possibility of use, will reduce one half of their 
Talue. It seems to be for this reason that our 
neighbour merchants who ingross all the spices, 
and know how great a quantity is equal to the de- 
mand, destroy all that exceeds it. It were natu- 
ral then to think that the annual production of 
twice as much as can be used, must reduce all to 
an eighth part of their present prices ; and thus 
this extended island would not exceed one-fourth 

Eirt of its present value, or pay more than one- 
urth part of the present tax. 
It is generally observed, that in countries of 
the greatest plenty there is the poorest living; 
like the schoolman's ass in one of my specula- 
tions, the people almost starve between two 
meals. The truth is, the poor, which are the bulk 
of a nation, work only that they may live ; and if 
with two days' labour they can get a wretched 
subsistence, they will hardly be brought to work 
the other four. But then with the wages of two 
days they can neither pay such prices for their 
provisions, nor such excises to the government. 

That paradox therefore in old Hesiod, v\io9 
wytpv varrofy or, * half is more than the whole,' is 
very applicable to the present case ; since nothing 
is more true in political arithmetic, than that the 
same people with half a country is more valuable 
than with the whole. I begin to think there was 
nothing absurd in Sir W. Petty, when he fancied 
if all the highlands of Scotland and the whole 
kingdom of Ireland were sunk in the ocean, so 
that the people were all saved and btoxx^Vw v\^^ 

40 nprArrsnm. nt$. w. 

the lowlanHA of Omttt nriiitln; tmy» (ttouKh thity 
wtre to bo rrirnbumfKi (hr vnluc of their cAtAtcA by 
the l»od^ of the poopl^t yet both iht. Aovorti^n tind 
thf) Mtbjectt in i^enertil wotild be enriched by tho 
very lotn. 

If the people only muko tlie ric hefi, the futher 
of ten ehilrlren it u greater benrfuittor to liiii coun- 
try, than he who hii» mU\t*.i\ to it Io/h^o ttcrm of 
liuidf uttd no people, tt \n certuin Lrwlii hA« join- 
ed vilNt trACtn 01 Ittnd to hin dotninionii } but if 
Phllarithntut iittvii true, thut he \n niH now nmtiter 
of no nruiny Aubjettft ftn before; we muy then m;« 
eoitnt for liin not t>einK ^^^^^ ^^* I^Hok au( h ini^htx 
nrniiet into the Aeldt und lor their Uv.\u\^ neithrr mt 
well fedt nor elothed, nor puid tiH formerly. The 
reufion in pluin* LewlM tnuNt hee(U Imvr. been itn- 
poverinhed not onl^ l)y bin lonn of nubjrctiii but 
by hit oecjuinition oi lund». T. 

No. 201. SATU«1)AY, OCTOHKH 30, 1711, 

M$Ug$n(9m rii$0 nporttt, r§Uffh9um nrfat. 

Itim^t'tl AiiioiliiNtiud Aul.Oell. 

A tniifi khiniUl hp vt^W^nxn, ncit MiifrrnUilfMiN. 

It \% of the ItiHt importunce toneuMm the pAfuiionf 
of « child with devotion* which seldom dirfi in k 
tnind that bun received un enrly tin( ture of it. 
Thou^b it mitv fternt ottinKtii^hed for u while 
by tho curoft oi the world, the he utM of youth* or 
the ttlluretnentf^ of vico, it f^enerMlly bretikH out 
iind dittcovem itself tti^uin ufi noon mh diHcreitont 
conniderMtion, iige, or tniNfortunen Imve brought 
the mun to himnelf. The Are muy bo covered unit 

ITa mi. SfECT ATOJI. 4 

overlaid, but caimot be endreljr quenched and 

A state of temperance, sobriety, and justicet 
without devotion, is a cold, lifeless, insipid condi- 
tion of virtue ; and b rather to be styled {dniloso- 
phy than religion. Devotion opens the mind to 
great conceptions, and fills it with more sublime 
ideas than any that are to be met with in the most 
exalted science; and at the same time warms 
and agitates the soul more than sensual pleasure* 

it has been observed by some writers, that man 
is more distinguished from the animal world bj 
devcrtion than by reason, as several brute crea- 
tures discover in their actions something like a 
§bmA glimmering of reason, though they betray 
in no single circumstance of their behaviour any 
thing that bears the least affinity to devotion* It 
is certain, the propensity of the mind to religious 
worship^ the natural tendency of the soul to fly to 
sotne superior being ibr succour in dangers and 
distresses, the gratii^eto an invisible superinten- 
dent which arises in us upon receiving any extra- 
ordinary and unexpected good fortune, the acts of 
love and admiration with which the thoughts of 
men are so wonderfully transported in meditating 
upon the divine perfections, and the universal con- 
currence of all the nations under heaven in the 
great article of adoration, plainly shew that devo- 
tion or religious worship must be the effect of 
tradition from some first founder of mankind, or 
that it is conformable to the natural light of rea- 
son, or that it proceeds from an instinct implan- 
ted in the soul itself. For my part, I look upon 
all these to be the concurrent causes : but which- 
ever of them shall be assigned as the principle of 
divine worship, it manifestly points to a Suprense 
Being as the fiirst author of it* 


«9 SPECTATOR. No. 901. 

I may take some other opportunity of consider- 
ing those particular forms and methods of devo- 
tion which are taught us by Christianity ; but shall 
here observe into what errors even this divine 
principle may sometimes lead us, when it is not 
moderated by that right reason which was given 
us as the guide of all our actions. 

The two great errors into which a mistaken de- 
votion may betray us, are enthusiasm and super- 

There is not a more melancholy object than a 
man who has his head turned with a religious 
enthusiasm. A person that is crazed, though 
with pride or malice, is a sight very mortifying 
to human nature ; but when the distemper arises 
from any indiscreet fervours of devotion, or too 
intense an appiication of the mind to its mistaken 
duties, it deserves our compassion in a more par* 
ticular manner. We may however learn this 
lesson from it, that since devotion itself (which 
one would be apt to think could not be too warm) 
may disorder the mind, unless its heats are tem- 
pered with caution and prudence, we should be 
particularly careful to keep our reason as cool as 
possible, and to guard ourselves in all parts of life 
against the influence of passion, imagination, and 

Devotion, when it does not lie under the check 
of reason, is very apt to degenerate into enthu- 
siasm. When the mind finds herself very much 
inflamed with her devotions, she is too much in- 
clined to think they are not of her own kindling, 
but blown up by something divine within her. 
If she indulges this thought too far, and humours 
the growing passion, she at last flings herself 
into imaginary natures and ecstasies; and when 
49ncc she fancies herself under the influence of a 

2«XK 201. SPECTATOR. 49 

divine impulse, it is no wonder if she slights hu- 
man ordinances^ and refuses to comply with any- 
established form of religion, as thinking herself 
directed by a much superior guide. 

As enthusiasm is a kind of excess in devotion, 
superstition is the excess, not only of devotion, 
but of religion in general, according to an old 
heathen saymg, quoted by Aulus Gellius,* ' Reli- 
gent em etae ofiortety religioaum nefaa ;' * A man 
should be religious, not superstitious.' For as 
the author tells us, Nigidius observed upon this 
passage, that the Latin words which terminate in 
cans generally imply vicious characters,^ and the 
having of any quality to an excess. 

An enthusiast in religion is like an obstinate 
clown, a superstitious man like an insipid cour- 
tier. Enthusiasm has something in it of madness, 
superstition of folly. Most of the sects that fall 
short of the church of England have in them 
strong tinctures of enthusiasm, as the Roman ca- 
tholic religion is one huge overgrown body of 
childish and idle superstitions. 

The Roman catholic church seems indeed ir- 
recoverably lost in this particular. If an absurd 
dross or behaviour be introduced in the world, it 
will soon be found out and discarded. On the 
contrary, a habit or ceremony, though never so 
ridiculous, which has taken sanctuary in the 
church, sticks in it for ever. A Gothic bishop, 
perhaps, thought it proper to repeat such a form 
in such particular shoes or slippers; another 
fancied it would be very decent if such a part of 
public devotions were performed with a mitre on 
his head, and a crosier in his hand. To this a 
brother Vandal, as wise as the others, adds an an- 
tic dress, wluch he conceived would allude very 

* Noetes Atticse, lib. iv. ca;;). 9. 

44 SraCTATOR. Na fl6l. 

a|>t]y to such and luch niytteriest till by degrees 
the whole office has degenerated into an emptjr 

Their succ«asors see the Tanit^ and inconve« 
fiience of the ceremonieii ; but inutead of reform- 
ing) perhaps add othens which they think more 
significant^ and which take possession in the 
same manner, and arc never to be driven out after 
they have been once admitted. I have seen the 
Pope officiate at St. Peter's, where, for two hours 
together, he was busied in putting on or off his 
different accoutrements, according to the differ- 
ent parts he was to act in them. 

Nothing is so glorious in the eyes of mankind, 
and ornamental to human nature, setting aside 
the infinite advantages which arise from it, as a 
strong, steady, n^asculine piety ; but enthusiasm 
and superstition are the weaknesses of human 
reason, that expose us to the scorn and derision 
of infidels, and sink us even below the beasts that 

Idolatry may be looked upon as another error 
arising from mistaken devotion ; but because re- 
flections on that subject would be of no use to an 
Epglish reader, I shall not enlarge upon it. 


To. 202- SPECTATOR. 45 

No. 202. MONDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1711. 

Sape decern vitiit imti'uctior, odit et horret. 

HoR. 1 £p. XTiii. 25. 

Though ten times worse themselves, you'll frequent view 
Those n ho with keenest i*age will censure you. 


The other day as I passed along the street, I saw- 
sturdy 'prentice boy disputing with a hackney - 
oachman ; and in an instant, upon some word of 
irovocation, throw off his hat and periwig, clench 
is fist, and strike the fellow a slap on the face; 
t the same time calling him rascal, and telling 
im he was a gentleman's son. The young gen- 
leman was, it seems, bound to a blacksmith ; and 
le debate arose about payment for some work 
one about a coach, near which they fought. His 
laster, during the combat, was full of his boy's 
raises ; and as he called to him to play with his 
and and foot, and throw in his head, he made all 
8 who stood round him of his party, by declaring 
le boy had very good friends, and he could trust 
im with untold gold. As I am generally in the 
leory of mankind, I could not but make my 
sflections upon the sudden popularity which was 
used about the lad ; and perhaps with my friend 
*acitus, fell into observations upon it, which were 
)o great for the occasion ; or ascribed this ge- 
eral favour to causes which had nothing to do 
awards it. But the young blacksmith being a 
entleman, was, methought, what created him 
ood-will from his present equality with the mob 
Jout him. Add to this, that he was not so much 
gentleman, as not, at the .same time that he 
illed himself such, to ase as rough melVvod^fe^ 

46 8FRCTAT0B. No. 9^ 

his defence as his ai)tag;onist. The advantage of 
his having good friends, as his master expressed 
it, was not lazily urged ; but he shewed himself 
superior to the coachman in the personal quali- 
ties of courage and activity, to confirm that of his 
being well allied, before his birth was of any ser- 
vice to him. 

If one might moralize from this silly story, a 
man would say, that whatever advantages of for- 
tune, birth, or any other good, people possess 
above the rest of the world, they should shew col- 
lateral emincncics besides those distinctions ; or 
those distinctions will avail only to keep up com- 
mon decencies and ceremonies, and not to pre- 
serve a real place of favour or esteem in the opi- 
nion and common sense of their fellow -creatures. 

The folly of people's procedure, in imagining 
that nothing more is necessary than property and 
superior circumstances to support them in dis- 
tinction, appears in no way so much as in the do- 
mestic part of life. It is ordinary to feed their 
humours into unnatural excrescences, if I may so 
speak, and make their whole being a wayward and 
uneasy condition, for want of the obvious reflcc* 
tion that all parts of human life is a commerce. 
It is not only paying wages, and giving commands^ 
that constitutes a master of a family ; but pru« 
dence, equal behaviour, with readiness to protect 
and cherish them, is what entitles a man to that 
character in their very hearts and sentiments. It 
is pleasant enough to observe, that men expect 
from their dependents, from their sole motive of 
fear, all the good cifccts which a liberal educa- 
tion, and affluent fortune, and every other advan- 
tage, cannot produce in themselves. A man will 
have his servant just, diligent, sober, and chaste> 
ibr no other reasons but Uvi^ letter of losing his 


master's favour ; when all the laws divine and hu- 
man cannot keep him whom he serves within 
bounds^ with relation to any one of those virtues. 
But both in great and ordinary affairs, all supe- 
riorityy which is not founded on merit and virtue^ 
Is supported only by artifice and stratagem. Thus 
you see flatterers are the agents in families of 
humourists, and those who govern themselves 
by any thing but reason. Make -bates, distant re- 
lations, poor kinsmen, and indigent followers, are 
the fry which support the economy of an hu- 
moursome rich man. He is eternally whispered 
with intelligence of who are true or false to him 
in matters of no consequence, and he maintains 
twenty friends to defend him against the insinua- 
tions of one who would perhaps cheat him of an 
old coat 

I shall not enter into farther speculation upon 
this subject at present, but think the followmg 
letters and petition are made up of proper senti- 
ments on this occasion. 


^ I AM a servant to an old lady who is go- 
verned by one she calls her friend ; who is so 
&miliar an one, that she takes upon her to advise 
her without being called to it, and makes her un- 
easy with all about her. Pray, sir, be pleased to 
give us some remarks upon voluntary counsel- 
lors ; and let these people know that to give any 
body advice, is to say to that person, <' I am your 
betters." Pray, sir, as near as you can, describe 
that eternal flirt and disturber of families, Mrs. 
CTaperty, who is always visiting, and putting 
people in a way, as they call it. If you can make 
iicr stay at home one evening, you will be a gene 

41 upvMATou. n^, mn. 

ral hr.nv.hf.UiY of nil \\\p. litdict^ womfttt \t% tiiwf»f 
utid iMrlkiilarly fo 

Voiir lovih(c frirtMtf 

Si nAO Civil./ 

• MN, «ffc«"f ATOM, 

M AM tt foo(rrtittt) titi'1 livf! nith onr of fhoMi 
incTfi, rurfi #if whom in ^M in Ur our of lh« fiitM- 
liiifrioiiml Mirrt Iti ffir wothlt trnt tlmf Up. U pM«»- 
M<#fiiitrt. Pr»y hn |))r(m( «1 to iiifonn th<*rrtt thtit hf 
%hoU iiiiMioimtr, mu\ tfikrM no f ;trr fo 'ofiifniiml 
iiU httntiMrHUt flor% triorr; iojufy to tiU ftiriirU afiil 
nrrvMitn \u our. Imlf hour, thiifi wholr yn^rn rari 
Utohc for, TU\% inimiT of miiiii?, who iii tfi^ Urni 
tnMinllvi! in r-otntooii fjifn**, fli<ioh}|(/f'n «otnrhoiljr 
cvrry <lttv hfr Jivr^j dofl «itf'ikr«i for for thr nitxt 
thitit; I nO| hrt'Annr. hr U oi|t of htirooor fit i*. If 
ihri»« l^roilrntrti ktt*-// that Ihry Ho (ill ihr mU' 
ctii^J thiit U rvrr Hohr ht « otivrr«»{it»oo, fhry 
woithl rrform j «fMl I who huvi^ hrrn a M|>ri tfttor 
of j/roMrtnrh {it fliiiorr for foaoy yvMi^f huvr Hrrn 
thwt iiiHincrr tioii <lo»;* fo iWio'h morr oiU' h'tr f 
UiMO ill-otif(irf . Hot you will rrjirrHrni \U\% lirt- 

Your tthtmcH hutnhh^ <irrv;«fit, 

TuoMIt; Hmokt/ 

77; 77//; NP Err. /iron 

* The humfil»t |irti(ioo ol Jofui StrwJirrl, Hohirrf 
liuHrr, llfit'iy ('ookf ioi'l Ahi^;iil ( li^tfitlirro, jy 
hrhtiH ol fhroi<»rlv< «i*umI ihcir tr |.,iioof» hrloiijj- 
hue *'' **'''' flUprr^ril in ihf^ «»'V' iil :•,» rvi^rc* of 
U\tM of th'- Kifi»f fuoili't; withui \U'. <.itir«iof 
i«o/»(lott t*U'l W''*Jtunu#t«:r i 

• Shrwrfh, 

*7'irAT hi tnjuiy o( thr fnmilicft in whi' l» 

your pii\X\iQMn liY^ v^ud wii wv\Au^^Ok>vVi ^«*n* 

1^0. 90SL SPECTATOR. 4i 

ral heads of them are wholly unacquainted with 
what is business, and are very little judges when 
they are well or ill used by us your said peti- 

< That for want of such skill in their own affairs, 
and by indulgence of their own laziness and pride, 
they continually keep about them certain mis- 
chievous animals called spies. 

* That whenever a spy is entertained, the peace 
of that house is from that moment banished. 

< That spies never give an account of good ser- 
vices, but represent our mirth and freedom by the 
words, wantonness and disorder. 

^That in all families where there are spies, 
there is a general jealousy and misunderstanding. 

* That the masters and mistresses of such 
houses live in continual suspicion of their ingenu- 
ous and true servants, and are given up to the 
management of those who are false and per- 

* That such masters and mistresses who enter- 
tain spies, are no longer more than cyphers in 
their own families ; and that we your petitioners 
are with great disdain obliged to pay all our res- 
pect, and expect all our maintenance from such 

* Your petitioners therefore most humbly pray, 
that you would represent the premises to ail 
persons of condition ; and your petitioners, as 
in duty bound, shall for ever pray, Sec' 


roL» IV. 

W traCTATOB. ]r«. 9^. 

No. 30a. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 33, in I. 

Phmbe pater, $i dat hujut ndhi fumini§ u$um 
JVVc fiUad Clffmrtte riiipum wub inutgifui eetatf 
JPignora da, gemtor 

Ovid. Met U. S$. 

mattrioat ptrent ! \f I yet may eUim 
The tuimc of tttii, O rcM:«ie me froui fhsme ; 
Mx mrrther't truth tsttufirm i nJI doubt remore 
hy tender plcdgef of « fuUier** love. 

There is a loose tribe of men whom I have not 
yet taken notice of, that ramble iiito all the comers 
«»f this great city, in order to scdure such unfortu- 
nate females as fall into ihrir walks. These aban- 
doned profli(;utes raise up if:sue in every rjuarter 
of the town, and very olicn, for a valuable con- 
sider Jtioi*, fathci it up<>ii the churchwarden. By 
this means there art several married men who 
have a little family in most of the piHshes of 
LfOndon and Westriiinsier, and several bachelors 
Vrho arc un<ionc hy a charge of children. 

When a man once ^ives himseii this liberty of 

Jreying at large, and aving upon the common, he 
nds so much i^ame in a (MipuiouM city, that it it 
•urpriaing to consider the numbers which he 
eometimes propagates. We sec many a young 
fellow who is scarce of age, that could lay hit 
claim iotUejuiirium iibcrorurnj or the privileges 
which were granted by the Hornan laws to all 
•uch as were lathers of three children. Nay, I 
)iave heard a rake, who was not quite five and 
twenty, declare himself the father of a seventh 
son, and very prudently determine to breed him 
Up a physician. In short, the town is full of 

ibc§9 /ouiig paimrcliS) uot to mentiou sereral 

ye. «0t. SPECTATOR. || 

battered beaus, who, like heedless spendthrifts 
that squander away their estates before they are 
masters of them, have raised up their whole 
stock of children before marriage. 

I must not here omit the pdrticular whim of an 
impudent libertine, that had a little smattering of 
heraldry; and observing how the g&nealogies of 
great families were often driwn up in the shape 
of trees, had taken a fancy to dispose of his ow5 
illegitimate issue in a figure of the same kind t 

- JVtfC longwn temput et ingena 

JExiit ad ccelum ramie Jelicibua arbot, 
JHiraturque novatfrondcB, ei non 6ua poma, 

ViRO Georg. U. SQ. 

And in thort spaee the laden boughi ariie. 
With happy fruit advancing to the skici : 
The mother plant admires the leaves unknown 
Of alien trecsi and apples not her own. 


The trunk of the tree was marked with his owi> 
name. Will Muple. Out of the side ol it grew a 
large barren branch, inscribed Mary Maple, the 
name of his unhappy wife. The head was adorned 
with five huge boughs. On the bottom of the 
first was written in capital characters Kate Cole, 
who branched out into three sprigs, viz. William, 
Richard, and Rebecca. Sal Twiford gave birth 
to another bough that shot up into Sarah, Tom, 
Will, and Frank. The third am\ of the tree had 
only a single infant on it, with a space left for a 
second, the parent from whom it sprung being 
near her time when the author took this ingeni- 
ous device into his head. The two other great 
boughs were very plentifully loaden with fruit of 
the same kind; besides which there were many 
ornamental branches that did not bear. In shor^ 


a more flourishing; tree never came out of the 
herald's office. 

What makes this generation of vermin so very 
prolific, is the indefatigable diligence >vith which 
they apply themselves to their business. A man 
does not undergo more watchings and fatigues in 
a campaign, than in the course of a vicious amour. 
As it is said of some men, that they make their 
business their pleasure, these sons of darkness 
may be said to make their pleasure their busi- 
ness. They might conquer their corrupt incli- 
nations with half the pains they are at in gratify* 
ing them. 

Nor is the invention of these men less to be ad- 
mired than their industry and vigilance. There is 
a fragment of Apollodorus the comic poet (who 
was contrtnporary with Menander) which is full 
of humour, as follows: 'Thou mayestshutupthy 
doors/ says he, ' with bars and bolts. It will be 
impossible for the blacksmith to make them so 
fast, but a cat and a whore-master will iind a way 
through them.' In a word, there is no head so 
full of stratagems as that of a libidinous man. 

Were I to propose a punishment for this infa- 
mous race of propagators, it should be to send 
them, after the second or third offence, into our 
American colonies* in order to people those parts 
of her majesty's dominions where there is a want 
of inhabitants, and in the phrase of Diogenes, to 
* plant men.' Some countries punish this crimo 
with death ; but 1 think such a banishment would 
be sufficient, and might turn this generative fa- 
culty to the advantage of the public. 

In the mean time, until these gentlemen may 

be thus disposed of, I would earnestly exhort them 

to take care of those unfortunate creatures whom 

theyhsLYG brought into tha vfotVdb'j tjtveue indi- 


rect ihethbds, and to give their spuriouft children 
auch an education as may render them more vir* 
tuous than their parents. This is the best 
atonement they can make for their own crimes^ 
and indeed the only method that is left them to 
repair their past miscarriages. 

I would likewise desire them to consider, whe- 
ther they are not bound in common humanity, as 
well as by all the obligations of religion and na- 
ture, to make some provision for those whom they 
have not only given life to, but entailed upon 
them, though very unreasonably^ a degree of 
shame and disgrace. And here I cannot but take 
notice of those depraved notions which prevail 
among us, and which must have taken rise from 
our natural inclination to favour a vice to which 
we are so very prone, namely, that bastardy and 
cuckoldom should be looked upon as reproaches; 
and that the ignominy which is only due to lewd- 
ness and falsehood, should fall in so unreasonable 
a manner upon the persons who are innocent. 

I have been insensibly drawn into this discourse 
by the following letter, which is drawn up with 
such a spirit of sincerity, that I question not but 
the writer of it has represented his case in a true 
and genuine light. 


*I AM one of those people who by the 
^neral opinion of the world are counted both 
mfamous and unhappy. 

< My father is a very eminent man in this king- 
dom, and one who bears considerable offices in it. 
lam his son, but my misfortune is. That i dare 
not call him father, nor he without shame own me 
8B his issue, I being illegitimate, and therefore 
deprired of that endearing tenderne^^ axiduxi^^- 

s Z 

5^ BPECTATinL No. §0& 

alleled ftatisfaction which a good man finds in th 
love and conversation of a parent Neither hav 
I the opportunities to render him the duties of 
son, he having always carried himself at so vast 
distance, and with such superiority towards rai 
that by long use I have contracted a timorousnea 
when before him, which hinders me from deck 
ring my own necessities, and giving him to undci 
stand the inconveniences I undergo. 

< It is my misfortune to have !)ccn neither brc 
a scholar, a soldier, nor to any kind of businesi 
which renders me entirely incapable of mukin 
provision for myself without his assistance ; an 
this creates a continual uneasiness in my mim 
fearing I shall in time want bread; my father, i 
I may so call him, giving me but very fuuit assu 
ranees of doing any thing for me. 

* I have hitherto lived somewhat like a gentle 
man, and it would be very hard for me to lalK)U 
for my living. I am in continual anxiety for m 
future fortune, and under a great unhappincss i 
losing the sweet conversation and friendly advic 
of my parents ; so that 1 cannot look upon mysel 
otherwise than as a monster, strangely sprung u 
in nature, which every one is ashamed to own. 

< I am thought to be a man of some natural partt 
and by the contiimal reading what you have offei 
ed the world, become an admirer thereof, whicl 
has drawn me to make this confession ; at th 
same time hoping, if any thing herein shall toucl 
you with a sense of pity, you would then allow m 
the favour of vour opinion thereupon; as als 
what part I, bemg tmlawfully born, may claim c 
the man's alTectien who begot me, and how far ii 
your opinion I am to be thought his son, or h 
acknowledged as my father. Your sentiment 

9a 904. aPBCTATOR. «| 

and advice herein will be a great consolation and 
tatbfaction tOy 

C. Your admirer, &c. 

W. B. 

No. 204. WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1711. 

Vrit^rata protervitas, 
Et vultua nimitm htbricua aepici* 

HoR.lOd.xix. 7. 
Her face too dazzling for the sight. 
Her winning coyness firet my soul, 
I foel a strange delight 

I AM not at all displeased that I am become the 
courier of love, and that the distressed in that 
passion convey their complaints to each other by 
my means. The following letters have lately 
come to my hands, and shall have their place with 
great willingness. As to the reader's entertain- 
ment, he will, I hope, forgive the inserting such 
particulars as to him may perhaps seem frivo- 
lous, but are to the persons who wrote them of 
the highest consequence. J shall not trouble 
you with tbe prefaces, compliments, and apolo- 
gies made to me before each epistle when it was 
desired to be inserted ; but in general they tell 
me, that the persons to whom they are addressed 
have intimations, by phrases and allusions in 
them, from whence they came. 


* The word, by which I address you, 
gives you, who understand Portuguese,* a lively 
image of the tender regard I have for you. The 

* The Portuguese word Saudades (here inaccurately 'wrii' 
tea SdJtadeM) iigai&eB, the most reftaed, mOBt UuCL&r uki %s- 

a IPRCTATOK. fro.Mib 

Spectator's late letter from Statlra ^re me the 
hint to UHC the huiiic method of explaiiitnf^ my- 
•eli'to you. I am not aifrotitcd at the (lefti^^n your 
late behaviour diHCovered you had in your ad* 
dr«'«HeK to me ; but I impute it to the de^^cntracy 
of the a((e, t*ather tlian your particular fault. At 
I aim at iiothiii(; more than beiii^^ yourii, I am 
ivilling to be a Ht ranker to your nume, your for« 
iuue, or any fiu;ure which your wife nii{^ht ex- 
pect to make m the worlrl, provided my coni« 
merce with you im not to be a ^^iiihy one. 1 re- 
ai^^n f;uy dreab, tlie pleuMintH of vihitH, er|uii)a{(C| 
pluya, ballH, and operuH, for that one hatibfuctJonof 
havinu; you for ever mine. I am willin^^ you 
ahall induHtrioualy conceal the only catit»e of tri- 
umph which 1 can know in iIuh life. 1 winh only 
to liave it my duty, an well an my inctinatioti, to 
study your happincHft. If ttiin ban not the ellecl 
this letter seeniH to aim at, you are to understand 
that I lia<l a mind to l>e rid of you, and took the 
readieat way to pall you with an oiler of what you 
would never denist pursuinf^; while you received 
ill usa)j;e. He a true man; be my hluvc while you 
doubt me, and ne^^lect mc when you think 1 love 
you. I defy you to find out what is your present 
circumstance with mc : but i know while 1 can 
keep this suspense^ 

I am your admired 


dentdetlrei for iKmicthing nlifu*nl, ncAnnutmMcil wifh a utAld" 
tude ftiid mixiouii ve^vd, which cMiirK»t utt fxint'Mu-il by one 
wonl in any oU.irr Ungimgi}. ' hmidwhy lay ihi: diciiniiarit**, 
* aiffrUJUa^ FiiUnHmo aentimieihto dfl birn unMcnttr, com dtnf 
A poiii€trh*'^lltinee Uiu woiil NHiuliwh'ii (M;iijiircU(;iitU uvvij 
pnuri wlnhi unit MuiUi Hmiiliult^ ii thi* \uj/iir§i wi»h una 
•omplimtttit thiit enn Im |»luI Ui nnothcr. Ho if u ^icrton i» ob- 
ienreil to he mtthiucUtAy, iuu\ !• atkitd ' Whut kiU liiiii {' If he 
B/mr0n, Ttnho HuutitAtu^ U U iind<;rff^iod to mf^nii, * 1 ara 
findtft thm mote mflniid iuriiumt Cur tUr. nXimuM ^ m^ Von^ \ ^ 

#«D Mug aUefttfroA ley ttUAtriikO 

H^ 90*, SnCTATOtL ST 


^ It is a strange state of mind a man is m^ 
when the very imperiectioDs of a woman be loves 
tarn into excellencies and ^r9atik^e%. I do as- 
sure fOUy I am verf much afraid of ventmin^ 
uponyou* Inowlike jou in spite of my neasonf 
and think it an ill drcumstance to owe €foe*B hap- 
piness to nothing but infatuation. I can see f oa 
ogle all the foung fellows who look at joa, and ob* 
serve four eye wander after new con()uests erery 
moment you are in a public place ; and yet there is 
such a beauty in all your looks and gestures, that I 
cannot but admire you in the very act of endeavour- 
ing to gain the hearts of others. My condition is 
the same with that of the lover in the Way of the 
World. I have studied your Guilts so long, that 
they are become as familiar to me, and I like 
them as well as I do my own. Look to it, ma- 
dam, and consider whether you think this gay 
behaviour will appear to me as amiable when an 
husband) as it does now to me a lover. Things 
are so fiir advanced, that we must proceed; and 
I hope you will lay to heart, that it will be beco* 
ming in me to appear still your lover, but not in 
you to be still my mistress. Gaiety in the matri* 
monial Ufe is graceful in one sex, but exception- 
able in the oUier. As you improve these little 
hints, you will ascertain the happiness or uneasi- 
ness of| 

Your most obedient, 

most humble servant^ 


ii SPECTATOR^ Ka tt^ 

^ Whsn I sat at the window^ and you at tlie 
other end of the room by my cousin, I saw yoa 
catch me looking at you. Since you have the se- 
cret at last) which I am sure you should never 
have known but by inadvertency, what my eye* 
said was true. But it is too soon to confirm it 
with my hand, therefore shall not subscribe mf 


< There were other gentlemen nearer, and I 
I know no necessity you were under to take up \ 
that flippant creature's fan last night ; but you 
shall never touch a stick of mine more, that's poe. 

To Colonel R— — • in Spain.* 

* Before this can reach the best of hus* 
bands and the fondest lover, those tender names 
will be of no more concern to me. The indispo* 
sition in which you, to obey the dictates of your 
honour and duty, left me, has increased upon me ; 
and I am acquainted by my physicians I cannot 
live a week longer. At this time my spirits fail 
me ; and it is the ardent love I have for you that 
carries me beyond my strength, and enables me to 
tell you, the most painful thing in the prospect 
of death is, that 1 must part with you. But let it 
be a comfort to you, that I have no guilt hangs 
upon me, no unrepented folly that rcurds me; 
but I pass away my last hours in reflection upon 
the happiness we have lived in together, and in 
sorrow that it is so soon to have an end. This is a 
frailty which 1 hope is so far from criminal that 

* The person to whom tliis letter is addressed was gene* 
nUjr beJieved to be Col. BiTers, at the tijme when this paper 

iro.fl»k dPBGTATOB. $# 

methinks there is a kind of piety in being so un- 
willing to be separated from a state ivhich is the 
bstitution of heaven, and in -which we have lived 
according to its laws. A^ we know no more of 
the next life, but that it will be an happy one to 
the good, and miserable to the wicked, why may 
we not please ourselves at least to alleviate the 
difficulty of resigning this being, in imagining 
that we shall have a sense of what passes beloWy 
and may possibly be employed in guiding the 
steps of those with whom we walked with inno- 
cence when mortal ? Why may not I hope to go 
on in my usual work, and, though unknown to 
you, h& assistant in all the conflicts of your mind! 
Give me leave to say to you, O best of men, that 
I cannot figure to myself a greater happiness thaa 
in such an employment. To be present at all the 
adventures to which human life is exposed, to ad- 
minister slumber to thy eyelids in the agonies of a 
fever, to cover thy beloved face in the day of bat- 
tle, to go with thee a guardian angel incapable of 
wound or pain, where I have longed to attend thee 
when a weak, a fearful woman : these my dear« 
are the thoughts with which I warm my poor 
languid heart. But, indeed, I am not capable 
under my present weakness of bearing the strong 
agonies of mind I fall into, when I form to myself 
the grief you will be in, upon your first hearing 
of my departure. I will not dwell upon this, be- 
cause your kind and generous heart will be but 
the more afflicted, the more the person for whom 
you lament offers you consolation. My last 
breath will, if I am myself, expire in a prayer 
for you. I shall never see thy face again. Fare- 
irell for ever.* T. 

« 8PbCT4T(ML 


Wmek 1 meet with an? ricioui 
nut ^nerally known, jji order u 
mikctiie^ 1 draw it at length, MkLfl 
acare-crow i by which neuis I do nn 
an example of the person to wbom itQ 
l^ivt w;ir[iint; to all hernwjeMy'i Bt4 
ibey may not suiTer b)' ii. Thus, tO<j 
allusioti, I have marked out iicy«w|.|| 
and 'juitkbajids of iif«i and m 
ed ill discovering th<jse wiiicli k 
in Older lo keep the jgnoi-ont M 
ruiiiiJii^ upon them. It ii 
1 publish the f<ullowiii'< kiter, - 
liglit Mtine seciets of this nature. \ 

' Thkrk arc none of roUt"] 
which I lead over with i^ieuier del^' 
which are dcni^iied fur the improyi 
aex. You huvt: endeavoured tOS 
reasonable fears aiid ^upcrstitii 
venth and twelfth [Hpers; our^ 
page, in your firteenth; ourlore^ 
in your tliiily-lirsi ; our notions oi 
tliirty-third; our Inclinut' 
your tiiirly-seventli ; our iMssioo ft 
peries, in your foriy-fiftli ; our mail, 
ty zeal, in your fil'iy-bevunthi oup^ 
eing, in /our sLuty'Siicth and uxty | 


No. 205. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 85, 1711 

Deeipimur tpecU retti 

f lor. An Poet t. t5 

Delttfled by % wetning csei;llenee. 


Whew I meet with any vicious character that 
not generally known, in order to prevent itadoii 
mischief, I draw it at length, and set it up at 
acare-crow ; by which means I do not only roa 
an example of the person to whom it belongs, b 
give warning to all her majesty's subjects, iV 
they may not suffer by it. Thus, to change t 
allusion, I have; marked out several of tlie ahoi 
and c|uicksandsof life, and ttm continually empk 
cd in discovering those which arc still conccalc 
in order to keep the ignorant and unwary fni 
running ui)on them. It is with this intention til 
I publish the foUowhig letter, which brings 
light some secrets of this nature. 


^ TiiKUK arc none of your speculatia 
which I read over with greater delight, thantho 
which are designed for the improvement of a 
sex. You have endeavoured to correct our ,u 
reasonable fears and buperstitions, in your i 
venth and twelfth papers; our fancy for eqi 
page, in your fifteenth ; our love of puppet-sliov 
m your thirty-firt>t ; our notions of beauty, in yoi 
thirty-third; our inclination for romances, 
your thirty-seventh ; our pashion for French to 
peries, in your forty-fifth ; our manhood and ps 
ty zeal, in your fifty-seventh; our abuse of da 
cingf In your sixty-sixth and sixty-scveuth \ oi 

9. ^ SPECTATOtt. tl 

, in your hundred and twenty-eighth ; our 
>f coxcombs, in your hundred and fifty-fourth, 
undred and fifty-seventh ; our tyranny over 
len-pecked, in your hundred and seventy- 
You have described the Pict, in yourfor- 
jt ; the Idol, in your seventy-third ; the De- 
er, in your eighty -ninth ; the Salamander, 
)ur hundred and ninety-eighth. You have 
ise taken to pieces our dress, and represen- 
) us the extravagancies we are often guilty 
that particular. You have fallen upon our 
tea, ill your fiftieth and eighty-first ; our com- 
;ft, in your ninety-eighth ; our fans, in your 
red and second ; our riding habits, in your 
red and fourth ; our hoop-petticoats, in your 
red and twenty-seventh ; besides a great ma- 
tle blemishes which you have touched upon 
ur several other papers, and in those many 
'8 that are scattered up and down your works, 
le same time we must own that the compli- 
s you pay our sex are innumerable, and that 
'. \evy faults which you represent in us, are 
er black in themselves, nor, as you own, uni- 
1 among us. But, sir, it is plain that these 
discourses arc calculated for none but the 
>nable part of womankind, and for the use of 
I who arc rather indiscreet than vicious. But, 
lere is a sort of prostitutes in the lower part 
r sex, who arc a scandal to us, and very well 
•ve to fall under your censure. I know in 
d debase your paper too much to enter into 
•ehaviour of these female libertuies ; but, as 
remarks on some part of it would be a doing. 
itice to several women of virtue and honour, i 

le repulalions suffer by it, 1 hope you will I 

hink it improper to give the public some ^v:- 
ts of this jiHture. You must know, s\t, V t>.vs\ 
t, jr. F 


•• flPBCTATOlt ^ No. 003. 

provoked to write you this letter, by the beha- 
viour of* an infamous woman, who, having passed 
her youth in a most shameless state of prostitu- 
tion, is now one of those who g^in their livelihood 
by seducing others that are younger than them- 
selves, and by establishing a criminal commerce 
between the two sexes. Among several of her 
artifices to get money, she frequently persuades 
a vain young fellow, that such a woman of quali- 
ty, or such a celebrated toast, entertains a secret 
passion for him, and wants nothing but an oppor- 
tunity of revealing it. Nay, she has gone so far 
as to write letters in the name of a woman of 
figure, to borrow money of one of these foolish 
Roderigo's,* which she has afterwards appropria- 
ted to her own use. In the mean time, the per- 
son who has lent the money, has thought a lady 
under obligations to him, wiio scarce knew his 
name ; and wondered at her ingratitude when he 
has been with her, that she has not owned the fa- 
vour, though at the same time he was too much a 
man of honour to put her in mind of it. 

< When this abandoned baggage meets with a 
man who has vanity enough to give credit to rela- 
tions of this nature, she turns him to very good 
account by repeating praises that were never ut- 
tered, and delivering messages that were never 
sent. As the house of this shameless creature is 
frequented by several foreigners, I have heard of 
another ariiiice, out of which she often raises mo- 
ney. The foreigner sighs after some British 
beauty, whom he only knows by fame; upon 
^which she promises, if he can be secret, to pro- 
cure him a meeting. The stranger, ravished at 
his good fortune, gives her a present, and in a lit- 

* AlludiDg to the character so named in Shakspearc's 

Ko, 305. SPECTATOR. 6S 

tic time is introduced to some imaginary title ; 
for you must know that this cunning purveyor 
kas her representatives upon this occasion, of 
some of the finest ladies in the kingdom. By 
this means, as I am informed, it is usual enough 
k> meet with a German count in foreign coun- 
tries, that shall make his boasts of favours he has 
received from women of the highest ranks, aYid 
the most unblemished characters. Now, sir^ 
what safety is there Ibr a woman's refmtatiotiy 
when a lady may be thOs prostituted as it ^ere 
lyy proxy^ ttid be reputed Un unchaste woman ; as 
the Hero in the ninth book of Dry den's Virgil is 
looked upon as a coward, because the phantom 
which appeared in his likeness ran away from 
Tumus ? You may depend upon what I relate to 
you to be matter of fact, and the practice of more 
than one of these female panders. If you print 
this letter, I may give you some farther accounts 
of this vicious race of women. 

Your humble servant, 


I shall add two other letters on different suh- 
jects to fill up my paper. 


^ I AM a country clergyman, and hope you 
will lend mc your assistance in ridiculing some 
little indecencies which cannot so properly be ex- 
posed from the pulpit 

* A widow lady, who straggled this summer^ 
from London into my parish for the benelit of the 
air, as she says, appears every Sunday at church 
with many fashionable extravagancies, to the great 
ti^tonishment of my congregation. 

64 SPECTATOR. Ko. 90S. 

* But vfhsX givcA u» the most offence is her thea- 
trical manner of sinj^ing; the Psalms. She intro- 
duces above fifty Italian airs into the hundredth 
psulin ; and whilst wc begin ^^ All people" in the 
old solemn tune of our forefathers, she in a quite 
different key runs divisions on the vowels, and 
adorns them with the graces of Nicolini : if she 
meets with " eke" or " aye," which arc frequent 
ill the metre of Hopkins and Sternhold, we are 
certain to hear her quavering; them half a minute 
after us, to some sprightly airs of the opera. 

^ I am very far from being an enemy to churdi 
music ; but fear this abuse of it may make m^ 
parish ridiculous, who already look on the singing 
psalms as an cnteilainmcnt, and not part of their 
<lcvotion : besides, I am apprehensive that the in- 
fection may spread ; for 'Squire Squcekumy who 
by his voice stems (if I may use the expression) 
to be cut out for an Italian singer, was last Sun- 
day pt*aciising the same airs. 

^ I know the lady's principles, and that she will 
phad the toleration, which (as she fancies) allows 
her nonconformity in this particular ; but I beg of 
you to acquaint her, that singing the Psalms in a 
diflcrcnt tune from the rest of the congregation 
is a sort of schism not tolerated by that act. 

I am, silt, 
Your very humble servant, 

R. S.* 


* In your paper upon temperance, you prc- 

^scribe to us a rule of drinking, out of Sir Wil* 

liam Temple, in the following words : " The first 

glass for myself, the second for my friends, the 

third for good-humour, and the fourth for mine 

cflemics." Now, sir, yow m\v&\. Vuow^ that I 

lf#. 306. SPECTATOR. «5 

have read this your Spectator, in a club whereof 
I am a member ; when our president told us there 
was certainly an eiTor in the print, and that the 
word glass should be bottle; and therefore has 
ordered me to inform you of this mistake, and to 
desire you to publish the following erratum : In 
the paper of Saturday, Octob. 13, col. 3, line 11, 
for " glass," read « bottle." 

L. Robin Goodfellow.' 

No. 206. FRIDAY, OCTOBER 26, iru. 

Quanto qtnsque sibi plura negaveritf 
A Diis plura Jeret — ~ 

HoR. 3 0d. xvi. 21. 

They that do much themseWes deny. 
Receive more blessings from the sky. 


There is a call upon mankind to value and es^ 
teem those who set a moderate price upon their 
bwn merit; and self-denial is frequently attended 
i¥ith unexpected blessings, which in the end 
abundantly recompense such losses as the modest 
ieem to suffer in the ordinary occurrences of life. 
The curious tell us, a determination in our favour 
H* to our disadvantage is made upon our ^rst ap* 
)earance, even before they know any thing of our 
:haracters, but from the intimations men gather 
Tovti our aspect. A man, they say, wears thcf|t 
>icture of his mind in his countenance : and one 
nan's eyes are spectacles to his, who looks at 
nm to read his heart. But though that way of 



raising an opinion of those we behold in public it 
Tcry lallaciouh, certain it isy that those, who by 
their words and actions take as much upon them* 
selves, as they can but barely demand in the strict 
scrutiny of their deserts, will find their account 
lessen every day. A mmlest man preserves his 
character, as a frugal man does his fortune ; if 
cither of them live to the height of either, one 
will find lasses, the other errors, which he has 
not stock by him to make up. It were therefore 
a just rulo, to keep your desires, your words, and 
actions, witliin the regard you observe your friends 
have for you; and never, if it were in a man's 
power, to take as much as he pobsibly might, 
cither in prefci-mcut or reputation. My walks 
have lately been among the mercantile part of 
tlic world; and one gets phrases naturally from 
those with whom one converses. I say then, he 
thut in his air, his trcutnicnt of others, or an ha- 
bitu'vl arrogance to himself, gives himself, credit 
for the least article of more wit, wiscloin, good- 
ness, or valour, than he can possii)ly produce if ho 
is called upon, will find the world break in upon 
him, and coi.sid«'r him as one who has cheated 
them of all the esteem they had before allowed 
him. Tills brings a commission of bankruptcy 
upon him ; and he that might have gone on to 
his lift's end in a prosperous way, by aiming at 
more than h'.* should, is no longer proprietor of 
what he really had before, but his pretensions 
fare as all things do, which are torn instead of 
being divided. 

There is no one living would deny Cinna the 

^Applause of an agreeable and facetious wit ; or 

could possibly pretend (hat there is not something^ 

inimitably unforced and diverting in his manner 

of delivering all his sentiments in his conversa- 

Ho. toe. SPECTATOR. 67 

tioD) if he were able to conceal the strong desire 
of applause which he betrays in every syllable he 
utters. But they who converse with him^ see that 
all the civilities they could do to him, or the kind 
things they could say to him, would &11 short of 
what he expects ; and therefore, instead of shew- 
ing him the esteem they have for his merit, their 
reflections turn only upon that they observe he has 
of it himself. 

If you go among the women, and behold GIo- 
riana trip into a room with that theatrical osten- 
tation of her charms, Mirtilla with that soft regu- 
larity in her motion, Chloe with such an indifferent 
&miliarity,Corinnawith such a fond approach, and 
Roxana with such a demand of respect in the 
great gravity of her entrance ; you find all the sex, 
who understand themselves and act naturally, 
wait only for their absence, to tell you that all these 
ladies would impose themselves upon you ; and 
each of them carry in their behaviour a consci- 
ousness of so much more than they should pre- 
tend to, that they lose what would otherwise be 
given them. 

I remember the last time I saw M^icbeth, I was 
wonderfully taken with the skill of the poet, in 
making the murderer form fears to himself from 
the moderation of the prince whose life he was 
going to take away. He says of the king : ' Ho 
bore his faculties so meekly ;' and justly mferred 
from thence, that all divine and human power 
would join to avenge his death, who had made 
such an abstinent use of dominion. All that is in 
a man's power to do to advance his own pomp 
and glory, and forbears, is so much laid up against 
the day of distress ; and pity will always be his 
portion in adversity, who acted with gentleness in 


The g^eat officer who foreg^s the advaotages 
he might take to himself, and renounces all pru* 
dential rejg^ards to his own person in danger, hai 
so far the merit of a volunteer ; and all his hon- 
ours and glories are unenvied, for sharing the 
common fate with the same frankness as they dO| 
who have no such endearing circumstances to 
part with. But if there were no such considera* 
tions as the good effect which self-denial has upon 
the sense of other men towards us, it is of all 
qualities the most desirable for the agreeable dis- 
position in which it places our own minds. I can- 
not tell what better to say of it, than that it is the 
very contrary of ambition ; and that modesty al- 
lays all those passions and inquietudes to which 
that vice exposes us. He that is moderate in his 
wishes from reason and choice, and not resigned 
from sourness, distaste, or disappointment, dou- 
bles all the pleasures of his life. The air, the 
season, a sun-shiny day, or a fair prospect, are in- 
stances of happiness, and that which he enjoys in 
common witli all the world, (by his exemption 
from the enchantments by which all the world are 
bewitched) are to him uncommon benefits and 
new acquisitions. Health is not eaten up witli 
care, nor pleasure interrupted by envy. It is not 
to him of any consequence what this man is famed 
for, or for what the other is pixjfcrred. He knows 
there is in such a place an uninterrupted walk; 
he can meet in such a company an agreeable con- 
versation. He has no emulation, he is no man's 
rival, but every man's well-wisher; can look at a 
prosperous man, with a pleasure in reflecting 
that he hopes he is as happy as himself: and has 
)iis mind and his fortune (as far as prudence will 
allow) open to the unhappy and to the stranger. 

Luccci^s has leaniipg) wit^ humour; eloquence^ 

No.flOf. SPBCTATOR. n 

but no ambitious prospects to pursue with these 
advantages ; therefore to the ordinary world ho 
is perhaps thought to want spirit, but known 
among his friends to have a mind of the most con- 
summate greatness. He wants no man's admira* 
tiony is in no need .of pomp. His clothes please 
him if they are fkshionable and warm ; his com- 
panions ai^ agreeable if they are civil and well- 
natured. There is with him no occasion for su- 
perfluity at meals, or jollity in company, in a word, 
for any thing extraordinary to administer delight 
to him. Want of prejudice, and command of ap- 
pedte, are the companions which make his jour- 
ney of life so easy, that he in all places meets 
with more wit, more good cheer, and more good 
humour, than is necessary to make him enjoy 
himself with pleasure and satisfaction. T. 

No. 307. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1711. 

OwmiBuB in territf qua tunt d Gadibus utque 
Jiuroram et Gangem, pauci dignotcere poatunt 
Vera bona, atque ilUa muUHm aiveraa, remotd 
£rroris nebutd 

Juv. Sat X. 1. 

Look round the habitable world, how few 
Know their own good, or knowing it pursue ? 
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice. 
Prompts the fond wish, or lifls the suppliant voice ? 

Dryd. Johnson, &f. 

In my last Saturday's paper, I laid down some 
thoughts upon devotion in general, and shall here 
shew what were the notions of the most refined 
heathens on this subject, as they are represented 
th Plato's dialogue upon prayer, iuUxXed Mc^v^l* 

ro SPECTATOR. ' Ko.9tl|r. 

4e% tlie Second, which doubtless gave occasion 
to Juvenal's tenth satire^ and to the second satire 
of Persius; as the last of these authors has almost 
transcribed the preceding dialogue, intitled Alci- 
biadcs the First, in his fourth satire. 

Tlie speakers in this dialogue upon prayer, are 
Socrates and Alcibiades; and the substance of it 
(when drawn together out of the intricacies and 
digressions) as follows : 

Socrates meeting his pupil Alcibiades, as he 
was going to his devotions, and observing his eyes 
to be fixed upon the earth with great seriousness 
and attention, tells hira that lie had reason to be 
thoughtful on that occasion, since it was possible 
for a man to bring down evils ui>on himself by 
his own prayers, and that thone things which the 
gods send him in answer to his petitions, might 
turn to his destruction. This, says he, may not 
only happen when u man pruys for what he knows 
is mischievous in its own nature, as Oedipus im- 
plored the gods to sow dissention between his 
sons; but when he prays for what he believes 
would be for his good, and against what he be- 
lieves would be to his detriment. This the phi- 
loHopher shews must necessarily happen among 
lis, siitce mosl men are blinded with ignorancei 
pKJurlice, or passion, which hinder them from 
8i:< lii^ such things as arc really beneficial to them. 
Fur an instance, he asks Alcibiades, whether he 
would not be thoroughly pleased and satisfied if 
that god, to whom he was going to addres him- 
self, should promise to make him the sovereign 
of the whole earth I Alcibiades answers, that he 
should, doubtless, look upon such a promise as 
the greatest favour that could be bestowed upon 
him. Socrates then asks him, if after receiving 
ihls great favour he wouVd be coulcutcd to lose 


his life? Or if he would receive it} though he 
ivas sure he should make an ill use of it ? To 
both which questions Alcibiades answers in the 
negative. Socrates then shews him, from the 
examples of others, how these might verjr proba- 
bly be, the effects of such a blessing. He then 
adds, that other reputed pieces of good-fortune, 
as that of having a son, or procuring the highest 
post in a government, are subject to the like fatal 
consequences ; which nevertheless, says he, men 
ardently desire, and would not fail to pray for, if 
they thought their prayers might be effectual for 
the obtaining them. 

Having established this great point, that all the 
most apparent blessings in this life are obnoxious 
to such dreadful consequences, and that no man 
knows what in its *event would prove to him a 
blessing or a curse, he teaches Alcibiades after 
what manner he ought to pray. 

In the first place, he recommends to him, as 
the model of his devotions, a short prayer which 
a Greek poet composed for the use of his friends, 
in the following words : ^ O Jupiter, give us those 
things which are good for us, whether they are 
such things as we pray for, or such things as we 
do not pray for : and remove from us those things 
which ai'e hurtful, though they are such things as 
we pray for. 

In the second place, that his disciple may ask 
such things as are expedient for him, he shews 
him, that it is absolutely necessary to apply him- 
self to the study of ti'ue wisdom, and to the know- 
ledge of that which is his chief good, and the most 
suitable to the excellency oi his nature. 

In the third and last place he informs him, that 
the best methods he could make use of to draiw 
down blessing's upon hinisoU\ and v.o vew^^ic >kv^ 
prayers acceptable, would be to live \u «t cwvsX^mvx 


practice of his duty towards the g^s, and towards 
men. Under this head he very much recommends 
a form of prayer the Lacedemonians make use of 
in which they petition the g^s, < to give them all 
good things so long as they were virtuous/ Un- 
uert his head likewise he gives a very remarkabit 
account of an oracle to the following purpose: 

When the Athenians in the war with the Lace- 
demonians received many defeats both by sea and 
land, they sent a message to the oracle of Jupiter. 
Ammon, to ask the reason why they who erected 
so many temples to the gods, and adonied them 
with such costly ofifcrings; why they who had 
instituted so many festivals, and accompanied 
them with such pomps and ceremonies ; in shortj 
why they who had sluin so many hecatombs at 
their altars, should I>e less successful than the 
Lacedemonians, who fell so short of them in these 
particulars \ To this, says he, the oracle made 
the following apply : ' 1 am better pleased with 
the prayers of the Lacedemonians than with all 
the oblations of the Greeks.' As this prayer im- 
plied and encouraged virtue in those who 
made it ; the philosopher proceeds to shew how 
the most vicious man might be devout, so far as 
victims could make him, but that his ofTeringt 
were regarded by the gods as bribes, and his 
petitions as blasphemies. He likewise quotes on 
this occasion two verses out of Homer,* in which 
the poet says, ' that the scent of the Trojan sacri- 
fices were carried up to heaven by the winds ; 
but that it was not acceptable to the gods, who 
were displeased with Priam and all his people.' 

The conclusion of this dialogue is very remark* 
able. Socmtes having deterred Alcibiadcs from 



the prayers and sacrifice which he was going to 
offer, by setting forth the above-mentioned diffi- 
culties of performing that duty as he ought, adds 
these words, * We must therefore wait until such 
time as we may learn how we ought to behave 
ourselves towards the gods, and towards men.' 
•But when will that time come,' says Alcibiades, 
* and who is it that will instruct us ? for I would 
fun see this man, whoever he is.* * It is one,' 
says Socrates, 'who takes care of you: but as 
Homer tells us, that Minerva removed the mist 
from Diomede's eyes that he might plainly disco- 
ver both gods and men,* so the darkness that 
hangs upon your mind must be removed before 
you are able to discern what is good and what is 
evil.* *Let him remove from my mind,' says 
Alcibiades, Hhe darkness and what else he plea- 
ses, 1 am determined to refuse nothing he shall 
order me, whoever he is, so that I may become 
the better man by it.' The remaining part of 
this dialogue is very obscure : there is something 
in it that would make us think Socrates hinted ^t 
himself, when he spoke of this divine teacher 
who was to come into the world, did not he own 
that he himself was in this respect as much at 
a loss, and in as great distress as the rest of man- 

Some learned men look upon this conclusion as 
a prediction of our Saviour or at least that Socra- 
tes, like the high pricst,t prophesied unknow- 
ingly, and pointed at that Divine Teacher who 
was to come into the world some ages after him. 
However that may be, we find that this great plii- 
losopher saw by the light of reason, that it wls 

•Iliad. V. 127. 
t Caiaphas, John X'. 4'J. 
VOL, jv. G 

74 SPECTATOR. 9a m. 

suitable to the (podness of the divine nature^ to 
tend a person into the world who should instruct 
mankind in the duties of religion, and, in particu* 
lar, teach them how to pruy. 

Whoever reads this abstract of Plato's discourse 
on prayer, will, I believe, naturally make this re* 
flection, ' That the great founder of our religion^ 
as well by his own example, as in the form of 
prayer which he taught his disciples,* did not 
only keep up to those rules whicli the light of 
nature had suggested to this great philosopher^ 
but instructed his disciples in the whole extent of 
this duty, as well as of all others. He directed 
them to the properobjcctof adoration, and taught 
them, according to the third rule above-men- 
tioned, to apply themselves to him in their clo- 
sets, without shew or ostentation, and to worship 
him in spirit and in truth.' As the Lacedemoni- 
ans in their form of prayer implored the gods in 
general to give them all good things so long as 
they were virtuous, we ask in particular * that our 
offences may be forgiven, as we forgive those of 
others.' If we look into the second rule which 
Socrates has prescribed, namely, that we should 
apply ourselves to the knowledge of such things 
as are best for us, this too is explained at large m 
the doctrines of the gospel, where we are taught 
in several instances to regard those thuigs as 
curses, which appear as blessings in the eye of 
the world; and on the contrary to esteem thoso 
ihhigs as blessings, which to the generality of 
mankind appear as curses. Thus in the form, 
which is prescribed to us, we only pray for that 
happiness which is our chief good, and the great 
end of our existence, when we petition the Su- 

* Mat. Vi. 9, Ice. LAc li. 2. 

Vo. mi. SPECTATOB. T5 

preme Beinf;^ for the coming of his kingdom) 
being soiicilous for no other temporal blessings 
hut our daily sustenance. On the other side, we 
pray against nothing but sin, and against evil in 
general) leaving it with Onmiscience to determine 
what is really such. If we look into the first of 
Socrates, his rules of prayer, in which he recom- 
mends the above-mentioned form of the ancient 
poet, we find that form not only comprehended, 
but very much improved in the petition, wherein 
we pray to the Supreme Being tluit bis will may 
be done : which is of the same force with that 
form which our Saviour used, when he prayed 
against the most painful and most ignominious of 
deaths, ^ Nevertheless not my will, but thine b& 
done.'* This comprehensive petition is the most 
humble, as well as the most prudent, that can be 
offered up from the creature to his Creator, as it 
supposes the Supreme Being wills nothing but 
what is for our good, and that he knows better 
than ourselves what is so. L. 

No. 208. MONDAY, OCTOBER 39, ITU. 

VerUunf tpectentnr ut ip9^. 

Ov ] D. An Am. I. i. 09. 

To be thcmflelres a spectacle they come. 

I RAVE several letters of people of good sense, 
who lament the depravity or poverty of taste the 
town is fallen into with relation to plays and pub- 
lic spectacles. A lady in particular observes, 
that tiicrc is such a levity in the minds of her own 


sex, that they seldom attend to any thing but im- 
pertinences. It is indeed prodigious to obscnrc 
how little notice is taken of the most exalted parts 
of the best tragedies in Shakspeare ; nay, it is not 
only visible that sensuality has devoured all great- 
ness of soul, but the under-passion (as I ,may so 
call it) of a nobU spirit, Pity, seems to be a stran- 
ger to the generality of an audience- The mindt 
of men are indeed very differently disposed ; and 
the reliefs from care and attention are of one sort 
in a great spirit, and of another in an ordinary one. 
The man of a great heart, and a serious complex- 
ion, is more pleased with instances of generosity 
and pity, than the light and ludicrous spirit can 
possibly be with the highest strains of mirth and 
laughter. It is therefore a melancholy prospect 
when we see a numerous assembly lost to all se- 
rious entertainments, and such incidents as should 
move one sort of concern, excite in them a quite 
contrary one. In the tragedy of Macbeth, the 
other night, when the lady who is conscious of the 
crime of murdering the king seems utterly as- 
tonished at the news, and makes an exclamation 
at it, instead of the indignation which is natural to 
the occasion, that expression is received with a 
loud laugh. They were as merry when a crimi- 
nal was stabbed. It is certainly an occasion of re- 
joicing when the wicked are seized in their de- 
signs ; but I think it is not such a triumph as is 
exerted by laughter. 

You may generally observe, that the appetites 
are sooner moved than the passions. A sly ex- 
pression which alludes to baudry, puts a whole 
row into a pleasing smirk ; when a good sen- 
tence that describes an inward sentiment of the 
soul, is received with the greatest coldness and 
indifference. A corrcspomXcwx o^ mu\e^ upon 

l&m. 908. SraCTATOK. 77 

this subject^ has divided the female part of the 
audience, and accounts for their prepossessions 
against this reasonable delight in the following 
manner : * The prude/ says he, ^ as she acts al- 
vr^ys in contradiction, so she is gravely sullen at a 
comedy, and extravagantly gay at a tra^dy. The 
coquette is so much taken up with throwing her 
eyes aro\ind the audience, and considering the ef- 
fect of them, that she cannot be expected to ob- 
serve the actors but as they are her rivals, and 
take off the observation of the men from herself. 
Besides these species of women, there are the ex- 
amples, or the first of the mode. These are to 
be supposed too well acquainted with what the 
actor was going to say to be moved at it. After 
these one might mention a certain flippant set of 
females who are mimics, and are wonderfully di- 
verted with the conduct of all the people around 
them, and are spectators only of the audience. 
But what is of all the most to be lamented, is the 
loss of a party whom it would be worth preserving 
in their right senses upon all occasions, and these 
are those whom we may indifferently call the in- 
nocent, or the unaffected. You may sometimes 
sec one of these sensibly touched with a well- 
wrought incident ; but then she is immediately so 
impertinently observed by the men, and frowned 
at by some insensible superior of her own sex, 
that she is asliamed, and loses the enjoyment of 
the most laudable concern, pity. Thus the whole 
audience is airuid of letting fall a tear, and shun 
as a weakness the best and worthiest part of our 

* SIR, 

* As you are one that doth not only pre- 
tend to vcforin, but affect it amouj;^\. ^^o^\t. ti^ 

• 2 

7t SPECTATOK. No.flOt. 

any ftcnie ; makoA nic (who am one of the great- 
est oi' your admirera) give you thiH troiihlc to de- 
sire you will settle tlie method of uh females 
knowing wljen one another iir in town : for tlicy 
have now got a trick of never sending to their 
ncciuaintance when they first cotne ; and if one 
does not vibit them within the week which thejr 
stay at home, it is a mortal r|iiiin*el. NoW| dear 
Mr. Spec, either comtnund thcpi to nut it hi the 
advertisement of your paper, which is generally 
read by our sex, or else ohUt thcni to breathe 
their saucy footmen (who are good for nothing 
else) by bending them to tell all their acquaint- 
ance. If you tlilnk to print this, pray put it into 
a belter style uh to the spelling part. The town is 
now filling every <lay, and it cannot be deferred, 
because people take u<lvuntage of one another by 
this lueuhH, and breuk oil' uci^uaintance, and are 
rude. Therefore pray put this in your paper ai 
.Hoon us you can poHsibly, to prevent any future 
iniHcarriagcH of this nature. I am, as I ever 
shall be, dear Spec, 

Your niosl obedient humble servant, 

Mauv Mkanwell. 

^ Pray settle what is to be a proper notification 
of a person's beiii;^ In town, and how that differs 
uccordin); to people's quiUity.' 

*MU. SJ»ECTATOH, October 30. 

M II AVK been out of town, so did not meet 
with your paper, dated September the Utiih^ 
wherein you, to my heart's desire, expose that 
cursed vice of insnaring poor young girls, and 
drawing them from their friends. 1 assure you 
without flattery it has saved a 'pt*^'i>l-^^^ <>i mine 

20«. SPECTATOR. 7^ 

n ruin ; and in token of gratitude as well as 
the benefit of my family, I have put it in a 
ae and glass, and hung it behind my counter, 
lall take care to make niy young ones read it 
ry morning, to fortify them against such per- 
ous rascals. I know not whether what you 
: was matter of fact, or your own invention ; 
this I will take my oath on, the first part is 
exactly like what happened to my 'prentice, 
. had 1 read your paper then, I should have 
m your method to have secured a villain. Go 
ind prosper. 

Your most obliged humble servant.' 


' Without raillery, I desire you to insert 
word for word in your next, as you value a 
;r's prayers. You sec it is an hue and cry after 
ray heart (with the marks and blemishes un- 
-\ijritten); which whoever shall bring to you, 
II receive satisfaction. Let me beg of you 
to fail, as you remember the passion you had 
her to whom you lately ended a paper: 

Noble, generous, great and good. 
But never to be understood; 
Ilckle as the wind, still changing, 
AtV.'r every female ranging. 
Panting, trembling, sighing, dying. 
But addicted much to lying: 
When the Syren songs repeats. 
Equal measures still it beats ; 
Whoe'er shall wear it, it will smart hcr^ 
A ud whoe'er takes it, takes a tartar.' 


99 SPECTATOR. No. 901 . 

No. 209. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1711. 


Of eartblr goods, the best is a goo<I wife ; 
A bad, the bitterest curse of human life. 

There are no authors I am more pleased with 
than those who shew human iialure in a variety 
of views, and describe the several ages of the 
world in their different manners. A reader can- 
not be more rationally entertained, than by com- 
paring the virtues and vices of his own times 
with those which prevailed in the times of his 
forefathers; and drawing a parallel in his mind 
between his own private character, and that of 
other persons, whether of his own age, or of the 
ages that went before him. The contemplation 
of mankind under these changeable colours is 
apt to shame us out of any particular vice, or an- 
imate us to any particular virtue ; to make us 
pleased or displeased with ourselves in the most 
proper points, and to clear our minds of prejudice 
and prepossession, and rectify that narrowness of 
temper which inclines us to think amiss of those 
who differ from us. 

If we look into the manners of the most remote 
ages of the world, we discover human nature in 
her simplicity and the more we come downward 
towards our own times, may observe her hiding 
herself in artifices and refinements, polished in- 
sensibly out of her original plainness, and at 
length entirely lost under form and ceremony, and 
(what we call) good-brecdlu^. Read the ac- 

Ko. fm, SPECT ATOU. Si 

counts of men and women as they are given us 
by the most ancient writers, both sacred and pro- 
fane, and you would think you were reading the 
history of another species. 

Among the writers of antiquity, there are none 
who instruct us more openly in the manners of 
their respective times in which they lived, than 
those who have employed themselves in satire, 
under what dress soever it may appear ; as there 
are no other authors whose province it is to enter 
so directly into the ways of men, and set their 
miscarriages in so strong a light. 

Simonides, a poet famous in his generation, is, 
I think, author of the oldest satire that is now ex- 
tant ; and, as some say, of the first that was ever 
written. This poet flourished about four hundred 
years after the siege of Troy ; and shews, by his 
Way of writing, the simplicity, or rather coarse- 
ness, of the age in which he lived. I have taken 
notice, in my hundred and sixty-first speculation, 
that the rule of observing what the French call 
the Bienseance in an allusion, has been found out 
of latter years ; and that the ancients, provided 
there was a likeness in their similitudes, did not 
much trouble themselves about the decency of 
the comparison. The satire or iambics of Simo- 
nides, with which I shall entertain my readers in 
the present paper, arc a remarkable instance of 
what 1 fomierly advanced. The subject of this 
satire is woman. He describes the sex in their 
several characters, which he derives to them from 
a fanciful supposition raised upon the doctrine of 
pre-existence. lie tells us that the gods formed 
the souls of women out of those seeds and princi- 
ples which compose several kinds of animals and 
elements ; and that their good or bad dispositions 
arise in them according as such aud &wcV\ ^cc^^ 


and principlei predominate in their constitutiom 
I hare translated the author very I'aithfully, and i 
not word for word (which our language would nc 
bear) at least so as to comprehend every one c 
his sentiments, without adding any thing of v^ 
own. I have already apologized for this author* 
want of delicacy, and must further premise, thi 
the following satire affcctH only some of the lowc 
part of the sex, and not those who have been ref 
ned by a polite education, which was not so con 
mon in the age of tins poet. 

^ In the beginning God made the souls of w< 
mankind out of different materials, and in a sept 
rate state from their bodies. 

* The souls of one kind of women were forme 
out of those ingredients which compose a swin* 
A woman of this make is a slut in her house an 
a glutton at her table. She is imclcanly in h< 
person, a slattern in her dress, and her family 
no better than a dunghill. 

^ A second sort of female soul was formed 01 
of the same materials that enter into the comp< 
tition of a fox. Such a one is what we call a n( 
table discerning woman, who has an insight im 
every thing whether it be good or bad. In th 
tpecies of females there are some virtuous an 
some vicious. 

* A third kind of women were made up of c 
nine particles. These are what we commonly cs 
scolds, who imitate the animals out of which the 
were taken, that are always busy and barking, th 
snarl at every one who comes in their w^ay, an 
live in perpetual clamour. 

* The fourth kind of women were made out < 
the earth. These are your sluggards, who pai 
iifrflf their time in indolence and ignorance, hove 

9o. 900. SP£CTAT01l. US 

ever the fire a whole winter, and apply them- 
seWes with alacrity to no kind of business but 
•ating. *' 

* The fifth species of females were made out of 
the sea. These are women of variable uneven 
tempers, sometimes all storm and tempest, some- 
times all calm and sun-shine. The stranger who 
sees one of these in her smiles and smoothness, 
would cry her up for a miracle of good-humour ; 
iHit on a sudden her looks and her words arc 
changed, she is nothing but fury and outrage, 
noise and hurricane. 

* The sixth species were made up of the in- 
|;redients which compose an ass, or a beast of 
burden. These are naturally exceeding slothful^ 
but upon the husband's exerting his authority) 
will live upon hard fare, and do every thing to 
please him. They are however far from being 
averse to venereal pleasure, and seldom refuse a- 
male companion. 

* The cat furnished materials for a seventh 
species of women, who are of a melancholy, fro- 
ward, unamiable 'ature, and so repugnant to the 
ofiers of love, thac they fly in the face of their 
husband when he approaches them with conjugal 
endearments. This species of women are like- 
wise subject to little thefts, cheats, and pilfer- 

* The mare with a flowing mane, which was 
never broke to any servile toil and labour, com- 
posed an eighth species of women. These are 
they who have little regard for their husbands, 
who pass away their time in dressing, bathing, 
and perfuming ; who throw their hair into the 
nicest curls, and trick it up with the fairest 
flowers and garlands. A woman of this species 
is a very pretty thing for a stranger to Vqo^ \i^^x\> 

•4 9PKCTAT0R: No. 

but very detrimentul to. the owner, unlcgs it fa 
kiiig or a prince who takes u fan^y to such a \ 

< The ninth ttpecics of fcmules were tuken 
of the ape. Thcne are such as are both u^ly \ 
ill-natured, who have nothing; beautiful in the 
sclveH, and endeavour to detract from or ridic 
every thing which appears ho in others. 

^ The tenth and lust species of women w 
made out of the bee ; and huppy is the man i 
gets such an one for his mi'c. She is ultoget 
faultless and unblamable. Jicr family ilouria 
and improves by her good management, t 
loves her husband, and is beloved by him. 
brings him a race of beuiitiful and virtuous c 
dren. She distinguishes herself among her i 
She is surrounded with graces. She never 
among tlie loose tribe of women, nor ])asseH a 
her time with them in wanton discourses, 
is full of virtue and prudence, and is the best ^ 
thut Jupiter can bestow on man.' 

I shall conclude these iambics with the mott 
this paper, which is a fragment of the same 
thor : * A man cannot possess any thing (hu 
better than a good woman, nor any thing th; 
worse than a bad one*. 

As the poet has shewn a great penetratio 
this diversity of female characters, he has avoi 
the fault which Juvenal and Monsieur Hoileau 
guilty of, the former ui hih sixth, and the o 
in his last satire, where they have endeavoure 
expose the sex in general, without doing jue 
to the valuable part of it. Such levelling sat 
are of no use to the world ; and for this reas 
have often wondered how tlie I'rench au 
above-mentioned, who was a man of ex(pi 
judgment, and a lover of virtue, could think 
//Jii/;;jaiarc a proper svvU'^^jqv. 1<*v ^jiUrc in uno 


of his celebrated pieces, which is called The Sa- 
tire upon Man^ What vice or frailty can a dis- 
course correct, which censures the whole species 
alike, and endeavours to shew by some superficial 
strokes of wit, that brutes are the most excellent 
creature of the two? A satire should expose 
notliing but what is corrigible, and make a due 
discrimination between those who arc, and those 
who are not the proper objects of it. L. 

No. 210. WEDNESDAY, OCT. 31, 1711. 


^"etdo qjtorMtio inharet in mentibns quasi aaculornm quod- 
dam augurmmfuturorum ; id(]ue in maximis in^emis aUisfi- 
mitque attimit et exittit maxim^, et apparet facUlime. 

Cic. Tusc. Quusst. 

There ii, I know not how, in minds a certain prcsag^o, as 
it were, of u future existence ; and this has the devpe»t root, 
and is most discoverable in the greatest geniuses and most 
eialted souls. 


' I AM fully persuaded that one of the best springs 
of generous and worthy actions, is the having ge- 
nerous and worthy thoughts of ourselves. Who- 
ever has a mean opinion of the dignity of his na- 
ture, will act in no higher a rank than he has al- 
lotted himself in his own estimation. -If he con- 
siders his being as circuntscrihcd by the luiccr- 
tain term of a few ycai'B, his designs will be con- 
tracted into the same narrow span he imagines is 
to bound his existence. How can he exalt his 
tiionghts to any thing great and noble, who only 
believes that, after a short turn ov\ v\\^ ^aVoc^^i ^S. 

VOL, IV. u 

•reCTATOM. Jf«.ifO* 

tliift worldi he i% to Miik into oblivion, and to loM 
hill cohKt ioiifttiCMfi lor r.vvr i 

^ Kor thin rc:uMiti 1 iiiii of opinion, thut iir> tiMcfut 
Hnd ('lr\ .iit'd u i.ontcniplution uh lliat of the ftoul't 
iniinori.iliiy cannoi bv. rcHtinictl tofi often. There 
iH not ;i nioru iniproviniv vxvrr.hc to the hiintan 
mind, th«in to l>r lrc(|urnily rrvii:win({ itft owii 
l^n tit pnvil(-f>;«tii uimI rndowninitti ; nor uniore ef- 
fi:( tnal nicriuh* to uwakcii in iih an undntioii miii* 
rd iiliov low (»l)JMln itnd liitic pur»tiitii, thuii to 
Vuhu- ouihclvrH n% hrit'Hof ctfinity. 

Ml ih u VI! ry )',t-«'.4t natinfaf tion to connidcr the 
liCHt and wJHrHt of mankind in all nations ntid 
a^rh, iik'vrMiii;; un \M\\\ oiK' voi(.f. thiHttirir liirth- 
ri^;tit, 'thd to lind it ralilicd liy an ('Xprrim reveU- 
ti'Mi. At liic. Hanic time il %v«- tnrn our thoughts 
i..»v.ird upon otirt(-lv«H, wi* may nii't:t wttlia kiud 
ot f.( I It- 1 v,i:tt'if I nrtf till lit;; wiilt tlir proofiiof our 
Our '>uii iniiiioi'toiit). 

* Yon have, in my o|)inion, r.tiHcd u |rciod pre- 
Hniiiptivc art'.nmcnt Itom the itw leasing; appetite 
llu: mind lian tf> knowlrd^n-, and to tlic extending 
its iiwii l.u:nhi«'H, •vliif )i < imnot Ik*. a( compliklieJi 
iir. th' tiiorr. iTHtrainrd prric.ttion of low«:r crctt- 
turcft mi«y, in tiic litnilH ol u fdioit lilr. I think 
m oth' r ])i'ol>ald<' ( onjcc tni'f; may l><*. ruined from 
out' .ipp< litf. to dtn.itioii itnrll, nnd Irom a rcllec- 
tioii on out pro^;irh«» tliion(;li the Hcveral kta^^eil 
of it. ** We ap' ( oinpliimin}^/' an you obnervcd 
iti u fortiMT f»pi-( nlitti"!!, *^ of the HhorineH» of 
lin*, and yet air pctpetuully hurrying; over the 
paiLH of 11, to uriixe at e«-rtiin little Htittlements 
or imai^iiiary poiiitH of rr.Ht, which are diipcriied 
up and down in .1." 

* Novr lei uh Goniiider whul lia)>pcni to Ui when 

K<i.81«. SPECTATOR. V. 

we arrive at these imaginary points of rest. Do 
we stop our motion and sit down satisfied in the 
settlement we liave gained ? or are wc not re- 
moving the boundary, and marking out new 
points of rest, to which we press forward with 
the like eagerness, and which cease to be such 
AS &st as we attain them. Our case is like that 
of a traveller upon the Alps, who should fancy 
that the top of the next hill must end his journey, 
because it terminates his prospect ; but he no soon- 
er arrives at it, than he sees new ground and other 
hills beyond it, and continues to travel on as be- 

< This is so plainly every man's condition in 
life, that there is no one who has observed any 
thing, but may observe, that as fast as his time 
wears away, his appetite to something future re- 
mains. The use therefore 1 would make of it is, 
that ' since Nature (as some love to express it) 
does nothing in vain, or to speak properly, since 
the author of our being has planted no wandering 
passion in it, no desire which has not its object, 
futurity is the proper object of the passion so con- 
stantly exercised about it ; and this restlessness 
in the present, this assigning ourselves over to 
farther stages of duration, this successive grasp- 
ing at somewhat still to come, appears to me 
(whatever it may to others) as a kind of instinct or 
natural symptom which the mind of man has of 
its own immortality. 

* 1 take it at the same time for 8:ranted, that the 
immortality of the soul is sufficiently established 
by other arguments; and if so, tliis appetite, 
which otherwise would be very unaccountable 
and absurd, seems very reasonable, and adds 
strength tg the conclusion. But 1 am amazed 
>f hen I consider there are creatuvet^ Cd.^^V^ td 


thouf^htf wlio, in spite of eveiy argument can form 
to thcniftclvcH Q sullen satisfuctioti in thinking 
otherwise. There is somethiii)^ so pitifully mean 
in tiir inverted ambition of that man who can hope 
for annihilation, and please himself to think that 
his whole fuhric shall one day crumble into dust* 
and mix with the mass of inanimate beings* that 
it equally deserves our admiration and pity. The 
mystery of such men's unbelief is not hard to be 
penetrated ; and indeed amounts to nothing more 
than a sordid hope that they shall not be Immor- 
tal, because they dure not be so. 

* Tills brin}^s me hack to my first observation} 
and (pves nie occasion to say further, that M 
worthy actions sprinj^ from worthy thoughts, so 
worthy thou)>;hls are likewise the consequence of 
woilhy actions. Jhit the wretch who has tie- 
graded himself below the character of immorta- 
lity, is very willing to resign his pretensions to 
it, and to substitute in its room u dark negative 
happinesH jn the extinction of his being. 

* 'J'he admirable Shakspeare has given us a 
strong image of the unsupported condition of such 
u person in his last minutes, in the second part of 
Kl.ig Henry the Sixth, where Cardinal Beaufort, 
who iu.(l been concerned in the murder of the 
}<;oo(l Duke Humphry, is re))reHe.ntedon hisdeath- 
l)e(l. After some short confus(;(l speeches, which 
shew an imagination disturbed with gtiilt, just as 
he is expirinji^, Khig Henry, standing by him full 
of compassion, says, 

Lord (yuriiinul ! if thou tliiiikVt on liravcu'i I>Hm, 
Hold lip tUy littiifl, intikc M^nn\ of tlul liopc!— 
lie (lien, and inaki'i no iiigii ! i 

'The despair which is here shewn, without a 
word or action on the \y«)irl of a dying person, ib 

If 0.^1. SPECTATOIL tO, 

htyond what could be painted by the most forcible 
OKpressions whatever. 

< I ahall not pursue this thought forther, but 
only add, that as annihilation is not to be had with 
a wishy so it is the most abject thing in the world 
to wish it. What arc honour, fame, wealth, or 
power) when compared with the generous expec- 
tation of a being without end| and a happiness 
adequate to that being ? 

< I shall trouble you no farther ; but with a ccr« 
tain gravity which these thoughts have given me, 
1 reflect upon some things people say ot* you, (as 
they will of men who distinguish themselves) 
which I hope arc not true, and wish you as good 
a man as you are an autlior. 

I am, SIR, 
Your most obedient 

humble servant, 
T. T. D.' 

No. 211. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1711. 

Fictu meminerit not jocari fabulU. 

Phadr. 1. 1 Prol. 

Let it be remembered that we iport in fabled storief. 

Having lately translated the fragment of an old 
poet, which describes womankind under several 
characters, and supposes them to have drawn 
their different manners and dispositions from 
those animals and elements out oi which he tells 
us they were compounded ; 1 had some thoughts 
of giving the sex their revenge, by laying toge- 
ther in another paper the many vicious characters 
which prevail in the male world) and ^V\<^viSxv\^N^t. 



fTcrtfit infi^cdiRiitH itmt ^o to the makinf; up of 
jch ilifTcrRiit huiiiourH uiicl rotiHiiliitioiin. JIo- 
arr liana thought which in fiotiK'lhiiif^ukiii tothiH, 
.vhrn ill orrlrr to rxniiif! hiiiiBrtI to hifi iniHtrcMi 
ior uii iiivnlivi! wtiich Uv. hurl written ai^atiiftt 
licr, iitirl lo uc( omit lor that iinrcatoiiuhlR liiry 
with which iIir lirarl of inuii in oltrii trariftportrd, 
lie tells iiH tliul, whflii I'roiiiriiictiH tiiuflv his man 
fj'f iiiy, iiithr ktu'uditii; lip thf hratl, hi: ftcaiioncfl 
it with fioinc liirioiiH purtirlfH of the Hon. lint. 
iipfiii tiiriiiu^ this plan louncl fro in my tliou);hts 
I filiHri'viMJ HO many niiar.roiinialilr humoiirH in 
man, that I ditl not know out ol what animuU to 
li'Khlhrm. Male hoiiIh an: (liv<'rHili«-rl with no 
many t liaiat iriHtthat ihr woihl Imh not variety of 
iiiatcrialH Hiifl'if lent to Inrni'ih oiii ihiir flillriTnt 
lf-iii|>f'rs and iiM liii.ilioin. 'Ihr ( rrution, with all 
its •tniiiiah atirl rifiiinil'i, would IicjI be hiry^c 
riiriti)^h to hiipply iIimi* scM'iid f-Mrav.ii^.iiir icn. 

Iiritrad (in m Ion: ol puiHuiii); Ih' ilioii|;h! of 
SimoiiidiH, I nhall ohvrvc, lliat .i*. h< h.m r Kpos d 
ihr vi( ioiiH part ol womi-ii liom the ilor triiii: of 
pn-rxiHtrni.c, HOinr: f>( llir am niit phiJohoplirrH 
liavr in a maiiiirr '.atiri/.f'd ih'- \i> ion'i |iiri ol ihr 
hiiiiiaii sprr ifv. iii (^Mirial, liom a iiolioii ul tin 
noiiTn l)oM-rxiMi:ni r, il I inay '■> i .ill it ; and ilia 
{!■• Siiiioiiidrn tW*%t nljf-s l>iiiirs « iili riii); iiito th 
coiiiposilioii of woini-ii, othrr'i ha\<' n |iM'^iriiir 
Jiiiiiiaii HOiiJH art riiW'itii)' inio hrnli- .. 'I'liit. 
roinmotdy (f*rmrd tin* <lof tnur it\ iraiiMiii^^raiK 
which snp|»|i,r«i that liiimaii Viiil*t, upon th' 
lravin);ih(- hodythcronif the <.oiil-k oi Mir h kii 
ol hruii'H bf thr y most, irvinlilr jij tli< ir ni 
n^rn; or to I'ivr Ji a« roniil ol it an Mr. Dry 
huH dcM rilM'd ill hin iianrtlaiUMi of I'ythaf^oi 
Hpr.crh in (Ik* hf(r:> nth hook ol < )vidt whrrr 
///fiyo.V/jihrr diviUidi".. \\\\ livAVcm IVcim r; 


Thus an thrngr are but alter'd, nothing dies. 
And here and there th' unbodied spirit flies : 
By time, or force, or sickness dispossess'd. 
And lodges where it lights, in bird or beast ; 
0^ hunts without till ready limbs it find. 
And actuates those according to their kmd : , 
From tenement to tenement is toss'd. 
The soul is still the same, the figure only lost. 

Then let not piety be put to flight. 
To please the taste of glutton appetite ; 
But suffer mmate souls secure to dwell. 
Lest from their seats your parents you expel ; 
With rapid hunger feed upon your kind. 
Or from a beast dislodge a brother's mind. 

Plato, in the vision of Erus the Armenian, 
which I may possibly make the subject of a fu- 
ture speculation, records some beautiful trans- 
migrations ; as that the soul of Orpheus, who was 
musical, melancholy, and a woman-hater, enter- 
ed into a swan ; the soul of Ajax, which was all 
wrath and fierceness, into a lion ; the soul of Aga- 
memnon, that was rapacious and imperial, into 
an eagle ; and the soul of Thersites, who was a 
mimic and a buffoon, into a monkey. 

Mr. Congreve, in a prologue to one of his co- 
medies, has touched upon this doctrine with great 
humour : 

Thus Aristot]e*s soul of old that was. 
May now be damn'd to animate an ass; 
Or in this very bouse, for aught we know^ 
Is dding painful penance in some beau. 

I shall fill up this paper with some letters which 
my last Tuesday's speculation has produced. 
My following correspondents will shew, what I 
there observed, that the speculation of that day 
affects only the lower part of the sex. 

ft ftPRCTATOl. y*. at j. 

• From my Iioum ia Uie Btrand, l)«iob«r 90, 1711. 


< Upov reuding your Tuesday's paper, I find 
by several symptoms in my coiiHtituiioii thut lam 
a lice. iMy shop, or if you please to call it ho, mf 
cell is ill that f|;rcat hive of females which gocsl^ 
the tiamc of the New Kxrhan^;e ; where I am 
daily employed in |j;athenn(|; tof^ether a little stock 
of gain from the finest flowers about the town, I 
mean the ladies and the beaux. I have a numc« 
rous Hwarm of children, to whom I give the best 
education I am able. Hut, sir, it is my misfortune 
to be married to a drone, who lives upon what I 
get, without bringing any thing into the common 
stock. Now, sir, as on the one hand I take care 
not to behave myself towards him like a wasp, to 
likewiHe I would not have him look upon me as an 
humble-bee ; for which reason I do all I can to put 
him upon laying up provisions for a bad day, and 
fre(iuently represent to him the fatal eflccts hit 
sloth and negligence may bring u)>on us in our 
old age. I must beg that you will join with me 
in your good advice upon this occasion, and yoa 
will for ever oblige 

Your humble servant, 


« fllR, PiccadiUy, October Jl, 1711. 

Mam joined in wedlock for my sins to one 
of those fillies who arc described in the old poet 
with that hard name you gave us the other dav* 
She has a flowing mane, and a skin as soft as silK* 
But, sir, she passes half her life at her glass, and 
almost iliins me in ribands. For my own part, I 
am a plain handicraft man, and in danger of brcaik* 

Kaail. SPECTATOR. 53 

master, tell mn in your next paper, whether I 
may not expect 4f her so much drudgery as to 
take care of her family, and curry her hide in 
case of refusal. 

Your loving friend, 
Barnaby Brittle.' 

< MR. SPECTATOR, Cheapside^ October 30. 

< I AM mightily pleased with the humour of 
the cat ; be so kind as to enlarge upon that sub- 

Yours till death, 

JosiAH Henfeck. 

* P. S. You must know I am married to a gri- 

* SIR, Wapping, October SI, 1711. 

* Ever since your Spectator of Tuesday last 
came into our &mily, my husband is pleased to 
call me his Oceana, because the foolish old poet 
that you have translated says, that the souls of 
some women are made of sea-water. This it 
seems has encouraged my sauce-box to be witty 
upon me. When I am angry, he cries, " Pr'y- 
thee, my dear, be calm;" when I chide one of my 
servants, " Pr'ythee^ child, do not bluster." He 
had the impudence about an hour ago to tell me, 
that he was a seafaring man, and must expect to 
divide his life between storm and sun-shine. 
When I bestir myself with any spirit in my family, 
k is *^ high sea" in his house ; and when I sit 
idll without doing any thing, his affairs forsooth 
are *' windbound." When I ask him whathcr it 
rains, he makes answer, " It is no matter, so that 
it bo fisdr weather within doors.** lu «\vQtl) «vc^ \ 

U BPECrrATOK. V«. 8U. 

cannot speak my mind freely to liinif but I either 
Hwcll or ra(;f:, or do Homcthinjptfiat ia not fit for 
a civil woinuii to hear. Pray, Mr. S|>cctator| 
ftinci: you arc ho Hlurp upon other women, let us 
know what materials your wife ih made of, if you 
have one. I HUp|>oHc you would make us a piir« 
cet of poor-spirited tame insipid creatures; butf 
sir, I would Jiave you to know, we have as good 
passions in us as yourself, and that a woman was 
never designed to be a milk-Mip. 


No. 212. FRID.AY, NOVEMBER 5, Ifll. 

—————— A>i/r/ turpi 

C'qUu Jmig-n, Uher turn, din uyir — 

llok. 'iS«t. vii. OS, 

— liTKiM* thy neck frmn thii ignoble elisia^ 
Ami inAiWy %uy thou*rt t'rv*: 



< 1 NKVKR look Upon my dear wife, but I think 
of the happiiirHS Sir Rof^cr dc Coveney enjoys, 
in havini^ such a friend as you to expose in pro- 
per colours the cruelty and pervcrseness of his 
mistress. I huve very often wished you visited 
in our family, and were acquainted with my 
fi[Kiusc ; h\ui would afford you, for some months 
at least, matti.'r enough for one S[Mxtator a week' 
Since we are not so happy as to be of your ac- 
quaintance, (;ive me leave to repi*csent to yoo 
•ur prttent circumstances as well as I can '^ 
iirritin^. You are to know then that 1 am not 
a very different contUVuxiou Cvotvi Nathaniel He 

No. fli. SPECTATOR. 55 

roostf whom you have lately recorded in your spe- 
culations ; and have a wife who makes a more ty- 
numical use of the knowledge of my easy temper 
than that lady ever pretended to. We had not 
been a month married^ when she found in me a 
certain pain to give offence, and an indolence 
that made me bear little inconveniences rather 
than dispute about them. From this observation 
it soon came to pass, that if I offered to go abroad; 
she would get between me and the door, kiss me, 
and say she could not part with me ; then down 
again I sat. In a day or two after this first plea- 
sant step towards confining me, she declared to 
me, that I was all the world to her, and she thought 
she ought to be all the world to me. " If," said 
she, <^ my dear loves me as much as I love hin\f 
he will never be tired of my company.** This 
declaration was followed by my being denied to 
all my acquaintance ; and it very soon came to 
that pass, that to give an answer at the door, be- 
fore my face, the servants would ask her whether 
I was within or not ; and she would answer no, 
with great fondness, and tell me I was a good 
dear. I will not enumerate more little circum- 
stances to give you a livelier sense of my condi- 
tion; but tell you in general, that from such steps 
as these at first, I now live the life of a prisoner 
of state ; my letters are opened, and I have not 
the use of pen, ink, and paper, but in her presence. 
I never go abroad, except she someUmes takes 
me with her in her coach to take the air, if it may 
be called so, when we drive, as we generally do, 
with the glasses up. 1 have overheard my servants 
lament my condition, but they dare not bring me 
messages without her knowledge, because they 
doubt my resolution to stand by them. In the 
midst of this ij2sjpid way of iife^ an o\4. ^^^i^v 

UO HPF/rrATOn. No. tit. 

ancc of fninCf Tom Mc.^^oU who U a favourite 
with her, atifl allowed to vinit me in her company 
becaufie he ninf^ii prettily, han roused mc tf> re- 
be), and conreyed hifi inteljifrrncc to me in the 
followiniiC rnanner: My wife \% a (;reat pretender 
to miifiir., and very ignorant of it ; hut far gone in 
the Italian tante. Tom grien to ArrnMrong, the 
famoun fuie writer of rnutiic, and defiire«i him to 
pnt thift sentence of Tully in the scale of an ItM' 
lian air, and write it out for my <tpounr from him. 
^n iilr mihi Lihrr rui ruu/irr imfi* rui '/ Cut irgm 
imfionit prtinrrihily juhrt^ vrtat t/uod nidftur 7 
Qui nihil imfirranti itefrurr^ vi/iii rrnmarr auflef ? 
I'oHcit? flantlurn rut. yorat 7 vrn/rnf/um. Ejicii ? 
ahritfiilum. Minittiiur ? r7 iiniu.rnidum. •• Dor* 
he live like a \\v.r\\\v\\vA\\ who in ' ommandcd hy a 
woman ? Mc to whom nhe f/ivcs law, (grants and 
dcnirs what stif plca«4*:^ .' wfio';iii nf »rli«:r drny 
hrr any Ihinjj nhc irnks, or rcfu^r to do t>uy thinj^ 
kIi': roinniandi^** 

* To he short, my wife wan fztirfnrly pleased 
Vrith it; said the Italian ww^ the f;nly language for 
music ; and admired how wonrhTrfully tender the 
Hefitinient wa<», and how pretty tin. accent is of 
that h:nt;uage ; with the rest tiiat in said hy rote 
on that, occasion. Mr. Mc<^j;of. is s< nt for losing 
this air, which he performs with mifr)ity applause ; 
and my wife it; in ee'vtasy on the ocf.asion, and 
{;lad to find, hy my hfrin^r so mu'h pleased, that 1 
was at last rome into the notion of the Italian; 
** for,** said she, " it f^rows upon one wlien one 
onr.e comes to know a little of the laru;ua);e ; and 
pray, Mr. Mejrjrot, ninj; attain thone note^, Afihil 
im/irrnnd iirfrdrr^ uitul rrtnnarr. \'i>\\ inuy he- 
lie ve I was not a little deli^riitcd with my friend 
Tom'» expedient, to alarm uie, and in ohc<liencc 
io hi'i j;umtnoh*i I ^wr \>\\ ^^\\^ sVm-^' lUus a* larjije ; 


and I am resolved when this appears ui the Spec- 
tator^ to declare for myself. The manner of the 
insurrection I contrive by your means, which shall 
be no other than that Tom Meggot, who is at our 
tea-table every morning, shall read it to us ; and 
if my dear can take the hint, and say not one word, 
but let this be the beginning of a new life without 
farther explanation, it is very well ; for as soon as 
the Spectator is read out, I shall, without more 
ado, call for the coach, name the hour when I 
shall be at home, if I come at all ; if I do nr)t, they 
may go to dinner. If my spouse only swells and 
says nothing, Tom and I go out together, and all 
is well, as I said before; but if she begins to com- 
mand or expostulate, you shall in my next to you 
receive a full account of her resistance and sub- 
mission, for submit the dear thing must, to, 


Your most obedient 
humble servant, 

Anthony Fbeeman. 

* P. S. I hope I need not tell you that I desire 
this may be in your very next** T. 

No. 213. SATURDAY, NOVEMBERS, 1711. 

' Afena aibi conacia recti. 

ViRG. .^n. i. 608. 

A good intention. 

It is the great art and secret of Christianity, if 
I may use that phrase, to manage our actions to 
the best advantage, and direct them in such a 
manner that every thing we do iiv'Oiy \.\jLXXv\a ^^- 

VOL. jv. 1 

9« SPECTATOR. 21©. 213. 

count at that great, day, when every thing we have 
done will be set before us. 

In order to give this consideration its full 
weight, we may cast all our actions under the di- 
vision of such as are in themselves either goody 
evil, or indifferent. If we divide our intentions 
after the sume manner, and consider them with 
regard to our actions, wc niay discover that gpreat 
action and secret of rc^ligion which I have here 

A good intention joined to a good action, gives 
it its proper force and clRcacy ; joined to an evil 
action, extenuates its malignity, and in some 
rases may take it wholly away; and joined to an 
indiflcrent action, turns it to a virtue, and makes 
it nicritorkous as far as human actions can be so. 

In the next place, to consider in the same 
manner the influence of an evil intention upon 
our actions. An evil intention jx rvcits the best 
of actions, and makes ihem in reality, what the 
fathers with a witty kind of zeal have termed the 
virtues of the heathen world, so many shining 
sins.* It destroys the innocence of an indiffer- 
ent action, and gives an evil action all possible 
blackness and horror, or, in the eniphatical lan- 
^•■uage of sacred writ, makes * sin exceeding lin- 


If, in the last place, we consider the nature of 
an indifferent intention, we shall find that it de- 
stroys the merit of a good action; abates, but 
never takes away, the malignity of an evil action; 
and Icv^ves an indifferent action in its natural state 
of indifference. 

It i:i iherelore of imspcakublc advantage to 
possess our minds with an habitual good inten- 
tion, and to aim all our thoughts, words, and ac- 

* Sj.lcndida peccata- \ ^qx^. nv\. K?\. 

^o. 213. SPECTATOR. 99 

tions at some laudable end, ^vhether it be the 
glory of our Maker, the good of mankind, or the 
benefit of our own souls. 

This is a sort of thrift or good-husbandry iu 
moral life, which does not throw away any single 
action, but makes every one go as far as it 
can. It multiplies the means of salvation, increa- 
ses the number of our virtues, and diminishes 
that of our vices. 

There is something very devout though not 
solid, in Acosta's answer to Limborch, whoobjccts 
to him the multiplicity of ceremonies in the Jew- 
ish religion, as washings, dresses, meats, purga- 
tions, and tlic like. The reply which the Jew 
makes upon this occasion, is, to the best of my 
remembrance, as follows : * There arc not duties 
enough,' says he, * in the essential parts of ihc 
law for a zealous and active obedience. Time, 
place, and person are requisite, before you have 
an opportunity of putting a moral virtue into prac- 
tice.' We have therefore,' says he, ' enlarged the 
sphere of our duty, and made many things, which 
are in themselves indifferent, a part of our reli- 
gion, that we may have more occasions of shew- 
ing our love to God, and in all the circumstances 
of life be doing something to please him.' 

Monsieur St. Evremond has endeavoured to 
palliate the superstitions of the Roman catholic 
religion with the same kind of apology, vi^here he 
pretends to consider the different spirits of the 
Papists and the Calvinists, as to the great points 
wherein they disagree. He tells us, that the for- 
mer are actuated by love, and the other by foar ; 
and that in their expressions of duty and devotion 
towards the Supreme Being, the former scent 
particularly careful to do every thing which may 

100 8PECTAT01t Ko. §i$, 

pottibly please \um^ and the other to abntain from 
erery thitifc which may poMibly difipleate him. 

But notwithfttatiding this plauiible reason with 
which both the Jew and tlie Roman catholic would 
excuse their respective supcrsiitionsy it is certain 
there is sonicthint; in them very pernicious to 
snankindi and destructive to religion ; because the 
injunction of superfluous ceremonies makes such 
actions duties, us were before indiflerentt and bjr 
that means renders religion more burdenaome 
and difficult than it is in us own nature, betrajra 
many into sins of omission which they could not 
otherwise be guilty ofiand fixes the minds of tlie 
vulgur to the shadowy, unessential points, instead 
of the more weighty and more important mattert 
of the law. 

'I'liis Kcalous and active obedience however 
takes place in the great point we are recommend" 
ing ; for, if, instead of prescribing to ourselret 
iiidiffcrent actions as duties, we apply a good 
intention to all our most indifferent actions, we 
make our very existence one continued act of 
obedience, we turn our diversions and arnute* 
ments to our eternal advantage, and are pleasing 
Him (whom we are made to please) in all the cir« 
cu instances and occurrences of life. 

It is this excellent frame of mind, this holy 
ofTiciousncss, (if I may he allowed to call it such) 
wfiich is recommended to us by the apostle in 
that tn)common precept wherein he directs us to 
prop^^sf! to ourselves the glory of our Creator in 
all our most indiflcrrnt actions, * whether we eat 
or drink, or whatsoever we do.'* 

A pcrsf^h ttiorc.iore who is possessed with such 
dn habitual good intention, aa that which I have 

Xo.SlJ. SPRCTATOa. 101 

been here speaking of, enters upon no single cir- 
cumstance of life, without considering it as well- 
pleasing to the great Author of his being, confor- 
mable to the dictates of reason, suitable to human 
nature in general, or to that particular station in 
which Providence has placed him. He lives in a 
perpetual sense of the Divine Presence, regards 
himself as acting, in the whole course of his ex- 
istence under the observation and inspection of 
that Being, who is privy to all his motions, and 
kll his thoughts, who knows his ^ down -sitting- 
and his up-rising, who is about his path, and about 
his bed, and spieth out all his ways.'* In a word, 
he remembers that the eye of his judge is always 
upon him, and in every action he reflects that he 
is doing what is commanded or allowed by Him 
who will hereafter cither reward or punish it. 
Tliis was the character of those holy men of old, 
who in that beautiful phrase of scripture are said 
to have * walked with God.'t 

When I en) ploy myself upon a paper of nioral- 
ily» i generally consider how 1 may recommend 
the particular virtue which I treat ol*, by the pre- 
cepts or examples of the ajicient heathens; by 
that means, if possible, to shame those who havci 
greater advantages of knowing their duty, iuirl 
therefore greater obligations to perionn it, into 
a better course of life : besides that, many amoni^ 
us arc unreasonably disposed to give a fairer 
hearing to a Pagan philosopher than to a Ciuif)- 
tian writer. 

I shall therefore produce an instance of tlii^ 
excellent frame of mind in a speech oi Socrai'v . 
which is quoted by Erasmus. TJus j^reut plilio- 
sopher on the day of his execution, a little bcfoi'- 

• r«i7. cr,xxix. 2, 3. f Gcu v. ^i V\ 0- 

I ? 

10ft 8PECTAT0K. N«. ftl4. 

the drauf^ht of poison was broug^ht to him, enter* 
tAinlng: his friends with a discourse on the im* 
mortality of the soul, has these words : < Whether 
or no God will approve of my actions, I know not ; 
but this I am sure of, that I have at all times 
made it my endeavour to please him, and I have « 
good hope that this mv endeavour will be accept* 
cd by him.' We find in these words of that great 
mun the habitual good intention which I would 
here inculcate, and with which that divine philo* 
80])her always acted. I shall only add, that Eras- 
mus, who was on unbigotted Roman catholic, was 
so much transported with this passage of Socra* 
tes, that he could scarce forbear looking upon 
him as a siiitit, and desiring him to pray for him ; 
or as that ingenious and learned writer has ex- 
pressed himself in a much more lively manner; 
« When I reflect on such a speech pronounced by 
such a person, I can scarce forbear crying out, 
" ^Siinctc ^ocratca^ ora firo fiobia :" O holy Socra- 
tes, pray for us.' L. 

No. 2U. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 17 11. 

Perieruni tempora longi 
ServiU i 

Juv. Sat iii. K>4. 

A loog dependence in an hour is lost. 


I DID some time ago lay before the world the un- 
happy condition of the trading part of mankind 
who suffer by want of punctuality in the dealings 
of persons above them *, bvit vbi^ve U a act of men 

Ko. tli. SPECTATOK. 103 

who are mvch more the objects of compassion 
than even those, and these are the dependants on 
great men, whom they are pleased to take under 
Uieir protection as such as are to share in their 
friendship and favour. These indeed, as well 
Irom the homage that is accepted from them, as 
the hopes which are given to them, arc become 
a sort of creditors : and these debts, being debts 
of honour, ought, according to the accustomed 
maxim, to be first discharged. 

When I speak of dependants, I ^vould not be 
understood to mean those who are worthless in 
themselves, or who, without any call, will press 
into the company of their betters. Nor, when I 
speak of patrons, do I menu those who cither 
have it not in their power, or have no obligation 
to assist their friends ; but 1 speuk of such leagues 
where there is power and obligation on the one 
part, and merit and expectation on the other. 

The division of patron and client, may, I be- 
lieve, include a third of our nation : the want of 
merit and real worth in the client, will strike out 
about ninety-nine in a hundred of these ; and the 
want of ability in patrons, as many of that kuid. 
But however, I must beg leave to say, that he who 
will take up another's tinic and fortune in his ser- 
vice, though he has no prospect of rewarding his 
merit towards him, is as imjust in his dealings as 
he who takes up goods of a tradesman without in- 
tention or ability to pay him. Of the few of the 
class which I think fit to consider, there are not 
two in ten who succeed, insomuch that I know a 
man of good sense who put his son to a blacksmithj 
though an ofi'er was made him of his being re- 
ceived as a page to a man of quality. 'I'liere arc 
not more cripples come out of the wars than 
there Mro from those great services*, aoi\\t\\\x^v\^ 


cliicontent lose their speech, some their memo* 
riesy others their senses, or their lives ; and I scl* 
I dom see a man thoroughly discontented, but I 
conclude he has had the favour of some ereat man. 
I have known of such as have been for twenty 
years together within a month of a good employ* . 
ment, but never arrived at the happiness of being 
possessed of any thing. 

There is nothing more ordinary, than that a 
man who has got into a considerable station, shall 
immediately alter his manner of treating all his . 
friends, and from that moment he is to deal witli " 
you as if he were your Fate. You are no longer 
to be consulted, even in matters which concern 
yourself; but your patron is of a species above 
you, and a free communication with you is not to 
be expected. This perhaps may be your condi- 
tion all the while he bears office, and when that 
is at an end, you arc as intimate as ever you were, 
and he will take it very ill if you keep the dis- 
tance he prescribed you towards him in his gran- 
deur. One would think this should be a beha- 
viour a man could fall into with the worst grace 
imaginable ; but they who know the world have 
seen it more than once. I have often, with secret 
pity, heard the same man who has professed his' 
abhorrence against all kinds of passive behaviour, 
lose mmutes, hours, days, and years, in a fruitless 
attendance on one who had no inclination to be- 
friend him. It is very much to be regretted, that 
the great have one particular privilege above the 
rest of the world, of being slow in receiving im- 
pressions of kindness, and quick in taking of- 
fence. The elevation above the rest of mankind, 
except in very great minds, makes men so giddy, 
that they do not see after the same manner they 
did before. Thus they des\As^. \.W\v old friends, 

Ko. fl4 SPECTATOR. 105 

and strive to extend their interest to new pre- 
tesders. By this* means it often happens, that 
when you come to know how you lost such an 
emplo3rment9 you will find the man who got it 
nerer dreamed of it; but, forsooth, he was to be 
surprised into it, or perhaps solicited to receire 
it. Upon such occasions as these a man may per* 
Inps grow out of humour. If you are so, all 
mankmd will fall in with the patron, and you are 
an humorist and untractable if you are capable 
of being sour at a disappointment: but it is the 
same tmng whether you do or do not resent ill 
usage, you irill be used after the same manner ; 
as some good mothers will be sure to whip their 
children till they cry, and then whip them for 

There are but two ways of doing any thing 
with great people, and those are by making your- 
self either considerable or agreeable. The for* 
merit not to be attained but by finding a way to 
lire without them, or concealing that you want 
them ; the latter is only by £edling into their taste 
and pleasures. This is, of all the employments 
in the world the most servile, except it happens 
to be of your own natural humour. For to be 
agreeable to another, especially if he be above 
youy is not to be possessed of such qualities and 
accomplishments as should render you agreeable 
in yourself, but such as make you agreeable in 
respect to him. An imitation of his faults, or a 
compliance, if not subservience, to his vices, 
roust be the measure of your conduct. 

When it comes to that, the unnatural state a 
man lives in, when his patron pleases, is ended ; 
and hit guilt and complaisance are objected to 

• These. 


him, though the roan who rejects him for hi 
vices was not only his partner, but seducer. Thu 
the client (like a young woman who has given U] 
the innocence which made her charming) hat no 
otily lost his time, but also the virtue which couli 
render him capable of resenting the injury whicl 
is done him. 

It would be endless to recount the tricks c 
turning you off from themselves to persons whi 
have less power to serve you, the art of bein] 
sorry for such an unaccountable accident in you 
behaviour, that such a one (who, perhaps, ha 
never heard of you) opposes your advancement 
and if you have any thing more than ordinary i 
you, you are flattered with a whisper, that it is n 
wonder people arc slow in doing for a man c 
your talents, and the like. 

After all this treatment, I must still add th« 
plcasantest insolence of all, which I have once o 
twice seen ; to wit, that when a silly rogue hft 
thrown away one part in three of his life in un 
profitable attendance, it is taken wonderfully il 
that he withdraws, and is resolved to employ th( 
rest for himself. 

When we consider these things, and refiec 
upon so many honest natures (which one, wb< 
makes observation on what passes, may have seen 
that have miscarried by such son of applications 
it is loo melancholy a scene to dwell upon ; there 
fore 1 shall take another opportunity to discoursi 
of good patrons, and distinguish such as hav* 
done their duty to those who have depended upoi 
them, and were not able to act without their fa 
vour. Worthy patrons arc like Plato's. Guardiai 
Angels, who arc always doing good to thei 
wards ; but negligent patrons arc like Epicurus' 
godSf that lie lolling ou lV\^ cVowds, and instca* 

$0. i215. SPECTATOB. 1&7 

of blessings^ pour down storms and tempets on 
the heads of those that are offering iacense to 
them.* T. 

Xo. 215. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1711. 

Ingenwu didicitseJideUter arten 

EtnoUit moretf nee Hnit etfeferof. 

Ovid, de Ponto. II. ix. 4r. 

Inflrenioiis arts, where they an cntranec find, 
Sotteu the manners^ and subdue the mind. 

I CONSIDER a human soul without education like 
marble in the quarry, which shews none of its in- 
herent beauties, until the skill of the polisher 
fetches out the colours, makes the surface shine, 
and discovers every ornamental cloud, spot, and 
vein that runs through the body of it. Education, 
after the same manner, when it works upon a 
noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue 
and perfection, which without such helps are ne- 
ver able to make their appearance. 

If my reader will give me leave to change the 
allusion so soon upon him, I shall make use of 
the same instaiKC to illustrate the force of educa- 
tion, which Aristotle has brought to explain his 
doctrine of substantial forms, when he tells us 
that a statue lies hid in a block of marble ; and that 
the art of the sta:uary only clears away the super- 

• The Spcctstor hns not justly rci)i*oaentcd here the gods 
of Epicurus: thej \\cre supposetl to be indolent and uninte- 
rested in the affairs of mcn> but not nulignant or cruel be- 


fluous matter, and remores the rubbith. The 
figure is in the stone, the sculptor only finda it. 
What sculpture is to a block of marble, education 
is to a human soul. The philosopher, the saint, 
or the hero, the wise, the good, or the g^eat man, 
very often lies hid and concealed in a plebeian, 
which a proper education might have dis-interred 
and have brought to light I am, therefore much 
delighted with reading the accounts of savage na- 
tions, and with contemplating those virtues which 
are wild and uncultivated ; to see courage exert- 
ing itself in fierceness, resolution in obstinacy, 
wisdom in cunning, patience in suUenness and 

Men's passions operate variously, and appear 
in different kinds of actions, according as they 
are more or less rectified and swayed by reason. 
When one hears of negroes, who upon the death 
of their masters, or upon changing their service, 
hang themselves upon the next tree, as it fre- 
quently happens in our American plantations, 
who can forbear admiring their fidelity, though 
it expresses itself in so dreadful a manner ? What 
might not that savage greatness of soul which ap- 
pears in these poor wretches on many occasions, 
be raised to, were it rightly cultivated ? And 
what colour of excuse can there be for the con- 
tempt with which we treat this part of our spe- 
cies ^ that we should not put them upon the 
common foot of humanity ; that we should only 
set an insignificant fine upon the man who murders 
them ; nay, that we should as much as in us lies, 
cut them off from the prospects of happiness in 
another world as well as in this, and deny them 
that which we look upon as the proper means for 
attaining it ? 

Xo. 215. SPECTATOR. 100 

Since I am engaged on this subject, I cannot 
forbear mentioning a stoiy which I have lately- 
heard, and which is so well attested, that I have 
no manner of reason to suspect the truth of it. I 
may call it a kind of wild tmgedy that passed 
about twelve years ago at Saint Christopher's, 
one of our Bridsh Leeward islands. The negroes 
who were the persons concerned in it, were all of 
them the slaves of a gentleman who is now in 

This gentleman, among his negroes, had a 
young woman, who was looked upon as a most 
extraordinary beauty by those of her own com- 
plexion. He had at the same time two young 
fellows, who were likewise negroes and slaves, 
remarkable for the comeliness of their persons, 
and for the friendship which they bore to one ano- 
ther. It unfortunately happened that both of 
them fell in love with the female negro above • 
mentioned, who would have been very glad to 
have taken either of them for her husband, provi- 
ded they could agree between themselves which 
should be the man. But they were both so pas- 
sionately in love wiiiuher^ that neither of them 
could think of givingher up to his rival ; and at. 
the same time were so true to one another, that 
neither of them would think of gaining her with- 
out his friend's consent. The torments of these 
two lovers were the discourse of the family to 
which they belonged, who could not forbear ob- 
serving the strange complication of passions 
which perplexed the hearts of the poor negroes, 
that often dropped expressions of the uncusiness 
they underwent, and how impossible it was for 
cither of them ever to be happy. 

no SPECTATOR. !!•. 

After a long^ struggle between love and frie 
shipi truth and jealousy, they one day took a w 
together into a wood, carrying their mistress ab 
with them : where, after abundance of lamei 
tions, they stabbed her to the heart, of which i 
immediately died. A slave who was at his w« 
not far from the place where this astonish 
piece of cruelty was committed, hearing 
shrieks of the dying person, ran to see what i 
the occasion of the ni. He there discovered 
woman lying dead upon the ground, with the 1 
negroes on each side of her, kissing the d 
corpse, weeping over it, and beating their brei 
in the utnuMit agonies oi' |;rief and despair, 
immediately ran to the English family with 
news of what he had seen; who upon coming 
tlic place saw the woman dead, and the two 
(rroes expiring by h<:r with wounds they ! 
(;iven themselves. 

\Vc see in this amazing inst;\ncc of barbai 
what strange disorders are bred in the mindi 
those men whose passions are not regulated 
virtue, and disciplined by reason. Though 
action which I have recited is in itself full of g 
and horror, it proceeded from a teni|>er of m 
which might have produced very noble fruits, 
it been iiiibrnied and guided by a suitable e 

It is therefore an unspeakable blessing to 
born in those parts of the world where wisd 
and knowledge ilourish ; though it must be c 
fcsscd, tliere are, even in these parts, several p 
unuistructcd persons, who are but little above 
inhabitants of those nations of which I have b 
here speaking ; as those who have had tlie adi 
tugvs of a more Ubcrai cdviOi^vVQw rise above 

]f^215. SPECTATOR." Ill 

mother by several different degrees of perfection. 
For, to return to our statue in the block of mar- 
ble, we see it sometimes only begun to be chip- 
ped, sometimes rough-hewn, and but just sketch- 
ed into an human figure ; sometimes we see the 
man appearing distinctly in all his limbs and fea- 
tares, sometimes we find the figure wrought up 
to a great elegancy, but seldom meet with any to 
which the hand of a Phidias or Praxiteles could 
not give several nice touches and finishings. 

Discourses of morality, and reflections upon 
human nature, are the best means we can make 
use of to improve our minds, and gain a true 
knowledge of ourselves, and consequently to re- 
cover our souls out of the vice, ignorance, and 
prejudice, which naturally cleave to them. I 
have all along professed myself in this paper a 
promoter of these great ends ; and I flatter myself 
that I do from day to day contribute something 
to the polishing of men's minds : at least my de- 
sign is laudable, whatever the execution may be. 
I must confess I am not a little encouraged in it 
by many letters which I receive from unknown 
hands, in approbation of my endeavours; and 
must take this opportunity of returning my thanks 
to those who write them, and excusing myself for 
not inserting several of them in my papers, which 
I am sensible would be a very great ornament to 
them. Should I publish the praises which are 
so well penned, they would do honour to the per- 
sons who write them, but my publishing of them 
would, 1 fear, be a sufficient instance to the world 
that I did not deserve them. C. 

Its aPBCTATOH ^%.Bi$. 

No. 216. WEDNESDAY, NOV. 7, 1711. 

Sigtddem herelipMnt, nilpriui, neqiteforHut: 
Verim §i mdpiet, negue perficiet naviter, 
Mgue, ubipati nmipoterU^ cum nemo exfietet, 
Infecld pace, uUrd ad earn veniet, indicant 
1e amare, etferre non po9§e .• actum ett, iUettp 
PerUti: eluaelf ubi te victum tentrit. 

Ter. Euo. Aet i. S«. 1;. 

O bniTc ! oh exeeUent ! if you nuuntmin it ! 
Bat if you tiy, and cao't go through with spirit, 
KtA finding you ean*t hear it, oniavited. 
Your peaee nnmade, all of your own aeeord. 
You eome and swear you love, and oan't endure it. 
Good niriit ! all's over ! ruin'd and undone ! 
Shell jilt you, when she sees you in her power. 



* This is to inform you, that Mr. Freeman 
had no sooner taken coach, but hit lady was taken 
with a terrible fit of the vapours, which it is fear- 
ed will make her miscarry, if not endanger her 
life, therefore, dear sir, if you know of any receipt 
that is good against this fashionable reigning 
distemper, be pleased to communicate it for the 
good of tlie public, and you will oblige 



*' The uproar was lo great as soon as I had 
read the Spectator concerning Mrs. Freeman, 
that after many revolutions in her temper of ra- 
ging, swooning, railing, fainting, pitying herself, 
suid rcvi]in{s licr husbeiud) uvk)u an accidental 

fn&. SPeCTATQB. iia 

nln^ in of a neighbouring^ lad)r (who says she 
i writ to you also) she had nothing left for it 
; to fail into a fit. I had the honour to read 
paper to her, and have pretty good corotnand 
countenance and temper on such occasions ; 
1 soon found my historical name to be Tom 
^ggot in your writings, but concealed myself 
til I saw how it affected Mrs. Freeman. She 
ked frequently at her husband, as often at me ; 
i she did not tremble as she filled tea, until 
5 came to the circumstance of Armstrong's 
iting out a piece of Tully for an opera tune, 
ten she burst out, she was exposed, she was 
:eived, she was wronged and abused. The 
i-cup was thrown in the fire ; and without tak- 
r vengeance on her spouse, she said to me, that 
ras a pretending coxcomb, a meddler that knew 
t what it was to interpose in so nice an affair as 
tween a man and his wife. To which Mr. 
eeman : *^ Madam, were I less fond of you than 
m, I should not have taken this way of writing 
the Spectator to inform a woman, whom God 
i nature has placed under my direction, with 
lat I request of her ; but since you are so in- 
creet as not to take the hint which I gave you 
that paper, I must tell you, madam, in so many 
Tds, that you have for a long and tedious space 
time acted a part unsuitable to the sense you 
ght to have of the subordination in which you 
i placed. And I must acquaint you once for 
, that the fellow without — ^ Ha, Tom !'— (here 
i footman entered and answered. Madam) * Sir- 
1, don't you know my voice ? Look upon me 
len I speak to you.'— -I say, madam, this fellow 
re is to know of mc my myself, whether I am 
leisure to see company or not. I am from this 
ur master of this house; and tny W%m^^^ Vvv 


Uk^ ^ 8PECTAT0H. Nc 

ity and trtrj where elie, it to behaTe m^se 
such ft manner, at it thall be hereafter an ho 
to yovL to bear my name ; and your pride thai 
are the deiightf the darling, and ornament 
man of honourt uteful and esteemed by his fri< 
and I no loneer one that hat buried tome n 
in the world, m compliance to a froward hui 
which hat grown upon an agreeable woma 
hit indulgence." Mr. Freeman ended thit 
a tendemett in hit atpect, and a downcast 
which thewed he wat extremely moved a( 
anguish he taw her in ; for she sat swelling 
passion, and her eyes firmly fixed on the 
when I, fearing he would lose all af^ain, took \ 
me to provoke her out of that amiable so 
she was in, to fall upon me ; upon which I 
very seasonably for my friend, that indeed 
Freeman was become the common talk oi 
town ; and that nothing was so much a jes 
when it was said in company Mr. Freeman 
promised to come to such a place. Upon \i 
the good lady turned her softness into down; 
rage, and threw the scalding tca-kettlc upon 
humble sei*vant, flew into the middle of the r 
and cried out she was the unfortunatc»t of al 
men. Others kept family dissutisfactiont 
hours of privacy and retirement. No ap< 
was to be made to her, no expedient to be fc 
no previous manner of breaking what was s 
in her; but all the world was to be acqua 
with her errors, without the least admon 
Mr. Freeman was going to make a softc 
speech, but I interposed : ^^ Look you, madi 
have nothing to say to this matter, but you o 
to consider you are now past a chicken ; thi 
mour, which was well enough in a girl, is i 
fcrMc in one of your motherly character." ^ 


that she lost all patience^ and flew directly at her 
httriiaiid's perriwig. I got her in my arms, and 
defended my friend; he making signs at the same 
time that it was too much ; I beckoning, nodding, 
and frowning oyer her shoulders, that he was lost 
if he did not persist. In this manner she flew 
xoiind and round the room in a moment, until the 
lad^ I spoke of above and servants entered ; upon 
which she fell on a couch as breathless. I still 
kept up my friend ; but he, with a very silly air, 
bid them bring the coach to the door, and we 
went off; I being forced to bid the coachman 
drive on. We were no sooner come to my lodg- 
ings, but all his wife's relations came to inquire 
after him; and Mrs. Freeman's mother writ a 
note, wherein she thought never to have seen 
this day, and so forth. 

* In a word, sir, I am afraid we are upon a thing 
we have no talents for ; and I can observe already 
my friend looks upon me rather as a man that 
knows a weakness of him that he is ashamed of, 
than one who has rescued him from slavery. Mr. 
Spectator, I am but a young fellow, and if Mr* 
Freeman submits^ I shall be looked upon as an 
incendiary, and never get a wife as long as I 
breathe, lie has indeed sent word home he shall 
lie at Hampstead to-night ; but I believe fear of 
the first onset after this rupture has too great a 
place in this resolution. Mrs. Freeman has a 
very pretty sister; suppose I delivered him up, 
and articled with the mother for her bringing* 
him home. If he has not courage to stand it 
(you are a great casuist), is it such an ill thing to 
bring myself oft' as well as I can ? What makes 
me doubt my man is, that I find he thinks it rea- 
sonable to expostulate at least with her ; and 
Captain Sentry will tell you, if you let your ov- 

tu ^ •raCTATOft. nn.M. 

4ert be ditpoledf ymi tr« no lonter ft eommftnd- 
•r« I wifth jrott could ftdiriM m« how to get cloftr 
of thU tNStmoM iMuidftomoly' 

T. Tom Msooot/ 

No. 317. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER S, 1711. 

•Tunef0fniM Hmpt^rp 

M!t parittr $9(0 rtpgtitur ttumttr <x^ nntrn. 

Tli«ft ttfir«t(nilti'4 bt rvl«t nf diwurtfiy* 
Til' ftiMffilM fomiiUi r«tM ■ K«fi«nil wj. 

I SMALL entertftin my rraiter to-<U)r with Mtfne 
lettcm from my corre»pon(lentf». The fir»t of 
f hctfi in the (lencripilort of ft clubt whrthrr roftl or 
iitiagitiftry I cttrtnot determitie ; but Mtn ftpt to 
ffthr,)r| thftt the writer of itf whoever »he Uf hftft 
fnrmf d ft kittd of nocturnftl orgie otit of her own 
(kncv. Whether thi» be no or ttott her letter tnttX 
catimiee to the fttitendmont of thftt kind of per* 
fioti» who ftre reprenented in itf and wfio»e thft« 
rftcterfi Mre frequent enough in the world. 

* Mil. arftcTAtoftf 

< In »ome of your flrit paper* yo^i were 
pleafted to give the public ft very diverting ftc- 
count of aevcral elubfi ftndnoctumfti ft»»embiie»| 
but 1 ftm ft member of ftaociety which hftft wholly 
eacftped your notice^ 1 meftn ft club of She-Kompa. 
We take eftch ft hftckney-coftchf ftnd meet once a 
week in a tftrg e upper^chftmber^ which we hire 
tiv the veftr for tliat purpoae } our tftndlord ftnd 
hU fkmltyf who are quiet v^ofle^ cotiatantly con* 

Xo.2ir. SPECTATOR. 117 

triving to be abroad on our club-night. We are 
no sooner come together, than we throw off all 
that modesty and reservedness with which our 
sex are obliged- to disguise themselves in public 
places. I am not able to express the pleasure we 
enjoy from ten at night till four in the morning, in 
being as rude as you men can be for your lives. 
As our play runs high, the room is immediately 
iilled with broken fans, torn petticoats, lappets, or 
head-dresses, flounces, furbelows, garters, and 
working-aprons. I had forgot to tell you at first, 
that besides the coaches we come in ourselves, 
there is one which stands always empty to carry 
off our dead men, for so we call all those frag- 
ments and tatters with which the room is strewed, 
and which we pack up together in bundles and 
put into the aforesaid coach. It is no small di- 
version for us to meet the next night at some 
member's chamber, where every one is to pick 
out what belonged to her from this confused bun- 
dle of silks, stuffs, laces, and ribands. I have 
hitherto given you an account of our diversion on 
ordinary club-nights ; but must acquaint you far- 
ther, that once a month we demolish a prude> 
that is, we get some queer formal creature iu 
among us, and unrig her in an instant. Our last 
month's prude was so armed and fortified in 
whalebone and buckram, that we had much ado to 
come at her ; but you would have died with laugh- 
ing to have seen how the sober awkward thing 
looked when she was forced out of her intrench- 
ments. In short, sir, it is impossible to give you 
a true notion of our sport, unless you would come 
one night amongst us ; and though it be directly 
against the rules of our society to admit a male 
visitant, we repose so much confidence in your 
silence and taciturnity ^ that it was agreed \iN xVv^ 

lit 8PECTAT0K. Mo. UT. 

whole cluby at our test meetingf to giTC fou en* 
trtnce for one night at a Spectator. 

1 am your humble aenrantf 


< P. S. We ahall demolish a prude next Tbura* 

Though I thank Kitty for her kind oilier, I do 
not at present find in myitflf any inclination to 
venture my person with her and her romping 
companions. I should rc^^rd myself as a se« 
cond Clodius intrudinti; rnvsclf on the mysterious 
rites of the Bona Dea, and should tipprehend be- 
ing demolished as much as the prude. 

The following letter comes from a gentlemany 
whose taste 1 find is much too delicate to endure 
the least advance towards romping. I may per- 
haps hereafter improve upon the hint he has given 
mOf and make it the subject of a wliole Specta^ 
tor ; in the mean time take it as it follows in his 
own words. 


* It is my misfortune to be in love with a 
young creature who is daily committing faults, 
which though they give me the utmost uneasi- 
ness, I know not how to reprove her for, or even 
acauaint her with. She is pretty, dresses well, is 
rich, and good humoured; but either wholly ne- 
glects, or has no notion of that which polite peo- 
ple have agreed to distinguish by the name of 
delicacy. After our return from a walk the other 
day she threw herself into an elbow-chair, and 
professed before a large company, that she was 
aJl oyer in a sweat. She toVd me this afternoon 

K«. nr. SRCTATOR. 119 

that her stomach ached; and was comf^ainio^ 
yesterday st dinner of something that ttuck ia 
her teeth I treated her with a basket of fruit 
bst summery which she eat so very greedily^ as 
almost made me resoive never to see her more. 
In short) sir, I begin to tremble whenever I see 
her about to speak or move. As she does not 
want sensey if she takes these hints I am happy ; 
if notf I am more than afraid, that these things 
which shock me even in the behaviour of a mts- 
tressy will appear insupportable in that of a wife. 

I am, SIR, 

Yours, &c.' 

My next letter comes from a correspondent 
whom 1 cannot but very much value, upon the ac- 
count which she gives of herself. 


< I AM happily arrived at a state of tranquil- 
lity, which few people envy, I mean that of an 
old maid ; therefore being wholly unconcerned 
in all that medley of follies which our sex is apt 
to contract from their silly fondness of yours, I 
read your railleries on us without provocation. I 
can say with Hamlet, 

Man delights not mc. 

Nor woman cither. 

< Therefore, dear sir, as you never spare your 
own sex, do not be afraid of reproving what is 
ridiculous in ours, and you will oblige at least one 
woman, who is 

Your humble servant, 
Susannah Frost.' 
^ mr. spectator, 

^Iam wife to a clergyman, awA cw\xvv>V\\^\v 

190 $P£CTAT01t Ifo. ttt. 

tbinkinp: that in your tenth or tithe character of 
womankind you meant myself^ therefore I haTe 
no quarrel against you for the other nine cha- 

Your humble servant, 

X. A. b: 

No. 218. FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1711. 

Quid dc quogui viro, et cui dicat. »*pe caveto. 

lloR. Ep. ZTiiL 61. 

-Have a care 

Of whom you Ulk, to y> hum, ami what, and where. 


I II APPRNED the other clay, as my way is, to stroll 
into a little coflcc-housc beyond Aldgatc ; and as 
I sat there, two or three very plain sensible men 
were talking of the Spectator. One said, he had 
that morning drawn the great bcneht ticket ; ano- 
ther wished he had ; but a third shuked his head 
and said) It was pity that the writer of that paper 
was such a sort of man, that it was no great mat- 
ter whether he had or no. lie is, it seems, said 
the good man, the most extravagant creature in 
the world ; has run through vast sums, and yet 
been in continual want: a man, for all he talks so 
well of economy, unfit for any of ttic offices of life, 
by reason of his profuseness. It would be an unhap- 
py thing to be his wife, his child, or his friend ; and 
yet lie talks as well of those duties of life as any 
one. Much reflection has brought me to so easy a 
contempt for every thing which is false, that this 
heavy accusation gave me no manner of uneasi- 
ness ; but at the same time it threw me into dee]) 
thought upon the subjerio^iVwvu xu^eucrul ; ar^H 

Vo. Sli. SPECTATOR. 121 

I could not but pity such as were so weak, as to 
value what the common people say out of their 
own talkative temper to the advantage or diminu- 
tion of those whom they mention, without being 
moved either by malice or good-will. It will be 
too long to expatiate upon the sense all mankind 
have of fame, and the inexpressible pleasure 
which there is in the approbation of worthy men, 
to all who are capable of worthy actions ; but mc- 
thinks one may divide the general word fame, in- 
to three different species, as it regards the differ- 
ent orders of mankind who have any thing to do 
with it. Fame therefore may be divided into 
glory, which resfjects the hero ; reputation, which 
is preserved by every gentleman ; and credit, 
which must be supported by cvei^ tradesman. 
These possessions in fame are dearer than life to 
those characters of men, or rather arc the life of 
these characters. Glory, while the hero pursues 
great and noble enterprises, is impregnable; and 
all the assailants of his renown do but slicw ihcir 
pain and impatience of its brightness, without 
throwing the least shade upon it. If the founda- 
tion of an high name be virtue and service, all 
that is offered against it is but rumour, which is 
too short-lived to stand up in competition with 
glory, which is everlasting. 

Reputation, which is the portion of every man 
who would live with the clcguntand knowing part 
of mankind, is as stable as glory, if it be as well 
founded ; and the common cause of human so- 
ciety is thought concerned when wc hear a man of 
good behaviour caluminated. Besides which, ac- 
cording to a prevailing custom amongst us, every 
man has Ids defence in his own arm : and re- 
proach is soon checked, put out of countenance, 
and overtaJcei7 by disgrace. 

J 8i SPECT ATOIt H«. til. 

The moit iinhappv of all men, and the most ex* 
posed to the niulig;nity or wantonness of the com* 
mon \x,\cey is the trader. Credit is undone in 
whi«|)crs. The tradesman's wound is received 
from one who is more private and more cruel 
than the ruflian with the lantern and dagger. 
The manner of repeating a man's name^— As ; 
* Mr. Cash, Oh ! do you leave your monev at his 
shop? Why, do you know Mr. Searoom ? He is 
indeed a general merchant.' I say, I have seen, 
from the iteration of a man's nunie, hiding one 
thought of him, and cxpluiuing what you hide, 
by saying sonif thing to his advantage when you 
speak, a merchant hurt in his credit; and him 
who, every duy he lived, literully added to the va- 
lu« of liiH nutivc country, undone by one who was 
only a burden and a blcmi»h to it. Since every 
body who knows the world is sensible of this 
great evil, how careful ou^ht a man to be in hi» 
language of a merchant ? It may possibly be in the 
power of a very shallow creature to lay the ruin 
of the best family in the most opulent city ; and 
the more so, the more highly he deserves of his 
country ; that is to say, the farther he places his 
wccilth out of his hands, to draw home that of 
another climate. 

In this cuHc un ill word may change plenty into 
want, and by a rash sentence a free and generous 
fortune niuy in a few days be reduced to beggary. 
How little does a giddy prater imagine, Uiat an 
idle phrase to the disfavour of a merchant, may 
be as pernicious in the consequence, as the for- 
gery of a deed to bar an inheritance would be to a 
gentleman I Land stands where it did before a 
gentleman was caluminated, and the state of a 
^reat action is just as it was bclore calumny was 
olfcrcd to diuiiiush iV) vltvO^ \.Vi^:t^ \% vimc^ place, 

JVo. a\% SPECTATOR. 1^3 

and occasion expected to unravel all that is con- 
triTod against those characters ; but the trader 
who is ready only for probable demauds upon 
him, can have no armour against the inquisitive, 
the malicious and the envious, who are prepared 
to fill the cry to his dishonour. Fire and sword 
are alow engines of destruction, in comparison of 
the babbler in the case of the merchant. 

For this reason I thought it an imitable piece 
of humanity of a gentleman of my acquaintance, 
who had great variety of affairs, and used to 
talk with warmth enough agahist gentlemen by 
whom he thought himself ill dealt with ; that ho 
would never let any thing be urged against a 
merchant (with whom he had any difference) ex- 
cept in a court of justice. He used to say, that 
to speak ill of a merchant, was to begin his suit 
with judgment and execution. One cannot, I 
think, say more on this occasion, than to repeat, 
that the merit of the merchant is above that of 
all other subjects; for while he is untouched in 
his credit, his hand -writing is a more portable coin 
for the service of his fciiow-citizcns, and his 
word the gold of Ophir to the country wherein he 
resides. T. 


Vue ea nottra voco. > 

Ovid. Met. xUi. 141. 

Theie I acaree eall our own. 

Thbrk ai*e but few men, who arc not ambltioMs 
of distmguishiiig themselves in the t\^x\otv w 

1S4 8PECTAT0K. So. 919- 

country where they live, and of growing conside- 
rable umong those with whom they con Terse. 
There is u kind of grandeur and respect, which 
the niCHncst and most insignificant part of man- 
kind endeavour to procure in the little circle of 
their friends and acquaintance. The poorest me- 
chanic, nay, the man who lives upon common 
alms, gets him his set of admirers, and delights 
in that superiority which he enjoys over those 
who are hi some respects beneath him. This am- 
bition, which is natural to the soul of man, might 
mcthinks receive a very happy turn ; and, it it 
were rightly directed, contribute as much to a 
person's advantage, as it generally docs to his un- 
easiness iUid disquiet. 

I shall therefore put together some thoughts 
on this subject, which I have not met with in 
other writers ; and shall set them down as they 
have occurred to me, without being at the pains 
to connect or methodise them. 

All superiority and pre-eminence that one man 
can have over another, may be reduced to the no- 
tion of quality, which, considered at large, is ei- 
ther that of fortune, body, or mind. The first is 
that which consists in birth, title, or riches ; it is 
the most foreign to our natures, and what we can 
the least call our own of any of the three kinds 
of quality. In relation to the body, quality arises 
from health, strength, or beauty; which are near- 
er to us, and more a part of ourselves than the 
former. Quality, as it regards the mind, has its 
rise from knowledge or virtue ; and is that which 
is more essential to us, and more intimately uni- 
ted with us than either of the other two. 

Tiie quality of fortune, though a man has less 
reason to value himself upon it than on that of 
the body or mind, i» Vvow^x^y ^e kind of quality 

Ho. tif SPECTATOK. If 5 

¥rliich makes the most shining figure in the eye 
of the world. 

As Tirtue is the most reasonable and genuine 
source of honour^ we generally find in titles an 
intimation of some particular merit that should 
recommend men to the high stations which they 
possess. Holiness is ascribed to the pope ; ma- 
jesty to kings ; serenity or mildness of temper 
to princes ; excellence or perfection to ambas- 
sadors; grace to archbishops; honour to peers ; 
worship or venerable behaviour to magisti*ates ; 
and reverence, which is of the same import as 
the formeri to the inferior clergy. 

In the founders of great families, such attri- 
butes of honour are generally correspondent with 
the virtues of the person to whom they are appli- 
ed ; but in the descendants they are too often the 
marks rather of p^randeur than of merit. The 
stamp and denomination still continues, but the 
intrinsic value is frequently lost. 

The death-bed shews the emptiness of titles in 
a true light. A poor dispirited sinner lies trem- 
bling under the apprehensions of the state he is 
entering on ; and is asked by a grave attendant 
how his holiness does ? Another hears himself 
addressed to under the title of highness or excel- 
lency, who lies under such mean circumstances 
of mortality as are the disgrace of human nature. 
Titles at such a time look rather like insults and 
mockery than respect. 

The truth of it is, honours are in this world un- 
der no regulation ; true quality is neglected, vir- 
tue is oppressed, and vice triumphant. The last 
day will rectify this disorder, and assign to every 
one a station suitable to the dignity of his charac- 
ter. Ranks will be then adjusted, and preceden- 
cy act right. 



M^thinks we should have an ambitioiif if not 
to advance ourseWes in another worlds at least to 
preserve our post in it^ and outshine our inferiors 
m virtue here, that they may not be put above us 
in a state which is to settle the distinction for 

Men in scripture are called strangers and so- 
journers upon earth, and life a pilgrimage. Sev- 
eral heathen, as well as christian aathonh under 
the same kind of metaphor, have represented the 
world as an inn, which was only designed to fur- 
nish us with accommodations in this our passage. 
It is therefore very absurd to think of setting up 
our rest before we come to our journey's end, 
and not rather to take care of the reception we 
shall there meet, than to fix our thoughts on the 
little conveniences and advantages which we enjoy 
one above another in the way to it. 

Epictetus makes use of another kind of allu- 
sion, which is very beautiful, and wonderfully 
proper to incline us to be satisfied with the post 
in which providence has placed us. We arc 
here, says he, as in a theatre, where every one 
has a part allotted to him. The great duty which 
lies upon a man is to act his part in perfection. 
We may indeed say, that our part does not suit 
us, and that wc could act another better. But 
this, says the philosopher, is not our business. 
All that we are concerned in is to excel in the 
part which is given us. If it be an improper one^ 
the fault is not in us, but in Him who has cast 
our several parts, and is the great disposer of 
the drama.* 

The part that was acted by this philosopher 
Limself was but a very indifferent one, for he 

» Yid. EpictetiEucUiriU. cap. 23. 


lived and died a slave. His motive to content- 
ment in this particular, receives a very great in- 
fbrcement fixxm. the above-mentioned considera- 
tion, if we remember that our parts in the other 
world will be new-cast, and that mankind will be 
there ranged in different stations of superiority 
and pre-eminence, in proportion as they have here 
excelled one another in virtue, and performed in 
their several posts of life the duties which belong 
to them. 

There are many beautiful passages in the little 
apocryphal book, entitled. The Wisdom of Solo- 
man, to set forth the vanity of honour, and the 
like temporal blessings which are in so great 
repute among men, and to comfort those who 
have not the possession of them. It represents 
in very warm and noble terms this advancement 
of a good man in the other world, and the great 
surprise which it will produce among those who 
are his superiors in this. < Then shall the right- 
eous man stand in great boldness before the face 
of such as have afflicted him, and made no account 
of his labours. When they see it they shall be 
troubled with terrible fear, and shall be amazed 
at the strangeness of his salvation, so far beyond 
all that they looked for. And they, repenting and 
groaning for anguish of spirit, shall say within 
themselves, this was he whom we had sometime 
in derision, and a proverb of reproach. We fools 
accounted his life madness, and his end to be 
without honour. How is he numbered among 
the children of God, and his lot is among the 
saints 1'* 

If the reader would see the description of a life 
that is passed away in vanity and among the sha- 

•Wisd. ch.T. 1— 5. 

iKK flmCTATOR. No. MK 

dowt of pomp and greatness, he may see it rtrf 
finely drawn m the same place.* In the mean* 
time, since it is neccessary in the present contti* 
tntion of thhigs, that order and distinction should 
be kept up in the world, we should be happy, if 
those who enjoy the upper stations in it, would 
endeavour to surpass others in Tirtuciaa much is 
in rank, and by their humanity and condescension 
make their superiority easy and acceptable to 
those who are beneath them ; and if, on the con* 
trary, those who are in meaner posts of life, would 
consider how they may better their condition 
hei*eafter, and by a just deference and submission 
to their superiors, make them happy in those 
blessings with which Providence has thought fit 
to distinguish them. C 

No. 220. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1711. 

Bumoreigue terit varioi — — 

ViRC. JEn. xiL 031. 

A thouiand rumoun ipreadt. 


* Why will you apply to my father for my 
love ? I canoot help it if he will give you my per- 
son ; but I assure you it is not iti his power, nor 
even in my own to give you my heart. Dear sir, 
do but consider the ill consequence of such a 
match ; you are fifty-five, I twenty-one. You are 
a man of business, and mightily conversant in 
arithmetic and making calculations ; be pleased 

• Ch. V. a— W. 

No. S90. SPECTATOR. 1S9 

therefore to consider what proportion ybur spi« 
rits bear to mine ; and when you have made a just 
estimate of the necessary decay on one side, and 
the redundance on the other, you will act accord- 
ingly. This perhaps is such language as you may 
not expect from a young lady ; but my happiness 
is at stake, and I must talk plainly. I mortally 
hate you ; and so, as you and my father aeree, 
you may take me or leave me: but if you will be 
so good as never to see me more, you will for 
ever oblige, 

SIR, • 

Your most humble servant, 



* There are so many artifices and modes of 
false wit, and such a variety of humour discovers 
itself among its votaries, that it would be impos- 
sible to exhaust so fertile a subject, if you would 
think fit to resume it. The following instances 
may, if you think fit, be added by way of appendix 
to your discourses on that subject. 

That feat of poetical activity mentioned by Ho- 
race of an author who could compose two hundred 
verses while he stood upon one leg, has been imi- 
tated (as I have heard) by a modern writer ; who 
priding himself on the hurry of his invention, 
thought it no small addition to his fame to have 
each piece minuted with the exact number of 
hours or days it cost him in the composition. He 
could taste no praise until he had acquainted you 
in how short a space of time he had deserved it ; 
and was not so much led to an ostentation of his 
art, as of his dispatch : 

i$$ 8PICTAT0I. M«. m 

Jleeipejam iahuUu / tktur lUbU iocitt, hm^ , 
Cutfm t vitkamui uier phu icribere p9uit. 

Ho R. 1 But U. 14. 

Ileni't pen and ink, and time, and place; let*t Uj, 
Who eoB write moet, or fMteflt,)rou or 1. 


< This was the whole of his ambition ; and there 
fore I cannot but think the fliglits of this rapU 
author vcr^ proper to be opposed to those labo 
rious nothings which you have observed were thi 
delight of the German wit% and in which they s( 
happily got rid of such a tedious ciuantity of theii 

< I have known a gentleman of another turn oi 
humour, who despising the name of an author 
never printed his works, but contracted his talent 
and by the help of a very fine diamond which hi 
wore on his little linger, was a considerable poet 
upon glass. He had a very good epigrammatic 
wit; and there was not a parlour or tavern win* 
dow whrre he visited or dined for some years 
which did not receive some sketches or memoii 
als of it. It was his mistortune at last to lost 
his genius and his ring to a sharper at play^ an( 
he has not attempted to make a verse since. 

< But of all contractions or expedients for wit^ ! 
admire that of an ingenious projector whose boo! 
I have seen. This virtuoso being a mathemati 
cian, has according to his tastCy thrown the art o 
poetry into a short problem, and contrived tables 
by which any one without knowing a word o 
grammar or sense, may to his great comfort, b< 
able to compose or rather to erect Latin verses.* 

* This it no fiction of the Rpectator*!, M might naturalhr b< 
imiigined There was a projector of this kind immcd fohi 
PcU'.Vf who publinhed a vcrv thin pamphlet in |vo. entitled, 

jimTioijilVeriifying, anew vf air Xotaik« lAtitiVertca. l^md 



No. lifill. SPECTATOR. lil 

His tables ^.^ ^^^ ^^ poetical loguiKhms* 
which being: divided into several squares, and all 
inscribed with so many incoherent words appear 
to the eye tome what like a fortune -telling screen. 
What a joy must it be to the unlearned operator 
to find that these words beings carefully collected 
and writ down in order accor^g to the problem^ 
start of themselves into he3Lameter and penume* 
ter verses ? A friend of mine, who is a student in 
astrology, meeting with this book, performed the 
operation, by the rules there set down ; he shewed 
his verses to the next of his acquaintance, who 
happened to understand Latin ; and being inform- 
ed they described a tempest of wind, very luckily 
prefixed them, together with a translation, to uu 
almanac he was just then printing, and was sup- 
posed to have foretold the last great storm.* 

I think the only improvement beyond this, 
would be that which the late Duke of Bucking- 
ham mentioned to a stupid pretender to poetry, 
as a project of a Dutch mechanic, viz. a mill to 
make verses. This being the most compendious 
method of all which have yet been proposed, may 
deserve the thoughts of our modern virtuosi who 
are employed in new discoveries for the public 
good ; and it may be worth the while toconsidcr« 
whether in an island where few arc content with- 
out being thought wits, it will not be a common 
benefit, that wit as well as labour should be mado 

I am, SIR, 
Your humble servant, Sec' 


t I OFTKN dine al a gentleman's house 
where there arc two young ladies in thenuelvcs 

• Viz. November tiO, 1703. 

198 SPECTATOR No. M>. 

very agreeable, but very c<4d in their behavioury 
because tliey understand me for a person that it 
to *< break my mind/' as the phrase is, very sud- 
denly to one of them. But I take this way to ac- 
quaint them that 1 am not in love with either of 
them, in hopes thev will use mc with that agree- 
able freedom and mdifference which they do all 
the rest of the world, and not to drink to one ano- 
ther only, but sometimes cast a kind look, with 
their service to, 


Your humble servant.* 


^ I AM a young gentleman, and take it for 
a piece of good breeding to pull off my hat when 
I see any thing peculiarly charming in any wo- 
man, whether I know her or not. I take care 
that there is nothing ludicrous or arch in my 
manner, us if I were to betray a woman into a salu- 
tation by way of jest or humour; and yet except 
I am acquainted with her, I find she ever takes it 
for a rule, that she is to look upon this civility 
and homage I pay to her supposed merit, as an 
impertinence or forwardness which she is to ob- 
serve and neglect. I wish, sir, you would settle 
the business of salutation ; and please to inform 
me how 1 shall resist the sudden impulse I have 
to be civil to what gives an idea of merit; or tell 
these creatures how to behave themselves in re- 
turn to the esteem I have for them. My affairs 
^bltc such, that your decision will be a favour to 
me, if it be only to save the unnecessary expense 
of wearing out my hat so fast as I do at present. 

I am, SIR, 


T. D/ 

Ka StL 8PECTAT0B. 13Ss 


< There are some that do know me, and won't 
bow to me/ 

No. 221. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1711. 

-Ah 0V9 

Usque cut mala 

Hon. Sat S. 1. 1. T. 6. 

From eggs, which first are set upon the board. 
To apples ripe, with which it last is stor'd. 

When I have finished any of my speculations, it 
b my method to consider which of the ancient 
authors have touched upon the subject that I treat 
of. By this means I meet with some celebrated 
thought upon it, or a thought of my own expres- 
sed in better words, or some similitude for the il- 
lustration of my subject. This is what gives birth 
to the motto of a speculation, which I rather 
choose to take out of the poets than the prose- 
writers, as the tormer generally give a finer turn 
to a thought than the latter, and by couching it in 
few words, and in harmonious numbers, make it 
more portable to the memory. 

My reader is therefore sure to meet with at 
least one good line in every paper, and very often 

finds his imagination entertained by a hint that 

awakens hi his memory some beautiful passage of 

a classic author. 

It was a saying of an ancient philosopher,* 

which I fii»d some of our writers have ascribed to 

* Aristotle, or according to some Diogenes. See Diogenes. 
I^lertius, lib. 5. eap. 1. n. 11. 



Queen Elizabethy who perhaps might 1 
occasion to repeat it^ tliat a good uce 
of reconimendution. It naturally mak 
holders inquisitive into the person n 
owner of ity and generally prepossesse 
his favour. A handsome motto has th 
feet. Besides that it always gives a su 
rary beauty to a paper, and is sonictimet 
ner necessary, when the writer is ci 
what may appear a p.u*udox to vulgar n 
shews that he is supporicd by good a 
and is not singular in his opinion. 

1 niust confess the motto is of little 
unlearned reader, for which reason I < 
only as ^ a word to the wise.' But as i 
learned friends, if they cannot relish th 
take care to make provision for them h 
of my paper. If they do not understan 
that is hung out, they know very well 
they may meet with entcitainment in t 
and 1 thhik I was never better pleased 
a plain man's compliment, who upon h 
telling him that he would like the Spect 
better if he understood the motto, re 
* good wine needs no bush.* 

1 have heai'd of a couple of preachers 
try town, who endeavoured which si 
shine one another, and draw together tb 
congregation. One of them being well 
the I'^aliiers, used to quote every now i 
Latin sciiience to his illiterate hcarc 
secnis found themselves so edified by it 
ilockcd in greater numbers to this les 
ttiiiu to his rival. '1 iie other fiiiding h 
gatioi; mouldering every Sunday, and 
length what wua ihc occasioii ol it, n 
f^ivc ills palish a UvUc Latin in his turJ 

134 SPECTATOa Xa tM. 

Quren Elizabeth^ who perhaps might have taken 
occuHion to repeat it, tiiat a good face it a letter 
ol* ircoininchdution. It naturally makes the be- 
holdcrb itir)uittitive into the person who is the 
owner oi' ii* and generally prepoflttesses them in 
hi-i favour. A handboinc motto has the same ef* 
feet. Besides that it always gives a supernume- 
rary l)euuty to a paper, and is sometimes in a man- 
ner necessary, when the writer is engaged in 
what may appear a p.u*udox to vulgar minds, as it 
shews that tic is supported by good authorities^ 
and is not singular in his opinion. 

1 Uiust confess the motto is of little use to an 
unlearned reader, tor which reason I consider it 
only as ^ a word to the wise.* But as for my un- 
learned iriends, if they cannot relish the motto, I 
take care to make ])rovision for them in the body 
oi my paper, if they do not understand the sign 
thui is luHig out, tiiey know very well by it tliat 
tiny may meet with entertainment in the house; 
uiid 1 think 1 was never better pleased than with 
a plain man's compliment, who u|>on his friend's 
teiiui}; him that he would like the Spectator much 
better if he understood the motto, re plied i that 
< ^oud wine needs no bush.' 

1 iiuve heard of a couple of preachers in a coun- 
try town, who endeavoured which should out- 
shine one another, and draw together the greatest 
congregation. One of them being well versed m 
tl)c Faiiiers, used to quote every now and then a 
Lutin bciiicnce to his illiterate hearers, who it 
seenis ioiuul themselves so edified by it, that they 
flocked in grciitcr numbers to this learned maii 
iUiAi to Ititi rival. 1 iie other iiiiding his congre- 
gailoh mouldering every Sunday, and hearing at 
length what was the occasion oi it, resolved to 
i^hc Ilia ];aj'ish u l:viie Latin in his turn ; but be- 

Il«.fi8t. SFECTATOIi. t3f 

ingf unacquainted with any of the Fathers, he du 
gested into his sermons the whole book of Qua 
Genusj adding however such explications to it as 
kc thought might be for the benefit of his people. 
He aftei*wards entered upon ^« inPrasentiy which 
he converted in the same manner to the use of 
his parishioners. This in a very little time thick- 
ened his audience, filled his church, and routed 
his antagonist. 

The natural love to Latin, which is so preva- 
lent in our common people, makes me think that 
my speculations fare never the worse among them 
for that little scrap which appears at the head of 
them ; and what the more encourages me in the 
use of quotations in an unknown tongue, is, that 
I hear the ladies, whose approbation I value more 
than that of the whole learned world, declare 
themselves in a more particular manner pleased 
with my Greek mottoes. 

Designing this day's work for a dissertation 
upon the two extremities of my paper, and hav- 
ing already dispatched my motto, I shall, in the 
next place, discourse upon those single capital 
letters, which are placed at the end of it, and 
which have afforded great matter of speculation 
to the curious. I have heard various conjectures 
upon this subject. Some tell us that C is the 
mark of those papers that are written by the 
clergyman, though others ascribe them to the 
club in general : that the papers marked with R 
were written by my friend Sir Roger : that L 
signifies the lawyer, whom I have described in 
my second speculation ; and that T stands tor the 
trader or merchant. But the letter X, which is 
placed at the end of some few of my papers, is 
that which has puzzled the whole to^ni, as they 
cannot think of any naiu^ which be?;ui^'^\\iv\Xv^ 


letter, except Xenophon and Xerxes, who can 
neither oi'thcm be »uppofted to have had any hand 
in these speculations. 

In answer to these inquisitive gentlemen, who 
have many of them made inquiries of me by let- 
ter, 1 must tell them the reply of an ancient phi« 
iosophcr, who carried somctliing hidden under 
his cloke. A certain acquuintunce desiring him 
to let him know what it wus he covered so care« 
fully : ^ 1 cover it*' says he, * on purpose thai you 
should not know.' 1 have made use of these 
obscure marks for the same purpose. They are, 
perhaps, little amulets or charms to preserve the 
paper against the fascination and malice of evil 
eyes : for which reason I would not have my 
reader surprised, if hereafter he sees any of my 
papers marked with a Q, a Z, a Y, an 8cc. or with 
tiie word Abracadabra.* 

1 shall, however, so far explain myself to the 
reader, as to let him know that the letters C, L, 
and X, are cabal isiical, and carry more in them 
than it is proper for the world to be acquainted 
with. Those who are versed in the philosophy of 
Pythagoras, and swear by the Tetrachtys, that is 
the number fourf, will know very well that the 
number ten, which is signified by the letter X, 
(and which has so much perplexed the town) has 
in it many particular powei*s ; that it is called by 
Platonic writers the complete number ; that one, 
two, three, and four put together make up the 

* A noted cliftrm for aguei : lAid to have been iuventetl by 
Basilides, an hcrvUc of the looond century, who taught that 
Tory sublime myttcrieii were contained in the number 365, 
(viz. not only the davH of the year, but the different orders of 
cci^nial beings. Ike.) to >»hicli number the Hebrew letters 
tliut compose the word Abracttdabra are said to amount. 

t Sec Suiiley'i Live* of the Philoiophers, page 527, 2ii 
edit 16$7, folio. 

Jfo, gsi. SPECTATOR; Iff^ 

number ten ; and that ten is all. But these are 
not mysteries for ordinary readers to be let into. 
A man must have spent many years in hard study 
before he can arrive at the knowledge of them. 

We had a rabbinical divine in England, who 
was chaplain to the Earl of Essex in Queen Eliza- 
beth's time, that had an admirable head for 
secrets of this nature. Upon his taking the doc- 
tor of divinity's degree, he preached before the 
university of Cambridge, upon the first verse of 
the first chapter of the first book of Chronicles, 
< in which,' says he, < you have the three following 
words : 

« Adam, Shcth, Enosh." 

He divided this short text into many parts, and by 
discovering several mysteries in each word, made 
a most learned and elaborate discourse. The 
name of this profound preacher was Dr. Alabas- 
ter, of whom the reader may find a more particu- 
lar account in Dr. Fuller's book of English Wor- 
tiiies. This instance will, I hope, convince my 
readers that there may be a great deal of fine 
writing in the capital letters which bring up the 
rear of my paper, and give them some satisfaction 
in that particular. But as for the full explication 
cf these matters, 1 must refer them to time, which 
discovers all things. C. 

M 2 


Na9». WEDNESDAY! NOV. U, 1711. 

Hon. Iia. 

Whr, of two brothers, ono tili pIcMort lov«% 
rrcMn hit iporti to iltrod's fragraot |ra?e«. 

< MB. trECT%TOm, 

* TiiKRK U one thing I have often looked 
for in your pu|>crftf and have \x% often wondered to 
find myncir (liHuppointcd ; the ruthcr, bcciiufie I 
think it ufiiibicct every way aK'^eable toyourde* 
tii^rit and by lM;ing left unattcniptcd by others, it 
ficeniA reHcrvcd an a proper employment for you; 
I meun a diHr|ui»ition, from whence it prorcediy 
that men of the brightest p:irtH, and mofit com* 
preh(nKive (^eniiiHi compi( tely furninhed with 
tulniiH for any province in human affairs ; such as 
by their wiHeh'SHf}nH of economy to otiiers, have 
made it evident that they have the jmitCHt notions 
of life, and ot't.nie Hensc in thecon(hict of it ; 
from what imliappy eontradictious eansc it pro- 
ceeds, tiiiit pei'HonH thus fininhed by nature and by 
art, should no often fail in the mana(;ement of 
that which they so well understand, and want the 
ad(hcsH to make a ri^lit application of tlieir own 
rules, 'i'hih is certainly a prodigious inconsis- 
tency in behaviour, and makes much such a figure 
in morals, as a monstrous birth in naturals; with 
this flifTcrcnce only, which greatly a(;i;ravat<-sthc 
won<U r, that it hap)>ens much more frequently: 
and what a blemish does it cast upon wit and 
je;jrnin^ in the (renerul account of the world \ In 
how di^dvanUgcoui vn V\^\\l Olv:^^^ k cxv<)sc them 

ir» Mt SPECTATIML ]3t 

to the tmsf cbss of mankind, that there should be 
to maiif instances of persons who hare so con- 
ducted their lives in spite of these truiscendant 
adranta^s, as neither to be happy in themselres 
nor osenil to their friends ; when every body sees 
it was entirely in their own power to be eminent 
m both these characters ? For my part, I think 
there is no reflection more astonishing, than to 
consider one of these gentlemen spending a fair 
fortune, running in every body's debt without the 
least apprehenuon of a future reckoning, and at 
last leaving not only his own children, but possi- 
bly those of other people, by his means, in star- 
ving circumstances ; while a fellow, whom one 
would scarce suspect to have a human soul, shall 
perhaps raise a vast estate out of nothing, and be 
the founder of a family capable of being very con- 
siderable in their country, and doing many illus- 
trious services to it. That this obser%'ation is 
just, experience has put beyond all dispute. But 
though the fact be so evident and glaring, yet the 
causes of it are still in the dark ; which makes 
me persuade myself, that it would be no unaccep- 
table piece of entertainment to the town, to in- 
quire into the hidden sources of so unaccounta- 
ble an evil. 

I am, SIR, 
Your most humble servant.' 

What this correspondent wonders at, has been 
matter of admiration ever since there was any 
such thing as human life. Horace reflects upon 
this inconsistency very agreeably in the character 
of Tigellius,whom he makes a mighty pretender 
to economy, and tells you, you might one day 
hear him speak the most philosophic things ima- 
ginable concerning being contented wVlVv ^Vi\X\^ 


J4» SPECTATOR. No. ttf . 

and his contempt of every thing but mere necet- 
sariet ; and in half a week after upend a tliousand 
pounds. When he says* this of hini with relation 
to expense, he describes him as uiierjual to him- 
self in every other circumstance of life. Indeed^ 
if we consider lavish men carefully, we shall find 
it always proceeds from a certain incapacity of 
possessing; themselves, and finding enjoyment in 
their own minds. Mr. Dryden has expressed 
this very excellently in tlie character of Zimri: 

A niftii lo variout Uiat he Kcm*d to be 
Not oiie, biit nil iiiafikiud't epiloiue. 
Htifl'in opinion, alwii\« in the wrfNig, 
Was every thing by itjirtii, ■tid nothing long! 
But in the c<iune ol rwie revirfving moon, 
Wat chvniiK, fiiidicr, ■tMteiroiin, ainl buflbon. 
I'henafl for women, |Miinting, rhyming, drinking^ 
Ileaidet ten thounnd freak*, that died m thinking: 
llleM'd niaduian, wlK>crMjld every hour employ 
In lomething new U> with, or to enjoy ! 
In tquiuid'Hiig wealth was hit peoulitu* art* 
Nothing went unrewarded Ijut deaert. 

^ This loose state of the soul hurries the extrava- 
gant from one pursuit to another ; and the reason 
that his expenses are greater than another's, is, 
that his wants arc also more numerous. But 
what makes so many go on in this way to their 
lives' end, is, that they certainly do not know how 
contemptible they are in the eyes of the rest of 
mankind, or rather, that indeed they are not so 
f*.ontcmptible as they deserve. Tully says, it is 
the greatest of wickedness to lessen your pater- 
nal estate. And if a man would thoroughly con- 
sider how much worse than banishment it must 
be to his child, to ride by the estate which should 
have been his, had it not been for his fatlier^s 
injustice to him» he would be smitten with the re- 
flection more deeply than can be understood by 
any but one who is a IvAher. Sure there can be 

V«b 9flL SreCTATQB. 14^ 

_ * 

oothiDg more afflicting, than to think it had been 
happier for his son to have been bom of any other 
man tiring than himself. 

It is not perhaps much thought of, but it is 
certainly a very important lesson, to learn how to 
enjoy ordinary life, and to be able to relish your 
bemg without the transport of some passion, or 
gratification of some appetite. For want of this 
capacity, the world is filled with whetters, tipplers, 
cutters, sippers, and all the numerous train of 
those who, for want of thinking,' are forced to be 
erer exercising their feeling, or tastmg. It would 
be hard on this occasion to mention the harmless 
smokers of tobacco, apd takers of snuff. 

The slower part of mankind, whom my corres- 
pondent wonders should get estates, are the more 
mimediately formed for that pursuit. They can 
expect distant things without impatience, because 
they are not carried out of their way either by 
violent passion, or keen appetite to any thing. 
To men addicted to delights, business is an in- 
terruption ; to such as are cold to delights, busi- 
ness is an entertainment. For which reason it 
was said to one who commended a dull man for 
hia application < No thanks to him ; if he had no 
business, he weuld have nothing to do.' T. 

Ui SPBCTATOR. 1U,9tg. 

No. W3. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 171 1, 

O fiiavit animn / ouuhm tf iUeam hcnam 
Jln(fhucJ'ut9»e, tule» cum »tnt relitfui^t 


O •wei-t mimI ! 1m>» i^knI niuil yfiu have been iMrttolbrty 
wkcti your r«maiit» are koflHieiiiu*^ 

WifKN I rciilfct Upon the variouA fate of thofte 
intjItittidfM of uncicnt writcrH who ilourifthed in 
Ctrcccc tthd Italy, I roiihidrr t'liiK* iiH un iniiiienfte 
ocruii, ill which inuny noble ;iUihoi't) are entirely 
flwullowed u|>, nuny very niiK h nhuttcred mid 
dainafi^cd, Koinc ()uiie dihjointcd and broken into 
picccHt whilr Hotnc huve wholly chcaped the com- 
mon wn^ck ; bui the number ol the lant \% very 

•Mpptirent rari nant^f in tfurifitf vfutt9. 

Viu<;. JIm. i. wer, *2, 

One here uml tlinre flotU oti the viitt iibyit. 

Amon^; the muiiiutcd poctH of antiquity there 
is non<; wIiohc* fm^^inentK are ho bmutiful a» those 
of Suppho. They p^ive U8 a tante of her way 
of writin(7, which in )>«M'fcctly conformable with 
that cxtruordiiiary character wc find of her in the 
rernarkh of thone ^;r<:at criticn who were conver- 
sant with her workh when they were entire. One 
niay Kce by what in left of them, that hhe followed 
nature in ull her thou};htM, without denccndini; to 
f hone little pointH, conceitii, and turuH of wit with 
which many of our modern lyricn are ho mihcrably 
infected. Jlcr lioul neemH to have been made tip 
of love and portry. She felt the puhhion in all ilft 
irai'mth, and described it in all iiH bymj)tom?i. 

Vo. 905. SP£CTATOU. 1^ 

She is called by ancient authors the tenth tiiuse ; 
and by Plutarch is compared to Cacus the son of 
Vulcan, who breathed out nothing but flame. I 
do not know by the character that is given of her. 
works* whether it is not for the benefit of man- 
kind that they are lost. They arc filled with such 
bewitching tenderness and rapture, that it might 
have been dangerous to have given them a read- 

An inconstant lover, called Phaon, occasioned 

freat calamities to this poetical lady. She fell 
esperately in love with him, and took a voyage 
into Sicily, in pursuit of him, he having with- 
drawn himself thither on purpose to avoid her. 
It was in that island, and on this occasion, she is 
supposed to have made the Hymn to Venus, with 
a translation of which I shall present my reader. 
Her Hymn was ineffectual for procuring that hap- 
piness which she prayed for in it. Phaon was 
still obdurate, and Sappho so transported with 
the violence of her pussion, that she was resolved 
to get rid of it at any price. 

There was a promontory in Acamania called 
Leucatc, on the top of which was a little temple 
dedicated to Apollo. In this temple it was usual 
for despairing lovers to make their vows in se- 
cret, and afterwards to fling themselves from the 
top of the precipice into the sea, where they were 
sometimes taken up alive. This place was there- 
fore called the Lover's Leap ; and whether or no 
the fright tliey had been in, or the resolution that 
could push them to so dreadful a remedy, or the 
bruises which they often received in their fall, 
banished ail the tender sentiments of love, and 
gave their spirits another turn ; those who had 
taken this leap were observed never to relapse 


into that ptttion. Sappho tried the curey but pe« 
rithed in the experiment. 

After having i^iven this short account of Bap- 
phf>, 90 far as it regards the followitig Odei 1 shall 
suhjoin the translation of it as it was tent me by 
a fricndi whose admirable Pastorals and Winter- 
piece hare been already so well received. The 
reader will find in it thai pathetic simplicity which 
is so peculiar to him, and so suitable to the ode 
he has here translated. This Ofle in the Greek 
(besides those beauties observed by Madam Da« 
cier) has several harmonious turns in the wordSf 
which are not hmt in the English. I must far- 
ther add, that the translHtion hus preserved every 
image and sentiment of Sappho, notwithstanding 
it has all the case and spirit of an original. In a 
word, if the ladies have a mind to know the man- 
ner of writing; practiced by the so mtich celebra- 
ted Sappho, they may here see it in its genuine 
and natural beauty, without any foreign or affect- 
ed ornaments. 

jijv iiYMjsr TO vnmjH. 

O VEWi'it bcmity of the tki^i. 
To whom a thoutnnil templet nn*, 
fiiiily faliH! in j^enth! ^milen, 
Full of Ifire-pi-i'plexinK wlln*} 
O grKlrIrM ! from my hoMrt rcmore 
I'lie wHiititig caret and paint cflote. 

If ever thou hatt kindly heard 
A ftoiig in tulll (lintrett preforr*d, 
Pro|iitif/ii<i to my Umenjl vow, 
(> gentle goddett ! hear me now, 
Deteend, thou bright, immortal cueit, 
In all thy radiant eharmt •otifetrd. 

Thou once didnt leai^e almighty Jore* 
And all the gfdden rof>fii nlKyrc : 
The rar thy wanton tparrowt drew, 
IloTPring in air they lightly flfw ; 
A* to my bower they wingM their way> 
f Mw their i)ti\t«TVD%vVA&iv%V^T' 

0. S3X SPECTATOR. 145 

- Th* birds dismii8*d (while you remain) 
Bore back their empty car again : 
Then you with looks divinely mild. 
Id every heavenly feature smii'd, 
And ask'd what new complaints I made. 
And why I callM you to my aid? 

What frenzy in my bosom ragfd, 
And by what cure to be assuaged ? 
What gentle youth I would allure. 
Whom in my artful tolls secure ? 
Who does thy tender heart subdue. 
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who? 

Though now he shuns th^ longing arms. 
He soon shall court th^ slighted charms ; 
Though now thy offerings he despise, 
He soon to thee shall sacrifice ; 
Though now he freeze, lie soon shall burn, 
-And be thy victim in his turn. 

Celestial visitant, once more 
Thy needful presence I implore ! 
In pity come, and ease my grief. 
Bring my distemper'd soul relief. 
Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires. 
And give me all my heart desires. 

Madam Dacier observes, tiicre is something; 
ry pretty in that circumstance of this ode, 
lerein Venus' is described as sending away her 
ariot upon her arrival at Sappho's lodgings, to 
note that it was not a short transient visit which 
c intended to make her. This ode was pre- 
rved by an eminent Greek critic, who inserted 
entire in his works, as a pattern of perfection 
the structure of it. 

Longinus has quoted another ode of this great 
cte'is, wliich is likewise admirable in its kind, 
d has been translated by the same hand with 
2 foregoing one. I shall oblige my reader with 
in another paper. In the meanwiiilc, I cannot 
t wonder, that these two finished pieces have 
ver been attempted before by any of our own 
untrymen. But the truth of it is, iVi^ com^^- 

roL, IV. N 

I*» SF1CGU9 

siiinn^ or tlic tncicnUf vk 
iihy of tli(»<! itiiiiutural wUtf 
li,;)il 'irfirdiiiur}- rcaderif 
t'l render intM Hnother tOOj 
tA lUe (jri^ihul nuij' iwt Mf% 
Hie tr^iiiftliiuun. 

. 234. FRIDAY, N01 

With nivil »hiri [|ir |rMt H 

Tp wc look Hbroad upon ti 
iiiaT)liiii(l, miiil BDileBvour U 
[ilcH bf action in every in^ri 
Kcein liit;hly prob&blc that n 
flic whole ii]>ccicfl, ami that e 
tiou tu the vii^iir of his c 
IrtM uciuutcd hy it. It U 
thitifr to niret. with mcui who 
bl' their iiiclinuli'>nS| and « 
pliilowphy, aniiirc not to the h 
(rraiiileur; who never net thci 
uivroiiH truiit of clicnt!i and 
other fruy ujipvndu^fl of greai 
teiitvd witli II eoinputcncyi a 
(huir trnnriuillity to g<tiii an ai: 1 
not thrrcforc tu he cuiicliided i 
not ainl>ilJoiiai hiH dcnii-es iiu' \ 
tlic-r Dliiiiiiicl, atid iltuunnlii-'.: ^ 
hWhs; the motive lio^cvei' in j 
and ill t)ir:sc r,i>ii:>> liki;irisi' lli . i 
fin.ilicdouiv'uli \v iWmvp. ^^ 

^"h (''... Ia« 

'' f-'Jeiid and J 

?J "•here Vfc° ""!•'» 

S "• ,^,;'!°"'e'-thi 
*'•«.„„„,,„''« '"'"I! 

''■ '""E, out 

U6 HroCTATOR. K«.m» 

fihioov of the ftntic'tiUi which hftve not in Utcm 
itiiy oi'thoHf* tiniitttiit'al wittiuftnu thiit Are the de« 
\ti\Ui of ot'duiury rcudcrMi iirc cxtreintljr difncult 
lo tciKlcr into Hhttthcr iouy^uf-^ no mi the brauiirt 
fil thf! oriKinul may not uppcar wcnk wid Ihdrd ia 
thfi iranklutiun. C 


Sn.'2'2i. rUIDAY, NOVKMHKR 16, 1711. 

Futgwntf trahit ctntfrklti ghria rurru 

Aun ntiniit ignnt^t g§ntrMis* 

Hon. t 8ftt vi. aj. 

ClmifiM to lirr «liliihiK «ftr, Fumn flr»«ii Mldfig 
'With ri|MAl wMii thr gr«*fit mmI vulfpir Uir«Jti||. 

Ip wf? look ubnmd ti|>on the threat tmiltitndc; of 
tituiikihH, mid endeavour to trat f: out (h<; princi- 
\}\f.% oi'm:tioii in every individuul, it wilK 1 ihinkt 
HtfTin hitfhly probtihlr thm uintfitioii nin«i throuf^h 
the whole uprrrtcM, itiid tlmt every mun in proprir< 
fion to the vigour of hifi f^omplrxion ih more or 
lemi uciuiited l>y it. It in ih(lri:d tut unf:omnion 
thih); to niret with men, who, hy thn nutuml hent 
of their iiK.liiiutionw, mid withmit ihr: dinciplinnof 
philo'»<iphy, unpire not to I lie height n ol power tond 
trrandRur; who iicvnr nM their hrarit niHiii a nu- 
ineroiu train of dientn and drpcndf^nrieiii nor 
oiJKM' ^uy appendu^m of ^i'eHtiii:A!i; who arc ron- 
tr.ntrd with a eotnprten^y, and will not tiioletit 
fhrir tran<)uillity to }{ikin an ahuhdah( r. Hut tt h 
not Ih'^reiore to he eonclnded thai tnuAi a man \n 
not andiiiioiifi i hin deiirn«i may huvn cut dtiiatio- 
thrr chahiiel, atid rh:if;riniii':d hioi to othrr pnr* 
AuitH; the iiioiivi: howcvor mpy hi: utill the fi;itfi'!; 
atid in th^M: hLiMvinr the man may he ecjUiilt' 

K* 534- SPECTATOIt U7 

Though the pure consciousness of "worthy ac- 
tions^ abstracted from the Tiews of popular ap- 
plause, be to a generous mind an ample reward, 
jet the desire of distinction was doubtless implan- 
ted in our natures as an additional incentive to 
exert ourselves in virtuous excellence. 

This passion, indeed, like all others, is fre- 
quently perverted to evil and ignoble purposes ; 
so that we may account for many of the excellen- 
cies and follies of life upon the same innate prin- 
ciple, to wit, the desire of being remarkable : for 
this, as it has been differently cultivated by 
education, study, and converse, will bring forth 
suitable effects, as it falls in with an ingenious 
disposition, or a corrupt mind. It does accord- 
ingly express itself in acts of magnanimity or 
selfish cunning, as it meets with a good or a weak 
understanding. As it has been employed in em- 
bellishing the mind, or adorning the outside, it 
renders the man eminently praise-worthy or ridi- 
culous. Ambition therefore is not to be confined 
only to one passion or pursuit ; for as the same 
humours in constitutions, otherwise different, 
affect the body after different manners, so the 
same aspiring principle within us sometimes 
breaks foith upon one object, sometimes upon 

It cannot be doubted, but that there is as great 
desire of glory in a ring of wrestlers or cudgel- 
players, as in any other more refined competition 
for superiority. No man that could avoid it, 
would ever suffer his head to be broken but out 
of a principle of honour. This is the secret spring 
that pushes them forward ; and the superiority 
which they gain above the undistinguished many, 
does more than repair those wounds iK^'^ Vv*n^ 
recejTtd in the combat. It is Mr. >N^W^t*^ ^^vcv- 


lODt that Julius Cxsar, had he not been master of 
the Roman empire, would, in all probability} have 
made an excellent wrestler : 

Great Julias on the mounUiint bred, 
A flock ficrhapt or henl Imd lefl ; 
He Ui«t tlie world •ubdii'd had been 
But the best wretUcr on the grecu. 

That he subdued the world, was owing to the 
accidents of art and knowledge; had he not met 
with those advantages, the same sparks of cmula* 
tion would have kindled within him, and promp- 
ted him to distinguisii himself in some enterprise 
of a lower nature. Since therefore no man's lot 
is so unalterably fixed in this life, but that a thou- 
sand accidents may either forward or disappoint 
his advancement, it is, methiiiks, a pleasant and 
inoffensive speculation, to consider a great man 
as divested of all the adventitious circumstances 
of fortune, and to bring him down in one's imagi- 
nation to that low station of life, the nature of which 
bears some distant rcbcmblance to that high one 
he is at present possessed of. Thus one may view 
him exercising in miniature those talents of na- 
ture, which being drawn out by education to their 
full length, enable him for the discharge of some 
important employment. On the other hand, one 
may raise uneducated merit to such a pitch of 
greatness as n)ay seem equal to the possible ex- 
tent oi' his improved capacity. 

Thus nature furnishes man with a general ap« 
petite of glory, education determines it to this or 
that particular object. The desire of distinction 
is not, I think, in any instance more observable 
than in the variety of outsides and new appearan- 
ces, which the modish part of the world are obli- 
ged to provide, in order to make themselves 
remsurkshic ; for any ll\u\^ glaring and particular^ 

lie. 9S4. SPECTATOR. 149 

either in l>ehaviour or apparel, is ktiown to hare 
this good effect, that it catches the eye, and will 
not suffer you to pass over the person so adorned 
without due notice and observation. It has like- 
wise, upon this account, been frequently resented 
as a very great slight, to leave any gentleman out 
of a lampoon or satire, who has as much right to 
be there as his neighbour, because it supposes 
the person not eminent enough to be taken notice 
of. To this passionate fondness for distinction 
are owing various frolicsome and irregular prac- 
tices, as salljring out hito nocturnal exploits, 
breaking of wmdows, singing of catches, beating 
the watch, getting drunk twice a day, killing a 
great number of horses ; with many other enter- 
prises of the like fiei7 nature : for certainly many 
a man is more rakish and extravagant than he 
would willingly be, were there not others to look 
on and give their approbation. 

One VC17 common, and at the same time the 
most absurd ambition that ever shewed itHelf in 
human nature, is that which comes upon a man 
with experience and old age, the season when it 
might be expected he should be wisest; and 
therefore it cannot receive any of those lessening 
circumstances which do, in some measure, excuse 
the disorderly ferments of youthful blood: I 
mean the passion for getting money, exclusive of 
the character of the provident father, the affec- 
tionate husband, or the generous friend. It may 
be remarked, for the comfort of honest povertyj 
that this desire reigns most in those who have 
but few good qualities to recommend them. This 
Is a weed that will grow in a barren soil. Huma 
nity, good-nature, and the advantages of a liberal 
education, are incompatible with avarice. It is 
strange to see how suddenly this aW^^cX. i^^wwv 

N 2 

190 ^ SPECTATOR. Ko. mk 

kills all the noble sentiments and generous ambi- 
tions that adorn human nature; it renders the 
man who is over-run with it a peevish and cruel 
master, a severe parent* an unsociable husband^ 
a distant and mistrustful friend. But it is more 
to the present purpose to consider it as an absurd 
passion of the heart, rather than as a vicious afTec- 
tion of the mind. As there are frequent instan- 
ces to be met with of a proud humility, so this 
passion, contrary to most others, affects applause^ 
by avoiding all show and appearance ; for this 
reason it will not sometimes endure even the 
commdn decencies of appurel. ^ A covetous man 
will call himself poor, that you may sooth his va- 
nity by contradicting liim.' Love and the desire 
of glury, as they arc the most natural, so they are 
capable of being refined into the most delicate-and 
rational passions. It is true, the wise man who 
strikes out of the secret paths of a private life for 
iK^nour and dignity, allured by the splendour of a 
cour^and the unfelt weight of public employment, 
whether he succeeds in his attempts or no, usually 
comes near enough to this painted greatness to 
discern the daubing; he is then desirous of ex- 
tricating himscli out of the hurry of life, that he 
may puss away the remainder of his days in tran- 
quility and retirement. 

It may be thought then but common prudence 
in a man not to change a better state for a worse, 
nor ever to quit that which he knows he shall take 
up again with pleasure ; and yet if human life be 
not a little moved witii the gentle gales of hopes 
and fearS) there may be some danger of its stag- 
nating u) an unmanly indolence and security. It is 
a known story of Domitian, that after he had pos- 
sessed himself of the Roman empire, his desires 
turned upon catching tUes. Active and masculine 


•pints in the vigour of youth neither can not 
ought to remain at rest. li'they debar themselves 
from aiming at a noble object) their desires will 
move downwards, and they will feel themselves 
actuated by some low and abject passion . Thus» 
if you cut off the top branches of a tree, and will 
not suffer it to grow any higher, it will not there- 
fore cease to grow, but will quickly shoot out at 
the bottom. The man indeed who goes into the 
world only with the narrow views of self-interest, 
who catches at the applause of an idle multitude, 
as he can find no solid contentment at the end of 
his journey, so he deserves to meet with disap- 
pointments in his way ; but he who is actuated by 
a noble principle ; wliose mind is so far enlarged 
as to take in the prospect of his country's good ; 
who is enamoured with that praise which is one 
of the fair attendants of virtue, and values nqt 
those acclamations which are not seconded by 
the impartial testimony of his own mind ; who 
repines not at the low station which Providence 
has at present allotted him, but yet would willingly 
advance himself by justifiable means to a more 
rising and advantageous ground ; such a man is 
warmed with a generous emulation ; it is a virtu- 
ous movement iu him to wish and to endeavour 
that his power of doing good may be equal to his 

The man who is fitted out by nature, and sent 
into the world M-ith great abilities, is capable of 
doing great good or nuschief in it. It ought 
therefore to be the care of education to intuse 
into the untainted youth early notices of justice 
and honour, that so the possible advantages of 
good parts may not take an evil tuni, nor be per- 
vcitea to base and unworthy purposes. It is the 
business of religion and philosophy uot %o tcvM^Vv 

tfi^ tnCTATOII. M« 

to extinguish our pauiont at to refpslate and 
rect them to raluable well-chotcn objecu. Vi 
these have pointed out to us which courM 
may lawfully steer^ it it no harm to tet out 
■ail; if the storms and tempests of advei 
should rise upon us, and not suffer us to n 
the haren where we would be, it will how* 
prove no small consolation to us in these circ 
stances, that we have neither mistaken our coi 
nor fallen into calamiticn of our own procuri 
Religion therefore (were we to consider 
farther than as it inter|>oscs in the ufTairs oi 
life) is highly valuable, and worthy of great 
eration; as it settles the various prcicnstons, 
otherwise interfering interests of mortal i 
and thereby consults the hurmony and ord 
the great community; a» it given a man rooi 
play his purt, and exert bin uf>tliticfi; an it 
mates to Motions trulv laudable in thcinhclvei 
their effects beneficial lo society ; u^ il ins] 
rational umbition, correct love, and elegant de 

No. 235. SATURDAY, NOVEMBKR 17, 1 

Nullum numen abeti li $H ftrutlentia. 

Juv. Hat. X. 3S! 

rni<letiee itippUoftho want of every good. 

I HAVE often thought if the minds of men ' 
laid open, we should see but little difl*ercnc( 
twecn that of the wise man and that of the 
There are itiBuitc reveries, numberless exti 
gMcietf and a perpelUAl train of vanities m 


pass through both. The great difference is, that 
the first knows how to pick and cull his thoughts 
for coiiyersation, by suppressing some, and com- 
municating others ; whereas the other lets them 
all indifTerently fly out in words. This sort of 
discretion, however has no place in private con- 
versation between intimate friends. On such 
occasions the wisest men very often talk like the 
weakest ; for indeed the talking with a friend is 
nothing else hut thinking aloud, 

TuUy has therefore very justly exposed a pre- 
cept delivered by some ancient writers, that a 
man should live with his enemy in such a man- 
ner, as might leave him room to become his 
friend ; and with his friend in such a manner, 
that if he became his enemy, it should not be in 
his power to hurt him. The first part of this 
rule, which regards our behaviour towards an ene- 
my, is indeed very reasonable, as well as very 
prudential ; but the latter part of it, which re- 
gards our behaviour towards a friend, savours 
more of cunning than of discretion, and would 
cut a man off from the greatest pleasures of life, 
which are the freedoms of conversation with a 
bosom friend. Besides that, when a friend is 
turned into an enemy, and, as the son of Sirach 
calls him,* ' a bewrayer of secrets,' the world is 
just enough to accuse the perfidiousness of the 
friend, rather than the indiscretion of the person 
who confided in him. 

Discretion does not only shew itself in words, 
but in all the circumstances of action, and is like 
an under-agent of Providence, to guide and direct 
us in the ordinary concerns of life. 

There are many more shining qualities in the 

• JGbcles. vi. 0. wvO. 17. 

154 8PECTAT0V. No. fi^ 

snind of mai)) but there is none so useful as dit- 
cretion ; it is this indeed which gives a value to aH 
the rest) which sets them at work in their proper 
tiroes and places^ and turns them to the advantage 
of the person who is possessed of them. With* 
out it, learning is pedantry, and wif impertinence ; 
virtue itself looks like weakness ; the best parts 
only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errorSf 
and active to his own prejudice. 

Nor does discretion only make a man the mas- 
ter of his o^vn parts, but of other men's. The 
discreet man finds out the talents of those he 
converses with, and knows how to apply them to 
proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into parti- 
cular communities and divisions of men, we may 
observe thai it is the discreet man, not the witty) 
nor the learned, nor the brave, who guides the 
conversation, and ^ives measures to the society. 
A man with g^eat talents, but void of discretion^ 
is like Polyphemus in the fable, strong and blind, 
endued with an irresistible force, which for want 
of sight is of no use to him. 

Though a man has all other perfections, and 
wants discretion, he will be of no great conse- 
quence in the world ; but if he has this single 
talent in perfection, and but a common share of 
others, he may do what he pleases m his particu- 
lar station of life. 

At the same time that I think discretion the 
most useful talent a man can be master of, I look 
upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, 
mean ungenerous minds. Discretion points out 
the noblest ends to us, and pursues tlic most pro- 
per and laudable methods of obtaining them. 
Cunning has only private selfish aims, and sticks 
at nothing which may make them succeed. Dis- 
rretion has large and eiaeivd^d ^lews, and like 

Ka 8M. SPECTATOlt 151 

a well-formed eye) cotnmancls a whole horizon. 
Cunning is a kind of short-sightcdncsSf that dis- 
covers the minutest objects which arc near at hand, 
but is not able to discern things at a distance. 
Discretion, the moi^c it is discovered, gives a 
greater authority to the person who possesses it. 
Cunning, when it is once detected, loses its force, 
and makes a man incapable of bringing about even 
those erents which he might have done, hud he 
passed only for a plain man. Discretipn is the 
perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the 
duties of life : cunning is a kind of instinct, that 
only looks out after our immediate interest and 
welfare. Discretion is only found in men of 
strong sense and good understandings : cunning 
is often to be met with in brutes themselves, and 
in persons who are but the fewest removes from 
them. In short, cunning is only the mimic of 
discretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the 
same manner as vivacity is often mistaken for 
wit^ and gravity for wisdom. 

The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet 
roan, makes him look forwur<l into futurity, and con- 
sider what will be his condition millions of ages 
hence, as well as what it is at present. He knows 
that the misery or happiness which are reserved 
for him in another world, lose nothing of their 
reality by being placed at so great a distance from 
him. The objects do not appear little to him 
because they are remote. Her considers that thoso 
pleasures and pains which lie hidin eternity, ap* 
proach nearer to him every moment, and will be 
present with him in their full weight and measure, 
as much as those pains and pleasures which he 
feels at this .very instant. For this reason he is 
careful to secure tu himself that which is the pro- 
per happiness of his nature, ai^d the \L\Um>k\.^ ^t>- 

« ■ 

<•*'' 'i5« Spectator. no.»5. 

tign of his being. He carries his thoughts to 
the end of every action, and considers the most 
distant as well as the most immediate effects of 
• it. He supersedes every little prospect of gain 
and advantage which offers itself here, if he 
does not iind it consistent with his views of an 
hereafter. In a word, his hopes are full of im- 
mortality, his schemes are large and glorious, 
and his conduct suitable to one who knows his 
true interest,^and how to pursue it by proper 

I have in this essay upon discretion, considered 
it both as an accomplishment and as a virtue, and 
have therefore described it in its iul) extent; not 
only as it is conversant about worldly affairs, but 
as it regards our whole existence ; not only as it 
is the guide of a mortal creature, but as it is in 
general the director of a reasonable being. It is 
in this light that discretion is represented by the 
wise man, who sometimes mentions it under the 
iiumc of discretion, and sometimes under that of 
wisdom. It is indeed (as described in the latter 
part of this paper) the greatest wisdom, but at the 
same time in the power of every one to attain. Its 
advantages are infinite, but its acquisition easy; 
or to speak of her in the words of the apocryphal 
writer whom I quoted in my last Saturday's 
paper,* * Wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth 
away, yet she is easily seen of them that love her, 
and found of such as seek her. She preventeth 
them that desire her, in making herself first 
known unto them. He that seekcth her eai'Iy, 
shall have no great travel ; for he shall find her 
silting at his doors. To think thereiore upon Jicr 
is the perfection of wisdon^, and whoso watcheth 

190.88A. SPECTATOR. 157 

for her shall quickly be without care. For she 
goeth ^ about seeking sueh as are worthy of her, 
i^eweth herself favourable unto them in the ways, 
and meeteth them in every thought.' 


No 236. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1711 

Mutum eat picturapoema, 
A picture is a poem without words. 

•I HAVE very often lamented and hinted my sor- 
row in several speculations, that the art of paint- 
ing is made so little use of to the improvement of 
our manners. When we consider that it places 
the action of the person represented in the most 
agreeable aspect imaginable, that it does not only 
express the passion or concern as it sits upon him 
who is drawn, but has under those features the 
height of the painterjs imagination, what strong 
images of virtue and humanity might we not ex- 
pect would be instilled into the mind from the 
labours of the pencil ? This is a poetry which 
would be understood with much less capacity, and 
less expense of time, than what is taught by writ- 
ings ; but the use of it is generally perverted, and 
that admirable skill prostituted to the basest and 
most unworthy ends. Who is the better man for 
beholding the most beautiful Venus, the best 

* Thii speculation was written with die generous design of 
promoting a subscription just then set on foot for having the 
•artoous of Raphael coi)ied and engraved by Sieniur Nicola 
Dorigny, who had beeo invited over from Home by several of 
the nobility, and to whom the Queen had given her license Cor 
that purpose. 

VOL0 IV. o 


wrought Bacchanalt the images of sleeping 
CupidS) languishing nymphS) or any of the re- 
prescntulions of gods, goddesses, demi-godS} 
satyrs, Polyphcmcs, spliynxcS) or fauns? But if 
the virtues and vices, which arc sometimes pre- 
tended to be represented under such draughts, 
were given us by the painter in the characters of 
real life, and the persons of men and women 
whose actions have rendered them laudable or in- 
famous ; we should not see a good history-piece 
without receiving an instructive lecture. There 
needs no other proof of this truth, than the tes- 
timony of every reasonable creature who has seen 
the cartoons in her majesty's gallery atllampton- 
couit. These are representations of no less ac- 
tions than those of our blessed Saviour and his 
apostles. As I now sit and rccdlect the warm 
inii();es which the admirable Raphael has raised, 
it is impossible even from the faint traces in one's 
memory of what one ban not seen these two years, 
to be unmoved at the horror and reverence which 
appear in the whole assembly when the mercenary 
man fell down dead ; at the amazement of the man 
bom blind, when he first receives sight; or at the 
graceless indignation of the sorcerer, when he is 
struck blind. The lame when they first find strength 
in their feet, stand doubtful of their new vigour. 
The heavenly apostles appear acting tliese great 
things with a deep sense of the infirmities which 
they relieve, but no value of themselves whoadmin- 
ister to their weakness. They know themselves 
to be but instruments ; and the generous distress 
they are painted in when divine honours are of- 
fered to them, is a repsesentation in the most ex- 
quisite degree of the beauty of holiness. When 
St. Paul is preaching to the Athenians, with what 
wojidei ful art arc almost all the diflferent tempers 


Ho. M6. SPECTATOn. ti>' » 

of mankind represented in that eleg;ant audience ? 
You see one credulous, of all that is said ; another 
wrapt up in deep suspense ; another saying, there 
is some reason in what he says; another angry that 
the apostle destroys a favourite opinion which he is 
unwilling to give up ; another wholly convinced, 
and holding out his hands in rapture ; while the 
generality attend, and wait for the opinion of those 
who are of leading characters in the assembly. 
I will not pretend so much as to mention that 
chart on which is drawn the appearance of our 
blessed Lord after his resurrection. Present au- 
thority* late sufferings, humility and majesty, 
despotic command, and divine love, are at once 
seated in his celestial aspect. The figures of the 
eleven apostles are all in the same passion of ad- 
miration, but discover it differently according to 
their characters. Peter receives his master's or- 
ders on his knees with an admiration mixed with 
a more particular attention : the two next with a 
more open ecstasy, though still constrained by an 
awe of the divine presence. The beloved disci- 
nle, whofld I take to be the right of the two first 
ngures, has in his countenance wonder drowned 
in love ; and the last personage, whose back is to- 
wards the spectators, and his side towards the 
presence, one would fancy to be St. Thomas, as 
abashed by the conscience of his former diffi- 
dence; which perplexed concern it is possible 
Raphael thought too hard a task to draw, but by 
this acknowledgment of the difEcuity to describe 

The whole work is an exercise of the highest 
piety in the painter ; and all the touches of a re- 
ligious mind are expressed in a manner much 
more forcible than can possibly be performed by 
the most moving eloquence. The^c Vivn^Vnx^^ 

iM iiit/;tator. ha. gr. 

drrn tit1cii« ho will find in hi a fnap the aticietiC 
isliificl of l«ritra<i iiitflrr tlir tmmn of Ht. Maiiro^ 
ttiid tbf nti('i«'ri( promontorv of litucAto under the 
namr of Thr Cnpr of Ht. IVliniro. 

Sinrr I i.m ffn^^nf^rd thiifi far in afitif|uit)rf I 
Tnu%i oliftfrvr tlij't Throrritiin in th<? motto pre- 
fixed to my |>ii|>rr« (Icnrrilirn onr. of his dnnpair- 
int; fihf'phrrdH ufldrcftftth;; liinift<1f to his mistress 
ftftrr thr lollfiwintc trinnnrri •Ahis! What will 
licTfinir of uw ! wrrtrh that I iim I Will yon not 
hf'itr m'' ^ ril tl>f'ow off rny clothcKt and take u 
|r,ip into thiit |Mit of thr hcu which \% no much 
frrfpirntrfl by OlpiAthe. fifthtnnan. And thongh 
I ftlioiild « vnpr with my lift;, I know yon will bo 
plrtiv'fl with it.* I ftliull It'kwr it with the critics 
to drtrrminr whrthor thr pl.irc, whirh thift shcp- 
lirrd wi p it'tiinlarly poiiitA ont^ was not the (iIktvc- 
tTH'fitionr.*! l^wvMv^or at Inmt Rfinip other lover's 
Irap, wliirh was HuppoAcd in \va\v \uu\ the ftamo 
* n< 1 1. I cannot hrlirve, an all the interpreters 
do, that the *ihepli rd means nothing; farther here 
than that he woiild drown himself, since he re- 
prcsrntR the iftmie of hi» leap an dotihtftil, by 
flddih^i thit if Ur sfiould cm ape with life^ ho 
known his mistn-Hs wonid be pleased with it: 
wirn h is a( cording to onr interpretation, that jiho 
would rejoice any way to ^et rid of a lover who 
was so tronblesome to her. 

After this short pn fai e, 1 shall present my 
rcndi r with some letters which I have received 
iipf'ti this sn!»jrrt- The first is sent mc by a phy- 

• Mil. SrK.» T.|'Tf;p, 

« J iiK. Ir»ver*s leap, which yoti mention in 
yonr '*:7'J 1 p.iprr, war. j;( ncrally, J believe, a very 
^'ffvrtUiii c»*m; ioj love, and not only for love, but 

ITo. Mr. SPECTATOR. 1 fti 

overheard him himself (though a laudable painter) 
sayf nothing of his own was fit to come into the 
room with those he had to sell, I feared I should 
lose an occasion of serving a man of worth, in 
omitting to speak of his auction. T. 

No. 237. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 20, IT 11 

K'ixfii /ut) '«ro0aya>, to yt /u«y tiov ah) TfTi/)c7a». 

Theocr. Idyl. iii. 24. 

Wretch that I am ! ah, whither shall I g(} ? 
Will you not hear me, nor regard my wo ? 
ril strip, and throw me from yon rook so high, 
Where Olpis sits to watch the scaly fry. 
Should I be drown*d, or 'scape with life away, 
If cur'd of love, you, tyrant, would be gay. 


In my last Thursday's paper, I made mention of a 
place called The Lover's Leap, which 1 find has 
raised a great curiosity among several of my cor- 
respondents. I there told them that this leap was 
used to be taken from a promontory of Leucas. 
'This Leucas was formerly a part of Acamania, 
being joined to it by a narrow neck of land, which 
the sea has by length of time overflowed and 
washed away ; so that at present Leucas is divided 
from the continent, and is a little island in the 
Ionian sea. The promontory of this island, from 
whence the lover took his leap, was formerly cal- 
led Leucate. If the reader has a mind to know 
both tHc island and the promontory by theiv mo^ 

o 2 


dcrn titles^ he will find in his map the aodent 
island of I^ucati under the name of St. Mauro* 
and the ancirnt promontory of Leucate under the 
name of The Cape of St. Mauro. 

Since I um eng;a(i:cd thus far in antiquitft I 
muHt observe. thM Theocritus in the motto pre- 
fixed to my paper, describes one of his despair- 
ing; shepherds addressing himself to his mistress 
after the (oltowini^ manner : * Alas ! What will 
become of n\e ! wretch that I am I Will you not 
hear me ? 1*11 throw oiF my clothes, and take a 
leap into that part of the sea which is so much 
frequented by Olpis the fisherman. And though 
I should escape with my life, 1 know you will be 
pleased with iu' I shall leave it with the critics 
to dctei*mine whether the place, which this shep- 
herd so particularly points out, was not the above- 
metuioned I^ucate, or at least some other lover's 
leap, wliich was supposed to have had the same 
< fleet. I cannot believe, as all the interpreters 
do, that the sheplnTd means nothing farther here 
than that he would drown himself, since he re- 
presents the issue of his leap as doubtful, by 
addiii^, that if he should escape with life, he 
knows his mistress would be pleased with it: 
whi(h is according to our interpretation, that she 
would rejoice any way to get rid of a lover who 
was so troublesome to her. 

After this short preface, I sliall present my 
reader with some letters which 1 have received 
upon this su!)ject« Tiic first is sent me by a phy- 


' TuK lover's leap, which you mention in 
your 22X\ pi-prr, was generally, I believe, a very 
ci^'t'Ctual cuic ior love, and not only for love, but 

Xd. Mr. SPECTATOR. 103 

for all other evils. In short, sir, I am afraid it 
was such a leap as that which Hero took to get rid 
<^her passion for Leander. A man is in no dan- 
ger of breaking his heart, who breaks his neck to 
prevent it. I know very well the wonders which 
ancient authors relate concerning this leap ; and 
in particular, that very many persons who tried 
it, escaped not only with their lives but their 
limbs. If by this means they got rid of their love, 
though it may in part be ascribed to the reasons 
you give for it ; why may not we suppose that the 
cold bath, into which they plunged themselves, 
had also some share in their cure ! A leap into 
the sea, or into any creek of salt waters, very of- 
ten gives a new motion to the spirits, and a new 
turn to the blood ; for which reason we prescribe 
it m distempers which no other medicine will 
reach. I could produce a quotation out of a very 
venerable author, in which the frenzy produced 
by love is compared to that which is produced by 
the biting of a mad dog. But as this comparison 
is a little too coarse for your paper, and might 
look as if it were cited to ridicule the author who 
has made use of it; I shall only hint at it, and de- 
sire you to consider whether, if the frenzy produ- 
ced by these two different causes be of the same 
nature, it may not very properly be cured by the 
same means. 

I am, SIR, 
Your most humble sei*vant, 

and well-wisher, 


* I AM a young woman crossed in love. 
My story is very long and melancholy. To give 
you the heads of it. A young gentleman^ after 

104 SPECTATOB. Wm. W. 

haring^ made his applicationB to me for three jean 
together. And nlled my head with a tboufaad 
dreama of happiness, some few days since mar* 
ried another. Pray tell me in what part of the 
world your promontory lies, which you call The 
Lover's Leap, and whether one may go to it by 
land ? But, alas ! I am afraid it has lost its virtuei 
and that a woman of our times would find no more 
relief in taking such a leap, than in singing an 
hymn to Venus. So that 1 must cry out with 
Dido in Drydcn's Virgil : 

Ah! enielbeav'n, that made noeure for lore! 

Your disconsolate servant, 



^ My heart is so full of lofcs and passions 
for Mrs. Owinifrid, and she is so pettish and over- 
run with cholcrs against me, that if I had the good 
happiness to have my dwelling (which is placed 
by my creat-crandfather upon the pottom of an 
hill) no farther distance but twenty mile from the 
Lofcr*H Leap, I would indeed indeufour to preak 
my neck iipf>n it on purpose. Now, good Mister 
SpicUitur of Crete Pritain,you must know it there 
is in Caernarvonshire a very pig mountain, the 
CI017 of all Wales, which is named Penmain- 
xnuurc, and you must also know, it is no great 
journey on foot from me ; but the road is stony 
and had for shooes. Now, there is upon the fore- 
head of this mountain a very high rock, (like a par- 
ish steeple) that comcth a huge deal over the sea; 
so when I am in my melancholies, and I do throw 
myself from it, I do desire my ferry good friend 
to tell me in his Spiciatur, if I shall he cure of my 
griehus lofcs; for there is the sea clear as glass, 

Mtk 9aar. spectatoh. ics 

and as creen as the leek. Then likewise if I be 
drown and preak my neck, if Mrs. Gwinifrid will 
not lofe me afterwai*ds. Pray be speedy in your 
answers, for I am in crete haste, and it is my te- 
tires to do my pusiness without loss of time. I 
remidn with cordial affections, your ever lofing; 

Davyth ap Shenkyn. 

• P. S. My law-suits have brought me to Lon- 
don, but I have lost my causes ; and so have made 
my resolutions to go down and leap before the 
frosts begin ; for I am apt to take colds.' 

Ridicule, perhaps, is a better expedient against 
love, than sober advice, and I am of opinion, that 
Hudibras and Don Quixote may be as effectual to 
cure the extravagancies of this passion, as any of 
the old philosophers. I shall therefore publish 
vciy speedily the translation of a little Greek 
manuscript, which is sent me by a learned friend. 
It appears to have been a piece of those records 
which were kept in the temple of Apollo, that 
stood upon the promontory of Leucate. The 
reader will find it to be a summary account of sev- 
eral persons who tried the lover's leap, and of the 
success they found in it. As there seem to be in 
it some anachronisms, and deviations from the 
ancient orthography, I am not wholly satisfied 
myself that it is authentic, and not rather the pro- 
duction of one of those Grecian sophisters, who 
have imposed upon the world several spurious 
works of this nature. I speak this by way of pre- 
caution, because I know there are several writers . 
of uncommon erudition, who would not fail to ex- 
pose my ignorance, if they caught me tripping in 
a matter of so great moment. C. 


No. 228. WEDNESDAY, NOV.fl, 1711. 

^ercuneUtiareMfiijrii^t nam gomdmt idem tm. 

Hon. 1 Ep.STii.69. 

Th'inoaiiitive will blab; ft*om such refrtia.* 
Tbilr leakj can no teerct can retain. 


There is a creature who has all the org^s of 
speech, a tolerable good capacity for conceiving 
what is said to it, together with a pretty proper 
behaviour in all the occurrences of common life ; 
but naturally very vacant of thought in itself, and 
therefore forced to apply itself to foreign assis* 
taiices. Of this make is that man who is stivi 
inquisitive. You may often observe, that though 
he speaks as good sense as any man upon any 
thing with which he is well acquainted, he cannot 
trust to the range of his own fancy to entertain 
himself upon that foundation, but goes on still to 
new inquiries. Thus, though you know he is fit 
for the most polite conversation, ^ou shall see 
him very well contented to sit bv a jockey, giving 
an account of the many revolutions in his horse's 
health, what potion he made him take, how that 
agreed with him, how afterwards he came to his 
stomach and his exercise, or any the like imper- 
tinence ; and be as well pleased as if you talked to 
him on the most important truths. This humour 
is far from making a man unhappy, though it may 
subject him to raillery ; for he generally falls in 
with a person who seems to be born for him, which 
is your talkative fellow. It is so ordered, that 
there is a secret bent, as natural as the meeting of 
different sexes, in these two characters, to supply 
cticU other's wants. I had the honour the other 

No. Sfit. SPECTATOR. 167 

iay to sit in a public room, and saw an inquisitive 
man look with an air of satisiaction upon the ap- 
proach of one of these talkers. The man of reudv 
utterance sat down by hini) and rubbing his head, 
leaning on his arm, and making an uneasy counte- 
nance, he began; ^ There is no manner of nev^s to- 
day. I cannot tell what is the matter with me, 
but I slept very ill last night ; whether I caught 
cold or no, I know not, but I fancy I do not wear 
shoes thick enough for the weather, and I have 
coughed all this week. It must be so, for the 
custom of washing my head winter and summer 
with cold water, prevents any injury from the sea- 
son entering that way ; so it must come in at my 
feet ; but I take no notice of it : as it comes so it 
goes. Most of our evils proceed from too much 
tenderness ; and our faces are naturally as little 
able to resist the cold as other parts. The Indian 
answered very well to an European, who asked 
kim how he could go naked ; < I am all face.' 

I observed this discourse was as welcome to 
my general inquirer as any other of more conse- 
quence could have been ; but somebody calling 
our talker to another part of the room, the inqui- 
rer told the next man who sat by him, that Mr. 
Such-a-one, who was just gone from him, used 
to wash his head in cold water every morning ; 
and so repeated almost verbatim all that had been 
said to him. The truth is, the inquisitive are the 
funnels of conversation ; they do not take in any 
thing for their own use, but merely to pass it to 
another. They arc the channels through which 
ill the good and evil that is spoken ui town are 
conveyed. Such as are offended at them, or 
thuik they suffer by their behaviour, may them* 
selves mend that inconvenience ; for they are not 
a malicious people, and if you wUl su^\^V^ \.Vv^xcv> 


you may contradict any thing they hare said be- 
fore by their own mouths. A farther account of 
% thing is one of the eratefullest goods that can 
arrive to them ; and it is seldom that they are 
more purticular than to say, < The town will havo 
it, or 1 have it from a good hand ;' so that there is 
room for the town to know the matter more par- 
ticularly, and for a better hand to contradict what 
was said by a good one. 

I have not known this humour more ridiculous 
than in a father, who has been earnestly solicitous 
to have an account how his son has passed his 
leisure hours; if it be in a way thoroughly insig- 
nificant, there cannot be a greater joy than an in- 
quirer discovers in seeing him follow so hope- 
fully his own steps. But this humour among 
men is most pleasunt when they are sayinc; some- 
thing which is not wholly proper for a third per- 
son to hear, and yet is in itself indifferent. The 
other duy there came in a well dressed young fel- 
low, und two gentlemen of this species immedi- 
ately fell a whispering his pedigree. I could 
overhear, by breaks, *■ She was his aunt;' then an 
answer,* Ay, she was of the mother's side ;* then 
aguin in a little lower voice, * His father wore ge- 
nerally a darker wig; answer, * Not much, but 
this gentleman wears higlier heels to his shoes.' 

As the inquisitive, in my opinion, are such 
merely from a vacancy in their own imaginations^ 
iherc is nothing, methinks, so dangerous as to 
communicate secrets to them; for the same tem- 
per ot inquiry makes them as impertinently com- 
municative : but no man, though he converses 
with (hem, need put himself in their power, for 
they will be contented with matters of less mo- 
ment us well. When there is fuel enough, no 
/natter what it is.— —Thus the ends of sentences 

lA 6PECT ATOM. Ho. ttf* 

< Upon recollecting this ttoij^ I hare frequent* 
1y wondered that this useful instrument shouM 
have bcf'U so long discontinued ; es^cially since 
we find that this good office of Licinius has pre- 
served his memory for many hundred years^ 
wliich, mcthinks, should have encouraged some 
one to have revived it^ if not for the public good| 
yet for his own credit. It may be objected, that 
our loud talkers are so fond of their own noise, 
that they would not take it well to be checked by 
their servants. But granting this to be true, 
surely any of their hearers have a very good title 
to pluy a soft note in their own defence. To be 
short, no Licinius appearing, and the noise in- 
creasing, 1 was resolved to give this late long va- 
cation to the good of my country ; and I have at 
length, by tlic assistance of an ingenious artist) 
(who works for the Uoyul Society) almost com* 
pletcd my design, and shall be ready in a short 
time to furnish the public with what number of 
these instruments they please, cither to lodge at 
coffee -houses, or carry for their own private use. 
In the mean time I shall pay that respect to seve- 
ral gentlemen, who I know will be in danger of 
offending against this instrument, to give them 
notice of it by private letters, in which I shall onljr 
write, ** get a Licinius." 

* I should now trouble you no longer, but that I 
must not conclude without desiring you to accept 
one of these pipes, which shall be left for vou 
with Buckley; and which I hope will be service- 
able to you, since as you are silent yourself, you 
«ire most open to the insults of the noisy. 

I am> siU; ^c. 



< I had almost forgot to inform you, that as an 
improTement in this instrument, there will be a 
paiticttlap note, which I call a hush-note ; and thi^ 
is to be made use of against a long story, swear- 
ingi obscenenessy and the like.' T. 

No. 229. THURSDAY, NOV. 22, 1711. 

Spirat adhue amor. 

Vivuntque c^mmasi calores 
^aHaJieUbuapuelU. Hon. 4 Od. ix. 10. 

Nor Sappho's amoroiu flames decay. 
Her living songs preserve their diarming art, 
jBer verse still breathes the passions of her heart. 


Among the many famous pieces of antiquity 
which are still to be seen at Roni€, there is the 
trunk of a statue which has lost the arms, legs, 
and head ; but discovers such an exquisite work- 
niansh^> in what remsdns of it, that Michael An- 
gelo declared he had learned his whole art from 
it Indeed he studied it so attentively, that he 
made most of his statues, and even his pictures 
in that gusto, to make use of the Italian phrase ; 
for which reason this maimed statue is still cal- 
led Michael Angelo*s school. 

A fragment of Sappho, which I design for the 
subject of this paper, is in as great reputation 
among the poets and critics, as the mutilated 
figure above-mentioned is among the statuaries 
and painters. Several of our countrymen, and 
Mr. Dryden in particular, seem very often to 
have copied after it in their dramatic writings, 
and in their poems upon love. 

in 8nscTAToa« lu 

Whatever might have been the occasioi 
Ihii ode, the English render will enter into 
beauties of itf if he strnpones it to have t 
written in the person ot a lover sitting hj 
mistress. 1 shall set to view three different 
pics of this beautiful original ; the first is a tn 
lation by Catullus, the second by Monsi 
BoileaUf and the last by a gentleman whose tr 
lation of the Hymn to Venus has been so de» 
edly admired.* 


life ml par ene deo videtur, 
Jllet »i/(ttt fMtt ntptrnre tUi^tf 
Qui §eaenM aihertus Uknlitlem U 
Special, e( audit, 

Dfdcc rifUnt€m/ miter§ qvod omnU 
Krifrit Mntfit mi hi : nam nimui te, 
Jxitbia, adtpexit nihil e§t Mufter mi 
Quod loquiir Anient. 

Lingua §ed iorpet : tenue* »ub artut 
Flamma dimanat : aonitu §uopte 
Tinniunt auret : geminn teguntur 
Jjumifia node. 

My learned reader will know very well the 
son wby one of these verses is printed in Roi 
letters it and if he compares this translation i 
the original, will find that the three fir!»t stai 
are rendered almost word for word, and not c 
with the same elegance, but with the same si 
turn of expression which is s% remarkable in 
Greek and so peculiar to the Sapphic Ode. 
cannot imagine for what reason Madam Dm 

• AmbrMc Philip*. 

t It. \h wfifitin|r in the old eopien, and liAfi been tupplie 

conjecture im ftUve. But in a ourioun edition of tJatii 

nuhiiiihcfi at Venici: in 173H. said U>l»e pnnte«l from an an« 

MH. ncwlv dlieoy«red, this lino it given tliut:— — * Voc 

guendum', SPECTATOR. ITS 

bas told us, that this ode of Sappho is preserved 
entire in Longinns, since it is manifest to any one 
•rho looks into that author^s quotation of it, that 
there must at least have been another stanza, 
Pfhich is not transmitted to u& 

The second translation of this fragment which 
[ shaH here cite, is that of Monsieur Boileau. 

Heureux / quipria de tot, pour tot teule soUpire t 
Quijoui't du ptaiair de f entendre parler .* 
i^yi te voit quelquefoia doucement lui go&rtre. 

hea dieux, dana aon bonheur, peuvent4la P^galer ? 

Je aena de veine eii veine une aubtilejlamme 
Courirpar tout mon corpa^ ai-tot queje te voia .- 
Et dana lea doux tranaporia, -o^ aegore mon ame^ 
Je ne agauroia trouver de langue, ni de voix, 

Un nuage confua ae riband aur ma vtie 
Je fCentena phuyje tombe en de dfiucea langiteurss 
Et pdlet-aana'tuueine^ interditey eaperdue, 
Unfriaaon me aaiait,je tremdiCfje me meura. 

The reader will see that thisr is rather an imi- 
tation than a translation^ The circumstances do 
Qot lie so thick together, and follow one another' 
with that vehemence and emotion as in the origi- 
nal. In short, Monsieur Bolieau has given us all 
the poetry, but not all the passion of this famous 
fragment. I shall, in the last place, present my 
reader with the English translation. 

Blest as th* immortal gods is he. 
The youth who fondly sits by thee. 
And hears and sees thee all the wlulc 
Softly speak and; sweetly smile* 

'Twas this depriy'd my soul of rest. 
And rais'd such tumults in my breast ; 
For while I gazM, in transport tost. 
My breath was gone, my yoice was lo8t« 

My bosom glow'd; the subtle flame 
Uan quick mrough all my yital frame; 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung; 
^y ears yiixh hollow murmun w\i^ 


174 SreCTATOII. No. «t. 

fn i/if.wy <1«nipii my lifiibft were ehillMi 
My Mfifrtt with griitlc liorrurn UirUrd } 
M« U't\Av |HiUi' frirycfit to piny; 
I tiiiiitrfi, Mitik, Mftd ily*d ntiniy. 

InMrud of (Mviti^; uiiy character of thU lait 
traiii»l.itioih I Ahull (IcHirc my Iramrcl render to 
look into the critic intiiH which Lofi^iiius hai 
iikkU upon thr ori);itial. Hy that tnciiiift he will 
know to which oi thr trannlationA he ought to 
^\\r thr prcfcrrncr. I shall only add, that thii 
ti.iiisli.tion iH writtrn in the very npirit of SapphOy 
and UH iHtar the (ii-i-ck a» the genius of our Jati« 
jjti. j^c will poHhihiy suflrr. 

Lonj^inus han ol)irrvcd that this description of 
love in S priho is an exact copy of nature, and 
tlhit all the rirnnnstanrrH, which follow one ano- 
ther in Kiir h un hurry ofscntiuicnts, notwithstand- 
iii'": ih'-y appear rcpuj^nanf to each other, arc 
rCiitly Hiicli iis ii.ippeii in the iren/Zies of love. 

I wondrr thi.t not one oi the critics or cditorsy 
thion{;h wh(»:ie hands this ode has passed, ha» 
laV.en occ.ision from il to mention a circunistunce 
related hy l^lutarch. That author, in the fanioua 
story ol Aiitioc htis, who fell in love with Strato« 
nice, liis mother-in-law, and (not daring to dis- 
covj r his passion) pretended to he confined to his 
ht •'< hy KirknesH, tells lis, that LCrasistratus, the 
])hy',i« i-.n, lotind out the nature of his distemper 
by tiiOHc syiii|).oiiis of love which he hud learnt 
fr(;ni Sipplio'.s wriiinj.';H. Stratonice was in the 
room ol the love-sick prince, when these symp- 
toms (hscoven d themselves to his physician; 
and it is prohuble, that they were not very difl'cr- 
cnl frciUi those whith Sappho here describes in a 
lover siltiiijr hy hi'i mistress. The story of Anti- 
ochns IK so well known, that I need not add the 
»eqiiei of it whicU \\Wh wo relation to my present 
Aubject. C 


No. 330. FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1711. 

Homines ad deot nuUd repropriut accedunt, qudm salutem 
homiiubu9 dando. 


Men resemble the gods in nothing so much as in doing gdod 
io their fellow -creatares. 

Human nature appears a very deformed, or a ve- 
ry beautiful object, according to the different 
lights in which it is viewed. When we see men 
of inflamed passions, or of wicked designs tearing 
one another to pieces by open violence, or under- 
mining each other by secret treachery ; when we 
observe base and narrow ends pursued by igno- 
minious and dishonest means ; when we behold 
men mixed in society as if it were for the de- 
struction of it ; we are even ashamed of our spe- 
cies, and out of humour with our own being. But 
in another light, when we behold them mild, 
good, and benevolent, full of a generous regard 
for the public prosperity, compassionating each 
other's distresses, and relieving each other's 
wants, we can hardly believe they are creatures 
of the same kind. In this view they appear gods 
to each other, in the exercise of the noblest 
power, that of doing good : and the greatest com- 
pliment we have ever been able to make to our 
own being, has been by calling this disposition of 
xnind humanity. We cannot but observe a plea- 
sure arising in our own breast upon the seeing or 
hearing of a generous action, even when we are 
wholly disinterested in it. I cannot give a more 
proper instance of this, than by a letter from Pli- 
ny, in which he recommends a irieivdmX^afcxciWX 

178 SPECTATOR. No. 9M 

handsome manner, and methinks it 'would be « 
great pleasure to know the success of this epis- 
tle, though each party concerned in it has been so 
many hundred years in his grave. 


* What I should gladly do for any friend oi 
yours, I think I may now with confidence request 
for a friend of mine. Arrianus Maturius is the 
most considerable man of his country: when I 
call him so, I do not speak with relation to his for- 
tune, though that is very plentiful, but to his in- 
tegrity, justice, gravity, and prudence ; his advice 
is useful to me in business, and his judgment in 
matters of learning. His fidelity, truth, and good 
understanding, are very great; besides this, he 
loves me as you do, than which I cannot say any 
thing that signifies a warmer affection. He has 
nothing that's aspiring ; and, though he might 
rise to the highest order of nobility, he keeps 
himself in an inferior rank : yet I think myseU 
bound to use my endeavours to serve and promote 
him ; and would therefore find the means of ad- 
ding something ,to his honours while he neither 
expects nor knows it, nay, though he should re- 
fuse it. Something in short, I would have for 
him that maybe honourable, but not troublesome; 
and I intrcat that you will procure him the first 
thing of this kind that offers, by which you will 
not only oblige me, but him also ; for though he 
does not covet it, I know he will be as grateful 
in acknowledging your favour as if he had ask- 
>ed it. 


* The reflections in some of your papers on 
the servile manner olLcduc^\\Qiii\ovf in use, have 


given birth to an ambition, which, unless you dis- 
countenance it, will, I doubt, engage me in a ve- 
ry difficult, though not ungrateful adventure. I 
am about to undertake, for the sake of the British, 
youth, to instruct them in such a manner, that 
the most dangerous page in Virgil or Homer 
may be read by them with much pleasure, and 
with perfect safety to their persons. 

< Could I prevsol so far as to be honoured with 
the protection of some few of them, (for I am not 
hero enough to rescue many) my design is to re- 
tire with them to an agreeable solitude, though 
within the neighbourhood ofacity, for the conve- 
nience of their being instructed in music, dancings 
drawing,, designing, or any other such accom- 
plishments, which it is conceived may make as 
proper diversions for them, and almost as plea- 
sant, as the little sordid games which dirty school- 
boys are so much delighted with. It may easily 
* be imagined, how such a pretty society, conver- 
ting with none beneath themselves, and some- 
times admitted, as perhaps not uncntertaining 
parties, amongst better company, commended and 
caressed for their little performances, and turned 
by such conversations to a certain gallantry of 
souly might be brought early acquainted with 
some of the most polite English writers. This 
having given them some tolerable taste of books, 
they would make themselves masters of the La- 

Itin tongue by methods far easier than those in 
Lilly, with as little difficulty or reluctance as 
young ladies learn to speak French, or to sing 
Italian operas. When they had advanced thus far 
it would be time to form their taste something 
more exactly. One that had any true relish of 
fine writing, might with great pleasure both to 
himself and them^ run over togelhet \«vX}Ci\}cw«.Tcv 

171 8PECTAT0B. Nc 

the belt Roman liistorians, poets, and ora 
and point out their more remarkable beau' 
give them a short scheme of chnjiiology, a ! 
view of geography, m<:clulS| astronomy, or * 
else might best feed the busy inquihitive hun 
so natural to that a^^e. Such (if them as had 
least spark of genius, when it was once awadci 
by the shining thoughts and great scntimeai 
those admired writers, could not, I believe 
easily withheld from attcm]itiiig that more 
cult sister languugr*, whose exalted beauties 
would have heard so often celebratfd as the [ 
and wonder of the whole learned world. Ii 
mean while, it would bi* reriuisite to exei 
their style in writing any little pieces that 
more of fancy than of judgment: ajid tliat 
qu'^iilly in then* native language, which everi 
methinks should be most concerned to culti 
es]>fri:iully letters, in which u ^^cntleman i 
have so frequent occusions to <libtinguish [ 
self. A set of genteel good-naturrd youths fs 
inu; such a manner of life, would form aim* 
littir u cade my, and doubtless prove no such 
tenii'ibjc companions, as might not often ten 
wii)' ;* mail 10 mingle himself in their divers: 
and firaw them into such serious sports as m 
prove nothing less instructing than the grs 
lessons. 1 doubt not but it might be made s 
of tiu'ir favourite plays, to contend which oft 
should recite u beautiful part of u {Kjcm or on 
most graccfull), or sometimes to join in acti 
scene of Terence, Sophocles, or our own S 
«peure. The cause of Milo might agaii 
plciidcd before more favourable judges, Cxi 
a second time be tuught to trcntbie, and ano 
race of Athenians be afresh enragc<l at the ai 
rioQ of ai)0thcr PhU'iY). faw'v<i^\.\.Vvv:«ke i\oble am 


mentSj we could hope to see the early dawnings 
of their imagination daily brighten into sense, 
their innocence improve into virtue, and their 
unexpetienced good-nature directed to a gene- 
rous love of their country. 

T. I am, kc. 

No. 231. SATURDAY, NOV. 24, 1711. 

Opudorf Opietas! 

Mart. viii. 78. 

O modesty ! O piety ! 

Looking over the letters which I have lately re- 
ceived from my correspondents, I met with the- 
following one, which is written with such a spirit 
of politeness, that I could not but be very much 
pleased with it myself, and question not but it 
will be as acceptable to the reader. 


* You, who are no stranger to public as- 
semblies, cannot but have observed the awe they 
often strike on such as are obliged to exert any 
talent before them. This is a sort of elegant dis- 
tress, to which ingenuous minds are the most li- 
able, and may therefore deserve some remarks 
in your paper. Many a brave fellow, who has 
put his enemy to flight in the field, has been in 
4he utmost disorder upon making a speech before 
a body of his friends at home. One would think 
there was some kind of fascination in the eyes of 
a large circle of people, when darting all together 
upon one person. I have seen ^ ue^r 9i<(;Xqi Ssx^Vc^* 


gedy so bound up by it as to be scarce able to speak 
or inove« and have expected he would have died 
aboTC three acts before the dag^ror cup of poi- 
son were brought in. It would not be amiss, if 
such an one were at first to be introduced as a 
ghostt or a statue, until he recovered his spirits, 
and grew fit for some living part. 

*' As this sudden desertion of one's self shews 
a diflfidence, which is not displeasing, it implies at 
the same time the greatest respect to an audience 
that can be. It is a sort of mute eloquence, which 
pleads for their favour much better than words 
could do; and we find their generosity naturally 
moved to support those who arc in so much per- 
plexity to entertain them. I was extremely 
pleased with a late instance of this kind at the 
opera of Almahide, in the encouragement given 
to a young singer,* whose more tlian ordmary 
concern on her first appearance, recommended 
her no less than her agreeable voice, and just 
performance. Mere bashfulncss without merit 
is awkward ; and merit without modesty inso- 
lent. But modest merit has a double claim to 
acceptance, and generally meets with as many 
patrons as beholders. 

I am, &c. 

It is impossible that a person should exert him- i 
self to advantage in an assembly, whether it be I 
his part cither to sing or speak, who lies under f 
too great oppressions of modesty. I remember, 
upon talking with a friend of mine concerning 
the force of pronunciation, our discourse led us 
into the enumeration of the several organs of 

* Mrs. Barlncr. Soe a curious account of this lady, ia Sir 
John iiawkius's lUsXory oC ^MiSA&^N^.'^.^. 15S. 

Jl«. im. !IPECTAT0II« 111. 

Speech which an orator ought to have in perfec- 
tion) as the tongue, the teeth, the lips, the nose, 
the palate, ^d the wind-pipe. < Upon which,' 
sajrs mj friend, ^you have omitted the most 
material organ of them all, and that is the fore- 

But notwithstanding an excess of modesty ob*^ 
itructs the tongue, and renders it unfit for its 
officeS) a due proportion of it is thought so re- 
quisite to an orator, that rhetoricians have recom- 
mended it to their disciples as a particular in 
their art. Cicero tells us that he never liked an 
orator who did not appear in some little coufu- 
uon at the beginning of his speech, and con- 
fesses that he himself never entered upon an 
oration without trembling and concern. It is in- 
deed a kind of deference which is due to a great 
assembly, and seldom fails to raise a bcnevolcnge 
in tlie audience towards the person who speaks. 
My correspondent has taken notice that the bravest 
men often appear timorous on these occasions, as 
indeed we may observe, that there is generally 
no creature more impudent than a coward : 

lAn^uA melior, tedfrigiihi belh 

Dextera " Virg. Mu. xi. SSS. 

— »- BoM at the council-board ; 
But cautious in the field he thujmM t)ie iwonl. 


A bold tongue and a feeble arm are the quali- 
fications of Dranccs in Virgil ; as Homer, to ex- 
press a man both timorous and suucy, makes use 
of a kind of point, which is very rarely to be met 
with in his writhigs ; namely, that lie hud the eyes 
of a dog, but tlie heart of a deer.* 

A just and reasonable modesty does not only 

* Hind, i. 225. 

recommend eloqiiencey but nets off erery great 
talent which a man can \ye potiessed of. It 
heightens all the virtues which it accompanies^ 
like the shades in paintings, it raises and rounds 
every figure, and makes the colours more beau- 
tiful, though not so glaring as they would be with* 
out it* 

Modesty is not only an ornament, but also m 
guard to virtue. It is a kind of quick and deli- 
cate feeling in the soul, which makes her shrink 
and withdraw herself from every thing that haa 
danger in it. It is such an exquisite scnsibilityf 
as warns her to shun the first appearance of eyerj 
thing which is hurtful. 

I cannot at present recollect cither the place 
or time of what I am going to mention ; but I 
have read it somewhere in the history of ancient 
Greece, that the women of the country were 
seized with an unaccountable melancholy, which 
disposed several of them to make away with 
themselves. The senate, after having tried many 
expedients to prevent this self-murder, which 
was so frequent among them, published an edict, 
that if any woman whatever should lay violent 
hands upon herself, her corpse should be ex- 
posed naked in the street, and (lrag(;ed about 
the city in the most public manner. This edict 
immediately put a stop to the practice which was 
before so common. We may see in thtH instance 
the htrength of female modenty, which was able 
to overcome even the violence of madness and 
despair. The fear of shame in the fair sex, was 
in those days more prevalent than that of death. 

If modesty has so great an influence over our 

actions, and is in many cases ho imprcgnatile a 

licence to virtue ; what can more undermine mo- 

raliiy thwn %hat poVilti\«i^s ^^vc.K reigns among 

9<k m. 8PBCTATOE. ltd 

the untbinking part of mankind, and treats as un« 
fiishionabie the most ingenuous part of our be« 
hariour ; which recommends impudence as good 
breeding, and keeps a man always in countenance^ 
not because he is innocent, but because he is 
shameless ? 

Seneca thought modesty so great a check to 
▼ice, that he prescribes to us the practice of it in 
secret) and advises us to raise it in ourselves upon 
imagpunary occasions, when such as are real do 
not offer themselves ; for this is the meaning of 
his precept. That when we are by ourselves, and 
in our g^atest solitudes, we should fancy that 
Cato stands before us and sees every thing we 
do. In short, if you banish Modesty out of the 
world, she carries away with her half the virtue 
that is in it 

After these reflections on modesty, as it is a 
virtue ; I must observe, that there is a vicious 
modesty, which justly deserves to be ridiculed, 
and which those persons very often discover who 
value themselves most upon a well-bred confi- 
dence. This happens when a man is ashamed to 
act up to his reason, and would not upon any con- 
sideration be surprised at the practice of those 
duties, for the performance of which he was sent 
into the world. Many an impudent libertine 
would blush to be caught in a serious discourse, 
and would scarce be able to shew his head, after 
having disclosed a religious thought. Decency 
of behaviour, all outward shew of virtue, and ab- 
horrence of vice, are carefully avoided by this set 
of shame-faced people, as M'^hat would disparag^e 
their gaiety of temper, and infallibly bring them 
to dishonour. This is such a poorness of spirit, 
such a despicable cowardice, such a degenerate 
abject state of mind, as one would V\^ViCiL>^»xsffsv 

I v"-;*" vfl'^oi *«.«'* ^™ 

1 U SFBCT ATOR. »«. Of. 

nattire Incapiible or, did we noC meet with fre* 
quetit \n%iMi\ce% fit it in orditiaiy corivitnuitUm* 

There i* another kind of vicious tii<Kle»t^ which 
maket a inan aahanied of hi» pervofif hit birthf hia 
prfifeiiaiotif hi* {Kiveri^r, or the like mivfortuneff 
which it wa» not in lii« rlioice to preventf and b 
not in hift |>owcr to rectify. If a man appeara ri^ 
dieulouft by any of the afore-mentioneu circum* 
atance»| he bcajmcs much more %o by bebig out 
of countenatice for tliem. I'hey ahould rather 
give him occai»ion to exert a noble apirit^ and to 
jaUliate thof»e im|>erfection« which are not in hia 
|x»wer, hy Uioae |H:rfectlonH which are ; or to 
uae a very witty alluaion of an eminent autliorf he 
ftliould imitate ilxnur^ who, liecuuMS hia head W9$ 
baldy covered tliat defect with laurcla. C 

K<ju 232, MONDAY, NOVICMBEK 26, 171 1- 

•Arl/j// largiundtt gtnrtam atlt*ptut ^tt. 
Uy \H,^iAw\uff tnMu% lif Hdiuiiwl Kl<«ry. 

My wiac und |f<HKl friend. Sir Andrew Freeport, 
dividitH hitit«<tif almoht ef|uully between the town 
»nd the country. Ilih time iti town \h ^iven up to 
the public, and the munuffement of hiH private 
fortune ; and ofter t:very three or four dayii a|>ent 
hi thin tnunner, lie retires for an timny to hi« aeat 
wiihhi u few niilea of the town, to the enjoyment 
of hitnvejf, hiti family, and \u% iriend. Thua bu- 
aineiiK and pleuaure, or rather, in Sir Andrew, la- 
bfHir and rei>t, recommend eaeh other. They 
ti^ke their tuma yf\\\\ %u ivNXu:V«^N\.v.U^Uudc, that 

So. £$7, SPECTATOtt. m 

neither becomes a habits or takes possession of 
the whole man ; nor is it possible he should be 
surfeited with either. I often see bim at our club 
in ^ood humour, and yet sometimes too witli a^ 
air of care in his looks : but in his country re- 
treat he is always unbent, and such a companion 
as I could desire ; and therefore I seldom fail to 
make one with him when he is pleased to invite 

The other day, as soon as we were got into his 
chariot, two or three beggars on each side hung 
upon the doors, and solicited our charity with the 
usual rhetoric of a sick wife or husband at home, 
three or four helpless little children all starving 
with cold and hunger. We were forced to part 
with some money to get rid of their importunity ; 
and then we proceeded on our journey with the 
blessings and acclamations of these people. 

' Well then,* sayS Sir Andrew, * we go off with 
the prayers and good wishes of the beggars, and 
perhaps too our healths will be drunk at the next 
ale-house : so all we shall be able to value our- 
selves upon, is, that we have promoted the trade 
of the victualler and the excises of the govern- 
ment. But how few ounces of wool do we see 
upon the bucks of these poor creatures? And 
when they shall next fall in our way, they will 
hardly be better dressed ; they must always live 
in rags to look like objects of compassion. If 
their families too are such as they are represent- 
ed, 'tis certain they cannot be better clothed, and 
must be a great deal worse fed. One would 
think potatoes should be all their bread, and their 
drink the pure element; and then what goodly 
customers are the farmers like to have for their 
•wool, corn, and cattle ? Such customers, and such 
a consumption, cannot choose but aA'^^sic.^ >te. 



landed interest) and hold up the rentt of the gen- 

< Uut of all men living, we merchants who live 
by buying and belling, ought never to encourage 
beggars. The gocxls which we export are indeed 
the product of the landH, but much the greater 
pait of their value: is the labour of the people r 
but how nuich of these |)eopIc's lu)>our shall wo 
export whilst we hire them to sit still f The very 
alms they receive from us at*e tl)c wages of idle- 
ness. 1 have often thought that no man should 
be permitted to take relief from the parish, or to 
ask it in the street, until lie has first purchased 
us much as possible of his own livelilioo<l by tho 
laliour of his own hands; and then the public 
ought only to be taxed to make gorxl the defi- 
ciency. If this rule was strictly observed, wo 
sliould see every where such a multitude of new 
labourers, as would in all probability, reduce the 
prices of all onr mahufactures. It is the very life 
of merchandise to Iniy cheap and sell dear. Tho 
mere hunt ought to make his out-set as cheap as 
possible, that he may find the greater profit u|>on 
Ills returns; and nothing will enable him to do 
this like the reduction of thr price of labour upon 
all our manufactures. This too would be the 
ready way to increase the number of our foreign 
markets. The abutement of the price of the ma* 
nufacturc would pay for the carriage of it to more 
distant countries; and this conseciuence would l>e 
equally beneficial both to the landed and trading 
interests. As so great an addition of labouring 
hands would produce this happy consequence 
both to the merchant and the gentleman, our li- 
berality to common beggars, and every other ob- 
struction to the increase of lubuurcrs, nwnA be 
equally pernicious Xo bovVv.' 

H«u 898. 3PECTAT01L 187 

Bir Andrew then went on to afiirm, that the re- 
duction of the prices of our manufactures by the 
addidon of so many new hands, would be no incon- 
▼enience to any man; but observing I was some- 
thing startled at the assertion, he made a short 
pause, and then resumed the discourse. < It may 
seem/ says he, ' a paradox, that the price of la- 
boor should be reduced without an abatement of 
wages, or that wages can be abated without an in- 
convenience to the labourer, and yet nothing is 
more certain than that both these things may hap- 
pen. The wages of the labourers make the 
|;reatest part of the price of every thing that 
IS useful ; and if in proportion with tlie wages 
the price of all other things siiould be abated, 
every labourer with less wages would still be able 
to purchase as many necessaries of life ; where 
then would be the inconvenience ? But the price 
of labour may be reduced by the addition of more 
hands to a manufacture, and yet the wages of per- 
kms remain as high as ever. The admirable Sir 
William Petty has given examples of this in some 
of his writings: one of them, as I remember, is 
that of a watch, which I shall endeavour to ex- 
plain so as shall suit my present purpose. It is 
certain that a single watch could not be made so 
cheap in proportion by one only man, as a hun- 
dred watches by a hundred ; for as there is vast 
Tariety in the work, no one person could equally 
suit himself to all the parts of it : the manufac- 
ture would be tedious, and at last but clumsily 
performed. But if a hundred watches were to be 
made by a hundred men, the cases may be as- 
signed to one, the dials to another, the wheels to 
another, the springs to another, and every other 
part to a proper anist. As there would be no 
need of perplexing any one person mxYv^ooxKaOsv 


varietal every one would be able to perform hift 
9in);lc part with greater ftkilland expedition ; and 
the hundred watches would be finished in one- 
fourth pail of the time of tlir. first one, and every 
one of tlieni at one-fourth part of the cost, tliough 
the wages of every man were erjual. Tlie reduc- 
tion of the price of the manufacture would in- 
crease the demand of it, all the same hands would 
\ic still employed, and as well ))aid. The same 
rule will hold in the clothing, tJie shipping, and 
all other trades whatsoever. And thus an addi- 
tion of hands to our manufactures will only re- 
duce the price of them ; the labourer will still 
have as much wages, and will consequently be 
enabled to purchase more conveniencics of life ; 
so that cveiy interest in the nation would receive 
a bcnctii from the increase of our working people. 
*' Uchides 1 see no occasion for this charity to 
common brgj^ars, since every beggar is an inha- 
bittint of a parish, and every parish is taxed to tlie 
maintenance of their own poor. For my own 
part I cannot be mi};htilv pleased with the laws 
which have done thiM, which have provided better 
to feed than employ the poor. We have a ti*adi- 
tion from our Ibrcluthers, that after the first of 
those laws was made, they were insulted with 
that famous song ; 

Ilnti}; HTirrow hikI ennlaway cnrc. 
The parihli ii bound to find uh, &cc. 

And if V. e will be so good-natured as to maintain 
them without work, they can do no less in return 
than sing us " The merry Beggars." 

' What then ? Am 1 against all acts of charity ? 
God forbid ! I know of no virtue in the gospel 
th'dt is ill more pathetic expressions recom- 
mended to our pracuce. ^^ V viw^ l\vii\^ry and ye 

Ko. 952. SPECTATOR. 180 

gare me no meat, thirsty and ye gave me no drinky 
naked and ye clothed me not, a stranger and ye 
took me not in, sick and in prison and ye visited 
me not." Our blessed Saviour treats the exer- 
cise and neglect of charity towards a poor man, 
as the performance or breach of this duty towards 
himself. I shall endeavour to obey the will of my 
lord and master : and therefore if an industrious 
man shall submit to the hardest labour and coars- 
est fare, rather than endure the shame of taking 
relief from the parish, or asking it in the street, 
this is the hungry, the thirsty, the naked ; and I 
€ught to believe, if any man is come hither for 
shelter against persecution or oppression, this is 
the stranger, and I ought to take him in. If any 
countryman of our own is fallen into the hands 
Cf infidels, and lives in a state of miserable cap- 
tivity, this is the man in prison, and I should con- 
tribute to his ransom. I ought to give to an hos- 
pital of invalids, to recover as many useful sub- 
jects as I can ; but 1 shall bestow none of my 
bounties upon an alms-house of idle people ; and 
iDr the same reason I should not think it a re- 
proach to me if I had withheld my charity from 
those common beggars. But we prescribe better 
rules than we are able to practise; we are ashamed 
not to give into the mistaken manners of our 
country : but at the same time, I cannot but think 
it a reproach worse than that of common swear- 
ing, that the idle and the abandoned are suffered 
in the name of heaven and all that is sacred to 
extort from christian and tender minds a supply 
to a profligate way of life, that is always to be 
supported, but never relieved.' Z. 


No. 233. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1711. 

Tangwim fuec tins nottri medieina furoritp 
Aui deu9 ilk malit hominum nutetcere mtcat. 

ViRO. Kcl. z. ?. M. 

Ai if Irr thete, mj infTcrinn 1 oouid eMe ; 
Or by tny ptlni the god of Ioyc appcaae. 


I iHALL in this paper diftcharge my self of the pro- 
tniftc I have made to the public, by obliging them 
with a tranislation of the little Greek nuuiuscnpt, 
which is said to have been a piece of Uiose records 
tliat were preserved in the temple of Apollo, 
upon the promontory of Leucate. It is a short 
history of the Lover's Leap, and is inscribed, An 
account of persons, male and female, who offered 
up their vows in tlie temple of the Pythian Apollo 
in tltc forty-sixth Olympiad, and leaped from the 
promontory of Leucate into the Ionian Sea, in 
order to cure themselves of the passion of love. 

This account is very dry in many parts, as only 
mentioning the name of the lover who leaped, the 
person he leaped for, and relating in short, that he 
was either cured, or killed, or maimed by the 
fall. It indeed gives the names of so many who 
died by it, tliat it would have looked like a bill of 
mortality, had I translated it at full length ; I have 
therefore made an abridgment of it, and only ex- 
tracted such particular passages as have some- 
thing e^^traordinary, either in the case or in the 
cure, or in the fate of the person who is men- 
tioned in it. After this short preface take the ac- 
count as follows : 

DuttUH, the son of Mcnalcas the Sicilian, leaped 
for iiombyca l\ic iuus\c\va\*. ^oi rid of his passion 

Wo. J2Sa SPECTATOR. 191 

with the loss of his right leg and arm, which 
were broken in the fall. 

Melissa, in love with Daphnis, very much bruis- 
ed, but escaped with life. 

Cynisca, the wife of ^schines, being in love 
with Lycus; and ^schines her husband being in 
love with Eurilla ; (which had made this married 
couple very uneasy to one another for several 
years) both the husband and the wife took the 
leap by consent ; they both of them escaped, and 
bave lived very happily together ever since. 

Larissa, a virgin of Thessaly, deserted by Plex- 
ippus, after a courtship of three years ; she stood 
upon the brow of the promontory for some time, 
and after having thrown down a ring, a bracelet, 
and a little picture, with other presents which she 
had received from Plexippus, she threw herself 
into the sea, and was taken up alive. 

N. B. Larissa, before she leaped, made an offer- 
ing of a silver Cupid in the temple of Apollo. 

Simaetha, in love with Duphnis the Myndian, 
perished in the fall. 

Charixus, the brother of Sappho, in love with 
Rhodope the courtesan, having spent his whole 
estate upon her, was advised by his sister to leap 
in the beginning of his amour, but would not 
hearken to her until he wus reduced to his last 
talent; being forsaken by Rhodope, at length re- 
solved to take the leap. Perished in it. 

Aridaeus, a beautiful youth of Epirus in love 
with Praxinoe, the wife of Thcspis ; escaped 
without damage, saving only that two of his fore- 
teeth were struck out and his nose a little flatted. 

Cleora, a widow of Ephesi's, being inconsola- 
ble for the death of her husband, was resolved 
tatake this leap in order to ijjct rid of her passion 
for his memory ; but being arrived ax. XVvfe -^xqtkvwn.^ 


toryt the there met with Dimmachutthe MiletUuif 
and after a Hhort conversation with him, Uiid aside 
the tlioughtft of her leap, and married iiim in tho 
temple of Apollo. 

N. U. Her widow's weeds are still seen hanging 
up in the western comer of the temple. 

Olphis, the fisherman having received a box on 
the ear from Thestylis the day bcforet and being 
determined to have no more to do with her, leap- 
ed* and escaped with life. 

Atalatita,an old maid, whose cruelty had several 
years before driven two or three despairing lovers 
to this leap ; being now in the fifty-fiftli year of lier 
age, and m love with an oflicer of Sparta, broke 
her neck in the fall. 

llippurchus, being pahsionately fond of his own 
wife, who was enamoured of Bathyllus, leaped, 
and died of his full : u^Kjn which his wife married 
hrr gullunt. 

Tcityx,thc duncing-mastcr, in love witJi Olym- 
pia, an Athenian matron, threw himself from the 
rock with great agilily, but was crippled in the 

l)iagoras,tJie usurer, in love with his cook maid; 
he peeped several times over the precipice, but 
his lieart misgiving him, he went back, and mar- 
ried her that eveiung. 

Cihxdus, after having entered his own name in 
the J'ythian records, being asked the name of the 
person whom he lea|>ed for, and being asliamed to 
discover it, he was set aside and not suffered to 

Eunica, a maid of Puphos, aged nineteen, in 
love with Eurybatcs. Hurt in the fall, but re- 

N. B. This was the second time of her Iciip* 

9*. 851^ SPBCTATOB. 19^ 

of harm, whether the facts be one way or the 
other. Lies which are told out of arrogance and 
ostentation* a man should detect in his own de« 
fence, because he should not be triumphed over. 
Lies which are told out of malice he should ex- 
pose, both for his own sake and that of the rest of 
mankind, because every man should rise against 
a common enemy ; but the officious liar, many 
have argued, is to be excused, because it does 
some man good, and no man hurt. The man who 
made more than ordinary speed from a fight in 
which the Athenians were beaten, and told them 
they had obtained a complete victory, and put the 
whole city into the utmost joy and exultation, 
was checked by the magistrates for this false- 
hood ; but excused himself by saying, ^O Athe- 
nians ! am I your enemy because I gave you two 
happy days ?' This fellow did to a whole people 
what an acquaintance of mine does every day he 
lives, in some eminent degree to particular per- 
sons. He is ever lying people into good humour, 
and as Plato said it was allowable in physicians to 
lie to their patients to keep up their spirits, I am 
half doubtful whether my friend's behaviour is 
not excusable. His manner is to express him- 
self surprised at the cheerful countenance of a 
man whom he observes diffident of himself; and 
generally by that means makes his lie a truth. 
He will, as if he did not know any thing of the 
circumstance, ask one whom he knows at variance 
with another, what is the meaning that Mr. Such- 
a-one, naming his adversary, does not applaud him 
with that heartiness which formerly he has heard 
him ? ^ He said, indeed,' ^ continues he, < I would 
rather have that man for my friend than any man 
in England ; but for an enemy'— This melts the 
person he talks to, who expected tio\.VkVx\^ \:ix^ 

fOe BreCTATOU. Vo.S3i 

clown-right raillery from that tide. According 
as he KITS hitt practice fiuccced« he goes to the 
oppoHite party, and tella hiniy he cannot imagine 
Jiow it happen H that 8onie people know one ano- 
ther so little- ; ^ You spoko wiui so much coldness 
of u gentleman who said more good of you, than* 
let nie tell you, any man living deserves/ The 
success of one of these incidents was, that the 
next time one of the adversaries spied the other, 
he- iicnis iifter him in the public street, and they 
must crack a Ixittic at the next tavern, that used 
to turn out of the other's way to avoid one ano- 
ther's eye-shot. He will tell one hcauty she was 
conim(:n(k>d by another, nay, he will say she gave 
the woman he* speaks to the preference in a par- 
ticular for which she herself is admired. The 
plcusantest confusion imaginable is made through 
the wliole town by my friend's indirect offices. 
You shall have a visit returned after half a yearns 
s\bsencc, and mutiiul railing at each other every 
day of that time. They meet with a thousand 
lamentations for so long a separation, each party 
naming herself fifV the greatest delinquent, if the 
other can pf>Hsib)y be so good as to forgive her, 
which she has no reason in the world, but from the 
knowledge of her goodness, to hope for. Very 
often a whole train of railers of each side tire 
their horses in setting matters right which they 
have said during the war between the parties; 
and a whole circle of acquaintance are put into 
a tiiouHaiid pleasing passions and sentiments, in- 
stead of the pangs of anger, envy, detraction, and 

The worst evil 1 ever obsci-ved this man's false- 
hood occasion, has been, that he turned detraction 
into flattery. He is well skilled in the manners 
of the world) and by o\^iy\ooVkv^>fihtt.t lucn really 


are, he grounds his artifices upon what they have 
a mind to be. Upon this foundation, if two dis- 
tant friends are brought together, and the cement 
seems to be weak, he never rests until he finds 
new appearances to take off all remains of ill-will, 
and that by new misunderstandings they are 
thoroughly reconciled. 

t SIR) DeToaahire, Not. li, ITU. 

' There arrived in this neighbourhood 
two days ago one of your gay gentlemen of the 
town, who being attended at his entry with a ser- 
vant of his own, besides a countryman he had ta- 
ken up for a guide, excited the curiosity of the 
village to learn whence and what he might be. 
The countryman (to whom they applied as most 
easy of access^ knew little more than that the gen- 
tleman came irom London to travel and see fash- 
ions, and was, as he heard say, a free-thinker.* 
What religion that might be, he could not tell : 
and for his own part, if they had not told him the 
man was a free-thinker, he should have guessed, 
by his way of talking, he was little better than a 
heathen ; excepting only that he had been a good 
gentleman to him, and made him drunk twice in 
one day, over and above what they had bargained 

^ I do not look upon the simplicity of this, and 
several odd inquiries with which I shall not trou- 
ble you, to be wondered at, much less can I think 
that our youths of fine wit, and enlarged under- 
standings, have any reason to laugh. There ib no 

• The person here alluded to was probably Mr. Toland, who 
is said by the Examiner to have been the butt of tlie Taller 
and Spectator. 



necessity that c%'cry 'squire in Great Britain 
Ahould know what the word free-thinker stands 
for ; l)uf It were much to be wished, that they who 
value themselves upon that conceited title, were 
a little 1>ettcr instructed in what it ought to stand 
for; und that they would not persuade them- 
selves a man is really and truly a free-thinker, in 
any tolerable sense, merely by virtue of his beings 
an atheist, or an infidel of any other distinction. 
It may be doubted with good reason, whether 
there ever waH in nature a more abject, slavish, 
and bi^ottcd generation than the tribe of bcaux- 
CApi its, at present so prevailing in this island. 
1'hcir pretension to be free-thinkers, is no other 
than rakes have to be free-livers, and savages to 
be free-men ; that is, they can think whatever 
they have a mind to, and give themselves up to 
whatever conceit the extravagancy of their iucli- 
iiulion, or their fancy, shall suggest; they can 
think as wildly as they talk and act, and will not 
endure that their wit should be controlled by such 
formal things as decency and common sense. De- 
duction, coherence, consistency, and all the rules 
of reason they accordingly disdain, as too precise 
and mechanical for men of a liberal education. 

^ This, as far as 1 could ever learn from their 
vritinf^H, or my own observation, is a true account 
of the Hritibh free-thinker. Our visitant here, 
who gave occasion to this paper, has brought with 
hini anew system of common sense, the particti- 
tars of which 1 am not yet acciuainted with, but 
will lose no opportunity of mforming myself 
whether it contain any thing worth Mr. Specta- 
tor's notice. In the mean time, sir, I cannot but 
think it would be for the good of mankind, if you 
irouJd take this subject into your consideration, 
^id convince the ho^c^\v\^o>3X\x<il^Mtwft.tion> that 

Ih. 235. SPECTATOR. 199 


licentiousness is not freedoinf or, if such a para- 
dox will not be understood, that a prejudice to* 
wards atheism is not impartiality. 

I am, SIR, 
Your most humble servant, 


No. 235. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 171 1. 


Vincentem 8trep{tiit' 

HoR. Ars. Poet v, 81. 

Awes the tumultuous noises of the pit 


There is nothing which lies more within the 
province of a Spectator than public shows and di- 
versions; and as among these there are none 
which can pretend to vie with those elegant en- 
tertainments that are exhibited in our theatres, I 
think it particularly incumbent on me to take no- 
tice of every thing that is remarkable in such nu- 
merous and refined assemblies. 

It is observed, that of late years there has been 
a certain person in the upper gallery of the play- 
house, who when he is pleased with any thing 
that is acted upon the stage, expresses his appro- 
bation by a loud knock upon the benches or the 
wainscot, which may be heard over the whole the- 
atre. The person is commonly known by the 
name of the ' Trunk-maker in the upper gallery.* 
Whether it be that the blow he gives on these oc- 
casions resembles that which is often heard in 
the shops of such artisans, or that he was supposed 
to have been a real trunk-maktT) -^wVvo^ ^Vvr^ nXnr 

itfO SPECTATOR. tf o. 8U. 

finishing ofliinday'i wOrk* used to unbend his 
mind at these public diversions with his hammer 
in his hundf I cannot certainly tell. There are 
some, 1 knowt who have been foolish enough to 
imagine it is a spirit which haunts the upper gal* 
Icry, and from time to time makes those strange 
noises ; and the rather, because he is observed to 
be louder than ordinary every time the ghost of 
I lamlet appears. Othc rs have reported^ that it is 
a dumb man, who has chosen this way of uttering 
himself when he is transported with any thing he 
sors or hears. Others will have it to be the play- 
house thundcrcr, that exerts himself after this 
manner in the upper gallery j when he has noth- 
ing to do upon the roof. 

But having made it my business to get the best 
infonnution 1 could in a matter of this moment, I 
find that the trunk-maker, as he is commonly 
called, \h a large, black man, whom nobody knows, 
lie generally leans forward on a huge oaken plant 
with great attention to every thing tliat passes up- 
on the stage. He is never seen to smile ; bVit up- 
on hearing any thing that pleases him, he takes 
up his staif with both hands, and lays it upon the 
next piece of timber that stands in his way with 
exceeding vehemence : after which, he composes 
himself in his former posture, till such time as 
something new sets him again at work. 

It has been obsei*ved, his blow is so well timed, 
that the most judicious critic could never except 
against it. As soon as any shining thought is ex- 
pressed in the poet, or any uncommon grace ap- 
pears in the actor, he smites the bench or wain- 
scot. If the audience does not concur with him, 
he smites a second time; and if the audience is 
not yd awakened, looks round him with great 
ivrath) and repcsils \ivt \Ao\n ^\}ci\\^ \\3k\<5^ which 

Ko. 235. SPECTATOR. m 

never fails to produce the clap. He sometimes 
lets the audience begin the clap of themselves, 
and at the conclusion of their applause ratifies it 
vith a single thwack. 

He is of so- great use to the playhouse, that if is 
said a former director of it, upon his not being 
able to pay his attendance by reason of sickness, 
kept one in pay to officiate for him until such 
time as he recovered ; but the person so employ- 
ed) though he laid about him with incredible vio- 
lence, did it in such wrong places, that the audi- 
ence soon found out that it was not their old friend 
the trunk-maker. 

It has been remarked, that he has not yet exer- 
ted himself with vigour this season. He some- 
times plies at the opera ; and upon Nicolini's first 
appearance was said to have demolished three 
benches in the fury of his applause. He has bro- 
ken half a dozen oaken plants upon Dogget,* and 
seldom goes away from a tragedy of Shakspeare, 
without leaving the wainscot extremely shattered. 

The players do not only connive at his obstre- 
perous approbation, but very cheerfully repair at 
their own cost whatever damages he makes. They 
once had a thought of erecting a kind of wooden 
anvil for his use, that should be made of a very 
«ounding plank, in order to render his strokes 
more deep and mellow ; but as this might not 
have been distinguished from the music of a ket- 
tle-drum, the project was laid aside. 

In the meanwhile, I cannot but take notice of 
the great use it is to an audience, that a person 

* Thomas Dogget, an excellent comic actor, -who was for 
many yean joint-manager of the pli^house with WillLes and 
CoUey Cihber, of whom the reader may find a particular ap- 
Qountin Gibber's Apology fqr his own Lilc. 


should thus preside orer their heads like the di- 
rector of a concert) in order to awaken their at- 
tentions and beat time to their applauses ; or, to 
raise my similci I have sometimes fancied the 
trunk-maker in the upper-gallery to be like Vir- 
gil's ruler of the wuids, sciitcd upon the top of a 
niountaiof who when he struck his sceptre upon 
the side uf it) roused a hurricane, and set the caT* 
ern in an uproar.* 

It is certain the trunk-maker has saved many a 
good play) and brought many a graceful actor in- 
to reputation, who would not otherwise have been 
taken nolicc of. It is very visible, as the audi* 
cnce i» not a little abashed, if they Bnd themselves 
betrayed into a clap, when their friend in the up* 
per gallery does nut come into it; so the actora 
do not value themselves upon the clap, but regard 
it as a mere brutumfulmcn^ or empty noise, when 
it has not tlic sound of the oukcn plant in it. I 
know it has been given out by those who are ene- 
mies to the trunk-maker, tiiat he has sometimes 
been bribed to be in the interest of a bad poet, or 
a vicious pldyer; but this is a surmise which has 
no tuundation : his strokes arc always just, and 
his admonitions seasonui>ie : he does not deal 
aUiUt his l)lows at random, but always hits the 
right nail u{M>n the head. The inexpressible 
force therewith he lays tlicm on sufficiently shews 
the evidence and stren^th ol' his conviction. His 
zeal for a good author is indeed outrageous, and 
breaks aown every fence aiid partition, every 
board and plank, tliat stands within the expression 
of his applause. 

As 1 do not care for terminating my thoughts 
in barren speculations, or in reports of pure mat- 
ter of fact, without drawing something from them 
itr the advantage of vny countrymen, 1 shall take 

yo. 93$. SPECTATOR. S0$ 

the liberty to make an humble proposal, that 
whenever the trunk-maker shall depart this life, 
or whenever he shall have lost the spring of his 
arm hy sickness, old age, infirmity, or the like^ 
some able-bodied critic should be advanced to 
this post, and have a competent salary settled on 
him for life, to be furnished with bamboos for ope- 
ras, crab-tree cudgels for comedies, and oaken 
planks for tragedy, at the public expense. And 
to the end that this place should be always dispo- 
sed of according to merit, I would have none pre- 
ferred to it, who has not given convincing proofs 
both of a sound judgment and a strong arm, and 
who could not, upon occasion, either knock down 
an ox, or write a comment upon Horace's Art of 
Poetry. In short, I would have him a due com- 
position of Hercules and Apollo, and so rightly 
qualified for this important office, that the trunk- 
maker may not be missed by our posterity. C. 

No. 236. FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1711 

■ Dare jura maritit. 

HoR. An Poet t. 398. 

With laws connubial tjrrants to restrain. 

< You have not spoken in so direct a manner 
upon the subject of marriage, as that important 
cuse deserves. It would not be improper to ob- 
serve upon the peculiarity in the youth in Great 
Britain of railing and laughing at that institution; 
^d when they fall into it, from a profligate habit 
^f mind^ being: insensible o£ the MAAi>i»A\ioTw \xk 

tifk BPRCTATOR. V%. 8SC 

thut way of life, and treating their wives witli the 
most Ixirburoufl (liHrcBp4'ct. 

' Particular circumtttancea, and cast of temper, 
must teach a man the probability of mij^hty un« 
rasincss in that state ; (for unquestionably some 
there are whose very dispositions arc strangely 
averse to conjugal friendship) but no one, I be- 
lieve, is by his own natural complexion prompted 
to tease and torment another for no reason but 
being nearly allied to him. And can there be any 
thing more base, or serve to sink a man so much 
below his own distinguishing characteristic, (I 
mean reason) than returning evil for good in so 
o|)en a manner, as that of treating an helfiless 
creature \^iih unkindnd^s, who has had so good 
an opinion of him as to believe what he said rela* 
ting to one of the greatest concerns of life, by de- 
livering her huppinesH in this world to his care 
and ])rotct-tion i MuHt not that man be abandoned 
even to all luunner of Jiumanity, who can deceive 
a woman with appearanccH of uflcction and kind- 
ness, for no (itiier end but to torment her with 
more ease and authority ? Is any thing more un- 
like a gentleman, than ^hen his honour is enga- 
ged for the performinur his ])romises, becaum* 
nothing but that can oblige him to it, to become 
afterwards false to his word, and be alone the 
occasion of misery to one whose happiness he but 
lately pretended was dearer to him than his own? 
Ou)^ht such a one to be trusted in his common 
afl'uirs 'i or treated but as one whose honesty con- 
sisted only in his incapacity of being otherwise? 

' There is one cause of this usage no less absurd 
than common, which takes place among the more 
unthinking men; and that is, the desire to ap- 
pear to their friends free and at liberty, and with- 
out those tPWUiTVcVvs \Yvc>j Vv»N^ >k^ much ridiculed- 

l^o. 936. SPECTATOR. 305 

To avoid this they fly into the other extreme, and 
grow tyrants that they may seem masters. Be- 
cause an uncontrollable command of their own 
actions is a certain sign of entire dominion, they 
won't so much as recede from the government 
even in one muscle of their faces. A kind look 
they believe would be fawning, and a civil answer 
yielding the superiority. To this must we attri- 
bute an austerity they betray in every action. 
What but this can put a man out of humour in his 
wife's company, though he is so distinguishingly 
pleasant every where else ? The bitterness of his 
replies, and the severity of his frowns to the ten- 
derest of wives, clearly demonstrate, that an ill- 
grounded fear of being thought too submissive, 
is at the bottom of this, as I am willing to call it, 
aJBTected moroseness ; but if it be such, only put 
on to convince his acquaintance of his entire do- 
minion, let him take care of the consequence, 
which will be certain and worse than the present 
evil-; his seeming indifference will by degrees 
f;row into real contempt, and if it doth not wholly 
alienate, the afifectipns pf his wife for ever from 
him, make both him and her more miserable than 
if it really did so. 

* However inconsistent it may appear, to bo 
thought a well-bred person has no small share in 
this clownish behaviour. A discourse therefore 
relating to good-breeding towards a loving and a 
tender wife, would be of great use to this sort of 
gentlemen. Could you but once convince them, 
Uiat to be civil at least is not beneath the charac- 
ter of a gentleman, nor even tender affection 
towards one who would make it reciprocal, be- 
trays any softness or effeminacy that the most 
masculine disposition need be ashamed of; could 
you satisfy them of the genevo^ll^ ol ^^\>3ixv\ax>i 
VOL. rv. s 

«i6 ttECTATOk. Ko.tt6* 

civility, and the grcatnensof soul that ii conspicu- 
ous in benevolence \i'ithout immediate obliga* 
tionH; could you recommend to people's practice 
the suyhiK of the gentleman quoted m one of your 
speculations, **That he thouf^bt it incumbent 
upon him to make the inclinations of a woman of 
merit go alon^ with her duty ;" could you, I sayr 
persuade the sic men of the beauty and reaaona<» 
blcncss of this sort of lK:huviour, I have so much 
charity, for sonic of them at least, to believe you 
would convince them of a tiling; they are only 
ashamed to allow. Besides, you would recom- 
mend that state in its truest, and consequently its 
most a^;reeuble colours ; and the gpentlemen, who 
have for any time been such professed enemies 
to it, when occasion should serve, would return 
you their thanks for ussistin{>; their interest in 
prevaiiiiif^ ovrr their prejudices. Marriage in 
^f;neral would by this nicuns be a more easy and 
conifortuble condition ; the huHband would be no 
where so well satisfied as in his own parlour, nor 
the wife so pleasant as in the company of her 
hubbund. A desire of being agreeable in the 
lover would be increased in the husband, and the 
mihtiess be more uniiublc by becoming the wife. 
Besides all which, I am apt to believe we should 
And the race of men grow wiser as their progeni- 
tors grew kinder, and ttie affection of their parents 
would be conspicuous in the wisdom of their 
children ; in short, men would in general be much 
better humoured than they are, did they not. so 
frc(|ucntly exercise the worst turns of their tem- 
per where they ought to exert the best.' 


' I AM a woman wlio left the admiration oC 
/ hiH wiiolo town to vUvow TO'^^itV^^^^r love of wealth) 

VaS3S. 8PECTAT0A. 90r 

into the arms of a fool. When I married him, I 
could have had any one of several men of sense 
who languished for me ; but my case is just. I 
believed my superior understanding would form 
him into a tractable creature. But alas! my 
spouse has cunning and suspicion, the insepara* 
ble companions of little minds; and every attempt 
I make to divert, by putting on an agreeable air, 
a sudden cheerfulness, or kind behaviour, he looks 
upon as the first act towards an insurrection 
against his undeserved dominion over me. Let 
eyery one who is still to choose, and hopes to 
govern a fool, remember 


• MR. SPECTATOR, St MarUn's, Nov. 25. 

* This is to complain of an evil practice 
which I think very well deserves a redress, though 
you have not as yet taken any notice of it: if you 
mention it in your paper, it may perhaps have a 
very good effect. What I mean is, the disturb- 
ance some people give to others at church, by 
their repetition of the prayers after the minister ; 
and that not only in the prayers, but also in the 
absolution ; and the commandments fare no bet- 
ter, which are in a particular manner the priest*s 
office : this I have known done in so audible a 
manner, that sometimes their voices have been aS 
loud as his. As little as you would think it, this 
is frequently done by people seemingly devout. 
This irreligious inadvertency is a thing extreme- 
ly offensive : but I do not recommend it as a thing 
I give you liberty to ridicule, but hope it may be 
amended by the bare mention. 


Your very humble servant, . 

T. t:*^^ 

flOt 8PECTAT0B. No. W. 

Na23r. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1711. 

lira carentem magna part vert laUt. 
t Seneca id (Edip, 

They that are dim of aght tee truth bj halvet. 

It 18 very reasonable to believe, that part of the 
pleasure which happy minds shall enjoy in a fu- 
ture state, will arise from an enlari;^d contem* 
piation of the Divine Wisdom in the government 
of the world, and a discovering of the secret and 
amazing steps of Providence, from the beginning 
to the end of time. Nothing seems to be an en-> 
tertainment more adapted to the nature of man, if 
ive consider that curiosity is one of the strongest 
and tuoBt histiiig appetites implanted in us, and 
that admiration is una of our most pleasing pas- 
sions; and what a perpetual succession of enjoy* 
mcnts will be aiforded to both these, in a scene 
so large and various as shall then be laid open to 
our view in the society of superior spirits, who 
perhaps will join with us in so delightful a pros* 
pect ! 

It is not impossible, on the contrary, that part 
of the punishment of such as arc excluded from 
blibs, may consist not only in their being denied 
this privilege, but in having their appetites at the 
same time vastly increased without any satisfac- 
tion alTardcd to them. In these, the vain pursuit 
of knowledge shall, perhaps, add to their infelici- 
ty, and bewilder them into labyrinths of eiTor, 
darkness, distraction, and uncertainty of every 
thing but their own evil state. Milton has thus 
represented the fallen angels reasoning together 
in a kind of respite {to\\\ tUelr torments, and 


creating to themselves a new disquiet amidst 
their very amusements ; he could not properly 
have described the sport of condemned spirits^ 
vithout that cast of horror and melancholy he has 
so judiciously mingled witli them : 

Others apart lat on a hill rctir'dy 
In thou^hti more elevate, and reason'd high 
Of providence, forcknovledAe, will, and fate, 
Fixt fate, freewilli foreknowledge absolute. 
And fi)und no end in wandering mazes lost.* 

In our present condition, which is a middle 
statCi our minds are as it were che<juered with 
truth and falsehood : and as our faculties are nar- 
row and our views imperfect, it is impossible but 
our curiosity must meet with many repulses. 
The business of mankind in this life being ratlicr 
to act than to know, their portion of knowledge 
is dealt to them accordingly. 

From hence it is, that the reason of the inqui* 
sitive has so long been exercised with difficulties, 
in accounting for the promiscuous distribution of 
good and evil to the virtuous and the wicked in 
this world. From hence come all those pathetic 
complaints of so many tragical events which hap- 
pen to the wise and the good ; and of such sur 
prising prosperity, which is often the lotf of the 
guilty and the foolish ; that reason is sometimes 
puzzled, and at a loss to pronounce upon so mys- 
terious a dispensation. 

Plato expresses his abhorrence of some fables 
of the poets, which seem to reflect on the gods 
as the authors of injustice , and lays it down as a 
principlci that whatever is permitted to befal a 
just man, whether poverty, sickness, or any of 
those things which seem to be evils, siiall cither 

• Parad. Lost, b. ii. T. 557. 

t Spect. in folio ; for reward, lu. 


tlO 8FRCTAT0U. No. f«r. 

in life or death romlurc to his %ood. My render 
whl oliwrve how nf^reeublc thi* maxim in to what 
we fit id dniivrrrri by a (greater authority. Seneca 
hits wrhtni a dincoiime purponely on thii Mib« 
^1 ( t i* ill which he uken puiim, after t* v doctrine 
or the StoitA, to fihew that advcrnity is not in it- 
a«lf an rvil; and mentions a noble saying of De- 
tiirtiiiiH, that Miothiiifi^ would be more unhappy 
th..ii a m;in who had never known afRiction/ He 
com pure A pro*tpcrity io the indnl^^cncc of a fond 
niothtr to a i:i)iul, which often proves his ruin; 
bui the i'Hectioii of the Divine Hcin^ to that of a 
wiM. lather, who would have his sons exercised 
with iithoiir, diftappointinents, and pain, that they 
ih.ty u ! titer Htretif^th and improve their fortitude. 
Oh tliiH iK-ctHion, the pliiloHoplier riHcs into that 
rflcbi.itrrl hi ntiment, that there ift not on earth a 
f.p( ( tilt I'- iiKirc wfHtliy the rej^ard of u Oeator in- 
t«-iit till Jiis workH tliun a l>rave man superior to 
111', snflf rin^H ; to which he adrU, that it must be 
}i pli- Mirr to Jupiter liimself to look down Irom 
heaven, and Hee (*.»ito i-.midf.f the ruins of his 
country preserving; hin intejriity. 

'I'liih ihotijjhi will appear yet more rcnsonahlc, 
if wc eoh*i(l( r hum/.ii life as a Mate r>f prohationi 
atid adverhity an the post of honour in it, assifjncd 
oflen to the he*it atifl nioM select spirits. 

lint what I would chiedy insist on h«'re is, iJiat 
we wre nol at preseitt in u proper situation to 
ju(l{^e oi the couiicils by which Hrovidcnrc arts, 
sinrc hut little arrives at our knowled^^e^ and 
even that little we discern impel fectly; or ac- 
cordini; to the eU:j;ant fii^tire in holy writ, * we 
«,ec but in part, and as in a glass darkly. 't It is 

• VWl KfiKP. Pr r/i7nituiifU tfi/icntifif tiva guoti in eapi- 

t I Cor. xiii. \'L 


to be consideredy that Providence in its econoYnf 
reg^ards the whole system of time and things to- 
gether, so that we cannot discover the beautiful 
Connection between incidents which lie widely 
separate in time, and by losing so many links of 
the chain, our reasonings become broken and im- 
perfect. Thus those parts of the moral world 
which have not an absolute, may yet have a rela- 
tive beauty, in respect of some other parts con- 
cealed from us, but open to his eye before whom 
' past,' ^ present/ and ^ to come,' are set together 
in one point of idew : and those events, the per- 
mission of which seems now to accuse his good- 
ness, may in the consummation of things, both 
magnify his goodness, and exalt his wisdom. And 
this is enough to check our presumption, since 
it is in vain to apply our measures of regularity to 
matters of which we know neither the antece- 
dents nor the consequents, the beginning nor the 

I shall relieve my readers from this abstracted 
thought, by relating here a Jewish tradition con- 
cerning Moses, which seems to be a kind of pa- 
rable, illustrating what I have last mentioned. 
That great prophet, it is said, was called up by a 
voice from heaven to the top of a mountain ; 
where in a conference with the Supreme Being, he 
he was admitted to propose to him some questions 
concerning his administration of the universe. In 
the midst of this divine colloquy he was com- 
manded to look down on the plain below. At 
the foot of the mountain there issued out a clear 
spring of water, at which a soldier alighted from 
his horse to drink. He was no sooner gone than 
a little boy came to the same place, and finding a 
purse of gold which the soldier had dropped took 
it up and went away with it* lmme^vid3k»Vs ^\«t 

•^18 HPfSCTATOB. Na tH. 

thii came on infirm old man* weary with age and 
travellingi and having quenched his thirit, sat 
down to rett himself by the side of the iprine. 
The soldier missing his purse returns to search 
for iu and demands it of the old man, who afitrms 
lie had nut seen it, and appeals to heaven in wit- 
ness of his innocence. The soldier not belie v* 
ing his protestations, kills him. Moses fell on hb 
face with horror and amazcme;it| when the divine 
voice thus prevented his expostulation : * Be not 
surprised, Moses, nor ask why the Judge of the 
whole earth has suffered this thing to come to 
pass. The child is the occasion that the blood of 
the old man is spilt ; but know that the old man 
whom thou sawest was the murderer of that 
ciiiid's father.* 

So. 2J8. MONDAY, DECEMBER 3, iril 

JVitguicguam p^fnilo bibulai donaverit auret ; 
Hetput quad non t» — — 

I'ebsiui, Sat. iv. 50. 

No more loflntierlnf; cri>w(li tliitic cur incline, 
Km^t tu (Irliik tbe pmive wlueh ii not thine. 


Amovci all the dij>cases of the mind, there is noi 
one more cpidcmicul or more pernicious tlian the 
Iov« of flattery. For as where the juices of the 
l)ody arc ])rcparcd to receive a malignant influ- 
ence, there the disease rages with most violence ; 
tto in this distemper of the mind, where there is 
ever a propensity and inclination to suck in tbe 
poisorXf it cannot be but that the whole order of 
rcasonal}lc actiou u\u*\.\i\i o\w\Mnied; for, lik<- 
music, it 

No. ids. SPECTATOR. fiip 

— ■"— — So softens and diiarms the mindy 
That not one arrow can resistance find. 

First we flatter ourselves, and then the flatteiy 
of others is sure of success. It awakens our 
self-love within, a party which is ever ready to re* 
volt from our better judgment, and join the ene- 
my without. Hence it is, that the profusion of 
favours we so often see poured upon the para- 
site, are represented to us by our self-love, as 
justice done to the man who so agreeably recon- 
ciled us to ourselves. When we are overcome 
by such soft insinuations and ensnaring compli- 
ances, we gladly recompense the artificefs that 
are made use of to blind our reason, and which 
triumph over the weaknesses of our temper and 

But were every man persuaded from how mean 
and low a principle this passion is derived, there 
can be no doubt but the person who should at- 
tempt to gratify it, would then be as contemptible 
as he is now successful. It is the desire of some 
quality we are not possessed of, or inclination to 
be something we arc not, which are the causes of 
our giving ourselves up to that man who bestows 
upon us the characters and qualities of others ; 
which perhaps suit us as ill, and were as little de- 
signed for our wearing, as their clothes. Instead 
of going out of our own complexionable nature 
into that of others, it were a better and more 
laudable industry to improve our own, and in- 
stead of a miserable copy become a good origin- 
al ; for there is no temper, no disposition so rude 
and untractable, but may in its own peculiar cast 
and turn be brought to some agreeable use in 
conversation, or in the afiairs of life. A person 
of a rougher deportment, and less tied up to the 
Usual ceremonies of behaviour wilU IvVa MaxvV| 

2U SPECTATOR. Ko.e38. 

in the play,* please by the |prace which nature 
gives to every action wherein she is complied 
with ; the brisk and lively will not want their ad- 
mirers, and even a more reserved and melancholy 
temper may at some times be agreeable. 

When there is not vanity enough awake in a 
man to undo him, the flatterer stirs up that dor- 
mant weakness, and inspires him with merit 
enough to be a coxcomb. But if flattery be the 
most sordid act that cun be complied with, the 
art of praising justly is as commendable ; for it 
is laudable to pmisc well : as poets at one and the 
same time give immortality, and receive it them- 
selves for a reward. Both are pleased ; the one 
while he receivrn the recompense of merit, the 
other whilst he shews he knows how to discern it; 
but above all, that man is happy in this art, who, 
like a skilful painter, retains the features and 
complexion, but still softens the picture into the 
most agreable likeness. 

There can hardly, I believe, be imagined a 
more desirable pleasure, than that of praise un- 
mixed with any possibility of flattery. Such was 
that which Germanicus enjoyed, when, the night 
before a battle, desirous of some sincere mark of 
the esteem of his legions for him, he is describ- 
ed by Tacitus, listening in a disguise to the dis- 
course of a soldier, and wrapt up in the fruition 
of his glory, whilst with an undesigned sincerity 
they praised his noble and majestic mien, his af- 
fability, his valour, conduct and success in wviT. 
How must a man have his heart full-blown with 
joy in such an article of glory as this ? What a 
spur and encouragement still to proceed in those 
steps which had already brought him to so pure a 
tliste of the greatest of mortal enjoyments? 

No. S3t. SPECTATOR. $t:^ 

It sometimes happens that even enemies and 
envious persons bestow the sine ere st marks of 
esteem when they least design it. Such afford a 
greater pleasure, as extorted by merit, and freed 
from all suspicion of favour or flattery. Thus it 
is with Malvolio; he has wit, learning, and dis- 
cernment, but tempered with an allay of envy, 
self-love, and detraction. Malvolio turns pale at 
the mirth and good-humour of the company, if it 
centre not in his person ; he grows jealous and 
displeased when he ceases to be the only person 
admired, and looks upon the commendations paid 
to another as a detraction from his merit, and an 
attempt to lessen the superiority he affects ; but 
by this very method, he bestows such praise as 
can never be suspected of flatter}^. His uneasi- 
ness and distaste are so many sure and certain 
ugns of another's title to that glory he desires., 
and has the mortification to find himself not pos- 
sessed of. 

A good name is fitly compared to a precious 
ointment,* and when we are praised with skill 
and decency, it is indeed the most agreeable per- 
fume ; but if too strongly admitted into a brain of 
a less vigorous and happy texture, it will, like 
too strong an odour, overcome the senses, and 
prove pernicious to those nerves it was intended 
to refresh. A g:enerous mind is of all others the 
most sensible of praise and dispraise ; and a noble 
spirit is as mucli invigorated with its due propor- 
tion of honour and applause, as it is depressed by 
neglect and contempt. But it is only persons far 
above the common level who are tlms affected 
wiUi either of these extremes; as in a thermome- 
ter, it is only the purest and most sublimated spi- 

* Kcclcs. y'isA. 

t1 6 SraCT ATOB. Ko. 931,. 

rit that b either contracted or dilated hj tht 
benignit3r or inclemency of the season. 


> The translations which you hare lately 
given us from the Greeks in some of your last pa- 
pers, have been the occasion of my looking into 
some of those authors ; among whom 1 chanced 
on a collection of letters which pass under the 
name of Aristaenetus. Of ail the remains of anti- 
quity, I believed there can be nothing produced 
of an air so gallant and polite ; each letter contains 
a little novel or adventure, which is told with all 
the beauties of language, and heightened with a 
luxuriance of wit. There are several of them 
translated :* but with such wide deviations from 
the original, and in a style so far differing £rom 
the author's that the translator seems rather to 
have taken hints for the expressing his own sense 
and thoughts, than to have endcuvoured to render 
those of Aristznctus. In the following transla- 
tion, I have kept as near the meaning of the 
Greek as I could, and have only added a few 
words to make the sentences in English sit toge- 
ther, a little better than they would otherwise have 
done. The story seems to be taken from that of 
Pygmalion and the statue in Ovid : some of the 
thoughts are of the same turn, and the whole is 
written in a kind of poetical prose.' 


^ Never was a man more overcome with so 
fantastical a passion as mine, I have painted a 
beautiful woman, and am despairing, dying for 
the picture. My own skill has undone me ; it is 
not the dart of Venus, but my own pencil has thus 

^9j Tom Brown la^otXitn* ^tt\C\*"^w\*>V'n^vV!«fts^. 

tf ow 98$. SPECTATOR. 917 

^rounded sne. Ah, me ! with what anxiety am I 
necessitated to adore my own idol ! How misera- 
ble am I, whilst every one must as much pity 
the painter as he praises the picture, and own my 
torment more than equal to my art. But why do I 
thus complain ? Have there not been more unhap- 
py and unnatural passions than mine ? Yes, I have 
teen the representations of Phaedra, Narcissus, 
and Pasiphae. Phaedra was unhappy, in her love ; 
that of Pasiphae was monstrous ; and whilst the 
other caught at his beloved likeness, he destroyed 
the watery image, which ever eluded his embra- 
ces. The fountain represented Narcissus to 
himself, and the picture both that and him, thirst- 
ing after his adored image. But I am yet less 
unhappy, I enjoy her presence continually, and if 
I touch her, I destroy not the beauteous form, but 
she looks pleased, and a sweet smile sits in the 
charming space which divides her lips. One 
would swear that voice and speech were issuing 
out, and that one's ears felt the melodious sound. 
How often have I, deceived by a lover's credulity, 
hearkened if she had not something to whisper 
me? and when frustrated of my hopes, how often 
have I taken my revenge in kisses from her 
cheeks and eyes, and softly wooed her to my em- 
brace, whilst she (as to me it seemed) only with- 
held her tongue the more to enflame me. But» 
madman that I am, shall I be thus taken with the 
representation only of a beauteous face, and flow- 
ing hair, and thus waste myself and melt to tears 
for a shadow ? Ah, sure it is something more, it is 
a reality ; for see her beauties shine out with new 
lustre, and she seems to upbraid me with unkind 
reproaches. Oh, may I have a living mistress of 
this form, that when 1 shall compare the work of 
nature with that of art, I may b^ ^U\\ «X %. \q>% 


ili SPSCT ATOR. Ko. «39 

whidi to choose^ and be long perplexed with the 
pleasing uncertainty." T. 

No. 239. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4, 1711. 

— — Bella, harrida beUa ! 

ViRC. iEo. Ti. 8d. 

— Wan, horrid wan! 


I HAVE sometimes amused myself with consider- 
ing the several methods of managing a debate 
which have obtained in the world. 

The first races of mankind used to dispute, as 
•ur ordinary people do now-a-days, in a kind of 
wild logic uncultivated by rules of art. 

Socrates introduced a catechetical method of 
arguing. He would ask his adversary question 
upon question, until he had convinced him out of 
his own mouth, that his opinions were wrong. 
This way of debating drives an enemy up into a 
corner, seizes all the passes through which he 
can make an escape, and forces him to surrender 
at discretion. 

Aristotle changed this method of attack, and 
invented a great variety of little weapons, called 
syllogisms. As in the Socratic way of dispute 
you agree to every thing your opponent advances ; 
in the Aristotelic, you are still denying and con- 
tradicting some part or other of what he says. 
Socrates conquers you by stratagem, Aristotle by 
force. The one takes the town by sap, the other 
sword in hand. 

The universities of Europe, for many years, 
carried on their deW\.Q?>>ov sxVV^'^v^viv insomuch 

Hh, £3$. SPECTATOR. kiO 

that we see the knowledge of several centuries 
laid out into objections and answers, and all the 
good sense of the a^e cut and minced into almost 
an infinitude of distinctions. 

When our universities found there was no end 
of wrangling this way, they invented a kind of ar- 
gument, which is not reducible to any mood or 
figure in Aristotle. It was called the A rgu men- 
turn Basilinum (others write it Bacilinum or Ba- 
culinum) which is pretty well expressed in our 
English word club-law. When they were not 
able to confute their antagonist they knocked him 
down. It was their method in these polemical 
debates, first to discharge their syllogisms, and 
afterwards to betake themselves to their clubs, 
until such time as they had one way or other con- 
founded their gainsayers. There is in Oxford a 
narrow defile, (to make use of a military term) 
where the partisans used to encounter ; for which 
reason it still retains the name of Logic-lane. I 
have heard an old gentleman, a physician, make 
Ms 1x)asts, that when he was a young fellow he 
laarched several times at the head of a troop of 
Scotists,* and cudgelled a body of Smiglesians,t 
half the length of High-street, until they had dis- 
persed themselves for shelter into their respec- 
tive garrisons. 

This humour, I find, went very far in Erasmus's 
time. For that author tells us, that upon the re- 
vival of Greek letters, most of the universities in 
Europe were divided into Greeks and Trojans. 

* The foUowerfl of Duns Seotus, a celebrated doctor of the 
•cbools, vrho flourithcd about the year 150(), and from his op- 
posing some favourite doctrines of Thomas Aquinas, gave rise 
to a new party called Scotists, in opposition to the Thomists^ 
©r followers of the other. 

f The followers of Martin Smiglecius, a famous logician of 
ihc ICth century. 


The latter were thote who bore a mortal cnmiti 
to the language of the Oreciaiia* inaomuch that it 
they met with any who uiidcnitood it* they did not 
f«l to treat him as a foe- Kraftmus himself had 
it fteem»9 the misfortune to fall into the hands ot 
a party of Trojans, who laid him on with so man) 
blows and buffi-ts that he never forgot their hos' 
tilitics to his dying day. 

There is a way of managing an argument nd 
much unlike the former, which is made use of bj 
states and communities, when they draw up i 
hundred thousand disputants on each side^ am 
convince one another by dint of sword. A cer- 
tain grand monarch* was so sensible of ha 
strength in this way of reasoning, that he wri) 
upon his great guns^-/^a/io ultima rrgumy < Tbi 
logic of kings ;' but, (lod be thanked, he is noa 
pretty well baffled ut his own weapons. Whet 
one has to do with u philonophcr of this kind, onf 
should renicnil^r the old gentleman's saying 
who had been engaged in an argument with one 
of the Roman cnipcrors.f Upon his friend's tel* 
ling him that he wondered he would give up the 
question, when he had visilily the better of the 
dispute ; * I am never anhamcd,' says he, * tb be 
oonfutcd by onr who is mahtcr of fifty legions.' 

I shall but just mention another kind of rea- 
Honing, which maybe called arguing by [mil ; and 
another which is of equal force, in whicli wugen 
arc made use of as arguments, according to the 
celebrated line in }hidibrus.| 

But the most notublc way of managing a con« 
tnnrersy, is that which we may call arguing tnf 
torture. This is a method of reasoning which 
has been made use of with the poor refugees, and 

* I^« in XIV . (i( Vranoi:. \ 7'hc Emperor AdriKit 

IH.^m. SPECTATOB. 221 

"which VTBB 8o fashionable in our country during 
the reign of Queen Mary, that in a passage of an 
author quoted by Monsieur Bayle, it is said the 
price of wood was raised in England by reason of 
the executions that were made in Smithfield.* 
These disputants convince their adversaries with 
a 8orites,t commonly called a pile of faggots. 
The rack' is also a kind of syllogism which has 
been used with good effect, and has made multi- 
tudes of converts. Men were formerly disputed 
out of their doubts, reconciled to truth by force 
of reason, and won over to opinions by the can- 
dour) sense, and ingenuity of those who had the 
right on their side ; but this method of convic- 
tion operated too slowly. Pain was found to be 
much more enlightening than reason. Every 
scruple was looked upon as obstinacy, and not to 
be removed but by several engines invented for 
that purpose. In a word, the application of whips, 
racks, gibbets, gallies, dungeons, fire and faggot, 
in a dispute, may be looked upon as popish re- 
finements upon the old heathen logic. 

There is another way of reasoning which sel- 
dom fails, though it be of a quite different nature 
to that I have last mentioned. I mean, convin- 
cing a man by ready money, or as it is ordinarily 
called, bribing a man to an opinion. This method 
has often proved successful, when all the others 
have been made use of to no purpose. A man 
who is furnished with arguments from the mint, 
will convince his antagonist much sooner than 
one who draws them from reason and philosophy. 

* The author quoted is And. Ammonius. See bis life in 
Bayle*8 Diet.— The Spectator's memory deceived him in ap« 
plying the remark, -whicii was made in the reign of Henry 
VlII. It was, however, much more applicable to that of 
Queen Mary. 

t A sorites is a heap of propositioaft V.VkVO'«ii\.o^^'CCkK<c- 

T 2 

m$ SnCTATCm. Ne. S40. 

Gold if a wonderful clearer of the underttanding t 
it dUtipatet every doubt and scruple in an instant; 
accommodates itself to the meanest capacities; 
alienees the loud and clamoroust and brings orer 
the most obstinate and inflexible. Philip of Ma* 
eedon was a man of most invincible reason this 
waf. He refuted by it all the wisdom of AthenSf 
confounded their statesmen, struck their orators 
dumb, and at length argued them out of all their 
liberties. Having here touched upon the seve- 
ral methods of disputing, as they have prevailed 
in differeni ages of the world, I shall very sud- 
denly give my reader an account of the whole art 
of cavilling ; which shall be a full and satisfactory 
answer to all such papers and pamphlets as have 
yet appeared against the Spectator. C. 

No. 2iO. WEDNESDAY, DEC. 5, 1711. 

'■ ^Uter mm Jit , AviUp liber. 

Mart. Ep. L 17. 

Offuch matcriiiUi tHr, are books eompoied. 

< I AM of one of the most genteel trades in the city, 
and understand thus much of liberal education, as 
to have an ardent ambition of being useful to man- 
kind, and to think that the chief end of being, as 
to thin life. I had these good impressionr/j^ven 
me from the handsome behaviour of a learneq, ge- 
nerous, and wealthy man towards mc, when t first 
began the world. Some dissatisfaction between 
mc and my parents made me enter into it with 
Icfin relish oi buvT^csa iVvaixl ti>^^\\ ^xvd to turn 

Kow 240. SPECTATOII. t33 

•CTthis uneaiiness, I gave myself to criminal 
Measures, some excesses, and a general loose 
conduct. I know not what the excellent man 
above-mentioned saw in me, but he descended 
from the superiority of his wisdom and merit, to 
throw himself frequently into my company. This 
made me soon hope that I had something in me 
worth cultivating^ and his conversation made me 
sensible of satisfactions in a regular way, which 
I had never before imagined. When he was 
^rown familiar with me, he opened himself like 
a ^od angel, and told me, he had long laboured 
to ripen me into a preparation to receive his 
friendship and advice, both which I should daily 
command, and the use of any part of his fortune, 
to apply the measures he should propose to me^ 
lor the improvement of my own. I assure you, 
I cannot recollect tlie goodness and confusion of 
the good man when he spoke to this purpose to 
me, without melting into tears ; but in a word» 
sir, I must hasten to tell you, that my heart bums 
with gratitude towards him, and he is so happy a 
man, that it can never be in my power to return 
him his favours in kind, but I am sure I have made 
him the most agreeable satisfaction I could pos- 
sibly, in being ready to serve others to my utmost 
ability, as far as is consistent with the prudence 
he prescribes to me. Dear Mr. Spectator, I do 
not owe to him only the good will and esteem of 
my own relations (who are people of distinction) 
the present ease and plenty of my circumstances^ 
but also the government of my passions, and re- 
gulations of my desires. I doubt not, sir, but in 
i^our imagination such virtues as these of my 
worthy friend, bear as great a figure as actions 
which arc more glittering in the common esti* 

SnCTATOft. N«. i40. 

malioii. What I would ask of foUf b to give u§ 
• whole Bpecutor upon heroic virtue in common 
life, which may incite men to the tame gen* 
erout inclinationi at hare by this admirable per* 
«on been shewn to, and raiaed in, 

Your mott humble terrant.* 

< Mm. trKCTATOR, 

M AM a country gentleman, of a good 
plentiful rtutr, and live an the rvM of my neigh- 
Dourt with great honpitality. I have been ever 
reckoned among the ladim the beat company in 
the world, and have acceNnaaa aort of favourite* 
I never came in public but I Huluicd them, though 
in great aatcmbliea, all around ; where it waa 
Accn how gcntrclly I avoided hampering my apun 
in their petticoat*, whiUt 1 moved amongn them; 
and on the other Hide how prettily they curtaied 
and received me, atandti^; in proper row», and 
advancing an faat aa they Haw their clder», or 
their betters, diiipatched by me. But ao it iSf 
Mr. Spectator, that all our good breeding ia of 
late loftt by the unhappy arrivul of a courucr, or 
town gentleman, who came lately among ui. 
'J*hi» penion whenever he cume into u room nuulo 
n profound l>ow, and fell back, then recovered 
with a iioft air, and made a bow to the next, and 
Ml to one or two more, and then took the groat of 
the rcK>tn, by puHfiing them in a continual Ixiw un* 
til he (irrived at the perNon he thought proper 
particulurly to entertain. This he did with to 
good a grace mid aafturuncc, that it i» tuken fbr 
the prcHent fuiihion; and there in no voung gen* 
tlewoniun within iieveral milefi of thift place haa 
f^cu kiftftcd ever nince hit firsi appearance among 


ia. We country gentlemen cannot begin again 
and learn these fine and reserved airs ; and oui^ 
coQTersation is at a stand, until we have your 
judgment for or against kissing by way of civility 
or salutation ; which is impatiently expected by 
your friends of both sexes, but by none so much 
as Your humble servant, 

Rustic Sprightly/ 

* MR. SFECTATO)a, December 5, 1711. 

* I WAS the other night at Philaster, where 
I expected to hear your famous trunk -maker, but 
was unhappily disappointed of his company, and 
saw another person who had the like ambition to 
distinguish himself in a noisy manner, part- 
ly by vociferation or talking loud, and partly 
if bis bodily agility. This was a very lusty fel- 
low> but withal a sort of beau, who getting into 
€ne of the side-boxes on the stage before the cur- 
tain drew, was disposed to shew the whole au- 
&nce his activity by leaping over the spikes : 
ke passed from thence to one of the entering 
doors> where he took snuff with a tolerable good 

Sace^ displayed his iine clothes, made two or 
ree feint passes at the curtain with his cane, 
then faced about and appeared at t'other door. 
Here he affected to survey the whole house, bow- 
ed and smiled at random, and then shewed his 
teeth) which were some of them indeed very 
vhite. After this he retired behind the curtaiui 
and obliged us with several views of his person 
from every opening. 

* During the time of acting he appeared fre- 
qiiently in the prince*s apartment, made one at 
tbe hunting-match, and was very forward in the 
rebellion.* If there were no injunctions to the 

^ IXSkjreat scenes in the pWy q£ YVuXbsX^v. 


contrtrff yet this practice mutt be confessed to 
diminish the pleasure of the audience, and for 
that reason to be presumptuous and unwarranta- 
ble ; but since her majesty's late command has 
made it criminal/ you have authority to take no- 
tice of it. SIR, 

Your humble servant, 
T. Charlbs East. 

No. 241. THURSDAY, DECEMBER 6, Ull. 

Semperque reiinqid 

Sola tUdf temper longatn tncwnitata videtur 

Jre viam — ^— - Virc. JEn. iv. 46<. 

AD sad the seems, forsaken, and alone ; 

And left to wander wide Uirough paths unknown. 



< Though you have considered virtuous love in 
most of its distresses, I do not remember that 
you have g^ven us any dissertation upon the ab- 
sence of lovers, or laid down any methods how 
they should suppoit themselves under those long 
separations which they are sometimes forced to 
undergo. I am at present in this unhappy cir- 
cumstance, having parted with the best of hus- 
bands who b abroad in the service of liis coun- 
try, and may not possibly return for some years. 
His warm and generous affection whilo We were 
together, with the tenderness which he expressed 

• In the pUy-billi about this time there was tliis clause, *By 
hev inajestY't command wo ^lerson is to be admitted behind 
thQ scenes.* 


to me at parting, make his absence almost insup-* 
portable I think of him every moment of the 
day, and meet him every night in my dreams. 
Every thing I see puts me in mind of him. I 
apply myself with more than ordinary diligence 
to the care of his family and his estate ; but this 
instead of relieving me, gives me but so many oc- 
casions of wishing for his return. I frequent the 
rooms where I used to converse with him, and not 
meeting him there, sit down in his chair and fall 
a weeping. I love to read the books he delight- 
ed in, and to converse with the persons whom he 
esteemed. I visit his picture a hundred times a 
day, and place myself over-against it whole hours 
together. I pass a great part of my time in the 
walks where I used to lean upon his arm, and re- 
collect in my mind the discourses which have 
there passed between us : I look over the several 
prospects and points of view which we used to 
survey together, fix my eye upon the objects 
which he has made me take notice of, and call to 
mind a thousand agreeable remarks which he has 
made on those occasions. I write to him by every 
conveyance, and contrary to other people, am aU 
ways in good-humour when an east-wind blows, 
because it seldom fails of bringing mc a letter 
from him. Let me intreat you, sir, to give me 
your advice upon this occasion, and to let me 
know how I may relieve myself in this my wi- 
dowhood. I am, SIR, 

Your most humble servant, 


Absence is what the poets call death in love, and 
has given occasion to abundance of bcautil'ui com- 
plaints in those authors who have treated oi this 
passion in verse. Ovid^s £^Ul\f^^ vc^ V^ ^ 

?« SPRCTATOtt. If*. Mt. 

them. OtwayN Monkmia Ulks very tenderly upoa 
thin ttubjcct : 

■ II wilt not kind 
To leave mc like a turtle aloiiet 
To (li-oop find mourn tbc absenen of ny mafe. 
^Vli<-n tlioii art fniRi mr, every pbcc it deaett ; 
Amf 1, mctliinkKt am tavaice and forlorn. 
l*liy |irf«eiicc only 'tit ean niako me bleat, 
ileal ni} unquiet mind, and tune my toul. 

Orphan, Aet. it. 

The con»olatiofis of lovers on theiie occations 
are very extraordinary. Ik* a'kIch those mentioned 
by Astoria, therr arc nnany other motives of com- 
fort which arc iriurlc uhc of by al>Aent lovcrn. 

I rcMiietnt>cr in one of Scudery's Romances, a 
couple of honourable lovers ag^recd at their part- 
in(>^ to set aside one half hour in the day to think 
of each other durin};; a tedious absence. The 
roinuoce tellH uS) that they both of them punctu- 
ally observed the time thus agreed u|K>n ; and that 
whatever company or businesH they were engaged 
in, they left it abrtiptly as hooii as the clock warn- 
ed them to retire?. The romance further adds, 
that the lovers expected the return of this stated 
hour witii as much impatience, as if it had been a 
real aHbi^;nationi and enjoyed an imaginary happi- 
lu'ss, that was almost as pleasing to them as what 
they wouhl have found from a real meeting. It 
was an inexpressible satisfaction to these divided 
lovers, to b<r assured that each was at the same 
time emplo}ed in the same kind of contempla- 
tion, and making erpjal returns of tenderness and 

if I may be allowed to mention a more serious 
expedient for the alleviating of absence, I shall 
take notice of one which 1 have known two per- 
sons |>racu»c,YfV\u '^ov\\^<iT<i\\^^\v\wv^ that dcguncc 

No. £il. SPECTATOR. 290 

of sentiment with which the passion of love gene- 
rally inspires its votaries. This was, at the re- 
turn of such an hour, to offer up a certain prayev 
for each other, which they had agreed upon be- 
fore their parting. The husband, who is a man 
that makes a figure in the polite world as well as 
in his own family, has often told me, that he 
could not have supported an absence of three 
years without this expedient. 

Strada, in one of his Prolusions*, gives an ac- 
count of a chimerical correspondence between 
two friends by the help of a certain load-stone, 
which had such virtue in it, that if it touched two 
several needles, when one of the needles so 
touched began to move, the other, though at 
never so great a distance, moved at the same time, 
iind in the same manner. He tells us, that the 
two friends being each of them possessed of one 
these needles, made a kind of dial-plate, inscrib- 
ing it with the four-and-twenty letters, in the 
same manner as the hours of the day are marked 
upon the ordinary dial-plate. They then fixed 
one of the needles on each of these plates in such 
a manner, that it could move round without im- 
pediment, so as to touch any of the four-and- 
twenty letters. Upon their separating from one 
another into distant countries, they agreed to 
withdraw themselves punctually into their closets 
at a certain hour of the day, and to converse with 
one another by means of this their invention. 
Accordingly when they were some hundred miles 
asunder, each of them shut himself up in his 
closet at the time appointed, and immediately cast 
his eye upon his dial-plate. If he hud a mind to 
write any thing to his friend, he directed his 

• Lib. ii. prol. 6*. 
v9Ya iv: U" 

«> 8PECTAT0E. Ha Ul. 

needle to every letter that formed the words 
which he had occasion for, making a little pause at 
the end of every word or scntencef to avoid con- 
fusion. The friend in the meanwhile saw his own 
sympathetic needle moving of itself to every let- 
ter which that of his correspondent pointed at. 
By this means they talked together across a whole 
continent, and conveyed their thoughts to one ano- 
ther in an instant over cities or mountains seas or 

If Monsieur Scudcry, or any other writer of ro- 
mance, had introduced a necromancer, who is 
generally in the train of a knight-errant, making 
a present to two lovers of a couple of these above- 
mentioned needles, tlie reader would not have 
been a little pleased to have seen them corres^ 
ponding with one another when they were guard- 
ed by spies and watches, or sepai*atcd by castles 
and adventures. 

In the meanwhile, if ever this invention should 
be revived or put in practH:e, I would propose 
that upon the lover's dial-plate there should be 
written not only the four-and-twenty letters, but 
several entire words which have always a place in 
psMionatc epistles ; as flanvcs, darts, die, lan- 
guage, absence, Cupid, heart, eyes, hang, drowny 
and tlic like. This would very much abridge the 
lover's pains in this way of writuig a letter, as it 
would enablt) him to express the most useful and 
significant words ^with a single touch of the 
needle. C. 

lfb'848. SraCTATOt. m 

No. 242. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1711. 

Creditur, ex medio quia ret arcetnt, habere 
Sudorit mimmum 

HoR. 2. £p. i 108. 

To write on Tulgar themes, it thoagfat an easy task. 

< Your speculations do not so generally prevail 
over men's manners as I could wish. A former 
paper of your's concerning the misbehaviour of 
people, who are necessarily in each other's com- 
pany in travelling, t>ught to have been a lasting 
admonition against transgressions of that kind. 
But I had the fate of your quaker, in meeting with 
a rude fellow in a stage-coach, who entertained 
two or three women of us (for there was no man 
besides himself) with langauge as indecent as ever 
was heard upon the water. The impertinent ob- 
servations which the coxcomb made upon our 
shame and confusion were such, that it is an un- 
speakable grief to reflect upon them. As much 
as you have declaimed against duelling, I hope you 
will do us the justice to declai'e, that if the brute 
has courage enough to send to the place where 
he saw us all alight together to get rid of him, 
there is not one of us but has a lover who shall 
avenge the insult. It would certainly be worth 
your consideration, to look into t^e frequent mis- 
fortunes of this kind, to which the modest and 
innocent are exposed, by the licentious behaviouc, 
of such as are as much strangers to good-breed- 
ing as to virtue. Could we avoid hearing what 
we do not approve, as easily as we can see what 
is disagreeable, there were some consolation ; but 
mnce in a box at a play, in an a^sembV^ qI Vd^^^V 


or eTcn in a pew at church, it it in the power of 
a gross coxcomb to utter what a woman cannot 
avoid hearing, how miserable is her condition who 
comes within the power of such impertinents f 
and how necessary is it to repeat invectiTCS 
against such a behaviour ? If the licentious had 
not utterly forgot what it is to be modest, they 
would know that offended modesty labours under 
one of the greatest sufferings to which human 
life can be exposed. If these brutes could reflect 
thus much, though they want shame they would 
be moved by their pity, to abhor an impudent be- 
haviour in the presence of the chaste and inno- 
cent. If you will oblige us with a Spectator on 
tins subject, and procure it to be pasted ag^ainst 
every stage-coach in Great Britain as the law of 
the journey, you will highly oblige the whole sex, 
for which you have professed so great an esteem; 
and in particular, the two ladles my late fellow- 
sufferers, and, 


Your most humble servant, 

Rebecca Ridinghood/ 

* MR. spectator, 

*' The mutter which I am now going to send 
you, is an unhuppy story in low life, and will re- 
commend itself, so that you must excuse the 
manner of expressing it. A poor idle drunken 
iv<*avcr in Spitul-fields has a faithful laborious wife, 
who by her frugality and industry had laid by her 
as nnich money us purchased her a ticket in the 
present lottery. She had hid this ver}' privately 
in the bottom of a trunk, and had given her num- 
ber to a friend and confidant, who had promised 
to keep the secret, and bring her news ot the suc- 
cess. The poor ad\Qtv\Mt^t ^^& one day gone* 

1{«. 31(8. SPECTATOR. 293 

abroad) when her careless husband, suspectmg 
she had saved some money, searches every cor- 
ner, till at length he finds this same ticket; 
which he immediately carries abroad, sells, and 
squanders away the money without the wife's sus- 
pecting any thing of the matter. A day or two 
after this, this friend, who was a woman, comes 
and brings the wife word, that she had a benefit of 
five hundred pounds. The poor creature over- 
joyed, flies up sUurs to her husband, who was then 
at work, and desires him to leave his loom for 
that evening, and come and drink with a friend of 
his and her's below. The man received tliis 
cheerful invitation as bad husbands sometimes do, 
and after a cross word or two, told her he wouM'nt 
come. His wife with tenderiyiiss renewed her 
importunity, and at length «aid to him, " My love ! 
I have within these few months, unknown to you, 
scraped together as much money as has bought 
us a ticket in the lottery, and now here is Mrs. 
Quick come to tell me, that it is come up tliis 
morning a five hundred pound prize." The hus- 
band replies immediately, " You lie, you slut, 
you have no ticket, for I have sold it." The poor 
woman upon this faints away in a fit, recovers, and 
is now run distracted. As she had uo design to 
defraud her husband, but was willing only to par- 
ticipate in his good fortune, eveiy one pities her, 
but thinks her husband's punishment but just. 
This, sir, is a matter of fact, and would if the 
persons and circumstances were greater, in a 
well-wrought play be called Beautiful Distress. 
I have only sketched it out with chalk, and know a 
good hand can make a moving picture with worse 

SIB, Sec' 

•u 2 

i 1 oi ^^^^'^ e in irat\t' I "** p.,„,.c in the 

i;rtiS»f c r "^^^^ 

rfVt.ll'"J ' , ,. l,,.i» I l''" ' ••purs •I"" 

i a.«- 1«=-^^ '"7 a- i> '=»'-^>-''''' ; c'* considering 

the va"'"''^'"' Aihiy x^'O"^" ri V w ^v'- ""^^ 
ou U«.c '«'■""'.'„. nut OM-., «^ « ' >• \ ,unt..vv.pi 

vouKi a.. y •: f;i„uss \ w> "\ t u^ ^ '""^' 

.,xv.ccl w ^";'J,„,;,U.\... 'l."\ ^\ ,iVcc\ \cavc t 
"""■■ ' sUo ojlrr.,b"V\^«"'^ f :,d ^,v-,u ^^^•^ 

beai-a llKAnafl . -» , author >^^ ^,, 

dcscnpuoii. w 

CM ftPKCTATOIf . No. 84tf. 

• Mn. sPF.rTATon, 
M \>i tvli.'i tlir world rails a warm frllowy 
ninl by (;fKi(l s\n < ( ss in tr;irlr I hiivc. ruincrl iny- 
hrit to a f .i)M(ity ol' iiKikiii)^ sniiir ftt^urr in iho 
world ; hut no ni;ittrr lor that. I have now under 
iiiy K:innli.iiiHhip a i oiiplr of iiicrc% who will 
< ('rt:iiiiiy in:ikc* irx* run inad ; which you will 
not uoiidcr ut, wlii-n I tctl you thry arc i'cm«dc 
vtituofiosf ,ind durin); thr thrcM! yrarK and a half I h>\<: lutd tiicni under my tarvn they never 
in the lr;r.t im lined their thou);hts towunln any 
one siny;lr pjit ol the»e.ter of a notable wo- 
man. \Vhil»t they hhouid ha\e been eouMderin^; 
the proper in^redieriis lor a surk-poHHet, you 
hhould hear u dispute ronrernini; the ma^^nctic 
virtue of the hhidruou'* oi jicrlKips the pressure ot 
i\\f atmosphere, 'i'litir lan};ua^e is pec uliar to 
» tlii'Uist Ivc'i, and they S( oi n to exprrss ihi inirelves 
f)u tne inianesL trijic wiM) wohIh thai iivr not rd'a 
J/ilin (If riv.itirMi. lint thi:. were support;ibi(. still, 
would ih< y f.nlVfr \i\v if) enjoy an unintrmipif^d 
j;.i:or.tnr< ; hut unh ss ? I.ili in with their ahstra' <• 
e<I ifjras ol thini',:. (ds thry rail lh<ni; I must n(»t 
i'\\u( \ to sriKdv'- our pipe in (piiet. In a late fit 
ol the fdiit I conipl.tiiii d oi the ])ait) of that dis- 
tcniprr, uImii my neir.e Kitly bej;f;ed leave to i\i- 
hurr iiu , that wliJitrver I inij^ht think, .«ieveral 
j;ii-.u [»liilo:*iiphfrs, iiothuTx lent and modert), were 
ol opMuon, tliat both plea.sure and pain were im- 
aj;ii»aiy distim tion;, and that there wan no ftueh 
dunj; iiH <;iilu.i ir-nrutu vntiiru. \ have often 
heard thenianirni that the lire was not hot; and 
one day v hrn I, wiih the authority of an oid fellow, 
d<:sii<Jl iiwv. ol them to put my blue eloke on my 
km TH, shr au'i'.vered, ** Sn', I will reac h the eloke ; 
hu\ tal.e iio!i(r, J do not do it aH allowing;; your 
di Ac/iptjoni lor \l i\V\^*<\x^\\>NvVLU<i called yellow 

So. 345 SPECTATOK. ^ 

as blue ; for colour is nothing but the various in* 
fractions of the rays of the sun." Miss Mollf 
told me one day, that to say snow was white, is 
allowing a vulgar error; for as it contains a great 
quantity of nitrous particles, itmightmore reason- 
ably be supposed to be black. In short the young 
husseys would persuade me, that to believe one's 
eyes is a sure way to be deceived ; and have often 
advised me, by no means to trust any thing so 
fidlible as my senses. What I have to beg of you 
now is, to turn one speculation to the due regula-* 
tion of female literature, so far at least, as to 
make it consistent with the quiet of such whose 
fate it is to be liable to its insults ; and to tell us 
the difference between a gentleman that should 
make cheese-cakes and raise a paste, and a lady 
that readsLocke, and understands the mathematics. 
In which will you extremely oblige 

Your hearty friend and humble servant, 
T. Abraham Thrifty.* 

No. 243. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1711. 

Formam quidem ipaam, Marcejili, et taTUfuamfactem ho- 
netti vides .* quat n octilia cemeretur, mirabiles amoves Cut 
ait Plato J excitaret aapientia. Tull. Offic. , 

You see, my son Marcus, virtue as if it were embodied, 
vhich if it could be made the object of siglit, would, (as Plato 
Ujm) excite in us a wonderful love of wisdom. 

I DO not remember to have read any discourse 
written expressly upon the beauty and loveliness 
of virtue, without considering it as a duty, and as 
the means of making us happy both now and here- 
after. 1 design therefore this specuUtiou %& «sv. 

SM SPECTAT01L Ko. Vi.i- 

CHsay upon that nulijccti in which I nliall consider 
virtue no farther than as it is in itself of an amia- 
ble nature* after liaving premised, that I uiider- 
Htand by the word virtue sucli a general notion tm 
is affixed to it by the. writers of morality* and 
which by devout men (^cnc: rally goes under the 
name of religion, and by men of tlic worhl under 
the name of honour. 

I JyiMicrisy itself docs grr^at honour, or rather 
justice, to religion) and tacitly acknowledges it to 
be an ornament to human nutun*. The hy|>ocritc 
would not be at so murli pains to put on the ap- 
pfrurunce of virtue, if he did not know it was the 
most proper and ellVctual means to gain the love 
and cHtccni of mankind. 

Wc U-urn from Jlicrodcs, it was a common say- 
ing among the hcatlicuHt that the wise man hates 
no h(j(ly,biit only lr>vcHtlic virtuous. 

Tully lius a very l)cuntirul gradation of thoughts 
to filicw how amiable virtue is. < We love a vir- 
fiintis man,' Kays he, Mv ho lives in the remotest 
parts of the earth, though wc anr altogether out 
of the reach of his virtue, and ran receive from it 
IK) ni;i liner of bene lit.' Nay, one who died several 
years iigo, raises a secret fondness and benevolence 
for him in our minds, when wc read his story. 
Nuy, what is still more, one who has been the en- 
emy of our coiHitry, ])rovide(i his wars were reg- 
iilated hy justice and humanity, as in the instance 
of I'yrrhus, whom 'I'ully mentions on this occa- 
sion in oppr)sii ion to 1 laiuiibal. Such is the natu- 
ral beauty and loveliness of virtue. 

Stoicism, which was the pedantry of virtue, as* 
rribes all good qualilications of what kind soever 
to the virtuous man. Accordingly C'ato, in the 
rhanicter Tully has left of him, curried matters so 
iiiCi that he wov\\Ol \\oVv\Uo\vanY one but a virtuoiu 

No. £45. SPBCTATOB, W 

man to be handsome. This indeed looks more 
like a philosophical rant than the real opinion of a 
wise man ; yet this was what Cato very seriously 
maintained. In short, the Stoics thought they 
could not sufficiently represent the exceltence of 
▼irtue, if they did not comprehend in the notion of 
it all possible perfections ; and therefore did not 
onl^ suppose, that it was transcendently beautiful 
in Itself, but that it made the very body amiable, 
and banished every kind of deformity from the 
person in whom it resided. 

It is a common observation, that the most aban-> 
doned to all sense of goodness, are apt to wish 
those who are related to them of a different char- 
acter ; and it is very observable, that none are more 
struck with the charms of virtue in the &ir sex, 
than those who by their very admiration of it are 
carried to a desire of ruining it. 

A virtuous mind in a fair body is indeed a fine 
jucture in a good light, and therefore it is no won- 
der that it makes the beautiful sex all over 

As virtue in general is of an amiable and lovely 
nature, there are some particular kinds of it which 
are more so than others, and these are such as dis- 
pose us to do good to mankind. Temperance and 
abstinence, faith and devotion, are in themselves 
perhaps as laudable as any other virtues ; but those 
which make a man popular and beloved, are jus- 
tice, charity, munificence, and, in short, all the 
good qualities that render us beneficial to each 
other. For this reason even an extravagant man, 
who has. nothing else to recommend him but a 
fidse generosity, is often more beloved and es- 
teemed than a person of a much more finished 
character, who is defective in this particular. 

The two fresLt omamenta o5 Vitvxx^'j ^\\viV 

I9» SfBCTATOB. X«. Mf . 

4hew her in the most advantageoui views, and 
make her altogether lovely, are cheerfulness and 
good-nature. These generally go together, as a 
man cannot be agreeable to others who is not ea- 
sy within himself. They arc both very requisite 
in a virtuous mind* to keep out melancholy from 
the many serious thoughts it is engaged m, and 
to hinder its natural hatred of vice from souring 
into severity and censoriousness. 

If virtue is of this amiable nature, what can we 
think of those who can look upon it with an eye 
of hatred and ill-will, or can soficr their aversion 
for a party to blot out all the merit of the person 
who is engaged in it ? A man must be excessive- 
ly stupid, as well as uncharitable, who believes 
that there is no virtue but on his awn side, and 
that there are not men as honest as himself who 
may differ from him in political principles. Men 
may oppose one another in some particulars, but 
au^;])t not to carry their hatred to those qualities 
which are of so amiable a nature in themselves, 
and have nothing to do with the points in dispute. 
Men of virtue, though of different interests, ou^ht 
to consider themselves as more nearly united with 
one another, than with the vicious part of man- 
kind, who embark witli them in the same civil 
concerns. We should bear the same love towards 
a man of honour who is a living antagonist, which 
TuUy tells UB ill the forcmentioned passage, every 
one naturally does to an enemy that is dead. In 
short, we should esteem virtue though in a foC) 
and abhor vice though in a friend. 

I speak this witli an eye to those cruel treat' 
ments which men of all sides are apt to give the 
characters of those who do not agree with them* 
How many persons of undoubted probity and ex- 
eunplary virtue^ou c\\Vv<iy sx^^i^^^c^^Vickened and 

Vo. 5244. SPECTATOR. SI9 

deemed ? How many men of honour exposed to 
public obloquy and reproach ? Those therefore 
Vfho are either the instruments or abettors in such 
infernal dealings, ought to be looked upon as 
persons who make use of religion to promote 
their cause, not of their cause to promote religion. 


No. 244. MONDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1711. 

Judex et caUidus audia. 

HoR. 2. Sat. Tii. 101. 

A judge of paintbg you^ a connoisseur, 
< MR. SPECTATOR, Covent Garden, Dec. 7. 

' I CANNOT, without a double injustice, forbeai* 
expressing to you the satisfaction which a whole 
clan of virtuosos have received from those hmts 
which you have lately given the town on the car- 
toons of the inimitable Raphael. It should me- 
thinks be the business of a Spectator to improve 
the pleasures of sight, and there cannot be a more 
immediate way to it than recommending the study 
and observation of excellent drawings and pic- 
tures. When I first went to view those of Ra- 
phael which you have celebrated, I must confess 
I was but barely pleased ; .the next time I liked 
them better, but at last as I grew better ac- 
quainted with them, I fell deeply in love with 
them; like wise speeches, they sunk deep into 
my heart : for you know, Mr. Spectator, that a 
man of wit may extremely affect one for the pre- 
sent, but if ho has not discretion, his merit soon 
vanishes away : while a wise mmi th«it ht.^ vxo^ ^^ 


great a itock of wit* ihall neverthelesi gire you 
a far greater and more lasting aatitfaction. Just 
to it is in a picture that is smartly touched, but 
not well studied ; one may call it a witty picture, 
though the painter in the mean time may be in 
danger of being called a fool. On the other 
handt a picture that is thoroughly understood in 
the whole, and well performed in the particulars, 
that is begun on the foundation of geometry, car- 
ried on by the rules of perspective, architecture, 
and anatomy, and perfected by a good harmony, 
a juBt and natural colouring, and such passions 
and expressions of the mind as are almost pecu- 
liar to Raphael ; this is what you may justly style 
a wise picture, and which seldom fails to strike 
us dumb, until we can assemble all our faculties 
to make but a tolerable judgment upon it. Other 
pictures arc made for the eyes only, as rattles are 
made for children's ears ; and certainly that pic- 
ture that only pleases the eye, without represent- 
ing some wcll-choscn part of nature or other, 
docs but shew what fmc colours arc to be sold at 
the colour-shop, and mocks the works of the 
Creator. If the best imitator of nature is not to 
be esteemed the best painter, but he that makes 
the greatest show and glare of colours ; it will 
necessarily follow, that he who can array himself 
in the most gaudy draperies is best drcst, and he 
that can speak loudest the best orator. Every 
man when he looks on a picture should examine 
it according to that share of reason he is master 
of, or he will be in danger of making a wrong 
judgment. If men when they walk abroad would 
make more frequent observations on those beau* 
tics of nature which every moment present them- 
selves to their view, they would be better judges 
when they saw Vitr yr^W vn^\.%x«d at home. Thra 

Np. ^44, SPECTATOR. 2il 

irould help to correct those errors which most 
pretenders fall into, who are over hasty in their 
judgments, and will not stay to let reason come in 
lor a share in the decision. It is for want of this 
that men mistake in this case, and in common 
life, a wild extravagant pencil for one that is 
truly bold and great, an impudent fellow for a 
man of true courage and bravery, hasty and un- 
reasonable actions for enterprises of spirit and 
resolution, gaudy colouring for that which is 
truly beautiful, a false and insinuating discourse 
for swnple truth elegantly recommended. The 
parallel will hold through all the parts of life and 
painting too ; and the virtuosos above-mentioned 
will be glad to see you draw it with your terms of 
art. As the shadows in a picture represent the 
serious or melancholy, so the lights do the bright 
and lively thoughts. As there should be but one 
forcible light in a picture which should catch the 
eye and fall on the hero, so there should be but 
one object of our love, even the Author of nature. 
These and the like reflections, well improved, 
might very much contribute to open the beauty 
of that art, and prevent young people from being 
poisoned by the ill gusto of an extravagant work- 
man that should be imposed upon us. 

I am, SIR, 
Your most humble servant.* 


< Though I am a woman, yet I am one of 
those who confess themselves highly pleased with 
a speculation you obliged the world with some 
time ago, from an old Greek poet you call Si- 
monides, in relation to the several natures and 
distinctions of our own sex. I could not but ad- 
mire how justly the characters o^ \f nxu^xv Niv tSi.^ 
voj:. IV. x^ 

fa 8PECT ATOIL «a mik 

ap^c fall in with the times of Simonidcs, there 
bcini; no one of those sorts I have mit at sonrie 
time or other of my life met with a sample of« 
Buty sir, the subjects of this present address are 
a set of women, Gomprehcndcd, I thintt, in the 
ninth species of that speculation^ culled the Apes ; 
the dchcriptioh of wlioiii I find to be, < That they 
are nurh as are IxHh uj^ly and ill-natured, who 
have nothing beautiful themselves^ and endeavour 
to detract fioni, or ridirule every thiri|( that ap- 
pears h(} in others/ Now, sir, this sect, as I have 
been told, is very frc(]ucnt in the f^reat town 
where you live ; but as my circumstance of life 
obliges me to reside altogether in the couiitryt 
though not many miles from London, I caruiot 
have met with a great number of them, nor indeed 
is it a desirai>le acquuiritancc, as 1 have lately 
found by cxprricncc. You must know, sir, that 
at the bc(;iniiin{^ of this summer a family of these 
apes came and settled for the season not far from 
tlic place where I live. As thry were stran^^ers 
in the country, thoy wrtre visited by the ladies 
about them, of whom I was one, with an hu- 
manity usual in those who p:«Hs most of their time 
In solitude. The apes lived with us very agreea- 
bly our own way until towards the end of the 
summer, when they began to bethink themselves 
of returning to town ; tlien it was, Mr. S|>ectator, 
tliat they began to set themselves about the pro- 
per and distmguishing business of their charac- 
ter ; and as it m said of evil spirits, that they are 
apt to carry away a piece of the house they are 
about to leave^ the apes, without regard to com- 
mon mercy, civility, or gratitude, thought fit to 
ifiirnic and fall foul on tne faces^ dress, and be- 
haviour of their innocent neighl>ours9 bestowing 
abominable ccu^vute^k) %s\d du^raceful appcila« 


tionS) commonly called nick-names, en all of 
them ; and in short, like true fine ladies, made 
their honest plainness and sincerity matter of ri- 
dicule. I could not but acquaint you with these 
grievances, as well at the desire of all the parties 
injured, as from my own inclination. I hope, sir, 
if you cannot propose entirely to reform this evil, 
you will takef^ such notice of it in some of youir 
future speculid|E9ls, as may put the deserving part 
of our sex on tflw guard against these creatures ; 
and at the san^Hlme the apes may be sensible, 
tliat this sort of %|^h is so far from an innocent 
diversion, that iti^tb the highest degree that vice 
which is said to comprehend all others. 

I am, SIR, 

Your humble servant, 


No. 245. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1711. 

Ficta voluptatii cautd iintproxima verU. 

HoR. Ars Poet T. 3S8. 

Piotions, to please, should wear the face of truth. 

There is nothing which one regards so much 
with an eye of mirth and pity as innocence, 
when it has in it a dash of folly. At the same 
time that one esteems the virtue, one is tempted 
to laugh at the simplicity which accompanies it. 
When a n\an is made up wholly of the dove, 
without the least grain of the serpent in his com- 
position, he becomes ridiculous in many circum- 
stances of life, and very often discredits his best 
actions. The Cordeliers teW si *\orj ^1 ^^ 

(M* gPRCTAlOn. Ho. Ml. 

foiinHer fit. Franr'u, that us he patted the ttrcett 
ill thr (hihk of tlir rvritiii^, he ditrovcred a young 
firllow with tt inuifl in u comer ; upon which the 
Kornl iiiuii, nay thry, lifted up hit haiidt to heaven 
with HTtvft ihuiikh((iviii|rf that there waft ttill to 
Tiiurh ('lirifitiun lUon^y in the world. The inno* 
ce iC^ of tlie n.iint made hirn mlttake the kitt» of 
tlw lover (or u Hiiltite of charity. I am heartily 
concerned when I hee a virtuout man without a 
competent knowledi'^e of the world; and if there 
he any nne in the'ic my pu|M:rtt, it it thit, that 
without repreMentin)^ vice under an^ fttUc allurtn|^ 
notionH, ihey (;ive my reader an inni^ht into the 
wayn of men, and reprrhent human nature in alt 
JlH rhant;eal;le coiourn. The. man who hat not 
heen en);at<;ed in any of the follieN of the worldf 
or, an Siiikhpeare it, * hackney 'd in the 
\v..)'t ol men/ m.iy here lind a pieture of il« fol« 
lien anrj extravik^^anr.ien. The virtnouH and the 
iimoreiii may know in hperulation what they could 
never arrive at hy piaetiee, and hy thit meant 
avoid the Hiiareh of the crulty, the corrupti<«rifi of 
the vi(.iouH, and the reaHonin(<'H of the prejudiced. 
Their mindn may lie opiMicd without bein{( vitia- 

It iH with an eye to my followin(i|f corrctpond- 
rnt, Mr. 'I'imothy Doodle, who necinM a very well- 
meMiii'^ man, that 1 have written thin ttliort pre- 
face, to which 1 hhall tuhjoiii a letter from the 
taid Mr. Doodle. 

' tin, 

* 1 cotM.n heartily wiiih that you would let 

\\n know your opinion ufXin neveral innocent 

divet-hiohH which are in tine umoiiK uh, and which 

ere very ))roper to pahH away a winter ni^ht for 

(hotfc who do tu>\. ctxvc vo V\vci)>n vh^^ their time 


fit an opera, or at the play-house, t W6uld fc^adljr 
know in particular, what notion you have of hot- 
cockles; as also, whether you think that questions 
and commands, mottoes, similies, and cross pur- 
poseS) have not more mirth and wit in tliem than 
those public diversions which are grown so very 
&8hionahle among us. If you would recommend 
to our wives and daughters, who read your papers 
with a g^eat deal of pleasure, some of those sports 
and pastimes that may be practised within doorsy 
and by the fire-side, we who are masters of fami- 
fies should be hugely obliged to you. I need not 
tell you that I would have these sports and pas- 
times not^only merry but innocent; for which rea- 
son I have not mentioned either whisk or lanterlooy 
nor indeed so much as onc-and-thirty. After 
having communicated to you my request upon 
this subject, I will be so free as to tell you how 
my wife and I pass away these tedious winter 
evenings with a greal deal of pleasure. Though 
she be young and handsome, and good-humoured 
to a miracle, she does not care for gadding abroad 
like others of her sex. There is a very friendly 
man, a colonel in the army, whom I am mij^htily 
obliged to for his civilities, that comes to see me 
almost every night; for he is not one of those 
giddy young fellows that cannot live out of a 
play-house. When we are together, we very often 
make a party at Blind-man's Buff, which is a 
«port that I like the better, because there is a good 
deal of exercise in it. The colonel and I are 
blinded by turns, and you would laugh your heart 
out to see what pains my dear takes to hoodwink 
us, so that it is impossible for us to see the least 
glimpse of light. The poor colonel sometimes 
hits his nose against a post, and makes us die with 
laughing. 1 have genci*aUy the ^Qo^VxxOi^TkicsXXs^ 


Qreekf whcrerer I chance to meet it.. It it Ibi 
this reatoti I take it very ill of yoUf that jrot 
■ometimei hang out Greek coloura at the head a 
your paper, and tometlmct ^ivo a word of thi 
enemy even in the tiody of it. When I meei 
with any thing of this nature, I throw down youi 
apeculationa upon the table, with that form o! 
words which we make use of when we declan 
war upon an author, 

Or^rcum nt, Tttnpotett legi, 

I give you this hint, that you may for the futun 
abstain from any such hostilities at your peril. 
C. TaoiLus/ 

No. 346. WEDNESDAY, DEC. 13, 1711. 

11 OM. Iliad xvl.#J. 

Vo Amnrouii hero r vcr gave thee liiilli, 
N'H* ever tciHler vrNlileM lirouglitthra forth: 
flfinie ruggiHl nieVfi hunl cntraiUgMVc tliac form^ 
AihI mgiiiK well j^rfKlneM thoc in m iitorni t 
A MNil well aiiitJiig thy lcni|N<itur>iii kinil, 
bo rough thy niAuaeri, lo uoUm'd thy miml. 



< As your paper i» part of the equipage of thi 
tea-table, 1 conjure you to print what 1 now writi 
to you ; for I have no other way to communicate 
irhat 1 have to say to tho fair sex on the moil 
JtPportant cir^umaxati^ta %l Vv^^> «n«u * the cai;( 

2rikS4(. SreCTATOS. 24^ 

of children.' I do not understand that you pro- 
fess your paper is always to consist of matters 
which are only to entertain the learned and po- 
fitey but that it may agree with your design to 
PPiUbh some which may tend to the information 
iiJF mankind in general ; and when it docs sOf 
you do more than writing wit and humour. 
Give me leave then to tell you, that of all the 
abuses that ever you have as yet endeavoured to 
reform, certainly not one wanted so much your 
assistance as the abuse in nursing of children. It 
is unmerciful to see, that a woman endowed with 
all the perfections and blessings of nature can, 
as soon as she is delivered, turn off her innocentf 
tender, and helpless infant, and give it up to a 
woman that is (ten thousand to one) neither in 
health nor good condition, neither sound in mind 
nor body, that has neither honour nor reputationy 
neither love nor pity for the poor babe, but more 
regard for the money than for the whole child, and 
never will take farther care of it than what by all 
the encouragement of money and presents she 
is forced to ; like ^sop's earth, which would not 
nurse the plant of another ground, although 
never so much improved, by reason that plant 
was not of its own production. And since ano- 
ther's child is no more natural to a nurse, than a 
plant to a strange and different ground, how can 
It be supposed that the child should thrive ; and 
if it thrive9,must it not imbibe the gross humours 
and qualities of the nurse, like a plant in a dif* 
ferent ground, or like a graft upon a different 
stock ? Do not we observe, that a lamb sucking 
a goat changes very much its nature, nay even its 
skin and wool into the goati^ind ? The power of 
a nurse over a child, by infusing into it with her 
inilk her qualities and dispo&iUoU) U %vsi.^c\ft.vNL^^ 

t» 8FBCTATOB. Va 941. 

and dailjr observed. Hence came that old 8a3ring 
concerning^ an ill-natured and mcUicioua fellowy 
Ihat ^ he had imbibed bin malice with his nurse's 
milky or that some brute or other had been his 
nurse." Hence Romulus and Remus were said 
to have been nursed by a wolf; Telephus the son 
of Hercules by a hind ; Pclias the son of Nep- 
tune by a mare; and i&gisthus by a goat; not 
that they had actually sucked such creatures, as 
some simpletons have imagined^ but that their 
nurses had been of such a nature and temper, 
and infused such into them. 

< Many instances may be produced from good 
authorities and daily expenence, that children 
actually suck in the several passions and depraved 
inclinations of their nurses, as anger, malice, 
fear, melancholy, sadness, desire, and aversion. 
This Diodorus, lib. 3. witnesses, when he speaks, 
saying, that Nero the Emperor's nurse had been 
very much addicted to drinking; which habit 
Nero received from his nurse, and was so very 
particular in this, thdt the people took so much 
notice of it, us instead of Tiberius Nero, they 
called him Bibcrius Mero. The same Diodorus 
also relates of Caligula, predecessor to Nero, 
that his nurse used to moisten the nipples of her 
breast frequently with blood, to make C^iligula 
take the better hold of them : which, says Diodo- 
rus, was tlie cause that made him so blood-thirsty 
and cruel all his life-time after, that he not only 
committed frequent murder by his own hand, but 
likewise wished that all human kind wore but one 
neck, that he might have the pleasure to cut it off. 
Such like degeneracies astonish the parents, who, 
not knowing after whom the child can take, see 
one incline to stealing, another to drinking, cru- 
cJtyi stupidity *, yet. «\\ xVv^^t; ss« uot minded. 

Vo. «4r. SPECTATOU. 9St 

Nay, it is easy to demonstrate, that a child, al- 
though it be born from the best of parents, may 
be corrupted by an ilUtempered nurse. How 
many children do we see daily brought into fits, 
consumptions, rickets, &c. merely bv sucking 
their nurses when in a passion or fury r But in- 
deed almost any disorder of the nurse is a disor- 
der to the child, and few nurses can be found in 
this town but what labour under some distemper 
or other. The first question that is generally 
asked a young woman that wants to be a nurse, 
why she should be a nurse to other people's 
children, is answered, by her having an ill hus- 
band) %nd that she must make i^hift to live. I 
think now this very answer is enough to give any 
body a shock if duly considered ; for an ill hus- 
band may, or ten to one if he does not, bring 
home to his wife an ill distemper, or at least vex- 
ation and disturbance. Besides, as she takes the 
child out of mere necessity, her food will be ac- 
cordingly, or else very coarse at best ; whence 
proceeds an ill-concocted and coarse food for the 
child ; for as the blood, so is the milk ; and hence 
I am very well assured proceeds the scurvy, the 
evil, and many other distempers. I beg of you 
for the sake of the many poor infants that may 
and will be saved by weighing this case serious- 
ly, to exhort the people with the utmost vehe- 
mence, to let the children suck their own mo- 
thers, both for the benefit of mother and child. 
For the general argument, that a mother is weak- 
ened by giving suck to her children, is vain and 
simple. I will maintain that the mother grows 
stronger by it, and will have her health better 
than she would have otherwise. She will find 
it the greatest cure and preservative for the va- 
^urs and future miscarriages^ mui;\x\)^^^\A«&i<t 

dii SPECTATOR. Jgo. Stf . 

other remedy whatsoever. Her children will be 
like g^iants, whereas otherwise they are but living 
shadows, and like unripe fruit ; and certainly if a 
woman is strong enough to bring forth a child, 
she is beyond all doubt strong enough to nurse 
it afterwards. It grieves mc to observe and con- 
sider how many poor children arc daily ruined by 
careless nurses ; and yet how tender ought they 
to be to a poor infant, since the least hurt or blow, 
especially upon the head, may make it senseless, 
stupid, or otherwise miserable for ever ! 

* But I cannot well leave this subject as yet ; 
for it seems to mc very unnatural, that a woman 
that has fed a child as part of herself for nine 
months, should have no desire to nurse it farther, 
when brought to light and l>cfore her eyes, and 
when by its cry it implores her assistance and the 
office of a mother. l)o not the very cruellest of 
brutes tend their young ones with all the care and 
delight imaginable ^ How can she be called a mo- 
ther that will not nurse her young ones? The 
earth is called the mother of all things, not be- 
cause she produces, but because she maintains and 
nurses what she produces. The generation of 
the iiil'ant is the effect of desire, but the care of it 
argues virtue and choice. I am not ignorant but 
that there are some cases of necessity, where a 
mother cannot give suck, and then out of two evils 
the least must be chosen ; but there arc so very 
few, that 1 am sure in a thousand there is hardly 
onc*fr: J instance ; for if a woman does but know 
thut her husband can spare about three or six 
shillings a week extraordinary, (although this is 
but seldom considered) she certainly, with the as- 
sistance of her gossips, will soon persuade the 
g-ood man to send the child to nurse, and easily 
impose upon h'uw b^ v^^^^'^^^^'^ vwils^osition. 


This cr^ieltr is supported by fashion, and nature 
gives place to custom. 


T- Your humble servant.' 

fero. 84r. THURSDAY, DEC. 13, 171k 

Their imtii'd lipi a wordf to 

We are told by some ancient authors, that Socra- 
«ts was instructed in eloquence by a woman, 
whose name, if 1 am not mistaken, was Aspasia. 
I have indeed very often looked upon that art ai 
the most proper lor the femi^lc sex, and 1 think 
the universities would do well to consider wheth- 
er they should not fill the rhetoric chairs with 
she professors. 

It hasbcen said in the praise of some men, that 
they could talk whole huui's together upon any 
thing ; but it must be owned to the honoui' of the 
other sex, that there arc many among them wh» 
can talk whole hours together upon nothing. I 
have known a woman bijnch out into a long ex- 
tempore disaertation upon tlie ed);ing of a petti- 
coat] and chide her Bcivant for breaking a china 
cup, in all the figures of rhetoric. 

Were women admitted to plead in courts of ju- 
dicature, 1 am persuaded they would carry the el- 
oquence of the l>ar to greater heights thtin it haa 
yet arrived at- If anyone doubt this, letliiim 

C5 i SPECT ATOK. ^p. Sir. 

lull be present at those dclKites which frequently 
arise aiiion^thc hidicsufthc Dritish fishery. 

Tiu- iirst kind thcroi'orc of female orators which 
I shall take notice of, arc those who arc employed 
in stirring; up tlic passions ; a part of rhetoric in 
which Socrates his wife hud perhaps made a 
{greater proticiency than his above-mentioned 

The second kind of female orators are those 
who (leal in invectives, and who are commonly 
known by the name of the censorious. The ima- 
gination and elocution of this set of rhetoricians 
is wonderful. With what a fluency of invention, 
and copiousness of expression, will they enlarge 
upon every little slip in the behaviour of another I 
With how many diflerent circumstances, and with 
what variety of phrases, will they tell over the 
same story ? 1 have known an old lady make an 
unha])py marriiij^c the subject of a month's con- 
versation. She blamed the bride in one place ; 
pitied her in anuther; laug^hed at her in a third, 
wondered at her in a fourth ; was angry with her 
in a fifth; and, in short, wore out a piur of coach 
horses in expressing her concern for her. At 
length, after having quite exhausted the subject 
on this side, she made a visit to the new-married 
pair, praised the wife for the prudent choice she 
had made, told her the unreasonable reflections 
which some malicious people had cast upon her, 
and desired that they might be better acquainted. 
The censure and approbation of this kind of wo- 
men are therefore only to be considered as help** 
to discourse. 

A third kind of female orators may be compre- 
hended under the word gossips. Mrs. Fiddle- 
Faddle is perfectly accomplished in this sort of 
eloquence ; she VoiTXtvC^v^^ ^>i\. \tiVi descriptions of 

3ro. sir. SPECTATOR. t[J5 

christenings, runs divisions upon an head-dress^ 
knows ever}' dish of meat that is served up in our 
neighbourhood, and entertains her company a 
whole afternoon together with the wit of her little 
boy^ before he is able to speak. 

The coquette may be looked upon as a fourth 
kind of female orator. To give herself the larger 
field for discourse, she hates and loves in the same 
breath, talks to her lap dog or parrot, is uneasy 
in all kinds of weather, and in every part of the 
room. She has false quarrels and feigned obliga* 
tions to all the men of her acquaintance ; sighs 
when she is not sad, and laughs when she is not 
merry. The coquette is in particular a great mis- 
tress of that part of oratory which is called action^ 
and indeed seems to speak for no other purpose,^ 
but as it gives her an opportunity of stirring a 
limb, or varying a feature^ of glancing her eyes^ 
or i^aying with her fan. 

As for news-mongers, politicians, mimics^ sto* 
ry-tellerS) with other characters of that nature 
which give birth to loquacity, they are as com- 
monly found among the men as the women ; for 
which reason I shall pass them over in silence. 

I have often been puzzled to assign a cause why 
"women should have this talent of a ready utter- 
ance in so much greater perfection than men. I 
have sometimes fancied that they have not a re- 
tentive power, or the faculty of suppressing their 
thoughts, as men have, but that they are necessi- 
tated to speak every thing they think ; and if so» 
it would perhaps furnish a very strong argument 
to the Cartesians for the supporting of their doc- 
tiine that the soul always thinks. But as several 
are of opinion that the fair sex are not altogether 
strangers to the art of dissembling and concealing 
their thoughts^ I have been iotctCi \o xO^xvo^scc^ 

«N SraCTATOft. If«i M^ 

that opinimif tnd hare therefore endeavMred to 
eeek after aome better reaaon. In order to itf a 
friend of tnine« who it an excellent anatomiatt haa 
promiaed me by the fi rat opportunity to dissect a 
woman^t tongue^ and to examine whether thera 
■lay not be in it certain jiiicna which render it ao 
wonderfully voluble or flippant^ or whether the 
Ibrea of it may not be mafic up of a finr r or more 
pliant thread } or whether there arc not in it some 
particular muftcica which dart it up and down by 
auch audden gjancea <ifid vibr»tiont ; or whether 
in the laat plHce, there may not be certain umlia- 
coirered channela running from the he«id and the 
heart to thin little instrument of lociuacity* and 
conveyine into it a pcrpctuul afflucncy of animal 
apirita. Nor muat i omit the reason which Mudi' 
bras has giirci), why those who can talk on trifle* 
apeak with the greatest fluency; namely, thatthO' 
tongue is like a rucc-horAC, which runs the faater 
the lesser weight it carries. 

Which of these reasons soever maybe looked 
upon as the m<;st probable, 1 think the Irishman'* 
thought was very natural, who, after some houra 
•otivcrsation with a female orator, told her, that 
he believed her tmigtie was very glad when she 
was asleep, for that it had not a moment's rest all 
the while she was awake. 

That excellent old ballad of The Wanton Wifo 
of Dath, has the following rcmurkalile lines : 

f think, qmrfh Ttimnii*, womrn*! Umgurt 
i}f AMprn \tikifvn nrr rniiflc. 

And Ovid, though in a HrHcription of a very 
barbarous cinumstancc, tells us, that when the 
tongue of a beuiitiful fcrn.ilo was rut out, and 
thrown upon the ^; round, it r.oiild not forl>c»r 
muttering even \u v\v<xx v^^^^^^^*" 

Jto^ S43r. SraCTATW. ^5f 

■V Comprenaamforctpe Unburn 

MatuUt etuefero, radix micat wtima lingute, 
Jpsajacetf terrxque tremens immurmurat atrce g 
Utgue salire aolet mutilate eauda colubrcs 

JPalpitat — 

Met. fi 556. 

The blade had cut 

Her tongue sheer off, close to the trembling root ; 
The mangled part still (^^uiver'd on the groundt 
Murmuring with a faint imperfect sound ; 
And as a serpent writhes his wounded traiD> 
Uneasy, panting, and possess'd with pain. 


If a tongue would be talking without a mouth, 
what could it have done when it; had all its organs 
of speech, and accomplices of sound about ill I 
might here mention the story of the Pippin Wo- 
aaan, had I not some reason to look upon it is fa* 

I must confess I am so wonderfully charmed 
with the music of this little instrument, that I 
^ould by no means discourage it. All that I aim 
at by this dissertation is, to cure it of several disa- 
greeable notes, and in particular of those little 
jarrings and dissonances which arise from anger, 
eensoriousness, gossiping, ai>d coquetry. In 
short, I would always have it tuned by good*na- 
tare» truth, discretion, and sincerity. C. 

* The erackltng crystal yields, she sinks, she dies; 
Her head chopt off, from her lost shoulders flies ; 
Pippins she cry'd, but death her Toice confiouiidf> 
And pip-pip*pip along the ice resounds. 

Y 2 

IHt vraCTATOB. No. Ml 

No. S48. FRIDAY, DECEMBER U, 1711. 

Boc maxim? ^eii ttU ut quiique maxim? opit imSgwMi, 
Ma 0i ptiuimikm 9pitulari. 

TULL. Off. 1. !«. 

It it A principal point of dntj, to assitt another moat wbcB 
lie ftandt moct in need of aaabtauee. 

Thxrs are none who deserve superiority over 
others in the esteem of mankind, who do not 
make it their endeavour to be beneficial to socie- 
ty ; and who upon all occasions which their cir- 
cumstances of life can adminster, do not take a 
certain unfeigned pleasure in conferring benefits 
of one kind or other. Those whose great talents 
and high birth have placed them in conspicuous 
Atalions of life arc indispensably obliged to exert 
some noble inclinations for the service of the 
world, or else such advantages become misfor- 
tunes, and shade and privacy are a more eligible 
portion. Where opportunities and inclinations 
are c;iven to the same person, we sometimes see 
sublime instances of virtue, which so dazzle our 
imaginations, that we look with scorn on all which 
in lower scenes of life we may ourselves be able 
to practise. But this is a vicious way of think- 
ing ; and it bears some spice of romantic mad- 
ness, for a man to imagine that he must grow 
ambitious, or seek adventures, to be able to do 
great actions. It is in every man's power in the 
world who is al)ove mere poverty, not only to do 
things worthy, but heroic. The great founda- 
tion of civil virtue is self-denial ; and there is no 
one above the necessities of life, but has oppor- 
tunities of exercUln^ that noble quality, and do* 
ifig as Qxuch as Vvia cvrcvxxci^Vbxv^^s ^SXV ^a^ar fo'r 

^a.Ui. SFfiCTATOQ. fSt 

the ease and convenience of other men ; and he 
who does more than ordinary men practise upon 
such occasions as occur in his life, deserves the 
value of his friends, as if he had done enterprises 
which are usually attended with the highest glory. 
Iff en of public spirit differ rather in their circum- 
stances than their virtue ; and the man who does 
all he can, in a low station, is more a hero than he 
who omits any worthy action he is able to accom- 
|ilish in a great one. . It is not many years ago 
since Lapirius, in wrong of his elder brother, 
came to a great estate by gift of his father, by 
reason of the dissolute behaviour of the first-bom. 
Shame and contrition reformed the life of the dis- 
inherited youth, and he became as remarkable 
§ar his good qualities as formerly for his errors. 
Lapirius, who observed his brother's amendment, 
sent him on a new-year's day in the mormng the 
fcllowing letter: 


< Iekclosb to you the deeds whereby my fa- 
ther gave me this house and land. Had he lived 
till now, he would not have bestowed it in that 
mianner ; he took it from the man you were, and 
I restore it to the man you are. 

I am, SIR, 
Your affectionate brother, 
and humble servant, 

P. T.' 

As great and exalted spirits undertake the pur- 
suit of hazardous actions for the good of others^ 
at the same time gratifying their passions for 
glory ; so do worthy minds in the domestic way 
of life deny themselves many advantages, to satis- 
fy a generous benevolence) vrbicYi >kt.^ ^^w ^ 

their friendi opprcswd with dittreitet and emim* 
mitiet. Such niiturct one mfty call stores of Pro- 
vidcncey which ure actuated by a secret celestial 
influence to undervuluc the ordinary H^ratifica- 
tions of wcalthi to give comfort to an heart loaded 
with afllictioni to save a falling familyy topreservo 
a branch of trade in their neighbourtioody to give 
work to the industriousi preserve the portion of 
the helpless infuntf and ruise the head of the 
mourning father. People whose hearts are wholly 
bent towards pleasure, or intent upon gain^ never 
heur of the noble occurrcncrv among men of in* 
dustry and humanity. It would look like a city 
romance, to tell thcn^ of the generous merchant! 
who the other day hont this billet to un eminent 
trader under dinkultics to su^>port himselff in 
whose full many hundreds hesidcH himself had 
pcr'iHhed : but brrausn I thhik there is more spi- 
rit uiul true );alluiitry in it than in any letter 1 have 
ever reud from Strrplion to Phtllis, I shall insert 
it even in the mercaniilc honest style in which it 
was sent: 


* I n AVR heard of the casuolitios which have 
involved yim in extreme distress at this timej 
imd knowuig you to be a man of great good-na« 
turc:, induMtry, and probitytlmvc resolved to stand 
by you. He ol' good cheer; tlic bcurcr brings 
with him live thousund i)oundH, and has my order 
to uhHwer your drawing us much more on my 
account. I did this in haste, for four I should 
come too late lor your relief; but you may value 
yourself with me to the sum of fifty thousand 
pounds ; for 1 can very cheerfully run the hazard 

Ko. dtt. SPECTATOtt; SSI 

of being so much less rich than I am now^ to save 
an honest man whom I love. 

Your friend and servant. 

W. S.'» 

I think there is somewhere in Montaigne men* 
tion made of a family-book, wherein all the 
occurrences that happened from one generation 
of that house to another were recorded. Wero 
there such a method in the femilies which are 
concerned in this generosity, it would be an hard 
task for the greatest in Europe to give in their 
own, an instance of a benefit better placed, or 
conferred with a more graceful air. It has been 
heretofore urged how barbarous and inhuman is 
any unjust step made to the disadvantage of a 
trader; and by how much such an act towards 
him is detestable, by so much an act of kindness 
towards him is laudable. I remember to have 
heard the bencher of the Temple tell a story of a 
tradition in their house, where they had formerly 
a custom of choosing kings for such a season, and 
allowing him his expenses at the charge of the 
society. One of our kings,! said my friend, 
carried his royal inclination a little too far, and 
there was a committee ordered to look into the 
management of his treasury. Among other things 
it appeared, that his majesty walking incog, in 
the cloister, had overheard a poor man say to ano* 
ther, ' Such a small sum would make me the 
happiest man in the world.' The king, out of 

* The merchant involved in distress hj oasualitiet was one 
lir. MoretOD, a linen-draper; and the generous merchant 
here so justly celebrated, was Sir William Soawen. 

fThis king, it is xaid, was beau Nash, director of the puh- 
Ije diversions at Bath, who waB in King WiUiara't time a tta- 
^^e&t IB the Tenple. 



. ^« 4 ' 111 

-- * 

• n'.i 

n^^*'.. \i*w 




Vs "^^^ 


I have in my forty-seventh paper raised a spe- 
culation on the notion of a modem philosopher* 
who describes the first motive of laughter to be a 
secret comparison which we make between our- 
selves and tlie persons we laugh at; or, in other 
wordsythat satisfaction which we receive from the 
opinion of some pre-eminence in ourselves, when 
we see the absurdities of another, or when we 
reflect on any past absurdities of our own. This 
seems to hold m most cases, and we* may observe 
that the vainest pai*t of mankind are the most 
addicted to this passion. 

I have read a sermon of a conventual in the 
church of Rome, on those words of the wise man, 
* I said of Laughter, it is mad ; and of Mirth, 
what does it?' Upon which he laid it down as a 
point of doctrine, that laughter was the effect of 
original sin, and that Adam could not laugh before 
the fall. 

Laughter, while it lasts, slackens and unbraces 
the Idiind, weakens the faculties, and causes a 
kind of remissness and dissolution in all the pow- 
ers of the soul ; and thus far it may be looked 
upon as a weakness in tlie composition of human 
nature. But if we consider the frequent reliefs 
we receive from it, and how often it breaks the 
gloom which is apt to depress the mind and damp 
our spirits, with transient unexpected gleams of 
joy^ one would take care not to grow too wise for 
so great a pleasure of life. 

The talent of turning men into ridicule, and 
exposing to laughter those one converses withy 
is the qualification of little ungenerous tempers. 
A young man with this cast of mind cuts himself 
off from ail manner of improvement. Every one 

* UobbeK 

*4 BPECTATCHk Ho. 941 

hat his flaws and weaknesses ; na^i the greates 
blemishes are often found in the most shinini 
characters ; but what an absurd thing is it to paai 
over all the valuable parts of a mani and fix ov 
attention on his infirmities ? to observe his imper 
fcctions more than his virtues ? and to make urn 
of him for the sport of othersi rather than for ooi 
own improvement f 

We therefore very often find^ that persons thi 
most accomplished in ridicule are those who an 
very shrewd at hitting a blot, without exertinf 
any thing masterly in themselves. As there an 
many eminent critics who never writ a good line 
there are many admirable buffoons that animad 
vert upon every single defect in another, withou 
ever discovering the least beauty of their own 
By this means, these unlucky little wits oftei 
gain reputation in the esteem of vulgar minds, an< 
raibc themselves above persons of much mon 
laudable characters. 

If the talent of ridicule were employed t 
laugh men out of vice and folly, it might be o 
some use to the world ; but instead of this, w< 
find that it is generally made use of to laugh mei 
out of virtue and good sense, by attacking ever 
thing that is solemn and serious, decent ant 
praiseworthy in human life. 

Wc may observe, that in the first ag^s of thi 
world, when the great souls and master-pieces o 
human nature were produced, men shined by i 
noble simplicity of behaviour, and were stranger 
to those little embellishments which are so &8h 
ionable in our present conversation. And it i 
very remarkable, that notwithstanding we fal 
short at present of the ancients in poetry, paint 
ini^, oratory, history, architecture, and ail the no 
hlo 4rts and sdcuQ^^ -tiYacJ^ d^^cud more upoi 

No. 919. SPECTATQB- ^ 

fretiius than experience, we exceed them as much 
in doggrel humour, burlesque, and all the trivial 
arts of ridicule. We meet with more raillery 
among the modems, but more good sense among 
the ancients. 

The two great branches of ridicule in writing 
are comedy and burlesque. The first ridicules 
persons by drawing them in their proper charac- 
ters, the other by drawing them quite unlike 
themselves. Burlesque is therefore of two kinds « 
the first represents mean persons in the accou- 
trements of heroes; the other describes great 
persons acting and speaking like the basest 
among the people. Don Quixote is an instance 
of the first, and Lucian's gods of the second. 
It is a dispute among the critics, whether bur- 
lesque poetry runs best in heroic verse, like that 
•f the Dispensary ; or in doggrel, like that of 
Hudibras. I think where the low character is to 
be raised, the heroic is the proper measure ; but 
when an hero is to be pulled down and degradedjt 
it is best done in doggrel. 

If Hudibras hud been set out with as much wit 
and humour in heroic verse as he is in doggrel, 
he would have made a much more agreeable 
figure than he does ; though the generality of his 
readers are so wonderfully pleased with the dou- 
ble rhymes, that I do not expect many will be of 
my opinion in this particular. « 

I shall conclude this essay upon laughter with 
observing that the metaphor of laughing, applied 
to fields and meadows when they are in flower, 
or to trees when they are in blossom, runs through 
all languages ; which I have not observed of any 
other metaphor, excepting that of fire and burn- 
ing when they are applied to love. This shew^ 
that we naturally regard \aw^\\Xftt, ^^ "^V^v v^Vx 

VOL. XV, z 

fM tPEGTATOB. lio.iillt 

itself both amiable and beaaUfol. For thb 
reaaon likewise Venus has gained the title of 
^tX^f^thif < the laug;hter*loving dame,* as Waller 
has translated it, and is represented by Ho-> 
race as the c;oddess who delights in laugh- 
ter. Milton, m a joyous assembly of imaginary 
persons, has ^ven us a very poetical figure of 
laughter. His whole band of mirth is so finely 
descril>ed, that I shall set down the passage at 
fength : 

But eome, thou goddetn fur and free. 

In hcmven jelctH.*d* Euj^hruffjne, 

And by men, licart-caMng nt'irth. 

Whom Unftlj Venut at a birth 

Witli two lister Graccfi more. 

To ivy -crowned Bacchut bore. 

Ilaitethee nymph, and bring witli tbcv 

Jtmt and youthful jollity, 

Qniut, and eniitks, and wanton wilex, 

NocU, and beck*, nnd wreuthed uniilet, 

Such A% iiHri)( on lle)H;*s eUvvk, 

And love to live in diuiplr nlcck ; 

Sport that wrinkled Care <l<'nd('fl. 

And Lfttighter hoUling both hit siden. 

Come, and trip it as you go. 

On the liglit faiitantic tf>e : 

And in thy right hand lead with thee 

The mountain nymnh, Hwct-t Liberty ^ 

And if I give tliee mmour due, 

IVIirth, admit me of thy crew 

To live with her, and live with thee. 

In unreprrjved pleaiures, free. 

L'alleoro v. If, he, 

* i. e. called— —Eaphroiyoe it the name of one of the 
(^i^acet. C. 

1^0.250. SPECTATOR.. fi67 

No. 250. MONDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1711. 

Disce docendua aJhuc, qua censet amicultts, ut H 
Cacu8 iter numstrare velit; tamen a$pice ti quid 
JEt no8, quod cures propriumfecitte, ioquamur, 

HoR. £p. 1. xvii. 3. 

Yet hear what an unsldlffd friend can saj: 
As if a blind man should direct your way; 
So I myself the' wanting to be taught. 
May yet impart a hintthat^t worth your thought 


^ You see the nature of my request by the Latin 
motto which I address to you. I am very sensi- 
ble I ought not to use many words to you, who 
are one of but few ; but the following piece as 
it relates to speculation, in propriety of speech, 
being a curiosity in its kind, begs your patience. 
It was found in a poetical virtuoso's closet 
among his rarities ; and since the several treatises 
of thumbs, ears, and noses, have obliged the 
world, this of eyes is at your service. 

" The first eye of consequence (under the in- 
visible Author of All) is the visible luminary of 
the universe. This glorious Spectator is said 
never to open his eyes at his rising in a morning, 
without having a whole kingdom of adorers in 
Persian silk waiting at his levee. Millions of 
creatures derive their sight from this original, 
who besides his being the great director of op- 
tics, is the surest test whether eyes be of the 
same species with that of an eagle, or that of an 
owl. The one he emboldens with a manly assu- 
rance to look, speak, act, or plead before the 
faces of a numerous assembly \ tlv^ oxV^ftT \nr \^a*- 

«AI SFRCTAtOR. No. S50i 

z\t% out of countenance into a shccpUh deject- 
cdncss. The sun-proof eye dares lead up a 
dunce in u full court ; und without blinkinj^ at 
the lustre of beuuty, can distribute an eye of pro- 
per coniplaittuncc to a room crowded villi coini>a- 
ny, each of which deserves puriicular regard: 
while the other sneaks from conversation, like a 
fearful debtor who never dares to look out, but 
when he can see no lK>dy, and no body him. 

*< The next instance of optics is the famous 
Argus, who (to speak the language of Cambridge) 
was one of a hundred; and being used as a spy in 
the affairs of jealousy, was obliged to have all his 
eyes about him* We have no account of the par- 
ticular colours, casts, and turns of this body of 
eyes ; but us he was pimp for his mistress Junoy 
it is probable ho used all the modern leers, sly 
glances, and other ocular activities to serve his 
pui'iMise. Some look ui>on him as tlie then king 
at arms to the heathenish deities ; and make no 
more of his eyes than of so many spangles of his 
herald's coat. 

^* The next upon the optic list is old Janus, who 
stood in a double-sighted capacity, like a person 
placed betwixt two opposite looking-glasses, and 
so took a sort of retrospective cast at one view. 
Copies of ttiis double-faced way are not yet out 
of tashion with many professions, and the inge* 
nious artists pretend to keep up this species by 
doul)le-headed canes and spoons ; but there is no 
mark of tJiis faculty, except in tiie emblematical 
way, of a wise general having an eye to both 
front and rear, or a pious man taking a review 
and prospect of iiis past and future state at the 
same time. 

^^ 1 must own, tliat the names, colours, quali- 
tieSf and luvin ot e^i^ ^'^v^j ;diuost in evcrji 

No. 250. SPECTATOR. $69 

head ; for, not to mention the common appella- 
tions of the black, the blue, the white, the grey, 
and the like ; the most remarkable are those that 
borrow their titles from animals, by virtue of 
some particular quality of resemblance they bear 
to the eyes of the respective creatures ; as that 
of a greedy rapacious aspect takes its name from 
the cat, that of a sharp piercing nature from the 
hawk, those of an amorous roguish look derive 
their title even from the sh^cp, and we say such a 
one has a sheep's-eye, not so much to denote the 
innocence as the simple slyness of the cast. Nor 
is this metaphorical inoculation a modern inven- 
tion, for we find Homer taking the freedom to 
place the eye of an ox, bull, or cow in one of his 
principal goddesses, by that frequent expression 

fiooTTi; 'GTonfta 'Hptf— — — 
The ox-eyed venerable Junq. 

" Now as to the peculiar qualities of the eye, 
that fine part of our constitution seems as much 
, the receptacle and seat of our passions, appetites, 
and inclinations as the mind itself; and at least it 
is the outward portal to introduce them to the 
house within, or rather the common thoroughfare 
to let our afiections pass in and out. Love, anger, 
pride, and avarice, all visibly move in those little 
orbs. I know a young lady that cannot see a 
certain gentleman pass by without shewing a 
secret desire of seeing him again by a dance in 
her eye-balls ; nay, she cannot for the heart of 
her, help looking half a street's length after any 
man in a gay dress. You cannot behold a covet- 
ous spirit walk by a goldsmith's shop without 
casting a wishful eye at the heaps upon the coun- 
ter. Does not a haughty person sh^yr \]!\^ x.^xs^'^^'^ 


S70 8FKCTAT0B. Ifo. £50. 

of hit soul in the supercilious roll of his eye ; 
unci how frequently in the hei^^ht of passion does 
that moving picture in our head start and stare, 
gather a redness and quick flashes of lightningt 
and make all its humours sparkle with fire as Vir- 
gil finely describes it^ 

JrJeniU ab 

SeintitU obmtunt : o c v l i s mUat acrifnf igfd$. 

jEm. uL 101. 

-From liit wide noilrib 

A fiery ttrcam, and tpmrklet from hit ejet. 


^ As for the various turns of the eye-sight, suck 
as the voluntary or involuntary, the half or the 
whole leer, 1 sliall not enter into a very particular 
account of them ; but let me observe, that ob« 
liquc; vision, when natural, was anciently tliemark 
ot bcwitchcry and magical faHcination, and to this 
day it is a malignant ill look ; but when it is forced 
and affected, it carries a wanton design, and in 
play-houses, and other public places, this ocular 
intimation is often an assignation for bad practi- 
ces. But this irregularity in vision, together 
with such enormities, as tipping the wink, the 
circumspective roll, the side-peep through a thin 
hood or fan, must be put in the class of Heter- 
optics, as all wrong notions of religion are ranked 
under the general name of Heterodox. Ail the 
pernicious applications of sight are more imme- 
diately under the direction of a Spectator, and I 
hope )uii \\ill arm your readers against the mis- 
chicia which arc daily done by killing eyes, in 
which you will highly oblige your wounded un- 
known fiichd, T. B," 


'You profcs%ed\w^t,N^T5\'^'a:^^t^ your par- 
ticular cndcaY0UTs*uiVV^ev^0N\xi^^^*^'b^^O5iiti^\fc 

iCo. 250, SPECTATOB. 871 

correct the offences committed by Starers, who 
disturb whole assemblies .without any regard to 
time, place, or modesty. You complained also, 
that a stare r is not usually a person to be convin- 
ced by the reason of the thing nor so easily re- 
buked as to amend by admonitions. I thought 
therefore fit to acquaint you with a convenient 
mechanical way, which may easily prevent or cor- 
rect staring, by an optical contrivance of new 
perspective-glasses, short and commodious like 
opera-glasses, fit for short-sighted people as well 
as others, these glasses making the objects ap- 
pear either as they are seen by the naked eye, or 
more distinct, though somewhat less than life, or 
bigger and nearer. A person may, by the help 
of this invention, take a view of another without 
the impertinence of staring ; at the same time it 
shall not be possible to know whom or what he is 
looking at. One may look towards his right or 
left hand, when he is supposed to look forwards. 
This is set torth at large in the printed proposals 
for the sale of these glasses, to be had at Mr. Dil- 
lon's in Long-acre, next door to the White-Hart. 
Now, sir, as your Spectator has occasioned the 
publishing of this invention for the benefit of 
modest spectators, the inventor desires your ad- 
monitions concerning the decent use of it ; and 
hopes, by your recommendation, that for the fu- 
ture beauty may be beheld without the torture and 
confusion which it suffers from the insolence of 
starers. By this means you will relieve the inno- 
cent from an insult which there is no law to pun- 
ish, though it is a greater offence than many which 
are within the cognizance of justice. 

I am, SIR, 
Your most humble servant, 

er« ' SPBCTATOB. Ka itf . 

No. 251. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1711. 

""^Ldngrtut centum tunt, oraque cerUu$Hf 

Ferrea vox Virc. JEn. yi. 685, 

—A hundred niouthit a hundred toDcuety 
And throaU of iMitM intpir'd with iroa lungt. 


There is nothing which more astonishes a 
foreigner, and frights a country squire, than the 
Cries of London. My good friend Sir Roger of- 
ten declares that he cannot get them out of his 
head or go to sleep for them, the first week that 
he is in town. On the contrary, Will Honeycomb 
calls them the Ramage de la ViUcy and prefers 
them to the sound of lurks and nightingales, with 
all the music of the fields and woods. I have 
lately received a letter from some very odd fel- 
low upon this subject, which I shall leave with 
my reader, without saying any thing further of it 

< SIR, 

' I AM a man out of all business, and would 
willingly turn my head to any thing for an honest 
livelihood. I have invented several projects for 
raising many millions of money without burden- 
ing the subject, but I cannot get the parliament 
to listen to mc, who look upon me, forsooth, as a 
crack, and a projector ; so that despairing to en- 
rich either myself or my country by this public- 
spiritedness, I would make some proposals to you 
relating to a design which I have very much at 
heart, and which may procure me a handsome sub- 
sistence, if you will be pleased to recommend it 
lo the cities oi Loudou «a\Ci^N<i^vaiuvster, 

No. 251. SPECTATOR. S^ 

< The post I would aim at, is to be comptroller- 
general of the London Cries, which are at present 
under no manner of rules or discipline. I think 
I am pretty well qualified for this place, as being 
a man of very strong lungs, of great insight into 
ail the branches of our British trades and manu- 
factures, and of a competent skill in music. 

* The Cries of London may be divided into vo- 
cal and instrumental. As for the latter, they are 
at present under a very gi'eat disorder. A free- 
man of London has the privilege of disturbing a 
whole street for an hour together, with the twan- 
ging of a brass-kettle or frying-pan. The watch- 
man's thump at midnight startles us in our beds, 
as much as the breaking in of a thief. The sow- 
geider's horn has indeed something musical in 
It, but this is seldom heard within the liberties. 
I would therefore propose, that no instrument of 
this nature should be made use of, which I have 
not tuned and liceitted, after having carefully ex- 
anuned in what manner it may affect the ears of 
her majesty's liege subjects. 

^ Vocal cries are of a much larger extent, and 
indeed so full of incongruities and barbarisms, 
that we appear a distracted city to foreigners, 
who do not comprehend the meaning of such, 
enormous outcries. Milk is generally sold in a 
note, above E-la, and in sounds so exceeding 
shrill, that it often sets our teeth on edge. Th^ 
chimney-sweeper is confined to no certain pitch ; 
he sometimes utters himself in the deepest base, 
and sometimes in the sharpest treble ; sometimes 
in the highest, and sometimes in the lowest note 
of the gamut. The same observation might be 
made on the retailers of small-coal, not to men- 
tion broken glasses, or brick-dust. In these 
therefore; md the like cases U &UquV^\^^ tbi:*] ^^^^^ 

■ t 

ri KPFin'ATOH. No. «9t. 

(o Kwrrtru and incllow tin* voicrB of these itine- 
rant truflrHinrn, lM:i'orn they make their appear* 
unrr ill our HtrrrtH, uh uIao to ur.ioniinorlute their 
nien to their rcHpertive wuren; and to take care 
in purticulur, that those may nut make the most 
noine who have the h'.ast to Hell, which in very oh' 
nervahle in the venflrrHol' card-matches, to whom 
I cannot hnt apply that old prove rh of ** Much cry 
but littlf wcHil.** 

* Some of iheHC hist mentionrd munirians are 
so very loud in thi: Hide of thrse trifling manufar- 
tureH, thai uii honrnt Hplen(;tic f^rntlrnian of my 
at (|iKiiniaii(:r iMrt^ainc-d with one of them never 
to ( ome into tlie street where he lived. Hut 
^hat was the elVect of this contract? Why the 
whole trihe. of card-inatrh-makrrH which fretpient 
that (|tiart«-r, passed hy his door the very next 
dayf in hopi s of hein^r bou};lit ofl* after the same 

* It IS another jjreat imperfection in our l/)n- 
don (-lies, that there, is no just time nor measure 
ot>sri-\rd in them. Our news should indec.rl be 
pnhiished in a very (jui(.k tinu*, because it is a 
conniifMiiiy ili.u will not keep rold. It shouhl not 
howevt Tf b'.- eried with the same pre( ipitation ufi 
fire. Y< t this is j;en«'r;dly the case. A bloody 
battle abunis the town friMU one end to another in < 
an inst.iitl. I'.vei'y motion of the l''rench is pub- 
lished in so };reiil a Inn ry, that one would tliiiik 
the enemy were »t our ^^atcH. 'I'his likewise I 
would t«ike upon mett) ref^uj.tte in such a manner 
that there should Ik; som* distinciion nuide Im:- 
tweiMi the s|)rea(lin}^ ol a vh tory, a march, or un 
rncanipnienl, a Dutch, a Por(U);al, or u SpaniHh 
Tiiail. Nor must 1 omit uiitU r this head those eX' 
ces.sive- alarms with whi( h several boisterous rus- 
;ic.s infest ouv hVyv^^V^ \\\ Vsiwdv^-Hcuson ; and 


No. 251. SPECTATOR. S7p 

which are more inexcusable, because these are 
wares which are in no danger of cooling upon 
their hands. 

* There are others who affect a very slow time, 
and are in my opinion much more tunable than 
the former. The cooper in particular swells his 
last note in an hollow voice, that is not without 
its harmony ; nor can I forbear being inspired 
with a most agreeable melancholy, when I hear 
that sad and solemn air witli which the public are 
very often asked, if they have any chairs to mend f 
Your own memory may sut^gest to you many 
other lamentable ditties of the same nature, in 
which the music is wonderfully languishing and 

' I am always pleased with that particular time 
•f the year which is proper for the pickling of 
dill and cucumbers ; but alas ! this cry, like the 
song of the nightingale, is not heard above two 
months. It would therefore be worth while to 
consider, whether the same air might not in some 
cases be adapted to other words. 

* It might likewise deserve our most serious 
consideration, how far, in a well regulated city, 
those humourists are to be tolerated, who not 
contented with the traditional cries of their fore- 
fathers, have invented particular songs and tunes 
of their own : such as was, not many years since, 
the pastry-man, commonly known by the name of 
the Colly-Molly-Puff;* and such as is at this day 
the vender of powder and wash-balls, who, if I am 

* This little man was but jast able to support the basket of 
pastry which he carried on his head, and sung in a very pecu- 
liar tone the cant woHs which passed into his name Collj- 
Molly-Pu(f. There is a half sheet print of him in the Set of 
Lipndon Cries, M. Lauron, del, P. Tempest, exc, Grainger's 
Biographical Uistorj of EDglanii 

%7T 8PECT ATOR. Vo. «8f . 

rif^htlf informed, goes under the name of Powder. 

* I must not here omit one particular absurdity 
which runs through this whole vociferous gcner* 
ation, and which renders their cries very often not 
only incommodious, but altogether useless to the 
public. I mean, that idle accomplishment which 
thev all of them aim at, of crying so as not to b% 
unaerstood. Whether or no they have learned 
this from several of our affected singers, I i^iU 
not take upon me to say ; but most certain it is, 
that people know the wares they deal in rather by 
their tunes than by their words ; insomuch that 
I have sometimes seen a country boy run out to 
buy apples of a bellows*mender, and ginger-bread 
from a grinder of knives and scissars. Nay, so 
strangely hifaluatcd arc some very eminent artists 
of this particular grace in a cry, that none but 
their acquaintance arc able to guess at their pro- 
fession ; for who else can know, that " work if I 
** had it," should be the signification of a com- 

* For as much therefore as persons of this rank 
are seldom men of genius or capacity, I think it 
would be proper that sonic man of good sense 
and sound judgment should preside over these 
public cries, who should permit none to lift up 
their voices in our streets, that have not tunable 
throats, and are not only able to overcome the 
noise of the crowd, and the rattling of coaches, 
but also to vend their respective merchandises IB 
apt phrases, and in the most distinct and agreea- 
ble sounds. 1 do therefore humbly recommend 
myseli' as a person rightly qualilicd for this post; 
and if I meet with fitting encouragement, shall 
communiciitfj some other projects which I have 


by met that majF' no less conduce to the emolu- 
ment of the public. 

I anH SIR, &c. 
C. Ralph Crotchet. 

No. 252. WEDNESDAY, DEC. 19, 1711. 

ErranH, pasnmque octihuper cuncta ferenH. 

ViBG. Sro*. 

Bxploring ev'iy place with carioas ejes. 

* I AM very sorry to find by your discourse upon 
the eye, that you have not thoroughly studied the 
nature and force of that part of a beauteous face. 
Had you ever been in love, you would have said 
ten thousand things, which it seems did not occur 
to you. Do but reflect upon the nonsense it 
rnakes men talk, the flames which it is said to kin- 
dle, the transport it raises, the dejection it causes 
in the bravest men ; and if you do believe those 
things are expressed to an extravagance, yet you 
will own, that the influence of it is very greats 
which moves men to that extravagance. Certain 
it is, that the whole strength of the mind is some- 
times seated there ; that a kind look imparts all 
that a year's discourse could give you, in one mo* 
ment. What matters it what she says to you, 


With various power the wonder-working eye 
Can awe, or tooth, reelaim, or lead astmy. 
The motto in the ori^al folio was difierent, and likcivift 
taken from Virg. Eel. ih. 103. 

JWf ao 9NM (efterof ocfi/t<« miAi /aicinat agT\^^. 

\OV. IV. A A 


<< r,cp. how she looks,'* is the lan|(uagc of all who 
know what lovr. is. When the miiKl is thus 
sill limed up and expressed in a glance, did you 
n('V(?r observe a sudden joy arise in the countc^- 
aiirc of a lover ? Did you never see the attendance 
of yrars i>aid, overpaid in an instant? You a 
S|)C'c- tutor, and not knr>w that the intelligence o( 
aficction is curried on by the eye only; that good- 
breeding has nuidc the tongue falsify the hcarti 
and art a part of continual restraint, while nature 
has preserved the eyes to herself, that she may 
fiot be diKguised or mis-represented. The poor 
bride can give her hand, and suv, ^* I do," with a 
]an^uishiIig air, to the man she is obliged by cruel 
parents to take for mercenary reasons, but at the 
same time she cannot look as if she loved ; her 
eyr ib full of sorrow, and reluctance sits in a tear, 
wliile the ofFrriiig of a sacrifice is |>erformed in 
wliiil wc mil tlic marriage ccrcinoiiy. Do you 
never go io plu) s ^ Cannot you (lisiinguihli between 
l!ur eyes of those who go to see, from those who 
( OMie lo be seen < I am a woman turned of thirty, 
and am on the observation a little ; therefore if you, 
or your (.orrespondent,lia(l consulted nie iu your 
dib( oursc on the eye, 1 could have told you tliat 
ilic ( ye of Leonora is slily watchful while it looks 
ne^li^eni ; she looks round her without the help 
oi the glusses yo\i speak of, and yet seems to be 
eiiipi(;yt!d on otjjects directly before her. This ' 
eye ir, what afTerts chance-medley, and on a sud- 
dill, as it it attended to anotlurr thing, lunis all 
ils ( h.iriiis u};ainsi an o);lcr. The cyeoT Lusitania 
is an iiistriimeni of ]>remeditated murder; ijut the 
design being visible, dc;siroys the execution of 
il; and wiiii much more beamy than that of Leo- 
i.*ora, it is not half so inisciuevous. There is » 
''i\*\ c .soUlicv's i\tv.\\\r\\V^v\\\VviNN\\vV.\vgjt bv her cvc 

Mp.s5^ aTECTAToii. m 

has been the deatb. of more than evec her father 
ipade fly before him. A beautiful eye makes si- 
lence eloquent, a kind eye makes contradiction an 
assent) an enraged eye makes beauty deformed, 
^his little member gives life to every other part 
about uSy and I believe the story of Ai^usimpliesi 
|)0 more, than that the eye is in everjlpirt; that is 
to say, every other part would be mutilated, were 
not its force represented more by the eye than 
even by itself. But this is heathen Greek, to those 
vho have not conversed by glances. This, sir, is 
a language in which there can be no deceit, nor 
can a skilful observer be imposed upon by looks, 
even among politicians and courtiers. If you do 
xnc the honour to print this among your specula- 
tions, I shall in my next make you a present of 
secret history, by translating all the looks of the 
next assembly of ladies and gentlemen into words, 
to adorn some future paper. 

I am, SIR, 

Your faithful friend, 
Mart Heartfree.* 

^ mr. spectator, 

^ I HAVE a SOI of a husband that lives a very 
scandalous life ;. who wastes away his body and 
fortune in debaucheries ; and is iumoveable to all 
the arguments I can urge to him. I would gladly 
know whether in some cases a cudgel may not be 
allowed as a good figure of speech, and whe-> 
thcr it may not be lawfully used by a female ora- 

Your humble servant, 
Bah9ara Crabtrke.' 

8RCTAT0R Va asif 


* Thovgii I ftm a practitioner in the law of 
some fttandinfi;* and hare heard many eminent 
pleaders in my time, as well aa other eloquent 
apoakrrt of iKith universitieai yet I agree with 
you, that women are better qualified to succeed 
in oratory flkn the men, and believe this is to be 
resolved into natural causes. You hare mention- 
ed only the volubility of their tongues ; but wimt 
do you think of the silent flattery of their pretty 
faces, and the persuasion which even an insipid 
discourse carries with it when flowing from beau- 
tiful lips, to which it would be cruel to deny any 
thing r It is certain too, that they arc possessed of 
some sprinf^s of rhetoric which men want, such 
us tears, fainting fits, and the like, which I have 
seen employed upon occasion, with good success. 
You must know that I am a plain man, and loft 
my money ; yet I have a spouse who is so great an 
orator in this way, that she draws from me what 
sums she pleases. Every room in my house is 
iiiriiiblicd with trophies of her eloquence, rich 
cabinets, piles of china, japan screens, and costly 
jars ; and if you were to come into my great par- 
lour, you would fancy yourself in an India ware- 
house. Besides this she keeps a squirrel, and I 
am doubly taxed to pay for the china he breaks. 
8hc is seized with periodica! fits about the time 
of the subscriptions to a new opci*u, and is 
drowned in tears after liaving seen any woman 
there in finer clothes than herself. These are arts 
of persuasion purely feminine, and which a tender 
heart cannot resist. What I would therefore de- 
sire of youi is, to prevail with your friend who has 
promised to dissect a female tongue, that he 
ivouJd at llie same time give us the anatomy of 
a fcnialc eye andcxpVivwvYv^ ^Y^Vtv^^^jxdUuiccl 

No. 255. 8PECTAT0K. 3tl 

which feed it with such ready supplies of mois- 
ture ; and likewise shew by what means, if possi- 
ble, they may be stopped at a reasonable expense. 
Or indeed, since their is something so moving in 
the very image of weeping beauty, it would b% 
worthy his art to provide, that these eloquent drops 
may no more be lavished on trifles, or employed 
as servants to their wayward wills ; but reserved 
for serious occasions in life, to adorn generous 
pity, true penitence, or real sorrow. 

T. lam, &c.* 

No. 253. THURSDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1711. 

Indignor quicguam reprehendi, non quia craaae 
Compositunif illepideve piitetur, sea quia imper\: 

Hon. 1 Ep. it 7j6, 

I feel ray honest indignation rise. 
When with aftecLed air a coxcomb cries. 
The work I own has elegance and ease. 
But sure no modern should pretend to please. 


There is nothing which more denotes a great 
mind than the abhorrence of envy and detraction. 
This passion reigns more among bad poets than 
among any other set of men.^ 

As there are none more ambitious of fame, than 
those who are conversant in poetry, it is very na- 
tural for such as have not succeeded in it to de- 
preciate the works of those who have. For since 
they cannot raise themselves to the reputation of 
their fellow-writers, they must endeavour to sink 
that to their own pitch, if they would still kcc^ 
themselves upon a level mlli tYvem* 


The greatett wils that ever were produced in 
one age, lived together in to good au understand- 
ingy and celebrated one another with ao much 
frcncroaity, that each of them receives an addi- 
tionul lustre from his contcmporariesyand is more 
famous for having lived with men of so extra- 
ordinary a genius, than if he had himself been the 
sole wonder of the age. I need not tell mj read- 
er, that I here point at the reign of Augustus, 
and I believe he will be of my opinion, that nei- 
ther Virgil nor Horace would have gained so 
great a reputation in the, world, had they not been 
the friends and adnui*ers of each other. Indeed 
all tiie great wriicrs of that age, for whom singly 
wc have so great an esteem, stand up together as 
voucher*:} for one luiother's reputation. But at 
the same time that Virgil was celebrated by Gal- 
lus, Fropcrtius, Horace, Varius, Tucca, and Ovid, 
we know that Havius and Klxvius were his decla- 
red foes and calumniators. 

In our own counii^ a man seldom sets up for a 
poet, without atiacking tlic reputation of all his 
brf)thers in the art. The ignorance of the mo- 
derns, tiie bcribblers of the age, the decay of 
poetry, are tlie topics of detraction with which he 
makes his entrance into the world: Ijut how much 
more noble is the fume that is built on candour 
and ingenuity, according to those beautiful lines 
of Sir John Denham, in his poem on Fletcher's 
ivorks I 

Hut whitlicr am I itrayM? I need not raise 
I'l-dphu-ii to thee I'roin other mcu'N dibpraise : 
Ndi* in th> liinK* on Icbser niins huilt, 
Mor iiec<Uthyjiiiiter tillt; tJie foul (piilt 
Of K:iitt«:i'ii kiiigit, who to secure their reign. 
Must have Uieir bi'oUicri, aons, and kindred ikuo. 

No. 3 JJ. SPECTATOE. 1^ 

I am sorry to find that an author, who is very 
justly esteemed among^ the best judges, has ad- 
mitted some strokes of this nature into a very 
fine poem ; I mean the Art of Criticism,* which 
was published some months since, and is a 
master-piece in its kind. The observations fol- 
low one another like those in Horace's Art of 
Poetry, without that methodical regularity which 
would have been requisite in a prose author. They 
are some of them uncommon, but such as the 
reader must assent to, when he sees them ex- 
plained with that elegance and perspicuity ia 
which they are delivered. As for those which 
are the most known, and the most received, they 
are placed in so beautiful a light, and illustrated 
with such apt allusions, that they have in them all 
the graces of novelty, and make the reader, who 
was before acquainted with them, still more con- 
vinced of their truth and solidity. And here give 
me leave to mention what Monsieur Boileau has 
so very well enlarged upon in the preface to his 
works, that wit and fine writing do not consist so 
much in advancing things that are new, as in 
giving things that are known an agreeable turn. 
It is impossible for us, who live in the latter ages 
of the world, to make observations in criticism, 
morality, or in any art or science, which have not 
been touched upon by others. We have little 
else left us, but to represent the common sense 
of mankind in more strong, more beautiiul, or 
more uncommon lights. If a reader examines 
Horace's Art of Poetry, he will find but very few 
precepts in it, which he may not meet with in 
Aristotle, and which were not commonly known 

* See Pope's vorks. vol. t. p. 201. 6 toIs, Edit. Lend. ISmtf. 

•M tflCTATOK. 

»all the potti of the AuffUttin i(e. Hit wqr 
espreMmg Mid •pplylnf thenif not hU inrtnfte 
#f thenif b mhu we are cEiefljr to admire. 

For this reason I think there is nothing in tiie 
vorld so tiresone as the works of tliose crilles 
who write in a positive doniatie waft wklmit 
either language, genius, or ima|lnation> If the 
reader would see how the best of the Latin critics 
wrote, he majr fiod their maimer Tcrjr beautifitlif 
described in the characters of Horace, Petroniusi 
Quintiiian, and Lionginus, as they are dn^ hi 
the essajr of which I am now speaking. 

Since I have mentioned Longinus, who in hb 
reflections has given us the same kind of sub* 
lime, which he observes in the several passages 
that occasioned them ; I cannot but take notice 
that our English uuihor has after the same man* 
ner cxeniplified several of his precepts in the 
very precepts ihomnelves. I shall produce two 
or three iiiHtuiices of this kind. Speaking of the 
insipid smoothness which some readers are so 
much in love with, he has the following verses : 

Tliete eqiiftl tyllftUef uUme require, 
I'hougli oft thtf ear ihu 0|><?ii voweli tire, 
WkU« expl«Uvet tlieir feeUtt mM dojoint 
AiiU teu low wurdf oft ereep in one dull liM. 

The guping of the vowels hi the second line, 
the expletive * do' in the third, and the ten mo- 
noHyllables in the fourth, give such a beauty to 
this passage, as would have been very much ad- 
mired in an ancient poet. The reader nmy ob- 
serve the following lines in the same view t 

A needlcM ^lexaiulrlae endtthe longt 

'riimt likii K wouiidtd uit^ui driig* lu ilow lengtb 


* Hce. Rffttv on Ui« (ituiuft tnd WriUogi of Pope, lest. 111. 
p. 97, 2d. 17CI. 

j^ £S3. BFBOTATmL $f$ 

And afterwards, 

^is not enoQgh oo hatthnes^ ginefft oWsnce, 
The found muit seem an eeho to the sense. 
Soft i^the sirtin when Zephyr gently blows. 
And the smooth 8t]:eam in smoother numbers flows : ■ 
'But wh6n loud surges lash the sounding shore. 
The hoarse rough Terse ahootd like the torrent rdir. 
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw. 
The line too labours, and the words mtive slow ; 
!Xot so, when swift Camilla seours the plain. 
Flies o*er th' unbending eom, and skhns along the main;' 

The beautiful distich i]ipon Ajax in the forego- 
ing lines puts me in mind of a description in Ho- 
mer's Odyssey, nvhich none of the critics have ta-^ 
ken notice of. It is where Sisyphus is represent- 
ed lifting his stone up the hill, which is no sooner 
carried to the top of it, but it immediately tum- 
bles to the bottom. This double motion of the 
stone is admirably described in the numbers of 
these verses ; as in the four first it is heaved up 
by several spondees intermixed with proper 
breathing places, and at last trundles down in a 
continued line of dactyls : 

KotX fAfiv Ziavfo¥ tla-uiwy xpctrcp' aXye' E;^oyla, 

Htm fJLVf o*x»>f *9rl&/Ae»05 X'?^*" '*'* <«roo-<v tc , 
Aoav aw t/Qtaxt taoll Xo^v* aX\* art /meXXoi 

Aurts ETCikc vTE^y^c xvXiy^sro Xacc^ avai^rii. 

Odyss. 1. 11. 

1 tum'd my e^e, and as I tnm'd surveyed 
A mournful vision ! the Sis3rphian shade : 
With many a weary step, and many a gi*oan. 
Up the high hill he heaves a huge rouud stoi^e: 
The huge round stone, resulting with a bound. 
Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the groanil* 


It would be endless to quote verses out of Vir- 
gil whish have this particular ^k^xi^ ol \>^^>^x.^ v^ 

m tnct ATlMt Wa Mf . 

the numbers ; but I majr take an occftiion in a 
futurr paprr to thew MvenI of them which have 
•ftfMped the o^fMsrireUfin of others. 

I cannot conclude thii paper without ukinff no- 
tice that we have three poem» in our tongue, 
which are of the lame naturet and each of titcm 
a maaterpiecr in iu liind ; the* Kaaajr on Traiit- 
kted Vcrac, the Eaaajr on tlie Art of Poetry, and 
the Kttay upon Criiiciatn. C*. 

* BjthtEAriof KoMamiiKia. 

KND or vor.. IV. 


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