But I shall pass over these and other several Stages of Life, to

remind you of the young Beau who made love to you about Six Years

since. You may remember, Madam, how he masked, and danced, and sung,

and play'd a thousand Tricks to gain you; and how he was at last

carry'd off by a Cold that he got under your Window one Night in a

Serenade. I was that unfortunate young Fellow, whom you were then so

cruel to. Not long after my shifting that unlucky Body, I found myself

upon a Hill in Æthiopia, where I lived in my present Grotesque Shape,

till I was caught by a Servant of the English Factory, and sent over

into Great Britain: I need not inform you how I came into your Hands.

You see, Madam, this is not the first time that you have had me in a

Chain: I am, however, very happy in this my Captivity, as you often

bestow on me those Kisses and Caresses which I would have given the

World for, when I was a Man. I hope this Discovery of my Person will

not tend to my Disadvantage, but that you will still continue your

accustomed Favours to

Your most Devoted

Humble Servant,

Pugg.

P.S. I would advise your little Shock-dog to keep out of my way; for

as I look upon him to be the most formidable of my Rivals, I may

chance one time or other to give him such a Snap as he wont like.

L.

[Footnote 1: Sir Paul Rycaut, the son of a London merchant, after an

education at Trinity College, Cambridge, went in 1661 to Constantinople

as Secretary to the Embassy. He published in 1668 his Present State of

the Ottoman Empire, in three Books, and in 1670 the work here quoted,

A Particular Description of the Mahometan Religion, the Seraglio, the

Maritime and Land Forces of Turkey, abridged in 1701 in Savages

History of the Turks, and translated into French by Bespier in 1707.

Consul afterwards at Smyrna, he wrote by command of Charles II. a book

on The Present State of the Greek and American Churches, published

1679. After his return from the East he was made Privy Councillor and

Judge of the High Court of Admiralty. He was knighted by James II., and

one of the first Fellows of the Royal Society. He published between 1687

and 1700, the year of his death, Knolless History of the Turks, with a

continuation of his own, and also translated Platinas Lives of the

Popes and Garcilaso de la Vegas History of Peru.]

[Footnote 2: [upon]]

* * * * *

No. 344. Friday, April 4, 1712. Steele.

In solo vivendi causa palato est.

Juv.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I think it has not yet fallen into your Way to discourse on little

Ambition, or the many whimsical Ways Men fall into, to distinguish

themselves among their Acquaintance: Such Observations, well pursued,

would make a pretty History of low Life. I my self am got into a great

Reputation, which arose (as most extraordinary Occurrences in a Man's

Life seem to do) from a mere Accident. I was some Days ago

unfortunately engaged among a Set of Gentlemen, who esteem a Man

according to the Quantity of Food he throws down at a Meal. Now I, who

am ever for distinguishing my self according to the Notions of

Superiority which the rest of the Company entertain, ate so

immoderately for their Applause, as had like to have cost me my Life.

What added to my Misfortune was, that having naturally a good Stomach,

and having lived soberly for some time, my Body was as well prepared

for this Contention as if it had been by Appointment. I had quickly

vanquished every Glutton in Company but one, who was such a Prodigy in

his Way, and withal so very merry during the whole Entertainment, that

he insensibly betrayed me to continue his Competitor, which in a

little time concluded in a compleat Victory over my Rival; after

which, by Way of Insult, I ate a considerable Proportion beyond what

the Spectators thought me obliged in Honour to do. The Effect however

of this Engagement, has made me resolve never to eat more for Renown;

and I have, pursuant to this Resolution, compounded three Wagers I had

depending on the Strength of my Stomach; which happened very luckily,

because it was stipulated in our Articles either to play or pay. How a

Man of common Sense could be thus engaged, is hard to determine; but

the Occasion of this, is to desire you to inform several Gluttons of

my Acquaintance, who look on me with Envy, that they had best moderate

their Ambition in time, lest Infamy or Death attend their Success. I

forgot to tell you, Sir, with what unspeakable Pleasure I received the

Acclamations and Applause of the whole Board, when I had almost eat my

Antagonist into Convulsions: It was then that I returned his Mirth

upon him with such success as he was hardly able to swallow, though

prompted by a Desire of Fame, and a passionate Fondness for

Distinction: I had not endeavoured to excel so far, had not the

Company been so loud in their Approbation of my Victory. I don't

question but the same Thirst after Glory has often caused a Man to

drink Quarts without taking Breath, and prompted Men to many other

difficult Enterprizes; which if otherwise pursued, might turn very

much to a Man's Advantage. This Ambition of mine was indeed

extravagantly pursued; however I cant help observing, that you hardly

ever see a Man commended for a good Stomach, but he immediately falls

to eating more (tho he had before dined) as well to confirm the

Person that commended him in his good Opinion of him, as to convince

any other at the Table, who may have been unattentive enough not to

have done Justice to his Character.

I am, Sir,

Your most humble Servant,

Epicure Mammon.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have writ to you three or four times, to desire you would take

notice of an impertinent Custom the Women, the fine Women, have lately

fallen into, of taking Snuff. [1] This silly Trick is attended with

such a Coquet Air in some Ladies, and such a sedate masculine one in

others, that I cannot tell which most to complain of; but they are to

me equally disagreeable. Mrs. Saunter is so impatient of being without

it, that she takes it as often as she does Salt at Meals; and as she

affects a wonderful Ease and Negligence in all her manner, an upper

Lip mixed with Snuff and the Sauce, is what is presented to the

Observation of all who have the honour to eat with her. The pretty

Creature her Neice does all she can to be as disagreeable as her Aunt;

and if she is not as offensive to the Eye, she is quite as much to the

Ear, and makes up all she wants in a confident Air, by a nauseous

Rattle of the Nose, when the Snuff is delivered, and the Fingers make

the Stops and Closes on the Nostrils. This, perhaps, is not a very

courtly Image in speaking of Ladies; that is very true: but where

arises the Offence? Is it in those who commit, or those who observe

it? As for my part, I have been so extremely disgusted with this

filthy Physick hanging on the Lip, that the most agreeable

Conversation, or Person, has not been able to make up for it. As to

those who take it for no other end but to give themselves Occasion for

pretty Action, or to fill up little Intervals of Discourse, I can bear

with them; but then they must not use it when another is speaking, who

ought to be heard with too much respect, to admit of offering at that

time from Hand to Hand the Snuff-Box. But Flavilla is so far taken

with her Behaviour in this kind, that she pulls out her Box (which is

indeed full of good Brazile) in the middle of the Sermon; and to shew

she has the Audacity of a well-bred Woman, she offers it the Men as

well as the Women who sit near her: But since by this Time all the

World knows she has a fine Hand, I am in hopes she may give her self

no further Trouble in this matter. On Sunday was sennight, when they

came about for the Offering, she gave her Charity with a very good

Air, but at the same Time asked the Churchwarden if he would take a

Pinch. Pray, Sir, think of these things in time, and you will oblige,

SIR,

Your most humble servant.

T.

[Footnote 1: Charles Lillie, the perfumer, from whose shop at the corner

of Beaufort Buildings the original Spectators were distributed, left

behind him a book of receipts and observations, The British Perfumer,

Snuff Manufacturer, and Colourmans Guide, of which the MS. was sold

with his business, but which remained unpublished until 1822. He opens

his Part III. on Snuffs with an account of the Origin of Snuff-taking

in England, the practice being one that had become fashionable in his

day, and only about eight years before the appearance of the Spectator.

It dates from Sir George Rooke's expedition against Cadiz in 1702.

Before that time snuff-taking in England was confined to a few luxurious

foreigners and English who had travelled abroad. They took their snuff

with pipes of the size of quills out of small spring boxes. The pipes

let out a very small quantity upon the back of the hand, and this was

snuffed up the nostrils with the intention of producing a sneeze which,

says Lillie, I need not say forms now no part of the design or rather

fashion of snuff-taking; least of all in the ladies who took part in

this method of snuffing defiance at the public enemy. When the fleet,

after the failure of its enterprize against Cadiz, proceeded to cut off

the French ships in Vigobay, on the way it plundered Port St. Mary and

adjacent places, where, among other merchandize, seizure was made of

several thousand barrels and casks, each containing four tin canisters

of snuffs of the best growth and finest Spanish manufacture. At Vigo,

among the merchandize taken from the shipping there destroyed, were

prodigious quantities of gross snuff, from the Havannah, in bales,

bags, and scrows (untanned buffalo hides, used with the hairy-side

inwards, for making packages), which were designed for manufacture in

different parts of Spain. Altogether fifty tons of snuff were brought

home as part of the prize of the officers and sailors of the fleet. Of

the coarse snuff, called Vigo snuff, the sailors, among whom it was

shared, sold waggon-loads at Portsmouth, Plymouth, and Chatham, for not

more than three-pence or four-pence a pound. The greater part of it was

bought up by Spanish Jews, to their own very considerable profit. The

fine snuffs taken at Port St. Mary, and divided among the officers, were

sold by some of them at once for a small price, while others held their

stocks and, as the snuff so taken became popular and gave a patriotic

impulse to the introduction of a fashion which had hitherto been almost

confined to foreigners, they got very high prices for it. This accounts

for the fact that the ladies too had added the use of the perfumed

snuff-box to their other fashionable accomplishments.]

* * * * *

No. 345. Saturday, April 5, 1712. Addison.

Sanctius his animal, mentisque capacius altæ

Deerat adhuc, et quod dominari in coetera posset,

Natus homo est.

Ov. Met.

The Accounts which Raphael gives of the Battel of Angels, and the

Creation of the World, have in them those Qualifications which the

Criticks judge requisite to an Episode. They are nearly related to the

principal Action, and have a just Connexion with the Fable.

The eighth Book opens with a beautiful Description of the Impression

which this Discourse of the Archangel made on our first Parent[s]. Adam

afterwards, by a very natural Curiosity, enquires concerning the Motions

of those Celestial Bodies which make the most glorious Appearance among

the six days Works. The Poet here, with a great deal of Art, represents

Eve as withdrawing from this part of their Conversation, to Amusements

more suitable to her Sex. He well knew, that the Episode in this Book,

which is filled with Adams Account of his Passion and Esteem for Eve,

would have been improper for her hearing, and has therefore devised very

just and beautiful Reasons for her Retiring.

So spake our Sire, and by his Countenance seem'd

Entring on studious Thoughts abstruse: which Eve

Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight,

With lowliness majestick, from her Seat,

And Grace, that won who saw to wish her Stay,

Rose; and went forth among her Fruits and Flowers

To visit how they prosper'd, Bud and Bloom,

Her Nursery: they at her coming sprung,

And touch'd by her fair Tendance gladlier grew.

Yet went she not, as not with such Discourse

Delighted, or not capable her Ear

Of what was high: Such Pleasure she reserved,

Adam relating, she sole Auditress;

Her Husband the Relater she preferr'd

Before the Angel, and of him to ask

Chose rather: he, she knew, would intermix

Grateful Digressions, and solve high Dispute

With conjugal Caresses; from his Lip

Not Words alone pleas'd her. O when meet now

Such Pairs, in Love and mutual Honour join'd!

The Angels returning a doubtful Answer to Adams Enquiries, was not

only proper for the Moral Reason which the Poet assigns, but because it

would have been highly absurd to have given the Sanction of an Archangel

to any particular System of Philosophy. The chief Points in the

Ptolemaick and Copernican Hypothesis are described with great

Conciseness and Perspicuity, and at the same time dressed in very

pleasing and poetical Images.

Adam, to detain the Angel, enters afterwards upon his own History, and

relates to him the Circumstances in which he found himself upon his

Creation; as also his Conversation with his Maker, and his first meeting

with Eve. There is no part of the Poem more apt to raise the Attention

of the Reader, than this Discourse of our great Ancestor; as nothing can

be more surprizing and delightful to us, than to hear the Sentiments

that arose in the first Man while he was yet new and fresh from the

Hands of his Creator. The Poet has interwoven every thing which is

delivered upon this Subject in Holy Writ with so many beautiful

Imaginations of his own, that nothing can be conceived more just and

natural than this whole Episode. As our Author knew this Subject could

not but be agreeable to his Reader, he would not throw it into the

Relation of the six days Works, but reserved it for a distinct Episode,

that he might have an opportunity of expatiating upon it more at large.

Before I enter on this part of the Poem, I cannot but take notice of two

shining Passages in the Dialogue between Adam and the Angel. The first

is that wherein our Ancestor gives an Account of the pleasure he took in

conversing with him, which contains a very noble Moral.

For while I sit with thee, I seem in Heavn,

And sweeter thy Discourse is to my Ear

Than Fruits of Palm-tree (pleasantest to Thirst

And Hunger both from Labour) at the hour

Of sweet Repast: they satiate, and soon fill,

Tho pleasant; but thy Words with Grace divine

Imbu'd, bring to their Sweetness no Satiety.

The other I shall mention, is that in which the Angel gives a Reason why

he should be glad to hear the Story Adam was about to relate.

For I that day was absent, as befel,

Bound on a Voyage uncouth and obscure;

Far on Excursion towards the Gates of Hell,

Squar'd in full Legion [such Command we had]

To see that none thence issued forth a Spy,

Or Enemy; while God was in his Work,

Lest he, incens'd at such Eruption bold,

Destruction with Creation might have mix'd.

There is no question but our Poet drew the Image in what follows from

that in Virgil's sixth Book, where Æneas and the Sibyl stand before the

Adamantine Gates, which are there described as shut upon the Place of

Torments, and listen to the Groans, the Clank of Chains, and the Noise

of Iron Whips, that were heard in those Regions of Pain and Sorrow.

--Fast we found, fast shut

The dismal Gates, and barricado'd strong;

But long ere our Approaching heard within

Noise, other than the Sound of Dance or Song,

Torment, and loud Lament, and furious Rage.

Adam then proceeds to give an account of his Condition and Sentiments

immediately after his Creation. How agreeably does he represent the

Posture in which he found himself, the beautiful Landskip that

surrounded him, and the Gladness of Heart which grew up in him on that

occasion?

--As new waked from soundest Sleep,

Soft on the flowry Herb I found me laid

In balmy Sweat, which with his Beams the Sun

Soon dried, and on the reaking Moisture fed.

Streight towards Heavn my wondring Eyes I turn'd,

And gazed awhile the ample Sky, till rais'd

By quick instinctive Motion, up I sprung,

As thitherward endeavouring, and upright

Stood on my Feet: About me round I saw

Hill, Dale, and shady Woods, and sunny Plains,

And liquid lapse of murmuring Streams; by these

Creatures that liv'd, and mov'd, and walked, or flew,

Birds on the Branches warbling; all things smil'd:

With Fragrance, and with Joy my Heart o'erflow'd.

Adam is afterwards describ'd as surprized at his own Existence, and

taking a Survey of himself, and of all the Works of Nature. He likewise

is represented as discovering by the Light of Reason, that he and every

thing about him must have been the Effect of some Being infinitely good

and powerful, and that this Being had a right to his Worship and

Adoration. His first Address to the Sun, and to those Parts of the

Creation which made the most distinguished Figure, is very natural and

amusing to the Imagination.

--Thou Sun, said I, fair Light,

And thou enlighten'd Earth, so fresh and gay,

Ye Hills and Dales, ye Rivers, Woods and Plains,

And ye that live and move, fair Creatures tell,

Tell if you saw, how came I thus, how here?

His next Sentiment, when upon his first going to sleep he fancies

himself losing his Existence, and falling away into nothing, can never

be sufficiently admired. His Dream, in which he still preserves the

Consciousness of his Existence, together with his removal into the

Garden which was prepared for his Reception, are also Circumstances

finely imagined, and grounded upon what is delivered in Sacred Story.

These and the like wonderful Incidents in this Part of the Work, have in

them all the Beauties of Novelty, at the same time that they have all

the Graces of Nature. They are such as none but a great Genius could

have thought of, tho, upon the perusal of them, they seem to rise of

themselves from the Subject of which he treats. In a word, tho they are

natural, they are not obvious, which is the true Character of all fine

Writing.

The Impression which the Interdiction of the Tree of Life left in the

Mind of our first Parent, is describ'd with great Strength and Judgment;

as the Image of the several Beasts and Birds passing in review before

him is very beautiful and lively.

--Each Bird and Beast behold

Approaching two and two, these cowring low

With Blandishment; each Bird stoop'd on his Wing:

I nam'd them as they pass'd--

Adam, in the next place, describes a Conference which he held with his

Maker upon the Subject of Solitude. The Poet here represents the supreme

Being, as making an Essay of his own Work, and putting to the tryal that

reasoning Faculty, with which he had endued his Creature. Adam urges, in

this Divine Colloquy, the Impossibility of his being happy, tho he was

the Inhabitant of Paradise, and Lord of the whole Creation, without the

Conversation and Society of some rational Creature, who should partake

those Blessings with him. This Dialogue, which is supported chiefly by

the Beauty of the Thoughts, without other poetical Ornaments, is as fine

a Part as any in the whole Poem: The more the Reader examines the

Justness and Delicacy of its Sentiments, the more he will find himself

pleased with it. The Poet has wonderfully preserved the Character of

Majesty and Condescension in the Creator, and at the same time that of

Humility and Adoration in the Creature, as particularly in the following

Lines:

Thus I presumptuous; and the Vision bright,

As with a Smile more bright-tied, thus reply'd, &c.

--I, with leave of Speech implor'd

And humble Deprecation, thus reply d:

Let not my Words offend thee, Heavnly Power,

My Maker, be propitious while I speak, &c.

Adam then proceeds to give an account of his second Sleep, and of the

Dream in which he beheld the Formation of Eve. The new Passion that was

awaken'd in him at the sight of her, is touch'd very finely.

Under his forming Hands a Creature grew,

Manlike, but different Sex: so lovely fair,

That what seem'd fair in all the World, seemed now

Mean, or in her summ'd up, in her contained,

And in her Looks; which from that time infused

Sweetness info my Heart, unfelt before:

And into all things from her Air inspired

The Spirit of Love and amorous Delight.

Adams Distress upon losing sight of this beautiful Phantom, with his

Exclamations of Joy and Gratitude at the discovery of a real Creature,

who resembled the Apparition which had been presented to him in his

Dream; the Approaches he makes to her, and his Manner of Courtship; are

all laid together in a most exquisite Propriety of Sentiments.

Tho this Part of the Poem is work'd up with great Warmth and Spirit,

the Love which is described in it is every way suitable to a State of

Innocence. If the Reader compares the Description which Adam here gives

of his leading Eve to the Nuptial Bower, with that which Mr. Dryden has

made on the same occasion in a Scene of his Fall of Man, he will be

sensible of the great care which Milton took to avoid all Thoughts on so

delicate a Subject, that might be offensive to Religion or Good-Manners.

The Sentiments are chaste, but not cold; and convey to the Mind Ideas of

the most transporting Passion, and of the greatest Purity. What a noble

Mixture of Rapture and Innocence has the Author join'd together, in the

Reflection which Adam makes on the Pleasures of Love, compared to those

of Sense.

Thus have I told thee all my State, and brought

My Story to the sum of earthly Bliss,

Which I enjoy; and must confess to find

In all things else Delight indeed, but such

As us'd or not, works in the Mind no Change

Nor vehement Desire; these Delicacies

I mean of Taste, Sight, Smell, Herbs, Fruits, and Flowers,

Walks, and the Melody of Birds: but here

Far otherwise, transported I behold,

Transported touch; here Passion first I felt,

Commotion strange! in all Enjoyments else

Superiour and unmov'd, here only weak

Against the Charms of Beauty's powerful Glance.

Or Nature fail'd in me, and left some Part

Not Proof enough such Object to sustain;

Or from my Side subducting, took perhaps

More than enough; at least on her bestowed

Too much of Ornament in outward shew

Elaborate, of inward less exact.

--When I approach

Her Loveliness, so absolute she seems

And in herself compleat, so well to know

Her own, that what she wills to do or say

Seems wisest, vertuousest, discreetest, best:

All higher Knowledge in her Presence falls

Degraded: Wisdom in discourse with her

Loses discountenanced, and like Folly shews;

Authority and Reason on her wait,

As one intended first, not after made

Occasionally: and to consummate all,

Greatness of Mind, and Nobleness their Seat

Build in her loveliest, and create an Awe

About her, as a Guard angelick plac'd.

These Sentiments of Love, in our first Parent, gave the Angel such an

Insight into Humane Nature, that he seems apprehensive of the Evils

which might befall the Species in general, as well as Adam in

particular, from the Excess of this Passion. He therefore fortifies him

against it by timely Admonitions; which very artfully prepare the Mind

of the Reader for the Occurrences of the next Book, where the Weakness

of which Adam here gives such distant Discoveries, brings about that

fatal Event which is the Subject of the Poem. His Discourse, which

follows the gentle Rebuke he received from the Angel, shews that his

Love, however violent it might appear, was still founded in Reason, and

consequently not improper for Paradise.

Neither her outside Form so fair, nor aught

In Procreation common to all kinds,

(Tho higher of the genial Bed by far,

And with mysterious Reverence I deem)

So much delights me, as those graceful Acts,

Those thousand Decencies that daily flow

From all her Words and Actions, mixt with Love

And sweet Compliance, which declare unfeign'd

Union of Mind, or in us both one Soul;

Harmony to behold in--wedded Pair!

Adams Speech, at parting with the Angel, has in it a Deference and

Gratitude agreeable to an inferior Nature, and at the same time a

certain Dignity and Greatness suitable to the Father of Mankind in his

State of Innocence.

L.

* * * * *

No. 346. Monday, April 7, 1712. Steele.

Consuetudinem benignitatis largitioni Munerum longe antepono. Hæc est

Gravium hominum atque Magnorum; Illa quasi assentatorum populi,

multitudinis levitatem voluptate quasi titillantium.

Tull.

When we consider the Offices of humane Life, there is, methinks,

something in what we ordinarily call Generosity, which when carefully

examined, seems to flow rather from a loose and unguarded Temper, than

an honest and liberal Mind. For this reason it is absolutely necessary

that all Liberality should have for its Basis and Support Frugality. By

this means the beneficent Spirit works in a Man from the Convictions of

Reason, not from the Impulses of Passion. The generous Man, in the

ordinary acceptation, without respect to the Demands of his own Family,

will soon find, upon the Foot of his Account, that he has sacrificed to

Fools, Knaves, Flatterers, or the deservedly Unhappy, all the

Opportunities of affording any future Assistance where it ought to be.

Let him therefore reflect, that if to bestow be in it self laudable,

should not a Man take care to secure Ability to do things praiseworthy

as long as he lives? Or could there be a more cruel Piece of Raillery

upon a Man who should have reduc'd his Fortune below the Capacity of

acting according to his natural Temper, than to say of him, That

Gentleman was generous? My beloved Author therefore has, in the Sentence

on the Top of my Paper, turned his Eye with a certain Satiety from

beholding the Addresses to the People by Largesses and publick

Entertainments, which he asserts to be in general vicious, and are

always to be regulated according to the Circumstances of Time and a

Man's own Fortune. A constant Benignity in Commerce with the rest of the

World, which ought to run through all a Man's Actions, has Effects more

useful to those whom you oblige, and less ostentatious in your self. He

turns his Recommendation of this Virtue in commercial Life: and

according to him a Citizen who is frank in his Kindnesses, and abhors

Severity in his Demands; he who in buying, selling, lending, doing acts

of good Neighbourhood, is just and easy; he who appears naturally averse

to Disputes, and above the Sense of little Sufferings; bears a nobler

Character, and does much more good to Mankind, than any other Man's

Fortune without Commerce can possibly support. For the Citizen above all

other Men has Opportunities of arriving at that highest Fruit of Wealth,

to be liberal without the least Expence of a Man's own Fortune. It is

not to be denied but such a Practice is liable to hazard; but this

therefore adds to the Obligation, that, among Traders, he who obliges is

as much concerned to keep the Favour a Secret, as he who receives it.

The unhappy Distinctions among us in England are so great, that to

celebrate the Intercourse of commercial Friendship, (with which I am

daily made acquainted) would be to raise the virtuous Man so many

Enemies of the contrary Party. I am obliged to conceal all I know of Tom

the Bounteous, who lends at the ordinary Interest, to give Men of less

Fortune Opportunities of making greater Advantages. He conceals, under a

rough Air and distant Behaviour, a bleeding Compassion and womanish

Tenderness. This is governed by the most exact Circumspection, that

there is no Industry wanting in the Person whom he is to serve, and that

he is guilty of no improper Expences. This I know of Tom, but who dare

say it of so known a Tory? The same Care I was forced to use some time

ago in the Report of anothers Virtue, and said fifty instead of a

hundred, because the Man I pointed at was a Whig. Actions of this kind

are popular without being invidious: for every Man of ordinary

Circumstances looks upon a Man who has this known Benignity in his

Nature, as a Person ready to be his Friend upon such Terms as he ought

to expect it; and the Wealthy, who may envy such a Character, can do no

Injury to its Interests but by the Imitation of it, in which the good

Citizens will rejoice to be rivalled. I know not how to form to myself a

greater Idea of Humane Life, than in what is the Practice of some

wealthy Men whom I could name, that make no step to the Improvement of

their own Fortunes, wherein they do not also advance those of other Men,

who would languish in Poverty without that Munificence. In a Nation

where there are so many publick Funds to be supported, I know not

whether he can be called a good Subject, who does not imbark some part

of his Fortune with the State, to whose Vigilance he owes the Security

of the whole. This certainly is an immediate way of laying an Obligation

upon many, and extending his Benignity the furthest a Man can possibly,

who is not engaged in Commerce. But he who trades, besides giving the

State some part of this sort of Credit he gives his Banker, may in all

the Occurrences of his Life have his Eye upon removing Want from the

Door of the Industrious, and defending the unhappy upright Man from

Bankruptcy. Without this Benignity, Pride or Vengeance will precipitate

a Man to chuse the Receipt of half his Demands from one whom he has

undone, rather than the whole from one to whom he has shewn Mercy. This

Benignity is essential to the Character of a fair Trader, and any Man

who designs to enjoy his Wealth with Honour and Self-Satisfaction: Nay,

it would not be hard to maintain, that the Practice of supporting good

and industrious Men, would carry a Man further even to his Profit, than

indulging the Propensity of serving and obliging the Fortunate. My

Author argues on this Subject, in order to incline Mens Minds to those

who want them most, after this manner; We must always consider the

Nature of things, and govern our selves accordingly. The wealthy Man,

when he has repaid you, is upon a Ballance with you; but the Person whom

you favour'd with a Loan, if he be a good Man, will think himself in

your Debt after he has paid you. The Wealthy and the Conspicuous are not

obliged by the Benefit you do them, they think they conferred a Benefit

when they receive one. Your good Offices are always suspected, and it is

with them the same thing to expect their Favour as to receive it. But

the Man below you, who knows in the Good you have done him, you

respected himself more than his Circumstances, does not act like an

obliged Man only to him from whom he has received a Benefit, but also to

all who are capable of doing him one. And whatever little Offices he can

do for you, he is so far from magnifying it, that he will labour to

extenuate it in all his Actions and Expressions. Moreover, the Regard to

what you do to a great Man, at best is taken notice of no further than

by himself or his Family; but what you do to a Man of an humble Fortune,

(provided always that he is a good and a modest Man) raises the

Affections towards you of all Men of that Character (of which there are

many) in the whole City.

There is nothing gains a Reputation to a Preacher so much as his own

Practice; I am therefore casting about what Act of Benignity is in the

Power of a SPECTATOR. Alas, that lies but in a very narrow compass, and

I think the most immediate under my Patronage, are either Players, or

such whose Circumstances bear an Affinity with theirs: All therefore I

am able to do at this time of this Kind, is to tell the Town that on

Friday the 11th of this Instant April, there will be perform'd in

York-Buildings a Consort of Vocal and Instrumental Musick, for the

Benefit of Mr. Edward Keen, the Father of twenty Children; and that this

Day the haughty George Powell hopes all the good-natur'd part of the

Town will favour him, whom they Applauded in Alexander, Timon, Lear, and

Orestes, with their Company this Night, when he hazards all his heroick

Glory for their Approbation in the humbler Condition of honest Jack

Falstaffe.

T.

* * * * *

No. 347. Tuesday, April 8, 1711. Budgell.

Quis furor ô Cives! quæ tanta licentia ferri!

Lucan.

I do not question but my Country Readers have been very much surprized

at the several Accounts they have met with in our publick Papers of that

Species of Men among us, lately known by the Name of Mohocks. I find the

Opinions of the Learned, as to their Origin and Designs, are altogether

various, insomuch that very many begin to doubt whether indeed there

were ever any such Society of Men. The Terror which spread it self over

the whole Nation some Years since, on account of the Irish, is still

fresh in most Peoples Memories, tho it afterwards appeared there was

not the least Ground for that general Consternation.

The late Panick Fear was, in the Opinion of many deep and penetrating

Persons, of the same nature. These will have it, that the Mohocks are

like those Spectres and Apparitions which frighten several Towns and

Villages in her Majesty's Dominions, tho they were never seen by any of

the Inhabitants. Others are apt to think that these Mohocks are a kind

of Bull-Beggars, first invented by prudent married Men, and Masters of

Families, in order to deter their Wives and Daughters from taking the

Air at unseasonable Hours; and that when they tell them the Mohocks will

catch them, it is a Caution of the same nature with that of our

Fore-fathers, when they bid their Children have a care of Raw-head and

Bloody-bones.

For my own part, I am afraid there was too much Reason for that great

Alarm the whole City has been in upon this Occasion; tho at the same

time I must own that I am in some doubt whether the following Pieces are

Genuine and Authentick; and the more so, because I am not fully

satisfied that the Name by which the Emperor subscribes himself, is

altogether conformable to the Indian Orthography.

I shall only further inform my Readers, that it was some time since I

receiv'd the following Letter and Manifesto, tho for particular Reasons

I did not think fit to publish them till now.

To the SPECTATOR.

SIR,

"Finding that our earnest Endeavours for the Good of Mankind have been

basely and maliciously represented to the World, we send you enclosed

our Imperial Manifesto, which it is our Will and Pleasure that you

forthwith communicate to the Publick, by inserting it in your next

daily Paper. We do not doubt of your ready Compliance in this

Particular, and therefore bid you heartily Farewell."

Sign'd,

Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar,

Emperor of the Mohocks.

The Manifesto of Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar, Emperor of the Mohocks.

"Whereas we have received Information from sundry Quarters of this

great and populous City, of several Outrages committed on the Legs,

Arms, Noses, and other Parts of the good People of England, by such

as have styled themselves our Subjects; in order to vindicate our

Imperial Dignity from those false Aspersions which have been cast on

it, as if we our selves might have encouraged or abetted any such

Practices; we have, by these Presents, thought fit to signify our

utmost Abhorrence and Detestation of all such tumultuous and

irregular Proceedings: and do hereby further give notice, that if

any Person or Persons has or have suffered any Wound, Hurt, Damage

or Detriment in his or their Limb or Limbs, otherwise than shall be

hereafter specified, the said Person or Persons, upon applying

themselves to such as we shall appoint for the Inspection and

Redress of the Grievances aforesaid, shall be forthwith committed to

the Care of our principal Surgeon, and be cured at our own Expence,

in some one or other of those Hospitals which we are now erecting

for that purpose.

"And to the end that no one may, either through Ignorance or

Inadvertency, incur those Penalties which we have thought fit to

inflict on Persons of loose and dissolute Lives, we do hereby

notifie to the Publick, that if any Man be knocked down or assaulted

while he is employed in his lawful Business, at proper Hours, that

it is not done by our Order; and we do hereby permit and allow any

such person so knocked down or assaulted, to rise again, and defend

himself in the best manner that he is able.

"We do also command all and every our good Subjects, that they do

not presume, upon any Pretext whatsoever, to issue and sally forth

from their respective Quarters till between the Hours of Eleven and

Twelve. That they never Tip the Lion upon Man, Woman or Child, till

the Clock at St. Dunstan's shall have struck One.

"That the Sweat be never given but between the Hours of One and Two;

always provided, that our Hunters may begin to Hunt a little after

the Close of the Evening, any thing to the contrary herein

notwithstanding. Provided also, that if ever they are reduced to the

Necessity of Pinking, it shall always be in the most fleshy Parts,

and such as are least exposed to view.

"It is also our Imperial Will and Pleasure, that our good Subjects

the Sweaters do establish their Hummums[1] in such close Places,

Alleys, Nooks, and Corners, that the Patient or Patients may not be

in danger of catching Cold.

"That the Tumblers, to whose Care we chiefly commit the Female Sex,

confine themselves to Drury-Lane and the Purlieus of the Temple; and

that every other Party and Division of our Subjects do each of them

keep within the respective Quarters we have allotted to them.

Provided nevertheless, that nothing herein contained shall in any

wise be construed to extend to the Hunters, who have our full

Licence and Permission to enter into any Part of the Town where-ever

their Game shall lead them.

"And whereas we have nothing more at our Imperial Heart than the

Reformation of the Cities of London and Westminster, which to our

unspeakable Satisfaction we have in some measure already effected,

we do hereby earnestly pray and exhort all Husbands, Fathers,

Housekeepers and Masters of Families, in either of the aforesaid

Cities, not only to repair themselves to their respective

Habitations at early and seasonable Hours; but also to keep their

Wives and Daughters, Sons, Servants, and Apprentices, from appearing

in the Streets at those Times and Seasons which may expose them to a

military Discipline, as it is practised by our good Subjects the

Mohocks: and we do further promise, on our Imperial Word, that as

soon as the Reformation aforesaid shall be brought about, we will

forthwith cause all Hostilities to cease.

"Given from our Court at the Devil-Tavern,

March 15, 1712."

X.

[Footnote 1: Turkish Sweating Baths. The Hummums "in Covent Garden was

one of the first of these baths (bagnios) set up in England."]

* * * * *

No. 348. Wednesday, April 9, 1712. Steele.

Invidiam placare paras virtute relicta?

Hor.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have not seen you lately at any of the Places where I visit, so

that I am afraid you are wholly unacquainted with what passes among my

part of the World, who are, tho I say it, without Controversy, the

most accomplished and best bred of the Town. Give me leave to tell

you, that I am extremely discomposed when I hear Scandal, and am an

utter Enemy to all manner of Detraction, and think it the greatest

Meanness that People of Distinction can be guilty of: However, it is

hardly possible to come into Company, where you do not find them

pulling one another to pieces, and that from no other Provocation but

that of hearing any one commended. Merit, both as to Wit and Beauty,

is become no other than the Possession of a few trifling Peoples

Favour, which you cannot possibly arrive at, if you have really any

thing in you that is deserving. What they would bring to pass, is, to

make all Good and Evil consist in Report, and with Whispers, Calumnies

and Impertinencies, to have the Conduct of those Reports. By this

means Innocents are blasted upon their first Appearance in Town; and

there is nothing more required to make a young Woman the object of

Envy and Hatred, than to deserve Love and Admiration. This abominable

Endeavour to suppress or lessen every thing that is praise-worthy, is

as frequent among the Men as the Women. If I can remember what passed

at a Visit last Night, it will serve as an Instance that the Sexes are

equally inclined to Defamation, with equal Malice, with equal

Impotence. Jack Triplett came into my Lady Airy's about Eight of [the]

Clock. You know the manner we sit at a Visit, and I need not describe

the Circle; but Mr. Triplett came in, introduced by two Tapers

supported by a spruce Servant, whose Hair is under a Cap till my

Lady's Candles are all lighted up, and the Hour of Ceremony begins: I

say, Jack Triplett came in, and singing (for he is really good

Company) Every Feature, Charming Creature,--he went on, It is a most

unreasonable thing that People cannot go peaceably to see their

Friends, but these Murderers are let loose. Such a Shape! such an Air!

what a Glance was that as her Chariot pass'd by mine--My Lady herself

interrupted him; Pray who is this fine Thing--I warrant, says another,

tis the Creature I was telling your Ladyship of just now. You were

telling of? says Jack; I wish I had been so happy as to have come in

and heard you, for I have not Words to say what she is: But if an

agreeable Height, a modest Air, a Virgin Shame, and Impatience of

being beheld, amidst a Blaze of ten thousand Charms--The whole Room

flew out--Oh Mr. Triplett!--When Mrs. Lofty, a known Prude, said she

believed she knew whom the Gentleman meant; but she was indeed, as he

civilly represented her, impatient of being beheld--Then turning to

the Lady next to her--The most unbred Creature you ever saw. Another

pursued the Discourse: As unbred, Madam, as you may think her, she is

extremely bely'd if she is the Novice she appears; she was last Week

at a Ball till two in the Morning; Mr. Triplett knows whether he was

the happy Man that took Care of her home; but--This was followed by

some particular Exception that each Woman in the Room made to some

peculiar Grace or Advantage so that Mr. Triplett was beaten from one

Limb and Feature to another, till he was forced to resign the whole

Woman. In the end I took notice Triplett recorded all this Malice in

his Heart; and saw in his Countenance, and a certain waggish Shrug,

that he design'd to repeat the Conversation: I therefore let the

Discourse die, and soon after took an Occasion to commend a certain

Gentleman of my Acquaintance for a Person of singular Modesty,

Courage, Integrity, and withal as a Man of an entertaining

Conversation, to which Advantages he had a Shape and Manner peculiarly

graceful. Mr. Triplett, who is a Woman's Man, seem'd to hear me with

Patience enough commend the Qualities of his Mind: He never heard

indeed but that he was a very honest Man, and no Fool; but for a fine

Gentleman, he must ask Pardon. Upon no other Foundation than this, Mr.

Triplett took occasion to give the Gentleman's Pedigree, by what

Methods some part of the Estate was acquired, how much it was beholden

to a Marriage for the present Circumstances of it: After all, he could

see nothing but a common Man in his Person, his Breeding or

Understanding.

Thus, Mr. SPECTATOR, this impertinent Humour of diminishing every one

who is produced in Conversation to their Advantage, runs thro the

World; and I am, I confess, so fearful of the Force of ill Tongues,

that I have begged of all those who are my Well-wishers never to

commend me, for it will but bring my Frailties into Examination, and I

had rather be unobserved, than conspicuous for disputed Perfections. I

am confident a thousand young People, who would have been Ornaments to

Society, have, from Fear of Scandal, never dared to exert themselves

in the polite Arts of Life. Their Lives have passed away in an odious

Rusticity, in spite of great Advantages of Person, Genius and Fortune.

There is a vicious Terror of being blamed in some well-inclin'd

People, and a wicked Pleasure in suppressing them in others; both

which I recommend to your Spectatorial Wisdom to animadvert upon; and

if you can be successful in it, I need not say how much you will

deserve of the Town; but new Toasts will owe to you their Beauty, and

new Wits their Fame. I am,

SIR,

Your most Obedient

Humble Servant,

Mary."

T.

* * * * *

No. 349. Thursday, April 10, 1712. Addison.

Quos ille timorum

Maximus haud urget lethi metus: inde ruendi

In ferrum mens prona viris, animæque capaces

Mortis.

Lucan.

I am very much pleased with a Consolatory Letter of Phalaris, to one who

had lost a Son that was a young Man of great Merit. The Thought with

which he comforts the afflicted Father, is, to the best of my Memory, as

follows; That he should consider Death had set a kind of Seal upon his

Sons Character, and placed him out of the Reach of Vice and Infamy:

That while he liv'd he was still within the Possibility of falling away

from Virtue, and losing the Fame of which he was possessed. Death only

closes a Man's Reputation, and determines it as good or bad.

This, among other Motives, may be one Reason why we are naturally averse

to the launching out into a Man's Praise till his Head is laid in the

Dust. Whilst he is capable of changing, we may be forced to retract our

Opinions. He may forfeit the Esteem we have conceived of him, and some

time or other appear to us under a different Light from what he does at

present. In short, as the Life of any Man cannot be call'd happy or

unhappy, so neither can it be pronounced vicious or virtuous, before the

Conclusion of it.

It was upon this consideration that Epaminondas, being asked whether

Chabrias, Iphicrates, or he himself, deserved most to be esteemed? You

must first see us die, said he, before that Question can be answered.

[1]

As there is not a more melancholy Consideration to a good Man than his

being obnoxious to such a Change, so there is nothing more glorious than

to keep up an Uniformity in his Actions, and preserve the Beauty of his

Character to the last.

The End of a Man's Life is often compared to the winding up of a

well-written Play, where the principal Persons still act in Character,

whatever the Fate is which they undergo. There is scarce a great Person

in the Grecian or Roman History, whose Death has not been remarked upon

by some Writer or other, and censured or applauded according to the

Genius or Principles of the Person who has descanted on it. Monsieur de

St. Evremont is very particular in setting forth the Constancy and

Courage of Petronius Arbiter during his last Moments, and thinks he

discovers in them a greater Firmness of Mind and Resolution than in the

Death of Seneca, Cato, or Socrates. There is no question but this polite

Authors Affectation of appearing singular in his Remarks, and making

Discoveries which had escaped the Observation of others, threw him into

this course of Reflection. It was Petronius's Merit, that he died in the

same Gaiety of Temper in which he lived; but as his Life was altogether

loose and dissolute, the Indifference which he showed at the Close of it

is to be looked upon as a piece of natural Carelessness and Levity,

rather than Fortitude. The Resolution of Socrates proceeded from very

different Motives, the Consciousness of a well-spent Life, and the

prospect of a happy Eternity. If the ingenious Author above mentioned

was so pleased with Gaiety of Humour in a dying Man, he might have found

a much nobler Instance of it in our Countryman Sir Thomas More.

This great and learned Man was famous for enlivening his ordinary

Discourses with Wit and Pleasantry; and, as Erasmus tells him in an

Epistle Dedicatory, acted in all parts of Life like a second Democritus.

He died upon a Point of Religion, and is respected as a Martyr by that

Side for which he suffer'd. The innocent Mirth which had been so

conspicuous in his Life, did not forsake him to the last: He maintain'd

the same Chearfulness of Heart upon the Scaffold, which he used to shew

at his Table; and upon laying his Head on the Block, gave Instances of

that Good-Humour with which he had always entertained his Friends in the

most ordinary Occurrences. His Death was of a piece with his Life. There

was nothing in it new, forced, or affected. He did not look upon the

severing of his Head from his Body as a Circumstance that ought to

produce any Change in the Disposition of his Mind; and as he died under

a fixed and settled Hope of Immortality, he thought any unusual degree

of Sorrow and Concern improper on such an Occasion, as had nothing in it

which could deject or terrify him.

There is no great danger of Imitation from this Example. Mens natural

Fears will be a sufficient Guard against it. I shall only observe, that

what was Philosophy in this extraordinary Man, would be Frenzy in one

who does not resemble him as well in the Chearfulness of his Temper, as

in the Sanctity of his Life and Manners.

I shall conclude this Paper with the Instance of a Person who seems to

me to have shewn more Intrepidity and Greatness of Soul in his dying

Moments, than what we meet with among any of the most celebrated Greeks

and Romans. I met with this Instance in the History of the Revolutions

in Portugal, written by the Abbot de Vertot. [2]

When Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, had invaded the Territories of

Muly Moluc, Emperor of Morocco, in order to dethrone him, and set his

Crown upon the Head of his Nephew, Moluc was wearing away with a

Distemper which he himself knew was incurable. However, he prepared for

the Reception of so formidable an Enemy. He was indeed so far spent with

his Sickness, that he did not expect to live out the whole Day, when the

last decisive Battel was given; but knowing the fatal Consequences that

would happen to his Children and People, in case he should die before he

put an end to that War, he commanded his principal Officers that if he

died during the Engagement, they should conceal his Death from the Army,

and that they should ride up to the Litter in which his Corpse was

carried, under Pretence of receiving Orders from him as usual. Before

the Battel begun, he was carried through all the Ranks of his Army in an

open Litter, as they stood drawn up in Array, encouraging them to fight

valiantly in defence of their Religion and Country. Finding afterwards

the Battel to go against him, tho he was very near his last Agonies, he

threw himself out of his Litter, rallied his Army, and led them on to

the Charge; which afterwards ended in a compleat Victory on the side of

the Moors. He had no sooner brought his Men to the Engagement, but

finding himself utterly spent, he was again replaced in his Litter,

where laying his Finger on his Mouth, to enjoin Secrecy to his Officers,

who stood about him, he died a few Moments after in that Posture.

L.

[Footnote 1: Plutarch's Life of Epaminondas.]

[Footnote 2: The Abbé Vertot--Renatus Aubert de Vertot d'Auboeuf--was

born in 1655, and living in the Spectators time. He died in 1735, aged

80. He had exchanged out of the severe order of the Capuchins into that

of the Præmonstratenses when, at the age of 34, he produced, in 1689,

his first work, the History of the Revolutions of Portugal, here quoted.

Continuing to write history, in 1701 he was made a member, and in 1705 a

paid member, of the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres.]

* * * * *

No. 350. Friday, April 11, 1712. Steele.

Ea animi elatio quæ cernitur in periculis, si Justitia vacat

pugnatque pro suis commodis, in vitio est.

Tull.

CAPTAIN SENTREY was last Night at the Club, and produced a Letter from

Ipswich, which his Correspondent desired him to communicate to his

Friend the SPECTATOR. It contained an Account of an Engagement between a

French Privateer, commanded by one Dominick Pottiere, and a little

Vessel of that Place laden with Corn, the Master whereof, as I remember,

was one Goodwin. The Englishman defended himself with incredible

Bravery, and beat off the French, after having been boarded three or

four times. The Enemy still came on with greater Fury, and hoped by his

Number of Men to carry the Prize, till at last the Englishman finding

himself sink apace, and ready to perish, struck: But the Effect which

this singular Gallantry had upon the Captain of the Privateer, was no

other than an unmanly Desire of Vengeance for the Loss he had sustained

in his several Attacks. He told the Ipswich Man in a speaking-Trumpet,

that he would not take him aboard, and that he stayed to see him sink.

The Englishman at the same time observed a Disorder in the Vessel, which

he rightly judged to proceed from the Disdain which the Ships Crew had

of their Captains Inhumanity: With this Hope he went into his Boat, and

approached the Enemy. He was taken in by the Sailors in spite of their

Commander; but though they received him against his Command, they

treated him when he was in the Ship in the manner he directed. Pottiere

caused his Men to hold Goodwin, while he beat him with a Stick till he

fainted with Loss of Blood, and Rage of Heart: after which he ordered

him into Irons without allowing him any Food, but such as one or two of

the Men stole to him under peril of the like Usage: After having kept

him several Days overwhelmed with the Misery of Stench, Hunger, and

Soreness, he brought him into Calais. The Governour of the Place was

soon acquainted with all that had passed, dismissed Pottiere from his

Charge with Ignominy, and gave Goodwin all the Relief which a Man of

Honour would bestow upon an Enemy barbarously treated, to recover the

Imputation of Cruelty upon his Prince and Country.

When Mr. SENTREY had read his Letter, full of many other circumstances

which aggravate the Barbarity, he fell into a sort of Criticism upon

Magnanimity and Courage, and argued that they were inseparable; and that

Courage, without regard to Justice and Humanity, was no other than the

Fierceness of a wild Beast. A good and truly bold Spirit, continued he,

is ever actuated by Reason and a Sense of Honour and Duty: The

Affectation of such a Spirit exerts it self in an Impudent Aspect, an

over-bearing Confidence, and a certain Negligence of giving Offence.

This is visible in all the cocking Youths you see about this Town, who

are noisy in Assemblies, unawed by the Presence of wise and virtuous

Men; in a word, insensible of all the Honours and Decencies of human

Life. A shameless Fellow takes advantage of Merit clothed with Modesty

and Magnanimity, and in the Eyes of little People appears sprightly and

agreeable; while the Man of Resolution and true Gallantry is overlooked

and disregarded, if not despised. There is a Propriety in all things;

and I believe what you Scholars call just and sublime, in opposition to

turgid and bombast Expression, may give you an Idea of what I mean, when

I say Modesty is the certain Indication of a great Spirit, and Impudence

the Affectation of it. He that writes with Judgment, and never rises

into improper Warmths, manifests the true Force of Genius; in like

manner, he who is quiet and equal in all his Behaviour, is supported in

that Deportment by what we may call true Courage. Alas, it is not so

easy a thing to be a brave Man as the unthinking part of Mankind

imagine: To dare, is not all that there is in it. The Privateer we were

just now talking of, had boldness enough to attack his Enemy, but not

Greatness of Mind enough to admire the same Quality exerted by that

Enemy in defending himself. Thus his base and little Mind was wholly

taken up in the sordid regard to the Prize, of which he failed, and the

damage done to his own Vessel; and therefore he used an honest Man, who

defended his own from him, in the Manner as he would a Thief that should

rob him.

He was equally disappointed, and had not Spirit enough to consider that

one Case would be Laudable and the other Criminal. Malice, Rancour,

Hatred, Vengeance, are what tear the Breasts of mean Men in Fight; but

Fame, Glory, Conquests, Desires of Opportunities to pardon and oblige

their Opposers, are what glow in the Minds of the Gallant. The Captain

ended his Discourse with a Specimen of his Book-Learning; and gave us to

understand that he had read a French Author on the Subject of Justness

in point of Gallantry. I love, said Mr. SENTREY, a Critick who mixes the

Rules of Life with Annotations upon Writers. My Author, added he, in his

Discourse upon Epick Poem, takes occasion to speak of the same Quality

of Courage drawn in the two different Characters of Turnus and Æneas: He

makes Courage the chief and greatest Ornament of Turnus; but in Æneas

there are many others which out-shine it, amongst the rest that of

Piety. Turnus is therefore all along painted by the Poet full of

Ostentation, his Language haughty and vain glorious, as placing his

Honour in the Manifestation of his Valour; Æneas speaks little, is slow

to Action; and shows only a sort of defensive Courage. If Equipage and

Address make Turnus appear more couragious than Æneas, Conduct and

Success prove Æneas more valiant than Turnus.

T.

* * * * *

No. 351. Saturday, April 12, 1712. Addison.

In te omnis domus inclinata recumbit.

Virg.

If we look into the three great Heroick Poems which have appeared in the

World, we may observe that they are built upon very slight Foundations.

Homer lived near 300 Years after the Trojan War; and, as the writing of

History was not then in use among the Greeks, we may very well suppose,

that the Tradition of Achilles and Ulysses had brought down but very few

particulars to his Knowledge; though there is no question but he has

wrought into his two Poems such of their remarkable Adventures, as were

still talked of among his Contemporaries.

The Story of Æneas, on which Virgil founded his Poem, was likewise very

bare of Circumstances, and by that means afforded him an Opportunity of

embellishing it with Fiction, and giving a full range to his own

Invention. We find, however, that he has interwoven, in the course of

his Fable, the principal Particulars, which were generally believed

among the Romans, of Æneas his Voyage and Settlement in Italy. The

Reader may find an Abridgment of the whole Story as collected out of the

ancient Historians, and as it was received among the Romans, in

Dionysius Halicarnasseus [1].

Since none of the Criticks have consider'd Virgil's Fable, with relation

to this History of Æneas, it may not, perhaps, be amiss to examine it

in this Light, so far as regards my present Purpose. Whoever looks into

the Abridgment above mentioned, will find that the Character of Æneas is

filled with Piety to the Gods, and a superstitious Observation of

Prodigies, Oracles, and Predictions. Virgil has not only preserved this

Character in the Person of Æneas, but has given a place in his Poem to

those particular Prophecies which he found recorded of him in History

and Tradition. The Poet took the matters of Fact as they came down to

him, and circumstanced them after his own manner, to make them appear

the more natural, agreeable, or surprizing. I believe very many Readers

have been shocked at that ludicrous Prophecy, which one of the Harpyes

pronounces to the Trojans in the third Book, namely, that before they

had built their intended City, they should be reduced by Hunger to eat

their very Tables. But, when they hear that this was one of the

Circumstances that had been transmitted to the Romans in the History of

Æneas, they will think the Poet did very well in taking notice of it.

The Historian above mentioned acquaints us, a Prophetess had foretold

Æneas, that he should take his Voyage Westward, till his Companions

should eat their Tables; and that accordingly, upon his landing in

Italy, as they were eating their Flesh upon Cakes of Bread, for want of

other Conveniences, they afterwards fed on the Cakes themselves; upon

which one of the Company said merrily, We are eating our Tables. They

immediately took the Hint, says the Historian, and concluded the

Prophecy to be fulfilled. As Virgil did not think it proper to omit so

material a particular in the History of Æneas, it may be worth while to

consider with how much Judgment he has qualified it, and taken off every

thing that might have appeared improper for a Passage in an Heroick

Poem. The Prophetess who foretells it, is an Hungry Harpy, as the Person

who discovers it is young Ascanius. [2]

Heus etiam mensas consumimus, inquit Inlus!

Such an observation, which is beautiful in the Mouth of a Boy, would

have been ridiculous from any other of the Company. I am apt to think

that the changing of the Trojan Fleet into Water-Nymphs which is the

most violent Machine in the whole Æneid, and has given offence to

several Criticks, may be accounted for the same way. Virgil himself,

before he begins that Relation, premises, that what he was going to tell

appeared incredible, but that it was justified by Tradition. What

further confirms me that this Change of the Fleet was a celebrated

Circumstance in the History of Æneas, is, that Ovid has given place to

the same Metamorphosis in his Account of the heathen Mythology.

None of the Criticks I have met with having considered the Fable of the

Æneid in this Light, and taken notice how the Tradition, on which it was

founded, authorizes those Parts in it which appear the most

exceptionable; I hope the length of this Reflection will not make it

unacceptable to the curious Part of my Readers.

The History, which was the Basis of Milton's Poem, is still shorter than

either that of the Iliad or Æneid. The Poet has likewise taken care to

insert every Circumstance of it in the Body of his Fable. The ninth

Book, which we are here to consider, is raised upon that brief Account

in Scripture, wherein we are told that the Serpent was more subtle than

any Beast of the Field, that he tempted the Woman to eat of the

forbidden Fruit, that she was overcome by this Temptation, and that Adam

followed her Example. From these few Particulars, Milton has formed one

of the most Entertaining Fables that Invention ever produced. He has

disposed of these several Circumstances among so many beautiful and

natural Fictions of his own, that his whole Story looks only like a

Comment upon sacred Writ, or rather seems to be a full and compleat

Relation of what the other is only an Epitome. I have insisted the

longer on this Consideration, as I look upon the Disposition and

Contrivance of the Fable to be the principal Beauty of the ninth Book,

which has more Story in it, and is fuller of Incidents, than any other

in the whole Poem. Satan's traversing the Globe, and still keeping

within the Shadow of the Night, as fearing to be discovered by the Angel

of the Sun, who had before detected him, is one of those beautiful

Imaginations with which he introduces this his second Series of

Adventures. Having examined the Nature of every Creature, and found out

one which was the most proper for his Purpose, he again returns to

Paradise; and, to avoid Discovery, sinks by Night with a River that ran

under the Garden, and rises up again through a Fountain that [issued

[3]] from it by the Tree of Life. The Poet, who, as we have before taken

notice, speaks as little as possible in his own Person, and, after the

Example of Homer, fills every Part of his Work with Manners and

Characters, introduces a Soliloquy of this infernal Agent, who was thus

restless in the Destruction of Man. He is then describ'd as gliding

through the Garden, under the resemblance of a Mist, in order to find

out that Creature in which he design'd to tempt our first Parents. This

Description has something in it very Poetical and Surprizing.

So saying, through each Thicket Dank or Dry,

Like a black Mist, low creeping, he held on

His Midnight Search, where soonest he might find

The Serpent: him fast sleeping soon he found

In Labyrinth of many a Round self-roll'd,

His Head the midst, well stor'd with subtle Wiles.

The Author afterwards gives us a Description of the Morning, which is

wonderfully suitable to a Divine Poem, and peculiar to that first Season

of Nature: He represents the Earth, before it was curst, as a great

Altar, breathing out its Incense from all Parts, and sending up a

pleasant Savour to the Nostrils of its Creator; to which he adds a noble

Idea of Adam and Eve, as offering their Morning Worship, and filling up

the Universal Consort of Praise and Adoration.

Now when as sacred Light began to dawn

In Eden on the humid Flowers, that breathed

Their Morning Incense, when all things that breathe

From th' Earth's great Altar send up silent Praise

To the Creator, and his Nostrils fill

With grateful Smell; forth came the human Pair,

And join'd their vocal Worship to the Choir

Of Creatures wanting Voice--

The Dispute which follows between our two first Parents, is represented

with great Art: It [proceeds [4]] from a Difference of Judgment, not of

Passion, and is managed with Reason, not with Heat: It is such a Dispute

as we may suppose might have happened in Paradise, had Man continued

Happy and Innocent. There is a great Delicacy in the Moralities which

are interspersed in Adams Discourse, and which the most ordinary Reader

cannot but take notice of. That Force of Love which the Father of

Mankind so finely describes in the eighth Book, and which is inserted in

my last Saturdays Paper, shews it self here in many fine Instances: As

in those fond Regards he cast towards Eve at her parting from him.

Her long with ardent Look his Eye pursued

Delighted, but desiring more her stay:

Oft he to her his Charge of quick return

Repeated; she to him as oft engaged

To be return'd by noon amid the Bower.

In his Impatience and Amusement during her Absence

--Adam the while,

Waiting desirous her return, had wove

Of choicest Flowers a Garland, to adorn

Her Tresses, and her rural Labours crown:

As Reapers oft are wont their Harvest Queen.

Great Joy he promised to his thoughts, and new

Solace in her return, so long delay'd.

But particularly in that passionate Speech, where seeing her

irrecoverably lost, he resolves to perish with her rather than to live

without her.

--Some cursed Fraud

Or Enemy hath beguil'd thee, yet unknown,

And me with thee hath ruin'd; for with thee

Certain my Resolution is to die!

How can I live without thee; how forego

Thy sweet Converse and Love so dearly join'd,

To live again in these wild Woods forlorn?

Should God create another Eve, and I

Another Rib afford, yet loss of thee

Would never from my Heart! no, no! I feel

The Link of Nature draw me: Flesh of Flesh,

Bone of my Bone thou art, and from thy State

Mine never shall be parted, Bliss or Woe!

The Beginning of this Speech, and the Preparation to it, are animated

with the same Spirit as the Conclusion, which I have here quoted.

The several Wiles which are put in practice by the Tempter, when he

found Eve separated from her Husband, the many pleasing Images of Nature

which are intermix'd in this part of the Story, with its gradual and

regular Progress to the fatal Catastrophe, are so very remarkable that

it would be superfluous to point out their respective Beauties.

I have avoided mentioning any particular Similitudes in my Remarks on

this great Work, because I have given a general Account of them in my

Paper on the first Book. There is one, however, in this part of the

Poem, which I shall here quote as it is not only very beautiful, but the

closest of any in the whole Poem. I mean that where the Serpent is

describ as rolling forward in all his Pride, animated by the evil

Spirit, and conducting Eve to her Destruction, while Adam was at too

great a distance from her to give her his Assistance. These several

Particulars are all of them wrought into the following Similitude.

--Hope elevates, and Joy

Brightens his Crest; as when a wandering Fire,

Compact of unctuous Vapour, which the Night

Condenses, and the Cold invirons round,

Kindled through Agitation to a Flame,

(Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends)

Hovering and blazing with delusive Light,

Misleads th' amaz'd Night-wanderer from his Way

To Bogs and Mires, and oft through Pond or Pool,

There swallowed up and lost, from succour far.

That secret Intoxication of Pleasure, with all those transient flushings

of Guilt and Joy, which the Poet represents in our first Parents upon

their eating the forbidden Fruit, to [those [5]] flaggings of Spirits,

damps of Sorrow, and mutual Accusations which succeed it, are conceiv'd

with a wonderful Imagination, and described in very natural Sentiments.

When Dido in the fourth Æneid yielded to that fatal Temptation which

ruined her, Virgil tells us the Earth trembled, the Heavens were filled

with Flashes of Lightning, and the Nymphs howled upon the Mountain-Tops.

Milton, in the same poetical Spirit, has described all Nature as

disturbed upon Eves eating the forbidden Fruit.

So saying, her rash Hand in evil hour

Forth reaching to the Fruit, she pluckt, she eat:

Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her Seat

Sighing, through all her Works gave signs of Woe

That all was lost--

Upon Adams falling into the same Guilt, the whole Creation appears a

second time in Convulsions.

--He scrupled not to eat

Against his better knowledge; not deceiv's,

But fondly overcome with female Charm.

Earth trembled from her Entrails, as again

In Pangs, and Nature gave a second Groan,

Sky lowred, and muttering Thunder, some sad Drops

Wept at compleating of the mortal Sin--

As all Nature suffer'd by the Guilt of our first Parents, these Symptoms

of Trouble and Consternation are wonderfully imagined, not only as

Prodigies, but as Marks of her Sympathizing in the Fall of Man.

Adams Converse with Eve, after having eaten the forbidden Fruit, is an

exact Copy of that between Jupiter and Juno in the fourteenth Iliad.

Juno there approaches Jupiter with the Girdle which she had received

from Venus; upon which he tells her, that she appeared more charming and

desirable than she [6] done before, even when their Loves were at the

highest. The Poet afterwards describes them as reposing on a Summet of

Mount Ida, which produced under them a Bed of Flowers, the Lotos, the

Crocus, and the Hyacinth; and concludes his Description with their

falling asleep.

Let the Reader compare this with the following Passage in Milton, which

begins with Adams Speech to Eve.

For never did thy Beauty, since the Day

I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorn'd

With all Perfections, so enflame my Sense

With ardor to enjoy thee, fairer now

Than ever, Bounty of this virtuous Tree.

So said he, and forbore not Glance or Toy

Of amorous Intent, well understood

Of Eve, whose Eye darted contagious Fire.

Her hand he seiz'd, and to a shady Bank

Thick over-head with verdant Roof embower'd,

He led her nothing loth: Flowrs were the Couch,

Pansies, and Violets, and Asphodel,

And Hyacinth, Earths freshest softest Lap.

There they their fill of Love, and Loves disport,

Took largely, of their mutual Guilt the Seal,

The Solace of their Sin, till dewy Sleep

Oppress'd them--

As no Poet seems ever to have studied Homer more, or to have more

resembled him in the Greatness of Genius than Milton, I think I should

have given but a very imperfect Account of his Beauties, if I had not

observed the most remarkable Passages which look like Parallels in these

two great Authors. I might, in the course of these criticisms, have

taken notice of many particular Lines and Expressions which are

translated from the Greek Poet; but as I thought this would have

appeared too minute and over-curious, I have purposely omitted them. The

greater Incidents, however, are not only set off by being shewn in the

same Light with several of the same nature in Homer, but by that means

may be also guarded against the Cavils of the Tasteless or Ignorant.

[Footnote 1: In the first book of his Roman Antiquities.]

[Footnote 2: Dionysius says that the prophecy was either, as some write,

given at Dodous, or, as others say, by a Sybil, and the exclamation was

by one of the sons of Æneas, as it is related; or he was some other of

his comrades.]

[Footnote 3: [run]]

[Footnote 4: [arises]]

[Footnote 5: [that]]

[Footnote 6: [ever had]]

* * * * *

No. 352. Monday, April 14, 1712. Steele.

Si ad honestatem nati sumus, ea aut sola expetenda est, aut certe

omni pondere gravior est habenda quam reliqua omnia.

Tull.

Will. Honeycomb was complaining to me yesterday, that the Conversation

of the Town is so altered of late Years, that a fine Gentleman is at a

loss for Matter to start Discourse, as well as unable to fall in with

the Talk he generally meets with. WILL. takes notice, that there is now

an Evil under the Sun which he supposes to be entirely new, because not

mentioned by any Satyrist or Moralist in any Age: Men, said he, grow

Knaves sooner than they ever did since the Creation of the World before.

If you read the Tragedies of the last Age, you find the artful Men and

Persons of Intrigue, are advanced very far in Years, and beyond the

Pleasures and Sallies of Youth; but now WILL. observes, that the Young

have taken in the Vices of the Aged, and you shall have a Man of Five

and Twenty crafty, false, and intriguing, not ashamed to over-reach,

cozen, and beguile. My Friend adds, that till about the latter end of

King Charles's Reign, there was not a Rascal of any Eminence under

Forty: In the Places of Resort for Conversation, you now hear nothing

but what relates to the improving Mens Fortunes, without regard to the

Methods toward it. This is so fashionable, that young Men form

themselves upon a certain Neglect of every thing that is candid, simple,

and worthy of true Esteem; and affect being yet worse than they are, by

acknowledging in their general turn of Mind and Discourse, that they

have not any remaining Value for true Honour and Honesty; preferring the

Capacity of being Artful to gain their Ends, to the Merit of despising

those Ends when they come in competition with their Honesty. All this is

due to the very silly Pride that generally prevails, of being valued for

the Ability of carrying their Point; in a word, from the Opinion that

shallow and inexperienced People entertain of the short-liv'd Force of

Cunning. But I shall, before I enter upon the various Faces which Folly

cover'd with Artifice puts on to impose upon the Unthinking, produce a

great Authority [1] for asserting, that nothing but Truth and Ingenuity

has any lasting good Effect, even upon a Man's Fortune and Interest.

Truth and Reality have all the Advantages of Appearance, and many more.

If the Shew of any thing be good for any thing, I am sure Sincerity is

better: For why does any Man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is

not, but because he thinks it good to have such a Quality as he pretends

to? for to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the Appearance of

some real Excellency. Now the best way in the World for a Man to seem to

be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be. Besides that it

is many times as troublesome to make good the Pretence of a good

Quality, as to have it; and if a Man have it not, it is ten to one but

he is discover'd to want it, and then all his Pains and Labour to seem

to have it is lost. There is something unnatural in Painting, which a

skillful Eye will easily discern from native Beauty and Complexion.

It is hard to personate and act a Part long; for where Truth is not at

the bottom, Nature will always be endeavouring to return, and will peep

out and betray her self one time or other. Therefore if any Man think it

convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed, and then his Goodness

will appear to every body's Satisfaction; so that upon all accounts

Sincerity is true Wisdom. Particularly as to the Affairs of this World,

Integrity hath many Advantages over all the fine and artificial ways of

Dissimulation and Deceit; it is much the plainer and easier, much the

safer and more secure way of dealing in the World; it has less of

Trouble and Difficulty, of Entanglement and Perplexity, of Danger and

Hazard in it; it is the shortest and nearest way to our End, carrying us

thither in a straight line, and will hold out and last longest. The Arts

of Deceit and Cunning do continually grow weaker and less effectual and

serviceable to them that use them; whereas Integrity gains Strength by

use, and the more and longer any Man practiseth it, the greater Service

it does him, by confirming his Reputation and encouraging those with

whom he hath to do, to repose the greatest Trust and Confidence in him,

which is an unspeakable Advantage in the Business and Affairs of Life.

Truth is always consistent with it self, and needs nothing to help it

out; it is always near at hand, and sits upon our Lips, and is ready to

drop out before we are aware: whereas a Lye is troublesome, and sets a

Man's Invention upon the rack, and one Trick needs a great many more to

make it good. It is like building upon a false Foundation, which

continually stands in need of Props to shoar it up, and proves at last

more chargeable, than to have raised a substantial Building at first

upon a true and solid Foundation; for Sincerity is firm and substantial,

and there is nothing hollow and unsound in it, and because it is plain

and open, fears no Discovery; of which the Crafty Man is always in

danger, and when he thinks he walks in the dark, all his Pretences are

so transparent, that he that runs may read them; he is the last Man that

finds himself to be found out, and whilst he takes it for granted that

he makes Fools of others, he renders himself ridiculous.

Add to all this, that Sincerity is the most compendious Wisdom, and an

excellent Instrument for the speedy dispatch of Business; it creates

Confidence in those we have to deal with, saves the Labour of many

Enquiries, and brings things to an issue in few Words: It is like

travelling in a plain beaten Road, which commonly brings a Man sooner to

his Journeys End than By-ways, in which Men often lose themselves. In a

word, whatsoever Convenience may be thought to be in Falshood and

Dissimulation, it is soon over; but the Inconvenience of it is

perpetual, because it brings a Man under an everlasting Jealousie and

Suspicion, so that he is not believed when he speaks Truth, nor trusted

when perhaps he means honestly. When a Man hath once forfeited the

Reputation of his Integrity, he is set fast, and nothing will then serve

his turn, neither Truth nor Falshood.

And I have often thought, that God hath in his great Wisdom hid from

Men of false and dishonest Minds the wonderful Advantages of Truth and

Integrity to the Prosperity even of our worldly Affairs; these Men are

so blinded by their Covetousness and Ambition, that they cannot look

beyond a present Advantage, nor forbear to seize upon it, tho by Ways

never so indirect; they cannot see so far as to the remote Consequences

of a steady Integrity, and the vast Benefit and Advantages which it will

bring a Man at last. Were but this sort of Men wise and clear-sighted

enough to discern this, they would be honest out of very Knavery, not

out of any Love to Honesty and Virtue, but with a crafty Design to

promote and advance more effectually their own Interests; and therefore

the Justice of the Divine Providence hath hid this truest Point of

Wisdom from their Eyes, that bad Men might not be upon equal Terms with

the Just and Upright, and serve their own wicked Designs by honest and

lawful Means.

Indeed, if a Man were only to deal in the World for a Day, and should

never have occasion to converse more with Mankind, never more need their

good Opinion or good Word, it were then no great Matter (speaking as to

the Concernments of this World) if a Man spent his Reputation all at

once, and ventured it at one throw: But if he be to continue in the

World, and would have the Advantage of Conversation whilst he is in it,

let him make use of Truth and Sincerity in all his Words and Actions;

for nothing but this will last and hold out to the end; all other Arts

will fail, but Truth and Integrity will carry a Man through, and bear

him out to the last.

T.

[Footnote 1: Archbishop Tilotson's Sermons, Vol. II., Sermon I (folio

edition). Italics in first issue.]

* * * * *

No. 353. Tuesday, April 15, 1712. Budgell.

--In tenui labor--

Virg.

The Gentleman who obliges the World in general, and me in particular,

with his Thoughts upon Education, has just sent me the following Letter.

SIR,

I take the Liberty to send you a fourth Letter upon the Education of

Youth: In my last I gave you my Thoughts about some particular Tasks

which I conceiv'd it might not be amiss to use with their usual

Exercises, in order to give them an early Seasoning of Virtue; I shall

in this propose some others, which I fancy might contribute to give

them a right turn for the World, and enable them to make their way in

it.

The Design of Learning is, as I take it, either to render a Man an

agreeable Companion to himself, and teach him to support Solitude with

Pleasure, or if he is not born to an Estate, to supply that Defect,

and furnish him with the means of acquiring one. A Person who applies

himself to Learning with the first of these Views may be said to study

for Ornament, as he who proposes to himself the second, properly

studies for Use. The one does it to raise himself a Fortune, the other

to set off that which he is already possessed of. But as far the

greater part of Mankind are included in the latter Class, I shall only

propose some Methods at present for the Service of such who expect to

advance themselves in the World by their Learning: In order to which,

I shall premise, that many more Estates have been acquir'd by little

Accomplishments than by extraordinary ones; those Qualities which make

the greatest Figure in the Eye of the World, not being always the most

useful in themselves, or the most advantageous to their Owners.

The Posts which require Men of shining and uncommon Parts to discharge

them, are so very few, that many a great Genius goes out of the World

without ever having had an opportunity to exert it self; whereas

Persons of ordinary Endowments meet with Occasions fitted to their

Parts and Capacities every day in the common Occurrences of Life.

I am acquainted with two Persons who were formerly School-fellows,[1]

and have been good Friends ever since. One of them was not only

thought an impenetrable Block-head at School, but still maintain'd his

Reputation at the University; the other was the Pride of his Master,

and the most celebrated Person in the College of which he was a

Member. The Man of Genius is at present buried in a Country Parsonage

of eightscore Pounds a year; while the other, with the bare Abilities

of a common Scrivener, has got an Estate of above an hundred thousand

Pounds.

I fancy from what I have said it will almost appear a doubtful Case

to many a wealthy Citizen, whether or no he ought to wish his Son

should be a great Genius; but this I am sure of, that nothing is more

absurd than to give a Lad the Education of one, whom Nature has not

favour'd with any particular Marks of Distinction.

The fault therefore of our Grammar-Schools is, that every Boy is

pushed on to Works of Genius; whereas it would be far more

advantageous for the greatest part of them to be taught such little

practical Arts and Sciences as do not require any great share of Parts

to be Master of them, and yet may come often into play during the

course of a Man's Life.

Such are all the Parts of Practical Geometry. I have known a Man

contract a Friendship with a Minister of State, upon cutting a Dial in

his Window; and remember a Clergyman who got one of the best Benefices

in the West of England, by setting a Country Gentleman's Affairs in

some Method, and giving him an exact Survey of his Estate.

While I am upon this Subject, I cannot forbear mentioning a

Particular which is of use in every Station of Life, and which

methinks every Master should teach his Scholars. I mean the writing of

English Letters. To this End, instead of perplexing them with Latin

Epistles, Themes and Verses, there might be a punctual Correspondence

established between two Boys, who might act in any imaginary Parts of

Business, or be allow'd sometimes to give a range to their own Fancies,

and communicate to each other whatever Trifles they thought fit,

provided neither of them ever fail'd at the appointed time to answer

his Correspondents Letter.

I believe I may venture to affirm, that the generality of Boys would

find themselves more advantaged by this Custom, when they come to be

Men, than by all the Greek and Latin their Masters can teach them in

seven or eight Years.

The want of it is very visible in many learned Persons, who, while

they are admiring the Styles of Demosthenes or Cicero, want Phrases to

express themselves on the most common Occasions. I have seen a Letter

from one of these Latin Orators, which would have been deservedly

laugh'd at by a common Attorney.

Under this Head of Writing I cannot omit Accounts and Short-hand,

which are learned with little pains, and very properly come into the

number of such Arts as I have been here recommending.

You must doubtless, Sir, observe that I have hitherto chiefly insisted

upon these things for such Boys as do not appear to have any thing

extraordinary in their natural Talents, and consequently are not

qualified for the finer Parts of Learning; yet I believe I might carry

this Matter still further, and venture to assert that a Lad of Genius

has sometimes occasion for these little Acquirements, to be as it were

the forerunners of his Parts, and to introduce [him [2]] into the

World.

History is full of Examples of Persons, who tho they have had the

largest Abilities, have been obliged to insinuate themselves into the

Favour of great Men by these trivial Accomplishments; as the compleat

Gentleman, in some of our modern Comedies, makes his first Advances to

his Mistress under the disguise of a Painter or a Dancing-Master.

The Difference is, that in a Lad of Genius these are only so many

Accomplishments, which in another are Essentials; the one diverts

himself with them, the other works at them. In short, I look upon a

great Genius, with these little Additions, in the same Light as I

regard the Grand Signior, who is obliged, by an express Command in the

Alcoran, to learn and practise some Handycraft Trade. Tho I need not

have gone for my Instance farther than Germany, where several Emperors

have voluntarily done the same thing. Leopold the last [3], worked in

Wood; and I have heard there are several handycraft Works of his

making to be seen at Vienna so neatly turned, that the best Joiner in

Europe might safely own them, without any disgrace to his Profession.

I would not be thought, by any thing I have said, to be against

improving a Boys Genius to the utmost pitch it can be carried. What I

would endeavour to shew in this Essay is, that there may be Methods

taken, to make Learning advantageous even to the meanest Capacities.

I am, SIR, Yours, &c.

X.

[Footnote 1: Perhaps Swift and his old schoolfellow, Mr. Stratford, the

Hamburgh merchant.

Stratford is worth a plumb, and is now lending the Government

£40,000; yet we were educated together at the same school and

university.

Journal to Stella, Sept. 14, 1710.]

[Footnote 2:[them]]

[Footnote 3: Leopold the last was also Leopold the First. He died May 6,

1705, and was succeeded by his eldest son, Joseph, who died while the

Spectator was being issued, and had now been followed by his brother,

the Archduke Charles, whose claim to the crown of Spain England had been

supporting, when his accession to the German throne had not seemed

probable. His coronation as Charles VI. was, therefore, one cause of the

peace. Leopold, born in 1640, and educated by the Jesuits, became

Emperor in 1658, and reigned 49 years. He was an adept in metaphysics

and theology, as well as in wood-turning, but a feeble and oppressive

ruler, whose empire was twice saved for him; by Sobiesld from the Turks,

and from the French by Marlborough.]

* * * * *

No. 354. Wednesday, April 16, 1712. Steele.

--Cum magnis virtutibus affers

Grande supercilium--

Juv.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

You have in some of your Discourses describ'd most sorts of Women in

their distinct and proper Classes, as the Ape, the Coquet, and many

others; but I think you have never yet said anything of a Devotée. A

Devotée is one of those who disparage Religion by their indiscreet and

unseasonable introduction of the Mention of Virtue on all Occasion[s]:

She professes she is what nobody ought to doubt she is; and betrays

the Labour she is put to, to be what she ought to be with Chearfulness

and Alacrity. She lives in the World, and denies her self none of the

Diversions of it, with a constant Declaration how insipid all things

in it are to her. She is never her self but at Church; there she

displays her Virtue, and is so fervent in her Devotions, that I have

frequently seen her Pray her self out of Breath. While other young

Ladies in the House are dancing, or playing at Questions and Commands,

she reads aloud in her Closet. She says all Love is ridiculous, except

it be Celestial; but she speaks of the Passion of one Mortal to

another with too much Bitterness, for one that had no Jealousy mixed

with her Contempt of it. If at any time she sees a Man warm in his

Addresses to his Mistress, she will lift up her Eyes to Heaven, and

cry, What Nonsense is that Fool talking? Will the Bell never ring for

Prayers? We have an eminent Lady of this Stamp in our Country, who

pretends to Amusements very much above the rest of her Sex. She never

carries a white Shock-dog with Bells under her Arm, nor a Squirrel or

Dormouse in her Pocket, but always an abridg'd Piece of Morality to

steal out when she is sure of being observ'd. When she went to the

famous Ass-Race (which I must confess was but an odd Diversion to be

encouraged by People of Rank and Figure) it was not, like other

Ladies, to hear those poor Animals bray, nor to see Fellows run naked,

or to hear Country Squires in bob Wigs and white Girdles make love at

the side of a Coach, and cry, Madam, this is dainty Weather. Thus she

described the Diversion; for she went only to pray heartily that no

body might be hurt in the Crowd, and to see if the poor Fellows Face,

which was distorted with grinning, might any way be brought to it self

again. She never chats over her Tea, but covers her Face, and is

supposed in an Ejaculation before she taste[s] a Sup. This

ostentatious Behaviour is such an Offence to true Sanctity, that it

disparages it, and makes Virtue not only unamiable, but also

ridiculous. The Sacred Writings are full of Reflections which abhor

this kind of Conduct; and a Devotée is so far from promoting Goodness,

that she deters others by her Example. Folly and Vanity in one of

these Ladies, is like Vice in a Clergyman; it does not only debase

him, but makes the inconsiderate Part of the World think the worse of

Religion.

I am, SIR,

Your Humble Servant,

Hotspur.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

Xenophon, in his short Account of the Spartan Commonwealth, [1]

speaking of the Behavior of their young Men in the Streets, says,

There was so much Modesty in their Looks, that you might as soon have

turned the eyes of a Marble Statue upon you as theirs; and that in all

their Behaviour they were more modest than a Bride when put to bed

upon her Wedding-Night: This Virtue, which is always join'd to

Magnanimity, had such an influence upon their Courage, that in Battel

an Enemy could not look them in the Face, and they durst not but Die

for their Country.

Whenever I walk into the Streets of London and Westminster, the

Countenances of all the young Fellows that pass by me, make me wish my

self in Sparta; I meet with such blustering Airs, big Looks, and bold

Fronts, that to a superficial Observer would bespeak a Courage above

those Grecians. I am arrived to that Perfection in Speculation, that I

understand the Language of the Eyes, which would be a great misfortune

to me, had I not corrected the Testiness of old Age by Philosophy.

There is scarce a Man in a red Coat who does not tell me, with a full

Stare, he's a bold Man: I see several swear inwardly at me, without

any Offence of mine, but the Oddness of my Person: I meet Contempt in

every Street, express'd in different Manners, by the scornful Look,

the elevated Eye-brow, and the swelling Nostrils of the Proud and

Prosperous. The Prentice speaks his Disrespect by an extended Finger,

and the Porter by stealing out his Tongue. If a Country Gentleman

appears a little curious in observing the Edifices, Signs, Clocks,

Coaches, and Dials, it is not to be imagined how the Polite Rabble of

this Town, who are acquainted with these Objects, ridicule his

Rusticity. I have known a Fellow with a Burden on his Head steal a

Hand down from his Load, and slily twirle the Cock of a Squires Hat

behind him; while the Offended Person is swearing, or out of

Countenance, all the Wagg-Wits in the High-way are grinning in

applause of the ingenious Rogue that gave him the Tip, and the Folly

of him who had not Eyes all round his Head to prevent receiving it.

These things arise from a general Affectation of Smartness, Wit, and

Courage. Wycherly somewhere [2] rallies the Pretensions this Way, by

making a Fellow say, Red Breeches are a certain Sign of Valour; and

Otway makes a Man, to boast his Agility, trip up a Beggar on Crutches

[3]. From such Hints I beg a Speculation on this Subject; in the mean

time I shall do all in the Power of a weak old Fellow in my own

Defence: for as Diogenes, being in quest of an honest Man, sought for

him when it was broad Day-light with a Lanthorn and Candle, so I

intend for the future to walk the Streets with a dark Lanthorn, which

has a convex Chrystal in it; and if any Man stares at me, I give fair

Warning that Ill direct the Light full into his Eyes. Thus despairing

to find Men Modest, I hope by this Means to evade their Impudence,

I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

Sophrosunius.

T.

[Footnote 1: The Polity of Lacedæmon and the Polity of Athens were

two of Xenophons short treatises. In the Polity of Lacedæmon the

Spartan code of law and social discipline is, as Mr. Mure says in his

Critical History of the Language and Literature of Ancient Greece,

indiscriminately held up to admiration as superior in all respects to

all others. Some of its more offensive features, such as the Cryptia,

child murder, and more glaring atrocities of the Helot system, are

suppressed; while the legalized thieving, adultery, and other

unnatural practices, are placed in the most favourable or least odious

light.]

[Footnote 2: In the Plain Dealer, Act II. sc. I.

Novel (a pert railing coxcomb). These sea captains make nothing of

dressing. But let me tell you, sir, a man by his dress, as much

as by anything, shows his wit and judgment; nay, and his

courage too.

Freeman. How, his courage, Mr. Novel?

Novel. Why, for example, by red breeches, tucked-up hair, or peruke, a

greasy broad belt, and now-a-days a short sword.]

[Footnote 3: In his Friendship in Fashion, Act III. sc. i

Malagene. I tell you what I did tother Day: Faith't is as good a Jest

as ever you heard.

Valentine. Pray, sir, do.

Mal. Why, walking alone, a lame Fellow follow'd me and ask'd my

Charity (which by the way was a pretty Proposition to me).

Being in one of my witty, merry Fits, I ask'd him how long he

had been in that Condition? The poor Fellow shook his Head,

and told me he was born so. But how dye think I served him?

Val. Nay, the Devil knows.

Mal. I show'd my Parts, I think; for I tripp'd up both his Wooden

Legs, and walk'd off gravely about my Business.

Truman. And this you say is your way of Wit?

Mal. Ay, altogether, this and Mimickry. I'm a very good Mimick; I

can act Punchinello, Scaramoucho, Harlequin, Prince

Prettyman, or anything. I can act the rumbling of a

Wheel-barrow.

Val. The rumbling of a Wheelbarrow!

Mal. Ay, the rumbling of a Wheelbarrow, so I say. Nay, more than

that, I can act a Sow and Pigs, Sausages a broiling, a

Shoulder of Mutton a roasting: I can act a Fly in a

Honey-pot.

Trum. That indeed must be the effect of very curious Observation.

Mal. No, hang it, I never make it my Business to observe anything,

that is Mechanick.]

* * * * *

No. 355. Thursday, April 17, 1712. Addison.

Non ego mordaci distrinxi carmine [quenquam.

Ovid. [1]]

I have been very often tempted to write Invectives upon those who have

detracted from my Works, or spoken in derogation of my Person; but I

look upon it as a particular Happiness, that I have always hindred my

Resentments from proceeding to this extremity. I once had gone thro

half a Satyr, but found so many Motions of Humanity rising in me towards

the Persons whom I had severely treated, that I threw it into the Fire

without ever finishing it. I have been angry enough to make several

little Epigrams and Lampoons; and after having admired them a Day or

two, have likewise committed them to the Flames. These I look upon as so

many Sacrifices to Humanity, and have receiv'd much greater Satisfaction

from the suppressing such Performances, than I could have done from any

Reputation they might have procur'd me, or from any Mortification they

might have given my Enemies, in case I had made them publick. If a Man

has any Talent in Writing, it shews a good Mind to forbear answering

Calumnies and Reproaches in the same Spirit of Bitterness with which

they are offered: But when a Man has been at some Pains in making

suitable Returns to an Enemy, and has the Instruments of Revenge in his

Hands, to let drop his Wrath, and stifle his Resentments, seems to have

something in it Great and Heroical. There is a particular Merit in such

a way of forgiving an Enemy; and the more violent and unprovoke'd the

Offence has been, the greater still is the Merit of him who thus

forgives it.

I never met with a Consideration that is more finely spun, and what has

better pleased me, than one in Epictetus [2], which places an Enemy in a

new Light, and gives us a View of him altogether different from that in

which we are used to regard him. The Sense of it is as follows: Does a

Man reproach thee for being Proud or Ill-natured, Envious or Conceited,

Ignorant or Detracting? Consider with thy self whether his Reproaches

are true; if they are not, consider that thou art not the Person whom he

reproaches, but that he reviles an Imaginary Being, and perhaps loves

what thou really art, tho he hates what thou appearest to be. If his

Reproaches are true, if thou art the envious ill-natur'd Man he takes

thee for, give thy self another Turn, become mild, affable and obliging,

and his Reproaches of thee naturally cease: His Reproaches may indeed

continue, but thou art no longer the Person whom he reproaches.

I often apply this Rule to my self; and when I hear of a Satyrical

Speech or Writing that is aimed at me, I examine my own Heart, whether I

deserve it or not. If I bring in a Verdict against my self, I endeavour

to rectify my Conduct for the future in those particulars which have

drawn the Censure upon me; but if the whole Invective be grounded upon a

Falsehood, I trouble my self no further about it, and look upon my Name

at the Head of it to signify no more than one of those fictitious Names

made use of by an Author to introduce an imaginary Character. Why should

a Man be sensible of the Sting of a Reproach, who is a Stranger to the

Guilt that is implied in it? or subject himself to the Penalty, when he

knows he has never committed the Crime? This is a Piece of Fortitude,

which every one owes to his own Innocence, and without which it is

impossible for a Man of any Merit or Figure to live at Peace with

himself in a Country that abounds with Wit and Liberty.

The famous Monsieur Balzac, in a Letter to the Chancellor of France, [3]

who had prevented the Publication of a Book against him, has the

following Words, which are a likely Picture of the Greatness of Mind so

visible in the Works of that Author. If it was a new thing, it may be I

should not be displeased with the Suppression of the first Libel that

should abuse me; but since there are enough of em to make a small

Library, I am secretly pleased to see the number increased, and take

delight in raising a heap of Stones that Envy has cast at me without

doing me any harm.

The Author here alludes to those Monuments of the Eastern Nations, which

were Mountains of Stones raised upon the dead Body by Travellers, that

used to cast every one his Stone upon it as they passed by. It is

certain that no Monument is so glorious as one which is thus raised by

the Hands of Envy. For my Part, I admire an Author for such a Temper of

Mind as enables him to bear an undeserved Reproach without Resentment,

more than for all the Wit of any the finest Satirical Reply.

Thus far I thought necessary to explain my self in relation to those who

have animadverted on this Paper, and to shew the Reasons why I have not

thought fit to return them any formal Answer. I must further add, that

the Work would have been of very little use to the Publick, had it been

filled with personal Reflections and Debates; for which Reason I have

never once turned out of my way to observe those little Cavils which

have been made against it by Envy or Ignorance. The common Fry of

Scriblers, who have no other way of being taken Notice of but by

attacking what has gain'd some Reputation in the World, would have

furnished me with Business enough, had they found me dispos'd to enter

the Lists with them.

I shall conclude with the Fable of Boccalini's Traveller, who was so

pester'd with the Noise of Grasshoppers in his Ears, that he alighted

from his Horse in great Wrath to kill them all. This, says the Author,

was troubling himself to no manner of purpose: Had he pursued his

Journey without taking notice of them, the troublesome Insects would

have died of themselves in a very few Weeks, and he would have suffered

nothing from them.

L.

[Footnote 1:

[quenquam, Nulla venenata littera mista joco est.

Ovid.]

[Footnote 2: Enchiridion, Cap. 48 and 64.]

[Footnote 3: Letters and Remains. Trans. by Sir. R. Baker (1655-8).]

* * * * *

No. 356. Friday, [1] April 18, 1712. Steele.

Aptissima quæque dabunt Dii,

Charior est illis homo quam sibi.

Juv.

It is owing to Pride, and a secret Affectation of a certain

Self-Existence, that the noblest Motive for Action that ever was

proposed to Man, is not acknowledged the Glory and Happiness of their

Being. The Heart is treacherous to it self, and we do not let our

Reflections go deep enough to receive Religion as the most honourable

Incentive to good and worthy Actions. It is our natural Weakness, to

flatter our selves into a Belief, that if we search into our inmost

thoughts, we find our selves wholly disinterested, and divested of any

Views arising from Self-Love and Vain-Glory. But however Spirits of

superficial Greatness may disdain at first sight to do any thing, but

from a noble Impulse in themselves, without any future Regards in this

or another Being; upon stricter Enquiry they will find, to act worthily

and expect to be rewarded only in another World, is as heroick a Pitch

of Virtue as human Nature can arrive at. If the Tenour of our Actions

have any other Motive than the Desire to be pleasing in the Eye of the

Deity, it will necessarily follow that we must be more than Men, if we

are not too much exalted in Prosperity and depressed in Adversity: But

the Christian World has a Leader, the Contemplation of whose Life and

Sufferings must administer Comfort in Affliction, while the Sense of his

Power and Omnipotence must give them Humiliation in Prosperity.

It is owing to the forbidding and unlovely Constraint with which Men of

low Conceptions act when they think they conform themselves to Religion,

as well as to the more odious Conduct of Hypocrites, that the Word

Christian does not carry with it at first View all that is Great,

Worthy, Friendly, Generous, and Heroick. The Man who suspends his Hopes

of the Reward of worthy Actions till after Death, who can bestow unseen,

who can overlook Hatred, do Good to his Slanderer, who can never be

angry at his Friend, never revengeful to his Enemy, is certainly formed

for the Benefit of Society: Yet these are so far from Heroick Virtues,

that they are but the ordinary Duties of a Christian.

When a Man with a steddy Faith looks back on the great Catastrophe of

this Day, with what bleeding Emotions of Heart must he contemplate the

Life and Sufferings of his Deliverer? When his Agonies occur to him, how

will he weep to reflect that he has often forgot them for the Glance of

a Wanton, for the Applause of a vain World, for an Heap of fleeting past

Pleasures, which are at present asking Sorrows?

How pleasing is the Contemplation of the lowly Steps our Almighty Leader

took in conducting us to his heavenly Mansions! In plain and apt

Parable, [2] Similitude, and Allegory, our great Master enforced the

Doctrine of our Salvation; but they of his Acquaintance, instead of

receiving what they could not oppose, were offended at the Presumption

of being wiser than they: [3] They could not raise their little Ideas

above the Consideration of him, in those Circumstances familiar to them,

or conceive that he who appear'd not more Terrible or Pompous, should

have any thing more Exalted than themselves; he in that Place therefore

would not longer ineffectually exert a Power which was incapable of

conquering the Prepossession of their narrow and mean Conceptions.

Multitudes follow'd him, and brought him the Dumb, the Blind, the Sick,

and Maim'd; whom when their Creator had Touch'd, with a second Life they

Saw, Spoke, Leap'd, and Ran. In Affection to him, and admiration of his

Actions, the Crowd could not leave him, but waited near him till they

were almost as faint and helpless as others they brought for Succour. He

had Compassion on them, and by a Miracle supplied their Necessities. [4]

Oh, the Ecstatic Entertainment, when they could behold their Food

immediately increase to the Distributer's Hand, and see their God in

Person Feeding and Refreshing his Creatures! Oh Envied Happiness! But

why do I say Envied? as if our [God [5]] did not still preside over our

temperate Meals, chearful Hours, and innocent Conversations.

But tho the sacred Story is every where full of Miracles not inferior

to this, and tho in the midst of those Acts of Divinity he never gave

the least Hint of a Design to become a Secular Prince, yet had not

hitherto the Apostles themselves any other than Hopes of worldly Power,

Preferment, Riches and Pomp; for Peter, upon an Accident of Ambition

among the Apostles, hearing his Master explain that his Kingdom was not

of this World, was so scandaliz'd [6] that he whom he had so long

follow'd should suffer the Ignominy, Shame, and Death which he foretold,

that he took him aside and said, Be it far from thee, Lord, this shall

not be unto thee: For which he suffered a severe Reprehension from his

Master, as having in his View the Glory of Man rather than that of God.

The great Change of things began to draw near, when the Lord of Nature

thought fit as a Saviour and Deliverer to make his publick Entry into

Jerusalem with more than the Power and Joy, but none of the Ostentation

and Pomp of a Triumph; he came Humble, Meek, and Lowly: with an unfelt

new Ecstasy, Multitudes strewed his Way with Garments and

Olive-Branches, Crying with loud Gladness and Acclamation, Hosannah to

the Son of David, Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord! At

this great Kings Accession to his Throne, Men were not Ennobled, but

Sav'd; Crimes were not Remitted, but Sins Forgiven; he did not bestow

Medals, Honours, Favours, but Health, Joy, Sight, Speech. The first

Object the Blind ever saw, was the Author of Sight; while the Lame Ran

before, and the Dumb repeated the Hosannah. Thus attended, he Entered

into his own House, the sacred Temple, and by his Divine Authority

expell'd Traders and Worldlings that profaned it; and thus did he, for a

time, use a great and despotic Power, to let Unbelievers understand,

that twas not Want of, but Superiority to all Worldly Dominion, that

made him not exert it. But is this then the Saviour? is this the

Deliverer? Shall this Obscure Nazarene command Israel, and sit on the

Throne of David? [7] Their proud and disdainful Hearts, which were

petrified [8] with the Love and Pride of this World, were impregnable to

the Reception of so mean a Benefactor, and were now enough exasperated

with Benefits to conspire his Death. Our Lord was sensible of their

Design, and prepared his Disciples for it, by recounting to em now more

distinctly what should befal him; but Peter with an ungrounded

Resolution, and in a Flush of Temper, made a sanguine Protestation, that

tho all Men were offended in him, yet would not he be offended. It was

a great Article of our Saviours Business in the World, to bring us to a

Sense of our Inability, without Gods Assistance, to do any thing great

or good; he therefore told Peter, who thought so well of his Courage and

Fidelity, that they would both fail him, and even he should deny him

Thrice that very Night.

But what Heart can conceive, what Tongue utter the Sequel? Who is that

yonder buffeted, mock'd, and spurn'd? Whom do they drag like a Felon?

Whither do they carry my Lord, my King, my Saviour, and my God? And will

he die to Expiate those very Injuries? See where they have nailed the

Lord and Giver of Life! How his Wounds blacken, his Body writhes, and

Heart heaves with Pity and with Agony! Oh Almighty Sufferer, look down,

look down from thy triumphant Infamy: Lo he inclines his Head to his

sacred Bosom! Hark, he Groans! see, he Expires! The Earth trembles, the

Temple rends, the Rocks burst, the Dead Arise: Which are the Quick?

Which are the Dead? Sure Nature, all Nature is departing with her

Creator.

T.

[Footnote 1: Good Friday.]

[Footnote 2: From the words In plain and apt parable to the end, this

paper is a reprint of the close of the second chapter of Steele's

Christian Hero, with the variations cited in the next six notes. The C.

H. is quoted from the text appended to the first reprint of the Tatler,

in 1711.]

[Footnote 3:

--wiser than they: Is not this the Carpenters Son, is not his Mother

called Mary, his Brethren, James, Joseph, Simon and Judas? They could

not--

Christian Hero.]

[Footnote 4:

He had compassion on em, commanded em to be seated, and with Seven

Loaves, and a few little Fishes, Fed four thousand Men, besides Women

and Children: Oh, the Ecstatic--

Christian Hero.]

[Footnote 5: [Good God] in first Issue and in Christian Hero.]

[Footnote 6: In the Christian Hero this passage was:

become a Secular Prince, or in a Forcible or Miraculous Manner to

cast off the Roman Yoke they were under, and restore again those

Disgraced Favourites of Heavn, to its former Indulgence, yet had not

hitherto the Apostles themselves (so deep set is our Natural Pride)

any other than hopes of worldly Power, Preferment, Riches and Pomp:

For Peter, who it seems ever since he left his Net and his Skiff,

Dreamt of nothing but being a great Man, was utterly undone to hear

our Saviour explain to em that his Kingdom was not of this World; and

was so scandalized--]

[Footnote 7:

Throne of David? Such were the unpleasant Forms that ran in the

Thoughts of the then Powerful in Jerusalem, upon the most Truly

Glorious Entry that ever Prince made; for there was not one that

followed him who was not in his Interest; their Proud--

Christian Hero.]

[Footnote 8:

Putrified with the--

Christian Hero.]

* * * * *

No. 357. Saturday, April 19, 1712. Addison.

[Quis talia fando

Temperet à lachrymis?

Virg.] [1]

The Tenth Book of Paradise Lost has a greater variety of Persons in it

than any other in the whole Poem. The Author upon the winding up of his

Action introduces all those who had any Concern in it, and shews with

great Beauty the Influence which it had upon each of them. It is like

the last Act of a well-written Tragedy, in which all who had a part in

it are generally drawn up before the Audience, and represented under

those Circumstances in which the Determination of the Action places

them.

I shall therefore consider this Book under four Heads, in relation to

the Celestial, the Infernal, the Human, and the Imaginary Persons, who

have their respective Parts allotted in it.

To begin with the Celestial Persons: The Guardian Angels of Paradise are

described as returning to Heaven upon the Fall of Man, in order to

approve their Vigilance; their Arrival, their Manner of Reception, with

the Sorrow which appear'd in themselves, and in those Spirits who are

said to Rejoice at the Conversion of a Sinner, are very finely laid

together in the following Lines.

Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste

Th' Angelick Guards ascended, mute and sad

For Man; for of his State by this they knew:

Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stoln

Entrance unseen. Soon as th' unwelcome News

From Earth arriv'd at Heaven-Gate, displeased

All were who heard: dim Sadness did not spare

That time Celestial Visages; yet mixt

With Pity, violated not their Bliss.

About the new-arriv'd, in multitudes

Th' Ethereal People ran, to hear and know

How all befel: They tow'rds the Throne supreme

Accountable made haste to make appear

With righteous Plea, their utmost vigilance,

And easily approved; when the Most High

Eternal Father, from his secret cloud,

Amidst in thunder utter'd thus his voice.

The same Divine Person, who in the foregoing Parts of this Poem

interceded for our first Parents before their Fall, overthrew the Rebel

Angels, and created the World, is now represented as descending to

Paradise, and pronouncing Sentence upon the three Offenders. The Cool of

the Evening, being a Circumstance with which Holy Writ introduces this

great Scene, it is poetically described by our Author, who has also kept

religiously to the Form of Words, in which the three several Sentences

were passed upon Adam, Eve, and the Serpent. He has rather chosen to

neglect the Numerousness of his Verse, than to deviate from those

Speeches which are recorded on this great occasion. The Guilt and

Confusion of our first Parents standing naked before their Judge, is

touched with great Beauty. Upon the Arrival of Sin and Death into the

Works of the Creation, the Almighty is again introduced as speaking to

his Angels that surrounded him.

See! with what heat these Dogs of Hell advance,

To waste and havock yonder World, which I

So fair and good created; &c.

The following Passage is formed upon that glorious Image in Holy Writ,

which compares the Voice of an innumerable Host of Angels, uttering

Hallelujahs, to the Voice of mighty Thunderings, or of many Waters.

He ended, and the Heavenly Audience loud

Sung Hallelujah, as the sound of Seas,

Through Multitude that sung: Just are thy Ways,

Righteous are thy Decrees in all thy Works,

Who can extenuate thee?--

Tho the Author in the whole Course of his Poem, and particularly in the

Book we are now examining, has infinite Allusions to Places of

Scripture, I have only taken notice in my Remarks of such as are of a

Poetical Nature, and which are woven with great Beauty into the Body of

this Fable. Of this kind is that Passage in the present Book, where

describing Sin and Death as marching thro the Works of Nature he adds,

--Behind her Death

Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet

On his pale Horse--

Which alludes to that Passage in Scripture, so wonderfully poetical, and

terrifying to the Imagination. And I look'd, and behold a pale Horse,

and his Name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him: and

Power was given unto them over the fourth Part of the Earth, to kill

with Sword, and with Hunger, and with Sickness, and with the Beasts of

the Earth. [1] Under this first Head of Celestial Persons we must

likewise take notice of the Command which the Angels receiv'd, to

produce the several Changes in Nature, and sully the Beauty of the

Creation. Accordingly they are represented as infecting the Stars and

Planets with malignant Influences, weakning the Light of the Sun,

bringing down the Winter into the milder Regions of Nature, planting

Winds and Storms in several Quarters of the Sky, storing the Clouds with

Thunder, and in short, perverting the Whole Frame of the Universe to the

Condition of its criminal Inhabitants. As this is a noble Incident in

the Poem, the following Lines, in which we see the Angels heaving up the

Earth, and placing it in a different Posture to the Sun from what it had

before the Fall of Man, is conceived with that sublime Imagination which

was so peculiar to this great Author.

Some say he bid his Angels turn ascanse

The Poles of Earth twice ten Degrees and more

From the Suns Axle; they with Labour push'd

Oblique the Centrick Globe--

We are in the second place to consider the Infernal Agents under the

view which Milton has given us of them in this Book. It is observed by

those who would set forth the Greatness of Virgil's Plan, that he

conducts his Reader thro all the Parts of the Earth which were

discover'd in his time. Asia, Africk, and Europe are the several Scenes

of his Fable. The Plan of Milton's Poem is of an infinitely greater

Extent, and fills the Mind with many more astonishing Circumstances.

Satan, having surrounded the Earth seven times, departs at length from

Paradise. We then see him steering his Course among the Constellations,

and after having traversed the whole Creation, pursuing his Voyage thro

the Chaos, and entring into his own Infernal Dominions.