If we regard Poverty and Wealth, as they are apt to produce Virtues or

Vices in the Mind of Man, one may observe, that there is a Set of each

of these growing out of Poverty, quite different from that which rises

out of Wealth. Humility and Patience, Industry and Temperance, are very

often the good Qualities of a poor Man. Humanity and Good-nature,

Magnanimity, and a Sense of Honour, are as often the Qualifications of

the Rich. On the contrary, Poverty is apt to betray a Man into Envy,

Riches into Arrogance. Poverty is too often attended with Fraud, vicious

Compliance, Repining, Murmur and Discontent; Riches expose a Man to

Pride and Luxury, a foolish Elation of Heart, and too great a Fondness

for the present World. In short, the middle Condition is most eligible

to the Man who would improve himself in Virtue; as I have before shewn,

it is the most advantageous for the gaining of Knowledge. It was upon

this Consideration that _Agur_ founded his Prayer, which for the Wisdom

of it is recorded in Holy Writ. _Two things have I required of thee,

deny me them not before I die. Remove far from me Vanity and Lies; give

me neither Poverty, nor Riches; feed me with Food convenient for me.

Lest I be full and deny thee, and say, who is the Lord? or lest I be

poor and steal, and take the name of my God in vain._ [2]

I shall fill the remaining Part of my Paper with a very pretty Allegory,

which is wrought into a Play [3] by _Aristophanes_ the _Greek_ Comedian.

It seems originally designed as a Satyr upon the Rich, though, in some

Parts of it, 'tis like the foregoing Discourse, a kind of Comparison

between Wealth and Poverty.

_Chremylus_, who was an old and a good Man, and withal exceeding Poor,

being desirous to leave some Riches to his Son, consults the Oracle of

_Apollo_ upon the Subject. The Oracle bids him follow the first Man he

should see upon his going out of the Temple. The Person he chanced to

see was to Appearance an old sordid blind Man, but upon his following

him from Place to Place, he at last found by his own Confession, that he

was _Plutus_ the God of Riches, and that he was just come out of the

House of a Miser. _Plutus_ further told him, that when he was a Boy, he

used to declare, that as soon as he came to Age he would distribute

Wealth to none but virtuous and just Men; upon which _Jupiter_,

considering the pernicious Consequences of such a Resolution, took his

Sight away from him, and left him to strole about the World in the Blind

Condition wherein _Chremylus_ beheld him. With much ado _Chremylus_

prevailed upon him to go to his House, where he met an old Woman in a

tattered Raiment, who had been his Guest for many Years, and whose Name

was _Poverty_. The old Woman refusing to turn out so easily as he would

have her, he threatned to banish her not only from his own House, but

out of all _Greece_, if she made any more Words upon the Matter.

_Poverty_ on this Occasion pleads her Cause very notably, and represents

to her old Landlord, that should she be driven out of the Country, all

their Trades, Arts and Sciences would be driven out with her; and that

if every one was Rich, they would never be supplied with those Pomps,

Ornaments and Conveniences of Life which made Riches desirable. She

likewise represented to him the several Advantages which she bestowed

upon her Votaries, in regard to their Shape, their Health, and their

Activity, by preserving them from Gouts, Dropsies, Unweildiness, and

Intemperance. But whatever she had to say for her self, she was at last

forced to troop off. _Chremylus_ immediately considered how he might

restore _Plutus_ to his Sight; and in order to it conveyed him to the

Temple of _Æsculapius_, who was famous for Cures and Miracles of this

Nature. By this means the Deity recovered his Eyes, and begun to make a

right use of them, by enriching every one that [was [4]] distinguished

by Piety towards the Gods, and Justice towards [Men [5]] and at the same

time by taking away his Gifts from the Impious and Undeserving. This

produces several merry Incidents, till in the last Act _Mercury_

descends with great Complaints from the Gods, that since the Good Men

were grown Rich they had received no Sacrifices, which is confirmed by a

Priest of _Jupiter_, who enters with a Remonstrance, that since this

late Innovation he was reduced to a starving Condition, and could not

live upon his Office. _Chremylus_, who in the beginning of the Play was

Religious in his Poverty, concludes it with a Proposal which was

relished by all the Good Men who were now grown rich as well as himself,

that they should carry _Plutus_ in a Solemn Procession to the Temple,

and Install him in the Place of _Jupiter_. This Allegory instructed the

_Athenians_ in two Points, first, as it vindicated the Conduct of

Providence in its ordinary Distributions of Wealth; and in the next

Place, as it shewed the great Tendency of Riches to corrupt the Morals

of those who possessed them.

C.

[Footnote 1: Eccl. ix. 14-16.]

[Footnote 2: Proverbs xxx. 7-9.]

[Footnote 3: The Plutus.]

[Footnote 4: [were]]

[Footnote 5: [Man]]

* * * * *

No. 465. Saturday, August 23, 1712. Addison.

'Quâ ratione queas traducere leniter ævum:

Ne te semper inops agitet vexetque cupido;

Ne pavor et rerum mediocriter utilium Spes.'

Hor.

Having endeavoured in my last _Saturday's_ Paper to shew the great

Excellency of Faith, I here consider what are proper Means of

strengthning and confirming it in the Mind of Man. Those who delight in

reading Books of Controversie, which are written on both sides of the

Question in Points of Faith, do very seldom arrive at a fixed and

settled Habit of it. They are one Day entirely convinced of its

important Truths, and the next meet with something that shakes and

disturbs them. The Doubt [which [1]] was laid revives again, and shews

it self in new Difficulties, and that generally for this Reason, because

the Mind which is perpetually tost in Controversies and Disputes, is apt

to forget the Reasons which had once set it at rest, and to be

disquieted with any former Perplexity, when it appears in a new Shape,

or is started by a different Hand. As nothing is more laudable than an

Enquiry after Truth, so nothing is more irrational than to pass away our

whole Lives, without determining our selves one way or other in those

Points which are of the last Importance to us. There are indeed many

things from which we may with-hold our Assent; but in Cases by which we

are to regulate our Lives, it is the greatest Absurdity to be wavering

and unsettled, without closing with that Side which appears the most

safe and [the] most probable. The first Rule therefore which I shall lay

down is this, that when by Reading or Discourse we find our selves

thoroughly convinced of the Truth of any Article, and of the

Reasonableness of our Belief in it, we should never after suffer our

selves to call it into question. We may perhaps forget the Arguments

which occasioned our Conviction, but we ought to remember the Strength

they had with us, and therefore still to retain the Conviction which

they once produced. This is no more than what we do in every common Art

or Science, nor is it possible to act otherwise, considering the

Weakness and Limitation of our Intellectual Faculties. It was thus, that

_Latimer_, one of the glorious Army of Martyrs who introduced the

Reformation in _England_, behaved himself in that great Conference which

was managed between the most learned among the Protestants and Papists

in the Reign of Queen _Mary_. This venerable old Man knowing how his

Abilities were impaired by Age, and that it was impossible for him to

recollect all those Reasons which had directed him in the Choice of his

Religion, left his Companions who were in the full Possession of their

Parts and Learning, to baffle and confound their Antagonists by the

Force of Reason. As for himself he only repeated to his Adversaries the

Articles in which he firmly believed, and in the Profession of which he

was determined to die. It is in this manner that the Mathematician

proceeds upon the Propositions which he has once demonstrated; and

though the Demonstration may have slipt out of his Memory, he builds

upon the Truth, because he knows it was demonstrated. This Rule is

absolutely necessary for weaker Minds, and in some measure for Men of

the greatest Abilities; but to these last I would propose, in the second

place, that they should lay up in their Memories, and always keep by

them in a readiness, those Arguments which appear to them of the

greatest Strength, and which cannot be got over by all the Doubts and

Cavils of Infidelity.

But, in the third place, there is nothing which strengthens Faith more

than Morality. Faith and Morality naturally produce each other. A Man is

quickly convinced of the Truth of Religion, who finds it is not against

his Interest that it should be true. The Pleasure he receives at

Present, and the Happiness which he promises himself from it hereafter,

will both dispose him very powerfully to give Credit to it, according to

the ordinary Observation that _we are easie to believe what we wish_. It

is very certain, that a Man of sound Reason cannot forbear closing with

Religion upon an impartial Examination of it; but at the same time it is

as certain, that Faith is kept alive in us, and gathers Strength from

Practice more than from Speculation.

There is still another Method which is more Persuasive than any of the

former, and that is an habitual Adoration of the Supreme Being, as well

in constant Acts of mental Worship, as in outward Forms. The devout Man

does not only believe but feels there is a Deity. He has actual

Sensations of Him; his Experience concurs with his Reason; he sees him

more and more in all his Intercourses with him, and even in this Life

almost loses his Faith in Conviction.

The last Method which I shall mention for the giving Life to a Man's

Faith, is frequent Retirement from the World, accompanied with religious

Meditation. When a Man thinks of any thing in the Darkness of the Night,

whatever deep Impressions it may make in his Mind, they are apt to

vanish as soon as the Day breaks about him. The Light and Noise of the

Day, which are perpetually soliciting his Senses, and calling off his

Attention, wear out of his Mind the Thoughts that imprinted themselves

in it, with so much Strength, during the Silence and Darkness of the

Night. A Man finds the same Difference as to himself in a Crowd and in a

Solitude: the Mind is stunned and dazzled amidst that Variety of Objects

which press upon her in a great City: She cannot apply herself to the

Consideration of these Things which are of the utmost Concern to her.

The Cares or Pleasures of the World strike in with every Thought, and a

Multitude of vicious Examples [give [2]] a kind of Justification [to

[3]] our Folly. In our Retirements every thing disposes us to be

serious. In Courts and Cities we are entertained with the Works of Men;

in the Country with those of God. One is the Province of Art, the other

of Nature. Faith and Devotion naturally grow in the Mind of every

reasonable Man, who sees the Impressions of Divine Power and Wisdom in

every Object on which he casts his Eye. The Supream Being has made the

best Arguments for his own Existence, in the Formation of the Heavens

and the Earth, and these are Arguments which a Man of Sense cannot

forbear attending to, who is out of the Noise and Hurry of Human

Affairs. _Aristotle_ says, that should a Man live under Ground, and

there converse with Works of Art and Mechanism, and should afterwards be

brought up into the open Day, and see the several Glories of the Heaven

and Earth, he would immediately pronounce them the Works of such a Being

as we define God to be. The Psalmist has very beautiful Strokes of

Poetry to this Purpose, in that exalted Strain, _The Heavens declare the

Glory of God: And the Firmament showeth his handy-work. One Day telleth

another: And one Night certifieth another. There is neither Speech nor

Language: But their Voices are heard among them. Their Sound is gone out

into all Lands: And their Words into the Ends of the World._ [4] As such

a bold and sublime manner of Thinking furnishes very noble Matter for an

Ode, the Reader may see it wrought into the following one. [5]

I. The Spacious Firmament on high

With all the blue Etherial Sky,

And spangled Heav'ns, a Shining Frame,

Their great Original proclaim:

Th' unwearied Sun, from Day to Day,

Does his Creator's Pow'r display,

And publishes to every Land

The Work of an Almighty Hand.

II. Soon as the Evening Shades prevail,

The Moon takes up the wondrous Tale,

And nightly to the listning Earth

Repeats the Story of her Birth:

Whilst all the Stars that round her burn,

And all the Planets in their turn,

Confirm the Tidings as they rowl,

And spread the Truth from Pole to Pole.

III. What though, in solemn Silence, all

Move round the dark terrestrial Ball?

What tho' nor real Voice nor Sound

Amid their radiant Orbs be found?

In Reason's Ear they all rejoice,

And utter forth a glorious Voice,

For ever singing, as they shine,

'The Hand that made us is Divine?'

C.

[Footnote 1: [that]]

[Footnote 2: [give us]]

[Footnote 3: [in]]

[Footnote 4: Psalm xix. 1-3.]

[Footnote 5: By Addison.]

* * * * *

No. 466. Monday, August 25, 1712. Steele.

'--Vera incessu patuit Dea.'

Virg.

When _Æneas_, the Hero of _Virgil_, is lost in the Wood, and a perfect

Stranger in the Place on which he is landed, he is accosted by a Lady in

an Habit for the Chase. She enquires of him, Whether he has seen pass by

that Way any young Woman dressed as she was? Whether she were following

the Sport in the Wood, or any other Way employed, according to the

Custom of Huntresses? The Hero answers with the Respect due to the

beautiful Appearance she made, tells her, He saw no such Person as she

enquired for: but intimates, that he knows her to be of the Deities, and

desires she would conduct a Stranger. Her Form from her first Appearance

manifested she was more than mortal; but tho' she was certainly a

Goddess, the Poet does not make her known to be the Goddess of _Beauty_

till she moved: All the Charms of an agreeable Person are then in their

highest Exertion, every Limb and Feature appears with its respective

Grace. It is from this Observation, that I cannot help being so

passionate an Admirer as I am of good Dancing. [1] As all Art is an

Imitation of Nature, this is an Imitation of Nature in its highest

Excellence, and at a Time when she is most agreeable. The Business of

Dancing is to display Beauty, and for that Reason all Distortions and

Mimickries, as such, are what raise Aversion instead of Pleasure: But

Things that are in themselves excellent, are ever attended with

Imposture and false Imitation. Thus, as in Poetry there are laborious

Fools who write Anagrams and Acrosticks, there are Pretenders in

Dancing, who think meerly to do what others cannot, is to excel. Such

Creatures should be rewarded like him who had acquired a Knack of

throwing a Grain of Corn through the Eye of a Needle, with a Bushel to

keep his Hand in Use. The [Dancers [2]] on our Stages are very faulty in

this Kind; and what they mean by writhing themselves into such Postures,

as it would be a Pain for any of the Spectators to stand in, and yet

hope to please those Spectators, is unintelligible. Mr. _Prince_ has a

Genius, if he were encouraged, would prompt them to better things. In

all the Dances he invents, you see he keeps close to the Characters he

represents. He does not hope to please by making his Performers move in

a manner in which no one else ever did, but by Motions proper to the

Characters he represents. He gives to Clowns and Lubbards clumsie

Graces, that is, he makes them Practise what they would think Graces:

And I have seen Dances of his, which might give Hints that would be

useful to a Comick Writer. These Performances have pleas'd the Taste of

such as have not Reflection enough to know their Excellence, because

they are in Nature; and the distorted Motions of others have offended

those who could not form Reasons to themselves for their Displeasure,

from their being a Contradiction to Nature.

When one considers the inexpressible Advantage there is in arriving at

some Excellence in this Art, it is monstrous to behold it so much

neglected. The following Letter has in it something very natural on this

Subject.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I am a Widower with but one Daughter; she was by Nature much inclined

to be a Romp, and I had no way of educating her, but commanding a

young Woman, whom I entertained to take Care of her, to be very

watchful in her Care and Attendance about her. I am a Man of Business,

and obliged to be much abroad. The Neighbours have told me, that in my

Absence our Maid has let in the Spruce Servants in the Neighbourhood

to Junketings, while my Girl play'd and romped even in the Street. To

tell you the plain Truth, I catched her once, at eleven Years old, at

Chuck-Farthing among the Boys. This put me upon new Thoughts about my

Child, and I determined to place her at a Boarding-School, and at the

same Time gave a very discreet young Gentlewoman her Maintenance at

the same Place and Rate, to be her Companion. I took little Notice of

my Girl from Time to Time, but saw her now and then in good Health,

out of Harm's way, and was satisfied. But by much Importunity I was

lately prevailed with to go to one of their Balls. I cannot express to

you the anxiety my silly Heart was in, when I saw my Romp, now

fifteen, taken out: I never felt the pangs of a Father upon me so

strongly in my whole Life before; and I could not have suffered more,

had my whole Fortune been at Stake. My Girl came on with the most

becoming Modesty I had ever seen, and casting a respectful Eye, as if

she feared me more than all the Audience, I gave a Nod, which, I

think, gave her all the Spirit she assumed upon it, but she rose

properly to that Dignity of Aspect. My Romp, now the most graceful

Person of her Sex, assumed a Majesty which commanded the highest

Respect; and when she turned to me, and saw my Face in Rapture, she

fell into the prettiest Smile, and I saw in all her Motion that she

exulted in her Father's Satisfaction. You, Mr. SPECTATOR, will, better

than I can tell you, imagine to yourself all the different Beauties

and Changes of Aspect in an accomplished young Woman, setting forth

all her Beauties with a Design to please no one so much as her Father.

My Girl's Lover can never know half the Satisfaction that I did in her

that Day. I could not possibly have imagined, that so great

Improvement could have been wrought by an Art that I always held in it

self ridiculous and contemptible. There is, I am convinced, no Method

like this, to give young Women a Sense of their own Value and Dignity;

and I am sure there can be none so expeditious to communicate that

Value to others. As for the flippant insipidly Gay and wantonly

Forward, whom you behold among Dancers, that Carriage is more to be

attributed to the perverse Genius of the Performers, than imputed to

the Art it self. For my Part, my Child has danced her self into my

Esteem, and I have as great an Honour for her as ever I had for her

Mother, from whom she derived those latent good Qualities which

appeared in her Countenance when she was dancing; for my Girl, tho' I

say it my self, shewed in one Quarter of an Hour the innate Principles

of a modest Virgin, a tender Wife, a generous Friend, a kind Mother,

and an indulgent Mistress. I'll strain hard but I will purchase for

her an Husband suitable to her Merit. I am your Convert in the

Admiration of what I thought you jested when you recommended; and if

you please to be at my House on _Thursday_ next, I make a Ball for my

Daughter, and you shall see her Dance, or, if you will do her that

Honour, dance with her. _I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant_,

PHILIPATER.

I have some time ago spoken of a Treatise written by Mr. _Weaver_ on

this Subject, which is now, I understand, ready to be published. This

Work sets this Matter in a very plain and advantageous Light; and I am

convinced from it, that if the Art was under proper Regulations, it

would be a mechanick way of implanting insensibly in Minds, not capable

of receiving it so well by any other Rules, a Sense of good Breeding and

Virtue.

Were any one to see _Mariamne_ Dance, let him be never so sensual a

Brute, I defie him to entertain any Thoughts but of the highest Respect

and Esteem towards her. I was shewed last Week a Picture in a Lady's

Closet, for which she had an hundred different Dresses, that she could

clap on round the Face, on purpose to demonstrate the force of Habits in

the diversity of the same Countenance. Motion, and change of Posture and

Aspect, has an Effect no less surprising on the Person of _Mariamne_

when she Dances.

_Chloe_ is extremely pretty, and as silly as she is pretty. This Ideot

has a very good Ear, and a most agreeable Shape; but the Folly of the

Thing is such, that it Smiles so impertinently, and affects to please so

sillily, that while she Dances you see the Simpleton from Head to Foot.

For you must know (as Trivial as this Art is thought to be) no one ever

was a good Dancer, that had not a good Understanding. If this be a

Truth, I shall leave the Reader to judge from that Maxim, what Esteem

they ought to have for such Impertinents as fly, hop, caper, tumble,

twirl, turn round, and jump over their Heads, and, in a Word, play a

thousand Pranks which many Animals can do better than a Man, instead of

performing to Perfection what the human Figure only is capable of

Performing.

It may perhaps appear odd, that I, who set up for a mighty Lover, at

least, of Virtue, should take so much Pains to recommend what the

soberer Part of Mankind look upon to be a Trifle; but under Favour of

the soberer Part of Mankind, I think they have not enough considered

this Matter, and for that Reason only disesteem it. I must also, in my

own Justification, say that I attempt to bring into the Service of

Honour and Virtue every Thing in Nature that can pretend to give elegant

Delight. It may possibly be proved, that Vice is in it self destructive

of Pleasure, and Virtue in it self conducive to it. If the Delights of a

free Fortune were under proper Regulations, this Truth would not want

much Argument to support it; but it would be obvious to every Man, that

there is a strict Affinity between all Things that are truly laudable

and beautiful, from the highest Sentiment of the Soul, to the most

indifferent Gesture of the Body.

T.

[Footnote 1: See Nos. 66, 67, 334, 370, 376.]

[Footnote 2: [Dancing]]

* * * * *

No. 467. Tuesday, August 26, 1712. John Hughes?

'Quodcunque meæ poterunt Audere Camænæ

Seu Tibi par poterunt, seu, quod spes abnuit ultra;

Sive minus; certeque canent minus; omne vovemus

Hoc tibi; ne tanto careat mihi nomine Charta.'

Tibull. ad Messalam.

The Love of Praise is a Passion deeply fixed in the Mind of every

extraordinary Person, and those who are most affected with it, seem most

to partake of that Particle of the Divinity which distinguishes Mankind

from the Inferior Creation. The Supreme Being it self is most pleased

with Praise and Thanksgiving; the other Part of our Duty is but an

Acknowledgment of our Faults, whilst this is the immediate Adoration of

his Perfections. 'Twas an excellent Observation, That we then only

despise Commendation when we cease to deserve it: and we have still

extant two Orations of _Tully_ and _Pliny_, spoken to the greatest and

best Princes of all the _Roman_ Emperors, [1] who, no doubt, heard with

the greatest Satisfaction, what even the most disinterested Persons, and

at so large a Distance of Time, cannot read without Admiration. _Cæsar_

thought his Life consisted in the Breath of Praise, when he professed he

had lived long enough for himself when he had for his Glory; others have

sacrificed themselves for a Name which was not to begin till they were

dead, giving away themselves to purchase a Sound which was not to

commence till they were out of hearing: But by Merit and superior

Excellencies not only to gain, but, whilst living, to enjoy a great and

universal Reputation, is the last Degree of Happiness which we can hope

for here. Bad Characters are dispersed abroad with Profusion, I hope for

example Sake, and (as Punishments are designed by the Civil Power) more

for the deterring the Innocent, than the chastising the Guilty. The Good

are less frequent, whether it be that there are indeed fewer Originals

of this Kind to copy after, or that, thro' the Malignity of our Nature,

we rather delight in the Ridicule than the Virtues we find in others.

However, it is but just, as well as pleasing, even for Variety,

sometimes to give the World a Representation of the bright Side of

humane Nature, as well as the dark and gloomy: The Desire of Imitation

may, perhaps, be a greater Incentive to the Practice of what is good,

than the Aversion we may conceive at what is blameable; the one

immediately directs you what you should do, whilst the other only shews

you what you should avoid: And I cannot at present do this with more

Satisfaction, than by endeavouring to do some Justice to the Character

of _Manilius_. [2]

It would far exceed my present Design, to give a particular Description

of _Manilius_ thro' all the Parts of his excellent Life: I shall now

only draw him in his Retirement, and pass over in Silence the various

Arts, the courtly Manners, and the undesigning Honesty by which he

attained the Honours he has enjoyed, and which now give a Dignity and

Veneration to the Ease he does enjoy. Tis here that he looks back with

Pleasure on the Waves and Billows thro' which he has steered to so fair

an Haven; he is now intent upon the Practice of every Virtue, which a

great Knowledge and Use of Mankind has discovered to be the most useful

to them. Thus in his private domestick Employments he is no less

glorious than in his publick; for 'tis in Reality a more difficult Task

to be conspicuous in a sedentary inactive Life, than in one that is

spent in Hurry and Business; Persons engaged in the latter, like Bodies

violently agitated, from the Swiftness of their Motion have a Brightness

added to them, which often vanishes when they are at Rest; but if it

then still remain, it must be the Seeds of intrinsick Worth that thus

shine out without any foreign Aid or Assistance.

His Liberality in another might almost bear the Name of Profusion; he

seems to think it laudable even in the Excess, like that River which

most enriches when it overflows: But _Manilius_ has too perfect a Taste

of the Pleasure of doing good, ever to let it be out of his Power; and

for that Reason he will have a just Oeconomy, and a splendid Frugality

at home, the Fountain from whence those Streams should flow which he

disperses abroad. He looks with Disdain on those who propose their Death

as the Time when they are to begin their Munificence; he will both see

and enjoy (which he then does in the highest Degree) what he bestows

himself; he will be the living Executor of his own Bounty, whilst they

who have the Happiness to be within his Care and Patronage at once, pray

for the Continuation of his Life, and their own good Fortune. No one is

out of the reach of his Obligations; he knows how, by proper and

becoming Methods, to raise himself to a Level with those of the highest

Rank; and his good Nature is a sufficient Warrant against the Want of

those who are so unhappy as to be in the very lowest. One may say of

him, as _Pindar_ bids his Muse say of _Theron_: [3]

'Swear, that _Theron_ sure has sworn,

No one near him should be Poor.

Swear, that none e'er had such a graceful Art,

Fortune's Free-Gifts as freely to impart,

With an unenvious Hand, and an unbounded Heart.'

Never did _Atticus_ succeed better in gaining the universal Love and

Esteem of all Men; nor steer with more Success betwixt the Extreams of

two contending Parties. 'Tis his peculiar Happiness, that while he

espouses neither with an intemperate Zeal, he is not only admired, but,

what is a more rare and unusual Felicity, he is beloved and caressed by

both and I never yet saw any Person of whatsoever Age or Sex, but was

immediately struck with the Merit of _Manilius_. There are many who are

acceptable to some particular Persons, whilst the rest of Mankind look

upon them with Coldness and Indifference but he is the first whose

entire good Fortune it is ever to please and to be pleased, where-ever

he comes to be admired, and where-ever he is absent to be lamented. His

Merit fares like the Pictures of _Raphael_, which are either seen with

Admiration by all, or at least no one dare own he has no Taste for a

Composition which has received so universal an Applause. Envy and Malice

find it against their Interest to indulge Slander and Obloquy. 'Tis as

hard for an Enemy to detract from as for a Friend to add to his Praise.

An Attempt upon his Reputation is a sure lessening of one's own; and

there is but one Way to injure him, which is to refuse him his just

Commendations, and be obstinately silent.

It is below him to catch the Sight with any Care of Dress; his outward

Garb is but the Emblem of his Mind, it is genteel, plain, and

unaffected; he knows that Gold and Embroidery can add nothing to the

Opinion which all have of his Merit, and that he gives a Lustre to the

plainest Dress, whilst 'tis impossible the richest should communicate

any to him. He is still the principal Figure in the Room: He first

engages your Eye, as if there were some Point of Light which shone

stronger upon him than on any other Person.

He puts me in mind of a Story of the famous _Bussy d'Amboise_, [4] who

at an Assembly at Court, where every one appeared with the utmost

Magnificence, relying upon his own superior Behaviour, instead of

adorning himself like the rest, put on that Day a plain Suit of Cloaths,

and dressed all his Servants in the most costly gay Habits he could

procure: The Event was, that the Eyes of the whole Court were fixed upon

him, all the rest looked like his Attendants, whilst he alone had the

Air of a Person of Quality and Distinction.

Like _Aristippus_, whatever Shape or Condition he appears in, it still

sits free and easie upon him; but in some Part of his Character, 'tis

true, he differs from him; for as he is altogether equal to the

Largeness of his present Circumstances, the Rectitude of his Judgment

has so far corrected the Inclinations of his Ambition, that he will not

trouble himself with either the Desires or Pursuits of any thing beyond

his present Enjoyments.

A thousand obliging Things flow from him upon every Occasion, and they

are always so just and natural, that it is impossible to think he was at

the least Pains to look for them. One would think it were the Dæmon of

good Thoughts that discovered to him those Treasures, which he must have

blinded others from seeing, they lay so directly in their Way. Nothing

can equal the Pleasure is taken in hearing him speak, but the

Satisfaction one receives in the Civility and Attention he pays to the

Discourse of others. His Looks are a silent Commendation of what is good

and praise-worthy, and a secret Reproof to what is licentious and

extravagant. He knows how to appear free and open without Danger of

Intrusion, and to be cautious without seeming reserved. The Gravity of

his Conversation is always enlivened with his Wit and Humour, and the

Gaiety of it is tempered with something that is instructive, as well as

barely agreeable. Thus with him you are sure not to be merry at the

Expence of your Reason, nor serious with the Loss of your good Humour;

but, by a happy mixture in his Temper, they either go together, or

perpetually succeed each other. In fine, his whole Behaviour is equally

distant from Constraint and Negligence, and he commands your Respect,

whilst he gains your Heart.

There is in his whole Carriage such an engaging Softness, that one

cannot persuade one's self he is ever actuated by those rougher

Passions, which, where-ever they find Place, seldom fail of shewing

themselves in the outward Demeanour of the Persons they belong to: But

his Constitution is a just Temperature between Indolence on one hand and

Violence on the other. He is mild and gentle, where-ever his Affairs

will give him Leave to follow his own Inclinations; but yet never

failing to exert himself with Vigour and Resolution in the Service of

his Prince, his Country, or his Friend.

Z.

[Footnote 1: Julius Cæsar and Trajan. Cicero most flattered Cæsar in the

speech _pro Marcello_, but the memorable speech of his before Cæsar was

that for Ligarius, who had borne arms against the new master of Rome in

the African campaign. Cæsar had said,

'Why might we not as well once more hear a speech from Cicero? There

is no doubt that Ligarius is a bad man and an enemy.'

Yet the effect of the speech was that Cæsar was stirred with emotion,

changed colour, and at reference to the battle of Pharsalia,

'he was,' says Plutarch, 'so affected that his body trembled, and some

of the papers he held dropped from his hands, and thus he was

overpowered, and acquitted Ligarius.'

Of Pliny the younger there remains a fulsome Panegyric upon Trajan.]

[Footnote 2: Lord Cowper?]

[Footnote 3: Second Olympic Ode.]

[Footnote 4: Bussy d'Amboise had become famous in England through a

tragedy by George Chapman, often presented in the time of James I., and

revived after the Restoration. In 1691 Chapman's play was produced with

some changes by Thomas D'Urfey. The man himself killed a relation in the

massacre of St. Bartholomew, to get a title, and was trapped and killed

by the Comte de Montsoreau, whose wife he went to seduce.]

* * * * *

No. 468. Wednesday, August 27, 1712. Steele.

'Erat Homo ingeniosus, acutus, acer, et qui plurimum et salis haberet

et fellis, nec candoris minus.'

Plin. Epist.

My Paper is in a kind a Letter of News, but it regards rather what

passes in the World of Conversation than that of Business. I am very

sorry that I have at present a Circumstance before me, which is of very

great Importance to all who have a Relish for Gayety, Wit, Mirth, or

Humour; I mean the Death of poor _Dick Eastcourt_. [1] I have been

oblig'd to him for so many Hours of Jollity, that it is but a small

Recompence, tho' all I can give him, to pass a Moment or two in Sadness

for the Loss of so agreeable a Man. Poor _Eastcourt!_ the last Time I

saw him we were plotting to shew the Town his great Capacity for acting

in its full Light, by introducing him as dictating to a Set of young

Players, in what manner to speak this Sentence, and utter t'other

Passion--He had so exquisite a Discerning of what was defective in any

Object before him, that in an Instant he could shew you the ridiculous

Side of what would pass for beautiful and just, even to Men of no ill

Judgment, before he had pointed at the Failure. He was no less skilful

in the Knowledge of Beauty; and, I dare say, there is no one who knew

him well, but can repeat more well-turned Compliments, as well as smart

Repartees, of Mr. _Eastcourt's_, than of any other Man in _England_.

This was easily to be observed in his inimitable Faculty of telling a

Story, in which he would throw in natural and unexpected Incidents to

make his Court to one Part, and rally the other Part of the Company:

Then he would vary the Usage he gave them, according as he saw them bear

kind or sharp Language. He had the Knack to raise up a pensive Temper,

and mortifie an impertinently gay one, with the most agreeable Skill

imaginable. There are a thousand things which crowd into my Memory,

which make me too much concerned to tell on about him. _Hamlet_ holding

up the Skull which the Grave-digger threw to him, with an Account that

it was the Head of the King's Jester, falls into very pleasing

Reflections, and cries out to his Companion,

'Alas, poor_ Yorick! _I knew him,_ Horatio, _a Fellow of infinite

Jest, of most excellent Fancy; he hath born me on his Back a thousand

times: And how abhorred my Imagination is now, my Gorge rises at it.

Here hung those Lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be

your Gibes now, your Gambols, your Songs, your Flashes of Merriment,

that were wont to set the Table on a Roar: No one now to mock your own

Jeerings: quite Chop-fallen. Now get you to my Lady's Chamber, and

tell her, Let her paint an Inch thick, to this Favour she must come.

Make her laugh at that.'

It is an Insolence natural to the Wealthy, to affix, as much as in them

lies, the Character of a Man to his Circumstances. Thus it is ordinary

with them to praise faintly the good Qualities of those below them, and

say, It is very extraordinary in such a Man as he is, or the like, when

they are forced to acknowledge the Value of him whose Lowness upbraids

their Exaltation. It is to this Humour only, that it is to be ascribed,

that a quick Wit in Conversation, a nice Judgment upon any Emergency,

that could arise, and a most blameless inoffensive Behaviour, could not

raise this Man above being received only upon the Foot of contributing

to Mirth and Diversion. But he was as easy under that Condition, as a

Man of so excellent Talents was capable; and since they would have it,

that to divert was his Business, he did it with all the seeming Alacrity

imaginable, tho' it stung him to the Heart that it was his Business. Men

of Sense, who could taste his Excellencies, were well satisfied to let

him lead the Way in Conversation, and play after his own Manner; but

Fools who provoked him to Mimickry, found he had the Indignation to let

it be at their Expence who called for it, and he would shew the Form of

conceited heavy Fellows as Jests to the Company at their own Request, in

Revenge for interrupting him from being a Companion to put on the

Character of a Jester.

What was peculiarly excellent in this memorable Companion, was, that in

the Accounts he gave of Persons and Sentiments, he did not only hit the

Figure of their Faces, and Manner of their Gestures, but he would in his

Narration fall into their very Way of thinking, and this when he

recounted Passages, wherein Men of the best Wit were concerned, as well

as such wherein were represented Men of the lowest Rank of

Understanding. It is certainly as great an Instance of Self-love to a

Weakness, to be impatient of being mimick'd, as any can be imagined.

There were none but the Vain, the Formal, the Proud, or those who were

incapable of amending their Faults, that dreaded him; to others he was

in the highest Degree pleasing; and I do not know any Satisfaction of

any indifferent kind I ever tasted so much, as having got over an

Impatience of seeing my self in the Air he could put me when I have

displeased him. It is indeed to his exquisite Talent this way, more than

any Philosophy I could read on the Subject, that my Person is very

little of my Care; and it is indifferent to me what is said of my Shape,

my Air, my Manner, my Speech, or my Address. It is to poor _Eastcourt_ I

chiefly owe that I am arrived at the Happiness of thinking nothing a

Diminution to me, but what argues a Depravity of my Will.

It has as much surprized me as any thing in Nature, to have it

frequently said, That he was not a good Player: But that must be owing

to a Partiality for former Actors in the Parts in which he succeeded

them, and judging by Comparison of what was liked before, rather than by

the Nature of the Thing. When a Man of his Wit and Smartness could put

on an utter Absence of common Sense in his Face as he did in the

Character of _Bulfinch_ in the _Northern Lass_ [2] and an Air of insipid

Cunning and Vivacity in the Character of _Pounce_ in the _Tender

Husband_, [3] it is Folly to dispute his Capacity and Success, as he was

an Actor.

Poor _Eastcourt!_ let the Vain and Proud be at Rest; thou wilt no more

disturb their Admiration of their dear selves, and thou art no longer to

drudge in raising the Mirth of Stupids, who know nothing of thy Merit,

for thy Maintenance.

It is natural for the Generality of Mankind to run into Reflections upon

our Mortality, when Disturbers of the World are laid at Rest, but to

take no Notice when they who can please and divert are pulled from us:

But for my Part, I cannot but think the Loss of such Talents as the Man

of whom I am speaking was Master of, a more melancholy Instance of

Mortality, than the Dissolution of Persons of never so high Characters

in the World, whose Pretensions were that they were noisy and

mischievous.

But I must grow more succinct, and as a SPECTATOR, give an Account of

this extraordinary Man, who, in his Way, never had an Equal in any Age

before him, or in that wherein he lived. I speak of him as a Companion,

and a Man qualified for Conversation. His Fortune exposed him to an

Obsequiousness towards the worst Sort of Company, but his excellent

Qualities rendered him capable of making the best Figure in the most

refined. I have been present with him among Men of the most delicate

Taste a whole Night, and have known him (for he saw it was desired) keep

the Discourse to himself the most Part of it, and maintain his good

Humour with a Countenance in a Language so delightful, without Offence

to any Person or Thing upon Earth, still preserving the Distance his

Circumstances obliged him to; I say, I have seen him do all this in such

a charming manner, that I am sure none of those I hint at will read

this, without giving him some Sorrow for their abundant Mirth, and one

Gush of Tears for so many Bursts of Laughter. I wish it were any Honour

to the pleasant Creature's Memory, that my Eyes are too much suffused to

let me [go on--[4].]

T.

[Footnote 1: See p. 204, vol. ii. [Footnote 1 of No. 264.]

[Footnote 2: By Richard Brome, first acted in 1632.]

[Footnote 3: By Steele.]

[Footnote 4:

[go on--

It is a felicity his Friends may rejoice in, that he had his Senses,

and used them as he ought to do, in his last Moments. It is remarkable

that his Judgment was in its calm Perfection to the utmost Article,

for when his Wife out of her fondness, desired she might send for a

certain illiterate Humourist (whom he had accompanied in a thousand

mirthful Moments, and whose Insolence makes Fools think he assumes

from conscious Merit) he answered, '_Do what you please, but he won't

come near me_.' Let poor Eastcourt's Negligence about this Message

convince the unwary of a triumphant Empiric's Ignorance and

Inhumanity.]

This passage, omitted from the reprint, expresses Steele's anger at the

neglect of Estcourt in his last hours by Dr. John Radcliffe, one of the

chief physicians of the time, who as a rough-spoken humourist made many

enemies, and was condemned as an empiric by many of his professional

brethren. When called, in 1699, to attend King William, who asked his

opinion on his swollen ankles, he said, 'I would not have your Majesty's

two legs for your three kingdoms.' His maxim for making a fortune was to

use all men ill, but Mead, it has been observed, made more money by the

opposite method. Not very long after this better censure of Radcliffe

for neglect of Estcourt, attempts were made to censure him formally in

the House of Commons for refusal to attend in the last illness of Queen

Anne, although requested to do so by the Privy Council. He denied that

he had been asked to attend. He died himself three months after the

Queen (in 1714, aged 64), his last days embittered by the public odium

following the charge of disrespect to his dying sovereign. He died

unmarried, and left the greater part of his money to beneficent uses,

among them the erection of an infirmary and of the Radcliffe Library in

Oxford.]

* * * * *

No. 469. Thursday, August 28, 1712. Addison.

'Detrahere aliquid altieri, et hominem hominis incommodo suum augere

commodum, magis est contra naturam, quam mors, quam paupertas, quam

dolor, quam cætera quæ possunt aut corpori accidere, aut rebus

externis.'

Tull.

I am perswaded there are few Men of generous Principles, who would seek

after great Places, were it not rather to have an Opportunity in their

Hands of obliging their particular Friends, or those whom they look upon

as Men of Worth, than to procure Wealth and Honour for themselves. To an

honest Mind the best Perquisites of a Place are the Advantages it gives

a Man of doing Good.

Those who are under the great Officers of State, and are the Instruments

by which they act, have more frequent Opportunities for the Exercise of

Compassion, and Benevolence, than their Superiors themselves. These Men

know every little Case that is to come before the Great Man, and if they

are possessed with honest Minds, will consider Poverty as a

Recommendation in the Person who applies himself to them, and make the

Justice of his Cause the most powerful Solicitor in his Behalf. A Man of

this Temper, when he is in a Post of Business, becomes a Blessing to the

Publick: He patronizes the Orphan and the Widow, assists the Friendless,

and guides the Ignorant: He does not reject the Person's Pretensions,

who does not know how to explain them, or refuse doing a good Office for

a Man because he cannot pay the Fee of it. In short, tho' he regulates

himself in all his Proceedings by Justice and Equity, he finds a

thousand [Occasions for all the Good-natured Offices of [1]] Generosity

and Compassion.

A Man is unfit for such a Place of Trust, who is of a sower untractable

Nature, or has any other Passion that makes him uneasie to those who

approach him. Roughness of Temper is apt to discountenance the Timorous

or Modest. The proud Man discourages those from approaching him, who are

of a mean Condition, and who most want his Assistance. The impatient Man

will not give himself time to be informed of the Matter that lies before

him. An Officer with one or more of these unbecoming Qualities, is

sometimes looked upon as a proper Person to keep off Impertinence and

Solicitation from his Superior; but this is a kind of Merit, that can

never attone for the Injustice which may very often arise from it.

There are two other vicious Qualities which render a Man very unfit for

such a Place of Trust. The first of these is a Dilatory Temper, which

commits innumerable Cruelties without Design. The Maxim which several

have laid down for a Man's Conduct in ordinary Life should be inviolable

with a Man in Office, never to think of doing that To-morrow which may

be done To-day. A Man who defers doing what ought to be done, is guilty

of Injustice so long as he defers it. The Dispatch of a good Office is

very often as beneficial to the Solicitor as the good Office it self. In

short, if a Man compared the Inconveniences which another suffers by his

Delays, with the trifling Motives and Advantages which he himself may

reap by such a Delay, he would never be guilty of a Fault which very

often does an irreparable Prejudice to the Person who depends upon him,

and which might be remedied with little Trouble to himself.

But in the last Place, there is no Man so improper to be employed in

Business, as he who is in any degree capable of Corruption; and such an

one is the Man, who, upon any Pretence whatsoever, receives more than

what is the stated and unquestioned Fee of his Office. Gratifications,

Tokens of Thankfulness, Dispatch Money, and the like specious Terms, are

the Pretences under which Corruption very frequently shelters it self.

An honest Man will however look on all these Methods as unjustifiable,

and will enjoy himself better in a moderate Fortune that is gained with

honour and Reputation, than in an overgrown Estate that is cankered with

the Acquisitions of Rapine and Exaction. Were all our Offices discharged

with such an inflexible Integrity, we should not see Men in all Ages,

who grow up to exorbitant Wealth with the Abilities which are to be met

with in an ordinary Mechanick. I cannot but think that such a Corruption

proceeds chiefly from Mens employing the first that offer themselves, or

those who have the Character of shrewd worldly Men, instead of searching

out such as have had a liberal Education, and have been trained up in

the Studies of Knowledge and Virtue.

It has been observed, that Men of Learning who take to Business,

discharge it generally with greater Honesty than Men of the World. The

chief Reason for it I take to be as follows. A Man that has spent his

Youth in Reading, has been used to find Virtue extolled, and Vice

stigmatized. A Man that has past his Time in the World, has often seen

Vice triumphant, and Virtue discountenanced. Extortion, Rapine and

Injustice, which are branded with Infamy in Books, often give a Man a

Figure in the World; while several Qualities which are celebrated in

Authors, as Generosity, Ingenuity and Good-Nature, impoverish and ruin

him. This cannot but have a proportionable Effect on Men, whose Tempers

and Principles are equally Good and Vicious.

There would be at least this Advantage in employing Men of Learning and

Parts in Business, that their Prosperity would set more gracefully on

them, and that we should not see many worthless Persons shot up into the

greatest Figures of Life.

C.

[Footnote 1: [Opportunities of exercising his]]

* * * * *

No. 470. Friday, August 29, 1712. Addison.

'Turpe est difficiles babere nugas,

Et stultus est labor ineptiarum.'

Mart.

I have been very often disappointed of late Years, when upon examining

the new Edition of a Classick Author, I have found above half the Volume

taken up with various Readings. When I have expected to meet with a

learned Note upon a doubtful Passage in a _Latin_ Poet, I have only been

informed, that such or such Ancient Manuscripts for an _et_ write an

_ac_, or of some other notable Discovery of the like Importance. Indeed,

when a different Reading gives us a different Sense, or a new Elegance

in an Author, the Editor does very well in taking Notice of it; but when

he only entertains us with the several ways of spelling the same Word,

and gathers together the various Blunders and Mistakes of twenty or

thirty different Transcribers, they only take up the Time of the learned

Reader, and puzzle the Minds of the Ignorant. I have often fancied with

my self how enraged an old _Latin_ Author would be, should he see the

several Absurdities in Sense and Grammar, which are imputed to him by

some or other of these various Readings. In one he speaks Nonsense; in

another, makes use of a Word that was never heard of: And indeed there

is scarce a Solecism in Writing which the best Author is not guilty of,

if we may be at Liberty to read him in the Words of some Manuscript,

which the laborious Editor has thought fit to examine in the Prosecution

of his Work.

I question not but the Ladies and pretty Fellows will be very curious to

understand what it is that I have been hitherto talking of. I shall

therefore give them a Notion of this Practice, by endeavouring to write

after the manner of several Persons who make an eminent Figure in the

Republick of Letters. To this end we will suppose that the following

[Song [1]] is an old Ode which I present to the Publick in a new

Edition, with the several various Readings which I find of it in former

Editions, and in Ancient Manuscripts. Those who cannot relish the

various Readings, will perhaps find their Account in the Song, which

never before appeared in Print.

My Love was fickle once and changing,

Nor e'er would settle in my Heart;

From Beauty still to Beauty ranging,

In ev'ry Face I found a Dart.

'Twas first a charming Shape enslav'd me,

An Eye then gave the fatal Stroke;

'Till by her Wit_ Corinna _sav'd me,

And all my former Fetters broke.

But now a long and lasting Anguish

For_ Belvidera _I endure;

Hourly I Sigh and hourly Languish,

Nor hope to find the wonted Cure.

For here the false unconstant Lover,

After a thousand Beauties shown,

Does new surprizing Charms discover,

And finds Variety in One.

Various Readings.

Stanza the First, Verse the First. And changing.] The _and_ in some

Manuscripts is written thus, _&_, but that in the Cotton Library writes

it in three distinct Letters.

Verse the Second, Nor e'er would.] Aldus reads it _ever_ would; but as

this would hurt the Metre, we have restored it to its genuine Reading,

by observing that _Synæresis_ which had been neglected by ignorant

Transcribers.

Ibid. In my Heart.] Scaliger, and others, _on_ my Heart.

Verse the Fourth, I found a Dart.] The Vatican Manuscript for _I_ reads

_it_, but this must have been the Hallucination of the Transcriber, who

probably mistook the Dash of the I for a T.

Stanza the Second, Verse the Second. The fatal Stroke.] Scioppius,

Salmasius and many others, for _the_ read _a_, but I have stuck to the

usual Reading.

Verse the Third, Till by her Wit.] Some Manuscripts have it _his_ Wit,

others _your_, others _their_ Wit. But as I find Corinna to be the Name

of a Woman in other Authors, I cannot doubt but it should be _her_.

Stanza the third, Verse the First. A long and lasting Anguish.] The

German Manuscript reads a lasting _Passion_, but the Rhyme will not

admit it.

Verse the Second. For Belvidera I endure.] Did not all the Manuscripts

reclaim, I should change Belvidera into Pelvidera; Pelvis being used by

several of the Ancient Comick Writers for a Looking-glass, by which

means the Etymology of the Word is very visible, and Pelvidera will

signifie a Lady who often looks in her Glass; as indeed she had very

good reason, if she had all those Beauties which our Poet here ascribes

to her.

Verse the Third. Hourly I sigh and hourly languish.] Some for the Word

_hourly_ read _daily_, and others _nightly_; the last has great

Authorities of its side.

Verse the Fourth. The wonted Cure.] The Elder Stevens reads _wanted

Cure_.

Stanza the Fourth, Verse the Second. After a thousand Beauties] In

several Copies we meet with _a Hundred Beauties_ by the usual Errour of

the Transcribers, who probably omitted a Cypher, and had not Taste

enough to know that the Word _Thousand_ was ten Times a greater

Compliment to the Poet's Mistress than an _Hundred_.

Verse the Fourth. And finds Variety in one] Most of the Ancient

Manuscripts have it _in two_. Indeed so many of them concur in this last

reading, that I am very much in doubt whether it ought not to take

place. There are but two Reasons which incline me to the Reading as I

have published it; First, because the Rhime, and, Secondly, because the

Sense is preserved by it. It might likewise proceed from the Oscitancy

of Transcribers, who, to dispatch their Work the sooner, use to write

all Numbers in Cypher, and seeing the Figure 1 following by a little

Dash of the Pen, as is customary in old Manuscripts, they perhaps

mistook the Dash for a second Figure, and by casting up both together

composed out of them the Figure 2. But this I shall leave to the

Learned, without determining any thing in a Matter of so great

Uncertainty.

C.

[Footnote 1: [Song, which by the way is a beautiful Descant upon a

single Thought, like the Compositions of the best Ancient Lyrick Poets,

I say we will suppose this Song]]

* * * * *

No. 471. Saturday, August 30, 1712. Addison.

[Greek: 'En elpísin chràe toùs sophoùs échein bíon.]--Euripid.

The _Time present_ seldom affords sufficient Employment to the Mind of

Man. Objects of Pain or Pleasure, Love or Admiration, do not lie thick

enough together in Life to keep the Soul in constant Action, and supply

an immediate Exercise to its Faculties. In order, therefore, to remedy

this Defect, that the Mind may not want Business, but always have

Materials for thinking, she is endowed with certain Powers, that can

recall what is passed, and anticipate what is to come.

That wonderful Faculty, which we call the Memory, is perpetually looking

back, when we have nothing present to entertain us. It is like those

Repositories in several Animals, that are filled with Stores of their

former Food, on which they may ruminate when their present Pasture

fails.

As the Memory relieves the Mind in her vacant Moments, and prevents any

Chasms of Thought by Ideas of what is _past_, we have other Faculties

that agitate and employ her upon what _is to come_. These are the

Passions of Hope and Fear.

By these two Passions we reach forward into Futurity, and bring up to

our present Thoughts Objects that lie hid in the remotest Depths of

Time. We suffer Misery, and enjoy Happiness, before they are in Being;

we can set the Sun and Stars forward, or lose sight of them by wandring

into those retired Parts of Eternity, when the Heavens and Earth shall

be no more.

By the way, who can imagine that the Existence of a Creature is to be

circumscribed by Time, whose Thoughts are not? But I shall, in this

Paper, confine my self to that particular Passion which goes by the Name

of Hope.

Our Actual Enjoyments are so few and transient, that Man would be a very

miserable Being, were he not endowed with this Passion, which gives him

a Taste of those good Things that may possibly come into his Possession.

_We should hope for every thing that is good_, says the old Poet

_Linus_, _because there is nothing which may not be hoped for, and

nothing but what the Gods are able to give us_. [1] Hope quickens all

the still Parts of Life, and keeps the Mind awake in her most Remiss and

Indolent Hours. It gives habitual Serenity and good Humour. It is a kind

of Vital Heat in the Soul, that cheers and gladdens her, when she does

not attend to it. It makes Pain easie, and Labour pleasant.

Beside these several Advantages which rise from _Hope_, there is another

which is none of the least, and that is, its great Efficacy in

preserving us from setting too high a value on present Enjoyments. The

saying of _Cæsar_ is very well known. When he had given away all his

Estate in Gratuities among his Friends, one of them asked what he had

left for himself; to which that great Man replied, _Hope_. His Natural

Magnanimity hindered him from prizing what he was certainly possessed

of, and turned all his Thoughts upon something more valuable that be had

in View. I question not but every Reader will draw a Moral from this

Story, and apply it to himself without my Direction.

The old Story of _Pandora's_ Box (which many of the Learned believe was

formed among the Heathens upon the Tradition of the Fall of Man) shews

us how deplorable a State they thought the present Life, without Hope:

To set forth the utmost Condition of Misery they tell us, that our

Forefather, according to the Pagan Theology, had a great Vessel

presented him by _Pandora:_ Upon his lifting up the Lid of it, says the

Fable, there flew out all the Calamities and Distempers incident to Men,

from which, till that time, they had been altogether exempt. _Hope_, who

had been enclosed in the Cup with so much bad Company, instead of flying

off with the rest, stuck so close to the Lid of it, that it was shut

down upon her.

I shall make but two Reflections upon what I have hitherto said. First,

that no kind of Life is so happy as that which is full of Hope,

especially when the Hope is well grounded, and when the Object of it is

of an exalted kind, and in its Nature proper to make the Person happy

who enjoys it. This Proposition must be very evident to those who

consider how few are the present Enjoyments of the most happy Man, and

how insufficient to give him an entire Satisfaction and Acquiescence in

them.

My next Observation is this, that a Religious Life is that which most

abounds in a well-grounded Hope, and such an one as is fixed on Objects

that are capable of making us entirely happy. This Hope in a Religious

Man, is much more sure and certain than the Hope of any Temporal

Blessing, as it is strengthened not only by Reason, but by Faith. It has

at the same time its Eye perpetually fixed on that State, which implies

in the very Notion of it the most full and the most compleat Happiness.

I have before shewn how the Influence of Hope in general sweetens Life,

and makes our present Condition supportable, if not pleasing; but a

Religious Hope has still greater Advantages. It does not only bear up

the Mind under her Sufferings, but makes her rejoice in them, as they

may be the Instruments of procuring her the great and ultimate End of

all her Hope.

Religious Hope has likewise this Advantage above any other kind of Hope,

that it is able to revive the _dying_ Man, and to fill his Mind not only

with secret Comfort and Refreshment, but sometimes with Rapture and

Transport. He triumphs in his Agonies, whilst the Soul springs forward

with Delight to the great Object which she has always had in view, and

leaves the Body with an Expectation of being re-united to her in a

glorious and joyful Resurrection.

I shall conclude this Essay with those emphatical Expressions of a

lively Hope, which the Psalmist made use of in the midst of those

Dangers and Adversities which surrounded him; for the following Passage

had its present and personal, as well as its future and prophetick

Sense.

'I have set the Lord always before me: Because he is at my right Hand,

I shall not be moved. Therefore my Heart is glad, and my Glory

rejoiceth: my Flesh also shall rest in hope. For thou wilt not leave

my Soul in Hell, neither wilt thou suffer thine Holy One to see

Corruption. Thou wilt shew me the Path of Life: in thy Presence is

Fullness of Joy, at thy right Hand there are Pleasures for evermore'.

[2]

C.

[Footnote 1: Translation of the fragment on Hope.]

[Footnote 2: Psal. xvi. 8--ii.]

* * * * *

No. 472. Monday, September 1, 1712. Steele.

'--Voluptas

Solamenque mali--'

Virg.

I received some time ago a Proposal, which had a Preface to it, wherein

the Author discoursed at large of the innumerable Objects of Charity in

a Nation, and admonished the Rich, who were afflicted with any Distemper

of Body, particularly to regard the Poor in the same Species of

Affliction, and confine their Tenderness to them, since it is impossible

to assist all who are presented to them. The Proposer had been relieved

from a Malady in his Eyes by an Operation performed by Sir _William

Read_, and being a Man of Condition, had taken a Resolution to maintain

three poor blind Men during their Lives, in Gratitude for that great

Blessing. This Misfortune is so very great and unfrequent, that one

would think, an Establishment for all the Poor under it might be easily

accomplished, with the Addition of a very few others to those Wealthy

who are in the same Calamity. However, the Thought of the Proposer arose

from a very good Motive, and the parcelling of our selves out, as called

to particular Acts of Beneficence, would be a pretty Cement of Society

and Virtue. It is the ordinary Foundation for Mens holding a Commerce

with each other, and becoming familiar, that they agree in the same sort

of Pleasure; and sure it may also be some Reason for Amity, that they

are under one common Distress. If all the Rich who are lame in the Gout,

from a Life of Ease, Pleasure, and Luxury, would help those few who have

it without a previous Life of Pleasure, and add a few of such laborious

Men, who are become lame from unhappy Blows, Falls, or other Accidents

of Age or Sickness; I say, would such gouty Persons administer to the

Necessities of Men disabled like themselves, the Consciousness of such a

Behaviour would be the best Julep, Cordial, and Anodine in the feverish,

faint and tormenting Vicissitudes of that miserable Distemper. The same

may be said of all other, both bodily and intellectual Evils. These

Classes of Charity would certainly bring down Blessings upon an Age and

People; and if Men were not petrifyed with the Love of this World,

against all Sense of the Commerce which ought to be among them, it would

not be an unreasonable Bill for a poor Man in the Agony of Pain,

aggravated by Want and Poverty, to draw upon a sick Alderman after this

Form;

_Mr_. Basil Plenty,

_SIR_,

_You have the Gout and Stone, with Sixty thousand Pound Sterling; I

have the Gout and Stone, not worth one Farthing; I shall pray for you,

and desire you would pay the Bearer Twenty Shillings for Value

received from_,

SIR,

Your humble Servant,

_Lazarus Hopeful_.

Cripple-Gate,

Aug. 29, 1712.

The Reader's own Imagination will suggest to him the Reasonableness of

such Correspondence; and diversify them into a thousand Forms; but I

shall close this as I began upon the Subject of Blindness. The following

Letter seems to be written by a Man of Learning, who is returned to his

Study after a Suspence of an Ability to do so. The Benefit he reports

himself to have received, may well claim the handsomest Encomium he can

give the Operator.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

'Ruminating lately on your admirable Discourses on the _Pleasures of

the Imagination_, I began to consider to which of our Senses we are

obliged for the greatest and most important Share of those Pleasures;

and I soon concluded that it was to the _Sight:_ That is the Sovereign

of the Senses, and Mother of all the Arts and Sciences, that have

refined the Rudeness of the uncultivated Mind to a Politeness that

distinguishes the fine Spirits from the barbarous _Goût_ of the

_great_ Vulgar and the _small_. The Sight is the obliging

Benefactress, that bestows on us the most transporting Sensations that

we have from the various and wonderful Products of Nature. To the

Sight we owe the amazing Discoveries of the Height, Magnitude, and

Motion of the Planets; their several Revolutions about their common

Centre of Light, Heat, and Motion, the _Sun_. The _Sight_ travels yet

farther to the fixed Stars, and furnishes the Understanding with solid

Reasons to prove, that each of them is a _Sun_ moving on its own Axis

in the Centre of its own Vortex or Turbillion, and performing the same

Offices to its dependant Planets, that our glorious Sun does to this.

But the Enquiries of the _Sight_ will not be stopped here, but make

their Progress through the immense Expanse to the _Milky Way_, and

there divide the blended Fires of the _Galaxy_ into infinite and

different Worlds, made up of distinct Suns, and their peculiar

Equipages of Planets, till unable to pursue this Track any farther, it

deputes the Imagination to go on to new Discoveries, till it fill the

unbounded Space with endless Worlds.

The _Sight_ informs the Statuary's Chizel with Power to give Breath to

lifeless Brass and Marble, and the Painter's Pencil to swell the flat

Canvas with moving Figures actuated by imaginary Souls. Musick indeed

may plead another Original, since _Jubal_, by the different Falls of

his Hammer on the Anvil, discovered by the Ear the first rude Musick

that pleasd the Antediluvian Fathers; but then the _Sight_ has not

only reduced those wilder Sounds into artful Order and Harmony, but

conveys that Harmony to the most distant Parts of the World without

the Help of Sound. To the _Sight_ we owe not only all the Discoveries

of Philosophy, but all the Divine Imagery of Poetry that transports

the intelligent Reader of _Homer_, _Milton_, and _Virgil_.

As the Sight has polished the World, so does it supply us with the

most grateful and lasting Pleasure. Let Love, let Friendship, paternal

Affection, filial Piety, and conjugal Duty, declare the Joys the

_Sight_ bestows on a Meeting after Absence. But it would be endless to

enumerate all the Pleasures and Advantages of _Sight;_ every one that

has it, every Hour he makes use of it, finds them, feels them, enjoys

them.

Thus as our greatest Pleasures and Knowledge are derived from the

Sight, so has Providence been more curious in the Formation of its

Seat, the Eye, than of the Organs of the other Senses. That stupendous

Machine is compos'd in a wonderful Manner of Muscles, Membranes, and

Humours. Its Motions are admirably directed by the Muscles; the

Perspicuity of the Humours transmit the Rays of Light; the Rays are

regularly refracted by their Figure, the black Lining of the Sclerotes

effectually prevents their being confounded by Reflection. It is

wonderful indeed to consider how many Objects the Eye is fitted to

take in at once, and successively in an Instant, and at the same time

to make a Judgment of their Position, Figure, or Colour. It watches

against our Dangers, guides our Steps, and lets in all the visible

Objects, whose Beauty and Variety instruct and delight.

The Pleasures and Advantages of Sight being so great, the Loss must be

very grievous; of which _Milton_, from Experience, gives the most

sensible Idea, both in the third Book of his _Paradise Lost_, and in

his _Sampson Agonistes_.

To Light in the former.

--'Thee I revisit safe,

And feel thy sovereign vital Lamp; but thou

Revisit'st not these Eyes, that roul in vain

To find thy piercing Ray, but find no Dawn'.

And a little after,

'Seasons return, but not to me returns

Day, or the sweet Approach of Ev'n and Morn,

Or Sight of vernal Bloom, or Summer's Rose,

Or Flocks or Herds, or human Face divine;

But Cloud instead, and ever-during Dark

Surround me: From the chearful Ways of Men

Cut off, and for the Book of Knowledge fair,

Presented--with an universal Blank

Of Nature's Works, to me expung'd and raz'd,

And Wisdom at one Entrance quite shut out'.

Again, in 'Sampson Agonistes'.

--'But Chief of all,

O Loss of Sight! of thee I most complain;

Blind among Enemies! O worse than Chains,

Dungeon, or Beggary, or decrepid Age!

Light, the prime Work of God, to me extinct,

And all her various Objects of Delight

Annull'd'--

--'Still as a Fool,

In Power of others, never in my own,

Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than Half:

O dark! dark! dark! amid the Blaze of Noon:

Irrecoverably dark, total Eclipse,

Without all Hopes of Day!'

The Enjoyment of Sight then being so great a Blessing, and the Loss of

it so terrible an Evil, how excellent and valuable is the Skill of

that Artist which can restore the former, and redress the latter? My

frequent Perusal of the Advertisements in the publick News-Papers

(generally the most agreeable Entertainment they afford) has presented

me with many and various Benefits of this kind done to my Countrymen

by that skilful Artist Dr. _Grant_, Her Majesty's Oculist

Extraordinary, whose happy Hand has brought and restored to Sight

several Hundreds in less than Four Years. Many have received Sight by

his Means, who came blind from their Mother's Womb, as in the famous

Instance of _Jones_ of _Newington_ [1]. I my self have been cured by

him of a Weakness in my Eyes next to Blindness, and am ready to

believe any thing that is reported of his Ability this way; and know

that many, who could not purchase his Assistance with Money, have

enjoy'd it from his Charity. But a List of Particulars would swell my

Letter beyond its Bounds, what I have said being sufficient to comfort

those who are in the like Distress, since they may conceive Hopes of

being no longer miserable in this Kind, while there is yet alive so

able an Oculist as Dr. Grant.

I am the SPECTATOR'S humble Servant,

PHILANTHROPUS.

T.

[Footnote 1: 'A Full and True Account of a Miraculous Cure of a young

Man in Newington, &c,' was a pamphlet of 15 pages, published in 1709.

William Jones was not born blind, and little benefited by the operation

of the Doctor Grant, who in this pamphlet puffed himself.]

* * * * *

No. 473. Tuesday, September 2, 1712. Steele.

'Quid? si quis vultu torvo ferus et pede nudo

Exiguæque togæ simulet textore Catonem;

Virtutemne repræsentet moresque Catonis?'

Hor.

To the SPECTATOR.

_SIR_,

I am now in the Country, and employ most of my Time in reading, or

thinking upon what I have read. Your paper comes constantly down to

me, and it affects me so much, that I find my Thoughts run into your

Way; and I recommend to you a Subject upon which you have not yet

touched, and that is the Satisfaction some Men seem to take in their

Imperfections, I think one may call it glorying in their

Insufficiency; a certain great Author is of Opinion it is the contrary

to Envy, tho perhaps it may proceed from it. Nothing is so common, as

to hear Men of this Sort, speaking of themselves, add to their own

Merit (as they think) by impairing it, in praising themselves for

their Defects, freely allowing they commit some few frivolous Errors,

in order to be esteemed persons of uncommon Talents and great

Qualifications. They are generally professing an injudicious Neglect

of Dancing, Fencing and Riding, as also an unjust Contempt for

Travelling and the Modern Languages; as for their Part (say they) they

never valued or troubled their Head about them. This panegyrical Satyr

on themselves certainly is worthy of your Animadversion. I have known

one of these Gentlemen think himself obliged to forget the Day of an

Appointment, and sometimes even that you spoke to him; and when you

see em, they hope youll pardon 'em, for they have the worst Memory in

the World. One of em started up tother Day in some Confusion, and

said, Now I think on't, I'm to meet Mr. _Mortmain_ the Attorney about

some Business, but whether it is to Day or to Morrow, faith, I can't

tell. Now to my certain Knowledge he knew his Time to a Moment, and

was there accordingly. These forgetful Persons have, to heighten their

Crime, generally the best Memories of any People, as I have found out

by their remembring sometimes through Inadvertency. Two or three of em

that I know can say most of our modern Tragedies by Heart. I asked a

Gentleman the other Day that is famous for a Good Carver, (at which

Acquisition he is out of Countenance, imagining it may detract from

some of his more essential Qualifications) to help me to something

that was near him; but he excused himself, and blushing told me, Of

all things he could never carve in his Life; though it can be proved

upon him, that he cuts up, disjoints, and uncases with incomparable

Dexterity. I would not be understood as if I thought it laudable for a

Man of Quality and Fortune to rival the Aquisitions of Artificers, and

endeavour to excel in little handy Qualities; No, I argue only against

being ashamed at what is really Praiseworthy. As these Pretences to

Ingenuity shew themselves several Ways, you'll often see a Man of this

Temper ashamed to be clean, and setting up for Wit only from

Negligence in his Habit. Now I am upon this Head, I can't help

observing also upon a very different Folly proceeding from the same

Cause. As these above-mentioned arise from affecting an Equality with

Men of greater Talents from having the same Faults, there are others

who would come at a Parallel with those above them, by possessing

little Advantages which they want. I heard a young Man not long ago,

who has sense, comfort himself in his Ignorance of Greek, Hebrew, and

the Orientals: At the same Time that he published his Aversion to

those Languages, he said that the Knowledge of 'em was rather a

Diminution than an Advancement of a Man's Character: tho' at the same

Time I know he languishes and repines he is not Master of them

himself. Whenever I take any of these fine Persons, thus detracting

from what they don't understand, I tell them I will complain to you,

and say I am sure you will not allow it an Exception against a thing,

that he who contemns it is an Ignorant in it.

I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

S. P.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I am a Man of a very good Estate, and am honourably in Love. I hope

you will allow, when the ultimate Purpose is honest, there may be,

without Trespass against Innocence, some Toying by the Way. People of

Condition are perhaps too distant and formal on those Occasions; but,

however that is, I am to confess to you, that I have writ some Verses

to atone for my Offence. You profess'd Authors are a little severe

upon us, who write like Gentlemen: But if you are a Friend to Love,

you will insert my Poem. You cannot imagine how much Service it will

do me with my Fair one, as well as Reputation with all my Friends, to

have something of mine in the _Spectator_. My Crime was, that I

snatch'd a Kiss, and my Poetical Excuse as follows:

I. _Belinda_, see from yonder Flowers

The Bee flies loaded to its Cell;

Can you perceive what it devours?

Are they impar'd in Show or Smell?

II. So, tho' I robb'd you of a Kiss,

Sweeter than their Ambrosial Dew;

Why are you angry at my Bliss?

Has it at all impoverish'd you?

III. 'Tis by this Cunning I contrive,

In spight of your unkind Reserve,

To keep my famish'd Love alive,

Which you inhumanly would starve.

I am, Sir,

Your humble Servant,

_Timothy Stanza_.

_Aug_. 23, 1712.

_SIR_,

Having a little Time upon my Hands, I could not think of bestowing it

better, than in writing an Epistle to the SPECTATOR, which I now do,

and am,

_SIR_, _Your humble Servant_,

BOB SHORT.

P. S. If you approve of my Style, I am likely enough to become your

Correspondent. I desire your Opinion of it. I design it for that Way

of Writing called by the Judicious the _Familiar_.

* * * * *

TO MR. _METHUEN_. [1]

SIR,

It is with very great Pleasure I take an Opportunity of publishing the

Gratitude I owe You, for the Place You allow me in your Friendship and

Familiarity. I will not acknowledge to You that I have often had You in

my Thoughts, when I have endeavoured to Draw, in some Parts of these

Discourses, the Character of a Good-natured, Honest, and Accomplished

Gentleman. But such Representations give my Reader an Idea of a Person

blameless only, or only laudable for such Perfections as extend no

farther than to his own private Advantage and Reputation.

But when I speak of You, I Celebrate One who has had the Happiness of

Possessing also those Qualities which make a Man useful to Society, and

of having had Opportunities of Exerting them in the most Conspicuous

Manner.

The Great Part You had, as _British_ Embassador, in Procuring and

Cultivating the Advantageous Commerce between the Courts of _England_

and _Portugal_, has purchased you the lasting Esteem of all who

understand the Interest of either Nation.

Those Personal Excellencies which are overrated by the ordinary World,

and too much neglected by Wise Men, You have applied with the justest

Skill and Judgment. The most graceful Address in Horsemanship, in the

Use of the Sword, and in Dancing, has been employed by You as lower

Arts, and as they have occasionally served to recover, or introduce the

Talents of a skilful Minister.

But your Abilities have not appear'd only in one Nation. When it was

your Province to Act as Her Majesty's Minister at the Court of _Savoy_,

at that time encamped, You accompanied that Gallant Prince thro' all the

Vicissitudes of his Fortune, and shared, by His Side, the Dangers of

that Glorious Day in which He recovered His Capital. As far as it

regards Personal Qualities, You attained, in that one Hour, the highest

Military Reputation. The Behaviour of our Minister in the Action, and

the good Offices done the Vanquished in the Name of the Queen of

_England_, gave both the Conqueror and the Captive the most lively

Examples of the Courage and Generosity of the Nation He represented.

Your Friends and Companions in your Absence frequently talk these things

of You, and You cannot hide from us, (by the most discreet Silence in

any Thing which regards Your self) that the frank Entertainment we have

at your Table, your easie Condescension in little Incidents of Mirth and

Diversion, and general Complacency of Manners, are far from being the

greatest Obligations we have to You. I do assure You there is not one of

your Friends has a Greater Sense of your Merit in general, and of the

Favours You every Day do us, than,

SIR,

Your most Obedient, and

most Humble Servant,

RICHARD Steele.

[Footnote 1: Paul Methuen, at the date of this Dedication M.P. for

Brackley, and forty-two years old, was a lawyer who had distinguished

himself as a diplomatist at the Court of Lisbon in 1703, and arranged

the very short commercial treaty between Great Britain and Portugal which

bears his name. Methuen then represented England at the Court of the

Duke of Savory, who deserted the French cause at the end of 1602, and

the ambassador proved his courage also as a combatant when he took part

in the defence and rescue of Turin from the French in 1706. After his

return to England Paul Methuen was made (in 1709) a Commissioner of the

Admirality. In the year 1713 he first sat in Parliament as member of

Brackley. He held afterwards various offices in the States, as those of

Commissioner of the Treasury, Comptroller of the Household, Treasurer of

the Household, Commissioner for inspecting the Law, was made Sir Paul

Methuen, Knight of the Bath, and attained his highest dignity as Lord

Chancellor of Ireland before his death in 1757, at the age of 86. The

seventh volume, to which this Dedication is prefixed, is the last of the

original Spectator. With the eighth volume, representing an unsuccessful

attempt made to revive it, some time after its demise, Steele had

nothing to do, and that volume is not inscribed to any living person.]

* * * * *

No. 474. Wednesday, September 3, 1712. Steele.

'Asperitas agrestis et inconcinna.'

Hor.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

Being of the Number of those that have lately retired from the Center

of Business and Pleasure, my Uneasiness in the Country where I am,

arises rather from the Society than the Solitude of it. To be obliged

to receive and return Visits from and to a Circle of Neighbours, who

through Diversity of Age or Inclinations, can neither be entertaining

or serviceable to us, is a vile Loss of Time, and a Slavery from which

a Man should deliver himself, if possible: For why must I lose the

remaining part of my Life, because they have thrown away the former

Part of theirs? It is to me an insupportable Affliction, to be

tormented with the Narrations of a Set of People, who are warm in

their Expressions of the quick Relish of that Pleasure which their

Dogs and Horses have a more delicate Taste of. I do also in my Heart

detest and abhor that damnable Doctrine and Position of the Necessity

of a Bumper, though to one's own Toast; for though 'tis pretended that

these deep Politicians are used only to inspire Gaiety, they certainly

drown that Chearfulness which would survive a moderate Circulation. If

at these Meetings it were left to every Stranger either to fill his

Glass according to his own Inclination, or to make his Retreat when he

finds he has been sufficiently obedient to that of others, these

Entertainments would be governed with more good Sense, and

consequently with more good Breeding, than at present they are. Indeed

where any of the Guests are known to measure their Fame or Pleasure by

their Glass, proper Exhortations might be used to these to push their

Fortunes in this sort of Reputation; but where 'tis unseasonably

insisted on to a modest Stranger, this Drench may be said to be

swallowed with the same Necessity, as if it had been tendered in the

Horn [1] for that purpose, with this aggravating Circumstance, that it

distresses the Entertainer's Guest in the same degree as it relieves

his Horses.

To attend without Impatience an Account of five-barr'd Gates, double

Ditches, and Precipices, and to survey the Orator with desiring Eyes,

is to me extremely difficult, but absolutely necessary, to be upon

tolerable Terms with him: but then the occasional Burstings out into

Laughter, is of all other Accomplishments the most requisite. I

confess at present I have not that command of these Convulsions, as is

necessary to be good Company; therefore I beg you would publish this

Letter, and let me be known all at once for a queer Fellow, and

avoided. It is monstrous to me, that we, who are given to Reading and

calm Conversation, should ever be visited by these Roarers: But they

think they themselves, as Neighbours, may come into our Rooms with the

same Right, that they and their Dogs hunt in our Grounds.

Your Institution of Clubs I have always admir'd, in which you

constantly endeavoured the Union of the metaphorically Defunct, that

is such as are neither serviceable to the Busy and Enterprizing part

of Mankind, nor entertaining to the Retir'd and Speculative. There

should certainly therefore in each County be established a Club of the

Persons whose Conversations I have described, who for their own

private, as also the publick Emolument, should exclude, and be

excluded all other Society. Their Attire should be the same with their

Huntsmen's, and none should be admitted into this green

Conversation-Piece, except he had broke his Collar-bone thrice. A

broken Rib or two might also admit a Man without the least Opposition.

The President must necessarily have broken his Neck, and have been

taken up dead once or twice: For the more Maims this Brotherhood shall

have met with, the easier will their Conversation flow and keep up;

and when any one of these vigorous Invalids had finished his Narration

of the Collar-bone, this naturally would introduce the History of the

Ribs. Besides, the different Circumstances of their Falls and

Fractures would help to prolong and diversify their Relations. There

should also be another Club of such Men, who have not succeeded so

well in maiming themselves, but are however in the constant Pursuit of

these Accomplishments. I would by no means be suspected by what I have

said to traduce in general the Body of Fox-hunters; for whilst I look

upon a reasonable Creature full-speed after a Pack of Dogs, by way of

Pleasure, and not of Business, I shall always make honourable mention

of it.

But the most irksome Conversation of all others I have met with in the

Neighbourhood, has been among two or three of your Travellers, who

have overlooked Men and Manners, and have passed through _France_ and

_Italy_ with the same Observation that the Carriers and Stage-Coachmen

do through _Great-Britain;_ that is, their Stops and Stages have been

regulated according to the Liquor they have met with in their Passage.

They indeed remember the Names of abundance of Places, with the

particular Fineries of certain Churches: But their distinguishing Mark

is certain Prettinesses of Foreign Languages, the Meaning of which

they could have better express'd in their own. The Entertainment of

these fine Observers, _Shakespear_ has described to consist

'In talking of the Alps and Appennines,

The Pyrenean, and the River Po.' [2]

and then concludes with a Sigh,

'Now this is worshipful Society!'

I would not be thought in all this to hate such honest Creatures as

Dogs; I am only unhappy that I cannot partake in their Diversions. But

I love them so well, as Dogs, that I often go with my Pockets stuffed

with Bread to dispense my Favours, or make my way through them at

Neighbours' Houses. There is in particular a young Hound of great

Expectation, Vivacity, and Enterprize, that attends my Flights

where-ever he spies me. This Creature observes my Countenance, and

behaves himself accordingly. His Mirth, his Frolick, and Joy upon the

Sight of me has been observed, and I have been gravely desired not to

encourage him so much, for it spoils his Parts; but I think he shews

them sufficiently in the several Boundings, Friskings, and Scourings,

when he makes his Court to me: But I foresee in a little time he and I

must keep Company with one another only, for we are fit for no other

in these Parts. Having informd you how I do pass my time in the

Country where I am, I must proceed to tell you how I would pass it,

had I such a Fortune as would put me above the Observance of Ceremony

and Custom.

My Scheme of a Country Life then should be as follows. As I am happy

in three or four very agreeable Friends, these I would constantly have

with me; and the Freedom we took with one another at School and the

University, we would maintain and exert upon all Occasions with great

Courage. There should be certain Hours of the Day to be employ'd in

Reading, during which time it should be impossible for any one of us

to enter the other's Chamber, unless by Storm. After this we would

communicate the Trash or Treasure we had met with, with our own

Reflections upon the Matter; the Justness of which we would controvert

with good-humour'd Warmth, and never spare one another out of the

complaisant Spirit of Conversation, which makes others affirm and deny

the same matter in a quarter of an Hour. If any of the Neighbouring

Gentlemen, not of our Turn, should take it in their heads to visit me,

I should look upon these Persons in the same degree Enemies to my

particular state of Happiness, as ever the French were to that of the

Publick, and I would be at an annual Expence in Spies to observe their

Motions. Whenever I should be surprized with a Visit, as I hate

Drinking. I would be brisk in swilling Bumpers, upon this Maxim, That

it is better to trouble others with my Impertinence, than to be

troubled my self with theirs. The Necessity of an Infirmary makes me

resolve to fall into that Project; and as we should be but Five, the

Terrors of an involuntary Separation, which our Number cannot so well

admit of, would make us exert our selves, in opposition to all the

particulars mentioned in your Institution of that equitable

Confinement. This my way of Life I know would subject me to the

Imputation of a morose, covetous and singular Fellow. These and all

other hard words, with all manner of insipid Jests, and all other

Reproach, would be matter of Mirth to me and my Friends: Besides, I

would destroy the Application of the Epithets Morose and Covetous, by

a yearly Relief of my undeservedly necessitous Neighbours, and by

treating my Friends and Domesticks with an Humanity that should

express the Obligation to lie rather on my side; and for the word

Singular, I was always of opinion every Man must be so, to be what one

would desire him.

Your very humble Servant,

J. R. [3]

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

About two Years ago I was called upon by the younger part of a Country

Family, by my Mother's side related to me, to visit Mr. _Campbell_,

the dumb Man; [4] for they told me that that was chiefly what brought

them to Town, having heard Wonders of him in _Essex_. I, who always

wanted Faith in Matters of that kind, was not easily prevailed on to

go; but lest they should take it ill, I went with them; when to my

surprize, Mr. _Campbell_ related all their past Life, (in short, had

he not been prevented, such a Discovery would have come out, as would

have ruined the next design of their coming to Town, _viz_. buying

Wedding-Cloaths.) Our Names--though he never heard of us before--and

we endeavoured to conceal--were as familiar to him as to our selves.

To be sure, _Mr_. SPECTATOR, he is a very learned and wise Man. Being

impatient to know my Fortune, having paid my respects in a

Family-_Jacobus_, he told me (after his manner) among several other

things, that in a Year and nine Months I should fall ill of a new

Fever, be given over by my Physicians, but should with much difficulty

recover: That the first time I took the Air afterwards, I should be

address'd to by a young Gentleman of a plentiful Fortune, good Sense,

and a generous Spirit. _Mr_. SPECTATOR, he is the purest Man in the

World, for all he said is come to pass, and I am the happiest She in

_Kent_. I have been in quest of Mr. _Campbell_ these three Months, and

cannot find him out. Now hearing you are a dumb Man too, I thought you

might correspond, and be able to tell me something; for I think my

self highly oblig'd to make his Fortune, as he has mine. 'Tis very

possible your Worship, who has Spies all over this Town, can inform me

how to send to him: If you can, I Beseech you be as speedy as

possible, and you will highly oblige

_Your constant Reader and Admirer_,

Dulcibella Thankley.

_Ordered_, That the Inspector I employ about Wonders, enquire at the

_Golden-Lion_, opposite to the _Half-Moon_ Tavern in _Drury-Lane_, into

the Merit of this Silent Sage, and report accordingly.

T.

[Footnote 1: Used for giving a drench to horses.]

[Footnote 2: Falconbridge in King John Act. I sc. i.]

[Footnote 3: This letter was by Steele's old college friend, Richard

Parker, who took his degree of M.A. in 1697, became fellow of Merton,

and died Vicar of Embleton, in Northumberland. This is the friend whose

condemnation of the comedy written by him in student days Steele had

accepted without question.]

[Footnote 4: See note p. 421, vol. ii. [Footnote 4 of No. 323.]]

* * * * *

No. 475. Thursday, September 4, 1712. Addison.

'--Quæ res in se neque Consilium neque modum

Habet ullum, eam consilio regere non potes.'

Ter.

It is an old Observation, which has been made of Politicians who would

rather ingratiate themselves with their Sovereign, than promote his real

Service, that they accommodate their Counsels to his Inclinations, and

advise him to such Actions only as his Heart is naturally set upon. The

Privy-Counsellor of one in Love must observe the same Conduct, unless he

would forfeit the Friendship of the Person who desires his Advice. I

have known several odd Cases of this Nature. _Hipparchus_ was going to

marry a common Woman, but being resolved to do nothing without the

Advice of his Friend _Philander_, he consulted him upon the Occasion.

_Philander_ told him his Mind freely, and represented his Mistress to

him in such strong Colours, that the next Morning he received a

Challenge for his Pains, and before Twelve a Clock was run through the

Body by the Man who had asked his Advice. _Celia_ was more prudent on

the like occasion; she desired _Leonilla_ to give her Opinion freely

upon a young Fellow who made his Addresses to her. _Leonilla_, to oblige

her, told her with great Frankness, that, she looked upon him as one of

the most worthless--_Celia_, foreseeing what a Character she was to

expect, begged her not to go on, for that she had been privately married

to him above a Fortnight. The truth of it is, a Woman seldom asks Advice

before she has bought her Wedding-Cloaths. When she has made her own

Choice, for Form's sake she sends a _Congé d'elire_ to her Friends.

If we look into the secret Springs and Motives that set People at work

in these Occasions, and put them upon asking Advice, which they never

intend to take; I look upon it to be none of the least, that they are

incapable of keeping a Secret which is so very pleasing to them. A Girl

longs to tell her Confident, that she hopes to be married in a little

time, and, in order to talk of the pretty Fellow that dwells so much in

her Thoughts, asks her very gravely, what she would advise her to do in

a case of so much Difficulty. Why else should _Melissa_, who had not a

Thousand Pound in the World, go into every Quarter of the Town to ask

her Acquaintance whether they would advise her to take _Tom Townly_,

that made his Addresses to her with an Estate of Five Thousand a Year?

'Tis very pleasant on this occasion, to hear the Lady propose her

Doubts, and to see the Pains she is at to get over them.

I must not here omit a Practice that is in use among the vainer Part of

our own Sex, who will often ask a Friend's Advice, in relation to a

Fortune whom they are never likely to come at. WILL. HONEYCOMB, who is

now on the Verge of Threescore, took me aside not long since, and asked

me in his most serious Look, whether I would advise him to marry my Lady

_Betty Single_, who, by the way, is one of the greatest Fortunes about

Town. I star'd him full in the Face upon so strange a Question; upon

which he immediately gave me an Inventory of her Jewels and Estate,

adding, that he was resolved to do nothing in a matter of such

Consequence without my Approbation. Finding he would have an Answer, I

told him, if he could get the Lady's Consent, he had mine. This is about

the Tenth Match which, to my knowledge, WILL, has consulted his Friends

upon, without ever opening his Mind to the Party herself.

I have been engaged in this Subject by the following Letter, which comes

to me from some notable young Female Scribe, who, by the Contents of it,

seems to have carried Matters so far, that she is ripe for asking

Advice; but as I would not lose her Good-Will, nor forfeit the

Reputation which I have with her for Wisdom, I shall only communicate

the Letter to the Publick, without returning any Answer to it.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

Now, Sir, the thing is this: Mr. _Shapely_ is the prettiest Gentleman

about Town. He is very tall, but not too tall neither. He dances like

a Angel. His Mouth is made I don't know how, but 'tis the prettiest

that I ever saw in my Life. He is always laughing, for he has an

infinite deal of Wit. If you did but see how he rolls his Stockins! He

has a thousand pretty Fancies, and I am sure, if you saw him, you

would like him. He is a very good Scholar, and can talk _Latin_ as

fast as _English_. I wish you could but see him dance. Now you must

understand poor Mr. _Shapely_ has no Estate; but how can he help that,

you know? And yet my Friends are so unreasonable as to be always

teazing me about him, because he has no Estate: but I am sure he has

that that is better than an Estate; for he is a Good-natured,

Ingenious, Modest, Civil, Tall, Well-bred, Handsome Man, and I am

obliged to him for his Civilities ever since I saw him. I forgot to

tell you that he has black Eyes, and looks upon me now and then as if

he had tears in them. And yet my Friends are so unreasonable, that

they would have me be uncivil to him. I have a good Portion which they

cannot hinder me of, and I shall be fourteen on the 29th Day of

_August_ next, and am therefore willing to settle in the World as soon

as I can, and so is Mr. _Shapely_. But every body I advise with here

is poor Mr. _Shapely's_ Enemy. I desire therefore you will give me

your Advice, for I know you are a wise Man; and if you advise me well,

I am resolved to follow it. I heartily wish you could see him dance,

and am,

SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

B. D.

He loves your _Spectators_ mightily.

C.

* * * * *

No. 476. Friday, September 5, 1712. Addison.

'--lucidus Ordo--'

Hor.

Among my Daily-Papers which I bestow on the Publick, there are some

which are written with Regularity and Method, and others that run out

into the Wildness of those Compositions which go by the Names of

_Essays_. As for the first, I have the whole Scheme of the Discourse in

my Mind before I set Pen to Paper. In the other kind of Writing, it is

sufficient that I have several Thoughts on a Subject, without troubling

my self to range them in such order, that they may seem to grow out of

one another, and be disposed under the proper Heads. _Seneca_ and

_Montaigne_ are Patterns for Writing in this last kind, as _Tully_ and

_Aristotle_ excel in the other. When I read an Author of Genius who

writes without Method, I fancy myself in a Wood that abounds with a

great many noble Objects, rising among one another in the greatest

Confusion and Disorder. When I read a methodical Discourse, I am in a

regular Plantation, and can place my self in its several Centres, so as

to take a view of all the Lines and Walks that are struck from them. You

may ramble in the one a whole Day together, and every Moment discover

something or other that is new to you; but when you have done, you will

have but a confused imperfect Notion of the Place: In the other, your

Eye commands the whole Prospect, and gives you such an Idea of it, as is

not easily worn out of the Memory.

Irregularity and want of Method are only supportable in Men of great

Learning or Genius, who are often too full to be exact, and therefore

chuse to throw down their Pearls in Heaps before the Reader, rather than

be at the Pains of stringing them.

Method is of advantage to a Work, both in respect to the Writer and the

Reader. In regard to the first, it is a great help to his Invention.

When a Man has plann'd his Discourse, he finds a great many Thoughts

rising out of every Head, that do not offer themselves upon the general

Survey of a Subject. His Thoughts are at the same time more

intelligible, and better discover their Drift and Meaning, when they are

placed in their proper Lights, and follow one another in a regular

Series, than when they are thrown together without Order and Connexion.

There is always an Obscurity in Confusion, and the same Sentence that

would have enlightened the Reader in one part of a Discourse, perplexes

him in another. For the same reason likewise every Thought in a

methodical Discourse shews [it [1]] self in its greatest Beauty, as the

several Figures in a piece of Painting receive new Grace from their

Disposition in the Picture. The Advantages of a Reader from a methodical

Discourse, are correspondent with those of the Writer. He comprehends

every thing easily, takes it in with Pleasure, and retains it long.

Method is not less requisite in ordinary Conversation than in Writing,

provided a Man would talk to make himself understood. I, who hear a

thousand Coffee-house Debates every Day, am very sensible of this want

of Method in the Thoughts of my honest Countrymen. There is not one

Dispute in ten which is managed in those Schools of Politicks, where,

after the three first Sentences, the Question is not entirely lost. Our

Disputants put me in mind of the Cuttle-Fish, that when he is unable to

extricate himself, blackens all the Water about him till he becomes

invisible. The Man who does not know how to methodize his Thoughts, has

always, to borrow a Phrase from the Dispensary, _a barren Superfluity of

Words;_ [2] the Fruit is lost amidst the Exuberance of Leaves.

_Tom Puzzle_ is one of the most Eminent Immethodical Disputants of any

that has fallen under my Observation. _Tom_ has read enough to make him

very Impertinent; his Knowledge is sufficient to raise Doubts, but not

to clear them. It is pity that he has so much Learning, or that he has

not a great deal more. With these Qualifications _Tom_ sets up for a

Free-thinker, finds a great many things to blame in the Constitution of

his Country, and gives shrewd Intimations that he does not believe

another World. In short, _Puzzle_ is an Atheist as much as his Parts

will give him leave. He has got about half a dozen common-place Topicks,

into which he never fails to turn the Conversation, whatever was the

Occasion of it: Tho' the matter in debate be about _Doway_ or _Denain_,

it is ten to one but half his Discourse runs upon the Unreasonableness

of Bigottry and Priest-craft. This makes Mr. _Puzzle_ the Admiration of

all those who have less Sense than himself, and the Contempt of those

who have more. There is none in Town whom _Tom_ dreads so much as my

Friend _Will Dry_. _Will_, who is acquainted with _Tom's_ Logick, when

he finds him running off the Question, cuts him short with a _What then?

We allow all this to be true, but what is it to our present Purpose?_ I

have known _Tom_ eloquent half an hour together, and triumphing, as he

thought, in the Superiority of the Argument, when he has been non-plus'd

on a sudden by Mr. _Dry's_ desiring him to tell the Company what it was

that he endeavoured to prove. In short, _Dry_ is a Man of a clear

methodical Head, but few Words, and gains the same Advantage over

_Puzzle_, that a small Body of regular Troops would gain over a

numberless undisciplined Militia.

C.

[Footnote 1: [its]]

[Footnote 2: It is said of Colon in the second Canto,

'Hourly his learn'd Impertinence affords

A barren Superfinity of Words.']

* * * * *

No. 477. Saturday, September 6, 1712. Addison.

'--An me ludit amabilis

Insania? audire et videor pios

Errare per lucos, amoenæ

Quos et aquæ subeunt et auræ.'

Hor.

_SIR_,

Having lately read your Essay on the Pleasures of the Imagination, I

was so taken with your Thoughts upon some of our _English_ Gardens,

that I cannot forbear troubling you with a Letter upon that Subject. I

am one, you must know, who am looked upon as an Humorist in Gardening.

I have several Acres about my House, which I call my Garden, and which

a skilful Gardener would not know what to call. It is a Confusion of

Kitchin and Parterre, Orchard and Flower-Garden, which lie so mixt and

interwoven with one another, that if a Foreigner who had seen nothing

of our Country should be convey'd into my Garden at his first landing,

he would look upon it as a natural Wilderness, and one of the

uncultivated Parts of our Country. My Flowers grow up in several Parts

of the Garden in the greatest Luxuriancy and Profusion. I am so far

from being fond of any particular one, by reason of its Rarity, that

if I meet with any one in a Field which pleases me, I give it a place

in my Garden. By this means, when a Stranger walks with me, he is

surprized to see several large Spots of Ground cover'd with ten

thousand different Colours, and has often singled out Flowers that he

might have met with under a common Hedge, in a Field, or in a Meadow,

as some of the greatest Beauties of the Place. The only Method I

observe in this Particular, is to range in the same Quarter the

Products of the same Season, that they may make their Appearance

together, and compose a Picture of the greatest Variety. There is the

same Irregularity in my Plantations, which run into as great a

Wildness as their Natures will permit. I take in none that do not

naturally rejoice in the Soil, and am pleased when I am walking in a

Labyrinth of my own raising, not to know whether the next Tree I shall

meet with is an Apple or an Oak, an Elm or a Pear-Tree. My Kitchin has

likewise its particular Quarters assigned it; for besides the

wholesome Luxury which that Place abounds with, I have always thought

a Kitchin-Garden a more pleasant Sight than the finest Orangery, or

artificial Greenhouse. I love to see everything in its Perfection, and

am more pleased to survey my Rows of Coleworts and Cabbages, with a

thousand nameless Pot-herbs, springing up in their full Fragrancy and

Verdure, than to see the tender Plants of Foreign Countries kept alive

by artificial Heats, or withering in an Air and Soil that are not

adapted to them. I must not omit, that there is a Fountain rising in

the upper part of my Garden, which forms a little wandring Rill, and

administers to the Pleasure as well as the Plenty of the Place. I have

so conducted it, that it visits most of my Plantations; and have taken

particular Care to let it run in the same manner as it would do in an

open Field, so that it generally passes through Banks of Violets and

Primroses, Plats of Willow, or other Plants, that seem to be of its

own producing. There is another Circumstance in which I am very

particular, or, as my Neighbours call me, very whimsical: As my Garden

invites into it all the Birds of the Country, by offering them the

Conveniency of Springs and Shades, Solitude and Shelter, I do not

suffer any one to destroy their Nests in the Spring, or drive them

from their usual Haunts in Fruit-time. I value my Garden more for

being full of Blackbirds than Cherries, and very frankly give them

Fruit for their Songs. By this means I have always the Musick of the

Season in its Perfection, and am highly delighted to see the Jay or

the Thrush hopping about my Walks, and shooting before my Eye across

the several little Glades and Alleys that I pass thro'. I think there

are as many kinds of Gardening as of Poetry: Your Makers of Parterres

and Flower-Gardens, are Epigrammatists and Sonneteers in this Art:

Contrivers of Bowers and Grotto's, Treillages and Cascades, are

Romance Writers. _Wise_ and _London_ are our heroick Poets; and if, as

a Critick, I may single out any Passage of their Works to commend, I

shall take notice of that Part in the upper Garden at _Kensington_,

which was at first nothing but a Gravel-Pit. It must have been a fine

Genius for Gardening, that could have thought of forming such an

unsightly Hollow into so beautiful an Area, and to have hit the Eye

with so uncommon and agreeable a Scene as that which it is now wrought

into. To give this particular Spot of Ground the greater Effect, they

have made a very pleasing Contrast; for as on one side of the Walk you

see this hollow Basin, with its several little Plantations lying so

conveniently under the Eye of the Beholder; on the other side of it

there appears a seeming Mount, made up of Trees rising one higher than

another in proportion as they approach the Center. A Spectator, who

has not heard this Account of it, would think this Circular Mount was

not only a real one, but that it had been actually scooped out of that

hollow Space which I have before mention'd. I never yet met with any

one who had walked in this Garden, who was not struck with that Part

of it which I have here mention'd. As for my self, you will find, by

the Account which I have already given you, that my Compositions in

Gardening are altogether after the _Pindarick_ Manner, and run into

the beautiful Wildness of Nature, without affecting the nicer

Elegancies of Art. What I am now going to mention, will, perhaps,

deserve your Attention more than any thing I have yet said. I find

that in the Discourse which I spoke of at the Beginning of my Letter,

you are against filling an _English_ Garden with Ever-Greens; and

indeed I am so far of your Opinion, that I can by no means think the

Verdure of an Ever-Green comparable to that which shoots out annually,

and clothes our Trees in the Summer-Season. But I have often wonder'd

that those who are like my self, and love to live in Gardens, have

never thought of contriving a _Winter Garden_, which would consist of

such Trees only as never cast their Leaves. We have very often little

Snatches of Sunshine and fair Weather in the most uncomfortable Parts

of the Year; and have frequently several Days in _November_ and

_January_ that are as agreeable as any in the finest Months. At such

times, therefore, I think there could not be a greater Pleasure, than

to walk in such a _Winter-Garden_ as I have proposed. In the

Summer-Season the whole Country blooms, and is a kind of Garden, for

which reason we are not so sensible of those Beauties that at this

time may be every where met with; but when Nature is in her

Desolation, and presents us with nothing but bleak and barren

Prospects, there is something unspeakably chearful in a Spot of Ground

which is covered with Trees that smile amidst all the Rigours of

Winter, and give us a View of the most gay Season in the midst of that

which is the most dead and melancholy. I have so far indulged my self

in this Thought, that I have set apart a whole Acre of Ground for the

executing of it. The Walls are covered with Ivy instead of Vines. The

Laurel, the Hornbeam, and the Holly, with many other Trees and Plants

of the same nature, grow so thick in it, that you cannot imagine a

more lively Scene. The glowing Redness of the Berries, with which they

are hung at this time, vies with the Verdure of their Leaves, and are

apt to inspire the Heart of the Beholder with that vernal Delight

which you have somewhere taken notice of in your former papers. [1] It

is very pleasant, at the same time, to see the several kinds of Birds

retiring into this little Green Spot, and enjoying themselves among

the Branches and Foliage, when my great Garden, which I have before

mention'd to you, does not afford a single Leaf for their Shelter.

You must know, Sir, that I look upon the Pleasure which we take in a

Garden, as one of the most innocent Delights in Human Life. A Garden

was the Habitation of our first Parents before the Fall. It is

naturally apt to fill the Mind with Calmness and Tranquillity, and to

lay all its turbulent Passions at rest. It gives us a great insight

into the Contrivance and Wisdom of Providence, and suggests

innumerable Subjects for Meditation. I cannot but think the very

Complacency and Satisfaction which a Man takes in these Works of

Nature, to be a laudable, if not a virtuous Habit of Mind. For all

which Reasons I hope you will pardon the Length of my present Letter.

_I am,_

_SIR, &c._

C.

[Footnote 1: In No. 393.]

* * * * *

No. 478. Monday, September 8, 1712. Steele.

'--Usus

Quem penes Arbitrium est, et Jus et Norma--'

Mr. SPECTATOR,

It happened lately, that a Friend of mine, who had many things to buy

for his Family, would oblige me to walk with him to the Shops. He was

very nice in his way, and fond of having every thing shewn, which at

first made me very uneasy; but as his Humour still continu'd, the

things which I had been staring at along with him, began to fill my

Head, and led me into a Set of amusing Thoughts concerning them.

I fancied it must be very surprizing to any one who enters into a

detail of Fashions, to consider how far the Vanity of Mankind has laid

it self out in Dress, what a prodigious number of People it maintains,

and what a Circulation of Money it occasions. Providence in this Case

makes use of the Folly which we will not give up, and it becomes

instrumental to the Support of those who are willing to labour. Hence

it is that Fringe-Makers, Lace-Men, Tire-Women, and a number of other

Trades, which would be useless in a simple State of Nature, draw their

Subsistence; tho' it is seldom seen that such as these are extremely

rich, because their original Fault of being founded upon Vanity, keeps

them poor by the light Inconstancy of its Nature. The Variableness of

Fashion turns the Stream of Business which flows from it now into one

Channel, and anon into another; so that different Sets of People sink

or flourish in their turns by it.

From the Shops we retir'd to the Tavern, where I found my Friend

express so much satisfaction for the Bargains he had made, that my

moral Reflections, (if I had told them) might have pass'd for a

Reproof; so I chose rather to fall in with him, and let the Discourse

run upon the use of Fashions.

Here we remembred how much Man is govern'd by his Senses, how lively

he is struck by the Objects which appear to him in an agreeable

manner, how much Clothes contribute to make us agreeable Objects, and

how much we owe it to our selves that we should appear so.

We considered Man as belonging to Societies; Societies as form'd of

different Ranks; and different Ranks distinguished by Habits, that all

proper Duty or Respect might attend their Appearance.

We took notice of several Advantages which are met with in the

Occurrences of Conversation. How the bashful Man has been sometimes so

rais'd, as to express himself with an Air of Freedom, when he imagines

that his Habit introduces him to Company with a becoming Manner: And

again, how a Fool in fine Clothes shall be suddenly heard with

Attention, till he has betray'd himself; whereas a Man of Sense

appearing with a Dress of Negligence, shall be but coldly received,

till he be proved by Time, and established in a Character. Such things

as these we cou'd recollect to have happen'd to our knowledge so very

often, that we concluded the Author had his Reasons, who advises his

Son to go in Dress rather above his Fortune than under it.

At last the Subject seem'd so considerable, that it was proposed to

have a Repository built for Fashions, as there are Chambers for Medals

and other Rarities. The Building may be shap'd as that which stands

among the Pyramids, in the Form of a Woman's Head. This may be rais'd

upon Pillars, whose Ornaments shall bear a just relation to the

Design. Thus there may be an Imitation of Fringe carv'd in the Base, a

sort of Appearance of Lace in the Frieze, and a Representation of

curling Locks, with Bows of Ribband sloping over them, may fill up the

Work of the Cornish. The Inside may be divided into two Apartments

appropriated to each Sex. The Apartments may be fill'd with Shelves,

on which Boxes are to stand as regularly as Books in a Library. These

are to have Folding-Doors, which being open'd, you are to behold a

Baby dressed out in some Fashion which has flourish'd, and standing

upon a Pedestal, where the time of its Reign is mark'd down. For its

further Regulation, let it be order'd, that every one who invents a

Fashion shall bring in his Box, whose Front he may at pleasure have

either work'd or painted with some amorous or gay Device, that, like

Books with gilded Leaves and Covers, it may the sooner draw the Eyes

of the Beholders. And to the end that these may be preserv'd with all

due Care, let there be a Keeper appointed, who shall be a Gentleman

qualify'd with a competent Knowledge in Clothes; so that by this means

the Place, will be a comfortable Support for some Beau who has spent

his Estate in dressing.

The Reasons offer'd by which we expected to gain the Approbation of

the Publick, were as follows.

First, That every one who is considerable enough to be a Mode, and has

any Imperfection of Nature or Chance, which it is possible to hide by

the Advantage of Clothes, may, by coming to this Repository, be

furnish'd her self, and furnish all who are under the same Misfortune,

with the most agreeable Manner of concealing it; and that on the other

side, every one who has any Beauty in Face or Shape, may also be

furnished with the most agreeable Manner of shewing it.

Secondly, That whereas some of our young Gentlemen who travel, give us

great reason to suspect that they only go abroad to make or improve a

Fancy for Dress, a Project of this nature may be a means to keep them

at home, which is in effect the keeping of so much Money in the

Kingdom. And perhaps the Balance of Fashion in _Europe_, which now

leans upon the side of _France_, may be so alter'd for the future,

that it may become as common with _Frenchmen_ to come to _England_ for

their finishing Stroke of Breeding, as it has been for _Englishmen_ to

go to _France_ for it.

Thirdly, Whereas several great Scholars, who might have been otherwise

useful to the World, have spent their time in studying to describe the

Dresses of the Ancients from dark Hints, which they are fain to

interpret and support with much Learning, it will from henceforth

happen, that they shall be freed from the Trouble, and the World from

useless Volumes. This Project will be a Registry, to which Posterity

may have recourse, for the clearing such obscure Passages as tend that

way in Authors; and therefore we shall not for the future submit our

selves to the Learning of Etymology, which might persuade the Age to

come, that the Farthingal was worn for Cheapness, or the Furbeloe for

Warmth.

Fourthly, Whereas they who are old themselves, have often a way of

railing at the Extravagance of Youth, and the whole Age in which their

Children live; it is hoped that this ill Humour will be much

suppress'd, when we can have recourse to the Fashions of their Times,

produce them in our Vindication, and be able to shew that it might

have been as expensive in Queen _Elizabeth's_ time only to wash and

quill a Ruff, as it is now to buy Cravats or Neck-Handkerchiefs.

We desire also to have it taken Notice of, That because we would shew

a particular respect to Foreigners, which may induce them to perfect

their Breeding here in a Knowledge which is very proper for pretty

Gentlemen, we have conceived the Motto for the House in the Learned

Language. There is to be a Picture over the Door, with a Looking-Glass

and a Dressing-Chair in the Middle of it: Then on one side are to be

seen, above one another, Patch-Boxes, Pin-Cushions, and little

Bottles; on the other, Powder Baggs, Puffs, Combs and Brushes; beyond

these, Swords with fine Knots, whose Points are hidden, and Fans

almost closed, with the Handles downward, are to stand out

interchangeably from the Sides till they meet at the Top, and form a

Semicircle over the rest of the Figures: Beneath all, the Writing is

to run in this pretty sounding Manner: