An old Maiden Gentlewoman, whom I shall conceal under the Name of Nemesis, is the greatest Discoverer of Judgments that I have met with. She can tell you what Sin it was that set such a Man's House on fire, or blew down his Barns. Talk to her of an unfortunate young Lady that lost her Beauty by the Small-Pox, she fetches a deep Sigh, and tells you, that when she had a fine Face she was always looking on it in her Glass. Tell her of a Piece of good Fortune that has befallen one of her Acquaintance; and she wishes it may prosper with her, but her Mother used one of her Nieces very barbarously. Her usual Remarks turn upon People who had great Estates, but never enjoyed them, by reason of some Flaw in their own, or their Father's Behaviour. She can give you the Reason why such a one died Childless: Why such an one was cut off in the Flower of his Youth: Why such an one was Unhappy in her Marriage: Why one broke his Leg on such a particular Spot of Ground, and why another was killed with a Back-Sword, rather than with any other kind of Weapon. She has a Crime for every Misfortune that can befal any of her Acquaintance, and when she hears of a Robbery that has been made, or a Murder that has been committed, enlarges more on the Guilt of the suffering Person, than on that of the Thief, or the Assassin. In short, she is so good a Christian, that whatever happens to her self is a Tryal, and whatever happens to her Neighbours is a Judgment.

The very Description of this Folly, in ordinary Life, is sufficient to expose it; but when it appears in a Pomp and Dignity of Style, it is very apt to amuse and terrify the Mind of the Reader. Herodotus and Plutarch very often apply their Judgments as impertinently as the old Woman I have before mentioned, though their manner of relating them, makes the Folly it self appear venerable. Indeed, most Historians, as well Christian as Pagan, have fallen into this idle Superstition, and spoken of ill [Success, [1]] unforeseen Disasters, and terrible Events, as if they had been let into the Secrets of Providence, and made acquainted with that private Conduct by which the World is governed. One would think several of our own Historians in particular had many Revelations of this kind made to them. Our old English Monks seldom let any of their Kings depart in Peace, who had endeavoured to diminish the Power or Wealth of which the Ecclesiasticks were in those times possessed. William the Conqueror's Race generally found their Judgments in the New Forest, where their Father had pulled down Churches and Monasteries. In short, read one of the Chronicles written by an Author of this frame of Mind, and you would think you were reading an History of the Kings of Israel or Judah, where the Historians were actually inspired, and where, by a particular Scheme of Providence, the Kings were distinguished by Judgments or Blessings, according as they promoted Idolatry or the Worship of the true God.

I cannot but look upon this manner of judging upon Misfortunes, not only to be very uncharitable, in regard to the Person whom they befall, but very presumptuous in regard to him who is supposed to inflict them. It is a strong Argument for a State of Retribution hereafter, that in this World virtuous Persons are very often unfortunate, and vicious Persons prosperous; which is wholly repugnant to the Nature of a Being who appears infinitely wise and good in all his Works, unless we may suppose that such a promiscuous and undistinguishing Distribution of Good and Evil, which was necessary for carrying on the Designs of Providence in this Life, will be rectified and made amends for in another. We are not therefore to expect that Fire should fall from Heaven in the ordinary Course of Providence; nor when we see triumphant Guilt or depressed Virtue in particular Persons, that Omnipotence will make bare its holy Arm in the Defence of the one, or Punishment of the other. It is sufficient that there is a Day set apart for the hearing and requiting of both according to their respective Merits.

The Folly of ascribing Temporal Judgments to any particular Crimes, may appear from several Considerations. I shall only mention two: First, That, generally speaking, there is no Calamity or Affliction, which is supposed to have happened as a Judgment to a vicious Man, which does not sometimes happen to Men of approved Religion and Virtue. When Diagoras the Atheist [2] was on board one of the Athenian Ships, there arose a very violent Tempest; upon which the Mariners told him, that it was a just Judgment upon them for having taken so impious a Man on board. Diagoras begged them to look upon the rest of the Ships that were in the same Distress, and ask'd them whether or no Diagoras was on board every Vessel in the Fleet. We are all involved in the same Calamities, and subject to the same Accidents: and when we see any one of the Species under any particular Oppression, we should look upon it as arising from the common Lot of human Nature, rather than from the Guilt of the Person who suffers.

Another Consideration, that may check our Presumption in putting such a Construction upon a Misfortune, is this, That it is impossible for us to know what are Calamities, and what are Blessings. How many Accidents have pass'd for Misfortunes, which have turned to the Welfare and Prosperity of the Persons in whose Lot they have fallen? How many Disappointments have, in their Consequences, saved a man from Ruin? If we could look into the Effects of every thing, we might be allowed to pronounce boldly upon Blessings and Judgments; but for a Man to give his Opinion of what he sees but in part, and in its Beginnings, is an unjustifiable Piece of Rashness and Folly. The Story of Biton and Clitobus, which was in great Reputation among the Heathens, (for we see it quoted by all the ancient Authors, both Greek and Latin, who have written upon the Immortality of the Soul,) may teach us a Caution in this Matter. These two Brothers, being the Sons of a Lady who was Priestess to Juno, drew their Mother's Chariot to the Temple at the time of a great Solemnity, the Persons being absent who by their Office were to have drawn her Chariot on that Occasion. The Mother was so transported with this Instance of filial Duty, that she petition'd her Goddess to bestow upon them the greatest Gift that could be given to Men; upon which they were both cast into a deep Sleep, and the next Morning found dead in the Temple. This was such an Event, as would have been construed into a Judgment, had it happen'd to the two Brothers after an Act of Disobedience, and would doubtless have been represented as such by any Ancient Historian who had given us an Account of it.

O.



[Footnote 1: [Successes,]]

[Footnote 2: Diagoras the Melian, having attacked the popular religion and the Eleusinian mysteries, had a price set on his head, and left Athens B.C. 411. The Athenians called him Atheist, and destroyed his writings. The story in the text is from the third book of Cicero 'de Natura Deorum.']



* * * * *



No. 484. Monday, September 15, 1712. Steele.



'Neque cuiquam tam statim clarum ingenium est, ut possit emergere; nisi illi materia, occasio, fautor etiam, commendatorque contingat.'

Plin. Epist.



Mr. SPECTATOR,

Of all the young Fellows who are in their Progress thro' any Profession, none seem to have so good a Title to the Protection of the Men of Eminence in it as the modest Man; not so much because his Modesty is a certain Indication of his Merit, as because 'tis a certain Obstacle to the producing of it. Now, as of all Professions this Virtue is thought to be more particularly unnecessary in that of the Law than in any other, I shall only apply my self to the Relief of such who follow this Profession with this Disadvantage. What aggravates the matter is, that those Persons who, the better to prepare themselves for this Study, have made some Progress in others, have, by addicting themselves to Letters, encreased their natural Modesty, and consequently heighten'd the Obstruction to this sort of Preferment; so that every one of these may emphatically be said to be such a one as laboureth and taketh pains, and is still the more behind. It may be a Matter worth discussing then, Why that which made a Youth so amiable to the Ancients, should make him appear so ridiculous to the Moderns? and, Why in our days there should be Neglect, and even Oppression of young Beginners, instead of that Protection which was the Pride of theirs? In the Profession spoken of, 'tis obvious to every one whose Attendance is required at Westminster-Hall, with what Difficulty a Youth of any Modesty has been permitted to make an Observation, that could in no wise detract from the Merit of his Elders, and is absolutely necessary for the advancing his own. I have often seen one of these not only molested in his Utterance of something very pertinent, but even plunder'd of his Question, and by a strong Serjeant shoulder'd out of his Rank, which he has recover'd with much Difficulty and Confusion. Now as great part of the Business of this Profession might be dispatched by one that perhaps

'—Abest virtute diserti Messalae, nec scit quantum Causellius Aulus—'

Hor.

so I can't conceive the Injustice done to the Publick, if the Men of Reputation in this Calling would introduce such of the young ones into Business, whose Application to this Study will let them into the Secrets of it, as much as their Modesty will hinder them from the Practice: I say, it would be laying an everlasting Obligation upon a young Man, to be introduc'd at first only as a Mute, till by this Countenance, and a Resolution to support the good Opinion conceiv'd of him in his Betters, his Complexion shall be so well settled, that the Litigious of this Island may be secure of his obstreperous Aid. If I might be indulged to speak in the Style of a Lawyer, I would say, That any one about thirty years of Age, might make a common Motion to the Court with as much Elegance and Propriety as the most aged Advocates in the Hall.

I can't advance the Merit of Modesty by any Argument of my own so powerfully, as by enquiring into the Sentiments the greatest among the Ancients of different Ages entertain'd upon this Virtue. If we go back to the Days of Solomon, we shall find Favour a necessary Consequence to a shame-fac'd Man. Pliny, the greatest Lawyer and most Elegant Writer of the Age he lived in, in several of his Epistles is very sollicitous in recommending to the Publick some young Men of his own Profession, and very often undertakes to become an Advocate, upon condition that some one of these his Favourites might be joined with him, in order to produce the Merit of such, whose Modesty otherwise would have suppressed it. It may seem very marvellous to a saucy Modern, that Multum sanguinis, multum verecundiae, multum sollicitudinis in ore; to have the Face first full of Blood, then the Countenance dashed with Modesty, and then the whole Aspect as of one dying with Fear, when a Man begins to speak; should be esteem'd by Pliny the necessary Qualifications of a fine Speaker [1]. Shakespear has also express'd himself in the same favourable Strain of Modesty, when he says,

'—In the Modesty of fearful Duty I read as much as from the rattling Tongue Of saucy and audacious Eloquence—' [2]

Now since these Authors have profess'd themselves for the Modest Man, even in the utmost Confusions of Speech and Countenance, why should an intrepid Utterance and a resolute Vociferation thunder so successfully in our Courts of Justice? And why should that Confidence of Speech and Behaviour, which seems to acknowledge no Superior, and to defy all Contradiction, prevail over that Deference and Resignation with which the Modest Man implores that favourable Opinion which the other seems to command?

As the Case at present stands, the best Consolation that I can administer to those who cannot get into that Stroke of Business (as the Phrase is) which they deserve, is to reckon every particular Acquisition of Knowledge in this Study as a real Increase of their Fortune; and fully to believe, that one day this imaginary Gain will certainly be made out by one more substantial. I wish you would talk to us a little on this Head, you would oblige,

SIR,

Your most humble Servant.

The Author of this Letter is certainly a Man of good Sense; but I am perhaps particular in my Opinion on this Occasion; for I have observed, that under the Notion of Modesty, Men have indulged themselves in a Spiritless Sheepishness, and been for ever lost to themselves, their Families, their Friends, and their Country. When a Man has taken care to pretend to nothing but what he may justly aim at, and can execute as well as any other, without Injustice to any other; it is ever want of Breeding or Courage to be brow-beaten or elbow'd out of his honest Ambition. I have said often, Modesty must be an Act of the Will, and yet it always implies Self-Denial: For if a Man has an ardent Desire to do what is laudable for him to perform, and, from an unmanly Bashfulness, shrinks away, and lets his Merit languish in Silence, he ought not to be angry at the World that a more unskilful Actor succeeds in his Part, because he has not Confidence to come upon the Stage himself. The Generosity my Correspondent mentions of Pliny, cannot be enough applauded. To cherish the Dawn of Merit, and hasten its Maturity, was a Work worthy a noble Roman and a liberal Scholar. That Concern which is described in the Letter, is to all the World the greatest Charm imaginable: but then the modest Man must proceed, and shew a latent Resolution in himself; for the Admiration of his Modesty arises from the Manifestation of his Merit. I must confess we live in an Age wherein a few empty Blusterers carry away the Praise of Speaking, while a Crowd of Fellows over-stock'd with Knowledge are run down by them. I say Over-stock'd, because they certainly are so as to their Service of Mankind, if from their very Store they raise to themselves Ideas of Respect, and Greatness of the Occasion, and I know not what, to disable themselves from explaining their Thoughts. I must confess, when I have seen Charles Frankair rise up with a commanding Mien, and Torrent of handsome Words, talk a Mile off the Purpose, and drive down twenty bashful Boobies of ten times his Sense, who at the same time were envying his Impudence and despising his Understanding, it has been matter of great Mirth to me; but it soon ended in a secret Lamentation, that the Fountains of every thing praiseworthy in these Realms, the Universities, should be so muddied with a false Sense of this Virtue, as to produce Men capable of being so abused. I will be bold to say, that it is a ridiculous Education which does not qualify a Man to make his best Appearance before the greatest Man and the finest Woman to whom he can address himself. Were this judiciously corrected in the Nurseries of Learning, pert Coxcombs would know their Distance: But we must bear with this false Modesty in our young Nobility and Gentry, till they cease at Oxford and Cambridge to grow dumb in the Study of Eloquence.

T.



[Footnote 1: The citation is from a charming letter in which Pliny (Bk. v. letter 17) tells Spurinna the pleasure he had just received from a recitation by a noble youth in the house of Calpurnius Piso, and how, when it was over, he gave the youth many kisses and praises, congratulated his mother and his brother, in whom, as the reciter tried his powers, first fear for him and then delight in him was manifest. To the sentences quoted above the next is

'Etenim, nescio quo pacto, magis in studiis homines timor quam fiducia decet.'

'I don't know how it is, but in brain-work mistrust better becomes men than self-confidence.']

[Footnote 2: Midsummer Night's Dream, Act v. sc. 1.]



* * * * *



No. 485. Tuesday, September 16, 1712. Steele.



'Nihil tam firmum est, cui periculum non sit, etiam ab Invalido.'

Quint. Curt.



Mr. SPECTATOR,

'My Lord Clarendon has observed, That few Men have done more harm than those who have been thought to be able to do least; and there cannot be a greater Error, than to believe a Man whom we see qualified with too mean Parts to do good, to be therefore incapable of doing hurt. There is a Supply of Malice, of Pride, of Industry, and even of Folly, in the Weakest, when he sets his heart upon it, that makes a strange progress in Mischief. [1] What may seem to the Reader the greatest Paradox in the Reflection of the Historian, is, I suppose, that Folly, which is generally thought incapable of contriving or executing any Design, should be so formidable to those whom it exerts it self to molest. But this will appear very plain, if we remember that Solomon says, It is as Sport to a Fool to do mischief; and that he might the more emphatically express the calamitous Circumstances of him who falls under the displeasure of this wanton Person, the same Author adds further, That a Stone is heavy, and the Sand weighty, but a Fool's Wrath is heavier than them both. It is impossible to suppress my own Illustration upon this Matter, which is, That as the Man of Sagacity bestirs himself to distress his Enemy by Methods probable and reducible to Reason, so the same Reason will fortify his Enemy to elude these his regular Efforts; but your Fool projects, acts, and concludes with such notable Inconsistence, that no regular Course of Thought can evade or counterplot his prodigious Machinations. My Frontispiece, I believe, may be extended to imply, That several of our Misfortunes arise from Things, as well as Persons, that seem of very little consequence. Into what tragical Extravagancies does Shakespear hurry Othello upon the loss of an Handkerchief only? and what Barbarities does Desdemona suffer from a slight Inadvertency in regard to this fatal Trifle? If the Schemes of all enterprizing Spirits were to be carefully examined, some intervening Accident, not considerable enough to occasion any Debate upon, or give 'em any apprehension of ill Consequence from it, will be found to be the occasion of their ill Success, rather than any Error in Points of Moment and Difficulty, which naturally engag'd their maturest Deliberations. If you go to the Levee of any great Man, you will observe him exceeding gracious to several very insignificant Fellows; and this upon this Maxim, That the Neglect of any Person must arise from the mean Opinion you have of his Capacity to do you any Service or Prejudice; and that this calling his Sufficiency in question, must give him Inclination, and where this is, there never wants Strength or Opportunity to annoy you. There is no body so weak of Invention, that can't aggravate or make some little Stories to vilify his Enemy; and there are very few but have good Inclinations to hear 'em, and 'tis infinite Pleasure to the Majority of Mankind to level a Person superior to his Neighbours. Besides, in all matter of Controversy, that Party which has the greatest Abilities labours under this Prejudice, that he will certainly be supposed, upon Account of his Abilities, to have done an Injury, when perhaps he has received one. It would be tedious to enumerate the Strokes that Nations and particular Friends have suffer'd from Persons very contemptible.

I Think Henry IV. of France, so formidable to his Neighbours, could no more be secur'd against the resolute Villany of Ravillac, than Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, could be against that of Felton. And there is no incens'd Person so destitute, but can provide himself with a Knife or a Pistol, if he finds stomach to apply them. That Things and Persons of no moment should give such powerful Revolutions to the progress of those of the greatest, seems a providential Disposition to baffle and abate the Pride of human Sufficiency; as also to engage the Humanity and Benevolence of Superiors to all below 'em, by letting them into this Secret, that the Stronger depends upon the Weaker.

I am, SIR, Your very humble Servant.



Temple, Paper-Buildings.

Dear Sir,

'I received a Letter from you some time ago, which I should have answered sooner, had you informed me in yours to what part of this Island I might have directed my Impertinence; but having been let into the Knowledge of that Matter, this handsome Excuse is no longer serviceable. My Neighbour Prettyman shall be the Subject of this Letter; who falling in with the SPECTATOR'S Doctrine concerning the Month of May, began from that Season to dedicate himself to the Service of the Fair in the following Manner. I observed at the Beginning of the Month he bought him a new Night-gown, either side to be worn outwards, both equally gorgeous and attractive; but till the End of the Month I did not enter so fully into the knowledge of his Contrivance, as the Use of that Garment has since suggested to me. Now you must know that all new Clothes raise and warm the Bearer's Imagination into a Conceit of his being a much finer Gentleman than he was before, banishing all Sobriety and Reflection, and giving him up to Gallantry and Amour. Inflam'd therefore with this way of thinking, and full of the Spirit of the Month of May, did this merciless Youth resolve upon the Business of Captivating. At first he confin'd himself to his Room only, now and then appearing at his Window in his Night-gown, and practising that easy Posture which expresses the very Top and Dignity of Languishment. It was pleasant to see him diversify his Loveliness, sometimes obliging the Passengers only with a Side-Face, with a Book in his Hand; sometimes being so generous as to expose the whole in the fulness of its Beauty; at the other times, by a judicious throwing back of his Perriwig, he would throw in his Ears. You know he is that Sort of Person which the Mob call a handsome jolly Man; which Appearance can't miss of Captives in this part of the Town. Being emboldened by daily Success, he leaves his Room with a Resolution to extend his Conquests; and I have apprehended him in his Night-gown smiting in all Parts of this Neighbourhood.

This I, being of an amorous Complection, saw with Indignation, and had Thoughts of purchasing a Wig in these Parts; into which, being at a greater Distance from the Earth, I might have thrown a very liberal Mixture of white Horse-hair, which would make a fairer, and consequently a handsomer Appearance, while my Situation would secure me against any Discoveries. But the Passion to the handsome Gentleman seems to be so fixed to that part of the Building, that it will be extremely difficult to divert it to mine; so that I am resolved to stand boldly to the Complection of my own Eye-brow, and prepare me an immense Black Wig of the same sort of Structure with that of my Rival. Now, tho' by this I shall not, perhaps, lessen the number of the Admirers of his Complection, I shall have a fair Chance to divide the Passengers by the irresistible Force of mine.

I expect sudden Dispatches from you, with Advice of the Family you are in now, how to deport my self upon this so delicate a Conjuncture; with some comfortable Resolutions in favour of the handsome black Man against the handsome fair one.

_I am, SIR,

Your most humble Servant_,

C.

N. B. He who writ this, is a black Man two Pair of Stairs; the Gentleman of whom he writes, is fair, and one Pair of Stairs.



Mr. SPECTATOR,

'I only say, that it is impossible for me to say how much I am

Yours,

Robin Shorter.

P. S. 'I shall think it a little hard, if you do not take as much notice of this Epistle, as you have of the ingenious Mr. Short's. I am not afraid to let the World see which is the Deeper Man of the two.

T.



[Footnote 1: When this was quoted Clarendon had been dead only 38 years, and his History of the Rebellion, first published in Queen Anne's reign, was almost a new Book. It was published at Oxford in three folio volumes, which appeared in the successive years 1702, 3,4, and in this year, 1712, there had appeared a new edition of it (the sixth).]



* * * * *



ADVERTISEMENT.

London, September 15.

Whereas a young Woman on horseback, in an Equestrian Habit on the 13th Instant in the Evening, met the SPECTATOR within a Mile and an half of this Town, and flying in the Face of Justice, pull'd off her Hat, in which there was a Feather, with the Mein and Air of a young Officer, saying at the same time, Your Servant Mr. SPEC. or Words to that Purpose; This is to give Notice, that if any Person can discover the Name, and Place of Abode of the said Offender, so as she can be brought to Justice, the Informant shall have all fitting Encouragement.



* * * * *



No. 486. Wednesday, September 17, 1712. Steele.



'—Audire est operae pretium procedere recte Qui mechis non vultis—'

Hor.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

'There are very many of my Acquaintance Followers of Socrates, with more particular regard to that part of his Philosophy which we, among, our selves, call his Domesticks; under which Denomination, or Title, we include all the Conjugal Joys and Sufferings. We have indeed, with very great Pleasure, observed the Honour you do the whole Fraternity of the Hen-peck'd, in placing that illustrious Man at our Head, and it does in a very great measure baffle the Raillery of pert Rogues, who have no advantage above us, but in that they are single. But when you look about into the Crowd of Mankind, you will find the Fair Sex reigns with greater Tyranny over Lovers than Husbands. You shall hardly meet one in a thousand who is wholly exempt from their Dominion, and those that are so, are capable of no Taste of Life, and breathe and walk about the Earth as Insignificants. But I am going to desire your further Favour in behalf of our harmless Brotherhood, and hope you will shew in a true light the un-married Hen-peck'd, as well as you have done Justice to us, who submit to the Conduct of our Wives. I am very particularly acquainted with one who is under entire Submission to a kind Girl, as he calls her; and tho' he knows I have been Witness both to the ill Usage he has received from her, and his Inability to resist her Tyranny, he still pretends to make a Jest of me for a little more than ordinary Obsequiousness to my Spouse. No longer than Tuesday last he took me with him to visit his Mistress; and he having, it seems, been a little in Disgrace before, thought by bringing me with him she would constrain herself, and insensibly fall into general Discourse with him; and so he might break the Ice, and save himself all the ordinary Compunctions and Mortifications she used to make him suffer before she would be reconciled after any Act of Rebellion on his Part. When we came into the Room, we were received with the utmost Coldness; and when he presented me as Mr. Such-a-one, his very good Friend, she just had Patience to suffer my Salutation; but when he himself, with a very gay Air, offered to follow me, she gave him a thundering Box on the Ear, called him pitiful poor-spirited Wretch, how durst he see her Face? His Wig and Hat fell on different Parts of the Floor. She seized the Wig too soon for him to recover it, and kicking it down Stairs, threw herself into an opposite Room, pulling the Door after her with a Force, that you would have thought the Hinges would have given Way. We went down, you must think, with no very good Countenances; and as we sneaked off, and were driving home together, he confessed to me, that her Anger was thus highly raised, because he did not think fit to fight a Gentleman who had said she was what she was; but, says he, a kind Letter or two, or fifty pieces, will put her in Humour again. I asked him why he did not part with her; he answered, he loved her with all the Tenderness imaginable, and she had too many Charms to be abandoned for a little Quickness of Spirit. Thus does this illegitimate Hen-pecked over-look the Hussy's having no Regard to his very Life and Fame, in putting him upon an infamous Dispute about her Reputation; yet has he the Confidence to laugh at me, because I obey my poor Dear in keeping out of Harm's Way, and not staying too late from my own Family, to pass through the Hazards of a Town full of Ranters and Debauchees. You that are a Philosopher should urge in our behalf, that when we bear with a froward Woman, our Patience is preserved, in consideration that a breach with her might be a Dishonour to Children who are descended from us, and whose Concern makes us tolerate a thousand Frailties, for fear they should redound Dishonour upon the Innocent. This and the like Circumstances, which carry with them the most valuable Regards of human Life, may be mentioned for our long Suffering; but in the case of Gallants, they swallow ill Usage from one to whom they have no Obligation, but from a base Passion, which it is mean to indulge, and which it would be glorious to overcome.

'These Sort of Fellows are very numerous, and some have been conspicuously such, without Shame; nay they have carried on the Jest in the very Article of Death, and, to the Diminution of the Wealth and Happiness of their Families, in bar of those honourably near to them, have left immense Wealth to their Paramours. What is this but being a Cully in the Grave! Sure this is being Hen-peck'd with a Vengeance! But without dwelling upon these less frequent Instances of eminent Cullyism, what is there so common as to hear a Fellow curse his Fate that he cannot get rid of a Passion to a Jilt, and quote an Half-Line out of a Miscellany Poem to prove his Weakness is natural? If they will go on thus, I have nothing to say to it: But then let them not pretend to be free all this while, and laugh at us poor married Patients.

'I have known one Wench in this Town carry an haughty Dominion over her Lovers so well, that she has at the same time been kept by a Sea-Captain in the Straits, a Merchant in the City, a Country Gentleman in Hampshire, and had all her Correspondences managed by one she kept for her own Uses. This happy Man (as the Phrase is) used to write very punctually every Post, Letters for the Mistress to transcribe. He would sit in his Night-Gown and Slippers, and be as grave giving an Account, only changing Names, that there was nothing in those idle Reports they had heard of such a Scoundrel as one of the other Lovers was; and how could he think she could condescend so low, after such a fine Gentleman as each of them? For the same Epistle said the same thing to and of every one of them. And so Mr. Secretary and his Lady went to Bed with great Order.

'To be short, Mr. SPECTATOR, we Husbands shall never make the Figure we ought in the Imaginations of young Men growing up in the World, except you can bring it about that a Man of the Town shall be as infamous a Character as a Woman of the Town. But of all that I have met in my time, commend me to Betty Duall: She is the Wife of a Sailor, and the kept Mistress of a Man of Quality; she dwells with the latter during the Sea-faring of the former. The Husband asks no Questions, sees his Apartments furnished with Riches not his, when he comes into Port, and the Lover is as joyful as a Man arrived at his Haven when the other puts to Sea. Betty is the most eminently victorious of any of her Sex, and ought to stand recorded the only Woman of the Age in which she lives, who has possessed at the same time two Abused, and two Contented...

T.



* * * * *



No. 487. Thursday, September 18, 1712. Addison.



'—Cum prostrata sopore Urget membra quies, et mem sine pondere ludit—'

Petr.



Tho' there are many Authors, who have written on Dreams, they have generally considered them only as Revelations of what has already happened in distant parts of the World, or as Presages of what is to happen in future Periods of time.

I shall consider this Subject in another Light, as Dreams may give us some Idea of the great Excellency of an Human Soul, and some Intimation of its Independency on Matter. In the first Place, our Dreams are great Instances of that Activity which is natural to the human Soul, and which it is not in the power of Sleep to deaden or abate. When the Man appears tired and worn out with the Labours of the Day, this active part in his Composition is still busied and unwearied. When the Organs of Sense want their due Repose and necessary Reparations, and the Body is no longer able to keep pace with that spiritual Substance to which it is united, the Soul exerts her self in her several Faculties, and continues in Action till her Partner is again qualified to bear her Company. In this case Dreams look like the Relaxations and Amusements of the Soul, when she is disincumbred of her Machine, her Sports and Recreations, when she has laid her Charge asleep.

In the Second Place, Dreams are an Instance of that Agility and Perfection which is natural to the Faculties of the Mind, when they are disengaged from the Body. The Soul is clogged and retarded in her Operations, when she acts in Conjunction with a Companion that is so heavy and unwieldy in its Motions. But in Dreams it is wonderful to observe with what a Sprightliness and Alacrity she exerts her self. The slow of Speech make unpremeditated Harangues, or converse readily in Languages that they are but little acquainted with. The Grave abound in Pleasantries, the Dull in Repartees and Points of Wit. There is not a more painful Action of the Mind, than Invention; yet in Dreams it works with that Ease and Activity, that we are not sensible when the Faculty is employed. For instance, I believe every one, some time or other, dreams that he is reading Papers, Books, or Letters; in which case the Invention prompts so readily, that the Mind is imposed upon, and mistakes its own Suggestions for the Compositions of another.

I shall, under this Head, quote a Passage out of the Religio Medici, [1] in which the ingenious Author gives an account of himself in his dreaming and his waking Thoughts.

'We are somewhat more than our selves in our Sleeps, and the Slumber of the Body seems to be but the Waking of the Soul. It is the Litigation of Sense, but the Liberty of Reason; and our waking Conceptions do not match the Fancies of our Sleeps. At my Nativity my Ascendant was the watery Sign of Scorpius: I was born in the Planetary Hour of Saturn, and I think I have a piece of that leaden Planet in me. I am no way facetious, nor disposed for the Mirth and Galliardize of Company; yet in one Dream I can compose a whole Comedy, behold the Action, apprehend the Jests, and laugh my self awake at the Conceits thereof. Were my Memory as faithful as my Reason is then fruitful, I would never study but in my Dreams; and this time also would I chuse for my Devotions: but our grosser Memories have then so little hold of our abstracted Understandings, that they forget the Story, and can only relate to our awaked Souls a confused and broken Tale of that that has passed—Thus it is observed that Men sometimes, upon the Hour of their Departure, do speak and reason above themselves; for then the Soul beginning to be freed from the Ligaments of the Body, begins to reason like her self, and to discourse in a strain above Mortality.'

We may likewise observe in the third Place, that the Passions affect the Mind with greater Strength when we are asleep, than when we are awake. Joy and Sorrow give us more vigorous Sensations of Pain or Pleasure at this time, than at any other. Devotion likewise, as the excellent Author above-mentioned has hinted, is in a very particular manner heightned and inflamed, when it rises in the Soul at a time that the Body is thus laid at Rest. Every Man's Experience will inform him in this matter, though it is very probable, that this may happen differently, in different Constitutions. I shall conclude this Head with the two following Problems, which I shall leave to the Solution of my Reader. Supposing a Man always happy in his Dreams, and miserable in his waking Thoughts, and that his Life was equally divided between them, whether would he be more happy or miserable? Were a Man a King in his Dreams, and a Beggar awake, and dreamt as consequentially, and in as continued unbroken Schemes as he thinks when awake, whether he would be in reality a King or Beggar, or rather whether he would not be both?

There is another Circumstance, which methinks gives us a very high Idea of the Nature of the Soul, in regard to what passes in Dreams, I mean that innumerable Multitude and Variety of Ideas which then arise in her. Were that active watchful Being only conscious of her own Existence at such a time, what a painful Solitude would her Hours of Sleep be? Were the Soul sensible of her being alone in her sleeping Moments, after the same manner that she is sensible of it while awake, the time would hang very heavy on her, as it often actually does when she Dreams that she is in such a Solitude?

'—Semperque relinqui Sola sili, semper longam incomitata videtur Ire viam—'

Virg.

But this Observation I only make by the way. What I would here remark, is that wonderful Power in the Soul, of producing her own Company on these Occasions. She converses with numberless Beings of her own Creation, and is transported into ten thousand Scenes of her own raising. She is herself the Theatre, the Actors, and the Beholder. This puts me in mind of a Saying which I am infinitely pleased with, and which Plutarch ascribes to Heraclitus, That all Men whilst they are awake are in one common World; but that each of them, when he is asleep, is in a World of his own. [2] The waking Man is conversant in the World of Nature, when he sleeps he retires to a private World that is particular to himself. There seems something in this Consideration that intimates to us a natural Grandeur and Perfection in the Soul, which is rather to be admired than explained.

I must not omit that Argument for the Excellency of the Soul, which I have seen quoted out of Tertullian, [3] namely, its Power of divining in Dreams. That several such Divinations have been made, none can question, who believes the Holy Writings, or who has but the least degree of a common Historical Faith; there being innumerable Instances of this nature in several Authors, both Antient and Modern, Sacred and Profane. Whether such dark Presages, such Visions of the Night proceed from any latent Power in the Soul, during this her state of Abstraction, or from any Communication with the Supreme Being, or from any operation of Subordinate Spirits, has been a great Dispute among the Learned; the matter of Fact is, I think, incontestable, and has been looked upon as such by the greatest Writers, who have been never suspected either of Superstition or Enthusiasm.

I do not suppose, that the Soul in these Instances is entirely loose and unfettered from the Body: It is sufficient, if she is not so far sunk, and immersed in Matter, nor intangled and perplexed in her Operations, with such Motions of Blood and Spirits, as when she actuates the Machine in its waking Hours. The Corporeal Union is slackned enough to give the Mind more Play. The Soul seems gathered within herself, and recovers that Spring which is broke and weakned, when she operates more in concert with the Body.

The Speculations I have here made, if they are not Arguments, they are at least strong Intimations, not only of the Excellency of an Human Soul, but of its Independence on the Body; and if they do not prove, do at least confirm these two great Points, which are established by many other Reasons that are altogether unanswerable.

O.



[Footnote 1: Part ii. Sec. 11.]

[Footnote 2: The reference is in the little book 'On Superstition,' where Plutarch quotes Heraclitus to add this comment of his own:

'But to the superstitious man there is no common world, for neither does he use right reason when awake, nor is he freed, when sleeping, from his perturbations.']

[Footnote 3: Tertullian, in his book 'On the Soul,' has seven chapters (43-49) on Sleep and Dreams, with abundant recognition of divine communications to the soul in sleep, and quotations of several authors, sacred and profane.]



* * * * *



No. 488. Friday, September 19, 1712. Addison.



'Quanti emptae? parvi. Quanti ergo? octo assibus. Eheu!'

Hor.



I find, by several Letters which I receive daily, that many of my Readers would be better pleased to pay Three Half-Pence for my Paper, than Two-Pence. The ingenious T. W. tells me, that I have deprived him of the best Part of his Breakfast, for that since the rise of my Paper, he is forced every Morning to drink his Dish of Coffee by it self, without the Addition of the Spectator, that used to be better than Lace to it. Eugenius informs me very obligingly, that he never thought he should have disliked any Passage in my Paper, but that of late there have been two Words in every one of them, which he could heartily wish left out, viz. Price Two-Pence. I have a Letter from a Soap-boiler, who condoles with me very affectionately, upon the necessity we both lie under of setting an higher Price on our Commodities, since the late Tax has been laid upon them, and desiring me, when I write next on that Subject, to speak a Word or two upon the present Duties on Castile-Soap. But there is none of these my Correspondents, who writes with a greater Turn of good Sense and Elegance of Expression, than the generous Philomedes, who advises me to value every Spectator at Six Pence, and promises that he himself will engage for above a Hundred of his Acquaintance, who shall take it in at that Price.

Letters from the Female World are likewise come to me, in great quantities, upon the same Occasion; and as I naturally bear a great Deference to this Part of our Species, I am very glad to find that those who approve my Conduct in this Particular, are much more numerous than those who condemn it. A large Family of Daughters have drawn me up a very handsome Remonstrance, in which they set forth, that their Father having refused to take in the Spectator, since the additional Price was set upon it, they offered him unanimously to bate him the Article of Bread and Butter in the Tea-Table Account, provided the Spectator might be served up to them every Morning as usual. Upon this the old Gentleman, being pleased, it seems, with their Desire of improving themselves, has granted them the continuance both of the Spectator and their Bread and Butter; having given particular Orders, that the Tea-Table shall be set forth every Morning with its Customary Bill of Fare, and without any manner of Defalcation. I thought my self obliged to mention this Particular, as it does Honour to this worthy Gentleman; and if the young Lady Laetitia, who sent me this Account, will acquaint me with his Name, I will insert it at length in one of my Papers, if he desires it.

I should be very glad to find out any Expedient that might alleviate the Expence which this my Paper brings to any of my Readers; and, in order to it, must propose two Points to their Consideration. First, that if they retrench any the smallest Particular in their ordinary Expence, it will easily make up the Half Penny a Day, which we have now under Consideration. Let a Lady sacrifice but a single Ribband to her Morning Studies, and it will be sufficient: Let a Family burn but a Candle a Night less than the usual Number, and they may take in the Spectator without Detriment to their private Affairs.

In the next Place, if my Readers will not go to the Price of buying my Papers by Retail, let them have Patience, and they may buy them in the Lump, without the Burthen of a Tax upon them. My Speculations, when they are sold single, like Cherries upon the Stick, are Delights for the Rich and Wealthy; after some time they come to Market in greater Quantities, and are every ordinary Man's Money. The Truth of it is, they have a certain Flavour at their first Appearance, from several accidental Circumstances of Time, Place and Person, which they may lose if they are not taken early; but in this case every Reader is to consider, whether it is not better for him to be half a Year behind-hand with the fashionable and polite part of the World, than to strain himself beyond his Circumstances. My Bookseller has now about Ten Thousand of the Third and Fourth Volumes, which he is ready to publish, having already disposed of as large an Edition both of the First and Second Volume. As he is a Person whose Head is very well turned to his Business, he thinks they would be a very proper Present to be made to Persons at Christenings, Marriages, Visiting-Days, and the like joyful Solemnities, as several other Books are frequently given at Funerals. He has printed them in such a little portable Volume, that many of them may be ranged together upon a single Plate; and is of Opinion, that a Salver of Spectators would be as acceptable an Entertainment to the Ladies, as a Salver of Sweetmeats.

I shall conclude this Paper with an Epigram lately sent to the Writer of the Spectator, after having returned my Thanks to the ingenious Author of it.

SIR,

'Having heard the following Epigram very much commended, I wonder that it has not yet had a place in any of your Papers: I think the Suffrage of our Poet Laureat should not be overlooked, which shews the Opinion he entertains of your Paper, whether the Notion he proceeds upon be true or false. I make bold to convey it to you, not knowing if it has yet come to your Hands.

On the SPECTATOR.

By Mr. TATE. [1]

—Aliusque et idem Nasceris—

Hor.

'When first the Tatler to a Mute was turn'd, Great Britain for her Censor's Silence mourn'd. Robb'd of his sprightly Beams, she wept the Night, 'Till the Spectator rose, and blaz'd as bright. So the first Man the Sun's first Setting view'd, And sigh'd, till circling Day his Joys renew'd; Yet doubtful how that second Sun to name, Whether a bright Successor, or the same. So we: but now from this Suspense are freed, Since all agree, who both with Judgment read, 'Tis the same Sun, and does himself succeed.'

O.



[Footnote 1: Nahum Tate, born and educated at Dublin, and befriended in his youth by Dryden and Dorset, was at this time 60 years old, and poet-laureate, having in 1692 succeeded in that office Thomas Shadwell, the Whig substitute for Dryden. Besides his version of the Psalms produced in concert with his friend Dr. Nicholas Brady, Tate produced his own notion of an improvement upon Shakespeare's King Lear and nine dramatic pieces, with other poetry, of which the above lines are a specimen. Tate was in his younger days the writer of the second part of Dryden's 'Absalom and Achithophel,' to which Dryden himself contributed only the characters of Julian Johnson as Ben Jochanan, of Shadwell as Og, and of Settle as Doeg. His salary as poet-laureate was L100 a year, and a butt of canary. He died three years after the date of this Spectator a poor man who had made his home in the Mint to escape his creditors.]



* * * * *



No. 489. Saturday, September 20, 1712. Addison.



[Greek: Bathyrrheitao mega sthenos 'Okeaneio]—Hom.



SIR,

Upon reading your Essay concerning the Pleasures of the Imagination, I find, among the three Sources of those Pleasures which you have discovered, [that] Greatness is one. This has suggested to me the reason why, of all Objects that I have ever seen, there is none which affects my Imagination so much as the Sea or Ocean. I cannot see the Heavings of this prodigious Bulk of Waters, even in a Calm, without a very pleasing Astonishment; but when it is worked up in a Tempest, so that the Horizon on every side is nothing but foaming Billows and floating Mountains, it is impossible to describe the agreeable Horrour that rises from such a Prospect. A troubled Ocean, to a Man who sails upon it, is, I think, the biggest Object that he can see in motion, and consequently gives his Imagination one of the highest kinds of Pleasure that can arise from Greatness. I must confess, it is impossible for me to survey this World of fluid Matter, without thinking on the Hand that first poured it out, and made a proper Channel for its Reception. Such an Object naturally raises in my Thoughts the Idea of an Almighty Being, and convinces me of his Existence as much as a metaphysical Demonstration. The Imagination prompts the Understanding, and by the Greatness of the sensible Object, produces in it the Idea of a Being who is neither circumscribed by Time nor Space.

As I have made several Voyages upon the Sea, I have often been tossed in Storms, and on that occasion have frequently reflected on the Descriptions of them in ancient Poets. I remember Longinus highly recommends one in Homer, because the Poet has not amused himself with little Fancies upon the occasion, as Authors of an inferiour Genius, whom he mentions, had done, but because he has gathered together those Circumstances which are the most apt to terrify the Imagination, and which really happen in the raging of a Tempest. [1] It is for the same reason, that I prefer the following Description of a Ship in a Storm, which the Psalmist has made, before any other I have ever met with.

'They that go down to the Sea in Ships, that do Business in great Waters: These see the Works of the Lord, and his Wonders in the Deep. For he commandeth and raiseth the stormy Wind, which lifteth up the Waters thereof. They mount up to the Heaven, they go down again to the Depths, their Soul is melted because of Trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken Man, and are at their Wits End. Then they cry unto the Lord in their Trouble, and he bringeth them out of their Distresses. He maketh the Storm a Calm, so that the Waves thereof are still. Then they are glad because they be quiet, so he bringeth them unto their desired Haven.' [2]

By the way, how much more comfortable, as well as rational, is this System of the Psalmist, than the Pagan Scheme in Virgil, and other Poets, where one Deity is represented as raising a Storm, and another as laying it? Were we only to consider the Sublime in this Piece of Poetry, what can be nobler than the Idea it gives us of the Supreme Being thus raising the Tumult among the Elements, and recovering them out of their Confusion; thus troubling and becalming Nature?

Great Painters do not only give us Landskips of Gardens, Groves, and Meadows, but very often employ their Pencils upon Sea-Pieces: I could wish you would follow their Example. If this small Sketch may deserve a Place among your Works, I shall accompany it with a divine Ode, made by a Gentleman [3] upon the Conclusion of his Travels.

I. How are thy Servants blest, O Lord! How sure is their Defence! Eternal Wisdom is their Guide, Their Help Omnipotence.

II. In foreign Realms, and Lands remote, Supported by thy Care, Thro' burning Climes I pass'd unhurt, And breath'd in tainted Air.

III. Thy Mercy sweeten'd ev'ry Soil, Made ev'ry Region please; The hoary Alpine Hills it warm'd, And smooth'd the Tyrrhene Seas:

IV. Think, O my Soul, devoutly think, How with affrighted Eyes Thou saw'st the wide extended Deep In all its Horrors rise!

V. Confusion dwelt in ev'ry Face, And Fear in ev'ry Heart; When Waves on Waves, and Gulphs in Gulphs, O'ercame the Pilot's Art.

VI. Yet then from all my Griefs, O Lord, Thy Mercy set me free, Whilst in the Confidence of Pray'r My Soul took hold on thee;

VII. For tho' in dreadful Whirles we hung High on the broken Wave, I knew thou wert not slow to Hear, Nor impotent to Save.

VIII. The Storm was laid, the Winds retir'd, Obedient to thy Will; The Sea that roar'd at thy Command, At thy Command was still.

IX. In midst of Dangers, Fears and Death, Thy Goodness I'll adore, And praise Thee for Thy Mercies past; And humbly hope for more.

X. My Life, if thou preserv'st my Life, Thy Sacrifice shall be; And Death, if Death must be my Doom, Shall join my Soul to thee.

O. [4]



[Footnote 1: On the Sublime, Sec. 10, where he compares a description of the terrors of the sea in a lost poem on the Arimaspians, by Aristaeus the Procomnesian, with the passage in the 15th Book of the Iliad, which Pope thus translates:

'He bursts upon them all: Bursts as a wave that from the cloud impends, And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends; White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud: Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with fears, And instant death on every wave appears.']

[Footnote 2: Psalm cvii. 23-30.]

[Footnote 3: Addison.]

[Footnote 4: Appended to this number is the following

ADVERTISEMENT.

The Author of the SPECTATOR having received the Pastoral Hymn in his 441st Paper, set to Musick by one of the most Eminent Composers of our own Country and by a Foreigner, who has not put his name to his ingenious Letter, thinks himself obliged to return his thanks to those Gentlemen for the Honour they have done him.]



* * * * *



No. 490. Monday, September 22, 1712. Steele.



'Domus et placens Uxor.'

Hor.



I have very long entertain'd an Ambition to make the Word Wife the most agreeable and delightful Name in Nature. If it be not so in it self, all the wiser Part of Mankind from the Beginning of the World to this Day has consented in an Error: But our Unhappiness in England has been, that a few loose Men of Genius for Pleasure, have turn'd it all to the Gratification of ungovern'd Desires, in spite of good Sense, Form and Order; when, in truth, any Satisfaction beyond the Boundaries of Reason, is but a Step towards Madness and Folly. But is the Sense of Joy and Accomplishment of Desire no way to be indulged or attain'd? and have we Appetites given us not to be at all gratify'd? Yes certainly. Marriage is an Institution calculated for a constant Scene of as much Delight as our Being is capable of. Two Persons who have chosen each other out of all the Species, with design to be each other's mutual Comfort and Entertainment, have in that Action bound themselves to be good-humour'd, affable, discreet, forgiving, patient and joyful, with respect to each other's Frailties and Perfections, to the End of their Lives. The wiser of the two (and it always happens one of them is such) will for her or his own sake, keep things from Outrage with the utmost Sanctity. When this Union is thus preserved (as I have often said) the most indifferent Circumstance administers Delight. Their Condition is an endless Source of new Gratifications. The married Man can say, If I am unacceptable to all the World beside, there is one whom I entirely love, that will receive me with Joy and Transport, and think herself obliged to double her Kindness and Caresses of me from the Gloom with which she sees me overcast. I need not dissemble the Sorrow of my Heart to be agreeable there, that very Sorrow quickens her Affection.

This Passion towards each other, when once well fixed, enters into the very Constitution, and the Kindness flows as easily and silently as the Blood in the Veins. When this Affection is enjoy'd in the most sublime Degree, unskilful Eyes see nothing of it; but when it is subject to be chang'd, and has an Allay in it that may make it end in Distaste, it is apt to break into Rage, or overflow into Fondness, before the rest of the World.

Uxander and Viramira are amorous and young, and have been married these two Years; yet do they so much distinguish each other in Company, that in your Conversation with the Dear Things you are still put to a Sort of Cross-Purposes. Whenever you address your self in ordinary Discourse to Viramira, she turns her Head another way, and the Answer is made to the dear Uxander: If you tell a merry Tale, the Application is still directed to her Dear; and when she should commend you, she says to him, as if he had spoke it, That is, my Dear, so pretty—This puts me in mind of what I have somewhere read in the admired Memoirs of the famous Cervantes, where, while honest Sancho Panca is putting some necessary humble Question concerning Rozinante, his Supper, or his Lodgings, the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance is ever improving the harmless lowly Hints of his Squire to the poetical Conceit, Rapture and Flight, in Contemplation of the dear Dulcinea of his Affections.

On the other side, Dictamnus and Moria are ever squabbling, and you may observe them all the time they are in Company in a State of Impatience. As Uxander and Viramira wish you all gone, that they may be at freedom for Dalliance; Dictamnus and Moria wait your Absence, that they may speak their harsh Interpretations on each other's Words and Actions during the time you were with them.

It is certain that the greater Part of the Evils attending this Condition of Life, arises from Fashion. Prejudice in this Case is turn'd the wrong way, and instead of expecting more Happiness than we shall meet with in it, we are laugh'd into a Prepossession, that we shall be disappointed if we hope for lasting Satisfactions.

With all Persons who have made good Sense the Rule of Action, Marriage is describ'd as the State capable of the highest human Felicity. Tully has Epistles full of affectionate Pleasure, when he writes to his Wife, or speaks of his Children. But above all the Hints of this kind I have met with in Writers of ancient date, I am pleas'd with an Epigram of Martial [1] in honour of the Beauty of his Wife Cleopatra. Commentators say it was written the day after his Wedding-Night. When his Spouse was retir'd to the Bathing-room in the Heat of the Day, he, it seems, came in upon her when she was just going into the Water. To her Beauty and Carriage on this occasion we owe the following Epigram, which I shew'd my Friend WILL. HONEYCOMB in French, who has translated it as follows, without understanding the Original. I expect it will please the English better than the Latin Reader.

'When my bright Consort, now nor Wife nor Maid, Asham'd and wanton, of Embrace afraid, Fled to the Streams, the Streams my Fair betray'd; To my fond Eyes she all transparent stood, She blush'd, I smil'd at the slight covering Flood. Thus thro' the Glass the Lovely Lilly glows, Thus thro' the ambient Gem shines forth the Rose. I saw new Charms, and plung'd to seize my Store, Kisses I snatch'd, the Waves prevented more.'

My Friend would not allow that this luscious Account could be given of a Wife, and therefore used the Word Consort; which, he learnedly said, would serve for a Mistress as well, and give a more Gentlemanly Turn to the Epigram. But, under favour of him and all other such fine Gentlemen, I cannot be persuaded but that the Passion a Bridegroom has for a virtuous young Woman, will, by little and little, grow into Friendship, and then it is ascended to [a [2]] higher Pleasure than it was in its first Fervour. Without this happens, he is a very unfortunate Man who has enter'd into this State, and left the Habitudes of Life he might have enjoy'd with a faithful Friend. But when the Wife proves capable of filling serious as well as joyous Hours, she brings Happiness unknown to Friendship itself. Spencer speaks of each kind of Love with great Justice, and attributes the highest Praise to Friendship; and indeed there is no disputing that Point, but by making that Friendship take [Place [3]] between two married Persons.

'Hard is the Doubt, and difficult to deem, When all three kinds of Love together meet, And to dispart the Heart with Power extreme, Whether shall weigh the Ballance down; to wit, The dear Affection unto Kindred sweet, Or raging Fire of Love to Womenkind, Or Zeal of Friends combin'd by Virtues meet. But, of them all, the Band of virtuous Mind Methinks the gentle Heart should most assured bind.

For natural Affection soon doth cease, And quenched is with Cupid's greater Flame; But faithful Friendship doth them both suppress, And them with mastering Discipline does tame, Through Thoughts aspiring to eternal Fame. For as the Soul doth rule the Earthly Mass, And all the Service of the Body frame; So Love of Soul doth Love of Body pass, No less than perfect Gold surmounts the meanest Brass.'

T.



[Footnote 1: Lib. iv. ep. 22.]

[Footnote 2: an]

[Footnote 3: its Place]



* * * * *



No. 491. Tuesday, September 23, 1712. Steele.



'Digna satis fortuna revisit.'

Virg.



It is common with me to run from Book to Book to exercise my Mind with many Objects, and qualify my self for my daily Labours. After an Hour spent in this loitering Way of Reading, something will remain to be Food to the Imagination. The Writings that please me most on such Occasions are Stories, for the Truth of which there is good Authority. The Mind of Man is naturally a Lover of Justice, and when we read a Story wherein a Criminal is overtaken, in whom there is no Quality which is the Object of Pity, the Soul enjoys a certain Revenge for the Offence done to its Nature, in the wicked Actions committed in the preceding Part of the History. This will be better understood by the Reader from the following Narration [1] it self, than from any thing which I can say to introduce it.

When Charles Duke of Burgundy, surnamed The Bold, reigned over spacious Dominions now swallowed up by the Power of France, he heaped many Favours and Honours upon Claudius Rhynsault, a German, who had serv'd him in his Wars against the Insults of his Neighbours. A great part of Zealand was at that time in Subjection to that Dukedom. The Prince himself was a Person of singular Humanity and Justice. Rhynsault, with no other real Quality than Courage, had Dissimulation enough to pass upon his generous and unsuspicious Master for a Person of blunt Honesty and Fidelity, without any Vice that could bias him from the Execution of Justice. His Highness prepossessed to his Advantage, upon the Decease of the Governour of his chief Town of Zealand, gave Rhynsault that Command. He was not long seated in that Government, before he cast his Eyes upon Sapphira, a Woman of Exquisite Beauty, the Wife of Paul Danvelt, a wealthy Merchant of the City under his Protection and Government. Rhynsault was a Man of a warm Constitution, and violent Inclination to Women, and not unskilled in the soft Arts which win their Favour. He knew what it was to enjoy the Satisfactions which are reaped from the Possession of Beauty, but was an utter Stranger to the Decencies, Honours and Delicacies that attend the Passion towards them in elegant Minds. However he had so much of the World, that he had a great share of the Language which usually prevails upon the weaker Part of that Sex, and he could with his Tongue utter a Passion with which his Heart was wholly untouch'd. He was one of those brutal Minds which can be gratified with the Violation of Innocence and Beauty, without the least Pity, Passion or Love to that with which they are so much delighted. Ingratitude is a Vice inseparable to a lustful Man; and the Possession of a Woman by him who has no thought but allaying a Passion painful to himself, is necessarily followed by Distaste and Aversion. Rhynsault being resolv'd to accomplish his Will on the Wife of Danvelt, left no Arts untried to get into a Familiarity at her House; but she knew his Character and Disposition too well, not to shun all Occasions that might ensnare her into his Conversation. The Governor despairing of Success by ordinary Means, apprehended and Imprisoned her Husband, under pretence of an Information that he was guilty of a Correspondence with the Enemies of the Duke, to betray the Town into their Possession. This Design had its desired Effect; and the Wife of the unfortunate Danvelt, the day before that which was appointed for his Execution, presented herself in the Hall of the Governor's House, and as he pass'd thro' the Apartment, threw her self at his Feet, and holding his Knees, beseeched his Mercy. Rhynsault beheld her with a dissembled Satisfaction, and assuming an Air of Thought and Authority, he bid her arise, and told her she must follow him to his Closet; and asking her whether she knew the Hand of the Letter he pulled out of his Pocket, went from her, leaving this Admonition aloud, If you will save your Husband, you must give me an account of all you know without Prevarication; for every body is satisfied he was too fond of you to be able to hide from you the Names of the rest of the Conspirators, or any other Particulars whatsoever. He went to his Closet, and soon after the Lady was sent to for an Audience. The Servant knew his distance when Matters of State were to be debated; and the Governor, laying aside the Air with which he had appear'd in publick, began to be the Supplicant, to rally an Affliction, which it was in her Power easily to remove, and relieve an innocent Man from his Imprisonment. She easily perceiv'd his Intention, and, bathed in Tears, began to deprecate so wicked a Design. Lust, like Ambition, takes all the Faculties of the Mind and Body into its Service and Subjection. Her becoming Tears, her honest Anguish, the wringing of her Hands, and the many Changes of her Posture and Figure in the Vehemence of speaking, were but so many Attitudes in which he beheld her Beauty, and further Incentives of his Desire. All Humanity was lost in that one Appetite, and he signified to her in so many plain Terms, that he was unhappy till he had possess'd her, and nothing less shou'd be the Price of her Husband's Life; and she must, before the following Noon, pronounce the Death or Enlargement of Danvelt. After this Notification, when he saw Sapphira enough again distracted to make the Subject of their Discourse to common Eyes appear different from what it was, he called Servants to conduct her to the Gate. Loaded with insupportable Affliction, she immediately repairs to her Husband, and having signified to his Gaolers, that she had a Proposal to make to her Husband from the Governor, she was left alone with him, reveal'd to him all that had pass'd, and represented the endless Conflict she was in between Love to his Person, and Fidelity to his Bed. It is easie to imagine the sharp Affliction this honest Pair was in upon such an Incident, in Lives not us'd to any but ordinary Occurrences. The Man was bridled by Shame from speaking what his Fear prompted, upon so near an approach of Death; but let fall Words that signify'd to her, he should not think her polluted, though she had not yet confess'd to him that the Governor had violated her Person, since he knew her Will had no part in the Action. She parted from him with this oblique Permission to save a Life he had not Resolution enough to resign for the safety of his Honour.

The next Morning the unhappy Sapphira attended the Governor, and being led into a remote Apartment, submitted to his Desires. Rhynsault commended her Charms, claim'd a Familiarity after what had pass'd between them, and with an Air of Gaiety in the Language of a Gallant, bid her return, and take her Husband out of Prison: But, continu'd he, my Fair one must not be offended that I have taken care he should not be an Interruption to our future Assignations. These last Words foreboded what she found when she came to the Gaol, her Husband executed by the Order of Rhynsault.

It was remarkable that the Woman, who was full of Tears and Lamentations during the whole Course of her Affliction, uttered neither Sigh nor Complaint, but stood fix'd with Grief at this Consummation of her Misfortunes. She betook herself to her abode, and after having in Solitude paid her Devotions to him who is the Avenger of Innocence, she repair'd privately to Court. Her Person and a certain Grandeur of Sorrow negligent of Forms gain'd her Passage into the Presence of the Duke her Sovereign. As soon as she came into the Presence, she broke forth into the following words, Behold, O mighty Charles, a Wretch weary of Life, though it has always been spent with Innocence and Virtue. It is not in your power to redress my Injuries, but it is to avenge them. And if the Protection of the Distress'd, and the Punishment of Oppressors, is a Task worthy a Prince, I bring the Duke of Burgundy ample matter for doing Honour to his own great Name, and wiping Infamy off of mine.

When she had spoke this, she deliver'd the Duke a Paper reciting her Story. He read it with all the Emotions that Indignation and Pity could raise in a Prince jealous of his Honour in the Behaviour of his Officers, and Prosperity of his Subjects.

Upon an appointed Day, Rhynsault was sent for to Court, and in the Presence of a few of the Council, confronted by Sapphira: the Prince asking, Do you know that Lady? Rhynsault, as soon as he could recover his Surprize, told the Duke he would marry her, if his Highness would please to think that a Reparation. The Duke seem'd contented with this Answer, and stood by during the immediate Solemnization of the Ceremony. At the Conclusion of it he told Rhynsault, Thus far have you done as constrain'd by my Authority: I shall not be satisfied of your kind Usage of her, without you sign a Gift of your whole Estate to her after your Decease. To the Performance of this also the Duke was a Witness. When these two Acts were executed, the Duke turn'd to the Lady, and told her, it now remains for me to put you in quiet Possession of what your Husband has so bountifully bestow'd on you; and order'd the immediate Execution of Rhynsault.

T.



[Footnote 1: Founded upon note N to the Memoir of Charles of Burgundy in Bayle's Dictionary, where the authorities cited are Pontus Heuterus and others. It is not in Comines.]



* * * * *



No. 492. Wednesday, September 24, 1712. Steele.



'Quicquid est boni moris Levitate extinguiter.'

Sen.



Tunbridge, Sept. 18.

Dear Mr. SPECTATOR,

'I am a young Woman of Eighteen Years of Age, and, I do assure you, a Maid of unspotted Reputation, founded upon a very careful Carriage in all my Looks, Words and Actions. At the same time I must own to you, that it is with much constraint to Flesh and Blood that my Behaviour is so strictly irreproachable; for I am naturally addicted to Mirth, to Gaiety, to a Free Air, to Motion and Gadding. Now what gives me a great deal of Anxiety, and is some Discouragement in the Pursuit of Virtue, is, that the young Women who run into greater Freedoms with the Men are more taken Notice of than I am. The Men are such unthinking Sots, that they do not prefer her who restrains all her Passions and Affections and keeps much within the Bounds of what is lawful, to her who goes to the utmost Verge of Innocence, and parlies at the very Brink of Vice, whether she shall be a Wife or a Mistress. But I must appeal to your Spectatorial Wisdom, who, I find, have passed very much of your Time in the Study of Woman, whether this is not a most unreasonable Proceeding. I have read somewhere, that Hobbes of Malmesbury asserts, that continent Persons have more of what they contain, than those who give a loose to their Desires. According to this Rule, let there be equal Age, equal Wit, and equal Good-Humour, in the Woman of Prudence, and her of Liberty; what Stores has he to expect, who takes the former? What Refuse must he be contented with, who chuses the latter? Well, but I sate down to write to you to vent my Indignation against several pert Creatures who are address'd to and courted in this Place, while poor I, and two or three like me, are wholly unregarded.

Every one of these affect gaining the Hearts of your Sex: This is generally attempted by a particular manner of carrying themselves with Familiarity. Glycera has a dancing Walk, and keeps Time in her ordinary Gate. Chloe, her Sister, who is unwilling to interrupt her Conquests, comes into the Room before her with a familiar Run. Dulcissa takes Advantage of the Approach of the Winter, and has introduc'd a very pretty Shiver; closing up her Shoulders, and shrinking as she moves. All that are in this Mode carry their Fans between both Hands before them. Dulcissa herself, who is Author of this Air, adds the pretty Run to it; and has also, when she is in very good Humour, a taking Familiarity in throwing herself into the lowest Seat in the Room, and letting her hoop'd Petticoats fall with a lucky Decency about her. I know she practices this way of sitting down in her Chamber; and indeed she does it as well as you may have seen an Actress fall down dead in a Tragedy. Not the least Indecency in her Posture. If you have observ'd what pretty Carcasses are carry'd off at the end of a Verse at the Theatre, it will give you a Notion how Dulcissa plumps into a Chair. Here's a little Country Girl that's very cunning, that makes her use of being young and unbred, and outdoes the Insnarers, who are almost twice her Age. The Air that she takes is to come into Company after a Walk, and is very successfully out of Breath upon occasion. Her Mother is in the Secret, and calls her Romp, and then looks round to see what young Men stare at her.

'It would take up more than can come into one of your Papers, to enumerate all the particular Airs of the younger Company in this Place. But I cannot omit Dulceorella, whose manner is the most indolent imaginable, but still as watchful of Conquest as the busiest Virgin among us. She has a peculiar Art of staring at a young Fellow, till she sees she has got him, and inflam'd him by so much Observation. When she sees she has him, and he begins to toss his Head upon it, she is immediately short-sighted, and labours to observe what he is at a distance with her Eyes half shut. Thus the Captive, that thought her first struck, is to make very near Approaches, or be wholly disregarded. This Artifice has done more Execution than all the ogling of the rest of the Women here, with the utmost Variety of half Glances, attentive Heedlessnesses, childish Inadvertencies, haughty Contempts, or artificial Oversights. After I have said thus much of Ladies among us who fight thus regularly, I am to complain to you of a Set of Familiar Romps, who have broken thro' all common Rules, and have thought of a very effectual way of shewing more Charms than all of us. These, Mr. SPECTATOR, are the Swingers. You are to know these careless pretty Creatures are very Innocents again; and it is to be no matter what they do, for 'tis all harmless Freedom. They get on Ropes, as you must have seen the Children, and are swung by their Men Visitants. The Jest is, that Mr. such a one can name the Colour of Mrs. Such-a-one's Stockings; and she tells him, he is a lying Thief, so he is, and full of Roguery; and she'll lay a Wager, and her Sister shall tell the Truth if he says right, and he can't tell what Colour her Garters are of. In this Diversion there are very many pretty Shrieks, not so much for fear of falling, as that their Petticoats shou'd untye: For there is a great care had to avoid Improprieties; and the Lover who swings the Lady, is to tye her Clothes very close with his Hatband, before she admits him to throw up her Heels.

'Now, Mr. SPECTATOR, except you can note these Wantonnesses in their Beginnings, and bring us sober Girls into Observation, there is no help for it, we must swim with the Tide; the Coquets are too powerful a Party for us. To look into the Merit of a regular and well-behav'd Woman, is a slow thing. A loose trivial Song gains the Affections, when a wise Homily is not attended to. There is no other way but to make war upon them, or we must go over to them. As for my Part, I will shew all the World it is not for want of Charms that I stand so long unasked; and if you do not take measures for the immediate Redress of us Rigids, as the Fellows call us, I can move with a speaking Mien, can look significantly, can lisp, can trip, can loll, can start, can blush, can rage, can weep, if I must do it, and can be frighted as agreeably as any She in England. All which is humbly submitted to your Spectatorial Consideration with all Humility, by

Your most humble Servant,

Matilda Mohair.

T.



* * * * *



No. 493. Thursday, September 25, 1712. Steele.



'Qualem commendes etiam atque etiam adspice, ne mox Incutiant aliena tibi peccata pudorem.'

Hor.



It is no unpleasant matter of Speculation to consider the recommendatory Epistles that pass round this Town from Hand to Hand, and the abuse People put upon one another in that kind. It is indeed come to that pass, that instead of being the Testimony of Merit in the Person recommended, the true reading of a Letter of this sort is,

'The Bearer hereof is so uneasie to me, that it will be an Act of Charity in you to take him off my Hands; whether you prefer him or not, it is all one, for I have no manner of Kindness for him, or Obligation to him or his; and do what you please as to that.'

As negligent as Men are in this respect, a point of Honour is concerned in it; and there is nothing a Man should be more ashamed of, than passing a worthless Creature into the Service or Interests of a Man who has never injured you. The Women indeed are a little too keen in their Resentments, to trespass often this Way: But you shall sometimes know that the Mistress and the Maid shall quarrel, and give each other very free Language, and at last the Lady shall be pacified to turn her out of Doors, and give her a very good Word to any body else. Hence it is that you see, in a Year and Half's time, the same Face a Domestick in all parts of the Town. Good-breeding and Good-nature lead People in a great Measure to this Injustice: When Suitors of no Consideration will have Confidence enough to press upon their Superiors, those in Power are tender of speaking the Exceptions they have against them, and are mortgaged into Promises out of their Impatience of Importunity. In this latter Case, it would be a very useful Enquiry to know the History of Recommendations: There are, you must know, certain Abettors of this way of Torment, who make it a Profession to manage the Affairs of Candidates: These Gentlemen let out their Impudence to their Clients, and supply any Defective Recommendation, by informing how such and such a Man is to be attacked. They will tell you, get the least Scrap from Mr. Such-a-one, and leave the rest to them. When one of these Undertakers have your Business in hand, you may be sick, absent in Town or Country, and the Patron shall be worried, or you prevail. I remember to have been shewn a Gentleman some Years ago, who punish'd a whole People for their Facility in giving their Credentials. This Person had belonged to a Regiment which did Duty in the West-Indies, and by the Mortality of the Place happened to be commanding Officer in the Colony. He oppressed his Subjects with great frankness, till he became sensible that he was heartily hated by every Man under his Command. When he had carried his Point, to be thus detestable, in a pretended Fit of Dishumour, and feigned Uneasiness of living where he found he was so universally unacceptable, he communicated to the chief Inhabitants a Design he had to return for England, provided they would give him ample Testimonials of their Approbation. The Planters came into it to a Man; and in proportion to his deserving the quite contrary, the Words Justice, Generosity, and Courage, were inserted in his Commission, not omitting the general Good-liking of People of all Conditions in the Colony. The Gentleman returns for England, and within few Months after came back to them their Governour on the Strength of their own Testimonials.

Such a Rebuke as this cannot indeed happen to easy Recommenders, in the ordinary course of things from one hand to another; but how would a Man bear to have it said to him, the Person I took into Confidence on the Credit you gave him, has proved false, unjust, and has not answered any way the Character you gave me of him?

I cannot but conceive very good hopes of that Rake Jack Toper of the Temple, for an honest Scrupulousness in this Point. A Friend of his meeting with a Servant that had formerly lived with Jack, and having a mind to take him, sent to him to know what Faults the Fellow had, since he could not please such a careless Fellow as he was. His Answer was as follows:

SIR,

'Thomas that lived with me was turned away because he was too good for me. You know I live in Taverns; he is an orderly sober Rascal, and thinks much to sleep in an Entry till two in a Morning. He told me one day when he was dressing me, that he wondered I was not dead before now, since I went to Dinner in the Evening, and went to Supper at two in the Morning. We were coming down Essex-street one Night a little flustrated, and I was giving him the Word to alarm the Watch; he had the Impudence to tell me it was against the Law. You that are married, and live one Day after another the same Way, and so on the whole Week, I dare say will like him, and he will be glad to have his Meat in due Season. The Fellow is certainly very Honest. My Service to your Lady.

Yours, J. T.

Now this was very fair Dealing. Jack knew very well, that though the Love of Order made a Man very awkward in his Equipage, it was a valuable Quality among the Queer People who live by Rule; and had too much good Sense and good Nature to let the Fellow starve, because he was not fit to attend his Vivacities.

I shall end this Discourse with a Letter of Recommendation from Horace to Claudius Nero. You will see in that Letter a Slowness to ask a Favour, a strong Reason for being unable to deny his good Word any longer, and that it is a Service to the Person to whom he recommends, to comply with what is asked: All which are necessary Circumstances, both in Justice and Good-breeding, if a Man would ask so as to have reason to complain of a Denial; and indeed a Man should not in strictness ask otherwise. In hopes the Authority of Horace, who perfectly understood how to live with great Men, may have a good Effect towards amending this Facility in People of Condition, and the Confidence of those who apply to them without Merit, I have translated the Epistle. [1]

To CLAUDIUS NERO.

SIR,

'Septimus, who waits upon you with this, is very well acquainted with the place you are pleased to allow me in your Friendship. For when he beseeches me to recommend him to your Notice, in such a manner as to be received by you, who are delicate in the choice of your Friends and Domesticks, he knows our Intimacy, and understands my Ability to serve him better than I do myself. I have defended my self against his Ambition to be yours, as long as I possibly could; but fearing the Imputation of hiding my Power in you out of mean and selfish Considerations, I am at last prevailed upon to give you this Trouble. Thus, to avoid the Appearance of a greater Fault, I have put on this Confidence. If you can forgive this Transgression of Modesty in behalf of a Friend, receive this Gentleman into your Interests and Friendship, and take it from me that he is an honest and brave Man.

T.



[Footnote 1: This is a translation from Horace of the verse of No. 9 in Book I. of his Epistles; showing how it would read in the customary prose form of a letter of introduction.]



* * * * *



No. 494. Friday, September 26, 1712. Addison.



'AEgritudinem laudare, unam rem maxime detestabilem, quorum est tandem Philosophorum?'

Cic.



About an Age ago it was the fashion in England, for every one that would be thought religious, to throw as much Sanctity as possible into his Face, and in particular to abstain from all Appearances of Mirth and Pleasantry, which were looked upon as the Marks of a Carnal Mind. The Saint was of a sorrowful Countenance, and generally eaten up with Spleen and Melancholy. A Gentleman, who was lately a great Ornament to the Learned World, [1] has diverted me more than once with an Account of the Reception which he met with from a very famous Independent Minister, who was Head of a College in those times. [2] This Gentleman was then a young Adventurer in the Republick of Letters, and just fitted out for the University with a good Cargo of Latin and Greek. His Friends were resolved that he should try his Fortune at an Election which was drawing near in the College, of which the Independent Minister whom I have before mentioned was Governor. The Youth, according to Custom, waited on him in order to be examined. He was received at the Door by a Servant, who was one of that gloomy Generation that were then in fashion. He conducted him, with great Silence and Seriousness, to a long Gallery which was darkned at Noon-day, and had only a single Candle burning in it. After a short stay in this melancholy Apartment, he was led into a Chamber hung with Black, where he entertained himself for some time by the glimmering of a Taper, till at length the Head of the College came out to him, from an inner Room, with half a Dozen Night Caps upon his Head, and a religious Horror in his Countenance. The young Man trembled; but his Fears encreased when, instead of being ask'd what Progress he had made in Learning, he was examined how he abounded in Grace. His Latin and Greek stood him in little stead; he was to give an account only of the state of his Soul, whether he was of the Number of the Elect; what was the Occasion of his Conversion; upon what Day of the Month, and Hour of the Day it happened; how it was carried on, and when compleated. The whole Examination was summed up with one short Question, namely, Whether he was prepared for Death? The Boy, who had been bred up by honest Parents, was frighted out of his Wits at the Solemnity of the Proceeding, and by the last dreadful Interrogatory; so that upon making his Escape out of this House of Mourning, he could never be brought a second time to the Examination, as not being able to go through the Terrors of it.