L.



[Footnote 1: [Ovid.]]

[Footnote 2: On the Sublime, Sec. 8.]

[Footnote 3: Sec.14.]

[Footnote 4: Longinus, Sec. 9:

"So likewise the Jewish legislator, no ordinary person, having conceived a just idea of the power of God, has nobly expressed it in the beginning of his law. And God said,—What? Let there be Light, and there was Light. Let the Earth be, and the Earth was." ]

[Footnote 5: [looks like]:—]

[Footnote 6: Zechariah vi. i. ]

[Footnote 7: this]

[Footnote 8: Sir Richard Blackmore's Creation appeared in 1712. Besides this praise of it from Addison, its religious character caused Dr. Johnson to say that if Blackmore

had written nothing else it would have transmitted him to posterity among the first favourites of the English muse.

But even with the help of all his epics it has failed to secure him any such place in the estimation of posterity. This work is not an epic, but described on its title page as a Philosophical Poem, Demonstrating the Existence and Providence of a God. It argues in blank verse, in the first two of its seven books, the existence of a Deity from evidences of design in the structure and qualities of earth and sea, in the celestial bodies and the air; in the next three books it argues against objections raised by Atheists, Atomists, and Fatalists; in the sixth book proceeds with evidences of design, taking the structure of man's body for its theme; and in the next, which is the last book, treats in the same way of the Instincts of Animals and of the Faculties and Operations of the Soul. This is the manner of the Poem:

The Sea does next demand our View; and there No less the Marks of perfect skill appear. When first the Atoms to the Congress came, And by their Concourse form'd the mighty Frame, What did the Liquid to th' Assembly call To give their Aid to form the ponderous Ball? First, tell us, why did any come? next, why In such a disproportion to the Dry! Why were the Moist in Number so outdone, That to a Thousand Dry, they are but one,

It is hardly a mark of perfect skill that there are five or six thousand of such dry lines in Blackmore's poem, and not even one that should lead a critic to speak in the same breath of Blackmore and Milton.]



* * * * *



No. 340 Monday, March 31, 1712. Steele.



Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus Hospes? Quem sese Ore ferens! quam forti Pectore et Armis!

Virg.



I take it to be the highest Instance of a noble Mind, to bear great Qualities without discovering in a Man's Behaviour any Consciousness that he is superior to the rest of the World. Or, to say it otherwise, it is the Duty of a great Person so to demean himself, as that whatever Endowments he may have, he may appear to value himself upon no Qualities but such as any Man may arrive at: He ought to think no Man valuable but for his publick Spirit, Justice and Integrity; and all other Endowments to be esteemed only as they contribute to the exerting those Virtues. Such a Man, if he is Wise or Valiant, knows it is of no Consideration to other Men that he is so, but as he employs those high Talents for their Use and Service. He who affects the Applauses and Addresses of a Multitude, or assumes to himself a Pre-eminence upon any other Consideration, must soon turn Admiration into Contempt. It is certain, that there can be no Merit in any Man who is not conscious of it; but the Sense that it is valuable only according to the Application of it, makes that Superiority amiable, which would otherwise be invidious. In this Light it is considered as a Thing in which every Man bears a Share: It annexes the Ideas of Dignity, Power, and Fame, in an agreeable and familiar manner, to him who is Possessor of it; and all Men who are Strangers to him are naturally incited to indulge a Curiosity in beholding the Person, Behaviour, Feature, and Shape of him, in whose Character, perhaps, each Man had formed something in common with himself. Whether such, or any other, are the Causes, all Men have [a yearning [1]] Curiosity to behold a Man of heroick Worth; and I have had many Letters from all Parts of this Kingdom, that request I would give them an exact Account of the Stature, the Mein, the Aspect of the Prince [2] who lately visited England, and has done such Wonders for the Liberty of Europe. It would puzzle the most Curious to form to himself the sort of Man my several Correspondents expect to hear of, by the Action mentioned when they desire a Description of him: There is always something that concerns themselves, and growing out of their own Circumstances, in all their Enquiries. A Friend of mine in Wales beseeches me to be very exact in my Account of that wonderful Man, who had marched an Army and all its Baggage over the Alps; and, if possible, to learn whether the Peasant who shew'd him the Way, and is drawn in the Map, be yet living. A Gentleman from the University, who is deeply intent on the Study of Humanity, desires me to be as particular, if I had Opportunity, in observing the whole Interview between his Highness and our late General. Thus do Mens Fancies work according to their several Educations and Circumstances; but all pay a Respect, mixed with Admiration, to this illustrious Character. I have waited for his Arrival in Holland, before I would let my Correspondents know, that I have not been so uncurious a Spectator, as not to have seen Prince Eugene. It would be very difficult, as I said just now, to answer every Expectation of those who have writ to me on that Head; nor is it possible for me to find Words to let one know what an artful Glance there is in his Countenance who surprized Cremona; how daring he appears who forced the Trenches of Turin; But in general I can say, that he who beholds him, will easily expect from him any thing that is to be imagined or executed by the Wit or Force of Man. The Prince is of that Stature which makes a Man most easily become all Parts of Exercise, has Height to be graceful on Occasions of State and Ceremony, and no less adapted for Agility and Dispatch: his Aspect is erect and compos'd; his Eye lively and thoughtful, yet rather vigilant than sparkling; his Action and Address the most easy imaginable, and his Behaviour in an Assembly peculiarly graceful in a certain Art of mixing insensibly with the rest, and becoming one of the Company, instead of receiving the Courtship of it. The Shape of his Person, and Composure of his Limbs, are remarkably exact and beautiful. There is in his Look something sublime, which does not seem to arise from his Quality or Character, but the innate Disposition of his Mind. It is apparent that he suffers the Presence of much Company, instead of taking Delight in it; and he appeared in Publick while with us, rather to return Good-will, or satisfy Curiosity, than to gratify any Taste he himself had of being popular. As his Thoughts are never tumultuous in Danger, they are as little discomposed on Occasions of Pomp and Magnificence: A great Soul is affected in either Case, no further than in considering the properest Methods to extricate it self from them. If this Hero has the strong Incentives to uncommon Enterprizes that were remarkable in Alexander, he prosecutes and enjoys the Fame of them with the Justness, Propriety, and good Sense of Caesar. It is easy to observe in him a Mind as capable of being entertained with Contemplation as Enterprize; a Mind ready for great Exploits, but not impatient for Occasions to exert itself. The Prince has Wisdom and Valour in as high Perfection as Man can enjoy it; which noble Faculties in conjunction, banish all Vain-Glory, Ostentation, Ambition, and all other Vices which might intrude upon his Mind to make it unequal. These Habits and Qualities of Soul and Body render this Personage so extraordinary, that he appears to have nothing in him but what every Man should have in him, the Exertion of his very self, abstracted from the Circumstances in which Fortune has placed him. Thus were you to see Prince Eugene, and were told he was a private Gentleman, you would say he is a Man of Modesty and Merit: Should you be told That was Prince Eugene, he would be diminished no otherwise, than that part of your distant Admiration would turn into familiar Good-will. This I thought fit to entertain my Reader with, concerning an Hero who never was equalled but by one Man; [3] over whom also he has this Advantage, that he has had an Opportunity to manifest an Esteem for him in his Adversity.

T.



[Footnote 1: [an earning]]



[Footnote 2: Prince Eugene of Savoy, grandson of a duke of Savoy, and son of Eugene Maurice, general of the Swiss, and Olympia Mancini, a niece of Mazarin, was born at Paris in 1663, and intended for the church, but had so strong a bent towards a military life, that when refused a regiment in the French army he served the Emperor as volunteer against the Turks. He stopped the march of the French into Italy when Louis XIV. declared war with Austria, and refused afterwards from Louis a Marshals staff, a pension, and the Government of Champagne. Afterwards in Italy, by the surprise of Cremona he made Marshal Villeroi his prisoner, and he was Marlborough's companion in arms at Blenheim and in other victories. It was he who saved Turin, and expelled the French from Italy. He was 49 years old in 1712, and had come in that year to England to induce the court to continue the war, but found Marlborough in disgrace and the war very unpopular. He had been feasted by the city, and received from Queen Anne a sword worth L5000, which he wore at her birthday reception. He had also stood as godfather to Steele's third son, who was named after him.]

[Footnote 3: Marlborough.]



* * * * *



No. 341. Tuesday, April 1, 1712. Budgell. [1]



—Revocate animos moestumque timorem Mittite—

Virg.



Having, to oblige my Correspondent Physibulus, printed his Letter last Friday, in relation to the new Epilogue, he cannot take it amiss, if I now publish another, which I have just received from a Gentleman who does not agree with him in his Sentiments upon that Matter.



SIR,

I am amazed to find an Epilogue attacked in your last Fridays Paper, which has been so generally applauded by the Town, and receiv'd such Honours as were never before given to any in an English Theatre.

The Audience would not permit Mrs. Oldfield to go off the Stage the first Night, till she had repeated it twice; the second Night the Noise of Ancoras was as loud as before, and she was again obliged to speak it twice: the third Night it was still called for a second time; and, in short, contrary to all other Epilogues, which are dropt after the third Representation of the Play, this has already been repeated nine times.

I must own I am the more surprized to find this Censure in Opposition to the whole Town, in a Paper which has hitherto been famous for the Candour of its Criticisms.

I can by no means allow your melancholy Correspondent, that the new Epilogue is unnatural because it is gay. If I had a mind to be learned, I could tell him that the Prologue and Epilogue were real Parts of the ancient Tragedy; but every one knows that on the British Stage they are distinct Performances by themselves, Pieces entirely detached from the Play, and no way essential to it.

The moment the Play ends, Mrs. Oldfield is no more Andromache, but Mrs. Oldfield; and tho the Poet had left Andromache stone-dead upon the Stage, as your ingenious Correspondent phrases it, Mrs. Oldfield might still have spoke a merry Epilogue. We have an Instance of this in a Tragedy [2] where there is not only a Death but a Martyrdom. St. Catherine was there personated by Nell Gwin; she lies stone dead upon the Stage, but upon those Gentlemen's offering to remove her Body, whose Business it is to carry off the Slain in our English Tragedies, she breaks out into that abrupt Beginning of what was a very ludicrous, but at the same time thought a very good Epilogue.

Hold, are you mad? you damn'd confounded Dog, I am to rise and speak the Epilogue.

This diverting Manner was always practised by Mr. Dryden, who if he was not the best Writer of Tragedies in his time, was allowed by every one to have the happiest Turn for a Prologue or an Epilogue. The Epilogues to Cleomenes, Don Sebastian, The Duke of Guise, Aurengzebe, and Love Triumphant, are all Precedents of this Nature.

I might further justify this Practice by that excellent Epilogue which was spoken a few Years since, after the Tragedy of Phaedra and Hippolitus; with a great many others, in which the Authors have endeavour'd to make the Audience merry. If they have not all succeeded so well as the Writer of this, they have however shewn that it was not for want of Good-will.

I must further observe, that the Gaiety of it may be still the more proper, as it is at the end of a French Play; since every one knows that Nation, who are generally esteem'd to have as polite a Taste as any in Europe, always close their Tragick Entertainments with what they call a Petite Piece, which is purposely design'd to raise Mirth, and send away the Audience well pleased. The same Person who has supported the chief Character in the Tragedy, very often plays the principal Part in the Petite Piece; so that I have my self seen at Paris, Orestes and Lubin acted the same Night by the same Man.

Tragi-Comedy, indeed, you have your self in a former Speculation found fault with very justly, because it breaks the Tide of the Passions while they are yet flowing; but this is nothing at all to the present Case, where they have already had their full Course.

As the new Epilogue is written conformable to the Practice of our best Poets, so it is not such an one which, as the Duke of Buckingham says in his Rehearsal, might serve for any other Play; but wholly rises out of the Occurrences of the Piece it was composed for.

The only Reason your mournful Correspondent gives against this Facetious Epilogue, as he calls it, is, that he has mind to go home melancholy. I wish the Gentleman may not be more Grave than Wise. For my own part, I must confess I think it very sufficient to have the Anguish of a fictitious Piece remain upon me while it is representing, but I love to be sent home to bed in a good humour. If Physibulus is however resolv'd to be inconsolable, and not to have his Tears dried up, he need only continue his old Custom, and when he has had his half Crowns worth of Sorrow, slink out before the Epilogue begins.

It is pleasant enough to hear this Tragical Genius complaining of the great Mischief Andromache had done him: What was that? Why, she made him laugh. The poor Gentleman's Sufferings put me in mind of Harlequins Case, who was tickled to Death. He tells us soon after, thro a small Mistake of Sorrow for Rage, that during the whole Action he was so very sorry, that he thinks he could have attack'd half a score of the fiercest Mohocks in the Excess of his Grief. I cannot but look upon it as an happy Accident, that a Man who is so bloody-minded in his Affliction, was diverted from this Fit of outragious Melancholy. The Valour of this Gentleman in his Distress, brings to ones memory the Knight of the sorrowful Countenance, who lays about him at such an unmerciful rate in an old Romance. I shall readily grant him that his Soul, as he himself says, would have made a very ridiculous Figure, had it quitted the Body, and descended to the Poetical Shades, in such an Encounter.

As to his Conceit of tacking a Tragic Head with a Comic Tail, in order to refresh the Audience, it is such a piece of Jargon, that I don't know what to make of it.

The elegant Writer makes a very sudden Transition from the Play-house to the Church, and from thence, to the Gallows.

As for what relates to the Church, he is of Opinion, that these Epilogues have given occasion to those merry Jiggs from the Organ-Loft which have dissipated those good Thoughts, and Dispositions he has found in himself, and the rest of the Pew, upon the singing of two Staves cull'd out by the judicious and diligent Clark.

He fetches his next Thought from Tyburn; and seems very apprehensive lest there should happen any Innovations in the Tragedies of his Friend Paul Lorrain.

In the mean time, Sir, this gloomy Writer, who is so mightily scandaliz'd at a gay Epilogue after a serious Play, speaking of the Fate of those unhappy Wretches who are condemned to suffer an ignominious Death by the Justice of our Laws, endeavours to make the Reader merry on so improper an occasion, by those poor Burlesque Expressions of Tragical Dramas, and Monthly Performances.

I am, Sir, with great Respect, Your most obedient, most humble Servant,

Philomeides.

X.



[Footnote 1: Budgell here defends with bad temper the Epilogue which Addison ascribed to him. Probably it was of his writing, but transformed by Addison's corrections.]

[Footnote 2: Dryden's Maximin.]



* * * * *



No. 342. Wednesday, April 2, 1712. Steele.



Justitiae partes sunt non violare homines: Verecundiae non offendere.

Tull.



As Regard to Decency is a great Rule of Life in general, but more especially to be consulted by the Female World, I cannot overlook the following Letter which describes an egregious Offender.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

I was this Day looking over your Papers, and reading in that of December the 6th with great delight, the amiable Grief of Asteria for the Absence of her Husband, it threw me into a great deal of Reflection. I cannot say but this arose very much from the Circumstances of my own Life, who am a Soldier, and expect every Day to receive Orders; which will oblige me to leave behind me a Wife that is very dear to me, and that very deservedly. She is, at present, I am sure, no way below your Asteria for Conjugal Affection: But I see the Behaviour of some Women so little suited to the Circumstances wherein my Wife and I shall soon be, that it is with a Reluctance I never knew before, I am going to my Duty. What puts me to present Pain, is the Example of a young Lady, whose Story you shall have as well as I can give it you. Hortensius, an Officer of good Rank in her Majesty's Service, happen'd in a certain Part of England to be brought to a Country-Gentleman's House, where he was receiv'd with that more than ordinary Welcome, with which Men of domestick Lives entertain such few Soldiers whom a military Life, from the variety of Adventures, has not render'd over-bearing, but humane, easy, and agreeable: Hortensius stay'd here some time, and had easy Access at all hours, as well as unavoidable Conversation at some parts of the Day with the beautiful Sylvana, the Gentleman's Daughter. People who live in Cities are wonderfully struck with every little Country Abode they see when they take the Air; and tis natural to fancy they could live in every neat Cottage (by which they pass) much happier than in their present Circumstances. The turbulent way of Life which Hortensius was used to, made him reflect with much Satisfaction on all the Advantages of a sweet Retreat one day; and among the rest, you'll think it not improbable, it might enter into his Thought, that such a Woman as Sylvana would consummate the Happiness. The World is so debauched with mean Considerations, that Hortensius knew it would be receiv'd as an Act of Generosity, if he asked for a Woman of the Highest Merit, without further Questions, of a Parent who had nothing to add to her personal Qualifications. The Wedding was celebrated at her Fathers House: When that was over, the generous Husband did not proportion his Provision for her to the Circumstances of her Fortune, but considered his Wife as his Darling, his Pride, and his Vanity, or rather that it was in the Woman he had chosen that a Man of Sense could shew Pride or Vanity with an Excuse, and therefore adorned her with rich Habits and valuable Jewels. He did not however omit to admonish her that he did his very utmost in this; that it was an Ostentation he could not but be guilty of to a Woman he had so much Pleasure in, desiring her to consider it as such; and begged of her also to take these Matters rightly, and believe the Gems, the Gowns, the Laces would still become her better, if her Air and Behaviour was such, that it might appear she dressed thus rather in Compliance to his Humour that Way, than out of any Value she her self had for the Trifles. To this Lesson, too hard for Woman, Hortensius added, that she must be sure to stay with her Friends in the Country till his Return. As soon as Hortensius departed, Sylvana saw in her Looking-glass that the Love he conceiv'd for her was wholly owing to the Accident of seeing her: and she is convinced it was only her Misfortune the rest of Mankind had not beheld her, or Men of much greater Quality and Merit had contended for one so genteel, tho bred in Obscurity; so very witty, tho never acquainted with Court or Town. She therefore resolved not to hide so much Excellence from the World, but without any Regard to the Absence of the most generous Man alive, she is now the gayest Lady about this Town, and has shut out the Thoughts of her Husband by a constant Retinue of the vainest young Fellows this Age has produced: to entertain whom, she squanders away all Hortensius is able to supply her with, tho that Supply is purchased with no less Difficulty than the Hazard of his Life.

Now, Mr. SPECTATOR, would it not be a Work becoming your Office to treat this Criminal as she deserve[s]? You should give it the severest Reflections you can: You should tell Women, that they are more accountable for Behaviour in Absence than after Death. The Dead are not dishonour'd by their Levities; the Living may return, and be laugh'd at by empty Fops, who will not fail to turn into Ridicule the good Man who is so unseasonable as to be still alive, and come and spoil good Company.

I am, SIR, your most Obedient Humble Servant.

All Strictness of Behaviour is so unmercifully laugh'd at in our Age, that the other much worse Extreme is the more common Folly. But let any Woman consider which of the two Offences an Husband would the more easily forgive, that of being less entertaining than she could to please Company, or raising the Desires of the whole Room to his disadvantage; and she will easily be able to form her Conduct. We have indeed carry'd Womens Characters too much into publick Life, and you shall see them now-a-days affect a sort of Fame: but I cannot help venturing to disoblige them for their Service, by telling them, that the utmost of a Woman's Character is contained in Domestick Life; she is blameable or praiseworthy according as her Carriage affects the House of her Father or her Husband. All she has to do in this World, is contain'd within the Duties of a Daughter, a Sister, a Wife, and a Mother: All these may be well performed, tho a Lady should not be the very finest Woman at an Opera or an Assembly. They are likewise consistent with a moderate share of Wit, a plain Dress, and a modest Air. But when the very Brains of the Sex are turned, and they place their Ambition on Circumstances, wherein to excel is no addition to what is truly commendable, where can this end, but, as it frequently does, in their placing all their Industry, Pleasure and Ambition on things, which will naturally make the Gratifications of Life last, at best, no longer than Youth and good Fortune? And when we consider the least ill Consequence, it can be no less than looking on their own Condition as Years advance, with a disrelish of Life, and falling into Contempt of their own Persons, or being the Derision of others. But when they consider themselves as they ought, no other than an additional Part of the Species, (for their own Happiness and Comfort, as well as that of those for whom they were born) their Ambition to excel will be directed accordingly; and they will in no part of their Lives want Opportunities of being shining Ornaments to their Fathers, Husbands, Brothers, or Children.

T



* * * * *



No. 343. Thursday, April 3, 1712. Addison.



—Errat et illinc Huc venit, hinc illuc, et quoslibet occupat artus Spiritus: eque feris humana in corpora transit, Inque feras noster—

Pythag. ap. Ov.



Will. Honeycomb, who loves to shew upon occasion all the little Learning he has picked up, told us yesterday at the Club, that he thought there might be a great deal said for the Transmigration of Souls, and that the Eastern Parts of the World believed in that Doctrine to this day. Sir Paul Rycaut, [1] says he, gives us an Account of several well-disposed Mahometans that purchase the Freedom of any little Bird they see confined to a Cage, and think they merit as much by it, as we should do here by ransoming any of our Countrymen from their Captivity at Algiers. You must know, says WILL., the Reason is, because they consider every Animal as a Brother or Sister in disguise, and therefore think themselves obliged to extend their Charity to them, tho under such mean Circumstances. They'll tell you, says WILL., that the Soul of a Man, when he dies, immediately passes into the Body of another Man, or of some Brute, which he resembled in his Humour, or his Fortune, when he was one of us.

As I was wondring what this profusion of Learning would end in, WILL. told us that Jack Freelove, who was a Fellow of Whim, made Love to one of those Ladies who throw away all their Fondness [on [2]] Parrots, Monkeys, and Lap-dogs. Upon going to pay her a Visit one Morning, he writ a very pretty Epistle upon this Hint. Jack, says he, was conducted into the Parlour, where he diverted himself for some time with her favourite Monkey, which was chained in one of the Windows; till at length observing a Pen and Ink lie by him, he writ the following Letter to his Mistress, in the Person of the Monkey; and upon her not coming down so soon as he expected, left it in the Window, and went about his Business.

The Lady soon after coming into the Parlour, and seeing her Monkey look upon a Paper with great Earnestness, took it up, and to this day is in some doubt, says WILL., whether it was written by Jack or the Monkey.

Madam, Not having the Gift of Speech, I have a long time waited in vain for an Opportunity of making myself known to you; and having at present the Conveniences of Pen, Ink, and Paper by me, I gladly take the occasion of giving you my History in Writing, which I could not do by word of Mouth. You must know, Madam, that about a thousand Years ago I was an Indian Brachman, and versed in all those mysterious Secrets which your European Philosopher, called Pythagoras, is said to have learned from our Fraternity. I had so ingratiated my self by my great Skill in the occult Sciences with a Daemon whom I used to converse with, that he promised to grant me whatever I should ask of him. I desired that my Soul might never pass into the Body of a brute Creature; but this he told me was not in his Power to grant me. I then begg'd that into whatever Creature I should chance to Transmigrate, I might still retain my Memory, and be conscious that I was the same Person who lived in different Animals. This he told me was within his Power, and accordingly promised on the word of a Daemon that he would grant me what I desired. From that time forth I lived so very unblameably, that I was made President of a College of Brachmans, an Office which I discharged with great Integrity till the day of my Death. I was then shuffled into another Human Body, and acted my Part so very well in it, that I became first Minister to a Prince who reigned upon the Banks of the Ganges. I here lived in great Honour for several Years, but by degrees lost all the Innocence of the Brachman, being obliged to rifle and oppress the People to enrich my Sovereign; till at length I became so odious that my Master, to recover his Credit with his Subjects, shot me thro the Heart with an Arrow, as I was one day addressing my self to him at the Head of his Army.

Upon my next remove I found my self in the Woods, under the shape of a Jack-call, and soon listed my self in the Service of a Lion. I used to yelp near his Den about midnight, which was his time of rouzing and seeking after his Prey. He always followed me in the Rear, and when I had run down a fat Buck, a wild Goat, or an Hare, after he had feasted very plentifully upon it himself, would now and then throw me a Bone that was but half picked for my Encouragement; but upon my Being unsuccessful in two or three Chaces, he gave me such a confounded Gripe in his Anger, that I died of it.

In my next Transmigration I was again set upon two Legs, and became an Indian Tax-gatherer; but having been guilty of great Extravagances, and being marry'd to an expensive Jade of a Wife, I ran so cursedly in debt, that I durst not shew my Head. I could no sooner step out of my House, but I was arrested by some body or other that lay in wait for me. As I ventur'd abroad one Night in the Dusk of the Evening, I was taken up and hurry'd into a Dungeon, where I died a few Months after.

My Soul then enter'd into a Flying-Fish, and in that State led a most melancholy Life for the space of six Years. Several Fishes of Prey pursued me when I was in the Water, and if I betook my self to my Wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock of Birds aiming at me. As I was one day flying amidst a fleet of English Ships, I observed a huge Sea-Gull whetting his Bill and hovering just over my Head: Upon my dipping into the Water to avoid him, I fell into the Mouth of a monstrous Shark that swallow'd me down in an instant.

I was some Years afterwards, to my great surprize, an eminent Banker in Lombard-street; and remembring how I had formerly suffered for want of Money, became so very sordid and avaritious, that the whole Town cried shame of me. I was a miserable little old Fellow to look upon, for I had in a manner starved my self, and was nothing but Skin and Bone when I died.

I was afterwards very much troubled and amazed to find my self dwindled into an Emmet. I was heartily concerned to make so insignificant a Figure, and did not know but some time or other I might be reduced to a Mite if I did not mend my Manners. I therefore applied my self with great diligence to the Offices that were allotted me, and was generally look'd upon as the notablest Ant in the whole Molehill. I was at last picked up, as I was groaning under a Burden, by an unlucky Cock-Sparrow that lived in the Neighbourhood, and had before made great depredations upon our Commonwealth.

I then better'd my Condition a little, and lived a whole Summer in the Shape of a Bee; but being tired with the painful and penurious Life I had undergone in my two last Transmigrations, I fell into the other Extream, and turned Drone. As I one day headed a Party to plunder an Hive, we were received so warmly by the Swarm which defended it, that we were most of us left dead upon the Spot.

I might tell you of many other Transmigrations which I went thro: how I was a Town-Rake, and afterwards did Penance in a Bay Gelding for ten Years; as also how I was a Taylor, a Shrimp, and a Tom-tit. In the last of these my Shapes I was shot in the Christmas Holidays by a young Jack-a-napes, who would needs try his new Gun upon me.

But I shall pass over these and other several Stages of Life, to remind you of the young Beau who made love to you about Six Years since. You may remember, Madam, how he masked, and danced, and sung, and play'd a thousand Tricks to gain you; and how he was at last carry'd off by a Cold that he got under your Window one Night in a Serenade. I was that unfortunate young Fellow, whom you were then so cruel to. Not long after my shifting that unlucky Body, I found myself upon a Hill in AEthiopia, where I lived in my present Grotesque Shape, till I was caught by a Servant of the English Factory, and sent over into Great Britain: I need not inform you how I came into your Hands. You see, Madam, this is not the first time that you have had me in a Chain: I am, however, very happy in this my Captivity, as you often bestow on me those Kisses and Caresses which I would have given the World for, when I was a Man. I hope this Discovery of my Person will not tend to my Disadvantage, but that you will still continue your accustomed Favours to Your most Devoted Humble Servant, Pugg.

P.S. I would advise your little Shock-dog to keep out of my way; for as I look upon him to be the most formidable of my Rivals, I may chance one time or other to give him such a Snap as he wont like.

L.



[Footnote 1: Sir Paul Rycaut, the son of a London merchant, after an education at Trinity College, Cambridge, went in 1661 to Constantinople as Secretary to the Embassy. He published in 1668 his Present State of the Ottoman Empire, in three Books, and in 1670 the work here quoted, A Particular Description of the Mahometan Religion, the Seraglio, the Maritime and Land Forces of Turkey, abridged in 1701 in Savages History of the Turks, and translated into French by Bespier in 1707. Consul afterwards at Smyrna, he wrote by command of Charles II. a book on The Present State of the Greek and American Churches, published 1679. After his return from the East he was made Privy Councillor and Judge of the High Court of Admiralty. He was knighted by James II., and one of the first Fellows of the Royal Society. He published between 1687 and 1700, the year of his death, Knolless History of the Turks, with a continuation of his own, and also translated Platinas Lives of the Popes and Garcilaso de la Vegas History of Peru.]

[Footnote 2: [upon]]



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No. 344. Friday, April 4, 1712. Steele.



In solo vivendi causa palato est.

Juv.



Mr. SPECTATOR,

I think it has not yet fallen into your Way to discourse on little Ambition, or the many whimsical Ways Men fall into, to distinguish themselves among their Acquaintance: Such Observations, well pursued, would make a pretty History of low Life. I my self am got into a great Reputation, which arose (as most extraordinary Occurrences in a Man's Life seem to do) from a mere Accident. I was some Days ago unfortunately engaged among a Set of Gentlemen, who esteem a Man according to the Quantity of Food he throws down at a Meal. Now I, who am ever for distinguishing my self according to the Notions of Superiority which the rest of the Company entertain, ate so immoderately for their Applause, as had like to have cost me my Life. What added to my Misfortune was, that having naturally a good Stomach, and having lived soberly for some time, my Body was as well prepared for this Contention as if it had been by Appointment. I had quickly vanquished every Glutton in Company but one, who was such a Prodigy in his Way, and withal so very merry during the whole Entertainment, that he insensibly betrayed me to continue his Competitor, which in a little time concluded in a compleat Victory over my Rival; after which, by Way of Insult, I ate a considerable Proportion beyond what the Spectators thought me obliged in Honour to do. The Effect however of this Engagement, has made me resolve never to eat more for Renown; and I have, pursuant to this Resolution, compounded three Wagers I had depending on the Strength of my Stomach; which happened very luckily, because it was stipulated in our Articles either to play or pay. How a Man of common Sense could be thus engaged, is hard to determine; but the Occasion of this, is to desire you to inform several Gluttons of my Acquaintance, who look on me with Envy, that they had best moderate their Ambition in time, lest Infamy or Death attend their Success. I forgot to tell you, Sir, with what unspeakable Pleasure I received the Acclamations and Applause of the whole Board, when I had almost eat my Antagonist into Convulsions: It was then that I returned his Mirth upon him with such success as he was hardly able to swallow, though prompted by a Desire of Fame, and a passionate Fondness for Distinction: I had not endeavoured to excel so far, had not the Company been so loud in their Approbation of my Victory. I don't question but the same Thirst after Glory has often caused a Man to drink Quarts without taking Breath, and prompted Men to many other difficult Enterprizes; which if otherwise pursued, might turn very much to a Man's Advantage. This Ambition of mine was indeed extravagantly pursued; however I cant help observing, that you hardly ever see a Man commended for a good Stomach, but he immediately falls to eating more (tho he had before dined) as well to confirm the Person that commended him in his good Opinion of him, as to convince any other at the Table, who may have been unattentive enough not to have done Justice to his Character. I am, Sir, Your most humble Servant, Epicure Mammon.



Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have writ to you three or four times, to desire you would take notice of an impertinent Custom the Women, the fine Women, have lately fallen into, of taking Snuff. [1] This silly Trick is attended with such a Coquet Air in some Ladies, and such a sedate masculine one in others, that I cannot tell which most to complain of; but they are to me equally disagreeable. Mrs. Saunter is so impatient of being without it, that she takes it as often as she does Salt at Meals; and as she affects a wonderful Ease and Negligence in all her manner, an upper Lip mixed with Snuff and the Sauce, is what is presented to the Observation of all who have the honour to eat with her. The pretty Creature her Neice does all she can to be as disagreeable as her Aunt; and if she is not as offensive to the Eye, she is quite as much to the Ear, and makes up all she wants in a confident Air, by a nauseous Rattle of the Nose, when the Snuff is delivered, and the Fingers make the Stops and Closes on the Nostrils. This, perhaps, is not a very courtly Image in speaking of Ladies; that is very true: but where arises the Offence? Is it in those who commit, or those who observe it? As for my part, I have been so extremely disgusted with this filthy Physick hanging on the Lip, that the most agreeable Conversation, or Person, has not been able to make up for it. As to those who take it for no other end but to give themselves Occasion for pretty Action, or to fill up little Intervals of Discourse, I can bear with them; but then they must not use it when another is speaking, who ought to be heard with too much respect, to admit of offering at that time from Hand to Hand the Snuff-Box. But Flavilla is so far taken with her Behaviour in this kind, that she pulls out her Box (which is indeed full of good Brazile) in the middle of the Sermon; and to shew she has the Audacity of a well-bred Woman, she offers it the Men as well as the Women who sit near her: But since by this Time all the World knows she has a fine Hand, I am in hopes she may give her self no further Trouble in this matter. On Sunday was sennight, when they came about for the Offering, she gave her Charity with a very good Air, but at the same Time asked the Churchwarden if he would take a Pinch. Pray, Sir, think of these things in time, and you will oblige,

SIR,

Your most humble servant.

T.



[Footnote 1: Charles Lillie, the perfumer, from whose shop at the corner of Beaufort Buildings the original Spectators were distributed, left behind him a book of receipts and observations, The British Perfumer, Snuff Manufacturer, and Colourmans Guide, of which the MS. was sold with his business, but which remained unpublished until 1822. He opens his Part III. on Snuffs with an account of the Origin of Snuff-taking in England, the practice being one that had become fashionable in his day, and only about eight years before the appearance of the Spectator. It dates from Sir George Rooke's expedition against Cadiz in 1702. Before that time snuff-taking in England was confined to a few luxurious foreigners and English who had travelled abroad. They took their snuff with pipes of the size of quills out of small spring boxes. The pipes let out a very small quantity upon the back of the hand, and this was snuffed up the nostrils with the intention of producing a sneeze which, says Lillie, I need not say forms now no part of the design or rather fashion of snuff-taking; least of all in the ladies who took part in this method of snuffing defiance at the public enemy. When the fleet, after the failure of its enterprize against Cadiz, proceeded to cut off the French ships in Vigobay, on the way it plundered Port St. Mary and adjacent places, where, among other merchandize, seizure was made of several thousand barrels and casks, each containing four tin canisters of snuffs of the best growth and finest Spanish manufacture. At Vigo, among the merchandize taken from the shipping there destroyed, were prodigious quantities of gross snuff, from the Havannah, in bales, bags, and scrows (untanned buffalo hides, used with the hairy-side inwards, for making packages), which were designed for manufacture in different parts of Spain. Altogether fifty tons of snuff were brought home as part of the prize of the officers and sailors of the fleet. Of the coarse snuff, called Vigo snuff, the sailors, among whom it was shared, sold waggon-loads at Portsmouth, Plymouth, and Chatham, for not more than three-pence or four-pence a pound. The greater part of it was bought up by Spanish Jews, to their own very considerable profit. The fine snuffs taken at Port St. Mary, and divided among the officers, were sold by some of them at once for a small price, while others held their stocks and, as the snuff so taken became popular and gave a patriotic impulse to the introduction of a fashion which had hitherto been almost confined to foreigners, they got very high prices for it. This accounts for the fact that the ladies too had added the use of the perfumed snuff-box to their other fashionable accomplishments.]



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No. 345. Saturday, April 5, 1712. Addison.



Sanctius his animal, mentisque capacius altae Deerat adhuc, et quod dominari in coetera posset, Natus homo est.

Ov. Met.



The Accounts which Raphael gives of the Battel of Angels, and the Creation of the World, have in them those Qualifications which the Criticks judge requisite to an Episode. They are nearly related to the principal Action, and have a just Connexion with the Fable.

The eighth Book opens with a beautiful Description of the Impression which this Discourse of the Archangel made on our first Parent[s]. Adam afterwards, by a very natural Curiosity, enquires concerning the Motions of those Celestial Bodies which make the most glorious Appearance among the six days Works. The Poet here, with a great deal of Art, represents Eve as withdrawing from this part of their Conversation, to Amusements more suitable to her Sex. He well knew, that the Episode in this Book, which is filled with Adams Account of his Passion and Esteem for Eve, would have been improper for her hearing, and has therefore devised very just and beautiful Reasons for her Retiring.

So spake our Sire, and by his Countenance seem'd Entring on studious Thoughts abstruse: which Eve Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight, With lowliness majestick, from her Seat, And Grace, that won who saw to wish her Stay, Rose; and went forth among her Fruits and Flowers To visit how they prosper'd, Bud and Bloom, Her Nursery: they at her coming sprung, And touch'd by her fair Tendance gladlier grew. Yet went she not, as not with such Discourse Delighted, or not capable her Ear Of what was high: Such Pleasure she reserved, Adam relating, she sole Auditress; Her Husband the Relater she preferr'd Before the Angel, and of him to ask Chose rather: he, she knew, would intermix Grateful Digressions, and solve high Dispute With conjugal Caresses; from his Lip Not Words alone pleas'd her. O when meet now Such Pairs, in Love and mutual Honour join'd!

The Angels returning a doubtful Answer to Adams Enquiries, was not only proper for the Moral Reason which the Poet assigns, but because it would have been highly absurd to have given the Sanction of an Archangel to any particular System of Philosophy. The chief Points in the Ptolemaick and Copernican Hypothesis are described with great Conciseness and Perspicuity, and at the same time dressed in very pleasing and poetical Images.

Adam, to detain the Angel, enters afterwards upon his own History, and relates to him the Circumstances in which he found himself upon his Creation; as also his Conversation with his Maker, and his first meeting with Eve. There is no part of the Poem more apt to raise the Attention of the Reader, than this Discourse of our great Ancestor; as nothing can be more surprizing and delightful to us, than to hear the Sentiments that arose in the first Man while he was yet new and fresh from the Hands of his Creator. The Poet has interwoven every thing which is delivered upon this Subject in Holy Writ with so many beautiful Imaginations of his own, that nothing can be conceived more just and natural than this whole Episode. As our Author knew this Subject could not but be agreeable to his Reader, he would not throw it into the Relation of the six days Works, but reserved it for a distinct Episode, that he might have an opportunity of expatiating upon it more at large. Before I enter on this part of the Poem, I cannot but take notice of two shining Passages in the Dialogue between Adam and the Angel. The first is that wherein our Ancestor gives an Account of the pleasure he took in conversing with him, which contains a very noble Moral.

For while I sit with thee, I seem in Heavn, And sweeter thy Discourse is to my Ear Than Fruits of Palm-tree (pleasantest to Thirst And Hunger both from Labour) at the hour Of sweet Repast: they satiate, and soon fill, Tho pleasant; but thy Words with Grace divine Imbu'd, bring to their Sweetness no Satiety.

The other I shall mention, is that in which the Angel gives a Reason why he should be glad to hear the Story Adam was about to relate.

For I that day was absent, as befel, Bound on a Voyage uncouth and obscure; Far on Excursion towards the Gates of Hell, Squar'd in full Legion [such Command we had] To see that none thence issued forth a Spy, Or Enemy; while God was in his Work, Lest he, incens'd at such Eruption bold, Destruction with Creation might have mix'd.

There is no question but our Poet drew the Image in what follows from that in Virgil's sixth Book, where AEneas and the Sibyl stand before the Adamantine Gates, which are there described as shut upon the Place of Torments, and listen to the Groans, the Clank of Chains, and the Noise of Iron Whips, that were heard in those Regions of Pain and Sorrow.

—Fast we found, fast shut The dismal Gates, and barricado'd strong; But long ere our Approaching heard within Noise, other than the Sound of Dance or Song, Torment, and loud Lament, and furious Rage.

Adam then proceeds to give an account of his Condition and Sentiments immediately after his Creation. How agreeably does he represent the Posture in which he found himself, the beautiful Landskip that surrounded him, and the Gladness of Heart which grew up in him on that occasion?

—As new waked from soundest Sleep, Soft on the flowry Herb I found me laid In balmy Sweat, which with his Beams the Sun Soon dried, and on the reaking Moisture fed. Streight towards Heavn my wondring Eyes I turn'd, And gazed awhile the ample Sky, till rais'd By quick instinctive Motion, up I sprung, As thitherward endeavouring, and upright Stood on my Feet: About me round I saw Hill, Dale, and shady Woods, and sunny Plains, And liquid lapse of murmuring Streams; by these Creatures that liv'd, and mov'd, and walked, or flew, Birds on the Branches warbling; all things smil'd: With Fragrance, and with Joy my Heart o'erflow'd.

Adam is afterwards describ'd as surprized at his own Existence, and taking a Survey of himself, and of all the Works of Nature. He likewise is represented as discovering by the Light of Reason, that he and every thing about him must have been the Effect of some Being infinitely good and powerful, and that this Being had a right to his Worship and Adoration. His first Address to the Sun, and to those Parts of the Creation which made the most distinguished Figure, is very natural and amusing to the Imagination.

—Thou Sun, said I, fair Light, And thou enlighten'd Earth, so fresh and gay, Ye Hills and Dales, ye Rivers, Woods and Plains, And ye that live and move, fair Creatures tell, Tell if you saw, how came I thus, how here?

His next Sentiment, when upon his first going to sleep he fancies himself losing his Existence, and falling away into nothing, can never be sufficiently admired. His Dream, in which he still preserves the Consciousness of his Existence, together with his removal into the Garden which was prepared for his Reception, are also Circumstances finely imagined, and grounded upon what is delivered in Sacred Story.

These and the like wonderful Incidents in this Part of the Work, have in them all the Beauties of Novelty, at the same time that they have all the Graces of Nature. They are such as none but a great Genius could have thought of, tho, upon the perusal of them, they seem to rise of themselves from the Subject of which he treats. In a word, tho they are natural, they are not obvious, which is the true Character of all fine Writing.

The Impression which the Interdiction of the Tree of Life left in the Mind of our first Parent, is describ'd with great Strength and Judgment; as the Image of the several Beasts and Birds passing in review before him is very beautiful and lively.

—Each Bird and Beast behold Approaching two and two, these cowring low With Blandishment; each Bird stoop'd on his Wing: I nam'd them as they pass'd—

Adam, in the next place, describes a Conference which he held with his Maker upon the Subject of Solitude. The Poet here represents the supreme Being, as making an Essay of his own Work, and putting to the tryal that reasoning Faculty, with which he had endued his Creature. Adam urges, in this Divine Colloquy, the Impossibility of his being happy, tho he was the Inhabitant of Paradise, and Lord of the whole Creation, without the Conversation and Society of some rational Creature, who should partake those Blessings with him. This Dialogue, which is supported chiefly by the Beauty of the Thoughts, without other poetical Ornaments, is as fine a Part as any in the whole Poem: The more the Reader examines the Justness and Delicacy of its Sentiments, the more he will find himself pleased with it. The Poet has wonderfully preserved the Character of Majesty and Condescension in the Creator, and at the same time that of Humility and Adoration in the Creature, as particularly in the following Lines:

Thus I presumptuous; and the Vision bright, As with a Smile more bright-tied, thus reply'd, &c.

—I, with leave of Speech implor'd And humble Deprecation, thus reply d: Let not my Words offend thee, Heavnly Power, My Maker, be propitious while I speak, &c.

Adam then proceeds to give an account of his second Sleep, and of the Dream in which he beheld the Formation of Eve. The new Passion that was awaken'd in him at the sight of her, is touch'd very finely.

Under his forming Hands a Creature grew, Manlike, but different Sex: so lovely fair, That what seem'd fair in all the World, seemed now Mean, or in her summ'd up, in her contained, And in her Looks; which from that time infused Sweetness info my Heart, unfelt before: And into all things from her Air inspired The Spirit of Love and amorous Delight.

Adams Distress upon losing sight of this beautiful Phantom, with his Exclamations of Joy and Gratitude at the discovery of a real Creature, who resembled the Apparition which had been presented to him in his Dream; the Approaches he makes to her, and his Manner of Courtship; are all laid together in a most exquisite Propriety of Sentiments.

Tho this Part of the Poem is work'd up with great Warmth and Spirit, the Love which is described in it is every way suitable to a State of Innocence. If the Reader compares the Description which Adam here gives of his leading Eve to the Nuptial Bower, with that which Mr. Dryden has made on the same occasion in a Scene of his Fall of Man, he will be sensible of the great care which Milton took to avoid all Thoughts on so delicate a Subject, that might be offensive to Religion or Good-Manners. The Sentiments are chaste, but not cold; and convey to the Mind Ideas of the most transporting Passion, and of the greatest Purity. What a noble Mixture of Rapture and Innocence has the Author join'd together, in the Reflection which Adam makes on the Pleasures of Love, compared to those of Sense.

Thus have I told thee all my State, and brought My Story to the sum of earthly Bliss, Which I enjoy; and must confess to find In all things else Delight indeed, but such As us'd or not, works in the Mind no Change Nor vehement Desire; these Delicacies I mean of Taste, Sight, Smell, Herbs, Fruits, and Flowers, Walks, and the Melody of Birds: but here Far otherwise, transported I behold, Transported touch; here Passion first I felt, Commotion strange! in all Enjoyments else Superiour and unmov'd, here only weak Against the Charms of Beauty's powerful Glance. Or Nature fail'd in me, and left some Part Not Proof enough such Object to sustain; Or from my Side subducting, took perhaps More than enough; at least on her bestowed Too much of Ornament in outward shew Elaborate, of inward less exact.

—When I approach Her Loveliness, so absolute she seems And in herself compleat, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, vertuousest, discreetest, best: All higher Knowledge in her Presence falls Degraded: Wisdom in discourse with her Loses discountenanced, and like Folly shews; Authority and Reason on her wait, As one intended first, not after made Occasionally: and to consummate all, Greatness of Mind, and Nobleness their Seat Build in her loveliest, and create an Awe About her, as a Guard angelick plac'd.

These Sentiments of Love, in our first Parent, gave the Angel such an Insight into Humane Nature, that he seems apprehensive of the Evils which might befall the Species in general, as well as Adam in particular, from the Excess of this Passion. He therefore fortifies him against it by timely Admonitions; which very artfully prepare the Mind of the Reader for the Occurrences of the next Book, where the Weakness of which Adam here gives such distant Discoveries, brings about that fatal Event which is the Subject of the Poem. His Discourse, which follows the gentle Rebuke he received from the Angel, shews that his Love, however violent it might appear, was still founded in Reason, and consequently not improper for Paradise.

Neither her outside Form so fair, nor aught In Procreation common to all kinds, (Tho higher of the genial Bed by far, And with mysterious Reverence I deem) So much delights me, as those graceful Acts, Those thousand Decencies that daily flow From all her Words and Actions, mixt with Love And sweet Compliance, which declare unfeign'd Union of Mind, or in us both one Soul; Harmony to behold in—wedded Pair!

Adams Speech, at parting with the Angel, has in it a Deference and Gratitude agreeable to an inferior Nature, and at the same time a certain Dignity and Greatness suitable to the Father of Mankind in his State of Innocence.

L.



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No. 346. Monday, April 7, 1712. Steele.



Consuetudinem benignitatis largitioni Munerum longe antepono. Haec est Gravium hominum atque Magnorum; Illa quasi assentatorum populi, multitudinis levitatem voluptate quasi titillantium.

Tull.



When we consider the Offices of humane Life, there is, methinks, something in what we ordinarily call Generosity, which when carefully examined, seems to flow rather from a loose and unguarded Temper, than an honest and liberal Mind. For this reason it is absolutely necessary that all Liberality should have for its Basis and Support Frugality. By this means the beneficent Spirit works in a Man from the Convictions of Reason, not from the Impulses of Passion. The generous Man, in the ordinary acceptation, without respect to the Demands of his own Family, will soon find, upon the Foot of his Account, that he has sacrificed to Fools, Knaves, Flatterers, or the deservedly Unhappy, all the Opportunities of affording any future Assistance where it ought to be. Let him therefore reflect, that if to bestow be in it self laudable, should not a Man take care to secure Ability to do things praiseworthy as long as he lives? Or could there be a more cruel Piece of Raillery upon a Man who should have reduc'd his Fortune below the Capacity of acting according to his natural Temper, than to say of him, That Gentleman was generous? My beloved Author therefore has, in the Sentence on the Top of my Paper, turned his Eye with a certain Satiety from beholding the Addresses to the People by Largesses and publick Entertainments, which he asserts to be in general vicious, and are always to be regulated according to the Circumstances of Time and a Man's own Fortune. A constant Benignity in Commerce with the rest of the World, which ought to run through all a Man's Actions, has Effects more useful to those whom you oblige, and less ostentatious in your self. He turns his Recommendation of this Virtue in commercial Life: and according to him a Citizen who is frank in his Kindnesses, and abhors Severity in his Demands; he who in buying, selling, lending, doing acts of good Neighbourhood, is just and easy; he who appears naturally averse to Disputes, and above the Sense of little Sufferings; bears a nobler Character, and does much more good to Mankind, than any other Man's Fortune without Commerce can possibly support. For the Citizen above all other Men has Opportunities of arriving at that highest Fruit of Wealth, to be liberal without the least Expence of a Man's own Fortune. It is not to be denied but such a Practice is liable to hazard; but this therefore adds to the Obligation, that, among Traders, he who obliges is as much concerned to keep the Favour a Secret, as he who receives it. The unhappy Distinctions among us in England are so great, that to celebrate the Intercourse of commercial Friendship, (with which I am daily made acquainted) would be to raise the virtuous Man so many Enemies of the contrary Party. I am obliged to conceal all I know of Tom the Bounteous, who lends at the ordinary Interest, to give Men of less Fortune Opportunities of making greater Advantages. He conceals, under a rough Air and distant Behaviour, a bleeding Compassion and womanish Tenderness. This is governed by the most exact Circumspection, that there is no Industry wanting in the Person whom he is to serve, and that he is guilty of no improper Expences. This I know of Tom, but who dare say it of so known a Tory? The same Care I was forced to use some time ago in the Report of anothers Virtue, and said fifty instead of a hundred, because the Man I pointed at was a Whig. Actions of this kind are popular without being invidious: for every Man of ordinary Circumstances looks upon a Man who has this known Benignity in his Nature, as a Person ready to be his Friend upon such Terms as he ought to expect it; and the Wealthy, who may envy such a Character, can do no Injury to its Interests but by the Imitation of it, in which the good Citizens will rejoice to be rivalled. I know not how to form to myself a greater Idea of Humane Life, than in what is the Practice of some wealthy Men whom I could name, that make no step to the Improvement of their own Fortunes, wherein they do not also advance those of other Men, who would languish in Poverty without that Munificence. In a Nation where there are so many publick Funds to be supported, I know not whether he can be called a good Subject, who does not imbark some part of his Fortune with the State, to whose Vigilance he owes the Security of the whole. This certainly is an immediate way of laying an Obligation upon many, and extending his Benignity the furthest a Man can possibly, who is not engaged in Commerce. But he who trades, besides giving the State some part of this sort of Credit he gives his Banker, may in all the Occurrences of his Life have his Eye upon removing Want from the Door of the Industrious, and defending the unhappy upright Man from Bankruptcy. Without this Benignity, Pride or Vengeance will precipitate a Man to chuse the Receipt of half his Demands from one whom he has undone, rather than the whole from one to whom he has shewn Mercy. This Benignity is essential to the Character of a fair Trader, and any Man who designs to enjoy his Wealth with Honour and Self-Satisfaction: Nay, it would not be hard to maintain, that the Practice of supporting good and industrious Men, would carry a Man further even to his Profit, than indulging the Propensity of serving and obliging the Fortunate. My Author argues on this Subject, in order to incline Mens Minds to those who want them most, after this manner; We must always consider the Nature of things, and govern our selves accordingly. The wealthy Man, when he has repaid you, is upon a Ballance with you; but the Person whom you favour'd with a Loan, if he be a good Man, will think himself in your Debt after he has paid you. The Wealthy and the Conspicuous are not obliged by the Benefit you do them, they think they conferred a Benefit when they receive one. Your good Offices are always suspected, and it is with them the same thing to expect their Favour as to receive it. But the Man below you, who knows in the Good you have done him, you respected himself more than his Circumstances, does not act like an obliged Man only to him from whom he has received a Benefit, but also to all who are capable of doing him one. And whatever little Offices he can do for you, he is so far from magnifying it, that he will labour to extenuate it in all his Actions and Expressions. Moreover, the Regard to what you do to a great Man, at best is taken notice of no further than by himself or his Family; but what you do to a Man of an humble Fortune, (provided always that he is a good and a modest Man) raises the Affections towards you of all Men of that Character (of which there are many) in the whole City.

There is nothing gains a Reputation to a Preacher so much as his own Practice; I am therefore casting about what Act of Benignity is in the Power of a SPECTATOR. Alas, that lies but in a very narrow compass, and I think the most immediate under my Patronage, are either Players, or such whose Circumstances bear an Affinity with theirs: All therefore I am able to do at this time of this Kind, is to tell the Town that on Friday the 11th of this Instant April, there will be perform'd in York-Buildings a Consort of Vocal and Instrumental Musick, for the Benefit of Mr. Edward Keen, the Father of twenty Children; and that this Day the haughty George Powell hopes all the good-natur'd part of the Town will favour him, whom they Applauded in Alexander, Timon, Lear, and Orestes, with their Company this Night, when he hazards all his heroick Glory for their Approbation in the humbler Condition of honest Jack Falstaffe.

T.



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No. 347. Tuesday, April 8, 1711. Budgell.



Quis furor o Cives! quae tanta licentia ferri!

Lucan.



I do not question but my Country Readers have been very much surprized at the several Accounts they have met with in our publick Papers of that Species of Men among us, lately known by the Name of Mohocks. I find the Opinions of the Learned, as to their Origin and Designs, are altogether various, insomuch that very many begin to doubt whether indeed there were ever any such Society of Men. The Terror which spread it self over the whole Nation some Years since, on account of the Irish, is still fresh in most Peoples Memories, tho it afterwards appeared there was not the least Ground for that general Consternation.

The late Panick Fear was, in the Opinion of many deep and penetrating Persons, of the same nature. These will have it, that the Mohocks are like those Spectres and Apparitions which frighten several Towns and Villages in her Majesty's Dominions, tho they were never seen by any of the Inhabitants. Others are apt to think that these Mohocks are a kind of Bull-Beggars, first invented by prudent married Men, and Masters of Families, in order to deter their Wives and Daughters from taking the Air at unseasonable Hours; and that when they tell them the Mohocks will catch them, it is a Caution of the same nature with that of our Fore-fathers, when they bid their Children have a care of Raw-head and Bloody-bones.

For my own part, I am afraid there was too much Reason for that great Alarm the whole City has been in upon this Occasion; tho at the same time I must own that I am in some doubt whether the following Pieces are Genuine and Authentick; and the more so, because I am not fully satisfied that the Name by which the Emperor subscribes himself, is altogether conformable to the Indian Orthography.

I shall only further inform my Readers, that it was some time since I receiv'd the following Letter and Manifesto, tho for particular Reasons I did not think fit to publish them till now.



To the SPECTATOR.

SIR,

"Finding that our earnest Endeavours for the Good of Mankind have been basely and maliciously represented to the World, we send you enclosed our Imperial Manifesto, which it is our Will and Pleasure that you forthwith communicate to the Publick, by inserting it in your next daily Paper. We do not doubt of your ready Compliance in this Particular, and therefore bid you heartily Farewell."

Sign'd, Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar, Emperor of the Mohocks.

The Manifesto of Taw Waw Eben Zan Kaladar, Emperor of the Mohocks.

"Whereas we have received Information from sundry Quarters of this great and populous City, of several Outrages committed on the Legs, Arms, Noses, and other Parts of the good People of England, by such as have styled themselves our Subjects; in order to vindicate our Imperial Dignity from those false Aspersions which have been cast on it, as if we our selves might have encouraged or abetted any such Practices; we have, by these Presents, thought fit to signify our utmost Abhorrence and Detestation of all such tumultuous and irregular Proceedings: and do hereby further give notice, that if any Person or Persons has or have suffered any Wound, Hurt, Damage or Detriment in his or their Limb or Limbs, otherwise than shall be hereafter specified, the said Person or Persons, upon applying themselves to such as we shall appoint for the Inspection and Redress of the Grievances aforesaid, shall be forthwith committed to the Care of our principal Surgeon, and be cured at our own Expence, in some one or other of those Hospitals which we are now erecting for that purpose.

"And to the end that no one may, either through Ignorance or Inadvertency, incur those Penalties which we have thought fit to inflict on Persons of loose and dissolute Lives, we do hereby notifie to the Publick, that if any Man be knocked down or assaulted while he is employed in his lawful Business, at proper Hours, that it is not done by our Order; and we do hereby permit and allow any such person so knocked down or assaulted, to rise again, and defend himself in the best manner that he is able.

"We do also command all and every our good Subjects, that they do not presume, upon any Pretext whatsoever, to issue and sally forth from their respective Quarters till between the Hours of Eleven and Twelve. That they never Tip the Lion upon Man, Woman or Child, till the Clock at St. Dunstan's shall have struck One.

"That the Sweat be never given but between the Hours of One and Two; always provided, that our Hunters may begin to Hunt a little after the Close of the Evening, any thing to the contrary herein notwithstanding. Provided also, that if ever they are reduced to the Necessity of Pinking, it shall always be in the most fleshy Parts, and such as are least exposed to view.

"It is also our Imperial Will and Pleasure, that our good Subjects the Sweaters do establish their Hummums[1] in such close Places, Alleys, Nooks, and Corners, that the Patient or Patients may not be in danger of catching Cold.

"That the Tumblers, to whose Care we chiefly commit the Female Sex, confine themselves to Drury-Lane and the Purlieus of the Temple; and that every other Party and Division of our Subjects do each of them keep within the respective Quarters we have allotted to them. Provided nevertheless, that nothing herein contained shall in any wise be construed to extend to the Hunters, who have our full Licence and Permission to enter into any Part of the Town where-ever their Game shall lead them.

"And whereas we have nothing more at our Imperial Heart than the Reformation of the Cities of London and Westminster, which to our unspeakable Satisfaction we have in some measure already effected, we do hereby earnestly pray and exhort all Husbands, Fathers, Housekeepers and Masters of Families, in either of the aforesaid Cities, not only to repair themselves to their respective Habitations at early and seasonable Hours; but also to keep their Wives and Daughters, Sons, Servants, and Apprentices, from appearing in the Streets at those Times and Seasons which may expose them to a military Discipline, as it is practised by our good Subjects the Mohocks: and we do further promise, on our Imperial Word, that as soon as the Reformation aforesaid shall be brought about, we will forthwith cause all Hostilities to cease.

"Given from our Court at the Devil-Tavern, March 15, 1712."

X.



[Footnote 1: Turkish Sweating Baths. The Hummums "in Covent Garden was one of the first of these baths (bagnios) set up in England."]



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No. 348. Wednesday, April 9, 1712. Steele.



Invidiam placare paras virtute relicta?

Hor.



Mr. SPECTATOR,

I have not seen you lately at any of the Places where I visit, so that I am afraid you are wholly unacquainted with what passes among my part of the World, who are, tho I say it, without Controversy, the most accomplished and best bred of the Town. Give me leave to tell you, that I am extremely discomposed when I hear Scandal, and am an utter Enemy to all manner of Detraction, and think it the greatest Meanness that People of Distinction can be guilty of: However, it is hardly possible to come into Company, where you do not find them pulling one another to pieces, and that from no other Provocation but that of hearing any one commended. Merit, both as to Wit and Beauty, is become no other than the Possession of a few trifling Peoples Favour, which you cannot possibly arrive at, if you have really any thing in you that is deserving. What they would bring to pass, is, to make all Good and Evil consist in Report, and with Whispers, Calumnies and Impertinencies, to have the Conduct of those Reports. By this means Innocents are blasted upon their first Appearance in Town; and there is nothing more required to make a young Woman the object of Envy and Hatred, than to deserve Love and Admiration. This abominable Endeavour to suppress or lessen every thing that is praise-worthy, is as frequent among the Men as the Women. If I can remember what passed at a Visit last Night, it will serve as an Instance that the Sexes are equally inclined to Defamation, with equal Malice, with equal Impotence. Jack Triplett came into my Lady Airy's about Eight of [the] Clock. You know the manner we sit at a Visit, and I need not describe the Circle; but Mr. Triplett came in, introduced by two Tapers supported by a spruce Servant, whose Hair is under a Cap till my Lady's Candles are all lighted up, and the Hour of Ceremony begins: I say, Jack Triplett came in, and singing (for he is really good Company) Every Feature, Charming Creature,—he went on, It is a most unreasonable thing that People cannot go peaceably to see their Friends, but these Murderers are let loose. Such a Shape! such an Air! what a Glance was that as her Chariot pass'd by mine—My Lady herself interrupted him; Pray who is this fine Thing—I warrant, says another, tis the Creature I was telling your Ladyship of just now. You were telling of? says Jack; I wish I had been so happy as to have come in and heard you, for I have not Words to say what she is: But if an agreeable Height, a modest Air, a Virgin Shame, and Impatience of being beheld, amidst a Blaze of ten thousand Charms—The whole Room flew out—Oh Mr. Triplett!—When Mrs. Lofty, a known Prude, said she believed she knew whom the Gentleman meant; but she was indeed, as he civilly represented her, impatient of being beheld—Then turning to the Lady next to her—The most unbred Creature you ever saw. Another pursued the Discourse: As unbred, Madam, as you may think her, she is extremely bely'd if she is the Novice she appears; she was last Week at a Ball till two in the Morning; Mr. Triplett knows whether he was the happy Man that took Care of her home; but—This was followed by some particular Exception that each Woman in the Room made to some peculiar Grace or Advantage so that Mr. Triplett was beaten from one Limb and Feature to another, till he was forced to resign the whole Woman. In the end I took notice Triplett recorded all this Malice in his Heart; and saw in his Countenance, and a certain waggish Shrug, that he design'd to repeat the Conversation: I therefore let the Discourse die, and soon after took an Occasion to commend a certain Gentleman of my Acquaintance for a Person of singular Modesty, Courage, Integrity, and withal as a Man of an entertaining Conversation, to which Advantages he had a Shape and Manner peculiarly graceful. Mr. Triplett, who is a Woman's Man, seem'd to hear me with Patience enough commend the Qualities of his Mind: He never heard indeed but that he was a very honest Man, and no Fool; but for a fine Gentleman, he must ask Pardon. Upon no other Foundation than this, Mr. Triplett took occasion to give the Gentleman's Pedigree, by what Methods some part of the Estate was acquired, how much it was beholden to a Marriage for the present Circumstances of it: After all, he could see nothing but a common Man in his Person, his Breeding or Understanding.

Thus, Mr. SPECTATOR, this impertinent Humour of diminishing every one who is produced in Conversation to their Advantage, runs thro the World; and I am, I confess, so fearful of the Force of ill Tongues, that I have begged of all those who are my Well-wishers never to commend me, for it will but bring my Frailties into Examination, and I had rather be unobserved, than conspicuous for disputed Perfections. I am confident a thousand young People, who would have been Ornaments to Society, have, from Fear of Scandal, never dared to exert themselves in the polite Arts of Life. Their Lives have passed away in an odious Rusticity, in spite of great Advantages of Person, Genius and Fortune. There is a vicious Terror of being blamed in some well-inclin'd People, and a wicked Pleasure in suppressing them in others; both which I recommend to your Spectatorial Wisdom to animadvert upon; and if you can be successful in it, I need not say how much you will deserve of the Town; but new Toasts will owe to you their Beauty, and new Wits their Fame. I am, SIR, Your most Obedient Humble Servant, Mary."

T.



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No. 349. Thursday, April 10, 1712. Addison.



Quos ille timorum Maximus haud urget lethi metus: inde ruendi In ferrum mens prona viris, animaeque capaces Mortis.

Lucan.



I am very much pleased with a Consolatory Letter of Phalaris, to one who had lost a Son that was a young Man of great Merit. The Thought with which he comforts the afflicted Father, is, to the best of my Memory, as follows; That he should consider Death had set a kind of Seal upon his Sons Character, and placed him out of the Reach of Vice and Infamy: That while he liv'd he was still within the Possibility of falling away from Virtue, and losing the Fame of which he was possessed. Death only closes a Man's Reputation, and determines it as good or bad.

This, among other Motives, may be one Reason why we are naturally averse to the launching out into a Man's Praise till his Head is laid in the Dust. Whilst he is capable of changing, we may be forced to retract our Opinions. He may forfeit the Esteem we have conceived of him, and some time or other appear to us under a different Light from what he does at present. In short, as the Life of any Man cannot be call'd happy or unhappy, so neither can it be pronounced vicious or virtuous, before the Conclusion of it.

It was upon this consideration that Epaminondas, being asked whether Chabrias, Iphicrates, or he himself, deserved most to be esteemed? You must first see us die, said he, before that Question can be answered. [1]

As there is not a more melancholy Consideration to a good Man than his being obnoxious to such a Change, so there is nothing more glorious than to keep up an Uniformity in his Actions, and preserve the Beauty of his Character to the last.

The End of a Man's Life is often compared to the winding up of a well-written Play, where the principal Persons still act in Character, whatever the Fate is which they undergo. There is scarce a great Person in the Grecian or Roman History, whose Death has not been remarked upon by some Writer or other, and censured or applauded according to the Genius or Principles of the Person who has descanted on it. Monsieur de St. Evremont is very particular in setting forth the Constancy and Courage of Petronius Arbiter during his last Moments, and thinks he discovers in them a greater Firmness of Mind and Resolution than in the Death of Seneca, Cato, or Socrates. There is no question but this polite Authors Affectation of appearing singular in his Remarks, and making Discoveries which had escaped the Observation of others, threw him into this course of Reflection. It was Petronius's Merit, that he died in the same Gaiety of Temper in which he lived; but as his Life was altogether loose and dissolute, the Indifference which he showed at the Close of it is to be looked upon as a piece of natural Carelessness and Levity, rather than Fortitude. The Resolution of Socrates proceeded from very different Motives, the Consciousness of a well-spent Life, and the prospect of a happy Eternity. If the ingenious Author above mentioned was so pleased with Gaiety of Humour in a dying Man, he might have found a much nobler Instance of it in our Countryman Sir Thomas More.

This great and learned Man was famous for enlivening his ordinary Discourses with Wit and Pleasantry; and, as Erasmus tells him in an Epistle Dedicatory, acted in all parts of Life like a second Democritus.

He died upon a Point of Religion, and is respected as a Martyr by that Side for which he suffer'd. The innocent Mirth which had been so conspicuous in his Life, did not forsake him to the last: He maintain'd the same Chearfulness of Heart upon the Scaffold, which he used to shew at his Table; and upon laying his Head on the Block, gave Instances of that Good-Humour with which he had always entertained his Friends in the most ordinary Occurrences. His Death was of a piece with his Life. There was nothing in it new, forced, or affected. He did not look upon the severing of his Head from his Body as a Circumstance that ought to produce any Change in the Disposition of his Mind; and as he died under a fixed and settled Hope of Immortality, he thought any unusual degree of Sorrow and Concern improper on such an Occasion, as had nothing in it which could deject or terrify him.

There is no great danger of Imitation from this Example. Mens natural Fears will be a sufficient Guard against it. I shall only observe, that what was Philosophy in this extraordinary Man, would be Frenzy in one who does not resemble him as well in the Chearfulness of his Temper, as in the Sanctity of his Life and Manners.

I shall conclude this Paper with the Instance of a Person who seems to me to have shewn more Intrepidity and Greatness of Soul in his dying Moments, than what we meet with among any of the most celebrated Greeks and Romans. I met with this Instance in the History of the Revolutions in Portugal, written by the Abbot de Vertot. [2]

When Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, had invaded the Territories of Muly Moluc, Emperor of Morocco, in order to dethrone him, and set his Crown upon the Head of his Nephew, Moluc was wearing away with a Distemper which he himself knew was incurable. However, he prepared for the Reception of so formidable an Enemy. He was indeed so far spent with his Sickness, that he did not expect to live out the whole Day, when the last decisive Battel was given; but knowing the fatal Consequences that would happen to his Children and People, in case he should die before he put an end to that War, he commanded his principal Officers that if he died during the Engagement, they should conceal his Death from the Army, and that they should ride up to the Litter in which his Corpse was carried, under Pretence of receiving Orders from him as usual. Before the Battel begun, he was carried through all the Ranks of his Army in an open Litter, as they stood drawn up in Array, encouraging them to fight valiantly in defence of their Religion and Country. Finding afterwards the Battel to go against him, tho he was very near his last Agonies, he threw himself out of his Litter, rallied his Army, and led them on to the Charge; which afterwards ended in a compleat Victory on the side of the Moors. He had no sooner brought his Men to the Engagement, but finding himself utterly spent, he was again replaced in his Litter, where laying his Finger on his Mouth, to enjoin Secrecy to his Officers, who stood about him, he died a few Moments after in that Posture.

L.



[Footnote 1: Plutarch's Life of Epaminondas.]

[Footnote 2: The Abbe Vertot—Renatus Aubert de Vertot d'Auboeuf—was born in 1655, and living in the Spectators time. He died in 1735, aged 80. He had exchanged out of the severe order of the Capuchins into that of the Praemonstratenses when, at the age of 34, he produced, in 1689, his first work, the History of the Revolutions of Portugal, here quoted. Continuing to write history, in 1701 he was made a member, and in 1705 a paid member, of the Academie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres.]



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No. 350. Friday, April 11, 1712. Steele.



Ea animi elatio quae cernitur in periculis, si Justitia vacat pugnatque pro suis commodis, in vitio est.

Tull.



CAPTAIN SENTREY was last Night at the Club, and produced a Letter from Ipswich, which his Correspondent desired him to communicate to his Friend the SPECTATOR. It contained an Account of an Engagement between a French Privateer, commanded by one Dominick Pottiere, and a little Vessel of that Place laden with Corn, the Master whereof, as I remember, was one Goodwin. The Englishman defended himself with incredible Bravery, and beat off the French, after having been boarded three or four times. The Enemy still came on with greater Fury, and hoped by his Number of Men to carry the Prize, till at last the Englishman finding himself sink apace, and ready to perish, struck: But the Effect which this singular Gallantry had upon the Captain of the Privateer, was no other than an unmanly Desire of Vengeance for the Loss he had sustained in his several Attacks. He told the Ipswich Man in a speaking-Trumpet, that he would not take him aboard, and that he stayed to see him sink. The Englishman at the same time observed a Disorder in the Vessel, which he rightly judged to proceed from the Disdain which the Ships Crew had of their Captains Inhumanity: With this Hope he went into his Boat, and approached the Enemy. He was taken in by the Sailors in spite of their Commander; but though they received him against his Command, they treated him when he was in the Ship in the manner he directed. Pottiere caused his Men to hold Goodwin, while he beat him with a Stick till he fainted with Loss of Blood, and Rage of Heart: after which he ordered him into Irons without allowing him any Food, but such as one or two of the Men stole to him under peril of the like Usage: After having kept him several Days overwhelmed with the Misery of Stench, Hunger, and Soreness, he brought him into Calais. The Governour of the Place was soon acquainted with all that had passed, dismissed Pottiere from his Charge with Ignominy, and gave Goodwin all the Relief which a Man of Honour would bestow upon an Enemy barbarously treated, to recover the Imputation of Cruelty upon his Prince and Country.

When Mr. SENTREY had read his Letter, full of many other circumstances which aggravate the Barbarity, he fell into a sort of Criticism upon Magnanimity and Courage, and argued that they were inseparable; and that Courage, without regard to Justice and Humanity, was no other than the Fierceness of a wild Beast. A good and truly bold Spirit, continued he, is ever actuated by Reason and a Sense of Honour and Duty: The Affectation of such a Spirit exerts it self in an Impudent Aspect, an over-bearing Confidence, and a certain Negligence of giving Offence. This is visible in all the cocking Youths you see about this Town, who are noisy in Assemblies, unawed by the Presence of wise and virtuous Men; in a word, insensible of all the Honours and Decencies of human Life. A shameless Fellow takes advantage of Merit clothed with Modesty and Magnanimity, and in the Eyes of little People appears sprightly and agreeable; while the Man of Resolution and true Gallantry is overlooked and disregarded, if not despised. There is a Propriety in all things; and I believe what you Scholars call just and sublime, in opposition to turgid and bombast Expression, may give you an Idea of what I mean, when I say Modesty is the certain Indication of a great Spirit, and Impudence the Affectation of it. He that writes with Judgment, and never rises into improper Warmths, manifests the true Force of Genius; in like manner, he who is quiet and equal in all his Behaviour, is supported in that Deportment by what we may call true Courage. Alas, it is not so easy a thing to be a brave Man as the unthinking part of Mankind imagine: To dare, is not all that there is in it. The Privateer we were just now talking of, had boldness enough to attack his Enemy, but not Greatness of Mind enough to admire the same Quality exerted by that Enemy in defending himself. Thus his base and little Mind was wholly taken up in the sordid regard to the Prize, of which he failed, and the damage done to his own Vessel; and therefore he used an honest Man, who defended his own from him, in the Manner as he would a Thief that should rob him.

He was equally disappointed, and had not Spirit enough to consider that one Case would be Laudable and the other Criminal. Malice, Rancour, Hatred, Vengeance, are what tear the Breasts of mean Men in Fight; but Fame, Glory, Conquests, Desires of Opportunities to pardon and oblige their Opposers, are what glow in the Minds of the Gallant. The Captain ended his Discourse with a Specimen of his Book-Learning; and gave us to understand that he had read a French Author on the Subject of Justness in point of Gallantry. I love, said Mr. SENTREY, a Critick who mixes the Rules of Life with Annotations upon Writers. My Author, added he, in his Discourse upon Epick Poem, takes occasion to speak of the same Quality of Courage drawn in the two different Characters of Turnus and AEneas: He makes Courage the chief and greatest Ornament of Turnus; but in AEneas there are many others which out-shine it, amongst the rest that of Piety. Turnus is therefore all along painted by the Poet full of Ostentation, his Language haughty and vain glorious, as placing his Honour in the Manifestation of his Valour; AEneas speaks little, is slow to Action; and shows only a sort of defensive Courage. If Equipage and Address make Turnus appear more couragious than AEneas, Conduct and Success prove AEneas more valiant than Turnus.

T.



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No. 351. Saturday, April 12, 1712. Addison.



In te omnis domus inclinata recumbit.

Virg.



If we look into the three great Heroick Poems which have appeared in the World, we may observe that they are built upon very slight Foundations. Homer lived near 300 Years after the Trojan War; and, as the writing of History was not then in use among the Greeks, we may very well suppose, that the Tradition of Achilles and Ulysses had brought down but very few particulars to his Knowledge; though there is no question but he has wrought into his two Poems such of their remarkable Adventures, as were still talked of among his Contemporaries.

The Story of AEneas, on which Virgil founded his Poem, was likewise very bare of Circumstances, and by that means afforded him an Opportunity of embellishing it with Fiction, and giving a full range to his own Invention. We find, however, that he has interwoven, in the course of his Fable, the principal Particulars, which were generally believed among the Romans, of AEneas his Voyage and Settlement in Italy. The Reader may find an Abridgment of the whole Story as collected out of the ancient Historians, and as it was received among the Romans, in Dionysius Halicarnasseus [1].

Since none of the Criticks have consider'd Virgil's Fable, with relation to this History of AEneas, it may not, perhaps, be amiss to examine it in this Light, so far as regards my present Purpose. Whoever looks into the Abridgment above mentioned, will find that the Character of AEneas is filled with Piety to the Gods, and a superstitious Observation of Prodigies, Oracles, and Predictions. Virgil has not only preserved this Character in the Person of AEneas, but has given a place in his Poem to those particular Prophecies which he found recorded of him in History and Tradition. The Poet took the matters of Fact as they came down to him, and circumstanced them after his own manner, to make them appear the more natural, agreeable, or surprizing. I believe very many Readers have been shocked at that ludicrous Prophecy, which one of the Harpyes pronounces to the Trojans in the third Book, namely, that before they had built their intended City, they should be reduced by Hunger to eat their very Tables. But, when they hear that this was one of the Circumstances that had been transmitted to the Romans in the History of AEneas, they will think the Poet did very well in taking notice of it. The Historian above mentioned acquaints us, a Prophetess had foretold AEneas, that he should take his Voyage Westward, till his Companions should eat their Tables; and that accordingly, upon his landing in Italy, as they were eating their Flesh upon Cakes of Bread, for want of other Conveniences, they afterwards fed on the Cakes themselves; upon which one of the Company said merrily, We are eating our Tables. They immediately took the Hint, says the Historian, and concluded the Prophecy to be fulfilled. As Virgil did not think it proper to omit so material a particular in the History of AEneas, it may be worth while to consider with how much Judgment he has qualified it, and taken off every thing that might have appeared improper for a Passage in an Heroick Poem. The Prophetess who foretells it, is an Hungry Harpy, as the Person who discovers it is young Ascanius. [2]

Heus etiam mensas consumimus, inquit Inlus!

Such an observation, which is beautiful in the Mouth of a Boy, would have been ridiculous from any other of the Company. I am apt to think that the changing of the Trojan Fleet into Water-Nymphs which is the most violent Machine in the whole AEneid, and has given offence to several Criticks, may be accounted for the same way. Virgil himself, before he begins that Relation, premises, that what he was going to tell appeared incredible, but that it was justified by Tradition. What further confirms me that this Change of the Fleet was a celebrated Circumstance in the History of AEneas, is, that Ovid has given place to the same Metamorphosis in his Account of the heathen Mythology.

None of the Criticks I have met with having considered the Fable of the AEneid in this Light, and taken notice how the Tradition, on which it was founded, authorizes those Parts in it which appear the most exceptionable; I hope the length of this Reflection will not make it unacceptable to the curious Part of my Readers.

The History, which was the Basis of Milton's Poem, is still shorter than either that of the Iliad or AEneid. The Poet has likewise taken care to insert every Circumstance of it in the Body of his Fable. The ninth Book, which we are here to consider, is raised upon that brief Account in Scripture, wherein we are told that the Serpent was more subtle than any Beast of the Field, that he tempted the Woman to eat of the forbidden Fruit, that she was overcome by this Temptation, and that Adam followed her Example. From these few Particulars, Milton has formed one of the most Entertaining Fables that Invention ever produced. He has disposed of these several Circumstances among so many beautiful and natural Fictions of his own, that his whole Story looks only like a Comment upon sacred Writ, or rather seems to be a full and compleat Relation of what the other is only an Epitome. I have insisted the longer on this Consideration, as I look upon the Disposition and Contrivance of the Fable to be the principal Beauty of the ninth Book, which has more Story in it, and is fuller of Incidents, than any other in the whole Poem. Satan's traversing the Globe, and still keeping within the Shadow of the Night, as fearing to be discovered by the Angel of the Sun, who had before detected him, is one of those beautiful Imaginations with which he introduces this his second Series of Adventures. Having examined the Nature of every Creature, and found out one which was the most proper for his Purpose, he again returns to Paradise; and, to avoid Discovery, sinks by Night with a River that ran under the Garden, and rises up again through a Fountain that [issued [3]] from it by the Tree of Life. The Poet, who, as we have before taken notice, speaks as little as possible in his own Person, and, after the Example of Homer, fills every Part of his Work with Manners and Characters, introduces a Soliloquy of this infernal Agent, who was thus restless in the Destruction of Man. He is then describ'd as gliding through the Garden, under the resemblance of a Mist, in order to find out that Creature in which he design'd to tempt our first Parents. This Description has something in it very Poetical and Surprizing.

So saying, through each Thicket Dank or Dry, Like a black Mist, low creeping, he held on His Midnight Search, where soonest he might find The Serpent: him fast sleeping soon he found In Labyrinth of many a Round self-roll'd, His Head the midst, well stor'd with subtle Wiles.

The Author afterwards gives us a Description of the Morning, which is wonderfully suitable to a Divine Poem, and peculiar to that first Season of Nature: He represents the Earth, before it was curst, as a great Altar, breathing out its Incense from all Parts, and sending up a pleasant Savour to the Nostrils of its Creator; to which he adds a noble Idea of Adam and Eve, as offering their Morning Worship, and filling up the Universal Consort of Praise and Adoration.

Now when as sacred Light began to dawn In Eden on the humid Flowers, that breathed Their Morning Incense, when all things that breathe From th' Earth's great Altar send up silent Praise To the Creator, and his Nostrils fill With grateful Smell; forth came the human Pair, And join'd their vocal Worship to the Choir Of Creatures wanting Voice—