But since several Thoughts may be natural which are low and groveling,

an Epic Poet should not only avoid such Sentiments as are unnatural or

affected, but also such as are [mean [9]] and vulgar. _Homer_ has opened

a great Field of Raillery to Men of more Delicacy than Greatness of

Genius, by the Homeliness of some of his Sentiments. But, as I have

before said, these are rather to be imputed to the Simplicity of the Age

in which he lived, to which I may also add, of that which he described,

than to any Imperfection in that Divine Poet. _Zoilus_ [10] among the

Ancients, and Monsieur _Perrault_, [11] among the Moderns, pushed their

Ridicule very far upon him, on account of some such Sentiments. There is

no Blemish to be observed in _Virgil_ under this Head, and but [a] very

few in Milton.

I shall give but one Instance of this Impropriety of [Thought [12]] in

_Homer_, and at the same time compare it with an Instance of the same

Nature, both in _Virgil_ and _Milton_. Sentiments which raise Laughter,

can very seldom be admitted with any Decency into an Heroic Poem, whose

Business it is to excite Passions of a much nobler Nature. _Homer_,

however, in his Characters of _Vulcan_ [13] and _Thersites_ [14], in his

Story of _Mars_ and _Venus_, [15] in his Behaviour of _Irus_ [16] and in

other Passages, has been observed to have lapsed into the Burlesque

Character, and to have departed from that serious Air which seems

essential to the Magnificence of an Epic Poem. I remember but one Laugh

in the whole Æneid, which rises in the fifth Book, upon _Monætes_, where

he is represented as thrown overboard, and drying himself upon a Rock.

But this Piece. of Mirth is so well timed, that the severest Critick can

have nothing to say against it; for it is in the Book of Games and

Diversions, where the Readers Mind may be supposed to be sufficiently

relaxed for such an Entertainment. The only Piece of Pleasantry in

_Paradise Lost_, is where the Evil Spirits are described as rallying the

Angels upon the Success of their new invented Artillery. This Passage I

look upon to be the most exceptionable in the whole Poem, as being

nothing else but a String of Punns, and those too very indifferent ones.

--Satan beheld their Plight,

And to his Mates thus in Derision call'd.

O Friends, why come not on those Victors proud?

Ere-while they fierce were coming, and when we,

To entertain them fair with open Front,

And Breast, (what could we more?) propounded terms

Of Composition, straight they chang'd their Minds,

Flew off, _and into strange Vagaries fell

As they would dance: yet for a Dance they seem'd

Somewhat extravagant, and wild; perhaps

For Joy of offer'd Peace; but I suppose

If our Proposals once again were_ heard,

_We should compel them to a quick_ Result.

_To whom thus_ Belial _in like gamesome Mood:

Leader, the Terms we sent were Terms of_ Weight,

_Of_ hard Contents, _and full of force urg'd home;

Such as we might perceive amus'd them all,

And_ stumbled _many: who receives them right,

Had need, from Head to Foot, will_ understand;

_Not_ understood, _this Gift they have besides,

They shew us when our Foes_ walk not upright.

_Thus they among themselves in pleasant vein

Stood scoffing_ [17]----

I.

[Footnote 1: It is in Part II. of the _Poetics,_ when treating of

Tragedy, that Aristotle lays down his main principles. Here after

treating of the Fable and the Manners, he proceeds to the Diction and

the Sentiments. By Fable, he says (§ 2),

I mean the contexture of incidents, or the Plot. By Manners, I mean,

whatever marks the Character of the Persons. By Sentiments, whatever

they say, whether proving any thing, or delivering a general

sentiment, &c.

In dividing Sentiments from Diction, he says (§22): The Sentiments

include whatever is the Object of speech, Diction (§ 23-25) the words

themselves. Concerning Sentiment, he refers his reader to the

rhetoricians.]

[Footnote 2: [argues or explains, magnifies or diminishes, raises]]

[Footnote 3: [these]]

[Footnote 4: René le Bossu says in his treatise on the Epic, published

in 1675, Bk, vi. ch. 3:

What is base and ignoble at one time and in one country, is not

always so in others. We are apt to smile at Homers comparing Ajax to

an Ass in his Iliad. Such a comparison now-a-days would be indecent

and ridiculous; because it would be indecent and ridiculous for a

person of quality to ride upon such a steed. But heretofore this

Animal was in better repute: Kings and princes did not disdain the

best so much as mere tradesman do in our time. Tis just the same with

many other smiles which in Homers time were allowable. We should now

pity a Poet that should be so silly and ridiculous as to compare a

Hero to a piece of Fat. Yet Homer does it in a comparison he makes of

Ulysses... The reason is that in these Primitive Times, wherein the

Sacrifices ... were living creatures, the Blood and the Fat were the

most noble, the most august, and the most holy things.]

[Footnote 5: [such Beautiful]]

[Footnote 6: Longimus on the Sublime, I. § 9. of Discord, Homer says

(Popes tr.):

While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound,

She stalks on earth.

(Iliad iv.)

Of horses of the gods:

Far as a shepherd from some spot on high

O'er the wide main extends his boundless eye,

Through such a space of air, with thundring sound,

At one long leap th' immortal coursers bound.

(Iliad v.)

Longinus quotes also from the Iliad xix., the combat of the Gods, the

description of Neptune, Iliad xi., and the Prayer of Ajax, Iliad xvii.]

[Footnote 7: [little]]

[Footnote 8: [affect it. I remember but one line in him which has been

objected against, by the Criticks, as a point of Wit. It is in his ninth

Book, where _Juno_, speaking of the _Trojans_, how they survived the

Ruins of their City, expresses her self in the following words;

_Num copti potuere copi, num incense cremorunt Pergama?_

_Were the Trojans taken even after they were Captives, or did_ Troy

_burn even when it was in Flames?_]

[Footnote 9: [low]]

[Footnote 10: Zoilus, who lived about 270 B. C., in the time of Ptolemy

Philadelphus, made himself famous for attacks upon Homer and on Plato

and Isocrates, taking pride in the title of Homeromastix. Circes men

turned into swine Zoilus ridiculed as weeping porkers. When he asked

sustenance of Ptolemy he was told that Homer sustained many thousands,

and as he claimed to be a better man than Homer, he ought to be able to

sustain himself. The tradition is that he was at last crucified, stoned,

or burnt for his heresy.]

[Footnote 11: Charles Perrault, brother of Claude Perrault the architect

and ex-physician, was himself Controller of Public Buildings under

Colbert, and after his retirement from that office, published in 1690

his Parallel between the Ancients and Moderns, taking the side of the

moderns in the controversy, and dealing sometimes disrespectfully with

Homer. Boileau replied to him in Critical Reflections on Longinus.]

[Footnote 12: [Sentiments]]

[Footnote 13: Iliad, Bk. i., near the close.]

[Footnote 14: Iliad, Bk. ii.]

[Footnote 15: Bk. v., at close.]

[Footnote 16: Odyssey, Bk. xviii]

[Footnote 17: Paradise Lost, Bk. vi. 1. 609, &c. Milton meant that the

devils should be shown as scoffers, and their scoffs as mean.]

* * * * *

No. 280. Monday, January 21, 1712. Steele.

Principibus Placuisse viris non ultima I laus est.

Hor.

The Desire of Pleasing makes a Man agreeable or unwelcome to those with

whom he converses, according to the Motive from which that Inclination

appears to flow. If your Concern for pleasing others arises from innate

Benevolence, it never fails of Success; if from a Vanity to excel, its

Disappointment is no less certain. What we call an agreeable Man, is he

who is endowed with [the [1]] natural Bent to do acceptable things from

a Delight he takes in them meerly as such; and the Affectation of that

Character is what constitutes a Fop. Under these Leaders one may draw up

all those who make any Manner of Figure, except in dumb Show. A rational

and select Conversation is composed of Persons, who have the Talent of

Pleasing with Delicacy of Sentiments flowing from habitual Chastity of

Thought; but mixed Company is frequently made up of Pretenders to Mirth,

and is usually pestered with constrained, obscene, and painful

Witticisms. Now and then you meet with a Man so exactly formed for

Pleasing, that it is no matter what he is doing or saying, that is to

say, that there need no Manner of Importance in it, to make him gain

upon every Body who hears or beholds him. This Felicity is not the Gift

of Nature only, but must be attended with happy Circumstances, which add

a Dignity to the familiar Behaviour which distinguishes him whom we call

an agreeable Man. It is from this that every Body loves and esteems

_Polycarpus_. He is in the Vigour of his Age and the Gayety of Life, but

has passed through very conspicuous Scenes in it; though no Soldier, he

has shared the Danger, and acted with great Gallantry and Generosity on

a decisive Day of Battle. To have those Qualities which only make other

Men conspicuous in the World as it were supernumerary to him, is a

Circumstance which gives Weight to his most indifferent Actions; for as

a known Credit is ready Cash to a Trader, so is acknowledged Merit

immediate Distinction, and serves in the Place of Equipage to a

Gentleman. This renders _Polycarpus_ graceful in Mirth, important in

Business, and regarded with Love in every ordinary Occurrence. But not

to dwell upon Characters which have such particular Recommendations to

our Hearts, let us turn our Thoughts rather to the Methods of Pleasing

which must carry Men through the World who cannot pretend to such

Advantages. Falling in with the particular Humour or Manner of one above

you, abstracted from the general Rules of good Behaviour, is the Life of

a Slave. A Parasite differs in nothing from the meanest Servant, but

that the Footman hires himself for bodily Labour, subjected to go and

come at the Will of his Master, but the other gives up his very Soul: He

is prostituted to speak, and professes to think after the Mode of him

whom he courts. This Servitude to a Patron, in an honest Nature, would

be more grievous than that of wearing his Livery; therefore we will

speak of those Methods only which are worthy and ingenuous.

The happy Talent of Pleasing either those above you or below you, seems

to be wholly owing to the Opinion they have of your Sincerity. This

Quality is to attend the agreeable Man in all the Actions of his Life;

and I think there need no more be said in Honour of it, than that it is

what forces the Approbation even of your Opponents. The guilty Man has

an Honour for the Judge who with Justice pronounces against him the

Sentence of Death it self. The Author of the Sentence at the Head of

this Paper, was an excellent Judge of human Life, and passed his own in

Company the most agreeable that ever was in the World. _Augustus_ lived

amongst his Friends as if he had his Fortune to make in his own Court:

Candour and Affability, accompanied with as much Power as ever Mortal

was vested with, were what made him in the utmost Manner agreeable among

a Set of admirable Men, who had Thoughts too high for Ambition, and

Views too large to be gratified by what he could give them in the

Disposal of an Empire, without the Pleasures of their mutual

Conversation. A certain Unanimity of Taste and Judgment, which is

natural to all of the same Order in the Species, was the Band of this

Society; and the Emperor assumed no Figure in it but what he thought was

his Due from his private Talents and Qualifications, as they contributed

to advance the Pleasures and Sentiments of the Company.

Cunning People, Hypocrites, all who are but half virtuous, or half wise,

are incapable of tasting the refined Pleasure of such an equal Company

as could wholly exclude the Regard of Fortune in their Conversations.

_Horace_, in the Discourse from whence I take the Hint of the present

Speculation, lays down excellent Rules for Conduct in Conversation with

Men of Power; but he speaks it with an Air of one who had no Need of

such an Application for any thing which related to himself. It shews he

understood what it was to be a skilful Courtier, by just Admonitions

against Importunity, and shewing how forcible it was to speak Modestly

of your own Wants. There is indeed something so shameless in taking all

Opportunities to speak of your own Affairs, that he who is guilty of it

towards him upon whom he depends, fares like the Beggar who exposes his

Sores, which instead of moving Compassion makes the Man he begs of turn

away from the Object.

I cannot tell what is become of him, but I remember about sixteen Years

ago an honest Fellow, who so justly understood how disagreeable the

Mention or Appearance of his Wants would make him, that I have often

reflected upon him as a Counterpart of _Irus_, whom I have formerly

mentioned. This Man, whom I have missed for some Years in my Walks, and

have heard was someway employed about the Army, made it a Maxim, That

good Wigs, delicate Linen, and a chearful Air, were to a poor Dependent

the same that working Tools are to a poor Artificer. It was no small

Entertainment to me, who knew his Circumstances, to see him, who had

fasted two Days, attribute the Thinness they told him of to the Violence

of some Gallantries he had lately been guilty of. The skilful Dissembler

carried this on with the utmost Address; and if any suspected his

Affairs were narrow, it was attributed to indulging himself in some

fashionable Vice rather than an irreproachable Poverty, which saved his

Credit with those on whom he depended.

The main Art is to be as little troublesome as you can, and make all you

hope for come rather as a Favour from your Patron than Claim from you.

But I am here prating of what is the Method of Pleasing so as to succeed

in the World, when there are Crowds who have, in City, Town, Court, and

Country, arrived at considerable Acquisitions, and yet seem incapable of

acting in any constant Tenour of Life, but have gone on from one

successful Error to another: Therefore I think I may shorten this

Enquiry after the Method of Pleasing; and as the old Beau said to his

Son, once for all, Pray, Jack, _be a fine Gentleman_, so may I, to my

Reader, abridge my Instructions, and finish the Art of Pleasing in a

Word, Be rich.

T.

[Footnote 1: [that]]

* * * * *

No. 281. Tuesday, January 22, 1712. Addison.

Pectoribus inhians spirantia consulit exta.

Virg.

Having already given an Account of the Dissection of a Beaus Head, with

the several Discoveries made on that Occasion; I shall here, according

to my Promise, enter upon the Dissection of a Coquets Heart, and

communicate to the Public such Particularities as we observed in that

curious Piece of Anatomy.

I should perhaps have waved this Undertaking, had not I been put in mind

of my Promise by several of my unknown Correspondents, who are very

importunate with me to make an Example of the Coquet, as I have already

done of the Beau. It is therefore in Compliance with the Request of

Friends, that I have looked over the Minutes of my former Dream, in

order to give the Publick an exact Relation to it, which I shall enter

upon without further Preface.

Our Operator, before he engaged in this Visionary Dissection, told us,

that there was nothing in his Art more difficult than to lay open the

Heart of a Coquet, by reason of the many Labyrinths and Recesses which

are to be found in it, and which do not appear in the Heart of any other

Animal.

He desired us first of all to observe the _Pericardium_, or outward Case

of the Heart, which we did very attentively; and by the help of our

Glasses discern'd in it Millions of little Scars, which seem'd to have

been occasioned by the Points of innumerable Darts and Arrows, that from

time to time had glanced upon the outward Coat; though we could not

discover the smallest Orifice, by which any of them had entered and

pierced the inward Substance.

Every Smatterer in Anatomy knows that this _Pericardium_, or Case of the

Heart, contains in it a thin reddish Liquor, supposed to be bred from

the Vapours which exhale out of the Heart, and, being stopt here, are

condensed into this watry Substance. Upon examining this Liquor, we

found that it had in it all the Qualities of that Spirit which is made

use of in the Thermometer, to shew the Change of Weather.

Nor must I here omit an Experiment one of the Company assured us he

himself had made with this Liquor, which he found in great Quantity

about the Heart of a Coquet whom he had formerly dissected. He affirmed

to us, that he had actually inclosed it in a small Tube made after the

manner of a Weather Glass; but that instead of acquainting him with the

Variations of the Atmosphere, it shewed him the Qualities of those

Persons who entered the Room where it stood. He affirmed also, that it

rose at the Approach of a Plume of Feathers, an embroidered Coat, or a

Pair of fringed Gloves; and that it fell as soon as an ill-shaped

Perriwig, a clumsy Pair of Shoes, or an unfashionable Coat came into his

House: Nay, he proceeded so far as to assure us, that upon his Laughing

aloud when he stood by it, the Liquor mounted very sensibly, and

immediately sunk again upon his looking serious. In short, he told us,

that he knew very well by this Invention whenever he had a Man of Sense

or a Coxcomb in his Room.

Having cleared away the _Pericardium_, or the Case and Liquor

above-mentioned, we came to the Heart itself. The outward Surface of it

was extremely slippery, and the _Mufro_, or Point, so very cold withal,

that, upon endeavouring to take hold of it it glided through the Fingers

like a smooth Piece of Ice.

The Fibres were turned and twisted in a more intricate and perplexed

manner than they are usually found in other Hearts; insomuch that the

whole Heart was wound up together in a Gordian Knot, and must have had

very irregular and unequal Motions, whilst it was employed in its Vital

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 several of those little

Nerves in the Heart which are affected by the Sentiments of Love,

Hatred, and other Passions, did not descend to this before us from the

Brain, but from the Muscles which lie about the Eye.

Upon weighing the Heart in my Hand, I found it to be extreamly light,

and consequently very hollow, which I did not wonder at, when upon

looking into the Inside of it, I saw Multitudes of Cells and Cavities

running one within another, as our Historians describe the Apartments of

_Rosamond's_ Bower. Several of these little Hollows were stuffed with

innumerable sorts of Trifles, which I shall forbear giving any

particular Account of, and shall therefore only take Notice of what lay

first and uppermost, which, upon our unfolding it and applying our

Microscopes to it, appeared to be a Flame-coloured Hood.

We were informed that the Lady of this Heart, when living, received the

Addresses of several who made Love to her, and did not only give each of

them Encouragement, but made every one she conversed with believe that

she regarded him with an Eye of Kindness; for which Reason we expected

to have seen the Impression of Multitudes of Faces among the several

Plaits and Foldings of the Heart; but to our great Surprize not a single

Print of this nature discovered it self till we came into the very Core

and Center of it. We there observed a little Figure, which, upon

applying our Glasses to it, appeared dressed in a very fantastick

manner. The more I looked upon it, the more I thought I had seen the

Face before, but could not possibly recollect either the Place or Time;

when, at length, one of the Company, who had examined this Figure more

nicely than the rest, shew'd us plainly by the Make of its Face, and the

several Turns of its Features, that the little Idol which was thus

lodged in the very Middle of the Heart was the deceased Beau, whose Head

I gave some Account of in my last _Tuesdays_ Paper.

As soon as we had finished our Dissection, we resolved to make an

Experiment of the Heart, not being able to determine among our selves

the Nature of its Substance, which differ'd in so many Particulars from

that of the Heart in other Females. Accordingly we laid it into a Pan of

burning Coals, when we observed in it a certain Salamandrine Quality,

that made it capable of living in the midst of Fire and Flame, without

being consumed, or so much as singed.

As we were admiring this strange _Phoenomenon_, and standing round the

Heart in a Circle, it gave a most prodigious Sigh or rather Crack, and

dispersed all at once in Smoke and Vapour. This imaginary Noise, which

methought was louder than the burst of a Cannon, produced such a violent

Shake in my Brain, that it dissipated the Fumes of Sleep, and left me in

an Instant broad awake.

L.

* * * * *

No. 282. Wednesday, January 23, 1712. Steele.

[--Spes incerta futuri.

Virg. [1]]

It is a lamentable thing that every Man is full of Complaints, and

constantly uttering Sentences against the Fickleness of Fortune, when

People generally bring upon themselves all the Calamities they fall

into, and are constantly heaping up Matter for their own Sorrow and

Disappointment. That which produces the greatest Part of the [Delusions

[2]] of Mankind, is a false Hope which People indulge with so sanguine a

Flattery to themselves, that their Hearts are bent upon fantastical

Advantages which they had no Reason to believe should ever have arrived

to them. By this unjust Measure of calculating their Happiness, they

often mourn with real Affliction for imaginary Losses. When I am talking

of this unhappy way of accounting for our selves, I cannot but reflect

upon a particular Set of People, who, in their own Favour, resolve every

thing that is possible into what is probable, and then reckon on that

Probability as on what must certainly happen. WILL. HONEYCOMB, upon my

observing his looking on a Lady with some particular Attention, gave me

an Account of the great Distresses which had laid waste that her very

fine Face, and had given an Air of Melancholy to a very agreeable

Person, That Lady, and a couple of Sisters of hers, were, said WILL.,

fourteen Years ago, the greatest Fortunes about Town; but without having

any Loss by bad Tenants, by bad Securities, or any Damage by Sea or

Land, are reduced to very narrow Circumstances. They were at that time

the most inaccessible haughty Beauties in Town; and their Pretensions to

take upon them at that unmerciful rate, was rais'd upon the following

Scheme, according to which all their Lovers were answered.

Our Father is a youngish Man, but then our Mother is somewhat older,

and not likely to have any Children: His Estate, being £800 per Annum,

at 20 Years Purchase, is worth £16,000. Our Uncle who is above 50, has

£400 _per Annum_, which at the foresaid Rate, is £8000. There's 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 Fathers Mother has £900 _per

Annum_, which is worth £18,000 and £1000 each of us has of her own,

which cant be taken from us. These summ'd up together stand thus.

Fathers 800- 16,000 This equally divided between

Uncles 400- 8000 us three amounts to £20,000

Aunts 10,000 each; and Allowance being

6000- 16,000 given for Enlargement upon

Grandmother 900- 18,000 common Fame, we may lawfully

Own 1000 each- 3000 pass for £30,000 Fortunes.

Total- 61,000

In Prospect of this, and the Knowledge of her own personal Merit, every

one was contemptible in their Eyes, and they refus'd those Offers which

had been frequently made em. But _mark the End:_ The Mother dies, the

Father is married again, and has a Son, on him was entail'd the

Fathers, Uncles, and Grand-mothers Estate. This cut off £43,000. The

Maiden Aunt married a tall Irishman, and with her went the £6000. 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 £1000. They had [by]

this time passed their Prime, and got on the wrong side of Thirty; and

must pass the Remainder of their Days, upbraiding Mankind that they mind

nothing but Money, and bewailing that Virtue, Sense and Modesty are had

at present in no manner of Estimation.

I mention this Case of Ladies before any other, because it is the most

irreparable: For tho Youth is the Time less capable of Reflection, it

is in that Sex the only Season in which they can advance their Fortunes.

But if we turn our Thoughts to the Men, we see such Crowds of Unhappy

from no other Reason, but an ill-grounded Hope, that it is hard to say

which they rather deserve, our Pity or Contempt. It is not unpleasant to

see a Fellow after grown old in Attendance, and after having passed half

a Life in Servitude, call himself the unhappiest of all Men, and pretend

to be disappointed because a Courtier broke his Word. He that promises

himself any thing but what may naturally arise from his own Property or

Labour, and goes beyond the Desire of possessing above two Parts in

three even of that, lays up for himself an encreasing Heap of

Afflictions and Disappointments. There are but two Means in the World of

gaining by other Men, and these are by being either agreeable or

considerable. The Generality of Mankind do all things for their own

sakes; and when you hope any thing from Persons above you, if you cannot

say, I can be thus agreeable or thus serviceable, it is ridiculous to

pretend to the Dignity of being unfortunate when they leave you; you

were injudicious, in hoping for any other than to be neglected, for such

as can come within these Descriptions of being capable to please or

serve your Patron, when his Humour or Interests call for their Capacity

either way.

It would not methinks be an useless Comparison between the Condition of

a Man who shuns all the Pleasures of Life, and of one who makes it his

Business to pursue them. Hope in the Recluse makes his Austerities

comfortable, while the luxurious Man gains nothing but Uneasiness from

his Enjoyments. What is the Difference in the Happiness of him who is

macerated by Abstinence, and his who is surfeited with Excess? He who

resigns the World, has no Temptation to Envy, Hatred, Malice, Anger, but

is in constant Possession of a serene Mind; he who follows the Pleasures

of it, which are in their very Nature disappointing, is in constant

Search of Care, Solicitude, Remorse, and Confusion.

_January the 14th, 1712_.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I am a young Woman and have my Fortune to make; for which Reason I

come constantly to Church to hear Divine Service, and make Conquests:

But one great Hindrance in this my Design, is, that our Clerk, who was

once a Gardener, has this _Christmas_ so over-deckt the Church with

Greens, that he has quite spoilt my Prospect, insomuch that I have

scarce seen the young Baronet I dress at these three Weeks, though we

have both been very constant at our Devotions, and don't sit above

three Pews off. The Church, as it is now equipt, looks more like a

Green-house than a Place of Worship: The middle Isle is a very pretty

shady Walk, and the Pews look like so many Arbours of each Side of it.

The Pulpit itself has such Clusters of Ivy, Holly, and Rosemary about

it, that a light Fellow in our Pew took occasion to say, that the

Congregation heard the Word out of a Bush, like _Moses_. Sir _Anthony

Loves_ Pew in particular is so well hedged, that all my Batteries

have no Effect. I am obliged to shoot at random among the Boughs,

without taking any manner of Aim. _Mr_. SPECTATOR, unless you'll give

Orders for removing these Greens, I shall grow a very awkward Creature

at Church, and soon have little else to do there but to say my

Prayers. I am in haste,

_Dear SIR_,

_Your most Obedient Servant_,

Jenny Simper.

T.

[Footnote 1: _Et nulli rei nisi Poenitentiæ natus._ ]

[Footnote 2: Pollutions]

* * * * *

No. 283. Thursday, January 24, 1712. Budgell.

Magister artis et largitor ingeni

Venter

Pers.

Lucian [1] rallies the Philosophers in his Time, who could not agree

whether they should admit _Riches_ into the number of _real Goods_; the

Professors of the Severer Sects threw them quite out, while others as

resolutely inserted them.

I am apt to believe, that as the World grew more Polite, the rigid

Doctrines of the first were wholly discarded; and I do not find any one

so hardy at present, as to deny that there are very great Advantages in

the Enjoyment of a plentiful Fortune. Indeed the best and wisest of Men,

tho they may possibly despise a good Part of those things which the

World calls Pleasures, can, I think, hardly be insensible of that Weight

and Dignity which a moderate Share of Wealth adds to their Characters,

Councils, and Actions.

We find it is a General Complaint in Professions and Trades, that the

richest Members of them are chiefly encouraged, and this is falsly

imputed to the Ill-nature of Mankind, who are ever bestowing their

Favours on such as least want them. Whereas if we fairly consider their

Proceedings in this Case, we shall find them founded on undoubted

Reason: Since supposing both equal in their natural Integrity, I ought,

in common Prudence, to fear foul Play from an Indigent Person, rather

than from one whose Circumstances seem to have placed him above the bare

Temptation of Money.

This Reason also makes the Common-wealth regard her richest Subjects, as

those who are most concerned for her Quiet and Interest, and

consequently fittest to be intrusted with her highest Imployments. On

the contrary, _Cataline's_ Saying to those Men of desperate Fortunes,

who applied themselves to him, and of whom he afterwards composed his

Army, that _they had nothing to hope for but a Civil War_, was too true

not to make the Impressions he desired.

I believe I need not fear but that what I have said in Praise of Money,

will be more than sufficient with most of my Readers to excuse the

Subject of my present Paper, which I intend as an Essay on _The Ways to

raise a Man's Fortune_, or, _The Art of growing Rich._

The first and most infallible Method towards the attaining of this End,

is _Thrift:_ All Men are not equally qualified for getting Money, but it

is in the Power of every one alike to practise this Virtue, and I

believe there are very few Persons, who, if they please to reflect on

their past Lives, will not find that had they saved all those Little

Sums which they have spent unnecessarily, they might at present have

been Masters of a competent Fortune. _Diligence_ justly claims the next

Place to _Thrift:_ I find both these excellently well recommended to

common use in the three following _Italian_ Proverbs,

Never do that by Proxy which you can do yourself.

Never defer that till To-morrow which you can do To-day.

Never neglect small Matters and Expences.

A third Instrument of growing Rich, is _Method in Business_, which, as

well as the two former, is also attainable by Persons of the meanest

Capacities.

The famous _De Wit_, one of the greatest Statesmen of the Age in which

he lived, being asked by a Friend, How he was able to dispatch that

Multitude of Affairs in which he was engaged? reply'd, That his whole

Art consisted in doing _one thing at once_. If, says he, I have any

necessary Dispatches to make, I think of nothing else till those are

finished; If any Domestick Affairs require my Attention, I give myself

up wholly to them till they are set in Order.

In short, we often see Men of dull and phlegmatick Tempers, arriving to

great Estates, by making a regular and orderly Disposition of their

Business, and that without it the greatest Parts and most lively

Imaginations rather puzzle their Affairs, than bring them to an happy

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.

Tho the Ways of getting Money were long since very numerous; and tho

so many new ones have been found out of late Years, there is certainly

still remaining so large a Field for Invention, that a Man of an

indifferent Head might easily sit down and draw up such a Plan for the

Conduct and support of his Life, as was never yet once thought of.

We daily see Methods put in practice by hungry and ingenious Men, which

demonstrate the Power of Invention in this Particular.

It is reported of _Scaramouch_, the first famous Italian Comedian, that

being at _Paris_ and in great Want, he bethought himself of constantly

plying near the Door of a noted Perfumer in that City, and when any one

came out who had been buying Snuff, never failed to desire a Taste of

them: when he had by this Means got together a Quantity made up of

several different Sorts, he sold it again at a lower Rate to the same

Perfumer, who finding out the Trick, called it _Tabac de mille fleures_,

or _Snuff of a thousand Flowers_. The Story farther tells us, that by

this means he got a very comfortable Subsistence, till making too much

haste to grow Rich, he one Day took such an unreasonable Pinch out of

the Box of a _Swiss_ Officer, as engaged him in a Quarrel, and obliged

him to quit this Ingenious Way of Life.

Nor can I in this Place omit doing Justice to a Youth of my own Country,

who, tho he is scarce yet twelve Years old, has with great Industry and

Application attained to the Art of beating the Grenadiers March on his

Chin. I am credibly informed that by this means he does not only

maintain himself and his Mother, but that he is laying up Money every

Day, with a Design, if the War continues, to purchase a Drum at least,

if not a Colours.

I shall conclude these Instances with the Device of the famous

_Rabelais_, when he was at a great Distance from _Paris_, and without

Money to bear his Expences thither. This ingenious Author being thus

sharp set, got together a convenient Quantity of Brick-Dust, and having

disposed of it into several Papers, writ upon one _Poyson for Monsieur_,

upon a second, _Poyson for the Dauphin_, and on a third, _Poyson for the

King_. Having made this Provision for the Royal Family of _France_, he

laid his Papers so that his Landlord, who was an Inquisitive Man, and a

good Subject, might get a Sight of them.

The Plot succeeded as he desired: The Host gave immediate Intelligence

to the Secretary of State. The Secretary presently sent down a Special

Messenger, who brought up the Traitor to Court, and provided him at the

Kings Expence with proper Accommodations on the Road. As soon as he

appeared he was known to be the Celebrated _Rabelais_, and his Powder

upon Examination being found very Innocent, the Jest was only laught at;

for which a less eminent _Drole_ would have been sent to the Gallies.

Trade and Commerce might doubtless be still varied a thousand Ways, out

of which would arise such Branches as have not yet been touched. The

famous _Doily_ is still fresh in every ones Memory, who raised a

Fortune by finding out Materials for such Stuffs as might at once be

cheap and genteel. I have heard it affirmed, that had not he discovered

this frugal Method of gratifying our Pride, we should hardly have been

[able[1]] to carry on the last War.

I regard Trade not only as highly advantageous to the Commonwealth in

general; but as the most natural and likely Method of making a Man's

Fortune, having observed, since my being a _Spectator_ in the World,

greater Estates got about _Change_, than at _Whitehall_ or at St.

_James's_. I believe I may also add, that the first Acquisitions are

generally attended with more Satisfaction, and as good a Conscience.

I must not however close this Essay, without observing that what has

been said is only intended for Persons in the common ways of Thriving,

and is not designed for those Men who from low Beginnings push

themselves up to the Top of States, and the most considerable Figures in

Life. My Maxim of _Saving_ is not designed for such as these, since

nothing is more usual than for _Thrift_ to disappoint the Ends of

_Ambition_; it being almost impossible that the Mind should [be [2]]

intent upon Trifles, while it is at the same time forming some great

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 _Genius's_, and Men above Rule, since it is very

easy for them to be deceived in this Particular.

X.

[Footnote 1: In his Auction of Philosophers.]

[Footnote 2: [able so well]]

[Footnote 3: [descend to and be]]

* * * * *

No. 284. Friday, January 25, 1712. Steele.

[Posthabui tamen illorum mea seria Ludo.

Virg. [1]]

An unaffected Behaviour is without question a very great Charm; but

under the Notion of being unconstrained and disengaged, People take upon

them to be unconcerned in any Duty of Life. A general Negligence is what

they assume upon all Occasions, and set up for an Aversion to all manner

of Business and Attention. _I am the carelessest Creature in the World,

I have certainly the worst Memory of any Man living_, are frequent

Expressions in the Mouth of a Pretender of this sort. It is a professed

Maxim with these People never to _think_; there is something so solemn

in Reflexion, they, forsooth, can never give themselves Time for such a

way of employing themselves. It happens often that this sort of Man is

heavy enough in his Nature to be a good Proficient in such Matters as

are attainable by Industry; but alas! he has such an ardent Desire to be

what he is not, to be too volatile, to have the Faults of a Person of

Spirit, that he professes himself the most unfit Man living for any

manner of Application. When this Humour enters into the Head of a

Female, she gently professes Sickness upon all Occasions, and acts all

things with an indisposed Air: She is offended, but her Mind is too lazy

to raise her to Anger, therefore she lives only as actuated by a violent

Spleen and gentle Scorn. She has hardly Curiosity to listen to Scandal

of her Acquaintance, and has never Attention enough to hear them

commended. This Affectation in both Sexes makes them vain of being

useless, and take a certain Pride in their Insignificancy.

Opposite to this Folly is another no less unreasonable, and that is the

Impertinence of being always in a Hurry. There are those who visit

Ladies, and beg Pardon afore they are well seated in their Chairs, that

they just called in, but are obliged to attend Business of Importance

elsewhere the very next Moment: Thus they run from Place to Place,

professing that they are obliged to be still in another Company than

that which they are in. These Persons who are just a going somewhere

else should never be detained; [let [2]] all the World allow that

Business is to be minded, and their Affairs will be at an end. Their

Vanity is to be importuned, and Compliance with their Multiplicity of

Affairs would effectually dispatch em. The Travelling Ladies, who have

half the Town to see in an Afternoon, may be pardoned for being in

constant Hurry; but it is inexcusable in Men to come where they have no

Business, to profess they absent themselves where they have. It has been

remarked by some nice Observers and Criticks, that there is nothing

discovers the true Temper of a Person so much as his Letters. I have by

me two Epistles, which are written by two People of the different

Humours above-mentioned. It is wonderful that a Man cannot observe upon

himself when he sits down to write, but that he will gravely commit

himself to Paper the same Man that he is in the Freedom of Conversation.

I have hardly seen a Line from any of these Gentlemen, but spoke them as

absent from what they were doing, as they profess they are when they

come into Company. For the Folly is, that they have perswaded themselves

they really are busy. Thus their whole Time is spent in suspense of the

present Moment to the next, and then from the next to the succeeding,

which to the End of Life is to pass away with Pretence to many things,

and Execution of nothing.

_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

Compliments to you for your Civilities to me when I was last in Town.

It is my Misfortune to be so full of Business, that I cannot tell you

a Thousand Things which I have to say to you. I must desire you to

communicate the Contents of this to no one living; but believe me to

be, with the greatest Fidelity,

_SIR_,

_Your most Obedient_,

_Humble Servant_,

Stephen Courier.

_Madam_,

I hate Writing, of all Things in the World; however, though I have

drunk the Waters, and am told I ought not to use my Eyes so much, I

cannot forbear writing to you, to tell you I have been to the last

Degree hipped since I saw you. How could you entertain such a Thought,

as that I should hear of that silly Fellow with Patience? Take my Word

for it, there is nothing in it; and you may believe it when so lazy a

Creature as I am undergo the Pains to assure you of it by taking Pen,

Ink, and Paper in my Hand. Forgive this, you know I shall not often

offend in this Kind. I am very much

_Your Servant_,

Bridget Eitherdown.

_The Fellow is of your Country, prythee send me Word how ever whether

he has so great an Estate_.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR, _Jan_. 24, 1712.

I am Clerk of the Parish from whence Mrs. _Simper_ sends her

Complaint, in your Yesterdays _Spectator_. I must beg of you to

publish this as a publick Admonition to the aforesaid Mrs. _Simper_,

otherwise all my honest Care in the Disposition of the Greens in the

Church will have no Effect: I shall therefore with your Leave lay

before you the whole Matter. I was formerly, as she charges me, for

several Years a Gardener in the County of _Kent_: But I must

absolutely deny, that tis out of any Affection I retain for my old

Employment that I have placed my Greens so liberally about the Church,

but out of a particular Spleen I conceived against Mrs. _Simper_ (and

others of the same Sisterhood) some time ago. As to herself, I had one

Day set the Hundredth _Psalm_, and was singing the first Line in order

to put the Congregation into the Tune, she was all the while curtsying

to Sir _Anthony_ in so affected and indecent a manner, that the

Indignation I conceived at it made me forget my self so far, as from

the Tune of that _Psalm_ to wander into _Southwell_ Tune, and from

thence into _Windsor_ Tune, still unable to recover my self till I had

with the utmost Confusion set a new one. Nay, I have often seen her

rise up and smile and curtsy to one at the lower End of the Church in

the midst of a _Gloria Patri_; and when I have spoke the Assent to a

Prayer with a long Amen uttered with decent Gravity, she has been

rolling her Eyes around about in such a Manner, as plainly shewed,

however she was moved, it was not towards an Heavenly Object. In fine,

she extended her Conquests so far over the Males, and raised such Envy

in the Females, that what between Love of those and the Jealousy of

these, I was almost the only Person that looked in the Prayer-Book all

Church-time. I had several Projects in my Head to put a Stop to this

growing Mischief; but as I have long lived in _Kent_, and there often

heard how the _Kentish_ Men evaded the Conqueror, by carrying green

Boughs over their Heads, it put me in mind of practising this Device

against Mrs. _Simper_. I find I have preserved many a young Man from

her Eye-shot by this Means; therefore humbly pray the Boughs may be

fixed, till she shall give Security for her peaceable Intentions.

_Your Humble Servant_,

Francis Sternhold.

T.

[Footnote 1: [_Strenua nos exercet inertia._---HOR.]

[Footnote 2: [_but_]]

* * * * *

No. 285. Saturday, January 26, 1712. Addison.

Ne, quicunque Deus, quicunque adhibebitur heros,

Regali conspectus in auro nuper et ostro,

Migret in Obscuras humili sermone tabernas:

Aut, dum vitat humum, nubes et inania captet.

Hor.

Having already treated of the Fable, the Characters, and Sentiments in

the Paradise Lost, we are in the last Place to consider the Language;

and as the Learned World is very much divided upon Milton as to this

Point, I hope they will excuse me if I appear particular in any of my

Opinions, and encline to those who judge the most advantageously of the

Author.

It is requisite that the Language of an Heroic Poem should be both

Perspicuous and Sublime. [1] In proportion as either of these two

Qualities are wanting, the Language is imperfect. Perspicuity is the

first and most necessary Qualification; insomuch that a good-natur'd

Reader sometimes overlooks a little Slip even in the Grammar or Syntax,

where it is impossible for him to mistake the Poets Sense. Of this Kind

is that Passage in Milton, wherein he speaks of Satan.

--God and his Son except,

Created thing nought valu'd he nor shunn'd.

And that in which he describes Adam and Eve.

Adam the goodliest Man of Men since born

His Sons, the fairest of her Daughters Eve.

It is plain, that in the former of these Passages according to the

natural Syntax, the Divine Persons mentioned in the first Line are

represented as created Beings; and that, in the other, Adam and Eve are

confounded with their Sons and Daughters. Such little Blemishes as

these, when the Thought is great and natural, we should, with Horace [2]

impute to a pardonable Inadvertency, or to the Weakness of human Nature,

which cannot attend to each minute Particular, and give the last

Finishing to every Circumstance in so long a Work. The Ancient Criticks

therefore, who were acted by a Spirit of Candour, rather than that of

Cavilling, invented certain Figures of Speech, on purpose to palliate

little Errors of this nature in the Writings of those Authors who had so

many greater Beauties to attone for them.

If Clearness and Perspicuity were only to be consulted, the Poet would

have nothing else to do but to cloath his Thoughts in the most plain and

natural Expressions. But since it often happens that the most obvious

Phrases, and those which are used in ordinary Conversation, become too

familiar to the Ear, and contract a kind of Meanness by passing through

the Mouths of the Vulgar, a Poet should take particular Care to guard

himself against Idiomatick Ways of Speaking. Ovid and Lucan have many

Poornesses of Expression upon this Account, as taking up with the first

Phrases that offered, without putting themselves to the Trouble of

looking after such as would not only have been natural, but also

elevated and sublime. Milton has but few Failings in this Kind, of

which, however, you may [meet with some Instances, as [3] in the

following Passages.

Embrios and Idiots, Eremites and Fryars,

White, Black, and Grey,--with all their Trumpery,

Here Pilgrims roam--

--A while discourse they hold,

No fear lest Dinner cool;--when thus began

Our Author--

Who of all Ages to succeed, but feeling

The Evil on him brought by me, will curse

My Head, ill fare our Ancestor impure,

For this we may thank Adam--

The Great Masters in Composition, knew very well that many an elegant

Phrase becomes improper for a Poet or an Orator, when it has been

debased by common Use. For this Reason the Works of Ancient Authors,

which are written in dead Languages, have a great Advantage over those

which are written in Languages that are now spoken. Were there any mean

Phrases or Idioms in Virgil and Homer, they would not shock the Ear of

the most delicate Modern Reader, so much as they would have done that of

an old Greek or Roman, because we never hear them pronounced in our

Streets, or in ordinary Conversation.

It is not therefore sufficient, that the Language of an Epic Poem be

Perspicuous, unless it be also Sublime. To this end it ought to deviate

from the common Forms and ordinary Phrases of Speech. The Judgment of a

Poet very much discovers it self in shunning the common Roads of

Expression, without falling into such ways of Speech as may seem stiff

and unnatural; he must not swell into a false Sublime, by endeavouring

to avoid the other Extream. Among the Greeks, Æschylus, and sometimes

Sophocles, were guilty of this Fault; among the Latins, Claudian and

Statius; and among our own Countrymen, Shakespear and Lee. In these

Authors the Affectation of Greatness often hurts the Perspicuity of the

Stile, as in many others the Endeavour after Perspicuity prejudices its

Greatness.

Aristotle has observed, that the Idiomatick Stile may be avoided, and

the Sublime formed, by the following Methods. [4]

First, by the Use of Metaphors [: Such are those of Milton. [5]]

Imparadised in one anothers Arms.

--And in his Hand a Reed

Stood waving tipt with Fire.--

The grassie Clods now calvd,--

[Spangled with Eyes--]

In these and innumerable other Instances, the Metaphors are very bold

but just; I must however observe that the Metaphors are not [so] thick

sown in Milton which always savours too much of Wit; that they never

clash with one another, which, as Aristotle observes, turns a Sentence

into a kind of an Enigma or Riddle; [6] and that he seldom has recourse

to them where the proper and natural Words will do as well.

Another way of raising the Language, and giving it a Poetical Turn, is

to make use of the Idioms of other Tongues. Virgil is full of the Greek

Forms of Speech, which the Criticks call Hellenisms, as Horace in his

Odes abounds with them much more than Virgil. I need not mention the

several Dialects which Homer has made use of for this end. Milton, in

conformity with the Practice of the Ancient Poets, and with Aristotle's

Rule, has infused a great many Latinisms, as well as Græcisms, and

sometimes Hebraisms, into the Language of his Poem; as towards the

Beginning of it.

Nor did they not perceive the evil Plight

In which they were, or the fierce Pains not feel,

Yet to their Genrals Voice they soon obey'd.--

--Who shall tempt with wandring Feet

The dark unbottom'd Infinite Abyss,

And through the palpable Obscure find out

His uncouth way, or spread his airy Flight

Upborn with indefatigable Wings

Over the vast Abrupt!

[--So both ascend

In the Visions of God-- Book 2.]

Under this Head may be reckon'd the placing the Adjective after the

Substantive, the Transposition of Words, the turning the Adjective into

a Substantive, with several other Foreign Modes of Speech which this

Poet has naturalized to give his Verse the greater Sound, and throw it

out of Prose.

The third Method mentioned by Aristotle is what agrees with the Genius

of the Greek Language more than with that of any other Tongue, and is

therefore more used by Homer than by any other Poet. I mean the

lengthning of a Phrase by the Addition of Words, which may either be

inserted or omitted, as also by the extending or contracting of

particular Words by the Insertion or Omission of certain Syllables.

Milton has put in practice this Method of raising his Language, as far

as the Nature of our Tongue will permit, as in the Passage

above-mentioned, Eremite, [for] what is Hermit, in common Discourse. If

you observe the Measure of his Verse, he has with great Judgment

suppressed a Syllable in several Words, and shortned those of two

Syllables into one, by which Method, besides the above-mentioned

Advantage, he has given a greater Variety to his Numbers. But this

Practice is more particularly remarkable in the Names of Persons and of

Countries, as Beëlzebub, Hessebon, and in many other Particulars,

wherein he has either changed the Name, or made use of that which is not

the most commonly known, that he might the better depart from the

Language of the Vulgar.

The same Reason recommended to him several old Words, which also makes

his Poem appear the more venerable, and gives it a greater Air of

Antiquity.

I must likewise take notice, that there are in Milton several Words of

his own coining, as Cerberean, miscreated, Hell-doom'd, Embryon Atoms,

and many others. If the Reader is offended at this Liberty in our

English Poet, I would recommend him to a Discourse in Plutarch, [7]

which shews us how frequently Homer has made use of the same Liberty.

Milton, by the above-mentioned Helps, and by the Choice of the noblest

Words and Phrases which our Tongue would afford him, has carried our

Language to a greater Height than any of the English Poets have ever

done before or after him, and made the Sublimity of his Stile equal to

that of his Sentiments.

I have been the more particular in these Observations on Milton's Stile,

because it is that Part of him in which he appears the most singular.

The Remarks I have here made upon the Practice of other Poets, with my

Observations out of Aristotle, will perhaps alleviate the Prejudice

which some have taken to his Poem upon this Account; tho after all, I

must confess that I think his Stile, tho admirable in general, is in

some places too much stiffened and obscured by the frequent Use of those

Methods, which Aristotle has prescribed for the raising of it.

This Redundancy of those several Ways of Speech, which Aristotle calls

foreign Language, and with which Milton has so very much enriched, and

in some Places darkned the Language of his Poem, was the more proper for

his use, because his Poem is written in Blank Verse. Rhyme, without any

other Assistance, throws the Language off from Prose, and very often

makes an indifferent Phrase pass unregarded; but where the Verse is not

built upon Rhymes, there Pomp of Sound, and Energy of Expression, are

indispensably necessary to support the Stile, and keep it from falling

into the Flatness of Prose.

Those who have not a Taste for this Elevation of Stile, and are apt to

ridicule a Poet when he departs from the common Forms of Expression,

would do well to see how Aristotle has treated an Ancient Author called

Euclid, [8] for his insipid Mirth upon this Occasion. Mr. Dryden used to

call [these [9]]sort of Men his Prose-Criticks.

I should, under this Head of the Language, consider Milton's Numbers, in

which he has made use of several Elisions, which are not customary among

other English Poets, as may be particularly observed in his cutting off

the Letter Y, when it precedes a Vowel. [10] This, and some other

Innovation in the Measure of his Verse, has varied his Numbers in such a

manner, as makes them incapable of satiating the Ear, and cloying the

Reader, which the same uniform Measure would certainly have done, and

which the perpetual Returns of Rhime never fail to do in long Narrative

Poems. I shall close these Reflections upon the Language of Paradise

Lost, with observing that Milton has copied after Homer rather than

Virgil in the length of his Periods, the Copiousness of his Phrases, and

the running of his Verses into one another.

L.

[Footnote 1: Aristotle, Poetics, ii. §26.

The excellence of Diction consists in being perspicuous without being

mean.]

[Footnote 2:

Verum ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis

Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit,

Aut humana parum cavit natura.

De Ar. Poet., II. 351-3.]

[Footnote 3: [see an Instance or two]]

[Footnote 4: Poetics, ii. § 26]

[Footnote 5: [,like those in Milton]]

[Footnote 6:

That language is elevated and remote from the vulgar idiom which

employs unusual words: by unusual, I mean foreign, metaphorical,

extended--all, in short, that are not common words. Yet, should a poet

compose his Diction entirely of such words, the result would be either

an enigma or a barbarous jargon: an enigma if composed of metaphors, a

barbarous jargon if composed of foreign words. For the essence of an

enigma consists in putting together things apparently inconsistent and

impossible, and at the same time saying nothing but what is true. Now

this cannot be effected by the mere arrangement of words; by the

metaphorical use of them it may.]

[Footnote 7: On Life and Poetry of Homer, wrongly ascribed to Plutarch,

Bk. I. § 16.]

[Footnote 8: Poetics, II. § 26.

A judicious intermixture is requisite ... It is without reason,

therefore, that some critics have censured these modes of speech, and

ridiculed the poet for the use of them; as old Euclid did, objecting

that versification would be an easy business, if it were permitted to

lengthen words at pleasure, and then giving a burlesque example of

that sort of diction... In the employment of all the species of

unusual words, moderation is necessary: for metaphors, foreign words,

or any of the others improperly used, and with a design to be

ridiculous, would produce the same effect. But how great a difference

is made by a proper and temperate use of such words may be seen in

heroic verse. Let any one put common words in the place of the

metaphorical, the foreign, and others of the same kind, and he will be

convinced of the truth of what I say.

He then gives two or three examples of the effect of changing poetical

for common words. As, that (in plays now lost):

the same Iambic verse occurs in Æschylus and Euripides; but by means

of a single alteration--the substitution of a foreign for a common and

usual word--one of these verses appears beautiful, the other ordinary.

For Æschylus in his Philoctetes says, "The poisonous wound that eats

my flesh." But Euripides for ([Greek: esthiei]) "eats" says ([Greek:

thoinatai]) "banquets on."]

[Footnote 9: [this]]

[Footnote 10: This is not particularly observed. On the very first page

of P. L. we have a line with the final y twice sounded before a vowel,

Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song.

Again a few lines later,

That to the height of this great argument

I may assert Eternal Providence.

Ten lines farther we read of the Serpent

Stirr'd up with envy and revenge.

We have only an apparent elision of y a few lines later in his aspiring

To set himself in glory above his peers,

for the line would be ruined were the y to be omitted by a reader. The

extreme shortness of the two unaccented syllables, y and a, gives them

the quantity of one in the metre, and allows by the turn of voice a

suggestion of exuberance, heightening the force of the word glory. Three

lines lower Milton has no elision of the y before a vowel in the line,

Against the throne and monarchy of God.

Nor eight lines after that in the words day and night. There is elision

of y in the line,

That were an ignominy and shame beneath

This downfall.

But none a few lines lower down in

Sole reigning holds the tyranny of heaven.

When the y stands by itself, unaccented, immediately after an accented

syllable, and precedes a vowel that is part of another unaccented

syllable standing immediately before an accented one, Milton accepts the

consequence, and does not attempt to give it the force of a distinct

syllable. But Addison's vague notion that it was Milton's custom to cut

off the final y when it precedes a vowel, and that for the sake of being

uncommon, came of inaccurate observation. For the reasons just given,

the y of the word glory runs into the succeeding syllable, and most

assuredly is not cut off, when we read of

the excess

Of Glory obscured: as when the sun, new ris'n,

Looks through the horizontal misty air,

but the y in misty stands as a full syllable because the word air is

accented. So again in

Death as oft accused

Of tardy execution, since denounc'd

The day of his offence.

The y of tardy is a syllable because the vowel following it is

accented; the y also of day remains, because, although an unaccented

vowel follows, it is itself part of an accented syllable.]

* * * * *

No. 286. Monday, January 28, 1712. Steele.

Nomina Honesta prætenduntur vitiis.

Tacit.

York, Jan. 18, 1712.

Mr. Spectator,

I pretend not to inform a Gentleman of so just a Taste, whenever he

pleases to use it; but it may not be amiss to inform your Readers,

that there is a false Delicacy as well as a true one. True Delicacy,

as I take it, consists in Exactness of Judgment and Dignity of

Sentiment, or if you will, Purity of Affection, as this is opposed to

Corruption and Grossness. There are Pedants in Breeding as well as in

Learning. The Eye that cannot bear the Light is not delicate but sore.

A good Constitution appears in the Soundness and Vigour of the Parts,

not in the Squeamishness of the Stomach; And a false Delicacy is

Affectation, not Politeness. What then can be the Standard of Delicacy

but Truth and Virtue? Virtue, which, as the Satyrist long since

observed, is real Honour; whereas the other Distinctions among Mankind

are meerly titular. Judging by that Rule, in my Opinion, and in that

of many of your virtuous Female Readers, you are so far from deserving

Mr. Courtly's Accusation, that you seem too gentle, and to allow too

many Excuses for an enormous Crime, which is the Reproach of the Age,

and is in all its Branches and Degrees expresly forbidden by that

Religion we pretend to profess; and whose Laws, in a Nation that calls

it self Christian, one would think should take Place of those Rules

which Men of corrupt Minds, and those of weak Understandings follow. I

know not any thing more pernicious to good Manners, than the giving

fair Names to foul Actions; for this confounds Vice and Virtue, and

takes off that natural Horrour we have to Evil. An innocent Creature,

who would start at the Name of Strumpet, may think it pretty to be

called a Mistress, especially if her Seducer has taken care to inform

her, that a Union of Hearts is the principal Matter in the Sight of

Heaven, and that the Business at Church is a meer idle Ceremony. Who

knows not that the Difference between obscene and modest Words

expressing the same Action, consists only in the accessary Idea, for

there is nothing immodest in Letters and Syllables. Fornication and

Adultery are modest Words: because they express an Evil Action as

criminal, and so as to excite Horrour and Aversion: Whereas Words

representing the Pleasure rather than the Sin, are for this Reason

indecent and dishonest. Your Papers would be chargeable with something

worse than Indelicacy, they would be Immoral, did you treat the

detestable Sins of Uncleanness in the same manner as you rally an

impertinent Self-love and an artful Glance; as those Laws would be

very unjust, that should chastise Murder and Petty Larceny with the

same Punishment. Even Delicacy requires that the Pity shewn to

distressed indigent Wickedness, first betrayed into, and then expelled

the Harbours of the Brothel, should be changed to Detestation, when we

consider pampered Vice in the Habitations of the Wealthy. The most

free Person of Quality, in Mr. Courtly's Phrase, that is, to speak

properly, a Woman of Figure who has forgot her Birth and Breeding,

dishonoured her Relations and her self, abandoned her Virtue and

Reputation, together with the natural Modesty of her Sex, and risqued

her very Soul, is so far from deserving to be treated with no worse

Character than that of a kind Woman, (which is doubtless Mr. Courtly's

Meaning, if he has any,) that one can scarce be too severe on her, in

as much as she sins against greater Restraints, is less exposed, and

liable to fewer Temptations, than Beauty in Poverty and Distress. It

is hoped therefore, Sir, that you will not lay aside your generous

Design of exposing that monstrous Wickedness of the Town, whereby a

Multitude of Innocents are sacrificed in a more barbarous Manner than

those who were offered to Moloch. The Unchaste are provoked to see

their Vice exposed, and the Chaste cannot rake into such Filth without

Danger of Defilement; but a meer SPECTATOR may look into the Bottom,

and come off without partaking in the Guilt. The doing so will

convince us you pursue publick Good, and not meerly your own

Advantage: But if your Zeal slackens, how can one help thinking that

Mr. Courtly's Letter is but a Feint to get off from a Subject, in

which either your own, or the private and base Ends of others to whom

you are partial, or those [of] whom you are afraid, would not endure a

Reformation?

I am, Sir, your humble Servant and Admirer, so long as you tread in

the Paths of Truth, Virtue, and Honour.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

Trin. Coll. Cantab. Jan. 12, 1711-12.

It is my Fortune to have a Chamber-Fellow, with whom, tho I agree

very well in many Sentiments, yet there is one in which we are as

contrary as Light and Darkness. We are both in Love: his Mistress is a

lovely Fair, and mine a lovely Brown. Now as the Praise of our

Mistresses Beauty employs much of our Time, we have frequent Quarrels

in entering upon that Subject, while each says all he can to defend

his Choice. For my own part, I have racked my Fancy to the utmost; and

sometimes, with the greatest Warmth of Imagination, have told him,

That Night was made before Day, and many more fine Things, tho

without any effect: Nay, last Night I could not forbear saying with

more Heat than Judgment, that the Devil ought to be painted white. Now

my Desire is, Sir, that you would be pleased to give us in Black and

White your Opinion in the Matter of Dispute between us; which will

either furnish me with fresh and prevailing Arguments to maintain my

own Taste, or make me with less Repining allow that of my

Chamber-Fellow. I know very well that I have Jack Cleveland[1] and

Bonds Horace on my Side; but then he has such a Band of Rhymers and

Romance-Writers, with which he opposes me, and is so continually

chiming to the Tune of Golden Tresses, yellow Locks, Milk, Marble,

Ivory, Silver, Swan, Snow, Daisies, Doves, and the Lord knows what;

which he is always sounding with so much Vehemence in my Ears, that he

often puts me into a brown Study how to answer him; and I find that I

am in a fair Way to be quite confounded, without your timely

Assistance afforded to,

SIR,

Your humble Servant,

Philobrune.

T. [2]

[Footnote 1: Cleveland celebrates brown beauties in his poem of the

Senses Festival. John Bond, who published Commentaries on Horace and

Persius, Antony à Wood calls a polite and rare critic whose labours

have advanced the Commonwealth of Learning very much.]

[Footnote 2: [Z.]]

* * * * *

No. 287. Tuesday, January 29, 1712. Addison.

[Greek: Ô philtátae gae maeter, hos semnòn sphódr ei

Tois noun echousi ktaema--

Menand.]

I look upon it as a peculiar Happiness, that were I to choose of what

Religion I would be, and under what Government I would live, I should

most certainly give the Preference to that Form of Religion and

Government which is established in my own Country. In this Point I think

I am determined by Reason and Conviction; but if I shall be told that I

am acted by Prejudice, I am sure it is an honest Prejudice, it is a

Prejudice that arises from the Love of my Country, and therefore such an

one as I will always indulge. I have in several Papers endeavoured to

express my Duty and Esteem for the Church of England, and design this as

an Essay upon the Civil Part of our Constitution, having often

entertained my self with Reflections on this Subject, which I have not

met with in other Writers.

That Form of Government appears to me the most reasonable, which is most

conformable to the Equality that we find in human Nature, provided it be

consistent with publick Peace and Tranquillity. This is what may

properly be called Liberty, which exempts one Man from Subjection to

another so far as the Order and Oeconomy of Government will permit.

Liberty should reach every Individual of a People, as they all share one

common Nature; if it only spreads among particular Branches, there had

better be none at all, since such a Liberty only aggravates the

Misfortune of those who are depriv'd of it, by setting before them a

disagreeable Subject of Comparison. This Liberty is best preserved,

where the Legislative Power is lodged in several Persons, especially if

those Persons are of different Ranks and Interests; for where they are

of the same Rank, and consequently have an Interest to manage peculiar

to that Rank, it differs but little from a Despotical Government in a

single Person. But the greatest Security a People can have for their

Liberty, is when the Legislative Power is in the Hands of Persons so

happily distinguished, that by providing for the particular Interests of

their several Ranks, they are providing for the whole Body of the

People; or in other Words, when there is no Part of the People that has

not a common Interest with at least one Part of the Legislators.

If there be but one Body of Legislators, it is no better than a Tyranny;

if there are only two, there will want a casting Voice, and one of them

must at length be swallowed up by Disputes and Contentions that will

necessarily arise between them. Four would have the same Inconvenience

as two, and a greater Number would cause too much Confusion. I could

never read a Passage in Polybius, and another in Cicero, to this

Purpose, without a secret Pleasure in applying it to the English

Constitution, which it suits much better than the Roman. Both these

great Authors give the Pre-eminence to a mixt Government, consisting of

three Branches, the Regal, the Noble, and the Popular. They had

doubtless in their Thoughts the Constitution of the Roman Commonwealth,

in which the Consul represented the King, the Senate the Nobles, and the

Tribunes the People. This Division of the three Powers in the Roman

Constitution was by no means so distinct and natural, as it is in the

English Form of Government. Among several Objections that might be made

to it, I think the Chief are those that affect the Consular Power, which

had only the Ornaments without the Force of the Regal Authority. Their

Number had not a casting Voice in it; for which Reason, if one did not

chance to be employed Abroad, while the other sat at Home, the Publick

Business was sometimes at a Stand, while the Consuls pulled two

different Ways in it. Besides, I do not find that the Consuls had ever a

Negative Voice in the passing of a Law, or Decree of Senate, so that

indeed they were rather the chief Body of the Nobility, or the first

Ministers of State, than a distinct Branch of the Sovereignty, in which

none can be looked upon as a Part, who are not a Part of the

Legislature. Had the Consuls been invested with the Regal Authority to

as great a Degree as our Monarchs, there would never have been any

Occasions for a Dictatorship, which had in it the Power of all the three

Orders, and ended in the Subversion of the whole Constitution.

Such an History as that of Suelonius, which gives us a Succession of

Absolute Princes, is to me an unanswerable Argument against Despotick

Power. Where the Prince is a Man of Wisdom and Virtue, it is indeed

happy for his People that he is absolute; but since in the common Run of

Mankind, for one that is Wise and Good you find ten of a contrary

Character, it is very dangerous for a Nation to stand to its Chance, or

to have its publick Happiness or Misery depend on the Virtues or Vices

of a single Person. Look into the [History [1]] I have mentioned, or

into any Series of Absolute Princes, how many Tyrants must you read

through, before you come to an Emperor that is supportable. But this is

not all; an honest private Man often grows cruel and abandoned, when

converted into an absolute Prince. Give a Man Power of doing what he

pleases with Impunity, you extinguish his Fear, and consequently

overturn in him one of the great Pillars of Morality. This too we find

confirmed by Matter of Fact. How many hopeful Heirs apparent to grand

Empires, when in the Possession of them, have become such Monsters of

Lust and Cruelty as are a Reproach to Human Nature.

Some tell us we ought to make our Governments on Earth like that in

Heaven, which, say they, is altogether Monarchical and Unlimited. Was

Man like his Creator in Goodness and Justice, I should be for following

this great Model; but where Goodness and Justice are not essential to

the Ruler, I would by no means put myself into his Hands to be disposed

of according to his particular Will and Pleasure.

It is odd to consider the Connection between Despotic Government and

Barbarity, and how the making of one Person more than Man, makes the

rest less. About nine Parts of the World in ten are in the lowest State

of Slavery, and consequently sunk into the most gross and brutal

Ignorance. European Slavery is indeed a State of Liberty, if compared

with that which prevails in the other three Divisions of the World; and

therefore it is no Wonder that those who grovel under it have many

Tracks of Light among them, of which the others are wholly destitute.

Riches and Plenty are the natural Fruits of Liberty, and where these

abound, Learning and all the Liberal Arts will immediately lift up their

Heads and flourish. As a Man must have no slavish Fears and

Apprehensions hanging upon his Mind, [who [2]] will indulge the Flights

of Fancy or Speculation, and push his Researches into all the abstruse

Corners of Truth, so it is necessary for him to have about him a

Competency of all the Conveniencies of Life.

The first thing every one looks after, is to provide himself with

Necessaries. This Point will engross our Thoughts till it be satisfied.

If this is taken care of to our Hands, we look out for Pleasures and

Amusements; and among a great Number of idle People, there will be many

whose Pleasures will lie in Reading and Contemplation. These are the two

great Sources of Knowledge, and as Men grow wise they naturally love to

communicate their Discoveries; and others seeing the Happiness of such a

Learned Life, and improving by their Conversation, emulate, imitate, and

surpass one another, till a Nation is filled with Races of wise and

understanding Persons. Ease and Plenty are therefore the great

Cherishers of Knowledge: and as most of the Despotick Governments of the

World have neither of them, they are naturally over-run with Ignorance

and Barbarity. In Europe, indeed, notwithstanding several of its Princes

are absolute, there are Men famous for Knowledge and Learning; but the

Reason is because the Subjects are many of them rich and wealthy, the

Prince not thinking fit to exert himself in his full Tyranny like the

Princes of the Eastern Nations, lest his Subjects should be invited to

new-mould their Constitution, having so many Prospects of Liberty within

their View. But in all Despotic Governments, tho a particular Prince

may favour Arts and Letters, there is a natural Degeneracy of Mankind,

as you may observe from Augustus's Reign, how the Romans lost themselves

by Degrees till they fell to an Equality with the most barbarous Nations

that surrounded them. Look upon Greece under its free States, and you

would think its Inhabitants lived in different Climates, and under

different Heavens, from those at present; so different are the Genius's

which are formed under Turkish Slavery and Grecian Liberty.

Besides Poverty and Want, there are other Reasons that debase the Minds

of Men, who live under Slavery, though I look on this as the Principal.

This natural Tendency of Despotic Power to Ignorance and Barbarity, tho

not insisted upon by others, is, I think, an unanswerable Argument

against that Form of Government, as it shews how repugnant it is to the

Good of Mankind, and the Perfection of human Nature, which ought to be

the great Ends of all Civil Institutions.

L.

[Footnote 1: [Historian]]

[Footnote 2: [that]]

* * * * *

No. 288. Wednesday, January 30, 1712. Steele

--Pavor est utrique molestus.

Hor.

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 be particular to her, laying themselves at her

Feet, protesting the Reality of their Passion with a thousand Oaths,

solliciting a Return, and saying as many fine Things as their Stock of

Wit will allow; and if they are not deficient that way, generally

speak so as to admit of a double Interpretation; which the credulous

Fair is apt to turn to her own Advantage, since it frequently happens

to be a raw, innocent, young Creature, who thinks all the World as

sincere as her self, and so her unwary Heart becomes an easy Prey to

those deceitful Monsters, who no sooner perceive it, but immediately

they grow cool, and shun her whom they before seemed so much to

admire, and proceed to act the same common-place Villany towards

another. A Coxcomb flushed with many of these infamous Victories shall

say he is sorry for the poor Fools, protest and vow he never thought

of Matrimony, and wonder talking civilly can be so strangely

misinterpreted. Now, Mr. SPECTATOR, you that are a professed Friend to

Love, will, I hope, observe upon those who abuse that noble Passion,

and raise it in innocent Minds by a deceitful Affectation of it, after

which they desert the Enamoured. Pray bestow a little of your Counsel

to those fond believing Females who already have or are in Danger of

broken Hearts; in which you will oblige a great Part of this Town, but

in a particular Manner,

SIR Your (yet Heart-whole) Admirer,

and devoted humble Servant,

Melainia.

Melainie's Complaint is occasioned by so general a Folly, that it is

wonderful one could so long overlook it. But this false Gallantry

proceeds from an Impotence of Mind, which makes those who are guilty of

it incapable of pursuing what they themselves approve. Many a Man wishes

a Woman his Wife whom he dares not take for such. Tho no one has Power

over his Inclinations or Fortunes, he is a Slave to common Fame. For

this Reason I think Melainia gives them too soft a Name in that of Male

Coquets. I know not why Irresolution of Mind should not be more

contemptible than Impotence of Body; and these frivolous Admirers would

be but tenderly used, in being only included in the same Term with the

Insufficient another Way. They whom my Correspondent calls Male Coquets,

shall hereafter be called Fribblers. A Fribbler is one who professes

Rapture and Admiration for the Woman to whom he addresses, and dreads

nothing so much as her Consent. His Heart can flutter by the Force of

Imagination, but cannot fix from the Force of Judgment. It is not

uncommon for the Parents of young Women of moderate Fortune to wink at

the Addresses of Fribblers, and expose their Children to the ambiguous

Behaviour which Melainia complains of, till by the Fondness to one they

are to lose, they become incapable of Love towards others, and by

Consequence in their future Marriage lead a joyless or a miserable Life.

As therefore I shall in the Speculations which regard Love be as severe

as I ought on Jilts and Libertine Women, so will I be as little merciful

to insignificant and mischievous Men. In order to this, all Visitants

who frequent Families wherein there are young Females, are forthwith

required to declare themselves, or absent from Places where their

Presence banishes such as would pass their Time more to the Advantage of

those whom they visit. It is a Matter of too great Moment to be dallied

with; and I shall expect from all my young People a satisfactory Account

of Appearances. Strephon has from the Publication hereof seven Days to

explain the Riddle he presented to Eudamia; and Chloris an Hour after

this comes to her Hand, to declare whether she will have Philotas, whom

a Woman of no less Merit than her self, and of superior Fortune,

languishes to call her own.

To the SPECTATOR.

SIR, [1]

Since so many Dealers turn Authors, and write quaint Advertisements

in praise of their Wares, one who from an Author turn'd Dealer may be

allowed for the Advancement of Trade to turn Author again. I will not

however set up like some of em, for selling cheaper than the most

able honest Tradesman can; nor do I send this to be better known for

Choice and Cheapness of China and Japan Wares, Tea, Fans, Muslins,

Pictures, Arrack, and other Indian Goods. Placed as I am in

Leadenhall-street, near the India-Company, and the Centre of that

Trade, Thanks to my fair Customers, my Warehouse is graced as well as

the Benefit Days of my Plays and Operas; and the foreign Goods I sell

seem no less acceptable than the foreign Books I translated, Rabelais

and Don Quixote: This the Criticks allow me, and while they like my

Wares they may dispraise my Writing. But as tis not so well known yet

that I frequently cross the Seas of late, and speaking Dutch and

French, besides other Languages, I have the Conveniency of buying and

importing rich Brocades, Dutch Atlasses, with Gold and Silver, or

without, and other foreign Silks of the newest Modes and best

Fabricks, fine Flanders Lace, Linnens, and Pictures, at the best Hand:

This my new way of Trade I have fallen into I cannot better publish

than by an Application to you. My Wares are fit only for such as your

Readers; and I would beg of you to print this Address in your Paper,

that those whose Minds you adorn may take the Ornaments for their

Persons and Houses from me. This, Sir, if I may presume to beg it,

will be the greater Favour, as I have lately received rich Silks and

fine Lace to a considerable Value, which will be sold cheap for a

quick Return, and as I have also a large Stock of other Goods. Indian

Silks were formerly a great Branch of our Trade; and since we must not

sell em, we must seek Amends by dealing in others. This I hope will

plead for one who would lessen the Number of Teazers of the Muses, and

who, suiting his Spirit to his Circumstances, humbles the Poet to

exalt the Citizen. Like a true Tradesman, I hardly ever look into any

Books but those of Accompts. To say the Truth, I cannot, I think, give

you a better Idea of my being a downright Man of Traffick, than by

acknowledging I oftener read the Advertisements, than the Matter of

even your Paper. I am under a great Temptation to take this

Opportunity of admonishing other Writers to follow my Example, and

trouble the Town no more; but as it is my present Business to increase

the Number of Buyers rather than Sellers, I hasten to tell you that I

am,

SIR, Your most humble,

and most obedient Servant,

Peter Motteux.

T.

[Footnote 1: Peter Anthony Motteux, the writer of this letter, was born

in Normandy, and came as a refugee to England at the Revocation of the

Edict of Nantes. Here he wrote about 14 plays, translated Bayle's

Dictionary, Montaigne's Essays, and Don Quixote, and established himself

also as a trader in Leadenhall Street. He had a wife and a fine young

family when (at the age of 56, and six years after the date of this

letter) he was found dead in a house of ill fame near Temple Bar under

circumstances that caused a reward of fifty pounds to be offered for the

discovery of his murderer.]

* * * * *

No. 289. Thursday, January 31, 1712. Addison.

Vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam.

Hor.

Upon taking my Seat in a Coffee-house I often draw the Eyes of the whole

Room upon me, when in the hottest Seasons of News, and at a time that

perhaps the Dutch Mail is just come in, they hear me ask the Coffee-man

for his last Weeks Bill of Mortality: I find that I have been sometimes

taken on this occasion for a Parish Sexton, sometimes for an Undertaker,

and sometimes for a Doctor of Physick. In this, however, I am guided by

the Spirit of a Philosopher, as I take occasion from hence to reflect

upon the regular Encrease and Diminution of Mankind, and consider the

several various Ways through which we pass from Life to Eternity. I am

very well pleased with these Weekly Admonitions, that bring into my Mind

such Thoughts as ought to be the daily Entertainment of every reasonable

Creature; and can consider, with Pleasure to my self, by which of those

Deliverances, or, as we commonly call them, Distempers, I may possibly

make my Escape out of this World of Sorrows, into that Condition of

Existence, wherein I hope to be Happier than it is possible for me at

present to conceive.

But this is not all the Use I make of the above-mentioned Weekly Paper.

A Bill of Mortality [1] is in my Opinion an unanswerable Argument for a

Providence. How can we, without supposing our selves under the constant

Care of a Supreme Being, give any possible Account for that nice

Proportion, which we find in every great City, between the Deaths and

Births of its Inhabitants, and between the Number of Males and that of

Females, who are brought into the World? What else could adjust in so

exact a manner the Recruits of every Nation to its Losses, and divide

these new Supplies of People into such equal Bodies of both Sexes?

Chance could never hold the Balance with so steady a Hand. Were we not

counted out by an intelligent Supervisor, we should sometimes be

over-charged with Multitudes, and at others waste away into a Desart: We

should be sometimes a populus virorum, as Florus elegantly expresses it,

a Generation of Males, and at others a Species of Women. We may extend

this Consideration to every Species of living Creatures, and consider

the whole animal World as an huge Army made up of innumerable Corps, if

I may use that Term, whose Quotas have been kept entire near five

thousand Years, in so wonderful a manner, that there is not probably a

single Species lost during this long Tract of Time. Could we have

general Bills of Mortality of every kind of Animal, or particular ones

of every Species in each Continent and Island, I could almost say in

every Wood, Marsh or Mountain, what astonishing Instances would they be

of that Providence which watches over all its Works?

I have heard of a great Man in the Romish Church, who upon reading those

Words in the Vth Chapter of Genesis, And all the Days that Adam lived

were nine hundred and thirty Years, and he died; and all the Days of

Seth were nine hundred and twelve Years, and he died; and all the Days

of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty nine Years, and he died;

immediately shut himself up in a Convent, and retired from the World, as

not thinking any thing in this Life worth pursuing, which had not regard

to another.

The Truth of it is, there is nothing in History which is so improving to

the Reader, as those Accounts which we meet with of the Deaths of

eminent Persons, and of their Behaviour in that dreadful Season. I may

also add, that there are no Parts in History which affect and please the

Reader in so sensible a manner. The Reason I take to be this, because

there is no other single Circumstance in the Story of any Person, which

can possibly be the Case of every one who reads it. A Battle or a

Triumph are Conjunctures in which not one Man in a Million is likely to

be engaged; but when we see a Person at the Point of Death, we cannot

forbear being attentive to every thing he says or does, because we are

sure that some time or other we shall our selves be in the same

melancholy Circumstances. The General, the Statesman, or the

Philosopher, are perhaps Characters which we may never act in; but the

dying Man is one whom, sooner or later, we shall certainly resemble.

It is, perhaps, for the same kind of Reason that few Books, [written

[2]] in English, have been so much perused as Dr. Sherlock's Discourse

upon Death; though at the same time I must own, that he who has not

perused this Excellent Piece, has not perhaps read one of the strongest

Persuasives to a Religious Life that ever was written in any Language.

The Consideration, with which I shall close this Essay upon Death, is

one of the most ancient and most beaten Morals that has been recommended

to Mankind. But its being so very common, and so universally received,

though it takes away from it the Grace of Novelty, adds very much to the

Weight of it, as it shews that it falls in with the general Sense of

Mankind. In short, I would have every one consider, that he is in this

Life nothing more than a Passenger, and that he is not to set up his

Rest here, but to keep an attentive Eye upon that State of Being to

which he approaches every Moment, and which will be for ever fixed and

permanent. This single Consideration would be sufficient to extinguish

the Bitterness of Hatred, the Thirst of Avarice, and the Cruelty of

Ambition.

I am very much pleased with the Passage of Antiphanes a very ancient

Poet, who lived near an hundred Years before Socrates, which represents

the Life of Man under this View, as I have here translated it Word for

Word. Be not grieved, says he, above measure for thy deceased Friends[.

They [3]] are not dead, but have only finished that Journey which it is

necessary for every one of us to take: We ourselves must go to that

great Place of Reception in which they are all of them assembled, and in

this general Rendezvous of Mankind, live together in another State of

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 called Strangers and Sojourners upon Earth. I shall

conclude this with a Story, which I have somewhere read in the Travels

of Sir John Chardin; [4] that Gentleman after having told us, that the

Inns which receive the Caravans in Persia, and the Eastern Countries,

are called by the Name of Caravansaries, gives us a Relation to the

following Purpose.

A Dervise, travelling through Tartary, being arrived at the Town of

Balk, went into the King's Palace by Mistake, as thinking it to be a

publick Inn or Caravansary. Having looked about him for some time, he

enter'd into a long Gallery, where he laid down his Wallet, and spread

his Carpet, in order to repose himself upon it after the Manner of the

Eastern Nations. He had not been long in this Posture before he was

discovered by some of the Guards, who asked him what was his Business in

that Place? The Dervise told them he intended to take up his Night's

Lodging in that Caravansary. The Guards let him know, in a very angry

manner, that the House he was in was not a Caravansary, but the King's

Palace. It happened that the King himself passed through the Gallery

during this Debate, and smiling at the Mistake of the Dervise, asked him

how he could possibly be so dull as not to distinguish a Palace from a

Caravansary? Sir, says the Dervise, give me leave to ask your Majesty a

Question or two. Who were the Persons that lodged in this House when it

was first built? The King replied, His Ancestors. And who, says the

Dervise, was the last Person that lodged here? The King replied, His

Father. And who is it, says the Dervise, that lodges here at present?

The King told him, that it was he himself. And who, says the Dervise,

will be here after you? The King answered, The young Prince his Son. Ah

Sir, said the Dervise, a House that changes its Inhabitants so often,

and receives such a perpetual Succession of Guests, is not a Palace but

a Caravansary.

L.

[Footnote 1: Bills of Mortality, containing the weekly number of

Christenings and Deaths, with the cause of Death, were first compiled by

the London Company of Parish Clerks (for 109 parishes) after the Plague

in 1592. They did not give the age at death till 1728.]

[Footnote 2: which have been written]

[Footnote 3: [; for they]]

[Footnote 4: Sir John Chardin was a jewellers son, born at Paris, who

came to England and was knighted by Charles II. He travelled into Persia

and the East Indies, and his account of his voyages was translated into

English, German, and Flemish. He was living when this paper appeared,

but died in the following year, at the age of 70.]

* * * * *

No. 290. Friday, February 1, 1712. Steele.

[Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba.

Hor. [1]]

The Players, who know I am very much their Friend, take all

Opportunities to express a Gratitude to me for being so. They could not

have a better Occasion of Obliging me, than one which they lately took

hold of. They desired my Friend WILL. HONEYCOMB to bring me to the

Reading of a new Tragedy; it is called The distressed Mother. [2] I must

confess, tho some Days are passed since I enjoyed that Entertainment,

the Passions of the several Characters dwell strongly upon my

Imagination; and I congratulate to the Age, that they are at last to see

Truth and humane Life represented in the Incidents which concern Heroes

and Heroines. The Stile of the Play is such as becomes those of the

first Education, and the Sentiments worthy those of the highest Figure.

It was a most exquisite Pleasure to me, to observe real Tears drop from

the Eyes of those who had long made it their Profession to dissemble

Affliction; and the Player, who read, frequently throw down the Book,

till he had given vent to the Humanity which rose in him at some

irresistible Touches of the imagined Sorrow. We have seldom had any

Female Distress on the Stage, which did not, upon cool Examination,

appear to flow from the Weakness rather than the Misfortune of the

Person represented: But in this Tragedy you are not entertained with the

ungoverned Passions of such as are enamoured of each other merely as

they are Men and Women, but their Regards are founded upon high

Conceptions of each others Virtue and Merit; and the Character which

gives Name to the Play, is one who has behaved her self with heroic

Virtue in the most important Circumstances of a Female Life, those of a

Wife, a Widow, and a Mother. If there be those whose Minds have been too

attentive upon the Affairs of Life, to have any Notion of the Passion of

Love in such Extremes as are known only to particular Tempers, yet, in

the above-mentioned Considerations, the Sorrow of the Heroine will move

even the Generality of Mankind. Domestick Virtues concern all the World,

and there is no one living who is not interested that Andromache should

be an imitable Character. The generous Affection to the Memory of her

deceased Husband, that tender Care for her Son, which is ever heightned

with the Consideration of his Father, and these Regards preserved in

spite of being tempted with the Possession of the highest Greatness, are

what cannot but be venerable even to such an Audience as at present

frequents the English Theatre. My Friend WILL HONEYCOMB commended

several tender things that were said, and told me they were very

genteel; but whisper'd me, that he feared the Piece was not busy enough

for the present Taste. To supply this, he recommended to the Players to

be very careful in their Scenes, and above all Things, that every Part

should be perfectly new dressed. I was very glad to find that they did

not neglect my Friends Admonition, because there are a great many in

his Class of Criticism who may be gained by it; but indeed the Truth is,

that as to the Work it self, it is every where Nature. The Persons are

of the highest Quality in Life, even that of Princes; but their Quality

is not represented by the Poet with Direction that Guards and Waiters

should follow them in every Scene, but their Grandeur appears in

Greatness of Sentiment[s], flowing from Minds worthy their Condition.

To make a Character truly Great, this Author understands that it should

have its Foundation in superior Thoughts and Maxims of Conduct. It is

very certain, that many an honest Woman would make no Difficulty, tho

she had been the Wife of Hector, for the sake of a Kingdom, to marry the

Enemy of her Husbands Family and Country; and indeed who can deny but

she might be still an honest Woman, but no Heroine? That may be

defensible, nay laudable in one Character, which would be in the highest

Degree exceptionable in another. When Cato Uticensis killed himself,

Cottius a Roman of ordinary Quality and Character did the same thing;

upon which one said, smiling, Cottius might have lived, tho Cæsar has

seized the Roman Liberty. Cottius's Condition might have been the

same, let things at the upper End of the World pass as they would. What

is further very extraordinary in this Work, is, that the Persons are all

of them laudable, and their Misfortunes arise rather from unguarded

Virtue than Propensity to Vice. The Town has an Opportunity of doing

itself Justice in supporting the Representation of Passion, Sorrow,

Indignation, even Despair itself, within the Rules of Decency, Honour

and Good-breeding; and since there is no one can flatter himself his

Life will be always fortunate, they may here see Sorrow as they would

wish to bear it whenever it arrives.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I am appointed to act a Part in the new Tragedy called The Distressed

Mother: It is the celebrated Grief of Orestes which I am to personate;

but I shall not act it as I ought, for I shall feel it too intimately

to be able to utter it. I was last Night repeating a Paragraph to my

self, which I took to be an Expression of Rage, and in the middle of

the Sentence there was a Stroke of Self-pity which quite unmanned me.

Be pleased, Sir, to print this Letter, that when I am oppressed in

this manner at such an Interval, a certain Part of the Audience may

not think I am out; and I hope with this Allowance to do it to

Satisfaction. I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

George Powell.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

As I was walking tother Day in the Park, I saw a Gentleman with a

very short Face; I desire to know whether it was you. Pray inform me

as soon as you can, lest I become the most heroick Hecatissa's Rival.

Your humble Servant to command,

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,

The SPECTATOR.

T.

[Footnote 1:

[Spirat Tragicum satis, et foeliciter Audet.

Hor.]]

[Footnote 2: This is a third blast of the Trumpet on behalf of Ambrose

Philips, who had now been adapting Racine's Andromaque.]

* * * * *

No. 291. Saturday, February 2, 1712. Addison.

Ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis

Offendor maculis, quas aut Incuria fudit,

Aut Humana parum cavit Natura.

Hor.

I have now considered Milton's Paradise Lost under those four great

Heads of the Fable, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Language;

and have shewn that he excels, in general, under each of these Heads. I

hope that I have made several Discoveries which may appear new, even to

those who are versed in Critical Learning. Were I indeed to chuse my

Readers, by whose Judgment I would stand or fall, they should not be

such as are acquainted only with the French and Italian Criticks, but

also with the Ancient and Moderns who have written in either of the

learned Languages. Above all, I would have them well versed in the Greek

and Latin Poets, without which a Man very often fancies that he

understands a Critick, when in Reality he does not comprehend his

Meaning.

It is in Criticism, as in all other Sciences and Speculations; one who

brings with him any implicit Notions and Observations which he has made

in his reading of the Poets, will find his own Reflections methodized

and explained, and perhaps several little Hints that had passed in his

Mind, perfected and improved in the Works of a good Critick; whereas one

who has not these previous Lights is very often an utter Stranger to

what he reads, and apt to put a wrong Interpretation upon it.

Nor is it sufficient, that a Man who sets up for a Judge in Criticism,

should have perused the Authors above mentioned, unless he has also a

clear and Logical Head. Without this Talent he is perpetually puzzled

and perplexed amidst his own Blunders, mistakes the Sense of those he

would confute, or if he chances to think right, does not know how to

convey his Thoughts to another with Clearness and Perspicuity.

Aristotle, who was the best Critick, was also one of the best Logicians

that ever appeared in the World.

Mr. Locks Essay on Human Understanding [1] would be thought a very odd

Book for a Man to make himself Master of, who would get a Reputation by

Critical Writings; though at the same time it is very certain, that an

Author who has not learned the Art of distinguishing between Words and

Things, and of ranging his Thoughts, and setting them in proper Lights,

whatever Notions he may have, will lose himself in Confusion and

Obscurity. I might further observe, that there is not a Greek or Latin

Critick who has not shewn, even in the Style of his Criticisms, that he

was a Master of all the Elegance and Delicacy of his Native Tongue.

The Truth of it is, there is nothing more absurd, than for a Man to set

up for a Critick, without a good Insight into all the Parts of Learning;

whereas many of those who have endeavoured to signalize themselves by

Works of this Nature among our English Writers, are not only defective

in the above-mentioned Particulars, but plainly discover, by the Phrases

which they make use of, and by their confused way of thinking, that they

are not acquainted with the most common and ordinary Systems of Arts and

Sciences. A few general Rules extracted out of the French Authors, [2]

with a certain Cant of Words, has sometimes set up an Illiterate heavy

Writer for a most judicious and formidable Critick.

One great Mark, by which you may discover a Critick who has neither

Taste nor Learning, is this, that he seldom ventures to praise any

Passage in an Author which has not been before received and applauded by

the Publick, and that his Criticism turns wholly upon little Faults and

Errors. This part of a Critick is so very easie to succeed in, that we

find every ordinary Reader, upon the publishing of a new Poem, has Wit

and Ill-nature enough to turn several Passages of it into Ridicule, and

very often in the right Place. This Mr. Dryden has very agreeably

remarked in those two celebrated Lines,

Errors, like Straws, upon the Surface flow;

He who would search for Pearls must dive below. [3]

A true Critick ought to dwell rather upon Excellencies than

Imperfections, to discover the concealed Beauties of a Writer, and

communicate to the World such things as are worth their Observation. The

most exquisite Words and finest Strokes of an Author are those which

very often appear the most doubtful and exceptionable to a Man who wants

a Relish for polite Learning; and they are these, which a sower

undistinguishing Critick generally attacks with the greatest Violence.

Tully observes, that it is very easie to brand or fix a Mark upon what

he calls Verbum ardens, [4] or, as it may be rendered into English, a

glowing bold Expression, and to turn it into Ridicule by a cold

ill-natured Criticism. A little Wit is equally capable of exposing a

Beauty, and of aggravating a Fault; and though such a Treatment of an

Author naturally produces Indignation in the Mind of an understanding

Reader, it has however its Effect among the Generality of those whose

Hands it falls into, the Rabble of Mankind being very apt to think that

every thing which is laughed at with any Mixture of Wit, is ridiculous

in it self.

Such a Mirth as this is always unseasonable in a Critick, as it rather

prejudices the Reader than convinces him, and is capable of making a

Beauty, as well as a Blemish, the Subject of Derision. A Man, who cannot

write with Wit on a proper Subject, is dull and stupid, but one who

shews it in an improper Place, is as impertinent and absurd. Besides, a

Man who has the Gift of Ridicule is apt to find Fault with any thing

that gives him an Opportunity of exerting his beloved Talent, and very

often censures a Passage, not because there is any Fault in it, but

because he can be merry upon it. Such kinds of Pleasantry are very

unfair and disingenuous in Works of Criticism, in which the greatest

Masters, both Ancient and Modern, have always appeared with a serious

and instructive Air.

As I intend in my next Paper to shew the Defects in Milton's Paradise

Lost, I thought fit to premise these few Particulars, to the End that

the Reader may know I enter upon it, as on a very ungrateful Work, and

that I shall just point at the Imperfections, without endeavouring to

enflame them with Ridicule. I must also observe with Longinus, [5] that

the Productions of a great Genius, with many Lapses and Inadvertencies,

are infinitely preferable to the Works of an inferior kind of Author,

which are scrupulously exact and conformable to all the Rules of correct

Writing.

I shall conclude my Paper with a Story out of Boccalini [6] which

sufficiently shews us the Opinion that judicious Author entertained of

the sort of Criticks I have been here mentioning. A famous Critick, says

he, having gathered together all the Faults of an eminent Poet, made a

Present of them to Apollo, who received them very graciously, and

resolved to make the Author a suitable Return for the Trouble he had

been at in collecting them. In order to this, he set before him a Sack

of Wheat, as it had been just threshed out of the Sheaf. He then bid him

pick out the Chaff from among the Corn, and lay it aside by it self. The

Critick applied himself to the Task with great Industry and Pleasure,

and after having made the due Separation, was presented by Apollo with

the Chaff for his Pains. [7]

L.

[Footnote 1: First published in 1690.]

[Footnote 2: Dryden accounted among critics the greatest of his age to

be Boilean and Rapin. Boileau was the great master of French criticism.

René Rapin, born at Tours in 1621, taught Belles Lettres with

extraordinary success among his own order of Jesuits, wrote famous

critical works, was one of the best Latin poets of his time, and died at

Paris in 1687. His Whole Critical Works were translated by Dr. Basil

Kennett in two volumes, which appeared in 1705. The preface of their

publisher said of Rapin that

he has long dictated in this part of letters. He is acknowledged as

the great arbitrator between the merits of the best writers; and

during the course of almost thirty years there have been few appeals

from his sentence.

(See also a note on p. 168, vol. i. [Footnote 3 of No. 44.]) René le

Bossu, the great French authority on Epic Poetry, born in 1631, was a

regular canon of St. Genevieve, and taught the Humanities in several

religious houses of his order. He died, subprior of the Abbey of St.

Jean de Cartres, in 1680. He wrote, besides his Treatise upon Epic

Poetry, a parallel between the philosophies of Aristotle and Descartes,

which appeared a few months earlier (in 1674) with less success. Another

authority was Father Bouhours, of whom see note on p. 236, vol. i.

[Footnote 4 of No. 62.] Another was Bernard le Bovier de Fontenelle.

called by Voltaire the most universal genius of his age. He was born at

Rouen in 1657, looking so delicate that he was baptized in a hurry, and

at 16 was unequal to the exertion of a game at billiards, being caused

by any unusual exercise to spit blood, though he lived to the age of a

hundred, less one month and two days. He was taught by the Jesuits, went

to the bar to please his father, pleaded a cause, lost it, and gave up

the profession to devote his time wholly to literature and philosophy.

He went to Paris, wrote plays and the Dialogues of the Dead, living

then with his uncle, Thomas Corneille. A discourse on the Eclogue

prefixed to his pastoral poems made him an authority in this manner of

composition. It was translated by Motteux for addition to the English

translation of Bossu on the Epic, which had also appended to it an Essay

on Satire by another of these French critics, André Dacier. Dacier, born

at Castres in 1651, was educated at Saumur under Taneguy le Févre, who

was at the same time making a scholar of his own daughter Anne. Dacier

and the young lady became warmly attached to one another, married,

united in abjuring Protestantism, and were for forty years, in the

happiest concord, man and wife and fellow-scholars. Dacier and his wife,

as well as Fontenelle, were alive when the Spectator was appearing; his

wife dying, aged 69, in 1720, the husband, aged 71, in 1722. André

Dacier translated and annotated the Poetics of Aristotle in 1692, and

that critical work was regarded as his best performance.]

[Footnote 3: Annus Mirabilis, st. 39.]

[Footnote 4: Ad Brutum. Orator. Towards the beginning:

Facile est enim verbum aliquod ardens (ut ita dicam) notare, idque

restinctis jam animorum incendiis, irridere.]

[Footnote 5: On the Sublime, § 36.]

[Footnote 6: Trajan Boccalini, born at Rome in 1554, was a satirical

writer famous in Italy for his fine criticism and bold satire. Cardinals

Borghese and Cajetan were his patrons. His Ragguagli di Parnasso and

la Secretaria di Parnasso, in which Apollo heard the complaints of the

world, and dispensed justice in his court on Parnassus, were received

with delight. Afterwards, in his Pietra di Parangone, he satirized the

Court of Spain, and, fearing consequences, retired to Venice, where in

1613 he was attacked in his bed by four ruffians, who beat him to death

with sand-bags. Boccalini's Ragguagli di Parnasso has been translated

into English, in 1622, as News from Parnassus. Also, in 1656, as

Advertisements from Parnassus, by H. Carey, Earl of Monmouth. This

translation was reprinted in 1669 and 1674, and again in 1706 by John

Hughes, one of the contributors to the Spectator.]

[Footnote 7: To this number of the Spectator, and to several numbers

since that for January 8, in which it first appeared, is added an

advertisement that, The First and Second Volumes of the SPECTATOR in 8vo

are now ready to be delivered to the subscribers by J. Tonson, at

Shakespeare's Head, over-against Catherine Street in the Strand.]

* * * * *

No. 292. Monday, February 4, 1712.

Illam, quicquid agit, quoquo Vestigia flectit,

Componit furlim, subsequiturque decor.

Tibull. L. 4.

As no one can be said to enjoy Health, who is only not sick, without he

feel within himself a lightsome and invigorating Principle, which will

not suffer him to remain idle, but still spurs him on to Action: so in

the Practice of every Virtue, there is some additional Grace required,

to give a Claim of excelling in this or that particular Action. A

Diamond may want polishing, though the Value be still intrinsically the

same; and the same Good may be done with different Degrees of Lustre. No

man should be contented with himself that he barely does well, but he

should perform every thing in the best and most becoming Manner that he

is able.

Tully tells us he wrote his Book of Offices, because there was no Time

of Life in which some correspondent Duty might not be practised; nor is

there a Duty without a certain Decency accompanying it, by which every

Virtue tis join'd to will seem to be doubled. Another may do the same

thing, and yet the Action want that Air and Beauty which distinguish it

from others; like that inimitable Sun-shine Titian is said to have

diffused over his Landschapes; which denotes them his, and has been

always unequalled by any other Person.

There is no one Action in which this Quality I am speaking of will be

more sensibly perceived, than in granting a Request or doing an Office

of Kindness. Mummius, by his Way of consenting to a Benefaction, shall

make it lose its Name; while Carus doubles the Kindness and the

Obligation: From the first the desired Request drops indeed at last, but

from so doubtful a Brow, that the Obliged has almost as much Reason to

resent the Manner of bestowing it, as to be thankful for the Favour it

self. Carus invites with a pleasing Air, to give him an Opportunity of

doing an Act of Humanity, meets the Petition half Way, and consents to a

Request with a Countenance which proclaims the Satisfaction of his Mind

in assisting the Distressed.

The Decency then that is to be observed in Liberality, seems to consist

in its being performed with such Cheerfulness, as may express the

God-like Pleasure is to be met with in obliging ones Fellow-Creatures;

that may shew Good-nature and Benevolence overflowed, and do not, as in

some Men, run upon the Tilt, and taste of the Sediments of a grutching

uncommunicative Disposition.

Since I have intimated that the greatest Decorum is to be preserved in

the bestowing our good Offices, I will illustrate it a little by an

Example drawn from private Life, which carries with it such a Profusion

of Liberality, that it can be exceeded by nothing but the Humanity and

Good-nature which accompanies it. It is a Letter of Pliny's[1] which I

shall here translate, because the Action will best appear in its first

Dress of Thought, without any foreign or ambitious Ornaments.

PLINY to QUINTILIAN.

Tho I am fully acquainted with the Contentment and just Moderation of

your Mind, and the Conformity the Education you have given your

Daughter bears to your own Character; yet since she is suddenly to be

married to a Person of Distinction, whose Figure in the World makes it

necessary for her to be at a more than ordinary Expence in Cloaths and

Equipage suitable to her Husbands Quality; by which, tho her

intrinsick Worth be not augmented, yet will it receive both Ornament

and Lustre: And knowing your Estate to be as moderate as the Riches of

your Mind are abundant, I must challenge to my self some part of the

Burthen; and as a Parent of your Child. I present her with Twelve

hundred and fifty Crowns towards these Expences; which Sum had been

much larger, had I not feared the Smallness of it would be the

greatest Inducement with you to accept of it. Farewell.

Thus should a Benefaction be done with a good Grace, and shine in the

strongest Point of Light; it should not only answer all the Hopes and

Exigencies of the Receiver, but even out-run his Wishes: Tis this happy

manner of Behaviour which adds new Charms to it, and softens those Gifts

of Art and Nature, which otherwise would be rather distasteful than

agreeable. Without it, Valour would degenerate into Brutality, Learning

into Pedantry, and the genteelest Demeanour into Affectation. Even

Religion its self, unless Decency be the Handmaid which waits upon her,

is apt to make People appear guilty of Sourness and ill Humour: But this

shews Virtue in her first original Form, adds a Comeliness to Religion,

and gives its Professors the justest Title to the Beauty of Holiness. A

Man fully instructed in this Art, may assume a thousand Shapes, and

please in all: He may do a thousand Actions shall become none other but

himself; not that the Things themselves are different, but the Manner of

doing them.

If you examine each Feature by its self, Aglaura and Callidea are

equally handsome; but take them in the Whole, and you cannot suffer the

Comparison: Tho one is full of numberless nameless Graces, the other of

as many nameless Faults.

The Comeliness of Person, and Decency of Behaviour, add infinite Weight

to what is pronounced by any one. Tis the want of this that often makes

the Rebukes and Advice of old rigid Persons of no Effect, and leave a

Displeasure in the Minds of those they are directed to: But Youth and

Beauty, if accompanied with a graceful and becoming Severity, is of

mighty Force to raise, even in the most Profligate, a Sense of Shame. In

Milton, the Devil is never described ashamed but once, and that at the

Rebuke of a beauteous Angel.

So spake the Cherub, and his grave Rebuke,

Severe in youthful Beauty, added Grace

Invincible: Abash'd the Devil stood,

And felt how awful Goodness is, and saw

Virtue in her own Shape how lovely I saw, and pin'd

His Loss. [2]