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 Of earliest childhood to the present hour, 
 
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 Have been, and are, my comforts: Morn and night. 
 
 Adversity, prosperity, at home, 
 
 Abroad, health, sickness, — good or ill report, 
 
 The same firm friends ; the same refreshment rich. 
 
 And source of consolation !" 
 
 DODD 
 
 ■WILLIAM ANDRUS. 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924064948650 
 
THE 
 
 SPECTATOR 
 
 A NEW EDITION, OAEEFDLLY REVISED, 
 
 1 
 IN SIX VOLUMES: 
 
 WITH 
 
 PREFACES HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL, 
 
 ' BY 
 
 ALEXANDEB CHALMEKS, A. M. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 NEW-YORK : 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
 
 200 BEOADWAT. 
 1853. 
 
PR 
 
 
 V.5 
 
 /9^f 
 
 
 
 0-^ 
 
 .V) I;; 
 
 
DEDICATION* 
 
 TO THE 
 
 DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. • 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 As it is natural to have a fondness for what has cost 
 us much time and attention to produce, I hope your 
 grace -will forgive my endeavour to preserve this 
 work from oblivion by aflSxing to it vour memora- 
 ble name. 
 
 * This dedication includes Nob. 262 — 321. 
 
 * John Churchill, eldest son of sir Winstan Churchill, of 'Wooton-Bas 
 set, in the county of Wilts, was bom June 24, 1650. The duke of York ob 
 tained for him an ensigncy in the guards so early as 1666 ; and a company 
 of grenadiers, under the duke of Monmouth, in 1672, at the siege of Maes- 
 tricht. On his return, he was appointed a lieutenant-colonel, a gentleman 
 of the bed-chamber, and master of the robes to the duke of York. Attend- 
 ing the duke into Scotland, he had a regiment of dragoons ; and was cre- 
 ated baron of Aymouth in that kingdom Dec. 1, 1682. King James, on his 
 accession, appointed him gentleman of the bed-chamber, captain of a troop 
 of his life-guard; and created him baron ChurohiU of Sandridge May 14j 
 1685. At the revolution, he was continued gentleman of the bed-chamber ; 
 sworn of the priyy-council Feb. 6, 1688-9 ; created earl of Marlborough 
 April 9, 1689 ; the same year was commander of the English forces in Flan- 
 ders, and in 1690 had the same employment in Ireland. He was, notwith- 
 standing, dismissed from the king's service, and even committed to the 
 tower on suspicion of a plot. On the death of queen Mary, he was re- 
 
4 DEDICATION. 
 
 I shall not here presume to mention the illustri- 
 ous 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 yourself 
 
 called to the privy-oounoil ; and appointed, June 19, 1698, governor to the 
 duke of Gloucester, with this extraordinary compliment from the king : 
 ' My lord, make him but what you are, and my nephew will be all I wish 
 to see him.' He was three times one of the lords justices in the king's ab- 
 sence; and, in ITOl, commander in chief of the English forces in Holland, 
 and ambassador extraordinary to the States General. King William 
 having warmly recommended him to the princess Anne, he was, about a 
 week after her majesty's accession, elected knight of the garter ; and, soon 
 after, appointed captain-general of all the forces, and ambassador to the 
 States. In 1102, he commanded the army in Flanders ; and at his return 
 was created, Dec. 22, marquis of Blandford and duke of Marlborough. In 
 l'r04, in consequence of the memorable victory at Hocksted, he was ap- 
 pointed a prince of the Empire ; and had Mindelheim assigned for his prin- 
 cipality Nov. 12, 1705. On the 19th of January 1710-11, finding the 
 queen's prepossession against his duchess could not be overcome, he carried 
 a surrender of all her places to her majesty ; and was himself dismissed 
 Dec. 30, 1711. Upon the earl of Goldolphin's death, resolving to quit this 
 kingdom, he embarked at Dover Nov. 14, 1712 ; and the duchess followed 
 him in February. On the accession of king George 1 he returned to Lon- 
 don Aug. 4, 1714; and was again, Sept. 24, appointed captain-general of 
 the land forces, master-general of the ordnance, and colonel of the first 
 regiment of foot guards. He died at Windsor-lodge June 16, 1722 in the 
 7 2d year of his age, and was buried with great solemnity in Westminster- 
 abbey. — See another letter from our author to the duke of Marlborough in 
 Steele's Epistolary Correspondence, 1787, vol. ii. p. 822. N. 
 
DEDICATION. 5 
 
 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 pre-eminence 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 de- 
 portment ! How pleasing would it be to hear that 
 the same man, who carried fire and sword into the 
 countries of all that had opposed the cause of lib- 
 erty, and struck a terror 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 great- 
 ness ! And if it were possible to express that easy 
 grandeur, which did at once persuade and com- 
 mand ; 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 con- 
 duct of so well-governed 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 passed 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 ; 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 
 
6 DEDICATION. 
 
 whom he had enslaved ; but the prince of Mindel- 
 heim may rejoice in a sovereignty which was the 
 gift of him whose dominions he had preserved. 
 
 Glory, established upon the uninterrupted suc- 
 cess of honourable designs and actions, is not sub- 
 ject 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 achievements, 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, law-givers, and heroes, when he 
 in his due time removes them from the envy of man- 
 kind, is the hearty prayer of, 
 
 MT LORD, 
 
 Your Grace's most obedient. 
 
 Most devoted humble Servant, 
 
 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
THE SPECTATOK. 
 
 No. 200. FEIDAY, October 19, 1711. 
 
 TIncit amor patriae 
 
 Vies. JEn. yl. 828. 
 The noblest motive is tlie public good. 
 
 The ambition of princes is many times as hurtful to 
 themselves as their people. This cannot be doubted 
 of such as prove unfortunate in their wars, but it 
 is often true too of those who are celebrated for 
 their successes. If a severe view were to be taken 
 of their conduct, if the profit and loss by their 
 wars could be justly balanced, it would be rarely 
 found that the conquest is sufficient to repay the 
 cost. 
 
 As I was the other day looking over the letters 
 of my correspondents, I took this hint from that of 
 Philarithmus / which has turned my present thoughts 
 upon political arithmetic, an art of greater use than 
 entertainment. My friend has offered an Essay to- 
 wards proving that Lewis XIV. with aU his acqui- 
 sitions is not master of more people than at the be- 
 ginning of his wars ; nay, that for every subject he 
 had acquired, he had lost three that were his inhe- 
 
 ' See No. 180. — The letter there signed Philarithmus was -written by 
 the author of this speculation. The writer speaks of it in this manner, pro- 
 bably to conceal himself. Mr. Henry Martyn was famous for his skill in 
 political arithmetic. See Guard. No. 55, and Speot. No. 656, note on Mr. 
 Martyn. 
 
8 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 200. 
 
 ritance. If Philarithmus is not mistaken in his cal- 
 culations, Lewis must have been impoverished, by 
 his ambition. 
 
 The prince for the public good has a sovereign 
 property in every private person's estate ; and con- 
 sequently his riches must increase or decrease in 
 proportion to the number and riches of his subjects. 
 For example ; if sword or pestilence should destroy 
 all the people of this metropolis (God forbid there 
 should be room for such a supposition ! but if this 
 should be the case), the queen must needs lose a 
 great part of her revenue, or at least, what is charged 
 upon the city must increase the burden upon the 
 rest of her subjects. Perhaps the inhabitants here 
 are not above a tenth part of the whole ; yet as they 
 are better fed, and clothed, and lodged, than her 
 other subjects, the customs and exercises upon their 
 consumption, the imposts upon their houses, and 
 other taxes, do very probably make a fifth part of 
 the whole revenue of the crown. But this is not 
 all ; the consumption of the city takes off a great 
 part of the fruits of the whole island ; and as it 
 pays such a proportion of the rent or yearly value 
 of the lands in the country, so it is the cause of pay- 
 ing such a proportion of taxes upon those lands. 
 The loss then of such a people must needs be sen- 
 sible to the prince, and visible to the whole king- 
 dom. 
 
 On the other hand, if it should please God to 
 drop from heaven a new people equal in number 
 and riches to the city, I should be ready to think 
 their excises, customs, and house-rent would raise as 
 great a revenue to the crown as would be lost in the 
 former case. And as the consumption of this new 
 body would be a new market for the fruits of the 
 
No. 200.] THE SPEOTATOE. 9 
 
 country, all the lands, especially those most adjacent, 
 would rise in their yearly value, and pay greater 
 yearly taxes to the public. The gain in this case 
 would be as sensible as the former loss. 
 
 Whatsover is assessed upon the general, is levied 
 upon individuals. It were worth the while then to 
 consider what is paid by, or by means of, the mean- 
 est subjects, in order to compute the value of every 
 subject to the prince. 
 
 For my own part, I should believe that seven- 
 eighths of the people are without property in them- 
 selves or the heads of their families, and forced to 
 work for their daily bread ; and that of this sort 
 there are seven millions in the whole island of Great 
 Britain ; and yet one would imagine that seven- 
 eighths of the whole people should consume at least 
 three-fourths of the whole fruits of the country. If 
 this is the case, the subjects without property pay 
 three-fourths of the rents, and consequently enable 
 the landed men to pay three-fourths of their taxes. 
 Now if so great a part of the land-tax were to be 
 divided by seven millions, it would amount to more 
 than three shillings to every head. And thus, as 
 the poor are the cause, without which the rich could 
 not pay this tax, even the poorest subject is upon 
 this account worth three shillings yearly to the 
 prince. 
 
 Again ; one would imagine the consumption of 
 seven-eighths of the whole people should pay two- 
 thirds of all the customs and excises. And if this 
 sum too should be divided by seven millions, viz., 
 the number of poor people, it would amount to 
 more than seven shillings to every head : and there- 
 fore with this and the former sum every poor sub- 
 ject, without property, except of his limbs or la- 
 
10 THE SPBCTATOE. i^°- 200. 
 
 bour, is worth at least ten shillings yearly to the 
 sovereign. So much then the queen loses with every 
 one of her old, and gains with every one of her new 
 subjects. 
 
 When I was got into this way of thinking, I pre- 
 sently grew conceited of the argument, and was 
 just preparing to write a letter of advice to a mem- 
 ber of parliament, for opening the freedom of our 
 towns and trades, for taking away all manner of 
 distinctions between the natives and foreigners, for 
 repealing our laws of parish settlements, and remov- 
 ing every other obstacle to the increase of the peo- 
 ple. But as soon as I had recollected with what 
 inimitable eloquence my fellow-labourers had exag- 
 gerated the mischiefs of selling the birth-right of 
 Britons for a shilling,^ of spoiling the pure British 
 blood with foreign mixtures, of introducing a con- 
 fusion of languages and religions, and of letting in 
 strangers to eat the bread out of the mouths of our 
 own people, I became so humble as to let my pro- 
 ject fall to the ground, and leave my country to in- 
 crease by the ordinary way of generation. 
 
 As I have always at heart the public good, so I 
 am ever contriving schemes to promote it; and I 
 think I may without vanity pretend to have contrived 
 some as wise as any of the castle-builders. I had 
 no sooner given up my former project, but my head 
 was presently full of draining fens and marshes, 
 banking out the sea, and joining new lands to my 
 country ; for since it is thought impracticable to in- 
 crease the people to the land, I fell immediately to 
 
 e This is an ironical allusion to some of the popular arguments that 
 had been urged in the year 1108, when a bill was brought in for the nat- 
 uralization of foreign protestants ; which, on account of the odium raised 
 against it, did not pass into a law. 
 
No. 200.] THE SPECTATOR. 11 
 
 consider how much would be gained to the prince 
 by increasing the land to the people. 
 
 If the same Omnipotent Power which made the 
 world should at this time raise out of the ocean and 
 join to Great Britain an equal extent of land, with 
 equal buildings, corn, cattle, and other conveniences 
 and necessaries of life, but no men, women, nor 
 children, I should hardly believe this would add 
 either to the riches of the people or revenue of the 
 prince ; for since the present buildings are sufficient 
 for all the inhabitants, if any of them should forsake 
 the old to inhabit the new part of the island, the 
 increase of house-rent in this would be attended 
 with at least an equal decrease of it in the other. 
 Besides, we have such a sufficiency of corn and cat 
 tie, that we give bounties to our neighbours to take 
 what exceeds of the former off our hands, and we' 
 will not suffer any of the latter to be imported upon 
 us by our fellow-subjects ; and for the remaining 
 product of the country, 'tis already equal to all our 
 markets. But if all these things should be doubled 
 to the same buyers, the owners must be glad with 
 half their present prices, the landlords with half 
 their present rents ; and thus, by so great an en- 
 largement of the country, the rents in the whole 
 would not increase, nor the taxes to the public. 
 
 On the contrary, I should believe they would 
 be very much diminished ; for as the land is only 
 valuable for its fruits, and these are all perishable, 
 and for the most part must either be used within 
 the year, or perish without use, the owners will get 
 rid of them at any rate, rather than they should 
 waste in their possession : so that it is probable the 
 annual production of those perishable things, even 
 of one-tenth part of them, beyond all possibility of 
 
12 THE SPECTATOR. C^o- 200. 
 
 use, will reduce one half of their value. It seems 
 to be for this reason that our neighbour-merchants'" 
 •who engross all the spices, and know how great a 
 quantity is equal to the demand, destroy all that 
 exceeds it. It were natural then to think that the 
 annual production of twice as much as can be used, 
 must reduce all to an eighth part of their present 
 prices ; and thus this extended island would not 
 exceed one-fourth part of its present value, or pay 
 more than one-fourth part of the present tax. 
 
 It is generally observed, that in countries of the 
 greatest plenty there is the poorest living ; like the 
 schoolman's ass in one of my speculations,' the peo- 
 ple almost starve between two meals. The truth 
 is, the poor, which are the bulk of a nation, work 
 only that they may live ; and if with two days' la- 
 bour they can get a wretched subsistence for a week, 
 they will hardly be brought to work the other four. 
 But then with the wages of two days they can 
 neither pay such prices for their provisions, nor 
 such excises to the government. 
 
 That paradox, therefore, in old Hesiod, jrXaov 
 rifxcGv navTos, or, 'half is more than the whole,' ^ is 
 very applicable to the present case ; since nothing 
 is more true in political arithmetic, than that the 
 same people with half a country is more valuable 
 than with the whole. I begin to think there was 
 nothing absurd in sir W. Petty, when he fancied if 
 all the highlands of Scotland and the whole king- 
 dom of Ireland were sunk in the ocean, so that the 
 people were all saved and brought into the lowlands 
 
 ■> Scilicet, the Dutch, 
 i No. 191. 
 
 * See motto of No. 196, written perhaps by the author of this paper, 
 Jlr. H. Martyn. 
 
No. 201.] THE SPECTATOR. 13 
 
 of Great Britain ; nay, though they were to be re- 
 imbursed the value of their estates by the body of 
 the people ; yet both the sovereign and the subjects 
 in general would be enriched by the very loss. 
 
 If the people only make the riches, the father of 
 ten children is a greater benefactor to his country, 
 than he who has added to it 10,000 acres of land, 
 and no people. It is certain Lewis has joined vast 
 tracts of land to his dominions : but if Philarithmus 
 says true, that he is not now master of so many sub- 
 jects as before; we may then account for his not 
 being able to bring such mighty armies into the 
 field, and for their being neither so well fed, nor 
 clothed, nor paid as formerly. The reason is plain ; 
 Lewis must needs have been impoverished, not only 
 by his loss of subjects, but by his acquisition of 
 lands. 
 
 No. 201. SATUKDAY, Octobeb 20, 1711. 
 
 Religentem esse oportet, leligiosnm nefas. 
 
 Incerti Autoris apud Aul GelL 
 A man should bo religious, not superstitious. 
 
 It is of the last importance to season the passions 
 of a child with devotion, which seldom dies in a 
 mind that has received an early tincture of it. 
 Though it may seem extinguished for a while by the 
 cares of the world, the heats of youth, or the al- 
 lurements of vice, it generally breaks out and dis- 
 
 ' Mr. Henry Martyn is said to hare been the author of No. 200. See 
 Speet. No. 556; and No. 180, let. signed PhUarithmus. The signature T. 
 can only be used here as an editorial mark, merely to denote, that with a 
 view of concealing the real author, or for whatever reason, the paper was 
 transcribed by Steele; most probably at his friend's particular request. 
 See No. 324, note, ad fineni, on signature T. 
 
14 THE SPECTATOR V^°- 2*^^- 
 
 covers itself again as soon as discretion, considera- 
 tion, age, or misfortunes have brought the man to 
 himself The fire may be covered and overlaid, but 
 cannot be entirely quenched and smothered. 
 
 A state of temperance, sobriety, and justice, 
 without devotion, is a cold, lifeless, insipid condition 
 of virtue; and is rather to be stiled philosophy 
 than religion. Devotion opens the mind to great 
 conceptions, and fills it with more sublime ideas 
 than any that are to be met with in the most exalt- 
 ed science ; and at the same time warms and agi- 
 tates the soul more than sensual pleasure. 
 
 It has been observed by some writers, that man 
 is more distinguished from the animal world by de- 
 votion than by reason, as several brute creatures 
 discover in their actions something like a faint glim- 
 mering of reason, though they betray in no single 
 circumstance of their behaviour any thing that bears 
 the least aflSnity to devotion. It is certain, the pro- 
 pensity of the mind to religious worship, the natu- 
 ral tendency of the soul to fly to some superior 
 being for succour in dangers and distresses, the gra- 
 titude to an invisible superintendent which rises in 
 us upon receiving any extraordinary and unexpected 
 good fortune, the acts of love and admiration with 
 which the thoughts of men are so wonderfully trans- 
 ported in meditating upon the divine perfections, 
 and the universal concurrence of all the nations under 
 heaven in the great article of adoration, plainly 
 show that devotion or religious worship must be the 
 effect of a tradition from some first founder of man- 
 kind, or that it is conformable to the natural light 
 of reason, or that it proceeds from an instinct im- 
 planted in the soul itself For my part, I look upon 
 all these to be the concurrent causes : but which 
 
No. 201.] THE SPECTATOE. 15 
 
 ever of them shall be assigned as the principle of 
 divine worship, it manifestly points to a Supreme 
 Being as the first author of it. 
 
 I may take some other opportunity of consid- 
 ering those particular forms and methods of devo- 
 tion which are taught us by Christianity ; but shall 
 here observe into what errors even this divine prin- 
 ciple may sometimes lead us, when it is not mod- 
 erated by that right reason which was given us as 
 the guide of all our actions. 
 
 The two great errors into which a mistaken 
 devotion may betray us, are enthusiasm and super- 
 stition. 
 
 There is not a more melancholy object than a 
 man who has his head turned with a religious enthu- 
 siasm. A person that is crazed, though with pride 
 or malice, is a sight very mortifying to human na- 
 ture ; but when the distemper arises from any in- 
 discreet fervours of devotion, or too intense an 
 application of the mind to its mistaken duties, it 
 deserves our compassion in a more particular man- 
 ner. We may however learn this lesson from it, 
 that since devotion itself (which one would be apt 
 to think could not be too warm) may disorder the 
 mind, unless its heats are tempered with caution and 
 prudence, we should be particularly careful to keep 
 our reason as cool as possible, and to guard our- 
 selves in all parts of life against the influence of 
 passion, imagination, and constitution. 
 
 Devotion, when it does not lie under the check 
 of reason, is very apt to degenerate into enthusiasm. 
 When the mind finds herself very much inflamed 
 with her devotions, she is too much inclined to 
 think they are not of her own kindling, but blown 
 up by something divine within her. If she indul- 
 
16 THE SPECTATOR. t^"- 2°'- 
 
 ges this thought too far, and humours the growing 
 passion, she at last flings herself into imaginary 
 raptures, and ecstacies ; and when once she fancies 
 herself under the influence of a divine impulse, it is 
 no wonder if she slights human ordinances, and re- 
 fuses to comply with any established form of reli- 
 gion, as thinking herself directed by a much superior 
 guide. 
 
 As enthusiasm is a kind of excess in devotion, 
 superstition is the excess not only of devotion, but 
 of religion in general, according to an old heathen 
 saying, quoted by Aulus Gellius,™ ' BeUgentem esse 
 oportet, religiosum nefas ; ' ' A man should be reli- 
 gious, not superstitious.' For, as that author tells 
 us, Nigidius observed upon this passage, that the 
 Latin words which terminate in osus generally imply 
 vicious characters, and the having of any quality to 
 an excess. 
 
 An enthusiast in religion is like an obstinate 
 clown, a superstitious man like an insipid courtier. 
 Enthusiasm has something in it of madness, super- 
 stition of folly. Most of the sects that fall short of 
 the church of England have in them strong tinctures 
 of enthusiasm, as the Roman catholic religion is one 
 huge overgrown body of childish and idle super- 
 stitions. 
 
 The Roman catholic church seems indeed irre- 
 coverably lost in this particular. If an absurd 
 dress or behaviour be introduced in the world, it 
 will soon be found out and discarded. On the con- 
 trary, a habit or ceremony, though never so ridicu- 
 lous, which has taken sanctuary in the church, sticks 
 in it for ever. A Gothic bishop perhaps thought it 
 
 IToctes AttiesB, lib. iv. cap. 9. 
 
No- 201.] THE SPECTATOE. 17 
 
 proper to repeat such a form in such particular 
 shoes or slippers ; another fancied it would be very 
 decent if such a part of public devotions were per- 
 formed with a mitre on his head and a crosier in^his 
 hand. To this a brother Vandal, as wise as the 
 others, adds an antic dress, which he conceived 
 would allude very aptly to such and such mysteries, 
 till by degrees the whole office has degenerated 
 into an empty show. 
 
 Their successors see the vanity and inconven- 
 ience of these ceremonies ; but, instead of reform- 
 ing, perhaps add others, which they think more 
 significant, and which take possession in the same 
 manner, and are never to be driven out after they 
 have been once admitted. I have seen the pope 
 officiate at St. Peter's, where for two hours together 
 he was busied in putting on or off his different ac- 
 coutrements, according to the different parts he was 
 to act in them. 
 
 Nothing is so glorious in the eyes of mankind, 
 and ornamental to human nature, setting aside the 
 infinite advantages which arise from it, as a strong, 
 steady, masculine piety ; but enthusiasm and su- 
 perstition are the weaknesses af human reason, 
 that expose us to the scorn and derision of infidels, 
 and sink us even below the beasts that perish. 
 
 Idolatry may be looked upon as another error 
 arising from mistaken devotion ; but because reflec- 
 tions on that subject would be of no use to an Eng- 
 lish reader, I shall not enlarge upon it. L.° 
 
 ° By Addison, suipposed to be dated London. See No. 1, ad Jin. note 
 on AddisOn'8 signatures. 
 
 VOL. III. — 2 
 
18 THE SPECTATOR. [^0. 202. 
 
 No. 202. MONDAY, October 22, 1711. 
 
 Siepe decern vitiis instructior odit et horret. 
 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. xviil 25. 
 Tho' ten times worse themselves, you'll frequent view 
 Those who with keenest rage will censure you. P. 
 
 The other day as I passed along the street, I saw a 
 sturdy 'prentice boy, disputing with an hackney- 
 coachman ; and in an instant, upon some word of 
 provocation, throw off his hat and periwig, clench 
 his fist, and strike the fellow a cut on the face : at 
 the same time calling him rascal, and telling him 
 he was a gentleman's son. The young gentleman 
 was, it seems, bound to a blacksmith ; and the de- 
 bate arose about payment for some work done about 
 a coach, near which they fought. His master, dur- 
 ing the combat, was full of his boy's praises ; and 
 as he called to him to play with hand and foot, and 
 throw in his head, he made all us who stood round 
 him of his party, by declaring the boy had very 
 good friends, and he could trust him with untold 
 gold. As I am generally in the theory of man- 
 kind, I could not but make my reflections upon the 
 sudden popularity which was raised about the lad ; 
 and perhaps, with my friend Tacitus, fell into ob- 
 servations upon it, which were too great for the 
 occasion ; or ascribed this general favour to causes 
 which had nothing to do towards it. But the young 
 blacksmith's being a gentleman was, methought, 
 what created him good-will from his present equa- 
 lity with the mob about him ; add to this, that he 
 was not so much a gentleman, as not, at the same 
 time that he called himself such, to use as rough 
 methods for his defence as his antagonist. The ad- 
 
No. 202.] THE SPECTATOR. 19 
 
 vantage of his having good friends, as his master 
 expressed it, was not lazily urged ; but he shovp-ed 
 himself superior to the coachman in the personal 
 qualities of courage and activity, to confirm that of 
 his being well allied, before his birth was of any 
 service to him. 
 
 If one might moralize from this silly story, a 
 man would say, that whatever advantages of for- 
 tune, birth, or any other good, people possess above 
 the rest of the world, they should show collateral 
 eminence besides those distinctions; or those dis- 
 tinctions will avail only to keep up common de- 
 cencies and ceremonies, and not to preserve a real 
 place of favour or esteem in the opinion and common 
 sense of their fellow-creatures. 
 
 The folly of people's procedure, in imagining that 
 nothing more is necessary than property and superior 
 circumstances to support them in distinction, appears 
 in no way so much as in the domestic part of life. 
 It is ordinary to feed their humours into unnatural 
 excrescences, if I may so speak, and make their 
 whole being a wayward and uneasy condition, for 
 want of the obvious reflection that all parts of hu- 
 man life is a commerce. It is not only paying wages, 
 and giving commands, that constitutes a master of a 
 family ; but prudence, equal behaviour, with readi- 
 ness to protect and cherish them, is what entitles a 
 man to that character in their very hearts and senti- 
 ments. It is pleasant enough to observe, that men 
 expect from their dependents, from their sole motive 
 of fear, all the good effects which a liberal educa- 
 tion, and affluent fortune, and every other advan- 
 tage, cannot produce in themselves. A man will 
 have his servant just, diligent, sober, and chaste, for 
 no other reasons but the terror of losing his master's 
 
20 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 202. 
 
 favour ; -when all the laws divine and human cannot 
 keep him whom he serves within bounds with rela- 
 tion to any one of those virtues. But both in great 
 and ordinary affairs, all superiority, which is not 
 founded on merit and virtue, is supported only by 
 artifice and stratagem. Thus you see flatterers are 
 the agents in families of humourists, and those who 
 govern themselves by any thing but reason. Make- 
 bates, distant relations, poor kinsmen, and indigent 
 followers, are the fry which support the economy 
 of an humoursome rich man. He is eternally whis- 
 pered with intelligence of who are true or false to 
 him in matters of no consequence; and he main- 
 tains twenty friends to defend him against the insin- 
 uations of one who would perhaps cheat him of an 
 old coat. 
 
 I shall not enter into farther speculation upon 
 this subject at present, but think the following let- 
 ters and petition are made up of proper sentiments 
 on this occasion. 
 
 ' ME. SPEOTATOK, 
 
 ' I AM servant to an old lady who is 
 governed by one she calls her friend ; who is so fa- 
 miliar an one, that she takes upon her to advise her 
 without being called to it, and makes her uneasy 
 with all about her. Pray, Sir, be pleased to give 
 us some remarks upon voluntary counsellors ; and 
 let these people know that to give any body ad- 
 vice, is to say to that person, "I am your betters." 
 Pray, Sir, as near as you can, describe that eternal 
 flirt and disturber of families, Mrs. Taperty, who 
 is always visiting, and putting people in a way, as 
 they call it. If you can make her stay at home one 
 
No. 202.] THE SPECTATOR. 21 
 
 evening, you will be a general benefactor to all the 
 ladies' women in town, and particularly to 
 
 ' Your loving friend, 
 
 'Susan Civil.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM a footman, and live with one of 
 those men, each of whom is said to be one of the 
 best-humoured men in the world, but that he is pas- 
 sionate. Pray be pleased to inform them, that he 
 who is passionate, and takes no care to command 
 his hastiness; does more injury to his friends and ser- 
 vants in one half hour, than whole years can atone 
 for. This master of mine, who is the best man alive 
 in common fame, disobliges somebody every day he 
 lives ; and strikes me for the next thing I do, be- 
 cause he is out of humour at it. If these gentle- 
 men know that they do all the mischief that is ever 
 done in conversation, they would reform ; and I who 
 have been a Spectator of gentlemen at dinner for 
 many years, have seen that indiscretion does ten 
 times more mischief than ill-nature. But you will 
 represent this better than 
 
 ' Your abused humble servant, 
 
 ' Thomas Smoky.' 
 
 'to the spectator. 
 
 ' The humble petition of John Steward, Robert But- 
 ler, Harry Cook, and Abigail Chambers, in be- 
 half of themselves and their relations belonging 
 to and dispersed in the several services of most 
 of the great families within the cities of London 
 and Westminster ; 
 
22 THE SPECTATOR. [^°- ^°^- 
 
 ' Sheweth, 
 
 ' That in many of the families in wMcli 
 your petitioners live and are employed, the several 
 heads of them are wholly unacquainted with what is 
 business, and are very little judges when they are 
 well or ill used by us your said petitioners. 
 
 ' That for want of such skill in their own affairs, 
 and by indulgence of their own laziness and pride, 
 they continually keep about them certain mischievous 
 animals called spies. 
 
 ' That whenever a spy is entertained, the peace 
 of that house is from that moment banished. 
 
 ' That spies never give an account of good ser- 
 vices, but represent our mirth and freedom by the 
 words wantonness and disorder. 
 
 ' That in all families where there are spies, there 
 is a general jealousy and misunderstanding. 
 
 ' That the masters and mistresses of such houses 
 live in continual suspicion of their ingenuous and 
 true servants, and are given up to the management 
 of those who are false and perfidious. 
 
 ' That such masters and mistresses who entertain 
 spies, are no longer more than ciphers in their own 
 families ; and that we your petitioners are with great 
 disdain obliged to pay all our respect, and expect 
 all our maintenance from such spies. 
 
 ' Your petitioners, therefore, most humbly pray, 
 that you would represent the premises to all 
 persons of condition ; and your petitioners, 
 as in duty bound, shall for ever pray, &c.' 
 
 " By Steele. See final note to No. 324. 
 
No. 203.] THE SPECTATOR. 23 
 
 No. 203. TUESDAY, October 23, 1711. 
 
 Phcebe pater, si das hujus mihi nominis usum, 
 Nee falsA Clymeno culpam sub imagine celat ; 
 
 Pignora da, genitor 
 
 Ovm. Met ii. 36. 
 
 Illustrious parent I if I yet may claim 
 Tlio name of son, rescue me from shame ; 
 My mother's truth confirm ; all doubt remove 
 By tender pledges of a father's love. P. 
 
 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 churchwarden. By this means there 
 are several married men who have a little family in 
 most of the parishes of London and Westminster, 
 and several bachelors 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 sur- 
 prising 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 
 liherorum, 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 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 bat- 
 tered beaus, who, like heedless spendthrifts that 
 squander away their estates before they are masters 
 
24 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 203. 
 
 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 illegiti- 
 mate issue in a figure of the same kind ; 
 
 -Neo longnm tempus et ingens 
 
 Exiit ad cesium vamis felicibus arbos, 
 Miraturque novas frondes, et non sua poma.' 
 
 ViEa. Georg. ii. 80. 
 
 ' And in short space the laden boughs arise, 
 With happy fruit advancing to the skies : 
 The mother plant admires the leaves unknown 
 Of alien trees, and apples not her own.' 
 
 Dbtden. 
 
 The trunk of the tree was marked 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 branch- 
 ed out into three sprigs, viz. William, Richard, and 
 Rebecca. Sail Twiford gave birth to another bough 
 that shot up into Sarah, Tom, Will, and Prank. 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 au- 
 thor 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 
 herald's office. 
 
No. 203.] THE SPECTAJ'OR. 25 
 
 What makes this generation of vermin so very 
 prolific, 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 busi- 
 ness 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 ad- 
 mired than their industry and vigilance. There is a 
 fragment of Apollodorus, the comic poet, (who was 
 contemporary with Menander,) which is full of hu- 
 mour, as follows : ' Thou may est 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 whore-master 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 infa- 
 mous race of propagators, it should be to send them, 
 after the second or third offence, into our American 
 colonies, in order to people those parts of her ma- 
 jesty's dominions, where there is a want of inhabit- 
 ants, 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 public. 
 
 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 me- 
 thods, and to give their spurious children such an 
 
26 THE SPECTATOR. l^°- '^'^^■ 
 
 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 miscar- 
 riages. 
 
 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 entailed upon them, though 
 very unreasonably, a degree of shame and disgrace. 
 And here I cannot but take notice of those deprav- 
 ed notions which prevail among us, and which must 
 have taken rise from our natural inclination to favour 
 a vice to which we are so very prone, namely, that 
 bastardy and cuckoldom should be looked upon 
 as reproaches ; and that the ignominy which is only 
 due to lewdness and falsehood, should fall in so un- 
 reasonable a manner upon the persons who are in- 
 nocent. 
 
 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 ge- 
 neral opinion of the world are counted both infa- 
 mous and unhappy. 
 
 ' My father is a very eminent man in this king- 
 dom, 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 
 
No. 203.] THE SPECTATOR. 27 
 
 of that endearing tenderness and unparalleled satis- 
 faction which a good man finds in the love and con- 
 versation of a parent. Neither have I the oppor- 
 tunities to render him the duties of a son, he hav 
 ing 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 inconveniences 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 incapable of making pro- 
 vision for myself 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 do- 
 ing any thing for me. 
 
 ' I have hitherto lived somewhat like a gentle- 
 man, 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 myself 
 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 offer- 
 ed 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 
 
28 THE SPECTATOR. l^°- ^^'^• 
 
 be thought his son, or he acknowledged as my fa- 
 ther. Your sentiments and advice herein will be a 
 great consolation and satisfaction to, 
 
 ' Sib, your admirer and humble servant, 
 C/ 'W. B.' 
 
 No. 204. WEDNESDAY, October 24, 1711. 
 
 Urit grata protervitas, 
 Et vultus nimiilm lubricus aspici. 
 
 HoR. 1 Od. xix. 7. 
 Her face too dazzling I'or the sight. 
 Her -winning coyness fires my soul, 
 I feel a strange delight 
 
 I AM not at all displeased that I am become the 
 courier of love, and that the distressed in that pas- 
 sion convey their complaints to each other by my 
 means. The following letters have lately come into 
 my hands, and shall have their place with great wil- 
 lingness. As to the reader's entertainment, he will, 
 I hope, forgive the inserting such particulars as to 
 him may perhaps seem frivolous, but are to the per- 
 sons 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 ?:he sothades. 
 
 ' The word, by which I address you, gives 
 you, who understand Portuguese,^ a lively image of 
 
 P By Addison ; dated, it is supposed from Chelsea. See No. 1, adfineni ; 
 note on Addison's signatures. 
 
 1 The Portuguese word Saudades (here inaccurately written Sothades) 
 
No. 204.] THE SPECTATOR. 29 
 
 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 myself to you. I am 
 not affronted at the design your late behaviour dis- 
 covered you had in your addresses to me ; but I im- 
 pute 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 suspense, 
 
 ' I am your admired Belinda. ' 
 
 signifies, the most refined, most tender, and ardent desires for something 
 absent, accompanied with a solicitude and anxious regard, which cannot 
 be expressed by one word in any other language. ' Saudade,' say the dic- 
 tionaries, ' significa, Finissimo sentimiento del bien ansente, com deseo dc 
 posaeerlo.' — Hence the word Saudades comprehends every good wish : and 
 Muitas Saudades is the highest wish and compliment that can be paid to 
 another. So if a person is observed to be melancholy, and is asked 'What 
 ails him :' if he answers, Tenho Saudades ; it is understood to mean, ' I am 
 under the most refined torment for the absence of my love ; or from being 
 absent from my country,' <fee. P. 
 
 ' No. 199. Let. 1, inclosing the letter to Oroondates. 
 
30 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 204. 
 
 ' MADAM, 
 
 ' 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 one's happiness to nothing 
 but infatuation. I can see you ogle all the young 
 fellows who look at you, and observe your eye wan- 
 der after new conquests every moment you are in a 
 public place ; and yet there is such a beauty in all 
 your looks and gestures, that I cannot but admire 
 you in the very act of endeavouring to gain the 
 hearts of others. My condition is the same with that 
 of the lover in the Way of the World.' I have 
 studied your 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 matri- 
 monial 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, 
 
 MADAM, 
 
 ' Your most obedient, most humble servant, 
 
 'T. D.' 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' When I sat at the window, and you at 
 the other end of the room by my cousin, I saw you 
 
 ' By Congreve. See act i. so. 3. 
 
No. 204. J THE SPEOTATOB. 31 
 
 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, there- 
 fore shall not subscribe my name.' 
 
 'sir, 
 
 ' There were other gentlemen nearer, and 
 I know no necessity you were under to take up that 
 flippant creature's fan last night ; but you shall never 
 touch a stick of mine more, that's pos. Phillis.' 
 
 'to colonel R S IN SPAIN.* 
 
 ' Before this can reach the best of hus- 
 bands 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 to- 
 gether, 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 
 
 ' The person to whom this letter is addressed was generally believed 
 to be col. Rivers, at the time when this paper was first published. 
 
32 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 204. 
 
 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, though 
 unknown to you, be assistant in all the conflicts of 
 your mind ? Give me leave to say to you, best 
 of men, that I cannot figure to myself a greater 
 happiness than in such an employment. To be pre- 
 sent 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 in- 
 capable 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 
 aflBicted, the more the person for whom you lament 
 offers you consolation. My last breath will, if I am 
 myself, expire in a prayer for you. I shall never 
 see thy face again. Farewell for ever.' 
 
 m a 
 
 " By Steele transcribed. See final note on No. 324. 
 
No. 205.] THE SPECTATOR. 33 
 
 No. 205. THURSDAY, Octobee 25, 1711. 
 
 Decipimnr specie recti 
 
 Hob. Ars Foot. 25. 
 Deluded b^ a seeming excellence. 
 
 KOSCOMMON. 
 
 When I meet "with any vicious character that is not 
 generally known, in order to prevent its doing mis- 
 chief, I draw it at length, and set it up as a scare- 
 crow ; by which means I do not only make an ex- 
 ample 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, I 
 have marked out several of the shoals and quicksands 
 of life ; and am continually employed in discovering 
 those which 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. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 inclina- 
 tion for romances, in your thirty-seventh ; our pas- 
 sion 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- 
 
 VOL. III. 3 
 
34 THE SPEGTATOB. [No. 205. 
 
 eighth ; our love of coxcombs, in your hundred and 
 fifty -fourth and hundred and fifty-seventh; our 
 tyranny over the hen-peckt, in your hundred and 
 seventy-sixth. You have described the Pict in your 
 forty-first ; the idol in your seventy-third ; the de- 
 murrer, in your eighty -ninth ; the salamander, in 
 your hundred and ninety-eighth. You have like- 
 wise 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 de- 
 serve to fall under your censure. I know it would 
 debase your paper too much to enter into the behav- 
 iour 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 reputa- 
 tions suffer by it, I hope you will not think it im- 
 proper to give the public some accounts of this 
 nature. You must know. Sir, I am provoked to 
 
No. 205.] THE SPECTATOR. 35 
 
 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 
 persuades 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 
 Roderigo's,^ 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 obli- 
 gations 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 rela- 
 tions of this nature, she turns him to a very good 
 account by repeating praises that were never utter- 
 ed, and delivering messages that were never sent. 
 As the house of this shameless creature is frequent- 
 ed 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 
 
 " Alluding to the character so named in Shatspeare's Othello. 
 
36 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 205. 
 
 present, and in a little time is introduced to some 
 imaginary title ; for you must know that this cun- 
 ning purveyor has her representatives upon this oc- 
 casion 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 un- 
 blemished 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 reput- 
 ed 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 panders. 
 If you print this letter, I may give you some farther 
 accounts of this vicious race of women. 
 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 'Belvideea.' 
 
 I shall add two other letters on different sub- 
 jects to fill up my paper. 
 
 'me. spectatoe, 
 
 ' 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. 
 
No. 205.] XHE SPECTATOR. 37 
 
 ' But what gives us the most offence is her the- 
 atrical manner of singing the psalms. She intro- 
 duces about 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, we are cer- 
 tain 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 
 music ; but fear this abuse of it may make m.j pa- 
 rish ridiculous, who already look on the singing 
 psalms as an entertainment, and not part of their 
 devotion : besides, I am apprehensive that the in- 
 fection 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 practis- 
 ing the same airs. 
 
 ' I know the lady's principles, and that she will 
 plead the toleration, which (as she fancies) allows 
 her nonconformity 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.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' In your paper upon temperance,^ you pre- 
 scribe to us a rule for drinking, out of sir William 
 Temple, in the following words: "The first glass 
 
 « No. 195. 
 
38 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 206. 
 
 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 erratum: In the paper of Saturday, 
 Octob. 13, col. 3, line 11, for "glass," read "bottle." 
 
 ' Yours, 
 L.'' ' Robin Goodpellow.' 
 
 *»* At Drury-lane, on this evening, acted but twice for fifteen years, 
 Philaster, or Love lies a Bleeding. Philaster, by Mr. Wilks ; Bellario, by 
 Miss Sherborn; the King, Mr. Keen; Arethusa, Mrs. Porter; Pharamond, 
 Mr. Gibber ; L. Dion, Mr. Mills ; Citizens, Messrs. Bullock, Pack, If orris, 
 Leigh, Burkhead, and Spiller. Farce, The Country Wake. Hob, by Mr. 
 Dogget ; Flora, Mrs. Santlow, &e. — Spect. in folio. 
 
 No. 206. FRIDAY, Octobbk 26, 1711. 
 
 Quanto quisque eibi plura negaverit, 
 
 A Diis plura ferit 
 
 HoK. a Od. xvi. 21. 
 They that do much themselves deny, 
 deceive more blessings from the sky. * 
 
 Cbeegh. 
 
 There is a call upon mankind to value and esteem 
 those who set a moderate price upon their own me- 
 rit ; and self-denial is frequently attended with un- 
 expected 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 disad- 
 vantage is made upon our first appearance, even 
 
 7 By Addison, dated, it seems, from London. See final note on No, 
 834 ; and No. 1, note on Addison's signatures in the Spectator. 
 
No. 206.] THE SPECTATOR. 39 
 
 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 oi^ man's eyes are spectacles 
 to his who looks at him to read his heart. But 
 though that way of raising an opinion of those we 
 behold in public 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 wiU 
 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 ijiight have gone on to his life's 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. 
 
40 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 206. 
 
 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 inimita- 
 bly unforced and diverting in his manner of deliver- 
 ing all his sentiments in his 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 showing 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 Glori- 
 ana trip into a room with that theatrical ostentation 
 of her charms, Mirtilla with that soft regularity in 
 her motion, Chloe with such an indifferent familiar- 
 ity, 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 under- 
 stand 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 car- 
 ry 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 
 taJce away. He says of the king : ' He bore his facul- 
 ties 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 
 
No. 206.] THE SPECTATOR. 41 
 
 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 of&cer who foregoes the advantages 
 he might take to himself, and renounces all pruden- 
 tial regards to his own person in danger, has so far 
 the merit of a volunteer ; and all his honors 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 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 en- 
 chantments with which all the world are bewitched) 
 are to him uncommon benefits and new acquisitions. 
 Health is not eaten up with care, nor pleasure inter- 
 rupted 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 re- 
 
42 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 206. 
 
 fleeting that lie 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 ad- 
 vantages ; therefore to the ordinary world he is per- 
 haps 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 clothes 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, or 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. T.* 
 
 *** This evening, The Rehearsal. Bays, Mr. EstcoTirt ; Johnson, Mr. 
 Wilks; Smith, Mr. Mills ; Prettyman, Mr. Powell; Volscius, Mr. Gibber; 
 two kings of Brentford, Bullock and Bo wen; Gent Usher, Mr. Pinketh- 
 man ; Physician, Mr. Cross ; T. Thimble, Mr. Dogget ; Ksherman, Mr. John- 
 eon; Pallas, Mr. Bullock; and Hey-ho, by Mr. Norris. — Speot. in folio. 
 
 ■ By Steele. See No. 824, note on signature T, ad Jin. 
 
No. 207.] THE SPECTATOR. 43 
 
 No. 207. SATUEDAY, Ootobek 27, 1711. 
 
 Omnibus in terris, quse sunt h Gadibus usque 
 Auroram et Gangem, pauci dignoscere possunt 
 Vera bona, atque illis multum dirersa, remote 
 
 Erorris nebula 
 
 Jut. Sat x. 1. 
 Look round the Iiabitable world, how few 
 Know their own good, or knowing it, pursue? 
 How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice. 
 Prompts the fond wish, or lifts the suppliant voice ? 
 Deyd. Johnson, &c. 
 
 In my last Saturday's paper" I laid down some 
 thouglits upon devotion in general, and shall here 
 show what were the notions of the most refined 
 heathens on this subject, as they are represented in 
 Plato's dialogue upon prayer, intitled 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, intitled Alcibiades the First, in 
 his fourth satire. 
 
 The speakers in this dialogue upon prayer, are 
 Socrates and Alcibiades ; and the substance of it 
 (when drawn together out of the intricacies and di- 
 gressions) 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 at- 
 tention, tells him that he had reason to be thought- 
 ful 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 destruc- 
 tion. This, says he, may not only happen when a 
 man prays for what he knows is mischievous in its 
 
 » KTo. 201. 
 
44 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 207. 
 
 • 
 
 own nature, as CEdipus 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 shows must necessarily happen 
 among us, since most men are blinded with ignorance, 
 prejudice, or passion, which hinder them from see- 
 ing 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 could be bestowed upon him. Socrates then 
 asks him, if after receiving this great favour he 
 would be contented 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 an- 
 swers in the negative. Socrates then shows Mm, 
 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 conse- 
 quences ; 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. 
 
No. 207.] THE SPECTATOR. 45 
 
 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 fol- 
 lowing words : ' 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 shows 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 nature. 
 
 In the third and last place, he informs him, that 
 the best methods 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 Lacede- 
 monians 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 
 
46 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 207. 
 
 short of them in all these particulars ? To this, says 
 he, the oracle made the following reply : ' I am bet- 
 ter 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 show 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 blasphe- 
 mies. He likewise quotes on this occasion two verses 
 out of Homer, '^ 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 accepta- 
 ble to the gods, who were displeased with Priam 
 and all his people.' 
 
 The conclusion of this dialogue is very remark- 
 able. 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 wUl in- 
 struct 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, that Minerva removed 
 the mist from Diomede's eyes that he might plainly 
 discover both gods and men," so the darkness 
 that hangs upon your mind must be removed be- 
 fore you are able to discern what is good and what 
 is evil.' ' Let him remove from my mind,' says Al- 
 cibiades, ' the darkness and what else he pleases, I 
 
 ' Iliad viii. 548, &a. Vid. edit Bames. 
 " Iliad V. 127. 
 
No. 207.] THE SPECTATOR. 47 
 
 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 mankind. 
 
 Some learned men look upon this conclusion as 
 a prediction of our Saviour, or at least that Socrates, 
 like the high-priest,* 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 good- 
 ness 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 reflec- 
 tion, ' 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 suggest- 
 ed to this great philosopher, but instructed his dis- 
 ciples 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 
 
 ^ Caiaphaa, John xi. 49. 
 Matt. yi. 9, <&c. Luke xi. 2. 
 
48 THE SPEOTATOE. [No. 207. 
 
 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 othei-s.' If we look into the second rule which 
 Socrates has prescribed, namely, that we should ap- 
 ply ourselves to the knowledge of such things as 
 are best for us, this too is explained 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 ap- 
 pear 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 tem- 
 poral 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 compre- 
 hended, 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 
 
 ' Luke xxii. 42. Matt., xxvi. 89. 
 
No. 208.] THE SPECTATOR. 49 
 
 offered up from the creature to his Creator, as it 
 supposes the Supreme Being wills nothing but what i 
 is for our good, and that he knows better than our-i 
 selves what is so. L.^ 
 
 No. 208. MONDAY, October 29, 1711. 
 
 Veniimt spectentnr ut ipsie. 
 
 Otid. Are Am. 1. L 99. 
 To be themselves a, spectacle they come. 
 
 I HAVE several letters from people of good sense, 
 who lament the depravity or poverty of taste the 
 town is fallen into with relation to plays and public 
 spectacles. A lady in particular observes, that there 
 is such a levity in the minds of her own sex, that 
 they seldom attend to any thing but impertinences. 
 It is indeed prodigious to observe how little notice 
 is taken of the most exalted parts of the best trage- 
 dies in Shakspeare ; 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 mel- 
 ancholy prospect when we see a numerous assembly 
 
 s By Addison, dated, it seems, &om London. See final njotte tO' No> 384, 
 on L ; and No. 1, ad finem. 
 
50 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 208. 
 
 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, 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 rejoicing 
 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 expres- 
 sion, 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 re- 
 ceived with the greatest coldness and indifference. 
 A correspondent of mine, upon this subject, has 
 divided the female part of the audience, and ac- 
 counts 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 
 herself 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 
 
 i> Acted Saturday, Oet. 20, as appears from the advertisements of that 
 (Qme. 
 
No. 208.] THE SPECTATOR. 51 
 
 actor is going to say to be moved at it. After these 
 one might mention a certain flippant set of females 
 who are mimics, and are wonderfully 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 touch- 
 ed 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 enjoy- 
 ment 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.' 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' As you are one that doth not only pre- 
 tend 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 com- 
 mand 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 
 
52 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 208. 
 
 put it into a better stile as to the spelling part. The 
 town is now filling every day, and it cannot be de- 
 ferred, 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 miscar- 
 riages of this nature. I am, as I ever shall be, dear 
 Spec, 
 
 ' Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 ' Mart Meanwell. 
 
 ' Pray settle what is to be a proper notification 
 of a person's being in town, and how that differs 
 according to people's quality.' 
 
 'MR. spectator, October 20. 
 
 ' I HAVE . been out of town, so did not 
 meet with your paper dated September 28th,' 
 wherein you, to my heart's desire, expose that cursed 
 vice of insnaring poor young girls, and drawing 
 them from their friends. I assure you without flat- 
 tery 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 for- 
 tify them against such pernicious rascals. I know 
 not whether what you write 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 obedient humble servant.' 
 
 ■ No. 182. 
 
No. 209.] THE SPECTATOR. 53 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' Without raillery, I desire you to insert 
 this, word for word, in your next, as you value a 
 lover's prayers. You see it is an hue and cry after 
 a stray heart (with the marks and blemishes under- 
 written) ; 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 stiU it beats ; 
 Whoe'er shall wear it, it will smart her. 
 And whoe'er takes it, takes a Tartar.' T.' 
 
 No. 209. TUESDAY, October 30, 1711. 
 
 Tuvaiichs oiSf XPVI^' "'^P ATjffeTai 
 'EfTi&Aijs &fjieivoVf ovSe piyiov kok^;. 
 
 SofONlDES. 
 
 Of earthly .goods, the best is a good wife ; 
 A bad, the bitterest curse of human life. 
 
 There are no authors I am more pleased with, than 
 those who show human nature in a variety of views, 
 and describe the several ages of the world in their 
 different manners. A reader cannot be more ration- 
 ally entertained, than by comparing the virtues 
 and vices of his own times with those which pre- 
 
 ^ I cannot find any paper to which this can be supposed to refer, ex- 
 cept perhaps 'So. 188, or No. 41. 
 
 ' By Steele. See final note to No. 324. 
 
54 THE SPBCTATOE. [No. 209. 
 
 vailed in the times of his forefathers ; and drawing 
 a parallel in his mind between his own private cha- 
 racter, 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 ourselves 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 ourselves. 
 
 If we look into the manners of the most remote 
 ages of the world, we discover human nature in her 
 simplicity ; and, the more we come downward to- 
 wards 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 profane, and you would think you 
 were reading the history of another species. 
 
 Among the writers of antiquity, there are none 
 who instruct us more openly in the manners of their 
 respective times in which they lived, than those who 
 have employed themselves in satire, under what 
 dress soever it may appear ; as there are no other 
 authors whose province it is to enter so directly 
 into the ways of men, and set their miscarriages in 
 so strong a light. 
 
 Simonides, a poet famous in his generation, is, I 
 think, author of the oldest satire that is now extant ; 
 and, as some say, of the first that was ever written. 
 This poet flourished about four hundred years after 
 
No. 209.] THE SPECTATOR. 55 
 
 the siege of Troy ; and shows, 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 an- 
 cients, provided there was a likeness in their simili- 
 tudes, did not much trouble themselves about the de- 
 cency of the comparison. The satires or iambics 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 sa- 
 tire is woman. He describes the sex in their several 
 characters, which he derives to them from a fancifal 
 supposition raised upon the doctrine of pre-existence. 
 He tells us, that the gods formed the souls of women 
 out of those seeds and principles which compose se- 
 veral 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 compre- 
 hend every one of his sentiments, without adding 
 any thing of my own. I have already apologized 
 for this author's want of delicacy, and must farther 
 premise, that the following satire 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 wo- 
 mankind out of different materials, and in a separate 
 state from their bodies. 
 
 ' The souls of one kind of women were formed 
 
56 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 209. 
 
 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 per- 
 son, a slattern in her dress, and her family is no bet- 
 ter 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 dis- 
 cerning woman, who has an insight into every thing 
 whether it be good or bad. In this species of fe- 
 males 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 out 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 tem- 
 pers, sometimes all storm and tempests, sometimes 
 all calm and sun-shine. The stranger who sees one 
 of these in her smiles and smoothness, would cry 
 her up for a miracle of good-humour; but on a 
 sudden her looks and words are changed, she is 
 nothing but fury and outrage, noise and hurricane. 
 
 ' The sixth species were made up of the ingre- 
 dients which compose an ass, or a beast of burden. 
 These are naturally exceeding slothful, but, upon 
 the husband's exerting his authority, will live upon 
 hard fare, and do every thing to please him. They 
 
No. 209.] THE SPECTATOR. 57 
 
 are, however, far from being averse to venereal 
 pleasure, and seldom refuse a male companion. 
 
 ' The cat furnished materials for a seventh species 
 of women, who are of a melancholy, froward, una- 
 miable 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 ne- 
 ver 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 a 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 im- 
 proves by her good management. She loves her 
 husband, and is beloved by him. She brings him 
 a race of beautiful and virtuous children. She dis- 
 tinguishes herself among her sex. She is surround- 
 ed with graces. She never sits among the loose 
 tribe of women, nor passes away her time with 
 
58 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 209. 
 
 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 iambics with the motto 
 of this paper, which is a fragment of the same au- 
 thor : ' A man cannot possess any thing that is bet- 
 ter than a good woman, nor any thing that is worse 
 than a bad one.' 
 
 As the poet has shown 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 
 satire, where they have endeavoured to expose the 
 sex in general, without doing justice to the valuable 
 part of it. Such levelling satires 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 satire 
 in another of his celebrated pieces, which is called 
 The Satire upon Man. What vice or frailty can a 
 discourse correct which censures the whole species 
 alike, and endeavours to show, by some superficial 
 strokes of wit, that brutes are the more excellent 
 creatures of the two ? A satire should expose no- 
 thing but what is corrigible, and make a due discri- 
 mination between those who are, and those who are 
 not the proper object of it. L.' 
 
 m 
 
 "i By Addison, dated, it seems, London. See final note to No. T, on 
 Addison's signatures, 'So. 221 and note. See a sequel to this paper in No. 
 211. 
 
No. 21.0.] THE SPEOTATOE. 59 
 
 No. 210. WEDNESDAY, October 31, 1711. 
 
 Nescto quomodo inhneret in mentibus quasi SEeculornm quoddam augurinm futurornm 
 idqne in maximis ingenlis altissimisqae anlmis et existit maxim6 et apparet facilUm6. 
 
 Cio. Tusc. Quicst. 
 
 There is, I know not how, in minds a certain presage, as it were, of a fntnre existence ; and 
 this has the deepest root, and is most discoverahle in the greatest geniuses and most ex- 
 alted souls. 
 
 ' to the spectator. 
 
 'sir, 
 
 ' I AM fully persuaded that one of the best 
 springs of generous and worthy actions, is the having 
 generous and worthy thoughts of ourselves. Who- 
 ever has a mean opinion of the dignity of his nature, 
 will act in no higher a rank than he has allotted him- 
 self 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 no- 
 ble, 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 soul's im- 
 mortality, cannot be resumed too often. There is 
 not a more improving exercise to the human mind 
 than to be frequently reviewing its own great priv- 
 ileges and endowments ; nor a more effectual means " 
 to awaken in us an ambition raised above low ob- 
 jects and little pursuits, than to value ourselves as 
 heirs 6f eternity. 
 
 ' It is a very great satisfaction to consider the 
 best and wisest of mankind in all nations and ages 
 
 " Mean. 
 
60 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 210. 
 
 asserting, as with one voice, this their birthright, 
 and to find it ratified by an express revelation. At 
 the same time, if we turn our thoughts inward upon 
 ourselves, we may meet with a kind of secret sense 
 concurring with the proofs of our own immortality. 
 
 ' You have, in my opinion, raised a good pre- 
 sumptive 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 proba- 
 ble conjecture may be raised from our appetite to 
 duration itself, and from a reflection on our progress 
 through the several stages of it. " We are complain- 
 ing," as you observe in a former speculation,'' " of 
 the shortness of life, and yet are perpetually hurry- 
 ing 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 settle- 
 ment we have gained? 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 tei;minates his prospect; 
 but he no sooner arrives at it, than he sees new 
 ground and other hills beyond it, and continues to 
 travel on as before. ^ 
 
 » No. 111. p No. 93. 
 
 1 This illustration seems to be toiTowed by Mr. John Hughes, from 
 Pope's Essay on Criticism (just then newly published), v. 225 : 
 
No. 210.] THE SPBOTATOB. 61 
 
 ' 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 there- 
 fore 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 exercised about it ; and this 
 restlessness in the present, this assigning ourselves 
 over to farther 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 con- 
 clusion. But 1 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 some- 
 thing so pitifully mean in the inverted ambition of 
 that man who can hope for annihilation, and please 
 himself to think that his whole fabric shall one day 
 
 ' So pleas'd at first the towering Alps -we try, 
 Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky, 
 Th' eternal snow appears already past, 
 And the first clouda and mountains seem the last : 
 But those attain'd, we tremble to survey 
 The growing labours of the lengthen'd way, 
 Th' increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes. 
 Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise.' P. 
 
62 THE SPECTATOR. [^o. 210. 
 
 crumble into dust, and mix with the mass of inani- 
 mate beings, that it equally deserves our admiration 
 and pity. The mystery of such men's unbelief is 
 not hard to be penetrated ; and indeed amounts to 
 nothing more than a sordid hope that they shall not 
 be immortal, because they dare not be so. 
 
 ' This brings me back to my first observation, and 
 gives me occasion to say farther, that as worthy ac- 
 tions spring from worthy thoughts, so worthy 
 thoughts are likewise the consequence of worthy ac- 
 tions. 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 Shakspeare 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 Hum- 
 phry, is represented on his death-bed. After some 
 short confused speeches, which show an imagination 
 disturbed with guilt, just as he is expiring. King 
 Henry standing by him, full of compassion, says, 
 
 " Lord Cardinal ! if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
 Hold up thy hand, make signal of that hope 1 — 
 He dies, and makes no signl " 
 
 'The despair which is here shown, 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 farther, 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. 
 
No. 21 l.J THE SPECTATOR. 63 
 
 What are honour, fame, wealth, or power, when com- 
 pared with the generous expectation of a being with- 
 out end, and a happiness adequate to that being ? 
 
 ' I shall trouble you no farther ; but with a certain 
 gravity, which these thoughts have given me, I re- 
 flect upon some things people say of you, (as they 
 will of all 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.' ' T. D.' 
 
 *^* At Drury-lane on Tuesday, Oct. 30, Timon of Athena. Timon the 
 Manhater, by Mr. Powell ; Alcibiades, Mr. Booth ; Apetnantus, Mr. Keen ; 
 .^lius, Mr. Johnson; Pheax, Mr. Bullock; Gleon, Mr. Norria; Isander, Mr. 
 Leigh ; Evandra, Mrs. Knight ; Melissa, Mrs. Bradshaw ; and Poet, by Mr. 
 Pinkethman. Spectator in folio. No. 209. 
 
 No. 211. THURSDAY, November 1, 1711. 
 
 Metis meminerit no3 jocari Fabulis. 
 
 PasajK. L^ Prol, 
 Let it be remembered that we sport in fabled stories. 
 
 Having lately' translated the fragment of an old 
 poet, which describes woman-kind 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 com- 
 
 ' This letter was written by Mr. John Hughes, and concludes with a 
 pleasing instance of true and delicate friendship. The signature of Steele 
 seems to signify that he transcribed it : but in the edition in 8vo. of 1'712, 
 No. 210 has the signature of Z, though it is marked T in the 12mo. of the 
 same year, as it likewise is in the Spect. in folio. The signature put to it 
 by Steele himself in the 8vo. edition of 1712, gives some ground to think, 
 that all the papers marked with the signature Z were likewise written by 
 Mr. John Hughes. 
 
 ' Na 209. Fragment of Simonidea. 
 
64 THE SPBCTATOE. [No. 211. 
 
 pounded ; 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 showing the different ingredients that go 
 to the making up of such different humours and con- 
 stitutions. Horace has a thought 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 the heart he seasoned it with 
 some furious particles of the lion.' But upon turn- 
 ing 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 diversified 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 extrava- 
 gancies. 
 
 Instead, therefore, of pursuing the thought of Si- 
 monides, I shall observe, that as he has exposed the 
 vicious part of women from the doctrine of pre-ex- 
 istence, some of the ancient philosophers have, in a 
 manner, satirized the vicious part of the human spe- 
 cies in general from a notion of the soul's post-exist- 
 ence, if I may so call it ; and that as Simonides 
 describes brutes entering into the composition of 
 
 - Lib. L ode xvi. Thus rendered by Mr. Duncombe : 
 
 ' 'Tis said, when Japhet's sou began 
 To mould the clay, and fashion man, 
 He stole from every beast a part, 
 And fix'd the lion in his heart.' 
 
No. 211.J THE SPECTATOR. 65 
 
 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's 
 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' unbodied 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 stUl 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 yon expel ; 
 With rabid hunger feed upon your kind. 
 Or from a beast dislodge a brother's mind.' 
 
 Plato, in the vision of Erus the Armenian, which 
 I may possibly make the subg'ect of a future specu- 
 lation, records some beautiful transmigrations; as 
 that the soul of Orpheus, who was musical, melan- 
 choly, 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 rapa- 
 cious and imperial, into an eagle ; and the soul of 
 Thersites, who was a mimic and a buffoon, into a 
 monkey. 
 
 Mr. Congreve, in a prologue to one of his come- 
 dies, has touched upon this doctrine with great hu- 
 mour : 
 
 VOL. III. 5 
 
66 THE SPEOTATOB. [No. 211. 
 
 'Thus Aristotle's soul of old tliat was, 
 May now be damn'd to animate an ass ; 
 Or in this very house, for aught we know, 
 Is doing painful penance in some beau.' 
 
 I shall fill up this paper with some letters which 
 my last Tuesday's speculation has produced. My 
 following correspondents will show, what I there 
 observed, that the speculation of that day affects 
 only the lower part of the sex. 
 
 'From my houBe in the Strand, October 30, 1111. 
 
 'me. spectator, 
 
 'Upon reading your Tuesday's 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 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, 
 
 Melissa.' 
 
No. 211.] THE SPECTATOR. 67 
 
 "• gjg Hceadilly, October 31, 1111, 
 
 ' 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 ribands. For my own part, I am a plain han- 
 dicraft man, and in danger of breaking by her lazi- 
 ness 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, 
 
 ' Baenabt Brittle.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, ' Cheapside, October 30. 
 
 ' I AM mightily pleased with the humour 
 of the cat ; be so kind as to enlarge upon that sub- 
 ject. ' Yours till death, 
 
 JosiAH Henpeck. 
 ' P. S. You must know I am married to a grimalkin.' 
 
 ' gjjj '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 wo- 
 men are made of sea- water. This, it seems, has en- 
 couraged my saucebox to be witty upon me. When 
 I am angry, he cries, " Prithee, my dear, be calm ;" 
 when I chide one of my servants, " Prithee, chUd, 
 do not bluster." He had the impudence, about an 
 hour ago, to tell me that he was a seafaring man, 
 and must expect to divide his life between storm 
 
 •> No. 209,' 
 
68 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 212. 
 
 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 " windbound." When I ask him wheth- 
 er 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 yourself, and that a woman was never de- 
 signed to be a milk-sop. 
 
 L.* 'Martha Tempest.' 
 
 No. 212. FRIDAY, November 2, 1711. 
 
 ^Eripe turpi 
 
 Colla jugo ; Liber, liber sum, die age — 
 Hoe. 8 Sat. vii. 92. 
 
 ^Loose thy neck iVom this ignoble chain, 
 
 And boldly say thou'rt free. 
 
 Ceeeoh, 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 
 
 ' Steele seems to have thought his wife a bee, but she was certainly 
 of the grimalkin family. See Steele's Letters, vol. i. ubigue. Addison's 
 was an Oceana, but he was at this time unmarried, and probably would 
 have lived longer if he had continued bo. 
 
 ' By Addison, dated, it seeips, from London. See No. S34, and No. 7, 
 ifinal notes on Addison's signatures. 
 
No. 212.] THE SPECTATOR. 69 
 
 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 hap- 
 py 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 pass, 
 that if I offered to go abroad, she would get between 
 me and the door, kiss me, and say she could not 
 part with me ; then down again I sat. In a day or 
 two after this first 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," said she, " 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 fond- 
 ness, and tell me I was a good dear. I will not enu- 
 merate 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 
 
 jNo. 176. 
 
70 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 212. 
 
 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 ser- 
 vants lament my condition ; but they dare not bring 
 me messages without her knowledge, because they 
 doubt my resolution to stand by them. In the midst 
 of this 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 music, and very ignorant of it ; 
 but far gone in the Italian taste. Tom goes to Arm- 
 strong, the famous fine writer of music, and desires 
 him to put this sentence of TuUy in the scale of an 
 Italian air, and write it out for my spouse from him. 
 '■'■An ille miM liber cm mulier imperatf Cui leges 
 imponit^ prce scribit, jubet, vetat qiiod videtur ? Qui 
 nihil imperanti negare^ nihil recusare audet ? Pos- 
 cit f dandum est Vocat ? veniendum. I}jicit f 
 abeundum. Minitatur ? extimescendum." " 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 com- 
 mands ?" 
 
 ' To be short, my wife was extremely pleased 
 with it ; said the Italian was the only language for 
 music ; 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, 
 
No. 212.] THE SPECTATOR. 71 
 
 which he performs with mighty applause ; and my 
 wife is in ecstacy 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 negate, nihil 
 reciisarey You may believe I was not a little de- 
 lighted with my friend Tom's 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 myself The 
 manner of the insurrection I contrive by your 
 means ; which shall be no other than that Tom 
 Meggot, who is at our tea-table every morning, shall 
 read it to us ; and if my dear can take the hint, and 
 say not one word, but let this be the beginning of 
 a new life, without farther explanation, it is very 
 well ; for as soon as the Spectator is read out, I shall, 
 without more ado, call for the coach, name the hour 
 when I shall be at home, if I come at all ; if I do 
 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, 
 ' Sir, your most obedient humble servant. 
 
 ' Anthony Freeman. 
 
 ' P. S. I hope I need not teU you that I desire 
 this may be in your very next.' 
 
 m z 
 
 ^ By Steele. See the sequel in No. 216, and No. 324, note on T. 
 
72 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 213. 
 
 No. 213. SATURDAY, Novembee 3, 1711. 
 
 Mens sibi couscia reed 
 
 ViEQ. Mn. I 608. 
 A good intention. 
 
 It is the great art and secret of Christianity, if I 
 may use that phrase, to manage our actions to the 
 best advantage, and direct them in such a manner, 
 that every thing we do 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 indif- 
 ferent. If we divide our intentions after the same 
 manner, and consider them with regard to our ac- 
 tions, 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 efl&cacy ; joined to an evil 
 action, extenuates its malignity, and in some cases 
 may take it wholly away ; and joined to an indif- 
 ferent action, turns it to virtue, and makes it meri- 
 torious as far as human actions can be so. 
 
 In the next place, to consider in the same man- 
 ner the influence of an evil intention upon our ac- 
 tions. An evil intention perverts the best of ac- 
 tions, 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 ; 
 
 " Splendida peccata. 
 
No. 213.] THE SPECTATOR. 73 
 
 or, in tlie emphatical language of sacred writ, makes 
 ' sin exceeding sinful.''' 
 
 If, in the last place, we consider the nature of 
 an indifferent intention, we shall find that it de- 
 stroys the merit of a good action ; abates, but never 
 takes away, the malignity of an evil action ; and 
 leaves an indifferent action in its natural state of in- 
 difference. 
 
 It is therefore of unspeakable advantage to pos- 
 sess 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 so 
 solid, in Acosta's answer to Limborch, 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 re- 
 quisite, 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 
 
 •" Rom. vii. 18. 
 
74 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 213. 
 
 part of our religion, that we may have more occa- 
 sions of showing our love to God, and, in all the 
 circumstances of life, be doing something to please 
 him. 
 
 Monsieur St. Evremont has endeavoured to pal- 
 liate the superstitions of the Roman catholic religion 
 with the same kind' of apologj^, where he pretends 
 to consider the different spirit of the Papists and the 
 Calvinists, as to the great points wherein they dis- 
 agree. He tells us, that the former are actuated by 
 love, and the other by fear ; and that in their ex- 
 pressions 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. 
 
 But notwithstanding this plausible reason with 
 which both the Jew and the Roman catholic would 
 excuse their respective superstitions, it is certain 
 there is something in them very pernicious to man- 
 kind, and destructive to religion; because the in- 
 junction of superfluous ceremonies makes such ac- 
 tions duties, as were before indifferent, and by that 
 means renders religion more burdensome and diffi- 
 cult than it is in its own nature, betrays many into 
 sins of omission which they would 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 ourselves indifferent ac- 
 tions 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 diver- 
 
No. 213.] THE SPECTATOR. 75 
 
 sions 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 ofl&- 
 ciousness (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.'° 
 
 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 dic- 
 tates of reason, suitable to human nature in general, 
 or to that particular station in which Providence has 
 placed him. He lives in the 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 his ' down- 
 sitting and his up-rising, who is about his path, and 
 about his bed, and spieth out all his ways.'* In a 
 word, he remembers that the eye of his Judge is 
 always upon him, and, in every action, he reflects 
 that he is doing what is commanded or allowed by 
 Him who will hereafter 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.' " 
 
 When I employ myself upon a paper of morality, 
 I generally consider how I may recommend the par- 
 
 <= 1 Cor. X. 31. '' Psal. exxxix. 2, 3. « Gen. v. 22. vi. 9. 
 
76 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 213. 
 
 ticular virtue wMch I treat of, by the precepts or 
 examples of the ancient heathens ; by that means, if 
 possible, to shame those who have greater advan- 
 tages of knowing their duty, and, therefore, greater 
 obligations to perform it, into a better course of life ; 
 besides, that many among us are unreasonably dis- 
 posed to give a fairer hearing to a Pagan philoso- 
 pher than to a Christian writer. 
 
 I shall therefore produce an instance of this ex- 
 cellent 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 endea- 
 vour 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 catholic, 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, pro- 
 nounced by such a person, I can scarce forbear cry- 
 ing out, " Sancte Socrates, ora pro nobis : " holy 
 Socrates, pray for us.' L.^ 
 
 ' By Addiaon, dated, it seems, from London. See final note to No. 384, 
 
No. 214.] THE SPECTATOR. 77 
 
 No. 214. MONDAY, November 5, 1711. 
 
 — Perierunt tcmpora longl 
 
 ServlHi- 
 
 Jnv. Sat. iil. 124. 
 A long dependence in an bonr is lost 
 
 Deydbn. 
 
 I DID some time ago lay before the world the un- 
 happy condition of the trading part of mankind 
 who suffer by want of punctuality in the dealings 
 of persons above them : 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, ac- 
 cording to the accustomed maxim, to be first dis- 
 charged. 
 
 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, 
 
78 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 214. 
 
 however, I must beg leave to say, that he who will 
 take up another's 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, though an offer 
 was made him of his being received as a page to a 
 man of quality.^ There are not more cripples come 
 out of the wars than there are from those great ser- 
 vices; some through discontent lose their speech, 
 some their memories, others their senses, or their 
 lives ; and I seldom see a man thoroughly discontent- 
 ed, 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 em- 
 ployment, but never arrived at the happiness of be- 
 ing possessed of any thing. 
 
 There is nothing more ordinary, than that a man, 
 
 K As the keeping of pages was a piece of state, that seems now to be 
 disused by our nobility, a short account of this diminutive order of at- 
 tendants may not be unacceptable. They were generally the sons of the 
 inferior gentry, who were taken very young into the families of their lords ; 
 where they were considered upon a very reputable footing. They wore a 
 livery of the same colours as the -footmen, but of richer materials ; as gold 
 and silver lace where the others had worsted, silk instead of cloth, &q. 
 They were the immediate attendants on their lord's person, to whom they 
 delivered all letters and messages ; no inferior servant being suffered to 
 approach him : at table they stood behind his chair, and presented him 
 with the cup, plate, <fcc. which they received at the hands of the footmen. 
 In return, their lord took care of their education ; and when they grew up 
 towards manhood (at which time they were supposed to be superannuated 
 for this ofSce), he was expected to provide for them genteelly. This ac- 
 count was received from a lady of quality lately dead, who remembered 
 her own lord's giving 5001. with one of his pages to fix him in a reputable 
 business, wherein he afterwards acquired a handsome fortune. This was 
 in the reign of king William. P. 
 
No. 214.] THE SPECTATOR. 79 
 
 who has got into a considerable station, shall imme- 
 diately 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 con- 
 sulted, even in matters which concern yourself; but 
 your patron is of a species above you, aiid a free 
 communication with you is not to be expected. This 
 perhaps may be your condition all the while he 
 bears ofSce, 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 to- 
 wards 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 pro- 
 fessed his abhorrence against all kind of passive be- 
 haviour, 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 interest 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 solicited 
 to receive it. Upon such occasions as these a man 
 
 !> These. 
 
80 THE SPECTATOR. i^°' 2^^' 
 
 may perhaps grow out of humour. 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 tUl 
 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 yourself 
 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 yourself, but such as make you agreeable in res- 
 pect to him. An imitation of his faults, or a com- 
 pliance, 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 the patron pleases, is ended ; and his 
 guilt and complaisance are objected to him, though 
 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 of turn- 
 ing you off from themselves to persons who have 
 less power to serve you, the art of being sorry for 
 
No. 214.] THE SPECTATOR. 81 
 
 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 flat- 
 tered with a whisper, that it is 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 unpro- 
 fitable 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 ob- 
 servation of what passes, may have seen) that have 
 miscarried by such sort of applications, it is too mel- 
 ancholy a scene to dwell upon; therefore I shall 
 take another opportunity to discourse of good pat- 
 rons, 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.* T.'' 
 
 • The Spectator has not justly represented here the gods of Epicurus : 
 they -weve supposed to be indolent and uninterested in the affairs of men, 
 but not malignant or cruel beings. P. 
 
 k By Steele. 
 
 VOL. ni. — 6 
 
82 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 215. 
 
 No. 215. TUESDAY, Novembek 6, 1711. 
 
 -Ingenuaa didicisse fldeliter artes 
 
 Emollit mores, nee sinit esse feros. 
 
 Ovid, de Ponto, II. ix. 4T. 
 
 Ingenuous arts, where they an entrance find, 
 Soften the manners, and subdue the mind. 
 
 I CONSIDER a human soul without education like mar- 
 ble in the quarry, which shows none of its inherent 
 beauties, until the skill of the polisher fetches out 
 the colours, makes the surface shine, and discovers 
 every ornamental cloud, spot, and vein that runs 
 through the body of it. Education, after the same 
 manner, when it works upon a noble mind, draws 
 out to view every latent virtue and perfection, which 
 without such helps are never able to make their ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 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 an human soul. The 
 philosopher, the saint, or the hero, the wise, the 
 good, or the great man, very often lie hid and con- 
 cealed in a plebeian, which a proper education 
 might have disinterred, and have brought to light. 
 I am therefore much delighted with reading the ac- 
 counts of savage nations, and with contemplating 
 those virtues which are wild and uncultivated ; to 
 see courage exerting itself in fierceness, resolution 
 
No. 215.] THE SPECTATOR. 83 
 
 in obstinacy, wisdom in cunning, patience in suUen- 
 ness and despair. 
 
 Men's passions operate variously, and appear in 
 different kinds of actions, according as they are more 
 or less rectified and swayed by reason. When one 
 hears of negroes, who upon the death of their mas- 
 ters, 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 itself 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 culti- 
 vated ? 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 com- 
 mon 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 for- 
 bear 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 Saint Christopher's, one of our British Lee- 
 ward islands. The negroes, who were the persons 
 concerned in it, were all of them the slaves of a gen- 
 tleman who is now in England. 
 
 This gentleman among his negroes had a young 
 woman, who was looked upon as a most extraordi- 
 nary beauty by those of her own complexion. He 
 had at the same time two young fellows who were 
 
84 THE SPECTATOR. C^o. 215. 
 
 likewise negroes and slaves, remarkable for the come- 
 liness of their persons, and for the friendship which 
 they bore to one another. It unfortunately happen- 
 ed that both of then fell in love with the female ne- 
 gro above mentioned, who would have been very glad 
 to have taken either of them for her husband, pro- 
 vided they could agree between themselves which 
 should be the man. But they were both so passion- 
 ately 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 friend's con- 
 sent. The torments of these two lovers were the 
 discourse of the family to which they belonged, who 
 could not forbear observing the strange complica- 
 tion 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 toge- 
 ther 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 corpse, weeping over it, and beating their breasts 
 in the utmost agonies of grief and despair. He im- 
 mediately 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 
 
No. 215.] THE SPECTATOB. 85 
 
 expiring by her with wounds they had given them- 
 selves. 
 
 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 itself 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 know- 
 ledge flourish ; though it must be confessed there 
 are, even in these parts, several poor uninstructed 
 ■persons, who are but litle 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 ; some- 
 times 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 Prax- 
 iteles could not give several nice touches and finish- 
 ings. 
 
 Discourses of morality, and reflections upon hu- 
 man nature, are the best means we can make use of 
 to improve our minds, and gain a true knowledge 
 of ourselves, and consequently to recover our souls 
 out of the vice, ignorance, and prejudice, which 
 naturally cleave to them. I have all along professed 
 myself in this paper a promoter of these great 
 
86 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 216. 
 
 ends ; and I flatter myself that I do from day to 
 day contribute something to the polishing of men's 
 minds ; at least my design is laudable, whatever the 
 execution may be. I must confess I am not a lit- 
 tle encouraged in it by many letters which I re- 
 ceive from unknown hands, in approbation of my 
 endeavours : and must take this opportunity of re- 
 turning my thanks to those who write them, and 
 excusing myself for not inserting several of them 
 in my papers, which I am sensible would be a very 
 great ornament to them. Should I publish the 
 praises which are so well penned, they would do 
 honour to the persons who write them; but my 
 publishing of them would, I fear, be a sufficient in- 
 stance to the world that I did not deserve them. 
 
 No. 216. WEDNESDAY, November 7, 1711. 
 
 Siqnldem hercl6 possis, nil prius, neque fortitifl ; 
 Terfim si incipies nequo perficies naviter, 
 Atquo, ubi pati non poteris, cilm nemo expetet, 
 Infects pace, ultrfl ad eaiu venies, indicans 
 Te amare, et ferro non posse : Actum est ilicot, 
 Persist! : eludet, ubi te vlctum senserit. 
 
 Tbe. Eun. Act 1. Sc. 1. 
 brave I oh excellent I if you maintain it I 
 But if you try, and can't go thro' with spirit, 
 And finding you can't bear it, uninTited, 
 Tour peace unmade, all of your own accord. 
 Ton come and swear you love, and can't endure it. 
 Good night 1 aU's over I rulu'd I and undone I 
 She'll jilt you, when she sees you in her power. 
 
 GOLUAN. 
 
 ' TO MR. SPECTATOR. 
 
 'sir, 
 
 ' This is to inform you, that Mr. Freeman 
 had no sooner taken coach, but his lady was taken 
 
 * By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea. See No. 7, note. 
 
No. 216.] THE SPECTATOR. 87 
 
 with a terrible fit of the vapours, which it is feared, 
 wUl 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 
 public, and you will oblige Yours, 
 
 'A. NOEWILL.' 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' The uproar was so great as soon as I had 
 read the Spectator cioncerning Mrs. Freeman," that 
 after many revolutions in her temper, of raging, 
 swooning, railing, fainting, pitying herself, and revil- 
 ing her husband, upon aif 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 countenance and temper 
 on such occasions ; and soon found my historical 
 name to be Tom Meggot in your writings, but con- 
 cealed myself until I saw how it affected Mrs. Free- 
 man. She looked frequently at her husband, as of- 
 ten at me ; and she did not tremble as she filled tea, 
 until 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 deceived, 
 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 pretend- 
 ing coxcomb, a meddler 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, 
 
 " See Mr. Freeman's letter in No. 217. Steele perhaps alludes in this, 
 and the paper of which it is the sequel, to his own situation with his sec- 
 ond wife. See Steele's Letter, <fec. voL i. passim. 
 
88 THE SPECTATOE. [^0. 216. 
 
 were I less fond of you than I am, I should not 
 have taken this way of writing to the Spectator, to in- 
 form 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 fellowf 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 myself 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 myself 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 com- 
 plaisance to a froward humour which has grown up- 
 on an agreeable woman by his indulgence." Mr. 
 Freeman ended this with a tenderness in his aspect, 
 and a downcast eye, which showed 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 
 
No. 216.] THE SPECTATOR. 89 
 
 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 ac- 
 quainted with her errors, without the least admoni- 
 tion. Mr. Freeman was going to make a softening 
 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 hu- 
 mour, which was well enough in a girl, is unsuffer- 
 able in one of your motherly character." With that 
 she lost all patience, and flew directly at her hus- 
 band's periwig. I got her in my arms, and defend- 
 ed 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 
 inquire after him ; and Mrs. Freeman's mother writ 
 a note, wherein she thought never to have seen this 
 day, and so forth. 
 
 ' In a word, Sir, I am afraid we are upon a thing 
 we have not talents for : and I can observe already. 
 
90 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 217. 
 
 my friend looks upon me rather as a man that knows 
 a weakness of him that he is ashamed of, than one 
 who has rescued him from slavery. Mr. Spectator, 
 I am but a young fellow, and if Mr. Freeman sub- 
 mits, I shall be looked upon as an incendiary, and 
 never get a wife as long as I breathe. He has in- 
 deed sent word home he shall lie at Hampstead to- 
 night ; but I believe fear of the first onset after this 
 rupture has too great a place in this resolution. 
 Mrs. Freeman has a very pretty sister ; suppose I 
 delivered him up, and articled with the mother for 
 her bringing him home. If he has not courage to 
 stand it (you are a great casuist), is it such an ill 
 thing to bring myself 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. Sentry 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, Yours, 
 
 T.° ' Tom Meggot.' 
 
 No. 217. THURSDAY, November 8, 1711. 
 
 Tunc fcemina simplex, 
 
 Et paritor toto repetitur clamor ab antro. 
 
 JTrv. Sat Ti. 826. 
 
 Then unrestrained by rules of decency, b 
 Th' assembled females raise a general cry. 
 
 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 
 
 = By Steele. See final note to No. 324, on signature T. 
 
No. 217.] THE SPECTATOR. 91 
 
 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 amend- 
 ment of that kind of persons who are represented in 
 it, and whose characters are frequent enough in the 
 world. 
 
 'me. spectator, 
 
 'In some of your first papers you were 
 pleased to give the public 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 them- 
 selves in public places. I am not able to express 
 the pleasure we enjoy from ten at night 'till four in 
 the morning, in being as rude as you men can be 
 for your lives. As our play runs high, the room is 
 immediately 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 ourselves, 
 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 member's chamber. 
 
92 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 2! 7. 
 
 where every one is to pick out what belonged to her 
 from this conftised bundle of silks, stuffs, laces, and 
 ribands. I have hitherto given you an account of 
 our diversion on ordinary club-nights ; but must ac- 
 quaint 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 
 month's prude was so armed and fortified in whale- 
 bone 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 entrenchments. In 
 short. Sir, it is impossibip to give you a true notion 
 of our sport, unless you would come one night 
 amongst us ; and though it be directly against the 
 rules of our society to admit a male visitant, we 
 repose so much confidence in your silence and taci- 
 turnity, that it 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.' 
 
 Though I thank Kitty for her kind offer, I do 
 not at present find in myself any inclination to ven- 
 ture my person with her and her romping compan- 
 ions. I should regard myself 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. 1 may perhaps 
 
No. 217.] THE SPECTATOR. 93 
 
 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. 
 
 'me. spectator, 
 
 ' 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-humoured ; 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 herself 
 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 ached ; 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 ac- 
 count which she gives of herself 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM happily arrived at a state of tran- 
 quillity, which few people envy ; I mean, that of an 
 
94 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 218, 
 
 old maid ; therefore being wholly unconcerned in 
 all that medley of follies which our sex is apt to 
 contract- from the silly fondness of yours, I read 
 you railleries on us without provocation. I can say 
 with Hamlet, 
 
 "Man delights not me, 
 
 Kor woman neither." 
 
 ' Therefore, dear Sir, as you never spare your 
 own sex, do not be afraid of reproving what is ridi- 
 culous in ours, and you will oblige at least one wo- 
 man, who is ' Your humble Servant, 
 
 ' Susannah Frost.' 
 
 'mr. spectator, 
 
 ' I AM wife to a clergyman, and cannot 
 
 help thinking that in your tenth or tithe character 
 
 of womankind" you meant myself, therefore I have 
 
 no quarrel against you for the other nine characters. 
 
 ' Your humble Servant, 
 
 X.P 'A. B.' 
 
 No. 218. FKIDAY, November 9, 1711. 
 
 Quid de qnoquo viro, et cui dicas, siepe caveto. 
 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. xTiii. 68. 
 
 Have a care 
 
 Of whom you talk, to whom, and what, and where. 
 
 POOLEY. 
 
 I HAPPENED the other day, as my way is, to stroll 
 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 
 
 See No. 209. 
 
 P By Mr. E. Budgell. See No. 565. 
 
No. 218.] THE SPECTATOR. 95 
 
 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 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 economy, 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 would 
 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 dif- 
 ferent 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 those characters of men, or rather 
 are the life of these characters. Glory, while the 
 hero pursues great and noble enterprises, is impreg- 
 
96 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 218. 
 
 nable ; and all the assailants of his renown do but 
 show 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-lived to stand up in competition with glo- 
 ry, 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 ex- 
 posed to the malignity or wantonness of the com- 
 mon voice, is the trader. Credit is undone in whis- 
 pers. The tradesman's wound is received from one 
 who is more private and more cruel than the ruf&an 
 with the lanthorn and dagger. The manner of re- 
 peating 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 advan- 
 tage 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 burden 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 
 
No. 218.] THE SPECTATOR. 97 
 
 of a mercliant! 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 de- 
 mands 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 iU 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 merchaat is above that 
 
 VOL. UI. 7 
 
,98 THE SPECTATOR. V^°- 219. 
 
 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. 
 
 rj\ q 
 
 No. 219. SATURDAY, November 10, 1711. 
 
 Vix ea nostra toco.— 
 
 OvTD. Met. xiil 141. 
 These 1 scarce call our own. 
 
 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 ac- 
 quaintance. The poorest mechanic, 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 person's advantage, as it generally does to his 
 uneasiness and disquiet. 
 
 I shall therefore put together some thoughts on 
 this subject, which I have not met with in other 
 writers ; and shall set them down as they have oc- 
 curred to me, without being at the pains to connect 
 or methodise them. 
 
 All superiority and pre-eminence that one man 
 
 1 By Steele. See final note to No. 824, on signature T. 
 
No. 219.] THE SPECTATOR. 99 
 
 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 ourselves than the former. Quality, 
 as it regards the mind, has its rise from knowledge 
 or virtue ; and is that which is more essential to us, 
 and more intimately uijited with us than either of 
 the other two. 
 
 The quality of fortune, though 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 inti- 
 mation of some particular merit that should recom- 
 mend men to the high stations which they possess. 
 Holiness is ascribed to the pope ; majesty to kings ; 
 serenity or mildness of temper to princes ; excel- 
 lence or perfection to ambassadors ; grace to arch- 
 bishops ; 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 vir- 
 tues of that 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 intrinsic value 
 is frequently lost. 
 
100 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 219. 
 
 The death-bed shows the emptiness of titles in a 
 true light. A poor dispirited sinner lies trembling 
 under the apprehensions of the state he is entering 
 on ; and is asked by a grave attendant how his holi- 
 ness does. Another hears himself addressed to un- 
 der the title of highness or excellency, who lies under 
 such mean circumstances of mortality as are the dis- 
 grace of human nature. Titles at such a time look 
 rather like insults and mockery than respect. 
 
 The truth of it is, honours are in this world un- 
 der no regulation ; true quality is neglected, 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 preced.ency set 
 right. 
 
 MetMnks we should have an ambition, if not to 
 advance ourselves in another world, at least to pre- 
 serve, 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 sojour- 
 ners upon earth, and life a pilgrimage. Several 
 heatheUj 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 accomniQdations in this our passage. It is 
 therefore very absurd to think of setting up our rest 
 before we come to our journey's end, and not rather 
 to take care of the reception we shall there meet, 
 than to fix our thoughts on the little conveniences 
 and advantages which we enjoy one above another 
 in the way to it. 
 
 Epictetus makes use of another kind of allusion, 
 which is very beautiful, and wonderfully proper to 
 
No. 219.] THE SPEOTATOE. 101 
 
 incline us to be satisfied witli the post in which Pro- 
 vidence has placed us. We are here, says he, as in 
 a theatre, where every one has a part allotted to him. 
 The great duty ■w'hich 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.'' 
 
 The part that was acted by this philosopher 
 himself was but a very indifferent one ; for he lived 
 and died eE slave. His motive to contentment in 
 this particular, receives a very great enforcement 
 from the above-mentioned consideration, if we re- 
 member that our parts in the other world will be 
 new cast, and that mankind will be there ranged.in 
 different stations of superiority and pre-eminence, in 
 proportion as they have here excelled one another in 
 virtue, and performed in their several posts of 
 life the duties which belong to them. 
 
 There are many beautiful passages in the little 
 apocryphal book, intitled The Wisdom of Solomon, 
 to set forth the vanity of honour, and the like tem- 
 poral blessings which are in so great repute among 
 men, and to comfort those who have not the posses- 
 sion of them. It represents in very warm and noble 
 terms this advancement of a good man in the other 
 world, and the great surprise which it will produce 
 among those who are his superiors in this. ' Then 
 shall the righteous man stand in great boldness be- 
 
 •" Vii Epicteti Enchirid. cap. 23. 
 
102 THE SPECTATOR. [No- 219. 
 
 fore 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 repent- 
 ing and groaning for anguish of spirit, shall say with- 
 in 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 with- 
 out honour. How is he numbered among the chil- 
 dren of Grod, and his lot is among the saints !" 
 
 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.' In the mean- time, since 
 it is necessary, in the present constitution of things, 
 that order and distinction should be kept up in the 
 world, we should be happy, if those who enjoy the 
 upper stations in it would endeavour to surpass others 
 in" 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 con- 
 dition hereafter, and, by a just deference and submis- 
 sion to their superiors, make them happy in those 
 blessings with which Providence has thought fit to 
 distinguish them. C." 
 
 • Wisd. ch. V. 1—5. « Ch. t. 8—14. 
 
 " By Addison, dated perhaps from Chelsea. See final note to No. T, 
 on the signatures C, L, I, ; and Ifo. 221. 
 
No. 220.] THE SPEOTATOE. 103 
 
 No. 220. MONDAY, November 12, 1711. 
 
 Bumoresqae serit varios 
 
 ViEO. jEn. xii i 
 A thousand ramours spreads. 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' Why will you apply to my father for my 
 love ? I cannot help it if he will give you my per- 
 son ; 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 consequences of such a match ; 
 you are fifty-five, I twenty-one. You are a man of 
 business, and mightily conversant in arithmetic and 
 making calculations ; be pleased therefore to consid- 
 er what proportion your spirits bear to mine ; and 
 when you have made a just estimate of the necessa- 
 ry 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 plain- 
 ly. 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, 
 
 ' SiE, your most humble servant, 
 
 ' Henrietta.' 
 
 'MR. spectator, 
 
 ' There are so many artifices and modes of 
 false wit, and such a variety of humour discovers 
 itself among its votaries, that it would be impossible 
 to exhaust so fertile a subject, if you would think 
 fit to resume it. The following instances may, if 
 
104 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 220. 
 
 you think fit, be added by way of appendix to your 
 discourses on tliat subject."" 
 
 'That feat of poetical activity, mentioned by 
 Horace, of an author who could compose two hun- 
 dred verses while he stood upon one leg, 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 until he had acquainted you in how short a 
 space of time he had deserved it ; and was not so 
 much led to an ostentation of his art, as of his de- 
 spatch : 
 
 " Aooipe si vis, 
 
 Accipe jam tabnlas ; detur nobis locus, et hora, 
 Oustodes : videamus uter plus scribere possit." 
 
 HoE. 1 Sat. iv. 14. 
 
 " Here's pen and ink, and time, and place ; let's try. 
 Who can write most, and fastest, you or I." 
 
 Cbbeoh. 
 
 ' This was the whole of his ambition ; and therei- 
 fore I cannot but think the flights of this rapid au- 
 thor 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 
 get 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 epigrammatic wit ; and there 
 
 " See Nob. 58—68. 
 
No. 220.] THE SPECTATOR. 105 
 
 was not a parlour or tavern window where lie visit- 
 ed or dined for some years, which did not receive 
 some sketches or memorials of it. It was his mis- 
 fortune 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. 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 in- 
 to several squares, and all inscribed with so many in- 
 coherent 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, accord- 
 ing to the problem, start of themselves into hexame- 
 ter 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 
 ddwn ; he showed his verses to the next of his ac- 
 quaintance, who happened to understand Latin ; and 
 being informed they described a tempest of wind, 
 very luckily prefixed them, together with a trans- 
 lation, to an almanack he was just then printing, 
 
 ' This is no fiction of the Spectator's, as might naturally he imagined. 
 There was a projector of this kind named John Peter, who published a 
 very thin pamphlet in 8to. intitled Artificial Versifying, a new way to 
 make Latin Verses. Lond. 1678. I believe it is a plan of his scheme 
 which is given in Nat Bailey's Dictionary, folio, under the word Hexa- 
 meter. P. 
 
106 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 220. 
 
 and was supposed to have foretold the last great 
 storm, y 
 
 I think the only improvement beyond this would 
 be that which the late duke of Buckingham ' men- 
 tioned to a stupid pretender to poetry, as a project 
 of a Dutch mechanic, viz. a mill to make verses. 
 This being the most compendious method of all 
 which have yet been proposed, may deserve the 
 thoughts of our modern virtuosi who are employed 
 in new discoveries for the public good ; and it may 
 be worth the while 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.' " 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I OFTEN dine at a gentleman's house where 
 there are two young ladies in themselves very agree- 
 able, 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 indif- 
 ference 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.' 
 
 r Viz. November 26, 1703. See Tat. No. 43, and note. 
 
 ' George Villiers, author of the Rehearsal, who died in 1687. Swift 
 seems to hare borrowed from hence his wooden engine for making books 
 in Gulliver's Ti-avels, p. S, oh. 6. 
 
 » This letter was written by Mr. John Hughes. 
 
No. 220.] THE SPECTATOR. 107 
 
 'ME. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM a young gentleman, and take it for 
 a piece of good breeding to pull ofi" my hat when I 
 see any thing peculiarly 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 re- 
 turn 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 expense of wearing 
 out my hat so fast as I do at present. 
 
 'I am, Sir, yours, T. D.' 
 
 'P. S. There are some that do know me, and 
 won't bow to me.' 
 T. 
 
 *,* KoT. 10, King Lear. The King, by Mr. Powell; Gloster, Mr. 
 Gibber ; Edgar, Mr. Wilis ; Edmund, Mr. Mills ; Kent, Mr. Keen. Cor- 
 delia, Miss Sherboum ; and Gentleman Usher, Mr. Pinkethman. — Speot. in 
 folio. 
 
 f 4f On the preceding evening was presented at Drury-lane theatre, a 
 comedy, written by sir G. Etheridge, called She Wou'd if she Cou'd. Sir 
 O. Coekwood, by Mr. Dogget ; Sir Joshua JoUy, Mr. Estcourt ; CourtaU, 
 Mr. Wilks ; Freeman, Mr. Mills ; Rakehell, Mr. Bickerstaff. L. Coekwood, 
 Mrs. Knight ; Ariana, Mrs. Porter ; Gatty, Mrs. Santlow ; and Sentry, by 
 Mrs. Saunders. — Spect. in folio. 
 
108 THE SPECTATOR. [^0- 221. 
 
 No. 221. ■ TUESDAY, November 13, 1711. • 
 
 — Ab OTO 
 TJsque ad mala^ — 
 
 Hoe. Sat 8, 1. 1, v. 6. 
 
 From eggs, which first are Bet upon the board, 
 To apples ripe, with which it last is stor'd. 
 
 When I have finislied 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 choose 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 classic 
 author. 
 
 It was a saying of an ancient philosopher,'' which 
 I find some of our writers have ascribeid to queen 
 Elizabeth, who perhaps might have taken occasion 
 to repeat it, that a good face is a letter of recom- 
 mendation. It naturally makes the beholders inqui- 
 sitive into the person who is the owner of it, and 
 generally prepossesses them in his favour. A hand- 
 some motto has the same effect. Besides that it 
 
 i" Aristotle ; or, aooording to some, Diogenes. See Diogenes Laertins, 
 lib. 5, cap. 1, n. 11. 
 
No. 221.1 THE SPECTATOR. 109 
 
 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 shows 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 un- 
 learned 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 
 entertainmeift in the house ; and I think I was never 
 better pleased than with a plain man's compliment, 
 who, upon his friend's 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 congrega- 
 tion. 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 them- 
 selves 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 
 Sunda-y, 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 Quce Genus, adding, however, such explica- 
 tions to it as he thought might be for the benefit of 
 his people. He afterwards entered upon As in prce- 
 senti, which he converted in the same manner to the 
 use of his parishioners. This in a very little time 
 
110 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 221. 
 
 thickened his audience, filled his church, and routed 
 his antagonist. 
 
 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 day's work for a dissertation upon 
 the two extremities of my paper, and having already 
 despatched my motto, I shall in the next place, dis- 
 course upon these 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 inquiries of me by letter, I 
 must tell them the reply of an ancient philosopher, 
 
No. 221.] THE SPECTATOR. Ill 
 
 who carried something hidden under his cloak. A 
 certain acquaintance desiring him to let him know 
 what it was he carried 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 surprised if, hereafter, he sees any 
 of my papers marked with a Q, a Z, a Y, an &c. or 
 with the word Abracadabra.* 
 
 I shall, however, so far explain myself 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 Pythago- 
 ras, and swear by the Tetrachtys, 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 Platonic writers the com- 
 plete 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 
 
 A noted charm for agues : said to have been invented by Basilides, 
 an heretic of the second century, who taught, that very sublime mysteries 
 vrere contained in the number 365, (viz. not only the days of the year, but 
 the different orders of celestial beings, <feo.) to which number the Hebrew 
 letters that compose the word Abracadabra are said to amount 
 
 J See Stanley's Lives of the Philosophers, page 52Y, 2d edit. 1687, folio. 
 
112 THE SPECTATOK. [No. 221. 
 
 nature. Upon his taking the doctor of divinity's 
 degree, he preached before the university of Cam- 
 bridge, upon the first verse of the first chapter of the 
 first book of Chronicles, ' in which,' says he, ' you 
 will see 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 Dr. Alabaster, of whom 
 the reader may find a more particular Account in 
 Dr. Fuller's book of English Worthies." This in- 
 stance 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 explications of these matters, I must 
 refer them to time, which discovers all things. 
 
 C 
 
 1 It seems the -word Adam signifies in the Hebrew language, 'man; ' 
 Sheth signifies ' placed ; ' and Enoch, ' misery : ' hence this profound 
 doctor (to use the words of the historian referred to) ' mined for a mys- 
 tical meaning,' and dug out this moral inference, that, 'Man is placed in 
 misery or pain.' See Fuller's Worthies of Sufi'olk, p. 70. 
 
 ' By Addison, dated, it is thought, from Chelsea. See final note to 
 No. 1. 
 
 The following passage in Steele's dedication of The Drummer to Mr. 
 Congreve, on the subject of the capital letters at the ends of the half sheets 
 in which the Spectators were first published, is here faithfully transcribed, 
 and left free to the judgment of the reader. ' The editor [of Addison's 
 Works in 4to, Mr. Thomas Tiekell] will not let me or any body else obey 
 Mr. Addison's commands, in hiding any thing he desires should be con- 
 cealed. — The circumstance of marking his Spectators, which I did not know 
 till I had done with the work, I made my own act, because I thought it too 
 great a sensibility of my friend, and thought it, since it was done, better to 
 be supposed marked by me than the author himself, the real state of which 
 this zealot rashly and injudiciously exposes. I ask the reader whether 
 any thing but an earnestness to disparage me could provoke the editor, in 
 
No. 222.] THE SPECTATOR, 113 
 
 No. 222. WEDNESDAY, November 14, 1711. 
 
 Car alter fratrum cesaare, et Indere, et ungi, 
 Praeferat Herodispalmetis pinguibus — 
 
 Hoe. 2 Ep. ii. 188. 
 Why, of two brothers, one his pleasure loves, 
 Prefers his sports to Herod's fragrant groves. 
 
 Obeech. 
 
 ' MB. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' There is one thing I have often looked 
 for in your papers, and have as often wondered to 
 find myself disappointed ; the rather because I think 
 it a subject every way agreeable to your design, and, 
 by being left unattempted by others, it seems re- 
 served as a proper employment for you ; I mean, a 
 Disquisition, from whence it proceeds that men of 
 the brightest parts and most comprehensive genius, 
 completely furnished with talents for any province 
 in human affairs, such as by their wise lessons of 
 economy 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 na- 
 ture and by art, should so often fail in the manage- 
 ment 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 inconsist- 
 ency in behaviour, and makes much such a figure in 
 morals, as a monstrous birth in naturals ; with this 
 difference only, which greatly aggravates the won- 
 
 behalf of Mr. Addison, to eay, that he marked it out of caution against me, 
 when I had taken it upon me to say, it was I that did it out of tenderness 
 to him.' It seems difficult to ascertain the sense of this involved passage, 
 here given in its original punctuation : perhaps Steele put the | 
 mark to distinguish Addison's papers in the Guardian. 
 
 VOL. III. — 8 
 
114 THE SPEGTATOB. C^O. 222. 
 
 der, 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 char- 
 acters ? For my part I think there is no reflection 
 more astonishing than to consider one of these gen- 
 tlemen spending a fair fortune, running in every 
 body's debt without the least apprehension of a fu- 
 ture 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 no one would scarce suspect to have a human 
 soul, shall perhaps raise a vast estate out of nothing, 
 and be the founder of a family capable of being very 
 considerable in their country, and doing many illus- 
 trious 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 
 myself, that it would be no unacceptable piece of 
 entertainment to the town to inquire into the hid- 
 den 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 human life. Horace reflects upon this in- 
 consistency very agreeably in the character of Tigel- 
 
 •• See No. 162. 
 
No. 222.] THE SPECTATOR. 115 
 
 lius,'' whom he makes a mighty pretender to econo- 
 my, and tells you, you might one day hear him 
 speak the most philosophic things imaginable con- 
 cerning being contented with a little, and his con- 
 tempt of every thing but mere necessaries ; and in 
 half a week after spend a thousand pounds. When 
 he says this of him with relation to expense, 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 pro- 
 ceeds from a certain incapacity of possessing them- 
 selves, and finding enjoyment in their own minds. 
 Mr. Dryden has expressed this very excellently in 
 the character of Zimri : 
 
 ' A man so varioua, 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 chemist, fiddler, statesman and buffoon. 
 Then all for women, painting, rhyming, 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 squand'ring wealth was his peculiar art, 
 Nothing went unrewarded but desert.' 
 
 This loose state of the soul hurries the extrava- 
 gant from one pursuit to another ; and the reason 
 that his expenses are greater than another's is, that 
 his wants 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. TuUy says, it is the greatest of 
 wickedness to lessen your paternal estate. And if 
 a man would thoroughly consider how much worse 
 
116 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 222. 
 
 than banishment it must be to his child, to ride by 
 the estate which should have been his had it not 
 been for his father's 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 himself. 
 
 It is not, perhaps, much thought of, but it is cer- 
 tainly a very important lesson, to learn how to en- 
 joy 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 ex- 
 ercising their feeling or tasting. It would be hard 
 on this occasion to mention the harmless smokers of 
 tobacco and takers of snuff". 
 
 The slower part of mankind, whom my corres- 
 pondent 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 vio- 
 lent passion or keen appetite to any thing. To men 
 addicted to delights, business is an interruption ; to 
 such as are cold to delights, business is an entertain- 
 ment. For which reason it was said by one who 
 commended a dull man for his application, ' No 
 thanks to him ; if he had no business, he would have 
 nothing to do.'* T.^ 
 
 • See Mr. Baynes's remarks on this paper in Hughes's Correspondence, 
 ■SroL i. let. xvi. p. 66. 
 
 * By Steele. See final notes to Nos. 6, and 324. 
 
No. 223.] THE SPECTATOR. 117 
 
 No. 223. THUKSDAY, Novembek 15, 1711. 
 
 O saavis Anima I qnalem te dicam bonam 
 Antehac fuisse, tales cum sint reliqniffl I 
 
 PiLSDB. iiL 1 6. 
 O sweet soull how good must you have been heretofore, when your remains are so 
 delicious I 
 
 When I reflect upon the various fate of those multi- 
 tudes 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.' 
 
 yiBG. ^n. i. 122. 
 ' One here and there floats on the vast abyss.' 
 
 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 writ- 
 ing, which is perfectly conformable with that extra- 
 ordinary character we find of her in the remarks of 
 those great critics 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 lyrics 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 
 compaxed to Cacus, the son of Vulcan, who breathed 
 out nothing but flame. T do not know, by the char- 
 
118 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 223. 
 
 acter 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 des- 
 perately in love with him, and took a voyage into 
 Sicily in pursuit of him, he having withdrawn him- 
 self 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 pas- 
 sion, that she was resolved to get rid of it at any 
 price. 
 
 There was a promontory in Acarnania, called 
 Leucate, 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 some- 
 times taken up alive. This place was therefore 
 called The Lover's 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 
 
 ' ' In applying to the poetical remains of Sappho the two lines of Phte- 
 drua contained in this motto, Mr. Addison has hit upon one of the most 
 elegant and happy applications that perhaps ever was made from any clas- 
 sic author,' — Essay on the Genius of Pope. 
 
No. 223.] THE SPECTATOR. 119 
 
 observed never to relapse into that passion. Sap- 
 pho 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. The reader will find 
 in it that pathetic simplicity which is so peculiar to 
 him, and so suitable to the ode he has here trans- 
 lated. This ode in the Greek (besides those beau- 
 ties observed by madam Dacier) has several har- 
 monious 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. 
 
 AS HYMN TO VENUS. 
 
 ' O Ventts, beauty of the skies, 
 To whom a thousand temples rise, 
 Gaily false in gentle smiles, 
 PuU of love-perplexing wiles ; 
 O goddess ! from my heart remove 
 The wasting cares and pains of love. 
 
 'If ever thou hast kindly heard 
 A song in soft distress preferr'd, 
 
 " Ambrose Phillips. — ^The author of the Essay on the Writings of Pope 
 thinks both this and Phillips's other translation in No. 229, were revised 
 and altered by Addison himself — The Winter Piece is in Tat. No. 12. See 
 also Speet No. 366. 
 
120 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 223. 
 
 Propitious to my tuneful vow, 
 O gentle goddess ! hear me now. 
 Descend, thou bright, immortal guest, 
 In all thy radiant charms confest. 
 
 ' Thou once didst leave almighty Jove, 
 And aU the golden roofs above : 
 The car thy wanton sparrows drew, 
 Hovering in air they lightly flew ; 
 As to my bower they wing'd their way, 
 I saw their quivering pinions play. 
 
 ' The birds dismist (while you remain) 
 Bore back their empty car again : 
 Then you, with looks divinely mild. 
 In every heavenly feature smil'd. 
 And ask'd what new complaints I made. 
 And why I call you to my aid ? 
 
 ' What phrenry in my bosom rag'd. 
 And by what cure to be assuag'd ? 
 What gentle youth I would allure, 
 Whom in thy artful toUs secure ? 
 Who does thy tender heart subdue. 
 Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who ? 
 
 ' Tho' now he shuns thy longing arms, 
 He soon shall court thy slighted charms- 
 Tho' now thy offerings he despise. 
 He soon to thee shall sacrifice ; 
 Tho' now he freeze, he soon shall burn. 
 And be thy victim in his turn. 
 
 ' Celestial visitant, once more 
 Thy needful presence I implore I 
 In pity come, and ease my grief. 
 Bring my distemper'd soul relief, 
 Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires. 
 And give me all my heart desires.' 
 
 Madam Dacier observes there is something very 
 pretty in that circumstance of this ode, wherein 
 
No. 224.] THE SPBCTATOE. 121 
 
 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 in- 
 tended to make her. This ode was preserved by 
 an eminent Greek critic, " who inserted it entire 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 fore- 
 going 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 an- 
 cients, which have not in them any of those unnatu- 
 ral witticisms that are the delight of ordinary read- 
 ers, are extremely difl&cult to render into another 
 tongue, so as the beauties of the original may not 
 appear weak and faded in the translation. C.p 
 
 No. 224. FKIDAY, November 16, 1711. 
 
 — Fulgente trahit constrictoa gloria curru 
 Non minus ignotos generosis— 
 
 Hoe. 1 Sat vi. 23. 
 Chaln'd to her shining car, Fame draws along, 
 "With equal whirl, the great and vulgar throng. 
 
 If we look abroad upon the great multitude of man- 
 kind, and endeavour to trace out the principles of 
 
 ° Dionysius of HalicarnasBus, in his book De Structura Orationis, p. 202. 
 Lend. 1'702. 
 
 » See Ifo. 229. 
 
 p By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea. See final notes to No. 6, 
 No. 221, and penult, note. 
 
122 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 224. 
 
 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 complexion is more or less actuat- 
 ed by it. It is indeed no uncommon thing to meet 
 with men, who, by the natural bent of their incli- 
 nations, 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 dependences, nor other gay appendages 
 of greatness ; who are contented with a competency, 
 and will not molest their tranquillity to gain an abun- 
 dance. 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 ac- 
 tions, abstracted from the views of popular applause, 
 be to a generous mind an ample reward, yet the de- 
 sire of distinction was doubtless implanted in our 
 natures as an additional incentive to exert ourselves 
 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 excellences 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 con- 
 verse, will bring forth suitable effects as it falls in 
 with an ingenuous disposition or a corrupt mind. 
 It does accordingly express itself in acts of magna- 
 nimity or selfish cunning, as it meets with a good or 
 a weak understanding. As it has been employed in 
 
No. 224.] THE SPECTATOR. 123 
 
 embellishing the mind, or adorning the outside, it. 
 renders the man eminently praiseworthy or ridicu- 
 lous. 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 princi- 
 ple within us sometimes breaks forth upon one ob- 
 ject, sometimes upon another. 
 
 It cannot be doubted, but that there is as great 
 a 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 prin- 
 ciple of honour. This is the secret spring that 
 pushes them forward ; and the superiority which 
 they gain above the undistinguished many does 
 more than repair those wounds they have received 
 in the combat. It is Mr. Waller's opinion, that Ju- 
 lius Caesar, had he not been master of the Roman 
 empire, would in aU probability have made an ex- 
 cellent wrestler : 
 
 ' Great Julius on the mountains bred, 
 A flock perhaps or herd had led ; 
 He that the world subdu'd had been 
 But the best wrestler on the green.' 
 
 That he subdued the world was owing to the acci- 
 dents 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 enterprise of a lower 
 nature. Since therefore no man's lot is so unalter- 
 ably fixed in this life, but that a thousand accidents 
 may either forward or disappoint his advancement, 
 it is, methinks, a pleasant and inoffensive Specula- 
 
124 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 224. 
 
 •tion, to consider a great man as divested of all the 
 adventitious circumstances of fortune, and to bring 
 him down in one's imagination to that low station of 
 life, the nature of which bears some distant resem- 
 blance 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 educa- 
 tion 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 capacity.' 
 
 Thus nature furnishes a man with a general appe- 
 tite 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 ob- 
 servation. It has likewise, upon this account, been 
 frequently resented as a very great slight, to leave 
 any gentleman out of a lampoon or satire, who has 
 as much right to be there as his neighbour, because 
 it supposes the person not eminent enough to be 
 taken notice of To this passionate fondness for dis- 
 tinction are owing various frolicsome 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 
 
 1 See Gray's Elegy, <fcc. 
 
No. 224.] THE SPECTATOR. 125 
 
 number of horses ; with many other enterprises of 
 the like fiery nature : for certainly many a man is 
 more rakish and extravagant than he would willing- 
 ly 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 showed itself in human 
 nature, is that which comes upon a man with expe- 
 rience and old age, the season when it might be 
 expected he should be wisest ; and therefore it can- 
 not 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 pro- 
 vident father, the affectionate husband, or the gene- 
 rous 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. 
 It is strange to see how suddenly this abject passion 
 kills all the noble sentiments and generous ambitions 
 that adorn human nature ; it renders the man who 
 is over-run with it a peevish and cruel master, a 
 severe parent, an unsociable husband, a distant and 
 mistrustful friend. But it is more to the present 
 purpose to consider it as an absurd passion of the 
 heart, rather than as a vicious 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 en- 
 dure even the common decencies of apparel. ' A 
 covetous man will call himself poor, that you may 
 
126 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 224. 
 
 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 deli- 
 cate and rational passions. It is 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 public employment, 
 whether he succeeds in his attempts or no, usually 
 comes near enough to this painted greatness to dis- 
 cern the daubing ; 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 stagna- 
 ting in an unmanly indolence and security. It is a 
 known story of Domitian, that, after he had possessed 
 himself of the Eoman empire, his desires turned 
 upon catching flies. Active and masculine spirits 
 in the vigour of youth neither can nor ought to re- 
 main at rest. If they debar themselves from aim- 
 ing at a noble object, their desires will move down- 
 wards, and they will feel themselves actuated by 
 some low and abject passion. Thus if you cut off 
 the top branches of a tree, and will not suffer it to 
 grow any higher, it will not therefore cease to grow, 
 but will quickly shoot out at the bottom. The man 
 indeed who goes into the world only with the nar- 
 row views of self-interest, who catches at the ap- 
 plause of an idle multitude, as he can find no solid 
 contentment at the end of his journey, so he de- 
 
No. 224.] THE SPECTATOR. 127 
 
 serves to meet with disappointments in his way ; but 
 he who is actuated by a nobler 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 sec- 
 onded by the impartial testimony of his own mind ; 
 who repines not at the low station which Providence 
 has at present allotted him, but yet would willingly 
 advance himself by justifiable means to a more 
 rising and advantageous ground ; such a man is 
 warmed with a generous emulation ; it is a virtu- 
 ous movement 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 do- 
 ing great good or mischief in it. It ought there- 
 fore 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 pas- 
 sions, as to regulate and direct them to valuable 
 well-chosen objects. When these have pointed out 
 to us which course we may lawfully steer, it is no 
 harm to set out all our sail ; if the storms and tem- 
 pests of adversity should rise upon us, and not suf- 
 fer 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 
 
128 THE SPECTATOR. [^o- 225. 
 
 farther than as it interposes in the affairs of this 
 life) is highly valuable, and worthy of great vene- 
 ration; 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. Z.' 
 
 %* JUST PUBLISHED, 
 
 ' The Spectator Inspected : or, a Letter to the Spectator, from an officer 
 of the army in Flanders, touching the use of French terms, in relations 
 from the army. Occasioned by the Spectator of the 8th of Sept. iTll. 
 Written by the author of the Spy on the Spectator.' 
 
 No. 225. SATUKDAY, November 17, 1711. 
 
 Nullum numen abest si sit prudentis.- 
 
 Jft. Sat. X. 865. 
 Prudence supplies the want of every god. 
 
 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 extravagances, 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 ; 
 
 ■■ By Mr. John Hughes. No. 46Y, lettered Z, suggests a conjecture 
 that the fine character of Manilius there drawn, was the tribute of Mr. 
 John Hughes's gratitude and friendship to lord Cowper. See No. 537, ad 
 finem text ; No. 641 ; No. 544, ai finem note ; and Hughes's Correspond- 
 ence, VoL L Letters to and from Lord Cowper. 
 
No. 225.] THE SPECTATOR. 129 
 
 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. 
 
 TuUy has therefore very justly exposed a pre- 
 cept delivered by some ancient writers, that a man 
 should live with his enemy in such a 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 reason- 
 able, 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 show itself in words, 
 but in all the circumstances of action, and is like an 
 under-agent of Providence, to guide and direct us 
 in the ordinary concerns of life. 
 
 There are many more shining qualities in the 
 mind of man, but there is none so useful as discre- 
 tion ; it is this indeed which gives a value to all the 
 
 • The meaning is, a wise man thinks all that he says, and a fool says all 
 that he thinks. 
 
 ' Eoolus. vi. 9, xxvii. 17. 
 VOL. III. — 9 
 
130 THE SPECTATOR. [^0. 225. 
 
 rest, whicli 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, learn- 
 ing 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 men's. The discreet 
 man finds out the talents of those he converses with, 
 and knows how to apply them to proper uses. Ac- 
 cordingly, 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 mea- 
 sures 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 per- 
 fection, 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 no- 
 blest 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 shortsightedness, that discovers the minutest 
 
No. 225.] THE SPECTATOR. 131 
 
 objects -wMcli 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 per- 
 son who possesses it : cunning, when it is once de- 
 tected, 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 in- 
 terest and welfare. Discretion is only found in men 
 of strong sense and good understandings : cunning 
 is often to be met with in brutes themselves, and in 
 persons who are but the fewest removes from them. 
 In short, cunning is only the mimic of discretion, 
 and may pass upon weak men, in the same manner 
 as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity 
 for wisdom. 
 
 The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet 
 man, makes him look forward into futurity, and con- 
 sider what will be his condition millions of ages 
 hence, as well as what it is at present. He knows 
 that the misery or happiness which are reserved for 
 him in another world, lose nothing of their reality 
 by being placed at so great a distance from him. 
 The objects do not appear little to him because 
 they are remote. 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 in- 
 stant. For this reason he is careful to secure to 
 himself that which is the proper happiness of his na- 
 ture, and the ultimate design of his being. He car- 
 ries his thoughts to the end of every action, and 
 
132 THE SPECTATOR. [N°- ^^S. 
 
 considers the most distant as well as the most imme- 
 diate effects of it. He supersedes every little pros- 
 pect 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 immor- 
 tality, 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 Dis- 
 cretion, and sometimes under that of Wisdom. It 
 is indeed (as described in the latter part of this 
 paper) the greatest wisdom, but at the same time 
 in the power of every one to attain. Its advantages 
 are infinite, but its acquisition easy ; or, to speak of 
 her in the words of the apocryphal writer whom I 
 quoted in my last Saturday's paper," ' Wisdom is 
 glorious, and never fadeth away ; yet she is easily 
 seen of them that love her, and found of such as 
 seek her. She preventeth them that desire her, in 
 making herself first known unto them. He that 
 seeketh her early, shall have no great travel ; for 
 he shall find her sitting at his doors. To think 
 therefore upon her is the perfection of wisdom ; and 
 whoso watcheth for her shall quickly be without 
 care. For she goeth about seeking such as are wor- 
 
 " Wisdom of Solomon, oh. yi. ver. 12 — 16. 
 
No. 226.] THE SPECTATOB. 133 
 
 thy of her, showeth herself favourably unto them in 
 the ways, and meeteth them in every thought.' 
 
 No. 226. MONDAY, November 19, 1711.^ 
 
 — Mutam est pictora poema. 
 A pictnro is a poem without words, 
 
 y 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 man- 
 ners. 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 painter's ima- 
 gination : what strong images of virtue and human- 
 ity 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 expense of time, than what is 
 
 " By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea, See No, 1, note ; Wo. 
 221, and note, 
 
 ' ' Do you read the Spectators ? I never do ; they never come in my 
 way ; I go to no cofifee-houses. They say abundance of them are very 
 pretty; they are going to be printed in small volumes ; I'll bring them 
 over with me,' — Letter of Swift to Mrs. Johnson, dated Nov. 18, l^ll. 
 
 1 This speculation was written with the generous design of promoting 
 a subscription just then set on foot, for having the cartoons of Raphael 
 copied and engraved by signior Nicola Dorigny, who had been invited 
 over from Rome by several of the nobility, and to whom the queen had 
 given her licence for that purpose. In his proposals (printed at the end 
 of some of the original Spectators), this artist offers to deliver eight plates, 
 nineteen inches high, and from twenty-five to thirty inches long, for four 
 guineas subscription ; although, he says, the prints of Alexander's Battles 
 after Le Brun, being but five in number, were frequently sold for twenty 
 guineas. 
 
134 THE SPECTATOR. [^0- 226. 
 
 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, demi-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 laud- 
 able 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 car- 
 toons 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 one's memory of what one 
 has not seen these two years, to be unmoved at the 
 horror and reverence which appear in the whole as- 
 sembly 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 them- 
 selves who administer to their weakness. They know 
 themselves to be but instruments : and the generous 
 distress they are painted in when divine honours are 
 
No. 226.] THE SPECTATOR. 135 
 
 offered to them, is a representation in the most ex- 
 quisite 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 suspense ; another saying there is some 
 reason in what he says ; another angry that the apos- 
 tle 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 resurrec- 
 tion. Present authority, late suffering, humility 
 and majesty, despotic command, and divine love, 
 are at once seated in his celestial aspect. The figures 
 of the eleven apostles are all in the same passion of 
 admiration, but discover it differently according to 
 their characters. Peter receives his master's orders 
 on his knees with an admiration mixed with a more 
 particular attention : the two next with a more open 
 ecstacy, though still constrained by the awe of the 
 Divine 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, 
 and his side towards the presence, one would fancy 
 to be St. Thomas, as abashed by the conscience of 
 his former difl&dence ; which perplexed concern it 
 is possible Raphael thought too hard a task to draw 
 but by this acknowledgment of the difficulty to de- 
 scribe it. 
 
 The whole work is an exercise of the highest piety 
 
136 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 227. 
 
 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 the author, it is 
 worthy her majesty's name that she has encouraged 
 that noble artist monsieur Dorigny, 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 world. 
 
 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, con- 
 tempt 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 pic- 
 tures, is so inconsiderable, that I am in very great 
 perplexity when I offer to speak of any performances 
 of painters of landscapes, buildings or single figures. 
 This makes me at a loss how to mention the pieces 
 
No. 227.] THE SPECTATOR. 137 
 
 •which Mr. Boul exposes to sale by auction on Wed- 
 nesday next in Chandos-street : but having heard 
 him commended by those who have bought of him 
 heretofore for great integrity in his dealing, and 
 overheard him himself (though a laudable painter) 
 say nothing of his own was fit to come into the room 
 with those he had to sell, I feared I should lose an 
 occasion of serving a man of worth in omitting to 
 speak of his auction. T.* 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 There is arrived from Italy a painter, who acknowledges himself the 
 greatest master 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. — Spect. in folio. 
 
 No. 227. TUESDAY, November 20, 1711. 
 
 *'n fioi ^y(&j ri ir6^(a ; ri & SvfftTOVS j ovx Sira/colJeis j 
 Tciy fialraf airoBus eis K6/xara TTJva a\ev/j.ai 
 
 K^Ka fjL^ Vo&cJyw, r6 ye fihv nhv oSi» TervKrat. 
 
 TnKOOB. Idyl. iii. 24 
 "Wrotch that I am I ah, whither shall I go? 
 "Will 70a not hear me nor regard my woe ? 
 I'll strip, and throw me from yon rock so high, 
 Where Olpis sits to watch the acaly fly. 
 Should I be drown'd, or 'scape with life away, 
 If cur'd of love, yon, tyrant, would be gay. p. 
 
 In my last Thursday's paper,* I made mention of a 
 place called The Lover's Leap, -which I find has 
 raised a great curiosity among several of my corres- 
 pondents. I there told them that this leap was used 
 
 « By Steele. See 'No. 324, final note. 
 * No. 223. 
 
138 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 227 
 
 to be taken from a promontory of Leucas. TMs 
 Leucas was formerly a part of Acarnania, being 
 joined to it by a narrow neck of land, which the 
 sea has by length of time overflowed and washed 
 away ; so that at present Leucas is divided from the 
 continent, and is a little island in the Ionian sea. 
 The promontory of this island, from whence the 
 lover took his leap, was formerly 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 the despairing shepherds 
 addressing himself to his mistress g,fter the following 
 manner : ' Alas ! What will become of me ! wretch 
 that I am ! WiU you not hear me ! I will throw 
 off my clothes, and take a leap into that part of the 
 sea which is so much frequented by Olphis the fisher 
 man. And though I should escape with my life, I 
 know you will be pleased with it.' I shall leave it 
 with the critics to determine whether the place, 
 which this shepherd so particularly points out, was 
 not the above-mentioned Leucate, or at least some 
 other lover's leap which was supposed to have the 
 same effect. I cannot believe, as all the interpre- 
 ters 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 add- 
 ing, that, if he should escape with life, he knows 
 his mistress would be pleased with it : which is, ac- 
 cording to our interpretation, that she would rejoice 
 
No. 227.] THE SPECTATOR. 139 
 
 any way to get rid of a lover who was so trouble- 
 some 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 physician." 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' The lover's leap, which you mention in 
 your 223d paper, was generally, I believe, a very ef- 
 fectual 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 particu- 
 lar, that very many persons who tried it escaped not 
 only with their lives but their limbs. If by this 
 means they got rid of their love, though it may in 
 part be ascribed to the reasons you give for it ; why 
 may not we suppose, that the cold bath, into which 
 they plunged themselves, had also some share in 
 their cure ? A leap into the sea, or into any creek 
 of salt water, very often gives a new motion to the 
 spirits, and a new turn to the blood ; for which rea- 
 son 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 pro- 
 duced 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 pro- 
 duced by these two different causes be of the same 
 
140 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 227. 
 
 nature, it may not very properly be cured by the 
 same means. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, 
 ' Your most humble servant, and well-wisher, 
 
 ' JESCULAPIUS.' 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 pro- 
 montory lies, which you call the Lover's Leap, and 
 whether one may go to it by land? But, alas! I 
 am afraid it has lost its 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 Heav'n, that made no cure for love ! " 
 
 ' Your disconsolate servant, 
 
 ' Athenais.' 
 
 'mister spictatur, 
 
 ' 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 hap- 
 piness to have my dwelling (which is placed by my 
 creat-crandfather upon the pottom of an hill) no far- 
 ther distance but twenty mile from the Lofer's Leap, 
 I could indeed indeafour to preak my neck upon it 
 
 ^ See No. 223. Sappho's Hymn to Venus. 
 
No. 227.] THE SPECTATOR. 141 
 
 on purpose. Now, good Mister Spictatur of Crete 
 Prittain, you must know it, there iss in Caernarvan- 
 shire a fery pig mountain, the clory of all Wales, 
 which iss named Penmainmaure, and you must also 
 know, it iss uo great journey on foot from me ; but 
 the road iss 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 griefous lofes ; for there is the sea clear 
 as the glass, and ass creen as the leek. Then like- 
 wise, if I be drown, and preak my neck, if Mrs. 
 Gwinifrid will not lofe 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, 
 
 ' Davtth ap Shbnkyn. 
 
 ' 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 extravagances 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 
 
142 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 228. 
 
 promontory of Leucate. The reader will find it to 
 be a summary account of several persons who tried 
 the lover's leap, and of the success they found in it. 
 As there seems to be in it some anachronisms, and 
 deviations from the ancient orthography, I am not 
 wholly satisfied myself that it is authentic, and not 
 rather the production of one of those Grecian so- 
 phisters 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 wri- 
 ters of uncommon erudition, who would not fail to 
 expose my ignorance if they caught me tripping in 
 a matter of so great moment, C." 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 There is now printing by subscription two volumes of the Spectators 
 on a large character, in 8vo. the price of the two volumes, well bound and 
 gilt, two guineas. Those who are inclined to subscribe, are desired to 
 make their first payments to J. Tonson, bookseller in the Strand : the boolcB 
 being so near finished, that they will be ready for the subscribers at or be- 
 fore Christmas next. 
 
 The third and fourth volumes of The Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstafif, 
 esq. are ready to be delivered at the same place. — Speet. in folio, Nos. 227, 
 228, 229, et seg. 
 
 No. 228. WEDNESDAY, Novembek 21, 1711. 
 
 Percunctatorem fagito, nam garrulns idem est. 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. xviii. 69. 
 
 Th' inquisitive will blab ; from such refrain : 
 Tlieir leaky ears no secret can retain. 
 
 Shard. 
 
 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 
 
 ° By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea. See final note to ITo. 7, 
 No. 221, and note on signatures. 
 
No. 228.] THE SPECTATOR. 143 
 
 the occurrences of common life ; but naturally very- 
 vacant of thought in itself, and therefore forced to 
 apply itself to foreign assistances. Of this make is 
 that man who is very inquisitive. You may often 
 observe, that though he speaks as good sense as any 
 man upon any thing with which he is well acquaint- 
 ed, he cannot trust to the range of his own fancy 
 to entertain himself upon that foundation, but goes 
 on still to new inquiries. Thus, though you know 
 he is fit for the most polite conversation, you shall 
 see him very well contented to sit by a jockey, giv- 
 ing an account of the very many revolutions in his 
 horse's health, what potion he made him take, 
 how that agreed with him, how afterwards he came 
 to his stomach and his exercise, or any the like 
 impertinence ; and be as well pleased as if you talk- 
 ed to him on the most important truths. This hu- 
 mour is far from making a man unhappy, though it 
 may subject him to raillery ; for he generally falls 
 in with a person who seems to be born for him, 
 which is your talkative fellow. It is so ordered, that 
 there is a secret bent, as natural as the meeting of 
 different sexes, in these two characters, to supply 
 each other's wants. I had the honour the other day 
 to sit in a public room, and saw an inquisitive man 
 look with an air of satisfaction upon the approach 
 of one of these talkers. The man of ready utter- 
 ance sat down by him, and rubbing his head, lean- 
 ing 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 
 
144 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 228. 
 
 head winter and summer, with cold water, prevents 
 any inj ury 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 natu- 
 rally 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 inquirer, as any other of more consequence 
 could have been ; but somebody calling our talker 
 to another part of the room, the inquirer 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 chan- 
 nels 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 gratefuUest goods that can ar- 
 rive 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 
 
No. 228.] THE SPECTATOR. 145 
 
 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 inquirer dis- 
 covers 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 mother's 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 mere- 
 ly from a vacancy in their own imaginations, there 
 is nothing, methinks, so dangerous as to communi- 
 cate secrets to them ; for the same temper of inquiry 
 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 full fuel enough, no matter what it is — Thus the 
 ends of sentences in the newspapers, as, ' This wants 
 confirmation;' — 'This occasions many speculations ;' 
 and 'Time will discover the event;' are read by 
 them, and considered not as mere expletives. 
 
 One may see now and then this humour accom- 
 panied 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 plea- 
 santry, and formed for an unconcerned character in 
 the world ; and like myself, to be a mere Spectator. 
 VOL. m. — IQ 
 
146 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 228. 
 
 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 differ- 
 ent intrigues, sentiments, pleasures, and interests of 
 mankind, would it not be the most pleasing enter- 
 tainment imaginable to enjoy so constant a farce, as 
 the observing mankind much more different from 
 themselves in their secret thoughts and public ac- 
 tions than in their night-caps and long periwigs ? * 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 ser- 
 vant, by name Licinius, always attending 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 
 
 "■ When the Spectator wrote, large full-bottomed wig3 were worn by 
 all men of fashion. They seem to have answered the high commodes men- 
 tioned in No. 98. It is said those long perukes were the invention of a 
 French barber, whose name was Duviller, in order to conceal a deformity 
 in the shoulder either of the dauphin, or the duke of Burgundy ; hence 
 they were likewise called Duvillers. 
 
 There was also a sort of peruke in fashion at that time called night-cap- 
 wigs; which had short tyes, with very small close round heads. — These, 
 however, are not meant in the text, but simply night-caps. — See Tatler, 
 No. 26, and note. 
 
No. 228.] THE SPECTATOR. 147 
 
 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 public good, yet for his own credit. 
 It may be objected, that our loud talkers are so 
 fond of their own noise, that they would not take it 
 well to be checked by their servants. But, grant- 
 ing 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 the late long va- 
 cation to the good of my country; and I have at 
 length, by the assistance of an ingenious artist, (who 
 works for the Royal Society,) almost completed my 
 design, and shall be ready, in a short time, to fur- 
 nish the public with what number of these instru- 
 ments they please, either to lodge at coffee-houses, 
 or carry for their own private use. In the mean 
 time I shallpay 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 Lici- 
 nius." 
 
 ' 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. W. B. 
 
 ' 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 
 
148 THE SPECTATOR. i^°- '^^^■ 
 
 is to be made use of against a long story, swearing, 
 obsceneness, and the like.' 
 
 m e 
 
 *»* At Drury-lane, Nov. 22, the last revived play called Philaater ; or. 
 Love lies a Bleeding. Philaster, by Mr. Wilkes ; Bellario, by Miss Sher- 
 born ; the King, by Mr. Keen ; Arethusa, by Mrs. Porter ; Pharamond, by 
 Mr. Gibber ; Lord Dion, by Mr. Mills ; Citizens, by Messrs. Bullock, Pack, 
 Norris, Lee, Burkhead, and Spiller. — Speot. in folio. 
 
 No. 229. THUESDAY, November 22, 1711. 
 
 — Spirat adhuc amor 
 Vivuntque commissi calores 
 .holies fidibos puellse. 
 
 Hob. 4 01 ir. 10. 
 Nor Sappho's amorous flames decay, 
 Her living songs preserve their charming art. 
 Her verse still breathes the passions of her heart 
 
 Fbanoib. 
 
 Among the many famous pieces of antiquity which 
 are still to be seen at Rome, there is the trunk of a 
 statue 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, is in as great reputation 
 among the poets and critics as the mutilated figure 
 above-mentioned is among the statuaries and paint- 
 ers. Several of our countrymen, and Mr. Dryden 
 
 • By Steele. See final note to No. 324, on signature T. 
 
No. 229.] THE SPECTATOR. 149 
 
 in particular, seem very often to have copied after 
 it in their dramatic writings, and in their poems up- 
 on love. 
 
 Whatever might have been the occasion of this 
 ode, the English reader wiU 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 origi- 
 nal : 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.' 
 
 AD LESBIAM. 
 
 ' Hie mi par esse deo videtur, 
 Die, 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 ml 
 
 Quod loqua/r omens. 
 
 ' Lingua sed torpet : tenuis sub artus 
 Mamma dimanat : sonitu suopte 
 Tinniunt aures : gemina tegnntur 
 
 Lumina nocte.' 
 
 My learned reader will know very well the rea- 
 son why one of these verses is printed in Italic 
 letter ; ^ and, if he compares this translation with 
 the original, will find that the three first stanzas are 
 rendered almost word for word, and not only with 
 
 ' Ambrose Phillips. — See above No. 223, and note; No. 366; and Tal- 
 ler, No. 12. 
 
 t It is wanting in the old copies, and has been supplied by conjecture 
 as above. But in a curious edition of Catullus, published at Venice iu 1738, 
 said to be printed from an ancient MS. newly discovered, tliis line is given 
 thus — ' Voce loquendum.' 
 
150 THE SPECTATOR. [^0. 229. 
 
 the same elegance, but with the same short turn of 
 expression which is so remarkable in the Greek, and 
 so peculiar to the sapphic 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 
 author's 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. 
 
 ' Heureuz ! qui prSs de toi, pour toi seule sotlpire : 
 Qui jouit du plaisir de t'entendre parler : 
 Qui te voit quelquefois doucement lui softrire. 
 Les dienx, dans son bonheur, peuvent-Us I'^galer ? 
 
 ' Je sens de veine en veine une subtile flamme 
 Couir par tout mon corps, si t6t que je te vois : 
 Et dans lea doux trnnsports, oil s'egare mon ame, 
 Je ne s^aurois trouver de langue, ni de voix. 
 
 ' Un nnage oonfns se r6pand sur ma vue, 
 Je n'entens plug, je tombe en de douoes langneurs : 
 Et p&le, sans haleine, interdite, esperdue, 
 Un frisson me saisit, je tremble, je me meurs.' 
 
 The reader will see that this is rather an imita- 
 tion 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. 
 
 ' 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 smOe. 
 
No. 229.] THE SPECTATOR. 151 
 
 ' 'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest, 
 And rais'd such tumults in my breast : 
 For while I gaz'd, In transport tost, 
 My breath was gone, my voice was lost : 
 
 ' My bosom glow'd : the subtle flame 
 Kan quick thro' all my vital frame ; 
 O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ; 
 My ears with hoUow murmurs rung. 
 
 ' In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd ; 
 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 trans- 
 lation, 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 love. 
 
 I wonder that not one of the critics 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 mo- 
 ther-in-law, and (not daring to discover his passion) 
 
152 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 230; 
 
 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. 
 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 de- 
 scribes in a lover sitting by his mistress. The story 
 of Antiochus is so well known that I need not add 
 the sequel of it, which has no relation to my pre- 
 sent subject. C.'' 
 
 No. 230. FEIDAY, Novembee 23, 1711. 
 
 HominoB ad Deos nulla re propins accedunt, qu&m salutem hominibna dando, 
 
 Tou. 
 Men resemble the gods in nothing so much as In doing good to their fellow-creatures. 
 
 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 dis- 
 honest means ; when we behold men mixed in so- 
 ciety 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 public prosperity, com- 
 passionating each other's distresses, and relieving 
 
 l" By Addiaon, dated, it is thought, from Chelsea. See final note to 
 No. 7. 
 
No. 230.] THE SPECTATOR. 153 
 
 each other's wants, we can hardly believe they are 
 creatures of the same kind. In this view they ap- 
 pear gods to each other in the exercise of the no- 
 blest 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 hear- 
 ing of a generous action, even when we are wholly 
 disinterested in it. I cannot give a more proper in- 
 stance 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 plea- 
 sure to know the success of this epistle, though each 
 party concerned in it has been so many hundred 
 years in his grave. 
 
 'TO MAXIMUS. 
 
 ' 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 understand- 
 ing, are very great; besides this, he loves me as 
 you do, than which I cannot say any thing that sig- 
 nifies 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 myself bound to use my endeav- 
 ours to serve and promote him ; and would there- 
 
154 THE SPECTATOE. C^o. 230. 
 
 fore 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 pro- 
 cure him the first thing of that 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.'* 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 dis- 
 countenance it, will, I doubt, engage me in a very 
 difficult, though not ungrateful adventure. I am 
 about to undertake, for the sake of the British /outh, 
 to instruct them in such a manner that the most 
 dangerous page in Yirgil 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 music, 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, delight- 
 ed with. It may easily be imagined how stfch a 
 
 1 Thus far by Mr. John Hughes. 
 
No. 230.] THE SPECTATOR. 155 
 
 pretty society, conversing with none beneath them- 
 selves, and sometimes admitted, as perhaps not un- 
 entertaining parties, amongst better company, com- 
 mended and caressed for their little performances, 
 and turned by such conversations to a certain gal- 
 lantry of soul, might be ^brought early acquainted 
 with some of the most polite English writers. Thus 
 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 re- 
 markable 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 
 
156 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 231. 
 
 occasions to distinguisli himself. A set of genteel, 
 good-natured youths fallen into such a manner of 
 life, would form almost a little academy, and, doubt- 
 less, prove no such contemptible companions as 
 might not often tempt a wiser man to mingle him- 
 self in their diversions, and draw them into such 
 serious sports as might pA)ve nothing less instruct- 
 ing than the gravest lessons. I doubt not but it 
 might be made some of their favourite plays to con- 
 tend 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 Shakspeare. The cause of MUo might 
 again be pleaded before more favourable judges, 
 Caesar a second time be taught to tremble, and 
 another race of Athenians be fresh enraged at the 
 ambition of another Philip. Amidst these noble 
 amusements we could hope to see the early dawn- 
 ings of their imagination daily brighten into sense, 
 their innocence improve into virtue, and their un- 
 experienced good-nature directed to a generous love 
 of their country. 
 
 T.'' ' I am, &c.' 
 
 %* This day is published, 'A State of the Bewdley Case.'— Speet m 
 folio. 
 
 No. 231. SATUEDAY, November 24, 1711. 
 
 pudor I pietflfi I — 
 
 Mabt. 
 O modesty I piety I 
 
 Looking over the letters which I have lately received 
 from my correspondents, I met with the following 
 
 ■■ By Steele. See final note to No. 824, on the signature T. 
 
No. 231.] THE SPECTATOR. 157 
 
 one, which is written with such a spirit of politeness, 
 that I could not but be very much pleased with it 
 myself, and question not but it will be as acceptable 
 to the reader. 
 
 'MB. SPECTATOR, 
 
 'You, who are no stranger to public as- 
 semblies, cannot but have observed the awe they 
 often strike on such as are obliged to exert any 
 talent before them. This is a sort of elegant 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 
 all together 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, until he recovered his spirits, and grew 
 fit for some living part. 
 
 ' As this sudden desertion of one's self shows 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 ; 
 aiid we find their generosity naturally moved to sup- 
 port 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 encour- 
 
158 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 231. 
 
 agement given to a young singer/ whose more than 
 ordinary concern on her first appearance, recom- 
 mended her no less than her agreeable voice, and 
 just performance. Mere 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. 
 
 'lam, &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 pro- 
 nunciation, our discourse led us into the enumeration 
 of the several organs of speech which an orator ought 
 to have in perfection, a^the tongue, the teeth, the 
 lips, the nose, the palate, and the windpipe. ' 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 ob- 
 structs 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 audi- 
 ence towards the person who speaks. My corre- 
 
 1 Mrs. Barbier. See a curious account of tliia lady, in sir John Haw- 
 kins's History of Music. Vol. v. p. 156. 
 
 " This letter was written by Mr. John Hughes. 
 
No. 232.] THE SPECTATOR. 159 
 
 spondent has taken notice that the bravest men often 
 appear timorous upon these occasions, as indeed we 
 may observe, that there is generally no creature 
 more impudent than a coward : 
 
 — ' Linguft. melior, sed frigida bello 
 
 Dextera— ' Vieg. ^n. xi. 338. 
 
 ' Bold at the council-board ; 
 But cautious in the field, he shunn'd the sword.' 
 
 Detden. 
 
 A bold tongue and a feeble arm are the qualifi- 
 cations of Drances in Virgil ; as Homer, to express 
 a man both timorous and saucy, 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.'' 
 
 A just and reasonable modesty does not only re- 
 commend 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 
 herself 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 
 
 ■• Hiad, i. 225. 
 
160 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 231. 
 
 unaccountable melanclioly, which disposed several 
 of them to make away with themselves. The senate, 
 after having tried many expedients to prevent this 
 self-murder, which was so frequent among them, 
 published an edict, that if any woman whatever 
 should lay violent hands upon herself, her corpse 
 should be exposed naked in the street, and dragged 
 about the city in the most public manner. This edict 
 immediately put a stop to the practice which was 
 before so common. We may see in 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 recom- 
 mends impudence as good-breeding, and keeps a 
 man always in countenance, not because he is inno- 
 cent, but because he is shameless? 
 
 Seneca thought modesty so great a check to vice, 
 that he prescribes t6 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 them- 
 selves ; for this i^ the meaning of his precept, That 
 when we are by ourselves, and in our greatest soli- 
 tudes, 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 vir- 
 tue ; I must observe, that there is a vicious modesty. 
 
No. 231.] THE SPECTATOR. 161 
 
 ■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 surprised 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 dis- 
 course, and would scarce be able to show his head, 
 after having disclosed a religious thought. Decency 
 of behaviour, all outward show of virtue, and abhor- 
 rence of vice, are carefully avoided by this set of 
 shamefaced people, as what would disparage their 
 gaiety of temper, and infallibly bring them to dis- 
 honour. 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 these 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, covered that defect with laurels. C.° 
 
 " By Addison, dated, as supposed, fioioi Chelsea.. See final note to 
 No. 7. 
 
 VOL. m. — 1 1 
 
162 THE SPECTATOR. [No- 232. 
 
 No. 232. MONDAY, November 26, 1711. 
 
 Nihil larginndo gloriam adeptus est 
 
 Salltjst. Bel. Cat 
 By bestowing nothing ho acquired glory. 
 
 My wise and good friend, sir Andrew Freeport, di- 
 vides himself almost equally between the town and 
 the country. His time in town is given up to the 
 public, and the management of his private fortune ; 
 and after every three or four days spent in this man- 
 ner, 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, recom- 
 mend 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 
 rhetoric of a sick wife or husband at home, three or 
 four helpless little children, all starving with cold 
 and hunger. We were forced to part with some 
 money to get rid of their importunity ; and then we 
 proceeded on our journey, with the blessings and ac- 
 clamations of these people. 
 
 'Well then,' says sir Andrew, 'we go off with 
 the prayers and good wishes of the beggars, and per- 
 
No. 232.] THE SPECTATOR. 163 
 
 haps 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 wool do we see upon the backs of 
 those poor creatures ? And when they shall next 
 fall in our way, they will hardly be better dressed ; 
 they must always live in rags to look like objects of 
 compassion. If their families too are such as they 
 are 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 good- 
 ly customers are the farmers like to have for their 
 wool, corn, and cattle ? Such customers and such 
 a consumption cannot choose but advance the land- 
 ed interests, 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 people's labour shall we export whilst 
 we hire them to sit still ? The very alms they re- 
 ceive 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 hannds ; 
 and then the public ought only to be taxed to make 
 good the deficiency. If this rule was strictly ob- 
 served, 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. 
 
164 THE SPECTATOR. [^o- 232. 
 
 The merchant ought to make his out-set 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 
 gentleman ; 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 af&rm, that the re- 
 duction of the prices of our manufactures by the 
 addition of so many new hands, would be no incon- 
 venience 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 laboxtr 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 wa- 
 ges of the labourers make the greatest part of the 
 price of every thing that is useful ; and if in propor- 
 tion with the wages the prices of all other things 
 should be abated, every labourer with less wages 
 would still be able to purchase as many necessaries 
 of life: where then would be the inconvenience? 
 But the price of labour may be reduced by the ad- 
 dition of more hands to a manufacture, and yet the 
 wages of persons remain as high as ever. The ad- 
 
No. 232.] THE SPECTATOR. 165 
 
 mirable sir William Petty has given examples of 
 this in some of his writings : one of them, as I re- 
 member, is that of a watch, which I shall endeav- 
 our 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 man- 
 ufacture would be tedious, and at last but clum- 
 sily performed. But if a hundred watches were to 
 be made by a hundred men, the cases may be assign- 
 ed to one, the dials to another, the wheels to anoth- 
 er, the springs to another, and every other part to a 
 proper artist. As there would be no need of per- 
 plexing 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, though 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 cloth- 
 ing, the shipping, and all the other trades what- 
 soever. And thus an addition of hands to our man- 
 ufactures will only reduce the price of them ; the 
 labourer will stiU have as much wages, and will con- 
 sequently be enabled to purchase more conveniences 
 of life ; so that every interest in the nation would 
 receive a benefit from an increase of our working 
 people. 
 
 ' Besides I see no occasion for this charity to 
 common beggars, since every beggar is an inhabitant 
 
166 THE SPECTATOR. i^°- ^^'^■ 
 
 of a parish, and every parish is taxed to the main- 
 tenance of their own poor. 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 pathetic expressions recommended 
 to our practice. " I was hungry and ye 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 endea- 
 vour 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 con- 
 
No. 233.] THE SPECTATOR. 167 
 
 tribute to his ransom. I ought to give to an hospi- 
 tal 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 rea- 
 son, 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 mis- 
 taken 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 sa- 
 cred 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. 
 
 In the Speot. in folio, this paper is lettered X ; but it has the signatvire 
 Z in the 8to. ofl712. It seeme therefore more probable that it was written 
 by Mr. Henry Martyn, than by Mr. Eustace Budgell. See Spect. ISo. 656, 
 and note on Mr. H. Martyn. From a note on another paper, it seems not 
 improbable, that some of the speculations signed Z were written by Mr. 
 John Hughes. 
 
 No. 233. TUESDAY, Novembek 27, 1711. 
 
 Tanquam hflec eint nostri medicina fiiroris, 
 
 Aut Deus ille mails hominnm mitescere discat. 
 
 Vma. EcL xv. 60. 
 As if by these my sufferings I could ease ; 
 Or by my pains the God of Love appease. 
 
 Deydeit. 
 
 I SHALL in this paper discharge myself of the pro- 
 mise I have made to the public,^ by obliging them 
 with a translation of the little Greek manuscript, 
 
 P See No, 221 
 
168 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 233. 
 
 ■whiclL 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 Lover's 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 them- 
 selves 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 Mortal- 
 ity, ha,d I translated it at full length ; I have there- 
 fore made an abridgment of it, and only extracted 
 such particular passages as have something extraor- 
 dinary, 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 Bo&byca 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 life. 
 
 Cynisca, the wife of jEschines, being in love with 
 Lycus ; and ^Eschines 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 Plex- 
 
No. 233.] THE SPECTATOR. 169 
 
 ippus, after a courtship of three years : she stood 
 upon the brow of the promontory for some time, 
 and having thrown down a ring, a bracelet, and a 
 little picture, with other presents which she had re- 
 ceived from Plexippus, she threw herself into the 
 sea, and was taken up alive. 
 
 N. B. Larissa, before she leaped, made an of- 
 fering of a silver Cupid in the temple of Apollo. 
 
 Simastha, in love with Daphnis the Myndian, 
 perished in the fall. 
 
 Charixus, the brother of Sappho, in love with 
 Rhodope the courtesan, having spent his whole es- 
 tate 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. 
 
 ^ridteus, 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 Milesian, 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 widow's weeds are still to be seen hang- 
 ing 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 de- 
 termined to have no more to do with her, leaped, and 
 escaped with life. 
 
170 THE SPEOTATOE. [No. 233. 
 
 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 Olym- 
 pia, 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. 
 
 Cinsedus, 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 master's daughter: drowned, the boats not com- 
 ing in soon enough to his relief 
 
 Sappho, the Lesbian, in love with Phaon, arrived 
 at the temple of Apollo, habited like a bride, in gar- 
 ments as white as snow. She wore a garland of myr- 
 tle 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 gar- 
 land on one side of his altar and her harp on the 
 other. She then tucked up her vestments like a 
 
No. 233.] THE SPECTATOR. 171 
 
 Spartan virgin, and amidst thousands of spectators, 
 who were anxious for her safety and offered up vows 
 for her deliverance, marched directly forwards to the 
 utmost summit of the promontory, where, after hav- 
 ing 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 ; though 
 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 hover- 
 ing 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. 
 
 Alcseus, the famous lyric 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. 
 
 Males .... 124 
 
 Females 
 
 . . 126 
 
 CURED . . 
 
 . . 120 
 
 Males . 
 
 . . 51 
 
 Females 
 
 . . 69 
 
 ? By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea. See final note to No. 7. 
 
172 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 234. 
 
 No. 234. WEDNESDAY, November 28, 1711. 
 
 Tellum in amicitia sic erraremus, 
 
 Hofi. 1 Sat iiL 41. 
 I wish tMs error in your friendship reign'd. 
 
 Creech. 
 
 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 jdoes some man 
 good, and no man hurt. The man who made more 
 than ordinary speed from a fight in which the Athe- 
 nians were beaten, and told them they had obtained 
 a complete victory, and put the whole city into the 
 utmost joy and exultation, was checked by the 
 magistrates for his falsehood, but excused himself 
 by saying, ' 0, 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 
 
No. 234.] THE SPECTATOR. 173 
 
 every day he lives, in some eminent degree, to par- 
 ticular persons. He is ever lying people into good 
 humour ; and, as Plato said it was allowable in physi- 
 cians to lie to their patients to keep up their spirits, 
 I am half doubtful whether my friend's behaviour 
 is not as excusable. His manner is to express him- 
 self surprised at the cheerful countenance of a man 
 whom he observes dif&dent of himself; and gener- 
 ally by that means makes his lie a truth. He will, 
 as if he did not know any thing of the circumstance, 
 ask one whom he knows at variance with another, 
 what is the meaning that Mr. Such-a-one, naming 
 his adversary, does not applaud him with that hearti- 
 ness 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 practice suc- 
 ceed, 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 public street, and 
 they must crack a bottle at the next tavern, that used 
 to turn out of the other's way to avoid one another's 
 eye-shot. He will tell one beauty she was com- 
 mended by another, nay, he will say she gave the 
 woman he speaks to the preference in a particular 
 for which herself is admired. The pleasantest confu- 
 
 ' This word seems here to be used improperly for railing. 
 
174 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 234. 
 
 sion imaginable is made through the whole town by 
 my friend's indirect offices. You shall have a visit 
 returned after half a year's absence and mutual rail- 
 ing 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 false- 
 hood occasion has been, that he turned detraction 
 into flattery. He is well skilled in the manners of 
 the world; and, by overlooking 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 until he finds new ap- 
 pearances to take off all remains of ill-will, and that, 
 by new misunderstandings, they are thoroughly re- 
 conciled. 
 
 'TO THE SPECTATOE. 
 
 'SIR 'Devonshire, Ifov. 14, 1"? 11. 
 
 ' 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 
 
No. 234.] THE SPECTATOR. 175 
 
 (to whom they applied as most easy of access) knew 
 little more than that the gentleman came from Lon- 
 don 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 we shall trouble 
 you, to be wondered at ; much less can I think 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 Freethinker 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 persuade themselves a man is really and truly a 
 free-thinker, in any tolerable sense, merely by vir- 
 tue 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 bigoted 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 
 
 ■ The person here alluded to was probably Mr. Toland, who is said by 
 the Examiner to have been the butt of the Tatler and Spectator. Mr. To- 
 land wrote about this time under the patronage of Lord Oxford. See Biog- 
 Brit art. Toland. 
 
176 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 234. 
 
 mind to, and give themselves up to whatever con- 
 ceit 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 de- 
 cency and common sense. Deduction, coherence, 
 consistency, and all the rules of reason, they accord- 
 ingly disdain, as too precise and mechanical for men 
 of liberal education. 
 
 ' This, as far as I could ever learn from their writ- 
 ings, 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 oppor- 
 tunity of informing myself whether it contain any 
 thing worth Mr. Spectator's 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 pre- 
 judice towards atheism is not impartiality. 
 
 " I am. Sib, your most humble servant, 
 T.' ' Philonous.' 
 
 *f* At Drury-lane, Wov. 24, Aurengzebe ; or, the Great Mogul. The 
 Emperor, by Mr. Keen ; Aurengzebe, by Mr. Powell ; Morat, by Mr. Booth ; 
 Ai'imant, by Mr. Bowman. Nourmahal, by Mrs. Knight ; Indamora, by 
 Mrs. Rogers ; and Melesiuda, by Mrs. Porter. 
 
 tit At Drury-lane, Nov. 21. Othello. The Moor, by Mr. Booth ; 
 Gassio, by Mr. Powell; lago, by Mr. Gibber; Brabantio, by Mr. Keen; 
 Roderigo, by Mr. Bowen. Desdemona, by Mrs. Bradshaw ; and Emilia, 
 by Mrs. Saunders. — Speot. in folio. 
 
 ■• By Steele. See final note to No. 324, on the signature T. 
 
No- 235.] THE SPECTATOR. 177 
 
 No. 235. THUKSDAY, November 29, 1711. 
 
 — Populares 
 Tincentcm strepltus — 
 
 Hoe. Ars Poet 81. 
 Awes the tumultuoua noises of the pit. 
 
 BOSCOMMON. 
 
 There is nothing wMcli lies more within the province 
 of a Spectator than public shows and diversions ; 
 and, as among these there are none which can pre- 
 tend to vie with those elegant entertainments that 
 are exhibited in our theatres, I think it particularly in- 
 cumbent on me to take notice of every thing that is 
 remarkable in such numerous and refined assemblies. 
 It is observed, that of late years there has been a 
 certain person in the upper gallery of the play-house, 
 who, when he is pleased with any thing that is acted 
 upon the stage, expresses his 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 artisans, or that he 
 was supposed to have been a real trunk-maker, who 
 after the finishing of his day's work used to unbend 
 his mind at these public 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 or- 
 dinary 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 tran- 
 sported with any thing he sees or hears. Others 
 
 VOL. ni. — 12 
 
178 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 235. 
 
 will have it to be the play-house thunderer, that ex- 
 erts 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 nobody knows. He gen- 
 erally 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 critic could never except 
 against it. As soon as any shining thought is ex- 
 pressed 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 sec-^ 
 ond time ; and if the audience is not yet awakened, 
 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 ap- 
 plause 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 until such time as he 
 recovered ; but the person so employed, though 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. 
 
No. 235.] THE SPECTATOR. 179 
 
 It has been remarked, that he has not yet exert- 
 ed himself with vigour this season. He sometimes 
 plies at the opera ; and, upon Nicolini's first appear- 
 ance, was said to have demolished three benches in 
 the fury of his applause. He has broken half a 
 dozen oaken plants upon Dogget," and seldom goes 
 away from a tragedy of Shakspeare without leaving 
 the wainscot extremely shattered. 
 
 The players do not only connive at his obstrepe- 
 rous approbation, but very cheerfully repair at their 
 own cost whatever damages he makes. They once 
 had a thought of erecting a kind of wooden anvil for 
 his use, that should be made of a very sounding 
 plank, in order to render his strokes more deep and 
 mellow ; but as this might not have been distin- 
 guished from the music of a kettle drum, the project 
 was laid aside. 
 
 In the mean while, I cannot feut take notice of 
 the great use it is to an audience that a person 
 should thus preside over their heads like the direct- 
 or of a concert, 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.'" 
 
 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 
 
 " Thomas Dogget, an excellent comio actor, who was for many years 
 joint-manager of the playhouse with Wilkes and CoUey Gibber, of whom 
 the reader may find a particular account in Gibber's Apology for his own 
 Life. 8vo. 2 vols. 
 
 » jEneid i. 85. 
 
180 THE SPECTATOR. C^O- 235. 
 
 taken notice of. It is very visible, as the audience 
 is not a little abashed, if they find themselves be- 
 trayed 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 
 mere 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 
 strokes are always just, and his admonitions season- 
 able : he does not deal about his blows at random^ 
 but always hits the right nail upon the head. That 
 inexpressible force wherewith he lays them on, suf- 
 ficiently shows the evidence and strength of his con- 
 viction. His zeal for a good author is indeed out- 
 rageous, and breaks down every fence and partition, 
 every board and plank, that stands within the ex- 
 pression 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 critic 
 should be advanced to this post, and have a compe- 
 tent salary settled on him for life, to be furnished 
 with bamboos for operas, crab-tree cudgels for com- 
 edies, and oaken plants for tragedy, at the public 
 expense. 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 
 
No. 236.] THE SPECTATOR. 181 
 
 proofs both of a sound judgment and a strong arm, 
 and who could not upon occasion, either knock 
 down an ox, or write a comment upon Horace's Art 
 of Poetry. In short, I would have him a due com- 
 position of Hercules and Apollo, and so rightly 
 qualified for this important office, that the trunk- 
 maker may not be missed by our posterity. C.'' 
 
 m>. 236. FRIDAY, November 30, 1711. 
 
 — Dare jura maxitis. 
 
 Hoe. Ars Poet. 898. 
 With laws connubial tyrants to restrain. 
 
 'me. speotatob, 
 
 ' You have not spoken in so direct a man- 
 ner 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 satisfactions in that way of 
 life, and treating their wives with the most barba- 
 rous disrespect. 
 
 'Particular circumstances and cast of temper 
 must teach a man the probability of mighty uneasi- 
 nesses 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 tease and 
 torment another for no reason but being nearly allied 
 to him. And can there be any thing more base, or 
 serve to sink a man so much below his own distin- 
 
 * By Addison, dated, it ia thought, from Chelsea. See 'So. 1, ad fin. 
 
182 THE BPEOTATOE. [No. 236. 
 
 guisMng characteristic (I mean reason), than return- 
 ing 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 aban- 
 doned even to all manner of humanity, who can de- 
 ceive a woman with appearances of affection and 
 kindness for no other end but to torment her with 
 more ease and authority ? Is any thing mo»e 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 
 this, they fly into the other extreme, and grow ty- 
 rants that they may seem masters. Because an un- 
 controulable command of their own actions is a cer- 
 tain sign of entire dominion, they won't so much as 
 recede from the government even in one muscle of 
 their faces. A kind look they believe would be 
 fawning, and a civil answer yielding the superiority. 
 To this we must attribute an austerity they betray 
 in every action. What but this can put a man out 
 of humour in his wife's company, though he is so 
 
No. 236.] THE SPECTATOR. 183 
 
 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 so. 
 
 ' 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, 'betray any softness of effeminacy 
 that the most masculine diposition need be ashamed 
 of: could you satisfy them of the generosity of vol- 
 untary civility, and the greatness of soul that is con- 
 spicuous in benevolence without immediate obliga- 
 tions : could you recommend to people's 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, persuade 
 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, 
 
184 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 236. 
 
 you would recommend that state in its truest and 
 consequently its most agreeable colours ; and the 
 gentlemen who have for any time been such pro- 
 fessed enemies to it, when occasion should serve, 
 would return you their thanks for assisting their 
 interest in prevailing over their prejudices. Mar- 
 riage 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 jnen grow wiser as their progenitors grew kinder, 
 and the affection of their parents would be conspi- 
 cuous 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.' 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM a woman who left the admiration of 
 this whole town to throw myself (by 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 cheerfulness, 
 or kind behaviour, he looks upon as the first act 
 towards an insurrection against his undeserved 
 
No. 236.] THE SPECTATOR. 185 
 
 dominion over me. Let every one who is still to 
 choose, and hopes to govern a fool, remember 
 
 ' Tristissa.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 'St. Martin's, Nov. 25. 
 
 ' This is to complain of an evil practice, 
 which I think very well deserves a redress, though 
 you have not as yet taken any notice of it : if you 
 mention it in your paper, it may perhaps have a very 
 good effect. What I mean is, the 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 in the absolution ; and the 
 commandments fare no better, which are in a parti- 
 cular manner the priest's office : this I have known 
 done in so audible a manner, that sometimes their 
 voices have been as loud as his. As little as you 
 would think it, this is frequently done by people 
 seemingly devout. This irreligious inadvertency is 
 a thing 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. 
 
 ' Sir, your very humble servant, 
 T.y 'T. S.' 
 
 *JB* At Dniry-lane, on Friday, Nov. 30, with the revived Play called 
 Philaster, a farce of one act, called The Country Wake. Hob, by Mr. Dog- 
 get ; Sir Thomas Testy, Mr. Bullock ; Friendly, Mr. Pack ; and Flora, Mrs. 
 Santlow. — Spect. in folio. 
 
 tit On the preceding evening, Nov. 29. The Man of the Mode ; or. 
 Sir Fopling Flutter. Written by sir G. Etheridge. Sir Fopling, by Mr. 
 Gibber ; Dorimant, by Mr. Wilks ; Medley, Mr. Mills ; Young Bellair, by 
 Mr. Bullock, juu. ; Old Bellair, by Mr. Pinkethman ; Shoemaker, by Mr. 
 Brown. Loveit, by Mrs. Oldfield ; Belinda, by Mrs. Rogers ; Harriot, by 
 Mrs. Santlow ; and EmeUa, by Mrs. Porter. — Ibid. 
 
 y By Steele, composed or communicated from the letter-box. This let- 
 ter was sometimes the signature of Mr. TickelL See No. 324, note on T, 
 and No. 410, ad Jinem. 
 
186 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 237. 
 
 No. 237. SATUEDAY, December 1, 1711. . 
 
 Tisu carentem magna pars Teri latet 
 
 SBiraCA in (Edip. 
 They that are dim of sight see truth by halves. 
 
 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 succes- 
 sion 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 will perhaps join with us in so delightful a 
 prospect ! 
 
 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 pri- 
 vilege, but in having their appetites at the same 
 time vastly increased without any satisfaction afford- 
 ed to them. In these, the vain pursuit of know- 
 ledge shall, perhaps, add to their infelicity, and be- 
 wilder them in labyrinths of error, darkness, distrac- 
 tion, 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 dis- 
 quiet amidst their very amusements ; he could not 
 properly have described the sports of condemned 
 
No. 237.] THE SPECTATOR. 187 
 
 spirits without that cast of horror and melancholy- 
 he has so judiciously mingled with them: 
 
 ' Others apart sat on a hill retired, 
 In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high 
 Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, 
 Kxt fate, freewill, foreknowledge absolute. 
 And found no end in wandering mazes lost.' • 
 
 In our present condition, which is a middle state, 
 our minds are as it were checquered with truth and 
 falsehood ; 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 
 accordingly. 
 
 From hence it is that the reason of the inquisi- 
 tive has so long been exercised with difficulties in 
 accounting for the promiscuous distribution of good 
 and evil to the virtuous and the wicked in this 
 world. From hence come all those pathetic com- 
 plaints of so many tragical events which happen to 
 the wise and the good ; and of such surprising pros- 
 perity which is often the reward 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 princi- 
 ple, 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 Ufe or death 
 conduce to his good. My reader will observe how 
 
 '^ Parad. Lost, b. ii. 557. 
 
188 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 237. 
 
 agreeable this maxim is to what we find delivered 
 by a greater authority. Seneca has written a dis- 
 course purposely on this subject;'' in which he 
 takes pains, after the doctrine of the Stoics, to show 
 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 indul- 
 gence of a fond mother to a child, which often 
 proves his ruin ; but the affection of the Divine Be- 
 ing, 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 that celebrated sentiment, that there is not 
 on earth a spectacle more worthy the regard of a 
 Creator intent on his works than a brave man supe- 
 rior 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 integrity. 
 
 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 councils by which Providence acts, since but 
 little arrives at our knowledge, and even that little 
 we discern imperfectly; or, according to the ele- 
 gant figure in holy writ, ' We see but in part, and 
 as in a glass darkly.' " Since Providence, therefore, 
 
 '' Vid. Seneo. Do constantia sapientis, give quod in sapientem non cadit 
 injuria. 
 
 " 1 Cor. xiii. 12. 
 
No. 237.] THE SPECTATOR. 189 
 
 in its economy regards the whole system of time 
 , and things together, we cannot discover the beauti- 
 ful connections between incidents which lie widely 
 separated in time ; and, by losing so many links of 
 the chain, our reasonings become broken and im- 
 perfect. Thus those parts of the moral world which 
 have not an absolute, may yet have a relative beau- 
 ty, in respect of some other parts concealed from 
 us, but open to His eye before whom 'past,' 'pre- 
 sent,' 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 con- 
 summation 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 be- 
 ginning nor the end. 
 
 I shall relieve my readers from this abstracted 
 thought, by relating here a Jewish tradition con- 
 cerning Moses, which seems to be a kind of 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 con- 
 ference 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 conference 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 sol- 
 dier 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, 
 
190 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 238. 
 
 weary with age and travelling, and, having quench- 
 ed his thirst, sat down to rest himself by the side 
 of the spring. The soldier missing his purse re- 
 turns 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 protestation, 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 suffered this thing to come 
 to pass. The child is the occasion that the blood 
 of the old man is spilt ; but know that the old man 
 whom thou sawest was the murderer of that child's 
 father.'^ 
 
 No. 238. MONDAY, December 3, 1711. ■ 
 
 Nequiequam popnlo bibulas donaveris aures ; 
 
 Bespue qaod non es 
 
 Persitjs, Sat. iv. 50. 
 No more to flattering crowds thine ear incline, 
 Eager to drink the praise whicli is not thine. 
 
 Beewstee. 
 
 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 dis- 
 temper of the mind, where there is ever a propen- 
 sity and inclination to suck in the poison, it cannot 
 
 * The foregoing speculation, No. 237, was first published -without any 
 oharaoteristio Letter, but it was reprinted as Mr. Addison's in the 4to. 
 edition of his Works, 1120. It has since been claimed for Mr. Hughes in 
 the preface to his Poems, 2 vols. 12mo. 1735. 
 
No. 238.] THE SPECTATOR. 191 
 
 be but that the whole order of reasonable action 
 must be overturned ; for, like music, 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 with- 
 out. Hence it is, that the profusion of favours we 
 so often see poured upon the parasite, are repre- 
 sented to us by our self-love as justice done to the 
 man who so agreeably reconciles us to ourselves. 
 When we are overcome by such soft insinuations 
 and ensnaring compliances, we gladly recompence 
 the artifices that are made use of to blind our rea- 
 son, and which triumph over the weaknesses of our 
 temper and inclinations. 
 
 But were every man persuaded from how mean 
 and low a principle this passion is derived, there can 
 be no doubt but the person who should attempt to 
 gratify it would then be as contemptible as he is 
 now successful. It is the desire of some quality we 
 are not possessed of, or inclination to be something 
 we are not, which are the causes of our giving our- 
 selves up to that man who bestows upon us the 
 characters and qualities of others ; which perhaps 
 suit us as ill, and were as little designed for our 
 wearing, as their clothes. Instead of going out of 
 our own complexional nature into that of others, 
 it were a better and more laudable industry to im- 
 prove 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 
 
192 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 238. 
 
 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," please by the grace which 
 nature gives to every action wherein she is complied 
 with ; the brisk and lively will not want their ad- 
 mirers ; and even a more reserved and melancholy 
 temper may at some times be agreeable. 
 
 When there is not vanity enough awake in a man 
 to undo him, the flatterer stirs up that dormant weak- 
 ness, 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 it is 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 shows he knows how to 
 discern it ; but, above all, that man is happy in this 
 art, who like a skilful painter retains the features 
 and complexion, but still softens the picture into the 
 most agreeable likeness. 
 
 There can hardly, I believe, be imagined a more 
 desirable pleasure than that of praise unmixed with 
 any possibility of flattery. Such was that which 
 Germanicus enjoyed, when, the night before a bat- 
 tle, desirous of some sincere mark of the esteem of 
 his legions for him, he is described by Tacitus lis- 
 tening 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 ma- 
 jestic naien, his affability, his valour, conduct, and 
 success in war. How must a man have his heart 
 
 Wyoherley's comedy of the Plain Dealer. 
 
No. 238.] XHE SPECTATOR. 193 
 
 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 en- 
 vious 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 Mal- 
 volio ; he has wit, learning, and discernment, but 
 tempered with an alloy of envy, self-love, and de- 
 traction. Malvolio turns pale at the mirth and good 
 humour of the company if it center not in his per- 
 son ; 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 distates are so many sure and certain 
 signs of another's 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,' and when we are praised with skUl and 
 decency, it is indeed the most agreeable perfume ; 
 but if too strongly admitted into a brain of a less 
 vigorous and happy texture, it will, like too strong 
 an odour, overcome the senses, and prove pernicious 
 to those nerves it was intended to refresh. A gen- 
 erous mind is of all others the most sensible of praise 
 and dispraise ; and a noble spirit is as much invigo- 
 rated with its due proportion of honour and ap- 
 
 ' Eccles. vii. 1. 
 VOL. III. 13 
 
194 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 238. 
 
 plause, as it is depressed by neglect and contempt. 
 But it is only persons far above the common level 
 who are thus affected with either of these extremes ; 
 as in a thermometer, it is only the purest and most 
 sublimated spirit that is either contracted or dilated 
 by the benignity or inclemency of the season. 
 
 'ME. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 collec- 
 tion of letters which pass under the name of Aristse- 
 netus. Of all the remains of antiquity, I believe 
 there can be nothing produced of an air so gallant 
 and polite ; each letter contains a little novel or ad- 
 venture, which is told with all the beauties of lan- 
 guage, and heightened with a luxuriance of wit. 
 There are several of them translated :^ but with such 
 wide deviations from the original, and in a stile so 
 far differing from the author's, that the translator 
 seems rather to have taken hints for the expressing 
 his own sense and thoughts, than to have endeavour- 
 ed to render those of Aristtenetus. 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.' 
 
 « By Tom Brown and others. See his Works, 4 vols. 12mo. 
 
No. 238.] THE SPECTATOR. 195 
 
 " PHILOPINAX TO CHKOMATION. 
 
 " Never was a man more overcome with so fantasti- 
 cal a passion as mine ; I liave painted a beautiful wo- 
 man, and am despairing, dying for tlie picture. My 
 own skill has undone me ; it is 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 pic- 
 ture, 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 Phae- 
 dra, 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 one's ears felt 
 the melodious sound. How often have I, deceived 
 by a lover's credulity, hearkened if she had not 
 something to whisper me ? and when frustrated of 
 my hopes, how often have I taken my revenge in 
 kisses from her cheeks and eyes, and softly wooed 
 her to my embrace, whilst she (as to me it seemed) 
 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 flow- 
 
196 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 239. 
 
 ing hair, and thus waste myself and melt to tears 
 for a shadow ? Ah, sure it is something more ; 'tis 
 a reality ! for see her beauties shine out with new 
 lustre, and she seems to upbraid me with such un- 
 kind 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 perplexed with the 
 pleasing uncertainty." T.'' 
 
 No. 239. TUESDAY, December 4, 1711. 
 
 — Bella, horrida bellal 
 
 YlEG. .^Q. vi. 
 
 ■Wars, horrid wars 1 
 
 Dbyden. 
 
 I HAVE sometimes amused myself with considering 
 the several methods of managing a debate which 
 have obtained in the world. 
 
 The first races of mankind used to dispute, as 
 our ordinary people do now-a-days, in a kind of 
 wild logic uncultivated by rules of art. 
 
 Socrates introduced a catechetical method of ar- 
 guing. He would ask his adversary question upon 
 question, until he had convinced him out of his own 
 mouth, that his opinions were wrong. This way of 
 debating drives an enemy up into a corner, seizes all 
 the passes through which he can make an escape, 
 and forces him to surrender at discretion. 
 
 Aristotle changed this method of attack, and in- 
 vented a great variety of little weapons, called syllo- 
 
 * By Steele. See final note to No. 324, on Bignatnre T, perhaps used 
 at times by Mr. T. Tiokell. 
 
No. 239.] THE SPECTATOR. 197 
 
 gisms. As in the Socratic way of dispute you agree 
 to every thing which your opponent advances, in 
 the Aristotellic, you are still denying and contra- 
 dicting some part or other of what he says. So- 
 crates 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, car- 
 ried 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 there was no end 
 of wrangling this way, they invented a kind of ar- 
 gument, which is not reducible to any mood or fig- 
 ure in Aristotle. It was called the Argumentum 
 Basilinum (others write it Bacilinum or Baculinum), 
 which is pretty well expressed in our English word 
 Club-law. When they were not able to confute 
 their antagonist, they knocked him down. It was 
 their method in these Polemical debates, first to dis- 
 charge 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 (to make use of 
 a military term), where the partisans used to en- 
 counter ; for which reason it stUl 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,' and cudgelled a body of 
 
 i The folloTTers of Duns Scotua, a celebrated doctor of the Bchools, who 
 flourished about the year ISOO, and from his opposing some favourite doc- 
 
198 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 239. 
 
 Smiglesians," 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, that, upon the revi- 
 val of Greek letters, most of the universities in Eu- 
 rope 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 hun- 
 dred thousand disputants on each side, and convince 
 one another by dint of sword. A certain grand 
 monarch • was so sensible of his strength in this 
 way of reasoning, that he writ upon his great guns 
 ' — Ratio ultima Begum, ' The logic of kings ; ' but, 
 God be thanked, he is now pretty well baffled at 
 his own weapons. When one has to do with a phi- 
 losopher of this kind, one should remember the old 
 gentleman's saying, who had been engaged in an 
 argument with one of the Roman emperors.™ Upon 
 his friend's teUing him, that he wondered he would 
 
 trines of Thomaa Aquinas, gave rise to a ne^w party called the Scotists, in 
 opposition to the Thomiats, or follo-wers of the other. P. 
 
 k The followers of Martin Smiglecius, a famous logician of the 16th 
 century, whose works were long admired in the schools even of protestant 
 universities, though he himself was a popish Jesuit. P. 
 
 ' Lewis XIV. of France. 
 
 " The emperor Adrian. See Lord Bacon's Apophthegms, iii. 284. foL 
 
No. 239.] THE SPECTATOR. 199 
 
 give up the question when he had visibly the better 
 of the dispute ; ' I am never ashamed,' says he, ' to 
 be confuted by one who is master of fifty legions.' 
 
 I shall but just mention another kind of reason- 
 ing, 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 cel- 
 ebrated line in Hudibras." 
 
 But the most notable way of managing a con- 
 troversy is that which we may call arguing by tor- 
 ture. 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, it is said the price of wood was 
 raised in England by reason of the executions that 
 were made in Smithfield." These disputants con- 
 vince their adversaries with a sorites,^' commonly 
 called a pile of fagots. The rack is also a kind of 
 syllogism which has been used with good effect, and 
 has made multitudes of converts. Men were for- 
 merly 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 con- 
 viction operated too slowly. Pain was found to be 
 much more enlightening than reason. Every scruple 
 was looked upon as obstinacy, and not to be remov- 
 ed but by several engines invented for that purpose. 
 
 ■■ Part 2, c. 1, T. 297. See Ko. 145, where this practice is humourously 
 exposed. 
 
 ° The author quoted is And. Ammonius. See his life in Bayle's Dic- 
 tionary. — ^The Spectator's memory deceived him in applying the remark, 
 which was made in the reign of Henry VIII. It was, however, much more 
 applicable to that of Queen Mary. P. 
 
 q A sorites is a heap of propositions thrown together. P. 
 
200 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 239. 
 
 In a word, the application of whips, racks, gibbets, 
 gallies, dungeons, fire and fagot, in a dispute, may- 
 be looked upon as popish refinements upon the old 
 heathen logic. 
 
 There is another way of reasoning which seldom 
 fails, though 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, brib- 
 ing 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 furnish- 
 ed 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 it- 
 self 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 liberties. 
 
 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 will 
 be a full satisfactory answer to all such papers and 
 pamphlets as have yet appeared against the Spec- 
 tator. C.* 
 
 "• By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea. See final note to No. 7. 
 
No. 240.] THE SPECTATOR. 201 
 
 No. 240. WEDNESDAY, December 5, 1711. 
 
 — Aliter non fit, Avite, liber. 
 
 MiET. Ep. i. 17. 
 Of such materials, Sir, are books composed. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM of one of the most genteel trades in 
 the city, and understand thus much of liberal edu- 
 cation, as to have an ardent ambition of being use- 
 ful 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 dissatisfactions 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 myself up 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 conver- 
 sation 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 labour- 
 ed 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 
 
202 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 240. 
 
 hasten to tell you, that my heart burns with grati- 
 tude 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 
 goodwill 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 heroic virtue in common 
 life, which may incite men to the same generous in- 
 clinations as have by this admirable person been 
 shown to, and raised in, 
 
 ' Sir, your most humble servant.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM a country gentleman of a good plen- 
 tiful estate, and live, as the rest of my neighbours, 
 with great hospitality. I have been ever reckoned 
 among the ladies as the best company in the world, 
 and have access as a sort of favourite. I never came 
 in public but I saluted them, though in great assem- 
 blies, all around; 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 courtesied and received me, stand- 
 ing in proper rows, and advancing as fast as they 
 saw their elders, or their betters, despatched by me. 
 
No. 240.] THE SPECTATOR. 203 
 
 But SO it is, Mr. Spectator, that all our good-breed- 
 ing is of late lost by the unhappy arrival of a cour- 
 tier, or town gentleman, who came lately among us. 
 This person, whenever 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 them in a continued bow till he arrived 
 at the person he thought proper particularly to en- 
 tertain. This he did with so good a grace and as- 
 surance, 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 ap- 
 pearance 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, 
 
 ' Rustic Sprightly.' 
 
 ' MB. SPECTATOR, 'December 3, ITll. 
 
 ' I was the other night at Philaster,*^ where 
 I expected to hear your famous trunk-maker,^ but 
 was unhappily disappointed of his company, and saw 
 another person who had the like ambition to distin- 
 guish himself in a noisy manner, partly by vocifera- 
 tion 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 show 
 
 "■ Acted Friday, Nov. SO, as appears from the advertisements. 
 • See Spect. No. 235. 
 
204 THE SPECTATOR. [^0. 240. 
 
 the whole audience his activity by leaping over the 
 spikes ; he passed from thence to one of the entering 
 doors, where he took snuff" with a tolerable good 
 grace, displayed his fine clothes, made two or three 
 feint passes at the curtain with his cane, then faced 
 about and appeared at t'other door. Here he af- 
 fected to survey the whole house, bowed and smiled 
 at random, and then showed his teeth, which were 
 some of them indeed very white. After this he re- 
 tired behind the curtain, and obliged us with several 
 views of his person from every opening. 
 
 ' During the time of acting, he appeared fre- 
 quently in the prince's apartment, made one at the 
 hunting match, and was very forward in the rebel- 
 lion.' If there were no injunctions to the contrary, 
 yet this practice must be confessed to diminish the 
 pleasure of the audience, and for that reason to be 
 presumptuous and unwarrantable: but since her 
 majesty's late command has made it criminal," you 
 have authority to take notice of it. 
 
 ' Sir, your humble servant' 
 T.^ ' Charles East.' 
 
 * Different scenes in the play of Philaster. 
 
 » In the play-bills about this time there was this clause, ' By her ma- 
 jesty's command no person to be admitted behind the scenes.' 
 
 " By Steele. Transcribed. See the final note to No. 224, on letter T, 
 which perhaps was sometimes the signature of Mr. T. TiekelL 
 
 N. B. At the conclusion of the penult paragraph of No. 235, for 'force' 
 and partition, read ' fence ' and partition. — Speot. in folio. 
 
No. 241.] THE SPECTATOR. 205 
 
 No. 241. THUKSDAY, December 6, 1711. 
 
 — Semperque rellnqni 
 Sola fiibi, semper longam incomitata videtur 
 Ire viam— 
 
 ViEG. Jan. iv. 466. 
 All sad she seems, forsaken, and alone ; 
 And left to wander wide thro' paths unknown. P. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 'Though you have considered virtuous 
 love in most of its distresses, I do not remember 
 that you have given us any dissertation upon the ab- 
 sence of lovers, or laid down any methods how they 
 should support themselves under those long separa- 
 tions 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 re- 
 turn for some years. His warm and generous affec- 
 tion 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 to weeping. I 
 love to read the books he delighted in, and to con- 
 verse 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 
 
206 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 241, 
 
 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 al- 
 ways in good-humour when an east- wind blows, be- 
 cause 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 
 myself in this my widowhood. 
 
 ' I am Sir, your most humble servant, 
 
 ' ASTBRIA.' 
 
 Absence is what the poets call death in love, and 
 has given occasion to abundance of beautiful com- 
 plaints 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 sub- 
 ject : 
 
 — ' 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.' 
 
 OEPHAif, Act ii. 
 
 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 
 
No. 241.] THE SPECTATOR. 207 
 
 tells US that they both of them punctually observed 
 the time thus agreed upon ; and that, whatever com- 
 pany or business they were engaged in, they left it 
 abruptly as soon as the clock warned them to retire. 
 The romance farther adds, that the lovers expected 
 the return of this stated hour with as much impa- 
 tience as if it had been a real assignation, and en- 
 joyed an imaginary happiness that was almost as 
 pleasing to them as what they would have found 
 from a real meeting. It was an inexpressible satis- 
 faction to these divided lovers, to be assured that 
 each was at the same time employed 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 
 sentiment 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,^ gives an account 
 of a chimerical correspondence between two friends 
 by the help of a certain load-stone, which had such 
 virtue in it, that if it touched two several needles, 
 when one of the needles so touched began to move, 
 the other, though at never so great a distance, 
 moved at the same time and in the same manner. 
 
 » Lib. ii. prol. 6. — See the Guardian, Wob. 115, 119, 122. 
 
208 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 241. 
 
 He tells us, that the two friends, being each of them 
 possessed of one of these needles, made a kind of 
 dial-plate, inscribing it with the four and twenty 
 letters, and 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 twen- 
 ty 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 ap- 
 pointed, 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 sympathetic 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 deserts. 
 
 If monsieur Scudery, or any other writer of ro- 
 mance, had introduced a necromancer, who is gene- 
 rally in the train of a knight-errant, making a present 
 to two lovers of a couple of those above-mentioned 
 needles, the reader would have been not 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. 
 
No. 242.] THE SPECTATOR. 209 
 
 In the mean while, if ever this invention should 
 be revived or put in practice, I would propose, that 
 upon the lover's dial-plate there should be written 
 not only the four and twenty letters, but several 
 entire words which have always a place in passion- 
 ate epistles, as flames, darts, die, language, absence, 
 Cupid, heart, eyes, hang, drown, and the like. This 
 would very much abridge the lover's 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. C.^ 
 
 *,.* At the desire of seyeral gentlemen and ladies at the Rising Sun, in 
 Wych-street, near Temple-bar, on Wednesday next, the 5th instant, there 
 will be a Masquerade ; each person to pay half-a-crown at entrance. To 
 begin exactly at five o'clock. — Speat. in folio. No. 239. 
 
 \\\ At Drury-lane, Deo. 6, Love for Love. Ben, by Mr. Dogget ; An- 
 gelica, Mrs. Oldfield ; Sir S. Legend, Mr. Leigh ; Valentine, Mr. Wilks ; 
 Scandal, Mr. Booth ; Tattle, Mr. Gibber ; Foresight, Mr. Johnson ; Trap- 
 land, Mr. Norris ; Jeremy, Mr. Bowen. Mrs. Foresight, Mrs. Rogers ; Mrs. 
 Frail, Mrs. Porter ; Nurse, Mrs. Willis ; and Miss Prue, by Mrs. Santlow. 
 — Spect. in folio. 
 
 No. 242. FKIDAY, December 7, 1711. 
 
 Greditur ex medio quia res arccBsit habere 
 Sudoris minimum — 
 
 Hob. 2 Ep. i. 168^ 
 
 To write on vulgar tlicmes is thought on easy taslc. 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' Your speculations do not so generally 
 prevail over men's manners as I could wish. A 
 former paper of yours'' concerning the misbehaviour 
 of people who are necessarily in each other's com- 
 pany in travelling, ought to have been a lasting ad- 
 
 7 By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea. See No. 7,. ad fiaem. 
 ' No. 132. 
 
 VOL. ni. — 14 
 
210 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 242. 
 
 monition 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 ever was 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 du- 
 elling, 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 misfor- 
 tunes 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, 
 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 im- 
 pertinents? And how necessary is it to repeat in- 
 vectives against such a behaviour ? If the licen- 
 tious 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, though they want shame they 
 would be moved by their pity to abhor an impu- 
 dent behaviour in the presence of the chaste and 
 innocent. If you will oblige us with a Spectator on 
 
No. 242.] THE SPECTATOR. 211 
 
 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 Eidinghood.' 
 
 'mr. spectator, 
 
 ' The matter which I am now going to send 
 you, is an unhappy story in low life, and will recom- 
 mend itself, so that you must excuse the manner of 
 expressing it. A poor idle drunken weaver in Spit- 
 alfields has a faithful laborious wife, who by her fru- 
 gality 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 confidant, 
 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, sus- 
 pecting 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 his 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, overjoyed, 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 re- 
 ceived this cheerinl invitation as bad husbands some- 
 times do, and after a cross word or two told her he 
 
212 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 242. 
 
 "wou'dn'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 to tell me, that it is come up this morn- 
 ing a five hundred pound prize. " The husband re- 
 plies immediately, " You lie, you slut, you have no 
 ticket, for I have sold it." The poor woman upon 
 this faints away in a fit, recovers, and is now run 
 distracted. As she had no design to defraud her 
 huband, but was willing only to participate in his 
 good fortune, every one pities her, but thinks her 
 husband's punishment but just. This, Sir, is a mat- 
 ter of fact, and would, if the persons and circum- 
 stances were greater, in a well-wrought play be call- 
 ed Beautiful Distress. I have only sketched it out 
 with chalk, and know a good hand can make a mov- 
 ing picture with worse materials. ' Sib, &c.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 guar- 
 dianship 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 char- 
 acter of a notable woman. Whilst they should have 
 been considering the proper ingredients for a sack- 
 posset, you should hear a dispute concerning the 
 magnetic virtue of the loadstone, or perhaps the 
 
No. 242.] THE SPECTATOR. 213 
 
 pressure of the atmosphere. Their language is pe- 
 culiar to themselves, and they scorn to express them- 
 selves 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 
 ideas of things (as they call them), I must not ex- 
 pect to smoke 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 T might think, several great philoso- 
 phers, both ancient and modern, were of opinion, 
 that both pleasure and pain were imaginary distinc- 
 tions, 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 may more 
 reasonably be supposed to be black. In short, the 
 young husseys would persuade me, that to believe 
 one's eyes is a sure way to be deceived ; and have 
 often advised me by no means to trust any thing so 
 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 cheese-cakes 
 
214 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 243. 
 
 and raise paste, and a lady that reads Locke, and 
 understands the mathematics. In which you will 
 extremely oblige 
 
 ' Your hearty friend and humble servant, 
 T.* ' Abraham Thrifty.' 
 
 No. 243. SATUEDAY, December 8, 1711. 
 
 Formam quidem ipsam, Marce fill, ct tanqnam faciem honcsti Tides ; qnie si oculis ccrnere- 
 tor, mirabiles amores (nt ait Plato) excitaret sapientise. 
 
 Toll. Offio. 
 
 You see, my son Marcus, virtue as if it were embodied, whicb, if it could be made the ob- 
 ject of sight, would (as Plato says) excite in us a wonderful love of wisdom. 
 
 1 DO not remember to have read any discourse writ- 
 ten expressly upon the beauty and loveliness of vir- 
 tue, 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 far- 
 ther than as it is in itself of an amiable nature ; after 
 having premised, that I understand by the word 
 virtue such a general notion as is aflBxed to it by the 
 writers of morality, and which by devout men gene- 
 rally goes under the name of religion, and by men 
 of the world under the name of honour. 
 
 Hypocrisy itself 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 pro- 
 per and effectual means to gain the love and esteem 
 of mankind. 
 
 "■ By Steele. See final note to No. 324, on T, supposed to have been at 
 times the signature of Mr. T. Tictell, as well as the editorial mart of Steele. 
 
No. 243.] THE SPECTATOR. 215 
 
 We learn from Hierocles, it was a common say- 
 ing among the heathens, that the wise man hates no- 
 body, but only loves the virtuous.'' 
 
 TuUy has a very beautiful gradation of thoughts 
 to show how amiable virtue is. ' We love a virtu- 
 ous 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 man- 
 ner 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 TuUy mentions on this occasion in opposition 
 to Hannibal. Such is the natural beauty and loveli- 
 ness of virtue. 
 
 Stoicism, which was the pedantry of virtue, as- 
 cribes all good qualifications of what kind soever to 
 the virtuous man. Accordingly Cato, in the char- 
 acter TuUy 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 main- 
 tained. 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 pos- 
 sible perfection ; and therefore did not only suppose 
 that it was transcendently beautiful in itself, but 
 that it made the very body amiable, and banished 
 every kind' of deformity from the person in whom 
 it resided. 
 
 ' Hierocles, p. 66, edit. Needham. 
 
216 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 243. 
 
 It is a common observation, that the most aban- 
 doned to all sense and goodness, are apt to wish 
 those who are related to them of a different charac- 
 ter : 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 won- 
 der that it makes the beautiful sex all over charms. 
 
 As virtue in general is of an amiable and lovely 
 nature, there are some particular kinds of it which 
 are more so than others, and these are such as dis- 
 pose us to do good to mankind. Temperance and 
 abstinence, faith and devotion, are in themselves 
 perhaps as laudable as any other virtues ; but those 
 which make a man popular and beloved, are justice, 
 charity, munificence, and, in short, all the good 
 qualities that render us beneficial to each other. 
 For this reason even an extravagant man, who has 
 nothing else to recommend him but a false gene- 
 rosity, 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 show 
 her in the most advantageous views, and make her 
 altogether lovely, are cheerfulness and good-nature. 
 These generally go together, as a man cannot be 
 agreeable to others who is not 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 censorious- 
 ness. 
 
 If virtue is of this amiable nature, what can we 
 
No. 243.] THE SPECTATOR. 217 
 
 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 ami- 
 able 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 TuUy tells us, in the foremention- 
 ed 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 treat- 
 ments which men of all sides are apt to give the 
 characters of those who do not agree with them. 
 How many persons of undoubted probity and exem- 
 plary virtue, on either side, are blackened and de- 
 famed ? How many men of honour exposed to pub- 
 lic obloquy and reproach? Those, therefore, who 
 are either the instruments or abettors in such infer- 
 nal dealings, ought to be looked upon as persons 
 who make use of religion to promote their cause," 
 not of their cause to promote religion. C* 
 
 ' Alluding to the popular cry of those timea, that ' the church was in 
 danger,' ai'tfully made use of by the leaders of one party to effect the down- 
 fall of the other. P. 
 
 ^ By Addison, dated, it seems, from Clielsea. See final note to No. 7. 
 
218 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 244. 
 
 No. 244. MONDAY, December 10, 1711. 
 
 — Judox et calidns audis. 
 
 Hoe. 2 Sat Tii. 101. 
 A judge of painting yon, a connoisseur. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, ' Covent-Garden, Deo. 1. 
 
 ' I CANNOT, without a double injustice, for- 
 bear 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 
 cartoons of the inimitable Raphael.® It should be 
 methinks the business of a Spectator to improve the 
 pleasures of sight, and there cannot be a more im- 
 mediate 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 I 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 extremely affect 
 one for the present, but if he has no 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 pic- 
 ture, though 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 
 
 « See No. 226. 
 
No. 244;] THE SPECTATOR. 219 
 
 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, with- 
 out representing some well-chosen part of nature or 
 other, does but show 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 necessa- 
 rily 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 obser- 
 vations on those beauties of nature which every mo- 
 ment 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. It is for want 
 of this that men mistake in this case, and in common 
 life, a wild extravagant pencil for one that is truly 
 bold and great, an impudent fellow for a man of 
 true courage and bravery, hasty and unreasonable 
 actions for enterprises of spirit and resolution, gaudy 
 
220 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 244. 
 
 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 
 Vfith your terms of art. As the shadows in a pic- 
 ture 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 Au- 
 thor 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 any extravagant 
 workmen that should be imposed upon us. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, your most humble servant.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' Though I am a woman, yet I am one of 
 those who confess themselves highly pleased with a 
 speculation you obliged the world with some time 
 ago,' from an old Greek poet you call 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 subjects of this present 
 address are a set of women, comprehended, I think, 
 in the ninth species 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 
 
 ' No. 209. 
 
No. 244.] XHE SPECTATOE. 221 
 
 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 can't have met with a great 
 number of 'em, nor indeed is it a desirable acquaint- 
 ance, 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 who tjass 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 it is 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 mimic and 
 fall foul on the faces, dress, and behaviour of their 
 innocent neighbours, bestowing abominable censures 
 and disgraceful appellations, commonly called nick- 
 names, on all of them ; and in short, like true fine 
 ladies, made their honest plainness and sincerity a 
 matter of ridicule. I could not but acquaint you 
 with these grievances, as well at the desire of all the 
 parties injured, as from my own inclination. I hope, 
 Sir, if you can't 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 
 
222 THE SPECTATOR. C^o. 245. 
 
 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.^ 
 
 ' I am, Sib, your humble servant, 
 T." 'CoNSTANTiA Field.' 
 
 No. 245. TUESDAY, December 11, 1711. 
 
 Ficta volnptatis causd Bint proxima veris. 
 
 HOK. Ara Poet 88S. 
 Fictions, to please, should wear the face of truth. 
 
 There is nothing which one regards so much with 
 an eye of mirth and pity, as innocence when it has 
 in it a dash of folly. At the same time that one 
 esteems the virtue, one is tempted to laugh at the 
 simplicity which accompanies it. When a man is 
 made up wholly of the dove, without the least graini 
 of the serpent in his composition, he becomes ridi- 
 culous 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 
 
 e Ingratitude. — Ingratum si dixeris omnia dixeris. 
 ■■ By Steele. Transcribed. See final note to No. 324. 
 i The Minorite friars of the order of St. Francis are so called from a 
 cord, which they wear by way of a girdle. 
 
No. 245.] THE SPECTATOR. 223 
 
 Tor the 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 representing 
 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 Shakspeare expresses it, ' hack- 
 ney'd in the ways of men,' may here find a picture 
 of its follies and extravagances. 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-mean- 
 ing man, that I have written this short preface, to 
 which I shall subjoin a letter from the said Mr. 
 Doodle. 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' I COULD heartily wish that you would let 
 us know your opinion upon several innocent diver- 
 sions 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 playhouse. I would gladly know, in particular, 
 what notion you have of hot cockles ;'' as also, whe- 
 ther you think that questions and commands, mottoes, 
 similies, and cross purposes have not more mirth and 
 
 ^ A play in which one covers his eyes, lays his hand upon his back, 
 and guesses who strikes it. The French call it La Main Chaude. 
 
224 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 245. 
 
 wit in them than those public 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 mas- 
 ters 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 lanter- 
 loo, 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 1 pass away these tedious winter evenings with 
 a great deal of pleasure. Though she be young and 
 handsome, and good-humoured to a miracle, she does 
 not care for gadding abroad like others of her sex. 
 There is a very friendly man, a colonel in the army, 
 whom 1 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 playhouse. When we are together, we 
 very often make a party at Blind-man's Bufi", 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 
 
No. 245.] THE SPECTATOR. 225 
 
 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 
 Thursday's paper ' upon the absence of lovers, and 
 the methods therein mentioned of making such ab- 
 sence supportable. 
 
 'sir, 
 
 ' 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 part 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 person 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 talismanic 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 ab- 
 sence of a whole campaign. For my own part I have 
 tried all these remedies, but never found so much 
 
 I No. ML 
 VOL. III. — 15, 
 
226 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 245. 
 
 benefit from any as from a ring, in which my mis- 
 tress's hair is plaited together very artificially in a kind 
 of true-lover's knot. As I have received great benefit 
 from this secret, I think myself obliged to commu- 
 nicate it to the public for the good of my fellow- 
 subjects. I desire you will add this letter as an ap- 
 pendix 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 Tues- 
 day's paper,™ wherein I gave some account of the 
 great feuds which happened formerly in those 
 learned bodies, between the modern Greeks and 
 Trojans. 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' 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 meanwhile we do all we can to 
 a.nnoy our enemies by stratagem, and are resolved 
 by the first opportunity to attack Mr. Joshua Barnes," 
 whom we look upon as the Achilles of the opposite 
 party. As for myself, I have had the reputation 
 ever since I came from schoftl of being a trusty Tro- 
 jan, and am resolved never to give quarter to the 
 smallest particle of Greek wherever 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 
 
 » No. 239 
 
 ■" The noted Greek professor of the -university of Cambridge. 
 
No. 246.] THE SPECTATOK. 227 
 
 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. 
 
 I give you this hint, that you may for the future ab- 
 stain from any such hostilities at your peril. 
 C." ' Troilus.' 
 
 No. 246. WEDNESDAY, December 12, 1711. 
 
 — OvK &pa ffoi 7e irar^p ^v twoTa TlrjKeiiSy 
 OiJSe 06Tfs /i^TTjp, 7\auK)^ fie (7* eTiKTe ^dKourffOj 
 Hirpai t' ^AfjSaroi • Sri Toi v6os iffrtv i.vTjirtjs. 
 
 HoM. Biad. xyl 88. 
 
 No amorous hero ever gave thee birtb, 
 
 Nor ever tender goddess brought thee forth : 
 
 Some rugged rock's hard entrails gave thee form. 
 
 And raging seas produced thee in a storm : 
 
 A soul well suiting thy tempestuous kind, 
 
 So rough thy manners, so untamed thy mind. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 commu- 
 nicate what I have to say to the fair sex on the most 
 imporant 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 ^o more than writing wit 
 and humour. Give me leave then to tell you, that 
 
 " By Addison, dated, it is thought, from Chelsea. See No. t, note. 
 
228 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 246. 
 
 of all the abuses that ever you have as yet endea- 
 vored to reform, certainly not one wanted so much 
 your assistance as the abuse in nursing of children. 
 It is unmerciful to see, that a woman, endowed with 
 all the perfections and blessings of nature, can, as 
 soon as she is delivered, turn off her innocent, ten- 
 der, 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 
 farther care of it than what by all the encourage- 
 ment of money and presents she is forced to ; like 
 ^sop's earth, which would not nurse the plant of 
 another ground, although never so much improved, 
 by reason that plant was not of its own production. 
 And since another's child is no more natural to a 
 nurse than a plant to a strange and different ground, 
 how can it be supposed that the child should thrive ; 
 and if it thrives, must it not imbibe the gross hu- 
 mours 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 wool 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 nurse's 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 Mgis- 
 
No. 246.] THE SPECTATOR. 229 
 
 thus by a goat : not that they had actually sucked 
 such creatures, as some simpletons have imagined, 
 but that their nurses had been of such a nature and 
 temper, and infused such into them. 
 
 ' Many instances may be produced from good 
 authorities and daily experience, that children actu- 
 ally suck in the several passions and depraved incli- 
 nations of their nurses, as anger, malice, fear, mel- 
 ancholy, sadness, desire and aversion. This Diodorus, 
 lib. 2, "witnesses, when he speaks, saying, that Nero, 
 the emperor's nurse, had been very much addicted 
 to drinking; which habit Nero received from his 
 nurse, and was so very particular in this, that the 
 people took so much notice of it, as, instead of Ti- 
 berius Nero, they called 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 commit- 
 ted frequent murder by his own hand, but likewise 
 wished that all human kind wore but one neck that 
 he might have the pleasure to cut it off". Such like 
 degeneracies astonish the parents, who, not knowing 
 after whom the child can take, see one incline to 
 stealing, another to drinking, cruelty, stupidity ; yet 
 all these are not minded. Nay, it is easy to de- 
 monstrate, that a child, although it be born from 
 the best of parents, may be corrupted by an ill-tem- 
 pered 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 
 
230 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 246. 
 
 in this town but what labour under some distemper 
 or other. The first question that is generally asked 
 a young woman that wants to be a nurse, why she 
 should be a nurse to other people's children, is an- 
 swered by her having an ill husband, and that she 
 must make shift to live. I think now this very an- 
 swer 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 mere 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 mother, both for the 
 benefit of mother and child. For the general argu- 
 ment, that a mother is weakened by giving suck to 
 her children, is vain and simple. I will maintain 
 that the mother grojvs stronger by it, and will have 
 her health better than she would have otherwise. 
 She will find it the greatest cure and preservative 
 from the vapours and future miscarriages, much be- 
 yond 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 
 
 P See Dr. Gregory's Comparative View of the State and Faculties of 
 Man with those of the Animal World, Discourse I. London, 1766. 12mo. 
 
No. 246.] THE SPECTATOR. 231 
 
 how many poor children are daily ruined by care- 
 less 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 herself 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 cruelest of brutes tend 
 their young ones with all the care and delight ima- 
 ginable ? For how can she be called 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 pro- 
 duces. 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, it 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, (although 
 this is but seldom considered,) she certainly, with 
 the assistance of her gossips, will soon persuade the 
 good man to send the child to nurse, and easily im- 
 pose upon him by pretending indisposition. Thus, 
 cruelty is supported by fashion, and nature gives 
 place to custom. 
 
 T.« ' Sm, your humble servant.' 
 
 q By Steele Transcribed. See final notes to No. 6, and 324, on E. and 
 
232 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 247. 
 
 No. 247. THUESDAY, December 13, 1711. 
 
 — Taiv 5' ctKafMaros l>hi ooS^ 
 'Ek ffrofiaTup ii5e7a — 
 
 Hesiod. 
 
 Theiruntir'd lips a -wordy torrent pour. 
 
 We are told by some ancient 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 univer- 
 sities would do well to consider whether they 
 should not fill the rhetoric 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 extem- 
 pore dissertation upon the edging of a petticoat, 
 and chide her servant for breaking a china cup in 
 all the figures of rhetoric. 
 
 Were W4)men admitted to plead in courts of 
 judicature, I am persuaded 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 British Fishery. 
 
 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 rhetoric in 
 which Socrates his wife had perhaps made a greater 
 proficiency than his above-mentioned teacher. 
 
 T, Steele's signatures, although it seems that T was used at times as his 
 distinguishing mark by Mr. T. Tiokell. See No. 410, and note ad finem. 
 
No. 247.] THE SPECTATOR. 233 
 
 The second kind of female orators are those who 
 deal in inYectives, and who are commonly known 
 by the name of the Censorious. The imagination 
 and elocution of this set of rhetoricians is wonder- 
 ful. With what a fluency of invention, and copious- 
 ness 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 month's 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 ex- 
 hausted the subject on this side, she made a visit to 
 the new-married pair, praised the wife for the pru- 
 dent choice she had made, told her the unreason- 
 able 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 considered 
 as helps to discourse. 
 
 A third kind of female orators may be compre- 
 hended under the word Gossips. Mrs. Piddle-Fad- 
 dle is perfectly accomplished in this sort of elo- 
 quence ; she launches out into descriptions of chris- 
 tenings, runs divisions upon an head-dress, knows 
 every dish of meat that is served up in her neigh- 
 bourhood, and entertains her company a whole after- 
 noon together with the wit of her little boy before 
 he is able to speak. 
 
 The coquette may be looked upon as a fourth 
 kind of female orator. To give herself the larger 
 
234 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 247. 
 
 field for discourse, ehe 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 
 coquette 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 newsmongers, politicians, mimics, 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 been often 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 that the soul 
 always thinks. But as several are of opinion that 
 the fair sex are not altogether strangers to the arts 
 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 
 
No. 247.] THE SPECTATOR. 235 
 
 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 cbnveying into it a perpetual afflu- 
 ence 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 moment's 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, women's 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 in 
 that posture : 
 
 ' Part iu. canto 2, ver. 443 : 
 
 — Still his tongue ran on, the less 
 Of weight it bore, Tvith greater ease. 
 
 • See Eeliques of Ancient English Poetry, voL iii p. 148, Ac. 2d edit. 
 
 P. 
 
236 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 247. 
 
 — ' Comprehensam foroipe linguam 
 Abstulit ense fero. Radix mioat ultima lingusa. 
 Ipsa jaeet, terrfflqne tremens immnrmurat atrffi ; 
 Utque salire solet mutilate cauda colubrs, 
 Palpitat — ' 
 
 Met. vi. 55. 
 
 — ' The blade had cut 
 Her tongue sheer off, close to the trembling root: 
 The mangled part still quiver'd on the ground, 
 Murmuring with a faint imperfect sound ; 
 And as a serpent writhes his wounded train, 
 Uneasy, panting, and possess'd with pain.' 
 
 Ceoxall. 
 
 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 music 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 have it 
 always tuned by good-nature, truth, discretion, and 
 sincerity. C 
 
 u 
 
 ' This is a fine stroke of humour, after having admitted Ovid's talc of 
 Philomel, without any objections to its veracity. The story here referred 
 to, is of an apple-woman, who, when the Thames was frozen over, was 
 said to have had her head out off by the ice. It is humorously told in 
 Gay's Trivia : 
 
 ' The crackling crystal yields, she sinks, she dies ; 
 Her head chopt off, from her lost shoulders flies ; 
 Pippins she cried, but death her voice confounds, 
 And pip-pip-pip along the ice resounds.' 
 
 Book ii. V. 375, &o. P. 
 
 " By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea. See final notes to Nos. 
 7, and 335, on Addison's signatures C, L, I, 0. See also Ko. 221, and note 
 ad finem, on capital and cabalistical letters, <&o. 
 
No. 248.] THE SPECTATOR. 237 
 
 No. 248. FRIDAY, December 14, 1711. 
 
 Hoc maxlme officii est, ut quisque maxima opis indigeat, ita ei potissimilim opitulari. 
 
 TuLL. Off. i. 16. 
 Itia a principal point of daty, to assist another most, when he stands most in need of assist- 
 ance. 
 
 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 oblig- 
 ed to exert some noble inclinations for the service of 
 the world, or else such advantages become misfor- 
 tunes, and shade and privacy are a more eligible 
 portion. Where opportunities and inclinations are 
 given to the same person, we sometimes see sublime 
 instances of virtue, which so dazzle our imaginations, 
 that we look with scorn on aU which in lower scenes 
 of life we may ourselves be able to practise. But 
 this is a vicious way of thinking ; and it bears some 
 spice of romantic 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 mere poverty, 
 not only to do things worthy, but heroic. 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 ordinary men practise upon such occasions 
 
238 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 248. 
 
 as occur in his life, deserves the value of his friends, 
 as if' he had done enterprises which are usually 
 attended with the highest glory. Men of public 
 spirit differ rather in their circumstances than their 
 virtue ; and the man who does all he can, in a low 
 station, is more a hero than he who omits any wor- 
 thy 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 re- 
 markable for his good qualities as formerly for his 
 errors. Lapirius, who observed his brother's amend- 
 ment, sent him on a new-year's day in the morning 
 the following letter : 
 
 'honoured brother, 
 
 ' I inclose 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, Sir, your affectionate brother, 
 
 and humble servant, P. T.' 
 
 As great and exalted spirits undertake the pur- 
 suit of hazardous actions for the good of others, at 
 the same time gratifying their passion for glory ; so 
 do worthy minds in the domestic way of life deny 
 themselves many advantages, to satisfy a generous 
 benevolence, which they bear to their friends op- 
 pressed with distresses and calamities. Such natures 
 one may call stores of Providence, which are ac- 
 tuated by a secret celestial influence to undervalue 
 
No. 248.] THE SPECTATOR. 239 
 
 the ordinary gratifications of wealth, to give com- 
 fort to an heart loaded with affliction, to save a fall- 
 ing 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 occur- 
 rences 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 bil- 
 let to an eminent trader under difficulties to support 
 himself, in whose fall many hundreds besides him- 
 self had perished: but because I think there is 
 more spirit and true gallantry in it than in any letter 
 I have ever read from Strephon to Phillis, I shall in- 
 sert it even in the mercantile honest style in which 
 it was sent : 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' 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, in- 
 dustry, and probity, have resolved to stand by you. 
 Be of good cheer ; 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 re- 
 lief ; but you may value yourself with me to the 
 sum of fifty thousand pounds ; for I can very cheer- 
 fully 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.' - 
 
 " Corrected S, instead of P, by an express direction in the Speot. in 
 
240 THE SPECTATOE. L^o. -248. 
 
 I think there is somewhere in Montaigne men- 
 tion made of a family-book, wherein all the occur- 
 rences 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 re- 
 member to have heard a bencher of the Temple tell 
 a story of a tradition in their house, where they had 
 formerly a custom of choosing kings for such a sea- 
 son, and allowing him his expenses at the charge of 
 the society. One of our kings,' said my friend, 
 carried his royal inclination 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 over- 
 
 folio, No. 252. The merchant involved in distress by casualties, Tvas one 
 Mr. Moreton, a linen draper, and the generous merchant here so justly cele- 
 brated, was sir William Soawen. MS. note of Mr. Blundell, a Spanish 
 merchant, who lived at the time of the original publication of the Speot. 
 on a copy in 12mo. of 1712. This note of Mr. Blundell illustrates what is 
 said in Spect. No. 346 ; and likewise what we read in Speot. No. 546, where 
 Mr. Blundell's interpretation is ascertained by the express mention of Mr. 
 Moreton's name. 
 
 ' The passage here referred to, is to be found in p. 268, of vol. i. in the 
 7th edit, of Montaigne's Essays, translated by Mr. Whately, from the cor- 
 rect and elegant edition of Peter Coate. 
 
 f See No. 218, to which this refers. 
 
 « This king, it is said, was beau Nash, director of the public diversions 
 at Bath, who was in king William's time a student in the Temple. See the 
 Memoirs of his Life, published for Mr. Newbery, in 8vo. of which book it 
 is now well known that the late ingenious Dr. Goldsmith was the author. 
 
No. 249.] THE SPECTATOR. 241 
 
 heard a poor man say to another, ' Such a small sum 
 would make me the happiest man in the world.' 
 The king, oat of his royal compassion, privately in- 
 quired into his character, and finding him a proper 
 object of charity, sent him the money. When the 
 committee read the report, the house passed his ac- 
 counts with a plaudite without farther examination 
 upon the recital of this article in them : 
 
 For making a man happy £10 0. T." 
 
 No. 249. SATUKDAY, December 15, 1711. 
 
 TeKws &Kaipos iv ^porois SeLvhv KaK6v, 
 
 Frag. Tot Poet 
 Mirth out of season is a grievous ill. 
 
 When I make choice of a subject that has not been 
 treated on by others, I throw together my reflec- 
 tions on it without any order or method, so that 
 they may appear rather in the looseness and free- 
 dom of an essay, than in the regularity of a set dis- 
 course. 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 arising from objects that perhaps cause some- 
 thing 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. 
 
 " By Steele. See final note to No. 324, on T. 
 VOL. in. — 16 
 
•242 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 249. 
 
 I have, in my forty -seventh paper, raised a specu- 
 lation of the notion of a modern philosopher "^ who de- 
 scribes the first motive of laughter to be a secret 
 comparison which we make between ourselves and 
 the persons we laugh at ; or, in other words, that 
 satisfaction which we receive from the opinion of 
 some pre-eminence in ourselves when we see the 
 absurdities of another, or when we reflect on any 
 past absurdities of our own. This seems to hold 
 in most cases, and we may observe that the vainest 
 part of mankind are the most addicted to this pas- 
 sion. 
 
 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 re- 
 missness and dissolution in all the powers of the 
 soul ; and thus far it may be looked upon as a weak- 
 ness 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 unex- 
 pected 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 ex- 
 posing 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 
 
 ^ The philosopher Hobbes. 
 
No. 249.] THE SPECTATOR. 243 
 
 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 infirmi- 
 ties? 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 critics 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 sol- 
 emn and serious, decent and praise-worthy 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, archi- 
 tecture, and all the noble arts and sciences which de- 
 pend more upon genius than experience, we exceed 
 
244 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 249. 
 
 them as much in doggrel, 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 repre- 
 sents 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 Lucian's gods of the 
 second. It is a dispute among the critics whether 
 burlesque poetry runs best in heroic verse, like the 
 Dispensary, or in doggrel, like that of Hudibras. I 
 think where the low character is to be raised the he- 
 roic is the proper measure ; but when an hero is to 
 be pulled down and degraded, it is done best in 
 doggrel. 
 
 If Hudibras had been set out with as much wit and 
 humour in heroic verse as he is in doggrel, he would 
 have made a much more agreeable figure than he 
 does ; though the generality of his readers are so 
 wonderfully pleased with the double rhymes that I 
 do not expect many will be of my opinion in this 
 particular. 
 
 I shall conclude this essay upon laughter with ob- 
 serving, 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 lan- 
 guages ; which I have not observed of any other 
 metaphor excepting that of fire and burning when 
 they are applied to. love. This shows that we natu- 
 rally regard "laughter as what is in itself both amiable 
 
No. 249.] THE SPECTATOR. 245 
 
 and beautiful. For this reason, likewise, Venus has 
 gained the title of (ptkofinhriii^ ' 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, 
 has given us a very poetical figure of laughter. His 
 whole band of mirth is so finely described, that I shall 
 set the passage down at length : 
 
 'But come thou goddess fair and free, 
 In lieaven yolep'd ° 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 Hebe's cheek, 
 And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
 Sport that wrinkled Oare derides 
 And Laughter holding both his sides. 
 Oome, and trip it as you go 
 On the light fantastic 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.' 
 
 L'ALLBaEO, V. 11, &c. 
 
 0, 
 
 " i. e. called — ^Euphrosyne is the name of one of the graces. 
 
246 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 250. 
 
 No. 250. MONDAY, December 17, 1711. 
 
 Disce docendus adhuc, qua censet amiculos, ut si 
 CiEcus iter monstrare velit ; tamen aspice si quid 
 Et nos, quod cures proprium fdcisse, loquamur. 
 
 Hob. Ep. 1. xvlL t 
 
 Yet hear what an unskilful friend can say : 
 As if a blind man should direct your way; 
 So I myself, though wanting to be taught, 
 May yet impart a hint that's worth your thought. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 re- 
 lates to speculation, in propriety of speech, being a 
 curiosity in its kind, begs your patience. It was 
 found in a poetical virtuoso's closet among his rari- 
 ties ; 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 direc- 
 tor of optics, is the surest test whether eyes be of the 
 same species with that of an eagle or that of an owl. 
 The one 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 
 
No. 250.] THE SPECTATOR. 247 
 
 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 fear- 
 fial debtor who never dares to look out but when he 
 can see nobody and nobody him. 
 
 " The next instance of optics is the famous Argus, 
 who (to speak in the language of Cambridge) was 
 one of a hundred ; and, being used as a spy in the 
 affairs of jealousy, was obliged to have all his eyes 
 about him. We have no account of the particular 
 colours, casts, and turns of this body of eyes ; but 
 as he was pimp for his mistress Juno, it is 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 of so 
 many spangles of his herald's coat. 
 
 " The next upon the optic list is old Janus, who 
 stood in a double-sighted capacity, like a person 
 placed betwixt two opposite looking-glasses, and so 
 took a sort of retrospective cast at one view. Copies 
 of this double-faced way are not yet out of fashion 
 with many professions ; and the ingenious artists pre- 
 tend to keep up this species by double-headed canes 
 and spoons ; ^ 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 name, colours, qualities, 
 and turns of eyes vary almost in every head ; for, 
 
 * Alluding to the old-fashioned spoons, which had commonly ornamen- 
 tal figures carved on the handles as a double face, one of the twelve apos- 
 tles, &e. <&c. 
 
248 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 250. 
 
 not to mention the common appellation of the 
 black, the blue, the white, the grey, and the like, 
 the most remarkable are those that borrow their 
 titles from animals by virtue of some particular qual- 
 ity or resemblance they bear to the eyes of the re- 
 spective creatures; as that of a greedy rapacious 
 aspect takes its name from a 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 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 ex- 
 pression of 
 
 Booms jrdrvLa "Hprj — 
 ' The ox-ey'd venerable Juno.' 
 
 "Now, as to the peculiar qualities of the eye, 
 that fine part of our constitution seems as much the 
 receptacle and seat of our passions, appetites, and 
 inclinations as the mind itself; at least it is as the 
 outward portal to introduce them to the house 
 within, or rather the common thoroughfare to let 
 our aifections pass in and out. Love, anger, pride, 
 and avarice, all visibly move in those little orbs. I 
 know a young lady that can't see a certain gentle- 
 man pass by without showing a secret desire of see- 
 ing him again by a dance in her eye-balls ; nay, she 
 can't for the heart of her help looking half a street's 
 length after any man in a gay dress. You can't 
 behold a covetous spirit walk by a goldsmith's shop 
 without casting a wishful eye at the heaps upon the 
 counter. Does not a haughty person show the tem- 
 
No. 250.] THE SPECTATOB. 249 
 
 per of his soul in the supercilious roll 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 it : 
 
 — " Ardentis ab ore 
 
 ScintillEB absistunt : ootilis mioat acribus ignis." 
 
 Ms. xii. 101. 
 
 — " From his wide nostrils flies 
 
 A fiery stream, and sparkles from Ms eyes." 
 
 Detden. 
 
 " As for the various turns of 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 it is a mali- 
 cious ill look ; but when it is forced and affected it 
 carries a wanton design ; and, in play-houses and 
 other public places, this ocular intimation is often 
 an assignation for bad practices. But this irregu- 
 larity in vision, together with such enormities as 
 tipping the wink, the circumspective roll, the side- 
 peep through a thin hood or fan, must be put in the 
 class of Heteroptics, as all wrong notions of religion 
 are ranked under the general name of Heterodox. 
 AU the pernicious applications of sight are more im- 
 mediately under the direction of a Spectator ; and I 
 hope you wUl arm your readers against the mischiefs 
 which are daily done by killing eyes, in which you 
 will highly oblige your wounded unknown friend, 
 
 rn T) )) ic 
 
 • This letter is said to have been written by Mr. Golding. See Speot 
 No. 262, and notes in this edition. 
 
250 THE SPECTATOR. i^°- 250. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' You professed in several papers your par- 
 ticular endeavours, in the province of Spectator, to 
 correct the offences committed by starers, who dis- 
 turb 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 
 the reason of the thing, nor so easily rebuked as to 
 amend by admonitions. I thought therefore fit to 
 acquaint you with a mechanical way which may 
 easily prevent or correct staring, by an optical con- 
 trivance of new perspective-glasses, short and com- 
 modious 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 with- 
 out 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 toward 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. Dillon's 
 in Longacre, 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 recommen- 
 dation, 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, though it is a greater offence 
 
No. 251.] THE SPECTATOR. 251 
 
 than many -which are within the cognizance of 
 justice.^ 
 
 'I am, Sir, your most humble servant, 
 Q.8 'Abraham Spy.' 
 
 No. 251. TUESDAY, Decembeb 18, 1711. 
 
 — ^Lingusa centam sant, oraque centum, 
 Ferrea vox — 
 
 TiEG. Xu, tL 625. 
 
 — A hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, 
 And throats of brass inspir'd with iron lungs. 
 Deyden. 
 
 There is nothing which more astonishes a foreigner, 
 and frights a country squire, than the Cries of Lon- 
 don. 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 music of the fields 
 and woods. T have lately received a letter from 
 some very odd fellow upon this subject, which I 
 shall leave with my reader, without saying any thing 
 farther of it. 
 
 'sib, 
 
 ' I AM a man out of all business, and would 
 willingly turn my hand to any thing for an honest 
 livelihood. I have invented several projects for 
 raising many millions of money without burdening 
 the subject, but I cannot get the parliament to lis- 
 
 ' The optical glass here mentioned is very common and very contempti- 
 ble. 
 
 s No. 250 has the signature Q. in the original edition of the Spect. in 
 folio, and in the octavo of 1712. See No. 221. 
 
252 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 251. 
 
 ten to me, who look upon me, forsooth, as a crack 
 and a projector; so that, despairing to enrich either 
 myself or my country by this public-spiritedness, I 
 would make some proposals to you relating to a 
 design which I have very much at heart, and which 
 may procure me a handsome 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 and discipline. I think I 
 am pretty well qualij&ed 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 music. 
 
 ' 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 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 pro- 
 pose, 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 sub- 
 jects. 
 
 ' Vocal cries are of a much larger extent, and in- 
 deed so full of incongruities and barbarisms, that 
 we appear a distracted city to foreigners, who do 
 not comprehend the meaning of such enormous out- 
 cries. Milk is generally sold in a note above E-la,' 
 
No. 251.] THE SPEOTATOB. 253 
 
 and in sounds so exceeding shrill, that it often sets 
 our teeth on edge. The chimney-sweeper is con- 
 fined to no certain pitch ; he sometimes utters him- 
 self in the deepest base, and sometimes in the sharp- 
 est treble ; sometimes in the highest, and sometimes 
 in the lowest note of the gamut. The same obser- 
 vation 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 itin- 
 erant tradesmen, before they make their appearance 
 in our streets, as also to accommodate their cries to 
 their respective wares : and to take care in particu- 
 lar, 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 the 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 splenetic gentleman of my acquaint- 
 ance 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 observ- 
 ed 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 
 
254 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 251. 
 
 motion of the Frencla is published in so great a hur- 
 ry, that one would think the enemy were at our 
 gates. This likewise I would take upon me to re- 
 gulate 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 boister- 
 ous rustics infest our streets in turnip-season ; and 
 which are more inexcusable, because these are 
 wares which are in no danger of cooling upon their 
 hands. 
 
 ' There are others who affect a very slow time, 
 and are in my opinion much more 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 agree- 
 able 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 music is wonder- 
 fully 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, 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 con- 
 sideration, 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 : 
 
No. 251.] THE SPECTATOR. 255 
 
 such as was, not many years since, the pastry-man, 
 commonly known by the name of the Colly-Molly- 
 Puff; ^ and such as is at this day the vender of pow- 
 der and wash-balls, who, if I am rightly informed, 
 goes under the name of Powder- Wat. 
 
 ' 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 public. 
 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 ginger-bread from a grinder of knives 
 and scissors. Nay, so strangely infatuated are some 
 very eminent artists of this particular grace in a cry, 
 that none but their 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 proper that some man of good sense and 
 profound judgment should preside over these public 
 cries, who should permit none to lift up their voices 
 in our streets, that have not tuneable throats, and 
 
 •> This little man was but just able to support the basket of pastry 
 which he carried on his head, and sung in a very peculiar tone the cant 
 words which passed into his name CoUy-MoUy-Puff. There is a half sheet 
 print of him in the Set of London Cries, M. Lauron del. P. Tempest exc. 
 Grainger's Biographical History of England. 
 
256 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 251. 
 
 are not only able to overcome the noise of the crowd, 
 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 myself as a person rightly qual- 
 ified for this post ; and, if I meet with fitting en- 
 couragement, 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. 
 C ' Ralph Crotchet.' 
 
 *4t* December 15, will be revived a play, acted but onee these five 
 years, Mithridatea King of Pontus. The King, by Mr. Mills ; Zephares, 
 Mr. Wilks ; Pharnaces, Mr. Powell ; Arohilans, Mr. Bowman ; Aquilius, 
 Mr. Booth. Semandra, by Mrs. Oldfield ; and Monimia, by Miss Sherbon. 
 Speot in folio. No. 249. 
 
 ■j-J-f At the Theatre-royal, Drury-lane, on Monday, Dec. lY, Love 
 makes a man ; or. The Fop's Fortune. Don Lewis, alias Testy, by Mr. 
 Penkethman ; Carlos, Mr. Wilks ; Clodio, alias Dismal, Mr. Gibber ; D. 
 Antonio, Mr. Bullock; Don Duart, Mr. Elrington; Sancho, Mr. Norris. 
 Angelina, Mrs. Bradshaw ; Donna Louisa, Mrs. Rogers ; and Donna Teresa, 
 Mrs. Porter. Ibid No. 260. 
 
 1 By Addison, dated, it is conjectured, from Chelsea. See final note to 
 No. 7, and No. 221. 
 
No. 252.] THE SPECTATOE. 257 
 
 No. 252. WEDNESDAY, Decembbk 19, 1711. 
 
 Srranti, paaslmque ocnloa per cuncta ferenti. 
 
 ViEO. ^n. it 570. b 
 Exploring evVy place with curious eye. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM very sorry to find by your discourse 
 upon the eye," that you have not thoroughly studied 
 the nature and force of that part of a beauteous face. 
 Had you ever been in love, you would have said ten 
 thousand things which it seems did not occur to 
 you. Do but reflect upon the nonsense it 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 year's discourse could 
 give you, in one moment. What matters it what 
 she says to you, "see how she looks," is the lan- 
 guage 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 at- 
 
 With various poTver the wonder-working eye 
 Can awe, or sooth, reclaim, or lead astray. 
 The motto in the original folio was different, and likewise taken &om 
 Virg. EeL iiL 103. 
 
 ' Nescio quis teneros oeulos mihi fascinat agnos.' 
 "= Speot. No. 250, let. i. said to have been written by Mr. Golding, if 
 the annotator does not mistake the meaning of the respectable communica- 
 tor, who may allude, perhaps, to this very letter^ 
 
 VOL. m. — 17 
 
258 THE SPECTATOR. L^O. 252. 
 
 tendance of years paid, overpaid in an instant? Yon 
 a Spectator, and not know the intelligence of affec- 
 tion is carried on by the eye only ; that good-breed- 
 ing has made the tongue falsify the heart, and act a 
 part of continual constraint, while nature has pre- 
 served the eyes to herself, that she may not be dis- 
 guised, 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 re- 
 luctance sits in a tear, while the offering of the sa- 
 crifice 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 slily watchful while it 
 look^ 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 instru- 
 ment 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 soldier's daughter in 
 town,® that by her eye has been the death of more 
 
 ' See Speot. No. 250, let. ii. which announoeB a real optical instrument 
 probably invented about the time, and certainly for the purpose there 
 mentioned. 
 
 * A compliment, probably, to the Little Whig, lady Sunderland, second 
 daughter to the Duke of Marlborough. 
 
No. 252.] THE SPECTATOR. 259 
 
 than ever her father made fly before him. A beau- 
 tiful 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 itself 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, 
 
 ' Mart Heartfrbe.' 
 
 ' DEAR MR. spectator, 
 
 ' I HAVE a sot of a husband that lives a 
 very scandalous life ; who 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 Crabtreb.' 
 
 ' mr. spectator, 
 
 ' Though I am a practitioner in the law of 
 some standing, and have heard many eminent plead- 
 
260 THE SPEOTATOB. [No. 252. 
 
 ers in my time, as well as other eloquent speakers 
 of both universities, yet I agree with you, that wo- 
 men are better qualified to succeed in oratory than 
 the men, and believe this is to be resolved into natu- 
 ral 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 persuasion 
 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 rhetoric, 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 sums she pleases. Every room in my house is 
 furnished with trophies of her eloquence ; rich cabi- 
 nets, piles of china, Japan screens, and costly jars ; 
 and if you were to come into my great parlour, you 
 would fancy yourself in an India warehouse. Be- 
 sides 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 subscrip- 
 tions to a new opera, and is drowned in tears after 
 having seen any woman there in finer clothes than 
 herself These are arts of persuasion purely femi- 
 nine, 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 show by what means, if 
 possible, they may be stopped at a reasonable ex- 
 
No. 253.] THE SPECTATOR. 261 
 
 pense. 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 elo- 
 quent 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 gene- 
 rous pity, true penitence, or real sorrow. 
 
 T.e ' I am, &c.' ^ 
 
 No. 253. THUESDAY, December 20, 1711. 
 
 Indignor quicquam reprehendi, non quia crasse 
 Corapositum, illepideve putetur, sed quia nuper. 
 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. ii. 76. 
 I feel my honest indignation rise, 
 When with affected air a coxcomb cries, 
 The work I own has elegance and case, 
 But sure no modem should pretend to please. 
 
 Feanois. 
 
 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 natu- 
 ral for such as have not succeeded in it to depreciate 
 the works of those who have ; for since they can- 
 not 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. 
 
 ' This last letter was -written by Mr. John Hughes. See his Corre- 
 spondence, ToL iiL p. 8. 
 
 s By Steele, who probably used here the signature T, to signify that 
 he was only the transcriber. See final note to No. 324, and No. 410, ad 
 Jin, 
 
262 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 253. 
 
 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 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 vouch- 
 ers for one another's reputation. But at the same 
 time that Virgil was celebrated by Gallus, Proper 
 tins, 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 aU his bro- 
 thers in the art. The ignorance of the modems, the 
 scribblers of the age, the decay of poetry, are the 
 topics 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, accord- 
 ing to those beautiful lines of sir John Denham, in 
 his poem on Fletcher's works ! 
 
 ' But -whitlier am I stray'd ? I need not raise 
 Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise : 
 Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built, 
 Nor needs thy juater 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 just- 
 
No. 253.] THE SPECTATOR. 263 
 
 ly esteemed among the best judges, has admitted 
 some strokes of this nature into a very fine poem ; I 
 mean, The Art of Criticism,*" which was published 
 some months since, and is a master-piece in its kind. 
 The observations follow one another like those in 
 Horace's Art of Poetry, without that methodical reg- 
 ularity which would have been requisite in a prose 
 author. They are some of them uncommon,' but such 
 as the reader must assent to, when he sees them ex- 
 plained with that elegance and perspicuity 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 allu- 
 sions, 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 do not consist 
 so much in advancing things that are new, as in giv- 
 ing things that are known an agreeable turn. It is 
 impossible for us, who live in the latter ages of the 
 world, to make observations in criticism, morality, 
 or in any art or science, which have not been touch- 
 ed 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 com- 
 monly known by all the poets of the Augustan age. 
 
 •■ See Pope's Works, vol. v. p. 201, 6 vols. edit. Lond. 12mo. I'rVO. 
 ' See Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope, sect. iiL p. 91, 2d ed. 
 1760. 
 
264 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 253. 
 
 His "way of expressing and applying them, not his 
 invention of them, is what we are chiefly to admire. 
 
 For this reason I think there is nothing in the 
 world so tiresome as the works of those critics who 
 write in a positive dogmatic way, without either 
 language, genius, or imagination. If the reader 
 would see how the best of the Latin critics 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 re- 
 flections, has given us the same kind of sublime, 
 which he observes in the several passages that occa- 
 sioned them ; I cannot but take notice that our Eng- 
 lish author has, after the same manner, exemplified 
 several of his precepts in the very precepts them- 
 selves. 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 monosylla- 
 bles in the fourth, give such a beauty to this pas- 
 sage as would have been very much admired in an 
 ancient poet. The reader may observe the follow- 
 ing lines in the same view : 
 
 ' A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 
 That like a wounded snake drags its slow length along.' 
 
No. 253.] THE SPECTATOR. 265 
 
 And afterwards, 
 
 ' ' Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, 
 The sound must seem an echo 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 should like the torrent roar. 
 When Ajax strives some rook's vast weight to throw, 
 The line too labours, and the words move slow ; 
 Not so, when swift Camilla^scours the plain. 
 Flies o'er the 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 critics have taken notice 
 qfy- 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 de- 
 scribed in the numbers of these verses : as in the 
 four first it is heaved up by several spondees inter- 
 mixed with proper breathing places, and at last 
 trundles down in a continued line of dactyls : 
 
 Kai firiv SiOTi^ov elaelBov, Kparep oKye c^^ovra, 
 Aaav ^aard^ovra ireKapiov dfi(l>OTeprj(riv. 
 "Htoi 6 jiiv aKrjpiTTTOfievos x^P"'^ ''^ Trocriv tc, 
 Adav avQ) 6)3eo'K6 iroTi \6(pov • dXX' ore p.fK\oi 
 "AKpov vrrep^oKieiv, tot ejrocrTpi-^a(TKe Kparaus, 
 AuTis cireiTO neSovSe KvKivSeTo \das avaiSrjs. 
 
 Odtss. 1. 11. 
 
 ' I tnrn'd my eye, and as I turn'd survey'd 
 A mournful vision ! the Sisyphian shade : 
 With many a weary step, and many a groan, 
 Up the high hUl he heaves a huge round stone ; 
 
 * See Pope's Works, ut supra. The words in Italics are left out in Mr. 
 Tickell's edit, of Addison's works. This same observation was made long 
 before by Dionysius of Halioarnaasus. 
 
266 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 254. 
 
 The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, 
 Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.' 
 
 Pope. 
 
 It would be endless to quote verses out of Vir- 
 gil which have this particular kind of beauty in the 
 numbers ; but I may take an occasion in a future 
 paper to show several of them which have escaped 
 the observation of others. 
 
 I cannot conclude this paper without taking no- 
 tice 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, 
 the " Essay on the Art of Poetry, and the " Essay 
 upon Criticism." C.^ 
 
 *^* Whereas it has been maliciously reported that Mr. Benj. Ferrers, 
 Face-Painter, who is deaf and dumb, hath left off painting, this is to give 
 notice that the report is villanous and false. — N. B. He lives in Duke- 
 street, York-buildings. — Spect. in folio. 
 
 No. 254. FKIDAY, Dbcembeb 21, 1711. 
 
 Se/ivhs ipus aperJis, i St Kvirfitvos Sxos o^eWfi. 
 Tirtuouslove is honourable, but lust increaseth sorrow. 
 
 When I consider the false impressions which are re- 
 ceived 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 mis- 
 fortune of their lives. The first of the following 
 
 ' By the earl of Roscommon. 
 " By the duke of Normandy. 
 ■" By Pope. 
 
 " See Additions to Pope's Works, 1'7'?6, vol ii. p. 111. 
 P By Addison. See final notes to H"os. 1, and 221, on Addison's signa- 
 tures C, L, I, 0. 
 
No. 254.] THE SPECTATOR. 267 
 
 letters may best represent the faults I would now 
 point at ; and the answer to it, the temper of mind 
 in a contrary character. 
 
 ' MT DEAR HARRIOT, 
 
 ' If thou art she ! but, oh, how fallen! how 
 changed ! what an apostate ! how lost to all that is 
 gay and agreeable ! To be married I find is to be 
 buried alive ; I can't 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 conversa- 
 tion 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 persuade 
 me is very agreeable, and different enough fi'om 
 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 pry'thee 
 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. 
 It is a little insolence in me, perhaps, to advise a 
 
268 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 254. 
 
 matron ; but I am so afraid you will make so silly a 
 figure as a fond wife, that I cannot help warning you 
 not to appear in any public places with your hus- 
 band, and never to saunter about St. James's-park 
 together: if you presume to enter the ring^ at 
 Hyde-park together, you are ruined for ever ; nor 
 must you take the least notice of one another at the 
 playhouse 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 will propose this lady 
 as a pattern, though I am very much afraid you will 
 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 public 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 pru- 
 dence ! 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 into a mere sober husband ; it was 
 unpardonable. You see, my dear, we all envy your 
 happiness, and no person more than 
 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 Lydia.' 
 
 1 See No. 88, note. 
 
No. 254.] THE SPECTATOR. 269 
 
 ' Be not in pain, good Madam, for my ap- 
 pearance in town ; I shall frequent no public places, 
 or make any visits where the character of a modest 
 wife is ridiculous. As for your wild raillery on 
 matrimony, it is all hypocrisy; you, and all the 
 handsome young women of your acquaintance, show 
 yourselves to no other purpose than to gain a con- 
 quest over some man of worth, in order to bestow 
 your charms and fortune on him. There is no inde- 
 cency in the confession ; the design is modest and 
 honourable, and all your affectation can't disguise it. 
 ' I am married, and have no other concern but 
 to please the man I love; he is the end of every 
 care I have : if I dress, it is for him ; if I read a poem, 
 or a play, it is to qualify myself for a conversation 
 agreeable to his taste : he is 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 you 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 topics of people of little wit and 
 no understanding. I own to you, I have learned 
 of the vicar's 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 never had 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 enter- 
 
270 THE SPECTATOR. C^o. 254. 
 
 tained 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, 
 
 'Mart Home.' 
 
 ' dear mr. spectator, 
 
 ' You have no goodness in the world, and 
 are not in earnest in any thing you say that is seri- 
 ous, 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 to, 
 
 ' Sir, your most humble servant.' 
 
 I am sorry I cannot answer this impatient gentle- 
 man but by another question. 
 
 ' DEAR CORRESPONDENT, 
 
 ' Would you marry to please other people 
 or yourself? ' 
 
 m r 
 
 ' By Steele. See No, 324, ad finem, note. 
 
No. 255.] THE SPECTATOR. 271 
 
 No. 255. SATUBDAY, December 22, 1711. 
 
 Landis amore tames ? smit certa piacala, quae te 
 Ter purfi lecto potemnt recreare libello. 
 
 Hoe. Ep. 1. lib. i. ver. 86. 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 Ejiow there are rhymes, which (fresh and fresh apply'd) 
 Will cure the airant'st puppy of his pride. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 The soul, considered abstractedly from its passions, 
 is of a remiss and sedentary nature, slow in its re- 
 solves, and languishing in its executions. The use, 
 therefore, of the passions is, to stir it up, and put it 
 upon action ; to awaken the understanding ; to en- 
 force the will ; and to make the whole man more 
 vigorous and attentive in the prosecution of his 
 designs. As this is the end of the passions in gen- 
 eral, so it is particularly of ambition, which pushes 
 the soul to such actions as are apt to procure hon- 
 our and reputation to the actor. But if we carry 
 our reflections higher, we may discover farther ends 
 of Providence in implanting this passion in man- 
 kind. 
 
 It was necessary for the world that arts should be 
 invented and improved, books written and transmit- 
 ted to posterity, nations conquered and civilized. 
 Now since the proper and genuine motives to these 
 and the like great actions would only influence vir- 
 tuous 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 endowments are not suffered to lie idle and 
 useless to the public, and many vicious men over- 
 reached as it were, and engaged, contrary to their 
 natural inclinations, in a glorious and laudable course 
 
272 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 255. 
 
 of action. For, we may farther observe, that men 
 of the greatest abilities are most fired with ambi- 
 tion ; 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 incapacities makes him 
 despair at coming at fame ; or that he has not enough 
 range of thought to look out for any good which 
 does not more immediately relate to his interest or 
 convenience ; or that Providence, in the very frame 
 of his soul, would not subject him to such a passion 
 as would be useless to the world and a torment to 
 himself 
 
 Were not this desire of fame very strong, the dif- 
 ficulty 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 abi- 
 lities sufficient to recommend their actions to the 
 admiration of the world, and to distinguish them- 
 selves from the rest of mankind ! Providence for 
 the most part sets us upon a level, and observes a 
 kind of proportion in its dispensations 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 be- 
 ing mean and deficient in his qualifications, than of 
 making any single one eminent or extraordinary. 
 
 And among those who are the most richly endow- 
 ed by nature, and accomplished by their own indus- 
 try, how few are there whose virtues are not obscur- 
 ed 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 pur- 
 posely misrepresent, or put a wrong interpretation 
 
No. 255.] THE SPECTATOR. 273 
 
 on them. But, the more to enforce this considera- 
 tion, 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 ac- 
 quired it." 
 
 Men take an ill-natured pleasure in crossing our 
 inclinations, and disappointing us in what our hearts 
 are most set upon. When therefore they have dis- 
 covered the passionate desire of fame in the ambi- 
 tious man, (as no temper of mind is more apt to show 
 itself,) 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 dis- 
 tance from themselves. 
 
 But farther, this desire of fame naturally betrays 
 the ambitious man into such indecencies as are a 
 lessening to his reputation. He is stiU 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 fantastical recitals of his own 
 performances. His discourse generally leans one 
 way, and whatever is the subject of it, tends ob- 
 liquely either to the detracting from others, or the 
 
 f 
 
 ■ SaL Bel. CatU. o. 49.. 
 VOL. III. — 18 
 
274 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 255. 
 
 extolling of himself. Vanity is the natural weak- 
 ness 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 ad- 
 vance by it. For though 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 imperfection in the greatest character. 
 A solid and substantial greatness of soul looks down 
 with a generous neglect on the censures and ap- 
 plauses of the multitude, and places a man beyond 
 the little noise and strife of tongues. Accordingly 
 we find in ourselves a secret awe and veneration for 
 the character of one who moves above us in a regu- 
 lar and illustrious course of virtue, without any re- 
 gard to our good or ill opinions of him, to our re- 
 proaches 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 dis- 
 interested 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, and particularly by those who thirst after it ; 
 since most men have so much either of ill-nature or 
 of wariness, as not to gratify and sooth the vanity 
 
No. 256.] THE SPECTATOR. 275 
 
 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 itself looked 
 upon as a weakness in the greatest characters. 
 
 In the next place, fame is easily lost, and as diffi- 
 cult to be preserved as it was at first to be acquired. 
 But this I shall make the subject of a following pa- 
 per. C* 
 
 No. 256. MONDAY, December 24, 1711. 
 
 ^■ijfjLrt ydp T€ KOK^ ir4\eral • Koi(p7] flep aitpai 
 'PeTa )U(i\*, hpya.\ir\ Se (jyepsiv — 
 
 Hbs. 
 Fame is an ill you may with ease obtain, 
 A ead oppression to be borne with pain. 
 
 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 pres- 
 ent, 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 su- 
 periors, 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 
 
 • By Addison. See final notes to No, 1, and 221. 
 
276 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 256. 
 
 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 farther, a man, whose extraordinary reputa- 
 tion 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-natured 
 discoveries with a secret pride, and applaud them- 
 selves 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 compla- 
 cency, if they discover none of the like errors and 
 infirmities in themselves ; for while they are exposing 
 another's 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 supe- 
 rior in some respects to one of a sublime and cele- 
 brated reputation. Nay, it very often happens, that 
 none are more industrious in publishing the blem- 
 ishes of an extraordinary reputation, than such as 
 lie open to the same censures in their own charac- 
 ters, as either hoping to excuse their own defects by 
 the authority of so high an example, or raising an 
 
No. 256.] THE SPECTATOR. 277 
 
 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 osten- 
 tation of wit sets a man on attacking an established 
 name, and sacrificing it to the mirth and laughter of 
 those about him. A satire, 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 shows greater 
 art to expose and turn to ridicule a man whose cha- 
 racter 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 mankind. 
 
 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 gener- 
 ally 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 weak- 
 nesses and infirmities. The reason may be, because 
 any little slip is more conspicuous and observable in 
 his conduct than in another's, as it is not of a piece 
 with the rest of his character ; or, because it is im- 
 possible for a man at the same time to be attentive 
 to the more important part of his life, and to keep a 
 watchful eye over all the inconsiderable circunist r.i- 
 
278 IBS SPECTATOR. [No. 256. 
 
 ces 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 confessed, 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 momen- 
 tous 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 dim- 
 inution 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 lan- 
 guishes. Admiration is a very short-lived passion, 
 that immediately decays upon growing familiar with 
 its object, unless it be still fed with fresh discoveries, 
 
No. 256.] THE SPECTATOE. 279 
 
 and kept alive by a new perpetual succession of mi- 
 racles rising up to its view. And even the greatest 
 actions of a celebrated person labour under this dis- 
 advantage, that, however surprising and extraordi- 
 nary 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, 
 though they might raise the reputation of another, 
 they are a diminution to his. 
 
 One would think there should be something won- 
 derfully pleasing in the possession of fame, that, not- 
 withstanding 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 imag- 
 inary 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 possi- 
 bility 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, 
 
280 THE SPECTATOR. [^o. 256. 
 
 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 Csesar's character which 
 gives me a greater idea of him, than a saying which 
 Cicero tells us he frequently made use of in private 
 conversation, ' That he was satisfied with his share 
 of life and fame :' ' ^e 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 itself, but the de- 
 sire of it lays us open to many accidental troubles 
 which those are free from who have no such 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 ourselves ! But if the am- 
 bitious man can be so much grieved even with praise 
 itself, 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 cen- 
 sures. 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 
 
No. 256. J THE SPECTATOR. 281 
 
 malicious tongue to throT?' him into a fit of melan- 
 choly, 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 virtues ! 
 
 We may farther 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 though 
 the presence of this imaginary good cannot make us 
 happy, the absence of it cannot 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 it. 
 
 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, though the loss or want of it be very sensi- 
 ble 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 re- 
 proaches which are offered us, but are disappointed 
 by the silence of men when it is unexpected, and 
 humbled even by their praises. C." 
 
 " By Addison, dated, it seems, from Chelsea. See No. 1, adfinem. 
 
282 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 257. 
 
 No. 257. TUESDAY, Decembek 25, 1711. 
 
 — Ov^ eSSei Aih^ 
 
 'Oi^^oA/iity iyyus S* iffrl wapiiv 7r6vtf}. 
 
 Incert ex Btob. 
 
 No slumber seals the eye of Providence, 
 Present to ev'ry action "WO commence. 
 
 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 shown, from many consider- 
 ations, first, that fame is a thing difficult to be ob- 
 tained, 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 show, 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 considerations : 
 
 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 con- 
 ducive to this our ultimate happiness. 
 
 " No. 255. > No. 256. 
 
No. 257.] THE SPECTATOR. 283 
 
 Thirdly, Because if "we should allow the same 
 actions to be the proper instruments, both of acquir- 
 ing 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 con- 
 siderable 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 other's 
 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 
 
284 THE SPECTATOR. L^O- 257. 
 
 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 oppor- 
 tunity of exerting and showing themselves in actions. 
 Every virtue requires time and place, a proper ob- 
 ject 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 pa- 
 tience 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 public 
 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 
 trial 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 mixed 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 
 
No. 257.] THE SPECTATOR. 285 
 
 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 dis- 
 colour and pervert the object : so that on this ac- 
 count also, He is the only proper judge of our per- 
 fections, 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 farther, it is impossible for outward actions 
 to represent the perfections of the soul, because 
 they can never show the strength of those principles 
 from whence they proceed. They are not adequate 
 expressions of our virtues, and can only show 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 Su- 
 preme 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 
 
286 THE SPECTATOR. [^o. 257. 
 
 estimate of us, since there are many perfections of a 
 man whicli are not capable of appearing in actions ; 
 many which, allowing no natural incapacity of show- 
 ing themselves, want an opportunity of doing it ; or 
 should they all meet with an opportunity of appear- 
 ing by actions, yet those actions may be misinter- 
 preted, and applied to wrong principles ; or though 
 they plainly discovered the principles from whence 
 they proceeded, they could never show 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 re- 
 warder of them. This is a consideration that comes 
 home to our interest, as the other adapts itself 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 de- 
 sire of fame this way ; and that he may propose to 
 himself a fame worthy of his ambition, let him con- 
 sider, that, if he employs his abilities to the best ad- 
 vantage, 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 pro- 
 claim his worth before men and angels, and pro- 
 nounce 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 in- 
 to thy Master's joy.' C.^ 
 
 y By Addison, written, probably, at Chelsea. See final note to No. T, 
 No. 221, and note on cabalistioal letters, and Addison's signatures 0, L, 
 1,0. 
 
No. 258.] THE SPEOTATOB. 287 
 
 No. 258. WEDNESDAY, December 26, 1711. 
 
 Divide et impcTo. 
 Divide and rule. 
 
 Pleasure and recreation of one kind or other are 
 absolutely necessary to relieve our minds and bodies 
 from too constant attention and labour ; where there- 
 fore public diversions are tolerated, it behoves per- 
 sons 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 music. 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 dramatic 
 poetry ; and the other comes from three persons, 
 who, as soon as named, will be thought capable of 
 advancing the present state of music. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 public 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 
 
288 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 258. 
 
 bow, in case that of comptroller should fail me, I 
 have since formed another project, which, being 
 grounded on the dividing of a present monopoly, I 
 hope will give the public an equivalent to their full 
 content. You know, Sir, it is allowed, that the bu- 
 siness of the stage is, as the Latin has it, jucunda et 
 idonea dicere vitce. Now there being but one dra- 
 matic 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 into an union with the set of actors now in 
 being, I do farther propose to constitute for my 
 deputy my near kinsman and adventurer. Kit Crot- 
 chet,' whose long experience and improvements in 
 those affairs need no recommendation. 'Twas ob- 
 vious 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 arrived 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 
 
 » Christopher Rich. See Tat. in 8vo. 6 vols. No. 99, p. 243, and note. 
 See also Life of C. Gibber, vol. i. p. 306, d; aeq. cr. 8vo. 1766. 
 
No. 25.8.] THE SPECTATOR. 289 
 
 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 capa- 
 ble. 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 
 public 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 
 week's papers, and desire when my house opens you 
 will accept the liberty of it for the trouble you have 
 received from, 
 
 ' Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 ' Ralph Crotchet. 
 
 ' P. S. I have assurances that the trunk-maker 
 will declare for us.' * 
 
 - See Spaot. No. 235. 
 VOL. III. — 19 
 
290 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 258. 
 
 ' ME. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' We whose names are subscribed, think you the 
 properest person to signify what we have to offer the 
 town in behalf of ourselves, and the art which we 
 profess, music. 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 music 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 pleas- 
 ure, but also that without it a composure of music is 
 the same thing as a poem, where all the rules of po- 
 etical numbers are observed, but the words have no 
 sense or meaning ; to say it shorter, mere musical 
 sounds in our art are no other than nonsense verses 
 are in poetry. Music 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 enter- 
 tainment 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 zeal- 
 ously inclined to assist by their solicitations, in intro- 
 ducing so elegant an entertainment as the Italian 
 music 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 
 
No. 258.] THE SPECTATOR. 291 
 
 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 paper, that the town 
 may know we have all three joined together to make 
 entertainments of music for the future at Mr. Clay- 
 ton's 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 sev- 
 eral authors of the vocal as well as instrumental mu- 
 sic for each night ; the money to be paid, at the re- 
 ceipt 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 music ; 
 but lest you should think so dry a thing as an ac- 
 count of our proposal should be a matter unworthy 
 of your paper, which generally contains something 
 of public 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 affec- 
 tation of knowledge. We aim at establishing some 
 settled notion of what is music ; at 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 ourselves have done, and not to be so insolent as 
 to expect a whole nation, a refined and learned na- 
 tion, 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 
 music may be furthered in it for their profit or diver- 
 sion by what new things we shall produce ; never 
 
292 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 259. 
 
 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, it is not expected will 
 arrive to us by contemning others, but through the 
 utmost diligence recommending ourselves. 
 ' We are. Sir, 
 ' Your most humble servants, 
 
 ' Thomas Clayton. 
 ' NicoLiNO Hatm. 
 T." ' Charles Dieupart' ^ 
 
 No. 259. THUESDAY, Decembbk 27, 1711. 
 
 Qaod decet honestum eat, et quod honestam est decet 
 
 TULL. 
 
 "What is becoming is honourable, and what is honourable is becoming. 
 
 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 
 
 I" See Spect. No. 5, note ; No. 278, let. 3, and note. Tat. Nos. 163, 
 find 166. See also sir John HawkioB's Hist, of Music, vol. V. b. ii. chap. 5, 
 p. 147, &a. The great success of the opera of Rinaldo, -which Handel is 
 said to have composed in a fortnight, established his character, •which vras 
 in some measure injurious to the three musicians here mentioned, who had 
 been employed before to furnish operas, by collections from various Italian 
 masters. Steele was concerned with them in their Musical business at 
 York-buildings, by which he did not better his circumstances. See 
 Hughes's Poems, vol. i. Preface, p. xvii. and vol. ii. p. 71, and Hughes's 
 Correspondepce, vol. i. p. 50, db seq. 
 
 " Steele probably adopted this signature here, to denote that he was 
 only the transcriber, or it may be, that, in his absence, it was made up 
 from the letter-box by Mr. T. Tickell. See note on the signature T, No. 
 324, ad finem. It was probably Mr. Tickell's signature sometimes. See 
 No. 410, Ac. 
 
No. 259.] THE SPECTATOR. 293 
 
 the help of an instructor : but that which we call 
 common sense suffers under that word ; for it some- 
 times 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 won- 
 der 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 stroll 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 sa- 
 lute, and stop short in the poll 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 much in 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 courtesy upon a per- 
 son 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 show 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 show he is full of business, and yet not so 
 taken up as to forget his old friend. With a man 
 
294 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 259. 
 
 "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 oppo- 
 site gallery and smile in the minister's 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 public 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 mere 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. 
 
No. 259.] THE SPECTATOR. 295 
 
 This absurd custom had better be abolished than re- 
 tained, 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 ser- 
 vice 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 to- 
 wards 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 ourselves 
 in our religious assemblies. A quaker who came 
 one day into a church fixed his eye upon an old lady 
 with a carpet larger than that from the pulpit before 
 her, expecting when she would hold forth. An ana- 
 baptist, who designs to come over himself, and all 
 his family, within a few months, is sensible they 
 want breeding enough for our congregations, and 
 has sent his two eldest daughters to learn to dance, 
 that they may not misbehave themselves at church. 
 It is worth considering whether, in regard to awk- 
 ward people with scrupulous consciences, a good 
 christian of the best air in the world ought not 
 rather to deny herself the opportunity of showing 
 so many graces, than keep a bashful proselyte with- 
 out the pale of the church.* T.* 
 
 "I See Spect. No. 460. 
 
 « By Steele. This is one of several papers -where the signature T, 
 ■which is annexed to it in the original edition in folio, cannot be supposed 
 to signify that it was merely or little more than transcribed ; nor is there 
 
296 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 260. 
 
 No. 260. FEIDAY, December 28, 1711. 
 
 Singula de nobis anni prasdantur euntes. 
 
 Hoe. 2Ep. ii. 55. 
 Tears following yeara steal somotbing ov'ry day. 
 At last tbey steal us from ourselves away. 
 Pope. 
 
 'MB. SPBCTATOE, 
 
 ' 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 grati- 
 fy them ? I write this like a criminal, to warn peo- 
 ple to enter upon what reformation they 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, merely to entertain my own thought, sit with 
 my spectacles on, writing love letters to the beau- 
 ties that have been long since in their graves. This 
 is to warm my heart with the faint memory of de- 
 lights 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 
 
 Bnffioient authority to ascribe it, as papers with this signature have some- 
 times been ascribed, to Mr. T. Tiokell. It has the same signature T in the 
 editions of 1'712 in 8vo. and in 12mo. See final note to No. S24. 
 
No. 259.] THE SPECTATOR. 297 
 
 for my country ; if I had laid out tliat whicli I pro- 
 fused in luxury and wantonness in acts of generosi- 
 ty or charity ? I have lived a bachelor to this day ; 
 and, instead of a numerous offspring, with which, in 
 the regular ways of life, I might possibly have de- 
 lighted myself, I have only to amuse myself 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 im- 
 perceptibly, 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, sur- 
 rounded by a new set of people, whose manners are 
 as natural to them as his delights, method of think- 
 ing, 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 crazy constitution and an uneasy 
 mind is fretted with vexatious passions for young 
 men's 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 ac- 
 tions is a feast, which must give a quicker relish to 
 
298 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 260. 
 
 the soul than ever it could possibly taste in the high- 
 est 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 mem- 
 ory ; fine gowns, country dances, ends of tunes, in- 
 terrupted conversations, and midnight quarrels, are 
 what must necessarily compose my soliloquy. I beg 
 of you to print this, that some ladies of my acquaint- 
 ance and my years may be persuaded to wear warm 
 night-caps this cold season ; and that my old friend 
 Jack Tawdry 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 
 tenth of March 1714, and all my securities are good, 
 I shall be worth fifty thousand pound. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, your most humble servant, 
 
 ' Jack Afteedat.' 
 
 'MR. spectator, 
 
 'Yet: 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 herself told a confidant of hers, she has cold 
 fits. These fits shall last her a month or six weeks 
 together ; and as she falls into them without provo- 
 cation, 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 : 
 
No. 260.] THE SPECTATOR. 299 
 
 u 
 
 MADAM, . 
 
 " I LOVE you, and 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 though 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 trans- 
 porting raptures upon, 
 
 " MADAM, 
 
 " Tour most devoted humble servant." ' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' Here is 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.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 ofi" her 
 
300 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 261. 
 
 shoe and hit me with the heel such a rap as almost 
 broke my head to pieces. Pray, Sir, was this love 
 or spite ?' 
 
 T.^ 
 
 No. 261. SATUKDAY, December 29, 1711. 
 
 rdfios yap av^pc&nottriy evKToioy KaK6v. 
 
 V&ka. YDT. POBT. 
 
 Wedlock's an ill men eagerly embrace. 
 
 My father, whom I mentioned in my first specula- 
 tion, 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 hindered me from 
 showing myself to the best advantage, she by de- 
 grees 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 applica- 
 tions 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 ob- 
 servations which I made at this conjuncture, and 
 the repeated advices which I received at that time 
 from the good old man abovementioned, have pro- 
 duced the following essay upon love and marriage. 
 
 ' By Steele, and the signatures seem to denote tliat he was only the 
 transcriber of the paper. See final note to No. 324, on the signature T. 
 
No. 261.] THE SPEOTATOB. 301 
 
 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 discre- 
 tion. 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 hath 
 ten thousand griefs, impatiences, and resentments, 
 that render a man unamiable in the eyes of the per- 
 son whose affection he solicits ; besides that it sinks 
 his figure, gives him fears, apprehensions, and poor- 
 ness of spirit, and often makes him appear ridicu- 
 lous where he has a mind to recommend himself 
 
 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 choose for themselves, their thoughts turn 
 most upon the person. They have both their rea- 
 sons. The first would procure many conveniences 
 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 
 
302 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 261. 
 
 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 for her charms ; 
 and if you have such a passion for her, it is odds but 
 it would be irnbittered with fears and jealousies. 
 
 Good-nature and evenness of temper will give 
 you an easy 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, notwithstand- 
 ing, is more intent upon trains and equipages, and 
 all the showy parts of life ; we love rather to dazzle 
 the multitude than consult our proper interests ; 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 easy and happy to others 
 than really to make ourselves 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 uneasy for life with a person of a partic- 
 ular 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. 
 
No. 261.] THE SPECTATOR. 303 
 
 Before marriage, we cannot be too inquisitive 
 and discerning in the faults of the person beloved, 
 nor, after it, too dim-sighted and superficial. How- 
 ever 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 per- 
 haps suspected. Here therefore discretion and 
 good-nature are to show their strength ; the first will 
 hinder your thoughts from dwelling on what is dis- 
 agreeable, the other will raise in you all the tender- 
 ness of compassion and humanity, and by degrees 
 soften those very imperfections into beauties. 
 
 Marriage enlarges the scene of oijr happiness and 
 miseries. A marriage of love is pleasant ; a marriage 
 of interest easy ; and a marriage where both meet, 
 happy. A happy marriage has in it all the pleas- 
 ures 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 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. 
 
 E To this paper in ita original form in folio is subjoined one of Addi- 
 son's signatures C, signifying, probably, that it vras written at Chelsea. 
 Mr. T. Tickell has reprinted it in his edition of Addisoujs Works, with the 
 one immediately following it, and several unmarked papers, some of which 
 it is now certainly known were written by other hands. There is no sig- 
 nature at the conclusion of this paper in either of the editions of 1112. — 
 See No. 268, let. 2. If this speculation was written by Addison, as it seems 
 to have been, he was certainly unfortunate in the application of his general 
 rules to his own particular case. 
 
304 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 262. 
 
 No. 262. MONDAY, Decembee 31, 1711. 
 
 Nulla venenato litera mista joco est 
 
 Ovid. Tkist. ii. 566. 
 
 My F^psr flows from no satiric vein, 
 Contains no poison, and conveys no pain. 
 
 I THINK myself Wghly obliged to the public 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 sin- 
 gle word of news, a reflection in politics, nor a stroke 
 of party ; so, on the other, there are no fashionable 
 touches of infidelity, no obscene ideas, no satires up- 
 on 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 those above-mentioned sub- 
 jects that would not sell a very indifferent paper, 
 could I think of gratifying the public 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 in- 
 creased every month since their first appearance in 
 the world. This does not perhaps reflect so much 
 honour upon myself 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 wri- 
 ters who have employed their wit and parts in prop- 
 
No. 262.] THE SPECTATOE. 305 
 
 agating vice and irreligion, I did not question but 
 T 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 imag- 
 ine ; and that if those men of parts who have been 
 employed in vitiating the age had endeavoured to 
 rectify and amend it, they needed not to have sacri- 
 ficed 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 
 to improve the mind and to make the heart better. 
 
 I have shown, 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 complexion : 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 re- 
 semblance 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 de- 
 rision of the public, and should therefore scorn to 
 divert my reader at the expense of any private man. 
 VOL. III. — 20 
 
306 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 262, 
 
 As I have been thus tender of every particular 
 person's reputation, so I have taken more than ordi- 
 nary 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 pasteboard that is in- 
 vested with a public character ; for which reason I 
 have never glanced upon the late designed proces- 
 sion of his Holiness and his attendants, notwith- 
 standing it might have afforded matter to many lu- 
 dicrous speculations.'* Among those advantages 
 which the public may reap from this paper, it is not 
 the least that it draws men's minds off from the bit- 
 terness 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 So- 
 ciety ; and had then a very good effect, as it turned 
 many of the greatest genuises of that age to the dis- 
 quisitions of natural knowledge, who, if they had 
 engaged in politics with the same parts and applica- 
 tion, might have set their country in a flame. The 
 air-pump, the barometer, the quadrant, and the like 
 inventions, were tl^rown out to those busy 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 for- 
 
 ^ His Holiness and his attendants, in all fifteen images in wax-work, 
 prepared for diversion on the lYth of November, being queen Elizabeth's 
 birth-day, fell under the displeasure of government, and were apprehended 
 by a secretary of state's warrant. The devil, one of his Holiness's attend- 
 ants, being thought to have a resemblance to the lord treasurer at that 
 time, was saved from the flames. — See Journal Letters to Stella, Swift's 
 Works, vol. xxiii. p. 94, 95, 100, 105, crown 8vo. 1769. 
 
 '■ See Johnson's Lives of English Poets, vol. ii. p. 364. 8vo. 1181, 
 
No. 262.] THE SPECTATOR. 307 
 
 born mentioning even such authors as I could not 
 name with honor. This I must confess to have 
 been a piece of very great self-denial : for as the 
 public relishes nothing better than the ridicule which 
 turns upon a writer of any eminence, so there is no- 
 thing 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 to- 
 gether upon the works of a person who has pub- 
 lished but a very few volumes. For which reason 
 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 excellences in the writers of my own 
 time, than to publish any of their faults and imper- 
 fections. In the mean while, I should take it for a 
 very great favour from some of my underhand de- 
 tractors, 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 au- 
 thor, 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 them- 
 selves in the politer parts of learning, and to point 
 out such beauties in their works as may have es- 
 caped 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, 
 
308 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 263. 
 
 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 ex- 
 tent ; 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 one of our eminent writers publish their 
 discoveries on the same subject. In short, I would 
 always be understood to write my papers of criti- 
 cism in the spirit which Horace has expressed in 
 those two famous lines : 
 
 — ' Si quid novisti, reotius istis, 
 Oandidus imperii ; si non, his utere meoum.' 
 
 1 Ep. vi. ult. 
 
 ' If you have made any better remarks of your own, communicate 
 them 'witli candour ; if not, make use of these I present you 
 with. 
 
 C." 
 
 No. 263. TUESDAY, January 1, 1711-12. 
 
 Gratulor quod eum quern necesse erat diligero, quallscunquo esset, talem habemus ut liben- 
 tcr quoquo diligamus. TEEBONina apud Tull. 
 
 I am glad, that he whom I must have loved from duty, whatever he had been, is such a one 
 as 1 can love from inclination. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM the happy father of a very towardly 
 son, in whom I do not only see my life, but also my 
 
 I" This paper, No. 262, has the signature C in the Speot. in folio, but no 
 signature in the editions of 1'712 ; it is reprinted as Addison's by Mr. 
 Tiokell. The signature seems to denote that it was written by Addison, 
 at Chelsea. See final notes to Nos. 7, and 221. 
 
No. 263.] THE SPECTATOB. 309 
 
 manner of life renewed. It would be extremely 
 beneficial to society, if you would frequently re- 
 sume subjects which serve to bind these sort of rela- 
 tions 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 h^ve no outrageous offence 
 against my own excellent parents to answer for ; 
 but when I am now and then alone, and look back 
 on 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 myself became a father. 
 I had not until then a notion of the yearnings 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 negligences 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 in- 
 timations 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 offend- 
 ed 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 
 
310 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 263. 
 
 but that I thouglit 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, though 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 desi- 
 rable to all, that resignation to decay is too difficult 
 a task in the father ; and deference, amidst the im- 
 pulse 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 con- 
 sult himself only, could neither of them behave him- 
 self 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 first-born dwell together. Camillus enjoys 
 a pleasing and indolent old age, in which passion is 
 subdued and reason exalted. He waits the day of 
 
No. 263.] THE SPECTATOR. 311 
 
 his dissolution with a resignation mixed with delight, 
 and the son fears the accession of his father's 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 easy landlord to his tenants, and an 
 agreeable companion to his acquaintance. He be- 
 lieves his son's 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 man- 
 ners of a kingdom, their characters have on all who 
 live withia 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 myself has rejoiced. Other 
 men's children foUow 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 in insinuating the delights which these relations 
 well regarded bestow upon each other. Ordinary 
 passages 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 mis- 
 
312 THE SPECTATOK. [No. 263. 
 
 understandings 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 ground- 
 ed 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 alwajj's gives 
 something to the object it delights in, and anger 
 spoils the person against whom it is moved of some- 
 thing laudable in him ; from this degeneracy, there- 
 fore, 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 friendships. 
 
 ' One would think there should need no more to 
 make men keep up this sort of relation with the ut- 
 most sanctity, than to examine their own hearts. If 
 every father remembered his own thoughts and in- 
 clinations when he was a son, and every son remem- 
 bered what he expected from his father when he 
 himself was in a state of dependence, this one re- 
 flection 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 dis- 
 ruption 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 : 
 
No. 263.] THE SPECTATOR. 313 
 
 ' DEAR PRANK, 
 
 ' 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 borne with more decency, as he was 
 your father's well-beloved servant, than to have call- 
 ed 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 feed- 
 ing 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 yourself 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. Frank, 
 do I live to omit writing myself 
 
 ' Your affectionate mother, 
 
 ' A. T.!' 
 
314 THE SPEOTATOE. [No. 264. 
 
 ' MADAM, 
 
 ' 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 here- 
 after, ' Your most dutiful son, 
 
 'F. T. 
 
 ' I will bring down new heads for my sisters. 
 Pray let all be forgotten.' T.^ 
 
 No. 264. WEDNESDAY, January 2, 1711-12. 
 
 *Secretum iter et fallentis eemita vitie. 
 
 HoK. 1 Ep. xTiii. 1 
 
 ADAPTED. 
 
 In public valks let who will shine or stray, 
 ril silent steal through life in my own way. 
 
 It has been from age to age an affectation to love 
 the pleasure of solitude, among 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 abstract- 
 ed 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 
 
 ' By Steele. The signature T seems to imply that it was composed or 
 transcribed from the letter-box. See No. 324, note on T. sometimes the 
 signature of Mr. T. Tickell. 
 
No. 264.] THE SPECTATOR. 315 
 
 we consider the world itself, and how few there are 
 capable of a religious, learned, or philosophic soli- 
 tude, 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 any one is so 
 happy as to find out and follow what is the proper 
 bent of his genius, and turn all his endeavours to 
 exert himself according as that prompts him. In- 
 stead of this, which is an innocent method of enjoy- 
 ing 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 sourness 
 and a 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 clothes with 
 great integrity,™ while all the rest of the world are de- 
 generated 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 
 
 " This seems to allude to the Earl of Nottingham's long pockets, and 
 large buttons. See Tat. or. 8vo. vol. ii. No. 4S, and note, p. 106. Vol. v. 
 addit. notes to vol. ii. p. 379. See also New Tat. vol. i. No. 21, and note. 
 
316 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 264. 
 
 away life, in contradiction to no man, but "with a 
 resolution to contract none of the exorbitant desires 
 by which others are enslaved. The best way of sep- 
 arating 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 entitles 
 them to, out of mere choice, and an elegant desire 
 of ease and disincumbrance. It would look like ro- 
 mance to tell you in this age, of an old man who is 
 contented to pass for an humourist, and one who 
 does riot 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 him- 
 self, 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 gentle- 
 man 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 con- 
 science that the widow, the fatherless, the mourner, 
 and the stranger, bless his unseen hand in their 
 prayers. This humourist gives up aU the compli- 
 ments which people of his own condition could make 
 to him, for the pleasure of helping the afflicted, sup- 
 plying the needy, and befriending the neglected, 
 
No. 264.] THE SPECTATOR. 317 
 
 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 ena- 
 moured of Irus, whose condition will not admit of 
 such largesses, and perhaps would not be capable 
 of making them if it were. Irus, though 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 judged 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 ex- 
 posed to the purchase of the best bidder. At this 
 place he exchanged his gay shabbiness of clothes 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 
 
318 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 264 
 
 this time fifty pounds in ready money ; and in this 
 liabit, with this fortune, he took his present lodging 
 in St. John-street, at the mansion-house of a tailor'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 back- 
 gammon, 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 
 public papers a knowledge of what generally passes, 
 shuns all discourses of money, but shrugs his shoul- 
 der 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 coffee-house. The 
 hopes that what he has must come to somebody, and 
 that he has no heirs, have that effect wherever he is 
 known, that he has every day three or four invita- 
 tions 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 re- 
 spect 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 men's 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 mien, his dress, his 
 carriage, and his language, are such, that you would 
 be at a loss to guess whether in the active part of 
 
No. 264.] THE SPEOTATOE. 319 
 
 his life lie 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 let- 
 ters ; for that I have heard the author of them has 
 somewhere or other seen me ; and, by an excellent 
 faculty in mimicry, my correspondents tell me he 
 can assume my air, and give my taciturnity a sly- 
 ness which diverts more than any thing I could say 
 if I were present. Thus I am glad my silence is 
 atoned 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. 
 
 'MB. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' Having observed in Lilly's grammar how 
 sweetly Bacchus and Apollo run in a verse ; I have 
 (to preserve the amity between them) called in Bac- 
 chus to the aid of my profession of the theatre. So 
 that while some people of quality are bespeaking 
 
 ° See another paper ou this subject, Speot. K"o. 360, marked in the 
 original edition in folio, as this paper also is, with the signature T, not 
 always the mark of Mr. Ticbell, as has been said without any apparent 
 authority, bat of Steele, who seems to haye employed the letter T gene- 
 rally as his editorial signature ; though the annotator means not to affirm 
 that there may not be several instances where this signature is placed in- 
 discriminately to his own papers, and to communications of his correspon- 
 dents which he adopted, probably without knowing the real authors ; but 
 the papers distinguished by an R seem, for the most part, to have been 
 written originally by Steele himself. See No. 280, and final note to No.' 
 824. 
 
320 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 264. 
 
 plajs of me to be acted on sucli a day, and others, 
 hogsheads for their houses against such a time ; I am 
 wholly employed 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 
 player's utmost pride is the approbation of the Spec- 
 tator. 
 
 ' I am your admirer, though unknown, 
 
 'Richard Estcourt.' 
 
 'TOME. ESTCOURT, 
 
 AT HIS HOUSE IN COVENT-GARDEN. 
 
 ' OLD COMICAL ONE, 'Coverley, Dec. 18th, 1111. 
 
 ' 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 mere pleasure of wine, has bethought himself 
 of j oining profit and pleasure together. Our sex ton, 
 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, and 
 that no steward's table can be without it; that it 
 strengthens digestion, excludes surfeits, fevers, and 
 physic ; which green wines of any kind can't do. 
 Pray get a pure snug room, and I hope next term 
 to help to fill your Bumper with our people of the 
 club ; but you must have no bells stirring when the 
 Spectator comes ; I forebore 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 pip- 
 
No- 264.] XHE SPECTATOR. 321 
 
 pin, attended with a pipe of John Sly's best. Sir 
 Harry has stolen all your songs, and tells the story 
 of the 5th of November to perfection. 
 ' Yours to serve you, 
 
 ' Roger de Coverley. 
 
 ' We have lost old John since you were here.' 
 V adtertisement. 
 
 This is to give notice, that Mr. Eetoourt has chosen and laid into the 
 Bumper tavern in James-street, Covent-garden, (which will be opened on 
 Tuesday the first of January, with the best accommodation,) neat natural 
 wines fresh and in perfection ; being bought of Brook 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 de- 
 liver the wine in the same natural purity that he receives it from the said 
 merchants ; and on these assiirances he hopes that all his friends and ac- 
 quaintance will become his customers, desiring a continuance of their 
 favours no longer than they shall find themselves well served. Note. The 
 best growths of France will also constantly be sold at the abovesaid tavern. 
 — Spect. in folio, ISTos. 260 and 261. See Tat. ed. 1789, or. 8vo. in 6 vols. 
 Nos. 20 and 51, and notes, ibidem, et passim ; and Spect. Nos. 358, and 
 468, and notes. 
 
 ° The letter T seems to have been most commonly Steele's editorial 
 mark, to signify that the paper was not originally his own, but transcribed : 
 but it probably was at times, and perhaps here, the mark likewise of Mr. 
 T. Tiokell. See No. 324, final note, and No. 410, ad finem. 
 
 VOL. III. 21 
 
322 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 265 
 
 No. 265. THURSDAY, Januaey 3, 1711-12 
 
 Dixerit 6 multis aliquis, quid virus in augues 
 Adjicis ? et rabidte tradis ovile lupBB ? 
 
 Ovid, de Art Am. iii. 7, 
 But some exclaim ; "What iVenzy rules your mind ? 
 "Would you increase the craft of womankind ? 
 Teach them new wiles and arts ? Aa well you may 
 Instruct a snake to bite, or wolf to prey, 
 
 CONGEBVE. 
 
 One of tke fathers, if I am rightly informed, has 
 defined a "woman to be ^aov (pckoxoG^ov, 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 than 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 under- 
 standing ; '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 amDng birds, that nature has lav- 
 ished all her ornaments upon the male, who very 
 often appears in a most beautiful head-dress ; whe- 
 ther it be a crest, a comb, a tuft of feathers, or a 
 natural little plume, erected like a kind of pinnacle 
 on the very top of the head. As nature on the con- 
 trary 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 
 
 P See Spect. No. .98, note ; and Swift's Works, Vol. xxiii. p. g"/. cr. 8vo. 
 «d. IMg. 
 
No. 265.] THE SPECTATOK. 323 
 
 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 dress- 
 ed 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 riband, lace, and cambric, 
 and in some measure reduced that part of the human 
 figure to the beautiful globular form which is nat- 
 ural 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 fe- 
 male 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 remembering the old 
 kitchen proverb, ' that if you light the fire at both 
 ends, the middle will shift for itself 
 
 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 a 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 ; 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 
 
324 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 265. 
 
 English. Such eyes and lips, cheeks and foreheads, 
 could be the growth of no other country. The com- 
 plexion of their faces hindered 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,in- 
 somuch that the whig and tory ladies begin already 
 to hang out different colours, and to show their 
 principles in their head-dress. Nay, if I may be- 
 lieve my friend Will Honeycomb, there is a certain 
 old coquette of his acquaintance, who intends to ap- 
 pear 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 dis- 
 position 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 ap- 
 pears 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 Honeycomb's dreams of gal- 
 lantry. For my own part, I impute this diversity of 
 
No. 265.] THE SPECTATOR. 325 
 
 colours in the hoods to the diversity of complexion 
 in the faces of my pretty countrywomen. 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 recom- 
 mends 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 
 sarsnet ; that a face which is over flushed 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-col- 
 oured garments ; and that Aurora, who always ap- 
 pears in the light of the rising sun, is robed in 
 saffron.' 
 
 Whether these his observations are justly ground- 
 ed, 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 [he] 
 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,'^ I cannot conclude 
 this paper without an exhortation to the British la- 
 dies, that they would excel the women of all other 
 nations as much in virtue and good sense, as they 
 
 1 'I will not meddle with the Spectator, let him "fair-3ex" it to the 
 world's end.' — Swift's Works, edit ut supra, vol. xxiii. p. 158, crown 8to. 
 
326 THE SPEOTATOB. [No. 266. 
 
 do in beauty ; which thej 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 : 
 
 VvvaiKi Koajios 6 Tpoiros, kov xpvala. ' C* 
 
 No. 266. FEIDAY, January 4, 1711-12. 
 
 Id yerd est, quod ego mihi puto palmarilim 
 Ma reperisse, quomodo adolescentulus 
 Merotricum ingenia et mores possit noscere : 
 Matur6 ut ciim eognfirit, perpetuo oderit. 
 
 Tbr. Eun. Act. v. Sc. 4. 
 This I conceive to be my master-piece, that I have discovered how unexperienced 
 youth may detect the artifices of bad women, and, by knowing them early, detest them 
 for ever. 
 
 No vice or wickedness which people fall into from 
 indulgence to desires which are natural to all, ought 
 to place them below the compassion of the virtuous 
 
 ■■ Manners, and not dress, are the ornaments of ■women. — See Spect. 
 No. 271, letter i. This quotation relative to the xoaftoc, a name which 
 Pythagoras first gave to the universe, and the simplex mundiliis recom- 
 mended more than once in the Tatler, implies that true skill in female 
 finery is more displayed by neatness and elegant simplicity, than by gaudi- 
 neas, magnificence, and expensiveness. The ladies may conceive the idea, 
 not improperly, from the following lines : 
 
 " Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self, 
 Veil'd in a simple robe, the best attire, 
 Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness 
 Needs not the foreign aid of ornament. 
 But is when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most." 
 
 See Tatler, No. 212 ; and notes, ibid. 
 
 ' The original paper in folio had the signature T ; but in both the edi- 
 tions of 1T12, it is marked, as here, with the letter C : the T in folio was 
 an erratum, specified and corrected as now printed, ibidem, at the end of 
 No. 26T. This paper seems therefore to have been written by Addison, 
 probably at Chelsea. See final note to Nos. 1, and 221, and note on Ad- 
 dison's signatures C, L, I, 0. 
 
No. 266.] THE SPECTATOR. 327 
 
 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 people's personal 
 sins. The unlawful commerce of the sexes is of all 
 others 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 herself, and 
 only pity it in others. Will Honeycomb calls these 
 over-offended ladies the outrageously 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 public 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 merely as a Spectator. This im- 
 pediment being in my way, we stood under one of 
 the arches by twilight ; and there I could observe 
 as exact features as I had ever seen ; the most agree- 
 abe 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 
 
 ' See No. 264, adv. and note. 
 
328 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 266. 
 
 and cold : her eyes were wan and eager, her dress 
 thin and tawdry, her mien 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, courtesied, and with a blessing, express- 
 with the utmost vehemence, turned fi'om 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 sub- 
 ject, and be myself outrageously good, I shall turn 
 to a scene in one of Fletcher's plays, where this cha- 
 racter is drawn, and the economy of whoredom most 
 admirably described. The passage I would point to 
 is in the third scene of the second act of The Hu- 
 mourous Lieutenant. Leucippe, who is agent for 
 the king's 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 pre- 
 sent tutelage, and those which she is laying wait for, 
 are alphabetically set down in her book ; and 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 new ; 
 She is not fifteen they say; for her complexion — 
 Oloe, Cloe, Cloe, here I have her, 
 Oloe, the daughter of a country gentleman ; 
 Her age upon fifteen. Now her complexion, 
 A lovely brown ; here 'tis ; eyes black and rolling, 
 The body neatly built ; she strikes a lute well, 
 
No. 266.] THE SPECTATOR. 329 
 
 Sings most enticingly. These helps consider'd, 
 
 Her maidenhead will amount to some three hundred, 
 
 Or three hundred and fifty crowns, 'twill bear it handsomely : 
 
 Her father's 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 crowns, 
 and the father taken off with a pad ; the merchant's 
 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 exam- 
 ination 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 in- 
 imitably excellent, and have the true spirit of com- 
 edy ; though it were to be wished the author had 
 added a circumstance which should make Leucippe's 
 business more odious. 
 
 It must not be thought a digression from my in- 
 tended 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 inquire for some provisions which were 
 sent by a wagon out of the country ; and as I 
 waited in one of the boxes till the chamberlain had 
 
330 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 266. 
 
 looked over his parcels, 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 town examining a most 
 beautiful country-girl, who had come up in the same 
 wagon with my things, ' whether she was well edu- 
 cated, could forbear playing the wanton with ser- 
 vants 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 gentle- 
 man, or one that was her betters, should give her a 
 civil salute, she could courtesy and be humble nev- 
 ertheless.' Her innocent 'forsooths, y esses, an't 
 please you's, 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 
 march out to take coach ; the brother loaded with a 
 great cheese he prevailed upon her to take for her 
 civilities to sister. This poor creature's 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 character of these antiquated ladies, these di- 
 rectors of sin, after they can no longer commit it, 
 makes up the beauty of the inimitable dedication to 
 the Plain-Dealer, and is a master-piece of raillery on 
 this vice. But to understand all the purlieus of this 
 game the better, and to illustrate this subject in fu- 
 ture discourses, I must venture myself with my 
 friend Will into the haunts of beauty and gallantry ; 
 from pampered vice in the habitations of the wealthy, 
 
No. 267.] THE SPEOTATOE. 331 
 
 to distressed indigent wickedness expelled the har- 
 bours of the brothel."^ T.'' 
 
 No. 267. SATUEDAY, January 5, 1712. 
 
 Cedite Bomani scriptores, cedito Graii 
 
 Peopbet. El. 84, lib. 2, ver. 95. 
 
 Give place, ye Boman and ye Grecian wits. ^ 
 
 There is nothing in nature so irksome as 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 
 heroic 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 it is not an heroic poem, they ad- 
 vance no more to the diminution of it, than if they 
 should say Adam is not iEneas, nor Eve, Helen. 
 
 I shall therefore examine it by the rules of epic 
 poetry, and see whether it falls short of the Iliad or 
 ^neid, in the beauties which are essential to that 
 kind of writing. The first thing to be considered 
 in an epic poem, is the fable, which is perfect or im- 
 perfect according as the action which it relates is 
 more or less so. This action should have three qual- 
 ifications in it. First, it should be but one action : 
 secondly, it should be an entire action : and thirdly, 
 it should be a great action. To consider the action 
 
 " See No3. 2'74, and 276. 
 
 " By Steele, most probably. See No. 324, ad flnem. 
 
332 THE SPECTATOR. i^°- 267. 
 
 of the Iliad, JEneid, 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 : had he gone up to Leda's egg, or begun 
 much later, even at the rape of Helen or the invest- 
 ing 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 prin- 
 ces, and with great art interweaves, in the several 
 succeeding parts of it, an account of every thing ma- 
 terial which relates to them, and had passed before 
 that fatal dissension. After the same manner ^Eneas 
 makes his first appearance in the Tyrrhene seas, 
 and within sight of Italy, bcause the action proposed 
 to be celebrated was that of his settling himself in La- 
 tium. 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 ^Eneid. The con- 
 tents of both which books come before those of the 
 first book in the thread of the story, though for pre- 
 serving 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 
 
No. 267.] THE SPECTATOR. 333 
 
 to boast of as to the unity of his fable, though at the 
 same time that great critic and philosopher endeav- 
 ours 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 
 ^neid labours also in this particular, and has Episodes 
 which may be looked upon as excrescences rather 
 than as parts of the action. On the contrary, the po- 
 em "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, that it gives us at the same 
 time a pleasure of the greatest variety and of the 
 greatest simplicity ; uniform in its nature^ though di- 
 versified 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 re- 
 lated 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 subj ect. In 
 short, this is the same kind of beauty which the critics 
 admire in the Spanish Friar, or The Double Discovery, 
 where the two different plots look like counter-parts 
 and copies of one another.^ 
 
 The second qualification required in the action 
 of an epic poem is, that it should be an entire action. 
 
 *■ The clause in italics is not m the original paper in folio. 
 1 A tragic-comedy by Dryden, 4to. 1681. 
 
334 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 267. 
 
 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 process 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 ^Slneas's settlement in Italy, carried 
 on through 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 dis- 
 tinct manner, and grow out of one another in the 
 most natural method. 
 
 The third qualification of an epic poem is its 
 greatness. The anger of Achilles was of such con- 
 sequence, that it embroiled the kings of Greece, de- 
 stroyed the heroes of Troy, and engaged all the 
 gods in factions, ^neas's settlement in Italy pro- 
 duced 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 sin- 
 gle persons or nations, but of a whole species. The 
 united powers of hell are joined together for the 
 destruction of mankind, which they effected in part, 
 and would have completed, had not Omnipotence 
 itself 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 pro- 
 tector. In short, every thing that is great in the 
 whole circle of being, whether within the verge of 
 
No. 267.] THE SPECTATOB. 335 
 
 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 -iEneid, or that in the Iliad, 
 are not of this nature ; nor to reprehend Yirgil's 
 simile of a top, and many other of the same nature 
 in the Iliad, as liable to any censure in this particu- 
 lar ; but I think we may say, without derogating 
 from those wonderful performances, that there is an 
 unquestionable magnificence in every part of Para- 
 dise 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. An animal no bigger than a mite can- 
 not 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 shown their principal art in this partic- 
 ular ; the action of the Iliad and that of the ^neid 
 were in themselves exceeding short, but are so 
 
336 THE SPEOTATOE. [No. 267. 
 
 beautifully extended and diversified by the inven- 
 tion 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 ^neid were built, had more circum- 
 stances 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, notwith- 
 standing 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 critics have collected from several 
 hints in the Iliad and ^Eneid, 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 
 critics, either ancient or modern, having laid down 
 rules to circumscribe the action of an epic poem 
 
No. 268.] THE SPECTATOR. 337 
 
 with any determined number of years, days, or 
 hours. 
 
 This piece of criticism on Milton's Paradise Lost 
 shall be carried on in the following Saturday's pa- 
 pers.^ L." 
 
 No. 268. MONDAY, Jantjaet 7, 1712. 
 
 —Minus aptus acntis 
 Naribus homm hominum — 
 
 Hoe. 1 Sat ili. 29. 
 — unfit 
 Por lively sallies of corporeal wit. 
 
 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 myself, but that the in- 
 dictment is properly and fairly laid, before I proceed 
 against the criminal. 
 
 ■"MR. spectator, 
 
 ' As you are spectator-general, I apply my- 
 self to you in the following case, viz., I do not wear 
 
 ' See Speet Noa. 273, 279, 286, 291, 29Y, 303, 309, 315, 321, 327, 333, 
 339, 345, 351, 357, 363, and 369. 
 
 » By Addison, then, probably, in London. See No. 7. 
 
 ^ This letter, to -which only the motto has a reference, was written by 
 Mr. James Hywood, for many years a wholesale linen-draper on Fiah- 
 street-hill, who died at his house in Austin-friars, in the 90th year of his 
 age, July 23, 1776. He was one of the governors of St. Bartholomew's, 
 Christ's, Bridewell, aaid Bethlem Hospitals, and of the London Workhouse. 
 Being elected alderman of Aldgateward, against his earnest desire to the 
 contrary, in the room of MicajaU Perry, esq. who twice represented the 
 VOL. III. — 22 
 
338 THE SPECTATOR. L^o. 268. 
 
 a sword, but I often divert myself at the theatre, 
 ■where I frequently see a set of fellows pull plain 
 people, by way of humour or frolic, 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 re- 
 sent it in so public 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 per- 
 son pulled by the nose look little and contemptible. 
 This grievance I humbly request you would endea- 
 vour to redress. 
 
 ' I am your admirer, &c. 
 
 'James East.' 
 
 ' mr. spectator, 
 
 'Your discourse of the 29th of December" 
 on love and marriage is of so useful a kind, that I 
 
 city of London in parliament ; Hot choosing to advance into public life, he 
 fined as usual 600?. On that occasion he resigned his office as a common- 
 councilman for Bridge ward, which he had held for many years. He sur- 
 vived every alderman and common councilman that was in court in 1*729, 
 when he had been a common councilman for some years, and lived to see 
 six aldermen successively elected for Aldgate ward after he fined, viz. Sir 
 William Smith, his immediate successor, who was chosen in 1746, and died 
 in I'JOS ; Robert Scot, esq. who died in 1760 ; sir Thomas Challoner, who 
 died in 1766; William Craoraft, who died in 1767 ; and William Lee, esq. 
 who was alderman at the time of Mr. Heywood's death. He retained 
 tolei-able good health and spirits to the lasf^ but his sight and his memory 
 were much impaired in the latter years of life. See Mr. Heywood's Let- 
 ters and Poems, 12mo. 2d edit. Lond. 1726, p. 100. 
 " No. 261. 
 
No. 268.] THE SPECTATOR. 339 
 
 cannot forbear adding my thoughts to yours on that 
 subject. Methinks it is a misfortune, that the mar- 
 riage-state, which in its own nature is adapted to 
 give us the completest happiness this life is capa- 
 ble of, should be so uncomfortable a one to so many 
 as it daily proves. But the mischief generally pro- 
 ceeds from the unwise choice people make for them- 
 selves, and an 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 who- 
 ever 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 com- 
 panion ; one who will divide his cares, and double 
 his joys ; who will manage that share of his estate 
 he entrusts to her care with prudence and frugality, 
 govern his house with economy 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 extravagances, or some such vile and un- 
 worthy end; and indulge themselves in pleasures 
 
340 THE SPECTATOR. E^O- 268. 
 
 which are a shame and a scandal to human nature. 
 Now, as for the women ; how few of them are there 
 who place the happiness of their marriage iu 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, al- 
 low 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 ac- 
 quaintance 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 them- 
 selves, 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 hap- 
 piness upon proper objects, we should not find feli- 
 city in the marriage-state such a wonder in the world 
 as it now is. 
 
 ' Sir, if you think these thoughts worth inserting 
 among your own, be pleased to give them a better 
 dress ; and let them pass abroad ; and you will ob- 
 lige 
 
 ' Your admirer, A. B.' 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' As I was this day walking in the street, 
 there happened to pass by, on the other side of the 
 
No. 268.] THE SPECTATOR. 341 
 
 ■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 re- 
 venged, 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 pool* 
 
 'Anthony Gape.' 
 
 'mk. spectator, 
 
 '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 col- 
 ours, 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 enjoined 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 ex- 
 tremely oblige 
 
 ' Your humble servant.' 
 
 ' MR. spectator, Oxford, Dee. 29. 
 
 ' Since you appear inclined to be a friend 
 to the distressed, I beg you .would assist me in an 
 
342 THE SPECTATOR. 0^°- 26^- 
 
 affair under which I have suffered very much. The 
 reigning toast of this place is Patetia ; I have pur- 
 sued her with the utmost diligence this twelvemonth, 
 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 youths who are 
 unacquainted with the sex, and have inexperience 
 added to their passion. However, if it succeeds ac- 
 cording to my vows, you will make me the happiest 
 man in the world, and the most obliged amongst 
 all 
 
 ' Your humble servants.' 
 
 ' ME. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I CAME to my mistress's toilet this morn- 
 ing, for I am admitted when her face is stark naked ; 
 she frowned and cried 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 
 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." ' 
 
 m d 
 
 '' By Steele, transcribed. See final note to No. 324. It seems however 
 that T was sometimes the signature of Mr. T. TickelL See No. 410. 
 
No. 269.] THE SPECTATOR. 343 
 
 No. 269. TUESDAY, Januakt 8, 1711-12. 
 
 — JEvo rarissima Dostro 
 Simplicitaa — 
 
 Ovid. Ars Am. !. 241. 
 
 Most rare is now our old Simplicity. 
 
 Deydbn. 
 
 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 de- 
 sired to speak with me. Upon my asking her who 
 it was, she told me it was a very grave elderly per- 
 son, but that she did not know his name. I imme- 
 diately went down to him, and found him to be the 
 coachman of my worthy friend sir Roger de Cov- 
 erley. He told me that his master came to town 
 last night, and would be glad to take a turn with 
 me in Gray's-inn walks. As I was wondering with 
 myself 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," and that he desired I would imme- 
 diately meet him. 
 
 " Prince Eugene was at this time in London, and highly caressed by 
 the queen, her ministry and courtiers, though his visit was unwished for, 
 and unwelcome to them alL One Brinsden, an oculist originally, and 
 frequently mentioned in the notes on the Tat. in 6 vols. ed. 1786, had been 
 sent by Bolingbroke, to divert and prevent his coming, and to instil the 
 opinions, suspicions, and prejudices, which this iniquitous ministry wished 
 him to adopt. Their craft and their emissary did not succeed. The prince 
 behaved with great politeness, but his firmness was not to be shaken. He 
 accepted the invitation of the ministers and people of distinguished rank 
 and fortune, though of suspicious and ambiguous political characters, pro- 
 miscuously and with great civility ; but he took all occasions to manifest 
 his friendship for the Duke of Marlborough, and hia partiality and attach- 
 ment to the open and undisguised friends of the Hanoverian succession. 
 During his short continuance here, he stood godfather for Steele's second 
 son, who was named Eugene after him. See Steele's Epistolary Corres- 
 pondence, 1787, vol. ii. let. 338, p. 322, note. 
 
344 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 269. 
 
 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 dis 
 course, that he looked upon Prince Eugenio (for so 
 the knight always called him) to be a greater man 
 than Scanderbeg. 
 
 I was no sooner come into Gray's-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 en- 
 gaged 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 sixpence. 
 
 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 wel- 
 fare of Will Wimble.^ Upon which he put his hand 
 
 ' See Spect. No. 108. This ■writer was assured by the late Dr. Amory, 
 that the character of W. Wimble was drawn from a gentleman of the name 
 
No. 269.] THE SPECTATOR. 345 
 
 into Ms fob and presented me in his name with a to- 
 bacco-stopper, telling me that Will had been busy all 
 the beginning of the winter in turning great quan- 
 tities of them ; and that he made a present of one 
 to every gentleman in the country who has good 
 principles, and smokes. 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 diver- 
 sions which had passed in his house during the holi- 
 days ; 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 this 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 winter. It is the most dead uncomfortable time 
 
 of Bevis, of a family near Exeter. But he has more circumstantial proof 
 now before him, -which shall be given in its proper place, that the original 
 of this character was Mr. Thomas Morecraft, a younger son of a baronet of 
 that name in Yorkshire. Steele, who knew him very early in life, intro- 
 duced him to Addison, by whose bounty he was for some years supported. 
 At the death of this patron, Mr. Morecraft went into Ireland to his friend 
 the bishop of Kildare, at whose house in Fishamble-atreet, Dublin, he died 
 lamented in July 1T41. 
 
346 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 269 
 
 of the year, when the poor people would suffer very 
 much from their poverty and cold, 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 shows a thousand roguish 
 tricks upon these occasions.' 
 
 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 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 dis- 
 senter, who chanced to dine at his house on Christ- 
 mas-day, had been observed to eat very plentifully 
 of his plum-porridge. 
 
 After having despatched all our country matters, 
 sir Roger made several inquiries concerning the club, 
 and particularly of his old antagonist sir Andrew 
 Preeport. He asked me, with a kind of smile, whe- 
 ther sir Andrew had not taken advantage of his ab- 
 sence, to vent among them some of his republican 
 doctrines ; but soon after gathering up his counte- 
 nance into a more than ordinary seriousness, ' Tell 
 me truly,' says he, ' don't you think sir Andretv had 
 a hand in the pope's procession?"" — But, without 
 
 B Stat. 10 Ann. cap, 2. The act against occasional confonnity. 
 ^ See Spect. No. 262, and note. 
 
No. 269.] THE SPECTATOR. 347 
 
 giving me time to answer him, ' Well, "well,' says he, 
 ' I know you are a wary man, and do not care to 
 talk of public 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 praise^ 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 Baker's Chronicle, and other authors, who 
 always lie in his hall window, which very much re- 
 dound to the honour of this prince. 
 
 Having passed away the greatest part of the 
 morning in hearing the knight's reflections, which 
 were partly private and partly political, he asked me 
 if I would smoke a pipe with him over a dish of cof- 
 fee at Squires' s ? As I love the old man, I take a de- 
 light 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 call- 
 ed for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of cof- 
 fee, 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 nobody else could come at a 
 dish of tea, till the knight had got all his conveni- 
 ences about him. L.' 
 
 ' See Tat. with notes, 6 vols. cr. 8vo. 1786, vol. iii. No. 91, p. ITS, note 
 on the periodical publications about this time. 
 
 ^ By Addison, at this time, probably, in London. See No. 7. 
 
348 THE SPECTATOR. [^0- 270. 
 
 No. 270. WEDNESDAY, January 9, 1711-12. 
 
 Biscit enim citius meminitque libentins ilhid 
 Quod qnis deridet gnam quod prohat — 
 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. ii. 262. 
 
 For what's derided by the censuring crowd, 
 Is thought on more than what is just and good. 
 
 DjtTDEN. 
 
 There is a lust in man no power can tame, 
 Of loudly publishing his neighbour's shame : 
 On eagle's wings invidious scandals fly, 
 "While virtuous actions are but born, and die. 
 
 E. of COEK. 
 
 Sooner we learn, and seldomer forget. 
 
 What critics scorn, than what they highly rate. 
 
 Hughes's Letters, vol. ii. p. 222. 
 
 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 ' was 
 acted. So great an assembly of ladies placed in 
 gradual rows in all the ornaments of jewels, silks, 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 varia- 
 tion of the prospect, when any one of these fine 
 ladies rose up and did honour to herself and friend 
 at a distance, by courtseying ; and gave opportunity 
 to that friend to show her charms to the same ad- 
 vantage in returning her 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 
 
 ' A comedy by Beaumont and Fletcher, 4to. 1625. See Dryden's Dra- 
 matic Essay, p. 36. 
 
No. 270.] THE SPECTATOR. 349 
 
 of the play. Such beautiful prospects gladden our 
 minds, and, when considered in general, give inno- 
 cent and pleasing ideas. He that dwells upon any one 
 object of beauty, may fix his imagination to his dis- 
 quiet ; 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 myself into ambition from the successes of 
 other men, this world is not only a mere 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 
 powerfuUest 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 
 
350 THK SPECTATOR. V^°- ^70. 
 
 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 va,nity arising just at the 
 instant that she resolved to express herself 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 pe- 
 dant in holy orders, and we have seen one or two 
 of them in the world : but such a driveller as sir 
 Roger," so bereft of all manner of pride, which is 
 the characteristic 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 be- 
 tween Welford and him shows a wretch without any 
 notion of the dignity of his function ; and it is out 
 of all common sense that he should giv% an account 
 of himself ' as one sent four or five miles in a morn- 
 ing on foot for eggs.' It is not to be denied, but 
 this part, and that of the maid whom he makes love 
 to, are excellently well performed ; but a thing which 
 is blameable in itself grows still more so by the suc- 
 cess in the execution of it. It is so mean a thing 
 to gratify a loose age with a scandalous representa- 
 tion of what is reputable among men, not to say 
 
 ■" In former times priests were distinguished by the addition of Sir to 
 their christian names, as if they had been knights. See Dodsley's Old 
 Plays, passim. 
 
No. 270.] THE SPECTATOR. 351 
 
 what is sacred, that no beauty, no excellence in an 
 author ought to atone for it; nay, such excellence 
 is an aggravation of his guilt, and an argument that 
 he errs against the conviction of his own understand- 
 ing 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 
 oifences 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 critics 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 a de- 
 generacy of manners ; nor do they know that order 
 is the support of society. Sir Roger and his mis- 
 tress are monsters of the poet's own forming ; the 
 sentiments in both of them aro 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 pedantic scorn of all 
 fortune and pre-eminence, 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 con- 
 sequently of virtue itself, 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 
 
352 THE SPECTATOR. i^°- 271- 
 
 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 ima- 
 gination are to be overlooked, when they are com- 
 mitted out of warmth in the recommendation of what 
 is praiseworthy ; 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." T.° 
 
 No. 271. THUESDAY, January 10, 1711-12. 
 
 Mille trahens varios adverse sole colores. 
 
 TntG. Mn. It. 701. 
 Drawing a thousand colours from the light 
 
 Dktden. 
 
 I RECEIVE a double advantage from the letters of my 
 correspondents ; first, as they show 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 itself, 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 bestow- 
 ed upon me. 
 
 Besides the two advantages above-mentioned 
 which I receive from the letters that are sent me, 
 
 » See Wilson's Memoirs of the Life, &a. of Congreve. Lond. 8to. 1780, 
 p. 64 
 
 " By Steele. See Ko. 271, paragr. 1, and No. 324. 
 
No. 271. J THE SPECTATOR. 353 
 
 • 
 
 they give me an opportunity of lengthening 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 myself and reader. 
 Some will have it, that I often write to myself, 
 and am the only punctual correspondent I have. 
 This objection would indeed be material, were the 
 letters I communicate to the public 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 imagina- 
 tions, and produce the three following lettters for 
 the entertainment of the day. 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' I WAS last Thursday in an assembly of 
 ladies, where there were thirteen different coloured 
 hoods.P 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, until 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 muttered two or three hard words 
 to myself, laughed 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 wrap- 
 ped it up in Greek. I then let drop several expres- 
 sions, as if there was something in it that was not 
 fit to be spoken before a company of ladies. Upon 
 
 p See Tat. with notes, 6 vol. ed. cr. 8va 1786. Ko. 212, note on hoods, 
 q See No. 266, ad finem. 
 Vol. III.— 23 
 
354 THE SPECTATOR. [No, 271. 
 
 ■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 teU 
 you truly," says she, "I was afraid he would have 
 made us ashamed to show 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 or- 
 naments of a woman. " If this comes to the knowledge 
 of my female admirers, I shall be very hard put to 
 it to bring myself 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 inconveniences. It is in the number of 
 these that I beg leave to subscribe myself, 
 
 'Tom Teippit.' 
 
 ' me. spectator, 
 
 ' 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 public 
 notice of the window or balcony where the knight 
 intends to make his appearance. He has already 
 
 ' See No. 269. 
 
No. 271. J THE SPEOTATOB. 355 
 
 given great satisfaction to several who have seen 
 him at Squires's coffee-house. If you think fit to 
 place your short face at sir Roger's left elbow, we 
 shall take the hint, and gratefully acknowledge so 
 great a favour. ' I am, Sir, 
 
 ' Your most devoted humble servant, 
 
 ' C. D.' 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' 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 eve- 
 ning, with my show upon my back, which I carry 
 about with me in a box, as only consisting of a man, 
 a woman, and a horse. The two first are married, 
 in which state the little cavalier has so well acquit- 
 ted himself, that his lady is with child. The big- 
 bellied woman and her husband, with their whimsi- 
 cal palfrey, 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 choleric, 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 co- 
 quette. 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 pincush- 
 ion 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 whilst she is in her present condition, 
 
356 THK SPECTATOR. [No. 272. 
 
 being very willing to have more of the same breed. 
 I do not know what she may produce me, but pro- 
 vided 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, 
 L.« ' S. T.' 
 
 "jf* Three dwarfs ; a very little man, a woman equally diminutive, and 
 a horse proportionable, were on exhibition in London about this time. The 
 advertisement and hand-bill used on this occasion to draw company, the 
 annotator eould re-publish, but they are all ill-written, and too long for in- 
 sertion here. 
 
 No. 272. FRIDAY, Januaet 11, 1711-12. 
 
 — ^Longa est injuria, longic 
 Ambages— Vikg. -^En. i. 845. 
 
 Great ia the injury, and long the tale. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 pre- 
 ference of all other matters that can present them- 
 selves to your consideration. I need not, after I 
 have said this, tell you that I am in love. The cir- 
 cumstances 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 myself : but I 
 
 • By Addiaon, at this time, probably, in London. See final note to 
 No. 7. 
 
No. 272.] THE SPECTATOR. 357 
 
 will tell you all, as fast as the alternate interruptions 
 of love and anger will give me leave. There is the 
 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 dis- 
 course, but also a certain grace to all my actions in 
 the commerce of life, in all things tho' never so re- 
 mote from love. You know the predominant pas- 
 sion spreads itself through all a man's transac- 
 tions, and exalts or depresses him 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. Though I am thus well got into the ac- 
 count 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, (though 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 herself and un- 
 der-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 impossi- 
 ble but you must have seen several of these volun- 
 teers in malice, who pass their whole time in the 
 most laborious way of life in getting intelligence. 
 
358 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 272. 
 
 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 reserve — ^but there appeared in 
 her a mirth or cheerfulness which was not a forbear- 
 ance of more immoderate joy, but the natural ap- 
 pearance of all which could flow from a mind pos- 
 sessed 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 
 father's 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-one's lady ?" 
 "No." " Nor your cousin Such-a-one ?" "No." — 
 "Lord," says Mrs. Jane, "what is the friendship of 
 women? — ^Nay, they may well laugh at it. — And 
 did no one tell you any thing of the behaviour of 
 your lover, Mr. What d'ye-call, last night ? But per- 
 haps 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 show you 
 
No. 272.] THE SPECTATOR. 359 
 
 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 in- 
 nocently 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 re- 
 presented 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 coquettes who inter- 
 mingle 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, 
 
 " Sir, your most obliged humble servant, 
 
 ' Cleanthes.' 
 
 ' SIR, 'Will's 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 proper 
 
360 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 273. 
 
 to take any notice of it until I had asked your ad- 
 vice. 
 
 ' Your humble servant,' B. S.' 
 
 The correspondent is desired to say which cheek 
 the offender turned to him. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 From the parish-vestry, Jan. 9. 
 
 All ladies who come to church in the new-fash- 
 ioned hoods, are desired to be there before divine 
 service begins, lest they divert the attention of the 
 congregation. Ralph. 
 
 m t 
 
 No. 273. SATUEDAY, Januaey 12, 1711-12. 
 
 — Notandi sunt tibi mores. 
 
 Hob. Are Poeft. 156. 
 
 Note Tvell the manners. 
 
 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, 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 cha,racters. 
 Every god that is admitted into his poem acts a part 
 which would have been suitable to no other deity : 
 
 < By Steele. See No. 271, paragraph 1. The signature T seems to 
 have been originally put by Steele to papers transcribed, &a. It appeara 
 likewise to have been used at times by Mr. Tho. Tiokell. See final note to 
 No. 324, and No. 410, ad finem. 
 
No. 273.] THE SPECTATOR. 361 
 
 his princes are as mucli distinguished by their man- 
 ners, 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 hath 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 of a goddess, not to mention the offspring of 
 other deities who have 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 pecu- 
 liar manner to the nature of an heroic poem. Though 
 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 char- 
 acters of his poem, both as to their variety and nov- 
 elty. jEneas is indeed a perfect character ; but as 
 for Achates, though he is styled the hero's friend, 
 he does nothing in the whole poem which may de- 
 serve that title. Gyas, Mnestheus, Sergestus, and 
 Cloanthes, are all of them men of the same stamp 
 and character : 
 
 — ' Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthem.' 
 
 There are indeed several natural incidents in the 
 
362 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 273. 
 
 part of Ascanius ; as that of Dido cannot be sufficient- 
 ly admired. I do not see any thing new or partic- 
 ular in Turnus. Pallas and Evander are remote 
 copies of Hector and Priam, as Lausus and Mezenti- 
 us are almost parallels to Pallas and Evander. The 
 characters of Nisus and Euryalus are beautiful, but 
 common. We must not forget the parts of Sinon, 
 Camilla, and some few others, which are beautiful 
 improvements on the Greek poet. In short, there 
 is neither that variety nor novelty " in the persons 
 of the J]]neid 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 poem 
 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, how- 
 ever, 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 than any char- 
 acters, either in Virgil or Homer, or indeed in the 
 whole circle of nature. 
 
 Milton was so sensible of this defect in the sub- 
 ject of his poem, and of the few characters it would 
 afford him, that he has brought into it two actors of 
 a shado/wy and fictitious nature, in the persons of 
 Sin and Death, by which means he has interwoven 
 into the body of his fable a very beautiful and well- 
 invented allegory. But notwithstanding the fine- 
 ness of this allegory may atone for it in some meas- 
 
 " See Heron's Letters of Literature, 1V85, passim. 
 
No. 273.] THE SPECTATOR. 363 
 
 ure, I cannot think that persons of such a chimerical 
 existence are proper actors in an epic poem ; ■" be- 
 cause there is not that measure of probability an- 
 nexed to them which is requisite in writings of this 
 kind, as I shall show more at large hereafter. 
 
 Yirgil has indeed admitted Fame as an actress in 
 the -iEneid ; 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, par- 
 ticularly in the Dispensary and the Lutrin,'' 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 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 farther 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 Homer's 
 Odyssey, is very much admired by Aristotle, as per- 
 plexing that fable with very agreeable plots and 
 intricacies, not only by the many adventures in his 
 voyage, and the subtilty of his behaviour, but by 
 tke various concealments and discoveries of his per- 
 son 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 
 
 " See Newton's edition of Milton's Paradise Lost, vol. i. 169, & seq. 
 "= The titles of two poems, the first in English by Dr. Garth, and the 
 second in French by BoUeau. 
 
364 THE SPECTATOR. [^°- ^''^• 
 
 greater variety of shapes and appearances, all of 
 wMcli are severally detected, to the great delight 
 and surprise of the reader. 
 
 We may likewise observe with how much art the 
 poet has varied several characters of the persons 
 that speak in his infernal assembly. On the contra- 
 ry, how has he represented the whole Godhead ex- 
 erting itself towards man in its full benevolence, 
 under the threefold distinction of a Creator, a Re- 
 deemer, and a Comforter ! 
 
 Nor must we omit the person of Raphael, who, 
 amidst his tenderness and friendship for man, shows 
 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 Yirgil. 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 ^Eneid, which gives a pecu- 
 liar 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 iEneas the re- 
 mote founder of Rome. By this means their coun- 
 trymen (whom they principally propose 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 
 
 y These two last sentences were not in the original paper in folio. 
 
No. 273.] THE SPECTATOR. 365 
 
 of ^neas, 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 na- 
 tion, 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 advan- 
 tage, 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 re- 
 mark, an admirable observation out of Aristotle, 
 which hath been very much misrepresented in the 
 quotations of some modern critics : ' If a man of per- 
 fect 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 mixed 
 with infirmities fall into any misfortune, it does not 
 only raise our pity, but our terror ; because we are 
 afraid that the like misfortune may happen to our- 
 selves, who resemble the character of the suffering 
 person.' 
 
 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 re- 
 mark in this place, that the foregoing observation of 
 Aristotle, though it may be true in other occasions. 
 
366 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 274. 
 
 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 ac- 
 tually 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, Aris- 
 totle'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 more perfect could he 
 have perused the ^Eneid, which was made some hun- 
 dred years after his death. 
 
 In my next, I shall go through other parts of Mil- 
 ton's poem ; and hope that what I shall- there ad- 
 vance, as well as what I have already written, will 
 not only serve as a comment upon Milton but upon 
 Aristotle. L.* 
 
 No. 274. MONDAY, Januaey 14, 1711-12. 
 
 Audire est oper£8 pretium, procedere rect6 
 Qui moechis non vultis — 
 
 Hoe. 1 Sat. ii. ST. 
 
 All you who think the city ne'er can thrive 
 Till every cuckold-maker's flay'd alive, 
 Attend— 1> 
 
 Pope. 
 
 I HAVE upon several occasions (that have occurred 
 since I first took into my thoughts the present state 
 
 ■■ By Addison, dated, it seems, London. See final note to N"o. 1. 
 » « * 
 
 See Nos. 26V, 279, 285, 291, 297, 803, 309, 316, 821, 327, 333, 339, 346, 
 351, 357, 863, and 369. 
 
 •> On this subject of criminal love, see Nos. 266, 276, and 286. 
 
No. 274] THE SPECTATOR. 367 
 
 of fornication) weighed witL. myself, in behalf of 
 guilty females, the impulses of flesh and blood, toge- 
 ther 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 beha- 
 viour 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 hags, who are supplied with, and are con- 
 stantly 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 havoc which is made 
 in the habitations of beauty and innocence is com- 
 mitted 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 pur- 
 suing : as in business you see sometimes fools pre- 
 tend 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 in- 
 nocent is brought to such indecencies as from time 
 to time banish shame and raise desire. With these 
 preparatives the hags break their wards by little and 
 
368 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 274. 
 
 little, till they are brought to lose all apprehensions 
 of what shall befal them in the possession of young- 
 er men. It is a common postscript of an hag 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 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 ap- 
 pellations 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 characteristic of their 
 sex, modesty. To do otherwise than thus, would be 
 
No. 274.] THE SPECTATOR. 369 
 
 to act like a pedantic Stoic, 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 sub- 
 ject 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 forward- 
 ness 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, 'Jan. 5, 1711-12. 
 
 ' The subject of your yesterday's 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 inclosed is sent to 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, Sir, your humble servant.' 
 
 " MY LORD, 
 
 " I HAVING a great esteem for your honour, 
 and a better opinion of you than of any of the qual- 
 
 ° No. 266. 
 
 VOL. m, — 24 
 
370 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 274. 
 
 ity, 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 set her up in 
 a milliner's shop. Her father gave fourscore pound 
 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 lord- 
 ship likes ; well-shaped, and as fine a complexion 
 for red and white as ever I saw ; I doubt not but 
 your lordship will be of the same opinion. She de- 
 signs 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 gentle- 
 man, a very good friend of mine ; so I desire you to 
 take no notice of my letter, by reason she is igno- 
 rant 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 Lordship's 
 " Most humble servant to command. 
 
 "I beg of you to burn it when you've read it." 
 
 rp d 
 
 ^ By Steele, transcribed. See No. 324, ad finem. 
 
No. 275.] THE SPECTATOR. 371 
 
 No. 275. TUESDAY, January 15, 1711-12. 
 
 — tribus Auticyris caput insanabile — 
 
 Hoe. Ars Poet 800. 
 •J 
 A head no hellebore can cure. 
 
 * * 
 * 
 
 I WAS yesterday engaged in an assembly of virtuosos, 
 where one of them produced many curious observa- 
 tions which he had lately made in the anatomy of an 
 human body. Another of the company communi- 
 cated 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 methought to the dissection of a 
 beau's head and of a coquette's heart, which were 
 both of them laid on a table before us. An imagi- 
 nary 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 dis- 
 covery, namely, that what we looked upon as brains, 
 were not such in reality, but an heap of strange 
 
 *jf* This paper, and No. 281, its sequel, probably suggested to Mr. G. 
 Alexander Stevens the first idea of his Lecture on Heads, which, with suit- 
 able variations and improvements, furnished for a long time an elegant 
 rational amusement to the public, and in the end abundantly rewarded 
 the pains, expense, and ingenuity of the lecturer. 
 
372 THE SPBCTATOB. [No. 275. 
 
 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 a 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 wa- 
 ter, and was encompassed with a kind of horny sub- 
 stance, cut into a thousand little faces or mirrors 
 which were imperceptible to the naked eye, inso- 
 much that the soul, if there had been any here, 
 must have been always taken up in contemplating 
 her own beauties. 
 
 We observed a large antrum or cavity in the 
 sinciput, that was filled with ribands, lace and em- 
 broidery, wrought together in a most curious piece 
 of net-work, the parts of which were likewise im- 
 perceptible to the naked eye. Another of these an- 
 trums or cavities was stuffed with invisible billet- 
 doux, love-letters, prick dances, and other trump- 
 ery of the same nature. In another we found a 
 kind of powder, which set the whole company a 
 sneezing, and by the scent discovered itself 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 inven- 
 tory. 
 
 There was a large cavity on each side the head, 
 which I must not omit. That on the right side was 
 filled with fictions, flatteries, and falsehoods, vows, 
 
 • See Tat. crown 8vo. 6 vols. ed. I'ZSe. No. 9, p. 99, note 
 
No. 275.] THE SPECTATOR. 373 
 
 promises, and protestations ; that on the left, witli 
 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 large canal entered into a great 
 cavity of the scull, 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, nonsense. 
 
 The skins of the forehead were extremely tough 
 and thick, and, what very much surprised us, had 
 not in them any single blood-vessel that we were able 
 to discover, either with or withoutour 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 con- 
 tempt 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 rhino- 
 ceros. 
 
374 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 275 
 
 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, laughed 
 frequently, and on particular occasions had ac- 
 quitted 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 surprised by an eminent citi- 
 zen, as he was tendering some civilities to his wife. 
 
 When we had thoroughly examined this head 
 with all its apartments, and its several kinds of fur- 
 niture, 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 dif- 
 ficult as that of another brain, for that he had ob- 
 served several of the little pipes and tubes which 
 ran through the brain were already filled with a 
 
No. 276.] THE SPECTATOR. 375 
 
 kind of mercurial substance, whicli he looked upon 
 to be true quicksilver. 
 
 He applied himself in the next place to the co- 
 quette's heart, which he likewise laid open with 
 great dexterity. There occurred to us many par- 
 ticularities in this dissection; but being unwilling 
 to burthen my reader's memory too much, I shall 
 reserve this subject for the speculation of another 
 day/ L. ^ 
 
 No. 276. WEDNESDAY, January 16, 1711-12. 
 
 Error! nomen yirtas posnisset honestuin. 
 
 Hoe. 1 Sat. ill. 43. 
 Misconduct Bcreen'd boliind a specious name. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 so, 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 ten- 
 
 ■■ See No. 281. 
 
 s By Addison, dated from his house in London. See No. 7. 
 
 •■ This seems to refer particularly to No. 274, in which there are some 
 indelicate and reprehensible passages. No. 266, on criminal love, is liable 
 also to similar censure. 
 
376 THE SPECTATOR. V^o- 276. 
 
 derness 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 to inform a virtuous woman of the lapse of 
 one who until then was in the same degree of esteem 
 with herself, is a kind of involving each of them in 
 some participation of those disadvantages. It is 
 therefore expected from every writer, to treat his ar- 
 gument 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 hor- 
 ror of shame and contempt : if you paint an imper- 
 tinent self-love, an artful glance, an assumed com- 
 plexion, you say all which you ought to suppose 
 they can possibly be guilty of When you talk with 
 this limitation, you behave yourself so as that you 
 may expect others in conversation may second your 
 raillery ; but when you do it in a style 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 call- 
 ed 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 
 
No. 276.] THE SPECTATOR. 377 
 
 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 farther than 
 being an unkind 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.* ' 
 
 mr. spectator, 
 
 ' 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 liberty to name the words '•'• lusty fellow " 
 in my presence. I doubt not but you will resent it 
 in behalf of, 
 
 ' Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 ' Celia.' 
 
 ' mr. spectator, 
 
 ' 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 trans- 
 gressed in that kind by one very rude name, which 
 I do not care to repeat : but I desire to know of you 
 whether I am or I am not one of those ? My case 
 is as follows : I am kept by an old bachelor, who 
 took me so young, that I know not how he came by 
 me. He is a bencher of one of the inns of court, a 
 
 ' See No. 286, let. 1. 
 
378 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 276. 
 
 very gay healthy old man, which is a very lucky 
 thing for him ; who has been, he tells me, a scower- 
 er, a scamperer, a breaker of windows, and invader 
 of constables, in the days of yore, when all dominion 
 ended with the day, and males and females met hel- 
 ter skelter, and the scowerers drove before them all 
 who pretended to keep up order or rule to the in- 
 terruption 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 natu- 
 ral 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 music 
 in it. You must have seen a strange windowed 
 house near Hyde-park, which is so built that no one 
 can look out of any of the apartments ; my rooms 
 are after this 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, pam- 
 phlets, plays, operas, and songs that come out; and 
 his utmost delight in me as a woman is, to talk over 
 all his old amours in my presence, to play with my 
 neck, say " the time was," give me a kiss, and bid 
 
No. 276.] THE SPECTATOR. 379 
 
 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 edu- 
 cated 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, Sir, 
 
 ' Your constant reader, 
 
 ' PUCELLA.' 
 
 'TO THE MAN CALLED THE SPECTATOE. , 
 
 ' FRIEND, 
 
 ' Forasmuch as at the birth of thy labour 
 thou didst promise upon thy word, that, letting 
 alone the vanities that do abound, thou wouldest 
 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 Susanna 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 among 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 
 
380 THE SPECTATOR. l^^- 2'"'- 
 
 see with the eyes of the flesh. Verily, therefore, 
 unless thou dost speedily amend, and leave off fol- 
 lowing thine own imaginations, I will leave off thee. 
 ' Thy friend as hereafter thou dost demean thy- 
 self, 
 T." ' Hezekiah Bboadbbim.' 
 
 No. 277. THUESDAY, January 17, 1711-12. 
 
 fas est ab hoste docerL 
 
 Ovro. Met lib. 4, 488. 
 Eeceive instruction firom an enemy. 
 
 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 milli- 
 ners 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 mademoiselle. 
 
 Whether the vessel they set outVas 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 cer- 
 tain that their first attempts were without success, 
 to the no small disappointment of our whole female 
 world ; but as their constancy and application, in a 
 
 '' By Steele. Composed or communicated from the letter-box. See 
 Spect. No. 271. No. 324, final note on letter T. 
 
No. 277 J THE SPECTATOK. 381 
 
 matter ot so great importance, cau never be suffi- 
 ciently commended, so I am glad to find, that, in 
 spite of all opposition, they have at length carried 
 their point, of which I received advice by the two 
 following letters : 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 '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 cla- 
 ret. 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 Eng- 
 lish tire-women, who, though they sometimes copy in- 
 differently 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 
 overheard a lady in the next pew to me whisper ano- 
 ther, that at the Seven Stars in King-street, Covent- 
 garden, there was a mademoiselle completely dress- 
 ed just come from Paris. 
 
 ' I was in the utmost impatience during the re- 
 maining part of the service, and as soon as ever it 
 was over, having learnt the milliner'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 early this morning, and had then a full view 
 of the dear moppet from head to foot. 
 
 'You cannot imagine, worthy Sir, how ridicu- 
 lously 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 
 
382 THE SPECTATOR. [^o. 277. 
 
 hope we are not lighter than the French ladies, so as 
 to want that kind of ballast : the petticoat has no 
 whalebone, but sits with an air altogether gallant 
 and degage: the coiffure is inexpressibly pretty, 
 and, in short, the whole dress has a thousand beau- 
 ties in it which I would not have as yet made too 
 public. 
 
 ' I thought fit, however, to give you this notice, 
 that you may not be surprised at my appearing a la 
 mode de Paris on the next birth-night. 
 
 ' I am, Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 'Teraminta.' 
 
 Within an hour after I had read this letter, I re- 
 ceived another from the owner of the puppet. 
 
 'sir, 
 
 ' 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 tire- women and mantua-makers in 
 Paris, and do not find that I have any reason to be 
 sorry for the expense I have been at in her clothes 
 and importation : however, as I know no person who 
 is so good a judge of dress as yourself, 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 ex- 
 hibit her as a pattern to the public. 
 
 ' 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 
 
No. 277.] THE SPECTATOR. 383 
 
 service of my countrywomen, I went last night to 
 the house of the above-mentioned Mrs. Cross-stitch. 
 As soon as I entered, the maid of the shop, who, I 
 suppose, was prepared for my coming, without ask- 
 ing 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 sev- 
 eral ribands stuck up and down in it. The milli- 
 ner assured me, that her complexion was such as was 
 worn by all the ladies of the best fashion in Paris. 
 Her head was extremely high, on which subject 
 having long since declared my sentiments, I shall 
 say nothing more to it at present. I was also offend- 
 ed 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 made- 
 moiselle 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 under 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 talka- 
 tive, a quality very rarely to be met with in the rest 
 of her countrywomen. 
 
384 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 277. 
 
 As I was taking my leave, the milliner farther in- 
 formed me, that with the assistance of a watch-maker 
 who was her neighbour, and the ingenious Mr. Pow- 
 el,' 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 courtesy and re- 
 covery, the genteel trip, and the agreeable jet, as 
 they are now practised at the court of France. 
 
 She added that she hoped she might depend up- 
 on 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 Honeycomb's 
 lodgings, without whose advice I never communi- 
 cate any thing to the public of this nature. 
 
 ' See Tatler, in 6 toIs. edit. 1786, No. 11, and notes, passim. Powel was 
 a deformed cripple, who grew rich by his puppet-shows. In the latter end 
 of queen Anne's reign her ministry hired Punch to turn prophet, and em- 
 ployed him not unsuccessfully against the fanatics called French prophets. 
 
 " The signature X, subjoined to this speculation. No. 227, ascertains it 
 the production of Mr. Eustace BudgelL — See Speot No. 555. No. 319, on 
 male-dress, seems to have been the sequel of this paper on female dress. 
 Nos. 283, 301, 307, and 313, on various subjects, have all the same signa- 
 ture, and must therefore be ascribed to the same author. 
 
No. 278.] THE SPECTATOR. 385 
 
 No. 278. FKIDAY, January 18, 1711-12. 
 
 — Sermones ego mallem 
 Bepentes per humam — 
 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. ii. 250. 
 I rather choose a low and creeping style. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' Your having done considerable services 
 m this great city by rectifying the disorders of fam- 
 ilies ; and several wives having preferred your ad- 
 vice and directions to those of their husbands, 
 emboldens me to apply to you at this time. I am a 
 shopkeeper, and, though 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 showed herself 
 very assisting to me in my business as much as 
 could lie in her way, and I have reason to believe 
 it was 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 enter- 
 tains her frequently in the shop with discourses of 
 the beauties and excellences of that language ; and 
 repeats to her several passages out of the Greek 
 poets, wherein he tells her there is unspeakable har- 
 mony 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 
 
 VOL. III. — 25 
 
386 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 278. 
 
 shop, she advised me, with a great deal of concern, 
 to have them changed into Greek ; it being a lan- 
 guage 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 them- 
 selves so much obliged to me that they would infal- 
 libly make my fortune. In short, her frequent im- 
 portunities 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 myself 
 to procure her a settlement at Oxford with her tutor, 
 for she is 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 trouble- 
 some and useless, unless her reading herself 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 pa- 
 per in Greek, and said it was a hint to women of 
 literature, and very civil not to translate it to ex- 
 pose them to the vulgar. You see how it is with, 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' Your humble servant.' 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' If you have that humanity and compas- 
 sion 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 determin- 
 ed by your judgment in a matter of great impor- 
 tance to her. You must know then, there is an 
 agreeable young fellow, to whose person, wit and 
 humour no body makes any objection, that pre- 
 
No. 278.] THE SPECTATOR. 387 
 
 tends so 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 won't pretend to say,) that I verily believe he has 
 a real value for me ; which, if true, you will allow 
 may justly augment his merit with his mistress. In 
 short, I am so sensible of his good qualities, and 
 what T owe to his passion, that I think I could soon- 
 er 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 do not answer the ut- 
 most mine may expect, and are not sufficient to se- 
 cure me from undergoing the reproachful phrase so 
 commonly used, " that she has played the fool.'* 
 Now, though 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 es- 
 teemed the most prudent people, I can't 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 of advancing my for- 
 tunes. 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 balance ; and which, I 
 eariiestly entreat, 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 pa- 
 
388 THE 8PECTAT0E. [No. 278. 
 
 pers, it is possible it may be of use to some otters of 
 my sex, who will be as grateful for tlie favour as, 
 ' Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 ' Flobinda. 
 
 ' P. S. To tell you the truth I am married to him 
 already, but pray say something to justify me.' 
 
 'MB. SPECTATOB, 
 
 ' You will forgive us professors of music if 
 we make a second application to you, in order to 
 promote our design of exhibiting entertainments of 
 music in York-buildings. It is industriously insinu- 
 ated that our intention is to destroy operas in gene- 
 ral ; but we beg of you to insert this plain explana- 
 tion of ourselves 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 itself What we 
 pretend to assert is, that the songs of different au- 
 thors injudiciously put together, and a foreign tone 
 and manner which are expected in every thing now 
 performed amongst us, has put music itself to a 
 stand ; insomuch that the ears of the people cannot 
 now be entertained with any thing but what has an 
 impertinent gaiety, without any just spirit or a lan- 
 guishment 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 
 
No. 278.] THE SPECTATOR. 389 
 
 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 Hatm, 
 ' Charles Dieupart." 
 
 ' There will be no performances in York-buildings 
 till after that of the subscription.' 
 
 advertisements. 
 
 *»* By her majesty's company of comedians, at the Theatre Royal in 
 Drury-lane, this present Tuesday, December 18, 17 11, -will be presented a 
 comedy, called The Tender Husband ; or, the Accomplished Fools ; for the 
 entertainment of the new toasts and several ladies of quality. The part of 
 Biddy, by Mrs. Oldfield ; Sir H. Gubbin, Mr. Bullock ; Mr. Tipkin, Mr. 
 Norris; Ml-. Cleriraont, Mr. Mills; Captain Clerimont, Mr. Wilks; H. Gub- 
 bin, Mr. Pinkethman ; Mr. Pounce, Mr. Pack. Mrs. Clerimont, Mrs. Brad- 
 shaw ; the Aunt, Mrs. Powell. The farce, The Country Wake, Hob, Mr. 
 Dogget; Sir T. Testy, Mr. Bullock; Friendly, Mr. Pack; and Flora, Mrs. 
 Santlow. — Spect. in folio. No. 251. 
 
 f J.f Whereas it hath been maliciously reported, that Mr. B. Ferrers, 
 face-painter, who is deaf and dumb, hath left off painting, this is to inform 
 the pubUo that he doth still continue his profession in Duke-street, York- 
 buildings, and that the said report is villanous and false. — Ibidem. 
 
 " See No. 258, and note. 
 
 ° By Steele, composed or communicated from the letter-box. See Speot. 
 No. 271, and note. 
 
390 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 279. 
 
 No. 279. SATUKDAY, January 19, 1711-12. 
 
 Eeddere personie scit convenientia cnique. 
 
 Hoe. Ars Poet. 816. 
 
 Ho knows what best befits each character. 
 
 We have already taken a general survey of tlie fable 
 and characters in Milton's Paradise Lost.^ The parts 
 which remain to be considered, according to Aris- 
 totle's method, are the sentiments and the language. 
 Before I enter upon the first of these, I must adver- 
 tise 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 
 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 per- 
 sons whom he introduces, and are just when they are 
 conformable to the characters of the several persons. 
 The sentiments have likewise a relation of 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 argues or explains, magnifies 
 or diminishes, raises 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 
 
 P Paper iii. On the sentiments of Milton's Paradise Lost, by Addison, 
 see Wos. 26'7, 273, 285, 291, 29"?,. 303, 809, 315, 321, 32'7, 333, 339, 345, 351, 
 357, 363, and 369. 
 
No. 279.] THE SPECTATOR. 391 
 
 ends. Homer is censured by the critics for his de- 
 fect as to this particular in several parts of the Iliad 
 and Odyssey, though at the same time, those who 
 have treated this great poet "with candour have at- 
 tributed this defect to the times in which he lived. 
 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 parti- 
 cular 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 in- 
 troduced persons whose characters are commonly 
 known among men, and such as are to be met with 
 either in history or in ordinary conversation. Mil- 
 ton's characters, most of them, lie out of nature, and 
 were to be formed purely by his own invention. It 
 shows a greater genius in Shakspeare to have drawn 
 his Caliban, 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 
 loves of Dido and ^neas are only copies of what has 
 passed between other persons. Adam and Eve, be- 
 fore the fall, are a different species from that of 
 
392 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 279. 
 
 mankind who are descended from them ; and none 
 but a poet of the most unbounded invention, and 
 the most exquisite judgment, could have iilled their 
 conversation and behaviour with such beautiful cir- 
 cumstances 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 particu- 
 lar 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 distinguish- 
 ing 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 it- 
 self with greater ideas than those which he has laid 
 together in his first, second, and sixth books. The 
 seventh, which describes the creation of the world, 
 is likewise wonderfully sublime, though 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 reader 
 compare what Longinus has observed on several pas- 
 sages 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 
 
No. 279.] THE SPECTATOR. 393 
 
 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 points 
 and puerilities that are so often to be met with in 
 Ovid ; none of the epigrammatic turns of Lucan ; 
 none of those swelling sentiments which are so fre- 
 quent in Statins and Claudian ; none of those mixed 
 embellishments of Tasso. Every thing is just and 
 natural : his sentiments show that he had a perfect 
 insight into human nature, and that he knew every 
 thing which was the most proper to affect it. 
 
 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 ^neid. I do not remember that 
 Homer any where falls into the faults above-men- 
 tioned, which were indeed the false refinements of 
 later ages. Milton, it must be confest, has sometimes 
 erred in this respect, as I shall show more at large 
 in another paper ; though, 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 ad- 
 mired 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 grovelling, an epic poet should not only 
 avoid such sentiments as are unnatural or affected, 
 but also such as are low and vulgar. Homer has 
 opened a great field of raillery to men of more deli- 
 
394 THE SPECTATOR. [^0- 279. 
 
 cacy 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 among the ancients, and 
 monsieur Perrault 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 very few in Mil- 
 ton. 
 
 I shall give but one instance of this impropriety 
 of sentiments in Homer, and, at the same time, com- 
 pare 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 pas- 
 sions of a much nobler nature. Homer, however, in 
 his characters of Vulcan and Thersites, in his story 
 of Mars and Venus, in his behaviour of Irus, 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 iEneid, which rises in the fifth 
 book upon Monoetes, where he is represented as 
 thrown overboard and drying himself upon a rock. 
 But this piece of mirth is so well timed that the se- 
 verest critic can have nothing to say against it, for 
 it is in the book of games and diversions, where the 
 reader's mind may be supposed to be sufficiently re- 
 laxed 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 suc- 
 cess of their new-invented artillery. This passage 
 
No. 280.] THE SPECTATOR. 395 
 
 I look upon to be tlie most exceptionable in the 
 whole poem, as being nothing else but a string of 
 puns, and those too very indifferent ones. 
 
 ' — Satan beheld their plight, 
 And to his mates thus in derision oall'd : 
 
 " friends, why come not on these 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 ofi', and into strange vagaries fell 
 As they would dance ; yet for a dance they seem'd 
 Somewhat extravagant and wild, perhaps 
 For joy of ofier'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 fall 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 well understand ; 
 Not understood, this gift they have besides. 
 They show us when our foes walk not upright." 
 
 ' Thus they among themselves in pleasant vein 
 Stood scoffing — ' 
 
 Mn-TOif's Paeadisb Lost, b. vi. 1. 609, &c. 
 
 No. 280. MONDAY, Janttaet 21, 1711-12. 
 
 Principibns placolsse vlris non altima laos cat. 
 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. xril. 85. 
 To please the great is not the smallest praise. 
 
 Cbekch. 
 
 The desire of pleasing makes a man agreeable or un- 
 welcome to those with whom he converses, g,ccording 
 
 1 By Addison. See No. 7, note, <ii;o. 
 
396 THE SPEOTATOE. [No. 280. 
 
 to the motive from wliich that inclination appears to 
 flow. If your concern for pleasing others arises 
 from an 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 that natural bent to do accept- 
 able things from a delight he takes in them merely 
 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 con- 
 versation is composed of persons who have the tal- 
 ent of pleasing with delicacy of sentiments, flowing 
 from habitual chastity of thought ; but mixed com- 
 pany 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 be 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 
 gaiety of life, but has passed through very conspic- 
 uous scenes in it : though no soldier, he has shared 
 the danger, and acted with great gallantry and gen- 
 erosity 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 cir- 
 cumstance which gives weight to his most indifferent 
 actions ; for as a known credit is ready cash to a 
 
No. 280.] THE SPECTATOR. 397 
 
 trader, so is acknowledged merit immediate distinc- 
 tion, and serves in the place of equipage, to a gen- 
 tleman. 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 recommenda- 
 tions 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 ad- 
 vantages. Falling in with the particular humour or 
 manner of one above you, abstracted from the gen- 
 eral rules of good behaviour, is the life of a slave. 
 A parasite differs in nothing from the meanest ser- 
 vant, 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 griev- 
 ous than that of wearing his livery ; therefore we 
 shall 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 be nO more said in 
 honour of it, than that it is what forces the appro- 
 bation even of your opponents. The guilty man 
 has an honour for the judge who with justice pro- 
 nounces against him the sentence of death itself 
 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 
 
398 THE SPECTATOR. [^0. 280. 
 
 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 em- 
 pire, without the pleasures of their mutual conver- 
 sation. A certain unanimity of taste and judgment, 
 which is natural to all of the same order in the spe- 
 cies, 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 con- 
 versations. 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 shows he understood 
 what it was to be a skilful courtier, by just admoni- 
 tions against importunity, and showing how forcible 
 it was to speak modestly of your own wants. There 
 is indeed something so shameless in taking all oppor- 
 tunities to speak of your own afi'airs, 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. 
 
No. 280.] THE SPECTATOR. 399 
 
 I cannot tell what is become of him, but I re- 
 member about sixteen years ago an honest fellow, 
 who so justly understood how disagreeable the men- 
 tion or appearance of his wants Avould make him, 
 that I have often reflected upon him as a counter- 
 part of Irus, whom I have formerly mentioned.' 
 This man, whom I have missed for some years in my 
 walks, and have heard was some way employed 
 about the army, made it a maxim, that good wigs, 
 delicate linen, and a cheerful air, were to a poor 
 dependant 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 irre- 
 proachable 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 
 to considerable acquisitions, and yet seem incapable 
 of acting in any constant tenor of life, but have gone 
 on from one successful error to another : therefore I 
 think I may shorten this inquiry after the method 
 of pleasing ; and as the old beau said to his son, 
 once for all, 'Pray, Jack, be a fine gentleman;' so 
 
 ' See No. 264, and also No. 360. 
 
400 THE SPBCTATOB. [No. 281. 
 
 may I to my reader, abridge my instructions, and 
 finish the art of pleasing in a word, ' Be rich.' 
 
 rp 8 
 
 No. 281. TUESDAY, January 22, 1711-12. 
 
 Pectoribus inhians spirantia consulit exta. 
 
 ViEG. Mb. it. 64. 
 
 Ajixious the roeking entrails he consults. 
 
 HAviNG already given an account of the dissection 
 of a beau's head, with the several discoveries made 
 on that occasion ; ' I shall here, according to my 
 promise, enter upon the dissection of a coquette's 
 heart, and communicate to the public such particu- 
 larities as we observed in that curious piece of anat- 
 omy. 
 
 I should perhaps have waived this undertaking, 
 had not I been put in mind of my promise by seve- 
 ral of my unknown correspondents, who are very 
 importunate with me to make an example of the 
 coquette, as I have already done of the beau. It is 
 therefore, in conipliance with the request of friends, 
 that I have looked over the minutes of my former 
 dream, in order to give the public an exact relation 
 of it, which I shall enter upon without farther pre- 
 face. 
 
 Our operator, before he engaged in this vision- 
 ary dissection, told us that there was nothing in his 
 art more difficult than to lay open the heart of a co- 
 quette, by reason of the many labyrinths and recesses 
 
 ' By Steele, oompoaed perhaps from hints in the letter-box. See Spect. 
 No. 271 ; and No. 324, final note. 
 ' See No. 276, and note. 
 
No. 281,] THE SPECTATOR. 401 
 
 which are to be found in it, and which do not ap- 
 pear in the heart of any other animal. 
 
 He desired us first of all to observe the pericar- 
 dium, or outward case of the heart, which we did 
 very attentively ; and by the help of our glasses 
 discerned in it millions of little scars, which seemed 
 to have been occasioned by the points of innumera- 
 ble 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 peri- 
 cardium, or case of the heart, contains in it a thin 
 reddish liquor, supposed to be bred from the va- 
 pours 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 show 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 coquette 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 showed 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 periwig, 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 
 VOL. III. — 26 
 
402 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 281. 
 
 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 extreme- 
 ly slippery, and the mucro, 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 usu- 
 ally found in other hearts ; insomuch that the whole 
 heart was wound up together like a Gordian knot, 
 and must have had very irregular and unequal mo- 
 tions, while it was employed in its vital function. 
 
 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 sev- 
 eral of those little nerves in the heart which are af- 
 fected 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 extremely 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 cavi- 
 ties running one within another, as our historians 
 describe the apartments of Rosamond's bower. Sev- 
 eral of these little hollows were stuffed with innu- 
 merable sorts of trifles, which I shall forbear giving 
 any particular account of, and shall therefore only 
 
No. 281.] THE SPECTATOR. 403 
 
 take notice of what lay first and uppermost, whicli, 
 upon our unfolding it, and applying our microscopes 
 to it, appeared to be a flame-coloured hood. 
 
 We are 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 con- 
 versed 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 surprise not a single print of this 
 nature discovered itself till we came into the very 
 core and centre of it. We there observed a little 
 figure, which, upon applying our glasses to it, ap- 
 peared dressed in a very fantastic 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, showed 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 mid- 
 dle of the heart was the deceased beau, whose head 
 I gave some account of in my last Tuesday's paper.'' 
 
 As soon as we had finished our dissection, we re- 
 solved to make an experiment of the heart, not being 
 able to determine among ourselves the nature of its 
 substance, which differed in so many particulars from 
 that in the heart of 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, with- 
 out being consumed or so much as singed. 
 
 >■ See No. 275. 
 
404 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 282 
 
 As we were admiring this strange phenomenon, 
 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, 1711-12. 
 
 — Spes incerta faturi. 
 
 ViEO. jEn. Till. 680. 
 Hopes and fears in equal balance laid. 
 
 Dbtdbn. 
 
 It is a lamentable thing that every man is full of com- 
 plaints, 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 sor- 
 row and disappointment. That which produces the 
 greatest part of the delusions of mankind, is a false 
 hope which people indulge with so sanguine a flat- 
 tery 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 account- 
 ing for ourselves, I cannot but reflect upon a particu- 
 lar set of people, who, in their own favour, resolve 
 every thing that is possible into what is probable, 
 
 " By Addison, dated, as the signature seems to denote, from his house 
 in London. See final note to No. 7. 
 
No. 282.] THE SPECTATOR. 405 
 
 and then reckon on that probability as on what must 
 certainly happen. Will Honeycomb, upon my ob- 
 serving him 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 for- 
 tunes 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 circum- 
 stances. They were at that time the most inaccessi- 
 ble haughty beauties in town ; and their pretensions 
 to take upon them at that unmerciful rate were raised 
 upon the following scheme, according to which all 
 their lovers were answered. 
 
 ' Our father is a youngish man, but then our mo- 
 ther is somewhat older, and not likely to have any 
 children : his estate being 800^. per annum, at twen- 
 ty years' purchase, is worth 16,000?. Our uncle, 
 who is about fifty, has 400?. per annum, which, at 
 the aforesaid rate, is 8000?. There is a widow aunt, 
 who has 10,000?. at her own disposal, left by her 
 husband, and an old maiden aunt, who has 6000?. 
 Then our father's mother has 900?. per annum, which 
 is worth 18,000?. and 1000?. each of us has of her 
 own, which can't be taken from us. These summed 
 up together stand thus : 
 
 Father's £800 - £16,000 
 
 Uncle's- 400 - 8,000 
 
 Aunts I ^g'QQ^} - 16,000 
 
 Grandmother '900 - - 18,000 
 Own, each 1,000 3,000 
 
 Total £61,000 
 
406 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 282. 
 
 This equally divided between us three amounts to 
 20,000^. each: an allowance being given for en- 
 largement upon common fame, we may lawfully 
 pass for 30,000?. fortunes.' 
 
 In prospect of this , and the knowledge of their 
 own personal merit, every one was contemptible in 
 their eyes, and they refused those offers which had 
 been frequently made them. But mark the end. 
 The mother dies, the father is married again, and 
 has a son ; on him was entailed the father's, uncle's, 
 and grandmother's estate. This cut off 43,000?. The 
 maiden aunt married a tall Irishman, and with her 
 went the 6,000Z. 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 1,000?. 
 They had by this time passed their prime, and got 
 on the wrong side of thirty ; and must pass the re- 
 mainder 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 though youth 
 is the time least 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 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 growing old in at- 
 tendance, and after having passed half a life in ser- 
 vitude, 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 
 
No. 282.] THE SPECTATOR. 407 
 
 what may naturally arise from tis own property or 
 labour, and goes beyond the desire of possessing 
 above two parts in three even of that, lays up for 
 himself an increasing heap of afflictions and disap- 
 pointments. 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 digni- 
 ty 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 descrip- 
 tions of being capable to please, or serve your pa- 
 tron, when his humour or interests call for their ca- 
 pacity 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 busi- 
 ness 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, solici- 
 tude, remorse, and confusion. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 'Jan. the Uth, 1712. 
 
 ' I AM a young woman, and have my 
 fortune to make ; for which reason I come consta,ntly 
 
408 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 282. 
 
 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 Christ- 
 mas 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 oflf. 
 The church, as it is now equipt, looks more like a 
 green-house than a place of worship. The middle 
 aisle is a very pretty shady walk, and the pews look 
 like so many arbours on 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 Love's 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 wUl 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, 
 T.'= 'Jenny Simper.' 
 
 » See No. 284, last let. 
 
 » By Steele, transcribed. See final note to No. 324, and Speot No. 271. 
 
No. 283.] THE SPECTATOR. 409 
 
 No. 283. THURSDAY, Janxjabt 24, 1711-12. 
 
 Magister artis ingeniqno largitor 
 
 Venter 
 
 Pees. Prolog. 20. 
 Necessity is the mother of invention. 
 
 PIKGLISU PeOVEEB.] 
 
 LuciAN 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 advan- 
 tages in the enjoyment of a plentiful fortune. In- 
 deed the best and wisest of men, though they may 
 possibly despise a good part of those things which 
 the world calls pleasures, can, I think, hardly be in- 
 sensible of that weight and dignity which a moderate 
 share of wealth adds to their characters, counsels, 
 and actions. 
 
 We find it a general complaint in professions and 
 trades, that the richest members of them are chiefly 
 encouraged, and this is falsely 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 sup- 
 posing both equal in their natural integrity, I ought, 
 in common prudence, to fear foul play from an 
 indigent person, rather than fi:om one whose circum- 
 stances seem to have placed him above the bare 
 temptation of money. 
 
410 THE SPECTATOK. [No. 283. 
 
 This reason also makes the commonwealth regard 
 her richest subjects, as those who are most concerned 
 for her quiet and interest, and consequently attest 
 to be intrusted with her highest employments. On 
 the contrary, Catiline's saying to those men of des- 
 perate fortunes, who applied themselves to him, and 
 of whom he afterwards composed his army, that 
 they had nothing to hope for but from a civil war, 
 was too true not to make the impressions he desired. 
 
 I believe I need not fear but 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 : 
 
 ' Kever do that by proxy whicli you can do yourself. 
 Never defer that till to-morrow which you can do to-day. 
 Never neglect small matters and expenses.' 
 
 A third instrument in growing rich, is method in 
 business, which, as well as the two former, is also 
 attainable by persons of the meanest capacities. 
 
 The famous De Wit, one of the greatest states- 
 
No. 283.] THE SPECTATOR. 411 
 
 men of the age in which he lived, being asked by a 
 friend how he was able to despatch that multitude 
 of affairs in which he was engaged ? replied, that his 
 whole art consisted in doing one thing at once. ' If,' 
 says he, ' I have any necessary despatches to make, 
 I think of nothing else till those are finished : if any 
 domestic 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 phleg- 
 matic 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 issue. 
 
 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. 
 
 Though the ways of getting money were long 
 since very numerous, and though so many new 
 ones have been found out of late years, there is 
 certainly still remaining so large a field for inven- 
 tion, 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 
 
412 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 283. 
 
 We daily see methods put m 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 seve- 
 ral different sorts, he sold it again at a lower rate 
 to the same perfumer, who finding out the trick, 
 called it ' Tabac de mille fleurs^ 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 quar- 
 rel, 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 though he is scarce 
 yet twelve years old, has with great industry and 
 application attained to the art of beating the grena- 
 dier's 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 con- 
 tinues, to purchase a drum at least, if not a pair of 
 colours. 
 
 I shall conclude these instances with the device 
 of the famous Rabelais, when he was at a great dis- 
 distance from Paris, and without money to bear his 
 expenses thither. This ingenious author being thus 
 sharp-set, got together a convenient quantity of 
 
No. 283.] THE SPECTATOR. 413 
 
 brick-dust, and having disposed of it into several 
 papers, writ upon one, ' Poison for monsieur,' upon 
 a second, ' Poison for the dauphin,' and on a third, 
 ' Poison for the king.' Having made this provision 
 for the royal family of Prance, 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 king's expense 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 laughed at ; for which a less eminent droll would 
 have been sent to the galleys. 
 
 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 one's memory, 
 who raised a fortune by finding out materials for such 
 stuffs as might at once be cheap and genteel. I have 
 heard it afiirmed, that had not he discovered this 
 frugal method of gratifying our pride, we should 
 hardly have been able to carry on the last war. 
 
 I regard trade not only as highly advantageous to 
 the commonwealth in general, but as the most natu- 
 ral 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 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 ob- 
 
414 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 284. 
 
 serving, 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 begin- 
 nings, 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 noth- 
 ing is more usual than for thrift to disappoint the 
 ends of ambition ; it being almost impossible that the 
 mind should be intent upon trifles, while it is at the 
 same time forming some great design. 
 
 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 
 geniuses and men above rule, since it is very easy 
 for them to be deceived in this particular. X.^ 
 
 No. 284. FEIDAY, January 25, 1711-12. 
 
 Poathabui tamen iUorum mea seria ludo, z 
 
 TiEO. EcL yU. IT. 
 Their mirth to share, I bid my business wait 
 
 An unaffected behaviour is, without question, a very 
 great charm ; but, under the notion of being uncon- 
 strained and disengaged, people take upon them to be 
 unconcerned in any duty of life. A general negli- 
 
 y By Mr. Eustace Budgell. See Speot. No. 655. See a small tract on 
 this subject, published in four leaves 8vo. in the form of an almanack ; and 
 in the supplement to Dr. Franklin's Works, under the diversified titles of 
 The Way to Wealth and Poor Richard's Almanack. 
 
 » The motto of the original paper in folio was what is now the motto 
 of No. 54 ' Strenua nos exercet inertia.' Hon. 
 
No. 284. J THE SPECTATOR. 415 
 
 gence 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 profess- 
 ed maxim with these people never to think ; there 
 is something so solemn in reflection, they, forsooth, 
 can never give themselves time for such a way of 
 employing themselves. It happens often that this 
 sort of a man is heavy enough in his nature to be a 
 good proficient in such matters as are attainable by 
 industiy ; 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 appli- 
 cation. When this humour enters into the head of 
 a female, she generally 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 hard- 
 ly curiosity to listen to scandal of her acquaintance, 
 and has never attention enough to hear them com- 
 mended. 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 unreason- 
 able, and that is, the ' impertinence of being always 
 in a hurry.' There are those who visit ladies, and 
 beg pardon before they are well seated in their 
 chairs ; that they just called in, but are obliged to 
 attend to 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 
 
416 THE SPEOTATOE. [No. 284 
 
 company than that "which they are in. These per- 
 sons who are just a going somewhere else should 
 never be detained ; let all the world allow that bu- 
 siness is to be minded, and their affairs will be at an 
 end. Their vanity is to be importuned, and com- 
 pliance with their multiplicity of affairs would effec- 
 tually despatch them. The travelling ladies who 
 have half the town to see of an afternoon, may be 
 pardoned for being in a constant hurry ; but it is in- 
 excusable in men to come where they have no busi- 
 ness, to profess they absent themselves where they 
 have. It has been remarked by some nice observers 
 and critics, 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 persuaded 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. 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' 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 com- 
 pliments to you for your civilities to me when I was 
 
No. 284.] THE SPECTATOR. 417 
 
 last in town. It is my misfortune to be so full of bu- 
 siness, that I cannot tell you a thousand things which 
 I have to say to you. I must desire you to commu- 
 nicate the contents of this to no one living ; but be- 
 lieve me to be, with the greatest fidelity, 
 
 ' Sir, your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 ' Stephen Courier.' 
 
 ' MADAM, 
 
 ' I HATE writing of all things in the world ; 
 however, though I have drank 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 iii 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 Eitheedown.' 
 
 ' The fellow is of your country, pr'ythee send me 
 word however whether he has so great an estate.' 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, Jan. 24, 1'712. 
 
 ' I AM clerk of the parish from whence Mrs. 
 Simper sends her complaint, in your Spectator of 
 Wednesday last.* I must beg of you to publish 
 this as a public admonition to the aforesaid Mrs. 
 Simper, otherwise all my honest care in the disposi- 
 
 • See No. 282, last letter. 
 VOL. m. — 27 
 
418 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 284. 
 
 tion 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 it is out of any affec- 
 tion 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 hun- 
 dredth Psalm, and was singing the first line in order 
 to put the congregation into the tune, she was all the 
 while courtesying to sir Anthony in so affected and 
 indecent a manner, that the indignation I conceived 
 at it made me forget myself so far, as from the tune 
 of that psalm, to wander into Southwell tune, and 
 from thence into Windsor tune ; still unable to reco- 
 ver myself till I had, with the utmost confusion, set 
 a new one. Nay, I have often seen her rise up and 
 smile, and courtesy to one at the lower end of the 
 church in the midst of a Gloria Patri ; and when I 
 have spoken the assent to a prayer with a long Amen, 
 uttered with a decent gravity, she has been rolling 
 her eyes about in such a manner as plainly showed, 
 however she was moved, it was not towards an hea- 
 venly 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 a 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 
 Jieads, it put me in mind of practising this device 
 
No. 285.] THE SPECTATOR. 419 
 
 agaiust Mrs. Simper. I find I have preserved many 
 a young man from her eye-shot by this means : there- 
 fore humbly pray the boughs may be fixed till she 
 shall give security for her peaceable intentions. 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 T.* ' Francis Sternhold.' 
 
 *as* At Drury-lane, Jan. 24, revived The Tempest; or, Enchanted 
 Island, altered from Shakspeare by sir W. Davenant and the late Mr. Dry- 
 den, poet-laureat. Jan. 25, Revived the Royal Merchant; or. Beggar's 
 Bush ; and on Saturday, Jan. 26, Philaster ; or, Love lies a Bleeding. — 
 Spect. in folio. 
 
 No. 285. SATURDAY, January 26, 1711-12.° 
 
 Ne quicnnque Dens, qnicmiqao adhibebitor heros, 
 Begali conspectus in auro nuper ot ostro, 
 Migret in obscnias Iiumili sermone tabernas; 
 Ant, dnm vitat hnmum, nnbes et inania captct 
 
 Hoe. Ais. Poet 22T. 
 
 Bnt then they did not wrong themselves so much 
 
 To make a god, a hero, or a king, 
 
 (Stript of his golden crown and purple robe,) 
 
 Descend to a mechanic dialect ; 
 
 Nor (to avoid such meanness) soaring high. 
 
 With empty sound and airy notions fly. 
 
 BOSCOMUOK. 
 
 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 incline to 
 
 ^ By Steele. See No. 271. The signature T seems to imply that it was 
 transcribed, most probably by Steele, perhaps by Mr. T. Tickell, who ap- 
 pears to have had, at times, the care of publishing this paper intrusted to 
 him. See final notes to Nos. 324, 410, <feo. 
 
 " Paper iv. On the diction of Milton's Paradise Lost See Nos. 26Y, 
 273, 279, 291, 297, 303, 309, 315, 321, 327, 333, 339, 346, 351, 357, 363, 
 369. 
 
420 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 285, 
 
 those who judge the most advantageously of the 
 author. 
 
 It is requisite that the language of an heroic 
 poem should be both perspicuous and sublime. In 
 proportion as either of these two qualities are want- 
 ing, the language is imperfect. Perspicuity is the 
 first and most necessary qualification ; insomuch 
 that a good-natured reader sometimes overlooks a 
 little slip, even in the grammar or syntax, where it 
 is impossible for him to mistake the poet's sense. 
 Of this kind is that passage in Milton, wherein he 
 speaks of Satan : 
 
 — ' God and his Son except, 
 Created thing nought valn'd he nor shunn'd:' * 
 
 and that in which he describes Adam and Eve : 
 
 ' Adam the goodliest man of men since bom 
 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, impute to a 
 pardonable inadvertency, or to the weakness of hu- 
 man nature, which cannot attend to each minute 
 particular, and give the last finishing to every cir- 
 cumstance in so long a work. The ancient critics, 
 therefore, who were actuated by a spirit of candour 
 rather than that of cavilling, invented certain fig- 
 
 ^ See Newton's edit, of Milton's Paradise Lost, vol. i. p. 283, Ac. 
 
No. 285.] THE SPECTATOR. 421 
 
 ures of speech on purpose to palliate little errors of 
 this nature in the writings of those authors who had 
 so many greater beauties to atone for them. 
 
 If clearness and perspicuity were only to be con- 
 sulted, the poet would have nothing else to do but 
 to clothe 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 idio- 
 matic 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 of 
 this kind, of which, however, you may meet with 
 some instances, as in the following passages : 
 
 'Embrios and idiots, eremites and friars, 
 White, black, and gray, with all their trumpery. 
 Here pilgrims roam — 
 
 — Awhile diseoarse they hold, 
 No fear lest dinner cool ; when thus began 
 Our author — 
 
 Who of all ages to succeed, but feeling 
 The evil on Mm brought by me, will enrse 
 My head, ill fare our ancestor impure. 
 For this we may thank Adam — ' 
 
 The great masters in composition know 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 
 
422 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 285. 
 
 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 conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 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 itself 
 in shunning the common roads of expression, with- 
 out 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 extreme. 
 Among the Greeks, ^schylus, and sometimes So- 
 phocles, were guilty of this fault ; among the Latins, 
 Claudian and Statins ; and among our own country- 
 men, Shakspeare and Lee. In these authors the af- 
 fectation of greatness often hurts the perspicuity of 
 the style, as in many others the endeavour after per- 
 spicuity prejudices its greatness. 
 
 Aristotle has observed that the idiomatic style 
 may be avoided, and the sublime formed, by the 
 following methods ; First, by the use of metaphors ; 
 like those in Milton: 
 
 ' Imparadised in one another's arms, 
 — And in his hand a reed 
 Stood waving, tipt with fire — 
 The grassy clods now calv'd 
 Spangled with eyes — ' 
 
 In these, and innumerable other instances, the 
 metaphors are very bold but beautiful ; I must how- 
 
No. 285.1 THE SPECTATOR. 423 
 
 ever observe that tlie metapliors are not 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 
 enigma or riddle ; 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 critics 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 ancient poets, 
 and with Aristotle's rule, has infused a great many 
 Latinisms, as well as G-rsecisms, and sometimes He- 
 braisms, 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 general's voice they soon obey'd — 
 
 — Who shall tempt with wandering 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 reckoned the placing 
 the adjective after the substantive, the transposition 
 of words, the turning the adjective into a substan- 
 tive, 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. 
 
424 THE SPECTATOR. 1^°- ^85. 
 
 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 lengthening of a phrase by the addition 
 of words which may be either inserted or omitted, as 
 also by the extending or contracting of particular 
 words by the insertion or omission of certain syl- 
 lables. 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-men- 
 tioned, eremite, for what is hermit in common dis- 
 course. If you observe the measure of his verse, he 
 has with great judgment suppressed a syllable in 
 several words, and shortened those of two syllables 
 into one ; by which method, besides the above-men- 
 tioned 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 particu- 
 lars, wherein he has either changed the name, or 
 made use of that which is not the most commonly 
 known, that he might the better deviate from the 
 language of the vulgar. 
 
 The same reason recommended to him several old 
 words, which also make his poem appear the more 
 venerable, and gives it a greater air of antiquity. 
 
 I must likewise take notice that there are in Mil- 
 ton several words of his own coining, as ' cerbere- 
 an, miscreated, hell-doom'd, embryon' atoms, and 
 many others. If the reader is offended at this liber- 
 ty in our English poet, I would recommend to him 
 a discourse in Plutarch, which shows us how fre- 
 quently Homer has made use of the same liberty. 
 
 Milton, by the above-mentioned helps, and by 
 
No. 285.] THE SPECTATOR. 425 
 
 the choice of the noblest words and phrases which 
 our tongue would afford him, has carried our lan- 
 guage to a greater height than any of the English 
 poets have ever done before or after him, and made 
 the sublimity of his style equal to that of his senti- 
 ments. 
 
 I have been the more particular in these obser- 
 vations on Milton's style, because it is in that part 
 of him in which he appears the most singular. The re- 
 marks 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 ; though, after 
 all, I must confess that I think his style, though ad- 
 mirable in general, is in some places too much stiff- 
 ened and obscured by the frequent use of those 
 methods which Aristotle has prescribed for the rais- 
 ing 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 darkened 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 unre- 
 garded ; but where the verse is not built upon 
 rhymes, there pomp of sound and energy of expres- 
 sion are indispensably necessary to support the style, 
 and keep it from falling to the flatness of prose. 
 
 Those who have not a taste for this elevation of 
 style, and are apt to ridicule a poet when he de- 
 parts from the common forms of expression, would 
 do well to see how Aristotle has treated an ancient 
 author called Euclid, for his insipid mirth upon this 
 
426 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 286. 
 
 occasion. Mr. Dryden used to call these sort of men 
 his prose-critics. 
 
 I should, under this head of the language, consi- 
 der Milton's numbers, in which he has made use of 
 several elisions that are not customary among other 
 English poets, as may be particularly observed in 
 his cutting off the letter Y when it precedes a vowel. 
 This and some other innovations 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 cei'tainly have done, and which the perpetual 
 returns of rhyme never fail to do in long narrative 
 poems. I shall close these reflections upon the lan- 
 guage 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. 
 
 L.* 
 
 No. 286. MONDAY, Januaky 28, 1711-12. 
 
 Nomina honesta praetemmtur vitiis. 
 
 Taoit. Ann. L siv. c. 21. 
 Specious names are lent to cover vices. 
 
 ' ME. SPECTATOR, York, Jan. 18, 1711-12. 
 
 ' 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 deli- 
 cacy, as I take it, consists in exactness of judgment 
 and dignity of sentiment, or, if you will, purity of 
 
 ° By Addison, dated London. See final notes to No. 384 and 221. 
 
No. 286.] THE SPECTATOR. 427 
 
 affection, as this is opposed to corruption and gross- 
 ness. 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 satirist long since observed, is real ho- 
 nour; whereas the other distinctions among man- 
 kind are merely 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 expressly forbidden by that 
 religion we pretend to profess ; and whose laws, in 
 a nation that calls itself Christian, one would think 
 should take place of those rules which men of cor- 
 rupt minds, and those of weak understandings, fol- 
 low. 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 horror we have to do evil. An innocent 
 creature, who would start at the name of strumpet, 
 may think it pretty to be called a mistress, especial- 
 ly if her seducer has taken care to inform her, that 
 an union of hearts is the principal matter in the 
 sight of heaven, and that the business at church is 
 a mere idle ceremony. "Who knows not that the 
 difference between obscene and modest words ex- 
 pressing the same action, consists only in the acces- 
 
 ' See No. 2*76, letter 1 ; and No. 214. 
 
428 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 286, 
 
 sary idea, for there is nothing immodest in letters 
 and syllables. Fornication and adultery are modest 
 words ; because they express an evil action as crim- 
 inal, and so as to excite horror and aversion ; where- 
 as 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 shown 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 herself, abandoned her 
 virtue and reputation, together with the natural 
 modesty of her sex, and risked her very soul, is so 
 far from deserving to be treated with no worse cha- 
 racter 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, inasmuch as she sins 
 against greater restraints, is less exposed, and liable 
 to fewer temptations, than beauty in poverty and dis- 
 tress. It is hoped, therefore, Sir, that you will not 
 lay aside your generous design of opposing that mon- 
 strous wickedness of the town, whereby a multitude 
 of innocents are sacrificed in a more barbarous man- 
 ner than those who were offered to Moloch. The 
 unchaste are provoked to see their vice exposed, and 
 
No. 286.] THE SPECTATOE. 429 
 
 the chaste cannot rake into such filth without danger 
 of defilement, but a mere spectator may look into 
 the bottom, and come off without partaking in the 
 guilt. The doing so will convince us you pursue 
 public good, and not merely your own advantage ; 
 but if your zeal slackens, how can one help thinking 
 that Mr. Courtly's letter is but a feint to get 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 
 reformation ? 
 
 ' I am. Sib, your humble servant and admirer, 
 so long as you tread in the paths of truth, 
 virtue, and honour.' 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR Trin. ColL Cantab. Jan. 11th 1711-12.* 
 
 ' It is my fortune to have a chamber-fellow 
 with whom, though I agree very well in many senti- 
 ments, 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 en- 
 tering 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, though without any effect : nay, last night 
 I could not forbear saying, with more heat than judg- 
 ment, that the devil ought to be painted white. 
 Now my desire is. Sir, that you would be pleased to 
 give us in blade or white your opinion in the mat- 
 
 8 See Spect. No. 896. 
 
430 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 287. 
 
 ter of dispute between us ; wMch will eithet 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'' and Bond's Horace on my side ; 
 but then he has such a band of rhymers and romance 
 writers with which he opposes me, and is so contin- 
 ually chiming to the tune of golden tresses, yellow 
 locks, milk, marble, ivory, silver, swans, snow, dai- 
 sies, 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 as- 
 sistance afforded to, 
 
 ' Sir, your humble servant, 
 Z.' ' Philobrunb.' 
 
 No. 287. TUESDAY, January 29, 1711-12. 
 
 "^n (piKTiXTT] yij ftiJTepf us arefttrhi' (r<l>6Sp* el 
 Tots vovy ^xeai KTTJfia ; — 
 mmmm Ok Menaot), 
 
 Dear native land, how do the good and wise 
 Thy happy clime and countless blessings prize 1 
 
 I LOOK upon it as a peculiar happiness, that were I 
 to choose of what religion I would be, and under 
 
 "■ See Poems by J. Cleveland, 1653, 24mo. The Senses' Festival, p. 1. 
 
 ' Th« annotator does not know who was the real author of the papers 
 in this volume distinguished by the signature Z, which appears at the end 
 of this No. 286, and of No. 316 ; it stood likewise at the bottom of No. 292 
 in th« original paper in folio, but it was omitted on its first republication 
 in 8vo., in 1712. In the small edition of 1712, in 12mo., No. 292 is marked 
 as in the folio, with the signature Z. — See Spect. Nos. 404, 408, 425, and 
 467. 
 
No. 287.] THE SPECTATOR. 431 
 
 what government I would live, I should most cer- 
 tainly 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 pre- 
 judice ; 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 Eng- 
 land, and design this as an essay upon the civil part 
 of our constitution, having often entertained myself 
 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 public 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 economy 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 deprived of it, by 
 setting before them a disagreeable subject of com- 
 parison. 
 
 This liberty is best preserved where the legisla- 
 tive 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 consequent- 
 ly 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 
 
432 THE SPECTATOR. V^°- ^87. 
 
 can have for their liberty, is when the legislative 
 power is in the hands of persons so happily distin- 
 guished, that, by providing for the particular inter- 
 est 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 com- 
 mon 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. Pour 
 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 mixed gov- 
 ernment, consisting of three branches, the regal, the 
 noble, and the popular. They had doubtless in their 
 thoughts the constitution of the Roman common- 
 wealth, 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 con- 
 stitution 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 public business was sometimes at a stand, while 
 the consuls pulled two different ways in it. Besides, 
 
No. 287.] THE SPECTATOR. 433 
 
 I do not find that the consuls had ever a negative 
 voice in the passing of a law or decree of the 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 mon- 
 archs, 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 Suetonius, which gives 
 us a succession of absolute princes, is to me an un- 
 answerable argument against despotic power. Where 
 the prince is a man of wisdom and virtue, it is in- 
 deed 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 public happiness or misery depend on 
 the virtue or vices of a single person. Look into 
 the historian I have mentioned, or into any series of 
 absolute princes, how many tyrants must you read 
 through before you come at an emperor that is sup- 
 portable ! 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 appa- 
 rent to grand empires, when in the possession of 
 them, have become such monsters of lust and cruelty 
 
 as are a reproach to human nature ! 
 VOL. III. — 28 
 
434 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 287. 
 
 Some tell us we ought to make our governments 
 on earth like that in heaven, which, say they, is al- 
 together 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 des- 
 potic government and barbarity, and how the mak- 
 ing of one person more than man makes the rest 
 less. Above nine parts of the world in ten are in 
 the lowest state of slavery, and consequently sunk 
 in 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 apprehen- 
 sions hanging upon his mind, who wiU indulge the 
 flights of fancy or speculation, and push his re- 
 searches into all the abstruse corners of truth ; so it 
 is necessary for him to have about him a competency 
 of all the conveniences of life. 
 
 The first thing every one looks after is, to provide 
 himself with necessaries. This point will engross 
 our thoughts tUl 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 
 
No. 287.] THE SPECTATOR. 435 
 
 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 know- 
 ledge : and as most of the despotic governments of 
 the world have neither of them, they are naturally 
 overrun 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 think- 
 ing 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, though 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 geniuses 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 bar- 
 barity, though not insisted upon by others, is, I 
 think, an unanswerable argument against that form 
 
436 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 288. 
 
 of government, as it shows 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. L.'' 
 
 *4t* At Drury-lane, on Monday, Jan. 28, The Stratagem : on Tuesday, 
 Jan. 29, The Pilgrim. At the Haymarket, Einaldo; Argantes, by Mr. 
 Beutler, newly arrived ; Godofredo, by S. Margarita de L'Espine ; Eusta- 
 cio, by Mrs. Barbier. 
 
 \\\ Excellent Citron Water, from Barbadoee, <fee. — Spect. in folio. See 
 Tat ed. 1786. 12mo. 6 vol. Vol. vi. No. 235, introductory note on Ad- 
 dison, &e. 
 
 No. 288. WEDNESDAY, January 30, 1711-12. 
 
 — Payor est ntriqae molestas. 
 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. vl. 10. 
 Both foar alike. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 
 
 ' By Addison, dated, it seems, London. See note on Addison's sig- 
 natures, Nos. 1, 221, (fee. 
 
No. 288.] THE SPECTATOR. 437 
 
 be particular to her, laying themselves at her feet, 
 protesting the reality of their passion with a thousand 
 oaths, soliciting 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 credu- 
 lous fair is too 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 herself; and so her unwary heart becomes an easy 
 prey to those deceitful monsters, who no sooner per- 
 ceive it, but immediately they grow cool, and shun 
 her whom they before seemed so much to admire, 
 and proceed to act the same commonplace 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, ob- 
 serve 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 be^ 
 lieving 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, 
 
 ' Melainia.' 
 
 Melainia's complaint is occasioned by so general 
 a folly, that it is wonderful one could so long over- 
 look it. But this false gallantry proceeds from an 
 
438 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 288. 
 
 impotence of mind, which makes those who are guil- 
 ty of it incapable of pursuing what they themselves 
 approve. Many a man wishes a woman his wife, 
 whom he dare not take for such. Though no one 
 has power over his inclinations or fortunes, he is a 
 slave to common fame. For this reason I think Me- 
 lainia gives them too soft a name in that of male co- 
 quets. 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 cor- 
 respondent calls male coquets, should 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 con- 
 sent. His heart can flutter by the force of imagi- 
 nation, 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 ambigu- 
 ous behaviour which Melainia complains of, till, by 
 the fondness to one they are to lose, they become 
 incapable of love towards others, and, by conse- 
 quence, in their future marriage lead a joyless or a 
 miserable life. As therefore I shall in the specula- 
 tions which regard love, be as severe as I ought on 
 jilts and libertine women, so will I be as little mer- 
 ciful to insignificant and mischievous men.' In or- 
 der to this, all visitants who frequent families where- 
 in there are young females, are forthwith required 
 to declare themselves, or absent from places where 
 their presence banishes such as would pass their time 
 
 ' See No. 300, let. 2. 
 
No. 288.] THE SPECTATOE. 439 
 
 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 satis- 
 factory account of appearances. Strephon has from 
 the publication hereof seven days to explain the rid- 
 dle 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 herself, and of superior fortune, languishes to 
 call her own. 
 
 'TO THE SPECTATOR. 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' Since so many dealers turn authors, and 
 write quaint advertisements in praise of their wares, 
 one, who from an author turned dealer, may be al- 
 lowed for the advancement of trade to turn author 
 again. I will not however set up like some of them, 
 for selling cheaper than the most able honest trades- 
 man 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 critics allow me, and while 
 they like my wares they may dispraise my writing. ^ 
 But as it is not so well known yet that I frequently 
 cross the seas of late, and speak in Dutch and French, 
 besides other languages, I have the conveniency of 
 buying and importing rich brocades, Dutch atlases. 
 
440 THE SPECTATOR. [No- 288. 
 
 with gold and silver, or without, and other foreign 
 silks of the newest modes and best fabrics, fine Flan- 
 ders lace, linens, and pictures, at the best hand ; 
 this my new way of trade I have fallen into, I can- 
 not 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 or- 
 naments 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 
 them, we must seek amends by dealing in others. 
 This I hope will plead for one who would lessen the 
 number of teasers 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 accounts. To 
 say the truth, I cannot, I think, give you a better 
 idea of my being a downright man of traffic, than 
 by acknowledging I oftener read the advertisements 
 than the matter of even your paper. I am under a 
 very great temptation to take this opportunity of ad- 
 monishing 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 am, 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 ' Your most humble and most obedient servant, 
 T. ' Peter Motteux.' " 
 
 " This writer died a violent death, and is said to have been his own exe- 
 
No. 289.] THE SPECTATOR. 441 
 
 No. 289. THUESDAY, Januaet 31, 1711-12. 
 
 Vitffi Bnmma brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam. 
 
 Hoe. 1 Od. iv. 15. 
 life's span forbids us to extend our cares, 
 And stretch our hopes beyond our years. Creech. 
 
 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 perhaps that 
 the Dutch mail is just come in, they hear me ask the 
 coffee-man for his last week's bill of mortality. I 
 find that I have been sometimes taken on this occa- 
 sion for a parish sexton, sometimes for an under- 
 taker, and sometimes for a doctor of physic. In 
 this, however, I am guided by the spirit of a philos- 
 opher, as I take occasion from hence to reflect upon 
 the regular increase 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 enter- 
 tainment of every reasonable creature ; and can con- 
 sider with pleasure to myself, by which of those 
 deliverances, or, as we commonly call them, distem- 
 pers, I may possibly make my escape out of this 
 
 cutioner. In an advertisement dated Whitehall, March 24, 1111-18, he is 
 styled Peter Anthony Motteux, late of Leadenhall-street, and the time of 
 his death is precisely ascertained. It says he was found dead on Wednes- 
 day morning the 19th of Feb. last, in an house of ill-fame in Star-oourt, 
 Butcher-row, near Temple-bar, and that there were several circumstances 
 to support a suspicion of his having been murdered. The adv. goes on to 
 offer a conditional pardon, and a reward of 501. for the discovery of the 
 actual murderer. See Lend. Gaz. Nos. 2628, 2629, and 2630. . It is said, 
 that at the time of his death he was the husband of a very fine amiable 
 woman, and the father of a fine young family. He published a poem on. 
 tea ; translated Rabelais and Don Quixote, and various dramatic pieces, 
 some or most of which he took the liberty to alter, and accommodate to the 
 English stage. 
 
442 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 289. 
 
 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 is, in 
 my opinion, an unanswerable argument for a Provi- 
 dence. How can we, without supposing ourselves 
 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 man- 
 ner the recruits of every nation to its losses, and di- 
 vide 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 overcharged with multitudes, and at 
 others waste away into a desert : we should be some- 
 times a fo'pulus virorum^ as Florus elegantly ex- 
 presses it, a generation of males, and at others a 
 species of women. We may extend this considera- 
 tion to every species of living creatures, and consid- 
 er 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 aston- 
 ishing instances would there be of that Providence 
 which watches over all its works ! 
 
No. 289.] THE SPECTATOE. 443 
 
 I have heard of a great man in the Romish church, 
 who upon reading those words in the fifth 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 ac- 
 counts which we meet with of the deaths of eminent 
 persons, and of their behaviour in that dreadful sea- 
 son. I may also add, that there are no parts in his- 
 tory which affect or 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 con- 
 junctures in which not one man in a million is like- 
 ly 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 ourselves be in the 
 same melancholy circumstances. The general, the 
 statesman, or the philosopher, are perhaps charac- 
 ters which we may never act in, but the dying man 
 is one whom sooner or later we shall certainly re- 
 semble. 
 
 It is perhaps for the same kind of reason, that 
 few books written 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 
 
444 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 289. 
 
 Las not perused this excellent piece has not perhaps 
 read one of the strongest persuasives to a religious 
 Lite that was ever 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 shows 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 extin- 
 guish the bitterness of hatred, the thirst of avarice, 
 and the cruelty of ambition. 
 
 I am very much pleased with the passage of An- 
 tiphanes, 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 translat- 
 ed it word ■ for word. 'Be not grieved,' says he, 
 ' above measure for thy deceased friends. They 
 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 recep- 
 tion in which they, are all of them assembled, and in 
 this general rendezvous of mankind live together in 
 another state of being.' 
 
 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 all called strangers and sojourners upon earth. 
 
No. 289.] THE SPECTATOR. 445 
 
 I shall conclude this with a story, which I have 
 somewhere read in the travels of sir John Chardin. 
 That gentleman, after having told us that the inns 
 which receive the caravans in Persia, and the east- 
 ern countries, are called by the name of caravansa- 
 ries, gives us a relation to the following purpose. 
 
 A dervise travelling through Tartary, being ar- 
 rived at the town of Balk, went into the king's pal- 
 ace by mistake, as thinking it to be a public inn, or 
 caravansary. Having looked about him for some 
 time, he entered 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 east- 
 ern 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 pal- 
 ace 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 re- 
 plied, ' His father.' 'And who is it,' says the der- 
 vise, ' that lodges here at present ?' The king told 
 him, that it was he himself ' And who, ' says the der- 
 vise, 'will be here after you?' The king answered, 
 ' The young prince his son.' ' Ah, Sir,' said the der- 
 
446 THE SPECTATOR. [-No. 290. 
 
 vise, a house that changes its inhabitants so often, 
 and receives such a perpetual succession of guests, 
 is not a palace, but a caravansary.' L." 
 
 "ff* Air pumps, single and double barrelled, with apparatus for demon- 
 strating the several properties of the air ; small air pumps, with glasses for 
 the new way of cupping; scarificators, one of which makes at once 10, 
 another 13, another 16 effectual incisions; syphons and blow-pipes, with 
 valves for anatomical injections; hydrostatic balances, ifec. sold in Hind- 
 court, Fleet-street. A lamp, 6 cupping-glasses. 
 
 No. 290. FRIDAY, Febeuakt 1, 1711-12. 
 
 Projicit ampollas et sesqu jpedalia verba. 
 
 Hoe. Ais Poet 97. o 
 Forgets hla swelling and gigantic words. 
 
 EoeooMMOK. 
 
 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 call- 
 ed The Distrest Mother.^ I must confess, though 
 some days are passed since I enjoyed that entertain- 
 ment, the passions of the several characters dwell 
 
 " By Addison, dated, it is supposed, London. See No. 334, and No. 
 221, notes on Addison's signatures C. L. I. 0. 
 
 ° The motto in the original paper in folio was from Horace likewise : 
 
 ' Spirat Tragicum satis, et felioiter audet' 
 
 P The tragedy, called The Distrest Mother, on which this paper is a 
 critique, was written by Ambrose Philips, and printed in 12mo. in 1713. 
 It is little more than a translation from the Andromaque of Racine, who, 
 as well as Philips, deviates from the truth of history, in making Her'mionc 
 kill herself on the body of Pyrrhus, who was slain by her instigation. She 
 survived him, and was afterwards the wife of Orestes. 
 
No. 290.] THE SPECTAXaE. 447 
 
 strongly upon my imagination ; and I congratulate 
 the age, that they are at last to see truth and human 
 life represented in the incidents which concern he- 
 roes and heroines. The style of the play is such as 
 becomes those of the first education, and the senti- 
 ments 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 play- 
 er who read frequently threw 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 other's virtue and 
 merit ; and the character which gives name to the 
 play, is one who has behaved herself with heroic 
 virtue in the most important circumstances of a fe- 
 male life, those of a wife, a widow, and a mother. 
 If there be those whose minds have been too atten- 
 tive 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-men- 
 tioned considerations the sorrow of the heroine will 
 move even the generality of mankind. Domestic 
 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 heightened with the 
 
448 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 290. 
 
 consideration of his father, and these regards pre- 
 served 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 
 whispered 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 friend's admoni- 
 tion, 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 itself, 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 directions that guards 
 and waiters should follow them in every scene, but 
 their grandeur appears in greatness of sentiment, 
 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, 
 though she had been the wife of Hector, for the sake 
 of a kingdom, to marry the enemy of her husband's 
 family and country ; and indeed who can deny but 
 she might be still an honest woman, but no heroine ? 
 That may be defensible, nay laudible, in one char- 
 acter, which would be in the highest degree excep- 
 tionable in another. When Cato Uticensis killed 
 himself, Cottius, a Roman of ordinary quality and 
 character, did the same thing ; upon which one said, 
 
No. 2^90.] THE SPECTATOR. 449 
 
 smiling, ' Cottius might have lived, though 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 
 farther very extraordinary in this work is, that the 
 persons are all of them laudable, and their misfor- 
 tunes arise rather from unguarded virtue, than pro- 
 pensity to vice. The town has an opportunity of 
 doing itself justice in supporting the representations 
 of passion, sorrow, indignation, even despair itself, 
 within the rules of decency, honour, and good- 
 breeding ; and since there is no one can flatter him- 
 self his life will be always fortunate, they may here 
 see sorrow as they would wish to bear it whenever 
 it arrives. 
 
 ' ME. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' I AM appointed to act a part in the new 
 tragedy called The Distrest Mother. It is the cele- 
 brated 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 myself, 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 
 with satisfaction. 
 
 ' I am. Sir, 
 ' Your most humble servant, 
 
 ' George Powell.' 
 
 VOL. III. — 29 
 
450 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 291. 
 
 ' ME. SPECTATOR, 
 
 'As I was walking t'other day in tlie 
 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 heroic 
 Hecatissa's rival. 
 
 ' Your humble servant to command, 
 
 'Sophia.' 
 
 ' 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, 
 T.^ ' The Spectator.' 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 A large quantity of exceUent Citron-Water, arrived from Barbadoes by 
 the last fleet, is to be sold by Mr. Charles White, Goldsmith in Holbom, 
 over against Chancery-lane end. — Spect. in folio, No. 281. 
 
 N. B. This liquor was then commonly known under the name of Bar- 
 badoes water. — See Tat. with notes, No. 235, note. 
 
 No. 291.* SATUEDAY, Fbbkuaet % 1711-12. 
 
 — TTbi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis 
 Offendar maculis, quas ant incuria fadit, 
 Aut humana parum cavit natara. — 
 
 Hoe. Ajb Poet. 351. 
 But in a poem elegantly writ, 
 I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, 
 Such as our nature's ftailty may excuse, 
 
 KOBCOMHON. 
 
 I HATE now considered Milton's Paradise Lost under 
 those four great heads of the fable, the characters, 
 
 ^ By Steele, from the letter-box, see No. 270, paragr. 1. 
 * Continuation of Addison's critique on Paradise Lost^ or, as it is called, 
 ihis Comment on Milton. See No. 273, ad fiium. Part v. On true criti- 
 
No. 291.J THE SPECTATOR. 451 
 
 the sentiments, and the language ; and have shown 
 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 choose my read- 
 ers, by whose judgment I would stand or fall, they 
 should not be such as are acquainted only with the 
 French and Italian critics, but also with the ancient 
 and modern 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 critic, when in reality he does not comprehend 
 his meaning. 
 
 It is in criticism as in all other sciences and spec- 
 ulations; 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 im- 
 proved in the works of a good critic ; 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 logi- 
 cal 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 con- 
 vey his thoughts to another with clearness and per- 
 spicuity. Aristotle, who was the best critic, was also 
 
 cism. See No. 267, 2l3, 279, SIB, 321, 327, 333, S39, 345, 351, 357, 363, 
 and 369. 
 
452 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 291. 
 
 one of the best logicians that ever appeared in the 
 world. 
 
 Mr. Locke's Essay on Human Understanding 
 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 him- 
 self in confusion and obscurity. I might farther ob- 
 serve, that there is not a Greek or Latin critic who 
 has not shown, 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 critic without a good 
 insight into all the parts of learning ; whereas many 
 of those who have endeavoured to signalize them- 
 selves by works of this nature among our English 
 writers, are not only defective in the above-men- 
 tioned particulars, but plainly discover by the 
 phrases which they make use of, and by their con- 
 fused 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, with a certain cant of words, 
 has sometimes set up an illiterate heavy writer for a 
 most judicious and formidable critic. 
 
 One great mark by which you may discover a 
 critic who has neither taste nor learning, is this, that 
 he seldom ventures to praise any passage in an au- 
 thor which has not been before received and ap- 
 plauded by the public, and that his criticism turns 
 wholly upon little faults and errors. This part of a 
 
No. 291.J THE SPECTATOR. 453 
 
 critic is so very easy 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.' 
 
 A true critic ought to dwell rather upon excel- 
 lences than imperfections to discover the concealed 
 beauties of a writer, and communicate to the world 
 such things as are worth their observation. The 
 most exqusite 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 sour un- 
 distinguishing critic generally attacks with the 
 greatest violence. TuUy observes, that it is very 
 easy to brand or fix a mark upon what he ,calls ver- 
 bum ardens^ or, as it may be rendered into English, 
 ' a glowing bold exf)ression,' and to turn it into ridi- 
 cule by a cold ill-natured criticism. A little wit is 
 equally capable of exposing a beauty and of aggra- 
 vating 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 mix- 
 ture of wit, is ridiculous in itself 
 
 Such a mirth as this is always unseasonable in a 
 critic, as it rather prejudices the reader than con- 
 vinces him, and is capable of making a beauty, as 
 
454 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 291.. 
 
 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 shows it in an improper 
 place is as impertinent and absurd. Besides, a man 
 who has the gifl^ 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 show the de- 
 fects in Milton's Paradise Lost, I thought fit to pre- 
 mise 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 inflame them with ridicule. 
 I must also observe with Longinus, that the produc- 
 tions of a great genius, with many lapses and inad- 
 vertences, are infinitely preferable to the works of 
 an inferior kind of author which are scrupulously 
 exact, and conformable to all the rules of correct 
 writing. 
 
 I shall conclude my paper with a story out of 
 Boccalini, which sufficiently shows us the opinion 
 that judicious author entertained of the sort of crit- 
 ics I have been here mentioning. A famous critic, 
 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 
 
No. 292.] THE SPECTATOR. 455 
 
 just threshed out of the sheaf. He then bid him 
 pick out the chaff from among the corn, and lay it 
 aside by itself The critic 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. L.'' 
 
 No. 292. MONDAY, Febeuaey 4, 1711-12. 
 
 lllam, quicquid agit, qnoqud vestigia flectit, 
 Componit fartim, Bubsequiturque decor. 
 
 TiBin. 4 Eleg. il 8. 
 
 Whatc'er she does, where'er her steps she bends, 
 Grace on each action silently attends. 
 
 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 addi- 
 tional grace required to give a claim of excelling in 
 this or that particular action. A diamond may want 
 polishing though the value may be still intrinsically 
 the same ; and the same good may be done with 
 different degrees of lustre. No man should be con- 
 tented with himself that he barely does well, but he 
 should perform every thing in the best and most 
 becoming manner that he is able. 
 
 TuUy tells us he wrote his book of Offices be- 
 cause there is no time of life in which some corres- 
 pondent duty might not be practised ; nor is there 
 a duty without a certain decency accompanying it, 
 
 ' By Addison, dated, it eeems, London. 
 
456 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 292. 
 
 by which every virtue it is joined to will seem to be 
 doubled. Another may do the same thing, and yet 
 the action want that air and beauty which distin- 
 guish it from others ; like that inimitable sunshine 
 Titian is said to have diffused over his landscapes, 
 which denotes them his, and has been always une- 
 qualled 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 ofl&ce 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 itself 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 pro- 
 claims the satisfaction of his mind in assisting the 
 distressed. 
 
 The decency then that is to be observed in lib- 
 erality, seems to consist in its being performed with 
 such cheerfulness as may express the god-like pleas- 
 ure to be met with in obliging one's fellow-crea- 
 tures ; that may show good-nature and benevolence 
 overflowed, and do not, as in some men, run upon 
 the tilt, and taste of the sediments of a grudging, 
 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 
 
No. 292.] THE SPECTATOR. 457 
 
 the humanity and good-nature which accompanies 
 it. It is a letter of Pliny's, which I shall here trans- 
 late, because the action will best appear in its first 
 dress of thought, without any foreign or ambitious 
 ornaments. 
 
 PLINY TO QUINTILIAN. 
 
 ' Though I am fully acquainted with the con- 
 tentment 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 distinc- 
 tion, whose figure in the world makes it necessary 
 for her to be at more than ordinary expense in 
 clothes and equipage suitable to her husband's qual- 
 ity ; by which, though her intrinsic 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 chal- 
 lenge to myself some part of the burthen ; and as 
 a parent of your child, I present her with twelve 
 hundred and fifty crowns towards these expenses ; 
 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 exigences 
 of the receiver, but even outrun his ^wishes. It is 
 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 
 
458 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 292. 
 
 into brutality, learning into pedantry, and the gen- 
 teelest demeanour into affectation. Even Religion 
 itself, unless Decency be the handmaid which waits 
 upon her, is apt to make people appear guilty of 
 sourness and ill-humour : but this shows Virtue in her 
 first original form, adds a comeliness to Religion, 
 and gives its professors the justest title to ' the beau- 
 ty 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 dif- 
 ferent, but the manner of doing them. 
 
 If you examine each feature by itself, Aglaura 
 and Cailliclea are equally handsome ; but take them 
 in the whole, and you cannot suffer the comparison : 
 the one is full of numberless nameless graces, the 
 other of as many nameless faults. 
 
 The comeliness of person and the decency of be- 
 haviour add infinite weight to what is pronounced 
 by any one. It is the want of this that often makes 
 the rebukes and advice of old rigid persons of no ef- 
 fect, and leaves a displeasure in the minds of those 
 they are directed to : but youth and beauty, if ac- 
 companied 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 de- 
 scribed ashamed but once, and that at the rebuke of 
 a beauteous angel : 
 
 ' So spake the cherub, and his gi-ave rebuke, 
 Severe in youthful beauty, added grace 
 Invincibly Abash'd the devil stood, 
 And felt how awful Goodness is, and saw 
 • Virtue in her own shape how lovely ! saw and pin'd 
 His loss.' 
 
 The care of doing nothing unbecoming has ac- 
 
No. 292.] THE SPECTATOR. 459 
 
 companied the greatest minds to their last moments. 
 They avoided even an indecent posture in the very- 
 article of death. Thus Gtesar gathered his robe 
 about him that he might not fall in a manner un- 
 becoming of himself; and the greatest concern 
 that appeared in the behaviour of Lucretia, when 
 she stabbed herself, was, that her body should lie in 
 an attitude worthy the mind which had inhabited it: 
 
 — 'STe non prooumbat honeste, 
 Extrema liKo etiam cura oadentis erat.' 
 
 Ovid. Fast. iii. 833. 
 
 ' 'Twas lier last thought, how decently to fall.' 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 at because I cannot 
 do the same myself I wear the hooped petticoat, 
 and am all in calicoes when the finest are in silks. 
 It is a dreadful thing to be poor and proud ; there- 
 fore, if you please, a lecture on that subject for the 
 satifaction of 
 
 ' Your uneasy humble servant, 
 Z.* ' Jezebel.' 
 
 • Tlie annotator cannot at present say Tvith certainty who -was the au- 
 thor of this paper, or of No. 286, and No. 316, which are marked with the 
 same signature Z ia the original edition of the Spect. in folio. This paper 
 has no signature in the 8to. of 111% but in the 12ino. of that date, of all 
 others perhaps the most correct edition, it is published as here with the 
 signature Z. The annotator will hazard his conjectures concerning the au- 
 thor of this and two other papers distinguished by the mark of Z, at the 
 close of No. 316. 
 
460 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 293. 
 
 No. 293. TUESDAY, Febkuart 5, 1711-12. 
 
 HaffLj/ yctp eiKppovovffl ffv^^ax^'t t^XO- 
 
 Frag. Vet. Poot 
 The prndent fltill have fortnne on their side. 
 
 The famous Gracian,* 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 unfor- 
 tunate ; which, notwithstanding the baseness of the 
 precept to an honest mind, may have something use- 
 ful 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 meas- 
 ures and schemes of life. When I hear a man com- 
 plain of his being unfortunate in all his undertak- 
 ings, I shrewdly suspect him for a very weak man 
 in his affairs. In conformity with this way of think- 
 ing, 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 famoua anta- 
 
 ' F. Balthazar Gracian, a Jesuit, -who died 1658, about the year 1637 
 began to publish six or seven little books in that branch of science which 
 lord Bacon styles The Doctrine of Business, under the titles of El Heroe, 
 Agudeza, El Politico, Fernando, El Discrete, El Criticon, and El Oraculo 
 Manual y arte de Prudeneia. They contain many curious observations, 
 wise maxims, and useful precepts ; but having often disjoined ' the wisdom 
 of the serpent from the innocence of the dove,' and recommended, as in 
 the instance here mentioned, dishonourable principles and immoral artifi- 
 ces for rising in life, he is really what the Italians call ' a sower of thorns,' 
 and just such a moralist as his countryman Don Quixote was a hero. The 
 Sieur Amelot de la Houssaie, in lYOY, published a French translation of 
 Gracian's El Oraoxilo Manual, (fee., with comments, and extracts from his 
 El Heroe and El Discreto, under the title of L'Homme de Cour, which is 
 the little book here quoted.— See Spect. Nos. 379, and 409, and Guardian, 
 No. 24. 
 
No. 293.] THE SPECTATOR. 461 
 
 gonist, the Count d'Olivares, was disgraced at the 
 court of Madrid, because it was alleged 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 
 wps, perhaps, for the reason above-mentioned, name- 
 ly, that a series of good fortune supposes a prudent 
 management in the person whom it befals, 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 themseves 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. Tor how can I conceive a man crowned with 
 many distinguishing blessings that has not some extra- 
 ordinary fund of merit and perfection in him, which 
 lies open to the Supreme eye, though perhaps it is 
 not discovered by my observation ? What is the 
 reason Homer's 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 natural- 
 ly 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 
 
462 THE SPECTATOR. L^O- 293. 
 
 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 unbe- 
 liever, who lies under the pressure of misfortunes, 
 has reason to cry out, as they say Brutus did a little 
 before his death : ' virtue, I have worshipped 
 thee as a substantial good, but I find thou art an 
 empty name.' 
 
 But, to return to our first point. Though Pru- 
 dence 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 com- 
 mand 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 hap- 
 pens that prudence, which has always in it a great 
 mixture of caution, hinders a man from being so for- 
 tunate 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 suc- 
 cesses, which are often the effect of a sanguine tem- 
 per or a more happy rashness ; and this perhaps may 
 be the reason that, according to the common obser- 
 vation. 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 
 
No, 293.] THE SPECTATOR. 463 
 
 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 de- 
 sirable there should be such a Being of infinite wis- 
 dom 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 you 
 see ° in 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 dtssvpantur f ' He blew with his 
 wind, and they were scattered.' 
 
 It is remarked of a famous Grecian general, 
 whose name I cannot at present recollect,"" 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 
 
 " Correction. Spect in folio. Wo. 295. 
 
 " Timotheus the Athenian. See Shaw's edit, of Lord Bacon's Works, 
 4to. vol. i. p. 219. 
 
464 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 293. 
 
 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 pur- 
 posely to show us, that our own schemes, or pru- 
 dence, have no share in our advancement. 
 
 Since on this subject I have already admitted 
 several quotations, which have occurred to my mem- 
 ory 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 itself lost insuch an 
 immensity of fluid matter, broke out into the follow- 
 ing reflection: 'Alas! What an-^ inconsiderable 
 creature am I in this prodigious ocean of waters ! 
 My existence is of no concern to the universe ; I am 
 reduced to a kind of nothing, and am less than 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 his humble soliloquy. The drop, says the fable, 
 lay a great while hardening in the shell, till by de- 
 grees it was ripened into a pearl, which falling into 
 the hands of a diver, after a long series of adven- 
 tures, is at present that famous pearl which is fixed 
 on the top of the Persian diadem. L.^ 
 
 » Altered from insignificant, aooording to a direction in Spect. in folio, 
 No. 295. 
 
 y The T placed at the bottom of this No. 293, in many later copies, is 
 certainly wrong, for it is marked with the signature L in the original pub- 
 lication in folio, in the 8vo. and 12mo. of 1Y12, and printed by Mr. Tickell 
 in his edition of Addison's Works in 4to. Vol. iii. p. 373. The corrections 
 above-mentioned concur likewise to proye that it was originally a paper 
 written by Addison, and probably, as the signature. L seems to imply, in 
 his London house. See final notes to Nos. 334, and 221. 
 
No. 294.] THE SPECTATOR. 465 
 
 No. 294. WEDNESDAY, Febeuaet 6, 1711-12. 
 
 DifficUo est plarimum virtatem revereri qui semper Becnnd^ fortune sit ufius. 
 
 TuLL, ad Herenniam 
 The man who is always fortunate, cannot easily have much reverence for virtue. 
 
 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 ad- 
 vantage, ' 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, 
 shows 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 re- 
 spect. It is indeed the greatest insolence imaginable, 
 in a creature who would feel the extremes of thirst 
 and hunger, if he did not prevent his appetites before 
 they call upon him, to be so forgetful of the common 
 necessities 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 joined 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 
 Vol. III.— -30 
 
466 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 294. 
 
 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 com- 
 . plained, 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 preju- 
 dices, 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 public spirit 
 the age has produced. But indeed, when we con- 
 sider how long this sort of beneficence has been on 
 foot, it is rather from the good management of these 
 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 thou- 
 sand 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 hooped petti- 
 coat, if she gives the price of one half yard of the 
 
No. 294.] THE SPECTATOR. 467 
 
 silk, towards clothing, feeding, and instructing an in- 
 nocent 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,'' than all the jewels that can hang in her hair 
 or can be clustered in her bosom. It would be un- 
 courtlj to speak in harsher words to the fair, but to 
 men one may take a little more freedom. It is mon- 
 strous 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 en- 
 joys wealth, and exerts no benevolence or bounty 
 to others. As for this particular occasion of these 
 schools, there cannot any offer more worthy a gen- 
 erous mind. Would you do an handsome thing with- 
 out return ; do it for an infant that is not sensible 
 of the obligation. Would you do it for public 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 give 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 reli- 
 gious education. What would not a man do in com- 
 mon 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 enforce an obedience 
 to them ? for one who would consider his master as 
 his father, his friend and benefactor, upon easy terms, 
 and in expectation of no other return but moderate 
 wages and gentle usage ? It is the common vice of 
 
 • The birth-day of her majesty Q. Anne, •who was 'born Feb. 6, 1665 
 and died Aug. 1, 1714, aged 49. 
 
468 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 294. 
 
 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 domestics, 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 de- 
 pendences : and the obligation would have a pater- 
 nal air in the master, who would be relieved from 
 much care and anxiety by the gratitude and diligence 
 of an humble friend attendiiag him as his servant. I 
 fall into this discourse from a letter sent to me to 
 give me notice that fifty boys would be clothed, 
 and take their seats (at the charge of some generous 
 benefactor) in St. Bride's church, on Sunday next. 
 I wish I could promise to myself any thing which 
 my correspondent seems to expect from a publica- 
 tion 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 charites, which my correspondent inclosed 
 with his letter. 
 
 ' The wise Providence has amply compensated 
 the disadvantages of the poor and indigent, in want- 
 ing many of the conveniences of this life, by a more 
 abundant provision for their happiness in the next. 
 Had they been higher born, or more richly endow- 
 ed,, they w:ould have wanted this manner of ediica- 
 
No. 295.] THE SPECTATOB. 469 
 
 tion, of wliicli 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 for- 
 tune, and their poverty is, in reality, their prefer- 
 ment.' T." 
 
 No. 295. THUESDAY, Febrtjaet 7, 1711-12. 
 
 Prodiganon sentit perountem foemina censum : 
 At, velut exbaustA redivivua pullulet arcd 
 Nummus, et 6 pleno semper toUatnr acervo, 
 Non uiK^uam reputat, quanti sibi gaudia constont. 
 
 Jtjt. Sat vi. 862. 
 But womankind, that never knows a mean, 
 ^ Down to the dregs their sinking fortunes drain : 
 
 Hourly they give, and spend, and waste, and wear. 
 And think no pleasure can be bought too dear. 
 
 Detdbn. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOB, 
 
 ' 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 4,001. a-year 
 for pin-money, which I obliged myself to pay quar- 
 terly into the hands of one who acted as her plenipo- 
 tentiary in that affair. I have ever since religiously 
 observed my part in this solemn agreement. Now, 
 
 " By Steele, composed or communicated from the letter-box. See No. 
 271, paragraph 1. 
 
470 THE SPECTATOR. [^°- 295- 
 
 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, straitens 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 quarter's 
 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 jail. 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, Puffen- 
 dorff, or any other of the civilians. 
 
 ' I am ever the humblest of your admirers, 
 ' JosiAH Fribble, Esq.' 
 
 As there is no man living who is a more pro- 
 fessed advocate for the fair-sex than myself, 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, un- 
 known to our great grandmothers, and not yet re- 
 ceived by many of our modern ladies, I think it is 
 
No. 295.] THE SPECTATOR. 471 
 
 for the interest of both sexes to keep it from spread- 
 ing. 
 
 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 beau- 
 tiful, 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 de- 
 mands accordingly. It must likewise be owned, 
 that high quality in a mistress does very much in- 
 flame 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 extraor- 
 dinary ; 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 con- 
 sumption 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 Fribble's 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 
 
472 THE SPECTATOR. i^°- ^^■^• 
 
 other conveniences of life ; I could therefore wish, 
 for the honour of my country-women, that they had 
 rather called it needle-money, which might have im- 
 plied something of good housewifery, 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 de- 
 fence of this practice, that it is but a necessary pro- 
 vision 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 herself to a man in marriage, 
 where there is the least room for such an apprehen- 
 sion, 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 pro- 
 verb) of being ' penny wise and pound foolish.' 
 
 It is observed of over-cautious generals, that they 
 never engage in a battle without securing a retreat 
 in case the event should not answer their expecta- 
 tions ; on the other hand, your greatest conquer- 
 ors have burnt their ships, and 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 af- 
 fection 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 
 
No- 295.] THE SPECTATOR. 473 
 
 is no greater incitement to love in the mind of man 
 than the sense of a person's depending upon him for 
 her ease and happiness ; as a woman uses all her en- 
 deavours to please the person whom she looks upon, 
 as her honour, her comfort, and her support. 
 
 For this reason I am not very much surprised 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 show 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 Alcibiades, says, he was in- 
 formed by one who had travelled through Persia, 
 that as he had passed over a great tract of land, and 
 inquired what the name of the place was, they told 
 him it was the Queen's Girdle : to which he adds, 
 that another wide field, which lay by it, was called 
 the Queen's 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 pin- 
 money. 
 
 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 
 farther informed me, that he would have given her 
 
474 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 296. 
 
 a coal-pit to keep her in clean linen, that he would 
 have allowed her the profits of a windmill for her 
 fans, and have presented her once in three years 
 with the shearing of his sheep for her under -petti- 
 coats. To which the knight always adds, that though 
 he did not care for fine clothes himself, there should 
 not have been a woman in the country better dress- 
 ed 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 hu- 
 mour 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.' 
 
 No. 296. FEIDAY, Febkuaey 8, 1711-12. 
 
 Nugia addere pondns 
 
 Hon, 1 Ep, sii. 42. 
 Add weight to trifles. 
 
 ' DEAR SPEC, 
 
 ' Having lately conversed much with the 
 fair sex on the subject of your speculations, (which 
 since their appearance in public, have been the chief 
 exercise of the female loquacious faculty,) I found 
 the fair ones possessed with a dissatisfaction at your 
 prefixing Greek mottos to the frontispieces 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 dis- 
 
 '■ By Addison, and dated, as the signature seems to imply, from bis 
 London house. See final note to No. 334 &c. 
 
No. 296.] THE SPECTATOR. 475 
 
 pleasure of your female readers, has usurped; for 
 though 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 it is legi- 
 ble ; 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 solicitor for the fair sex, and 
 therefore think myself in that character more likely 
 to be prevalent in this request than if I should sub- 
 scribe myself by my proper name. J. M. 
 
 ' I desire that you may insert this in one of your 
 speculations, to show my zeal for removing the dis- 
 satisfaction of the fair-sex, and restoring you to their 
 favour.' 
 
 ' SIR, 
 
 ' 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 
 captain's 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 herself in some toy- 
 ing 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 apart- 
 ments of several gentlemen, who I doubt not have 
 the same opinion of me. I must own I love to look 
 
476 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 296. 
 
 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 
 easy and pleasant. in the manner of my little man, 
 that I observe he is a favourite of all his acquaint- 
 ance. 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 the apartment of 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.' 
 
 Twice. 
 
 'MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 ab- 
 horrence, insomuch that she went out of church last 
 Sunday in the midst of divine service upon my com- 
 ing into the same pew. Pray, Sir, what must I do 
 in this business ? 
 
 Your servant, 
 
 ' EuPHUES. 
 
 Let her alone ten days. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 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 scrib- 
 bler had not genius enough in verse to turn my age. 
 
No. 296.] THE SPECTATOR. 477 
 
 as indeed I am an old maid, into raillery, for affect- 
 ing 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. 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, though they say it very ill. 
 ' I am Sm, your humble servant, 
 
 ' Susanna Lovebane.' 
 
 ' MR. spectator, 
 
 ' 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 other- 
 wise) stands up, and reads your paper to us all. We 
 are the civilest 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.' 
 
 'SIR, 
 
 '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 la- 
 dies, who laugh immoderately all the time. Some 
 
478 THE SPECTATOB. [No. 297. 
 
 wlio pretend to be my friends tell me they do it in 
 derision, and would advise me to leave it off, "withal 
 that I make myself ridiculous. I don't know what 
 to do in this affair, but I am resolved not to give 
 over upon any account until I have the opinion of 
 the Spectator. 
 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 'John Teott.' 
 
 ' 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," 'The Spectatoe.' 
 
 No. 297. SATURDAY, Febeuaey 9, 1711-12. 
 
 — ^velut si 
 EgTcgio inspersos ropreudas corpore Dievos. 
 
 Hou. 1 Sat Tl 66. 
 As perfect beauties somewhere haye a mode. 
 
 Cbbeoh. 
 
 * * 
 « 
 
 After what I have said in my last Saturday's paper, 
 I shall enter on the subject of this without farther 
 
 " See Spect No. 308, letter 4. No. 814, letter 2. No. 316, and No. 
 376, letter 2. 
 
 * By Steele, from the letter-box. — See Spect. No. atl, and final notes 
 to No. 324, &a. 
 
 *«* Continuation of the Critique on the Paradise Lost. 
 By Addison. 
 Part vL On the defects and faults in the fable, sentiments, and diction 
 of that poem.— See Nos. 267, 273, 279, 285, 291, 303, 309, 315, 321, 327, 
 333, 339, 345, 351, 357, 363, and 369. 
 
No. 297.] THE SPECTATOR. 479 
 
 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 allege 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 Aristo- 
 tle's division, either simple or implex. It is called 
 simple when there is no change of fortune in it ; im- 
 plex, 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 read- 
 er, and to surprise him with a greater variety of ac- 
 cidents. 
 
 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 stories of 
 Ulysses and JEneas.* 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, particu- 
 larly 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 
 
 ° Corrected according to a direction of the author in Ifo. 316i — Spect. 
 in folio. 
 
480 THE SPECTATOE. C^O- 297. 
 
 man. I have taken some pains in a former paper to 
 show, 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 imper- 
 fection 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 infer- 
 nal spirits, as it is described in a beautiful passage 
 of the third book ; and likewise by the vision where- 
 in Adam, at the close of the poem, sees his offspring 
 triumphing over his gre^t enemy, and himself re- 
 stored to a happier paradise than that from which 
 he fell. 
 
 There is another objection against Milton's fa- 
 ble, which is indeed almost the same with the former, 
 though 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 occa- 
 sion to Mr. Dryden's reflection, that the devil was 
 in reality Milton's hero. 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 if he will needs fix the name 
 of an hero upon any person in it, it is certainly the 
 Messiah; who is the hero, both in the principal ac- 
 tion and in the chief episodes. Paganism could not 
 
No. 297.] THE SPECTATOR. 481 
 
 furnisli out a real action for a fable greater than that 
 of the Iliad or ^neid, and therefore an heathen 
 could not form an higher notion of a poem than one 
 of that kind which they call an heroic. Whether 
 Milton's is not of a sublimer nature I will not pre- 
 sume to determine : it is sufficient that I show 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 particu- 
 lars 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 pas- 
 sages in the second book. Such allegories rather 
 savour of the spirit of Spenser and Ariosto, than of 
 Homer and Virgil. 
 
 In the structure of his poem he has likewise ad- 
 mitted 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. 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 ^neas or Achilles speak, than when Virgil or 
 Homer talk in their own persons. Besides that as- 
 suming the character of an eminent man is apt to fire 
 the imagination, and raise the ideas of an author. 
 TuUy tells us, mentioning his dialogue of old age, 
 in which Cato is the chief speaker, that upon a re- 
 view of it he was agreeably imposed upon, and 
 fancied that it was Cato and not he himself^ who 
 uttered his thoughts on that subject. 
 
 Vol. III. — 31 
 
482 THE SPECTATOR. [^0. 297. 
 
 If the reader would be at the pains to see how 
 the story of the Iliad and the ^neid is delivered by 
 those persons who act in it, he will be surprised to 
 find how little in either of these poems proceeds 
 from the authors. Milton has, in the general dispo- 
 sition of his fable, very finely observed this great 
 rule ; insomuch that there is scarce a tenth ^ 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 ^neid, 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 
 -^neid, and the death of Turnus, whom ^Eneas slew 
 because he saw him adorned with the spoils of Pal- 
 las, turns upon this incident, Virgil went out of his 
 way to make this reflection upon it, without which 
 
 '' Spect. in folio ; but a tenth is altered into third in the first 8to. edi- 
 tion .of I'? 12. 
 
No. 297.] THE SPECTATOR. 483 
 
 SO small a circumstance might possibly have slipt 
 out of his reader's memory. Lucan, who was an in- 
 judicious poet, lets drop his story very frequently 
 for the sake of his unnecessary digressions, or his 
 diverticula, as Scaliger calls them. If he gives us 
 an account of the prodigies which preceded the civil 
 war, he declaims upon the occasion, and shows 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 appre- 
 hension of it. Milton's complaint of his blindness, 
 his panegyric on marriage, his reflections on Adam 
 and Eve's going naked, of the angels eating, and 
 several other passages in his poem, are liable to the 
 same exception, though 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 puns. Of this last 
 kind I am afraid is that in the first book, where, 
 speaking of the pygmies, he calls them, 
 
 — ' The small Infantry 
 Warr'd on by cranes ' — 
 
 Another blemish that 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 
 
 K See No. 2V3. 
 
484 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 297. 
 
 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 shows itself 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, transposi- 
 tions, and foreign idioms. Seneca's objection to the 
 style of a great author, Riget ejus oratio, nihil in ea 
 flacidum, nihil lene,^ is what many critics make to 
 Milton. As I cannot wholly refute it, so I have 
 already apologized for it in another paper : to which 
 I may farther 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 
 
No. 297.] THE SPECTATOR. 485 
 
 affects a kind of jingle in his words, as in the fol- 
 lowing passages and many others : 
 
 ' And brought into the world a world of woe. 
 
 ^Begirt th' Almighty throne 
 
 Beseeching or besieging 
 
 This tempted onr attempt 
 
 At one slight bound high overleaps aU 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 rhetoric among the beauties of that art. But 
 as it is in itself 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 learn- 
 ed 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 itself 
 in such easy language as may be understood by or- 
 dinary 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 starboard sea and land. — ' 
 
 Milton makes use of larboard in the same manner. 
 When he is upon building, he mentions doric pil- 
 lars, pilasters, cornice, frieze, architrave. When he 
 talks of heavenly bodies, you meet with ' ecliptic 
 and eccentric, the trepidation, stars dropping from 
 the zenith, rays culminating from the equator:' to 
 
486 THE SPECTATOR. [^0. 298. 
 
 which might be added many instances of the like 
 kind in several other arts and sciences. 
 
 1 shall in my next papers 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. L.*' 
 
 No. 298. MONDAY, January 11, 1711-12. 
 
 l^asquam tnta fides— 
 
 Tmo. Mn. iv. 878. 
 Honour is nowhere safe. 
 
 ' MB. SPECTATOR, Lond. Feb. 1711-12 
 
 ' I am a virgin, and in no case despicable, 
 but yet such as I am I must remain, or else become, it 
 is 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 easy admittance of addresses, the 
 same vitiated relish of the conversation of the great- 
 est rakes (or in a more fashionable way of expressing 
 one's self, of such as have seen the world most), 
 still abounds, increases, multiplies. 
 
 ' The humble petition therefore of many of the 
 most strictly virtuous, and of myself, is, that you 
 will once more exert your authority, and that, ac- 
 
 ■• By AddisoD, dated, it seems, from his house in London ; for the sig- 
 nature I in the Spect. in folio is most probably a typographical error, and 
 placed by mistake for L, which is put to it in the first editions of 1712, iij 
 8vo. andin 12mo. Nevertheless the signature I appears to have been 
 used by him when he dated from Islington. See No. 834, note. 
 
No. 298.] THE SPECTATOR. 487 
 
 cording to your late promise, your full, your impar-; 
 tial authority on this sillier branch of our kind ; for 
 why should they be the uncontrollable 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 
 yourself, 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 am 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 reprehen- 
 sion of this female degeneracy came out, I have had 
 a tender of respects from no less than five persons, 
 of tolerable figure too as times go ; but the misfor- 
 tune 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 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 
 
 i See No. 286 let L 
 
488 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 298. 
 
 and dealings with ? Thus these : whilst the third, 
 the country squire, confessed, that indeed he was 
 surprised into good-breeding, and entered into the 
 knowledge of the world unawares ; that dining the 
 other 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 con- 
 tempt of an absent gentleman for being so slow at a 
 hint, that he had resolved never to be drowsy, un- 
 mannerly, or stupid, for the future at a friend's 
 house ; and on an 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 less 
 full of the age than the former ; for he had the gal- 
 lantry to tell me, that at a late junket which he was 
 invited to, the motion being made, and the ques- 
 tion being put, it was by maid, wife, and widow re- 
 solved nemine contradicente, that a young sprightly 
 journeyman is absolutely necessary in their way of 
 business : to which they had the assent and concur- 
 rence of the husbands present. I dropt him a 
 courtesy, 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 those 
 above-mentioned, till I hoped some good from the 
 character of my present admirer, a clergyman. But 
 I find even among them there are indirect practices 
 in relation to love, and our treaty is at present a little 
 in suspense, until some circumstances are cleared. 
 There is a charge against him among the women, and 
 the case is this : It is alleged, that a certain en- 
 
No. 298.] THE SPECTATOR 489 
 
 dowed female -would have appropriated herself to, 
 and consolidated herself with a church which my 
 divine now enjoys (or, which is the same thing, did 
 prostitute herself to her friend's doing this for her) : 
 that my ecclesiastic, 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 re- 
 nounced the carnal. 
 
 ' I put this closely to him, and taxed him with 
 disingenuity. He to clear himself made the subse- 
 quent 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 there- 
 of 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 
 beforehand, and safe from all their after-expectations, 
 (the only stratagem left to draw him in,) was given 
 him : — that pursuant to this the donation itself 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 country, and wherever 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 
 di:.;ci)rery of these designs thus laid to trick him, he 
 
490 THE SPBOTATOB. [No. 299. 
 
 could not but afterwards, in justice to himself, vin- 
 dicate both his innocence and freedom, by keeping 
 his proper distance. 
 
 ' This is his apology, and I think I shall be satis- 
 fied with it. But I cannot conclude my tedious 
 epistle without recommending to you not only to re- 
 sume 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 offend- 
 ing 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, 
 T.'' Chastity Loveworth. 
 
 No. 299. TUESDAY, Fbbruaet 12, 1711-12. 
 
 3VIalo Venusinam, quam te, Cornelia, mater 
 Gracchorum, si cum magnis virtutibus affers 
 Grande supercilium, et numeras in dote triumphos. 
 Telle timm, precor, Hannibalem, victumque Syphacem 
 In castris, et cum tota Carthagine migra. 
 
 Juv. Sat vi. 16T. 
 Some country girl, scarce to a curtsey bred, 
 Wou'd I much rather than Cornelia wed; 
 If supercilious, haugbty, proud, and vain, 
 She brought her father's triumphs in her train. 
 Away with all your Carthaginian state; 
 Let vanquish'd Hannibal without doors wait, 
 Too burly and too big to pass my narrow gate. 
 Dktdbn. 
 
 It is observed, that a man improves more by reading 
 the story of a person eminent for prudence and vir- 
 
 ^ By Steele, probably transcribed, as the signature seems to signify; 
 though it was sometimes, perhaps, the distinguishing mark of Mr. T. Tic- 
 kelL See notes to No9. 324, 410, tfee. 
 
No. 299.] THE SPECTATOR. 491 
 
 tue, than by the finest rules and precepts of morality. 
 In the same manner a representation of those calam- 
 ities 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 indiscre- 
 tions in 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. 
 
 ' MR. SPECTATOR, 
 
 'Havino 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.™ I have naturally a very hap- 
 py 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 consider- 
 able business, and became a bold trader both by 
 
 ' See No. 295. 
 
 "■ It has been said by some, that the author of this letter, alluded here 
 
 to Gore, of Tring, and lady Mary Compton ; but others with more 
 
 probability have assured the annotator, that the letter referred to sir Am- 
 brose Crowley and his lady. See Tat. ed. 1786, or. 8vo. vol. v. additional 
 notes, p. 405 and 406.— N.B. This ironmonger changed his name from 
 Crowley to Crawley, a folly which seems to be ridiculed here by the 
 change of Anvil into Envil, absurdly made by his lady. 
 
492 THE SPECTATOR. C^O- 299. 
 
 sea and land, which in a few years raised me a very 
 great " 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 fam- 
 ily, 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 newspapers call it, desiring her to write upon it 
 her own terms. She was very concise in her de- 
 mands, 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 ex- 
 tremely 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 
 show 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 herself Mary Bnville. I have had 
 some children by her whom she has christened with 
 the surnames of her family, in order, as she tells me 
 to wear out the homeliness of their parentage by 
 the father's side. Our eldest son is the honourable 
 Oddly Enville, esq. and our eldest daughter Harriet 
 Enville. Upon her first coming into my family, she 
 
 " Corrected by direction in the original edition in folio, No. 301, to 
 read great for considerable. 
 
No. 299.] THE SPECTATOR. 493 
 
 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 nobody understands ex- 
 cept my lady Mary. She next set herself to reform 
 every room of my house, having glazed all my chim- 
 ney-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 myself 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 saucy frown, and say 
 every thing which I find fault with was done by my 
 lady Mary's order. She tells me that she intends they 
 shall wear swords with their next liveries, having 
 lately observed the footmen of two or three per- 
 sons of quality hanging behind the coach with swords 
 by their sides. As soon as the first honeymoon was 
 over, I represented to her, the unreasonableness of 
 those daily innovations which she made in my fami- 
 ly ; but she told me I was no longer to consider my- 
 self as sir John AnvU, 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 free- 
 
494 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 299. 
 
 doms 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 mother's family, that they know the stories 
 of all the great men and women it has produced. 
 Their mother tells them that such an one command- 
 ed in such a sea engagement : that their great-grand- 
 father 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 Har- 
 riet, 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 be- 
 fore he was nine years old, and told me that he ex- 
 pected to be used like a gentleman : upon my offer- 
 ing to correct him for his insolence, my lady Mary 
 stept in between us, and told me that I ought to con- 
 sider there was some difference between his mother 
 and mine. She is perpetually finding out the fea- 
 tures of her own relations in every one of my chil- 
 dren, though, by the way, I have a little chub-faced 
 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 lit- 
 tle as possible, that they may not learn any of my 
 awkward tricks. 
 
 ' You must farther know, since I am opening my 
 
No. 299.1 THE SPECTATOR. 495 
 
 heart to you, that she thinks herself 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, won- 
 ders that I will dispute with her, when I know very 
 well that her great-grandfather was a flag ofi&cer. 
 
 • To complete my sufferings, she has teazed me 
 for this quarter of a year last past, to remove into 
 one of the squares at the other end of the town, pro- 
 mising 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 it wHl 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 myself, with great sor- 
 row of heart, 
 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 L.° ' John Enville, knt' 
 
 ° By Addison, dated, it seems, from his house in Loudon. See !No. 308 
 and final notes to Nos. 5, 334, and 221, on Addison's signatures 0, L, I, 
 
496 THE SPECTATOK. [No. 300., 
 
 No. 300. WEDNESDAY, Febeuaey 13, 1711-12. 
 
 — Diversum vitio vitium propi majus. 
 
 Hoe. 1 Ep. xviii. 5. 
 — ^Another failing of tho mind. 
 Greater than this, of a quite different kind. 
 
 FooLy. 
 
 'ME. SPECTATOR, 
 
 ' 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 con- 
 cerns 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 suspense for fear of their falling into extren ities 
 which they could not be present at. On the other 
 side, Tom Faddle and his pretty spouse, wherever 
 they come, are billing at such a rate as they think 
 must do our hearts good who behold them. Cannot 
 you possibly propose a mean between being wasps 
 and doves in public ? 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 
 bottoms 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 
 
No. 300.] THK SPECTATOR. 497 
 
 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 
 public, 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- 
 est offenders in this kind. Here I think I have laid 
 before you an open field of pleasantry ; and hope 
 you will show 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.' 
 
 ' mr. spectator, 
 
 ' 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 with- 
 out 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 wo- 
 men 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 
 
 V See No. 288. 
 vou iiL — 32 
 
498 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 300. 
 
 false addresses. I can't persuade myself that your 
 design is to debar the sexes the benefit of each other's 
 conversation within the rules of honour ; nor will 
 you, I dare say, recommend to them, or encourage 
 the common tea-table talk, much less that of politics 
 and matter of state : and if these are forbidden sub- 
 jects of discourse, then as long as there are any wo- 
 men in the world who take a pleasure in hearing 
 themselves praised, aud can bear the sight of a man 
 prostrate at their feet, so long I shall make no won- 
 der 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 myself your par- 
 don. 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 them, and are obliged themselves to take 
 care of them ; but if these who ought to hinder men 
 from all opportunities of this sort of conversation, 
 instead of that encourage and promote it, the sus- 
 picion is very just that there are some private rea- 
 sons for it ; and I will 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 
 governors, and are set up for themselves, who yet 
 are liable to these attempts; but if these are pre- 
 vailed upon, you must excuse me if I lay the fault 
 upon them, that their wisdom is not grown with their 
 
No. 300.] THE SPECTATOR. 499 
 
 years. My client, Mr. Strephon, whom you sum- 
 moned to declare himself, gives you thanks however 
 for your warning, and begs the favour only to en- 
 large his time for a week, or to the last day of the 
 term, and then he will appear gratis, and pray no 
 day over. Yours, 
 
 ' Philanthropos.' 
 
 ' mr. spectator, 
 
 ' I WAS last night to visit a lady whom 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 myself to you 
 on this occasion. In the room of that civility and 
 familiarity I used to be treated with by her, an af- 
 fected 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 myself 
 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 ourselves towards this valetudinary 
 friendship, subject to so many heats and colds, and 
 you will oblige, 
 
 ' Sir, Your humble servant, 
 
 'Miranda.' 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' I CANNOT forbear acknowledging the de- 
 light your late Spectators on Saturdays have given 
 me ; for they are writ in the honest spirit of criti- 
 cism, and called to my mind the following four lines 
 I had read long since in a prologue to a play called 
 
500 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 301, 
 
 Julius Ccesar,^ which has deserved a better fate. The 
 verses are addressed to the little critics : 
 
 " Show 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." 
 
 T.' 'Yours, D. G.' 
 
 No. 301. THURSDAY, February 14, 1711-12. 
 
 Possint ut juvenes visere fervidi 
 
 Multo non sine rlsa, 
 Dilapaam in cineres facem. 
 
 Hoe. 4 Od. xlU. 26. 
 
 That all may laugh to see that glaring ]ight, 
 Which lateiy shone so fierce and bright, 
 End in a stink at last, and vanish into night 
 
 Anow. 
 
 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 persuade ourselves 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, though he is come to dotage ; 
 
 ' A tragedy by William Alexander, earl of Stirling, fol. 1629, and much 
 the most regular dramatic piece of thia noble author. His style is senten- 
 tious, but not pure or correct, for which however his lordship pleads his 
 country. He has ran into the same fault which Shakspeare committed 
 before him, viz. the not closing the piece with the most natural and affect- 
 ing catastrophe, the death of Caesar. 
 
 ' By Steele transcribed, or composed from the letter-box. — See Spect. 
 Nob. 271, and 324, note on Steele's signatures R and T, which last appears 
 to have been sometimes the distinguishing mark used by Mr. Thomas 
 Tiekell.— See No. 410, <fco. notes. 
 
No. 301.] THE SPECTATOE. 501 
 
 without ever considering that his memory is im- 
 paired, and that he hath 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, though he 
 is past three score. It is this, in a word, which fills 
 the town with elderly fops and superannuated co- 
 quettes. 
 
 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 for- 
 bidding 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 behold- 
 ers, 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 Second's 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 though I do not always ap- 
 prove of my friend Will's taste, I liked this letter so 
 well, that I took a copy of it, with which I shall here 
 present my reader : 
 
502 . THE SPECTATOR. [No. 301 
 
 TO CLOE. 
 ' MADAM, 
 
 ' Since my waking thoughts have never 
 been able to influence you in my favour, I am re- 
 solved to try whether my dreams can make any im- 
 pression on you. To this end I shall give you an 
 account of a very odd one which my fancy pre- 
 sented 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 have ever seen. The ground on each side of 
 it rose by an easy 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 mag- 
 nificent temple. The structure was ancient and reg- 
 ular. 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 satisfy 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 yourself: in 
 reality it was so ; you lay extended on the flowers 
 by the side of the river, so that your hands, which 
 
No. 301.] THE SPECTATOR. 503 
 
 were thrown in a negligent posture, almost touched 
 the water. Your eyes were closed ; but if year 
 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 tranquillity you slept in, 
 especially when I considered the uneasiness you 
 produce in so many others. 
 
 'While I was wholly taken up in these reflec- 
 tions, the doors of the temple flew open with a very 
 great noise ; and lifting up my eyes, I saw two fig- 
 ures, 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 difi'use themselves over 
 your whole person. You appeared more than mor- 
 tal ; but, to my great surprise, continued fast asleep, 
 though the two deities made several gentle efforts 
 to awaken you. 
 
 ' 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. 
 
504 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 301. 
 
 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 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 drop- 
 ped 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 phantom caught you in his arms. You may 
 easily guess at the change you suffered in this em- 
 brace. For my own part, though I am still too full 
 of the dreadful idea, I will not shock you with a de- 
 scription of it. I was so startled at the sight, that 
 my sleep immediately left me, and I found myself 
 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.' 
 X." 
 
 ■ By Mr. Eustace BudgelL See Speet. No. 555. 
 
No. 302.J THE SPECTATOR. 505 
 
 No. 302. FEIDAY, Febeuaet 15, 1711-12. 
 
 — Lachrymtequo decorse 
 
 Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore virtus. 
 
 Vies. ^n. y. 348. 
 Becoming sorrows, and a virtuous mind 
 More lovely, in a beauteous form inshria'd. 
 
 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, 
 
 ' 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 industri- 
 ously obscured the whole by the addition of one or 
 two circumstances of no consequence, that the per- 
 son it is drawn from might still be concealed ; and 
 that the writer of it might not be in the least sus- 
 
 ' This paper, No. 302, has been claimed by Mr. Buncombe, for Mr. John 
 Hughes. See Letters of John Hughes, esq. and several other eminent per- 
 sons deceased, Vol. iii. p. 8, note. It has been said, that the real lady 
 whose character is drawn here under the name of Emilia, was Ann, count- 
 ess of Coventry, commonly called Lady Ann Coventry. 
 
 Mr. Buncombe, sen. for from him the information above-mentioned is 
 derived, was certainly wrong in his supposition that Mr. John Hughes was 
 the writer of this character of Emilia. The real writer was Br. Brome, 
 the clergyman of the parish in which the lady lived who is celebrated here 
 under the name of Emilia. She was the mother of Mrs. Asoham, of Con- 
 nington in Cambridgeshire, and grandmother of the present lady Hatton. 
 This very amiable lady was a great benefactress to Mrs. Ockley, the daugh- 
 ter of Dr. Simon Ockley, who was left at the death of her father, not in 
 very easy circumstances. Mrs. Ockley, on whose unsuspicieus testimony 
 this information rests, affirms from her own personal knowledge of the real 
 lady, that the character is faithfully delineated. An internal circumstance 
 in the paper itself, the repeated mention of the name of Bromius, seems to 
 corroborate the testimony of Mrs. Ockley, and to vouch for the propriety 
 of the assignment of this paper to Dr. Brome. 
 
506 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 302. 
 
 pected, and for some other reasons, I choose not to 
 give it in 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 por- 
 tion of that sex which is therefore called fair ; but 
 the happy concurrence of both these excellences in 
 the same person, is a character too celestial to be fre- 
 quently met with. Beauty is an overweening self- 
 suf&cient thing, careless of providing itself any more 
 substantial ornaments ; nay so little does it consult 
 its own interests, that it too often defeats itself, by 
 betraying that innocence which renders it lovely and 
 desirable. As therefore virtue makes a beautiful wo- 
 man appear more beautiful, so beauty makes a vir- 
 tuous 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, though the attractives of her beauty 
 play almost irresistibly upon you, and create desire. 
 
No. 302.] THE SPECTATOR. 507 
 
 you immediately stand corrected, not by the severi- 
 ty, but the decency of her virtue. That sweetness 
 and good-humour, which is so visible in her face, 
 naturally diffuses itself 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 gratify • 
 himself Her person, as it is thus studiously embel- 
 lished 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 cheer- 
 ful resignation. ^ 
 
 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 suUenness and reserve, in many fear, in others 
 the despondings of a melancholy complexion, in 
 others the formality of insignificant uuaflFecting ob- 
 servances, in others severity, in others ostentation. 
 In Emilia it is a principle founded in reason, and en- 
 livened with hope ; it does not break forth into irre- 
 gular 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 constitu- 
 tion. 
 
 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 distress is an object that carries in it some- 
 thing inexpressibly moving: it softens the most 
 manly heart with the tenderest sensations of love 
 
508 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 302. 
 
 and compassion, till at length it confesses its human- 
 ity, and flows out into tears. 
 
 Were I to relate that part of Emilia's life which 
 has given her an opportunity of exerting the hero- 
 ism of Christianity, it would make too sad, too ten- 
 . der a story : but when I consider her alone in the 
 midst of her distresses, looking beyond this gloomy 
 vale of affliction and sorrow, in the joys of heaven 
 and immortality, and when I see her in conversation 
 thoughtless and easy, as if she were the most happy 
 creature in the world, I am transported with admi- 
 ration. 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 im- 
 perfect 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 
 nobody denies, and therefore has the esteem of all 
 her acquaintance as a woman of an agreeable person 
 and conversation ; but (whatever her husband may 
 
No. 302.] THE SPECTATOR. 509 
 
 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 per- 
 sonal charms, though 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 increase the torments of her dis- 
 appointed 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 increased to a plentiful 
 estate. This for a good while proved his misfortune, 
 as it furnished his unexperienced age with the op- 
 portunities 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 hu- 
 manizing his passions, and refining his pleasures. 
 She has showed him, by her own example, that vir- 
 tue is consistent with decent freedoms and good-hu- 
 mour, or rather that it cannot subsist without them. 
 Her good sense readily instructed her, that a silent 
 example, and an easy unrepining behaviour, will al- 
 
510 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 302. 
 
 ways be more persuasive than the severity of lec- 
 tures 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 him- 
 self. Thus by an artful train of management, and 
 unseen persuasions, 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 advan- 
 tage, by approving it as his thought, 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 cannot forbear mentioning : to some, per- 
 haps, it may at first sight appear but a trifling incon- 
 siderable circumstance ; but for my part, I think it 
 highly worthy of observation, and to be recommend- 
 ed to the consideration of the fair sex. I have 
 often thought wrapping-gowns and dirty linen, with 
 all that huddled economy of dress which passes un- 
 der the general name of ' a mob,' the bane of conju- 
 gal 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 
 surprised by company in such a dishabille, 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 ourselves, and I did not expect to 
 see such good company.' — This, by the way, is a 
 fine compliment to the good man, which it is ten to 
 one but he returns in dogged answers and a churlish 
 behaviour, without knowing what it is that puts him 
 out of humour. 
 
No. 302.] THE SPECTATOR. 511 
 
 Emilia's observation teaches her, that as little 
 inadvertences and neglects cast a blemish upon a 
 great character; so the neglect of apparel, even 
 among the most intimate friends, does insensibly les- 
 sen their regards to each other, by creating a famil- 
 iarity too low and contemptible. She understands 
 the importance of those things which the generality 
 account trifles ; and considers every thing as a mat- 
 ter of consequence that has the least tendency to- 
 wards 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 plea- 
 sed for life. 
 
 By the help of these and a thousand other name- 
 less arts, which it is easier for her to practise than 
 for another to express, by the obstinacy of her good- 
 ness and unprovoked submission, in spite of all her 
 afflictions and ill usage, Bromias is become a man of 
 sense and a kind husband, and Emilia an happy wife. 
 
 Ye guardian angels, to whose care heaven has 
 intrusted 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 unre- 
 provable to a better place, where by an easy tran- 
 sition from what she now is, she may shine forth an 
 angel of light. 
 
 m n 
 
 ° Steele seems to have made use of the signature T for papers which 
 he composed or communicated from the letter-box, perhaps, whether the 
 real writer was known to him or not. SeeSpeot. No. 271, and No. 324, 
 note on T. 
 
512 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 303. 
 
 No. 303,» SATUKDAY, February 16, 1711-12. 
 
 Tolet hfEC Bub luce videri, 
 
 Jadicis argutum qnsa non fomidat acumen. 
 
 HoK. AiB. Poet, 868. 
 
 Some choose the clearest light, 
 
 And boldly challenge the most piercing eye. 
 
 EoaooMUON. 
 
 I HAVE seen, in the works of a modern philosoplier, 
 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-men- 
 tioned, there are some which glow more intensely, 
 and dart a stronger light than others ; so notwith- 
 standing I have already shown 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 verses : 
 
 ' 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 blissful seat. 
 Sing heav'nly muse ! — ' 
 
 These lines are perhaps as plain, simple, and un- 
 adorned, as any of the whole poem, in which par- 
 ticular the author has conformed himself to the ex- 
 ample of Homer, and the precept of Horace. 
 
 His invocation to a work, which turns in a great 
 
 * Continuation of the critique on the Paradise Lost, by Addison. 
 Part Tii. On the first book of that poem. See Nos. 267, 273, 279, 286, 
 291, 297, 809, 315, 821, 327, 333, 339, 346, 351, 857, 863, and 369. 
 
No. 303.] THF SPECTATOR. 513 
 
 measure upon the creation of the world, is very pro- 
 perly 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 op- 
 erating after a particular manner in the first produc- 
 tion 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 cir- 
 cumstance of the exclusion of Hope from those in- 
 fernal 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 art- 
 fully interwoven. In short, his first speech is a com- 
 plication of all those passions which discover them- 
 selves 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 terrify the reader's 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 : 
 
 Vol. III.— 33 
 
514 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 303. 
 
 ' Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate, 
 "With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes 
 That sparkling blaz'd ; 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 
 Driv'n backward, slope their pointing spires, and, 
 
 roU'd 
 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 pond'rous shield 
 
 Ethereal temper, massy, large and round. 
 Behind him oast ; the broad circumference 
 Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
 Tliro' optic glass the Tuscan artist view 
 At ev'ning, from the top of Fesol6, 
 Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands. 
 Rivers or mountains in her spotty globe. 
 His spear (to equal which the tallest pine 
 Hewn on Norwegian hills, to he the mast 
 Of some great Ammiral, were but a wand) 
 He walk'd with, to support uneasy steps 
 Over the burning marie ' 
 
 To which we may add his call to the fallen an- 
 gels that lay plunged and stupified in the sea of fire : 
 
 ' He call'd so loud, that aU 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 lines : 
 
 — ' He, above the rest 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
 Stood like a tower, &o.' 
 
 His sentiments are every way answerable to his 
 
No. 303.] THE SPECTATOR. 515 
 
 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 tor- 
 ments : 
 
 — ' Hail horrors ! hail 
 Infernal world ! and thou profoundest hell 
 Receive thy new possessor, one who brings 
 A mind not to be chang'd by place or time.' 
 
 And afterwards : 
 
 — ' Here at least 
 "We shall be free : the 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 heU • 
 Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.' 
 
 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 sub- 
 stance.' 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 fre- 
 quently 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 prepar'd 
 To speak ; whereat their doubled ranks they bend 
 
516 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 303. 
 
 From wing to wing, and half inclose him round 
 With all his peers : Attention held them mute. 
 Thrice he assay'd, 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 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 Homer's catalogue of ships, and Virgil's list of 
 warriors, in his view. The characters of Moloch 
 and Belial prepare the reader's mind for their re- 
 spective speeches and behaviour in the second and 
 sixth book. The account of Thammuz is finely ro- 
 mantic, 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 allur'd 
 The Syrian damsels to lament his fate. 
 In am'rous ditties all a summer's day ; 
 While smooth Adonis from his native rock 
 Ran purple to the sea, suppos'd with blood 
 Of Thammuz yearly wounded : the love tale 
 Infected Sion's daughters with like heat ; 
 Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch 
 Bzekiel saw, when, by the vision led, 
 His eye surveyed 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 of this ancient piece 
 of worship, and probably the first occasion of such 
 a superstition. ' We came to a fair large river — 
 
 " This quotation from Milton, and the paragraph immediately follow- 
 ing it, were not in the first publication of this paper in foUo. 
 
No. 303.] THE SPECTATOR. 517 
 
 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 moun- 
 tains, out of which the stream rises. Something like 
 this we saw actually come to pass ; for the water 
 was stained to a surprising redness ; and as we ob- 
 served in travelling, had discoloured the sea a great 
 way into a reddish hue, occasioned 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 contrac- 
 tion or enlargement of their dimensions, is introduced 
 with great judgment, to make way for several sur- 
 prising accidents in the sequel of the poem. There 
 follows one, at the very end of the first book, which 
 is what the French critics 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 im- 
 mediately shrunk themselves into a small compass, 
 that there might be room for such a numberless as- 
 sembly in this capacious hall. But it is the poet's 
 refinement upon this thought which I most admire, 
 and which is indeed very noble in itself. For he 
 tells us, that notwithstanding the vulgar, among the 
 fallen spirits, contracted their, forms, those of the 
 
518 THE SPECTATOE. [No. 303. 
 
 first rank and dignity still preserved their natural 
 dimensions : ^ 
 
 ' Thus incorporeal spirits to smallest forms 
 Beduc'd 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 Seraphic lords and cherubim 
 In close recess and secret conclave sat, 
 A thousand demi-gods on golden seats, 
 Frequent and fall' — 
 
 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 de- 
 scription of Azazel's stature, and the infernal stand- 
 ard 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 glimm'ring of those livid flames 
 Oasts pale and dreadful ' — 
 
 The shout of the whole host of fallen angels when 
 drawn up in battle array : 
 
 — ' The universal host up sent 
 A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond 
 Frighted the reign of Ohaos 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 views, their order due, 
 
 " See Newton's edit, of Paradise Lost, vol. i. p. 83. 
 
No. 303.] THE SPECTATOR. 519 
 
 Their visages and stature as of gods, 
 Their numher last he sums. And now his heart 
 Distends with pride, and hard'ning in his strength 
 Glories — ' 
 
 The flash of light which appeared upon the draw- 
 ing of their swords: 
 
 ' He spake : and to confirm his words out flew 
 Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs 
 Of mighty cherubim ; the sudden blaze 
 Par round illumin'd hell.' — 
 
 The sudden production of the Pandsemonium : 
 
 ' Anon out of the earth a fabric huge 
 Rose like an exhalation, with the sound 
 Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet.' 
 
 The artificial illuminations made in it : 
 
 — ' From the arch'd roof 
 Pendent by subtle magic, many a row 
 Of starry lamps and blazing cressets,' 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 resem- 
 blance does not, perhaps, last above a line or two ; 
 but the poet runs on with the hint until he has raised 
 out of it some glorious image or sentiment proper to 
 inflame the mind of the reader, and to give it that 
 
 7 Cresset, i. e. a blazing light set on a beacon ; in French, croissete, be- 
 cause beacons formerly had crosses on their tops. Johnson. 
 
520 THE SPECTATOR. [No. 303. 
 
 sublime kind of entertainment which is suitable to 
 the nature of an heroic poem. Those who are ac- 
 quainted with Homer's 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 
 surprising points of likeness. Monsieur Perrault was 
 a man of this vitiated relish, and for that very rea- 
 son has endeavoured to turn into ridicule several of 
 Homer's similitudes, which he calls ' comparaisons a 
 longue qiieue,^ 'long-tailed comparisons.' I shall 
 conclude this paper on the first book of Milton with 
 the answer which monsieur Boileau makes to Per- 
 rault on this occasion: 'Comparisons,' says he, 'in 
 odes and epic poems are not introduced only to il- 
 lustrate and embellish the discourse, but to amuse 
 and relax the mind of the reader, by frequently dis- 
 engaging 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 diver- 
 sify his subjects. He continually instructs the read- 
 er, and makes him take notice even in objects which 
 are every day before his 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 
 
No. 303.] THE SPECTATOR. 521 
 
 too much nicety in this particular savours 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 va- 
 riety, 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 easi- 
 ly discover the great beauties that are in each of 
 those passages. L.* 
 
 ' By Addison, dated, it is supposed, London. See No. 334, note. 
 
M 
 
INDEX TO THE THIKD VOLUME. 
 
 The Figures in this Index refer to the Numbers of the Spectator. 
 
 Absence of lovers, death in love, 241 ; how to be made easy, ibid. 
 
 Accosta, his answer to Limboreh, touching the multiplicity of ceremonies 
 in the Jewish religion, 213. 
 
 Action: a threefold division of our actions, 213. 
 
 Admiration, one of the most pleasing passions, 23'7 ; short-lived, 256. 
 
 Adversity, no evil in itself, 237. 
 
 Age : a comfortable old age the reward of a well-spent youth, 260. 
 
 Agreeable man, who, 280. 
 
 Ambition, many times as hurtful to the princes who are led by it, as to the 
 people, 200 ; most men subject to it, 219, 224 ; of use when rightly di- 
 rected, 219 ; the end of it, 255 ; never satisfied, 256 ; the effects of it in 
 the mind, ibid ; subjects us to many troubles, 25T ; the true object of a 
 laudable ambition, ibid. 
 
 AnnihUacion, by whom desired, 210; the most abject of wishes, ibid. 
 
 Apes, -what women so called, and described, 244. 
 
 Apollo's temple on the top of Leueate, by whom frequented, and for what 
 purpose, 223. 
 
 Appetites sooner moved than the passions, 208 ; the incumbrances of old 
 age, 260. 
 
 Argument: argumentum Basilinum, what, 239; Socrates, his way of argu- 
 ing, ibid. ; in what manner managed by states and communities, ibid, 
 
 Argus, his qualifications and employments under Juno, 250. 
 
 Aristsenetus, his letters, some account of them, 238. 
 
 Aristotle, the inventor of syllogism, 239 ; his definition of an entire action 
 of epic poetry, 261 ; his sense of the greatness of the action in a poem ; 
 Iiis method of examining an epic poem, 273; an observation of that 
 critic's, ibid. ; one of the best logicians in the world, 291 ; his division 
 of a poem, 297 ; another of his observations, ibid. 
 
 Art of Criticism, the Spectator's account of that poem, 253. 
 
 Audiences, at present void of common sense, 290. 
 
 Beau's head, the dissection of one, 275. 
 
 Beauty in a virtuous woman makes her more virtuous, 302. 
 
 Beggars, sir Andrew Freeport's opinion of them, 232. 
 
524 INDEX. 
 
 Bills of Mortality, the use of them, 289. 
 Boeealini, his animadversions upon critics, 201. 
 Boileau censured, and for what, 209. 
 
 Csesar, Julius, a frequent saying of his, 256. 
 
 Camillus, his deportment to his son, 263. 
 
 Canidia, an antiquated beauty described, 263. 
 
 Charity-schools, great instances of a public spirit, 294. 
 
 Children, the unnaturalness in mothers of making them suck a stranger's 
 milk, 246. 
 
 Christian religion, the clear proof of its articles, and excellency of its doc- 
 trines, 213. 
 
 Club : the She Eomp club, 21Y ; methods observed by that club, ibid. 
 
 Club-l^w, a convincing argument, 239. 
 
 Comparisons in Homer and Milton, defended by monsieur Boileau against 
 monsieur Perrault, 303. 
 
 Constancy in sufiferings, the excellency of it, 23'7. 
 
 Coquette's heart dissected, 281. 
 
 Cordeliers, the story of St Francis, their founder, 245. 
 
 Coverley, sir Roger de, his return to town, and conversation with the 
 Spectator in Gray's-inn-walks, 269 ; his intended generosity to his widow, 
 295. 
 
 Courtship the pleasantest part of a man's life, 261. 
 
 Cowards naturally impudent, 231. 
 
 Cries of London require some regulation, 251. 
 
 Criminal love, some account of the state of it, 274. 
 
 Critic, th^ qualities requisite to a good one, 291. 
 
 Cunning, the accomplishment of whom, 225. 
 
 Curiosity, one of the strongest and most lasting of our appetites, 23'7. 
 
 Death : deaths of eminent persons, the most improving passages in history, 
 289. 
 
 Decency nearly related to virtue, 292. 
 
 ■ of behaviour generally transgressed, 292. 
 
 Delicacy : the difference between a true and false delicacy, 286 ; the stand- 
 ard of it, ibid. 
 
 Dependents, objects of compassion, 282. 
 
 Devotion : a man is distingxiished from brutes by devotion more than by 
 reason, 201 ; the errors into which it often leads us, ibid. ; the notions 
 the most refined among the heathens had of it, 207 ; Socrates's model of 
 devotions, ibid. 
 
 Discontent, to what Often owing, 214. 
 
 Discretion, an under-agent of Providence, 225 ; distinguished from cunning, 
 ibid 
 
 Distinction, the desire of it implanted in our nature, and why, 224. 
 
 Distrest Mother, a new tragedy, recommended by the Spectator, 290. 
 
 Dorigny, monsieur, his piece of the transfiguration, excellent in its kind, 
 226. 
 
INDEX. 525 
 
 Education, the benefits of a good one, and necessity of it, 215; the first 
 thing to be taken care of in education, 224. 
 
 Elizabeth, queen, her medal on the defeat of the Spanish Armada, 293. 
 
 Emilia, an excellent woman, her character, 302. 
 
 Enthusiasm, the misery of it, 201. 
 
 Envy : the abhorrence of envy, a certain note of a great mind, 253. 
 
 Epictetus, his allusion on human life, 219. 
 
 Erasmus insulted by a parcel of Trojans, 239. 
 
 Estates generally purchased by the slower part of mankind, 222. 
 
 Evremond, St. his endeavours to palliate the Roman superstitions, 21?. 
 
 Eyes, a dissertation on them, 250 ; the prevailing influence of the eye in- 
 stanced in several particulars, 252. 
 
 Fable of a drop of water, 293. 
 
 Face, a good one a letter of recommendation, 221. 
 
 Fame divided into three different species, 218 : difBoulty of obtaining and 
 
 preserving it, 255 ; the inconveniences attending the desire of it, ibid. 
 Female literature in want of regulation, 242. 
 Female oratory, the excellency of it, 2i1. 
 Foible, Sir Jeoffry, a kind keeper, 190. 
 Fop, what sort of persons deserve that character, 280. 
 Forehead, esteemed an organ of speech, 231. 
 Fortune, often unjustly complained of, 282 ; to be controlled by nothing 
 
 but Infinite Wisdom, 293. 
 Freeport, sir Andrew, divides his time betwixt his business and pleasure, 
 
 232 ; his opinion of beggars, ihid. 
 Fribblers, who, 288. 
 
 Germanious, his true taste of glory, 238. 
 
 Gifts of fortime more valued than they ought to be, 294. 
 
 Glory, how to be preserved, 218. 
 
 Good-nature and cheerfulness, the two great ornaments of virtue, 24S. 
 
 Government, what form of it the most reasonable, 287. 
 
 Gracefulness of action, the excellency of it, 292. 
 
 Greeks and Trojans, who so called, 239. 
 
 Heteroptie, who so to be called, 250. 
 
 Homer's excellence in the multitude and variety of his characters, 273 ; he 
 
 degenerates sometimes into burlesque, 279. 
 Honours in this world under no regulation, 219. 
 Hoods, coloured, a new invention, 265. 
 Hopes and fears, necessary passions, 224. 
 Hypocrisy, the honour and justice done by it to religion, 243. 
 
 Jane, Mrs. a great piokthank, 272. 
 
 Idolatry, the offspring of mistaken devotion, 211. 
 
 Immortality of the soul, the benefits arising from a contemplation of it, 210. 
 
526 INDEX. 
 
 Impudence recommended by some as good breeding, 231. 
 
 Inquisitive tempers exposed, 288. 
 
 Irus, his great artifice, 264. 
 
 Jupiter Ammon, an answer of his oracle to the Athenians, 207. 
 
 Knowledge, the main sources of it, 287. 
 
 Lacedcemonians, a form of prayer used by them, 207. 
 Lapirius, his great generosity, 248. 
 Latin of great use in a country auditory, 221. 
 
 Laughter a counterpoise to the spleen, 249 ; what sort of persons the most 
 accomplished to raise it, ibid. ; a poetical figure of laughter out of MQ- 
 ton, ihid. 
 Letters to the Spectator: from Susan Civil, a servant to another lady, de- 
 siring the Spectator's remarks upon voluntary counsellors, 202 ; from 
 Thomas Smoky, servant to a passionate master, ibid. ; from a bastard, 
 complaining of his condition as such, 203 ; from Belinda to the Sothades, 
 204; from J. D. to his coquette mistress, ibid.; from a lady to a gentle- 
 man, confessing her love, ibid. ; from angry Phillis to her lover, ibid, ; 
 from a lady to her husband, an officer in Spain, ibid. ; from Belinda, com- 
 plaining of a female seducer, 205 ; from a country clergyman, against an 
 affected singing of the Psalms in church, ibid. ; from Robin Goodfellow, 
 containirg the correction of an erratum in sir William's Temple's rule 
 for drinking, ibid. ; from Mary Meanwell, about visiting, 208 ; from a 
 shop-keeper, with thanks to the Spectator, ibid ; from a lover, with an 
 hue-and-cry after his mistress's heart, ibid. ; from J. D. concerning the 
 immortality of the soul, 210 ; from Melissa, who has a drone to her hus- 
 band, 211 ; from Barnaby Brittle, whose wife is a filly, ibid. ; from Jo- 
 siah Henpeek, who is married to a grimalkin, ibid. ; from Martha Tem- 
 pest, complaining of her witty husband, ibid.; from Anthony Freeman, 
 the henpecked, 212 ; from Tom Meggot, giving the Spectator an account 
 of the success of Mr. Freeman's lecture, 216 ; from Kitty Termagant, giv- 
 ing an account of the Romp's club, 217 ; from complaining of his 
 
 indelicate mistress, ibid. ; from Susannah Frostj an old maid, ibid ; from 
 A. B. a parson's wife, ibid ; from Henrietta to her ungracious lover, 
 
 220 ; from on false wit, ibid. ; from T. D. concerning salutation, 
 
 ibid. ; from inquiring the reason why men of parts are not the best 
 
 managers, 222 ; from .lEsoulapius about the lover's leap, 227 ; from Athe- 
 nais and Davyth ap Shenkyn on the same subject, ibid. ; from W. B. the 
 
 projector of the pitch-pipe, 218 ; from on education, 230; from 
 
 on the awe which attends some speakers in public assemblies, 231 ; from 
 Philonous on free-thinkers, 234 ; from on marriage, and the hus- 
 band's conduct to his wife, 236 ; from Tristissa, who is married to a fool, 
 ibid. ; from T. S. complaining of some people's behaviour in divine ser- 
 vice, ibid. ; from with a letter translated from Aristsenetus, 238 ; 
 
 from a citizen in praise of his benefactor, 240 ; from Rustic Sprightly, a 
 country gentleman, complaining of a, fashion introduced in the country 
 by a courtier newly arrived, 240; from Charles Easy, reflecting on the 
 
INDEX. 527 
 
 behaviour of a sort of beau at PMlaster, ibid. ; from Asteria on the ab- 
 sence of lovers, 241 ; from Kebecoa Ridinghood, complaining of an ill- 
 bred fellow-traveller, 242 ; from on a poor weaver in Spitalfields, 
 
 ibid. ; from Abraham Thrifty, guardian to two learned nieces, ibid. ; from 
 on Raphael's cartoons, 244 ; from Constantia Field, on the ninth spe- 
 cies of women, called apes, ibid. ; from Timothy Doodle, a great lover of 
 blind-man's-buff, 245 ; from J. B. on the several ways of consolation made 
 use of by absent lovers, ibid.; from Troilus, a declared enemy to the 
 
 Greeks, ibid. ; from on the nursing of children, 246 ; from T. B 
 
 being a dissertation on the eye, 250 ; from Abraham Spy, on a new in- 
 vention of perspective glasses for the use of starers, ibid. ; from Mary 
 Heartfree, describing the powerful effects of the eye, 252 ; from Barbara 
 Crabtree, to know if she may not make use of a cudgel on her sot of a 
 husband, ibid. ; from a lawyer whose wife is a great orator, ibid. ; from 
 Lydia to Harriot, a lady newly married, 254 ; Harriot's answer, ibid ; 
 from a gentleman in love with a beauty without fortune, ibid. ; from 
 Ralph Crotchet for a theatre of ease to be erected, 258 ; from Mr. Clay- 
 ton, <Sic., ibid. ; from Jack Afterday, an old bachelor, who is grown dead 
 to all other pleasures but that of being worth 50,000?., 260 ; from a lover, 
 with an inclosed letter to his humoursome mistress, ibid ; from a father 
 discoursing on the relative duties between parents and their children, 
 263 ; from a mother to her undutiful sou, ibid. ; the son's answer, ibid. ; 
 from Richard Estcourt, with one inclosed from sir Roger de Coverley, 
 264; from James Easy, who had his nose abused in the pit, 268 ; from 
 A. B. on the mercenary views of persons when they marry, ibid. ; from 
 Anthony Gape, who had the misfortune to run his nose against a post 
 whilst he was staring at a beauty, ibid. ; from about the new- 
 fashioned hoods, ibid ; from one at Oxford in love with Patetia, ibid. ; 
 from Tom Trippet, on a Greek quotation in a former Spectator, 271 ; 
 from C. D. on sir Roger's return to town, ibid. ; from S. T. who has a 
 show in a box of a man, a woman, and a horse, ibid. ; from Cleanthes, 
 
 complaining of Mrs. Jane, an old maid, and a pickthank, 272; from 
 
 with an inclosed letter from a bawd to a noble lord, 274 ; from Frank 
 Courtley, reproving the Spectator for some freedoms he had taken, 276 ; 
 from Celia, incensed at a gentleman who had named the words ' lusty 
 fellow ' in her presence, ibid. ; from Pucella, kept by an old bachelor, 
 ibid. ; from Hezekiah Broadbrim, accusing the Spectator of not keeping 
 his word, ibid. ; from Teraminta, on the arrival of a Mademoiselle com- 
 pletely dressed from Paris, 277 ; from Betty Cross-stitch, the owner of 
 Mademoiselle, ibid ; from a shopkeeper, whose wife is too learned for 
 him, 278 ; from Florinda, who writes for the Spectator's advice in the 
 choice of a husband, after she is married, ibid ; from Clayton, <fec. on the 
 same subject with their former letter, ibid.; from Jenny Simper, com- 
 plaining of the clerk of the parish who has overdecked the church with 
 greens, 282 ; from the clerk in his own justification, 284 ; from con- 
 cerning false delicacy, 286 ; from Philobrune of Cambridge, inquiring 
 which is the most beautiful, a fair or a brown complexion, ibid. ; from 
 Melainia on male jilts, 288 ; from Peter Motteux, who from an author is 
 turned dealer, ibid. ; from George Powell, who is to play the part of 
 
528 INDEX. 
 
 Orestes, in a new tragedy, called the Distreat Mother, 290 ; from Sophia, 
 to know if the gentleman she saw in the Park with a short face was the 
 Spectator, ibid. ; the Spectator's answer, ibid. ; from Jezebel, a woman 
 poor and proud, 292; from Josiah Fribble on pin-money, 295; from J. 
 M. advising the Spectator to prefix no more Greek mottos to his papers, 
 298 ; from Aurelia Careless, concerning the use of the window in the 
 apartment of a beautiful lady, ibid. ; from Euphues, desiring the Specta- 
 tor's advice, ibid. ; from Susannah Lovebane, against lampooners, ibid. ; 
 from Charity Frost, ibid. ; from John Trott, ibid. ; from Chastity Love- 
 worth, on the general notion men have of the other sex, 298 ; from sir 
 John Enville, married to a woman of quality, 299 ; from Susannah Love- 
 worth, on the behaviour of married people before company, 300 ; from 
 Philanthropos, on the terms of conversation with the fair sex, ibid. ; 
 from Miranda, on valetudinary friendship, ibid. ; from D. G. thanking 
 the Spectator for his criticism on Milton, ibid. ; to Chloe, from her lover, 
 giving her an account of his dreams, 301. 
 
 Levity of women, the effects of it, 212. 
 
 Liberality, wherein the decency of it consists, 292. 
 
 Liberty of the people, when best preserved, 28"?. 
 
 Lie : several sorts of lies, 234. 
 
 Life, to what compared in the scriptures, and by the heathen philosophers, 
 219 ; the present life a state of probation, 23Y ; we are in this life no- 
 thing more than passengers, 289 ; illustrated by a story of a travelling 
 dervise, ibid. 
 
 Logic of kings, what, 239. 
 
 Lover's leap, where situated, 225 ; an effectual cure for love, 227 ; a short 
 history of it, 233. 
 
 Male jilts, who, 288. 
 
 Malvolio, his character, 238. 
 
 Man, the merriest species of the creation, 249 ; men differ from one an- 
 other as much in sentiments as features, 264 ; their corruption in general, 
 ibid. 
 
 Maple, Will, an impudent libertine, 203. 
 
 Marriage : those marriages the most happy that are preceded by a long 
 courtship, 261 ; unhappy ones, whence proceeding, 268. 
 
 Merit, no judgment to be formed of it from success, 293. 
 
 Mill to make verses, 220. 
 
 Milton's Paradise Lost : the Spectator's criticism and observations on that 
 poem, 26'7, 273, 279, 285, 291, 297, 303. 
 
 Modesty and self-denial frequently attended with unexpected blessings, 
 206 ; modesty the contrary of ambition, ibid ; a due proportion of mod- 
 esty requisite to an orator, 231 ; the excellency of modesty, ibid. ; vi- 
 cious modesty, what, ibid ; the misfortunes to which the modest and in- 
 nocent are often exposed, 242. 
 
 Mothers justly reproved for not nursing their own children, 246. 
 
 Motto, the effects of an handsome one, 221. 
 
 Much cry but little wool, to whom applied, 251. 
 
INDEX. 529 
 
 Nurses : the frequent inconveniences of hired nurses, 246. 
 
 Order necessary to be kept up in the Tvorld, 219. 
 Outrageously virtuous, what women so called, 266. 
 
 Passions : the various operations of the passions, 215 ; the strange disorders 
 bred by our passions when not regulated by virtue, ibid. ; it is not so 
 much the business of religion to extinguish, as to regulate our passions, 
 224 ; the use of them, 255. 
 
 Patrons and clients, a discourse on them, 214; worthy patrons compared 
 to guardian angels, ibid. 
 
 Pedants in breeding as well as learning, 286. 
 
 People the only riches of a country, 200. 
 
 Pictures, witty, what pieces so called, 244. 
 
 Piety an ornament to human nature, 201. 
 
 Pin-money condemned, 295. 
 
 Pitch-pipe, the invention and use of it, 228. 
 
 Poems : epic poem, the chief things to be considered in it, 267. 
 
 Poets : bad poets given to envy and detraction, 253. 
 
 Poll, a way of arguing, 239. 
 
 Polycarpus, a man beloved by every body, 28©. 
 
 Power, despotic, an unanswerable argument against it, 287. 
 
 Praise, a generous mind the most sensible of it, 238. 
 
 Pride : a man crazed with pride a mortifying sight, 201 
 
 Procuress, her trade, 205. 
 
 Prosperity, to what compared by Seneca, 237. 
 
 Providence not to be fathomed by reason, 237. 
 
 Prudence, the influence it has on our good or ill fortune in the world, 293. 
 
 Quality is either of fortune, body, or mind, 219. 
 
 Rabelais, his device, 283. 
 
 Back, a knotty syllogism, 239. 
 
 Raphael's cartoons, their effect upon the Spectator, 226, 244. 
 
 Recreation, the necessity of it, 258. 
 
 Reputation, a species of fame, 218.; the stability of it, if well founded, 
 
 ibid. 
 Rich: to be rich, the way to please, 280; the advantages of being rich, 
 
 283 ; the art of growing rich, ibid. ; the proper use of riches, 294. 
 Ridicule the talent of ungenerous tempers, 249; the two great branches 
 
 of ridicule in writing, ibid. 
 
 Salutation, subject to great enormities, 259. 
 
 Sappho, an excellent poetess, 223 ; dies for love of Phaon, ibid. ; her hymn 
 to Venus, ibid. ; a fragment of hers, translated into three different lan- 
 guages, 229. 
 
 Satirists best instruct us in the manners of their respective times, 209. 
 
 Scaramouch, an expedient of his at Paris, 283 ; Scornful Lady, the Specta- 
 tor's observations at that play, 270. 
 VOL. III. — 34 
 
530 INDEX. 
 
 Self-denial, the great foundation of civil virtue, 248. 
 
 Sherlock, Dr. the reason his discourse of death hath been so much pe- 
 rused, 289. 
 Shows and diversions lie properly Within the province of the Spectator, 
 
 235. 
 
 Simpnides, his satire on -women, 209. 
 
 Slavery, what.kind of government the most removed from it, 28*7. 
 
 Snape, Dr. a quotation from his charity sermon, 294. 
 
 Socrates, his instructions to his pupil Alcibiades in relation to prayer, 207 ; 
 a catechetical method of arguing introduced first by him, 239 ; instructed 
 in eloquence by a woman, 247. 
 
 Solitude : few persons capable of a religious, learned, or philosophic soli- 
 tude, 264. 
 
 Sorites, what sort of figure, 239. 
 
 Spectator, the character given of him, in his own presence, at a coffee- 
 house near Aldgate, 218 ; his aversion to pretty fellows, and the reason 
 of it, 261 ; his acknowledgments to the public, 262 ; his advice to British 
 ladies, 265 ; his adventure with a woman of the town, 266 ; his descrip- 
 tion of a French puppet, newly arrived, 277 ; his opinion of our form of 
 government and religion, 287 ; sometimes taken for a parish sexton, and 
 why, 289. 
 
 Speech, the several organs of it, 231. 
 
 Spy, the mischief of one in a family, 202. 
 
 Stores of providence, what, 248. 
 
 San, the first eye of consequence, 250. 
 
 Superiority reduced to the notion of quality, 219 ; to be founded only on 
 merit and virtue, 202. 
 
 Superstition, an error arising from a mistaken devotion, 201 ; superstition 
 has something in it destructive to religion, 213. 
 
 Taste, corrupt, of the age, to what attributed, 208. 
 
 Ten, called by the Platonic writers, the complete number, 221. 
 
 Thinking aloud, what, 211. 
 
 Trade, the most likely means to make a man's private fortune, 283. 
 
 Tradition of the Jews concerning Moses, 237. 
 
 Transmigration, what, 211. 
 
 Ti-unk-maker, a great man in the upper gallery in the play-house, 235. 
 
 Virgil, wherein short of Homer, 273. 
 
 Virtue, the most reasonable and genuine source of honour, 219 ; of a beau- 
 tiful nature, 243 ; the great ornaments of it, ibid. ; to be esteemed in a 
 foe, ihid. ; when the sincerity of it may reasonably be suspected, 266. 
 
 "Wasps and doves in public, who, 300. 
 Wise men and fools, the difference between them, 225. 
 "Wit: the many artifices and modes of false wit, 220. 
 
 Women, great orators, 247 ; a definition of woman by one of the fathers, 
 265 ; the general depravity of the inferior part of the sex, 274. 
 
 END OP VOLUME III.