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Title: The Spectator, Volume 2.
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No. 203.                  Tuesday, October 23, 1711.            Addison.

  Phoebe pater, si das hujus mihi nominis usum,
  Nec falsa Clymene culpam sub imagine celat;
  Pignora da, Genitor

  Ov. Met.

There is a loose Tribe of Men whom I have not yet taken Notice of, that
ramble into all the Corners of this great City, in order to seduce such
unfortunate Females as fall into their Walks. These abandoned
Profligates raise up Issue in every Quarter of the Town, and very often,
for a valuable Consideration, father it upon the Church-warden. By this
means there are several Married Men who have a little Family in most of
the Parishes of London and Westminster, and several Batchelors who
are undone by a Charge of Children.

When a Man once gives himself this Liberty of preying at large, and
living upon the Common, he finds so much Game in a populous City, that
it is surprising to consider the Numbers which he sometimes propagates.
We see many a young Fellow who is scarce of Age, that could lay his
Claim to the Jus trium Liberorum, or the Privileges which were granted
by the Roman Laws to all such as were Fathers of three Children: Nay,
I have heard a Rake [who [1]] 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 these young
Patriarchs, not to mention several batter'd 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 particular Whim of an Impudent Libertine, that
had a little Smattering of Heraldry; and observing how the Genealogies
of great Families were often drawn up in the Shape of Trees, had taken a
Fancy to dispose of his own illegitimate Issue in a Figure of the same

 --Nec longum tempus et ingens
  Exiit ad coelum ramis felicibus arbos,
  Miraturque novas frondes, et non sua poma.

  Virg. [2]

The Trunk of the Tree was mark'd with his own Name, Will Maple. Out of
the Side of 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 Arm of the Tree had only a
single Infant in it, with a Space left for a second, the Parent from
whom it sprung being near her Time when the Author took this Ingenious
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 short, a more flourishing Tree
never came out of the Heralds Office.

What makes this Generation of Vermin so very prolifick, is the
indefatigable Diligence with 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 Business. They might
conquer their corrupt Inclinations with half the Pains they are at in
gratifying them.

Nor is the Invention of these Men less to be admired than their Industry
or Vigilance. There is a Fragment of Apollodorus the Comick Poet (who
was Contemporary with Menander) which is full of Humour as follows:
Thou mayest shut up thy Doors, says he, with Bars and Bolts: It will be
impossible for the Blacksmith to make them so fast, but a Cat and a
Whoremaster will find 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 infamous 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 Crime with Death;
but I think such a Banishment would be sufficient, and might turn this
generative Faculty to the Advantage of the Publick.

In the mean time, till these Gentlemen may be thus disposed of, I would
earnestly exhort them to take Care of those unfortunate Creatures whom
they have brought into the World by these indirect Methods, and to give
their spurious Children such an Education as may render them more
virtuous 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 Mis-carriages.

I would likewise desire them to consider, whether they are not bound in
common Humanity, as well as by all the Obligations of Religion and
Nature, to make some Provision for those whom they have not only given
Life to, but entail'd upon them, [tho very unreasonably, a Degree of]
Shame and [Disgrace. [3]] 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 look'd upon as
Reproaches, and that the [Ignominy [4]] which is only due to Lewdness
and Falsehood, should fall in so unreasonable a manner upon the Persons
who [are [5]] 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 general Opinion of the World are
  counted both Infamous and Unhappy.

  My Father is a very eminent Man in this Kingdom, and one who bears
  considerable Offices in it. I am his Son, but my Misfortune is, That I
  dare not call him Father, nor he without Shame own me as his Issue, I
  being illegitimate, and therefore deprived of that endearing
  Tenderness and unparallel'd Satisfaction which a good Man finds in the
  Love and Conversation of a Parent: Neither have I the Opportunities to
  render him the Duties of a Son, he having always carried himself at so
  vast a Distance, and with such Superiority towards me, that by long
  Use I have contracted a Timorousness when before him, which hinders me
  from declaring my own Necessities, and giving him to understand the
  Inconveniencies I undergo.

  It is my Misfortune to have been neither bred a Scholar, [a Soldier,]
  nor to [any kind of] Business, which renders me Entirely uncapable of
  making Provision for my self without his Assistance; and this creates
  a continual Uneasiness in my Mind, fearing I shall in Time want Bread;
  my Father, if I may so call him, giving me but very faint Assurances
  of doing any thing for me.

  I have hitherto lived somewhat like a Gentleman, and it would be very
  hard for me to labour for my Living. I am in continual Anxiety for my
  future Fortune, and under a great Unhappiness in losing the sweet
  Conversation and friendly Advice of my Parents; so that I cannot look
  upon my self otherwise than as a Monster, strangely sprung up in
  Nature, which every one is ashamed to own.

  I am thought to be a Man of some natural Parts, and by the continual
  Reading what you have offered the World, become an Admirer thereof,
  which has drawn me to make this Confession; at the same time hoping,
  if any thing herein shall touch you with a Sense of Pity, you would
  then allow me the Favour of your Opinion thereupon; as also what Part
  I, being unlawfully born, may claim of the Man's Affection who begot
  me, and how far in your Opinion I am to be thought his Son, or he
  acknowledged as my Father. Your Sentiments and Advice herein will be a
  great Consolation and Satisfaction to,
  Your Admirer and Humble Servant,
  W. B.

[Footnote 1: that]

[Footnote 2: Georg. II. v. 89.]

[Footnote 3: Infamy.]

[Footnote 4: Shame]

[Footnote 5: suffer and are]


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 204.              Wednesday, October 24, 1711.              Steele.

  Urit grata protervitas,
  Et vultus nimium lubricus aspici.


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 Readers
Entertainment, he will, I hope, forgive the inserting such Particulars
as to him may perhaps seem frivolous, but are to the Persons who wrote
them of the highest Consequence. I shall not trouble you with the
Prefaces, Compliments, and Apologies 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.

  _To the_ Sothades [1].

  "The Word, by which I address you, gives you, who understand
  _Portuguese_, a lively Image of the tender Regard I have for you. The
  SPECTATOR'S late Letter from _Statira_ gave me the Hint to use the
  same Method of explaining my self to you. I am not affronted at the
  Design your late Behaviour discovered you had in your Addresses to me;
  but I impute it to the Degeneracy of the Age, rather than your
  particular Fault. As I aim at nothing more than being yours, I am
  willing to be a Stranger to your Name, your Fortune, or any Figure
  which your Wife might expect to make in the World, provided my
  Commerce with you is not to be a guilty one. I resign gay Dress, the
  Pleasure of Visits, Equipage, Plays, Balls, and Operas, for that one
  Satisfaction of having you for ever mine. I am willing you shall
  industriously conceal the only Cause of Triumph which I can know in
  this Life. I wish only to have it my Duty, as well as my Inclination,
  to study your Happiness. If this has not the Effect this Letter seems
  to aim at, you are to understand that I had a mind to be rid of you,
  and took the readiest Way to pall you with an Offer of what you would
  never desist pursuing while you received ill Usage. Be a true Man; be
  my Slave while you doubt me, and neglect me when you think I love you.
  I defy you to find out what is your present Circumstance with me; but
  I know while I can keep this Suspence.

  _I am your admired_ Belinda."


  "It is a strange State of Mind a Man is in, when the very
  Imperfections of a Woman he loves turn into Excellencies and
  Advantages. I do assure you, I am very much afraid of venturing upon
  you. I now like you in spite of my Reason, and think it an ill
  Circumstance to owe ones Happiness to nothing but Infatuation. I can
  see you ogle all the young Fellows who look at you, and observe your
  Eye wander after new Conquests every Moment you are in a publick
  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 endeavouring to gain
  the Hearts of others. My Condition is the same with that of the Lover
  in the _Way of the World_, [2] I have studied your Faults so long,
  that they are become as familiar to me, and I like them as well as I
  do my own. Look to it, Madam, 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 far advanced, that we must proceed; and I
  hope you will lay it to Heart, that it will be becoming in me to
  appear still your Lover, but not in you to be still my Mistress.
  Gaiety in the Matrimonial Life is graceful in one Sex, but
  exceptionable in the other. As you improve these little Hints, you
  will ascertain the Happiness or Uneasiness of,
  Your most obedient,
  Most humble Servant_,

  When I sat at the Window, and you at the other End of the Room by my
  Cousin, I saw you catch me looking at you. Since you have the Secret
  at last, which I am sure you should never have known but by
  Inadvertency, what my Eyes said was true. But it is too soon to
  confirm it with my Hand, therefore shall not subscribe my Name.

  There were other Gentlemen nearer, and I know no Necessity you were
  under to take up that flippant Creatures Fan last Night; but you
  shall never touch a Stick of mine more, that's pos.

  To Colonel R----s [3] in Spain.

  Before this can reach the best of Husbands and the fondest Lover,
  those tender Names will be no more of Concern to me. The Indisposition
  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 I must part with you. But let it be a Comfort to you,
  that I have no Guilt hangs upon me, no unrepented Folly that retards
  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 I hope is so far from criminal, that
  methinks there is a kind of Piety in being so unwilling to be
  separated from a State which is the Institution of Heaven, and in
  which we have lived according to its Laws. As 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 below, and may possibly be employed in
  guiding the Steps of those with whom we walked with Innocence when
  mortal? Why may not I hope to go on in my usual Work, and, tho
  unknown to you, be 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 than in such an Employment: To be present at all
  the Adventures to which human Life is exposed, to administer Slumber
  to thy Eyelids in the Agonies of a Fever, to cover thy beloved Face in
  the Day of Battle, 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, because 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 my self,
  expire in a Prayer for you. I shall never see thy Face again.

  Farewell for ever. T.

[Footnote 1: Saudades. To have saudades of anything is to yearn with
desire towards it. Saudades da Patria is home sickness. To say Tenho
Saudades without naming an object would be taken to mean I am all
yearning to call a certain gentleman or lady mine.]

[Footnote 2: In Act I. sc. 3, of Congreve's Way of the World, Mirabell
says of Millamant,

  I like her with all her faults, nay, like her for her faults. Her
  follies are so natural, or so artful, that they become her; and those
  affectations which in another woman would be odious, serve but to make
  her more agreeable. Ill tell thee, Fainall, she once used me with
  that insolence, that in revenge I took her to pieces, sifted her, and
  separated her failings; I studied em and got em by rote. The
  Catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes one day or other
  to hate her heartily: to which end I so used myself to think of em,
  that at length, contrary to my design and expectation, they gave me
  every hour less and less disturbance; till in a few days it became
  habitual to me to remember em without being displeased. They are now
  grown as familiar to me as my own frailties; and, in all probability,
  in a little time longer I shall like em as well.]

[Footnote 3: The name was commonly believed to be Rivers, when this
Paper was published.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 205.             Thursday, October 25, 1711.            Addison.

  Decipimur specie recti


When I meet with any vicious Character that is not generally known, in
order to prevent its doing Mischief, I draw it at length, and set it up
as a Scarecrow; by which means I do not only make an Example of the
Person to whom it belongs, but give Warning to all Her Majesty's
Subjects, that they may not suffer by it. Thus, to change the
[Allusion,[1]] I have marked out several of the Shoals and Quicksands of
Life, and am continually employed in discovering those [which [2]] are
still concealed, in order to keep the Ignorant and Unwary from running
upon them. It is with this Intention that I publish the following
Letter, which brings to light some Secrets of this Nature.


  There are none of your Speculations which I read over with greater
  Delight, than those which are designed for the Improvement of our Sex.
  You have endeavoured to correct our unreasonable Fears and
  Superstitions, in your Seventh and Twelfth Papers; our Fancy for
  Equipage, in your Fifteenth; our Love of Puppet-Shows, in your
  Thirty-First; our Notions of Beauty, in your Thirty-Third; our
  Inclination for Romances, in your Thirty-Seventh; our Passion for
  _French_ Fopperies, in your Forty-Fifth; our Manhood and Party-zeal,
  in your Fifty-Seventh; our Abuse of Dancing, in your Sixty-Sixth and
  Sixty-Seventh; our Levity, in your Hundred and Twenty-Eighth; our Love
  of Coxcombs, in your Hundred and Fifty-Fourth, and Hundred and
  Fifty-Seventh; our Tyranny over the Henpeckt, in your Hundred and
  Seventy-Sixth. You have described the _Pict_ in your Forty-first; the
  Idol, in your Seventy-Third; the Demurrer, in your Eighty-Ninth; the
  Salamander, in your Hundred and Ninety-Eighth. You have likewise taken
  to pieces our Dress, and represented to us the Extravagancies we are
  often guilty of in that Particular. You have fallen upon our Patches,
  in your Fiftieth and Eighty-First; our Commodes, in your
  Ninety-Eighth; our Fans in your Hundred and Second; our Riding Habits
  in your Hundred and Fourth; our Hoop-petticoats, in your Hundred and
  Twenty-Seventh; besides a great many little Blemishes which you have
  touched upon in your several other Papers, and in those many Letters
  that are scattered up and down your Works. At the same Time we must
  own, that the Compliments you pay our Sex are innumerable, and that
  those very Faults which you represent in us, are neither black in
  themselves nor, as you own, universal among us. But, Sir, it is plain
  that these your Discourses are calculated for none but the fashionable
  Part of Womankind, and for the Use of those who are rather indiscreet
  than vicious. But, Sir, there is a Sort of Prostitutes in the lower
  Part of our Sex, who are a Scandal to us, and very well deserve to
  fall under your Censure. I know it would debase your Paper too much to
  enter into the Behaviour of these Female Libertines; but as your
  Remarks on some Part of it would be a doing of Justice to several
  Women of Virtue and Honour, whose Reputations suffer by it, I hope you
  will not think it improper to give the Publick some Accounts of this
  Nature. You must know, Sir, I am provoked to write you this Letter by
  the Behaviour of an infamous Woman, who having passed her Youth in a
  most shameless State of Prostitution, is now one of those who gain
  their Livelihood by seducing others, that are younger than themselves,
  and by establishing a criminal Commerce between the two Sexes. Among
  several of her Artifices to get Money, she frequently perswades a vain
  young Fellow, that such a Woman of Quality, or such a celebrated
  Toast, entertains a secret Passion for him, and wants nothing but an
  Opportunity 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 _Roderigos_, [3] which she has afterwards appropriated
  to her own Use. In the mean time, the Person who has lent the Money,
  has thought a Lady under Obligations to him, who scarce knew his Name;
  and wondered at her Ingratitude when he has been with her, that she
  has not owned the Favour, 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 Relations of this nature, she turns him to very good
  Account, by repeating Praises that were never uttered, and delivering
  Messages that were never sent. As the House of this shameless Creature
  is frequented by several Foreigners, I have heard of another Artifice,
  out of which she often raises Money. The Foreigner sighs after some
  _British_ Beauty, whom he only knows by Fame: Upon which she promises,
  if he can be secret, to procure him a Meeting. The Stranger, ravished
  at his good Fortune, gives her a Present, and in a little time is
  introduced to some imaginary Title; for you must know that this
  cunning Purveyor has 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 to meet with a German Count in foreign Countries,
  that shall make his Boasts of Favours he has received from Women of
  the highest Ranks, and the most unblemished Characters. Now, Sir, what
  Safety is there for a Woman's Reputation, when a Lady may be thus
  prostituted as it were by Proxy, and be reputed an unchaste Woman; as
  the Hero in the ninth Book of _Dryden's_ Virgil is looked upon as a
  Coward, because the Phantom which appeared in his Likeness ran away
  from _Turnus?_ You may depend upon what I relate to you to be Matter
  of Fact, and the Practice of more than one of these female Pandars. If
  you print this Letter, I may give you some further Accounts of this
  vicious Race of Women.
  _Your humble Servant,_

I shall add two other Letters on different Subjects to fill up my Paper.


  I am a Country Clergyman, and hope you will lend me your Assistance
  in ridiculing some little Indecencies which cannot so properly be
  exposed from the Pulpit.

  A Widow Lady, who straggled this Summer from _London_ into my Parish
  for the Benefit of the Air, as she says, appears every _Sunday_ at
  Church with many fashionable Extravagancies, to the great Astonishment
  of my Congregation.

  But what gives us the most Offence is her theatrical Manner of
  Singing the Psalms. She introduces above fifty _Italian_ Airs into the
  hundredth Psalm, and whilst we 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 are frequent in the Metre of _Hopkins_
  and _Sternhold_,[4] 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 Church Musick; but fear this
  Abuse of it may make my _Parish_ ridiculous, who already look on the
  Singing Psalms as an Entertainment, and no Part of their Devotion:
  Besides, I am apprehensive that the Infection may spread, for Squire
  _Squeekum_, who by his Voice seems (if I may use the Expression) to be
  cut out for an _Italian_ Singer, was last _Sunday_ practising the same

  I know the Lady's Principles, and that she will plead the Toleration,
  which (as she fancies) allows her Non-Conformity in this Particular;
  but I beg you to acquaint her, That Singing the Psalms in a different
  Tune from the rest of the Congregation, is a Sort of Schism not
  tolerated by that Act.

  _I am, SIR, Your very humble Servant,_ R. S.


  In your Paper upon Temperance, you prescribe to us a Rule of
  drinking, out of Sir _William 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 Enemies_. Now, Sir, you must
  know, that I have read this your _Spectator_, in a Club whereof I am a
  Member; when our President told us, there was certainly an Error 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 _Errata:_ In the Paper of _Saturday, Octob._
  13, Col. 3. Line 11, for _Glass_ read _Bottle_.

  _Yours_, Robin Good-fellow.


[Footnote 1: Metaphor,]

[Footnote 2: that]

[Footnote 3: As the Roderigo whose money Iago used.]

[Footnote 4: Thomas Sternhold who joined Hopkins, Norton, and others in
translation of the Psalms, was groom of the robes to Henry VIII. and
Edward VI.]


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 206.                Friday, October 26, 1711.            Steele.

  Quanto quisque sibi plura negaverit,
  A Diis plura feret--


There is a Call upon Mankind to value and esteem those who set a
moderate Price upon their own Merit; and Self-denial is frequently
attended with unexpected Blessings, which in the End abundantly
recompense such Losses as the Modest seem to suffer in the ordinary
Occurrences of Life. The Curious tell us, a Determination in our Favour
or to our Disadvantage is made upon our first Appearance, even before
they know any thing of our Characters, but from the Intimations Men
gather from our Aspect. A Man, they say, wears the Picture of his Mind
in his Countenance; and one Man's Eyes are Spectacles to his who looks
at him to read his Heart. But tho that Way of raising an Opinion of
those we behold in Publick is very fallacious, certain it is, that
those, who by their Words and Actions take as much upon themselves, as
they can but barely demand in the strict Scrutiny of their Deserts, will
find their Account lessen every Day. A modest Man preserves his
Character, as a frugal Man does his Fortune; if either of them live to
the Height of either, one will find Losses, the other Errors, which he
has not Stock by him to make up. It were therefore a just Rule, to keep
your Desires, your Words and Actions, within 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 possibly might either in Preferment or Reputation. My Walks
have lately been among the mercantile Part of the World; and one gets
Phrases naturally from those with whom one converses: I say then, he
that in his Air, his Treatment of others, or an habitual Arrogance to
himself, gives himself Credit for the least Article of more Wit, Wisdom,
Goodness, or Valour than he can possibly produce if he is called upon,
will find the World break in upon him, and consider him as one who has
cheated them of all the Esteem they had before allowed him. This brings
a Commission of Bankruptcy upon him; and he that might have gone on to
his Lifes End in a prosperous Way, by aiming at more than he 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 that there is not something
inimitably unforced and diverting in his Manner of delivering all his
Sentiments in Conversation, 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 fall short of what he
expects; and therefore instead of shewing 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 _Gloriana_ trip into a Room with
that theatrical Ostentation of her Charms, _Mirtilla_ with that soft
Regularity in her Motion, _Chloe_ with such an indifferent Familiarity,
_Corinna_ with 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 Consciousness of so much more
than they should pretend to, that they lose what would otherwise be
given them.

I remember the last time I saw _Macbeth_, 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, _He bore his Faculties so meekly_; and justly inferred
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 Prosperity.

The great Officer who foregoes the Advantages he might take to himself,
and renounces all prudential Regards to his own Person in Danger, has so
far the Merit of a Volunteer; and all his Honours 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 Considerations 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 Disposition in which it places our own Minds. I cannot
tell what better to say of it, than that it is the very Contrary of
Ambition; and that Modesty allays 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, doubles all the Pleasures of his Life. The Air, the
Season, a [Sun-shiny [1]] Day, or a fair Prospect, are Instances of
Happiness, and that which he enjoys in common with 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 with 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 preferred. He knows there is in such a Place an uninterrupted Walk;
he can meet in such a Company an agreeable Conversation: 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 his Mind and his Fortune (as far as
Prudence will allow) open to the Unhappy and to the Stranger.

_Lucceius_ has Learning, Wit, Humour, Eloquence, but no ambitious
Prospects to pursue with these Advantages; therefore to the ordinary
World he is perhaps thought to want Spirit, but known among his Friends
to have a Mind of the most consummate Greatness. He wants no Man's
Admiration, is in no Need of Pomp. His Cloaths please him if they are
fashionable and warm; his Companions are agreeable if they are civil and
well-natured. There is with him no Occasion for Superfluity at Meals,
for Jollity in Company, in a word, for any thing extraordinary to
administer Delight to him. Want of Prejudice and Command of Appetite are
the Companions which make his Journey 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.

[Footnote 1: [Sun-shine], and in the first reprint.]


       *        *        *        *        *

No. 207.            Saturday, October 27, 1711.               Addison.

  Omnibus in terris, quoe sunt a Gadibus usque
  Auroram et Gangem, pauci dignoscere possunt
  Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remota
  Erroris nebula--


In my last _Saturdays_ 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 in _Plato's_ Dialogue
upon Prayer, entitled, _Alcibiades the 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, entitled _Alcibiades the First_, in his Fourth

The 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 him, that he had reason to be
thoughtful on that Occasion, since it was possible for a Man to bring
down Evils upon himself by his own Prayers, and that those things, which
the Gods send him in Answer to his Petitions, might turn to his
Destruction: This, says he, may not only happen when a Man prays for
what he knows is mischievous in its own Nature, as _OEdipus_ implored
the Gods to sow Dissension between his Sons; but when he prays for what
he believes would be for his Good, and against what he believes would be
to his Detriment. This the Philosopher shews must necessarily happen
among us, since most Men are blinded with Ignorance, Prejudice, or
Passion, which hinder them from seeing such things as are really
beneficial to them. For an Instance, he asks _Alcibiades_, Whether he
would not be thoroughly pleased and satisfied if that God, to whom he
was going to address himself, should promise to make him the Sovereign
of the whole Earth? _Alcibiades_ answers, That he should doubtless look
upon such a Promise as the greatest Favour that he could bestow upon
him. _Socrates_ then asks him, If after [receiving [1]] this great
Favour he would be content[ed] to lose his Life? or if he would receive
it though he was 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 very probably 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
of 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 Events 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
are 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 himself to the Study of true Wisdom, and to the Knowledge of that
which is his chief Good, and the most suitable to the Excellency of his

In the third and last Place he informs him, that the best Method he
could make use of to draw down Blessings upon himself, and to render his
Prayers acceptable, would be to live in a constant Practice of his Duty
towards the Gods, and towards Men. Under this Head he very much
recommends a Form of Prayer the _Lacedemonians_ made use of, in which
they petition the Gods, _to give them all good Things so long as they
were virtuous_. Under this Head likewise he gives a very remarkable
Account of an Oracle to the following Purpose.

When the _Athenians_ in the War with the _Lacedemonians_ 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 adorned them with such costly Offerings; why they who
had instituted so many Festivals, and accompanied them with such Pomps
and Ceremonies; in short, why they who had slain so many Hecatombs at
their Altars, should be less successful than the _Lacedemonians_, who
fell so short of them in all these Particulars. To this, says he, the
Oracle made the following Reply; _I am better pleased with the Prayer of
the_ Lacedemonians, _than with all the Oblations of the_ Greeks. As this
Prayer implied 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 Offerings were regarded
by the Gods as Bribes, and his Petitions as Blasphemies. He likewise
quotes on this Occasion two Verses out of _Homer_, [2] in which the Poet
says, That the Scent of the _Trojan_ Sacrifices was 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 remarkable. _Socrates_ having
deterred _Alcibiades_ from the Prayers and Sacrifice which he was going
to offer, by setting forth the above-mentioned Difficulties of
performing that Duty as he ought, adds these Words, _We must therefore
wait till 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 fain see
this Man, whoever he is. It is one, says _Socrates_, who takes care of
you; but as _Homer_ tells us, [3] that _Minerva_ removed the Mist from
_Diomedes_ his Eyes, that he might plainly discover 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_, the Darkness, and what else he pleases, I 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 at 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

Some learned Men look upon this Conclusion as a Prediction of our
Saviour, or at least that Socrates, like the High-Priest, [4] prophesied
unknowingly, 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
Philosopher saw, by the Light of Reason, that it was suitable to the
Goodness of the Divine Nature, to send a Person into the World who
should instruct Mankind in the Duties of Religion, and, in particular,
teach them how to Pray.

Whoever reads this Abstract of _Plato's_ Discourse on Prayer, will, I
believe, naturally make this Reflection, 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 which 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 proper Object of Adoration, and taught
them, according to the third Rule above-mentioned, to apply themselves
to him in their Closets, without Show or Ostentation, and to worship him
in Spirit and in Truth. As the _Lacedemonians_ 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 explain'd at large in the Doctrines of the Gospel, where we are
taught in several Instances to regard those things as Curses, which
appear as Blessings in the Eye of the World; and on the contrary, to
esteem those things 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 Supreme Being for _the coming of his
Kingdom, being solicitous for no other temporal Blessings but our daily
Sustenance_. On the other side, We pray against nothing but Sin, and
against _Evil_ in general, leaving it with Omniscience to determine what
is really such. If we look into the first of _Socrates_ his Rules of
Prayer, in which he recommends 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 that _his 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 be 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.


[Footnote 1: [having received], and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 2: Iliad, viii. 548, 9.]

[Footnote 3: Iliad, v. 127.]

[Footnote 4: John xi. 49.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 208.               Monday, October 29, 1711.              Steele.

 --Veniunt spectentur ut ipsae.


I have 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
publick Spectacles. A Lady in particular observes, that there is such a
Levity in the Minds of her own Sex, that they seldom attend any thing
but Impertinences. It is indeed prodigious to observe how little Notice
is taken of the most exalted Parts of the best Tragedies in
_Shakespear_; nay, it is not only visible that Sensuality has devoured
all Greatness of Soul, but the Under-Passion (as I may so call it) of a
noble Spirit, Pity, seems to be a Stranger to the Generality of an
Audience. The Minds 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
Complexion, 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 serious 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, [2] when the
Lady who is conscious of the Crime of murdering the King, seems utterly
astonished 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 Criminal was
stabbed. It is certainly an Occasion of rejoycing when the Wicked are
seized in their Designs; 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 Expression which alludes to Bawdry, puts a whole Row
into a pleasing Smirk; when a good Sentence that describes an inward
Sentiment of the Soul, is received with the greatest Coldness and
Indifference. A Correspondent of mine, upon this Subject, has divided
the Female Part of the Audience, and accounts for their Prepossession
against this reasonable Delight in the following Manner. The Prude, says
he, as she acts always in Contradiction, so she is gravely sullen at a
Comedy, and extravagantly gay at a Tragedy. The Coquette is so much
taken up with throwing her Eyes around the Audience, and considering the
Effect of them, that she cannot be expected to observe the Actors but as
they are her Rivals, and take off the Observation of the Men from her
self. Besides these Species of Women, there are the _Examples_, 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 Mimicks, and are
wonderfully diverted 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 Innocent or the Unaffected. You may sometimes see
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 ashamed, and loses
the Enjoyment of the most laudable Concern, Pity. Thus the whole
Audience is afraid of letting fall a Tear, and shun as a Weakness the
best and worthiest Part of our Sense.

    [Sidenote: Pray settle what is to be a proper Notification of a
    Persons being in Town, and how that differs according to Peoples


  As you are one that doth not only pretend to reform, but effects it
  amongst People of any Sense; makes me (who are one of the greatest of
  your Admirers) give you this Trouble to desire you will settle the
  Method of us Females knowing when one another is in Town: For they
  have now got a Trick of never sending to their Acquaintance when they
  first come; and if one does not visit them within the Week which they
  stay at home, it is a mortal Quarrel. Now, dear Mr. SPEC, either
  command them to put it in the Advertisement of your Paper, which is
  generally read by our Sex, or else order them to breathe their saucy
  Footmen (who are good for nothing else) by sending them to tell all
  their Acquaintance. If you think to print this, pray put it into a
  better Style as to the spelling Part. The Town is now filling every
  Day, and it cannot be deferred, because People take Advantage of one
  another by this Means and break off Acquaintance, and are rude:
  Therefore pray put this in your Paper as soon as you can possibly, to
  prevent any future Miscarriages of this Nature. I am, as I ever shall

  Dear SPEC,
  _Your most obedient
  Humble Servant,_
  Mary Meanwell.


  October _the 20th_.

  I have been out of Town, so did not meet with your Paper dated
  _September_ the 28th, wherein you, to my Hearts Desire, expose that
  cursed Vice of ensnaring poor young Girls, and drawing them from their
  Friends. I assure you without Flattery it has saved a Prentice of mine
  from Ruin; and in Token of Gratitude as well as for the Benefit of my
  Family, I have put it in a Frame and Glass, and hung it behind my
  Counter. I shall take Care to make my young ones read it every
  Morning, to fortify them against such pernicious Rascals. I know not
  whether what you writ was Matter of Fact, or your own Invention; but
  this I will take my Oath on, the first Part is so exactly like what
  happened to my Prentice, that had I read your Paper then, I should
  have taken your Method to have secured a Villain. Go on and prosper.

  _Your most obliged Humble Servant,_


  Without Raillery, I desire you to insert this Word for Word in your
  next, as you value a Lovers Prayers. You see it is an Hue and Cry
  after a stray Heart (with the Marks and Blemishes underwritten) which
  whoever shall bring to you, shall receive Satisfaction. Let me beg of
  you not to fail, as you remember the Passion you had for her to whom
  you lately ended a Paper.

    Noble, Generous, Great, and Good,
    But never to be understood;
    Fickle as the Wind, still changing,
    After every Female ranging,
    Panting, trembling, sighing, dying,
    But addicted much to Lying:
    When the Siren Songs repeats,
    Equal Measures still it beats;
    Who-e'er shall wear it, it will smart her,
    And who-e'er takes it, takes a Tartar.


[Footnote 1: Spectaret Populum ludis attentius ipsis.-Hor.]

[Footnote 2: Acted Saturday, October 20.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 209.             Tuesday, October 30, 1711.               Addison.

  [Greek: Gynaikos oudi chraem anaer laeizetai
  Esthlaes ameinon, oude rhigion kakaes.]


There are no Authors I am more pleased with than those who shew human
Nature in a Variety of Views, and describe the several Ages of the World
in their different Manners. A Reader cannot be more rationally
entertained, than by comparing 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 animate us to any particular
Virtue, to make us pleased or displeased with our selves in the most
proper Points, 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 our selves.

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 downwards
towards our own Times, may observe her hiding herself in Artifices and
Refinements, Polished insensibly out of her Original Plainness, and at
length entirely lost under Form and Ceremony, and (what we call) good
Breeding. Read the Accounts of Men and Women as they are given us by the
most ancient Writers, both Sacred and Prophane, 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 Satyr, 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_,[1] a Poet famous in his Generation, is, I think, Author of
the oldest Satyr that is now extant; 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 Coarseness, 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 later 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 Satyr or Iambicks of _Simonides_, with which I
shall entertain my Readers in the present Paper, are a remarkable
Instance of what I formerly advanced. The Subject of this Satyr is
Woman. He describes the Sex in their several Characters, which he
derives to them from a fanciful Supposition raised upon the Doctrine of
Praeexistence. He tells us, That the Gods formed the Souls of Women out
of those Seeds and Principles which compose several Kinds of Animals and
Elements; and that their Good or Bad Dispositions arise in them
according as such and such Seeds and Principles predominate in their
Constitutions. I have translated the Author very faithfully, and if not
Word for Word (which our Language would not bear) at least so as to
comprehend every one of his Sentiments, without adding any thing of my
own. I have already apologized for this Authors Want of Delicacy, and
must further premise, That the following Satyr affects only some of the
lower part of the Sex, and not those who have been refined by a Polite
Education, which was not so common in the Age of this Poet.

  _In the Beginning God made the Souls of Womankind out of different
  Materials, and in a separate State from their Bodies_.

  _The Souls of one Kind of Women were formed out of those Ingredients
  which compose a Swine. A Woman of this Make is a Slut in her House and
  a Glutton at her Table. She is uncleanly in her Person, a Slattern in
  her Dress, and her Family is no better than a Dunghill_.

  _A Second Sort of Female Soul was formed out of the same Materials
  that enter into the Composition of a Fox. Such an one is what we call
  a notable discerning Woman, who has an Insight into every thing,
  whether it be good or bad. In this Species of Females there are some
  Virtuous and some Vicious_.

  _A Third Kind of Women were made up of Canine Particles. These are
  what we commonly call_ Scolds, _who imitate the Animals of which they
  were taken, that are always busy and barking, that snarl at every one
  who comes in their Way, and live in perpetual Clamour_.

  _The Fourth Kind of Women were made out of the Earth. These are your
  Sluggards, who pass away their Time in Indolence and Ignorance, hover
  over the Fire a whole Winter, and apply themselves with Alacrity to no
  kind of Business but Eating_.

  _The Fifth Species of Females were made out of the Sea. These are
  Women of variable uneven Tempers, sometimes all Storm and Tempest,
  sometimes all Calm and Sunshine. The Stranger who sees one of these in
  her Smiles and Smoothness would cry her up for a Miracle of good
  Humour; but on a sudden her Looks and her Words are changed, she is
  nothing but Fury and Outrage, Noise and Hurricane_.

  _The Sixth Species were made up of the Ingredients which compose an
  Ass, or a Beast of Burden. These are naturally exceeding slothful,
  but, upon the Husbands 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

  _The Cat furnished Materials for a Seventh Species of Women, who are
  of a melancholy, froward, unamiable Nature, and so repugnant to the
  Offers of Love, that they fly in the Face of their Husband when he
  approaches them with conjugal Endearments. This Species of Women are
  likewise subject to little Thefts, Cheats and Pilferings_.

  _The Mare with a flowing Mane, which was never broke to any servile
  Toil and Labour, composed 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 look upon,
  but very detrimental to the Owner, unless it be a King or Prince who
  takes a Fancy to such a Toy_.

  _The Ninth Species of Females were taken out of the Ape. These are
  such as are both ugly and ill-natured, who have nothing beautiful in
  themselves, and endeavour to detract from or ridicule every thing
  which appears so in others_.

  _The Tenth and last Species of Women were made out of the Bee; and
  happy is the Man who gets such an one for his Wife. She is altogether
  faultless and unblameable; her Family flourishes and improves by her
  good Management. She loves her Husband, and is beloved by him. She
  brings him a Race of beautiful and virtuous Children. She
  distinguishes her self among her Sex. She is surrounded with Graces.
  She never sits among the loose Tribe of Women, nor passes away her
  Time with them in wanton Discourses. She is full of Virtue and
  Prudence, and is the best Wife that_ Jupiter _can bestow on Man_.

I shall conclude these Iambicks with the Motto of this Paper, which is a
Fragment of the same Author: _A Man cannot possess any Thing that is
better than a good Woman, nor any thing that is worse than a bad one_.

As the Poet has shewn a great Penetration in this Diversity of Female
Characters, he has avoided the Fault which _Juvenal_ and Monsieur
_Boileau_ are guilty of, the former in his sixth, and the other in his
last Satyr, where they have endeavoured to expose the Sex in general,
without doing Justice to the valuable Part of it. Such levelling Satyrs
are of no Use to the World, and for this Reason I have often wondered
how the _French_ Author above-mentioned, who was a Man of exquisite
Judgment, and a Lover of Virtue, could think human Nature a proper
Subject for Satyr in another of his celebrated Pieces, which is called
_The Satyr upon Man_. What Vice or Frailty can a Discourse correct,
which censures the whole Species alike, and endeavours to shew by some
Superficial Strokes of Wit, that Brutes are the more excellent Creatures
of the two? A Satyr should expose nothing but what is corrigible, and
make a due Discrimination between those who are, and those who are not
the proper Objects of it.


[Footnote 1: Of the poems of Simonides, contemporary of AEschylus, only
fragments remain. He died about 467 B.C.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 210.              Wednesday, Oct. 31, 1711.           John Hughes.

  Nescio quomodo inhaeret in mentibus quasi seculorum quoddam augurium
  futurorum; idque in maximis ingeniis altissimisque animis et existit
  maxime et apparet facillime.

  Cic. Tusc. Quaest.

  _To the_ SPECTATOR.


  I am fully persuaded that one of the best Springs of generous and
  worthy Actions, is the having generous and worthy Thoughts of our
  selves. Whoever has a mean Opinion of the Dignity of his Nature, will
  act in no higher a Rank than he has allotted himself in his own
  Estimation. If he considers his Being as circumscribed by the
  uncertain Term of a few Years, his Designs will be contracted into the
  same narrow Span he imagines is to bound his Existence. How can he
  exalt his Thoughts to any thing great and noble, who only believes
  that, after a short Turn on the Stage of this World, he is to sink
  into Oblivion, and to lose his Consciousness for ever?

  For this Reason I am of Opinion, that so useful and elevated a
  Contemplation as that of the _Souls Immortality_ cannot be resumed
  too often. There is not a more improving Exercise to the human Mind,
  than to be frequently reviewing its own great Privileges and
  Endowments; nor a more effectual Means to awaken in us an Ambition
  raised above low Objects and little Pursuits, than to value our selves
  as Heirs of Eternity.

  It is a very great Satisfaction to consider the best and wisest of
  Mankind in all Nations and Ages, asserting, as with one Voice, this
  their Birthright, and to find it ratify'd by an express Revelation. At
  the same time if we turn our Thoughts inward upon our selves, we may
  meet with a kind of secret Sense concurring with the Proofs of our own

  You have, in my Opinion, raised a good presumptive Argument from the
  increasing Appetite the Mind has to Knowledge, and to the extending
  its own Faculties, which cannot be accomplished, as the more
  restrained Perfection of lower Creatures may, in the Limits of a short
  Life. I think another probable Conjecture may be raised from our
  Appetite to Duration it self, and from a Reflection on our Progress
  through the several Stages of it: _We are complaining_, as you observe
  in a former Speculation, _of the Shortness of Life, and yet are
  perpetually hurrying over the Parts of it, to arrive at certain little
  Settlements, or imaginary Points of Rest, which are dispersed up and
  down in it_.

  Now let us consider what happens to us when we arrive at these
  _imaginary Points of Rest_: Do we stop our Motion, and sit down
  satisfied in the Settlement we have gain'd? or are we not removing 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 fast 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 sooner arrives as it,
  than he sees new Ground and other Hills beyond it, and continues to
  travel on as before. [1]

  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 remains. The Use
  therefore I would make of it is this, 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 constantly exercis'd about it; and this Restlessness in the
  present, this assigning our selves over to further Stages of Duration,
  this successive grasping 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.

  I take it at the same time for granted, that the Immortality of the
  Soul is sufficiently established by other Arguments: And if so, this
  Appetite, which otherwise would be very unaccountable and absurd,
  seems very reasonable, and adds Strength to the Conclusion. But I am
  amazed when I consider there are Creatures capable of Thought, who, in
  spite of every Argument, can form to themselves a sullen Satisfaction
  in thinking otherwise. There is something so pitifully mean in the
  inverted Ambition of that Man who can hope for Annihilation, and
  please himself to think that his whole Fabrick 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 Mens Unbelief is
  not hard to be penetrated; and indeed amounts to nothing more than a
  sordid Hope that they shall not be immortal, because they dare not be

  This brings me back to my first Observation, and gives me Occasion to
  say further, That as worthy Actions spring from worthy Thoughts, so
  worthy Thoughts are likewise the Consequence of worthy Actions: But
  the Wretch who has degraded himself below the Character of
  Immortality, is very willing to resign his Pretensions to it, and to
  substitute in its Room a dark negative Happiness in the Extinction of
  his Being.

  The admirable _Shakespear_ has given us a strong Image of the
  unsupported Condition of such a Person in his last Minutes, in the
  second Part of King _Henry_ the Sixth, where Cardinal _Beaufort_, who
  had been concerned in the Murder of the good Duke _Humphrey_, is
  represented on his Death-bed. After some short confused Speeches which
  shew an Imagination disturbed with Guilt, just as he is expiring, King
  _Henry_ standing by him full of Compassion, says,

    _Lord Cardinal! if thou thinkst on Heavens Bliss,
    Hold up thy Hand, make Signal of that Hope!
    He dies, and makes no Sign_!--

  The Despair which is here shewn, without a Word or Action on the Part
  of the dying Person, is beyond what could be painted by the most
  forcible Expressions whatever.

  I shall not pursue this Thought further, but only add, That as
  Annihilation is not to be had with a Wish, so it is the most abject
  Thing in the World to wish it. What are Honour, Fame, Wealth, or Power
  when compared with the generous Expectation of a Being without End,
  and a Happiness adequate to that Being?

  I shall trouble you no further; but with a certain Gravity which
  these Thoughts have given me, I reflect upon some Things People say of
  you, (as they will of Men who distinguish themselves) which I hope are
  not true; and wish you as good a Man as you are an Author.

  _I am, SIR, Your most obedient humble Servant_, T. D.


[Footnote 1:

  Hills peep o'er Hills, and Alps on Alps arise.

Popes Essay on Criticism, then newly published.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 211                 Thursday, November 1, 1711.            Addison.

  Fictis meminerit nos jocari Fabulis.


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 of which he tells us they were compounded; I had some Thoughts of
giving the Sex their Revenge, by laying together in another Paper the
many vicious Characters which prevail in the Male World, and shewing the
different Ingredients that go to the making up of such different Humours
and Constitutions. _Horace_ has a Thought [1] which is something akin to
this, when, in order to excuse himself to his Mistress, for an Invective
which he had written against her, and to account for that unreasonable
Fury with which the Heart of Man is often transported, he tells us that,
when _Prometheus_ made his Man of Clay, in the kneading up of his Heart,
he season'd it with some furious Particles of the Lion. But upon turning
this Plan to and fro in my Thoughts, I observed so many unaccountable
Humours in Man, that I did not know out of what Animals to fetch them.
Male Souls are diversify'd with so many Characters, that the World has
not Variety of Materials sufficient to furnish out their different
Tempers and Inclinations. The Creation, with all its Animals and
Elements, would not be large enough to supply their several

Instead therefore of pursuing the Thought of _Simonides_, I shall
observe, that as he has exposed the vicious Part of Women from the
Doctrine of Praeexistence, some of the ancient Philosophers have, in a
manner, satirized the vicious Part of the human Species in general, from
a Notion of the Souls Postexistence, if I may so call it; and that as
_Simonides_ describes Brutes entering into the Composition of Women,
others have represented human Souls as entering into Brutes. This is
commonly termed the Doctrine of Transmigration, which supposes that
human Souls, upon their leaving the Body, become the Souls of such Kinds
of Brutes as they most resemble in their Manners; or to give an Account
of it as Mr. _Dryden_ has described it in his Translation of
_Pythagoras_ his Speech in the fifteenth Book of _Ovid_, where that
Philosopher dissuades his Hearers from eating Flesh:

  Thus all things are but alter'd, nothing dies,
  And here and there th' unbody'd Spirit flies:
  By Time, or Force, or Sickness dispossess'd,
  And lodges where it lights, in Bird or Beast,
  Or hunts without till ready Limbs it find,
  And actuates those according to their Kind:
  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 inmate Souls secure to dwell,
  Lest from their Seats your Parents you expel;
  With rabid Hunger feed upon your Kind,
  Or from a Beast dislodge a Brothers Mind.

_Plato_ in the Vision of _Erus_ the _Armenian_, which I may possibly
make the Subject of a future Speculation, records some beautiful
Transmigrations; as that the Soul of _Orpheus_, who was musical,
melancholy, and a Woman-hater, entered into a Swan; the Soul of _Ajax_,
which was all Wrath and Fierceness, into a Lion; the Soul of
_Agamemnon_, that was rapacious and imperial, into an Eagle; and the
Soul of _Thersites_, who was a Mimick and a Buffoon, into a Monkey. [2]

Mr. _Congreve_, in a Prologue to one of his Comedies, [3] has touch'd
upon this Doctrine with great Humour.

  Thus_ Aristotle's _Soul of old that was,
  May now be damn'd to animate an Ass;
  Or in this very House, for ought we know,
  Is doing painful Penance in some Beau.

I shall fill up this Paper with some Letters which my last _Tuesdays_
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.

  _From my House in the_ Strand, October 30, 1711.


  Upon reading your _Tuesdays_ Paper, I find by several Symptoms in my
  Constitution that I am a Bee. My Shop, or, if you please to call it
  so, my Cell, is in that great Hive of Females which goes by the Name
  of _The New Exchange_; where I am daily employed in gathering together
  a little Stock of Gain from the finest Flowers about the Town, I mean
  the Ladies and the Beaus. I have a numerous Swarm of Children, to whom
  I give the best Education I am able: But, 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, so likewise 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 frequently
  represent to him the fatal Effects [his [4]] Sloth and Negligence may
  bring upon us in our old Age. I must beg that you will join with me in
  your good Advice upon this Occasion, and you will for ever oblige

  _Your humble Servant_,


  _Picadilly, October_ 31, 1711.


  I am joined in Wedlock for my Sins to one of those Fillies who are
  described in the old Poet with that hard Name you gave us the other
  Day. She has a flowing Mane, and a Skin as soft as Silk: But, Sir, she
  passes half her Life at her Glass, and almost ruins me in Ribbons. For
  my own part, I am a plain handicraft Man, and in Danger of breaking by
  her Laziness and Expensiveness. Pray, Master, tell me in your next
  Paper, whether I may not expect of her so much Drudgery as to take
  care of her Family, and curry her Hide in case of Refusal.

  _Your loving Friend_,

  Barnaby Brittle.

  _Cheapside, October_ 30.


  I am mightily pleased with the Humour of the Cat, be so kind as to
  enlarge upon that Subject.

  _Yours till Death_,

  Josiah Henpeck.

  P.S. You must know I am married to a _Grimalkin_.

  _Wapping, October_ 31, 1711.


  Ever since your _Spectator_ of _Tuesday_ last came into our Family,
  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 Prythee my Dear _be calm_;
  when I chide one of my Servants, Prythee Child _do not bluster_. He
  had the Impudence about an Hour ago to tell me, That he was a
  Sea-faring Man, and must expect to divide his Life between _Storm_ and
  _Sunshine_. When I bestir myself with any Spirit in my Family, it is
  _high Sea_ in his House; and when I sit still without doing any thing,
  his Affairs forsooth are _Wind-bound_. When I ask him whether it
  rains, he makes Answer, It is no Matter, so that it be _fair Weather_
  within Doors. In short, Sir, I cannot speak my Mind freely to him, but
  I either _swell_ or _rage_, or do something that is not fit for a
  civil Woman to hear. Pray, _Mr_. SPECTATOR, since you are so sharp
  upon other Women, let us know what Materials your Wife is made of, if
  you have one. I suppose you would make us a Parcel of poor-spirited
  tame insipid Creatures; but, Sir, I would have you to know, we have as
  good Passions in us as your self, and that a Woman was never designed
  to be a Milk-Sop.



[Footnote 1: Odes, I. 16. ]

[Footnote 2: In the Timaeus Plato derives woman and all the animals
from man, by successive degradations. Cowardly or unjust men are born
again as women. Light, airy, and superficial men, who carried their
minds aloft without the use of reason, are the materials for making
birds, the hair being transmuted into feathers and wings. From men
wholly without philosophy, who never looked heavenward, the more brutal
land animals are derived, losing the round form of the cranium by the
slackening and stopping of the rotations of the encephalic soul. Feet
are given to these according to the degree of their stupidity, to
multiply approximations to the earth; and the dullest become reptiles
who drag the whole length of their bodies on the ground. Out of the very
stupidest of men come those animals which are not judged worthy to live
at all upon earth and breathe this air, these men become fishes, and the
creatures who breathe nothing but turbid water, fixed at the lowest
depths and almost motionless, among the mud. By such transitions, he
says, the different races of animals passed originally and still pass
into each other.]

[Footnote 3: In the Epilogue to Love for Love.]

[Footnote 4: that his]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 212.                Friday, November 2, 1711.             Steele.

 --Eripe turpi
  Colla jugo, liber, liber dic, sum age--



  I Never look upon my dear Wife, but I think of the Happiness Sir
  ROGER DE COVERLEY enjoys, in having such a Friend as you to expose in
  proper Colours the Cruelty and Perverseness of his Mistress. I have
  very often wished you visited in our Family, and were acquainted with
  my Spouse; she would afford you for some Months at least Matter enough
  for one _Spectator_ a Week. Since we are not so happy as to be of your
  Acquaintance, give me leave to represent to you our present
  Circumstances as well as I can in Writing. You are to know then that I
  am not of a very different Constitution from _Nathaniel Henroost_,
  whom you have lately recorded in your Speculations; and have a Wife
  who makes a more tyrannical 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 that 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; and then down again I sat. In a
  Day or two after this first pleasant 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, she said, my Dear loves me as
  much as I love him, 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
  before 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 Circumstances to give you
  a livelier Sense of my Condition; 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 sometimes
  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. I 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 em. In the midst of this insipid Way of Life, an old
  Acquaintance of mine, _Tom Meggot_, who is a Favourite with her, and
  allowed to visit me in her Company because he sings prettily, has
  roused me to rebel, and conveyed his Intelligence to me in the
  following Manner. My Wife is a great Pretender to Musick, and very
  ignorant of it; but far gone in the _Italian_ Taste. _Tom_ goes to
  _Armstrong_, the famous fine Writer of Musick, and desires him to put
  this Sentence of _Tully_ [1] in the Scale of an _Italian_ Air, and
  write it out for my Spouse from him. _An ille mihi liber cui mulier
  imperat? Cui leges imponit, praescribit, jubet, vetat quod videtur?
  Qui nihil imperanti negare, nihil recusare audet? Poscit? dandum est.
  Vocat? veniendum. Ejicit? abeundum. Minitatur? extimiscendum. Does he
  live like a Gentleman who is commanded by a Woman? He to whom she
  gives Law, grants and denies what she pleases? who can neither deny
  her any thing she asks, or refuse to do any thing she commands_?

  To be short, my Wife was extremely pleased with it; said the
  _Italian_ was the only Language for Musick; and admired how
  wonderfully tender the Sentiment was, and how pretty the Accent is of
  that Language, with the rest that is said by Rote on that Occasion.
  Mr. _Meggot_ is sent for to sing this Air, which he performs with
  mighty Applause; and my Wife is in Ecstasy on the Occasion, and glad
  to find, by my being so much pleased, that I was at last come into the
  Notion of the _Italian_; for, said she, it grows upon one when one
  once comes to know a little of the Language; and pray, Mr. _Meggot_,
  sing again those Notes, _Nihil Imperanti negare, nihil recusare_. You
  may believe I was not a little delighted with my Friend _Toms_
  Expedient to alarm me, and in Obedience to his Summons I give all this
  Story thus at large; and I am resolved, when this appears in the
  _Spectator_, to declare for my self. 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 not, 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 command or expostulate,
  you shall in my next to you receive a full Account of her Resistance
  and Submission, for submit the dear thing must to,


  _Your most obedient humble Servant_,

  Anthony Freeman.

  _P. S._ I hope I need not tell you that I desire this may be in your
  very next.


[Footnote 1: Paradox V. on the Thesis that All who are wise are Free,
and the fools Slaves.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 213.               Saturday, November 3, 1711.             Addison.

 --Mens sibi conscia recti.


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 may turn to Account 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 Division of such as are in themselves either Good,
Evil, or Indifferent. If we divide our Intentions after the same Manner,
and consider them with regard to our Actions, we may discover that great
Art and Secret of Religion which I have here mentioned.

A good Intention joined to a good Action, gives it its proper Force and
Efficacy; joined to an Evil Action, extenuates its Malignity, and in
some Cases may take it wholly away; and joined to an indifferent Action
turns it to a Virtue, and makes it meritorious 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 perverts the best of
Actions, and makes them 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 indifferent Action, and gives an
evil Action all possible Blackness and Horror, or in the emphatical
Language of Sacred Writ, makes _Sin exceeding sinful_. [1]

If, in the last Place, we consider the Nature of an indifferent
Intention, we shall find that it destroys the Merit of a good Action;
abates, but never takes away, the Malignity of an evil Action; and
leaves an indifferent Action in its natural State of Indifference.

It is therefore of unspeakable Advantage to possess our Minds with an
habitual good Intention, and to aim all our Thoughts, Words, and Actions
at some laudable End, whether 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 in 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, increases 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_, [2] who objects to him the Multiplicity of Ceremonies in
the _Jewish_ Religion, as Washings, Dresses, Meats, Purgations, and the
like. The Reply which the _Jew_ makes upon this Occasion, is, to the
best of my Remembrance, as follows: There are not Duties enough (says
he) in the essential Parts of the Law for a zealous and active
Obedience. Time, Place, and Person are requisite, before you have an
Opportunity of putting a Moral Virtue into Practice. We have, therefore,
says he, enlarged the Sphere of our Duty, and made many Things, which
are in themselves indifferent, a Part of our Religion, that we may have
more Occasions of shewing 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 Catholick Religion with the same kind of Apology, where he
pretends to consider the differing Spirit of the Papists and the
Calvinists, as to the great Points wherein they disagree. He tells us,
that the former are actuated by Love, and the other by Fear; and that in
their Expressions of Duty and Devotion towards the Supreme Being, the
former seem particularly careful to do every thing which may possibly
please him, and the other to abstain from every thing which may possibly
displease him. [3]

But notwithstanding this plausible Reason with which both the Jew and
the Roman Catholick would excuse their respective Superstitions, it is
certain there is something in them very pernicious to Mankind, and
destructive to Religion; because the Injunction of superfluous
Ceremonies makes such Actions Duties, as were before indifferent, and by
that means renders Religion more burdensome and difficult than it is in
its own Nature, betrays many into Sins of Omission which they could not
otherwise be guilty of, and fixes the Minds of the Vulgar to the shadowy
unessential Points, instead of the more weighty and more important
Matters of the Law.

This zealous and active Obedience however takes place in the great Point
we are recommending; for, if, instead of prescribing to our selves
indifferent 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 Amusements to our eternal
Advantage, and are pleasing him (whom we are made to please) in all the
Circumstances and Occurrences of Life.

It is this excellent Frame of Mind, this _holy Officiousness_ (if I may
be allowed to call it such) which is recommended to us by the Apostle in
that uncommon Precept, wherein he directs us to propose to ourselves the
Glory of our Creator in all our most indifferent Actions, _whether we
eat or drink, or whatsoever we do._ [4]

A Person therefore who is possessed with such an habitual good
Intention, as that which I have been here speaking of, enters upon no
single Circumstance of Life, without considering it as well-pleasing to
the great Author of his Being, conformable 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
Existence, under the Observation and Inspection of that Being, who is
privy to all his Motions and all his Thoughts, who knows all his
_Down-sitting and his Up-rising, who is about his Path, and about his
Bed, and spieth out all his Ways._ [5] 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
either reward or punish it. This was the Character of those holy Men of
old, who in that beautiful Phrase of Scripture are said to have _walked
with God?_. [6]

When I employ myself upon a Paper of Morality, I generally consider how
I may recommend the particular Virtue which I treat of, by the Precepts
or Examples of the ancient Heathens; by that Means, if possible, to
shame those who have greater Advantages of knowing their Duty, and
therefore greater Obligations to perform it, into a better Course of
Life; Besides that many among us are unreasonably disposed to give a
fairer hearing to a Pagan Philosopher, than to a Christian Writer.

I shall therefore produce an Instance of this excellent Frame of Mind in
a Speech of _Socrates_, which is quoted by _Erasmus_.

This great Philosopher on the Day of his Execution, a little before the
Draught of Poison was brought to him, entertaining his Friends with a
Discourse on the Immortality 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
a good Hope that this my Endeavour will be accepted by him._ We find in
these Words of that great Man the habitual good Intention which I would
here inculcate, and with which that divine Philosopher always acted. I
shall only add, that _Erasmus_, who was an unbigotted Roman Catholick,
was so much transported with this Passage of _Socrates_, that he could
scarce forbear looking upon him as a Saint, and desiring him to pray for
him; or as that ingenious and learned Writer has expressed 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,_ Sancte Socrates, ora
pro nobis: _O holy Socrates, pray for us_. [7]


[Footnote 1: Rom. vii. 16.]

[Footnote 2: Arnica Collatio de Veritate Relig. Christ. cum Erudito
Judaeo, published in 1687, by Philippe de Limborch, who was eminent as
a professor of Theology at Amsterdam from 1667 until his death, in 1712,
at the age of 79. But the learned Jew was the Spanish Physician Isaac
Orobio, who was tortured for three years in the prisons of the
Inquisition on a charge of Judaism. He admitted nothing, was therefore
set free, and left Spain for Toulouse, where he practised physic and
passed as a Catholic until he settled at Amsterdam. There he made
profession of the Jewish faith, and died in the year of the publication
of Limborchs friendly discussion with him.

The Uriel Acosta, with whom Addison confounds Orobio, was a gentleman of
Oporto who had embraced Judaism, and, leaving Portugal, had also gone to
Amsterdam. There he was circumcised, but was persecuted by the Jews
themselves, and eventually whipped in the synagogue for attempting
reformation of the Jewish usages, in which, he said, tradition had
departed from the law of Moses. He took his thirty-nine lashes,
recanted, and lay across the threshold of the synagogue for all his
brethren to walk over him. Afterwards he endeavoured to shoot his
principal enemy, but his pistol missed fire. He had another about him,
and with that he shot himself. This happened about the year 1640, when
Limborch was but a child of six or seven.]

[Footnote 3: Sur la Religion. OEuvres (Ed. 1752), Vol. III. pp. 267,

[Footnote 4: I Cor. x. 31.]

[Footnote 5: Psalm cxxxix. 2, 3.]

[Footnote 6: Genesis v.22; vi. 9]

[Footnote 7:  Erasm. Apophthegm. Bk. III.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 214.                 Monday, November 5, 1711.              Steele.

  Perierunt tempora longi

  Juv. [1]

I did some time ago lay before the World the unhappy Condition of the
trading Part of Mankind, who suffer by want of Punctuality in the
Dealings of Persons above them; but there is a Set of Men who are much
more the Objects of Compassion than even those, and these are the
Dependants on great Men, whom they are pleased to take under their
Protection as such as are to share in their Friendship and Favour. These
indeed, as well from the Homage that is accepted from them, as the hopes
which are given to them, are 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 would 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 mean
those who either have it not in their Power, or have no Obligation to
assist their Friends; but I speak 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 believe, 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 Kind. But however, I must beg leave to say,
that he who will take up anothers Time and Fortune in his Service,
though he has no Prospect of rewarding his Merit towards him, is as
unjust in his Dealings as he who takes up Goods of a Tradesman without
Intention 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 Blacksmith, tho an Offer
was made him of his being received as a Page to a Man of Quality.[2]
There are not more Cripples come out of the Wars than there are from
those great Services; some through Discontent lose their Speech, some
their Memories, others their Senses or their Lives; and I seldom see a
Man thoroughly discontented, but I conclude he has had the Favour of
some great Man. I have known of such as have been for twenty Years
together within a Month of a good Employment, but never arrived at the
Happiness of being possessed of any thing.

There is nothing more ordinary, than that a Man who is got into a
considerable Station, shall immediately alter his manner of treating all
his Friends, and from that Moment he is to deal with you as if he were
your Fate. You are no longer to be consulted, even in Matters which
concern your self, 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
Condition all the while he bears Office, and when that is at an End, you
are as intimate as ever you were, and he will take it very ill if you
keep the Distance he prescribed you towards him in his Grandeur. One
would think this should be a Behaviour 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 Kind of passive Behaviour, lose
Minutes, Hours, Days, and Years in a fruitless Attendance on one who had
no Inclination to befriend him. It is very much to be regarded, that the
Great have one particular Privilege above the rest of the World, of
being slow in receiving Impressions of Kindness, and quick in taking
Offence. 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 despise their old Friends, and strive to
extend their Interests to new Pretenders. By this means it often
happens, that when you come to know how you lost such an Employment, you
will find the Man who got it never dreamed of it; but, forsooth, he was
to be surprized into it, or perhaps sollicited to receive it. Upon such
Occasions as these a Man may perhaps grow out of Humour; and if you are
so, all Mankind will fall in with the Patron, and you are an Humourist
and untractable if you are capable of being sour at a Disappointment:
But it is the same thing, whether you do or do not resent ill Usage, you
will 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 crying.

There are but two Ways of doing any thing with great People, and those
are by making your self either considerable or agreeable: The former is
not to be attained but by finding a Way to live without them, or
concealing that you want them; the latter is only by falling 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 you, is not to be
possessed of such Qualities and Accomplishments as should render you
agreeable in your self, but such as make you agreeable in respect to
him. An Imitation of his Faults, or a Compliance, if not Subservience,
to his Vices, must be the Measures of your Conduct. When it comes to
that, the unnatural State a Man lives in, when his Patron pleases, is
ended; and his Guilt and Complaisance are objected to him, tho the Man
who rejects him for his Vices was not only his Partner but Seducer. Thus
the Client (like a young Woman who has given up the Innocence which made
her charming) has not only lost his Time, but also the Virtue which
could render him capable of resenting the Injury which is done him.

It would be endless to recount the [Tricks[3]] of turning you off from
themselves to Persons who have less Power to serve you, the Art of being
sorry for such an unaccountable Accident in your Behaviour, that such a
one (who, perhaps, has never heard of you) opposes your Advancement; and
if you have any thing more than ordinary in you, you are flattered with
a Whisper, that tis no Wonder People are so slow in doing for a Man of
your Talents, and the like.

After all this Treatment, I must still add the pleasantest Insolence of
all, which I have once or twice seen; to wit, That when a silly Rogue
has thrown away one Part in three of his Life in unprofitable
Attendance, it is taken wonderfully ill that he withdraws, and is
resolved to employ the rest for himself.

When we consider these things, and reflect upon so many honest Natures
(which one who makes Observation of what passes, may have seen) that
have miscarried by such sort of Applications, it is too melancholy a
Scene to dwell upon; therefore I shall take another Opportunity to
discourse of good Patrons, and distinguish such as have done their Duty
to those who have depended upon them, and were not able to act without
their Favour. Worthy Patrons are like _Plato's_ Guardian Angels, who are
always doing good to their Wards; but negligent Patrons are like
_Epicurus's_ Gods, that lie lolling on the Clouds, and instead of
Blessings pour down Storms and Tempests on the Heads of those that are
offering Incense to them. [4]

[Footnote 1:

Dulcis inexperta cultura potentis amici,
Expertus metuit


[Footnote 2: A son of one of the inferior gentry received as page by a
nobleman wore his lords livery, but had it of more costly materials
than were used for the footmen, and was the immediate attendant of his
patron, who was expected to give him a reputable start in life when he
came of age. Percy notes that a lady who described to him the custom not
very long after it had become obsolete, remembered her own husbands
giving L500 to set up such a page in business.

[Footnote 3: [Trick]]

[Footnote 4: The Daemon or Angel which, in the doctrine of Immortality
according to Socrates or Plato, had the care of each man while alive,
and after death conveyed him to the general place of judgment (Phaedon,
p. 130), is more properly described as a Guardian Angel than the gods of
Epicurus can be said to pour storms on the heads of their worshippers.
Epicurus only represented them as inactive and unconcerned with human

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 215.              Tuesday, November 6, 1711.                Addison.

 --Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes
  Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros.


I consider an Human Soul without Education like Marble in the Quarry,
which shews none of its inherent Beauties, till 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 never 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 Instance to illustrate the Force of
Education, 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 statuary only clears away the
superfluous Matter, and removes the Rubbish. The Figure is in the Stone,
the Sculptor only finds 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 Great Man, very often lie hid and concealed
in a Plebeian, which a proper Education might have disinterred, and have
brought to Light. I am therefore much delighted with Reading the
Accounts of Savage Nations, and with contemplating those Virtues which
are wild and uncultivated; to see Courage exerting it self in
Fierceness, Resolution in Obstinacy, Wisdom in Cunning, Patience in
Sullenness and Despair.

Mens 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 frequently happens in our _American_ Plantations, who can forbear
admiring their Fidelity, though it expresses it self in so dreadful a
manner? What might not that Savage Greatness of Soul which appears in
these poor Wretches on many Occasions, be raised to, were it rightly
cultivated? And what Colour of Excuse can there be for the Contempt with
which we treat this Part of our Species; 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?

Since I am engaged on this Subject, I cannot forbear mentioning a Story
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 Tragedy that passed about twelve Years ago at St. _Christopher's_,
one of our _British_ Leeward Islands. The Negroes who were the persons
concerned in it, were all of them the Slaves of a Gentleman who is now
in _England_.

This Gentleman among his Negroes had a young Woman, who was look'd upon
as a most extraordinary Beauty by those of her own Complexion. 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 another. 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, provided
they could agree between themselves which should be the Man. But they
were both so passionately in Love with her, that neither of them could
think of giving her up to his Rival; and at the same time were so true
to one another, that neither of them would think of gaining her without
his Friends Consent. The Torments of these two Lovers were the
Discourse of the Family to which they belonged, who could not forbear
observing the strange Complication of Passions which perplexed the
Hearts of the poor Negroes, that often dropped Expressions of the
Uneasiness they underwent, and how impossible it was for either of them
ever to be happy.

After a long Struggle between Love and Friendship, Truth and Jealousy,
they one Day took a Walk together into a Wood, carrying their Mistress
along with them: Where, after abundance of Lamentations, they stabbed
her to the Heart, of which she immediately died. A Slave who was at his
Work not far from the Place where this astonishing Piece of Cruelty was
committed, hearing the Shrieks of the dying Person, ran to see what was
the Occasion of them. He there discovered the Woman lying dead upon the
Ground, with the two Negroes on each side of her, kissing the dead
Corps, weeping over it, and beating their Breasts in the utmost Agonies
of Grief and Despair. He immediately ran to the _English_ Family with
the News of what he had seen; who upon coming to the Place saw the Woman
dead, and the two Negroes expiring by her with Wounds they had given

We see in this amazing Instance of Barbarity, what strange Disorders are
bred in the minds of those Men whose Passions are not regulated by
Virtue, and disciplined by Reason. Though the Action which I have
recited is in it self full of Guilt and Horror, it proceeded from a
Temper of Mind which might have produced very noble Fruits, had it been
informed and guided by a suitable Education.

It is therefore an unspeakable Blessing to be born in those Parts of the
World where Wisdom and Knowledge flourish; tho it must be confest,
there are, even in these Parts, several poor uninstructed Persons, who
are but little above the Inhabitants of those Nations of which I have
been here speaking; as those who have had the Advantages of a more
liberal Education, rise above one another by several different Degrees
of Perfection. For to return to our Statue in the Block of Marble, we
see it sometimes only begun to be chipped, sometimes rough-hewn and but
just sketched into an human Figure; sometimes we see the Man appearing
distinctly in all his Limbs and Features, 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 our selves, and consequently to recover our Souls out of the Vice,
Ignorance, and Prejudice, which naturally cleave to them. I have all
along profest myself in this Paper a Promoter of these great Ends; and I
flatter my self that I do from Day to Day contribute something to the
polishing of Mens Minds: at least my Design 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 my self 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 Persons who write them; but my publishing of them would
I fear be a sufficient Instance to the World that I did not deserve them.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 216.               Wednesday, November 7, 1711.             Steele.

  Siquidem hercle possis, nil prius, neque fortius:
  Verum si incipies, neque perficies naviter,
  Atque ubi pati non poteris, cum nemo expetet,
  Infecta pace ultro ad eam venies indicans
  Te amare, et ferre non posse: Actum est, ilicet,
  Peristi: eludet ubi te victum senserit.




  This is to inform you, that Mr. Freeman [1] had no sooner taken Coach,
  but his Lady was taken with a terrible Fit of the Vapours, which, 'tis
  feared 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 the Publick, and you will oblige




  The Uproar was so great as soon as I had read the _Spectator_
  concerning Mrs. _Freeman_, that after many Revolutions in her Temper,
  of raging, swooning, railing, fainting, pitying herself, and reviling
  her Husband, upon an accidental coming in of a neighbouring Lady (who
  says she has writ to you also) she had nothing left for it but to fall
  in a Fit. I had the Honour to read the Paper to her, and have a pretty
  good Command of my Countenance and Temper on such Occasions; and soon
  found my historical Name to be _Tom Meggot_ in your Writings, but
  concealed my self till I saw how it affected Mrs. Freeman. She looked
  frequently at her Husband, as often at me; and she did not tremble as
  she filled Tea, till she came to the Circumstance of _Armstrong's_
  writing out a Piece of _Tully_ for an Opera Tune: Then she burst out,
  She was exposed, she was deceiv's, she was wronged and abused. The
  Tea-cup was thrown in the Fire; and without taking Vengeance on her
  Spouse, she said of me, That I was a pretending Coxcomb, a Medler that
  knew not what it was to interpose in so nice an Affair as between a
  Man and his Wife. To which Mr. _Freeman_; Madam, were I less fond of
  you than I am, I should not have taken this Way of writing to the
  SPECTATOR, to inform a Woman whom God and Nature has placed under my
  Direction with what I request of her; but since you are so indiscreet
  as not to take the Hint which I gave you in that Paper, I must tell
  you, Madam, in so many Words, that you have for a long and tedious
  Space of Time acted a Part unsuitable to the Sense you ought to have
  of the Subordination in which you are placed. And I must acquaint you
  once for all, that the Fellow without, ha _Tom!_ (here the Footman
  entered and answered Madam) Sirrah don't you know my Voice; look upon
  me when I speak to you: I say, Madam, this Fellow here is to know of
  me my self, whether I am at Leisure to see Company or not. I am from
  this Hour Master of this House; and my Business in it, and every where
  else, is to behave my self in such a Manner, as it shall be hereafter
  an Honour to you to bear my Name; and your Pride, that you are the
  Delight, the Darling, and Ornament of a Man of Honour, useful and
  esteemed by his Friends; and I no longer one that has buried some
  Merit in the World, in Compliance to a froward Humour which has grown
  upon an agreeable Woman by his Indulgence. Mr. _Freeman_ ended this
  with a Tenderness in his Aspect and a downcast Eye, which shewed he
  was extremely moved at the Anguish he saw her in; for she sat swelling
  with Passion, and her Eyes firmly fixed on the Fire; when I, fearing
  he would lose all again, took upon me to provoke her out of that
  amiable Sorrow she was in, to fall upon me; upon which I said very
  seasonably for my Friend, That indeed Mr. _Freeman_ was become the
  common Talk of the Town; and that nothing was so much a Jest, as when
  it was said in Company Mr. _Freeman_ had promised to come to such a
  Place. Upon which the good Lady turned her Softness into downright
  Rage, and threw the scalding Tea-Kettle upon your humble Servant; flew
  into the Middle of the Room, and cried out she was the unfortunatest
  of all Women: Others kept Family Dissatisfactions for Hours of Privacy
  and Retirement: No Apology was to be made to her, no Expedient to be
  found, no previous Manner of breaking what was amiss in her; but all
  the World was to be acquainted with her Errors, without the least
  Admonition. Mr. _Freeman_ was going to make a softning Speech, but I
  interposed; Look you, Madam, I have nothing to say to this Matter, but
  you ought to consider you are now past a Chicken; this Humour, which
  was well enough in a Girl, is insufferable in one of your Motherly
  Character. With that she lost all Patience, and flew directly at her
  Husbands Periwig. 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 over her Shoulder, that [he] was lost if he did
  not persist. In this manner [we] flew round and round the Room in a
  Moment, till the Lady 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 forced to bid the Coachman drive on. We were no
  sooner come to my Lodgings, but all his Wife's Relations came to
  enquire 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 rescu'd 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. He 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 for bringing
  him home. If he has not Courage to stand it, (you are a great Casuist)
  is it such an ill thing to bring my self off, as well as I can? What
  makes me doubt my Man, is, that I find he thinks it reasonable to
  expostulate at least with her; and Capt. SENTREY will tell you, if you
  let your Orders be disputed, you are no longer a Commander. I wish you
  could advise me how to get clear of this Business handsomely.


  Tom Meggot.


[Footnote 1: See No. 212]

[Footnote 2: we]

[Footnote 3: he]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 217.              Thursday, Nov. 8, 1711.                 Budgell.

 --Tunc foemina simplex,
  Et pariter toto repetitur clamor ab antro.

  Juv. Sat. 6.

I shall entertain my Reader to-day with some Letters from my
Correspondents. The first of them is the Description of a Club, whether
real or imaginary I cannot determine; but am apt to fancy, that the
Writer of it, whoever she is, has formed a kind of Nocturnal Orgie out
of her own Fancy: Whether this be so or not, her Letter may conduce to
the Amendment of that kind of Persons who are represented in it, and
whose Characters are frequent enough in the World.


  In some of your first Papers you were pleased to give the Publick a
  very diverting Account of several Clubs and nocturnal Assemblies; but
  I am a Member of a Society which has wholly escaped your Notice, I
  mean a Club of She-Romps. We take each a Hackney-Coach, and meet once
  a Week in a large upper Chamber, which we hire by the Year for that
  Purpose; our Landlord and his Family, who are quiet People, constantly
  contriving 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 publick 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 filled with
  broken Fans, torn Petticoats, Lappets of Head-dresses, Flounces,
  Furbelows, Garters, and Working-Aprons. I had forgot to tell you at
  first, that besides the Coaches we come in our selves, there is one
  which stands always empty to carry off our _dead Men_, for so we call
  all those Fragments 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 Diversion for us to meet the next Night at some
  Members Chamber, where every one is to pick out what belonged to her
  from this confused Bundle of Silks, Stuffs, Laces, and Ribbons. I have
  hitherto given you an Account of our Diversion on ordinary
  Club-Nights; but must acquaint you farther, that once a Month we
  _demolish a Prude_, that is, we get some queer formal Creature in
  among us, and unrig her in an Instant. Our last Months 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 laughing to have seen how
  the sober awkward Thing looked when she was forced out of her
  Intrenchments. In short, Sir, 'tis impossible to give you a true Notion
  of our Sports, unless you would come one Night amongst us; and tho 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 was agreed by the whole Club, at our last Meeting, to give you
  Entrance for one Night as a Spectator.

  _I am, Your Humble Servant,_

  Kitty Termagant.

  P. S. _We shall demolish a Prude next Thursday._

Tho I thank _Kitty_ for her kind Offer, I do not at present find in my
self any Inclination, to venture my Person with her and her romping
Companions. I should regard my self as a second _Clodius_ intruding on
the Mysterious Rites of the _Bona Dea_, and should apprehend being
_Demolished_ as much as the _Prude_.

The following Letter comes from a Gentleman, whose Taste I find is much
too delicate to endure the least Advance towards Romping. I may perhaps
hereafter improve upon the Hint he has given me, and make it the Subject
of a whole _Spectator;_ 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 Uneasiness, I
  know not how to reprove her for, or even acquaint her with. She is
  pretty, dresses well, is rich, and good-humour'd; but either wholly
  neglects, or has no Notion of that which Polite People have agreed to
  distinguish by the Name of _Delicacy_. After our Return from a Walk
  the other Day she threw her self into an Elbow-Chair, and professed
  before a large Company, that _she was all over in a Sweat_. She told
  me this Afternoon that her _Stomach aked;_ and was complaining
  Yesterday at Dinner of something that _stuck in her Teeth_. I treated
  her with a Basket of Fruit last Summer, which she eat so very
  greedily, as almost made me resolve 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 Sense, if she takes these Hints I am happy; if not,
  I am more than afraid, that these Things which shock me even in the
  Behaviour of a Mistress, will appear insupportable in that of a Wife.

  _I am, SIR, Yours, &c_.

My next Letter comes from a Correspondent whom I cannot but very much
value, upon the Account which she gives of her self.


  I am happily arrived at a State of Tranquillity, 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 me,
    Nor Woman neither--

  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.


  I am Wife to a Clergyman, and cannot help thinking that in your Tenth
  or Tithe-Character of Womankind [1] you meant my self, therefore I
  have no Quarrel against you for the other Nine Characters.

  _Your humble Servant,_ A.B.


[Footnote 1: See No. 209.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 218.                 Friday, November 9, 1711.            Steele.

  Quid de quoque viro et cui dicas saepe caveto.


I happened the other Day, as my Way is, to strole into a little
Coffee-house beyond Aldgate; 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 Benefit Ticket; another wished he had; but a
third shaked his Head and said, It was pity that the Writer of that
Paper was such a sort of Man, that it was no great Matter whether he had
it or no. He 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 Oeconomy, unfit for
any of the Offices of Life, by reason of his Profuseness. It would be an
unhappy thing to be his Wife, his Child, or his Friend; and yet he 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 Uneasiness; but at the same Time it
threw me into deep Thought upon the Subject of Fame in general; and 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
Diminution 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 methinks one may divide the general Word Fame into three different
Species, as it regards the different Orders of Mankind who have any
Thing to do with it. Fame therefore may be divided into Glory, which
respects the Hero; Reputation, which is preserved by every Gentleman;
and Credit, which must be supported by every Tradesman. These
Possessions in Fame are dearer than Life to these Characters of Men, or
rather are the Life of those Characters. Glory, while the Hero pursues
great and noble Enterprizes, is impregnable; and all the Assailants of
his Renown do but shew their Pain and Impatience of its Brightness,
without throwing the least Shade upon it. If the Foundation of an high
Name be Virtue and Service, all that is offered against it is but
Rumour, which is too short-liv'd to stand up in Competition with Glory,
which is everlasting.

Reputation, which is the Portion of every Man who would live with the
elegant and knowing Part of Mankind, is as stable as Glory, if it be as
well founded; and the common Cause of human Society is thought concerned
when we hear a Man of good Behaviour calumniated: Besides which,
according to a prevailing Custom amongst us, every Man has his Defence
in his own Arm; and Reproach is soon checked, put out of Countenance,
and overtaken by Disgrace.

The most unhappy of all Men, and the most exposed to the Malignity or
Wantonness of the common Voice, is the Trader. Credit is undone in
Whispers. The Tradesman's Wound is received from one who is more private
and more cruel than the Ruffian with the Lanthorn and Dagger. The Manner
of repeating a Man's Name, As; _Mr_. Cash, _Oh! do you leave your Money
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 Name,
hiding one Thought of him, and explaining what you hide by saying
something to his Advantage when you speak, a Merchant hurt in his
Credit; and him who, every Day he lived, literally added to the Value of
his Native Country, undone by one who was only a Burthen and a Blemish
to it. Since every Body who knows the World is sensible of this great
Evil, how careful ought a Man to be in his 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 Wealth out of his Hands, to draw home that of another Climate.

In this Case an ill Word may change Plenty into Want, and by a rash
Sentence a free and generous Fortune may in a few Days be reduced to
Beggary. How little does a giddy Prater imagine, that an idle Phrase to
the Disfavour of a Merchant may be as pernicious in the Consequence, as
the Forgery of a Deed to bar an Inheritance would be to a Gentleman?
Land stands where it did before a Gentleman was calumniated, and the
State of a great Action is just as it was before Calumny was offered to
diminish it, and there is Time, Place and Occasion expected to unravel
all that is contrived against those Characters; but the Trader who is
ready only for probable Demands 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 slow 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 against Gentlemen by whom he thought himself
ill dealt with; but he would never let any thing be urged against a
Merchant (with whom he had any Difference) except 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
Fellow-Citizens, and his Word the Gold of Ophir to the Country wherein
he resides.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 219.                Saturday, Nov. 10, 1711.              Addison.

  Vix ea nostra voco--


There are but few Men, who are not ambitious of distinguishing
themselves in the Nation or Country where they live, and of growing
considerable among those with whom they converse. There is a kind of
Grandeur and Respect, which the meanest and most insignificant Part of
Mankind endeavour to procure in the little Circle of their Friends and
Acquaintance. The poorest Mechanick, 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 in some Respects beneath him. This
Ambition, which is natural to the Soul of Man, might methinks receive a
very happy turn; and, if it were rightly directed, contribute as much to
a Persons Advantage, as it generally does to his Uneasiness and

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 Preeminence that one Man can have over another, may
be reduced to the Notion of Quality, which, considered at large, is
either that of Fortune, Body, or Mind. The first is that which consists
in Birth, Title, or Riches, and 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 nearer to us, and more a Part of our selves 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
united with us than either of the other two.

The Quality of Fortune, tho a Man has less Reason to value himself upon
it than on that of the Body or Mind, is however the kind of Quality
which makes the most shining Figure in the Eye of the World.

As Virtue is the most reasonable and genuine Source of Honour, we
generally find in Titles an Imitation of some particular Merit that
should recommend Men to the high Stations which they possess. Holiness
is ascribed to the Pope; Majesty to Kings; Serenity or Mildness of
Temper to Princes; Excellence or Perfection to Ambassadors; Grace to
Archbishops; Honour to Peers; Worship or Venerable Behaviour to
Magistrates; and Reverence, which is of the same Import as the former,
to the inferior Clergy.

In the Founders of great Families, such Attributes of Honour are
generally correspondent with the Virtues of the Person to whom they are
applied; but in the Descendants they are too often the Marks rather of
Grandeur than of Merit. The Stamp and Denomination still continues, but
the Intrinsick Value is frequently lost.

The Death-Bed shews the Emptiness of Titles in a true Light. A poor
dispirited Sinner lies trembling under the Apprehensions of the State he
is entring on; and is asked by a grave Attendant how his Holiness does?
Another hears himself addressed to under the Title of Highness or
Excellency, 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 under no Regulation; true
Quality is neglected, Virtue 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 Character; Ranks will be then adjusted,
and Precedency set right.

Methinks we should have an Ambition, if not to advance our selves in
another World, at least to preserve our Post in it, and outshine our
Inferiors in Virtue here, that they may not be put above us in a State
which is to Settle the Distinction for Eternity.

Men in Scripture are called _Strangers_ and _Sojourners_ upon _Earth_,
and Life a _Pilgrimage_. Several Heathen, as well as Christian Authors,
under the same kind of Metaphor, have represented the World as an Inn,
which was only designed to furnish us with Accommodations in this our
Passage. It is therefore very absurd to think of setting up our Rest
before we come to our Journeys 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 Allusion, which is very
beautiful, and wonderfully proper to incline us to be satisfied with the
Post in which Providence has placed us. We are 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 we 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. [1]

The Part that was acted by this Philosopher himself was but a very
indifferent one, for he lived and died a Slave. His Motive to
Contentment in this Particular, receives a very great Inforcement from
the above-mentioned Consideration, 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 Praeeminence, 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_ Solomon, 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 Surprize which it will produce among those who are
his Superiors in this. Then shall the righteous 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! [2]

If the Reader would see the Description of a Life that is passed away in
Vanity and among the Shadows of Pomp and Greatness, he may see it very
finely drawn in the same Place. [3] In the mean time, since it is
necessary in the present Constitution of things, that Order and
Distinction should be kept in the World, we should be happy, if those
who enjoy the upper Stations in it, would endeavour to surpass others in
Virtue, as much as in Rank, and by their Humanity and Condescension make
their Superiority easy and acceptable to those who are beneath them: and
if, on the contrary, those who are in meaner Posts of Life, would
consider how they may better their Condition hereafter, 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.


[Footnote 1: Epict. Enchirid. ch. 23.]

[Footnote 2: Wisd., ch. v. 1-5.]

[Footnote 3: Ch. v. 8-14.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 220.              Monday, November 12, 1711.              Steele.

  Rumoresque serit varios

  Virg. [1]


  Why will you apply to my Father for my Love? I cannot help it if he
  will give you my Person; but I assure you it is not in 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 Arithmetick and
  making Calculations; be pleased therefore to consider what Proportion
  your Spirits 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 accordingly. 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 agree,
  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,

  Your most humble Servant,_

  _Mr._ SPECTATOR, [2]

  There are so many Artifices and Modes of false Wit, and such a
  Variety of Humour discovers it self among its Votaries, that it would
  be impossible 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 _Horace_, of an Author
  who could compose two hundred Verses while he stood upon one Leg, [3]
  has been imitated (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 till he
  had acquainted you in how short Space of Time he had deserved it; and
  was not so much led to an Ostentation of his Art, as of his Dispatch.

   --Accipe si vis,
    Accipe jam tabulas; detur nobis locus, hora,
    Custodes: videamus uter plus scribere possit.


  This was the whole of his Ambition; and therefore I cannot but think
  the Flights of this rapid Author very proper to be opposed to those
  laborious Nothings which you have observed were the Delight of the
  _German_ Wits, and in which they so happily got rid of such a tedious
  Quantity of their Time.

  I have known a Gentleman of another Turn of 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 he wore on his
  little Finger, was a considerable Poet upon Glass. He had a very good
  Epigrammatick Wit; and there was not a Parlour or Tavern Window where
  he visited or dined for some Years, which did not receive some
  Sketches or Memorials of it. It was his Misfortune at last to lose his
  Genius and his Ring to a Sharper at Play; and he has not attempted to
  make a Verse since.

  But of all Contractions or Expedients for Wit, I admire that of an
  ingenious Projector whose Book I have seen. [4] This Virtuoso being a
  Mathematician, has, according to his Taste, thrown the Art of Poetry
  into a short Problem, and contrived Tables by which any one without
  knowing a Word of Grammar or Sense, may, to his great Comfort, be able
  to compose or rather to erect _Latin_ Verses. His Tables are a kind of
  Poetical Logarithms, which being divided into several Squares, and all
  inscribed with so many incoherent Words, appear to the Eye somewhat
  like a Fortune-telling Screen. What a Joy must it be to the unlearned
  Operator to find that these Words, being carefully collected and writ
  down in Order according to the Problem, start of themselves into
  Hexameter and Pentameter 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 informed
  they described a Tempest of Wind, very luckily prefixed them, together
  with a Translation, to an Almanack he was just then printing, and was
  supposed to have foretold the last great Storm. [5]

  I think the only Improvement beyond this, would be that which the
  late Duke of _Buckingham_ mentioned to a stupid Pretender to Poetry,
  as the Project of a _Dutch_ Mechanick, _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 publick Good: and it may be worth
  the while to consider, whether in an Island where few are content
  without being thought Wits, it will not be a common Benefit, that Wit
  as well as Labour should be made cheap.

  _I am, SIR, Your humble Servant, &c._


  I often dine at a Gentleman's House, where there are two young
  Ladies, in themselves very agreeable, but very cold in their
  Behaviour, because they understand me for a Person that is to break my
  Mind, as the Phrase is, very suddenly to one of them. But I take this
  Way to acquaint them, that I am not in Love with either of them, in
  Hopes they will use me with that agreeable Freedom and Indifference
  which they do all the rest of the World, and not to drink to one
  another [only,] but sometimes cast a kind Look, with their Service to,

  _SIR, 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 particularly charming in any
  Woman, whether I know her or not. I take care that there is nothing
  ludicrous or arch in my Manner, as if I were to betray a Woman into a
  Salutation 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 observe and neglect. I
  wish, Sir, you would settle the Business of salutation; and please to
  inform me how I 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 Return to the Esteem I have for them. My Affairs are
  such, that your Decision will be a Favour to me, if it be only to save
  the unnecessary Expence of wearing out my Hat so fast as I do at

  There are some that do know me, and wont bow to me.

  _I am, SIR,


[Footnote 1:

  --Aliena negotia centum
  Per caput, et circa saliunt latus.


[Footnote 2: This letter is by John Hughes.]

[Footnote 3:

 --in hora saepe ducentos,
  Ut magnum, versus dictabat stans pede in uno.

Sat. I. iv. 10.]

[Footnote 4: A pamphlet by John Peter, Artificial Versifying, a New Way
to make Latin Verses. Lond. 1678.]

[Footnote 5: Of Nov. 26, 1703, which destroyed in London alone property
worth a million.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 221.             Tuesday, November 13, 1711.            Addison.

 --Ab Ovo
  Usque ad Mala--


When I have finished any of my Speculations, it is 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 expressed in better Words, or some Similitude for the
Illustration of my Subject. This is what gives Birth to the Motto of a
Speculation, which I rather chuse to take out of the Poets than the
Prose-writers, as the former 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 in his Memory some beautiful Passage of a Classick Author.

It was a Saying of an ancient Philosopher, which I find some of our
Writers have ascribed to Queen Elizabeth, who perhaps might have taken
occasion to repeat it, That a good Face is a Letter of Recommendation.
[1] It naturally makes the Beholders inquisitive into the Person who is
the Owner of it, and generally prepossesses them in his Favour. A
handsome Motto has the same Effect. Besides that, it always gives a
Supernumerary Beauty to a Paper, and is sometimes in a manner necessary
when the Writer is engaged in what may appear a Paradox to vulgar Minds,
as it shews that he is supported by good Authorities, and is not
singular in his Opinion.

I must confess, the Motto is of little Use to an unlearned Reader, for
which Reason I consider it only as _a Word to the Wise_. But as for my
unlearned Friends, if they cannot relish the Motto, I take care to make
Provision for them in the Body of my Paper. If they do not understand
the Sign that is hung out, they know very well by it, that they may meet
with Entertainment in the House; and I think I was never better pleased
than with a plain Man's Compliment, who, upon his Friends telling him
that he would like the _Spectator_ much better if he understood the
Motto, replied, _That good Wine needs no Bush_.

I have heard of a Couple of Preachers in a Country Town, who endeavoured
which should outshine one another, and draw together the greatest
Congregation. One of them being well versed in the Fathers, used to
quote every now and then a _Latin_ Sentence to his illiterate Hearers,
who it seems found themselves so edified by it, that they flocked in
greater Numbers to this learned Man than to his Rival. The other finding
his Congregation mouldering every _Sunday_, and hearing at length what
was the Occasion of it, resolved to give his Parish a little _Latin_ in
his Turn; but being unacquainted with any of the Fathers, he digested
into his Sermons the whole Book of Quae Genus, adding however such
Explications to it as he thought might be for the Benefit of his People.
He afterwards entered upon _As in praesenti_, [2] which he converted in
the same manner to the Use of his Parishioners. This in a very little
time thickned his Audience, filled his Church, and routed his

The natural Love to _Latin_ which is so prevalent 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_ Mottos.

Designing this Days Work for a Dissertation upon the two Extremities of
my Paper, and having already dispatch'd 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 for 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 Town, as they cannot think of any Name which begins with that
Letter, except _Xenophon_ and _Xerxes_, who can neither of them be
supposed to have had any Hand in these Speculations.

In Answer to these inquisitive Gentlemen, who have many of them made
Enquiries of me by Letter, I must tell them the Reply of an ancient
Philosopher, who carried something hidden under his Cloak. A certain
Acquaintance desiring him to let him know what it was he covered so
carefully; _I cover it,_ says he, _on purpose that you should not know_.
I 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 surprized, if hereafter he sees any of my Papers marked with a
Q, a Z, a Y, an &c., or with the Word _Abracadabra_ [3]

I shall, however, so far explain my self to the Reader, as to let him
know that the Letters, C, L, and X, are Cabalistical, 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_, [4] that is, the Number Four, 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 Powers; that it is called
by Platonick Writers the Complete Number; that One, Two, Three and Four
put together make up the 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 _Elizabeth's_ Time, that had an admirable Head for
Secrets of this Nature. Upon his taking the Doctor 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, Sheth, 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 Doctor _Alabaster_, of whom the
Reader may find a more particular Account in Doctor _Fullers_ Book of
_English_ Worthies. [5] 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 of these Matters, I
must refer them to Time, which discovers all things.


[Footnote 1: Diogenes Laertius, Bk. V. ch. I.]

[Footnote 2: Quae Genus and As in Praesenti were the first words in
collections of rules then and until recently familiar as part of the
standard Latin Grammar, Lilly's, to which Erasmus and Colet contributed,
and of which Wolsey wrote the original Preface.]

[Footnote 3: Abraxas, which in Greek letters represents 365, the number
of the deities supposed by the Basilidians to be subordinate to the All
Ruling One, was a mystical name for the supreme God, and was engraved as
a charm on stones together with the figure of a human body (Cadaver),
with cats head and reptiles feet. From this the name Abracadabra may
have arisen, with a sense of power in it as a charm. Serenus Sammonicus,
a celebrated physician who lived about A.D. 210, who had, it is said, a
library of 62,000 volumes, and was killed at a banquet by order of
Caracalla, said in an extant Latin poem upon Medicine and Remedies, that
fevers were cured by binding to the body the word Abracadabra written in
this fashion:


and so on, till there remained only the initial A. His word was taken,
and this use of the charm was popular even in the Spectators time. It
is described by Defoe in his History of the Plague.]

[Footnote 4: The number Four was called Tetractys by the Pythagoreans,
who accounted it the most powerful of numbers, because it was the
foundation of them all, and as a square it signified solidity. They said
it was at the source of Nature, four elements, four seasons, &c., to
which later speculators added the four rivers of Paradise, four
evangelists, and association of the number four with God, whose name was
a mystical Tetra grammaton, Jod, He, Vau, He.]

[Footnote 5: Where it is explained that Adam meaning Man; Seth, placed;
and Enosh, Misery: the mystic inference is that Man was placed in

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 222.              Wednesday, November 14, 1711.         Steele.

  Cur alter fratrum cessare, et ludere, et ungi,
  Praeferat Herodis palmetis pinguibus



  There is one thing I have often look'd for in your Papers, and have
  as often wondered to find my self disappointed; the rather, because I
  think it a Subject every way agreeable to your Design, and by being
  left unattempted by others, seems reserved as a proper Employment for
  you; I mean a Disquisition, from whence it proceeds, that Men of the
  brightest Parts, and most comprehensive Genius, compleatly furnished
  with Talents for any Province in humane Affairs; such as by their wise
  Lessons of Oeconomy to others have made it evident, that they have the
  justest Notions of Life and of true Sense in the Conduct of it--: from
  what unhappy contradictious Cause it proceeds, that Persons thus
  finished by Nature and by Art, should so often fail in the Management
  of that which they so well understand, and want the Address to make a
  right Application of their own Rules. This is certainly a prodigious
  Inconsistency in Behaviour, and makes much such a Figure in Morals as
  a monstrous Birth in Naturals, with this Difference only, which
  greatly aggravates the Wonder, that it happens much more frequently;
  and what a Blemish does it cast upon Wit and Learning in the general
  Account of the World? And in how disadvantageous a Light does it
  expose them to the busy Class of Mankind, that there should be so many
  Instances of Persons who have so conducted their Lives in spite of
  these transcendent Advantages, as neither to be happy in themselves,
  nor useful to their Friends; when every Body sees it was entirely in
  their own Power to be eminent in 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 Apprehension of a future Reckoning, and at last
  leaving not only his own Children, but possibly those of other People,
  by his Means, in starving Circumstances; while a Fellow, whom one
  would scarce suspect to have a humane Soul, shall perhaps raise a vast
  Estate out of Nothing, and be the Founder of a Family capable of being
  very considerable in their Country, and doing many illustrious
  Services to it. That this Observation 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 my
  self, that it would be no unacceptable Piece of Entertainment to the
  Town, to inquire into the hidden Sources of so unaccountable 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 humane Life. _Horace_ reflects upon
this Inconsistency very agreeably in the Character of _Tigellius_, whom
he makes a mighty Pretender to Oeconomy, and tells you, you might one
Day hear him speak the most philosophick Things imaginable concerning
being contented with a little, and his Contempt of every thing but mere
Necessaries, and in Half a Week after spend a thousand Pound. When he
says this of him with Relation to Expence, he describes him as unequal
to himself in every other Circumstance of Life. And 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 the
Character of _Zimri_. [1]

  A Man so various, that he seem'd to be
  Not one, but all Mankind's Epitome.
  Stiff in Opinion, always in the Wrong,
  Was every Thing by Starts, and Nothing long;
  But in the Course of one revolving Moon,
  Was Chymist, Fidler, Statesman, and Buffoon.
  Then all for Women, Painting, Rhiming, Drinking,
  Besides ten thousand Freaks that died in thinking;
  Blest Madman, who could every Hour employ
  In something new to wish or to enjoy!
  In squandering Wealth was his peculiar Art,
  Nothing went unrewarded but Desert.

This loose State of the Soul hurries the Extravagant from one Pursuit to
another; and the Reason that his Expences are greater than anothers,
is, that his Wants are 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 contemptible as they deserve. _Tully_ says,
it is the greatest of Wickedness to lessen your paternal Estate. And if
a Man would thoroughly consider 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 Fathers Injustice to him, he would be smitten with the
Reflection more deeply than can be understood by any but one who is a
Father. Sure there can be nothing more afflicting than to think it had
been happier for his Son to have been born of any other Man living than

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 Being 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 ever exercising their
Feeling or Tasting. It would be hard on this Occasion to mention the
harmless Smoakers of Tobacco and Takers of Snuff.

The slower Part of Mankind, whom my Correspondent wonders should get
Estates, are the more immediately 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 Delight[s], Business is an Interruption; to
such as are cold to Delights, Business is an Entertainment. For which
Reason it was said to one who commended a dull Man for his Application,

_No Thanks to him; if he had no Business, he would have nothing to do._


[Footnote 1: i.e. The Duke of Buckingham, in Part I. of 'Absalom and

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 223.                Thursday, Nov. 15, 1711.             Addison.

  O suavis Anima! qualem te dicam bonam
  Antehac fuisse, tales cum sint reliquiae!


When I reflect upon the various Fate of those Multitudes of Ancient
Writers who flourished in _Greece_ and _Italy_, I consider Time as an
Immense Ocean, in which many noble Authors are entirely swallowed up,
many very much shattered and damaged, some quite disjointed and broken
into pieces, while some have wholly escaped the Common Wreck; but the
Number of the last is very small.

  _Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto_.

Among the mutilated Poets of Antiquity, there is none whose Fragments
are so beautiful as those of _Sappho_. They give us a Taste of her Way
of Writing, which is perfectly conformable with that extraordinary
Character we find of her, in the Remarks of those great Criticks who
were conversant with her Works when they were entire. One may see by
what is left of them, that she followed Nature in all her Thoughts,
without descending to those little Points, Conceits, and Turns of Wit
with which many of our modern Lyricks are so miserably infected. Her
Soul seems to have been made up of Love and Poetry; She felt the Passion
in all its Warmth, and described it in all its Symptoms. She is called
by ancient Authors the Tenth Muse; 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 Mankind that they are lost. They were filled with
such bewitching Tenderness and Rapture, that it might have been
dangerous to have given them a Reading.

An Inconstant Lover, called _Phaon_, occasioned great Calamities to this
Poetical Lady. She fell desperately in Love with him, and took a Voyage
into _Sicily_ in Pursuit of him, he having withdrawn 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 the
procuring that Happiness which she prayed for in it. _Phaon_ was still
obdurate, and _Sappho_ so transported with the Violence of her Passion,
that she was resolved to get rid of it at any Price.

There was a Promontory in _Acarnania_ called _Leucrate_ [1] 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 secret, and
afterwards to fling themselves from the Top of the Precipice into the
Sea, where they were sometimes taken up alive. This Place was therefore
called, _The Lovers Leap_; and whether or no the Fright they 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 all the
tender Sentiments of Love, and gave their Spirits another Turn; those
who had taken this Leap were observed never to relapse into that
Passion. _Sappho_ tried the Cure, but perished in the Experiment.

After having given this short Account of _Sappho_ so far as it regards
the following Ode, I shall subjoin the Translation of it as it was sent
me by a Friend, whose admirable Pastorals and _Winter-Piece_ have been
already so well received. [2] The Reader will find in it that Pathetick
Simplicity which is so peculiar to him, and so suitable to the Ode he
has here Translated. This Ode in the Greek (besides those Beauties
observed by Madam _Dacier_) has several harmonious Turns in the Words,
which are not lost in the _English_. I must farther add, that the
Translation has preserved every Image and Sentiment of _Sappho_,
notwithstanding it has all the Ease and Spirit of an Original. In a
Word, if the Ladies have a mind to know the Manner of Writing practised
by the so much celebrated _Sappho_, they may here see it in its genuine
and natural Beauty, without any foreign or affected Ornaments.


I.    _O_ Venus, _Beauty of the Skies,
      To whom a Thousand Temples rise,
      Gayly false in gentle Smiles,
      Full of Loves perplexing Wiles;
      O Goddess! from my Heart remove
      The wasting Cares and Pains of Love_.

II.   _If ever thou hast kindly heard
      A Song in soft Distress preferr'd,
      Propitious to my tuneful Vow,
      O gentle Goddess! hear me now.
      Descend, thou bright, immortal Guest,
      In all thy radiant Charms confest_.

III.  _Thou once didst leave Almighty Jove,
      And all the Golden Roofs above:
      The Carr thy wanton Sparrows drew;
      Hovring in Air they lightly flew,
      As to my Bower they wing'd their Way:
      I saw their quivring Pinions play_.

IV.   _The Birds dismist (while you remain)
      Bore back their empty Carr again:
      Then You, with Looks divinely mild,
      In evry heavnly Feature smil'd,
      And ask'd what new Complaints I made,
      And why I call'd you to my Aid_?

V.   _What Phrenzy in my Bosom rag'd,
      And by what Care to be asswag'd?
      What gentle Youth I could allure,
      Whom in my artful Toiles secure?
      Who does thy tender Heart subdue,
      Tell me, my_ Sappho, _tell me Who_?

VI.   _Tho now he Shuns thy longing Arms,
      He soon shall court thy slighted Charms;
      Tho now thy Offrings he despise,
      He soon to thee shall Sacrifice;
      Tho now he freeze, he soon shall burn,
      And be thy Victim in his turn_.

VII.  _Celestial Visitant, once more
      Thy needful Presence I implore!
      In Pity come and ease my Grief,
      Bring my distemper'd Soul Relief;
      Favour thy Suppliants hidden Fires,
      And give me All my Heart desires_.

Madam _Dacier_ observes, there is something very pretty in that
Circumstance of this Ode, wherein _Venus_ is described as sending away
her Chariot upon her Arrival at _Sappho's_ Lodgings, to denote that it
was not a short transient Visit which she intended to make her. This Ode
was preserved by an eminent _Greek_ Critick, [3] who inserted it intire
in his Works, as a Pattern of Perfection in the Structure of it.

_Longinus_ has quoted another Ode of this great Poetess, which is
likewise admirable in its Kind, and has been translated by the same Hand
with the foregoing one. I shall oblige my Reader with it in another
Paper. In the mean while, I cannot but wonder, that these two finished
Pieces have never been attempted before by any of our Countrymen. But
the Truth of it is, the Compositions of the Ancients, which have not in
them any of those unnatural Witticisms that are the Delight of ordinary
Readers, are extremely difficult to render into another Tongue, so as
the Beauties of the Original may not appear weak and faded in the


[Footnote 1: Leucas]

[Footnote 2: Ambrose Philips, whose Winter Piece appeared in No. 12 of
the _Tatler_, and whose six Pastorals preceded those of Pope. Philips's
Pastorals had appeared in 1709 in a sixth volume of a Poetical
Miscellany issued by Jacob Tonson. The first four volumes of that
Miscellany had been edited by Dryden, the fifth was collected after
Dryden's death, and the sixth was notable for opening with the Pastorals
of Ambrose Philips and closing with those of young Pope which Tonson had
volunteered to print, thereby, said Wycherley, furnishing a Jacob's
ladder by which Pope mounted to immortality. In a letter to his friend
Mr. Henry Cromwell, Pope said, generously putting himself out of
account, that there were no better eclogues in our language than those
of Philips; but when afterwards Tickell in the _Guardian_, criticising
Pastoral Poets from Theocritus downwards, exalted Philips and passed
over Pope, the slighted poet took his revenge by sending to Steele an
amusing one paper more upon Pastorals. This was ironical exaltation of
the worst he could find in Philips over the best bits of his own work,
which Steele inserted (it is No. 40 of the _Guardian_). Hereupon
Philips, it is said, stuck up a rod in Buttons Coffee House, which he
said was to be used on Pope when next he met him. Pope retained his
wrath, and celebrated Philips afterwards under the character of Macer,
saying of this _Spectator_ time,

  _When simple Macer, now of high renown,
  First sought a Poets fortune in the town,
  Twas all the ambition his high soul could feel,
  To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele._]

[Footnote 3: Dionysius of Halicarnassus.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No.  224.              Friday, November 16, 1711.              Hughes.

 --Fulgente trahit constrictos Gloria curru
  Non minus ignotos generosis

  Hor. Sat. 6.

If we look abroad upon the great Multitudes of Mankind, and endeavour to
trace out the Principles of Action in every Individual, it will, I
think, seem highly probable that Ambition runs through the whole
Species, and that every Man in Proportion to the Vigour of his
Complection is more or less actuated by it. It is indeed no uncommon
thing to meet with Men, who by the natural Bent of their Inclinations,
and without the Discipline of Philosophy, aspire not to the Heights of
Power and Grandeur; who never set their Hearts upon a numerous Train of
Clients and Dependancies, nor other gay Appendages of Greatness; who are
contented with a Competency, and will not molest their Tranquillity to
gain an Abundance: But it is not therefore to be concluded that such a
Man is not Ambitious; his Desires may have cut out another Channel, and
determined him to other Pursuits; the Motive however may be still the
same; and in these Cases likewise the Man may be equally pushed on with
the Desire of Distinction.

Though the pure Consciousness of worthy Actions, abstracted from the
Views of popular Applause, be to a generous Mind an ample Reward, yet
the Desire of Distinction was doubtless implanted in our Natures as an
additional Incentive to exert our selves in virtuous Excellence.

This Passion indeed, like all others, is frequently perverted to evil
and ignoble Purposes; so that we may account for many of the
Excellencies and Follies of Life upon the same innate Principle, 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 [ingenuous] [1] Disposition, or a corrupt
Mind; it does accordingly 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 embellishing the Mind, or adorning the Outside, it
renders the Man eminently Praise-worthy or ridiculous. 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 forth upon one Object, sometimes upon another.

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 undistinguish'd many, does more than repair those
Wounds they have received in the Combat. Tis Mr. _Waller's_ Opinion,
that _Julius Caesar_, had he not been Master of the _Roman_ Empire, would
in all Probability have made an excellent Wrestler.

  _Great_ Julius _on the Mountains bred,
  A Flock perhaps or Herd had led;
  He that the World subdued, had been
  But the best Wrestler on the Green._ [2]

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
Emulation would have kindled within him, and prompted him to distinguish
himself in some Enterprize of a lower Nature. Since therefore no Man's
Lot is so unalterably fixed in this Life, but that a thousand Accidents
may either forward or disappoint his Advancement, it is, methinks, 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 ones Imagination to that low Station of Life, the Nature of
which bears some distant Resemblance to that high one he is at present
possessed of. Thus one may view him exercising in Miniature those
Talents of Nature, 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 may seem equal to the possible Extent of his improved

Thus Nature furnishes a Man with a general Appetite 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 Appearances, which the modish Part of the
World are obliged to provide, in order to make themselves remarkable;
for any thing glaring and particular, either in Behaviour or Apparel, is
known to have 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 likewise, upon this Account, been frequently
resented as a very great Slight, to leave any Gentleman out of a Lampoon
or Satyr, 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 frolicksome and
irregular Practices, as sallying out into Nocturnal Exploits, breaking
of Windows, singing of Catches, beating the Watch, getting Drunk twice a
Day, killing a great Number of Horses; with many other Enterprizes of
the like fiery 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 very Common, and at the same time the most absurd Ambition that ever
shewed it self in Humane 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 Affectionate Husband, or the
Generous Friend. It may be remarked, for the Comfort of honest Poverty,
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.
Humanity, Good Nature, and the Advantages of a Liberal Education, are
incompatible with Avarice. Tis strange to see how suddenly this abject
Passion kills all the noble Sentiments and generous Ambitions that adorn
Humane 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 Affection of
the Mind. As there are frequent Instances 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 common Decencies of Apparel. _A covetous Man will call
himself poor, that you may sooth his Vanity by contradicting him_. Love
and the Desire of Glory, as they are the most natural, so they are
capable of being refined into the most delicate and rational Passions.
Tis true, the wise Man who strikes out of the secret Paths of a private
Life, for Honour and Dignity, allured by the Splendour of a Court, and
the unfelt Weight of publick Employment, whether he succeeds in his
Attempts or no, usually comes near enough to this painted Greatness to
discern the Dawbing; he is then desirous of extricating himself out of
the Hurry of Life, that he may pass away the Remainder of his Days in
Tranquillity 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
with the gentle Gales of Hopes and Fears, there may be some Danger of
its stagnating in an unmanly Indolence and Security. It is a known Story
of _Domitian_, that after he had possessed himself of the _Roman_ Empire,
his Desires turn'd upon catching Flies. Active and Masculine Spirits in
the Vigour of Youth neither can nor ought to remain at Rest: If 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

Thus if you cut off the top Branches of a Tree, and will not suffer it
to grow any higher, it will not therefore 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 Disappointments in
his Way; but he who is actuated by a noble Principle, whose 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 not 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 virtuous
Movement in him to wish and to endeavour that his Power of doing Good
may be equal to his Will.

The Man who is fitted out by Nature, and sent into the World with great
Abilities, is capable of doing great Good or Mischief in it. It ought
therefore to be the Care of Education to infuse into the untainted Youth
early Notices of Justice and Honour, that so the possible Advantages of
good Parts may not take an evil Turn, nor be perverted to base and
unworthy Purposes. It is the Business of Religion and Philosophy not so
much to extinguish our Passions, as to regulate and direct them to
valuable well-chosen Objects: When these have pointed out to us which
Course we may lawfully steer, tis no Harm to set out all our Sail; if
the Storms and Tempests of Adversity should rise upon us, and not suffer
us to make the Haven where we would be, it will however prove no small
Consolation to us in these Circumstances, that we have neither mistaken
our Course, nor fallen into Calamities of our own procuring.

Religion therefore (were we to consider it no farther than as it
interposes in the Affairs of this Life) is highly valuable, and worthy
of great Veneration; as it settles the various Pretensions, and
otherwise interfering Interests of mortal Men, and thereby consults the
Harmony and Order of the great Community; as it gives a Man room to play
his Part, and exert his Abilities; as it animates to Actions truly
laudable in themselves, in their Effects beneficial to Society; as it
inspires rational Ambitions, correct Love, and elegant Desires.


[Footnote 1: ingenious]

[Footnote 2: In the Poem To Zelinda.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 225               Saturday, November 17, 1711             Addison.

  Nullum numen abest si sit Prudentia


I have often thought if the Minds of Men were laid open, we should see
but little Difference between that of the Wise Man and that of the Fool.
There are infinite _Reveries_, numberless Extravagancies, and a
perpetual Train of Vanities which pass through both. The great
Difference is that the first knows how to pick and cull his Thoughts for
Conversation, by suppressing some, and communicating others; whereas the
other lets them all indifferently fly out in Words. This sort of
Discretion, however, has no Place in private Conversation 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 but
_thinking aloud_.

_Tully_ has therefore very justly exposed a Precept delivered by some
Ancient Writers, That a Man should live with his Enemy in such a manner,
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 Enemy, is indeed very reasonable, as well as very
prudential; but the latter Part of it which regards 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 it self 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 Mind of Man, but there is
none so useful as Discretion; it is this indeed which gives a Value to
all the rest, which sets them at work in their proper Times and Places,
and turns them to the Advantage of the Person who is possessed of them.
Without it Learning is Pedantry, and Wit Impertinence; Virtue itself
looks like Weakness; the best Parts only qualify a Man to be more
sprightly in Errors, and active to his own Prejudice.

Nor does Discretion only make a Man the Master of his own Parts, but of
other Mens. 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 particular Communities and Divisions of Men, we may observe that it
is the discreet Man, not the Witty, nor the Learned, nor the Brave, who
guides the Conversation, and gives Measures to the Society. A Man with
great 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 Consequence 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 in his particular 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 the most proper and laudable Methods of attaining
them: Cunning has only private selfish Aims, and sticks at nothing which
may make them succeed. Discretion has large and extended Views, and,
like a well-formed Eye, commands a whole Horizon: Cunning is a Kind of
Short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest Objects which are near at
hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the
more 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 Events which he might
have done, had he passed only for a plain Man. Discretion 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 Mimick 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 Man, makes him look
forward into Futurity, and consider 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 reserv'd for him in another World, lose
nothing of their Reality by being placed at so great Distance from him.
The Objects do not appear little to him because they are remote. He
considers that those Pleasures and Pains which lie hid in Eternity,
approach 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 to himself that which is the proper Happiness of his Nature, and
the ultimate Design 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 find it consistent
with his Views of an Hereafter. In a word, his Hopes are full of
Immortality, his Schemes are large and glorious, and his Conduct
suitable to one who knows his true Interest, and how to pursue it by
proper Methods.

I have, in this Essay upon Discretion, considered it both as an
Accomplishment and as a Virtue, and have therefore described it in its
full 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 Name 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 _Saturdays_ 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 seeketh her early, shall have no great Travel: for he
shall find her sitting at his Doors. To think therefore upon her is
Perfection of Wisdom, and whoso watcheth for her shall quickly be
without Care. For she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her,
sheweth her self favourably unto them in the Ways, and meeteth them in
every Thought_. [1]


[Footnote 1: Wisdom vi. 12-16.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 226               Monday, November 19, 1711. [1]           Steele.

 --Mutum est pictura poema.

  Hor. [2]

I have very often lamented and hinted my Sorrow in several Speculations,
that the Art of Painting 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 Painters Imagination.
What strong Images of Virtue and Humanity might we not expect 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 Expence of
Time, than what is taught by Writings; 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 wrought _Bacchanal_, the Images of sleeping _Cupids_,
languishing Nymphs, or any of the Representations of Gods, Goddesses,
Demy-gods, Satyrs, _Polyphemes_, Sphinxes, or Fauns? But if the Virtues
and Vices, which are sometimes pretended 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 infamous; we should not see a good History-Piece without
receiving an instructive Lecture. There needs no other Proof of this
Truth, than the Testimony of every reasonable Creature who has seen the
Cartons in Her Majesty's Gallery at _Hampton--Court_: These are
Representations of no less Actions than those of our Blessed Saviour and
his Apostles. As I now sit and recollect the warm Images which the
admirable _Raphael_ has raised, it is impossible even from the faint
Traces in ones Memory of what one has 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 born
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 these great Things, with a deep Sense of the
Infirmities which they relieve, but no Value of themselves who
administer to their Weakness. They know themselves to be but
Instruments; and the generous Distress they are painted in when divine
Honours are offered to them, is a Representation in the most exquisite
Degree of the Beauty of Holiness. When St. _Paul_ is preaching to the
_Athenians_, with what wonderful Art are almost all the different
Tempers of Mankind represented in that elegant Audience? You see one
credulous of all that is said, another wrapt up in deep Suspence,
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 Authority, late Suffering, Humility and
Majesty, Despotick Command, and [Divine] [3] Love, are at once seated in
his celestial Aspect. The Figures of the Eleven Apostles are all in the
same Passion of Admiration, but discover it differently according to
their Characters. _Peter_ receives his Masters Orders on his Knees with
an Admiration mixed with a more particular Attention: The two next with
a more open Ecstasy, though still constrained by the Awe of the Divine
[4] Presence: The beloved Disciple, whom I take to be the Right of the
two first Figures, has in his Countenance Wonder drowned in Love; and
the last Personage, whose Back is towards the Spectator[s], and his Side
towards the Presence, one would fancy to be St. _Thomas_, as abashed by
the Conscience of his former Diffidence; which perplexed Concern it is
possible _Raphael_ thought too hard a Task to draw but by this
Acknowledgment of the Difficulty to describe it.

The whole Work is an Exercise of the highest Piety in the Painter; and
all the Touches of a religious Mind are expressed in a Manner much more
forcible than can possibly be performed by the most moving Eloquence.
These invaluable Pieces are very justly in the Hands of the greatest and
most pious Sovereign in the World; and cannot be the frequent Object of
every one at their own Leisure: But as an Engraver is to the Painter
what a Printer is to an Author, it is worthy Her Majesty's Name, that
she has encouraged that Noble Artist, Monsieur _Dorigny_, [5] to publish
these Works of _Raphael_. We have of this Gentleman a Piece of the
Transfiguration, which, I think, is held a Work second to none in the

Methinks it would be ridiculous in our People of Condition, after their
large Bounties to Foreigners of no Name or Merit, should they overlook
this Occasion of having, for a trifling Subscription, a Work which it is
impossible for a Man of Sense to behold, without being warmed with the
noblest Sentiments that can be inspired by Love, Admiration, Compassion,
Contempt of this World, and Expectation of a better.

It is certainly the greatest Honour we can do our Country, to
distinguish Strangers of Merit who apply to us with Modesty and
Diffidence, which generally accompanies Merit. No Opportunity of this
Kind ought to be neglected; and a modest Behaviour should alarm us to
examine whether we do not lose something excellent under that
Disadvantage in the Possessor of that Quality. My Skill in Paintings,
where one is not directed by the Passion of the Pictures, is so
inconsiderable, that I am in very great Perplexity when I offer to speak
of any Performances of Painters of Landskips, Buildings, or single
Figures. This makes me at a loss how to mention the Pieces which Mr.
_Boul_ exposes to Sale by Auction on _Wednesday_ next in
_Shandois-street_: But having heard him commended by those who have
bought of him heretofore for great Integrity in his Dealing, and
overheard him himself (tho a laudable Painter) say, nothing of his own
was fit to come into the Room with those he had to sell, I fear'd I
should lose an Occasion of serving a Man of Worth, in omitting to speak
of his Auction.


[Footnote 1: Swift to Stella, Nov. 18, 1711.

  Do you ever read the SPECTATORS? I never do; they never come in my
  way; I go to no coffee-houses. They say abundance of them are very
  pretty; they are going to be printed in small volumes; Ill bring them
  over with me.]

[Footnote 2:

  _Pictura Poesis erit_.


[Footnote 3: Brotherly]

[Footnote 4: coelestial]

[Footnote 5: Michel Dorigny, painter and engraver, native of St.
Quentin, pupil and son-in-law of Simon Vouet, whose style he adopted,
was Professor in the Paris Academy of Painting, and died at the age of
48, in 1665. His son and Vouet's grandson, Nicolo Dorigny, in aid of
whose undertaking Steele wrote this paper in the Spectator, had been
invited from Rome by several of the nobility, to produce, with licence
from the Queen, engravings from Raphael's Cartoons, at Hampton Court. He
offered eight plates 19 inches high, and from 25 to 30 inches long, for
four guineas subscription, although, he said in his Prospectus, the five
prints of Alexanders Battles after Lebrun were often sold for twenty

       *       *       *       *       *


                  _There is arrived from_ Italy
                          _a Painter
    who acknowledges himself the greatest Person of the Age in that Art,
            and is willing to be as renowned in this Island
               as he declares he is in Foreign Parts_.

               The Doctor paints the Poor for nothing.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 227.               Tuesday, November 20, 1711.            Addison.

  [Greek: O moi ego ti patho; ti ho dussuos; ouch hypakoueis;
  Tan Baitan apodus eis kumata taena aleumai
  Homer tos thunnos skopiazetai Olpis ho gripeus.
  Kaeka mae pothano, to ge man teon hadu tetuktai.


In my last _Thursday's_ Paper I made mention of a Place called _The
Lovers' Leap_, which I find has raised a great Curiosity among several
of my Correspondents. I there told them that this Leap was used to be
taken from a Promontory of _Leucas_. This _Leucas_ was formerly a Part
of _Acarnania_, being [joined to[1]] 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 called _Leucate_. If the Reader has a
mind to know both the Island and the Promontory by their modern Titles,
he will find in his Map the ancient Island of _Leucas_ under the Name of
St. _Mauro_, and the ancient Promontory of _Leucate_ under the Name of
_The Cape of St._ Mauro.

Since I am engaged thus far in Antiquity, I must observe that
_Theocritus_ in the Motto prefixed to my Paper, describes one of his
despairing Shepherds addressing himself to his Mistress after the
following manner, _Alas! What will become of me! Wretch that I am! Will
you not hear me? Ill throw off my Cloaths, and take a Leap into that
Part of the Sea which is so much frequented by_ Olphis _the Fisherman.
And tho I should escape with my Life, I know you will be pleased with
it_. I shall leave it with the Criticks to determine whether the Place,
which this Shepherd so particularly points out, was not the
above-mentioned _Leucate_, or at least some other Lovers Leap, which
was supposed to have had the same Effect. I cannot believe, as all the
Interpreters do, that the Shepherd means nothing farther here than that
he would drown himself, since he represents the Issue of his Leap as
doubtful, by adding, That if he should escape with [Life,[2]] he knows
his Mistress would be pleased with it; which 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 shall present my Reader with some Letters
which I have received upon this Subject. The first is sent me by a


  The Lovers Leap, which you mention in your 223d Paper, was
  generally, I believe, a very effectual Cure for Love, and not only for
  Love, but for all other Evils. In short, Sir, I am afraid it was such
  a Leap as that which _Hero_ took to get rid of her Passion for
  _Leander_. A Man is in no Danger 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, tho 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 often
  gives a new Motion to the Spirits, and a new Turn to the Blood; for
  which Reason we prescribe it in 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 desire you to consider whether, if the Frenzy produced 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 Servant, 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
  having made his Applications to me for three Years together, and
  filled my Head with a thousand Dreams of Happiness, some few Days
  since married another. Pray tell me in what Part of the World your
  Promontory lies, which you call _The Lovers Leap_, and whether one
  may go to it by Land? But, alas, I am afraid it has lost its Virtue,
  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 I must cry out
  with _Dido_ in _Dryden's Virgil_,

  _Ah! cruel Heaven, that made no Cure for Love!

  Your disconsolate Servant,_



   My Heart is so full of Lofes and Passions for Mrs. _Gwinifrid_, and
  she is so pettish and overrun with Cholers against me, that if I had
  the good Happiness to have my Dwelling (which is placed by my
  Creat-Cranfather upon the Pottom of an Hill) no farther Distance but
  twenty Mile from the Lofers Leap, I would indeed indeafour to preak
  my Neck upon it on Purpose. Now, good Mister SPICTATUR of _Crete
  Prittain_, you must know it there is in _Caernaruanshire_ a fery pig
  Mountain, the Glory of all _Wales_, which is named _Penmainmaure_, and
  you must also know, it iss no great Journey on Foot from me; but the
  Road is stony and bad for Shooes. Now, there is upon the Forehead of
  this Mountain a very high Rock, (like a Parish Steeple) that cometh a
  huge deal over the Sea; so when I am in my Melancholies, and I do
  throw myself from it, I do desire my fery good Friend to tell me in
  his _Spictatur_, if I shall be cure of my grefous Lofes; for there is
  the Sea clear as Glass, and as creen as the Leek: Then likewise if I
  be drown, and preak my Neck, if Mrs. _Gwinifrid_ will not lose me
  afterwards. Pray be speedy in your Answers, for I am in crete Haste,
  and it is my Tesires to do my Pusiness without Loss of Time. I remain
  with cordial Affections, your ever lofing Friend, _Davyth ap

  P. S.  My Law-suits have brought me to _London_, 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, very 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
little Temple of _Apollo_, that stood upon the Promontory of _Leucate_.
The Reader will find it to be a Summary Account of several Persons who
tried the Lovers 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 authentick, and
not rather the Production of one of those _Grecian_ Sophisters, who have
imposed upon the World several spurious Works of this Nature. I speak
this by way of Precaution, because I know there are several Writers, of
uncommon Erudition, who would not fail to expose my Ignorance, if they
caught me tripping in a Matter of so great Moment. [3]


[Footnote 1: [divided from]]

[Footnote 2: [his Life,]]

[Footnote 3: The following Advertisement appeared in Nos. 227-234, 237,
247 and 248, with the word certainly before be ready after the first

  There is now Printing by Subscription two Volumes of the SPECTATORS on
  a large Character in Octavo; the Price of the two Vols. well Bound and
  Gilt two Guineas. Those who are inclined to Subscribe, are desired to
  make their first Payments to Jacob Tonson, Bookseller in the Strand,
  the Books being so near finished, that they will be ready for the
  Subscribers at or before Christmas next.

  The Third and Fourth Volumes of the LUCUBRATIONS of Isaac Bickerstaff,
  Esq., are ready to be delivered at the same Place.

  N.B. The Author desires that such Gentlemen who have not received
  their Books for which they have Subscribed, would be pleased to
  signify the same to Mr. Tonson.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 228.              Wednesday, November 21, 1711.           Steele.

  Percunctatorem fugito, nam Garrulus idem est.


There is a Creature who has all the Organs 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 it self, and therefore forced to apply it self
to foreign Assistances. Of this Make is that Man who is very
inquisitive. You may often observe, that tho 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 to still new Enquiries. Thus, tho you know he is fit for
the most polite Conversation, you shall see him very well contented to
sit by a Jockey, giving an Account of the many Revolutions in his
Horses 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
Impertinence; 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, tho 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 each others Wants.
I had the Honour the other Day to sit in a publick Room, and saw an
inquisitive Man look with an Air of Satisfaction upon the Approach of
one of these Talkers.

The Man of ready Utterance sat down by him, and rubbing his Head,
leaning on his Arm, and making an uneasy Countenance, he began; There
is no manner of News 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
Season 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 him how he could go naked; I am all Face.

I observed this Discourse was as welcome to my general Enquirer as any
other of more Consequence could have been; but some Body calling our
Talker to another Part of the Room, the Enquirer 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 are the Channels through
which all the Good and Evil that is spoken in Town are conveyed. Such as
are offended at them, or think they suffer by their Behaviour, may
themselves mend that Inconvenience; for they are not a malicious People,
and if you will supply them, you may contradict any thing they have said
before by their own Mouths. A farther Account of a thing is one of the
gratefullest Goods that can arrive to them; and it is seldom that they
are more particular than to say, The Town will have it, or I have it
from a good Hand: So that there is room for the Town to know the Matter
more particularly, 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 insignificant, there cannot
be a greater Joy than an Enquirer discovers in seeing him follow so
hopefully his own Steps: But this Humour among Men is most pleasant when
they are saying something which is not wholly proper for a third Person
to hear, and yet is in itself indifferent. The other Day there came in a
well-dressed young Fellow, and two Gentlemen of this Species immediately
fell a whispering his Pedigree. I could overhear, by Breaks, She was his
Aunt; then an Answer, Ay, she was of the Mothers Side: Then again in a
little lower Voice, His Father wore generally a darker Wig; Answer, Not
much. But this Gentleman wears higher Heels to his Shoes.

As the Inquisitive, in my Opinion, are such merely from a Vacancy in
their own Imaginations, there is nothing, methinks, so dangerous as to
communicate Secrets to them; for the same Temper of Enquiry makes them
as impertinently communicative: But no Man, though he converses with
them, need put himself in their Power, for they will be contented with
Matters of less Moment as well. When there is Fuel enough, no matter
what it is--Thus the Ends of Sentences in the News Papers, as, _This
wants Confirmation, This occasions many Speculations_, and _Time will
discover the Event_, are read by them, and considered not as mere

One may see now and then this Humour accompanied with an insatiable
Desire of knowing what passes, without turning it to any Use in the
world but merely their own Entertainment. A Mind which is gratified this
Way is adapted to Humour and Pleasantry, and formed for an unconcerned
Character in the World; and, like my self, to be a mere Spectator. This
Curiosity, without Malice or Self-interest, lays up in the Imagination a
Magazine of Circumstances which cannot but entertain when they are
produced in Conversation. If one were to know, from the Man of the first
Quality to the meanest Servant, the different Intrigues, Sentiments,
Pleasures, and Interests of Mankind, would it not be the most pleasing
Entertainment imaginable to enjoy so constant a Farce, as the observing
Mankind much more different from themselves in their secret Thoughts and
publick Actions, than in their Night-caps and long Periwigs?


  _Plutarch_ tells us, that _Caius Gracchus_, the _Roman_, was
  frequently hurried by his Passion into so loud and tumultuous a way of
  Speaking, and so strained his Voice as not to be able to proceed. To
  remedy this Excess, he had an ingenious Servant, by Name _Licinius_,
  always attended him with a Pitch-pipe, or Instrument to regulate the
  Voice; who, whenever he heard his Master begin to be high, immediately
  touched a soft Note; at which, 'tis said, _Caius_ would presently
  abate and grow calm.

  Upon recollecting this Story, I have frequently wondered that this
  useful Instrument should have been so long discontinued; especially
  since we find that this good Office of _Licinius_ has preserved his
  Memory for many hundred Years, which, methinks, should have encouraged
  some one to have revived it, if not for the publick 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 check'd by
  their Servants: But granting this to be true, surely any of their
  Hearers have a very good Title to play a soft Note in their own
  Defence. To be short, no _Licinius_ appearing and the Noise
  increasing, I was resolved to give this late long Vacation to the Good
  of my Country; and I have at length, by the Assistance of an ingenious
  Artist, (who works to the Royal Society) almost compleated my Design,
  and shall be ready in a short Time to furnish the Publick with what
  Number of these Instruments they please, either to lodge at
  Coffee-houses, or carry for their own private Use. In the mean time I
  shall pay that Respect to several 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 only 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 you with _Buckley_; and which I hope will be serviceable to you,
  since as you are silent yourself you are most open to the Insults of
  the Noisy.

  _I am, SIR_, &c.


  I had almost forgot to inform you, that as an Improvement in this
  Instrument, there will be a particular Note, which I call a Hush-Note;
  and this is to be made use of against a long Story, Swearing,
  Obsceneness, and the like.

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 229.               Thursday, Nov. 22, 1711.             Addison.

 --Spirat adhuc amor,
  Vivuntque commissi calores
  AEoliae fidibus puellae.


Among the many famous Pieces of Antiquity which are still to be seen at
_Rome_, there is the Trunk of a Statue [1] which has lost the Arms,
Legs, and Head; but discovers such an exquisite Workmanship in what
remains of it, that _Michael Angelo_ 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 called
_Michael Angelo's_ School.

A Fragment of _Sappho_, which I design for the Subject of this Paper,
[2] is in as great Reputation among the Poets and Criticks, 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 Dramatick Writings; and in their
Poems upon Love.

Whatever might have been the Occasion of this Ode, the English Reader
will enter into the Beauties of it, if he supposes it to have been
written in the Person of a Lover sitting by his Mistress. I shall set to
View three different Copies of this beautiful Original: The first is a
Translation by _Catullus_, the second by Monsieur _Boileau_, and the
last by a Gentleman whose Translation of the _Hymn to Venus_ has been so
deservedly admired.


  _Ille mi par esse deo videtur,
  Ille, si fas est, superare divos,
  Qui sedens adversus identidem te,
       Spectat, et audit.

  Dulce ridentem, misero quod omnis
  Eripit sensus mihi: nam simul te,
  Lesbia, adspexi, nihil est super mi_
       Quod loquar amens.

  _Lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus
  Flamnia dimanat, sonitu suopte
  Tinniunt aures, gemina teguntur
       Lumina nocte_.

My learned Reader will know very well the Reason why one of these Verses
is printed in _Roman_ Letter; [3] and if he compares this Translation
with the Original, will find that the three first Stanzas are rendred
almost Word for Word, and not only with the same Elegance, but with the
same short Turn of Expression which is so remarkable in the _Greek_, and
so peculiar to the _Sapphick_ Ode. I cannot imagine for what Reason
Madam _Dacier_ has told us, that this Ode of _Sappho_ is preserved
entire in _Longinus_, since it is manifest to any one who looks into
that Authors Quotation of it, that there must at least have been
another Stanza, which is not transmitted to us.

The second Translation of this Fragment which I shall here cite, is that
of Monsieur _Boileau_.

  Heureux! qui pres de toi, pour toi seule soupire:
  Qui jouit du plaisir de tentendre parler:
  Qui te voit quelquefois doucement lui sourire.
  Les Dieux, dans son bonheur, peuvent-ils legaler?

  Je sens de veine en veine une subtile flamme
  Courir par tout mon corps, si-tost que je te vois:
  Et dans les doux transports, ou segare mon ame,
  Je ne scaurois trouver de langue, ni de voix.

  Un nuage confus se repand sur ma vue,
  Je nentens plus, je tombe en de douces langueurs;
  Et pale, sans haleine, interdite, esperdue,
  Un frisson me saisit, je tremble, je me meurs.

The Reader will see that this is rather an Imitation than a Translation.
The Circumstances do not lie so thick together, and follow one another
with that Vehemence and Emotion as in the Original. In short, Monsieur
_Boileau_ 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.

I.   Blest as th'immortal Gods is he,
     The Youth who fondly sits by thee,
     And hears and sees thee all the while
     Softly speak and sweetly smile.

II.   Twas this deprived my Soul of Rest,
     And raised such Tumults in my Breast;
     For while I gaz'd, in Transport tost,
     My Breath was gone, my Voice was lost:

III. My Bosom glowed; the subtle Flame
     Ran quick through all my vital Frame;
     O'er my dim Eyes a Darkness hung;
     My Ears with hollow Murmurs rung.

IV.  In dewy Damps my Limbs were child;
     My Blood with gentle Horrors thrill'd;
     My feeble Pulse forgot to play;
     I fainted, sunk, and dy'd away.

Instead of giving any Character of this last Translation, I shall desire
my learned Reader to look into the Criticisms which _Longinus_ has made
upon the Original. By that means he will know to which of the
Translations he ought to give the Preference. I shall only add, that
this Translation is written in the very Spirit of _Sappho_, and as near
the _Greek_ as the Genius of our Language will possibly suffer.

_Longinus_ has observed, that this Description of Love in _Sappho_ is an
exact Copy of Nature, and that all the Circumstances which follow one
another in such an Hurry of Sentiments, notwithstanding they appear
repugnant to each other, are really such as happen in the Phrenzies of

I wonder, that not one of the Criticks or Editors, through whose Hands
this Ode has passed, has taken Occasion from it to mention a
Circumstance related by _Plutarch_. That Author in the famous Story of
_Antiochus_, who fell in Love with _Stratonice_, his Mother-in-law, and
(not daring to discover his Passion) pretended to be confined to his Bed
by Sickness, tells us, that _Erasistratus_, the Physician, found out the
Nature of his Distemper by those Symptoms of Love which he had learnt
from _Sappho's_ Writings. [4] _Stratonice_ was in the Room of the
Love-sick Prince, when these Symptoms discovered themselves to his
Physician; and it is probable, that they were not very different from
those which _Sappho_ here describes in a Lover sitting by his Mistress.
This Story of _Antiochus_ is so well known, that I need not add the
Sequel of it, which has no Relation to my present Subject.


[Footnote 1: The Belvidere Torso.]

[Footnote 2: The other translation by Ambrose Philips. See note to No.

[Footnote 3: Wanting in copies then known, it is here supplied by

[Footnote 4: In Plutarch's Life of Demetrius.

  When others entered Antiochus was entirely unaffected. But when
  Stratonice came in, as she often did, he shewed all the symptoms
  described by Sappho, the faltering voice, the burning blush, the
  languid eye, the sudden sweat, the tumultuous pulse; and at length,
  the passion overcoming his spirits, a swoon and mortal paleness.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 230.                Friday, Nov. 23, 1711.                Steele.

  Homines ad Deos nulla re propius accedunt, quam salutem Hominibus


Human Nature appears a very deformed, or a very 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 undermining each other by secret Treachery;
when we observe base and narrow Ends pursued by ignominious and
dishonest Means; when we behold Men mixed in Society as if it were for
the Destruction of it; we are even ashamed of our Species, 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 publick
Prosperity, compassionating [each [1]] others Distresses, and relieving
each others 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 Compliment we
have ever been able to make to our own Being, has been by calling this
Disposition of Mind Humanity. We cannot but observe a Pleasure 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 _Pliny_, in which he recommends
a Friend in the most handsome manner, and, methinks, it would be a great
Pleasure to know the Success of this Epistle, though each Party
concerned in it has been so many hundred Years in his Grave.


  What I should gladly do for any Friend of 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 Fortune, though that is very plentiful, but
  to his Integrity, 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 my self bound to use my
  Endeavours to serve and promote him; and would therefore find the
  Means of adding something to his Honours while he neither expects nor
  knows it, nay, though he should refuse it. Something, in short, I
  would have for him that may be honourable, but not troublesome; and I
  entreat 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 asked it. [2]


  The Reflections in some of your Papers on the servile manner of
  Education now in Use, have given Birth to an Ambition, which, unless
  you discountenance it, will, I doubt, engage me in a very difficult,
  tho 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 prevail 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
  retire with them to an agreeable Solitude; though within the
  Neighbourhood of a City, for the Convenience of their being instructed
  in Musick, Dancing, Drawing, Designing, or any other such
  Accomplishments, which it is conceived may make as proper Diversions
  for them, and almost as pleasant, as the little sordid Games which
  dirty School-boys are so much delighted with. It may easily be
  imagined, how such a pretty Society, conversing with none beneath
  themselves, and sometimes admitted as perhaps not unentertaining
  Parties amongst better Company, commended and caressed for their
  little Performances, and turned by such Conversations to a certain
  Gallantry of Soul, 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 _Latin_
  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 together with them the best _Roman_ Historians, Poets,
  and Orators, and point out their more remarkable Beauties; give them a
  short Scheme of Chronology, a little View of Geography, Medals,
  Astronomy, or what else might best feed the busy inquisitive Humour so
  natural to that Age. Such of them as had the least Spark of Genius,
  when it was once awakened by the shining Thoughts and great Sentiments
  of those admired Writers, could not, I believe, be easily withheld
  from attempting that more difficult Sister Language, whose exalted
  Beauties they would have heard so often celebrated as the Pride and
  Wonder of the whole Learned World. In the mean while, it would be
  requisite to exercise their Style in Writing any light Pieces that ask
  more of Fancy than of Judgment: and that frequently in their Native
  Language, which every one methinks should be most concerned to
  cultivate, especially Letters, in which a Gentleman must have so
  frequent Occasions to distinguish himself. A Set of genteel
  good-natured Youths fallen into such a Manner of Life, would form
  almost a little Academy, and doubtless prove no such contemptible
  Companions, as might not often tempt a wiser Man to mingle himself in
  their Diversions, and draw them into such serious Sports as might
  prove nothing less instructing than the gravest Lessons. I doubt not
  but it might be made some of their Favourite Plays, to contend which
  of them should recite a beautiful Part of a Poem or Oration most
  gracefully, or sometimes to join in acting a Scene of _Terence,
  Sophocles,_ or our own _Shakespear_. The Cause of _Milo_ might again
  be pleaded before more favourable Judges, _Caesar_ a second time be
  taught to tremble, and another Race of _Athenians_ be afresh enraged
  at the Ambition of another _Philip_. Amidst these noble Amusements, we
  could hope to see the early Dawnings of their Imagination daily
  brighten into Sense, their Innocence improve into Virtue, and their
  unexperienced Good-nature directed to a generous Love of their

  _I am_, &c.


[Footnote 1: of each]

[Footnote 2: Pliny, Jun, Epist. Bk. II. Ep. 2. Thus far the paper is by
John Hughes.]

 *       *       *       *       *

No. 231.                Saturday, November 24, 1711.            Addison.

  O Pudor! O Pietas!


Looking over the Letters which I have lately received from 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 my self, and question not but it will be as acceptable to the Reader.

  Mr. Spectator, [1]

  You, who are no Stranger to Publick Assemblies, 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 Distress, to which
  ingenuous Minds are the most liable, 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 the 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 altogether upon one Person. I have seen a new Actor in a
  Tragedy so bound up by it as to be scarce able to speak or move, and
  have expected he would have died above three Acts before the Dagger or
  Cup of Poison were brought in. It would not be amiss, if such an one
  were at first introduced as a Ghost or a Statue, till he recovered his
  Spirits, and grew fit for some living Part.

  As this sudden Desertion of ones self shews a Diffidence, 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 are in so much
  Perplexity 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, [2] whose more than ordinary Concern on her
  first Appearance, recommended her no less than her agreeable Voice,
  and just Performance. Meer Bashfulness without Merit is awkward; and
  Merit without Modesty, insolent. 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 himself to Advantage in an
Assembly, whether it be his Part either to sing or speak, who lies under
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 Speech which an Orator ought to
have in Perfection, as the Tongue, the Teeth [the Lips,] the Nose, the
Palate, and the Wind-pipe. Upon which, says my Friend, you have omitted
the most material Organ of them all, and that is the Forehead.

But notwithstanding an Excess of Modesty obstructs the Tongue, and
renders it unfit for its Offices, a due Proportion of it is thought so
requisite to an Orator, that Rhetoricians have recommended 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 Confusion at the
Beginning of his Speech, and confesses that he himself never entered
upon an Oration without Trembling and Concern. It is indeed a kind of
Deference which is due to a great Assembly, and seldom fails to raise a
Benevolence in the 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.

 --_Lingua melior, sedfrigida bello

A bold Tongue and a feeble Arm are the Qualifications of _Drances_ in
_Virgil_; as _Homer_, to express a Man both timorous and sawcy, makes
use of a kind of Point, which is very rarely to be met with in his
Writings; namely, that he had the Eyes of a Dog, but the Heart of a
Deer. [3]

A just and reasonable Modesty does not only recommend Eloquence, but
sets off every great Talent which a Man can be possessed 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
beautiful, though not so glaring as they would be without it.

Modesty is not only an Ornament, but also a Guard to Virtue. It is a
kind of quick and delicate _Feeling_ in the Soul, which makes her shrink
and withdraw her self from every thing that has Danger in it. It is such
an exquisite Sensibility, as warns her to shun the first Appearance of
every thing which is hurtful.

I cannot at present recollect either the Place or Time of what I am
going to mention; but I have read 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 her
self, her Corps should be exposed naked in the Street, and dragged about
the City in the most publick Manner. This Edict immediately put a Stop
to the Practice which was before so common. We may see in this Instance
the Strength of Female Modesty, which was able to overcome the Violence
even 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 so impregnable a Fence to Virtue; what can more undermine Morality
than that Politeness which reigns among the unthinking Part of Mankind,
and treats as unfashionable the most ingenuous Part of our Behaviour;
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 Vice, that he prescribes to
us the Practice of it in Secret, and advises us to raise it in ourselves
upon imaginary 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 greatest 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 Confidence. This happens when a Man is ashamed to act
up to his Reason, and would not upon any Consideration be surprized in
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 show his Head, after
having disclosed a religious Thought. Decency of Behaviour, all outward
Show of Virtue, and Abhorrence of Vice, are carefully avoided by this
Set of Shame-faced People, as what would disparage their Gayety 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 think Human Nature incapable of, did we not meet
with frequent Instances of it in ordinary Conversation.

There is another Kind of vicious Modesty which makes a Man ashamed of
his Person, his Birth, his Profession, his Poverty, or the like
Misfortunes, which it was not in his Choice to prevent, and is not in
his Power to rectify. If a Man appears ridiculous by any of the
afore-mentioned Circumstances, he becomes much more so by being out of
Countenance for them. They should rather give him Occasion to exert a
noble Spirit, and to palliate those Imperfections which are not in his
Power, by those Perfections which are; or to use a very witty Allusion
of an eminent Author, he should imitate _Caesar_, who, because his Head
was bald, cover'd that Defect with Laurels.


[Footnote 1: This letter is by John Hughes.]

[Footnote 2: Mrs. Barbier]

[Footnote 3: Iliad, i. 225.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 232.              Monday, November 26, 1711.            Hughes [1].

  Nihil largiundo gloriam adeptus est.


My wise and good Friend, Sir _Andrew Freeport_, divides himself almost
equally between the Town and the Country: His Time in Town is given up
to the Publick, and the Management of his private Fortune; and after
every three or four Days spent in this Manner, he retires for as many to
his Seat within a few Miles of the Town, to the Enjoyment of himself,
his Family, and his Friend. Thus Business and Pleasure, or rather, in
Sir _Andrew_, Labour and Rest, recommend each other. They take their
Turns with so quick a Vicissitude, that neither becomes a Habit, or
takes Possession of the whole Man; nor is it possible he should be
surfeited with either. I often see him at our Club in good Humour, and
yet sometimes too with an Air of Care in his Looks: But in his Country
Retreat 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 me.

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 Rhetorick 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

  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 ourselves upon,
  is, that we have promoted the Trade of the Victualler and the Excises
  of the Government. But how few Ounces of Wooll do we see upon the
  Backs of those poor Creatures? And when they shall next fall in our
  Way, they will hardly be better dress'd; they must always live in Rags
  to look like Objects of Compassion. If their Families too are such as
  they are represented, 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 Wooll, Corn and
  Cattle? Such Customers, and such a Consumption, cannot choose but
  advance the landed Interest, and hold up the Rents of the Gentlemen.

  But of all Men living, we Merchants, who live by Buying and Selling,
  ought never to encourage Beggars. The Goods which we export are indeed
  the Product of the lands, but much the greatest Part of their Value is
  the Labour of the People: but how much of these Peoples Labour shall
  we export whilst we hire them to sit still? The very Alms they receive
  from us, are the Wages of Idleness. I have often thought that no Man
  should be permitted to take Relief from the Parish, or to ask it in
  the Street, till he has first purchased as much as possible of his own
  Livelihood by the Labour of his own Hands; and then the Publick ought
  only to be taxed to make good the Deficiency. If this Rule was
  strictly observed, we should see every where such a Multitude of new
  Labourers, as would in all probability reduce the Prices of all our
  Manufactures. It is the very Life of Merchandise to buy cheap and sell
  dear. The Merchant ought to make his Outset as cheap as possible, that
  he may find the greater Profit upon his Returns; and nothing will
  enable him to do this like the Reduction of the Price of Labour upon
  all our Manufactures. This too would be the ready Way to increase the
  Number of our Foreign Markets: The Abatement of the Price of the
  Manufacture would pay for the Carriage of it to more distant
  Countries; and this Consequence would be 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 Gentle man; our Liberality to common Beggars, and every other
  Obstruction to the Increase of Labourers, must be equally pernicious
  to both.

Sir _Andrew_ then went on to affirm, That the Reduction of the Prices of
our Manufactures by the Addition of so many new Hands, would be no
Inconvenience to any Man: But observing I was something 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 Labour should be
  reduced without an Abatement of Wages, or that Wages can be abated
  without any Inconvenience to the Labourer, and yet nothing is more
  certain than that both those Things may happen. The Wages of the
  Labourers make the greatest Part of the Price of every Thing that is
  useful; and if in Proportion with the Wages the Prices of all other
  Things should be abated, every Labourer with less Wages would be still
  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 Persons remain as
  high as ever. The admirable Sir William Petty [2] 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 explain 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 hundred Watches by a
  hundred; for as there is vast Variety in the Work, no one Person could
  equally suit himself to all the Parts of it; the Manufacture would be
  tedious, and at last but clumsily performed: But if an hundred Watches
  were to be made by a hundred Men, the Cases may be assigned to one,
  the Dials to another, the Wheels to another, the Springs to another,
  and every other Part to a proper Artist; as there would be no need of
  perplexing any one Person with too much Variety, every one would be
  able to perform his single Part with greater Skill and Expedition; and
  the hundred Watches would be finished in one fourth Part of the Time
  of the first one, and every one of them at one fourth Part of the
  Cost, tho the Wages of every Man were equal. The Reduction of the
  Price of the Manufacture would increase the Demand of it, all the same
  Hands would be still employed and as well paid. The same Rule will
  hold in the Clothing, the Shipping, and all the other Trades
  whatsoever. And thus an Addition of Hands to our Manufactures will
  only reduce the Price of them; the Labourer will still have as much
  Wages, and will consequently be enabled to purchase more Conveniencies
  of Life; so that every Interest in the Nation would receive a Benefit
  from the Increase of our Working People.

  Besides, I see no Occasion for this Charity to common Beggars, since
  every Beggar is an Inhabitant of a Parish, and every Parish is taxed
  to the Maintenance of their own Poor. [3]

  For my own part, I cannot be mightily pleased with the Laws which have
  done this, which have provided better to feed than employ the Poor. We
  have a Tradition from our Forefathers, that after the first of those
  Laws was made, they were insulted with that famous Song;

    Hang Sorrow, and cast away Care,
    The Parish is bound to find us, &c.

  And if we 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 I against all Acts of Charity? God forbid! I know of no
  Virtue in the Gospel that is in more pathetical Expressions
  recommended to our Practice. _I was hungry and [ye] [4] gave me no
  Meat, thirsty and ye gave me no Drink, 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 Exercise or 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
  coarsest 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 ought 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 of Infidels, and lives in a State of miserable Captivity, this
  is the Man in Prison, and I should contribute to his Ransom. I ought
  to give to an Hospital of Invalids, to recover as many useful Subjects
  as I can; but I shall bestow none of my Bounties upon an Alms-house of
  idle People; and for the same Reason I should not think it a Reproach
  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 Customs of our Country: But at the same
  time, I cannot but think it a Reproach worse than that of common
  Swearing, 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.] [5]

[Footnote 1: Or Henry Martyn?]

[Footnote 2: Surveyor-general of Ireland to Charles II. See his
Discourse of Taxes (1689).]

[Footnote 3: Our idle poor till the time of Henry VIII. lived upon alms.
After the dissolution of the monasteries experiments were made for their
care, and by a statute 43 Eliz. overseers were appointed and Parishes
charged to maintain their helpless poor and find work for the sturdy. In
Queen Annes time the Poor Law had been made more intricate and
troublesome by the legislation on the subject that had been attempted
after the Restoration.]

[Footnote 4: [_you_] throughout, and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 5: X.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 233.                  Tuesday, Nov. 27, 1711.              Addison.

 --Tanquam hec sint nostri medicina furoris,
  Aut Deus ille malis hominum mitescere discat.


I shall, in this Paper, discharge myself of the Promise I have made to
the Publick, by obliging them with a Translation of the little _Greek_
Manuscript, which is said to have been a Piece of those Records that
were preserved in the Temple of _Apollo_, upon the Promontory of
_Leucate_: It is a short History of the Lovers Leap, and is inscribed,
_An Account of Persons Male and Female, who offered up their Vows in the
Temple of the_ Pythian Apollo, _in the 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, that 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 extracted such particular
Passages as have something extraordinary, either in the Case, or in the
Cure, or in the Fate of the Person who is mentioned in it. After this
short Preface take the Account as follows.

  _Battus_, the Son of _Menalcas_ the _Sicilian_, leaped for _Bombyca_
  the Musician: Got rid of his Passion with the Loss of his Right Leg
  and Arm, which were broken in the Fall.

  _Melissa_, in Love with _Daphnis_, very much bruised, but escaped with

  _Cynisca_, the Wife of _AEschines_, being in Love with _Lycus_; and
  _AEschines_ 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 have lived very happily together ever since.

  _Larissa_, a Virgin of _Thessaly_, deserted by _Plexippus_, 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 her self into the Sea, and was taken up alive.

  _N. B. Larissa_, before she leaped, made an Offering of a Silver
  _Cupid_ in the Temple of _Apollo_.

  _Simaetha_, in Love with _Daphnis_ the _Myndian_, perished in the

  _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 till he was reduced to his last Talent; being forsaken by
  _Rhodope_, at length resolved to take the Leap. Perished in it.

  _Aridaeus_, a beautiful Youth of _Epirus_, in Love with _Praxinoe_,
  the Wife of _Thespis_, escaped without Damage, saving only that two of
  his Fore-Teeth were struck out and his Nose a little flatted.

  _Cleora_, a Widow of _Ephesus_, being inconsolable for the Death of
  her Husband, was resolved to take this Leap in order to get rid of her
  Passion for his Memory; but being arrived at the Promontory, she there
  met with _Dimmachus_ the _Miletian_, and after a short Conversation
  with him, laid aside the Thoughts of her Leap, and married him in the
  Temple of _Apollo_.

  _N. B._ Her Widows Weeds are still to be seen hanging up in the
  Western Corner of the Temple.

  _Olphis_, the Fisherman, having received a Box on the Ear from
  _Thestylis_ the Day before, and being determined to have no more to do
  with her, leaped, and escaped with Life.

  _Atalanta_, an old Maid, whose Cruelty had several Years before driven
  two or three despairing Lovers to this Leap; being now in the fifty
  fifth Year of her Age, and in Love with an Officer of _Sparta_, broke
  her Neck in the Fall.

  _Hipparchus_ being passionately fond of his own Wife who was enamoured
  of _Bathyllus_, leaped, and died of his Fall; upon which his Wife
  married her Gallant.

  _Tettyx_, the Dancing-Master, in Love with _Olympia_ an Athenian
  Matron, threw himself from the Rock with great Agility, but was
  crippled in the Fall.

  _Diagoras_, the Usurer, in Love with his Cook-Maid; he peeped several
  times over the Precipice, but his Heart misgiving him, he went back,
  and married her that Evening.

  _Cinaedus_, after having entered his own Name in the Pythian Records,
  being asked the Name of the Person whom he leaped for, and being
  ashamed to discover it, he was set aside, and not suffered to leap.

  _Eunica_, a Maid of _Paphos_, aged Nineteen, in Love with _Eurybates_.
  Hurt in the Fall, but recovered.

  _N. B._ This was her second Time of Leaping.

  _Hesperus_, a young Man of _Tarentum_, in Love with his Masters
  Daughter. Drowned, the Boats not coming in soon enough to his Relief.

  _Sappho_, the _Lesbian_, in Love with _Phaon_, arrived at the Temple
  of _Apollo_, habited like a Bride in Garments as white as Snow. She
  wore a Garland of Myrtle on her Head, and carried in her Hand the
  little Musical Instrument of her own Invention. After having sung an
  Hymn to _Apollo_, she hung up her Garland on one Side of his Altar,
  and her Harp on the other. She then tuck'd up her Vestments, like a
  _Spartan_ Virgin, and amidst thousands of Spectators, who were anxious
  for her Safety, and offered up Vows for her Deliverance, [marched[1]]
  directly forwards to the utmost Summit of the Promontory, where after
  having repeated a Stanza of her own Verses, which we could not hear,
  she threw herself off the Rock with such an Intrepidity as was never
  before observed in any who had attempted that dangerous Leap. Many who
  were present related, that they saw her fall into the Sea, from whence
  she never rose again; tho there were others who affirmed, that she
  never came to the Bottom of her Leap, but that she was changed into a
  Swan as she fell, and that they saw her hovering in the Air under that
  Shape. But whether or no the Whiteness and Fluttering of her Garments
  might not deceive those who looked upon her, or whether she might not
  really be metamorphosed into that musical and melancholy Bird, is
  still a Doubt among the _Lesbians_.

  _Alcaeus_, the famous _Lyrick_ Poet, who had for some time been
  passionately in Love with _Sappho_, arrived at the Promontory of
  _Leucate_ that very Evening, in order to take the Leap upon her
  Account; but hearing that _Sappho_ had been there before him, and that
  her Body could be no where found, he very generously lamented her
  Fall, and is said to have written his hundred and twenty fifth Ode
  upon that Occasion.

    _Leaped in this Olympiad_ [250 [2]]

    Males     124
    Females   126

    _Cured_ [120[3]]

    Males      51
    Females    69


[Footnote 1: [she marched]]

[Footnote 2: [350], and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 3: [150], corrected by an Erratum.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 234.                Wednesday, Nov. 28, 1711.               Steele.

[_Vellum in amicitia erraremus_.

Hor.] [1]

You very often hear People, after a Story has been told with some
entertaining Circumstances, tell it over again with Particulars that
destroy the Jest, but give Light into the Truth of the Narration. This
sort of Veracity, though it is impertinent, has something amiable in it,
because it proceeds from the Love of Truth, even in frivolous Occasions.
If such honest Amendments do not promise an agreeable Companion, they do
a sincere Friend; for which Reason one should allow them so much of our
Time, if we fall into their Company, as to set us right in Matters that
can do us no manner 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 Defence, because he should not be triumphed over; Lies which
are told out of Malice he should expose, 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 check'd by the Magistrates for
his Falshood; but excused himself by saying, _O Athenians!_ 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 Persons. 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
Friends Behaviour is not as excusable. His Manner is to express himself
surprised at the Chearful 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] [2] 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 nothing but downright Raillery from that Side. According as he
sees his Practices succeeded, he goes to the opposite Party, and tells
him, he cannot imagine how it happens that some People know one another
so little; you spoke with so much Coldness of a Gentleman who said more
Good of you, than, let me tell you, any Man living deserves. The Success
of one of these Incidents was, that the next time that one of the
Adversaries spied the other, he hems after him in the publick Street,
and they must crack a Bottle at the next Tavern, that used to turn out
of the others Way to avoid one anothers Eyeshot. He will tell one
Beauty she was commended by another, nay, he will say she gave the Woman
he speaks to, the Preference in a Particular for which she her self is
admired. The pleasantest Confusion imaginable is made through the whole
Town by my Friends indirect Offices; you shall have a Visit returned
after half a Years Absence, and mutual Railing at each other every Day
of that Time. They meet with a thousand Lamentations for so long a
Separation, each Party naming herself for the greater Delinquent, if the
other can possibly 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 thousand pleasing
Passions and Sentiments, instead of the Pangs of Anger, Envy,
Detraction, and Malice.

The worst Evil I ever observed this Man's Falsehood occasion,
has been that he turned Detraction into Flattery. He is well
skilled in the Manners of the World, and by over-looking what
Men really are, he grounds his Artifices upon what they have a
Mind to be. Upon this Foundation, if two distant Friends are
brought together, and the Cement seems to be weak, he never
rests till he finds new Appearances to take off all Remains of
Ill-will, and that by new Misunderstandings they are thoroughly


  _Devonshire, Nov._ 14, 1711.


  There arrived in this Neighbourhood two Days ago one of your gay
  Gentlemen of the Town, who being attended at his Entry with a Servant
  of his own, besides a Countryman he had taken 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 Gentleman came from _London_ to travel and see
  Fashions, 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 for.

  I do not look upon the Simplicity of this, and several odd Inquiries
  with which I shall not trouble you to be wondered at, much less can I
  think that our Youths of fine Wit, and enlarged Understandings, have
  any Reason to laugh. There is no Necessity that every Squire in _Great
  Britain_ should know what the Word Free-thinker stands for; but it
  were much to be wished, that they who value themselves upon that
  conceited Title were a little better instructed in what it ought to
  stand for; and that they would not perswade themselves a Man is really
  and truly a Free-thinker in any tolerable Sense, meerly by virtue of
  his being an Atheist, or an Infidel of any other Distinction. It may
  be doubted, with good Reason, whether there ever was in Nature a more
  abject, slavish, and bigotted Generation than the Tribe of _Beaux
  Esprits_, at present so prevailing in this Island. Their 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 Inclination, or their Fancy, shall suggest; they can think as
  wildly as they talk and act, and will not endure that their Wit should
  be controuled by such formal Things as Decency and common Sense:
  Deduction, 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 I could ever learn from their Writings, or my own
  Observation, is a true Account of the _British_ Free-thinker. Our
  Visitant here, who gave occasion to this Paper, has brought with him a
  new System of common Sense, the Particulars of which I am not yet
  acquainted with, but will lose no Opportunity of informing my self
  whether it contain any [thing] [3] worth Mr. SPECTATORS Notice. In
  the mean time, Sir, I cannot but think it would be for the good of
  Mankind, if you would take this Subject into your own Consideration,
  and convince the hopeful Youth of our Nation, that Licentiousness is
  not Freedom; or, if such a Paradox will not be understood, that a
  Prejudice towards Atheism is not Impartiality.

  _I am, SIR, Your most humble Servant,_


[Footnote 1:

  Splendide mendax.


[Footnote 2: think]

[Footnote 3: think]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 235.                Thursday, November 29, 1711.           Addison.

  Vincentum strepitus


There is nothing which lies more within the Province of a Spectator than
publick Shows and Diversions; and as among these there are none which
can pretend to vie with those elegant Entertainments that are exhibited
in our Theatres, I think it particularly incumbent on me to take Notice
of every thing that is remarkable in such numerous and refined

It is observed, that of late Years there has been a certain Person in
the upper Gallery of the Playhouse, who when he is pleased with any
Thing that is acted upon the Stage, expresses his Approbation by a loud
Knock upon the Benches or the Wainscot, which may be heard over the
whole Theatre. This 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 Occasions resembles that which is often heard in the
Shops of such Artizans, or that he was supposed to have been a real
Trunk-maker, who after the finishing of his Days Work used to unbend
his Mind at these publick Diversions with his Hammer in his Hand, I
cannot certainly tell. There are some, I know, who have been foolish
enough to imagine it is a Spirit which haunts the upper Gallery, 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 _Hamlet_
appears. Others have reported, that it is a dumb Man, who has chosen
this Way of uttering himself when he is transported with any Thing he
sees or hears. Others will have it to be the Playhouse Thunderer, that
exerts himself after this Manner in the upper Gallery, when he has
nothing to do upon the Roof.

But having made it my Business to get the best Information I could in a
Matter of this Moment, I find that the Trunk-maker, as he is commonly
called, is a large black Man, whom no body knows. He generally leans
forward on a huge Oaken Plant with great Attention to every thing that
passes upon the Stage. He is never seen to smile; but upon hearing any
thing that pleases him, he takes up his Staff 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 observed, his Blow is so well timed, that the most judicious
Critick could never except against it. As soon as any shining Thought is
expressed in the Poet, or any uncommon Grace appears in the Actor, he
smites the Bench or Wainscot. If the Audience does not concur with him,
he smites a second Time, and if the Audience is not yet awaked, looks
round him with great Wrath, and repeats the Blow a third Time, which
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 with a single Thwack.

He is of so great Use to the Play-house, that it 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 till such time as he
recovered; but the Person so employed, tho he laid about him with
incredible Violence, did it in such wrong Places, that the Audience soon
found out that it was not their old Friend the Trunk-maker.

It has been remarked, that he has not yet exerted himself with Vigour
this Season. He sometimes 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 broken half a dozen Oaken Plants upon _Dogget_
[1] and seldom goes away from a Tragedy of _Shakespear_, without leaving
the Wainscot extremely shattered.

The Players do not only connive at his obstreperous Approbation, but
very cheerfully repair at their own Cost whatever Damages he makes. They
had once a Thought of erecting a kind of Wooden Anvil for his Use that
should be made of a very sounding Plank, in order to render his Stroaks
more deep and mellow; but as this might not have been distinguished from
the Musick of a Kettle-Drum, the Project was laid aside.

In the mean while, I cannot but take notice of the great Use it is to an
Audience, that a Person should thus preside over their Heads like the
Director of a Consort, in order to awaken their Attention, and beat time
to their Applauses; or, to raise my Simile, I have sometimes fancied the
Trunk-maker in the upper Gallery to be like _Virgil's_ Ruler of the
Wind, seated upon the Top of a Mountain, who, when he struck his Sceptre
upon the Side of it, roused an Hurricane, and set the whole Cavern in an
Uproar. [2]

It is certain, the Trunk-maker has saved many a good Play, and brought
many a graceful Actor into Reputation, who would not otherwise have been
taken notice of. It is very visible, as the Audience is not a little
abashed, if they find themselves betrayed into a Clap, when their Friend
in the upper Gallery does not come into it; so the Actors do not value
themselves upon the Clap, but regard it as a meer _Brutum fulmen_, or
empty Noise, when it has not the Sound of the Oaken Plant in it. I know
it has been given out by those who are Enemies to the Trunk-maker, that
he has sometimes been bribed to be in the Interest of a bad Poet, or a
vicious Player; but this is a Surmise which has no Foundation: his
Stroaks are always just, and his Admonitions seasonable; he does not
deal about his Blows at Random, but always hits the right Nail upon the
Head. [The [3]] inexpressible Force wherewith he lays them on,
sufficiently shows the Evidence and Strength of his Conviction. His Zeal
for a good Author is indeed outrageous, and breaks down every Fence and
Partition, every Board and Plank, that stands within the Expression of
his Applause.

As I do not care for terminating my Thoughts in barren Speculations, or
in Reports of pure Matter of Fact, without drawing something from them
for the Advantage of my Countrymen, I shall take 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 by Sickness, old
Age, Infirmity, or the like, some able-bodied Critick should be advanced
to this Post, and have a competent Salary settled on him for Life, to be
furnished with Bamboos for Operas, Crabtree-Cudgels for Comedies, and
Oaken Plants for Tragedy, at the publick Expence. And to the End that
this Place should be always disposed of according to Merit, I would have
none preferred 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 Composition of _Hercules_ and
_Apollo_, and so rightly qualified for this important Office, that the
Trunk-maker may not be missed by our Posterity.


[Footnote 1: Thomas Doggett, an excellent comic actor, who was for many
years joint-manager with Wilkes and Cibber, died in 1721, and bequeathed
the Coat and Badge that are rowed for by Thames Watermen every first of
August, from London Bridge to Chelsea.]

[Footnote 2: AEneid I. 85.]

[Footnote 3: That.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 236.                Friday, November 30, 1711.              Steele

 --Dare Jura maritis.



  You have not spoken in so direct a manner upon the Subject of
  Marriage as that important Case deserves. It would not be improper to
  observe upon the Peculiarity in the Youth of _Great Britain_, of
  railing and laughing at that Institution; and when they fall into it,
  from a profligate Habit of Mind, being insensible of the [Satisfaction
  [1]] in that Way of Life, and treating their Wives with the most
  barbarous Disrespect.

  Particular Circumstances and Cast of Temper, must teach a Man the
  Probability of mighty Uneasinesses in that State, (for unquestionably
  some there are whose very Dispositions are strangely averse to
  conjugal Friendship;) but no one, I believe, is by his own natural
  Complexion prompted to teaze 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
  Characteristick, (I mean Reason) than returning Evil for Good in so
  open a Manner, as that of treating an helpless Creature with
  Unkindness, who has had so good an Opinion of him as to believe what
  he said relating to one of the greatest Concerns of Life, by
  delivering her Happiness in this World to his Care and Protection?
  Must not that Man be abandoned even to all manner of Humanity, who can
  deceive a Woman with Appearances of Affection and Kindness, for no
  other End but to torment her with more Ease and Authority? Is any
  Thing more unlike a Gentleman, than when his Honour is engaged for the
  performing his Promises, because 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? Ought such a one to be trusted in his common
  Affairs? or treated but as one whose Honesty consisted 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
  appear to their Friends free and at Liberty, and without those
  Trammels they have so much ridiculed. [To avoid [2]] this they fly
  into the other Extream, and grow Tyrants that they may seem Masters.
  Because an uncontroulable Command of their own Actions is a certain
  Sign of entire Dominion, they wont 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 attribute an Austerity they betray in every Action:
  What but this can put a Man out of Humour in his Wife's Company, tho
  he is so distinguishingly pleasant every where else? The Bitterness of
  his Replies, and the Severity of his Frowns to the tenderest 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,
  affected Moroseness; but if it be such only, put on to convince his
  Acquaintance of his entire Dominion, let him take Care of the
  Consequence, which will be certain, and worse than the present Evil;
  his seeming Indifference will by Degrees grow into real Contempt, and
  if it doth not wholly alienate the Affections of his Wife for ever
  from him, make both him and her more miserable than if it really did

  However inconsistent it may appear, to be 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, that to be civil at least is not beneath the Character of a
  Gentleman, nor even tender Affection towards one who would make it
  reciprocal, betrays any Softness or Effeminacy that the most masculine
  Disposition need be ashamed of; could you satisfy them of the
  Generosity of voluntary Civility, and the Greatness of Soul that is
  conspicuous in Benevolence without immediate Obligations; could you
  recommend to Peoples Practice the Saying of the Gentleman quoted in
  one of your Speculations, _That he thought it incumbent upon him to
  make the Inclinations of a Woman of Merit go along with her Duty_:
  Could you, I say, perswade these Men of the Beauty and Reasonableness
  of this Sort of Behaviour, I have so much Charity for some of them at
  least, to believe you would convince them of a Thing they are only
  ashamed to allow: Besides, you would recommend that State in its
  truest, and consequently its most agreeable Colours; and the Gentlemen
  who have for any Time been such professed Enemies to it, when Occasion
  should serve, would return you their Thanks for assisting their
  Interest in prevailing over their Prejudices. Marriage in general
  would by this Means be a more easy and comfortable Condition; the
  Husband would be no where so well satisfied as in his own Parlour, nor
  the Wife so pleasant as in the Company of her Husband: A Desire of
  being agreeable in the Lover would be increased in the Husband, and
  the Mistress be more amiable by becoming the Wife. Besides all which,
  I am apt to believe we should find the Race of Men grow wiser as their
  Progenitors grew kinder, and the Affection of the Parents would be
  conspicuous in the Wisdom of their Children; in short, Men would in
  general be much better humoured than they are, did not they so
  frequently exercise the worst Turns of their Temper where they ought
  to exert the best.


  I am a Woman who left the Admiration of this whole Town, to throw
  myself ([for [3]] Love of Wealth) 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 inseparable Companions of little
  Minds; and every Attempt I make to divert, by putting on an agreeable
  Air, a sudden Chearfulness, or kind Behaviour, he looks upon as the
  first Act towards an Insurrection against his undeserved Dominion over
  me. Let every one who is still to chuse, and hopes to govern a Fool,


  _St. Martins, November_ 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 Disturbance 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 the Absolution and the
  Commandments fare no better, winch are in a particular Manner the
  Priests 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 extremely 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,


[Footnote 1: Satisfactions]

[Footnote 2: [For this Reason should they appear the least like what
they were so much used to laugh at, they would become the Jest of
themselves, and the Object of that Raillery they formerly bestowed on
others. To avoid &c.]

[Footnote 3: [by], and in first reprint.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 237.             Saturday, December 1, 1711.                Addison.

  Visu carentem magna pars veri latet.

  Senec. in OEdip.

It is very reasonable to believe, that Part of the Pleasure which happy
Minds shall enjoy in a future State, will arise from an enlarged
Contemplation of the Divine Wisdom in the Government of the World, and a
Discovery of the secret and amazing Steps of Providence, from the
Beginning to the End of Time. Nothing seems to be an Entertainment more
adapted to the Nature of Man, if we consider that Curiosity is one of
the strongest and most lasting Appetites implanted in us, and that
Admiration is one of our most pleasing Passions; and what a perpetual
Succession of Enjoyments will be afforded 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

It is not impossible, on the contrary, that Part of the Punishment of
such as are excluded from Bliss, may consist not only in their being
denied this Privilege, but in having their Appetites at the same time
vastly encreased, without any Satisfaction afforded to them. In these,
the vain Pursuit of Knowledge shall, perhaps, add to their Infelicity,
and bewilder them into Labyrinths of Error, 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
from their Torments, and creating to themselves a new Disquiet amidst
their very Amusements; he could not properly have described the Sports
of condemned Spirits, without that Cast of Horror and Melancholy he has
so judiciously mingled with them.

  Others apart sate on a Hill retired,
  In Thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high
  Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate,
  First Fate, Freewill, Foreknowledge absolute,
  And found no End in wandring Mazes lost. [1]

In our present Condition, which is a middle State, our Minds are, as it
were, chequered with Truth and Falshood; and as our Faculties are
narrow, and our Views imperfect, it is impossible but our Curiosity must
meet with many Repulses. The Business of Mankind in this Life being
rather to act than to know, their Portion of Knowledge is dealt to them

From hence it is, that the Reason of the Inquisitive 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 pathetical Complaints of so many
tragical Events, which happen to the Wise and the Good; and of such
surprising Prosperity, which is often the Lot[2] of the Guilty and the
Foolish; that Reason is sometimes puzzled, and at a loss what to
pronounce upon so mysterious 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 Principle, That whatever is permitted to befal a just Man, whether
Poverty, Sickness, or any of those Things which seem to be Evils, shall
either in Life or Death conduce to his Good. My Reader will observe how
agreeable this Maxim is to what we find delivered by a greater
Authority. _Seneca_ has written a Discourse purposely on this
Subject[3], in which he takes Pains, after the Doctrine of the
_Stoicks_, to shew that Adversity is not in itself an Evil; and mentions
a noble Saying of _Demetrius_, That _nothing would be more unhappy than
a Man who had never known Affliction_. He compares Prosperity to the
Indulgence of a fond Mother to a Child, which often proves his Ruin; but
the Affection of the Divine Being to that of a wise Father who would
have his Sons exercised with Labour, Disappointment, and Pain, that they
may gather Strength, and improve their Fortitude. On this Occasion the
Philosopher rises into the celebrated Sentiment, That there is not on
Earth a Spectator more worthy the Regard of a Creator intent on his
Works than a brave Man superior to his Sufferings; to which he adds,
That it must be a Pleasure to _Jupiter_ himself to look down from
Heaven, and see _Cato_ amidst the Ruins of his Country preserving his

This Thought will appear yet more reasonable, if we consider human Life
as a State of Probation, and Adversity as the Post of Honour in it,
assigned often to the best and most select Spirits.

But what I would chiefly insist on here, is, that we are not at present
in a proper Situation to judge of the Counsels by which Providence acts,
since but little arrives at our Knowledge, and even that little we
discern imperfectly; or according to the elegant Figure in Holy Writ,
_We see but in part, and as in a Glass darkly_. [It is to be considered,
that Providence[4]] in its Oeconomy regards the whole System of Time and
Things together, [so that] we cannot discover the beautiful Connection
between Incidents which lie widely separated in Time, and by losing so
many Links of the Chain, our Reasonings become broken and imperfect.
Thus those Parts in the moral World which have not an absolute, may yet
have a relative Beauty, in respect of some other Parts concealed from
us, but open to his Eye before whom _Past, Present_, and _To come_, are
set together in one Point of View: and those Events, the Permission of
which seems now to accuse his Goodness, 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
Antecedents nor the Consequents, the Beginning nor the End.

I shall relieve my Reader from this abstracted Thought, by relating here
a _Jewish_ Tradition concerning _Moses_ [5] which seems to be a kind of
Parable, 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 was permitted to
propose to him some Questions concerning his Administration of the
Universe. In the midst of this Divine [Colloquy [6]] he was commanded 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. Immediately after this came an infirm old
Man, weary with Age and Travelling, and having quenched his Thirst, sat
down to rest himself by the Side of the Spring. The Soldier missing his
Purse returns to search for it, and demands it of the old Man, who
affirms he had not seen it, and appeals to Heaven in witness of his
Innocence. The Soldier not believing his Protestations, kills him.
_Moses_ fell on his Face with Horror and Amazement, when the Divine
Voice thus prevented his Expostulation: Be not surprised, _Moses_, nor
ask why the Judge of the whole Earth has suffer'd 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 sawst, was the Murderer of that
Child's Father [7].

[Footnote 1: Paradise Lost, B. II. v. 557-561.]

[Footnote 2: In Saturdays Spectator, _for_ reward _read_ lot.
Erratum in No. 238.]

[Footnote 3: De Constantia Sapientis.]

[Footnote 4: [Since Providence, therefore], and in 1st rep.]

[Footnote 5: Henry Mores Divine Dialogues.]

[Footnote 6: [Conference]]

[Footnote 7: No letter appended to original issue or reissue. Printed in
Addison's Works, 1720. The paper has been claimed for John Hughes in the
Preface to his Poems (1735).]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 238.             Monday, December 3, 1711.                 Steele.

  Nequicquam populo bibulas donaveris Aures;
  Respue quod non es.

  Persius, Sat. 4.

Among all the Diseases of the Mind, there is not one more epidemical or
more pernicious than the Love of Flattery. For as where the Juices of
the Body are prepared to receive a malignant Influence, there the
Disease rages with most Violence; so in this Distemper of the Mind,
where there is ever a Propensity and Inclination to suck in the Poison,
it cannot be but that the whole Order of reasonable Action must be
overturn'd, for, like Musick, it

 --So softens and disarms the Mind,
  That not one Arrow can Resistance find.

First we flatter ourselves, and then the Flattery of others is sure of
Success. It awakens our Self-Love within, a Party which is ever ready to
revolt from our better Judgment, and join the Enemy without. Hence it
is, that the Profusion of Favours we so often see poured upon the
Parasite, are represented to us, by our Self-Love, as Justice done to
Man, who so agreeably reconciles us to our selves. When we are overcome
by such soft Insinuations and ensnaring Compliances, we gladly
recompense the Artifices that are made use of to blind our Reason, and
which triumph over the Weaknesses of our Temper and Inclinations.

But were every Man perswaded from how mean and low a Principle this
Passion is derived, there can be no doubt but the Person who should
attempt to gratify it, would then be as contemptible as he is now
successful. Tis the Desire of some Quality we are not possessed of, or
Inclination to be something we are 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
design'd for our wearing, as their Cloaths. Instead of going out of our
own complectional Nature into that of others, twere a better and more
laudable Industry to improve our own, and instead of a miserable Copy
become a good Original; 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 Affairs of Life. A Person
of a rougher Deportment, and less tied up to the usual Ceremonies of
Behaviour, will, like _Manly_ in the Play,[1] please by the Grace which
Nature gives to every Action wherein she is complied with; the Brisk and
Lively will not want their Admirers, 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 dormant Weakness, and inspires him with Merit
enough to be a Coxcomb. But if Flattery be the most sordid Act that can
be complied with, the Art of Praising justly is as commendable: For tis
laudable to praise well; as Poets at one and the same time give
Immortality, and receive it themselves for a Reward: Both are pleased,
the one whilst he receives the Recompence of Merit, the other whilst he
shews he knows now to discern it; but above all, that Man is happy in
this Art, who, like a skilful Painter, retains the Features and
Complection, but still softens the Picture into the most agreeable

There can hardly, I believe, be imagin'd a more desirable Pleasure, than
that of Praise unmix'd 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 described
by _Tacitus_ listening in a Disguise to the Discourse of a Soldier, and
wrapt up in the Fruition of his Glory, whilst with an undesigned
Sincerity they praised his noble and majestick Mien, his Affability, his
Valour, Conduct, and Success in War. 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 Taste of the greatest of mortal Enjoyments?

It sometimes happens, that even Enemies and envious Persons bestow the
sincerest 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 Discernment, but temper'd with an Allay of Envy, Self-Love and
Detraction: _Malvolio_ turns pale at the Mirth and good Humour of the
Company, if it center 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 Flattery. His
Uneasiness and Distastes are so many sure and certain Signs of anothers
Title to that Glory he desires, and has the Mortification to find
himself not possessed of.

A good Name is fitly compared to a precious Ointment,[2] and when we are
praised with Skill and Decency, tis indeed the most agreeable Perfume,
but if too strongly admitted into a Brain of a less vigorous and happy
Texture, twill, like too strong an Odour, overcome the Senses, and
prove pernicious to those Nerves twas intended to refresh. A generous
Mind is of all others the most sensible of Praise and Dispraise; and a
noble Spirit is as much invigorated with its due Proportion of Honour
and Applause, as tis depressed by Neglect and Contempt: But tis only
Persons far above the common Level who are thus affected with either of
these Extreams; as in a Thermometer, tis only the purest and most
sublimated Spirit that is either contracted or dilated by the Benignity
or Inclemency of the Season.


  The Translations which you have lately given us from the _Greek_, in
  some of your last Papers, have been the Occasion of my looking into
  some of those Authors; among whom I chanced on a Collection of Letters
  which pass under the Name of _Aristaenetus_. Of all the Remains of
  Antiquity, I believe there can be Nothing produc'd 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,[3] but with
  such wide Deviations from the Original, and in a Style so far
  differing from the Authors, that the Translator seems rather to have
  taken Hints for the expressing his own Sense and Thoughts, than to
  have endeavoured to render those of _Aristaenetus_. In the following
  Translation, 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_ fit together 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.

    Philopinax to Chromation.

    "Never was 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; tis not the Dart of _Venus_,
    but my own Pencil has thus wounded me. Ah me! with what Anxiety am I
    necessitated to adore my own Idol? How miserable 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 unhappy and unnatural Passions than mine?
    Yes, I have seen 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 Embraces. The
    Fountain represented _Narcissus_ to himself, and the Picture both
    that and him, thirsting 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 ones Ears
    felt the melodious Sound. How often have I, deceived by a Lovers
    Credulity, hearkned 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 Embrace, whilst
    she (as to me it seem'd) only withheld her Tongue the more to
    inflame me. But, Madman that I am, shall I be thus taken with the
    Representation only of a beauteous Face, and flowing Hair, and thus
    waste myself and melt to Tears for a Shadow? Ah, sure tis something
    more, tis a Reality! for see her Beauties shine out with new
    Lustre, and she seems to upbraid me with such unkind Reproaches. Oh
    may I have a living Mistress of this Form, that when I shall compare
    the Work of Nature with that of Art, I may be still at a loss which
    to choose, and be long perplex'd with the pleasing Uncertainty.


[Footnote 1: Wycherley's Plain Dealer.]

[Footnote 2: Eccles, vii. I.]

[Footnote 3: In a volume of translated Letters on Wit, Politicks, and
Morality, edited by Abel Boyer, in 1701. The letters ascribed to
Aristaenetus of Nicer in Bithynis, who died A.D. 358, but which were
written after the fifth century, were afterwards translated as Letters
of Love and Gallantry, written in Greek by Aristaenetus. This volume,
12mo (1715), was dedicated to Eustace Budgell, who is named in the
Preface as the author of the Spectator papers signed X.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 239.               Tuesday, December 4, 1711.             Addison.

  Bella, horrida bella!


I have sometimes amused myself with considering the several Methods of
managing a Debate which have obtained m the World.

The first Races of Mankind used to dispute, as our ordinary People do
now-a-days, in a kind of wild Logick, uncultivated by Rules of Art.

_Socrates_ introduced a catechetical Method of Arguing. He would ask his
Adversary Question upon Question, till 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, call'd Syllogisms. As in the _Socratick_ Way of
Dispute you agree to every thing which your Opponent advances, in the
_Aristotelick_ you are still denying and contradicting 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 Debates
by Syllogism, insomuch that we see the Knowledge of several Centuries
laid out into Objections and Answers, and all the good Sense of the Age
cut and minced into almost an Infinitude of Distinctions.

When our Universities found that there was no End of Wrangling this Way,
they invented a kind of Argument, which is not reducible to any Mood or
Figure in _Aristotle_. It was called the _Argumentum Basilinum_ (others
write it _Bacilinum_ or _Baculinum_) which is pretty well express'd in
our _English_ Word _Club-Law_. When they were not able to confute their
Antagonist, they knock'd him down. It was their Method in these
polemical Debates, first to discharge their Syllogisms, and afterwards
to betake themselves to their Clubs, till such Time as they had one Way
or other confounded their Gainsayers. There is in _Oxford_ a narrow
[Defile, [1] (to make use of a military Term) where the Partizans used
to encounter, for which Reason it still retains the Name of
_Logic-Lane_. I have heard an old Gentleman, a Physician, make his
Boasts, that when he was a young Fellow he marched several Times at the
Head of a Troop of _Scotists,_ [2] and cudgel'd a Body of _Smiglesians_
[3] half the length of _High-street_, till they had dispersed
themselves for Shelter into their respective Garrisons.

This Humour, I find, went very far in _Erasmus's_ Time. For that Author
tells us [4], That upon the Revival of _Greek_ Letters, most of the
Universities in _Europe_ were divided into _Greeks_ and _Trojans_. The
latter were those who bore a mortal Enmity to the Language of the
_Grecians_, insomuch that if they met with any who understood it, they
did not fail to treat him as a Foe. _Erasmus_ himself had, it seems, the
Misfortune to fall into the Hands of a Party of _Trojans_, who laid him
on with so many Blows and Buffets that he never forgot their Hostilities
to his dying Day.

There is a way of managing an Argument not much unlike the former, which
is made use of by States and Communities, when they draw up a hundred
thousand Disputants on each Side, and convince one another by Dint of
Sword. A certain Grand Monarch [5] was so sensible of his Strength in
this way of Reasoning, that he writ upon his Great Guns--_Ratio ultima
Regum, The Logick of Kings_; but, God be thanked, he is now pretty well
baffled at his own Weapons. When one was to do with a Philosopher of
this kind, one should remember the old Gentleman's Saying, who had been
engaged in an Argument with one of the _Roman_ Emperors. [6] Upon his
Friends telling him, That he wonder'd he would give up the Question,
when he had visibly the Better of the Dispute; _I am never asham'd_,
says he, _to be confuted by one who is Master of fifty Legions_.

I shall but just mention another kind of Reasoning, which may be called
arguing by Poll; and another which is of equal Force, in which Wagers
are made use of as Arguments, according to the celebrated Line in
_Hudibras_ [7]

But the most notable way of managing a Controversy, is that which we may
call _Arguing by Torture_. This is a Method of Reasoning which has been
made use of with the poor Refugees, and which was so fashionable in our
Country during the Reign of Queen _Mary_, that in a Passage of an Author
quoted by Monsieur _Bayle_ [8] 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
_Sorites_, [9] commonly called a Pile of Faggots. The Rack is also a
kind of Syllogism which has been used with good Effect, and has made
Multitudes of Converts. Men were formerly disputed out of their Doubts,
reconciled to Truth by Force of Reason, and won over to Opinions by the
Candour, Sense and Ingenuity of those who had the Right on their Side;
but this Method of Conviction operated too slowly. Pain was found to be
much more enlightning 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 look'd upon as
Popish Refinements upon the old Heathen Logick.

There is another way of Reasoning which seldom fails, tho it be of a
quite different Nature to that I have last mentioned. I mean, convincing
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. Gold is a wonderful
Clearer of the Understanding; it dissipates every Doubt and Scruple in
an Instant; accommodates itself to the meanest Capacities; silences the
Loud and Clamorous, and brings over the most Obstinate and Inflexible.
_Philip of Macedon_ was a Man of most invincible Reason this Way. He
refuted by it all the Wisdom of _Athens_, confounded their Statesmen,
struck their Orators dumb, and at length argued them out of all their

Having here touched upon the several Methods of Disputing, as they have
prevailed in different Ages of the World, I shall very suddenly 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.


[Footnote 1: Defile]

[Footnote 2: The followers of the famous scholastic philosopher, Duns
Scotus (who taught at Oxford and died in 1308), were Realists, and the
Scotists were as Realists opposed to the Nominalists, who, as followers
of Thomas Aquinas, were called Thomists. Abuse, in later time, of the
followers of Duns gave its present sense to the word Dunce.]

[Footnote 3: The followers of Martin Simglecius a Polish Jesuit, who
taught Philosophy for four years and Theology for ten years at Vilna, in
Lithuania, and died at Kalisch in 1618. Besides theological works he
published a book of Disputations upon Logic.]

[Footnote 4: Erasm. Epist.]

[Footnote 5: Louis XIV.]

[Footnote 6: Adrian, cited in Bacons Apophthegms.]

[Footnote 7: Hudibras, Pt. II. c. i, v. 297. See note to No. 145.]

[Footnote 8: And. Ammonius in Bayle's Life of him, but the saying was of
the reign of Henry VIII.]

[Footnote 9: A Sorites, in Logic,--from [Greek: soros], a heap--is a
pile of syllogisms so compacted that the conclusion of one serves as a
premiss to the next.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 240.           Wednesday, December 5, 1711.                  Steele.

 --Aliter not fit, Avite, liber.



  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 Mankind, and to think That the chief End of Being as to this
  Life. I had these good Impressions given me from the handsome
  Behaviour of a learned, generous, and wealthy Man towards me when I
  first began the World. Some Dissatisfaction between me and my Parents
  made me enter into it with less Relish of Business than I ought; and
  to turn off this Uneasiness I gave my self to criminal Pleasures, 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 grown familiar
  with me, he opened himself like a good 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, for the
  Improvement of my own. I assure you, I cannot recollect the 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 burns 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 possibly, [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 Regulation of my Desires. I doubt
  not, Sir, but in your Imagination such Virtues as these of my worthy
  Friend, bear as great a Figure as Actions which are more glittering in
  the common Estimation. What I would ask of you, is to give us a whole
  _Spectator_ upon Heroick Virtue in common Life, which may incite Men
  to the same generous Inclinations, as have by this admirable Person
  been shewn to, and rais'd in,

  _SIR, Your most humble Servant_.


  I am a Country Gentleman, of a good plentiful Estate, and live as the
  rest of my Neighbours with great Hospitality. I have been ever
  reckoned among the Ladies the best Company in the World, and have
  Access as a sort of Favourite. I never came in Publick but I saluted
  them, tho in great Assemblies, all round, where it was seen how
  genteelly I avoided hampering my Spurs in their Petticoats, while I
  moved amongst them; and on the other side how prettily they curtsied
  and received me, standing in proper Rows, and advancing as fast as
  they saw their Elders, or their Betters, dispatch'd by me. But so it
  is, Mr. SPECTATOR, that all our good Breeding is of late lost by the
  unhappy Arrival of a Courtier, or Town Gentleman, who came lately
  among us: This Person where-ever he came into a Room made a profound
  Bow, and fell back, then recovered with a soft Air, and made a Bow to
  the next, and so to one or two more, and then took the Gross of the
  Room, by passing by them in a continued Bow till he arrived at the
  Person he thought proper particularly to entertain. This he did with
  so good a Grace and Assurance, that it is taken for the present
  Fashion; and there is no young Gentlewoman within several Miles of
  this Place has been kissed ever since his first Appearance among us.
  We Country Gentlemen cannot begin again and learn these fine and
  reserved Airs; and our Conversation is at a Stand, till 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_,

  Rustick Sprightly.

  _December_ 3, 1711.


  I was the other Night at _Philaster_,[1] where I expected to hear your
  famous Trunk-maker, but was happily disappointed of his Company, and
  saw another Person who had the like Ambition to distinguish himself in
  a noisy manner, partly by Vociferation or talking loud, and partly by
  his bodily Agility. This was a very lusty Fellow, but withal a sort of
  Beau, who getting into one of the Side-boxes on the Stage before the
  Curtain drew, was disposed to shew the whole Audience his Activity by
  leaping over the Spikes; he pass'd from thence to one of the entering
  Doors, where he took Snuff with a tolerable good Grace, display'd his
  fine Cloaths, made two or three feint Passes at the Curtain with his
  Cane, then faced about and appear'd at tother Door: Here he affected
  to survey the whole House, bow'd and smil'd at random, and then shew'd
  his Teeth, which were some of them indeed very white: After this he
  retired behind the Curtain, and obliged us with several Views of his
  Person from every Opening.

  During the Time of Acting, he appear'd frequently in the Princes
  Apartment, made one at the Hunting-match, and was very forward in the
  Rebellion. If there were no Injunctions to the contrary, yet this
  Practice must be confess'd to diminish the Pleasure of the Audience,
  and for that Reason presumptuous and unwarrantable: But since her
  Majesty's late Command has made it criminal,[2] you have Authority to
  take Notice of it.

  SIR, _Your humble Servant_,

  Charles Easy.


[Footnote 1: Beaumont and Fletchers Philaster had been acted on the
preceding Friday, Nov. 30. The Hunt is in the Fourth Act, the Rebellion
in the Fifth.]

[Footnote 2: At this time there had been added to the playbills the line

  By her Majesty's Command no Person is to be admitted behind the

 *       *       *       *       *

No. 241.                 Thursday, December 6, 1711.            Addison.

 --Semperque relinqui
  Sola sibi, semper longam incomitata videtur
  Ire viam--



  Though you have considered virtuous Love inmost of its Distresses, I
  do not remember that you have given us any Dissertation upon the
  Absence of Lovers, or laid down any Methods how they should support
  themselves under those long Separations which they are sometimes
  forced to undergo. I am at present in this unhappy Circumstance,
  having parted with the best of Husbands, who is abroad in the Service
  of his Country, and may not possibly return for some Years. His warm
  and generous Affection while we were together, with the Tenderness
  which he expressed to me at parting, make his Absence almost
  insupportable. 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 Occasions 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
  delighted 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 recollect 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 always in good Humour when an East-Wind blows, because it
  seldom fails of bringing me a Letter from him. Let me entreat you,
  Sir, to give me your Advice upon this Occasion, and to let me know how
  I may relieve my self in this my Widowhood.

  _I am, SIR, Your most humble Servant_,


Absence is what the Poets call Death in Love, and has given Occasion to
abundance of beautiful Complaints in those Authors who have treated of
this Passion in Verse. _Ovid's_ Epistles are full of them. _Otway's
Monimia_ talks very tenderly upon this Subject. [1]

 --It was not kind
  To leave me like a Turtle, here alone,
  To droop and mourn the Absence of my Mate._
  _When thou art from me, every Place is desert:
  And I, methinks, am savage and forlorn.
  Thy Presence only tis can make me blest,
  Heal my unquiet Mind, and tune my Soul.

The Consolations of Lovers on these Occasions are very extraordinary.
Besides those mentioned by _Asteria_, there are many other Motives of
Comfort, which are made use of by absent Lovers.

I remember in one of _Scudery's_ Romances, a Couple of honourable Lovers
agreed at their parting to set aside one half Hour in the Day to think
of each other during a tedious Absence. The Romance tells us, that they
both of them punctually observed the Time thus agreed upon; and that
whatever Company or Business they were engaged in, they left it abruptly
as soon as the Clock warned them to retire. The Romance further adds,
That the Lovers expected the Return of this stated Hour with as much
Impatience, as if it had been a real Assignation, and enjoyed an
imaginary Happiness that was almost as pleasing to them as what they
would have found from a real Meeting. It was an inexpressible
Satisfaction to these divided Lovers, to be assured that each was at the
same time employ'd in the same kind of Contemplation, and making equal
Returns of Tenderness and Affection.

If I may be allowed to mention a more serious Expedient for the
alleviating of Absence, I shall take notice of one which I have known
two Persons practise, who joined Religion to that Elegance of Sentiments
with which the Passion of Love generally inspires its Votaries. This
was, at the Return of such an Hour, to offer up a certain Prayer for
each other, which they had agreed upon before 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, [2]] gives an Account of a
chimerical Correspondence between two Friends by the Help of a certain
Loadstone, which had such Virtue in it, that if it touched two several
Needles, when one of the Needles so touched [began [3]], to move, the
other, tho at never so great a Distance, moved at the same Time, and in
the same Manner. He tells us, that the two Friends, being each of them
possessed of one of these Needles, made a kind of a Dial-plate,
inscribing 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 Impediment, 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
had a mind to write any thing to his Friend, he directed his Needle to
every Letter that formed the Words which he had occasion for, making a
little Pause at the end of every Word or Sentence, to avoid Confusion.
The Friend, in the mean while, saw his own sympathetick Needle moving of
itself to every Letter which that of his Correspondent pointed at. By
this means they talked together across a whole Continent, and conveyed
their Thoughts to one another in an Instant over Cities or Mountains,
Seas or Desarts.

If Monsieur _Scudery_, or any other Writer of Romance, had introduced a
Necromancer, who is generally in the Train of a Knight-Errant, making a
Present to two Lovers of a Couple of those above-mentioned Needles, the
Reader would not have been a little pleased to have seen them
corresponding with one another when they were guarded by Spies and
Watches, or separated by Castles and Adventures.

In the mean while, if ever this Invention should be revived or put in
practice, I would propose, that upon the Lovers Dial-plate there should
be written not only the four and twenty Letters, but several entire
Words which have always a Place in passionate Epistles, as _Flames,
Darts, Die, Language, Absence, Cupid, Heart, Eyes, Hang, Drown_, and the
like. This would very much abridge the Lovers Pains in this way of
writing a Letter, as it would enable him to express the most useful and
significant Words with a single Touch of the Needle.


[Footnote 1: Orphan, Act II.]

[Footnote 2: [In one of Strada's Prolusions he] Lib. II. Prol. 6.]

[Footnote 3: [begun], and in first reprint.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 242.             Friday, December 7, 1711.                   Steele.

  Creditur, ex medio quia res arcessit, habere
  Sudoris minimum--



  Your Speculations do not so generally prevail over Mens Manners as I
  could wish. A former Paper of yours [1] concerning the Misbehaviour of
  People, who are necessarily in each others Company in travelling,
  ought 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 Language as indecent as was ever
  heard upon the Water. The impertinent Observations which the Coxcomb
  made upon our Shame and Confusion were such, that it is an unspeakable
  Grief to reflect upon them. As much as you have declaimed against
  Duelling, I hope you will do us the Justice to declare, 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 the frequent Misfortunes of this kind, to
  which the Modest and Innocent are exposed, by the licentious Behaviour
  of such as are as much Strangers to good Breeding as to Virtue. Could
  we avoid hearing what we do not approve, as easily as we can seeing
  what is disagreeable, there were some Consolation; but since [in a Box
  at a Play,][2] in an Assembly of Ladies, or even in a Pew at Church,
  it is 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? And how necessary is it to repeat
  Invectives 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 one of these Brutes could reflect thus much, tho they
  want Shame, they would be moved, by their Pity, to abhor an impudent
  Behaviour in the Presence of the Chaste and Innocent. If you will
  oblige us with a _Spectator_ on this Subject, and procure it to be
  pasted against 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 Ladies my
  late Fellow-Sufferers, and,

  SIR, _Your most humble Servant_,

  Rebecca Ridinghood.


  The Matter which I am now going to send you, is an unhappy Story in
  low Life, and will recommend it self, so that you must excuse the
  Manner of expressing it. A poor idle drunken Weaver in
  _Spittle-Fields_ has a faithful laborious Wife, who by her Frugality
  and Industry had laid by her as much Money as purchased her a Ticket
  in the present Lottery. She had hid this very privately in the Bottom
  of a Trunk, and had given her Number to a Friend and Confident, who
  had promised to keep the Secret, and bring her News of the Success.
  The poor Adventurer was one Day gone abroad, when her careless
  Husband, suspecting she had saved some Money, searches every Corner,
  till at length he finds this same Ticket; which he immediately carries
  abroad, sells, and squanders away the Money without the Wife's
  suspecting 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 Stairs 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 hers below. The Man received this chearful Invitation as bad
  Husbands sometimes do, and after a cross Word or two told her he
  woudn't come. His Wife with Tenderness renewed her Importunity, and
  at length said 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] [3] to tell
  me, that tis come up this Morning a Five hundred Pound Prize. The
  Husband replies immediately, You lye, 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 no Design to defraud
  her Husband, but was willing only to participate in his good Fortune,
  every one pities her, but thinks her Husbands Punishment but just.
  This, Sir, is 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 Materials.

  SIR, &c.


  I am what the World calls a warm Fellow, and by good Success in Trade
  I have raised myself to a Capacity of making some Figure in the World;
  but no matter for that. I have now under my Guardianship a couple of
  Nieces, who will certainly make me run mad; which you will not wonder
  at, when I tell you they are Female Virtuosos, and during the three
  Years and a half that I have had them under my Care, they never in the
  least inclined their Thoughts towards any one single Part of the
  Character of a notable Woman. Whilst they should have been considering
  the proper Ingredients for a Sack-posset, you should hear a Dispute
  concerning the [magnetick] [4], and in first reprint.] Virtue of the
  Loadstone, or perhaps the Pressure of the Atmosphere: Their Language
  is peculiar to themselves, and they scorn to express themselves on the
  meanest Trifle with Words that are not of a _Latin_ Derivation. But
  this were supportable still, would they suffer me to enjoy an
  uninterrupted Ignorance; but, unless I fall in with their abstracted
  Idea of Things (as they call them) I must not expect to smoak one Pipe
  in Quiet. In a late Fit of the Gout I complained of the Pain of that
  Distemper when my Niece _Kitty_ begged Leave to assure me, that
  whatever I might think, several great Philosophers, both ancient and
  modern, were of Opinion, that both Pleasure and Pain were imaginary
  [Distinctions [5]], and that there was no such thing as either _in
  rerum Natura_. I have often heard them affirm that the Fire was not
  hot; and one Day when I, with the Authority of an old Fellow, desired
  one of them to put my blue Cloak on my Knees; she answered, Sir, I
  will reach the Cloak; but take notice, I do not do it as allowing your
  Description; for it might as well be called Yellow as Blue; for Colour
  is nothing but the various Infractions of the Rays of the Sun. Miss
  _Molly_ 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, it [might more reasonably][6] be supposed to be black. In
  short, the young Husseys would persuade me, that to believe ones Eyes
  is a sure way to be deceived; and have often advised me, by no means,
  to trust any thing so fallible as my Senses. What I have to beg of you
  now is, to turn one Speculation to the due Regulation 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 Cheesecakes and
  raise Paste, and a Lady that reads _Locke_, and understands the
  Mathematicks. In which you will extreamly oblige

  _Your hearty Friend and humble Servant_,

  Abraham Thrifty.


[Footnote 1: No. 132.]

[Footnote 2: at a Box in a Play, and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 3: [comes], and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 4: [magnetical], and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 5: [Distractions], and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 6: [may more seasonably], and in first reprint.]

 *       *       *       *       *

No. 243.              Saturday, December 8, 1711.              Addison.

  Formam quidem ipsam, Marce fili, et tanquam faciem Honesti vides: quae
  si oculis cerneretur, mirabiles amores (ut ait Plato) excitaret

  Tull. Offic.

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 hereafter. I design
therefore this Speculation as an Essay upon that Subject, in which I
shall consider Virtue no further than as it is in it self of an amiable
Nature, after having premised, that I understand by the Word Virtue such
a general Notion as is affixed to it by the Writers of Morality, and
which by devout Men generally goes under the Name of Religion, and by
Men of the World under the Name of Honour.

Hypocrisy it self does great Honour, or rather Justice, to Religion, and
tacitly acknowledges it to be an Ornament to human Nature. The Hypocrite
would not be at so much Pains to put on the Appearance of Virtue, if he
did not know it was the most proper and effectual means to gain the Love
and Esteem of Mankind.

We learn from _Hierodes_, it was a common Saying among the Heathens,
that the Wise Man hates no body, but only loves the Virtuous.

_Tully_ has a very beautiful Gradation of Thoughts to shew how amiable
Virtue is. We love a virtuous Man, says he, who lives in the remotest
Parts of the Earth, though we are altogether out of the Reach of his
Virtue, and can receive from it no Manner of Benefit; nay, one who died
several Ages ago, raises a secret Fondness and Benevolence for him in
our Minds, when we read his Story: Nay, what is still more, one who has
been the Enemy of our Country, provided his Wars were regulated by
Justice and Humanity, as in the Instance of _Pyrrhus_ whom _Tully_
mentions on this Occasion in Opposition to _Hannibal_. Such is the
natural Beauty and Loveliness of Virtue.

Stoicism, which was the Pedantry of Virtue, ascribes all good
Qualifications, of what kind soever, to the virtuous Man. Accordingly
[Cato][1] in the Character _Tully_ has left of him, carried Matters so
far, that he would not allow any one but a virtuous 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
Excellence of Virtue, if they did not comprehend in the Notion of it all
possible Perfection[s]; and therefore did not only suppose, that it was
transcendently beautiful in it self, but that it made the very Body
amiable, and banished every kind of Deformity from the Person in whom it

It is a common Observation, that the most abandoned to all Sense of
Goodness, are apt to wish those who are related to them of a different
Character; and it is very observable, that none are more struck with the
Charms of Virtue in the fair 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 Picture in a good Light,
and therefore it is no Wonder 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 dispose 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 Justice,
Charity, Munificence, and, in short, all the good Qualities that render
us beneficial to each other. For which Reason even an extravagant Man,
who has nothing else to recommend him but a false Generosity, is often
more beloved and esteemed than a Person of a much more finished
Character, who is defective in this Particular.

The two great Ornaments of Virtue, which shew her in the most
advantageous Views, and make her altogether lovely, are Chearfulness and
Good-Nature. These generally go together, as a Man cannot be agreeable
to others who is not easy within himself. They are both very requisite
in a virtuous Mind, to keep out Melancholy from the many serious
Thoughts it is engaged in, 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 suffer their
Aversion for a Party to blot out all the Merit of the Person who is
engaged in it. A Man must be excessively stupid, as well as
uncharitable, who believes that there is no Virtue but on his own 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 ought 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, ought to
consider themselves as more nearly united with one another, than with
the vicious Part of Mankind, who embark with them in the same civil
Concerns. We should bear the same Love towards a Man of Honour, who is a
living Antagonist, which _Tully_ tells us in the forementioned Passage
every one naturally does to an Enemy that is dead. In short, we should
esteem Virtue though in a Foe, and abhor Vice though in a Friend.

I speak this with an Eye to those cruel Treatments 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 exemplary Virtue, on
either Side, are blackned and defamed? How many Men of Honour exposed to
publick Obloquy and Reproach? Those therefore who 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.


[Footnote 1: [we find that _Cato_,]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 244.              Monday, December 10, 1711.                Steele.

 --Judex et callidus audis.


  _Covent-Garden, Dec. 7._


  I cannot, without a double Injustice, forbear expressing to you the
  Satisfaction which a whole Clan of Virtuosos have received from those
  Hints which you have lately given the Town on the Cartons of the
  inimitable _Raphael_. It [1] should be methinks 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 Pictures. When I first went to view those of
  _Raphael_ which you have celebrated, I must confess 1 was but barely
  pleased; the next time I liked them better, but at last as I grew
  better acquainted 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 extreamly affect one for the Present,
  but if he has not Discretion, his Merit soon vanishes away, while a
  Wise Man that has not so great a Stock of Wit, shall nevertheless give
  you a far greater and more lasting Satisfaction: Just so it is in a
  Picture that is smartly touched but not well studied; one may call it
  a witty Picture, tho the Painter in the mean time may be in Danger of
  being called a Fool. On the other hand, a Picture that is thoroughly
  understood in the Whole, and well performed in the Particulars, that
  is begun on the Foundation of Geometry, carried on by the Rules of
  Perspective, Architecture, and Anatomy, and perfected by a good
  Harmony, a just and natural Colouring, and such Passions and
  Expressions of the Mind as are almost peculiar to _Raphael_; this is
  what you may justly style a wise Picture, and which seldom fails to
  strike us Dumb, till we can assemble all our Faculties to make but a
  tolerable Judgment upon it. Other Pictures are made for the Eyes only,
  as Rattles are made for Children's Ears; and certainly that Picture
  that only pleases the Eye, without representing some well-chosen Part
  of Nature or other, does but shew what fine Colours are 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 drest, 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 as they walk abroad would make more frequent
  Observations on those Beauties of Nature which every Moment present
  themselves to their View, they would be better Judges when they saw
  her well imitated at home: This would 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 for a share in the
  Decision. Tis 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 unreasonable Actions for Enterprizes of Spirit and Resolution,
  gaudy Colouring for that which is truly beautiful, a false and
  insinuating Discourse for simple 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 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 Workman 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, [2] from an old _Greek_ Poet you call _Simonides_, in relation to
  the several Natures and Distinctions of our own Sex. I could not but
  admire how justly the Characters of Women in this Age, fall in with
  the Times of _Simonides_, there being no one of those Sorts I have not
  at some time or other of my Life met with a Sample of. But, Sir, the
  Subject of this present Address, are a Set of Women comprehended, I
  think, in the Ninth Specie of that Speculation, called the Apes; the
  Description of whom I find to be, "That they are such as are both ugly
  and ill-natured, who have nothing beautiful themselves, and endeavour
  to detract from or ridicule every thing that appears so in others."
  Now, Sir, this Sect, as I have been told, is very frequent in the
  great Town where you live; but as my Circumstance of Life obliges me
  to reside altogether in the Country, though not many Miles from
  _London_, I cant have met with a great Number of em, nor indeed is
  it a desirable Acquaintance, as I have lately found by Experience. You
  must know, Sir, that at the Beginning of this Summer a Family of these
  Apes came and settled for the Season not far from the Place where I
  live. As they were Strangers in the Country, they were visited by the
  Ladies about em, of whom I was, with an Humanity usual in those that
  pass most of their Time in Solitude. The Apes lived with us very
  agreeably our own Way till towards the End of the Summer, when they
  began to bethink themselves of returning to Town; then it was, _Mr_.
  SPECTATOR, that they began to set themselves about the proper and
  distinguishing Business of their Character; and, as tis 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 common Mercy, Civility, or
  Gratitude, thought fit to mimick and fall foul on the Faces, Dress,
  and Behaviour of their innocent Neighbours, bestowing abominable
  Censures and disgraceful Appellations, commonly called Nicknames, on
  all of them; and in short, like true fine Ladies, made their honest
  Plainness and Sincerity Matter of Ridicule. I could not but acquaint
  you with these Grievances, as well at the Desire of all the Parties
  injur'd, as from my own Inclination. I hope, Sir, if you cant propose
  entirely to reform this Evil, you will take such Notice of it in some
  of your future Speculations, as may put the deserving Part of our Sex
  on their Guard against these Creatures; and at the same time the Apes
  may be sensible, that this sort of Mirth is so far from an innocent
  Diversion, that it is in the highest Degree that Vice which is said to
  comprehend all others. [3]

  _I am, SIR, Your humble Servant_,

  Constantia Field.


[Footnote 1: In No. 226.  Signor Dorigny's scheme was advertised in Nos.
205, 206, 207, 208, and 210.]

[Footnote 2: No. 209.]

[Footnote 3: Ingratitude.

  Ingratum si dixeris, omnia dixeris.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 245.               Tuesday, December 11, 1711.              Addison.

  Ficta Voluptatis causa sint proxima Veris.


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 Man is made up wholly of the Dove, without the
least Grain of the Serpent in his Composition, he becomes ridiculous in
many Circumstances of Life, and very often discredits his best Actions.
The _Cordeliers_ tell a Story of their Founder St. _Francis_, that as he
passed the Streets in the Dusk of the Evening, he discovered a young
Fellow with a Maid in a Corner; upon which the good Man, say they,
lifted up his Hands to Heaven with a secret Thanksgiving, that there was
still so much Christian Charity in the World. The Innocence of the Saint
made him mistake the Kiss of a Lover for a Salute of Charity. I am
heartily concerned when I see a virtuous Man without a competent
Knowledge of the World; and if there be any Use in these my Papers, it
is this, that without presenting Vice under any false alluring Notions,
they give my Reader an Insight into the Ways of Men, and represent human
Nature in all its changeable Colours. The Man who has not been engaged
in any of the Follies of the World, or, as _Shakespear_ expresses it,
_hackney'd in the Ways of Men_, may here find a Picture of its Follies
and Extravagancies. The Virtuous and the Innocent may know in
Speculation what they could never arrive at by Practice, and by this
Means avoid the Snares of the Crafty, the Corruptions of the Vicious,
and the Reasonings of the Prejudiced. Their Minds may be opened without
being vitiated.

It is with an Eye to my following Correspondent, Mr. _Timothy Doodle_,
who seems a very well-meaning Man, that I have written this short
Preface, to which I shall subjoin a Letter from the said Mr. _Doodle_.


  I could heartily wish that you would let us know your Opinion upon
  several innocent Diversions which are in use among us, and which are
  very proper to pass away a Winter Night for those who do not care to
  throw away their Time at an Opera, or at the Play-house. I would
  gladly know in particular, what Notion you have of Hot-Cockles; as
  also whether you think that Questions and Commands, Mottoes, Similes,
  and Cross-Purposes have not more Mirth and Wit in them, than those
  publick Diversions which are grown so very fashionable among us. If
  you would recommend to our Wives and Daughters, who read your Papers
  with a great deal of Pleasure, some of those Sports and Pastimes that
  may be practised within Doors, and by the Fire-side, we who are
  Masters of Families should be hugely obliged to you. I need not tell
  you that I would have these Sports and Pastimes not only merry but
  innocent, for which Reason I have not mentioned either Whisk or
  Lanterloo, nor indeed so much as One 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 great deal of Pleasure. Tho 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 mightily 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 Sport 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. I have generally the good Luck not to hurt myself, but am
  very often above half an Hour before I can catch either of them; for
  you must know we hide ourselves up and down in Corners, that we may
  have the more Sport. I only give you this Hint as a Sample of such
  Innocent Diversions as I would have you recommend; and am, _Most
  esteemed SIR, your ever loving Friend_, Timothy Doodle.

The following Letter was occasioned by my last _Thursdays_ Paper upon
the Absence of Lovers, and the Methods therein mentioned of making such
Absence supportable.


  Among the several Ways of Consolation which absent Lovers make use of
  while their Souls are in that State of Departure, which you say is
  Death in Love, there are some very material ones that have escaped
  your Notice. Among these, the first and most received is a crooked
  Shilling, which has administered great Comfort to our Forefathers, and
  is still made use of on this Occasion with very good Effect in most
  Parts of Her Majesty's Dominions. There are some, I know, who think a
  Crown-Piece cut into two equal Parts, and preserved by the distant
  Lovers, is of more sovereign Virtue than the former. But since
  Opinions are divided in this Particular, why may not the same Persons
  make use of both? The Figure of a Heart, whether cut in Stone or cast
  in Metal, whether bleeding upon an Altar, stuck with Darts, or held in
  the Hand of a _Cupid_, has always been looked upon as Talismanick in
  Distresses of this Nature. I am acquainted with many a brave Fellow,
  who carries his Mistress in the Lid of his Snuff-box, and by that
  Expedient has supported himself under the Absence of a whole Campaign.
  For my own Part, I have tried all these Remedies, but never found so
  much Benefit from any as from a Ring, in which my Mistresss Hair is
  platted together very artificially in a kind of True-Lovers Knot. As
  I have received great Benefit from this Secret, I think myself obliged
  to communicate it to the Publick, for the Good of my Fellow-Subjects.
  I desire you will add this Letter as an Appendix to your Consolations
  upon Absence, and am, _Your very humble Servant,_ T. B.

I shall conclude this Paper with a Letter from an University Gentleman,
occasioned by my last _Tuesdays_ Paper, wherein I gave some Account of
the great Feuds which happened formerly in those learned Bodies, between
the modern _Greeks_ and _Trojans_.


  This will give you to understand, that there is at present in the
  Society, whereof I am a Member, a very considerable Body of _Trojans_,
  who, upon a proper Occasion, would not fail to declare ourselves. In
  the mean while we do all we can to annoy our Enemies by Stratagem, and
  are resolved by the first Opportunity to attack Mr. _Joshua Barnes_
  [1], whom we look upon as the _Achilles_ of the opposite Party. As for
  myself, I have had the Reputation ever since I came from School, of
  being a trusty _Trojan_, and am resolved never to give Quarter to the
  smallest Particle of _Greek_, where-ever I chance to meet it. It is
  for this Reason I take it very ill of you, that you sometimes hang out
  _Greek_ Colours at the Head of your Paper, and sometimes give a Word
  of the Enemy even in the Body of it. When I meet with any thing of
  this nature, I throw down your Speculations upon the Table, with that
  Form of Words which we make use of when we declare War upon an Author.

    _Graecum est, non potest legi._ [2]

  I give you this Hint, that you may for the future abstain from any
  such Hostilities at your Peril.



[Footnote 1: Professor of Greek at Cambridge, who edited Homer, Euripides,
Anacreon, &c., and wrote in Greek verse a History of Esther. He died
in 1714.]

[Footnote 2:

  It is Greek. It cannot be read.

This passed into a proverb from Franciscus Accursius, a famous
Jurisconsult and son of another Accursius, who was called the Idol of
the Jurisconsults. Franciscus Accursius was a learned man of the 13th
century, who, in expounding Justinian, whenever he came to one of
Justinian's quotations from Homer, said Graecum est, nec potest legi.
Afterwards, in the first days of the revival of Greek studies in Europe,
it was often said, as reported by Claude d'Espence, for example, that to
know anything of Greek made a man suspected, to know anything of Hebrew
almost made him a heretic.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 246.               Wednesday, December 12, 1711.            Steele

  [Greek: Ouch ara soi ge pataer aen ippora Paeleus Oude Thetis maetaer,
  glaukae de d etikte thalassa Petrai t aelibatoi, hoti toi noos estin


  As your Paper is Part of the Equipage of the Tea-Table, I conjure you
  to print what I now write to you; for I have no other Way to
  communicate what I have to say to the fair Sex on the most important
  Circumstance of Life, even the Care of Children. I do not understand
  that you profess your Paper is always to consist of Matters which are
  only to entertain the Learned and Polite, but that it may agree with
  your Design to publish some which may tend to the Information of
  Mankind in general; and when it does so, 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 [1]] 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 innocent, 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
  Reputation, neither Love nor Pity for the poor Babe, but more Regard
  for the Money than for the whole Child, and never will take further
  Care of it than what by all the Encouragement of Money and Presents
  she is forced to; like _AEsop's_ Earth, which would not nurse the Plant
  of another Ground, altho never so much improved, by reason that Plant
  was not of its own Production. And since anothers 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 thrives,
  must it not imbibe the gross Humours and Qualities of the Nurse, like
  a Plant in a different 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 Wooll into the Goat Kind? The Power of a
  Nurse over a Child, by infusing into it, with her Milk, her Qualities
  and Disposition, is sufficiently and daily observed: Hence came that
  old Saying concerning an ill-natured and malicious Fellow, that he had
  imbibed his Malice with his Nurses Milk, 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, _Pelias_
  the Son of _Neptune_ by a Mare, and _AEgisthus_ by a Goat; not that
  they had actually suck'd such Creatures, as some Simpletons have
  imagin'd, 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
  Experience, 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._ 2,
  witnesses, when he speaks, saying, That _Nero_ the Emperors Nurse had
  been very much addicted to Drinking; which Habit _Nero_ received from
  his Nurse, and was so very particular in this, that the People took so
  much notice of it, as instead of _Tiberius Nero,_ they call'd him
  _Biberius 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 _Caligula_ take the better
  Hold of them; which, says _Diodorus,_ was the 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 [2]] one to incline to
  Stealing, another to Drinking, Cruelty, Stupidity; yet all these are
  not minded. Nay it is easy to demonstrate, that a Child, although it
  be born from the best of Parents, may be corrupted by an ill-tempered
  Nurse. How many Children do we see daily brought into Fits,
  Consumptions, Rickets, &c., merely by sucking their Nurses when in a
  Passion or Fury? But indeed almost any Disorder of the Nurse is a
  Disorder 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[3]] she
  should be a Nurse to other Peoples Children; is answered, by her
  having an ill Husband, and that she must make Shift to live. I think
  now this very Answer is enough to give any Body a Shock if duly
  considered; for an ill Husband may, or ten to one if he does not,
  bring home to his Wife an ill Distemper, or at least Vexation and
  Disturbance. Besides as she takes the Child out of meer Necessity, her
  Food will be accordingly, 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
  seriously, to exhort the People with the utmost Vehemence to let the
  Children suck their own [Mothers, [4]] both for the Benefit of Mother
  and Child. For the general Argument, that a Mother is weakned 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 Vapours and future Miscarriages, much beyond any
  other Remedy whatsoever: Her Children will be like Giants, 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 me
  to observe and consider how many poor Children are daily ruin'd by
  careless Nurses; and yet how tender ought they to be of 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 me very
  unnatural, that a Woman that has fed a Child as Part of her self for
  nine Months, should have no Desire to nurse it farther, when brought
  to Light and before her Eyes, and when by its Cry it implores her
  Assistance and the Office of a Mother. Do not the very cruellest of
  Brutes tend their young ones with all the Care and Delight imaginable?
  For how can she be call'd a Mother that will not nurse her young ones?
  The Earth is called the Mother of all Things, not because she
  produces, but because she maintains and nurses what she produces. The
  Generation of the Infant 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 are so very few, that I
  am sure in a Thousand there is hardly one real Instance; for if a
  Woman does but know that her Husband can spare about three or six
  Shillings a Week extraordinary, (altho this is but seldom considered)
  she certainly, with the Assistance of her Gossips, will soon perswade
  the good Man to send the Child to Nurse, and easily impose upon him by
  pretending In-disposition. This Cruelty is supported by Fashion, and
  Nature gives Place to Custom. _SIR, Your humble Servant_.


[Footnote 1: [nursing of], and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 2: [seeing], and in 1st r.]

[Footnote 3: [is, why], and in 1st. r.]

[Footnote 4: Mother,]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 247.              Thursday, December 13, 1711.             Addison.

  [Greek:--Ton d akamatos rheei audae Ek stomaton haedeia--Hes.]

We are told by some antient Authors, that _Socrates_ was instructed in
Eloquence by a Woman, whose Name, if I am not mistaken, was _Aspasia_. I
have indeed very often looked upon that Art as the most proper for the
Female Sex, and I think the Universities would do well to consider
whether they should not fill the Rhetorick Chairs with She Professors.

It has been said in the Praise of some Men, that they could Talk whole
Hours together upon any Thing; but it must be owned to the Honour of the
other Sex, that there are many among them who can Talk whole Hours
together upon Nothing. I have known a Woman branch out into a long
Extempore Dissertation upon the Edging of a Petticoat, and chide her
Servant for breaking a China Cup, in all the Figures of Rhetorick.

Were Women admitted to plead in Courts of Judicature, I am perswaded
they would carry the Eloquence of the Bar to greater Heights than it has
yet arrived at. If any one doubts this, let him but be present at those
Debates which frequently arise among the Ladies [of the [1]] _British_

The first Kind therefore of Female Orators which I shall take notice of,
are those who are employed in stirring up the Passions, a Part of
Rhetorick in which _Socrates_ his Wife had perhaps made a greater
Proficiency than his above-mentioned Teacher.

The second Kind of Female Orators are those who deal in Invectives, and
who are commonly known by the Name of the Censorious. The Imagination
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? With how many
different Circumstances, and with what Variety of Phrases, will they
tell over the same Story? I have known an old Lady make an unhappy
Marriage the Subject of a Months Conversation. She blamed the Bride in
one Place; pitied her in another; laughed at her in a third; wondered at
her in a fourth; was angry with her in a fifth; and in short, wore out a
Pair 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 Women are therefore only to be
consider'd as Helps to Discourse.

A third Kind of Female Orators may be comprehended under the Word
_Gossips_. Mrs. _Fiddle Faddle_ is perfectly accomplished in this Sort
of Eloquence; she launches out into Descriptions of Christenings, runs
Divisions upon an Headdress, knows every Dish of Meat that is served up
in her Neighbourhood, and entertains her Company a whole Afternoon
together with the Wit of her little Boy, before he is able to speak.

The Coquet may be looked upon as a fourth Kind of Female Orator. To give
her self 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 Obligations to all the Men of her Acquaintance; sighs when she
is not sad, and Laughs when she is not Merry. The Coquet is in
particular a great Mistress 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 playing with her Fan.

As for News-mongers, Politicians, Mimicks, Story-Tellers, with other
Characters of that nature, which give Birth to Loquacity, they are as
commonly 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 Utterance in so much greater Perfection than Men. I
have sometimes fancied that they have not a retentive Power, or the
Faculty of suppressing their Thoughts, as Men have, but that they are
necessitated 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 [Doctrine,[2]] 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 forced
to relinquish that Opinion, and have therefore endeavoured to seek after
some better Reason. In order to it, a Friend of mine, who is an
excellent Anatomist, has promised me by the first Opportunity to dissect
a Woman's Tongue, and to examine whether there may not be in it certain
Juices which render it so wonderfully voluble [or [3]] flippant, or
whether the Fibres of it may not be made up of a finer or more pliant
Thread, or whether there are not in it some particular Muscles which
dart it up and down by such sudden Glances and Vibrations; or whether in
the last Place, there may not be certain undiscovered Channels running
from the Head and the Heart, to this little Instrument of Loquacity, and
conveying into it a perpetual Affluence of animal Spirits. Nor must I
omit the Reason which _Hudibras_ has given, why those who can talk on
Trifles speak with the greatest Fluency; namely, that the Tongue is like
a Race-Horse, which runs the faster the lesser Weight it carries.

Which of these Reasons soever may be looked upon as the most probable, I
think the _Irishman's_ Thought was very natural, who after some Hours
Conversation with a Female Orator, told her, that he believed her Tongue
was very glad when she was asleep, for that it had not a Moments Rest
all the while she was awake.

That excellent old Ballad of _The Wanton Wife of Bath_ has the following
remarkable Lines.

  _I think, quoth_ Thomas, _Womens Tongues
  Of Aspen Leaves are made._

And Ovid, though in the Description of a very barbarous Circumstance,
tells us, That when the Tongue of a beautiful Female was cut out, and
thrown upon the Ground, it could not forbear muttering even in that

 --Comprensam forcipe linguam
  Abstulit ense fero. Radix micat ultima linguae,
  Ipsa jacet, terraeque tremens immurmurat atrae;
  Utque salire solet mutilatae cauda colubrae

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 it?
I might here mention the Story of the Pippin-Woman, had not I some
Reason to look upon it as fabulous.

I must confess I am so wonderfully charmed with the Musick of this
little Instrument, that I would by no Means discourage it. All that I
aim at by this Dissertation is, to cure it of several disagreeable
Notes, and in particular of those little Jarrings and Dissonances which
arise from Anger, Censoriousness, Gossiping and Coquetry. In short, I
would always have it tuned by Good-Nature, Truth, Discretion and


[Footnote 1: that belong to our]

[Footnote 2: [Opinion,]]

[Footnote 3: [and]]

[Footnote 4: Met. I. 6, v. 556.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 248.               Friday, December 14, 1711.               Steele.

  Hoc maxime Officii est, ut quisque maxime opis indigeat, ita ei
  potissimum opitulari.


There are none who deserve Superiority over others in the Esteem of
Mankind, who do not make it their Endeavour to be beneficial to Society;
and who upon all Occasions which their Circumstances of Life can
administer, 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 Stations of Life, are indispensably
obliged to exert some noble Inclinations for the Service of the World,
or else such Advantages become Misfortunes, and Shade and Privacy are a
more eligible Portion. Where Opportunities and Inclinations are given 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 our selves be able to practise. But this is a
vicious Way of Thinking; and it bears some Spice of romantick Madness,
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 above meer Poverty, not only to do Things worthy but heroick. The
great Foundation of civil Virtue is Self-Denial; and there is no one
above the Necessities of Life, but has Opportunities of exercising that
noble Quality, and doing as much as his Circumstances will bear for the
Ease and Convenience of other Men; and he who does more than ordinarily
Men practise upon such Occasions as occur in his Life, deserves the
Value of his Friends as if he had done Enterprizes which are usually
attended with the highest Glory. Men of publick Spirit differ rather in
their Circumstances than their Virtue; and the Man who does all he can
in a low Station, is more [a[1]] Hero than he who omits any worthy
Action he is able to accomplish 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-born. Shame and Contrition reformed the Life of the disinherited
Youth, and he became as remarkable for his good Qualities as formerly
for his Errors. _Lapirius_, who observed his Brothers Amendment, sent
him on a New-Years Day in the Morning the following Letter:

  _Honoured Brother,_

  I enclose to you the Deeds whereby my Father gave me this House and
  Land: Had he lived till now, he would not have bestowed it in that
  Manner; he took it from the Man you were, and I restore it to the Man
  you are. I am,

  Your affectionate Brother, and humble Servant,_
  P. T.

As great and exalted Spirits undertake the Pursuit of hazardous Actions
for the Good of others, at the same Time gratifying their Passion for
Glory; so do worthy Minds in the domestick Way of Life deny themselves
many Advantages, to satisfy a generous Benevolence which they bear to
their Friends oppressed with Distresses and Calamities. Such Natures one
may call Stores of Providence, which are actuated by a secret Celestial
Influence to undervalue the ordinary Gratifications of Wealth, to give
Comfort to an Heart loaded with Affliction, to save a falling Family, to
preserve a Branch of Trade in their Neighbourhood, and give Work to the
Industrious, preserve the Portion of the helpless Infant, and raise the
Head of the mourning Father. People whose Hearts are wholly bent towards
Pleasure, or intent upon Gain, never hear of the noble Occurrences among
Men of Industry and Humanity. It would look like a City Romance, to tell
them of the generous Merchant who the other Day sent this Billet to an
eminent Trader under Difficulties to support himself, in whose Fall many
hundreds besides himself had perished; but because I think there is more
Spirit and true Gallantry in it than in any Letter I have ever read from
_Strepkon_ to _Phillis_, I shall insert it even in the mercantile honest
Stile in which it was sent.


  I Have heard of the Casualties which have involved you in extreme
  Distress at this Time; and knowing you to be a Man of great
  Good-Nature, Industry and Probity, have resolved to stand by you. Be
  of good Chear, the Bearer brings with him five thousand Pounds, and
  has my Order to answer your drawing as much more on my Account. I did
  this in Haste, for fear I should come too late for your Relief; but
  you may value your self with me to the Sum of fifty thousand Pounds;
  for I can very chearfully run the Hazard of being so much less rich
  than I am now, to save an honest Man whom I love.

  _Your Friend and Servant_,
  [W. S. [2]]

I think there is somewhere in _Montaigne_ Mention made of a Family-book,
wherein all the Occurrences that happened from one Generation of that
House to another were recorded. Were there such a Method in the
Families, 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 a Bencher of the _Temple_ tell a Story of a
Tradition in their House, where they had formerly a Custom of chusing
Kings for such a Season, and allowing him his Expences 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 another, Such a small Sum would make me the happiest Man in
the World. The King out of his Royal Compassion privately inquired into
his Character, and finding him a proper Object of Charity, sent him the
Money. When the Committee read their Report, the House passed his
Account with a Plaudite without further Examination, upon the Recital of
this Article in them.

_For making a Man happy_    L. : s. : d.:

                            10 : 00 : 00


[Footnote 1: [an]]

[Footnote 2: [W. P.] corrected by an Erratum in No. 152 to W.S.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 249.             Saturday, December 15, 1711.               Addison.

  [Greek: _Gelos akairos en brotois deinon kakon_]

  Frag. Vet. Poet.

When I make Choice of a Subject that has not been treated on by others,
I throw together my Reflections on it without any Order or Method, so
that they may appear rather in the Looseness and Freedom of an Essay,
than in the Regularity of a Set Discourse. It is after this Manner that
I shall consider Laughter and Ridicule in my present Paper.

Man is the merriest Species of the Creation, all above and below him are
Serious. He sees things in a different Light from other Beings, and
finds his Mirth [a]rising from Objects that perhaps cause something like
Pity or Displeasure in higher Natures. Laughter is indeed a very good
Counterpoise to the Spleen; and it seems but reasonable that we should
be capable of receiving Joy from what is no real Good to us, since we
can receive Grief from what is no real Evil.

I have in my Forty-seventh Paper raised a Speculation on the Notion of a
Modern Philosopher [1], who describes the first Motive of Laughter to be
a secret Comparison which we make between our selves, and the Persons we
laugh at; or, in other Words, that Satisfaction which we receive from
the Opinion of some Pre-eminence in our selves, when we see the
Absurdities of another or when we reflect on any past Absurdities of our
own. This seems to hold in most Cases, and we may observe that the
vainest Part 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 Mind, weakens the
Faculties, and causes a kind of Remissness and Dissolution in all the
Powers of the Soul: And thus far it may be looked upon as a Weakness in
the 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 with, is the Qualification of little ungenerous Tempers. A
young Man with this Cast of Mind cuts himself off from all manner of
Improvement. Every one has his Flaws and Weaknesses; nay, the greatest
Blemishes are often found in the most shining Characters; but what an
absurd Thing is it to pass over all the valuable Parts of a Man, and fix
our Attention on his Infirmities to observe his Imperfections more than
his Virtues; and to make use of him for the Sport of others, rather than
for our own Improvement?

We therefore very often find, that Persons the most accomplished in
Ridicule are those who are very shrewd at hitting a Blot, without
exerting any thing masterly in themselves. As there are many eminent
Criticks who never writ a good Line, there are many admirable Buffoons
that animadvert upon every single Defect in another, without ever
discovering the least Beauty of their own. By this Means, these unlucky
little Wits often gain Reputation in the Esteem of Vulgar Minds, and
raise themselves above Persons of much more laudable Characters.

If the Talent of Ridicule were employed to laugh Men out of Vice and
Folly, it might be of some Use to the World; but instead of this, we
find that it is generally made use of to laugh Men out of Virtue and
good Sense, by attacking every thing that is Solemn and Serious, Decent
and Praiseworthy in Human Life.

We may observe, that in the First Ages of the World, when the great
Souls and Master-pieces of Human Nature were produced, Men shined by a
noble Simplicity of Behaviour, and were Strangers to those little
Embellishments which are so fashionable in our present Conversation. And
it is very remarkable, that notwithstanding we fall short at present of
the Ancients in Poetry, Painting, Oratory, History, Architecture, and
all the noble Arts and Sciences which depend more upon Genius than
Experience, we exceed them as much in Doggerel, Humour, Burlesque, and
all the trivial Arts of Ridicule. We meet with more Raillery among the
Moderns, 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 Characters,
the other by drawing them quite unlike themselves. Burlesque is
therefore of two kinds; the first represents mean Persons in the
Accoutrements 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 _Lucians_ Gods of the second. It is a Dispute among
the Criticks, whether Burlesque Poetry runs best in Heroick Verse, like
that of the _Dispensary;_ [2] or in Doggerel, like that of _Hudibras_. I
think where the low Character is to be raised, the Heroick is the proper
Measure; but when an Hero is to be pulled down and degraded, it is done
best in Doggerel.

If _Hudibras_ had been set out with as much Wit and Humour in Heroick
Verse as he is in Doggerel, he would have made a much more agreeable
Figure than he does; though the generality of his Readers are so
wonderfully pleased with the double Rhimes, 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 Burning when they are applied to Love. This shews that
we naturally regard Laughter, as what is in it self both amiable and
beautiful. For this Reason likewise _Venus_ has gained the Title of
[Greek: Philomeidaes,] the Laughter-loving Dame, as _Waller_ has
Translated it, and is represented by _Horace_ as the Goddess who
delights in Laughter. _Milton_, in a joyous Assembly of imaginary
Persons [3], has given us a very Poetical Figure of Laughter. His whole
Band of Mirth is so finely described, that I shall [set [4]] down [the
Passage] at length.

  _But come thou Goddess fair and free,
  In Heaven ycleped_ Euphrosyne,
  _And by Men, heart-easing Mirth,
  Whom lovely_ Venus _at a Birth,
  With two Sister Graces more,
  To Ivy-crowned_ Bacchus _bore:
  Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
  Jest and youthful jollity,
  Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
  Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
  Such as hang on_ Hebes _Cheek,
  And love to live in Dimple sleek:
  Sport that wrinkled Care derides,_
  And Laughter holding both his Sides.
  _Come, and trip it, as you go,
  On the light fantastick Toe:
  And in thy right Hand lead with thee
  The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
  And if I give thee Honour due,
  Mirth, admit me of thy Crew,
  To live with her, and live with thee,
  In unreproved Pleasures free_.


[Footnote 1: Hobbes.]

[Footnote 2: Sir Samuel Garth, poet and physician, who was alive at this
time (died in 1719), satirized a squabble among the doctors in his poem
of _the Dispensary_.

  The piercing Caustics ply their spiteful Powr;
  Emetics ranch, and been Cathartics sour.
  The deadly Drugs in double Doses fly;
  And Pestles peal a martial Symphony_.]

[Footnote 3: L'Allegro.]

[Footnote 4: [set it]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 250.               Monday, December 17, 1711.

  Disce docendus adhuc, quae censet amiculus, ut si
  Caecus iter monstrare velit; tamen aspice si quid
  Et nos, quod cures proprium fecisse, loquamur.



  You see the Nature of my Request by the _Latin_ Motto which I address
  to you. I am very sensible 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 Virtuosos 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 invisible 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 Opticks, 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 Assurance to look, speak,
  act or plead before the Faces of a numerous Assembly; the other he
  dazzles out of Countenance into a sheepish Dejectedness. The Sun-Proof
  Eye dares lead up a Dance in a full Court; and without blinking at the
  Lustre of Beauty, can distribute an Eye of proper Complaisance to a
  Room crowded with Company, each of which deserves particular Regard;
  while the other sneaks from Conversation, like a fearful Debtor, who
  never dares [to] look out, but when he can see no body, and no body

  The next Instance of Opticks is the famous _Argus_, who (to  speak in
  the Language of _Cambridge_) was one of an 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 particular Colours, Casts and
  Turns of this Body of Eyes; but as he was Pimp for his Mistress
  _Juno_, tis probable he used all the modern Leers, sly Glances, and
  other ocular Activities to serve his Purpose. Some look upon him as
  the then King at Arms to the Heathenish Deities; and make no more of
  his Eyes than as so many Spangles of his Heralds Coat.

  The next upon the Optick 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 this double-faced Way are not yet out of Fashion with many
  Professions, and the ingenious Artists pretend to keep up this Species
  by double-headed Canes and Spoons [1]; but there is no Mark of this
  Faculty, except in the emblematical Way of a wise General having an
  Eye to both Front and Rear, or a pious Man taking a Review and
  Prospect of his past and future State at the same Time.

  I must own, that the Names, Colours, Qualities, and Turns of Eyes vary
  almost in every Head; for, not to mention the common Appellations of
  the Black, the Blue, the White, the Gray, and the like; the most
  remarkable are those that borrow their Title[s] from Animals, by
  Vertue of some particular Quality or Resemblance they bear to the Eyes
  of the respective Creature[s]; 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 Sheep, and we say such a[n] 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 Invention, 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 of

    [Greek: Boopis potnia haerae--][2]

  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 it self; and at least it is the
  outward Portal to introduce them to the House within, or rather the
  common Thorough-fare to let our Affections pass in and out. Love,
  Anger, Pride, and Avarice, all visibly move in those little Orbs. I
  know a young Lady that cant see a certain Gentleman pass by without
  shewing a secret Desire of seeing him again by a Dance in her
  Eye-balls; nay, she cant for the Heart of her help looking Half a
  Streets Length after any Man in a gay Dress. You cant behold a
  covetous Spirit walk by a Goldsmiths Shop without casting a wistful
  Eye at the Heaps upon the Counter. Does not a haughty Person shew the
  Temper of his Soul in the supercilious Rowl of his Eye? and how
  frequently in the Height of Passion does that moving Picture in our
  Head start and stare, gather a Redness and quick Flashes of Lightning,
  and make all its Humours sparkle with Fire, as Virgil finely describes

   --Ardentis ab ore
    Scintillae absistunt: oculis micat acribus ignis. [3]

  As for the various Turns of [the] Eye-sight, such as the voluntary or
  involuntary, the half or the whole Leer, I shall not enter into a very
  particular Account of them; but let me observe, that oblique Vision,
  when natural, was anciently the Mark of Bewitchery and magical
  Fascination, and to this Day tis a malignant ill Look; but when tis
  forced and affected it carries a wanton Design, and in Play-houses,
  and other publick Places, this ocular Intimation is often an
  Assignation for bad Practices: But this Irregularity in Vision,
  together with such Enormities as Tipping the Wink, the Circumspective
  Rowl, the Side-peep through a thin Hood or Fan, must be put in the
  Class of Heteropticks, as all wrong Notions of Religion are ranked
  under the general Name of Heterodox. All the pernicious Applications
  of Sight are more immediately under the Direction of a SPECTATOR; and
  I hope you will arm your Readers against the Mischiefs which are daily
  done by killing Eyes, in which you will highly oblige your wounded
  unknown Friend,
  T. B.


  You professed in several Papers your particular Endeavours in the
  Province of SPECTATOR, to correct the Offences committed by Starers,
  who disturb whole Assemblies without any Regard to Time, Place or
  Modesty. You complained also, that a Starer is not usually a Person to
  be convinced by Reason of the Thing, nor so easily rebuked, as to
  amend by Admonitions. I thought therefore fit to acquaint you with a
  convenient Mechanical Way, which may easily prevent or correct
  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 appear, 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 forth at large in the printed
  Proposals for the Sale of these Glasses, to be had at Mr. _Dillons_
  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 Admonitions
  concerning the decent Use of it; and hopes, by your Recommendation,
  that for the future Beauty may be beheld without the Torture and
  Confusion which it suffers from the Insolence of Starers. By this
  means you will relieve the Innocent from an Insult which there is no
  Law to punish, tho it is a greater Offence than many which are within
  the Cognizance of Justice.

  I am, SIR,

  Your most humble Servant,

  Abraham Spy.


[Footnote 1: Apostle spoons and others with fancy heads upon their

[Footnote 2: The ox-eyed, venerable Juno.]

[Footnote 3: AEn. 12, v. 101.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 251.                Tuesday, December 18, 1711.             Addison.

 --Lingua centum sunt, oraque centum.
  Ferrea Vox.


There is nothing which more astonishes a Foreigner, and frights a
Country Squire, than the _Cries of London_. My good Friend Sir ROGER
often 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 Ville_, and prefers them to the
Sounds of Larks and Nightingales, with all the Musick of the Fields and
Woods. I have lately received a Letter from some very odd Fellow upon
this Subject, which I shall leave with my Reader, without saying any
thing further of it.


  I am a Man 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 burthening the Subject, but I
  cannot get the Parliament to listen to me, who look upon me, forsooth,
  as a Crack, and a Projector; so that despairing to enrich either my
  self or my Country by this Publick-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 [1]] handsome Subsistence, if you will be
  pleased to recommend it to the Cities of _London_ and _Westminster_.

  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 all the Branches of our
  _British_ Trades and Manufactures, and of a competent Skill in Musick.

  The Cries of _London_ may be divided into Vocal and Instrumental. As
  for the latter they are at present under a very great Disorder. A
  Freeman of _London_ has the Privilege of disturbing a whole Street for
  an Hour together, with the Twanking of a Brass-Kettle or a Frying-Pan.
  The Watchman's Thump at Midnight startles us in our Beds, as much as
  the Breaking in of a Thief. The Sowgelder'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 licensed, after having carefully
  examined in what manner it may affect the Ears of her Majesty's liege

  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 _Ela_, and in Sounds
  so [exceeding [2]] shrill, that it often sets our Teeth [on [3]] Edge.
  The Chimney-sweeper is [confined [4]] 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 mention broken Glasses or Brick-dust. In these
  therefore, and the like Cases, it should be my Care to sweeten and
  mellow the Voices of these itinerant Tradesmen, before they make their
  Appearance in our Streets; as also to accommodate their Cries to their
  respective Wares; and to take care in particular, that those may not
  make the most Noise who have the least to sell, which is very
  observable in the Venders of Card-matches, to whom I cannot but apply
  that old Proverb of _Much Cry but little Wool_.

  Some of these last mentioned Musicians are so very loud in the Sale
  of these trifling Manufactures, that an honest Splenetick Gentleman of
  my Acquaintance bargained with one of them never to come into the
  Street where he lived: But what was the Effect of this Contract? Why,
  the whole Tribe of Card-match-makers which frequent that Quarter,
  passed by his Door the very next Day, in hopes of being bought off
  after the same manner.

  It is another great Imperfection in our _London_ Cries, that there is
  no just Time nor Measure observed in them. Our News should indeed be
  published in a very quick Time, because it is a Commodity that will
  not keep cold. It should not, however, be cried with the same
  Precipitation as Fire: Yet this is generally the Case. A Bloody Battle
  alarms the Town from one End to another in an Instant. Every Motion of
  the _French_ is Published in so great a Hurry, that one would think
  the Enemy were at our Gates. This likewise I would take upon me to
  regulate in such a manner, that there should be some Distinction made
  between the spreading of a Victory, a March, or an Incampment, a
  _Dutch_, a _Portugal_ or a _Spanish_ Mail. Nor must I omit under this
  Head, those excessive Alarms with which several boisterous Rusticks
  infest our Streets in Turnip Season; and which are more inexcusable,
  because these are Wares which are in no Danger of Cooling upon their

  There are others who affect a very slow Time, and are, in my Opinion,
  much more tuneable 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 with which the Public are very often
  asked, if they have any Chairs to mend? Your own Memory may suggest to
  you many other lamentable Ditties of the same Nature, in which the
  Musick is wonderfully languishing and melodious.

  I am always pleased with that particular Time of the Year which is
  proper for the pickling of Dill and Cucumbers; but alas, this Cry,
  like the Song of the [Nightingale [5]], 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 Forefathers, have
  invented particular Songs and Tunes of their own: Such as was, not
  many Years since, the Pastryman, 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 rightly informed, goes under the Name of

  I must not here omit one particular Absurdity which runs through this
  whole vociferous Generation, and which renders their Cries very often
  not only incommodious, but altogether useless to the Publick; I mean,
  that idle Accomplishment which they all of them aim at, of Crying so
  as not to be understood. Whether or no they have learned this from
  several of our affected Singers, I will 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 Gingerbread
  from a Grinder of Knives and Scissars. Nay so strangely infatuated are
  some very eminent Artists of this particular Grace in a Cry, that none
  but then Acquaintance are able to guess at their Profession; for who
  else can know, that _Work if I had it_, should be the Signification of
  a Corn-Cutter?

  Forasmuch therefore as Persons of this Rank are seldom Men of Genius
  or Capacity, I think it would be very proper, that some Man of good
  Sense and sound Judgment should preside over these Publick Cries, who
  should permit none to lift up their Voices in our Streets, that have
  not tuneable Throats, and are not only able to overcome the Noise of
  the Croud, and the Rattling of Coaches, but also to vend their
  respective Merchandizes in apt Phrases, and in the most distinct and
  agreeable Sounds. I do therefore humbly recommend my self as a Person
  rightly qualified for this Post; and if I meet with fitting
  Encouragement, shall communicate some other Projects which I have by
  me, that may no less conduce to the Emolument of the Public.

  _I am

  SIR_, &c.,

  Ralph Crotchet.

[Footnote 1: an]

[Footnote 2: exceedingly]

[Footnote 3: an]

[Footnote 4: contained]

[Footnote 5: Nightingales]

       *       *       *       *       *


_My_ LORD,

As it is natural to have a Fondness for what has cost us so much Time
and Attention to produce, I hope Your Grace will forgive an endeavour to
preserve this Work from Oblivion, by affixing to it Your memorable Name.

I shall not here presume to mention the illustrious Passages of Your
Life, which are celebrated by the whole Age, and have been the Subject
of the most sublime Pens; but if I could convey You to Posterity in your
private Character, and describe the Stature, the Behaviour and Aspect of
the Duke of _Marlborough_, I question not but it would fill the Reader
with more agreeable Images, and give him a more delightful Entertainment
than what can be found in the following, or any other Book.

One cannot indeed without Offence, to Your self, observe, that You excel
the rest of Mankind in the least, as well as the greatest Endowments.
Nor were it a Circumstance to be mentioned, if the Graces and
Attractions of Your Person were not the only Preheminence You have above
others, which is left, almost, unobserved by greater Writers.

Yet how pleasing would it be to those who shall read the surprising
Revolutions in your Story, to be made acquainted with your ordinary Life
and Deportment? How pleasing would it be to hear that the same Man who
had carried Fire and Sword into the Countries of all that had opposed
the Cause of Liberty, and struck a Terrour into the Armies of _France_,
had, in the midst of His high Station, a Behaviour as gentle as is usual
in the first Steps towards Greatness? And if it were possible to express
that easie Grandeur, which did at once perswade and command; it would
appear as clearly to those to come, as it does to his Contemporaries,
that all the great Events which were brought to pass under the Conduct
of so well-govern'd a Spirit, were the Blessings of Heaven upon Wisdom
and Valour: and all which seem adverse fell out by divine Permission,
which we are not to search into.

You have pass'd that Year of Life wherein the most able and fortunate
Captain, before Your Time, declared he had lived enough both to Nature
and to Glory; [2] and Your Grace may make that Reflection with much more
Justice. He spoke it after he had arrived at Empire, by an Usurpation
upon those whom he had enslaved; but the Prince of _Mindleheim_ may
rejoice in a Sovereignty which was the Gift of Him whose Dominions he
had preserved.

Glory established upon the uninterrupted Success of honourable Designs
and Actions is not subject to Diminution; nor can any Attempts prevail
against it, but in the Proportion which the narrow Circuit of Rumour
bears to the unlimited Extent of Fame.

We may congratulate Your Grace not only upon your high Atchievements,
but likewise upon the happy Expiration of Your Command, by which your
Glory is put out of the Power of Fortune: And when your Person shall be
so too, that the Author and Disposer of all things may place You in that
higher Mansion of Bliss and Immortality which is prepared for good
Princes, Lawgivers, and Heroes, when HE in HIS due Time removes them
from the Envy of Mankind, is the hearty Prayer of,

_Your Graces
Most Obedient,
Most Devoted
Humble Servant_,

[Footnote 1: John Churchill, afterwards Duke of Marlborough, was at this
time 62 years old, and past the zenith of his fame. He was born at Ashe,
in Devonshire, in 1650, the son of Sir Winston Churchill, an adherent of
Charles I. At the age of twelve John Churchill was placed as page in the
household of the Duke of York. He first distinguished himself as a
soldier in the defence of Tangier against the Moors. Between 1672 and
1677 he served in the auxiliary force sent by our King Charles II. to
his master, Louis XIV. In 1672, after the siege of Maestricht, Churchill
was praised by Louis at the head of his army, and made
Lieutenant-colonel. Continuing in the service of the Duke of York,
Churchill, about 1680, married Sarah Jennings, favourite of the Princess
Anne. In 1682 Charles II. made Churchill a Baron, and three years
afterwards he was made Brigadier-general when sent to France to announce
the accession of James II. On his return he was made Baron Churchill of
Sandridge. He helped to suppress Monmouth's insurrection, but before the
Revolution committed himself secretly to the cause of the Prince of
Orange; was made, therefore, by William III., Earl of Marlborough and
Privy Councillor. After some military service he was for a short time
imprisoned in the Tower on suspicion of treasonous correspondence with
the exiled king. In 1697 he was restored to favour, and on the breaking
out of the War of the Spanish Succession in 1701 he was chief commander
of the Forces in the United Provinces. In this war his victories made
him the most famous captain of the age. In December, 1702, he was made
Duke, with a pension of five thousand a year. In the campaign of 1704
Marlborough planned very privately, and executed on his own
responsibility, the boldest and most distant march that had ever been
attempted in our continental wars. France, allied with Bavaria, was
ready to force the way to Vienna, but Marlborough, quitting the Hague,
carried his army to the Danube, where he took by storm a strong
entrenched camp of the enemy upon the Schellenberg, and cruelly laid
waste the towns and villages of the Bavarians, who never had taken arms;
but, as he said, we are now going to burn and destroy the Electors
country, to oblige him to hearken to terms. On the 13th of August, the
army of Marlborough having been joined by the army under Prince Eugene,
battle was given to the French and Bavarians under Marshal Tallard, who
had his head-quarters at the village of Plentheim, or Blenheim. At the
cost of eleven thousand killed and wounded in the armies of Marlborough
and Eugene, and fourteen thousand killed and wounded on the other side,
a decisive victory was secured, Tallard himself being made prisoner, and
26 battalions and 12 squadrons capitulating as prisoners of war. 121 of
the enemy's standards and 179 colours were brought home and hung up in
Westminster Hall. Austria was saved, and Louis XIV. utterly humbled at
the time when he had expected confidently to make himself master of the
destinies of Europe.

For this service Marlborough was made by the Emperor a Prince of the
Empire, and his Most Illustrious Cousin as the Prince of Mindelsheim.
At home he was rewarded with the manor of Woodstock, upon which was
built for him the Palace of Blenheim, and his pension of L5000 from the
Post-office was annexed to his title. There followed other victories, of
which the series was closed with that of Malplaquet, in 1709, for which
a national thanksgiving was appointed. Then came a change over the face
of home politics. England was weary of the war, which Marlborough was
accused of prolonging for the sake of the enormous wealth he drew
officially from perquisites out of the different forms of expenditure
upon the army. The Tories gathered strength, and in the beginning of
1712 a commission on a charge of taking money from contractors for
bread, and 2 1/2 per cent, from the pay of foreign troops, having
reported against him, Marlborough was dismissed from all his
employments. Sarah, his duchess, had also been ousted from the Queens
favour, and they quitted England for a time, Marlborough writing,
Provided that my destiny does not involve any prejudice to the public,
I shall be very content with it; and shall account myself happy in a
retreat in which I may be able wisely to reflect on the vicissitudes of
this world. It was during this season of his unpopularity that Steele
and Addison dedicated to the Duke of Marlborough the fourth volume of
the _Spectator_.]

[Footnote 2: _Julius Caesar_.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 252.             Wednesday, December 19, 1711.              Steele.

  Erranti, passimque oculos per cuncta ferenti.

  Virg. [1]


  I am very sorry to find by your Discourse upon the Eye, 1 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 makes Men talk, the Flames which it is said to
  kindle, 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 great
  which moves Men to that Extravagance. Certain it is, that the whole
  Strength of the Mind is sometimes seated there; that a kind Look
  imparts all, that a Years Discourse could give you, in one Moment.
  What matters it what she says to you, see how she looks, is the
  Language of all who know what Love is. When the Mind is thus summed up
  and expressed in a Glance, did you never observe a sudden Joy arise in
  the Countenance of a Lover? Did you never see the Attendance of Years
  paid, over-paid in an Instant? You a SPECTATOR, and not know that the
  Intelligence of Affection is carried on by the Eye only; that
  Good-breeding has made the Tongue falsify the Heart, and act a Part of
  continual Constraint, while Nature has preserved the Eyes to her self,
  that she may not be disguised or misrepresented. The poor Bride can
  give her Hand, and say, _I do_, with a languishing 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 Eye is full of Sorrow,
  and Reluctance sits in a Tear, while the Offering of the Sacrifice is
  performed in what we call the Marriage Ceremony. Do you never go to
  Plays? Cannot you distinguish between the Eyes of those who go to see,
  from those who come to be seen? I am a Woman turned of Thirty, and am
  on the Observation a little; therefore if you or your Correspondent
  had consulted me in your Discourse on the Eye, I could have told you
  that the Eye of _Leonora_ is slyly watchful while it looks negligent:
  she looks round her without the Help of the Glasses you speak of, and
  yet seems to be employed on Objects directly before her. This Eye is
  what affects Chance-medley, and on a sudden, as if it attended to
  another thing, turns all its Charms against an Ogler. The Eye of
  _Lusitania_ is an Instrument of premeditated Murder; but the Design
  being visible, destroys the Execution of it; and with much more Beauty
  than that of _Leonora_, it is not half so mischievous. There is a
  brave Soldiers Daughter in Town, that by her Eye has been the Death
  of more than ever her Father made fly before him. A beautiful Eye
  makes Silence eloquent, a kind Eye makes Contradiction an Assent, an
  enraged Eye makes Beauty deformed. This little Member gives Life to
  every other Part about us, and I believe the Story of _Argus_ implies
  no more than that the Eye is in every Part, that is to say, every
  other Part would be mutilated, were not its Force represented more by
  the Eye than even by it self. But this is Heathen _Greek_ to those who
  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 me the Honour to print
  this among your Speculations, 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_, Mary Heartfree.

  _Dear Mr_. SPECTATOR,
  I have a Sot of a Husband that lives a very scandalous Life, and
  wastes away his Body and Fortune in Debaucheries; and is immoveable 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
  whether it may not be lawfully used by a Female Orator.
  _Your humble Servant_,
  Barbara Crabtree.

  _Mr_. SPECTATOR, [2]

  Though I am a Practitioner in the Law of some standing, and have heard
  many eminent Pleaders in my Time, as well as other eloquent Speakers
  of both Universities, yet I agree with you, that Women are better
  qualified to succeed in Oratory than the Men, and believe this is to
  be resolved into natural Causes. You have mentioned only the
  Volubility of their Tongue; but what do you think of the silent
  Flattery of their pretty Faces, and the Perswasion which even an
  insipid Discourse carries with it when flowing from beautiful Lips, to
  which it would be cruel to deny any thing? It is certain too, that
  they are possessed of some Springs of Rhetorick which Men want, such
  as Tears, fainting Fits, and the like, which I have seen employed upon
  Occasion with good Success. You must know I am a plain Man and love my
  Money; yet I have a Spouse who is so great an Orator in this Way, that
  she draws from me what Sum she pleases. Every Room in my House is
  furnished with Trophies of her Eloquence, rich Cabinets, Piles of
  China, Japan Screens, and costly Jars; and if you were to come into my
  great Parlour, you would fancy your self in an _India_ Ware-house:
  Besides this she keeps a Squirrel, and I am doubly taxed to pay for
  the China he breaks. She is seized with periodical Fits about the Time
  of the Subscriptions to a new Opera, and is drowned in Tears after
  having seen any Woman there in finer Cloaths than herself: These are
  Arts of Perswasion purely Feminine, and which a tender Heart cannot
  resist. What I would therefore desire of you, is, to prevail with your
  Friend who has promised to dissect a Female Tongue, that he would at
  the same time give us the Anatomy of a Female Eye, and explain the
  Springs and Sluices which feed it with such ready Supplies of
  Moisture; and likewise shew by what means, if possible, they may be
  stopped at a reasonable Expence: Or, indeed, since there is something
  so moving in the very Image of weeping Beauty, it would be 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.
  I am, &c.


[Footnote 1: quis Temeros oculus mihi fascinat Agnos.--Virg.]

[Footnote 2: This letter is by John Hughes.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 253.            Thursday, December 20, 1711.               Addison.

  Indignor quicquam reprehendi, non quia crasse
  Compositum, illepideve putetur, sed quia nuper.


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 natural for such as have not succeeded in it to
depreciate the Works of those who have. For since they cannot raise
themselves to the Reputation of their Fellow-Writers, they must
endeavour to sink it to their own Pitch, if they would still keep
themselves upon a Level with them.

The greatest Wits that ever were produced in one Age, lived together in
so good an Understanding, and celebrated one another with so much
Generosity, that each of them receives an additional Lustre from his
Contemporaries, and is more famous for having lived with Men of so
extraordinary a Genius, than if he had himself been the [sole Wonder
[1]] of the Age. I need not tell my Reader, that I here point at the
Reign of _Augustus_, and I believe he will be of my Opinion, that
neither _Virgil_ nor _Horace_ would have gained so great a Reputation in
the World, had they not been the Friends and Admirers of each other.
Indeed all the great Writers of that Age, for whom singly we have so
great an Esteem, stand up together as Vouchers for one anothers
Reputation. But at the same time that _Virgil_ was celebrated by
_Gallus, Propertius, Horace, Varius, Tucca_ and _Ovid_, we know that
_Bavius_ and _Maevius_ were his declared Foes and Calumniators.

In our own Country a Man seldom sets up for a Poet, without attacking
the Reputation of all his Brothers in the Art. The Ignorance of the
Moderns, the Scribblers of the Age, the Decay of Poetry, are the Topicks
of Detraction, with which he makes his Entrance into the World: But how
much more noble is the Fame that is built on Candour and Ingenuity,
according to those beautiful Lines of Sir _John Denham_, in his Poem on
_Fletchers_ Works!

  But whither am I strayed? I need not raise
  Trophies to thee from other Mens Dispraise:
  Nor is thy Fame on lesser Ruins built,
  Nor needs thy juster Title the foul Guilt
  Of Eastern Kings, who, to secure their Reign,
  Must have their Brothers, Sons, and Kindred slain.

I am sorry to find that an Author, who is very justly esteemed among the
best Judges, has admitted some Stroaks of this Nature into a very fine
Poem; I mean _The Art of Criticism_, which was publish'd some Months
since, and is a Master-piece in its kind. [2] The Observations follow
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 explained with that Elegance and Perspicuity in 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
convinced 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 doth 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 lat[t]er 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 beautiful, 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 by all the Poets of the _Augustan_ Age. His Way of expressing and
applying them, not his Invention of them, is what we are chiefly to

For this Reason I think there is nothing in the World so tiresome as the
Works of those Criticks who write in a positive Dogmatick Way, without
either Language, Genius, or Imagination. If the Reader would see how the
best of the _Latin_ Criticks writ, he may find their Manner very
beautifully described in the Characters of _Horace, Petronius,
Quintilian_, and _Longinus_, as they are drawn in the Essay of which I
am now speaking.

Since I have mentioned _Longinus_, who in his Reflections has given us
the same kind of Sublime, which he observes in the several passages that
occasioned them; I cannot but take notice, that our _English_ Author has
after the same manner exemplified several of his Precepts in the very
Precepts themselves. I shall produce two or three Instances of this
Kind. Speaking of the insipid Smoothness which some Readers are so much
in Love with, he has the following Verses.

  These_ Equal Syllables _alone require,
  Tho oft the_ Ear _the_ open Vowels _tire,
  While_ Expletives _their feeble Aid_ do _join,
  And ten low Words oft creep in one dull Line.

The gaping of the Vowels in the second Line, the Expletive _do_ in the
third, and the ten Monosyllables in the fourth, give such a Beauty to
this Passage, as would have been very much admired in an Ancient Poet.
The Reader may observe the following Lines in the same View.

  A needless Alexandrine _ends the Song,
  That like a wounded Snake, drags its slow Length along_.

And afterwards,

  Tis not enough no Harshness gives Offence,
  The Sound must seem an Eccho to the Sense.
  Soft is the Strain when Zephyr gently blows,
  And the smooth Stream in smoother Numbers flows;
  But when loud Surges lash the sounding Shore,
  The hoarse rough Verse shou'd like the Torrent roar.
  When Ajax strives some Rocks vast Weight to throw,
  The Line too labours, and the Words move slow;
  Not so, when swift Camilla scours the Plain,
  Flies o'er th' unbending Corn, and skims along the Main.

The beautiful Distich upon _Ajax_ in the foregoing Lines, puts me in
mind of a Description in _Homer's_ Odyssey, which none of the Criticks
have taken notice of. [3] It is where _Sisyphus_ is represented lifting
his Stone up the Hill, which is no sooner carried to the top of it, but
it immediately tumbles 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 continual Line of _Dactyls_.

  [Greek: Kai maen Sisyphon eiseidon, krater alge echonta,
  Laan Bastazonta pelorion amphoteraesin.
  Aetoi ho men skaeriptomenos chersin te posin te,
  Laan ano otheske poti lophon, all hote melloi
  Akron hyperbaleein, tot apostrepsaske krataiis,
  Autis epeita pedonde kylindeto laas anaidaes.]

It would be endless to quote Verses out of _Virgil_ which have this
particular Kind of Beauty in the Numbers; but I may take an Occasion in
a future Paper to shew several of them which have escaped the
Observation of others.

I cannot conclude this Paper without taking notice that we have three
Poems in our Tongue, which are of the same Nature, and each of them a
Master-Piece in its Kind; the Essay on Translated Verse [4], the Essay
on the Art of Poetry [5], and the Essay upon Criticism.

[Footnote 1: [single Product]]

[Footnote 2: At the time when this paper was written Pope was in his
twenty-fourth year. He wrote to express his gratitude to Addison and
also to Steele. In his letter to Addison he said,

  Though it be the highest satisfaction to find myself commended by a
  Writer whom all the world commends, yet I am not more obliged to you
  for that than for your candour and frankness in acquainting me with
  the error I have been guilty of in speaking too freely of my brother

The only moderns of whom he spoke slightingly were men of whom
after-time has ratified his opinion: John Dennis, Sir Richard Blackmore,
and Luke Milbourne. When, not long afterwards, Dennis attacked with his
criticism Addison's Cato, to which Pope had contributed the Prologue,
Pope made this the occasion of a bitter satire on Dennis, called _The
Narrative of Dr. Robert Norris_ (a well-known quack who professed the
cure of lunatics) _upon the Frenzy J. D_. Addison then, through Steele,
wrote to Popes publisher of this manner of treating Mr. Dennis, that
he could not be privy to it, and was sorry to hear of it. In 1715,
when Pope issued to subscribers the first volume of Homer, Tickell's
translation of the first book of the Iliad appeared in the same week,
and had particular praise at Buttons from Addison, Tickell's friend and
patron. Pope was now indignant, and expressed his irritation in the
famous satire first printed in 1723, and, finally, with the name of
Addison transformed to Atticus, embodied in the Epistle to Arbuthnot
published in 1735. Here, while seeing in Addison a man

  _Blest with each talent and each art to please,
  And born to live, converse, and write with ease,_

he said that should he, jealous of his own supremacy, damn with faint
praise, as one

  _Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
  Just hint the fault and hesitate dislike,
  Who when two wits on rival themes contest,
  Approves of both, but likes the worse the best:
  Like Cato, give his little Senate laws,
  And sits attentive to his own applause;
  While wits and templars every sentence raise:
  And wonder with a foolish face of praise:
  Who would not laugh if such a man there be?
  Who would not weep if Addison were he?_

But in this _Spectator_ paper young Popes _Essay on Criticism_
certainly was not damned with faint praise by the man most able to give
it a firm standing in the world.]

[Footnote 3: Odyssey Bk. XI. In Ticknell's edition of Addison's works
the latter part of this sentence is omitted; the same observation having
been made by Dionysius of Halicarnassus.]

[Footnote 4: Wentworth Dillon, Earl of Roscommon, author of the Essay
on Translated Verse, was nephew and godson to Wentworth, Earl of
Strafford. He was born in Ireland, in 1633, educated at the Protestant
University of Caen, and was there when his father died. He travelled in
Italy, came to England at the Restoration, held one or two court
offices, gambled, took a wife, and endeavoured to introduce into England
the principals of criticism with which he had found the polite world
occupied in France. He planned a society for refining our language and
fixing its standard. During the troubles of King James's reign he was
about to leave the kingdom, when his departure was delayed by gout, of
which he died in 1684. A foremost English representative of the chief
literary movement of his time, he translated into blank verse Horace's
Art of Poetry, and besides a few minor translations and some short
pieces of original verse, which earned from Pope the credit that

  _in all Charles's days
  Roscommon only boasts unspotted lays,_

he wrote in heroic couplets an Essay on Translated Verse that was
admired by Dryden, Addison, and Pope, and was in highest honour wherever
the French influence upon our literature made itself felt. Roscommon
believed in the superior energy of English wit, and wrote himself with
care and frequent vigour in the turning of his couplets. It is from this
poem that we get the often quoted lines,

  _Immodest words admit of no Defence:
  For Want of Decency is Want of Sense._]

[Footnote 5: The other piece with which Addison ranks Popes Essay on
Criticism, was by John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, who was living
when the _Spectator_ first appeared. He died, aged 72, in the year 1721.
John Sheffield, by the death of his father, succeeded at the age of nine
to the title of Earl of Mulgrave. In the reign of Charles II he served
by sea and land, and was, as well as Marlborough, in the French service.
In the reign of James II. he was admitted into the Privy Council, made
Lord Chamberlain, and, though still Protestant, attended the King to
mass. He acquiesced in the Revolution, but remained out of office and
disliked King William, who in 1694 made him Marquis of Normanby.
Afterwards he was received into the Cabinet Council, with a pension of
L3000. Queen Anne, to whom Walpole says he had made love before her
marriage, highly favoured him. Before her coronation she made him Lord
Privy Seal, next year he was made first Duke of Normanby, and then of
Buckinghamshire, to exclude any latent claimant to the title, which had
been extinct since the miserable death of George Villiers, Duke of
Buckingham, the author of the _Rehearsal_. When the _Spectator_ appeared
John Sheffield had just built Buckingham House--now a royal palace--on
ground granted by the Crown, and taken office as Lord Chamberlain. He
wrote more verse than Roscommon and poorer verse. The _Essay on Poetry_,
in which he followed the critical fashion of the day, he was praised
into regarding as a masterpiece. He was continually polishing it, and
during his lifetime it was reissued with frequent variations. It is
polished quartz, not diamond; a short piece of about 360 lines, which
has something to say of each of the chief forms of poetry, from songs to
epics. Sheffield shows most natural force in writing upon plays, and
here in objecting to perfect characters, he struck out the often-quoted

  _A faultless monster which the world ne'er saw_.

When he comes to the epics he is, of course, all for Homer and Virgil.

  _Read Homer once, and you can read no more;
  For all books else appear so mean, so poor,
  Verse will seem Prose; but still persist to read,
  And Homer will be all the Books you need_.

And then it is supposed that some Angel had disclosed to M. Bossu, the
French author of the treatise upon Epic Poetry then fashionable, the
sacred mysteries of Homer. John Sheffield had a patronizing recognition
for the genius of Shakespeare and Milton, and was so obliging as to
revise Shakespeare's Julius Caesar and confine the action of that play
within the limits prescribed in the French gospel according to the
Unities. Pope, however, had in the Essay on Criticism reckoned
Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, among the sounder few

  _Who durst assert the juster ancient Cause
  And have restored Wits Fundamental Laws.
  Such was the Muse, whose Rules and Practice tell,
  Natures chief Masterpiece is writing well_.

With those last words which form the second line in the _Essay on
Poetry_ Popes citation has made many familiar. Addison paid young Pope
a valid compliment in naming him as a critic in verse with Roscommon,
and, what then passed on all hands for a valid compliment, in holding
him worthy also to be named as a poet in the same breath with the Lord

*       *       *       *       *

No. 254.             Friday, December 21, 1711.                Steele.

  [Greek: Semnos eros aretaes, ho de kypridos achos ophellei.]

When I consider the false Impressions which are received by the
Generality of the World, I am troubled at none more than a certain
Levity of Thought, which many young Women of Quality have entertained,
to the Hazard of their Characters, and the certain Misfortune of their
Lives. The first of the following Letters may best represent the Faults
I would now point at, and the Answer to it the Temper of Mind in a
contrary Character.

  _My dear_ Harriot,

  If thou art she, but oh how fallen, how changed, what an Apostate! how
  lost to all that's gay and agreeable! To be married I find is to be
  buried alive; I cant conceive it more dismal to be shut up in a Vault
  to converse with the Shades of my Ancestors, than to be carried down
  to an old Manor-House in the Country, and confined to the Conversation
  of a sober Husband and an awkward Chamber-maid. For Variety I suppose
  you may entertain yourself with Madam in her Grogram Gown, the Spouse
  of your Parish Vicar, who has by this time I am sure well furnished
  you with Receipts for making Salves and Possets, distilling Cordial
  Waters, making Syrups, and applying Poultices.

  Blest Solitude! I wish thee Joy, my Dear, of thy loved Retirement,
  which indeed you would perswade me is very agreeable, and different
  enough from what I have here described: But, Child, I am afraid thy
  Brains are a little disordered with Romances and Novels: After six
  Months Marriage to hear thee talk of Love, and paint the Country
  Scenes so softly, is a little extravagant; one would think you lived
  the Lives of _Sylvan_ Deities, or roved among the Walks of Paradise,
  like the first happy Pair. But prythee leave these Whimsies, and come
  to Town in order to live and talk like other Mortals. However, as I am
  extremely interested in your Reputation, I would willingly give you a
  little good Advice at your first Appearance under the Character of a
  married Woman: Tis a little Insolence in me perhaps, to advise a
  Matron; but I am so afraid you'll make so silly a Figure as a fond
  Wife, that I cannot help warning you not to appear in any publick
  Places with your Husband, and never to saunter about St. _James's
  Park_ together: If you presume to enter the Ring at _Hide-Park_
  together, you are ruined for ever; nor must you take the least notice
  of one another at the Play-house or Opera, unless you would be laughed
  at for a very loving Couple most happily paired in the Yoke of
  Wedlock. I would recommend the Example of an Acquaintance of ours to
  your Imitation; she is the most negligent and fashionable Wife in the
  World; she is hardly ever seen in the same Place with her Husband, and
  if they happen to meet, you would think them perfect Strangers: She
  never was heard to name him in his Absence, and takes care he shall
  never be the Subject of any Discourse that she has a Share in. I hope
  you' propose this Lady as a Pattern, tho I am very much afraid
  you'll be so silly to think _Portia, &c. Sabine_ and _Roman_ Wives
  much brighter Examples. I wish it may never come into your Head to
  imitate those antiquated Creatures so far, as to come into Publick in
  the Habit as well as Air of a _Roman_ Matron. You make already the
  Entertainment at Mrs. _Modish's_ Tea-Table; she says, she always
  thought you a discreet Person, and qualified to manage a Family with
  admirable Prudence: she dies to see what demure and serious Airs
  Wedlock has given you, but she says she shall never forgive your
  Choice of so gallant a Man as _Bellamour_ to transform him to a meer
  sober Husband; twas unpardonable: You see, my Dear, we all envy your
  Happiness, and no Person more than _Your humble Servant_, Lydia.

  Be not in pain, good Madam, for my Appearance in Town; I shall
  frequent no publick Places, or make any Visits where the Character of
  a modest Wife is ridiculous. As for your wild Raillery on Matrimony,
  tis all Hypocrisy; you, and all the handsome young Women of our
  Acquaintance, shew yourselves to no other Purpose than to gain a
  Conquest over some Man of Worth, in order to bestow your Charms and
  Fortune on him. There's no Indecency in the Confession, the Design is
  modest and honourable, and all your Affectation cant disguise it.

  I am married, and have no other Concern but to please the Man I Love;
  he's the End of every Care I have; if I dress, tis for him; if I read
  a Poem or a Play, tis to qualify myself for a Conversation agreeable
  to his Taste: He's almost the End of my Devotions; half my Prayers are
  for his Happiness. I love to talk of him, and never hear him named but
  with Pleasure and Emotion. I am your Friend, and wish your Happiness,
  but am sorry to see by the Air of your Letter that there are a Set of
  Women who are got into the Common-Place Raillery of every Thing that
  is sober, decent, and proper: Matrimony and the Clergy are the Topicks
  of People of little Wit and no Understanding. I own to you, I have
  learned of the Vicars Wife all you tax me with: She is a discreet,
  ingenious, pleasant, pious Woman; I wish she had the handling of you
  and Mrs. _Modish_; you would find, if you were too free with her, she
  would soon make you as charming as ever you were, she would make you
  blush as much as if you had never been fine Ladies. The Vicar, Madam,
  is so kind as to visit my Husband, and his agreeable Conversation has
  brought him to enjoy many sober happy Hours when even I am shut out,
  and my dear Master is entertained only with his own Thoughts. These
  Things, dear Madam, will be lasting Satisfactions, when the fine
  Ladies, and the Coxcombs by whom they form themselves, are irreparably
  ridiculous, ridiculous in old Age. I am, _Madam, your most humble
  Servant_, Mary Home.

  _Dear Mr_. SPECTATOR,
  You have no Goodness in the World, and are not in earnest in any thing
  you say that is serious, if you do not send me a plain Answer to this:
  I happened some Days past to be at the Play, where during the Time of
  Performance, I could not keep my Eyes off from a beautiful young
  Creature who sat just before me, and who I have been since informed
  has no Fortune. It would utterly ruin my Reputation for Discretion to
  marry such a one, and by what I can learn she has a Character of great
  Modesty, so that there is nothing to be thought on any other Way. My
  Mind has ever since been so wholly bent on her, that I am much in
  danger of doing something very extravagant without your speedy Advice

  SIR, _Your most humble Servant_.

I am sorry I cannot answer this impatient Gentleman, but by another

  _Dear Correspondent_, Would you marry to please other People, or your


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 255.             Saturday, December 22, 1711.              Addison.

  Laudis amore tumes? sunt certa piacula, quae te
  Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello.


The Soul, considered abstractedly from its Passions, is of a remiss and
sedentary Nature, slow in its Resolves, and languishing in its
Executions. The Use therefore of the Passions is to stir it up, and to
put it upon Action, to awaken the Understanding, to enforce the Will,
and to make the whole Man more vigorous and attentive in the
Prosecutions of his Designs. As this is the End of the Passions in
general, so it is particularly of Ambition, which pushes the Soul to
such Actions as are apt to procure Honour and Reputation to the Actor.
But if we carry our Reflections higher, we may discover further Ends of
Providence in implanting this Passion in Mankind.

It was necessary for the World, that Arts should be invented and
improved, Books written and transmitted to Posterity, Nations conquered
and civilized: Now since the proper and genuine Motives to these and the
like great Actions, would only influence virtuous Minds; there would be
but small Improvements in the World, were there not some common
Principle of Action working equally with all Men. And such a Principle
is Ambition or a Desire of Fame, by which [great [1]] Endowments are not
suffered to lie idle and useless to the Publick, and many vicious Men
over-reached, as it were, and engaged contrary to their natural
Inclinations in a glorious and laudable Course of Action. For we may
further observe, that Men of the greatest Abilities are most fired with
Ambition: And that on the contrary, mean and narrow Minds are the least
actuated by it: whether it be that [a Man's Sense of his own [2]]
Incapacities makes [him [3]] despair of coming at Fame, or that [he has
[4]] not enough range of Thought to look out for any Good which does not
more immediately relate to [his [5]] Interest or Convenience, or that
Providence, in the very Frame of [his Soul [6]], would not subject [him
[7]] to such a Passion as would be useless to the World, and a Torment
to [himself. [8]]

Were not this Desire of Fame very strong, the Difficulty of obtaining
it, and the Danger of losing it when obtained, would be sufficient to
deter a Man from so vain a Pursuit.

How few are there who are furnished with Abilities sufficient to
recommend their Actions to the Admiration of the World, and to
distinguish themselves from the rest of Mankind? Providence for the most
part sets us upon a Level, and observes a kind of Proportion in its
Dispensation towards us. If it renders us perfect in one Accomplishment,
it generally leaves us defective in another, and seems careful rather of
preserving every Person from being mean and deficient in his
Qualifications, than of making any single one eminent or extraordinary.

And among those who are the most richly endowed by Nature, and
accomplished by their own Industry, how few are there whose Virtues are
not obscured by the Ignorance, Prejudice or Envy of their Beholders?
Some Men cannot discern between a noble and a mean Action. Others are
apt to attribute them to some false End or Intention; and others
purposely misrepresent or put a wrong Interpretation on them. But the
more to enforce this Consideration, we may observe that those are
generally most unsuccessful in their Pursuit after Fame, who are most
desirous of obtaining it. It is _Sallust's_ Remark upon _Cato_, that the
less he coveted Glory, the more he acquired it. [9]

Men take an ill-natur'd Pleasure in crossing our Inclinations, and
disappointing us in what our Hearts are most set upon. When therefore
they have discovered the passionate Desire of Fame in the Ambitious Man
(as no Temper of Mind is more apt to show it self) they become sparing
and reserved in their Commendations, they envy him the Satisfaction of
an Applause, and look on their Praises rather as a Kindness done to his
Person, than as a Tribute paid to his Merit. Others who are free from
this natural Perverseness of Temper grow wary in their Praises of one,
who sets too great a Value on them, lest they should raise him too high
in his own Imagination, and by Consequence remove him to a greater
Distance from themselves.

But further, this Desire of Fame naturally betrays the ambitious Man
into such Indecencies as are a lessening to his Reputation. He is still
afraid lest any of his Actions should be thrown away in private, lest
his Deserts should be concealed from the Notice of the World, or receive
any Disadvantage from the Reports which others make of them. This often
sets him on empty Boasts and Ostentations of himself, and betrays him
into vain fantastick Recitals of his own Performances: His Discourse
generally leans one Way, and, whatever is the Subject of it, tends
obliquely either to the detracting from others, or to the extolling of
himself. Vanity is the natural Weakness of an ambitious Man, which
exposes him to the secret Scorn and Derision of those he converses with,
and ruins the Character he is so industrious to advance by it. For tho
his Actions are never so glorious, they lose their Lustre when they are
drawn at large, and set to show by his own Hand; and as the World is
more apt to find fault than to commend, the Boast will probably be
censured when the great Action that occasioned it is forgotten.

Besides this very Desire of Fame is looked on as a Meanness [and [10]]
Imperfection in the greatest Character. A solid and substantial
Greatness of Soul looks down with a generous Neglect on the Censures and
Applauses of the Multitude, and places a Man beyond the little Noise and
Strife of Tongues. Accordingly we find in our selves a secret Awe and
Veneration for the Character of one who moves above us in a regular and
illustrious Course of Virtue, without any regard to our good or ill
Opinions of him, to our Reproaches or Commendations. As on the contrary
it is usual for us, when we would take off from the Fame and Reputation
of an Action, to ascribe it to Vain-Glory, and a Desire of Fame in the
Actor. Nor is this common Judgment and Opinion of Mankind ill-founded:
for certainly it denotes no great Bravery of Mind to be worked up to any
noble Action by so selfish a Motive, and to do that out of a Desire of
Fame, which we could not be prompted to by a disinterested Love to
Mankind, or by a generous Passion for the Glory of him that made us.

Thus is Fame a thing difficult to be obtained by all, but particularly
by those who thirst after it, since most Men have so much either of
Ill-nature, or of Wariness, as not to gratify [or [11]] sooth the Vanity
of the Ambitious Man, and since this very Thirst after Fame naturally
betrays him into such Indecencies as are a lessening to his Reputation,
and is it self looked upon as a Weakness in the greatest Characters.

In the next Place, Fame is easily lost, and as difficult to be preserved
as it was at first to be acquired. But this I shall make the Subject of
a following Paper


[Footnote 1: [all great]]

[Footnote 2: [the Sense of their own]]

[Footnote 3: [them]]

[Footnote 4: [they have]]

[Footnote 5: [their]]

[Footnote 6: [their Souls]]

[Footnote 7: [them]]

[Footnote 8: [themselves]]

[Footnote 9: Sallust. Bell. Catil. c. 49.]

[Footnote 10: [and an]]

[Footnote 11: [and]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 256.                Monday, December 24, 1711.              Addison.

  [Greek: Phaelae gar te kakae peletai kouphae men aeirai Reia mal,
  argalen de pherein.]


There are many Passions and Tempers of Mind which naturally dispose us
to depress and vilify the Merit of one rising in the Esteem of Mankind.
All those who made their Entrance into the World with the same
Advantages, and were once looked on as his Equals, are apt to think the
Fame of his Merits a Reflection on their own Indeserts; and will
therefore take care to reproach him with the Scandal of some past
Action, or derogate from the Worth of the present, that they may still
keep him on the same Level with themselves. The like Kind of
Consideration often stirs up the Envy of such as were once his
Superiors, who think it a Detraction from their Merit to see another get
ground upon them and overtake them in the Pursuits of Glory; and will
therefore endeavour to sink his Reputation, that they may the better
preserve their own. Those who were once his Equals envy and defame him,
because they now see him their Superior; and those who were once his
Superiors, because they look upon him as their Equal.

But further, a Man whose extraordinary Reputation thus lifts him up to
the Notice and Observation of Mankind draws a Multitude of Eyes upon him
that will narrowly inspect every Part of him, consider him nicely in all
Views, and not be a little pleased when they have taken him in the worst
and most disadvantageous Light. There are many who find a Pleasure in
contradicting the common Reports of Fame, and in spreading abroad the
Weaknesses of an exalted Character. They publish their ill-natur'd
Discoveries with a secret Pride, and applaud themselves for the
Singularity of their Judgment which has searched deeper than others,
detected what the rest of the World have overlooked, and found a Flaw in
what the Generality of Mankind admires. Others there are who proclaim
the Errors and Infirmities of a great Man with an inward Satisfaction
and Complacency, if they discover none of the like Errors and
Infirmities in themselves; for while they are exposing anothers
Weaknesses, they are tacitly aiming at their own Commendations, who are
not subject to the like Infirmities, and are apt to be transported with
a secret kind of Vanity to see themselves superior in some respects to
one of a sublime and celebrated Reputation. Nay, it very often happens,
that none are more industrious in publishing the Blemishes of an
extraordinary Reputation, than such as lie open to the same Censures in
their own Characters, as either hoping to excuse their own Defects by
the Authority of so high an Example, or raising an imaginary Applause to
themselves for resembling a Person of an exalted Reputation, though in
the blameable Parts of his Character. If all these secret Springs of
Detraction fail, yet very often a vain Ostentation of Wit sets a Man on
attacking an established Name, and sacrificing it to the Mirth and
Laughter of those about him. A Satyr or a Libel on one of the common
Stamp, never meets with that Reception and Approbation among its
Readers, as what is aimed at a Person whose Merit places him upon an
Eminence, and gives him a more conspicuous Figure among Men. Whether it
be that we think it shews greater Art to expose and turn to ridicule a
Man whose Character seems so improper a Subject for it, or that we are
pleased by some implicit kind of Revenge to see him taken down and
humbled in his Reputation, and in some measure reduced to our own Rank,
who had so far raised himself above us in the Reports and Opinions of

Thus we see how many dark and intricate Motives there are to Detraction
and Defamation, and how many malicious Spies are searching into the
Actions of a great Man, who is not always the best prepared for so
narrow an Inspection. For we may generally observe, that our Admiration
of a famous Man lessens upon our nearer Acquaintance with him; and that
we seldom hear the Description of a celebrated Person, without a
Catalogue of some notorious Weaknesses and Infirmities. The Reason may
be, because any little Slip is more conspicuous and observable in his
Conduct than in anothers, as it is not of a piece with the rest of his
Character, or because it is impossible for a Man at the same time to be
attentive to the more important [Part [1]] of his Life, and to keep a
watchful Eye over all the inconsiderable Circumstances of his Behaviour
and Conversation; or because, as we have before observed, the same
Temper of Mind which inclines us to a Desire of Fame, naturally betrays
us into such Slips and Unwarinesses as are not incident to Men of a
contrary Disposition.

After all it must be confess'd, that a noble and triumphant Merit often
breaks through and dissipates these little Spots and Sullies in its
Reputation; but if by a mistaken Pursuit after Fame, or through human
Infirmity, any false Step be made in the more momentous Concerns of
Life, the whole Scheme of ambitious Designs is broken and disappointed.
The smaller Stains and Blemishes may die away and disappear amidst the
Brightness that surrounds them; but a Blot of a deeper Nature casts a
Shade on all the other Beauties, and darkens the whole Character. How
difficult therefore is it to preserve a great Name, when he that has
acquired it is so obnoxious to such little Weaknesses and Infirmities as
are no small Diminution to it when discovered, especially when they are
so industriously proclaimed, and aggravated by such as were once his
Superiors or Equals; by such as would set to show their Judgment or
their Wit, and by such as are guilty or innocent of the same Slips or
Misconducts in their own Behaviour?

But were there none of these Dispositions in others to censure a famous
Man, nor any such Miscarriages in himself, yet would he meet with no
small Trouble in keeping up his Reputation in all its Height and
Splendour. There must be always a noble Train of Actions to preserve his
Fame in Life and Motion. For when it is once at a Stand, it naturally
flags and languishes. Admiration is a very short-liv'd Passion, that
immediately decays upon growing familiar with its Object, unless it be
still fed with fresh Discoveries, and kept alive by a new perpetual
Succession of Miracles rising up to its View. And even the greatest
Actions of a celebrated [Person [2]] labour under this Disadvantage,
that however surprising and extraordinary they may be, they are no more
than what are expected from him; but on the contrary, if they fall any
thing below the Opinion that is conceived of him, tho they might raise
the Reputation of another, they are a Diminution to _his_.

One would think there should be something wonderfully pleasing in the
Possession of Fame, that, notwithstanding all these mortifying
Considerations, can engage a Man in so desperate a Pursuit; and yet if
we consider the little Happiness that attends a great Character, and the
Multitude of Disquietudes to which the Desire of it subjects an
ambitious Mind, one would be still the more surprised to see so many
restless Candidates for Glory.

Ambition raises a secret Tumult in the Soul, it inflames the Mind, and
puts it into a violent Hurry of Thought: It is still reaching after an
empty imaginary Good, that has not in it the Power to abate or satisfy
it. Most other Things we long for can allay the Cravings of their proper
Sense, and for a while set the Appetite at Rest: But Fame is a Good so
wholly foreign to our Natures, that we have no Faculty in the Soul
adapted to it, nor any Organ in the Body to relish it; an Object of
Desire placed out of the Possibility of Fruition. It may indeed fill the
Mind for a while with a giddy kind of Pleasure, but it is such a
Pleasure as makes a Man restless and uneasy under it; and which does not
so much satisfy the present Thirst, as it excites fresh Desires, and
sets the Soul on new Enterprises. For how few ambitious Men are there,
who have got as much Fame as they desired, and whose Thirst after it has
not been as eager in the very Height of their Reputation, as it was
before they became known and eminent among Men? There is not any
Circumstance in _Caesars_ Character which gives me a greater Idea of
him, than a Saying which _Cicero_ tells us [3]  he frequently made use
of in private Conversation, _That he was satisfied with his Share of
Life and Fame, Se satis vel ad Naturam, vel ad Gloriam vixisse_. Many
indeed have given over their Pursuits after Fame, but that has proceeded
either from the Disappointments they have met in it, or from their
Experience of the little Pleasure which attends it, or from the better
Informations or natural Coldness of old Age; but seldom from a full
Satisfaction and Acquiescence in their present Enjoyments of it.

Nor is Fame only unsatisfying in it self, but the Desire of it lays us
open to many accidental Troubles which those are free from who have no
such a tender Regard for it. How often is the ambitious Man cast down
and disappointed, if he receives no Praise where he expected it? Nay how
often is he mortified with the very Praises he receives, if they do not
rise so high as he thinks they ought, which they seldom do unless
increased by Flattery, since few Men have so good an Opinion of us as we
have of our selves? But if the ambitious Man can be so much grieved even
with Praise it self, how will he be able to bear up under Scandal and
Defamation? For the same Temper of Mind which makes him desire Fame,
makes him hate Reproach. If he can be transported with the extraordinary
Praises of Men, he will be as much dejected by their Censures. How
little therefore is the Happiness of an ambitious Man, who gives every
one a Dominion over it, who thus subjects himself to the good or ill
Speeches of others, and puts it in the Power of every malicious Tongue
to throw him into a Fit of Melancholy, and destroy his natural Rest and
Repose of Mind? Especially when we consider that the World is more apt
to censure than applaud, and himself fuller of Imperfections than

We may further observe, that such a Man will be more grieved for the
Loss of Fame, than he could have been pleased with the Enjoyment of it.
For tho the Presence of this imaginary Good cannot make us happy, the
Absence of it may make us miserable: Because in the Enjoyment of an
Object we only find that Share of Pleasure which it is capable of giving
us, but in the Loss of it we do not proportion our Grief to the real
Value it bears, but to the Value our Fancies and Imaginations set upon

So inconsiderable is the Satisfaction that Fame brings along with it,
and so great the Disquietudes, to which it makes us liable. The Desire
of it stirs up very uneasy Motions in the Mind, and is rather inflamed
than satisfied by the Presence of the Thing desired. The Enjoyment of it
brings but very little Pleasure, tho the Loss or Want of it be very
sensible and afflicting; and even this little Happiness is so very
precarious, that it wholly depends on the Will of others. We are not
only tortured by the Reproaches which are offered us, but are
disappointed by the Silence of Men when it is unexpected; and humbled
even by their Praises. [4]


[Footnote 1: Parts]

[Footnote 2: [Name]]

[Footnote 3: Oratio pro M. Marcello.]

[Footnote 4: _I shall conclude this Subject in my next Paper_.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 257.               Tuesday, December 25, [1] 1711.          Addison.

  [Greek: Ouch ehudei Dios
          Ophthalmos eggus d esti kai paron pono.--Incert. ex Stob.]

That I might not lose myself upon a Subject of so great Extent as that
of Fame, I have treated it in a particular Order and Method. I have
first of all considered the Reasons why Providence may have implanted in
our Mind such a Principle of Action. I have in the next Place shewn from
many Considerations, first, that Fame is a thing difficult to be
obtained, and easily lost; Secondly, that it brings the ambitious Man
very little Happiness, but subjects him to much Uneasiness and
Dissatisfaction. I shall in the last Place shew, that it hinders us from
obtaining an End which we have Abilities to acquire, and which is
accompanied with Fulness of Satisfaction. I need not tell my Reader,
that I mean by this End that Happiness which is reserved for us in
another World, which every one has Abilities to procure, and which will
bring along with it Fulness of Joy and Pleasures for evermore.

How the Pursuit after Fame may hinder us in the Attainment of this great
End, I shall leave the Reader to collect from the three following

_First_, Because the strong Desire of Fame breeds several vicious Habits
in the Mind.

_Secondly_, Because many of those Actions, which are apt to procure
Fame, are not in their Nature conducive to this our ultimate Happiness.

_Thirdly_, Because if we should allow the same Actions to be the proper
Instruments, both of acquiring Fame, and of procuring this Happiness,
they would nevertheless fail in the Attainment of this last End, if they
proceeded from a Desire of the first.

These three Propositions are self-evident to those who are versed in
Speculations of Morality. For which Reason I shall not enlarge upon
them, but proceed to a Point of the same Nature, which may open to us a
more uncommon Field of Speculation.

From what has been already observed, I think we may make a natural
Conclusion, that it is the greatest Folly to seek the Praise or
Approbation of any Being, besides the Supreme, and that for these two
Reasons, Because no other Being can make a right Judgment of us, and
esteem us according to our Merits; and because we can procure no
considerable Benefit or Advantage from the Esteem and Approbation of any
other Being.

In the first Place, No other Being can make a right Judgment of us, and
esteem us according to our Merits. Created Beings see nothing but our
Outside, and can [therefore] only frame a Judgment of us from our
exterior Actions and Behaviour; but how unfit these are to give us a
right Notion of each others Perfections, may appear from several
Considerations. There are many Virtues, which in their own Nature are
incapable of any outward Representation: Many silent Perfections in the
Soul of a good Man, which are great Ornaments to human Nature, but not
able to discover themselves to the Knowledge of others; they are
transacted in private, without Noise or Show, and are only visible to
the great Searcher of Hearts. What Actions can express the entire Purity
of Thought which refines and sanctifies a virtuous Man? That secret Rest
and Contentedness of Mind, which gives him a Perfect Enjoyment of his
present Condition? That inward Pleasure and Complacency, which he feels
in doing Good? That Delight and Satisfaction which he takes in the
Prosperity and Happiness of another? These and the like Virtues are the
hidden Beauties of a Soul, the secret Graces which cannot be discovered
by a mortal Eye, but make the Soul lovely and precious in His Sight,
from whom no Secrets are concealed. Again, there are many Virtues which
want an Opportunity of exerting and shewing themselves in Actions. Every
Virtue requires Time and Place, a proper Object and a fit Conjuncture of
Circumstances, for the due Exercise of it. A State of Poverty obscures
all the Virtues of Liberality and Munificence. The Patience and
Fortitude of a Martyr or Confessor lie concealed in the flourishing
Times of Christianity. Some Virtues are only seen in Affliction, and
some in Prosperity; some in a private, and others in a publick Capacity.
But the great Sovereign of the World beholds every Perfection in its
Obscurity, and not only sees what we do, but what we would do. He views
our Behaviour in every Concurrence of Affairs, and sees us engaged in
all the Possibilities of Action. He discovers the Martyr and Confessor
without the Tryal of Flames and Tortures, and will hereafter entitle
many to the Reward of Actions, which they had never the Opportunity of
Performing. Another Reason why Men cannot form a right Judgment of us
is, because the same Actions may be aimed at different Ends, and arise
from quite contrary Principles. Actions are of so mixt a Nature, and so
full of Circumstances, that as Men pry into them more or less, or
observe some Parts more than others, they take different Hints, and put
contrary Interpretations on them; so that the same Actions may represent
a Man as hypocritical and designing to one, which make him appear a
Saint or Hero to another. He therefore who looks upon the Soul through
its outward Actions, often sees it through a deceitful Medium, which is
apt to discolour and pervert the Object: So that on this Account also,
_he_ is the only proper Judge of our Perfections, who does not guess at
the Sincerity of our Intentions from the Goodness of our Actions, but
weighs the Goodness of our Actions by the Sincerity of our Intentions.

But further; it is impossible for outward Actions to represent the
Perfections of the Soul, because they can never shew the Strength of
those Principles from whence they proceed. They are not adequate
Expressions of our Virtues, and can only shew us what Habits are in the
Soul, without discovering the Degree and Perfection of such Habits. They
are at best but weak Resemblances of our Intentions, faint and imperfect
Copies that may acquaint us with the general Design, but can never
express the Beauty and Life of the Original. But the great Judge of all
the Earth knows every different State and Degree of human Improvement,
from those weak Stirrings and Tendencies of the Will which have not yet
formed themselves into regular Purposes and Designs, to the last entire
Finishing and Consummation of a good Habit. He beholds the first
imperfect Rudiments of a Virtue in the Soul, and keeps a watchful Eye
over it in all its Progress, till it has received every Grace it is
capable of, and appears in its full Beauty and Perfection. Thus we see
that none but the Supreme Being can esteem us according to our proper
Merits, since all others must judge of us from our outward Actions,
which can never give them a just Estimate of us, since there are many
Perfections of a Man which are not capable of appearing in Actions; many
which, allowing no natural Incapacity of shewing themselves, want an
Opportunity of doing it; or should they all meet with an Opportunity of
appearing by Actions, yet those Actions maybe misinterpreted, and
applied to wrong Principles; or though they plainly discovered the
Principles from whence they proceeded, they could never shew the Degree,
Strength and Perfection of those Principles.

And as the Supreme Being is the only proper Judge of our Perfections, so
is He the only fit Rewarder of them. This is a Consideration that comes
home to our Interest, as the other adapts it self to our Ambition. And
what could the most aspiring, or the most selfish Man desire more, were
he to form the Notion of a Being to whom he would recommend himself,
than such a Knowledge as can discover the least Appearance of Perfection
in him, and such a Goodness as will proportion a Reward to it.

Let the ambitious Man therefore turn all his Desire of Fame this Way;
and, that he may propose to himself a Fame worthy of his Ambition, let
him consider that if he employs his Abilities to the best Advantage, the
Time will come when the supreme Governor of the World, the great Judge
of Mankind, who sees every Degree of Perfection in others, and possesses
all possible Perfection in himself, shall proclaim his Worth before Men
and Angels, and pronounce to him in the Presence of the whole Creation
that best and most significant of Applauses, _Well done, thou good and
faithful Servant, enter thou into thy Masters Joy_.


[Footnote 1: This being Christmas Day, Addison has continued to it a
religious strain of thought.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 258.               Wednesday, December 26, 1711.            Steele.

  Divide et Impera.

Pleasure and Recreation of one Kind or other are absolutely necessary to
relieve our Minds and Bodies from too constant Attention and Labour:
Where therefore publick Diversions are tolerated, it behoves Persons of
Distinction, with their Power and Example, to preside over them in such
a Manner as to check any thing that tends to the Corruption of Manners,
or which is too mean or trivial for the Entertainment of reasonable
Creatures. As to the Diversions of this Kind in this Town, we owe them
to the Arts of Poetry and Musick: My own private Opinion, with Relation
to such Recreations, I have heretofore given with all the Frankness
imaginable; what concerns those Arts at present the Reader shall have
from my Correspondents. The first of the Letters with which I acquit
myself for this Day, is written by one who proposes to improve our
Entertainments of Dramatick Poetry, and the other comes from three
Persons, who, as soon as named, will be thought capable of advancing the
present State of Musick.


  I am considerably obliged to you for your speedy Publication of my
  last in yours of the 18th Instant, and am in no small Hopes of being
  settled in the Post of _Comptroller of the Cries_. Of all the
  Objections I have hearkened after in publick Coffee-houses there is
  but one that seems to carry any Weight with it, _viz_. That such a
  Post would come too near the Nature of a Monopoly. Now, Sir, because I
  would have all Sorts of People made easy, and being willing to have
  more Strings than one to my Bow; in case that of _Comptroller_ should
  fail me, I have since formed another Project, which, being grounded on
  the dividing a present Monopoly, I hope will give the Publick an
  Equivalent to their full Content. You know, Sir, it is allowed that
  the Business of the Stage is, as the _Latin_ has it, _Jucunda et
  Idonea dicere Vitae_. Now there being but one Dramatick Theatre
  licensed for the Delight and Profit of this extensive Metropolis, I do
  humbly propose, for the Convenience of such of its Inhabitants as are
  too distant from _Covent-Garden_, that another _Theatre of Ease_ may
  be erected in some spacious Part of the City; and that the Direction
  thereof may be made a Franchise in Fee to me, and my Heirs for ever.
  And that the Town may have no Jealousy of my ever coming to an Union
  with the Set of Actors now in being, I do further propose to
  constitute for my Deputy my near Kinsman and Adventurer, _Kit
  Crotchet_, [1] whose long Experience and Improvements in those Affairs
  need no Recommendation. Twas obvious to every Spectator what a quite
  different Foot the Stage was upon during his Government; and had he
  not been bolted out of his Trap-Doors, his Garrison might have held
  out for ever, he having by long Pains and Perseverance arriv'd at the
  Art of making his Army fight without Pay or Provisions. I must confess
  it, with a melancholy Amazement, I see so wonderful a Genius laid
  aside, and the late Slaves of the Stage now become its Masters, Dunces
  that will be sure to suppress all Theatrical Entertainments and
  Activities that they are not able themselves to shine in!

  Every Man that goes to a Play is not obliged to have either Wit or
  Understanding; and I insist upon it, that all who go there should see
  something which may improve them in a Way of which they are capable.
  In short, Sir, I would have something _done_ as well as _said_ on the
  Stage. A Man may have an active Body, though he has not a quick
  Conception; for the Imitation therefore of such as are, as I may so
  speak, corporeal Wits or nimble Fellows, I would fain ask any of the
  present Mismanagers, Why should not Rope-dancers, Vaulters, Tumblers,
  Ladder-walkers, and Posture-makers appear again on our Stage? After
  such a Representation, a Five-bar Gate would be leaped with a better
  Grace next Time any of the Audience went a Hunting. Sir, these Things
  cry loud for Reformation and fall properly under the Province of
  SPECTATOR General; but how indeed should it be otherwise, while
  Fellows (that for Twenty Years together were never paid but as their
  Master was in the Humour) now presume to pay others more than ever
  they had in their Lives; and in Contempt of the Practice of Persons of
  Condition, have the Insolence to owe no Tradesman a Farthing at the
  End of the Week. Sir, all I propose is the publick Good; for no one
  can imagine I shall ever get a private Shilling by it: Therefore I
  hope you will recommend this Matter in one of your this Weeks Papers,
  and desire when my House opens you will accept the Liberty of it for
  the Trouble you have receiv'd from,
  _Your Humble Servant_,
  Ralph Crotchet.

  P.S. I have Assurances that the Trunk-maker will declare for us.


  We whose Names are subscribed, [2] think you the properest Person to
  signify what we have to offer the Town in Behalf of our selves, and
  the Art which we profess, _Musick_. We conceive Hopes of your Favour
  from the Speculations on the Mistakes which the Town run into with
  Regard to their Pleasure of this Kind; and believing your Method of
  judging is, that you consider Musick only valuable, as it is agreeable
  to, and heightens the Purpose of Poetry, we consent that That is not
  only the true Way of relishing that Pleasure, but also, that without
  it a Composure of Musick is the same thing as a Poem, where all the
  Rules of Poetical Numbers are observed, tho the Words have no Sense
  or Meaning; to say it shorter, meer musical Sounds are in our Art no
  other than nonsense Verses are in Poetry. Musick therefore is to
  aggravate what is intended by Poetry; it must always have some Passion
  or Sentiment to express, or else Violins, Voices, or any other Organs
  of Sound, afford an Entertainment very little above the Rattles of
  Children. It was from this Opinion of the Matter, that when Mr.
  _Clayton_ had finished his Studies in _Italy_, and brought over the
  Opera of _Arsinoe_, that Mr. _Haym_ and Mr. _Dieupart_, who had the
  Honour to be well known and received among the Nobility and Gentry,
  were zealously inclined to assist, by their Solicitations, in
  introducing so elegant an Entertainment as the _Italian_ Musick
  grafted upon _English_ Poetry. For this End Mr. _Dieupart_ and Mr.
  _Haym_, according to their several Opportunities, promoted the
  Introduction of _Arsinoe_, and did it to the best Advantage so great a
  Novelty would allow. It is not proper to trouble you with Particulars
  of the just Complaints we all of us have to make; but so it is, that
  without Regard to our obliging Pains, we are all equally set aside in
  the present Opera. Our Application therefore to you is only to insert
  this Letter, in your Papers, that the Town may know we have all Three
  joined together to make Entertainments of Musick for the future at Mr.
  _Claytons_ House in _York-buildings_. What we promise ourselves, is,
  to make a Subscription of two Guineas, for eight Times; and that the
  Entertainment, with the Names of the Authors of the Poetry, may be
  printed, to be sold in the House, with an Account of the several
  Authors of the Vocal as well as the Instrumental Musick for each
  Night; the Money to be paid at the Receipt of the Tickets, at Mr.
  _Charles Lillie's_. It will, we hope, Sir, be easily allowed, that we
  are capable of undertaking to exhibit by our joint Force and different
  Qualifications all that can be done in Musick; but lest you should
  think so dry a thing as an Account of our Proposal should be a Matter
  unworthy your Paper, which generally contains something of publick
  Use; give us leave to say, that favouring our Design is no less than
  reviving an Art, which runs to ruin by the utmost Barbarism under an
  Affectation of Knowledge. We aim at establishing some settled Notion
  of what is Musick, as recovering from Neglect and Want very many
  Families who depend upon it, at making all Foreigners who pretend to
  succeed in _England_ to learn the Language of it as we our selves have
  done, and not be so insolent as to expect a whole Nation, a refined
  and learned Nation, should submit to learn them. In a word, Mr.
  SPECTATOR, with all Deference and Humility, we hope to behave
  ourselves in this Undertaking in such a Manner, that all _English_ Men
  who have any Skill in Musick may be furthered in it for their Profit
  or Diversion by what new Things we shall produce; never pretending to
  surpass others, or asserting that any Thing which is a Science is not
  attainable by all Men of all Nations who have proper Genius for it: We
  say, Sir, what we hope for is not expected will arrive to us by
  contemning others, but through the utmost Diligence recommending
  _We are, SIR,
  Your most humble Servants_,
  Thomas Clayton,
  Nicolino Haym,
  Charles Dieupart.

[Footnote 1: Christopher Rich, of whom Steele wrote in No. 12 of the
_Tatler_ as Divito, who

  has a perfect art in being unintelligible in discourse and
  uncomeatable in business. But he, having no understanding in his
  polite way, brought in upon us, to get in his money, ladder-dancers,
  rope-dancers, jugglers, and mountebanks, to strut in the place of
  Shakespeare's heroes and Jonson's humorists.]

[Footnote 2: Thomas Clayton (see note on p. 72) had set Dryden's
_Alexanders Feast_ to music at the request of Steele and John Hughes;
but its performance at his house in York Buildings was a failure.
Clayton had adapted English words to Italian airs in the drama written
for him by Motteux, of _Arsinoe, Queen of Cyprus_, and called it his own
opera. Steele and Addison were taken by his desire to nationalize the
opera, and put native music to words that were English and had
literature in them. After _Camilla_ at Drury Lane, produced under the
superintendence of Nicolino Haym, Addison's _Rosamond_ was produced,
with music by Clayton and Mrs. Tofts in the part of Queen Eleanor. The
music killed the piece on the third night of performance. The coming of
Handel and his opera of _Rinaldo_ set Mr. Clayton aside, but the
friendship of Steele and Addison abided with him, and Steele seems to
have had a share in his enterprises at York Buildings. Of his colleagues
who join in the signing of this letter, Nicola Francesco Haym was by
birth a Roman, and resident in London as a professor of music. He
published two good operas of sonatas for two violins and a bass, and
joined Clayton and Dieupart in the service of the opera, until Handel's
success superseded them. Haym was also a man of letters, who published
two quartos upon Medals, a notice of rare Italian Books, an edition of
Tasso's Gerusalemme, and two tragedies of his own. He wrote a _History
of Music_ in Italian, and issued proposals for its publication in
English, but had no success. Finally he turned picture collector, and
was employed in that quality by Dr. Mead and Sir Robert Walpole.

Charles Dieupart, a Frenchman, was a fine performer on the violin and
harpsichord. At the representation of _Arsinoe_ and the other earliest
operas, he played the harpsichord and Haym the violoncello. Dieupart,
after the small success of the design set forth in this letter, taught
the harpsichord in families of distinction, but wanted self-respect
enough to save him from declining into a player at obscure ale-houses,
where he executed for the pleasure of dull ears solos of Corelli with
the nicety of taste that never left him. He died old and poor in 1740.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 259.             Thursday, December 27, 1711.              Steele.

  Quod decet honestum est, et quod honestum est decet.


There are some Things which cannot come under certain Rules, but which
one would think could not need them. Of this kind are outward Civilities
and Salutations. These one would imagine might be regulated by every
Man's Common Sense without the Help of an Instructor; but that which we
call Common Sense suffers under that Word; for it sometimes implies no
more than that Faculty which is common to all Men, but sometimes
signifies right Reason, and what all Men should consent to. In this
latter Acceptation of the Phrase, it is no great Wonder People err so
much against it, since it is not every one who is possessed of it, and
there are fewer, who against common Rules and Fashions, dare obey its
Dictates. As to Salutations, which I was about to talk of, I observe as
I strole about Town, there are great Enormities committed with regard to
this Particular. You shall sometimes see a Man begin the Offer of a
Salutation, and observe a forbidding Air, or escaping Eye, in the Person
he is going to salute, and stop short in the Pole of his Neck. This in
the Person who believed he could do it with a good Grace, and was
refused the Opportunity, is justly resented with a Coldness the whole
ensuing Season. Your great Beauties, People in much Favour, or by any
Means or for any Purpose overflattered, are apt to practise this which
one may call the preventing Aspect, and throw their Attention another
Way, lest they should confer a Bow or a Curtsie upon a Person who might
not appear to deserve that Dignity. Others you shall find so obsequious,
and so very courteous, as there is no escaping their Favours of this
Kind. Of this Sort may be a Man who is in the fifth or sixth Degree of
Favour with a Minister; this good Creature is resolved to shew the
World, that great Honours cannot at all change his Manners; he is the
same civil Person he ever was; he will venture his Neck to bow out of a
Coach in full Speed, at once, to shew he is full of Business, and yet is
not so taken up as to forget his old Friend. With a Man, who is not so
well formed for Courtship and elegant Behaviour, such a Gentleman as
this seldom finds his Account in the Return of his Compliments, but he
will still go on, for he is in his own Way, and must not omit; let the
Neglect fall on your Side, or where it will, his Business is still to be
well-bred to the End. I think I have read, in one of our _English_
Comedies, a Description of a Fellow that affected knowing every Body,
and for Want of Judgment in Time and Place, would bow and smile in the
Face of a Judge sitting in the Court, would sit in an opposite Gallery
and smile in the Ministers Face as he came up into the Pulpit, and nod
as if he alluded to some Familiarities between them in another Place.
But now I happen to speak of Salutation at Church, I must take notice
that several of my Correspondents have importuned me to consider that
Subject, and settle the Point of Decorum in that Particular.

I do not pretend to be the best Courtier in the World, but I have often
on publick Occasions thought it a very great Absurdity in the Company
(during the Royal Presence) to exchange Salutations from all Parts of
the Room, when certainly Common Sense should suggest, that all Regards
at that Time should be engaged, and cannot be diverted to any other
Object, without Disrespect to the Sovereign. But as to the Complaint of
my Correspondents, it is not to be imagined what Offence some of them
take at the Custom of Saluting in Places of Worship. I have a very angry
Letter from a Lady, who tells me [of] one of her Acquaintance, [who,]
out of meer Pride and a Pretence to be rude, takes upon her to return no
Civilities done to her in Time of Divine Service, and is the most
religious Woman for no other Reason but to appear a Woman of the best
Quality in the Church. This absurd Custom had better be abolished than
retained, if it were but to prevent Evils of no higher a Nature than
this is; but I am informed of Objections much more considerable: A
Dissenter of Rank and Distinction was lately prevailed upon by a Friend
of his to come to one of the greatest Congregations of the Church of
_England_ about Town: After the Service was over, he declared he was
very well satisfied with the little Ceremony which was used towards God
Almighty; but at the same time he feared he should not be able to go
through those required towards one another: As to this Point he was in a
State of Despair, and feared he was not well-bred enough to be a
Convert. There have been many Scandals of this Kind given to our
Protestant Dissenters from the outward Pomp and Respect we take to our
selves in our Religious Assemblies. A Quaker who came one Day into a
Church, fixed his Eyes upon an old Lady with a Carpet larger than that
from the Pulpit before her, expecting when she would hold forth. An
Anabaptist who designs to come over himself, and all his Family, within
few Months, is sensible they want Breeding enough for our Congregations,
and has sent his two [eldest [1]] Daughters to learn to dance, that they
may not misbehave themselves at Church: It is worth considering whether,
in regard to awkward People with scrupulous Consciences, a good
Christian of the best Air in the World ought not rather to deny herself
the Opportunity of shewing so many Graces, than keep a bashful Proselyte
without the Pale of the Church.

[Footnote 1: [elder]]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 260.                 Friday, December 28, 1711.             Steele.

  Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes.



  I am now in the Sixty fifth Year of my Age, and having been the
  greater Part of my Days a Man of Pleasure, the Decay of my Faculties
  is a Stagnation of my Life. But how is it, Sir, that my Appetites are
  increased upon me with the Loss of Power to gratify them? I write
  this, like a Criminal, to warn People to enter upon what Reformation
  they may please to make in themselves in their Youth, and not expect
  they shall be capable of it from a fond Opinion some have often in
  their Mouths, that if we do not leave our Desires they will leave us.
  It is far otherwise; I am now as vain in my Dress, and as flippant if
  I see a pretty Woman, as when in my Youth I stood upon a Bench in the
  Pit to survey the whole Circle of Beauties. The Folly is so
  extravagant with me, and I went on with so little Check of my Desires,
  or Resignation of them, that I can assure you, I very often meerly to
  entertain my own Thoughts, sit with my Spectacles on, writing
  Love-Letters to the Beauties that have been long since in their
  Graves. This is to warm my Heart with the faint Memory of Delights
  which were once agreeable to me; but how much happier would my Life
  have been now, if I could have looked back on any worthy Action done
  for my Country? If I had laid out that which I profused in Luxury and
  Wantonness, in Acts of Generosity or Charity? I have lived a Batchelor
  to this Day; and instead of a numerous Offspring, with which, in the
  regular Ways of Life, I might possibly have delighted my self, I have
  only to amuse my self with the Repetition of Old Stories and Intrigues
  which no one will believe I ever was concerned in. I do not know
  whether you have ever treated of it or not; but you cannot fall on a
  better Subject, than that of the Art of growing old. In such a Lecture
  you must propose, that no one set his Heart upon what is transient;
  the Beauty grows wrinkled while we are yet gazing at her. The witty
  Man sinks into a Humourist imperceptibly, for want of reflecting that
  all Things around him are in a Flux, and continually changing: Thus he
  is in the Space of ten or fifteen Years surrounded by a new Set of
  People whose Manners are as natural to them as his Delights, Method of
  Thinking, and Mode of Living, were formerly to him and his Friends.
  But the Mischief is, he looks upon the same kind of Errors which he
  himself was guilty of with an Eye of Scorn, and with that sort of
  Ill-will which Men entertain against each other for different
  Opinions: Thus a crasie Constitution, and an uneasie Mind is fretted
  with vexatious Passions for young Mens doing foolishly what it is
  Folly to do at all. Dear Sir, this is my present State of Mind; I hate
  those I should laugh at, and envy those I contemn. The Time of Youth
  and vigorous Manhood passed the Way in which I have disposed of it, is
  attended with these Consequences; but to those who live and pass away
  Life as they ought, all Parts of it are equally pleasant; only the
  Memory of good and worthy Actions is a Feast which must give a quicker
  Relish to the Soul than ever it could possibly taste in the highest
  Enjoyments or Jollities of Youth. As for me, if I sit down in my great
  Chair and begin to ponder, the Vagaries of a Child are not more
  ridiculous than the Circumstances which are heaped up in my Memory.
  Fine Gowns, Country Dances, Ends of Tunes, interrupted Conversations,
  and midnight Quarrels, are what must necessarily compose my Soliloquy.
  I beg of you to print this, that some Ladies of my Acquaintance, and
  my Years, may be perswaded to wear warm Night-caps this cold Season:
  and that my old Friend _Jack Tawdery_ may buy him a Cane, and not
  creep with the Air of a Strut. I must add to all this, that if it were
  not for one Pleasure, which I thought a very mean one till of very
  late Years, I should have no one great Satisfaction left; but if I
  live to the 10th of _March_, 1714, and all my Securities are good, I
  shall be worth Fifty thousand Pound.

  _I am, SIR, Your most humble Servant,_ Jack Afterday.


  You will infinitely oblige a distressed Lover, if you will insert in
  your very next Paper, the following Letter to my Mistress. You must
  know, I am not a Person apt to despair, but she has got an odd Humour
  of stopping short unaccountably, and, as she her self told a Confident
  of hers, she has cold Fits. These Fits shall last her a Month or six
  Weeks together; and as she falls into them without Provocation, so it
  is to be hoped she will return from them without the Merit of new
  Services. But Life and Love will not admit of such Intervals,
  therefore pray let her be admonished as follows.


    I Love you, and I honour you: therefore pray do not tell me of
    waiting till Decencies, till Forms, till Humours are consulted and
    gratified. If you have that happy Constitution as to be indolent for
    ten Weeks together, you should consider that all that while I burn
    in Impatiences and Fevers; but still you say it will be Time enough,
    tho I and you too grow older while we are yet talking. Which do you
    think the more reasonable, that you should alter a State of
    Indifference for Happiness, and that to oblige me, or I live in
    Torment, and that to lay no Manner of Obligation upon you? While I
    indulge your Insensibility I am doing nothing; if you favour my
    Passion, you are bestowing bright Desires, gay Hopes, generous
    Cares, noble Resolutions and transporting Raptures upon, _Madam,_

    _Your most devoted humble Servant._


  Here's a Gentlewoman lodges in the same House with me, that I never
  did any Injury to in my whole Life; and she is always railing at me to
  those that she knows will tell me of it. Don't you think she is in
  Love with me? or would you have me break my Mind yet or not? _Your
  Servant,_ T. B.


  I am a Footman in a great Family, and am in Love with the House-maid.
  We were all at Hot-cockles last Night in the Hall these Holidays; when
  I lay down and was blinded, she pulled off her Shoe, and hit me with
  the Heel such a Rap, as almost broke my Head to Pieces. Pray, Sir, was
  this Love or Spite?


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 261.            Saturday. December 29, 1711.               Addison.

  [Greek: Gamos gar anphropoisin euktaion kakon].

  Frag. Vet. Poet.

My Father, whom I mentioned in my first Speculation, and whom I must
always name with Honour and Gratitude, has very frequently talked to me
upon the Subject of Marriage. I was in my younger Years engaged, partly
by his Advice, and partly by my own Inclinations in the Courtship of a
Person who had a great deal of Beauty, and did not at my first
Approaches seem to have any Aversion to me; but as my natural
Taciturnity hindred me from showing my self to the best Advantage, she
by degrees began to look upon me as a very silly Fellow, and being
resolved to regard Merit more than any Thing else in the Persons who
made their Applications to her, she married a Captain of Dragoons who
happened to be beating up for Recruits in those Parts.

This unlucky Accident has given me an Aversion to pretty Fellows ever
since, and discouraged me from trying my Fortune with the Fair Sex. The
Observations which I made in this Conjuncture, and the repeated Advices
which I received at that Time from the good old Man above-mentioned,
have produced the following Essay upon Love and Marriage.

The pleasantest Part of a Man's Life is generally that which passes in
Courtship, provided his Passion be sincere, and the Party beloved kind
with Discretion. Love, Desire, Hope, all the pleasing Motions of the
Soul rise in the Pursuit.

It is easier for an artful Man who is not in Love, to persuade his
Mistress he has a Passion for her, and to succeed in his Pursuits, than
for one who loves with the greatest Violence. True Love has ten thousand
Griefs, Impatiences and Resentments, that render a Man unamiable in the
Eyes of the Person whose Affection he sollicits: besides, that it sinks
his Figure, gives him Fears, Apprehensions and Poorness of Spirit, and
often makes him appear ridiculous where he has a mind to recommend

Those Marriages generally abound most with Love and Constancy, that are
preceded by a long Courtship. The Passion should strike Root, and gather
Strength before Marriage be grafted on it. A long Course of Hopes and
Expectations fixes the Idea in our Minds, and habituates us to a
Fondness of the Person beloved.

There is Nothing of so great Importance to us, as the good Qualities of
one to whom we join ourselves for Life; they do not only make our
present State agreeable, but often determine our Happiness to all
Eternity. Where the Choice is left to Friends, the chief Point under
Consideration is an Estate: Where the Parties chuse for themselves,
their Thoughts turn most upon the Person. They have both their Reasons.
The first would procure many Conveniencies and Pleasures of Life to the
Party whose Interests they espouse; and at the same time may hope that
the Wealth of their Friend will turn to their own Credit and Advantage.
The others are preparing for themselves a perpetual Feast. A good Person
does not only raise, but continue Love, and breeds a secret Pleasure and
Complacency in the Beholder, when the first Heats of Desire are
extinguished. It puts the Wife or Husband in Countenance both among
Friends and Strangers, and generally fills the Family with a healthy and
beautiful Race of Children.

I should prefer a Woman that is agreeable in my own Eye, and not
deformed in that of the World, to a Celebrated Beauty. If you marry one
remarkably beautiful, you must have a violent Passion for her, or you
have not the proper Taste of her Charms; and if you have such a Passion
for her, it is odds but it [would [1]] be imbittered with Fears and

Good-Nature and Evenness of Temper will give you an easie Companion for
Life; Virtue and good Sense, an agreeable Friend; Love and Constancy, a
good Wife or Husband. Where we meet one Person with all these
Accomplishments, we find an hundred without any one of them. The World,
notwithstanding, is more intent on Trains and Equipages, and all the
showy Parts of Life; we love rather to dazzle the Multitude, than
consult our proper Interest[s]; and, as I have elsewhere observed, it is
one of the most unaccountable Passions of human Nature, that we are at
greater Pains to appear easie and happy to others, than really to make
our selves so. Of all Disparities, that in Humour makes the most unhappy
Marriages, yet scarce enters into our Thoughts at the contracting of
them. Several that are in this Respect unequally yoked, and uneasie for
Life, with a Person of a particular Character, might have been pleased
and happy with a Person of a contrary one, notwithstanding they are both
perhaps equally virtuous and laudable in their Kind.

Before Marriage we cannot be too inquisitive and discerning in the
Faults of the Person beloved, nor after it too dim-sighted and
superficial. However perfect and accomplished the Person appears to you
at a Distance, you will find many Blemishes and Imperfections in her
Humour, upon a more intimate Acquaintance, which you never discovered or
perhaps suspected. Here therefore Discretion and Good-nature are to shew
their Strength; the first will hinder your Thoughts from dwelling on
what is disagreeable, the other will raise in you all the Tenderness of
Compassion and Humanity, and by degrees soften those very Imperfections
into Beauties.

Marriage enlarges the Scene of our Happiness and Miseries. A Marriage of
Love is pleasant; a Marriage of Interest easie; and a Marriage, where
both meet, happy. A happy Marriage has in it all the Pleasures of
Friendship, all the Enjoyments of Sense and Reason, and indeed, all the
Sweets of Life. Nothing is a greater Mark of a degenerate and vicious
Age, than the common Ridicule [which [2]] passes on this State of Life.
It is, indeed, only happy in those who can look down with Scorn or
Neglect on the Impieties of the Times, and tread the Paths of Life
together in a constant uniform Course of Virtue.

[Footnote 1: [will]]

[Footnote 2: [that]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 262.               Monday, December 31, 1711.                Steele.

  Nulla venenato Littera mista Joco est.


I think myself highly obliged to the Publick for their kind Acceptance
of a Paper which visits them every Morning, and has in it none of those
_Seasonings_ that recommend so many of the Writings which are in Vogue
among us.

As, on the one Side, my Paper has not in it a single Word of News, a
Reflection in Politics, nor a Stroak of Party; so on the other, there
are no Fashionable Touches of Infidelity, no obscene Ideas, no Satyrs
upon Priesthood, Marriage, and the like popular Topics of Ridicule; no
private Scandal, nor any Thing that may tend to the Defamation of
particular Persons, Families, or Societies.

There is not one of these above-mentioned Subjects that would not sell a
very indifferent Paper, could I think of gratifying the Publick by such
mean and base Methods. But notwithstanding I have rejected every Thing
that savours of Party, every Thing that is loose and immoral, and every
Thing that might create Uneasiness in the Minds of particular Persons, I
find that the Demand of my Papers has encreased every Month since their
first Appearance in the World. This does not perhaps reflect so much
Honour upon my self, as on my Readers, who give a much greater Attention
to Discourses of Virtue and Morality, than ever I expected, or indeed
could hope.

When I broke loose from that great Body of Writers who have employed
their Wit and Parts in propagating Vice and Irreligion, I did not
question but I should be treated as an odd kind of Fellow that had a
mind to appear singular in my Way of Writing: But the general Reception
I have found, convinces me that the World is not so corrupt as we are
apt to imagine; and that if those Men of Parts who have been employed in
vitiating the Age had endeavour'd to rectify and amend it, they needed
[not [1]] have sacrificed their good Sense and Virtue to their Fame and
Reputation. No Man is so sunk in Vice and Ignorance, but there are still
some hidden Seeds of Goodness and Knowledge in him; which give him a
Relish of such Reflections and Speculations as have an [Aptness [2]] to
improve the Mind, and make the Heart better.

I have shewn in a former Paper, with how much Care I have avoided all
such Thoughts as are loose, obscene or immoral; and I believe my Reader
would still think the better of me, if he knew the Pains I am at in
qualifying what I write after such a manner, that nothing may be
interpreted as aimed at private Persons. For this Reason when I draw any
faulty Character, I consider all those Persons to whom the Malice of the
World may possibly apply it, and take care to dash it with such
particular Circumstances as may prevent all such ill-natured
Applications. If I write any Thing on a black Man, I run over in my Mind
all the eminent Persons in the Nation who are of that Complection: When
I place an imaginary Name at the Head of a Character, I examine every
Syllable and Letter of it, that it may not bear any Resemblance to one
that is real. I know very well the Value which every Man sets upon his
Reputation, and how painful it is to be exposed to the Mirth and
Derision of the Publick, and should therefore scorn to divert my Reader,
at the Expence of any private Man.

As I have been thus tender of every particular Persons Reputation, so I
have taken more than ordinary Care not to give Offence to those who
appear in the higher Figures of Life. I would not make myself merry even
with a Piece of Paste-board that is invested with a Publick Character;
for which Reason I have never glanced upon the late designed Procession
of his Holiness and his Attendants, [3] notwithstanding it might have
afforded Matter to many ludicrous Speculations. Among those Advantages,
which the Publick may reap from this Paper, it is not the least, that it
draws Mens Minds off from the Bitterness of Party, and furnishes them
with Subjects of Discourse that may be treated without Warmth or
Passion. This is said to have been the first Design of those Gentlemen
who set on Foot the Royal Society; [4] and had then a very good Effect,
as it turned many of the greatest Genius's of that Age to the
Disquisitions of natural Knowledge, who, if they had engaged in
Politicks with the same Parts and Application, might have set their
Country in a Flame. The Air-Pump, the Barometer, the Quadrant, and the
like Inventions were thrown out to those busie Spirits, as Tubs and
Barrels are to a Whale, that he may let the Ship sail on without
Disturbance, while he diverts himself with those innocent Amusements.

I have been so very scrupulous in this Particular of not hurting any
Man's Reputation that I have forborn mentioning even such Authors as I
could not name without Honour. This I must confess to have been a Piece
of very great Self-denial: For as the Publick relishes nothing better
than the Ridicule which turns upon a Writer of any Eminence, so there is
nothing which a Man that has but a very ordinary Talent in Ridicule may
execute with greater Ease. One might raise Laughter for a Quarter of a
Year together upon the Works of a Person who has published but a very
few Volumes. For which [Reason [5]] I am astonished, that those who have
appeared against this Paper have made so very little of it. The
Criticisms which I have hitherto published, have been made with an
Intention rather to discover Beauties and Excellencies in the Writers of
my own Time, than to publish any of their Faults and Imperfections. In
the mean while I should take it for a very great Favour from some of my
underhand Detractors, if they would break all Measures with me so far,
as to give me a Pretence for examining their Performances with an
impartial Eye: Nor shall I look upon it as any Breach of Charity to
criticise the Author, so long as I keep clear of the Person.

In the mean while, till I am provoked to such Hostilities, I shall from
time to time endeavour to do Justice to those who have distinguished
themselves in the politer Parts of Learning, and to point out such
Beauties in their Works as may have escaped the Observation of others.

As the first Place among our _English_ Poets is due to _Milton_; and as
I have drawn more Quotations out of him than from any other, I shall
enter into a regular Criticism upon his _Paradise Lost_, which I shall
publish every _Saturday_ till I have given my Thoughts upon that Poem.
I shall not however presume to impose upon others my own particular
Judgment on this Author, but only deliver it as my private Opinion.
Criticism is of a very large Extent, and every particular Master in this
Art has his favourite Passages in an Author, which do not equally strike
the best Judges. It will be sufficient for me if I discover many
Beauties or Imperfections which others have not attended to, and I
should be very glad to see any of our eminent Writers publish their
Discoveries on the same Subject. In short, I would always be understood
to write my Papers of Criticism in the Spirit which _Horace_ has
expressed in those two famous Lines;

 --Si quid novisti rectius istis,
  Candidus imperti; si non, his utere mecum,

  If you have made any better Remarks of your own, communicate them
  with Candour; if not, make use of these I present you with.


[Footnote 1: [not to]]

[Footnote 2: [Aptness in them]]

[Footnote 3: [Fifteen images in waxwork, prepared for a procession on
the 17th November, Queen Elizabeth's birthday, had been seized under a
Secretary of State's warrant. Swift says, in his Journal to Stella, that
the devil which was to have waited on the Pope was saved from burning
because it was thought to resemble the Lord Treasurer.]

[Footnote 4: The Royal Society was incorporated in 1663 as the Royal
Society of London for promoting Natural Knowledge. In the same year
there was an abortive insurrection in the North against the infamy of
Charles II.'s government.]

[Footnote 5: [Reasons]]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 263.                Tuesday, January 1, 1712.                Steele.

  Gratulor quod eum quem necesse erat diligere, qualiscunque esset,
  talem habemus ut libenter quoque diligamus.

  Trebonius apud Tull.


  I am the happy Father of a very towardly Son, in whom I do not only
  see my Life, but also my Manner of Life, renewed. It would be
  extremely beneficial to Society, if you would frequently resume
  Subjects which serve to bind these sort of Relations faster, and
  endear the Ties of Blood with those of Good-will, Protection,
  Observance, Indulgence, and Veneration. I would, methinks, have this
  done after an uncommon Method, and do not think any one, who is not
  capable of writing a good Play, fit to undertake a Work wherein there
  will necessarily occur so many secret Instincts, and Biasses of human
  Nature which would pass unobserved by common Eyes. I thank Heaven I
  have no outrageous Offence against my own excellent Parents to answer
  for; but when I am now and then alone, and look back upon my past
  Life, from my earliest Infancy to this Time, there are many Faults
  which I committed that did not appear to me, even till I my self
  became a Father. I had not till then a Notion of the Earnings of
  Heart, which a Man has when he sees his Child do a laudable Thing, or
  the sudden Damp which seizes him when he fears he will act something
  unworthy. It is not to be imagined, what a Remorse touched me for a
  long Train of childish Negligencies of my Mother, when I saw my Wife
  the other Day look out of the Window, and turn as pale as Ashes upon
  seeing my younger Boy sliding upon the Ice. These slight Intimations
  will give you to understand, that there are numberless little Crimes
  which Children take no notice of while they are doing, which upon
  Reflection, when they shall themselves become Fathers, they will look
  upon with the utmost Sorrow and Contrition, that they did not regard,
  before those whom they offended were to be no more seen. How many
  thousand Things do I remember, which would have highly pleased my
  Father, and I omitted for no other Reason, but that I thought what he
  proposed the Effect of Humour and old Age, which I am now convinced
  had Reason and good Sense in it. I cannot now go into the Parlour to
  him, and make his Heart glad with an Account of a Matter which was of
  no Consequence, but that I told it, and acted in it. The good Man and
  Woman are long since in their Graves, who used to sit and plot the
  Welfare of us their Children, while, perhaps, we were sometimes
  laughing at the old Folks at another End of the House. The Truth of it
  is, were we merely to follow Nature in these great Duties of Life,
  tho we have a strong Instinct towards the performing of them, we
  should be on both Sides very deficient. Age is so unwelcome to the
  Generality of Mankind, and Growth towards Manhood so desirable to all,
  that Resignation to Decay is too difficult a Task in the Father; and
  Deference, amidst the Impulse of gay Desires, appears unreasonable to
  the Son. There are so few who can grow old with a good Grace, and yet
  fewer who can come slow enough into the World, that a Father, were he
  to be actuated by his Desires, and a Son, were he to consult himself
  only, could neither of them behave himself as he ought to the other.
  But when Reason interposes against Instinct, where it would carry
  either out of the Interests of the other, there arises that happiest
  Intercourse of good Offices between those dearest Relations of human
  Life. The Father, according to the Opportunities which are offered to
  him, is throwing down Blessings on the Son, and the Son endeavouring
  to appear the worthy Offspring of such a Father. It is after this
  manner that _Camillus_ and his firstborn dwell together. _Camillus_
  enjoys a pleasing and indolent old Age, in which Passion is subdued,
  and Reason exalted. He waits the Day of his Dissolution with a
  Resignation mixed with Delight, and the Son fears the Accession of his
  Fathers Fortune with Diffidence, lest he should not enjoy or become
  it as well as his Predecessor. Add to this, that the Father knows he
  leaves a Friend to the Children of his Friends, an easie Landlord to
  his Tenants, and an agreeable Companion to his Acquaintance. He
  believes his Sons Behaviour will make him frequently remembered, but
  never wanted. This Commerce is so well cemented, that without the Pomp
  of saying, _Son, be a Friend to such a one when I am gone; Camillus_
  knows, being in his Favour, is Direction enough to the grateful Youth
  who is to succeed him, without the Admonition of his mentioning it.
  These Gentlemen are honoured in all their Neighbourhood, and the same
  Effect which the Court has on the Manner of a Kingdom, their
  Characters have on all who live within the Influence of them.

  My Son and I are not of Fortune to communicate our good Actions or
  Intentions to so many as these Gentlemen do; but I will be bold to
  say, my Son has, by the Applause and Approbation which his Behaviour
  towards me has gained him, occasioned that many an old Man, besides my
  self, has rejoiced. Other Mens Children follow the Example of mine,
  and I have the inexpressible Happiness of overhearing our Neighbours,
  as we ride by, point to their Children, and say, with a Voice of Joy,
  There they go.

  You cannot, _Mr_. SPECTATOR, pass your time better than insinuating
  the Delights which these Relations well regarded bestow upon each
  other. Ordinary Passions are no longer such, but mutual Love gives an
  Importance to the most indifferent things, and a Merit to Actions the
  most insignificant. When we look round the World, and observe the many
  Misunderstandings which are created by the Malice and Insinuation of
  the meanest Servants between People thus related, how necessary will
  it appear that it were inculcated that Men would be upon their Guard
  to support a Constancy of Affection, and that grounded upon the
  Principles of Reason, not the Impulses of Instinct.

  It is from the common Prejudices which Men receive from their Parents,
  that Hatreds are kept alive from one Generation to another; and when
  Men act by Instinct, Hatreds will descend when good Offices are
  forgotten. For the Degeneracy of human Life is such, that our Anger is
  more easily transferred to our Children than our Love. Love always
  gives something to the Object it delights in, and Anger spoils the
  Person against whom it is moved of something laudable in him. From
  this Degeneracy therefore, and a sort of Self-Love, we are more prone
  to take up the Ill-will of our Parents, than to follow them in their

  One would think there should need no more to make Men keep up this
  sort of Relation with the utmost Sanctity, than to examine their own
  Hearts. If every Father remembered his own Thoughts and Inclinations
  when he was a Son, and every Son remembered what he expected from his
  Father, when he himself was in a State of Dependance, this one
  Reflection would preserve Men from being dissolute or rigid in these
  several Capacities. The Power and Subjection between them, when
  broken, make them more emphatically Tyrants and Rebels against each
  other, with greater Cruelty of Heart, than the Disruption of States
  and Empires can possibly produce. I shall end this Application to you
  with two Letters which passed between a Mother and Son very lately,
  and are as follows.

    _Dear_ FRANK,

    If the Pleasures, which I have the Grief to hear you pursue in Town,
    do not take up all your Time, do not deny your Mother so much of it,
    as to read seriously this Letter. You said before Mr. _Letacre_,
    that an old Woman might live very well in the Country upon half my
    Jointure, and that your Father was a fond Fool to give me a
    Rent-Charge of Eight hundred a Year to the Prejudice of his Son.
    What _Letacre_ said to you upon that Occasion, you ought to have
    born with more Decency, as he was your Fathers well-beloved
    Servant, than to have called him _Country-put_. In the first place,
    _Frank_, I must tell you, I will have my Rent duly paid, for I will
    make up to your Sisters for the Partiality I was guilty of, in
    making your Father do so much as he has done for you. I may, it
    seems, live upon half my Jointure! I lived upon much less, _Frank_,
    when I carried you from Place to Place in these Arms, and could
    neither eat, dress, or mind any thing for feeding and tending you a
    weakly Child, and shedding Tears when the Convulsions you were then
    troubled with returned upon you. By my Care you outgrew them, to
    throw away the Vigour of your Youth in the Arms of Harlots, and deny
    your Mother what is not yours to detain. Both your Sisters are
    crying to see the Passion which I smother; but if you please to go
    on thus like a Gentleman of the Town, and forget all Regards to your
    self and Family, I shall immediately enter upon your Estate for the
    Arrear due to me, and without one Tear more contemn you for
    forgetting the Fondness of your Mother, as much as you have the
    Example of your Father. O _Frank_, do I live to omit writing myself,
    _Your Affectionate Mother_, A.T.

    I will come down to-morrow and pay the Money on my Knees. Pray write
    so no more. I will take care you never shall, for I will be for ever
    hereafter, _Your most dutiful Son_, F.T.

    I will bring down new Heads for my Sisters. Pray let all be


*       *       *       *       *

No. 264.              Wednesday, January 2, 1712.                Steele.

 --Secretum iter et fallentis Semita vitae.


It has been from Age to Age an Affectation to love the Pleasure of
Solitude, amongst those who cannot possibly be supposed qualified for
passing Life in that Manner. This People have taken up from reading the
many agreeable things which have been writ on that Subject, for which we
are beholden to excellent Persons who delighted in being retired and
abstracted from the Pleasures that enchant the Generality of the World.
This Way of Life is recommended indeed with great Beauty, and in such a
Manner as disposes the Reader for the time to a pleasing Forgetfulness,
or Negligence of the particular Hurry of Life in which he is engaged,
together with a Longing for that State which he is charmed with in
Description. But when we consider the World it self, and how few there
are capable of a religious, learned, or philosophick Solitude, we shall
be apt to change a Regard to that sort of Solitude, for being a little
singular in enjoying Time after the Way a Man himself likes best in the
World, without going so far as wholly to withdraw from it. I have often
observed, there is not a Man breathing who does not differ from all
other Men, as much in the Sentiments of his Mind, as the Features of his
Face. The Felicity is, when anyone is so happy as to find out and follow
what is the proper Bent of this Genius, and turn all his Endeavours to
exert himself according as that prompts him. Instead of this, which is
an innocent Method of enjoying a Man's self, and turning out of the
general Tracks wherein you have Crowds of Rivals, there are those who
pursue their own Way out of a Sowrness and Spirit of Contradiction:
These Men do every thing which they are able to support, as if Guilt and
Impunity could not go together. They choose a thing only because another
dislikes it; and affect forsooth an inviolable Constancy in Matters of
no manner of Moment. Thus sometimes an old Fellow shall wear this or
that sort of Cut in his Cloaths with great Integrity, while all the rest
of the World are degenerated into Buttons, Pockets and Loops unknown to
their Ancestors. As insignificant as even this is, if it were searched
to the Bottom, you perhaps would find it not sincere, but that he is in
the Fashion in his Heart, and holds out from mere Obstinacy. But I am
running from my intended Purpose, which was to celebrate a certain
particular Manner of passing away Life, and is a Contradiction to no
Man. but a Resolution to contract none of the exorbitant Desires by
which others are enslaved. The best way of separating a Man's self from
the World, is to give up the Desire of being known to it. After a Man
has preserved his Innocence, and performed all Duties incumbent upon
him, his Time spent his own Way is what makes his Life differ from that
of a Slave. If they who affect Show and Pomp knew how many of their
Spectators derided their trivial Taste, they would be very much less
elated, and have an Inclination to examine the Merit of all they have to
do with: They would soon find out that there are many who make a Figure
below what their Fortune or Merit entities them to, out of mere Choice,
and an elegant Desire of Ease and Disincumbrance. It would look like
Romance to tell you in this Age of an old Man who is contented to pass
for an Humourist, and one who does not understand the Figure he ought to
make in the World, while he lives in a Lodging of Ten Shillings a Week
with only one Servant: While he dresses himself according to the Season
in Cloth or in Stuff, and has no one necessary Attention to any thing
but the Bell which calls to Prayers twice a Day. I say it would look
like a Fable to report that this Gentleman gives away all which is the
Overplus of a great Fortune, by secret Methods to other Men. If he has
not the Pomp of a numerous Train, and of Professors of Service to him,
he has every Day he lives the Conscience that the Widow, the Fatherless,
the Mourner, and the Stranger bless his unseen Hand in their Prayers.
This Humourist gives up all the Compliments which People of his own
Condition could make to him, for the Pleasures of helping the Afflicted,
supplying the Needy, and befriending the Neglected. This Humourist keeps
to himself much more than he wants, and gives a vast Refuse of his
Superfluities to purchase Heaven, and by freeing others from the
Temptations of Worldly Want, to carry a Retinue with him thither. Of all
Men who affect living in a particular Way, next to this admirable
Character, I am the most enamoured of _Irus_, whose Condition will not
admit of such Largesses, and perhaps would not be capable of making
them, if it were. _Irus_, tho he is now turned of Fifty, has not
appeared in the World, in his real Character, since five and twenty, at
which Age he ran out a small Patrimony, and spent some Time after with
Rakes who had lived upon him: A Course of ten Years time, passed in all
the little Alleys, By-Paths, and sometimes open Taverns and Streets of
this Town, gave _Irus_ a perfect Skill in judging of the Inclinations of
Mankind, and acting accordingly. He seriously considered he was poor,
and the general Horror which most Men have of all who are in that
Condition. _Irus_ judg'd very rightly, that while he could keep his
Poverty a Secret, he should not feel the Weight of it; he improved this
Thought into an Affectation of Closeness and Covetousness. Upon this one
Principle he resolved to govern his future Life; and in the thirty sixth
Year of his Age he repaired to Long-lane, and looked upon several
Dresses which hung there deserted by their first Masters, and exposed to
the Purchase of the best Bidder. At this Place he exchanged his gay
Shabbiness of Cloaths fit for a much younger Man, to warm ones that
would be decent for a much older one. _Irus_ came out thoroughly
equipped from Head to Foot, with a little oaken Cane in the Form of a
substantial Man that did not mind his Dress, turned of fifty. He had at
this time fifty Pounds in ready Money; and in this Habit, with this
Fortune, he took his present Lodging in St. _John Street_, at the
Mansion-House of a Taylor's Widow, who washes and can clear-starch his
Bands. From that Time to this, he has kept the main Stock, without
Alteration under or over to the value of five Pounds. He left off all
his old Acquaintance to a Man, and all his Arts of Life, except the Play
of Backgammon, upon which he has more than bore his Charges. _Irus_ has,
ever since he came into this Neighbourhood, given all the Intimations,
he skilfully could, of being a close Hunks worth Money: No body comes to
visit him, he receives no Letters, and tells his Money Morning and
Evening. He has, from the publick Papers, a Knowledge of what generally
passes, shuns all Discourses of Money, but shrugs his Shoulder when you
talk of Securities; he denies his being rich with the Air, which all do
who are vain of being so: He is the Oracle of a Neighbouring Justice of
Peace, who meets him at the Coffeehouse; the Hopes that what he has must
come to Somebody, and that he has no Heirs, have that Effect where ever
he is known, that he every Day has three or four Invitations to dine at
different Places, which he generally takes care to choose in such a
manner, as not to seem inclined to the richer Man. All the young Men
respect him, and say he is just the same Man he was when they were Boys.
He uses no Artifice in the World, but makes use of Mens Designs upon
him to get a Maintenance out of them. This he carries on by a certain
Peevishness, (which he acts very well) that no one would believe could
possibly enter into the Head of a poor Fellow. His Mein, his Dress, his
Carriage, and his Language are such, that you would be at a loss to
guess whether in the Active Part of his Life he had been a sensible
Citizen, or Scholar that knew the World. These are the great
Circumstances in the Life of _Irus_, and thus does he pass away his Days
a Stranger to Mankind; and at his Death, the worst that will be said of
him will be, that he got by every Man who had Expectations from him,
more than he had to leave him.

I have an Inclination to print the following Letters; for that I have
heard the Author of them has some where or other seen me, and by an
excellent Faculty in Mimickry my Correspondents tell me he can assume my
Air, and give my Taciturnity a Slyness which diverts more than any Thing
I could say if I were present. Thus I am glad my Silence is attoned for
to the good Company in Town. He has carried his Skill in Imitation so
far, as to have forged a Letter from my Friend Sir ROGER in such a
manner, that any one but I who am thoroughly acquainted with him, would
have taken it for genuine.


  Having observed in _Lilly's_ Grammar how sweetly _Bacchus_ and
  _Apollo_ run in a Verse: I have (to preserve the Amity between them)
  call'd in _Bacchus_ to the Aid of my Profession of the _Theatre_. So
  that while some People of Quality are bespeaking Plays of me to be
  acted upon such a Day, and others, Hogsheads for their Houses against
  such a Time; I am wholly employ'd in the agreeable Service of Wit and
  Wine: Sir, I have sent you Sir _Roger de Coverley's_ Letter to me,
  which pray comply with in Favour of the _Bumper_ Tavern. Be kind, for
  you know a Players utmost Pride is the Approbation of the SPECTATOR.

  _I am your Admirer, tho unknown_,
  Richard Estcourt [1]

  To Mr. Estcourt at his House in _Covent-Garden_.
  _Coverley, December_ the 18th, 1711.

  _Old Comical Ones_,

  The Hogsheads of Neat Port came safe, and have gotten thee good
  Reputation in these Parts; and I am glad to hear, that a Fellow who
  has been laying out his Money ever since he was born, for the meer
  Pleasure of Wine, has bethought himself of joining Profit and Pleasure
  together. Our Sexton (poor Man) having received Strength from thy Wine
  since his fit of the Gout, is hugely taken with it: He says it is
  given by Nature for the Use of Families, that no Stewards Table can
  be without it, that it strengthens Digestion, excludes Surfeits,
  Fevers and Physick; which green Wines of any kind cant do. Pray get a
  pure snug Room, and I hope next Term to help fill your Bumper with our
  People of the Club; but you must have no Bells stirring when the
  _Spectator_ comes; I forbore ringing to Dinner while he was down with
  me in the Country. Thank you for the little Hams and _Portugal_
  Onions; pray keep some always by you. You know my Supper is only good
  _Cheshire_ Cheese, best Mustard, a golden Pippin, attended with a Pipe
  of _John Sly's_ Best. Sir Harry has stoln all your Songs, and tells
  the Story of the 5th of _November_ to Perfection.

  _Yours to serve you_,
  Roger de Coverley.

  We've lost old _John_ since you were here.


[Footnote 1: Richard Estcourt, born at Tewkesbury in 1688, and educated
in the Latin school there, stole from home at the age of 15 to join a
travelling company of comedians at Worcester, and, to avoid detection,
made his first appearance in woman's clothes as Roxana in _Alexander the
Great_. He was discovered, however, pursued, brought home, carried to
London, and bound prentice to an apothecary in Hatton Garden. He escaped
again, wandered about England, went to Ireland, and there obtained
credit as an actor; then returned to London, and appeared at Drury Lane,
where his skill as a mimic enabled him to perform each part in the
manner of the actor who had obtained chief credit by it. His power of
mimicry made him very diverting in society, and as he had natural
politeness with a sprightly wit, his company was sought and paid for at
the entertainments of the great. Dick Estcourt was a great favourite
with the Duke of Marlborough, and when men of wit and rank joined in
establishing the Beefsteak Club they made Estcourt their _Providore_,
with a small gold gridiron, for badge, hung round his neck by a green
ribbon. Estcourt was a writer for the stage as well as actor, and had
shown his agreement with the _Spectators_ dramatic criticisms by
ridiculing the Italian opera with an interlude called _Prunella_. In the
Numbers of the _Spectator_ for December 28 and 29 Estcourt had
advertised that he would on the 1st of January open the Bumper Tavern
in James's Street, Westminster, and had laid in

  neat natural wines, fresh and in perfection; being bought by Brooke
  and Hellier, by whom the said Tavern will from time to time be
  supplied with the best growths that shall be imported; to be sold by
  wholesale as well as retail, with the utmost fidelity by his old
  servant, trusty Anthony, who has so often adorned both the theatres in
  England and Ireland; and as he is a person altogether unknowing in the
  wine trade, it cannot be doubted but that he will deliver the wine in
  the same natural purity that he receives it from the said merchants;
  and on these assurances he hopes that all his friends and acquaintance
  will become his customers, desiring a continuance of their favours no
  longer than they shall find themselves well served.

This is the venture which Steele here backs for his friend with the
influence of the _Spectator_.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 265.               Thursday, January 3, 1712.              Addison.

  Dixerit e multis aliquis, quid virus in angues
  Adjicis? et rabidae tradis ovile lupae?


One of the Fathers, if I am rightly informed, has defined a Woman to be
[Greek: xoon philokosmon], _an Animal that delights in Finery_. I have
already treated of the Sex in two or three Papers, conformably to this
Definition, and have in particular observed, that in all Ages they have
been more careful then the Men to adorn that Part of the Head, which we
generally call the Outside.

This Observation is so very notorious, that when in ordinary Discourse
we say a Man has a fine Head, a long Head, or a good Head, we express
ourselves metaphorically, and speak in relation to his Understanding;
whereas when we say of a Woman, she has a fine, a long or a good Head,
we speak only in relation to her Commode.

It is observed among Birds, that Nature has lavished all her Ornaments
upon the Male, who very often appears in a most beautiful Head-dress:
Whether it be a Crest, a Comb, a Tuft of Feathers, or a natural little
Plume, erected like a kind of Pinacle on the very Top of the Head. [As
Nature on the contrary [1] has poured out her Charms in the greatest
Abundance upon the Female Part of our Species, so they are very
assiduous in bestowing upon themselves the finest Garnitures of Art. The
Peacock in all his Pride, does not display half the Colours that appear
in the Garments of a _British_ Lady, when she is dressed either for a
Ball or a Birth-day.

But to return to our Female Heads. The Ladies have been for some time in
a kind of _moulting Season_, with regard to that Part of their Dress,
having cast great Quantities of Ribbon, Lace, and Cambrick, and in some
measure reduced that Part of the human Figure to the beautiful globular
Form, which is natural to it. We have for a great while expected what
kind of Ornament would be substituted in the Place of those antiquated
Commodes. But our Female Projectors were all the last Summer so taken up
with the Improvement of their Petticoats, that they had not time to
attend to any thing else; but having at length sufficiently adorned
their lower Parts, they now begin to turn their Thoughts upon the other
Extremity, as well remembring the old Kitchen Proverb, that if you light
your Fire at both Ends, the middle will shift for it self.

I am engaged in this Speculation by a Sight which I lately met with at
the Opera. As I was standing in the hinder Part of the Box, I took
notice of a little Cluster of Women sitting together in the prettiest
coloured Hoods that I ever saw. One of them was Blue, another Yellow,
and another Philomot; [2] the fourth was of a Pink Colour, and the fifth
of a pale Green. I looked with as much Pleasure upon this little
party-coloured Assembly, as upon a Bed of Tulips, and did not know at
first whether it might not be an Embassy of _Indian_ Queens; but upon my
going about into the Pit, and taking them in Front, I was immediately
undeceived, and saw so much Beauty in every Face, that I found them all
to be _English_. Such Eyes and Lips, Cheeks and Foreheads, could be the
Growth of no other Country. The Complection of their Faces hindred me
from observing any farther the Colour of their Hoods, though I could
easily perceive by that unspeakable Satisfaction which appeared in their
Looks, that their own Thoughts were wholly taken up on those pretty
Ornaments they wore upon their Heads.

I am informed that this Fashion spreads daily, insomuch that the Whig
and Tory Ladies begin already to hang out different Colours, and to shew
their Principles in their Head-dress. Nay if I may believe my Friend
WILL. HONEYCOMB, there is a certain old Coquet of his Acquaintance who
intends to appear very suddenly in a Rainbow Hood, like the _Iris_ in
_Dryden's Virgil_, not questioning but that among such a variety of
Colours she shall have a Charm for every Heart.

My Friend WILL., who very much values himself upon his great Insights
into Gallantry, tells me, that he can already guess at the Humour a Lady
is in by her Hood, as the Courtiers of _Morocco_ know the Disposition of
their present Emperor by the Colour of the Dress which he puts on. When
_Melesinda_ wraps her Head in Flame Colour, her Heart is set upon
Execution. When she covers it with Purple, I would not, says he, advise
her Lover to approach her; but if she appears in White, it is Peace, and
he may hand her out of her Box with Safety.

Will, informs me likewise, that these Hoods may be used as Signals. Why
else, says he, does _Cornelia_ always put on a Black Hood when her
Husband is gone into the Country?

Such are my Friend HONEYCOMBS Dreams of Gallantry. For my own part, I
impute this Diversity of Colours in the Hoods to the Diversity of
Complexion in the Faces of my pretty Country Women. _Ovid_ in his Art of
Love has given some Precepts as to this Particular, though I find they
are different from those which prevail among the Moderns. He recommends
a Red striped Silk to the pale Complexion; White to the Brown, and Dark
to the Fair. On the contrary my Friend WILL., who pretends to be a
greater Master in this Art than _Ovid_, tells me, that the palest
Features look the most agreeable in white Sarsenet; that a Face which is
overflushed appears to advantage in the deepest Scarlet, and that the
darkest Complexion is not a little alleviated by a Black Hood. In short,
he is for losing the Colour of the Face in that of the Hood, as a Fire
burns dimly, and a Candle goes half out, in the Light of the Sun. This,
says he, your _Ovid_ himself has hinted, where he treats of these
Matters, when he tells us that the blue Water Nymphs are dressed in Sky
coloured Garments; and that _Aurora_, who always appears in the Light of
the Rising Sun, is robed in Saffron.

Whether these his Observations are justly grounded I cannot tell: but I
have often known him, as we have stood together behind the Ladies,
praise or dispraise the Complexion of a Face which he never saw, from
observing the Colour of her Hood, and has been very seldom out in these
his Guesses.

As I have Nothing more at Heart than the Honour and Improvement of the
Fair Sex, [3] I cannot conclude this Paper without an Exhortation to the
_British_ Ladies, that they would excel the Women of all other Nations
as much in Virtue and good Sense, as they do in Beauty; which they may
certainly do, if they will be as industrious to cultivate their Minds,
as they are to adorn their Bodies: In the mean while I shall recommend
to their most serious Consideration the Saying of an old _Greek_ Poet,

[Greek: Gynaiki kosmos ho tropos, k ou chrysia.]

C. [4]

[Footnote 1: [On the contrary as Nature]]

[Footnote 2: _Feuille mort_, the russet yellow of dead leaves.]

[Footnote 3:

  I will not meddle with the Spectator. Let him _fair-sex_ it to the
  worlds end.

Swifts Journal to Stella.]

[Footnote 4: [T.] corrected by an erratum in No. 268.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 266.               Friday, January 4, 1712.                  Steele.

  Id vero est, quod ego mihi puto palmarium,
  Me reperisse, quomodo adolescentulus
  Meretricum ingenia et mores possit noscere:
  Mature ut cum cognorit perpetuo oderit.

  Ter. Eun. Act. 5, Sc. 4.

No Vice or Wickedness which People fall into from Indulgence to
Desire[s] which are natural to all, ought to place them below the
Compassion of the virtuous Part of the World; which indeed often makes
me a little apt to suspect the Sincerity of their Virtue, who are too
warmly provoked at other Peoples personal Sins. The unlawful Commerce of
the Sexes is of all other the hardest to avoid; and yet there is no one
which you shall hear the rigider Part of Womankind speak of with so
little Mercy. It is very certain that a modest Woman cannot abhor the
Breach of Chastity too much; but pray let her hate it for her self, and
only pity it in others. WILL. HONEYCOMB calls these over-offended
Ladies, the Outragiously Virtuous.

I do not design to fall upon Failures in general, with relation to the
Gift of Chastity, but at present only enter upon that large Field, and
begin with the Consideration of poor and publick Whores. The other
Evening passing along near _Covent-Garden_, I was jogged on the Elbow as
I turned into the Piazza, on the right Hand coming out of
_James-street_, by a slim young Girl of about Seventeen, who with a pert
Air asked me if I was for a Pint of Wine. I do not know but I should
have indulged my Curiosity in having some Chat with her, but that I am
informed the Man of the _Bumper_ knows me; and it would have made a
Story for him not very agreeable to some Part of my Writings, though I
have in others so frequently said that I am wholly unconcerned in any
Scene I am in, but meerly as a Spectator. This Impediment being in my
Way, we stood [under [1]] one of the Arches by Twilight; and there I
could observe as exact Features as I had ever seen, the most agreeable
Shape, the finest Neck and Bosom, in a Word, the whole Person of a Woman
exquisitely Beautiful. She affected to allure me with a forced
Wantonness in her Look and Air; but I saw it checked with Hunger and
Cold: Her Eyes were wan and eager, her Dress thin and tawdry, her Mein
genteel and childish. This strange Figure gave me much Anguish of Heart,
and to avoid being seen with her I went away, but could not forbear
giving her a Crown. The poor thing sighed, curtisied, and with a
Blessing, expressed with the utmost Vehemence, turned from me. This
Creature is what they call _newly come upon the Town_, but who, I
suppose, falling into cruel Hands was left in the first Month from her
Dishonour, and exposed to pass through the Hands and Discipline of one
of those Hags of Hell whom we call Bawds. But lest I should grow too
suddenly grave on this Subject, and be my self outragiously good, I
shall turn to a Scene in one of _Fletchers_ Plays, where this Character
is drawn, and the Oeconomy of Whoredom most admirably described. The
Passage I would point to is in the third Scene of the second Act of _The
Humorous Lieutenant. Leucippe_ who is Agent for the Kings Lust, and
bawds at the same time for the whole Court, is very pleasantly
introduced, reading her Minutes as a Person of Business, with two Maids,
her Under-Secretaries, taking Instructions at a Table before her. Her
Women, both those under her present Tutelage, and those which she is
laying wait for, are alphabetically set down in her Book; and as she is
looking over the Letter _C_, in a muttering Voice, as if between
Soliloquy and speaking out, she says,

  _Her Maidenhead will yield me; let me see now;
  She is not Fifteen they say: For her Complexion_---
  Cloe, Cloe, Cloe, _here I have her_,
  Cloe,_ the Daughter of a Country Gentleman;
  Here Age upon Fifteen. Now her Complexion,
  A lovely brown; here tis; Eyes black and rolling,
  The Body neatly built; she strikes a Lute well,
  Sings most enticingly: These Helps consider'd,
  Her Maidenhead will amount to some three hundred,
  Or three hundred and fifty Crowns, twill bear it handsomly.
  Her Fathers poor, some little Share deducted,
  To buy him a Hunting Nag_--

These Creatures are very well instructed in the Circumstances and
Manners of all who are any Way related to the Fair One whom they have a
Design upon. As _Cloe_ is to be purchased with [350] [2] Crowns, and the
Father taken off with a Pad; the Merchants Wife next to her, who
abounds in Plenty, is not to have downright Money, but the mercenary
Part of her Mind is engaged with a Present of Plate and a little
Ambition. She is made to understand that it is a Man of Quality who dies
for her. The Examination of a young Girl for Business, and the crying
down her Value for being a slight Thing, together with every other
Circumstance in the Scene, are inimitably excellent, and have the true
Spirit of Comedy; tho it were to be wished the Author had added a
Circumstance which should make _Leucippe's_ Baseness more odious.

It must not be thought a Digression from my intended Speculation, to
talk of Bawds in a Discourse upon Wenches; for a Woman of the Town is
not thoroughly and properly such, without having gone through the
Education of one of these Houses. But the compassionate Case of very
many is, that they are taken into such Hands without any the least
Suspicion, previous Temptation, or Admonition to what Place they are
going. The last Week I went to an Inn in the City to enquire for some
Provisions which were sent by a Waggon out of the Country; and as I
waited in one of the Boxes till the Chamberlain had looked over his
Parcel, I heard an old and a young Voice repeating the Questions and
Responses of the Church- Catechism. I thought it no Breach of good
Manners to peep at a Crevice, and look in at People so well employed;
but who should I see there but the most artful Procuress in the Town,
examining a most beautiful Country-Girl, who had come up in the same
Waggon with my Things, _Whether she was well educated, could forbear
playing the Wanton with Servants, and idle fellows, of which this Town_,
says she, _is too full_: At the same time, _Whether she knew enough of
Breeding, as that if a Squire or a Gentleman, or one that was her
Betters, should give her a civil Salute, she should curtsy and be
humble, nevertheless._ Her innocent _forsooths, yess, and't please
yous, and she would do her Endeavour_, moved the good old Lady to take
her out of the Hands of a Country Bumpkin her Brother, and hire her for
her own Maid. I staid till I saw them all marched out to take Coach; the
brother loaded with a great Cheese, he prevailed upon her to take for
her Civilities to [his] Sister. This poor Creatures Fate is not far off
that of hers whom I spoke of above, and it is not to be doubted, but
after she has been long enough a Prey to Lust she will be delivered over
to Famine; the Ironical Commendation of the Industry and Charity of
these antiquated Ladies[, these] [3] Directors of Sin, after they can no
longer commit it, makes up the Beauty of the inimitable Dedication to
the _Plain-Dealer_, [4] and is a Masterpiece of Raillery on this Vice.
But to understand all the Purleues of this Game the better, and to
illustrate this Subject in future Discourses, I must venture my self,
with my Friend WILL, into the Haunts of Beauty and Gallantry; from
pampered Vice in the Habitations of the Wealthy, to distressed indigent
Wickedness expelled the Harbours of the Brothel.


[Footnote 1: [under in]]

[Footnote 2: fifty]

[Footnote 3: [. These]]

[Footnote 4: Wycherley's _Plain-Dealer_ having given offence to many
ladies, was inscribed in a satirical _billet doux_ dedicatory To My Lady
B .]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 267.                Saturday, January 5, 1712.             Addison.

Cedite Romani Scriptores, cedite Graii. [1]


There is nothing in Nature [more irksome than] [2] general Discourses,
especially when they turn chiefly upon Words. For this Reason I shall
wave the Discussion of that Point which was started some Years since,
whether _Milton's Paradise Lost_ may be called an Heroick Poem? Those
who will not give it that Title, may call it (if they please) a _Divine
Poem_. It will be sufficient to its Perfection, if it has in it all the
Beauties of the highest kind of Poetry; and as for those who [alledge
[3]] it is not an Heroick Poem, they advance no more to the Diminution
of it, than if they should say _Adam_ is not _AEneas_, nor _Eve_

I shall therefore examine it by the Rules of Epic Poetry, and see
whether it falls short of the _Iliad_ or _AEneid_, in the Beauties which
are essential to that kind of Writing. The first thing to be considered
in an Epic Poem, is the Fable, [4] which is perfect or imperfect,
according as the Action which it relates is more or less so. This Action
should have three Qualifications in it. First, It should be but One
Action. Secondly, It should be an entire Action; and, Thirdly, It should
be a great Action. [5] To consider the Action of the _Iliad_, _AEneid_,
and _Paradise Lost_, in these three several Lights. _Homer_ to preserve
the Unity of his Action hastens into the Midst of Things, as _Horace_
has observed: [6] Had he gone up to _Leda's Egg_, or begun much later,
even at the Rape of _Helen_, or the Investing of _Troy_, it is manifest
that the Story of the Poem would have been a Series of several Actions.
He therefore opens his Poem with the Discord of his Princes, and
[artfully [7]] interweaves, in the several succeeding Parts of it, an
Account of every Thing [material] which relates to [them [8]] and had
passed before that fatal Dissension. After the same manner, _AEneas_
makes his first Appearance in the _Tyrrhene_ Seas, and within Sight of
_Italy_, because the Action proposed to be celebrated was that of his
settling himself in _Latium_. But because it was necessary for the
Reader to know what had happened to him in the taking of _Troy_, and in
the preceding Parts of his Voyage, _Virgil_ makes his Hero relate it by
way of Episode in the second and third Books of the _AEneid_. The
Contents of both which Books come before those of the first Book in the
Thread of the Story, tho for preserving of this Unity of Action they
follow them in the Disposition of the Poem. _Milton_, in imitation of
these two great Poets, opens his _Paradise Lost_ with an Infernal
Council plotting the Fall of Man, which is the Action he proposed to
celebrate; and as for those great Actions, which preceded, in point of
Time, the Battle of the Angels, and the Creation of the World, (which
would have entirely destroyed the Unity of his principal Action, had he
related them in the same Order that they happened) he cast them into the
fifth, sixth, and seventh Books, by way of Episode to this noble Poem.

_Aristotle_ himself allows, that _Homer_ has nothing to boast of as to
the Unity of his Fable, [9] tho at the same time that great Critick and
Philosopher endeavours to palliate this Imperfection in the _Greek_
Poet, by imputing it in some measure to the very Nature of an Epic Poem.
Some have been of opinion, that the _AEneid_ [also labours [10]] in this
Particular, and has Episodes which may be looked upon as Excrescencies
rather than as Parts of the Action. On the contrary, the Poem, which we
have now under our Consideration, hath no other Episodes than such as
naturally arise from the Subject, and yet is filled with such a
Multitude of astonishing [Incidents,[11]] that it gives us at the same
time a Pleasure of the greatest Variety, and of the greatest
[Simplicity; uniform in its Nature, tho diversified in the Execution

I must observe also, that as _Virgil_, in the Poem which was designed to
celebrate the Original of the _Roman_ Empire, has described the Birth of
its great Rival, the _Carthaginian_ Commonwealth: _Milton_, with the
like Art, in his Poem on the _Fall of Man_, has related the Fall of
those Angels who are his professed Enemies. Besides the many other
Beauties in such an Episode, its running parallel with the great Action
of the Poem hinders it from breaking the Unity so much as another
Episode would have done, that had not so great an Affinity with the
principal Subject. In short, this is the same kind of Beauty which the
Criticks admire in _The Spanish Frier_, or _The Double Discovery_ [13]
where the two different Plots look like Counter-parts and Copies of one

The second Qualification required in the Action of an Epic Poem, is,
that it should be an _entire_ Action: An Action is entire when it is
complete in all its Parts; or, as _Aristotle_ describes it, when it
consists of a Beginning, a Middle, and an End. Nothing should go before
it, be intermixed with it, or follow after it, that is not related to
it. As on the contrary, no single Step should be omitted in that just
and regular Progress which it must be supposed to take from its Original
to its Consummation. Thus we see the Anger of _Achilles_ in its Birth,
its Continuance and Effects; and _AEneas's_ Settlement in _Italy_,
carried on thro all the Oppositions in his Way to it both by Sea and
Land. The Action in _Milton_ excels (I think) both the former in this
Particular; we see it contrived in Hell, executed upon Earth, and
punished by Heaven. The Parts of it are told in the most distinct
Manner, and grow out of one another in the most natural [Order [14]].

The third Qualification of an Epic Poem is its _Greatness_. The Anger of
_Achilles_ was of such Consequence, that it embroiled the Kings of
_Greece_, destroyed the Heroes of _Troy_, and engaged all the Gods in
Factions. _AEneas's_ Settlement in _Italy_ produced the _Caesars_, and
gave Birth to the _Roman_ Empire. _Milton's_ Subject was still greater
than either of the former; it does not determine the Fate of single
Persons or Nations, but of a whole Species. The united Powers of Hell
are joined together for the Destruction of Mankind, which they affected
in part, and would have completed, had not Omnipotence it self
interposed. The principal Actors are Man in his greatest Perfection, and
Woman in her highest Beauty. Their Enemies are the fallen Angels: The
Messiah their Friend, and the Almighty their Protector. In short, every
thing that is great in the whole Circle of Being, whether within the
Verge of Nature, or out of it, has a proper Part assigned it in this
noble Poem.

In Poetry, as in Architecture, not only the Whole, but the principal
Members, and every Part of them, should be Great. I will not presume to
say, that the Book of Games in the _AEneid_, or that in the _Iliad_, are
not of this Nature, nor to reprehend _Virgil's_ Simile of the Top [15],
and many other of the same [kind [16]] in the _Iliad_, as liable to any
Censure in this Particular; but I think we may say, without [derogating
from [17]] those wonderful Performances, that there is an unquestionable
Magnificence in every Part of _Paradise Lost_, and indeed a much greater
than could have been formed upon any Pagan System.

But _Aristotle_, by the Greatness of the Action, does not only mean that
it should be great in its Nature, but also in its Duration, or in other
Words that it should have a due Length in it, as well as what we
properly call Greatness. The just Measure of this kind of Magnitude, he
explains by the following Similitude. [18]  An Animal, no bigger than a
Mite, cannot appear perfect to the Eye, because the Sight takes it in at
once, and has only a confused Idea of the Whole, and not a distinct Idea
of all its Parts; if on the contrary you should suppose an Animal of ten
thousand Furlongs in length, the Eye would be so filled with a single
Part of it, that it could not give the Mind an Idea of the Whole. What
these Animals are to the Eye, a very short or a very long Action would
be to the Memory. The first would be, as it were, lost and swallowed up
by it, and the other difficult to be contained in it. _Homer_ and
_Virgil_ have shewn their principal Art in this Particular; the Action
of the _Iliad_, and that of the _AEneid_, were in themselves exceeding
short, but are so beautifully extended and diversified by the [Invention
[19]]  of _Episodes_, and the Machinery of Gods, with the like poetical
Ornaments, that they make up an agreeable Story, sufficient to employ
the Memory without overcharging it. _Milton's_ Action is enriched with
such a Variety of Circumstances, that I have taken as much Pleasure in
reading the Contents of his Books, as in the best invented Story I ever
met with. It is possible, that the Traditions, on which the _Iliad_ and
_AEneid_ were built, had more Circumstances in them than the History of
the _Fall of Man_, as it is related in Scripture. Besides, it was easier
for _Homer_ and _Virgil_ to dash the Truth with Fiction, as they were in
no danger of offending the Religion of their Country by it. But as for
_Milton_, he had not only a very few Circumstances upon which to raise
his Poem, but was also obliged to proceed with the greatest Caution in
every thing that he added out of his own Invention. And, indeed,
notwithstanding all the Restraints he was under, he has filled his Story
with so many surprising Incidents, which bear so close an Analogy with
what is delivered in Holy Writ, that it is capable of pleasing the most
delicate Reader, without giving Offence to the most scrupulous.

The modern Criticks have collected from several Hints in the _Iliad_ and
_AEneid_ the Space of Time, which is taken up by the Action of each of
those Poems; but as a great Part of _Milton's_ Story was transacted in
Regions that lie out of the Reach of the Sun and the Sphere of Day, it
is impossible to gratify the Reader with such a Calculation, which
indeed would be more curious than instructive; none of the Criticks,
either Ancient or Modern, having laid down Rules to circumscribe the
Action of an Epic Poem with any determin'd Number of Years, Days or

_This Piece of Criticism on_ Milton's Paradise Lost _shall be carried on
in [the] following_ [Saturdays] _Papers_.


[Footnote 1: Give place to him, Writers of Rome and Greece. This
application to Milton of a line from the last elegy (25th) in the second
book of Propertius is not only an example of Addison's felicity in
choice of motto for a paper, but was so bold and well-timed that it must
have given a wholesome shock to the minds of many of the _Spectators_
readers. Addison was not before Steele in appreciation of Milton and
diffusion of a true sense of his genius. Milton was the subject of the
first piece of poetical criticism in the _Tatler_; where, in his sixth
number, Steele, having said that all Milton's thoughts are wonderfully
just and natural, dwelt on the passage in which Adam tells his thoughts
upon first falling asleep, soon after his creation. This passage he
contrasts with the same apprehension of Annihilation ascribed to Eve
in a much lower sense by Dryden in his operatic version of _Paradise
Lost_. In _Tatlers_ and _Spectators_ Steele and Addison had been equal
contributors to the diffusion of a sense of Milton's genius. In Addison
it had been strong, even when, at Oxford, in April, 1694, a young man
trained in the taste of the day, he omitted Shakespeare from a rhymed
Account of the chief English Poets, but of Milton said:

  _Whate'er his pen describes I more than see,
  Whilst evry verse, array'd in majesty,
  Bold and sublime, my whole attention draws,
  And seems above the critics nicer laws_.

Eighteen years older than he was when he wrote that, Addison now
prepares by a series of Saturday Essays,--the Saturday Paper which
reached many subscribers only in time for Sunday reading, being always
set apart in the _Spectator_ for moral or religious topics, to show
that, judged also by Aristotle and the "critics nicer laws," Milton was
even technically a greater epic poet than either Homer or Virgil. This
nobody had conceded. Dryden, the best critic of the outgoing generation,
had said in the Dedication of the Translations of _Juvenal_ and
_Persius_, published in 1692,

  "As for Mr. Milton, whom we all admire with so much Justice, his
  Subject, is not that of an Heroick Poem, properly so call'd: His
  Design is the Losing of our Happiness; his Event is not prosperous,
  like that of all other _Epique_ Works" (Dryden's French spelling of
  the word Epic is suggestive. For this new critical Mode was one of the
  fashions that had been imported from Paris); "His Heavenly Machines
  are many, and his Human Persons are but two. But I will not take Mr.
  _Rymer's_ work out of his Hands: He has promised the World a Critique
  on that Author; wherein, tho he will not allow his Poem for Heroick,
  I hope he will grant us, that his Thoughts are elevated, his Words
  sounding, and that no Man has so happily copy'd the manner of Homer;
  or so copiously translated his Grecisms and the Latin Elegancies of
  Virgil. Tis true he runs into a Flat of Thought, sometimes for a
  Hundred Lines together, but tis when he is got into a Track of
  Scripture ... Neither will I justify _Milton_ for his Blank Verse,
  tho I may excuse him, by the Example of _Hanabal Caro_ and other
  _Italians_ who have used it: For whatever Causes he alledges for the
  abolishing of Rhime (which I have not now the leisure to examine), his
  own particular Reason is plainly this, that Rhime was not his Talent;
  he had neither the Ease of doing it, nor the Graces of it."

So Dryden, who appreciated Milton better than most of his critical
neighbours, wrote of him in 1692. The promise of Rymer to discuss Milton
was made in 1678, when, on the last page of his little book, _The
Tragedies of the Last Age consider'd and examined by the Practice of the
Ancients and by the Common Sense of all Ages, in a letter to Fleetwold
Shepheard, Esq_. (father of two ladies who contribute an occasional
letter to the _Spectator_), he said: "With the remaining Tragedies I
shall also send you some reflections on that _Paradise Lost_ of
Milton's, which some are pleased to call a Poem, and assert Rhime
against the slender Sophistry wherewith he attaques it." But two years
after the appearance of Dryden's _Juvenal_ and _Persius_ Rymer prefixed
to his translation of Rene Rapin's _Reflections on Aristotle's Poesie_
some Reflections of his own on Epic Poets. Herein he speaks under the
head Epic Poetry of Chaucer, in whose time language was not capable of
heroic character; or Spenser, who "wanted a true Idea, and lost himself
by following an unfaithful guide, besides using a stanza which is in no
wise proper for our language;" of Sir William Davenant, who, in
_Gondibert_, "has some strokes of an extraordinary judgment," but "is
for unbeaten tracks and new ways of thinking;" "his heroes are
foreigners;" of Cowley, in whose _Davideis_ "David is the least part of
the Poem," and there is want of the "one illustrious and perfect action
which properly is the subject of an Epick Poem": all failing through
ignorance or negligence of the Fundamental Rules or Laws of Aristotle.
But he contemptuously passes over Milton without mention. Rene Rapin,
that great French oracle of whom Dryden said, in the Preface to his own
conversion of _Paradise Lost_ into an opera, that he was alone
sufficient, were all other critics lost, to teach anew the Art of
Writing, Rene Rapin in the work translated and introduced by Rymer,
worshipped in Aristotle the one God of all orthodox critics. Of his Laws
he said,

  There is no arriving at Perfection but by these Rules, and they
  certainly go astray that take a different course.... And if a Poem
  made by these Rules fails of success, the fault lies not in the Art,
  but in the Artist; all who have writ of this Art, have followed no
  other Idea but that of Aristotle.

Again as to Style,

  to say the truth, what is good on this subject is all taken from
  Aristotle, who is the only source whence good sense is to be drawn,
  when one goes about to write.

This was the critical temper Addison resolved to meet on its own ground
and do battle with for the honour of that greatest of all Epic Poets to
whom he fearlessly said that all the Greeks and Latins must give place.
In so doing he might suggest here and there cautiously, and without
bringing upon himself the discredit of much heresy,--indeed, without
being much of a heretic,--that even the Divine Aristotle sometimes fell
short of perfection. The conventional critics who believed they kept the
gates of Fame would neither understand nor credit him. Nine years after
these papers appeared, Charles Gildon, who passed for a critic of
considerable mark, edited with copious annotation as _the Laws of
Poetry_ (1721), the Duke of Buckingham's Essay on Poetry, Roscommon's
Essay on Translated Verse, and Lord Lansdowne on Unnatural Flights in
Poetry, and in the course of comment Gildon said that

  Mr. Addison in the _Spectators_, in his criticisms upon Milton, seems
  to have mistaken the matter, in endeavouring to bring that poem to the
  rules of the epopoeia, which cannot be done ... It is not an Heroic
  Poem, but a Divine one, and indeed of a new species. It is plain that
  the proposition of all the heroic poems of the ancients mentions some
  one person as the subject of their poem... But Milton begins his poem
  of things, and not of men.

The Gildon are all gone; and when, in the next generation after theirs,
national life began, in many parts of Europe, strongly to assert itself
in literature against the pedantry of the French critical lawgivers, in
Germany Milton's name was inscribed on the foremost standard of the men
who represented the new spirit of the age. Gottsched, who dealt French
critical law from Leipzig, by passing sentence against Milton in his
Art of Poetry in 1737, raised in Bodmer an opponent who led the revolt
of all that was most vigorous in German thought, and put an end to
French supremacy. Bodmer, in a book published in 1740 _Vom Wunderbaren
in der Poesie_, justified and exalted Milton, and brought Addison to his
aid by appending to his own work a translation of these Milton papers
out of the _Spectator_. Gottsched replied; Bodmer retorted. Bodmer
translated Paradise Lost; and what was called the English or Milton
party (but was, in that form, really a German national party) were at
last left masters of the field. It was right that these papers of
Addison should be brought in as aids during the contest. Careful as he
was to conciliate opposing prejudices, he was yet first in the field,
and this motto to the first of his series of Milton papers, Yield place
to him, Writers of Greece and Rome, is as the first trumpet note of the
one herald on a field from which only a quick ear can yet distinguish
among stir of all that is near, the distant tramp of an advancing host.

[Footnote 2: [so irksom as]]

[Footnote 3: say]

[Footnote 4: Aristotle, _Poetics_, III. Sec. I, after a full discussion of
Tragedy, begins by saying,

  with respect to that species of Poetry which imitates by _Narration_
  ... it is obvious, that the Fable ought to be dramatically
  constructed, like that of Tragedy, and that it should have for its
  Subject one entire and perfect action, having a beginning, a middle,
  and an end;

forming a complete whole, like an animal, and therein differing,
Aristotle says, from History, which treats not of one Action, but of one
Time, and of all the events, casually connected, which happened to one
person or to many during that time.]

[Footnote 5: _Poetics_, I. Sec. 9.

  Epic Poetry agrees so far with Tragic as it is an imitation of great
  characters and actions.

Aristotle (from whose opinion, in this matter alone, his worshippers
departed, right though he was) ranked a perfect tragedy above a perfect
epic; for, he said,

  all the parts of the Epic poem are to be found in Tragedy, not all
  those of Tragedy in the Epic poem.]

[Footnote 6:

  Nec reditum Diomedis ab interitu Meleagri,
  Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo,
  Semper ad eventum festinat, et in medias res,
  Non secus ac notas, auditorem rapit--

De Arte Poet. II. 146-9.]

[Footnote 7: with great Art]

[Footnote 8: the Story]

[Footnote 9: _Poetics_, V. Sec. 3. In arguing the superiority of Tragic to
Epic Poetry, Aristotle says,

  there is less Unity in all Epic imitation; as appears from this--that
  any Epic Poem will furnish matter for several Tragedies ... The
  _Iliad_, for example, and the _Odyssey_, contain many such subordinate
  parts, each of which has a certain Magnitude and Unity of its own; yet
  is the construction of those Poems as perfect, and as nearly
  approaching to the imitation of a single action, as possible.]

[Footnote 10: labours also]

[Footnote 11: Circumstances]

[Footnote 12: Simplicity.]

[Footnote 13: Dryden's _Spanish Friar_ has been praised also by Johnson
for the happy coincidence and coalition of the tragic and comic plots,
and Sir Walter Scott said of it, in his edition of Dryden's Works, that

  the felicity does not consist in the ingenuity of his original
  conception, but in the minutely artificial strokes by which the reader
  is perpetually reminded of the dependence of the one part of the Play
  on the other. These are so frequent, and appear so very natural, that
  the comic plot, instead of diverting our attention from the tragic
  business, recalls it to our mind by constant and unaffected allusion.
  No great event happens in the higher region of the camp or court that
  has not some indirect influence upon the intrigues of Lorenzo and
  Elvira; and the part which the gallant is called upon to act in the
  revolution that winds up the tragic interest, while it is highly in
  character, serves to bring the catastrophe of both parts of the play
  under the eye of the spectator, at one and the same time.]

[Footnote 14: Method]

[Footnote 15: _AEneid_, Bk. VII. 11. 378-384, thus translated by Dryden:

  _And as young striplings whip the top for sport,
  On the smooth pavement of an empty court,
  The wooden engine files and whirls about,
  Admir'd, with clamours, of the beardless rout;
  They lash aloud, each other they provoke,
  And lend their little souls at every stroke:
  Thus fares the Queen, and thus her fury blows
  Amidst the crowds, and trundles as she goes._]

[Footnote 16: [nature]]

[Footnote 17: [offence to]]

[Footnote 18: _Poetics_, II. section 4, where it is said of the
magnitude of Tragedy.]

[Footnote 19: Intervention]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 268.                 Monday, January 7, 1712.               Steele.

 --Minus aptus acutis
  Naribus Horum Hominum.


It is not that I think I have been more witty than I ought of
late, that at present I wholly forbear any Attempt towards
it: I am of Opinion that I ought sometimes to lay before the
World the plain Letters of my Correspondents in the artless
Dress in which they hastily send them, that the Reader may
see I am not Accuser and Judge my self, but that the Indictment
is properly and fairly laid, before I proceed against the

  _Mr_. SPECTATOR, [1]

  As you are _Spectator-General_, I apply myself to you in the
  following Case; viz. I do not wear a Sword, but I often divert my self
  at the Theatre, where I frequently see a Set of Fellows pull plain
  People, by way of Humour [and [2]] Frolick, by the Nose, upon
  frivolous or no Occasions. A Friend of mine the other Night applauding
  what a graceful Exit Mr. _Wilks_ made, one of these Nose-wringers
  overhearing him, pinched him by the nose. I was in the Pit the other
  Night, (when it was very much crowded) a Gentleman leaning upon me,
  and very heavily, I very civilly requested him to remove his Hand; for
  which he pulled me by the Nose. I would not resent it in so publick a
  Place, because I was unwilling to create a Disturbance; but have since
  reflected upon it as a thing that is unmanly and disingenuous, renders
  the Nose-puller odious, and makes the Person pulled by the Nose look
  little and contemptible. This Grievance I humbly request you would
  endeavour to redress.

  _I am your Admirer_, &c.

  James Easy.


  Your Discourse of the 29th of _December_ on Love and Marriage is of so
  useful a Kind, that I cannot forbear adding my Thoughts to yours on
  that Subject. Methinks it is a Misfortune, that the Marriage State,
  which in its own Nature is adapted to give us the compleatest
  Happiness this Life is capable of, should be so uncomfortable a one to
  so many as it daily proves. But the Mischief generally proceeds from
  the unwise Choice People make for themselves, and Expectation of
  Happiness from Things not capable of giving it. Nothing but the good
  Qualities of the Person beloved can be a Foundation for a Love of
  Judgment and Discretion; and whoever expects Happiness from any Thing
  but Virtue, Wisdom, Good-humour, and a Similitude of Manners, will
  find themselves widely mistaken. But how few are there who seek after
  these things, and do not rather make Riches their chief if not their
  only Aim? How rare is it for a Man, when he engages himself in the
  Thoughts of Marriage, to place his Hopes of having in such a Woman a
  constant, agreeable Companion? One who will divide his Cares and
  double his Joys? Who will manage that Share of his Estate he intrusts
  to her Conduct with Prudence and Frugality, govern his House with
  Oeconomy and Discretion, and be an Ornament to himself and Family?
  Where shall we find the Man who looks out for one who places her chief
  Happiness in the Practice of Virtue, and makes her Duty her continual
  Pleasure? No: Men rather seek for Money as the Complement of all their
  Desires; and regardless of what kind of Wives they take, they think
  Riches will be a Minister to all kind of Pleasures, and enable them to
  keep Mistresses, Horses, Hounds, to drink, feast, and game with their
  Companions, pay their Debts contracted by former Extravagancies, or
  some such vile and unworthy End; and indulge themselves in Pleasures
  which are a Shame and Scandal to humane Nature. Now as for the Women;
  how few of them are there who place the Happiness of their Marriage in
  the having a wise and virtuous Friend? one who will be faithful and
  just to all, and constant and loving to them? who with Care and
  Diligence will look after and improve the Estate, and without grudging
  allow whatever is prudent and convenient? Rather, how few are there
  who do not place their Happiness in outshining others in Pomp and
  Show? and that do not think within themselves when they have married
  such a rich Person, that none of their Acquaintance shall appear so
  fine in their Equipage, so adorned in their Persons, or so magnificent
  in their Furniture as themselves? Thus their Heads are filled with
  vain Ideas; and I heartily wish I could say that Equipage and Show
  were not the Chief Good of so many Women as I fear it is.

  After this Manner do both Sexes deceive themselves, and bring
  Reflections and Disgrace upon the most happy and most honourable State
  of Life; whereas if they would but correct their depraved Taste,
  moderate their Ambition, and place their Happiness upon proper
  Objects, we should not find Felicity in the Marriage State such a
  Wonder in the World as it now is.

  Sir, if you think these Thoughts worth inserting [among [3]] your own,
  be pleased to give them a better Dress, and let them pass abroad; and
  you will oblige _Your Admirer_,

  A. B.


  As I was this Day walking in the Street, there happened to pass by on
  the other Side of the Way a Beauty, whose Charms were so attracting
  that it drew my Eyes wholly on that Side, insomuch that I neglected my
  own Way, and chanced to run my Nose directly against a Post; which the
  Lady no sooner perceived, but fell out into a Fit of Laughter, though
  at the same time she was sensible that her self was the Cause of my
  Misfortune, which in my Opinion was the greater Aggravation of her
  Crime. I being busy wiping off the Blood which trickled down my Face,
  had not Time to acquaint her with her Barbarity, as also with my
  Resolution, _viz_. never to look out of my Way for one of her Sex
  more: Therefore, that your humble Servant may be revenged, he desires
  you to insert this in one of your next Papers, which he hopes will be
  a Warning to all the rest of the Women Gazers, as well as to poor

  _Anthony Gape_.


  I desire to know in your next, if the merry Game of _The Parson has
  lost his Cloak_, is not mightily in Vogue amongst the fine Ladies this
  _Christmas_; because I see they wear Hoods of all Colours, which I
  suppose is for that Purpose: If it is, and you think it proper, I will
  carry some of those Hoods with me to our Ladies in _Yorkshire_;
  because they enjoyned me to bring them something from _London_ that
  was very New. If you can tell any Thing in which I can obey their
  Commands more agreeably, be pleased to inform me, and you will
  extremely oblige

  _Your humble Servant_

  _Oxford, Dec_. 29.


  Since you appear inclined to be a Friend to the Distressed, I beg you
  would assist me in an Affair under which I have suffered very much.
  The reigning Toast of this Place is _Patetia_; I have pursued her with
  the utmost Diligence this Twelve-month, and find nothing stands in my
  Way but one who flatters her more than I can. Pride is her Favourite
  Passion; therefore if you would be so far my Friend as to make a
  favourable Mention of her in one of your Papers, I believe I should
  not fail in my Addresses. The Scholars stand in Rows, as they did to
  be sure in your Time, at her Pew-door: and she has all the Devotion
  paid to her by a Crowd of Youth[s] who are unacquainted with the Sex,
  and have Inexperience added to their Passion: However, if it succeeds
  according to my Vows, you will make me the happiest Man in the World,
  and the most obliged amongst all

  _Your humble Servants_.


  I came [to [4]] my Mistresss Toilet this Morning, for I am admitted
  when her Face is stark naked: She frowned, and cryed Pish when I said
  a thing that I stole; and I will be judged by you whether it was not
  very pretty. Madam, said I, you [shall [5]] forbear that Part of your
  Dress; it may be well in others, but you cannot place a Patch where it
  does not hide a Beauty.


[Footnote 1: This Letter was written by Mr. James Heywood, many years
wholesale linen-draper on Fish-street Hill, who died in 1776, at the age
of 90. His Letters and Poems were (including this letter at p.100) in
a second edition, in 12mo, in 1726.]

[Footnote 2: or]

[Footnote 3: amongst]

[Footnote 4: at]

[Footnote 5: should]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 269.                Tuesday, January 8, 1712.              Addison.

 --AEvo rarissima nostro


I was this Morning surprised with a great knocking at the Door, when my
Landlady's Daughter came up to me, and told me, that there was a Man
below desired to speak with me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told
me it was a very grave elderly Person, but that she did not know his
Name. I immediately went down to him, and found him to be the Coachman
of my worthy Friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY. He told me that his Master
came to Town last Night, and would be glad to take a Turn with me in
_Grays-Inn_ Walks. As I was wondring in my self what had brought Sir
ROGER to Town, not having lately received any Letter from him, he told
me that his Master was come up to get a Sight of Prince _Eugene_ [1] and
that he desired I would immediately meet him.

I was not a little pleased with the Curiosity of the old Knight, though
I did not much wonder at it, having heard him say more than once in
private Discourse, that he looked upon Prince _Eugenio_ (for so the
Knight always calls him) to be a greater Man than _Scanderbeg_.

I was no sooner come into _Grays-Inn Walks_, but I heard my Friend upon
the Terrace hemming twice or thrice to himself with great Vigour, for he
loves to clear his Pipes in good Air (to make use of his own Phrase) and
is not a little pleased with any one who takes notice of the Strength
which he still exerts in his Morning Hems.

I was touched with a secret Joy at the Sight of the good old Man, who
before he saw me was engaged in Conversation with a Beggar-Man that had
asked an Alms of him. I could hear my Friend chide him for not finding
out some Work; but at the same time saw him put his Hand in his Pocket
and give him Six-pence.

Our Salutations were very hearty on both Sides, consisting of many kind
Shakes of the Hand, and several affectionate Looks which we cast upon
one another. After which the Knight told me my good Friend his Chaplain
was very well, and much at my Service, and that the _Sunday_ before he
had made a most incomparable Sermon out of Dr. _Barrow_. I have left,
says he, all my Affairs in his Hands, and being willing to lay an
Obligation upon him, have deposited with him thirty Marks, to be
distributed among his poor Parishioners.

He then proceeded to acquaint me with the Welfare of _Will Wimble_. Upon
which he put his Hand into his Fob and presented me in his Name with a
Tobacco-Stopper, telling me that _Will_ had been busy all the Beginning
of the Winter in turning great Quantities of them; and that he [made
[2]] a Present of one to every Gentleman in the Country who has good
Principles, and smoaks. He added, that poor _Will_ was at present under
great Tribulation, for that _Tom Touchy_ had taken the Law of him for
cutting some Hazel Sticks out of one of his Hedges.

Among other Pieces of News which the Knight brought from his
Country-Seat, he informed me that _Moll White_ was dead; and that about
a Month after her Death the Wind was so very high, that it blew down the
End of one of his Barns. But for my own part, says Sir ROGER, I do not
think that the old Woman had any hand in it.

He afterwards fell into an Account of the Diversions which had passed in
his House during the Holidays; for Sir ROGER, after the laudable Custom
of his Ancestors, always keeps open House at _Christmas_. I learned
from him that he had killed eight fat Hogs for the Season, that he had
dealt about his Chines very liberally amongst his Neighbours, and that
in particular he had sent a string of Hogs-puddings with a pack of Cards
to every poor Family in the Parish. I have often thought, says Sir
ROGER, it happens very well that _Christmas_ should fall out in the
Middle of the Winter. It is the most dead uncomfortable Time of the
Year, when the poor People would suffer very much from their [Poverty
and Cold, [3]] if they had not good Cheer, warm Fires, and _Christmas_
Gambols to support them. I love to rejoice their poor Hearts at this
season, and to see the whole Village merry in my great Hall. I allow a
double Quantity of Malt to my small Beer, and set it a running for
twelve Days to every one that calls for it. I have always a Piece of
cold Beef and a Mince-Pye upon the Table, and am wonderfully pleased to
see my Tenants pass away a whole Evening in playing their innocent
Tricks, and smutting one another. Our Friend _Will Wimble_ is as merry
as any of them, and shews a thousand roguish Tricks upon these

I was very much delighted with the Reflection of my old Friend, which
carried so much Goodness in it. He then launched out into the Praise of
the late Act of Parliament [4] for securing the Church of _England_, and
told me, with great Satisfaction, that he believed it already began to
take Effect, for that a rigid Dissenter, who chanced to dine at his
House on _Christmas_ Day, had been observed to eat very plentifully of
his Plumb-porridge.

After having dispatched all our Country Matters, Sir ROGER made several
Inquiries concerning the Club, and particularly of his old Antagonist
Sir ANDREW FREEPORT. He asked me with a kind of Smile, whether Sir
ANDREW had not taken Advantage of his Absence, to vent among them some
of his Republican Doctrines; but soon after gathering up his Countenance
into a more than ordinary Seriousness, Tell me truly, says he, don't you
think Sir ANDREW had a Hand in the Popes Procession---but without
giving me time to answer him, Well, well, says he, I know you are a wary
Man, and do not care to talk of publick Matters.

The Knight then asked me, if I had seen Prince _Eugenio_, and made me
promise to get him a Stand in some convenient Place where he might have
a full Sight of that extraordinary Man, whose Presence does so much
Honour to the _British_ Nation. He dwelt very long on the Praises of
this Great General, and I found that, since I was with him in the
Country, he had drawn many Observations together out of his reading in
_Bakers_ Chronicle, and other Authors, [who [5]] always lie in his Hall
Window, which very much redound to the Honour of this Prince.

Having passed away the greatest Part of the Morning in hearing the
Knights Reflections, which were partly private, and partly political,
he asked me if I would smoak a Pipe with him over a Dish of Coffee at
_Squires_. As I love the old Man, I take Delight in complying with
every thing that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to
the Coffee-house, where his venerable Figure drew upon us the Eyes of
the whole Room. He had no sooner seated himself at the upper End of the
high Table, but he called for a clean Pipe, a Paper of Tobacco, a Dish
of Coffee, a Wax-Candle, and the _Supplement_ with such an Air of
Cheerfulness and Good-humour, that all the Boys in the Coffee-room (who
seemed to take pleasure in serving him) were at once employed on his
several Errands, insomuch that no Body else could come at a Dish of Tea,
till the Knight had got all his Conveniences about him.


[Footnote 1: Prince Eugene was at this in London, and caressed by
courtiers who had wished to prevent his coming, for he was careful to
mark his friendship for the Duke of Marlborough, who was the subject of
hostile party intrigues. During his visit he stood godfather to Steels
second son, who was named, after, Eugene.]

[Footnote 2: had made]

[Footnote 3: Cold and Poverty]

[Footnote 4: The Act against Occasional Conformity, 10 Ann. cap. 2.]

[Footnote 5: [that]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 270.                Wednesday, January 9, 1712.               Steele.

  Discit enim citius, meminitque libentius illud,
  Quod quis deridet, quam quod probat.


I do not know that I have been in greater Delight for these many Years,
than in beholding the Boxes at the Play the last Time _The Scornful
Lady_ [1] was acted. So great an Assembly of Ladies placed in gradual
Rows in all the Ornaments of Jewels, Silk and Colours, gave so lively
and gay an Impression to the Heart, that methought the Season of the
Year was vanished; and I did not think it an ill Expression of a young
Fellow who stood near me, that called the Boxes Those Beds of Tulips. It
was a pretty Variation of the Prospect, when any one of these fine
Ladies rose up and did Honour to herself and Friend at a Distance, by
curtisying; and gave Opportunity to that Friend to shew her Charms to
the same Advantage in returning the Salutation. Here that Action is as
proper and graceful, as it is at Church unbecoming and impertinent. By
the way, I must take the Liberty to observe that I did not see any one
who is usually so full of Civilities at Church, offer at any such
Indecorum during any Part of the Action of the Play.

Such beautiful Prospects gladden our Minds, and when considered in
general, give innocent and pleasing Ideas. He that dwells upon any one
Object of Beauty, may fix his Imagination to his Disquiet; but the
Contemplation of a whole Assembly together, is a Defence against the
Encroachment of Desire: At least to me, who have taken pains to look at
Beauty abstracted from the Consideration of its being the Object of
Desire; at Power, only as it sits upon another, without any Hopes of
partaking any Share of it; at Wisdom and Capacity, without any
Pretensions to rival or envy its Acquisitions: I say to me, who am
really free from forming any Hopes by beholding the Persons of beautiful
Women, or warming my self into Ambition from the Successes of other Men,
this World is not only a meer Scene, but a very pleasant one. Did
Mankind but know the Freedom which there is in keeping thus aloof from
the World, I should have more Imitators, than the powerfullest Man in
the Nation has Followers. To be no Man's Rival in Love, or Competitor in
Business, is a Character which if it does not recommend you as it ought
to Benevolence among those whom you live with, yet has it certainly this
Effect, that you do not stand so much in need of their Approbation, as
you would if you aimed at it more, in setting your Heart on the same
things which the Generality doat on. By this means, and with this easy
Philosophy, I am never less at a Play than when I am at the Theatre; but
indeed I am seldom so well pleased with the Action as in that Place, for
most Men follow Nature no longer than while they are in their
Night-Gowns, and all the busy Part of the Day are in Characters which
they neither become or act in with Pleasure to themselves or their
Beholders. But to return to my Ladies: I was very well pleased to see so
great a Crowd of them assembled at a Play, wherein the Heroine, as the
Phrase is, is so just a Picture of the Vanity of the Sex in tormenting
their Admirers. The Lady who pines for the Man whom she treats with so
much Impertinence and Inconstancy, is drawn with much Art and Humour.
Her Resolutions to be extremely civil, but her Vanity arising just at
the Instant that she resolved to express her self kindly, are described
as by one who had studied the Sex. But when my Admiration is fixed upon
this excellent Character, and two or three others in the Play, I must
confess I was moved with the utmost Indignation at the trivial,
senseless, and unnatural Representation of the Chaplain. It is possible
there may be a Pedant in Holy Orders, and we have seen one or two of
them in the World; but such a Driveler as Sir _Roger_, so bereft of all
manner of Pride, which is the Characteristick of a Pedant, is what one
would not believe could come into the Head of the same Man who drew the
rest of the Play. The Meeting between _Welford_ and him shews a Wretch
without any Notion of the Dignity of his Function; and it is out of all
common Sense that he should give an Account of himself _as one sent four
or five Miles in a Morning on Foot for Eggs._ It is not to be denied,
but his Part and that of the Maid whom he makes Love to, are excellently
well performed; but a Thing which is blameable in it self, grows still
more so by the Success in the Execution of it. It is so mean a Thing to
gratify a loose Age with a scandalous Representation of what is
reputable among Men, not to say what is sacred, that no Beauty, no
Excellence in an Author ought to attone for it; nay, such Excellence is
an Aggravation of his Guilt, and an Argument that he errs against the
Conviction of his own Understanding and Conscience. Wit should be tried
by this Rule, and an Audience should rise against such a Scene, as
throws down the Reputation of any thing which the Consideration of
Religion or Decency should preserve from Contempt. But all this Evil
arises from this one Corruption of Mind, that makes Men resent Offences
against their Virtue, less than those against their Understanding. An
Author shall write as if he thought there was not one Man of Honour or
Woman of Chastity in the House, and come off with Applause: For an
Insult upon all the Ten Commandments, with the little Criticks, is not
so bad as the Breach of an Unity of Time or Place. Half Wits do not
apprehend the Miseries that must necessarily flow from Degeneracy of
Manners; nor do they know that Order is the Support of Society. Sir
_Roger_ and his Mistress are Monsters of the Poets own forming; the
Sentiments in both of them are such as do not arise in Fools of their
Education. We all know that a silly Scholar, instead of being below
every one he meets with, is apt to be exalted above the Rank of such as
are really his Superiors: His Arrogance is always founded upon
particular Notions of Distinction in his own Head, accompanied with a
pedantick Scorn of all Fortune and Preheminence, when compared with his
Knowledge and Learning. This very one Character of Sir _Roger_, as silly
as it really is, has done more towards the Disparagement of Holy Orders,
and consequently of Virtue it self, than all the Wit that Author or any
other could make up for in the Conduct of the longest Life after it. I
do not pretend, in saying this, to give myself Airs of more Virtue than
my Neighbours, but assert it from the Principles by which Mankind must
always be governed. Sallies of Imagination are to be overlooked, when
they are committed out of Warmth in the Recommendation of what is Praise
worthy; but a deliberate advancing of Vice, with all the Wit in the
World, is as ill an Action as any that comes before the Magistrate, and
ought to be received as such by the People.


[Footnote 1: Beaumont and Fletchers. Vol. II.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 271.              Thursday, January 10, 1712.               Addison.

  Mille trahens varios adverso sole colores.


I receive a double Advantage from the Letters of my Correspondents,
first as they shew me which of my Papers are most acceptable to them;
and in the next place as they furnish me with Materials for new
Speculations. Sometimes indeed I do not make use of the Letter it self,
but form the Hints of it into Plans of my own Invention; sometimes I
take the Liberty to change the Language or Thought into my own Way of
Speaking and Thinking, and always (if it can be done without Prejudice
to the Sense) omit the many Compliments and Applauses which are usually
bestowed upon me.

Besides the two Advantages above-mentioned which I receive from the
Letters that are sent me, they give me an Opportunity of lengthning out
my Paper by the skilful Management of the subscribing Part at the End of
them, which perhaps does not a little conduce to the Ease, both of my
self and Reader.

Some will have it, that I often write to my self, and am the only
punctual Correspondent I have. This Objection would indeed be material,
were the Letters I communicate to the Publick stuffed with my own
Commendations: and if, instead of endeavouring to divert or instruct my
Readers, I admired in them the Beauty of my own Performances. But I
shall leave these wise Conjecturers to their own Imaginations, and
produce the three following Letters for the Entertainment of the Day.


  I was last _Thursday_ in an Assembly of Ladies, where there were
  Thirteen different coloured Hoods. Your _Spectator_ of that Day lying
  upon the Table, they ordered me to read it to them, which I did with a
  very clear Voice, till I came to the _Greek_ Verse at the End of it.
  I must confess I was a little startled at its popping upon me so
  unexpectedly. However, I covered my Confusion as well as I could, and
  after having mutter'd two or three hard Words to my self, laugh'd
  heartily, and cried, _A very good Jest, Faith_. The Ladies desired me
  to explain it to them; but I begged their pardon for that, and told
  them, that if it had been proper for them to hear, they may be sure
  the Author would not have wrapp'd it up in _Greek_. I then let drop
  several Expressions, as if there was something in it that was not fit
  to be spoken before a Company of Ladies. Upon which the Matron of the
  Assembly, who was dressed in a Cherry-coloured Hood, commended the
  Discretion of the Writer for having thrown his filthy Thoughts into
  _Greek_, which was likely to corrupt but few of his Readers. At the
  same time she declared herself very well pleased, that he had not
  given a decisive Opinion upon the new-fashioned Hoods; for to tell you
  truly, says she, I was afraid he would have made us ashamed to shew
  our Heads. Now, Sir, you must know, since this unlucky Accident
  happened to me in a Company of Ladies, among whom I passed for a most
  ingenious Man, I have consulted one who is well versed in the _Greek_
  Language, and he assures me upon his Word, that your late Quotation
  means no more, than that _Manners and not Dress are the Ornaments of a
  Woman_. If this comes to the Knowledge of my Female Admirers, I shall
  be very hard put to it to bring my self off handsomely. In the mean
  while I give you this Account, that you may take care hereafter not to
  betray any of your Well-wishers into the like Inconveniencies. It is
  in the Number of these that I beg leave to subscribe my self,

  _Tom Trippit._


   Your Readers are so well pleased with your Character of Sir ROGER DE
  COVERLEY, that there appeared a sensible Joy in every Coffee-house,
  upon hearing the old Knight was come to Town. I am now with a Knot of
  his Admirers, who make it their joint Request to you, that you would
  give us publick Notice of the Window or Balcony where the Knight
  intends to make his Appearance. He has already given great
  Satisfaction to several who have seen him at _Squires_ Coffee-house.
  If you think fit to place your short Face at Sir ROGERS Left Elbow,
  we shall take the Hint, and gratefully acknowledge so great a Favour.

  _I am, Sir,
  Your most Devoted
  Humble Servant,_
  C. D.


   Knowing that you are very Inquisitive after every thing that is
  Curious in Nature, I will wait on you if you please in the Dusk of the
  Evening, with my _Show_ upon my Back, which I carry about with me in a
  Box, as only consisting of a Man, a Woman, and an Horse. The two first
  are married, in which State the little Cavalier has so well acquitted
  himself, that his Lady is with Child. The big-bellied Woman, and her
  Husband, with their whimsical Palfry, are so very light, that when
  they are put together into a Scale, an ordinary Man may weigh down the
  whole Family. The little Man is a Bully in his Nature; but when he
  grows cholerick I confine him to his Box till his Wrath is over, by
  which Means I have hitherto prevented him from doing Mischief. His
  Horse is likewise very vicious, for which Reason I am forced to tie
  him close to his Manger with a Pack-thread. The Woman is a Coquet. She
  struts as much as it is possible for a Lady of two Foot high, and
  would ruin me in Silks, were not the Quantity that goes to a large
  Pin-Cushion sufficient to make her a Gown and Petticoat. She told me
  the other Day, that she heard the Ladies wore coloured Hoods, and
  ordered me to get her one of the finest Blue. I am forced to comply
  with her Demands while she is in her present Condition, being very
  willing to have more of the same Breed. I do not know what she may
  produce me, but provided it be a _Show_ I shall be very well
  satisfied. Such Novelties should not, I think, be concealed from the
  _British Spectator_; for which Reason I hope you will excuse this
  Presumption in

  _Your most Dutiful,
  most Obedient,
  and most Humble Servant_,
  S. T.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 272.                Friday, January 11, 1712.               Steele.

[--Longa est injuria, longae



  The Occasion of this Letter is of so great Importance, and the
  Circumstances of it such, that I know you will but think it just to
  insert it, in Preference of all other Matters that can present
  themselves to your Consideration. I need not, after I have said this,
  tell you that I am in Love. The Circumstances of my Passion I shall
  let you understand as well as a disordered Mind will admit. That
  cursed Pickthank Mrs. _Jane!_ Alas, I am railing at one to you by her
  Name as familiarly as if you were acquainted with her as well as my
  self: But I will tell you all, as fast as the alternate Interruptions
  of Love and Anger will give me Leave. There is a most agreeable young
  Woman in the World whom I am passionately in Love with, and from whom
  I have for some space of Time received as great Marks of Favour as
  were fit for her to give, or me to desire. The successful Progress of
  the Affair of all others the most essential towards a Man's Happiness,
  gave a new Life and Spirit not only to my Behaviour and Discourse, but
  also a certain Grace to all my Actions in the Commerce of Life in all
  Things tho never so remote from Love. You know the predominant
  Passion spreads its self thro all a Man's Transactions, and exalts or
  depresses [him [2]] according to the Nature of such Passion. But alas,
  I have not yet begun my Story, and what is making Sentences and
  Observations when a Man is pleading for his Life? To begin then: This
  Lady has corresponded with me under the Names of Love, she my
  _Belinda_, I her _Cleanthes_. Tho I am thus well got into the Account
  of my Affair, I cannot keep in the Thread of it so much as to give you
  the Character of Mrs. _Jane_, whom I will not hide under a borrowed
  Name; but let you know that this Creature has been since I knew her
  very handsome, (tho I will not allow her even she _has been_ for the
  future) and during the Time of her Bloom and Beauty was so great a
  Tyrant to her Lovers, so over-valued her self and under-rated all her
  Pretenders, that they have deserted her to a Man; and she knows no
  Comfort but that common one to all in her Condition, the Pleasure of
  interrupting the Amours of others. It is impossible but you must have
  seen several of these Volunteers in Malice, who pass their whole Time
  in the most labourous Way of Life in getting Intelligence, running
  from Place to Place with new Whispers, without reaping any other
  Benefit but the Hopes of making others as unhappy as themselves. Mrs.
  _Jane_ happened to be at a Place where I, with many others well
  acquainted with my Passion for _Belinda_, passed a _Christmas_
  Evening. There was among the rest a young Lady so free in Mirth, so
  amiable in a just Reserve that accompanied it; I wrong her to call it
  a Reserve, but there appeared in her a Mirth or Chearfulness which was
  not a Forbearance of more immoderate Joy, but the natural Appearance
  of all which could flow from a Mind possessed of an Habit of Innocence
  and Purity. I must have utterly forgot _Belinda_ to have taken no
  Notice of one who was growing up to the same womanly Virtues which
  shine to Perfection in her, had I not distinguished one who seemed to
  promise to the World the same Life and Conduct with my faithful and
  lovely _Belinda_. When the Company broke up, the fine young Thing
  permitted me to take Care of her Home. Mrs. _Jane_ saw my particular
  Regard to her, and was informed of my attending her to her Fathers
  House. She came early to _Belinda_ the next Morning, and asked her if
  Mrs. _Such-a-one_ had been with her? No. If Mr. _Such-a-ones_ Lady?
  No. Nor your Cousin _Such-a-one_? No. Lord, says Mrs. _Jane_, what is
  the Friendship of Woman?--Nay, they may laugh at it. And did no one
  tell you any thing of the Behaviour of your Lover Mr. _What dye call_
  last Night? But perhaps it is nothing to you that he is to be married
  to young Mrs.--on _Tuesday_ next? _Belinda_ was here ready to die with
  Rage and Jealousy. Then Mrs. _Jane_ goes on: I have a young Kinsman
  who is Clerk to a Great Conveyancer, who shall shew you the rough
  Draught of the Marriage Settlement. The World says her Father gives
  him Two Thousand Pounds more than he could have with you. I went
  innocently to wait on _Belinda_ as usual, but was not admitted; I writ
  to her, and my Letter was sent back unopened. Poor _Betty_ her Maid,
  who is on my Side, has been here just now blubbering, and told me the
  whole Matter. She says she did not think I could be so base; and that
  she is now odious to her Mistress for having so often spoke well of
  me, that she dare not mention me more. All our Hopes are placed in
  having these Circumstances fairly represented in the SPECTATOR, which
  _Betty_ says she dare not but bring up as soon as it is brought in;
  and has promised when you have broke the Ice to own this was laid
  between us: And when I can come to an Hearing, the young Lady will
  support what we say by her Testimony, that I never saw her but that
  once in my whole Life. Dear Sir, do not omit this true Relation, nor
  think it too particular; for there are Crowds of forlorn Coquets who
  intermingle themselves with other Ladies, and contract Familiarities
  out of Malice, and with no other Design but to blast the Hopes of
  Lovers, the Expectation of Parents, and the Benevolence of Kindred. I
  doubt not but I shall be,
  Your most obliged
  humble Servant_,

  _Wills_ Coffee-house, _Jan_. 10.

  The other Day entering a Room adorned with the Fair Sex, I offered,
  after the usual Manner, to each of them a Kiss; but one, more scornful
  than the rest, turned her Cheek. I did not think it proper to take any
  Notice of it till I had asked your Advice.
  _Your humble Servant_,
  E. S.

The Correspondent is desir'd to say which Cheek the Offender turned to

[Footnote 1:

  Ubi visus eris nostra medicabilis arte
  Fac monitis fugias otia prima meis.

Ovid. Rem. Am.]

[Footnote 2: [it]]

       *       *       *       *       *


                      From the Parish-Vestry, _January_ 9.

          _All Ladies who come to Church in the New-fashioned Hoods,
             are desired to be there before Divine Service begins,
             lest they divert the Attention of the Congregation._


*      *      *      *      *

No. 273.                Saturday, January 12, 1712.             Addison.

  Notandi sunt tibi Mores.


Having examined the Action of _Paradise Lost_, let us in the next place
consider the Actors. [This is _Aristotle's_ Method of considering, first
the Fable, and secondly [1]] the Manners; or, as we generally call them
in _English_, the Fable and the Characters.

_Homer_ has excelled all the Heroic Poets that ever wrote, in the
Multitude and Variety of his Characters. Every God that is admitted into
this Poem, acts a Part which would have been suitable to no other Deity.
His Princes are as much distinguished by their Manners, as by their
Dominions; and even those among them, whose Characters seem wholly made
up of Courage, differ from one another as to the particular kinds of
Courage in which they excel. In short, there is scarce a Speech or
Action in the _Iliad_, which the Reader may not ascribe to the Person
that speaks or acts, without seeing his Name at the Head of it.

_Homer_ does not only outshine all other Poets in the Variety, but also
in the Novelty of his Characters. He has introduced among his _Grecian_
Princes a Person who had lived thrice the Age of Man, and conversed with
_Theseus, Hercules, Polyphemus_, and the first Race of Heroes. His
principal Actor is the [Son [2]] of a Goddess, not to mention the
[Offspring of other Deities, who have [3]] likewise a Place in his Poem,
and the venerable _Trojan_ Prince, who was the Father of so many Kings
and Heroes. There is in these several Characters of _Homer_, a certain
Dignity as well as Novelty, which adapts them in a more peculiar manner
to the Nature of an Heroic Poem. Tho at the same time, to give them the
greater Variety, he has described a _Vulcan_, that is a Buffoon among
his Gods, and a _Thersites_ among his Mortals.

_Virgil_ falls infinitely short of _Homer_ in the Characters of his
Poem, both as to their Variety and Novelty. _AEneas_ is indeed a perfect
Character, but as for _Achates_, tho he is stiled the Heros Friend, he
does nothing in the whole Poem which may deserve that Title. _Gyas_,
_Mnesteus_, _Sergestus_ and _Cloanthus_, are all of them Men of the same
Stamp and Character.

 --_Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthum._

There are indeed several very Natural Incidents on the Part of
_Ascanius_; as that of _Dido_ cannot be sufficiently admired. I do not
see any thing new or particular in _Turnus_. _Pallas_ and _Evander_ are
[remote] Copies of _Hector_ and _Priam_, as _Lausus_ and _Mezentius_ are
almost Parallels to _Pallas_ and _Evander_. The Characters of _Nisus_
and _Eurialus_ are beautiful, but common. [We must not forget the Parts
of _Sinon_, _Camilla_, and some few others, which are fine Improvements
on the _Greek_ Poet.] In short, there is neither that Variety nor
Novelty in the Persons of the _AEneid_, which we meet with in those of
the _Iliad_.

If we look into the Characters of _Milton_, we shall find that he has
introduced all the Variety [his Fable [4]] was capable of receiving. The
whole Species of Mankind was in two Persons at the Time to which the
Subject of his Poem is confined. We have, however, four distinct
Characters in these two Persons. We see Man and Woman in the highest
Innocence and Perfection, and in the most abject State of Guilt and
Infirmity. The two last Characters are, indeed, very common and obvious,
but the two first are not only more magnificent, but more new [5] than
any Characters either in _Virgil_ or _Homer_, or indeed in the whole
Circle of Nature.

_Milton_ was so sensible of this Defect in the Subject of his Poem, and
of the few Characters it would afford him, that he has brought into it
two Actors of a Shadowy and Fictitious Nature, in the Persons of _Sin_
and _Death_, [6] by which means he has [wrought into [7]] the Body of
his Fable a very beautiful and well-invented Allegory. But
notwithstanding the Fineness of this Allegory may attone for it in some
measure; I cannot think that Persons of such a Chymerical Existence are
proper Actors in an Epic Poem; because there is not that measure of
Probability annexed to them, which is requisite in Writings of this
kind, [as I shall shew more at large hereafter].

_Virgil_ has, indeed, admitted Fame as an Actress in the _AEneid_, but
the Part she acts is very short, and none of the most admired
Circumstances in that Divine Work. We find in Mock-Heroic Poems,
particularly in the _Dispensary_ and the _Lutrin_ [8] several
Allegorical Persons of this Nature which are very beautiful in those
Compositions, and may, perhaps, be used as an Argument, that the Authors
of them were of Opinion, [such [9]] Characters might have a Place in an
Epic Work. For my own part, I should be glad the Reader would think so,
for the sake of the Poem I am now examining, and must further add, that
if such empty unsubstantial Beings may be ever made use of on this
Occasion, never were any more nicely imagined, and employed in more
proper Actions, than those of which I am now speaking.

Another Principal Actor in this Poem is the great Enemy of Mankind. The
Part of _Ulysses_ in _Homers Odyssey_ is very much admired by
_Aristotle_, [10] as perplexing that Fable with very agreeable Plots and
Intricacies, not only by the many Adventures in his Voyage, and the
Subtility of his Behaviour, but by the various Concealments and
Discoveries of his Person in several Parts of that Poem. But the Crafty
Being I have now mentioned, makes a much longer Voyage than _Ulysses_,
puts in practice many more Wiles and Stratagems, and hides himself under
a greater Variety of Shapes and Appearances, all of which are severally
detected, to the great Delight and Surprize of the Reader.

We may likewise observe with how much Art the Poet has varied several
Characters of the Persons that speak to his infernal Assembly. On the
contrary, how has he represented the whole Godhead exerting it self
towards Man in its full Benevolence under the Three-fold Distinction of
a Creator, a Redeemer and a Comforter!

Nor must we omit the Person of _Raphael_, who amidst his Tenderness and
Friendship for Man, shews such a Dignity and Condescension in all his
Speech and Behaviour, as are suitable to a Superior Nature. [The Angels
are indeed as much diversified in _Milton_, and distinguished by their
proper Parts, as the Gods are in _Homer_ or _Virgil_. The Reader will
find nothing ascribed to _Uriel, Gabriel, Michael,_ or _Raphael_, which
is not in a particular manner suitable to their respective Characters.]

There is another Circumstance in the principal Actors of the _Iliad_ and
_AEneid_, which gives a [peculiar [11]] Beauty to those two Poems, and
was therefore contrived with very great Judgment. I mean the Authors
having chosen for their Heroes, Persons who were so nearly related to
the People for whom they wrote. _Achilles_ was a Greek, and _AEneas_ the
remote Founder of _Rome_. By this means their Countrymen (whom they
principally proposed to themselves for their Readers) were particularly
attentive to all the Parts of their Story, and sympathized with their
Heroes in all their Adventures. A _Roman_ could not but rejoice in the
Escapes, Successes and Victories of _AEneas_, and be grieved at any
Defeats, Misfortunes or Disappointments that befel him; as a Greek_ must
have had the same Regard for Achilles_. And it is plain, that each of
those Poems have lost this great Advantage, among those Readers to whom
their Heroes are as Strangers, or indifferent Persons.

_Milton's_ Poem is admirable in this respect, since it is impossible for
any of its Readers, whatever Nation, Country or People he may belong to,
not to be related to the Persons who are the principal Actors in it; but
what is still infinitely more to its Advantage, the principal Actors in
this Poem are not only our Progenitors, but our Representatives. We have
an actual Interest in every thing they do, and no less than our utmost
Happiness is concerned, and lies at Stake in all their Behaviour.

I shall subjoin as a Corollary to the foregoing Remark, an admirable
Observation out of _Aristotle_, which hath been very much misrepresented
in the Quotations of some Modern Criticks.

  If a Man of perfect and consummate Virtue falls into a Misfortune, it
  raises our Pity, but not our Terror, because we do not fear that it
  may be our own Case, who do not resemble the Suffering Person. But as
  that great Philosopher adds, If we see a Man of Virtue mixt with
  Infirmities, fall into any Misfortune, it does not only raise our Pity
  but our Terror; because we are afraid that the like Misfortunes may
  happen to our selves, who resemble the Character of the Suffering

I shall take another Opportunity to observe, that a Person of an
absolute and consummate Virtue should never be introduced in Tragedy,
and shall only remark in this Place, that the foregoing Observation of
_Aristotle_ [12] tho it may be true in other Occasions, does not hold
in this; because in the present Case, though the Persons who fall into
Misfortune are of the most perfect and consummate Virtue, it is not to
be considered as what may possibly be, but what actually is our own
Case; since we are embarked with them on the same Bottom, and must be
Partakers of their Happiness or Misery.

In this, and some other very few Instances, _Aristotle's_ Rules for Epic
Poetry (which he had drawn from his Reflections upon _Homer_) cannot be
supposed to quadrate exactly with the Heroic Poems which have been made
since his Time; since it is plain his Rules would [still have been [13]]
more perfect, could he have perused the _AEneid_ which was made some
hundred Years after his Death.

_In my next, I shall go through other Parts of_ Milton's _Poem; and hope
that what I shall there advance, as well as what I have already written,
will not only serve as a Comment upon_ Milton, _but upon_ Aristotle.


[Footnote 1: [These are what Aristotle means by the Fable and &c.]]

[Footnote 2: [Offspring]]

[Footnote 3: [Son of Aurora who has]]

[Footnote 4: [that his Poem]]

[Footnote 5: It was especially for the novelty of _Paradise Lost_, that
John Dennis had in 1704 exalted Milton above the ancients. In putting
forward a prospectus of a large projected work upon the Grounds of
Criticism in Poetry, he gave as a specimen of the character of his
work, the substance of what would be said in the beginning of the
Criticism upon Milton. Here he gave Milton supremacy on ground precisely
opposite to that chosen by Addison. He described him as

  one of the greatest and most daring Genius's that has appear'd in the
  World, and who has made his country a glorious present of the most
  lofty, but most irregular Poem, that has been produc'd by the Mind of
  Man. That great Man had a desire to give the World something like an
  Epick Poem; but he resolv'd at the same time to break thro the Rules
  of Aristotle. Not that he was ignorant of them, or contemned them....
  Milton was the first who in the space of almost 4000 years resolv'd
  for his Country's Honour and his own, to present the World with an
  Original Poem; that is to say, a Poem that should have his own
  thoughts, his own images, and his own spirit. In order to this he was
  resolved to write a Poem, that, by virtue of its extraordinary
  Subject, cannot so properly be said to be against the Rules as it may
  be affirmed to be above them all ... We shall now shew for what
  Reasons the choice of Milton's Subject, as it set him free from the
  obligation which he lay under to the Poetical Laws, so it necessarily
  threw him upon new Thoughts, new Images, and an Original Spirit. In
  the next place we shall shew that his Thoughts, his Images, and by
  consequence too, his Spirit are actually new, and different from those
  of Homer and Virgil. Thirdly, we shall shew, that besides their
  Newness, they have vastly the Advantage of _Homer and Virgil_.]

[Footnote 6: Paradise Lost, Book II.]

[Footnote 7: interwoven in]

[Footnote 8: Sir Samuel Garth in his _Dispensary_, a mock-heroic poem
upon a dispute, in 1696, among doctors over the setting up of a
Dispensary in a room of the College of Physicians for relief of the sick
poor, houses the God of Sloth within the College, and outside, among
other allegories, personifies Disease as a Fury to whom the enemies of
the Dispensary offer libation. Boileau in his _Lutrin_ a mock-heroic
poem written in 1673 on a dispute between two chief personages of the
chapter of a church in Paris, la Sainte Chapelle, as to the position of
a pulpit, had with some minor allegory, chiefly personified Discord, and
made her enter into the form of an old precentor, very much as in
Garths poem the Fury Disease

  Shrill Colons person took,
  In morals loose, but most precise in look.]

[Footnote 9: [that such]]

[Footnote 10: Poetics II. Sec. 17; III. Sec.6.]

[Footnote 11: [particular]]

[Footnote 12: 1 Poetics II. Sec. ii. But Addison misquotes the first
clause. Aristotle says that when a wholly virtuous man falls from
prosperity into adversity, this is neither terrible _nor piteous_, but
([Greek: miaron]) shocking. Then he adds that our pity is _excited_ by
undeserved misfortune, and our terror by some resemblance between the
sufferer and ourselves.]

[Footnote 13: [have been still]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 274.                Monday, January 14, 1712.               Steele.

  Audire est operae pretium, procedere recte
  Qui moechis non vultis.


I have upon several Occasions (that have occurred since I first took
into my Thoughts the present State of Fornication) weighed with my self,
in behalf of guilty Females, the Impulses of Flesh and Blood, together
with the Arts and Gallantries of crafty Men; and reflect with some Scorn
that most Part of what we in our Youth think gay and polite, is nothing
else but an Habit of indulging a Pruriency that Way. It will cost some
Labour to bring People to so lively a Sense of this, as to recover the
manly Modesty in the Behaviour of my Men Readers, and the bashful Grace
in the Faces of my Women; but in all Cases which come into Debate, there
are certain things previously to be done before we can have a true Light
into the Subject Matter; therefore it will, in the first Place, be
necessary to consider the impotent Wenchers and industrious Haggs, who
are supplied with, and are constantly supplying new Sacrifices to the
Devil of Lust. You are to know then, if you are so happy as not to know
it already, that the great Havock which is made in the Habitations of
Beauty and Innocence, is committed by such as can only lay waste and not
enjoy the Soil. When you observe the present State of Vice and Virtue,
the Offenders are such as one would think should have no Impulse to what
they are pursuing; as in Business, you see sometimes Fools pretend to be
Knaves, so in Pleasure, you will find old Men set up for Wenchers. This
latter sort of Men are the great Basis and Fund of Iniquity in the Kind
we are speaking of: You shall have an old rich Man often receive Scrawls
from the several Quarters of the Town, with Descriptions of the new
Wares in their Hands, if he will please to send Word when he will be
waited on. This Interview is contrived, and the Innocent is brought to
such Indecencies as from Time to Time banish Shame and raise Desire.
With these Preparatives the Haggs break their Wards by little and
little, till they are brought to lose all Apprehensions of what shall
befall them in the Possession of younger Men. It is a common Postscript
of an Hagg to a young Fellow whom she invites to a new Woman, _She has,
I assure you, seen none but old Mr. Such-a-one_. It pleases the old
Fellow that the Nymph is brought to him unadorned, and from his Bounty
she is accommodated with enough to dress her for other Lovers. This is
the most ordinary Method of bringing Beauty and Poverty into the
Possession of the Town: But the particular Cases of kind Keepers,
skilful Pimps, and all others who drive a separate Trade, and are not in
the general Society or Commerce of Sin, will require distinct
Consideration. At the same time that we are thus severe on the
Abandoned, we are apt to represent the Case of others with that
Mitigation as the Circumstances demand. Calling Names does no Good; to
speak worse of any thing than it deserves, does only take off from the
Credit of the Accuser, and has implicitly the Force of an Apology in the
Behalf of the Person accused. We shall therefore, according as the
Circumstances differ, vary our Appellations of these Criminals: Those
who offend only against themselves, and are not Scandals to Society, but
out of Deference to the sober Part of the World, have so much Good left
in them as to be ashamed, must not be huddled in the common Word due to
the worst of Women; but Regard is to be had to their Circumstances when
they fell, to the uneasy Perplexity under which they lived under
senseless and severe Parents, to the Importunity of Poverty, to the
Violence of a Passion in its Beginning well grounded, and all other
Alleviations which make unhappy Women resign the Characteristick of
their Sex, Modesty. To do otherwise than thus, would be to act like a
Pedantick Stoick, who thinks all Crimes alike, and not like an impartial
SPECTATOR, who looks upon them with all the Circumstances that diminish
or enhance the Guilt. I am in Hopes, if this Subject be well pursued,
Women will hereafter from their Infancy be treated with an Eye to their
future State in the World; and not have their Tempers made too
untractable from an improper Sourness or Pride, or too complying from
Familiarity or Forwardness contracted at their own Houses. After these
Hints on this Subject, I shall end this Paper with the following genuine
Letter; and desire all who think they may be concerned in future
Speculations on this Subject, to send in what they have to say for
themselves for some Incidents in their Lives, in order to have proper
Allowances made for their Conduct.

  _Mr_. SPECTATOR, _January_ 5, 1711.

  The Subject of your Yesterdays Paper is of so great Importance, and
  the thorough handling of it may be so very useful to the Preservation
  of many an innocent young Creature, that I think every one is obliged
  to furnish you with what Lights he can, to expose the pernicious Arts
  and Practices of those unnatural Women called Bawds. In order to this
  the enclosed is sent you, which is _verbatim_ the Copy of a Letter
  written by a Bawd of Figure in this Town to a noble Lord. I have
  concealed the Names of both, my Intention being not to expose the
  Persons but the Thing.
  _I am,
  Your humble Servant_.

    _My Lord_,
    I having a great Esteem for your Honour, and a better Opinion of
    you than of any of the Quality, makes me acquaint you of an Affair
    that I hope will oblige you to know. I have a Niece that came to
    Town about a Fortnight ago. Her Parents being lately dead she came
    to me, expecting to a found me in so good a Condition as to a set
    her up in a Milliners Shop. Her Father gave Fourscore Pounds with
    her for five Years: Her Time is out, and she is not Sixteen; as
    pretty a black Gentlewoman as ever you saw, a little Woman, which I
    know your Lordship likes: well shaped, and as fine a Complection for
    Red and White as ever I saw; I doubt not but your Lordship will be
    of the same Opinion. She designs to go down about a Month hence
    except I can provide for her, which I cannot at present. Her Father
    was one with whom all he had died with him, so there is four
    Children left destitute; so if your Lordship thinks fit to make an
    Appointment where I shall wait on you with my Niece, by a Line or
    two, I stay for your Answer; for I have no Place fitted up since I
    left my House, fit to entertain your Honour. I told her she should
    go with me to see a Gentleman a very good Friend of mine; so I
    desire you to take no Notice of my Letter by reason she is ignorant
    of the Ways of the Town. My Lord, I desire if you meet us to come
    alone; for upon my Word and Honour you are the first that ever I
    mentioned her to. So I remain,

    _Your Lordships
    Most humble Servant to Command._

    I beg of you to burn it when you've read it.


*       *       *       *       *

No. 275.              Tuesday, January 15, 1712.               Addison.

 --tribus Anticyris caput insanabile--


I was Yesterday engaged in an Assembly of Virtuosos, where one of them
produced many curious Observations which he had lately made in the
Anatomy of an Human Body. Another of the Company communicated to us
several wonderful Discoveries, which he had also made on the same
Subject, by the Help of very fine Glasses. This gave Birth to a great
Variety of uncommon Remarks, and furnished Discourse for the remaining
Part of the Day.

The different Opinions which were started on this Occasion, presented to
my Imagination so many new Ideas, that by mixing with those which were
already there, they employed my Fancy all the last Night, and composed a
very wild Extravagant Dream.

I was invited, methoughts, to the Dissection of a _Beaus Head_ and of a
_Coquets Heart_, which were both of them laid on a Table before us. An
imaginary Operator opened the first with a great deal of Nicety, which,
upon a cursory and superficial View, appeared like the Head of another
Man; but upon applying our Glasses to it, we made a very odd Discovery,
namely, that what we looked upon as Brains, were not such in reality,
but an Heap of strange Materials wound up in that Shape and Texture, and
packed together with wonderful Art in the several Cavities of the Skull.
For, as _Homer_ tells us, that the Blood of the Gods is not real Blood,
but only something like it; so we found that the Brain of a Beau is not
real Brain, but only something like it.

The _Pineal Gland_, which many of our Modern Philosophers suppose to be
the Seat of the Soul, smelt very strong of Essence and Orange-flower
Water, and was encompassed with a kind of Horny Substance, cut into a
thousand little Faces or Mirrours, which were imperceptible to the naked
Eye, insomuch that the Soul, if there had been any here, must have been
always taken up in contemplating her own Beauties.

We observed a long _Antrum_ or Cavity in the _Sinciput_, that was filled
with Ribbons, Lace and Embroidery, wrought together in a most curious
Piece of Network, the Parts of which were likewise imperceptible to the
naked Eye. Another of these _Antrums_ or Cavities was stuffed with
invisible Billetdoux, Love-Letters, pricked Dances, and other Trumpery
of the same Nature. In another we found a kind of Powder, which set the
whole Company a Sneezing, and by the Scent discovered it self to be
right _Spanish_. The several other Cells were stored with Commodities of
the same kind, of which it would be tedious to give the Reader an exact

There was a large Cavity on each side of the Head, which I must not
omit. That on the right Side was filled with Fictions, Flatteries, and
Falshoods, Vows, Promises, and Protestations; that on the left with
Oaths and Imprecations. There issued out a _Duct_ from each of these
Cells, which ran into the Root of the Tongue, where both joined
together, and passed forward in one common _Duct_ to the Tip of it. We
discovered several little Roads or Canals running from the Ear into the
Brain, and took particular care to trace them out through their several
Passages. One of them extended itself to a Bundle of Sonnets and little
musical Instruments. Others ended in several Bladders which were filled
either with Wind or Froth. But the latter Canal entered into a great
Cavity of the Skull, from whence there went another Canal into the
Tongue. This great Cavity was filled with a kind of Spongy Substance,
which the _French_ Anatomists call _Galimatias_, and the _English_,

The Skins of the Forehead were extremely tough and thick, and, what very
much surprized us, had not in them any single Blood-Vessel that we were
able to discover, either with or without our Glasses; from whence we
concluded, that the Party when alive must have been entirely deprived of
the Faculty of Blushing.

The _Os Cribriforme_ was exceedingly stuffed, and in some Places damaged
with Snuff. We could not but take notice in particular of that small
Muscle which is not often discovered in Dissections, and draws the Nose
upwards, when it expresses the Contempt which the Owner of it has, upon
seeing any thing he does not like, or hearing any thing he does not
understand. I need not tell my learned Reader, this is that Muscle which
performs the Motion so often mentioned by the _Latin_ Poets, when they
talk of a Man's cocking his Nose, or playing the Rhinoceros.

We did not find any thing very remarkable in the Eye, saving only, that
the _Musculi Amatorii_, or, as we may translate it into _English_, the
_Ogling Muscles_, were very much worn and decayed with use; whereas on
the contrary, the _Elevator_, or the Muscle which turns the Eye towards
Heaven, did not appear to have been used at all.

I have only mentioned in this Dissection such new Discoveries as we were
able to make, and have not taken any notice of those Parts which are to
be met with in common Heads. As for the Skull, the Face, and indeed the
whole outward Shape and Figure of the Head, we could not discover any
Difference from what we observe in the Heads of other Men. We were
informed, that the Person to whom this Head belonged, had passed for _a
Man_ above five and thirty Years; during which time he Eat and Drank
like other People, dressed well, talked loud, laught frequently, and on
particular Occasions had acquitted himself tolerably at a Ball or an
Assembly; to which one of the Company added, that a certain Knot of
Ladies took him for a Wit. He was cut off in the Flower of his Age by
the Blow of a Paring-Shovel, having been surprized by an eminent
Citizen, as he was tendring some Civilities to his Wife.

When we had thoroughly examined this Head with all its Apartments, and
its several kinds of Furniture, we put up the Brain, such as it was,
into its proper Place, and laid it aside under a broad Piece of Scarlet
Cloth, in order to be _prepared_, and kept in a great Repository of
Dissections; our Operator telling us that the Preparation would not be
so difficult as that of another Brain, for that he had observed several
of the little Pipes and Tubes which ran through the Brain were already
filled with a kind of Mercurial Substance, which he looked upon to be
true Quick-Silver.

He applied himself in the next Place to the _Coquets Heart_, which he
likewise laid open with great Dexterity. There occurred to us many
Particularities in this Dissection; but being unwilling to burden my
Readers Memory too much, I shall reserve this Subject for the
Speculation of another Day.


*       *       *       *       *

No. 276.                Wednesday, January 16, 1712.             Steele.

  Errori nomen virtus posuisset honestum.



  I hope you have Philosophy enough to be capable of bearing the Mention
  of your Faults. Your Papers which regard the fallen Part of the Fair
  Sex, are, I think, written with an Indelicacy, which makes them
  unworthy to be inserted in the Writings of a Moralist who knows the
  World. I cannot allow that you are at Liberty to observe upon the
  Actions of Mankind with the Freedom which you seem to resolve upon; at
  least if you do, you should take along with you the Distinction of
  Manners of the World, according to the Quality and Way of Life of the
  Persons concerned. A Man of Breeding speaks of even Misfortune among
  Ladies without giving it the most terrible Aspect it can bear: And
  this Tenderness towards them, is much more to be preserved when you
  speak of Vices. All Mankind are so far related, that Care is to be
  taken, in things to which all are liable, you do not mention what
  concerns one in Terms which shall disgust another. Thus to tell a rich
  Man of the Indigence of a Kinsman of his, or abruptly inform a
  virtuous Woman of the Lapse of one who till then was in the same
  degree of Esteem with her self, is in a kind involving each of them in
  some Participation of those Disadvantages. It is therefore expected
  from every Writer, to treat his Argument in such a Manner, as is most
  proper to entertain the sort of Readers to whom his Discourse is
  directed. It is not necessary when you write to the Tea-table, that
  you should draw Vices which carry all the Horror of Shame and
  Contempt: If you paint an impertinent Self-love, an artful Glance, an
  assumed Complection, you say all which you ought to suppose they can
  possibly be guilty of. When you talk with this Limitation, you behave
  your self so as that you may expect others in Conversation may second
  your Raillery; but when you do it in a Stile which every body else
  forbears in Respect to their Quality, they have an easy Remedy in
  forbearing to read you, and hearing no more of their Faults. A Man
  that is now and then guilty of an Intemperance is not to be called a
  Drunkard; but the Rule of polite Raillery, is to speak of a Man's
  Faults as if you loved him. Of this Nature is what was said by
  _Caesar_: When one was railing with an uncourtly Vehemence, and broke
  out, What must we call him who was taken in an Intrigue with another
  Man's Wife? Caesar answered very gravely, _A careless Fellow_. This was
  at once a Reprimand for speaking of a Crime which in those Days had
  not the Abhorrence attending it as it ought, as well as an Intimation
  that all intemperate Behaviour before Superiors loses its Aim, by
  accusing in a Method unfit for the Audience. A Word to the Wise. All I
  mean here to say to you is, That the most free Person of Quality can
  go no further than being [a kind [1]] Woman; and you should never say
  of a Man of Figure worse, than that he knows the World.

  I am, SIR,
  Your most humble Servant,
  Francis Courtly.

  I am a Woman of an unspotted Reputation, and know nothing I have ever
  done which should encourage such Insolence; but here was one the other
  Day, and he was dressed like a Gentleman too, who took the Liberty to
  name the Words Lusty Fellow in my Presence. I doubt not but you will
  resent it in Behalf of,

  Your Humble Servant,

  You lately put out a dreadful Paper, wherein you promise a full
  Account of the State of criminal Love; and call all the Fair who have
  transgressed in that Kind by one very rude Name which I do not care to
  repeat: But 1 desire to know of you whether I am or I am not of those?
  My Case is as follows. I am kept by an old Batchelour, who took me so
  young, that I knew not how he came by me: He is a Bencher of one of
  the Inns of Court, a very gay healthy old Man; which is a lucky thing
  for him, who has been, he tells me, a Scowrer, a Scamperer, a Breaker
  of Windows, an Invader of Constables, in the Days of Yore when all
  Dominion ended with the Day, and Males and Females met helter skelter,
  and the Scowrers drove before them all who pretended to keep up Order
  or Rule to the Interruption of Love and Honour. This is his way of
  Talk, for he is very gay when he visits me; but as his former
  Knowledge of the Town has alarmed him into an invincible Jealousy, he
  keeps me in a pair of Slippers, neat Bodice, warm Petticoats, and my
  own Hair woven in Ringlets, after a Manner, he says, he remembers. I
  am not Mistress of one Farthing of Money, but have all Necessaries
  provided for me, under the Guard of one who procured for him while he
  had any Desires to gratify. I know nothing of a Wench's Life, but the
  Reputation of it: I have a natural Voice, and a pretty untaught Step
  in Dancing. His Manner is to bring an old Fellow who has been his
  Servant from his Youth, and is gray-headed: This Man makes on the
  Violin a certain Jiggish Noise to which I dance, and when that is over
  I sing to him some loose Air, that has more Wantonness than Musick in
  it. You must have seen a strange window'd House near _Hide-Park,_
  which is so built that no one can look out of any of the Apartments;
  my Rooms are after that manner, and I never see Man, Woman, or Child,
  but in Company with the two Persons above-mentioned. He sends me in
  all the Books, Pamphlets, Plays, Operas and Songs that come out; and
  his utmost Delight in me as a Woman, is to talk over old Amours in my
  Presence, to play with my Neck, say _the Time was_, give me a Kiss,
  and bid me be sure to follow the Directions of my Guardian (the
  above-mentioned Lady) and I shall never want. The Truth of my Case is,
  I suppose, that I was educated for a Purpose he did not know he should
  be unfit for when I came to Years. Now, Sir, what I ask of you, as a
  Casuist, is to tell me how far in these Circumstances I am innocent,
  though submissive; he guilty, though impotent?
  _I am,
  Your constant Reader,_

  _To the Man called the_ SPECTATOR.

  Forasmuch as at the Birth of thy Labour, thou didst promise upon thy
  Word, that letting alone the Vanities that do abound, thou wouldst
  only endeavour to strengthen the crooked Morals of this our _Babylon_,
  I gave Credit to thy fair Speeches, and admitted one of thy Papers,
  every Day save _Sunday_, into my House; for the Edification of my
  Daughter _Tabitha_, and to the end that Susannah the Wife of my Bosom
  might profit thereby. But alas, my Friend, I find that thou art a
  Liar, and that the Truth is not in thee; else why didst thou in a
  Paper which thou didst lately put forth, make mention of those vain
  Coverings for the Heads of our Females, which thou lovest to liken
  unto Tulips, and which are lately sprung up amongst us? Nay why didst
  thou make mention of them in such a seeming, as if thou didst approve
  the Invention, insomuch that my Daughter _Tabitha_ beginneth to wax
  wanton, and to lust after these foolish Vanities? Surely thou dost see
  with the Eyes of the Flesh. Verily therefore, unless thou dost
  speedily amend and leave off following thine own Imaginations, I will
  leave off thee.

  _Thy Friend as hereafter thou dost demean thyself,_
  Hezekiah Broadbrim.


[Footnote 1: [an unkind]]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 277.            Thursday, January 17, 1712.               Budgell.

 --fas est et ab hoste doceri.


I presume I need not inform the Polite Part of my Readers,
that before our Correspondence with _France_ was unhappily
interrupted by the War, our Ladies had all their Fashions from
thence; which the Milliners took care to furnish them with by
means of a Jointed Baby, that came regularly over, once a
Month, habited after the manner of the most Eminent Toasts
in _Paris_.

I am credibly informed, that even in the hottest time of the
War, the Sex made several Efforts, and raised large Contributions
towards the Importation of this Wooden _Madamoiselle._

Whether the Vessel they set out was lost or taken, or whether
its Cargo was seized on by the Officers of the Custom-house, as
a piece of Contraband Goods, I have not yet been able to
learn; it is, however, certain their first Attempts were without
Success, to the no small Disappointment of our whole Female
World; but as their Constancy and Application, in a matter of
so great Importance, can never be sufficiently commended, I
am glad to find that in Spight of all Opposition, they have at
length carried their Point, of which I received Advice by the
two following Letters.

  I am so great a Lover of whatever is _French_, that I lately
  discarded an humble Admirer, because he neither spoke that Tongue, nor
  drank Claret. I have long bewailed, in secret, the Calamities of my
  Sex during the War, in all which time we have laboured under the
  insupportable Inventions of _English_ Tire-Women, who, tho they
  sometimes copy indifferently well, can never compose with that _Gout_
  they do in _France_.

  I was almost in Despair of ever more seeing a Model from that dear
  Country, when last Sunday I over-heard a Lady, in the next Pew to me,
  whisper another, that at the _Seven Stars_ in _King-street
  Covent-garden_, there was a _Madamoiselle_ compleatly dressed just
  come from _Paris_.

  I was in the utmost Impatience during the remaining part of the
  Service, and as soon as ever it was over, having learnt the Millener's
  _Addresse_, I went directly to her House in _King-street_, but was
  told that the _French_ Lady was at a Person of Quality's in
  _Pall-mall_, and would not be back again till very late that Night. I
  was therefore obliged to renew my Visit very early this Morning, and
  had then a full View of the dear Moppet from Head to Foot.

  You cannot imagine, worthy Sir, how ridiculously I find we have all
  been trussed up during the War, and how infinitely the _French_ Dress
  excels ours.

  The Mantua has no Leads in the Sleeves, and I hope we are not lighter
  than the _French_ Ladies, so as to want that kind of Ballast; the
  Petticoat has no Whale-bone; but fits with an Air altogether galant
  and _degage_: the _Coiffeure_ is inexpressibly pretty, and in short,
  the whole Dress has a thousand Beauties in it, which I would not have
  as yet made too publick.

  I thought fit, however, to give this Notice, that you may not be
  surprized at my appearing _a la mode de Paris_ on the next
  Birth-Night. _I am, SIR,
  Your humble Servant,_

Within an Hour after I had read this Letter, I received another from the
Owner of the Puppet.

  On Saturday last, being the 12th Instant, there arrived at my House
  in _King-street, Covent-Garden_, a _French_ Baby for the Year 1712. I
  have taken the utmost Care to have her dressed by the most celebrated
  Tyre-women and Mantua-makers in _Paris_, and do not find that I have
  any Reason to be sorry for the Expence I have been at in her Cloaths
  and Importation: However, as I know no Person who is so good a Judge
  of Dress as your self, if you please to call at my House in your Way
  to the City, and take a View of her, I promise to amend whatever you
  shall disapprove in your next Paper, before I exhibit her as a Pattern
  to the Publick.
  _I am, SIR,
  Your most humble Admirer,
  and most obedient Servant,_
  Betty Cross-stitch.

As I am willing to do any thing in reason for the Service of my
Country-women, and had much rather prevent Faults than find them, I went
last Night to the House of the above-mentioned Mrs. _Cross-stitch_. As
soon as I enter'd, the Maid of the Shop, who, I suppose, was prepared
for my coming, without asking me any Questions, introduced me to the
little Damsel, and ran away to call her Mistress.

The Puppet was dressed in a Cherry-coloured Gown and Petticoat, with a
short working Apron over it, which discovered her Shape to the most
Advantage. Her Hair was cut and divided very prettily, with several
Ribbons stuck up and down in it. The Millener assured me, that her
Complexion was such as was worn by all the Ladies of the best Fashion in
_Paris_. Her Head was extreamly high, on which Subject having long since
declared my Sentiments, I shall say nothing more to it at present. I was
also offended at a small Patch she wore on her Breast, which I cannot
suppose is placed there with any good Design.

Her Necklace was of an immoderate Length, being tied before in such a
manner that the two Ends hung down to her Girdle; but whether these
supply the Place of Kissing-Strings in our Enemy's Country, and whether
our _British_ Ladies have any occasion for them, I shall leave to their
serious Consideration.

After having observed the Particulars of her Dress, as I was taking a
view of it altogether, the Shop-maid, who is a pert Wench, told me that
_Mademoiselle_ had something very Curious in the tying of her Garters;
but as I pay a due Respect even to a pair of Sticks when they are in
Petticoats, I did not examine into that Particular.

Upon the whole I was well enough pleased with the Appearance of this gay
Lady, and the more so because she was not Talkative, a Quality very
rarely to be met with in the rest of her Countrywomen.

As I was taking my leave, the Millener farther informed me, that with
the Assistance of a Watchmaker, who was her Neighbour, and the ingenious
Mr. _Powell_, she had also contrived another Puppet, which by the help
of several little Springs to be wound up within it, could move all its
Limbs, and that she had sent it over to her Correspondent in _Paris_ to
be taught the various Leanings and Bendings of the Head, the Risings of
the Bosom, the Curtesy and Recovery, the genteel Trip, and the agreeable
Jet, as they are now practised in the Court of _France_.

She added that she hoped she might depend upon having my Encouragement
as soon as it arrived; but as this was a Petition of too great
Importance to be answered _extempore_, I left her without a Reply, and
made the best of my way to WILL. HONEYCOMBS Lodgings, without whose
Advice I never communicate any thing to the Publick of this Nature.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 278.               Friday, January 18, 1712.                Steele.

  Sermones ego mallem
  Repentes per humum.



  Your having done considerable Service in this great City, by
  rectifying the Disorders of Families, and several Wives having
  preferred your Advice and Directions to those of their Husbands,
  emboldens me to apply to you at this Time. I am a Shop-keeper, and tho
  but a young Man, I find by Experience that nothing but the utmost
  Diligence both of Husband and Wife (among trading People) can keep
  Affairs in any tolerable Order. My Wife at the Beginning of our
  Establishment shewed her self very assisting to me in my Business as
  much as could lie in her Way, and I have Reason to believe twas with
  her Inclination; but of late she has got acquainted with a Schoolman,
  who values himself for his great Knowledge in the _Greek_ Tongue. He
  entertains her frequently in the Shop with Discourses of the Beauties
  and Excellencies of that Language; and repeats to her several Passages
  out of the _Greek_ Poets, wherein he tells her there is unspeakable
  Harmony and agreeable Sounds that all other Languages are wholly
  unacquainted with. He has so infatuated her with his Jargon, that
  instead of using her former Diligence in the Shop, she now neglects
  the Affairs of the House, and is wholly taken up with her Tutor in
  learning by Heart Scraps of _Greek_, which she vents upon all
  Occasions. She told me some Days ago, that whereas I use some _Latin_
  Inscriptions in my Shop, she advised me with a great deal of Concern
  to have them changed into _Greek;_ it being a Language less
  understood, would be more conformable to the Mystery of my Profession;
  that our good Friend would be assisting to us in this Work; and that a
  certain Faculty of Gentlemen would find themselves so much obliged to
  me, that they would infallibly make my Fortune: In short her frequent
  Importunities upon this and other Impertinences of the like Nature
  make me very uneasy; and if your Remonstrances have no more Effect
  upon her than mine, I am afraid I shall be obliged to ruin my self to
  procure her a Settlement at _Oxford_ with her Tutor, for she's already
  too mad for _Bedlam_. Now, Sir, you see the Danger my Family is
  exposed to, and the Likelihood of my Wife's becoming both troublesome
  and useless, unless her reading her self in your Paper may make her
  reflect. She is so very learned that I cannot pretend by Word of Mouth
  to argue with her. She laughed out at your ending a Paper in _Greek_,
  and said twas a Hint to Women of Literature, and very civil not to
  translate it to expose them to the Vulgar. You see how it is with,

  _Your humble Servant_.

  If you have that Humanity and Compassion in your Nature that you take
  such Pains to make one think you have, you will not deny your Advice
  to a distressed Damsel, who intends to be determined by your Judgment
  in a Matter of great Importance to her. You must know then, There is
  an agreeable young Fellow, to whose Person, Wit, and Humour no body
  makes any Objection, that pretends to have been long in Love with me.
  To this I must add, (whether it proceeds from the Vanity of my Nature,
  or the seeming Sincerity of my Lover, I wont pretend to say) that I
  verily believe he has a real Value for me; which if true, you'll allow
  may justly augment his Merit for his Mistress. In short, I am so
  sensible of his good Qualities, and what I owe to his Passion, that I
  think I could sooner resolve to give up my Liberty to him than any
  body else, were there not an Objection to be made to his Fortunes, in
  regard they don't answer the utmost mine may expect, and are not
  sufficient to secure me from undergoing the reproachful Phrase so
  commonly used, That she has played the Fool. Now, tho I am one of
  those few who heartily despise Equipage, Diamonds, and a Coxcomb, yet
  since such opposite Notions from mine prevail in the World, even
  amongst the best, and such as are esteemed the most prudent People, I
  cant find in my Heart to resolve upon incurring the Censure of those
  wise Folks, which I am conscious I shall do, if when I enter into a
  married State, I discover a Thought beyond that of equalling, if not
  advancing my Fortunes. Under this Difficulty I now labour, not being
  in the least determined whether I shall be governed by the vain World,
  and the frequent Examples I meet with, or hearken to the Voice of my
  Lover, and the Motions I find in my Heart in favour of him. Sir, Your
  Opinion and Advice in this Affair, is the only thing I know can turn
  the Ballance; and which I earnestly intreat I may receive soon; for
  till I have your Thoughts upon it, I am engaged not to give my Swain a
  final Discharge.

  Besides the particular Obligation you will lay on me, by giving this
  Subject Room in one of your Papers, tis possible it may be of use to
  some others of my Sex, who will be as grateful for the Favour as,
  Your Humble Servant,_

  P. S. _To tell you the Truth I am Married to Him already, but pray say
  something to justify me._

  You will forgive Us Professors of Musick if We make a second
  Application to You, in order to promote our Design of exhibiting
  Entertainments of Musick in _York-Buildings._ It is industriously
  insinuated that Our Intention is to destroy Operas in General, but we
  beg of you to insert this plain Explanation of our selves in your
  Paper. Our Purpose is only to improve our Circumstances, by improving
  the Art which we profess. We see it utterly destroyed at present; and
  as we were the Persons who introduced Operas, we think it a groundless
  Imputation that we should set up against the Opera in it self. What we
  pretend to assert is, That the Songs of different Authors
  injudiciously put together, and a Foreign Tone and Manner which are
  expected in every thing now performed among us, has put Musick it self
  to a stand; insomuch that the Ears of the People cannot now be
  entertained with any thing but what has an impertinent Gayety, without
  any just Spirit, or a Languishment of Notes, without any Passion or
  common Sense. We hope those Persons of Sense and Quality who have done
  us the Honour to subscribe, will not be ashamed of their Patronage
  towards us, and not receive Impressions that patronising us is being
  for or against the Opera, but truly promoting their own Diversions in
  a more just and elegant Manner than has been hitherto performed. _We
  are, SIR,
  Your most humble Servants,_
  Thomas Clayton.
  Nicolino Haym.
  Charles Dieupart. [1]

_There will be no Performances in_ York-buildings _till after that
of the Subscription._


[Footnote 1: See No. 258.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 279.                Saturday, January 19, 1712.             Addison.

  Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique.


We have already taken a general Survey of the Fable and Characters in
_Milton's Paradise Lost_. The Parts which remain to be considered,
according to _Aristotle's_ Method, are the _Sentiments_ and the
_Language_. [1]

Before I enter upon the first of these, I must advertise my Reader, that
it is my Design as soon as I have finished my general Reflections on
these four several Heads, to give particular Instances out of the Poem
which is now before us of Beauties and Imperfections which may be
observed under each of them, as also of such other Particulars as may
not properly fall under any of them. This I thought fit to premise, that
the Reader may not judge too hastily of this Piece of Criticism, or look
upon it as Imperfect, before he has seen the whole Extent of it.

The Sentiments in an Epic Poem are the Thoughts and Behaviour which the
Author ascribes to the Persons whom he introduces, and are _just_ when
they are conformable to the Characters of the several Persons. The
Sentiments have likewise a relation to _Things_ as well as _Persons_,
and are then perfect when they are such as are adapted to the Subject.
If in either of these Cases the Poet [endeavours to argue or explain, to
magnify or diminish, to raise] [2] Love or Hatred, Pity or Terror, or
any other Passion, we ought to consider whether the Sentiments he makes
use of are proper for [those [3]] Ends. _Homer_ is censured by the
Criticks for his Defect as to this Particular in several parts of the
_Iliad_ and _Odyssey_, tho at the same time those, who have treated
this great Poet with Candour, have attributed this Defect to the Times
in which he lived. [4] It was the Fault of the Age, and not of _Homer_,
if there wants that Delicacy in some of his Sentiments which now appears
in the Works of Men of a much inferior Genius. Besides, if there are
Blemishes in any particular Thoughts, there is an infinite Beauty in the
greatest Part of them. In short, if there are many Poets who would not
have fallen into the Meanness of some of his Sentiments, there are none
who could have risen up to the Greatness of others. _Virgil_ has
excelled all others in the Propriety of his Sentiments. _Milton_ shines
likewise very much in this Particular: Nor must we omit one
Consideration which adds to his Honour and Reputation. _Homer_ and
_Virgil_ introduced Persons whose Characters are commonly known among
Men, and such as are to be met with either in History, or in ordinary
Conversation. _Milton's_ Characters, most of them, lie out of Nature,
and were to be formed purely by his own Invention. It shews a greater
Genius in _Shakespear_ to have drawn his _Calyban,_ than his _Hotspur_
or _Julius Caesar:_ The one was to be supplied out of his own
Imagination, whereas the other might have been formed upon Tradition,
History and Observation. It was much easier therefore for _Homer_ to
find proper Sentiments for an Assembly of _Grecian_ Generals, than for
_Milton_ to diversify his infernal Council with proper Characters, and
inspire them with a Variety of Sentiments. The Lovers of _Dido_ and
_AEneas_ are only Copies of what has passed between other Persons.
_Adam_ and _Eve_, before the Fall, are a different Species from that of
Mankind, who are descended from them; and none but a Poet of the most
unbounded Invention, and the most exquisite Judgment, could have filled
their Conversation and Behaviour with [so many apt [5]] Circumstances
during their State of Innocence.

Nor is it sufficient for an Epic Poem to be filled with such Thoughts as
are _Natural_, unless it abound also with such as are _Sublime_. Virgil
in this Particular falls short of _Homer_. He has not indeed so many
Thoughts that are Low and Vulgar; but at the same time has not so many
Thoughts that are Sublime and Noble. The Truth of it is, _Virgil_ seldom
rises into very astonishing Sentiments, where he is not fired by the
_Iliad_. He every where charms and pleases us by the Force of his own
Genius; but seldom elevates and transports us where he does not fetch
his Hints from _Homer_.

_Milton's_ chief Talent, and indeed his distinguishing Excellence, lies
in the Sublimity of his Thoughts. There are others of the Moderns who
rival him in every other part of Poetry; but in the Greatness of his
Sentiments he triumphs over all the Poets both Modern and Ancient,
_Homer_ only excepted. It is impossible for the Imagination of Man to
distend itself with greater Ideas, than those which he has laid together
in his first, [second,] and sixth Book[s]. The seventh, which describes
the Creation of the World, is likewise wonderfully Sublime, tho not so
apt to stir up Emotion in the Mind of the Reader, nor consequently so
perfect in the Epic Way of Writing, because it is filled with less
Action. Let the judicious Reader compare what _Longinus_ has observed
[6] on several Passages in _Homer_, and he will find Parallels for most
of them in the _Paradise Lost_.

From what has been said we may infer, that as there are two kinds of
Sentiments, the Natural and the Sublime, which are always to be pursued
in an Heroic Poem, there are also two kinds of Thoughts which are
carefully to be avoided. The first are such as are affected and
unnatural; the second such as are mean and vulgar. As for the first kind
of Thoughts, we meet with little or nothing that is like them in
_Virgil:_ He has none of those [trifling [7]] Points and Puerilities
that are so often to be met with in _Ovid_, none of the Epigrammatick
Turns of _Lucan_, none of those swelling Sentiments which are so
frequent in _Statins_ and _Claudian_, none of those mixed Embellishments
of _Tasso_. Every thing is just and natural. His Sentiments shew that he
had a perfect Insight into human Nature, and that he knew every thing
which was the most proper to [affect it [8]].

Mr. _Dryden_ has in some Places, which I may hereafter take notice of,
misrepresented _Virgil's_ way of thinking as to this Particular, in the
Translation he has given us of the _AEneid_. I do not remember that
_Homer_ any where falls into the Faults above-mentioned, which were
indeed the false Refinements of later Ages. _Milton_, it must be
confest, has sometimes erred in this Respect, as I shall shew more at
large in another Paper; tho considering how all the Poets of the Age in
which he writ were infected with this wrong way of thinking, he is
rather to be admired that he did not give more into it, than that he did
sometimes comply with the vicious Taste which still prevails so much
among Modern Writers.

But since several Thoughts may be natural which are low and groveling,
an Epic Poet should not only avoid such Sentiments as are unnatural or
affected, but also such as are [mean [9]] and vulgar. _Homer_ has opened
a great Field of Raillery to Men of more Delicacy than Greatness of
Genius, by the Homeliness of some of his Sentiments. But, as I have
before said, these are rather to be imputed to the Simplicity of the Age
in which he lived, to which I may also add, of that which he described,
than to any Imperfection in that Divine Poet. _Zoilus_ [10] among the
Ancients, and Monsieur _Perrault_, [11] among the Moderns, pushed their
Ridicule very far upon him, on account of some such Sentiments. There is
no Blemish to be observed in _Virgil_ under this Head, and but [a] very
few in Milton.

I shall give but one Instance of this Impropriety of [Thought [12]] in
_Homer_, and at the same time compare it with an Instance of the same
Nature, both in _Virgil_ and _Milton_. Sentiments which raise Laughter,
can very seldom be admitted with any Decency into an Heroic Poem, whose
Business it is to excite Passions of a much nobler Nature. _Homer_,
however, in his Characters of _Vulcan_ [13] and _Thersites_ [14], in his
Story of _Mars_ and _Venus_, [15] in his Behaviour of _Irus_ [16] and in
other Passages, has been observed to have lapsed into the Burlesque
Character, and to have departed from that serious Air which seems
essential to the Magnificence of an Epic Poem. I remember but one Laugh
in the whole AEneid, which rises in the fifth Book, upon _Monaetes_, where
he is represented as thrown overboard, and drying himself upon a Rock.
But this Piece. of Mirth is so well timed, that the severest Critick can
have nothing to say against it; for it is in the Book of Games and
Diversions, where the Readers Mind may be supposed to be sufficiently
relaxed for such an Entertainment. The only Piece of Pleasantry in
_Paradise Lost_, is where the Evil Spirits are described as rallying the
Angels upon the Success of their new invented Artillery. This Passage I
look upon to be the most exceptionable in the whole Poem, as being
nothing else but a String of Punns, and those too very indifferent ones.

 --Satan beheld their Plight,
  And to his Mates thus in Derision call'd.
  O Friends, why come not on those Victors proud?
  Ere-while they fierce were coming, and when we,
  To entertain them fair with open Front,
  And Breast, (what could we more?) propounded terms
  Of Composition, straight they chang'd their Minds,
  Flew off, _and into strange Vagaries fell
  As they would dance: yet for a Dance they seem'd
  Somewhat extravagant, and wild; perhaps
  For Joy of offer'd Peace; but I suppose
  If our Proposals once again were_ heard,
  _We should compel them to a quick_ Result.

  _To whom thus_ Belial _in like gamesome Mood:
  Leader, the Terms we sent were Terms of_ Weight,
  _Of_ hard Contents, _and full of force urg'd home;
  Such as we might perceive amus'd them all,
  And_ stumbled _many: who receives them right,
  Had need, from Head to Foot, will_ understand;
  _Not_ understood, _this Gift they have besides,
  They shew us when our Foes_ walk not upright.

  _Thus they among themselves in pleasant vein
  Stood scoffing_ [17]----


[Footnote 1: It is in Part II. of the _Poetics,_ when treating of
Tragedy, that Aristotle lays down his main principles. Here after
treating of the Fable and the Manners, he proceeds to the Diction and
the Sentiments. By Fable, he says (Sec. 2),

  I mean the contexture of incidents, or the Plot. By Manners, I mean,
  whatever marks the Character of the Persons. By Sentiments, whatever
  they say, whether proving any thing, or delivering a general
  sentiment, &c.

In dividing Sentiments from Diction, he says (Sec.22): The Sentiments
include whatever is the Object of speech, Diction (Sec. 23-25) the words
themselves. Concerning Sentiment, he refers his reader to the

[Footnote 2: [argues or explains, magnifies or diminishes, raises]]

[Footnote 3: [these]]

[Footnote 4: Rene le Bossu says in his treatise on the Epic, published
in 1675, Bk, vi. ch. 3:

  What is base and ignoble at one time and in one country, is not
  always so in others. We are apt to smile at Homers comparing Ajax to
  an Ass in his Iliad. Such a comparison now-a-days would be indecent
  and ridiculous; because it would be indecent and ridiculous for a
  person of quality to ride upon such a steed. But heretofore this
  Animal was in better repute: Kings and princes did not disdain the
  best so much as mere tradesman do in our time. Tis just the same with
  many other smiles which in Homers time were allowable. We should now
  pity a Poet that should be so silly and ridiculous as to compare a
  Hero to a piece of Fat. Yet Homer does it in a comparison he makes of
  Ulysses... The reason is that in these Primitive Times, wherein the
  Sacrifices ... were living creatures, the Blood and the Fat were the
  most noble, the most august, and the most holy things.]

[Footnote 5: [such Beautiful]]

[Footnote 6: Longimus on the Sublime, I. Sec. 9. of Discord, Homer says
(Popes tr.):

  While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound,
  She stalks on earth.

  (Iliad iv.)

Of horses of the gods:

  Far as a shepherd from some spot on high
  O'er the wide main extends his boundless eye,
  Through such a space of air, with thundring sound,
  At one long leap th' immortal coursers bound.

  (Iliad v.)

Longinus quotes also from the Iliad xix., the combat of the Gods, the
description of Neptune, Iliad xi., and the Prayer of Ajax, Iliad xvii.]

[Footnote 7: [little]]

[Footnote 8: [affect it. I remember but one line in him which has been
objected against, by the Criticks, as a point of Wit. It is in his ninth
Book, where _Juno_, speaking of the _Trojans_, how they survived the
Ruins of their City, expresses her self in the following words;

  _Num copti potuere copi, num incense cremorunt Pergama?_

_Were the Trojans taken even after they were Captives, or did_ Troy
_burn even when it was in Flames?_]

[Footnote 9: [low]]

[Footnote 10: Zoilus, who lived about 270 B. C., in the time of Ptolemy
Philadelphus, made himself famous for attacks upon Homer and on Plato
and Isocrates, taking pride in the title of Homeromastix. Circes men
turned into swine Zoilus ridiculed as weeping porkers. When he asked
sustenance of Ptolemy he was told that Homer sustained many thousands,
and as he claimed to be a better man than Homer, he ought to be able to
sustain himself. The tradition is that he was at last crucified, stoned,
or burnt for his heresy.]

[Footnote 11: Charles Perrault, brother of Claude Perrault the architect
and ex-physician, was himself Controller of Public Buildings under
Colbert, and after his retirement from that office, published in 1690
his Parallel between the Ancients and Moderns, taking the side of the
moderns in the controversy, and dealing sometimes disrespectfully with
Homer. Boileau replied to him in Critical Reflections on Longinus.]

[Footnote 12: [Sentiments]]

[Footnote 13: Iliad, Bk. i., near the close.]

[Footnote 14: Iliad, Bk. ii.]

[Footnote 15: Bk. v., at close.]

[Footnote 16: Odyssey, Bk. xviii]

[Footnote 17: Paradise Lost, Bk. vi. 1. 609, &c. Milton meant that the
devils should be shown as scoffers, and their scoffs as mean.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 280.               Monday, January 21, 1712.               Steele.

  Principibus Placuisse viris non ultima I laus est.


The Desire of Pleasing makes a Man agreeable or unwelcome to those with
whom he converses, according to the Motive from which that Inclination
appears to flow. If your Concern for pleasing others arises from innate
Benevolence, it never fails of Success; if from a Vanity to excel, its
Disappointment is no less certain. What we call an agreeable Man, is he
who is endowed with [the [1]] natural Bent to do acceptable things from
a Delight he takes in them meerly as such; and the Affectation of that
Character is what constitutes a Fop. Under these Leaders one may draw up
all those who make any Manner of Figure, except in dumb Show. A rational
and select Conversation is composed of Persons, who have the Talent of
Pleasing with Delicacy of Sentiments flowing from habitual Chastity of
Thought; but mixed Company is frequently made up of Pretenders to Mirth,
and is usually pestered with constrained, obscene, and painful
Witticisms. Now and then you meet with a Man so exactly formed for
Pleasing, that it is no matter what he is doing or saying, that is to
say, that there need no Manner of Importance in it, to make him gain
upon every Body who hears or beholds him. This Felicity is not the Gift
of Nature only, but must be attended with happy Circumstances, which add
a Dignity to the familiar Behaviour which distinguishes him whom we call
an agreeable Man. It is from this that every Body loves and esteems
_Polycarpus_. He is in the Vigour of his Age and the Gayety of Life, but
has passed through very conspicuous Scenes in it; though no Soldier, he
has shared the Danger, and acted with great Gallantry and Generosity on
a decisive Day of Battle. To have those Qualities which only make other
Men conspicuous in the World as it were supernumerary to him, is a
Circumstance which gives Weight to his most indifferent Actions; for as
a known Credit is ready Cash to a Trader, so is acknowledged Merit
immediate Distinction, and serves in the Place of Equipage to a
Gentleman. This renders _Polycarpus_ graceful in Mirth, important in
Business, and regarded with Love in every ordinary Occurrence. But not
to dwell upon Characters which have such particular Recommendations to
our Hearts, let us turn our Thoughts rather to the Methods of Pleasing
which must carry Men through the World who cannot pretend to such
Advantages. Falling in with the particular Humour or Manner of one above
you, abstracted from the general Rules of good Behaviour, is the Life of
a Slave. A Parasite differs in nothing from the meanest Servant, but
that the Footman hires himself for bodily Labour, subjected to go and
come at the Will of his Master, but the other gives up his very Soul: He
is prostituted to speak, and professes to think after the Mode of him
whom he courts. This Servitude to a Patron, in an honest Nature, would
be more grievous than that of wearing his Livery; therefore we will
speak of those Methods only which are worthy and ingenuous.

The happy Talent of Pleasing either those above you or below you, seems
to be wholly owing to the Opinion they have of your Sincerity. This
Quality is to attend the agreeable Man in all the Actions of his Life;
and I think there need no more be said in Honour of it, than that it is
what forces the Approbation even of your Opponents. The guilty Man has
an Honour for the Judge who with Justice pronounces against him the
Sentence of Death it self. The Author of the Sentence at the Head of
this Paper, was an excellent Judge of human Life, and passed his own in
Company the most agreeable that ever was in the World. _Augustus_ lived
amongst his Friends as if he had his Fortune to make in his own Court:
Candour and Affability, accompanied with as much Power as ever Mortal
was vested with, were what made him in the utmost Manner agreeable among
a Set of admirable Men, who had Thoughts too high for Ambition, and
Views too large to be gratified by what he could give them in the
Disposal of an Empire, without the Pleasures of their mutual
Conversation. A certain Unanimity of Taste and Judgment, which is
natural to all of the same Order in the Species, was the Band of this
Society; and the Emperor assumed no Figure in it but what he thought was
his Due from his private Talents and Qualifications, as they contributed
to advance the Pleasures and Sentiments of the Company.

Cunning People, Hypocrites, all who are but half virtuous, or half wise,
are incapable of tasting the refined Pleasure of such an equal Company
as could wholly exclude the Regard of Fortune in their Conversations.
_Horace_, in the Discourse from whence I take the Hint of the present
Speculation, lays down excellent Rules for Conduct in Conversation with
Men of Power; but he speaks it with an Air of one who had no Need of
such an Application for any thing which related to himself. It shews he
understood what it was to be a skilful Courtier, by just Admonitions
against Importunity, and shewing how forcible it was to speak Modestly
of your own Wants. There is indeed something so shameless in taking all
Opportunities to speak of your own Affairs, that he who is guilty of it
towards him upon whom he depends, fares like the Beggar who exposes his
Sores, which instead of moving Compassion makes the Man he begs of turn
away from the Object.

I cannot tell what is become of him, but I remember about sixteen Years
ago an honest Fellow, who so justly understood how disagreeable the
Mention or Appearance of his Wants would make him, that I have often
reflected upon him as a Counterpart of _Irus_, whom I have formerly
mentioned. This Man, whom I have missed for some Years in my Walks, and
have heard was someway employed about the Army, made it a Maxim, That
good Wigs, delicate Linen, and a chearful Air, were to a poor Dependent
the same that working Tools are to a poor Artificer. It was no small
Entertainment to me, who knew his Circumstances, to see him, who had
fasted two Days, attribute the Thinness they told him of to the Violence
of some Gallantries he had lately been guilty of. The skilful Dissembler
carried this on with the utmost Address; and if any suspected his
Affairs were narrow, it was attributed to indulging himself in some
fashionable Vice rather than an irreproachable Poverty, which saved his
Credit with those on whom he depended.

The main Art is to be as little troublesome as you can, and make all you
hope for come rather as a Favour from your Patron than Claim from you.
But I am here prating of what is the Method of Pleasing so as to succeed
in the World, when there are Crowds who have, in City, Town, Court, and
Country, arrived at considerable Acquisitions, and yet seem incapable of
acting in any constant Tenour of Life, but have gone on from one
successful Error to another: Therefore I think I may shorten this
Enquiry after the Method of Pleasing; and as the old Beau said to his
Son, once for all, Pray, Jack, _be a fine Gentleman_, so may I, to my
Reader, abridge my Instructions, and finish the Art of Pleasing in a
Word, Be rich.


[Footnote 1: [that]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 281.                Tuesday, January 22, 1712.              Addison.

  Pectoribus inhians spirantia consulit exta.


Having already given an Account of the Dissection of a Beaus Head, with
the several Discoveries made on that Occasion; I shall here, according
to my Promise, enter upon the Dissection of a Coquets Heart, and
communicate to the Public such Particularities as we observed in that
curious Piece of Anatomy.

I should perhaps have waved this Undertaking, had not I been put in mind
of my Promise by several of my unknown Correspondents, who are very
importunate with me to make an Example of the Coquet, as I have already
done of the Beau. It is therefore in Compliance with the Request of
Friends, that I have looked over the Minutes of my former Dream, in
order to give the Publick an exact Relation to it, which I shall enter
upon without further Preface.

Our Operator, before he engaged in this Visionary Dissection, told us,
that there was nothing in his Art more difficult than to lay open the
Heart of a Coquet, by reason of the many Labyrinths and Recesses which
are to be found in it, and which do not appear in the Heart of any other

He desired us first of all to observe the _Pericardium_, or outward Case
of the Heart, which we did very attentively; and by the help of our
Glasses discern'd in it Millions of little Scars, which seem'd to have
been occasioned by the Points of innumerable Darts and Arrows, that from
time to time had glanced upon the outward Coat; though we could not
discover the smallest Orifice, by which any of them had entered and
pierced the inward Substance.

Every Smatterer in Anatomy knows that this _Pericardium_, or Case of the
Heart, contains in it a thin reddish Liquor, supposed to be bred from
the Vapours which exhale out of the Heart, and, being stopt here, are
condensed into this watry Substance. Upon examining this Liquor, we
found that it had in it all the Qualities of that Spirit which is made
use of in the Thermometer, to shew the Change of Weather.

Nor must I here omit an Experiment one of the Company assured us he
himself had made with this Liquor, which he found in great Quantity
about the Heart of a Coquet whom he had formerly dissected. He affirmed
to us, that he had actually inclosed it in a small Tube made after the
manner of a Weather Glass; but that instead of acquainting him with the
Variations of the Atmosphere, it shewed him the Qualities of those
Persons who entered the Room where it stood. He affirmed also, that it
rose at the Approach of a Plume of Feathers, an embroidered Coat, or a
Pair of fringed Gloves; and that it fell as soon as an ill-shaped
Perriwig, a clumsy Pair of Shoes, or an unfashionable Coat came into his
House: Nay, he proceeded so far as to assure us, that upon his Laughing
aloud when he stood by it, the Liquor mounted very sensibly, and
immediately sunk again upon his looking serious. In short, he told us,
that he knew very well by this Invention whenever he had a Man of Sense
or a Coxcomb in his Room.

Having cleared away the _Pericardium_, or the Case and Liquor
above-mentioned, we came to the Heart itself. The outward Surface of it
was extremely slippery, and the _Mufro_, or Point, so very cold withal,
that, upon endeavouring to take hold of it it glided through the Fingers
like a smooth Piece of Ice.

The Fibres were turned and twisted in a more intricate and perplexed
manner than they are usually found in other Hearts; insomuch that the
whole Heart was wound up together in a Gordian Knot, and must have had
very irregular and unequal Motions, whilst it was employed in its Vital

One thing we thought very observable, namely, that, upon examining all
the Vessels which came into it or issued out of it, we could not
discover any Communication that it had with the Tongue.

We could not but take Notice likewise, that several of those little
Nerves in the Heart which are affected by the Sentiments of Love,
Hatred, and other Passions, did not descend to this before us from the
Brain, but from the Muscles which lie about the Eye.

Upon weighing the Heart in my Hand, I found it to be extreamly light,
and consequently very hollow, which I did not wonder at, when upon
looking into the Inside of it, I saw Multitudes of Cells and Cavities
running one within another, as our Historians describe the Apartments of
_Rosamond's_ Bower. Several of these little Hollows were stuffed with
innumerable sorts of Trifles, which I shall forbear giving any
particular Account of, and shall therefore only take Notice of what lay
first and uppermost, which, upon our unfolding it and applying our
Microscopes to it, appeared to be a Flame-coloured Hood.

We were informed that the Lady of this Heart, when living, received the
Addresses of several who made Love to her, and did not only give each of
them Encouragement, but made every one she conversed with believe that
she regarded him with an Eye of Kindness; for which Reason we expected
to have seen the Impression of Multitudes of Faces among the several
Plaits and Foldings of the Heart; but to our great Surprize not a single
Print of this nature discovered it self till we came into the very Core
and Center of it. We there observed a little Figure, which, upon
applying our Glasses to it, appeared dressed in a very fantastick
manner. The more I looked upon it, the more I thought I had seen the
Face before, but could not possibly recollect either the Place or Time;
when, at length, one of the Company, who had examined this Figure more
nicely than the rest, shew'd us plainly by the Make of its Face, and the
several Turns of its Features, that the little Idol which was thus
lodged in the very Middle of the Heart was the deceased Beau, whose Head
I gave some Account of in my last _Tuesdays_ Paper.

As soon as we had finished our Dissection, we resolved to make an
Experiment of the Heart, not being able to determine among our selves
the Nature of its Substance, which differ'd in so many Particulars from
that of the Heart in other Females. Accordingly we laid it into a Pan of
burning Coals, when we observed in it a certain Salamandrine Quality,
that made it capable of living in the midst of Fire and Flame, without
being consumed, or so much as singed.

As we were admiring this strange _Phoenomenon_, and standing round the
Heart in a Circle, it gave a most prodigious Sigh or rather Crack, and
dispersed all at once in Smoke and Vapour. This imaginary Noise, which
methought was louder than the burst of a Cannon, produced such a violent
Shake in my Brain, that it dissipated the Fumes of Sleep, and left me in
an Instant broad awake.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 282.               Wednesday, January 23, 1712.              Steele.

  [--Spes incerta futuri.

  Virg. [1]]

It is a lamentable thing that every Man is full of Complaints, and
constantly uttering Sentences against the Fickleness of Fortune, when
People generally bring upon themselves all the Calamities they fall
into, and are constantly heaping up Matter for their own Sorrow and
Disappointment. That which produces the greatest Part of the [Delusions
[2]] of Mankind, is a false Hope which People indulge with so sanguine a
Flattery to themselves, that their Hearts are bent upon fantastical
Advantages which they had no Reason to believe should ever have arrived
to them. By this unjust Measure of calculating their Happiness, they
often mourn with real Affliction for imaginary Losses. When I am talking
of this unhappy way of accounting for our selves, I cannot but reflect
upon a particular Set of People, who, in their own Favour, resolve every
thing that is possible into what is probable, and then reckon on that
Probability as on what must certainly happen. WILL. HONEYCOMB, upon my
observing his looking on a Lady with some particular Attention, gave me
an Account of the great Distresses which had laid waste that her very
fine Face, and had given an Air of Melancholy to a very agreeable
Person, That Lady, and a couple of Sisters of hers, were, said WILL.,
fourteen Years ago, the greatest Fortunes about Town; but without having
any Loss by bad Tenants, by bad Securities, or any Damage by Sea or
Land, are reduced to very narrow Circumstances. They were at that time
the most inaccessible haughty Beauties in Town; and their Pretensions to
take upon them at that unmerciful rate, was rais'd upon the following
Scheme, according to which all their Lovers were answered.

Our Father is a youngish Man, but then our Mother is somewhat older,
and not likely to have any Children: His Estate, being L800 per Annum,
at 20 Years Purchase, is worth L16,000. Our Uncle who is above 50, has
L400 _per Annum_, which at the foresaid Rate, is L8000. There's a Widow
Aunt, who has L10,000 at her own Disposal left by her Husband, and an
old Maiden Aunt who has L6000. Then our Fathers Mother has L900 _per
Annum_, which is worth L18,000 and L1000 each of us has of her own,
which cant be taken from us. These summ'd up together stand thus.

   Fathers 800- 16,000  This equally divided between
   Uncles  400-   8000  us three amounts to L20,000
   Aunts 10,000          each; and Allowance being
           6000- 16,000  given for Enlargement upon
Grandmother 900- 18,000  common Fame, we may lawfully
  Own 1000 each-   3000  pass for L30,000 Fortunes.
          Total- 61,000

In Prospect of this, and the Knowledge of her own personal Merit, every
one was contemptible in their Eyes, and they refus'd those Offers which
had been frequently made em. But _mark the End:_ The Mother dies, the
Father is married again, and has a Son, on him was entail'd the
Fathers, Uncles, and Grand-mothers Estate. This cut off L43,000. The
Maiden Aunt married a tall Irishman, and with her went the L6000. The
Widow died, and left but enough to pay her Debts and bury her; so that
there remained for these three Girls but their own L1000. They had [by]
this time passed their Prime, and got on the wrong side of Thirty; and
must pass the Remainder of their Days, upbraiding Mankind that they mind
nothing but Money, and bewailing that Virtue, Sense and Modesty are had
at present in no manner of Estimation.

I mention this Case of Ladies before any other, because it is the most
irreparable: For tho Youth is the Time less capable of Reflection, it
is in that Sex the only Season in which they can advance their Fortunes.
But if we turn our Thoughts to the Men, we see such Crowds of Unhappy
from no other Reason, but an ill-grounded Hope, that it is hard to say
which they rather deserve, our Pity or Contempt. It is not unpleasant to
see a Fellow after grown old in Attendance, and after having passed half
a Life in Servitude, call himself the unhappiest of all Men, and pretend
to be disappointed because a Courtier broke his Word. He that promises
himself any thing but what may naturally arise from his own Property or
Labour, and goes beyond the Desire of possessing above two Parts in
three even of that, lays up for himself an encreasing Heap of
Afflictions and Disappointments. There are but two Means in the World of
gaining by other Men, and these are by being either agreeable or
considerable. The Generality of Mankind do all things for their own
sakes; and when you hope any thing from Persons above you, if you cannot
say, I can be thus agreeable or thus serviceable, it is ridiculous to
pretend to the Dignity of being unfortunate when they leave you; you
were injudicious, in hoping for any other than to be neglected, for such
as can come within these Descriptions of being capable to please or
serve your Patron, when his Humour or Interests call for their Capacity
either way.

It would not methinks be an useless Comparison between the Condition of
a Man who shuns all the Pleasures of Life, and of one who makes it his
Business to pursue them. Hope in the Recluse makes his Austerities
comfortable, while the luxurious Man gains nothing but Uneasiness from
his Enjoyments. What is the Difference in the Happiness of him who is
macerated by Abstinence, and his who is surfeited with Excess? He who
resigns the World, has no Temptation to Envy, Hatred, Malice, Anger, but
is in constant Possession of a serene Mind; he who follows the Pleasures
of it, which are in their very Nature disappointing, is in constant
Search of Care, Solicitude, Remorse, and Confusion.

  _January the 14th, 1712_.


  I am a young Woman and have my Fortune to make; for which Reason I
  come constantly to Church to hear Divine Service, and make Conquests:
  But one great Hindrance in this my Design, is, that our Clerk, who was
  once a Gardener, has this _Christmas_ so over-deckt the Church with
  Greens, that he has quite spoilt my Prospect, insomuch that I have
  scarce seen the young Baronet I dress at these three Weeks, though we
  have both been very constant at our Devotions, and don't sit above
  three Pews off. The Church, as it is now equipt, looks more like a
  Green-house than a Place of Worship: The middle Isle is a very pretty
  shady Walk, and the Pews look like so many Arbours of each Side of it.
  The Pulpit itself has such Clusters of Ivy, Holly, and Rosemary about
  it, that a light Fellow in our Pew took occasion to say, that the
  Congregation heard the Word out of a Bush, like _Moses_. Sir _Anthony
  Loves_ Pew in particular is so well hedged, that all my Batteries
  have no Effect. I am obliged to shoot at random among the Boughs,
  without taking any manner of Aim. _Mr_. SPECTATOR, unless you'll give
  Orders for removing these Greens, I shall grow a very awkward Creature
  at Church, and soon have little else to do there but to say my
  Prayers. I am in haste,

  _Dear SIR_,
  _Your most Obedient Servant_,
  Jenny Simper.


[Footnote 1: _Et nulli rei nisi Poenitentiae natus._ ]

[Footnote 2: Pollutions]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 283.               Thursday, January 24, 1712.             Budgell.

  Magister artis et largitor ingeni


Lucian [1] rallies the Philosophers in his Time, who could not agree
whether they should admit _Riches_ into the number of _real Goods_; the
Professors of the Severer Sects threw them quite out, while others as
resolutely inserted them.

I am apt to believe, that as the World grew more Polite, the rigid
Doctrines of the first were wholly discarded; and I do not find any one
so hardy at present, as to deny that there are very great Advantages in
the Enjoyment of a plentiful Fortune. Indeed the best and wisest of Men,
tho they may possibly despise a good Part of those things which the
World calls Pleasures, can, I think, hardly be insensible of that Weight
and Dignity which a moderate Share of Wealth adds to their Characters,
Councils, and Actions.

We find it is a General Complaint in Professions and Trades, that the
richest Members of them are chiefly encouraged, and this is falsly
imputed to the Ill-nature of Mankind, who are ever bestowing their
Favours on such as least want them. Whereas if we fairly consider their
Proceedings in this Case, we shall find them founded on undoubted
Reason: Since supposing both equal in their natural Integrity, I ought,
in common Prudence, to fear foul Play from an Indigent Person, rather
than from one whose Circumstances seem to have placed him above the bare
Temptation of Money.

This Reason also makes the Common-wealth regard her richest Subjects, as
those who are most concerned for her Quiet and Interest, and
consequently fittest to be intrusted with her highest Imployments. On
the contrary, _Cataline's_ Saying to those Men of desperate Fortunes,
who applied themselves to him, and of whom he afterwards composed his
Army, that _they had nothing to hope for but a Civil War_, was too true
not to make the Impressions he desired.

I believe I need not fear but that what I have said in Praise of Money,
will be more than sufficient with most of my Readers to excuse the
Subject of my present Paper, which I intend as an Essay on _The Ways to
raise a Man's Fortune_, or, _The Art of growing Rich._

The first and most infallible Method towards the attaining of this End,
is _Thrift:_ All Men are not equally qualified for getting Money, but it
is in the Power of every one alike to practise this Virtue, and I
believe there are very few Persons, who, if they please to reflect on
their past Lives, will not find that had they saved all those Little
Sums which they have spent unnecessarily, they might at present have
been Masters of a competent Fortune. _Diligence_ justly claims the next
Place to _Thrift:_ I find both these excellently well recommended to
common use in the three following _Italian_ Proverbs,

  Never do that by Proxy which you can do yourself.
  Never defer that till To-morrow which you can do To-day.
  Never neglect small Matters and Expences.

A third Instrument of growing Rich, is _Method in Business_, which, as
well as the two former, is also attainable by Persons of the meanest

The famous _De Wit_, one of the greatest Statesmen of the Age in which
he lived, being asked by a Friend, How he was able to dispatch that
Multitude of Affairs in which he was engaged? reply'd, That his whole
Art consisted in doing _one thing at once_. If, says he, I have any
necessary Dispatches to make, I think of nothing else till those are
finished; If any Domestick Affairs require my Attention, I give myself
up wholly to them till they are set in Order.

In short, we often see Men of dull and phlegmatick Tempers, arriving to
great Estates, by making a regular and orderly Disposition of their
Business, and that without it the greatest Parts and most lively
Imaginations rather puzzle their Affairs, than bring them to an happy

From what has been said, I think I may lay it down as a Maxim, that
every Man of good common Sense may, if he pleases, in his particular
Station of Life, most certainly be Rich. The Reason why we sometimes see
that Men of the greatest Capacities are not so, is either because they
despise Wealth in Comparison of something else; or at least are not
content to be getting an Estate, unless they may do it their own way,
and at the same time enjoy all the Pleasures and Gratifications of Life.

But besides these ordinary Forms of growing Rich, it must be allowed
that there is Room for Genius, as well in this as in all other
Circumstances of Life.

Tho the Ways of getting Money were long since very numerous; and tho
so many new ones have been found out of late Years, there is certainly
still remaining so large a Field for Invention, that a Man of an
indifferent Head might easily sit down and draw up such a Plan for the
Conduct and support of his Life, as was never yet once thought of.

We daily see Methods put in practice by hungry and ingenious Men, which
demonstrate the Power of Invention in this Particular.

It is reported of _Scaramouch_, the first famous Italian Comedian, that
being at _Paris_ and in great Want, he bethought himself of constantly
plying near the Door of a noted Perfumer in that City, and when any one
came out who had been buying Snuff, never failed to desire a Taste of
them: when he had by this Means got together a Quantity made up of
several different Sorts, he sold it again at a lower Rate to the same
Perfumer, who finding out the Trick, called it _Tabac de mille fleures_,
or _Snuff of a thousand Flowers_. The Story farther tells us, that by
this means he got a very comfortable Subsistence, till making too much
haste to grow Rich, he one Day took such an unreasonable Pinch out of
the Box of a _Swiss_ Officer, as engaged him in a Quarrel, and obliged
him to quit this Ingenious Way of Life.

Nor can I in this Place omit doing Justice to a Youth of my own Country,
who, tho he is scarce yet twelve Years old, has with great Industry and
Application attained to the Art of beating the Grenadiers March on his
Chin. I am credibly informed that by this means he does not only
maintain himself and his Mother, but that he is laying up Money every
Day, with a Design, if the War continues, to purchase a Drum at least,
if not a Colours.

I shall conclude these Instances with the Device of the famous
_Rabelais_, when he was at a great Distance from _Paris_, and without
Money to bear his Expences thither. This ingenious Author being thus
sharp set, got together a convenient Quantity of Brick-Dust, and having
disposed of it into several Papers, writ upon one _Poyson for Monsieur_,
upon a second, _Poyson for the Dauphin_, and on a third, _Poyson for the
King_. Having made this Provision for the Royal Family of _France_, he
laid his Papers so that his Landlord, who was an Inquisitive Man, and a
good Subject, might get a Sight of them.

The Plot succeeded as he desired: The Host gave immediate Intelligence
to the Secretary of State. The Secretary presently sent down a Special
Messenger, who brought up the Traitor to Court, and provided him at the
Kings Expence with proper Accommodations on the Road. As soon as he
appeared he was known to be the Celebrated _Rabelais_, and his Powder
upon Examination being found very Innocent, the Jest was only laught at;
for which a less eminent _Drole_ would have been sent to the Gallies.

Trade and Commerce might doubtless be still varied a thousand Ways, out
of which would arise such Branches as have not yet been touched. The
famous _Doily_ is still fresh in every ones Memory, who raised a
Fortune by finding out Materials for such Stuffs as might at once be
cheap and genteel. I have heard it affirmed, that had not he discovered
this frugal Method of gratifying our Pride, we should hardly have been
[able[1]] to carry on the last War.

I regard Trade not only as highly advantageous to the Commonwealth in
general; but as the most natural and likely Method of making a Man's
Fortune, having observed, since my being a _Spectator_ in the World,
greater Estates got about _Change_, than at _Whitehall_ or at St.
_James's_. I believe I may also add, that the first Acquisitions are
generally attended with more Satisfaction, and as good a Conscience.

I must not however close this Essay, without observing that what has
been said is only intended for Persons in the common ways of Thriving,
and is not designed for those Men who from low Beginnings push
themselves up to the Top of States, and the most considerable Figures in
Life. My Maxim of _Saving_ is not designed for such as these, since
nothing is more usual than for _Thrift_ to disappoint the Ends of
_Ambition_; it being almost impossible that the Mind should [be [2]]
intent upon Trifles, while it is at the same time forming some great

I may therefore compare these Men to a great Poet, who, as _Longinus_
says, while he is full of the most magnificent Ideas, is not always at
leisure to mind the little Beauties and Niceties of his Art.

I would however have all my Readers take great care how they mistake
themselves for uncommon _Genius's_, and Men above Rule, since it is very
easy for them to be deceived in this Particular.


[Footnote 1: In his Auction of Philosophers.]

[Footnote 2: [able so well]]

[Footnote 3: [descend to and be]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 284.                 Friday, January 25, 1712.               Steele.

  [Posthabui tamen illorum mea seria Ludo.

  Virg. [1]]

An unaffected Behaviour is without question a very great Charm; but
under the Notion of being unconstrained and disengaged, People take upon
them to be unconcerned in any Duty of Life. A general Negligence is what
they assume upon all Occasions, and set up for an Aversion to all manner
of Business and Attention. _I am the carelessest Creature in the World,
I have certainly the worst Memory of any Man living_, are frequent
Expressions in the Mouth of a Pretender of this sort. It is a professed
Maxim with these People never to _think_; there is something so solemn
in Reflexion, they, forsooth, can never give themselves Time for such a
way of employing themselves. It happens often that this sort of Man is
heavy enough in his Nature to be a good Proficient in such Matters as
are attainable by Industry; but alas! he has such an ardent Desire to be
what he is not, to be too volatile, to have the Faults of a Person of
Spirit, that he professes himself the most unfit Man living for any
manner of Application. When this Humour enters into the Head of a
Female, she gently professes Sickness upon all Occasions, and acts all
things with an indisposed Air: She is offended, but her Mind is too lazy
to raise her to Anger, therefore she lives only as actuated by a violent
Spleen and gentle Scorn. She has hardly Curiosity to listen to Scandal
of her Acquaintance, and has never Attention enough to hear them
commended. This Affectation in both Sexes makes them vain of being
useless, and take a certain Pride in their Insignificancy.

Opposite to this Folly is another no less unreasonable, and that is the
Impertinence of being always in a Hurry. There are those who visit
Ladies, and beg Pardon afore they are well seated in their Chairs, that
they just called in, but are obliged to attend Business of Importance
elsewhere the very next Moment: Thus they run from Place to Place,
professing that they are obliged to be still in another Company than
that which they are in. These Persons who are just a going somewhere
else should never be detained; [let [2]] all the World allow that
Business is to be minded, and their Affairs will be at an end. Their
Vanity is to be importuned, and Compliance with their Multiplicity of
Affairs would effectually dispatch em. The Travelling Ladies, who have
half the Town to see in an Afternoon, may be pardoned for being in
constant Hurry; but it is inexcusable in Men to come where they have no
Business, to profess they absent themselves where they have. It has been
remarked by some nice Observers and Criticks, that there is nothing
discovers the true Temper of a Person so much as his Letters. I have by
me two Epistles, which are written by two People of the different
Humours above-mentioned. It is wonderful that a Man cannot observe upon
himself when he sits down to write, but that he will gravely commit
himself to Paper the same Man that he is in the Freedom of Conversation.
I have hardly seen a Line from any of these Gentlemen, but spoke them as
absent from what they were doing, as they profess they are when they
come into Company. For the Folly is, that they have perswaded themselves
they really are busy. Thus their whole Time is spent in suspense of the
present Moment to the next, and then from the next to the succeeding,
which to the End of Life is to pass away with Pretence to many things,
and Execution of nothing.


  The Post is just going out, and I have many other Letters of very
  great Importance to write this Evening, but I could not omit making my
  Compliments to you for your Civilities to me when I was last in Town.
  It is my Misfortune to be so full of Business, that I cannot tell you
  a Thousand Things which I have to say to you. I must desire you to
  communicate the Contents of this to no one living; but believe me to
  be, with the greatest Fidelity,


  _Your most Obedient_,

  _Humble Servant_,

  Stephen Courier.


  I hate Writing, of all Things in the World; however, though I have
  drunk the Waters, and am told I ought not to use my Eyes so much, I
  cannot forbear writing to you, to tell you I have been to the last
  Degree hipped since I saw you. How could you entertain such a Thought,
  as that I should hear of that silly Fellow with Patience? Take my Word
  for it, there is nothing in it; and you may believe it when so lazy a
  Creature as I am undergo the Pains to assure you of it by taking Pen,
  Ink, and Paper in my Hand. Forgive this, you know I shall not often
  offend in this Kind. I am very much
  _Your Servant_,
  Bridget Eitherdown.

  _The Fellow is of your Country, prythee send me Word how ever whether
  he has so great an Estate_.

  _Mr_. SPECTATOR, _Jan_. 24, 1712.

  I am Clerk of the Parish from whence Mrs. _Simper_ sends her
  Complaint, in your Yesterdays _Spectator_. I must beg of you to
  publish this as a publick Admonition to the aforesaid Mrs. _Simper_,
  otherwise all my honest Care in the Disposition of the Greens in the
  Church will have no Effect: I shall therefore with your Leave lay
  before you the whole Matter. I was formerly, as she charges me, for
  several Years a Gardener in the County of _Kent_: But I must
  absolutely deny, that tis out of any Affection I retain for my old
  Employment that I have placed my Greens so liberally about the Church,
  but out of a particular Spleen I conceived against Mrs. _Simper_ (and
  others of the same Sisterhood) some time ago. As to herself, I had one
  Day set the Hundredth _Psalm_, and was singing the first Line in order
  to put the Congregation into the Tune, she was all the while curtsying
  to Sir _Anthony_ in so affected and indecent a manner, that the
  Indignation I conceived at it made me forget my self so far, as from
  the Tune of that _Psalm_ to wander into _Southwell_ Tune, and from
  thence into _Windsor_ Tune, still unable to recover my self till I had
  with the utmost Confusion set a new one. Nay, I have often seen her
  rise up and smile and curtsy to one at the lower End of the Church in
  the midst of a _Gloria Patri_; and when I have spoke the Assent to a
  Prayer with a long Amen uttered with decent Gravity, she has been
  rolling her Eyes around about in such a Manner, as plainly shewed,
  however she was moved, it was not towards an Heavenly Object. In fine,
  she extended her Conquests so far over the Males, and raised such Envy
  in the Females, that what between Love of those and the Jealousy of
  these, I was almost the only Person that looked in the Prayer-Book all
  Church-time. I had several Projects in my Head to put a Stop to this
  growing Mischief; but as I have long lived in _Kent_, and there often
  heard how the _Kentish_ Men evaded the Conqueror, by carrying green
  Boughs over their Heads, it put me in mind of practising this Device
  against Mrs. _Simper_. I find I have preserved many a young Man from
  her Eye-shot by this Means; therefore humbly pray the Boughs may be
  fixed, till she shall give Security for her peaceable Intentions.

  _Your Humble Servant_,

  Francis Sternhold.


[Footnote 1: [_Strenua nos exercet inertia._---HOR.]

[Footnote 2: [_but_]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 285.               Saturday, January 26, 1712.              Addison.

  Ne, quicunque Deus, quicunque adhibebitur heros,
  Regali conspectus in auro nuper et ostro,
  Migret in Obscuras humili sermone tabernas:
  Aut, dum vitat humum, nubes et inania captet.


Having already treated of the Fable, the Characters, and Sentiments in
the Paradise Lost, we are in the last Place to consider the Language;
and as the Learned World is very much divided upon Milton as to this
Point, I hope they will excuse me if I appear particular in any of my
Opinions, and encline to those who judge the most advantageously of the

It is requisite that the Language of an Heroic Poem should be both
Perspicuous and Sublime. [1] In proportion as either of these two
Qualities are wanting, the Language is imperfect. Perspicuity is the
first and most necessary Qualification; insomuch that a good-natur'd
Reader sometimes overlooks a little Slip even in the Grammar or Syntax,
where it is impossible for him to mistake the Poets Sense. Of this Kind
is that Passage in Milton, wherein he speaks of Satan.

 --God and his Son except,
  Created thing nought valu'd he nor shunn'd.

And that in which he describes Adam and Eve.

  Adam the goodliest Man of Men since born
  His Sons, the fairest of her Daughters Eve.

It is plain, that in the former of these Passages according to the
natural Syntax, the Divine Persons mentioned in the first Line are
represented as created Beings; and that, in the other, Adam and Eve are
confounded with their Sons and Daughters. Such little Blemishes as
these, when the Thought is great and natural, we should, with Horace [2]
impute to a pardonable Inadvertency, or to the Weakness of human Nature,
which cannot attend to each minute Particular, and give the last
Finishing to every Circumstance in so long a Work. The Ancient Criticks
therefore, who were acted by a Spirit of Candour, rather than that of
Cavilling, invented certain Figures of Speech, on purpose to palliate
little Errors of this nature in the Writings of those Authors who had so
many greater Beauties to attone for them.

If Clearness and Perspicuity were only to be consulted, the Poet would
have nothing else to do but to cloath his Thoughts in the most plain and
natural Expressions. But since it often happens that the most obvious
Phrases, and those which are used in ordinary Conversation, become too
familiar to the Ear, and contract a kind of Meanness by passing through
the Mouths of the Vulgar, a Poet should take particular Care to guard
himself against Idiomatick Ways of Speaking. Ovid and Lucan have many
Poornesses of Expression upon this Account, as taking up with the first
Phrases that offered, without putting themselves to the Trouble of
looking after such as would not only have been natural, but also
elevated and sublime. Milton has but few Failings in this Kind, of
which, however, you may [meet with some Instances, as [3] in the
following Passages.

  Embrios and Idiots, Eremites and Fryars,
  White, Black, and Grey,--with all their Trumpery,
  Here Pilgrims roam--

 --A while discourse they hold,
  No fear lest Dinner cool;--when thus began
  Our Author--

  Who of all Ages to succeed, but feeling
  The Evil on him brought by me, will curse
  My Head, ill fare our Ancestor impure,
  For this we may thank Adam--

The Great Masters in Composition, knew very well that many an elegant
Phrase becomes improper for a Poet or an Orator, when it has been
debased by common Use. For this Reason the Works of Ancient Authors,
which are written in dead Languages, have a great Advantage over those
which are written in Languages that are now spoken. Were there any mean
Phrases or Idioms in Virgil and Homer, they would not shock the Ear of
the most delicate Modern Reader, so much as they would have done that of
an old Greek or Roman, because we never hear them pronounced in our
Streets, or in ordinary Conversation.

It is not therefore sufficient, that the Language of an Epic Poem be
Perspicuous, unless it be also Sublime. To this end it ought to deviate
from the common Forms and ordinary Phrases of Speech. The Judgment of a
Poet very much discovers it self in shunning the common Roads of
Expression, without falling into such ways of Speech as may seem stiff
and unnatural; he must not swell into a false Sublime, by endeavouring
to avoid the other Extream. Among the Greeks, AEschylus, and sometimes
Sophocles, were guilty of this Fault; among the Latins, Claudian and
Statius; and among our own Countrymen, Shakespear and Lee. In these
Authors the Affectation of Greatness often hurts the Perspicuity of the
Stile, as in many others the Endeavour after Perspicuity prejudices its

Aristotle has observed, that the Idiomatick Stile may be avoided, and
the Sublime formed, by the following Methods. [4]

First, by the Use of Metaphors [: Such are those of Milton. [5]]

  Imparadised in one anothers Arms.

 --And in his Hand a Reed
  Stood waving tipt with Fire.--

  The grassie Clods now calvd,--

  [Spangled with Eyes--]

In these and innumerable other Instances, the Metaphors are very bold
but just; I must however observe that the Metaphors are not [so] thick
sown in Milton which always savours too much of Wit; that they never
clash with one another, which, as Aristotle observes, turns a Sentence
into a kind of an Enigma or Riddle; [6] and that he seldom has recourse
to them where the proper and natural Words will do as well.

Another way of raising the Language, and giving it a Poetical Turn, is
to make use of the Idioms of other Tongues. Virgil is full of the Greek
Forms of Speech, which the Criticks call Hellenisms, as Horace in his
Odes abounds with them much more than Virgil. I need not mention the
several Dialects which Homer has made use of for this end. Milton, in
conformity with the Practice of the Ancient Poets, and with Aristotle's
Rule, has infused a great many Latinisms, as well as Graecisms, and
sometimes Hebraisms, into the Language of his Poem; as towards the
Beginning of it.

  Nor did they not perceive the evil Plight
  In which they were, or the fierce Pains not feel,
  Yet to their Genrals Voice they soon obey'd.--

 --Who shall tempt with wandring Feet
  The dark unbottom'd Infinite Abyss,
  And through the palpable Obscure find out
  His uncouth way, or spread his airy Flight
  Upborn with indefatigable Wings
  Over the vast Abrupt!

  [--So both ascend
  In the Visions of God--        Book 2.]

Under this Head may be reckon'd the placing the Adjective after the
Substantive, the Transposition of Words, the turning the Adjective into
a Substantive, with several other Foreign Modes of Speech which this
Poet has naturalized to give his Verse the greater Sound, and throw it
out of Prose.

The third Method mentioned by Aristotle is what agrees with the Genius
of the Greek Language more than with that of any other Tongue, and is
therefore more used by Homer than by any other Poet. I mean the
lengthning of a Phrase by the Addition of Words, which may either be
inserted or omitted, as also by the extending or contracting of
particular Words by the Insertion or Omission of certain Syllables.
Milton has put in practice this Method of raising his Language, as far
as the Nature of our Tongue will permit, as in the Passage
above-mentioned, Eremite, [for] what is Hermit, in common Discourse. If
you observe the Measure of his Verse, he has with great Judgment
suppressed a Syllable in several Words, and shortned those of two
Syllables into one, by which Method, besides the above-mentioned
Advantage, he has given a greater Variety to his Numbers. But this
Practice is more particularly remarkable in the Names of Persons and of
Countries, as Beelzebub, Hessebon, and in many other Particulars,
wherein he has either changed the Name, or made use of that which is not
the most commonly known, that he might the better depart from the
Language of the Vulgar.

The same Reason recommended to him several old Words, which also makes
his Poem appear the more venerable, and gives it a greater Air of

I must likewise take notice, that there are in Milton several Words of
his own coining, as Cerberean, miscreated, Hell-doom'd, Embryon Atoms,
and many others. If the Reader is offended at this Liberty in our
English Poet, I would recommend him to a Discourse in Plutarch, [7]
which shews us how frequently Homer has made use of the same Liberty.

Milton, by the above-mentioned Helps, and by the Choice of the noblest
Words and Phrases which our Tongue would afford him, has carried our
Language to a greater Height than any of the English Poets have ever
done before or after him, and made the Sublimity of his Stile equal to
that of his Sentiments.

I have been the more particular in these Observations on Milton's Stile,
because it is that Part of him in which he appears the most singular.
The Remarks I have here made upon the Practice of other Poets, with my
Observations out of Aristotle, will perhaps alleviate the Prejudice
which some have taken to his Poem upon this Account; tho after all, I
must confess that I think his Stile, tho admirable in general, is in
some places too much stiffened and obscured by the frequent Use of those
Methods, which Aristotle has prescribed for the raising of it.

This Redundancy of those several Ways of Speech, which Aristotle calls
foreign Language, and with which Milton has so very much enriched, and
in some Places darkned the Language of his Poem, was the more proper for
his use, because his Poem is written in Blank Verse. Rhyme, without any
other Assistance, throws the Language off from Prose, and very often
makes an indifferent Phrase pass unregarded; but where the Verse is not
built upon Rhymes, there Pomp of Sound, and Energy of Expression, are
indispensably necessary to support the Stile, and keep it from falling
into the Flatness of Prose.

Those who have not a Taste for this Elevation of Stile, and are apt to
ridicule a Poet when he departs from the common Forms of Expression,
would do well to see how Aristotle has treated an Ancient Author called
Euclid, [8] for his insipid Mirth upon this Occasion. Mr. Dryden used to
call [these [9]]sort of Men his Prose-Criticks.

I should, under this Head of the Language, consider Milton's Numbers, in
which he has made use of several Elisions, which are not customary among
other English Poets, as may be particularly observed in his cutting off
the Letter Y, when it precedes a Vowel. [10] This, and some other
Innovation in the Measure of his Verse, has varied his Numbers in such a
manner, as makes them incapable of satiating the Ear, and cloying the
Reader, which the same uniform Measure would certainly have done, and
which the perpetual Returns of Rhime never fail to do in long Narrative
Poems. I shall close these Reflections upon the Language of Paradise
Lost, with observing that Milton has copied after Homer rather than
Virgil in the length of his Periods, the Copiousness of his Phrases, and
the running of his Verses into one another.


[Footnote 1: Aristotle, Poetics, ii. Sec.26.

  The excellence of Diction consists in being perspicuous without being

[Footnote 2:

  Verum ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis
  Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit,
  Aut humana parum cavit natura.

De Ar. Poet., II. 351-3.]

[Footnote 3: [see an Instance or two]]

[Footnote 4: Poetics, ii. Sec. 26]

[Footnote 5: [,like those in Milton]]

[Footnote 6:

  That language is elevated and remote from the vulgar idiom which
  employs unusual words: by unusual, I mean foreign, metaphorical,
  extended--all, in short, that are not common words. Yet, should a poet
  compose his Diction entirely of such words, the result would be either
  an enigma or a barbarous jargon: an enigma if composed of metaphors, a
  barbarous jargon if composed of foreign words. For the essence of an
  enigma consists in putting together things apparently inconsistent and
  impossible, and at the same time saying nothing but what is true. Now
  this cannot be effected by the mere arrangement of words; by the
  metaphorical use of them it may.]

[Footnote 7: On Life and Poetry of Homer, wrongly ascribed to Plutarch,
Bk. I. Sec. 16.]

[Footnote 8: Poetics, II. Sec. 26.

  A judicious intermixture is requisite ... It is without reason,
  therefore, that some critics have censured these modes of speech, and
  ridiculed the poet for the use of them; as old Euclid did, objecting
  that versification would be an easy business, if it were permitted to
  lengthen words at pleasure, and then giving a burlesque example of
  that sort of diction... In the employment of all the species of
  unusual words, moderation is necessary: for metaphors, foreign words,
  or any of the others improperly used, and with a design to be
  ridiculous, would produce the same effect. But how great a difference
  is made by a proper and temperate use of such words may be seen in
  heroic verse. Let any one put common words in the place of the
  metaphorical, the foreign, and others of the same kind, and he will be
  convinced of the truth of what I say.

He then gives two or three examples of the effect of changing poetical
for common words. As, that (in plays now lost):

  the same Iambic verse occurs in AEschylus and Euripides; but by means
  of a single alteration--the substitution of a foreign for a common and
  usual word--one of these verses appears beautiful, the other ordinary.
  For AEschylus in his Philoctetes says, "The poisonous wound that eats
  my flesh." But Euripides for ([Greek: esthiei]) "eats" says ([Greek:
  thoinatai]) "banquets on."]

[Footnote 9: [this]]

[Footnote 10: This is not particularly observed. On the very first page
of P. L. we have a line with the final y twice sounded before a vowel,

  Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song.

Again a few lines later,

  That to the height of this great argument
  I may assert Eternal Providence.

Ten lines farther we read of the Serpent

  Stirr'd up with envy and revenge.

We have only an apparent elision of y a few lines later in his aspiring

  To set himself in glory above his peers,

for the line would be ruined were the y to be omitted by a reader. The
extreme shortness of the two unaccented syllables, y and a, gives them
the quantity of one in the metre, and allows by the turn of voice a
suggestion of exuberance, heightening the force of the word glory. Three
lines lower Milton has no elision of the y before a vowel in the line,

  Against the throne and monarchy of God.

Nor eight lines after that in the words day and night. There is elision
of y in the line,

  That were an ignominy and shame beneath
  This downfall.

But none a few lines lower down in

  Sole reigning holds the tyranny of heaven.

When the y stands by itself, unaccented, immediately after an accented
syllable, and precedes a vowel that is part of another unaccented
syllable standing immediately before an accented one, Milton accepts the
consequence, and does not attempt to give it the force of a distinct
syllable. But Addison's vague notion that it was Milton's custom to cut
off the final y when it precedes a vowel, and that for the sake of being
uncommon, came of inaccurate observation. For the reasons just given,
the y of the word glory runs into the succeeding syllable, and most
assuredly is not cut off, when we read of

          the excess
  Of Glory obscured: as when the sun, new ris'n,
  Looks through the horizontal misty air,

but the y in  misty  stands as a full syllable because the word air is
accented. So again in

  Death as oft accused
  Of tardy execution, since denounc'd
  The day of his offence.

The y of  tardy is a syllable because the vowel following it is
accented; the y also of  day remains, because, although an unaccented
vowel follows, it is itself part of an accented syllable.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 286.               Monday, January 28, 1712.                Steele.

  Nomina Honesta praetenduntur vitiis.


  York, Jan. 18, 1712.

  Mr. Spectator,

  I pretend not to inform a Gentleman of so just a Taste, whenever he
  pleases to use it; but it may not be amiss to inform your Readers,
  that there is a false Delicacy as well as a true one. True Delicacy,
  as I take it, consists in Exactness of Judgment and Dignity of
  Sentiment, or if you will, Purity of Affection, as this is opposed to
  Corruption and Grossness. There are Pedants in Breeding as well as in
  Learning. The Eye that cannot bear the Light is not delicate but sore.
  A good Constitution appears in the Soundness and Vigour of the Parts,
  not in the Squeamishness of the Stomach; And a false Delicacy is
  Affectation, not Politeness. What then can be the Standard of Delicacy
  but Truth and Virtue? Virtue, which, as the Satyrist long since
  observed, is real Honour; whereas the other Distinctions among Mankind
  are meerly titular. Judging by that Rule, in my Opinion, and in that
  of many of your virtuous Female Readers, you are so far from deserving
  Mr. Courtly's Accusation, that you seem too gentle, and to allow too
  many Excuses for an enormous Crime, which is the Reproach of the Age,
  and is in all its Branches and Degrees expresly forbidden by that
  Religion we pretend to profess; and whose Laws, in a Nation that calls
  it self Christian, one would think should take Place of those Rules
  which Men of corrupt Minds, and those of weak Understandings follow. I
  know not any thing more pernicious to good Manners, than the giving
  fair Names to foul Actions; for this confounds Vice and Virtue, and
  takes off that natural Horrour we have to Evil. An innocent Creature,
  who would start at the Name of Strumpet, may think it pretty to be
  called a Mistress, especially if her Seducer has taken care to inform
  her, that a Union of Hearts is the principal Matter in the Sight of
  Heaven, and that the Business at Church is a meer idle Ceremony. Who
  knows not that the Difference between obscene and modest Words
  expressing the same Action, consists only in the accessary Idea, for
  there is nothing immodest in Letters and Syllables. Fornication and
  Adultery are modest Words: because they express an Evil Action as
  criminal, and so as to excite Horrour and Aversion: Whereas Words
  representing the Pleasure rather than the Sin, are for this Reason
  indecent and dishonest. Your Papers would be chargeable with something
  worse than Indelicacy, they would be Immoral, did you treat the
  detestable Sins of Uncleanness in the same manner as you rally an
  impertinent Self-love and an artful Glance; as those Laws would be
  very unjust, that should chastise Murder and Petty Larceny with the
  same Punishment. Even Delicacy requires that the Pity shewn to
  distressed indigent Wickedness, first betrayed into, and then expelled
  the Harbours of the Brothel, should be changed to Detestation, when we
  consider pampered Vice in the Habitations of the Wealthy. The most
  free Person of Quality, in Mr. Courtly's Phrase, that is, to speak
  properly, a Woman of Figure who has forgot her Birth and Breeding,
  dishonoured her Relations and her self, abandoned her Virtue and
  Reputation, together with the natural Modesty of her Sex, and risqued
  her very Soul, is so far from deserving to be treated with no worse
  Character than that of a kind Woman, (which is doubtless Mr. Courtly's
  Meaning, if he has any,) that one can scarce be too severe on her, in
  as much as she sins against greater Restraints, is less exposed, and
  liable to fewer Temptations, than Beauty in Poverty and Distress. It
  is hoped therefore, Sir, that you will not lay aside your generous
  Design of exposing that monstrous Wickedness of the Town, whereby a
  Multitude of Innocents are sacrificed in a more barbarous Manner than
  those who were offered to Moloch. The Unchaste are provoked to see
  their Vice exposed, and the Chaste cannot rake into such Filth without
  Danger of Defilement; but a meer SPECTATOR may look into the Bottom,
  and come off without partaking in the Guilt. The doing so will
  convince us you pursue publick Good, and not meerly your own
  Advantage: But if your Zeal slackens, how can one help thinking that
  Mr. Courtly's Letter is but a Feint to get off from a Subject, in
  which either your own, or the private and base Ends of others to whom
  you are partial, or those [of] whom you are afraid, would not endure a

  I am, Sir, your humble Servant and Admirer, so long as you tread in
  the Paths of Truth, Virtue, and Honour.


  Trin. Coll. Cantab. Jan. 12, 1711-12.

  It is my Fortune to have a Chamber-Fellow, with whom, tho I agree
  very well in many Sentiments, yet there is one in which we are as
  contrary as Light and Darkness. We are both in Love: his Mistress is a
  lovely Fair, and mine a lovely Brown. Now as the Praise of our
  Mistresses Beauty employs much of our Time, we have frequent Quarrels
  in entering upon that Subject, while each says all he can to defend
  his Choice. For my own part, I have racked my Fancy to the utmost; and
  sometimes, with the greatest Warmth of Imagination, have told him,
  That Night was made before Day, and many more fine Things, tho
  without any effect: Nay, last Night I could not forbear saying with
  more Heat than Judgment, that the Devil ought to be painted white. Now
  my Desire is, Sir, that you would be pleased to give us in Black and
  White your Opinion in the Matter of Dispute between us; which will
  either furnish me with fresh and prevailing Arguments to maintain my
  own Taste, or make me with less Repining allow that of my
  Chamber-Fellow. I know very well that I have Jack Cleveland[1] and
  Bonds Horace on my Side; but then he has such a Band of Rhymers and
  Romance-Writers, with which he opposes me, and is so continually
  chiming to the Tune of Golden Tresses, yellow Locks, Milk, Marble,
  Ivory, Silver, Swan, Snow, Daisies, Doves, and the Lord knows what;
  which he is always sounding with so much Vehemence in my Ears, that he
  often puts me into a brown Study how to answer him; and I find that I
  am in a fair Way to be quite confounded, without your timely
  Assistance afforded to,


  Your humble Servant,


T. [2]

[Footnote 1: Cleveland celebrates brown beauties in his poem of the
Senses Festival. John Bond, who published Commentaries on Horace and
Persius, Antony a Wood calls a polite and rare critic whose labours
have advanced the Commonwealth of Learning very much.]

[Footnote 2: [Z.]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 287.           Tuesday, January 29, 1712.                Addison.

  [Greek: O philtatae gae maeter, hos semnon sphodr ei
          Tois noun echousi ktaema--


I look upon it as a peculiar Happiness, that were I to choose of what
Religion I would be, and under what Government I would live, I should
most certainly give the Preference to that Form of Religion and
Government which is established in my own Country. In this Point I think
I am determined by Reason and Conviction; but if I shall be told that I
am acted by Prejudice, I am sure it is an honest Prejudice, it is a
Prejudice that arises from the Love of my Country, and therefore such an
one as I will always indulge. I have in several Papers endeavoured to
express my Duty and Esteem for the Church of England, and design this as
an Essay upon the Civil Part of our Constitution, having often
entertained my self with Reflections on this Subject, which I have not
met with in other Writers.

That Form of Government appears to me the most reasonable, which is most
conformable to the Equality that we find in human Nature, provided it be
consistent with publick Peace and Tranquillity. This is what may
properly be called Liberty, which exempts one Man from Subjection to
another so far as the Order and Oeconomy of Government will permit.

Liberty should reach every Individual of a People, as they all share one
common Nature; if it only spreads among particular Branches, there had
better be none at all, since such a Liberty only aggravates the
Misfortune of those who are depriv'd of it, by setting before them a
disagreeable Subject of Comparison. This Liberty is best preserved,
where the Legislative Power is lodged in several Persons, especially if
those Persons are of different Ranks and Interests; for where they are
of the same Rank, and consequently have an Interest to manage peculiar
to that Rank, it differs but little from a Despotical Government in a
single Person. But the greatest Security a People can have for their
Liberty, is when the Legislative Power is in the Hands of Persons so
happily distinguished, that by providing for the particular Interests of
their several Ranks, they are providing for the whole Body of the
People; or in other Words, when there is no Part of the People that has
not a common Interest with at least one Part of the Legislators.

If there be but one Body of Legislators, it is no better than a Tyranny;
if there are only two, there will want a casting Voice, and one of them
must at length be swallowed up by Disputes and Contentions that will
necessarily arise between them. Four would have the same Inconvenience
as two, and a greater Number would cause too much Confusion. I could
never read a Passage in Polybius, and another in Cicero, to this
Purpose, without a secret Pleasure in applying it to the English
Constitution, which it suits much better than the Roman. Both these
great Authors give the Pre-eminence to a mixt Government, consisting of
three Branches, the Regal, the Noble, and the Popular. They had
doubtless in their Thoughts the Constitution of the Roman Commonwealth,
in which the Consul represented the King, the Senate the Nobles, and the
Tribunes the People. This Division of the three Powers in the Roman
Constitution was by no means so distinct and natural, as it is in the
English Form of Government. Among several Objections that might be made
to it, I think the Chief are those that affect the Consular Power, which
had only the Ornaments without the Force of the Regal Authority. Their
Number had not a casting Voice in it; for which Reason, if one did not
chance to be employed Abroad, while the other sat at Home, the Publick
Business was sometimes at a Stand, while the Consuls pulled two
different Ways in it. Besides, I do not find that the Consuls had ever a
Negative Voice in the passing of a Law, or Decree of Senate, so that
indeed they were rather the chief Body of the Nobility, or the first
Ministers of State, than a distinct Branch of the Sovereignty, in which
none can be looked upon as a Part, who are not a Part of the
Legislature. Had the Consuls been invested with the Regal Authority to
as great a Degree as our Monarchs, there would never have been any
Occasions for a Dictatorship, which had in it the Power of all the three
Orders, and ended in the Subversion of the whole Constitution.

Such an History as that of Suelonius, which gives us a Succession of
Absolute Princes, is to me an unanswerable Argument against Despotick
Power. Where the Prince is a Man of Wisdom and Virtue, it is indeed
happy for his People that he is absolute; but since in the common Run of
Mankind, for one that is Wise and Good you find ten of a contrary
Character, it is very dangerous for a Nation to stand to its Chance, or
to have its publick Happiness or Misery depend on the Virtues or Vices
of a single Person. Look into the [History [1]] I have mentioned, or
into any Series of Absolute Princes, how many Tyrants must you read
through, before you come to an Emperor that is supportable. But this is
not all; an honest private Man often grows cruel and abandoned, when
converted into an absolute Prince. Give a Man Power of doing what he
pleases with Impunity, you extinguish his Fear, and consequently
overturn in him one of the great Pillars of Morality. This too we find
confirmed by Matter of Fact. How many hopeful Heirs apparent to grand
Empires, when in the Possession of them, have become such Monsters of
Lust and Cruelty as are a Reproach to Human Nature.

Some tell us we ought to make our Governments on Earth like that in
Heaven, which, say they, is altogether Monarchical and Unlimited. Was
Man like his Creator in Goodness and Justice, I should be for following
this great Model; but where Goodness and Justice are not essential to
the Ruler, I would by no means put myself into his Hands to be disposed
of according to his particular Will and Pleasure.

It is odd to consider the Connection between Despotic Government and
Barbarity, and how the making of one Person more than Man, makes the
rest less. About nine Parts of the World in ten are in the lowest State
of Slavery, and consequently sunk into the most gross and brutal
Ignorance. European Slavery is indeed a State of Liberty, if compared
with that which prevails in the other three Divisions of the World; and
therefore it is no Wonder that those who grovel under it have many
Tracks of Light among them, of which the others are wholly destitute.

Riches and Plenty are the natural Fruits of Liberty, and where these
abound, Learning and all the Liberal Arts will immediately lift up their
Heads and flourish. As a Man must have no slavish Fears and
Apprehensions hanging upon his Mind, [who [2]] will indulge the Flights
of Fancy or Speculation, and push his Researches into all the abstruse
Corners of Truth, so it is necessary for him to have about him a
Competency of all the Conveniencies of Life.

The first thing every one looks after, is to provide himself with
Necessaries. This Point will engross our Thoughts till it be satisfied.
If this is taken care of to our Hands, we look out for Pleasures and
Amusements; and among a great Number of idle People, there will be many
whose Pleasures will lie in Reading and Contemplation. These are the two
great Sources of Knowledge, and as Men grow wise they naturally love to
communicate their Discoveries; and others seeing the Happiness of such a
Learned Life, and improving by their Conversation, emulate, imitate, and
surpass one another, till a Nation is filled with Races of wise and
understanding Persons. Ease and Plenty are therefore the great
Cherishers of Knowledge: and as most of the Despotick Governments of the
World have neither of them, they are naturally over-run with Ignorance
and Barbarity. In Europe, indeed, notwithstanding several of its Princes
are absolute, there are Men famous for Knowledge and Learning; but the
Reason is because the Subjects are many of them rich and wealthy, the
Prince not thinking fit to exert himself in his full Tyranny like the
Princes of the Eastern Nations, lest his Subjects should be invited to
new-mould their Constitution, having so many Prospects of Liberty within
their View. But in all Despotic Governments, tho a particular Prince
may favour Arts and Letters, there is a natural Degeneracy of Mankind,
as you may observe from Augustus's Reign, how the Romans lost themselves
by Degrees till they fell to an Equality with the most barbarous Nations
that surrounded them. Look upon Greece under its free States, and you
would think its Inhabitants lived in different Climates, and under
different Heavens, from those at present; so different are the Genius's
which are formed under Turkish Slavery and Grecian Liberty.

Besides Poverty and Want, there are other Reasons that debase the Minds
of Men, who live under Slavery, though I look on this as the Principal.
This natural Tendency of Despotic Power to Ignorance and Barbarity, tho
not insisted upon by others, is, I think, an unanswerable Argument
against that Form of Government, as it shews how repugnant it is to the
Good of Mankind, and the Perfection of human Nature, which ought to be
the great Ends of all Civil Institutions.


[Footnote 1: [Historian]]

[Footnote 2: [that]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 288.              Wednesday, January 30, 1712.             Steele

 --Pavor est utrique molestus.



  When you spoke of the Jilts and Coquets, you then promised to be very
  impartial, and not to spare even your own Sex, should any of their
  secret or open Faults come under your Cognizance; which has given me
  Encouragement to describe a certain Species of Mankind under the
  Denomination of Male Jilts. They are Gentlemen who do not design to
  marry, yet, that they may appear to have some Sense of Gallantry,
  think they must pay their Devoirs to one particular Fair; in order to
  which they single out from amongst the Herd of Females her to whom
  they design to make their fruitless Addresses. This done, they first
  take every Opportunity of being in her Company, and then never fail
  upon all Occasions to be particular to her, laying themselves at her
  Feet, protesting the Reality of their Passion with a thousand Oaths,
  solliciting a Return, and saying as many fine Things as their Stock of
  Wit will allow; and if they are not deficient that way, generally
  speak so as to admit of a double Interpretation; which the credulous
  Fair is apt to turn to her own Advantage, since it frequently happens
  to be a raw, innocent, young Creature, who thinks all the World as
  sincere as her self, and so her unwary Heart becomes an easy Prey to
  those deceitful Monsters, who no sooner perceive it, but immediately
  they grow cool, and shun her whom they before seemed so much to
  admire, and proceed to act the same common-place Villany towards
  another. A Coxcomb flushed with many of these infamous Victories shall
  say he is sorry for the poor Fools, protest and vow he never thought
  of Matrimony, and wonder talking civilly can be so strangely
  misinterpreted. Now, Mr. SPECTATOR, you that are a professed Friend to
  Love, will, I hope, observe upon those who abuse that noble Passion,
  and raise it in innocent Minds by a deceitful Affectation of it, after
  which they desert the Enamoured. Pray bestow a little of your Counsel
  to those fond believing Females who already have or are in Danger of
  broken Hearts; in which you will oblige a great Part of this Town, but
  in a particular Manner,

  SIR Your (yet Heart-whole) Admirer,
  and devoted humble Servant,

Melainie's Complaint is occasioned by so general a Folly, that it is
wonderful one could so long overlook it. But this false Gallantry
proceeds from an Impotence of Mind, which makes those who are guilty of
it incapable of pursuing what they themselves approve. Many a Man wishes
a Woman his Wife whom he dares not take for such. Tho no one has Power
over his Inclinations or Fortunes, he is a Slave to common Fame. For
this Reason I think Melainia gives them too soft a Name in that of Male
Coquets. I know not why Irresolution of Mind should not be more
contemptible than Impotence of Body; and these frivolous Admirers would
be but tenderly used, in being only included in the same Term with the
Insufficient another Way. They whom my Correspondent calls Male Coquets,
shall hereafter be called Fribblers. A Fribbler is one who professes
Rapture and Admiration for the Woman to whom he addresses, and dreads
nothing so much as her Consent. His Heart can flutter by the Force of
Imagination, but cannot fix from the Force of Judgment. It is not
uncommon for the Parents of young Women of moderate Fortune to wink at
the Addresses of Fribblers, and expose their Children to the ambiguous
Behaviour which Melainia complains of, till by the Fondness to one they
are to lose, they become incapable of Love towards others, and by
Consequence in their future Marriage lead a joyless or a miserable Life.
As therefore I shall in the Speculations which regard Love be as severe
as I ought on Jilts and Libertine Women, so will I be as little merciful
to insignificant and mischievous Men. In order to this, all Visitants
who frequent Families wherein there are young Females, are forthwith
required to declare themselves, or absent from Places where their
Presence banishes such as would pass their Time more to the Advantage of
those whom they visit. It is a Matter of too great Moment to be dallied
with; and I shall expect from all my young People a satisfactory Account
of Appearances. Strephon has from the Publication hereof seven Days to
explain the Riddle he presented to Eudamia; and Chloris an Hour after
this comes to her Hand, to declare whether she will have Philotas, whom
a Woman of no less Merit than her self, and of superior Fortune,
languishes to call her own.


  SIR, [1]
  Since so many Dealers turn Authors, and write quaint Advertisements
  in praise of their Wares, one who from an Author turn'd Dealer may be
  allowed for the Advancement of Trade to turn Author again. I will not
  however set up like some of em, for selling cheaper than the most
  able honest Tradesman can; nor do I send this to be better known for
  Choice and Cheapness of China and Japan Wares, Tea, Fans, Muslins,
  Pictures, Arrack, and other Indian Goods. Placed as I am in
  Leadenhall-street, near the India-Company, and the Centre of that
  Trade, Thanks to my fair Customers, my Warehouse is graced as well as
  the Benefit Days of my Plays and Operas; and the foreign Goods I sell
  seem no less acceptable than the foreign Books I translated, Rabelais
  and Don Quixote: This the Criticks allow me, and while they like my
  Wares they may dispraise my Writing. But as tis not so well known yet
  that I frequently cross the Seas of late, and speaking Dutch and
  French, besides other Languages, I have the Conveniency of buying and
  importing rich Brocades, Dutch Atlasses, with Gold and Silver, or
  without, and other foreign Silks of the newest Modes and best
  Fabricks, fine Flanders Lace, Linnens, and Pictures, at the best Hand:
  This my new way of Trade I have fallen into I cannot better publish
  than by an Application to you. My Wares are fit only for such as your
  Readers; and I would beg of you to print this Address in your Paper,
  that those whose Minds you adorn may take the Ornaments for their
  Persons and Houses from me. This, Sir, if I may presume to beg it,
  will be the greater Favour, as I have lately received rich Silks and
  fine Lace to a considerable Value, which will be sold cheap for a
  quick Return, and as I have also a large Stock of other Goods. Indian
  Silks were formerly a great Branch of our Trade; and since we must not
  sell em, we must seek Amends by dealing in others. This I hope will
  plead for one who would lessen the Number of Teazers of the Muses, and
  who, suiting his Spirit to his Circumstances, humbles the Poet to
  exalt the Citizen. Like a true Tradesman, I hardly ever look into any
  Books but those of Accompts. To say the Truth, I cannot, I think, give
  you a better Idea of my being a downright Man of Traffick, than by
  acknowledging I oftener read the Advertisements, than the Matter of
  even your Paper. I am under a great Temptation to take this
  Opportunity of admonishing other Writers to follow my Example, and
  trouble the Town no more; but as it is my present Business to increase
  the Number of Buyers rather than Sellers, I hasten to tell you that I
  SIR, Your most humble,
  and most obedient Servant,
  Peter Motteux.


[Footnote 1: Peter Anthony Motteux, the writer of this letter, was born
in Normandy, and came as a refugee to England at the Revocation of the
Edict of Nantes. Here he wrote about 14 plays, translated Bayle's
Dictionary, Montaigne's Essays, and Don Quixote, and established himself
also as a trader in Leadenhall Street. He had a wife and a fine young
family when (at the age of 56, and six years after the date of this
letter) he was found dead in a house of ill fame near Temple Bar under
circumstances that caused a reward of fifty pounds to be offered for the
discovery of his murderer.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 289.               Thursday, January 31, 1712.             Addison.

  Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.


Upon taking my Seat in a Coffee-house I often draw the Eyes of the whole
Room upon me, when in the hottest Seasons of News, and at a time that
perhaps the Dutch Mail is just come in, they hear me ask the Coffee-man
for his last Weeks Bill of Mortality: I find that I have been sometimes
taken on this occasion for a Parish Sexton, sometimes for an Undertaker,
and sometimes for a Doctor of Physick. In this, however, I am guided by
the Spirit of a Philosopher, as I take occasion from hence to reflect
upon the regular Encrease and Diminution of Mankind, and consider the
several various Ways through which we pass from Life to Eternity. I am
very well pleased with these Weekly Admonitions, that bring into my Mind
such Thoughts as ought to be the daily Entertainment of every reasonable
Creature; and can consider, with Pleasure to my self, by which of those
Deliverances, or, as we commonly call them, Distempers, I may possibly
make my Escape out of this World of Sorrows, into that Condition of
Existence, wherein I hope to be Happier than it is possible for me at
present to conceive.

But this is not all the Use I make of the above-mentioned Weekly Paper.
A Bill of Mortality [1] is in my Opinion an unanswerable Argument for a
Providence. How can we, without supposing our selves under the constant
Care of a Supreme Being, give any possible Account for that nice
Proportion, which we find in every great City, between the Deaths and
Births of its Inhabitants, and between the Number of Males and that of
Females, who are brought into the World? What else could adjust in so
exact a manner the Recruits of every Nation to its Losses, and divide
these new Supplies of People into such equal Bodies of both Sexes?
Chance could never hold the Balance with so steady a Hand. Were we not
counted out by an intelligent Supervisor, we should sometimes be
over-charged with Multitudes, and at others waste away into a Desart: We
should be sometimes a populus virorum, as Florus elegantly expresses it,
a Generation of Males, and at others a Species of Women. We may extend
this Consideration to every Species of living Creatures, and consider
the whole animal World as an huge Army made up of innumerable Corps, if
I may use that Term, whose Quotas have been kept entire near five
thousand Years, in so wonderful a manner, that there is not probably a
single Species lost during this long Tract of Time. Could we have
general Bills of Mortality of every kind of Animal, or particular ones
of every Species in each Continent and Island, I could almost say in
every Wood, Marsh or Mountain, what astonishing Instances would they be
of that Providence which watches over all its Works?

I have heard of a great Man in the Romish Church, who upon reading those
Words in the Vth Chapter of Genesis, And all the Days that Adam lived
were nine hundred and thirty Years, and he died; and all the Days of
Seth were nine hundred and twelve Years, and he died; and all the Days
of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty nine Years, and he died;
immediately shut himself up in a Convent, and retired from the World, as
not thinking any thing in this Life worth pursuing, which had not regard
to another.

The Truth of it is, there is nothing in History which is so improving to
the Reader, as those Accounts which we meet with of the Deaths of
eminent Persons, and of their Behaviour in that dreadful Season. I may
also add, that there are no Parts in History which affect and please the
Reader in so sensible a manner. The Reason I take to be this, because
there is no other single Circumstance in the Story of any Person, which
can possibly be the Case of every one who reads it. A Battle or a
Triumph are Conjunctures in which not one Man in a Million is likely to
be engaged; but when we see a Person at the Point of Death, we cannot
forbear being attentive to every thing he says or does, because we are
sure that some time or other we shall our selves be in the same
melancholy Circumstances. The General, the Statesman, or the
Philosopher, are perhaps Characters which we may never act in; but the
dying Man is one whom, sooner or later, we shall certainly resemble.

It is, perhaps, for the same kind of Reason that few Books, [written
[2]] in English, have been so much perused as Dr. Sherlock's Discourse
upon Death; though at the same time I must own, that he who has not
perused this Excellent Piece, has not perhaps read one of the strongest
Persuasives to a Religious Life that ever was written in any Language.

The Consideration, with which I shall close this Essay upon Death, is
one of the most ancient and most beaten Morals that has been recommended
to Mankind. But its being so very common, and so universally received,
though it takes away from it the Grace of Novelty, adds very much to the
Weight of it, as it shews that it falls in with the general Sense of
Mankind. In short, I would have every one consider, that he is in this
Life nothing more than a Passenger, and that he is not to set up his
Rest here, but to keep an attentive Eye upon that State of Being to
which he approaches every Moment, and which will be for ever fixed and
permanent. This single Consideration would be sufficient to extinguish
the Bitterness of Hatred, the Thirst of Avarice, and the Cruelty of

I am very much pleased with the Passage of Antiphanes a very ancient
Poet, who lived near an hundred Years before Socrates, which represents
the Life of Man under this View, as I have here translated it Word for
Word. Be not grieved, says he, above measure for thy deceased Friends[.
They [3]] are not dead, but have only finished that Journey which it is
necessary for every one of us to take: We ourselves must go to that
great Place of Reception in which they are all of them assembled, and in
this general Rendezvous of Mankind, live together in another State of

I think I have, in a former Paper, taken notice of those beautiful
Metaphors in Scripture, where Life is termed a Pilgrimage, and those who
pass through it are called Strangers and Sojourners upon Earth. I shall
conclude this with a Story, which I have somewhere read in the Travels
of Sir John Chardin; [4] that Gentleman after having told us, that the
Inns which receive the Caravans in Persia, and the Eastern Countries,
are called by the Name of Caravansaries, gives us a Relation to the
following Purpose.

A Dervise, travelling through Tartary, being arrived at the Town of
Balk, went into the King's Palace by Mistake, as thinking it to be a
publick Inn or Caravansary. Having looked about him for some time, he
enter'd into a long Gallery, where he laid down his Wallet, and spread
his Carpet, in order to repose himself upon it after the Manner of the
Eastern Nations. He had not been long in this Posture before he was
discovered by some of the Guards, who asked him what was his Business in
that Place? The Dervise told them he intended to take up his Night's
Lodging in that Caravansary. The Guards let him know, in a very angry
manner, that the House he was in was not a Caravansary, but the King's
Palace. It happened that the King himself passed through the Gallery
during this Debate, and smiling at the Mistake of the Dervise, asked him
how he could possibly be so dull as not to distinguish a Palace from a
Caravansary? Sir, says the Dervise, give me leave to ask your Majesty a
Question or two. Who were the Persons that lodged in this House when it
was first built? The King replied, His Ancestors. And who, says the
Dervise, was the last Person that lodged here? The King replied, His
Father. And who is it, says the Dervise, that lodges here at present?
The King told him, that it was he himself. And who, says the Dervise,
will be here after you? The King answered, The young Prince his Son. Ah
Sir, said the Dervise, a House that changes its Inhabitants so often,
and receives such a perpetual Succession of Guests, is not a Palace but
a Caravansary.


[Footnote 1: Bills of Mortality, containing the weekly number of
Christenings and Deaths, with the cause of Death, were first compiled by
the London Company of Parish Clerks (for 109 parishes) after the Plague
in 1592. They did not give the age at death till 1728.]

[Footnote 2: which have been written]

[Footnote 3: [; for they]]

[Footnote 4: Sir John Chardin was a jewellers son, born at Paris, who
came to England and was knighted by Charles II. He travelled into Persia
and the East Indies, and his account of his voyages was translated into
English, German, and Flemish. He was living when this paper appeared,
but died in the following year, at the age of 70.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 290.              Friday, February 1, 1712.                Steele.

  [Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba.

  Hor. [1]]

The Players, who know I am very much their Friend, take all
Opportunities to express a Gratitude to me for being so. They could not
have a better Occasion of Obliging me, than one which they lately took
hold of. They desired my Friend WILL. HONEYCOMB to bring me to the
Reading of a new Tragedy; it is called The distressed Mother. [2] I must
confess, tho some Days are passed since I enjoyed that Entertainment,
the Passions of the several Characters dwell strongly upon my
Imagination; and I congratulate to the Age, that they are at last to see
Truth and humane Life represented in the Incidents which concern Heroes
and Heroines. The Stile of the Play is such as becomes those of the
first Education, and the Sentiments worthy those of the highest Figure.
It was a most exquisite Pleasure to me, to observe real Tears drop from
the Eyes of those who had long made it their Profession to dissemble
Affliction; and the Player, who read, frequently throw down the Book,
till he had given vent to the Humanity which rose in him at some
irresistible Touches of the imagined Sorrow. We have seldom had any
Female Distress on the Stage, which did not, upon cool Examination,
appear to flow from the Weakness rather than the Misfortune of the
Person represented: But in this Tragedy you are not entertained with the
ungoverned Passions of such as are enamoured of each other merely as
they are Men and Women, but their Regards are founded upon high
Conceptions of each others Virtue and Merit; and the Character which
gives Name to the Play, is one who has behaved her self with heroic
Virtue in the most important Circumstances of a Female Life, those of a
Wife, a Widow, and a Mother. If there be those whose Minds have been too
attentive upon the Affairs of Life, to have any Notion of the Passion of
Love in such Extremes as are known only to particular Tempers, yet, in
the above-mentioned Considerations, the Sorrow of the Heroine will move
even the Generality of Mankind. Domestick Virtues concern all the World,
and there is no one living who is not interested that Andromache should
be an imitable Character. The generous Affection to the Memory of her
deceased Husband, that tender Care for her Son, which is ever heightned
with the Consideration of his Father, and these Regards preserved in
spite of being tempted with the Possession of the highest Greatness, are
what cannot but be venerable even to such an Audience as at present
frequents the English Theatre. My Friend WILL HONEYCOMB commended
several tender things that were said, and told me they were very
genteel; but whisper'd me, that he feared the Piece was not busy enough
for the present Taste. To supply this, he recommended to the Players to
be very careful in their Scenes, and above all Things, that every Part
should be perfectly new dressed. I was very glad to find that they did
not neglect my Friends Admonition, because there are a great many in
his Class of Criticism who may be gained by it; but indeed the Truth is,
that as to the Work it self, it is every where Nature. The Persons are
of the highest Quality in Life, even that of Princes; but their Quality
is not represented by the Poet with Direction that Guards and Waiters
should follow them in every Scene, but their Grandeur appears in
Greatness of  Sentiment[s], flowing from Minds worthy their Condition.
To make a Character truly Great, this Author understands that it should
have its Foundation in superior Thoughts and Maxims of Conduct. It is
very certain, that many an honest Woman would make no Difficulty, tho
she had been the Wife of Hector, for the sake of a Kingdom, to marry the
Enemy of her Husbands Family and Country; and indeed who can deny but
she might be still an honest Woman, but no Heroine? That may be
defensible, nay laudable in one Character, which would be in the highest
Degree exceptionable in another. When Cato Uticensis killed himself,
Cottius a Roman of ordinary Quality and Character did the same thing;
upon which one said, smiling, Cottius might have lived, tho Caesar has
seized the Roman Liberty. Cottius's Condition might have been the
same, let things at the upper End of the World pass as they would. What
is further very extraordinary in this Work, is, that the Persons are all
of them laudable, and their Misfortunes arise rather from unguarded
Virtue than Propensity to Vice. The Town has an Opportunity of doing
itself Justice in supporting the Representation of Passion, Sorrow,
Indignation, even Despair itself, within the Rules of Decency, Honour
and Good-breeding; and since there is no one can flatter himself his
Life will be always fortunate, they may here see Sorrow as they would
wish to bear it whenever it arrives.


  I am appointed to act a Part in the new Tragedy called The Distressed
  Mother: It is the celebrated Grief of Orestes which I am to personate;
  but I shall not act it as I ought, for I shall feel it too intimately
  to be able to utter it. I was last Night repeating a Paragraph to my
  self, which I took to be an Expression of Rage, and in the middle of
  the Sentence there was a Stroke of Self-pity which quite unmanned me.
  Be pleased, Sir, to print this Letter, that when I am oppressed in
  this manner at such an Interval, a certain Part of the Audience may
  not think I am out; and I hope with this Allowance to do it to
  Satisfaction. I am, SIR,
  Your most humble Servant,
  George Powell.


  As I was walking tother Day in the Park, I saw a Gentleman with a
  very short Face; I desire to know whether it was you. Pray inform me
  as soon as you can, lest I become the most heroick Hecatissa's Rival.

  Your humble Servant to command,


Dear Madam,

It is not me you are in love with, for I was very ill and kept my
Chamber all that Day.

Your most humble Servant,



[Footnote 1:

  [Spirat Tragicum satis, et foeliciter Audet.


[Footnote 2: This is a third blast of the Trumpet on behalf of Ambrose
Philips, who had now been adapting Racine's Andromaque.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 291.             Saturday, February 2, 1712.               Addison.

  Ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis
  Offendor maculis, quas aut Incuria fudit,
  Aut Humana parum cavit Natura.


I have now considered Milton's Paradise Lost under those four great
Heads of the Fable, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Language;
and have shewn that he excels, in general, under each of these Heads. I
hope that I have made several Discoveries which may appear new, even to
those who are versed in Critical Learning. Were I indeed to chuse my
Readers, by whose Judgment I would stand or fall, they should not be
such as are acquainted only with the French and Italian Criticks, but
also with the Ancient and Moderns who have written in either of the
learned Languages. Above all, I would have them well versed in the Greek
and Latin Poets, without which a Man very often fancies that he
understands a Critick, when in Reality he does not comprehend his

It is in Criticism, as in all other Sciences and Speculations; one who
brings with him any implicit Notions and Observations which he has made
in his reading of the Poets, will find his own Reflections methodized
and explained, and perhaps several little Hints that had passed in his
Mind, perfected and improved in the Works of a good Critick; whereas one
who has not these previous Lights is very often an utter Stranger to
what he reads, and apt to put a wrong Interpretation upon it.

Nor is it sufficient, that a Man who sets up for a Judge in Criticism,
should have perused the Authors above mentioned, unless he has also a
clear and Logical Head. Without this Talent he is perpetually puzzled
and perplexed amidst his own Blunders, mistakes the Sense of those he
would confute, or if he chances to think right, does not know how to
convey his Thoughts to another with Clearness and Perspicuity.
Aristotle, who was the best Critick, was also one of the best Logicians
that ever appeared in the World.

Mr. Locks Essay on Human Understanding [1] would be thought a very odd
Book for a Man to make himself Master of, who would get a Reputation by
Critical Writings; though at the same time it is very certain, that an
Author who has not learned the Art of distinguishing between Words and
Things, and of ranging his Thoughts, and setting them in proper Lights,
whatever Notions he may have, will lose himself in Confusion and
Obscurity. I might further observe, that there is not a Greek or Latin
Critick who has not shewn, even in the Style of his Criticisms, that he
was a Master of all the Elegance and Delicacy of his Native Tongue.

The Truth of it is, there is nothing more absurd, than for a Man to set
up for a Critick, without a good Insight into all the Parts of Learning;
whereas many of those who have endeavoured to signalize themselves by
Works of this Nature among our English Writers, are not only defective
in the above-mentioned Particulars, but plainly discover, by the Phrases
which they make use of, and by their confused way of thinking, that they
are not acquainted with the most common and ordinary Systems of Arts and
Sciences. A few general Rules extracted out of the French Authors, [2]
with a certain Cant of Words, has sometimes set up an Illiterate heavy
Writer for a most judicious and formidable Critick.

One great Mark, by which you may discover a Critick who has neither
Taste nor Learning, is this, that he seldom ventures to praise any
Passage in an Author which has not been before received and applauded by
the Publick, and that his Criticism turns wholly upon little Faults and
Errors. This part of a Critick is so very easie to succeed in, that we
find every ordinary Reader, upon the publishing of a new Poem, has Wit
and Ill-nature enough to turn several Passages of it into Ridicule, and
very often in the right Place. This Mr. Dryden has very agreeably
remarked in those two celebrated Lines,

  Errors, like Straws, upon the Surface flow;
  He who would search for Pearls must dive below. [3]

A true Critick ought to dwell rather upon Excellencies than
Imperfections, to discover the concealed Beauties of a Writer, and
communicate to the World such things as are worth their Observation. The
most exquisite Words and finest Strokes of an Author are those which
very often appear the most doubtful and exceptionable to a Man who wants
a Relish for polite Learning; and they are these, which a sower
undistinguishing Critick generally attacks with the greatest Violence.
Tully observes, that it is very easie to brand or fix a Mark upon what
he calls Verbum ardens, [4] or, as it may be rendered into English, a
glowing bold Expression, and to turn it into Ridicule by a cold
ill-natured Criticism. A little Wit is equally capable of exposing a
Beauty, and of aggravating a Fault; and though such a Treatment of an
Author naturally produces Indignation in the Mind of an understanding
Reader, it has however its Effect among the Generality of those whose
Hands it falls into, the Rabble of Mankind being very apt to think that
every thing which is laughed at with any Mixture of Wit, is ridiculous
in it self.

Such a Mirth as this is always unseasonable in a Critick, as it rather
prejudices the Reader than convinces him, and is capable of making a
Beauty, as well as a Blemish, the Subject of Derision. A Man, who cannot
write with Wit on a proper Subject, is dull and stupid, but one who
shews it in an improper Place, is as impertinent and absurd. Besides, a
Man who has the Gift of Ridicule is apt to find Fault with any thing
that gives him an Opportunity of exerting his beloved Talent, and very
often censures a Passage, not because there is any Fault in it, but
because he can be merry upon it. Such kinds of Pleasantry are very
unfair and disingenuous in Works of Criticism, in which the greatest
Masters, both Ancient and Modern, have always appeared with a serious
and instructive Air.

As I intend in my next Paper to shew the Defects in Milton's Paradise
Lost, I thought fit to premise these few Particulars, to the End that
the Reader may know I enter upon it, as on a very ungrateful Work, and
that I shall just point at the Imperfections, without endeavouring to
enflame them with Ridicule. I must also observe with Longinus, [5] that
the Productions of a great Genius, with many Lapses and Inadvertencies,
are infinitely preferable to the Works of an inferior kind of Author,
which are scrupulously exact and conformable to all the Rules of correct

I shall conclude my Paper with a Story out of Boccalini [6] which
sufficiently shews us the Opinion that judicious Author entertained of
the sort of Criticks I have been here mentioning. A famous Critick, says
he, having gathered together all the Faults of an eminent Poet, made a
Present of them to Apollo, who received them very graciously, and
resolved to make the Author a suitable Return for the Trouble he had
been at in collecting them. In order to this, he set before him a Sack
of Wheat, as it had been just threshed out of the Sheaf. He then bid him
pick out the Chaff from among the Corn, and lay it aside by it self. The
Critick applied himself to the Task with great Industry and Pleasure,
and after having made the due Separation, was presented by Apollo with
the Chaff for his Pains. [7]


[Footnote 1: First published in 1690.]

[Footnote 2: Dryden accounted among critics the greatest of his age to
be Boilean and Rapin. Boileau was the great master of French criticism.
Rene Rapin, born at Tours in 1621, taught Belles Lettres with
extraordinary success among his own order of Jesuits, wrote famous
critical works, was one of the best Latin poets of his time, and died at
Paris in 1687. His Whole Critical Works were translated by Dr. Basil
Kennett in two volumes, which appeared in 1705. The preface of their
publisher said of Rapin that

  he has long dictated in this part of letters. He is acknowledged as
  the great arbitrator between the merits of the best writers; and
  during the course of almost thirty years there have been few appeals
  from his sentence.

(See also a note on p. 168, vol. i. [Footnote 3 of No. 44.]) Rene le
Bossu, the great French authority on Epic Poetry, born in 1631, was a
regular canon of St. Genevieve, and taught the Humanities in several
religious houses of his order. He died, subprior of the Abbey of St.
Jean de Cartres, in 1680. He wrote, besides his Treatise upon Epic
Poetry, a parallel between the philosophies of Aristotle and Descartes,
which appeared a few months earlier (in 1674) with less success. Another
authority was Father Bouhours, of whom see note on p. 236, vol. i.
[Footnote 4 of No. 62.] Another was Bernard le Bovier de Fontenelle.
called by Voltaire the most universal genius of his age. He was born at
Rouen in 1657, looking so delicate that he was baptized in a hurry, and
at 16 was unequal to the exertion of a game at billiards, being caused
by any unusual exercise to spit blood, though he lived to the age of a
hundred, less one month and two days. He was taught by the Jesuits, went
to the bar to please his father, pleaded a cause, lost it, and gave up
the profession to devote his time wholly to literature and philosophy.
He went to Paris, wrote plays and the Dialogues of the Dead, living
then with his uncle, Thomas Corneille. A discourse on the Eclogue
prefixed to his pastoral poems made him an authority in this manner of
composition. It was translated by Motteux for addition to the English
translation of Bossu on the Epic, which had also appended to it an Essay
on Satire by another of these French critics, Andre Dacier. Dacier, born
at Castres in 1651, was educated at Saumur under Taneguy le Fevre, who
was at the same time making a scholar of his own daughter Anne. Dacier
and the young lady became warmly attached to one another, married,
united in abjuring Protestantism, and were for forty years, in the
happiest concord, man and wife and fellow-scholars. Dacier and his wife,
as well as Fontenelle, were alive when the Spectator was appearing; his
wife dying, aged 69, in 1720, the husband, aged 71, in 1722. Andre
Dacier translated and annotated the Poetics of Aristotle in 1692, and
that critical work was regarded as his best performance.]

[Footnote 3: Annus Mirabilis, st. 39.]

[Footnote 4: Ad Brutum. Orator. Towards the beginning:

  Facile est enim verbum aliquod ardens (ut ita dicam) notare, idque
  restinctis jam animorum incendiis, irridere.]

[Footnote 5:  On the Sublime, Sec. 36.]

[Footnote 6:  Trajan Boccalini, born at Rome in 1554, was a satirical
writer famous in Italy for his fine criticism and bold satire. Cardinals
Borghese and Cajetan were his patrons. His Ragguagli di Parnasso and
la Secretaria di Parnasso, in which Apollo heard the complaints of the
world, and dispensed justice in his court on Parnassus, were received
with delight. Afterwards, in his Pietra di Parangone, he satirized the
Court of Spain, and, fearing consequences, retired to Venice, where in
1613 he was attacked in his bed by four ruffians, who beat him to death
with sand-bags. Boccalini's Ragguagli di Parnasso has been translated
into English, in 1622, as News from Parnassus. Also, in 1656, as
Advertisements from Parnassus, by H. Carey, Earl of Monmouth. This
translation was reprinted in 1669 and 1674, and again in 1706 by John
Hughes, one of the contributors to the Spectator.]

[Footnote 7: To this number of the Spectator, and to several numbers
since that for January 8, in which it first appeared, is added an
advertisement that, The First and Second Volumes of the SPECTATOR in 8vo
are now ready to be delivered to the subscribers by J. Tonson, at
Shakespeare's Head, over-against Catherine Street in the Strand.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 292.                Monday, February 4, 1712.

  Illam, quicquid agit, quoquo Vestigia flectit,
  Componit furlim, subsequiturque decor.

  Tibull. L. 4.

As no one can be said to enjoy Health, who is only not sick, without he
feel within himself a lightsome and invigorating Principle, which will
not suffer him to remain idle, but still spurs him on to Action: so in
the Practice of every Virtue, there is some additional Grace required,
to give a Claim of excelling in this or that particular Action. A
Diamond may want polishing, though the Value be still intrinsically the
same; and the same Good may be done with different Degrees of Lustre. No
man should be contented with himself that he barely does well, but he
should perform every thing in the best and most becoming Manner that he
is able.

Tully tells us he wrote his Book of Offices, because there was no Time
of Life in which some correspondent Duty might not be practised; nor is
there a Duty without a certain Decency accompanying it, by which every
Virtue tis join'd to will seem to be doubled. Another may do the same
thing, and yet the Action want that Air and Beauty which distinguish it
from others; like that inimitable Sun-shine Titian is said to have
diffused over his Landschapes; which denotes them his, and has been
always unequalled by any other Person.

There is no one Action in which this Quality I am speaking of will be
more sensibly perceived, than in granting a Request or doing an Office
of Kindness. Mummius, by his Way of consenting to a Benefaction, shall
make it lose its Name; while Carus doubles the Kindness and the
Obligation: From the first the desired Request drops indeed at last, but
from so doubtful a Brow, that the Obliged has almost as much Reason to
resent the Manner of bestowing it, as to be thankful for the Favour it
self. Carus invites with a pleasing Air, to give him an Opportunity of
doing an Act of Humanity, meets the Petition half Way, and consents to a
Request with a Countenance which proclaims the Satisfaction of his Mind
in assisting the Distressed.

The Decency then that is to be observed in Liberality, seems to consist
in its being performed with such Cheerfulness, as may express the
God-like Pleasure is to be met with in obliging ones Fellow-Creatures;
that may shew Good-nature and Benevolence overflowed, and do not, as in
some Men, run upon the Tilt, and taste of the Sediments of a grutching
uncommunicative Disposition.

Since I have intimated that the greatest Decorum is to be preserved in
the bestowing our good Offices, I will illustrate it a little by an
Example drawn from private Life, which carries with it such a Profusion
of Liberality, that it can be exceeded by nothing but the Humanity and
Good-nature which accompanies it. It is a Letter of Pliny's[1] which I
shall here translate, because the Action will best appear in its first
Dress of Thought, without any foreign or ambitious Ornaments.


  Tho I am fully acquainted with the Contentment and just Moderation of
  your Mind, and the Conformity the Education you have given your
  Daughter bears to your own Character; yet since she is suddenly to be
  married to a Person of Distinction, whose Figure in the World makes it
  necessary for her to be at a more than ordinary Expence in Cloaths and
  Equipage suitable to her Husbands Quality; by which, tho her
  intrinsick Worth be not augmented, yet will it receive both Ornament
  and Lustre: And knowing your Estate to be as moderate as the Riches of
  your Mind are abundant, I must challenge to my self some part of the
  Burthen; and as a Parent of your Child. I present her with Twelve
  hundred and fifty Crowns towards these Expences; which Sum had been
  much larger, had I not feared the Smallness of it would be the
  greatest Inducement with you to accept of it. Farewell.

Thus should a Benefaction be done with a good Grace, and shine in the
strongest Point of Light; it should not only answer all the Hopes and
Exigencies of the Receiver, but even out-run his Wishes: Tis this happy
manner of Behaviour which adds new Charms to it, and softens those Gifts
of Art and Nature, which otherwise would be rather distasteful than
agreeable. Without it, Valour would degenerate into Brutality, Learning
into Pedantry, and the genteelest Demeanour into Affectation. Even
Religion its self, unless Decency be the Handmaid which waits upon her,
is apt to make People appear guilty of Sourness and ill Humour: But this
shews Virtue in her first original Form, adds a Comeliness to Religion,
and gives its Professors the justest Title to the Beauty of Holiness. A
Man fully instructed in this Art, may assume a thousand Shapes, and
please in all: He may do a thousand Actions shall become none other but
himself; not that the Things themselves are different, but the Manner of
doing them.

If you examine each Feature by its self, Aglaura and Callidea are
equally handsome; but take them in the Whole, and you cannot suffer the
Comparison: Tho one is full of numberless nameless Graces, the other of
as many nameless Faults.

The Comeliness of Person, and Decency of Behaviour, add infinite Weight
to what is pronounced by any one. Tis the want of this that often makes
the Rebukes and Advice of old rigid Persons of no Effect, and leave a
Displeasure in the Minds of those they are directed to: But Youth and
Beauty, if accompanied with a graceful and becoming Severity, is of
mighty Force to raise, even in the most Profligate, a Sense of Shame. In
Milton, the Devil is never described ashamed but once, and that at the
Rebuke of a beauteous Angel.

  So spake the Cherub, and his grave Rebuke,
  Severe in youthful Beauty, added Grace
  Invincible: Abash'd the Devil stood,
  And felt how awful Goodness is, and saw
  Virtue in her own Shape how lovely I saw, and pin'd
  His Loss. [2]

The Care of doing nothing unbecoming has accompanied the greatest Minds
to their last Moments. They avoided even an indecent Posture in the very
Article of Death. Thus Caesar gathered his Robe about him, that he might
not fall in a manner unbecoming of himself:  and the greatest Concern
that appeared in the Behaviour of Lucretia, when she stabbed her self,
was, that her Body should lie in an Attitude worthy the Mind which had
inhabited it.

  Ne non procumbat honeste
  Extrema haec etiam cura, cadentis erat. [3]

  Twas her last Thought, How decently to fall.

  I am a young Woman without a Fortune; but of a very high Mind: That
  is, Good Sir, I am to the last degree Proud and Vain. I am ever
  railing at the Rich, for doing Things, which, upon Search into my
  Heart, I find I am only angry because I cannot do the same my self. I
  wear the hooped Petticoat, and am all in Callicoes when the finest are
  in Silks. It is a dreadful thing to be poor and proud; therefore if
  you please, a Lecture on that Subject for the Satisfaction of
  Your Uneasy Humble Servant,


[Footnote 1: Bk. vi. ep. 32.]

[Footnote 2: Par. L., Bk. iv. 11. 844-9.]

[Footnote 3: Ovid. Fast., iii. 833.]

       *       *       *        *        *

No. 293.]          Tuesday, February 5, 1712.          [Addison.

  [Greek: Pasin gar euphronousi summachei tuchae.]

The famous Gratian [1] in his little Book wherein he lays down Maxims
for a Man's advancing himself at Court, advises his Reader to associate
himself with the Fortunate, and to shun the Company of the Unfortunate;
which, notwithstanding the Baseness of the Precept to an honest Mind,
may have something useful in it for those who push their Interest in the
World. It is certain a great Part of what we call good or ill Fortune,
rises out of right or wrong Measures, and Schemes of Life. When I hear a
Man complain of his being unfortunate in all his Undertakings, I
shrewdly suspect him for a very weak Man in his Affairs. In Conformity
with this way of thinking, Cardinal Richelieu used to say, that
Unfortunate and Imprudent were but two Words for the same Thing. As the
Cardinal himself had a great Share both of Prudence and Good-Fortune,
his famous Antagonist, the Count d'Olivarez, was disgraced at the Court
of Madrid, because it was alledged against him that he had never any
Success in his Undertakings. This, says an Eminent Author, was
indirectly accusing him of Imprudence.

Cicero recommended Pompey to the Romans for their General upon three
Accounts, as he was a Man of Courage, Conduct, and Good-Fortune. It was
perhaps, for the Reason above-mentioned, namely, that a Series of
Good-Fortune supposes a prudent Management in the Person whom it
befalls, that not only Sylla the Dictator, but several of the Roman
Emperors, as is still to be seen upon their Medals, among their other
Titles, gave themselves that of Felix or Fortunate. The Heathens,
indeed, seem to have valued a Man more for his Good-Fortune than for any
other Quality, which I think is very natural for those who have not a
strong Belief of another World. For how can I conceive a Man crowned
with many distinguishing Blessings, that has not some extraordinary Fund
of Merit and Perfection in him, which lies open to the Supreme Eye, tho
perhaps it is not discovered by my Observation? What is the Reason
Homers and Virgil's Heroes do not form a Resolution, or strike a Blow,
without the Conduct and Direction of some Deity? Doubtless, because the
Poets esteemed it the greatest Honour to be favoured by the Gods, and
thought the best Way of praising a Man was to recount those Favours
which naturally implied an extraordinary Merit in the Person on whom
they descended.

Those who believe a future State of Rewards and Punishments act very
absurdly, if they form their Opinions of a Man's Merit from his
Successes. But certainly, if I thought the whole Circle of our Being was
concluded between our Births and Deaths, I should think a Man's
Good-Fortune the Measure and Standard of his real Merit, since
Providence would have no Opportunity of rewarding his Virtue and
Perfections, but in the present Life. A Virtuous Unbeliever, who lies
under the Pressure of Misfortunes, has reason to cry out, as they say
Brutus did a little before his Death, O Virtue, I have worshipped thee
as a Substantial Good, but I find thou art an empty Name.

But to return to our first Point. Tho Prudence does undoubtedly in a
great measure produce our good or ill Fortune in the World, it is
certain there are many unforeseen Accidents and Occurrences, which very
often pervert the finest Schemes that can be laid by Human Wisdom. The
Race is not always to the Swift, nor the Battle to the Strong. Nothing
less than infinite Wisdom can have an absolute Command over Fortune; the
highest Degree of it which Man can possess, is by no means equal to
fortuitous Events, and to such Contingencies as may rise in the
Prosecution of our Affairs. Nay, it very often happens, that Prudence,
which has always in it a great Mixture of Caution, hinders a Man from
being so fortunate as he might possibly have been without it. A Person
who only aims at what is likely to succeed, and follows closely the
Dictates of Human Prudence, never meets with those great and unforeseen
Successes, which are often the effect of a Sanguine Temper, or a more
happy Rashness; and this perhaps may be the Reason, that according to
the common Observation, Fortune, like other Females, delights rather in
favouring the young than the old.

Upon the whole, since Man is so short-sighted a Creature, and the
Accidents which may happen to him so various, I cannot but be of Dr.
Tillotson's Opinion in another Case, that were there any Doubt of a
Providence, yet it certainly would be very desirable there should be
such a Being of infinite Wisdom and Goodness, on whose Direction we
might rely in the Conduct of Human Life.

It is a great Presumption to ascribe our Successes to our own
Management, and not to esteem our selves upon any Blessing, rather as it
is the Bounty of Heaven, than the Acquisition of our own Prudence. I am
very well pleased with a Medal which was struck by Queen Elizabeth, a
little after the Defeat of the Invincible Armada, to perpetuate the
Memory of that extraordinary Event. It is well known how the King of
Spain, and others, who were the Enemies of that great Princess, to
derogate from her Glory, ascribed the Ruin of their Fleet rather to the
Violence of Storms and Tempests, than to the Bravery of the English.
Queen Elizabeth, instead of looking upon this as a Diminution of her
Honour, valued herself upon such a signal Favour of Providence, and
accordingly in [2] the Reverse of the Medal above mentioned, [has
represented] a Fleet beaten by a Tempest, and falling foul upon one
another, with that Religious Inscription, Afflavit Deus et dissipantur.
He blew with his Wind, and they were scattered.

It is remarked of a famous Grecian General, whose Name I cannot at
present recollect [3], and who had been a particular Favourite of
Fortune, that upon recounting his Victories among his Friends, he added
at the End of several great Actions, And in this Fortune had no Share.
After which it is observed in History, that he never prospered in any
thing he undertook.

As Arrogance, and a Conceitedness of our own Abilities, are very
shocking and offensive to Men of Sense and Virtue, we may be sure they
are highly displeasing to that Being who delights in an humble Mind, and
by several of his Dispensations seems purposely to shew us, that our own
Schemes or Prudence have no Share in our Advancement[s].

Since on this Subject I have already admitted several Quotations which
have occurred to my Memory upon writing this Paper, I will conclude it
with a little Persian Fable. A Drop of Water fell out of a Cloud into
the Sea, and finding it self lost in such an Immensity of fluid Matter,
broke out into the following Reflection: Alas! What an [insignificant
[4]] Creature  am I in this prodigious Ocean of Waters; my Existence is
of  no [Concern [5]] to the Universe, I am reduced to a Kind of
Nothing, and am less then the least of the Works of God. It so
happened, that an Oyster, which lay in the Neighbourhood of this Drop,
chanced to gape and swallow it up in the midst of this [its [6]] humble
Soliloquy. The Drop, says the Fable, lay a great while hardning in the
Shell, till by Degrees it was ripen'd into a Pearl, which falling into
the Hands of a Diver, after a long Series of Adventures, is at present
that famous Pearl which is fixed on the Top of the Persian Diadem.


[Footnote 1: Balthasar Gracian, a Spanish Jesuit, who died in 1658,
rector of the Jesuits College of Tarragona, wrote many books in Spanish
on Politics and Society, among others the one here referred to on the
Courtier; which was known to Addison, doubtless, through the French
translation by Amelot de la Houssaye.]

[Footnote 2: Corrected by an erratum to [you see in], but in reprint
altered by the addition of [has represented].

[Footnote 3: Timotheus the Athenian.]

[Footnote 4: Altered by an erratum to [inconsiderable] to avoid the
repetition insignificant, and insignificancy; but in the reprint the
second word was changed.]

[Footnote 5: [significancy]]

[Footnote 6: [his]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 294.            Wednesday, February 6, 1712.                Steele.

  Difficile est plurimum virtutem revereri qui semper secunda fortuna
  sit usus.

  Tull. ad Herennium.

Insolence is the Crime of all others which every Man is most apt to rail
at; and yet is there one Respect in which almost all Men living are
guilty of it, and that is in the Case of laying a greater Value upon the
Gifts of Fortune than we ought. It is here in England come into our very
Language, as a Propriety of Distinction, to say, when we would speak of
Persons to their Advantage, they are People of Condition. There is no
doubt but the proper Use of Riches implies that a Man should exert all
the good Qualities imaginable; and if we mean by a Man of Condition or
Quality, one who, according to the Wealth he is Master of, shews himself
just, beneficent, and charitable, that Term ought very deservedly to be
had in the highest Veneration; but when Wealth is used only as it is the
Support of Pomp and Luxury, to be rich is very far from being a
Recommendation to Honour and Respect. It is indeed the greatest
Insolence imaginable, in a Creature who would feel the Extreams of
Thirst and Hunger, if he did not prevent his Appetites before they call
upon him, to be so forgetful of the common Necessity of Human Nature, as
never to cast an Eye upon the Poor and Needy. The Fellow who escaped
from a Ship which struck upon a Rock in the West, and join'd with the
Country People to destroy his Brother Sailors and make her a Wreck, was
thought a most execrable Creature; but does not every Man who enjoys the
Possession of what he naturally wants, and is unmindful of the
unsupplied Distress of other Men, betray the same Temper of Mind? When a
Man looks about him, and with regard to Riches and Poverty beholds some
drawn in Pomp and Equipage, and they and their very Servants with an Air
of Scorn and Triumph overlooking the Multitude that pass by them; and,
in the same Street, a Creature of the same Make crying out in the Name
of all that is Good and Sacred to behold his Misery, and give him some
Supply against Hunger and Nakedness, who would believe these two Beings
were of the same Species? But so it is, that the Consideration of
Fortune has taken up all our Minds, and, as I have often complained,
Poverty and Riches stand in our Imaginations in the Places of Guilt and
Innocence. But in all Seasons there will be some Instances of Persons
who have Souls too large to be taken with popular Prejudices, and while
the rest of Mankind are contending for Superiority in Power and Wealth,
have their Thoughts bent upon the Necessities of those below them. The
Charity-Schools which have been erected of late Years, are the greatest
Instances of publick Spirit the Age has produced: But indeed when we
consider how long this Sort of Beneficence has been on Foot, it is
rather from the good Management of those Institutions, than from the
Number or Value of the Benefactions to them, that they make so great a
Figure. One would think it impossible, that in the Space of fourteen
Years there should not have been five thousand Pounds bestowed in Gifts
this Way, nor sixteen hundred Children, including Males and Females, put
out to Methods of Industry. It is not allowed me to speak of Luxury and
Folly with the severe Spirit they deserve; I shall only therefore say, I
shall very readily compound with any Lady in a Hoop-Petticoat, if she
gives the Price of one half Yard of the Silk towards Cloathing, Feeding
and Instructing an Innocent helpless Creature of her own Sex in one of
these Schools. The Consciousness of such an Action will give her
Features a nobler Life on this illustrious Day, [1] than all the Jewels
that can hang in her Hair, or can be clustered at her Bosom. It would be
uncourtly to speak in harsher Words to the Fair, but to Men one may take
a little more Freedom. It is monstrous how a Man can live with so little
Reflection, as to fancy he is not in a Condition very unjust and
disproportioned to the rest of Mankind, while he enjoys Wealth, and
exerts no Benevolence or Bounty to others. As for this particular
Occasion of these Schools, there cannot any offer more worthy a generous
Mind. Would you do an handsome thing without Return? do it for an Infant
that is not sensible of the Obligation: Would you do it for publick
Good? do it for one who will be an honest Artificer: Would you do it for
the Sake of Heaven? give it to one who shall be instructed in the
Worship of him for whose Sake you gave it. It is methinks a most
laudable Institution this, if it were of no other Expectation than that
of producing a Race of good and useful Servants, who will have more than
a liberal, a religious Education. What would not a Man do, in common
Prudence, to lay out in Purchase of one about him, who would add to all
his Orders he gave the Weight of the Commandments to inforce an
Obedience to them? for one who would consider his Master as his Father,
his Friend, and Benefactor, upon the easy Terms, and in Expectation of
no other Return but moderate Wages and gentle Usage? It is the common
Vice of Children to run too much among the Servants; from such as are
educated in these Places they would see nothing but Lowliness in the
Servant, which would not be disingenuous in the Child. All the ill
Offices and defamatory Whispers which take their Birth from Domesticks,
would be prevented, if this Charity could be made universal; and a good
Man might have a Knowledge of the whole Life of the Persons he designs
to take into his House for his own Service, or that of his Family or
Children, long before they were admitted. This would create endearing
Dependencies: and the Obligation would have a paternal Air in the
Master, who would be relieved from much Care and Anxiety from the
Gratitude and Diligence of an humble Friend attending him as his
Servant. I fall into this Discourse from a Letter sent to me, to give me
Notice that Fifty Boys would be Cloathed, and take their Seats (at the
Charge of some generous Benefactors) in St. Brides Church on Sunday
next. I wish I could promise to my self any thing which my Correspondent
seems to expect from a Publication of it in this Paper; for there can be
nothing added to what so many excellent and learned Men have said on
this Occasion: But that there may be something here which would move a
generous Mind, like that of him who writ to me, I shall transcribe an
handsome Paragraph of Dr. Snape's Sermon on these Charities, which my
Correspondent enclosed with this Letter.

  The wise Providence has amply compensated the Disadvantages of the
  Poor and Indigent, in wanting many of the Conveniencies of this Life,
  by a more abundant Provision for their Happiness in the next. Had they
  been higher born, or more richly endowed, they would have wanted this
  Manner of Education, of which those only enjoy the Benefit, who are
  low enough to submit to it; where they have such Advantages without
  Money, and without Price, as the Rich cannot purchase with it. The
  Learning which is given, is generally more edifying to them, than that
  which is sold to others: Thus do they become more exalted in Goodness,
  by being depressed in Fortune, and their Poverty is, in Reality, their
  Preferment. [2]


[Footnote 1: Queen Anne's birthday. She was born Feb. 6, 1665, and died
Aug. 1, 1714, aged 49.]

[Footnote 2: From January 24 there occasionally appears the

  Just Published.

  A very neat Pocket Edition of the SPECTATOR, in two volumes 12mo.
  Printed for S. Buckley, at the Dolphin, in Little Britain, and J.
  Tonson, at Shakespear's Head, over-against Catherine-Street in the

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 295.            Thursday, February 7, 1712.               Addison.

  Prodiga non sentit pereuntem faemina censum:
  At velut exhausta redivivus pullulet arca
  Nummus, et e pleno semper tollatur acervo,
  Non unquam reputat quanti sibi gandia constent.



  I am turned of my great Climacteric, and am naturally a Man of a meek
  Temper. About a dozen Years ago I was married, for my Sins, to a young
  Woman of a good Family, and of an high Spirit; but could not bring her
  to close with me, before I had entered into a Treaty with her longer
  than that of the Grand Alliance. Among other Articles, it was therein
  stipulated, that she should have L400 a Year for Pin-money, which I
  obliged my self to pay Quarterly into the hands of one who had acted
  as her Plenipotentiary in that Affair. I have ever since religiously
  observed my part in this solemn Agreement. Now, Sir, so it is, that
  the Lady has had several Children since I married her; to which, if I
  should credit our malicious Neighbours, her Pin-money has not a little
  contributed. The Education of these my Children, who, contrary to my
  Expectation, are born to me every Year, streightens me so much, that I
  have begged their Mother to free me from the Obligation of the
  above-mentioned Pin-money, that it may go towards making a Provision
  for her Family. This Proposal makes her noble Blood swell in her
  Veins, insomuch that finding me a little tardy in her last Quarters
  Payment, she threatens me every Day to arrest me; and proceeds so far
  as to tell me, that if I do not do her Justice, I shall die in a Jayl.
  To this she adds, when her Passion will let her argue calmly, that she
  has several Play-Debts on her Hand, which must be discharged very
  suddenly, and that she cannot lose her Money as becomes a Woman of her
  Fashion, if she makes me any Abatements in this Article. I hope, Sir,
  you will take an Occasion from hence to give your Opinion upon a
  Subject which you have not yet touched, and inform us if there are any
  Precedents for this Usage among our Ancestors; or whether you find any
  mention of Pin-money in Grotius, Puffendorf, or any other of the

  I am ever
  the humblest of your Admirers,
  Josiah Fribble, Esq.

As there is no Man living who is a more professed Advocate for the Fair
Sex than my self, so there is none that would be more unwilling to
invade any of their ancient Rights and Privileges; but as the Doctrine
of Pin-money is of a very late Date, unknown to our Great Grandmothers,
and not yet received by many of our Modern Ladies, I think it is for the
Interest of both Sexes to keep it from spreading.

Mr. Fribble may not, perhaps, be much mistaken where he intimates, that
the supplying a Man's Wife with Pin-money, is furnishing her with Arms
against himself, and in a manner becoming accessary to his own
Dishonour. We may indeed, generally observe, that in proportion as a
Woman is more or less Beautiful, and her Husband advanced in Years, she
stands in need of a greater or less number of Pins, and upon a Treaty of
Marriage, rises or falls in her Demands accordingly. It must likewise be
owned, that high Quality in a Mistress does very much inflame this
Article in the Marriage Reckoning.

But where the Age and Circumstances of both Parties are pretty much upon
a level, I cannot but think the insisting upon Pin-money is very
extraordinary; and yet we find several Matches broken off upon this very
Head. What would a Foreigner, or one who is a Stranger to this Practice,
think of a Lover that forsakes his Mistress, because he is not willing
to keep her in Pins; but what would he think of the Mistress, should he
be informed that she asks five or six hundred Pounds a Year for this
use? Should a Man unacquainted with our Customs be told the Sums which
are allowed in Great Britain, under the Title of Pin-money, what a
prodigious Consumption of Pins would he think there was in this Island?
A Pin a Day, says our frugal Proverb, is a Groat a Year, so that
according to this Calculation, my Friend Fribbles Wife must every Year
make use of Eight Millions six hundred and forty thousand new Pins.

I am not ignorant that our British Ladies allege they comprehend under
this general Term several other Conveniencies of Life; I could therefore
wish, for the Honour of my Countrywomen, that they had rather called it
Needle-Money, which might have implied something of Good-housewifry, and
not have given the malicious World occasion to think, that Dress and
Trifles have always the uppermost Place in a Woman's Thoughts.

I know several of my fair Reasoners urge, in defence of this Practice,
that it is but a necessary Provision they make for themselves, in case
their Husband proves a Churl or a Miser; so that they consider this
Allowance as a kind of Alimony, which they may lay their Claim to,
without actually separating from their Husbands. But with Submission, I
think a Woman who will give up her self to a Man in Marriage, where
there is the least Room for such an Apprehension, and trust her Person
to one whom she will not rely on for the common Necessaries of Life, may
very properly be accused (in the Phrase of an homely Proverb) of being
Penny wise and Pound foolish.

It is observed of over-cautious Generals, that they never engage in a
Battel without securing a Retreat, in case the Event should not answer
their Expectations; on the other hand, the greatest Conquerors have
burnt their Ships, or broke down the Bridges behind them, as being
determined either to succeed or die in the Engagement. In the same
manner I should very much suspect a Woman who takes such Precautions for
her Retreat, and contrives Methods how she may live happily, without the
Affection of one to whom she joins herself for Life. Separate Purses
between Man and Wife are, in my Opinion, as unnatural as separate Beds.
A Marriage cannot be happy, where the Pleasures, Inclinations, and
Interests of both Parties are not the same. There is no greater
Incitement to Love in the Mind of Man, than the Sense of a Persons
depending upon him for her Ease and Happiness; as a Woman uses all her
Endeavours to please the Person whom she looks upon as her Honour, her
Comfort, and her Support.

For this Reason I am not very much surprized at the Behaviour of a rough
Country Squire, who, being not a little shocked at the Proceeding of a
young Widow that would not recede from her Demands of Pin-money, was so
enraged at her mercenary Temper, that he told her in great Wrath, As
much as she thought him her Slave, he would shew all the World he did
not care a Pin for her. Upon which he flew out of the Room, and never
saw her more.

Socrates, in Plato's Altibiades, says, he was informed by one, who had
travelled through Persia, that as he passed over a great Tract of Lands,
and enquired what the Name of the Place was, they told him it was the
Queens Girdle; to which he adds, that another wide Field which lay by
it, was called the Queens Veil; and that in the same Manner there was a
large Portion of Ground set aside for every part of Her Majesty's
Dress. These Lands might not be improperly called the Queen of Persia's

I remember my Friend Sir ROGER, who I dare say never read this Passage
in Plato, told me some time since, that upon his courting the Perverse
Widow (of whom I have given an Account in former Papers) he had disposed
of an hundred Acres in a Diamond-Ring, which he would have presented her
with, had she thought fit to accept it; and that upon her Wedding-Day
she should have carried on her Head fifty of the tallest Oaks upon his
Estate. He further informed me that he would have given her a Cole-pit
to keep her in clean Linnen, that he would have allowed her the Profits
of a Windmill for her Fans, and have presented her once in three Years
with the Sheering of his Sheep [for her [1]] Under-Petticoats. To which
the Knight always adds, that though he did not care for fine Cloaths
himself, there should not have been a Woman in the Country better
dressed than my Lady Coverley. Sir ROGER perhaps, may in this, as well
as in many other of his Devices, appear something odd and singular, but
if the Humour of Pin-money prevails, I think it would be very proper for
every Gentleman of an Estate to mark out so many Acres of it under the
Title of The Pins.


[Footnote 1: [to keep her in]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 296.             Friday, February 8, 1712.                 Steele.

  Nugis addere pondus.


  Dear SPEC.

  Having lately conversed much with the Fair Sex on the Subject of your
  Speculations, (which since their Appearance in Publick, have been the
  chief Exercise of the Female loquacious Faculty) I found the fair Ones
  possess'd with a Dissatisfaction at your prefixing Greek Mottos to
  the Frontispiece of your late Papers; and, as a Man of Gallantry, I
  thought it a Duty incumbent on me to impart it to you, in Hopes of a
  Reformation, which is only to be effected by a Restoration of the
  Latin to the usual Dignity in your Papers, which of late, the Greek,
  to the great Displeasure of your Female Readers, has usurp'd; for tho
  the Latin has the Recommendation of being as unintelligible to them as
  the Greek, yet being written of the same Character with their
  Mother-Tongue, by the Assistance of a Spelling-Book its legible;
  which Quality the Greek wants: And since the Introduction of Operas
  into this Nation, the Ladies are so charmed with Sounds abstracted
  from their Ideas, that they adore and honour the Sound of Latin as it
  is old Italian. I am a Sollicitor for the Fair Sex, and therefore
  think my self in that Character more likely to be prevalent in this
  Request, than if I should subscribe myself by my proper Name.

  I desire you may insert this in one of your Speculations, to shew my
  Zeal for removing the Dissatisfaction of the Fair Sex, and restoring
  you to their Favour.


  I was some time since in Company with a young Officer, who entertained
  us with the Conquest he had made over a Female Neighbour of his; when
  a Gentleman who stood by, as I suppose, envying the Captains good
  Fortune, asked him what Reason he had to believe the Lady admired him?
  Why, says he, my Lodgings are opposite to hers, and she is continually
  at her Window either at Work, Reading, taking Snuff, or putting her
  self in some toying Posture on purpose to draw my Eyes that Way. The
  Confession of this vain Soldier made me reflect on some of my own
  Actions; for you must know, Sir, I am often at a Window which fronts
  the Apartments of several Gentlemen, who I doubt not have the same
  Opinion of me. I must own I love to look at them all, one for being
  well dressed, a second for his fine Eye, and one particular one,
  because he is the least Man I ever saw; but there is something so
  easie and pleasant in the Manner of my little Man, that I observe he
  is a Favourite of all his Acquaintance. I could go on to tell you of
  many others that I believe think I have encouraged them from my
  Window: But pray let me have your Opinion of the Use of the Window in
  a beautiful Lady: and how often she may look out at the same Man,
  without being supposed to have a Mind to jump out to him. Yours,
  Aurelia Careless.



  I have for some Time made Love to a Lady, who received it with all
  the kind Returns I ought to expect. But without any Provocation, that
  I know of, she has of late shunned me with the utmost Abhorrence,
  insomuch that she went out of Church last Sunday in the midst of
  Divine Service, upon my coming into the same Pew. Pray, Sir, what must
  I do in this Business?
  Your Servant,

Let her alone Ten Days.

  York, Jan. 20, 1711-12.


  We have in this Town a sort of People who pretend to Wit and write
  Lampoons: I have lately been the Subject of one of them. The Scribler
  had not Genius enough in Verse to turn my Age, as indeed I am an old
  Maid, into Raillery, for affecting a youthier Turn than is consistent
  with my Time of Day; and therefore he makes the Title to his Madrigal,
  The Character of Mrs. Judith Lovebane, born in the Year [1680. [1]]
  What I desire of you is, That you disallow that a Coxcomb who pretends
  to write Verse, should put the most malicious Thing he can say in
  Prose. This I humbly conceive will disable our Country Wits, who
  indeed take a great deal of Pains to say any thing in Rhyme, tho they
  say it very ill.
  I am, SIR,
  Your Humble Servant,
  Susanna Lovebane.

  We are several of us, Gentlemen and Ladies, who Board in the same
  House, and after Dinner one of our Company (an agreeable Man enough
  otherwise) stands up and reads your Paper to us all. We are the
  civillest People in the World to one another, and therefore I am
  forced to this way of desiring our Reader, when he is doing this
  Office, not to stand afore the Fire. This will be a general Good to
  our Family this cold Weather. He will, I know, take it to be our
  common Request when he comes to these Words, Pray, Sir, sit down;
  which I desire you to insert, and you will particularly oblige
  Your Daily Reader,
  Charity Frost.


  I am a great Lover of Dancing, but cannot perform so well as some
  others; however, by my Out-of-the-Way Capers, and some original
  Grimaces, I don't fail to divert the Company, particularly the Ladies,
  who laugh immoderately all the Time. Some, who pretend to be my
  Friends, tell me they do it in Derision, and would advise me to leave
  it off, withal that I make my self ridiculous. I don't know what to do
  in this Affair, but I am resolved not to give over upon any
  Account, till I have the Opinion of the SPECTATOR.
  Your humble Servant,
  John Trott.

If Mr. Trott is not awkward out of Time, he has a Right to Dance let who
will Laugh: But if he has no Ear he will interrupt others; and I am of
Opinion he should sit still.

Given under my Hand this Fifth of February, 1711-12.



[Footnote 1: 1750]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 297.           Saturday, February 9, 1712.               Addison

 --velut si
  Egregio inspersos reprendas corpore naevos.


After what I have said in my last Saturdays Paper, I shall enter on the
Subject of this without further Preface, and remark the several Defects
which appear in the Fable, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the
Language of Milton's Paradise Lost; not doubting but the Reader will
pardon me, if I alledge at the same time whatever may be said for the
Extenuation of such Defects. The first Imperfection which I shall
observe in the Fable is that the Event of it is unhappy.

The Fable of every Poem is, according to Aristotle's Division, either
Simple or Implex [1]. It is called Simple when there is no change of
Fortune in it: Implex, when the Fortune of the chief Actor changes from
Bad to Good, or from Good to Bad. The Implex Fable is thought the most
perfect; I suppose, because it is more proper to stir up the Passions of
the Reader, and to surprize him with a greater Variety of Accidents.

The Implex Fable is therefore of two kinds: In the first the chief Actor
makes his Way through a long Series of Dangers and Difficulties, till he
arrives at Honour and Prosperity, as we see in the [Story of Ulysses.
[2]] In the second, the chief Actor in the Poem falls from some eminent
Pitch of Honour and Prosperity, into Misery and Disgrace. Thus we see
Adam and Eve sinking from a State of Innocence and Happiness, into the
most abject Condition of Sin and Sorrow.

The most taking Tragedies among the Ancients were built on this last
sort of Implex Fable, particularly the Tragedy of Oedipus, which
proceeds upon a Story, if we may believe Aristotle, the most proper for
Tragedy that could be invented by the Wit of Man. [3] I have taken some
Pains in a former Paper to shew, that this kind of Implex Fable, wherein
the Event is unhappy, is more apt to affect an Audience than that of the
first kind; notwithstanding many excellent Pieces among the Ancients, as
well as most of those which have been written of late Years in our own
Country, are raised upon contrary Plans. I must however own, that I
think this kind of Fable, which is the most perfect in Tragedy, is not
so proper for an Heroic Poem.

Milton seems to have been sensible of this Imperfection in his Fable,
and has therefore endeavoured to cure it by several Expedients;
particularly by the Mortification which the great Adversary of Mankind
meets with upon his Return to the Assembly of Infernal Spirits, as it is
described in [a, [4]] beautiful Passage of the Tenth Book; and likewise
by the Vision wherein Adam at the close of the Poem sees his Off-spring
triumphing over his great Enemy, and himself restored to a happier
Paradise than that from which he fell.

There is another Objection against Milton's Fable, which is indeed
almost the same with the former, tho placed in a different Light,
namely, That the Hero in the Paradise Lost is unsuccessful, and by no
means a Match for his Enemies. This gave Occasion to Mr. Dryden's
Reflection, that the Devil was in reality Milton's Hero. [5]

I think I have obviated this Objection in my first Paper. The Paradise
Lost is an Epic [or a] Narrative Poem, [and] he that looks for an Hero
in it, searches for that which Milton never intended; [but [6]] if he
will needs fix the Name of an Hero upon any Person in it, tis certainly
the Messiah who is the Hero, both in the Principal Action, and in the
[chief Episodes.] [7] Paganism could not furnish out a real Action for a
Fable greater than that of the Iliad or AEneid, and therefore an Heathen
could not form a higher Notion of a Poem than one of that kind, which
they call an Heroic. Whether Milton's is not of a [sublimer [8]] Nature
I will not presume to determine: It is sufficient that I shew there is
in the Paradise Lost all the Greatness of Plan, Regularity of Design,
and masterly Beauties which we discover in Homer and Virgil.

I must in the next Place observe, that Milton has interwoven in the
Texture of his Fable some Particulars which do not seem to have
Probability enough for an Epic Poem, particularly in the Actions which
he ascribes to Sin and Death, and the Picture which he draws of the
Limbo of Vanity, with other Passages in the second Book. Such Allegories
rather savour of the Spirit of Spenser and Ariosto, than of Homer and

In the Structure of his Poem he has likewise admitted of too many
Digressions. It is finely observed by Aristotle, that the Author of an
Heroic Poem should seldom speak himself, but throw as much of his Work
as he can into the Mouths of those who are his Principal Actors. [9]

Aristotle has given no reason for this Precept; but I presume it is
because the Mind of the Reader is more awed and elevated when he hears
AEneas or Achilles speak, than when Virgil or Homer talk in their own
Persons. Besides that assuming the Character of an eminent Man is apt to
fire the Imagination, and raise the Ideas of the Author. Tully tells us
[10], mentioning his Dialogue of Old Age, in which Cato is the chief
Speaker, that upon a Review of it he was agreeably imposed upon, and
fancied that it was Cato, and not he himself, who uttered his Thoughts
on that Subject.

If the Reader would be at the Pains to see how the Story of the Iliad
and the AEneid is delivered by those Persons who act in it, he will be
surprized to find how little in either of these Poems proceeds from the
Authors. Milton has, in the general disposition of his Fable, very
finely observed this great Rule; insomuch that there is scarce a third
Part of it which comes from the Poet; the rest is spoken either by Adam
and Eve, or by some Good or Evil Spirit who is engaged either in their
Destruction or Defence.

From what has been here observed it appears, that Digressions are by no
means to be allowed of in an Epic Poem. If the Poet, even in the
ordinary course of his Narration, should speak as little as possible, he
should certainly never let his Narration sleep for the sake of any
Reflections of his own. I have often observed, with a secret Admiration,
that the longest Reflection in the AEneid is in that Passage of the
Tenth Book, where Turnus is represented as dressing himself in the
Spoils of Pallas, whom he had slain. Virgil here lets his Fable stand
still for the-sake of the following Remark. How is the Mind of Man
ignorant of Futurity, and unable to bear prosperous Fortune with
Moderation?  The Time will come when Turnus shall wish that he had left
the Body of Pallas untouched, and curse the Day on which he dressed
himself in these Spoils.  As the great Event of the AEneid, and the Death
of Turnus, whom AEneas slew because he saw him adorned with the Spoils of
Pallas, turns upon this Incident, Virgil went out of his way to make
this Reflection upon it, without which so small a Circumstance might
possibly have slipped out of his Readers Memory. Lucan, who was an
Injudicious Poet, lets drop his Story very frequently for the sake of
his unnecessary Digressions, or his Diverticula, as Scaliger calls them.
[11] If he gives us an Account of the Prodigies which preceded the Civil
War, he declaims upon the Occasion, and shews how much happier it would
be for Man, if he did not feel his Evil Fortune before it comes to pass;
and suffer not only by its real Weight, but by the Apprehension of it.
Milton's Complaint [for [12]] his Blindness, his Panegyrick on Marriage,
his Reflections on Adam and Eves going naked, of the Angels eating, and
several other Passages in his Poem, are liable to the same Exception,
tho I must confess there is so great a Beauty in these very
Digressions, that I would not wish them out of his Poem.

I have, in a former Paper, spoken of the Characters of Milton's Paradise
Lost, and declared my Opinion, as to the Allegorical Persons who are
introduced in it.

If we look into the Sentiments, I think they are sometimes defective
under the following Heads: First, as there are several of them too much
pointed, and some that degenerate even into Punns. Of this last kind I
am afraid is that in the First Book, where speaking of the Pigmies, he
calls them,

 --The small Infantry
  Warrdon by Cranes--

Another Blemish [that [13]] appears in some of his Thoughts, is his
frequent Allusion to Heathen Fables, which are not certainly of a Piece
with the Divine Subject, of which he treats. I do not find fault with
these Allusions, where the Poet himself represents them as fabulous, as
he does in some Places, but where he mentions them as Truths and Matters
of Fact. The Limits of my Paper will not give me leave to be particular
in Instances of this kind; the Reader will easily remark them in his
Perusal of the Poem.

A third fault in his Sentiments, is an unnecessary Ostentation of
Learning, which likewise occurs very frequently. It is certain that both
Homer and Virgil were Masters of all the Learning of their Times, but it
shews it self in their Works after an indirect and concealed manner.
Milton seems ambitious of letting us know, by his Excursions on
Free-Will and Predestination, and his many Glances upon History,
Astronomy, Geography, and the like, as well as by the Terms and Phrases
he sometimes makes use of, that he was acquainted with the whole Circle
of Arts and Sciences.

If, in the last place, we consider the Language of this great Poet, we
must allow what I have hinted in a former Paper, that it is often too
much laboured, and sometimes obscured by old Words, Transpositions, and
Foreign Idioms. Senecas Objection to the Style of a great Author, Riget
ejus oratio, nihil in ea placidum nihil lene, is what many Criticks make
to Milton: As I cannot wholly refuse it, so I have already apologized
for it in another Paper; to which I may further add, that Milton's
Sentiments and Ideas were so wonderfully Sublime, that it would have
been impossible for him to have represented them in their full Strength
and Beauty, without having recourse to these Foreign Assistances. Our
Language sunk under him, and was unequal to that Greatness of Soul,
which furnished him with such glorious Conceptions.

A second Fault in his Language is, that he often affects a kind of
Jingle in his Words, as in the following Passages, and many others:

  And brought into the World a World of Woe.

 --Begirt th' Almighty throne
  Beseeching or besieging--

  This tempted our attempt--

  At one slight bound high overleapt all bound.

I know there are Figures for this kind of Speech, that some of the
greatest Ancients have been guilty of it, and that Aristotle himself has
given it a place in his Rhetorick among the Beauties of that Art. [14]
But as it is in its self poor and trifling, it is I think at present
universally exploded by all the Masters of Polite Writing.

The last Fault which I shall take notice of in Milton's Style, is the
frequent use of what the Learned call Technical Words, or Terms of Art.
It is one of the great Beauties of Poetry, to make hard things
intelligible, and to deliver what is abstruse [of [15]] it self in such
easy Language as may be understood by ordinary Readers: Besides, that
the Knowledge of a Poet should rather seem born with him, or inspired,
than drawn from Books and Systems. I have often wondered how Mr. Dryden
could translate a Passage out of Virgil after the following manner.

  Tack to the Larboard, and stand off to Sea.
  Veer Star-board Sea and Land.

Milton makes use of Larboard in the same manner. When he is upon
Building he mentions Doric Pillars, Pilasters, Cornice, Freeze,
Architrave. When he talks of Heavenly Bodies, you meet with Eccliptic
and Eccentric, the trepidation, Stars dropping from the Zenith, Rays
culminating from the Equator. To which might be added many Instances of
the like kind in several other Arts and Sciences.

I shall in my next [Papers [16]] give an Account of the many particular
Beauties in Milton, which would have been too long to insert under those
general Heads I have already treated of, and with which I intend to
conclude this Piece of Criticism.


[Footnote 1: Poetics, cap. x. Addison got his affected word implex by
reading Aristotle through the translation and notes of Andre Dacier.
Implex was the word used by the French, but the natural English
translation of Aristotle's [Greek: haploi] and [Greek: peplegmenoi] is
into simple and complicated.]

[Footnote 2: [Stories of Achilles, Ulysses, and AEneas.]]

[Footnote 3: Poetics, cap. xi.]

[Footnote 4: that]

[Footnote 5: Dediction of the AEneid; where, after speaking of small
claimants of the honours of the Epic, he says,

  Spencer has a better for his "Fairy Queen" had his action been
  finished, or been one; and Milton if the Devil had not been his hero,
  instead of Adam; if the giant had not foiled the knight, and driven
  him out of his stronghold, to wander through the world with his
  lady-errant; and if there had not been more machining persons that
  human in his poem.]

[Footnote 6: [or]]

[Footnote 7: [Episode]]

[Footnote 8: [greater]]

[Footnote 9: Poetics, cap. xxv. The reason he gives is that when the
Poet speaks in his own person he is not then the Imitator. Other Poets
than Homer, Aristotle adds,

  ambitious to figure throughout themselves, imitate but little and
  seldom. Homer, after a few preparatory lines, immediately introduces a
  man or woman or some other character, for all have their character.

Of Lucan, as an example of the contrary practice, Hobbes said in his
Discourse concerning the Virtues of an Heroic Poem:

  No Heroic Poem raises such admiration of the Poet, as his hath done,
  though not so great admiration of the persons he introduceth.]

[Footnote 10: Letters to Atticus, Bk. xiii., Ep. 44.]

[Footnote 11: Poetices, Lib. iii. cap. 25.]

[Footnote 12: [of]]

[Footnote 13: [which]]

[Footnote 14: Rhetoric, iii. ch. II, where he cites such verbal jokes
as, You wish him [Greek: persai] (i.e. to side with Persia--to ruin
him), and the saying of Isocrates concerning Athens, that its
sovereignty [Greek: archae] was to the city a beginning [Greek: archae]
of evils. As this closes Addison's comparison of Milton's practice with
Aristotle's doctrine (the following papers being expressions of his
personal appreciation of the several books of Paradise Lost), we may
note here that Milton would have been quite ready to have his work tried
by the test Addison has been applying. In his letter to Samuel Hartlib,
sketching his ideal of a good Education, he assigns to advanced pupils
logic and then

  rhetoric taught out of the rules of Plato, Aristotle, Phalereus,
  Cicero, Hermogenes, Longinus. To which poetry would be made
  subsequent, or, indeed, rather precedent, as being less subtile and
  fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate. I mean not here the
  prosody of a verse, which they could not but have hit on before among
  the rudiments of grammar; but that sublime art which in Aristotle's
  Poetics, in Horace, and the Italian commentaries of Castelvetro,
  Tasso, Mazzoni, and others, teaches what the laws are of a true epic
  poem, what of a dramatic, what of a lyric, what decorum is, which is
  the grand masterpiece to observe. This would make them soon perceive
  what despicable creatures our common rhymers and play-writers be; and
  show them what religious, what glorious and magnificent use might be
  made of poetry, both in divine and human things.]

[Footnote 15: [in]]

[Footnote 16: [Saturdays Paper]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 298.              Monday, February 11, 1712.                Steele.

  Nusquam Tuta fides.


  London, Feb. 9, 1711-12.


  I am a Virgin, and in no Case despicable; but yet such as I am I must
  remain, or else become, tis to be feared, less happy: for I find not
  the least good Effect from the just Correction you some time since
  gave, that too free, that looser Part of our Sex which spoils the Men;
  the same Connivance at the Vices, the same easie Admittance of
  Addresses, the same vitiated Relish of the Conversation of the
  greatest of Rakes (or in a more fashionable Way of expressing ones
  self, of such as have seen the World most) still abounds, increases,

  The humble Petition therefore of many of the most strictly virtuous,
  and of my self, is, That you'll once more exert your Authority, and
  that according to your late Promise, your full, your impartial
  Authority, on this sillier Branch of our Kind: For why should they be
  the uncontroulable Mistresses of our Fate? Why should they with
  Impunity indulge the Males in Licentiousness whilst single, and we
  have the dismal Hazard and Plague of reforming them when married?
  Strike home, Sir, then, and spare not, or all our maiden Hopes, our
  gilded Hopes of nuptial Felicity are frustrated, are vanished, and you
  your self, as well as Mr. Courtly, will, by smoothing over immodest
  Practices with the Gloss of soft and harmless Names, for ever forfeit
  our Esteem. Nor think that I'm herein more severe than need be: If I
  have not reason more than enough, do you and the World judge from this
  ensuing Account, which, I think, will prove the Evil to be universal.

  You must know then, that since your Reprehension of this Female
  Degeneracy came out, I've had a Tender of Respects from no less than
  five Persons, of tolerable Figure too as Times go: But the Misfortune
  is, that four of the five are professed Followers of the Mode. They
  would face me down, that all Women of good Sense ever were, and ever
  will be, Latitudinarians in Wedlock; and always did, and will, give
  and take what they profanely term Conjugal Liberty of Conscience.

  The two first of them, a Captain and a Merchant, to strengthen their
  Argument, pretend to repeat after a Couple, a Brace of Ladies of
  Quality and Wit, That Venus was always kind to Mars; and what Soul
  that has the least spark of Generosity, can deny a Man of Bravery any
  thing? And how pitiful a Trader that, whom no Woman but his own Wife
  will have Correspondence and Dealings with? Thus these; whilst the
  third, the Country Squire, confessed, That indeed he was surprized
  into good Breeding, and entered into the Knowledge of the World
  unawares. That dining tother Day at a Gentleman's House, the Person
  who entertained was obliged to leave him with his Wife and Nieces;
  where they spoke with so much Contempt of an absent Gentleman for
  being slow at a Hint, that he had resolved never to be drowsy,
  unmannerly, or stupid for the future at a Friends House; and on a
  hunting Morning, not to pursue the Game either with the Husband
  abroad, or with the Wife at home.

  The next that came was a Tradesman, [no [1]] less full of the Age
  than the former; for he had the Gallantry to tell me, that at a late
  Junket which he was invited to, the Motion being made, and the
  Question being put, twas by Maid, Wife and Widow resolved nemine
  contradicente, That a young sprightly Journeyman is absolutely
  necessary in their Way of Business: To which they had the Assent and
  Concurrence of the Husbands present. I dropped him a Curtsy, and gave
  him to understand that was his Audience of Leave.

  I am reckoned pretty, and have had very many Advances besides these;
  but have been very averse to hear any of them, from my Observation on
  these above-mentioned, till I hoped some Good from the Character of
  my present Admirer, a Clergyman. But I find even amongst them there
  are indirect Practices in relation to Love, and our Treaty is at
  present a little in Suspence, till some Circumstances are cleared.
  There is a Charge against him among the Women, and the Case is this:
  It is alledged, That a certain endowed Female would have appropriated
  her self to and consolidated her self with a Church, which my Divine
  now enjoys; (or, which is the same thing, did prostitute her self to
  her Friends doing this for her): That my Ecclesiastick, to obtain the
  one, did engage himself to take off the other that lay on Hand; but
  that on his Success in the Spiritual, he again renounced the Carnal.

  I put this closely to him, and taxed him with Disingenuity. He to
  clear himself made the subsequent Defence, and that in the most solemn
  Manner possible: That he was applied to and instigated to accept of a
  Benefice: That a conditional Offer thereof was indeed made him at
  first, but with Disdain by him rejected: That when nothing (as they
  easily perceived) of this Nature could bring him to their Purpose,
  Assurance of his being entirely unengaged before-hand, and safe from
  all their After-Expectations (the only Stratagem left to draw him in)
  was given him: That pursuant to this the Donation it self was without
  Delay, before several reputable Witnesses, tendered to him gratis,
  with the open Profession of not the least Reserve, or most minute
  Condition; but that yet immediately after Induction, his insidious
  Introducer (or her crafty Procurer, which you will) industriously
  spread the Report, which had reached my Ears, not only in the
  Neighbourhood of that said Church, but in London, in the University,
  in mine and his own County, and where-ever else it might probably
  obviate his Application to any other Woman, and so confine him to this
  alone: And, in a Word, That as he never did make any previous Offer of
  his Service, or the least Step to her Affection; so on his Discovery
  of these Designs thus laid to trick him, he could not but afterwards,
  in Justice to himself, vindicate both his Innocence and Freedom by
  keeping his proper Distance.

  This is his Apology, and I think I shall be satisfied with it. But I
  cannot conclude my tedious Epistle, without recommending to you not
  only to resume your former Chastisement, but to add to your Criminals
  the Simoniacal Ladies, who seduce the sacred Order into the Difficulty
  of either breaking a mercenary Troth made to them whom they ought not
  to deceive, or by breaking or keeping it offending against him whom
  they cannot deceive. Your Assistance and Labours of this sort would be
  of great Benefit, and your speedy Thoughts on this Subject would be
  very seasonable to,

  SIR, Your most obedient Servant,
  Chastity Loveworth.


[Footnote 1: [nor]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 299.              Tuesday, February 12, 1712.             Addison.

  Malo Venusinam, quam te, Cornelia, Mater
  Gracchorum, si cum magnis virtutibus affers
  Grande supercilium, et numeras in dote triumphos.
  Tolle tuum precor Annibalem victumque Syphacem
  In castris, et cum tota Carthagine migra.


It is observed, that a Man improves more by reading the Story of a
Person eminent for Prudence and Virtue, than by the finest Rules and
Precepts of Morality. In the same manner a Representation of those
Calamities and Misfortunes which a weak Man suffers from wrong Measures,
and ill-concerted Schemes of Life, is apt to make a deeper Impression
upon our Minds, than the wisest Maxims and Instructions that can be
given us, for avoiding the like Follies and Indiscretions on our own
private Conduct. It is for this Reason that I lay before my Reader the
following Letter, and leave it with him to make his own use of it,
without adding any Reflections of my own upon the Subject Matter.


  Having carefully perused a Letter sent you by Josiah Fribble, Esq.,
  with your subsequent Discourse upon Pin-Money, I do presume to trouble
  you with an Account of my own Case, which I look upon to be no less
  deplorable than that of Squire Fribble. I am a Person of no
  Extraction, having begun the World with a small parcel of Rusty Iron,
  and was for some Years commonly known by the Name of Jack Anvil. [1] I
  have naturally a very happy Genius for getting Money, insomuch that by
  the Age of Five and twenty I had scraped together Four thousand two
  hundred Pounds Five Shillings, and a few odd Pence. I then launched
  out into considerable Business, and became a bold Trader both by Sea
  and Land, which in a few Years raised me a very [great [2]] Fortune.
  For these my Good Services I was Knighted in the thirty fifth Year of
  my Age, and lived with great Dignity among my City-Neighbours by the
  Name of Sir John Anvil. Being in my Temper very Ambitious, I was now
  bent upon making a Family, and accordingly resolved that my
  Descendants should have a Dash of Good Blood in their Veins. In order
  to this, I made Love to the Lady Mary Oddly, an Indigent young Woman
  of Quality. To cut short the Marriage Treaty, I threw her a Charte
  Blanche, as our News Papers call it, desiring her to write upon it her
  own Terms. She was very concise in her Demands, insisting only that
  the Disposal of my Fortune, and the Regulation of my Family, should be
  entirely in her Hands. Her Father and Brothers appeared exceedingly
  averse to this Match, and would not see me for some time; but at
  present are so well reconciled, that they Dine with me almost every
  Day, and have borrowed considerable Sums of me; which my Lady Mary
  very often twits me with, when she would shew me how kind her
  Relations are to me. She had no Portion, as I told you before, but
  what she wanted in Fortune, she makes up in Spirit. She at first
  changed my Name to Sir John Envil, and at present writes her self Mary
  Enville. I have had some Children by her, whom she has Christened with
  the Sirnames of her Family, in order, as she tells me, to wear out the
  Homeliness of their Parentage by the Fathers Side. Our eldest Son is
  the Honourable Oddly Enville, Esq., and our eldest Daughter Harriot
  Enville. Upon her first coming into my Family, she turned off a parcel
  of very careful Servants, who had been long with me, and introduced in
  their stead a couple of Black-a-moors, and three or four very genteel
  Fellows in Laced Liveries, besides her French woman, who is
  perpetually making a Noise in the House in a Language which no body
  understands, except my Lady Mary. She next set her self to reform
  every Room of my House, having glazed all my Chimney-pieces with
  Looking-glass, and planted every Corner with such heaps of China, that
  I am obliged to move about my own House with the greatest Caution and
  Circumspection, for fear of hurting some of our Brittle Furniture. She
  makes an Illumination once a Week with Wax-Candles in one of the
  largest Rooms, in order, as she phrases it, to see Company. At which
  time she always desires me to be Abroad, or to confine my self to the
  Cock-loft, that I may not disgrace her among her Visitants of Quality.
  Her Footmen, as I told you before, are such Beaus that I do not much
  care for asking them Questions; when I do, they answer me with a sawcy
  Frown, and say that every thing, which I find Fault with, was done by
  my Lady Marys Order. She tells me that she intends they shall wear
  Swords with their next Liveries, having lately observed the Footmen of
  two or three Persons of Quality hanging behind the Coach with Swords
  by their Sides. As soon as the first Honey-Moon was over, I
  represented to her the Unreasonableness of those daily Innovations
  which she made in my Family, but she told me I was no longer to
  consider my self as Sir John Anvil, but as her Husband; and added,
  with a Frown, that I did not seem to know who she was. I was surprized
  to be treated thus, after such Familiarities as had passed between us.
  But she has since given me to know, that whatever Freedoms she may
  sometimes indulge me in, she expects in general to be treated with the
  Respect that is due to her Birth and Quality. Our Children have been
  trained up from their Infancy with so many Accounts of their Mothers
  Family, that they know the Stories of all the great Men and Women it
  has produced. Their Mother tells them, that such an one commanded in
  such a Sea Engagement, that their Great Grandfather had a Horse shot
  under him at Edge-hill, that their Uncle was at the Siege of Buda, and
  that her Mother danced in a Ball at Court with the Duke of Monmouth;
  with abundance of Fiddle-faddle of the same Nature. I was, the other
  Day, a little out of Countenance at a Question of my little Daughter
  Harriot, who asked me, with a great deal of Innocence, why I never
  told them of the Generals and Admirals that had been in my Family. As
  for my Eldest Son Oddly, he has been so spirited up by his Mother,
  that if he does not mend his Manners I shall go near to disinherit
  him. He drew his Sword upon me before he was nine years old, and told
  me, that he expected to be used like a Gentleman; upon my offering to
  correct him for his Insolence, my Lady Mary stept in between us, and
  told me, that I ought to consider there was some Difference between
  his Mother and mine. She is perpetually finding out the Features of
  her own Relations in every one of my Children, tho, by the way, I
  have a little Chubfaced Boy as like me as he can stare, if I durst say
  so; but what most angers me, when she sees me playing with any of them
  upon my Knee, she has begged me more than once to converse with the
  Children as little as possibly, that they may not learn any of my
  awkward Tricks.

  You must farther know, since I am opening my Heart to you, that she
  thinks her self my Superior in Sense, as much as she is in Quality,
  and therefore treats me like a plain well-meaning Man, who does not
  know the World. She dictates to me in my own Business, sets me right
  in Point of Trade, and if I disagree with her about any of my Ships at
  Sea, wonders that I will dispute with her, when I know very well that
  her Great Grandfather was a Flag Officer.

  To compleat my Sufferings, she has teazed me for this Quarter of [a
  [3]] Year last past, to remove into one of the Squares at the other
  End of the Town, promising for my Encouragement, that I shall have as
  good a Cock-loft as any Gentleman in the Square; to which the
  Honourable Oddly Enville, Esq., always adds, like a Jack-a-napes as he
  is, that he hopes twill be as near the Court as possible.

  In short, Mr. SPECTATOR, I am so much out of my natural Element, that
  to recover my old Way of Life I would be content to begin the World
  again, and be plain Jack Anvil; but alas! I am in for Life, and am
  bound to subscribe my self, with great Sorrow of Heart,

  Your humble Servant,

  John Enville, Knt.


[Footnote 1: This has been said to refer to a Sir Ambrose Crowley, who
changed his name to Crawley.]

[Footnote 2: [considerable] corrected by an erratum in No. 301.]

[Footnote 3: [an]]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 300.            Wednesday, February 13, 1712.             Steele.

  Diversum vitio vitium prope majus.



  When you talk of the Subject of Love, and the Relations arising from
  it, methinks you should take Care to leave no Fault unobserved which
  concerns the State of Marriage. The great Vexation that I have
  observed in it, is, that the wedded Couple seem to want Opportunities
  of being often enough alone together, and are forced to quarrel and be
  fond before Company. Mr. Hotspur and his Lady, in a Room full of their
  Friends, are ever saying something so smart to each other, and that
  but just within Rules, that the whole Company stand in the utmost
  Anxiety and Suspence for fear of their falling into Extremities which
  they could not be present at. On the other Side, Tom Faddle and his
  pretty Spouse where-ever they come are billing at such a Rate, as they
  think must do our Hearts good who behold em. Cannot you possibly
  propose a Mean between being Wasps and Doves in Publick? I should
  think if you advised to hate or love sincerely it would be better: For
  if they would be so discreet as to hate from the very Bottom of their
  Hearts, their Aversion would be too strong for little Gibes every
  Moment; and if they loved with that calm and noble Value which dwells
  in the Heart, with a Warmth like that of Life-Blood, they would not be
  so impatient of their Passion as to fall into observable Fondness.
  This Method, in each Case, would save Appearances; but as those who
  offend on the fond Side are by much the fewer, I would have you begin
  with them, and go on to take Notice of a most impertinent Licence
  married Women take, not only to be very loving to their Spouses in
  Publick, but also make nauseous Allusions to private Familiarities,
  and the like. Lucina is a Lady of the greatest Discretion, you must
  know, in the World; and withal very much a Physician: Upon the
  Strength of these two Qualities there is nothing she will not speak of
  before us Virgins; and she every Day talks with a very grave Air in
  such a Manner, as is very improper so much as to be hinted at but to
  obviate the greatest Extremity. Those whom they call good Bodies,
  notable People, hearty Neighbours, and the purest goodest Company in
  the World, are the great Offenders in this Kind. Here I think I have
  laid before you an open Field for Pleasantry; and hope you will shew
  these People that at least they are not witty: In which you will save
  from many a Blush a daily Sufferer, who is very much

  Your most humble Servant,
  Susanna Loveworth.


  In yours of Wednesday the 30th past, you and your Correspondent are
  very severe on a sort of Men, whom you call Male Coquets; but without
  any other Reason, in my Apprehension, than that of paying a shallow
  Compliment to the fair Sex, by accusing some Men of imaginary Faults,
  that the Women may not seem to be the more faulty Sex; though at the
  same time you suppose there are some so weak as to be imposed upon by
  fine Things and false Addresses. I cant persuade my self that your
  Design is to debar the Sexes the Benefit of each others Conversation
  within the Rules of Honour; nor will you, I dare say, recommend to
  em, or encourage the common Tea-Table Talk, much less that of
  Politicks and Matters of State: And if these are forbidden Subjects of
  Discourse, then, as long as there are any Women in the World who take
  a Pleasure in hearing themselves praised, and can bear the Sight of a
  Man prostrate at their Feet, so long I shall make no Wonder that there
  are those of the other Sex who will pay them those impertinent
  Humiliations. We should have few People such Fools as to practise
  Flattery, if all were so wise as to despise it. I don't deny but you
  would do a meritorious Act, if you could prevent all Impositions on
  the Simplicity of young Women; but I must confess I don't apprehend
  you have laid the Fault on the proper Person, and if I trouble you
  with my Thoughts upon it I promise my self your Pardon. Such of the
  Sex as are raw and innocent, and most exposed to these Attacks, have,
  or their Parents are much to blame if they have not, one to advise and
  guard em, and are obliged themselves to take Care of em: but if
  these, who ought to hinder Men from all Opportunities of this sort of
  Conversation, instead of that encourage and promote it, the Suspicion
  is very just that there are some private Reasons for it; and Ill
  leave it to you to determine on which Side a Part is then acted. Some
  Women there are who are arrived at Years of Discretion, I mean are got
  out of the Hands of their Parents and Governours, and are set up for
  themselves, who yet are liable to these Attempts; but if these are
  prevailed upon, you must excuse me if I lay the Fault upon them, that
  their Wisdom is not grown with their Years. My Client, Mr. Strephon,
  whom you summoned to declare himself, gives you Thanks however for
  your Warning, and begs the Favour only to inlarge his Time for a Week,
  or to the last Day of the Term, and then hell appear gratis, and pray
  no Day over.


  I was last Night to visit a Lady who I much esteem, and always took
  for my Friend; but met with so very different a Reception from what I
  expected, that I cannot help applying my self to you on this Occasion.
  In the room of that Civility and Familiarity I used to be treated with
  by her, an affected Strangeness in her Looks, and Coldness in her
  Behaviour, plainly told me I was not the welcome Guest which the
  Regard and Tenderness she has often expressed for me gave me Reason to
  flatter my self to think I was. Sir, this is certainly a great Fault,
  and I assure you a very common one; therefore I hope you will think it
  a fit Subject for some Part of a Spectator. Be pleased to acquaint us
  how we must behave our selves towards this valetudinary Friendship,
  subject to so many Heats and Colds, and you will oblige,
  SIR, Your humble Servant,


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

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

  Yours, D. G.


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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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


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

Canidia, a Lady of this latter Species, passed by me Yesterday in her
Coach. Canidia was an haughty Beauty of the last Age, and was followed
by Crowds of Adorers, whose Passions only pleased her, as they gave her
Opportunities of playing the Tyrant. She then contracted that awful Cast
of the Eye and forbidding Frown, which she has not yet laid aside, and
has still all the Insolence of Beauty without its Charms. If she now
attracts the Eyes of any Beholders, it is only by being remarkably
ridiculous; even her own Sex laugh at her Affectation; and the Men, who
always enjoy an ill-natured Pleasure in seeing an imperious Beauty
humbled and neglected, regard her with the same Satisfaction that a free
Nation sees a Tyrant in Disgrace.

WILL. HONEYCOMB, who is a great Admirer of the Gallantries in King
Charles the Seconds Reign, lately communicated to me a Letter written
by a Wit of that Age to his Mistress, who it seems was a Lady of
Canidia's Humour; and tho I do not always approve of my Friend WILLS
Taste, I liked this Letter so well, that I took a Copy of it, with which
I shall here present my Reader.

  To CLOE.

  Since my waking Thoughts have never been able to influence you in my
  Favour, I am resolved to try whether my Dreams can make any Impression
  on you. To this end I shall give you an Account of a very odd one
  which my Fancy presented to me last Night, within a few Hours after I
  left you.

  Methought I was unaccountably conveyed into the most delicious Place
  mine Eyes ever beheld, it was a large Valley divided by a River of the
  purest Water I had ever seen. The Ground on each Side of it rose by an
  easie Ascent, and was covered with Flowers of an infinite Variety,
  which as they were reflected in the Water doubled the Beauties of the
  Place, or rather formed an Imaginary Scene more beautiful than the
  real. On each Side of the River was a Range of lofty Trees, whose
  Boughs were loaden with almost as many Birds as Leaves. Every Tree was
  full of Harmony.

  I had not gone far in this pleasant Valley, when I perceived that it
  was terminated by a most magnificent Temple. The Structure was
  ancient, and regular. On the Top of it was figured the God Saturn, in
  the same Shape and Dress that the Poets usually represent Time.

  As I was advancing to satisfie my Curiosity by a nearer View, I was
  stopped by an Object far more beautiful than any I had before
  discovered in the whole Place. I fancy, Madam, you will easily guess
  that this could hardly be any thing but your self; in reality it was
  so; you lay extended on the Flowers by the side of the River, so that
  your Hands which were thrown in a negligent Posture, almost touched
  the Water. Your Eyes were closed; but if your Sleep deprived me of the
  Satisfaction of seeing them, it left me at leisure to contemplate
  several other Charms, which disappear when your Eyes are open. I could
  not but admire the Tranquility you slept in, especially when I
  considered the Uneasiness you produce in so many others.

  While I was wholly taken up in these Reflections, the Doors of the
  Temple flew open, with a very great Noise; and lifting up my Eyes, I
  saw two Figures, in human Shape, coming into the Valley. Upon a nearer
  Survey, I found them to be YOUTH and LOVE. The first was encircled
  with a kind of Purple Light, that spread a Glory over all the Place;
  the other held a flaming Torch in his Hand. I could observe, that all
  the way as they came towards us, the Colours of the Flowers appeared
  more lively, the Trees shot out in Blossoms, the Birds threw
  themselves into Pairs, and Serenaded them as they passed: The whole
  Face of Nature glowed with new Beauties. They were no sooner arrived
  at the Place where you lay, when they seated themselves on each Side
  of you. On their Approach, methought I saw a new Bloom arise in your
  Face, and new Charms diffuse themselves over your whole Person. You
  appeared more than Mortal; but, to my great Surprise, continued fast
  asleep, tho the two Deities made several gentle Efforts to awaken

  After a short Time, YOUTH (displaying a Pair of Wings, which I had
  not before taken notice of) flew off. LOVE still remained, and holding
  the Torch which he had in his Hand before your Face, you still
  appeared as beautiful as ever. The glaring of the Light in your Eyes
  at length awakened you; when, to my great Surprise, instead of
  acknowledging the Favour of the Deity, you frowned upon him, and
  struck the Torch out of his Hand into the River. The God after having
  regarded you with a Look that spoke at [once [1]] his Pity and
  Displeasure, flew away. Immediately a kind of Gloom overspread the
  whole Place. At the same time I saw an hideous Spectre enter at one
  end of the Valley. His Eyes were sunk into his Head, his Face was pale
  and withered, and his Skin puckered up in Wrinkles. As he walked on
  the sides of the Bank the River froze, the Flowers faded, the Trees
  shed their Blossoms, the Birds dropped from off the Boughs, and fell
  dead at his Feet. By these Marks I knew him to be OLD-AGE. You were
  seized with the utmost Horror and Amazement at his Approach. You
  endeavoured to have fled, but the Phantome caught you in his Arms. You
  may easily guess at the Change you suffered in this Embrace. For my
  own Part, though I am still too full of the [frightful [2]] Idea, I
  will not shock you with a Description of it. I was so startled at the
  Sight that my Sleep immediately left me, and I found my self awake, at
  leisure to consider of a Dream which seems too extraordinary to be
  without a Meaning. I am, Madam, with the greatest Passion,
  Your most Obedient,
  most Humble Servant, &c.


[Footnote 1: [the same time]]

[Footnote 2: [dreadful]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 302.           Friday, February 15, 1712.                Steele.

  Lachrymaeque decorae,
  Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore Virtus.

  Vir. AEn. 5.

I read what I give for the Entertainment of this Day with a great deal
of Pleasure, and publish it just as it came to my Hands. I shall be very
glad to find there are many guessed at for Emilia.

  Mr. SPECTATOR, [1]

  If this Paper has the good Fortune to be honoured with a Place in your
  Writings, I shall be the more pleased, because the Character of Emilia
  is not an imaginary but a real one. I have industriously obscured the
  whole by the Addition of one or two Circumstances of no Consequence,
  that the Person it is drawn from might still be concealed; and that
  the Writer of it might not be in the least suspected, and for [other
  [2]] Reasons, I chuse not to give it the Form of a Letter: But if,
  besides the Faults of the Composition, there be any thing in it more
  proper for a Correspondent than the SPECTATOR himself to write, I
  submit it to your better Judgment, to receive any other Model you
  think fit.
  I am, SIR,
  Your very humble Servant.

    There is nothing which gives one so pleasing a Prospect of human
    Nature, as the Contemplation of Wisdom and Beauty: The latter is the
    peculiar Portion of that Sex which is therefore called Fair; but the
    happy Concurrence of both these Excellencies in the same Person, is
    a Character too celestial to be frequently met with. Beauty is an
    over-weaning self-sufficient thing, careless of providing it self
    any more substantial Ornaments; nay so little does it consult its
    own Interests, that it too often defeats it self by betraying that
    Innocence which renders it lovely and desirable. As therefore Virtue
    makes a beautiful Woman appear more beautiful, so Beauty makes a
    virtuous Woman really more virtuous. Whilst I am considering these
    two Perfections gloriously united in one Person, I cannot help
    representing to my Mind the Image of Emilia.

    Who ever beheld the charming Emilia, without feeling in his Breast
    at once the Glow of Love and the Tenderness of virtuous Friendship?
    The unstudied Graces of her Behaviour, and the pleasing Accents of
    her Tongue, insensibly draw you on to wish for a nearer Enjoyment of
    them; but even her Smiles carry in them a silent Reproof to the
    Impulses of licentious Love. Thus, tho the Attractives of her
    Beauty play almost irresistibly upon you and create Desire, you
    immediately stand corrected not by the Severity but the Decency of
    her Virtue. That Sweetness and Good-humour which is so visible in
    her Face, naturally diffuses it self into every Word and Action: A
    Man must be a Savage, who at the Sight of Emilia, is not more
    inclined to do her Good than gratifie himself. Her Person, as it is
    thus studiously embellished by Nature, thus adorned with
    unpremeditated Graces, is a fit Lodging for a Mind so fair and
    lovely; there dwell rational Piety, modest Hope, and chearful

    Many of the prevailing Passions of Mankind do undeservedly pass
    under the Name of Religion; which is thus made to express itself in
    Action, according to the Nature of the Constitution in which it
    resides: So that were we to make a Judgment from Appearances, one
    would imagine Religion in some is little better than Sullenness and
    Reserve, in many Fear, in others the Despondings of a melancholly
    Complexion, in others the Formality of insignificant unaffecting
    Observances, in others Severity, in others Ostentation. In Emilia it
    is a Principle founded in Reason and enlivened with Hope; it does
    not break forth into irregular Fits and Sallies of Devotion, but is
    an uniform and consistent Tenour of Action; It is strict without
    Severity, compassionate without Weakness; it is the Perfection of
    that good Humour which proceeds from the Understanding, not the
    Effect of an easy Constitution.

    By a generous Sympathy in Nature, we feel our selves disposed to
    mourn when any of our Fellow-Creatures are afflicted; but injured
    Innocence and Beauty in Distresses an Object that carries in it
    something inexpressibly moving: It softens the most manly Heart with
    the tenderest Sensations of Love and Compassion, till at length it
    confesses its Humanity, and flows out into Tears.

    Were I to relate that part of Emilia's Life which has given her an
    Opportunity of exerting the Heroism of Christianity, it would make
    too sad, too tender a Story: But when I consider her alone in the
    midst of her Distresses, looking beyond this gloomy Vale of
    Affliction and Sorrow into the Joys of Heaven and Immortality, and
    when I see her in Conversation thoughtless and easie as if she were
    the most happy Creature in the World, I am transported with
    Admiration. Surely never did such a Philosophic Soul inhabit such a
    beauteous Form! For Beauty is often made a Privilege against Thought
    and Reflection; it laughs at Wisdom, and will not abide the Gravity
    of its Instructions.

    Were I able to represent Emilia's Virtues in their proper Colours
    and their due Proportions, Love or Flattery might perhaps be thought
    to have drawn the Picture larger than Life; but as this is but an
    imperfect Draught of so excellent a Character, and as I cannot, will
    not hope to have any Interest in her Person, all that I can say of
    her is but impartial Praise extorted from me by the prevailing
    Brightness of her Virtues. So rare a Pattern of Female Excellence
    ought not to be concealed, but should be set out to the View and
    Imitation of the World; for how amiable does Virtue appear thus as
    it were made visible to us in so fair an Example!

    Honoria's Disposition is of a very different Turn: Her Thoughts are
    wholly bent upon Conquest and arbitrary Power. That she has some Wit
    and Beauty no Body denies, and therefore has the Esteem of all her
    Acquaintance as a Woman of an agreeable Person and Conversation; but
    (whatever her Husband may think of it) that is not sufficient for
    Honoria: She waves that Title to Respect as a mean Acquisition, and
    demands Veneration in the Right of an Idol; for this Reason her
    natural Desire of Life is continually checked with an inconsistent
    Fear of Wrinkles and old Age.

    Emilia cannot be supposed ignorant of her personal Charms, tho she
    seems to be so; but she will not hold her Happiness upon so
    precarious a Tenure, whilst her Mind is adorned with Beauties of a
    more exalted and lasting Nature. When in the full Bloom of Youth and
    Beauty we saw her surrounded with a Crowd of Adorers, she took no
    Pleasure in Slaughter and Destruction, gave no false deluding Hopes
    which might encrease the Torments of her disappointed Lovers; but
    having for some Time given to the Decency of a Virgin Coyness, and
    examined the Merit of their several Pretensions, she at length
    gratified her own, by resigning herself to the ardent Passion of
    Bromius. Bromius was then Master of many good Qualities and a
    moderate Fortune, which was soon after unexpectedly encreased to a
    plentiful Estate. This for a good while proved his Misfortune, as it
    furnished his unexperienced Age with the Opportunities of Evil
    Company and a sensual Life. He might have longer wandered in the
    Labyrinths of Vice and Folly, had not Emilia's prudent Conduct won
    him over to the Government of his Reason. Her Ingenuity has been
    constantly employed in humanizing his Passions and refining his
    Pleasures. She shewed him by her own Example, that Virtue is
    consistent with decent Freedoms and good Humour, or rather, that it
    cannot subsist without em. Her good Sense readily instructed her,
    that a silent Example and an easie unrepining Behaviour, will always
    be more perswasive than the Severity of Lectures and Admonitions;
    and that there is so much Pride interwoven into the Make of human
    Nature, that an obstinate Man must only take the Hint from another,
    and then be left to advise and correct himself. Thus by an artful
    Train of Management and unseen Perswasions, having at first brought
    him not to dislike, and at length to be pleased with that which
    otherwise he would not have bore to hear of, she then knew how to
    press and secure this Advantage, by approving it as his Thoughts,
    and seconding it as his Proposal. By this Means she has gained an
    Interest in some of his leading Passions, and made them accessary to
    his Reformation.

    There is another Particular of Emilia's Conduct which I cant
    forbear mentioning: To some perhaps it may at first Sight appear but
    a trifling inconsiderable Circumstance but for my Part, I think it
    highly worthy of Observation, and to be recommended to the
    Consideration of the fair Sex. I have often thought wrapping Gowns
    and dirty Linnen, with all that huddled Oeconomy of Dress which
    passes under the general Name of a Mob, the Bane of conjugal Love,
    and one of the readiest Means imaginable to alienate the Affection
    of an Husband, especially a fond one. I have heard some Ladies, who
    have been surprized by Company in such a Deshabille, apologize for
    it after this Manner; Truly I am ashamed to be caught in this
    Pickle; but my Husband and I were sitting all alone by our selves,
    and I did not expect to see such good Company--This by the way is a
    fine Compliment to the good Man, which tis ten to one but he
    returns in dogged Answers and a churlish Behaviour, without knowing
    what it is that puts him out of Humour.

    Emilia's Observation teaches her, that as little Inadvertencies and
    Neglects cast a Blemish upon a great Character; so the Neglect of
    Apparel, even among the most intimate Friends, does insensibly
    lessen their Regards to each other, by creating a Familiarity too
    low and contemptible. She understands the Importance of those Things
    which the Generality account Trifles; and considers every thing as a
    Matter of Consequence, that has the least Tendency towards keeping
    up or abating the Affection of her Husband; him she esteems as a fit
    Object to employ her Ingenuity in pleasing, because he is to be
    pleased for Life.

    By the Help of these, and a thousand other nameless Arts, which tis
    easier for her to practise than for another to express, by the
    Obstinacy of her Goodness and unprovoked Submission, in spight of
    all her Afflictions and ill Usage, Bromius is become a Man of Sense
    and a kind Husband, and Emilia a happy Wife.

    Ye guardian Angels to whose Care Heaven has entrusted its dear
    Emilia, guide her still forward in the Paths of Virtue, defend her
    from the Insolence and Wrongs of this undiscerning World; at length
    when we must no more converse with such Purity on Earth, lead her
    gently hence innocent and unreprovable to a better Place, where by
    an easie Transition from what she now is, she may shine forth an
    Angel of Light.


[Footnote 1: The character of Emilia in this paper was by Dr. Bromer, a
clergyman. The lady is said to have been the mother of Mr. Ascham, of
Conington, in Cambridgeshire, and grandmother of Lady Hatton. The
letter has been claimed also for John Hughes (Letters of John Hughes,
&c., vol. iii. p. 8), and Emilia identified with Anne, Countess of

[Footnote 2: [some other]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 303.              Saturday, February 16, 1712.             Addison.

 --volet haec sub luce videri,
  Judicis argulum quae non formidat acumen.


I have seen in the Works of a Modern Philosopher, a Map of the Spots in
the Sun. My last Paper of the Faults and Blemishes in Milton's Paradise
Lost, may be considered as a Piece of the same Nature. To pursue the
Allusion: As it is observed, that among the bright Parts of the Luminous
Body above mentioned, there are some which glow more intensely, and dart
a stronger Light than others; so, notwithstanding I have already shewn
Milton's Poem to be very beautiful in general, I shall now proceed to
take Notice of such Beauties as appear to me more exquisite than the
rest. Milton has proposed the Subject of his Poem in the following

  Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
  Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
  Brought Death into the World and all our woe,
  With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
  Restore us, and regain the blisful Seat,
  Sing Heavenly Muse--

These Lines are perhaps as plain, simple and unadorned as any of the
whole Poem, in which Particular the Author has conformed himself to the
Example of Homer and the Precept of Horace.

His Invocation to a Work which turns in a great measure upon the
Creation of the World, is very properly made to the Muse who inspired
Moses in those Books from whence our Author drew his Subject, and to the
Holy Spirit who is therein represented as operating after a particular
manner in the first Production of Nature. This whole Exordium rises very
happily into noble Language and Sentiment, as I think the Transition to
the Fable is exquisitely beautiful and natural.

The Nine Days Astonishment, in which the Angels lay entranced after
their dreadful Overthrow and Fall from Heaven, before they could recover
either the use of Thought or Speech, is a noble Circumstance, and very
finely imagined. The Division of Hell into Seas of Fire, and into firm
Ground impregnated with the same furious Element, with that particular
Circumstance of the Exclusion of Hope from those Infernal Regions, are
Instances of the same great and fruitful Invention.

The Thoughts in the first Speech and Description of Satan, who is one of
the Principal Actors in this Poem, are wonderfully proper to give us a
full Idea of him. His Pride, Envy and Revenge, Obstinacy, Despair and
Impenitence, are all of them very artfully interwoven. In short, his
first Speech is a Complication of all those Passions which discover
themselves separately in several other of his Speeches in the Poem. The
whole part of this great Enemy of Mankind is filled with such Incidents
as are very apt to raise and terrifie the Readers Imagination. Of this
nature, in the Book now before us, is his being the first that awakens
out of the general Trance, with his Posture on the burning Lake, his
rising from it, and the Description of his Shield and Spear.

  Thus Satan talking to his nearest Mate,
  With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes
  That sparkling blazed, his other parts beside
  Prone on the Flood, extended long and large,
  Lay floating many a rood--

  Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
  His mighty Stature; on each hand the flames
  Drivn backward slope their pointing Spires, and roared
  In Billows, leave i'th midst a horrid vale.
  Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
  Aloft, incumbent on the dusky Air
  That felt unusual weight--

 --His pondrous Shield
  Ethereal temper, massie, large and round,
  Behind him cast; the broad circumference
  Hung on his Shoulders like the Moon, whose orb
  Thro Optick Glass the Tuscan Artist views
  At Evning, from the top of Fesole,
  Or in Valdarno, to descry new Lands,
  Rivers, or Mountains, on her spotted Globe.
  His Spear (to equal which the tallest pine
  Hewn on Norwegian Hills to be the Mast
  Of some great Admiral, were but a wand)
  He walk'd with, to support uneasie Steps
  Over the burning Marl--

To which we may add his Call to the fallen Angels that lay plunged and
stupified in the Sea of Fire.

  He call'd so loud, that all the hollow deep
  Of Hell resounded--

But there is no single Passage in the whole Poem worked up to a greater
Sublimity, than that wherein his Person is described in those celebrated

 --He, above the rest
  In shape and gesture proudly eminent
  Stood like a Tower, &c.

His Sentiments are every way answerable to his Character, and suitable
to a created Being of the most exalted and most depraved Nature. Such is
that in which he takes Possession of his Place of Torments.

 --Hail Horrors! hail
  Infernal World! and thou profoundest Hell
  Receive thy new Possessor, one who brings
  A mind not to be changed by place or time.

And Afterwards,

 --Here at least
  We shall be free; th'Almighty hath not built
  Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
  Here we may reign secure; and in my choice
  To reign is worth Ambition, tho in Hell:
  Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heavn.

Amidst those Impieties which this Enraged Spirit utters in other places
of the Poem, the Author has taken care to introduce none that is not big
with absurdity, and incapable of shocking a Religious Reader; his Words,
as the Poet himself describes them, bearing only a Semblance of Worth,
not Substance. He is likewise with great Art described as owning his
Adversary to be Almighty. Whatever perverse Interpretation he puts on
the Justice, Mercy, and other Attributes of the Supreme Being, he
frequently confesses his Omnipotence, that being the Perfection he was
forced to allow him, and the only Consideration which could support his
Pride under the Shame of his Defeat.

Nor must I here omit that beautiful Circumstance of his bursting out in
Tears, upon his Survey of those innumerable Spirits whom he had involved
in the same Guilt and Ruin with himself.

 --He now prepared
  To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend
  From wing to wing, and half enclose him round
  With all his Peers: Attention held them mute.
  Thrice he assayed, and thrice in spite of Scorn
  Tears such as Angels weep, burst forth--

The Catalogue of Evil Spirits has abundance of Learning in it, and a
very agreeable turn of Poetry, which rises in a great measure from [its
[1]] describing the Places where they were worshipped, by those
beautiful Marks of Rivers so frequent among the Ancient Poets. The
Author had doubtless in this place Homers Catalogue of Ships, and
Virgil's List of Warriors, in his View. The Characters of Moloch and
Belial prepare the Readers Mind for their respective Speeches and
Behaviour in the second and sixth Book. The Account of Thammuz is finely
Romantick, and suitable to what we read among the Ancients of the
Worship which was paid to that Idol.

 --Thammuz came next behind.
  Whose annual Wound in Lebanon allured
  The Syrian Damsels to lament his fate,
  In amorous Ditties all a Summers day,
  While smooth Adonis from his native Rock
  Ran purple to the Sea, supposed with Blood
  Of Thammuz yearly wounded: the Love tale
  Infected Zion's Daughters with like Heat,
  Whose wanton Passions in the sacred Porch
  Ezekiel saw, when by the Vision led
  His Eye survey'd the dark Idolatries
  Of alienated Judah.--

The Reader will pardon me if I insert as a Note on this beautiful
Passage, the Account given us by the late ingenious Mr. Maundrell [2] of
this Ancient Piece of Worship, and probably the first Occasion of such a

  We came to a fair large River--doubtless the Ancient River Adonis, so
  famous for the Idolatrous Rites performed here in Lamentation of
  Adonis. We had the Fortune to see what may be supposed to be the
  Occasion of that Opinion which Lucian relates, concerning this River,
  viz. That this Stream, at certain Seasons of the Year, especially
  about the Feast of Adonis, is of a bloody Colour; which the Heathens
  looked upon as proceeding from a kind of Sympathy in the River for the
  Death of Adonis, who was killed by a wild Boar in the Mountains, out
  of which this Stream rises. Something like this we saw actually come
  to pass; for the Water was stain'd to a surprizing Redness; and, as we
  observ'd in Travelling, had discolour'd the Sea a great way into a
  reddish Hue, occasion'd doubtless by a sort of Minium, or red Earth,
  washed into the River by the Violence of the Rain, and not by any
  Stain from Adonis's Blood.

The Passage in the Catalogue, explaining the manner how Spirits
transform themselves by Contractions or Enlargement of their Dimensions,
is introduced with great Judgment, to make way for several surprizing
Accidents in the Sequel of the Poem. There follows one, at the very End
of the first Book, which is what the French Criticks call Marvellous,
but at the same time probable by reason of the Passage last mentioned.
As soon as the Infernal Palace is finished, we are told the Multitude
and Rabble of Spirits immediately shrunk themselves into a small
Compass, that there might be Room for such a numberless Assembly in this
capacious Hall. But it is the Poets Refinement upon this Thought which
I most admire, and which is indeed very noble in its self. For he tells
us, that notwithstanding the vulgar, among the fallen Spirits,
contracted their Forms, those of the first Rank and Dignity still
preserved their natural Dimensions.

  Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest Forms
  Reduced their Shapes immense, and were at large,
  Though without Number, still amidst the Hall
  Of that Infernal Court. But far within,
  And in their own Dimensions like themselves,
  The great Seraphick Lords and Cherubim,
  In close recess and secret conclave sate,
  A thousand Demy-Gods on Golden Seats,
  Frequent and full--

The Character of Mammon and the Description of the Pandaemonium, are full
of Beauties.

There are several other Strokes in the first Book wonderfully poetical,
and Instances of that Sublime Genius so peculiar to the Author. Such is
the Description of Azazel's Stature, and of the Infernal Standard, which
he unfurls; as also of that ghastly Light, by which the Fiends appear to
one another in their Place of Torments.

  The Seat of Desolation, void of Light,
  Save what the glimmring of those livid Flames
  Casts pale and dreadful--

The Shout of the whole Host of fallen Angels when drawn up in Battel

 --The universal Host up sent
  A Shout that tore Hells Concave, and beyond
  Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.

The Review, which the Leader makes of his Infernal Army:

 --He thro the armed files
  Darts his experienc'd eye, and soon traverse
  The whole Battalion mews, their Order due,
  Their Visages and Stature as of Gods.
  Their Number last he sums; and now his Heart
  Distends with Pride, and hardning in his strength

The Flash of Light which appear'd upon the drawing of their Swords:

  He spake: and to confirm his words outflew
  Millions of flaming Swords, drawn from the thighs
  Of mighty Cherubim; the sudden Blaze
  Far round illumin'd Hell--

The sudden Production of the Pandaemonium;

  Anon out of the Earth a Fabrick huge
  Rose like an Exhalation, with the Sound
  Of dulcet Symphonies and Voices sweet.

The Artificial Illuminations made in it:

 --From the arched Roof
  Pendent by subtle Magick, many a Row
  Of Starry Lamps and blazing Crescets, fed
  With Naphtha and Asphaltus, yielded Light
  As from a Sky--

There are also several noble Similes and Allusions in the First Book of
Paradise Lost. And here I must observe, that when Milton alludes either
to Things or Persons, he never quits his Simile till it rises to some
very great Idea, which is often foreign to the Occasion that gave Birth
to it. The Resemblance does not, perhaps, last above a Line or two, but
the Poet runs on with the Hint till he has raised out of it some
glorious Image or Sentiment, proper to inflame the Mind of the Reader,
and to give it that sublime kind of Entertainment, which is suitable to
the Nature of an Heroick Poem. Those who are acquainted with Homers and
Virgil's way of Writing, cannot but be pleased with this kind of
Structure in Milton's Similitudes. I am the more particular on this
Head, because ignorant Readers, who have formed their Taste upon the
quaint Similes, and little Turns of Wit, which are so much in Vogue
among Modern Poets, cannot relish these Beauties which are of a much
higher Nature, and are therefore apt to censure Milton's Comparisons in
which they do not see any surprizing Points of Likeness. Monsieur
Perrault was a Man of this viciated Relish, and for that very Reason has
endeavoured to turn into Ridicule several of Homers Similitudes, which
he calls Comparisons a longue queue, Long-tail's Comparisons. [3] I
shall conclude this Paper on the First Book of Milton with the Answer
which Monsieur Boileau makes to Perrault on this Occasion;

  Comparisons, says he, in Odes and Epic Poems, are not introduced only
  to illustrate and embellish the Discourse, but to amuse and relax the
  Mind of the Reader, by frequently disengaging him from too painful an
  Attention to the Principal Subject, and by leading him into other
  agreeable Images. Homer, says he, excelled in this Particular, whose
  Comparisons abound with such Images of Nature as are proper to relieve
  and diversifie his Subjects. He continually instructs the Reader, and
  makes him take notice, even in Objects which are every Day before our
  Eyes, of such Circumstances as we should not otherwise have observed.

To this he adds, as a Maxim universally acknowledged,

  That it is not necessary in Poetry for the Points of the Comparison
  to correspond with one another exactly, but that a general Resemblance
  is sufficient, and that too much Nicety in this Particular favours of
  the Rhetorician and Epigrammatist.

In short, if we look into the Conduct of Homer, Virgil and Milton, as
the great Fable is the Soul of each Poem, so to give their Works an
agreeable Variety, their Episodes are so many short Fables, and their
Similes so many short Episodes; to which you may add, if you please,
that their Metaphors are so many short Similes. If the Reader considers
the Comparisons in the first Book of Milton, of the Sun in an Eclipse,
of the Sleeping Leviathan, of the Bees swarming about their Hive, of the
Fairy Dance, in the view wherein I have here placed them, he will easily
discover the great Beauties that are in each of those Passages.


[Footnote 1: [his]]

[Footnote 2: A journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem at Easter, A.D. 1697. By
Henry Maundrell, M.A. It was published at Oxford in 1703, and was in a
new edition in 1707. It reached a seventh edition in 1749. Maundrell was
a Fellow of Exter College, which he left to take the appointment of
chaplain to the English factory at Aleppo. The brief account of his
journey is in the form of a diary, and the passage quoted is under the
date, March 15, when they were two days journey from Tripoli. The
stream he identifies with the Adonis was called, he says, by Turks
Ibrahim Pasha. It is near Gibyle, called by the Greeks Byblus, a place
once famous for the birth and temple of Adonis. The extract from
Paradise Lost and the passage from Maundrell were interpolated in the
first reprint of the Spectator.]

[Footnote 3: See note to No. 279. Charles Perrault made himself a
lasting name by his Fairy Tales, a charming embodiment of French nursery
traditions. The four volumes of his Paraliele des Anciens et des
Modernes 1692-6, included the good general idea of human progress, but
worked it out badly, dealing irreverently with Plato as well as Homer
and Pindar, and exalting among the moderns not only Moliere and
Corneille, but also Chapelain, Scuderi, and Quinault, whom he called
the greatest lyrical and dramatic poet that France ever had. The
battle had begun with a debate in the Academy: Racine having ironically
complimented Perrault on the ingenuity with which he had elevated little
men above the ancients in his poem (published 1687), le Siecle de Louis
le Grand. Fontenelle touched the matter lightly, as Perraults ally, in
his Digression sur les Anciens et les Modernes but afterwards drew back,
saying, I do not belong to the party which claims me for its chief.
The leaders on the respective sides, unequally matched, were Perrault
and Boileau.]

*       *       *       *       *

No. 304.               Monday, February 18, 1712.              Steele.

  Vulnus alit venis et caeco carpitur igni.


The Circumstances of my Correspondent, whose Letter I now insert, are so
frequent, that I cannot want Compassion so much as to forbear laying it
before the Town. There is something so mean and inhuman in a direct
Smithfield Bargain for Children, that if this Lover carries his Point,
and observes the Rules he pretends to follow, I do not only wish him
Success, but also that it may animate others to follow his Example. I
know not one Motive relating to this Life which would produce so many
honourable and worthy Actions, as the Hopes of obtaining a Woman of
Merit: There would ten thousand Ways of Industry and honest Ambition be
pursued by young Men, who believed that the Persons admired had Value
enough for their Passion to attend the Event of their good Fortune in
all their Applications, in order to make their Circumstances fall in
with the Duties they owe to themselves, their Families, and their
Country; All these Relations a Man should think of who intends to go
into the State of Marriage, and expects to make it a State of Pleasure
and Satisfaction.


  I have for some Years indulged a Passion for a young Lady of Age and
  Quality suitable to my own, but very much superior in Fortune. It is
  the Fashion with Parents (how justly I leave you to judge) to make all
  Regards give way to the Article of Wealth. From this one Consideration
  it is that I have concealed the ardent Love I have for her; but I am
  beholden to the Force of my Love for many Advantages which I reaped
  from it towards the better Conduct of my Life. A certain Complacency
  to all the World, a strong Desire to oblige where-ever it lay in my
  Power, and a circumspect Behaviour in all my Words and Actions, have
  rendered me more particularly acceptable to all my Friends and
  Acquaintance. Love has had the same good Effect upon my Fortune; and I
  have encreased in Riches in proportion to my Advancement in those Arts
  which make a man agreeable and amiable. There is a certain Sympathy
  which will tell my Mistress from these Circumstances, that it is I who
  writ this for her Reading, if you will please to insert it. There is
  not a downright Enmity, but a great Coldness between our Parents; so
  that if either of us declared any kind Sentiment for each other, her
  Friends would be very backward to lay an Obligation upon our Family,
  and mine to receive it from hers. Under these delicate Circumstances
  it is no easie Matter to act with Safety. I have no Reason to fancy my
  Mistress has any Regard for me, but from a very disinterested Value
  which I have for her. If from any Hint in any future Paper of yours
  she gives me the least Encouragement, I doubt not but I shall surmount
  all other Difficulties; and inspired by so noble a Motive for the Care
  of my Fortune, as the Belief she is to be concerned in it, I will not
  despair of receiving her one Day from her Fathers own Hand.

  I am, SIR,
  Your most obedient humble Servant,

  To his Worship the SPECTATOR,

  The humble Petition of Anthony Title-Page, Stationer, in the Centre of

  That your Petitioner and his Fore-Fathers have been Sellers of Books
  for Time immemorial; That your Petitioners Ancestor, Crouchback
  Title-Page, was the first of that Vocation in Britain; who keeping his
  Station (in fair Weather) at the Corner of Lothbury, was by way of
  Eminency called the Stationer, a Name which from him all succeeding
  Booksellers have affected to bear: That the Station of your Petitioner
  and his Father has been in the Place of his present Settlement ever
  since that Square has been built: That your Petitioner has formerly
  had the Honour of your Worships Custom, and hopes you never had
  Reason to complain of your Penny-worths; that particularly he sold you
  your first Lilly's Grammar, and at the same Time a Wits Commonwealth
  almost as good as new: Moreover, that your first rudimental Essays in
  Spectatorship were made in your Petitioners Shop, where you often
  practised for Hours together, sometimes on his Books upon the Rails,
  sometimes on the little Hieroglyphicks either gilt, silvered, or
  plain, which the Egyptian Woman on the other Side of the Shop had
  wrought in Gingerbread, and sometimes on the English Youth, who in
  sundry Places there were exercising themselves in the traditional
  Sports of the Field.

  From these Considerations it is, that your Petitioner is encouraged to
  apply himself to you, and to proceed humbly to acquaint your Worship,
  That he has certain Intelligence that you receive great Numbers of
  defamatory Letters designed by their Authors to be published, which
  you throw aside and totally neglect: Your Petitioner therefore prays,
  that you will please to bestow on him those Refuse Letters, and he
  hopes by printing them to get a more plentiful Provision for his
  Family; or at the worst, he may be allowed to sell them by the Pound
  Weight to his good Customers the Pastry-Cooks of London and
  Westminster. And your Petitioner shall ever pray, &c.


  The humble Petition of Bartholomew Ladylove, of Round-Court in the
  Parish of St. Martins in the Fields, in Behalf of himself and


  That your Petitioners have with great Industry and Application arrived
  at the most exact Art of Invitation or Entreaty: That by a beseeching
  Air and perswasive Address, they have for many Years last past
  peaceably drawn in every tenth Passenger, whether they intended or not
  to call at their Shops, to come in and buy; and from that Softness of
  Behaviour, have arrived among Tradesmen at the gentle Appellation of
  the Fawners.

  That there have of late set up amongst us certain Persons of
  Monmouth-street and Long-lane, who by the Strength of their Arms, and
  Loudness of their Throats, draw off the Regard of all Passengers from
  your said Petitioners; from which Violence they are distinguished by
  the Name of the Worriers.

  That while your Petitioners stand ready to receive Passengers with a
  submissive Bow, and repeat with a gentle Voice, Ladies, what do you
  want? pray look in here; the Worriers reach out their Hands at
  Pistol-shot, and seize the Customers at Arms Length.

  That while the Fawners strain and relax the Muscles of their Faces in
  making Distinction between a Spinster in a coloured Scarf and an
  Handmaid in a Straw-Hat, the Worriers use the same Roughness to both,
  and prevail upon the Easiness of the Passengers, to the Impoverishment
  of your Petitioners.

  Your Petitioners therefore most humbly pray, that the Worriers may not
  be permitted to inhabit the politer Parts of the Town; and that
  Round-Court may remain a Receptacle for Buyers of a more soft

  And your Petitioners, &c.

The Petition of the New-Exchange, concerning the Arts of Buying and
Selling, and particularly valuing Goods by the Complexion of the Seller,
will be considered on another Occasion.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 305.             Tuesday, February 19, 1712.             Addison.

  Non tali auxilio, nec defensoribus istis
  Tempus eget.


Our late News-Papers being full of the Project now on foot in the Court
of France, for Establishing a Political Academy, and I my self having
received Letters from several Virtuosos among my Foreign
Correspondents, which give some Light into that Affair, I intend to make
it the Subject of this Days Speculation. A general Account of this
Project may be met with in the Daily Courant of last Friday in the
following Words, translated from the Gazette of Amsterdam.

  Paris, February 12.
  Tis confirmed that the King has resolved to establish a new Academy
  for Politicks, of which the Marquis de Torcy, Minister and Secretary
  of State, is to be Protector. Six Academicians are to be chosen,
  endowed with proper Talents, for beginning to form this Academy, into
  which no Person is to be admitted under Twenty-five Years of Age: They
  must likewise each have an Estate of Two thousand Livres a Year,
  either in Possession, or to come to em by Inheritance. The King will
  allow to each a Pension of a Thousand Livres. They are likewise to
  have able Masters to teach em the necessary Sciences, and to instruct
  them in all the Treaties of Peace, Alliance, and others, which have
  been made in several Ages past. These Members are to meet twice a Week
  at the Louvre. From this Seminary are to be chosen Secretaries to
  Ambassies, who by degrees may advance to higher Employments.

Cardinal Richelieus Politicks made France the Terror of Europe. The
Statesmen who have appeared in the Nation of late Years, have on the
contrary rendered it either the Pity or Contempt of its Neighbours. The
Cardinal erected that famous Academy which has carried all the Parts of
Polite Learning to the greatest Height. His chief Design in that
Institution was to divert the Men of Genius from meddling with
Politicks, a Province in which he did not care to have any one else
interfere with him. On the contrary, the Marquis de Torcy seems resolved
to make several young Men in France as Wise as himself, and is therefore
taken up at present in establishing a Nursery of Statesmen.

Some private Letters add, that there will also be erected a Seminary of
Petticoat Politicians, who are to be brought up at the Feet of Madam de
Maintenon, and to be dispatched into Foreign Courts upon any Emergencies
of State; but as the News of this last Project has not been yet
confirmed, I shall take no farther Notice of it.

Several of my Readers may doubtless remember that upon the Conclusion of
the last War, which had been carried on so successfully by the Enemy,
their Generals were many of them transformed into Ambassadors; but the
Conduct of those who have commanded in the present War, has, it seems,
brought so little Honour and Advantage to their great Monarch, that he
is resolved to trust his Affairs no longer in the Hands of those
Military Gentlemen.

The Regulations of this new Academy very much deserve our Attention. The
Students are to have in Possession, or Reversion, an Estate of two
thousand French Livres per Annum, which, as the present Exchange runs,
will amount to at least one hundred and twenty six Pounds English. This,
with the Royal Allowance of a Thousand Livres, will enable them to find
themselves in Coffee and Snuff; not to mention News-Papers, Pen and Ink,
Wax and Wafers, with the like Necessaries for Politicians.

A Man must be at least Five and Twenty before he can be initiated into
the Mysteries of this Academy, tho there is no Question but many grave
Persons of a much more advanced Age, who have been constant Readers of
the Paris Gazette, will be glad to begin the World a-new, and enter
themselves upon this List of Politicians.

The Society of these hopeful young Gentlemen is to be under the
Direction of six Professors, who, it seems, are to be Speculative
Statesmen, and drawn out of the Body of the Royal Academy. These six
wise Masters, according to my private Letters, are to have the following
Parts allotted them.

The first is to instruct the Students in State Legerdemain, as how to
take off the Impression of a Seal, to split a Wafer, to open a Letter,
to fold it up again, with other the like ingenious Feats of Dexterity
and Art. When the Students have accomplished themselves in this Part of
their Profession, they are to be delivered into the Hands of their
second Instructor, who is a kind of Posture-Master.

This Artist is to teach them how to nod judiciously, to shrug up their
Shoulders in a dubious Case, to connive with either Eye, and in a Word,
the whole Practice of Political Grimace.

The Third is a sort of Language-Master, who is to instruct them in the
Style proper for a Foreign Minister in his ordinary Discourse. And to
the End that this College of Statesmen may be thoroughly practised in
the Political Style, they are to make use of it in their common
Conversations, before they are employed either in Foreign or Domestick
Affairs. If one of them asks another, what a-clock it is, the other is
to answer him indirectly, and, if possible, to turn off the Question. If
he is desired to change a Louis d'or, he must beg Time to consider of
it. If it be enquired of him, whether the King is at Versailles or
Marly, he must answer in a Whisper. If he be asked the News of the late
Gazette, or the Subject of a Proclamation, he is to reply, that he has
not yet read it: Or if he does not care for explaining himself so far,
he needs only draw his Brow up in Wrinkles, or elevate the Left

The Fourth Professor is to teach the whole Art of Political Characters
and Hieroglyphics; and to the End that they may be perfect also in this
Practice, they are not to send a Note to one another (tho it be but to
borrow a Tacitus or a Machiavil) which is not written in Cypher.

Their Fifth Professor, it is thought, will be chosen out of the Society
of Jesuits, and is to be well read in the Controversies of probable
Doctrines, mental Reservation, and the Rights of Princes. This Learned
Man is to instruct them in the Grammar, Syntax, and construing Part of
Treaty-Latin; how to distinguish between the Spirit and the Letter, and
likewise demonstrate how the same Form of Words may lay an Obligation
upon any Prince in Europe, different from that which it lays upon his
Most Christian Majesty. He is likewise to teach them the Art of finding
Flaws, Loop-holes, and Evasions, in the most solemn Compacts, and
particularly a great Rabbinical Secret, revived of late Years by the
Fraternity of Jesuits, namely, that contradictory Interpretations, of
the same Article may both of them be true and valid.

When our Statesmen are sufficiently improved by these several
Instructors, they are to receive their last Polishing from one who is to
act among them as Master of the Ceremonies. This Gentleman is to give
them Lectures upon those important Points of the Elbow Chair, and the
Stair Head, to instruct them in the different Situations of the
Right-Hand, and to furnish them with Bows and Inclinations of all Sizes,
Measures and Proportions. In short, this Professor is to give the
Society their Stiffening, and infuse into their Manners that beautiful
Political Starch, which may qualifie them for Levees, Conferences,
Visits, and make them shine in what vulgar Minds are apt to look upon as
Trifles. I have not yet heard any further Particulars, which are to be
observed in this Society of unfledged Statesmen; but I must confess, had
I a Son of five and twenty, that should take it into his Head at that
Age to set up for a Politician, I think I should go near to disinherit
him for a Block-head. Besides, I should be apprehensive lest the same
Arts which are to enable him to negotiate between Potentates might a
little infect his ordinary behaviour between Man and Man. There is no
Question but these young Machiavil's will, in a little time, turn their
College upside-down with Plots and Stratagems, and lay as many Schemes
to Circumvent one another in a Frog or a Sallad, as they may hereafter
put in Practice to over-reach a Neighbouring Prince or State.

We are told, that the Spartans, tho they punished Theft in their young
Men when it was discovered, looked upon it as Honourable if it
succeeded. Provided the Conveyance was clean and unsuspected, a Youth
might afterwards boast of it. This, say the Historians, was to keep them
sharp, and to hinder them from being imposed upon, either in their
publick or private Negotiations. Whether any such Relaxations of
Morality, such little jeux desprit, ought not to be allowed in this
intended Seminary of Politicians, I shall leave to the Wisdom of their

In the mean time we have fair Warning given us by this doughty Body of
Statesmen: and as Sylla saw many Marius's in Caesar, so I think we may
discover many Torcys in this College of Academicians. Whatever we think
of our selves, I am afraid neither our Smyrna or St. James's will be a
Match for it. Our Coffee-houses are, indeed, very good Institutions, but
whether or no these our British Schools of Politicks may furnish out as
able Envoys and Secretaries as an Academy that is set apart for that
Purpose, will deserve our serious Consideration, especially if we
remember that our Country is more famous for producing Men of Integrity
than Statesmen; and that on the contrary, French Truth and British
Policy make a Conspicuous Figure in NOTHING, as the Earl of Rochester
has very well observed in his admirable Poem upon that Barren Subject.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 306.            Wednesday, February 20, 1712.              Steele.

  Quae forma, ut se tibi semper


  Mr. SPECTATOR, [1]

  I write this to communicate to you a Misfortune which frequently
  happens, and therefore deserves a consolatory Discourse on the
  Subject. I was within this Half-Year in the Possession of as much
  Beauty and as many Lovers as any young Lady in England. But my
  Admirers have left me, and I cannot complain of their Behaviour. I
  have within that Time had the Small-Pox; and this Face, which
  (according to many amorous Epistles which I have by me) was the Seat
  of all that is beautiful in Woman, is now disfigured with Scars. It
  goes to the very Soul of me to speak what I really think of my Face;
  and tho I think I did not over-rate my Beauty while I had it, it has
  extremely advanc'd in its value with me now it is lost. There is one
  Circumstance which makes my Case very particular; the ugliest Fellow
  that ever pretended to me, was and is most in my Favour, and he treats
  me at present the most unreasonably. If you could make him return an
  Obligation which he owes me, in liking a Person that is not
  amiable;--But there is, I fear, no Possibility of making Passion move
  by the Rules of Reason and Gratitude. But say what you can to one who
  has survived her self, and knows not how to act in a new Being. My
  Lovers are at the Feet of my Rivals, my Rivals are every Day bewailing
  me, and I cannot enjoy what I am, by reason of the distracting
  Reflection upon what I was. Consider the Woman I was did not die of
  old Age, but I was taken off in the Prime of my Youth, and according
  to the Course of Nature may have Forty Years After-Life to come. I
  have nothing of my self left which I like, but that
  I am, SIR,
  Your most humble Servant,

When Lewis of France had lost the Battle of Ramelies, the Addresses to
him at that time were full of his Fortitude, and they turned his
Misfortune to his Glory; in that, during his Prosperity, he could never
have manifested his heroick Constancy under Distresses, and so the World
had lost the most eminent Part of his Character. Parthenissa's Condition
gives her the same Opportunity; and to resign Conquests is a Task as
difficult in a Beauty as an Hero. In the very Entrance upon this Work
she must burn all her Love-Letters; or since she is so candid as not to
call her Lovers who follow her no longer Unfaithful, it would be a very
good beginning of a new Life from that of a Beauty, to send them back to
those who writ them, with this honest Inscription, Articles of a
Marriage Treaty broken off by the Small-Pox. I have known but one
Instance, where a Matter of this Kind went on after a like Misfortune,
where the Lady, who was a Woman of Spirit, writ this Billet to her

  If you flattered me before I had this terrible Malady, pray come and
  see me now: But if you sincerely liked me, stay away; for I am not the

The Lover thought there was something so sprightly in her Behaviour,
that he answered,

  I am not obliged, since you are not the same Woman, to let you know
  whether I flattered you or not; but I assure you, I do not, when I
  tell you I now like you above all your Sex, and hope you will bear
  what may befall me when we are both one, as well as you do what
  happens to your self now you are single; therefore I am ready to take
  such a Spirit for my Companion as soon as you please.

If Parthenissa can now possess her own Mind, and think as little of her
Beauty as she ought to have done when she had it, there will be no great
Diminution of her Charms; and if she was formerly affected too much with
them, an easie Behaviour will more than make up for the Loss of them.
Take the whole Sex together, and you find those who have the strongest
Possession of Mens Hearts are not eminent for their Beauty: You see it
often happen that those who engage Men to the greatest Violence, are
such as those who are Strangers to them would take to be remarkably
defective for that End. The fondest Lover I know, said to me one Day in
a Crowd of Women at an Entertainment of Musick, You have often heard me
talk of my Beloved: That Woman there, continued he, smiling when he had
fixed my Eye, is her very Picture. The Lady he shewed me was by much the
least remarkable for Beauty of any in the whole Assembly; but having my
Curiosity extremely raised, I could not keep my Eyes off of her. Her
Eyes at last met mine, and with a sudden Surprize she looked round her
to see who near her was remarkably handsome that I was gazing at. This
little Act explain'd the Secret: She did not understand herself for the
Object of Love, and therefore she was so. The Lover is a very honest
plain Man; and what charmed him was a Person that goes along with him in
the Cares and Joys of Life, not taken up with her self, but sincerely
attentive with a ready and chearful Mind, to accompany him in either.

I can tell Parthenissa for her Comfort, That the Beauties, generally
speaking, are the most impertinent and disagreeable of Women. An
apparent Desire of Admiration, a Reflection upon their own Merit, and a
precious Behaviour in their general Conduct, are almost inseparable
Accidents in Beauties. All you obtain of them is granted to Importunity
and Sollicitation for what did not deserve so much of your Time, and you
recover from the Possession of it, as out of a Dream.

You are ashamed of the Vagaries of Fancy which so strangely mis-led you,
and your Admiration of a Beauty, merely as such, is inconsistent with a
tolerable Reflection upon your self: The chearful good-humoured
Creatures, into whose Heads it never entred that they could make any Man
unhappy, are the Persons formed for making Men happy. There's Miss Liddy
can dance a Jigg, raise Paste, write a good Hand, keep an Account, give
a reasonable Answer, and do as she is bid; while her elder Sister Madam
Martha is out of Humour, has the Spleen, learns by Reports of People of
higher Quality new Ways of being uneasie and displeased. And this
happens for no Reason in the World, but that poor Liddy knows she has no
such thing as a certain Negligence that is so becoming, that there is
not I know not what in her Air: And that if she talks like a Fool, there
is no one will say, Well! I know not what it is, but every Thing pleases
when she speaks it.

Ask any of the Husbands of your great Beauties, and they'll tell you
that they hate their Wives Nine Hours of every Day they pass together.
There is such a Particularity for ever affected by them, that they are
incumbered with their Charms in all they say or do. They pray at publick
Devotions as they are Beauties. They converse on ordinary Occasions as
they are Beauties. Ask Belinda what it is a Clock, and she is at a stand
whether so great a Beauty should answer you. In a Word, I think, instead
of offering to administer Consolation to Parthenissa, I should
congratulate her Metamorphosis; and however she thinks she was not in
the least insolent in the Prosperity of her Charms, she was enough so to
find she may make her self a much more agreeable Creature in her present
Adversity. The Endeavour to please is highly promoted by a Consciousness
that the Approbation of the Person you would be agreeable to, is a
Favour you do not deserve; for in this Case Assurance of Success is the
most certain way to Disappointment. Good-Nature will always supply the
Absence of Beauty, but Beauty cannot long supply the Absence of

P. S.

Madam, February 18.
I have yours of this Day, wherein you twice bid me not to disoblige
you, but you must explain yourself further before I know what to do.
Your most obedient Servant,


[Footnote 1: Mr. John Duncombe ascribed this letter to his relative,
John Hughes, and said that by Parthenissa was meant a Miss Rotherham,
afterwards married to the Rev. Mr. Wyatt, master of Felsted School, in
Essex. The name of Parthenissa is from the heroine of a romance by Roger
Boyle, Earl of Orrery.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 307.            Thursday, February 21, 1712.               Budgell.

 --Versate diu quid ferre recusent
  Quid valeant humeri--


I am so well pleased with the following Letter, that I am in hopes it
will not be a disagreeable Present to the Publick.

  Though I believe none of your Readers more admire your agreeable
  manner of working up Trifles than my self, yet as your Speculations
  are now swelling into Volumes, and will in all Probability pass down
  to future Ages, methinks I would have no single Subject in them,
  wherein the general Good of Mankind is concern'd, left unfinished.

  I have a long time expected with great Impatience that you would
  enlarge upon the ordinary Mistakes which are committed in the
  Education of our Children. I the more easily flattered my self that
  you would one time or other resume this Consideration, because you
  tell us that your 168th Paper was only composed of a few broken Hints;
  but finding myself hitherto disappointed, I have ventur'd to send you
  my own Thoughts on this Subject.

  I remember Pericles in his famous Oration at the Funeral of those
  Athenian young Men who perished in the Samian Expedition, has a
  Thought very much celebrated by several Ancient Criticks, namely, That
  the Loss which the Commonwealth suffered by the Destruction of its
  Youth, was like the Loss which the Year would suffer by the
  Destruction of the Spring. The Prejudice which the Publick sustains
  from a wrong Education of Children, is an Evil of the same Nature, as
  it in a manner starves Posterity, and defrauds our Country of those
  Persons who, with due Care, might make an eminent Figure in their
  respective Posts of Life.

  I have seen a Book written by Juan Huartes,[1] a Spanish Physician,
  entitled Examen de Ingenios, wherein he lays it down as one of his
  first Positions, that Nothing but Nature can qualifie a Man for
  Learning; and that without a proper Temperament for the particular Art
  or Science which he studies, his utmost Pains and Application,
  assisted by the ablest Masters, will be to no purpose.

  He illustrates this by the Example of Tully's Son Marcus.

  Cicero, in order to accomplish his Son in that sort of Learning which
  he designed him for, sent him to Athens, the most celebrated Academy
  at that time in the World, and where a vast Concourse, out of the most
  Polite Nations, could not but furnish a young Gentleman with a
  Multitude of great Examples, and Accidents that might insensibly have
  instructed him in his designed Studies: He placed him under the Care
  of Cratippus, who was one of the greatest Philosophers of the Age,
  and, as if all the Books which were at that time written had not been
  sufficient for his Use, he composed others on purpose for him:
  Notwithstanding all this, History informs us, that Marcus proved a
  meer Blockhead, and that Nature, (who it seems was even with the Son
  for her Prodigality to the Father) rendered him incapable of improving
  by all the Rules of Eloquence, the Precepts of Philosophy, his own
  Endeavours, and the most refined Conversation in Athens. This Author
  therefore proposes, that there should be certain Tryers or Examiners
  appointed by the State to inspect the Genius of every particular Boy,
  and to allot him the Part that is most suitable to his natural

  Plato in one of his Dialogues tells us, that Socrates, who was the
  Son of a Midwife, used to say, that as his Mother, tho she was very
  skilful in her Profession, could not deliver a Woman, unless she was
  first with Child; so neither could he himself raise Knowledge out of a
  Mind, where Nature had not planted it.

  Accordingly the Method this Philosopher took, of instructing his
  Scholars by several Interrogatories or Questions, was only helping the
  Birth, and bringing their own Thoughts to Light.

  The Spanish Doctor above mentioned, as his Speculations grow more
  refined, asserts that every kind of Wit has a particular Science
  corresponding to it, and in which alone it can be truly Excellent. As
  to those Genius's, which may seem to have an equal Aptitude for
  several things, he regards them as so many unfinished Pieces of Nature
  wrought off in haste.

  There are, indeed, but very few to whom Nature has been so unkind,
  that they are not capable of shining in some Science or other. There
  is a certain Byass towards Knowledge in every Mind, which may be
  strengthened and improved by proper Applications.

  The Story of Clavius [2] is very well known; he was entered in a
  College of Jesuits, and after having been tryed at several Parts of
  Learning, was upon the Point of being dismissed as an hopeless
  Blockhead, till one of the Fathers took it into his Head to make an
  assay of his Parts in Geometry, which it seems hit his Genius so
  luckily that he afterwards became one of the greatest Mathematicians
  of the Age. It is commonly thought that the Sagacity of these Fathers,
  in discovering the Talent of a young Student, has not a little
  contributed to the Figure which their Order has made in the World.

  How different from this manner of Education is that which prevails in
  our own Country? Where nothing is more usual than to see forty or
  fifty Boys of several Ages, Tempers and Inclinations, ranged together
  in the same Class, employed upon the same Authors, and enjoyned the
  same Tasks? Whatever their natural Genius may be, they are all to be
  made Poets, Historians, and Orators alike. They are all obliged to
  have the same Capacity, to bring in the same Tale of Verse, and to
  furnish out the same Portion of Prose. Every Boy is bound to have as
  good a Memory as the Captain of the Form. To be brief, instead of
  adapting Studies to the particular Genius of a Youth, we expect from
  the young Man, that he should adapt his Genius to his Studies. This, I
  must confess, is not so much to be imputed to the Instructor, as to
  the Parent, who will never be brought to believe, that his Son is not
  capable of performing as much as his Neighbours, and that he may not
  make him whatever he has a Mind to.

  If the present Age is more laudable than those which have gone before
  it in any single Particular, it is in that generous Care which several
  well-disposed Persons have taken in the Education of poor Children;
  and as in these Charity-Schools there is no Place left for the
  over-weening Fondness of a Parent, the Directors of them would make
  them beneficial to the Publick, if they considered the Precept which I
  have been thus long inculcating. They might easily, by well examining
  the Parts of those under their Inspection, make a just Distribution of
  them into proper Classes and Divisions, and allot to them this or that
  particular Study, as their Genius qualifies them for Professions,
  Trades, Handicrafts, or Service by Sea or Land.

  How is this kind of Regulation wanting in the three great

  Dr. South complaining of Persons who took upon them Holy Orders, tho
  altogether unqualified for the Sacred Function, says somewhere, that
  many a Man runs his Head against a Pulpit, who might have done his
  Country excellent Service at a Plough-tail.

  In like manner many a Lawyer, who makes but an indifferent Figure at
  the Bar, might have made a very elegant Waterman, and have shined at
  the Temple Stairs, tho he can get no Business in the House.

  I have known a Corn-cutter, who with a right Education would have
  been an excellent Physician.

  To descend lower, are not our Streets filled with sagacious Draymen,
  and Politicians in Liveries? We have several Taylors of six Foot high,
  and meet with many a broad pair of Shoulders that are thrown away upon
  a Barber, when perhaps at the same time we see a pigmy Porter reeling
  under a Burthen, who might have managed a Needle with much Dexterity,
  or have snapped his Fingers with great Ease to himself, and Advantage
  to the Publick.

  The Spartans, tho they acted with the Spirit which I am here
  speaking of, carried it much farther than what I propose: Among them
  it was not lawful for the Father himself to bring up his Children
  after his own Fancy. As soon as they were seven Years old they were
  all listed in several Companies, and disciplined by the Publick. The
  old Men were Spectators of their Performances, who often raised
  Quarrels among them, and set them at Strife with one another, that by
  those early Discoveries they might see how their several Talents lay,
  and without any regard to their Quality, dispose of them accordingly
  for the Service of the Commonwealth. By this Means Sparta soon became
  the Mistress of Greece, and famous through the whole World for her
  Civil and Military Discipline.

  If you think this Letter deserves a place among your Speculations, I
  may perhaps trouble you with some other Thoughts on the same Subject.
  I am, &c.


[Footnote 1: Juan Huarte was born in French Navarre, and obtained much
credit in the sixteenth century for the book here cited. It was
translated into Latin and French. The best edition is of Cologne, 1610.]

[Footnote 2: Christopher Clavius, a native of Bamberg, died in 1612,
aged 75, at Rome, whither he had been sent by the Jesuits, and where he
was regarded as the Euclid of his age. It was Clavius whom Pope Gregory
XIII. employed in 1581 to effect the reform in the Roman Calendar
promulgated in 1582, when the 5th of October became throughout Catholic
countries the 15th of the New Style, an improvement that was not
admitted into Protestant England until 1752. Clavius wrote an Arithmetic
and Commentaries on Euclid, and justified his reform of the Calendar
against the criticism of Scaliger.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 308.             Friday, February 22, 1712.               Steele.

  Jam proterva
  Fronte petet Lalage maritum.



  I give you this Trouble in order to propose my self to you as an
  Assistant in the weighty Cares which you have thought fit to undergo
  for the publick Good. I am a very great Lover of Women, that is to say
  honestly, and as it is natural to study what one likes, I have
  industriously applied my self to understand them. The present
  Circumstance relating to them, is, that I think there wants under you,
  as SPECTATOR, a Person to be distinguished and vested in the Power and
  Quality of a Censor on Marriages. I lodge at the Temple, and know, by
  seeing Women come hither, and afterwards observing them conducted by
  their Council to Judges Chambers, that there is a Custom in Case of
  making Conveyance of a Wife's Estate, that she is carried to a Judges
  Apartment and left alone with him, to be examined in private whether
  she has not been frightened or sweetned by her Spouse into the Act she
  is going to do, or whether it is of her own free Will. Now if this be
  a Method founded upon Reason and Equity, why should there not be also
  a proper Officer for examining such as are entring into the State of
  Matrimony, whether they are forced by Parents on one Side, or moved by
  Interest only on the other, to come together, and bring forth such
  awkward Heirs as are the Product of half Love and constrained
  Compliances? There is no Body, though I say it my self, would be
  fitter for this Office than I am: For I am an ugly Fellow of great Wit
  and Sagacity. My Father was an hail Country-Squire, my Mother a witty
  Beauty of no Fortune: The Match was made by Consent of my Mothers
  Parents against her own: and I am the Child of a Rape on the
  Wedding-Night; so that I am as healthy and as homely as my Father, but
  as sprightly and agreeable as my Mother. It would be of great Ease to
  you if you would use me under you, that Matches might be better
  regulated for the future, and we might have no more Children of
  Squabbles. I shall not reveal all my Pretensions till I receive your
  Answer; and am, Sir,
  Your most humble Servant,
  Mules Palfrey.

  Mr. Spectator,

  I am one of those unfortunate Men within the City-Walls, who am
  married to a Woman of Quality, but her Temper is something different
  from that of Lady Anvil. My Lady's whole Time and Thoughts are spent
  in keeping up to the Mode both in Apparel and Furniture. All the Goods
  in my House have been changed three times in seven Years. I have had
  seven Children by her; and by our Marriage Articles she was to have
  her Apartment new furnished as often as she lay in. Nothing in our
  House is useful but that which is fashionable; my Pewter holds out
  generally half a Year, my Plate a full Twelvemonth; Chairs are not fit
  to sit in that were made two Years since, nor Beds fit for any thing
  but to sleep in that have stood up above that Time. My Dear is of
  Opinion that an old-fashioned Grate consumes Coals, but gives no Heat:
  If she drinks out of Glasses of last Year, she cannot distinguish Wine
  from Small-Beer. Oh dear Sir you may guess all the rest. Yours.

  P. S. I could bear even all this, if I were not obliged also to eat
  fashionably. I have a plain Stomach, and have a constant Loathing of
  whatever comes to my own Table; for which Reason I dine at the
  Chop-House three Days a Week: Where the good Company wonders they
  never see you of late. I am sure by your unprejudiced Discourses you
  love Broth better than Soup.

  Wills, Feb. 19.

  Mr. Spectator,
  You may believe you are a Person as much talked of as any Man in Town.
  I am one of your best Friends in this House, and have laid a Wager you
  are so candid a Man and so honest a Fellow, that you will print this
  Letter, tho it is in Recommendation of a new Paper called The
  Historian. [1] I have read it carefully, and find it written with
  Skill, good Sense, Modesty, and Fire. You must allow the Town is
  kinder to you than you deserve; and I doubt not but you have so much
  Sense of the World, Change of Humour, and instability of all humane
  Things, as to understand, that the only Way to preserve Favour, is to
  communicate it to others with Good-Nature and Judgment. You are so
  generally read, that what you speak of will be read. This with Men of
  Sense and Taste is all that is wanting to recommend The Historian.
  I am, Sir,
  Your daily Advocate,
  Reader Gentle.

I was very much surprised this Morning, that any one should find out my
Lodging, and know it so well, as to come directly to my Closet-Door, and
knock at it, to give me the following Letter. When I came out I opened
it, and saw by a very strong Pair of Shoes and a warm Coat the Bearer
had on, that he walked all the Way to bring it me, tho dated from York.
My Misfortune is that I cannot talk, and I found the Messenger had so
much of me, that he could think better than speak. He had, I observed, a
polite Discerning hid under a shrewd Rusticity: He delivered the Paper
with a Yorkshire Tone and a Town Leer.

  Mr. Spectator,
  The Privilege you have indulged John Trot has proved of very bad
  Consequence to our illustrious Assembly, which, besides the many
  excellent Maxims it is founded upon, is remarkable for the
  extraordinary Decorum always observed in it. One Instance of which is
  that the Carders, (who are always of the first Quality) never begin to
  play till the French-Dances are finished, and the Country-Dances
  begin: But John Trot having now got your Commission in his Pocket,
  (which every one here has a profound Respect for) has the Assurance to
  set up for a Minuit-Dancer. Not only so, but he has brought down upon
  us the whole Body of the Trots, which are very numerous, with their
  Auxiliaries the Hobblers and the Skippers, by which Means the Time is
  so much wasted, that unless we break all Rules of Government, it must
  redound to the utter Subversion of the Brag-Table, the discreet
  Members of which value Time as Fribble's Wife does her Pin-Money. We
  are pretty well assured that your Indulgence to Trot was only in
  relation to Country-Dances; however we have deferred the issuing an
  Order of Council upon the Premisses, hoping to get you to join with
  us, that Trot, nor any of his Clan, presume for the future to dance
  any but Country-Dances, unless a Horn-Pipe upon a Festival-Day. If you
  will do this you will oblige a great many Ladies, and particularly
  Your most humble Servant,
  Eliz. Sweepstakes.
  York, Feb. 16.

I never meant any other than that Mr. Trott should confine himself to
Country-Dances. And I further direct, that he shall take out none but
his own Relations according to their Nearness of Blood, but any
Gentlewoman may take out him.

London, Feb. 21.

The Spectator.


[Footnote 1: Steele's papers had many imitations, as the Historian, here
named; the Rhapsody, Observator, Moderator, Growler, Censor, Hermit,
Surprize, Silent Monitor, Inquisitor, Pilgrim, Restorer, Instructor,
Grumbler, &c. There was also in 1712 a Rambler, anticipating the name of
Dr. Johnsons Rambler of 1750-2.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 309.          Saturday, February 23, 1712.                Addison.

  Di, quibus imperium est animarum, umbraeque silentes,
  Et Chaos, et Phlegethon, loca nocte silentia late;
  Sit mihi fas audita loqui! sit numine vestro
  Pandere res alta terra et caligine mersas.


I have before observed in general, that the Persons whom Milton
introduces into his Poem always discover such Sentiments and Behaviour,
as are in a peculiar manner conformable to their respective Characters.
Every Circumstance in their Speeches and Actions is with great Justness
and Delicacy adapted to the Persons who speak and act. As the Poet very
much excels in this Consistency of his Characters, I shall beg Leave to
consider several Passages of the Second Book in this Light. That
superior Greatness and Mock-Majesty, which is ascribed to the Prince of
the fallen Angels, is admirably preserved in the Beginning of this Book.
His opening and closing the Debate; his taking on himself that great
Enterprize at the Thought of which the whole Infernal Assembly trembled;
his encountering the hideous Phantom who guarded the Gates of Hell, and
appeared to him in all his Terrors, are Instances of that proud and
daring Mind which could not brook Submission even to Omnipotence.

  Satan was now at hand, and from his Seat
  The Monster moving onward came as fast
  With horrid strides, Hell trembled as he strode,
  Th' undaunted Fiend what this might be admir'd,
  Admired, not fear'd--

The same Boldness and Intrepidity of Behaviour discovers it self in the
several Adventures which he meets with during his Passage through the
Regions of unformed Matter, and particularly in his Address to those
tremendous Powers who are described as presiding over it.

The Part of Moloch is likewise in all its Circumstances full of that
Fire and Fury which distinguish this Spirit from the rest of the fallen
Angels. He is described in the first Book as besmeared with the Blood of
Human Sacrifices, and delighted with the Tears of Parents and the Cries
of Children. In the Second Book he is marked out as the fiercest Spirit
that fought in Heaven: and if we consider the Figure which he makes in
the Sixth Book, where the Battle of the Angels is described, we find it
every way answerable to the same furious enraged Character.

 --Where the might of Gabriel fought,
  And with fierce Ensigns pierc'd the deep array
  Of Moloc, furious King, who him defy'd,
  And at his chariot wheels to drag him bound
  Threatened, nor from the Holy one of Heavn
  Refrain'd his tongue blasphemous; but anon
  Down cloven to the waste, with shatter'd arms
  And uncouth pain fled bellowing.--

It may be worth while to observe, that Milton has represented this
violent impetuous Spirit, who is hurried only by such precipitate
Passions, as the first that rises in that Assembly, to give his Opinion
upon their present Posture of Affairs. Accordingly he declares himself
abruptly for War, and appears incensed at his Companions, for losing so
much Time as even to deliberate upon it. All his Sentiments are Rash,
Audacious and Desperate. Such is that of arming themselves with their
Tortures, and turning their Punishments upon him who inflicted them.

 --No, let us rather chuse,
  Arm'd with Hell flames and fury, all at once
  O'er Heavens high tow'rs to force resistless way,
  Turning our tortures into horrid arms
  Against the Torturer; when to meet the Noise
  Of his almighty Engine he shall hear
  Infernal Thunder, and for Lightning see
  Black fire and horror shot with equal rage
  Among his Angels; and his throne it self
  Mixt with Tartarean Sulphur, and strange Fire,
  His own invented Torments--

His preferring Annihilation to Shame or Misery, is also highly suitable
to his Character; as the Comfort he draws from their disturbing the
Peace of Heaven, that if it be not Victory it is Revenge, is a Sentiment
truly Diabolical, and becoming the Bitterness of this implacable Spirit.

Belial is described in the first Book, as the Idol of the Lewd and
Luxurious. He is in the Second Book, pursuant to that Description,
characterised as timorous and slothful; and if we look in the Sixth
Book, we find him celebrated in the Battel of Angels for nothing but
that scoffing Speech which he makes to Satan, on their supposed
Advantage over the Enemy. As his Appearance is uniform, and of a Piece,
in these three several Views, we find his Sentiments in the Infernal
Assembly every way conformable to his Character. Such are his
Apprehensions of a second Battel, his Horrors of Annihilation, his
preferring to be miserable rather than not to be. I need not observe,
that the Contrast of Thought in this Speech, and that which precedes it,
gives an agreeable Variety to the Debate.

Mammon's Character is so fully drawn in the First Book, that the Poet
adds nothing to it in the Second. We were before told, that he was the
first who taught Mankind to ransack the Earth for Gold and Silver, and
that he was the Architect of Pandaemonium, or the Infernal Place, where
the Evil Spirits were to meet in Council. His Speech in this Book is
every way suitable to so depraved a Character. How proper is that
Reflection, of their being unable to taste the Happiness of Heaven were
they actually there, in the Mouth of one, who while he was in Heaven, is
said to have had his Mind dazled with the outward Pomps and Glories of
the Place, and to have been more intent on the Riches of the Pavement,
than on the Beatifick Vision. I shall also leave the Reader to judge how
agreeable the following Sentiments are to the same Character.

 --This deep World
  Of Darkness do we dread? How oft amidst
  Thick cloud and dark doth Heavns all-ruling Sire
  Chuse to reside, his Glory umobscured,
  And with the Majesty of Darkness round
  Covers his Throne; from whence deep Thunders roar
  Mustering their Rage, and Heavn resembles Hell?
  As he our Darkness, cannot we his Light
  Imitate when we please? This desart Soil
  Wants not her hidden Lustre, Gems and Gold;
  Nor want we Skill or Art, from whence to raise
  Magnificence; and what can Heavn shew more?

Beelzebub, who is reckoned the second in Dignity that fell, and is, in
the First Book, the second that awakens out of the Trance, and confers
with Satan upon the Situation of their Affairs, maintains his Rank in
the Book now before us. There is a wonderful Majesty described in his
rising up to speak. He acts as a kind of Moderator between the two
opposite Parties, and proposes a third Undertaking, which the whole
Assembly gives into. The Motion he makes of detaching one of their Body
in search of a new World is grounded upon a Project devised by Satan,
and cursorily proposed by him in the following Lines of the first Book.

  Space may produce new Worlds, whereof so rife
  There went a Fame in Heavn, that he erelong
  Intended to create, and therein plant
  A Generation, whom his choice Regard
  Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven:
  Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps
  Our first Eruption, thither or elsewhere:
  For this Infernal Pit shall never hold
  Celestial Spirits in Bondage, nor th' Abyss
  Long under Darkness cover. But these Thoughts
  Full Counsel must mature:--

It is on this Project that Beelzebub grounds his Proposal.

 --What if we find
  Some easier Enterprise? There is a Place
  (If ancient and prophetick Fame in Heavn
  Err not) another World, the happy Seat
  Of some new Race call'd MAN, about this Time
  To be created like to us, though less
  In Power and Excellence, but favoured more
  Of him who rules above; so was his Will
  Pronounc'd among the Gods, and by an Oath,
  That shook Heavns whole Circumference, confirm'd.

The Reader may observe how just it was not to omit in the First Book the
Project upon which the whole Poem turns: As also that the Prince of the
fallen Angels was the only proper Person to give it Birth, and that the
next to him in Dignity was the fittest to second and support it.

There is besides, I think, something wonderfully Beautiful, and very apt
to affect the Readers Imagination in this ancient Prophecy or Report in
Heaven, concerning the Creation of Man. Nothing could shew more the
Dignity of the Species, than this Tradition which ran of them before
their Existence. They are represented to have been the Talk of Heaven,
before they were created. Virgil, in compliment to the Roman
Commonwealth, makes the Heroes of it appear in their State of
Pre-existence; but Milton does a far greater Honour to Man-kind in
general, as he gives us a Glimpse of them even before they are in Being.

The rising of this great Assembly is described in a very Sublime and
Poetical Manner.

  Their rising all at once was as the Sound
  Of Thunder heard remote--

The Diversions of the fallen Angels, with the particular Account of
their Place of Habitation, are described with great Pregnancy of
Thought, and Copiousness of Invention. The Diversions are every way
suitable to Beings who had nothing left them but Strength and Knowledge
misapplied. Such are their Contentions at the Race, and in Feats of
Arms, with their Entertainment in the following Lines.

  Others with vast Typhaean rage more fell
  Rend up both Rocks and Hills, and ride the Air
  In Whirlwind; Hell scarce holds the wild Uproar.

Their Musick is employed in celebrating their own criminal Exploits, and
their Discourse in sounding the unfathomable Depths of Fate, Free-will
and Fore-knowledge.

The several Circumstances in the Description of Hell are finely
imagined; as the four Rivers which disgorge themselves into the Sea of
Fire, the Extreams of Cold and Heat, and the River of Oblivion. The
monstrous Animals produced in that Infernal World are represented by a
single Line, which gives us a more horrid Idea of them, than a much
longer Description would have done.

 --Nature breeds,
  Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious Things,
  Abominable, inutterable, and worse
  Than Fables yet have feign'd, or Fear conceiv'd,
  Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire.

This Episode of the fallen Spirits, and their Place of Habitation, comes
in very happily to unbend the Mind of the Reader from its Attention to
the Debate. An ordinary Poet would indeed have spun out so many
Circumstances to a great Length, and by that means have weakned, instead
of illustrated, the principal Fable.

The Flight of Satan to the Gates of Hell is finely imaged. I have
already declared my Opinion of the Allegory concerning Sin and Death,
which is however a very finished Piece in its kind, when it is not
considered as a Part of an Epic Poem. The Genealogy of the several
Persons is contrived with great Delicacy. Sin is the Daughter of Satan,
and Death the Offspring of Sin. The incestuous Mixture between Sin and
Death produces those Monsters and Hell-hounds which from time to time
enter into their Mother, and tear the Bowels of her who gave them Birth.
These are the Terrors of an evil Conscience, and the proper Fruits of
Sin, which naturally rise from the Apprehensions of Death. This last
beautiful Moral is, I think, clearly intimated in the Speech of Sin,
where complaining of this her dreadful Issue, she adds,

  Before mine Eyes in Opposition sits
  Grim Death my Son and Foe, who sets them on,
  And me his Parent would full soon devour
  For want of other Prey, but that he knows
  His End with mine involv'd--

I need not mention to the Reader the beautiful Circumstance in the last
Part of this Quotation. He will likewise observe how naturally the three
Persons concerned in this Allegory are tempted by one common Interest to
enter into a Confederacy together, and how properly Sin is made the
Portress of Hell, and the only Being that can open the Gates to that
World of Tortures.

The descriptive Part of this Allegory is likewise very strong, and full
of Sublime Ideas. The Figure of Death, [the Regal Crown upon his Head,]
his Menace of Satan, his advancing to the Combat, the Outcry at his
Birth, are Circumstances too noble to be past over in Silence, and
extreamly suitable to this King of Terrors. I need not mention the
Justness of Thought which is observed in the Generation of these several
Symbolical Persons; that Sin was produced upon the first Revolt of
Satan, that Death appear'd soon after he was cast into Hell, and that
the Terrors of Conscience were conceived at the Gate of this Place of
Torments. The Description of the Gates is very poetical, as the opening
of them is full of Milton's Spirit.

 --On a sudden open fly
  With impetuous Recoil and jarring Sound
  Th' infernal Doors, and on their Hinges grate
  Harsh Thunder, that the lowest Bottom shook
  Of Erebus. She open'd, but to shut
  Excell'd her Powr; the Gates wide open stood,
  That with extended Wings a banner'd Host
  Under spread Ensigns marching might pass through
  With Horse and Chariots rank'd in loose Array;
  So wide they stood, and like a Furnace Mouth
  Cast forth redounding Smoak and ruddy Flame.

In Satan's Voyage through the Chaos there are several Imaginary Persons
described, as residing in that immense Waste of Matter. This may perhaps
be conformable to the Taste of those Criticks who are pleased with
nothing in a Poet which has not Life and Manners ascribed to it; but for
my own Part, I am pleased most with those Passages in this Description
which carry in them a greater Measure of Probability, and are such as
might possibly have happened. Of this kind is his first mounting in the
Smoke that rises from the Infernal Pit, his falling into a Cloud of
Nitre, and the like combustible Materials, that by their Explosion still
hurried him forward in his Voyage; his springing upward like a Pyramid
of Fire, with his laborious Passage through that Confusion of Elements
which the Poet calls

  The Womb of Nature, and perhaps her Grave.

The Glimmering Light which shot into the Chaos from the utmost Verge of
the Creation, with the distant discovery of the Earth that hung close by
the Moon, are wonderfully Beautiful and Poetical.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 310.                Monday, February 25, 1712.              Steele.

  Connubio Jungam stabili--



  I am a certain young Woman that love a certain young Man very
  heartily; and my Father and Mother were for it a great while, but now
  they say I can do better, but I think I cannot. They bid me love him,
  and I cannot unlove him. What must I do? speak quickly.

  Biddy Dow-bake.

  Dear SPEC,

  Feb. 19, 1712.

  I have lov'd a Lady entirely for this Year and Half, tho for a great
  Part of the Time (which has contributed not a little to my Pain) I
  have been debarred the Liberty of conversing with her. The Grounds of
  our Difference was this; that when we had enquired into each others
  Circumstances, we found that at our first setting out into the World,
  we should owe five hundred Pounds more than her Fortune would pay off.
  My Estate is seven hundred Pounds a Year, besides the benefit of
  Tin-Mines. Now, dear SPEC, upon this State of the Case, and the Lady's
  positive Declaration that there is still no other Objection, I beg
  you'll not fail to insert this, with your Opinion as soon as possible,
  whether this ought to be esteemed a just Cause or Impediment why we
  should not be join'd, and you will for ever oblige

  Yours sincerely,
  Dick Lovesick.

  P. S. Sir, if I marry this Lady by the Assistance of your Opinion, you
  may expect a Favour for it.


  I have the misfortune to be one of those unhappy Men who are
  distinguished by the Name of discarded Lovers; but I am the less
  mortified at my Disgrace, because the young Lady is one of those
  Creatures who set up for Negligence of Men, are forsooth the most
  rigidly Virtuous in the World, and yet their Nicety will permit them,
  at the Command of Parents, to go to Bed to the most utter Stranger
  that can be proposed to them. As to me my self, I was introduced by
  the Father of my Mistress; but find I owe my being at first received
  to a Comparison of my Estate with that of a former Lover, and that I
  am now in like manner turned off, to give Way to an humble Servant
  still richer than I am. What makes this Treatment the more extravagant
  is, that the young Lady is in the Management of this way of Fraud, and
  obeys her Fathers Orders on these Occasions without any Manner of
  Reluctance, and does it with the same Air that one of your Men of the
  World would signifie the Necessity of Affairs for turning another out
  of Office. When I came home last Night I found this Letter from my


    I hope you will not think it is any manner of Disrespect to your
    Person or Merit, that the intended Nuptials between us are
    interrupted. My Father says he has a much better Offer for me than
    you can make, and has ordered me to break off the Treaty between us.
    If it had proceeded, I should have behaved my self with all suitable
    Regard to you, but as it is, I beg we may be Strangers for the
    Future. Adieu.


  This great Indifference on this Subject, and the mercenary Motives for
  making Alliances, is what I think lies naturally before you, and I beg
  of you to give me your Thoughts upon it. My Answer to Lydia was as
  follows, which I hope you will approve; for you are to know the
  Woman's Family affect a wonderful Ease on these Occasions, tho they
  expect it should be painfully received on the Man's Side.


    "I have received yours, and knew the Prudence of your House so well,
    that I always took Care to be ready to obey your Commands, tho they
    should be to see you no more. Pray give my Service to all the good


    The Opera Subscription is full.


Memorandum. The Censor of Marriage to consider this Letter, and report
the common Usages on such Treaties, with how many Pounds or Acres are
generally esteemed sufficient Reason for preferring a new to an old
Pretender; with his Opinion what is proper to be determined in such
Cases for the future.


  There is an elderly Person, lately left off Business and settled in
  our Town, in order, as he thinks, to retire from the World; but he has
  brought with him such an Inclination to Talebearing, that he disturbs
  both himself and all our Neighbourhood. Notwithstanding this Frailty,
  the honest Gentleman is so happy as to have no Enemy: At the same time
  he has not one Friend who will venture to acquaint him with his
  Weakness. It is not to be doubted but if this Failing were set in a
  proper Light, he would quickly perceive the Indecency and evil
  Consequences of it. Now, Sir, this being an Infirmity which I hope may
  be corrected, and knowing that he pays much Deference to you, I beg
  that when you are at Leisure to give us a Speculation on Gossiping,
  you would think of my Neighbour: You will hereby oblige several who
  will be glad to find a Reformation in their gray-hair'd Friend: And
  how becoming will it be for him, instead of pouring forth Words at all
  Adventures to set a Watch before the Door of his Mouth, to refrain his
  Tongue, to check its Impetuosity, and guard against the Sallies of
  that little, pert, forward, busie Person; which, under a sober
  Conduct, might prove a useful Member of a Society. In Compliance with
  whose Intimations, I have taken the Liberty to make this Address to

  I am, SIR,

  Your most obscure Servant



  Feb. 16, 1712.

  This is to Petition you in Behalf of my self and many more of your
  gentle Readers, that at any time when you have private Reasons against
  letting us know what you think your self, you would be pleased to
  pardon us such Letters of your Correspondents as seem to be of no use
  but to the Printer.

  It is further our humble Request, that you would substitute
  Advertisements in the Place of such Epistles; and that in order
  hereunto Mr. Buckley may be authorized to take up of your zealous
  Friend Mr. Charles Lillie, any Quantity of Words he shall from time to
  time have occasion for.

  The many useful parts of Knowledge which may be communicated to the
  Publick this Way, will, we hope, be a Consideration in favour of your

  And your Petitioners, &c.

Note, That particular Regard be had to this Petition; and the Papers
marked Letter R may be carefully examined for the future. [1]


[Footnote 1: R. is one of Steele's signatures, but he had not used it
since No. 134 for August 3, 1711, every paper of his since that date
having been marked with a T.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 311.               Tuesday, February 26, 1712.             Addison.

  Nec Veneris pharetris macer est; aut lampade fervet:
  Inde faces ardent, veniunt a dote sagittae.



  I am amazed that among all the Variety of Characters, with which you
  have enriched your Speculations, you have never given us a Picture of
  those audacious young Fellows among us, who commonly go by the Name of
  Fortune-Stealers. You must know, Sir, I am one who live in a continual
  Apprehension of this sort of People that lye in wait, Day and Night,
  for our Children, and may be considered as a kind of Kidnappers within
  the Law. I am the Father of a Young Heiress, whom I begin to look upon
  as Marriageable, and who has looked upon her self as such for above
  these Six Years. She is now in the Eighteenth Year of her Age. The
  Fortune-hunters have already cast their Eyes upon her, and take care
  to plant themselves in her View whenever she appears in any Publick
  Assembly. I have my self caught a young Jackanapes with a pair of
  Silver Fringed Gloves, in the very Fact. You must know, Sir, I have
  kept her as a Prisoner of State ever since she was in her Teens. Her
  Chamber Windows are cross-barred, she is not permitted to go out of
  the House but with her Keeper, who is a stay'd Relation of my own; I
  have likewise forbid her the use of Pen and Ink for this Twelve-Month
  last past, and do not suffer a Ban-box to be carried into her Room
  before it has been searched. Notwithstanding these Precautions, I am
  at my Wits End for fear of any sudden Surprize. There were, two or
  three Nights ago, some Fiddles heard in the Street, which I am afraid
  portend me no Good; not to mention a tall Irish-Man, that has been
  seen walking before my House more than once this Winter. My Kinswoman
  likewise informs me, that the Girl has talked to her twice or thrice
  of a Gentleman in a Fair Wig, and that she loves to go to Church more
  than ever she did in her Life. She gave me the slip about a Week ago,
  upon which my whole House was in Alarm. I immediately dispatched a Hue
  and Cry after her to the Change, to her Mantua-maker, and to the young
  Ladies that Visit her; but after above an Hours search she returned
  of herself, having been taking a Walk, as she told me, by Rosamond's
  Pond. I have hereupon turned off her Woman, doubled her Guards, and
  given new Instructions to my Relation, who, to give her her due, keeps
  a watchful Eye over all her Motions. This, Sir, keeps me in a
  perpetual Anxiety, and makes me very often watch when my Daughter
  sleeps, as I am afraid she is even with me in her turn. Now, Sir, what
  I would desire of you is, to represent to this fluttering Tribe of
  young Fellows, who are for making their Fortunes by these indirect
  Means, that stealing a Man's Daughter for the sake of her Portion, is
  but a kind of Tolerated Robbery; and that they make but a poor Amends
  to the Father, whom they plunder after this Manner, by going to bed
  with his Child. Dear Sir, be speedy in your Thoughts on this Subject,
  that, if possible, they may appear before the Disbanding of the Army.

  I am, SIR,

  Your most humble Servant,

  Tim. Watchwell.

Themistocles, the great Athenian General, being asked whether he would
chuse to marry his Daughter to an indigent Man of Merit, or to a
worthless Man of an Estate, replied, That he should prefer a Man without
an Estate, to an Estate without a Man. The worst of it is, our Modern
Fortune-Hunters are those who turn their Heads that way, because they
are good for nothing else. If a young Fellow finds he can make nothing
of Cook and Littleton, he provides himself with a Ladder of Ropes, and
by that means very often enters upon the Premises.

The same Art of Scaling has likewise been practised with good Success by
many military Ingineers. Stratagems of this nature make Parts and
Industry superfluous, and cut short the way to Riches.

Nor is Vanity a less Motive than Idleness to this kind of Mercenary
Pursuit. A Fop who admires his Person in a Glass, soon enters into a
Resolution of making his Fortune by it, not questioning but every Woman
that falls in his way will do him as much Justice as he does himself.
When an Heiress sees a Man throwing particular Graces into his Ogle, or
talking loud within her Hearing, she ought to look to her self; but if
withal she observes a pair of Red-Heels, a Patch, or any other
Particularity in his Dress, she cannot take too much care of her Person.
These are Baits not to be trifled with, Charms that have done a world of
Execution, and made their way into Hearts which have been thought
impregnable. The Force of a Man with these Qualifications is so well
known, that I am credibly informed there are several Female Undertakers
about the Change, who upon the Arrival of a likely Man out of a
neighbouring Kingdom, will furnish him with proper Dress from Head to
Foot, to be paid for at a double Price on the Day of Marriage.

We must however distinguish between Fortune-Hunters and
Fortune-Stealers. The first are those assiduous Gentlemen who employ
their whole Lives in the Chace, without ever coming at the Quarry.
Suffenus has combed and powdered at the Ladies for thirty Years
together, and taken his Stand in a Side Box, till he has grown wrinkled
under their Eyes. He is now laying the same Snares for the present
Generation of Beauties, which he practised on their Mothers. Cottilus,
after having made his Applications to more than you meet with in Mr.
Cowley's Ballad of Mistresses, was at last smitten with a City Lady of
20,000L. Sterling: but died of old Age before he could bring Matters to
bear. Nor must I here omit my worthy Friend Mr. HONEYCOMB, who has often
told us in the Club, that for twenty years successively, upon the death
of a Childless rich Man, he immediately drew on his Boots, called for
his Horse, and made up to the Widow. When he is rallied upon his ill
Success, WILL, with his usual Gaiety tells us, that he always found [her
[1]] Pre-engaged.

Widows are indeed the great Game of your Fortune-Hunters. There is
scarce a young Fellow in the Town of six Foot high, that has not passed
in Review before one or other of these wealthy Relicts. Hudibrass's
Cupid, who

 --took his Stand
  Upon a Widows Jointure Land, [2]

is daily employed in throwing Darts, and kindling Flames. But as for
Widows, they are such a Subtle Generation of People, that they may be
left to their own Conduct; or if they make a false Step in it, they are
answerable for it to no Body but themselves. The young innocent
Creatures who have no Knowledge and Experience of the World, are those
whose Safety I would principally consult in this Speculation. The
stealing of such an one should, in my Opinion, be as punishable as a
Rape. Where there is no Judgment there is no Choice; and why the
inveigling a Woman before she is come to Years of Discretion, should not
be as Criminal as the seducing of her before she is ten Years old, I am
at a Loss to comprehend.


[Footnote 1: them]

[Footnote 2: Hudibras, Part I., Canto 3, II. 310-11.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 312.             Wednesday, February 27, 1712.               Steele.

  Quod huic Officium, quae laus, quod Decus erit tanti, quod adipisci
  cum colore Corporis velit, qui dolorem summum malum sibi persuaserit?
  Quam porro quis ignominiam, quam turpitudinem non pertulerit, ut
  effugiat dolorem, si id summum malum esse decrevit?

  Tull. de Dolore tolerando.

It is a very melancholy Reflection, that Men are usually so weak, that
it is absolutely necessary for them to know Sorrow and Pain to be in
their right Senses. Prosperous People (for Happy there are none) are
hurried away with a fond Sense of their present Condition, and
thoughtless of the Mutability of Fortune: Fortune is a Term which we
must use in such Discourses as these, for what is wrought by the unseen
Hand of the Disposer of all Things. But methinks the Disposition of a
Mind which is truly great, is that which makes Misfortunes and Sorrows
little when they befall our selves, great and lamentable when they
befall other Men. The most unpardonable Malefactor in the World going to
his Death and bearing it with Composure, would win the Pity of those who
should behold him; and this not because his Calamity is deplorable, but
because he seems himself not to deplore it: We suffer for him who is
less sensible of his own Misery, and are inclined to despise him who
sinks under the Weight of his Distresses. On the other hand, without any
Touch of Envy, a temperate and well-govern'd Mind looks down on such as
are exalted with Success, with a certain Shame for the Imbecility of
human Nature, that can so far forget how liable it is to Calamity, as to
grow giddy with only the Suspence of Sorrow, which is the Portion of all
Men. He therefore who turns his Face from the unhappy Man, who will not
look again when his Eye is cast upon modest Sorrow, who shuns Affliction
like a Contagion, does but pamper himself up for a Sacrifice, and
contract in himself a greater Aptitude to Misery by attempting to escape
it. A Gentleman where I happened to be last Night, fell into a Discourse
which I thought shewed a good Discerning in him: He took Notice that
whenever Men have looked into their Heart for the Idea of true
Excellency in human Nature, they have found it to consist in Suffering
after a right Manner and with a good Grace. Heroes are always drawn
bearing Sorrows, struggling with Adversities, undergoing all kinds of
Hardships, and having in the Service of Mankind a kind of Appetite to
Difficulties and Dangers. The Gentleman went on to observe, that it is
from this secret Sense of the high Merit which there is in Patience
under Calamities, that the Writers of Romances, when they attempt to
furnish out Characters of the highest Excellence, ransack Nature for
things terrible; they raise a new Creation of Monsters, Dragons, and
Giants: Where the Danger ends, the Hero ceases; when he won an Empire,
or gained his Mistress, the rest of his Story is not worth relating. My
Friend carried his Discourse so far as to say, that it was for higher
Beings than Men to join Happiness and Greatness in the same Idea; but
that in our Condition we have no Conception of superlative Excellence,
or Heroism, but as it is surrounded with a Shade of Distress.

It is certainly the proper Education we should give our selves, to be
prepared for the ill Events and Accidents we are to meet with in a Life
sentenced to be a Scene of Sorrow: But instead of this Expectation, we
soften our selves with Prospects of constant Delight, and destroy in our
Minds the Seeds of Fortitude and Virtue, which should support us in
Hours of Anguish. The constant Pursuit of Pleasure has in it something
insolent and improper for our Being. There is a pretty sober Liveliness
in the Ode of Horace to Delius, where he tells him, loud Mirth, or
immoderate Sorrow, Inequality of Behaviour either in Prosperity or
Adversity, are alike ungraceful in Man that is born to die. Moderation
in both Circumstances is peculiar to generous Minds: Men of that Sort
ever taste the Gratifications of Health, and all other Advantages of
Life, as if they were liable to part with them, and when bereft of them,
resign them with a Greatness of Mind which shews they know their Value
and Duration. The Contempt of Pleasure is a certain Preparatory for the
Contempt of Pain: Without this, the Mind is as it were taken suddenly by
any unforeseen Event; but he that has always, during Health and
Prosperity, been abstinent in his Satisfactions, enjoys, in the worst of
Difficulties, the Reflection, that his Anguish is not aggravated with
the Comparison of past Pleasures which upbraid his present Condition.
Tully tells us a Story after Pompey, which gives us a good Taste of the
pleasant Manner the Men of Wit and Philosophy had in old Times of
alleviating the Distresses of Life by the Force of Reason and
Philosophy. Pompey, when he came to Rhodes, had a Curiosity to visit the
famous Philosopher Possidonius; but finding him in his sick Bed, he
bewailed the Misfortune that he should not hear a Discourse from him:
But you may, answered Possidonius; and immediately entered into the
Point of Stoical Philosophy, which says Pain is not an Evil. During the
Discourse, upon every Puncture he felt from his Distemper, he smiled and
cried out, Pain, Pain, be as impertinent and troublesome as you please,
I shall never own that thou art an Evil.

  Mr. Spectator,
  Having seen in several of your Papers, a Concern for the Honour of the
  Clergy, and their doing every thing as becomes their Character, and
  particularly performing the publick Service with a due Zeal and
  Devotion; I am the more encouraged to lay before them, by your Means,
  several Expressions used by some of them in their Prayers before
  Sermon, which I am not well satisfied in: As their giving some Titles
  and Epithets to great Men, which are indeed due to them in their
  several Ranks and Stations, but not properly used, I think, in our
  Prayers. Is it not Contradiction to say, Illustrious, Right, Reverend,
  and Right Honourable poor Sinners? These Distinctions are suited only
  to our State here, and have no place in Heaven: We see they are
  omitted in the Liturgy; which I think the Clergy should take for their
  Pattern in their own Forms of [Devotion. [1]] There is another
  Expression which I would not mention, but that I have heard it several
  times before a learned Congregation, to bring in the last Petition of
  the Prayer in these Words, O let not the Lord be angry and I will
  speak but this once; as if there was no Difference between Abraham's
  interceding for Sodom, for which he had no Warrant as we can find, and
  our asking those Things which we are required to pray for; they would
  therefore have much more Reason to fear his Anger if they did not make
  such Petitions to him. There is another pretty Fancy: When a young Man
  has a Mind to let us know who gave him his Scarf, he speaks a
  Parenthesis to the Almighty, Bless, as I am in Duty bound to pray, the
  right honourable the Countess; is not that as much as to say, Bless
  her, for thou knowest I am her Chaplain?

  Your humble Servant,

  J. O.


[Footnote 1: Devotion. Another Expression which I take to be improper,
is this, the whole Race of Mankind, when they pray for all Men; for Race
signifies Lineage or Descent; and if the Race of Mankind may be used for
the present generation, (though I think not very fitly) the whole Race
takes in all from the Beginning to the End of the World. I don't
remember to have met with that Expression in their sense anywhere but in
the old Version of Psal. 14, which those Men, I suppose, have but little
Esteem for. And some, when they have prayed for all Schools and Nurserys
of good Learning and True Religion, especially the two Universities, add
these Words, Grant that from them and all other Places dedicated to thy
Worship and Service, may come forth such Persons. But what do they mean
by all other Places? It seems to me that this is either a Tautology, as
being the same with all Schools and Nurserys before expressed, or else
it runs too far; for there are general Places dedicated to the Divine
Service which cannot properly be intended here.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 313.            Thursday, February 28, 1712.               Budgell.

  Exigite ut mores teneros ceu pollice ducat,
  Ut si quis cera vultum facit.


I shall give the following Letter no other Recommendation, than by
telling my Readers that it comes from the same Hand with that of last


  I send you, according to my Promise, some farther Thoughts on the
  Education of Youth, in which I intend to discuss that famous Question,
  _Whether the Education at a publick School, or under a private Tutor,
  is to be preferred_?

  As some of the greatest Men in most Ages have been of very different
  Opinions in this Matter, I shall give a short Account of what I think
  may be best urged on both sides, and afterwards leave every Person to
  determine for himself.

  It is certain from _Suetonius_, that the Romans thought the Education
  of their Children a business properly belonging to the Parents
  themselves; and Plutarch, in the Life of Marcus Cato, tells us, that
  as soon as his Son was capable of Learning, Cato would suffer no Body
  to Teach him but himself, tho he had a Servant named Chilo, who was
  an excellent Grammarian, and who taught a great many other Youths.

  On the contrary, the Greeks seemed more inclined to Publick Schools
  and Seminaries.

   A private Education promises in the first place Virtue and
  Good-Breeding; a publick School Manly Assurance, and an early
  Knowledge in the Ways of the World.

   Mr. Locke in his celebrated Treatise of Education [1], confesses
  that there are Inconveniencies to be feared on both sides; If, says
  he,  I keep my Son at Home, he is in danger of becoming my young
  Master; If I send him Abroad, it is scarce possible to keep him from
  the reigning Contagion of Rudeness and Vice. He will perhaps be more
  Innocent at Home, but more ignorant of the World, and more sheepish
  when he comes Abroad.  However, as this learned Author asserts, That
  Virtue is much more difficult to be attained than Knowledge of the
  World; and that Vice is a more stubborn, as well as a more dangerous
  Fault than Sheepishness, he is altogether for a private Education; and
  the more so, because he does not see why a Youth, with right
  Management, might not attain the same Assurance in his Fathers House,
  as at a publick School. To this end he advises Parents to accustom
  their Sons to whatever strange Faces come to the House; to take them
  with them when they Visit their Neighbours, and to engage them in
  Conversation with Men of Parts and Breeding.

  It may be objected to this Method, that Conversation is not the only
  thing necessary, but that unless it be a Conversation with such as are
  in some measure their Equals in Parts and Years, there can be no room
  for Emulation, Contention, and several of the most lively Passions of
  the Mind; which, without being sometimes moved by these means, may
  possibly contract a Dulness and Insensibility.

  One of the greatest Writers our Nation ever produced observes, That a
  Boy who forms Parties, and makes himself Popular in a School or a
  College, would act the same Part with equal ease in a Senate or a
  Privy Council; and Mr. Osborn speaking like a Man versed in the Ways
  of the World, affirms, that the well laying and carrying on of a
  design to rob an Orchard, trains up a Youth insensibly to Caution,
  Secrecy and Circumspection, and fits him for Matters of greater

  In short, a private Education seems the most natural Method for the
  forming of a virtuous Man; a Publick Education for making a Man of
  Business. The first would furnish out a good Subject for Plato's
  Republick, the latter a Member for a Community over-run with Artifice
  and Corruption.

  It must however be confessed, that a Person at the head of a publick
  School has sometimes so many Boys under his Direction, that it is
  impossible he should extend a due proportion of his Care to each of
  them. This is, however, in reality, the Fault of the Age, in which we
  often see twenty Parents, who tho each expects his Son should be made
  a Scholar, are not contented altogether to make it worth while for any
  Man of a liberal Education to take upon him the Care of their

  In our great Schools indeed this Fault has been of late Years
  rectified, so that we have at present not only Ingenious Men for the
  chief Masters, but such as have proper Ushers and Assistants under
  them; I must nevertheless own, that for want of the same Encouragement
  in the Country, we have many a promising Genius spoiled and abused in
  those Seminaries.

  I am the more inclined to this Opinion, having my self experienced
  the Usage of two Rural Masters, each of them very unfit for the Trust
  they took upon them to discharge. The first imposed much more upon me
  than my Parts, tho none of the weakest, could endure; and used me
  barbarously for not performing Impossibilities. The latter was of
  quite another Temper; and a Boy, who would run upon his Errands, wash
  his Coffee-pot, or ring the Bell, might have as little Conversation
  with any of the Classicks as he thought fit. I have known a Lad at
  this Place excused his Exercise for assisting the Cook-maid; and
  remember a Neighbouring Gentleman's Son was among us five Years, most
  of which time he employed in airing and watering our Masters grey
  Pad. I scorned to Compound for my Faults, by doing any of these
  Elegant Offices, and was accordingly the best Scholar, and the worst
  used of any Boy in the School.

  I shall conclude this Discourse with an Advantage mentioned by
  Quintilian, as accompanying a Publick way of Education, which I have
  not yet taken notice of; namely, That we very often contract such
  Friendships at School, as are a Service to us all the following Part
  of our Lives.

  I shall give you, under this Head, a Story very well known to several
  Persons, and which you may depend upon as a real Truth.

  Every one, who is acquainted with Westminster-School, knows that
  there is a Curtain which used to be drawn a-cross the Room, to
  separate the upper School from the lower. A Youth happened, by some
  Mischance, to tear the above-mentioned Curtain: The Severity of the
  Master [2] was too well known for the Criminal to expect any Pardon
  for such a Fault; so that the Boy, who was of a meek Temper, was
  terrified to Death at the Thoughts of his Appearance, when his Friend,
  who sat next to him, bad him be of good Cheer, for that he would take
  the Fault on himself. He kept his word accordingly. As soon as they
  were grown up to be Men the Civil War broke out, in which our two
  Friends took the opposite Sides, one of them followed the Parliament,
  the other the Royal Party.

  As their Tempers were different, the Youth, who had torn the Curtain,
  endeavoured to raise himself on the Civil List, and the other, who had
  born the Blame of it, on the Military: The first succeeded so well,
  that he was in a short time made a Judge under the Protector. The
  other was engaged in the unhappy Enterprize of Penruddock and Groves
  in the West. I suppose, Sir, I need not acquaint you with the Event of
  that Undertaking. Every one knows that the Royal Party was routed, and
  all the Heads of them, among whom was the Curtain Champion, imprisoned
  at Exeter. It happened to be his Friends Lot at that time to go to
  the Western Circuit: The Tryal of the Rebels, as they were then
  called, was very short, and nothing now remained but to pass Sentence
  on them; when the Judge hearing the Name of his old Friend, and
  observing his Face more attentively, which he had not seen for many
  Years, asked him, if he was not formerly a Westminster-Scholar; by the
  Answer, he was soon convinced that it was his former generous Friend;
  and, without saying any thing more at that time, made the best of his
  Way to London, where employing all his Power and Interest with the
  Protector, he saved his Friend from the Fate of his unhappy

  The Gentleman, whose Life was thus preserv'd by the Gratitude of his
  School-Fellow, was afterwards the Father of a Son, whom he lived to
  see promoted in the Church, and who still deservedly fills one of the
  highest Stations in it. [3]


[Footnote 1: Some Thoughts concerning Education, Sec. 70. The references to
Suetonius and Plutarch's Life of Cato are from the preceding section.]

[Footnote 2: Richard Busby; appointed in 1640.]

[Footnote 3: The allusion is to Colonel Wake, father of Dr. William
Wake, who was Bishop of Lincoln when this paper was written, and because
in 1716 Archbishop of Canterbury. The trials of Penruddock and his
friends were in 1685.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 314.                Friday, February 29, 1712.               Steele.

  Tandem desine Matrem
  Tempestiva sequi viro.

  Hor. Od. 23.

  Feb. 7, 1711-12.


  I am a young Man about eighteen Years of Age, and have been in Love
  with a young Woman of the same Age about this half Year. I go to see
  her six Days in the Week, but never could have the Happiness of being
  with her alone. If any of her Friends are at home, she will see me in
  their Company; but if they be not in the Way, she flies to her
  Chamber. I can discover no Signs of her Aversion; but either a Fear of
  falling into the Toils of Matrimony, or a childish Timidity, deprives
  us of an Interview apart, and drives us upon the Difficulty of
  languishing out our Lives in fruitless Expectation. Now, Mr.
  SPECTATOR, if you think us ripe for Oeconomy, perswade the dear
  Creature, that to pine away into Barrenness and Deformity under a
  Mothers Shade, is not so honourable, nor does she appear so amiable,
  as she would in full Bloom. [_There is a great deal left out before he
  concludes_] Mr. SPECTATOR,
  _Your humble Servant_,
  Bob Harmless.

If this Gentleman be really no more than Eighteen, I must do him the
Justice to say he is the most knowing Infant I have yet met with. He
does not, I fear, yet understand, that all he thinks of is another
Woman; therefore, till he has given a further Account of himself, the
young Lady is hereby directed to keep close to her Mother. The

I cannot comply with the Request in Mr. Trott's Letter; but let it go
just as it came to my Hands, for being so familiar with the old
Gentleman, as rough as he is to him. Since Mr. Trott has an Ambition to
make him his Father-in-Law, he ought to treat him with more Respect;
besides, his Style to me might have been more distant than he has
thought fit to afford me: Moreover, his Mistress shall continue in her
Confinement, till he has found out which Word in his Letter is not
wrightly spelt.


  I shall ever own my self your obliged humble Servant for the Advice
  you gave me concerning my Dancing; which unluckily came too late: For,
  as I said, I would not leave off Capering till I had your Opinion of
  the Matter; was at our famous Assembly the Day before I received your
  Papers, and there was observed by an old Gentleman, who was informed I
  had a Respect for his Daughter; told me I was an insignificant little
  Fellow, and said that for the future he would take Care of his Child;
  so that he did not doubt but to crosse my amorous Inclinations. The
  Lady is confined to her Chamber, and for my Part, am ready to hang my
  self with the Thoughts that I have danced my self out of Favour with
  her Father. I hope you will pardon the Trouble I give; but shall take
  it for a mighty Favour, if you will give me a little more of your
  Advice to put me in a write Way to cheat the old Dragon and obtain my
  Mistress. I am once more,


  Your obliged humble Servant, John Trott.

  York, Feb. 23, 1711-12.

  Let me desire you to make what Alterations you please, and insert this
  as soon as possible. Pardon Mistake by Haste.

I never do pardon Mistakes by Haste. The SPECTATOR.

  Feb. 27, 1711-12.


  Pray be so kind as to let me know what you esteem to be the chief
  Qualification of a good Poet, especially of one who writes Plays; and
  you will very much oblige,

  SIR, Your very humble Servant, N. B.

To be a very well-bred Man. The SPECTATOR.


  You are to know that I am naturally Brave, and love Fighting as well
  as any Man in England. This gallant Temper of mine makes me extremely
  delighted with Battles on the Stage. I give you this Trouble to
  complain to you, that Nicolini refused to gratifie me in that Part of
  the Opera for which I have most Taste. I observe its become a Custom,
  that whenever any Gentlemen are particularly pleased with a Song, at
  their crying out Encore or Altro Volto, the Performer is so obliging
  as to sing it over again. I was at the Opera the last time Hydaspes
  was performed. At that Part of it where the Heroe engages with the
  Lion, the graceful Manner with which he put that terrible Monster to
  Death gave me so great a Pleasure, and at the same time so just a
  Sense of that Gentleman's Intrepidity and Conduct, that I could not
  forbear desiring a Repetition of it, by crying out Altro Volto in a
  very audible Voice; and my Friends flatter me, that I pronounced those
  Words with a tolerable good Accent, considering that was but the third
  Opera I had ever seen in my Life. Yet, notwithstanding all this, there
  was so little Regard had to me, that the Lion was carried off, and
  went to Bed, without being killed any more that Night. Now, Sir, pray
  consider that I did not understand a Word of what Mr. Nicolini said to
  this cruel Creature; besides, I have no Ear for Musick; so that during
  the long Dispute between em, the whole Entertainment I had was from
  my Eye; Why then have not I as much Right to have a graceful Action
  repeated as another has a pleasing Sound, since he only hears as I
  only see, and we neither of us know that there is any reasonable thing
  a doing? Pray, Sir, settle the Business of this Claim in the Audience,
  and let us know when we may cry Altro Volto, Anglice, again, again,
  for the Future. I am an Englishman, and expect some Reason or other to
  be given me, and perhaps an ordinary one may serve; but I expect your

  I am, SIR,
  Your most humble Servant,
  Toby Rentfree.

  Nov. 29.


  You must give me Leave, amongst the rest of your Female
  Correspondents, to address you about an Affair which has already given
  you many a Speculation; and which, I know, I need not tell you have
  had a very happy Influence over the adult Part of our Sex: But as many
  of us are either too old to learn, or too obstinate in the Pursuit of
  the Vanities which have been bred up with us from our Infancy, and all
  of us quitting the Stage whilst you are prompting us to act our Part
  well; you ought, methinks, rather to turn your Instructions for the
  Benefit of that Part of our Sex, who are yet in their native
  Innocence, and ignorant of the Vices and that Variety of Unhappinesses
  that reign amongst us.

  I must tell you, Mr. SPECTATOR, that it is as much a Part of your
  Office to oversee the Education of the female Part of the Nation, as
  well as of the Male; and to convince the World you are not partial,
  pray proceed to detect the Male Administration of Governesses as
  successfully as you have exposed that of Pedagogues; and rescue our
  Sex from the Prejudice and Tyranny of Education as well as that of
  your own, who without your seasonable Interposition are like to
  improve upon the Vices that are now in vogue.

  I who know the Dignity of your Post, as SPECTATOR, and the Authority a
  skilful Eye ought to bear in the Female World, could not forbear
  consulting you, and beg your Advice in so critical a Point, as is that
  of the Education of young Gentlewomen. Having already provided myself
  with a very convenient House in a good Air, I'm not without Hope but
  that you will promote this generous Design. I must farther tell you,
  Sir, that all who shall be committed to my Conduct, beside the usual
  Accomplishments of the Needle, Dancing, and the French Tongue, shall
  not fail to be your constant Readers. It is therefore my humble
  Petition, that you will entertain the Town on this important Subject,
  and so far oblige a Stranger, as to raise a Curiosity and Enquiry in
  my Behalf, by publishing the following Advertisement.

  I am, SIR,
  Your constant Admirer,
  M. W.


*       *       *       *       *


The Boarding-School for young Gentlewomen, which was formerly kept on
Mile-End-Green, being laid down, there is now one set up almost opposite
to it at the two Golden-Balls, and much more convenient in every
Respect; where, beside the common Instructions given to young
Gentlewomen, they will be taught the whole Art of Paistrey and
Preserving, with whatever may render them accomplished. Those who please
to make Tryal of the Vigilance and Ability of the Persons concerned may
enquire at the two Golden-Balls on Mile-End-Green near Stepney, where
they will receive further Satisfaction.

This is to give Notice, that the SPECTATOR has taken upon him to be
Visitant of all Boarding-Schools, where young Women are educated; and
designs to proceed in the said Office after the same Manner that the
Visitants of Colleges do in the two famous Universities of this Land.

All Lovers who write to the SPECTATOR, are desired to forbear one
Expression which is in most of the Letters to him, either out of
Laziness, or want of Invention, and is true of not above two thousand
Women in the whole World; viz. She has in her all that is valuable in

*       *       *       *       *

No. 315                 Saturday, March 1, 1712.                Addison.

  Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus


Horace advises a Poet to consider thoroughly the Nature and Force of his
Genius. [1] Milton seems to have known perfectly well, wherein his
Strength lay, and has therefore chosen a Subject entirely conformable to
those Talents, of which he was Master. As his Genius was wonderfully
turned to the Sublime, his Subject is the noblest that could have
entered into the Thoughts of Man. Every thing that is truly great and
astonishing, has a place in it. The whole System of the intellectual
World; the Chaos, and the Creation; Heaven, Earth and Hell; enter into
the Constitution of his Poem.

Having in the First and Second Books represented the Infernal World with
all its Horrors, the Thread of his Fable naturally leads him into the
opposite Regions of Bliss and Glory.

If Milton's Majesty forsakes him any where, it is in those Parts of his
Poem, where the Divine Persons are introduced as Speakers. One may, I
think, observe that the Author proceeds with a kind of Fear and
Trembling, whilst he describes the Sentiments of the Almighty. He dares
not give his Imagination its full Play, but chuses to confine himself to
such Thoughts as are drawn from the Books of the most Orthodox Divines,
and to such Expressions as may be met with in Scripture. The Beauties,
therefore, which we are to look for in these Speeches, are not of a
Poetical Nature, nor so proper to fill the Mind with Sentiments of
Grandeur, as with Thoughts of Devotion. The Passions, which they are
designed to raise, are a Divine Love and Religious Fear. The Particular
Beauty of the Speeches in the Third Book, consists in that Shortness and
Perspicuity of Style, in which the Poet has couched the greatest
Mysteries of Christianity, and drawn together, in a regular Scheme, the
whole Dispensation of Providence, with respect to Man. He has
represented all the abstruse Doctrines of Predestination, Free-Will and
Grace, as also the great Points of Incarnation and Redemption, (which
naturally grow up in a Poem that treats of the Fall of Man) with great
Energy of Expression, and in a clearer and stronger Light than I ever
met with in any other Writer. As these Points are dry in themselves to
the generality of Readers, the concise and clear manner in which he has
treated them, is very much to be admired, as is likewise that particular
Art which he has made use of in the interspersing of all those Graces of
Poetry, which the Subject was capable of receiving.

The Survey of the whole Creation, and of every thing that is transacted
in it, is a Prospect worthy of Omniscience; and as much above that, in
which Virgil has drawn his Jupiter, as the Christian Idea of the Supreme
Being is more Rational and Sublime than that of the Heathens. The
particular Objects on which he is described to have cast his Eye, are
represented in the most beautiful and lively Manner.

  Now had th' Almighty Father from above,
  (From the pure Empyrean where he sits
  High thron'd above all height) bent down his Eye,
  His own Works and their Works at once to view.
  About him all the Sanctities of Heavn
  Stood thick as Stars, and from his Sight received
  Beatitude past uttrance: On his right
  The radiant Image of his Glory sat,
  His only Son. On earth he first beheld
  Our two first Parents, yet the only two
  Of Mankind, in the happy garden plac'd,
  Reaping immortal fruits of Joy and Love;
  Uninterrupted Joy, unrival'd Love
  In blissful Solitude. He then surveyed
  Hell and the Gulph between, and Satan there
  Coasting the Wall of Heaven on this side Night,
  In the dun air sublime; and ready now
  To stoop with wearied wings, and willing feel
  On the bare outside of this world, that seem'd
  Firm land imbosom'd without firmament;
  Uncertain which, in Ocean or in Air.
  Him God beholding from his prospect high,
  Wherein past, present, future he beholds,
  Thus to his only Son foreseeing spake.

Satan's Approach to the Confines of the Creation, is finely imaged in
the beginning of the Speech, which immediately follows. The Effects of
this Speech in the blessed Spirits, and in the Divine Person to whom it
was addressed, cannot but fill the Mind of the Reader with a secret
Pleasure and Complacency.

  Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance fill'd
  All Heavn, and in the blessed Spirits elect
  Sense of new Joy ineffable diffus'd.
  Beyond compare the Son of God was seen
  Most glorious, in him all his Father shone
  Substantially expressed, and in his face
  Divine Compassion visibly appeared,
  Love without end, and without measure Grace.

I need not point out the Beauty of that Circumstance, wherein the whole
Host of Angels are represented as standing Mute; nor shew how proper the
Occasion was to produce such a Silence in Heaven. The Close of this
Divine Colloquy, with the Hymn of Angels that follows upon it, are so
wonderfully Beautiful and Poetical, that I should not forbear inserting
the whole Passage, if the Bounds of my Paper would give me leave.

  No sooner had th' Almighty ceas'd, but all
  The multitudes of Angels with a shout
  (Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
  As from blest Voices) uttring Joy, Heavn rung
  With Jubilee, and loud Hosannas fill'd
  Th' eternal regions; &c. &c.--

Satan's Walk upon the Outside of the Universe, which, at a Distance,
appeared to him of a globular Form, but, upon his nearer Approach,
looked like an unbounded Plain, is natural and noble: As his Roaming
upon the Frontiers of the Creation between that Mass of Matter, which
was wrought into a World, and that shapeless unformed Heap of Materials,
which still lay in Chaos and Confusion, strikes the Imagination with
something astonishingly great and wild. I have before spoken of the
Limbo of Vanity, which the Poet places upon this outermost Surface of
the Universe, and shall here explain my self more at large on that, and
other Parts of the Poem, which are of the same Shadowy Nature.

Aristotle observes[1], that the Fable of an Epic Poem should abound in
Circumstances that are both credible and astonishing; or as the French
Criticks chuse to phrase it, the Fable should be filled with the
Probable and the Marvellous. This Rule is as fine and just as any in
Aristotle's whole Art of Poetry.

If the Fable is only Probable, it differs nothing from a true History;
if it is only Marvellous, it is no better than a Romance. The great
Secret therefore of Heroic Poetry is to relate such Circumstances, as
may produce in the Reader at the same time both Belief and Astonishment.
This is brought to pass in a well-chosen Fable, by the Account of such
things as have really happened, or at least of such things as have
happened according to the received Opinions of Mankind. Milton's  Fable
is a Masterpiece of this Nature; as the War in Heaven, the Condition of
the fallen Angels, the State of Innocence, and Temptation of the
Serpent, and the Fall of Man, though they are very astonishing in
themselves, are not only credible, but actual Points of Faith.

The next Method of reconciling Miracles with Credibility, is by a happy
Invention of the Poet; as in particular, when he introduces Agents of a
superior Nature, who are capable of effecting what is wonderful, and
what is not to be met with in the ordinary course of things. Ulysses's
Ship being turned into a Rock, and AEneas's Fleet into a Shoal of Water
Nymphs; though they are very surprising Accidents, are nevertheless
probable, when we are told that they were the Gods who thus transformed
them. It is this kind of Machinery which fills the Poems both of Homer
and Virgil with such Circumstances as are wonderful, but not impossible,
and so frequently produce in the Reader the most pleasing Passion that
can rise in the Mind of Man, which is Admiration. If there be any
Instance in the AEneid liable to Exception upon this Account, it is in
the Beginning of the Third Book, where AEneas is represented as tearing
up the Myrtle that dropped Blood. To qualifie this wonderful
Circumstance, Polydorus tells a Story from the Root of the Myrtle, that
the barbarous Inhabitants of the Country having pierced him with Spears
and Arrows, the Wood which was left in his Body took Root in his Wounds,
and gave Birth to that bleeding Tree. This Circumstance seems to have
the Marvellous without the Probable, because it is represented as
proceeding from Natural Causes, without the Interposition of any God, or
other Supernatural Power capable of producing it. The Spears and Arrows
grow of themselves, without so much as the Modern Help of an
Enchantment. If we look into the Fiction of Milton's Fable, though we
find it full of surprizing Incidents, they are generally suited to our
Notions of the Things and Persons described, and tempered with a due
Measure of Probability. I must only make an Exception to the Limbo of
Vanity, with his Episode of Sin and Death, and some of the imaginary
Persons in his Chaos. These  Passages are astonishing, but not credible;
the Reader cannot so far impose upon himself as to see a Possibility in
them; they are the Description of Dreams and Shadows, not of Things or
Persons. I know that many Criticks look upon the Stories of Circe,
Polypheme, the Sirens, nay the whole Odyssey and Iliad, to be
Allegories; but allowing this to be true, they are Fables, which
considering the Opinions of Mankind that prevailed in the Age of the
Poet, might possibly have been according to the Letter. The Persons are
such as might have acted what is ascribed to them, as the Circumstances
in which they are represented, might possibly have been Truths and
Realities. This Appearance of Probability is so absolutely requisite in
the greater kinds of Poetry, that Aristotle observes the Ancient Tragick
Writers made use of the Names of such great Men as had actually lived in
the World, tho the Tragedy proceeded upon Adventures they were never
engaged in, on purpose to make the Subject more Credible. In a Word,
besides the hidden Meaning of an Epic Allegory, the plain litteral Sense
ought to appear Probable. The Story should be such as an ordinary Reader
may acquiesce in, whatever Natural, Moral, or Political Truth may be
discovered in it by Men of greater Penetration.

Satan, after having long wandered upon the Surface, or outmost Wall of
the Universe, discovers at last a wide Gap in it, which led into the
Creation, and is described as the Opening through which the Angels pass
to and fro into the lower World, upon their Errands to Mankind. His
Sitting upon the Brink of this Passage, and taking a Survey of the whole
Face of Nature that appeared to him new and fresh in all its Beauties,
with the Simile illustrating this Circumstance, fills the Mind of the
Reader with as surprizing and glorious an Idea as any that arises in the
whole Poem. He looks down into that vast Hollow of the Universe with the
Eye, or (as Milton calls it in his first Book) with the Kenn of an
Angel. He surveys all the Wonders in this immense Amphitheatre that lye
between both the Poles of Heaven, and takes in at one View the whole
Round of the Creation.

His Flight between the several Worlds that shined on every side of him,
with the particular Description of the Sun, are set forth in all the
Wantonness of a luxuriant Imagination. His Shape, Speech and Behaviour
upon his transforming himself into an Angel of Light, are touched with
exquisite Beauty. The Poets Thought of directing Satan to the Sun,
which in the vulgar Opinion of Mankind is the most conspicuous Part of
the Creation, and the placing in it an Angel, is a Circumstance very
finely contrived, and the more adjusted to a Poetical Probability, as it
was a received Doctrine among the most famous Philosophers, that every
Orb had its Intelligence; and as an Apostle in Sacred Writ is said to
have seen such an Angel in the Sun. In the Answer which this Angel
returns to the disguised evil Spirit, there is such a becoming Majesty
as is altogether suitable to a Superior Being. The Part of it in which
he represents himself as present at the Creation, is very noble in it
self, and not only proper where it is introduced, but requisite to
prepare the Reader for what follows in the Seventh Book.

  I saw when at his Word the formless Mass,
  This Worlds material Mould, came to a Heap:
  Confusion heard his Voice, and wild Uproar
  Stood rul'd, stood vast Infinitude confin'd.
  Till at his second Bidding Darkness fled,
  Light shon, &c.

In the following Part of the Speech he points out the Earth with such
Circumstances, that the Reader can scarce forbear fancying himself
employed on the same distant View of it.

  Look downward on the Globe whose hither Side
  With Light from hence, tho but reflected, shines;
  That place is Earth, the Seat of Man, that Light
  His Day, &c.

I must not conclude my Reflections upon this Third Book of Paradise
Lost, without taking Notice of that celebrated Complaint of Milton with
which it opens, and which certainly deserves all the Praises that have
been given it; tho as I have before hinted, it may rather be looked
upon as an Excrescence, than as an essential Part of the Poem. The same
Observation might be applied to that beautiful Digression upon
Hypocrisie, in the same Book.


[Footnote 1: De Arte Poetica. II. 38-40.]

[Footnote 2: Poetics, iii. 4.

  The surprising is necessary in tragedy; but the Epic Poem goes
  farther, and admits even the improbable and incredible, from which the
  highest degree of the surprising results, because there the action is
  not seen.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 316.               Monday, March 3, 1712.               John Hughes.

  Libertas; quae sera tamen respexit Inertem.

  Virg. Ecl. I.


  If you ever read a Letter which is sent with the more Pleasure for
  the Reality of its Complaints, this may have Reason to hope for a
  favourable Acceptance; and if Time be the most irretrievable Loss, the
  Regrets which follow will be thought, I hope, the most justifiable.
  The regaining of my Liberty from a long State of Indolence and
  Inactivity, and the Desire of resisting the further Encroachments of
  Idleness, make me apply to you; and the Uneasiness with which I I
  recollect the past Years, and the Apprehensions with which I expect
  the Future, soon determined me to it.

  Idleness is so general a Distemper that I cannot but imagine a
  Speculation on this Subject will be of universal Use. There is hardly
  any one Person without some Allay of it; and thousands besides my self
  spend more Time in an idle Uncertainty which to begin first of two
  Affairs, that would have been sufficient to have ended them both. The
  Occasion of this seems to be the Want of some necessary Employment, to
  put the Spirits in Motion, and awaken them out of their Lethargy. If I
  had less Leisure, I should have more; for I should then find my Time
  distinguished into Portions, some for Business, and others for the
  indulging of Pleasures: But now one Face of Indolence overspreads the
  whole, and I have no Land-mark to direct my self by. Were ones Time a
  little straitned by Business, like Water inclosed in its Banks, it
  would have some determined Course; but unless it be put into some
  Channel it has no Current, but becomes a Deluge without either Use or

  When Scanderbeg Prince of Epirus was dead, the Turks, who had but too
  often felt the Force of his Arm in the Battels he had won from them,
  imagined that by wearing a piece of his Bones near their Heart, they
  should be animated with a Vigour and Force like to that which inspired
  him when living. As I am like to be but of little use whilst I live, I
  am resolved to do what Good I can after my Decease; and have
  accordingly ordered my Bones to be disposed of in this Manner for the
  Good of my Countrymen, who are troubled with too exorbitant a Degree
  of Fire. All Fox-hunters upon wearing me, would in a short Time be
  brought to endure their Beds in a Morning, and perhaps even quit them
  with Regret at Ten: Instead of hurrying away to teaze a poor Animal,
  and run away from their own Thoughts, a Chair or a Chariot would be
  thought the most desirable Means of performing a Remove from one Place
  to another. I should be a Cure for the unnatural Desire of John Trott
  for Dancing, and a Specifick to lessen the Inclination Mrs. Fidget has
  to Motion, and cause her always to give her Approbation to the present
  Place she is in. In fine, no Egyptian Mummy was ever half so useful in
  Physick, as I should be to these feaverish Constitutions, to repress
  the violent Sallies of Youth, and give each Action its proper Weight
  and Repose.

  I can stifle any violent Inclination, and oppose a Torrent of Anger,
  or the Sollicitations of Revenge, with Success. But Indolence is a
  Stream which flows slowly on, but yet undermines the Foundation of
  every Virtue. A Vice of a more lively Nature were a more desirable
  Tyrant than this Rust of the Mind, which gives a Tincture of its
  Nature to every Action of ones Life. It were as little Hazard to be
  lost in a Storm, as to lye thus perpetually becalmed: And it is to no
  Purpose to have within one the Seeds of a thousand good Qualities, if
  we want the Vigour and Resolution necessary for the exerting them.
  Death brings all Persons back to an Equality; and this Image of it,
  this Slumber of the Mind, leaves no Difference between the greatest
  Genius and the meanest Understanding: A Faculty of doing things
  remarkably praise-worthy thus concealed, is of no more use to the
  Owner, than a Heap of Gold to the Man who dares not use it.

  To-Morrow is still the fatal Time when all is to be rectified:
  To-Morrow comes, it goes, and still I please my self with the Shadow,
  whilst I lose the Reality; unmindful that the present Time alone is
  ours, the future is yet unborn, and the past is dead, and can only
  live (as Parents in their Children) in the Actions it has produced.

  The Time we live ought not to be computed by the Numbers of Years,
  but by the Use has been made of it; thus tis not the Extent of
  Ground, but the yearly Rent which gives the Value to the Estate.
  Wretched and thoughtless Creatures, in the only Place where
  Covetousness were a Virtue we turn Prodigals! Nothing lies upon our
  Hands with such Uneasiness, nor has there been so many Devices for any
  one Thing, as to make it slide away imperceptibly and to no purpose. A
  Shilling shall be hoarded up with Care, whilst that which is above the
  Price of an Estate, is flung away with Disregard and Contempt. There
  is nothing now-a-days so much avoided, as a sollicitous Improvement of
  every part of Time; tis a Report must be shunned as one tenders the
  Name of a Wit and a fine Genius, and as one fears the Dreadful
  Character of a laborious Plodder: But notwithstanding this, the
  greatest Wits any Age has produced thought far otherwise; for who can
  think either Socrates or Demosthenes lost any Reputation, by their
  continual Pains both in overcoming the Defects and improving the Gifts
  of Nature. All are acquainted with the Labour and Assiduity with which
  Tully acquired his Eloquence.

  Seneca in his Letters to Lucelius[1] assures him, there was not a Day
  in which he did not either write something, or read and epitomize some
  good Author; and I remember Pliny in one of his Letters, where he
  gives an Account of the various Methods he used to fill up every
  Vacancy of Time, after several Imployments which he enumerates;
  sometimes, says he, I hunt; but even then I carry with me a
  Pocket-Book, that whilst my Servants are busied in disposing of the
  Nets and other Matters I may be employed in something that may be
  useful to me in my Studies; and that if I miss of my Game, I may at
  the least bring home some of my own Thoughts with me, and not have the
  Mortification of having caught nothing all Day.[2]

  Thus, Sir, you see how many Examples I recall to Mind, and what
  Arguments I use with my self, to regain my Liberty: But as I am afraid
  tis no Ordinary Perswasion that will be of Service, I shall expect
  your Thoughts on this Subject, with the greatest Impatience,
  especially since the Good will not be confined to me alone, but will
  be of Universal Use. For there is no Hopes of Amendment where Men are
  pleased with their Ruin, and whilst they think Laziness is a desirable
  Character: Whether it be that they like the State it self, or that
  they think it gives them a new Lustre when they do exert themselves,
  seemingly to be able to do that without Labour and Application, which
  others attain to but with the greatest Diligence.

  I am, SIR,
  Your most obliged humble Servant,
  Samuel Slack.

  Clytander to Cleone.

  Permission to love you is all I desire, to conquer all the
  Difficulties those about you place in my Way, to surmount and acquire
  all those Qualifications you expect in him who pretends to the Honour
  of being,

  Your most humble Servant,



[Footnote 1: Ep. 2.]

[Footnote 2: Ep. I. 6.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 317.              Tuesday, March 4, 1712                   Addison.

 --fruges consumere nati.


Augustus, a few Moments before his Death, asked his Friends who stood
about him, if they thought he had acted his Part well; and upon
receiving such an Answer as was due to his extraordinary Merit, _Let me
then, says he, go off the Stage with your Applause_; using the
Expression with which the Roman Actors made their _Exit_ at the
Conclusion of a Dramatick Piece. I could wish that Men, while they are
in Health, would consider well the Nature of the Part they are engaged
in, and what Figure it will make in the Minds of those they leave behind
them: Whether it was worth coming into the World for; whether it be
suitable to a reasonable Being; in short, whether it appears Graceful in
this Life, or will turn to an Advantage in the next. Let the Sycophant,
or Buffoon, the Satyrist, or the Good Companion, consider with himself,
when his Body shall be laid in the Grave, and his Soul pass into another
State of Existence, how much it will redound to his Praise to have it
said of him, that no Man in England eat better, that he had an admirable
Talent at turning his Friends into Ridicule, that no Body out-did him at
an Ill-natured Jest, or that he never went to Bed before he had
dispatched his third Bottle. These are, however, very common Funeral
Orations, and Elogiums on deceased Persons who have acted among Mankind
with some Figure and Reputation.

But if we look into the Bulk of our Species, they are such as are not
likely to be remembred a Moment after their Disappearance. They leave
behind them no Traces of their Existence, but are forgotten as tho they
had never been. They are neither wanted by the Poor, regretted by the
Rich, [n]or celebrated by the Learned. They are neither missed in the
Commonwealth, nor lamented by private Persons. Their Actions are of no
Significancy to Mankind, and might have been performed by Creatures of
much less Dignity, than those who are distinguished by the Faculty of
Reason. An eminent French Author speaks somewhere to the following
Purpose: I have often seen from my Chamber-window two noble Creatures,
both of them of an erect Countenance and endowed with Reason. These two
intellectual Beings are employed from Morning to Night, in rubbing two
smooth Stones one upon another; that is, as the Vulgar phrase it, in
polishing Marble.

My Friend, Sir ANDREW FREEPORT, as we were sitting in the Club last
Night, gave us an Account of a sober Citizen, who died a few Days since.
This honest Man being of greater Consequence in his own Thoughts, than
in the Eye of the World, had for some Years past kept a Journal of his
Life. Sir ANDREW shewed us one Week of it. [Since [1]] the Occurrences
set down in it mark out such a Road of Action as that I have been
speaking of, I shall present my Reader with a faithful Copy of it; after
having first inform'd him, that the Deceased Person had in his Youth
been bred to Trade, but finding himself not so well turned for Business,
he had for several Years last past lived altogether upon a moderate

  MONDAY, Eight-a-Clock. I put on my Cloaths and walked into the

  Nine a-Clock, ditto. Tied my Knee-strings, and washed my Hands.

  Hours Ten, Eleven and Twelve. Smoaked three Pipes of Virginia. Read
  the Supplement and Daily Courant. Things go ill in the North. Mr.
  Nisby's Opinion thereupon.

  One a-Clock in the Afternoon. Chid Ralph for mislaying my Tobacco-Box.

  Two a-Clock. Sate down to Dinner. Mem. Too many Plumbs, and no Sewet.

  From Three to Four. Took my Afternoons Nap.

  From Four to Six. Walked into the Fields. Wind, S. S. E.

  From Six to Ten. At the Club. Mr. Nisby's Opinion about the Peace.

  Ten a-Clock. Went to Bed, slept sound.

  TUESDAY, BEING HOLIDAY, Eight a-Clock. Rose as usual.

  Nine a-Clock. Washed Hands and Face, shaved, put on my double-soaled

  Ten, Eleven, Twelve. Took a Walk to Islington.

  One. Took a Pot of Mother Cobs Mild.

  Between Two and Three. Return'd, dined on a Knuckle of Veal and Bacon.
  Mem. Sprouts wanting.

  Three. Nap as usual.

  From Four to Six. Coffee-house. Read the News. A Dish of Twist. Grand
  Vizier strangled.

  From Six to Ten. At the Club. Mr. Nisby's Account of the Great Turk.

  Ten. Dream of the Grand Vizier. Broken Sleep.

  WEDNESDAY, Eight a-Clock. Tongue of my Shooe-Buckle broke. Hands but
  not Face.

  Nine. Paid off the Butchers Bill. Mem. To be allowed for the last Leg
  of Mutton.

  Ten, Eleven. At the Coffee-house. More Work in the North. Stranger in
  a black Wigg asked me how Stocks went.

  From Twelve to One. Walked in the Fields. Wind to the South.

  From One to Two. Smoaked a Pipe and an half.

  Two. Dined as usual. Stomach good.

  Three. Nap broke by the falling of a Pewter Dish. Mem. Cook-maid in
  Love, and grown careless.

  From Four to Six. At the Coffee-house. Advice from Smyrna, that the
  Grand Vizier was first of all strangled, and afterwards beheaded.

  Six a-Clock in the Evening. Was half an Hour in the Club before any
  Body else came. Mr. Nisby of Opinion that the Grand Vizier was not
  strangled the Sixth Instant.

  Ten at Night. Went to Bed. Slept without waking till Nine next

  THURSDAY, Nine a-Clock. Staid within till Two a-Clock for Sir Timothy;
  who did not bring me my Annuity according to his Promise.

  Two in the Afternoon. Sate down to Dinner. Loss of Appetite. Small
  Beer sour. Beef over-corned.

  Three. Could not take my Nap.

  Four and Five. Gave Ralph a box on the Ear. Turned off my Cookmaid.
  Sent a Message to Sir Timothy. Mem. I did not go to the Club to-night.
  Went to Bed at Nine a-Clock.

  FRIDAY, Passed the Morning in Meditation upon Sir Timothy, who was
  with me a Quarter before Twelve.

  Twelve a-Clock. Bought a new Head to my Cane, and a Tongue to my
  Buckle. Drank a Glass of Purl to recover Appetite.

  Two and Three. Dined, and Slept well.

  From Four to Six. Went to the Coffee-house. Met Mr. Nisby there.
  Smoaked several Pipes. Mr. Nisby of opinion that laced Coffee is bad
  for the Head.

  Six a-Clock. At the Club as Steward. Sate late.

  Twelve a-Clock. Went to Bed, dreamt that I drank Small Beer with the
  Grand Vizier.

  SATURDAY. Waked at Eleven, walked in the Fields. Wind N. E.

  Twelve. Caught in a Shower.

  One in the Afternoon. Returned home, and dryed my self.

  Two. Mr. Nisby dined with me. First Course Marrow-bones, Second
  Ox-Cheek, with a Bottle of Brooks and Hellier.

  Three a-Clock. Overslept my self.

  Six. Went to the Club. Like to have fal'n into a Gutter. Grand Vizier
  certainly Dead. etc.

I question not but the Reader will be surprized to find the
above-mentioned Journalist taking so much care of a Life that was filled
with such inconsiderable Actions, and received so very small
Improvements; and yet, if we look into the Behaviour of many whom we
daily converse with, we shall find that most of their Hours are taken up
in those three Important Articles of Eating, Drinking and Sleeping. I do
not suppose that a Man loses his Time, who is not engaged in publick
Affairs, or in an Illustrious Course of Action. On the Contrary, I
believe our Hours may very often be more profitably laid out in such
Transactions as make no Figure in the World, than in such as are apt to
draw upon them the Attention of Mankind. One may become wiser and better
by several Methods of Employing ones Self in Secrecy and Silence, and
do what is laudable without Noise, or Ostentation. I would, however,
recommend to every one of my Readers, the keeping a Journal of their
Lives for one Week, and setting down punctually their whole Series of
Employments during that Space of Time. This Kind of Self-Examination
would give them a true State of themselves, and incline them to consider
seriously what they are about. One Day would rectifie the Omissions of
another, and make a Man weigh all those indifferent Actions, which,
though they are easily forgotten, must certainly be accounted for.


[Footnote 1: [As]]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 318.              Wednesday, March 5, 1712.                 Steele.

  [--non omnia possumus omnes.

  Virg. [1]]


  A certain Vice which you have lately attacked, has not yet been
  considered by you as growing so deep in the Heart of Man, that the
  Affectation outlives the Practice of it. You must have observed that
  Men who have been bred in Arms preserve to the most extreme and feeble
  old Age a certain Daring in their Aspect: In like manner, they who
  have pass'd their Time in Gallantry and Adventure, keep up, as well as
  they can, the Appearance of it, and carry a petulant Inclination to
  their last Moments. Let this serve for a Preface to a Relation I am
  going to give you of an old Beau in Town, that has not only been
  amorous, and a Follower of Women in general, but also, in Spite of the
  Admonition of grey Hairs, been from his sixty-third Year to his
  present seventieth, in an actual Pursuit of a young Lady, the Wife of
  his Friend, and a Man of Merit. The gay old Escalus has Wit, good
  Health, and is perfectly well bred; but from the Fashion and Manners
  of the Court when he was in his Bloom, has such a natural Tendency to
  amorous Adventure, that he thought it would be an endless Reproach to
  him to make no use of a Familiarity he was allowed at a Gentleman's
  House, whose good Humour and Confidence exposed his Wife to the
  Addresses of any who should take it in their Head to do him the good
  Office. It is not impossible that Escalus might also resent that the
  Husband was particularly negligent of him; and tho he gave many
  Intimations of a Passion towards the Wife, the Husband either did not
  see them, or put him to the Contempt of over-looking them. In the mean
  time Isabella, for so we shall call our Heroine, saw his Passion, and
  rejoiced in it as a Foundation for much Diversion, and an Opportunity
  of indulging her self in the dear Delight of being admired, addressed
  to, and flattered, with no ill Consequence to her Reputation. This
  Lady is of a free and disengaged Behaviour, ever in good Humour, such
  as is the Image of Innocence with those who are innocent, and an
  Encouragement to Vice with those who are abandoned. From this Kind of
  Carriage, and an apparent Approbation of his Gallantry, Escalus had
  frequent Opportunities of laying amorous Epistles in her Way, of
  fixing his Eyes attentively upon her Action, of performing a thousand
  little Offices which are neglected by the Unconcerned, but are so many
  Approaches towards Happiness with the Enamoured. It was now, as is
  above hinted, almost the End of the seventh Year of his Passion, when
  Escalus from general Terms, and the ambiguous Respect which criminal
  Lovers retain in their Addresses, began to bewail that his Passion
  grew too violent for him to answer any longer for his Behaviour
  towards her; and that he hoped she would have Consideration for his
  long and patient Respect, to excuse the Motions of a Heart now no
  longer under the Direction of the unhappy Owner of it. Such for some
  Months had been the Language of Escalus both in his Talk and his
  Letters to Isabella; who returned all the Profusion of kind Things
  which had been the Collection of fifty Years with I must not hear you;
  you will make me forget that you are a Gentleman, I would not
  willingly lose you as a Friend; and the like Expressions, which the
  Skilful interpret to their own Advantage, as well knowing that a
  feeble Denial is a modest Assent. I should have told you, that
  Isabella, during the whole Progress of this Amour, communicated it to
  her Husband; and that an Account of Escalus's Love was their usual
  Entertainment after half a Days Absence: Isabella therefore, upon her
  Lovers late more open Assaults, with a Smile told her Husband she
  could hold out no longer, but that his Fate was now come to a Crisis.
  After she had explained her self a little farther, with her Husbands
  Approbation she proceeded in the following Manner. The next Time that
  Escalus was alone with her, and repeated his Importunity, the crafty
  Isabella looked on her Fan with an Air of great Attention, as
  considering of what Importance such a Secret was to her; and upon the
  Repetition of a warm Expression, she looked at him with an Eye of
  Fondness, and told him he was past that Time of Life which could make
  her fear he would boast of a Lady's Favour; then turned away her Head
  with a very well-acted Confusion, which favoured the Escape of the
  aged Escalus. This Adventure was Matter of great Pleasantry to
  Isabella and her Spouse; and they had enjoyed it two Days before
  Escalus could recollect himself enough to form the following Letter.


    "What happened the other Day, gives me a lively Image of the
    Inconsistency of human Passions and Inclinations. We pursue what we
    are denied, and place our Affections on what is absent, tho we
    neglected it when present. As long as you refused my Love, your
    Refusal did so strongly excite my Passion, that I had not once the
    Leisure to think of recalling my Reason to aid me against the Design
    upon your Virtue. But when that Virtue began to comply in my Favour,
    my Reason made an Effort over my Love, and let me see the Baseness
    of my Behaviour in attempting a Woman of Honour. I own to you, it
    was not without the most violent Struggle that I gained this Victory
    over my self; nay, I will confess my Shame, and acknowledge I could
    not have prevailed but by Flight. However, Madam, I beg that you
    will believe a Moments Weakness has not destroyed the Esteem I had
    for you, which was confirmed by so many Years of Obstinate Virtue.
    You have Reason to rejoice that this did not happen within the
    Observation of one of the young Fellows, who would have exposed your
    Weakness, and gloried in his own Brutish Inclinations.
    I am, Madam,
    Your most devoted Humble Servant."

  Isabella, with the Help of her Husband, returned the following Answer.


    "I cannot but account my self a very happy Woman, in having a Man
    for a Lover that can write so well, and give so good a Turn to a
    Disappointment. Another Excellence you have above all other
    Pretenders I ever heard of; on Occasions where the most reasonable
    Men lose all their Reason, you have yours most powerful. We are each
    of us to thank our Genius, that the Passion of one abated in
    Proportion as that of the other grew violent. Does it not yet come
    into your Head, to imagine that I knew my Compliance was the
    greatest Cruelty I could be guilty of towards you? In Return for
    your long and faithful Passion, I must let you know that you are old
    enough to become a little more Gravity; but if you will leave me and
    coquet it any where else, may your Mistress yield.



[Footnote 1:

  Rideat et pulset Lasciva decentius AEtas.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 319.             Thursday, March 6, 1712.                  Budgell.

  Quo teneam vultus mutantem Protea nodo?


I have endeavoured, in the Course of my Papers, to do Justice to the
Age, and have taken care as much as possible to keep my self a Neuter
between both Sexes. I have neither spared the Ladies out of
Complaisance, nor the Men out of Partiality; but notwithstanding the
great Integrity with which I have acted in this Particular, I find my
self taxed with an Inclination to favour my own half of the Species.
Whether it be that the Women afford a more fruitful Field for
Speculation, or whether they run more in my Head than the Men, I cannot
tell, but I shall set down the Charge as it is laid against me in the
following Letter.


  I always make one among a Company of young Females, who peruse your
  Speculations every Morning. I am at present Commissioned, by our whole
  Assembly, to let you know, that we fear you are a little enclined to
  be partial towards your own Sex. We must however acknowledge, with all
  due Gratitude, that in some Cases you have given us our Revenge on the
  Men, and done us Justice. We could not easily have forgiven you
  several Strokes in the Dissection of the Coquets Heart, if you had
  not, much about the same time, made a Sacrifice to us of a Beaus

  You may, however, Sir, please to remember, that long since you
  attacked our Hoods and Commodes in such manner, as, to use your own
  Expression, made very many of us ashamed to shew our Heads. We must,
  therefore, beg leave to represent to you, that we are in Hopes, if you
  would please to make a due Enquiry, the Men in all Ages would be found
  to have been little less whimsical in adorning that Part, than our
  selves. The different Forms of their Wiggs, together with the various
  Cocks of their Hats, all flatter us in this Opinion.

  I had an humble Servant last Summer, who the first time he declared
  himself, was in a Full-Bottom'd Wigg; but the Day after, to my no
  small Surprize, he accosted me in a thin Natural one. I received him,
  at this our second Interview, as a perfect Stranger, but was extreamly
  confounded, when his Speech discovered who he was. I resolved,
  therefore, to fix his Face in my Memory for the future; but as I was
  walking in the Park the same Evening, he appeared to me in one of
  those Wiggs that I think you call a Night-cap, which had altered him
  more effectually than before. He afterwards played a Couple of Black
  Riding Wiggs upon me, with the same Success; and, in short, assumed a
  new Face almost every Day in the first Month of his Courtship.

  I observed afterwards, that the Variety of Cocks into which he
  moulded his Hat, had not a little contributed to his Impositions upon

  Yet, as if all these ways were not sufficient to distinguish their
  Heads, you must, doubtless, Sir, have observed, that great Numbers of
  young Fellows have, for several Months last past, taken upon them to
  wear Feathers.

  We hope, therefore, that these may, with as much Justice, be called
  Indian Princes, as you have styled a Woman in a coloured Hood an
  Indian Queen; and that you will, in due time, take these airy
  Gentlemen into Consideration.

  We the more earnestly beg that you would put a Stop to this Practice,
  since it has already lost us one of the most agreeable Members of our
  Society, who after having refused several good Estates, and two
  Titles, was lured from us last Week by a mixed Feather.

  I am ordered to present you the Respects of our whole Company, and
  am, SIR,
  Your very humble Servant,

  Note, The Person wearing the Feather, tho our Friend took him for an
  Officer in the Guards, has proved to be [an arrant Linnen-Draper. [1]]

I am not now at leisure to give my Opinion upon the Hat and Feather;
however to wipe off the present Imputation, and gratifie my Female
Correspondent, I shall here print a Letter which I lately received from
a Man of Mode, who seems to have a very extraordinary Genius in his way.

  I presume I need not inform you, that among Men of Dress it is a
  common Phrase to say Mr. Such an one has struck a bold Stroke; by
  which we understand, that he is the first Man who has had Courage
  enough to lead up a Fashion. Accordingly, when our Taylors take
  Measure of us, they always demand whether we will have a plain Suit,
  or strike a bold Stroke. 1 think I may without Vanity say, that I have
  struck some of the boldest and most successful Strokes of any Man in
  Great Britain. I was the first that struck the Long Pocket about two
  Years since: I was likewise the Author of the Frosted Button, which
  when I saw the Town came readily into, being resolved to strike while
  the Iron was hot, I produced much about the same time the Scallop
  Flap, the knotted Cravat, and made a fair Push for the Silver-clocked

  A few Months after I brought up the modish Jacket, or the Coat with
  close Sleeves. I struck this at first in a plain Doily; but that
  failing, I struck it a second time in blue Camlet; and repeated the
  Stroke in several kinds of Cloth, till at last it took effect. There
  are two or three young Fellows at the other End of the Town, who have
  always their Eye upon me, and answer me Stroke for Stroke. I was once
  so unwary as to mention my Fancy in relation to the new-fashioned
  Surtout before one of these Gentlemen, who was disingenuous enough to
  steal my Thought, and by that means prevented my intended Stroke.

  I have a Design this Spring to make very considerable Innovations in
  the Wastcoat, and have already begun with a Coup dessai upon the
  Sleeves, which has succeeded very well.

  I must further inform you, if you will promise to encourage or at
  least to connive at me, that it is my Design to strike such a Stroke
  the Beginning of the next Month, as shall surprise the whole Town.

  I do not think it prudent to acquaint you with all the Particulars of
  my intended Dress; but will only tell you, as a Sample of it, that I
  shall very speedily appear at Whites in a Cherry-coloured Hat. I took
  this Hint from the Ladies Hoods, which I look upon as the boldest
  Stroke that Sex has struck for these hundred Years last past.

  I am, SIR,

  Your most Obedient, most Humble Servant,

  Will. Sprightly.

[I have not Time at present to make any Reflections on this Letter, but
must not however omit that having shewn it to WILL. HONEYCOMB, he
desires to be acquainted with the Gentleman who writ it.]


[Footnote 1: only an Ensign in the Train Bands.]

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 320.              Friday, March 7, 1712.                     Steele.

  [--non pronuba Juno,
  Non Hymenaeus adest, non illi Gratia lecto,
  Eumenides stravere torum.

  Ovid. [1]]


  You have given many Hints in your Papers to the Disadvantage of
  Persons of your own Sex, who lay Plots upon Women. Among other hard
  Words you have published the Term Male-Coquets, and been very severe
  upon such as give themselves the Liberty of a little Dalliance of
  Heart, and playing fast and loose, between Love and Indifference, till
  perhaps an easie young Girl is reduced to Sighs, Dreams and Tears; and
  languishes away her Life for a careless Coxcomb, who looks astonished,
  and wonders at such an Effect from what in him was all but common
  Civility. Thus you have treated the Men who are irresolute in
  Marriage; but if you design to be impartial, pray be so honest as to
  print the Information I now give you, of a certain Set of Women who
  never Coquet for the Matter, but with an high Hand marry whom they
  please to whom they please. As for my Part, I should not have
  concerned my self with them, but that I understand I am pitched upon
  by them, to be married, against my Will, to one I never saw in my
  Life. It has been my Misfortune, Sir, very innocently, to rejoice in a
  plentiful Fortune, of which I am Master, to bespeak a fine Chariot, to
  give Direction for two or three handsome Snuff-Boxes, and as many
  Suits of fine Cloaths; but before any of these were ready, I heard
  Reports of my being to be married to two or three different young
  Women. Upon my taking Notice of it to a young Gentleman who is often
  in my Company he told me smiling, I was in the Inquisition. You may
  believe I was not a little startled at what he meant, and more so when
  he asked me if I had bespoke any thing of late that was fine. I told
  him several; upon which he produced a Description of my Person from
  the Tradesmen whom I had employed, and told me that they had certainly
  informed against me. Mr. SPECTATOR, Whatever the World may think of
  me, I am more Coxcomb than Fool, and I grew very inquisitive upon this
  Head, not a little pleased with the Novelty. My Friend told me there
  were a certain Set of Women of Fashion whereof the Number of Six made
  a Committee, who sat thrice a Week, under the Title of the Inquisition
  on Maids and Batchelors. It seems, whenever there comes such an
  unthinking gay Thing as my self to Town, he must want all Manner of
  Necessaries, or be put into the Inquisition by the first Tradesman he
  employs. They have constant Intelligence with Cane-Shops, Perfumers,
  Toymen, Coach-makers, and China-houses. From these several Places,
  these Undertakers for Marriages have as constant and regular
  Correspondence, as the Funeral-men have with Vintners and
  Apothecaries. All Batchelors are under their immediate Inspection, and
  my Friend produced to me a Report given into their Board, wherein an
  old Unkle of mine, who came to Town with me, and my self, were
  inserted, and we stood thus; the Unkle smoaky, rotten, poor; the
  Nephew raw, but no Fool, sound at present, very rich. My Information
  did not end here, but my Friends Advices are so good, that he could
  shew me a Copy of the Letter sent to the young Lady who is to have me
  which I enclose to you.

    This is to let you know, that you are to be Married to a Beau that
    comes out on Thursday Six in the Evening. Be at the Park. You cannot
    but know a Virgin Fop; they have a Mind to look saucy, but are out
    of Countenance. The Board has denied him to several good Families. I
    wish you Joy.

What makes my Correspondents Case the more deplorable, is, that as I
find by the Report from my Censor of Marriages, the Friend he speaks of
is employed by the Inquisition to take him in, as the Phrase is. After
all that is told him, he has Information only of one Woman that is laid
for him, and that the wrong one; for the Lady-Commissioners have devoted
him to another than the Person against whom they have employed their
Agent his Friend to alarm him. The Plot is laid so well about this young
Gentleman, that he has no Friend to retire to, no Place to appear in, or
Part of the Kingdom to fly into, but he must fall into the Notice, and
be subject to the Power of the Inquisition. They have their Emissaries
and Substitutes in all Parts of this united Kingdom. The first Step they
usually take, is to find from a Correspondence, by their Messengers and
Whisperers with some Domestick of the Batchelor (who is to be hunted
into the Toils they have laid for him) what are his Manners, his
Familiarities, his good Qualities or Vices; not as the Good in him is a
Recommendation, or the ill a Diminution, but as they affect or
contribute to the main Enquiry, What Estate he has in him? When this
Point is well reported to the Board, they can take in a wild roaring
Fox-hunter, as easily as a soft, gentle young Fop of the Town. The Way
is to make all Places uneasie to him, but the Scenes in which they have
allotted him to act. His Brother Huntsmen, Bottle Companions, his
Fraternity of Fops, shall be brought into the Conspiracy against him.
Then this Matter is not laid in so bare-faced a Manner before him, as to
have it intimated Mrs. Such-a-one would make him a very proper Wife; but
by the Force of their Correspondence they shall make it (as Mr. Waller
said of the Marriage of the Dwarfs) as impracticable to have any Woman
besides her they design him, as it would have been in Adam to have
refused Eve. The Man named by the Commission for Mrs. Such-a-one, shall
neither be in Fashion, nor dare ever to appear in Company, should he
attempt to evade their Determination.

The Female Sex wholly govern domestick Life; and by this Means, when
they think fit, they can sow Dissentions between the dearest Friends,
nay make Father and Son irreconcilable Enemies, in spite of all the Ties
of Gratitude on one Part, and the Duty of Protection to be paid on the
other. The Ladies of the Inquisition understand this perfectly well; and
where Love is not a Motive to a Man's chusing one whom they allot, they
can, with very much Art, insinuate Stories to the Disadvantage of his
Honesty or Courage, till the Creature is too much dispirited to bear up
against a general ill Reception, which he every where meets with, and in
due time falls into their appointed Wedlock for Shelter. I have a long
Letter bearing Date the fourth Instant, which gives me a large Account
of the Policies of this Court; and find there is now before them a very
refractory Person who has escaped all their Machinations for two Years
last past: But they have prevented two successive Matches which were of
his own Inclination, the one, by a Report that his Mistress was to be
married, and the very Day appointed, Wedding-Clothes bought, and all
things ready for her being given to another; the second time, by
insinuating to all his Mistresss Friends and Acquaintance, that he had
been false to several other Women, and the like. The poor Man is now
reduced to profess he designs to lead a single Life; but the Inquisition
gives out to all his Acquaintance, that nothing is intended but the
Gentleman's own Welfare and Happiness. When this is urged, he talks
still more humbly, and protests he aims only at a Life without Pain or
Reproach; Pleasure, Honour or Riches, are things for which he has no
taste. But notwithstanding all this and what else he may defend himself
with, as that the Lady is too old or too young, of a suitable Humour, or
the quite contrary, and that it is impossible they can ever do other
than wrangle from June to January, Every Body tells him all this is
Spleen, and he must have a Wife; while all the Members of the
Inquisition are unanimous in a certain Woman for him, and they think
they all together are better able to judge, than he or any other private
Person whatsoever.

  Temple, March 3, 1711.

  Your Speculation this Day on the Subject of Idleness, has employed me,
  ever since I read it, in sorrowful Reflections on my having loitered
  away the Term (or rather the Vacation) of ten Years in this Place, and
  unhappily suffered a good Chamber and Study to lie idle as long. My
  Books (except those I have taken to sleep upon) have been totally
  neglected, and my Lord Coke and other venerable Authors were never so
  slighted in their Lives. I spent most of the Day at a Neighbouring
  Coffee-House, where we have what I may call a lazy Club. We generally
  come in Night-Gowns, with our Stockings about our Heels, and sometimes
  but one on. Our Salutation at Entrance is a Yawn and a Stretch, and
  then without more Ceremony we take our Place at the Lolling Table;
  where our Discourse is, what I fear you would not read out, therefore
  shall not insert. But I assure you, Sir, I heartily lament this Loss
  of Time, and am now resolved (if possible, with double Diligence) to
  retrieve it, being effectually awakened by the Arguments of Mr. Slack
  out of the Senseless Stupidity that has so long possessed me. And to
  demonstrate that Penitence accompanies my Confession, and Constancy my
  Resolutions, I have locked my Door for a Year, and desire you would
  let my Companions know I am not within. I am with great Respect,

  SIR, Your most obedient Servant,

  N. B.


[Footnote 1:

  Hae sunt qui tenui sudant in Cyclade.


 *       *       *       *       *

No. 321.[1]          Saturday, March 8, 1712.                  Addison.

  Nec satis est pulchra esse poemata, dulcia sunto.


Those, who know how many Volumes have been written on the Poems of Homer
and Virgil, will easily pardon the Length of my Discourse upon Milton.
The Paradise Lost is looked upon, by the best Judges, as the greatest
Production, or at least the noblest Work of Genius in our Language, and
therefore deserves to be set before an English Reader in its full
Beauty. For this Reason, tho I have endeavoured to give a general Idea
of its Graces and Imperfections in my Six First Papers, I thought my
self obliged to bestow one upon every Book in particular. The Three
first Books I have already dispatched, and am now entering upon the
Fourth. I need not acquaint my Reader that there are Multitudes of
Beauties in this great Author, especially in the Descriptive Parts of
his Poem, which I have not touched upon, it being my Intention to point
out those only, which appear to me the most exquisite, or those which
are not so obvious to ordinary Readers. Every one that has read the
Criticks who have written upon the Odyssey, the Iliad and the Aeneid,
knows very well, that though they agree in their Opinions of the great
Beauties in those Poems, they have nevertheless each of them discovered
several Master-Strokes, which have escaped the Observation of the rest.
In the same manner, I question not, but any Writer who shall treat of
this Subject after me, may find several Beauties in Milton, which I have
not taken notice of. I must likewise observe, that as the greatest
Masters of Critical Learning differ among one another, as to some
particular Points in an Epic Poem, I have not bound my self scrupulously
to the Rules which any one of them has laid down upon that Art, but have
taken the Liberty sometimes to join with one, and sometimes with
another, and sometimes to differ from all of them, when I have thought
that the Reason of the thing was on my side.

We may consider the Beauties of the Fourth Book under three Heads. In
the first are those Pictures of Still-Life, which we meet with in the
Description of Eden, Paradise, Adams Bower, &c. In the next are the
Machines, which comprehend the Speeches and Behaviour of the good and
bad Angels. In the last is the Conduct of Adam and Eve, who are the
Principal Actors in the Poem.

In the Description of Paradise, the Poet has observed Aristotle's Rule
of lavishing all the Ornaments of Diction on the weak unactive Parts of
the Fable, which are not supported by the Beauty of Sentiments and
Characters. [2] Accordingly the Reader may observe, that the Expressions
are more florid and elaborate in these Descriptions, than in most other
Parts of the Poem. I must further add, that tho the Drawings of
Gardens, Rivers, Rainbows, and the like dead Pieces of Nature, are
justly censured in an Heroic Poem, when they run out into an unnecessary
length; the Description of Paradise would have been faulty, had not the
Poet been very particular in it, not only as it is the Scene of the
Principal Action, but as it is requisite to give us an Idea of that
Happiness from which our first Parents fell. The Plan of it is
wonderfully Beautiful, and formed upon the short Sketch which we have of
it in Holy Writ. Milton's Exuberance of Imagination has poured forth
such a Redundancy of Ornaments on this Seat of Happiness and Innocence,
that it would be endless to point out each Particular.

I must not quit this Head, without further observing, that there is
scarce a Speech of Adam or Eve in the whole Poem, wherein the Sentiments
and Allusions are not taken from this their delightful Habitation. The
Reader, during their whole Course of Action, always finds himself in the
Walks of Paradise. In short, as the Criticks have remarked, that in
those Poems, wherein Shepherds are Actors, the Thoughts ought always to
take a Tincture from the Woods, Fields and Rivers, so we may observe,
that our first Parents seldom lose Sight of their happy Station in any
thing they speak or do; and, if the Reader will give me leave to use the
Expression, that their Thoughts are always Paradisiacal.

We are in the next place to consider the Machines of the Fourth Book.
Satan being now within Prospect of Eden, and looking round upon the
Glories of the Creation, is filled with Sentiments different from those
which he discovered whilst he was in Hell. The Place inspires him with
Thoughts more adapted to it: He reflects upon the happy Condition from
which he fell, and breaks forth into a Speech that is softned with
several transient Touches of Remorse and Self-accusation: But at length
he confirms himself in Impenitence, and in his Design of drawing Man
into his own State of Guilt and Misery. This Conflict of Passions is
raised with a great deal of Art, as the opening of his Speech to the Sun
is very bold and noble.

  O thou that with surpassing Glory crown'd,
  Look'st from thy sole Dominion like the God
  Of this new World; at whose Sight all the Stars
  Hide their diminish'd Heads; to thee I call,
  But with no friendly Voice, and add thy name,
  O Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
  That bring to my Remembrance from what State
  I fell, how glorious once above thy Sphere.

This Speech is, I think, the finest that is ascribed to Satan in the
whole Poem. The Evil Spirit afterwards proceeds to make his Discoveries
concerning our first Parents, and to learn after what manner they may be
best attacked. His bounding over the Walls of Paradise; his sitting in
the Shape of a Cormorant upon the Tree of Life, which stood in the
Center of it, and overtopped all the other Trees of the Garden, his
alighting among the Herd of Animals, which are so beautifully
represented as playing about Adam and Eve, together with his
transforming himself into different Shapes, in order to hear their
Conversation, are Circumstances that give an agreeable Surprize to the
Reader, and are devised with great Art, to connect that Series of
Adventures in which the Poet has engaged [this [3]] Artificer of Fraud.

The Thought of Satan's Transformation into a Cormorant, and placing
himself on the Tree of Life, seems raised upon that Passage in the
Iliad, where two Deities are described, as perching on the Top of an Oak
in the shape of Vulturs.

His planting himself at the Ear of Eve under the [form [4]] of a Toad,
in order to produce vain Dreams and Imaginations, is a Circumstance of
the same Nature; as his starting up in his own Form is wonderfully fine,
both in the Literal Description, and in the Moral which is concealed
under it. His Answer upon his being discovered, and demanded to give an
Account of himself, [is [5]] conformable to the Pride and Intrepidity of
his Character.

  Know ye not then, said Satan, fill'd with Scorn,
  Know ye not Me? ye knew me once no mate
  For you, there sitting where you durst not soar;
  Not to know Me argues your selves unknown,
  The lowest of your throng;--

Zephon's Rebuke, with the Influence it had on Satan, is exquisitely
Graceful and Moral. Satan is afterwards led away to Gabriel, the chief
of the Guardian Angels, who kept watch in Paradise. His disdainful
Behaviour on this Occasion is so remarkable a Beauty, that the most
ordinary Reader cannot but take Notice of it. Gabriel's discovering his
Approach at a Distance, is drawn with great strength and liveliness of

  O Friends, I hear the tread of nimble Feet
  Hasting this Way, and now by glimps discern
  Ithuriel and Zephon through the shade;
  And with them comes a third of Regal Port,
  But faded splendor wan; who by his gait
  And fierce demeanor seems the Prince of Hell;
  Not likely to part hence without contest:
  Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours.

The Conference between Gabriel and Satan abounds with Sentiments proper
for the Occasion, and suitable to the Persons of the two Speakers. Satan
cloathing himself with Terror when he prepares for the Combat is truly
sublime, and at least equal to Homers Description of Discord celebrated
by Longinus, or to that of Fame in Virgil, who are both represented with
their Feet standing upon the Earth, and their Heads reaching above the

  While thus he spake, th' Angelic Squadron bright
  Turn'd fiery red, sharpning in mooned Horns
  Their Phalanx, and began to hem him round
  With ported Spears, &c.

 --On the other side Satan alarm'd,
  Collecting all his might dilated stood
  Like Teneriff, or Atlas, unremov'd.
  His Stature reached the Sky, and on his Crest
  Sat horror plum'd;--

I must here take [notice, [6]] that Milton is every where full of Hints
and sometimes literal Translations, taken from the greatest of the Greek
and Latin Poets. But this I may reserve for a Discourse by it self,
because I would not break the Thread of these Speculations, that are
designed for English Readers, with such Reflections as would be of no
use but to the Learned.

I must however observe in this Place, that the breaking off the Combat
between Gabriel and Satan, by the hanging out of the Golden Scales in
Heaven, is a Refinement upon Homers Thought, who tells us, that before
the Battle between Hector and Achilles, Jupiter weighed the Event of it
in a pair of Scales. The Reader may see the whole Passage in the 22nd

Virgil, before the last decisive Combat, describes Jupiter in the same
manner, as weighing the Fates of Turnus and AEneas. Milton, though he
fetched this beautiful Circumstance from the Iliad and AEneid, does not
only insert it as a Poetical Embellishment, like the Authors
above-mentioned; but makes an artful use of it for the proper carrying
on of his Fable, and for the breaking off the Combat between the two
Warriors, who were upon the point of engaging. [To this we may further
add, that Milton is the more justified in this Passage, as we find the
same noble Allegory in Holy Writ, where a wicked Prince, some few Hours
before he was assaulted and slain, is said to have been weighed in the
Scales, and to have been found wanting.]

I must here take Notice under the Head of the Machines, that Uriel's
gliding down to the Earth upon a Sunbeam, with the Poets Device to make
him descend, as well in his return to the Sun, as in his coming from it,
is a Prettiness that might have been admired in a little fanciful Poet,
but seems below the Genius of Milton. The Description of the Host of
armed Angels walking their nightly Round in Paradise, is of another

  So saying, on he led his radiant files,
  Dazling the Moon;--

as that Account of the Hymns which our first Parents used to hear them
sing in these their Midnight Walks, is altogether Divine, and
inexpressibly amusing to the Imagination.

We are, in the last place, to consider the Parts which Adam and Eve act
in the Fourth Book. The Description of them as they first appeared to
Satan, is exquisitely drawn, and sufficient to make the fallen Angel
gaze upon them with all that Astonishment, and those Emotions of Envy,
in which he is represented.

  Two of far nobler Shape erect and tall,
  God-like erect! with native honour clad
  In naked Majesty, seem'd lords of all;
  And worthy seem'd: for in their looks divine
  The image of their glorious Maker shon,
  Truth, Wisdom, Sanctitude severe and pure;
  Severe, but in true filial freedom plac'd:
  For contemplation he and valour form'd,
  For softness she and sweet attractive grace;
  He for God only, she for God in him.
  His fair large front, and eye sublime, declar'd
  Absolute rule; and Hyacinthin Locks
  Round from his parted forelock manly hung
  Clustring, but not beneath his Shoulders broad.
  She, as a Veil, down to her slender waste
  Her unadorned golden tresses wore
  Dis-shevel'd, but in wanton ringlets wav'd.
  So pass'd they naked on, nor shun'd the Sight
  Of God or Angel, for they thought no ill:
  So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair
  That ever since in loves embraces met.

There is a fine Spirit of Poetry in the Lines which follow, wherein they
are described as sitting on a Bed of Flowers by the side of a Fountain,
amidst a mixed Assembly of Animals.

The Speeches of these two first Lovers flow equally from Passion and
Sincerity. The Professions they make to one another are full of Warmth:
but at the same time founded on Truth. In a Word, they are the
Gallantries of Paradise:

 --When Adam first of Men--
  Sole partner and sole part of all these joys,
  Dearer thy self than all;--
  But let us ever praise him, and extol
  His bounty, following our delightful Task,
  To prune these growing plants, and tend these flowrs;
  Which were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet.

  To whom thus Eve reply'd. O thou for whom,
  And from whom I was form'd, flesh of thy flesh,
  And without whom am to no end, my Guide
  And Head, what thou hast said is just and right.
  For we to him indeed all praises owe.
  And daily thanks; I chiefly, who enjoy
  So far the happier Lot, enjoying thee
  Preeminent by so much odds, while thou
  Like consort to thy self canst no where find, &c.

The remaining part of Eves Speech, in which she gives an Account of her
self upon her first Creation, and the manner in which she was brought to
Adam, is I think as beautiful a Passage as any in Milton, or perhaps in
any other Poet whatsoever. These Passages are all worked off with so
much Art, that they are capable of pleasing the most delicate Reader,
without offending the most severe.

  That Day I oft remember, when from Sleep, &c.

A Poet of less Judgment and Invention than this great Author, would have
found it very difficult to have filled [these [7]] tender Parts of the
Poem with Sentiments proper for a State of Innocence; to have described
the Warmth of Love, and the Professions of it, without Artifice or
Hyperbole: to have made the Man speak the most endearing things, without
descending from his natural Dignity, and the Woman receiving them
without departing from the Modesty of her Character; in a Word, to
adjust the Prerogatives of Wisdom and Beauty, and make each appear to
the other in its proper Force and Loveliness. This mutual Subordination
of the two Sexes is wonderfully kept up in the whole Poem, as
particularly in the Speech of Eve I have before mentioned, and upon the
Conclusion of it in the following Lines.

  So spake our general Mother, and with eyes
  Of Conjugal attraction unreproved,
  And meek surrender, half embracing lean'd
  On our first father; half her swelling breast
  Naked met his under the flowing Gold
  Of her loose tresses hid: he in delight
  Both of her beauty and submissive charms
  Smil'd with superior Love.--

The Poet adds, that the Devil turned away with Envy at the sight of so
much Happiness.

We have another View of our first Parents in their Evening Discourses,
which is full of pleasing Images and Sentiments suitable to their
Condition and Characters. The Speech of Eve, in particular, is dressed
up in such a soft and natural Turn of Words and Sentiments, as cannot be
sufficiently admired.

I shall close my Reflections upon this Book, with observing the Masterly
Transition which the Poet makes to their Evening Worship in the
following Lines.

  Thus at their shady Lodge arriv'd, both stood,
  Both turn'd, and under open Sky, ador'd
  The God that made both [Sky,] Air, Earth and Heaven,
  Which they beheld, the Moons resplendent Globe,
  And Starry Pole: Thou also madst the Night,
  Maker Omnipotent, and thou the Day, &c.

Most of the Modern Heroick Poets have imitated the Ancients, in
beginning a Speech without premising, that the Person said thus or thus;
but as it is easie to imitate the Ancients in the Omission of two or
three Words, it requires Judgment to do it in such a manner as they
shall not be missed, and that the Speech may begin naturally without
them. There is a fine Instance of this Kind out of Homer, in the Twenty
Third Chapter of Longinus.


[Footnote 1: From this date to the end of the series the Saturday papers
upon Milton exceed the usual length of a Spectator essay. That they may
not occupy more than the single leaf of the original issue, they are
printed in smaller type; the columns also, when necessary, encroach on
the bottom margin of the paper, and there are few advertisements

[Footnote 2: At the end of the third Book of the Poetics.

  The diction should be most laboured in the idle parts of the poem;
  those in which neither manners nor sentiments prevail; for the manners
  and the sentiments are only obscured by too splendid a diction.]

[Footnote 3: [this great]]

[Footnote 4: [shape]]

[Footnote 5: [are]]

[Footnote 6: notice by the way]

[Footnote 7: [those]]

*       *       *       *       *



The Author of the Spectator having prefixed before each of his Volumes
the Name of some great Person to whom he has particular Obligations,
lays his Claim to your Lordships Patronage upon the same Account. I
must confess, my Lord, had not I already received great Instances of
your Favour, I should have been afraid of submitting a Work of this
Nature to your Perusal. You are so thoroughly acquainted with the
Characters of Men, and all the Parts of human Life, that it is
impossible for the least Misrepresentation of them to escape your
Notice. It is Your Lordships particular Distinction that you are Master
of the whole Compass of Business, and have signalized Your Self in all
the different Scenes of it. We admire some for the Dignity, others for
the Popularity of their Behaviour; some for their Clearness of Judgment,
others for their Happiness of Expression; some for the laying of
Schemes, and others for the putting of them in Execution: It is Your
Lordship only who enjoys these several Talents united, and that too in
as great Perfection as others possess them singly. Your Enemies
acknowledge this great Extent in your Lordships Character, at the same
time that they use their utmost Industry and Invention to derogate from
it. But it is for Your Honour that those who are now Your Enemies were
always so. You have acted in so much Consistency with Your Self, and
promoted the Interests of your Country in so uniform a Manner, that even
those who would misrepresent your Generous Designs for the Publick Good,
cannot but approve the Steadiness and Intrepidity with which You pursue
them. It is a most sensible Pleasure to me that I have this Opportunity
of professing my self one of your great Admirers, and, in a very
particular Manner,

Your Lordships
Most Obliged,
And most Obedient,
Humble Servant,

[Footnote 1: This is the Thomas, Earl of Wharton, who in 1708 became
Lord-lieutenant of Ireland, and took Addison for his Chief Secretary. He
was the son of Philip, Baron Wharton, a firm Presbyterian, sometimes
called the good Lord Wharton, to distinguish him from his son and
grandson. Philip Wharton had been an opponent of Stuart encroachments, a
friend of Algernon Sidney, and one of the first men to welcome William
III. to England. He died, very old, in 1694. His son Thomas did not
inherit the religious temper of his father, and even a dedication could
hardly have ventured to compliment him on his private morals. But he was
an active politician, was with his father in the secret of the landing
of the Prince of Orange, and was made by William Comptroller of the
Household. Thwarted in his desire to become a Secretary of State, he
made himself formidable as a bold, sarcastic speaker and by the strength
of his parliamentary interest. He is said to have returned at one time
thirty members, and to have spent eighty thousand pounds upon the
maintenance of his political position. He was apt, by his manners, to
make friends of the young men of influence. He spent money freely also
on the turf, and upon his seat of Winchenden, in Wilts. Queen Anne, on
her accession, struck his name with her own hand from the list of Privy
Councillors, but he won his way not only to restoration of that rank,
but also in December, 1706, at the age of 67, to his title of Viscount
Winchendon and Earl of Wharton. In November, 1708, he became
Lord-lieutenant of Ireland, with Addison for secretary. He took over
with him also Clayton the musician, and kept a gay court, easily
accessible, except to Roman Catholics, whom he would not admit to his
presence, and against whom he enforced the utmost rigour of the penal
code. He had himself conformed to the Church of England. Swift accused
him, as Lord-lieutenant, of shameless depravity of manners, of
injustice, greed, and gross venality. This Lord Wharton died in 1715,
and was succeeded by his son Philip, whom George I., in 1718, made Duke
of Wharton for his fathers vigorous support of the Hanoverian
succession. His character was much worse than that of his father, the
energetic politician and the man of cultivated taste and ready wit to
whom Steele and Addison here dedicated the Fifth Volume of the

       *       *       *       *       *

No. 322.              Monday, March 10, 1712.                  Steele.

  Ad humum maerore gravi deducit et angit.


It is often said, after a Man has heard a Story with extraordinary
Circumstances, It is a very good one if it be true: But as for the
following Relation, I should be glad were I sure it were false. It is
told with such Simplicity, and there are so many artless Touches of
Distress in it, that I fear it comes too much from the Heart.

  Mr. SPECTATOR, Some Years ago it happened that I lived in the same
  House with a young Gentleman of Merit; with whose good Qualities I was
  so much taken, as to make it my Endeavour to shew as many as I was
  able in my self. Familiar Converse improved general Civilities into an
  unfeigned Passion on both Sides. He watched an Opportunity to declare
  himself to me; and I, who could not expect a Man of so great an Estate
  as his, received his Addresses in such Terms, as gave him no reason to
  believe I was displeased by them, tho I did nothing to make him think
  me more easy than was decent. His Father was a very hard worldly Man,
  and proud; so that there was no reason to believe he would easily be
  brought to think there was any thing in any Woman's Person or
  Character that could ballance the Disadvantage of an unequal Fortune.
  In the mean time the Son continued his Application to me, and omitted
  no Occasion of demonstrating the most disinterested Passion imaginable
  to me; and in plain direct Terms offer'd to marry me privately, and
  keep it so till he should be so happy as to gain his Fathers
  Approbation, or become possessed of his Estate. I passionately loved
  him, and you will believe I did not deny such a one what was my
  Interest also to grant. However I was not so young, as not to take the
  Precaution of carrying with me a faithful Servant, who had been also
  my Mothers Maid, to be present at the Ceremony. When that was over I
  demanded a Certificate, signed by the Minister, my Husband, and the
  Servant I just now spoke of. After our Nuptials, we conversed together
  very familiarly in the same House; but the Restraints we were
  generally under, and the Interviews we had, being stolen and
  interrupted, made our Behaviour to each other have rather the
  impatient Fondness which is visible in Lovers, than the regular and
  gratified Affection which is to be observed in Man and Wife. This
  Observation made the Father very anxious for his Son, and press him to
  a Match he had in his Eye for him. To relieve my Husband from this
  Importunity, and conceal the Secret of our Marriage, which I had
  reason to know would not be long in my power in Town, it was resolved
  that I should retire into a remote Place in the Country, and converse
  under feigned Names by Letter. We long continued this Way of Commerce;
  and I with my Needle, a few Books, and reading over and over my
  Husbands Letters, passed my Time in a resigned Expectation of better
  Days. Be pleased to take notice, that within four Months after I left
  my Husband I was delivered of a Daughter, who died within few Hours
  after her Birth. This Accident, and the retired Manner of Life I led,
  gave criminal Hopes to a neighbouring Brute of a Country Gentle-man,
  whose Folly was the Source of all my Affliction. This Rustick is one
  of those rich Clowns, who supply the Want of all manner of Breeding by
  the Neglect of it, and with noisy Mirth, half Understanding, and ample
  Fortune, force themselves upon Persons and Things, without any Sense
  of Time and Place. The poor ignorant People where I lay conceal'd, and
  now passed for a Widow, wondered I could be so shy and strange, as
  they called it, to the Squire; and were bribed by him to admit him
  whenever he thought fit. I happened to be sitting in a little Parlour
  which belonged to my own Part of the House, and musing over one of the
  fondest of my Husbands Letters, in which I always kept the
  Certificate of my Marriage, when this rude Fellow came in, and with
  the nauseous Familiarity of such unbred Brutes, snatched the Papers
  out of my Hand. I was immediately under so great a Concern, that I
  threw my self at his Feet, and begged of him to return them. He with
  the same odious Pretence to Freedom and Gaiety, swore he would read
  them. I grew more importunate, he more curious, till at last, with an
  Indignation arising from a Passion I then first discovered in him, he
  threw the Papers into the Fire, swearing that since he was not to read
  them, the Man who writ them should never be so happy as to have me
  read them over again. It is insignificant to tell you my Tears and
  Reproaches made the boisterous Calf leave the Room ashamed and out of
  Countenance, when I had leisure to ruminate on this Accident with more
  than ordinary Sorrow: However, such was then my Confidence in my
  Husband, that I writ to him the Misfortune, and desired another Paper
  of the same kind. He deferred writing two or three Posts, and at last
  answered me in general, That he could not then send me what I asked
  for, but when he could find a proper Conveyance, I should be sure to
  have it. From this time his Letters were more cold every Day than the
  other, and as he grew indifferent I grew jealous. This has at last
  brought me to Town, where I find both the Witnesses of my Marriage
  dead, and that my Husband, after three Months Cohabitation, has buried
  a young Lady whom he married in Obedience to his Father. In a word, he
  shuns and disowns me. Should I come to the House and confront him, the
  Father would join in supporting him against me, though he believed my
  Story; should I talk it to the World, what Reparation can I expect for
  an Injury I cannot make out? I believe he means to bring me, through
  Necessity, to resign my Pretentions to him for some Provision for my
  Life; but I will die first. Pray bid him remember what he said, and
  how he was charmed when he laughed at the heedless Discovery I often
  made of my self; let him remember how awkward he was in my dissembled
  Indifference towards him before Company; ask him how I, who could
  never conceal my Love for him, at his own Request, can part with him
  for ever? Oh, Mr. SPECTATOR, sensible Spirits know no Indifference in
  Marriage; what then do you think is my piercing Affliction?---I leave
  you to represent my Distress your own way, in which I desire you to be
  speedy, if you have Compassion for Innocence exposed to Infamy.


       *       *       *       *       *

No. 323.             Tuesday, March 11, 1712.                  Addison.

  Modo Vir, modo Foemina. [1]


The journal with which I presented my Reader on Tuesday last, has
brought me in several Letters, with Accounts of many private Lives cast
into that Form. I have the Rakes Journal, the Sots Journal, the
Whoremasters Journal, and among several others a very curious Piece,
entituled, The Journal of a Mohock. By these Instances I find that the
Intention of my last Tuesdays Paper has been mistaken by many of my
Readers. I did not design so much to expose Vice as Idleness, and aimed
at those Persons who pass away their Time rather in Trifle and
Impertinence, than in Crimes and Immoralities. Offences of this latter
kind are not to be dallied with, or treated in so ludicrous a manner. In
short, my Journal only holds up Folly to the Light, and shews the
Disagreeableness of such Actions as are indifferent in themselves, and
blameable only as they proceed from Creatures endow'd with Reason.

My following Correspondent, who calls her self Clarinda, is such a
Journalist as I require: She seems by her Letter to be placed in a
modish State of Indifference between Vice and Virtue, and to be
susceptible of either, were there proper Pains taken with her. Had her
Journal been filled with Gallantries, or such Occurrences as had shewn
her wholly divested of her natural Innocence, notwithstanding it might
have been more pleasing to the Generality of Readers, I should not have
published it; but as it is only the Picture of a Life filled with a
fashionable kind of Gaiety and Laziness, I shall set down five Days of
it, as I have received it from the Hand of my fair Correspondent.

  You having set your Readers an Exercise in one of your last Weeks
  Papers, I have perform'd mine according to your Orders, and herewith
  send it you enclosed. You must know, Mr. SPECTATOR, that I am a Maiden
  Lady of a good Fortune, who have had several Matches offered me for
  these ten Years last past, and have at present warm Applications made
  to me by a very pretty Fellow. As I am at my own Disposal, I come up
  to Town every Winter, and pass my Time in it after the manner you will
  find in the following Journal, which I begun to write upon the very
  Day after your Spectator upon that Subject.

    TUESDAY Night. Could not go to sleep till one in the Morning for
    thinking of my Journal.

    WEDNESDAY. From Eight till Ten, Drank two Dishes of Chocolate in
    Bed, and fell asleep after em.

    From Ten to Eleven. Eat a Slice of Bread and Butter, drank a Dish of
    Bohea, read the Spectator.

    From Eleven to One. At my Toilet, try'd a new Head. Gave Orders for
    Veny to be combed and washed. Mem. I look best in Blue.

    From One till Half an Hour after Two. Drove to the Change. Cheapned
    a Couple of Fans.

    Till Four. At Dinner. Mem. Mr. Froth passed by in his new Liveries.

    From Four to Six. Dressed, paid a Visit to old Lady Blithe and her
    Sister, having before heard they were gone out of Town that Day.

    From Six to Eleven. At Basset. Mem. Never set again upon the Ace of

    THURSDAY. From Eleven at Night to Eight in the Morning. Dream'd that
    I punted to Mr. Froth.

    From Eight to Ten. Chocolate. Read two Acts in Aurenzebe [2] abed.

    From Ten to Eleven. Tea-Table. Sent to borrow Lady Faddles Cupid
    for Veny. Read the Play-Bills. Received a Letter from Mr. Froth.
    Mem. locked it up in my strong Box.

    Rest of the Morning. Fontange, the Tire-woman, her Account of my
    Lady Blithe's Wash. Broke a Tooth in my little Tortoise-shell Comb.
    Sent Frank to know how my Lady Hectick rested after her Monky's
    leaping out at Window. Looked pale. Fontange tells me my Glass is
    not true. Dressed by Three.

    From Three to Four. Dinner cold before I sat down.

    From Four to Eleven. Saw Company. Mr. Froths Opinion of Milton. His
    Account of the Mohocks. His Fancy for a Pin-cushion. Picture in the
    Lid of his Snuff-box. Old Lady Faddle promises me her Woman to cut
    my Hair. Lost five Guineas at Crimp.

    Twelve a-Clock at Night. Went to Bed.

    FRIDAY. Eight in the Morning. Abed. Read over all Mr. Froths
    Letters. Cupid and Veny.

    Ten a-Clock. Stay'd within all day, not at home.

    From Ten to Twelve. In Conference with my Mantua-Maker. Sorted a
    Suit of Ribbands. Broke my Blue China Cup.

    From Twelve to One. Shut my self up in my Chamber, practised Lady
    Betty Modely's Skuttle.

    One in the Afternoon. Called for my flowered Handkerchief. Worked
    half a Violet-Leaf in it. Eyes aked and Head out of Order. Threw by
    my Work, and read over the remaining Part of Aurenzebe.

    From Three to Four. Dined.

    From Four to Twelve. Changed my Mind, dressed, went abroad, and
    play'd at Crimp till Midnight. Found Mrs. Spitely at home.
    Conversation: Mrs. Brilliants Necklace false Stones. Old Lady
    Loveday going to be married to a young Fellow that is not worth a
    Groat. Miss Prue gone into the Country. Tom Townley has red Hair.
    Mem. Mrs. Spitely whispered in my Ear that she had something to tell
    me about Mr. Froth, I am sure it is not true.

    Between Twelve and One. Dreamed that Mr. Froth lay at my Feet, and
    called me Indamora. [3]

    SATURDAY. Rose at Eight a-Clock in the Morning. Sate down to my

    From Eight to Nine. Shifted a Patch for Half an Hour before I could
    determine it. Fixed it above my left Eye-brow.

    From Nine to Twelve. Drank my Tea, and dressed.

    From Twelve to Two. At Chappel. A great deal of good Company. Mem.
    The third Air in the new Opera. Lady Blithe dressed frightfully.

    From Three to Four. Dined. Miss Kitty called upon me to go to the
    Opera before I was risen from Table.

    From Dinner to Six. Drank Tea. Turned off a Footman for being rude
    to Veny.

    Six a-Clock. Went to the Opera. I did not see Mr. Froth till the
    beginning of the second Act. Mr. Froth talked to a Gentleman in a
    black Wig. Bowed to a Lady in the front Box. Mr. Froth and his
    Friend clapp'd Nicolini in the third Act. Mr. Froth cried out
    Ancora. Mr. Froth led me to my Chair. I think he squeezed my Hand.

    Eleven at Night. Went to Bed. Melancholy Dreams. Methought Nicolini
    said he was Mr. Froth.

    SUNDAY. Indisposed.

    MONDAY. Eight a-Clock. Waked by Miss Kitty. Aurenzebe lay upon the
    Chair by me. Kitty repeated without Book the Eight best Lines in the
    Play. Went in our Mobbs to the dumb Man [4], according to
    Appointment. Told me that my Lovers Name began with a G.