It would be in vain to enquire, whether the Power of Imagining Things

strongly proceeds from any greater Perfection in the Soul, or from any

nicer Texture in the Brain of one Man than of another. But this is

certain, that a noble Writer should be born with this Faculty in its

full Strength and Vigour, so as to be able to receive lively Ideas from

outward Objects, to retain them long, and to range them together, upon

Occasion, in such Figures and Representations as are most likely to hit

the Fancy of the Reader. A Poet should take as much Pains in forming his

Imagination, as a Philosopher in cultivating his Understanding. He must

gain a due Relish of the Works of Nature, and be thoroughly conversant

in the various Scenary of a Country Life.

When he is stored with Country Images, if he would go beyond Pastoral,

and the lower kinds of Poetry, he ought to acquaint himself with the

Pomp and Magnificence of Courts. He should be very well versed in every

thing that is noble and stately in the Productions of Art, whether it

appear in Painting or Statuary, in the great Works of Architecture which

are in their present Glory, or in the Ruins of those [which [2]]

flourished in former Ages.

Such Advantages as these help to open a Man's Thoughts, and to enlarge

his Imagination, and will therefore have their Influence on all kinds of

Writing, if the Author knows how to make right use of them. And among

those of the learned Languages who excel in this Talent, the most

perfect in their several kinds, are perhaps _Homer_, _Virgil_, and

_Ovid_. The first strikes the Imagination wonderfully with what is

Great, the second with what is Beautiful, and the last with what is

Strange. Reading the _Iliad_ is like travelling through a Country

uninhabited, where the Fancy is entertained with a thousand Savage

Prospects of vast Desarts, wide uncultivated Marshes, huge Forests,

mis-shapen Rocks and Precipices. On the contrary, the _Æneid_ is like a

well ordered Garden, where it is impossible to find out any Part

unadorned, or to cast our Eyes upon a single Spot, that does not produce

some beautiful Plant or Flower. But when we are in the _Metamorphoses_,

we are walking on enchanted Ground, and see nothing but Scenes of Magick

lying round us.

_Homer_ is in his Province, when he is describing a Battel or a

Multitude, a Heroe or a God. _Virgil_ is never better pleased, than when

he is in his _Elysium_, or copying out an entertaining Picture.

_Homer's_ Epithets generally mark out what is Great, _Virgil's_ what is

Agreeable. Nothing can be more Magnificent than the Figure _Jupiter_

makes in the first _Iliad_, no more Charming than that of Venus in the

first _Æneid_.

[Greek:

Ae, kaì kyanéaesin ep' ophrysi neuse Kroníôn,

Ambrósiai d' ára chaitai eperrhôsanto ánaktos

Kratòs ap' athanátoio mégan d' élélixen Ólympos.]

Dixit et avertens roseâ cervice refulsit:

Ambrosiæque comæ; divinum vertice odorem

Spiravere: Pedes vestis defluxit ad imos:

Et vera incessu patuit Dea--

_Homer's_ Persons are most of them God-like and Terrible; _Virgil_ has

scarce admitted any into his Poem, who are not Beautiful, and has taken

particular Care to make his Heroe so.

--lumenque juventæ

Purpureum, et lætos oculis afflavit honores.

In a Word, 'Homer' fills his Readers with Sublime Ideas, and, I believe,

has raised the Imagination of all the good Poets that have come after

him. I shall only instance 'Horace', who immediately takes Fire at the

first Hint of any Passage in the 'Iliad' or 'Odyssey', and always rises

above himself, when he has 'Homer' in his View. 'Virgil' has drawn

together, into his 'Æneid', all the pleasing Scenes his Subject is

capable of admitting, and in his 'Georgics' has given us a Collection of

the most delightful Landskips that can be made out of Fields and Woods,

Herds of Cattle, and Swarms of Bees.

'Ovid', in his 'Metamorphoses', has shewn us how the Imagination may be

affected by what is Strange. He describes a Miracle in every Story, and

always gives us the Sight of some new Creature at the end of it. His Art

consists chiefly in well-timing his Description, before the first Shape

is quite worn off, and the new one perfectly finished; so that he every

where entertains us with something we never saw before, and shews

Monster after Monster, to the end of the 'Metamorphoses'.

If I were to name a Poet that is a perfect Master in all these Arts of

working on the Imagination, I think 'Milton' may pass for one: And if

his 'Paradise Lost' falls short of the 'Æneid' or 'Iliad' in this

respect, it proceeds rather from the Fault of the Language in which it

is written, than from any Defect of Genius in the Author. So Divine a

Poem in 'English', is like a stately Palace built of Brick, where one

may see Architecture in as great a Perfection as in one of Marble, tho'

the Materials are of a coarser Nature. But to consider it only as it

regards our present Subject: What can be conceived greater than the

Battel of Angels, the Majesty of Messiah, the Stature and Behaviour of

Satan and his Peers? What more beautiful than 'Pandæmonium', Paradise,

Heaven, Angels, 'Adam' and 'Eve'? What more strange, than the Creation

of the World, the several Metamorphoses of the fallen Angels, and the

surprising Adventures their Leader meets with in his Search after

Paradise? No other Subject could have furnished a Poet with Scenes so

proper to strike the Imagination, as no other Poet could have painted

those Scenes in more strong and lively Colours.

O.

[Footnote 1: [a Thousand]]

[Footnote 2: [that]]

* * * * *

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is under an Information from the Attorney General, in Humble

Submission and Duty to her Majesty the said Undertaking is laid down,

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have been paid into the said Table without Deduction.']

* * * * *

No. 418. Monday, June 30, 1712. Addison.

'--ferat et rubus asper amomum.'

Virg.

The Pleasures of these Secondary Views of the Imagination, are of a

wider and more Universal Nature than those it has when joined with

Sight; for not only what is Great, Strange or Beautiful, but any Thing

that is Disagreeable when looked upon, pleases us in an apt Description.

Here, therefore, we must enquire after a new Principle of Pleasure,

which is nothing else but the Action of the Mind, which _compares_ the

Ideas that arise from Words, with the Ideas that arise from the Objects

themselves; and why this Operation of the Mind is attended with so much

Pleasure, we have before considered. For this Reason therefore, the

Description of a Dunghill is pleasing to the Imagination, if the Image

be represented to our Minds by suitable Expressions; tho' perhaps, this

may be more properly called the Pleasure of the Understanding than of

the Fancy, because we are not so much delighted with the Image that is

contained in the Description, as with the Aptness of the Description to

excite the Image.

But if the Description of what is Little, Common, or Deformed, be

acceptable to the Imagination, the Description of what is Great,

Surprising or Beautiful, is much more so; because here we are not only

delighted with _comparing_ the Representation with the Original, but are

highly pleased with the Original itself. Most Readers, I believe, are

more charmed with _Milton's_ Description of Paradise, than of Hell; they

are both, perhaps, equally perfect in their Kind, but in the one the

Brimstone and Sulphur are not so refreshing to the Imagination, as the

Beds of Flowers and the Wilderness of Sweets in the other.

There is yet another Circumstance which recommends a Description more

than all the rest, and that is if it represents to us such Objects as

are apt to raise a secret Ferment in the Mind of the Reader, and to

work, with Violence, upon his Passions. For, in this Case, we are at

once warmed and enlightened, so that the Pleasure becomes more

Universal, and is several ways qualified to entertain us. Thus in

Painting, it is pleasant to look on the Picture of any Face, where the

Resemblance is hit, but the Pleasure increases, if it be the Picture of

a Face that is Beautiful, and is still greater, if the Beauty be

softened with an Air of Melancholy or Sorrow. The two leading Passions

which the more serious Parts of Poetry endeavour to stir up in us, are

Terror and Pity. And here, by the way, one would wonder how it comes to

pass, that such Passions as are very unpleasant at all other times, are

very agreeable when excited by proper Descriptions. It is not strange,

that we should take Delight in such Passions as are apt to produce Hope,

Joy, Admiration, Love, or the like Emotions in us, because they never

rise in the Mind without an inward Pleasure which attends them. But how

comes it to pass, that we should take delight in being terrified or

dejected by a Description, when we find so much Uneasiness in the Fear

or Grief [which [1]] we receive from any other Occasion?

If we consider, therefore, the Nature of this Pleasure, we shall find

that it does not arise so properly from the Description of what is

terrible, as from the Reflection we make on our selves at the time of

reading it. When we look on such hideous Objects, we are not a little

pleased to think we are in no Danger of them. We consider them at the

same time, as Dreadful and Harmless; so that the more frightful

Appearance they make, the greater is the Pleasure we receive from the

Sense of our own Safety. In short, we look upon the Terrors of a

Description, with the same Curiosity and Satisfaction that we survey a

dead Monster.

'--Informe cadaver

Protrahitur, nequeunt expleri corda tuendo

Terribiles oculos: vultum, villosaque satis

Pectora semiferi, atque extinctos faucibus ignes.'

Virg.

It is for the same Reason that we are delighted with the reflecting upon

Dangers that are past, or in looking on a Precipice at a distance, which

would fill us with a different kind of Horror, if we saw it hanging over

our Heads.

In the like manner, when we read of Torments, Wounds, Deaths, and the

like dismal Accidents, our Pleasure does not flow so properly from the

Grief which such melancholy Descriptions give us, as from the secret

Comparison which we make between our selves and the Person [who [2]]

suffers. Such Representations teach us to set a just Value upon our own

Condition, and make us prize our good Fortune, which exempts us from the

like Calamities. This is, however, such a kind of Pleasure as we are not

capable of receiving, when we see a Person actually lying under the

Tortures that we meet with in a Description; because in this case, the

Object presses too close upon our Senses, and bears so hard upon us,

that it does not give us Time or Leisure to reflect on our selves. Our

Thoughts are so intent upon the Miseries of the Sufferer, that we cannot

turn them upon our own Happiness. Whereas, on the contrary, we consider

the Misfortunes we read in History or Poetry, either as past, or as

fictitious, so that the Reflection upon our selves rises in us

insensibly, and over-bears the Sorrow we conceive for the Sufferings of

the Afflicted.

But because the Mind of Man requires something more perfect in Matter,

than what it finds there, and can never meet with any Sight in Nature

which sufficiently answers its highest Ideas of Pleasantness; or, in

other Words, because the Imagination can fancy to it self Things more

Great, Strange, or Beautiful, than the Eye ever saw, and is still

sensible of some Defect in what it has seen; on this account it is the

part of a Poet to humour the Imagination in its own Notions, by mending

and perfecting Nature where he describes a Reality, and by adding

greater Beauties than are put together in Nature, where he describes a

Fiction.

He is not obliged to attend her in the slow Advances which she makes

from one Season to another, or to observe her Conduct, in the successive

Production of Plants and Flowers. He may draw into his Description all

the Beauties of the Spring and Autumn, and make the whole Year

contribute something to render it the more agreeable. His Rose-trees,

Wood-bines, and Jessamines may flower together, and his Beds be cover'd

at the same time with Lillies, Violets, and Amaranths. His Soil is not

restrained to any particular Sett of Plants, but is proper either for

Oaks or Mirtles, and adapts itself to the Products of every Climate.

Oranges may grow wild in it; Myrrh may be met with in every Hedge, and

if he thinks it proper to have a Grove of Spices, he can quickly command

Sun enough to raise it. If all this will not furnish out an agreeable

Scene, he can make several new Species of Flowers, with richer Scents

and higher Colours than any that grow in the Gardens of Nature. His

Consorts of Birds may be as full and harmonious, and his Woods as thick

and gloomy as he pleases. He is at no more Expence in a long Vista, than

a short one, and can as easily throw his Cascades from a Precipice of

half a Mile high, as from one of twenty Yards. He has his Choice of the

Winds, and can turn the Course of his Rivers in all the Variety of

_Meanders_, that are most delightful to the Reader's Imagination. In a

word, he has the modelling of Nature in his own Hands, and may give her

what Charms he pleases, provided he does not reform her too much, and

run into Absurdities, by endeavouring to excel.

O.

[Footnote 1: that]

[Footnote 2: that]

* * * * *

No. 419. Tuesday, July 1, 1712. Addison.

'--mentis gratissimus Error.'

Hor.

There is a kind of Writing, wherein the Poet quite loses Sight of

Nature, and entertains his Reader's Imagination with the Characters and

Actions of such Persons as have many of them no Existence, but what he

bestows on them. Such are Fairies, Witches, Magicians, Demons, and

departed Spirits. This Mr. _Dryden_ calls _the Fairy Way of Writing_,

which is, indeed, more difficult than any other that depends on the

Poet's Fancy, because he has no Pattern to follow in it, and must work

altogether out of his own Invention.

There is a very odd Turn of Thought required for this sort of Writing,

and it is impossible for a Poet to succeed in it, who has not a

particular Cast of Fancy, and an Imagination naturally fruitful and

superstitious. Besides this, he ought to be very well versed in Legends

and Fables, antiquated Romances, and the Traditions of Nurses and old

Women, that he may fall in with our natural Prejudices, and humour those

Notions which we have imbibed in our Infancy. For otherwise he will be

apt to make his Fairies talk like People of his own Species, and not

like other Setts of Beings, who converse with different Objects, and

think in a different Manner from that of Mankind;

'Sylvis deducti caveant, me Judice, Fauni

Ne velut innati triviis ac poene forenses

Aut nimium teneris juvenentur versibus'

[Hor.]

I do not say with Mr. _Bays_ in the _Rehearsal_, that Spirits must not

be confined to speak Sense, but it is certain their Sense ought to be a

little discoloured, that it may seem particular, and proper to the

Person and the Condition of the Speaker.

These Descriptions raise a pleasing kind of Horrour in the Mind of the

Reader, and amuse his Imagination with the Strangeness and Novelty of

the Persons who are represented in them. They bring up into our Memory

the Stories we have heard in our Childhood, and favour those secret

Terrors and Apprehensions to which the Mind of Man is naturally subject.

We are pleased with surveying the different Habits and Behaviours of

Foreign Countries, how much more must we be delighted and surprised when

we are led, as it were, into a new Creation, and see the Persons and

Manners of another Species? Men of cold Fancies, and Philosophical

Dispositions, object to this kind of Poetry, that it has not Probability

enough to affect the Imagination. But to this it may be answered, that

we are sure, in general, there are many Intellectual Beings in the World

besides our selves, and several Species of Spirits, who are subject to

different Laws and Oeconomies from those of Mankind; when we see,

therefore, any of these represented naturally, we cannot look upon the

Representation as altogether impossible; nay, many are prepossest with

such false Opinions, as dispose them to believe these particular

Delusions; at least, we have all heard so many pleasing Relations in

favour of them, that we do not care for seeing through the Falshood, and

willingly give our selves up to so agreeable an Imposture.

The Ancients have not much of this Poetry among them, for, indeed,

almost the whole Substance of it owes its Original to the Darkness and

Superstition of later Ages, when pious Frauds were made use of to amuse

Mankind, and frighten them into a Sense of their Duty. Our Forefathers

look'd upon Nature with more Reverence and Horrour, before the World was

enlightened by Learning and Philosophy, and lov'd to astonish themselves

with the Apprehensions of Witchcraft, Prodigies, Charms and

Enchantments. There was not a Village in _England_, that had not a Ghost

in it, the Church-yards were all haunted, every large Common had a

Circle of Fairies belonging to it, and there was scarce a Shepherd to be

met with who had not seen a Spirit.

Among all the Poets of this Kind our _English_ are much the best, by

what I have yet seen; whether it be that we abound with more Stories of

this Nature, or that the Genius of our Country is fitter for this sort

of Poetry. For the _English_ are naturally fanciful, and very often

disposed by that Gloominess and Melancholy of Temper, which is so

frequent in our Nation, to many wild Notions and Visions, to which

others are not so liable.

Among the _English_, _Shakespear_ has incomparably excelled all others.

That noble Extravagance of Fancy which he had in so great Perfection,

thoroughly qualified him to touch this weak superstitious Part of his

Reader's Imagination; and made him capable of succeeding, where he had

nothing to support him besides the Strength of his own Genius. There is

something so wild and yet so solemn in the Speeches of his Ghosts,

Fairies, Witches and the like Imaginary Persons, that we cannot forbear

thinking them natural, tho' we have no rule by which to judge of them,

and must confess, if there are such Beings in the World, it looks highly

probable that they should talk and act as he has represented them.

There is another sort of imaginary Beings, that we sometimes meet with

among the Poets, when the Author represents any Passion, Appetite,

Virtue or Vice, under a visible Shape, and makes it a Person or an Actor

in his Poem. Of this Nature are the Descriptions of Hunger and Envy in

_Ovid_, of Fame in _Virgil_, and of Sin and Death in _Milton_. We find a

whole Creation of the like Shadowy Persons in _Spencer_, who had an

admirable Talent in Representations of this kind. I have discoursed of

these Emblematical Persons in former Papers, and shall therefore only

mention them in this Place. Thus we see how many Ways Poetry addresses

it self to the Imagination, as it has not only the whole Circle of

Nature for its Province, but makes new Worlds of its own, shews us

Persons who are not to be found in Being, and represents even the

Faculties of the Soul, with her several Virtues and Vices, in a sensible

Shape and Character.

I shall, in my two following Papers, consider in general, how other

kinds of Writing are qualified to please the Imagination, with which I

intend to conclude this Essay.

O.

* * * * *

No. 420 Wednesday, July 2, 1712. Addison.

'Quocunque volunt mentem Auditoris agunto.'

Hor.

As the Writers in Poetry and Fiction borrow their several Materials from

outward Objects, and join them together at their own Pleasure, there are

others who are obliged to follow Nature more closely, and to take entire

Scenes out of her. Such are Historians, natural Philosophers,

Travellers, Geographers, and in a Word, all who describe visible Objects

of a real Existence.

It is the most agreeable Talent of an Historian, to be able to draw up

his Armies and fight his Battels in proper Expressions, to set before

our Eyes the Divisions, Cabals, and Jealousies of great Men, and to lead

us Step by Step into the several Actions and Events of his History. We

love to see the Subject unfolding it self by just Degrees, and breaking

upon us insensibly, that so we may be kept in a pleasing Suspense, and

have time given us to raise our Expectations, and to side with one of

the Parties concerned in the Relation. I confess this shews more the Art

than the Veracity of the Historian, but I am only to speak of him as he

is qualified to please the Imagination. And in this respect _Livy_ has,

perhaps, excelled all who went before him, or have written since his

Time. He describes every thing in so lively a Manner, that his whole

History is an admirable Picture, and touches on such proper

Circumstances in every Story, that his Reader becomes a kind of

Spectator, and feels in himself all the Variety of Passions which are

correspondent to the several Parts of the Relation.

But among this Sett of Writers there are none who more gratifie and

enlarge the Imagination, than the Authors of the new Philosophy, whether

we consider their Theories of the Earth or Heavens, the Discoveries they

have made by Glasses, or any other of their Contemplations on Nature. We

are not a little pleased to find every green Leaf swarm with Millions of

Animals, that at their largest Growth are not visible to the naked Eye.

There is something very engaging to the Fancy, as well as to our Reason,

in the Treatises of Metals, Minerals, Plants, and Meteors. But when we

survey the whole Earth at once, and the several Planets that lie within

its Neighbourhood, we are filled with a pleasing Astonishment, to see so

many Worlds hanging one above another, and sliding round their Axles in

such an amazing Pomp and Solemnity. If, after this, we contemplate those

wild Fields of _Ether_, that reach in Height as far as from _Saturn_ to

the fixt Stars, and run abroad almost to an Infinitude, our Imagination

finds its Capacity filled with so immense a Prospect, and puts it self

upon the Stretch to comprehend it. But if we yet rise higher, and

consider the fixt Stars as so many vast Oceans of Flame, that are each

of them attended with a different Sett of Planets, and still discover

new Firmaments and new Lights that are sunk farther in those

unfathomable Depths of _Ether_, so as not to be seen by the strongest of

our Telescopes, we are lost in such a Labyrinth of Suns and Worlds, and

confounded with the Immensity and Magnificence of Nature.

Nothing is more pleasant to the Fancy, than to enlarge it self by

Degrees, in its Contemplation of the various Proportions [which [1]] its

several Objects bear to each other, when it compares the Body of Man to

the Bulk of the whole Earth, the Earth to the Circle it describes round

the Sun, that Circle to the Sphere of the fixt Stars, the sphere of the

fixt Stars to the Circuit of the whole Creation, the whole Creation it

self to the infinite Space that is every where diffused about it; or

when the Imagination works downward, and considers the Bulk of a human

Body in respect of an Animal, a hundred times less than a Mite, the

particular Limbs of such an Animal, the different Springs [which [2]]

actuate the Limbs, the Spirits which set these Springs a going, and the

proportionable Minuteness of these several Parts, before they have

arrived at their full Growth and Perfection. But if, after all this, we

take the least Particle of these Animal Spirits, and consider its

Capacity of being Wrought into a World, that shall contain within those

narrow Dimensions a Heaven and Earth, Stars and Planets, and every

different Species of living Creatures, in the same Analogy and

Proportion they bear to each other in our own Universe; such a

Speculation, by reason of its Nicety, appears ridiculous to those who

have not turned their Thoughts that way, though at the same time it is

founded on no less than the Evidence of a Demonstration. Nay, we might

yet carry it farther, and discover in the smallest Particle of this

little World a new and inexhausted Fund of Matter, capable of being spun

out into another Universe.

I have dwelt the longer on this Subject, because I think it may shew us

the proper Limits, as well as the Defectiveness of our Imagination; how

it is confined to a very small Quantity of Space, and immediately stopt

in its Operations, when it endeavours to take in any thing that is very

great, or very little. Let a Man try to conceive the different Bulk of

an Animal, which is twenty, from another which is a hundred times less

than a Mite, or to compare, in his Thoughts, a length of a thousand

Diameters of the Earth, with that of a Million, and he will quickly find

that he has no different Measures in his Mind, adjusted to such

extraordinary Degrees of Grandeur or Minuteness. The Understanding,

indeed, opens an infinite Space on every side of us, but the

Imagination, after a few faint Efforts, is immediately at a stand, and

finds her self swallowed up in the Immensity of the Void that surrounds

it: Our Reason can pursue a Particle of Matter through an infinite

Variety of Divisions, but the Fancy soon loses sight of it, and feels in

it self a kind of Chasm, that wants to be filled with Matter of a more

sensible Bulk. We can neither widen, nor contract the Faculty to the

Dimensions of either Extreme. The Object is too big for our Capacity,

when we would comprehend the Circumference of a World, and dwindles into

nothing, when we endeavour after the Idea of an Atome.

It is possible this defect of Imagination may not be in the Soul it

self, but as it acts in Conjunction with the Body. Perhaps there may not

be room in the Brain for such a variety of Impressions, or the Animal

Spirits may be incapable of figuring them in such a manner, as is

necessary to excite so very large or very minute Ideas. However it be,

we may well suppose that Beings of a higher Nature very much excel us in

this respect, as it is probable the Soul of Man will be infinitely more

perfect hereafter in this Faculty, as well as in all the rest; insomuch

that, perhaps, the Imagination will be able to keep Pace with the

Understanding, and to form in it self distinct Ideas of all the

different Modes and Quantities of Space.

O.

[Footnote 1: [that]]

[Footnote 2: [that]]

* * * * *

No. 421. Thursday, July 3, 1712. Addison.

'Ignotis errare locis, ignota videre

Flumina gaudebat; studio minuente laborem.'

Ovid.

The Pleasures of the Imagination are not wholly confined to such

particular Authors as are conversant in material Objects, but are often

to be met with among the Polite Masters of Morality, Criticism, and

other Speculations abstracted from Matter, who, tho' they do not

directly treat of the visible Parts of Nature, often draw from them

their Similitudes, Metaphors, and Allegories. By these Allusions a Truth

in the Understanding is as it were reflected by the Imagination; we are

able to see something like Colour and Shape in a Notion, and to discover

a Scheme of Thoughts traced out upon Matter. And here the Mind receives

a great deal of Satisfaction, and has two of its Faculties gratified at

the same time, while the Fancy is busie in copying after the

Understanding, and transcribing Ideas out of the Intellectual World into

the Material.

The Great Art of a Writer shews it self in the Choice of pleasing

Allusions, which are generally to be taken from the _great_ or

_beautiful_ Works of Art or Nature; for though whatever is New or

Uncommon is apt to delight the Imagination, the chief Design of an

Allusion being to illustrate and explain the Passages of an Author, it

should be always borrowed from what is more known and common, than the

Passages which are to be explained.

Allegories, when well chosen, are like so many Tracks of Light in a

Discourse, that make every thing about them clear and beautiful. A noble

Metaphor, when it is placed to an Advantage, casts a kind of Glory round

it, and darts a Lustre through a whole Sentence: These different Kinds

of Allusion are but so many different Manners of Similitude, and, that

they may please the Imagination, the Likeness ought to be very exact, or

very agreeable, as we love to see a Picture where the Resemblance is

just, or the Posture and Air graceful. But we often find eminent Writers

very faulty in this respect; great Scholars are apt to fetch their

Comparisons and Allusions from the Sciences in which they are most

conversant, so that a Man may see the Compass of their Learning in a

Treatise on the most indifferent Subject. I have read a Discourse upon

Love, which none but a profound Chymist could understand, and have heard

many a Sermon that should only have been preached before a Congregation

of _Cartesians_. On the contrary, your Men of Business usually have

recourse to such Instances as are too mean and familiar. They are for

drawing the Reader into a Game of Chess or Tennis, or for leading him

from Shop to Shop, in the Cant of particular Trades and Employments. It

is certain, there may be found an infinite Variety of very agreeable

Allusions in both these kinds, but for the generality, the most

entertaining ones lie in the Works of Nature, which are obvious to all

Capacities, and more delightful than what is to be found in Arts and

Sciences.

It is this Talent of affecting the Imagination, that gives an

Embellishment to good Sense, and makes one Man's Compositions more

agreeable than another's. It sets off all Writings in general, but is

the very Life and highest Perfection of Poetry: Where it shines in an

Eminent Degree, it has preserved several Poems for many Ages, that have

nothing else to recommend them; and where all the other Beauties are

present, the Work appears dry and insipid, if this single one be

wanting. It has something in it like Creation; It bestows a kind of

Existence, and draws up to the Reader's View several Objects which are

not to be found in Being. It makes Additions to Nature, and gives a

greater Variety to God's Works. In a Word, it is able to beautifie and

adorn the most illustrious Scenes in the Universe, or to fill the Mind

with more glorious Shows and Apparitions, than can be found in any Part

of it.

We have now discovered the several Originals of those Pleasures that

gratify the Fancy; and here, perhaps, it would not be very difficult to

cast under their proper Heads those contrary Objects, which are apt to

fill it with Distaste and Terrour; for the Imagination is as liable to

Pain as Pleasure. When the Brain is hurt by any Accident, or the Mind

disordered by Dreams or Sickness, the Fancy is over-run with wild dismal

Ideas, and terrified with a thousand hideous Monsters of its own framing.

'Eumenidum veluti demens videt Agmina Pentheus,

Et solem geminum, et duplices se ostendere Thebas.

Aut Agamemnonius scenis agitatus Orestes,

Armatam facibus matrem et serpentibus atris

Cum videt, ultricesque sedent in limine Diræ.'

Vir.

There is not a Sight in Nature so mortifying as that of a Distracted

Person, when his Imagination is troubled, and his whole Soul disordered

and confused. _Babylon_ in Ruins is not so melancholy a Spectacle. But

to quit so disagreeable a Subject, I shall only consider, by way of

Conclusion, what an infinite Advantage this Faculty gives an Almighty

Being over the Soul of Man, and how great a measure of Happiness or

Misery we are capable of receiving from the Imagination only.

We have already seen the Influence that one Man has over the Fancy of

another, and with what Ease he conveys into it a Variety of Imagery; how

great a Power then may we suppose lodged in him, who knows all the ways

of affecting the Imagination, who can infuse what Ideas he pleases, and

fill those Ideas with Terrour and Delight to what Degree he thinks fit?

He can excite Images in the Mind, without the help of Words, and make

Scenes rise up before us and seem present to the Eye without the

Assistance of Bodies or Exterior Objects. He can transport the

Imagination with such beautiful and glorious Visions, as cannot possibly

enter into our present Conceptions, or haunt it with such ghastly

Spectres and Apparitions, as would make us hope for Annihilation, and

think Existence no better than a Curse. In short, he can so exquisitely

ravish or torture the Soul through this single Faculty, as might suffice

to make up the whole Heaven or Hell of any finite Being.

This Essay on the Pleasures of the Imagination having been published in

separate Papers, I shall conclude it with a Table of the principal

Contents in each Paper.

The CONTENTS.

PAPER I. [No. 411, Volume 2.]

The Perfection of our Sight above our other Senses. The Pleasures of

the Imagination arise originally from Sight. The Pleasures of the

Imagination divided under two Heads. The Pleasures of the Imagination

in some Respects equal to those of the Understanding. The Extent of

the Pleasures of the Imagination. The Advantages a Man receives from a

Relish of these Pleasures. In what Respect they are preferable to

those of the Understanding.

PAPER II. [No. 412, Volume 2.]

Three Sources of all the Pleasures of the Imagination, in our Survey

of outward Objects. How what is Great pleases the Imagination. How

what is New pleases the Imagination. How what is Beautiful in our own

Species, pleases the Imagination. How what is Beautiful in general

pleases the Imagination. What other Accidental Causes may contribute

to the heightening of these Pleasures.

PAPER III. [No. 413, Volume 2.]

Why the Necessary Cause of our being pleased with what is Great, New,

or Beautiful, unknown. Why the Final Cause more known and more useful.

The Final Cause of our being pleased with what is Great. The Final

Cause of our being pleased with what is New. The Final Cause of our

being pleased with what is Beautiful in our own Species. The Final

Cause of our being pleased with what is Beautiful in general.

PAPER IV. [No. 414, Volume 2.]

The Works of Nature more pleasant to the Imagination than those of

Art. The Works of Nature still more pleasant, the more they resemble

those of Art. The Works of Art more pleasant, the more they resemble

those of Nature. Our English Plantations and Gardens considered in the

foregoing Light.

PAPER V. [No. 415, Volume 2.]

Of Architecture as it affects the Imagination. Greatness in

Architecture relates either to the Bulk or to the Manner. Greatness of

Bulk in the Ancient Oriental Buildings. The ancient Accounts of these

Buildings confirm'd,

1. From the Advantages, for raising such Works, in the first Ages of

the World and in the Eastern Climates:

2. From several of them which are still extant.

Instances how Greatness of Manner affects the Imagination. A French

Author's Observation on this Subject. Why Concave and Convex Figures

give a Greatness of Manner to Works of Architecture. Every thing that

pleases the Imagination in Architecture is either Great, Beautiful, or

New.

PAPER VI. [No. 416, Volume 2.]

The Secondary Pleasures of the Imagination. The several Sources of

these Pleasures (Statuary, Painting, Description and Musick) compared

together. The Final Cause of our receiving Pleasure from these several

Sources. Of Descriptions in particular. The Power of Words over the

Imagination. Why one Reader more pleased with Descriptions than

another.

PAPER VII. [No. 417, Volume 3.]

How a whole Set of Ideas Hang together, &c. A Natural Cause assigned

for it. How to perfect the Imagination of a Writer. Who among the

Ancient Poets had this Faculty in its greatest Perfection. Homer

excelled in Imagining what is Great; Virgil in Imagining what is

Beautiful; Ovid in imagining what is New. Our own Country-man Milton

very perfect in all three respects.

PAPER VIII. [No. 418, Volume 3.]

Why any thing that is unpleasant to behold, pleases the Imagination

when well described. Why the Imagination receives a more Exquisite

Pleasure from the Description of what is Great, New, or Beautiful. The

Pleasure still heightned, if--what is described raises Passion in the

Mind. Disagreeable Passions pleasing when raised by apt Descriptions.

Why Terror and Grief are pleasing to the Mind when excited by

Descriptions. A particular Advantage the Writers in Poetry and Fiction

have to please the Imagination. What Liberties are allowed them.

PAPER IX. [No. 419, Volume 3.]

Of that kind of Poetry which Mr. Dryden calls the Fairy Way of

Writing. How a Poet should be Qualified for it. The Pleasures of the

Imagination that arise from it. In this respect why the Moderns excell

the Ancients. Why the English excell the Moderns. Who the Best among

the English. Of Emblematical Persons.

PAPER X. [No. 420, Volume 3.]

What Authors please the Imagination who have nothing to do with

Fiction. How History pleases the Imagination. How the Authors of the

new Philosophy please the Imagination. The Bounds and Defects of the

Imagination. Whether these Defects are Essential to the Imagination.

PAPER XI. [No. 421, Volume 3.]

How those please the Imagination who treat of Subjects abstracted from

Matter, by Allusions taken from it. What Allusions most pleasing to

the Imagination. Great Writers how Faulty in this Respect. Of the Art

of Imagining in General. The Imagination capable of Pain as well as

Pleasure. In what Degree the Imagination is capable either of Pain or

Pleasure.

O.

* * * * *

No. 422. Friday, July 4, 1712. Steele.

'Hæc scripsi non otii abundantia sed amoris erga te.'

Tull. Epis.

I do not know any thing which gives greater Disturbance to Conversation,

than the false Notion some People have of Raillery. It ought certainly

to be the first Point to be aimed at in Society, to gain the good Will

of those with whom you converse. The Way to that, is to shew you are

well inclined towards them: What then can be more absurd, than to set up

for being extremely sharp and biting, as the Term is, in your

Expressions to your Familiars? A Man who has no good Quality but

Courage, is in a very ill way towards making an agreeable Figure in the

World, because that which he has superior to other People cannot be

exerted, without raising himself an _Enemy_. Your Gentleman of a

Satyrical Vein is in the like Condition. To say a Thing which perplexes

the Heart of him you speak to, or brings Blushes into his Face, is a

degree of Murder; and it is, I think, an unpardonable Offence to shew a

Man you do not care, whether he is pleased or displeased. But won't you

then take a Jest? Yes: but pray let it be a Jest. It is no Jest to put

me, who am so unhappy as to have an utter Aversion to speaking to more

than one Man at a time, under a Necessity to explain my self in much

Company, and reducing me to Shame and Derision, except I perform what my

Infirmity of Silence disables me to do.

_Callisthenes_ has great Wit accompanied with that Quality (without

which a Man can have no Wit at all) a Sound Judgment. This Gentleman

rallies the best of any Man I know, for he forms his Ridicule upon a

Circumstance which you are in your Heart not unwilling to grant him, to

wit, that you are Guilty of an Excess in something which is in it self

laudable. He very well understands what you would be, and needs not fear

your Anger for declaring you are a little too much that Thing. The

Generous will bear being reproached as Lavish, and the Valiant, Rash,

without being provoked to Resentment against their Monitor. What has

been said to be a Mark of a good Writer, will fall in with the Character

of a good Companion. The good Writer makes his Reader better pleased

with himself, and the agreeable Man makes his Friends enjoy themselves,

rather than him, while he is in their Company. _Callisthenes_ does this

with inimitable Pleasantry. He whispered a Friend the other Day, so as

to be overheard by a young Officer, who gave Symptoms of Cocking upon

the Company, That Gentleman has very much of the Air of a General

Officer. The Youth immediately put on a Composed Behaviour, and behaved

himself suitably to the Conceptions he believed the Company had of him.

It is to be allowed that _Callisthenes_ will make a Man run into

impertinent Relations, to his own Advantage, and express the

Satisfaction he has in his own dear self till he is very ridiculous, but

in this case the Man is made a Fool by his own Consent, and not exposed

as such whether he will or no. I take it therefore that to make Raillery

agreeable, a Man must either not know he is rallied, or think never the

worse of himself if he sees he is.

_Acetus_ is of a quite contrary Genius, and is more generally admired

than _Callisthenes_, but not with Justice. _Acetus_ has no regard to the

Modesty or Weakness of the Person he rallies; but if his Quality or

Humility gives him any Superiority to the Man he would fall upon, he has

no Mercy in making the Onset. He can be pleased to see his best Friend

out of Countenance, while the Laugh is loud in his own Applause. His

Raillery always puts the Company into little Divisions and separate

Interests, while that of _Callisthenes_ cements it, and makes every Man

not only better pleased with himself, but also with all the rest in the

Conversation.

To rally well, it is absolutely necessary that Kindness must run thro'

all you say, and you must ever preserve the Character of a Friend to

support your Pretensions to be free with a Man. _Acetus_ ought to be

banished human Society, because he raises his Mirth upon giving Pain to

the Person upon whom he is pleasant. Nothing but the Malevolence, which

is too general towards those who excell, could make his Company

tolerated; but they with whom he converses, are sure to see some Man

sacrificed where-ever he is admitted, and all the Credit he has for Wit

is owing to the Gratification it gives to other Men's Ill-nature.

_Minutius_ has a Wit that conciliates a Man's Love at the same time that

it is exerted against his Faults. He has an Art of keeping the Person he

rallies in Countenance, by insinuating that he himself is guilty of the

same Imperfection. This he does with so much Address, that he seems

rather to bewail himself, than fall upon his Friend.

It is really monstrous to see how unaccountably it prevails among Men,

to take the Liberty of displeasing each other. One would think sometimes

that the Contention is, who shall be most disagreeable, Allusions to

past Follies, Hints which revive what a Man has a Mind to forget for

ever, and deserves that all the rest of the World should, are commonly

brought forth even in Company of Men of Distinction. They do not thrust

with the Skill of Fencers, but cut up with the Barbarity of Butchers. It

is, methinks, below the Character of Men of Humanity and Good-manners,

to be capable of Mirth while there is any one of the Company in Pain and

Disorder. They who have the true Taste of Conversation, enjoy themselves

in a Communication of each other's Excellencies, and not in a Triumph

over their Imperfections. _Fortius_ would have been reckoned a Wit, if

there had never been a Fool in the World: He wants not Foils to be a

Beauty, but has that natural Pleasure in observing Perfection in others,

that his own Faults are overlooked out of Gratitude by all his

Acquaintance.

After these several Characters of Men who succeed or fail in Raillery,

it may not be amiss to reflect a little further what one takes to be the

most agreeable Kind of it; and that to me appears when the Satyr is

directed against Vice, with an Air of Contempt of the Fault, but no

Ill-will to the Criminal. Mr. _Congreve's Doris_ is a Master-piece in

this Kind. It is the Character of a Woman utterly abandoned, but her

Impudence by the finest Piece of Raillery is made only Generosity.

'Peculiar therefore is her Way,

Whether by Nature taught,

I shall not undertake to say,

Or by experience bought;

For who o'er Night obtain'd her Grace,

She can next Day disown,

And stare upon the strange Man's Face,

As one she ne'er had known,

So well she can the Truth disguise,

Such artful Wonder frame,

The Lover or distrusts his Eyes,

Or thinks 'twas all a Dream.

Some censure this as lewd or low,

Who are to Bounty blind;

For to forget what we bestow,

Bespeaks a noble Mind.'

T.

* * * * *

No. 423. Saturday, July 5, 1712. Steele.

'--Nuper Idoneus.'

Hor.

I look upon my self as a Kind of Guardian to the Fair, and am always

watchful to observe any thing which concerns their Interest. The present

Paper shall be employed in the Service of a very fine young Woman; and

the Admonitions I give her, may not be unuseful to the rest of the Sex.

_Gloriana_ shall be the Name of the Heroine in To-day's Entertainment;

and when I have told you that she is rich, witty, young and beautiful,

you will believe she does not want Admirers. She has had since she came

to Town about twenty five of those Lovers, who make their Addresses by

way of Jointure and Settlement. These come and go, with great

Indifference on both Sides; and as beauteous as she is, a Line in a Deed

has had Exception enough against it, to outweigh the Lustre of her Eyes,

the Readiness of her Understanding, and the Merit of her general

Character. But among the Crowd of such cool Adorers, she has two who are

very assiduous in their Attendance. There is something so extraordinary

and artful in their Manner of Application, that I think it but common

Justice to alarm her in it. I have done it in the following Letter.

Madam,

'I have for some time taken Notice of two Gentlemen who attend you in

all publick Places, both of whom have also easie Access to you at your

own House: But the Matter is adjusted between them, and _Damon_, who

so passionately addresses you, has no Design upon you; but _Strephon_,

who seems to be indifferent to you, is the Man, who is, as they have

settled it, to have you. The Plot was laid over a Bottle of Wine; and

_Strephon_, when he first thought of you, proposed to _Damon_ to be

his Rival. The manner of his breaking of it to him, I was so placed at

a Tavern, that I could not avoid hearing. _Damon_, said he with a deep

Sigh, I have long languished for that Miracle of Beauty _Gloriana_,

and if you will be very stedfastly my Rival, I shall certainly obtain

her. Do not, continued he, be offended at this Overture; for I go upon

the Knowledge of the Temper of the Woman, rather than any Vanity that

I should profit by an Opposition of your Pretensions to those of your

humble Servant. _Gloriana_ has very good Sense, a quick Relish of the

Satisfactions of Life, and will not give her self, as the Crowd of

Women do, to the Arms of a Man to whom she is indifferent. As she is a

sensible Woman, Expressions of Rapture and Adoration will not move her

neither; but he that has her must be the Object of her Desire, not her

Pity. The Way to this End I take to be, that a Man's general Conduct

should be agreeable, without addressing in particular to the Woman he

loves. Now, Sir, if you will be so kind as to sigh and die for

_Gloriana_, I will carry it with great Respect towards her, but seem

void of any Thoughts as a Lover. By this Means I shall be in the most

amiable Light of which I am capable; I shall be received with Freedom,

you with Reserve. _Damon_, who has himself no Designs of Marriage at

all, easily fell into the Scheme; and you may observe, that where-ever

you are _Damon_ appears also. You see he carries on an unaffecting

Exactness in his Dress and Manner, and strives always to be the very

Contrary of _Strephon_. They have already succeeded so far, that your

Eyes are ever in Search of _Strephon_, and turn themselves of Course

from _Damon_. They meet and compare Notes upon your Carriage; and the

Letter which, was brought to you the other Day, was a Contrivance to

remark your Resentment. When you saw the Billet subscribed _Damon_,

and turned away with a scornful Air, and cried Impertinence! you gave

Hopes to him that shuns you, without mortifying him that languishes

for you. What I am concerned for, Madam, is, that in the disposal of

your Heart, you should know what you are doing, and examine it before

it is lost. _Strephon_ contradicts you in Discourse with the Civility

of one who has a Value for you, but gives up nothing like one that

loves you. This seeming Unconcern gives this Behaviour the advantage

of Sincerity, and insensibly obtains your good Opinion, by appearing

disinterested in the purchase of it. If you watch these Correspondents

hereafter, you will find that _Strephon_ makes his Visit of Civility

immediately after _Damon_ has tired you with one of Love. Tho' you are

very discreet, you will find it no easie matter to escape the Toils so

well laid, as when one studies to be disagreeable in Passion, the

other to be pleasing without it. All the Turns of your Temper are

carefully watched, and their quick and faithful Intelligence gives

your Lovers irresistible Advantage. You will please, Madam, to be upon

your guard, and take all the necessary Precautions against one who is

amiable to you before you know he is enamoured.

_I am, Madam,

Your most Obedient Servant._

_Strephon_ makes great Progress in this Lady's good Graces, for most

Women being actuated by some little Spirit of Pride and Contradiction,

he has the good effects of both those Motives by this Covert-Way of

Courtship. He received a Message Yesterday from _Damon_ in the following

Words, superscribed _With Speed_.

'All goes well; she is very angry at me, and I dare say hates me in

earnest. It is a good time to Visit.

_Yours_.'

The Comparison of _Strephon's_ Gayety to _Damon's_ Languishment, strikes

her Imagination with a Prospect of very agreeable Hours with such a Man

as the former, and Abhorrence of the insipid Prospect with one like the

latter. To know when a Lady is displeased with another, is to know the

best time of advancing your self. This method of two Persons playing

into each other's Hand is so dangerous, that I cannot tell how a Woman

could be able to withstand such a Siege. The Condition of _Gloriana_, I

am afraid, is irretrievable, for _Strephon_ has had so many

Opportunities of pleasing without suspicion, that all which is left for

her to do is to bring him, now she is advised, to an Explanation of his

Passion, and beginning again, if she can conquer the kind Sentiments she

has already conceived for him. When one shews himself a Creature to be

avoided, the other proper to be fled to for Succour, they have the whole

Woman between them, and can occasionally rebound her Love and Hatred

from one to the other, in such a manner as to keep her at a distance

from all the rest of the World, and cast Lots for the Conquest.

N. B. _I have many other Secrets which concern the Empire of Love, but I

consider that while I alarm my Women, I instruct my Men_.

T.

* * * * *

No. 424. Monday, July 7, 1712. Steele

'Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit--'

Hor.

London, June 24.

Mr. Spectator,

'A man who has it in his Power to chuse his own Company, would

certainly be much to blame should he not, to the best of his Judgment,

take such as are of a Temper most suitable to his own; and where that

Choice is wanting, or where a Man is mistaken in his Choice, and yet

under a Necessity of continuing in the same Company, it will certainly

be to his Interest to carry himself as easily as possible.

'In this I am sensible I do but repeat what has been said a thousand

times, at which however I think no Body has any Title to take

Exception, but they who never failed to put this in Practice--Not to

use any longer Preface, this being the Season of the Year in which

great Numbers of all sorts of People retire from this Place of

Business and Pleasure to Country Solitude, I think it not improper to

advise them to take with them as great a Stock of Good-humour as they

can; for tho' a Country-Life is described as the most pleasant of all

others, and though it may in Truth be so, yet it is so only to those

who know how to enjoy Leisure and Retirement.

'As for those who can't live without the constant helps of Business or

Company, let them consider, that in the Country there is no

_Exchange_, there are no Play-houses, no Variety of Coffee-houses, nor

many of those other Amusements which serve here as so many Reliefs

from the repeated Occurrences in their own Families; but that there

the greatest Part of their Time must be spent within themselves, and

consequently it behoves them to consider how agreeable it will be to

them before they leave this dear Town.

'I remember, Mr. SPECTATOR, we were very well entertained last Year,

with the Advices you gave us from Sir ROGER'S Country Seat; which I

the rather mention, because 'tis almost impossible not to live

pleasantly, where the Master of a Family is such a one as you there

describe your Friend, who cannot therefore (I mean as to his domestick

Character) be too often recommended to the Imitation of others. How

amiable is that Affability and Benevolence with which he treats his

Neighbours, and every one, even the meanest of his own Family! And yet

how seldom imitated? instead of which we commonly meet with

ill-natured Expostulations, Noise, and Chidings--And this I hinted,

because the Humour and Disposition of the Head, is what chiefly

influences all the other Parts of a Family.

'An Agreement and kind Correspondence between Friends and

Acquaintance, is the greatest Pleasure of Life. This is an undoubted

Truth, and yet any Man who judges from the Practice of the World, will

be almost persuaded to believe the contrary; for how can we suppose

People should be so industrious to make themselves uneasie? What can

engage them to entertain and foment Jealousies of one another upon

every the least Occasion? Yet so it is, there are People who (as it

should seem) delight in being troublesome and vexatious, who (as

_Tully_ speaks) _Mira sunt alacritate ad litigandum, Have a certain

Chearfulness in wrangling_. And thus it happens, that there are very

few Families in which there are not Feuds and Animosities, tho' 'tis

every one's Interest, there more particularly, to avoid 'em, because

there (as I would willingly hope) no one gives another Uneasiness,

without feeling some share of it--But I am gone beyond what I

designed, and had almost forgot what I chiefly proposed; which was,

barely to tell you, how hardly we who pass most of our Time in Town

dispense with a long Vacation in the Country, how uneasie we grow to

our selves and to one another when our Conversation is confined,

insomuch that by _Michaelmas_ 'tis odds but we come to downright

squabbling, and make as free with one another to our Faces, as we do

with the rest of the World behind their Backs. After I have told you

this, I am to desire that you would now and then give us a Lesson of

Good-humour, a Family-Piece; which, since we are all very fond of you,

I hope may have some Influence upon us--

'After these plain Observations give me leave to give you an Hint of

what a Set of Company of my Acquaintance, who are now gone into the

Country, and have the Use of an absent Nobleman's Seat, have settled

among themselves, to avoid the Inconveniencies above mentioned. They

are a Collection of ten or twelve, of the same good Inclination

towards each other, but of very different Talents and Inclinations:

From hence they hope, that the Variety of their Tempers will only

create Variety of Pleasures. But as there always will arise, among the

same People, either for want of Diversity of Objects, or the like

Causes, a certain Satiety, which may grow into ill Humour or

Discontent, there is a large Wing of the House which they design to

employ in the Nature of an Infirmary. Whoever says a peevish thing, or

acts any thing which betrays a Sowerness or Indisposition to Company,

is immediately to be conveyed to his Chambers in the Infirmary; from

whence he is not to be relieved, till by his Manner of Submission, and

the Sentiments expressed in his Petition for that Purpose, he appears

to the Majority of the Company to be again fit for Society. You are to

understand, that all ill-natured Words or uneasie Gestures are

sufficient Cause for Banishment; speaking impatiently to Servants,

making a Man repeat what he says, or any thing that betrays

Inattention or Dishumour, are also criminal without Reprieve: But it

is provided, that whoever observes the ill-natured Fit coming upon

himself, and voluntarily retires, shall be received at his return from

the Infirmary with the highest Marks of Esteem. By these and other

wholesome Methods it is expected that if they cannot cure one another,

yet at least they have taken Care that the ill Humour of one shall not

be troublesome to the rest of the Company. There are many other Rules

which the Society have established for the Preservation of their Ease

and Tranquility, the Effects of which, with the Incidents that arise

among them, shall be communicated to you from Time to Time for the

publick Good, by,

SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

R. O.

T.

* * * * *

No. 425. Tuesday, July 8, 1712. Budgell.

'Frigora mitescunt Zephyris, Ver proterit Æstas

Interitura, simul

Pomifer Autumnus fruges effuderit, et mox

Bruma recurrit iners.'

Hor.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

'There is hardly any thing gives me a more sensible Delight, than the

Enjoyment of a cool still Evening after the Uneasiness of a hot sultry

Day. Such a one I passed not long ago, which made me rejoice when the

Hour as come for the Sun to set, that I might enjoy the Freshness of

the Evening in my Garden, which then affords me the pleasantest Hours

I pass in the whole Four and twenty. I immediately rose from my Couch,

and went down into it. You descend at first by twelve Stone Steps into

a large Square divided into four Grass-plots, in each of which is a

Statue of white Marble. This is separated from a large Parterre by a

low Wall, and from thence, thro' a Pair of Iron Gates, you are led

into a long broad Walk of the finest Turf, set on each Side with tall

Yews, and on either Hand bordered by a Canal, which on the Right

divides the Walk from a Wilderness parted into Variety of Allies and

Arbours, and on the Left from a kind of Amphitheatre, which is the

Receptacle of a great Number of Oranges and Myrtles. The Moon shone

bright, and seemed then most agreeably to supply the Place of the Sun,

obliging me with as much Light as was necessary to discover a thousand

pleasing Objects, and at the same time divested of all Power of Heat.

The Reflection of it in the Water, the Fanning of the Wind rustling on

the Leaves, the Singing of the Thrush and Nightingale, and the

Coolness of the Walks, all conspired to make me lay aside all

displeasing Thoughts, and brought me into such a Tranquility of Mind,

as is I believe the next Happiness to that of hereafter. In this sweet

Retirement I naturally fell into the Repetition of some Lines out of a

Poem of _Milton's_, which he entitles _Il Penseroso_, the Ideas of

which were exquisitely suited to my present Wandrings of Thought.

'Sweet Bird! that shun'st the Noise of Folly,

Most musical! most melancholy!

Thee Chauntress, oft the Woods among,

I wooe to hear thy Evening Song:

And missing thee, I walk unseen

On the dry smooth-shaven Green,

To behold the wandring Moon,

Riding near her highest Noon,

Like one that hath been led astray,

Thro' the Heavn's wide pathless Way,

And oft, as if her Head she bow'd,

Stooping thro' a fleecy Cloud.

Then let some strange mysterious Dream

Wave with his Wings in airy Stream,

Of lively Portraiture displaid,

Softly on my Eyelids laid;

And as I wake, sweet Musick breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by Spirits to Mortals Good,

Or th' unseen Genius of the Wood.'

I reflected then upon the sweet Vicissitudes of Night and Day, on the

charming Disposition of the Seasons, and their Return again in a

perpetual Circle; and oh! said I, that I could from these my declining

Years return again to my first Spring of Youth and Vigour; but that,

alas! is impossible: All that remains within my Power, is to soften

the Inconveniences I feel, with an easie contented Mind, and the

Enjoyment of such Delights as this Solitude affords me. In this

Thought I sate me down on a Bank of Flowers and dropt into a Slumber,

which whether it were the Effect of Fumes and Vapours, or my present

Thoughts, I know not; but methought the Genius of the Garden stood

before me, and introduced into the Walk where I lay this Drama and

different Scenes of the Revolution of the Year, which whilst I then

saw, even in my Dream, I resolved to write down, and send to the

SPECTATOR.

The first Person whom I saw advancing towards me was a Youth of a most

beautiful Air and Shape, tho' he seemed not yet arrived at that exact

Proportion and Symmetry of Parts which a little more time would have

given him; but however, there was such a Bloom in his Countenance,

such Satisfaction and Joy, that I thought it the most desirable Form

that I had ever seen. He was cloathed in a flowing Mantle of green

Silk, interwoven with Flowers: He had a Chaplet of Roses on his Head,

and a _Narcissus_ in his Hand; Primroses and Violets sprang up under

his Feet, and all Nature was cheer'd at his Approach. _Flora_ was on

one Hand and _Vertumnus_ on the other in a Robe of changeable Silk.

After this I was surprized to see the Moon-beams reflected with a

sudden Glare from Armour, and to see a Man compleatly armed advancing

with his Sword drawn. I was soon informed by the Genius it was _Mars_,

who had long usurp'd a Place among the Attendants of the _Spring_. He

made Way for a softer Appearance, it was _Venus_, without any Ornament

but her own Beauties, not so much as her own Cestus, with which she

had incompass'd a Globe, which she held in her right Hand, and in her

left she had a Sceptre of Gold. After her followed the Graces with

their Arms intwined within one another, their Girdles were loosed, and

they moved to the Sound of soft Musick, striking the Ground

alternately with their Feet: Then came up the three Months which

belong to this Season. As _March_ advanced towards me, there was

methought in his Look a louring Roughness, which ill befitted a Month

which was ranked in so soft a Season; but as he came forwards his

Features became insensibly more mild and gentle: He smooth'd his Brow,

and looked with so sweet a Countenance that I could not but lament his

Departure, though he made way for _April_. He appeared in the greatest

Gaiety imaginable, and had a thousand Pleasures to attend him: His

Look was frequently clouded, but immediately return'd to its first

Composure, and remained fixed in a Smile. Then came _May_ attended by

_Cupid_, with his Bow strung, and in a Posture to let fly an Arrow: As

he passed by methought I heard a confused Noise of soft Complaints,

gentle Ecstacies, and tender Sighs of Lovers; Vows of Constancy, and

as many Complainings of Perfidiousness; all which the Winds wafted

away as soon as they had reached my Hearing. After these I saw a Man

advance in the full Prime and Vigour of his Age, his Complexion was

sanguine and ruddy, his Hair black, and fell down in beautiful

Ringlets not beneath his Shoulders, a Mantle of Hair-colour'd Silk

hung loosely upon him: He advanced with a hasty Step after the

_Spring_, and sought out the Shade and cool Fountains which plaid in

the Garden. He was particularly well pleased when a Troop of _Zephyrs_

fanned him with their Wings: He had two Companions who walked on each

Side that made him appear the most agreeable, the one was _Aurora_

with Fingers of Roses, and her Feet dewy, attired in grey: The other

was _Vesper_ in a Robe of Azure beset with Drops of Gold, whose Breath

he caught whilst it passed over a Bundle of Honey-Suckles and

Tuberoses which he held in his Hand. _Pan_ and _Ceres_ followed them

with four Reapers, who danced a Morrice to the Sound of Oaten Pipes

and Cymbals. Then came the Attendant Months. _June_ retained still

some small Likeness of the _Spring_; but the other two seemed to step

with a less vigorous Tread, especially _August_, who seem'd almost to

faint whilst for half the Steps he took the Dog-Star levelled his Rays

full at his Head: They passed on and made Way for a Person that seemed

to bend a little under the Weight of Years; his Beard and Hair, which

were full grown, were composed of an equal Number of black and grey;

he wore a Robe which he had girt round him of a yellowish Cast, not

unlike the Colour of fallen Leaves, which he walked upon. I thought he

hardly made Amends for expelling the foregoing Scene by the large

Quantity of Fruits which he bore in his Hands. _Plenty_ walked by his

Side with an healthy fresh Countenance, pouring out from an Horn all

the various Product of the Year. _Pomona_ followed with a Glass of

Cyder in her Hand, with _Bacchus_ in a Chariot drawn by Tygers,

accompanied by a whole Troop of Satyrs, Fauns, and Sylvans.

_September_, who came next, seem'd in his Looks to promise a new

_Spring_, and wore the Livery of those Months. The succeeding Month

was all soiled with the Juice of Grapes, as if he had just come from

the Wine-Press. _November_, though he was in this Division, yet, by

the many Stops he made seemed rather inclined to the _Winter_, which

followed close at his Heels. He advanced in the Shape of an old Man in

the Extremity of Age: The Hair he had was so very white it seem'd a

real Snow; his Eyes were red and piercing, and his Beard hung with a

great Quantity of Icicles: He was wrapt up in Furrs, but yet so

pinched with Excess of Cold that his Limbs were all contracted and his

Body bent to the Ground, so that he could not have supported himself

had it not been for _Comus_ the God of Revels, and _Necessity_ the

Mother of Fate, who sustained him on each side. The Shape and Mantle

of _Comus_ was one of the things that most surprized me; as he

advanced towards me, his Countenance seemed the most desirable I had

ever seen: On the fore Part of his Mantle was pictured Joy, Delight,

and Satisfaction, with a thousand Emblems of Merriment, and Jests with

Faces looking two Ways at once; but as he passed from me I was amazed

at a Shape so little correspondent to his Face: His Head was bald, and

all the rest of his Limbs appeared old and deformed. On the hinder

Part of his Mantle was represented Murder with dishevelled Hair and a

Dagger all bloody, Anger in a Robe of Scarlet, and Suspicion squinting

with both Eyes; but above all the most conspicuous was the Battel of

the _Lapithæ_ and the _Centaurs_. I detested so hideous a Shape, and

turned my Eyes upon _Saturn_, who was stealing away behind him with a

Scythe in one Hand, and an Hour-glass in t'other unobserved. Behind

_Necessity_ was _Vesta_ the Goddess of Fire with a Lamp which was

perpetually supply'd with Oyl; and whose Flame was eternal. She

cheered the rugged Brow of _Necessity_, and warmed her so far as

almost to make her assume the Features and Likeness of _Choice.

December, January,_ and _February_, passed on after the rest all in

Furrs; there was little Distinction to be made amongst them, and they

were only more or less displeasing as they discovered more or less

Haste towards the grateful Return of _Spring._

Z.

* * * * *

No. 426. Wednesday, July 9, 1712. Steele.

'--Quid non mortalia Pectora cogis

Auri sacra fames'

Virg.

A very agreeable Friend of mine, the other Day, carrying me in his Coach

into the Country to Dinner, fell into Discourse concerning the Care of

Parents due to their Children, and the Piety of Children towards their

Parents. He was reflecting upon the Succession of particular Virtues and

Qualities there might be preserved from one Generation to another, if

these Regards were reciprocally held in Veneration: But as he never

fails to mix an Air of Mirth and good Humour with his good Sense and

Reasoning, he entered into the following Relation.

I will not be confident in what Century, or under what Reign it

happened, that this Want of mutual Confidence and right Understanding

between Father and Son was fatal to the Family of the _Valentines_ in

_Germany_. _Basilius Valentinus_ was a Person who had arrived at the

utmost Perfection in the Hermetick Art, and initiated his Son

_Alexandrinus_ in the same Mysteries: But as you know they are not to be

attained but by the Painful, the Pious, the Chaste, and Pure of Heart,

_Basilius_ did not open to him, because of his Youth, and the Deviations

too natural to it, the greatest Secrets of which he was Master, as well

knowing that the Operation would fail in the Hands of a Man so liable to

Errors in Life as _Alexandrinus_. But believing, from a certain

Indisposition of Mind as well as Body, his Dissolution was drawing nigh,

he called _Alexandrinus_ to him, and as he lay on a Couch, over-against

which his Son was seated, and prepared by sending out Servants one after

another, and Admonition to examine that no one over-heard them, he

revealed the most important of his Secrets with the Solemnity and

Language of an Adept. My Son, said he, many have been the Watchings,

long the Lucubrations, constant the Labours of thy Father, not only to

gain a great and plentiful Estate to his Posterity, but also to take

Care that he should have no Posterity. Be not amazed, my Child; I do not

mean that thou shalt be taken from me, but that I will never leave thee,

and consequently cannot be said to have Posterity. Behold, my dearest

_Alexandrinus_, the Effect of what was propagated in nine Months: We are

not to contradict Nature but to follow and to help her; just as long as

an Infant is in the Womb of its Parent, so long are these Medicines of

Revification in preparing. Observe this small Phial and this little

Gallipot, in this an Unguent, in the other a Liquor. In these, my child,

are collected such Powers, as shall revive the Springs of Life when they

are yet but just ceased, and give new Strength, new Spirits, and, in a

Word, wholly restore all the Organs and Senses of the human Body to as

great a Duration, as it had before enjoyed from its Birth to the Day of

the Application of these my Medicines. But, my beloved Son, Care must be

taken to apply them within ten Hours after the Breath is out of the

Body, while yet the Clay is warm with its late Life, and yet capable of

Resuscitation. I find my Frame grown crasie with perpetual Toil and

Meditation; and I conjure you, as soon as I am dead, to anoint me with

this Unguent; and when you see me begin to move, pour into my Lips this

inestimable Liquor, else the Force of the Ointment will be ineffectual.

By this Means you will give me Life as I have you, and we will from that

Hour mutually lay aside the Authority of having bestowed Life on each

other, but live as Brethren, and prepare new Medicines against such

another Period of Time as will demand another Application of the same

Restoratives. In a few Days after these wonderful Ingredients were

delivered to _Alexandrinus_, _Basilius_ departed this Life. But such was

the pious Sorrow of the Son at the Loss of so excellent a Father, and

the first Transports of Grief had so wholly disabled him from all manner

of Business, that he never thought of the Medicines till the Time to

which his Father had limited their Efficacy was expired. To tell the

Truth, _Alexandrinus_ was a Man of Wit and Pleasure, and considered his

Father had lived out his natural Time, his Life was long and uniform,

suitable to the Regularity of it; but that he himself, poor Sinner,

wanted a new Life, to repent of a very bad one hitherto; and in the

Examination of his Heart, resolved to go on as he did with this natural

Being of his, but repent very faithfully and spend very piously the Life

to which he should be restored by Application of these Rarities, when

Time should come, to his own Person.

It has been observed, that Providence frequently punishes the Self-love

of Men who would do immoderately for their own Off-spring, with Children

very much below their Characters and Qualifications, insomuch that they

only transmit their Names to be born by those who give daily Proofs of

the Vanity of the Labour and Ambition of their Progenitors.

It happened thus in the Family of _Basilius_; for _Alexandrinus_ began

to enjoy his ample Fortune in all the Extremities of Houshold Expence,

Furniture, and insolent Equipage; and this he pursued till the Day of

his own Departure began, as he grew sensible, to approach. As _Basilius_

was punished with a Son very unlike him, _Alexandrinus_ was visited with

one of his own Disposition. It is natural that ill Men should be

suspicious, and _Alexandrinus_, besides that Jealousie, had Proofs of

the vitious Disposition of his Son _Renatus_, for that was his Name.

_Alexandrinus_, as I observed, having very good Reasons for thinking it

unsafe to trust the real Secret of his Phial and Gallypot to any Man

living, projected to make sure Work, and hope for his Success depending

from the Avarice, not the Bounty of his Benefactor.

With this Thought he called _Renatus_ to his Bed-side, and bespoke him

in the most pathetick Gesture and Accent. As much, my Son, as you have

been addicted to Vanity and Pleasure, as I also have been before you,

you nor I could escape the Fame, or the good Effects of the profound

Knowledge of our Progenitor, the Renowned _Basilius_. His Symbol is very

well known in the Philosophick World, and I shall never forget the

venerable Air of his Countenance, when he let me into the profound

Mysteries of _the Smaragdine Table of_ Hermes. _It is true_, said he,

_and far removed from all Colour of Deceit, That which is Inferior is

like that which is Superior, by which are acquired and perfected all the

Miracles of a certain Work. The Father is the Sun, the Mother the Moon:

the Wind is the Womb, the Earth is the Nurse of it, and Mother of all

Perfection. All this must be received with Modesty and Wisdom._ The

Chymical People carry in all their Jargon a whimsical sort of Piety,

which is ordinary with great Lovers of Money, and is no more but

deceiving themselves, that their Regularity and Strictness of Manners

for the Ends of this World, has some Affinity to the Innocence of Heart

which must recommend them to the next. _Renatus_ wondered to hear his

Father talk so like an Adept, and with such a Mixture of Piety, while

_Alexandrinus_ observing his Attention fixed, proceeded: This Phial,

Child, and this little Earthen-Pot will add to thy Estate so much, as to

make thee the richest Man in the _German_ Empire. I am going to my Long

Home, but shall not return to common Dust. Then he resumed a Countenance

of Alacrity, and told him, That if within an Hour after his Death he

anointed his whole Body, and poured down his Throat that Liquor which he

had from old _Basilius_, the Corps would be converted into pure Gold. I

will not pretend to express to you the unfeigned Tendernesses that

passed between these two extraordinary Persons; but if the Father

recommended the Care of his Remains with Vehemence and Affection, the

Son was not behind-hand in professing that he would not cut the least

Bit off him, but upon the utmost Extremity, or to provide for his

younger Brothers and Sisters.

Well, _Alexandrinus_ died, and the Heir of his Body (as our Term is)

could not forbear in the Wantonness of his Heart, to measure the Length

and Breadth of his beloved Father, and cast up the ensuing Value of him

before he proceeded to Operation. When he knew the immense Reward of his

Pains, he began the Work: But lo! when he had anointed the Corps all

over, and began to apply the Liquor, the Body stirred, and _Renatus_, in

a Fright, broke the Phial. [1]

[Footnote 1: This tale is from the Description of the memorable Sea and

Land Travels through Persia to the East Indies, by Johann Albrecht von

Mandelslo, translated from the German of Olearius, by J. B. B. Bk v. p.

189. Basil Valentine, whom it makes the hero of a story after the manner

of the romances of Virgil the Enchanter, was an able chemist (in those

days an alchemist) of the sixteenth century, who is believed to have

been a Benedictine monk of Erfurth, and is not known to have had any

children. He was the author of the Currus Triumphalis Antimonii,

mentioned in a former note. His name was familiar through several books

in French, especially 'L'Azoth des Philosophes, avec les 12 Clefs de

Philosophie' (Paris, 1660), and a 'Testament de Basile Valentine'

(London, 1671).]

* * * * *

No. 427. Thursday, July 10, 1712. Steele.

'Quartum a rerum turpitudine abes, tantum Te a verborum libertate

sejungas.'

Tull.

It is a certain Sign of an ill Heart to be inclined to Defamation. They

who are harmless and innocent, can have no Gratification that way; but

it ever arises from a Neglect of what is laudable in a Man's self, and

an Impatience of seeing it in another. Else why should Virtue provoke?

Why should Beauty displease in such a Degree, that a Man given to

Scandal never lets the Mention of either pass by him without offering

something to the Diminution of it? A Lady the other Day at a Visit being

attacked somewhat rudely by one, whose own Character has been very

roughly treated, answered a great deal of Heat and Intemperance very

calmly, 'Good Madam spare me, who am none of your Match; I speak Ill of

no Body, and it is a new Thing to me to be spoken ill of.' Little Minds

think Fame consists in the Number of Votes they have on their Side among

the Multitude, whereas it is really the inseparable Follower of good and

worthy Actions. Fame is as natural a Follower of Merit, as a Shadow is

of a Body. It is true, when Crowds press upon you, this Shadow cannot be

seen, but when they separate from around you, it will again appear. The

Lazy, the Idle, and the Froward, are the Persons who are most pleas'd

with the little Tales which pass about the Town to the Disadvantage of

the rest of the World. Were it not for the Pleasure of speaking Ill,

there are Numbers of People who are too lazy to go out of their own

Houses, and too ill-natur'd to open their Lips in Conversation. It was

not a little diverting the other Day to observe a Lady reading a

Post-Letter, and at these Words, 'After all her Airs, he has heard some

Story or other, and the Match is broke off', give Orders in the midst of

her Reading, 'Put to the Horses.' That a young Woman of Merit has missed

an advantagious Settlement, was News not to be delayed, lest some Body

else should have given her malicious Acquaintance that Satisfaction

before her. The Unwillingness to receive good Tidings is a Quality as

inseparable from a Scandal-Bearer, as the Readiness to divulge bad. But,

alas, how wretchedly low and contemptible is that State of Mind, that

cannot be pleased but by what is the Subject of Lamentation. This Temper

has ever been in the highest Degree odious to gallant Spirits. The

_Persian_ Soldier, who was heard reviling _Alexander_ the Great, was

well admonished by his Officer; _Sir, you are paid to fight against_

Alexander, _and not to rail at him_.

_Cicero_ in one of his Pleadings, [1] defending his Client from general

Scandal, says very handsomely, and with much Reason, _There are many who

have particular Engagements to the Prosecutor: There are many who are

known to have ill-will to him for whom I appear; there are many who are

naturally addicted to Defamation, and envious of any Good to any Man,

who may have contributed to spread Reports of this kind: For nothing is

so swift as Scandal, nothing is more easily sent abroad, nothing

received with more Welcome, nothing diffuses it self so universally. I

shall not desire, that if any Report to our Disadvantage has any Ground

for it, you would overlook or extenuate it: But if there be any thing

advanced without a Person who can say whence he had it, or which is

attested by one who forgot who told him it, or who had it from one of so

little Consideration that he did not then think it worth his Notice, all

such Testimonies as these, I know, you will think too slight to have any

Credit against the Innocence and Honour of your Fellow-Citizen_. When an

ill Report is traced, it very often vanishes among such as the Orator

has here recited. And how despicable a Creature must that be, who is in

Pain for what passes among so frivolous a People? There is a Town in

_Warwickshire_ of good Note, and formerly pretty famous for much

Animosity and Dissension, the chief Families of which have now turned

all their Whispers, Backbitings, Envies, and private Malices, into Mirth

and Entertainment, by means of a peevish old Gentlewoman, known by the

Title of the Lady _Bluemantle_. This Heroine had for many Years together

out-done the whole Sisterhood of Gossips in Invention, quick Utterance,

and unprovoked Malice. This good Body is of a lasting Constitution,

though extremely decayed in her Eyes, and decrepid in her Feet. The two

Circumstances of being always at Home from her Lameness, and very

attentive from her Blindness, make her Lodgings the Receptacle of all

that passes in Town, Good or Bad; but for the latter, she seems to have

the better Memory. There is another Thing to be noted of her, which is,

That as it is usual with old People, she has a livelier Memory of Things

which passed when she was very young, than of late Years. Add to all

this, that she does not only not love any Body, but she hates every

Body. The Statue in Rome does not serve to vent Malice half so well, as

this old Lady does to disappoint it. She does not know the Author of any

thing that is told her, but can readily repeat the Matter it self;

therefore, though she exposes all the whole Town, she offends no one

Body in it. She is so exquisitely restless and peevish, that she

quarrels with all about her, and sometimes in a Freak will instantly

change her Habitation. To indulge this Humour, she is led about the

Grounds belonging to the same House she is in, and the Persons to whom

she is to remove, being in the Plot, are ready to receive her at her own

Chamber again. At stated Times, the Gentlewoman at whose House she

supposes she is at the Time, is sent for to quarrel with, according to

her common Custom: When they have a Mind to drive the Jest, she is

immediately urged to that Degree, that she will board in a Family with

which she has never yet been; and away she will go this Instant, and

tell them all that the rest have been saying of them. By this means she

has been an Inhabitant of every House in the Place without stirring from

the same Habitation; and the many Stories which every body furnishes her

with to favour that Deceit, make her the general Intelligencer of the

Town of all that can be said by one Woman against another. Thus

groundless Stories die away, and sometimes Truths are smothered under

the general Word: When they have a Mind to discountenance a thing, Oh!

that is in my Lady _Bluemantle's_ Memoirs.

Whoever receives Impressions to the Disadvantage of others without

Examination, is to be had in no other Credit for Intelligence than this

good Lady _Bluemantle_, who is subjected to have her Ears imposed upon

for want of other Helps to better Information. Add to this, that other

Scandal-Bearers suspend the Use of these Faculties which she has lost,

rather than apply them to do Justice to their Neighbours; and I think,

for the Service of my fair Readers, to acquaint them, that there is a

voluntary Lady _Bluemantle_ at every Visit in Town.

T.

[Footnote 1: Orat. pro Cu. Plancio. A little beyond the middle.]

* * * * *

No. 428. Friday, July 11, 1712. Steele.

'Occupet extremum Scabies--'

Hor.

It is an impertinent and unreasonable Fault in Conversation, for one Man

to take up all the Discourse. It may possibly be objected to me my self,

that I am guilty in this kind, in entertaining the Town every Day, and

not giving so many able Persons who have it more in their Power, and as

much in their Inclination, an Opportunity to oblige Mankind with their

Thoughts. Besides, said one whom I overheard the other Day, why must

this Paper turn altogether upon Topicks of Learning and Morality? Why

should it pretend only to Wit, Humour, or the like? Things which are

useful only to amuse Men of Literature and superior Education. I would

have it consist also of all Things which may be necessary or useful to

any Part of Society, and the mechanick Arts should have their Place as

well as the Liberal. The Ways of Gain, Husbandry, and Thrift, will serve

a greater Number of People, than Discourses upon what was well said or

done by such a Philosopher, Heroe, General, or Poet. I no sooner heard

this Critick talk of my Works, but I minuted what he had said; and from

that Instant resolved to enlarge the Plan of my Speculations, by giving

Notice to all Persons of all Orders, and each Sex, that if they are

pleased to send me Discourses, with their Names and Places of Abode to

them, so that I can be satisfied the Writings are authentick, such their

Labours shall be faithfully inserted in this Paper. It will be of much

more Consequence to a Youth in his Apprenticeship, to know by what Rules

and Arts such a one became Sheriff of the City of _London_, than to see

the Sign of one of his own Quality with a Lion's Heart in each Hand. The

World indeed is enchanted with romantick and improbable Atchievements,

when the plain Path to respective Greatness and Success in the Way of

Life a Man is in, is wholly overlooked. Is it possible that a young Man

at present could pass his Time better, than in reading the History of

Stocks, and knowing by what secret Springs they have had such sudden

Ascents and Falls in the same Day? Could he be better conducted in his

Way to Wealth, which is the great Article of Life, than in a Treatise

dated from _Change-Alley_ by an able Proficient there? Nothing certainly

could be more useful, than to be well instructed in his Hopes and Fears;

to be diffident when others exult, and with a secret Joy buy when others

think it their Interest to sell. I invite all Persons who have any thing

to say for the Profitable Information of the Publick, to take their

Turns in my Paper: They are welcome, from the late noble Inventor of the

Longitude, [1] to the humble Author of Strops for Razors. If to carry

Ships in Safety, to give Help to People tost in a troubled Sea, without

knowing to what Shoar they bear, what Rocks to avoid, or what Coast to

pray for in their Extremity, be a worthy Labour, and an Invention that

deserves a Statue; at the same Time, he who has found a Means to let the

Instrument which is to make your Visage less [horrible [2]], and your

Person more smug, easie in the Operation, is worthy of some kind of good

Reception: If Things of high Moment meet with Renown, those of little

Consideration, since of any Consideration, are not to be despised. In

order that no Merit may lye hid and no Art unimproved, I repeat it, that

I call Artificers, as well as Philosophers, to my Assistance in the

Publick Service. It would be of great Use if we had an exact History of

the Successes of every great Shop within the City-Walls, what Tracts of

Land have been purchased by a constant Attendance within a Walk of

thirty Foot. If it could also be noted in the Equipage of those who are

ascended from the Successful Trade of their Ancestors into Figure and

Equipage, such Accounts would quicken Industry in the Pursuit of such

Acquisitions, and discountenance Luxury in the Enjoyment of them.

To diversifie these kinds of Informations, the Industry of the Female

World is not to be unobserved: She to whose Houshold Virtues it is

owing, that Men do Honour to her Husband, should be recorded with

Veneration; she who had wasted his Labours, with Infamy. When we are

come into Domestick Life in this manner, to awaken Caution and

Attendance to the main Point, it would not be amiss to give now and then

a Touch of Tragedy, and describe [the [3]] most dreadful of all human

Conditions, the Case of Bankruptcy; how Plenty, Credit, Chearfulness,

full Hopes, and easy Possessions, are in an Instant turned into Penury,

faint Aspects, Diffidence, Sorrow, and Misery; how the Man, who with an

open Hand the Day before could administer to the Extremities of others,

is shunned today by the Friend of his Bosom. It would be useful to shew

how just this is on the Negligent, how lamentable on the Industrious. A

Paper written by a Merchant, might give this Island a true Sense of the

Worth and Importance of his Character: It might be visible from what he

could say, That no Soldier entring a Breach adventures more for Honour,

than the Trader does for Wealth to his Country. In both Cases the

Adventurers have their own Advantage, but I know no Cases wherein every

Body else is a Sharer in the Success.

It is objected by Readers of History, That the Battels in those

Narrations are scarce ever to be understood. This Misfortune is to be

ascribed to the Ignorance of Historians in the Methods of drawing up,

changing the Forms of a Battalia, and the Enemy retreating from, as well

as approaching to, the Charge. But in the Discourses from the

Correspondents, whom I now invite, the Danger will be of another kind;

and it is necessary to caution them only against using Terms of Art, and

describing Things that are familiar to them in Words unknown to their

Readers. I promise my self a great Harvest of new Circumstances,

Persons, and Things from this Proposal; and a World, which many think

they are well acquainted with, discovered as wholly new. This Sort of

Intelligence will give a lively Image of the Chain and mutual Dependance

of humane Society, take off impertinent Prejudices, enlarge the Minds of

those, whose Views are confined to their own Circumstances; and, in

short, if the Knowing in several Arts, Professions, and Trades will

exert themselves, it cannot but produce a new Field of Diversion, an

Instruction more agreeable than has yet appeared.

T.

[Footnote 1: If this means the Marquis of Worcester, the exact

ascertainment of the longitude was not one of his century of Inventions.

The sextant had its origin in the mind of Sir Isaac Newton, who was

knighted in 1705, and living at this time, but its practical inventor

was Thomas Godfrey, a glazier at Philadelphia. Godfrey's instrument is

said to have been seen by John Hadley, or that English philosopher,

after whom the instrument is named, invented it at the same time, about

1730. Honours of invention were assigned to both Godfrey and Hadley.

Means of exact observation of the heavenly bodies would not suffice for

exact determining of longitude until the sailor was provided with a

timepiece that could be relied upon in all climates for a true uniform

standard of time. The invention of such a time-piece, for which

Parliament offered a reward of £20,000, was the real solution of the

difficulty, and this we owe to the Yorkshireman John Harrison, a

carpenter and son of a carpenter, who had a genius for clockmaking, and

was stimulated to work at the construction of marine chronometers by

living in sight of the sea. He came to London in 1728, and after fifty

years of labour finished in 1759 a chronometer which, having stood the

test of two voyages, obtained for him the offered reward of £20,000.

Harrison died in 1776 at the age of 83.]

[Footnote 2: [horrid]]

[Footnote 3: [that]]

* * * * *

No. 429. Saturday, July 12, 1712. Steele.

'--Populumque falsis dedocet uti

Vocibus--'

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

Since I gave an Account of an agreeable Set of Company which were gone

down into the Country, I have received Advices from thence, that the

Institution of an Infirmary for those who should be out of Humour, has

had very good Effects. My Letters mention particular Circumstances of

two or three Persons, who had the good Sense to retire of their own

Accord, and notified that they were withdrawn, with the Reasons of it,

to the Company, in their respective Memorials.

_The Memorial of Mrs_. Mary Dainty, _Spinster_,

Humbly Sheweth,

That conscious of her own want of Merit, accompanied with a Vanity

of being admired, she had gone into Exile of her own accord.

She is sensible, that a vain Person is the most insufferable

Creature living in a well-bred Assembly.

That she desired, before she appeared in publick again, she might

have Assurances, that tho' she might be thought handsome, there

might not more Address or Compliment be paid to her, than to the

rest of the Company.

That she conceived it a kind of Superiority, that one Person should

take upon him to commend another.

Lastly, That she went into the Infirmary, to avoid a particular

Person who took upon him to profess an Admiration of her.

She therefore prayed, that to applaud out of due place, might be

declar'd an Offence, and punished in the same Manner with

Detraction, in that the latter did but report Persons defective, and

the former made them so.

All which is submitted, &c.

There appeared a Delicacy and Sincerity in this Memorial very

uncommon, but my Friend informs me, that the Allegations of it were

groundless, insomuch that this Declaration of an Aversion to being

praised, was understood to be no other than a secret Trap to purchase

it, for which Reason it lies still on the Table unanswered.

_The humble Memorial of the Lady_ Lydia Loller, Sheweth,

That the Lady _Lydia_ is a Woman of Quality; married to a private

Gentleman.

That she finds her self neither well nor ill.

That her Husband is a Clown.

That Lady _Lydia_ cannot see Company. That she desires the Infirmary

may be her Apartment during her stay in the Country.

That they would please to make merry with their Equals.

That Mr. _Loller_ might stay with them if he thought fit.

It was immediately resolved, that Lady _Lydia_ was still at _London._

_The humble Memorial_ of Thomas Sudden, _Esq_., of the Inner-Temple,

Sheweth,

That Mr. _Sudden_ is conscious that he is too much given to

Argumentation.

That he talks loud.

That he is apt to think all things matter of Debate.

That he stayed behind in _Westminster-Hall_, when the late Shake of

the Roof happened, only because a Council of the other Side asserted

it was coming down.

That he cannot for his Life consent to any thing.

That he stays in the Infirmary to forget himself.

That as soon as he has forgot himself, he will wait on the Company.

His Indisposition was allowed to be sufficient to require a Cessation

from Company.

_The Memorial_ of Frank Jolly, Sheweth,

That he hath put himself into the Infirmary, in regard he is

sensible of a certain rustick Mirth which renders him unfit for

polite Conversation.

That he intends to prepare himself by Abstinence and thin Diet to be

one of the Company.

That at present he comes into a Room as if he were an Express from

Abroad.

That he has chosen an Apartment with a matted Anti-Chamber, to

practise Motion without being heard.

That he bows, talks, drinks, eats, and helps himself before a Glass,

to learn to act with Moderation.

That by reason of his luxuriant Health he is oppressive to Persons

of composed Behaviour.

That he is endeavouring to forget the Word _Pshaw, Pshaw_.

That he is also weaning himself from his Cane.

That when he has learnt to live without his said Cane, he will wait

on the Company, &c.

...

_The Memorial_ of John Rhubarb, _Esq_.,

Sheweth,

That your Petitioner has retired to the Infirmary, but that he is

in perfect good Health, except that he has by long Use. and for want

of Discourse, contracted an Habit of Complaint that he is sick.

That he wants for nothing under the Sun, but what to say, and

therefore has fallen into this unhappy Malady of complaining that he

is sick.

That this Custom of his makes him, by his own Confession, fit only

for the Infirmary, and therefore he has not waited for being

sentenced to it.

That he is conscious there is nothing more improper than such a

Complaint in good Company, in that they must pity, whether they

think the Lamenter ill or not; and that the Complainant must make a

silly Figure, whether he is pitied or not.

Your Petitioner humbly prays, that he may have Time to know how he

does, and he will make his Appearance.

The Valetudinarian was likewise easily excused; and this Society being

resolved not only to make it their Business to pass their Time

agreeably for the present Season, but also to commence such Habits in

themselves as may be of Use in their future Conduct in general, are

very ready to give into a fancied or real Incapacity to join with

their Measures, in order to have no Humourist, proud Man, impertinent

or sufficient ellow, break in upon their Happiness. Great Evils seldom

happen to disturb Company; but Indulgence in Particularities of

Humour, is the Seed of making half our Time hang in Suspence, or waste

away under real Discomposures.

Among other Things it is carefully provided that there may not be

disagreeable Familiarities. No one is to appear in the publick Rooms

undressed, or enter abruptly into each other's Apartment without

intimation. Every one has hitherto been so careful in his Behaviour,

that there has but one Offender in ten Days Time been sent into the

Infirmary, and that was for throwing away his Cards at Whist.

He has offered his Submission in the following Terms.

_The humble Petition of_ Jeoffry Hotspur, _Esq._,

Sheweth,

Though the Petitioner swore, stamped, and threw down his Cards, he

has all imaginable Respect for the Ladies, and the whole Company.

That he humbly desires it may be considered in the Case of Gaming,

there are many Motives which provoke to Disorder.

That the Desire of Gain, and the Desire of Victory, are both

thwarted in Losing.

That all Conversations in the World have indulged Human Infirmity in

this Case.

Your Petitioner therefore most humbly prays, that he may be restored

to the Company, and he hopes to bear ill Fortune with a good Grace

for the future, and to demean himself so as to be no more than

chearful when he wins, than grave when he loses.

T.

* * * * *

No. 430. Monday, July 14, 1712. Steele.

'Quære peregrinum vicinia rauca reclamat.'

Hor.

_SIR_,

As you are Spectator-General, you may with Authority censure

whatsoever looks ill, and is offensive to the Sight; the worst Nusance

of which kind, methinks, is the scandalous Appearance of Poor in all

Parts of this wealthy City. Such miserable Objects affect the

compassionate Beholder with dismal Ideas, discompose the Chearfulness

of his Mind, and deprive him of the Pleasure that he might otherwise

take in surveying the Grandeur of our Metropolis. Who can without

Remorse see a disabled Sailor, the Purveyor of our Luxury, destitute

of Necessaries? Who can behold an honest Soldier, that bravely

withstood the Enemy, prostrate and in Want amongst his Friends? It

were endless to mention all the Variety of Wretchedness, and the

numberless Poor, that not only singly, but in Companies, implore your

Charity. Spectacles of this Nature every where occur; and it is

unaccountable, that amongst the many lamentable Cries that infest this

Town, your Comptroller-General should not take notice of the most

shocking, _viz_. those of the Needy and Afflicted. I can't but think

he wav'd it meerly out of good Breeding, chusing rather to stifle his

Resentment, than upbraid his Countrymen with Inhumanity; however, let

not Charity be sacrificed to Popularity, and if his Ears were deaf to

their Complaints, let not your Eyes overlook their Persons. There are,

I know, many Impostors among them. Lameness and Blindness are

certainly very often acted; but can those that have their Sight and

Limbs, employ them better than in knowing whether they are

counterfeited or not? I know not which of the two misapplies his

Senses most, he who pretends himself blind to move Compassion, or he

who beholds a miserable Object without pitying it. But in order to

remove such Impediments, I wish, Mr. SPECTATOR, you would give us a

Discourse upon Beggars, that we may not pass by true Objects of

Charity, or give to Impostors. I looked out of my Window the other

Morning earlier than ordinary, and saw a blind Beggar, an Hour before

the Passage he stands in is frequented, with a Needle and Thread,

thriftily mending his Stockings: My Astonishment was still greater,

when I beheld a lame Fellow, whose Legs were too big to walk within an

Hour after, bring him a Pot of Ale. I will not mention the Shakings,

Distortions, and Convulsions which many of them practise to gain an

Alms; but sure I am, they ought to be taken Care of in this Condition,

either by the Beadle or the Magistrate. They, it seems, relieve their

Posts according to their Talents. There is the Voice of an old Woman

never begins to beg 'till nine in the Evening, and then she is

destitute of Lodging, turned out for want of Rent, and has the same

ill Fortune every Night in the Year. You should employ an Officer to

hear the Distress of each Beggar that is constant at a particular

Place, who is ever in the same Tone, and succeeds because his Audience

is continually changing, tho' he does not alter his Lamentation. If we

have nothing else for our Money, let us have more Invention to be

cheated with. All which is submitted to your Spectatorial Vigilance:

and I am,

SIR,

Your most humble Servant.

SIR,

I was last _Sunday_ highly transported at our Parish-Church; the

Gentleman in the Pulpit pleaded movingly in Behalf of the poor

Children, and they for themselves much more forcibly by singing an

Hymn; And I had the Happiness to be a Contributor to this little

religious Institution of Innocents, and am sure I never disposed of

Money more to my Satisfaction and Advantage. The inward Joy I find in

my self, and the Good-will I bear to Mankind, make me heartily wish

those pious Works may be encouraged, that the present Promoters may

reap the Delight, and Posterity the Benefit of them. But whilst we are

building this beautiful Edifice, let not the old Ruins remain in View

to sully the Prospect: Whilst we are cultivating and improving this

young hopeful Offspring, let not the ancient and helpless Creatures be

shamefully neglected. The Crowds of Poor, or pretended Poor, in every

Place, are a great Reproach to us, and eclipse the Glory of all other

Charity. It is the utmost Reproach to Society, that there should be a

poor Man unrelieved, or a poor Rogue unpunished. I hope you will think

no Part of Human Life out of your Consideration, but will, at your

Leisure, give us the History of Plenty and Want, and the natural

Gradations towards them, calculated for the Cities of _London_ and

_Westminster_.

_I am, SIR,

Your most Humble Servant_,

T. D.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I beg you would be pleased to take Notice of a very great Indecency,

which is extreamly common, though, I think, never yet under your

Censure. It is, Sir, the strange Freedoms some ill-bred married People

take in Company: The unseasonable Fondness of some Husbands, and the

ill-timed Tenderness of some Wives. They talk and act, as if Modesty

was only fit for Maids and Batchelors, and that too before both. I was

once, Mr. SPECTATOR, where the Fault I speak of was so very flagrant,

that (being, you must know, a very bashful Fellow, and several young

Ladies in the Room) I protest I was quite out of Countenance.

_Lucina_, it seems, was breeding, and she did nothing but entertain

the Company with a Discourse upon the Difficulty of Reckoning to a

Day, and said she knew those who were certain to an Hour; then fell a

laughing at a silly unexperienced Creature, who was a Month above her

Time. Upon her Husband's coming in, she put several Questions to him;

which he not caring to resolve, Well, cries _Lucina_, I shall have 'em

all at Night--But lest I should seem guilty of the very Fault I write

against, I shall only intreat _Mr_. SPECTATOR to correct such

Misdemeanors;

'For higher of the Genial Bed by far,

And with mysterious Reverence, I deem.' [1]

_I am, SIR,

Your humble Servant_,

T. Meanwell.

T.

[Footnote 1: Paradise Lost, Bk VIII. 11. 598-9.]

* * * * *

No. 431. Tuesday, July 15, 1712. Steele.

'Quid Dulcius hominum generi a Natura datum est quam sui cuique

liberi?'

Tull.

I have lately been casting in my Thoughts the several Unhappinesses of

Life, and comparing the Infelicities of old Age to those of Infancy. The

Calamities of Children are due to the Negligence and Misconduct of

Parents, those of Age to the past Life which led to it. I have here the

History of a Boy and Girl to their Wedding-Day, and I think I cannot

give the Reader a livelier Image of the insipid way which Time

uncultivated passes, than by entertaining him with their authentick

Epistles, expressing all that was remarkable in their Lives, 'till the

Period of their Life above mentioned. The Sentence at the Head of this

Paper, which is only a warm Interrogation, _What is there in Nature so

dear as a Man's own Children to him_? is all the Reflection I shall at

present make on those who are negligent or cruel in the Education of

them.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I am now entring into my One and Twentieth Year, and do not know that

I had one Day's thorough Satisfaction since I came to Years of any

Reflection, till the Time they say others lose their Liberty, the Day

of my Marriage. I am Son to a Gentleman of a very great Estate, who

resolv'd to keep me out of the Vices of the Age; and in order to it

never let me see any Thing that he thought could give me the least

Pleasure. At ten Years old I was put to a Grammar-School, where my

Master received Orders every Post to use me very severely, and have no

regard to my having a great Estate. At Fifteen I was removed to the

University, where I liv'd, out of my Father's great Discretion, in

scandalous Poverty and Want, till I was big enough to be married, and

I was sent for to see the Lady who sends you the Underwritten. When we

were put together, we both considered that we could not be worse than

we were in taking one another, out of a Desire of Liberty entered into

Wedlock. My Father says I am now a Man, and may speak to him like

another Gentleman.

_I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant_,

Richard Rentfree.

_Mr_. SPEC.

I grew tall and wild at my Mother's, who is a gay Widow, and did not

care for shewing me 'till about two Years and a half ago; at which

time my Guardian Uncle sent me to a Boarding-School, with Orders to

contradict me in nothing, for I had been misused enough already. I had

not been there above a Month, when being in the Kitchin, I saw some

Oatmeal on the Dresser; I put two or three Corns in my Mouth, liked

it, stole a Handful, went into my Chamber, chewed it, and for two

Months after never failed taking Toll of every Pennyworth of Oatmeal

that came into the House: But one Day playing with a Tobacco-pipe

between my Teeth, it happened to break in my Mouth, and the spitting

out the Pieces left such a delicious Roughness on my Tongue, that I

could not be satisfied 'till I had champed up the remaining Part of

the Pipe. I forsook the Oatmeal, and stuck to the Pipes three Months,

in which Time I had dispensed with thirty seven foul Pipes, all to the

Boles; They belonged to an old Gentleman, Father to my Governess--He

lock'd up the clean ones. I left off eating of Pipes, and fell to

licking of Chalk. I was soon tired of this; I then nibbled all the red

Wax of our last Ball-Tickets, and three Weeks after the black Wax from

the Burying-Tickets of the old Gentleman. Two Months after this I

liv'd upon Thunder-bolts, a certain long, round bluish Stone, which I

found among the Gravel in our Garden. I was wonderfully delighted with

this; but Thunder-bolts growing scarce, I fasten'd Tooth and Nail upon

our Garden-Wall, which I stuck to almost a Twelvemonth, and had in

that time peeled and devoured half a Foot towards our Neighbour's

Yard. I now thought my self the happiest Creature in the World, and I

believe in my Conscience, I had eaten quite through, had I had it in

my Chamber; but now I became lazy, and unwilling to stir, and was

obliged to seek Food nearer Home. I then took a strange Hankering to

Coals; I fell to scranching 'em, and had already consumed, I am

certain, as much as would have dressed my Wedding Dinner, when my

Uncle came for me Home. He was in the Parlour with my Governess when I

was called down. I went in, fell on my Knees, for he made me call him

Father; and when I expected the Blessing I asked, the good Gentleman,

in a Surprize, turns himself to my Governess, and asks, Whether this

(pointing to me) was his Daughter? This (added he) is the very Picture

of Death. My Child was a plump-fac'd, hale, fresh-coloured Girl; but

this looks as if she was half-starved, a mere Skeleton. My Governess,

who is really a good Woman, assured my Father I had wanted for

nothing; and withal told him I was continually eating some Trash or

other, and that I was almost eaten up with the Green-sickness, her

Orders being never to cross me. But this magnified but little with my

Father, who presently, in a kind of Pett, paying for my Board, took me

home with him. I had not been long at home, but one _Sunday_ at Church

(I shall never forget it) I saw a young neighbouring Gentleman that

pleased me hugely; I liked him of all Men I ever saw in my Life, and

began to wish I could be as pleasing to him. The very next Day he

came, with his Father, a visiting to our House: We were left alone

together, with Directions on both Sides to be in Love with one

another, and in three Weeks time we were married. I regained my former

Health and Complexion, and am now as happy as the Day is long. Now,

_Mr_. SPEC., I desire you would find out some Name for these craving

Damsels, whether dignified or distinguished under some or all of the

following Denominations, (to wit) _Trash-eaters, Oatmeal-chewers,

Pipe-champers, Chalk-lickers, Wax-nibbles, Coal-Scranchers,

Wall-peelers_, or _Gravel-diggers_: And, good Sir, do your utmost

endeavour to prevent (by exposing) this unaccountable Folly, so

prevailing among the young ones of our Sex, who may not meet with such

sudden good Luck as,

_SIR,

Your constant Reader,

and very humble Servant_,

Sabina Green,

_Now_ Sabina Rentfree.

T.

* * * * *

No. 432. Wednesday, July 16, 1712. Steele.

'Inter-strepit anser olores.'

Virg.

Oxford, July 14.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

According to a late Invitation in one of your Papers to every Man who

pleases to write, I have sent you the following short Dissertation

against the Vice of being prejudiced.

_Your most humble Servant_.

Man is a sociable Creature, and a Lover of Glory; whence it is that

when several Persons are united in the same Society, they are studious

to lessen the Reputation of others, in order to raise their own. The

Wise are content to guide the Springs in Silence, and rejoice in

Secret at their regular Progress: To prate and triumph is the Part

allotted to the Trifling and Superficial: The Geese were

providentially ordained to save the _Capitol_. Hence it is, that the

Invention of Marks and Devices to distinguish Parties, is owing to the

_Beaux_ and _Belles_ of this Island. Hats moulded into different Cocks

and Pinches, have long bid mutual Defiance; Patches have been set

against Patches in Battel-aray; Stocks have risen or fallen in

Proportion to Head-Dresses; and Peace or War been expected, as the

_White_ or the _Red_ Hood hath prevailed. These are the

Standard-Bearers in our contending Armies, the Dwarfs and Squires who

carry the Impresses of the Giants or Knights, not born to fight

themselves, but to prepare the Way for the ensuing Combat.

It is Matter of Wonder to reflect how far Men of weak Understanding

and strong Fancy are hurried by their Prejudices, even to the

believing that the whole Body of the adverse Party are a Band of

Villains and Dæmons. Foreigners complain, that the _English_ are the

proudest Nation under Heaven. Perhaps they too have their Share; but

be that as it will, general Charges against Bodies of Men is the Fault

I am writing against. It must be own'd, to our Shame, that our common

People, and most who have not travelled, have an irrational Contempt

for the Language, Dress, Customs, and even the Shape and Minds of

other Nations. Some Men otherwise of Sense, have wondered that a great

Genius should spring out of _Ireland_; and think you mad in affirming,

that fine Odes have been written in _Lapland_.

This Spirit of Rivalship, which heretofore reigned in the Two

Universities, is extinct, and almost over betwixt College and College:

In Parishes and Schools the Thirst of Glory still obtains. At the

Seasons of Football and Cock-fighting, these little Republicks

reassume their national Hatred to each other. My Tenant in the Country

is verily perswaded, that the Parish of the Enemy hath not one honest

Man in it.

I always hated Satyrs against Woman, and Satyrs against Man; I am apt

to suspect a Stranger who laughs at the Religion of _The Faculty_; My

Spleen rises at a dull Rogue, who is severe upon Mayors and Aldermen;

and was never better pleased than with a Piece of Justice executed

upon the Body of a Templer, who was very arch upon Parsons.

The Necessities of Mankind require various Employments; and whoever

excels in his Province is worthy of Praise. All Men are not educated

after the same Manner, nor have all the same Talents. Those who are

deficient deserve our Compassion, and have a Title to our Assistance.

All cannot be bred in the same Place; but in all Places there arise,

at different Times, such Persons as do Honour to their Society, which

may raise Envy in little Souls, but are admired and cherished by

generous Spirits.

It is certainly a great Happiness to be educated in Societies of great

and eminent Men. Their Instructions and Examples are of extraordinary

Advantage. It is highly proper to instill such a Reverence of the

governing Persons, and Concern for the Honour of the Place, as may

spur the growing Members to worthy Pursuits and honest Emulation: But

to swell young Minds with vain Thoughts of the Dignity of their own

Brotherhood, by debasing and villifying all others, doth them a real

Injury. By this means I have found that their Efforts have become

languid, and their Prattle irksome, as thinking it sufficient Praise

that they are Children of so illustrious and ample a Family. I should

think it a surer as well as more generous Method, to set before the

Eyes of Youth such Persons as have made a noble Progress in

Fraternities less talk'd of; which seems tacitly to reproach their

Sloth, who loll so heavily in the Seats of mighty Improvement: Active

Spirits hereby would enlarge their Notions, whereas by a servile

Imitation of one, or perhaps two, admired Men in their own Body, they

can only gain a secondary and derivative kind of Fame. These Copiers

of Men, like those of Authors or Painters, run into Affectations of

some Oddness, which perhaps was not disagreeable in the Original, but

sits ungracefully on the narrow-soul'd Transcriber.

By such early Corrections of Vanity, while Boys are growing into Men,

they will gradually learn not to censure superficially; but imbibe

those Principles of general Kindness and Humanity, which alone can

make them easie to themselves, and beloved by others.

Reflections of this nature have expunged all Prejudices out of my

Heart, insomuch that, tho' I am a firm Protestant, I hope to see the

Pope and Cardinals without violent Emotions; and tho' I am naturally

grave, I expect to meet good Company at _Paris_.

_I am, SIR,

Your obedient Servant_.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I find you are a general Undertaker, and have by your Correspondents

or self an Insight into most things: which makes me apply my self to

you at present in the sorest Calamity that ever befel Man. My Wife has

taken something ill of me, and has not spoke one Word, good or bad, to

me, or any Body in the Family, since _Friday_ was Seven-night. What

must a Man do in that Case? Your Advice would be a great Obligation

to,

_SIR, Your most humble Servant_,

Ralph Thimbleton.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

When you want a Trifle to fill up a Paper, in inserting this you will

lay an Obligation on

_Your humble Servant_,

Olivio.

July 15th, 1712.

_Dear_ Olivia,

It is but this Moment I have had the Happiness of knowing to whom I

am obliged for the Present I received the second of _April_. I am

heartily sorry it did not come to Hand the Day before; for I can't

but think it very hard upon People to lose their Jest, that offer at

one but once a Year. I congratulate my self however upon the Earnest

given me of something further intended in my Favour, for I am told,

that the Man who is thought worthy by a Lady to make a Fool of,

stands fair enough in her Opinion to become one Day her Husband.

Till such time as I have the Honour of being sworn, I take Leave to

subscribe my self,

_Dear_ Olivia, _Your Fool Elect_,

Nicodemuncio.

T.

* * * * *

No. 433. Thursday, July 17, 1712. Addison.