Madam,_

'It is the hardest thing in the World to be in Love, and yet attend

Business. As for me, all that speak to me find me out, and I must

lock myself up, or other People will do it for me. A Gentleman asked

me this Morning what News from _Holland_, and I answered, She's

Exquisitely handsome. Another desir'd to know when I had been last

at _Windsor_, I reply'd, 'She designs to go with me. Prethee, allow

me at least to kiss your Hand before the appointed Day, that my Mind

may be in some Composure. Methinks I could write a Volume to you,

but all the Language on Earth would fail in saying how much, and

with what dis-interested Passion, _I am ever Yours_.

_September 30, 1671_.

_Seven in the Morning_.

_Dear Creature_,

Next to the Influence of Heav'n, I am to thank you that I see the

returning Day with Pleasure. To pass my Evenings in so sweet a

Conversation, and have the Esteem of a Woman of your Merit, has in

it a Particularity of Happiness no more to be express'd than

return'd. But I am, my Lovely Creature, contented to be on the

obliged Side, and to employ all my Days in new Endeavours to

convince you and all the World of the Sense I have of your

Condescension in Chusing,

_MADAM, Your Most Faithful,

Most Obedient Humble Servant._

_He was, when he writ the following Letter, as agreeable and pleasant

a Man as any in England_.

_October 20, 1671_.

_Madam_,

I Beg Pardon that my Paper is not Finer, but I am forced to write

from a Coffee-house where I am attending about Business. There is a

dirty Crowd of Busie Faces all around me talking of Mony, while all

my Ambition, all my Wealth is Love: Love which animates my Heart,

sweetens my Humour, enlarges my Soul, and affects every Action of my

Life. 'Tis to my lovely Charmer I owe that many noble Ideas are

continually affix'd to my Words and Actions: 'Tis the natural Effect

of that generous Passion to create in the Admirer some Similitude of

the Object admired; thus, my Dear, am I every Day to improve from so

sweet a Companion. Look up, my Fair One, to that Heaven which made

thee such, and join with me to implore its Influence on our tender

innocent Hours, and beseech the Author of Love to bless the Rites he

has ordained, and mingle with our Happiness a just Sense of our

transient Condition, and a Resignation to his Will, which only can

regulate our Minds to a steady Endeavour to please him and each

other.

_I am, for Ever,

your Faithful Servant_.

_I will not trouble you with more Letters at this time, but if you

saw the poor withered Hand which sends you these Minutes, I am sure

you will smile to think that there is one who is so gallant as to

speak of it still as so welcome a Present, after forty Years

Possession of the Woman whom he writes to_.

June 23, 1711.

_Madam,_

I Heartily beg your Pardon for my Omission to write Yesterday. It

was of no Failure of my tender Regard for you; but having been very

much perplexed in my Thoughts on the Subject of my last, made me

determine to suspend speaking of it 'till I came to myself. But, my

Lovely Creature, know it is not in the Power of Age, or Misfortune,

or any other Accident which hangs over Human Life, to take from me

the pleasing Esteem I have for you, or the Memory of the bright

Figure you appeared in when you gave your Hand and Heart to,

_MADAM_,

_Your most Grateful Husband_,

_and Obedient Servant_.

[Footnote 1: They are, after the first, with a few changes of phrase and

the alteration of date proper to the design of this paper, copies of

Steele's own love-letters addressed to Mrs. Scurlock, in August and

September, 1707; except the last, a recent one, written since marriage.]

* * * * *

No. 143. Tuesday, August 14, 1711. Steele.

'Non est vivere sed valere Vita.'

Martial.

It is an unreasonable thing some Men expect of their Acquaintance. They

are ever complaining that they are out of Order, or Displeased, or they

know not how, and are so far from letting that be a Reason for retiring

to their own Homes, that they make it their Argument for coming into

Company. What has any body to do with Accounts of a Man's being

Indispos'd but his Physician? If a Man laments in Company, where the

rest are in Humour enough to enjoy themselves, he should not take it ill

if a Servant is ordered to present him with a Porringer of Cawdle or

Posset-drink, by way of Admonition that he go Home to Bed. That Part of

Life which we ordinarily understand by the Word Conversation, is an

Indulgence to the Sociable Part of our Make; and should incline us to

bring our Proportion of good Will or good Humour among the Friends we

meet with, and not to trouble them with Relations which must of

necessity oblige them to a real or feigned Affliction. Cares,

Distresses, Diseases, Uneasinesses, and Dislikes of our own, are by no

means to be obtruded upon our Friends. If we would consider how little

of this Vicissitude of Motion and Rest, which we call Life, is spent

with Satisfaction, we should be more tender of our Friends, than to

bring them little Sorrows which do not belong to them. There is no real

Life, but chearful Life; therefore Valetudinarians should be sworn

before they enter into Company, not to say a Word of themselves till the

Meeting breaks up. It is not here pretended, that we should be always

[sitting [1]] with Chaplets of Flowers round our Heads, or be crowned

with Roses, in order to make our Entertainment agreeable to us; but if

(as it is usually observed) they who resolve to be Merry, seldom are so;

it will be much more unlikely for us to be well-pleased, if they are

admitted who are always complaining they are sad. Whatever we do we

should keep up the Chearfulness of our Spirits, and never let them sink

below an Inclination at least to be well-pleased: The Way to this, is to

keep our Bodies in Exercise, our Minds at Ease. That insipid State

wherein neither are in Vigour, is not to be accounted any part of our

Portion of Being. When we are in the Satisfaction of some Innocent

Pleasure, or Pursuit of some laudable Design, we are in the Possession

of Life, of Human Life. Fortune will give us Disappointments enough, and

Nature is attended with Infirmities enough, without our adding to the

unhappy Side of our Account by our Spleen or ill Humour. Poor

_Cottilus_, among so many real Evils, a Chronical Distemper and a narrow

Fortune, is never heard to complain: That equal Spirit of his, which any

Man may have, that, like him, will conquer Pride, Vanity and

Affectation, and follow Nature, is not to be broken, because it has no

Points to contend for. To be anxious for nothing but what Nature demands

as necessary, if it is not the Way to an Estate, is the Way to what Men

aim at by getting an Estate. This Temper will preserve Health in the

Body, as well as Tranquility in the Mind. _Cottilus_ sees the World in a

Hurry, with the same Scorn that a Sober Person sees a Man Drunk. Had he

been contented with what he ought to have been, how could, says he, such

a one have met with such a Disappointment? If another had valued his

Mistress for what he ought to have lov'd her, he had not been in her

Power. If her Virtue had had a Part of his Passion, her Levity had been

his Cure; she could not then have been false and amiable at the same

time.

Since we cannot promise ourselves constant Health, let us endeavour at

such a Temper as may be our best Support in the Decay of it. _Uranius_

has arrived at that Composure of Soul, and wrought himself up to such a

Neglect of every thing with which the Generality of Mankind is

enchanted, that nothing but acute Pains can give him Disturbance, and

against those too he will tell his intimate Friends he has a Secret

which gives him present Ease: _Uranius_ is so thoroughly perswaded of

another Life, and endeavours so sincerely to secure an Interest in it,

that he looks upon Pain but as a quickening of his Pace to an Home,

where he shall be better provided for than in his present Apartment.

Instead of the melancholy Views which others are apt to give themselves,

he will tell you that he has forgot he is Mortal, nor will he think of

himself as such. He thinks at the Time of his Birth he entered into an

Eternal Being; and the short Article of Death he will not allow an

Interruption of Life, since that Moment is not of half the Duration as

is his ordinary Sleep. Thus is his Being one uniform and consistent

Series of chearful Diversions and moderate Cares, without Fear or Hope

of Futurity. Health to him is more than Pleasure to another Man, and

Sickness less affecting to him than Indisposition is to others.

I must confess, if one does not regard Life after this manner, none but

Ideots can pass it away with any tolerable Patience. Take a Fine Lady

who is of a Delicate Frame, and you may observe from the Hour she rises

a certain Weariness of all that passes about her. I know more than one

who is much too nice to be quite alive. They are sick of such strange

frightful People that they meet; one is so awkward, and another so

disagreeable, that it looks like a Penance to breathe the same Air with

them. You see this is so very true, that a great Part of Ceremony and

Good-breeding among Ladies turns upon their Uneasiness; and I'll

undertake, if the How-d'ye Servants of our Women were to make a Weekly

Bill of Sickness, as the Parish Clerks do of Mortality, you would not

find in an Account of seven Days, one in Thirty that was not downright

Sick or indisposed, or but a very little better than she was, and so

forth.

It is certain that to enjoy Life and Health as a constant Feast, we

should not think Pleasure necessary, but, if possible, to arrive at an

Equality of Mind. It is as mean to be overjoyed upon Occasions of

Good-Fortune, as to be dejected in Circumstances of Distress. Laughter

in one Condition is as unmanly as Weeping in the other. We should not

form our Minds to expect Transport on every Occasion, but know how to

make it Enjoyment to be out of Pain. Ambition, Envy, vagrant Desire, or

impertinent Mirth will take up our Minds, without we can possess our

selves in that Sobriety of Heart which is above all Pleasures, and can

be felt much better than described. But the ready Way, I believe, to the

right Enjoyment of Life, is by a Prospect towards another to have but a

very mean Opinion of it. A great Author of our Time has set this in an

excellent Light, when with a Philosophick Pity of Human Life, he spoke

of it in his _Theory of the Earth_, [2] in the following manner.

_For what is this Life but a Circulation of little mean Actions? We

lie down and rise again, dress and undress, feed and wax hungry, work

or play, and are weary, and then we lie down again, and the Circle

returns. We spend the Day in Trifles, and when the Night comes we

throw our selves into the Bed of Folly, amongst Dreams and broken

Thoughts, and wild Imaginations. Our Reason lies asleep by us, and we

are for the Time as arrant Brutes as those that sleep in the Stalls or

in the Field. Are not the Capacities of Man higher than these? And

ought not his Ambition and Expectations to be greater? Let us be

Adventurers for another World: 'Tis at least a fair and noble Chance;

and there is nothing in this worth our Thoughts or our Passions. If we

should be disappointed, we are still no worse than the rest of our

Fellow-Mortals; and if we succeed in our Expectations, we are

Eternally Happy_.

[Footnote 1: sit]

[Footnote 2: Ed. Amsterdam, 1699, p. 241.]

* * * * *

No. 144. Wednesday, August 15, 1711. Steele.

'... Nôris quam elegans formarum

Spectator siem.'

Ter.

Beauty has been the Delight and Torment of the World ever since it

began. The Philosophers have felt its Influence so sensibly, that almost

every one of them has left us some Saying or other, which has intimated

that he too well knew the Power of it. One [1] has told us, that a

graceful Person is a more powerful Recommendation than the best Letter

that can be writ in your Favour. Another [2] desires the Possessor of it

to consider it as a meer Gift of Nature, and not any Perfection of his

own. A Third [3] calls it a short liv'd Tyranny; a Fourth, [4] a silent

Fraud, because it imposes upon us without the Help of Language; but I

think _Carneades_ spoke as much like a Philosopher as any of them, tho'

more like a Lover, when he call'd it Royalty without Force. It is not

indeed to be denied, that there is something irresistible in a Beauteous

Form; the most Severe will not pretend, that they do not feel an

immediate Prepossession in Favour of the Handsome. No one denies them

the Privilege of being first heard, and being regarded before others in

Matters of ordinary Consideration. At the same time the Handsome should

consider that it is a Possession, as it were, foreign to them. No one

can give it himself, or preserve it when they have it. Yet so it is,

that People can bear any Quality in the World better than Beauty. It is

the Consolation of all who are naturally too much affected with the

Force of it, that a little Attention, if a Man can attend with Judgment,

will cure them. Handsome People usually are so fantastically pleas'd

with themselves, that if they do not kill at first Sight, as the Phrase

is, a second Interview disarms them of all their Power. But I shall make

this Paper rather a Warning-piece to give Notice where the Danger is,

than to propose Instructions how to avoid it when you have fallen in the

way of it. Handsome Men shall be the Subject of another Chapter, the

Women shall take up the present Discourse.

_Amaryllis_, who has been in Town but one Winter, is extreamly improved

with the Arts of Good-Breeding, without leaving Nature. She has not lost

the Native Simplicity of her Aspect, to substitute that Patience of

being stared at, which is the usual Triumph and Distinction of a Town

Lady. In Publick Assemblies you meet her careless Eye diverting itself

with the Objects around her, insensible that she her self is one of the

brightest in the Place.

_Dulcissa_ is quite [of] another Make, she is almost a Beauty by Nature,

but more than one by Art. If it were possible for her to let her Fan or

any Limb about her rest, she would do some Part of the Execution she

meditates; but tho' she designs her self a Prey she will not stay to be

taken. No Painter can give you Words for the different Aspects of

_Dulcissa_ in half a Moment, whereever she appears: So little does she

accomplish what she takes so much pains for, to be gay and careless.

_Merab_ is attended with all the Charms of Woman and Accomplishments of

Man. It is not to be doubted but she has a great deal of Wit, if she

were not such a Beauty; and she would have more Beauty had she not so

much Wit. Affectation prevents her Excellencies from walking together.

If she has a Mind to speak such a Thing, it must be done with such an

Air of her Body; and if she has an Inclination to look very careless,

there is such a smart Thing to be said at the same Time, that the Design

of being admired destroys it self. Thus the unhappy _Merab_, tho' a Wit

and Beauty, is allowed to be neither, because she will always be both.

_Albacinda_ has the Skill as well as Power of pleasing. Her Form is

majestick, but her Aspect humble. All good Men should beware of the

Destroyer. She will speak to you like your Sister, till she has you

sure; but is the most vexatious of Tyrants when you are so. Her

Familiarity of Behaviour, her indifferent Questions, and general

Conversation, make the silly Part of her Votaries full of Hopes, while

the wise fly from her Power. She well knows she is too Beautiful and too

Witty to be indifferent to any who converse with her, and therefore

knows she does not lessen herself by Familiarity, but gains Occasions of

Admiration, by seeming Ignorance of her Perfections.

_Eudosia_ adds to the Height of her Stature a Nobility of Spirit which

still distinguishes her above the rest of her Sex. Beauty in others is

lovely, in others agreeable, in others attractive; but in _Eudosia_ it

is commanding: Love towards _Eudosia_ is a Sentiment like the Love of

Glory. The Lovers of other Women are softened into Fondness, the

Admirers of _Eudosia_ exalted into Ambition.

_Eucratia_ presents her self to the Imagination with a more kindly

Pleasure, and as she is Woman, her Praise is wholly Feminine. If we were

to form an Image of Dignity in a Man, we should give him Wisdom and

Valour, as being essential to the Character of Manhood. In like manner,

if you describe a right Woman in a laudable Sense, she should have

gentle Softness, tender Fear, and all those Parts of Life, which

distinguish her from the other Sex; with some Subordination to it, but

such an Inferiority that makes her still more lovely. _Eucratia_ is that

Creature, she is all over Woman. Kindness is all her Art, and Beauty all

her Arms. Her Look, her Voice, her Gesture, and whole Behaviour is truly

Feminine. A Goodness mixed with Fear, gives a Tincture to all her

Behaviour. It would be Savage to offend her, and Cruelty to use Art to

gain her. Others are beautiful, but [_Eucratia_ [5]] thou art Beauty!

_Omnamante_ is made for Deceit, she has an Aspect as Innocent as the

famed _Lucrece_, but a Mind as Wild as the more famed _Cleopatra_. Her

Face speaks a Vestal, but her Heart a _Messalina_. Who that beheld

_Omnamante's_ negligent unobserving Air, would believe that she hid

under that regardless Manner the witty Prostitute, the rapacious Wench,

the prodigal Courtesan? She can, when she pleases, adorn those Eyes with

Tears like an Infant that is chid! She can cast down that pretty Face in

Confusion, while you rage with Jealousy, and storm at her

Perfidiousness; she can wipe her Eyes, tremble and look frighted, till

you think yourself a Brute for your Rage, own yourself an Offender, beg

Pardon, and make her new Presents.

But I go too far in reporting only the Dangers in beholding the

Beauteous, which I design for the Instruction of the Fair as well as

their Beholders; and shall end this Rhapsody with mentioning what I

thought was well enough said of an Antient Sage to a Beautiful Youth,

whom he saw admiring his own Figure in Brass. What, said the

Philosopher, [6] could that Image of yours say for it self if it could

speak? It might say, (answered the Youth) _That it is very Beautiful.

And are not you ashamed_, reply'd the Cynick, _to value your self upon

that only of which a Piece of Brass is capable?