I am the Son of a Merchant of the City of London, who, by many Losses,

was reduced from a very luxuriant Trade and Credit to very narrow

Circumstances, in Comparison to that his former Abundance. This took

away the Vigour of his Mind, and all manner of Attention to a Fortune,

which he now thought desperate; insomuch that he died without a Will,

having before buried my Mother in the midst of his other Misfortunes.

I was sixteen Years of Age when I lost my Father; and an Estate of

£200 a Year came into my Possession, without Friend or Guardian to

instruct me in the Management or Enjoyment of it. The natural

Consequence of this was, (though I wanted no Director, and soon had

Fellows who found me out for a smart young Gentleman, and led me into

all the Debaucheries of which I was capable) that my Companions and I

could not well be supplied without my running in Debt, which I did

very frankly, till I was arrested, and conveyed with a Guard strong

enough for the most desperate Assassine, to a Bayliff's House, where I

lay four Days, surrounded with very merry, but not very agreeable

Company. As soon as I had extricated my self from this shameful

Confinement, I reflected upon it with so much Horror, that I deserted

all my old Acquaintance, and took Chambers in an Inn of Court, with a

Resolution to study the Law with all possible Application. But I

trifled away a whole Year in looking over a thousand Intricacies,

without Friend to apply to in any Case of Doubt; so that I only lived

there among Men, as little Children are sent to School before they are

capable of Improvement, only to be out of harms way. In the midst of

this State of Suspence, not knowing how to dispose of my self, I was

sought for by a Relation of mine, who, upon observing a good

Inclination in me, used me with great Familiarity, and carried me to

his Seat in the Country. When I came there, he introduced me to all

the good Company in the County; and the great Obligation I have to him

for this kind Notice and Residence with him ever since, has made so

strong an Impression upon me, that he has an Authority of a Father

over me, founded upon the Love of a Brother. I have a good Study of

Books, a good Stable of Horses always at my command; and tho I am not

now quite eighteen Years of Age, familiar Converse on his Part, and a

strong Inclination to exert my self on mine, have had an effect upon

me that makes me acceptable wherever I go. Thus, Mr. SPECTATOR, by

this Gentleman's Favour and Patronage, it is my own fault if I am not

wiser and richer every day I live. I speak this as well by subscribing

the initial Letters of my Name to thank him, as to incite others to an

Imitation of his Virtue. It would be a worthy Work to shew what great

Charities are to be done without Expence, and how many noble Actions

are lost, out of Inadvertency in Persons capable of performing them,

if they were put in mind of it. If a Gentleman of Figure in a County

would make his Family a Pattern of Sobriety, good Sense, and Breeding,

and would kindly endeavour to influence the Education and growing

Prospects of the younger Gentry about him, I am apt to believe it

would save him a great deal of stale Beer on a publick Occasion, and

render him the Leader of his Country from their Gratitude to him,

instead of being a Slave to their Riots and Tumults in order to be

made their Representative. The same thing might be recommended to all

who have made any Progress in any Parts of Knowledge, or arrived at

any Degree in a Profession; others may gain Preferments and Fortunes

from their Patrons, but I have, I hope, receiv'd from mine good Habits

and Virtues. I repeat to you, Sir, my Request to print this, in return

for all the Evil an helpless Orphan shall ever escape, and all the

Good he shall receive in this Life; both which are wholly owing to

this Gentleman's Favour to,

SIR,

Your most obedient humble Servant,

S. P.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I am a Lad of about fourteen. I find a mighty Pleasure in Learning. I

have been at the Latin School four Years. I don't know I ever play'd

[truant, [1]] or neglected any Task my Master set me in my Life. I

think on what I read in School as I go home at noon and night, and so

intently, that I have often gone half a mile out of my way, not

minding whither I went. Our Maid tells me, she often hears me talk

Latin in my sleep. And I dream two or three Nights in the Week I am

reading Juvenal and Homer. My Master seems as well pleased with my

Performances as any Boys in the same Class. I think, if I know my own

Mind, I would chuse rather to be a Scholar, than a Prince without

Learning. I have a very [good [2]] affectionate Father; but tho very

rich, yet so mighty near, that he thinks much of the Charges of my

Education. He often tells me, he believes my Schooling will ruin him;

that I cost him God-knows what in Books. I tremble to tell him I want

one. I am forced to keep my Pocket-Mony, and lay it out for a Book,

now and then, that he don't know of. He has order'd my Master to buy

no more Books for me, but says he will buy them himself. I asked him

for Horace tother Day, and he told me in a Passion, he did not

believe I was fit for it, but only my Master had a Mind to make him

think I had got a great way in my Learning. I am sometimes a Month

behind other Boys in getting the Books my Master gives Orders for. All

the Boys in the School, but I, have the Classick Authors in usum

Delphini, gilt and letter'd on the Back. My Father is often reckoning

up how long I have been at School, and tells me he fears I do little

good. My Fathers Carriage so discourages me, that he makes me grow

dull and melancholy. My Master wonders what is the matter with me; I

am afraid to tell him; for he is a Man that loves to encourage

Learning, and would be apt to chide my Father, and, not knowing my

Fathers Temper, may make him worse. Sir, if you have any Love for

Learning, I beg you would give me some Instructions in this case, and

persuade Parents to encourage their Children when they find them

diligent and desirous of Learning. I have heard some Parents say, they

would do any thing for their Children, if they would but mind their

Learning: I would be glad to be in their place. Dear Sir, pardon my

Boldness. If you will but consider and pity my case, I will pray for

your Prosperity as long as I live.

London, March 2,1711.

Your humble Servant,

James Discipulus.

March the 18th.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

The ostentation you showed yesterday would have been pardonable had

you provided better for the two Extremities of your Paper, and placed

in one the letter R., in the other Nescio quid meditans nugarum, et

lotus in illis. A Word to the wise.

I am your most humble Servant,

T. Trash.

According to the Emendation of the above Correspondent, the Reader is

desired in the Paper of the 17th to read R. for T. [3]

T.

[Footnote 1: at truant]

[Footnote 2: loving]

* * * * *

No. 331. Thursday, March 20, 1712. Budgell.

Stolidam praebet tibi vellere barbam.

Pers.

When I was last with my Friend Sir ROGER in Westminster-Abby, I

observed that he stood longer than ordinary before the Bust of a

venerable old Man. I was at a loss to guess the Reason of it, when after

some time he pointed to the Figure, and asked me if I did not think that

our Fore-fathers looked much wiser in their Beards than we do without

them? For my part, says he, when I am walking in my Gallery in the

Country, and see my Ancestors, who many of them died before they were of

my Age, I cannot forbear regarding them as so many old Patriarchs, and

at the same time looking upon myself as an idle Smock-fac'd young

Fellow. I love to see your Abrahams, your Isaacs, and your Jacob's, as we

have them in old Pieces of Tapestry, with Beards below their Girdles,

that cover half the Hangings. The Knight added, if I would recommend

Beards in one of my Papers, and endeavour to restore human Faces to

their Ancient Dignity, that upon a Months warning he would undertake to

lead up the Fashion himself in a pair of Whiskers.

I smiled at my Friends Fancy; but after we parted, could not forbear

reflecting on the Metamorphoses our Faces have undergone in this

Particular.

The Beard, conformable to the Notion of my Friend Sir ROGER, was for

many Ages look'd upon as the Type of Wisdom. Lucian more than once

rallies the Philosophers of his Time, who endeavour'd to rival one

another in Beard; and represents a learned Man who stood for a

Professorship in Philosophy, as unqualify'd for it by the Shortness of

his Beard.

Ælian, in his Account of Zoilus, the pretended Critick, who wrote

against Homer and Plato, and thought himself wiser than all who had gone

before him, tells us that this Zoilus had a very long Beard that hung

down upon his Breast, but no Hair upon his Head, which he always kept

close shaved, regarding, it seems, the Hairs of his Head as so many

Suckers, which if they had been suffer'd to grow, might have drawn away

the Nourishment from his Chin, and by that means have starved his Beard.

I have read somewhere that one of the Popes refus'd to accept an Edition

of a Saints Works, which were presented to him, because the Saint in

his Effigies before the Book, was drawn without a Beard.

We see by these Instances what Homage the World has formerly paid to

Beards; and that a Barber was not then allow'd to make those

Depredations on the Faces of the Learned, which have been permitted him

of later Years.

Accordingly several wise Nations have been so extremely Jealous of the

least Ruffle offer'd to their Beard, that they seem to have fixed the

Point of Honour principally in that Part. The Spaniards were wonderfully

tender in this Particular.

Don Quevedo, in his third Vision on the Last Judgment, has carry'd the

Humour very far, when he tells us that one of his vain-glorious

Countrymen, after having receiv'd Sentence, was taken into custody by a

couple of evil Spirits; but that his Guides happening to disorder his

Mustachoes, they were forced to recompose them with a Pair of

Curling-irons before they could get him to file off.

If we look into the History of our own Nation, we shall find that the

Beard flourish'd in the Saxon Heptarchy, but was very much discourag'd

under the Norman Line. It shot out, however, from time to time, in

several Reigns under different Shapes. The last Effort it made seems to

have been in Queen Marys Days, as the curious Reader may find, if he

pleases to peruse the Figures of Cardinal Poole, and Bishop Gardiner;

tho at the same time, I think it may be question'd, if Zeal against

Popery has not induced our Protestant Painters to extend the Beards of

these two Persecutors beyond their natural Dimensions, in order to make

them appear the more terrible.

I find but few Beards worth taking notice of in the Reign of King James

the First.

During the Civil Wars there appeared one, which makes too great a Figure

in Story to be passed over in Silence; I mean that of the redoubted

Hudibras, an Account of which Butler has transmitted to Posterity in the

following Lines:

His tawny Beard was th' equal Grace

Both of his Wisdom, and his Face;

In Cut and Dye so like a Tyle,

A sudden View it would beguile:

The upper Part thereof was Whey,

The nether Orange mixt with Grey.

The Whisker continu'd for some time among us after the Expiration of

Beards; but this is a Subject which I shall not here enter upon, having

discussed it at large in a distinct Treatise, which I keep by me in

Manuscript, upon the Mustachoe.

If my Friend Sir ROGERS Project, of introducing Beards, should take

effect, I fear the Luxury of the present Age would make it a very

expensive Fashion. There is no question but the Beaux would soon provide

themselves with false ones of the lightest Colours, and the most

immoderate Lengths. A fair Beard, of the Tapestry-Size Sir ROGER seems

to approve, could not come under twenty Guineas. The famous Golden Beard

of Æsculapius would hardly be more valuable than one made in the

Extravagance of the Fashion.

Besides, we are not certain that the Ladies would not come into the

Mode, when they take the Air on Horse-back. They already appear in Hats

and Feathers, Coats and Perriwigs; and I see no reason why we should not

suppose that they would have their Riding-Beards on the same Occasion.

I may give the Moral of this Discourse, in another Paper,

X.

* * * * *

No. 332. Friday, March 21, 1712. Steele.

Minus aptus acutis

Naribus horum hominum.

Hor.

Dear Short-Face,

In your Speculation of Wednesday last, you have given us some Account

of that worthy Society of Brutes the Mohocks; wherein you have

particularly specify'd the ingenious Performance of the Lion-Tippers,

the Dancing-Masters, and the Tumblers: But as you acknowledge you had

not then a perfect History of the whole Club, you might very easily

omit one of the most notable Species of it, the Sweaters, which may be

reckon'd a sort of Dancing-Masters too. It is it seems the Custom for

half a dozen, or more, of these well-dispos'd Savages, as soon as

they have inclos'd the Person upon whom they design the Favour of a

Sweat, to whip out their Swords, and holding them parallel to the

Horizon, they describe a sort of Magick Circle round about him with

the Points. As soon as this Piece of Conjuration is perform'd, and the

Patient without doubt already beginning to wax warm, to forward the

Operation, that Member of the Circle towards whom he is so rude as to

turn his Back first, runs his Sword directly into that Part of the

Patient wherein School-boys are punished; and, as it is very natural

to imagine this will soon make him tack about to some other Point,

every Gentleman does himself the same Justice as often as he receives

the Affront. After this Jig has gone two or three times round, and the

Patient is thought to have sweat sufficiently, he is very handsomly

rubb'd down by some Attendants, who carry with them Instruments for

that purpose, and so discharged. This Relation I had from a Friend of

mine, who has lately been under this Discipline. He tells me he had

the Honour to dance before the Emperor himself, not without the

Applause and Acclamations both of his Imperial Majesty, and the whole

Ring; tho I dare say, neither I or any of his Acquaintance ever

dreamt he would have merited any Reputation by his Activity.

I can assure you, Mr. SPEC, I was very near being qualify'd to have

given you a faithful and painful Account of this walking Bagnio, if I

may so call it, my self: For going the other night along Fleet-street,

and having, out of curiosity, just enter'd into Discourse with a

wandring Female who was travelling the same Way, a couple of Fellows

advanced towards us, drew their Swords, and cry out to each other, A

Sweat! a Sweat! Whereupon suspecting they were some of the Ringleaders

of the Bagnio, I also drew my Sword, and demanded a Parly; but finding

none would be granted me, and perceiving others behind them filing off

with great diligence to take me in Flank, I began to sweat for fear of

being forced to it: but very luckily betaking my self to a Pair of

Heels, which I had good Reason to believe would do me justice, I

instantly got possession of a very snug Corner in a neighbouring Alley

that lay in my Rear; which Post I maintain'd for above half an hour

with great Firmness and Resolution, tho not letting this Success so

far overcome me, as to make me unmindful of the Circumspection that

was necessary to be observ'd upon my advancing again towards the

Street; by which Prudence and good Management I made a handsome and

orderly Retreat, having suffer'd no other Damage in this Action than

the Loss of my Baggage, and the Dislocation of one of my Shoe-heels,

which last I am just now inform'd is in a fair way of Recovery. These

Sweaters, by what I can learn from my Friend, and by as near a View as

I was able to take of them my self, seem to me to have at present but

a rude kind of Discipline amongst them. It is probable, if you would

take a little Pains with them, they might be brought into better

order. But Ill leave this to your own Discretion; and will only add,

that if you think it worth while to insert this by way of Caution to

those who have a mind to preserve their Skins whole from this sort of

Cupping, and tell them at the same time the Hazard of treating with

Night-Walkers, you will perhaps oblige others, as well as

Your very humble Servant,

Jack Lightfoot.

P.S. My Friend will have me acquaint you, That though he would not

willingly detract from the Merit of that extra-ordinary Strokes-Man

Mr. Sprightly, yet it is his real Opinion, that some of those Fellows,

who are employ'd as Rubbers to this new-fashioned Bagnio, have struck

as bold Strokes as ever he did in his Life.

I had sent this four and twenty Hours sooner, if I had not had the

Misfortune of being in a great doubt about the Orthography of the word

Bagnio. I consulted several Dictionaries, but found no relief; at last

having recourse both to the Bagnio in Newgate-street, and to that in

Chancery lane, and finding the original Manuscripts upon the

Sign-posts of each to agree literally with my own Spelling, I returned

home, full of Satisfaction, in order to dispatch this Epistle.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

As you have taken most of the Circumstances of human Life into your

Consideration, we, the under-written, thought it not improper for us

also to represent to you our Condition. We are three Ladies who live

in the Country, and the greatest Improvements we make is by reading.

We have taken a small Journal of our Lives, and find it extremely

opposite to your last Tuesdays Speculation. We rise by seven, and

pass the beginning of each Day in Devotion, and looking into those

Affairs that fall within the Occurrences of a retired Life; in the

Afternoon we sometimes enjoy the Company of some Friend or Neighbour,

or else work or read; at Night we retire to our Chambers, and take

Leave of each other for the whole Night at Ten of Clock. We take

particular Care never to be sick of a Sunday. Mr. SPECTATOR, We are

all very good Maids, but are ambitious of Characters which we think

more laudable, that of being very good Wives. If any of your

Correspondents enquire for a Spouse for an honest Country Gentleman,

whose Estate is not dipped, and wants a Wife that can save half his

Revenue, and yet make a better Figure than any of his Neighbours of

the same Estate, with finer bred Women, you shall have further notice

from,

SIR,

Your courteous Readers,

Martha Busie.

Deborah Thrifty.

Alice Early. [1]

[Footnote 1: To this number there is added after a repeated

advertisement of the Lucubrations of Isaac Bickerstaff in 4 vols. 8vo, a

repetition in Italic type of the advertisement of the Boarding School on

Mile-end Green (ending at the words render them accomplish'd) to which

a conspicuous place was given, with original additions by Steele, in No.

314.]

* * * * *

No. 333. Saturday, March 22, 1712. Addison.

--vocat in Certamina Divos.

Virg.

We are now entering upon the Sixth Book of Paradise Lost, in which the

Poet describes the Battel of Angels; having raised his Readers

Expectation, and prepared him for it by several Passages in the

preceding Books. I omitted quoting these Passages in my Observations on

the former Books, having purposely reserved them for the opening of

this, the Subject of which gave occasion to them. The Authors

Imagination was so inflam'd with this great Scene of Action, that

wherever he speaks of it, he rises, if possible, above himself. Thus

where he mentions Satan in the Beginning of his Poem:

--Him the Almighty Power

Hurl'd headlong flaming from th' Ethereal Sky,

With hideous ruin and combustion, down

To bottomless Perdition, there to dwell

In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire,

Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to Arms.

We have likewise several noble Hints of it in the Infernal Conference.

O Prince! O Chief of many throned Powers,

That led th' imbattel'd Seraphim to War,

Too well I see and rue the dire Event,

That with sad Overthrow and foul Defeat

Hath lost us Heavn, and all this mighty Host

In horrible Destruction laid thus low.

But see I the angry Victor has recalled

His Ministers of Vengeance and Pursuit,

Back to the Gates of Heavn: The sulphurous Hail

Shot after us in Storm, overblown, hath laid

The fiery Surge, that from the Precipice

Of Heaven receiv'd us falling: and the Thunder,

Winged with red Lightning and impetuous Rage,

Perhaps hath spent his Shafts, and ceases now

To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.

There are several other very sublime Images on the same Subject in the

First Book, as also in the Second.

What when we fled amain, pursued and strook

With Heavns afflicting Thunder, and besought

The Deep to shelter us; this Hell then seem'd

A Refuge from those Wounds--

In short, the Poet never mentions anything of this Battel but in such

Images of Greatness and Terror as are suitable to the Subject. Among

several others I cannot forbear quoting that Passage, where the Power,

who is described as presiding over the Chaos, speaks in the Third Book.

Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old

With faultring Speech, and Visage incompos'd,

Answer'd, I know thee, Stranger, who thou art,

That mighty leading Angel, who of late

Made Head against Heavens King, tho overthrown.

I saw and heard, for such a numerous Host

Fled not in silence through the frighted Deep

With Ruin upon Ruin, Rout on Rout,

Confusion worse confounded; and Heavns Gates

Pour'd out by Millions her victorious Bands

Pursuing--

It requir'd great Pregnancy of Invention, and Strength of Imagination,

to fill this Battel with such Circumstances as should raise and astonish

the Mind of the Reader; and at the same time an Exactness of Judgment,

to avoid every thing that might appear light or trivial. Those who look

into Homer, are surprized to find his Battels still rising one above

another, and improving in Horrour, to the Conclusion of the Iliad.

Milton's Fight of Angels is wrought up with the same Beauty. It is

usher'd in with such Signs of Wrath as are suitable to Omnipotence

incensed. The first Engagement is carry'd on under a Cope of Fire,

occasion'd by the Flights of innumerable burning Darts and Arrows, which

are discharged from either Host. The second Onset is still more

terrible, as it is filled with those artificial Thunders, which seem to

make the Victory doubtful, and produce a kind of Consternation even in

the good Angels. This is follow'd by the tearing up of Mountains and

Promontories; till, in the last place, the Messiah comes forth in the

Fulness of Majesty and Terror, The Pomp of his Appearance amidst the

Roarings of his Thunders, the Flashes of his Lightnings, and the Noise

of his Chariot-Wheels, is described with the utmost Flights of Human

Imagination.

There is nothing in the first and last Days Engagement which does not

appear natural, and agreeable enough to the Ideas most Readers would

conceive of a Fight between two Armies of Angels.

The second Days Engagement is apt to startle an Imagination, which has

not been raised and qualify'd for such a Description, by the reading of

the ancient Poets, and of Homer in particular. It was certainly a very

bold Thought in our Author, to ascribe the first Use of Artillery to the

Rebel Angels. But as such a pernicious Invention may be well supposed to

have proceeded from such Authors, so it entered very properly into the

Thoughts of that Being, who is all along describ'd as aspiring to the

Majesty of his Maker. Such Engines were the only Instruments he could

have made use of to imitate those Thunders, that in all Poetry, both

sacred and profane, are represented as the Arms of the Almighty. The

tearing up the Hills, was not altogether so daring a Thought as the

former. We are, in some measure, prepared for such an Incident by the

Description of the Giants War, which we meet with among the Ancient

Poets. What still made this Circumstance the more proper for the Poets

Use, is the Opinion of many learned Men, that the Fable of the Giants

War, which makes so great a noise in Antiquity, [and gave birth to the

sublimest Description in Hesiod's Works was [l]] an Allegory founded

upon this very Tradition of a Fight between the good and bad Angels.

It may, perhaps, be worth while to consider with what Judgment Milton,

in this Narration, has avoided every thing that is mean and trivial in

the Descriptions of the Latin and Greek Poets; and at the same time

improved every great Hint which he met with in their Works upon this

Subject. Homer in that Passage, which Longinus has celebrated for its

Sublimeness, and which Virgil and Ovid have copy'd after him, tells us,

that the Giants threw Ossa upon Olympus, and Pelion upon Ossa. He adds

an Epithet to Pelion ([Greek: einosíphullon]) which very much swells the

Idea, by bringing up to the Readers Imagination all the Woods that grew

upon it. There is further a great Beauty in his singling out by Name

these three remarkable Mountains, so well known to the Greeks. This last

is such a Beauty as the Scene of Milton's War could not possibly furnish

him with. Claudian, in his Fragment upon the Giants War, has given full

scope to that Wildness of Imagination which was natural to him. He tells

us, that the Giants tore up whole Islands by the Roots, and threw them

at the Gods. He describes one of them in particular taking up Lemnos in

his Arms, and whirling it to the Skies, with all Vulcan's Shop in the

midst of it. Another tears up Mount Ida, with the River Enipeus, which

ran down the Sides of it; but the Poet, not content to describe him with

this Mountain upon his Shoulders, tells us that the River flow'd down

his Back, as he held it up in that Posture. It is visible to every

judicious Reader, that such Ideas savour more of Burlesque, than of the

Sublime. They proceed from a Wantonness of Imagination, and rather

divert the Mind than astonish it. Milton has taken every thing that is

sublime in these several Passages, and composes out of them the

following great Image.

From their Foundations loosning to and fro,

They pluck'd the seated Hills, with all their Land,

Rocks, Waters, Woods; and by the shaggy Tops

Up-lifting bore them in their Hands--

We have the full Majesty of Homer in this short Description, improv'd by

the Imagination of Claudian, without its Puerilities. I need not point

out the Description of the fallen Angels seeing the Promontories hanging

over their Heads in such a dreadful manner, with the other numberless

Beauties in this Book, which are so conspicuous, that they cannot escape

the Notice of the most ordinary Reader.

There are indeed so many wonderful Strokes of Poetry in this Book, and

such a variety of Sublime Ideas, that it would have been impossible to

have given them a place within the bounds of this Paper. Besides that, I

find it in a great measure done to my hand at the End of my Lord

Roscommon's Essay on Translated Poetry. I shall refer my Reader thither

for some of the Master Strokes in the Sixth Book of Paradise Lost, tho

at the same time there are many others which that noble Author has not

taken notice of.

Milton, notwithstanding the sublime Genius he was Master of, has in this

Book drawn to his Assistance all the Helps he could meet with among the

Ancient Poets. The Sword of Michael, which makes so great [a [2]] havock

among the bad Angels, was given him, we are told, out of the Armory of

God.

--But the Sword

Of Michael from the Armory of God

Was given him tempered so, that neither keen

Nor solid might resist that Edge: It met

The Sword of Satan, with steep Force to smite

Descending, and in half cut sheer--

This Passage is a Copy of that in Virgil, wherein the Poet tells us,

that the Sword of Æneas, which was given him by a Deity, broke into

Pieces the Sword of Turnus, which came from a mortal Forge. As the Moral

in this Place is divine, so by the way we may observe, that the

bestowing on a Man who is favoured by Heaven such an allegorical Weapon,

is very conformable to the old Eastern way of Thinking. Not only Homer

has made use of it, but we find the Jewish Hero in the Book of

Maccabees, who had fought the Battels of the chosen People with so much

Glory and Success, receiving in his Dream a Sword from the Hand of the

Prophet Jeremiah. The following Passage, wherein Satan is described as

wounded by the Sword of Michael, is in imitation of Homer.

The griding Sword with discontinuous Wound

Passed through him; butt the Ethereal Substance closed

Not long divisible; and from the Gash

A Stream of Nectarous Humour issuing flowed

Sanguine, (such as celestial Spirits may bleed)

And all his Armour stained--

Homer tells us in the same manner, that upon Diomedes wounding the Gods,

there flow'd from the Wound an Ichor, or pure kind of Blood, which was

not bred from mortal Viands; and that tho the Pain was exquisitely

great, the Wound soon closed up and healed in those Beings who are

vested with Immortality.

I question not but Milton in his Description of his furious Moloch

flying from the Battel, and bellowing with the Wound he had received,

had his Eye on Mars in the Iliad; who, upon his being wounded, is

represented as retiring out of the Fight, and making an Outcry louder

than that of a whole Army when it begins the Charge. Homer adds, that

the Greeks and Trojans, who were engaged in a general Battel, were

terrify'd on each side with the bellowing of this wounded Deity. The

Reader will easily observe how Milton has kept all the Horrour of this

Image, without running into the Ridicule of it.

--Where the Might of Gabriel fought,

And with fierce Ensigns pierc'd the deep Array

Of Moloch, furious King! who him defy'd,

And at his Chariot-wheels to drag him bound

Threaten'd, nor from the Holy One of Heavn

Refrained his Tongue blasphemous: but anon

Down cloven to the Waste, with shattered Arms

And uncouth Pain fled bellowing.--

Milton has likewise raised his Description in this Book with many Images

taken out of the poetical Parts of Scripture. The Messiahs Chariot, as

I have before taken notice, is formed upon a Vision of Ezekiel, who, as

Grotius observes, has very much in him of Homers Spirit in the Poetical

Parts of his Prophecy.

The following Lines in that glorious Commission which is given the

Messiah to extirpate the Host of Rebel Angels, is drawn from a Sublime

Passage in the Psalms.

Go then thou Mightiest in thy Fathers Might!

Ascend my Chariot, guide the rapid Wheels

That shake Heavns Basis; bring forth all my War,

My Bow, my Thunder, my Almighty Arms,

Gird on thy Sword on thy puissant Thigh.

The Reader will easily discover many other Strokes of the same nature.

There is no question but Milton had heated his Imagination with the

Fight of the Gods in Homer, before he enter'd upon this Engagement of

the Angels. Homer there gives us a Scene of Men, Heroes, and Gods, mix'd

together in Battel. Mars animates the contending Armies, and lifts up

his Voice in such a manner, that it is heard distinctly amidst all the

Shouts and Confusion of the Fight. Jupiter at the same time Thunders

over their Heads; while Neptune raises such a Tempest, that the whole

Field of Battel and all the Tops of the Mountains shake about them. The

Poet tells us, that Pluto himself, whose Habitation was in the very

Center of the Earth, was so affrighted at the Shock, that he leapt from

his Throne. Homer afterwards describes Vulcan as pouring down a Storm of

Fire upon the River Xanthus, and Minerva as throwing a Rock at Mars;

who, he tells us, cover'd seven Acres in his Fall.

As Homer has introduced into his Battel of the Gods every thing that is

great and terrible in Nature, Milton has filled his Fight of good and

bad Angels with all the like Circumstances of Horrour. The Shout of

Armies, the Rattling of Brazen Chariots, the Hurling of Rocks and

Mountains, the Earthquake, the Fire, the Thunder, are all of them

employ'd to lift up the Readers Imagination, and give him a suitable

Idea of so great an Action. With what Art has the Poet represented the

whole Body of the Earth trembling, even before it was created.

All Heaven resounded, and had Earth been then,

All Earth had to its Center shook--

In how sublime and just a manner does he afterwards describe the whole

Heaven shaking under the Wheels of the Messiahs Chariot, with that

Exception to the Throne of God?

--Under his burning Wheels

The stedfast Empyrean shook throughout,

All but the Throne it self of God--

Notwithstanding the Messiah appears clothed with so much Terrour and

Majesty, the Poet has still found means to make his Readers conceive an

Idea of him, beyond what he himself was able to describe.

Yet half his Strength he put not forth, but checkt

His Thunder in mid Volley; for he meant

Not to destroy, but root them out of Heaven.

In a Word, Milton's Genius, which was so great in it self, and so

strengthened by all the helps of Learning, appears in this Book every

way equal to his Subject, which was the most Sublime that could enter

into the Thoughts of a Poet. As he knew all the Arts of affecting the

Mind, [he knew it was necessary to give [3]] it certain Resting-places

and Opportunities of recovering it self from time to time: He has

[therefore] with great Address interspersed several Speeches,

Reflections, Similitudes, and the like Reliefs to diversify his

Narration, and ease the Attention of [the [4]] Reader, that he might

come fresh to his great Action, and by such a Contrast of Ideas, have a

more lively taste of the nobler Parts of his Description.

L.

[Footnote 1: [is]]

[Footnote 2: [an]]

[Footnote 3: had he not given]

[Footnote 4: his]

* * * * *

No. 334. Monday, March 24, 1712. Steele

Voluisti in suo Genere, unumquemque nostrum quasi quendam esse

Roscium, dixistique non tam ea quæ recta essent probari, quam quæ

prava sunt fastidiis adhærescere.

Cicero de Gestu.

It is very natural to take for our whole Lives a light Impression of a

thing which at first fell into Contempt with us for want of

Consideration. The real Use of a certain Qualification (which the wiser

Part of Mankind look upon as at best an indifferent thing, and generally

a frivolous Circumstance) shews the ill Consequence of such

Prepossessions. What I mean, is the Art, Skill, Accomplishment, or

whatever you will call it, of Dancing. I knew a Gentleman of great

Abilities, who bewail'd the Want of this Part of his Education to the

End of a very honourable Life. He observ'd that there was not occasion

for the common Use of great Talents; that they are but seldom in Demand;

and that these very great Talents were often render'd useless to a Man

for want of small Attainments. A good Mein (a becoming Motion, Gesture

and Aspect) is natural to some Men; but even these would be highly more

graceful in their Carriage, if what they do from the Force of Nature

were confirm'd and heightned from the Force of Reason. To one who has

not at all considered it, to mention the Force of Reason on such a

Subject, will appear fantastical; but when you have a little attended to

it, an Assembly of Men will have quite another View: and they will tell

you, it is evident from plain and infallible Rules, why this Man with

those beautiful Features, and well fashion'd Person, is not so agreeable

as he who sits by him without any of those Advantages. When we read, we

do it without any exerted Act of Memory that presents the Shape of the

Letters; but Habit makes us do it mechanically, without staying, like

Children, to recollect and join those Letters. A Man who has not had the

Regard of his Gesture in any part of his Education, will find himself

unable to act with Freedom before new Company, as a Child that is but

now learning would be to read without Hesitation. It is for the

Advancement of the Pleasure we receive in being agreeable to each other

in ordinary Life, that one would wish Dancing were generally understood

as conducive as it really is to a proper Deportment in Matters that

appear the most remote from it. A Man of Learning and Sense is

distinguished from others as he is such, tho he never runs upon Points

too difficult for the rest of the World; in like Manner the reaching out

of the Arm, and the most ordinary Motion, discovers whether a Man ever

learnt to know what is the true Harmony and Composure of his Limbs and

Countenance. Whoever has seen Booth in the Character of Pyrrhus, march

to his Throne to receive Orestes, is convinced that majestick and great

Conceptions are expressed in the very Step; but perhaps, tho no other

Man could perform that Incident as well as he does, he himself would do

it with a yet greater Elevation were he a Dancer. This is so dangerous a

Subject to treat with Gravity, that I shall not at present enter into it

any further; but the Author of the following Letter [1] has treated it

in the Essay he speaks of in such a Manner, that I am beholden to him

for a Resolution, that I will never hereafter think meanly of any thing,

till I have heard what they who have another Opinion of it have to say

in its Defence.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

Since there are scarce any of the Arts or Sciences that have not been

recommended to the World by the Pens of some of the Professors,

Masters, or Lovers of them, whereby the Usefulness, Excellence, and

Benefit arising from them, both as to the Speculative and practical

Part, have been made publick, to the great Advantage and Improvement

of such Arts and Sciences; why should Dancing, an Art celebrated by

the Ancients in so extraordinary a Manner, be totally neglected by the

Moderns, and left destitute of any Pen to recommend its various

Excellencies and substantial Merit to Mankind?

The low Ebb to which Dancing is now fallen, is altogether owing to

this Silence. The Art is esteem'd only as an amusing Trifle; it lies

altogether uncultivated, and is unhappily fallen under the Imputation

of Illiterate and Mechanick: And as Terence in one of his Prologues,

complains of the Rope-dancers drawing all the Spectators from his

Play, so may we well say, that Capering and Tumbling is now preferred

to, and supplies the Place of just and regular Dancing on our

Theatres. It is therefore, in my opinion, high time that some one

should come in to its Assistance, and relieve it from the many gross

and growing Errors that have crept into it, and over-cast its real

Beauties; and to set Dancing in its true light, would shew the

Usefulness and Elegancy of it, with the Pleasure and Instruction

produc'd from it; and also lay down some fundamental Rules, that might

so tend to the Improvement of its Professors, and Information of the

Spectators, that the first might be the better enabled to perform, and

the latter render'd more capable of judging, what is (if there be any

thing) valuable in this Art.

To encourage therefore some ingenious Pen capable of so generous an

Undertaking, and in some measure to relieve Dancing from the

Disadvantages it at present lies under, I, who teach to dance, have

attempted a small Treatise as an Essay towards an History of Dancing;

in which I have enquired into its Antiquity, Original, and Use, and

shewn what Esteem the Ancients had for it: I have likewise considered

the Nature and Perfection of all its several Parts, and how beneficial

and delightful it is, both as a Qualification and an Exercise; and

endeavoured to answer all Objections that have been maliciously rais'd

against it. I have proceeded to give an Account of the particular

Dances of the Greeks and Romans, whether religious, warlike, or civil;

and taken particular notice of that Part of Dancing relating to the

ancient Stage, and in which the Pantomimes had so great a share: Nor

have I been wanting in giving an historical Account of some particular

Masters excellent in that surprising Art. After which, I have advanced

some Observations on the modern Dancing, both as to the Stage, and

that Part of it so absolutely necessary for the Qualification of

Gentlemen and Ladies; and have concluded with some short Remarks on

the Origin and Progress of the Character by which Dances are writ

down, and communicated to one Master from another. If some great

Genius after this would arise, and advance this Art to that Perfection

it seems capable of receiving, what might not be expected from it? For

if we consider the Origin of Arts and Sciences, we shall find that

some of them took rise from Beginnings so mean and unpromising, that

it is very wonderful to think that ever such surprizing Structures

should have been raised upon such ordinary Foundations. But what

cannot a great Genius effect? Who would have thought that the

clangorous Noise of a Smiths Hammers should have given the first rise

to Musick? Yet Macrobius in his second Book relates, that Pythagoras,

in passing by a Smiths Shop, found that the Sounds proceeding from

the Hammers were either more grave or acute, according to the

different Weights of the Hammers. The Philosopher, to improve this

Hint, suspends different Weights by Strings of the same Bigness, and

found in like manner that the Sounds answered to the Weights. This

being discover'd, he finds out those Numbers which produc'd Sounds

that were Consonants: As, that two Strings of the same Substance and

Tension, the one being double the Length, of the other, give that

Interval which is called Diapason, or an Eighth; the same was also

effected from two Strings of the same Length and Size, the one having

four times the Tension of the other. By these Steps, from so mean a

Beginning, did this great Man reduce, what was only before Noise, to

one of the most delightful Sciences, by marrying it to the

Mathematicks; and by that means caused it to be one of the most

abstract and demonstrative of Sciences. Who knows therefore but

Motion, whether Decorous or Representative, may not (as it seems

highly probable it may) be taken into consideration by some Person

capable of reducing it into a regular Science, tho not so

demonstrative as that proceeding from Sounds, yet sufficient to

entitle it to a Place among the magnify'd Arts.

Now, Mr. SPECTATOR, as you have declared your self Visitor of

Dancing-Schools, and this being an Undertaking which more immediately

respects them, I think my self indispensably obliged, before I proceed

to the Publication of this my Essay, to ask your Advice, and hold it

absolutely necessary to have your Approbation; and in order to

recommend my Treatise to the Perusal of the Parents of such as learn

to dance, as well as to the young Ladies, to whom, as Visitor, you

ought to be Guardian.

I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant.

Salop, March 19, 1711-12.

T.

[Footnote 1: John Weaver.]

* * * * *

No. 335. Tuesday, March 25, 1712. Addison.

Respicere exemplar vitæ morumque jubebo

Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces.

Hor.

My Friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY, when we last met together at the Club,

told me, that he had a great mind to see the new Tragedy [1] with me,

assuring me at the same time, that he had not been at a Play these

twenty Years. The last I saw, said Sir ROGER, was the Committee, which I

should not have gone to neither, had not I been told before-hand that it

was a good Church-of-England Comedy. [2] He then proceeded to enquire of

me who this Distrest Mother was; and upon hearing that she was Hectors

Widow, he told me that her Husband was a brave Man, and that when he was

a Schoolboy he had read his Life at the end of the Dictionary. My Friend

asked me, in the next place, if there would not be some danger in coming

home late, in case the Mohocks should be Abroad. I assure you, says he,

I thought I had fallen into their Hands last Night; for I observed two

or three lusty black Men that follow'd me half way up Fleet-street, and

mended their pace behind me, in proportion as I put on to get away from

them. You must know, continu'd the Knight with a Smile, I fancied they

had a mind to hunt me; for I remember an honest Gentleman in my

Neighbourhood, who was served such a trick in King Charles the Seconds

time; for which reason he has not ventured himself in Town ever since. I

might have shown them very good Sport, had this been their Design; for

as I am an old Fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodg'd, and have

play'd them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their Lives before.

Sir ROGER added, that if these Gentlemen had any such Intention, they

did not succeed very well in it: for I threw them out, says he, at the

End of Norfolk street, where I doubled the Corner, and got shelter in my

Lodgings before they could imagine what was become of me. However, says

the Knight, if Captain SENTRY will make one with us to-morrow night, and

if you will both of you call upon me about four a-Clock, that we may be

at the House before it is full, I will have my own Coach in readiness to

attend you, for John tells me he has got the Fore-Wheels mended.

The Captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the appointed Hour,

bid Sir ROGER fear nothing, for that he had put on the same Sword which

he made use of at the Battel of Steenkirk. Sir ROGERS Servants, and

among the rest my old Friend the Butler, had, I found, provided

themselves with good Oaken Plants, to attend their Master upon this

occasion. When he had placed him in his Coach, with my self at his

Left-Hand, the Captain before him, and his Butler at the Head of his

Footmen in the Rear, we convoy'd him in safety to the Play-house, where,

after having marched up the Entry in good order, the Captain and I went

in with him, and seated him betwixt us in the Pit. As soon as the House

was full, and the Candles lighted, my old Friend stood up and looked

about him with that Pleasure, which a Mind seasoned with Humanity

naturally feels in its self, at the sight of a Multitude of People who

seem pleased with one another, and partake of the same common

Entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old Man stood up

in the middle of the Pit, that he made a very proper Center to a Tragick

Audience. Upon the entring of Pyrrhus, the Knight told me, that he did

not believe the King of France himself had a better Strut. I was indeed

very attentive to my old Friends Remarks, because I looked upon them as

a Piece of natural Criticism, and was well pleased to hear him at the

Conclusion of almost every Scene, telling me that he could not imagine

how the Play would end. One while he appeared much concerned for

Andromache; and a little while after as much for Hermione: and was

extremely puzzled to think what would become of Pyrrhus.

When Sir ROGER saw Andromache's obstinate Refusal to her Lovers

Importunities, he whisper'd me in the Ear, that he was sure she would

never have him; to which he added, with a more than ordinary Vehemence,

you cant imagine, Sir, what tis to have to do with a Widow. Upon

Pyrrhus his threatning afterwards to leave her, the Knight shook his

Head, and muttered to himself, Ay, do if you can. This Part dwelt so

much upon my Friends Imagination, that at the close of the Third Act,

as I was thinking of something else, he whispered in my Ear, These

Widows, Sir, are the most perverse Creatures in the World. But pray,

says he, you that are a Critick, is this Play according to your

Dramatick Rules, as you call them? Should your People in Tragedy always

talk to be understood? Why, there is not a single Sentence in this Play

that I do not know the Meaning of.

The Fourth Act very luckily begun before I had time to give the old

Gentleman an Answer: Well, says the Knight, sitting down with great

Satisfaction, I suppose we are now to see Hectors Ghost. He then

renewed his Attention, and, from time to time, fell a praising the

Widow. He made, indeed, a little Mistake as to one of her Pages, whom at

his first entering, he took for Astyanax; but he quickly set himself

right in that Particular, though, at the same time, he owned he should

have been very glad to have seen the little Boy, who, says he, must

needs be a very fine Child by the Account that is given of him. Upon

Hermione's going off with a Menace to Pyrrhus, the Audience gave a loud

Clap; to which Sir ROGER added, On my Word, a notable young Baggage!

As there was a very remarkable Silence and Stillness in the Audience

during the whole Action, it was natural for them to take the Opportunity

of these Intervals between the Acts, to express their Opinion of the

Players, and of their respective Parts. Sir ROGER hearing a Cluster of

them praise Orestes, struck in with them, and told them, that he thought

his Friend Pylades was a very sensible Man; as they were afterwards

applauding Pyrrhus, Sir ROGER put in a second time; And let me tell you,

says he, though he speaks but little, I like the old Fellow in Whiskers

as well as any of them. Captain SENTRY seeing two or three Waggs who sat

near us, lean with an attentive Ear towards Sir ROGER, and fearing lest

they should Smoke the Knight, pluck'd him by the Elbow, and whisper'd

something in his Ear. that lasted till the Opening of the Fifth Act. The

Knight was wonderfully attentive to the Account which Orestes gives of

Pyrrhus his Death, and at the Conclusion of it, told me it was such a

bloody Piece of Work, that he was glad it was not done upon the Stage.

Seeing afterwards Orestes in his raving Fit, he grew more than ordinary

serious, and took occasion to moralize (in his way) upon an Evil

Conscience, adding, that Orestes, in his Madness, looked as if he saw

something.

As we were the first that came into the House, so we were the last that

went out of it; being resolved to have a clear Passage for our old

Friend, whom we did not care to venture among the justling of the Crowd.

Sir ROGER went out fully satisfied with his Entertainment, and we

guarded him to his Lodgings in the same manner that we brought him to

the Playhouse; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only with the

Performance of the excellent Piece which had been presented, but with

the Satisfaction which it had given to the good old Man.

L.

[Footnote 1: This is a fourth puff (see Nos. 223, 229, 290) of Addison's

friend Ambrose Philips. The art of packing a house to secure applause

was also practised on the first night of the acting of this version of

Andromaque.]

[Footnote 2: The Committee, or the Faithful Irishman, was written by Sir

Robert Howard soon after the Restoration, with for its heroes two

Cavalier colonels, whose estates are sequestered, and their man Teg

(Teague), an honest blundering Irishman. The Cavaliers defy the

Roundhead Committee, and the day may come says one of them, when

those that suffer for their consciences and honour may be rewarded.

Nobody who heard this from the stage in the days of Charles II. could

feel that the day had come. Its comic Irishman kept the Committee on the

stage, and in Queen Anne's time the thorough Tory still relished the

stage caricature of the maintainers of the Commonwealth in Mr. Day with

his greed, hypocrisy, and private incontinence; his wife, who had been

cookmaid to a gentleman, but takes all the State matters on herself; and

their empty son Abel, who knows Parliament-men and Sequestrators, and

whose profound contemplations are caused by the constervation of his

spirits for the nations good.]

* * * * *

No. 336. Wednesday, March 26, 1712. Steele.

--Clament periisse pudorem

Cuncti penè patres, ea cum reprehendere coner,

Quæ gravis Æsopus, quæ doctus Roscius egit:

Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt;

Vel quia turpe putant parere minoribus, et, quæ

Imberbes didicere, senes perdenda fateri.

Hor.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

As you are the daily Endeavourer to promote Learning and good Sense,

I think myself obliged to suggest to your Consideration whatever may

promote or prejudice them.. There is an Evil which has prevailed from

Generation to Generation, which grey Hairs and tyrannical Custom

continue to support; I hope your Spectatorial Authority will give a

seasonable Check to the Spread of the Infection; I mean old Mens

overbearing the strongest Sense of their Juniors by the mere Force of

Seniority; so that for a young Man in the Bloom of Life and Vigour of

Age to give a reasonable Contradiction to his Elders, is esteemed an

unpardonable Insolence, and regarded as a reversing the Decrees of

Nature. I am a young Man, I confess, yet I honour the grey Head as

much as any one; however, when in Company with old Men, I hear them

speak obscurely, or reason preposterously (into which Absurdities,

Prejudice, Pride, or Interest, will sometimes throw the wisest) I

count it no Crime to rectifie their Reasoning, unless Conscience must

truckle to Ceremony, and Truth fall a Sacrifice to Complaisance. The

strongest Arguments are enervated, and the brightest Evidence

disappears, before those tremendous Reasonings and dazling Discoveries

of venerable old Age: You are young giddy-headed Fellows, you have not

yet had Experience of the World. Thus we young Folks find our Ambition

cramp'd, and our Laziness indulged, since, while young, we have little

room to display our selves; and, when old, the Weakness of Nature must

pass for Strength of Sense, and we hope that hoary Heads will raise us

above the Attacks of Contradiction. Now, Sir, as you would enliven our

Activity in the pursuit of Learning, take our Case into Consideration;

and, with a Gloss on brave Elihus Sentiments, assert the Rights of

Youth, and prevent the pernicious Incroachments of Age. The generous

Reasonings of that gallant Youth would adorn your Paper; and I beg you

would insert them, not doubting but that they will give good

Entertainment to the most intelligent of your Readers.

So these three Men ceased to answer Job, because he was righteous

in his own Eyes. Then was kindled the Wrath of Elihu the Son of

Barachel the Buzite, of the Kindred of Ram: Against Job was his

Wrath kindled, because he justified himself rather than God. Also

against his three Friends was his Wrath kindled, because they had

found no Answer, and yet had condemned Job. Now Elihu had waited

till Job had spoken, because they were elder than he. When Elihu saw

there was no Answer in the Mouth of these three Men, then his Wrath

was kindled. And Elihu the Son of Barachel the Buzite answered and

said, I am young, and ye are very old, wherefore I was afraid, and

durst not shew you mine Opinion. I said, Days should speak, and

Multitude of Years should teach Wisdom. But there is a Spirit in

Man; and the Inspiration of the Almighty giveth them Understanding.

Great Men are not always wise: Neither do the Aged understand

Judgment. Therefore I said, hearken to me, I also will shew mine

Opinion. Behold, I waited for your Words; I gave ear to your

Reasons, whilst you searched out what to say. Yea, I attended unto

you: And behold there was none of you that convinced Job, or that

answered his Words; lest ye should say, we have found out Wisdom:

God thrusteth him down, not Man. Now he hath not directed his Words

against me: Neither will I answer him with your Speeches. They were

amazed, they answered no more: They left off speaking. When I had

waited (for they spake not, but stood still and answered no more) I

said, I will answer also my Part, I also will shew mine Opinion. For

I am full of Matter, the Spirit within me constraineth me. Behold my

Belly is as Wine which hath no vent, it is ready to burst like new

Bottles. I will speak that I may be refreshed: I will open my Lips,

and answer. Let me not, I pray you, accept any Man's Person, neither

let me give flattering Titles unto Man. For I know not to give

flattering Titles; in so doing my Maker would soon take me away. [1]

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have formerly read with great Satisfaction your Papers about Idols,

and the Behaviour of Gentlemen in those Coffee-houses where Women

officiate, and impatiently waited to see you take India and China

Shops into Consideration: But since you have pass'd us over in

silence, either that you have not as yet thought us worth your Notice,

or that the Grievances we lie under have escaped your discerning Eye,

I must make my Complaints to you, and am encouraged to do it because

you seem a little at leisure at this present Writing. I am, dear Sir,

one of the top China-Women about Town; and though I say it, keep as

good Things, and receive as fine Company as any o this End of the

Town, let the other be who she will: In short, I am in a fair Way to

be easy, were it not for a Club of Female Rakes, who under pretence of

taking their innocent Rambles, forsooth, and diverting the Spleen,

seldom fail to plague me twice or thrice a-day to cheapen Tea, or buy

a Skreen; What else should they mean? as they often repeat it. These

Rakes are your idle Ladies of Fashion, who having nothing to do,

employ themselves in tumbling over my Ware. One of these No-Customers

(for by the way they seldom or never buy any thing) calls for a Set of

Tea-Dishes, another for a Bason, a third for my best Green-Tea, and

even to the Punch Bowl, there's scarce a piece in my Shop but must be

displaced, and the whole agreeable Architecture disordered; so that I

can compare em to nothing but to the Night-Goblins that take a

Pleasure to over-turn the Disposition of Plates and Dishes in the

Kitchens of your housewifely Maids. Well, after all this Racket and

Clutter, this is too dear, that is their Aversion; another thing is

charming, but not wanted: The Ladies are cured of the Spleen, but I am

not a Shilling the better for it. Lord! what signifies one poor Pot of

Tea, considering the Trouble they put me to? Vapours, Mr. SPECTATOR,

are terrible Things; for though I am not possess'd by them my self, I

suffer more from em than if I were. Now I must beg you to admonish

all such Day-Goblins to make fewer Visits, or to be less troublesome

when they come to ones Shop; and to convince em, that we honest

Shop-keepers have something better to do, than to cure Folks of the

Vapours gratis. A young Son of mine, a School-Boy, is my Secretary, so

I hope you'll make Allowances.

I am, SIR,

Your constant Reader, and very humble Servant,

Rebecca the Distress'd.

March the 22nd.

T.

[Footnote 1: Job, ch. xii.]

* * * * *

No. 337. Thursday, March 27, 1712. Budgell.

Fingit equum tenerâ docilem cervice Magister,

Ire viam quam monstrat eques--

Hor.

I have lately received a third Letter from the Gentleman, who has

already given the Publick two Essays upon Education. As his Thoughts

seem to be very just and new upon this Subject, I shall communicate them

to the Reader.

SIR,

If I had not been hindered by some extraordinary Business, I should

have sent you sooner my further Thoughts upon Education. You may

please to remember, that in my last Letter I endeavoured to give the

best Reasons that could be urged in favour of a private or publick

Education. Upon the whole it may perhaps be thought that I seemed

rather enclined to the latter, though at the same time I confessed

that Virtue, which ought to be our first and principal Care, was more

usually acquired in the former.

I intend therefore, in this Letter, to offer at Methods, by which I

conceive Boys might be made to improve in Virtue, as they advance in

Letters.

I know that in most of our public Schools Vice is punished and

discouraged whenever it is found out; but this is far from being

sufficient, unless our Youth are at the same time taught to form a

right Judgment of Things, and to know what is properly Virtue.

To this end, whenever they read the Lives and Actions of such Men as

have been famous in their Generation, it should not be thought enough

to make them barely understand so many Greek or Latin Sentences, but

they should be asked their Opinion of such an Action or Saying, and

obliged to give their Reasons why they take it to be good or bad. By

this means they would insensibly arrive at proper Notions of Courage,

Temperance, Honour and Justice.

There must be great Care taken how the Example of any particular

Person is recommended to them in gross; instead of which, they ought

to be taught wherein such a Man, though great in some respects, was

weak and faulty in others. For want of this Caution, a Boy is often so

dazzled with the Lustre of a great Character, that he confounds its

Beauties with its Blemishes, and looks even upon the faulty Parts of

it with an Eye of Admiration.

I have often wondered how Alexander, who was naturally of a generous

and merciful Disposition, came to be guilty of so barbarous an Action

as that of dragging the Governour of a Town after his Chariot. I know

this is generally ascribed to his Passion for Homer; but I lately met

with a Passage in Plutarch, which, if I am not very much mistaken,

still gives us a clearer Light into the Motives of this Action.

Plutarch tells us, that Alexander in his Youth had a Master named

Lysimachus, who, tho he was a Man destitute of all Politeness,

ingratiated himself both with Philip and his Pupil, and became the

second Man at Court, by calling the King Peleus, the Prince Achilles,

and himself Phoenix. It is no wonder if Alexander having been thus

used not only to admire, but to personate Achilles, should think it

glorious to imitate him in this piece of Cruelty and Extravagance.

To carry this Thought yet further, I shall submit it to your

Consideration, whether instead of a Theme or Copy of Verses, which are

the usual Exercises, as they are called in the School-phrase, it

would not be more proper that a Boy should be tasked once or twice a

Week to write down his Opinion of such Persons and Things as occur to

him in his Reading; that he should descant upon the Actions of Turnus

and Æneas, shew wherein they excelled or were defective, censure or

approve any particular Action, observe how it might have been carried

to a greater Degree of Perfection, and how it exceeded or fell short

of another. He might at the same time mark what was moral in any

Speech, and how far it agreed with the Character of the Person

speaking. This Exercise would soon strengthen his Judgment in what is

blameable or praiseworthy, and give him an early Seasoning of

Morality.

Next to those Examples which may be met with in Books, I very much

approve Horace's Way of setting before Youth the infamous or

honourable Characters of their Contemporaries: That Poet tells us,

this was the Method his Father made use of to incline him to any

particular Virtue, or give him an Aversion to any particular Vice. If,

says Horace, my Father advised me to live within Bounds, and be

contented with the Fortune he should leave me; Do not you see (says

he) the miserable Condition of Burr, and the Son of Albus? Let the

Misfortunes of those two Wretches teach you to avoid Luxury and

Extravagance. If he would inspire me with an Abhorrence to Debauchery,

do not (says he) make your self like Sectanus, when you may be happy

in the Enjoyment of lawful Pleasures. How scandalous (says he) is the

Character of Trebonius, who was lately caught in Bed with another

Man's Wife? To illustrate the Force of this Method, the Poet adds,

That as a headstrong Patient, who will not at first follow his

Physicians Prescriptions, grows orderly when he hears that his

Neighbours die all about him; so Youth is often frighted from Vice, by

hearing the ill Report it brings upon others.

Xenophon's Schools of Equity, in his Life of Cyrus the Great, are

sufficiently famous: He tells us, that the Persian Children went to

School, and employed their Time as diligently in learning the

Principles of Justice and Sobriety, as the Youth in other Countries

did to acquire the most difficult Arts and Sciences: their Governors

spent most part of the Day in hearing their mutual Accusations one

against the other, whether for Violence, Cheating, Slander, or

Ingratitude; and taught them how to give Judgment against those who

were found to be any ways guilty of these Crimes. I omit the Story of

the long and short Coat, for which Cyrus himself was punished, as a

Case equally known with any in Littleton.

The Method, which Apuleius tells us the Indian Gymnosophists took to

educate their Disciples, is still more curious and remarkable. His

Words are as follow: When their Dinner is ready, before it is served

up, the Masters enquire of every particular Scholar how he has

employed his Time since Sun-rising; some of them answer, that having

been chosen as Arbiters between two Persons they have composed their

Differences, and made them Friends; some, that they have been

executing the Orders of their Parents; and others, that they have

either found out something new by their own Application, or learnt it

from the Instruction of their Fellows: But if there happens to be any

one among them, who cannot make it appear that he has employed the

Morning to advantage, he is immediately excluded from the Company, and

obliged to work, while the rest are at Dinner.

It is not impossible, that from these several Ways of producing

Virtue in the Minds of Boys, some general Method might be invented.

What I would endeavour to inculcate, is, that our Youth cannot be too

soon taught the Principles of Virtue, seeing the first Impressions

which are made on the Mind are always the strongest.

The Archbishop of Cambray makes Telemachus say, that though he was

young in Years, he was old in the Art of knowing how to keep both his

own and his Friends Secrets. When my Father, says the Prince, went to

the Siege of Troy, he took me on his Knees, and after having embraced

and blessed me, as he was surrounded by the Nobles of Ithaca, O my

Friends, says he, into your Hands I commit the Education of my Son; if

ever you lov'd his Father, shew it in your Care towards him; but above

all, do not omit to form him just, sincere, and faithful in keeping a

Secret. These Words of my Father, says Telemachus, were continually

repeated to me by his Friends in his Absence; who made no scruple of

communicating to me in their Uneasiness to see my Mother surrounded

with Lovers, and the Measures they designed to take on that Occasion.

He adds, that he was so ravished at being thus treated like a Man, and

at the Confidence reposed in him, that he never once abused it; nor

could all the Insinuations of his Fathers Rivals ever get him to

betray what was committed to him under the Seal of Secrecy.

There is hardly any Virtue which a Lad might not thus learn by

Practice and Example.

I have heard of a good Man, who used at certain times to give his

Scholars Six Pence apiece, that they might tell him the next day how

they had employ'd it. The third part was always to be laid out in

Charity, and every Boy was blamed or commended as he could make it

appear that he had chosen a fit Object.

In short, nothing is more wanting to our publick Schools, than that

the Masters of them should use the same care in fashioning the Manners

of their Scholars, as in forming their Tongues to the learned

Languages. Where-ever the former is omitted, I cannot help agreeing

with Mr. Locke, That a Man must have a very strange Value for Words,

when preferring the Languages of the Greeks and Romans to that which

made them such brave Men, he can think it worth while to hazard the

Innocence and Virtue of his Son for a little Greek and Latin.

As the Subject of this Essay is of the highest Importance, and what I

do not remember to have yet seen treated by any Author, I have sent

you what occurr'd to me on it from my own Observation or Reading, and

which you may either suppress or publish as you think fit.

I am, SIR, Yours, &c.

X.

* * * * *

No. 338. Friday, March 28, 1712.

[--Nil fuit unquam

Tam dispar sibi.

Hor. [1]]

I find the Tragedy of the Distrest Mother is publish'd today: The Author

of the Prologue, I suppose, pleads an old Excuse I have read somewhere,

of being dull with Design; and the Gentleman who writ the Epilogue [2]

has, to my knowledge, so much of greater moment to value himself upon,

that he will easily forgive me for publishing the Exceptions made

against Gayety at the end of serious Entertainments, in the following

Letter: I should be more unwilling to pardon him than any body, a

Practice which cannot have any ill Consequence, but from the Abilities

of the Person who is guilty of it.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I had the Happiness the other Night of sitting very near you, and your

worthy Friend Sir ROGER, at the acting of the new Tragedy, which you

have in a late Paper or two so justly recommended. I was highly

pleased with the advantageous Situation Fortune had given me in

placing me so near two Gentlemen, from one of which I was sure to hear

such Reflections on the several Incidents of the Play, as pure Nature

suggested, and from the other such as flowed from the exactest Art and

Judgment: Tho I must confess that my Curiosity led me so much to

observe the Knights Reflections, that I was not so well at leisure to

improve my self by yours. Nature, I found, play'd her Part in the

Knight pretty well, till at the last concluding Lines she entirely

forsook him. You must know, Sir, that it is always my Custom, when I

have been well entertained at a new Tragedy, to make my Retreat before

the facetious Epilogue enters; not but that those Pieces are often

very well writ, but having paid down my Half Crown, and made a fair

Purchase of as much of the pleasing Melancholy as the Poets Art can

afford me, or my own Nature admit of, I am willing to carry some of it

home with me; and cant endure to be at once trick'd out of all, tho

by the wittiest Dexterity in the World. However, I kept my Seat

tother Night, in hopes of finding my own Sentiments of this Matter

favour'd by your Friends; when, to my great Surprize, I found the

Knight entering with equal Pleasure into both Parts, and as much

satisfied with Mrs. Oldfield's Gaiety, as he had been before with

Andromache's Greatness. Whether this were no other than an Effect of

the Knights peculiar Humanity, pleas'd to find at last, that after

all the tragical Doings every thing was safe and well, I don't know.

But for my own part, I must confess, I was so dissatisfied, that I was

sorry the Poet had saved Andromache, and could heartily have wished

that he had left her stone-dead upon the Stage. For you cannot

imagine, Mr. SPECTATOR, the Mischief she was reserv'd to do me. I

found my Soul, during the Action, gradually work'd up to the highest

Pitch; and felt the exalted Passion which all generous Minds conceive

at the Sight of Virtue in Distress. The Impression, believe me, Sir,

was so strong upon me, that I am persuaded, if I had been let alone in

it, I could at an Extremity have ventured to defend your self and Sir

ROGER against half a Score of the fiercest Mohocks: But the ludicrous

Epilogue in the Close extinguish'd all my Ardour, and made me look

upon all such noble Atchievements, as downright silly and romantick.

What the rest of the Audience felt, I cant so well tell: For my self,

I must declare, that at the end of the Play I found my Soul uniform,

and all of a Piece; but at the End of the Epilogue it was so jumbled

together, and divided between Jest and Earnest, that if you will

forgive me an extravagant Fancy, I will here set it down. I could not

but fancy, if my Soul had at that Moment quitted my Body, and

descended to the poetical Shades in the Posture it was then in, what a

strange Figure it would have made among them. They would not have

known what to have made of my motley Spectre, half Comick and half

Tragick, all over resembling a ridiculous Face, that at the same time

laughs on one side and cries o tother. The only Defence, I think, I

have ever heard made for this, as it seems to me, most unnatural Tack

of the Comick Tail to the Tragick Head, is this, that the Minds of the

Audience must be refreshed, and Gentlemen and Ladies not sent away to

their own Homes with too dismal and melancholy Thoughts about them:

For who knows the Consequence of this? We are much obliged indeed to

the Poets for the great Tenderness they express for the Safety of our

Persons, and heartily thank them for it. But if that be all, pray,

good Sir, assure them, that we are none of us like to come to any

great Harm; and that, let them do their best, we shall in all

probability live out the Length of our Days, and frequent the Theatres

more than ever. What makes me more desirous to have some Reformation

of this matter, is because of an ill Consequence or two attending it:

For a great many of our Church-Musicians being related to the Theatre,

they have, in Imitation of these Epilogues, introduced in their

farewell Voluntaries a sort of Musick quite foreign to the design of

Church-Services, to the great Prejudice of well-disposed People. Those

fingering Gentlemen should be informed, that they ought to suit their

Airs to the Place and Business; and that the Musician is obliged to

keep to the Text as much as the Preacher. For want of this, I have

found by Experience a great deal of Mischief: For when the Preacher

has often, with great Piety and Art enough, handled his Subject, and

the judicious Clark has with utmost Diligence culled out two Staves

proper to the Discourse, and I have found in my self and in the rest

of the Pew good Thoughts and Dispositions, they have been all in a

moment dissipated by a merry Jigg from the Organ-Loft. One knows not

what further ill Effects the Epilogues I have been speaking of may in

time produce: But this I am credibly informed of, that Paul Lorrain

[3]--has resolv'd upon a very sudden Reformation in his tragical

Dramas; and that at the next monthly Performance, he designs, instead

of a Penitential Psalm, to dismiss his Audience with an excellent new

Ballad of his own composing. Pray, Sir, do what you can to put a stop

to those growing Evils, and you will very much oblige

Your Humble Servant,

Physibulus.

[Footnote 1:

[--Servetur ad imum

Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet.

Hor. ]

[Footnote 2: The Prologue was by Steele. Of the Epilogue Dr. Johnson

said (in his Lives of the Poets, when telling of Ambrose Philips),

It was known in Tonson's family and told to Garrick, that Addison was

himself the author of it, and that when it had been at first printed

with his name, he came early in the morning, before the copies were

distributed, and ordered it to be given to Budgell, that it might add

weight to the solicitation which he was then making for a place.

Johnson calls it

the most successful Epilogue that was ever yet spoken on the English

theatre.

The three first nights it was recited twice, and whenever afterwards the

play was acted the Epilogue was still expected and was spoken. This is a

fifth paper for the benefit of Ambrose Philips, inserted, perhaps, to

make occasion for a sixth (No. 341) in the form of a reply to

Physibulus.]

[Footnote 3: Paul Lorrain was the Ordinary of Newgate. He died in 1719. He

always represented his convicts as dying Penitents, wherefore in No. 63 of

the Tatler they had been called Paul Lorrains Saints. ]

* * * * *

No. 339 Saturday, March 29, 1712. Addison

[--Ut his exordia primis

Omnia, et ipse tener Mundi concreverit orbis.

Tum durare solum et discludere Nerea ponto

Coeperit, et rerum pauliatim sumere formas.

Virg. [1]]

Longinus has observed, [2] that there may be a Loftiness in Sentiments,

where there is no Passion, and brings Instances out of ancient Authors

to support this his Opinion. The Pathetick, as that great Critick

observes, may animate and inflame the Sublime, but is not essential to

it. Accordingly, as he further remarks, we very often find that those

who excel most in stirring up the Passions, very often want the Talent

of writing in the great and sublime manner, and so on the contrary.

Milton has shewn himself a Master in both these ways of Writing. The

Seventh Book, which we are now entring upon, is an Instance of that

Sublime which is not mixed and worked up with Passion. The Author

appears in a kind of composed and sedate Majesty; and tho the

Sentiments do not give so great an Emotion as those in the former Book,

they abound with as magnificent Ideas. The Sixth Book, like a troubled

Ocean, represents Greatness in Confusion; the seventh Affects the

Imagination like the Ocean in a Calm, and fills the Mind of the Reader,

without producing in it any thing like Tumult or Agitation.

The Critick above mentioned, among the Rules which he lays down for

succeeding in the sublime way of writing, proposes to his Reader, that

he should imitate the most celebrated Authors who have gone before him,

and been engaged in Works of the same nature; [3] as in particular, that

if he writes on a poetical Subject, he should consider how Homer would

have spoken on such an Occasion. By this means one great Genius often

catches the Flame from another, and writes in his Spirit, without

copying servilely after him. There are a thousand shining Passages in

Virgil, which have been lighted up by Homer.

Milton, tho his own natural Strength of Genius was capable of

furnishing out a perfect Work, has doubtless very much raised and

ennobled his Conceptions, by such an Imitation as that which Longinus

has recommended.

In this Book, which gives us an Account of the six Days Works, the Poet

received but very few Assistances from Heathen Writers, who were

Strangers to the Wonders of Creation. But as there are many glorious

strokes of Poetry upon this Subject in Holy Writ, the Author has

numberless Allusions to them through the whole course of this Book. The

great Critick I have before mentioned, though an Heathen, has taken

notice of the sublime Manner in which the Lawgiver of the Jews has

describ'd the Creation in the first Chapter of Genesis; [4] and there

are many other Passages in Scripture, which rise up to the same Majesty,

where this Subject is touched upon. Milton has shewn his Judgment very

remarkably, in making use of such of these as were proper for his Poem,

and in duly qualifying those high Strains of Eastern Poetry, which were

suited to Readers whose Imaginations were set to an higher pitch than

those of colder Climates.

Adams Speech to the Angel, wherein he desires an Account of what had

passed within the Regions of Nature before the Creation, is very great

and solemn. The following Lines, in which he tells him, that the Day is

not too far spent for him to enter upon such a subject, are exquisite in

their kind.

And the great Light of Day yet wants to run

Much of his Race, though steep, suspense in Heavn

Held by thy Voice; thy potent Voice he hears,

And longer will delay, to hear thee tell

His Generation, &c.

The Angels encouraging our first Parent[s] in a modest pursuit after

Knowledge, with the Causes which he assigns for the Creation of the

World, are very just and beautiful. The Messiah, by whom, as we are told

in Scripture, the Worlds were made, comes forth in the Power of his

Father, surrounded with an Host of Angels, and cloathed with such a

Majesty as becomes his entring upon a Work, which, according to our

Conceptions, [appears [5]] the utmost Exertion of Omnipotence. What a

beautiful Description has our Author raised upon that Hint in one of the

Prophets. And behold there came four Chariots out from between two

Mountains, and the Mountains were Mountains of Brass. [6]

About his Chariot numberless were pour

Cherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones,

And Virtues, winged Spirits, and Chariots wing'd,

From th' Armoury of Gold, where stand of old

Myriads between two brazen Mountains lodg'd

Against a solemn Day, harness'd at hand;

Celestial Equipage! and now came forth

Spontaneous, for within them Spirit liv'd,

Attendant on their Lord: Heavn open'd wide

Her ever-during Gates, Harmonious Sound!

On golden Hinges moving--

I have before taken notice of these Chariots of God, and of these Gates

of Heaven; and shall here only add, that Homer gives us the same Idea of

the latter, as opening of themselves; tho he afterwards takes off from

it, by telling us, that the Hours first of all removed those prodigious

Heaps of Clouds which lay as a Barrier before them.

I do not know any thing in the whole Poem more sublime than the

Description which follows, where the Messiah is represented at the head

of his Angels, as looking down into the Chaos, calming its Confusion,

riding into the midst of it, and drawing the first Out-Line of the

Creation.

On Heavenly Ground they stood, and from the Shore

They view'd the vast immeasurable Abyss,

Outrageous as a Sea, dark, wasteful, wild;

Up from the bottom turned by furious Winds

And surging Waves, as Mountains to assault

Heavens height, and with the Center mix the Pole.

Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, Peace!

Said then th' Omnific Word, your Discord end:

Nor staid; but, on the Wings of Cherubim

Up-lifted, in Paternal Glory rode

Far into Chaos, and the World unborn;

For Chaos heard his Voice. Him all His Train

Follow'd in bright Procession, to behold

Creation, and the Wonders, of his Might.

Then staid the fervid Wheels, and in his Hand

He took the Golden Compasses, prepar'd

In Gods eternal Store, to circumscribe

This Universe, and all created Things:

One Foot he center'd, and the other turn'd

Round, through the vast Profundity obscure;

And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,

This be thy just Circumference, O World!

The Thought of the Golden Compasses is conceived altogether in Homers

Spirit, and is a very noble Incident in this wonderful Description.

Homer, when he speaks of the Gods, ascribes to them several Arms and

Instruments with the same greatness of Imagination. Let the Reader only

peruse the Description of Minerva's Ægis, or Buckler, in the Fifth Book,

with her Spear, which would overturn whole Squadrons, and her Helmet,

that was sufficient to cover an Army drawn out of an hundred Cities: The

Golden Compasses in the above-mentioned Passage appear a very natural

Instrument in the Hand of him, whom Plato somewhere calls the Divine

Geometrician. As Poetry delights in cloathing abstracted Ideas in

Allegories and sensible Images, we find a magnificent Description of the

Creation form'd after the same manner in one of the Prophets, wherein he

describes the Almighty Architect as measuring the Waters in the Hollow

of his Hand, meting out the Heavens with his Span, comprehending the

Dust of the Earth in a Measure, weighing the Mountains in Scales, and

the Hills in a Balance. Another of them describing the Supreme Being in

this great Work of Creation, represents him as laying the Foundations of

the Earth, and stretching a Line upon it: And in another place as

garnishing the Heavens, stretching out the North over the empty Place,

and hanging the Earth upon nothing. This last noble Thought Milton has

express'd in the following Verse:

And Earth self-ballanc'd on her Center hung.

The Beauties of Description in this Book lie so very thick, that it is

impossible to enumerate them in this Paper. The Poet has employ'd on

them the whole Energy of our Tongue. The several great Scenes of the

Creation rise up to view one after another, in such a manner, that the

Reader seems present at this wonderful Work, and to assist among the

Choirs of Angels, who are the Spectators of it. How glorious is the

Conclusion of the first Day.

--Thus was the first Day Ev'n and Morn

Nor past uncelebrated nor unsung

By the Celestial Quires, when Orient Light

Exhaling first from Darkness they beheld;

Birth-day of Heavn and Earth! with Joy and Shout

The hollow universal Orb they fill'd.

We have the same elevation of Thought in the third Day, when the

Mountains were brought forth, and the Deep was made.

Immediately the Mountains huge appear

Emergent, and their broad bare Backs up-heave

Into the Clouds, their Tops ascend the Sky:

So high as heav'd the tumid Hills, so low

Down sunk a hollow Bottom, broad and deep,

Capacious Bed of Waters--

We have also the rising of the whole vegetable World described in this

Days Work, which is filled with all the Graces that other Poets have

lavish'd on their Descriptions of the Spring, and leads the Readers

Imagination into a Theatre equally surprising and beautiful.

The several Glories of the Heavns make their Appearance on the Fourth

Day.

First in his East the glorious Lamp was seen,

Regent of Day; and all th' Horizon round

Invested with bright Rays, jocund to round

His Longitude through Heavns high Road: the gray

Dawn, and the Pleiades before him danced,

Shedding sweet Influence. Less bright the Moon,

But opposite in level'd West was set,

His Mirror, with full face borrowing her Light

From him, for other Lights she needed none

In that aspect, and still that distance keeps

Till Night; then in the East her turn she shines,

Revolv'd on Heavns great Axle, and her Reign

With thousand lesser Lights dividual holds,

With thousand thousand Stars! that then appear'd

Spangling the Hemisphere--

One would wonder how the Poet could be so concise in his Description of

the six Days Works, as to comprehend them within the bounds of an

Episode, and at the same time so particular, as to give us a lively Idea

of them. This is still more remarkable in his Account of the Fifth and

Sixth Days, in which he has drawn out to our View the whole Animal

Creation, from the Reptil to the Behemoth. As the Lion and the Leviathan

are two of the noblest Productions in [the [7]] World of living

Creatures, the Reader will find a most exquisite Spirit of Poetry in the

Account which our Author gives us of them. The Sixth Day concludes with

the Formation of Man, upon which the Angel takes occasion, as he did

after the Battel in Heaven, to remind Adam of his Obedience, which was

the principal Design of this his Visit.

The Poet afterwards represents the Messiah returning into Heaven, and

taking a Survey of his great Work. There is something inexpressibly

Sublime in this part of the Poem, where the Author describes that great

Period of Time, filled with so many Glorious Circumstances; when the

Heavens and Earth were finished; when the Messiah ascended up in triumph

thro the Everlasting Gates; when he looked down with pleasure upon his

new Creation; when every Part of Nature seem'd to rejoice in its

Existence; when the Morning-Stars sang together, and all the Sons of God

shouted for joy.

So Ev'n and Morn accomplished the sixth Day:

Yet not till the Creator from his Work

Desisting, tho unwearied, up return'd,

Up to the Heavn of Heavns, his high Abode;

Thence to behold this new created World,

Th' Addition of his Empire, how it shewed

In prospect from his Throne, how good, how fair,

Answering his great Idea: Up he rode,

Follow'd with Acclamation, and the Sound

Symphonious of ten thousand Harps, that tuned

Angelick Harmonies; the Earth, the Air

Resounding (thou rememberst, for thou heardst)

The Heavens and all the Constellations rung;

The Planets in their Station listning stood,

While the bright Pomp ascended jubilant.

Open, ye everlasting Gates, they sung,

Open, ye Heavens, your living Doors; let in

The great Creator from his Work return'd

Magnificent, his six Days Work, a World!

I cannot conclude this Book upon the Creation, without mentioning a Poem

which has lately appeared under that Title. [8] The Work was undertaken

with so good an Intention, and is executed with so great a Mastery, that

it deserves to be looked upon as one of the most useful and noble

Productions in our English Verse. The Reader cannot but be pleased to

find the Depths of Philosophy enlivened with all the Charms of Poetry,

and to see so great a Strength of Reason, amidst so beautiful a

Redundancy of the Imagination. The Author has shewn us that Design in

all the Works of Nature, which necessarily leads us to the Knowledge of

its first Cause. In short, he has illustrated, by numberless and

incontestable Instances, that Divine Wisdom, which the Son of Sirach has

so nobly ascribed to the Supreme Being in his Formation of the World,

when he tells us, that He created her, and saw her, and numbered her,

and poured her out upon all his Works.

L.

[Footnote 1: [Ovid.]]

[Footnote 2: On the Sublime, § 8.]

[Footnote 3: §14.]

[Footnote 4: Longinus, § 9:

"So likewise the Jewish legislator, no ordinary person, having

conceived a just idea of the power of God, has nobly expressed it in

the beginning of his law. And God said,--What? Let there be Light,

and there was Light. Let the Earth be, and the Earth was." ]

[Footnote 5: [looks like]:--]

[Footnote 6: Zechariah vi. i. ]

[Footnote 7: this]

[Footnote 8: Sir Richard Blackmore's Creation appeared in 1712. Besides

this praise of it from Addison, its religious character caused Dr.

Johnson to say that if Blackmore

had written nothing else it would have transmitted him to posterity

among the first favourites of the English muse.

But even with the help of all his epics it has failed to secure him any

such place in the estimation of posterity. This work is not an epic, but

described on its title page as a Philosophical Poem, Demonstrating the

Existence and Providence of a God. It argues in blank verse, in the

first two of its seven books, the existence of a Deity from evidences of

design in the structure and qualities of earth and sea, in the celestial

bodies and the air; in the next three books it argues against objections

raised by Atheists, Atomists, and Fatalists; in the sixth book proceeds

with evidences of design, taking the structure of man's body for its

theme; and in the next, which is the last book, treats in the same way

of the Instincts of Animals and of the Faculties and Operations of the

Soul. This is the manner of the Poem:

The Sea does next demand our View; and there

No less the Marks of perfect skill appear.

When first the Atoms to the Congress came,

And by their Concourse form'd the mighty Frame,

What did the Liquid to th' Assembly call

To give their Aid to form the ponderous Ball?

First, tell us, why did any come? next, why

In such a disproportion to the Dry!

Why were the Moist in Number so outdone,

That to a Thousand Dry, they are but one,

It is hardly a mark of perfect skill that there are five or six

thousand of such dry lines in Blackmore's poem, and not even one that

should lead a critic to speak in the same breath of Blackmore and

Milton.]

* * * * *

No. 340 Monday, March 31, 1712. Steele.

Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus Hospes?

Quem sese Ore ferens! quam forti Pectore et Armis!

Virg.

I take it to be the highest Instance of a noble Mind, to bear great

Qualities without discovering in a Man's Behaviour any Consciousness

that he is superior to the rest of the World. Or, to say it otherwise,

it is the Duty of a great Person so to demean himself, as that whatever

Endowments he may have, he may appear to value himself upon no Qualities

but such as any Man may arrive at: He ought to think no Man valuable but

for his publick Spirit, Justice and Integrity; and all other Endowments

to be esteemed only as they contribute to the exerting those Virtues.

Such a Man, if he is Wise or Valiant, knows it is of no Consideration to

other Men that he is so, but as he employs those high Talents for their

Use and Service. He who affects the Applauses and Addresses of a

Multitude, or assumes to himself a Pre-eminence upon any other

Consideration, must soon turn Admiration into Contempt. It is certain,

that there can be no Merit in any Man who is not conscious of it; but

the Sense that it is valuable only according to the Application of it,

makes that Superiority amiable, which would otherwise be invidious. In

this Light it is considered as a Thing in which every Man bears a Share:

It annexes the Ideas of Dignity, Power, and Fame, in an agreeable and

familiar manner, to him who is Possessor of it; and all Men who are

Strangers to him are naturally incited to indulge a Curiosity in

beholding the Person, Behaviour, Feature, and Shape of him, in whose

Character, perhaps, each Man had formed something in common with

himself. Whether such, or any other, are the Causes, all Men have [a

yearning [1]] Curiosity to behold a Man of heroick Worth; and I have had

many Letters from all Parts of this Kingdom, that request I would give

them an exact Account of the Stature, the Mein, the Aspect of the Prince

[2] who lately visited England, and has done such Wonders for the

Liberty of Europe. It would puzzle the most Curious to form to himself

the sort of Man my several Correspondents expect to hear of, by the

Action mentioned when they desire a Description of him: There is always

something that concerns themselves, and growing out of their own

Circumstances, in all their Enquiries. A Friend of mine in Wales

beseeches me to be very exact in my Account of that wonderful Man, who

had marched an Army and all its Baggage over the Alps; and, if possible,

to learn whether the Peasant who shew'd him the Way, and is drawn in the

Map, be yet living. A Gentleman from the University, who is deeply

intent on the Study of Humanity, desires me to be as particular, if I

had Opportunity, in observing the whole Interview between his Highness

and our late General. Thus do Mens Fancies work according to their

several Educations and Circumstances; but all pay a Respect, mixed with

Admiration, to this illustrious Character. I have waited for his Arrival

in Holland, before I would let my Correspondents know, that I have not

been so uncurious a Spectator, as not to have seen Prince Eugene. It

would be very difficult, as I said just now, to answer every Expectation

of those who have writ to me on that Head; nor is it possible for me to

find Words to let one know what an artful Glance there is in his

Countenance who surprized Cremona; how daring he appears who forced the

Trenches of Turin; But in general I can say, that he who beholds him,

will easily expect from him any thing that is to be imagined or executed

by the Wit or Force of Man. The Prince is of that Stature which makes a

Man most easily become all Parts of Exercise, has Height to be graceful

on Occasions of State and Ceremony, and no less adapted for Agility and

Dispatch: his Aspect is erect and compos'd; his Eye lively and

thoughtful, yet rather vigilant than sparkling; his Action and Address

the most easy imaginable, and his Behaviour in an Assembly peculiarly

graceful in a certain Art of mixing insensibly with the rest, and

becoming one of the Company, instead of receiving the Courtship of it.

The Shape of his Person, and Composure of his Limbs, are remarkably

exact and beautiful. There is in his Look something sublime, which does

not seem to arise from his Quality or Character, but the innate

Disposition of his Mind. It is apparent that he suffers the Presence of

much Company, instead of taking Delight in it; and he appeared in

Publick while with us, rather to return Good-will, or satisfy Curiosity,

than to gratify any Taste he himself had of being popular. As his

Thoughts are never tumultuous in Danger, they are as little discomposed

on Occasions of Pomp and Magnificence: A great Soul is affected in

either Case, no further than in considering the properest Methods to

extricate it self from them. If this Hero has the strong Incentives to

uncommon Enterprizes that were remarkable in Alexander, he prosecutes

and enjoys the Fame of them with the Justness, Propriety, and good Sense

of Cæsar. It is easy to observe in him a Mind as capable of being

entertained with Contemplation as Enterprize; a Mind ready for great

Exploits, but not impatient for Occasions to exert itself. The Prince

has Wisdom and Valour in as high Perfection as Man can enjoy it; which

noble Faculties in conjunction, banish all Vain-Glory, Ostentation,

Ambition, and all other Vices which might intrude upon his Mind to make

it unequal. These Habits and Qualities of Soul and Body render this

Personage so extraordinary, that he appears to have nothing in him but

what every Man should have in him, the Exertion of his very self,

abstracted from the Circumstances in which Fortune has placed him. Thus

were you to see Prince Eugene, and were told he was a private Gentleman,

you would say he is a Man of Modesty and Merit: Should you be told That

was Prince Eugene, he would be diminished no otherwise, than that part

of your distant Admiration would turn into familiar Good-will. This I

thought fit to entertain my Reader with, concerning an Hero who never

was equalled but by one Man; [3] over whom also he has this Advantage,

that he has had an Opportunity to manifest an Esteem for him in his

Adversity.

T.

[Footnote 1: [an earning]]

[Footnote 2: Prince Eugene of Savoy, grandson of a duke of Savoy, and

son of Eugene Maurice, general of the Swiss, and Olympia Mancini, a

niece of Mazarin, was born at Paris in 1663, and intended for the

church, but had so strong a bent towards a military life, that when

refused a regiment in the French army he served the Emperor as volunteer

against the Turks. He stopped the march of the French into Italy when

Louis XIV. declared war with Austria, and refused afterwards from Louis

a Marshals staff, a pension, and the Government of Champagne.

Afterwards in Italy, by the surprise of Cremona he made Marshal Villeroi

his prisoner, and he was Marlborough's companion in arms at Blenheim and

in other victories. It was he who saved Turin, and expelled the French

from Italy. He was 49 years old in 1712, and had come in that year to

England to induce the court to continue the war, but found Marlborough

in disgrace and the war very unpopular. He had been feasted by the city,

and received from Queen Anne a sword worth £5000, which he wore at her

birthday reception. He had also stood as godfather to Steele's third

son, who was named after him.]

[Footnote 3: Marlborough.]

* * * * *

No. 341. Tuesday, April 1, 1712. Budgell. [1]

--Revocate animos moestumque timorem Mittite--

Virg.

Having, to oblige my Correspondent Physibulus, printed his Letter last

Friday, in relation to the new Epilogue, he cannot take it amiss, if I

now publish another, which I have just received from a Gentleman who

does not agree with him in his Sentiments upon that Matter.

SIR,

I am amazed to find an Epilogue attacked in your last Fridays Paper,

which has been so generally applauded by the Town, and receiv'd such

Honours as were never before given to any in an English Theatre.

The Audience would not permit Mrs. Oldfield to go off the Stage the

first Night, till she had repeated it twice; the second Night the

Noise of Ancoras was as loud as before, and she was again obliged to

speak it twice: the third Night it was still called for a second time;

and, in short, contrary to all other Epilogues, which are dropt after

the third Representation of the Play, this has already been repeated

nine times.

I must own I am the more surprized to find this Censure in Opposition

to the whole Town, in a Paper which has hitherto been famous for the

Candour of its Criticisms.

I can by no means allow your melancholy Correspondent, that the new

Epilogue is unnatural because it is gay. If I had a mind to be

learned, I could tell him that the Prologue and Epilogue were real

Parts of the ancient Tragedy; but every one knows that on the British

Stage they are distinct Performances by themselves, Pieces entirely

detached from the Play, and no way essential to it.

The moment the Play ends, Mrs. Oldfield is no more Andromache, but

Mrs. Oldfield; and tho the Poet had left Andromache stone-dead upon

the Stage, as your ingenious Correspondent phrases it, Mrs. Oldfield

might still have spoke a merry Epilogue. We have an Instance of this

in a Tragedy [2] where there is not only a Death but a Martyrdom. St.

Catherine was there personated by Nell Gwin; she lies stone dead upon

the Stage, but upon those Gentlemen's offering to remove her Body,

whose Business it is to carry off the Slain in our English Tragedies,

she breaks out into that abrupt Beginning of what was a very

ludicrous, but at the same time thought a very good Epilogue.

Hold, are you mad? you damn'd confounded Dog,

I am to rise and speak the Epilogue.

This diverting Manner was always practised by Mr. Dryden, who if he

was not the best Writer of Tragedies in his time, was allowed by every

one to have the happiest Turn for a Prologue or an Epilogue. The

Epilogues to Cleomenes, Don Sebastian, The Duke of Guise, Aurengzebe,

and Love Triumphant, are all Precedents of this Nature.

I might further justify this Practice by that excellent Epilogue which

was spoken a few Years since, after the Tragedy of Phædra and

Hippolitus; with a great many others, in which the Authors have

endeavour'd to make the Audience merry. If they have not all succeeded

so well as the Writer of this, they have however shewn that it was not

for want of Good-will.

I must further observe, that the Gaiety of it may be still the more

proper, as it is at the end of a French Play; since every one knows

that Nation, who are generally esteem'd to have as polite a Taste as

any in Europe, always close their Tragick Entertainments with what

they call a Petite Piece, which is purposely design'd to raise Mirth,

and send away the Audience well pleased. The same Person who has

supported the chief Character in the Tragedy, very often plays the

principal Part in the Petite Piece; so that I have my self seen at

Paris, Orestes and Lubin acted the same Night by the same Man.

Tragi-Comedy, indeed, you have your self in a former Speculation found

fault with very justly, because it breaks the Tide of the Passions

while they are yet flowing; but this is nothing at all to the present

Case, where they have already had their full Course.

As the new Epilogue is written conformable to the Practice of our best

Poets, so it is not such an one which, as the Duke of Buckingham says

in his Rehearsal, might serve for any other Play; but wholly rises out

of the Occurrences of the Piece it was composed for.

The only Reason your mournful Correspondent gives against this

Facetious Epilogue, as he calls it, is, that he has mind to go home

melancholy. I wish the Gentleman may not be more Grave than Wise. For

my own part, I must confess I think it very sufficient to have the

Anguish of a fictitious Piece remain upon me while it is representing,

but I love to be sent home to bed in a good humour. If Physibulus is

however resolv'd to be inconsolable, and not to have his Tears dried

up, he need only continue his old Custom, and when he has had his half

Crowns worth of Sorrow, slink out before the Epilogue begins.

It is pleasant enough to hear this Tragical Genius complaining of the

great Mischief Andromache had done him: What was that? Why, she made

him laugh. The poor Gentleman's Sufferings put me in mind of

Harlequins Case, who was tickled to Death. He tells us soon after,

thro a small Mistake of Sorrow for Rage, that during the whole Action

he was so very sorry, that he thinks he could have attack'd half a

score of the fiercest Mohocks in the Excess of his Grief. I cannot but

look upon it as an happy Accident, that a Man who is so bloody-minded

in his Affliction, was diverted from this Fit of outragious

Melancholy. The Valour of this Gentleman in his Distress, brings to

ones memory the Knight of the sorrowful Countenance, who lays about

him at such an unmerciful rate in an old Romance. I shall readily

grant him that his Soul, as he himself says, would have made a very

ridiculous Figure, had it quitted the Body, and descended to the

Poetical Shades, in such an Encounter.

As to his Conceit of tacking a Tragic Head with a Comic Tail, in order

to refresh the Audience, it is such a piece of Jargon, that I don't

know what to make of it.

The elegant Writer makes a very sudden Transition from the Play-house

to the Church, and from thence, to the Gallows.

As for what relates to the Church, he is of Opinion, that these

Epilogues have given occasion to those merry Jiggs from the Organ-Loft

which have dissipated those good Thoughts, and Dispositions he has

found in himself, and the rest of the Pew, upon the singing of two

Staves cull'd out by the judicious and diligent Clark.

He fetches his next Thought from Tyburn; and seems very apprehensive

lest there should happen any Innovations in the Tragedies of his

Friend Paul Lorrain.

In the mean time, Sir, this gloomy Writer, who is so mightily

scandaliz'd at a gay Epilogue after a serious Play, speaking of the

Fate of those unhappy Wretches who are condemned to suffer an

ignominious Death by the Justice of our Laws, endeavours to make the

Reader merry on so improper an occasion, by those poor Burlesque

Expressions of Tragical Dramas, and Monthly Performances.

I am, Sir, with great Respect,

Your most obedient, most humble Servant,

Philomeides.

X.

[Footnote 1: Budgell here defends with bad temper the Epilogue which

Addison ascribed to him. Probably it was of his writing, but transformed

by Addison's corrections.]

[Footnote 2: Dryden's Maximin.]

* * * * *

No. 342. Wednesday, April 2, 1712. Steele.

Justitiæ partes sunt non violare homines: Verecundiæ non offendere.

Tull.

As Regard to Decency is a great Rule of Life in general, but more

especially to be consulted by the Female World, I cannot overlook the

following Letter which describes an egregious Offender.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I was this Day looking over your Papers, and reading in that of

December the 6th with great delight, the amiable Grief of Asteria for

the Absence of her Husband, it threw me into a great deal of

Reflection. I cannot say but this arose very much from the

Circumstances of my own Life, who am a Soldier, and expect every Day

to receive Orders; which will oblige me to leave behind me a Wife that

is very dear to me, and that very deservedly. She is, at present, I am

sure, no way below your Asteria for Conjugal Affection: But I see the

Behaviour of some Women so little suited to the Circumstances wherein

my Wife and I shall soon be, that it is with a Reluctance I never knew

before, I am going to my Duty. What puts me to present Pain, is the

Example of a young Lady, whose Story you shall have as well as I can

give it you. Hortensius, an Officer of good Rank in her Majesty's

Service, happen'd in a certain Part of England to be brought to a

Country-Gentleman's House, where he was receiv'd with that more than

ordinary Welcome, with which Men of domestick Lives entertain such few

Soldiers whom a military Life, from the variety of Adventures, has not

render'd over-bearing, but humane, easy, and agreeable: Hortensius

stay'd here some time, and had easy Access at all hours, as well as

unavoidable Conversation at some parts of the Day with the beautiful

Sylvana, the Gentleman's Daughter. People who live in Cities are

wonderfully struck with every little Country Abode they see when they

take the Air; and tis natural to fancy they could live in every neat

Cottage (by which they pass) much happier than in their present

Circumstances. The turbulent way of Life which Hortensius was used to,

made him reflect with much Satisfaction on all the Advantages of a

sweet Retreat one day; and among the rest, you'll think it not

improbable, it might enter into his Thought, that such a Woman as

Sylvana would consummate the Happiness. The World is so debauched with

mean Considerations, that Hortensius knew it would be receiv'd as an

Act of Generosity, if he asked for a Woman of the Highest Merit,

without further Questions, of a Parent who had nothing to add to her

personal Qualifications. The Wedding was celebrated at her Fathers

House: When that was over, the generous Husband did not proportion his

Provision for her to the Circumstances of her Fortune, but considered

his Wife as his Darling, his Pride, and his Vanity, or rather that it

was in the Woman he had chosen that a Man of Sense could shew Pride or

Vanity with an Excuse, and therefore adorned her with rich Habits and

valuable Jewels. He did not however omit to admonish her that he did

his very utmost in this; that it was an Ostentation he could not but

be guilty of to a Woman he had so much Pleasure in, desiring her to

consider it as such; and begged of her also to take these Matters

rightly, and believe the Gems, the Gowns, the Laces would still become

her better, if her Air and Behaviour was such, that it might appear

she dressed thus rather in Compliance to his Humour that Way, than out

of any Value she her self had for the Trifles. To this Lesson, too

hard for Woman, Hortensius added, that she must be sure to stay with

her Friends in the Country till his Return. As soon as Hortensius

departed, Sylvana saw in her Looking-glass that the Love he conceiv'd

for her was wholly owing to the Accident of seeing her: and she is

convinced it was only her Misfortune the rest of Mankind had not

beheld her, or Men of much greater Quality and Merit had contended for

one so genteel, tho bred in Obscurity; so very witty, tho never

acquainted with Court or Town. She therefore resolved not to hide so

much Excellence from the World, but without any Regard to the Absence

of the most generous Man alive, she is now the gayest Lady about this

Town, and has shut out the Thoughts of her Husband by a constant

Retinue of the vainest young Fellows this Age has produced: to

entertain whom, she squanders away all Hortensius is able to supply

her with, tho that Supply is purchased with no less Difficulty than

the Hazard of his Life.

Now, Mr. SPECTATOR, would it not be a Work becoming your Office to

treat this Criminal as she deserve[s]? You should give it the severest

Reflections you can: You should tell Women, that they are more

accountable for Behaviour in Absence than after Death. The Dead are

not dishonour'd by their Levities; the Living may return, and be

laugh'd at by empty Fops, who will not fail to turn into Ridicule the

good Man who is so unseasonable as to be still alive, and come and

spoil good Company.

I am, SIR,

your most Obedient Humble Servant.

All Strictness of Behaviour is so unmercifully laugh'd at in our Age,

that the other much worse Extreme is the more common Folly. But let any

Woman consider which of the two Offences an Husband would the more

easily forgive, that of being less entertaining than she could to please

Company, or raising the Desires of the whole Room to his disadvantage;

and she will easily be able to form her Conduct. We have indeed carry'd

Womens Characters too much into publick Life, and you shall see them

now-a-days affect a sort of Fame: but I cannot help venturing to

disoblige them for their Service, by telling them, that the utmost of a

Woman's Character is contained in Domestick Life; she is blameable or

praiseworthy according as her Carriage affects the House of her Father

or her Husband. All she has to do in this World, is contain'd within the

Duties of a Daughter, a Sister, a Wife, and a Mother: All these may be

well performed, tho a Lady should not be the very finest Woman at an

Opera or an Assembly. They are likewise consistent with a moderate share

of Wit, a plain Dress, and a modest Air. But when the very Brains of the

Sex are turned, and they place their Ambition on Circumstances, wherein

to excel is no addition to what is truly commendable, where can this

end, but, as it frequently does, in their placing all their Industry,

Pleasure and Ambition on things, which will naturally make the

Gratifications of Life last, at best, no longer than Youth and good

Fortune? And when we consider the least ill Consequence, it can be no

less than looking on their own Condition as Years advance, with a

disrelish of Life, and falling into Contempt of their own Persons, or

being the Derision of others. But when they consider themselves as they

ought, no other than an additional Part of the Species, (for their own

Happiness and Comfort, as well as that of those for whom they were born)

their Ambition to excel will be directed accordingly; and they will in

no part of their Lives want Opportunities of being shining Ornaments to

their Fathers, Husbands, Brothers, or Children.

T

* * * * *

No. 343. Thursday, April 3, 1712. Addison.

--Errat et illinc

Huc venit, hinc illuc, et quoslibet occupat artus

Spiritus: éque feris humana in corpora transit,

Inque feras noster--

Pythag. ap. Ov.

Will. Honeycomb, who loves to shew upon occasion all the little Learning

he has picked up, told us yesterday at the Club, that he thought there

might be a great deal said for the Transmigration of Souls, and that the

Eastern Parts of the World believed in that Doctrine to this day. Sir

Paul Rycaut, [1] says he, gives us an Account of several well-disposed

Mahometans that purchase the Freedom of any little Bird they see

confined to a Cage, and think they merit as much by it, as we should do

here by ransoming any of our Countrymen from their Captivity at Algiers.

You must know, says WILL., the Reason is, because they consider every

Animal as a Brother or Sister in disguise, and therefore think

themselves obliged to extend their Charity to them, tho under such mean

Circumstances. They'll tell you, says WILL., that the Soul of a Man,

when he dies, immediately passes into the Body of another Man, or of

some Brute, which he resembled in his Humour, or his Fortune, when he

was one of us.

As I was wondring what this profusion of Learning would end in, WILL.

told us that Jack Freelove, who was a Fellow of Whim, made Love to one

of those Ladies who throw away all their Fondness [on [2]] Parrots,

Monkeys, and Lap-dogs. Upon going to pay her a Visit one Morning, he

writ a very pretty Epistle upon this Hint. Jack, says he, was conducted

into the Parlour, where he diverted himself for some time with her

favourite Monkey, which was chained in one of the Windows; till at

length observing a Pen and Ink lie by him, he writ the following Letter

to his Mistress, in the Person of the Monkey; and upon her not coming

down so soon as he expected, left it in the Window, and went about his

Business.

The Lady soon after coming into the Parlour, and seeing her Monkey look

upon a Paper with great Earnestness, took it up, and to this day is in

some doubt, says WILL., whether it was written by Jack or the Monkey.

Madam,

Not having the Gift of Speech, I have a long time waited in vain for

an Opportunity of making myself known to you; and having at present

the Conveniences of Pen, Ink, and Paper by me, I gladly take the

occasion of giving you my History in Writing, which I could not do by

word of Mouth. You must know, Madam, that about a thousand Years ago I

was an Indian Brachman, and versed in all those mysterious Secrets

which your European Philosopher, called Pythagoras, is said to have

learned from our Fraternity. I had so ingratiated my self by my great

Skill in the occult Sciences with a Daemon whom I used to converse

with, that he promised to grant me whatever I should ask of him. I

desired that my Soul might never pass into the Body of a brute

Creature; but this he told me was not in his Power to grant me. I then

begg'd that into whatever Creature I should chance to Transmigrate, I

might still retain my Memory, and be conscious that I was the same

Person who lived in different Animals. This he told me was within his

Power, and accordingly promised on the word of a Daemon that he would

grant me what I desired. From that time forth I lived so very

unblameably, that I was made President of a College of Brachmans, an

Office which I discharged with great Integrity till the day of my

Death. I was then shuffled into another Human Body, and acted my Part

so very well in it, that I became first Minister to a Prince who

reigned upon the Banks of the Ganges. I here lived in great Honour for

several Years, but by degrees lost all the Innocence of the Brachman,

being obliged to rifle and oppress the People to enrich my Sovereign;

till at length I became so odious that my Master, to recover his

Credit with his Subjects, shot me thro the Heart with an Arrow, as I

was one day addressing my self to him at the Head of his Army.

Upon my next remove I found my self in the Woods, under the shape of a

Jack-call, and soon listed my self in the Service of a Lion. I used to

yelp near his Den about midnight, which was his time of rouzing and

seeking after his Prey. He always followed me in the Rear, and when I

had run down a fat Buck, a wild Goat, or an Hare, after he had feasted

very plentifully upon it himself, would now and then throw me a Bone

that was but half picked for my Encouragement; but upon my Being

unsuccessful in two or three Chaces, he gave me such a confounded

Gripe in his Anger, that I died of it.

In my next Transmigration I was again set upon two Legs, and became an

Indian Tax-gatherer; but having been guilty of great Extravagances,

and being marry'd to an expensive Jade of a Wife, I ran so cursedly in

debt, that I durst not shew my Head. I could no sooner step out of my

House, but I was arrested by some body or other that lay in wait for

me. As I ventur'd abroad one Night in the Dusk of the Evening, I was

taken up and hurry'd into a Dungeon, where I died a few Months after.

My Soul then enter'd into a Flying-Fish, and in that State led a most

melancholy Life for the space of six Years. Several Fishes of Prey

pursued me when I was in the Water, and if I betook my self to my

Wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock of Birds aiming at me. As I

was one day flying amidst a fleet of English Ships, I observed a huge

Sea-Gull whetting his Bill and hovering just over my Head: Upon my

dipping into the Water to avoid him, I fell into the Mouth of a

monstrous Shark that swallow'd me down in an instant.

I was some Years afterwards, to my great surprize, an eminent Banker

in Lombard-street; and remembring how I had formerly suffered for want

of Money, became so very sordid and avaritious, that the whole Town

cried shame of me. I was a miserable little old Fellow to look upon,

for I had in a manner starved my self, and was nothing but Skin and

Bone when I died.

I was afterwards very much troubled and amazed to find my self

dwindled into an Emmet. I was heartily concerned to make so

insignificant a Figure, and did not know but some time or other I

might be reduced to a Mite if I did not mend my Manners. I therefore

applied my self with great diligence to the Offices that were allotted

me, and was generally look'd upon as the notablest Ant in the whole

Molehill. I was at last picked up, as I was groaning under a Burden,

by an unlucky Cock-Sparrow that lived in the Neighbourhood, and had

before made great depredations upon our Commonwealth.

I then better'd my Condition a little, and lived a whole Summer in the

Shape of a Bee; but being tired with the painful and penurious Life I

had undergone in my two last Transmigrations, I fell into the other

Extream, and turned Drone. As I one day headed a Party to plunder an

Hive, we were received so warmly by the Swarm which defended it, that

we were most of us left dead upon the Spot.

I might tell you of many other Transmigrations which I went thro: how

I was a Town-Rake, and afterwards did Penance in a Bay Gelding for ten

Years; as also how I was a Taylor, a Shrimp, and a Tom-tit. In the

last of these my Shapes I was shot in the Christmas Holidays by a

young Jack-a-napes, who would needs try his new Gun upon me.