'Quis non invenit turbâ quod amaret in illâ?'
Ovid,
_Dear_ SPEC.
'Finding that my last Letter took, I do intend to continue my
epistolary Correspondence with thee, on those dear confounded
Creatures, _Women_. Thou knowest, all the little Learning I am Master
of is upon that Subject; I never looked in a Book, but for their
sakes. I have lately met with two pure Stories for a _Spectator_,
which I am sure will please mightily, if they pass through thy Hands.
The first of them I found by chance in a _English_ Book called
_Herodotus_, that lay in my Friend _Dapperwit's_ Window, as I visited
him one Morning. It luckily opened in the Place where I met with the
following Account. He tells us that it was the Manner among the
_Persians_ to have several Fairs in the Kingdom, at which all the
young unmarried Women were annually exposed to Sale. The Men who
wanted Wives came hither to provide themselves: Every Woman was given
to the highest Bidder, and the Mony which she fetched laid aside for
the publick Use, to be employed as thou shalt hear by and by. By this
means the richest People had the Choice of the Market, and culled out
all the most extraordinary Beauties. As soon as the Fair was thus
picked, the Refuse was to be distributed among the Poor, and among
those who could not go to the Price of a _Beauty_ Several of these
married the _Agreeables_, without paying a Farthing for them, unless
somebody chanced to think it worth his while to bid for them, in which
Case the best Bidder was always the Purchaser. But now you must know,
SPEC. it happened in _Persia_ as it does in our own Country, that
there were as many _ugly Women_, as _Beauties_ or _Agreeables;_ so
that by Consequence, after the Magistrates had put off a great many,
there were still a great many that stuck upon their Hands. In order
therefore to clear the Market, the Money which the Beauties had sold
for, was disposed of among the Ugly; so that a poor Man, who could not
afford to have a Beauty for his Wife, was forced to take up with a
Fortune; the greatest Portion being always given to the most Deformed.
To this the Author adds, that every poor Man was forced to live kindly
with his Wife, or in case he repented of his Bargain, to return her
Portion with her to the next publick Sale.
What I would recommend to thee on this Occasion is, to establish such
an imaginary Fair in _Great Britain_: Thou couldst make it very
pleasant, by matching Women of Quality with Coblers and Carmen, or
describing Titles and Garters leading off in great Ceremony
Shop-keepers and Farmers Daughters. Tho' to tell thee the Truth, I am
confoundedly afraid that as the love of Mony prevails in our Island
more than it did in _Persia_, we should find that some of our greatest
Men would chuse out the Portions, and rival one another for the
richest Piece of Deformity; and that on the contrary, the Toasts and
Belles would be bought up by extravagant Heirs, Gamesters and
Spendthrifts. Thou couldst make very pretty Reflections upon this
Occasion in Honour of the _Persian_ Politicks, who took care, by such
Marriages, to beautify the upper part of the Species, and to make the
greatest Persons in the Government the most graceful. But this I shall
leave to thy judicious Pen.
'I have another Story to tell thee, which I likewise met with in a
Book. It seems the General of the _Tartars_, after having laid siege
to a strong Town in _China_, and taken it by Storm, would set to Sale
all the Women that were found in it. Accordingly, he put each of them
into a Sack, and after having thoroughly considered the Value of the
Woman who was inclosed, marked the Price that was demanded for her
upon the Sack. There were a great Confluence of Chapmen, that resorted
from every Part, with a Design to purchase, which they were to do
_unsight unseen_. The Book mentions a Merchant in particular, who
observing one of the Sacks to be marked pretty high, bargained for it,
and carried it off with him to his House. As he was resting with it
upon a half-way Bridge, he was resolved to take a Survey of his
Purchase: Upon opening the Sack, a little old Woman popped her Head
out of it; at which the Adventurer was in so great a Rage, that he was
going to shoot her out into the River. The old Lady, however, begged
him first of all to hear her Story, by which he learned that she was
sister to a great _Mandarin_, who would infallibly make the Fortune of
his Brother-in-Law as soon as he should know to whose Lot she fell.
Upon which the Merchant again tied her up in his Sack, and carried her
to his House, where she proved an excellent Wife, and procured him all
the Riches from her Brother that she had promised him.
'I fancy, if I was disposed to dream a second time, I could make a
tolerable Vision upon this Plan. I would suppose all the unmarried
Women in _London_ and _Westminster_ brought to Market in Sacks, with
their respective Prices on each Sack. The first Sack that is sold is
marked with five thousand Pound: Upon the opening of it, I find it
filled with an admirable Housewife, of an agreeable Countenance: The
Purchaser, upon hearing her good Qualities, pays down her Price very
chearfully. The second I would open, should be a five hundred Pound
Sack: The Lady in it, to our surprize, has the Face and Person of a
Toast: As we are wondering how she came to be set at so low a Price,
we hear that she would have been valued at ten thousand Pound, but
that the Publick had made those Abatements for her being a Scold. I
would afterwards find some beautiful, modest, and discreet Woman, that
should be the top of the Market; and perhaps discover half a dozen
Romps tyed up together in the same Sack, at one hundred Pound an Head.
The Prude and the Coquet should be valued at the same Price, tho' the
first should go off the better of the two. I fancy thou wouldst like
such a Vision, had I time to finish it; because, to talk in thy own
way, there is a Moral in it. Whatever thou may'st think of it,
pr'ythee do not make any of thy queer Apologies for this Letter, as
thou didst for my last. The Women love a gay lively Fellow, and are
never angry at the Railleries of one who is their known Admirer. I am
always bitter upon them, but well with them.
_Thine_,
HONEYCOMB.
O.
* * * * *
No. 512. Friday, October 17, 1712. Addison.
'Lectorem delectando pariterque monendo.'
Hor.
There is nothing which we receive with so much Reluctance as Advice. We
look upon the Man who gives it us as offering an Affront to our
Understanding, and treating us like Children or Ideots. We consider the
Instruction as an implicit Censure, and the Zeal which any one shews for
our Good on such an Occasion as a Piece of Presumption or Impertinence.
The Truth of it is, the Person who pretends to advise, does, in that
particular, exercise a Superiority over us, and can have no other Reason
for it, but that in comparing us with himself, he thinks us defective
either in our Conduct or our Understanding. For these Reasons, there is
nothing so difficult as the Art of making Advice agreeable; and indeed
all the Writers, both Ancient and Modern, have distinguished themselves
among one another, according to the Perfection at which they have
arrived in this Art. How many Devices have been made use of, to render
this bitter Potion palatable? Some convey their Instructions to us in
the best chosen Words, others in the most harmonious Numbers, some in
Points of Wit, and others in short Proverbs.
In the next place, if we look into human Nature, we shall find that the
Mind is never so much pleased, as when she exerts her self in any Action
that gives her an Idea of her own Perfections and Abilities. This
natural Pride and Ambition of the Soul is very much gratified in the
reading of a Fable: for in Writings of this kind, the Reader comes in
for half of the Performance; every thing appears to him like a Discovery
of his own; he is busied all the while in applying Characters and
Circumstances, and is in this respect both a Reader and a Composer. It
is no wonder therefore that on such Occasions, when the Mind is thus
pleased with it self, and amused with its own Discoveries, that it is
highly delighted with the Writing which is the occasion of it. For this
reason the _Absalom_ and _Achitophel_ [1] was one of the most popular
Poems that ever appeared in _English_. The poetry is indeed very fine,
but had it been much finer, it would not have so much pleased, without a
plan which gave the Reader an Opportunity of exerting his own Talents.
This oblique manner of giving Advice is so inoffensive, that if we look
into ancient Histories, we find the wise Men of old very often chose to
give Counsel to their Kings in Fables. To omit many which will occur to
every one's Memory, there is a pretty Instance of this Nature in a
_Turkish_ Tale, which I do not like the worse for that little Oriental
Extravagance which is mixed with it.
We are told that the Sultan _Mahmoud_, by his perpetual Wars abroad, and
his Tyranny at home, had filled his Dominions with Ruin and Desolation,
and half unpeopled the _Persian_ Empire. The Visier to this great Sultan
(whether an Humourist or an Enthusiast, we are not informed) pretended
to have learned of a certain Dervise to understand the Language of
Birds, so that there was not a Bird that could open his Mouth, but the
Visier knew what it was he said. As he was one Evening with the Emperor,
in their return from Hunting, they saw a couple of Owls upon a Tree that
grew near an old Wall out of an Heap of Rubbish. _I would fain know_,
says the Sultan, _what those two Owls are saying to one another; listen
to their Discourse, and give me an account of it_. The Visier approached
the Tree, pretending to be very attentive to the two Owls. Upon his
return to the Sultan, _Sir_, says he, _I have heard part of their
Conversation, but dare not tell you what it is_. The Sultan would not be
satisfied with such an Answer, but forced him to repeat word for word
every thing the Owls had said. _You must know then_, said the
Visier, _that one of these Owls has a Son, and the other a Daughter,
between whom they are now upon a Treaty of Marriage. The Father of the
Son said to the Father of the Daughter, in my hearing, Brother, I
consent to this Marriage, provided you will settle upon your Daughter
fifty ruined Villages for her Portion. To which the Father of the
Daughter replied, Instead of fifty I will give her five hundred, if you
please. God grant a long Life to Sultan_ Mahmoud; _whilst he reigns over
us, we shall never want ruined Villages_.
The Story says, the Sultan was so touched with the Fable, that he
rebuilt the Towns and Villages which had been destroyed, and from that
time forward consulted the Good of his People. [2]
To fill up my Paper, I shall add a most ridiculous piece of natural
Magic, which was taught by no less a Philosopher than _Democritus_,
namely, that if the Blood of certain Birds, which he mentioned, were
mixed together, it would produce a Serpent of such a wonderful Virtue,
that whoever did eat it should be skill'd in the Language of Birds, and
understand every thing they said to one another. Whether the Dervise
abovementioned might not have eaten such a Serpent, I shall leave to the
Determinations of the Learned.
O.
[Footnote 1: Dryden's satire on the intrigues of the Duke of Monmouth
and Lord Shaftesbury to exclude the King's brother from the Throne.
Monmouth was Absalom, and Shaftesbury Achitophel.]
[Footnote 2: Pilpay's Fables.]
* * * * *
No. 513. Saturday, October 18, 1712. Addison.
'--Afflata est numine quando
Jam propiore Dei--'
Virg.
The following Letter comes to me from that excellent Man in Holy Orders,
whom I have mentioned more than once as one of that Society who assist
me in my Speculations. It is a _Thought in Sickness_, and of a very
serious Nature, for which Reason I give it a place in the Paper of this
Day.
_SIR_,
'The Indisposition which has long hung upon me, is at last grown to
such [a [1]] Head, that it must quickly make an End of me, or of it
self. You may imagine, that whilst I am in this bad state of Health,
there are none of your Works which I read with greater Pleasure than
your _Saturday's_ Papers. I should be very glad if I could furnish you
with any Hints for that Day's Entertainment. Were I able to dress up
several Thoughts of a serious nature, which have made great
Impressions on my Mind during a long Fit of Sickness, they might not
be an improper Entertainment for that Occasion.
'Among all the Reflections which usually rise in the Mind of a sick
Man, who has Time and Inclination to consider his approaching End,
there is none more natural than that of his going to appear Naked and
Unbodied before Him who made him. When a Man considers, that as soon
as the vital Union is dissolved, he shall see that Supreme Being, whom
he now contemplates at a Distance, and only in his Works; or, to speak
more philosophically, when by some Faculty in the Soul he shall
apprehend the Divine Being, and be more sensible of his Presence, than
we are now of the Presence of any Object which the Eye beholds, a Man
must be lost in Carelessness and Stupidity, who is not alarmed at such
a Thought. Dr. _Sherlock_, in his excellent Treatise upon Death, has
represented, in very strong and lively Colours, the State of the Soul
in its first Separation from the Body, with regard to that invisible
World which every where surrounds us, tho' we are not able to discover
it through this grosser World of Matter, which is accommodated to our
Senses in this Life. His Words are as follow.
'_That Death, which is our leaving this World, is nothing else but
our putting off these Bodies, teaches us, that it is only our Union
to these Bodies, which intercepts the sight of the other World: The
other World is not at such a distance from us, as we may imagine;
the Throne of God indeed is at a great remove from this Earth, above
the third Heavens, where he displays his Glory to those blessed
Spirits which encompass his Throne; but as soon as we step out of
these Bodies, we step into the other World, which is not so properly
another World, (for there is the same Heaven and Earth still) as a
new state of Life. To live in these Bodies is to live in this World;
to live out of them is to remove into the next: For while our Souls
are confined to these Bodies, and can look only thro' these material
Casements, nothing but what is material can affect us; nay, nothing
but what is so gross, that it can reflect Light, and convey the
Shapes and Colours of Things with it to the Eye: So that though
within this visible World, there be a more glorious Scene of Things
than what appears to us, we perceive nothing at all of it; for this
Veil of Flesh parts the visible and invisible World: But when we put
off these Bodies, there are new and surprizing Wonders present
themselves to our Views; when these material Spectacles are taken
off, the Soul, with its own naked Eyes, sees what was invisible
before: And then we are in the other World, when we can see it, and
converse with it: Thus St._ Paul _tell us, That_ when we are at home
in the Body, we are absent from the Lord; but when we are absent
from the Body, we are present with the Lord, 2 _Cor._ 5. 6, 8. _And
methinks this is enough to cure us of our Fondness for these Bodies,
unless we think it more desirable to be confined to a Prison, and to
look through a Grate all our Lives, which gives us but a very narrow
prospect, and that none of the best neither, than to be set at
liberty to view all the Glories of the World. What would we give now
for the least Glimpse of that invisible World, which the first step
we take out of these Bodies will present us with? There are such
things_ as Eye hath not seen, nor Ear heard, neither hath it entered
into the Heart of Man to conceive: _Death opens our Eyes, enlarges
our Prospect, presents us with a new and more glorious World, which
we can never see while we are shut up in Flesh; which should make us
as willing to part with this Veil, as to take the Film off of our
Eyes, which hinders our Sight_.
'As a thinking Man cannot but be very much affected with the Idea of
his appearing in the presence of that Being _whom none can see and
live_; he must be much more affected when he considers that this Being
whom he appears before, will examine all the Actions of his past Life,
and reward or punish him accordingly. I must confess that I think
there is no Scheme of Religion, besides that of Christianity, which
can possibly support the most virtuous Person under this Thought. Let
a Man's Innocence be what it will, let his Virtues rise to the highest
pitch of Perfection attainable in this Life, there will be still in
him so many secret Sins, so many human Frailties, so many Offences of
Ignorance, Passion and Prejudice, so many unguarded Words and
Thoughts, and in short, so many Defects in his best Actions, that,
without the Advantages of such an Expiation and Atonement as
Christianity has revealed to us, it is impossible that he should be
cleared before his Sovereign Judge, or that he should be able _to
stand in his Sight_. Our Holy Religion suggests to us the only Means
whereby our Guilt may be taken away, and our imperfect Obedience
accepted.
'It is this Series of Thought that I have endeavoured to express in
the following Hymn, which I have composed during this my Sickness.
I. When rising from the Bed of Death,
O'erwhelm'd with Guilt and Fear,
I see my Maker, Face to Face,
O how shall I appear!
II. If yet, while Pardon may be found,
And Mercy may be sought,
My Heart with inward Horrour shrinks,
And trembles at the Thought;
III. When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd
In Majesty severe,
And sit in Judgment on my Soul,
O how shall I appear!
IV. But thou hast told the troubled Mind,
Who does her Sins lament,
The timely Tribute of her Tears
Shall endless Woe prevent.
V. Then see the Sorrows of my Heart,
Ere yet it be too late;
And hear my Saviour's dying Groans,
To give those Sorrows Weight.
VI. For never shall my Soul despair
Her Pardon to procure,
Who knows thine only Son has dy'd
To make her Pardon sure.
'There is a noble Hymn in _French_, which Monsieur _Bayle_ has
celebrated for a _very fine one_, and which the famous Author of the
Art of Speaking calls an _Admirable one_, that turns upon a Thought of
the same Nature. If I could have done it Justice in _English_, I would
have sent it you translated; it was written by Monsieur _Des
Barreaux_; who had been one of the greatest Wits and Libertines in
_France_, but in his last Years was as remarkable a Penitent. [2]
'Grand Dieu, tes jugemens sont remplis d'equité;
Toûjours tu prens plaisir à nous être propice:
Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bonté
Ne me pardonnera sans choquer ta Justice.
Ouy, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impieté
Ne laisse à ton pouvoir que le choix du suplice:
Ton interest s' oppose a ma felicité;
Et ta clemence meme attend que je perisse.
Contente ton desir puis qu'il t'est glorieux;
Offense toy des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux;
Tonne, frappe, il est temps, rens moi guerre pour guerre.
J'adore en perissant la raison qui t'aigrit:
Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnerre,
Qui ne soit tout convert du sang de_ JESUS CHRIST.'
'If these Thoughts may be serviceable to you, I desire you would place
them in a proper Light, and am ever, with great Sincerity,'
_SIR_,
_Yours, &c_.
O.
[Footnote 1: _an_ in first reprint.]
[Footnote 2: Jacques Vallée Seigneur des Barreaux, born in Paris in
1602, was Counsellor of the Parliament of Paris, and gave up his charge
to devote himself to pleasure. He was famous for his songs and verses,
for his affability and generosity and irreligion. A few years before his
death he was converted, and wrote the pious sonnet given above, which
had been very widely praised and quoted. In his religious days he lived
secluded at Châlon sur Saône, where he died, in 1673.]
* * * * *
No. 514. Monday, October 20, [1] 1712. Steele.
'Me Parnassi deserta per ardua, dulcis
Raptat Amor; juvat ire jugis qua nulla priorum
Castaliam molle divertitur Orbita Clivo.'
Virg.
_Mr._ SPECTATOR,
'I came home a little later than usual the other Night, and not
finding my self inclined to sleep, I took up _Virgil_ to divert me
till I should be more disposed to Rest. He is the Author whom I always
chuse on such Occasions, no one writing in so divine, so harmonious,
nor so equal a Strain, which leaves the Mind composed, and softened
into an agreeable Melancholy; the Temper in which, of all others, I
chuse to close the Day. The Passages I turned to were those beautiful
Raptures in his _Georgicks_, where he professes himself entirely given
up to the Muses, and smit with the Love of Poetry, passionately
wishing to be transported to the cool Shades and Retirements of the
Mountain _Hæmus_. I clos'd the Book and went to Bed. What I had just
before been reading made so strong an Impression on my Mind, that
Fancy seemed almost to fulfil to me the Wish of _Virgil_, in
presenting to me the following Vision.
'Methought I was on a sudden plac'd in the Plains of _Boeotia_, where
at the end of the Horizon I saw the Mountain _Parnassus_ rising before
me. The Prospect was of so large an Extent, that I had long wander'd
about to find a Path which should directly lead me to it, had I not
seen at some distance a Grove of Trees, which in a Plain that had
nothing else remarkable enough in it to fix my Sight, immediately
determined me to go thither. When I arrived at it, I found it parted
out into a great Number of Walks and Alleys, which often widened into
beautiful Openings, as Circles or Ovals, set round with Yews and
Cypresses, with Niches, Grotto's, and Caves placed on the Sides,
encompassed with Ivy. There was no Sound to be heard in the whole
Place, but only that of a gentle Breeze passing over the Leaves of the
Forest, every thing beside was buried in a profound Silence. I was
captivated with the Beauty and Retirement of the Place, and never so
much, before that Hour, was pleased with the Enjoyment of my self. I
indulged the Humour, and suffered my self to wander without Choice or
Design. At length, at the end of a Range of Trees, I saw three Figures
seated on a Bank of Moss, with a silent Brook creeping at their Feet.
I ador'd them as the tutelar Divinities of the Place, and stood still
to take a particular View of each of them. The Middlemost, whose Name
was _Solitude_, sat with her Arms across each other, and seemed rather
pensive and wholly taken up with her own Thoughts, than any ways
grieved or displeased. The only Companions which she admitted into
that Retirement, was the Goddess _Silence_, who sat on her right Hand
with her Finger on her Mouth, and on her left _Contemplation_, with
her Eyes fixed upon the Heavens. Before her lay a celestial Globe,
with several Schemes of Mathematical Theorems. She prevented my Speech
with the greatest Affability in the World: Fear not, said she, I know
your Request before you speak it; you would be led to the Mountain of
the Muses; the only way to it lies thro' this Place, and no one is so
often employ'd in conducting Persons thither as my self. When she had
thus spoken, she rose from her Seat, and I immediately placed my self
under her Direction; but whilst I passed through the Grove, I could
not help enquiring of her who were the Persons admitted into that
sweet Retirement. Surely, said I, there can nothing enter here but
Virtue and virtuous Thoughts: The whole Wood seems design'd for the
Reception and Reward of such Persons as have spent their Lives
according to the Dictates of their Conscience and the Commands of the
Gods. You imagine right, said she; assure your self this Place was at
first designed for no other: Such it continued to be in the Reign of
_Saturn_, when none entered here but holy Priests, Deliverers of their
Country from Oppression and Tyranny, who repos'd themselves here after
their Labours, and those whom the Study and Love of Wisdom had fitted
for divine Conversation. But now it is become no less dangerous than
it was before desirable: Vice has learned so to mimick Virtue, that it
often creeps in hither under its Disguise. See there! just before you,
_Revenge_ stalking by, habited in the Robe of _Honour_. Observe not
far from him _Ambition_ standing alone; if you ask him his Name, he
will tell you it is _Emulation_ or _Glory_. But the most frequent
Intruder we have is _Lust_, who succeeds now the Deity to whom in
better Days this Grove was entirely devoted. _Virtuous Love_, with
_Hymen_, and the Graces attending him, once reign'd over this happy
Place; a whole Train of Virtues waited on him, and no dishonourable
Thought durst presume for Admittance: But now! how is the whole
Prospect changed? and how seldom renewed by some few who dare despise
sordid Wealth, and imagine themselves fit Companions for so charming a
Divinity?
'The Goddess had no sooner said thus, but we were arriv'd at the
utmost Boundaries of the Wood, which lay contiguous to a Plain that
ended at the Foot of the Mountain. Here I kept close to my Guide,
being sollicited by several Phantomes, who assured me they would shew
me a nearer Way to the Mountain of the Muses. Among the rest _Vanity_
was extremely importunate, having deluded infinite Numbers, whom I saw
wandering at the Foot of the Hill. I turned away from this despicable
Troop with Disdain, and addressing my self to my Guide, told her, that
as I had some Hopes I should be able to reach up part of the Ascent,
so I despaired of having Strength enough to attain the Plain on the
Top. But being informed by her that it was impossible to stand upon
the Sides, and that if I did not proceed onwards, I should
irrecoverably fall down to the lowest Verge, I resolved to hazard any
Labour and Hardship in the Attempt: So great a desire had I of
enjoying the Satisfaction I hoped to meet with at the End of my
Enterprize!
'There were two Paths, which led up by different Ways to the Summit of
the Mountain; the one was guarded by the Genius which presides over
the Moment of our Births. He had it in charge to examine the several
Pretensions of those who desired a Pass that Way, but to admit none
excepting those only on whom _Melpomene_ had look'd with a propitious
Eye at the Hour of their Nativity. The other Way was guarded by
_Diligence_, to whom many of those Persons apply'd who had met with a
Denial the other Way; but he was so tedious in granting their Request,
and indeed after Admittance the Way was so very intricate and
laborious, that many after they had made some Progress, chose rather
to return back than proceed, and very few persisted so long as to
arrive at the End they proposed. Besides these two Paths, which at
length severally led to the Top of the Mountain, there was a third
made up of these two, which a little after the Entrance joined in one.
This carried those happy Few, whose good Fortune it was to find it,
directly to the Throne of _Apollo_. I don't know whether I should even
now have had the Resolution to have demanded Entrance at either of
these Doors, had I not seen a Peasant-like Man (followed by a numerous
and lovely Train of Youths of both Sexes) insist upon Entrance for all
whom he led up. He put me in mind of the Country Clown who is painted
in the Map for leading Prince _Eugene_ over the _Alps_. He had a
Bundle of Papers in his Hand, and producing several, which he said,
were given to him by Hands which he knew _Apollo_ would allow as
Passes; among which, methoughts, I saw some of my own Writing; the
whole Assembly was admitted, and gave, by their Presence, a new Beauty
and Pleasure to these happy Mansions. I found the Man did not pretend
to enter himself, but served as a kind of Forester in the Lawns to
direct Passengers, who by their own Merit, or Instructions he procured
for them, had Virtue enough to travel that way. I looked very
attentively upon this kind homely Benefactor, and forgive me, _Mr._
SPECTATOR, if I own to you I took him for your self. We were no sooner
entered, but we were sprinkled three times with the Water of the
Fountain _Aganippe_, which had Power to deliver us from all Harms, but
only Envy, which reached even to the End of our Journey. We had not
proceeded far in the middle Path when we arrived at the Summit of the
Hill, where there immediately appeared to us two Figures, which
extremely engaged my Attention: the one was a young Nymph in the Prime
of her Youth and Beauty; she had Wings on her Shoulders and Feet, and
was able to transport herself to the most distant Regions in the
smallest Space of Time. She was continually varying her Dress,
sometimes into the most natural and becoming Habits in the World, and
at others into the most wild and freakish Garb that can be imagined.
There stood by her a Man full-aged, and of great Gravity, who
corrected her Inconsistences, by shewing them in his Mirror, and still
flung her affected and unbecoming Ornaments down the Mountain, which
fell in the Plain below, and were gathered up and wore with great
Satisfaction by those that inhabited it. The Name of the Nymph was
_Fancy_, the Daughter of _Liberty_, the most beautiful of all the
Mountain-Nymphs. The other was _Judgment_, the Off-spring of _Time_,
and the only Child he acknowledged to be his. A Youth, who sat upon a
Throne just between them, was their genuine Offspring; his Name was
_Wit_, and his Seat was composed of the Works of the most celebrated
Authors. I could not but see with a secret Joy, that though the
_Greeks_ and _Romans_ made the Majority, yet our own Countrymen were
the next both in Number and Dignity. I was now at Liberty to take a
full Prospect of that delightful Region. I was inspired with new
Vigour and Life, and saw every thing in nobler and more pleasing Views
than before; I breathed a purer Æther in a Sky which was a continued
Azure, gilded with perpetual Sunshine. The two Summits of the Mountain
rose on each Side, and formed in the midst a most delicious Vale, the
Habitation of the Muses, and of such as had composed Works worthy of
Immortality. _Apollo_ was seated upon a Throne of Gold, and for a
Canopy an aged Laurel spread its Boughs and its Shade over his Head.
His Bow and Quiver lay at his Feet. He held his Harp in his Hand,
whilst the Muses round about him celebrated with Hymns his Victory
over the Serpent _Python_, and sometimes sung in softer Notes the
Loves of _Leucothoe_ and _Daphnis_. _Homer_, _Virgil_, and _Milton_
were seated the next to them. Behind were a great Number of others,
among whom I was surprized to see some in the Habit of _Laplanders_,
who, notwithstanding the Uncouthness of their Dress, had lately
obtained a Place upon the Mountain. I saw _Pindar_ walking all alone,
no one daring to accost him, till _Cowley_ join'd himself to him; but
growing weary of one who almost walked him out of breath, he left him
for _Horace_ and _Anacreon_, with whom he seemed infinitely delighted.
'A little further I saw another Groupe of Figures; I made up to them,
and found it was _Socrates_ dictating to _Xenophon_, and the Spirit of
_Plato_; but most of all, _Musoeus_ had the greatest Audience about
him. I was at too great a Distance to hear what he said, or to
discover the Faces of his Hearers; only I thought I now perceived
_Virgil_, who had joined them, and stood in a Posture full of
Admiration at the Harmony of his Words.
'Lastly, At the very Brink of the Hill I saw _Boccalini_ sending
Dispatches to the World below of what happened upon _Parnassus_; but I
perceived he did it without leave of the Muses, and by stealth, and
was unwilling to have them revised by _Apollo_. I could now from this
Height and serene Sky behold the infinite Cares and Anxieties with
which Mortals below sought out their way through the Maze of Life. I
saw the Path of Virtue lie strait before them, whilst Interest, or
some malicious Demon, still hurry'd them out of the Way. I was at once
touched with Pleasure at my own Happiness, and Compassion at the sight
of their inextricable Errors. Here the two contending Passions rose so
high, that they were inconsistent with the sweet Repose I enjoy'd, and
awaking with a sudden start, the only Consolation I could admit of for
my Loss, was the Hopes that this Relation of my Dream will not
displease you.' [2]
T.
[Footnote 1: Room is made for this paper, in the original issue,
by printing it in smaller type.]
[Footnote 2: This Advertisement follows:
_A Letter written_ October 14, _dated_ Middle Temple, _has been
overlooked, by reason it was not directed to the_ SPECTATOR _at the
usual Places; and the Letter of the 18th, dated from the same Place,
is groundless, the Author of the Paper of_ Friday _last not having
ever seen the Letter of the 14th. In all circumstances except the
Place of Birth of the Person to whom the Letters were written, the
Writer of them is misinformed_.]
* * * * *
No. 515. Tuesday, October 21, 1712. Steele.
'Pudet me et miseret qui harum mores contabat mihi
Monuisse frustra--'
Ter.
_Mr._ SPECTATOR,
'I am obliged to you for printing the Account I lately sent you of a
Coquet who disturbed a sober Congregation in the City of _London_.
That Intelligence ended at her taking Coach, and bidding the Driver go
where he knew. I could not leave her so, but dogged her, as hard as
she drove, to _Paul's_ Church-Yard, where there was a Stop of Coaches
attending Company coming out of the Cathedral. This gave me
opportunity to hold up a Crown to her Coachman, who gave me the
Signal, that he would hurry on, and make no Haste, as you know the Way
is when they favour a Chase. By his many kind Blunders, driving
against other Coaches, and slipping off some of his Tackle, I could
keep up with him, and lodged my fine Lady in the Parish of St.
_James's_. As I guessed when I first saw her at Church, her Business
is to win Hearts and throw 'em away, regarding nothing but the
Triumph. I have had the Happiness, by tracing her through all with
whom I heard she was acquainted, to find one who was intimate with a
Friend of mine, and to be introduced to her Notice. I have made so
good use of my Time, as to procure from that Intimate of hers one of
her Letters, which she writ to her when in the Country. This Epistle
of her own may serve to alarm the World against her in ordinary Life,
as mine, I hope, did those, who shall behold her at Church. The Letter
was written last Winter to the Lady who gave it me; and I doubt not
but you will find it the Soul of an happy self-loving Dame, that takes
all the Admiration she can meet with, and returns none of it in Love
to her Admirers.'
_Dear Jenny_,
"I am glad to find you are likely to be dispos'd of in Marriage so
much to your Approbation as you tell me. You say you are afraid only
of me, for I shall laugh at your Spouse's Airs. I beg of you not to
fear it, for I am too nice a Discerner to laugh at any, but whom
most other People think fine Fellows; so that your Dear may bring
you hither as soon as his Horses are in Case enough to appear in
Town, and you be very safe against any Raillery you may apprehend
from me; for I am surrounded with Coxcombs of my own making, who are
all ridiculous in a manner: your Good-man, I presume, can't exert
himself. As Men who cannot raise their Fortunes, and are uneasy
under the Incapacity of shining in Courts, rail at Ambition; so do
[awkard [1]] and insipid Women, who cannot warm the Hearts and charm
the Eyes of Men, rail at Affectation: But she that has the Joy of
seeing a Man's Heart leap into his Eyes at beholding her, is in no
Pain for want of Esteem among a Crew of that Part of her own Sex,
who have no Spirit but that of Envy, and no Language but that of
Malice. I do not in this, I hope, express my self insensible of the
Merit of _Leodacia_, who lowers her Beauty to all but her Husband,
and never spreads her Charms but to gladden him who has a Right in
them: I say, I do Honour to those who can be Coquets, and are not
such; but I despise all who would be so, and in Despair of arriving
at it themselves, hate and vilify all those who can. But, be that as
it will, in Answer to your Desire of knowing my History: One of my
chief present Pleasures is in Country-Dances: and, in Obedience to
me, as well as the Pleasure of coming up to me with a good Grace,
shewing themselves in their Address to others in my Presence, and
the like Opportunities, they are all Proficients that Way: And I had
the Happiness of being the other Night where we made six Couple, and
every Woman's Partner a profess'd Lover of mine. The wildest
Imagination cannot form to it self on any Occasion, higher Delight
than I acknowledge my self to have been in all that Evening. I chose
out of my Admirers a Set of Men who most love me, and gave them
Partners of such of my own Sex who most envy'd me.
"My way is, when any Man who is my Admirer pretends to give himself
Airs of Merit, as at this Time a certain Gentleman you know did, to
mortify him by favouring in his Presence the most insignificant
Creature I can find. At this Ball I was led into the Company by
pretty Mr. _Fanfly_, who, you know, is the most obsequious,
well-shaped, well-bred Woman's Man in Town. I at first Entrance
declared him my Partner if I danced at all; which put the whole
Assembly into a Grin, as forming no Terrours from such a Rival. But
we had not been long in the Room, before I overheard the meritorious
Gentleman above-mention'd say with an Oath, There is no Raillery in
the Thing, she certainly loves the Puppy. My Gentleman, when we were
dancing, took an Occasion to be very soft in his Oglings upon a Lady
he danced with, and whom he knew of all Women I love most to
outshine. The Contest began who should plague the other most. I, who
do not care a Farthing for him, had no hard Task to out-vex him. I
made _Fanfly_, with a very little Encouragement, cut Capers
_Coupee_, and then sink with all the Air and Tenderness imaginable.
When he perform'd this, I observed the Gentleman you know of fall
into the same way, and imitate as well as he could the despised
_Fanfly_. I cannot well give you, who are so grave a Country Lady,
the Idea of the Joy we have when we see a stubborn Heart breaking,
or a Man of Sense turning Fool for our sakes; but this happened to
our Friend, and I expect his Attendance whenever I go to Church, to
Court, to the Play, or the Park. This is a Sacrifice due to us Women
of Genius, who have the Eloquence of Beauty, an easie Mein. I mean
by an easie Mein, one which can be on Occasion easily affected: For
I must tell you, dear _Jenny_, I hold one Maxim, which is an
uncommon one, to wit, That our greatest Charms are owing to
Affectation. 'Tis to That that our Arms can lodge so quietly just
over our Hips, and the Fan can play without any Force or Motion but
just of the Wrist. 'Tis to Affectation we owe the pensive Attention
of _Deidamia_ at a Tragedy, the scornful Approbation of _Dulciamara_
at a Comedy, and the lowly Aspect of _Lanquicelsa_ at a Sermon.
"To tell you the plain Truth, I know no Pleasure but in being
admir'd, and have yet never failed of attaining the Approbation of
the Man whose Regard I had a Mind to. You see all the Men who make a
Figure in the World (as wise a Look as they are pleased to put upon
the Matter) are moved by the same Vanity as I am. What is there in
Ambition, but to make other People's Wills depend upon yours? This
indeed is not to be aim'd at by one who has a Genius no higher than
to think of being a very good Housewife in a Country Gentleman's
Family. The Care of Poultrey and Piggs are great Enemies to the
Countenance: The vacant Look of a fine Lady is not to be preserved,
if she admits any thing to take up her Thoughts but her own dear
Person. But I interrupt you too long from your Cares, and my self
from my Conquests."
_I am, Madam, Your most humble Servant_.
'Give me leave, Mr. SPECTATOR, to add her Friend's Answer to this
Epistle, who is a very discreet ingenious Woman.'
_Dear Gatty_,
"I take your Raillery in very good Part, and am obliged to you for
the free Air with which you speak of your own Gayeties. But this is
but a barren superficial Pleasure; [indeed, [2]] _Gatty_, we are
made for Man, and in serious Sadness I must tell you, whether you
yourself know it or no, all these Gallantries tend to no other End
but to be a Wife and Mother as fast as you can."
_I am, Madam, Your most [humble [3]] Servant_.
T.
[Footnote 1: Spelt generally in the first issue _awkard_, in the first
reprint aukward.]
[Footnote 2: [for indeed,]]
[Footnote 3: obedient]
* * * * *
No. 516. Wednesday, October 22, 1712. Steele.
'Immortale odium et nunquam sanabile vulnus.
Inde furor vulgo, quod Numina vicinorum
Odit uterque locus, quum solos credit habendos
Esse Deos quos ipse colat.'
Juv.
Of all the monstrous Passions and Opinions which have crept into the
World, there is none so wonderful as that those who profess the common
Name of _Christians_, should pursue each other with Rancour and Hatred
for Differences in their Way of following the Example of their Saviour.
It seems so natural that all who pursue the Steps of any Leader should
form themselves after his Manners, that it is impossible to account for
Effects so different from what we might expect from those who profess
themselves Followers of the highest Pattern of Meekness and Charity, but
by ascribing such Effects to the Ambition and Corruption of those who
are so audacious, with Souls full of Fury, to serve at the Altars of the
God of Peace.
The Massacres to which the Church of _Rome_ has animated the ordinary
People, are dreadful Instances of the Truth of this Observation; and
whoever reads the History of the _Irish_ Rebellion, and the Cruelties
which ensued thereupon, will be sufficiently convinced to what Rage poor
Ignorants may be worked up by those who profess Holiness, and become
Incendiaries, and under the Dispensation of Grace, promote Evils
abhorrent to Nature.
This Subject and Catastrophe, which deserve so well to be remarked by
the Protestant World, will, I doubt not, be considered by the Reverend
and Learned Prelate that Preaches to-morrow before many of the
Descendants, of those who perished on that lamentable Day, in a manner
suitable to the Occasion, and worthy his own great Virtue and Eloquence.
I shall not dwell upon it any further, but only transcribe out of a
little Tract, called, _The Christian Hero_, published in 1701, what I
find there in Honour of the renowned Hero _William_ III. who rescued
that Nation from the Repetition of the same Disasters. His late Majesty,
of glorious Memory, and the most Christian King, are considered at the
Conclusion of that Treatise as Heads of the Protestant and Roman
Catholick World in the following Manner.
'There were not ever, before the Entrance of the Christian Name into
the World, Men who have maintained a more renowned Carriage, than the
two great Rivals who possess the full Fame of the present Age, and
will be the Theme and Examination of the future. They are exactly
form'd by Nature for those Ends to which Heaven seems to have sent
them amongst us: Both animated with a restless Desire of Glory, but
pursue it by different Means, and with different Motives. To one it
consists in an extensive undisputed Empire over his Subjects, to the
other in their rational and voluntary Obedience: One's Happiness is
founded in their want of Power, the other's in their want of Desire to
oppose him. The one enjoys the Summit of Fortune with the Luxury of a
_Persian_, the other with the Moderation of a _Spartan_: One is made
to oppress, the other to relieve the Oppressed: The one is satisfy'd
with the Pomp and Ostentation of Power to prefer and debase his
Inferiours, the other delighted only with the Cause and Foundation of
it to cherish and protect 'em. To one therefore Religion is but a
convenient Disguise, to the other a vigorous Motive of Action.
'For without such Ties of real and solid Honour, there is no way of
forming a Monarch, but after the Machiavillian Scheme, by which a
Prince must ever seem to have all Virtues, but really to be Master of
none, but is to be liberal, merciful and just, only as they serve his
Interests; while, with the noble Art of Hypocrisy, Empire would be to
be extended, and new Conquests be made by new Devices, by which prompt
Address his Creatures might insensibly give Law in the Business of
Life, by leading Men in the Entertainment of it. [1]
'Thus when Words and Show are apt to pass for the substantial things
they are only to express, there would need no more to enslave a
Country but to adorn a Court; for while every Man's Vanity makes him
believe himself capable of becoming Luxury, Enjoyments are a ready
Bait for Sufferings, and the Hopes of Preferment Invitations to
Servitude; which Slavery would be colour'd with all the Agreements, as
they call it, imaginable. The noblest Arts and Artists, the finest
Pens and most elegant Minds, jointly employ'd to set it off, with the
various Embellishments of sumptuous Entertainments, charming
Assemblies, and polished Discourses; and those apostate Abilities of
Men, the adored Monarch might profusely and skilfully encourage, while
they flatter his Virtue, and gild his Vice at so high a rate, that he,
without Scorn of the one, or Love of the other, would alternately and
occasionally use both: So that his Bounty should support him in his
Rapines, his Mercy in his Cruelties.
'Nor is it to give things a more severe Look than is natural, to
suppose such must be the Consequences of a Prince's having no other
Pursuit than that of his own Glory; for, if we consider an Infant born
into the World, and beholding it self the mightiest thing in it, it
self the present Admiration and future Prospect of a fawning People,
who profess themselves great or mean, according to the Figure he is to
make amongst them, what Fancy would not be debauched to believe they
were but what they professed themselves, his mere Creatures, and use
them as such by purchasing with their Lives a boundless Renown, which
he, for want of a more just Prospect, would place in the Number of his
Slaves, and the Extent of his Territories? Such undoubtedly would be
the tragical Effects of a Prince's living with no Religion, which are
not to be surpassed but by his having a false one.
'If Ambition were spirited with Zeal, what would follow, but that his
People should be converted into an Army, whose Swords can make Right
in Power, and solve Controversy in Belief? And if Men should be
stiff-neck'd to the Doctrine of that visible Church, let them be
contented with an Oar and a Chain, in the midst of Stripes and
Anguish, to contemplate on him, _whose Yoke is easy, and whose Burthen
is light_.
'With a Tyranny begun on his own Subjects, and Indignation that others
draw their Breath independent of his Frown or Smile, why should he not
proceed to the Seizure of the World? And if nothing but the Thirst of
Sway were the Motive of his Actions, why should Treaties be other than
mere Words, or solemn national Compacts be any thing but an Halt in
the March of that Army, who are never to lay down their Arms, till all
Men are reduc'd to the necessity of hanging their Lives on his wayward
Will; who might supinely, and at leisure, expiate his own Sins by
other Mens Sufferings, while he daily meditates new Slaughter, and new
Conquest?
'For mere Man, when giddy with unbridled Power, is an insatiate Idol,
not to be appeased with Myriads offer'd to his Pride, which may be
puffed up by the Adulation of a base and prostrate World, into an
Opinion that he is something more than human, by being something less:
And, alas, what is there that mortal Man will not believe of himself,
when complimented with the Attributes of God? Can he then conceive
Thoughts of a Power as _Omnipresent_ as his! But should there be such
a Foe of Mankind now upon Earth, have our Sins so far provoked Heaven,
that we are left utterly naked to his Fury? Is there no Power, no
Leader, no Genius, that can conduct and animate us to our Death or our
Defence? Yes; our great God never gave one to feign by his Permission,
but he gave to another also to reign by his Grace.
'All the Circumstances of the illustrious Life of our Prince, seem to
have conspired to make him the Check and Bridle of Tyranny; for his
Mind has been strengthened and confirmed by one continual Struggle,
and Heaven has educated him by Adversity to a quick Sense of the
Distresses and Miseries of Mankind, which he was born to redress: In
just scorn of the trivial Glories and light Ostentations of Power,
that glorious Instrument of Providence moves, like that, in a steddy,
calm, and silent Course, independent either of Applause or Calumny;
which renders him, if not in a political, yet in a moral, a
philosophick, an heroick, and a Christian Sense, an absolute Monarch;
who satisfy'd with this unchangeable, just, and ample Glory, must
needs turn all his Regards from himself to the Service of others; for
he begins his Enterprize with his own Share in the Success of them;
for Integrity bears in it self its Reward, nor can that which depends
not on Event ever know Disappointment.
'With the undoubted Character of a glorious Captain, and (what he much
more values than the most splendid Titles) that of a sincere and
honest Man, he is the Hope and Stay of _Europe_, an universal Good not
to be engrossed by us only, for distant Potentates implore his
Friendship, and injur'd Empires court his Assistance. He rules the
World, not by an Invasion of the People of the Earth, but the Address
of its Princes; and if that World should be again rous'd from the
Repose which his prevailing Arms had given it, why should we not hope
that there is an Almighty, by whose Influence the terrible Enemy that
thinks himself prepar'd for Battel, may find he is but ripe for
Destruction? and that there may be in the Womb of Time great
Incidents, which may make the Catastrophe of a prosperous Life as
unfortunate as the particular Scenes of it were successful? For there
does not want a skilful Eye and resolute Arm to observe and grasp the
Occasion: A Prince, who from [2]
'--Fuit Ilium et ingens
Gloria--'
Virg.
T.
[Footnote 1: The extract is from very near the close of Steele's
_Christian Hero_. At this part a few lines have been omitted. In the
original the paragraph closed thus:
'... the Entertainment of it, and making their great Monarch the
Fountain of all that's delicate and refined, and his Court the Model
for Opinions in Pleasure, as well as the Pattern in Dress; which might
prevail so far upon an undiscerning world as (to accomplish it or its
approaching Slavery) to make it receive a superfluous Babble for an
Universal Language.']
[Footnote 2: Here Steele abruptly breaks with 'Fuit Ilium'--the glory
has departed--on the sentence:
'A Prince who from just Notion of his Duty to that Being to whom he
must be accountable, has in the Service of his Fellow Creatures a
noble Contempt of Pleasures, and Patience of Labours, to whom 'tis
Hereditary to be the Guardian and Asserter of the native Rights and
Liberties of Mankind;'
A few more clauses to the sentence formed the summary of William's
character before the book closed with a prayer that Heaven would guard
his important life.]
* * * * *
No. 517. Thursday, October 23, 1712. Addison.
'Heu Pietas! heu prisca Fides!'
Virg.
We last night received a Piece of ill News at our Club, which very
sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my Readers
themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer
in Suspence, Sir ROGER DE COVERLY _is dead_. [1] He departed this Life
at his House in the Country, after a few Weeks Sickness. Sir ANDREW
FREEPORT has a Letter from one of his Correspondents in those Parts,
that informs him the old Man caught a Cold at the County-Sessions, as he
was very warmly promoting an Address of his own penning, in which he
succeeded according to his Wishes, But this Particular comes from a
Whig-Justice of Peace, who was always Sir ROGER'S Enemy and Antagonist.
I have Letters both from the Chaplain and Captain _Sentry_ which mention
nothing of it, but are filled with many Particulars to the Honour of the
good old Man. I have likewise a Letter from the Butler, who took so much
care of me last Summer when I was at the Knight's House. As my Friend
the Butler mentions, in the Simplicity of his Heart, several
Circumstances the others have passed over in Silence, I shall give my
Reader a Copy of his Letter, without any Alteration or Diminution.
_Honoured Sir_,
'Knowing that you was my old Master's good Friend, I could not forbear
sending you the melancholy News of his Death, which has afflicted the
whole Country, as well as his poor Servants, who loved him, I may say,
better than we did our Lives. I am afraid he caught his Death the last
County Sessions, where he would go to see Justice done to a poor Widow
Woman, and her Fatherless Children, that had been wronged by a
neighbouring Gentleman; for you know, Sir, my good Master was always
the poor Man's Friend. Upon his coming home, the first Complaint he
made was, that he had lost his Roast-Beef Stomach, not being able to
touch a Sirloin, which was served up according to Custom; and you know
he used to take great Delight in it. From that time forward he grew
worse and worse, but still kept a good Heart to the last. Indeed we
were once in great [Hope [2]] of his Recovery, upon a kind Message
that was sent him from the Widow Lady whom he had made love to the
Forty last Years of his Life; but this only proved a Light'ning before
Death. He has bequeathed to this Lady, as a token of his Love, a great
Pearl Necklace, and a Couple of Silver Bracelets set with Jewels,
which belonged to my good old Lady his Mother: He has bequeathed the
fine white Gelding, that he used to ride a hunting upon, to his
Chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him, and has left you
all his Books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to the Chaplain a very
pretty Tenement with good Lands about it. It being a very cold Day
when he made his Will, he left for Mourning, to every Man in the
Parish, a great Frize-Coat, and to every Woman a black Riding-hood. It
was a most moving Sight to see him take leave of his poor Servants,
commending us all for our Fidelity, whilst we were not able to speak a
Word for weeping. As we most of us are grown Gray-headed in our Dear
Master's Service, he has left us Pensions and Legacies, which we may
live very comfortably upon, the remaining part of our Days.
He has bequeath'd a great deal more in Charity, which is not yet come
to my Knowledge, and it is peremptorily said in the Parish, that he
has left Mony to build a Steeple to the Church; for he was heard to
say some time ago, that if he lived two Years longer, _Coverly_ Church
should have a Steeple to it. The Chaplain tells every body that he
made a very good End, and never speaks of him without Tears. He was
buried according to his own Directions, among the Family of the
_Coverly's_, on the Left Hand of his Father Sir _Arthur_. The Coffin
was carried by Six of his Tenants, and the Pall held up by Six of the
_Quorum_: The whole Parish follow'd the Corps with heavy Hearts, and
in their Mourning Suits, the Men in Frize, and the Women in
Riding-Hoods. Captain SENTRY, my Master's Nephew, has taken Possession
of the Hall-House, and the whole Estate. When my old Master saw him a
little before his Death, he shook him by the Hand, and wished him Joy
of the Estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to make good
Use of it, and to pay the several Legacies, and the Gifts of Charity
which he told him he had left as Quitrents upon the Estate. The
Captain truly seems a courteous Man, though he says but little. He
makes much of those whom my Master loved, and shews great Kindness to
the old House-dog, that you know my poor Master was so fond of. It
would have gone to your Heart to have heard the Moans the dumb
Creature made on the Day of my Master's Death. He has ne'er joyed
himself since; no more has any of us. 'Twas the melancholiest Day for
the poor People that ever happened in _Worcestershire_. This being all
from,
_Honoured Sir,
Your most Sorrowful Servant_,
Edward Biscuit.
_P. S._ 'My Master desired, some Weeks before he died, that a Book
which comes up to you by the Carrier should be given to Sir _Andrew
Freeport_, in his Name.'
This Letter, notwithstanding the poor Butler's Manner of writing it,
gave us such an Idea of our good old Friend, that upon the reading of it
there was not a dry Eye in the Club. Sir _Andrew_ opening the Book,
found it to be a Collection of Acts of Parliament. There was in
particular the Act of Uniformity, with some Passages in it marked by Sir
_Roger's_ own Hand. Sir _Andrew_ found that they related to two or three
Points, which he had disputed with Sir _Roger_ the last time he appeared
at the Club. Sir _Andrew_, who would have been merry at such an Incident
on another Occasion, at the sight of the old Man's Hand-writing burst
into Tears, and put the Book into his Pocket. Captain _Sentry_ informs
me, that the Knight has left Rings and Mourning for every one in the
Club.
O.
[Footnote 1: In No. 1 of the _Bee_ (for February, 1733) Eustace Budgell,
who set up that publication, and who probably was the intimate friend of
Addison's to whom he there refers, said of Sir Roger de Coverley,
'Mr. Addison was so fond of this character that a little before he
laid down the _Spectator_ (foreseeing that some nimble gentleman would
catch up his pen the moment he quitted it) he said to an intimate
friend, with a certain warmth in his expression which he was not often
guilty of, By God, I'll kill Sir Roger, that nobody else may murder
him.'
Accordingly the whole _Spectator_ No. 517 consists of nothing but an
account of the old knight's death, and some moving circumstances which
attended it. Steele had by this date resolved on bringing his Spectator
to a close, and Addison's paper on the death of Sir Roger, the first of
several which are to dispose of all members of the Spectator's Club and
break up the Club itself, was the first clear warning to the public that
he had such an intention.]
[Footnote 2: [Hopes]]
* * * * *
No. 518. Friday, October 24, 1712. Steele [1]
'--Miserum est alienæ incumbere famæ,
Ne collapsa ruant subductis tecta columnis.'
Juv.
This being a Day of Business with me, I must make the present
Entertainment like a Treat at an House-warming, out of such Presents as
have been sent me by my Guests. The first Dish which I serve up is a
Letter come fresh to my Hand.
_Mr_. SPECTATOR,
It is with inexpressible Sorrow that I hear of the Death of good Sir
_Roger_, and do heartily condole with you upon so melancholy an
Occasion. I think you ought to have blacken'd the Edges of a Paper
which brought us so ill News, and to have had it stamped likewise in
Black. It is expected of you that you should write his Epitaph, and,
if possible, fill his Place in the Club with as worthy and diverting a
Member. I question not but you will receive many Recommendations from
the publick of such as will appear Candidates for that Post.
Since I am talking of Death, and have mentioned an Epitaph, I must
tell you, Sir, that I have made discovery of a Church-Yard in which I
believe you might spend an Afternoon, with great Pleasure to your self
and to the Publick: It. belongs to the Church of _Stebon-Heath_,
commonly called _Stepney_. Whether or no it be that the People of that
Parish have a particular Genius for an Epitaph, or that there be some
Poet among them who undertakes that Work by the Great, I can't tell;
but there are more remarkable Inscriptions in that place than in any
other I have met with, and I may say without Vanity, that there is not
a Gentleman in _England_ better read in Tomb-stones than my self, my
Studies having laid very much in Church-yards. I shall beg leave to
send you a Couple of Epitaphs, for a Sample of those I have just now
mentioned. They are written in a different manner; the first being in
the diffused and luxuriant, the second in the close contracted Style.
The first has much of the Simple and Pathetick; the second is
something Light, but Nervous. The first is thus:
'Here Thomas Sapper lyes interred. Ah why!
Born in New England, did in London dye;
Was the third Son of Eight, begot upon
His Mother Martha by his Father John.
Much favoured by his Prince he 'gan to be,
But nipt by Death at th' Age of Twenty Three.
Fatal to him was that we Small-pox name,
By which his Mother and two Brethren came
Also to breathe their last nine Years before,
And now have left their Father to deplore
The loss of all his Children, with his Wife,
Who was the Joy and Comfort of his Life.'
The Second is as follows:
'Here lies the Body of Daniel Saul,
Spittle-fields Weaver, and that's all.'
'I will not dismiss you, whilst I am upon this Subject, without
sending a short Epitaph which I once met with, though I cannot
possibly recollect the Place. The Thought of it is serious, and in my
Opinion, the finest that I ever met with upon this Occasion. You know,
Sir, it is usual, after having told us the Name of the Person who lies
interr'd to lanch out into his Praises. This Epitaph takes a quite
contrary Turn, having been made by the Person himself some time before
his Death.
'Hic jacet_ R. C. _in expectatione diei supremi. Qualis erat dies
iste indicabit.' [2]
Here lieth _R. C_. in expectation of the last Day. What sort of a
Man he was, that Day will discover.
_I am, SIR, &c_.
The following Letter is dated from _Cambridge_. [3]
_SIR_,
'Having lately read among your Speculations, an Essay upon
Phisiognomy, I cannot but think that if you made a Visit to this
ancient University, you might receive very considerable Lights upon
that Subject, there being scarce a young Fellow in it who does not
give certain Indications of his particular Humour and Disposition
conformable to the Rules of that Art. In Courts and Cities every body
lays a Constraint upon his Countenance, and endeavours to look like
the rest of the World; but the Youth of this Place, having not yet
formed themselves by Conversation, and the Knowledge of the World,
give their Limbs and Features their full Play.
'As you have considered Human Nature in all its Lights, you must be
extremely well apprized, that there is a very close Correspondence
between the outward and the inward Man; that scarce the least Dawning,
the least Parturiency towards a Thought can be stirring in the Mind of
Man, without producing a suitable Revolution in his Exteriors, which
will easily discover it self to an Adept in the Theory of the Phiz.
Hence it is, that the intrinsick Worth and Merit of a Son of _Alma
Mater_ is ordinarily calculated from the Cast of his Visage, the
Contour of his Person, the Mechanism of his Dress, the Disposition of
his Limbs, the Manner of his Gate and Air, with a number of
Circumstances of equal Consequence and Information: The Practitioners
in this Art often make use of a Gentleman's Eyes to give 'em Light
into the Posture of his Brains; take a Handle from his Nose, to judge
of the Size of his Intellects; and interpret the over-much Visibility
and Pertness of one Ear, as an infallible mark of Reprobation, and a
Sign the Owner of so saucy a Member fears neither God nor Man. In
conformity to this Scheme, a contracted Brow, a lumpish down-cast
Look, a sober sedate Pace, with both Hands dangling quiet and steddy
in Lines exactly parallel to each Lateral Pocket of the Galligaskins,
is Logick, Metaphysicks and Mathematicks in Perfection. So likewise
the _Belles Lettres_ are typified by a Saunter in the Gate; a Fall of
one Wing of the Peruke backward, an Insertion of one Hand in the Fobb,
and a negligent Swing of the other, with a Pinch of right and fine
_Barcelona_ between Finger and Thumb, a due Quantity of the same upon
the upper Lip, and a Noddle-Case loaden with Pulvil. Again, a grave
solemn stalking Pace is Heroick Poetry, and Politicks; an Unequal one,
a Genius for the Ode, and the modern Ballad: and an open Breast, with
an audacious Display of the Holland Shirt, is construed a fatal
Tendency to the Art Military.
'I might be much larger upon these Hints, but I know whom I write to.
If you can graft any Speculation upon them, or turn them to the
Advantage of the Persons concerned in them, you will do a Work very
becoming the _British Spectator_, and oblige'
_Your very Humble Servant_,
Tom. Tweer.
[Footnote 1: Of the two letters which form this number the second is by
John Henley, known afterwards as 'Orator Henley,' of whom see a note to
No. 396.]
[Footnote 2: The European Magazine for July, 1787, says that the exact
copy of this Epitaph, which is on a Thomas Crouch, who died in 1679,
runs thus:
_Aperiet Deus tumulos et educet nos de sepulchris
Qualis eram, dies isti haec cum venerit, scies._.]
[Footnote 3: By John Henley.]
* * * * *
No. 519. Saturday, October 25, 1712. Addison.
'Inde Hominum pecudumque genus, vitæque volantum,
Et quæ marmoreo fert Monstra sub æquore pontus.'
Virg.
Though there is a great deal of Pleasure in contemplating the material
World, by which I mean that System of Bodies into which Nature has so
curiously wrought the Mass of dead Matter, with the several Relations
which those Bodies bear to one another; there is still, methinks,
something more wonderful and surprizing in Contemplations on the World
of Life, by which I mean all those Animals with which every Part of the
Universe is furnished. The Material World is only the Shell of the
Universe: The World of Life are its Inhabitants.
If we consider those parts of the Material World which lie the nearest
to us, and are therefore subject to our Observations and Enquiries, it
is amazing to consider the Infinity of Animals with which it is stocked.
Every part of Matter is peopled: Every green Leaf swarms with
Inhabitants. There is scarce a single Humour in the Body of a Man, or of
any other Animal, in which our Glasses do not discover Myriads of living
Creatures. The Surface of Animals is also covered with other Animals,
which are in the same manner the Basis of other Animals, that live upon
it; nay, we find in the most solid Bodies, as in Marble it self,
innumerable Cells and Cavities that are crouded with such imperceptible
Inhabitants, as are too little for the naked Eye to discover. On the
other hand, if we look into the more bulky parts of Nature, we see the
Seas, Lakes and Rivers teeming with numberless kinds of living
Creatures: We find every Mountain and Marsh, Wilderness and Wood,
plentifully stocked with Birds and Beasts, and every part of Matter
affording proper Necessaries and Conveniencies for the Livelihood of
Multitudes which inhabit it.
The Author of the _Plurality of Worlds_ [1] draws a very good Argument
from this Consideration, for the _peopling_ of every Planet; as indeed
it seems very probable from the Analogy of Reason, that if no Part of
Matter, which we are acquainted with, lies waste and useless, those
great Bodies which are at such a Distance from us should not be desart
and unpeopled, but rather that they should be furnished with Beings
adapted to their respective Situations.
Existence is a Blessing to those Beings only which are endowed with
Perception, and is in a manner thrown away upon dead Matter, any further
than as it is subservient to Beings which are conscious of their
Existence. Accordingly we find, from the Bodies which lie under our
Observation, that Matter is only made as the Basis and Support of
Animals, and that there is no more of the one, than what is necessary
for the Existence of the other.
Infinite Goodness is of so communicative a nature, that it seems to
delight in the conferring of Existence upon every Degree of [Perceptive
[2]] Being. As this is a Speculation, which I have often pursued with
great Pleasure to my self, I shall enlarge farther upon it, by
considering that part of the Scale of Beings which comes within our
Knowledge.
There are some living Creatures which are raised but just above dead
Matter. To mention only that Species of Shell-fish, which are form'd in
the Fashion of a Cone, that grow to the Surface of several Rocks, and
immediately die upon their being sever'd from the Place where they grow.
There are many other Creatures but one Remove from these, which have no
other Sense besides that of Feeling and Taste. Others have still an
additional one of Hearing; others of Smell, and others of Sight. It is
wonderful to observe, by what a gradual Progress the World of Life
advances through a prodigious Variety of Species, before a Creature is
form'd that is compleat in all its Senses; and even among these there is
such a different Degree of Perfection in the Sense which one Animal
enjoys beyond what appears in another, that though the Sense in
different Animals be distinguished by the same common Denomination, it
seems almost of a different Nature. If after this we look into the
several inward Perfections of Cunning and Sagacity, or what we generally
call Instinct, we find them rising after the same Manner, imperceptibly
one above another, and receiving additional Improvements, according to
the Species in which they are implanted. This Progress in Nature is so
very gradual, that the most perfect of an inferior Species comes very
near to the most imperfect of that which is immediately above it.
The exuberant and overflowing Goodness of the Supreme Being, whose Mercy
extends to all his Works, is plainly seen, as I have before hinted, from
his having made so very little Matter, at least what falls within our
Knowledge, that does not swarm with Life: Nor is his Goodness less seen
in the Diversity, than in the Multitude of living Creatures. Had he only
made one Species of Animals, none of the rest would have enjoyed the
Happiness of Existence; he has, therefore, _specified_ in his Creation
every degree of Life, every Capacity of Being. The whole Chasm in
Nature, from a Plant to a Man, is filled up with diverse Kinds of
Creatures, rising one over another, by such a gentle and easy Ascent,
that the little Transitions and Deviations from one Species to another,
are almost insensible. This intermediate Space is so well husbanded and
managed, that there is scarce a degree of Perception which does not
appear in some one part of the World of Life. Is the Goodness, or Wisdom
of the divine Being, more manifested in this his Proceeding?
There is a Consequence, besides those I have already mentioned, which
seems very naturally deducible from the foregoing Considerations. If the
Scale of Being rises by such a regular Progress, so high as Man, we may
by a parity of Reason suppose that it still proceeds gradually through
those Beings which are of a Superior Nature to him; since there is an
infinitely greater space and room for different Degrees of Perfection,
between the Supreme Being and Man, than between Man and the most
despicable Insect. This Consequence of so great a variety of Beings
which are superior to us, from that variety which is inferior to us, is
made by Mr. _Lock_, in a Passage which I shall here set down, after
having premised, that notwithstanding there is such infinite room
between Man and his Maker for the Creative Power to exert it self in, it
is impossible that it should ever be filled up, since there will be
still an infinite Gap or Distance between the highest created Being, and
the Power which produced him.
_That there should be more_ Species _of intelligent Creatures above
us, than there are of sensible and material below us, is probable to
me from hence; That in all the visible corporeal World, we see no
Chasms, or no Gaps. All quite down from us, the descent is by easy
steps, and a continued Series of things, that in each remove differ
very little one from the other. There are Fishes that have Wings, and
are not Strangers to the airy Region: and there are some Birds, that
are Inhabitants of the Water; whose Blood is cold as Fishes, and their
Flesh so like in taste, that the Scrupulous are allowed them on
Fish-days. There are Animals so near of kin both to Birds and Beasts,
that they are in the middle between both: Amphibious Animals link the
Terrestrial and Aquatick together; Seals live at Land and at Sea, and
Porpoises have the warm Blood and Entrails of a Hog; not to mention
what is confidently reported of Mermaids or Sea-Men. There are some
Brutes, that seem to have as much Knowledge and Reason, as some that
are called Men; and the Animal and Vegetable Kingdoms are so nearly
join'd, that if you will take the lowest of one, and the highest of
the other, there will scarce be perceived any great difference between
them: and so on till we come to the lowest and the most inorganical
parts of Matter, we shall find every where that the several Species
are linked together, and differ but in almost insensible degrees. And
when we consider the infinite Power and Wisdom of the Maker, we have
reason to think that it is suitable to the magnificent Harmony of the
Universe, and the great Design and infinite Goodness of the Architect,
that the_ Species _of Creatures should also, by gentle degrees, ascend
upward from us towards his infinite Perfection, as we see they
gradually descend from us downwards: Which if it be probable, we have
reason then to be persuaded, that there are far more_ Species _of
Creatures above us, than there are beneath; we being in degrees of
Perfection much more remote from the infinite Being of God, than we
are from the lowest State of Being, and that which approaches nearest
to nothing. And yet of all those distinct Species, we have no clear
distinct_ Ideas. [3]
In this System of Being, there is no Creature so wonderful in its
Nature, and which so much deserves our particular Attention, as Man, who
fills up the middle Space between the Animal and Intellectual Nature,
the visible and invisible World, and is that Link in the Chain of
Beings, which has been often termed the _nexus utriusque Mundi_. So that
he who in one respect is associated with Angels and Arch-Angels, may
look upon a Being of infinitei Perfection as his Father, and the highest
Order of Spirits as his Brethren, may in another respect say to
_Corruption, thou art my Father, and to the Worm, thou art my Mother and
my Sister_. [4]
[Footnote 1: Fontenelle, _Entretiens sur la Pluralité des Mondes_.
Troisième Soir.]
[Footnote 2: [Preceptive] and in first reprint.]
[Footnote 3: Essay concerning Human Understanding, Bk. III. ch. vi. §
12.]
[Footnote 4: Job. xvii. 14.]
* * * * *
No. 520. Monday, October 27, 1712. Francham. [1]
'Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tant chari capitis!'
Hor.
_Mr_. SPECTATOR,
'The just Value you have expressed for the Matrimonial State, is the
Reason that I now venture to write to you, without Fear of being
ridiculous; and confess to you, that though it is three Months since I
lost a very agreeable Woman, who was my Wife, my Sorrow is still
fresh; and I am often, in the midst of Company, upon any Circumstance
that revives her Memory, with a Reflection what she would say or do on
such an Occasion: I say, upon any Occurrence of that Nature, which I
can give you a Sense of, though I cannot express it wholly, I am all
over Softness, and am obliged to retire, and give Way to a few Sighs
and Tears, before I can be easy. I cannot but recommend the Subject of
Male Widowhood to you, and beg of you to touch upon it by the first
Opportunity. To those who have not lived like Husbands during the
Lives of their Spouses, this would be a tasteless Jumble of Words; but
to such (of whom there are not a few) who have enjoyed that State with
the Sentiments proper for it, you will have every Line, which hits the
Sorrow, attended with a Tear of Pity and Consolation. For I know not
by what Goodness of Providence it is, that every Gush of Passion is a
step towards the Relief of it; and there is a certain Comfort in the
very Act of Sorrowing, which, I suppose, arises from a secret
Consciousness in the Mind, that the Affliction it is under flows from
a virtuous Cause. My Concern is not indeed so outragious as at the
first Transport; for I think it has subsided rather into a soberer
State of Mind, than any actual Perturbation of Spirit. There might be
Rules formed for Men's Behaviour on this great Incident, to bring them
from that Misfortune into the Condition I am at present; which is, I
think, that my Sorrow has converted all Roughness of Temper into
Meekness, Good-nature, and Complacency: But indeed, when in a serious
and lonely Hour I present my departed Consort to my Imagination, with
that Air of Perswasion in her Countenance when I have been in Passion,
that sweet Affability when I have been in good Humour, that tender
Compassion when I have had any thing which gave me Uneasiness; I
confess to you I am inconsolable, and my Eyes gush with Grief as if I
had seen her but just then expire. In this Condition I am broken in
upon by a charming young Woman, my Daughter, who is the Picture of
what her Mother was on her Wedding-Day. The good Girl strives to
comfort me; but how shall I let you know that all the Comfort she
gives me is to make my Tears flow more easily? The Child knows she
quickens my Sorrows, and rejoices my Heart at the same Time. Oh, ye
Learned! tell me by what Word to speak a Motion of the Soul, for which
there is no name. When she kneels and bids me be comforted, she is my
Child; when I take her in my Arms, and bid her say no more, she is my
very Wife, and is the very Comforter I lament the Loss of. I banish
her the Room, and weep aloud that I have lost her Mother, and that I
have her.
'_Mr._ SPECTATOR, I wish it were possible for you to have a Sense of
these pleasing Perplexities; you might communicate to the guilty part
of Mankind, that they are incapable of the Happiness which is in the
very Sorrows of the Virtuous.
'But pray spare me a little longer; give me Leave to tell you the
Manner of her Death. She took leave of all her Family, and bore the
vain Application of Medicines with the greatest Patience imaginable.
When the Physician told her she must certainly die, she desired, as
well as she could, that all who were present, except my self, might
depart the Room. She said she had nothing to say, for she was
resigned, and I knew all she knew that concerned us in this World; but
she desired to be alone, that in the presence of God only she might,
without Interruption, do her last Duty to me, of thanking me for all
my Kindness to her; adding, that she hoped in my last Moments I should
feel the same Comfort for my Goodness to her, as she did in that she
had acquitted herself with Honour, Truth and Virtue to me.
'I curb my self, and will not tell you that this Kindness cut my Heart
in twain, when I expected an Accusation for some passionate Starts of
mine, in some Parts of our Time together, to say nothing, but thank me
for the Good, if there was any Good suitable to her own Excellence!
All that I had ever said to her, all the Circumstances of Sorrow and
Joy between us, crowded upon my Mind in the same Instant; and when
immediately after I saw the Pangs of Death come upon that dear Body
which I had often embraced with Transport, when I saw those cherishing
Eyes begin to be ghastly, and their last Struggle to be to fix
themselves on me, how did I lose all patience? She expired in my Arms,
and in my Distraction I thought I saw her Bosom still heave. There was
certainly Life yet still left; I cried she just now spoke to me: But
alas! I grew giddy, and all things moved about me from the Distemper
of my own Head; for the best of Women was breathless, and gone for
ever.
'Now the Doctrine I would, methinks, have you raise from this Account
I have given you is, That there is a certain Equanimity in those who
are good and just, which runs into their very Sorrow, and disappoints
the Force of it. Though they must pass through Afflictions in common
with all who are in human Nature, yet their conscious Integrity shall
undermine their Affliction; nay, that very Affliction shall add Force
to their Integrity, from a Reflection of the Use of Virtue in the Hour
of Affliction. I sat down with a Design to put you upon giving us
Rules how to overcome such Griefs as these, but I should rather advise
you to teach Men to be capable of them.
'You Men of Letters have what you call the fine Taste in their
Apprehensions of what is properly done or said: There is something
like this deeply grafted in the Soul of him who is honest and faithful
in all his Thoughts and Actions. Every thing which is false, vicious
or unworthy, is despicable to him, though all the World should approve
it. At the same time he has the most lively Sensibility in all
Enjoyments and Sufferings which it is proper for him to have, where
any Duty of Life is concerned. To want Sorrow when you in Decency and
Truth should be afflicted, is, I should think, a greater Instance of a
Man's being a Blockhead, than not to know the Beauty of any Passage in
_Virgil_. You have not yet observed, _Mr._ SPECTATOR, that the fine
Gentlemen of this Age set up for Hardness of Heart, and Humanity has
very little share in their Pretences. He is a brave Fellow who is
always ready to kill a Man he hates, but he does not stand in the same
Degree of Esteem who laments for the Woman he loves. I should fancy
you might work up a thousand pretty Thoughts, by reflecting upon the
Persons most susceptible of the sort of Sorrow I have spoken of; and I
dare say you will find upon Examination, that they are the wisest and
the bravest of Mankind who are most capable of it.
_I am,
SIR,
Your most humble Servant,
F. J.
Norwich,
7° Octobris,
1712.
T.
[Footnote 1: The Mr. Francham who wrote this letter was of Norwich,
whence it is dated.]
* * * * *
No. 521. Tuesday, October 28, 1712. Steele.
'Vera redit facies, dissimulata perit.'
P. Arb.
_Mr._ SPECTATOR,
I have been for many Years loud in this Assertion, That there are very
few that can see or hear, I mean that can report what they have seen
or heard; and this thro' Incapacity or Prejudice, one of which
disables almost every Man who talks to you from representing things as
he ought. For which Reason I am come to a Resolution of believing
nothing I hear; and I contemn the Men given to Narration under the
Appellation of a Matter of Fact Man: And according to me, a Matter of
Fact Man is one whose Life and Conversation is spent in the Report of
what is not Matter of Fact.
I remember when Prince _Eugene_ was here, there was no knowing his
Height or Figure, till you, _Mr._ SPECTATOR, gave the Publick
Satisfaction in that Matter. In Relations, the Force of the Expression
lies very often more in the Look, the Tone of Voice, or the Gesture,
than the Words themselves; which being repeated in any other Manner by
the Undiscerning, bear a very different Interpretation from their
original Meaning. I must confess, I formerly have turn'd this Humour
of mine to very good Account; for whenever I heard any Narration
utter'd with extraordinary vehemence, and grounded upon considerable
Authority, I was always ready to lay any Wager that it was not so.
Indeed I never pretended to be so rash, as to fix the Matter in any
particular Way in Opposition to theirs; but as there are a hundred
Ways of any thing happening, besides that it has happen'd, I only
controverted its falling out in that one Manner as they settled it,
and left it to the Ninety nine other Ways, and consequently had more
Probability of Success. I had arrived at a particular skill in warming
a Man so far in his Narration, as to make him throw in a little of the
Marvelous, and then, if he has much Fire, the next Degree is the
Impossible. Now this is always the Time for fixing the Wager. But this
requires the nicest Management, otherwise very probably the Dispute
may arise to the old Determination by Battle. In these Conceits I have
been very fortunate, and have won some Wagers of those who have
professedly valued themselves upon Intelligence, and have put
themselves to great Charge and Expence to be misinformed considerably
sooner than the Rest of the World.
Having got a comfortable Sum by this my Opposition to publick Report,
I have brought my self now to so great a Perfection in Inattention,
more especially to Party Relations, that at the same time I seem with
greedy Ears to devour up the Discourse, I certainly don't know one
Word of it, but pursue my own Course of Thought, whether upon Business
or Amusement, with much Tranquility: I say Inattention, because a late
Act of Parliament has secur'd all Party-Lyars from the Penalty of a
Wager, [1] and consequently made it unprofitable to attend them.
However, good Breeding obliges a Man to maintain the Figure of the
keenest Attention, the true Posture of which in a Coffee-house I take
to consist in leaning over a Table, with the Edge of it pressing hard
upon your Stomach; for the more Pain the Narration is received with,
the more gracious is your bending over: Besides that the Narrator
thinks you forget your Pain by the Pleasure of hearing him.
Fort _Knock_ has occasioned several very perplexed and inelegant Heats
and Animosities; and there was one t'other day in a Coffee-house where
I was, that took upon him to clear that Business to me, for he said he
was there. I knew him to be that sort of Man that had not strength of
Capacity to be inform'd of any thing that depended merely upon his
being an Eye-Witness, and therefore was fully satisfied he could give
me no Information, for the very same Reason he believed he could, for
he was there. However, I heard him with the same Greediness as
_Shakespear_ describes in the following Lines:
'I saw a Smith stand on his Hammer, thus,
With open Mouth swallowing a Taylor's News.'
I confess of late I have not been so much amazed at the Declaimers in
Coffee-houses as I formerly was, being satisfied that they expect to
be rewarded for their Vociferations. Of these Liars there are two
Sorts. The Genius of the first consists in much Impudence and a strong
Memory; the others have added to these Qualifications a good
Understanding and smooth Language. These therefore have only certain
Heads, which they are as eloquent upon as they can, and may be call'd
Embellishers; the others repeat only what they hear from others as
literally as their Parts or Zeal will permit, and are called Reciters.
Here was a Fellow in Town some Years ago, who used to divert himself
by telling a Lie at _Charing-Cross_ in the Morning at eight of [the]
Clock, and then following it through all Parts of the Town till eight
at Night; at which time he came to a Club of his Friends, and diverted
them with an Account what Censure it had at _Will's_ in
_Covent-Garden_, how dangerous it was believed to be at _Child's_, and
what Inference they drew from it with Relation to Stocks at
_Jonathan's_. I have had the Honour to travel with this Gentleman I
speak of in Search of one of his Falshoods; and have been present when
they have described the very Man they have spoken to, as him who first
reported it, tall or short, black or fair, a Gentleman or a
Raggamuffin, according as they liked the Intelligence. I have heard
one of our ingenious Writers of News say, that when he has had a
Customer come with an Advertisement of an Apprentice or a Wife run
away, he has desired the Advertiser to compose himself a little,
before he dictated the Description of the Offender: For when a Person
is put into a publick Paper by a Man who is angry with him, the real
Description of such Person is hid in the Deformity with which the
angry Man described him; therefore this Fellow always made his
Customers describe him as he would the Day before he offended, or else
he was sure he would never find him out. These and many other Hints I
could suggest to you for the Elucidation of all Fictions; but I leave
it to your own Sagacity to improve or neglect this Speculation.
_I am, SIR,
Your most obedient,
Humble Servant._
Postscript _to the_ Spectator, _Number 502_.
N. B. _There are in the Play of the_ Self-Tormentor _of_ Terence's,
_which is allowed a most excellent Comedy, several Incidents which would
draw Tears from any Man of Sense, and not one which would move his
Laughter._
T.
[Footnote 1: By 7 Anne, cap. 17, all wagers laid upon a contingency
relating to the war with France were declared void.]
* * * * *
No. 522. Wednesday, October 29, 1712. Steele.
'--Adjuro nunquam eam me deserturum,
Non, si capiundos mihi sciam esse inimicos omneis homines.
Hanc mihi expetivi, contigit: conveniunt mores: valeant
Qui inter nos dissidium volunt: hanc, nisi mors,
Mi adimet nemo.'
Ter.
I should esteem my self a very happy Man, if my Speculations could in
the least contribute to the rectifying the Conduct of my Readers in one
of the most important Affairs of Life, to wit their Choice in Marriage.
This State is the Foundation of Community, and the chief Band of
Society; and I do not think I can be too frequent on Subjects which may
give Light to my unmarried Readers, in a particular which is so
essential to their following Happiness or Misery. A virtuous
Disposition, a good Understanding, an agreeable Person, and an easy
Fortune, are the things which should be chiefly regarded on this
Occasion. Because my present View is to direct a young Lady, who, I
think, is now in doubt whom to take of many Lovers, I shall talk at this
time to my female Reader. The Advantages, as I was going to say, of
Sense, Beauty and Riches, are what are certainly the chief Motives to a
prudent young Woman of Fortune for changing her Condition; but as she is
to have her Eye upon each of these, she is to ask herself whether the
Man who has most of these Recommendations in the Lump is not the most
desirable. He that has excellent Talents, with a moderate Estate, and an
agreeable Person, is preferable to him who is only rich, if it were only
that good Faculties may purchase Riches, but Riches cannot purchase
worthy Endowments. I do not mean that Wit, and a Capacity to entertain,
is what should be highly valued, except it is founded upon Good-nature
and Humanity. There are many ingenious Men, whose Abilities do little
else but make themselves and those about them uneasy: Such are those who
are far gone in the Pleasures of the Town, who cannot support Life
without quick Sensations and gay Reflections, and are Strangers to
Tranquility, to right Reason, and a calm Motion of Spirits without
Transport or Dejection. These ingenious Men, of all Men living, are most
to be avoided by her who would be happy in [a [1]] Husband. They are
immediately sated with Possession, and must necessarily fly to new
Acquisitions of Beauty, to pass away the whiling Moments and Intervals
of Life; for with them every Hour is heavy that is not joyful. But there
is a sort of Man of Wit and Sense, that can reflect upon his own Make,
and that of his Partner, with the Eyes of Reason and Honour, and who
believes he offends against both these, if he does not look upon the
Woman (who chose him to be under his Protection in Sickness and Health)
with the utmost Gratitude, whether from that Moment she is shining or
defective in Person or Mind: I say, there are those who think themselves
bound to supply with Good-nature the Failings of those who love them,
and who always think those the Objects of Love and Pity, who came to
their Arms the Objects of Joy and Admiration.
Of this latter sort is _Lysander_, a Man of Wit, Learning, Sobriety and
Good-nature, of Birth and Estate below no Woman to accept, and of whom
it might be said, should he succeed in his present Wishes, his Mistress
rais'd his Fortune, but not that she made it. When a Woman is
deliberating with herself whom she shall chuse of many near each other
in other Pretensions, certainly he of best Understanding is to be
preferr'd. Life hangs heavily in the repeated Conversation of one who
has no Imagination to be fired at the several Occasions and Objects
which come before him, or who cannot Strike out of his Reflections new
Paths of pleasing Discourse. Honest _Will Thrash_ and his Wife, tho' not
married above four Months, have scarce had a Word to say to each other
this six weeks; and one cannot form to one's self a sillier Picture,
than these two Creatures in solemn Pomp and Plenty unable to enjoy their
Fortunes, and at a full stop among a Crowd of Servants, to whose Taste
of Life they are beholden for the little Satisfactions by which they can
be understood to be so much as barely in Being. The Hours of the Day,
the Distinctions of Noon and Night, Dinner and Supper, are the greatest
Notices they are capable of. This is perhaps representing the Life of a
very modest Woman, joined to a dull Fellow, more insipid than it really
deserves; but I am sure it is not to exalt the Commerce with an
ingenious Companion too high, to say that every new Accident or Object
which comes into such a Gentleman's way, gives his Wife new Pleasures
and Satisfactions. The Approbation of his Words and Actions is a
continual new Feast to her, nor can she enough applaud her good Fortune
in having her Life varied every hour, her Mind more improv'd, and her
Heart more glad from every Circumstance which they meet with. He will
lay out his Invention in forming new Pleasures and Amusements, and make
the Fortune she has brought him subservient to the Honour and Reputation
of her and hers. A Man of Sense who is thus oblig'd, is ever contriving
the Happiness of her who did him so great a Distinction; while the Fool
is ungrateful without Vice, and never returns a Favour because he is not
sensible of it. I would, methinks, have so much to say for my self, that
if I fell into the hands of him who treated me ill, he should be
sensible when he did so: His Conscience should be of my side, whatever
became of his Inclination. I do not know but it is the insipid Choice
which has been made by those who have the Care of young Women, that the
Marriage State it self has been liable to so much Ridicule. But a
well-chosen Love, mov'd by Passion on both sides, and perfected by the
Generosity of one Party, must be adorn'd with so many handsome Incidents
on the other side, that every particular Couple would be an example in
many Circumstances to all the rest of the Species. I shall end the Chat
upon this Subject with a couple of Letters, one from a Lover who is very
well acquainted with the way of Bargaining on these Occasions; and the
other from his Rival, who has a less Estate, but great Gallantry of
Temper. As for my Man of Prudence, he makes love, as he says, as if he
were already a Father, and laying aside the Passion, comes to the Reason
of the Thing.
_Madam,_
My Counsel [2] has perused the Inventory of your Estate, and
consider'd what Estate you have, which it seems is only yours, and to
the Male-Heirs of your Body; but, in Default of such Issue, to the
right Heirs of your Uncle _Edward_ for ever. Thus, Madam, I am advis'd
you cannot (the Remainder not being in you) dock the Entail; by which
means my Estate, which is Fee-Simple, will come by the Settlement
propos'd to your Children begotten by me, whether they are Males or
Females; but my Children begotten upon you will not inherit your
Lands, except I beget a Son. Now, Madam, since things are so, you are
a Woman of that Prudence, and understand the World so well, as not to
expect I should give you more than you can give me.
_I am, Madam,
(with great Respect)
Your most obedient humble Servant,_ T. W.
The other Lover's Estate is less than this Gentleman's, but he express'd
himself as follows.
_Madam,_
I have given in my Estate to your Counsel, [3] and desired my own
Lawyer to insist upon no Terms which your Friends can propose for your
certain Ease and Advantage: For indeed I have no notion of making
Difficulties of presenting you with what cannot make me happy without
you.
_I am, Madam,
Your most devoted humble Servant,_ B. T.
You must know the Relations have met upon this, and the Girl being
mightily taken with the latter Epistle, she is laugh'd out, and Uncle
_Edward_ is to be dealt with to make her a suitable Match to the worthy
Gentleman who has told her he does not care a farthing for her. All I
hope for is, that the Lady _Fair_ will make use of the first light Night
to show _B. T._ she understands a Marriage is not to be considered as a
common Bargain.
T.
[Footnote 1: [an] and in first reprint.]
[Footnote 2: Spelt Council in the first issue and first reprint.]
[Footnote 3: Spelt Council in the first issue and first reprint.]
* * * * *
No. 523. Thursday, October 30, 1712. Addison.
'--Nunc augur Apollo,
Nunc Lyciæ sortes, nunc et Jove missus ab ipso
Interpres Divûm fert horrida jussa per auras.
Scilicet is superis labor--'
Virg.
I am always highly delighted with the discovery of any rising Genius
among my Countrymen. For this reason I have read over, with great
pleasure, the late Miscellany published by Mr. _Pope_, [1] in which
there are many excellent Compositions of that ingenious Gentleman. I
have had a pleasure of the same kind, in perusing a Poem that is just
publish'd _on the Prospect of Peace_, and which, I hope, will meet with
such a Reward from its Patrons, as so noble a Performance deserves. I
was particularly well pleased to find that the Author had not amused
himself with Fables out of the Pagan Theology, and that when he hints at
any thing of [this [2]] nature, he alludes to it only as to a Fable.
Many of our Modern Authors, whose Learning very often extends no farther
than _Ovid's Metamorphosis_, do not know how to celebrate a Great Man,
without mixing a parcel of School-Boy Tales with the Recital of his
Actions. If you read a Poem on a fine Woman, among the Authors of this
Class, you shall see that it turns more upon _Venus_ or _Helen_, that on
the Party concerned. I have known a Copy of Verses on a great Hero
highly commended; but upon asking to hear some of the beautiful
Passages, the Admirer of it has repeated to me a Speech of _Apollo_, or
a Description of _Polypheme_. At other times when I have search'd for
the Actions of a great Man, who gave a Subject to the Writer, I have
been entertained with the Exploits of a River-God, or have been forced
to attend a Fury in her mischievous Progress, from one end of the Poem
to the other. When we are at School it is necessary for us to be
acquainted with the System of Pagan Theology, and may be allowed to
enliven a Theme, or point an Epigram with an Heathen God; but when we
would write a manly Panegyrick, that should carry in it all the Colours
of Truth, nothing can be more ridiculous than to have recourse to our
_Jupiters_ and _Junos_.
No Thought is beautiful which is not just, and no Thought can be just
which is not founded in Truth, or at least in that which passes for
such.
In Mock-Heroick Poems, the Use of the Heathen Mythology is not only
excusable but graceful, because it is the Design of such Compositions to
divert, by adapting the fabulous Machines of the Ancients to low
Subjects, and at the same time by ridiculing such kinds of Machinery in
modern Writers. If any are of opinion, that there is a Necessity of
admitting these Classical Legends into our serious Compositions, in
order to give them a more Poetical Turn; I would recommend to their
Consideration the Pastorals of Mr. _Philips_. One would have thought it
impossible for this Kind of Poetry to have subsisted without Fawns and
Satyrs, Wood Nymphs, and Water Nymphs, with all the Tribe of rural
Deities. But we see he has given a new Life, and a more natural Beauty
to this way of Writing by substituting in the place of these Antiquated
Fables, the superstitious Mythology which prevails among the Shepherds
of our own Country.
_Virgil_ and _Homer_ might compliment their Heroes, by interweaving the
Actions of Deities with their Atchievements; but for a Christian Author
to write in the Pagan Creed, to make Prince _Eugene_ a Favourite of
_Mars_, or to carry on a Correspondence between _Bellona_ and the
Marshal _de Villars_, would be downright Puerility, and unpardonable in
a Poet that is past Sixteen. It is want of sufficient Elevation in a
Genius to describe Realities, and place them in a shining Light, that
makes him have recourse to such trifling antiquated Fables; as a Man may
write a fine Description of _Bacchus_ or _Apollo_, that does not know
how to draw the Character of any of his Contemporaries.
In order therefore to put a stop to this absurd Practice, I shall
publish the following Edict, by virtue of that Spectatorial Authority
with which I stand invested.
'Whereas the Time of a General Peace is, in all appearance, drawing
near, being inform'd that there are several ingenious Persons who intend
to shew their Talents on so happy an Occasion, and being willing, as
much as in me lies, to prevent that Effusion of Nonsense, which we have
good Cause to apprehend; I do hereby strictly require every Person, who
shall write on this Subject, to remember that he is a Christian, and not
to Sacrifice his Catechism to his Poetry. In order to it, I do expect of
him in the first place, to make his own Poem, without depending upon
_Phoebus_ for any part of it, or calling out for Aid upon any one of the
Muses by Name. I do likewise positively forbid the sending of _Mercury_
with any particular Message or Dispatch relating to the Peace, and shall
by no means suffer _Minerva_ to take upon her the Shape of any
Plenipotentiary concerned in this Great Work. I do further declare, that
I shall not allow the Destinies to have had an hand in the Deaths of the
several thousands who have been slain in the late War, being of opinion
that all such Deaths may be very well accounted for by the Christian
System of Powder and Ball. I do therefore strictly forbid the Fates to
cut the Thread of Man's Life upon any pretence whatsoever, unless it be
for the sake of the Rhyme. And whereas I have good Reason to fear, that
_Neptune_ will have a great deal of Business on his Hands, in several
Poems which we may now suppose are upon the Anvil, I do also prohibit
his Appearance, unless it be done in Metaphor, Simile, or any very short
Allusion, and that even here he be not permitted to enter, but with
great Caution and Circumspection. I desire that the same Rule may be
extended to his whole Fraternity of Heathen Gods, it being my design to
condemn every Poem to the Flames in which _Jupiter_ Thunders, or
exercises any other Act of Authority which does not belong to him: In
short, I expect that no Pagan Agent shall be introduc'd, or any Fact
related which a Man cannot give Credit to with a good Conscience.
Provided always, that nothing herein contained shall extend, or be
construed to extend, to several of the Female Poets in this Nation, who
shall be still left in full Possession of their Gods and Goddesses, in
the same manner as if this Paper had never been written.
O.
[Footnote 1: In this year, 1712, Bernard Lintot, having observed the
success of Tonson's volumes of Miscellanies, produced a Miscellany
edited by Pope (now 24 years old), and containing the first sketch of
his 'Rape of the Lock,' translations from Statius and Ovid, and other
pieces. Addison's delight with the discovery of rising genius leads him
to dispose in a sentence of 'that ingenious gentleman' who had just
published a 'Rape of the Lock,' and proceed to warm praise of his
personal friends, Thomas Tickell and Ambrose Philips. In his Poem to his
Excellency the Lord Privy Seal on the Prospect of Peace, Tickell invites
Strafford to 'One hour, oh! listen while the Muses sing.']
[Footnote 2: [that]]
* * * * *
No. 524. Friday, October 31, 1712. [1]
'Nos populo damus--'
Sen.
When I first of all took it in my Head to write Dreams and Visions, I
determin'd to Print nothing of that nature, which was not of my own
Invention. But several laborious Dreamers have of late communicated to
me Works of this Nature, which, for their Reputations and my own, I have
hitherto suppressed. Had I printed every one that came to my Hands, my
Book of Speculations would have been little else but a Book of Visions.
Some of my Correspondents have indeed been so very modest, as to offer
at an Excuse for their not being in a Capacity to dream better. I have
by me, for example, the Dream of a young Gentleman not past Fifteen. I
have likewise by me the Dream of a Person of Quality, and another called
the Lady's Dream. In these, and other Pieces of the same nature, it is
suppos'd the usual Allowances will be made to the Age, Condition and Sex
of the Dreamer. To prevent this Inundation of Dreams, which daily flows
in upon me, I shall apply to all Dreamers of Dreams, the Advice which
_Epictetus_ has couched, after his manner, in a very simple and concise
Precept. _Never tell thy Dreams_, says that Philosopher, _for tho' thou
thy self may'st take a Pleasure in telling thy Dream, another will take
no Pleasure in hearing it_. After this short Preface, I must do Justice
to two or three Visions which I have lately publish'd, and which I have
owned to have been written by other Hands. I shall add a Dream to these,
which comes to me from _Scotland_, by one who declares himself of that
Country, and for all I know may be second-sighted. There is, indeed,
something in it of the Spirit of _John Bunyan_; but at the same time a
certain Sublime, which that Author was never master of. I shall publish
it, because I question not but it will fall in with the Taste of all my
popular Readers, and amuse the Imaginations of those who are more
profound; declaring at the same time, that this is the last Dream which
I intend to publish this Season.
_SIR_,
'I was last _Sunday_ in the Evening led into a serious Reflection on
the Reasonableness of Virtue, and great Folly of Vice, from an
excellent Sermon I had heard that Afternoon in my Parish-Church. Among
other Observations, the Preacher shew'd us that the Temptations which
the Tempter propos'd, were all on a Supposition, that we are either
Madmen or Fools, or with an Intention to render us such; that in no
other Affair we would suffer ourselves to be thus imposed upon, in a
Case so plainly and clearly against our visible Interest. His
illustrations and Arguments carried so much Persuasion and Conviction
with them, that they remained a considerable while fresh, and working
in my Memory; till at last the Mind, fatigued with Thought, gave way
to the forcible Oppressions of Slumber and Sleep, whilst Fancy,
unwilling yet to drop the Subject, presented me with the following
Vision.
'Methought I was just awoke out of a Sleep, that I could never
remember the beginning of; the Place where I found my self to be, was
a wide and spacious Plain, full of People that wandered up and down
through several beaten Paths, whereof some few were strait, and in
direct lines, but most of them winding and turning like a Labyrinth;
but yet it appear'd to me afterwards, that these last all met in one
Issue, so that many that seemed to steer quite contrary Courses, did
at length meet and face one another, to the no little Amazement of
many of them.
'In the midst of the Plain there was a great Fountain: They called it
the Spring of _Self-Love_; out of it issued two Rivulets to the
Eastward and Westward, the Name of the first was _Heavenly-Wisdom_,
its Water was wonderfully clear, but of a yet more wonderful Effect;
the other's Name was _Worldly-Wisdom_, its Water was thick, and yet
far from dormant or stagnating, for it was in a continual violent
Agitation; which kept the Travellers whom I shall mention by and by,
from being sensible of the Foulness and Thickness of the Water; which
had this Effect, that it intoxicated those who drunk it, and made 'em
mistake every Object that lay before them: both Rivulets were parted
near their Springs into so many others, as there were strait and
crooked Paths, which they attended all along to their respective
Issues.
'I observ'd from the several Paths many now and then diverting, to
refresh and otherwise qualify themselves for their Journey, to the
respective Rivulets that ran near them; they contracted a very
observable Courage and Steadiness in what they were about, by drinking
these Waters. At the end of the Perspective of every strait Path, all
which did end in one Issue and Point, appeared a high Pillar, all of
Diamond, casting Rays as bright as those of the Sun into the Paths;
which Rays had also certain sympathizing and alluring Virtues in them,
so that whosoever had made some considerable progress in his Journey
onwards towards the Pillar, by the repeated impression of these Rays
upon him, was wrought into an habitual Inclination and Conversion of
his Sight towards it, so that it grew at last in a matter natural to
him to look and gaze upon it, whereby he was kept steddy in the strait
Paths, which alone led to that radiant Body, the beholding of which
was now grown a Gratification to his Nature.
'At the Issue of the crooked Paths there was a great black Tower, out
of the Centre of which streamed a long Succession of Flames, which did
rise even above the Clouds; it gave a very great Light to the whole
Plain, which did sometimes outshine the Light, and opprest the Beams
of the Adamantine Pillar; tho' by the Observation I made afterwards,
it appeared that it was not for any Diminution of Light, but that this
lay in the Travellers, who would sometimes step out of the strait
Paths, where they lost the full Prospect of the Radiant Pillar, and
saw it but side-ways: but the great Light from the black Tower, which
was somewhat particularly scorching to them, would generally light and
hasten them to their proper Climate again.
'Round about the black Tower there were, methoughts, many thousands of
huge mis-shapen ugly Monsters; these had great Nets, which they were
perpetually plying and casting towards the crooked Paths, and they
would now and then catch up those that were nearest to them: these
they took up streight, and whirled over the Walls into the flaming
Tower, and they were no more seen nor heard of.
'They would sometimes cast their Nets towards the right Paths to catch
the Stragglers, whose Eyes for want of frequent drinking at the Brook
that ran by them grew dim, whereby they lost their way; these would
sometimes very narrowly miss being catched away, but I could not hear
whether any of these had ever been so unfortunate, that had been
before very hearty in the strait Paths.
'I considered all these strange Sights with great Attention, till at
last I was interrupted by a Cluster of the Travellers in the crooked
Paths, who came up to me, bid me go along with them, and presently
fell to singing and dancing; they took me by the Hand, and so carried
me away along with them. After I had follow'd them a considerable
while, I perceiv'd I had lost the black Tower of Light, at which I
greatly wonder'd; but as I looked and gazed round about me, and saw
nothing, I begun to fancy my first Vision had been but a Dream, and
there was no such thing in reality: but then I consider'd, that if I
could fancy to see what was not, I might as well have an Illusion
wrought on me at present, and not see what was really before me. I was
very much confirmed in this Thought, by the Effect I then just
observ'd the Water of _Worldly-Wisdom_ had upon me; for as I had drunk
a little of it again, I felt a very sensible Effect in my Head;
methought it distracted and disorder'd all there: this made me stop of
a sudden, suspecting some Charm or Inchantment. As I was casting about
within my self what I should do, and whom to apply to in this Case; I
spy'd at some distance off me a Man beckning, and making signs to me
to come over to him. I cry'd to him, _I did not know the Way_. He then
called to me audibly, to step at least out of the Path I was in; for
if I staid there any longer I was in danger to be catched in a great
Net that was just hanging over me, and ready to catch me up; that he
wonder'd I was so blind, or so distracted, as not to see so imminent
and visible a Danger; assuring me, that as soon as I was out of that
Way, he would come to me to lead me into a more secure Path. This I
did, and he brought me his Palm full of the Water of
_Heavenly-Wisdom_, which was of very great use to me, for my Eyes were
streight cleared, and I saw the great black Tower just before me; but
the great Net which I spy'd so near me, cast me in such a Terror, that
I ran back as far as I could in one Breath, without looking behind me:
then my Benefactor thus bespoke me, You have made the wonderful'st
Escape in the World, the Water you used to drink is of a bewitching
Nature, you would else have been mightily shocked at the Deformities
and Meanness of the Place; for beside the Set of blind Fools, in whose
Company you was, you may now observe many others who are only
bewitched after another no less dangerous manner. Look a little that
way, there goes a Crowd of Passengers, they have indeed so good a
Head, as not to suffer themselves to be blinded by this bewitching
Water; the black Tower is not vanished out of their sight, they see it
whenever they look up to it; but see how they go side-ways, and with
their Eyes downwards, as if they were mad, that they may thus rush
into the Net, without being beforehand troubled at the Thought of so
miserable a Destruction. Their Wills are so perverse, and their Hearts
so fond of the Pleasures of the Place, that rather than forgo them
they will run all Hazards, and venture upon all the Miseries and Woes
before them.
'See there that other Company, tho' they should drink none of the
bewitching Water, yet they take a Course bewitching and deluding; see
how they chuse the crookedest Paths, whereby they have often the black
Tower behind them, and sometimes see the radiant Column side-ways,
which gives them some weak Glimpse of it. These Fools content
themselves with that, not knowing whether any other have any more of
its Influence and Light than themselves: this Road is called that of
_Superstition_ or _Human Invention_; they grossly over-look that which
the Rules and Laws of the Place prescribe to them, and contrive some
other Scheme and Set of Directions and Prescriptions for themselves,
which they hope will serve their turn. He shewed me many other kind of
Fools, which put me quite out of humour with the Place. At last he
carried me to the right Paths, where I found true and solid Pleasure,
which entertained me all the way, till we came in closer sight of the
Pillar, where the Satisfaction increased to that measure that my
Faculties were not able to contain it; in the straining of them I was
violently waked, not a little grieved at the vanishing of so pleasing
a Dream.
_Glascow, Sept. 29._
[Footnote 1: The dream in this Paper is taken to have been the joint
production of Alexander Dunlop, Professor of Greek in Glasgow
University, and a Mr. Montgomery, who traded to Sweden, and of whom it
is hinted that he disordered his wits by falling in love with Queen
Christina. Alexander Dunlop, born (1684) in America, where his father
was an exile till the Revolution, as Greek Professor at Glasgow,
published a Grammar, which was used for many years in Scottish
Universities. He died in 1742.]
* * * * *
No. 525. Saturday, November 1, 1712. John Hughes.
[Greek: Hod' eís tò sôphron ep' aretàen t' ágôn érôs,
Zaelôtos ánthrôpoisin]
Eurip.
It is my Custom to take [frequent] Opportunities of enquiring from time
to time, what Success my Speculations meet with in the Town. I am glad
to find in particular, that my Discourses on Marriage have been well
received. A Friend of mine gives me to understand, from
_Doctors-Commons_, that more Licences have been taken out there of late
than usual. I am likewise informed of several pretty Fellows, who have
resolved to commence Heads of Families by the first favourable
Opportunity: One of them writes me word, that he is ready to enter into
the Bonds of Matrimony, provided I will give it him under my Hand (as I
now do) that a Man may shew his Face in good Company after he is
married, and that he need not be ashamed to treat a Woman with Kindness,
who puts herself into his Power for Life.
I have other Letters on this Subject, which say that I am attempting to
make a Revolution in the World of Gallantry, and that the Consequence of
it will be, that a great deal of the sprightliest Wit and Satyr of the
last Age will be lost. That a bashful Fellow, upon changing his
Condition, will be no longer puzzled how to stand the Raillery of his
facetious Companions; that he need not own he married only to plunder an
Heiress of her Fortune, nor pretend that he uses her ill, to avoid the
[ridiculous [1]] Name of a fond Husband.
Indeed if I may speak my Opinion of great part of the Writings which
once prevail'd among us under the Notion of Humour, they are such as
would tempt one to think there had been an Association among the Wits of
those times to rally Legitimacy out of our Island. A State of Wedlock
was the common Mark for all the Adventurers in Farce and Comedy, as well
as the Essayers in Lampoon and Satyr, to shoot at, and nothing was a
more standing Jest in all Clubs of fashionable Mirth, and gay
Conversation. It was determined among those airy Criticks, that the
Appellation of a _Sober Man_ should signify a _Spiritless Fellow_. And I
am apt to think it was about the same Time, that _Good-Nature_, a Word
so peculiarly elegant in our Language that some have affirmed it cannot
well be expressed in any other, came first to be render'd suspicious,
and in danger of being transferred from its original Sense to so distant
an Idea as that of _Folly_.
I must confess it has been my Ambition, in the course of my Writings, to
restore, as well as I was able, the proper Ideas of things. And as I
have attempted this already on the Subject of Marriage, in several
Papers, I shall here add some further Observations which occur to me on
the same Head. Nothing seems to be thought, by our fine Gentlemen, so
indispensable an Ornament in fashionable Life, as Love. _A Knight
Errant_, says _Don Quixot, without a Mistress, is like a Tree without
Leaves;_ and a Man of Mode among us, who has not some Fair One to sigh
for, might as well pretend to appear dressed, without his Periwig. We
have Lovers in Prose innumerable. All our Pretenders to Rhyme are
professed Inamorato's; and there is scarce a Poet, good or bad, to be
heard of, who has not some real or supposed _Sacharissa_ to improve his
Vein.
If Love be any Refinement, _Conjugal Love_ must be certainly so in a
much higher Degree. There is no comparison between the frivolous
Affectation of attracting the Eyes of Women with whom you are only
captivated by Way of Amusement, and of whom perhaps you know nothing
more than their Features, and a regular and uniform Endeavour to make
your self valuable, both as a Friend and Lover, to one whom you have
chosen to be the Companion of your Life. The first is the Spring of a
thousand Fopperies, silly Artifices, Falshoods, and perhaps Barbarities;
or at best arises no higher than to a kind of Dancing-School Breeding,
to give the Person a more sparkling Air. The latter is the Parent of
substantial Virtues and agreeable Qualities, and cultivates the Mind
while it improves the Behaviour. The Passion of Love to a Mistress, even
where it is most sincere, resembles too much the Flame of a Fever; that
to a Wife is like the Vital Heat.
I have often thought, if the Letters written by Men of Goodnature to
their Wives, were to be compared with those written by Men of Gallantry
to their Mistresses, the former, notwithstanding any Inequality of
Style, would appear to have the Advantage. Friendship, Tenderness and
Constancy, drest in a Simplicity of Expression, recommend themselves by
a more native Elegance, than passionate Raptures, extravagant Encomiums,
and slavish Adoration. If we were admitted to search the Cabinet of the
beautiful _Narcissa_, among Heaps of Epistles from several Admirers,
which are there preserv'd with equal Care, how few should we find but
would make any one Sick in the Reading, except her who is flattered by
them? But in how different a Style must the wise _Benevolus_, who
converses with that good Sense and good Humour among all his Friends,
write to a Wife who is the worthy Object of his utmost Affection?
_Benevolus_, both in Publick and Private, on all Occasions of Life,
appears to have every good Quality and desirable Ornament. Abroad he is
reverenced and esteemed; at home beloved and happy. The Satisfaction he
enjoys there, settles into an habitual Complacency, which shines in his
Countenance, enlivens his Wit, and seasons his Conversation: Even those
of his Acquaintance, who have never seen him in his Retirement, are
Sharers in the Happiness of it; and it is very much owing to his being
the best and best beloved of Husbands, that he is the most stedfast of
Friends, and the most agreeable of Companions.
There is a sensible Pleasure in contemplating such beautiful Instances
of Domestick Life. The Happiness of the Conjugal State appears
heighten'd to the highest degree it is capable of, when we see two
Persons of accomplished Minds, not only united in the same Interests and
Affections, but in their Taste of the same Improvements, Pleasures and
Diversions. _Pliny_, one of the finest Gentlemen, and politest Writers
of the Age in which he lived, has left us, in his Letter to _Hispulla_,
his Wife's Aunt, one of the most agreeable Family-Pieces of this Kind I
have ever met with. I shall end this Discourse with a Translation of it;
and I believe the Reader will be of my opinion, that _Conjugal Love_ is
drawn in it with a Delicacy which makes it appear to be, as I have
represented it, an Ornament as well as a Virtue.
PLINY _to_ HISPULLA. [2]
'As I remember the great Affection which was between you and your
excellent Brother, and know you love his Daughter as your own, so as
not only to express the Tenderness of the best of Aunts, but even to
supply that of the best of Fathers; I am sure it will be a pleasure to
you to hear that she proves worthy of her Father, worthy of you, and
of your Ancestors. Her Ingenuity is admirable; her Frugality
extraordinary. She loves me, the surest Pledge of her Virtue; and adds
to this a wonderful Disposition to Learning, which she has acquir'd
from her Affection to me. She reads my Writings, studies them, and
even gets them by heart. You'd smile to see the Concern she is in when
I have a Cause to plead, and the Joy she shews when it is over. She
finds means to have the first News brought her of the Success I meet
with in Court, how I am heard, and what Decree is made. If I recite
any thing in publick, she cannot refrain from placing her self
privately in some Corner to hear, where with the utmost delight she
feasts upon my Applauses. Sometimes she sings my Verses, and
accompanies them with the Lute, without any Master, except Love, the
best of Instructors. From these Instances I take the most certain
Omens of our perpetual and encreasing Happiness; since our Affection
is not founded on my Youth and Person, which must gradually decay, but
she is in love with the immortal Part of me, my Glory and Reputation.
Nor indeed could less be expected from one who had the Happiness to
receive her Education from you, who in your House was accustomed to
every thing that was virtuous and decent, and even began to love me by
your Recommendation. For, as you had always the greatest Respect for
my Mother, you were pleased from my Infancy to form me, to commend me,
and kindly to presage I should be one day what my Wife fancies I am.
Accept therefore our united Thanks; mine, that you have bestowed her
on me, and hers, that you have given me to her, as a mutual Grant of
Joy and Felicity.'
[Footnote 1: [scandalous]]
[Footnote 2: Bk iv. ep. 19.]
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