The Character of Achates suggests to us an Observation we may often make

on the Intimacies of great Men, who frequently chuse their Companions

rather for the Qualities of the Heart than those of the Head, and prefer

Fidelity in an easy inoffensive complying Temper to those Endowments

which make a much greater Figure among Mankind. I do not remember that

Achates, who is represented as the first Favourite, either gives his

Advice, or strikes a Blow, thro' the whole Æneid.

A Friendship which makes the least noise, is very often most useful: for

which reason I should prefer a prudent Friend to a zealous one.

Atticus, one of the best Men of ancient Rome, was a very remarkable

Instance of what I am here speaking. This extraordinary Person, amidst

the Civil Wars of his Country, when he saw the Designs of all Parties

equally tended to the Subversion of Liberty, by constantly preserving

the Esteem and Affection of both the Competitors, found means to serve

his Friends on either side: and while he sent Money to young Marius,

whose Father was declared an Enemy of the Commonwealth, he was himself

one of Sylla's chief Favourites, and always near that General.

During the War between Cæsar and Pompey, he still maintained the same

Conduct. After the Death of Cæsar he sent Money to Brutus in his

Troubles, and did a thousand good Offices to Antony's Wife and Friends

when that Party seemed ruined. Lastly, even in that bloody War between

Antony and Augustus, Atticus still kept his place in both their

Friendships; insomuch that the first, says Cornelius Nepos, whenever he

was absent from Rome in any part of the Empire, writ punctually to him

what he was doing, what he read, and whither he intended to go; and the

latter gave him constantly an exact Account of all his Affairs.

A Likeness of Inclinations in every Particular is so far from being

requisite to form a Benevolence in two Minds towards each other, as it

is generally imagined, that I believe we shall find some of the firmest

Friendships to have been contracted between Persons of different

Humours; the Mind being often pleased with those Perfections which are

new to it, and which it does not find among its own Accomplishments.

Besides that a Man in some measure supplies his own Defects, and fancies

himself at second hand possessed of those good Qualities and Endowments,

which are in the possession of him who in the Eye of the World is looked

on as his other self.

The most difficult Province in Friendship is the letting a Man see his

Faults and Errors, which should, if possible, be so contrived, that he

may perceive our Advice is given him not so much to please ourselves as

for his own Advantage. The Reproaches therefore of a Friend should

always be strictly just, and not too frequent.

The violent Desire of pleasing in the Person reproved, may otherwise

change into a Despair of doing it, while he finds himself censur'd for

Faults he is not Conscious of. A Mind that is softened and humanized by

Friendship, cannot bear frequent Reproaches; either it must quite sink

under the Oppression, or abate considerably of the Value and Esteem it

had for him who bestows them.

The proper Business of Friendship is to inspire Life and Courage; and a

Soul thus supported, outdoes itself: whereas if it be unexpectedly

deprived of these Succours, it droops and languishes.

We are in some measure more inexcusable if we violate our Duties to a

Friend, than to a Relation: since the former arise from a voluntary

Choice, the latter from a Necessity to which we could not give our own

Consent.

As it has been said on one side, that a Man ought not to break with a

faulty Friend, that he may not expose the Weakness of his Choice; it

will doubtless hold much stronger with respect to a worthy one, that he

may never be upbraided for having lost so valuable a Treasure which was

once in his Possession.

X.

* * * * *

No. 386. Friday, May 23, 1712. Steele.

'Cum Tristibus severe, cum Remissis jucunde, cum Senibus graviter, cum

Juventute comiter vivere.'

Tull.

The piece of Latin on the Head of this Paper is part of a Character

extremely vicious, but I have set down no more than may fall in with the

Rules of Justice and Honour. Cicero spoke it of Catiline, who, he said,

lived with the Sad severely, with the Chearful agreeably, with the Old

gravely, with the Young pleasantly; he added, with the Wicked boldly,

with the Wanton lasciviously. The two last Instances of his Complaisance

I forbear to consider, having it in my thoughts at present only to speak

of obsequious Behaviour as it sits upon a Companion in Pleasure, not a

Man of Design and Intrigue. To vary with every Humour in this Manner,

cannot be agreeable, except it comes from a Man's own Temper and natural

Complection; to do it out of an Ambition to excel that Way, is the most

fruitless and unbecoming Prostitution imaginable. To put on an artful

Part to obtain no other End but an unjust Praise from the Undiscerning,

is of all Endeavours the most despicable. A Man must be sincerely

pleased to become Pleasure, or not to interrupt that of others: For this

Reason it is a most calamitous Circumstance, that many People who want

to be alone or should be so, will come into Conversation. It is certain,

that all Men who are the least given to Reflection, are seized with an

Inclination that Way; when, perhaps, they had rather be inclined to

Company: but indeed they had better go home, and be tired with

themselves, than force themselves upon others to recover their good

Humour. In all this the Cases of communicating to a Friend a sad Thought

or Difficulty, in order to relieve [a [1]] heavy Heart, stands excepted;

but what is here meant, is, that a Man should always go with Inclination

to the Turn of the Company he is going into, or not pretend to be of the

Party. It is certainly a very happy Temper to be able to live with all

kinds of Dispositions, because it argues a Mind that lies open to

receive what is pleasing to others, and not obstinately bent on any

Particularity of its own.

This is that which makes me pleased with the Character of my good

Acquaintance Acasto. You meet him at the Tables and Conversations of the

Wise, the Impertinent, the Grave, the Frolick, and the Witty; and yet

his own Character has nothing in it that can make him particularly

agreeable to any one Sect of Men; but Acasto has natural good Sense,

good Nature and Discretion, so that every Man enjoys himself in his

company; and tho' Acasto contributes nothing to the Entertainment, he

never was at a Place where he was not welcome a second time. Without

these subordinate good Qualities of Acasto, a Man of Wit and Learning

would be painful to the Generality of Mankind, instead of being

pleasing. Witty Men are apt to imagine they are agreeable as such, and

by that means grow the worst Companions imaginable; they deride the

Absent or rally the Present in a wrong manner, not knowing that if you

pinch or tickle a Man till he is uneasy in his Seat, or ungracefully

distinguished from the rest of the Company, you equally hurt him.

I was going to say, the true Art of being agreeable in Company, (but

there can be no such thing as Art in it) is to appear well pleased with

those you are engaged with, and rather to seem well entertained, than to

bring Entertainment to others. A Man thus disposed is not indeed what we

ordinarily call a good Companion, but essentially is such, and in all

the Parts of his Conversation has something friendly in his Behaviour,

which conciliates Men's Minds more than the highest Sallies of Wit or

Starts of Humour can possibly do. The Feebleness of Age in a Man of this

Turn, has something which should be treated with respect even in a Man

no otherwise venerable. The Forwardness of Youth, when it proceeds from

Alacrity and not Insolence, has also its Allowances. The Companion who

is formed for such by Nature, gives to every Character of Life its due

Regards, and is ready to account for their Imperfections, and receive

their Accomplishments as if they were his own. It must appear that you

receive Law from, and not give it to your Company, to make you

agreeable.

I remember Tully, speaking, I think, of Anthony, says, That in eo

facetiæ erant, quæ nulla arte tradi possunt: He had a witty Mirth, which

could be acquired by no Art. This Quality must be of the Kind of which I

am now speaking; for all sorts of Behaviour which depend upon

Observation and Knowledge of Life, is to be acquired: but that which no

one can describe, and is apparently the Act of Nature, must be every

where prevalent, because every thing it meets is a fit Occasion to exert

it; for he who follows Nature, can never be improper or unseasonable.

How unaccountable then must their Behaviour be, who, without any manner

of Consideration of what the Company they have just now entered are

upon, give themselves the Air of a Messenger, and make as distinct

Relations of the Occurrences they last met with, as if they had been

dispatched from those they talk to, to be punctually exact in a Report

of those Circumstances: It is unpardonable to those who are met to enjoy

one another, that a fresh Man shall pop in, and give us only the last

part of his own Life, and put a stop to ours during the History. If such

a Man comes from Change, whether you will or not, you must hear how the

Stocks go; and tho' you are ever so intently employed on a graver

Subject, a young Fellow of the other end of the Town will take his

place, and tell you, Mrs. Such-a-one is charmingly handsome, because he

just now saw her. But I think I need not dwell on this Subject, since I

have acknowledged there can be no Rules made for excelling this Way; and

Precepts of this kind fare like Rules for writing Poetry, which, 'tis

said, may have prevented ill Poets, but never made good ones.

T.

[Footnote 1: [an]]

* * * * *

No. 387. [1] Saturday, May 24, 1712. Addison.

'Quid purè tranquillet--'

Hor.

In my last Saturday's Paper I spoke of Chearfulness as it is a Moral

Habit of the Mind, and accordingly mentioned such moral Motives as are

apt to cherish and keep alive this happy Temper in the Soul of Man: I

shall now consider Chearfulness in its natural State, and reflect on

those Motives to it, which are indifferent either as to Virtue or Vice.

Chearfulness is, in the first place, the best Promoter of Health.

Repinings and secret Murmurs of Heart, give imperceptible Strokes to

those delicate Fibres of which the vital parts are composed, and wear

out the Machine insensibly; not to mention those violent Ferments which

they stir up in the Blood, and those irregular disturbed Motions, which

they raise in the animal Spirits. I scarce remember, in my own

Observation, to have met with many old Men, or with such, who (to use

our English Phrase) wear well, that had not at least a certain Indolence

in their Humour, if not a more than ordinary Gaiety and Chearfulness of

Heart. The truth of it is, Health and Chearfulness mutually beget each

other; with this difference, that we seldom meet with a great degree of

Health which is not attended with a certain Chearfulness, but very often

see Chearfulness where there is no great degree of Health.

Chearfulness bears the same friendly regard to the Mind as to the Body:

It banishes all anxious Care and Discontent, sooths and composes the

Passions, and keeps the Soul in a Perpetual Calm. But having already

touched on this last Consideration, I shall here take notice, that the

World, in which we are placed, is filled with innumerable Objects that

are proper to raise and keep alive this happy Temper of Mind.

If we consider the World in its Subserviency to Man, one would think it

was made for our Use; but if we consider it in its natural Beauty and

Harmony, one would be apt to conclude it was made for our Pleasure. The

Sun, which is as the great Soul of the Universe, and produces all the

Necessaries of Life, has a particular Influence in chearing the Mind of

Man, and making the Heart glad.

Those several living Creatures which are made for our Service or

Sustenance, at the same time either fill the Woods with their Musick,

furnish us with Game, or raise pleasing Ideas in us by the

delightfulness of their Appearance, Fountains, Lakes, and Rivers, are as

refreshing to the Imagination, as to the Soil through which they pass.

There are Writers of great Distinction, who have made it an Argument for

Providence, that the whole Earth is covered with Green, rather than with

any other Colour, as being such a right Mixture of Light and Shade, that

it comforts and strengthens the Eye instead of weakning or grieving it.

For this reason several Painters have a green Cloth hanging near them,

to ease the Eye upon, after too great an Application to their Colouring.

A famous modern Philosopher [2] accounts for it in the following manner:

All Colours that are more luminous, overpower and dissipate the animal

Spirits which are employd in Sight; on the contrary, those that are more

obscure do not give the animal Spirits a sufficient Exercise; whereas

the Rays that produce in us the Idea of Green, fall upon the Eye in such

a due proportion, that they give the animal Spirits their proper Play,

and by keeping up the struggle in a just Ballance, excite a very

pleasing and agreeable Sensation. Let the Cause be what it will, the

Effect is certain, for which reason the Poets ascribe to this particular

Colour the Epithet of Chearful.

To consider further this double End in the Works of Nature, and how they

are at the same time both useful and entertaining, we find that the most

important Parts in the vegetable World are those which are the most

beautiful. These are the Seeds by which the several Races of Plants are

propagated and continued, and which are always lodged in Flowers or

Blossoms. Nature seems to hide her principal Design, and to be

industrious in making the Earth gay and delightful, while she is

carrying on her great Work, and intent upon her own Preservation. The

Husbandman after the same manner is employed in laying out the whole

Country into a kind of Garden or Landskip, and making every thing smile

about him, whilst in reality he thinks of nothing but of the Harvest,

and Encrease which is to arise from it.

We may further observe how Providence has taken care to keep up this

Chearfulness in the Mind of Man, by having formed it after such a

manner, as to make it capable of conceiving Delight from several Objects

which seem to have very little use in them; as from the Wildness of

Rocks and Desarts, and the like grotesque Parts of Nature. Those who are

versed in Philosophy may still carry this Consideration higher, by

observing that if Matter had appeared to us endowed only with those real

Qualities which it actually possesses, it would have made but a very

joyless and uncomfortable Figure; and why has Providence given it a

Power of producing in us such imaginary Qualities, as Tastes and

Colours, Sounds and Smells, Heat and Cold, but that Man, while he is

conversant in the lower Stations of Nature, might have his Mind cheared

and delighted with agreeable Sensations? In short, the whole Universe is

a kind of Theatre filled with Objects that either raise in us Pleasure,

Amusement, or Admiration.

The Reader's own Thoughts will suggest to him the Vicissitude of Day and

Night, the Change of Seasons, with all that Variety of Scenes which

diversify the Face of Nature, and fill the Mind with a perpetual

Succession of beautiful and pleasing Images.

I shall not here mention the several Entertainments of Art, with the

Pleasures of Friendship, Books, Conversation, and other accidental

Diversions of Life, because I would only take notice of such Incitements

to a Chearful Temper, as offer themselves to Persons of all Ranks and

Conditions, and which may sufficiently shew us that Providence did not

design this World should be filled with Murmurs and Repinings, or that

the Heart of Man should be involved in Gloom and Melancholy.

I the more inculcate this Chearfulness of Temper, as it is a Virtue in

which our Countrymen are observed to be more deficient than any other

Nation. Melancholy is a kind of Demon that haunts our Island, and often

conveys her self to us in an Easterly Wind. A celebrated French

Novelist, in opposition to those who begin their Romances with the

flow'ry Season of the Year, enters on his Story thus: In the gloomy

Month of November, when the People of England hang and drown themselves,

a disconsolate Lover walked out into the Fields, &c.

Every one ought to fence against the Temper of his Climate or

Constitution, and frequently to indulge in himself those Considerations

which may give him a Serenity of Mind, and enable him to bear up

chearfully against those little Evils and Misfortunes which are common

to humane Nature, and which by a right Improvement of them will produce

a Satiety of Joy, and an uninterrupted Happiness.

At the same time that I would engage my Reader to consider the World in

its most agreeable Lights, I must own there are many Evils which

naturally spring up amidst the Entertainments that are provided for us;

but these, if rightly consider'd, should be far from overcasting the

Mind with Sorrow, or destroying that Chearfulness of Temper which I have

been recommending. This Interspersion of Evil with Good, and Pain with

Pleasure, in the Works of Nature, is very truly ascribed by Mr. Locke,

in his Essay on Human Understanding, to a moral Reason, in the following

Words:

Beyond all this, we may find another Reason why God hath scattered up

and down several Degrees of Pleasure and Pain, in all the things that

environ and affect us, and blended them together, in almost all that

our Thoughts and Senses have to do with; that we finding Imperfection,

Dissatisfaction, and Want of compleat Happiness in all the Enjoyments

which the Creatures can afford us, might be led to seek it in the

Enjoyment of him, with whom there is Fulness of Joy, and at whose

Right Hand are Pleasures for evermore.

L.

[Footnote 1: Numbered by mistake, in the daily issue 388, No. 388 is

then numbered 390; 389 is right, 390 is called 392, the next 391, which

is right, another 392 follows, and thus the error is corrected.]

[Footnote 2: Sir Isaac Newton.]

* * * * *

No. 388. Monday, May 26, 1712. Barr? [1]

'--Tibi res antiquæ Laudis et Artis

Ingredior; sanctos ausus recludere Fontes.'

Virg.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

It is my Custom, when I read your Papers, to read over the Quotations

in the Authors from whence you take them: As you mentiond a Passage

lately out of the second Chapter of Solomon's Song, it occasion'd my

looking into it; and upon reading it I thought the Ideas so

exquisitely soft and tender, that I could not help making this

Paraphrase of it; which, now it is done, I can as little forbear

sending to you. Some Marks of your Approbation, which I have already

receiv'd, have given me so sensible a Taste of them, that I cannot

forbear endeavouring after them as often as I can with any Appearance

of Success.

I am, SIR,

Your most [obedient [2]] humble Servant.

The Second Chapter of Solomon's Song.

I. As when in Sharon's Field the blushing Rose

Does its chaste Bosom to the Morn disclose,

Whilst all around the Zephyrs bear

The fragrant Odours thro' the Air:

Or as the Lilly in the shady Vale,

Does o'er each Flower with beauteous Pride prevail,

And stands with Dews and kindest Sun-shine blest,

In fair Pre-eminence, superior to the rest:

So if my Love, with happy Influence, shed

His Eyes bright Sun-shine on his Lover's Head,

Then shall the Rose of Sharon's Field,

And whitest Lillies to my Beauties yield.

Then fairest Flowers with studious Art combine,

The Roses with the Lillies join,

And their united [Charms are [3]] less than mine.

II. As much as fairest Lillies can surpass

A Thorn in Beauty, or in Height the Grass;

So does my Love among the Virgins shine,

Adorn'd with Graces more than half Divine;

Or as a Tree, that, glorious to behold,

Is hung with Apples all of ruddy Gold,

Hesperian Fruit! and beautifully high,

Extends its Branches to the Sky;

So does my Love the Virgin's Eyes invite:

'Tis he alone can fix their wand'ring Sight,

[Among [4]] ten thousand eminently bright.

III. Beneath this pleasing Shade

My weaned Limbs at Ease I laid,

And on his fragrant Boughs reclined my Head.

I pull'd the Golden Fruit with eager haste;

Sweet was the Fruit, and pleasing to the Taste:

With sparkling Wine he crown'd the Bowl,

With gentle Ecstacies he fill'd my Soul;

Joyous we sate beneath the shady Grove,

And o'er my Head he hung the Banners of his Love.

IV. I faint; I die! my labouring Breast

Is with the mighty Weight of Love opprest:

I feel the Fire possess my Heart,

And pain conveyed to every Part.

Thro' all my Veins the Passion flies,

My feeble Soul forsakes its Place,

A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes,

And Paleness dwells upon my Face;

Oh! let my Love with pow'rful Odours stay

My fainting lovesick Soul that dies away;

One Hand beneath me let him place,

With t'other press me in a chaste Embrace.

V. I charge you, Nymphs of Sion, as you go

Arm'd with the sounding Quiver and the Bow,

Whilst thro' the lonesome Woods you rove,

You ne'er disturb my sleeping Love,

Be only gentle Zephyrs there,

With downy Wings to fan the Air;

Let sacred Silence dwell around,

To keep off each intruding Sound:

And when the balmy Slumber leaves his Eyes,

May he to Joys, unknown till then, arise.

VI. But see! he comes! with what majestick Gate

He onward bears his lovely State!

Now thro' the Lattice he appears,

With softest Words dispels my Fears,

Arise, my Fair-One, and receive

All the Pleasures Love can give.

For now the sullen Winters past,

No more we fear the Northern Blast:

No Storms nor threatning Clouds appear,

No falling Rains deform the Year.

My Love admits of no delay,

Arise, my Fair, and come away.

VII. Already, see! the teeming Earth

Brings forth the Flow'rs, her beauteous Birth.

The Dews, and soft-descending Showers,

Nurse the new-born tender Flow'rs.

Hark! the Birds melodious sing,

And sweetly usher in the Spring.

Close by his Fellow sits the Dove,

And billing whispers her his Love.

The spreading Vines with Blossoms swell,

Diffusing round a grateful Smell,

Arise, my Fair-One, and receive

All the Blessings Love can give:

For Love admits of no delay,

Arise, my Fair, and come away.

VIII. As to its Mate the constant Dove

Flies thro' the Covert of the spicy Grove,

So let us hasten to some lonely Shade,

There let me safe in thy lov'd Arms be laid,

Where no intruding hateful Noise

Shall damp the Sound of thy melodious Voice;

Where I may gaze, and mark each beauteous Grace;

For sweet thy Voice, and lovely is thy Face.

IX. As all of me, my Love, is thine,

Let all of thee be ever mine.

Among the Lillies we will play,

Fairer, my Love, thou art than they,

Till the purple Morn arise,

And balmy Sleep forsake thine Eyes;

Till the gladsome Beams of Day

Remove the Shades of Night away;

Then when soft Sleep shall from thy Eyes depart,

Rise like the bounding Roe, or lusty Hart,

Glad to behold the Light again

From Bether's Mountains darting o'er the Plain.

T.

[Footnote 1: Percy had heard that a poetical translation of a chapter in

the Proverbs, and another poetical translation from the Old Testament,

were by Mr. Barr, a dissenting minister at Morton Hampstead in

Devonshire.]

[Footnote 2: obliged]

[Footnote 3: [Beauties shall be]]

[Footnote 4: [And stands among]]

* * * * *

No. 389. Tuesday, May 27, 1712. Budgell.

'Meliora pii docuere parentes.'

Hor.

Nothing has more surprized the Learned in England, than the Price which

a small Book, intitled Spaccio della Bestia triom fante, [1] bore in a

late Auction. This Book was sold for [thirty [2]] Pound. As it was

written by one Jordanus Brunus, a professed Atheist, with a design to

depreciate Religion, every one was apt to fancy, from the extravagant

Price it bore, that there must be something in it very formidable.

I must confess that happening to get a sight of one of them my self, I

could not forbear perusing it with this Apprehension; but found there

was so very little Danger in it, that I shall venture to give my Readers

a fair Account of the whole Plan upon which this wonderful Treatise is

built.

The Author pretends that Jupiter once upon a Time resolved on a

Reformation of the Constellations: for which purpose having summoned the

Stars together, he complains to them of the great Decay of the Worship

of the Gods, which he thought so much the harder, having called several

of those Celestial Bodies by the Names of the Heathen Deities, and by

that means made the Heavens as it were a Book of the Pagan Theology.

Momus tells him, that this is not to be wondered at, since there were so

many scandalous Stories of the Deities; upon which the Author takes

occasion to cast Reflections upon all other Religions, concluding, that

Jupiter, after a full Hearing, discarded the Deities out of Heaven, and

called the Stars by the Names of the Moral Virtues.

This short Fable, which has no Pretence in it to Reason or Argument, and

but a very small Share of Wit, has however recommended it self wholly by

its Impiety to those weak Men, who would distinguish themselves by the

Singularity of their Opinions.

There are two Considerations which have been often urged against

Atheists, and which they never yet could get over. The first is, that

the greatest and most eminent Persons of all Ages have been against

them, and always complied with the publick Forms of Worship established

in their respective Countries, when there was nothing in them either

derogatory to the Honour of the Supreme Being, or prejudicial to the

Good of Mankind.

The Platos and Ciceros among the Ancients; the Bacons, the Boyles, and

the Lockes, among our own Countrymen, are all Instances of what I have

been saying; not to mention any of the Divines, however celebrated,

since our Adversaries challenge all those, as Men who have too much

Interest in this Case to be impartial Evidences.

But what has been often urged as a Consideration of much more Weight,

is, not only the Opinion of the Better Sort, but the general Consent of

Mankind to this great Truth; which I think could not possibly have come

to pass, but from one of the three following Reasons; either that the

Idea of a God is innate and co-existent with the Mind it self; or that

this Truth is so very obvious, that it is discoverd by the first

Exertion of Reason in Persons of the most ordinary Capacities; or,

lastly, that it has been delivered down to us thro' all Ages by a

Tradition from the first Man.

The Atheists are equally confounded, to which ever of these three Causes

we assign it; they have been so pressed by this last Argument from the

general Consent of Mankind, that after great search and pains they

pretend to have found out a Nation of Atheists, I mean that Polite

People the Hottentots.

I dare not shock my Readers with a Description of the Customs and

Manners of these Barbarians, who are in every respect scarce one degree

above Brutes, having no Language among them but a confused [Gabble [3]]

which is neither well understood by themselves or others.

It is not however to be imagin'd how much the Atheists have gloried in

these their good Friends and Allies.

If we boast of a Socrates, or a Seneca, they may now confront them with

these great Philosophers the Hottentots.

Tho even this Point has, not without Reason, been several times

controverted, I see no manner of harm it could do Religion, if we should

entirely give them up this elegant Part of Mankind.

Methinks nothing more shews the Weakness of their Cause, than that no

Division of their Fellow-Creatures join with them, but those among whom

they themselves own Reason is almost defaced, and who have little else

but their Shape, which can entitle them to any Place in the Species.

Besides these poor Creatures, there have now and then been Instances of

a few crazed People in several Nations, who have denied the Existence of

a Deity.

The Catalogue of these is however very short; even Vanini [4] the most

celebrated Champion for the Cause, professed before his Judges that he

believed the Existence of a God, and taking up a Straw which lay before

him on the Ground, assured them, that alone was sufficient to convince

him of it; alledging several Arguments to prove that 'twas impossible

Nature alone could create anything.

I was the other day reading an Account of Casimir Liszynski, a Gentleman

of Poland, who was convicted and executed for this Crime. [5] The manner

of his Punishment was very particular. As soon as his Body was burnt his

Ashes were put into a Cannon, and shot into the Air towards Tartary.

I am apt to believe, that if something like this Method of Punishment

should prevail in England, such is the natural good Sense of the British

Nation, that whether we rammed an Atheist [whole] into a great Gun, or

pulverized our Infidels, as they do in Poland, we should not have many

Charges.

I should, however, propose, while our Ammunition lasted, that instead of

Tartary, we should always keep two or three Cannons ready pointed

towards the Cape of Good Hope, in order to shoot our Unbelievers into

the Country of the Hottentots.

In my Opinion, a solemn judicial Death is too great an Honour for an

Atheist, tho' I must allow the Method of exploding him, as it is

practised in this ludicrous kind of Martyrdom, has something in it

proper [enough] to the Nature of his Offence.

There is indeed a great Objection against this Manner of treating them.

Zeal for Religion is of so active a Nature, that it seldom knows where

to rest; for which reason I am afraid, after having discharged our

Atheists, we might possibly think of shooting off our Sectaries; and, as

one does not foresee the Vicissitude of human Affairs, it might one time

or other come to a Man's own turn to fly out of the Mouth of a

Demi-culverin.

If any of my Readers imagine that I have treated these Gentlemen in too

Ludicrous a Manner, I must confess, for my own part, I think reasoning

against such Unbelievers upon a Point that shocks the Common Sense of

Mankind, is doing them too great an Honour, giving them a Figure in the

Eye of the World, and making People fancy that they have more in them

than they really have.

As for those Persons who have any Scheme of Religious Worship, I am for

treating such with the utmost Tenderness, and should endeavour to shew

them their Errors with the greatest Temper and Humanity: but as these

Miscreants are for throwing down Religion in general, for stripping

Mankind of what themselves own is of excellent use in all great

Societies, without once offering to establish any thing in the Room of

it; I think the best way of dealing with them, is to retort their own

Weapons upon them, which are those of Scorn and Mockery.

X.

[Footnote 1: The book was bought in 1711 for £28 by Mr. Walter Clavel at

the sale of the library of Mr. Charles Barnard. It had been bought in

1706 at the sale of Mr. Bigot's library with five others for two

shillings and a penny. Although Giordano Bruno was burnt as a heretic,

he was a noble thinker, no professed atheist, but a man of the reformed

faith, who was in advance of Calvin, a friend of Sir Philip Sydney, and

as good a man as Mr. Budgell.]

[Footnote 2: Fifty]

[Footnote 3: Gabling]

[Footnote 4: Vanini, like Giordano Bruno, has his memory dishonoured

through the carelessness with which men take for granted the assertions

of his enemies. Whether burnt or not, every religious thinker of the

sixteenth century who opposed himself to the narrowest views of those

who claimed to be the guardians of orthodoxy was remorselessly maligned.

If he was the leader of a party, there were hundreds to maintain his

honour against calumny. If he was a solitary searcher after truth, there

was nothing but his single life and work to set against the host of his

defamers. Of Vanini's two books, one was written to prove the existence

of a God, yet here is Mr. Budgell calling him the most celebrated

champion for the cause of atheism.]

[Footnote 5: Casimir Lyszynski was a Polish Knight, executed at Warsaw

in 1689, in the barbarous manner which appears to tickle Mr. Budgell's

fancy. It does not appear that he had written anything.]

* * * * *

No. 390. Wednesday, May 28, 1712. Steele.

'Non pudendo sed non faciendo id quod non decet impudentiæ nomen

effugere debemus.'

Tull.

Many are the Epistles I receive from Ladies extremely afflicted that

they lie under the Observation of scandalous People, who love to defame

their Neighbours, and make the unjustest Interpretation of innocent and

indifferent Actions. They describe their own Behaviour so unhappily,

that there indeed lies some Cause of Suspicion upon them. It is certain,

that there is no Authority for Persons who have nothing else to do, to

pass away Hours of Conversation upon the Miscarriages of other People;

but since they will do so, they who value their Reputation should be

cautious of Appearances to their Disadvantage. But very often our young

Women, as well as the middle-aged and the gay Part of those growing old,

without entering into a formal League for that purpose, to a Woman agree

upon a short Way to preserve their Characters, and go on in a Way that

at best is only not vicious. The Method is, when an ill-naturd or

talkative Girl has said any thing that bears hard upon some part of

another's Carriage, this Creature, if not in any of their little Cabals,

is run down for the most censorious dangerous Body in the World. Thus

they guard their Reputation rather than their Modesty; as if Guilt lay

in being under the Imputation of a Fault, and not in a Commission of it.

Orbicilla is the kindest poor thing in the Town, but the most blushing

Creature living: It is true she has not lost the Sense of Shame, but she

has lost the Sense of Innocence. If she had more Confidence, and never

did anything which ought to stain her Cheeks, would she not be much more

modest without that ambiguous Suffusion, which is the Livery both of

Guilt and Innocence? Modesty consists in being conscious of no Ill, and

not in being ashamed of having done it. When People go upon any other

Foundation than the Truth of their own Hearts for the Conduct of their

Actions, it lies in the power of scandalous Tongues to carry the World

before them, and make the rest of Mankind fall in with the Ill, for fear

of Reproach. On the other hand, to do what you ought, is the ready way

to make Calumny either silent or ineffectually malicious. Spencer, in

his Fairy Queen, says admirably to young Ladies under the Distress of

being defamed;

'The best, said he, that I can you advise,

Is to avoid th' Occasion of the Ill;

For when the Cause, whence Evil doth arise,

Removed is, th' Effect surceaseth still.

Abstain from Pleasure, and restrain your Will,

Subdue Desire, and bridle loose Delight:

Use scanted Diet, and forbear your Fill;

Shun Secrecy, and talk in open sight:

So shall you soon repair your present evil Plight. [1]'

Instead of this Care over their Words and Actions, recommended by a Poet

in old Queen Bess's Days, the modern Way is to do and say what you

please, and yet be the prettiest sort of Woman in the World. If Fathers

and Brothers will defend a Lady's Honour, she is quite as safe as in her

own Innocence. Many of the Distressed, who suffer under the Malice of

evil Tongues, are so harmless that they are every Day they live asleep

till twelve at Noon; concern themselves with nothing but their own

Persons till two; take their necessary Food between that time and four;

visit, go to the Play, and sit up at Cards till towards the ensuing

Morn; and the malicious World shall draw Conclusions from innocent

Glances, short Whispers, or pretty familiar Railleries with fashionable

Men, that these Fair ones are not as rigid as Vestals. It is certain,

say these goodest Creatures very well, that Virtue does not consist in

constrain'd Behaviour and wry Faces, that must be allow'd; but there is

a Decency in the Aspect and Manner of Ladies contracted from an Habit of

Virtue, and from general Reflections that regard a modest Conduct, all

which may be understood, tho' they cannot be described. A young Woman of

this sort claims an Esteem mixed with Affection and Honour, and meets

with no Defamation; or if she does, the wild Malice is overcome with an

undisturbed Perseverance in her Innocence. To speak freely, there are

such Coveys of Coquets about this Town, that if the Peace were not kept

by some impertinent Tongues of their own Sex, which keep them under some

Restraint, we should have no manner of Engagement upon them to keep them

in any tolerable Order.

As I am a SPECTATOR, and behold how plainly one Part of Womankind

ballance the Behaviour of the other, whatever I may think of Talebearers

or Slanderers, I cannot wholly suppress them, no more than a General

would discourage Spies. The Enemy would easily surprize him whom they

knew had no Intelligence of their Motions. It is so far otherwise with

me, that I acknowledge I permit a She-Slanderer or two in every Quarter

of the Town, to live in the Characters of Coquets, and take all the

innocent Freedoms of the rest, in order to send me Information of the

Behaviour of their respective Sisterhoods.

But as the Matter of Respect to the World, which looks on, is carried

on, methinks it is so very easie to be what is in the general called

Virtuous, that it need not cost one Hour's Reflection in a Month to

preserve that Appellation. It is pleasant to hear the pretty Rogues talk

of Virtue and Vice among each other: She is the laziest Creature in the

World, but I must confess strictly Virtuous: The peevishest Hussy

breathing, but as to her Virtue she is without Blemish: She has not the

least Charity for any of her Acquaintance, but I must allow rigidly

Virtuous. As the unthinking Part of the Male World call every Man a Man

of Honour, who is not a Coward; so the Crowd of the other Sex terms

every Woman who will not be a Wench, Virtuous.

T.

[Footnote 1: F. Q. Bk VI. canto vi. st. 14.]

* * * * *

No. 391. Thursday, May 29, 1712. Addison.

'--Non tu prece poscis emaci,

Qua nisi seductis nequeas committere Divis:

At bona pars procerum tacitâ libabit acerrâ.

Haud cuivis promptum est, murmurque humilesque susurros

Tollere de Templis; et aperto vivere voto.

Mens bona, fama, fides, hæc clarè, et ut audiat hospes.

Illa sibi introrsum, et sub lingua immurmurat: O si

Ebullit patrui præclarum funus! Et O si

Sub rastro crepet argenti mihi seria dextro

Hercule! pupillumve utinam, quem proximus hæres

Impello, expungam!--'

Pers.

Where Homer [1] represents Phoenix, the Tutor of Achilles, as persuading

his Pupil to lay aside his Resentments, and give himself up to the

Entreaties of his Countrymen, the Poet, in order to make him speak in

Character, ascribes to him a Speech full of those Fables and Allegories

which old Men take Delight in relating, and which are very proper for

Instruction. The Gods, says he, suffer themselves to be prevailed upon

by Entreaties. When Mortals have offended them by their Transgressions,

they appease them by Vows and Sacrifices. You must know, Achilles, that

PRAYERS are the Daughters of Jupiter. They are crippled by frequent

Kneeling, have their Faces full of Cares and Wrinkles, and their Eyes

always cast towards Heaven. They are constant Attendants on the Goddess

ATE, and march behind her. This Goddess walks forward with a bold and

haughty Air, and being very light of foot, runs thro' the whole Earth,

grieving and afflicting the Sons of Men. She gets the start of PRAYERS,

who always follow her, in, order to heal those Persons whom she wounds.

He who honours these Daughters of Jupiter, when they draw near to him,

receives great Benefit from them; but as for him who rejects them, they

intreat their Father to give his Orders to the Goddess ATE to punish him

for his Hardness of Heart. This noble Allegory needs but little

Explanation; for whether the Goddess ATE signifies Injury, as some have

explained it; or Guilt in general, as others; or divine Justice, as I am

the more apt to think; the Interpretation is obvious enough.

I shall produce another Heathen Fable relating to Prayers, which is of a

more diverting kind. One would think by some Passages in it, that it was

composed by Lucian, or at least by some Author who has endeavourd to

imitate his Way of Writing; but as Dissertations of this Nature are more

curious than useful, I shall give my Reader the Fable, without any

further Enquiries after the Author.

Menippus [2] the Philosopher was a second time taken up into Heaven by

Jupiter, when for his Entertainment he lifted up a Trap-Door that was

placed by his Foot-stool. At its rising, there issued through it such

a Din of Cries as astonished the Philosopher. Upon his asking what

they meant, Jupiter told him they were the Prayers that were sent up

to him from the Earth. Menippus, amidst the Confusion of Voices, which

was so great, that nothing less than the Ear of Jove could distinguish

them, heard the Words, Riches, Honour, and Long Life repeated in

several different Tones and Languages. When the first Hubbub of Sounds

was over, the Trap-Door being left open, the Voices came up more

separate and distinct. The first Prayer was a very odd one, it came

from Athens, and desired Jupiter to increase the Wisdom and the Beard

of his humble Supplicant. Menippus knew it by the Voice to be the

Prayer of his Friend Licander the Philosopher. This was succeeded by

the Petition of one who had just laden a Ship, and promised Jupiter,

if he took care of it, and returned it home again full of Riches, he

would make him an Offering of a Silver Cup. Jupiter thanked him for

nothing; and bending down his Ear more attentively than ordinary,

heard a Voice complaining to him of the Cruelty of an Ephesian Widow,

and begging him to breed Compassion in her Heart: This, says Jupiter,

is a very honest Fellow. I have received a great deal of Incense from

him; I will not be so cruel to him as to hear his Prayers. He was

[then] interrupted with a whole Volly of Vows, which were made for the

Health of a tyrannical Prince by his Subjects who pray'd for him in

his Presence. Menippus was surprized, after having listned to Prayers

offered up with so much Ardour and Devotion, to hear low Whispers from

the same Assembly, expostulating with Jove for suffering such a Tyrant

to live, and asking him how his Thunder could lie idle? Jupiter was so

offended at these prevaricating Rascals, that he took down the first

Vows, and puffed away the last. The Philosopher seeing a great Cloud

mounting upwards, and making its way directly to the Trap-Door,

enquired of Jupiter what it meant. This, says Jupiter, is the Smoke of

a whole Hecatomb that is offered me by the General of an Army, who is

very importunate with me to let him cut off an hundred thousand Men

that are drawn up in Array against him: What does the impudent Wretch

think I see in him, to believe that I will make a Sacrifice of so many

Mortals as good as himself, and all this to his Glory, forsooth? But

hark, says Jupiter, there is a Voice I never heard but in time of

danger; tis a Rogue that is shipwreck'd in the Ionian Sea: I sav'd him

on a Plank but three Days ago, upon his Promise to mend his Manners,

the Scoundrel is not worth a Groat, and yet has the Impudence to offer

me a Temple if I will keep him from sinking--But yonder, says he, is a

special Youth for you, he desires me to take his Father, who keeps a

great Estate from him, out of the Miseries of human Life. The old

Fellow shall live till he makes his Heart ake, I can tell him that for

his pains. This was followed by the soft Voice of a Pious Lady,

desiring Jupiter that she might appear amiable and charming in the

Sight of her Emperor. As the Philosopher was reflecting on this

extraordinary Petition, there blew a gentle Wind thro the Trap-Door,

which he at first mistook for a Gale of Zephirs, but afterwards found

it to be a Breeze of Sighs: They smelt strong of Flowers and Incense,

and were succeeded by most passionate Complaints of Wounds and

Torments, Fires and Arrows, Cruelty, Despair and Death. Menippus

fancied that such lamentable Cries arose from some general Execution,

or from Wretches lying under the Torture; but Jupiter told him that

they came up to him from the Isle of Paphos, and that he every day

received Complaints of the same nature from that whimsical Tribe of

Mortals who are called Lovers. I am so trifled with, says he, by this

Generation of both Sexes, and find it so impossible to please them,

whether I grant or refuse their Petitions, that I shall order a

Western Wind for the future to intercept them in their Passage, and

blow them at random upon the Earth. The last Petition I heard was from

a very aged Man of near an hundred Years old, begging but for one Year

more of Life, and then promising to die contented. This is the rarest

old Fellow! says Jupiter. He has made this Prayer to me for above

twenty Years together. When he was but fifty Years old, he desired

only that he might live to see his Son settled in the World; I granted

it. He then begged the same Favour for his Daughter, and afterwards

that he might see the Education of a Grandson: When all this was

brought about, he puts up a Petition that he might live to finish a

House he was building. In short, he is an unreasonable old Cur, and

never wants an Excuse; I will hear no more of him. Upon which, he

flung down the Trap-Door in a Passion, and was resolved to give no

more Audiences that day.

Notwithstanding the Levity of this Fable, the Moral of it very well

deserves our Attention, and is the same with that which has been

inculcated by Socrates and Plato, not to mention Juvenal and Persius,

who have each of them made the finest Satire in their whole Works upon

this Subject. The Vanity of Mens Wishes, which are the natural Prayers

of the Mind, as well as many of those secret Devotions which they offer

to the Supreme Being, are sufficiently exposed by it. Among other

Reasons for set Forms of Prayer, I have often thought it a very good

one, that by this means the Folly and Extravagance of Mens Desires may

be kept within due Bounds, and not break out in absurd and ridiculous

Petitions on so great and solemn an Occasion.

I.

[Footnote 1: Iliad, Bk ix.]

[Footnote 2: Menippus was a Cynic philosopher of Gadara, who made money

in Thebes by usury, lost it, and hanged himself. He wrote satirical

pieces, which are lost; some said that they were the joint work of two

friends, Dionysius and Zopyrus of Colophon, in whom it was one jest the

more to ascribe their jesting to Menippus. These pieces were imitated by

Terentius Varro in Satiræ Menippeæ.]

* * * * *

No. 392. Friday, May 30, 1712. Steele.

'Per Ambages et Ministeria Deorum

Præcipitandus est liber Spiritus.'

Pet.

To the SPECTATOR.

The Transformation of Fidelio into a Looking-Glass.

I was lately at a Tea-Table, where some young Ladies entertained the

Company with a Relation of a Coquet in the Neighbourhood, who had been

discovered practising before her Glass. To turn the Discourse, which

from being witty grew to be malicious, the Matron of the Family took

occasion, from the Subject, to wish that there were to be found

amongst Men such faithful Monitors to dress the Mind by, as we consult

to adorn the Body. She added, that if a sincere Friend were

miraculously changed into a Looking-Glass, she should not be ashamed

to ask its Advice very often. This whimsical Thought worked so much

upon my Fancy the whole Evening, that it produced [a very odd Dream.

[1]]

Methought, that as I stood before my Glass, the Image of a Youth, of

an open ingenuous Aspect, appeared in it; who with a small shrill

Voice spoke in the following manner.

The Looking-Glass, you see, was heretofore a Man, even I, the

unfortunate Fidelio. I had two Brothers, whose Deformity in Shape

was made out by the Clearness of their Understanding: It must be

owned however, that (as it generally happens) they had each a

Perverseness of Humour suitable to their Distortion of Body. The

eldest, whose Belly sunk in monstrously, was a great Coward; and

tho' his splenetick contracted Temper made him take fire

immediately, he made Objects that beset him appear greater than they

were. The second, whose Breast swelled into a bold Relievo, on the

contrary, took great pleasure in lessening every thing, and was

perfectly the Reverse of his Brother. These Oddnesses pleased

Company once or twice, but disgusted when often seen; for which

reason the young Gentlemen were sent from Court to study

Mathematicks at the University.

I need not acquaint you, that I was very well made, and reckoned a

bright polite Gentleman. I was the Confident and Darling of all the

Fair; and if the Old and Ugly spoke ill of me, all the World knew it

was because I scorned to flatter them. No Ball, no Assembly was

attended till I had been consulted. Flavia colour'd her Hair before

me, Celia shew'd me her Teeth, Panthea heaved her Bosom, Cleora

brandished her Diamonds; I have seen Cloe's Foot, and tied

artificially the Garters of Rhodope.

'Tis a general Maxim, that those who doat upon themselves, can have

no violent Affection for another: But on the contrary, I found that

the Women's Passion for me rose in proportion to the Love they bare

to themselves. This was verify'd in my Amour with Narcissa, who was

so constant to me, that it was pleasantly said, had I been little

enough, she would have hung me at her Girdle. The most dangerous

Rival I had, was a gay empty Fellow, who by the Strength of a long

Intercourse with Narcissa, joined to his natural Endowments, had

formed himself into a perfect Resemblance with her. I had been

discarded, had she not observed that he frequently asked my Opinion

about Matters of the last Consequence: This made me still more

considerable in her Eye.

Tho' I was eternally caressed by the Ladies, such was their Opinion

of my Honour, that I was never envy'd by the Men. A jealous Lover of

Narcissa one day thought he had caught her in an Amorous

Conversation; for tho' he was at such a Distance that he could hear

nothing, he imagined strange things from her Airs and Gestures.

Sometimes with a serene Look she stepped back in a listning Posture,

and brightened into an innocent Smile. Quickly after she swelled

into an Air of Majesty and Disdain, then kept her Eyes half shut

after a languishing Manner, then covered her Blushes with her Hand,

breathed a Sigh, and seemd ready to sink down. In rushed the furious

Lover; but how great was his Surprize to see no one there but the

innocent Fidelio, with his Back against the Wall betwixt two

Windows?

It were endless to recount all my Adventures. Let me hasten to that

which cost me my Life, and Narcissa her Happiness.

She had the misfortune to have the Small-Pox, upon which I was

expressly forbid her Sight, it being apprehended that it would

increase her Distemper, and that I should infallibly catch it at the

first Look. As soon as she was suffered to leave her Bed, she stole

out of her Chamber, and found me all alone in an adjoining

Apartment. She ran with Transport to her Darling, and without

Mixture of Fear, lest I should dislike her. But, oh me! what was her

Fury when she heard me say, I was afraid and shockd at so loathsome

a Spectacle. She stepped back, swollen with Rage, to see if I had

the Insolence to repeat it. I did, with this Addition, that her

ill-timed Passion had increased her Ugliness. Enraged, inflamed,

distracted, she snatched a Bodkin, and with all her Force stabbed me

to the Heart. Dying, I preserv'd my Sincerity, and expressed the

Truth, tho' in broken Words; and by reproachful Grimaces to the last

I mimick'd the Deformity of my Murderess.

Cupid, who always attends the Fair, and pity'd the Fate of so useful

a Servant as I was, obtained of the Destinies, that my Body should

be made incorruptible, and retain the Qualities my Mind had

possessed. I immediately lost the Figure of a Man, and became

smooth, polished, and bright, and to this day am the first Favourite

of the Ladies.

T.

[Footnote 1: [so odd a Dream, that no one but the SPECTATOR could

believe that the Brain, clogged in Sleep, could furnish out such a

regular Wildness of Imagination.]

* * * * *

No. 393. Saturday, May 31, 1712. Addison.

'Nescio quâ præter solitum dulcedine læti.'

Virg.

Looking over the Letters that have been sent me, I chanced to find the

following one, which I received about two years ago from an ingenious

Friend, who was then in Denmark.

Copenhagen, May 1, 1710.

Dear Sir,

The Spring with you has already taken Possession of the Fields and

Woods: Now is the Season of Solitude, and of moving Complaints upon

trivial Sufferings: Now the Griefs of Lovers begin to flow, and their

Wounds to bleed afresh. I too, at this Distance from the softer

Climates, am not without my Discontents at present. You perhaps may

laugh at me for a most Romantick Wretch, when I have disclosed to you

the Occasion of my Uneasiness; and yet I cannot help thinking my

Unhappiness real, in being confined to a Region, which is the very

Reverse of Paradise. The Seasons here are all of them unpleasant, and

the Country quite Destitute of Rural Charms. I have not heard a Bird

sing, nor a Brook murmur, nor a Breeze whisper, neither have I been

blest with the Sight of a flow'ry Meadow these two years. Every Wind

here is a Tempest, and every Water a turbulent Ocean. I hope, when you

reflect a little, you will not think the Grounds of my Complaint in

the least frivolous and unbecoming a Man of serious Thought; since the

Love of Woods, of Fields and Flowers, of Rivers and Fountains, seems

to be a Passion implanted in our Natures the most early of any, even

before the Fair Sex had a Being.

I am, Sir, &c.

Could I transport my self with a Wish from one Country to another, I

should chuse to pass my Winter in Spain, my Spring in Italy, my Summer

in England, and my Autumn in France. Of all these Seasons there is none

that can vie with the Spring for Beauty and Delightfulness. It bears the

same Figure among the Seasons of the Year, that the Morning does among

the Divisions of the Day, or Youth among the Stages of Life. The English

Summer is pleasanter than that of any other Country in Europe on no

other account but because it has a greater Mixture of Spring in it. The

Mildness of our Climate, with those frequent Refreshments of Dews and

Rains that fall among us, keep up a perpetual Chearfulness in our

Fields, and fill the hottest Months of the Year with a lively Verdure.

In the opening of the Spring, when all Nature begins to recover her

self, the same animal Pleasure which makes the Birds sing, and the whole

brute Creation rejoice, rises very sensibly in the Heart of Man. I know

none of the Poets who have observed so well as Milton those secret

Overflowings of Gladness which diffuse themselves thro' the Mind of the

Beholder, upon surveying the gay Scenes of Nature: he has touched upon

it twice or thrice in his Paradise Lost, and describes it very

beautifully under the Name of Vernal Delight, in that Passage where he

represents the Devil himself as almost sensible of it.

Blossoms and Fruits at once of golden hue

Appear'd, with gay enamel'd Colours mixt:

On which the Sun more glad impress'd his Beams

Than in fair evening Cloud, or humid Bow,

When God hath shower'd the Earth; so lovely seem'd

That Landskip: And of pure now purer Air

Meets his approach, and to the Heart inspires

Vernal Delight, and Joy able to drive

All Sadness but Despair, &c. [1]

Many Authors have written on the Vanity of the Creature, and represented

the Barrenness of every thing in this World, and its Incapacity of

producing any solid or substantial Happiness. As Discourses of this

Nature are very useful to the Sensual and Voluptuous; those Speculations

which shew the bright Side of Things, and lay forth those innocent

Entertainments which are to be met with among the several Objects that

encompass us, are no less beneficial to Men of dark and melancholy

Tempers. It was for this reason that I endeavoured to recommend a

Chearfulness of Mind in my two last Saturday's Papers, and which I would

still inculcate, not only from the Consideration of our selves, and of

that Being on whom we depend, nor from the general Survey of that

Universe in which we are placed at present, but from Reflections on the

particular Season in which this Paper is written. The Creation is a

perpetual Feast to the Mind of a good Man, every thing he sees chears

and delights him; Providence has imprinted so many Smiles on Nature,

that it is impossible for a Mind, which is not sunk in more gross and

sensual Delights, to take a Survey of them without several secret

Sensations of Pleasure. The Psalmist has in several of his Divine Poems

celebrated those beautiful and agreeable Scenes which make the Heart

glad, and produce in it that vernal Delight which I have before taken

Notice of.

Natural Philosophy quickens this Taste of the Creation, and renders it

not only pleasing to the Imagination, but to the Understanding. It does

not rest in the Murmur of Brooks, and the Melody of Birds, in the Shade

of Groves and Woods, or in the Embroidery of Fields and Meadows, but

considers the several Ends of Providence which are served by them, and

the Wonders of Divine Wisdom which appear in them. It heightens the

Pleasures of the Eye, and raises such a rational Admiration in the Soul

as is little inferior to Devotion.

It is not in the Power of every one to offer up this kind of Worship to

the great Author of Nature, and to indulge these more refined

Meditations of Heart, which are doubtless highly acceptable in his

Sight: I shall therefore conclude this short Essay on that Pleasure

which the Mind naturally conceives from the present Season of the Year,

by the recommending of a Practice for which every one has sufficient

Abilities.

I would have my Readers endeavour to moralize this natural Pleasure of

the Soul, and to improve this vernal Delight, as Milton calls it, into a

Christian Virtue. When we find our selves inspired with this pleasing

Instinct, this secret Satisfaction and Complacency arising from the

Beauties of the Creation, let us consider to whom we stand indebted for

all these Entertainments of Sense, and who it is that thus opens his

Hand and fills the World with Good. The Apostle instructs us to take

advantage of our present Temper of Mind, to graft upon it such a

religious Exercise as is particularly conformable to it, by that Precept

which advises those who are sad to pray, and those who are merry to sing

Psalms. The Chearfulness of Heart which springs up in us from the Survey

of Nature's Works, is an admirable Preparation for Gratitude. The Mind

has gone a great way towards Praise and Thanksgiving, that is filled

with such a secret Gladness: A grateful Reflection on the supreme Cause

who produces it, sanctifies it in the Soul, and gives it its proper

Value. Such an habitual Disposition of Mind consecrates every Field and

Wood, turns an ordinary Walk into a morning or evening Sacrifice, and

will improve those transient Gleams of Joy, which naturally brighten up

and refresh the Soul on such Occasions, into an inviolable and perpetual

State of Bliss and Happiness.

I.

[Footnote 1: Paradise Lost, Bk iv. ll. 148-156.]

* * * * *

No. 394. Monday, June 2, 1712. Steele.

'Bene colligitur hæc Pueris et Mulierculis et Servis et Servorum

simillimis Liberis esse grata. Gravi vero homini et ea quæ fiunt

Judicio certo ponderanti probari posse nullo modo.'

Tull.

I have been considering the little and frivolous things which give Men

Accesses to one another, and Power with each other, not only in the

common and indifferent Accidents of Life, but also in Matters of greater

importance. You see in Elections for Members to sit in Parliament, how

far saluting Rows of old Women, drinking with Clowns, and being upon a

level with the lowest Part of Mankind in that wherein they themselves

are lowest, their Diversions, will carry a Candidate. A Capacity for

prostituting a Man's Self in his Behaviour, and descending to the

present Humour of the Vulgar, is perhaps as good an Ingredient as any

other for making a considerable Figure in the World; and if a Man has

nothing else, or better, to think of, he could not make his way to

Wealth and Distinction by properer Methods, than studying the particular

Bent or Inclination of People with whom he converses, and working from

the Observation of such their Biass in all Matters wherein he has any

Intercourse with them: For his Ease and Comfort he may assure himself,

he need not be at the Expence of any great Talent or Virtue to please

even those who are possessd of the highest Qualifications. Pride in some

particular Disguise or other, (often a Secret to the proud Man himself)

is the most ordinary Spring of Action among Men. You need no more than

to discover what a Man values himself for; then of all things admire

that Quality, but be sure to be failing in it your self in comparison of

the Man whom you court. I have heard, or read, of a Secretary of State

in Spain, who served a Prince who was happy in an elegant use of the

Latin Tongue, and often writ Dispatches in it with his own Hand. The

King shewed his Secretary a Letter he had written to a foreign Prince,

and under the Colour of asking his Advice, laid a Trap for his Applause.

The honest Man read it as a faithful Counsellor, and not only excepted

against his tying himself down too much by some Expressions, but mended

the Phrase in others. You may guess the Dispatches that Evening did not

take much longer Time. Mr. Secretary, as soon as he came to his own

House, sent for his eldest Son, and communicated to him that the Family

must retire out of Spain as soon as possible; for, said he, the King

knows I understand Latin better than he does.

This egregious Fault in a Man of the World, should be a Lesson to all

who would make their Fortunes: But a Regard must be carefully had to the

Person with whom you have to do; for it is not to be doubted but a great

Man of common Sense must look with secret Indignation or bridled

Laughter, on all the Slaves who stand round him with ready Faces to

approve and smile at all he says in the gross. It is good Comedy enough

to observe a Superior talking half Sentences, and playing an humble

Admirer's Countenance from one thing to another, with such Perplexity

that he knows not what to sneer in Approbation of. But this kind of

Complaisance is peculiarly the Manner of Courts; in all other Places you

must constantly go farther in Compliance with the Persons you have to do

with, than a mere Conformity of Looks and Gestures. If you are in a

Country Life, and would be a leading Man, a good Stomach, a loud Voice,

and a rustick Chearfulness will go a great way, provided you are able to

drink, and drink any thing. But I was just now going to draw the Manner

of Behaviour I would advise People to practise under some Maxim, and

intimated, that every one almost was governed by his Pride. There was an

old Fellow about forty Years ago so peevish and fretful, though a Man of

Business, that no one could come at him: But he frequented a particular

little Coffee-house, where he triumphed over every body at Trick-track

and Baggammon. The way to pass his Office well, was first to be insulted

by him at one of those Games in his leisure Hours; for his Vanity was to

shew, that he was a Man of Pleasure as well as Business. Next to this

sort of Insinuation, which is called in all Places (from its taking its

Birth in the Housholds of Princes) making one's Court, the most

prevailing way is, by what better-bred People call a Present, the Vulgar

a Bribe. I humbly conceive that such a thing is conveyed with more

Gallantry in a Billet-doux that should be understood at the Bank, than

in gross Money; But as to stubborn People, who are so surly as to accept

of neither Note or Cash, having formerly dabbled in Chymistry, I can

only say that one part of Matter asks one thing, and another another, to

make it fluent; but there is nothing but may be dissolved by a proper

Mean: Thus the Virtue which is too obdurate for Gold or Paper, shall

melt away very kindly in a Liquid. The Island of Barbadoes (a shrewd

People) manage all their Appeals to Great-Britain, by a skilful

Distribution of Citron-Water among the Whisperers about Men in Power.

Generous Wines do every Day prevail, and that in great Points, where ten

thousand times their Value would have been rejected with Indignation.

But to wave the Enumeration of the sundry Ways of applying by Presents,

Bribes, Management of People, Passions and Affections, in such a Manner

as it shall appear that the Virtue of the best Man is by one Method or

other corruptible; let us look out for some Expedient to turn those

Passions and Affections on the side of Truth and Honour. When a Man has

laid it down for a Position, that parting with his Integrity, in the

minutest Circumstance, is losing so much of his very Self, Self-love

will become a Virtue. By this means Good and Evil will be the only

Objects of Dislike and Approbation; and he that injures any Man, has

effectually wounded the Man of this Turn as much as if the Harm had been

to himself. This seems to be the only Expedient to arrive at an

Impartiality; and a Man who follows the Dictates of Truth and right

Reason, may by Artifice be led into Error, but never can into Guilt.

T.

* * * * *

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES EARL OF SUNDERLAND [1]

My Lord,

Very many Favours and Civilities (received from You in a private

Capacity) which I have no other Way to acknowledge, will, I hope, excuse

this Presumption; but the Justice I, as a Spectator, owe your Character,

places me above the want of an Excuse. Candor and Openness of Heart,

which shine in all your Words and Actions, exacts the highest Esteem

from all who have the Honour to know You, and a winning Condescention to

all subordinate to You, made Business a Pleasure to those who executed

it under You, at the same time that it heightened Her Majesty's Favour

to all who had the Happiness of having it convey'd through Your Hands: A

Secretary of State, in the Interests of Mankind, joined with that of his

Fellow-Subjects, accomplished with a great Facility and Elegance in all

the Modern as well as Ancient Languages, was a happy and proper Member

of a Ministry, by whose Services Your Sovereign and Country are in so

high and flourishing a Condition, as makes all other Princes and

Potentates powerful or inconsiderable in Europe, as they are Friends or

Enemies to Great-Britain. The Importance of those great Events which

happened during that Administration, in which Your Lordship bore so

important a Charge, will be acknowledgd as long as Time shall endure; I

shall not therefore attempt to rehearse those illustrious Passages, but

give this Application a more private and particular Turn, in desiring

Your Lordship would continue your Favour and Patronage to me, as You are

a Gentleman of the most polite Literature, and perfectly accomplished in

the Knowledge of Books and Men, which makes it necessary to beseech Your

Indulgence to the following Leaves, and the Author of them: Who is, with

the greatest Truth and Respect,

My Lord,

Your Lordship's Obliged,

Obedient, and Humble Servant,

THE SPECTATOR.

[Footnote 1: Charles Spencer, to whom the Sixth Volume of the Spectator

is here inscribed, represented Tiverton, in 1700, when he took the Lady

Anne Churchill, Marlborough's second daughter, for his second wife. On

the death of his father Robert, in 1702, he became Earl of Sunderland.

He was an accomplished man and founder of the library at Althorpe. In

1705 he was employed diplomatically at the courts of Prussia, Austria,

and Hanover. Early in 1706 he was one of the Commissioners for arranging

the Union with Scotland, and in September of that year he was forced by

the Whigs on Queen Anne, as successor to Sir Charles Hedges in the

office of Secretary of State. Steele held under him the office of

Gazetteer, to which he was appointed in the following May. In 1710

Sunderland shared in the political reverse suffered by Marlborough. In

the summer of that year Sunderland was dismissed from office, but with

an offer from the Queen of a pension of £3000 a year. He replied that he

was glad her Majesty was satisfied that he had done his duty; but if he

could not have the honour to serve his country, he would not plunder it.

The accession of George I. restored him to favour and influence. He

became Lord-lieutenant of Ireland; had, in 1715, a pension of £12,000 a

year settled on him; in April, 1717, was again Secretary of State; and

in the following March, Lord President of the Council. His political

influence was broken in 1721, the year before his death.]

* * * * *

No. 395. Tuesday, June 3, 1712. Budgell.

'Quod nunc ratio est, Impetus ante fuit.'

Ovid.

Beware of the Ides of March, said the Roman Augur to Julius Cæsar:

Beware of the Month of May, says the British Spectator to his fair

Country-women. The Caution of the first was unhappily neglected, and

Cæsar's Confidence cost him his Life. I am apt to flatter my self that

my pretty Readers had much more regard to the Advice I gave them, since

I have yet received very few Accounts of any notorious Trips made in the

last Month.

But tho' I hope for the best, I shall not pronounce too positively on

this point, till I have seen forty Weeks well over, at which Period of

Time, as my good Friend Sir ROGER has often told me, he has more

Business as a Justice of Peace, among the dissolute young People in the

Country, than at any other Season of the Year.

Neither must I forget a Letter which I received near a Fortnight since

from a Lady, who, it seems, could hold out no longer, telling me she

looked upon the Month as then out, for that she had all along reckoned

by the New Style.

On the other hand, I have great reason to believe, from several angry

Letters which have been sent to me by disappointed Lovers, that my

Advice has been of very signal Service to the fair Sex, who, according

to the old Proverb, were Forewarned forearm'd.

One of these Gentlemen tells me, that he would have given me an hundred

Pounds, rather than I should have publishd that Paper; for that his

Mistress, who had promised to explain herself to him about the Beginning

of May, upon reading that Discourse told him that she would give him her

Answer in June.

Thyrsis acquaints me, that when he desired Sylvia to take a Walk in the

Fields, she told him the Spectator had forbidden her.

Another of my Correspondents, who writes himself Mat Meager, complains,

that whereas he constantly used to Breakfast with his Mistress upon

Chocolate, going to wait upon her the first of May he found his usual

Treat very much changed for the worse, and has been forced to feed ever

since upon Green Tea.

As I begun this Critical Season with a Caveat to the Ladies, I shall

conclude it with a Congratulation, and do most heartily wish them Joy of

their happy Deliverance.

They may now reflect with Pleasure on the Dangers they have escaped, and

look back with as much Satisfaction on their Perils that threat'ned

them, as their Great-Grandmothers did formerly on the Burning

Plough-shares, after having passed through the Ordeal Tryal. The

Instigations of the Spring are now abated. The Nightingale gives over

her Love-labourd Song, as Milton phrases it, the Blossoms are fallen,

and the Beds of Flowers swept away by the Scythe of the Mower.

I shall now allow my Fair Readers to return to their Romances and

Chocolate, provided they make use of them with Moderation, till about

the middle of the Month, when the Sun shall have made some Progress in

the Crab. Nothing is more dangerous, than too much Confidence and

Security. The Trojans, who stood upon their Guard all the while the

Grecians lay before their City, when they fancied the Siege was raised,

and the Danger past, were the very next Night burnt in their Beds: I

must also observe, that as in some Climates there is a perpetual Spring,

so in some Female Constitutions there is a perpetual May: These are a

kind of Valetudinarians in Chastity, whom I would continue in a constant

Diet. I cannot think these wholly out of Danger, till they have looked

upon the other Sex at least Five Years through a Pair of Spectacles.

WILL. HONEYCOMB has often assured me, that its much easier to steal one

of this Species, when she has passed her grand Climacterick, than to

carry off an icy Girl on this side Five and Twenty; and that a Rake of

his Acquaintance, who had in vain endeavoured to gain the Affections of

a young Lady of Fifteen, had at last made his Fortune by running away

with her Grandmother.

But as I do not design this Speculation for the Evergreens of the Sex, I

shall again apply my self to those who would willingly listen to the

Dictates of Reason and Virtue, and can now hear me in cold Blood. If

there are any who have forfeited their Innocence, they must now consider

themselves under that Melancholy View, in which Chamont regards his

Sister, in those beautiful Lines.

--Long she flourish'd,

Grew sweet to Sense, and lovely to the Eye;

Till at the last a cruel Spoiler came,

Cropt this fair Rose, and rifled all its Sweetness;

Then cast it like a loathsome Weed away. [1]

On the contrary, she who has observed the timely Cautions I gave her,

and lived up to the Rules of Modesty, will now Flourish like a Rose in

June, with all her Virgin Blushes and Sweetness about her: I must,

however, desire these last to consider, how shameful it would be for a

General, who has made a Successful Campaign, to be surprized in his

Winter Quarters: It would be no less dishonourable for a Lady to lose in

any other Month of the Year, what she has been at the pains to preserve

in May.

There is no Charm in the Female Sex, that can supply the place of

Virtue. Without Innocence, Beauty is unlovely, and Quality contemptible,

Good-breeding degenerates into Wantonness, and Wit into Impudence. It is

observed, that all the Virtues are represented by both Painters and

Statuaries under Female Shapes, but if any one of them has a more

particular Title to that Sex, it is Modesty. I shall leave it to the

Divines to guard them against the opposite Vice, as they may be

overpowerd by Temptations; It is sufficient for me to have warned them

against it, as they may be led astray by Instinct.

I desire this Paper may be read with more than ordinary Attention, at

all Tea-Tables within the Cities of London and Westminster.

X.

[Footnote 1: Otway's Orphan, Act IV.]

* * * * *

No. 396. Wednesday, June 4, 1712. Henley.

'Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton.'

To Mr. SPECTATOR. [1]

From St. John's College Cambridge, Feb. 3, 1712.

SIR,

The Monopoly of Punns in this University has been an immemorial

Privilege of the Johnians; and we can't help resenting the late

Invasion of our ancient Right as to that Particular, by a little

Pretender to Clenching in a neighbouring College, who in an

Application to you by way of Letter, a while ago, styled himself

Philobrune. Dear Sir, as you are by Character a profest Well-wisher to

Speculation, you will excuse a Remark which this Gentleman's Passion

for the Brunette has suggested to a Brother Theorist; 'tis an Offer

towards a mechanical Account of his Lapse to Punning, for he belongs

to a Set of Mortals who value themselves upon an uncommon Mastery in

the more humane and polite Part of Letters. A Conquest by one of this

Species of Females gives a very odd Turn to the Intellectuals of the

captivated Person, and very different from that way of thinking which

a Triumph from the Eyes of another more emphatically of the fair Sex,

does generally occasion. It fills the Imagination with an Assemblage

of such Ideas and Pictures as are hardly any thing but Shade, such as

Night, the Devil, &c. These Portraitures very near over-power the

Light of the Understanding, almost benight the Faculties, and give

that melancholy Tincture to the most sanguine Complexion, which this

Gentleman calls an Inclination to be in a Brown-study, and is usually

attended with worse Consequences in case of a Repulse. During this

Twilight of Intellects, the Patient is extremely apt, as Love is the

most witty Passion in Nature, to offer at some pert Sallies now and

then, by way of Flourish, upon the amiable Enchantress, and

unfortunately stumbles upon that Mongrel miscreated (to speak in

Miltonic) kind of Wit, vulgarly termed, the Punn. It would not be much

amiss to consult Dr. T--W--[2] (who is certainly a very able

Projector, and whose system of Divinity and spiritual Mechanicks

obtains very much among the better Part of our Under-Graduates)

whether a general Intermarriage, enjoyned by Parliament, between this

Sisterhood of the Olive Beauties, and the Fraternity of the People

call'd Quakers, would not be a very serviceable Expedient, and abate

that Overflow of Light which shines within them so powerfully, that it

dazzles their Eyes, and dances them into a thousand Vagaries of Error

and Enthusiasm. These Reflections may impart some Light towards a

Discovery of the Origin of Punning among us, and the Foundation of its

prevailing so long in this famous Body. Tis notorious from the

Instance under Consideration, that it must be owing chiefly to the use

of brown Juggs, muddy Belch, and the Fumes of a certain memorable

Place of Rendezvous with us at Meals, known by the Name of Staincoat

Hole: For the Atmosphere of the Kitchen, like the Tail of a Comet,

predominates least about the Fire, but resides behind and fills the

fragrant Receptacle above-mentioned. Besides, 'tis farther observable

that the delicate Spirits among us, who declare against these nauseous

proceedings, sip Tea, and put up for Critic and Amour, profess

likewise an equal Abhorrency for Punning, the ancient innocent

Diversion of this Society. After all, Sir, tho' it may appear

something absurd, that I seem to approach you with the Air of an

Advocate for Punning, (you who have justified your Censures of the

Practice in a set Dissertation upon that Subject;) yet, I'm confident,

you'll think it abundantly atoned for by observing, that this humbler

Exercise may be as instrumental in diverting us from any innovating

Schemes and Hypothesis in Wit. as dwelling upon honest Orthodox Logic

would be in securing us from Heresie in Religion. Had Mr. W--n's [3]

Researches been confined within the Bounds of Ramus or Crackanthorp,

that learned News-monger might have acquiesced in what the holy

Oracles pronounce upon the Deluge, like other Christians; and had the

surprising Mr. L--y[4] been content with the Employment of refining

upon Shakespear's Points and Quibbles, (for which he must be allowed

to have a superlative Genius) and now and then penning a Catch or a

Ditty, instead of inditing Odes, and Sonnets, the Gentlemen of the Bon

Goust in the Pit would never have been put to all that Grimace in

damning the Frippery of State, the Poverty and Languor of Thought, the

unnatural Wit, and inartificial Structure of his Dramas.

I am, SIR,

Your very humble Servant,

Peter de Quir.

[Footnote 1: This letter was by John Henley, commonly called Orator

Henley. The paper is without signature in first issue or reprint, but

the few introductory lines, doubtless, are by Steele. John Henley was at

this time but 20 years old. He was born at Melton Mowbray in 1692, and

entered St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1709. After obtaining his

degree he was invited to take charge of the Grammar School in his native

place, and raised it from decay. He published Esther, a poem; went to

London; introduced action into pulpit oratory; missing preferment, gave

lectures and orations, religious on Sundays, and political on

Wednesdays; was described by Pope in the Dunciad as the Zany of his age,

and represented by Hogarth upon a scaffold with a monkey by his side

saying Amen. He edited a paper of nonsense called the Hip Doctor, and

once attracted to his oratory an audience of shoemakers by announcing

that he would teach a new and short way of making shoes; his way being

to cut off the tops of boots. He died in 1756.]

[Footnote 2: Percy suggests very doubtfully that this may mean Thomas

Woolston, who was bom in 1669, educated at Sidney College, Cambridge,

published, in 1705, The Old Apology for the Truth against the Jews and

Gentiles revived, and afterwards was imprisoned and fined for levity in

discussing sacred subjects. The text points to a medical theory of

intermarriage. There was a Thomas Winston, of Clare Hall, Cambridge, who

travelled over the continent, took degrees at Basle and Padua, returned

to take his M.D. at Cambridge, and settled in London in 1607.]

[Footnote 3: William Whiston, born 1667, educated at Tamworth School and

Clare Hall, Cambridge, became a Fellow in 1693, and then Chaplain to

Bishop Moore. In 1696 he published his New Theory of the Earth, which

divided attention with Burnet's Sacred Theory of the Earth already

mentioned. In 1700 Whiston was invited to Cambridge, to act as deputy to

Sir Isaac Newton, whom he succeeded in 1703 as Lucasian Professor. For

holding some unorthodox opinions as to the doctrines of the early

Christians, he was, in 1710, deprived of his Professorship, and banished

from the University. He was a pious and learned man, who, although he

was denied the Sacrament, did not suffer himself to be driven out of the

Church of England till 1747. At last he established a small congregation

in his own house in accordance with his own notion of primitive

Christianity. He lived till 1752.]

[Footnote 4: No L--y of that time has written plays that are remembered.

The John Lacy whom Charles II. admired so much that he had his picture

painted in three of his characters, died in 1681, leaving four comedies

and an alteration of Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. He was a

handsome man: first dancing-master, then quarter-master, then an admired

comedian. Henley would hardly have used a blank in referring to a

well-known writer who died thirty years before. There was another John

Lacy advertising in the Post Boy, Aug. 3, 1714, The Steeleids, or the

Trial of Wits, a Poem in three cantos, with a motto:

Then will I say, swelled with poetic rage,

That I, John Lacy, have reformed the age.]

* * * * *

No. 397. Thursday, June 5, 1712. Addison.

'--Dolor ipse disertum

Fecerat--'

Ovid.

As the Stoick Philosophers discard all Passions in general, they will

not allow a Wise Man so much as to pity the Afflictions of another. If

thou seest thy Friend in Trouble, says Epictetus, thou mayst put on a

Look of Sorrow, and condole with him, but take care that thy Sorrow be

not real. [1] The more rigid of this Sect would not comply so far as to

shew even such an outward Appearance of Grief, but when one told them of

any Calamity that had befallen even the nearest of their Acquaintance,

would immediately reply, What is that to me? If you aggravated the

Circumstances of the Affliction, and shewed how one Misfortune was

followed by another, the Answer was still, All this may be true, but

what is it to me?

For my own part, I am of Opinion, Compassion does not only refine and

civilize Humane Nature, but has something in it more pleasing and

agreeable than what can be met with in such an indolent Happiness, such

an Indifference to Mankind as that in which the Stoicks placed their

Wisdom. As Love is the most delightful Passion, Pity is nothing else but

Love softned by a degree of Sorrow: In short, it is a kind of pleasing

Anguish, as well as generous Sympathy, that knits Mankind together, and

blends them in the same common Lot.

Those who have laid down Rules for Rhetorick or Poetry, advise the

Writer to work himself up, if possible, to the Pitch of Sorrow which he

endeavours to produce in others. There are none therefore who stir up

Pity so much as those who indite their own Sufferings. Grief has a

natural Eloquence belonging to it, and breaks out in more moving

Sentiments than be supplied by the finest Imagination. Nature on this

Occasion dictates a thousand passionate things which cannot be supplied

by Art.

It is for this Reason that the short Speeches, or Sentences which we

often meet with in Histories, make a deeper Impression on the Mind of

the Reader, than the most laboured Strokes in a well-written Tragedy.

Truth and Matter of Fact sets the Person actually before us in the one,

whom Fiction places at a greater Distance from us in the other. I do not

remember to have seen any Ancient or Modern Story more affecting than a

Letter of Ann of Bologne, Wife to King Henry the Eighth, and Mother to

Queen Elizabeth, which is still extant in the Cotton Library, as written

by her own Hand.

Shakespear himself could not have made her talk in a Strain so suitable

to her Condition and Character. One sees in it the Expostulations of a

slighted Lover, the Resentments of an injured Woman, and the Sorrows of

an imprisoned Queen. I need not acquaint my Reader that this Princess

was then under Prosecution for Disloyalty to the King's Bed, and that

she was afterwards publickly beheaded upon the same Account, though this

Prosecution was believed by many to proceed, as she her self intimates,

rather from the King's Love to Jane Seymour than from any actual Crime

in Ann of Bologne.

Queen Ann Boleyn's last Letter to King Henry.

[Cotton Libr. Otho C. 10.]

SIR,

Your Grace's Displeasure, and my Imprisonment, are Things so strange

unto me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether

ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me to confess a Truth, and

so obtain your Favour) by such an one, whom you know to be mine

ancient professed Enemy, I no sooner received this Message by him,

than I rightly conceived your Meaning; and if, as you say, confessing

a Truth indeed may procure my Safety, I shall with all Willingness and

Duty perform your Command.

But let not your Grace ever imagine, that your poor Wife will ever be

brought to acknowledge a Fault, where not so much as a Thought thereof

preceded. And to speak a Truth, never Prince had Wife more Loyal in

all Duty, and in all true Affection, than you have ever found in Ann

Boleyn: with which Name and Place I could willingly have contented my

self, if God and your Grace's Pleasure had been so pleased. Neither

did I at any time so far forget my self in my Exaltation, or received

Queenship, but that I always looked for such an Alteration as now I

find; for the Ground of my Preferment being on no surer Foundation

than your Grace's Fancy, the least Alteration I knew was fit and

sufficient to draw that Fancy to some other [Object. [2]] You have

chosen me, from a low Estate, to be your Queen and Companion, far

beyond my Desert or Desire. If then you found me worthy of such

Honour, good your Grace let not any light Fancy, or bad Counsel of

mine Enemies, withdraw your Princely Favour from me; neither let that

Stain, that unworthy Stain, of a Disloyal Heart towards your good

Grace, ever cast so foul a Blot on your most Dutiful Wife, and the

Infant-Princess your Daughter. Try me, good King, but let me have a

lawful Tryal, and let not my sworn Enemies sit as my Accusers and

Judges; Yea let me receive an open Tryal, for my Truth shall fear no

open Shame; then shall you see either mine Innocence cleared, your

Suspicion and Conscience satisfied, the Ignominy and Slander of the

World stopped, or my Guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or

you may determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open Censure,

and mine Offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty,

both before God and Man, not only to Execute worthy Punishment on me

as an unlawful Wife, but to follow your Affection, already settled on

that Party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose Name I could some

good while since have pointed unto, your Grace being not ignorant of

my Suspicion therein.

But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my Death,

but an Infamous Slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired

Happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your great Sin

therein, and likewise mine Enemies, the Instruments thereof; and that

he will not call you to a strict Account for your unprincely and cruel

Usage of me, at his general Judgment Seat, where both you and my self

must shortly appear, and in whose Judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the

World may think of me) mine Innocence shall be openly known, and

sufficiently cleared.

My last and only Request shall be, that my self may only bear the

Burthen of your Grace's Displeasure, and that it may not touch the

innocent Souls of those poor Gentlemen, who (as I understand) are

likewise in strait Imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found

Favour in your Sight, if ever the Name of Ann Boleyn hath been

pleasing in your Ears, then let me obtain this Request, and I will so

leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest Prayers to

the Trinity to have your Grace in his good Keeping, and to direct you

in all your Actions. From my doleful Prison in the Tower, this sixth

of May;

Your most Loyal,

And ever Faithful Wife,

Ann Boleyn.

[Footnote 1:

When you see a Neighbour in Tears, and hear him lament the Absence of

his Son, the Hazards of his Voyage into some remote Part of the World,

or the Loss of his Estate; keep upon your Guard, for fear lest some

false Ideas that may rise upon these Occasions, surprise you into a

Mistake, as if this Man were really miserable, upon the Account of

these outward Accidents. But be sure to distinguish wisely, and tell

your self immediately, that the Thing which really afflicts this

Person is not really the Accident it self, (for other People, under

his Circumstances, are not equally afflicted with it) but merely the

Opinion which he hath formed to himself concerning this Accident.

Notwithstanding all which, you may be allowed, as far as Expressions

and outward Behaviour go, to comply with him; and if Occasion require,

to bear a part in his Sighs, and Tears too; but then you must be sure

to take care, that this Compliance does not infect your Mind, nor

betray you to an inward and real Sorrow, upon any such

Account.

Epictetus his Morals, with Simplicius his Comment.

Made English from the Greek by George Stanhope (1694) chapter xxii.]

[Footnote 2: Subject.]

* * * * *

No. 398. Friday, June 6, 1712. Steele.

'Insanire pares certa ratione modoque.'

Hor.

Cynthio and Flavia are Persons of Distinction in this Town, who have

been Lovers these ten Months last past, and writ to each other for

Gallantry Sake, under those feigned Names; Mr. Such a one and Mrs. Such

a one not being capable of raising the Soul out of the ordinary Tracts

and Passages of Life, up to that Elevation which makes the Life of the

Enamoured so much superior to that of the rest of the World. But ever

since the beauteous Cecilia has made such a Figure as she now does in

the Circle of Charming Women, Cynthio has been secretly one of her

Adorers. Lætitia has been the finest Woman in Town these three Months,

and so long Cynthio has acted the Part of a Lover very awkwardly in the

Presence of Flavia. Flavia has been too blind towards him, and has too

sincere an Heart of her own to observe a thousand things which would

have discovered this Change of Mind to any one less engaged than she

was. Cynthio was musing Yesterday in the Piazza in Covent-Garden, and

was saying to himself that he was a very ill Man to go on in visiting

and professing Love to Flavia, when his Heart was enthralled to another.

It is an Infirmity that I am not constant to Flavia; but it would be

still a greater Crime, since I cannot continue to love her, to profess

that I do. To marry a Woman with the Coldness that usually indeed comes

on after Marriage, is ruining one's self with one's Eyes open; besides

it is really doing her an Injury. This last Consideration, forsooth, of

injuring her in persisting, made him resolve to break off upon the first

favourable Opportunity of making her angry. When he was in this Thought,

he saw Robin the Porter who waits at Will's Coffee-House, passing by.

Robin, you must know, is the best Man in Town for carrying a Billet; the

Fellow has a thin Body, swift Step, demure Looks, sufficient Sense, and

knows the Town. This Man carried Cynthio's first Letter to Flavia, and

by frequent Errands ever since, is well known to her. The Fellow covers

his Knowledge of the Nature of his Messages with the most exquisite low

Humour imaginable: The first he obliged Flavia to take, was, by

complaining to her that he had a Wife and three Children, and if she did

not take that Letter, which, he was sure, there was no Harm in, but

rather Love, his Family must go supperless to Bed, for the Gentleman

would pay him according as he did his Business. Robin therefore Cynthio

now thought fit to make use of, and gave him Orders to wait before

Flavia's Door, and if she called him to her, and asked whether it was

Cynthio who passed by, he should at first be loth to own it was, but

upon Importunity confess it. There needed not much Search into that Part

of the Town to find a well-dressed Hussey fit for the Purpose Cynthio

designed her. As soon as he believed Robin was posted, he drove by

Flavia's Lodgings in an Hackney-Coach and a Woman in it. Robin was at

the Door talking with Flavia's Maid, and Cynthio pulled up the Glass as

surprized, and hid his Associate. The Report of this Circumstance soon

flew up Stairs, and Robin could not deny but the Gentleman favoured his

Master; yet if it was he, he was sure the Lady was but his Cousin whom

he had seen ask for him; adding that he believed she was a poor

Relation, because they made her wait one Morning till he was awake.

Flavia immediately writ the following Epistle, which Robin brought to

Wills

June 4, 1712.

SIR,

It is in vain to deny it, basest, falsest of Mankind; my Maid, as well

as the Bearer, saw you.

The injur'd Flavia.

After Cynthio had read the Letter, he asked Robin how she looked, and

what she said at the Delivery of it. Robin said she spoke short to him,

and called him back again, and had nothing to say to him, and bid him

and all the Men in the World go out of her Sight; but the Maid followed,

and bid him bring an Answer.

Cynthio returned as follows.

June 4, Three Afternoon, 1712.

Madam,

That your Maid and the Bearer has seen me very often is very certain;

but I desire to know, being engaged at Picket, what your Letter means

by 'tis in vain to deny it. I shall stay here all the Evening.

Your amazed Cynthio.

As soon as Robin arrived with this, Flavia answered:

Dear Cynthio,

I have walked a Turn or two in my Anti-Chamber since I writ to you,

and have recovered my self from an impertinent Fit which you ought to

forgive me, and desire you would come to me immediately to laugh off a

Jealousy that you and a Creature of the Town went by in an

Hackney-Coach an Hour ago. I am Your most humble Servant,

FLAVIA.

I will not open the Letter which my Cynthio writ, upon the

Misapprehension you must have been under when you writ, for want of

hearing the whole Circumstance.

Robin came back in an Instant, and Cynthio answered:

Half Hour, six Minutes after Three,

June 4. Will's Coffee-house.

Madam, It is certain I went by your Lodgings with a Gentlewoman to

whom I have the Honour to be known, she is indeed my Relation, and a

pretty sort of Woman. But your starting Manner of Writing, and owning

you have not done me the Honour so much as to open my Letter, has in

it something very unaccountable, and alarms one that has had Thoughts

of passing his Days with you. But I am born to admire you with all

your little Imperfections.

CYNTHIO.

Robin run back, and brought for Answer;

Exact Sir, that are at Will's Coffee-house six Minutes after Three,

June 4; one that has had Thoughts and all my little Imperfections.

Sir, come to me immediately, or I shall determine what may perhaps not

be very pleasing to you.

FLAVIA.

Robin gave an Account that she looked excessive angry when she gave him

the Letter; and that he told her, for she asked, that Cynthio only

looked at the Clock, taking Snuff, and writ two or three Words on the

Top of the Letter when he gave him his.

Now the Plot thickened so well, as that Cynthio saw he had not much more

to do to accomplish being irreconciliably banished, he writ,

Madam,

I have that Prejudice in Favour of all you do, that it is not possible

for you to determine upon what will not be very pleasing to Your

Obedient Servant,

CYNTHIO.

This was delivered, and the Answer returned, in a little more than two

Seconds.

SIR,

Is it come to this? You never loved me; and the Creature you were with

is the properest Person for your Associate. I despise you, and hope I

shall soon hate you as a Villain to

The Credulous Flavia.

Robin ran back, with

Madam,

Your Credulity when you are to gain your Point, and Suspicion when you

fear to lose it make it a very hard Part to behave as becomes Your

humble Slave,

CYNTHIO.

Robin whipt away, and returned with,

Mr. Wellford,

Flavia and Cynthio are no more. I relieve you from the hard Part of

which you complain, and banish you from my Sight for ever.

Ann Heart.

Robin had a Crown for his Afternoon's Work; and this is published to

admonish Cecilia to avenge the Injury done to Flavia.

T.

* * * * *

No. 399. Saturday, June 7, 1712. Addison.

'Ut nemo in sese tentat descendere!'

Pers.

Hypocrisie, at the fashionable End of the Town, is very different from

Hypocrisie in the City. The modish Hypocrite endeavours to appear more

vicious than he really is, the other kind of Hypocrite more virtuous.

The former is afraid of every thing that has the Shew of Religion in it,

and would be thought engaged in many Criminal Gallantries and Amours,

which he is not guilty of. The latter assumes a Face of Sanctity, and

covers a Multitude of Vices under a seeming Religious Deportment.

But there is another kind of Hypocrisie, which differs from both these,

and which I intend to make the Subject of this Paper: I mean that

Hypocrisie, by which a Man does not only deceive the World, but very

often imposes on himself; That Hypocrisie, which conceals his own Heart

from him, and makes him believe he is more virtuous than he really is,

and either not attend to his Vices, or mistake even his Vices for

Virtues. It is this fatal Hypocrisie and Self-deceit, which is taken

notice of in those Words, Who can understand his Errors? cleanse thou me

from secret Faults. [1]

If the open Professors of Impiety deserve the utmost Application and

Endeavours of Moral Writers to recover them from Vice and Folly, how

much more may those lay a Claim to their Care and Compassion, who are

walking in the Paths of Death, while they fancy themselves engaged in a

Course of Virtue! I shall endeavour, therefore, to lay down some Rules

for the Discovery of those Vices that lurk in the secret Corners of the

Soul, and to show my Reader those Methods by which he may arrive at a

true and impartial Knowledge of himself. The usual Means prescribed for

this Purpose, are to examine our selves by the Rules which are laid down

for our Direction in Sacred Writ, and to compare our Lives with the Life

of that Person who acted up to the Perfection of Human Nature, and is

the standing Example, as well as the great Guide and Instructor, of

those who receive his Doctrines. Though these two Heads cannot be too

much insisted upon, I shall but just mention them, since they have been

handled by many Great and Eminent Writers.

I would therefore propose the following Methods to the Consideration of

such as would find out their secret Faults, and make a true Estimate of

themselves.

In the first Place, let them consider well what are the Characters which

they bear among their Enemies. Our Friends very often flatter us, as

much as our own Hearts. They either do not see our Faults, or conceal

them from us, or soften them by their Representations, after such a

manner, that we think them too trivial to be taken notice of. An

Adversary, on the contrary, makes a stricter Search into us, discovers

every Flaw and Imperfection in our Tempers, and though his Malice may

set them in too strong a Light, it has generally some Ground for what it

advances. A Friend exaggerates a Man's Virtues, an Enemy inflames his

Crimes. A Wise Man should give a just Attention to both of them, so far

as they may tend to the Improvement of the one, and Diminution of the

other. Plutarch has written an Essay on the Benefits which a Man may

receive from his Enemies, [2] and, among the good Fruits of Enmity,

mentions this in particular, that by the Reproaches which it casts upon

us we see the worst side of our selves, and open our Eyes to several

Blemishes and Defects in our Lives and Conversations, which we should

not have observed, without the Help of such ill-natured Monitors.

In order likewise to come at a true Knowledge of our selves, we should

consider on the other hand how far we may deserve the Praises and

Approbations which the World bestow upon us: whether the Actions they

celebrate proceed from laudable and worthy Motives; and how far we are

really possessed of the Virtues which gain us Applause among those with

whom we converse. Such a Reflection is absolutely necessary, if we

consider how apt we are either to value or condemn ourselves by the

Opinions of others, and to sacrifice the Report of our own Hearts to the

Judgment of the World.

In the next Place, that we may not deceive our selves in a Point of so

much Importance, we should not lay too great a Stress on any supposed

Virtues we possess that are of a doubtful Nature: And such we may esteem

all those in which Multitudes of Men dissent from us, who are as good

and wise as our selves. We should always act with great Cautiousness and

Circumspection in Points, where it is not impossible that we may be

deceived. Intemperate Zeal, Bigotry and Persecution for any Party or

Opinion, how praiseworthy soever they may appear to weak Men of our own

Principles, produce infinite Calamities among Mankind, and are highly

Criminal in their own Nature; and yet how many Persons eminent for Piety

suffer such monstrous and absurd Principles of Action to take Root in

their Minds under the Colour of Virtues? For my own Part, I must own I

never yet knew any Party so just and reasonable, that a Man could follow

it in its Height and Violence, and at the same time be innocent.

We should likewise be very apprehensive of those Actions which proceed

from natural Constitution, favourite Passions, particular Education, or

whatever promotes our worldly Interest or Advantage. In these and the

like Cases, a Man's Judgment is easily perverted, and a wrong Bias hung

upon his Mind. These are the Inlets of Prejudice, the unguarded Avenues

of the Mind, by which a thousand Errors and secret Faults find

Admission, without being observed or taken Notice of. A wise Man will

suspect those Actions to which he is directed by something [besides [3]]

Reason, and always apprehend some concealed Evil in every Resolution

that is of a disputable Nature, when it is conformable to his particular

Temper, his Age, or Way of Life, or when it favours his Pleasure or his

Profit.

There is nothing of greater Importance to us than thus diligently to

sift our Thoughts, and examine all these dark Recesses of the Mind, if

we would establish our Souls in such a solid and substantial Virtue as

will turn to Account in that great Day, when it must stand the Test of

infinite Wisdom and Justice.

I shall conclude this Essay with observing that the two kinds of

Hypocrisie I have here spoken of, namely that of deceiving the World,

and that of imposing on our selves, are touched with wonderful Beauty in

the hundred and thirty ninth Psalm. The Folly of the first kind of

Hypocrisie is there set forth by Reflections on God's Omniscience and

Omnipresence, which are celebrated in as noble Strains of Poetry as any

other I ever met with, either Sacred or Profane. The other kind of

Hypocrisie, whereby a Man deceives himself, is intimated in the two last

Verses, where the Psalmist addresses himself to the great Searcher of

Hearts in that emphatical Petition; Try me, O God, and seek the ground

of my heart; prove me, and examine my Thoughts. Look well if there be

any way of wickedness in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

L.

[Footnote 1: Psalm xix. 12.]

[Footnote 2: See note on p. 441 [Footnote 1 of No. 125], vol. i.]

[Footnote 3: more than]

* * * * *

No. 400. Monday, June 9, 1712. Steele.

'--Latet Anguis in Herba.'

Virg.

It should, methinks, preserve Modesty and its Interests in the World,

that the Transgression of it always creates Offence; and the very

Purposes of Wantonness are defeated by a Carriage which has in it so

much Boldness, as to intimate that Fear and Reluctance are quite

extinguishd in an Object which would be otherwise desirable. It was said

of a Wit of the last Age,

Sedley has that prevailing gentle Art, }

Which, can with a resistless Charm impart }

The loosest Wishes to the chastest Heart; }

Raise such a Conflict, kindle such a Fire,

Between declining Virtue and Desire,

That the poor vanquished Maid dissolves away

In Dreams all Night, in Sighs and Tears all Day. [1]

This prevailing gentle Art was made up of Complaisance, Courtship, and

artful Conformity to the Modesty of a Woman's Manners. Rusticity, broad

Expression, and forward Obtrusion, offend those of Education, and make

the Transgressors odious to all who have Merit enough to attract Regard.

It is in this Taste that the Scenery is so beautifully ordered in the

Description which Antony makes, in the Dialogue between him and

Dolabella, of Cleopatra in her Barge.

Her Galley down the Silver Cydnos row'd;

The Tackling Silk, the Streamers wav'd with Gold;

The gentle Winds were lodg'd in purple Sails:

Her Nymphs, like Nereids, round her Couch were placed,

Where she, another Sea-born Venus, lay;

She lay, and lean'd her Cheek upon her Hand,

And cast a Look so languishingly sweet,

As if, secure of all Beholders Hearts,

Neglecting she could take 'em. Boys like Cupids

Stood fanning with their painted Wings the Winds

That play'd about her Face; but if she smil'd,

A darting Glory seemed to blaze abroad,

That Men's desiring Eyes were never weary'd,

But hung upon the Object. To soft Flutes

The Silver Oars kept Time; and while they play'd,

The Hearing gave new Pleasure to the Sight,

And both to Thought [2]--

Here the Imagination is warmed with all the Objects presented, and yet

there is nothing that is luscious, or what raises any Idea more loose

than that of a beautiful Woman set off to Advantage. The like, or a more

delicate and careful Spirit of Modesty, appears in the following Passage

in one of Mr. Philip's Pastorals. [3]

'Breathe soft ye Winds, ye Waters gently flow,

Shield her ye Trees, ye Flowers around her grow,

Ye Swains, I beg you, pass in Silence by,

My Love in yonder Vale asleep does lie.'

Desire is corrected when there is a Tenderness or Admiration expressed

which partakes the Passion. Licentious Language has something brutal in

it, which disgraces Humanity, and leaves us in the Condition of the

Savages in the Field. But it may be askd to what good Use can tend a

Discourse of this Kind at all? It is to alarm chaste Ears against such

as have what is above called the prevailing gentle Art. Masters of that

Talent are capable of cloathing their Thoughts in so soft a Dress, and

something so distant from the secret Purpose of their Heart, that the

Imagination of the Unguarded is touched with a Fondness which grows too

insensibly to be resisted. Much Care and Concern for the Lady's Welfare,

to seem afraid lest she should be annoyed by the very Air which

surrounds her, and this uttered rather with kind Looks, and expressed by

an Interjection, an Ah, or an Oh, at some little Hazard in moving or

making a Step, than in my direct Profession of Love, are the Methods of

skilful Admirers: They are honest Arts when their Purpose is such, but

infamous when misapplied. It is certain that many a young Woman in this

Town has had her Heart irrecoverably won, by Men who have not made one

Advance which ties their Admirers, tho' the Females languish with the

utmost Anxiety. I have often, by way of Admonition to my female Readers,

give them Warning against agreeable Company of the other Sex, except

they are well acquainted with their Characters. Women may disguise it if

they think fit, and the more to do it, they may be angry at me for

saying it; but I say it is natural to them, that they have no Manner of

Approbation of Men, without some Degree of Love: For this Reason he is

dangerous to be entertaind as a Friend or Visitant who is capable of

gaining any eminent Esteem or Observation, though it be never so remote

from Pretensions as a Lover. If a Man's Heart has not the Abhorrence of

any treacherous Design, he may easily improve Approbation into Kindness,

and Kindness into Passion. There may possibly be no manner of Love

between them in the Eyes of all their Acquaintance, no it is all

Friendship; and yet they may be as fond as Shepherd and Shepherdess in a

Pastoral, but still the Nymph and the Swain may be to each other no

other I warrant you, than Pylades and Orestes.

When Lucy decks with Flowers her swelling Breast,

And on her Elbow leans, dissembling Rest,

Unable to refrain my madding Mind,

Nor Sleep nor Pasture worth my Care I find.

Once Delia slept, on easie Moss reclin'd,

Her lovely Limbs half bare, and rude the Wind;

I smoothed her Coats, and stole a silent Kiss:

Condemn me Shepherds if I did amiss. [4]

Such good Offices as these, and such friendly Thoughts and Concerns for

one another, are what make up the Amity, as they call it, between Man

and Woman.

It is the Permission of such Intercourse, that makes a young Woman come

to the Arms of her Husband, after the Disappointment of four or five

Passions which she has successively had for different Men, before she is

prudentially given to him for whom she has neither Love nor Friendship.

For what should a poor Creature do that has lost all her Friends?

There's Marinet the Agreeable, has, to my Knowledge, had a Friendship

for Lord Welford, which had like to break her Heart; then she had so

great a Friendship for Colonel Hardy, that she could not endure any

Woman else should do any thing but rail at him. Many and fatal have been

Disasters between Friends who have fallen out, and their Resentments are

more keen than ever those of other Men can possibly be: But in this it

happens unfortunately, that as there ought to be nothing concealed from

one Friend to another, the Friends of different Sexes [very often [5]]

find fatal Effects from their Unanimity.

For my Part, who study to pass Life in as much Innocence and Tranquility

as I can, I shun the Company of agreeable Women as much as possible; and

must confess that I have, though a tolerable good Philosopher, but a low

Opinion of Platonick Love: for which Reason I thought it necessary to

give my fair Readers a Caution against it, having, to my great Concern,

observed the Waste of a Platonist lately swell to a Roundness which is

inconsistent with that Philosophy.

T.

[Footnote 1: Rochester's 'Allusion to the 10th Satire of the 1st Book of

Horace.']

[Footnote 2: Dryden's All for Love, Act III. sc. i. ]

[Footnote 3: The Sixth.]

[Footnote 4: Two stanzas from different parts of Ambrose Philips's sixth

Pastoral. The first in the original follows the second, with three

stanzas intervening.]

[Footnote 5: (, for want of other Amusement, often study Anatomy

together; and what is worse than happens in any other Friendship, they)]

* * * * *

No. 401. Tuesday, June 10, 1712. Budgell.

'In amore hæc omnia insunt vitia: Injuriæ,

Suspiciones, Inimicitiæ, Induciæ,

Bellum, pax rursum:'

Ter.

I shall publish for the Entertainment of this Day, an odd sort of a

Packet, which I have just received from one of my Female Correspondents.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

Since you have often confess'd that you are not displeased your Paper

should sometimes convey the Complaints of distressed Lovers to each

other, I am in Hopes you will favour one who gives you an undoubted

Instance of her Reformation, and at the same time a convincing Proof

of the happy Influence your Labours have had over the most

Incorrigible Part of the most Incorrigible Sex. You must know, Sir, I

am one of that Species of Women, whom you have often Characteriz'd

under the Name of Jilts, and that I send you these Lines, as well to

do Publick Penance for having so long continued in a known Error, as

to beg Pardon of the Party offended. I the rather chuse this way,

because it in some measure answers the Terms on which he intimated the

Breach between us might possibly be made up, as you will see by the

Letter he sent me the next Day after I had discarded him; which I

thought fit to send you a Copy of, that you might the better know the

whole Case.