R.

[Footnote 1: Richard Blackmore, born about 1650, d. 1729, had been

knighted in 1697, when he was made physician in ordinary to King

William. He was a thorough Whig, earnestly religious, and given to the

production of heroic poems. Steele shared his principles and honoured

his sincerity. When this essay was written, Blackmore was finishing his

best poem, the 'Creation', in seven Books, designed to prove from nature

the existence of a God. It had a long and earnest preface of

expostulation with the atheism and mocking spirit that were the legacy

to his time of the Court of the Restoration. The citations in the text

express the purport of what Blackmore had written in his then

unpublished but expected work, but do not quote from it literally.]

* * * * *

No. 7. Thursday, March 8, 1711. Addison.

'Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, Sagas,

Nocturnos lemures, portentaque Thessala rides?'

Hor.

Going Yesterday to Dine with an old Acquaintance, I had the Misfortune

to find his whole Family very much dejected. Upon asking him the

Occasion of it, he told me that his Wife had dreamt a strange Dream the

Night before, which they were afraid portended some Misfortune to

themselves or to their Children. At her coming into the Room, I observed

a settled Melancholy in her Countenance, which I should have been

troubled for, had I not heard from whence it proceeded. We were no

sooner sat down, but, after having looked upon me a little while,

'My dear', says she, turning to her husband, 'you may now see the

Stranger that was in the Candle last Night'.

Soon after this, as they began to talk of Family Affairs, a little Boy

at the lower end of the Table told her, that he was to go into Join-hand

on _Thursday_:

'Thursday,' says she, 'no, Child, if it please God, you shall not

begin upon Childermas-day; tell your Writing-Master that Friday will

be soon enough'.

I was reflecting with my self on the Odness of her Fancy, and wondering

that any body would establish it as a Rule to lose a Day in every Week.

In the midst of these my Musings she desired me to reach her a little

Salt upon the Point of my Knife, which I did in such a Trepidation and

hurry of Obedience, that I let it drop by the way; at which she

immediately startled, and said it fell towards her. Upon this I looked

very blank; and, observing the Concern of the whole Table, began to

consider my self, with some Confusion, as a Person that had brought a

Disaster upon the Family. The Lady however recovering her self, after a

little space, said to her Husband with a Sigh,

'My Dear, Misfortunes never come Single'.

My Friend, I found, acted but an under Part at his Table, and

being a Man of more Goodnature than Understanding, thinks himself

obliged to fall in with all the Passions and Humours of his Yoke-fellow:

'Do not you remember, Child', says she, 'that the Pidgeon-House fell

the very Afternoon that our careless Wench spilt the Salt upon the

Table?'

'Yes', says he, 'my Dear, and the next Post brought us an Account of

the Battel of Almanza'. [1]

The Reader may guess at the figure I made, after having done all this

Mischief. I dispatched my Dinner as soon as I could, with my usual

Taciturnity; when, to my utter Confusion, the Lady seeing me [quitting

[2]] my Knife and Fork, and laying them across one another upon my

Plate, desired me that I would humour her so far as to take them out of

that Figure, and place them side by side. What the Absurdity was which I

had committed I did not know, but I suppose there was some traditionary

Superstition in it; and therefore, in obedience to the Lady of the

House, I disposed of my Knife and Fork in two parallel Lines, which is

the figure I shall always lay them in for the future, though I do not

know any Reason for it.

It is not difficult for a Man to see that a Person has conceived an

Aversion to him. For my own part, I quickly found, by the Lady's Looks,

that she regarded me as a very odd kind of Fellow, with an unfortunate

Aspect: For which Reason I took my leave immediately after Dinner, and

withdrew to my own Lodgings. Upon my Return home, I fell into a profound

Contemplation on the Evils that attend these superstitious Follies of

Mankind; how they subject us to imaginary Afflictions, and additional

Sorrows, that do not properly come within our Lot. As if the natural

Calamities of Life were not sufficient for it, we turn the most

indifferent Circumstances into Misfortunes, and suffer as much from

trifling Accidents, as from real Evils. I have known the shooting of a

Star spoil a Night's Rest; and have seen a Man in Love grow pale and

lose his Appetite, upon the plucking of a Merry-thought. A Screech-Owl

at Midnight has alarmed a Family, more than a Band of Robbers; nay, the

Voice of a Cricket hath struck more Terrour, than the Roaring of a Lion.

There is nothing so inconsiderable [which [3]] may not appear dreadful

to an Imagination that is filled with Omens and Prognosticks. A Rusty

Nail, or a Crooked Pin, shoot up into Prodigies.

I remember I was once in a mixt Assembly, that was full of Noise and

Mirth, when on a sudden an old Woman unluckily observed there were

thirteen of us in Company. This Remark struck a pannick Terror into

several [who [4]] were present, insomuch that one or two of the Ladies

were going to leave the Room; but a Friend of mine, taking notice that

one of our female Companions was big with Child, affirm'd there were

fourteen in the Room, and that, instead of portending one of the Company

should die, it plainly foretold one of them should be born. Had not my

Friend found this Expedient to break the Omen, I question not but half

the Women in the Company would have fallen sick that very Night.

An old Maid, that is troubled with the Vapours, produces infinite

Disturbances of this kind among her Friends and Neighbours. I know a

Maiden Aunt, of a great Family, who is one of these Antiquated _Sybils_,

that forebodes and prophesies from one end of the Year to the other. She

is always seeing Apparitions, and hearing Death-Watches; and was the

other Day almost frighted out of her Wits by the great House-Dog, that

howled in the Stable at a time when she lay ill of the Tooth-ach. Such

an extravagant Cast of Mind engages Multitudes of People, not only in

impertinent Terrors, but in supernumerary Duties of Life, and arises

from that Fear and Ignorance which are natural to the Soul of Man. The

Horrour with which we entertain the Thoughts of Death (or indeed of any

future Evil), and the Uncertainty of its Approach, fill a melancholy

Mind with innumerable Apprehensions and Suspicions, and consequently

dispose it to the Observation of such groundless Prodigies and

Predictions. For as it is the chief Concern of Wise-Men, to retrench the

Evils of Life by the Reasonings of Philosophy; it is the Employment of

Fools, to multiply them by the Sentiments of Superstition.

For my own part, I should be very much troubled were I endowed with this

Divining Quality, though it should inform me truly of every thing that

can befall me. I would not anticipate the Relish of any Happiness, nor

feel the Weight of any Misery, before it actually arrives.

I know but one way of fortifying my Soul against these gloomy Presages

and Terrours of Mind, and that is, by securing to my self the Friendship

and Protection of that Being, who disposes of Events, and governs

Futurity. He sees, at one View, the whole Thread of my Existence, not

only that Part of it which I have already passed through, but that which

runs forward into all the Depths of Eternity. When I lay me down to

Sleep, I recommend my self to his Care; when I awake, I give my self up

to his Direction. Amidst all the Evils that threaten me, I will look up

to him for Help, and question not but he will either avert them, or turn

them to my Advantage. Though I know neither the Time nor the Manner of

the Death I am to die, I am not at all sollicitous about it, because I

am sure that he knows them both, and that he will not fail to comfort

and support me under them.

The Spectator, Volume 1 Eighteenth-Century Periodical Essays · 第 29 / 351 题