Those who have read Bossu, and many of the Criticks who have written

since his Time, will not pardon me if I do not find out the particular

Moral which is inculcated in Paradise Lost. Though I can by no means

think, with the last mentioned French Author, that an Epick Writer first

of all pitches upon a certain Moral, as the Ground-Work and Foundation

of his Poem, and afterwards finds out a Story to it: I am, however, of

opinion, that no just Heroick Poem ever was or can be made, from whence

one great Moral may not be deduced. That which reigns in Milton, is the

most universal and most useful that can be imagined; it is in short

this, That Obedience to the Will of God makes Men happy, and that

Disobedience makes them miserable. This is visibly the Moral of the

principal Fable, which turns upon Adam and Eve, who continued in

Paradise, while they kept the command that was given them, and were

driven out of it as soon as they had transgressed. This is likewise the

Moral of the principal Episode, which shews us how an innumerable

Multitude of Angels fell from their State of Bliss, and were cast into

Hell upon their Disobedience. Besides this great Moral, which may be

looked upon as the Soul of the Fable, there are an Infinity of

Under-Morals which are to be drawn from the several parts of the Poem,

and which makes this Work more useful and Instructive than any other

Poem in any Language.

Those who have criticized on the Odyssey, the Iliad, and Æneid, have

taken a great deal of Pains to fix the Number of Months and Days

contained in the Action of each of those Poems. If any one thinks it

worth his while to examine this Particular in Milton, he will find that

from Adam's first Appearance in the fourth Book, to his Expulsion from

Paradise in the twelfth, the Author reckons ten Days. As for that part

of the Action which is described in the three first Books, as it does

not pass within the Regions of Nature, I have before observed that it is

not subject to any Calculations of Time.

I have now finished my Observations on a Work which does an Honour to

the English Nation. I have taken a general View of it under these four

Heads, the Fable, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Language, and

made each of them the Subject of a particular Paper. I have in the next

Place spoken of the Censures which our Author may incur under each of

these Heads, which I have confined to two Papers, though I might have

enlarged the Number, if I had been disposed to dwell on so ungrateful a

Subject. I believe, however, that the severest Reader will not find any

little Fault in Heroick Poetry, which this Author has fallen into, that

does not come under one of those Heads among which I have distributed

his several Blemishes. After having thus treated at large of Paradise

Lost, I could not think it sufficient to have celebrated this Poem in

the whole, without descending to Particulars. I have therefore bestowed

a Paper upon each Book, and endeavoured not only to [prove [2]] that the

Poem is beautiful in general, but to point out its Particular Beauties,

and to determine wherein they consist. I have endeavoured to shew how

some Passages are beautiful by being Sublime, others by being Soft,

others by being Natural; which of them are recommended by the Passion,

which by the Moral, which by the Sentiment, and which by the Expression.

I have likewise endeavoured to shew how the Genius of the Poet shines by

a happy Invention, a distant Allusion, or a judicious Imitation; how he

has copied or improved Homer or Virgil, and raised his own Imaginations

by the Use which he has made of several Poetical Passages in Scripture.

I might have inserted also several Passages of Tasso, which our Author

[has [3]] imitated; but as I do not look upon Tasso to be a sufficient

Voucher, I would not perplex my Reader with such Quotations, as might do

more Honour to the Italian than the English Poet. In short, I have

endeavoured to particularize those innumerable kinds of Beauty, which it

would be tedious to recapitulate, but which are essential to Poetry, and

which may be met with in the Works of this great Author. Had I thought,

at my first engaging in this design, that it would have led me to so

great a length, I believe I should never have entered upon it; but the

kind Reception which it has met with among those whose Judgments I have

a value for, as well as the uncommon Demands which my Bookseller tells

me have been made for these particular Discourses, give me no reason to

repent of the Pains I have been at in composing them.

L.

[Footnote 1: Prospect]

[Footnote 2: shew]

[Footnote 3: has likewise]

* * * * *

No. 370. Monday, May 5, 1712. Steele.

'Totus Mundus agit Histrionem.'

Many of my fair Readers, as well as very gay and well-received Persons

of the other Sex, are extremely perplexed at the Latin Sentences at the

Head of my Speculations; I do not know whether I ought not to indulge

them with Translations of each of them: However, I have to-day taken

down from the Top of the Stage in Drury-Lane a bit of Latin which often

stands in their View, and signifies that the whole World acts the

Player. It is certain that if we look all round us, and behold the

different Employments of Mankind, you hardly see one who is not, as the

Player is, in an assumed Character. The Lawyer, who is vehement and loud

in a Cause wherein he knows he has not the Truth of the Question on his

Side, is a Player as to the personated Part, but incomparably meaner

than he as to the Prostitution of himself for Hire; because the

Pleader's Falshood introduces Injustice, the Player feigns for no other

end but to divert or instruct you. The Divine, whose Passions transport

him to say any thing with any View but promoting the Interests of true

Piety and Religion, is a Player with a still greater Imputation of

Guilt, in proportion to his depreciating a Character more sacred.

Consider all the different Pursuits and Employments of Men, and you will

find half their Actions tend to nothing else but Disguise and Imposture;

and all that is done which proceeds not from a Man's very self, is the

Action of a Player. For this Reason it is that I make so frequent

mention of the Stage: It is, with me, a Matter of the highest

Consideration what Parts are well or ill performed, what Passions or

Sentiments are indulged or cultivated, and consequently what Manners and

Customs are transfused from the Stage to the World, which reciprocally

imitate each other. As the Writers of Epick Poems introduce shadowy

Persons, and represent Vices and Virtues under the Characters of Men and

Women; so I, who am a SPECTATOR in the World, may perhaps sometimes make

use of the Names of the Actors on the Stage, to represent or admonish

those who transact Affairs in the World. When I am commending Wilks for

representing the Tenderness of a Husband and a Father in Mackbeth, the

Contrition of a reformed Prodigal in Harry the Fourth, the winning

Emptiness of a young Man of Good-nature and Wealth in the Trip to the

Jubilee, [1]--the Officiousness of an artful Servant in the Fox: [2]

when thus I celebrate Wilks, I talk to all the World who are engaged in

any of those Circumstances. If I were to speak of Merit neglected,

mis-applied, or misunderstood, might not I say Estcourt has a great

Capacity? But it is not the Interest of others who bear a Figure on the

Stage that his Talents were understood; it is their Business to impose

upon him what cannot become him, or keep out of his hands any thing in

which he would Shine. Were one to raise a Suspicion of himself in a Man

who passes upon the World for a fine Thing, in order to alarm him, one

might say, if Lord Foppington [3] were not on the Stage, (Cibber acts

the false Pretensions to a genteel Behaviour so very justly), he would

have in the generality of Mankind more that would admire than deride

him. When we come to Characters directly Comical, it is not to be

imagin'd what Effect a well-regulated Stage would have upon Men's

Manners. The Craft of an Usurer, the Absurdity of a rich Fool, the

awkward Roughness of a Fellow of half Courage, the ungraceful Mirth of a

Creature of half Wit, might be for ever put out of Countenance by proper

Parts for Dogget. Johnson by acting Corbacchio [4] the other Night, must

have given all who saw him a thorough Detestation of aged Avarice. The

Petulancy of a peevish old Fellow, who loves and hates he knows not why,

is very excellently performed by the Ingenious Mr. William Penkethman in

the Fop's Fortune;[5] where, in the Character of Don Cholerick Snap

Shorto de Testy, he answers no Questions but to those whom he likes, and

wants no account of any thing from those he approves. Mr. Penkethman is

also Master of as many Faces in the Dumb-Scene as can be expected from a

Man in the Circumstances of being ready to perish out of Fear and

Hunger: He wonders throughout the whole Scene very masterly, without

neglecting his Victuals. If it be, as I have heard it sometimes

mentioned, a great Qualification for the World to follow Business and

Pleasure too, what is it in the Ingenious Mr. Penkethman to represent a

Sense of Pleasure and Pain at the same time; as you may see him do this

Evening? [6]

As it is certain that a Stage ought to be wholly suppressed, or

judiciously encouraged, while there is one in the Nation, Men turned for

regular Pleasure cannot employ their Thoughts more usefully, for the

Diversion of Mankind, than by convincing them that it is in themselves

to raise this Entertainment to the greatest Height. It would be a great

Improvement, as well as Embellishment to the Theatre, if Dancing were

more regarded, and taught to all the Actors. One who has the Advantage

of such an agreeable girlish Person as Mrs. Bicknell, joined with her

Capacity of Imitation, could in proper Gesture and Motion represent all

the decent Characters of Female Life. An amiable Modesty in one Aspect

of a Dancer, an assumed Confidence in another, a sudden Joy in another,

a falling off with an Impatience of being beheld, a Return towards the

Audience with an unsteady Resolution to approach them, and a well-acted

Sollicitude to please, would revive in the Company all the fine Touches

of Mind raised in observing all the Objects of Affection or Passion they

had before beheld. Such elegant Entertainments as these, would polish

the Town into Judgment in their Gratifications; and Delicacy in Pleasure

is the first step People of Condition take in Reformation from Vice.

Mrs. Bicknell has the only Capacity for this sort of Dancing of any on

the Stage; and I dare say all who see her Performance tomorrow Night,

when sure the Romp will do her best for her own Benefit, will be of my

Mind.

T.

[Footnote 1: Farquhar's Constant Couple, or A Trip to the Jubilee.]

[Footnote 2: Ben Jonson's Volpone.]

[Footnote 3: In Colley Cibber's Careless Husband.]

[Footnote 4: In Ben Jonson's Volpone.]

[Footnote 5: Cibber's Love makes a Man, or The Fop's Fortune.]

[Footnote 6:

For the Benefit of Mr. Penkethman. At the Desire of Several Ladies of

Quality. By Her Majesty's Company of Comedians. At the Theatre Royal

in Drury Lane, this present Monday, being the 5th of May, will be

presented a Comedy called Love makes a Man, or The Fop's Fortune. The

Part of Don Lewis, alias Don Choleric Snap Shorto de Testy, by Mr.

Penkethman; Carlos, Mr. Wilks; Clodio, alias Don Dismallo Thick-Scullo

de Half Witto, Mr. Cibber; and all the other Parts to the best

Advantage. With a new Epilogue, spoken by Mr. Penkethman, riding on an

Ass. By her Majesty's Command no Persons are to be admitted behind the

Scenes. And To-Morrow, being Tuesday, will be presented, A Comedy

call'd The Constant Couple, or A Trip to the Jubilee. For the Benefit

of Mrs. Bicknell.

To do as kind a service to Mrs. Bicknell as to Mr. Penkethman on the

occasion of their benefits is the purpose of the next paragraph of

Steele's Essay.]

* * * * *

No. 371. Tuesday, May 6, 1712. Addison.

'Jamne igitur laudas quod se sapientibus unus

Ridebat?'

Juv.

I shall communicate to my Reader the following Letter for the

Entertainment of this Day.

Sir,

You know very well that our Nation is more famous for that sort of Men

who are called Whims and Humourists, than any other Country in the

World; for which reason it is observed that our English Comedy excells

that of all other Nations in the Novelty and Variety of its

Characters.

Among those innumerable Setts of Whims which our Country produces,

there are none whom I have regarded with more Curiosity than those who

have invented any particular kind of Diversion for the Entertainment

of themselves or their Friends. My Letter shall single out those who

take delight in sorting a Company that has something of Burlesque and

Ridicule in its Appearance. I shall make my self understood by the

following Example. One of the Wits of the last Age, who was a Man of a

good Estate [1], thought he never laid out his Money better than in a

Jest. As he was one Year at the Bath, observing that in the great

Confluence of fine People, there were several among them with long

Chins, a part of the Visage by which he himself was very much

distinguished, he invited to dinner half a Score of these remarkable

Persons who had their Mouths in the Middle of their Faces. They had no

sooner placed themselves about the Table, but they began to stare upon

one another, not being able to imagine what had brought them together.

Our English Proverb says,

Tis merry in the Hall,

When Beards wag all.

It proved so in the Assembly I am now speaking of, who seeing so many

Peaks of Faces agitated with Eating, Drinking, and Discourse, and

observing all the Chins that were present meeting together very often

over the Center of the Table, every one grew sensible of the Jest, and

came into it with so much Good-Humour, that they lived in strict

Friendship and Alliance from that Day forward.

The same Gentleman some time after packed together a Set of Oglers, as

he called them, consisting of such as had an unlucky Cast in their

Eyes. His Diversion on this Occasion was to see the cross Bows,

mistaken Signs, and wrong Connivances that passed amidst so many

broken and refracted Rays of Sight.

The third Feast which this merry Gentleman exhibited was to the

Stammerers, whom he got together in a sufficient Body to fill his

Table. He had ordered one of his Servants, who was placed behind a

Skreen, to write down their Table-Talk, which was very easie to be

done without the help of Short-hand. It appears by the Notes which

were taken, that tho' their Conversation never fell, there were not

above twenty Words spoken during the first Course; that upon serving

up the second, one of the Company was a quarter of an Hour in telling

them, that the Ducklins and [Asparagus [2]] were very good; and that

another took up the same time in declaring himself of the same

Opinion. This Jest did not, however, go off so well as the former; for

one of the Guests being a brave Man, and fuller of Resentment than he

knew how to express, went out of the Room, and sent the facetious

Inviter a Challenge in Writing, which though it was afterwards dropp'd

by the Interposition of Friends, put a Stop to these ludicrous

Entertainments.

Now, Sir, I dare say you will agree with me, that as there is no Moral

in these Jests, they ought to be discouraged, and looked upon rather

as pieces of Unluckiness than Wit. However, as it is natural for one

Man to refine upon the Thought of another, and impossible for any

single Person, how great soever his Parts may be, to invent an Art,

and bring it to its utmost Perfection; I shall here give you an

account of an honest Gentleman of my Acquaintance who upon hearing the

Character of the Wit above mentioned, has himself assumed it, and

endeavoured to convert it to the Benefit of Mankind. He invited half a

dozen of his Friends one day to Dinner, who were each of them famous

for inserting several redundant Phrases in their Discourse, as d'y

hear me, d'ye see, that is, and so Sir. Each of the Guests making

frequent use of his particular Elegance, appeared so ridiculous to his

Neighbour, that he could not but reflect upon himself as appearing

equally ridiculous to the rest of the Company: By this means, before

they had sat long together, every one talking with the greatest

Circumspection, and carefully avoiding his favourite Expletive, the

Conversation was cleared of its Redundancies, and had a greater

Quantity of Sense, tho' less of Sound in it.

The same well-meaning Gentleman took occasion, at another time, to

bring together such of his Friends as were addicted to a foolish

habitual Custom of Swearing. In order to shew the Absurdity of the

Practice, he had recourse to the Invention above mentioned, having

placed an Amanuensis in a private part of the Room. After the second

Bottle, when Men open their Minds without Reserve, my honest Friend

began to take notice of the many sonorous but unnecessary Words that

had passed in his House since their sitting down at Table, and how

much good Conversation they had lost by giving way to such superfluous

Phrases. What a Tax, says he, would they have raised for the Poor, had

we put the Laws in Execution upon one another? Every one of them took

this gentle Reproof in good part: Upon which he told them, that

knowing their Conversation would have no Secrets in it, he had ordered

it to be taken down in Writing, and for the humour sake would read it

to them, if they pleased. There were ten Sheets of it, which might

have been reduced to two, had there not been those abominable

Interpolations I have before mentioned. Upon the reading of it in cold

Blood, it looked rather like a Conference of Fiends than of Men. In

short, every one trembled at himself upon hearing calmly what he had

pronounced amidst the Heat and Inadvertency of Discourse.

I shall only mention another Occasion wherein he made use of the same

Invention to cure a different kind of Men, who are the Pests of all

polite Conversation, and murder Time as much as either of the two

former, though they do it more innocently; I mean that dull Generation

of Story-tellers. My Friend got together about half a dozen of his

Acquaintance, who were infected with this strange Malady. The first

Day one of them sitting down, entered upon the Siege of Namur, which

lasted till four a-clock, their time of parting. The second Day a

North-Britain took possession of the Discourse, which it was

impossible to get out of his Hands so long as the Company staid

together. The third Day was engrossed after the same manner by a Story

of the same length. They at last began to reflect upon this barbarous

way of treating one another, and by this means awakened out of that

Lethargy with which each of them had been seized for several Years.

As you have somewhere declared, that extraordinary and uncommon

Characters of Mankind are the Game which you delight in, and as I look

upon you to be the greatest Sportsman, or, if you please, the Nimrod

among this Species of Writers, I thought this Discovery would not be

unacceptable to you.

I am,

SIR, &c.

I.

[Footnote 1: George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, Drydens Zimri, and the

author of the Rehearsal.]

[Footnote 2: [Sparrow-grass] and in first Reprint.]

* * * * *

372. Wednesday, May 7, 1712. Steele.

'Pudet hæc opprobria nobis

[Et dici potuisse et non potuisse refelli.]'

Ovid.

May 6, 1712.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I am Sexton of the Parish of Covent-Garden, and complained to you some

time ago, that as I was tolling in to Prayers at Eleven in the

Morning, Crowds of People of Quality hastened to assemble at a

Puppet-Show on the other Side of the Garden. I had at the same time a

very great Disesteem for Mr. Powell and his little thoughtless

Commonwealth, as if they had enticed the Gentry into those Wandrings:

But let that be as it will, I now am convinced of the honest

Intentions of the said Mr. Powell and Company; and send this to

acquaint you, that he has given all the Profits which shall arise

to-morrow Night by his Play to the use of the poor Charity-Children of

this Parish. I have been informed, Sir, that in Holland all Persons

who set up any Show, or act any Stage-Play, be the Actors either of

Wood and Wire, or Flesh and Blood, are obliged to pay out of their

Gain such a Proportion to the honest and industrious Poor in the

Neighbourhood: By this means they make Diversion and Pleasure pay a

Tax to Labour and Industry. I have been told also, that all the time

of Lent, in Roman Catholick Countries, the Persons of Condition

administred to the Necessities of the Poor, and attended the Beds of

Lazars and diseased Persons. Our Protestant Ladies and Gentlemen are

so much to seek for proper ways of passing Time, that they are obliged

to Punchinello for knowing what to do with themselves. Since the Case

is so, I desire only you would intreat our People of Quality, who are

not to be interrupted in their Pleasure to think of the Practice of

any moral Duty, that they would at least fine for their Sins, and give

something to these poor Children; a little out of their Luxury and

Superfluity, would attone, in some measure, for the wanton Use of the

rest of their Fortunes. It would not, methinks, be amiss, if the

Ladies who haunt the Cloysters and Passages of the Play-house, were

upon every Offence obliged to pay to this excellent Institution of

Schools of Charity: This Method would make Offenders themselves do

Service to the Publick. But in the mean time I desire you would

publish this voluntary Reparation which Mr. Powell does our Parish,

for the Noise he has made in it by the constant rattling of Coaches,

Drums, Trumpets, Triumphs, and Battels. The Destruction of Troy

adorned with Highland Dances, are to make up the Entertainment of all

who are so well disposed as not to forbear a light Entertainment, for

no other Reason but that it is to do a good Action.

I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

Ralph Bellfry.

I am credibly informed, that all the Insinuations which a certain

Writer made against Mr. Powell at the Bath, are false and groundless.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

My Employment, which is that of a Broker, leading me often into

Taverns about the Exchange, has given me occasion to observe a certain

Enormity, which I shall here submit to your Animadversion. In three or

four of these Taverns, I have, at different times, taken notice of a

precise Set of People with grave Countenances, short Wiggs, black

Cloaths, or dark Camlet trimmd with Black, and mourning Gloves and

Hatbands, who meet on certain Days at each Tavern successively, and

keep a sort of moving Club. Having often met with their Faces, and

observed a certain slinking Way in their dropping in one after

another, I had the Curiosity to enquire into their Characters, being

the rather moved to it by their agreeing in the Singularity of their

Dress; and I find upon due Examination they are a Knot of

Parish-Clarks, who have taken a fancy to one another, and perhaps

settle the Bills of Mortality over their Half-pints. I have so great a

Value and Veneration for any who have but even an assenting Amen in

the Service of Religion, that I am afraid lest these Persons should

incur some Scandal by this Practice; and would therefore have them,

without Raillery, advised to send the Florence and Pullets home to

their own Houses, and not pretend to live as well as the Overseers of

the Poor.

I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

Humphry Transfer.

May 6.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I was last Wednesday Night at a Tavern in the City, among a Set of Men

who call themselves the Lawyer's Club. You must know, Sir, this Club

consists only of Attorneys; and at this Meeting every one proposes the

Cause he has then in hand to the Board, upon which each Member gives

his Judgment according to the Experience he has met with. If it

happens that any one puts a Case of which they have had no Precedent,

it is noted down by their Clerk Will. Goosequill, (who registers all

their Proceedings) that one of them may go the next Day with it to a

Counsel. This indeed is commendable, and ought to be the principal End

of their Meeting; but had you been there to have heard them relate

their Methods of managing a Cause, their Manner of drawing out their

Bills, and, in short, their Arguments upon the several ways of abusing

their Clients, with the Applause that is given to him who has done it

most artfully, you would before now have given your Remarks on them.

They are so conscious that their Discourses ought to be kept secret,

that they are very cautious of admitting any Person who is not of

their Profession. When any who are not of the Law are let in, the

Person who introduces him, says, he is a very honest Gentleman, and he

is taken in, as their Cant is, to pay Costs. I am admitted upon the

Recommendation of one of their Principals, as a very honest

good-natured Fellow that will never be in a Plot, and only desires to

drink his Bottle and smoke his Pipe. You have formerly remarked upon

several Sorts of Clubs; and as the Tendency of this is only to

increase Fraud and Deceit, I hope you will please to take Notice of it.

I am (with Respect)

Your humble Servant,

H. R.

T.

* * * * *

No. 373. Thursday, May 8, 1712. Budgell.

'[Fallit enim Vitium specie virtutis et umbra.'

Juv. [1]]

Mr. Locke, in his Treatise of Human Understanding, has spent two

Chapters upon the Abuse of Words. [2] The first and most palpable Abuse

of Words, he says, is, when they are used without clear and distinct

Ideas: The second, when we are so inconstant and unsteady in the

Application of them, that we sometimes use them to signify one Idea,

sometimes another. He adds, that the Result of our Contemplations and

Reasonings, while we have no precise Ideas fixed to our Words, must

needs be very confused and absurd. To avoid this Inconvenience, more

especially in moral Discourses, where the same Word should constantly be

used in the same Sense, he earnestly recommends the use of Definitions.

A Definition, says he, is the only way whereby the precise Meaning of

Moral Words can be known. He therefore accuses those of great

Negligence, who Discourse of Moral things with the least Obscurity in

the Terms they make use of, since upon the forementioned ground he does

not scruple to say, that he thinks Morality is capable of Demonstration

as well as the Mathematicks.

I know no two Words that have been more abused by the different and

wrong Interpretations which are put upon them, than those two, Modesty

and Assurance. To say such an one is a modest Man, sometimes indeed

passes for a good Character; but at present is very often used to

signify a sheepish awkard Fellow, who has neither Good-breeding,

Politeness, nor any Knowledge of the World.

Again, A Man of Assurance, tho at first it only denoted a Person of a

free and open Carriage, is now very usually applied to a profligate

Wretch, who can break through all the Rules of Decency and Morality

without a Blush.

I shall endeavour therefore in this Essay to restore these Words to

their true Meaning, to prevent the Idea of Modesty from being confounded

with that of Sheepishness, and to hinder Impudence from passing for

Assurance.

If I was put to define Modesty, I would call it The Reflection of an

Ingenuous Mind, either when a Man has committed an Action for which he

censures himself, or fancies that he is exposed to the Censure of

others.

For this Reason a Man truly Modest is as much so when he is alone as in

Company, and as subject to a Blush in his Closet, as when the Eyes of

Multitudes are upon him.

I do not remember to have met with any Instance of Modesty with which I

am so well pleased, as that celebrated one of the young Prince, whose

Father being a tributary King to the Romans, had several Complaints laid

against him before the Senate, as a Tyrant and Oppressor of his

Subjects. The Prince went to Rome to defend his Father; but coming into

the Senate, and hearing a Multitude of Crimes proved upon him, was so

oppressed when it came to his turn to speak, that he was unable to utter

a Word. The Story tells us, that the Fathers were more moved at this

Instance of Modesty and Ingenuity, than they could have been by the most

Pathetick Oration; and, in short, pardoned the guilty Father for this

early Promise of Virtue in the Son.

I take Assurance to be the Faculty of possessing a Man's self, or of

saying and doing indifferent things without any Uneasiness or Emotion in

the Mind. That which generally gives a Man Assurance is a moderate

Knowledge of the World, but above all a Mind fixed and determined in it

self to do nothing against the Rules of Honour and Decency. An open and

assured Behaviour is the natural Consequence of such a Resolution. A Man

thus armed, if his Words or Actions are at any time misinterpreted,

retires within himself, and from the Consciousness of his own Integrity,

assumes Force enough to despise the little Censures of Ignorance or

Malice.

Every one ought to cherish and encourage in himself the Modesty and

Assurance I have here mentioned.

A Man without Assurance is liable to be made uneasy by the Folly or

Ill-nature of every one he converses with. A Man without Modesty is lost

to all Sense of Honour and Virtue.

It is more than probable, that the Prince above-mentioned possessed both

these Qualifications in a very eminent degree. Without Assurance he

would never have undertaken to speak before the most august Assembly in

the World; without Modesty he would have pleaded the Cause he had taken

upon him, tho it had appeared ever so Scandalous.

From what has been said, it is plain, that Modesty and Assurance are

both amiable, and may very well meet in the same Person. When they are

thus mixed and blended together, they compose what we endeavour to

express when we say a modest Assurance; by which we understand the just

Mean between Bashfulness and Impudence.

I shall conclude with observing, that as the same Man may be both Modest

and Assured, so it is also possible for the same Person to be both

Impudent and Bashful.

We have frequent Instances of this odd kind of Mixture in People of

depraved Minds and mean Education; who tho' they are not able to meet a

Man's Eyes, or pronounce a Sentence without Confusion, can Voluntarily

commit the greatest Villanies, or most indecent Actions.

Such a Person seems to have made a Resolution to do Ill even in spite of

himself, and in defiance of all those Checks and Restraints his Temper

and Complection seem to have laid in his way.

Upon the whole, I would endeavour to establish this Maxim, That the

Practice of Virtue is the most proper Method to give a Man a becoming

Assurance in his Words and Actions. Guilt always seeks to shelter it

self in one of the Extreams, and is sometimes attended with both.

X.

[Footnote 1:

[--Strabonem

Appellat pætumm pater; et pullum, male parvus

Si cui filius est; ut abortivus fuit olim

Sisyphus: hunc varum, distortis cruribus; illum

Balbutit scaurum, pravis fullum malè talis.

Hor.]]

[Footnote 2: Book III., Chapters 10, 11. Words are the subject of this

book; ch. 10 is on the Abuse of Words; ch. 11 of the Remedies of the

foregoing imperfections and abuses.]

* * * * *

No. 374. Friday, May 9, 1712. Steele.

'Nil actum reputans si quid superesset agendum.'

Luc.

There is a Fault, which, tho' common, wants a Name. It is the very

contrary to Procrastination: As we lose the present Hour by delaying

from Day to Day to execute what we ought to do immediately; so most of

us take Occasion to sit still and throw away the Time in our Possession,

by Retrospect on what is past, imagining we have already acquitted our

selves, and established our Characters in the sight of Mankind. But when

we thus put a Value upon our selves for what we have already done, any

further than to explain our selves in order to assist our future

Conduct, that will give us an over-weening opinion of our Merit to the

prejudice of our present Industry. The great Rule, methinks, should be

to manage the Instant in which we stand, with Fortitude, Equanimity, and

Moderation, according to Men's respective Circumstances. If our past

Actions reproach us, they cannot be attoned for by our own severe

Reflections so effectually as by a contrary Behaviour. If they are

praiseworthy, the Memory of them is of no use but to act suitably to

them. Thus a good present Behaviour is an implicit Repentance for any

Miscarriage in what is past; but present Slackness will not make up for

past Activity. Time has swallowed up all that we Contemporaries did

Yesterday, as irrevocably as it has the Actions of the Antediluvians:

But we are again awake, and what shall we do to-Day, to-Day which passes

while we are yet speaking? Shall we remember the Folly of last Night, or

resolve upon the Exercise of Virtue tomorrow? Last Night is certainly

gone, and To-morrow may never arrive: This Instant make use of. Can you

oblige any Man of Honour and Virtue? Do it immediately. Can you visit a

sick Friend? Will it revive him to see you enter, and suspend your own

Ease and Pleasure to comfort his Weakness, and hear the Impertinencies

of a Wretch in Pain? Don't stay to take Coach, but be gone. Your

Mistress will bring Sorrow, and your Bottle Madness: Go to

neither.--Such Virtues and Diversions as these are mentioned because

they occur to all Men. But every Man is sufficiently convinced, that to

suspend the use of the present Moment, and resolve better for the future

only, is an unpardonable Folly: What I attempted to consider, was the

Mischief of setting such a Value upon what is past, as to think we have

done enough. Let a Man have filled all the Offices of Life with the

highest Dignity till Yesterday, and begin to live only to himself

to-Day, he must expect he will in the Effects upon his Reputation be

considered as the Man who died Yesterday. The Man who distinguishes

himself from the rest, stands in a Press of People; those before him

intercept his Progress, and those behind him, if he does not urge on,

will tread him down. Cæsar, of whom it was said, that he thought nothing

done while there was anything left for him to do, went on in performing

the greatest Exploits, without assuming to himself a Privilege of taking

Rest upon the Foundation of the Merit of his former Actions. It was the

manner of that glorious Captain to write down what Scenes he passed

through, but it was rather to keep his Affairs in Method, and capable of

a clear Review in case they should be examined by others, than that he

built a Renown upon any thing which was past. I shall produce two

Fragments of his to demonstrate, that it was his Rule of Life to support

himself rather by what he should perform than what he had done already.

In the Tablet which he wore about him the same Year, in which he

obtained the Battel of Pharsalia, there were found these loose Notes for

his own Conduct: It is supposed, by the Circumstances they alluded to,

that they might be set down the Evening of the same Night.

My Part is now but begun, and my Glory must be sustained by the Use I

make of this Victory; otherwise my Loss will be greater than that of

Pompey. Our personal Reputation will rise or fall as we bear our

respective Fortunes. All my private Enemies among the Prisoners shall

be spared. I will forget this, in order to obtain such another Day.

Trebutius is ashamed to see me: I will go to his Tent, and be

reconciled in private. Give all the Men of Honour, who take part with

me, the Terms I offered before the Battel. Let them owe this to their

Friends who have been long in my Interests. Power is weakened by the

full Use of it, but extended by Moderation. Galbinius is proud, and

will be servile in his present Fortune; let him wait. Send for

Stertinius: He is modest, and his Virtue is worth gaining. I have

cooled my Heart with Reflection; and am fit to rejoice with the Army

to-morrow. He is a popular General who can expose himself like a

private Man during a Battel; but he is more popular who can rejoice

but like a private Man after a Victory.

What is particularly proper for the Example of all who pretend to

Industry in the Pursuit of Honour and Virtue, is, That this Hero was

more than ordinarily sollicitous about his Reputation, when a common

Mind would have thought it self in Security, and given it self a Loose

to Joy and Triumph. But though this is a very great Instance of his

Temper, I must confess I am more taken with his Reflections when he

retired to his Closet in some Disturbance upon the repeated ill Omens of

Calphurnia's Dream the Night before his Death. The literal Translation

of that Fragment shall conclude this Paper.

Be it so [then. [1]] If I am to die to-Morrow, that is what I am to do

to-Morrow: It will not be then, because I am willing it should be

then; nor shall I escape it, because I am unwilling. It is in the Gods

when, but in my self how I shall die. If Calphurnia's Dreams are Fumes

of Indigestion, how shall I behold the Day after to-morrow? If they

are from the Gods, their Admonition is not to prepare me to escape

from their Decree, but to meet it. I have lived to a Fulness of Days

and of Glory; what is there that Cæsar has not done with as much

Honour as antient Heroes? Cæsar has not yet died; Cæsar is prepared to

die.

T.

[Footnote 1: [than]]

* * * * *

No. 375. Saturday, May 10, 1712. Hughes.

'Non possidentem multa vocaveris

Rectè beatum: rectiùs occupat

Nomen beati, qui Deorum

Muneribus sapienter uti,

Duramque callet Pauperiem pati,

Pejusque Letho flagitium timet.'

Hor.

I have more than once had occasion to mention a noble Saying of Seneca

the Philosopher, That a virtuous Person struggling with Misfortunes, and

rising above them, is an Object on which the Gods themselves may look

down with Delight. [1] I shall therefore set before my Reader a Scene of

this kind of Distress in private Life, for the Speculation of this Day.

An eminent Citizen, who had lived in good Fashion and Credit, was by a

Train of Accidents, and by an unavoidable Perplexity in his Affairs,

reduced to a low Condition. There is a Modesty usually attending

faultless Poverty, which made him rather chuse to reduce his Manner of

Living to his present Circumstances, than sollicit his Friends in order

to support the Shew of an Estate when the Substance was gone. His Wife,

who was a Woman of Sense and Virtue, behaved her self on this Occasion

with uncommon Decency, and never appear'd so amiable in his Eyes as now.

Instead of upbraiding him with the ample Fortune she had brought, or the

many great Offers she had refused for his sake, she redoubled all the

Instances of her Affection, while her Husband was continually pouring

out his Heart to her in Complaints that he had ruined the best Woman in

the World. He sometimes came home at a time when she did not expect him,

and surpriz'd her in Tears, which she endeavour'd to conceal, and always

put on an Air of Chearfulness to receive him. To lessen their Expence,

their eldest Daughter (whom I shall call Amanda) was sent into the

Country, to the House of an honest Farmer, who had married a Servant of

the Family. This young Woman was apprehensive of the Ruin which was

approaching, and had privately engaged a Friend in the Neighbourhood to

give her an account of what passed from time to time in her Father's

Affairs. Amanda was in the Bloom of her Youth and Beauty, when the Lord

of the Manor, who often called in at the Farmer's House as he followd

his Country Sports, fell passionately in love with her. He was a Man of

great Generosity, but from a loose Education had contracted a hearty

Aversion to Marriage. He therefore entertained a Design upon Amanda's

Virtue, which at present he thought fit to keep private. The innocent

Creature, who never suspected his Intentions, was pleased with his

Person; and having observed his growing Passion for her, hoped by so

advantageous a Match she might quickly be in a capacity of supporting

her impoverish'd Relations. One day as he called to see her, he found

her in Tears over a Letter she had just receiv'd from her Friend, which

gave an Account that her Father had lately been stripped of every thing

by an Execution. The Lover, who with some Difficulty found out the Cause

of her Grief, took this occasion to make her a Proposal. It is

impossible to express Amanda's Confusion when she found his Pretensions

were not honourable. She was now deserted of all her Hopes, and had no

Power to speak; but rushing from him in the utmost Disturbance, locked

her self up in her Chamber. He immediately dispatched a Messenger to her

Father with the following Letter.

SIR,

I have heard of your Misfortune, and have offer'd your Daughter, if

she will live with me, to settle on her Four hundred Pounds a year,

and to lay down the Sum for which you are now distressed. I will be

so ingenuous as to tell you that I do not intend Marriage: But if you

are wise, you will use your Authority with her not to be too nice,

when she has an opportunity of saving you and your Family, and of

making her self happy.

I am, &c.

This Letter came to the Hands of Amanda's Mother; she opend and read it

with great Surprize and Concern. She did not think it proper to explain

her self to the Messenger, but desiring him to call again the next

Morning, she wrote to her Daughter as follows.

Dearest Child,

Your Father and I have just now receiv'd a Letter from a Gentleman who

pretends Love to you, with a Proposal that insults our Misfortunes,

and would throw us to a lower Degree of Misery than any thing which is

come upon us. How could this barbarous Man think, that the tenderest

of Parents would be tempted to supply their Wants by giving up the

best of Children to Infamy and Ruin? It is a mean and cruel Artifice

to make this Proposal at a time when he thinks our Necessities must

compel us to any thing; but we will not eat the Bread of Shame; and

therefore we charge thee not to think of us, but to avoid the Snare

which is laid for thy Virtue. Beware of pitying us: It is not so bad

as you have perhaps been told. All things will yet be well, and I

shall write my Child better News.

I have been interrupted. I know not how I was moved to say things

would mend. As I was going on I was startled by a Noise of one that

knocked at the Door, and hath brought us an unexpected Supply of a

Debt which had long been owing. Oh! I will now tell thee all. It is

some days I have lived almost without Support, having conveyd what

little Money I could raise to your poor Father--Thou wilt weep to

think where he is, yet be assured he will be soon at Liberty. That

cruel Letter would have broke his Heart, but I have concealed it from

him. I have no Companion at present besides little Fanny, who stands

watching my Looks as I write, and is crying for her Sister. She says

she is sure you are not well, having discover'd that my present

Trouble is about you. But do not think I would thus repeat my Sorrows,

to grieve thee: No, it is to intreat thee not to make them

insupportable, by adding what would be worse than all. Let us bear

chearfully an Affliction, which we have not brought on our selves, and

remember there is a Power who can better deliver us out of it than by

the Loss of thy Innocence. Heaven preserve my dear Child.

Affectionate Mother----

The Messenger, notwithstanding he promised to deliver this Letter to

Amanda, carry'd it first to his Master, who he imagined would be glad to

have an Opportunity of giving it into her Hands himself. His Master was

impatient to know the Success of his Proposal, and therefore broke open

the Letter privately to see the Contents. He was not a little moved at

so true a Picture of Virtue in Distress: But at the same time was

infinitely surprized to find his Offers rejected. However, he resolved

not to suppress the Letter, but carefully sealed it up again, and

carried it to Amanda. All his Endeavours to see her were in vain, till

she was assured he brought a Letter from her Mother. He would not part

with it, but upon Condition that she should read it without leaving the

Room. While she was perusing it, he fixed his Eyes on her Face with the

deepest Attention: Her Concern gave a new Softness to her Beauty, and

when she burst into Tears, he could no longer refrain from bearing a

Part of her Sorrow, and telling her, that he too had read the Letter and

was resolvd to make Reparation for having been the Occasion of it. My

Reader will not be displeased to see this Second Epistle which he now

wrote to Amanda's Mother.

MADAM,

I am full of Shame, and will never forgive my self, if I have not your

Pardon for what I lately wrote. It was far from my Intention to add

Trouble to the Afflicted; nor could any thing, but my being a Stranger

to you, have betray'd me into a Fault, for which, if I live, I shall

endeavour to make you amends, as a Son. You cannot be unhappy while

Amanda is your Daughter: nor shall be, if any thing can prevent it,

which is in the power of, MADAM,

Your most obedient

Humble Servant----

This Letter he sent by his Steward, and soon after went up to Town

himself, to compleat the generous Act he had now resolved on. By his

Friendship and Assistance Amanda's Father was quickly in a condition of

retrieving his perplex'd Affairs. To conclude, he Marry'd Amanda, and

enjoyd the double Satisfaction of having restored a worthy Family to

their former Prosperity, and of making himself happy by an Alliance to

their Virtues.

[Footnote 1: See note on p. 148 [Footnote 1 of No. 39], vol. i.]

* * * * *

No. 376. Monday, May 12, 1712. Steele.

'--Pavone ex Pythagoreo--'

Persius.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have observed that the Officer you some time ago appointed as

Inspector of Signs, has not done his Duty so well as to give you an

Account of very many strange Occurrences in the publick Streets, which

are worthy of, but have escaped your Notice. Among all the Oddnesses

which I have ever met with, that which I am now telling you of gave me

most Delight. You must have observed that all the Criers in the Street

attract the Attention of the Passengers, and of the Inhabitants in the

several Parts, by something very particular in their Tone it self, in

the dwelling upon a Note, or else making themselves wholly

unintelligible by a Scream. The Person I am so delighted with has

nothing to sell, but very gravely receives the Bounty of the People,

for no other Merit but the Homage they pay to his Manner of signifying

to them that he wants a Subsidy. You must, sure, have heard speak of

an old Man, who walks about the City, and that part of the Suburbs

which lies beyond the Tower, performing the Office of a Day-Watchman,

followed by a Goose, which bears the Bob of his Ditty, and confirms

what he says with a Quack, Quack. I gave little heed to the mention of

this known Circumstance, till, being the other day in those Quarters,

I passed by a decrepit old Fellow with a Pole in his Hand, who just

then was bawling out, Half an Hour after one a-Clock, and immediately

a dirty Goose behind him made her Response, Quack, Quack. I could not

forbear attending this grave Procession for the length of half a

Street, with no small amazement to find the whole Place so familiarly

acquainted with a melancholy Mid-night Voice at Noon-day, giving them

the Hour, and exhorting them of the Departure of Time, with a Bounce

at their Doors. While I was full of this Novelty, I went into a

Friend's House, and told him how I was diverted with their whimsical

Monitor and his Equipage. My Friend gave me the History; and

interrupted my Commendation of the Man, by telling me the Livelihood

of these two Animals is purchased rather by the good Parts of the

Goose, than of the Leader: For it seems the Peripatetick who walked

before her was a Watchman in that Neighbourhood; and the Goose of her

self by frequent hearing his Tone, out of her natural Vigilance, not

only observed, but answer'd it very regularly from Time to Time. The

Watchman was so affected with it, that he bought her, and has taken

her in Partner, only altering their Hours of Duty from Night to Day.

The Town has come into it, and they live very comfortably. This is the

Matter of Fact: Now I desire you, who are a profound Philosopher, to

consider this Alliance of Instinct and Reason; your Speculation may

turn very naturally upon the Force the superior Part of Mankind may

have upon the Spirits of such as, like this Watchman, may be very near

the Standard of Geese. And you may add to this practical Observation,

how in all Ages and Times the World has been carry'd away by odd

unaccountable things, which one would think would pass upon no

Creature which had Reason; and, under the Symbol of this Goose, you

may enter into the Manner and Method of leading Creatures, with their

Eyes open, thro' thick and thin, for they know not what, they know not

why.

All which is humbly submitted to your Spectatorial Wisdom by,

SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

Michael Gander.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have for several Years had under my Care the Government and

Education of young Ladies, which Trust I have endeavour'd to discharge

with due regard to their several Capacities and Fortunes: I have left

nothing undone to imprint in every one of them an humble courteous

Mind, accompanied with a graceful becoming Mein, and have made them

pretty much acquainted with the Houshold Part of Family-Affairs; but

still I find there is something very much wanting in the Air of my

Ladies, different from what I observe in those that are esteemed your

fine bred Women. Now, Sir, I must own to you, I never suffered my

Girls to learn to Dance; but since I have read your Discourse of

Dancing, where you have described the Beauty and Spirit there is in

regular Motion, I own my self your Convert, and resolve for the future

to give my young Ladies that Accomplishment. But upon imparting my

Design to their Parents, I have been made very uneasy, for some Time,

because several of them have declared, that if I did not make use of

the Master they recommended, they would take away their Children.

There was Colonel Jumper's Lady, a Colonel of the Train-Bands, that

has a great Interest in her Parish; she recommends Mr. Trott for the

prettiest Master in Town, that no Man teaches a Jigg like him, that

she has seen him rise six or seven Capers together with the greatest

Ease imaginable, and that his Scholars twist themselves more ways than

the Scholars of any Master in Town: besides there is Madam Prim, an

Alderman's Lady, recommends a Master of her own Name, but she declares

he is not of their Family, yet a very extraordinary Man in his way;

for besides a very soft Air he has in Dancing, he gives them a

particular Behaviour at a Tea-Table, and in presenting their

Snuff-Box, to twirl, flip, or flirt a Fan, and how to place Patches to

the best advantage, either for Fat or Lean, Long or Oval Faces: for my

Lady says there is more in these Things than the World Imagines. But I

must confess the major Part of those I am concern'd with leave it to

me. I desire therefore, according to the inclosed Direction, you would

send your Correspondent who has writ to you on that Subject to my

House. If proper Application this way can give Innocence new Charms,

and make Virtue legible in the Countenance, I shall spare no Charge to

make my Scholars in their very Features and Limbs bear witness how

careful I have been in the other Parts of their Education.

I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

Rachael Watchful

T.

* * * * *

No. 377. Tuesday, May 13, 1712. Addison.

'Quid quisque vitet, nunquam homini satis

Cautum est in horas--'

Hor.

Love was the Mother of Poetry, and still produces, among the most

ignorant and barbarous, a thousand imaginary Distresses and Poetical

Complaints. It makes a Footman talk like Oroondates, and converts a

brutal Rustick into a gentle Swain. The most ordinary Plebeian or

Mechanick in Love, bleeds and pines away with a certain Elegance and

Tenderness of Sentiments which this Passion naturally inspires.

These inward Languishings of a Mind infected with this Softness, have

given birth to a Phrase which is made use of by all the melting Tribe,

from the highest to the lowest, I mean that of dying for Love.

Romances, which owe their very Being to this Passion, are full of these

metaphorical Deaths. Heroes and Heroines, Knights, Squires, and Damsels,

are all of them in a dying Condition. There is the same kind of

Mortality in our Modern Tragedies, where every one gasps, faints, bleeds

and dies. Many of the Poets, to describe the Execution which is done by

this Passion, represent the Fair Sex as Basilisks that destroy with

their Eyes; but I think Mr. Cowley has with greater Justness of Thought

compared a beautiful Woman to a Porcupine, that sends an Arrow from

every Part. [1]

I have often thought, that there is no way so effectual for the Cure of

this general Infirmity, as a Man's reflecting upon the Motives that

produce it. When the Passion proceeds from the Sense of any Virtue or

Perfection in the Person beloved, I would by no means discourage it; but

if a Man considers that all his heavy Complaints of Wounds and Deaths

rise from some little Affectations of Coquetry, which are improved into

Charms by his own fond Imagination, the very laying before himself the

Cause of his Distemper, may be sufficient to effect the Cure of it.

It is in this view that I have looked over the several Bundles of

Letters which I have received from Dying People, and composed out of

them the following Bill of Mortality, which I shall lay before my Reader

without any further Preface, as hoping that it may be useful to him in

discovering those several Places where there is most Danger, and those

fatal Arts which are made use of to destroy the Heedless and Unwary.

Lysander, slain at a Puppet-show on the third of September.

Thirsis, shot from a Casement in Pickadilly.

T. S., wounded by Zehinda's Scarlet Stocking, as she was

stepping out of a Coach.

Will. Simple, smitten at the Opera by the Glance of an Eye that was

aimed at one who stood by him.

Tho. Vainlove, lost his Life at a Ball.

Tim. Tattle, kill'd by the Tap of a Fan on his left Shoulder by

Coquetilla, as he was talking carelessly with her in a

Bow-window.

Sir Simon Softly, murder'd at the Play-house in Drury-lane by a Frown.

Philander, mortally wounded by Cleora, as she was adjusting her

Tucker.

Ralph Gapely, Esq., hit by a random Shot at the Ring.

F. R., caught his Death upon the Water, April the 31st.

W. W., killed by an unknown Hand, that was playing with the

Glove off upon the Side of the Front-Box in Drury-Lane.

Sir Christopher Crazy, Bart.,

hurt by the Brush of a Whalebone Petticoat.

Sylvius, shot through the Sticks of a Fan at St. James's Church.

Damon, struck thro' the Heart by a Diamond Necklace.

Thomas Trusty,

Francis Goosequill,

William Meanwell,

Edward Callow, Esqrs.,

standing in a Row, fell all four at the same time, by an

Ogle of the Widow Trapland.

Tom. Rattle, chancing to tread upon a Lady's Tail as he came out of

the Play-house, she turned full upon him, and laid him

dead upon the Spot.

Dick Tastewell, slain by a Blush from the Queen's Box in the third Act

of the Trip to the Jubilee.

Samuel Felt, Haberdasher,

wounded in his Walk to Islington by Mrs. Susannah

Crossstich, as she was clambering over a Stile.

R. F.,

T. W.,

S. I.,

M. P., &c., put to Death in the last Birth-Day Massacre.

Roger Blinko, cut off in the Twenty-first Year of his Age by a

White-wash.

Musidorus, slain by an Arrow that flew out of a Dimple in Belinda's

Left Cheek.

Ned Courtly presenting Flavia with her Glove (which she had dropped

on purpose) she receivd it, and took away his Life with a

Curtsie.

John Gosselin having received a slight Hurt from a Pair of blue Eyes,

as he was making his Escape was dispatch'd by a Smile.

Strephon, killed by Clarinda as she looked down into the Pit.

Charles Careless,

shot flying by a Girl of Fifteen, who unexpectedly popped

her Head upon him out of a Coach.

Josiah Wither, aged threescore and three, sent to his long home by

Elizabeth Jet-well, Spinster.

Jack Freelove, murderd by Melissa in her Hair.

William Wiseaker, Gent.,

drown'd in a Flood of Tears by Moll Common.

John Pleadwell, Esq., of the Middle Temple, Barrister at Law,

assassinated in his Chambers the sixth Instant by Kitty Sly, who

pretended to come to him for his Advice.

I.

[Footnote 1:

They are all weapon, and they dart

Like Porcupines from every Part.

Anacreontics, iii.]

* * * * *

No. 378. Wednesday, May 14, 1712. Pope.

'Aggredere, O magnos, aderit jam tempus, honores.'

Virg.

I will make no Apology for entertaining the Reader with the following

Poem, which is written by a great Genius, a Friend of mine, in the

Country, who is not ashamd to employ his Wit in the Praise of his Maker.

[1]

MESSIAH.

A sacred Eclogue, compos'd of several Passages of Isaiah the Prophet.

Written in Imitation of Virgil's POLLIO.

Ye Nymphs of Solyma! begin the Song:

To heav'nly Themes sublimer Strains belong.

The Mossy Fountains, and the Sylvan Shades,

The Dreams of Pindus and th' Aonian Maids,

Delight no more--O Thou my Voice inspire,

Who touch'd Isaiah's [hallow'd [2]] Lips with Fire!

Rapt into future Times, the Bard begun;

A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son!

[Isaiah, From Jesse's Root behold a Branch arise,

Cap. II. Whose sacred Flow'r with Fragrance fills the Skies.

v. 1.] Th' Æthereal Spirit o'er its Leaves shall move,

And on its Top descends the Mystick Dove.

[Cap. 45. Ye Heav'ns! from high the dewy Nectar pour,

v. 8.] And in soft Silence shed the kindly Show'r!

[Cap. 25. The Sick and Weak, the healing Plant shall aid,

v. 4.] From Storms a Shelter, and from Heat a Shade.

All Crimes shall cease, and ancient Fraud shall fail;

[Cap. 9. Returning Justice lift aloft her Scale;

v. 7.] Peace o'er the World her Olive Wand extend,

And white-rob'd Innocence from Heav'n descend.

Swift fly the Years, and rise th' expected Morn!

Oh spring to Light, Auspicious Babe, be born!

See Nature hastes her earliest Wreaths to bring,

With all the Incense of the breathing Spring:

[Cap. 35. See lofty Lebanon his Head advance,

v. 2.] See nodding Forests on the Mountains dance,

See spicy Clouds from lowly Sharon rise,

And Carmels flow'ry Top perfumes the Skies!

[Cap. 40. Hark! a glad Voice the lonely Desart chears;

v. 3, 4.] Prepare the Way! a God, a God appears:

A God! a God! the vocal Hills reply,

The Rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity.

Lo Earth receives him from the bending Skies!

Sink down ye Mountains, and ye Vallies rise!

With Heads declin'd, ye Cedars, Homage pay!

Be smooth ye Rocks, ye rapid Floods give way!

The SAVIOUR comes! by ancient Bards foretold;

[Cap. 42.

v. 18.] Hear him, ye Deaf, and all ye Blind behold!

[Cap. 35. He from thick Films shall purge the visual Ray,

v. 5, 6.] And on the sightless Eye-ball pour the Day.

'Tis he th' obstructed Paths of Sound shall clear,

And bid new Musick charm th' unfolding Ear,

The Dumb shall sing, the Lame his Crutch forego,

And leap exulting like the bounding Roe;

[No Sigh, no Murmur the wide World shall hear,

From ev'ry Face he wipes off ev'ry Tear.

[Cap. 25. In Adamantine Chains shall Death be bound,

v. 8.] And Hell's grim Tyrant feel th' eternal Wound. [3]]

[Cap. 30. As the good Shepherd tends his fleecy Care,

v. xx.] Seeks freshest Pastures and the purest Air,

Explores the lost, the wand'ring Sheep directs,

By day o'ersees them, and by night protects;

The tender Lambs he raises in his Arms,

Feeds from his Hand, and in his Bosom warms:

Mankind shall thus his Guardian Care engage,

The promis'd Father of the future Age. [4]

No more shall Nation against Nation rise, [5]

No ardent Warriors meet with hateful Eyes,

Nor Fields with gleaming Steel be coverd o'er,

The Brazen Trumpets kindle Rage no more;

But useless Lances into Scythes shall bend,

And the broad Falchion in a Plow-share end.

Then Palaces shall rise; the joyful Son [6]

Shall finish what his short-liv'd Sire begun;

Their Vines a Shadow to their Race shall yield,

And the same Hand that sow'd shall reap the Field.

The Swain in barren Desarts with Surprize [7]

Sees Lillies spring, and sudden Verdure rise;

And Starts, amidst the thirsty Wilds, to hear,

New Falls of Water murmuring in his Ear:

On rifted Rocks, the Dragon's late Abodes,

The green Reed trembles, and the Bulrush nods.

Waste sandy Vallies, once perplexd with Thorn, [8]

The spiry Fir and shapely Box adorn:

To leafless Shrubs the flow'ring Palms succeed,

And od'rous Myrtle to the noisome Weed.

The Lambs with Wolves shall graze the verdant Mead [9]

And Boys in flow'ry Bands the Tyger lead;

The Steer and Lion at one Crib shall meet,

And harmless Serpents Lick the Pilgrim's Feet.

The smiling Infant in his Hand shall take

The crested Basilisk and speckled Snake;

Pleas'd, the green Lustre of the Scales survey,

And with their forky Tongue and pointless Sting shall

play.

Rise, crown'd with Light, imperial Salem rise! [10]

Exalt thy tow'ry Head, and lift thy Eyes!

See, a long Race thy spacious Courts adorn; [11]

See future Sons and Daughters yet unborn

In crowding Ranks on ev'ry side arise,

Demanding Life, impatient for the Skies!

See barb'rous Nations at thy Gates attend, [12]

Walk in thy Light, and in thy Temple bend.

See thy bright Altars throng'd with prostrate Kings,

And heap'd with Products of Sabaean Springs! [13]

For thee Idume's spicy Forests blow;

And seeds of Gold in Ophir's Mountains glow.

See Heav'n its sparkling Portals wide display,

And break upon thee in a Flood of Day!

No more the rising Sun shall gild the Morn, [14]

Nor Evening Cynthia fill her silver Horn,

But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior Rays;

One Tide of Glory, one unclouded Blaze

O'erflow thy Courts: The LIGHT HIMSELF shall shine

Reveal'd; and God's eternal Day be thine!

The Seas shall waste, the Skies in Smoke decay; [15]

Rocks fall to Dust, and Mountains melt away;

But fix'd His Word, His saving Pow'r remains:

Thy Realm for ever lasts! thy own Messiah reigns.

T.

[Footnote 1: Thus far Steele.]

[Footnote 2: [hollow'd]]

[Footnote 3:

[Before him Death, the grisly Tyrant, flies;

He wipes the Tears for ever from our Eyes.]

This was an alteration which Steele had suggested, and in which young

Pope had acquiesced. Steele wrote:

I have turned to every verse and chapter, and think you have preserved

the sublime, heavenly spirit throughout the whole, especially at "Hark

a glad voice," and "The lamb with wolves shall graze." There is but

one line which I think is below the original:

He wipes the tears for ever from our eyes.

You have expressed it with a good and pious but not so exalted and

poetical a spirit as the prophet: The Lord God shall wipe away tears

from off all faces. If you agree with me in this, alter it by way of

paraphrase or otherwise, that when it comes into a volume it may be

amended.]

[Footnote 4: Cap. 9. v. 6.]

[Footnote 5: Cap. 2. v. 4.]

[Footnote 6: Cap. 65. v. 21, 22.]

[Footnote 7: Cap 35. v. 1, 7.]

[Footnote 8: Cap. 41. v. 19. and Cap. 55. v. 13.]

[Footnote 9: Cap. 11. v. 6, 7, 8.]

[Footnote 10: Cap. 60. v. 1.]

[Footnote 11: Cap. 60. v. 4.]

[Footnote 12: Cap. 60. v. 3.]

[Footnote 13: Cap. 60. v. 6.]

[Footnote 14: Cap. 60. v. 19, 20.]

[Footnote 15: Cap. 51. v. 6. and Cap. 64. v. 10.]

* * * * *

No. 379. Thursday, May 15, 1712. Budgell.

'Scire tuum nihil est nisi te scire hoc sciat alter.'

Pers.

I have often wondered at that ill-natur'd Position which has been

sometimes maintained in the Schools, and is comprizd in an old Latin

Verse, namely, that A Man's Knowledge is worth nothing, if he

communicates what he knows to any one besides. [1] There is certainly no

more sensible Pleasure to a good-natur'd Man, than if he can by any

means gratify or inform the Mind of another. I might add, that this

Virtue naturally carries its own reward along with it, since it is

almost impossible it should be exercised without the Improvement of the

Person who practices it. The reading of Books, and the daily Occurrences

of Life, are continually furnishing us with Matter for Thought and

Reflection. It is extremely natural for us to desire to see such our

Thoughts put into the Dress of Words, without which indeed we can scarce

have a clear and distinct Idea of them our selves: When they are thus

clothed in Expressions, nothing so truly shews us whether they are just

or false, as those Effects which they produce in the Minds of others.

I am apt to flatter my self, that in the Course of these my

Speculations, I have treated of several Subjects, and laid down many

such Rules for the Conduct of a Man's Life, which my Readers were either

wholly ignorant of before, or which at least those few who were

acquainted with them, looked upon as so many Secrets they have found out

for the Conduct of themselves, but were resolved never to have made

publick.

I am the more confirmed in this Opinion from my having received several

Letters, wherein I am censur'd for having prostituted Learning to the

Embraces of the Vulgar, and made her, as one of my Correspondents

phrases it, a common Strumpet: I am charged by another with laying open

the Arcana, or Secrets of Prudence, to the Eyes of every Reader.

The narrow Spirit which appears in the Letters of these my

Correspondents is the less surprizing, as it has shewn itself in all

Ages: There is still extant an Epistle written by Alexander the Great to

his Tutor Aristotle, upon that Philosopher's publishing some part of his

Writings; in which the Prince complains of his having made known to all

the World, those Secrets in Learning which he had before communicated to

him in private Lectures; concluding, That he had rather excel the rest

of Mankind in Knowledge than in Power. [2]

Luisa de Padilla, a Lady of great Learning, and Countess of Aranda, was

in like manner angry with the famous Gratian, [3] upon his publishing

his Treatise of the Discrete; wherein she fancied that he had laid open

those Maxims to common Readers, which ought only to have been reserved

for the Knowledge of the Great.

These Objections are thought by many of so much weight, that they often

defend the above-mentiond Authors, by affirming they have affected such

an Obscurity in their Style and Manner of Writing, that tho every one

may read their Works, there will be but very few who can comprehend

their Meaning.

Persius, the Latin Satirist, affected Obscurity for another Reason; with

which however Mr. Cowley is so offended, that writing to one of his

Friends, You, says he, tell me, that you do not know whether Persius be

a good Poet or no, because you cannot understand him; for which very

Reason I affirm that he is not so.

However, this Art of writing unintelligibly has been very much improved,

and follow'd by several of the Moderns, who observing the general

Inclination of Mankind to dive into a Secret, and the Reputation many

have acquired by concealing their Meaning under obscure Terms and

Phrases, resolve, that they may be still more abstruse, to write without

any Meaning at all. This Art, as it is at present practised by many

eminent Authors, consists in throwing so many Words at a venture into

different Periods, and leaving the curious Reader to find out the

Meaning of them.

The Egyptians, who made use of Hieroglyphicks to signify several things,

expressed a Man who confined his Knowledge and Discoveries altogether

within himself, by the Figure of a Dark-Lanthorn closed on all sides,

which, tho' it was illuminated within, afforded no manner of Light or

Advantage to such as stood by it. For my own part, as I shall from time

to time communicate to the Publick whatever Discoveries I happen to

make, I should much rather be compared to an ordinary Lamp, which

consumes and wastes it self for the benefit of every Passenger.

I shall conclude this Paper with the Story of Rosicrucius's Sepulchre. I

suppose I need not inform my Readers that this Man was the Founder of

the Rosicrusian Sect, and that his Disciples still pretend to new

Discoveries, which they are never to communicate to the rest of Mankind.

[4]

A certain Person having occasion to dig somewhat deep in the Ground

where this Philosopher lay inter'd, met with a small Door having a Wall

on each side of it. His Curiosity, and the Hopes of finding some hidden

Treasure, soon prompted him to force open the Door. He was immediately

surpriz'd by a sudden Blaze of Light, and discover'd a very fair Vault:

At the upper end of it was a Statue of a Man in Armour sitting by a

Table, and leaning on his Left Arm. He held a Truncheon in his right

Hand, and had a Lamp burning before him. The Man had no sooner set one

Foot within the Vault, than the Statue erecting it self from its leaning

Posture, stood bolt upright; and upon the Fellow's advancing another

Step, lifted up the Truncheon in his Right Hand. The Man still ventur'd

a third Step, when the Statue with a furious Blow broke the Lamp into a

thousand Pieces, and left his Guest in a sudden Darkness.

Upon the Report of this Adventure, the Country People soon came with

Lights to the Sepulchre, and discovered that the Statue, which was made

of Brass, was nothing more than a Piece of Clock-work; that the Floor of

the Vault was all loose, and underlaid with several Springs, which, upon

any Man's entering, naturally produced that which had happend.

Rosicrucius, says his Disciples, made use of this Method, to shew the

World that he had re-invented the ever-burning Lamps of the Ancients,

tho' he was resolvd no one should reap any Advantage from the Discovery.

X.

[Footnote 1: Nil proprium ducas quod mutarier potest.]

[Footnote 2: Aulus Gellius. Noct. Att., Bk xx., ch. 5.]

[Footnote 3: Baltazar Grecian's Discreto has been mentioned before in

the Spectator, being well-known in England through a French translation.

See note on p. 303, ante [Footnote 1 of No. 293]. Gracian, in Spain,

became especially popular as a foremost representative of his time in

transferring the humour for conceits--cultismo, as it was called--from

verse to prose. He began in 1630 with a prose tract, the Hero, laboured

in short ingenious sentences, which went through six editions. He wrote

also an Art of Poetry after the new style. His chief work was the

Criticon, an allegory of the Spring, Autumn, and Winter of life. The

Discreto was one of his minor works. All that he wrote was published,

not by himself, but by a friend, and in the name of his brother Lorenzo,

who was not an ecclesiastic.]

[Footnote 4: Rosicrucius had been made fashionable by the Abbé de

Villars who was assassinated in 1675. His Comte de Gabalis was a popular

little book in the Spectators time. I suppose I need not inform my

readers that there never was a Rosicrucius or a Rosicrucian sect. The

Rosicrucian pamphlets which appeared in Germany at the beginning of the

17th century, dating from the Discovery of the Brotherhood of the

Honourable Order of the Rosy Cross, a pamphlet published in 1610, by a

Lutheran clergyman, Valentine Andreä, were part of a hoax designed

perhaps originally as means of establishing a sort of charitable masonic

society of social reformers. Missing that aim, the Rosicrucian story

lived to be adorned by superstitious fancy, with ideas of mystery and

magic, which in the Comte de Gabalis were methodized into a consistent

romance. It was from this romance that Pope got what he called the

Rosicrucian machinery of his Rape of the Lock. The Abbé de Villars,

professing to give very full particulars, had told how the Rosicrucians

assigned sylphs to the air, gnomes to the earth, nymphs to the water,

salamanders to the fire.]

* * * * *

No. 380. Friday, May 16, 1712. Steele

'Rivalem patienter habe--'

Ovid.

Thursday, May 8, 1712.

SIR,

The Character you have in the World of being the Lady's Philosopher,

and the pretty Advice I have seen you give to others in your Papers,

make me address my self to you in this abrupt Manner, and to desire

your Opinion what in this Age a Woman may call a Lover. I have lately

had a Gentleman that I thought made Pretensions to me, insomuch that

most of my Friends took Notice of it and thought we were really

married; which I did not take much Pains to undeceive them, and

especially a young Gentlewoman of my particular Acquaintance which was

then in the Country. She coming to Town, and seeing our Intimacy so

great, she gave her self the Liberty of taking me to task concerning

it: I ingenuously told her we were not married, but I did not know

what might the Event. She soon got acquainted with the Gentleman, and

was pleased to take upon her to examine him about it. Now whether a

new Face had made a greater Conquest than the old, I'll leave you to

judge: But I am informd that he utterly deny'd all Pretensions to

Courtship, but withal profess'd a sincere Friendship for me; but

whether Marriages are propos'd by way of Friendship or not, is what I

desire to know, and what I may really call a Lover. There are so many

who talk in a Language fit only for that Character, and yet guard

themselves against speaking in direct Terms to the Point, that it is

impossible to distinguish between Courtship and Conversation. I hope

you will do me Justice both upon my Lover and my Friend, if they

provoke me further: In the mean time I carry it with so equal a

Behaviour, that the Nymph and the Swain too are mighty at a loss; each

believes I, who know them both well, think my self revenged in their

Love to one another, which creates an irreconcileable Jealousy. If all

comes right again, you shall hear further from,

SIR,

Your most obedient Servant,

Mirtilla.

April 28, 1712.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

Your Observations on Persons that have behaved themselves irreverently

at Church, I doubt not have had a good Effect on some that have read

them: But there is another Fault which has hitherto escaped your

Notice, I mean of such Persons as are very zealous and punctual to

perform an Ejaculation that is only preparatory to the Service of the

Church, and yet neglect to join in the Service it self. There is an

Instance of this in a Friend of WILL. HONEYCOMB'S, who sits opposite

to me: He seldom comes in till the Prayers are about half over, and

when he has enter'd his Seat (instead of joining with the

Congregation) he devoutly holds his Hat before his Face for three or

four Moments, then bows to all his Acquaintance, sits down, takes a

Pinch of Snuff, (if it be Evening Service perhaps a Nap) and spends

the remaining Time in surveying the Congregation. Now, Sir, what I

would desire, is, that you will animadvert a little on this

Gentleman's Practice. In my Opinion, this Gentleman's Devotion,

Cap-in-Hand, is only a Compliance to the Custom of the Place, and goes

no further than a little ecclesiastical Good-Breeding. If you will not

pretend to tell us the Motives that bring such Triflers to solemn

Assemblies, yet let me desire that you will give this Letter a Place

in your Paper, and I shall remain,

SIR,

Your obliged humble Servant,

J. S.

May the 5th.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

The Conversation at a Club, of which I am a Member, last Night falling

upon Vanity and the Desire of being admired, put me in mind of

relating how agreeably I was entertained at my own Door last Thursday

by a clean fresh-colour'd Girl, under the most elegant and the best

furnished Milk-Pail I had ever observed. I was glad of such an

Opportunity of seeing the Behaviour of a Coquet in low Life, and how

she received the extraordinary Notice that was taken of her; which I

found had affected every Muscle of her Face in the same manner as it

does the Feature of a first-rate Toast at a Play, or in an Assembly.

This Hint of mine made the Discourse turn upon the Sense of Pleasure;

which ended in a general Resolution, that the Milk-Maid enjoys her

Vanity as exquisitely as the Woman of Quality. I think it would not be

an improper Subject for you to examine this Frailty, and trace it to

all Conditions of Life; which is recommended to you as an Occasion of

obliging many of your Readers, among the rest,

Your most humble Servant,

T. B.

SIR,

Coming last Week into a Coffee-house not far from the Exchange with my

Basket under my Arm, a Jew of considerable Note, as I am informed,

takes half a Dozen Oranges of me, and at the same time slides a Guinea

into my Hand; I made him a Curtsy, and went my Way: He follow'd me,

and finding I was going about my Business, he came up with me, and

told me plainly, that he gave me the Guinea with no other Intent but

to purchase my Person for an Hour. Did you so, Sir? says I: You gave

it me then to make me be wicked, I'll keep it to make me honest.

However, not to be in the least ungrateful, I promise you Ill lay it

out in a couple of Rings, and wear them for your Sake. I am so just,

Sir, besides, as to give every Body that asks how I came by my Rings

this Account of my Benefactor; but to save me the Trouble of telling

my Tale over and over again, I humbly beg the favour of you so to tell

it once for all, and you will extremely oblige,

Your humble Servant,

Betty Lemon.

May 12, 1712.

St. Bride's, May 15, 1712.

SIR,

'Tis a great deal of Pleasure to me, and I dare say will be no less

Satisfaction to you, that I have an Opportunity of informing you, that

the Gentlemen and others of the Parish of St. Bride's, have raised a

Charity-School of fifty Girls, as before of fifty Boys. You were so

kind to recommend the Boys to the charitable World, and the other Sex

hope you will do them the same Favour in Friday's Spectator for Sunday

next, when they are to appear with their humble Airs at the Parish

Church of St. Bride's. Sir, the Mention of this may possibly be

serviceable to the Children; and sure no one will omit a good Action

attended with no Expence.

I am, SIR, Your very humble Servant,

The Sexton.

T.

* * * * *

No. 381. Saturday, May 17, 1712. Addison.

'Æquam memento rebus in arduis,

Servare mentem, non secùs in bonis

Ab insolenti temperatam

Lætitiâ, moriture Deli.'

Hor.

I have always preferred Chearfulness to Mirth. The latter, I consider as

an Act, the former as an Habit of the Mind. Mirth is short and

transient. Chearfulness fixed and permanent. Those are often raised into

the greatest Transports of Mirth, who are subject to the greatest

Depressions of Melancholy: On the contrary, Chearfulness, tho' it does

not give the Mind such an exquisite Gladness, prevents us from falling

into any Depths of Sorrow. Mirth is like a Flash of Lightning, that

breaks thro a Gloom of Clouds, and glitters for a Moment; Chearfulness

keeps up a kind of Day-light in the Mind, and fills it with a steady and

perpetual Serenity.

Men of austere Principles look upon Mirth as too wanton and dissolute

for a State of Probation, and as filled with a certain Triumph and

Insolence of Heart, that is inconsistent with a Life which is every

Moment obnoxious to the greatest Dangers. Writers of this Complexion

have observed, that the sacred Person who was the great Pattern of

Perfection was never seen to Laugh.

Chearfulness of Mind is not liable to any of these Exceptions; it is of

a serious and composed Nature, it does not throw the Mind into a

Condition improper for the present State of Humanity, and is very

conspicuous in the Characters of those who are looked upon as the

greatest Philosophers among the Heathens, as well as among those who

have been deservedly esteemed as Saints and Holy Men among Christians.

If we consider Chearfulness in three Lights, with regard to our selves,

to those we converse with, and to the great Author of our Being, it will

not a little recommend it self on each of these Accounts. The Man who is

possessed of this excellent Frame of Mind, is not only easy in his

Thoughts, but a perfect Master of all the Powers and Faculties of his

Soul: His Imagination is always clear, and his Judgment undisturbed: His

Temper is even and unruffled, whether in Action or in Solitude. He comes

with a Relish to all those Goods which Nature has provided for him,

tastes all the Pleasures of the Creation which are poured about him, and

does not feel the full Weight of those accidental Evils which may befal

him.

If we consider him in relation to the Persons whom he converses with, it

naturally produces Love and Good-will towards him. A chearful Mind is

not only disposed to be affable and obliging, but raises the same good

Humour in those who come within its Influence. A Man finds himself

pleased, he does not know why, with the Chearfulness of his Companion:

It is like a sudden Sun-shine that awakens a secret Delight in the Mind,

without her attending to it. The Heart rejoices of its own accord, and

naturally flows out into Friendship and Benevolence towards the Person

who has so kindly an Effect upon it.

When I consider this chearful State of Mind in its third Relation, I

cannot but look upon it as a constant habitual Gratitude to the great

Author of Nature. An inward Chearfulness is an implicit Praise and

Thanksgiving to Providence under all its Dispensations. It is a kind of

Acquiescence in the State wherein we are placed, and a secret

Approbation of the Divine Will in his Conduct towards Man.

There are but two things which, in my Opinion, can reasonably deprive us

of this Chearfulness of Heart. The first of these is the Sense of Guilt.

A Man who lives in a State of Vice and Impenitence, can have no Title to

that Evenness and Tranquillity of Mind which is the Health of the Soul,

and the natural Effect of Virtue and Innocence. Chearfulness in an ill

Man deserves a harder Name than Language can furnish us with, and is

many degrees beyond what we commonly call Folly or Madness.

Atheism, by which I mean a Disbelief of a Supreme Being, and

consequently of a future State, under whatsoever Titles it shelters it

self, may likewise very reasonably deprive a Man of this Chearfulness of

Temper. There is something so particularly gloomy and offensive to human

Nature in the Prospect of Non-Existence, that I cannot but wonder, with

many excellent Writers, how it is possible for a Man to out-live the

Expectation of it. For my own Part, I think the Being of a God is so

little to be doubted, that it is almost the only Truth we are sure of,

and such a Truth as we meet with in every Object, in every Occurrence,

and in every Thought. If we look into the Characters of this Tribe of

Infidels, we generally find they are made up of Pride, Spleen, and

Cavil: It is indeed no wonder, that Men, who are uneasy to themselves,

should be so to the rest of the World; and how is it possible for a Man

to be otherwise than uneasy in himself, who is in danger every Moment of

losing his entire Existence, and dropping into Nothing?

The vicious Man and Atheist have therefore no Pretence to Chearfulness,

and would act very unreasonably, should they endeavour after it. It is

impossible for any one to live in Good-Humour, and enjoy his present

Existence, who is apprehensive either of Torment or of Annihilation; of

being miserable, or of not being at all.

After having mention'd these two great Principles, which are destructive

of Chearfulness in their own Nature, as well as in right Reason, I

cannot think of any other that ought to banish this happy Temper from a

Virtuous Mind. Pain and Sickness, Shame and Reproach, Poverty and old

Age, nay Death it self, considering the Shortness of their Duration, and

the Advantage we may reap from them, do not deserve the Name of Evils. A

good Mind may bear up under them with Fortitude, with Indolence and with

Chearfulness of Heart. The tossing of a Tempest does not discompose him,

which he is sure will bring him to a Joyful Harbour.

A Man, who uses his best endeavours to live according to the Dictates of

Virtue and right Reason, has two perpetual Sources of Chearfulness; in

the Consideration of his own Nature, and of that Being on whom he has a

Dependance. If he looks into himself, he cannot but rejoice in that

Existence, which is so lately bestowed upon him, and which, after

Millions of Ages, will be still new, and still in its Beginning. How

many Self-Congratulations naturally arise in the Mind, when it reflects

on this its Entrance into Eternity, when it takes a View of those

improveable Faculties, which in a few Years, and even at its first

setting out, have made so considerable a Progress, and which will be

still receiving an Increase of Perfection, and consequently an Increase

of Happiness? The Consciousness of such a Being spreads a perpetual

Diffusion of Joy through the Soul of a virtuous Man, and makes him look

upon himself every Moment as more happy than he knows how to conceive.

The second Source of Chearfulness to a good Mind, is its Consideration

of that Being on whom we have our Dependance, and in whom, though we

behold him as yet but in the first faint Discoveries of his Perfections,

we see every thing that we can imagine as great, glorious, or amiable.

We find our selves every where upheld by his Goodness, and surrounded

with an Immensity of Love and Mercy. In short, we depend upon a Being,

whose Power qualifies him to make us happy by an Infinity of Means,

whose Goodness and Truth engage him to make those happy who desire it of

him, and whose Unchangeableness will secure us in this Happiness to all

Eternity.

Such Considerations, which every one should perpetually cherish in his

Thoughts, will banish, from us all that secret Heaviness of Heart which

unthinking Men are subject to when they lie under no real Affliction,

all that Anguish which we may feel from any Evil that actually oppresses

us, to which I may likewise add those little Cracklings of Mirth and

Folly that are apter to betray Virtue than support it; and establish in

us such an even and chearful Temper, as makes us pleasing to our selves,

to those with whom we converse, and to him whom we were made to please.

I.

* * * * *

No. 382. Monday, May 19, 1712. Steele.

'Habes confitentem reum.'

Tull.

I ought not to have neglected a Request of one of my Correspondents so

long as I have; but I dare say I have given him time to add Practice to

Profession. He sent me some time ago a Bottle or two of excellent Wine

to drink the Health of a Gentleman, who had by the Penny-Post advertised

him of an egregious Error in his Conduct. My Correspondent received the

Obligation from an unknown Hand with the Candour which is natural to an

ingenuous Mind; and promises a contrary Behaviour in that Point for the

future: He will offend his Monitor with no more Errors of that kind, but

thanks him for his Benevolence. This frank Carriage makes me reflect

upon the amiable Atonement a Man makes in an ingenuous Acknowledgment of

a Fault: All such Miscarriages as flow from Inadvertency are more than

repaid by it; for Reason, though not concerned in the Injury, employs

all its Force in the Atonement. He that says, he did not design to

disoblige you in such an Action, does as much as if he should tell you,

that tho' the Circumstance which displeased was never in his Thoughts,

he has that Respect for you, that he is unsatisfied till it is wholly

out of yours. It must be confessed, that when an Acknowledgment of

Offence is made out of Poorness of Spirit, and not Conviction of Heart,

the Circumstance is quite different: But in the Case of my

Correspondent, where both the Notice is taken and the Return made in

private, the Affair begins and ends with the highest Grace on each Side.

To make the Acknowledgment of a Fault in the highest manner graceful, it

is lucky when the Circumstances of the Offender place him above any ill

Consequences from the Resentment of the Person offended. A Dauphin of

France, upon a Review of the Army, and a Command of the King to alter

the Posture of it by a March of one of the Wings, gave an improper Order

to an Officer at the Head of a Brigade, who told his Highness, he

presumed he had not received the last Orders, which were to move a

contrary Way. The Prince, instead of taking the Admonition which was

delivered in a manner that accounted for his Error with Safety to his

Understanding, shaked a Cane at the Officer; and with the return of

opprobrious Language, persisted in his own Orders. The whole Matter came

necessarily before the King, who commanded his Son, on foot, to lay his

right Hand on the Gentleman's Stirrup as he sat on Horseback in sight of

the whole Army, and ask his Pardon. When the Prince touched his Stirrup,

and was going to speak, the Officer with an incredible Agility, threw

himself on the Earth, and kissed his Feet.

The Body is very little concerned in the Pleasures or Sufferings of

Souls truly great; and the Reparation, when an Honour was designed this

Soldier, appeared as much too great to be borne by his Gratitude, as the

Injury was intolerable to his Resentment.

When we turn our Thoughts from these extraordinary Occurrences in common

Life, we see an ingenuous kind of Behaviour not only make up for Faults

committed, but in a manner expiate them in the very Commission. Thus

many things wherein a Man has pressed too far, he implicitly excuses, by

owning, This is a Trespass; youll pardon my Confidence; I am sensible I

have no Pretension to this Favour, and the like. But commend me to those

gay Fellows about Town who are directly impudent, and make up for it no

otherwise than by calling themselves such, and exulting in it. But this

sort of Carriage, which prompts a Man against Rules to urge what he has

a Mind to, is pardonable only when you sue for another. When you are

confident in preference of your self to others of equal Merit, every Man

that loves Virtue and Modesty ought, in Defence of those Qualities, to

oppose you: But, without considering the Morality of the thing, let us

at this time behold only the natural Consequence of Candour when we

speak of ourselves.

The SPECTATOR writes often in an Elegant, often in an Argumentative, and

often in a Sublime Style, with equal Success; but how would it hurt the

reputed Author of that Paper to own, that of the most beautiful Pieces

under his Title, he is barely the Publisher? There is nothing but what a

Man really performs, can be an Honour to him; what he takes more than he

ought in the Eye of the World, he loses in the Conviction of his own

Heart; and a Man must lose his Consciousness, that is, his very Self,

before he can rejoice in any Falshood without inward Mortification.

Who has not seen a very Criminal at the Bar, when his Counsel and

Friends have done all that they could for him in vain, prevail upon the

whole Assembly to pity him, and his Judge to recommend his Case to the

Mercy of the Throne, without offering any thing new in his Defence, but

that he, whom before we wished convicted, became so out of his own

Mouth, and took upon himself all the Shame and Sorrow we were just

before preparing for him? The great Opposition to this kind of Candour,

arises from the unjust Idea People ordinarily have of what we call an

high Spirit. It is far from Greatness of Spirit to persist in the Wrong

in any thing, nor is it a Diminution of Greatness of Spirit to have been

in the Wrong: Perfection is not the Attribute of Man, therefore he is

not degraded by the Acknowledgment of an Imperfection: But it is the

Work of little Minds to imitate the Fortitude of great Spirits on worthy

Occasions, by Obstinacy in the Wrong. This Obstinacy prevails so far

upon them, that they make it extend to the Defence of Faults in their

very Servants. It would swell this Paper to too great a length, should I

insert all the Quarrels and Debates which are now on foot in this Town;

where one Party, and in some Cases both, is sensible of being on the

faulty Side, and have not Spirit enough to Acknowledge it. Among the

Ladies the Case is very common, for there are very few of them who know

that it is to maintain a true and high Spirit, to throw away from it all

which it self disapproves, and to scorn so pitiful a Shame, as that

which disables the Heart from acquiring a Liberality of Affections and

Sentiments. The candid Mind, by acknowledging and discarding its Faults,

has Reason and Truth for the Foundation of all its Passions and Desires,

and consequently is happy and simple; the disingenuous Spirit, by

Indulgence of one unacknowledged Error, is intangled with an After-Life

of Guilt, Sorrow, and Perplexity.

T.

* * * * *

No. 383. Tuesday, May 20, 1712. Addison.

'Criminibus debent Hortos--'

Hor.

As I was sitting in my Chamber, and thinking on a Subject for my next

Spectator, I heard two or three irregular Bounces at my Landlady's Door,

and upon the opening of it, a loud chearful Voice enquiring whether the

Philosopher was at Home. The Child who went to the Door answered very

Innocently, that he did not Lodge there. I immediately recollected that

it was my good Friend Sir ROGER'S Voice; and that I had promised to go

with him on the Water to Spring-Garden, in case it proved a good

Evening. The Knight put me in mind of my Promise from the Bottom of the

Stair-Case, but told me that if I was Speculating he would stay below

till I had done. Upon my coming down, I found all the Children of the

Family got about my old Friend, and my Landlady herself, who is a

notable prating Gossip, engaged in a Conference with him; being mightily

pleased with his stroaking her little Boy upon the Head, and bidding him

be a good Child and mind his Book.

We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs, but we were surrounded with

a Crowd of Watermen, offering us their respective Services. Sir ROGER,

after having looked about him very attentively, spied one with a

Wooden-Leg, and immediately gave him Orders to get his Boat ready. As we

were walking towards it, You must know, says Sir ROGER, I never make use

of any body to row me, that has not either lost a Leg or an Arm. I would

rather bate him a few Strokes of his Oar, than not employ an honest Man

that has been wounded in the Queen's Service. If I was a Lord or a

Bishop, and kept a Barge, I would not put a Fellow in my Livery that had

not a Wooden-Leg.

My old Friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed the Boat with

his Coachman, who, being a very sober Man, always serves for Ballast on

these Occasions, we made the best of our way for Fox-Hall. Sir ROGER

obliged the Waterman to give us the History of his Right Leg, and

hearing that he had left it [at La Hogue [1]] with many Particulars

which passed in that glorious Action, the Knight in the Triumph of his

Heart made several Reflections on the Greatness of the British Nation;

as, that one Englishman could beat three Frenchmen; that we could never

be in danger of Popery so long as we took care of our Fleet; that the

Thames was the noblest River in Europe; that London Bridge was a greater

piece of Work, than any of the seven Wonders of the World; with many

other honest Prejudices which naturally cleave to the Heart of a true

Englishman.

After some short Pause, the old Knight turning about his Head twice or

thrice, to take a Survey of this great Metropolis, bid me observe how

thick the City was set with Churches, and that there was scarce a single

Steeple on this side Temple-Bar. A most Heathenish Sight! says Sir

ROGER: There is no Religion at this End of the Town. The fifty new

Churches will very much mend the Prospect; but Church-work is slow,

Church-work is slow!

I do not remember I have any where mentioned, in Sir ROGER'S Character,

his Custom of saluting every Body that passes by him with a Good-morrow

or a Good-night. This the old Man does out of the overflowings of his

Humanity, though at the same time it renders him so popular among all

his Country Neighbours, that it is thought to have gone a good way in

making him once or twice Knight of the Shire. He cannot forbear this

Exercise of Benevolence even in Town, when he meets with any one in his

Morning or Evening Walk. It broke from him to several Boats that passed

by us upon the Water; but to the Knight's great Surprize, as he gave the

Good-night to two or three young Fellows a little before our Landing,

one of them, instead of returning the Civility, asked us what queer old

Put we had in the Boat, and whether he was not ashamed to go a Wenching

at his Years? with a great deal of the like Thames-Ribaldry. Sir ROGER

seemd a little shocked at first, but at length assuming a Face of

Magistracy, told us, That if he were a Middlesex Justice, he would make

such Vagrants know that Her Majesty's Subjects were no more to be abused

by Water than by Land.

We were now arrived at Spring-Garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at

this time of Year. When I considered the Fragrancy of the Walks and

Bowers, with the Choirs of Birds that sung upon the Trees, and the loose

Tribe of People that walked under their Shades, I could not but look

upon the Place as a kind of Mahometan Paradise. Sir ROGER told me it put

him in mind of a little Coppice by his House in the Country, which his

Chaplain used to call an Aviary of Nightingales. You must understand,

says the Knight, there is nothing in the World that pleases a Man in

Love so much as your Nightingale. Ah, Mr. SPECTATOR! the many Moon-light

Nights that I have walked by my self, and thought on the Widow by the

Musek of the Nightingales! He here fetched a deep Sigh, and was falling

into a Fit of musing, when a Masque, who came behind him, gave him a

gentle Tap upon the Shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a Bottle

of Mead with her? But the Knight, being startled at so unexpected a

Familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his Thoughts of the

Widow, told her, She was a wanton Baggage, and bid her go about her

Business.

We concluded our Walk with a Glass of Burton-Ale, and a Slice of

Hung-Beef. When we had done eating our selves, the Knight called a

Waiter to him, and bid him carry the remainder to the Waterman that had

but one Leg. I perceived the Fellow stared upon him at the oddness of

the Message, and was going to be saucy; upon which I ratified the

Knight's Commands with a Peremptory Look.

As we were going out of the Garden, my old Friend, thinking himself

obliged, as a Member of the Quorum, to animadvert upon the Morals of the

Place, told the Mistress of the House, who sat at the Bar, That he

should be a better Customer to her Garden, if there were more

Nightingales, and fewer Strumpets.

[Footnote 1: [in Bantry Bay] In Bantry Bay, on May-day, 1689, a French

Fleet, bringing succour to the adherents of James II., attacked the

English, under Admiral Herbert, and obliged them to retire. The change

of name in the text was for one with a more flattering association. In

the Battle of La Hogue, May 19, 1692, the English burnt 13 of the

enemy's ships, destroyed 8, dispersed the rest, and prevented a

threatened descent of the French upon England.]

* * * * *

No. 384. Wednesday, May 21, 1712. Steele.

Hague, May 24. N. S.

The same Republican Hands, who have so often since the Chevalier de

St. George's Recovery killed him in our publick Prints, have now

reduced the young Dauphin of France to that desperate Condition of

Weakness, and Death it self, that it is hard to conjecture what Method

they will take to bring him to Life again. Mean time we are assured by

a very good Hand from Paris, That on the 2Oth Instant, this young

Prince was as well as ever he was known to be since the Day of his

Birth. As for the other, they are now sending his Ghost, we suppose,

(for they never had the Modesty to contradict their Assertions of his

Death) to Commerci in Lorrain, attended only by four Gentlemen, and a

few Domesticks of little Consideration. The Baron de Bothmar having

delivered in his Credentials to qualify him as an Ambassador to this

State, (an Office to which his greatest Enemies will acknowledge him

to be equal) is gone to Utrecht, whence he will proceed to Hanover,

but not stay long at that Court, for fear the Peace should be made

during his lamented Absence.

Post-Boy, May 20.

I should be thought not able to read, should I overlook some

excellent Pieces lately come out. My Lord Bishop of St.

Asaph has just now published some Sermons, the Preface to which

seems to me to determine a great Point. [1]--He has, like a good

Man and a good Christian, in opposition to all the Flattery and

base Submission of false Friends to Princes, asserted, That

Christianity left us where it found us as to our Civil Rights.

The present Entertainment shall consist only of a Sentence out of

the Post-Boy, and the said Preface of the Lord of St. Asaph. I

should think it a little odd if the Author of the Post-Boy should

with Impunity call Men Republicans for a Gladness on Report of

the Death of the Pretender; and treat Baron Bothmar, the

Minister of Hanover, in such a manner as you see in my Motto.

I must own, I think every Man in England concerned to support

the Succession of that Family.

The publishing a few Sermons, whilst I live, the latest of which was

preached about eight Years since, and the first above seventeen, will

make it very natural for People to enquire into the Occasion of doing

so; And to such I do very willingly assign these following Reasons.

First, From the Observations I have been able to make, for these many

Years last past, upon our publick Affairs, and from the natural

Tendency of several Principles and Practices, that have of late been

studiously revived, and from what has followed thereupon, I could not

help both fearing and presaging, that these Nations would some time or

other, if ever we should have an enterprising Prince upon the Throne,

of more Ambition than Virtue, Justice, and true Honour, fall into the

way of all other Nations, and lose their Liberty.

Nor could I help foreseeing to whose Charge a great deal of this

dreadful Mischief, whenever it should happen, would be laid, whether

justly or unjustly, was not my Business to determine; but I resolved

for my own particular part, to deliver my self, as well as I could,

from the Reproaches and the Curses of Posterity, by publickly

declaring to all the World, That although in the constant Course of my

Ministry, I have never failed, on proper Occasions, to recommend,

urge, and insist upon the loving, honouring, and the reverencing the

Prince's Person, and holding it, according to the Laws, inviolable and

sacred; and paying all Obedience and Submission to the Laws, though

never so hard and inconvenient to private People: Yet did I never

think my self at liberty, or authorized to tell the People, that

either Christ, St. Peter, or St. Paul, or any other Holy Writer, had

by any Doctrine delivered by them, subverted the Laws and

Constitutions of the Country in which they lived, or put them in a

worse Condition, with respect to their Civil Liberties, than they

would have been had they not been Christians. I ever thought it a most

impious Blasphemy against that holy Religion, to father any thing upon

it that might encourage Tyranny, Oppression, or Injustice in a Prince,

or that easily tended to make a free and happy People Slaves and

Miserable. No: People may make themselves as wretched as they will,

but let not God be called into that wicked Party. When Force and

Violence, and hard Necessity have brought the Yoak of Servitude upon a

People's Neck, Religion will supply them with a patient and submissive

Spirit under it till they can innocently shake it off; but certainly

Religion never puts it on. This always was, and this at present is, my

Judgment of these Matters: And I would be transmitted to Posterity

(for the little Share of Time such Names as mine can live) under the

Character of one who lov'd his Country, and would be thought a good

Englishman, as well as a good Clergyman.

This Character I thought would be transmitted by the following

Sermons, which were made for, and preached in a private Audience, when

I could think of nothing else but doing my Duty on the Occasions that

were then offered by God's Providence, without any manner of design of

making them publick: And for that reason I give them now as they were

then delivered; by which I hope to satisfie those People who have

objected a Change of Principles to me, as if I were not now the same

Man I formerly was. I never had but one Opinion of these Matters; and

that I think is so reasonable and well-grounded, that I believe I

never can have any other. Another Reason of my publishing these

Sermons at this time, is, that I have a mind to do my self some

Honour, by doing what Honour I could to the Memory of two most

excellent Princes, and who have very highly deserved at the hands of

all the People of these Dominions, who have any true Value for the

Protestant Religion, and the Constitution of the English Government,

of which they were the great Deliverers and Defenders. I have lived to

see their illustrious Names very rudely handled, and the great

Benefits they did this Nation treated slightly and contemptuously. I

have lived to see our Deliverance from Arbitrary Power and Popery,

traduced and vilified by some who formerly thought it was their

greatest Merit, and made it part of their Boast and Glory, to have had

a little hand and share in bringing it about; and others who, without

it, must have liv'd in Exile, Poverty, and Misery, meanly disclaiming

it, and using ill the glorious Instruments thereof. Who could expect

such a Requital of such Merit? I have, I own it, an Ambition of

exempting my self from the Number of unthankful People: And as I loved

and honoured those great Princes living, and lamented over them when

dead, so I would gladly raise them up a Monument of Praise as lasting

as any thing of mine can be; and I chuse to do it at this time, when

it is so unfashionable a thing to speak honourably of them.

The Sermon that was preached upon the Duke of Gloucester's Death was

printed quickly after, and is now, because the Subject was so

suitable, join'd to the others. The Loss of that most promising and

hopeful Prince was, at that time, I saw, unspeakably great; and many

Accidents since have convinced us, that it could not have been

over-valued. That precious Life, had it pleased God to have prolonged

it the usual Space, had saved us many Fears and Jealousies, and dark

Distrusts, and prevented many Alarms, that have long kept us, and will

keep us still, waking and uneasy. Nothing remained to comfort and

support us under this heavy Stroke, but the Necessity it brought the

King and Nation under, of settling the Succession in the House of

HANNOVER, and giving it an Hereditary Right, by Act of Parliament, as

long as it continues Protestant. So much good did God, in his merciful

Providence, produce from a Misfortune, which we could never otherwise

have sufficiently deplored.

The fourth Sermon was preached upon the Queen's Accession to the

Throne, and the first Year in which that Day was solemnly observed,

(for, by some Accident or other, it had been overlook'd the Year

before;) and every one will see, without the date of it, that it was

preached very early in this Reign, since I was able only to promise

and presage its future Glories and Successes, from the good

Appearances of things, and the happy Turn our Affairs began to take;

and could not then count up the Victories and Triumphs that, for seven

Years after, made it, in the Prophet's Language, a Name and a Praise

among all the People of the Earth. Never did seven such Years together

pass over the head of any English Monarch, nor cover it with so much

Honour: The Crown and Sceptre seemed to be the Queen's least

Ornaments; those, other Princes wore in common with her, and her great

personal Virtues were the same before and since; but such was the Fame

of her Administration of Affairs at home, such was the Reputation of

her Wisdom and Felicity in chusing Ministers, and such was then

esteemed their Faithfulness and Zeal, their Diligence and great

Abilities in executing her Commands; to such a height of military

Glory did her great General and her Armies carry the British Name

abroad; such was the Harmony and Concord betwixt her and her Allies,

and such was the Blessing of God upon all her Counsels and

Undertakings, that I am as sure as History can make me, no Prince of

ours was ever yet so prosperous and successful, so beloved, esteemed,

and honoured by their Subjects and their Friends, nor near so

formidable to their Enemies. We were, as all the World imagined then,

just ent'ring on the ways that promised to lead to such a Peace, as

would have answered all the Prayers of our religious Queen, the Care

and Vigilance of a most able Ministry, the Payments of a willing and

obedient People, as well as all the glorious Toils and Hazards of the

Soldiery; when God, for our Sins, permitted the Spirit of Discord to

go forth, and, by troubling sore the Camp, the City, and the Country,

(and oh that it had altogether spared the Places sacred to his

Worship!) to spoil, for a time, this beautiful and pleasing Prospect,

and give us, in its stead, I know not what--Our Enemies will tell

the rest with Pleasure. It will become me better to pray to God to

restore us to the Power of obtaining such a Peace, as will be to his

Glory, the Safety, Honour, and the Welfare of the Queen and her

Dominions, and the general Satisfaction of all her High and Mighty

Allies.

May 2, 1712.

T.

[Footnote 1: Dr. William Fleetwood, Bishop of St. Asaph, had published

Four Sermons.

1. On the death of Queen Mary, 1694.

2. On the death of the Duke of Gloucester, 1700.

3. On the death of King William, 1701.

4. On the Queen's Accession to the Throne, in 1702, with a Preface.

8vo. London, 1712.

The Preface which, says Dr. Johnson, overflowed with Whiggish

principles, was ordered to be burnt by the House of Commons. This moved

Steele to diffuse it by inserting it in the Spectator, which, as its

author said in a letter to Burnet, conveyed about fourteen thousand

copies of the condemned preface into people's hands that would otherwise

have never seen or heard of it. Moreover, to ensure its delivery into

the Queen's hands the publication of this number is said to have been

deferred till twelve oclock, her Majesty's breakfast hour, that no time

might be allowed for a decision that it should not be laid, as usual,

upon her breakfast table.

Fleetwood was born in 1656; had been chaplain to King William, and in

1706 had been appointed to the Bishopric of St. Asaph without any

solicitation. He was translated to Ely in 1714, and died in 1723.]

* * * * *

No. 385. Thursday, May 22, 1712. Budgell.

'Theseâ pectora juncta fide.'

Ovid.

I intend the Paper for this Day as a loose Essay upon Friendship, in

which I shall throw my Observations together without any set Form, that

I may avoid repeating what has been often said on this Subject.

Friendship is a strong and habitual Inclination in two Persons to

promote the Good and Happiness of one another. Tho' the Pleasures and

Advantages of Friendship have been largely celebrated by the best moral

Writers, and are considered by all as great Ingredients of human

Happiness, we very rarely meet with the Practice of this Virtue in the

World.

Every Man is ready to give in a long Catalogue of those Virtues and good

Qualities he expects to find in the Person of a Friend, but very few of

us are careful to cultivate them in our selves.

Love and Esteem are the first Principles of Friendship, which always is

imperfect where either of these two is wanting.

As, on the one hand, we are soon ashamed of loving a Man whom we cannot

esteem: so, on the other, tho we are truly sensible of a Man's

Abilities, we can never raise ourselves to the Warmths of Friendship,

without an affectionate Good-will towards his Person.

Friendship immediately banishes Envy under all its Disguises. A Man who

can once doubt whether he should rejoice in his Friends being happier

than himself, may depend upon it that he is an utter Stranger to this

Virtue.

There is something in Friendship so very great and noble, that in those

fictitious Stories which are invented to the Honour of any particular

Person, the Authors have thought it as necessary to make their Hero a

Friend as a Lover. Achilles has his Patroclus, and Æneas his Achates. In

the first of these Instances we may observe, for the Reputation of the

Subject I am treating of, that Greece was almost ruin'd by the Hero's

Love, but was preserved by his Friendship.