'You are pleased to be very merry, as you imagine, with us Widows: And

you seem to ground your Satyr on our receiving Consolation so soon

after the Death of our Dears, and the Number we are pleased to admit

for our Companions; but you never reflect what Husbands we have

buried, and how short a Sorrow the Loss of them was capable of

occasioning. For my own Part, Mrs. President as you call me, my First

Husband I was marry'd to at Fourteen, by my Uncle and Guardian (as I

afterwards discovered) by way of Sale, for the Third part of my

Fortune. This Fellow looked upon me as a meer Child, he might breed up

after his own Fancy; if he kissed my Chamber-Maid before my Face, I

was supposed so ignorant, how could I think there was any Hurt in it?

When he came home Roaring Drunk at five in the Morning, 'twas the

Custom of all Men that live in the World. I was not to see a Penny of

Money, for, poor Thing, how could I manage it? He took a handsome

Cousin of his into the House, (as he said) to be my Housekeeper, and

to govern my Servants; for how should I know how to rule a Family? and

while she had what Money she pleased, which was but reasonable for the

Trouble she was at for my Good, I was not to be so censorious as to

dislike Familiarity and Kindness between near Relations. I was too

great a Coward to contend, but not so ignorant a Child to be thus

imposed upon. I resented his Contempt as I ought to do, and as most

poor passive blinded Wives do, 'till it pleased Heaven to take away my

Tyrant, who left me free Possession of my own Land, and a large

Jointure. My Youth and Money brought me many Lovers, and several

endeavoured to establish an Interest in my Heart while my Husband was

in his last Sickness; the Honourable _Edward Waitfort_ was one of the

first who addressed to me, advised to it by a Cousin of his that was

my intimate Friend, and knew to a Penny what I was worth. Mr.

_Waitfort_ is a very agreeable Man, and every Body would like him as

well as he does himself, if they did not plainly see that his Esteem

and Love is all taken up, and by such an Object, as 'tis impossible to

get the better of. I mean himself. He made no doubt of marrying me

within Four or Five Months, and begun to proceed with such an assured

easie Air, that piqued my Pride not to banish him; quite contrary, out

of pure Malice, I heard his first Declaration with so much innocent

Surprize, and blushed so prettily, I perceived it touched his very

Heart, and he thought me the best-natured Silly poor thing on Earth.

When a Man has such a Notion of a Woman, he loves her better than he

thinks he does. I was overjoy'd to be thus revenged on him, for

designing on my Fortune; and finding it was in my Power to make his

Heart ake, I resolved to compleat my Conquest, and entertain'd several

other Pretenders. The first Impression of my undesigning Innocence was

so strong in his Head, he attributed all my Followers to the

inevitable Force of my Charms, and from several Blushes and side

Glances, concluded himself the Favourite; and when I used him like a

Dog for my Diversion, he thought it was all Prudence and Fear, and

pitied the Violence I did my own Inclinations to comply with my

Friends, when I marry'd Sir _Nicholas Fribble_ of Sixty Years of Age.

You know, Sir, the Case of Mrs. _Medlar_, I hope you would not have

had me cry out my Eyes for such a Husband. I shed Tears enough for my

Widowhood a Week after my Marriage, and when he was put in his Grave,

reckoning he had been two Years dead, and my self a Widow of that

Standing, I married three Weeks afterwards _John Sturdy_, Esq., his

next Heir. I had indeed some Thoughts of taking Mr. _Waitfort_, but I

found he could stay, and besides he thought it indecent to ask me to

marry again 'till my Year was out, so privately resolving him for my

Fourth, I took Mr. _Sturdy_ for the present. Would you believe it,

Sir, Mr. _Sturdy_ was just Five and Twenty, about Six Foot high, and

the stoutest Fox-hunter in the Country, and I believe I wished ten

thousand times for my old _Fribble_ again; he was following his Dogs

all the Day, and all the Night keeping them up at Table with him and

his Companions: however I think my self obliged to them for leading

him a Chase in which he broke his Neck. Mr. _Waitfort_ began his

Addresses anew, and I verily believe I had married him now, but there

was a young Officer in the Guards, that had debauched two or three of

my Acquaintance, and I could not forbear being a little vain of his

Courtship. Mr. _Waitfort_ heard of it, and read me such an insolent

Lecture upon the Conduct of Women, I married the Officer that very

Day, out of pure Spight to him. Half an Hour after I was married I

received a Penitential Letter from the Honourable Mr. _Edward

Waitfort_, in which he begged Pardon for his Passion, as proceeding

from the Violence of his Love: I triumphed when I read it, and could

not help, out of the Pride of my Heart, shewing it to my new Spouse:

and we were very merry together upon it. Alas! my Mirth lasted a short

time; my young Husband was very much in Debt when I marry'd him, and

his first Action afterwards was to set up a gilt Chariot and Six, in

fine Trappings before and behind. I had married so hastily, I had not

the Prudence to reserve my Estate in my own Hands; my ready Money was

lost in two Nights at the Groom Porter's; and my Diamond Necklace,

which was stole I did not know how, I met in the Street upon _Jenny

Wheadle's_ Neck. My Plate vanished Piece by Piece, and I had been

reduced to downright Pewter, if my Officer had not been deliciously

killed in a Duel, by a Fellow that had cheated him of Five Hundred

Pounds, and afterwards, at his own Request, satisfy'd him and me too,

by running him through the Body. Mr. _Waitfort_ was still in Love, and

told me so again; and to prevent all Fears of ill Usage, he desir'd me

to reserve every thing in my own Hands: But now my Acquaintance begun

to wish me Joy of his Constancy, my Charms were declining, and I could

not resist the Delight I took in shewing the young Flirts about Town,

it was yet in my Power to give Pain to a Man of Sense: This, and some

private Hopes he would hang himself, and what a Glory would it be for

me, and how I should be envy'd, made me accept of being third Wife to

my Lord _Friday_. I proposed from my Rank and his Estate, to live in

all the Joys of Pride, but how was I mistaken? he was neither

extravagant, nor ill-natured, nor debauched? I suffered however more

with him than with all my others. He was splenatick. I was forced to

sit whole Days hearkening to his imaginary Ails; it was impossible to

tell what would please him; what he liked when the Sun shined, made

him sick when it rained; he had no Distemper, but lived in constant

Fear of them all: my good Genius dictated to me to bring him

acquainted with Doctor _Gruel_; from that Day he was always contented,

because he had Names for all his Complaints; the good Doctor furnished

him with Reasons for all his Pains, and Prescriptions for every Fancy

that troubled him; in hot Weather he lived upon Juleps, and let Blood

to prevent Fevers; when it grew cloudy he generally apprehended a

Consumption; to shorten the History of this wretched Part of my Life,

he ruined a good Constitution by endeavouring to mend it, and took

several Medicines, which ended in taking the grand Remedy, which cured

both him and me of all our Uneasinesses. After his Death, I did not

expect to hear any more of Mr. _Waitfort_, I knew he had renounced me

to all his Friends, and been very witty upon my Choice, which he

affected to talk of with great Indifferency; I gave over thinking of

him, being told that he was engaged with a pretty Woman and a great

Fortune; it vexed me a little, but not enough to make me neglect the

Advice of my Cousin _Wishwell_, that came to see me the Day my Lord

went into the Country with _Russel_; she told me experimentally,

nothing put an unfaithful Lover and a dear Husband so soon out of ones

Head, as a new one; and, at the same time, propos'd to me a Kinsman of

hers; You understand enough of the World (said she) to know Money is

the most valuable Consideration; he is very rich, and I am sure cannot

live long; he has a Cough that must carry him off soon. I knew

afterwards she had given the self-same Character of me to him; but

however I was so much persuaded by her, I hastned on the Match, for

fear he should die before the time came; he had the same Fears, and

was so pressing, I married him in a Fortnight, resolving to keep it

private a Fortnight longer. During this Fortnight Mr. _Waitfort_ came

to make me a Visit; he told me he had waited on me sooner, but had

that Respect for me, he would not interrupt me in the first Day of my

Affliction for my dead Lord; that as soon as he heard I was at Liberty

to make another Choice, he had broke off a Match very advantageous for

his Fortune, just upon the Point of Conclusion, and was forty times

more in Love with me than ever. I never received more Pleasure in my

Life than from this Declaration, but I composed my Face to a grave

Air, and said the News of his Engagement had touched me to the Heart,

that in a rash jealous Fit, I had married a Man I could never have

thought on if I had not lost all hopes of him. Good-natured Mr.

_Waitfort_ had like to have dropped down dead at hearing this, but

went from me with such an Air as plainly shewed me he laid all the

Blame upon himself, and hated those Friends that had advised him to

the Fatal Application; he seemed as much touched by my Misfortune as

his own, for he had not the least Doubt I was still passionately in

Love with him. The Truth of the Story is, my new Husband gave me

Reason to repent I had not staid for him; he had married me for my

Money, and I soon found he loved Money to Distraction; there was

nothing he would not do to get it, nothing he would not suffer to

preserve it; the smallest Expence keep him awake whole Nights, and

when he paid a Bill, 'twas with as many Sighs, and after as many

Delays, as a Man that endures the Loss of a Limb. I heard nothing but

Reproofs for Extravagancy whatever I did. I saw very well that he

would have starved me, but for losing my Jointures; and he suffered

Agonies between the Grief of seeing me have so good a Stomach, and the

Fear that if he made me fast, it might prejudice my Health. I did not

doubt he would have broke my Heart, if I did not break his, which was

allowed by the Law of Self-defence. The Way was very easy. I resolved

to spend as much Money as I could, and before he was aware of the

Stroke, appeared before him in a two thousand Pound Diamond Necklace;

he said nothing, but went quietly to his Chamber, and, as it is

thought, composed himself with a Dose of Opium. I behaved my self so

well upon the Occasion, that to this Day I believe he died of an

Apoplexy. Mr. _Waitfort_ was resolved not to be too late this time,

and I heard from him in two Days. I am almost out of my Weed at this

present Writing, and am very doubtful whether I'll marry him or no. I

do not think of a Seventh, for the ridiculous Reason you mention, but

out of pure Morality that I think so much Constancy should be

rewarded, tho' I may not do it after all perhaps. I do not believe all

the unreasonable Malice of Mankind can give a Pretence why I should

have been constant to the Memory of any of the Deceased, or have spent

much time in grieving for so insolent, insignificant, negligent,

extravagant, splenatick, or covetous Husband; my first insulted me, my

second was nothing to me, my third disgusted me, the fourth would have

ruined me, the fifth tormented me, and the sixth would have starved

me. If the other Ladies you name would thus give in their Husbands

Pictures at length, you would see they have had as little Reason as my

self to lose their Hours in weeping and wailing.

* * * * *

574. Friday, July 30, 1714. Addison.

'Non possidentem multa vocaveris

Rectè Beatum, recliùs occupat

Nomen Beati, qui Deorum

Muneribus sapienter uti

Duramque callet pauperiem pati.'

Hor.

I was once engaged in Discourse with a _Rosicrusian_ about _the great

Secret_. As this kind of Men (I mean those of them who are not professed

Cheats) are over-run with Enthusiasm and Philosophy, it was very amusing

to hear this religious Adept descanting on his pretended Discovery. He

talked of the Secret as of a Spirit which lived within an Emerald, and

converted every thing that was near it to the highest Perfection it is

capable of. It gives a Lustre, says he, to the Sun, and Water to the

Diamond. It irradiates every Metal, and enriches Lead with all the

Properties of Gold. It heightens Smoak into Flame, Flame into Light, and

Light into Glory. He further added, that a single Ray of it dissipates

Pain, and Care, and Melancholy from the Person on whom it falls. In

short, says he, its Presence naturally changes every Place into a kind

of Heaven. After he had gone on for some Time in this unintelligible

Cant, I found that he jumbled natural and moral Ideas together into the

same Discourse, and that his great Secret was nothing else but

_Content_.

This Virtue does indeed produce, in some measure, all those Effects

which the Alchymist usually ascribes to what he calls the Philosopher's

Stone; and if it does not bring Riches, it does the same thing, by

banishing the Desire of them. If it cannot remove the Disquietudes

arising out of a Man's Mind, Body, or Fortune, it makes him easie under

them. It has indeed a kindly Influence on the Soul of Man, in respect of

every Being to whom he stands related. It extinguishes all Murmur,

Repining, and Ingratitude towards that Being who has allotted him his

Part to act in this World. It destroys all inordinate Ambition, and

every Tendency to Corruption, with regard to the Community wherein he is

placed. It gives Sweetness to his Conversation, and a perpetual Serenity

to all his Thoughts.

Among the many Methods which might be made use of for the acquiring of

this Virtue, I shall only mention the two following. First of all, A Man

should always consider how much he has more than he wants; and Secondly,

How much more unhappy he might be than he really is.

First of all, A Man should always consider how much he has more than he

wants. I am wonderfully pleased with the Reply which _Aristippus_ made

to one who condoled him upon the Loss of a Farm, _Why_, said he, _I have

three Farms still, and you have but one; so that I ought rather to be

afflicted for you, than you for me_. On the contrary, foolish Men are

more apt to consider what they have lost than what they possess; and to

fix their Eyes upon those who are richer than themselves, rather than on

those who are under greater Difficulties. All the real Pleasures and

Conveniences of Life lie in a narrow Compass; but it is the Humour of

Mankind to be always looking forward, and straining after one who has

got the Start of them in Wealth and Honour. For this Reason, as there

are none can be properly called rich, who have not more than they want;

there are few rich Men in any of the politer Nations but among the

middle Sort of People, who keep their Wishes within their Fortunes, and

have more Wealth than they know how to enjoy. Persons of a higher Rank

live in a kind of splendid Poverty, and are perpetually wanting, because

instead of acquiescing in the solid Pleasures of Life, they endeavour to

outvy one another in Shadows and Appearances. Men of Sense have at all

times beheld with a great deal of Mirth this silly Game that is playing

over their Heads, and by contracting their Desires, enjoy all that

secret Satisfaction which others are always in quest of. The Truth is,

this ridiculous Chace after imaginary Pleasures cannot be sufficiently

exposed, as it is the great Source of those Evils which generally undo a

Nation. Let a Man's Estate be what it will, he is a poor Man if he does

not live within it, and naturally sets himself to Sale to any one that

can give him his Price. When _Pittacus_, after the Death of his Brother,

who had left him a good Estate, was offered a great Sum of Money by the

King of _Lydia_, he thanked him for his Kindness, but told him he had

already more by Half than he knew what to do with. In short, Content is

equivalent to Wealth, and Luxury to Poverty; or, to give the Thought a

more agreeable Turn, _Content is natural Wealth_, says _Socrates_; to

which I shall add, _Luxury is artificial Poverty_. I shall therefore

recommend to the Consideration of those who are always aiming after

superfluous and imaginary Enjoyments, and will not be at the Trouble of

contracting their Desires, an excellent Saying of _Bion_ the

Philosopher; namely, _That no Man has so much Care, as he who endeavours

after the most Happiness_.

In the second Place, every one ought to reflect how much more unhappy he

might be than he really is. The former Consideration took in all those

who are sufficiently provided with the Means to make themselves easie;

this regards such as actually lie under some Pressure or Misfortune.

These may receive great Alleviation from such a Comparison as the

unhappy Person may make between himself and others, or between the

Misfortune which he suffers, and greater Misfortunes which might have

befallen him.

I like the Story of the honest _Dutchman_, who, upon breaking his _Leg_

by a Fall from the Mainmast, told the Standers-by, It was a great Mercy

that 'twas not his _Neck_. To which, since I am got into Quotations,

give me leave to add the Saying of an old Philosopher, who, after having

invited some of his Friends to dine with him, was ruffled by his Wife

that came into the Room in a Passion, and threw down the Table that

stood before them; _Every one_, says he, _has his Calamity, and he is a

happy Man that has no greater than this_. We find an Instance to the

same Purpose in the Life of Doctor _Hammond_, written by Bishop _Fell_.

As this good Man was troubled with a Complication of Distempers, when he

had the Gout upon him, he used to thank God that it was not the Stone;

and when he had the Stone, that he had not both these Distempers on him

at the same time.

I cannot conclude this Essay without observing that there was never any

System besides that of Christianity, which could effectually produce in

the Mind of Man the Virtue I have been hitherto speaking of. In order to

make us content with our present Condition, many of the ancient

Philosophers tell us that our Discontent only hurts our selves, without

being able to make any Alteration in our Circumstances; others, that

whatever Evil befalls us is derived to us by a fatal Necessity, to which

the Gods themselves are subject; whilst others very gravely tell the Man

who is miserable, that it is necessary he should be so to keep up the

Harmony of the Universe, and that the _Scheme_ of Providence would be

troubled and perverted were he otherwise. These, and the like

Considerations, rather silence than satisfy a Man. They may shew him

that his Discontent is unreasonable, but are by no means sufficient to

relieve it. They rather give Despair than Consolation. In a Word, a Man

might reply to one of these Comforters, as _Augustus_ did to his Friend

who advised him not to grieve for the Death of a Person whom he loved,

because his Grief could not fetch him again: _It is for that very

Reason_, said the Emperor, _that I grieve_.

On the contrary, Religion bears a more tender Regard to humane Nature.

It prescribes to every miserable Man the Means of bettering his

Condition; nay, it shews him, that the bearing of his Afflictions as he

ought to do will naturally end in the Removal of them: It makes him

easie here, because it can make him happy hereafter.

Upon the whole, a contented Mind is the greatest Blessing a Man can

enjoy in this World; and if in the present Life his Happiness arises

from the subduing of his Desires, it will arise in the next from the

Gratification of them.

* * * * *

No. 575. Monday, August 2, 1714. Addison.

'--Nec merti esse locum--'

Virg.

A lewd young Fellow seeing an aged Hermit go by him barefoot, _Father_,

says he, _you are in a very miserable Condition if there is not another

World. True, Son_, said the Hermit; _but what is thy Condition if there

is_? Man is a Creature designed for two different States of Being, or

rather, for two different Lives. His first Life is short and transient;

his second permanent and lasting. The Question we are all concerned in

is this, In which of these two Lives it is our chief Interest to make

our selves happy? Or, in other Words, Whether we should endeavour to

secure to our selves the Pleasures and Gratifications of a Life which is

uncertain and precarious, and at its utmost Length of a very

inconsiderable Duration; or to secure to our selves the Pleasures of a

Life which is fixed and settled, and will never end? Every Man, upon the

first hearing of this Question, knows very well which Side of it he

ought to close with. But however right we are in Theory, it is plain

that in Practice we adhere to the wrong Side of the Question. We make

Provisions for this Life as tho' it were never to have an End, and for

the other Life as tho' it were never to have a Beginning.

Should a Spirit of superior Rank who is a Stranger to human Nature,

accidentally alight upon the Earth, and take a Survey of its

Inhabitants; what would his Notions of us be? Would not he think that we

are a Species of Beings made for quite different Ends and Purposes than

what we really are? Must not he imagine that we were placed in this

World to get Riches and Honours? Would not he think that it was our Duty

to toil after Wealth, and Station, and Title? Nay, would not he believe

we were forbidden Poverty by Threats of eternal Punishment, and enjoined

to pursue our Pleasures under Pain of Damnation? He would certainly

imagine that we were influenced by a Scheme of Duties quite opposite to

those which are indeed prescribed to us. And truly, according to such an

Imagination, he must conclude that we are a Species of the most obedient

Creatures in the Universe; that we are constant to our Duty; and that we

keep a steddy Eye on the End for which we were sent hither.

But how great would be his Astonishment, when he learnt that we were

Beings not designed to exist in this World above threescore and ten

Years? and that the greatest Part of this busy Species fall short even

of that Age? How would he be lost in Horrour and Admiration, when he

should know that this Sett of Creatures, who lay out all their

Endeavours for this Life, which scarce deserves the Name of Existence,

when, I say, he should know that this Sett of Creatures are to exist to

all Eternity in another Life, for which they make no Preparations?

Nothing can be a greater Disgrace to Reason, than that Men, who are

perswaded of these two different States of Being, should be perpetually

employed in providing for a Life of three-score and ten Years, and

neglecting to make Provision for that, which after many Myriads of Years

will be still new, and still beginning; especially when we consider that

our endeavours for making ourselves great, or rich, or honourable, or

whatever else we place our Happiness in, may after all prove

unsuccessful; whereas if we constantly and sincerely endeavour to make

our selves happy in the other Life, we are sure that our Endeavours will

succeed, and that we shall not be disappointed of our Hope.

The following Question is started by one of the Schoolmen. Supposing the

whole Body of the Earth were a great Ball or Mass of the finest Sand,

and that a single Grain or Particle of this Sand should be annihilated

every thousand Years. Supposing then that you had it in your Choice to

be happy all the while this prodigious Mass of Sand was consuming by

this slow Method till there was not a Grain of it left, on Condition you

were to be miserable for ever after; or, supposing that you might be

happy for ever after, on Condition you would be miserable till the whole

Mass of Sand were thus annihilated at the Rate of one Sand in a thousand

Years: Which of these two Cases would you make your Choice?

It must be confessed in this Case, so many Thousands of Years are to the

Imagination as a kind of eternity, tho' in reality they do not bear so

great a Proportion to that Duration which is to follow them, as a Unite

does to the greatest Number which you can put together in Figures, or as

one of those Sands to the supposed Heap. Reason therefore tells us,

without any Manner of Hesitation, which would be the better Part in this

Choice. However, as I have before intimated, our Reason might in such a

Case be so overset by the Imagination, as to dispose some Persons to

sink under the Consideration of the great Length of the first Part of

this Duration, and of the great Distance of that second Duration which

is to succeed it. The Mind, I say, might give it self up to that

Happiness which is at Hand, considering that it is so very near, and

that it would last so very long. But when the Choice we actually have

before us is this, Whether we will chuse to be happy for the space of

only three-score and ten, nay perhaps of only twenty or ten Years, I

might say of only a Day or an Hour, and miserable to all Eternity; or,

on the contrary, miserable for this short Term of Years, and happy for a

whole Eternity: What Words are sufficient to express that Folly and want

of Consideration which in such a Case makes a wrong Choice?

I here put the Case even at the worst, by supposing (what seldom

happens) that a Course of Virtue makes us miserable in this Life: But if

we suppose (as it generally happens) that Virtue would make us more

happy even in this Life than a contrary Course of Vice; how can we

sufficiently admire the Stupidity or Madness of those Persons who are

capable of making so absurd a Choice?

Every wise Man therefore will consider this Life only as it may conduce

to the Happiness of the other, and chearfully sacrifice the Pleasures of

a few Years to those of an Eternity.

* * * * *

No. 576. Wednesday, August 4, 1714. Addison.

'Nitor in adversum; nec me, qui coetera, vincit

Impetus; et rapido contrarius euchor Orbi.'

Ovid.

I remember a young Man of very lively Parts, and of a sprightly Turn in

Conversation, who had only one Fault, which was an inordinate Desire of

appearing fashionable. This ran him into many Amours, and consequently

into many Distempers. He never went to Bed till two a-Clock in the

Morning, because he would not be a queer Fellow; and was every now and

then knocked down by a Constable, to signalize his Vivacity. He was

initiated into Half a Dozen Clubs before he was One and twenty, and so

improved in them his natural Gayety of Temper, that you might frequently

trace him to his Lodgings by a range of broken Windows, and other the

like Monuments of Wit and Gallantry. To be short, after having fully

established his Reputation of being a very agreeable Rake, he died of

old Age at Five and twenty.

There is indeed nothing which betrays a Man into so many Errors and

Inconveniences, as the Desire of not appearing singular; for which

Reason it is very necessary to form a right Idea of Singularity, that we

may know when it is laudable, and when it is vicious. In the first

Place, every Man of Sense will agree with me, that Singularity is

laudable, when, in Contradiction to a Multitude, it adheres to the

Dictates of Conscience, Morality, and Honour. In these Cases we ought to

consider, that it is not Custom, but Duty, which is the Rule of Action;

and that we should be only so far _sociable_, as we are reasonable

Creatures. Truth is never the less so, for not being attended to; and it

is the Nature of Actions, not the Number of Actors, by which we ought to

regulate our Behaviour. Singularity in Concerns of this Kind is to be

looked upon as heroick Bravery, in which a Man leaves the Species only

as he soars above it. What greater Instance can there be of a weak and

pusillanimous Temper, than for a Man to pass his whole Life in

Opposition to his own Sentiments? or not to dare to be what he thinks he

ought to be?

Singularity therefore is only vicious when it makes Men act contrary to

Reason, or when it puts them upon distinguishing themselves by Trifles.

As for the first of these, who are singular in any thing that is

irreligious, immoral, or dishonourable, I believe every one will easily

give them up. I shall therefore speak of those only who are remarkable

for their Singularity in things of no Importance, as in Dress,

Behaviour, Conversation, and all the little Intercourses of Life. In

these Cases there is a certain Deference due to Custom; and

notwithstanding there may be a Colour of Reason to deviate from the

Multitude in some Particulars, a Man ought to sacrifice his private

Inclinations and Opinions to the Practice of the Publick. It must be

confessed that good Sense often makes a Humourist; but then it

unqualifies him for being of any Moment in the World, and renders him

ridiculous to Persons of a much inferiour Understanding.

I have heard of a Gentleman in the North of _England_, who was a

remarkable Instance of this foolish Singularity. He had laid it down as

a Rule within himself, to act in the most indifferent Parts of Life

according to the most abstracted Notions of Reason and Good Sense,

without any Regard to Fashion or Example. This Humour broke out at first

in many little Oddnesses: He had never any stated Hours for his Dinner,

Supper or Sleep; because, said he, we ought to attend the Calls of

Nature, and not set our Appetites to our Meals, but bring our Meals to

our Appetites. In his Conversation with Country Gentlemen, he would not

make use of a Phrase that was not strictly true: He never told any of

them, that he was his humble Servant, but that he was his Well-wisher;

and would rather be thought a Malecontent, than drink the King's Health

when he was not a-dry. He would thrust his Head out of his

Chamber-Window every Morning, and after having gaped for fresh Air about

half an Hour, repeat fifty Verses as loud as he could bawl them for the

Benefit of his Lungs; to which End he generally took them out of

_Homer_; the _Greek_ Tongue, especially in that Author, being more deep

and sonorous, and more conducive to Expectoration, than any other. He

had many other Particularities, for which he gave sound and

philosophical Reasons. As this Humour still grew upon him, he chose to

wear a Turban instead of a Perriwig; concluding very justly, that a

Bandage of clean Linnen about his Head was much more wholsome, as well

as cleanly, than the Caul of a Wig, which is soiled with frequent

Perspirations. He afterwards judiciously observed, that the many

Ligatures in our _English_ Dress must naturally check the Circulation of

the Blood; for which Reason, he made his Breeches and his Doublet of one

continued Piece of Cloth, after the Manner of the _Hussars_. In short,

by following the pure Dictates of Reason, he at length departed so much

from the rest of his Countrymen, and indeed from his whole Species, that

his Friends would have clapped him into _Bedlam_, and have begged his

Estate; but the Judge being informed that he did no Harm, contented

himself with issuing out a Commission of Lunacy against him, and putting

his Estate into the Hands of proper Guardians.

The Fate of this Philosopher puts me in Mind of a Remark in Monsieur

_Fontinell's_ Dialogues of the Dead. _The Ambitious and the Covetous_

(says he) _are Madmen to all Intents and Purposes, as much as those who

are shut up in dark Rooms; but they have the good Luck to have Numbers

on their Side; whereas the Frenzy of one who is given up for a Lunatick,

is a Frenzy_ hors d'oeuvre; that is, in other Words, something which is

singular in its Kind, and does not fall in with the Madness of a

Multitude.

The Subject of this Essay was occasioned by a Letter which I received

not long since, and which, for want of Room at present, I shall insert

in my next Paper.

* * * * *

No. 577. Friday, August 6, 1714.

'--Hoc tolerabile, si non

Et furere incipias--'

Juv.

The Letter mentioned in my last Paper is as follows.

_SIR_,

'You have so lately decryed that Custom, too much in use among most

People, of making themselves the Subjects of their Writings and

Conversation, that I had some difficulty to perswade my self to give

you this Trouble, till I had considered that tho' I should speak in

the First Person, yet I could not be justly charged with Vanity, since

I shall not add my Name; as also, because what I shall write will not,

to say the best, redound to my Praise; but is only designed to remove

a Prejudice conceived against me, as I hope, with very little

Foundation. My short History is this.

I have lived for some Years last past altogether in _London_, till

about a Month ago an Acquaintance of mine, for whom I have done some

small Services in Town, invited me to pass part of the Summer with him

at his House in the Country. I accepted his Invitation, and found a

very hearty Welcome. My Friend, an honest plain Man, not being

qualified to pass away his Time without the Reliefs of Business, has

grafted the Farmer upon the Gentleman, and brought himself to submit

even to the servile Parts of that Employment, such as inspecting his

Plough, and the like. This necessarily takes up some of his Hours

every Day; and as I have no Relish for such Diversions, I used at

these Times to retire either to my Chamber, or a shady Walk near the

House, and entertain my self with some agreeable Author. Now you must

know, Mr. SPECTATOR, that when I read, especially if it be Poetry, it

is very usual with me, when I meet with any Passage or Expression

which strikes me much, to pronounce it aloud, with that Tone of the

Voice which I think agreeable to the Sentiments there expressed; and

to this I generally add some Motion or Action of the Body. It was not

long before I was observed by some of the Family in one of these

heroick Fits, who thereupon received Impressions very much to my

Disadvantage. This however I did not soon discover, nor should have

done probably, had it not been for the following Accident. I had one

Day shut my self up in my Chamber, and was very deeply engaged in the

Second Book of _Milton's Paradise Lost._ I walked to and fro with the

Book in my Hand, and, to speak the Truth, I fear I made no little

Noise; when presently coming to the following Lines,

'--On a sudden open fly,

With impetuous Recoil and jarring Sound,

Th' infernal Doors, and on their Hinges grate

Harsh Thunder, &c.'

'I in great Transport threw open the Door of my Chamber, and found the

greatest Part of the Family standing on the Out-side in a very great

Consternation. I was in no less Confusion, and begged Pardon for

having disturbed them; addressing my self particularly to comfort one

of the Children, who received an unlucky fall in this Action, whilst

he was too intently surveying my Meditations through the Key-hole. To

be short, after this Adventure I easily observed that great Part of

the Family, especially the Women and Children, looked upon me with

some Apprehensions of Fear; and my Friend himself, tho' he still

continued his Civilities to me, did not seem altogether easie: I took

Notice, that the Butler was never after this Accident ordered to leave

the Bottle upon the Table after Dinner. Add to this, that I frequently

overheard the Servants mention me by the Name of the crazed Gentleman,

the Gentleman a little touched, the mad _Londoner,_ and the like. This

made me think it high Time for me to shift my Quarters, which I

resolved to do the first handsome Opportunity; and was confirmed in

this Resolution by a young Lady in the Neighbourhood who frequently

visited us, and who one Day, after having heard all the fine Things I

was able to say, was pleased with a scornful Smile to bid me go to

sleep.

'The first Minute I got to my Lodgings in Town I set Pen to Paper to

desire your Opinion, whether, upon the Evidence before you, I am mad

or not. I can bring Certificates that I behave my self soberly before

Company, and I hope there is at least some Merit in withdrawing to be

mad. Look you, Sir, I am contented to be esteemed a little touched, as

they phrase it, but should be sorry to be madder than my Neighbours;

therefore, pray let me be as much in my Senses as you can afford. I

know I could bring your self as an Instance of a Man who has confessed

talking to himself; but yours is a particular Case, and cannot justify

me, who have not kept Silence any Part of my Life. What if I should

own my self in Love? You know Lovers are always allowed the Comfort of

Soliloquy.--But I will say no more upon this Subject, because I have

long since observed, the ready Way to be thought Mad is to contend

that you are not so; as we generally conclude that Man drunk, who

takes Pains to be thought sober. I will therefore leave my self to

your Determination; but am the more desirous to be thought in my

Senses, that it may be no Discredit to you when I assure you that I

have always been very much

_Your Admirer._

P.S. _If I must be mad, I desire the young Lady may believe it is for

her.

The humble Petition of_ John a Nokes _and_ John a Stiles, _Sheweth,_

'That your Petitioners have had Causes depending in _Westminster-Hall_

above five hundred Years, and that we despair of ever seeing them

brought to an Issue: That your Petitioners have not been involved in

these Law Suits, out of any litigious Temper of their own, but by the

Instigation of contentious Persons; that the young Lawyers in our Inns

of Court are continually setting us together by the Ears, and think

they do us no Hurt, because they plead for us without a Fee; That many

of the Gentlemen of the Robe have no other Clients in the World

besides us two; That when they have nothing else to do, they make us

Plaintiffs and Defendants, tho' they were never retained by either of

us; That they traduce, condemn, or acquit us, without any manner of

Regard to our Reputations and good Names in the World. Your

Petitioners therefore (being thereunto encouraged by the favourable

Reception which you lately gave to our Kinsman _Blank_) do humbly

pray, that you will put an End to the Controversies which have been so

long depending between us your said Petitioners, and that our Enmity

may not endure from Generation to Generation; it being our Resolution

to live hereafter as it becometh Men of peaceable Dispositions.

_And your Petitioners (as in Duty bound) shall ever Pray, &c._

* * * * *

No. 578. Monday, August 9, 1714.

'--Eque feris humana in corpora transit,

Inque feras Noster--'

Ovid.

There has been very great Reason, on several Accounts, for the learned

World to endeavour at settling what it was that might be said to compose

_personal Identity_.

Mr. _Lock_, after having premised that the Word _Person_ properly

signifies a thinking intelligent Being that has Reason and Reflection,

and can consider it self as it self; concludes That it is Consciousness

alone, and not an Identity of Substance, which makes this personal

Identity of Sameness. Had I the same Consciousness (says that Author)

that I saw the Ark and _Noah's_ Flood, as that I saw an Overflowing of

the _Thames_ last Winter; or as that I now write; I could no more doubt

that I who write this now, that saw the _Thames_ overflow last Winter,

and that viewed the Flood at the general Deluge, was the same _Self_,

place that _Self_ in what Substance you please, than that I who write

this am the same _My self_ now whilst I write, (whether I consist of all

the same Substance material or immaterial or no) that I was Yesterday;

For as to this Point of being the same _Self_, it matters not whether

this present _Self_ be made up of the same or other Substances.

I was mightily pleased with a Story in some Measure applicable to this

Piece of Philosophy, which I read the other Day in the _Persian Tales_,

as they are lately very well translated by Mr. _Philips_; and with an

Abridgement whereof I shall here present my Readers.

I shall only premise that these Stories are writ after the Eastern

Manner, but somewhat more correct.

'_Fadlallah_, a Prince of great Virtues, succeeded his Father

_Bin-Ortoc_, in the Kingdom of _Mousel_. He reigned over his faithful

Subjects for some time, and lived in great Happiness with his beauteous

Consort Queen _Zemroude_; when there appeared at his Court a young

_Dervis_ of so lively and entertaining a Turn of Wit, as won upon the

Affections of every one he conversed with. His Reputation grew so fast

every Day, that it at last raised a Curiosity in the Prince himself to

see and talk with him. He did so, and far from finding that common Fame

had flatter'd him, he was soon convinced that every thing he had heard

of him fell short of the Truth.

'_Fadlallah_ immediately lost all Manner of Relish for the Conversation

of other Men; and as he was every Day more and more satisfied of the

Abilities of this Stranger, offered him the first Posts in his Kingdom.

The young _Dervis_, after having thanked him with a very singular

Modesty, desired to be excused, as having made a Vow never to accept of

any Employment, and preferring a free and independent State of Life to

all other Conditions.

'The King was infinitely charmed with so great an Example of Moderation;

and tho' he could not get him to engage in a Life of Business, made him

however his chief Companion and first Favourite.

'As they were one Day hunting together, and happened to be separated

from the rest of the Company, the _Dervis_ entertained _Fadlallah_ with

an Account of his Travels and Adventures. After having related to him

several Curiosities which he had seen in the _Indies_, _It was in this

Place_, says he, _that I contracted an Acquaintance with an old_

Brachman, _who was skilled in the most hidden Powers of Nature: He died

within my Arms, and with his parting Breath communicated to me one of

the most valuable of his Secrets, on Condition I should never reveal it

to any Man_. The King immediately reflecting on his young Favourite's

having refused the late Offers of Greatness he had made him, told him he

presumed it was the Power of making Gold. _No Sir_, says the _Dervis_,

_it is somewhat more wonderful than that; it is the Power of

re-animating a dead Body, by flinging my own Soul into it_.

'While he was yet speaking a Doe came bounding by them; and the King,

who had his Bow ready, shot her through the Heart; telling the _Dervis_,

that a fair Opportunity now offered for him to show his Art. The young

Man immediately left his own Body breathless on the Ground, while at the

same Instant that of the Doe was re-animated, she came to the King,

fawned upon him, and after having play'd several wanton Tricks, fell

again upon the Grass; at the same Instant the Body of the _Dervis_

recovered its Life. The King was infinitely pleased at so uncommon an

Operation, and conjured his Friend by every thing that was sacred to

communicate it to him. The _Dervis_ at first made some Scruple of

violating his Promise to the dying _Brachman_; but told him at last that

he found he could conceal nothing from so excellent a Prince; after

having obliged him therefore by an Oath to Secrecy, he taught him to

repeat two Cabalistick Words, in pronouncing of which the whole Secret

consisted. The King, impatient to try the Experiment, immediately

repeated them as he had been taught, and in an Instant found himself in

the Body of the Doe. He had but little Time to contemplate himself in

this new Being; for the treacherous _Dervis_ shooting his own Soul into

the Royal Corps, and bending the Prince's own Bow against him, had laid

him dead on the Spot, had not the King, who perceiv'd his Intent, fled

swiftly to the Woods.

'The _Dervis_, now triumphant in his Villany, returned to _Mousel_, and

filled the Throne and Bed of the unhappy _Fadlallah_.

'The first thing he took Care of, in order to secure himself in the

Possession of his new-acquired Kingdom, was to issue out a Proclamation,

ordering his Subjects to destroy all the Deer in the Realm. The King had

perished among the rest, had he not avoided his Pursuers by re-animating

the Body of a Nightingale which he saw lie dead at the Foot of a Tree.

In this new Shape he winged his Way in Safety to the Palace, where

perching on a Tree which stood near his Queen's Apartment, he filled the

whole Place with so many melodious and Melancholy Notes as drew her to

the Window. He had the Mortification to see that instead of being

pitied, he only moved the Mirth of his Princess, and of a young Female

Slave who was with her. He continued however to serenade her every

Morning, 'till at last the Queen, charmed with his Harmony, sent for the

Bird-catchers, and ordered them to employ their utmost Skill to put that

little Creature into her Possession. The King, pleased with an

Opportunity of being once more near his beloved Consort, easily suffered

himself to be taken; and when he was presented to her, tho' he shewed a

Fearfulness to be touched by any of the other Ladies, flew of his own

Accord, and hid himself in the Queen's Bosom. _Zemroude_ was highly

pleased at the unexpected Fondness of her new Favourite, and ordered him

to be kept in an open Cage in her own Apartment. He had there an

Opportunity of making his Court to her every Morning, by a thousand

little Actions which his Shape allowed him. The Queen passed away whole

Hours every Day in hearing and playing with him. _Fadlallah_ could even

have thought himself happy in this State of Life, had he not frequently

endured the inexpressible Torment of seeing the _Dervis_ enter the

Apartment and caress his Queen even in his Presence.

The Usurper, amidst his toying with the Princess, would often endeavour

to ingratiate himself with her Nightingale; and while the enraged

_Fadlallah_ peck'd at him with his Bill, beat his Wings, and shewed all

the Marks of an impotent Rage, it only afforded his Rival and the Queen

new Matter for their Diversion.

_Zemroude_ was likewise fond of a little Lap-Dog which she kept in her

Apartment, and which one Night happened to die.

The King immediately found himself inclined to quit the shape of the

Nightingale, and enliven this new Body. He did so, and the next Morning

_Zemroude_ saw her favourite Bird lie dead in the Cage. It is impossible

to express her Grief on this Occasion, and when she called to mind all

its little Actions, which even appeared to have somewhat in them like

Reason, she was inconsolable for her Loss.

Her Women immediately sent for the _Dervis_, to come and comfort her,

who after having in vain represented to her the Weakness of being

grieved at such an Accident, touched at last by her repeated Complaints;

_Well Madam_, says he, _I will exert the utmost of my Art to please you.

Your Nightingale shall again revive every Morning and serenade you as

before_. The Queen beheld him with a Look which easily shewed she did

not believe him; when laying himself down on a Sofa, he shot his Soul

into the Nightingale, and _Zemroude_ was amazed to see her Bird revive.

'The King, who was a Spectator of all that passed, lying under the Shape

of a Lap-Dog, in one Corner of the Room, immediately recovered his own

Body, and running to the Cage with the utmost Indignation, twisted off

the Neck of the false Nightingale.

'_Zemroude_ was more than ever amazed and concerned at this second

Accident, 'till the King entreating her to hear him, related to her his

whole Adventure.

'The Body of the _Dervis_, which was found dead in the Wood, and his

Edict for killing all the Deer, left her no Room to doubt of the Truth

of it: But the Story adds, That out of an extream Delicacy (peculiar to

the Oriental Ladies) she was so highly afflicted at the innocent

Adultery in which she had for some time lived with the _Dervis_, that no

Arguments even from _Fadlallah_ himself could compose her Mind. She

shortly after died with Grief, begging his Pardon with her last Breath

for what the most rigid Justice could not have interpreted as a Crime.

'The King was so afflicted with her Death, that he left his Kingdom to

one of his nearest Relations, and passed the rest of his Days in

Solitude and Retirement.

* * * * *

No. 579. Wednesday, August 11, 1714. Addison.

'--Odora canum vis--'

Virg.

In the Reign of King _Charles_ I., the Company of Stationers, into whose

Hands the Printing of the Bible is committed by Patent, made a very

remarkable _Erratum_ or Blunder in one of their Editions: For instead of

_Thou shalt not commit Adultery_, they printed off several thousands of

Copies with _Thou shalt commit Adultery_. Archbishop _Laud_, to punish

this their Negligence, laid a considerable Fine upon that Company in the

_Star-Chamber_.

By the Practice of the World, which prevails in this degenerate Age, I

am afraid that very many young Profligates, of both Sexes, are possessed

of this spurious Edition of the Bible, and observe the Commandment

according to that faulty Reading.

Adulterers, in the first Ages of the Church, were excommunicated for

ever, and unqualified all their Lives from bearing a Part in Christian

Assemblies, notwithstanding they might seek it with Tears, and all the

Appearances of the most unfeigned Repentance.

I might here mention some ancient Laws among the Heathens which punished

this Crime with Death: and others of the same Kind, which are now in

Force among several Governments that have embraced the Reformed

Religion. But because a Subject of this Nature may be too serious for my

ordinary Readers, who are very apt to throw by my Papers, when they are

not enlivened with something that is diverting or uncommon; I shall here

publish the Contents of a little Manuscript lately fallen into my Hands,

and which pretends to great Antiquity, tho' by Reason of some modern

Phrases and other Particulars in it, I can by no means allow it to be

genuine, but rather the Production of a Modern Sophist.

It is well known by the Learned, that there was a Temple upon Mount

_Ætna_ dedicated to _Vulcan_, which was guarded by Dogs of so exquisite

a Smell, (say the Historians) that they could discern whether the

Persons who came thither were chast or otherwise. They used to meet and

faun upon such as were chast, caressing them as the Friends of their

Master _Vulcan;_ but flew at those who were polluted, and never ceased

barking at them till they had driven them from the Temple.

My Manuscript gives the following Account of these Dogs, and was

probably designed as a Comment upon this Story.

'These Dogs were given to Vulcan by his Sister Diana, the Goddess of

Hunting and of Chastity, having bred them out of some of her Hounds, in

which she had observed this natural Instinct and Sagacity. It was

thought she did it in Spight to _Venus,_ who, upon her Return home,

always found her Husband in a good or bad Humour, according to the

Reception which she met with from his Dogs. They lived in the Temple

several Years, but were such snappish Curs that they frighted away most

of the Votaries. The Women of _Sicily_ made a solemn Deputation to the

Priest, by which they acquainted him, that they would not come up to the

Temple with their annual Offerings unless he muzzled his Mastiffs; and

at last comprimised the Matter with him, that the Offering should always

be brought by a Chorus of young Girls, who were none of them above seven

Years old. It was wonderful (says the Author) to see how different the

Treatment was which the Dogs gave to these little Misses, from that

which they had shown to their Mothers. It is said that the Prince of

_Syracuse_, having married a young Lady, and being naturally of a

jealous Temper, made such an Interest with the Priests of this Temple,

that he procured a Whelp from them of this famous Breed. The young Puppy

was very troublesome to the fair Lady at first, insomuch that she

sollicited her Husband to send him away, but the good Man cut her short

with the old _Sicilian_ Proverb, _Love me love my Dog_. From which Time

she lived very peaceably with both of them. The Ladies of _Syracuse_

were very much annoyed with him, and several of very good Reputation

refused to come to Court till he was discarded. There were indeed some

of them that defied his Sagacity, but it was observed, though he did not

actually bite them, he would growle at them most confoundedly. To return

to the Dogs of the Temple: After they had lived here in great Repute for

several Years, it so happened, that as one of the Priests, who had been

making a charitable Visit to a Widow who lived on the Promontory of

_Lilybeum_, return'd home pretty late in the Evening, the Dogs flew at

him with so much Fury, that they would have worried him if his Brethren

had not come in to his Assistance: Upon which, says my Author, the Dogs

were all of them hanged, as having lost their original Instinct.

I cannot conclude this Paper without wishing, that we had some of this

Breed of Dogs in _Great Britain_, which would certainly do _Justice_, I

should say _Honour_, to the Ladies of our Country, and shew the World

the difference between Pagan Women and those who are instructed in

sounder Principles of Virtue and Religion.

* * * * *

No. 580. Friday, August 13, 1714. Addison.

'--Si verbo audacia detur,

Non metuam magni dixisse palatia Coeli.'

Ovid. Met.

_SIR_,

'I considered in my two last Letters [1] that awful and tremendous

Subject, the Ubiquity or Omnipresence of the Divine Being. I have

shewn that he is equally present in all Places throughout the whole

Extent of infinite Space.

'This Doctrine is so agreeable to Reason, that we meet with it in the

Writings of the enlightened Heathens, as I might show at large, were

it not already done by other Hands. But tho' the Deity be thus

essentially present through all the Immensity of Space, there is one

Part of it in which he discovers himself in a most transcendent and

visible Glory. This is that Place which is marked out in Scripture

under the different Appellations of _Paradise, the third Heaven, the

Throne of God_, and _the Habitation of his Glory_. It is here where

the glorified Body of our Saviour resides, and where all the celestial

Hierarchies, and the innumerable Hosts of Angels, are represented as

perpetually surrounding the Seat of God with _Hallelujahs_ and Hymns

of Praise. This is that Presence of God which some of the Divines call

his Glorious, and others his Majestatick Presence. He is indeed as

essentially present in all other Places as in this, but it is here

where he resides in a sensible Magnificence, and in the midst of those

Splendors which can affect the Imagination of created Beings.

'It is very remarkable that this Opinion of God Almighty's Presence in

Heaven, whether discovered by the Light of Nature, or by a general

Tradition from our first Parents, prevails among all the Nations of

the World, whatsoever different Notions they entertain of the Godhead.

If you look into _Homer_, that is, the most ancient of the _Greek_

Writers, you see the supreme Powers seated in the Heavens, and

encompassed with inferior Deities, among whom the Muses are

represented as singing incessantly about his Throne. Who does not here

see the main Strokes and Outlines of this great Truth we are speaking

of? The same Doctrine is shadowed out in many other Heathen Authors,

tho' at the same time, like several other revealed Truths, dashed and

adulterated with a mixture of Fables and human Inventions. But to pass

over the Notions of the _Greeks_ and _Romans_, those more enlightened

Parts of the Pagan World, we find there is scarce a People among the

late discovered Nations who are not trained up in an Opinion, that

Heaven is the Habitation of the Divinity whom they worship.

As in _Solomon's_ Temple there was the _Sanctum Sanctorum_, in which a

visible Glory appeared among the Figures of the Cherubims, and into

which none but the High Priest himself was permitted to enter, after

having made an Atonement for the Sins of the People; so if we consider

the whole Creation as one great Temple, there is in it this Holy of

Holies, into which the High-Priest of our Salvation entered, and took

his Place among Angels and Archangels, after having made a Propitiation

for the Sins of Mankind.

'With how much Skill must the Throne of God be erected? With what

glorious Designs is that Habitation beautified, which is contrived and

built by him who inspired _Hyram_ with Wisdom? How great must be the

Majesty of that Place, where the whole Art of Creation has been

employed, and where God has chosen to show himself in the most

magnificent manner? What must be the Architecture of Infinite Power

under the Direction of Infinite Wisdom? A Spirit cannot but be

transported, after an ineffable manner, with the sight of those Objects,

which were made to affect him by that Being who knows the inward Frame

of a Soul, and how to please and ravish it in all its most secret Powers

and Faculties. It is to this Majestic Presence of God, we may apply

those beautiful Expressions in holy Writ: _Behold even to the Moon, and

it shineth not; yea the Stars are not pure in his sight._ The Light of

the Sun, and all the Glories of the World in which we live, are but as

weak and sickly Glimmerings, or rather Darkness itself, in Comparison of

those Splendors which encompass the Throne of God.

'As the _Glory_ of this Place is transcendent beyond Imagination, so

probably is the _Extent_ of it. There is Light behind Light, and Glory

within Glory. How far that Space may reach, in which God thus appears in

perfect Majesty, we cannot possibly conceive. Tho' it is not infinite,

it may be indefinite; and though not immeasurable in its self, it may be

so with regard to any created Eye or Imagination. If he has made these

lower Regions of Matter so inconceivably wide and magnificent for the

Habitation of mortal and perishable Beings, how great may we suppose the

Courts of his House to be, where he makes his Residence in a more

especial manner, and displays himself in the Fulness of his Glory, among

an innumerable Company of Angels, and Spirits of just Men made perfect?

'This is certain, that our Imaginations cannot be raised too high, when

we think on a Place where Omnipotence and Omniscience have so signally

exerted themselves, because that they are able to produce a Scene

infinitely more great and glorious than what we are able to imagine. It

is not impossible but at the Consummation of all Things, these outward

Apartments of Nature, which are now suited to those Beings who inhabit

them, may be taken in and added to that glorious Place of which I am

here speaking; and by that means made a proper Habitation for Beings who

are exempt from Mortality, and cleared of their Imperfections: For so

the Scripture seems to intimate when it speaks of new Heavens and of a

new Earth, wherein dwelleth Righteousness.

'I have only considered this Glorious Place, with Regard to the Sight

and Imagination, though it is highly probable that our other Senses may

here likewise enjoy their highest Gratifications. There is nothing which

more ravishes and transports the Soul, than Harmony; and we have great

Reason to believe, from the Descriptions of this Place in Holy

Scripture, that this is one of the Entertainments of it. And if the Soul

of Man can be so wonderfully affected with those Strains of Musick,

which Human Art is capable of producing, how much more will it be raised

and elevated by those, in which is exerted the whole Power of Harmony!

The Senses are Faculties of the Human Soul, though they cannot be

employed, during this our vital Union, without proper Instruments in the

Body. Why therefore should we exclude the Satisfaction of these

Faculties, which we find by Experience are Inlets of great Pleasure to

the Soul, from among those Entertainments which are to make up our

Happiness hereafter? Why should we suppose that our Hearing and Seeing

will not be gratify'd with those Objects which are most agreeable to

them, and which they cannot meet with in these lower Regions of Nature;

Objects, _which neither Eye hath seen, nor Ear heard, nor can it enter

into the Heart of Man to conceive? I knew a Man in Christ_ (says St

Paul, speaking of himself) _above fourteen Years ago (whether in the

Body, I cannot tell, or whether out of the Body, I cannot tell: God

knoweth) such a one caught up to the third Heaven. And I knew such a

Man, (whether in the Body, or out of the Body, I cannot tell: God

knoweth,) how that he was caught up into Paradise, and heard unspeakable

Words, which it is not possible for a Man to utter._ By this is meant,

that what he heard was so infinitely different from any thing which he

had heard in this World, that it was impossible to express it in such

Words as might convey a Notion of it to his Hearers.

'It is very natural for us to take Delight in Enquiries concerning any

Foreign Country, where we are some Time or other to make our Abode; and

as we all hope to be admitted into this Glorious Place, it is both a

laudable and useful Curiosity, to get what Informations we can of it,

whilst we make Use of Revelation for our Guide. When these everlasting

Doors shall be open to us, we may be sure that the Pleasures and

Beauties of this Place will infinitely transcend our present Hopes and

Expectations, and that the glorious Appearance of the Throne of God,

will rise infinitely beyond whatever we are able to conceive of it. We

might here entertain our selves with many other Speculations on this

Subject, from those several Hints which we find of it in the Holy

Scriptures; as whether there may not be different Mansions and

Apartments of Glory, to Beings of different Natures; whether as they

excel one another in Perfection, they are not admitted nearer to the

Throne of the Almighty, and enjoy greater Manifestations of his

Presence; whether there are not solemn Times and Occasions, when all the

Multitude of Heaven celebrate the Presence of their Maker in more

extraordinary Forms of Praise and Adoration; as _Adam_, though he had

continued in a State of Innocence, would, in the Opinion of our Divines,

have kept Holy the Sabbath-Day, in a more particular Manner than any

other of the Seven. These, and the like Speculations, we may very

innocently indulge, so long as we make use of them to inspire us with a

Desire of becoming Inhabitants of this delightful Place.

'I have in this, and in two foregoing Letters, treated on the most

serious Subject that can employ the Mind of Man, the Omnipresence of the

Deity; a Subject which, if possible, should never depart from our

Meditations. We have considered the Divine Being, as he inhabits

Infinitude, as he dwells among his Work, as he is present to the Mind of

Man, and as he discovers himself in a more glorious Manner among the

Regions of the Blest. Such a Consideration should be kept awake in us at

all Times, and in all Places, and possess our Minds with a perpetual Awe

and Reverence. It should be interwoven with all our Thoughts and

Perceptions, and become one with the Consciousness of our own Being. It

is not to be reflected on in the Coldness of Philosophy, but ought to

sink us into the lowest Prostration before him, who is so astonishingly

Great, Wonderful, and Holy.'

[Footnote 1: See Nos. 565, 571, 590, and 628.]

* * * * *

No. 581. Monday, August 16, 1714. Addison.

'Sunt bona, sunt quædam mediocria, sunt mala plura

Quæ legis.'

Mart.

I am at present sitting with a Heap of Letters before me, which I have

received under the Character of SPECTATOR; I have Complaints from

Lovers, Schemes from Projectors, Scandal from Ladies, Congratulations,

Compliments, and Advice in abundance.

I have not been thus long an Author, to be insensible of the natural

Fondness every Person must have for their own Productions; and I begin

to think I have treated my Correspondents a little too uncivilly in

Stringing them all together on a File, and letting them lye so long

unregarded. I shall therefore, for the future, think my self at least

obliged to take some Notice of such Letters as I receive, and may

possibly do it at the end of every Month.

In the mean time, I intend my present Paper as a short Answer to most of

those which have been already sent me.

The Publick however is not to expect I should let them into all my

Secrets; and though I appear abstruse to most People, it is sufficient

if I am understood by my particular Correspondents.

My Well-wisher _Van Nath_ is very arch, but not quite enough so to

appear in Print.

_Philadelphus_ will, in a little time, see his Query fully answered by a

Treatise which is now in the Press.

It was very improper at that time to comply with Mr. _G_.

Miss _Kitty_ must excuse me.

The Gentleman who sent me a Copy of Verses on his Mistress's Dancing, is

I believe too thoroughly in Love to compose correctly.

I have too great a Respect for both the Universities to praise one at

the Expence of the other.

_Tom Nimble_ is a very honest Fellow, and I desire him to present my

humble Service to his Cousin _Fill Bumper_.

I am obliged for the Letter upon Prejudice.

I may in due time animadvert on the Case of _Grace Grumble_.

The Petition of _P. S. granted_.

That of _Sarah Loveit, refused_.

The Papers of _A. S._ are returned.

I thank _Aristippus_ for his kind Invitation.

My Friend at _Woodstock_ is a bold Man, to undertake for all within Ten

Miles of him.

I am afraid the Entertainment of _Tom Turnover_ will hardly be relished

by the good Cities of _London_ and _Westminster_.

I must consider further of it, before I indulge _W. F._ in those

Freedoms he takes with the Ladies Stockings.

I am obliged to the ingenious Gentleman, who sent me an Ode on the

Subject of a late SPECTATOR, and shall take particular Notice of his

last Letter.

When the Lady who wrote me a Letter, dated _July_ the 20th, in relation

to some Passages in a _Lover_, will be more particular in her

Directions, I shall be so in my Answer.

The poor Gentleman, who fancies my Writings could reclaim an Husband who

can abuse such a Wife as he describes, has I am afraid too great an

Opinion of my Skill.

_Philanthropos_ is, I dare say, a very well-meaning Man, but a little

too prolix in his Compositions.

_Constantius_ himself must be the best Judge in the Affair he mentions.

The Letter dated from _Lincoln_ is received.

_Arethusa_ and her Friend may hear further from me.

_Celia_ is a little too hasty.

_Harriot_ is a good Girl, but must not Curtsie to Folks she does not

know.

I must ingeniously confess my Friend _Sampson Bentstaff_ has quite

puzzled me, and writ me a long Letter which I cannot comprehend one Word

of.

_Collidan_ must also explain what he means by his _Drigelling_.

I think it beneath my _Spectatorial_ Dignity, to concern my self in the

Affair of the boiled Dumpling.

I shall consult some _Litterati_ on the Project sent me for the

Discovery of the Longitude.

I know not how to conclude this Paper better, than by inserting a Couple

of Letters which are really genuine, and which I look upon to be two of

the smartest Pieces I have received from my Correspondents of either Sex.

_Brother_ SPEC.

'While you are surveying every Object that falls in your way, I am

wholly taken up with one. Had that Sage, who demanded what Beauty was,

lived to see the dear Angel I love, he would not have asked such a

Question. Had another seen her, he would himself have loved the Person

in whom Heaven has made Virtue visible; and were you your self to be

in her ompany, you could never, with all your Loquacity, say enough of

her good Humour and Sense. I send you the Outlines of a Picture, which

I can no more finish than I can sufficiently admire the dear Original.

I am

_Your most Affectionate Brother,_

Constantio Spec.

_Good Mr._ Pert,

'I will allow you nothing till you resolve me the following Question.

Pray what's the Reason that while you only talk now upon _Wednesdays_,

_Fridays_, and _Mondays_, you pretend to be a greater Tatler, than

when you spoke every Day as you formerly used to do? If this be your

plunging out of your Taciturnity, pray let the Length of your Speeches

compensate for the Scarceness of them.

_I am_,

_Good Mr_. Pert,

_Your Admirer, if you will be long enough for Me_,

Amanda Lovelength.

* * * * *

No. 582. Wednesday, August 18, 1714.

'--Tenet insanabile multos

Scribendi Cacoethes--'

Juv.

There is a certain Distemper, which is mentioned neither by _Galen_ nor

_Hippocrates_, nor to be met with in the _London Dispensary_. _Juvenal_,

in the Motto of my Paper, terms it a _Cacoethes_; which is a hard Word

for a Disease called in plain _English_, the _Itch of Writing_. This

_Cacoethes_ is as Epidemical as the Small-Pox, there being very few who

are not seized with it some time or other in their Lives. There is,

however, this Difference in these two Distempers, that the first, after

having indisposed you for a time, never returns again; whereas this I am

speaking of, when it is once got into the Blood, seldom comes out of it.

The _British_ Nation is very much afflicted with this Malady, and tho'

very many Remedies have been applied to Persons infected with it, few of

them have ever proved successful. Some have been cauterized with Satyrs

and Lampoons, but have received little or no Benefit from them; others

have had their Heads fastned for an Hour together between a Cleft Board,

which is made use of as a Cure for the Disease when it appears in its

greatest Malignity. [1] There is indeed one kind of this Malady which

has been sometimes removed, like the Biting of a _Tarantula_, with the

sound of a musical Instrument, which is commonly known by the Name of a

Cat-Call. But if you have a Patient of this kind under your Care, you

may assure your self there is no other way of recovering him

effectually, but by forbidding him the use of Pen, Ink and Paper.

But to drop the Allegory before I have tired it out, there is no Species

of Scriblers more offensive, and more incurable, than your Periodical

Writers, whose Works return upon the Publick on certain Days and at

stated Times. We have not the Consolation in the Perusal of these

Authors, which we find at the reading of all others, (namely) that we

are sure if we have but Patience, we may come to the End of their

Labours. I have often admired a humorous Saying of _Diogenes_, who

reading a dull Author to several of his Friends, when every one began to

be tired, finding he was almost come to a blank leaf at the End of it,

cried, _Courage, Lads, I see Land_. On the contrary, our Progress

through that kind of Writers I am now speaking of is never at an End.

One Day makes Work for another, we do not know when to promise our

selves Rest.

It is a melancholy thing to consider, that the Art of Printing, which

might be the greatest Blessing to Mankind, should prove detrimental to

us, and that it should be made use of to scatter Prejudice and Ignorance

through a People, instead of conveying to them Truth and Knowledge.

I was lately reading a very whimsical Treatise, entitled, _William

Ramsey's_ Vindication of Astrology. This profound Author, among many

mystical Passages, has the following one:

'The Absence of the Sun is not the Cause of Night, forasmuch as his

Light is so great that it may illuminate the Earth all over at once as

clear as broad Day, but there are tenebrificous and dark Stars, by

whose Influence Night is brought on, and which do ray out Darkness and

Obscurity upon the Earth, as the Sun does Light.'

I consider Writers in the same View this sage Astrologer does the

Heavenly Bodies. Some of them are Stars that scatter Light as others do

Darkness. I could mention several Authors who are tenebrificous Stars of

the first Magnitude, and point out a Knot of Gentlemen, who have been

dull in Consort, and may be looked upon as a dark Constellation. The

Nation has been a great while benighted with several of these

Antiluminaries. I suffered them to ray out their Darkness as long as I

was able to endure it, till at length I came to a Resolution of rising

upon them, and hope in a little time to drive them quite out of the

_British_ Hemisphere.

[Footnote 1: Put in the Pillory.]

* * * * *

No. 583. Friday, August 20, 1714. Addison.

'Ipse thymum pinosque ferens de montibus altis,

Tecta serat latè circum, cui talia Curæ:

Ipse labore manum duro terat, ipse feraces

Figat humo plantas, et amicos irriget Imbres.'

Virg.

Every Station of Life has Duties which are proper to it. Those who are

determined by Choice to any particular kind of Business, are indeed more

happy than those who are determined by Necessity, but both are under an

equal Obligation of fixing on Employments, which may be either useful to

themselves or beneficial to others. No one of the Sons of _Adam_ ought

to think himself exempt from that Labour and Industry which were

denounced to our first Parent, and in him to all his Posterity. Those to

whom Birth or Fortune may seem to make such an Application unnecessary,

ought to find out some Calling or Profession for themselves, that they

may not lie as a Burden on the Species, and be the only useless Parts of

the Creation.

Many of our Country Gentlemen in their busie Hours apply themselves

wholly to the Chase, or to some other Diversion which they find in the

Fields and Woods. This gave occasion to one of our most eminent

_English_ Writers to represent every one of them as lying under a kind

of Curse pronounced to them in the Words of _Goliah, I will give thee to

the Fowls of the Air, and to the Beasts of the Field_.

Tho' Exercises of this kind, when indulged with Moderation, may have a

good Influence both on the Mind and Body, the Country affords many other

Amusements of a more noble kind.

Among these I know none more delightful in itself, and beneficial to the

Publick, than that of _PLANTING_. I could mention a Nobleman whose

Fortune has placed him in several Parts of _England_, and who has always

left these visible Marks behind him, which show he has been there: He

never hired a House in his Life, without leaving all about it the Seeds

of Wealth, and bestowing Legacies on the Posterity of the Owner. Had all

the Gentlemen of _England_ made the same Improvements upon their

Estates, our whole Country would have been at this time as one great

Garden. Nor ought such an Employment to be looked upon as too inglorious

for Men of the highest Rank. There have been Heroes in this Art, as well

as in others. We are told in particular of _Cyrus_ the Great, that he

planted all the Lesser _Asia_. There is indeed something truly

magnificent in this kind of Amusement: It gives a nobler Air to several

Parts of Nature; it fills the Earth with a Variety of beautiful Scenes,

and has something in it like Creation. For this Reason the Pleasure of

one who Plants is something like that of a Poet, who, as _Aristotle_

observes, is more delighted with his Productions than any other Writer

or Artist whatsoever.

Plantations have one Advantage in them which is not to be found in most

other Works, as they give a Pleasure of a more lasting Date, and

continually improve in the Eye of the Planter, When you have finished a

Building or any other Undertaking of the like Nature, it immediately

decays upon your Hands; you see it brought to its utmost Point of

Perfection, and from that time hastening to its Ruin. On the contrary,

when you have finished your Plantations, they are still arriving at

greater Degrees of Perfection as long as you live, and appear more

delightful in every succeeding Year than they did in the foregoing.

But I do not only recommend this Art to Men of Estates as a pleasing

Amusement, but as it is a kind of Virtuous Employment, and may therefore

be inculcated by moral Motives; particularly from the Love which we

ought to have for our Country, and the Regard which we ought to bear to

our Posterity. As for the first, I need only mention what is frequently

observed by others, that the Increase of Forest-Trees does by no Means

bear a Proportion to the Destruction of them, insomuch that in a few

Ages the Nation may be at a Loss to supply it self with Timber

sufficient for the Fleets of _England_. I know when a Man talks of

Posterity in Matters of this Nature, he is looked upon with an Eye of

Ridicule by the cunning and selfish part of Mankind. Most People are of

the Humour of an old Fellow of a College, who, when he was pressed by

the Society to come into something that might redound to the good of

their Successors, grew very peevish, _We are always doing_, says he,

_something for Posterity, but I would fain see Posterity do something

for us_.

But I think Men are inexcusable, who fail in a Duty of this Nature,

since it is so easily discharged. When a Man considers that the putting

a few Twigs into the Ground, is doing good to one who will make his

appearance in the World about Fifty Years hence, or that he is perhaps

making one of his own Descendants easy or rich, by so inconsiderable an

Expence, if he finds himself averse to it, he must conclude that he has

a poor and base Heart, void of all generous Principles and Love to

Mankind.

There is one Consideration, which may very much enforce what I have here

said. Many honest Minds that are naturally disposed to do good in the

World, and become Beneficial to Mankind, complain within themselves that

they have not Talents for it. This therefore is a good Office, which is

suited to the meanest Capacities, and which may be performed by

Multitudes, who have not Abilities sufficient to deserve well of their

Country and to recommend themselves to their Posterity, by any other

Method. It is the Phrase of a Friend of mine, when any useful Country

Neighbour dies, that _you may trace him:_ which I look upon as a good

Funeral Oration, at the Death of an honest Husbandman, who hath left the

Impressions of his Industry behind him, in the Place where he has lived.

Upon the foregoing Considerations, I can scarce forbear representing the

Subject of this Paper as a kind of Moral Virtue: Which, as I have

already shown, recommends it self likewise by the Pleasure that attends

it. It must be confessed, that this is none of those turbulent Pleasures

which is apt to gratifie a Man in the Heats of Youth; but if it be not

so Tumultuous, it is more lasting. Nothing can be more delightful than

to entertain ourselves with Prospects of our own making, and to walk

under those Shades which our own Industry has raised. Amusements of this

Nature compose the Mind, and lay at Rest all those Passions which are

uneasie to the Soul of Man, besides that they naturally engender good

Thoughts, and dispose us to laudable Contemplations. Many of the old

Philosophers passed away the greatest Parts of their Lives among their

Gardens. _Epicurus_ himself could not think sensual Pleasure attainable

in any other Scene. Every Reader who is acquainted with _Homer_,

_Virgil_ and _Horace_, the greatest Genius's of all Antiquity, knows

very well with how much Rapture they have spoken on this Subject; and

that _Virgil_ in particular has written a whole Book on the Art of

Planting.

This Art seems to have been more especially adapted to the Nature of Man

in his Primaeval State, when he had Life enough to see his Productions

flourish in their utmost Beauty, and gradually decay with him. One who

lived before the Flood might have seen a Wood of the tallest Oakes in

the Accorn. But I only mention this Particular, in order to introduce in

my next Paper, a History which I have found among the Accounts of

_China_, and which may be looked upon as an Antediluvian Novel.

* * * * *

No. 584. Monday, August 23, 1714. Addison.

'Hec gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata, Lycori,

Hic Nemus, hic toto tecum consumerer ævo.'

Virg.

Hilpa was one of the 150 Daughters of _Zilpah_, of the Race of _Cohu_,

by whom some of the Learned think is meant _Cain_. She was exceedingly

beautiful, and when she was but a Girl of threescore and ten Years of

Age, received the Addresses of several who made Love to her. Among these

were two Brothers, _Harpath_ and _Shalum_; _Harpath_, being the

First-born, was Master of that fruitful Region which lies at the Foot of

Mount _Tirzah_, in the Southern Parts of _China_. _Shalum_ (which is to

say the Planter in the _Chinese_ Language) possessed all the

neighbouring Hills, and that great Range of Mountains which goes under

the Name of _Tirzah_. _Harpath_ was of a haughty contemptuous Spirit;

_Shalum_ was of a gentle Disposition, beloved both by God and Man.

It is said that, among the Antediluvian Women, the Daughters of _Cohu_

had their Minds wholly set upon Riches; for which Reason the beautiful

_Hilpa_ preferr'd _Harpath_ to _Shalum_, because of his numerous Flocks

and Herds, that covered all the low Country which runs along the Foot of

Mount _Tirzah_, and is watered by several Fountains and Streams breaking

out of the Sides of that Mountain.

_Harpath_ made so quick a Dispatch of his Courtship, that he married

_Hilpa_ in the hundredth Year of her Age; and being of an insolent

Temper, laughed to Scorn his Brother _Shalum_ for having pretended to

the beautiful _Hilpa_, when he was Master of nothing but a long Chain of

Rocks and Mountains. This so much provoked _Shalum_, that he is said to

have cursed his Brother in the Bitterness of his Heart, and to have

prayed that one of his Mountains might fall upon his Head if ever he

came within the Shadow of it.

From this Time forward _Harpath_ would never venture out of the Vallies,

but came to an untimely End in the 250th Year of his Age, being drowned

in a River as he attempted to cross it This River is called to this Day,

from his Name who perished in it, the River _Harpath_, and, what is very

remarkable, issues out of one of those Mountains which _Shalum_ wished

might fall upon his Brother, when he cursed him in the Bitterness of his

Heart.

_Hilpa_ was in the 160th Year of her Age at the Death of her Husband,

having brought him but 50 Children, before he was snatched away, as has

been already related. Many of the Antediluvians made Love to the young

Widow, tho' no one was thought so likely to succeed in her Affections as

her first Lover _Shalum_, who renewed his Court to her about ten Years

after the Death of _Harpath_; for it was not thought decent in those

Days that a Widow should be seen by a Man within ten Years after the

Decease of her Husband.

_Shalum_ falling into a deep Melancholy, and resolving to take away that

Objection which had been raised against him when he made his first

Addresses to _Hilpa_, began immediately, after her Marriage with

_Harpath_, to plant all that mountainous Region which fell to his Lot in

the Division of this Country. He knew how to adapt every Plant to its

proper Soil, and is thought to have inherited many traditional Secrets

of that Art from the first Man. This Employment turn'd at length to his

Profit as well as to his Amusement: His Mountains were in a few Years

shaded with young Trees, that gradually shot up into Groves, Woods, and

Forests, intermixed with Walks, and Launs, and Gardens; insomuch that

the whole Region, from a naked and desolate Prospect, began now to look

like a second Paradise. The Pleasantness of the Place, and the agreeable

Disposition of _Shalum_, who was reckoned one of the mildest and wisest

of all who lived before the Flood, drew into it Multitudes of People,

who were perpetually employed in the sinking of Wells, the digging of

Trenches, and the hollowing of Trees, for the better Distribution of

Water through every Part of this spacious Plantation.

The Habitations of _Shalum_ looked every Year more beautiful in the Eyes

of _Hilpa_, who, after the Space of 70 Autumns, was wonderfully pleased

with the distant Prospect of _Shalum_'s Hills, which were then covered

with innumerable Tufts of Trees and gloomy Scenes that gave a

Magnificence to the Place, and converted it into one of the finest

Landskips the Eye of Man could behold.

The _Chinese_ record a Letter which _Shalum_ is said to have written to

_Hilpa_, in the Eleventh Year of her Widowhood. I shall here translate

it, without departing from that noble Simplicity of Sentiments, and

Plainness of Manners which appears in the Original.

_Shalum_ was at this Time 180 Years old, and _Hilpa_ 170.

Shalum, _Master of Mount_ Tirzah, _to_ Hilpa, _Mistress of the

Vallies_.

_In the 788th Year of the Creation._

'What have I not suffered, O thou Daughter of _Zilpah_, since thou

gavest thy self away in Marriage to my Rival? I grew weary of the

Light of the Sun, and have been ever since covering my self with Woods

and Forests. These threescore and ten Years have I bewailed the Loss

of thee on the Tops of Mount _Tirzah_, and soothed my Melancholy among

a thousand gloomy Shades of my own raising. My Dwellings are at

present as the Garden of God; every Part of them is filled with

Fruits, and Flowers, and Fountains. The whole Mountain is perfumed for

thy Reception. Come up into it, O my Beloved, and let us People this

Spot of the new World with a beautiful Race of Mortals; let us

multiply exceedingly among these delightful Shades, and fill every

Quarter of them with Sons and Daughters. Remember, O thou Daughter of

_Zilpah,_ that the Age of Man is but a thousand Years; that Beauty is

the Admiration but of a few Centuries. It flourishes as a Mountain

Oak, or as a Cedar on the Top of _Tirzah_, which in three or four

hundred Years will fade away, and never be thought of by Posterity,

unless a young Wood springs from its Roots. Think well on this, and

remember thy Neighbour in the Mountains.

Having here inserted this Letter, which I look upon as the only

Antediluvian _Billet-doux_ now extant, I shall in my next Paper give the

Answer to it, and the Sequel of this Story.

* * * * *

No. 585. Wednesday, August 25, 1714. Addison.

'Ipsi lætitia voces ad sidera jactant

Intonsi montes: ipsæ jam carmina rupes,

Ipsæ sonant arbusta--'

Virg.

_The Sequel of the Story of_ Shalum _and_ Hilpa.

The Letter inserted in my last had so good an Effect upon _Hilpa,_ that

she answered it in less than a Twelvemonth, after the following Manner.

Hilpa, _Mistress of the Vallies, to_ Shalum, _Master of Mount_ Tirzah.

_In the 789th Year of the Creation._

'What have I to do with thee, O _Shalum?_ Thou praisest _Hilpa_'s

Beauty, but art thou not secretly enamoured with the Verdure of her

Meadows? Art thou not more affected with the Prospect of her green

Vallies, than thou wouldest be with the Sight of her Person? The

Lowings of my Herds, and the Bleatings of my Flocks, make a pleasant

Eccho in thy Mountains, and sound sweetly in thy Ears. What tho' I am

delighted with the Wavings of thy Forests, and those Breezes of

Perfumes which flow from the Top of _Tirzah:_ Are these like the

Riches of the Valley?

'I know thee, O _Shalum;_ thou art more wise and happy than any of the

Sons of Men. Thy Dwellings are among the Cedars; thou searchest out

the Diversity of Soils, thou understandest the Influences of the

Stars, and markest the Change of Seasons. Can a Woman appear lovely in

the Eyes of such a one? Disquiet me not, O _Shalum;_ let me alone,

that I may enjoy those goodly Possessions which are fallen to my Lot.

Win me not by thy enticing Words. May thy Trees increase and multiply;

mayest thou add Wood to Wood, and Shade to Shade; but tempt not

_Hilpa_ to destroy thy Solitude, and make thy Retirement populous.

The _Chinese_ say, that a little time afterwards she accepted of a Treat

in one of the neighbouring Hills to which _Shalum_ had invited her. This

Treat lasted for two Years, and is said to have cost _Shalum_ five

hundred Antelopes, two thousand Ostriches, and a thousand Tun of Milk;

but what most of all recommended it, was that Variety of delicious

Fruits and Pot-herbs, in which no Person then living could any way equal

_Shalum_.

He treated her in the Bower which he had planted amidst the Wood of

Nightingales. This Wood was made up of such Fruit-Trees and Plants as

are most agreeable to the several Kinds of Singing Birds; so that it had

drawn into it all the Musick of the Country, and was filled from one End

of the Year to the other with the most agreeable Consort in Season.

He shewed her every Day some beautiful and surprising Scene in this new

Region of Woodlands; and as by this Means he had all the Opportunities

he could wish for of opening his Mind to her, he succeeded so well, that

upon her Departure she made him a kind of Promise, and gave him her Word

to return him a positive Answer in less than fifty Years.

She had not been long among her own People in the Vallies, when she

received new Overtures, and at the same Time a most splendid Visit from

_Mishpach_, who was a mighty Man of old, and had built a great City,

which he called after his own Name. Every House was made for at least a

thousand Years, nay there were some that were leased out for three

Lives; so that the Quantity of Stone and Timber consumed in this

Building is scarce to be imagined by those who live in the present Age

of the World. This great Man entertained her with the Voice of musical

Instruments which had been lately invented, and danced before her to the

Sound of the Timbrel. He also presented her with several domestick

Utensils wrought in Brass and Iron, which had been newly found out for

the Conveniency of Life. In the mean time _Shalum_ grew very uneasie

with himself, and was sorely displeased at _Hilpa_ for the Reception

which she had given to _Mishpach_, insomuch that he never wrote to her

or spoke of her during a whole Revolution of _Saturn_; but finding that

this Intercourse went no further than a Visit, he again renewed his

Addresses to her, who during his long Silence is said very often to have

cast a wishing Eye upon Mount _Tirzah_.

Her Mind continued wavering about twenty Years longer between _Shalum_

and _Mishpach_; for tho' her Inclinations favoured the former, her

Interest pleaded very powerfully for the other. While her Heart was in

this unsettled Condition, the following Accident happened which

determined her Choice. A high Tower of Wood that stood in the City of

_Mishpach_ having caught Fire by a Flash of Lightning, in a few Days

reduced the whole Town to Ashes. _Mishpach_ resolved to rebuild the

Place whatever it should cost him; and having already destroyed all the

Timber of the Country, he was forced to have Recourse to _Shalum_, whose

Forests were now two hundred Years old. He purchased these Woods with so

many Herds of Cattle and Flocks of Sheep, and with such a vast Extent of

Fields and Pastures, that _Shalum_ was now grown more wealthy than

_Mishpach_; and therefore appeared so charming in the Eyes of _Zilpah's_

Daughter, that she no longer refused him in Marriage. On the Day in

which he brought her up into the Mountains he raised a most prodigious

Pile of Cedar and of every sweet smelling Wood, which reached above 300

Cubits in Height; He also cast into the Pile Bundles of Myrrh and

Sheaves of Spikenard, enriching it with every spicy Shrub, and making it

fat with the Gums of his Plantations. This was the Burnt-Offering which

_Shalum_ offered in the Day of his Espousals: The Smoke of it ascended

up to Heaven, and filled the whole Country with Incense and Perfume.

* * * * *

No. 586. Friday, August 27, 1714. John Byrom [1]

'--Quæ in vita usurpant homines, cogitant, curant, vident, Quæque

agunt vigilantes, agitantque, ea cuique in somno accidunt.'

Cic. de Div.

By the last Post I received the following Letter, which is built upon a

Thought that is new, and very well carried on; for which Reasons I shall

give it to the Publick without Alteration, Addition, or Amendment.

_SIR_,

'It was a good Piece of Advice which _Pythagoras_ gave to his

Scholars, That every Night before they slept they should examine what

they had been a doing that Day, and so discover what Actions were

worthy of Pursuit to-morrow, and what little Vices were to be

prevented from slipping unawares into a Habit. If I might second the

Philosopher's Advice, it should be mine, That in a Morning before my

Scholar rose, he should consider what he had been about that Night,

and with the same Strictness, as if the Condition he has believed

himself to be in, was real. Such a Scrutiny into the Actions of his

Fancy must be of considerable Advantage, for this Reason, because the

Circumstances which a Man imagines himself in during Sleep, are

generally such as entirely favour his Inclinations good or bad, and

give him imaginary Opportunities of pursuing them to the utmost; so

that his Temper will lye fairly open to his View, while he considers

how it is moved when free from those Constraints which the Accidents

of real Life put it under. Dreams are certainly the Result of our

waking Thoughts, and our daily Hopes and Fears are what give the Mind

such nimble Relishes of Pleasure, and such severe Touches of Pain, in

its Midnight Rambles. A Man that murders his Enemy, or deserts his

Friend in a Dream, had need to guard his Temper against Revenge and

Ingratitude, and take heed that he be not tempted to do a vile thing

in the Pursuit of false, or the Neglect of true Honour. For my Part, I

seldom receive a Benefit, but in a Night or two's Time I make most

noble Returns for it; which tho' my Benefactor is not a whit the

better for, yet it pleases me to think that it was from a Principle of

Gratitude in me, that my Mind was susceptible of such generous

Transport while I thought my self repaying the Kindness of my Friend:

And I have often been ready to beg Pardon, instead of returning an

Injury, after considering, that when the Offender was in my Power I

had carried my Resentments much too far.

'I think it has been observed in the Course of your Papers, how much

one's Happiness or Misery may depend upon the Imagination: Of which

Truth those strange Workings of Fancy in Sleep are no inconsiderable

Instances; so that not only the Advantage a Man has of making

Discoveries of himself, but a Regard to his own Ease or Disquiet, may

induce him to accept of my Advice. Such as are willing to comply with

it, I shall put into a way of doing it with pleasure, by observing

only one Maxim which I shall give them, _viz. To go to Bed with a Mind

entirely free from Passion, and a Body clear of the least

Intemperance_.

'They indeed who can sink into Sleep with their Thoughts less calm or

innocent than they should be, do but plunge themselves into Scenes of

Guilt and Misery; or they who are willing to purchase any Midnight

Disquietudes for the Satisfaction of a full Meal, or a Skin full of

Wine; these I have nothing to say to, as not knowing how to invite

them to Reflections full of Shame and Horror: But those that will

observe this Rule, I promise them they shall awake into Health and

Cheerfulness, and be capable of recounting with Delight those glorious

Moments wherein the Mind has been indulging it self in such Luxury of

Thought, such noble Hurry of Imagination. Suppose a Man's going

supperless to Bed should introduce him to the Table of some great

Prince or other, where he shall be entertained with the noblest Marks

of Honour and Plenty, and do so much Business after, that he shall

rise with as good a Stomach to his Breakfast as if he had fasted all

Night long; or suppose he should see his dearest Friends remain all

Night in great Distresses, which he could instantly have disengaged

them from, could he have been content to have gone to Bed without

t'other Bottle: Believe me, these Effects of Fancy are no contemptible

Consequences of commanding or indulging one's Appetite.

'I forbear recommending my Advice upon many other Accounts, till I

hear how you and your Readers relish what I have already said, among

whom if there be any that may pretend it is useless to them, because

they never dream at all, there may be others, perhaps, who do little

else all Day long. Were every one as sensible as I am what happens to

him in his Sleep, it would be no Dispute whether we past so

considerable a Portion of our Time in the Condition of Stocks and

Stones, or whether the Soul were not perpetually at Work upon the

Principle of Thought. However, 'tis an honest Endeavour of mine to

perswade my Countrymen to reap some Advantage from so many unregarded

Hours, and as such you will encourage it.

'I shall conclude with giving you a Sketch or two of my Way of

proceeding.

'If I have any Business of consequence to do to-morrow, I am scarce

dropt asleep to-night but I am in the midst of it, and when awake I

consider the whole Procession of the Affair, and get the Advantage of

the next Day's Experience before the Sun has risen upon it.

'There is scarce a great Post but what I have some Time or other been

in; but my Behaviour while I was Master of a College, pleases me so

well, that whenever there is a Province of that Nature vacant, I

intend to step in as soon as I can.

'I have done many Things that would not pass Examination, when I have

had the Art of Flying, or being invisible; for which Reason I am glad

I am not possessed of those extra-ordinary Qualities.

'Lastly, Mr. SPECTATOR, I have been a great Correspondent of yours,

and have read many of my Letters in your Paper which I never wrote

you. If you have a Mind I should really be so, I have got a Parcel of

Visions and other Miscellanies in my Noctuary, which I shall send you

to enrich your Paper with on proper Occasions.

_I am_, &c.

John Shadow.

_Oxford, Aug_. 20.

[Footnote 1: John Byrom, born at Manchester, in 1691, was quarrelled

with by his family for marrying a young lady without fortune, and lived

by an ingenious way of teaching short-hand, till the death of an elder

brother gave him the family estate. He died in 1763. In 1714 he had just

been elected Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1723 he was

admitted a Fellow of the Royal Society, and contributed to its

Transactions a paper upon his own System of short-hand. In his later

years he wrote much rhyme.]

* * * * *

No. 587. Monday, August 30, 1714. John Byrom.

'--Intus, et in Cute novi--'

Pers.

Tho' the Author of the following Vision is unknown to me, I am apt to

think it may be the Work of that ingenious Gentleman, who promised me,

in the last Paper, some Extracts out of his Noctuary.

_SIR_

'I was the other Day reading the Life of _Mahomet_. Among many other

Extravagancies, I find it recorded of that Impostor, that in the

fourth Year of his Age the Angel _Gabriel_ caught him up, while he was

among his Play-fellows, and, carrying him aside, cut open his Breast,

plucked out his Heart, and wrung out of it that black Drop of Blood,

in which, say the _Turkish_ Divines, is contained the _Fomes Peccati_,

so that he was free from Sin ever after. I immediately said to my

self, tho' this Story be a Fiction, a very good Moral may be drawn

from it, would every Man but apply it to himself, and endeavour to

squeeze out of his Heart whatever Sins or ill Qualities he finds in

it.

'While my Mind was wholly taken up with this Contemplation, I

insensibly fell into a most pleasing Slumber, when methought two

Porters entered my Chamber, carrying a large Chest between them. After

having set it down in the middle of the Room they departed. I

immediately endeavour'd to open what was sent me, when a Shape, like

that in which we paint our Angels, appeared before me, and forbad me.

Enclosed, said he, are the Hearts of several of your Friends and

Acquaintance; but before you can be qualified to see and animadvert on

the Failings of others, you must be pure your self; whereupon he drew

out his Incision Knife, cut me open, took out my Heart, and began to

squeeze it. I was in a great Confusion, to see how many things, which

I had always cherished as Virtues, issued out of my Heart on this

Occasion. In short, after it had been thoroughly squeezed, it looked

like an empty Bladder, when the Phantome, breathing a fresh Particle

of Divine Air into it, restored it safe to its former Repository: and

having sewed me up, we began to examine the Chest.

'The Hearts were all enclosed in transparent Phials, and preserved in

a Liquor which looked like Spirits of Wine. The first which I cast my

Eye upon, I was afraid would have broke the Glass which contained it.

It shot up and down, with incredible Swiftness, thro' the Liquor in

which it swam, and very frequently bounced against the Side of the

Phial. The _Fomes_, or Spot in the Middle of it, was not large, but of

a red fiery Colour, and seemed to be the Cause of these violent

Agitations. That, says my Instructor, is the Heart of _Tom_.

_Dread-Nought_, who behaved himself well in the late Wars, but has for

these Ten Years last past been aiming at some Post of Honour to no

Purpose. He is lately retired into the Country, where, quite choaked

up with Spleen and Choler, he rails at better Men than himself, and

will be for ever uneasie, because it is impossible he should think his

Merit sufficiently rewarded. The next Heart that I examined was

remarkable for its Smallness; it lay still at the Bottom of the Phial,

and I could hardly perceive that it beat at all. The _Fomes_ was quite

black, and had almost diffused it self over the whole Heart. This,

says my Interpreter, is the Heart of _Dick Gloomy_, who never thirsted

after any thing but Money. Notwithstanding all his Endeavours, he is

still poor. This has flung him into a most deplorable State of

Melancholy and Despair. He is a Composition of Envy and Idleness,

hates Mankind, but gives them their Revenge by being more uneasie to

himself, than to any one else.

'The Phial I looked upon next contained a large fair Heart, which beat

very strongly. The _Fomes_ or Spot in it was exceeding small; but I

could not help observing, that which way soever I turned the Phial it

always appeared uppermost and in the strongest Point of Light. The

Heart you are examining, says my Companion, belongs to _Will. Worthy_.

He has, indeed, a most noble Soul, and is possessed of a thousand good

Qualities. The Speck which you discover is _Vanity_.

'Here, says the Angel, is the Heart of _Freelove_, your intimate

Friend. _Freelove_ and I, said I, are at present very cold to one

another, and I do not care for looking on the Heart of a Man, which I

fear is overcast with Rancour. My Teacher commanded me to look upon

it; I did so, and to my unspeakable Surprize, found that a small

swelling Spot, which I at first took to be _Ill-Will_ towards me, was

only _Passion_, and that upon my nearer Inspection it wholly

disappeared; upon which the Phantome told me _Freelove_ was one of the

best-natured Men alive.

'This, says my Teacher, is a Female Heart of your Acquaintance. I

found the _Fomes_ in it of the largest Size, and of a hundred

different Colours, which were still varying every Moment. Upon my

asking to whom it belonged, I was informed that it was the Heart of

_Coquetilla_.

'I set it down, and drew out another, in which I took the _Fomes_ at

first Sight to be very small, but was amazed to find, that as I looked

stedfastly upon it, it grew still larger. It was the Heart of

_Melissa_, a noted Prude who lives the next Door to me.

'I show you this, says the Phantome, because it is indeed a Rarity,

and you have the Happiness to know the Person to whom it belongs. He

then put into my Hands a large Chrystal Glass, that enclosed an Heart,

in which, though I examined it with the utmost Nicety, I could not

perceive any Blemish. I made no Scruple to affirm that it must be the

Heart of _Seraphina_, and was glad, but not surprized, to find that it

was so. She is, indeed, continued my Guide, the Ornament, as well as

the Envy, of her Sex; at these last Words, he pointed to the Hearts of

several of her Female Acquaintance which lay in different Phials, and

had very large Spots in them, all of a deep _Blue_. You are not to

wonder, says he, that you see no Spot in an Heart, whose Innocence has

been Proof against all the Corruptions of a depraved Age. If it has

any Blemish, it is too small to be discovered by Human Eyes.

'I laid it down, and took up the Hearts of other Females, in all of

which the _Fomes_ ran in several Veins, which were twisted together,

and made a very perplexed Figure. I asked the Meaning of it, and was

told it represented _Deceit_.

'I should have been glad to have examined the Hearts of several of my

Acquaintance, whom I knew to be particularly addicted to Drinking,

Gaming, Intreaguing, &c., but my Interpreter told me I must let that

alone till another Opportunity, and flung down the Cover of the Chest

with so much violence, as immediately awoke me.

* * * * *

No. 588. Wednesday, September 1, 1714. H. Grove. [1]

'Dicitis, omnis in Imbecillitate est et Gratia, et Caritas.'

Cicero de Nat. Deor. L.

Man may be considered in two Views, as a Reasonable, and as a Sociable

Being; capable of becoming himself either happy or miserable, and of

contributing to the Happiness or Misery of his Fellow Creatures.

Suitably to this double Capacity, the Contriver of Human Nature hath

wisely furnished it with two Principles of Action, Self-love and

Benevolence; designed one of them to render Man wakeful to his own

personal Interest, the other to dispose him for giving his utmost

Assistance to all engaged in the same Pursuit. This is such an Account

of our Frame, so agreeable to Reason, so much for the Honour of our

Maker, and the Credit of our Species, that it may appear somewhat

unaccountable what should induce Men to represent human Nature as they

do under Characters of Disadvantage, or, having drawn it with a little

and sordid Aspect, what Pleasure they can possibly take in such a

Picture. Do they reflect that 'tis their Own, and, if we will believe

themselves, is not more odious than the Original?

One of the first that talked in this lofty Strain of our Nature was

_Epicurus_. Beneficence, would his Followers say, is all founded in

Weakness; and, whatever be pretended, the Kindness that passeth between

Men and Men is by every Man directed to himself. This, it must be

confessed, is of a Piece with the rest of that hopeful Philosophy, which

having patch'd Man up out of the four Elements, attributes his Being to

Chance, and derives all his Actions from an unintelligible Declination

of Atoms. And for these glorious Discoveries the Poet is beyond Measure

transported in the Praises of his Hero, as if he must needs be something

more than Man, only for an Endeavour to prove that Man is in nothing

superior to Beasts.

In this School was Mr. _Hobs_ instructed to speak after the same Manner,

if he did not rather draw his Knowledge from an Observation of his own

Temper; for he somewhere unluckily lays down this as a Rule,

'That from the Similitudes of Thoughts and Passions of one Man to the

Thoughts and Passions of another, whosoever looks into himself and

considers what he doth when he thinks, hopes, fears, &c., and upon

what Grounds; he shall hereby read and know what are the Thoughts and

Passions of all other Men upon the like Occasions.'

Now we will allow Mr. _Hobs_ to know best how he was inclined; But in

earnest, I should be heartily out of Conceit with my self, if I thought

my self of this unamiable Temper, as he affirms, and should have as

little Kindness for my self as for any Body in the World. Hitherto I

always imagined that kind and benevolent Propensions were the original

Growth of the Heart of Man, and, however checked and over-topped by

counter Inclinations that have since sprung up within us, have still

some Force in the worst of Tempers, and a considerable Influence on the

best. And, methinks, it's a fair Step towards the Proof of this, that

the most beneficent of all Beings is He who hath an absolute Fulness of

Perfection in Himself, who gave Existence to the Universe, and so cannot

be supposed to want that which He communicated, without diminishing from

the Plenitude of his own Power and Happiness. The Philosophers before

mentioned have indeed done all that in them lay to invalidate this

Argument; for, placing the Gods in a State of the most elevated

Blessedness, they describe them as Selfish as we poor miserable Mortals

can be, and shut them out from all Concern for Mankind, upon the Score

of their having no Need of us.

But if He that sitteth in the Heavens wants not us, we stand in

continual Need of Him; and surely, next to the Survey of the immense

Treasures of his own Mind, the most exalted Pleasure He receives is from

beholding Millions of Creatures, lately drawn out of the Gulph of

Non-existence, rejoycing in the various Degrees of Being and Happiness

imparted to them. And as this is the true, the glorious Character of the

Deity, so in forming a reasonable Creature He would not, if possible,

suffer his Image to pass out of his Hands unadorned with a Resemblance

of Himself in this most lovely Part of his Nature. For what Complacency

could a Mind, whose Love is as unbounded as his Knowledge, have in a

Work so unlike Himself? a Creature that should be capable of knowing and

conversing with a vast Circle of Objects, and love none but Himself?

What Proportion would there be between the Head and the Heart of such a

Creature, its Affections, and its Understandings? Or could a Society of

such Creatures, with no other Bottom but Self-Love on which to maintain

a Commerce, ever flourish? Reason, 'tis certain, would oblige every Man

to pursue the general Happiness, as the Means to procure and establish

his own; and yet if, besides this Consideration, there were not a

natural Instinct, prompting Men to desire the Welfare and Satisfaction

of others, Self-Love, in Defiance of the Admonitions of Reason, would

quickly run all Things into a State of War and Confusion.

As nearly interested as the Soul is in the Fate of the Body; our

provident Creator saw it necessary, by the constant Returns of Hunger

and Thirst, those importunate Appetites, to put it in Mind of its

Charge; knowing, that if we should eat and drink no oftner than cold

abstracted Speculation should put us upon these Exercises, and then

leave it to Reason to prescribe the Quantity, we should soon refine our

selves out of this bodily Life. And indeed, 'tis obvious to remark, that

we follow nothing heartily, unless carried to it by Inclinations which

anticipate our Reason, and, like a Biass, draw the Mind strongly towards

it. In order, therefore, to establish a perpetual Intercourse of

Benefits amongst Mankind, their Maker would not fail to give them this

generous Prepossession of Benevolence, if, as I have said, it were

possible. And from whence can we go about to argue its Impossibility? Is

it inconsistent with Self-Love? Are their Motions contrary? No more than

the diurnal Rotation of the Earth is opposed to its Annual; or its

Motion round its own Center, which may be improved as an Illustration of

Self-Love, to that which whirls it about the common Center of the World,

answering to universal Benevolence. Is the Force of Self-Love abated, or

its Interest prejudiced by Benevolence? So far from it, that

Benevolence, though a distinct Principle, is extreamly serviceable to

Self-Love, and then doth most Service when 'tis least designed.

But to descend from Reason to Matter of Fact; the Pity which arises on

Sight of Persons in Distress, and the Satisfaction of Mind which is the

Consequence of having removed them into a happier State, are instead of

a thousand Arguments to prove such a thing as a disinterested

Benevolence. Did Pity proceed from a Reflection we make upon our

Liableness to the same ill Accidents we see befall others, it were

nothing to the present Purpose; but this is assigning an artificial

Cause of a natural Passion, and can by no Means be admitted as a

tolerable Account of it, because Children and Persons most Thoughtless

about their own Condition, and incapable of entering into the Prospects

of Futurity, feel the most violent Touches of Compassion.

And then as to that charming Delight which immediately follows the

giving Joy to another, or relieving his Sorrow, and is, when the Objects

are numerous, and the kindness of Importance really inexpressible, what

can this be owing to but a Consciousness of a Man's having done some

thing Praise-worthy, and expressive of a great Soul? Whereas, if in all

this he only Sacrificed to Vanity and Self-Love, as there would be

nothing brave in Actions that make the most shining Appearance, so

Nature would not have rewarded them with this divine Pleasure; nor could

the Commendations, which a Person receives for Benefits done upon

selfish Views, be at all more Satisfactory, than when he is applauded

for what he doth without Design; because in both Cases the Ends of

Self-Love are equally answered.

The Conscience of approving ones self a Benefactor to Mankind is the

noblest Recompence for being so; doubtless it is, and the most

interested cannot propose anything so much to their own Advantage,

notwithstanding which, the Inclination is nevertheless unselfish. The

Pleasure which attends the Gratification of our Hunger and Thirst, is

not the Cause of these Appetites; they are previous to any such

Prospect; and so likewise is the Desire of doing Good; with this

Difference, that being seated in the intellectual Part, this last,

though Antecedent to Reason, may yet be improved and regulated by it,

and, I will add, is no otherwise a Virtue than as it is so.

Thus have I contended for the Dignity of that Nature I have the Honour

to partake of, and, after all the Evidence produced, think I have a

Right to conclude, against the Motto of this Paper, that there is such a

thing as Generosity in the World. Though if I were under a Mistake in

this, I should say as _Cicero_ in Relation to the Immortality of the

Soul, I willingly err, and should believe it very much for the Interest

of Mankind to lye under the same Delusion. For the contrary Notion

naturally tends to dispirit the Mind, and sinks it into a Meanness fatal

to the Godlike Zeal of doing good. As on the other hand, it teaches

People to be Ungrateful, by possessing them with a Perswasion concerning

their Benefactors, that they have no Regard to them in the Benefits they

bestow. Now he that banishes Gratitude from among Men, by so doing stops

up the Stream of Beneficence. For though in conferring Kindnesses, a

truly generous Man doth not aim at a Return, yet he looks to the

Qualities of the Person obliged, and as nothing renders a Person more

unworthy of a Benefit, than his being without all Resentment of it, he

will not be extreamly forward to Oblige such a Man.

[Footnote 1: The Rev. Henry Grove was a Presbyterian minister, who kept

school at Taunton. He was born there in 1683, became a teacher at the

age of 23 (already married), and worked for the next 18 years in the

Taunton Academy, his department Ethics and Pneumatology. He spent his

leisure in religious controversy, writing an 'Essay on the Terms of

Christian Communion,' a Discourse on Saving Faith, an Essay on the

Soul's Immortality, and miscellanies in prose and verse, including Nos.

588, 601, 626, and 635, of the _Spectator_. He received also £20 a year

for ministering to two small congregations in the neighbourhood of

Taunton. His wife died in 1736, and he in the year following. His works

appeared in 1740 in 4 vols. 8vo.]

* * * * *

No. 589. Friday, September 3, 1714.

'Persequitur scelus ille suum: labefactaque tandem

Ictibus innumeris adductaque funibus arbor

Corruit.'

Ovid.

_SIR_,

'I am so great an Admirer of Trees, that the Spot of Ground I have

chosen to build a small Seat upon, in the Country, is almost in the

midst of a large Wood. I was obliged, much against my Will, to cut

down several Trees, that I might have any such thing as a Walk in my

Gardens; but then I have taken Care to leave the Space, between every

Walk, as much a Wood as I found it. The Moment you turn either to the

Right or Left, you are in a Forest, where Nature presents you with a

much more beautiful Scene than could have been raised by Art.

'Instead of _Tulips_ or _Carnations_, I can shew you _Oakes_ in my

Gardens of four hundred Years standing, and a Knot of _Elms_ that

might shelter a Troop of Horse from the Rain.

'It is not without the utmost Indignation, that I observe several

prodigal young Heirs in the Neighbourhood, felling down the most

glorious Monuments of their Ancestors Industry, and ruining, in a Day,

the Product of Ages.

'I am mightily pleased with your Discourse upon Planting, which put me

upon looking into my Books to give you some Account of the Veneration

the Ancients had for Trees. There is an old Tradition, that _Abraham_

planted a _Cypress_, a _Pine_, and a _Cedar_, and that these three

incorporated into one Tree, which was cut down for the building of the

Temple of _Solomon_.

'_Isidorus_, who lived in the Reign of _Constantius_, assures us, that

he saw, even in his Time, that famous _Oak_ in the Plains of _MambrÈ_,

under which _Abraham_ is reported to have dwelt, and adds, that the

People looked upon it with a great Veneration, and preserved it as a

Sacred Tree.

'The Heathens still went farther, and regarded it as the highest Piece

of Sacrilege to injure certain Trees which they took to be protected

by some Deity. The Story of _Erisicthon_, the Grove of _Dodona_, and

that at _Delphi_, are all Instances of this Kind.

'If we consider the Machine in _Virgil_, so much blamed by several

Criticks, in this Light, we shall hardly think it too violent.

'_Æneas_, when he built his Fleet, in order to sail for _Italy_, was

obliged to cut down the Grove on Mount _Ida_, which however he durst

not do till he had obtained leave from _Cybele_, to whom it was

dedicated. The Goddess could not but think her self obliged to protect

these Ships, which were made of Consecrated Timber, after a very

extraordinary Manner, and therefore desired _Jupiter_, that they might

not be obnoxious to the Power of Waves or Winds. _Jupiter_ would not

grant this, but promised her, that as many as came safe to _Italy_

should be transformed into Goddesses of the Sea; which the Poet tells

us was accordingly executed.

'And now at length the number'd Hours were come,

Prefix'd by Fate's irrevocable Doom,

When the great Mother of the Gods was free

To save her Ships, and finish_ Jove's _Decree.

First, from the Quarter of the Morn, there sprung

A Light that sign'd the Heavens, and shot along:

Then from a Cloud, fring'd round with Golden Fires,

Were Timbrels heard, and_ Berecynthian _Quires:

And last a Voice, with more than Mortal Sounds,

Both Hosts in Arms oppos'd, with equal Horror wounds.

O_ Trojan _Race, your needless Aid forbear;

And know my Ships are my peculiar Care.

With greater Ease the bold_ Rutulian _may,

With hissing Brands, attempt to burn the Sea,

Than singe my sacred Pines. But you my Charge,

Loos'd from your crooked Anchors launch at large,

Exalted each a Nymph: Forsake the Sand,

And swim the Seas, at_ Cybele's _Command.

No sooner had the Goddess ceas'd to speak,

When lo, th' obedient Ships their Haulsers break;

And, strange to tell, like Dolphins in the Main,

They plunge their Prows, and dive, and spring again:

As many beauteous Maids the Billows sweep,

As rode before tall Vessels on the Deep.'

Dryden's Virg.

'The common Opinion concerning the Nymphs, whom the Ancients called

_Hamadryads_, is more to the Honour of Trees than any thing yet

mentioned. It was thought the Fate of these Nymphs had so near a

Dependance on some Trees, more especially Oaks, that they lived and

died together. For this Reason they were extremely grateful to such

Persons who preserved those Trees with which their Being subsisted.

_Apollonius_ tells us a very remarkable Story to this Purpose, with

which I shall conclude my Letter.

'A certain Man, called _Rhoecus_, observing an old Oak ready to fall,

and being moved with a sort of Compassion towards the Tree, ordered

his Servants to pour in fresh Earth at the Roots of it, and set it

upright. The _Hamadryad_ or Nymph who must necessarily have perished

with the Tree, appeared to him the next Day, and after having returned

him her Thanks, told him, she was ready to grant whatever he should

ask. As she was extreamly Beautiful, _Rhoecus_ desired he might be

entertained as her Lover. The _Hamadryad_, not much displeased with

the Request, promis'd to give him a Meeting, but commanded him for

some Days to abstain from the Embraces of all other Women, adding that

she would send a Bee to him, to let him know when he was to be Happy.

_Rhoecus_ was, it seems, too much addicted to Gaming, and happened to

be in a Run of ill Luck when the faithful Bee came buzzing about him;

so that instead of minding his kind Invitation, he had like to have

killed him for his Pains. The _Hamadryad_ was so provoked at her own

Disappointment, and the ill Usage of her Messenger, that she deprived

_Rhoecus_ of the Use of his Limbs. However, says the Story, he was not

so much a Criple, but he made a shift to cut down the Tree, and

consequently to fell his Mistress.

* * * * *

No. 590. Monday, September 6, 1714. Addison.

'--Assiduo labuntur tempora motu

Non secus ac flumen. Neque enim consistere flumen,

Nec levis hora potest: sed ut unda, impellitur unda,

Urgeturque prior venienti, urgetque priorem,

Tempora sic fugiunt pariter, pariterque sequuntur;

Et nova sunt semper. Nam quod fuit ante, relictum est;

Fitque quod haud fuerat: momentaque cuncta novantur.'

Ov. Met.

_The following Discourse comes from the same Hand with the Essays upon

Infinitude_ [1].

We consider infinite Space as an Expansion without a Circumference: We

consider Eternity, or infinite Duration, as a Line that has neither a

Beginning nor an End. In our Speculations of infinite Space, we consider

that particular Place in which we exist, as a kind of Center to the

whole Expansion. In our Speculations of Eternity, we consider the Time

which is present to us as the Middle, which divides the whole Line into

two equal Parts. For this Reason, many witty Authors compare the present

Time to an Isthmus or narrow Neck of Land, that rises in the midst of an

Ocean, immeasurably diffused on either Side of it.

Philosophy, and indeed common Sense, naturally throws Eternity under two

Divisions; which we may call in _English_, that Eternity which is past,

and that Eternity which is to come. The learned Terms of _Æternitas a

Parte ante_, and _Æternitas a Parte post_, may be more amusing to the

Reader, but can have no other Idea affixed to them than what is conveyed

to us by those Words, an Eternity that is past, and an Eternity that is

to come. Each of these Eternities is bounded at the one Extream; or, in

other Words, the former has an End, and the latter a Beginning.

Let us first of all consider that Eternity which is past, reserving that

which is to come for the Subject of another Paper. The Nature of this

Eternity is utterly inconceivable by the Mind of Man: Our Reason

demonstrates to us that it _has been_, but at the same Time can frame no

Idea of it, but what is big with Absurdity and Contradiction. We can

have no other Conception of any Duration which is past, than that all of

it was once present; and whatever was once present, is at some certain

Distance from us, and whatever is at any certain Distance from us, be

the Distance never so remote, cannot be Eternity. The very Notion of any

Duration's being past, implies that it was once present; for the Idea of

being once present, is actually included in the Idea of its being past.

This therefore is a Depth not to be sounded by human Understanding. We

are sure that there has been an Eternity, and yet contradict our selves

when we measure this Eternity by any Notion which we can frame of it.

If we go to the Bottom of this Matter, we shall find, that the

Difficulties we meet with in our Conceptions of Eternity proceed from

this single Reason, That we can have no other Idea of any kind of

Duration, than that by which we our selves, and all other created

Beings, do exist; which is, a successive Duration made up of past,

present, and to come. There is nothing which exists after this Manner,

all the Parts of whose Existence were not once actually present, and

consequently may be reached by a certain Number of Years applied to it.

We may ascend as high as we please, and employ our Being to that

Eternity which is to come, in adding Millions of Years to Millions of

Years, and we can never come up to any Fountain-Head of Duration, to any

Beginning in Eternity: But at the same time we are sure, that whatever

was once present does lye within the Reach of Numbers, though perhaps we

can never be able to put enough of them together for that Purpose. We

may as well say, that any thing may be actually present in any Part of

infinite Space, which does not lye at a certain Distance from us, as

that any Part of infinite Duration was once actually present, and does

not also lye at some determined Distance from us. The Distance in both

Cases may be immeasurable and indefinite as to our Faculties, but our

Reason tells us that it cannot be so in it self. Here therefore is that

Difficulty which Human Understanding is not capable of surmounting. We

are sure that something must have existed from Eternity, and are at the

same Time unable to conceive, that any thing which exists, according to

our Notion of Existence, can have existed from Eternity.

It is hard for a Reader, who has not rolled this Thought in his own

Mind, to follow in such an abstracted Speculation; but I have been the

longer on it, because I think it is a demonstrative Argument of the

Being and Eternity of a God: And tho' there are many other

Demonstrations which lead us to this great Truth, I do not think we

ought to lay aside any Proofs in this Matter which the Light of Reason

has suggested to us, especially when it is such a one as has been urged

by Men famous for their Penetration and Force of Understanding, and

which appears altogether conclusive to those who will be at the Pains to

examine it.

Having thus considered that Eternity which is past, according to the

best Idea we can frame of it, I shall now draw up those several Articles

on this Subject which are dictated to us by the Light of Reason, and

which may be looked upon as the Creed of a Philosopher in this great

Point.

_First_, It is certain that no Being could have made it self; for if so,

it must have acted before it was, which is a Contradiction.

_Secondly_, That therefore some Being must have existed from all

Eternity.

_Thirdly_, That whatever exists after the manner of created Beings, or

according to any Notions which we have of Existence, could not have

existed from Eternity.

_Fourthly_, That this eternal Being must therefore be the great Author

of Nature, _The Ancient of Days_, who, being at an infinite Distance in

his Perfections from all finite and created Beings, exists in a quite

different Manner from them, and in a Manner of which they can have no

Idea.

I know that several of the School-men, who would not be thought ignorant

of any thing, have pretended to explain the Manner of God's Existence,

by telling us, That he comprehends infinite Duration in every Moment;

That Eternity is with him a _Punctum stans_, a fixed Point; or, which is

as good Sense, an _Infinite Instance_; That nothing with Reference to

his Existence is either past or to come: To which the ingenious Mr.

_Cowley_ alludes in his Description of Heaven,

'Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,

But an Eternal NOW does always last.'

For my own Part, I look upon these Propositions as Words that have no

Ideas annexed to them; and think Men had better own their Ignorance than

advance Doctrines by which they mean nothing, and which indeed are

self-contradictory. We cannot be too modest in our Disquisitions, when

we meditate on Him who is environed with so much Glory and Perfection,

who is the Source of Being, the Fountain of all that Existence which we

and his whole Creation derive from him. Let us therefore with the utmost

Humility acknowledge, that as some Being must necessarily have existed

from Eternity, so this Being does exist after an incomprehensible

manner, since it is impossible for a Being to have existed from Eternity

after our Manner or Notions of Existence. Revelation confirms these

natural Dictates of Reason in the Accounts which it gives us of the

Divine Existence, where it tells us, that he is the same Yesterday,

To-day, and for Ever; that he is the _Alpha_ and _Omega_, the Beginning

and the Ending; that a thousand Years are with him as one Day, and one

Day as a Thousand Years; by which and the like Expressions, we are

taught, that his Existence, with Relation to Time or Duration, is

infinitely different from the Existence of any of his Creatures, and

consequently that it is impossible for us to frame any adequate

Conceptions of it.