Vf^ 356 I ajorneU ImoerBttg ffiihrarg JItljara, 5Jeui IJark ^^. 1?.^. CORNELL (JNIVERSITY LIBRARY 3 1924 064 957 602 Cornell University Library The original of tinis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924064957602 OEOBOE BELL & 80N8. New Edition, with a New Biographicar Supplement of upwards • of 9700 Namea. , WEBSTER'S COMPLETE DICTIONARY OP THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, AND GBNEBAL BOOK OP LITERARY BEPERENOE. With 3000 Illustrations. Tho- roughly revised and imiiroved by CHAnKOET A. Goodeioh, D.D., LL.D., and Noab Pobtbb, I).p., of Yale CoUege. In One Tolnme, Qaaito, strongly bound In cloth, 1919 pages, price £1 111, M.; balf-calf, £2; calf or half-rusBia. £2 28.; mssia, £2 10;. Besides Hbe matter comprised in tide^ Webster's Guinea Dictionakt, this volume contains the following Appendices, which will show tibat no pains have been spared to make it a complete Literary Reference-book :— . By A. Brief Histoiy of the English Lan- gm^e. By Professor Jaues HADLsr. This Work shows the Philological Bela- tEona of the English Langaage, and traces the progress and Influence of the causes which l^ve biooght it to its present con- dition. Principles of Fronxinciatlon. Professor Goodbioh and W. A. Wh M.A. Including a Synopsia of Words differently pronounced by different au- thorities. A Short Treatise on Orthography; By Abthub W. Wbight. Inclnding a Complete List of Words that are spelt in two or more ways. An Explanatory and Fronoimoing Yocabulary of tiie lifamea of Noted Fic- titious Persons and Plaoes. Sn. By W. A. Wheeleb, M.A. This Work includes not only persons and places noted in IPiction, whether^ narrative, poetical, or dramatic, but Mythological and Mythical names, names referring to the Ahgelology and De- mxmology of various races, and those found in the romance writers; Pseu- donyms, Kick-names of eminent [KTsons and parties, &c., &c. In fact, it is best described as explaining every name which ia not strictly historical. A refierence is given to the originator of each name, and where the origin is unknown a quotation ia given to some well-known writer in which the word occurs. U%U valuable Work rnasf aiio be hoA tepanrateiiit post Svo., 6«. A Fronouncii^ Vocabulary of Scrip- ture Proper Names. By W. A. Whekleb, mA. Including a List of the Variations that occur in the Douay verdon of the KbliB. A Pronouncing Vocabulary of Oreeb and Latin Pt-oper Names. By Professor Thachee, of Yale College. An Etymological Vocabulary of Mo- dem G-eograpbical Namea. By the Rev. C. H. WusELEB. Containing ;— l. A I^t of Prefixes. Tenninations, and Formative Syllables in VMibns Languages, with their meaning and derivation ; ii. A brief List of Geographical Names (not explained by the foregoing List), wtth their derivation and signification, all doubtful and obscure derivatluos beinR excluded. Pronouncing Vocabularies of Iffodem Geographical and Biographical Names. By J. Thohas, M J). A Pronouncing Vocabulary of Crax- mon English Chnstian Names, with tkeir . derivations, signification, and diminntiyes (or nick-iiames^, and their equivalents in several other languages. A Dictionary of Quotations. Selected and tramlatied^by Wn.£jAb G. Websthb. Containing all Worda, Phrases, Proverbs, and CoUoquial Expressions h-om the Greek, Latin, and Modem Foreign I^-> gnages, which are tieqijeutly met with in UteratHre and conversation. A New Biographical Dictionary of upwards 9700 Wames of Noted Persona, ^cient and Modem, Including many now living— giving the Name, Pronunciation, Nationality, Profession, and Date of Birth and Death. A list of Abbre^ations, Gontrao- tions, and Arbitrary Signs uaed in Wilting and Printing. A ClasBified Selection 6i Pictorial lUuatratfons (70 pages). With references to t}ie text. " The cheapest IHctlonary ever pnbllBhed, as it la confessedly on^ ^^the beat. Tbs loteo- , ductlon of small woodcut iUus;tratlons of technical and scaeufcind tenns'adda greatly to the ' utility of the Dietiouaiy."— Churohmon. To le obtained through aU BodkseUera, a 2 ..a STANDARD W0BK8 PUBLISHED B7 WEBSTER'S DICTIONARY. From the Quabteblt Bbyiew, Oct. 1873. " Seventy yeaiB passed liefore Johnson was followed by Webster, an American writer, who faced the task of the English Dictionary with a fcdl appreciation of its requirements, leading to better practical restdts." • • • •• " His laborious comparison of twenty languages, though never pub- lished, bore ftuit in his own mind, and his training placed him both in knowledge and judgment far in advance of Johnson as a philologist. Webster's ' American Dictionary of the English Language ' was pub- lished tn 1828, and of course appeared at once in England, where successive re-editing has as yet kept it in, the highest place as a practical Dictionary," " The acceptance of an American Dictionary in England has Itself had immense effect in keeping up the community of speech, to break which would be a grievous harm, not to English-speaking nations alone, but to mankind. The result of this has been that the common Dictionary must suit both sides of the Atlantic." .... 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Four vols. 61. 6s, TRIPP'S BRITISH MOSSES. With 39 coloured Plates, con- taining a figure of each species. Two vols. 3/. zor. WOOSTER'S ALPINE PLANTS First Series. With 54 coloured Plates, ass. WOOSTERS ALPINE PLANTS. Second Series. With S4 coloured Hates. 3S*. __^ LONDON : GEOKGE BELL & SONS, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, 15 STANDARD WORKS PUBLISHED BY GEORGE BELL & SONS. *«* For List )^ Bohn's Libbaeibs see the end of the Volime. BOHN'S STANDAED LIBEARY. ADDISON'S WOEKS. IN SIX VOLUMES VOL. IL •* Mr. Addison is generally allowed to be the most correct and elegaui of ail our writers ; yet some inaccuracies of style have escaped him, which it is the chief design of the following notes to point out. A work of this sort, well executed, would be of use to foreigners who study our language ; and even to such of our countrymen as wish to write it in perfect purity." — R. Worcester [Bp. Hura], '* I set out many years ago with a warm admiration of this amiable writer [Addison] . I then took a surfeit of his natural, easy manner ; and was taken, like my betters, with the raptures and high rights of Shakspeare. My maturer judgment, or lenient age, (call it which you will,) has now led me back to the favourite of my youth. And here, I think, I shall stick ; for such useful sense, in so charming words, I find not elsewhere. His taste is so pure, and his Virgilian prose (as Br. Young styles it) so exquisite, that I have but now found out, at the close of a critical life, the full value of his writings." — Ibid. " Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison." — Dr. Johnson. " It was not till three generations had laughed and wept over the pages of Addison that the omission [of a monument to his memory] was supplied by public veneration. At length, in our own time, his image, skilfully graven, appeared in Poets' Comer. — Such a mark of national respect was due to the unsullied statesman, to the accomplished scholar, to the master of pure English eloq^uence, to the consummate painter of life and manners. It was due, above all, to the great satiristi who alone knew how to use ridicule without abusing it, who, without inflicting a wound, effected a great social reform, and who reconciled vri.t and virtue, aftei » long and disastrous separation, during which wit had been led astray by profligacv, and virtue by fanaticism." — MaeaulGy. THE WORKS EIGHT HONOUEABLB JOSEPH ADDISON. WITH NOTES By EICHAED HTJED, D.D. Z4>RD BISHOP OF ■WORCESTER. a Im iMtinii, WITH LARGE ADDITIONS, CHIEFLY UNPUBLISHED, COLLECTED AND EDITED BY HENRT G. BOHN. IN SIX VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: GEOEGE BELL AND SONS, YOEK STREET, COVENT GAEDBN. '^ LONDON : l^RINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARIKG CROSS. CONTENTS, YOL. II. The Tatler. taoe Introductory Remarks .... 1 20. Dramatic News and Criticism ... I 43. Inventory of the Play-house .... 3 75. Miss Jenny's Marriage— Choice of Matches in the Bickerstaff family ..... 6 81. Vision of the Table of Fame ... 10 86. Scene of Country Etiquette . . . .17 A Dancing-master practising by Book . . 21 90. Unity of Sentiment in treating the Passion of Love — Its allegorical History ... 22 93. Letter from Switzerland— On Travelling— Pools not to be exported — Precautions against Assaults . 24 97. Hercules courted by Pleasure and Virtue, an Allegory 27 100. Goddess of Justice distributing Rewards . . 30 101. Danger of Authors from Pirates ... 35 102. Continuance of the Vision of the Goddess of Justice . 39 103. Applications for Permission to use Canes, &c. . 43 108. Degradation of the Stage — Dignity of Human Na- ture — Errors of the French Writers . . 48 110. Court of Judicature of the Dead in Reason . . 52 111. On the Prevalence of Irrehgious Principles . 56 114. Death-bed Scene 60 116. Court of Judicature on the Petticoat . . 64 117. On the Pleasure derived from the Dehverance of the Good from Danger — The Author's Dream . 67 119. Discoveries of the Microscope — A Dream . .71 120. The Three Roads of Human Life— Dogget's Benefit 75 121. Consultation on the Sickness of a Lady's Lap-Dog — Fondness for Animals . . .80 122. The Author's Appearance at Dogget's Benefit — Vir- tuous feeHngs of an Athenian Andience . . 84 123. Continuationof the Vision of the Three Roads of Life 88 131. Trial of the "Wine-brewers . . . 92 133. On Silence — Instances of its Significancy . . 96 146. Various Cases of Complainers — Dream of Jupiter and the Destinies . . . . .99 147. Juno's method to regain Jupiter's Afiection . 103 148. On the Diet of the Metropolis — Pernicious Dishes — False Delicacies . . . . .106 152. Homer's Description of a future State . 109 IV CONTBIfTS or THE SECOND VOLUME. Tatler. page 153. Characters in Conversation described as Instruments of Music . . . . . .115 154. VirgU's Allegory and Ideas of a future State . 119 155. Character of the Upholsterer — A great Politician . 124 156. Visit of Telemachus to the other World . . 128 : 158. Pedantry of Tom Folio, the Book-broker . . 132 160. A Visit and Letter from the Upholsterer . . 135 161. Dream of the Region of Liberty . . . 138 162. Duty of a Censor — How performed by the Author — Subscriptions for the Tatler . . . 142 163. Critical reading of Ned Softly's Poetry . . 145 165. The Impertinence of Criticism — Sir Timothy Tittle 148 / 192. Characters in a Stage-coach — Anecdote of two Ladies ^ and their Husbands, Passengers in a Packet-boat 152 L-^IS. Taste of the Virtuosi — Legacy of a Virtuoso — Death of Mr. Partridge ..... 155 218. On the names given to Flowers — Visit to a Garden 158 220. Account of the Church Thermometer . .162 224. On Advertisements — Quackeries — Washes, &c. . 165 226. Life of Margery, alias John Young, commonly called Dr. Young ..... 168 229. Remarks on the Author's Enemies — Fable of the Owls, Bats, and the Sun . . . 172^' 239. Remarks on the Author's Enemies — The Examiner . 174 240. The Science of Physic— Quacks of the Time . 178 243. Adventures of the Author when invisible . .181 249. Adventures of a Shilling .... 184 250. Institution of a Court of Honour . . .188 253. Journal of the Court of Honour . . .191 254. Sir John MandeviUe's account of the Freezing and Thawing of several Speeches . . . 194 255. Letters from a Chaplain — Thoughts on the Treat- ment of Chaplains . . . .198 256. Proceedings of the Court of Honour . . .201 257. Wax-work representation of the Religions of Great Britain . . . . . .205 259. Journal of the Court of Honour . . . 210 l^^Q. Essay on Noses — Skill of Taliacotius . . 213 262. Journal of the Court of Honour . . . 218 265. Journal of the Court of Honour . . . 221 267. On appointed Seasons for Devotion — ^Bacon's Prayer 224 The Spectator. 1. The Spectator's Account of himself . . 228 2. Of the Club— Sfr Roger de Coverley— the Templar ^ — Sir Andrew Preeport — Captain Sentry WiH. Honeycomb — The Clergyman . . \ 232 CONTENTS OE THE SECOND VOITJME. » Spectator. paqb 3. Public Credit, a Vision .... 237 5. On the Absurdities of the Modem Opera . 240 7. Popular Superstitions .... 243 8. Letters on Masquerades .... 246 9. Account of various Clubs . . . 249 10. The Uses of the Spectator . . . .253 12. Custom of telling Stories of Ghosts to Phildren . 256 13. Conduct of Lions at the Opera — Merit of Nicolini 259 15. Story of Cleanthe — on Happiness, exemplified in Aurelia— Fulvia .... 262 16. Various Articles of Dress — Lampoons — Scandal — PoHtics — Letter from Charles LUlie . . 265 17. History of the Italian Opera .... 268 _ 21. Divinity, Law, and Physic, overburdened with Practi- tioners ...... 271 23. Ill-natured Satire ..... 275 24. Letter from a Valetudinarian . . . 278 26. Eeflections in Westminster Abbey . . 282 28. Project of an Office for the Regulation of Signs — a Monkey recommended for the Opera . . 285 29. Italian Recitative — Absurdities of the Opera Dresses 288 31. Project of a new Opera .... 291 ^•».;34. Success of the Spectators with various Classes of Readers, represented by the Club . . . 294 35. False Wit and Humour — Genealogy of Humour 297 37. Catalogue of a Lady's Library — Leonora . 300 39. English Tragedy— Lee— Otway . . .304 40. Tragedy and Tragi-Comedy . . .308 42. Methods to aggrandize the Persons in Tragedy 31 1 44. Stage Tricks to excite Pity — Dramatic Murders . 314 45. Ill Consequences of the Peace — French Fashions — Childish Imperitinence .... 319 46. Paper of Hints dropped — Gospel-gossip — Ogling 322 47. Theory of the Passion of Laughter . . 325 50. Remarks on the English, by the Indian Kings . 328 55. Effects of Avarice and Luxury on Employments . 332 56. Vision of Marraton ..... 335 57. Mischiefs of Party-Rage in the Female Sex . 339 58. Essay on Wit— History of False Wit . . .342 59. The same subject continued . . . 346 60. Wit of the Monkish Ages— in Modem Times . 350 61. The subject continued .... 354 62. Difference between True and False Wit — Mixt Wit 357 63. Allegory of several Schemes of Wit . . 362 (jS8r-On Friendship . . . . .367 69. The Royal Exchange — Benefit of extensive Commerce 370 70. Critique on the Ballad of Chevy-Chase . . 373 n CONTENTS OF THE SECOND TOLtTME. Spectator. fagb f72. Account of the Everlasting Club . . . 378 73. Passion for Fame and Praise — Character of the Idols 381 74. Continuation of the Critique on Chevy-Chase . 384 — ■ 81. Female Party-Spirit discovered by Patches . 389 — 83. Dream of a Picture Gallery .... 392 85. Fate of Writings— Ballad of Children in the Wood 395 86. On Physiognomy ..... 396 89. Lovers — ^Demun'age — Folly of Demurrage . . 401 — 90,, Punishment of a voluptuous Man after Death — Ad- venture of M. Pontigna .... 405 92. Books for a Lady's Library . . . 408 93. Proper Methods of employing Time . . .411 94. Subject continued — Pursuit of Knowledge . 415 * — ^98. Ladies' Head-dresses . . . . .419 ( — 89. The Chief Point of Honour— Duelling . . 422 101. Uncertainty of Fame — Specimen of a History of the Reign of Anne L . . . . 425 IA02. Exercise of the Pan .... 428 105. Will. Honeycomb's Knowledge of the World — va- ^^ rious kinds of Pedants .... 431 ■k 106. Visit to Sir R. de Coverley's Country Seat . 434 ' 108. Character of Will. Wimble . . . .437 110. On Ghosts and Apparitions . . . 440 111. Immateriality of the Soul .... 443 -^112. A Sunday in the Country — Sir Roger at Church . 446 115. Labour and Exercise .... 448 117. On Witchcraft— Story of MoU White . . 452 119. Rural Manners — Politeness .... 454 120. Instinct in Animals .... 457 121. The subject continued— Wisdom of Providence . 461 122. A Visit with Sir Roger to the Country Assizes . 465 123. Education of Country 'Squires — Story of Eudoxus and Leontine ..... 468 124. Use and Difficulties of Periodical Papers . . 472 125. Mischiefs of Party-Spirit .... 475 126. The subject continued — Sir Roger's Principles . 478 127. Letter on the Hoop-Petticoat . . . 431 128. Difference of Temper in the Sexes — Female Levity 484 129. Fashions in Dress — How imitated in theSCountry . 487 130. Interview of Sir Roger with a Gang of Gipsies . 490 131. Opinions entertained of the Spectator in the Country — Letter from Will. Honeycomb . . . 493 135. Blessing of being born an Englishman . . 496 +■ 159. The Vision of Mirza ..... 499 '^60. On great natural Geniuses . . . 594 THE TATLER. BY ISAAC BICKEESTAFFE, ESQ. We now enter on those parts of Mr. Addison's prose works, -whick have done him the greatest honour, and have placed him at the head of those whom we call our polite writers. I know that many readers prefer Dr. Swift's prose to his : — but, whatever other merit the Dean's writings may have, (and they have, certainly, a great deal,) I affirm it with con- fidence, (because I have examined fiiem both with care,) that they are not comparable to Mr. Addison's, in the correctness, propriety, and elegance of expression. Mr. Addison possessed two talents, hoth of them very uncommon, which singularly qualified him to excel in the foUowmg essays : I mean an exquisite knowledge of the English tongue, in all its purity and deli- cacy ; and a vein of humour, which flowed naturally and abundantly from him on every subject ; and which experience hath sho'wn to be inimit- able. But it is in the former respect only that I shall criticise these papers ; and I shall do it with severity, lest time, and the authority of his name, (which, of course, must become sacred,) should give a sanction even to his defects. If any man of genius should be so happy, as to equal all the excellencies of his prose, and to avoid the few blemishes which may, haply, be found in it, he would be a perfect model of style, in this way of writing : but of such an one, it is enough to say at present, (and I shall, surely, offend no good writer in saying it, ) " — hunc nequeo monstrare, et sentio tantum." No. 20. THTJESDAT, MAY 26, 1709. — Thottgh the theatre is now breaking, it is allowed still to sell animals there ; therefore, if any lady or gentleman have occasion for a tame elephant, let them inquire of Mr. Pinkethman, who has one to dispose of at a reasonable rate. The downfal of May Pair has quite sunk the price of this noble creature, as well as many other curiosities of nature. A tiger wUl sell ahnost as cheap as an ox ; and I am credibly VOL. II. a 2 Addison's -vvoeks. informed, a man may purcliaBe a cat with ttree legs, for very near the vakie of one with four. I hear likewise, that there is a great desolation among the gentlemen and ladies who were the ornaments of the town, and used to shine in plumes and diadems ; the heroes being most of them pressed, and the queens heating hemp. Mrs. Sarabrand, so famous for her ingenious puppet-show, has set up a shop in the Ex- change, where she sells her little troop under the term of Jointed Babies. I could not but be solicitous to know of her, how she had disposed of that rake-hell Punch, whose lewd life and' conversation had given so much scandal, and did not a little contribute to the ruin of the fair. She told me with a sigh, that despairing of ever reclaiming him, she would not offer to place him in a civil family, but got him in a post upon a stall in Wapping, where he may be seen from sun-rising to sun-setting, with a glass in one hand, and a pipe in the other, as sentry to a brandy-shop. The great revolutions of this nature bring to my mind the distresses of the unfortunate Camilla, who has had the ILL luck to break before her voice, and to disappear at a time when her beauty was in the height of its bloom. This lady entered so thoroughly iato the great characters she acted, that when she had ftmshed her part, she could not think of retrenching her equipage, but would appear in her ovm lodgings with the same magnificence that she did upon the stage. This greatness of soul has reduced that unhappy princess to an involuntary retirement, where she now passes her time among the woods and forests, thinking on the crowns and sceptres she has lost, and often humming over in her solitude, I was bom of royal race, Yet must wander in disgrace, &c. ''But for fear of being overheard, and her quality known,' she usually sings it in Italian ; Nacqui al regno, nacqui al trono, E pur sono Sventurata pastorella — ■Since I have touched upon this subject, I shall communicate to my reader part of a letter I have received from a friend at Amsterdam, where there is a very noble theatre ; though the manner of furnishing it with actors is something pecu- ' Easily expressed, but not exactly. Better: — '^ But for fear of being overlieard, and lest her giutlity should be known." No. 42, THD TATLEB. 3 liar to that place, and gives us occasion to admire both the politeness and frugality of the people. " My friends have kept me here a week longer than ordi- naiy to see one of their plays, vrhich was performed last night with great applause. The actors are all of them trades- men, who, after their day's work is over, earn about a guilder a night hy personating kings and generals. The hero of the tragedy I saw was a journeyman taUor, and his first minis- ter of state, a coffee-man. The empress made me thruli of Parthenope in the Eehearsal ; for her mother keeps an ale- house ia the suburbs of Amsterdam. When the tragedy was over, they entertained us v?ith a short farce, in which the cobbler did his part to a miracle ; but, upon iaquiry, I found he had reaUy been working at his own trade, and represent- ing on the stage what he acted every day in his shop. The profits of the theatre maintain an hospital : for as here they do not think the profession of an actor the only trade that a man ought to exercise, so they wiU not allow anybody to grow rich on a profession that in their opinion so little con- duces to the good of the commonwealth. If I am not mis- taken, your playhouses in England have done the same thing ; for, unless I am misinformed, the hospital at Dul- ledge was erected and endowed by Mr. AHen, a player : and it is also said, a famous she-tragedian has settled her estate, after her death, for the maintenance of decayed wits, who. are to be taken in as soon as they grow dull, at whatever time of their life that shall happen." No. 42. SATTJEDAT, JULY 16, 1709. — Celebrare domestica facta. — This is to give notice, that a magnificent palace, with great variety of gardens, statues, and water-works, may be bought cheap in Drury Lane ; where there are likewise seve- ral castles to be disposed of, very delightfully situated ; as also groves, woods, forests, fountains, and country seats, with very pleasant prospects on aU sides of them; being the moveables of Christopher Eich, Esq., who is breaking up B 2 4 ADMSOTf S -WOEKS. house-keeping, and has many curious pieces of fiimiture to dispose o^ which may be seen between the hours of six and ten ia the evening. THE INVENTORY. Spirits of right Nants brandy, for lambent flames and ap- paritions. Three bottles and a half of lightning. One shower of snow in the whitest French paper. Two showers of a browner sort. A sea, consisting of a dozen large waves, the tenth ^ bigger than ordinary, and a little damaged. A dozen and a half of clouds, trimmed with black, and weU conditioned. A rainbow, a little faded. A set of clouds after the French mode, streaked with lightning, and furbelowed. A new-moon, something decayed. A pint of the finest Spanish wash, being all that is left of two hogsheads sent over last winter. A coach very finely gilt, and little used, with a pair of dragons, to be sold cheap. A setting sun, a pennjrworth. An imperial mantle, made for Cyrus the Grreat, atid worn by Julius CsBsar, Bajazet, Eng Harry the Eighth, and 'Signior Valentini. A basket-hdlt sword, very convenient to carry milk in. Eoxana's night gown. Othello's handkerchief. The imperial robes of Xerxes, never worn but once. A wild boar, kiUed by Mrs. Tofts and Dioclesian. A serpent to sting Cleopatra. A mustard bowl to make thimder with. Another of a bigger sort, by Mr. D ia's directions, little used. Six elbow-chairs, very expert in country dances, with six flower-pots for their partners. The whiskers of a Turkish bassa. The complexion of a murderer in a bandbox ; consistinj' of a large piece of burnt cork, and a coal-black peruke. " " Fluctus decumanus." No. 43. THE TATLEE. 5 A suit of clothes for a ghost, viz. a bloody shirt, a doublet curiously pinked, and a coat with three great eyelet-holes upon the breast. A bale of red Spanish wool. Modem plots, commonly known by the name of trap-doors, ladders of ropes, vizard masques, and tables with broad car- pets over them. Three oak cudgels, with one of crab-tree ; all bought fop the use of Mr. Pinkethman. Materials for dancing ; as masq[ues, castanets, and a ladder of ten rounds. Aurengzebe's scimitar, made by WUl. Brown in Picca- dilly. A plume of feathers, never used but by (Edipus and the Earl of Essex. There are also swords, halberts, sheep-hooks, cardinals' hats, turbans, drums, gallipots, a gibbet, a cradle, a rack, a cart-wheel, an altar, a helmet, a back-piece, a breast-plate, a bell, a tub, and a jointed baby. These are the hard shifts we intelligencers are forced to ; therefore our readers ought to excuse us, if a westerly wind, blowing for a fortnight together, generally fills every paper with an order of battle ; when we show our martial skill in each line, and according to the space we have to fill, we range our men in squadrons and battalions, or draw out company by company, and troop by troop ; ever observing, that no muster is to be made, but when the wind is in a cross point, which often happens at the end of a campaign, when half the men are deserted or killed. The Courant is sometimes ten deep, his ranks close : the Post-boy is gener- ally in files, for greater exactness : and the Post-man comes down upon you rather after the Turkish way, sword in hand, pell-meU, without form or discipline ; but sure to bring men enough into the field ; and wherever they are raised, never to lose a battle for want of numbers.^ ' Of this paper, the inventoiy only, as I take it, is Mr. Addison's. Addison's -works. No. 75. SATUEDAT, OCTOBEE 1, 1709. From my own Apartment, Septemher 30. I* AM called off from public dissertations by a domestic affair of great importance, whicli is no less than the disposal of my sister Jenny for life. The girl is a girl of great merit, and pleasing conYersation ; but I being born of my father's first wife, and she of his third, she converses with me rather like a daughter than a sister. I have indeed told her, that if she kept her honour, and behaved herself in such a manner as became the Bickerstaffs, I would get her an agreeable man for her husband ; which was a promise T made her after read- ing a passage ia Phny's Epistles. That poHte author had been employed to find out a consort for his friend's daugh- ter, and gives the following character of the man he had pitched upon. Aciliano plurimum vigoris et industria quanquam in max- ima verecundid : est illi fades liberalis, mitlto sanguine, multo rubore suffusa: est ingenua totius corporis pulchriiudo, et quidam senatorius decor, qua ego nequaquam arbitror negli- genda ; debet enim hoc castitati puellarum quasi prcemium dari. " Acilianus is a man of extraordinary vigour and industry, accompanied with the greatest modesty. He has very much of the gentleman, with a lively colour, and flush of health ia his aspect. His whole person is finely turned, and speaks him a man of quality : which are qualifications that, I think, ought by no means to be overlooked, and shoxild be bestowed on a daughter as the reward of her chastity." A woman that will give herself liberties, need not put her parents to so much trouble ; for if she does not possess these ornaments ^ ia a husband, she can supply herself elsewhere. But this is not the case of my sister Jenny, who, I may say without vanity, is as unspotted a spinster as any in Great ' The opening of this paper, to — " our own family in this particular " — ^is Sir Richard Steele's. Mr. Addison's hand is only to be traced in the genealogy, * These ornaments.^ " Advantages " had been better. No. 75. THE TATIiEE. 7 Britain. I shall take this occasion to recommend the con- duct of oar own family in this particular.' We have in the genealogy of our house, the descriptions and pictures of our ancestors from the time of King Arthur ; in whose days there was one of my own name, a knight of his roimd table, and known by the name of Sir Isaac Bickerstaff. He was low of stature, and of a very swarthy complexion, not unlike a Portuguese Jew. But he was more prudent than men of that height usually are, and would often com- municate to his friends his design of lengthening and whiten- ing his posterity. His eldest son Ealph (for that was his name) was for this reason married to a lady who had little else to recommend her, but that she was very taU and fair. The issue of this match, with the help of his shoes, made a tolerable figure in the next age ; though the complexion of the family was obscure till the fourth generation from that marriage. Prom which time, till the reign of WUliam the Conqueror, the females of our house were famous for their needle-work and fine skins. In the male line there happen- ed an unlucky accident in the reign of Eichard the Third, the eldest son of Philip, then chief of the family, being bom with an hump-back and very high nose. This was the more astonishing, because none of his forefathers ever had such a blemish ; nor indeed was there any in the neighbourhood of that make except the butler, who was noted for round shoulders, and a Roman nose : what made the nose the less excusable, was the remarkable smaUness of his eyes. These several defects were mended by succeeding matches ; the eyes were opened in the next generation, and the hump fell in a centiiry and a half ; but the greatest difficulty was liow to reduce the nose ; which I do not find was accom- olished tin about the middle of Henry the Seventh's reign, or rather the beginning of that of Henry the Eighth. But while our ancestors were thus taken up in cultivating the eyes and nose, the face of the Bickerstaffs fell down iu- ' In this particular.'] In what particular ? in that of Jenny's chastity f — But there is not a word on the subject, in what follows. I take for panted that, in Sir Richard Steele's draught of this paper, a paragraph (ras here inserted, to show the care of the Bickerstaffs, in providing for Ihe honour of the female part of their family ; which not being to Mr. Addison's mind, was struck out, to make room for this pleasant accoimt of their genealogy. But when this was done, it was forgotten to make the requisite change in the introduction. 8 ADDISON S TTOBKS. seMibly into the ctin ; wHch was not taken notice of (their thoughts being so much employed upon the more noble fea- tures) till it became almost too long to be remedied. But length of time, and successire care in our aUiances, have cured this also, and reduced our faces into that toler- able oval which we enjoy at present. I would not be tedi- ous ia this discourse, but cannot but observe, that our race suffered very much about three hundred years ago, by the I marriage of one of her heiresses with an eminent courtier, who gave us spindle shanks, and cramps in our bones, inso- much that we did not recover our health and legs till Sir Walter Bickerstaff married Maud the milk-maid, of whom the then Grarter king at arms (a facetious person) said pleas- antly enough, that she had spoiled our blood, but mended our constitutions. After this account of the effect our prudent choice of matches has had upon our persons and features, I cannot but observe, that there are daily instances of as great changes made by marriage upon men's minds and humours. One might wear any passion out of a family by culture, as skilful gardeners blot a colour out of a tulip that hurts its beauty. One might produce an affable temper out of a shrew, by grafting the mild upon the choleric ; or raise a jack-pudding from a prude, by inoculating mirth and melancholy.' It is for want of care in the disposing of our children, with re- gard to our bodies and minds, that we go into an house and see such different complexions and humours in the same race and family. But to me it is as plain as a pikestaff, from what mixture it is, that this daughter silently lowers, the other steals a kind look at you, a third is exactly well behaved, a fourth a splenetic, and a fifth a coquette. In this disposal of my sister, I have chosen with an eye to her being a vrit, and provided that the bridegroom be a man of soimd and excellent judgment, who will seldom mind what she says when she begins to harangue : for Jenny's " only imperfection is an admiration of her parts, which in- clines her to be a little, but a very little, sluttish ; and you are ever to remark, that we are apt to cultivate most, and bring into observation, what we think most excellent in our- Belves, or most capable of improvement. Thus my sister, ' Tie rest of this paper by Sir Ricliard Steele. No. 75. THE TATLEE. i) instead of consulting her glass and her toilet for an tour and an talf after her private devotion, sits with her nose full of snuff, and a man's nightcap on her head, reading plays and romances. Her wit she thinks her distinction ; there- fore knows nothing of the skill of dress, or making her per- son agreeable. It would make you laugh, to see me often with my spectacles on lacing her stays ; for she is so very a wit, that she understands no ordinary thing in the world. i Por this reason I have disposed of her to a man of busi- ness, who wiU soon let her see, that to be well dressed, ia good humour, and cheerful in the command of her family, are the arts and sciences of female life. I could have be- stowed her upon a fine gentleman, who extremely admired her wit, and would have given her a coach and six. ; but I found it absolutely necessary to cross the strain ; for had they met, they had eternally been rivals in discourse, and in con- tinual contention for the superiority of understanding, and brought forth critics, pedants, or pretty good poets. As it is, I expect an. offspring fit for the habitation of city, town, or country ; creatures that are docile and tractable in whatever we put them to. To convince men of the necessity of taking this method, let any one, even below the skiU of an astrologer, behold the turn of faces he meets as soon as he passes Cheapside con- duit, and you see a deep attention and a certain unthinking sharpness in every countenance. They look attentive, but their thoughts are engaged on mean purposes. To me it ia very apparent, when I see a citizen pass by, whether his head is upon wooUen, sUks, iron, sugar, indigo, or stocks. Now this trace of thought appears or lies hid in the race for two or three generations. I know at this time a person of a vast estate, who is the immediate descendant of a fine gentleman, but the great- grandson of a broker, in whom his ancestor is now revived. He is a very honest gentleman in his principles, but cannot for his blood talk fairly : he is heartily sorry for it ; but he cheats by constitution, and over-reaches by instinct. The happiness of the man who marries my sister will be, that he has no faults to correct in her but her own, a little bias of fancy, or particularity of manners, which grew in herself, and can be amended by her. Prom such an untainted couple, we can hope to have our famUy rise to its ancient 10 ADDISON'S -WOEKS. splendour of face, air, countenance, manner, and shape, ■without discovering the product of ten nations in one house. Obadiah Greenhat says, he never comes into any company in England, but he distinguishes the different nations of which •we are composed : there is scarce such a living creature as a true Briton. We sit down indeed aU friends, acquaintance, and neighbours ; but after two bottles, you see a Dane start up and swear, "The kingdom is his own." A Saxon drinks up the whole quart, and swears, " He will dispute that with him." A Norman teUs them both, " He will assert his li- berty;" and a Welshman cries, "They are all foreigners, and intruders of yesterday," and beats them out of the room. Such accidents happen frequently among neighbours' chil- dren and cousin-germans. Por which reason, I say, study your race, or the soil of your family vrill dwindle into cits or 'squires, or run up into ynts or madmen. [Sir Richard Steele assisted in this paper.' T.] No. 81. SATTJEDAT, OCTOBEE 15, 1709. Hie manus ob patriam pugnando vulnera passi, Quique pii Vates et Phoebo digna locuti, Inventas aut qui vitam excoluere per artes, Quique sui memores alios fecere merendo. Vieg. From my own Apartment, October 14. Thbee are two kinds of immortality ; that which the soul really enjoys after this life, and that imaginary existence by which men live in their fame and reputation. The best and greatest actions have proceeded from the prospect of the one or the other of these ; but my design is to treat only of those who have chiefly proposed to themselves the latter as the principal reward of their labours. It was for this reason that I excluded from my tables of fame all the great founders ' It is an absurd practice for two men of ■wit, let their talents be what they ■will, to ■write in concert. The effect, at best, can be only the pro- duction of a motley, discordant piece, though the contributions of each, taken separately, be ever so excellent. But when two such writers as Mr A. and Sir B. Steele join in composing one of these papers, the misalli- ance is not only great, but the contrast ridiculous. No. 81. THE TATLEB. 11 and votaries of religion ; and it is for this reason also, tBat I am more than ordinarily anxious to do justice to the persona of whom T am now going to speak ; for since fame was the only end of all their enterprises and studies, a man cannot be too scrupulous in allotting them their due proportion of it. It was this consideration which made me call the whole body of the learned to my assistance ; to many of them I must own my obligations for the catalogues of illustrious persons which they have sent me in upon this occasion. I yesterday employed the whole afternoon in comparing them with each other ; which made so strong an impression upon my imagination, that they broke my sleep for the first part of the following night, and at length threw me into a very agreeable vision, which I shall beg leave to describe in all its particulars. I dreamed that I was conveyed into a wide and boundless plain, that was covered' with prodigious multitudes of people, which no man could number. In the midst of it there stood a mountain, with its head above the clouds. The sides were extremely steep, and of such a particular structure, that no creature, which was not made in an hiunan figure, could pos- sibly ascend it. On a sudden there was heard from the top of it a sound like that of a trumpet ; but so exceeding sweet and harmonious, that it filled the hearts of those who heard it with raptures, and gave such high and delightful sensar tions, as seemed to animate and raise human nature above itself. This made me very much amazed to find so very few in that innumerable multitude who had ears fine enough to hear or relish this music with pleasure : but my wonder abated, when, upon looking round me, I saw most of them attentive to three Sirens clothed like goddesses, and dis- tinguished by the names of Sloth, Ignorance, and Pleasure. They were seated on three rocks, amidst a beautiful variety of groves, meadows, and rivulets, that lay on the borders of the mountain. While the base and grovelling multitude of different nations, ranks, and ages, were listening to these delusive deities, those of a more erect aspect and exalted spirit separated themselves from the rest, and marched in great bodies towards the mountain ; from^ whence they ' Plain, that was covered.'] Better say, "plain covered" — to avoid the double relative — " that was covered — which no man could number." ' From is redundant, and had better been omitted. 12 • Addison's woeks. heard the sound, which still grew sweeter the more they listened to it. On a sudden, methought this select hand sprang forward, with a resolution to climb the ascent, and follow the call of that heavenly music. Every one took something with him that he thought might be of assistance to him ia his march. Several had their swords drawn, some carried roUs of paper in their hands, some had compasses, others quadrants, others telescopes, and others pencils ; some had laurels on their heads, and others busMns on their legs : in short, there was scarce any instrument of a mechanic art or liberal science, which was not made use of on this occasion. My good daemon, who stood at my right hand during the course of this whole vision, observing in. me a burning desire to join that glorious company, told me, he highly approved that generous ardour with which I seemed transported ; but, at the same time, advised me to cover my face with a mask all the while I was to labour on the ascent. I took his counsel without inquiring into his reasons. The whole body now broke into different pai-ties, and began to climb the pre- cipice by ten thousand different paths. Several got into iittle alleys, which did not reach far up the hill, before they ended and led no further : and I observed that most of the artisans, which considerably diminished our number, fell into these paths. We left another considerable body of adventurers behind us, who thought they had discovered by-ways up the hUl, which proved so very intricate and perplexed, that, after having advanced in them a little, they were quite lost among the several turns and windings ; and though they were as active as any in their motions, they made but little progress in the ascent. These, as my guide informed me, were men of subtle tempers, and puzzled politics, who would supply the place of real wisdom with cunning and artifice. Among those who were far advanced in their way, there were some that by one false step fell backward, and lost more ground in a moment than they had gained for many hours, or could be ever able to recover.' We were now advanced vory high, and observed, that all the different paths which ran about the sides of the mountain, began to meet in two ' i. e. Were able to be ever able. It should have been, " or could afltr- wards recover.' ' No. 81 THE TATLEE. • 13 great roads, whicli insensibly gathered the whole multitude into two great bodies. At a Uttle distance from the entrance of each road, there stood an hideous phantom, that opposed our further passage. One of these apparitipns had his right hand filled with darts, which he brandished in. the face of aU who came up that way. Crowds ran back at the appearance of it, and cried out. Death. The spectre that guarded the other road, was EuTy : she was not armed with weapons of destruction like the former ; hut by dread&l hissings, noises of reproach, and a horrid, distracted laughter, she appeared more frightful than death itself, insomuch, that abundance of our company were discouraged from passing any further, and some appeared ashamed of having come so far. As for my- self, I must confess my heart shrunk within me at the sight of these ghastly appearances : but on a sudden, the voice of the trumpet came more full upon us, so that we felt a new resolution reviving in us ; and in proportion as this resolu- tion grew, the terrors before us seemed to vanish. Most of the company who had swords in their hands marched on with great spirit, and an air of defiance, up the road that was commanded by Death ; while others, who had thought and contemplation in their looks, went forward in a more com- posed manner up the road possessed by Envy. The way above these apparitions grew smooth and uniform, and was so delightful, that the travellers went on with pleasure, and in a little time arrived at the top of the mountain. They here began to breathe ' a delicious kind of sether, and saw all the fields about them covered with a kind of purple Ught, that made them reflect with satisfaction on their past toils, and diffused a secret joy through the whose assembly, which showed itself in every look and feature. In the midst of these happy fields, there stood a palace of a very glorious structure : it had four great folding doors, that faced the four several quarters of the world. On the top of it was enthroned the goddess of the mountain, who smiled upon her ' " They here began to breathe " — to " hoh and feature."'\ Two or three little Flemishes, which the reader will observe in this sentence, may- be remoyed by reading thus ; — "They here began to breathe a delicious kind of aether, and saw all the iields about them covered with a {kind of] purple light, that made them reflect with satisfaction on their past toils, and diffused a secret joy through the whole assembly, [which showed itself in every look and feature] — Omitting what is contained between the crotchets, for obvious reasons. 14 ^ Addison's woeks. votaries, and sounded the silver trumpet wliioli had called them up, and cheered them in their passage to her palace. They had now formed themselves into several divisions, a band of historians taking their stations at each door,' accord- ing to the persons whom they were to introduce. On a sudden the trumpet, which had hitherto sounded only a march, or a point of war, now swelled all its notes into triumph and exultation : the whole fabric shook, and the doors flew open. The first who stepped forward was a beautiful and blooming hero, and as I heard by the mur- murs roimd me, Alexander the Great. He was conducted by a crowd of historians. The person who immediately walked before him, was remarkable for an embroidered gar- ment, who not being well acquainted with the place, was conducting him to an apartment appointed for the reception, of fabulous heroes. The name of this false guide was Quin- tus Ourtius. But Arrian and Plutarch, who knew better the avenues of this palace, conducted him into the great hall, and placed him at the upper end of the first table. My good daemon, that I might see the whole ceremony, conveyed me to a corner of this room, where I might perceive all that passed, vrithout being seen myself. The next who entered was a charming virgin, leading in a venerable old man that was blind. Under her left arm she bore a harp, and on her head a garland. Alexander, who was very well acquainted with Homer, stood up at his entrance and placed him on his right hand. The virgin, who it seems was one of the nine sisters that attended on the goddess of Pame, smiled with an ineffable grace at their meeting, and retired. Julius Caesar was now coming forward ; and though most of the historians offered their service to introduce him, he left them at the door, and would have no conductor but himself. The next who advanced, was a man of a homely but cheer- ful aspect, and attended by persons of greater figure than any that appeared on this occasion. Plato was on his right hand, and Xenophon on his left. He bowed to Homer, and sat down by him. It was expected that Plato would him- self have taken a place next to his master Socrates : but, on a ' Negligently expressed. Better in some such way as this : — " a band pf historians, whose office it was to introduce their respective worthies, tak- ing their stations at each door." JJo. 81. THE TATLBB. 15 sudden, there was heard a great clamour of disputants at the door, who appeared with Aristotle at the head of them. That philosopher, with some rudeness, but great strength of reason, convinced the whole table, that a title to the fifth place was his due, and took it accordingly. He had scarce sat down, when the same beautiful virgin that had introduced Homer brought in another, who hung back at the entrance, and would have excused himself, had not his modesty been overcome by the invitation of aU who sat at the table. His guide and behaviour made me easily conclude it was Virgil. Cicero next appeared, and took his place. He had iaquired at the door for Lucceius to intro- duce him ; but not finding him there, he contented himself with the attendance of many other writers, who all (except SaUust) appeared highly pleased vrith the office. We waited' some time in expectation of the next worthy, who came in with a great retiuue of historians, whose names I could not learn, most of them beiag natives of Carthage. The person thus conducted, who was Hannibal, seemed much disturbed, and could not forbear complaining to the board of the affronts he had met vnth among the Eoman historians, who attempted, says he, to carry me iuto the subterraneous apartment ; and, perhaps, would have done it, had it not been for the impartiality of this gentleman, pointing to Polybius, who was the only person, except my own countrymen, that was wiUing to conduct me hither. The Carthagiaian took his seat, and Pompey entered with great dignity ia his own person, and preceded ^ by several historians. Lucan the poet was at the head of them, who, observing Homer and Virgil at the table, was going to sit down himself, had not the latter whispered him. That what- ever pretence he might otherwise have had, he forfeited his claim to it by coming in as one of the historians. Lucan was so exasperated with the repulse, that he muttered some- thing ~to himself, and was heard to say. That since he could not have a seat among them himself, he would bring in one, who, alone, had more merit than their whole assembly : upon which he went to the door, and brought in Cato of TJtica. That great man approached the company with such an air, that ^ showed he contemned the honour which he laid a claim ' And preceded .] Omit " and," or insert " was " before "preceded." 2 That.] It should be "a*." 16 Addison's wobks, to. Observing the seat opposite to Caesar was vacant, Le took possession of it ; and spoke two or three smart sen- tences upon the nature of precedency, which, according to him, consisted not in place, but in intrinsic merit ; to which he added, That the most virtuous man, wherever he was seated, was always at the upper end of the table. Socrates, who had a great spirit of raillery with his wisdom, could not forbear smiling at a virtue which took so little pains to make itseK agreeable. Cicero took the occasion to make a long discourse in praise of Cato, which he tittered with much vehemence. OsBsar answered with a great deal of seem- ing temper, but as I stood at a great distance from them, I was not able to hear one word of what they said.' But I could not forbear taking notice, that in all the discourse which passed at the table, a word or a nod from Homer de- cided the controversy. After a short pause, Augustus appeared looking roimd him with a serene and affable countenance upon all the writers of his age, who strove among themselves which ot them should show him the greatest marks of gratiin.ide and respect. Virgil rose from the table to meet him ; and though he ^ was an acceptable guest to all, he appeared more such to the learned than the military worthies. The next man astonished the whole table with his appearance ; he was slow, solemn, and silent in his behaviour, and wore a raiment curiously wrought with hieroglyphics. As he came into the middle of the room, he threw back the skirt of it, and discovered a golden thigh. Socrates, at the sight of it, declared against keeping company with any who were not made of flesh and blood ; and therefore desired Diogenes the Laertian to lead him to the apartment allotted for fabulous heroes, and worthies of dubious existence. At his going out, he told them, that they did not know whom they dismissed ; that he was now Pythagoras, the first of philosophers, and that formerly he had been a very brave man at the siege of Troy. That may be very true, said Socrates ; but you for- get that you have likewise been a very great harlot in your time. This exclusion made way for Archimedes, who came ' Alluding to the two famous pieces, entitled, "Cato," and, " AntU Cato" which have not come down to ua. ' Though he,] i. e. Augustus. To avoid the ambiguity, read, " and though this great emperor was." No. 86. THE TATLEE. 17 forward with a sclieme of mathematical figures in his hand ; among which I observed a cone or cylinder. Seeing this table full, I desired my guide for variety to lead me to the fabulous apartment,^ the roof of which was paint- ed with gorgons, chimeras, and centaurs, with many other emblematical figures, which I wanted both time and skill to unriddle. The first table was almost full. At the upper end sat Hercules, leaning an arm upon his club.'' On his right hand were Achilles and Ulysses, and between them -Sneas. On his left were Hector, Theseus, and Jason. The lower end had Orpheus, ^sop, Phalaris, and Musaeus. The ushers seemed at a loss for a twelfth man, when me- thought, to my great joy and surprise, I heard some at the lower end of the table mention Isaac Bickerstaff ; but those of the upper end received it with disdain, and said, if they must have a British worthy, they would have Eobin Hood. " "Wliile^ I was transported with the honour that was done me, and burning with envy against my competitor, I was awakened by the noise of the cannon, which were then fired for the taMng of Mons. I should have been very much troubled at being thrown out of so pleasing a vision on any occasion; but thought it an agreeable change to have my thoughts diverted from the greatest among the dead and fabidous heroes, to the most famous among the real and the living." No. 86. THUESDAT, OCTOBEE 27, 1709. % From my own Apartment, October 25. "When I came home last night, my servant delivered me the following letter : " Sib, Oct. 24. I have orders from Sir Harry Quickset, of Staffordshire, Bart., to acquaint you, that his honour Sir Harry himself. Sir ' Fdbulom apartment, the roof of which, &c.] Eead and point thus ■ " Fatulous apartment. The roof of it was," &c. " To lean, rest, &c., are neutral, not transitive verbs. It should be, " leaning with an arm upon his club," or rather, " leaning upon his club." ' This last paragraph was written by Sir R. Steele. T. VOL. II. C 18 ADBISOW'S WOEKS. Giles WTieelbarrow, Knt., Thomas Eentfree, Esq., justice of the quorum, Andrew Windmill, Esq., and Mr. Nicholas Doubt of the Inner Temple, Sir Harry's grandson, will wait upon /ou at the iiour of nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday the 25th of October, upon business which Sir Harry will impart to you by word of mouth. I thought it proper to acquaint you before-hand so many persons of quality came, that you might not be surprised therewith, which concludes, though by many years' absence since I saw you at Stafford, unknown, " Sir, your most humble servant, " John Theiftt." I received this message with less surprise than I believe Mr. Thrifty imagined ; for I knew the good company too well to feel any palpitations at their approach : but I was in very great concern how I should adjust the ceremonial, and demean myself to all these great men, who perhaps had- not seen anything above themselves for these twenty years last past. I am sure that is the case of Sir Harry. Besides which, I was sensible that there was a great point in adjusting my behaviour to the simple squire, so as to give him satis- faction, and not disoblige the justice of the quorum. The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no sooner set chairs (by the stewards' letter) and fixed my tea equipage, but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no one entered; after which followed a long silence, which was broke at last by, " Sir, I beg your pardon ; I think I know better :" and another voice, " Nay, good Sir Griles — " I looked out from my window, and saw the good company all with their hats off, and arms spread, offering the door to each other. After many offers, they entered with much so- lemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was so kind as to name them to me. But they are now got to my chamber door, and I saw my old friend Sir Harry enter. I met him with all the respect due to so reverend a vegetable ; for you are to know, that is my sense of a person who remains idle in the same place for half a century. I got him with great suc- cess into his chair by the fire, without throwing down any of my cups. The knight-bachelor told me, he had a great respect for my whole fami.y, and would, with my leave, place himself next to Sir Harry, at whose right hand he Had sat at No. 86. THE TATLEB. 19 every quarter-sessions this thirty years, unless he was sick. The steward in the rear whispered the yoimg Templar, " That is true to my knowledge." I had the misfortune, as they stood cheek by jole, to desire the squire to sit down before the justice of the quorum, to the no small satisfaction of the former, and resentment of the latter : but I saw my error too late, and got them as soon as I could iato their seats. " "WeU., (said I,) gentlemen, after 1 have told yon how glad I am of this great honour, I am to desire you to drink a dish of tea." They answered, one and aU, that " They never drank tea iu a morning." " Not ia a morning!" said I, staring round me. Upon which the pert jackanapes Nick Doubt tipped me the wink, and put out his tongue at his grand- father. Here followed a profound silence, when the steward in his boots and whip proposed that we should adjourn to some public-house, where everybody might call for what they pleased, and enter upon the business. We all stood up ia an iastant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left very dis- creetly, counter-marching behind the chairs towards the door : after him. Sir GrUes in the same manner. The simple squire made a sudden start to follow ; but the justice of the quorum whipped between upon the stand of the stairs. A maid going up with coals made us halt, and put us into such confdsion, that we stood aU in a heap, without any visible possibility of recovering our order: for the young jacka- napes seemed to make a jest of this matter, and had so con- trived, by pressing amongst us under pretence of making way, that his grandfather was got into the middle, and he knew nobody was of quality to stir a step, till Sir Harry moved first. "We were fixed in this perplexity for some time, till we heard a very loud noise in the street ; and Sir Harry ask- ing what it was, I, to make them move, said it was fire. Upon this, all run down as fast as they could, without order or ceremony, till we got into the street, where we drew up ; in very good order, and filed off down Sheer Lane, the im- pertinent Templar driving us before him, as in a string, and pointing to his acquaintance who passed by. I must confess, I love to use people according to their own sense of good breeding, and therefore whipped in be- tween the justice and the simple squire. He could not pro- perly take this ill ; but I overheard him whisper the steward, " That he thought it hard that a common conjurer should e 2 20 Addison's woeks. take place of Mm, thougli an elder squire." In this order wo marched down Sheer Lane, at the upper end of which I lodge. "When we came to Temple Bar, Sir Harry and Sir Giles got over ; but a run of coaches kept the rest of us on this side the street : however, we all at last landed, and drew up in v«ry good order hefore Ben. Tooke's shop, who favoured our ral- lying with great humanity. !From hence we proceeded agaia, till we came to Dick's Coffee-house, where I designed to carry them. Here we were at our old difficulty, and took up the street upon the same ceremony. "We proceeded through the entry, and were so necessarily kept in order by the situation, that we were now got into the coffee-house it- self, where, as soon as we arrived, we repeated our civilities to each other ; after which, we marched up to the high table, which has an ascent to it enclosed ia the middle of the room. The whole house was alarmed at this entry, made up of per- sons of so much state and rusticity. Sir Harry called for a mug of ale, and Dyer's Letter. The boy brought the ale iq an instant : but said, they did not take ia the Letter. " No I (says Sir Harry,) then take back your mug ; we are like in- deed to have good liquor at this house." Here the Templar tipped me a second wink, and if I had not looked very grave upon him, I found he was disposed to be very familiar with me. Li short, I observed after a long pause, that the gen- tlemen did not care to enter upon business tiU. after their morning draught, for which reason I called for a bottle of mum ; and finding that had no effect upon them, I ordered a second, and a third : after which, Sir Harry reached over to me, and told me in a low voice, that the place was too pubUe for business; but he would call upon me again to- morrow morning at my own lodgings, and bring some more friends with him. — [Sir Richard Steele assisted in this paper.' T.] ' One sees this by the pertness of the manner in which many parts of it are composed. The scene described is, however, pleasant enough : but why so much pains here, and elsewhere, to throw contempt on rural Knights and Squires f a set of men better stationed on their own estates, than in courts and great cities ; and more estimable, by far, with all theii rusticities, and (what offended Mr. Addison and his coadjutor more) with all their party prejudices, at that time about them, than their finer sons, whose good-breeding hath eaten out every other virtue, and made them too polite to endure the country air, or the conversation of their neigb- . hours and tenants. No. 88. THE TATLEE. SI 5To. 88. TUESDAY, NOVEMBEE 1, 1709. From my oion Apartment, October 31. I WAS this morning awakened by a sudden shake. of the house ; and as soon as I had got a little out of my constern- ation, I felt another, which was followed by two or three repetitions of the same convulsion. I got up' as fast as pos- sible, girt on my rapier, and snatched up my hat, when my landlady came up to me, and told me that the gentlewoman of the next house begged me to step thither ; for that a lodger she had taken in was run mad, and she desired my advice ; as indeed everybody in the whole lane does upon important occasions. I am not, like some artists, saucy, be- cause I can be beneficial, but wentdmmediately. Our neigh- bour told us, she had the day before let her second floor to a very genteel, youngish man, who told her he kept extrar Ordinary good hours, and was generally at home most part of the morning and evening at study ; but that this morning he had for an hour together made this extravagant noise which we then heard. I went upstairs with my hand upon the hilt, of my rapier, and approached this new lodger's door. I looked in at the key -hole, and there I saw a well-made man look with great attention on a book, and on a sudden jump into the air so high, that his head almost touched the ceiling. He came down safe on his right foot, and again flew up, alighting on his left ; then looked again at his book, and holding out his right leg, put it into such a quivering mo- tion, that I thought he would have shaked it ofl'. He used the left after the same manner ; when on a sudden, to my great surprise, he stooped himself incredibly low, and turned gently on his toes. After this circular motion, he continued bent ia that humble posture for some time, looking on hia book. After this he recovered himself by a sudden spring, and flew round the room in all the violence and disorder imaginable, till he made a full pause for want of breath. In this interim my woman asked what I thought : I whispered, that I thought this learned person an enthusiast, who pos- sibly had his first education in the peripatetic way, which was a sect of philosophers who always studied when walking. 22 Addison's woees. But observing him much out of breath, I thought it the best time to master him if he were disordered, and knocked at his door. I was surprised to find him open it, and say, with great civility and good mien, " That he hoped he had not disturbed us." I believed him in a lucid interval, and desired he would please to let me see his book. He did so, smiling. I could not make anything of it, and therefore asked in what lan- guage it was vrrit. He said, " It was one he studied with great application ; but it was his profession to teach it, and could not communicate his knowledge without a consider- ation." I answered, " That I hoped he would hereafter keep his thoughts to himself ; for his meditation this morning had cost me three coifee dishes, and a clean pipe. He seem- ed concerned at that, and told me he was a dancing-master, and had been reading a dance or two before he went out, which had been written by one who taught at an academy in Erance. He observed me at a stand, and went on to iQ« form me, " That now articulate motions, as well as soimds, were expressed by proper characters ; and that there is nothing so common as to communicate a dance by a letter." I beseeched him hereafter to meditate in a ground-room, for that otherwise it would be impossible for an artist of any other kind to live near him ; and that I was sure, several of his thoughts this morning would have shaken my spectacles ofi" my nose, had I been myself at study. I then took my leave of this virtuoso, and returned to my chamber, meditating on the various occupations of rational creatures. No. 90. SATTJEDAT, NOVEMBEE 5, 1709. — Amoto quaeramus seria ludo. Hor. — The joining of pleasure and pain together in such devices, seems to me the only pointed thought I ever read which is natural ; and it must have proceeded from its being the uni- versal sense and experience of mankind, that they have all spoken of it in the same manner. I have in my own reading remarked an hundred and three epigrams, fifty odes, and ninety-one sentences, tending to this sole purpose. It is certain, there is no other passion which does produce No. 90. THE TATLEE. 23 such contrary effects in so great a degree ; but this may be said for love, that if you stnie it out of the soul, life would be iasipid, and our being but half animated. Human nature would sink iato deadness and lethargy, if not quietened with some active principle ; and as for all others, whether ambition, envy, or avarice, which are apt to possess the miad in the absence of this passion, it must be allowed that they have greater pains, without the compensation of such exquisite pleasures as those we find in love. The great skill is to heighten the satisfactions, and deaden the sorrows of it, which has been the end of many of my labours, and shall continue to be so for the service of the world in general, and, in particular of the fair sex, who are always the best or the worst part of it. It is pity that a passion, which has in it a capacity of making hfe happy, should not be cultivated to the utmost advantage. Eeason, prudence, and good-nature, rightly applied, can thoroughly accomplish this great end, pro- vided they have always a real and constant love to work upon. But this subject I shall treat more at large ia the history of my married sister ; and in the mean time shall conclude my reflection on the pains and pleasures which attend this pas- sion with one of the finest allegories which I think I have ever read. It is iaventedbythe divine Plato, and to show the opinion he himself had of it, ascribed by him to his admired Socrates, whom he represents as discoursing with his friends, and giving the history of Love ia the foUovring manner : " At the birth of Beauty (says he) there was a great feast made, and many guests invited : among the rest, was the god Plenty, who was the son of the goddess Prudence, and inhe- rited many of his mother's virtues. After a full entertain- ment, he retired into the garden of Jupiter, which was hung with a great variety of ambrosial fruits, and seems to have been a very proper retreat for such a guest. In the mean time, an unhappy female, called Poverty, having heard of this great feast, repaired to it, in hopes of finding relief The first place she lights upon was Jupiter's garden, which ge- nerally stands open to people of aU conditions. Poverty enters, and by chance finds the god Plenty asleep in it. She was immediately fired with his charms, laid herself down by his side, and managed matters so well that she conceived a child by him. The world was very much in suspense upon the occasion, and could not imagine to themselves what 24! ADBISOir'S WOEKS. would be the nature of an infant tliat was to have its original from two such parents. At the last, the child appears ; and who should it be but Love. This infant grew up, and proved in all his behaviour what he really was, a compound of op- posite beings. As he is the son of Plenty, (who was the off- spring of Prudence,) he is subtle, intriguing, full of stratagems and devices ; as the son of Poverty, he is fawning, begging, serenading, delighting to Ue at a threshold, or beneath ,,a window. By the father he is audacious, fuU of hopes, con;, scious of merit, and therefore quick of resentment : by the mother, he is doubtful, timorous, mean-spirited, fearftil of ;< offending, and abject in submission. In the same hour you'J may see him transported with raptures, talking of immortal' pleasures, and appearing satisfied as a god ; and immediately! after, as the mortal mother prevails in his composition, yom j behold him pining, languishing, despairing, dying." I have been always wonderfully delighted with fables, al- legories, and the like inventions, which the politest and the ' best instructors of mankind have always made use of: they take off from the severity of instruction, and enforce it at the same time that they conceal it : the supposing Love to be conceived immediately after the birth of Beauty, the par- rentage of Plenty, and the inconsistency of this passion with itself so naturally derived to it, are great master-strokes in this fable ; and if they fell into good hands, might furnish out a more pleasing canto than any in Spencer. No. 93. SATUEDAT, NOVEMBEE 12, 1709. " Deae Sie, I BELIEVE this is the first letter that was ever sent you from the middle region, where I am at this present writing. Not to keep you in suspense, it comes to you from the lop of the highest mountain in Switzerland, where I am now shivering among the eternal frosts and snows. I can scarce forbear dating it in December, though they call it the first of August at the bottom of the mountain. I assure you, I can hardly keep my ink from freezing in the middle of the dog: days. I am here entertained with the prettiest variety of snow, prospects that you can imagine, and have several pita of it No. 93. THE TATIBE, 25 before me that are very near as old as the mountain itself; for ia tliis country, it is as lasting as marble. I am now upon a spot of it, whicli they tell me fell about the reign of Charlemaia or TCing Pepin. The inhabitants of the country are as great curiosities as the country itself: they generally hire themselves out in their youth, and if they are musquet- proof till about fifty, they bring home the money they hav6 got, and the limbs they have left, to pass the rest of their time among their native mountains. One of the gentlemen of the place, who is come off with the loss of an eye only, told me by way of boast, that there were now seven wooden legs in his family ; and that for these four generations, there had not been one in his line that carried a whole body with him to the grave. I believe you wiU. think the style of this letter a little extraordinary ; but the rehearsal wUl tell you, that ' people in clouds must not be confined to speak sense ; ' and I hope, we that are above them, may claim the same privilege. Wherever I am, I shall always be, " Sir, your most obedient, " Most humble servant." From my own Apartment, November 11. I had several hints and advertisements from unknown hands, that some, who are enemies to my labours, design to demand the fashionable way of satisfaction for the disturb- ance my lucubrations have given them. I confess, as things now stand, I do not know how to deny such inviters, and am preparing myself accordingly : I have bought pumps and files, and am every morning practising in my chamber. My neighbour, the dancing-master, has demanded of me, why I take this liberty, since I would not allow it him ? But I answered, his was an act of an indifferent nature, and mine of necessity. My late treatises against duels have so far ;dis- obUged the fraternity of the noble science of defence, that I can get none of them to show me so mugh as one pass. I am therefore obliged to learn my book, and have accordingly several volumes,: wherein all the postures are exactly de- lineated. , I must confess, I am° shy of letting people see me at this exercise, because of my flaiinel waistcoat, and my spectacles>which I am forced to fix on, the~better to observe the postuite of the enemy. I have upon my chamber- walls, drawn at full length, the 26 ABDISOlf'S -WOEKS. figures of all sorts of men, from eight foot to three foot two inches. Within this height I take it, that all the fighting men of Grreat Britain are comprehended. But as I push, I make allowances for my being of a lank and spare body, and have chalked out in every figure my own dimensions ; for I scorn to rob any man of his life, or to take advantage of his breadth : therefore I press purely in a line down from his nose, and take no more of him to assault than he has of me : for to speak impartially, if a lean fellow wounds a fat one in any part to the right or left, whether it be in carte or in tierce, beyond the dimensions of the said lean fellow's own breadth, I take it to be murder, and such a murder as is be- low a gentleman to commit. As I am spare, I am also very tall, and behave myself with relation to that advantage with the same punctilio ; and I am ready to stoop or stand, ac- cording to the stature of my adversary. I must confess, I have had great success this morning, and have hit every figure round the room in a mortal part, without receiving the least hurt, except a little scratch by falliug on my face, in pushing at one at the lower end of my chamber ; but I recovered so quick, and jumped so nimbly into my guard, that if he had been alive, he could not have hurt me. It is confessed, I have writ against duels with some warmth : but in all my discourses, I have not ever said, that I knew how a gentleman could avoid a duel if he were provoked to it ; and since that custom is now become a law, I know nothing but the legislative power, with new animadversions upon it, can put us in a capacity of denying challenges, though we are afterwards hanged for it. But no more of this at pre- sent. As things stand, I shall put up no more afironts; and I shall be so far from takmg ill words, that I will not take ill looks. I therefore warn all young hot fellows, not to look hereafter more terrible than their neighbours ; for if , they stare at me with their hats cocked higher than other ' people, I won't bear it. Nay, I give warning to all people in general to look kindly at me ; for I '11 bear no frowns, even from ladies ; and if any woman pretends to look scorn- fully at me, 1 shall demand satisfaction of the next of kin of the masculine gender. [Six Richard Steele assisted in tMs paper.' T.] ' It may be so ; but I believe his share in it was very small. No. 97. THE TATIEE. 27 A- No. 97. TUESDAT, NOVEMBEE 22, 1709. lUud maxime rarum genus est eorum, qui aut excellente ingenii magnilu- dine, aut prseclaril eruditione atque doctrin^, aut utrSque re ornali, spatium deliberandi habuerunt, quem potissimum vita: cursum sequi vellent. Tul. Opfic. From my own Apartment, November 21. HAVTwa swept away prodigious miiltitudes in one of my , late papers, and brought a great destruction upon my own species, I must endeavour in this to raise fresh recruits, and, if possible, to supply the places of the unborn and the de- ceased. It is said of Xerxes, that when he stood upon a hUl, and saw the whole country rouud him covered with his army, he burst out in tears, to think' that not one of that multi- tude would be aUve a hiindred years after. For my part, when I take a survey of this populous city, 1 can scarce for- bear weeping, to see how few oi its inhabitants are now Uving. It was with this thought that I drew up my last bilL of mor- tality, and endeavoured to set out in it the great number of persons who have perished by a distemper (commonly known by the name of idleness) which has long raged in the world, and destroys more in every great tovm than the plague has done at Dantzic. To repair the mischief it has done, and stock the world with a better race of mortals, I have more hopes of bringing to Ufe those that are young than of re- viving those that are old. Tor which reason, I shall here set down that noble allegory which was written by an old author called Prodicus, but recommended and embellished by Socrates. It is the description of Virtue and Pleasure, making their court to Hercules under the appearances of two beautiful women. " "When Hercules (says the divine moralist) was in that part of his youth in which it was natural for him to con- sider what course of Ufe he ought to pursue, he one day retired into a desert, where the silence and solitude of the place very much favoured his meditations. As he was musing on his present condition, and very much perplexed in him- self on the state of life he should choose, he saw two women of a larger stature than ordinary approaching towards him. ' In tears to thinh^ Better, — " into tears on reflecting." 28 Addison's woeks. One of them had a very noble air and graceful deportment ; her beauty was natural and easy, her person clean and un- spotted, her eyes cast towards the ground with an agreeable reserve, her motion and behaviour full of modesty, and her raiment as white as snow. The other had a great deal of health and floridness' in her countenance, which she had helped with an artificial white and red, and endeavoured to appear more graceful that ordinary in her mien, by a mixture of affectation in all her gestures. She had a wonderful con- fidence and assurance in her looks, and all the variety of colours in her dress that she thought were the most proper to show her complexion to an advantage. She cast her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those that were present, to see how they liked her, and often looked on the figur6 she made in her own shadow. Upon her nearer approach to Hercules, she stepped before the other lady, (who came for- ward with a regular, composed carriage,) and running up to him, accosted him after the following manner : " My dear Hercules, (says she,) I find you are very much divided in your own thoughts upon the way of life you ought to choose : be my friend, and follow me ; I 'U. lead you into the possession of pleasure, and out of the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and disquietude of business. The affairs of either war or peace shall have no power to distm-b you. Tour whole employment shall be to make your Hfe easy, and to entertain every sense with its proper gratification. Sumptuous tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, consorts of music, crowds of beauties, are aU. ia a readiness to receive you. Come along with me into this region of delights, this world of pleasure, and bid farewell for ever to care, to pain, to business — ' " Hercules, hearing the lady talk after this manner, desired to know her name ; to which she answered, ' My friends, and those who are well acquainted with me, call me Happiness ; but my enemies, and those who would injure my reputation, have given me the name of Pleasure.' " By this time the other lady was come up, who addressed herself to the young hero in a very different manner. " ' Hercules, (says she,) I offer myself to you, because I know you are descended from the gods, and give proofs of that ' Health and Jloridness.] Bettsr, perhaps, — "a great deal of Jlorid health." No. 9T. THE TATLEB. 29 descent by your love to virtue, and application to the studies proper for your age. This makes me hope you wiU gain, both for yourself and me, an immortal reputation. But be- fore I invite you into my society and friendship, I wiU be open and sincere with you, and must lay down this as an established truth, that there is nothing truly valuable which can be purchased without paius and labour. The gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the favour of the deity, you must be at the pains of worshipping him ; if the friendship of good men, you must study to oblige them ; if you would be honoured by your country, you must take care to serve it. In short, if you would be eminent in war or peace, you must become master of all the qualifications that can make you so. These are the only terms and conditions upon which I can propose happiness.' "The goddess of Pleasure here broke in upon her dis- course : ' Tou see, (said she,) Hercules, by her own confes- sion, the way to her pleasure is long and difficult, whereas that which I propose is short and easy.' " ' Alas, (said the other lady, whose visage glowed with a passion made up of scorn and pity,) what are the pleasures you propose ? to eat before you are himgry, drink before you are athirst, sleep before you are tired, to gratify appetites before they are raised, and raise such appetites as nature never planted. Tou never heard the most delicious music, which is the praise of one's self; nor saw the most beautiful object, which is the work of one's own hands. Your votaries pass away their youth in a dream of mistaken pleasures, while they are hoarding up anguish, torment, and remorse for old age. As for me, I am the friend of gods and of good men, an agreeable companion to the artisan, an household guardian to the fathers of families, a patron and protector of servants, and associate iu all true and generous friendships. The banquets of my votaries are never costly, but always de- licious ; for none eat or drink at them who are not invited by hunger and thirst. Their slumbers are sound, and their wakings cheerful. My young men have the pleasure of hearing themselves praised by those who are in years ; and those who are in years, of being honoured by those who are young. In a word, my followers are favoured by the gods, beloved by their acquaintance, esteemed by their coim« 80 Addison's woees. try and (after the close of their labours) honoured hy pos- terity." "We know, by the life of this honourable hero, to which of these two lar'ies he gave up his heart : and I beUeve, every one who reads this will do him the justice to approve his choice. ' I very much admire the speeches of these ladies, as con-' taining in them the chief arguments for a life of virtue, or a life of pleasure, that could enter into the thoughts of an heathen ; but am particularly pleased with the different figures he gives the two goddeses. Our modem authors have represented Pleasure or Yice with an aUuring face, but end- ing in snakes and monsters : here she appears in all the charms of beauty, though they are all false and borrowed : and by that means, composes a vision entirely natural and pleasing. I have translated this. allegory for the benefit of the youth of Grreat Britain ; and particularly of those who are still ia the deplorable state of non-existence, and whom I most earnestly entreat to come into the world. Let my embryos show the least inclination to any single virtue, and I shall allow it to be a struggling towards birth. I do not expect of them, that, like the hero in the foregoing story, they should go about as soon as they are born, with a club in their hands, and a lion's skin on their shoidders, to root out monsters, and destroy tyrants ; but, as the finest aiithor of all antiquity has said upon this very occasion. Though a man has not the abUities to distinguish himself in the most shin- ing parts of a great character, he has certainly the capacity of being just, faithful, modest, and temperate.' No. 100. TUESDAY, NOVEMBBE 29, 1709. Jam redit et Virgo, rederait Satumia regna. Virg. Sheer Lane, November 28. I WAS last week taking a solitary walk in the garden of Lincoln's Inn, (a favour that is indulged me by several of the benchers who are my intimate friends, and"^ grown old ' This whole paper, on a subject which the author had much at heart, 13 well and accurately written. No. 100. THE TATLEE. 31 witli me in this neighbourhood,) when, according to the nature of men ia years, who have made but little progress in the advancement of their fortune or their fame, I was re- pining at the sudden rise of many persons who are my juniors, and indeed at the unequal distribution of wealtTi, honour, and all other blessings of life. I was lost in this thought, when the night came upon me, and drew my mind into a far more agreeable contemplation. The heaven above me appeared in. all its glories, and presented me with such an hemisphere of stars, as made the most agreeable prospect imaginable to one who delights in the study of nature. It happened to be a freezing night, which had purified the whole body of air into such a bright, transparent aether, as made every constellation visible ; and at the same time gave such a particular glowing to the stars, that I thought it the richest sky I had ever seen. I could not behold a scene so wonderfully adorned and lighted up, (if I may be allowed that expression,) without suitable meditations on the Author of such illustrious and amazing objects. Por on these occa- sions, philosophy suggests motives to religion, and religion adds pleasiu'es to philosophy. As soon as I had recovered my usual temper and serenity of soul, I retired to my lodgings with the satisfaction of hav- ing passed away a few hours in the proper employments of a reasonable creature, and promising myself that my slumbers would be sweet. I no sooner fell into them, but I dreamed a dream, or saw a vision, (for I know not which to call it,) that seemed to rise out of my evening meditation, and had some- thing in it so solemn and serious, that I cannot forbear communicating it ; though I must confess, the wHdness of imagination (which in a dream is always loose and irregular) discovers itself too much in several parts of it. Methought I saw the azure sky diversified with the same glorious luminaries which had entertained me a little before I fell asleep. I was looking very attentively on that sign in the heavens which is called by the name of the Balance, when on a sudden there appeared in it an extraordinary hght, as if the sun should rise at midnight. By its increasing in breadth and lustre, I soon found that it approached towards the earth; and at length could discern something like a shadow hover- ing in the midst of a great glory, which in a little time after I distinctly perceived to be the figure of a woman. I 82 ABBISOlf's WOUKS. fancied at first it might have been the Angel or Intelligenee that guided the constellation jErom which it descended ; but upon a nearer view, I saw about her all the emblems with which the Goddess of Justice is usually described. Her countenance was unspeakably awful and majestic, but exqui- sitely beautiful to those whose eyes were strong enough to behold it ; her smiles transported with rapture, her frowns terrified to despair. She held in her hand a mirror endowed with the same qualities as that which the painters put into the hand of Truth. There streamed from it a light, which distinguished itself from an the splendours that surrounded her, more than a flash of lightning shines in the midst of day-light. As she moved it in her hand, it brightened the heavens, the air, or the earth. When she had descended so low as to be seen and heard by mortals, to make the pomp of her appearance more supportable, she threw darkness and clouds about her, that tempered the light into a thousand beautiful shades and colours, and multiplied that lustre, which was before too strong and dazzling, into a variety of milder glories. In the mean time the world was in an alarm, and all the inhabitants of it gathered together upon a spacious plain ; so that I seemed to have all the species before my eyes. A voice was heard from the clouds, declaring the intention of this visit, which was to restore and appropriate to every one living what was his due. The fear and hope, joy and sorrow, which appeared in that great assembly after this solemn de- claration, are not to be expressed. The first edict was then pronounced, " That aU titles and claims to riches and estates, or to any parts of them, should be immediately vested in the rightful owner." Upon this, the inhabitants of the earth held up the instruments of their tenure, whether in parchment, paper, wax, or any other form of conveyance ; and as the goddess moved the mirror of truth which she held in her hand, so that the light which flowed from it fell upon the multitude, they examined the several instruments by the beams of it. The rays of this mirror had a particular quality of setting fije to all. forgery and falsehood. The blaze of papers, the melting of seals, and crackling of parchments, made a very odd scene. The fiirS very often ran through two or three lines only, and then stopped ; though I could not but observe, that the flame chiefly broke out among the No. IOC, THE TATLBB. S8 interlineations and codicils. The light of the mirror, as it was turned up and down, pierced into all the dark comers and recesses of the universe, and by that means detected many writings and records which had been hidden or buried by time, chance, or design. This occasioned a wonderful revolution among the people. At the same time, the spoils of extortion, fraud, and robbery, with all the fruits of bribery and corruption, were thrown together into a prodigious pile, that almost reached to the clouds, and was called the Mount of Eestitution ; to which all injured persons were invited, to receive what belonged to them. One might see crowds of people in tattered giirments come up, and change clothes with others that were dressed with lace and embroidery. Several who were plums, or very near it, became men of moderate fortunes ; and many others, who were overgrown in wealth and possessions, had no more left than what they usually spent. What moved my concern most was, to see a certain street of the greatest credit in Europe from one end to the other become bankrupt. The next command was, for the whole body of mankind to separate themselves into their proper families : which was no sooner done, but an edict was issued out, requiring all children " to repair to their true and natural fathers." This put a great part of the assembly in motion ; for as the mirror was moved over them, it inspired every one with such a natural instinct, as directed them to their real parents. It was a very melancholy spectacle to see the fathers of very large families become vacant, and bachelors undone by a charge of sons and daughters. You might see a presumptive heir of a great estate ask blessing of his coachman, and a celebrated toast paying her duty to a valet de chambre. Many under vows of celibacy appeared surroimded with a numerous issue. This change of parentage would have caused great lamentation, but that the calamity was pretty common ; and that generally those who lost their children, had the satisfaction of seeing them put into the hands of their dearest friends. Men were no sooner settled in their right to their possessions and their progeny, but there was a third order proclaimed, " That all the posts of dignity and honour in the universe should be conferred on persons of the greatest merit, abHities, and perfection." The hand- some, the strong, and the wealthy, immediately pressed for- 86 ABDISOS'S WOEKS. are guilty of, professedly own, that they forbear no injury, but from the terror of being punished for it. These mis- creants are a set of ■wretches we authors call pirates, who print any book, poem, or sermon, as soon as it appears ia the world, ia a smaller volume, and sell it (as all other thieves do stolen goods) at a cheaper rate. I was in my rage calling them rascals, plunderers, robbers, highwaymen But they acknowledge all that, and are pleased with those, as well as any other titles ; nay, vrill print them themselves to turn the penny. I am extremely at a loss how to act against such open enemies, who have not shame enough to be touched with our reproaches, and are as well defended against what we can say, as what we can do. Railing, therefore, we must turn into complaint, which I cannot forbear making, when I consider that all the labours of my long life may be disap- pointed by the first man that pleases to rob me. I had flat- tered myself, that my stock of learning was worth £150 per annum, which would very handsomely maintain me and my little family, who are so happy or so vrise as to want only necessaries. Before men had come up to this bai-efaced im- pudence, it was an estate to have a competency of under- standing. An ingenious droll,' who is since dead, (and indeed it is well for him he is so, for he must have starved had he lived to this day,) used to give me an account of his good hus- bandry in the management of his learning. He was a general dealer, and had his amusements as well comical m serious. The merry rogue said, when he wanted a dinner, he writ a paragraph of table-talk, and his bookseller upon sight paid the reckoning. He was a very good judge of what would please the people, and could aptly hit both the genius of his readers, and the season of the year, in his writ- ings. His brain, which was his estate, had as regular and difierent produce as other men's land. From the beginning of November tiU. the opening of the campaign, he writ pamphlets and letters to members of parliament, or friends in the country ; but sometimes he would relieve his ordinary readers with a murder, and lived comfortably a week or two ' The account of this droll, certainly ty Mr. Addison. The rest of the Mper, except perhaps the two concluding paragraphs, might be Si» Richard's. No. 101. THE TATLEE. 37 npon strange and lamentable accidents. A little before the armies took the field, his way was to open your attention with a prodigy; and a monster well writ was two guineas the lowest price. This prepared his readers for great and bloody news from Manders itt Jime and July. Poor Tom ! he is gone. But I observed, he always looked well after a battle, and was apparently fatter in a fighting year. Had this honest, careless fellow lived till now, famine had stared him in the face, and interrupted his merriment ; as it must be a solid affliction to all those whose pen is their portion. As for my part, I do not speak wholly for my own sake ia this poiat ; for palmistry and astrology will bring me iu greater gains than these my papers ; so that I am only in the condition of a lawyer who leaves the bar for chamber practice. However, I may be allowed to speak in the cause of learning itself, and lament, that a liberal education is the only one which a polite nation makes unprofitable. All mechanic ar- tisans are allowed to reap the fruit of their invention and in- genuity without invasion; but he that has separated himself from the rest of mankind, and studied the wonders of the creation, the government of his passions, and the revolutions of the world, and has an ambition to communicate the efiect of half his life spent in such noble inquiries, has no property in what he is willing to produce, but is exposed to robbery and want, with this melancholy and just reflection, that he is the only man who is not protected by his country, at the same time that he best deserves it. According to the ordinary rules of computation, the greater the adventure is, the greater ought to be the profit of those who succeed in it ; and by this measure, none have pretence of tiu'ning their labours to greater advantage than persons brought up to letters. A learned education, passing through great schools and universities, is very expensive, and con- sumes a moderate fortune, before it is gone through in its proper forms. The purchase of an handsome commission or employment, which would give a man a good figvire in another kind of life, is to be made at a much cheaper rate. Now, if we consider this expensive voyage which is under- taken in the search of knowledge, and how few there aro who take in any considerable merchandise, how less frequent it is to be able to turn what men have gained into profit : how hard is it, that the very small number who are distin- 34 ADDISOW'S WORKS. ■ward; but not being able to bear the splendour of the mirror which played upon their faces, they immediately fell back among the crowd : but as the goddess tried the multi- tude by her glass, as the eagle does its young ones by the lustre of the sun, it was remarkable, that every one turned away his face from it, who had not distinguished himself either by virtue, knowledge, or capacity in business, either military or civil. This select assembly was drawn up in the centre of a prodigious multitude, which was diffused on aU sides, and stood observing them, as idle people use to gather about a regiment that are exercising their arms. They were drawn up in three bodies : in the first, were the men of virtue ; in the second, men of knowledge ; and in the third, the men of business. It was impossible to look at the first column without a secret veneration, their aspects were so sweetened with humanity, raised with contemplation, em- boldened with resolution, and adorned with the most agree- able airs, which are those that proceed from secret habits of virtue. I could not but take notice, that there were many faces among them which were unknown, not only to the multitude, but even to several of their own body. In the second column, consisting of the men of knowledge, there had been great disputes before they fell into the ranks, which they did not do at last without positive command of the goddess who presided over the assembly. She had so ordered it, that men of the greatest genius and strongest sense were placed at the head of the columm : behind these were such as had formed their minds very much on the thoughts and writ- ings of others. In the rear of the column, were men who had more wit than sense, or more learning than understanding. All living authors of any value were ranged in one of these classes ; but I must confess, I was very much surprised to see a great body of editors, critics, commentators, and grammarians, meet with so very HI a reception. They had formed them- selves into a body, and with a great deal of arrogance de- manded the iirst station in the column of knowledge ; but the goddess, instead of complying with their request, clapped them all into liveries, and bid them know themselves for no other but lacqueys of the learned. The third column were men of business, and consisting of persons in military and civil capacities. The former marched out from the rest, and placed themselves in the front, No. 10.. THE TATLEB. 35 at whicli the other shook their heads at them, but did not think fit to dispute the post with them. I could not but make several observations upon this last column of people ; but I have certain private reasons why I do not think fit to communicate them to the pubHc. In order to fiU up all the posts of honour, dignity, and, profit, there was a draught made out of each column, of men who were masters of all three qualifications ia some degree, and were preferred to stations of the first rank. The second draught was made out of such as were possessed of any two of the qualifications, who were disposed of in stations of a second dignity. Those who were left, and were endowed only with one of them, had their suitable posts. When this was over, there remained many places of trust and profit unfilled, for which there were fi:'esh draughts made out of the surrounding multitude, who had any appearance of these excellencies, or were re- commended by those who possessed them iu reality. •All were surprised to see so many new faces in the most eminent dignities; and foT my own part, I was very well pleased to see that aU my Mends either kept their present posts, or were advanced to higher. Having filled my paper with those particulars of mankind, I must reserve for another occasion the sequel of it, which relates to the fair sex.* No. 101. THTJESDAT, DECEMBEE 1, 1709. — Postquam fregit subsellia versu Esurit intectam Paridi nisi vendit Agaven. Juv. From my own Apartment, Nov. 30. The progress of my intended account of what hap- pened when Justice visited mortals, is at present interrupted by the observation and sense of an injustice against which there is no remedy, even in a kingdom more happy in the care taken of the liberty and property of the subject than any other nation upon earth. This iniquity is committed by a most impregnable set, of mortals, men who are rogues within the law ; and in the very commission of what they ' This paper, and the sequel of the vision, in No. 102, are ■written in Mr. Addison's best maimer. D 2 38 Addison's woeks. guished witli abilities to know how to vend their wares, and have the good fortune to bring them into port, should suffer being plundered by privateers under the very cannon that should protect them ! The most eminent and useful author of the age we live in, after having laid out a princely revenue in works of charity and beneiicence, as became the greatness of his mind, and the sanctity of his character, would have left the person in the world who was the dearest to him in a narrow condition, had not the sale of his immortal writingsi brought her in a very considerable dowry ; though it was impossible for it to be equal to their value. Every one wiU know, that I here mean the works of the late Archbishop of Canterbury, the copy of which was sold for £2500. I do not speak with relation to any party ; but it has happened, and may often so happen, that men of great learn- ing and virtue cannot qualify themselves for being employed in business, or receiving preferments. In this case, you cut them off from all support, if you take from the benefit that may arise from their writings. For my own part, I have brought myself to consider things in so unprejudiced a manner, that I esteem more a man who can live by the pro- ducts of his understanding, than one who does it by the favour of great men. The zeal of an author has transported me thus far, though I think myself as much concerned in the capacity of a reader. If this practice goes on, we must never expect to see again a beautiful edition of a book in Grreat Britain. We have already seen the memoirs of Sir "William Temple published in the same character and volume with the history of Tom Thumb, and the works of our greatest poets shrunk into penny books and garlands. Per my own part, I expect to see my lucubrations printed on browner paper than they are at present ; and, if the humour continues, must be forced to retrench my expensive way of living, and not smoke above two pipes a day. [Sir Richard Steele joined in this paper. T.] • Immortal writings.'] It is to be hoped that this epithet is rightly given to Archbishop Tillotson's works, for he credit of our taste as weU as morals. No. 102. THE TATLEE. 39 No. 102. SATUEDAT, DECEMBEE 3, 1709. From my own Apartment, December 3. A CONTIirtrATION OF THE VISION. The male world were dismissed by the Groddess of Jus- tice, and disappeared, when on a sudden the whole plain was covered with women. So charming a multitude filled my heart with unspeakable pleasure ; and as the celestial light of the mirror shone upon their faces, several of them seemed rather persons that descended in the train of the goddess, than such who were brought before her to their trial. The clack of tongues, and confusion of voices, in this new assembly, was so very great, that the goddess was forced to command silence several times, and with some severity, before she could make them attentive to her edicts. They were all sensible, that the most important affair among womankind was then to be settled, which every one knows to be the point of place. This had raised innumerable disputes among them, and put the whole sex into a tumult. Every one produced her claim, and pleaded her pretensions. Birth, beauty, wit, or wealth, were words that rimg in my ears from all parts of the plain. Some boasted of the merit of their husbands ; others, of their own power in governing them. Some pleaded their unspotted virginity ; others, their numerous issue. Some valued themselves as they were the mothers, and others as they were the daughters, of consider- able persons. There was not a single accomplishment un- mentioned, or unpractised. The whole congregation was full of singing, dancing, tossing, ogling, squeaking, smiling, sighing, fanning, frowning, and aU those irresistible arts which women put in practice to captivate the hearts of reasonable creatures. The goddess, to end this dispute, caused it to be proclaimed, " That every one should take place according as she was more or less beautiful." This declaration gave great satisfaction to the whole assembly, which immediately bridled up, and appeared in all its beauties. Such as be- lieved themselves graceful in their motion, found an occasion of falling back, advancing forward, or making a false step, that they might show their persons in the most becoming 40 ADDISON'S WOBKS. !No. 102, air. Such as had iine necks and bosoms, were wonderfully curious to look over the heads of the multitude, and obserre the most distant parts of the assembly. Several clapped their hands on their foreheads, as helping their sight to look upon the glories that surrounded the goddess, but in reality to show fine hands and arms. The ladies were yet better pleased when they heard, that iu the decision of this great controversy, each of them should be her own judge, and take her place according to her own opinion of herself, when she consulted her looking-glass. The goddess then let dovm the mirror of truth in a goldeE chaia, which appeared larger in proportion as it descended and approached nearer to the eyes of the beholders. It was the particular property of this looking-glass to banish all false appearances, and show people what they are. The whole woman was represented, without regard to the usual external features, which were made entirely conformable to their real characters. In short, the most accomplished (taking in the whole circle of female perfections) were the most beautiftd ; and the most defective, the most deformed. The goddess so varied the motion of the glass, and placed it in so many different lights, that each had. an opportunity of seeing herself in it. It is impossible to describe the rage, the pleasure, or aston- ishment, that appeared in each face upon its representa^ tion in the mirror : multitudes started at their own formi amd would have broke the glass if they could have reached it. Many saw their blooming features wither as they looked upon them, and their self-admiration turned into a loathing and abhorrence. The lady who was thought so agreeable in her anger, and was so often celebrated for a woman of fire and spirit, was frighted at her own image, and fancied she saw a fury in the glass. The interested mistress beheld a harpy, and the subtle jilt a sphinx. I was very much trou- bled in my own heart, to see such a destruction of fine faces ; but at the same time had the pleasure of seeing several improved, which I had before looked upon as the greatest master-pieces of nature. I observed, that some few were so humble, as to be surprised at their own charms ; and that many a one, who had lived in the retirement and severity of a vestal, shined forth in aU. the graces and attrac- tions of a siren. I was ravished at the siglt of a particular No. 102. THE TATLEH. 41 image in the mirror, whicti I think the most heantiful object that my eyes ever beheld. There was something more than human in her countenance : her eyes were so full of ight, that they seemed to beautify everything they looked upon. Her face was enlivened with such a florid bloom, as did not so properly seem the mark of health, as of immortality. Her shape, her stature, and her mien, were such as distin- guished her even there where the whole fair sex was as- sembled. I was impatient to see the lady represented by so divine an image, whom I found to be the person that stood at my right hand, and in the same point of view with myself. This was a little old woman, who in her prime had been about five foot high, though at present shrunk to about three quarters of that measure. Her natural aspect was puckered up with vprinkles, and her head covered with grey hairs. I had observed aU along an innocent cheerfulness in her face, which was now heightened into rapture as she beheld hep- self in the glass. It was an odd circumstance in my dream, (but I cannot forbear relating it,) I conceived so great an inclination towards her, that I had thoughts of discoursing her upon the point of marriage, when on a sudden she was carried from me; for the word was now given, that all who were pleased with their own images, should separate, and place themselves at the head of their sex. This detachment was afterwards divided iuto three bodies, consisting of maids, wives, and widows : the wives being placed in the middle, with the maids on the right, and widows on the left ; though it was with difficulty that these two last bodies were hindered from falling into the centre. This separation of those, who liked their real selves, not having lessened the number of the mam body so considerably as it might have been wished, the goddess, after having drawn up her mirror, thought fit to make new distinctions among those who did not like the figure which they saw in it. She made several wholesome edicts, which are slipped out of my mind; but there were two which dwelt upon me, as being very ex- traordinary in their kind and executed with great severity. Their design was, to make an example of two extremes in the female world ; of those who are very severe on the conduct of others, and of those who are very regardless of their own. The first sentence, therefore, the goddess pronoimced, was, 42 Addison's TfOBKB. ••That all females addicted to censoriousness and detraction, should lose the use of speech.;" a punishment which would be the most grievous to the offender, and (what should he the end of ^1 punishments) effectual for rooting out the crime. Upon this edict, which was as soon executed as pub- lished, the noise of the assembly very considerably abated. It was a melancholy spectacle, to see so many who had the reputation of rigid virtue struck dumb. A lady who stood by me, and saw my concern, told me, she wondered how I could be concerned for such a pack of . I found, by the shaking of her head, she was going to give me their char racters ; but by her saying no more, I perceived she had lost the command of her tongue. This calamity fell very heavy upon that part of women who are distinguished by the name of Prudes, a courtly word for female hypocrites, who have a short way to being virtuous, by shovdng that others are vicious. The second sentence was then pronounced against the loose part of the sex, " That all should immedi- ately be pregnant, who in any part of their lives had ran the hazard of it." This produced a very goodly appearance, and revealed so many misconducts, that made those who were lately struck dumb, repine more than ever at their want of utterance, though at the same time (as afflictions seldom come single) many of the mutes were also seized with this new calamity. The ladies were now in such a condition, that they would have wanted room, had not the plain been large enough to let them divide their ground, and extend their lines on all sides. It was a sensible affliction to me, to see such a multitude of fair ones either dumb or big-belUed; but I was something more at ease, when I found that they agreed upon several regulations to cover such misfortunes. Among others, that it should be an established maxim in all nations, That a woman's first child might come into the world within six months after her acquaintance with her husband ; and that grief might retard the birth of her last fourteen months after his decease. This vision lasted till my usual hour of waking, wiich I did with some surprise, to find myself alone, after having been engaged almost a whole night in so prodigious a multitude. I could not but reflect vnth wonder, at the partiality and ex- travagance of my vision ; which, according to my thoughts, has not done justice to the sex. If virtue in men :a more No. 103. THE TATLES. 43 venerable, it is in women more lovely ; whicli Milton liaa Tery finely expressed in Ms Paradise Lost, where Adam, speakiag of Eve, after having asserted his own pre-eminence, as being first in creation and iaternal faculties, breaks out into the following rapture : — Yet -when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do, or say. Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. All higher knowledge in her presence falls Degraded. Wisdom, in discourse with her. Loses, discountenanced, and like folly shows. 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 angelic placed. No. 103. TUESDAY, DECEMBEE 6, 1709. — Hae nugEe seria ducunt In mala, derisum semel exceptumque sinistre. Hoe. From my own Apartment, December 5, Theee is nothing gives a man greater satisfaction, than the sense of having despatched a great deal of business, especially when it turns to the public emoltrment. I have much plea- sure of this kind upon my spirits at present, occasioned by the fatigue of affairs which I went through last Saturday. It is some time since I set apart that day for examining the pretensions of several who had applied to me for canes, per- spective-glasses, snuff-boxes, orange-flower-waters, and the like ornaments of hfe. In order to adjust this matter, I had before directed Charles LUlie, of Beaiifort Buildiags, to pre- pare a great bundle of blank licences ia the following words : " Tou are hereby required to permit the bearer of this cane to pass and repass tlu"ough the streets and suburbs of London, or any place within ten miles of it, without let or molestation : provided that he does not walk with it under ±4 AIDISOlf's -WOEKS. his arm, brandish it in the air, or hang it on a button : in ■which case it shall be forfeited ; and T hereby declare it foiv feited to any one who shall think it safe to take it fipom him. "Isaac BiCKEESTArrE." The same form, differing only in the provisos, will serro for a perspective, snuff-box, or perfumed handkerchief. I had placed myself in my elbow-chair at the upper end of my great parlour, having ordered Charles LiUie to take his place upon a joiut-stool with a writing-desk before him. John Morphew also took his station at the door ; I having, for his good and faithful services, appointed him my chamber- keeper upon court days. He let me know, that there were a great number attending without. Upon which I ordered him to give notice, that I did not intend to sit upon snuff- boxes that day ; but that those who appeared for canea might enter. The first presented me with the foUowing petition, which I ordered Mr. LUlie to read. " To Isaac Bickerstaffe, Esq., Censor of Great Britain. " The humble Petition of Simon Trippit, " Showeth, " That your petitioner having been bred up to a cane from his youth, it is now become as necessary to him as any other of lus limbs. " That a great part of his behaviour depending upon it, he should be reduced to the utmost necessities if he should lose the use of it. " That the knocking of it upon his shoe, leaning one leg upon it, or whistling with it on his mouth, are such great reUefe to him in conversation, that he does not know how to be good company without it. " That he is at present engaged in an amour, and must de- spair of success, if it be taken Irom him. " Tout petitioner therefore hopes, that (the premises ten- derly considered) your "Worship will not deprive him of so usefiil and so necessary a support. "And your petitioner shall ever," &c. Upon the hearing of his case, I was touched with somo compassion, and the more so, when upon observing him No. 103. THE TATIEB. 46 nearer I found he was a prig. I bid Hm produce his cano in court, which he had left at the door. He did so, and I finding it to be very curiously clouded, with a transparent amber head, and a blue ribbon to hang upon his wrist, I immediately ordered my clerk Lillie to lay it up, and deliver out to him a plain joint, headed with walnut ; and then, in order to wean him from it by degrees, permitted him to wear it three days in the week, and to abate proportionably till he found himself able to go alone. The second who appeared, came limping into the court : and setting forth in his petition many pretences for the use of a cane, I caused them to be examined one by one ; but finding him in difierent stories, and confronting him with several witnesses who had seen him walk upright, I ordered Mr. Lillie to take in his cane, and rejected his petition as frivolous. A third made his entry with great difficulty, leaning upon a slight stick, and in danger of falling every step he took. I saw the weakness of his hams ; and hearing that he had married a young wife about a fortnight before, I bid him leave his cane, and gave him a new pair of crutches, with which he went off in great vigour and alacrity. This gentle- man was succeeded by another, who seemed very much pleased while his petition was reading, in which he had re- presented, that he was extremely afflicted with the gout, and set his foot upon the ground with the caution and dignity which accompany that distemper. I suspected him for an impostor, and having ordered him to be searched, I commit- ted him into the hands of Dr. Thomas Smith in King Street, (my own corn-cutter,) who attended in an outward room ; and wrought so speedy a cure upon him, that I thought fit to send him also away without his cane. While I was thus dispensing justice, I heard a noise in my outward room ; and inquiring what was the occasion of it, my door-keeper told me, that they had taken up one in the very fact as he was passing by my door. They imme- diately brought in a lively, fresh-coloured young man, who made great resistance with hand and foot, but did not offer to make use of his cane, which hung upon his fifth button. Upon examination, I found him to be an Oxford scholar, who was just entered at the Temple. He at first disputed the jurisdiction of the court ; but being driven out 46 Addison's woeks. of Ms little law and logic, he told me very pertly, that ho looked upon such a perpendicular creature as man to make a very imperfect figure without a cane in his hand. " It is weU known (says he) we ought, according to the natural situation of our bodies, to walk upon our hands and feet ; and that the wisdom of the ancients had described- man to be an animal of four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three at night ; by which they intimated, that a cane might very properly become part of us in some period of hfe." Upon which I asked him, "whether he wore it at his breast to have it in readiness when that period shoijld arrive ? " My young lawyer immediately told me, he had a property in it, and a right to hang it where he pleased, and to make use of it as he thought fit, provided that he did not break the peace with it ; and further said, that he never took it off his button, unless it were to lift it up at a coachman, hold it over the head of a drawer, point out the circumstances of a story, or for other services of the Kke nature, that are all within the laws of the land. I did not care for discouraging a yoimg man who, I saw, woiald come to good ; and because his heart was set upon his new purchase, I only ordered him to wear it about his neck, instead of hanging it upon his button, and BO dismissed him.i There were several appeared in couit, whose pretensions I found to be very good, and therefore gave many their licences upon paying their fees ; as many others had their licences renewed, who required more time for recovery of their lameness than I had before allowed them. Having despatched this set of my petitioners, there came in a well-dressed man, with a glass-tube in one hand and his petition in the other. Upon his entering the room, he threw back the right side of his vrig, put forward his right leg, and advancing the glass to his right eye, aimed it directly at me. In the mean while, to make my observations also, I put on my spectacles ; in which posture we surveyed each other for some time. Upon the removal of our glasses, I desired him to read his petition, which he did very promptly and easily ; though at the same time it set forth, that he could see nothing distinctly, and was within a very few de- grees of being utterly blind-; concluding with a prayer, that ' Thus far, chiefly, or only, Mr. Addison What follows, to the end, Sir Kichard Steele's. No. 108. THE TATIEE. 47 he miglit be permitted to strengthen and extend his sight by a glass. In answer to this, I told him, he might some- times extend it to his own destruction. " As you are now (said I) you are out of the reach of beauty ; the shafts of the finest eyes lose their force before they can come at yon ; you cannot distinguish a toast from an orange-wench ; you can see a whole circle of beauty without any interruption from an impertinent face to discompose you. In short, what are snares for others " — My petitioner would hear no more, but told me very seriously, " Mr. Bickerstaffe, you qidte mistake your man ; it is the joy, the pleasure, the em- ployment of my life, to frequent public assemblies, and gaze upon the fair." In a word, I found his use of a glass was occasioned by no other infirmity but his vanity, and was not so much designed to make him see, as to make him be seen and distinguished by others. I therefore refused him a licence for a perspective, but allowed him a pair of spectacles, with full permission to use them in any public assembly as he should think fit. He was followed by so very few of this order of men, that I have reason to hope this sort of cheats are almost at an end. The orange-flower-men appeared next with petitions, per- fumed so strongly with musk, that I was almost overcome with the scent ; and for my own sake, was obliged forthwith to Ucence their handkerchiefs, especially when I found they had sweetened them at Charles LUlie's, and that some of their persons would not be altogether inoffensive without them. John Morphew, whom I have made the general of my dead men, acquainted me, that the petitioners were aU of that order, and could produce certificates to prove it if I re- quired it. I was so well pleased with this way of their em- balming themselves, that I commanded the abovesaid Mor- phew to give it in orders to his whole army, that every one who did not surrender himself up to be disposed of by the upholders, should use the same method to keep himself sweet during his present state of putrefaction. I finished my session vrith great content of mind, reflecting upon the good I had done ; for however slightly men may regard these particularities and Uttle follies in dress and behaviour, they lead to greater evils. The bearing to be laughed at for such singularities, teaches us insensibly an impertinent fortitude, and enables us to bear public censure 43 ADDISON'S 'WOEKS. for things whicli more substantially deserve it. By tliis means they open a gate to folly, and oftentimes render a man so riliioulous, as discredit his virtues and capacities, and unquaUiy them from doing any good in the world. Be- sides, the giving in to imcommon habits of this nature, is a want of that humble deference which is due to mankind ; and (what is worst of all) the certain indication of some secret flaw in the mind of the person that commits them. "When I was a young man, I remember a gentleman of great integrity and worth was very remarkable for wearing a broad belt, and a hanger instead of a fashionable sword, though in all other points a very well-bred man. I suspected him at first sight to have something wrong in him, but was not able for a long while to discover any collateral proofs of it. I watched him narrowly for six and thirty years, when at last, to the surprise of everybody but myself, who had long expected to see the folly break out, he married his own cook-maid. [Sir Richard Steele joined in tjus paper. T.] No. 108. SATIIEDAT, DECEMBEE 17, 1709. Pronaque cum spectant animalia cstera terrain, Os homini sublime dedit, ccelumque tueri Jussit. — Ovid, Met. Sheer Lane, December 16. It is not to be imagined how great an efiect well-disposed lights, vrith proper forms and orders in assemblies, have upon some tempers. I am sure I feel it in so extraordinary 1 a manner, that I cannot in a day or two get out of my imar gination any very beautiful or disagreeable impression whicli I receive on such occasions. For this reason, I frequently look in at the play-house, in order to enlarge my thoughts, ij and warm my mind with some new ideas, that may be ser- viceable to me in my lucubrations. In this disposition I entered the theatre the other day, i and placed myself in a corner of it, very convenient for see- ing, without being myself observed. I found the audience hushed in a very deep attention, and did not question but some noble tragedy was just then in its crisis, or that an iu- No. 108. THE TATLEB. 49 cident was to be unravelled which would determine the fate of a hero. While I was in this suspense, expecting every moment to see my friend Mr. Betterton appear in all the majesty of distress, to my unspeakable amazement there came up a monster with a face between his feet ; and as I was looking on, he raised himself on one leg in such a per- pendicular posture, that the other grew in a direct line above his head. It afterwards twisted itself into the motions and wreathings of several diiferent animals, and after great variety of shapes and transformations, went off the stage in the figure of an human creature. The admiration, the applause, the satisfaction of the audience, during this strange entertain- ment, is not to be expressed. I was very much out of coun- tenance for my dear countrymen, and looked about with some apprehension for fear any foreigner should be present. Is it possible (thought I) that human nature can rejoice in its disgrace, and take pleasure in seeing its own figure turned to ridicule, and distorted into forms that raise horror and aversion ? There is something disingenuous and immoral in the being able to bear such a sight. Men of elegant and noble minds are shocked at seeing the characters of persons who deserve esteem for their virtue, knowledge, or services to their country, placed in wrong lights, and by misrepre- sentation made the subject of buffoonery. Such a nice ab- horrence is not indeed to be found among the vulgar ; but, methinks it is wonderful, that these who have nothing but the outward figure to distinguish them as men, should delight in seeing it abused, vilified, and disgraced. I must confess, there is nothing that more pleases me, in all that I read in books, or see among mankind, than such passages as represent human nature in its proper dignity. As man is a creature made up of different extremes, he has something in him very great and very mean i a skilful artist may draw an excellent picture of him in eitner views. The finest authors of antiquity have taken him on the more ad- vantageous side. They cultivate the natural grandeur of the soul, raise in her a generous ambition, feed her with hopes ol immortality and perfection, and do all they can to widen the partition between the virtuous and the vicious, by making the difference betwixt them as great as between gods and brutes. In short, it is impossible to read a page in Plato, TuUy, and a thousand other ancient moralists, without being 60 Addison's woees. a greater and a better man for it. On tlie contrary, I could never read any of our modisli Frencli authors, or those of our own country, who are the imitators and admirers of that trifling nation, without being for some time out of humour with myself, and at everything about me. Their business is, to depreciate human nature, and consider it under its worst appearances. They give mean interpretations and baae motives to the worthiest actions : they resolve virtue and vice into constitution. In short, they endeavour to make no distinction between man and man, or between the species of men and that of brutes. As an instance of this kind of authors, among many others, let any one examine the cele- brated Eochefoucault, who is the great philosopher for ad- ministering of consolation to the idle, thfe envious, and worth- less part of mankind. I remember a young gentleman of moderate understand- ing, but great vivacity, who, by dipping into many authors of this nature, had got a little smattering of knowledge, just enough to make an atheist or a free-thinker, but not a phi- losopher, or a man of sense. With these accomplishments, he went to visit his father in the country, who was a plain, rough, honest man, and wise, though not learned. The sou, who took all opportunities to show his learning, began to establish a new religion in the family, and to enlarge the narrowness of their country notions ; in which he succeeded ; so well, that he had seduced the butler by his table-talk, and staggered his eldest sister. The old gentleman began to be alarmed at the schisms that arose among his children, but did not yet believe his son's doctrine to be so pernicious as it really was, till one day talking of his setting dog, the son said, " ho did not question but Tray was as immortal as any one of the family ;" and in the heat of the argument told his father, that for his ovm part, "he expected to die like a dog." Upon which, the old man starting up in a very great passion, cried out, " Then, sirrah, you shall live like one ; " and taking his cane in his hand, cudgelled him out of his system. This had so good an effect upon him, that he took up from that day, fell to reading good books, and is now a bencher in the Middle Temple. I do not mention this cudgelling part of the story with a design to engage the secular arm in matters of this nature ; but certainly, if it ever exerts itself in afiairs of opinion and No. 108. THE TATLEB. 51 speculation, it ought to do it on such shallow and despicable pretenders to knowledge, who endeavour to give man dark and uncomfortable prospects of his being, and destroy those principles which are the support, happiness, and glory of all public societies, as well as private persons. I think it is one of Pythagoras' s golden sayings, "That a man should take care above all things to have a due respect for himself:" and it is certain, that this licentious sort of authors, who are for depreciating mankind, endeavoured to disappoint and undo what the most refined spirits have been labouring to advance siace the beginning of the world. The very design of dress, good-breeding, outward ornaments, and ceremony, were to lift up human nature, and set it off to an advantage. Architecture, painting, and statuary were in- vented with the same design ; as indeed every art and science contributes to the embellishment of life, and to the wearing off or throwing into shades the mean and low parts of our nature. Poetry carries on this great end more than all the rest, as may be seen in the following passage taken out of Sir Francis Bacon's Advancement of Learning, which gives a truer and better account of this art than all the volumes that were ever written upon it. " Poetry, especially heroical, seems to be raised altogether from a noble foundation, which makes much for the dignity of man's nature. Por seeing this sensible world is in dignity inferior to the soul of man, poesy seems to endow human nature with that which history denies ; and to give satisfac- tion to the mind, with at least the shadow of things, where the substance cannot be had. For if the matter be thoroughly considered, a strong argument may be drawn from poesy, that a more stately greatness of things, a more perfect order, and a more beautiful variety, delights the soul of man, than any way can be found in nature since the fall. Wherefore, see- ing the acts and events which are the subjects of true his- tory are not of that amplitude as to content the mind of man, poesy is ready at hand to feign acts more heroical. Because true history reports the successes of business not propor- tionable to the merit of virtues and vices, poesy corrects it, and presents events and fortunes according to desert, and ac- cording to the law of Providence : because true history, through the frequent satiety and similitude of things, works a distaste and misprision in the mind of man, poesy cheereth E 2 62 Addison's woeks. and refresheth the soul, chanting things rare and various, and full of vicissitudes. So as poesy serveth and conferreth to de. leetation, magnanimity, and morality ; and therefore it may seem deservedly to have some participation of divineness, be- cause it doth raise the mind, and exalt the spirit with high rap- tures, by proportioning the shows of things to the desires of the mind ; and not submitting the mind to things, as reason and history do. And by these allurements and congruities, whereby it cherisheth the soul of man, joined also with con- sort of music, whereby it may more sweetly insinuate itself, it hath won such access, that it hath been in estimation even in rude times and barbarous nations, when other leamiag' stood excluded." But there is nothing which falls in with this natural great- ness and dignity of human nature so much as religion, which does not only promise the entire refinement of the mind, but the glorifying of the body, and the immortality of both. No. 110. THUESDAT, DECEMBBE 22, 1709. — Qu£e lucis miseris tam dira cupido ? Vikg. Sheer Lane, December 21. As soon as I had placed myself in the chair of judicature, I ordered my clerk Mr. LUlie to read to the assembly (who were gathered together according to notice) a certain declara- tion, by way of charge, to open the purpose of my session, which tended only to this explanation, " That as other courts were often called to demand the execution of persons dead in law, so this was held to give the last orders relating to those who are dead in reason." The solicitor of the new company of upholders, near the Hay-market, appeared in be- half of that useful society, and brought in an accusation of a young woman, who herself stood at the bar before me. Mr. LiUie read her indictment, which was in substance, "That whereas Mrs. Eebecca Pindust, of the parish of St. Martin in the Fields, had, by the use of one instrument called a look- ing-glass, ajidby the further use of certain attire, made either of cambric, muslin, or other linen wares, upon her head, at- tained to such an evU art and magical force in the motion of her eyesandtum of her countenance, that she, the said Eebecca, had No. no. THE TATLEK. 53 put to death several young men of the said parish ; and that the said young men had acknowledged ia certain papers, commonly called love-letters, (which were produced in court gilded on the edges, and sealed with a particular wax, with certain amorous and enchanting words wrought upon the said seals,) that they died for the said Eehecca : and whereas the said fiebecca persisted ui the said evil practice ; this way of life the said society construed to he, according to former edicts, a state of death, and demanded an order for the inter- ment of the said Eehecca." I looked upon the maid with great humanity, and desired her to make answer to what was said against her. She said, " it was indeed true, that she had practised aU the arts and means she could to dispose of herself happily iu marriage, but thought she did not come under the censure expressed in my writiugs for the same ; and humbly hoped I would not condemn her for the ignorance of her accusers, who, according to their ovm words, had rather represented her killing, than dead." She further alleged, " That the expressions men- tioned ia the papers written to her, were become mere words, and that she had been always ready to marry any of those who said they died for her ; but that they made their escape as soon as they found themselves pitied or believed." She ended her discourse, by desiring I would, for the fature, settle the meaning of the words, " I die," in. letters of love. Mrs. Piudust behaved herself with siich an air of inno- cence, that she easily gained credit, and was acquitted. Upon which occasion, I gave it as a standing rule, " That any persons, who in any letter, billet, or discourse, should teU a woman he died for her, should, if she pleased, be obliged to live with her, or be immediately interred upon such their own confession, without bail or mainprize." It happened, that the very next who was brought before me was one of her admirers, who was indicted upon that very head. A letter, which he acknowledged to be his own hand, was read ; in which were the foUowing words ; " Cruel creature, I die for you." It was observable, that he took snuff all the time his accusation was reading. I asked him, " How he came to use these words, if he were not a dead man ?" He told me, " He was in love with a lady, and did not know any other way of telUng her so ; and that all his acquaintance took the same method." Though I was moved 54 Addison's woeks. with compassion towards him, by reason of the weakness of his parts, yet, for example's sake, I was forced to answer, " Tour sentence shall be a warning to all the rest of your companions, not to tell lies for want of wit." Upon this, he began to beat his snuff-box with a very saucy air; and opening it again, " Faith, Isaac, (said he,) thou art a very unaccountable old fellow. — Prythee, who gave thee power of life and death ? What a pox hast thou to do with ladies and lovers ? I suppose thou wouldst have a man be in company with his mistress, and say nothing to her. Dost thou call breaking a jest, telling a lie ? Ha ! is that thy wisdom, old Stiffrump, ha?"' He was going on vrith this insipid common-place mirth, sometimes opening his box, sometimes shutting it, then viewing the picture on the Ud, and then the workmanship of the hinge, when, in the midst of his eloquence, I ordered his box to be taken from him ; upon which he was immediately struck speechless, and carried off stone dead. The next who appeared, was a hale old fellow of sixty. He was brought in by his relations, who desired leave to bury him. Upon requiring a distinct account of the prisoner, a credible witness deposed, " That he always rose at ten of the clock, played with his cat till twelve, smoked tobacco till one, was at dinner till two, then took another pipe, played at backgammon tUl six, talked of one Madam Frances, an old mistress of his, till eight, repeated the same account at the tavern till ten, then returned home, took the other pipe, and then to bed." I asked him, what he had to say for himself ? " As to what (said he) they mention concerning Madam Frances — " I did not care for hearing a Canterbury tale, and therefore thought myself seasonably interrupted by a young gentleman who appeared in the behalf of the old man, and prayed an arrest of judgment ; for that he the said young man held certain lands by his the said old man's hfe. Upon this, the solicitor of the upholders took an occasion to demand him also, and thereupon produced several evidences that witnessed to his Ufe and conversation. It appeared, that each of them divided their hours in matters of equal moment and importance to themselves and to the public. They rose at the same hour : while the old man was playing with his cat, the young one was looking out of his window ; whilfi ' This pert rhetoric, certainly Steele's. No. 110. THE TATLEB. 65 the old man was smoMng Ms pipe, fhe young man was rubbing his teeth ; while one was at dinner, the other was dressiag ; while one was at backgammon, the other was at dinner ; while the old fellow was talking of Madam Frances, the young one was either at play, or toasting women whom he never conversed with. The only difference was, that the young man had never been good for anything ; the old man, a man of worth before he knew Madam Frances. Upon the whole, 1 ordered them to be both interred together, with inscriptions proper to their characters, signifying, " That the old man died in the year 1689, and was buried in the year 1709." And over the young one it was said, " That he de- parted this world in the 25th year of his death." The next class of criminals were authors in prose and verse. Those of them who had produced any still-born work, were immediately dismissed to their burial, and were fol- lowed by others, who, notwithstanding some sprightly issue in their life-time, had given proofs of their death, by some posthumous children, that bore no resemblance to their elder brethren. As for those who were the fathers of a mixed progeny, provided always they coiild prove the last to be a live child, they escaped with life, but not without loss of Hmbs ; for in this case, I was satisfied with amputation of the parts which were mortified. These were followed by a great crowd of superannuated benchers of the inns of court, senior fellows of colleges, and defunct statesmen; aU whom I ordered to be decimated indifferently, allowing the rest a reprieve for one year, with ft promise of a free pardon in. case of resuscitation. There were still, great multitudes to be examined ; but finding it very late, I adjourned the court ; not without the secret pleasure that I had done my duty, and furnished out an handsome execution. Groing out of the court, I received a letter, informing me, " That in pursuance of the edict of Justice in one of my late visions, all those of the fair sex began to appear pregnant who had ran any hazard of it ; as was manifest by a particu- lar swelling ia the petticoats of several ladies in and about this great city." I must confess, I do not attribute the rising of this part of the dress to this occasion, yet must own, that I am very much disposed to be offended with such a new and unaccountable fashion. I shall, however, pronounce 66 ADDISON'S WOEKS. nothing upon it, till I have examined all that can be said for and against it. And in the mean time, think fit to give this notice to the fair ladies who are now making up their winter suits, that they may abstain from all dresses of that kind, till they shall find what judgment will be passed upon them ; for it would very much trouble me, that they should put themselves to an unnecessary expense : and I could not but think myself to blame, if I should hereafter forbid them the wearing of such garments, when they have laid out money upon them, without having given them any previous admonitions. [Sir Richard Steele joined in this paper. T.'] No. 111. SATTJEDAT, DECEMBEE 24, 1709. — Procul O ! procul este profani ! Vihg. Sheer Lane, December 23. The watchman, who does me particular honours, as being the chief man in the lane, gave so very great a thump at my door last night, that I awakened at the knock, and heai-d myself complimented with the usual salutation of " Grood morrow, Mr. Bickerstafie ; good morrow, my masters aU." The silence and darkness of the night disposed me to be more than ordinarily serious ; and as my attention was not drawn out among exterior objects, by the avocations of scHse, my thoughts naturally fell upon myself. I was considering, amidst the stillness of the night, what was the proper em- ployment of a thinking being ? What were the perfections it should propose to itself? And, what the end it should aim at ? My mind is of such a particular cast, that the falling of a shower of rain, or the whistling of v?ind, at such a time, is apt to fill my thoughts with something awful and solemn. I was in this disposition, when our beUman began his mid- night homily (which he has been repeating to us every winter night for these twenty years) with the usual exordiuM. Oh ! mortal man, thou that art born in sin ! ' The story of Mrs. Pindust may have been Steele's. The rest, if 30( written, was touched by Mr. Addison. No. 111. THE TATIEE. 67 Sentiments of this nature, which are in themselves just and reasonable, however debased by the circumstances that ac- company them, do not fail to produce their natural effect in a mind that is not perverted and depraved by wrong notions of gallantry, politeness, and ridicule. The temper which I now found myself in, as well as the time of the year, put me in miad of those lines in Shakspeare, wherein, according to his agreeable wildness of imagination, he has wrought a coun- try tradition into a beautiful piece of poetry. In the tra- gedy of Hamlet, where the ghost vanishes upon the cock's crowing, he takes occasion to mention its crowing all hours of the night about Christmas time, and to insinuate a kind of religious veneration for that season. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein oui^ Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long ; And then, say they, no spirit dares walk abroad ; The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike. No fairy takes, no witch has power to charm ; So hallowed and so gracious is the time. This admirable author, as well as the best and greatest men of all ages, and of all nations, seems to have had hia mind thoroughly seasoned with religion, as is evident by many passages in his plays, that would not be suffered by a modern audience ; and are, therefore, certain instances, that the age he lived in had a much greater sense of virtue than the present. It is, indeed, a melancholy reflection' to consider, that the British nation, which is now at a greater height of glory for its councils and conquests than it ever was before, should distinguish itself by a certain looseness of principles, and a falling off from those schemes of thinking, which conduce to the happiness and perfection of human nature. This evil comes upon us from the works of a few solemn blockheads, that meet together vnth the zeal and seriousness of apostles, to extirpate common sense, and propagate infidelity. These are the wretches, who, without any show of wit, learning, or reason, publish their crude conceptions with the ambition of appearing more wise than the rest of mankind, upon no other pretence than that of dissenting from them. One gets by * Rejection to consider,'] i. e. " to reflect." It should be, — " a melan- ehcly thing to consider; " or, " it fills one with melanchcly to consider." 58 ABDISOir'S WOEES. heart a catalogue of title-pages and editions ; and imme- diately to become conspicuous, declares that he is an unbe- liever. Another knows how to write a receipt, or cut up a dog, and forthwith argues against the immortality of the soul. I have known many a little wit, in the ostentation of his parts, rally the truth of the Scripture, who was not able to read a chapter in it. These poor wretches talk blasphemy for want of discourse, and are rather the objects of scorn or pity than of our indignation ; but the grave disputant, that reads, and writes, and spends all his time in convincing him- self and the world that he is no better than a brute, ought to be whipped out of a government, as a blot to a civil so- ciety, and a defamer of mankind. I love to consider an infidel, whether distinguished by the title of deist, atheist, or free- thinker, in three different lights, in his solitudes, his afflic- tions, and his last moments. A wise man, that lives up to the principles of reason and virtue, if one considers him in his solitude, as taking in the system of the universe, observing the mutual dependence and harmony by which the whole frame of it hangs together, beating down his passions, or swelling his thoughts with magnificent ideas of Providence, makes a nobler figure in the eye of an intelligent being, than the greatest conqueror amidst the pomps and solemnities of a triumph. On the con- trary, there is not a more ridiculous animal than an atheist in his retirement. His mind is incapable of rapture or ele- vation : he can only consider himself as an insignificant figure in a landscape, and wandering up and down in a field or a meadow, under the same terms as the meanest animals about him, and as subject to as total a mortality as they, with this aggravation, that he is the only one amongst them who lies under the apprehension of it. In distresses, he must be of all creatures the most helpless and forlorn ; he feels the whole pressure of a present cala^ mity, without being relieved by the memory of anything that is past, or the prospect of anything that is to come. Annihil- ation is the greatest blessing that he proposes to himseUl and a halter or a pistol the only refuge he can fly to. But if yon would behold one of these gloomy miscreants in his poorest figure, you must consider him under the terrors, or at the approach, of death. About thirty years ago I was a shipboard with one of these No. HI. THE TATtEB. 59 vernun, when there arose a brisk gale, which could frignten nobody but himself. Upon the rolling of the ship he fell upon his knees, and confessed to the chaplain, that he had been a vile atheist, and had denied a Supreme Being ever since he came to his estate. The good man was astonished, and a report immediately ran through the ship, that there was an atheist upon the upper deck. Several of the common seamen, who had never heard the word before, thought it had been some strange fish ; but they were more surprised when they saw it was a man, and heard out of his own mouth, " That he never believed till that day that there was a God." As he lay in the agonies of confession, one of the honest tars whispered to the boatswain, " That it would be a good deed to heave him overboard." But we were now within sight of port, when of a sudden the wind fell, and the peni- tent relapsed, begging all of us that were present, as we were gentlemen, not to say anything of what had passed. He^ had not been ashore above two days, when one of the company began to raUy him upon his devotion on shipboard, which the other denied ia so high terms, that it produced the lie on both sides, and ended in a duel. The atheist was run through the body, and after some loss of blood, became as good a Christian as he was at sea, till he found tbat his Wound was not mortal. He is at present one of the free- thinkers of the age, and now writing a pamphlet agaiost several received opinions concerning the existence of fairies.^ As I have taken upon me to censure the faults of the age and country which I live in, I should have thought myself inexcusable to have passed over this crying one, which is the subject of my present discourse. I shall, therefore, from time to time, give my countrymen particular cautions against this distemper of the mind, that is almost become fashionable, and by that means more Kkely to spread. I have somewhere either read or heard a very memorable sentence, " That a man would be a most insupportable monster, should he have ' The folio-wing improvement on the story of the atheist, certainly ty Mr. Addison. ' The existence of fairies.^ A fine stroke of satire, to insinuate, that the efforts of our most applauded free-thinkers are, generally, as harm- less as their intentions are malicious ; for that they only bend their force again some phantom of religion, as priestcraft, the intolerance of tht clergy, &c. and then plume tiiemselves on the conceit, that they have been combating Christianity. 60 Addison's tvokks. the faults that are incident to his years, constitution, pro- fession, family, religion, age, and country ; and yet every man is in danger of them aU. For this reason, as I am an old man, I take particular care to avoid being covetous, and tell- ing long stories : as I am choleric, I forbear not only swear- ing, but all interjections of fretting, as Pugh ! Pish ! and the like. As I am a layman, I resolve not to conceive an aversion for a wise and good man, because his coat is of a different colour from mine. As I am descended of the an- cient family of the Bicterstaffes, I never call a man of merit an upstart. As a Protestant, I do not suffer my zeal so far to transport me, as to name the pope and the devil together. As I am fallen into this degenerate age, I guard myself par- ticularly against the foUy I have been now speaking of. And as I am an Englishman, I am very cautious not to hate a stranger, or despise a poor Palatine. [Sir Richard Steele assisted in this paper. T.] No. 114. SATUEDAT, DECEMBEE 31, 1709. Ut in vit&, sic in studiis, pulcherrimum et humanissimum ezistimo, se Teritatem comitatemque miscere, ne ilia in tristitiam, haec in petnlan- tiam procedat. Plin. Epist. Sheer Lane, December 30. I WAS walking about my chamber this morning in a very gay humour, when I saw a coach stop at my door, and a youth about fifteen alighting out of it, who I perceived to be the eldest son of my bosom-friend, that I gave some ac- count of in my paper of the I7th of the last month. I felt a sensible pleasure rising in me at the sight of him, my ac- quaintance having begun with his father when he was just such a stripling, and about that very age. When he came up to me, he took me by the hand, and burst into tears. I was extremely moved, and immediately said, " Child, how does your father do ?" He began to reply, " My mother-^" but could not go on for weeping. I went down with him into the coach, and gathered out of him, that his mother was then dying, and that while the holy man was doing the last offices to her, he had taken that time to come and call me to No. 114. THE TATLBE. 61 his father, " "Who (he said) would certainly break his heart, if I did not go and comfort him." The child's discretion in coming to me of his own head, and the tenderness he showed for his parents, would have quite overpowered me, had I not resolved to fortify myself for the seasonable performances of those duties which I owed to my friend. As we were going, I could not but reflect upon the character of that excellent woman, and the greatness of his grief for the loss of one who has ever been the support to him under all other afflictions. " How (thought I) will he be able to bear the hour of her death, that could not, when I was lately with him, speak of a sickness, which was then past, without sorrow." We were now got pretty far into W estminster, and arrived at my friend's house. At the door of it I met Favonius, not without a secret satisfaction to find he had been there. I had formerly conversed with him at his house ; and as he abounds with that sort of virtue and knowledge which makes religion beautiful, and never leads the. conversation into the violence and rage of party disputes, I listened to him with great pleasure. Our discourse chanced to be upon the subject of death, which he treated with such a strength of reason, and greatness of soul, that instead of being terrible, it appeared to a mind rightly cultivated, altogether to be contemned, or rather to be desired. As I met him at the door, I saw in his face a certain glowing of grief and humanity, heightened with an air of fortitude and resolution, which, as I afterwards found, had such an irresistible force, as to suspend the pains of the dying, and the lamentation of the nearest friends who attended her. I went up directly to the room where she lay, and was met at the entrance by my friend, who, notwithstanding his thoughts had been composed a little before, at the sight of me, turned away his ince and wept. The little family of children re- newed the expressions of their sorrow according to their several ages and degrees of understanding. The eldest daughter was ia tears, busied in attendance upon her mother; others were kneehng about the bed-side : and what troubled me most was, to see a little boy, who was too young to know the reason, weeping only because his sisters did. The only one in the room who seemed resigned and comforted, was the dying person. At my approach to the bed-side, she told 62 ABDiROir's wouks. me, witli a low broken voice, "This is kindly done — Take care of your friend — Do not go from him." She had before taken leave of her husband and children, in a manner proper for so solemn a parting, and with a gracefulness jfeculiar to a wpman of her character. My heart was torn to pieces to see the husband on one side suppressing and keeping down the sweUiugs of his grief, for fear of disturbiag her in her last mo- ments ; and the wife, even at that time, concealing the pains she endured, for fear of increasing his affliction. She kept her eyes upon him for some moments after she grew speechless, and soon after closed them for ever. In the moment of her departure, my friend (who had thus far commanded himself) gave a deep groan, and fell into a swoon by her bed-side. The distraction of the children, who thought they saw both their parents expiring together, and now lying dead before them, would have melted the hardest heart ; but they soon perceived their father recover, whom I helped to remove into another room, with a resolution to accompany him till the first pangs of his affliction were abated. I knew consolation would now be impertinent ; and therefore contented myself to sit by him, and condole with him in silence. For I shall here use the method of an ancient author, who, in one of his epistles, relating the virtues and death of Macrinus's wife, expresses himself thus ; " I shall suspend my advice to this best of friends, till he is made capable of receiving it by those three great remedies, (necessitas ipsa, dies longa, et satietca doloris,) the necessity of submission, length of time, and satiety of grief." In the mean time, I cannot but consider, with much com- miseration, the melancholy state of one who has had such a part of himself torn from him, and which he misses in every circumstance of Hfe. His condition is like that of one who has lately lost his right arm, and is every moment offering to help himself with it. He does not appear to himself the same person in his house, at his table, in company, or in retirement ; and loses the relish of all the pleasures and diversions that were before entertaining to him by her participation of them. The most agreeable objects recall the sorrow for her with whom he used to enjoy them. This additional satisfaction, from the taste of pleasures in the society of one we love, is iidmirably described in Milton, who represents E\fe, though No. 114. THE TATLEE. CS in Paradise itself, no further pleased, with the beautiful objects around her, than as she sees them in company with Adam, in that passage so inexpressibly charming. With thee conversing, I forget all time, All seasons, and their change ; all please alike. Sweet is the breath of mom, her rising sweet With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower. Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild ; the silent night. With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon. And these the gems of heaven her starry train. But neither breath of mom when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun In this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower. Glistering with dew, nor fragrance after showers. Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night, With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon. Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet. The variety of images in this passage is infinitely pleasing, and the recapitulation of each parficvdar image, with a little varying of the expression, makes one of the finest turns of words that I have ever seen : which I rather mention, be- cause Mr. Dryden has said, in his preface to Juvenal, " That he could meet with no turn of words in Milton." It may further be observed, that though the sweetness of these verses has something in it of a pastoral, yet it excels the ordinary kind, as much as the scene of it is above an ordinary field or meadow. I might here, since I am acci- dentally led into this subject, show several passages in Milton that have as excellent turns of this nature, as any of our English poets whatsoever ; but shall only mention that which follows, in which he describes the fallen angels engaged in the intricate disputes of predestination, free-will, and fore- knowledge ; and to humour the perplexity, makes a kind of labyrinth in the very words that describe it. Others apart sat on a hill retired. In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high Of Providence, fore-knowledge, will, and fate. Fixed fate, free-will, fore-knowledge absolute. And found no end in wandering mazes lost. [Sir Kichard Steele assisted in this paper. T.'] ' The dying scene in this paper, Sir Richard Steele's. 64 ADDISON'S WOEES. No. 116. THIJESDAT, JANUAET 5, 1709. — Pars minima est ipsa puella sui. Ovid. Sheer Lane, January 4, The court being prepared for proceeding on the cause of the petticoat, I gave orders to bring in a criminal who was taken ap as she went out of the puppet-show about three nights ago, and was now standing in the street with a great con- course of people about her. "Word was brought me, that she had endeavoured twice or thrice to come in, but could not do it by reason of her petticoat, which was too large for the entrance of my house, though I had ordered both the folding-doors to be thrown open for its reception. Upon this, I desired the jury of matrons, who stood at my right hand, to inform themselves of her condition, and know whe- ther there were any private reasons why she might not make her appearance separate from her petticoat. This was man- aged with great discretion, and had such an effect, that upon the return of the verdict from the bench of matrons, I issued out an order forthwith, that the criminal should be stripped of her encumbrances, till she became little enough to enter my house. I had before given directions for an engine of several legs, that could contract or open itself like the top of an umbrella, in order to place the petticoat upon it, by which means I might take a leisurely survey of it, as it should appear in its proper dimensions. This was all done accord- ingly ; and forthwith, upon the closing of the engine, the petticoat was brought into court. I then directed the ma^ chine to be set upon the table, and dilated in such a manner, as to show the garment in its utmost circumference ; but my great hall was too narrow for the experiment ; for before it was half unfolded, it described so immoderate a circle, that the lower part of it brushed upon my face as I sat in my chair of judicature. I then inquired for the person that he- longed to the petticoat ; and, to my great surprise, was direct- ed to a very beautiful young damsel, with so pretty a face and shape, that I bid her come out of the crowd, and seated her upon a little crock at my left hand. " My pretty maid, (said I,) do you own yourself to have been the inhabitant of yfo. 116. THE TATLEB. C5 the garment before us ? " The girl I found had good sense, and told me with a smile, " That notwithstanding it was her own petticoat, she should be -very glad to see an example made of it ; and that she wore it for no other reason, but that she had a mind to look as big and burly as other persons of her quality : that she had kept out of it as long as she could, and till she began to appear little in the eyes of aU lier acquaintance ; that if she laid it aside, people would think she was not made like other women." I always give great allowances to the fair sex upon account of the fashion, and therefore was not displeased with the defence of the pretty criminal. I then ordered the vest which stood before us to be drawn up by a puUey to the top of my great haU, andi afterwards to be spread open by the engine it was placed upon, in such a manner, that it formed a very splendid and ample canopy over our heads, and covered the whole court of judicature with a kind of silken rotunda, in its form not unlike the cupola of St. Paul's. I entered upon the whole cause with great satisfaction, as I sat under the shadow of it. The counsel for the petticoat was now called in, and order- ed to produce what they had to say against the popular cry which was raised against it. They answered the objections with great strength and solidity of argument, and expatiated in very florid harangues, which they did not fail to set oif and furbelow (if I may be allowed the metaphor) with many periodical sentences and turns of oratory. The chief argu- ments for their client were taken, first, from the great bene- fit that might arise to our woollen manufactory from this invention, which was calculated as foUows : the common petticoat has not above four yards in the circumference ; whereas this over our heads had more in the semi-diameter : so that by allowing it twenty-four yards in the circumfer- ence, the five mfllions of woollen petticoats, which, according to Sir WilUam Petty, (supposing what ought to be supposed in a well- governed state, that aU. petticoats are made of that stuiF,) would amount to thirty millions of those of the ancient mode. A prodigious improvement of the wooUen trade ! and what could not fail to sink the power of Erance in a few years. To introduce the second argument, they begged leave to read a petition of the rope-makers, wherein it was repre- sented, that the demand for cords, and the price of them, 66 Addison's works. were mucli risen since this fashion came up. At this, all tho company who were present lifted up their eyes into the vault; and I must confess, we did discover many traces of cordage which were interwoven in the stiifening of the drapery. A third argument was founded upon a petition of the Greenland trade, which ' likewise represented the great con- sumption of whalebone which would be occasioned by the present fashion, and the beneiit which would thereby accrue to that branch of the British trade. To conclude, they gently touched upon the weight and unwieldiness of the garment, which they insinuated might be of great use to preserve the honour of families. These arguments would have wrought very much upon me, (as I then told the company in a long and elaborate dis- course,) had I not considered the great and additional expense which such fashions would bring upon fathers and husbands ; and therefore by no means to be thought of till some years after a peace. I farther urged, that it would be a prejudice to the ladies themselves, who could never expect to have any money in the pocket, if they laid out so much on the petti- coat. To this I added, the great temptation it might give to virgins, of acting in security like married women, and by that means give a cheek to matrimony, an institution always encouraged by wise societies. At the same time, in answer to the several petitions pro- duced on that side, I showed one subscribed by the women of several persons of quality, humbly setting forth, that since the introduction of this mode, their respective ladies had (instead of bestowing on them their cast gowns) cut them into shreds, and mixed them with the cordage and buckram, to complete the stifiFening of their under-petticoats. Per which, and sundry other reasons, I pronounced the petticoat a forfeiture : but to show that I did not make that judgment for the sake of filthy lucre, I ordered it to be folded up, and sent it as a present to a widow gentlewoman, who has five daughters, desiring she would make each of them a petticoat out of it, and send me back the remainder, which I design to cut into stomachers, caps, facings of my waistcoat sleeves, and other garnitures suitable to my age and quality. I would not be understood, that (while I discard this ' Trade, which,'] Read and point thus : — trade. It — No. 117. THE TATLEE. 67 monstrous invention) I am an enemy to the proper orna- ments of the fair sex. On the contrary, as the hand of na- ture has poured on them such a profusion^ of charms and graces, and sent them iuto the world more amiable and finished than the rest of her works ; so I would have them bestow upon themselves all the additional beauties that art can supply them with, provided it does not interfere with, disguise, or pervert, those of nature. I consider woman as a beautiful romantic animal, that may be adorned with furs and feathers, pearls and diamonds, ores and silks. The lynx shall cast its skin at her feet to make her a tippet ; the peacock, parrot, and' swan shall pay contributions to her muff; the sea shaU be searched for shells, and the rocks for gems ; and every part of nature furnish out its share towards the embeUiahment of a crea^ ture that is the most consummate work of it. All this I shall indulge them in ; but as for the petticoat I have beeii speaking of, I neither can nor will allow it.^ No. 117. SATTTEDAY, JANUAET 7, 1709. Durate, et vosmet rebus servate secundis. Virg. Sheer Lane, January 6. When I look into the frame and constitution of my own mind, there is no part of it which I observe with greater satisfaction, than that tenderness and concern which it bears for the good and happiness of mankind. My own circum- stances are indeed so narrow and scanty, that I should taste but very little pleasure, could I receive it only from those enjoyments which are in my own possession ; but by this great tincture of humanity, which I find in all my thoughts and reflections, I am happier than any single person can be, with aU the wealth, strength, beauty, and success, that can be conferred upon a mortal, if he only relishes such a pro- ' Poured — a profusion.'] Not exact. He might have said—" such an abundance," or, better still, because more simply, — " so many charms and graces." ° The inimitable ease and gaiety of humour in this paper, occupies the mind so much, that one passes it over -without adverting, almost, to the extreme purity of the expression. F 2 68 ADDISON'S WOEKS. portion of these blessings as is vested in Mmself, and is kis own private property. By this means, every man that does himself any real service, does me a kindness. I come in for my share in aU. the good that happens to a man of merit and virtue, and partake of many gifts of fortune and power that I was never bom to. There is nothing in particiuar in which I so much rejoice, as the deliverance of good and ge- nerous spirits out of dangers, difficulties, and distresses. And because the world does not supply instances of this kind to furnish out sufficient entertainments for such an humanity and benevolence of temper, I have ever delighted in reading the history of ages past, which draws together into a narrow compass the great occurrences and events that are but thinly sown in those tracts of time which lie within our own know- ledge and observation. "When I see the life of a great man, ; who has deserved well of his country, after having struggled ' through all the oppositions of prejudice and envy, breaking out with lustre, and shining forth in all the splendour of success, I close my book, and am an happy man for a whole evening. But since in history events are of a mixed nat"ure, and ofter happen alike to the worthless and the deserving, inso- much that we frequently see a virtuous man dying in the midst of disappointments and calamities, and the vicioiis end- ing their days in prosperity and peace ; I love to amuse my- self with the accounts I meet with in fabtdous histories and fictions : for in this kind of writings we have always the pleasure of seeing vice punished and virtue rewarded. In- deed, were we able to view a man in the whole circle of his existence, we should have the satisfaction of seeing it close ■with happiness or misery, according to his proper merit ; but though our view of him is interrupted by death before the finishing of his adventures, (if I may so speak,) we may be sure that the conclusion and catastrophe is altogether'! suitable to his behaviour. On the contrary, the whole being of a man, considered as an hero, or a knight-errant, is com- prehended within the limits of a poem or romance, and there- fore always ends to ova satisfaction; so that inventions of this kind are like food and exercise to a good-natured disposition, which they please and gratify at the same time that they nourish and sixengthen.' The greater the affliction is in • After the verb add " it." No. 117. THE TATIEE. 69 whicli we see our favourites in these relations engaged, the greater is the pleasure we take in seeing them relieved. Among the many feigned histories which I have met with in my reading, there is none in which the hero's perplexity is greater, and the winding out of it more difficult, than that in a IVench author whose name I have forgot. It so happens, that the hero's mistress was the sister of his most intimate friend, who, for certain reasons, was given out to be dead, while he was preparing to leave his country iu quest of ad- ventures. The hero having heard of his friend's death, im- mediately repaired to his mistress, to condole with her, and comfort her. Upon his arrival in her garden, he discovered at a distance, a man clasped in her arms, and embraced with the most endearing tenderness. What should he do ? It did not consist with the gentleness of a knight-errant either to kiU his mistress, or the man whom she was pleased to favour. At the same time, it would have spoiled a romance, should he have laid violent hands on himself In short, he immediately entered upon his adventures ; and after a long series of exploits, found out by degrees that the person he saw in his mistress's arms was her ovra. brother, taking leave of her before he left his country, and the embrace she gave him, nothing else but the affectionate farewell of a sister : so that he had at once the two greatest satisfactions that could enter into the heart of man, ia finding his friend alive, whom he thought dead; and his mistress faithful, whom he had believed inconstant. There are indeed some disasters so very fatal, that it is impossible for any accidents to rectify them. Of this kind was that of poor Lucretia ; and yet we see Ovid has found an expedient even in a case like hers. He describes a beau- tiful and royal virgin walking on the sea-shore, where she was discovered by Neptune, and violated after a long and unsuccessful importunity. To mitigate her sorrow, he offers her whatever she would wish for. Never, certainly, was the wit of woman more puzzled in finding out a stratagem to retrieve her honour. Had she desired to be changed into a stock or stone, a beast, fish, or fowl, she would have been a loser by it ; or had she desired to have been made a sea- nymph, or a goddess, her immortality would but have per- petuated her disgrace. Give me, therefore, said she, such a shape as may make me incapable of suffering again the like 70 adbison's woeks. calamity, or of being reproached for what I iave abeady suffered. To he short, she was turned into a man, and hy that only means avoided the danger and imputation she so much dreaded. I was once myself in agonies of grief that are unutterable, and in so great a distraction of mind, that I thought myself even out of the possibility of receiviug comfort. The occa- sion was as follows : When I was a youth in a part of the army which was then quartered at Dover, I fell in love with an agreeable young woman, of a good family in those parts, and had the satisfaction of seeing my addresses kindly re- ceived, which occasioned the perplexity I am going to relate. "We were in a calm evening diverting ourselves upon the top of the cliff with the prospect of the sea, and trifling away the time in such little fondnesses as are most ridiculouB to people in business, and most agreeable to those in love. In the midst of these our innocent endearments, she snatched a paper of verses out of my hand, and ran away with them. I was following her, when on a sudden the groimd, though at a considerable distance from the verge of the precipice, surds; under her, and threw her down from so prodigious a height upon such a range of rocks, as would have dashed her into ten thousand pieces, had her body been made of adamant. It is much easier for my reader to imagine my state of mind upon such an occasion, than for me to ex- press it. I said to myself, " It is not in the power of heaven to relieve me!" When I awaked,^ equ^y transported and astonished, to see myself drawn out of. an affliction which the very moment before appeared to me altogether inextricable. The impressions of grief and horror were so lively on this occasion, that while they lasted, they made me more miserable than I was at the real death of this beJoved person, (which happened a few months after, at a time when the match between us was concluded,) inasmuch as the imaginary death was untimely, and I myself in a sort an accessary; whereas her decease had at least these alleviations, of being natural and inevitable. The memory of the dream I have related, still dwells so strongly upon me, that I can never read the description of ' When I awa&ed.^ Inimitably contrived, not to tell us that this adven- ture was a dream, till we come to the catastrophe of it. Nl;. 119. THE TATLEE. 71 Dover Cliff in Shakspeare's tragedy of King Lear, without a fresh sense of my escape. The prospect from that place is drawn with such proper incidents, that whoever can read it without growing giddy, must have a good head, or a very bad one.' Come on, sir, here 's the place. Stand still ! how fearful And dizzy 'tis to cast one 's eyes so low ! The crows and choughs tliat wing the midway air Show scarce as gross as beetles. Half-way down Hangs one that gathers samphire. Dreadful trade ! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice, and yon tall anchoring bark Diminish'd to her boat ; her boat a buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge (That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles beats) Cannot be heard so high. I '11 look no more, Lest my brain turn . No. 119. THUESDAY, JANUAEY 12, 1709. In tenui labor. Virg. Sheer Lane, January 1 1 . I HAYi! lately applied myself with much satisfaction to the curious discoveries that have been made by the help of mi- croscopes, as they are related by authors of our own and other nations. There is a great deal of pleasure in prying into this world of wonders, which nature has laid out of sight, and seems industrious to conceal from us. Philosophy had ranged over all the visible creation, and began to want objects for her inquiries, when the present age, by the invention of glasses, opened a new and inexhaustible magazine of rarities, more wonderful and amazing than any of those which aston- ished our forefathers. I was yesterday amusing myself with speculations of this kind, and reflecting upon myriads ' A quibble, not much to the credit of the writer. For, by a good liead, is here meant, a head that does not turn and grow giddy at the sight of a precipice : and by a bad one, is meant a Jiead, that leaves a man insensible to the force of this description. But these two heads may grow together on the same shoulders. — The thought, then, is a false one, and the oppo- sition is only in the sound, not in the sense. 72 Addison's woeks. of animals that swim in those little seas of juices that are contained in the several vessels of an human body. WTiile my mind was thus filled with that secret wonder and delight, I could not but look upon myself as in an act of deYotion, and am very well pleased with the thought of the great heathen anatomist, who calls his description of the parts of an human body, " An Hymn to the Supreme Being." The reading of the day produced in. my imagination an agreeable morning's dream, if I may call it such : for I am stiU in doubt, whether it passed in. my sleeping or waking thoughts.^ However it was, I fancied that my good genius stood at my bed's head, and entertained me with the following discourse; for upon my rising, it dwelt so strongly upon me, that I writ down the substance of it, if not the very words. If (said he) you can be so transported with those produc- tions of nature which are discovered to you by those artificial eyes that are the works of himian invention, how great will your surprise be, when you shall have it in your power to model your own eye as you please and adapt it to the bulk of objects, which, vrith all these helps, are by infinite degrees too minute for your perception. We, who are unbodied spirits, can sharpen our sight to what degree we think iit, and make the least work of the creation distinct and visible. This gives us such ideas as cannot possibly enter into your present conceptions. There is not the least particle of matter which may not furnish one of us sufficient employment for a whole eternity. "We can still divide it, and still open it, and still discover new wonders of Providence, as we look into the different texture of its parts, and meet with beds of vegetables, mineral and metallic mixtures, and several kinds of animals that lie hid, and as it were lost, in such an endless fund of matter. I find you are surprised at this discourse ; but as your reason tells you there are infinite parts in the smallest portion of matter, it will likewise convince you, that there is as great a variety of secrets, and as much room for discoveries, in a particle no bigger than the point of a pin, as in the globe of the whole earth. Tour microscopes ' bring to sight shoals of living creatures in a spoonful of vinegar ; but we, who can distinguish them in their different magnitudes, see among them several huge Leviathans, that ' Waking thoughts.'] Finely observed, to intimate that what follows, how fantastic soever it may seem, hath its foundation in truth and fact. No. 119. THE TATIBE. 73 terrify the little fiy of animals about them, and taie their pastime as in an ocean, or the great deep. I could not but snnile at this part of his relation, and told him, I doubted not but he could give me the history of several invisible giants, accompanied with their respective dwarfs, in case that any of these little beings are of an human shape. You may assure yourself (said he) that we see in these little animals different natures, instincts, and modes of life, which corre- spond to what you observe in creatures of bigger dimen- sions. "We descry miUions of species subsisted^ on a green leaf, which your glasses represent only in crowds and swarms. "What appears to your eye but as hair or down rising on the surface of it, we find to be woods and forests, inhabited by beasts of prey, that are as dreadful in those their haunts, as lions and tigers in the deserts of Libya. I was much delighted with his discourse, and could not for- bear telling him, that I should be wonderfully pleased to see a natural history of imperceptibles, containing a true ac- count of such vegetables and animals as grow and live out of sight. Such disquisitions (answered he) are very suitable to reasonable creatures ; and you may be sure, there are many curious spirits amongst us who employ themselves in such amusements. For as our hands, and aU our senses, may be formed to what degree of strength and delicacy we please, in the same manner as our sight, we can make what experiments we are iacHaed to, how small soever the matter be in which we make them. I have been present at the dis- section of a mite, and have seen the skeleton of a flea. I have been shown a forest of numberless trees, which has been picked out of an acorn. Your microscope can show you in it a complete oak in miniature ; and could you suit all your organs as we do, you might pluck an acorn from this little oak, which contains another tree ; and so proceed from tree to tree, as long as you would thitik fit to continue your disquisitions. It is almost impossible (added he) to talk of things so remote from common life, and the ordinary notions which mankind receive from blunt and gross organs of sense, vrithout appearing extravagant and ridiculous. You have often seen a dog opened,!^ to observe the circulatiou ' Subsisted.] Subsist has no participle passive. He should have said " subsisting." ' I wonder that a man of Mr. Addison's humanity, could speak oi ape* 74 Addison's woees. of the blood, or make any other useful inquiry ; and yet would be tempted to laugh if I should teU you, that a circle of much greater philosophers than any of the Eoyal Society, were present at the cutting up of one of those little animals which we find in the blue of a plmn ; that it was tied down alive before them ; and that they observed the palpitations * of the heart, the course of the blood, the worting of the ' muscles, and the convulsions in the several limbs, with great accuracy and improvement. I must confess, (said I,) for my own part, I go along with you in all your discoveries with great pleasure ; but it is certain, they are too fine for the gross of mankind, who are more struck with the description of everything that is great and bulky. Accordingly we find the best judge of human nature setting forth his wisdom, not in the formation of these minute animals, (though indeed no less wonderful than the other,) but in that of the Levia- than and Behemoth, the Horse and the Crocodile. Tour observation (said he) is very just ; and I must acknowledge, for my own part, that although it is with much delight that I see the traces of Providence in these iastances, I stiU take greater pleasure in considering the works of the creation in their immensity, than in their minuteness. 'For this reason, I rejoice when I strengthen my sight so as to make it pierce into the most remote spaces, and take a view of those hea- venly bodies which lie out of the reach of human eyes, though assisted by telescopes. "What you look upon as one con- fused white in the milky-way, appears to me a long tract of heavens, distinguished by stars that are ranged in proper figures and constellations. While you are admiring the sky in a starry night, I am entertained with a variety of worlds and suns placed one above another, and rising up to such an immense distance, that no created eye can see an end of them. The latter part of his discourse flung me into such an as- tonishment, that he had been silent for some time before I took notice of it ; when on a sudden I started up and drew my curtains, to look if any one was near me, but saw nobody, and cannot tell, to this moment, whether it was my good genius or a dream that left me. inff a dog, with so much unconcern ; or think it justifiahle on the pretence of making a useful discover}/. No. 120. THE TATLEE. 76 No. 120. SATUEDAT, JANUAET 14, 1709. Velut silvis, ubi passim Palantes error certo de tramite pellit ; Ille sinistrorsum, hie dextrorsum abit. Hor. Sheer Lane, January 13. Instead of considering any particular passion or character in any one set of men, my thoughts were last night employed on the contemplation of human life in. general ; and truly it appears to me, that the whole species are hurried on by the same desires, and engaged in the same pursuits, according to the different stages and divisions of life. Youth is devoted to lust, middle age to ambition, old age to avarice. These are the three general motives and principles of action both in good and bad men ; though it must be acknowledged that they change their names, and refine their natures, according to the temper of the person whom they direct and animate. Por with the good, lust becomes virtuous love ; ambition, true honour ; and avarice, the care of posterity. This scheme of thought amused me very agreeably tOl I retired to rest, and afterwards formed itself into a pleasing and regular vision,' which I shall describe in all its circumstances, as the objects presented themselves, whether in a serious or ridi- culous manner. I dreamed that I was in a wood, of so prodigious an extent, and cut into such a variety of walks and aUeys, that all man- kind were lost and bewildered in it. After lia\'ing wandered up and down some time, I came into the centre of it, which ' Mr. Addison's serious papers on human life, have not, in general, the merit of his humorous. Even his style, on these occasions, (his genius not lying towards abstract or formal discourse,) hath a languor in it, which all the graces of his polished manner cannot conceal. But when he throws himself out in dreams and visions, the case is much otherwise. For his poetic invention supplies him with many apt resemblances ; and his magic style (fired by the subject, and the writer's love of it) is then so bright and glowing, that Plato himself is but second to him in this pro- vince of moral allegory. His genius may be compared to the spirit in Milton's Mask. When clad in this earth-worn mould, I mean, in tlie hackneyed form of dissertation, one may take him for an ordinary swaiii or villager : but when he sports at ease, in his own element, and, as the poet .says, "plays i' th' plighted clouds" the reader is awe-stnusk, and easily recognises his divine original. 76 Addison's works. opened into a wide plain, filled with multitudes of both seies. I here discovered three great roads, very wide and long, that led into three difierent parts of the forest. On a sudden, the whole multitude broke into three parts, according to their different ages, and marched in their respective bodies into the three great roads that lay before them. As I had a mind to know how each of these roads terminated, and whither it would lead those who passed through them, I joined myself with the assembly that were in the flower and vigour of their age, and called themselves " The Band of Lovers." I found, to my great surprise, that several old men besides myself had intruded into this agreeable company ; as I had before observed, there were some young men who had united themselves to the band of misers, and were walking up the path of Avarice ; though both made a very ridiculous figure, and were as much laughed at by those they joined as by those they forsook. The walk which we marched up, for thickness of shades, embroidery of flowers, and melody of birds, vsdth the distant ptirling of streams, and falls of water, was so wonderfully delightful, that it charmed our senses, and intoxicated our minds with pleasure. "We had not been long here, before every man singled out some woman to whom he ofiered his ad(fresses, and professed himseK a lover ; when on a sudden we perceived this delicious walk to grow more narrow as we advanced in it, till it ended in many ia- tricate thickets, mazes, and labyrinths, that were so mixed with roses and brambles, brakes of thorns and beds of flow- ers, rocky paths and pleasing grottoes, that it was hard to say, whether it gave greater delight or perplexity to those who travelled in it. It was here that the lovers began to be eager in their pur- suits. Some of their mistresses, who only seemed to retire for the sake of form and decency, led them into plantations that were disposed into regular walks ; where, after they had wheeled about in some turns and windings, they suffered themselves to be overtaken, and gave their hands to those who pursued them. Others withdrew from their followers into little wildernesses, where there were so many paths interwoven with each other, in so much confusion and irre- gularity, that several of the lovers quitted the pursuit, or broke their hearts in the chase. It was sometimes very odd to see a man pursuing a fine woman that was following No. 120. THE TATLEB. 77 another, whose eye was fixed upon a fourth, that had her own game in view in some other quarter of the wilderness. I could not but observe two things in this place which I thought very particular, that several persons who stood only at the end of the avenues, and cast a careless eye upon the nymphs during their whole flight, often catched them, when those who pressed them the most warmly through all their turns and doubles, were wholly unsuccessful : and that some of my own age, who were at first looked upon with aversion and contempt, by being well acquainted with the wilderness, and by dodging their women in the particular comers and alleys of it, catched them in their arms, and took them from those whom they really loved and admired. There was a particular grove, which was called " The Labyrinth of Co- quettes;" where many were enticed to the chase, but few returned with purchase. It was pleasant enough to see a celebrated beauty, by smiling upon one, casting a glance upon another, beckoning to a third, and adapting her charms and graces to the several foUies of those that admired her, drawing into the labyrinth a whole pack of lovers, that lost themselves in the maze, and never could find their way out of it. However, it was some satisfaction to me, to see many of the fair ones, who had thus deluded their followers, and left them among the intricacies of the labyrinth, obliged, when they came out of it, to surrender to the first partner that ofiered himself. I now had crossed over all the difficult and perplexed passages that seemed to bound our walk, when on the other side of them, I saw the same great road running on a little way, till it was terminated by two beautiful tem- ples. I stood here for some time, and saw most of the mul- titude who had been dispersed amongst the thickets, coming out two by two, and marching up in pairs towards the tem- ples that stood before us. The structure on the right hand was (as I afterwards found) consecrated to Virtuous Love, and could not be entered but by such as received a ring, or some other token, from a person who was placed as a guard at the gate of it. He wore a garland of roses and myrtles on his head, and on his shoulders a robe like an imperial mantle, white and unspotted all over, excepting only, that where it was clasped at his breast, there were two golden turtle doves that buttoned it by their bills, which were wrought in rubies. He was caUed by the name of Hymen, 78 Addison's woeks. and was seated near the temple, in a delicious bower, made up of several trees, that were embraced by woodbines, jessa- mines, and amaranths, which were as so many emblems of marriage, and ornaments to the trunks that supported them. As I was single and unaccompanied, I was not permitted to enter the temple, and for that reason am a stranger to aU the mysteries that were performed in it. I had, however, the curiosity to observe how the several couples that entered were disposed of; which was after the following manner. There were two great gates on the back-side of the edifice, at which the whole crowd was let out. At one of these gates were two women, extremely beautiful, though in a different kind, the one having a very careful and composed air, the other a sort of smile and ineffable sweetness in her counten- ance. The name of the first was Discretion, and of the other Complacency. All who came out of this gate, and put them- selves under the direction of these two sisters, were imme- diately conducted by them into gardens, groves, and meadows, which abounded in delights, and were nimished with every- thing that could make them the proper seats of happiness.' The second gate of this temple let out all the couples that were unhappily married, who came out linked together by chains, which each of them strove to break, but could not. Several of these were such as had never been acquainted with each other, before they met in the great walk, or had been too weU. acquainted in the thicket. The entrance of this gate was possessed by three sisters, who joined themselves with these wretches, and occasioned most of their miseries. The youngest of the sisters was knovra by the name of Levity, who, with the innocence of a virgin, had the dress and behaviour of a harlot. The name of the second was Contention, who bore on her right arm a muff made of the skin of a porcupine ; and on her left carried a little lap-dog, that barked and snapped at every one that passed by her. The eldest of the sisters, who seemed to have a haughty and imperious air, was always accompanied with a tawny Cupid, who generally marched before her vsdth a little mace on his shoulder, the end of which was fashioned into the horns of a stag. Her garments were yellow, and her com- plexion pale. Her eyes were piercing, but had odd casts in them, and that particular distemper, which makes persona No. 120. THE TATLEE. 7? who are troubled with it, see objects double. Upon inquiry, T was informed that her name was Jealousy. Having finished my observations upon this temple, and its votaries, I repaired to that which stood on the left hand, and was called "The Temple of Lust." The front of it was raised on Corinthian pillars, with all the meretricious orna- ments that accompany that order ; whereas that of the other was composed of the chaste and matron-like Ionic. The sides of it were adorned with several grotesque figures of goats, sparrows, heathen gods, satyrs, and monsters made up of half man half beast. The gates were unguarded, and open to aU that had a mind to enter. Upon my going in, I found the wiadows were blinded, and let iu only a Hnd of twilight, that served to discover a prodigious number of dark comers and apartments, iato which the whole temple was divided. I was here stunned with a mixed noise of clamour and jollity ; on one side of me, I heard siugiug and dancing ; on the other, brawls and clashing of swords. In short, I was so little pleaseji with the place, that I was going out of it ; but found I could not return by the gate where I en- tered, which was barred against all that were come in, with bolts of iron and locks of adamant. There was no going back from this temple through the paths of pleasure which led to it : all who passed through the ceremonies of the place, went out at an iron wicket, which was kept by a dreadful giant called Kemorse, that held a scourge of scorpions in his hand, and drove them into the only outlet from that temple. This was a passage so rugged, so uneven, and choked with so many thorns and briers, that it was a melancholy spectacle to behold the pains and difficulties which both sexes suffered who walked through it. The men, though in the prime of their youth, appeared weak and enfeebled with old age : the women wrung their hands, and tore their hair ; and several lost their Hmbs before they could extricate themselves out of the perplexities of the path in which they were engaged. The remaining part of this vision, and the adventures I met with in the two great roads of Ambition and Avarice, must be the subject of another paper. ADTEETISEMBH"!. I have this morning received the following letter from the femous Mr. Thomas Dogget. 80 Addison's woeks. "SlE, On Monday next will be acted for my benefit, tlie Comedy of Love for Lore : if you will do me the honour to appear there, I will publish on the bills, that it is to be per. formed at the request of Isaac Bickerstaffe, Esq., and ques- tion not but it will bring me as great an audience, as ever was at the house since the Morocco ambassador was there. " I am, (with the greatest respect,) Tour most obedient, And must humble servant, Thomas Dog&bt.'' Being naturally an encourager of wit, as well as bound to it in the quality of censor, I returned the following answer. " Me. Doa&BT, I am very well pleased with the choice you have made of so excellent a play, and have always looked upon you as the best of comedians ; I shall, therefore, come in between the first and second act, and remain in the right-hand box over the pit tUl the end of the fourth, provided you take care that eveiything be rightly prepared for my reception." No. 121. TIJESDAT, JANUAEY 17, 1709. — Similis tibi, Cynthia, vel tibi cujus Turbavit nitidos extinctus passer ocellos. Jnv. From my own Apartment, January 16. I WAS recollecting the remainder of my vision, when my maid came to me and told me, there was a gentlewoman be- low who seemed to be in great trouble, and pressed very much to see me. When it lay in. my power to remove the distress of an unhappy person, I thought I should very ill employ my time in attending matters of speculation, and therefore desired the lady would walk in. When she entered I saw her eyes full of tears : however her grief was not so great as to make her omit rules ; for she was very long and exact in her civilities, which gave me time to view and- con- sider her. Her clothes were very rich, but tarnished ; and her words very fine, but ill applied. These distinctions made No. 121. THE TA.T1EB. 81 me without hesitation (thougli I had never seen her before) ask her, "If her lady had any commands for me? " She thenhegan to weep afresh, and with many broken sighs told me, " That their family was in very great aifliction" — I beseeched her to compose herself, for that I might possibly be capable of assist- ing them. — She then cast her eye upon my little dog, and was again transported with too much passion to proceed ; but with much ado, she at last gave me to understand, that Cupid, her lady's lap-dog, was dangerously ill, and in so bad a condition, that her lady neither saw company, nor went abroad, for which reason she did not come herself to consult me ; that as I had mentioned with great affection my own dog, (here she curtsied, and looking first at the cur, and then on me, said, "Indeed I had reason, for he was very pretty,") her lady sent to me rather than to any other doctor, and hoped I would not laugh at her sorrow, but send her my advice. I must confess, I had some indignation to find myself treated like something below a farrier ; yet well knowing that the best as well as most tender way of dealing with a woman, is to fall in with her humours, and by that means to let her see the absurdity of them, I proceeded accordingly : " Pray, madam, (said I,) can you give me any methodical account of this illness, and how Cupid was first taken ?" " Sir, (said she,) we have a little ignorant country girl, who is kept to tend him : she was re- commended to our family by one, that my lady never saw but once, at a visit ; and you know persons of quality are always inclined to strangers ; for I could have helped her to a cousin of my own, but — " " Good madam, (said I,) you neglect the account of the sick body,i while you are complaining of this girl." " 'No, no, sir, (said she,) begging your pardon : but it is the general fault of physicians, they are so in haste, that they never hear out the case. I say, this silly girl, after washing Cupid, let him stand half an "hour in the window without his collar, where he catched cold, and in an hour after began to bark very hoarse. He had, however, a pretty good night, and we hoped the danger was over ; but for these two nights past neither he nor my lady have slept a wink." "Has he (said I) taken anything?" "No, (said she,) but my lady says, he shall take anything that you prescribe, pro- vided you do not make use of Jesuits' powder, or the cold bath. Poor Cupid (continued she) has always been pthi- ' The sick body.'] The humour of this expression is inimitable. 82 addisok's woeks. sical, and as he lies under something like a chin cough, we are afraid it will end in a consumption." I then asked her, " If she had brought any of his water to show me?" Upon this, she stared me iu the face, and said, " I am afraid, Mr. Bickerstaffe, you are not serious ;' but if you have any receipt that is proper on this occasion, pray let us have it, for my mistress is not to be comforted." Upon this, I paused a little without returning any answer ; and after some short silence, I proceeded in the foUowiag manner : ^ "I have con- sidered the nature of the distemper, and the constitution of the patient, and by the best observation that I can make on both, I think it safest to put him into a course of kitchen physic. [In the mean time, to remove his hoarseness, it vrill be the most natural way to make Cupid his own druggist ; for which reason, I shall prescribe to him, three mornings successively, as much powder as will lie on a groat, of that noble remedy which the apothecaries call album Grmcum," Upon hearing this advice, the young woman smiled,* as if she knew how ridiculous an errand she had been employed in ; and indeed I found by the sequel of her discourse, that she was an arch baggage, and of a character that is frequent enough in persons of her employment, who are so used to conform themselves in everything to the humours and pas- sions of their mistresses, that they sacrifice superiority of sense to superiority of condition, and are insensibly betrayed into the passions and prejudices of those whom they serve, without giving themselves leave to consider that they are extravagant and ridiculous. However, I thought it very natural, when her eyes were thus open, to see her give a new turn to her discourse, and from sympathizing with her mis- tress in her foUies, to fall a railing at her. " Tou cannot imagiae, (said she,) Mr. Bickerstaffe, what a life she makes us lead for the sake of this ugly cur : if he dies, we are the ' This was put in to prepare the way for the change of character.— See the next page, ^ Proceeded in the following manner.^ I suppose, in Mr. Addison's original draught, it stood thus — " I dismissed her with the following pre-, scription.'* ' This change of character in the Abigail, is so foreign to the design of the paper, is so languidly expressed, and carried on in a vein of humour so unlie Mr. Addison's, that I think it should be given to his coadjutor. What I mean is, so much of this page as is contained ■within the crotchetJi bom " In the mean," §c. to "forced her out." No. 121. THE TATLEE. 83 most unhappy family in town. Slie chanced to lose a parrot last year, wnich, to tell you truly, brought me into her ser- vice ; for she turned off her woman upon it, who had lived with her ten years, because she neglected to give him water, though every one of the family says, she was as innocent of the bird's death as the babe that is unborn. Nay, she told me this very morning, that if Cupid should die, she would send the poor innocent wench I was teUing you of to Bride- well, and have the milt-woman tried for her life at the Old Bailey, for putting water into his milk. In short, she talis like any distracted creature." " Since it is so, young woman, (said I,) I will by no means let you offend her, by staying on this message longer than is absolutely necessary ;" and so forced her out.] While I am studying to cure those evils and distresses that are necessary or natural to human life, I find my task growing upon me, since by these accidental cares and ac- quired calamities, (if I may so caU them,) my patients con- tract distempers to which their constitution is of itself a stranger. But this is an evil I have for many years remarked in the fair sex ; and as they are by nature very much formed for affection and dalliance, I have observed, that when by too obstinate a cruelty, or any other means, they have disap- pointed themselves of the proper objects of love, as husbands, or children, such virgins have exactly at such a year grovm fond of lap-dogs, parrots, or other animals. I know at this time a celebrated toast, whom I allow to be one of the most agreeable of her sex, that in the presence of her admirers will_ give a torrent of kisses to her cat, any one of which a Christian would be glad of I do not at the same time deny, but there are as great enormities of this kind committed by our sex as theirs. A Eoman emperor had so very great an esteem for a horse of his, that he had thoughts of making him a consul; and several moderns of that rank of men, whom we call country squires, wiU. not scruple to kiss their hounds before all the world, and declare, in the presence of their wives, that they had rather salute a favourite of the pack than the finest woman in England. These voluntary mendships between animals of different species seem to arise from instinct ;> for which reason, I have always looked upon the mutual good-will between the squire and the hound Q 2 84 ADDISON'S WOEKS. to be of the same nature with that hetween the lion and the jackal. The only extravagance of this kind which appears to me excusable, is one that grew out of an excess of gratitude, which I have somewhere met with in the life of a Turkish emperor. His horse had brought him safe out of a field of battle, and from the pursuit of a victorious enemy. As a reward for such his good and faithful service, his master built him a stable of marble, shod him vrith gold, fed him ia iin ivory manger, and made him a rack of silver. He an- nexed to the stable several fields and meadows, lakes and running streams. At the same time he provided for him a seraglio of mares, the most beautiful that could be found in the whole Ottoman empire. To these were added a suitable traia of domestics, consisting of grooms, farriers, rubbers, &c., accommodated with proper liveries and pensions. In short, nothing was omitted that could contribute to the ease and happiness of his life, who had preserved the emperor's. " By reason of the extreme cold, and the changeableneas of the weather, I have been prevailed upon to allow the free use of the fardingal tUl the 20th of rebruary next ensuing." No. 122. THUESDAY, JANUAET 19, 1709. Cur in Theatram Cato severe venisti ? Maet. From my own Apartment, January 18. I riND it is thought necessary, that I (who have taken upon me to censure the irregularities of the age) should give an account of my actions when they appear doubtful, or sub- ject to misconstruction. My appearing at the play on Mon- day last,' is looked upon as a step ia my conduct which I ought to eiplaia, that others may not be misled by my ex- ample. It is true in matter of fact, I was present at the in- . genious entertainment of that day, and placed myself in a box which was prepared for me with great civility and dis- tinction. It is said of Virgil, when he entered a Eomaji ' N. B. A person dressed for Isaac Bickerstaffe did appear at the play liouse on this occasion. 1^0. 122. THE TATIEE. 85 theatre, where there were many thousands of spectators pre- sent, that the whole assembly rose up to do him honour ; a respect which was never before paid to any but the emperor. I must confess, that universal clap, and other testimonies of applause, with which I was received at my first appearance in the theatre of Great Britain, gave me as sensible a delight, as the above-mentioned reception could give to that immortal poet. I should be ungrateml at the same time, if I did not take this opportunity of acknowledging the great civilities that were shown me by Mr. Thomas Dogget, who made his compliments to me between the acts after a most ingenuous and discreet manner ; and at the same time communicated to me, that the company of upholders desired to receive me at their door at the end of the Haymarket, and to light me home to my lodgings. That part of the ceremony I forbade, and took particular care during the whole play to observe the conduct of the drama, and give no offence by my own behaviour. Here I think it will not be foreign to my cha- racter, to lay down the proper duties of an audience, and what is incumbent upon each individual spectator in public diversions of this nature. Every one should on these occa- sions show his attention, understanding, and virtue. I would undertake to find out all the persons of sense and breeding by the effect of a single sentence, and to distinguish a gen- tleman as much by his laugh as his bow. When we see the footman and his lord diverted by the same jest, it very mucli turns to the diminution of the one, or the honour of the other. But though a man's quality may appear in his understanding and taste, the regard to virtue ought to be the same in all ranks and conditions of men, however they make a profession of it under the name of honour, religion, or morality. "When, therefore, we see anything divert an audience, either in tra- gedy or comedy, that strikes at the duties of civil Ufe, or ex- poses what the best men in all ages have looked upon as sacred and inviolable, it is the certain sign of a profligate race of men, who are fallen from the virtue of their fore- fathers, and will be contemptible in the eyes of their poster- ity. For this reason I took great delight in seeing the gener- ous and disinterested passion of the lovers in this comedy (which stood so many trials, and was proved by such a variety of diverting incidents) received with an universal ap- probation. This brings to my mind a passage in Cicero^ 80 auuison's woeks. which I could never read without being in love with the virtue of a Roman audience. He there describes the shouts and applauses which the people gave to the person? who acted the parts of Pylades and Orestes, in the noblest occasion that a poet could invent to show friendship in perfection. One of them had forfeited his life by an action which he had committed ; and as they stood in judgment before the tyrant, each of them strove who should be the criminal, that he might save the life of his friend. Amidst the vehemence of each asserting himself to be the offender, the Eoman audience gave a thunder of applause, and by that means, as the author hints, approved in others what they would have done them- selves on the. like occasion. Methinks, a people of so much virtue were deservedly placed at the head of mankind : but, alas ! pleasures of this nature are not frequently to be met with on the English stage. The Athenians, at a time when they were the most polite, as well as the most powerful government in the world, made the care of the stage one of the chief parts of the adminis- tration : and I must confess, I am astonished at the spirit of virtue which appeared in that people upon some expressions in a scene of a famous tragedy ; an account of which we have in one of Seneca's epistles. A covetous person is re- presented speaking the common sentiments of all who are possessed with that vice in the following soliloquy, which I have translated literally. " Let me be called a base man, so I am called a rich one. If a man is rich, who asks if he is good ? The qiiestion is, how much we have ; not from whence, or by what means we have it. Every one has so much merit as he has wealth. Eor my own part, let me be rich, ye gods ! or lot me die. The man dies happily who dies increasing his treasure. There is more pleasure in the possession of wealth, than ia that of parents, children, wife, or friends." The audience were very mneh provoked by the first words of this speech ; but when the actor came to the close of it, they could bear no longer. In short, the whole assembly rose up at once in the greatest fury, with a design to pluck him off the stage, and brand the work itself with infamy. In the midst of the tumult, the author came out from behiad the scenes, begging the audience to be composed for a little while, and they should see the tragical end which this wretcli TSTo. 122. THE TATLEH. 87 should come to immediately. The promise of pmiishmeiit appeased the people, who sat with great attention and pleasure to see an example made of so odious a criminal. It is with shame tod concern that I speak it, but I very much question whether it is possible to make a speech so impious, as to raise such a laudable horror and indignation in a modem audience. It is very natural for an author to make ostentation of his reading, as it is for an old mao to teU stories : for which reason, I must beg the reader will excuse me, if I for once indulge myself in both these inclinations. We see the attention, judgment, and virtue of a whole audience, in the foregoing instances. If we would imitate the behaviour of a single spectator, let us reflect upon that of Socrates, in a particular which gives me as great an idea of that ex- traordinary man, as any circumstance of his life ; or, what is more, of his death. This venerable person often fre- quented the theatre, which brought a great many thither, out of a desire to see him. On which occasion, it is recorded of him, that he sometimes stood, to make himself the more con- spicuous, and to satisfy the curiosity of the beholders. He was one day present at the first representation of a tragedy of Euripides, who was his intimate friend, and whom he is said to have assisted in several of his plays. In the midst of the tragedy, which had met with very great success, there chanced to be a hne that seemed to encourage vice and immorality. This was no sooner spoken, but Socrates rose from his seat, and without any regard to his affection for his friend, or to the success of the play, showed himself displeased at what was said, and walked out of the assembly. I question not but the reader wiU be curious to know what the line was that gave this diviae heathen so much offence. If niy me- mory fails me not, it was in the part of HippoHtus, who, when he is pressed by an oath which he had taken to keep silence, returned for answer, that he had taken the oath with his tongue, but not with his heart. Had a person of a vicious character made such a speech, it might have been allowed as a proper representation of the baseness of his thoughts : but such an expression out of the mouth of the virtuous Hippolitus, was giving a sanction to falsehood, and establish- ing perjury by a maxim. Having got over aU interruptions, I have set apart to- morrow for the closing of my vision. 88 ADDISOH'S WOEKS. No. 123. SATTJEDAT, JANUAET 21, 1709, Audire atque togam jubeo componere, quisquis Ambitione mala, aut argenti pallet amore. Hor. From my own Apartment, January 20. A COKTINTJATION OF THE TISION. With much latour and diificulty I passed through the first part of my Tision, and recovered the centre of the wood, from whence I had the prospect of the three great roads. I here joined myself to the middle-aged party of manlcind, who marched behind the standard of Ambition. The great road lay in a direct line, and was terminated by the Temple of Virtue. It was planted on each side with laurels, which were intermixed with marble , trophies, carved pillars, and statues of law-givers, heroes, statesmen, philosophers, and poets. The persons who travelled up this great path, were such whose thoughts were bent upon doing eminent services to mankind, or promoting the good of their coimtry. On each side of this great road were several paths, that were also laid out in straight lines, and ran parallel with it. These were most of them covered walks, and received into them men of retired virtue, who proposed to themselves the same end of their journey, though they chose to make it in shade and obscurity. The edifices at the extremity of the walk were so contrived, that we could not see the Temple of Honour by reason of the Temple of Virtue, which stood before it. At the gates of this temple we were met by the goddess of it, who conducted us into that of Honour, which was joined to the other edifice by a beautiful triumphal arch, and had no other entrance into it. When the deity of the inner structure had received us, she presented us in a body to a figure that was placed over the high altar, and was the emblem of Eternity. She sat on a globe in the midst of a golden zodiac, holding the figure of a sun in one hand, and a moon in the other. Her head was veiled, and her feet covered. Our hearts glowed within us as we stood amidst the sphere of light which this image cast on every side of it. Having seen all that happened to this band of adventurers, I repaired to another pile of building that stood within view of the Temple of Honour, and was raised in imitation of it, upon the very same model; but at my approach to it, I No. 123. THE TATIEH. 89 foimd, that the stones were laid together without mortar, and the whole fabric stood upon so weak a foundation, thac it shook with every wind that blew. This was called the Temple of Vanity. The goddess of it sat in the midst of a great many tapers, that burned day and night, and made her appear much better than she would have done iu open day- light. Her whole art, was to show herself more beautiful and majestic than she reaUy was. Por which reason, she had painted her face, and wore a cluster of false jewels upon her breast : but what I more particularly observed was, the breadth of her petticoat, which was made altogether in the fashion of a modem fardingale. The place was filled with hypocrites, pedants, free-thinkers, and prating politicians ; with a rabble of those who have only titles to make them great men. Pemale votaries crowded the temple, choked up the avenues of it, and were more in number than the sand upon the sea-shore. I made it my business in my re- turn towards that part of the wood from whence I first set out, to observe the walks which led to this temple ; for I met in it several who had begun their journey with the band of virtuous persons, and travelled some time in their company : but, upon examination, I fooind that there were several paths which led out of the great road into the sides. of the wood, and ran into so many crooked turns and windings, that those who travelled through them often turned their backs upon the Temple of Virtue, then crossed the straight road, and sometimes marched in it for a little space, till the crooked path which they were engaged in again led them into the wood. The several alleys of these wanderers had their par- ticular ornaments : one of them I could not but take notice of in the walk of the mischievous pretenders to polities, which had at every turn the figure of a person, whom by the inscription I found to be Machiavel, pointing out the way with an extended finger like a Mercury. I was now returned' in the same manner as before, with a design to observe carefully everything that passed in the region of Avarice, and the occurrences in that assembly, which was made up of persons of my own age. This body of travellers had not gone far in the third great road, before it led them insensibly into a deep vaEey, in which they joiir- * / was now returiied.'] Return, in the sense of going hack, is a verb neuter. The writer should, then, have said — " I had now returned." 90 Addison's ■wobes. neyed several days with great toil and uneasiness, and with, out tlie necessary refreshments of food and sleep. The only relief they met with, was in a river that ran through the bottom of the valley on a bed of golden sand : they often drank of this stream, which had such a particular quality in it, that though it refreshed them for a time, it rather in- flamed than quenched their thirst. On each side of the river was a range of hiUs full of precious ore ; for where the rains had washed oif the earth, one might see in several parts of them veins of gold, and rocks that looked like pure silver. We were told, that the deity of the place had forbade any of his votaries to dig into the bowels of these hiUs, or con- vert the treasures they contained to any use. Tinder pain of starving. At the end of the valley stood the Temple of Avarice, made after the manner of a fortification, and sur- rounded with a thousand triple-headed dogs, that were placed there to keep off beggars. At our approach they aU fell a barking, and would have very much terrified us, had not an old woman, who had called herself by the forged name of Competency, offered herself for our guide. She carried un- der her garment a golden bough, which she no sooner held up in her hand, but the dogs lay down, and the gates flew open for our reception. We were led through a hundred irons doors, before we entered the temple. At the upper end of it sat the god of Avarice, with a long filthy baard, and a meagre, starved countenance, enclosed with heaps of in- gots and pyramids of money, but half naked and shivering with cold. On his right hand was a fiend called Rapine, and on his left a particular favourite to whom he had given the title of Parsimony. The fitrst was his collector, and the other his cashier. There were several long tables placed on each side of the temple, with respecti'-e officers attending behind them. Some of these I inquired into. At the iirst table was kept the office of Cbrruption. Seeing a solicitor extremely busy, and whispering everybody that passed by, I kept my eye upon him very attentively, and saw him often going up to a person that had a pen in his hand, with a multiplication table and an almanack before him, which, as I afterwards heard, was all the learning he was master of. The solicitor would often apply himself to his ear, and at the same time convey money into his hand, for which the other would give him out a piece No. 123. THE TATLEE. 91 of paper or parchment, signed and sealed in form. The name of this dexterous and successful solicitor was Bribery. At the next tahle was the office of Extortion. Behind it sat a person in a hoh-wig, counting over a great sum of money. He gave out little purses to several, who, after a short tour, brought him in return sacks full of the same kind of coin. I saw at the same time a person called Fraud, who sat behind a counter with false scales, light weights, and scanty measures ; by the skilful application of which instru- ments, she had got together an immense heap of wealth. It would be endless to name the several officers, or describe the votaries that attended in this temple. There were many old men pantiag and breathless, reposing their heads on bags of money ; nay, many of them actually dying, whose very pangs and convulsions (which rendered their purses useless to them) only made them grasp the faster. There were some tearing with one hand all things, even to the garments and flesh of many miserable persons who stood before them, and with the other hand throvring away what they had seized, to harlots, flatterers, and panders, that stood behind them. On a sudden the whole assembly fell a trembling, and upon inquiry, I found, that the great room we were in was haunted with a spectre, that many times a day appeared to them, and terrified them to distraction. In the midst of their terror and amazement, the apparition entered, which I immediately knew to be Poverty, whether it were by my acquaintance with this phantom, which had rendered the sight of her more familiar to me, or, however it was, she did not make so indigent or frightful a figure in my eye, as the god of this loathsome temple. The miserable votaries of this pla,ce were, I found, of another mind. Every one fancied himself threatened by the apparition as she stalked about the room, and began to lock their cofiers, and tie their bags, with the utmost fear and trembling. I must confess, I look upon the passion which I saw in this unhappy people to be of the same nature with those imaccountable antipathies which some persons are bom with, or rather as a kind of phrensy, not unlike that which thrown a man into terrors and agonies at the sight of so useful ana innocent a thing as water. The whole assembly was sur- prised, when, instead of paying my devotions to the deity 92 Addison's ■woeks. whom tliey all adored, they saw me address myself to tlie phantom. " O Poverty ! (said I,) my first petition to thee is, that thou wonldst never appear to me hereafter ; but if thou wilt not grant me this, that thou wouldst not bea^ a form more terrible than that in which thou appearest to me at present. Let not thy threats and menaces betray me to anything that is ungrateful or unjust. Let me not shut my ears to the cries of the needy. Let me not forget the person that has deserved well of me. Let me not, for any fear of thee, desert my friend, my principles, or my honour. If Wealth is to visit me, and to come with her usual attendants. Vanity and Avarice, do thou, O Poverty ! hasten to my rescue ; but bring along with thee the two sisters, in whose company thou art always cheerful, Liberty and Innocence. The conclusion of this vision must be deferred to anothet opportunity. No. 131. THUESDAT, TEBHUAEY 9, 1709. — Scelus est jugulare falernum, Et dare Campano toxica sseva mero. Mart. Sheer Lane, February 8. Theeb is in this city a certain fraternity of chymieal operators, who work under ground in holes, caverns, and dark retirements, to conceal their mysteries from the eyes and observation of m.ankind. These subterraneous philoso- phers are daily employed in the transmigration of liquors, and, by the power of medical drugs and incantations, raising under the streets of London the choicest products of the hills and vaUeys of France. They can squeeze Bourdeaux out of a sloe, and draw Champagne from an apple. Virgil, in that remarkable prophecy, Incultisque rubens pendebit Sentibus Uva, " The ripening grape shall hang on every thom," seems to have hinted at this art, which can turn a plantation of northern hedges into a vineyard. These adepts are known among one another by the name of vpine-brewers, and I am IfO. 181. THE TATLEE. 93 afraid do great injury, not only to her Majesty's customs, but to the bodies of many of her good subjects. Having received sundry complaints against these invisible workmen, I ordered the proper of&cer of my court to ferret them out of their respective caves, and bring them before me, which was yesterday executed accordingly. The person who appeared against them was a merchant, who had by him a great magazine of wines that he had laid in before the war : but these gentlemen (as he said) had so viti- ated the nation's palate, that no man could believe his to be French, because it did not taste like what they sold for such. As a man never pleads better than where his own personal interest is concerned, he exhibited to the court with great eloquence, That this new corporation of druggists had in- flamed the bills of mortality, and puzzled the college of phy- sicians with diseases, for which they neither knew a name or cure. He accused some of giving all their customers cholics and megrims ; and mentioned one who had boasted, he had a tun of claret by him, that in a fortnight's time should give the gout to a dozen of the healthfullest men in the city, pro- vided that their constitutions were prepared for it by wealth and idleness. He then enlarged, with a great show of reason, upon the prejudice which these mixtures and compositions had done to the brains of the English nation ; as is too visible (said he) from many late pamphlets, speeches, and sermons, as well as from the ordinary conversations of the youth of this age. He then quoted an ingenious person, who would undertake to know by a man's writings, the wine he most delighted in ; and on that occasion named a certain satirist, whom he had discovered to be the author of a lampoon, by a manifest taste of the sloe, which showed itself in it by much roughness and little spirit. In the last place, he ascribed to the unnatural tumults and fermentations, which these mixtures raise in our blood, the divisions, heats, and animosities that reign among us ; and in particxdar, asserted most of the modem enthusiasms and agitations to be nothing else but the effects of adul- terated port. The counsel for the brewers had a face so extremely in- flamed and iUumuiated with carbuncles, that I did not won- der to see him an advocate for these sophistications. His rhetoric was likewise such as I should have expected from 04 Addison's -wobks. the common draught, which I fomid he often drank to a great excess. Indeed, I was so surprised at his figure and parts, that I ordered him to give me a taste of his usual Hquor ; which I had no sooner drank, hut I found a pimple rising in my forehead ; and felt such a sensible decay in my imderstanding, that I would not proceed in the trial till the fume of it was entirely dissipated. This notable advocate had little to say in the defence of his clients, but that they were under a necessity of making claret if they would keep open their doors, it being the na- ture of mankind to love everything that is prohibited. He further pretended to reason, that it might be as profitable to the nation to make French wine as French hats, and con- cluded with the great advantage that this had already brought to part of the kmgdom. Upon which he informed the court, " That the lands in Herefordshire were raised two years' pur- chase since the beginning of the war." When I had sent out my summons to these people, I gave at the same time orders to each of them to bring the several ingredients he made use of in distinct phials, which they had done accordingly, and ranged them into two rows on each side of the court. The workmen were drawn up in ranks behind them. The merchant informed me, that in one row of phials were the several colours they dealt in, and in the other the tastes. He then showed me on the right hand one who went hy the name of Tom Tintoret, who (as he told me) was the greatest naster in his colouring of any vintner in London. To give • me a proof of his art, he took a glass of fair water ; and hy the infusion of three drops out of one of his phials, converted it into a most beautiful pale Burgundy. Two more of the same kind heightened it into a perfect Languedoc: from thence it passed into a fiorid Hermitage : and after having gone through two or three other changes, by the addition of a single drop, ended in a very deep Pontac. This ingenious virtuoso, seeing me very much surprised at his art, told me. That he had not an opportunity of showing it in perfection, having only made use of water for the ground-work of his colouring ; but that if I were to see an operation upon liquors of stronger bodies, the art would appear to much greater advantage. He added, " That he doubted not but it would please my curiosity to see the cider of one apple take only a vermilion, when another, with a less quantity of tUo No. 131, THE TATLEE. 95 Bame infasion, would rise into a dark purple, according to the different texture of parts in the liquor." He informed me also, " That he could hit the different shades and degrees of red, as they appear in the pink and the rose, the clove and the carnation, as he had Ehenish or Moselle, Perry or White Port, to work in." I was so satisfied with the ingenuity of this virtuoso, that, after having advised him to quit so dishonest a profession, I promised him, ia consideration of his great genius, to recom- mend him as a partner to a friend of mine, who has heaped up great riches, and is a scarlet dyer. The artists on my other hand were ordered in the second place to make some experiments of their skiU. before me : upon which the famous Harry Sippet stept out, and asked me, "What I would be pleased to drink?" At the same time he filled out three or four white liquors ia a glass, and told me, "That it should be what I pleased to call for;" adding very learnedly, " That the liquor before him was as the naked substance or first matter of his compound, to which he and his friend, who stood over against him, could give what accidents or form they pleased." Knding him so great a philosopher, I desired he would convey into it the qualities and essence of right Bourdeaux. " Coming, coming, sir," (said he,) with che air of a drawer ; and after having cast his eye on the several tastes and flavours that stood before him, he took up a little cruet that was filled with a kind of inky juice, and pouring some of it out into the glass of white wine, presented it to me, and told me, " This was the wine over which most of the business of the last term had been despatched." I must confess, I looked upon that sooty drug which he held up in his cruet, as the quintessence of English Bourdeaux, and therefore desired him to give me a glass of it by itself, which he did with great unwillingness. My cat at that time sat by me, upon the elbow of my chair ; and as I did not care for making the experiment upon myself, I reached it to her to sip of it, which had like to have cost her her life ; for notwithstanding it flung her at first into freak- ish tricks, quite contrary to her usual gravity, in less than a quarter of an hour she fell into convulsions ; and had it not been a creature more tenacious of life than any other, would certainly have died under the operation. I was so incensed by the tortures of my innocent domestic, 9C ADBISOIf'S WOEKS. and the unwortliy dealings of these men, that I told thenj, if each of them had as many lives as the injured creature before them, they deserved to forfeit them for the pernicious arts which they used for their profit. I therefore bid them look upon themselves as no better than a kind of assassins and murderers within the law. However, since they had dealt so clearly with me, and laid before me their whole practice, I dismissed them for that time ; with a particular requeBt, That they would not poison any of my friends and ac- quaintance, and take to sume honest livelihood without leas of time. For my own part, I have resolved hereafter to be very careful u. my liquors, and have agreed with a friend of mine in the army, upon their next march, to secure me two hogs- heads of the best stomach-wine in the cellars of Versailles, for the good of my lucubrations, and the comfort of my old age. No. 133. TUESDAT, FEBEUAET 14, 1709. Dum tacent, clamant. Tull. Sheer Lane, February 13. Silence is sometimes more significant and sublime than the most noble and expressive eloquence, and is on many occasions the indication of a great mind. Several authors have treated of silence as a part of duty and discretion, but none of them have considered it in this light. Homer com- pares the noise and clamour of the Trojans advancing to- wards the enemy, to the cackling of cranes when they invade an army of pigmies. On the contrary, he makes his coun- trymen and favourites, the Greeks, move forward in a regular determined march, and in the depth of silence. I find, in the accounts which are given us of some of the more eastern nations, where the inhabitants are disposed by their con- stitutions and climates to higher strains of thought and more elevated raptures than what we feel in the northern regions of the world, that silence is a religious exercise among them. ~FoT when their pubHc devotions are in the greatest fervour, and their hearts lifted up as high as words can raise them, there are certain suspensions of sound and motion for No. 133. TB.E T4.TLEB. 97 a time, in wbict tlie mind is left to itself, and supposed to swell with such secret conceptions as are too big for utter- ance. I have myself been wonderfully delighted with a master-piece of music, when in the very tumult and ferment of their harmony, aU the voices and instruments have stop- ped short on a sudden, and after a little pause recovered themselves again as it were, and renewed the concert in all its parts. Methoughts this short interval of silence has had more music in it than any the same space of time before or after it. There are two instances of silence in the two greatest poets that ever wrote, which have something in them as sublime as any of the speeches in their whole works. The first is that of Ajax, in the eleventh book of the Odyssey. Ulysaes, who had been the rival of this great man in his life, as well as the occasion of his death, upon meeting his shade in the region of departed heroes, makes his submission to him with an humility next to adoration, which the other passes over with dumb sullen majesty, and such a silence, as (to use the words of Longinius) had more greatness in it than anything he could have spoken. The next instance I shall mention is ia Virgil, where the poet, doubtless, imitates this silence of Ajax in that of Dido ; though I do not know that any of his commentators have taken notice of it. ^neas, finding, among the shades of despairing lovers, the ghost of her who had lately died for him, with the wound stiU fresh upon her, addresses himself to her with expanded arms, floods of tears, and the most pas- sionate professions of his own innocence as to what had hap- pened ; all which Dido receives with the dignity and disdain of a resenting lover and an injured queen ; and is so far from vouchsafing him an answer, that she does not give him a single look. The poet represents her as turning away her face from him while he spoke to her ; and after having kept her eyes for some time upon the ground, as' one that heard and contemned his protestations, flying from him into the grove of myrtle, and into the arms of another, whose fidelity had deserved her love. I have often thought our writers of tragedy have been very defective in this particular, and that they might have given great beauty to their works, by certain stops and pauses in the representation of such passions, as it is not in the power of language' to express. There is something like VOL. II. H 98 Addison's -woeks. this in the last act of Venice Preserved, where Kerre is hrought to an infamous execution, and begs of his friend, as a reparation for past injuries, and the only favour he could do him, to rescue him from the ignominy of the wheel, by stabbing him. As he is going to make this dreadful request, he is not able to communicate it, but withdraws his face from his friend's ear, and bursts into tears. The melancholy silence that follows hereupon, and continues tiU he has re- covered himself enough to reveal his mind to his friend, raises in the spectators a grief that is inexpressible, and an idea of such a compKcated distress in the actor as words cannot utter. It would look as ridicidous to many readers to give rules and directions for proper silences, as for " pen- ning a whisper:" but it is certain, that in the extremily of most passions, particularly surprise, admiration, astonish- ment, nay, rage itself, there is nothing more graceful than to see the play stand for a few moments, and the audience fixed in an agreeable suspense during the silence of a skilful actor. But silence never shows itself to so great an advantage, as when it is made the reply to calumny and defamation, provided that we give no just occasion for them. "We might produce an example of it in. the behaviour of one in whom it appeared in all its majesty, and one whose silence, as well as his person, was altogether divine. When one considers this subject only in its sublimity, this great instance could not but occur to me ; and since I only make use of it to show the highest example of it, I hope I do not offend in it. To forbear replying to an unjust reproach, and overlook it with a generous, or (if possible) with an entire neglect of it, is one of the most heroic acts of a great mind. And I must confess, when I reflect upon the behaviour of some of the greatest men of antiquity, I do not so much admire them that they deserved the praise of the whole age they lived in, as because they contemned the envy and detraction of it. All this is incumbent on a man of worth, who suffers un- der so ill a treatment, is to lie by for some time in silence and obscurity, tiR the prejudice of the times be over, and his reputation cleared. I have often read, with a great deal of pleasure, a legacy of the famous Lord Bacon, one of the greatest geniuses that our own or any country has produced: after having bequeathed his soul, body, and estate, in thn UO. 146. THE TATLBR. 99 usual fonn, he adds, "My name and memory I leave to foreign nations, and to my countrymen, after some time be passed over." At the same time that I recommend this philosophy to others, I must confess, I am so poor a proficient in it myself, that if in the course of my lucubrations it happens, as it has done more than once, that my paper is duUer than in con- science it ought to be, I think the time an age till I have an opportunity of putting out another, and growing famous again for two days. I must not close my discourse upon silence, without informing my reader, that I have by me an elaborate treatise on the aposiopesis called an Et catera, it being a figure much used by some learned authors, and particularly by the great Littleton, who, as my Lord Chief Justice Coke observes, had a most admirable talent at an ^c. No. 146. THTJESDAT, MAECH 16, 1709. Permittes ipsis expendere numinibus, quid Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris. Nam pro jucundis aptissima quaeque dabuht Dii. Charior est illis homo, quam sibi. Nos animorum Impulsu et cx(A magnSque oupidine duoti Conjugium petimus, partumque uxoris ; at illis Notum, qui pueri, qualisque futura sit uxor. Juv. From my own Apartment, March 15. Among the various sets of correspondents who apply to me for advice, and send up their cases from all parts of Great Britain, there are none who are more importunate with me, and whom I am more inclined to answer, than the Complainers. One of them dates his letter to me from the banks of a purling stream, where he used to ruminate in solitude upon the divine Clarissa, and where he is now looking about for a convenient leap, which he tells me he is resolved to take, unless I support him under the loss of that charming per- jured woman. Poor Lavinia presses as much for consolation on the other side, and is reduced to such an extremity of despair by the inconstancy of Philander, that she teUs me she writes her letter with her pen in one hand, and her gar- ter in the other. A gentleman of an ancient family in H 2 100 Addison's woeks. Norfolk is almost out of his wits upon account of a grey- hound, that, after having been his inseparable companion for ten years, is at last run mad. Another (who I belieTe ig serious) complains to me, in a very moving maimer, of the loss of a wife ; and another, in terms still more moving, of a purse of money that was taken from him on Bagshot Heath, and which, he teUs me, would not have troubled him if he had given it to the poor. In short, there is scarce a calamity in human life that has not produced me a letter. It is, indeed, wonderful to consider, how men are able to raise affliction to themselves out of everything. Lands and houses, sheep and oxen, can convey happiness and misery into the hearts of reasonable creatures. Nay, I have known a muff, a scarf, or a tippet, become a solid blessiag or misfortune. A lap-dog has broke the hearts of thousands. Plavia, who had buried five children, and two husbands, was never able to get over the loss of her parrot. How often has a divine creature been throvm into a fit, by a neglect at a ball or an assembly ! Mopsa has kept her chamber ever since the last masquerade, and is in greater danger of her hfe upon being left out of it, than Clarinda from the violent cold which she caught at it. Nor are these dear creatures the only sufferers by such imaginary calamities : many an author has been dejected at the censure of one whom he ever looked upon as an idiot ; and many a hero cast into a fit of melaB- choly, because the rabble have not hooted at him as he passed through the streets. Theron places all his happiness in a running horse, Suffenus in a gilded chariot, Fulvius in a blue string, and Morio in a tulip-root. It would be endless to enumerate the many fantastical afflictions that disturb mankind ; but as a misery is not to be measured from the nature of the evil, but from the temper of the sufferer, I shall present my readers, who are unhappy either in reality or imagination, with an allegory, for wMch I am indebted to tho great father and prince of poets. As I was sitting after dinner in my elbow chair, I took up Homer, and dipped into that famous speech of Achillea to Priam, in which he teUs him, that Jupiter has by him two great vessels, the one filled with blessings, and the other with misfortunes ; out of which he mingles a composition for overy man that comes into the world. This passage so ex- ceedingly pleased me, that as I fell insensibly into my after» No. 'its. THE TATLEE. 101 noon's slumber, it wrought my imagination into tlie follow- ing dream. Wlien Jupiter took into Ms hands the government of the world, the several parts of nature, with the presiding deities, did homage to him. One presented him with a mountain of winds, another with a magazine of hail, and a third with a pile of thimder-bolts. The stars offered up their influences, the ocean gave in his trident, the earth her fruits, and the sun his seasons. Among the several deities who came to make their court on this occasion, the Destinies advanced with two great tuns carried before them, one of which they fixed at the right hand of Jupiter as he sat upon his throne, and the other on his left. The first was filled with all the blessings, and the other with aU the calamities, of human Hfe. Jupiter, in the beginning of his reign, finding the world much more innocent than it is in this iron age, poured very plentifully out of the tun that stood at his right hand ; but as mankind degenerated, and became unworthy of his blessings, he set abroach the other vessel, that filled the world with pain and poverty, battles and distempers, jealousy and falsehood, in- toxicating pleasures and untimely deaths. He was at length so very much incensed at the great de- pravation of human nature, and the repeated provocations which he received from aU parts of the earth, that having resolved to destroy the whole species, except Deucalion and Pyrrha, he commanded the Destinies to gather up the bless- ings which he had thrown away upon the sons of men, and lay them up till the world should be inhabited by a more virtuous and deserving race of mortals. The three sisters immediately repaired to the earth, in search of the several blessings that had been scattered on it ; but found the task which was enjoined them to be much more difilcult than they had imagined. The first places they resorted to, as the most likely to succeed in, were cities, palaces, and courts ; but instead of meeting with what they looked for here, they found nothing but envy, repining, un- easiness, and the like bitter ingredients of the left-hand vessel. "Whereas, to their great suprise, they discovered con- tent, cheerfulness, health, innocence, and other the most sub- stantial blessings of life, in cottages, shades, and solitudes. There was another circumstance no less unexpected than the former, and which gave them very great perplexity in tho 102 Addison's woeks. discharge of the trust which Jupiter had committed to them. They observed, that several blessings had degenerated iato calamities, and that several calamities had improved into blessings, according as they fell into the possession of wise or foolish men. They often found power with so much inso- lence and impatience cleaving to it, that it became a misfor- tune to the person on whom it was conferred. Youth had often distempers growing about it, worse than the infirmities of old age : wealth was often united to such a sordid avarice, as made it the most uncomfortable and painful kind of po- verty. On the contrary, they often found pain made glorious by fortitude, poverty lost in content, deformity beautified with virtue. In a word, the blessings were often like good fruits planted in a bad soil, that by degrees faU off from their natural relish, into tastes altogether insipid or unwhole- some ; and the calamities, like harsh fruits, cultivated in a good soil, and enriched by proper grafts and inoculation, tiU they swell with generous and delightful juices. There was still a third circumstance that occasioned as great a surprise to the three sisters as either of the foregoing, when they discovered several blessings and calamities which had never been in either of the tuns that stood by the throne of Jupiter, and were nevertheless as great occasions of hap- piness or misery as any there. These were that spurioua crop of blessings and calamities which were never sown by the hand of the Deity, but grow of themselves out of the fancies and dispositions of human creatures. Such are dresa, titles, place, equipage, false shame, and groundless fear, with the like vain imaginations that shoot up in trifling, weak, and irresolute minds. The Destinies finding themselves in so great a perplexity, concluded, that it would be impossible for them to execute the commands that had been given them according to their first intention ; for which reason they agreed to throw all the blessings and calamities together into one large vessel, and in that manner offer them up at the feet of Jupiter. This was performed accordingly, the eldest sister present- ing herseK before the vessel, and introducing it with an apo- logy for what they had done. " Jupiter ! (says she,) we have gathered together all the good and evil, the comforts and distresses of human life, which we thus present before thee in one promiscuous heap. No. 147. THE TATtEE. 103 We beseech thee that thou thyself wilt sort them out for tho future, as in thy wisdom thou shalt think fit. Tor we ac- knowledge, that there is none beside thee that can judge what wiU occasion grief or joy in the heart of a human creature, and what will prove a blessing or a calamity to the person on whom it is bestowed." No. 147. SATUEDAT, MAECH 18, 1709. — Ut ameris amabilis esto. Ovid. From my own Apartment, March 18. EBADiNa is to the mind, what exercise is to the body. As by the one health is preserved, strengthened, and invigor- ated ; by the other, virtue (which is the health of the mind) is kept alive, cherished, and confirmed. But as exercise be- comes tedious and painful when we make use of it only as the means of health, so reading is apt to grow uneasy and burthensome, when we apply ourselves to it only for our improvement in virtue. For this reason, the virtue which we gather from a fable, or an allegory, is like the health we get by hunting ; as we are engaged in an agreeable pursuit that draws us on with pleasure, and makes us insensible of the fatigues that accompany it. After this preface, I shall set down a very beautiful alle- gorical fable of the great poet whom I mentioned in my last paper, and whom it is very difficult to lay aside when one is engaged in the reading of him : and this I particularly de- sign for the use of several of my fair correspondents, who in their letters have complained to me, that they have lost the affections of their husbands, and desire my advice how to re- cover them. Juno, says Homer, seeing her Jupiter seated on the top of Mount Ida, and knowing that he conceived an aversion to her, began to study how she should regain his affections, and make herself amiable to him. "With this thought she immediately retired into her chamber, where she bathed herself in ambrosia, which gave her person all its beauty, and diffused so divine an odour, as refreshed all nature, and sweetened both heaven and earth. She let her immortal tresses flow in the most graceful manner, and took a par- 104 addison's woeks. fcicu iir care to dress herself in several ornaments, wliich the poet describes at length, and which the goddess chose out aa the most proper to set off her person to the hest advantage. In the next place, she made a visit to Venus, the deity who presides over love, and begged of her, as a particular favour, that she would lend her for a while those charms with which she subdued the hearts both of gods and men. For, says the goddess, I would mate use of them to reconcile the two deities, who took care of me in my infancy, and who, at pre- sent, are at so great a variance that they are estranged from each other's bed. Venus was proud of an opportunity of obliging so great a goddess, and therefore made her a present of the cestus which she used to wear about her own waist, with advice to hide it in her bosom, till she had ac- complished her intention. This cestus was a fine party- coloTired girdle, which, as Homer tells us, had aL. the attrac- tions of the sex wrought into it. The four principal figures in the embroidery were love, desire, fondness of speech, and conversation, filled with that sweetness and complacency which, says the poet, insensibly steal away the hearts of the wisest men. Juno, after having made these necessary preparations, came as by accident into the presence of Jupiter, who is said to have been as much inflamed with her beauty, as when he first stole to her embraces without the consent of their parents. Juno, to cover her real thoughts, told him, as she had told Venus, that she was going to make a visit to Oceanus and Tethys. He prevailed upon her to stay with him, protesting to her, that she appeared more amiable in his eye, than ever any mortal, goddess, or even herself, had appeared to him till that day. The poet then represents him in so great an ardour, that (without going up to the house which had been built by the hands of Vulcan, according to Juno's direction) he threw a golden cloud over their heads as they sat upon the top of Mount Ida, while the earth beneath them sprung up in lotuses, safirons, hyacinths, and a bed of the softest flowers for their repose. This close translation of one of the finest passages in Homer, may suggest abundance of instruction to a woman who has a mind to preserve or recall the afiection of her hus- band. The care of the person, and the dress, with the par- ticular blandishments woven in the cestus, are so plainly re- JfO. 147. THE TATLEE. 105 commended by tMs fable, and so indispensably necessary in every female who desires to please, tliat they need no further explanation. The discretion Ukewise in covering all matri- monial quarrels from the knowledge of others, is taught m the pretended visit to Tethys, in the speech where Juno ad- dresses herself to Venus ; as the chaste and prudent manage- ment of a wife's charms is intimated by the same pretence for her appearing before Jupiter, and by the concealment of the cestus in her bosom. I shall leave this tale to the consideration of such good housewives who are never weU dressed but when they are abroad, and think it necessary to appear more agreeable to all men living than their husbands : as also to those prudent ladies, who, to avoid the appearance of being over-fond, en- tertain their husbands vrith indifference, aversion, sullen silence, or exasperating language. Sheer Lane, March 17. Upon my coming home last night, I found a very hand- some present of wiae left for me, as a taste of 216 hogsheads which are to be put to sale at £20 a hogshead, at Grarraway's Coffee-house, in Exchange Alley, on the 22nd instant, at three in the afternoon, and to be tasted in Major Long's vaults from the 20th instant tOl the time of sale. This having been sent to me with a desire that I would give my judgment upon it, I immediately impanelled a jury of men of nice palates and strong heads, who being aU of them very scrupulous, and unwUling to proceed rashly in a matter of so great importance, refused to bring in their verdict till three in the morning; at which time the foreman pro- nounced, as weU as he was able. Extra — a — ordinary French claret. For my own part, as I love to consult my pUlow in aU points of moment, I slept upon it before I would give my sentence, and this morning confirmed the verdict. Having mentioned this tribute of wine, I must give notice to my correspondents for the future, who shall apply to me on this occasion, that as I shall decide nothing unadvisedly in matters of this nature, I cannot pretend to give judgment of a right good liquor, without examining at least three dozen bottles of it. I must at the same time do myseK the justice to let the world know, that I have resisted great temptations in this kind ; as it is well knovm to a butchet 106 iDDISON's WORKS. in Clare Market, wlio endeavoured to corrupt me witli a dozen and half of marrow-bones. I had likewise a bribe sent me by a fishmonger, consisting of a collar of brawn and a jole of salmon ; but not finding them excellent in their kinds, 1 had the integrity to eat them both up without speaking one word of them. However, for the future, I shall have an eye to the diet of this great city, and will re- commend the best and most wholesome food to them, if I receive these proper and respectful notices from the sellers, that it may not be said hereafter, my readers were better taught than fed. No. 148. TUESDAY, MAUCH 21, 1709. — Gusttts elementa per omnia quaerunt, Nunquam animo pretiis obstantibus. — Juv. From my awn Apartment, March 20. Hating intimated in my last paper, that I design to take under my inspection the diet of this great city, I shall begin with a very earnest and serious exhortation to aU my weU- disposed readers, that they would return to the food of their forefathers, and reconcile themselves to beef and mutton. This was that diet which bred that hardy race of mortals, who won the fields of Cressy and Agincourt. I need not go up so high as the history of Guy, Earl of Warwick, who is weU known to have eaten up a dun cow of his own kilHng. The renovmed King Arthur is generally looked upon as the first who ever sat down to a whole roasted ox (which was cer- tainly the best way to preserve the gravy) ; and it is further added, that he and his knights sat about it at his round table, and usually consumed it to the very bones before they would enter upon any debate of moment. The Black Prince was a professed lover of the brisket ; not to mention the history of the sirloin, or the institution of the order of beef- eaters, which are all so many evident and undeniable marks of the great respect which our warlike predecessors have paid to this excellent food. The tables of the ancient gentry of this nation were covered thrice a day with hot roast-beei ; and I am credibly informed by an antiquary who has searched No. 148. THE TATLEB. 107 the registers in which the bills of fare of the court are re- corded, that instead of tea and bread and butter, which have prevailed of late years, the maids of honour in Queen Elizabeth's time were allowed three rumps of beef for their breakfast. Mutton has likewise been in.great repute among our valiant countrymen, but was formerly observed to be the food rather of men of nice and delicate appetites, than those of strong and robust constitutions. For which reason, even to this day, we use the word sheep-biter as a term of re- proach, as we do a beef-eater in a respectful and honourable sense. As for the flesh of lamb, veal, chicken, and other animals under age, they were the invention of sickly and degenerate palates, according to that wholesome remark of Daniel the historian, who takes notice, that in all taxes upon provisions, during the reigns of several of our kings, there is nothing mentioned besides the flesh of such fowl and cattle as were arrived at their full growth, and were mature for slaughter. The common people of this kingdom do stiU keep up the taste of their ancestors ; and it is to this that we in a great measiu-e owe the unparalleled victories that have been gained in this reign : for I would desire my reader to consider, what work our countrymen would have made at Blenheim and EamilHes, if they had been fed with fricassees and ragouts. For this reason we at present see the florid complexion, the strong limb, and the hale constitution, are to be found chiefly among the meaner sort of people, or in the wild gen- try, who have been educated among the woods and moun- tains : whereas many great families are insensibly fallen off from the athletic constitution of their progenitors, and are dwindled away into a pale, sickly, spindle-legged generation of valetudinarians. I may perhaps be thought extravagant in my notion ; but I must confess, I am apt to impute the dishonours that some- times happen in great families to the inflaming kind of diet which is so much in fashion. Many dishes can excite desire without giving strength, and heat the body vrithout nourish- ing it : as physicians observe, that the poorest and most dis- pirited blood is most subject to fevers. I look upon a French ragout to be as pernicious to the stomach as a glass of spirits ; and when I have seen a young lady swallow all the instigations of high soups, seasoned sauces, and forced 108 Addison's ttobks. meats, I have wondered at the despair or tedious sighing of her lovers. The rules among these false delicates, are to be as contra- dictory as they can be to nature. "Without expecting the return of hunger, they eat for ap. petite, and prepare dishes not to allay, but to excite it. They admit of nothing at their tables in its natural fonn, or without some disguise. They are to eat everything before it comes in season, and to leave it off as soon as it is good to be eaten. They are not to approve anything that is agreeable to ordinary palates ; and nothing is to gratify their senses, but what would oifend those of their inferiors. I remember I was last summer invited to a friend's house, who is a great admirer of the French cookery, and (as the phrase is) " eats well." At our sitting down I found the table covered with a great variety of unknown dishes. I was mightily at a loss to learn what they were, and therefore did not know where to help myself. That which stood before me I took to be a roasted porcupine ; however, did not care for asking questions ; and have since been informed, that it was only a larded turkey. I afterwards passed my eye over se- veral hashes, which I do not know the names of to this day ; and hearing that they were delicacies, did not think fit to meddle with them. Among other dainties, I saw something like a pheasant, and therefore desired to be helped to a wing of it, but, to my great surprise, my friend told me it was a rabbit, which is a sort of meat I never cared for. At last I discovered, with some joy, a pig at the lower end of the table, and beg- ged a gentleman that was near it to cut me a piece of it. Upon which the gentleman of the house said, with great civihty, I am sure you will like the pig, for it was whipped to death. I must confess, I heard him with horror, and could not eat of an animal that had died such a tragical death : I was now in great hunger and confusion, when, me- thought, I smelled the agreeable savour of roast-beef, but could not tell from which dish it arose, though I did not question but it lay disguised in one of them. Upon turning my head, I saw a noble sirloin on the side-table, smoking in the most delicious manner. I had recourse to it more thau once, and could not see, without some indifmation, that sub- No. 152. THE TATLEE. 109 Btantial Englisli dish bamshed in so ignominious a manner, to make way for French kickshaws. The dessert was brought up at last, which, in truth, was as extraordinary as anything that had come before it. The whole, when ranged in its proper order, looked like a very beautiful winter-piece. There were several pyramids of can- died sweetmeats, that hung like icicles, with fruits scattered up and down, and hid in an artificial kind of frost. At the same time, there were great quantities of cream beaten up into a snow, and near them little plates of sugar-plums, disposed like so many heaps of hail-stones, with a multitude of congelations in jellies of various colours. I was indeed so pleased with the several objects which lay before me, that I did not care for .displacing any of them, and was half angry with the rest of the company, that, for the sake of a piece of lemon-peel, or a sugar-plum, would spoil so pleasing a pic- ture. Indeed, I could not but smile to see several of them cooling their mouths with lumps of ice, which they had just before been burning with salts and peppers. As soon as this show was over I took my leave, that I might finish my dinner at my own house : for as I in every- thing love what is simple and natural, so particularly in my food; two plain disnes, with two or three good-natured, cheerftd, ingenious friends, would make me more pleased and vain, than all that pomp and luxury can bestow. Por it ia my maxim, " That he k§eps the greatest table, who has the most valuable company at it." No. 152. THUESDAT, MAECH 30, 1710. Dii, quibus imperium est animarum, umbrseque silentes, Et Chaos, et Phlegethon, loca nocte silentia late, Sit mihi fas audita loqui, sit numine vestro Pandere res ailk terra et caligine mersas. Vieg. From my own Apartment, March 29. A MAN who confines his speculations to the time present, has but a very narrow province to employ his thoughts in. For this reason, persons of studious and contemplative natures often entertain themselves with the history of past 110 ADDISON'S WOEKS. ages, or raise schemes arid conjectures upon futurity. For my own part, I love to range through that half of eternity which is still to come, rather than look on that which is already run out ; because I know I have a real share and in- terest in the one, whereas all that was transacted in the other can he only matter of curiosity to me. Upon this account, I have been always very much de- lighted with meditating on the soul's immortality, and ia reading the several notions ' which the vrisest of men, both ancient and modem, have entertained on that subject. "What the opinions of the greatest philosophers have been, 1 have several times hinted at, and shall give an account of them from time to time as occasion requires. It may likewise he worth while to consider, what men of the most exalted genius, and elevated imagination, have thought of this mat- ter. Among these, Homer stands up as a prodigy of mankind, that looks dovm upon the rest of human creatures as a ' species beneath him. Since he is the most ancient heathen author, we may guess from his relation, what were the com- mon opinions in his time concerning the state of the soul after death. TJlysses, he tells us, made a voyage to the regions of the dead, in order to consult Tiiesias how he should return to his own country, and recommend himself to the favour of the gods. The poet scarce introduces a single person, who doth not suggest some useful precept to his reader, and designs' his description of the dead for the amendment of the living. Ulysses, after having made a very plenteous sacrifice, sat him down by the pool of Holy Blood, which attracted a pro- digious assembly of ghosts of all ages and conditions, that hovered about the hero, and feasted upon the steams of his oblation. The first he knew, was the shade of Elpenor, who, to show the activity of a spirit above that of body, is repre. sented as arrived there long before Ulysses, notwithstanding the winds and seas had contributed all their force to hasten ' In reading the several notions."] We do not read notions, but the books which contain them. The proper word is — " observing, contemplat- ing," or some such participle, expressing an act of the mind upon its ^ Scarce introduces— and designs."] The two parts of this sentence do not connect properly. He should have expressed himself in some such way as this : — " He makes almost every person, whom he introduoas, suggest — and designs," &c. No. 152. TH^ TATLEB. HI his voyage thitlier. This Elpenor, to inspire the reader with a detestation of drunkenness, and at the same time with a religious care of doiQg proper honours to the dead, describes himself as having broken his neck in a debauch of wme ; and begs Ulysses, that for the repose of his soul,_he would build a monument over him, and perform funeral rites to his memory. Ulysses with great sorrow of heart promises to fulfil his request, and is immediately diverted to an object much more moving than the former. The ghost of his own mother Anticlea, whom he still thought living, appears to him among the multitude of shades that surrounded him, and sits down at a small distance from him by the Lake of Blood, without speaking to him, or knowing who he was. Ulysses was exceedingly troubled at the sight, and could not forbear weeping as he looked upon her : but being all along set forth as a pattern of consummate wisdom, be makes his affection give way to prudence ; and therefore, upon his seeing Tire- sias, does not reveal himself to his mother, tiU he had con- sulted that great prophet, who was the occasion of this his descent into the empire of the dead. Tiresias having cau- tioned him to keep himself and his companions free from the guilt of sacrilege, and to pay his devotions to all the gods, promises him a return to his kingdom and family, and a happy old age in the enjoyment of them. The poet having thus with great art kept the curiosity of his reader in suspense, represents his wise man, after the despatch of his business with Tiresias, as yielding himself up to the calls of natural afiection, and making himseK known to his mother. Her eyes are no sooner opened, but she cries out in tears, " Oh my son!" and inquires into the occa- sions that brought biin tMther, and the fortune that attended him. Ulysses on the other hand desires to know, what the sick- ness was that had sent her into those regions, and the con- dition in which she had left his father, his son, and more particularly his wife. She tells him, they were all three in- consolable for his absence. " And as for myseK, (says she,) that was the sickness of which I died. My impatience for your return, my anxiety for your welfare, and my fondness for my dear Ulysses, were the only distempers that preyed upon my life, and separated my sold from my body." Ulysses was melted with these expressions of tenderness, and thrice 112 ADDISOIf's -WOEKS. endeavoured to catct the apparition in his arms, thnt lie might hold his mother to his bosom and weep over her. This gives the poet occasion to describe the notion tho heathens at that time had of an unbodied soul, in the excuse which the mother makes for seeming to withdraw herself from her son's embraces. " The soul, (says she,) is com- posed neither of bones, flesh, nor sinews, but leaves behiad her all those encumbrances of mortality to be consumed on the funeral pile. As soon as she has thus cast her burthen, she makes her escape, and flies away from it like a dream." When this melancholy conversation is at an end, the poet draws up to view as charming a vision as could enter into man's imagination. He describes the next who appeared to Ulysses, to have been the shades of the finest women that had ever lived upon the earth, and who had either been the daughters of kings, the miwtresses of gods, or mothers of heroes ; such as Antiope, Alcmena, Leda, Ariadne, Iphi- media, Eriphyle, and several others, of whom he gives a cata- logue, with a short history of their adventures. The beautiful assembly of apparitions were all gathe">'ed together about the blood : " Each of them (says TJlysses, ds a gentle satire upon female vanity,) giving me an account of her birth and family." This scene of extraordinary women seems to have been de- signed by the poet as a lecture of mortality to the whole sex, and to put them in mind of what they must ei.pect, not- withstanding the greatest perfections and highe'jt honours they can arrive at. The circle of beauties at length disappeared, and was suc- ceeded by the shades of several Grrecian heroes, who had been engaged with TJlysses in the siege of Troy. The first that approached was Agamemnon, the generalissimo ' of that great expedition, who at the appearance of his old friend wept very bitterly, and without saying anything to him, en- deavoured to grasp him by the hand. Ulysses, who was much moved at the sight, poured out a flood of tears, and asked him the occasion of his death, which Agamemnon related to him in aU its tragical circumstances ; how he was murdered at a banquet by the contrivance of his own wife, in confederacy with her adulterer ; from whence he takes occasion to reproach the whole sex, after a manner which ' Generalissimo.^ Instead of this cant and ludicrous term, he should have use^ \ie more noble one of "General," or " Commmander-in-chief" JJO 152. THE TATIiER. 113 would be inexcusable in a man who had not been so great a sufferer by them. " My wife (says he) has disgraced all the women that shall ever be born into the world, even those who hereafter shall be innocent. Take care how you grow too fond of your wife. Never tell her all you know. If you reveal some things to her, be sure you keep others concealed from her. Tou, indeed, have nothing to fear from your Penelope, she wiJl not use you as my wife has treated me ; however, take care how you trust a woman." The poet, in this and other instances, according to the system of many heathen as well as Christian philosophers, shows, how anger, revenge, and other habits, which the soul had contracted iu the body, subsist and grow in it under its state of separation. I am extremely pleased with the companions which the poet in the next description assigns to Achilles. " Achilles (says Homer) came up to me with Patroclus and AntUochus." By which we may see that it was Homer's opinion, and pro- bably that of the age he lived in, that the friendships which are made among the living, will likewise continue among the dead. Achilles inquires after the welfare of his son, and of his father, with a fierceness of the same character that Homer has everywhere expressed in the actions of his life. The passage relating to his son is so extremely beautiful, that I must not omit it. Ulysses, after having described him as wise in council, and active in war, and mentioned the foes whom he had slain in battle, adds an observation that he himself had made of his behaviour whilst he lay in the wooden horse. " Most of the generals (says he) that were with us, either wept or trembled ; as for your son, I neither saw him wipe a tear from his cheeks, or change his counte- nance. On the contrary, he would often lay -his hand upon his sword, or grasp his spear, as impatient to employ them against the Trojans." He then informs his father of the great honour and rewards which he had purchased before Troy, an d of his return from it without a wound. The shade of Achilles, says the poet, was so pleased with the account he received of his son, that he inquired no further, but stalked away with more than ordinary majesty over tho green meadow that lay before them. This last circumstance of a deceased father's rejoicing in the behaviour of his son, is very finely contrived by Homer VOL. II. I 114 adbtsott's "woeks. as an incentive to virtue, and made use of by none that I know besides himself. The description of Ajax, which follows, and his refusing to speak to IJlysses, who had won the armour of Achilles from him, and by that means occasioned his death, is admired by every one that reads it. When Ulysses relates the sullen- ness of his deportment, and considers the greatness of the hero, he expresses himself with generous and noble senti- ments. " Oh! that I had never gaiaed a prize which cost the life of so brave a man as Ajax ! who, for the beauty of his person, and greatness of his actions, was inferior to none but the divine Achilles." The same noble condescension, which never dwells but in truly great minds, and such as Homer would represent that of IJlysses to have been, dis- covers itself likewise in the speech which he made to the ghost of Ajax on that occasion. " O Ajax ! (says he,) will you keep your resentments even after death ? what destruc- tions hath this fatal armour brought upon the Greeks by robbing them of you, who were their bulwark and defence ! Achilles is not more bitterly lamented among us than you. Impute not then your death to any one but Jupiter, who, out of his anger to the Greeks, took you away from among them; let me entreat you to approach me ; restrain the fierceness of your vn-ath, and the greatness of your soul, and hear what I have to say to you." Ajax, without making a reply, turned his back upon him, and retii-ed into a crowd of ghosts. Ulysses, after all these visions, took a view of those im- pious vsrretches who lay in tortures for the crimes they Lad committed upon the earth, whom he describes under all the varieties of pain, as so many marks of divine vengeance, to deter others from following their example. He then tells us, that, notwithstanding he had a great curiosity to see the heroes that lived in the ages before him, the ghosts began to gather about him in such prodigious multitudes, and with such confusion of voices, that his heart trembled as he saw himself amidst so great a scene of horrors. He adds, that he was afraid lest some hideous spectre should appear to him, that might terrify him to distraction ; and therefore . withdrew in time. I question not but my reader will be pleased with this description of a future state, represented by such a noble JJO. 153. THE TATLEE. US' md fruitful imagination, that had nothing to direct it be- iides the light of nature, and the opinions of a dark and rnorant age.^ No. 153. SATUEDAT, APEIL 1, 1710. Bombalio, Clangor, Stridor, Tajatantara, Murmur. Faen. Khet. From my own Apartment, March 31. I HATE heard of a very valuable picture, whereia all the jainters of the age in which it was drawn are represented sitting togetheir ia a circle, and joining iu a concert of music. Each of them plays upon such a particular iastrument as is ;he most suitable to his character, and expresses that style md manner of painting which is peculiar to him. The "amous cupola-painter of those times, to show the grandeur ind boldness of his figures, hath a horn in his mouth, which le seems to wind with great strength and force. On the sontrary, an eminent artist, who wrought up his pictures with ;he greatest accuracy, and gave them aU those delicate ;ouehes which are apt to please the nicest eye, is represented LS tuning a theorbo. The same kind of humour runs ;hrough the whole piece. I have often from this hint imagined to myself, that diifer- snt talents in discourse might be shadowed out after the lame manner by different kinds of music ; and that the leveral conversable parts of mankind in this great city might )e cast into proper characters and divisions, as they resemble leveral instruments that are in use among the masters of larmony. Of these, therefore, in their order, and first of he. drum. Tour drums are the blusterers in conversation, that with ' These extracts from the "writings of antiquity, though curious in hiemselves, and embellished by the masterly pen of our author, are yet, y no means, the most pleasing pans of his works. The reason I take be, that, to the learned reader, they want the grace of novelty ; and, to ie unlearned, as not entering into the ideas of ancient times, they appear old and insipid. In the case before us, many a person, who is little ifected by this gloomy tale of Homer's ghosts, would be warmed into an nthusiasm of virtue, by the fine paintings of futurity, which our best rriters have given, on the ideas of improved philosophy or sacred Scrip- ue ; or, by one of Mr. Addison's own visions. 1 2 116 adbison's wobks. a loud laugh, unnatural mirtli, and a torrent for noise, domi< neer in public assemblies, overbear men of sense, stun their companions, and fill the place they are in with a rattling sound, that hath seldom any ■wit, humour, or good breeding in it. The drum, notwithstanding, by this boisterous vivacity, is very proper to impose upon the ignorant ; and in convers- ation with ladies, who are not of the finest taste, often passes for a man of mirth and wit, and for wonderful pleasant company. I need not observe, that the emptiness of the drum very much contributes to its noise. The lute is a character directly opposite to the drum, that sounds very finely by itself, or in a very small concert. Its notes are exquisitely sweet, and very low, easily dpowned in a multitude of instruments, and even lost among a few, unless you give a particular attention to it. A lute is seldom heard in. a company of more than five, whereas a drum will show itself to advantage in an assembly of five hundred. The lutanists, therefore, are men of a fine genius, uncommon re- flection, great afiability, and esteemed chiefly by persons of a good taste, who are the only proper judges of so delightful and soft a melody. The trumpet is an instrument that has in it no compass of music, or variety of sound, but is notwithstanding very agreeable, so long as it keeps within its pitch. It has not above four or five notes, which are, however, very pleasing, and capable of exquisite turns and modulations. The gen- tlemen who fall under this denomination, are your men of the most fashionable education and refined breeding, who have learned a certain smoothness of discourse, and spright- liness of air, from the polite company they have kept ; but at the same time have shallow parts, weak judgments, and a short reach of understanding ; a play-house, a drawing-room, a ball, a visiting-day, or a ring at Hyde Park, are the few notes they are masters of, which they touch upon in aU con- versations. The trumpet, however, is a necessary instrument about a court, and a proper enlivener of a concert, though of no great harmony by itself. Violins, are the lively, forward, importunate vrits, that distinguish themselves by the flourishes of imagination, sharpness of repartee, glances of satire, and bear away the upper part ia every concert. I cannot, however, but oh- Borve, that when a man is not disposed to hear music, there No. 153. THE TATLEK. 117 is not a more disagreeable sound in harmony, than that of a «olia. There is another musical instrument, which is more fre- quent in this nation than in any other ; I mean your bass- riol, which grumbles iu the bottom of the concert, and with a surly, masculine sound strengthens the harmony, and tem- pers the sweetness of the several instruments that play along with it. The bass-viol is an instrument of a quite different nature' to the trumpet, and may signify men of rough sense. and unpolished parts, who do not love to hear themselves talk, but sometimes break out with an agreeable bluntnesa. unexpected wit, and surly pleasantries, to the no small di- version of their friends and companions. In short, I look upon every sensible, true-bom Briton to be naturally a bass- viol. As for your rural wits, who talk with great eloquence and alacrity of foxes, hounds, horses, quickset hedges, and six- bar gates, double ditches, and broken necks, I am ia doubi whether I should give them a place in the conversable world However, if they wiU content themselves with being raised to the dignity of hunting-horns, I shall desire for the future that they may be known by that name. I must not here omit the bagpipe species, that wiU enter- tain you from morning to night with the repetition of a few notes, which are played over and over, with the perpetual humming of a drone running underneath them. These are your dull, heavy, tedious story-tellers, the load and burthen of conversations, that set up for men of importance, by know- ing secret history, and giving an account of transactions, that whether^ they ever passed in the world or not, doth not signify an hal^enny to its instruction, or its welfare. Some nave observed, that the northern parts of this island are more particularly fruitful in bagpipes. There are so very few persons who are masters in every and of conversation, and can talk on all subjects, that I do lot know whether we should make a distinct species of them ; levertheless, thlat my scheme may not be defective, for the sake of those few who are endowed with such extraordinary ' "That whether" — to — "welfare."'] Carelessly and elliptically ex- )ressed. The sense is, and perhaps the expression should have heen — ' transactions so frivolous, that one is not concerned to incjuire whether hey ever passed in the world or not." 118 Addison's wobks. talents, I shall allow them to be harpsichords, a kind of music which every one knows is a concert by itself. As for your passing bells, who look upon mirth as criminal, and talk of nothing but what is melancholy in itself, and mortifying to human nature, I shall not mention them. I shall Kkewise pass over in silence all the rabble of man- kind, that crowd our streets, coifee-houses, feasts, and public tables. I cannot call their discourse conversation, but rather something that is practised in imitation of it. For which reason, if I would describe them by any musical instrument, it should be by those modern inventions of the bladder and itring, tongs and key, marrowbone and cleaver. ; My reader will doubtless observe, that I have only touched here upon male instruments, having reserved my female con- cert to another occasion, if he has a mind to know where these several characters are to be met with, I could direct him to a whole club of drums ; not to mention another of bagpipes, which I have before given some account of in my description of our nightly meetings in Sheer Lane. The lutes may often be met with in couples upon the banks of a crystal stream, or in the retreats of shady woods and, flowery meadows ; which for different reasons are likewise the great resort of your hunting horns. Bass-viols are frequently to be found over a glass of stale beer and a pipe of tobacco ; whereas those who set up for violins, seldom faU to make their appearance at Vill's once every evening. Ton may meet with a trumpet anywhere on the other side of Charing Cross. That we may draw something for our advantage in life out of the foregoing discourse, I must entreat my reader to make a narrow search into his life and conversation, and upon his leaving any company, to examine himself seriously, whether he has behaved himself in it like a drum or a trumpet, a violin or a bass-viol ; and accordingly endeavour to mend his music for the future. Por my own part, I must confess, I was a drum for many years ; nay, and a very noisy one, tm ha^'ing polished myself a little in good company, I threw as much of the trumpet into my conversation as was possible for a man of an impetuous temper, by which mixture of different musics, I look upon myself, during the course of many years, to have resembled a tabor and pipe. I have since very much endeavoured at the sweetness of the lute ; No. 154. THE TATIEE. 119 but in spite of all my resolutions, I must confess with great confusion, that I find myself daily degenerating into a bag- pipe ; whether it be the efiect of my old age, or of the com- pany I keep, I know not. All that I can do, is to keep a watch over my conversation, and to silence the drone as soon as I find it begin to hum in my discourse, being determined rather to hear the notes of others, than to play out of time, and encroach upon their parts in the concert by the noise of so tiresome an instrument. I shall conclude this paper with a letter which I received last night from a friend of mine, who knows very well my notions upon this subject, and invites me to pass the even- ing at his house, with a select company of friends, in the following words : " Deab Isaac, I intend to have a concert at my house this evening, having by great chance got a harpsichord, which I am sure will entertain you very agreeably. There wiU be likewise two lutes and a trumpet : let me beg you to put yourself in tune, and believe me. Tour very faithful servant, Nicholas HTTMDEirM." No. 154. TUESDAY, APRIL 4, 1710. Obscuris vera involvens. Virg. .^n. 1. vi. From my own Apartment, April 3. We have already examined Homer's description of a future state, and the condition ia which he hath placed the jouls of the deceased. I shall in this paper make some ob- servations on the account which Virgil hath given us of the lame subject, who, besides a greatness of genius, had aU the ights of philosophy and human learning to assist and guide lim in his discoveries. -Slneas is represented as descending into the empire of leath, with a prophetess by his side, who instructs him in he secret of those lower regions. Upon the coniines of the dead, and before the very gates of 120 Addison's "woeks. tliis infernal world, Virgil describes several inhabitants, whose natures are wonderfully suited to the situation of the place, as being either the occasions or resemblances of death. Of the first kind are the shadows of Sickness, Old Age, Fear, Famine, and Poverty (apparitions very terrible to behold) : with several others, as Toil, War, Contention, and Discord,' which contribute all of them to people this common re- ceptacle of human souls. As this was likewise a very proper residence for everythiug that resembles Death, the poet tells us, that Sleep, whom he represents as a near relation to Death, has likewise his habitation in these quarters, and de- scribes in them a huge gloomy elm-tree, which seems a very proper ornament for the place, and is possessed by an in- numerable swarm of Dreams, that hang in clusters under every leaf of it. He then gives us a list of imaginary per- sons, who very naturally lie within the shadow of the Dream- tree, as being of the same kind of make in themselves, and the materials, or (to use Shakspeare's phrase) the stuff of which dreams are made. Such are the shades of the Giant with a hundred hands, and of his brother with three bodies ; of the double-shaped Centaur, and Scylla ; the Gorgon with snaky hair ; the Harpy with a woman's face and lion's talons ; the seven-headed Hydra ; and the Chimsera, which breathes forth a flame, and is a compound of three animals. These several mixed natures, the creatures of imagination, are not only introduced with great art after the Dreams, but as they are planted at the very entrance, and withiu the very gates of those regions, do probably denote the wUd deliriums and ex- travagancies of fancy, which the soul usually falls into when she is just upon the verge of death. Thus far jEneas travels in an allegory. The rest of the description is drawn with great exactness, according to the religion of the heathens, and the opinions of the Platonic philosophy. I shall not trouble my reader with a common dull story, that gives an account why the heathens first of aU supposed a ferryman in hell, and his name to be Charon ; but must not pass over in silence the point of doctrine which Virgil hath very much insisted upon in this book, that the souls of those who are unburied are not permitted to go over into their respective places of rest, tOl they have wan- dered a hundred years tipon the banks of Styx. This was, probably, an invention of the heathen priesthood, to make No. 154. THE TATIEE. 121 the people extremely careful of performing proper rites and ceremonies to the memory of the dead. I shall not, how- ever, with the infamous scribblers of the age, take an occa- sion from such a circumstance, to run into declamations against priestcraft, but rather look upon it even in this light as a religious artifice, to raise in the minds of men an esteem for the memory of their forefathers, and a desire to recom- mend themselves to that of posterity ; as also to excite in them an ambition of imitating the virtues of the deceased, and to keep aUve in their thoughts the sense of the soul's immortality. In a word, we may say in defence of the se- vere opinions relating to the shades of unburied persons, what hath been said by some of our divines m regard to the rigid doctrines concerning the souls of such who die without being initiated into our religion, that, supposing they should be erroneous, they can do no hurt to the dead, and will have a good effect upon the living, in making them cautious of neglecting such necessary solemnities. Charon is no sooner appeased, and the triple-headed dog laid asleep, but iEneas makes his entrance into the domi- nions of Pluto. There are three kinds of persons described, as being situated on the borders ; and I can give no reason for their being stationed there in so particular a manner, but because none of them seem to have had a proper right to a place among the dead, as not having run out the whole thread of their days, and finished the term of life that had been allotted them upon earth. The first of these are the souls of infants, who are snatched away by untimely ends ; the second, are of those who are put to death wrongfully, and by an unjust sentence; and the third, of those who grew weary of their Uves, and laid violent hands upon them- selves. As for the second of these, Virgil adds with great beauty, that Minos, the judge of the dead, is employed in giving them a rehearing, and assigning them their several quarters suitable to the parts they acted in life. The poet, after having mentioned the souls of those unhappy men who destroyed themselves, breaks out into a fine exclamation: " Oh ! how gladly, (says he,) would they now endure hfe with all its miseries ! But the destinies forbid their return to earth, and the waters of Styx surround them with nine Btreams that are unpassable." It is very remarkable, that 122 Addison's woeks. Virgil, notwithstanding self-murder was so frequent among the heathens, and had been practised by some of the great- est men in the very age before him, hath here represented it as so heinous a crime. But in this particular, he was guided by the doctrines of his great master Plato, who says on this subject, " That a man is placed in his station of life like a soldier in his proper post, which he is not to quit, whatever may happen, until he is called off by his commander who planted him in it." There is another point in the Platonic philosophy, which Virgil has made the ground-work of the greatest part in the piece we are now examining, having with wonderful art aad beauty materialized (if I may so call it) a scheme of ab- stracted notions, and clothed the most nice refined concep- tions of philosophy in sensible images and poetical repre- sentations. The Platonists tell us, that the soul, during her residence in the body, contracts many virtuous and vicious habits, so as to become a beneficent, mild, charitable, or an angry, malicious, revengeful being ; a substance injlamed with lust, avarice, and pride ; or, on the contrary, brightened with pure, generous, and humble dispositions : That these and the like habits of virtue and vice growing into the very essence of the soul, survive and gather strength in her after her dissolution : That the torments of a vicious soul in a future state, arise principally from those importunate pas- sions which are not capable of being gratified without a body ; and that on the contrary, the happiness of virtuous minds very much consists in their being employed in sublime speculations, innocent diversions, sociable affections, and all the ecstasies of passion and rapture which are agreeable to reasonable natures, and of which they gained a relish in this life. Upon this foundation, the poet raises that beautiful de- scription of the secret haunts and walks, which he teUs us are inhabited by deceased lovers. " Not far from hence, (says he,) lies a great waste of plains, that are called the Pields of Melancholy. In these there grows a forest of myrtle, divided into many shady re- tirements and covered walks, and inhabited by the soms of those who pined away with love. The passion, (says he;) continues with them after death." He then gives a list of No. 154. THE TATLEE. 123 this languisjing tribe, in wLl — ms own Dido makes the principal figure, and is described as living in this soft ro- mantic scene, with the shade of her first husband Sichseus. The poet in the next place mentions another plain that was peopled with the ghosts of warriors, as stiU delighting in each other's company, and pleased with the exercise of arms. He there represents the Grecian generals and com- mon soldiers who perished in the siege of Troy, as drawn up in squadrons, and terrified at the approach of JEneas, which renewed in them those impressions of fear they had before received in battle with the Trojans. He afterwards likewise, upon the same notion, gives a view of the Trojan heroes who lived in former ages, amidst a visionary scene of chariots and arms, flowery meadows, shining spears, and generous steeds, which he tells us were their pleasures upon earth, and now make up their happiness in Elysium. !For the same reason also, he mentions others as singing pseans, and songs of triumph, amidst a beautiful grove of laurel. The chief of the concert was the poet Musasus, who stood enclosed with a circle of admirers, and rose by the head and shoulders above the throng of shades that surrounded him. The habitations of unhappy spirits, to show the duration of their torments, and the desperate condition they are in, are repre- sented as guarded by a Fury, moated round with a lake of fire, strengthened with towers of iron, encompassed with a triple wall, and fortified vrith pillars of adamant, which all the gods together are not able to heave irom their founda- tions. The noise of stripes, the clank of chains, and the groans of the tortured, strike the pious jEneas with a kind of horror. The poet afterwards divides the criminals into two classes : the first and blackest catalogue consists of such as were guilty lof outrages against the gods ; and the next, of such who were convicted of injustice between man and man : .the greatest number of whom, says the poet, are those who followed the dictates of Avarice. It was an opinion of the Platonists, " That the souls of men having contracted in the body great stains and pollu- tions of vice and ignorance, there were several purgations and cleansings necessary to be passed through both here and hereafter, in order to refine and purify them." Virgil, to give this thought likewise a clothing of poetry, describes som-e spirits as bleaching in the winds, others as 124 ADDISON' S WOEKS. cleansing under great falls of waters, and others as purging in fire, to recover the primitive beauty and purity of their natures. It was likewise an opinion of the same sect of phHosophers, that the souls of all men exist in a separate state, long be- fore their union with their bodies ; and that upon their im- mersion into flesh, they forget everything which passed in the state of pre-existence ; so that what we here call know- ledge, is nothing else but memory, or the recovery of those things which we knew before. In pursuance of this scheme, Virgil gives us a view of several souls, who, to prepare themselves for Uving upon earth, flock about the banks of the river Lethe, and swiU themselves with the waters of oblivion. The same scheme gives him an opportunity of making a noble compliment to his countrymen, where Anchises is re- presented taking a survey of the long train of heroes that are to descend from him, and giving his son ^neas an account of all the glories of his race. I need not mention the revolution of the Platonic year, which is but just touched upon in this book ; and as I have consulted no author's thoughts in this explication, shall be very well pleased, if it can make the noblest piece of the most accomplished poet more agreeable to my female readers, when they think fit to look into Diyden's translation of it.' Tfo. 155. THimSDAT, APEIL 6, 1710. — Aliena iiegotia curat Excussns propriis. — Hon. From my own Apartment, April 5. Theee lived some years since within my neighbourhood a very grave person, an upholsterer, who seemed a man of more than ordinary application to business. He was a very early riser, and was often abroad two 'or three hours before any of his neighbours. He had a particular carefulness in the knitting of his brows, and a kind of impatience in all ' A very poor reason for giving the foregoing analysis of this poeiDi which the learned reader only will admire, or can possibly understand. XO. 155. THE TATLEH. 125 his motions, that plainly discovered he was always intent on matters of importance. Upon my inquiry into his life and conversation, T found him to be the greatest newsmonger in our quarter ; that he rose before day to read the Postman ; and that he would take two or three turns to the other end of the town before his neighbours were up, to see if there were any Dutch mails come in. He had a wife and several children ; but was much more inquisitive to know what passed in Poland than in his own family, and was in greater pain and anxiety of mind for King Augustus's welfare than that of his nearest relations. He looked extremely thia in a dearth of news, and never enjoyed himself in a westerly wind. This indefatigable kind of life was the ruin of his shop : for about the time that his favourite prince left the crown of Poland, he broke and disappeared. This man and liis affairs had been long out of mind, till about three days ago, as I was walking m St. James's Park, I heard somebody at a distance hemming after me : and who should it be but my old neighbour the upholsterer. ' I saw he was reduced to extreme poverty, by certain shabby super- fluities in his dress : for, notwithstanding that it was a very sultry day for the time of year, he wore a loose great coat and a muff, with a long campaign- wig out of curl ; to which he had added the ornament of a pair of black garters buckled under the knee. Upon his comiag up to me, I was going to inquire into his present circumstances ; but was prevented by his asking me, with a whisper, " Wliether the last letters brought any accounts that one might rely upon from Bender ?" I told him, "None that I heard of ; " and asked him, " Whether he had yet married his eldest daughter ?" He told me "No. But pray," says he, " tell me sincerely, what are your thoughts of the king of Sweden ?" (for though his wife and children were starving, I found his chief concern at present was for this great monarch.) I told him, " that I looked upon him as one of the first heroes of the age." "But pray," says he, "do you think there is anything in the story of his wound ?" and finding me surprised at the question, "Nay," says he, "I only propose it to you." I answered, "that I thought there was no reason to doubt it." " But why in the heel," says he, "more than in any other part of -the body?" "Because," says I, "the bullet chanced to light there." This extraordinary dialogue was no sooner ended, but bn 126 Addison's woeks. began to launcli out into a long dissertation upon the affairs of the North ; and after having spent some time on them, he told me, he was in a great perplexity how to reconcile the Supplement with the English Post, and had been just now examining what the other papers say upon the same subject. " The Daily Courant (says he) has these words, ' We have advices from very good hands, that a certain prince has some matters of great importance under consideration.' This is very mysterious ; but the Post-boy leaves us more in the dark, for he tells us, ' That there are private intimations of measures taken by a certain prince, which time will bring to light.' Now the Postman, (says he,) who used to be very clear, refers to the same news in these words ; ' The late conduct of a certain prince affords great matter of specula- tion.' This certain prince, (says the upholsterer,) whom they are aU so cautious of naming, I take to be ," upon which, though there was nobody near us, he whispered some- thing in my ear, which I did not hear, or think worth my while to make him repeat. "We were now got to the upper end of the Mall, where were three or four very odd fellows sitting together upon the bench. These I found were all of them politicians, who used to sun themselves in that place every day about dinner- time. Observing them to be curiosities in their kind, and my friend's acquaintance, I sat dovm among them. The chief politician of the bench was a great assertor of paradoxes. He told us, with a seeming concern, that by some news he had lately read from Muscovy, it appeared to him that there was a storm gathering in the Black Sea, which might in time do hurt to the naval forces of this nation. To this he added, that for his part, he could not wish to see the Turk driven out of Europe, which he believed could not but be prejudicial to our woollen manufacture. He then told us, that he looked upon those extraordinary revolutions which had lately happened in these parts of the world, to have risen chiefly from two persons who were nbt much talked of; and those, says he, are Prince Menzikoff, and the Duchess of Mirandola. He backed his assertions with so many broken hints, and such a show of depth and wisdom, that we gave ourselves up to his opinions. The discourse at length fell upon a point which seldom escapes a knot of true-born Englishmen, whether in case of No 155. THE TATLEE. 127 a religious war, the Protestants would not be too strong for the Papists ? This we unanimously determined on the Pro- testant side. One who sat on my right hand, and, as I found by his discourse, had been in the West Indies, assured us, that it would be a very easy matter for the Protestants to beat the pope at sea ; and added, that whenever such a war does break out, it must turn to the good of the Leeward Islands. Upon this, one who sat at the end of the bench, and, as I afterwards found, was the geographer of the com- pany, said, that in case the Papists should drive the Protest- ants from these parts of Europe, when the worst came to the worst, it would be impossible *to beat them out of Norway and Greenland, provided the northern crowns hold together, and the Czar of Muscovy stand neuter. He further told us for our comfort, that there were vast tracts of land about the pole, inhabited neither by Protest- ants nor Papists, and of greater extent than all the Eoman Catholic dominions in Europe. When we had fully discussed this point, my friend the upholsterer began to exert himself upon the present nego- tiations of peace, in which he deposed princes, settled the bounds of kingdoms, and balanced the power of Europe, with great justice and impartiality. I at length took my leave of the company, and was going away; but had not been gone thirty yards, before the up- holsterer hemmed agaiu after me. Upon his advancing towards me, with a whisper, 1 expected to hear some secret piece of news, which he had not thought fit to communicate to the bench; but instead of that, he desired me in my ear to lend him half-a-crown. In compassion to so needy a statesman, and to dissipate the confusion I found he was in, I told him, if he pleased, I would give him five shillings, to receive five pounds of him when the Great Turk was driven out of Constantinople ; which he very readily accepted, but not before he had laid down to me the impossibility of such an event, as the afiairs of Europe now stand. This paper I design for the particular benefit of those worthy citizens who live more in a coffee-house than in their shops, and whose thoughts are so taken up with the aifairs of the aUies, that they forget their customers.^ ' The ridicule of this paper xs incomparably fine and well placed. 128 Addison's ■works. No. 156. SATUEDAT, APEIL 8, 1710. — Sequiturque patrem non passibus sequis. Virg. From my own Apartment, April 7. We have already described out of Homer the voyage of Ulysses to the infernal shades,with the several adventures that attended it. If we look into the beautiful romance published not many years siace by the Archbishop of Cambray, we may see the son of Ulysses bound on the same expecfition and after the same manner making his discoveries among the regions of the dead. The story of Telemachus is formed altogether in the spirit of Homer, and will give an unlearned reader a notion of that great poet's manner of writing, more than any translation of him can possibly do.' As it was written for the instruction of a young prince, who may one day sit upon the throne of Prance, the author took care to suit the several parts of his story, and particularly the de- scription we are now entering upon, to the character and quality of his pupil. Por which reason, he insists very much on the misery of bad, and the happiness of good kings, in the account he hath given of punishments and rewards in the other world. "We may, however, observe, notwithstanding the endea- vours of this great and learned author, to copy after the style and sentiments of Homer, that there is a certain tinc- ture of Christianity running through the whole relation. The prelate in several places mixes himself with the poet ; so that his future state puts me in mind of Michael Angelo's last judgment, where Charon^ and his boat are represented as bearing a part ia the dreadful solemnities of that great day. ' Because the peculiar fictions and superstitions of Homer are omitted, or turned in such a way, as is more consistent with philosophical, and even Christian ideas. In other words, the writer treats the subject, as Homer would, most probably, have done, if he had lived in our day% This confession of Mr. Addison justifies the remark before made on the impropriety of giving extracts from the two pagan poets, on die subject of a future state, for the entertainment of common readers, '^ This way of paganizing a future state, was unavoidable in the plan of Telemachus, as it also was in that of Fontenelle's Dialogues. But it was something to be serious in his paganism. Thus much may be said for the French Homer. But how the French Lucian could hope to serve the cause of virtue and religion, by indulging the way of humour ou a No. 15G. THE TATIEE. 129 Telemachus, after having passed through the dart avenues of death, in the retinue of Mercury, who every day delivers up a certain tale of ghosts to the ferryman of Styx, is admit- ted into the infernal bark. Among the companions of his voyage, is the shade of Nabopharzon, a king of^ Babylon, and tyrant of aU the East. Among the ceremonies and pomps of his funeral, there were four slaves sacrificed, according to the custom of the country, in order to attend him among the shades. The author having described this tyrant in the most odious colours of pride, insolence, and cruelty, tells us, that his four slaves, instead of serving him after death, were per- petually insulting him with reproaches and affronts for his past usage ; that they spurned him as he lay upon the ground, and forced him to show his face, which he would fain have covered, as lying under all the confusions of guilt and infamy ; and, in short, that they kept him bound in a chain, in order to drag him before the tribunal of the dead. Telemachus, upon looking out of the bark, sees all the strand covered with an inniunerable multitude of shades, who, upon his jumping ashore, immediately vanished. He then piirsues his course to the palace of Pluto, who is described as seated on his throne in terrible majesty, with Proserpine by his side. At the foot of his throne was the pale hideous spectre, who, by the ghastHness of his visage, and the nature of the apparitions that surrounded him, discovers himself to be Death. His attendants are Melancholy, Distrust, Ee- venge, Hatred, Avarice, Despair, AmbitioA, Envy, Impiety, with frightful Dreams, and waking Cares, which are all i-awn very naturally in proper actions and postures. The author, with great beauty, places near his frightful dreams, an as- sembly of phantoms, which are often employed to terrify the living, by appearing in the shape and likeness of the dead. The young hero, in the next place, takes a survey of the different kinds of criminals that lay in torture among clouds of sulphur and torrents of fire. The first of these were such as had been guilty of impieties, which every one hath an subject, which no man should treat with levity, or so much as think of hut with awe, it is not easy to conceive. It is very unhappy when men of parts are content to purchase the fame of ingenuity, at the expense of decency and common sense ; and it is still more to he lamented, that men ^f religion should be, sometimes, indiscreet enough, to give in to thoso treedoms of men, who have none. VOL. II. K 130 Addison's works. horror for : to wHcli is added, a catalogue of such offenders that scarce appear to be faulty in the eyes of the vulgar. " Among these," says the author, " are malicious critics, that have endeavoured to cast a blemish upon the perfections of others ;" with whom he likewise places such as have often hurt the reputation of the innocent, by passing a rash judg- ment on their actions without knowing the occasion of them. " These crimes (says he) are more severely punished after death, because they generally meet with impunity upon earth." Telemachus, after having taken a survey of several other wretches in the same circumstances, arrives at that region of torments in which wicked kings are punished. There are very fine strokes of imagination in the description which he gives of this unhappy multitude. He teUs us, that on one side of them there stood a revengeful fury, thundering in their ears incessant repetitions of all the crimes they had committed upon earth, with the aggravations of ambition, vanity, hardness of heart, and all those secret affections of mind that enter into the composition of a tyrant. At the same time, she holds up to them a large mirror, in which every one sees himself represented in the natural horror and deformity of his character. On the other side of them stands another fury, that, with an insulting derision, repeats to them aU the praises that their flatterers had bestowed upon them while they sat upon their respective thrones. She too, says the author, presents a mirror before their eyes, in which every one sees himself adorned with all those beauties and perfections in which they had been drawn by the vanity of their own hearts and the flattery of others. To punish them for the wantonness of the cruelty which they formerly exer- cised, they are now delivered np to be treated according to the fancy and caprice of several slaves, who have here an op- portunity of tyrannizing in their turns. The author having given us a description of these ghastly spectres, who, says he, are always caUiag upon death, and are placed under the distillation of that burning vengeance which falls upon them drop by drop, and is never to be ex- hausted, leads us into a pleasing scene of groves, filled with the melody of birds, and the odours of a thousand different plants. These groves are represented as rising among a great many flowery meadows, and watered with streams that No. 156. THE TATLEK. 131 diffuse a perpetual freshness in the midst of an eternal day and a never-fading spring. This, says the author, was the hahitation of those good princes who were friends of the gods, and parents of the people. Among these, Telemachus converses with the shade of one of his ancestors, who makes a most agreeable relation of the joys of Elysium, and the nature of its inhabitants. The residence of Sesostris among these happy shades, with his character and present employ- ment, is drawn in a very lively manner, and vnth a great elevation of thought. The description of that pure and gentle light which over- flows these happy regions, and clothes the spirits of these virtuous persons, hath something in it of that enthusiasm which this author was accused of by his enemies in the Church of Eome ; but however it may look ia religion, it makes a very beautiful figure in poetry. " The rays of the sun (says he) are darkness in compari- son with this light, which rather deserves the name of glory than that of light. It pierces the thickest bodies, in the same manner as the sun-beams pass through crystal ; it strengthens the sight instead of dazzling it ; and nourishes in the most iaward recesses of the mind, a perpetual serenity that is not to be expressed. It enters and incorporates it- self with the very substance of the soul : the spirits of the blessed feel it in aU their senses, and in all their perceptions. It produces a certain source of peace and joy that arises in them for ever, running through all the faculties, and refresh- ing all the desires of the sold. External pleasures and de- lights, with all their charms and allurements, are regarded with the utmost indifference and neglect by these happy spirits, who have this great principle of pleasure within them, draw- ing the whole mind to itself, calling off their attention from the most delightful objects, and giving them all the transports of inebriation, without the confusion and the folly of it." I have here only mentioned some master-touches of this admirable piece, because the original itseK is understood by the greater part of my readers. I must confess, I take a particular delight in these prospects of fnturity, whether grounded upon the probable suggestions of a fine imagination, or the more severe conclusions of philosophy ; as a man loves to hear all the discoveries or conjectures relating to a foreign country which he is, at some time, to inhabit. Prospects of K 2 132 Addison's wobks. this nature lighten the burden of any present evil, and re- fresh us under the worst and lowest circumstances of mor- tality. They extinguish in us hoth the fear and envy o' human grandeur. Insolence shrinks its head, power disap- pears ; pain, poverty, and death fly before them. In short, the mind that is habituated to the lively sense of an hereafter, can hope for what is the most terrifying to the generality of mankind, and rejoice in what is the most afflicting. No. 158. THTJESDAT, APEIL 13, 1710. Faciunt nse intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant. Tee. From my own Apartment, AprU 12. Tom Polio is a broker ia learning, employed to get to- gether good editions, and stock the libraries of great men. There is not a sale of books begins till Tom Folio is seen at the door. There is not an auction where his name is not heard, and that too iu the very nick of time, ia the critical moment, before the last decisive stroke of the hammer. There is not a subscription goes forward, ia which Tom is riot privy to the first rough draught of the proposals ; nor a catalogue printed, that doth not come to him wet from the press. He is an universal scholar, so fer as the title-page of all authors,! Jjuqws the manuscripts in which they were discovered, the editions through which they have passed, with the praises or censures which they have received from the several members of the learned world. He has a greater esteem for Aldus and Elzevir, than for VirgU and Horace. If you talk of Herodotus, he breaks out into a panegyric upon Harry Stephens. He thinks he gives you an account of an author, when he tells the subject he treats of, the name of the editor, and the year in which it was printed. Or if you draw him into further particulars, he cries up the good- ness of the paper, extols the diligence of the corrector, and B transported with the beauty of the letter. This he looks 1 So far as the title-page of all authorsJ] Elliptically expressed. — He should have said : — " so far as the title-page of all authors can make him so." — Or, I would have put it thus : — ' Be is deeply read in the titlt pages of all authors,' No. 158. THE TATLEE. 133 upon to he sound learning and substantial criticism. As for those who talk of the fineness of style, and the justness of thought, or describe the brightness of any particular passages ; nay, though they write themselves in the genius and spirit of the author they admire, Tom looks upon them as men of superficial learning and flashy parts. I had yesterday morning a visit from this learned idiot, (for that is the light in which I consider every pedant,) when I discovered in him some little touches of the coxcomb, which I had not before observed. Being very full of the figure which he makes in the republic of letters, and wondermUy satisfied with his great stock of knowledge, he gave me broad intimations, that he did not "believe " in all points as his forefathers had done. He then communicated to me a thought of a certain author upon a passage of Virgil's ac- count of the dead, which I made the subject of a late paper. This thought hath taken very much among men of Tom's pitch and understanding, though universally exploded by all that know how to construe Virgil, or have any relish of antiquity. Not to trouble my reader with it, I found upon the whole, that Tom did not believe a future state of rewards and punishments, because ^neas, at his leaving the empire of the dead, passed through the gate of ivory, and not through that of horn. KJnowing that Tom had not sense enough to give up an opinion which he had once received, that he might avoid wrangling, I told him, that Virgil pos- sibly had his oversights as well as another author. " Ah ! Mr. BickerstafFe," says he, "you would have another opinion of him, if you would read him in Daniel Heinsius's edition. I have perused him myself several times in that edition," continued he ; " and after the strictest and most malicious examination, could iind but two faults in him : one of them is in the ^neid, where there are two commas instead of a parenthesis ; and another in the third Georgic, where you may find a semicolon turned upside down." " Perhaps," (said I,) " these were not Virgil's thoughts, but those of the transcriber." " I do not design it," says Tom, " as a reflec- tion on Virgil : on the contrary, I know that all the manu- scripts ' reclaim ' against such a punctuation. Oh ! Mr. Bickerstaife," says he, "what would a man give to see one simile of Virgil writ in his own hand ?" I asked him which was the simile he meant ; but was answered, " Any simile 134 ADDISOir'S WOEKS. in Virgil." He then told me all the secret history in the commonwealth of learning ; of modem pieces that had the names of ancient authors annexed to them ; of all the hooks that were now writing or printing in the scTeral parts of Europe ; of many amendments which are made, and not yet published ; and a thousand other particulars, which I would not have my memory burthened with for a Vatican. At length, being fully persuaded that I thoroughly admired him, and looked upon him as a prodigy of learning, he took his leave. I know several of Tom's class who are professed admirers of Tasso without understanding a word of Italian ; and one in particular, that carries a Pastor Fido in his pocket, in which I am sure he is acquainted with no other beauty but the clearness of the character. There is another kind of pedant, who, with all Tom rolio's impertinencies, hath greater superstructures and embellish- ments of Grreek and Latin, and is still more insupportable than the other, in the same degree as he is more learned. Of this kind very often are editors, commentators, iater- preters, scholiasts, and critics ; and in short, all men of deep learning without common sense. ThesQ persons set a greater value on themselves for having found out the meaning of a passage in Greek, than upon the author for having written it ; nay, will allow the passage itself not to have any beauty in it, at the same time that they would be considered as the greatest men in the age for having interpreted it. They will look with contempt upon the most beautiful poems that have been composed by any of their contemporaries; but will lock themselves up in their studies for a twelvemonth to- gether, to correct, publish, and expound, such trifles of an- tiquity as a modern author would be contemned for. Men of the strictest morals, severest Uves, and the gravest pro- fessions, will write volumes upon an idle sonnet that is originally in Grreek or Latin ; give editions of the most im- moral authors, and spin out whole pages upon the various readings of a lewd expression. AH that can be said in ex- cuse for them is, that their works sufficiently show they have no taste of their authors ; and that what they do in this kind, is out of their great learning, and not out of any levity or lasciviousness of temper. ' ' It may be so. — Yet when learned critics choose to shine on theso iirty subjects, while so many cleaner and fairer, which deserve theij No. 180. THE TATLEE. 13-5 A pedant of tliis nature is wonderfully well described in six lines of BoileaTi, with wliicli I shall conclude his character i^ Un Pedant enyvre de sa vaine science, Tout heiiss^ de Gvec, tout bouffi d' arrogance, Sii Et qui de mille Auteurs retenus mot pour mot, *"' Dans sa t6te eutassez n' a eouvent fait qu'un Sot, Croit qu'un Livre fait tout, et que sans Aristote La Raison ne voit goute, et le bon Sens radote. No. 160. TUESDAY, APEIL 18, 1710. From my own Apartment, April 17. A COMMON civility to an impertinent fellow, often draws upon one a great many unforeseen troubles ; and if one doth not take particular care, will be interpreted by him as an overture of friendship and intimacy. This I was very sensible of this morning. About two hours before day, 1 heard a great rapping at my door, which continued some time, till my maid could get herself ready to go down and see what was the occasion of it. She then brought me up word, that there was a gentleman who seemed very much in haste, and said he must needs speak with me. By the description she gave me of him, and by his voice, which I could hear as I lay in my bed, I fancied him to be my old acquaintance the upholsterer, whom I met the other day in St. James's Park. For which reason I bid her tell the gentleman, whoever he was, that I was indisposed, that I could see nobody, and that, if he had anything to say to me, I desired he would leave it in writing. My maid, after having delivered her message, told me, that the gentleman said he would stay at the next coffee-house till I was stirring, and bid her be sure to tell me, that the French were driven from the Scarp, and that pains, are left in obscurity, they must not be surprised if the world thinks otherwise. ' The satire contained in this paper is extremely just; and yet, I doubt, has done no small hurt in the republic of letters. The reason is, that most men are lazy, as well as vain ; and are, therefore, glad of such a pretence, as this piece of raillery affords them, to see all erudition, espe- cially profound erudition, in the light of pedantry. So difficult it is not 10 misapply the talent of ridicule, or, at least, not to g've others the jccasjora of misapplying it ! 13G ADDISOjr's WOBES. the Douay was invested. He gave ter the name of another town, which I found she had dropped by the way. As much as I love to be informed of the success of my brave countrymen, I do not care for hearing of a victory before day, and was therefore very much out of humour at this unseason- able visit. I had no sooner recovered my temper, and was faUing asleep, but I was immediately startled by a second rap ; and upon my maid's opening the door, heard the same voice ask her, if her master was yet up ? and at the same time bid her tell me, that he was come on purpose to talk with me about a piece of home-news that everybody in towa will be full of two hours hence. I ordered my maid, as soon as she came into the room, without hearing her message, to tell the gentleman, that whatever his news was, I would rather hear it two hours hence than now ; and that I per- sisted in my resolution not to speak with anybody that morning. The wench delivered my answer presently, and shat the door. It was impossible for me to compose myself to sleep after two such unexpected alarms ; for which reason I put on my clothes in a very peevish humour. I took several turns about my chamber, reflecting with a great deal of anger and contempt on these volunteers in politics, that undergo all the pain, watchfulness, and disquiet of a first minister, without turning it to the advantage either of themselves or their coimtry ; and yet it is surprising to con- sider how numerous this species of men is. There is nothing more frequent than to find a tailor breaking his rest on the affairs of Europe, and to see a cluster of porters sitting upon the ministry. ' Our streets swarm with politicians, and there is scarce a shop which is not held by a statesman. As I was musing after this manner, I heard the upholsterer at the door delivering a letter to my maid, and begging her, in very great hurry, to give it to her master as soon as ever he was awake, which I opened and found as follows : " Me. BlCKERSTAErE, I was to wait upon you about a week ago, to let you know, that the honest gentleman whom joxi conversed with upon the bench at the end of the Mall, having heard that I had received five shiUings of you, to give you a hundred pounds upon the Great Turk's being driven out of Europe, desired me to acquaint you, that every one of that company No. 160. ' THE TATLEB. 137 would be willing to receive five shillings, to pay a hundred pounds on the same conditions. Our last advices from Mus- covy making this a fairer bet than it was a week ago, I do not question but you will accept the wager. " But this is not my present business. If you remember, I whispered a word in your ear as we were walking up the Mall, and you see what has happened siuce. If I had seen you this morning, I would have told yon in your ear another secret. I hope you will be recovered of your indisposition by to-morrow morning, when I wilL wait on you at the same hour as I did this ; my private circumstances being such, that I cannot well appeal in this quarter of the town after it is day. " I have been so taken up with the late good news from Holland, and expectation of further particulars, as well as with other transactions, of which I wiU teU you more to- morrow morning, that I have not slept a wink these three nights. " I have reason to believe, that Picardy will soon follow the example of Artois, in case the enemy continue in their present resolution of flying away from us. I think I told you last time we were together my opinion about the Deulle. " The honest gentlemen upon the bench bid me teU. you, they would be glad to see you often among them. We shall be there all the warm hours of the day diu^ing the present posture of affairs. " This happy opening of the campaign will, I hope, give us a very joyftd summer ; and I propose to take many a pleasant walk with you, if you wiU sometimes come into the Park ; for that is the only place in which I can be free from the malice of my enemies. EareweU tiU three-a-clock to-morrow mominff. "I am Tour most humble servant," &e. " P. S. The king of Sweden is stUl at Bender." I should have fretted myself to death at this promise of a second visit, if I had not found in his letter an intimation of the good news which I have since heard at large. I have, however, ordered my maid to tie up the knocker of my door, in such a manner as she would do if I was really indisposed. By which means I hope to escape breaking my morning's rest. 138 Addison's works. No. 161. THUESDAT, APEIL 20, 1710. — ^Nunquam libertas gratior exstat Quam sub rege pio. \ From my own Apartment, April 19. I WAS walking two or three days ago in a very pleasing retirement, and amusing myself with the reading of that an- cient and heautiful allegory, caUed " The tahle of Cebes." ' I was at last so tired with my walk, that I sat down to rest myself upon a bench that stood in the midst of an agreeable shade. The music of the birds that filled all the trees about me, lulled me asleep before I was aware of it ; which ' was followed by a dream, that I impute in some measure to the foregoing author, who had made an impression upon my imagination, and put me into his own way of thinking. 1 fancied myself among the Alps,^ and, as it is natural m a dream, seemed every moment to bound from one summit to another, till at last, after having made this airy progress over the tops of several mountains, I arrived at the very centre of those broken rocks and precipices. I here, me- thought, saw a prodigious circuit of hOls, that reached above the clouds, and encompassed a large space of ground, which I had a great curiosity to look into. I thereupon continued my former way of travelling through a great variety of winter scenes, tiU T had gained the top of these white moim- tains, which seemed another Alps of snow. I looked down from hence into a spacious plain, which was surrounded on aU sides by this moimd of hiUs, and which presented me with the most agreeable prospect 1 had ever seen. There was a greater variety of colours in the embroidery of the meadows, a more lively green in the leaves and grass, a brighter crystal in the streams, than what I ever met with in any other region. The light itself had soniething more • Better expunge — " the reading of." ^ The table of Cehes.'] A fine moral allegory, but of a character wholly different from that which follows. This picturesque and sublime dream had been more naturally uitroduced, if the author of it had fallen asleep over a canto of Spenser. 2 Which.'] What ? " The being lulled asleep," carelessly expressed. * The Alps,'] The scenery of this vision, taken from SwitierlattcL-~ See the author's travels. No. 161. THE TATLEB. 139 stimng and glorious in it than that of which the day is made in other places. I was wonderfully astonished at the discovery of such a Paradise amidst the wUdness of those cold hoary landscapes which lay about it; but found at length, that this happy region was inhabited by " the god- dess of Liberty ; " whose presence softened the rigours of the climate, enriched the barrenness of the soil, and more than supplied the absence of the sun. The place was covered with a wonderful profusion of flowers, that without being disposed into regular borders and parterres, grew promiscu- ously, and had a greater beauty in their natural luxuriancy and disorder, than they could have received from the checks and restraints of art. There was a river that arose out of the south side of the mountain, that, by an infinite number of turns and windings, seemed to visit every plant, and cherish the several beauties of the spring, vrith which the fields abounded. After having run to and fro in a wonder- ful variety of meanders, it at last throws itself into the hol- low of a mountain, from whence it passes under a long range of rocks, and at length rises in that part of the Alps where the inhabitants thini it the first source of the Ehone. This river, after having made its progress through those free na- tions, stagnates in a huge lake at the leaving of them, and no sooner enters into the regions of slavery, but runs through them with an incredible rapidity, and takes its shortest way to the sea. I descended into the happy fields that lay beneath me, and in the midst of them beheld the goddess sitting upon a throne. She had nothing to enclose her but the bounds of her ovra dominions, and nothing over her head but the hea- vens. Every glance of her eye cast a track of light where it fell, that revived the spring, and made all things smile about her. My heart grew cheerful at the sight of her, and as she looked upon me, I found a certain confidence growing in me, and such an inward resolution as I never felt before that time. On the left hand of the goddess sat the Genius of a Com- monwealth, with the cap of liberty on her head, and in her hand a wand, like that with which a Eoman citizen used to give his slaves their freedom. There was something mean and vulgar, but at the same time exceeding bold and daring in her air ; her eyes were full of fire, but had in them such 140 Addison's woeks. casts of fierceness and cruelty, as made Iter appear to me rather dreadful than amiable. On her shoulders she wore a mantle, on which there was wrought a great confusion of figures. As it flew in the wind, I could not discern the par- ticular design of them, but saw wounds in the bodies of some, and agonies in the faces of others ; and over one part of it could read, in letters of blood, " The Ides of March." On the right hand of the goddess was the Genius of Mon- archy. She was clothed in the whitest ermine, and wore a crown of the purest gold upon her head. In her hand she held a sceptre like that which is borne by the British mon- archs.i A couple of tame lions lay crouching at her feet ; her countenance had in it a very great majesty, without any mixture of terror : her voice was like the voice of an angel, fiUed with so much sweetness, accompanied with such an air of condescension, as tempered the awfolness of her appear- ance, and equally inspired love and veneration into the hearts of all that beheld her. In the train of the goddess of Liberty were the several Arts and Sciences, who all of them flourished underneath her eye. One of them, in particular, made a greater figure than any of the rest, who held a thunder-bolt in her hand, which had the power of melting, piercing, or breaking every- thing that stood in its way. The name of this goddess was Eloquence. There were two other dependent goddesses, who made a very conspicuous figure in this blissful region. The first of them was seated upon a hUl, that had every plant growing out of it which the soil was in its own nature capable of producing. The other was seated in a little island, that was covered with groves of spices, olives, and orange-trees ; and, in a word, with the products of every foreign clime. The name of the first was Plenty, of the second. Commerce. The first leaned her right arm upon a plough, and under her left held a huge horn, out of which she poured a whole autumn of fruits. The other wore a rostral crown upon her head, and kept her eyes fixed upon a compass. I was wonderfully pleased in ranging through this de- lightful place, and the more so, because it was not encum- ' A compliment to the •well-tempered monarchy of his country, so finely conducted, as to be applicable, at the same time, to the personat virtues of its irumarch. No. 161. THE TATIER. 141 bered with fences and enclostires ; till at length, methouglits, I sprung from the ground, and pitched upon the top of a hil^ that presented several objects to my sight, which I had not before taken notice of. The winds that passed over this flowery plain, and through the tops of trees which were fuU of blossoms, blew upon me in such a continual breeze of sweets, that I was wonderfully charmed with my situation. I here saw all the inner declivities of that great circuit of mountains, whose outside was covered with snow, overgrown with huge forests of fir-trees,' which, indeed, are very fre- quently fotind in other parts of the Alps. These trees were inhabited by storks,^ that came thither in great flights from very distant quarters of the world. Methought I was pleased in my dream, to see what became' of these birds, when, upon leaving the places to which they make an annual visit, they rise in great flocks so high till they are out of sight ; and for that reason have been thought by some modem philosophers to take a flight to the moon. Biit my eyes were soon di- verted from this prospect, when I observed two great gaps that led through this circuit of mountains, where guards and watches were posted day and night. Upon examiaation I found, that there were two formidable enemies encamped before each of these avenues, who kept the place in a per- petual alarm, and watched all opportunities of invading it. Tyranny was at the head of one of these armies, dressed in an Eastern habit, and grasping in her hand an iron sceptre. 3ehiad her was Barbarity, with the garb and complexion of an .Ethiopian ; Ignorance with a turban, upon her head ; and Persecution holding up a bloody flag, embroidered with flower-de-luces. These were followed by Oppression, Poverty, Famiae, Torture, and a dreadful train of appearances, that made me tremble to behold them. Among the baggage of this army, I could discover racks, wheels, chains, and gibbets, with all the instruments art could invent to make human nature miserable. ' Fir-trees.] Because this tree thrives best in mountainous countries, e. acpording to tlie author's idea, " in free countries." ' In/mbited by storks.] Alluding to the notions that these birds are to ae found only in republics. Whence the famous lines, " Lucretius, with a stork-like fate, Bred and translated, in a state." Though by what he says of these birdfe flying to the moon, he would in- sinuate, I suppose, that one tradition was just as credible as the otUet. 142 Addison's woeks. Before tlie other avenue I saw Licentiousness, Jressed in a garment not unlike the Polish cassock, and leading up a whole army of monsters, such as Clamour, with a hoarse voice and a hundred tongues ; Confusion, with a mis-shapen body and a thousand heads ; Impudence, with a forehead of brass ; and Eaprue, with hands of iron. The tumult, noise, and uproar in this quarter were so very great, that they dis- turbed my imagination more than is consistent with sleep, and by that means awaked me. No. 162. SATUEDAT, APEIL 22, 1710. Tertius fe Coelo cecidit Cato. Juv. Sat. 2. From my own Apartment, April 21. In my younger years I used many endeavours to get a place at court, and iadeed continued my pursuits till I ar- rived at my grand climacteric; but at length altogether despairiug of success, whether it were for want of capacity, friends, or due application, I at last resolved to erect a new oifice, and for my encouragement, to place myself in it. For this reason, I took upon me the title and dignity of Censor of Great Britain, reserving to myself aU such perquisites, profits, and emoluments as should arise out of the discharge of the said office. These in truth have not been inconsider- able ; for besides those weekly contributions which I receive from John Morphew, and those annual subscriptions which I propose to myself from the most elegant part of this great island, I daily live in a very comfortable affluence of wine, stale beer, Hungary water, beef, books, and marrow-bones, which I receive from many well-disposed citizens ; not to mention the forfeitures which accrue to me from the several offenders that appear before me on court days. Having now enjoyed this office for the space of a twelve- month, I shall do what all good officers ought to do, take a survey of my behaviour, and consider carefully whether I have discharged my duty, and acted up to the character with which I am invested. For my direction in this particular, I have made a narrow search into the nature of the old Eoman Censors, whom I must always regard, not only as my pre- No. 162. THE TATLEE. 143 decessors, but as my patterns in this great employment ; and have several times asked my own heart with great impar- tiality, whether Cato will not bear a more venerable figure among posterity than Bickerstaffe ? I find the duty of the Eoman Censor was twofold. The first part of it consisted in making frequent reviews of the people, in casting up their numbers, ranging them under their several tribes, disposing them into proper classes, and subdividing them into their respective centuries. In compliance with this part of the office, I have taken many curious surveys of this great city. I have collected into particular bodies the dappers and the smarts, the natural and affected rakes, the pretty fellows and the very pretty fellows. I have likewise drawn out in several distinct parties, your pedants and men of fire, your gamesters and politicians. I have separated cits from citizens, free-thinkers from phi- losophers, wits from snufi'-takers, and duellists from men of honour. I have likewise made a calculation of esquires, not only considering the several distinct swarms of them that are settled in the different parts of this town, but also, that more rugged species that inhabit the fields and woods, and are often found in pot-houses, and upon hay-cocks. I shall pass the soft sex over in silence, having not yet re- duced them into any tolerable order ; as likewise the softer tribe of lovers, which wiU cost me a great deal of time, be- fore I shall be able to cast them into their several centuries and subdivisions. The second part of the Eoman Censor's office was to look into the manners of the people, and to check any growing luxury, whether in diet, dress, or building. This duty, like- wise, I have endeavoured to discharge, by those wholesome precepts which I have given my countrymen in regard to beef and mutton, and the severe censures which I have passed upon ragouts and fricassees. There is not, as I am informed, a pair of red heels to be seen within ten miles of London, which I may likewise ascribe, without vanity, to the becom- ing zeal which I expressed in that particular. I must own, my success with the petticoat is not so great ; but aa I have not yet done with it, I hope I shaU, in a little time, put an effectual stop to that grovsdng evil. As for the article of building, I intend hereafter to enlarge upon it, having lately 144 Addison's woeks. observed several warehouses, nay, private shops, that stand upon Corinthian pillars, and whole rows of tia pots showing themselves, in order to their sale, through a sash window. I have likewise followed the example of the Eoman Cen- sors, in punishing offences according to the quality of the offender. It was usual for them to expel a senator who had been guilty of great immoralities out of the senate house, by omitting his name when they called over the list of his brethren. In the same manner, to remove effectually several worthless men who stand possessed of great honours, 1 have made frequent draughts of dead men out of the vicious part of the nobility, and given them up to the new society of up- holders, with the necessary orders for their interment. As the Eoman Censors used to punish the knights or gentlemen of Eome, by taking away their horses from them, I have seized the canes of many criminals of figure, whom I had just reason to animadvert upon. As for the offenders among the common people of Home, they were generally chastised, by being thrown out of a higher tribe, and placed in one which was not so honourable. My reader cannot but think I have had an eye to this punishment, when I have degraded one species of men into bombs, squibs, and crackers, and another into drums, bass-viols, and bagpipes ; not to mention whole packs of delinquents whom I have shut up in kennels, and the new hospital which I am at present erecting, for the reception of those of my countrymen who give me but little hopes of their amendment, on the borders of Moorfields. I shall only observe upon this particular, that since some late surveys I have taken of this island, I shall think it necessary to enlarge the plan of the buUdings which I design in this quarter. "When my great predecessor Cato the elder stood for the censorship of Eome, there were several other competitors who offered themselves : and to get an interest among the people, gave them great promises of the mild and gentlo treatment which they would use towards them in that office. Cato on the contrary told them, he presented himseK as a candidate, because he knew the age was sunk in immorality and corruption ; and that if they woidd give him their votes, he would promise tkem to make use of such a strictness and Beverity of discipline as should recover them outiof it. TLo No. 163. THE TATIiEB. 145 Koman historians, upon this occasion, very much celebrated the public-spiritedneas of that people, who chose Cato for their censor, notwithstanding his method of recommending himself. I may in some measure extol my own countrymen upon the same account, who, without any respect to party, or any application from myself, have made such generous subscriptions for the Censor of Great Britain, as wUl give a magnificence to my old age, and which I esteem more than I would any post in Europe of an hundred times the value. I shall only add, that upon looking into my catalogue of subscribers, which I intend to print alphabetically in the front of my lucubrations, I find the names of the greatest beauties and wits in the whole island of Great Britain, which I only mention for the benefit of any of them who have not yet subscribed, it being my design to close the subscription in a very short time. No. 163. THUESDAT, APEIL 25, 1710. Idem infioeto est inflcefior rare Simul poemata attigit : neque idem unquam .^qufe est beatus, ac poema cum scribit : Tam gaudet in se, tamque se ipse miratur. Nimirum idem omnes fallimur ; neque est quisquam Quem non in aliqna re videre Suffenum Possis — Catui. de Suffeno. Will's Coffee-house, April 24. I TESTEEDAT Came hither about two hours before the company generally make their appearance, with a design to read over all the newspapers ; but upon my sitting down, I was accosted by Ned Softly, who saw me from a corner in the other end of the room, where I found he had been writing something. Mr. Bickerstafie, (says he,) I observe by a late paper of yours, that you and I are just of a humour ; for, you must know, of all impertinencies, there is nothing which I so much hate as news. I never read a Gazette in my Ufe ; and never trouble my head about our armies, whe- ther they win or lose, or in what part of the world they He encamped. Without giving me time to reply, he drew a paper of verses out of his pocket, teUing me that he had VOL. II. I. 146 Addison's woeks. something which woiild entertain me more agreeably, and that he would desire my judgment upon every line, for that we had time enough before us till the company came in. Ned Softly is a very pretty poet, and a great admirer of easy lines. Waller is his favourite : and as that admirable writer has the best and worst verses of any among our Eng- lish poets, Ned Softly has got aU the bad ones without book, which he repeats upon occasion, to show his reading, and garnish his conversation. Ned is indeed a true English reader, incapable of relishing the great and masterly strokes of this art ; but wonderfully pleased with the little Gothic ornaments of epigrammatical conceits, turns, points, and quibbles, which are so frequent in the most adtrared of our English poets, and practised by those who want genius and strength to represent, after the manner of the ancients, sim- plicity in its natural beauty and perfection. Pinding myself unavoidably engaged in such a conversar tion, I was resolved to turn my pain into a pleasure, and to divert myself as well as I could with so very odd a fellow. " Ton must understand, (says Ned,) that the sonnet I am going to read to you was written upon a lady, who showed me some verses of her ovm making, and is, perhaps, the best poet of our age. But you shall hear it." Upon which he began to read as follows : " TO MIEA Oir HEE IjrCOMPAEABLE POEM. I. " When dressed in laurel ■wreaths yon shine, And tune your soft melodious notes, You seem a sister of the Nine, Or Phoebus' self in petticoats. II. " I fancy, when your song you sing, (Your song you sing with so much art,) Your pen was plucked from Cupid's wing ; For ah! it wounds me like his dart." " Why (says I) this is a little nosegay of conceits, a very lump of salt : every verse hath something in it that piques : and then the dart in the last line is certainly as pretty a sting in the tail of an epigram (for so I think your critics call it) as ever entered into the thought of a poet." "Dear Mr. Bickerstaffe, (says he, shaking me by the hand,) every Xo. 163. THE TATLEB. 147 body knows you to be a judge of these tbiBgs ; and to tell you truly, I read over Eoscommon's translation of Horace's Art of Poetry three several times, before I sat down to write the sonnet which I have shown you. But you shall hear it again, and pray observe every line of it, for not one of there shall pass without your approbation. ' When dressed in laurel wreaths you shine.' " That is, (says he,) when you have your garland on ; when you are writing verses." To which I replied, " I know your meaniag : a metaphor !" " The same," said he, and went on : " ' And tune your soft melodious notes.' ■« " Pray observe the gliding of that verse ; there is scarce a consonant in it : I took care to make it run upon liquids. Give me your opinion of it." " Truly, (said I,) I thiak it as good as the former." " I am very glad to hear you say so, (says he,) but mind the next : ' You seem a sister of the Nine.' " That is, (says he,) you seem a sister of the Muses ; for if you look iuto ancient authors, you will find it was their opinion, that there were nine of them." " I remember it very well, (said I,) but pray proceed." " ' Or Phosbus' self in petticoats.' " Phoebus (says he) was the god of poetry. These little instances, Mr. Bickerstaffe, show a gentleman's reading. Then to take off from the air of learning which Phoebus and the Muses have given to this first stanza, you may observe how it falls all of a sudden into the familiar ; in petticoats ! ' Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.' " " Let us now (says I) enter upon the second stanza. I find the first hue is still a continuation of the metaphor. ' I fancy when your song you sing.' " " It is very right, (says he ;) but pray observe the turn of words in those two Unes. I was a whole hour in adjusting of them, and have still a doubt upon me, whether ia the second line it should be, ' Tour song you sing ;' or, ' Tou sing your song.' Tou shaU hear them both :" ' I fancy, when your song you sing, (Your song you sing with so much art,) or, ' I fancy when your song you smg, (You sing your song with so much art.)' " L 2 148 Addison's woeks. " Truly, (said 1,) the turn is so natural either way, that you have made me almost giddy with it." "Dear Sir, (said he, graspiag me by the hand,) you have a great deal of pa- tience ; but pray what do you think of the next verse ? ' Your pen was plucked from Cupid's ■wing.' " " Think ! (says I,) I think you have made Cupid look like a little goose." " That was my meaning, (says he,) I think the ridicule is well enough hit off. But we now come to the last, which sums up the whole matter. ' For ah. ! it wounds me like his dart.' " Pray how do you like that ah ! doth it not make a pretty figure in that place ? Ah ! — it looks as if I felt the dart, and cried out at being pricked with it. ' For ah ! it wounds me like his dart.' " My friend Dick Easy (contiaued he) assured me, he would rather have written that ah ! than to^ have been the author of the ^neid. He indeed objected, that I made Mira's pen like a quill in one of the lines, and like a dart ia the other. But as to that " " Oh ! as to that, (says I,) it is but supposing Cupid to be like a porcupine, and hia quills and darts will be the same thing." He was going to embrace me for the hint ; but half a dozen critics coming into the room, whose faces he did not like, he conveyed the son- net into his pocket, and whispered me in the ear, he would show it me again as soon as his man had written it over fair.' No. 165. SATTJEDAT, APEIL 29, 1710. From my own Apartment, April 28. It has always been my endeavour to distinguish between realities and appearances, and separate true merit from the pretence to it. As it shall ever be my study to make dis- coveries of this nature in human life, and to settle the pro- per distinctions betweeen the virtues and perfections of ' To\ should be left out. ' The humour of this paper is fine ; but not original. Ned Softly i» » slip of Bays, in the rehearsal : " Pamassia laurus, Parva sub ingenti matris se subjicit umbri." No 165. THE TATLEE. Ii9 maiiiiad, and those false colours and resemblances of them that shine alike in the eyes of the vulgar ; so I shall be more particularly careful to search into the various merits and pretences of the learned world. This is the more ne- cessary, because there seems to be a general combination among the pedants to extol one another's labours, and cry up one another's parts ; vrhile men of sense, either through that modesty which is natural to them, or the scorn they have for such trifling commendations, enjoy their stock of knowledge like a hidden treasure, with satisfaction and silence. Pedantry, indeed, in learning, is like hypocrisy m religion, a form of knowledge without the power of it, that attracts the eyes of common people, breaks out in noise and show, and finds its reward, not from' any inward pleasure that attends it, but from the praises and approbations which it receives from men. Of this shallow species there is not a more importunate, empty, and conceited animal, than that which is generally known by the name of a critic. This, in the common accept- ation of the word, is one that, without entering iato the sense and soul of an author, has a few general rules, which, like mechanicai instruments, he applies to the works of every writer, and as they quadrate with them, pronounces the author perfect or defective. He is master of a certain set of words, as Unity, Style, Fire, Phlegm, Easy, Natural, Turn, Sentiment, and the like ; which he varies, compounds, divides, and throws together, ia every part of his discoiu'se, without any thought or meaning. The marks you may know him by are, an elevated eye, and dogmatical brow, a positive voice, and a contempt for everything that comes out, whether he has read it or not. He dwells altogether in generals. He praises or dispraises in the lump. He shakes his head very fre- quently at the pedantry of universities, and bursts into laughter when you mention an author that is known at Will's. He hath formed his judgment upon Homer, Horace, ajid Virgil, not from their own works, but from those of Eapin and Bossu. He knows his own strength so well, that ' Finds its reward from.] He should have said "in," the proper pre- position after "Jind:" what determined his choice oi"frJ0. 2S9. THE TATLTJR. 177 move, teaches to steer, expiates our offences, raises vapours, and looks larger as he sets." ' "What poem can be safe from this sort of criticism ? I thiak I was never in my life so much offended as at a wag whom I once met with in a coffee-house : he had in his hand one of the miscellanies, and was reading the following short copy of verses, which, without .flattery to the author,*^ is (I think) as beautiful in its kind as any one in the English tongue. Flavia the least and slightest toy, Can with resistless art employ. This fan in meaner hands would prove An engine of small force in love ; But she with such an air and mien, Not to be told, or safely seen. Directs its wanton motions so, That it wounds more than Cupid's bow : Gives coolness to the matchless dame. To every other breast a flame. When this coxcomb had done reading them, " Heyday ! (says he,) what instrument is this that Mavia employs in such a manner as is not to be told, or safely seen ? In ten lines it is a toy, a Cupid's bow, a fan, and an engine in love. It has wanton motions, it wounds, it cools, and inflames." Such criticisms make a man of sense sick, and a fool merry. The next paragraph of the paper we are talking of, falls upon somebody whom I am at a loss to guess at : but I find the whole invective turns upon a man who (it seems) has been imprisoned for debt. Vhoever he was, I most heartily pity him ; but at the same time must put the Examiner in mind, that notwithstanding he is a critic, he stiU ought to remember he is a Christian. Poverty was never thought a proper subject for ridicule ; and I do not remember that I ever met with a satire upon a beggar. As for those little retortings of my own expressions, of being duU. by design, witty in October, shining, excelling, and so forth ; they are the common cavils of every vritltag, who has no other method of showing his parts, but by little variations and repetitions of the man's words whom he attacks. But the truth of it is, the paper before me, not only in this particular, but ia its very essence, is like Ovid's echo : ' Dr. Garth's verses to my Lord Treasurer. ' The author.'] Dr. Atterbury. VOL. II. N 178 Addison's woeks. Quae nee reticere loquenti, Nee prior ipsa loqui didicit. I stould not have deserved the character of a censor, had I not animadverted upon the ahove-mentioned author by a gentle chastisement : but I know my reader will not pardon me, unless I declare, that nothing of this nature for the fd- ture (unless it be written with some wit) shall divert me from my care of the public.^ No. 240. SATUEDAT, OCTOBEE 21, 1710. Ad populum phaleras.— • Peks. From my own Apartment, October 20. ' I DO not remember that in any of my lucubrations I have touched upon that useful science of physic, notwithstandiag I have declared myself more than once a professor of it. I have indeed joined the study of astrology with it, because I never knew a physician recommend himself to the public who had not a sister art to embellish his knowledge ia me- dicine. It has been commonly observed in comphment to the ingenious of our profession, that Apollo was god of verse as well as physic ; and in all ages the most celebrated prac- titioners of our country were^ the particular favourites of the muses. Poetry to physic is indeed hke the gilding to a piU ; it makes the art shine, and covers the severity of the doctor with the agreeableness of the companion. The very foundation of poetry is good sense, if we may allow Horace to be a judge of the art. Scribendi recte sapere e.=it, et principmm, et fons. And if so, we have reason to believe, that the same man who writes weU can prescribe well, if he has applied him- ' The caustic severity of this, and the preceding paper, is the more felt for being conveyed in all the softness of good-humour. — To possess extraordinary talents for personal ridicule, and to be shy of appearinc in this dazzlmg character, is, I think, a praise peculiar to Virgil, and Mr. Addison. It is but from two or three lines in the Roman poet, and from two or three occasional papers, in the large and miscellaneous works of our author, that either is known to have been the keenest satiiist of lus time ; Horace and Swift not excepted. ' Were^ Kather " have been." No. 240. THE TATLEE. 17;) self to the study of both. Besides, when we see a man making profession of two different sciences, it is natural for us to believe he is no pretender in that which we are not judges of, when ^ we find him skilful ia that which we un- derstand. Ordinary quacks and charlatans are thoroughly sensible how necessary it is, to support themselves by these collateral assistances, and therefore always lay their claim to some su- pernumerary accomplishments which are wholly foreign to their profession. About twenty years ago, it was impossible to walk the streets without having an advertisement thrust into your hand, of a doctor " who was arrived at the knowledge of the green and red dragon, and had discovered the female fern seed." Nobody ever knew what this meant ; but the green and red dragon so amused the people, that the doctor lived very comfortably upon them. About the same time there was pasted a very hard word upon every corner of the streets. This, to the best of my remembrance, was TETEACHTMAGOGON, which drew great shoals of spectators about it, who read the bill that it introduced with unspeakable curiosity ; and when they were sick, would have nobody but this learned man for their physician. I once received an advertisement of one " who had studied thirty years by candle-light for the good of his countrymen." He might have studied twice as long by day-light, and never have been taken notice of: but elucubrations cannot be over- valued. There are some who have gained themselves great reputation for physic by their birth, as the " seventh son of a seventh son ; " and others by not being bom at all, as the "unborn doctor," who, I hear, is lately gone the way of his patients, having died worth five hundred pounds per annum, though he was not "born" to a halfpenny. My ingenious friend Dr. Saffold succeeded my old con- temporary Dr. LiUy in the studies both of physic and astro- logy, to which he added that of poetry, as was to be seen both upon the sign where he Uved, and in the bills which he distributed. He was succeeded by Doctor Case, who erased ' WAcji.j To avoid an ungraceful repetition, he should have said — " if 'n-e find." n2 180 Addison's works. tlie verses of his predecessor out of the sign-post, and sub- stituted in. their stead two of his own, which were as follow : Within this Place Lives Doctor Case. He is said to have got more by this distich than Mr. Dryden did by all his works. There would be no end of enumerating the several imaginary perfections and unac- countable artifices by which this tribe of men insnare the minds of the vulgar, and gain crowds of admirers. I have seen the whole front of a mountebank's stage from one end to the other faced with patents, certificates, medals, and great seals, by which the several princes of Europe have testified their particular respect and esteem for the doctor. Every great man with a sounding title has been his patient. I believe I have seen twenty mountebanks that have given physic to the Ozar of Muscovy. The Great Duke of Tuscany escapes no better. The Elector of Brandenburg was like- wise a very good patient. This great condescension of the doctor draws upon him much good-will from his audience ; and it is ten to one, but if any of them be troubled vrith an aching tooth, his am- bition will prompt Mm to get it drawn by a person who has had so many princes, kings, and emperors under his bands. I must not leave this subject without observing, that as physicians are apt to deal in poetry, apothecaries endeavour to recommend themselves by oratory, and are therefore, without controversy, the most eloquent persons in the whole British nation. I would not vsallingly discourage any of the arts, especially that of which I am an humble pro- fessor ; but I must confess, for the good of my native country, I could wish there might be a suspension of physic for some years, that our kingdom, which has been so much exhausted by the wars, might have leave to recruit itself. As for myself, the only physic which has brought me safe to almost the age of man, and which I prescribe to all my friends, is abstinence. This is certainly the best physic for prevention, and very often the most effectual against the present distemper. In short, my recipe is, "Take nothing." Were the body politic to be physicked like particular persons, I should venture to prescribe to it after the same Planner. I remember when our whole island was shaken No. 243. THE TATLKE. 181 with an earthquake some years ago, there was an impudent mountebank who sold pills, which (as he told the country- people) were very good against an earthquake. It may per- haps be thought as absurd to prescribe a diet for the allaying popular commotions and national ferments. But I am verily persuaded, that if iu such a case a whole people were to en- ter into a course of abstiQence, and eat nothing but water- gruel for a fortnight, it would abate the rage and ani- mosity of parties, and not a little contribute to the cure of a distracted nation. Such a fast would have a natural tendency to the procuring of those ends for which a fast is usually proclaimed. If any man has a miad to enter on such a voluntary abstinence, it might not be improper to give him the caution of Pythagoras ia particular : Abstine a fabis. " Abstain from beans." That is, say the iuterpreters, meddle not with elections : beans having been made use of by the voters among the Athenians in the choice of magistrates. No. 243. SATTJEDAT, OOTOBEE 28, 1710. Infert se septis nebula, mirabile dictu Per medios, miscetq^ue viris, neque cernitur ulli. Vikg. From my own Apartment, October 27. I HAVE somewhere made mention of G-yges's ring, and in- timated to my reader, that it was at present in my possession, though I have not since made any use of it. The tradition concerning this ring is very romantic, and taken notice of both by Plato and Tully, who each of them make an ad- mirable use of it for the advancement of morality. This Gyges was the master shepherd to King Candaules. As he was wandering over the plains of Lydia, he saw a great chasm in the earth, and had the curiosity to enter it. After having descended pretty far into it, he found the statue of an horse in brass, with doors in the sides of it. Upon opening of them, he found the body of a dead man, bigger than ordinary, with a ring upon his finger, which he took off, and put it 182 Addison's ttoeks. upon his own. The virtues of it were much greater than he at first imagined ; for upon his goiag into the assemhly of shepherds, he observed, that he was invisihle when he turned the stone of the ring within the pahn of his hand, and visible when he turned it towards his company. Had Plato and Cicero been as well versed in the occult sciences as I am, they would have found a great deal of mystic learning ia this tradition : but it is impossible for an adept to be tmder- stood by one who is not an adept. As for myseK, I have, with much study and application, arrived at this great secret of making myself invisible, and by that means conveying myself where I please ; or to speak in Eosycrucian lore, I have entered into the clefts of the earth, discovered the brazen horse, and robbed the dead giant of his ring. The tradition says further of G-yges, that by the means of this ring he gained admission into the most retired parts of the court, and made such use of those oppor- tunities, that he at length became king of Lydia. For my own part, I, who have always rather endeavoured to improve- my mind than my fortune, have turned this ring to no other advantage than to get a thorough insight into the ways of men, and to make such observations upon the errors of others, as may be useful to the public, whatever effect they may have upon myself. About a week ago, not being able to sleep, I got up and put on my magical ring, and with a thought transported myself into a chamber where I saw a light. I found it in- habited by a celebrated beauty, though she is of that species of women which we call a slattern. Her head-dress and one of her shoes lay upon a chair, her petticoat in one corner of the room, and her girdle, that had a copy of verses made upon it but the day before, with her thread stockings, in the middle of the floor. I was so foolishly officious, that I could not forbear gathering up her clothes together to lay them upon the chair that stood by her bed-side, when, to my great surprise, after a little muttering, she cried out, " What dO you do ? Let my petticoat alone." I was startled at first, but soon found that she was in a dream ; being one of those who (to use Shakspeare's expression) are " so loose of thought," that they utter in their sleep everything that passes in their imagination. I left the apartment of this female rake, and went into her neighbour's, where there lay No. 243. THE TATLEB. 183 a male coquet. He had a bottle of salts hanging over Ms head, and upon the table, by his bed-side, Suckling's poems, with a little heap of black patches on it. His snufF-box was within reach on a chair : but while I was admiring the dis- position which he made of the several parts of his dress, his slumber seemed interrupted by a jpang, that was accompanied by a sudden oath, as he turned himself over hastily in his bed. I did not care for seeing him in his nocturnal pains, and left the room. I was no sooner got into another bed-chamber, but I heard very harsh words uttered in a smooth, uniform tone. I was amazed to hear so great a volubility in reproach, and thought it too coherent to be spoken by one asleep ; but upon looking nearer, I saw the head-dress of the person who spoke, which showed her to be a female with a man lying by her side broad awake, and as quiet as a lamb. I could not but admire his exemplary patience, and discovered by his whole behaviour, that he was then lying under the discipline of a curtain-lecture. I was entertained in many other places with this kind of nocturnal eloquence, but observed, that most of those whom I found awake, were kept so either by envy ,or by love. Some of these were sighing, and others cursing, in soliloquy ; some hugged their pillows, and others gnashed their teeth. The covetous I likewise found to be a very wakeful people. I happened to come into a room where one of them lay sick. His physician and his wife were in close whisper near his bed-side. I overheard the doctor say to the gentle- woman, " He cannot possibly live till five in the morning." She received it like the mistress of a family prepared for all events. At the same instant came in a servant maid, who said, " Madam, the undertaker is below according to your order." The words were scarce out of her month, when the sick man cried out with a feeble voice, " Pray, doctor, how. went bank-stock to-day at 'Change?" This melancholy, object made me too serious for diverting myself further this way : but as I was going home, I saw a light in a garret, and entering into it, heard a voice crying ' And, hand, stand, band, fann'd, tann'd." I concluded ham by this, and the furniture of his room, to be a lunatic ; but upon listening a little longer, perceived it was a poet, writing an heroic upon the ensuing peace. 184 Addison's ttoeks. It was now towards morning, an hour when spirits, witches, and conjurors are obliged to retire to their own apartments ; and feeling the influence of it, I was hastening home, when I saw a man had got half way into a neighbour's house. I immediately called to him, and, turning my ring, appeared in my proper person. There is something magisterial in the as- pect of the Bickerstaffes, which made him run away in con- fusion. As I took a turn or two in my own lodging, I was thinking, that, old as I was, I need not go to bed alone, but that it was in my power to marry the finest lady in this kingdom, if I would wed her with this ring. !For what a figure would she that should have it make at a visit, with so perfect a know- ledge as this would give her of all the scandal in the town ? But instead of endeavouring to dispose of myself and it in matrimony, I resolved to lend it to my loving friend the author of the Atalantis, to furnish a new Secret History of Secret Memoirs. No. 249. SATUEDAT, NOVEMBEE 11, 1710. Per varies casus, per tot discrimina rerum, Tendimus. Vikg. From my own Apartment, November 10. I WAS last night visited by a friend ^ of mine, who has an inexhaustible fund of discourse, and never fails to entertain his company with a variety of thoughts and hints that are altogether new and uncommon. "Whether it were in com- plaisance to my way of living, or his real opinion, he advanced the following paradox, " That it required much greater talents to fill up and become a retired hfe, than a life of business." Upon this occasion he rallied very agreeably the busy men of the age, who only valued themselves for being in motion, and passing through a series of trifling and insignificant actions. I In the heat of his discourse, seeing a piece of money lying on my table, I defy (says he) any of these active persons to ' Swift. See his Letters to Mrs. Johnson. Letter X. Nov. 25, 1710, p. 115. — S-wift then invented the subject : but it Ls not so much the inven- tion of a story, as the manner of telling it, that constitutes the merit of tltese papers. No. 249. THE TATLEE. 185 produce half tlie adventures that this twelvepenuy piece has been engaged in, were it possible for him to give ns an ac- count of his Hfe." My friend's talk made so odd an impression upon my miad, that soon after I was a-bed I fell insensibly into a most unaccountable reverie, that had neither moral nor design in it, and cannot be so properly called a dream as a delirium. Methoughts the shiHuig that lay upon the table reared it- self upon its edge, and turning the face towards me, opened its mouth, and iu a soft silver sound, gave me the foEowing account of his life and adventures : " I was bom (says he) on the side of a mountain, near a little village of Peru, and made a voyage to England iu an ingot, under the convoy of Sir Erancis Drake. I was, soon after my arrival, taken out of my Indian habit, refined, na- turalized, and put into the British mode, with the face of Queen Mizabeth on one side, and the arms of the country on the other. Being thus ec[uipped, I found in me a won- derful inclination to ramble, and visit aU parts of the new world into which I was brought. The people very much favoured my natural disposition, and shifted me so fast from hand to hand, that before I was five years old, I had travelled into almost every comer of the nation. But in the beginning of my sixth year, to my unspeakable grief, I fell into the hands of a miserable old fellow, who clapped me into an iron chest, where I found five hundred more of my own quality who lay under the same confinement. The only relief we had, was to be taken out and counted over in the fresh air every morning and evening. After an imprisonment of several years, we heard somebody knocking at our chest, and breaking it open with a hammer. This we found was the old man's heir, who, as his father lay a dying, was so good as to come to our release : he separated us that very day. What was the fate of my companions I know not : as for myself, I was sent to the apothecary's shop for a pint of sack. The apothecary gave me to an herb-woman, the herb-woman to a butcher, the butcher to a brewer, and the brewer to his wife, who made a present of me to a nonconformist preacher. After this manner I made my way merrily through the world ; for, as I told you before, we shillings love nothing so much as travelling. I sometimes fetched in a shoulder of mutton, sometimes a play-book, and often had the satisfaction to treat 186 Addison's woeks. a Templar at a twelvepenny ordiiiary, or carry him, with three fiiends, to Westminster Hall. " In the midst of this pleasant progress which I made from place to place, I was arrested by a superstitions old woman, who shut me up in a greasy purse, in pursuance of a foolish saying, " That while she kept a Queen Elizabeth's shUluig about her, she should never be without money." I continued here a close prisoner for many months, till at last I was ex- changed for eight and forty farthings. " I thus rambled from pocket to pocket till the beginning of the civil wars, when, to my shame be it spoken, I was employed in raising soldiers against the king : for beiag of a very tempting breadth, a sergeant made use of me to in- veigle country fellows, and list them in the service of the parliament. " As' soon as he had made one man sure, his way was to oblige him to take a shilling of a more homely figure, and then practise the same trick upon another. Thus I con- tinned doing great mischief to the crown, till my officer, chancing one morning to walk abroad earlier than ordinary, sacrificed me to his pleasures, and made use of me to seduce a milk-maid. This wench bent me, and gave me to her sweetheart, applying more properly than she intended the usual form of, " To my love and from my love." This un- generous gallant marrying her within a few days after, pawned me for a dram of brandy, and drinking me out next day, I was beaten fiat with a hammer, and again set a running. " After many adventures, which it would be tedious to re- late, I was sent to a young spendthrift, in company with the will of his deceased father. The young fellow, who I found was very extravagant, gave great demonstrations of joy at the receiving of the will : but opening it, he foimd himself disinherited and cut ofi" from the possession of a fair estate, by virtue of my being made a present to him. This put him into such a passion, that after having taken me in his hand, and cursed me, he squirred me away from him as fer as he could fling me. I chanced to Hght ia an unfrequented place under a dead wall, where I lay undiscovered and useless, during the usurpation of Oliver CromweU.. " About a year after the king's return, a poor cavalier that was walking there about dinner-time, fortunately • cast his eye upon me, and, to the great joy of us both, carried me to NO. 249. THE TATLEE. 187 a cook's shop, where lie dined upon me, and drank the king's health. When I came again into the world, I found that I had heen happier in my retirement than I thought, having probably, by that means, escaped wearing a monstrous pair of breeches.' " Being now of great credit and antiquity, I was rather looked upon as a medal than an ordinary coin ; for which reason a gamester laid hold of me, and converted me to a counter, having got together some dozens of us for that use. "We led a melancholy life in his possession, being busy at those hours wherein current coin is at rest, and partaking the fate of our master, being in a few moments valued at a crown, a pound, or a siKpence, according to the situation in which the fortune of the cards placed us. I had at length the good luck to see my master break, by which means I was again sent abroad under my primitive denomination of a shilling. " I shall pass over many other accidents of less moment, and hasten to that fatal catastrophe, when I fell into the hands of an artist, who conveyed me under ground, and with an unmercifnl pair of shears, cut off my titles, clipped my brims, retrenched my shape, rubbed me to my inmost ring, and, in short, so spoiled and pillaged me, that he did not leave me worth a groat. Tou may think what a confusion I was in, to see myself thus curtailed and disfigured. I should have been ashamed to have shown ^ my head, had not aU my old acquaintance been reduced to the same shameful figure, excepting some few that were punched through the belly. In the midst of this general calamity, when every- body thought our misfortune irretrievable, and our case de*s- perate, we were thrown into the furnace together, and (as it often happens with cities rising out of a fire) appeared with greater beauty and lustre than we could ever boast of before. What has happened to me since this change of sex which you now see, I shall take some other opportunity to relate. In the mean time, I shall only repeat two adven-, tures, as being very extraordinary, and neither of them hav- ing ever happened to me above once in my life. The first ' Pair of breeches.'] A conceit of the people, from the disposition of the arms of England and Ireland, in the commonwealth coin. ' To have ahoirni.'] It should be, to show : the only inaccuracy, liow« ever, in this delicious paper. ' 188 ADDISON'S WOEKS. was, my being in a poet's pocket, who was so taken witli the brightness and novelty of my appearance, that it gave occa- sion to the iinest burlesque poem in the British language, entitled from me, ' The Splendid Shilling.' ' The second ad- venture, which I must not omit, happened to me in the year 1703, when I was given away in charity to a bliad man ; but indeed this was by a mistake, the person who gave me having heedlessly thrown me into the hat among a pennyworth of farthings." No. 250. TUESDAY, NOVEMBEE 14, 1710. Scis etenim justum gemina suspendere lance Ancipitis librse. — Pers. From my own Apartment, November 13. I LAST winter erected a court of justice for the correcting of several enormities in dress and behaviour, which are not cognizable in any other courts of this realm. The vintner's case, which I there tried, is still fresh in every man's memory. That of the petticoat gave also a general satisfaction, not to mention the more important points of the cane and per- spective ; in which, if I did not give judgments and decrees according to the strictest rules of equity and justice, I can safely say, I acted according to the best of my understanding. But as for the proceedings of that court, I shall refer my reader to an account of them, written by my secretary, which is now in the press, and wiU shortly be published under the title of " LiHie's Eeports." As I last year presided over a court of justice, it is my intention this year to set myself at the head of a Court of Honour. There is no court of this nature anywhere at pre- sent, except in Erance, where, according to the best of my intelligence, it consists of such only as are Marshals of that kingdom. I am likewise informed, that there is not one of that honourable board at present who has not been driven out of the field by the Duke of Marlborough : but whether this be only an accidental, or a necessary qualification, I must confess I am not able to determine. ' By Mr, John PhiUins. No. 250. THE TATLDK. 189 As for the Court of Honour of which I am here speaking, I intend to sit myseK in it as president, with several men of honour on my right hand, and women of virtue on my left, as my assistants. The first place of the bench I have given to an old Tangereen captaiu with a wooden leg. The second is a gentleman of a long twisted periwig without a curl in it, a muff with very little hair upon it, and a thread- bare coat vrith new buttons, being a person of great worth, and second brother to a man of quality. The third is a gentleman usher, extremely well read in. romances, and grandson to one of the greatest wits in Germany, who was some time master of the ceremonies to the Duke of "Wol- fembuttel. As for those who sit further on my right hand, as it is usual in public courts, they are such as will fill up the num- ber of faces upon the bench, and serve rather for ornament than use. The chief upon my left hand are, an old maiden lady, ' that preserves some of the best blood of England ia her veius. A "Welsh woman of a little stature, but high spirit. An old prude that has censured every marriage for these thirty years, and is lately wedded to a young rake. Having thus furnished my bench, I shall establish cor- respondencies with the H'orse-guards, and the veterans of Chelsea College ; the former to furnish me with twelve men of honour, as often as I shaU have occasion for a grand jury, and the latter with as many good men and true for a petty As for the women of virtue, it will not be difficult for me to find them about midnight at crimp and basset. Having given this public notice of my court, I must fur- ther add, that I intend to open it on this day seven-night, being Monday the twentieth instant ; and do hereby invite all such as have suffered injuries and affi-onts, that are not to be redressed by the common laws of this land, whether they be short bows, cold salutations, supercilious looks, un- retumed smiles, distant behaviour, or forced familiarity ; as also aU such as have been aggrieved by any ambiguous ex- pression, accidental justle, or unkind repartee ; likewise aU such as have been defrauded of their right to the wall, tricked out of the upper end of the table, or have been suf- 190 Addison's woeks. fered to place themselves in their own wrong on the bacfc seat of the coach : these, and all of these, I do, as is above- said, iavite to bring in their several cases and complaints, iu which they shall be relieved with all imaginable expedition. I am very sensible, that the office I have now taien upon me will engage me in the disquisition of many weighty points that daily perplex the youth of the British nation, and therefore I have already discussed several of them for my future use ; as. How far a man may brandish his cane in the telling a story, without insulting his hearer ? "What degree of contradiction amounts to the lie ? How a man should resent another's staring and cocking a hat in his face ? If asking pardon is an atonement for treading upon one's toes ? Whether a man may put up a box on the ear received from a stranger in the dark ? Or, whether a man of honour may take a blow of his wife? with several other subtilties of the like nature. For my direction in the duties of my office, I have furn- ished myself with a certain astrological pair of scales which I have contrived for this purpose. In one of them I lay the injuries, in the other the reparations. The first are represented by little weights made of a metal resembling iron, and the other in gold. These are not only lighter than the weights made use of in Avoirdupois, but also than such as are used in Troy weight. The heaviest of those that re- present the injuries, amount to but a scruple ; and decrease by so many sub-divisions, that there are several imperceptible weights which cannot be seen without the help of a very fine microscope. I might acquaint my reader, that these scales were made under the influence of the sun when he was in Libra, and describe many signatures on the weights both of injury and reparation : but as this would look rather to proceed from an ostentation of my own art than any care for the publie, I shall pass it over in silence. No. 253. THE TATLEB. 191, No. 253. TUESDAY, NOVEMBEE 21, 1710. Pietate gravem ac meritis si forte virum quem Conspexere, silent, arrectisque auribus astant. Vieg. From my own Apartment, November 20. Extract of the Journal of the Court of Honour, 1710. Dime Lun^ vicesimo Novemhris, hard nana antemeridiana. The court being sat, an oath prepared by the Censor was administered to the assistants on his right hand, who were all sworn upon their honour. The women on his left hand took the same oath upon their reputation. Twelve gentlemen of the Horse-guards were impanelled, having unanimously- chosen Mr. Alexander Truncheon, who is their right-hand man ia the troop, for their foreman in the jury. Mr. Truncheon immediately drew his sword, and holding it with the point towards his own body, presented it to the Censor. Mr. Bickerstaffe received it, and after having surveyed the breadth of the blade, and the sharpness of the point, with more than ordinary attention, returned it to the foreman, in a very graceful manner. The rest of the jury, upon the delivery of the sword to their foreman, drew all of them together as one man, and saluted the bench with such an air, as signified the most resigned submission to those who commanded them, and the greatest magnanimity to execute what they should command. Mr. Bickerstaffe, after having received the compliments on his right hand, cast his eye upon the left, where the whole female jury paid their respects by a low curtsey, and by lay- ing their hands upon their mouths. Their fore-woman was a professed Platonist, that had spent much of her time in ex- horting the sex to set a just value upon their persons, and to make the men know themselves. There followed a profound silence, when at length, after some recollection, the Censor, who continued hitherto un- covered, put on his hat with great dignity ; and after having composed the brims of it in a manner suitable to the gravity of his character, he gave the following charge, which was re- ceived with silence and attention, that being the only ap- plause which he admits of, or is ever given in his presence. 192 ADDISON'S WOETS. " The nature of my office, and the solemnity of this oo casion, requiring that I should open my first session with a speech, I shall cast what I have to say under two principal heads : " Under the first, I shall endeavour to show the necessity and usefulness of this new-erected court ; and under the se- cond, I shall give a word of advice and instruction to every constituent part of it. "As for the first, it is well observed by PhEedrus, an heathen poet. Nisi utile est quod facimus, fiustra est gloria. Which is the same, ladies, as if I should say, ' It would be of no reputation for me to be president of a court which is of no benefit to the public.' Now the advantages that may arise to the weal public from this institution wiU more plainly appear, if we consider what it suffers for the want of it. Are not our streets daily filled with wild pieces of justice and random penalties ? Are not crimes undeter- mined, and reparations disproportioned ? How often have we seen the lie punished by death, and the Uar himself de- ciding his own cause ; nay, not only acting the judge, but the executioner ! Have we not known a box on the ear more severely accounted for than manslaughter ? In these extra- judicial proceedings of mankind, an unmannerly jest is fre- quently as capital as a premeditated murder. " But the most pernicious circumstance in this case is, that the man who suffers the injury must put himself upon the same foot of danger with him that gave it, before he can have his just revenge ; so that the punishment is altogether accidental, and may fall as well upon the innocent as the . guilty. I shall only mention a case which happens frequently among the more polite nations of the world, and which I the rather mention, because both sexes are concerned in it, and which therefore, you gentlemen and you ladies of the jury, will the rather take notice of; I mean that great and known case of cuckoldom. Supposing the person who has suffered insults in his dearer and better haK; supposing, I say, this person should resent the injuries done to his tender wife ; what is the reparation he may expect ? Why, to be used worse than his poor lady, run through the body, and left breathless upon the bed of honour ? What then, wiU you No. 253 THE TATLEE. 193 on my right hand say, must the man do that is affronted ? Must our sides be elbowed, our shius broken ? Must the wall, or perhaps our mistress, be taken from us ? May a man knit his forehead into a frown, toss up his arm, or pish at what we say ; and must the villain live after it ? Is there no redress for injured honour ? Yes, gentlemen, that is the design of the judicature we have here established. " A court of conscience, we very well know, was first in- stituted for the determining of several poiuts of property that were too little and trivial for the cognizance of higher courts of justice. In the s^me manner, our court of honour is appoiuted for the examination of several niceties and punctilios that do not pass for wrongs in the eye of our common laws. But, notwithstanding no legislators of any nation have taken into consideration these little circum- stances, they are such as often lead to crimes big enough for their inspection, though they come before them too late for their redress. " Besides, I appeal to you, ladies, [here Mr. Bickerstaffe turned to his left hand,] if these are not the little stings and . thorns iu life that make it more uneasy than its most sub- stantial evils ? Confess ingenuously, did you never lose a morning's devotions, because you could not offer them up from the highest place of the pew ? Have you not been in pain, even at a ball, because another has been taken out to dance before you ? Do you love any of your friends so much as those that are below you ? Or have you any fa- vourites that walk on your right hand ? Tou have answered me in your looks, I ask no more. " I come now to the second part of my discourse, which obliges me to address myself in particular to the respective members of the court, in which I shall be very brief. "As for you, gentlemen and ladies, my assistants and grand juries, I have made choice of you on my right hand, because I know you very jealous of your honoui- ; and you on my left, because I know you very much concerned for the reputation of others ; for which reason I expect great exactness and impartiality in your verdicts and judgments. " I must in the next place address myself to you, gentle- men of the council : you all know, that I have not chosen vou for yoiu" knowledge in the litigious parts of the law, but because you have all of you formerly foaght duels, of wliicU 194 Addison's woeks. I have reason to thiiik. you have repented, as being now settled in the peaceable state of benchers. My advice to you is, only, that iu your pleadings you are short and ex- pressive ; to which end you are to banish out of your dis- courses all synonymous terms, and unnecessary multiplica- tions of verbs and nouns. I do moreover forbid you the use of the words also and likewise ; and must rfurther declare, that if I catch any one among you, upon any pretence what- soever, using the particle or, I shall incessantly order him to be stripped of his gown, and thrown over the bar." This is a true copy, ChAELES LlIiLIE. N. B. The sequel of the proceedings of this day vriU be published on Tuesday next. [Sir Richard Steele assisted in this paper." T.] No. 254. THUESDAY, NOVEMBEE 23, 1710. Splendide mendax. — Hor. From my own Apartment, November 22. Theeb are no books which I more delight ia than in travels, especially those that describe remote countries, and give the writer an opportunity of showing his parts vfithout incurring any danger of being examined or contradicted. Among all the authors of this kind, our renowned country- man Sir John Mandeville has distinguished himself by the copiousness of his invention and greatness of his genius. The second to Sir John I take to have been Ferdinand Men- dez Pinto, a person of infinite adventure and imbotinded imagination. One reads the voyages of these two great wits with as much astonishment as the travels of Ulysses in Homer, or of the Eed-Cross Knight ia Spencer. AU is en- chanted ground and fairy land. I have got into my hands, by great chance, several manu- scripts of these two eminent authors, which are fiUed witli greater wonders than any of those they have communicated bo the public ; and indeed, were they not so well attested, ' Yet the whole, it must bo owned, is not unworthy of Mr. Addison. No. 254. THE TATLEE. 195 would appear altogether improbable. I am apt to think, the ingenious authors did not publish them with the rest of their works, lest they should pass for fictions and fables : a caution not unnecessary, when the reputation of their ve- racity was not yet established in the world. But as this reason has now no further weight, I shall make the public a present of these curious pieces at such times as I shall find myself unprovided with other subjects. The present paper I intend to fill with an extract of Sir John's journal, in which that learned and worthy knight gives an account of the freeziag and thawing of several short , speeches which he made in the territories of Nova Zembla. I need not inform my reader, that the author of Hudibras alludes to this strange quality in that cold climate, when, speaking of abstracted notions clothed in a visible shape, he adds that apt simile, Like words congealed in northern air. Not to keep my reader any longer in suspense, the rela- tion put into modern language is as follows : " We were separated by a storm in the latitude of 73, in- somuch that only the ship which I was in, with a Dutch and a French vessel, got safe into a creek of Nova Zembla. We landed, in order to refit our vessels, and store ourselves with prowsions. The crew of each vessel made themselves a cabin of turf and wood, at some distance from each other, to fence themselves against the inclemencies of the weather, which was severe beyond imagination. We soon observed, that in talking to one another we lost several of our words, and could not hear one another at above two yards' distance, and that too when we sat very near the fire. After much per- plexity, I found that our words froze in the air before they could reach the ears of the person to whom they were spoken. I was soon confirmed in this conjecture, when, upon the in- crease of the cold, the whole company grew dumb, or rather deaf.; for every man was sensible, as we afterwards found, that he spoke as weL. as ever ; but the sounds no sooner took air, than they were condensed and lost. It was now a miserable spectacle to see us nodding and gaping at one another, every man talking, and no man heard. One might observe a seaman, that could hail a ship at a league distance, o 2 19G Addison's wobks. beckoning witli Hs hands, straining his lungs, and tearing his throat, but all ia vain. — Nee vox, nee verba, sequuntur. " We continued here three weeks in this dismal plight. At length, upon a turn of wind, the air about us began to thaw. Our cabin was immediately filled with a dry clatter- ing sound, which I afterwards found to be the crackling of consonants that broke above our heads, and were often mixed with a gentle hissing, which I imputed to the letter S, that occurs so frequently in the English tongue. I soon after felt a breeze of whispers rushing by my ear ; for those being of a soft and gentle substance, immediately liquefied in the warm vrind that blew across our cabin. These were soon followed by syllables and short words, and at length by entire sentences, that melted sooner or later, as they were more or less congealed ; so that we now heard everything that had been spoken during the whole three weeks that we had been silent, if I may use that expression. It was now very early in the morning, and yet, to my surprise, I heard somebody say, " Sir John, it is midnight, and time for the ship's crew to go to bed." This I knew to be the pilot's voice, and upon recollecting myself, I concluded that he had spoken these words to me some days before, though I could not hear them before the present thaw. My reader will easily imagine how the whole crew was amazed to hear every man talking, and see no man opening his mouth. In the midst of this great surprise we were alj. in, we heard a voUey of oaths and curses, lasting for a long while, and uttered in a very hoarse voice, which I knew belonged to the boatswain, who was a very choleric fellow, and had taken his oppor- tunity of cursing and swearing at me when he thought I could not hear him ; for I had several times given him the strappado on that account, as I did not fail to repeat it for these his pious solUoquies when I got him on ship- board. " I must not omit the names of several beauties in Wap- ping, which were heard every now and then, in the midst of a long sigh that accompanied them ; as, dear Kate ! Pretty Mrs. Peggy ! When shall I see my Sue again ? This be- trayed several amours which had been concealed till that No. 254. THE TATLEE. 197 time, and fumislied ua with a great deal of mirth in our return to England. "When this confusion of voices was pretty weU over, though I was afraid to offer at speaking, as fearing I should not be heard, I proposed a visit to the Dutch cabin, which lay about a mile further up into the country. . My crew were extremely rejoiced to find they had again recovered their hearing, though every man uttered his voice with the same apprehensions that I had done : — Et timide verba intermissa retentat. " At about half a mile's distance from our cabin, we heard the groanings of a bear, which at first startled us ; but upoK inquiry we were informed by some of our company that he was dead, and now lay in salt, having been killed upon that very spot about a fortnight before in the time of the frost. Not far from the same place we were likewise entertained with some posthumous snarls and barkings of a fox. " We at length arrived at the little Dutch settlement, and upon entering the room, found it iilled with sighs that smelt of brandy, and several other unsavoury sounds that were altogether inarticulate. My valet, who was an Irishman, fell into so great a rage at what he heard, that he drew his sword ; but not knowing where to lay the blame, he put it up again. We were stunned with these confused noises, but did not hear a single word tUl about half an hour aJEter ; which I ascribed to the harsh and obdurate sounds of that language, which wanted more time than ours to melt and be- come audible. " After having here met with a very hearty welcome, we went to the Prench cabin, who, to make amends for their three weeks' sUence, were talking and disputing with greater rapidity and confusion than ever I heard in an assembly even of that nation. Their language, as I found, upon the first giving of the weather, fell asunder and dissolved. I was here convinced of an error into which I had before fallen ; for I fancied, that for the freezing of the sound, it was necessary for it to be wrapped up, and, as it were, preserved in breath ; but I found my mistake, when I heard the sound of a kit playing a minuet over our heads. I asked the occasion of it ; upon which one of the company told me, that it would play there above a week longer if the thaw continued ; ' For, (says he,) finding ourselves bereft of speech, we prevailed 198 ADDISON S WOEKS. upon one of the company, who had this musical instrument about him, to play to us from morning to night ; all which time we employed in dancing, in order to dissipate our cha- grin, et titer le temps.' " Here Sir John gives very good philosophical reasons, why the kit could be heard during the frost ; but as they are something prolix, I pass over them in silence, and shaU only observe, that the honourable author seems, by his quota- tions, to have been well versed in the ancient poets, which perhaps raised his fancy above the ordinary pitch of histo- rians, and very much contributed to the embellishment of his writings .1 No. 255. SATUEDAT, NOVEMBEE 25, 1710. — Nee te tua pluvima, Pantheu, Labentem pietas nee ApoUinis insula texit. Virg. From my own Apartment, November 24. I To the Censor of Great Britain. " SlE, I am at present under very great difficulties, which it is not in the power of any one, besides yourself, to redress. Whether or no you shaU think it a proper case to come be- fore your Court of Honour, I cannot tell ; but thus it is : I am chaplain to an honourable family, very regular at the hours of devotion, and, I hope, of an unblameable life ; but for not offering to rise at second course, I found my patron and hia lady very sullen and out of humour, though at first I did not know the reason of it. At length, when I happened to help myself to a jelly, the lady of the house, otherwise a devout woman, told me, ' That it did not become a man of my cloth to delight in such frivolous food : ' but as I still continued to sit out the last course, I was yesterday informed by the butler, that his Lordship had no further occasion for my service. ALL which is humbly submitted to your con- Bideration, by, " SlE, " Tour most humble servant," &c. ' It is hard to say, whether the humour oi this paper, or the expretiimt be more oxc^uisite. Ho, 355. THE TATIEE. 199 The case of ttis gentleman deserves pity, especially if he loves sweetmeats, to which, if I may guess by his letter, he is no enemy. In the mean time, I have often wondered at the indecency of discarding the holiest man from the table, as soon as the most delicious parts of the entertainment are served up, and could never conceive a reason for so absurd a custom. Is it because a liquorish palate, or a sweet tooth, (as they call it,) is not consistent with the sanctity of his character ? This is but a trifling pretence. No man of the most rigid virtue gives offence by any excesses iu plum-pud- ding or plum-porridge, and that because they are the first parts of the dinner. Is there anything that tends to incita- tion in sweetmeats more than in ordinary dishes ? Certainly not. Sugar-plums are a very innocent diet, and conserves of a much colder natiire than our common pickles. I have sometimes thought, that the ceremony of the chaplain's flying away from the dessert was typical and figurative, to mark out to the company how they ought to retire from all the luscious baits of temptation, and deny their appetites the gratifications that are most pleasing to them ; or at least to signify, that we. ought to stint ourselves in our most lawful satisfactions, and not make our pleasure, but our support, the end of eating. But most certainly, if such a lesson of temperance had been necessary at a table, our clergy would have recommended it to aE the lay masters of families, and not have disturbed other men's tables with such unseasonable ex- "amples of abstinence. The original, therefore, of this bar- barous custom, I take to have been merely accidental. The chaplain retired out of pure complaisance, to make room for the removal of the dishes, or possibly for the ranging of the dessert. This by degrees grew into duty, tiH at length, as the fashion improved, the good man found himself cut off from the third part of the entertainment ; and if the ar- rogance of the patron goes on, it is not impossible, but, in the next generation, he may see himself reduced to the tithe, , or tenth dish of the table ; a sufficient caution not to part with any privilege we are once possessed of. It was usual for the priest, in old times, to feast upon the sacrifice, nay, the honey-cake, while the hungry laity looked upon him with great devotion, or, as the late Lord Eochester describes it ia % lively manner, And while the priest did eat the people stared 200 iJJBISON's WOEKS. At present the custom is inverted ; the laity feast, whiJe the priest stands by as an humble spectator. This necessarily puts the good man upon making great ravages on aU the dishes that stand near him, and distinguishing himself by voraciousness of appetite, as knowing that his time is short, I would fain ask these stiff-necked patrons, whether they would not take it ill of a chaplain that, in his grace aftev meat, should return thanks for the whole entertainment, with an exception to the dessert ? And yet I cannot but think, that in such a proceeding he would but deal with them as they deserved. What would a Roman Catholic priest think, who is always helped first, and placed next the ladies, should he see a clergyman giving his company the slip at the first appearance of the tarts or sweetmeats ? Would not he believe that he had the same antipathy to a candied orange, or a piece of puff paste, as some have to a Cheshire cheese, or a breast of mutton ? Tet to so ridiculous a height is this fool- ish custom grown, that even the Christmas pie, which in its very nature is a kind of consecrated cate, and a badge 0/ distinction, is often forbidden to the Druid of the family, Strange ! that a sirloin of beef, whether boiled or roasted, when entire, is exposed to his utmost depredations and ui« cisions ; but if minced into small pieces, and tossed up with plums and sugar, changes its property, and, forsooth, is meat for his master. In this case I know not which to censure, the patron or the chaplain ; the insolence of power, or the abjectness of dependence. For my own part, I have often blushed to see a gentleman, whom I know to have much more wit and learning than myseH, and who was bred up with me at the University upon the same foot of a liberal education, treated in such an ignominious manner, and sunk beneath those of his own rank, by reason of that character which ought to bring him honour. This deters men of generous minds from placing themselves in such a station of life, and by that means frequently excludes persons of quality from the im- proving and agreeable conversation of a learned and obsequi- ous friend. Mr. Oldham lets us know, that he was affrighted from the thought of such an employment, by the scandalous sort 01 treatment which often accompanies it. No. 256 THE TATLEE. 201 Some think themselves exalted to the sky. If they light in some noble family : Diet, an horse, and thirty pounds a year. Besides the advantage of his Lordship's ear, The credit of the business, and the state, Are things that in a youngster's sense sound great. Little the unexperienced ivretch does know, What slavery he oft must undergo ; Who though in silken scarf and cassock drest, Wears but a gayer livery at best. When dinner calls, the implement must wait With holy words to consecrate the meat ; But hold it for a favour seldom known. If he be deign'd the honour to sit down. Soon as the tarts appear, Sir Crape, withdraw. Those dainties are not for a spiritual maw. Observe your distance, and be sure to stand Hard by the cistern with your cap in hand : There for diversion you may pick your teeth, Till the kind voider comes for your relief. Let others who such meannesses can brook, Strike countenance to every great man's look ; I rate my freedom higher. This author's raillery is the raillery of a friend, and does not turn the sacred order into ridicule, but is a just censure on such persons as take advantage from the necessities of a man of merit, to impose on him hardships that are by no means suitable to the dignity of his profession.' No. 256. TIJESDAT, NOVEMBEE 28, 1710. — Nostrum est tantas componere Lites. Vikg. The proceedings of the Court of Honour, held in Sheer Lane, on Monday, the 20th of November, 1710, before Isaao Bickerstaffe, Esq., Censor of Great Britain. Petee Plumb, of London, merchant, was indicted by the Honourable Mr. Thomas Grules, of Grule Hall, in the county of Salop, for that the said Peter Plumb did in Lom- bard Street, London, between the hours of two and three in the afternoon, meet the said Mr. Thomas Grules, and after a short salutation, put on his hat, value five pence, while the Honourable Mr. Grules stood bare-headed for the space of two seconds. It was further urged against the criminal, 202 Addison's woeks. ttat, during his discourse with the prosecutor, he feloniously stole the wall of him, having clapped his hack against it ia such a manner that it was impossible for Mr. Gules to re- cover it again at his taking leave of him. The prosecutor al- leged, that he was the cadet of a very ancient family, and that, according to the principles of all the younger brothers of the said family, he had never sullied himself with busiaess, but had chosen rather to starve like a man of honour, than do anything beneath his quality. He produced several wit- nesses, that he had never employed himseK beyond the twist- ing of a whip, or the making of a pair of nutcrackers, in which he only worked for his diversion, in order to make a present now and then to his friends. The prisoner being asked what he could say for himself, cast several reflections upon the Honourable Mr. Gules : as, that he was not worth a groat ; that nobody in the city would trust him for a half- penny ; that he owed him money which he had promised to pay him several times, but never kept his word : and in short, that he was an idle, beggarly fellow, and of no iise to the public. This sort of language was very severely reprimanded by the Censor, who told the criminal, that he spoke in con- tempt of the court, and that he should be proceeded against for contumacy, if he did not change his style. The prisoner, therefore, desired to be heard by his counsel, .who urged in his defence, " That he put on his hat through ignorance, and took the wall by accident." They likewise produced several witnesses, that he made several motions with his hat ia his hand, which are generally understood as an iavitation to the person we talk with to be covered ; and that the gentleman not taking the hint, he was forced to put on his hat, as be- ing troubled with a cold. There was likewise an Irishman who deposed, that he had heard him cough three and twenty times that morning. And as for the wall, it was alleged, that he had taken it inadvertently, to save himself from a shower of rain which was then falling. The Censor having consulted the men of honour who sat at his right hand on the bench, found they were of opinion, that the defence made by the prisoner's counsel did rather aggravate than extenuate his crime ; that the motions and intimations of the hat were a token of superiority in conversation, and therefore not to be used by the criminal to a man of the prosecutor's quality, who was likewise vested with a dorble title to the wall at J^O. 256. THE TATLEE. 203 the time of tteir conversation, both as ij, was the tipper hand, and as it was a shelter from the weather. The evidence being very full and clear, the jury, without going out of court, declared their opinion unanimously by the mouth of their foreman, that the prosecutor was bound in honour to make the sun shine through the criminal, or, as they after- wards explained themselves, to whip him through the lungs. The Censor knitting his brows into a frown, and looking Very sternly upon the jury, after a little pause, gave them to know, that this court was erected for the finding out of penalties suitable to offences, and to restrain the outrages of private justice ; and that he expected they should moder- ate their verdict. The jury, therefore, retired, and being willing to comply with the advices of the Censor, after an hour's consultation, declared their opinion as follows : " That in consideration this was Peter Plumb's first of- fence, and that there did not appear any ' malice prepense ' in it, as also that he lived in good reputation among hia neighbours, and that his taking the wall was only se defen- dendo, the prosecutor should let him escape with life, and content himself with the slitting of his nose, and the cutting off both his ears." Mr. BickerstafFe, smiling upon the court, told them, that he thought the punishment, even under its present mitigation, too severe ; and that such penalties might be of iU consequence in a trading nation. He there- fore pronounced sentence against the criminal in the follow- ing manner : " That his hat, which was the instrument of offence, should be forfeited to the court ; that the criminal should go to the warehouse from whence he came, and thence, as occasion should require, proceed to the Exchange, or Grarraway's coffee-house, in what manner he pleased ; but that neither he, nor any of the family of the Plumbs, should hereafter appear in the streets of London out of their coaches, that so the foot-way might be left open and undis- turbed for their betters. Dathan, a peddling Jew, and T. E — , a "Welshman, were indicted by the keeper of an alehouse in "Westminster, for breaking the peace and two earthen mugs, in a dispute about the antiquity of their families, to the great detriment of the house, and disturbance of the whole neighbourhood. Dathan said for himself, that he was provoked to it by the "Welsh- man, who pretended that the "Welsh were an ancientei 204 ADBISOIf's WOEKS. people than the Jews ; " Whereas, (says he,) I can show hy this genealogy in my hand, that I am the son of Mesheck, that was the son of Nahoth, that was the son of Shalem,thit was the son of — " The Welshman here interrupted him, and told him,- " That he could produce shennalogy as well as himself; for that he was John ap Eice, ap Shenkin, ap Shones." He then turn- ed himself to the Censor, and told him in the same broken accent, and with much warmth, " That the Jew would needs uphold, that King CadwaUader was younger than Issaohar." Mr. Bickerstaffe seemed very much inclined to give sentence against Dathan, as being a Jew, but finding reasons, by some expressions which the Welshman let fall in asserting the antiquity of his family, to suspect that the said Welshman was a Prae- Adamite, he suffered the jury to go out, without any previous admonition. After some time they returned, and gave their verdict, that it appearing the persons at the bar did neither of them wear a sword, and that consequently they had no right to quarrel upon a poiut of honour ; to prevent such frivolous appeals for the future, they should both of them be tossed in the same blanket, and there adjust the superiority as they could agree it between themselves. The Censor confirmed the verdict. Eichard Newman was indicted by Major Punto, for having used the words, " Perhaps it may be so," in a dispute with the said major. The major urged, that the word " Perhaps " was questioning his veracity, and that it was an indirect manner of giving him the lie. Eichard Newman had nothing more to say for himself, than that he intended no such thing, and threw himself upon the mercy of the court. The jury brought in their verdict special. Mr. Bickerstaffe stood up, and after having cast his eyes over the whole assembly, hemmed thrice. He then ac- quainted them, that he had laid down a rule to himself, which he was resolved never to depart from, and which, as he conceived, would very much conduce to the shortening the business of the court ; I mean, says he, never to allow of the lie being given by construction, implication, or raduc- tion, but by the sole use of the word itself. He then pro- ceeded to show the great mischiefs that had arisen to the English nation from that pernicious monosyllable; that it had bred the most fatal quarrels between the dearest friends ; tliat it had frequently thinned the guards, and made great No. 257. THE TATLEE. 205 havoc in the army ; that it had sometimes weakened the city traiaed-bands ; and, in a word, had destroyed many of the bravest men in the isle of Great Britain. For the prevention of which evils for the future, he instructed the jury to " pre- sent " the word itself as a nuisance iu the English tongue ; and further promised them, that he would, upon such their presentment, publish an edict of the court for the entire ban- ishment and exclusion of it out of the discourses and con- versation of all civil societies. This is a true copy, Chaeibs Lillie. Monday next is set apart for the trial of several female causes. N. B. The case of the hassock will come on between the tours of nine and ten. [Sir Richard Steele assisted in this paper.' T.] No. 257. THUESDAT, NOVEMBEE 30, 1710. In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas Corpora : Dii, cceptis (nam vos mutastis et illas) Aspirate meis. Ovid. Met. From my own Apartment, November 29. EvEET nation is distinguished by productions that are peculiar to it. Great Britaia is particularly fruitful in re- ligions, that shoot up and flourish in this climate more than in any other. We are so famous abroad for our great variety of sects and opinions, that an ingenious friend of mine, who is lately returned from his travels, assures me, there is a show at this time carried up and down in Germany, which repre- sents all the religions in Great Britian in wax-work. Not- withstanding that the pliancy of the matter in which the images are wrought, makes it capable of being moulded into all shapes and figures, my friend tells me, that he did not think it possible for it to be twisted and tortured into so • There is humour in this paper. But the pertness of style, and cant of expression, in some places, especially in Dathan's case, shows clearly enough, that Sir Kiohard Steele had a hand in it. 206 addisob'b wokks. many screwed faces and wry features as appeared in several of the figures that composed the show. I was, indeed, so pleased with the design of the German artist, that I begged my friend to give me an account of it in all its particularsj which he did after the following manner : " I have often," says he, " been present at a show of ele- phants, camels, dromedaries, and other strange creatures, but I never saw so great an assembly of spectators as were met together at the opening of this great piece of wax-work. We were all placed in a large hall, according to the price that we had paid for our seats. The curtain that hung be- fore the show was made by a master of tapestry, who had woven it in the figure of a monstrous hydra that had several heads, which brandished out their tongues, and seemed to hiss at each other. Some of these heads were large and en- tire ; and where any of them had been lopped away, there sprouted up several in the room of them ; insomuch that for one head cut off, a man might see ten, twenty, or an hundred of a smaller size, creeping through the wound. In short, the whole picture was nothing but confusion and bloodshed. On a sudden," says my friend, " I was startled with a flourish of many musical instruments that I had never heard before, which was followed by a short tune (if it might be so called) wholly made up of jars and discords. Among the rest, there was an organ, a bagpipe, a groaning-board, stentorophonic trumpet, with several wind instruments of a most disagree- able sound, which I do not so much as know the names of After a short flourish, the curtain was drawn up, and we were presented with the most extraordinary assembly of figures that ever entered into a man's imagination. The design of the workman was so well expressed in the dumb show before us, that it was not hard for an Englishman to comprehend the meaning of it. " The principal figures were placed in a row, consisting of' seven persons. The middle figure, which immediately at- tracted the eyes of the whole company, and was much big- ger than the rest, was formed like a matron, dressed in the habit of an elderly woman of quality in Queen Ehzabeth's days. The most remarkable parts of her dress, were the beaver with the steeple crown, the scarf that was darker than sable, and the lawn apron that was whiter than ermine. Her gown was of the richest black velvet, and just upon her Mo. 257. THE aATlEB. 207 heart studded witli large diamonds of an inestimable value, disposed in the form of a cross. She bore an inexpressible cheerfulness and dignity in her aspect ; and though she seemed in years, appeared with so much spirit and vivacity, as gave her at the same time an air of old age and immor- tality. I found my heart touched with so much love and reverence at the sight of her, that the tears ran down my face as I looked upon her ; and still the more I looked upon her, the more my heart was melted with the sentiments of iilial tenderness and duty. I discovered every moment something so charming ia this figure, that I could scarce take my eyes off it. On its right hand there sat the figure of a woman so covered with ornaments, that her face, her body, and her hands, were almost entirely hid under them. The little you could see of her face was painted ; and what I thought very odd, had something in it like artificial wrin- kles ; but I was the less surprised at it, when I saw upon her forehead an old-fashioned tower of grey hairs. Her head-dress rose very high by three several stories or degrees ; her garments had a thousand colours in them, and were em- broidered with crosses ia gold, sUver, and silk: she had nothing on, so much as a glove or a slipper, which was not marked with this figure ; nay, so superstitiously fond did she appear of it, that she sat cross-legged. I was quickly sick of this tawdry composition of ribbons, sUks, and jewels, and therefore cast my eye on a dame which was just the reverse of it. I need not tell my reader, that the lady before de- scribed was Popery, or that she I am now going to describe is Presbytery. She sat on the left hand of the venerable matron, and so much resembled her in the features of her countenance, that she seemed her sister ; but at the same time that one observed a likeness in her beauty, one could not but take notice, that there vras something in it sickly and splenetic. Her face had enough to discover the relation, but it was drawn up iato a peevish figure, soured with dis- content, and overcast with melancholy. She seemed offended at the matron for the shape of her hat, as too much resem- bbng the triple coronet of" the person who sat by her. One might see, likewise, that she dissented from the white apron and the cross ; for which reasons she had made herseK a yiaia homely dowdy, and turned her face towards the sectaries 208 Addison's works. that sat on tlie left hand, as being afraid of looking upon ine matron, lest she should see the harlot by her. " On the right hand of Popery sat Judaism, represented by an old man embroidered with phylacteries, and dis- tinguished by many typical figures, which I had not skill enough to unriddle. He was placed among the rubbish of a temple ; but instead of weeping over it, (which I should have expected from him,) he was counting out a bag of money upon the ruins of it. " On his right hand was Deism, or Natural Eeligion. This was a figure of an half-naked awkward country wench, who with proper ornaments and education would have made an agreeable and beautiful appearance ; but for want of those advantages, was such a spectacle as a man would blush to look upon. " I have now," continued my friend, " given you an ac- count of those who were placed on the right hand of the matron, and who, according to the order in which they sat, were Deism, Judaism, and Popery. On the left hand, as I told you, appeared Presbytery. The next to her was a figure which somewhat puzzled me : it was that of a mam looking, with horror in his eyes, upon a silver bason filled with water. Observing something in his countenance that looked like lunacy, I fancied at iirst that he was to express that kind of distraction which the physicians caU the Hydro- phobia : but considering what the intention of the show was, 1 immediately recollected myself, and concluded it to be Anabaptism. " The next figure was a man that sat under a most pro- found composure of mind : he wore an hat whose brims were exactly parallel to the horizon: his garment had neither sleeve nor skirt, nor so much as a superfluous button. Wiat he called his cravat, was a little piece of white linen quiUed with great exactness, and hanging below his chin about two inches. Seeing a book in his hand, I asked our artist what it was, who told me it was the Quaker's religion; upon which I desired a sight of it. "Upon perusal, I found it to be nothing but a new-fashioned grammar, or an art of abridging ordinary discourse. The noims were reduced to a very small number, as the light, friend, Babylon. The prin- cipal of his pronouns was thou ; and as iovyou, ye, &nA. yours, So. 257. THE TATLEH. 209 I found they were not looked upon as parts of speech in this grammar. All the verbs wanted the second person plural ; the participles ending all in ing or ed, which were marked with a particular accent. There were no adverbs besides pea and nay. The same thrift was observed in the preposi- tions. The conjunctions were only hem ! and ha ! and the interjections brought under the three heads of sighing, sob- bing, and groaning. There was at the end of the grammar a little nomenclature, called " The Christian Man's Vocabu- lary," which gave new appellations, or (if you will) Chris- tian names to almost everything in life. I replaced the book in the hand of the figure, not without admiring the simplicity of its garb, speech, and behaviour. " Just opposite to this row of religions, there was a statue dressed in a fool's coat, with a cap of bells upon his head, laughing and pointing at the figures that stood before him. This idiot is supposed to say in his heart what David's fool did some thousands of years ago, and was therefore designed as a proper representative of those among us who are called atheists and infidels by others, and free-thinkers by them- selves. " There were many other groups of figures which I did not know the meaning of; but seeing a collection of both sexes turning their backs upon the company, and laying their heads very close together, I inquired after their religion, and found that they called themselves the PhUadelphians, or the family of love. " In the opposite corner there sat another little congrega- tion of strange figures, opening their mouths as wide as they could gape, and distinguished by the title of ' The sweet Singers of Israel.' " I must not omit, that in this assembly of wax there were several pieces that moved by clock-work, and gave great satisfaction to the spectators. Behind the matron there stood one of these figures, and behind Popery another, which, as the artist told us, were each of them the genius of the person they attended. That behind Popery represented Persecution, and the other Moderation. The first of these moved by secret springs towards a great heap of dead bodies that lay piled upon one another at a considerable distance behind the principal figures. There were written on the foreheads of these dead men several hard words, as Pr»" 210 addisok's wobes. Adamites, Sabbatarians, Cameromaiis,Muggletoniaiis, Brown. ists. Independents, Masonites, Camisars, and the like. At the approach of Persecution, it was so contriYed, that as she held up her bloody flag, the whole assembly of dead men, like those in the Eehearsal, started np and drew their swords. This was followed by great clashings and noise, when, in the midst of the tumult, the iigure of Moderation moved gently towards this new army, which, upon her holding up a paper in her hand, inscribed, ' Liberty of Conscience,' immediately fell into a heap of carcasses, remaining in the same quiet posture that they lay at first."' No. 259. TUESDAY, DECEMBEE 5, 1710. — Vexat censura columbas. Juv. A Continuation of the Journal of the Court of Honour, held in Sheer Lane, on Monday the 27th of November, before Isaac BickerstafFe, Esq., Censor of Great Britaiu. Elizabeth Makbbate, of the parish of St. Catherine's, spinster, was indicted for surreptitiously taking away the hassoc from under the Lady Grave- Airs, between the hours of four and five, on Sunday the 26th of November. The prosecutor deposed, that as she stood up to make a curtsey to a person of quality in a neighbouring pew, the criminal conveyed away the hassoc by stealth, insomuch that the pro- secutor was obliged to sit aH the whole while she was at church, or to say her prayers in a posture that did not become a woman of her quality. The prisoner pleaded in- advertency ; and the jxiry were going to bring it in chance- medley, had not several witnesses been produced against the said Elizabeth Makebate, that she was an old offender, and a woman of a bad reputation. It appeared in particular, that on the Sunday before she had detracted from a new petticoat of Mrs. Mary DoeUttle, having said in the hearing ' The ridicule in this inimitable paper, on the several sects of religion, is so pointed and strong, that the gravest reader cannot help laughing at it ; yet so guarded and chaste, at the same time, that no part of it is seen to fall on religion itself.— It is to be lamented, that another of our wits, X mean, in the famous Tale of a Tvh, was either uut so discreet, or not so happy. No. 259. THE TATLEB. 211 of several credible witnesses, that the said petticoat waa scowered, to the great grief and detriment of the said Mary DoeUttle. There were likewise many evidences produced against the criminal, that though she never failed to come to church on Sunday, she was a most notorious sabbath-breaker, and that she spent her whole time, during divine service, in disparaging other people's clothes, and whispering to those who sat next her. Upon the whole, she was found guilty of the indictment, and received sentence to ask pardon of the prosecutor upon her bare knees, without eittier cushion or hassoc under her, in the face of the court. N. B. As soon as the sentence was executed on the cri- minal, which was done in open court with the utmost se- verity, the first lady of the bench on Mr. BickerstafFe's right hand stood up, and made a motion to the court, that whereas it was impossible for women of fashion to dress themselves before the church was haK done, and whereas many confu- sions and inconveniences did arise thereupon, it might be lawful for them to send a footman, in order to keep their places, as was usual in other polite and well-regulated assem- blies. The motion was ordered to be entered in the books, and considered at a more convenient time. Charles Cambrick, Linen-draper, m the city of Westmin- ster, was indicted for speaking obscenely to the Lady Pene- lope Touchwood. It appeared, that the prosecutor and her woman going in a stage-coach from London to Brentford, where they were to be met by the lady's own chariot, the criminal and another of his acquaintance travelled with them in the same coach, at which time the prisoner talked bawdy for the space of three miles and a half. The prosecutor alleged, " That over against the Old Fox at Knightsbridge, he men- tioned the word Unen ; that at the further end of Kensing- ton he made use of the term smock ; and that before he came to Hammersmith, he talked almost a quarter of an hour upon wedding-shifts." The prosecutor's woman confirmed what her lady had said, and added further, " that she had never seen her lady in so great confusion, and in such a taking, as she was during the whole discourse of the criminal." The prisoner had little to say for himself, but that he talked only m his own trade, and meant no hurt by what he said. The jury, however, found him gmlty, and represented by their forewoman, that such discourses were apt to sully the imar p 2 212 Addison's woeks. gination, and that by a concatenation of ideas, the word linen implied many things that were not proper to he stirred up in the mind of a woman who was of the prosecutor's quality, and therefore gave it as their verdict, that the hnen- draper should lose his tongue. Mr. Bickerstafie said, " He thought the prosecutor's ears were as much to blame as the prisoner's tongue, and therefore gave sentence as follows: That they should both be placed over against one another in the midst of the court, there to remain for the space of one quarter of an hour, during which time, the Hnen-draper was to be gagged, and the lady to hold her hands close upon both her ears ;" which was executed accordingly. Edward CaUicoat was indicted as an accomphce to Charles Cambrick, for that he the said Edward CaUicoat did, by his silence and his smiles' seem to approve and abet the said Charles Cambrick in everything he said. It appeared, that the prisoner was foreman of the shop to the aforesaid Charles Cambrick, and by his post obliged to smile at everything that the other should be pleased to say : upon which he was acquitted. Josias Shallow was indicted in the name of Dame Wini- fred, sole relict of Eichard Dainty, Esq., for having said se- veral times in company, and in the hearing of several persons there present, that he was extremely obliged to the widow- Dainty, and that he should never be able sufficiently to ex- press his gratitude. The prosecutor urged, that this might blast her reputation, and that it was in effect a boasting of favours which he had never received. The prisoner seemed to' be much astonished at the construction which was put upon his words, and said, " That he meant nothing by them, but that the widow had befriended him in a lease, and was very kind to his younger sister." The jury finding him ahttle weak in his understanding, without going out of the court, brought in their verdict, ignoramus. Ursula Goodenough was accused by the Lady Betty Wou'dbe, for having said, that she the -Lady Betty Wou'dbe was painted. The prisoner brought several persons of good credit to witness to her reputation, and proved by undeniable evidences, that she was never at the place where the words were said to have been uttered. The Censor observing the behaviour of the prosecutor, found reason to believe that she had indicted the prisoner for no other reason but to No. 880. THB TATLEE. 213 aia^e ter complexion be taken notice of, which indeed was very fresh and beautiful ; he therefore asked the offender with a very stem voice, how she could presume to spread so groundless a report ? And whether she saw any colours in the Lady "Wou'dbe's face that could procure credit to such a falsehood ? " Do you see (says he) any lilies or roses in her cheeks, any bloom, any probability ?" — The prosecutor, not able to bear such language any longer, told him, that he talked Kke a bUnd old fool, and that she was ashamed to have entertained any opinion of his wisdom : but she was put to silence, and sentenced to wear her mask for fife months, and not to presume to show her face tUL the town should be empty. Benjamin Buzzard, Esq. was indicted having told the Lady Everbloom at a public baU, that she looked very well for a woman of her years. The prisoner not denying the fact, and persisting before the court that he looked upon it as a compliment, the jury brought him in non compos mentis. The court then adjourned to Monday the 11th instant. Copia Vera, Chaeies Liliie. [Sir Richard Steele assisted in this paper. T.] No. 260. THUESDAT, DECEMBEE 7, 1710. Non culcumque datum est hahere nasum. Mart. From my own Apartment, December 6. We have a very learned and elaborate dissertation upon thumbs in Montaigne's Essays, and another upon ears in the Tale of a Tub. J am here going to write one upon noses, having chosen for my text the following verses out of Hu- dibras : So learned Talicotius from The brawny part of Porter's bum Cut supplemental noses, which Lasted as long as parent breech : But when the date of nock was out, Off dropped the sympathetic snout. Notwithstanding that there is nothing obscene in natural 214 Addison's woeks, knowledge, and that I intend to give as little offence as may be to readers of a weU-hred imagination, I must, for my own quiet, desire the critics (who in all times have been famous for good noses) to refrain from the lecture ^ of this curious tract. These gentlemen were formerly marked out and dis- tinguished by the little rhinocerical nose, which was always looked upon as an instrument of derision, and which they were used to cock, toss, or draw up in a contemptuous man- ner, upon reading the works of their ingenious contemporar ries. It is not, therefore, for this generation of men that I write the present transaction, — Minus aptus acutis Maribus horum hominum,' but for the sake of some of my philosophical friends in the Eoyal Society, who peruse discourses of this nature with a becoming gravity, and a desire of improving by them. Many are the opinions of learned men concerning the rise of that fatal distemper which has always taken a particular pleasure in venting its spite upon the nose. I have seen a little burlesque poem in Italian that gives a very pleasant account of this matter. The fable of it runs thus : Mars, the god of war, having served during the siege of Naples in the shape of a French colonel, received a visit one nighttfrom Venus, the goddess of love, who had been always his pro- fessed mistress and admirer. The poem says, she came to him in the disguise of a suttling wench, with a bottle of brandy imder her arm. Let that be as it will, he managed matters so well, that she went away big-bellied, and was at length brought to bed of a little Cupid. This boy, whether it were by reason of any bad food that his father had eaten during the siege, or of any particular malignity in the stars that reigned at his nativity, came into the world with a very sickly look, and crazy constitution. As soon as he was able to handle his bow, he made discoveries of a most perverse disposition. He dipped all his arrows in poison, that rotted everything they touched; and what was more particular, aimed all his shafts at the nose, quite contrary to the prac- ' He says, the "lecture" instead of the "reading," or "the perusal of," to ridicule the pedantic style of learned critics. ' Pleasantly said. But this paper (except in one instance, or two, which shall be pointed out) has uothing to apprehend from the besl-naiei critic. THO. 260. THE TATLEE. 215 tice of his elder brothers, who had made a human heart their Jjutt in all countries and ages. To break him of this roguish ^trick, his parents put him to school to Mercury, who did all the- could to hinder him from demolishing the noses of man- kind ; but in spite of education, the boy continued very un- ■lucky ; and though his malice was a little softened by good instructions, he would very frequently let fly an envenomed arrow, and wound his votaries oftener in the nose than in the heart. Thus far the fable. I need not teU my learned reader, that Correggio has drawn a Cupid taking his lesson from Mercury, conformable to this poem ; nor that the poem itself was designed as a burlesque upon Fracastorius. It was little after this fatal siege of Naples that Talieo- tius begun to practise in a town of Germany. He was the first clap-doctor that I meet with in history, and a greater man in his age than our celebrated Dr. WaU.. He saw his species extremely mutilated and disfigured by this new dis- temper that was crept' into it ; and therefore, in pursuance of a very seasonable invention, set up a manufacture of noses, having first got a patent that none should presume to make noses besides himself. His first patient was a great man of Portugal, who had done good services to his country, but in the midst of them unfortunately lost his nose. Talicotius grafted a new one on the remaining part of the gristle or cartilaginous substance, which would sneeze, smeU, take snuff, pronounce the letters m or n, and in short, do all the functions of a genuine and natural nose. There was, how- ever, one misfortune in this experiment. The Portuguese's complexion was a httle upon the subfusc, with, very black eyes and dark eyebrows, and the nose being taken from a porter that had a white G-erman skin, and cut out of those , parts that are not exposed to the sim, it was very visible that the features of his face were not feUows. In a word, the Conde resembled one of those maimed antique statues, that has often a modern nose of fresh marble glued to a face ' of such a yellow ivory cornplexion as nothing can give but age. To remedy this particular for the future, the doctor got together a great collection of porters, men of aU com- plexions, black, brown, fair, dark, sallow, pale, and ruddy ; ' Was areyfi^ " Cre^" being a neutral verb, I should rather havs raid, — " had crept." 216 Addison's wokks. so that it was impossible for a patient of the most out-of. the-way colour not to find a nose to match it. The doctor's house was now very much enlarged, and become a kind of college, or rather hospital, for the fashion- able cripples of both sexes that resorted to him from all parts of Europe. Over his door was fastened a large golden snout, not unlike that which is placed over the great gates at Brazen- Nose College in Oxford ; and as it is usual for the learned in foreign universities to distinguish their houses by a Latin sentence, the doctor writ underneath this great golden proboscis two verses out of Ovid : Militat omnis amans, habet et sua castia Cupido, Pontice, crede mihi, militat omnis amans. It is reported that TaUcotius had at one time in his house twelve G-erman counts, nineteen French marquisses, and a hundred Spanish cavaliers, besides one solitary English esquire, of whom more hereafter. Though the doctor had the monopoly of noses in his own hands, he is said not to bxive been unreasonable. Indeed if a man had occasion for a high Eoman nose, he must go to the price of it. A car- buncle nose likewise bore an excessive rate : but for your ordinary short tuxned-up noses, of which there was the greatest consumption, they cost little or nothing ; at least the purchasers thought so, who would have been content to have paid much dearer for them, rather than to have gone without them.' The sympathy betwixt the nose and its parent was very extraordinary. Hudibras has told us, that when the porter died, the nose dropped of course, ia which case it was always usual to return the nose, in order to have it interred with its fi^-^ ■, ■ '^ — . 0-^\ \ ^ — Ast alii sex ^^ Et pliires, lino conclamant ore. Juv. The first of our society is a gentleman of "Worcestershire, of ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Eoger de Coverly, His great-grandfather was inventor of that famous country- dance which is called after him. All who know that shire, are very well acquainted- with the parts and merits of Sir Eoger. He is a gentleman that is very singular in his behaviour, but his singtdarities proceed from his good sense, and are contradictions to the manners of the world, only as he thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humour creates him no enemies, for he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy ; and his being unconfined to modes and formSf makes him but the readier and more capable to please and, oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in Soho Square. It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him. Before this disappointment, Sif Eoger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped with my Lord Eochester and Sir G-eorge Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson in a public cofiee-house for calling him youngster. But being ill used by the above-mentioned widow, he was very serious for a year and a half; and though, his temper being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself, and never dressed afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and doublet of the same cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humours, he tells us, has been in and oat twelve times since he first wore it: 'Tis said Sir Eoger grew humble in his desires after he No. 2. THE SPECTATOE. 233 had forgot this cruel beauty, insomuch that it is reported he has frequently ofiended in point of chastity with beggars and gypsies : but this is looked upon by his friends rather as matter of raillery than truth. He is now in his fifty-sixtb- year, cheerful, gay, and hearty ; keeps a good house both in town and country ; a great lover of maiiikind ; but ther^ is such a mirthful cast ia his behaviour, that he is rather be- loved than esteemed : his tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied : all the young women profess love to him, and the young men are glad of his company : when he comes into a house, he calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way upstairs to a visit. I must not omit, that Sir Eoger is a justice of the quorum ; that he fills the chair at a quarter-session with great abilities, and three months ago gaiaed universal- applause by explaining a passage in the game act. The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us, is another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple ; a man of great probity, wit, and imderstanding ; but he has chosen his place of residence rather to obey the direction of an old humoursome father, than in pursuit of his own in- clinations. He was placed there to study the laws of the land, and is the most learned of any of the house in those of the stage. Aristotle and Longinus are much better under- stood by him than Littleton or Coke. The father sends up every post questions relating to marriage-articles, leases, and tenures in the neighbourhood ; all which questions he agrees with an attorney to answer and take care of in the lump. He is studying the passions themselves, when he should be in- quiring into the debates among men which arise from them. He knows the argument of each of the orations of Demos- thenes and Tully, but not one case in the reports of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool ; but none, except his intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested and agreeable : as few of his thoughts are drawn from business, they are most of them fit for conversation. His taste of books is a little too just for the age he lives in ; he has read all, but approves of very few. His familiarity with the customs, manners, actions, and writings of the ancients, makes him a very deli- cate observer of what occurs to him in the present world He is an excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour 234 ADDISOIf'S WOEKS. of business ; exactly at five he passes througli New Inn, crosses ttrough Eussel Court, and takes a turn at "Will's till the play begins : lie has his shoes rubbed and his perriwig powdered at the barber's as you go into the Eose. It is for the good of the audience when he is at a play, for the actors have an ambition to please him. The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Freeport, a merchant of great eminence in the city of London ; a per- son of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great expe- rience. His notions of trade are noble and generous, and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of jesting, which wotdd make no great figure were he not a rich man) he calls the sea the British Common. He is acquainted with com- merce in all its parts, and wiU tell you it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion by arms ; for true power is to be got by arts and industry. He wiO often argue, that if this part of our trade were well cultivated, we should gain from one nation ; and if another, from another. I nave heard him prove, that diligence makes more lasting acquisi- tions than valour, and that sloth has ruined more nations than the sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst which the greatest favourite is, " A penny saved is a penny got." A general trader of good sense is pleasanter company than a general scholar ; and Sir Andrew having a natural unafiected eloquence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives the same pleasure that wit would in another man. He has made his fortunes himself ; and says that England may he richer than other kingdoms, by as plain methods as he himself is richer than other men ; though at the same time I can say this of him, that there is not a point in the com- pass but blows home a ship in which he is an owner. Next to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain Sentry, a gentleman of great coiixage and understanding, but invin- cible modesty. He is one of those that deserve very well, but are very awkward at putting their talents within the ob- servation of such as should take notice of them. He was some years a captain, and -behaved himself vrith great gal- lantry in several engagements and at several sieges; but hav- ing a small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir Eoger, he has quitted a way of life in which no man can rise suit- ably to his merit, who is not something of a courtier as well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament, that in a pro- No. 2. THE SPEOTATOE. 235 fession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, im- pudence should get the better of modesty. When he has talked to this purpose, I never heard Mm make a sour ex- pression, but frankly confess that he left the world because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty, and an even regular behaviour, are in themselves obstacles to him that must press through crowds who endeavour at the same end with him- self, the favour of a commander. He will, however, in his Way of talk, excuse generals for not disposing according to men's desert, or inquiring iuto it : for, says he, that great man who has a mind to help me, has as many to break through to come at me, as I have to come at him : therefore he will conclude, that the man who would make a figure, especially in a military way, must get over all false modesty, and assist his patron against the importunity of other pre- tenders, by a proper assurance in his own vindication. He says it is a civil cowardice to be backward in asserting what you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in at- tacking when it is your duty. With this candour does the gentleman speak of himself and others. The same frank- ness runs through all his conversation. The military part . of his life has furnished him vsdth many adventures, in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the company ; for he is never overbearing, though accustomed to command men in the utmost degree below him ; nor ever too obsequious, from an habit of obeying men highly above him. But that our society may not appear a set of humourists unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have among us the gallant Will. Honeycomb, a gentle- man who, according to his years, should be in the decline of his life, but having ever been very careful of his person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but very little impression, either by wrinkles on his forehead or traces in his brain. His person is well turned, of a good height. He is very ready in that sort of discourse vrith which men usu- ally entertain women. He has all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits as others do men. He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. He knows the history of every mode, and can inform you from which of the French king's wenches our wives and daughters had this manner of curling their hair, that way of placing their hoods; whose frailty was covered by such a sort of petticoat, aad 236 iBBISOlf'S -WOEKS. ■whose vanity to show her foot made that part of the dress so short in such a year : in a word, all his conversation aad knowledge has been in the female world. As other men of his age will take notice to you what such a minister said up- on such and such an occasion, he will teU you when the Duke of Monmouth danced at court such a woman was then smitten, another was taken with him at the head of his troop in the park. In all these important relations, he has ever about the same time received a kiad glance or a blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord such-a-one. If you speak of a young commoner that said a lively thing in the house, he starts up, " He has good blood in his veins: Tom Mirabel begot him: the rogue cheated me iu that affair : that young fellow's mother used me more like a dog than any woman I ever made advances to." This way of talking of his very much enlivens the conversation among us of a more sedate turn ; and I find there is not one of the company, but myself, who rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of that sort of man who is usually called a well-bred fine gentleman. To conclude his character, where women are not concerned, he is an honest, worthy man. I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I am next to speak of as one of our company ; for he visits us but seldom : but when he does, it adds to every man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a very philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of life, and the most exact breeding. He has the misfortune to be of a very weak constitution, and consequently cannot accept of such cares and business as preferments in his function woidd oblige him to : he is therefore, among divines, what a chamber-counsellor is among lawyers. The probity of his mind, and the inte- grity of his life, create him followers, as being eloquent or loud advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he speaks upon: but we are so far gone in years, that he observes when he is among us an earnestness to have him fall on some divine topic, which he always treats with much authority, as one who has no interests in this world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. These axe my ordinary companions.' * Though this paper, in former editions, is not marked with any letter THE SPECTATOB. 23V No. 3. SATrEDAT, MAEOH 3. Quoi quisque fer^ studio devinctus adhseret : Aiit quibus in rebus multClm sUmus ant^ morati : Atque in qua ratione I'uit contenta magis mens ; In somnis eadem plerumque videmur obire. LncK. 1. iv. Iw one of my late raribles, or rather speculations, I looked into the great hall where the Bank is kept, and was not a little pleased to see the directors, secretaries, and clerks, with aU. the other members of that wealthy corporation, ranged iu their several stations, according to the parts they act in that just and regular oeconomy. This revived in my memory the many discourses which I had both read and heard concerning the decay of public credit, with the methods of restoring it, and, which, in m3*opinion, have always been defective, because they have always been made with an eye to separate interests and party principles. The thoughts of the day gave my mind employment for the whole night, so that I fell insensibly into a kind of me- thodical dream, which disposed all my contemplations into a vision or allegory, or what else the reader shaU please to call it. Methoughts' I returned to the great hall, where I had been the morning before, but, to my surprise, instead of the company that I left there, I saw towards the upper end of the hall a beautiful virgin, seated on a throne of gold. Her name (as they told me) was Public Credit. The walls, in- stead of being adorned with pictures and maps, were hung with many Acts of Parliament written in golden letters. At the upper end of the haU was the Magna Charta, with the Act of Uniformity on the right hand, and the Act of Tolera- tion on the left. At the lower end of the hall was the Act of Settlement, which was placed full in the eye of the vir- gin that sat upon the throne. Both the sides of the hall were covered with such Acts of Parliament as had been made for the establishment of public funds. The lady seemed to of the word CLIO, by -which Mr. Addison distinguished his performances, it was thought necessary to insert it, as containing characters of the several persons mentioned in the whole course of this work. The cha- ractera were concerted with Mr. Addison ; and the draught of them, iii this paper, I suppose touched by him. ' Methoughts.'] Eather Methovght, for Methinks (though the com" position seems strange) is a verb, of which methowght is the preterperfeot. Z8B ADDISON S WOEKS. Bet an imspeakable value upon these several pieces of furrn. ture, insomuch that she often refreshed her eye with them and often smiled with a secret pleasure- as she looked -upon them ; but, at the same time, showed a very particular un- easiness, if she saw anything' approaching that might hurt them. She appeared, indeed, infiiiitely timorous in all her behaviour ; and, whether it was from the delicacy of her con- stitution, or that she was troubled with vapours, as I was afterwards told by one who I found was none of her well- wishers, she changed colour and startled at everything she heard. She was likewise (as I afterwards found) a greater valetudinarian than any I had ever met with, even in her own sex, and subject to such momentary consumptions, that, ia the twinkling of an eye, she would fall away from the most florid complexion, and the most healthful state of body, and wither into a skeleton. Her recoveries were often as sudden as her decays, insomuch that she would revive in a mo- tnent out of a wasting distemper, into a habit of the highest health and vigour. I had very soon an opportunity of observing these quiet turns and changes in her constitution. There sat at her feet a couple of secretaries, who received every hour letters from aU parts of the world, which the one or the other of them was perpetually reading to her ; and, according to the news she heard, to which she was exceedingly attentive, she changed colour, and discovered many symptoms of health or sickness. Behind the throne was a prodigious heap of bags of money, which were piled upon one another so high, that they touched the ceiling. The floor, on her right hand and on her left, was covered with vast sums of gold that rose up in pyramids on either side of her : but this 1 did not so much wonder at, when I heard, upon inquiry, that she had the same virtue in her, touch, which the poets teU us a Lydian king was formerly' possessed of; and that she could convert whatever she pleased into that precious metal. After a little dizziness, and confused hurry of thought, which a man often meets with in a dream, methoughts the hall was alarmed, the doors flew open, and there entered half a dozen of the most hideous phantoms that I had ever seeD (oven in a dream) before that time. They came in two by two, ' Anything.^ It should be something. No. 3. THE SPECTATOE. 239 though matched in the most dissociable manner, and mingled together in a kind of dance. It would be tedious to describe their habits and persons, for which reason I shall only inform my reader, that the first couple were Tyranny and Anarchy; the second were Bigotry and Atheism ; the third, the genius of a commonwealth and a young man of about twenty-two years of age, whose name I could not learn. He had a sword in his right hand, which in the dance he often brandished at the Act of Settlement ; and a citizen, who stood by me, whispered in my ear, that he saw a spunge in his left hand. The dance of so many jarring natures put me in mind of the sun, moon, and earth, in the Eehearsal, that danced to- gether for no other end but to eclipse one another. The reader will easily suppose, by what has been before said, that the lady on the throne would have been almost frighted to distraction, had she seen but any one of theae spectres ; what then must have been her conclition when she saw them all in a body ? She fainted and died away at the sight. Et neque jam color est inisto candore rubor! ; Neo Tigor, ei vires, et quae modo visa placebant ; Nee corpus remanet — Ov. Met. lib. iii. There was a great change in the hill of money bags and the heaps of money ; the former shrinking, and falling into so many empty bags, that I now found not above a tenth part of them had been filled with money. The rest that took up the same space, and made the same figure as the bags that were really filled with money, had been blown up with air, and called into my memory the bags full of wind, which Homer tells us his hero received as a present from jEoIus. The great heaps of gold, on either side the throne, now ap- peared to be only heaps of paper, or little piles of notched sticks, bound up together in bundles, like Bath faggots. Whilst I was lamenting this sudden desolation that had been made before me, the whole scene vanished : in the room of the frightful spectres, there now entered a second dance of apparitions very agreeably matched together, and made up of very amiable phantoms. The first pair was Liberty with Mon- archy at her right hand ; the second was Moderation leading in Religion ; and the third, a person whom I had never seen, with the genius of Great Britain. At the first entrance the lady revived; the bags swelled to their former bulkj the 240 pile of faggots, and heaps of paper, changed into pyramids of guineas : and, for my own part, I was so transported with joy, that I awaked; though, I must confess, I would fain haTe fallen asleep again to have closed my vision, if I could have done it. No. 5. TUESDAY, MAECH 6. Spectatum admissi risum teneatis ? Hon. As opera may be allowed to he extravagantly lavish in its decorations, as its only design is to gratify the senses, and Iceep up an indolent attention ia the audience. Common sense, however, requires, that there should be nothing in the scenes and machines which may appear childish and absurd. How would the vrits of King Charles's time have laughed to have seen Nicolini exposed to a tempest ia robes of ermine, and sailing ia an open-boat upon a sea of pasteboard ! What a field of raiUery would they have been let iato, had they been entertaiaed with painted dragons spittiag wUdflre, en- chanted chariots drawn by Inlanders mares, and real cascades in artificial landscapes ! A little skiU in criticism would in- form us, that shadows and realities ought not to be miied together ia the same piece ; and that the scenes which are designed as the representations of nature, should be iiUed with resemblances, and not with the things themselves. If one would represent a wide champaign country fiUed with herds and flocks, it would be ridicxilous to draw the country only upon the scenes, and to crowd several parts of the stage with sheep and oxen. This is joining together iaconsistencies, and making the decoration partly real and partly imaginary I would recommend what I have here said to the directors, as well as to the admirers, of our modern opera. As I was walking ia the streets about a fortnight ago, I saw an ordinary fellow carrying a cage full of little birds upon his shoulder ; and, as I was wonderiag with myself what use he would put them to, he was met very luckily by an ac- quaintance, who had the same curiosity. Upon his asidng him what he had upon his shoulder, he told him, thait he had been buyiag sparrows for the opera. Sparrows for the opera ! says his friend, lickiag his lips ; what, are they to be roasted ? No. 5. TUB SPECTATOB. 241 No, no, says the other ; they are to enter towards the end of the first act, and to fly about the stage. This strange dialogue awakened my curiosity so far, that I immediately bought the opera, by which means I perceived the sparrows were to act the part of singing birds in a de- lightful grove ; though, upon a nearer inquiry, I found the sparrows put the same trick upon the audience, that Sir Martin Mar-aU practised upon his mistress ; for, though they flew in sight, the music proceeded from a consort of flagelets and bird-caUs which were planted behind the scenes. At the same time I made this discovery, I found, by the discourse of the actors, that there were great designs on foot for the improvement of the opera ; that it had been proposed to break down a part of the wall, and to surprise the au- dience with a party of an hundred horse ; and that there was actually a project of bringing the New Eiver into the house, to be employed in jetteaus and water-works. This project, as I have since heard, is postponed till the summer season ; when it is thought the coolness that proceeds from fountains and cascades will be more acceptable and refreshing to people of quality. In the mean time, to find out a more agreeable entertainment for the winter season, the opera of Einaldo is fiUed with thunder and lightning, illuminations and fire-works ; which the audience may look upon without catching cold, and indeed without much danger of being burnt ; for there are several engines filled with water, and ready to play at a minute's warning, in case any such acci- dent should happen. However, as I have a very great friendship for the owner of this theatre, I hope that he has been wise enough to insure his house before he would let this opera be acted in it. It is no wonder that those scenes should be very sur- prising, which were contrived by two poets of difierent na- tions, and raised by two magicians of difierent sexes. Armida (as we are told in the argument) was an Amazonian en- chantress, and poor Signior Cassani (as we learn from the persons represented) a Christian conjuror (Mago Chris- tian o). I must confess I am very much puzzled to find how an Amazon should be versed in the black art ; or how a good Christian (for such is the part of the magician) should deal with the devil. To consider the poets after the conjurors, I shall give you 242 iBDisoir's wobks. a taste of the Italian, from the first lines of his iTeface : EccoU, benigno lettore, un parto di poche sere, che se ben nata di notte, non e perb aborlo di tenebre, md si fara conoscere Agliolo d" Apollo con qualcke raggio di Parnasse. " Behold, gentle reader, the birth of a few evenings, which, though it be the offspring of the night, is not the abortiye of darkness, but will make itself known to be the son of Apollo, with a certain ray of Parnassus." He afterwards proceeds to call Mynheer Hendel the Orpheus of our age, and to acquaint us, in the same sublimity of style, that he composed thii opera in a fortnight. Such are the wits to whose tastes we so ambitiously conform ourselves. The truth of it is, the finest writers among the modem Italians express themselves in such a florid form of words, and such tedious circumlocu- tions, as are used by none but pedants in our own country; and at the same time fill their writings with such poor ima- ginations and conceits, as our youths are ashamed of before they have been two years at the university. Some may be apt to think that it is the difference of genius which pro- duces this difference in the works of the two nations ; but to show there is nothing in this, if we look into the ■RTitings of the old Italians, such as Cicero and Virgil, we shall find that the English writers, in their way of thinking and ex- pressing themselves, resemble those authors much more than the modern Italians pretend to do. And as for the poet himself, from whom the dreams of this opera are taken, / I must entirely agree with Monsieur Boileau, that one verse in Virgil is worth all the clinijuant or tinsel of Tasso. But to return to the sparrows ; there have been so many flights of them let loose in this opera, that it is feared the house wiU never get rid of them ; and that in other plays they make their entrance in very wrong and improper scenes, • so as to be seen flying in a lady's bed-chamber, or perching upon a king's throne ; besides the inconveniences which the heads of the audience may sometimes suffer from them. I ; am credibly informed, that there was once a design of casting into an opera the story of Whittington and his cat, and that in order to it, there had been got together a great quantity of mice ; but Mr. Eich, the proprietor of the playhouse, very prudently considered, that it would be impossible loi the cat to kill them all, and that consequently the princes of the stage might be as much infested with mice, as the No. 7. THE SPECTATOB. 243 prince of the island was before the cat's arrival upon it ; for which reason he would not permit it to be acted in his house. And indeed I cannot blame him : for, as he said very well upon that occasion, I do not hear that any of the performers in our opera pretend to equal the famous pied piper, who made all the mice of a great town in Grermany follow his music, and by that means cleared the place of those little noxious animals. Before I dismiss this paper, I must inform my reader, that I hear there is a treaty on foot with London and Wis.i (who will be appointed gardeners of the playhouse) to furn- ish the opera of Einaldo and Armida with an orange-grove ; and that the next time it is acted, the singing birds will be personated by tom-tits : the undertakers being resolved to spare neither pains nor money for the gratification of the audience. No. 7. THUESDAT, MAECH 8. Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, Nocturnos lemures, portentaque Thessala rides ? HoR. Going yesterday to dine vrith an old acquaintance, I had the misfortune to find his whole family very much dejected. Upon asking him the occasion of it, he told me that his wife had dreamt a strange dream the night before, which they were afraid portended some misfortune to themselves or to their children. At her coming into the room, I observed a settled melancholy iu her countenance, which I should have been troubled for, had I not heard from whence it proceeded. "We were no sooner sat down, but, after haviug looked upon me a little whUe, "My dear," says she, turning to her hus- band, " you may now see the stranger that was in the can- dle last night." Soon after this, as they began to talk of family affairs, a Httle boy at the lower end of the table told her, that he was to go iuto joiu-hand on Thursday. " Thurs- day!" says she. " No, child, if it please Grod, you shall not begin upon Childermas-day : tell your writing master that Friday will be soon enough." I was reflecting with myself on the oddness of her fancy, and wondering that anybody B 2 244 Addison's wokks. would establisli it as a rule to lose a day in every week. In the midst of these my musings, she desired me to reach her a little salt upon the point of my knife, which I did in such a trepidation and hurry of obedience, that I let it drop by the way ; at which she immediately startled, and said it feU towards her. Upon this I looked very blank ; and observing the concern of the whole table, began to consider myself with some confusion, as a person that had brought a disaster upon the family. The lady, however, recovering herself, after a little space, said to her husband, with a sigh, " My dear, misfortunes never come single." My friend, I found, acted but an under part at his table, and being a man of more good-nature than understanding, thinks himself obliged to fall in with all the passions and humours of his yoke-fel-i low. "Do not you remember, chUd," says she, "that the pigeon-house fell the very afternoon that our careless wench spilt the salt upon the table ?" " Tes," says he, "my dear; and the next post brought us an account of the battle of Alnianza." The reader may guess at the figure I made, after having done all this mischief. I despatched my dinner as soon as I could, with my usual taciturnity ; when, to my utter confusion, the lady seeing me quitting my knife and fork, and lajring them across one another upon my plate, desired me that I would humour her so far as to take them out of that figure, and place them side by side. What the absurdity was which I had committed I did not know, but I suppose there was some traditionary superstition in it ; and therefore in obedience to the lady of the house, I disposed of my knife and fork in two parallel lines, which is the figure I shall always lay them in for the future, though I do not know any reason for it. It is not cGificult for a man to see that a person has con- ceived an aversion to him. Por my own part, I quickly found, by the lady's looks, that she regarded me as a veiy odd kind of fellow, with an unfortunate aspect. For whien reason I took my leave immediately after dinner, and with- drew to my ovm lodgings. Upon my return home, I fell into a profound contemplation of the evils that attend these superstitious follies of mankind ; how they subject us to imaginary afflictions, and additional sorrows, that do not properly come within our lot. As if *he natural calamities of life were not sufficient for it, we turn the most indifferent No, 7. THE SPECTATOB. 245 circumstances into misfortunes, and suffer as much from trifling accidents as from real evils., I have kno^\"n the shooting of a star spoil a night's rest ; and have seen a man in love grow pale, and lose his appetite, upon the plucking of a uierry-thought. A screech-owl at midnight has alarmed a family more than a band of robbers : nay, the voice of a cricket hath struck more terror than the roaring of a lion. There is nothing so inconsiderable, which may not appear dreadful to an imagination that is filled with omens and prognostics. A rusty nail, or a crooked pin, shoot up into prodigies. I remember I was once in a mixt assembly, that' was full of noise and mirth, when on a sudden an old woman un- luckily observed there were thirteen of us in company. This remark struck a panic terror into several who were present, insomuch that one or two of the ladies were going to leave the room ; but a friend of mine taking notice that one of our female companions was big with child, affirmed, there were fourteen in the room, and that, instead of portending one of the company should die, it plainly foretold one of them should be bom. Had not my friend found this expedient to break the omen, I question not but half the women in the company would have fallen sick that very night. An old maid, that is troubled with the vapours, produces infinite disturbances of this kind among her friends and neighbours. I know a maiden aunt of a great family, who is one of these antiquated Sibyls, that forebodes and prophe- sies from one end of the year to the other. She is always seeing apparitions and hearing death-watches ; and was the other day almost frighted out of her wits by the great house- dog, that howled in the stable at a time when she lay iU of the tooth-ache. Such an extravagant cast of mind engages multitudes of people, not only in impertinent terrors, but in supernumerary duties of life ; and arises from that fear and ignorance which are natural to the soul of man. The horror with which we entertain the thoughts of death, (or indeed of any future evU,) and the uncertainty of its approach, fill a melancholy mind with innumerable apprehensions and sus- picions, and consequently dispose it to the observation of such groundl^s prodigies and predictions. For as it is the chief concern' of wise men to retrench the evUs of life by the 246 ADDJSOIi S "WORKS. reasonings of philosophy, it is the employment of fools to multiply them by the sentiments of superstition. For my own part, 1 should be very much troubled wen! I endowed with this divining quality, though it should inform me truly of everything that can befall me. I would not anticipate the relish of any happiness, nor feel the weight of any misery, before it actually arrives. I know but one way of fortifying my soul against these gloomy presages and terrors of mind, and that is, by secuv- ing to myself the friendship and protection of that Being who disposes of events, and governs futurity. He sees at one view the whole thread of my existence; not only that part of it which I have already passed through, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity. When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to his care ; when I awake, I give myself up to his direction. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for help, and question not but he wiU either avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am to die, I am not at all aohcitous about it ; because I am sure that he knows them both, and that he will not fail to comfort and support me under them. No. 8. EEIDAT, MAECH 9. At Venus obscuro gradientes aere sepsit, Et multo nebulae circum dea fudit amictu, Cemere ne quis eos — ViEO. T SHAiii here communicate to the world a couple of letters, which I believe wOl give the reader as good an entertain- ment as any that I am able to furnish him with, and there- fore shall make no apology for them. "to the SPECT-4T0B, &C. " SiK, I am one of the directors of the Society for the Re- formation of Manners, and therefore think myseK a proper person for your correspondence. I have thoroughly ex- amined the present state of reUgion in Great Britain, Buo No. 8. THFi SPTOTATOE. 247 am able to acquaint you with the predominant vice of every jnarket town in the vphole island. I can tell you the pro- gress that virtue has made in all our cities, boroughs, and corporations ; and know as well the evil practices that are committed in Berwick or Exeter, as what is done in my own family. In a word, sir, I have my correspondents in the remotest parts of the nation, who send me up punctual accounts from time to time, of all the little irregularities that fall under their notice in their several districts and divisions. " I am no less acquainted with the particular quarters and regions of this great town, than with the different parts and distributions of the whole nation. T can describe every parish by its impieties, and can tell you ia which of our streets lewdness prevails, which gaming has taken the pos- session of, and where drunkenness has got the better of them both. When I am disposed to raise a fine for the poor, I know the lanes and alleys that are inhabited by common swearers. When I would encourage the hospital of Bride- well, and improve the hempen manufacture, I am very well acquainted with all the haunts and resorts of female night- walkers. " After this short account of myself, I must let you know that the design of this paper is to give jmi information of a certain irregular assembly, which I think falls very properly under your observation, especially since the persons it is composed of are criminals too considerable for the animad- versions of our Society. I mean, sir, the midnight mask, which has of late been very frequently held in one of the most conspicuous parts of the town, and which I hear will be continued with additions and improvements. As all the per- sons who compose this lawless assembly are masqued, we dare not attack any of them in our way, lest we should send a woman of quality to Bridewell, or a peer of Great Britain to the Counter ; besides, their numbers are so very great,, that I am afraid they would be able to rout our whole fra- ternity, though we were accompanied with all our guard of constables. Both these reasons, which secure them from our authority, make them obnoxious to yours ; as both their dis- guise and their numbers wUl give no particular person reason to think himself affronted by you. " If we are rightly informed, the rules that are observed 248 Addison's woeks. by this new society, are wonderfiilly contrived for the ad- vancement of cuckoldom. The women either come by them- selves, or are introduced by friends, who are obliged to quit them, upon their first entrance, to the conversation of any. body that addresses himself to them. There are several rooms where the parties may retire, and, if they please, show their faces by consent. Whispers, squeezes, nods, and embraces, are the innocent freedoms of the place. In short, the whole design of this libidinous assembly, seems to terminate in assignations and intrigues ; and I hope you will take effectual methods, by your public advice and admonitions, to prevent such a pro- miscuous multitude of both sexes from meeting together in so clandestine a manner. I am Your humble servant, and fellow-labourer, T. "B." Not long after the perusal of this letter, I received another upon the same subject ; which, by the date and style of it, I take to be written by some young Templar. " SiE, Middle Temple, 1710-11. When a man has been guilty of any vice or foUy, I think the best atonement he can make for it, is to warn others not to fall into the like. In order to this, I must acquaint you, that some time in February last, I went to the Tuesday's masquerade. Upon my first going in, I was at- tacked by half a dozen female Quakers, who seemed willing to adopt me for a brother ; but, upon a nearer examination, I found they were a sisterhood of coquettes disguised in that precise habit. I was soon after taken out to dance, and, aa I fancied, by a woman of the first quality, for she was very tall, and moved gracefully. As soon as the minuet was over, we ogled one another through our masques ; and as I am very well read in Waller, I repeated to her the four follow- ing verses out of his poem of Vandyke. The heedless lover does not know Whose eyes they are that wound him so j But, confounded with thy art, Inquires her name that has his heart. ■' I pronounced these words with such a langmshing air, that I had some reason to conclude I had made a conquest. No. 9. THE SPECTATOH. 249 She told me that she hoped my face was not akin to my tongue ; and looking upon her watch, I accidentally dis- covered the figure of a coronet on the tack part of it. I was so transported with the thought of such an amour, that I plied her from one room to another with all the gallantries I could invent ; and at length brought things to so happy an issue, that she gave me a private meeting the next day, with- out page or footman, coach or equipage. My heart danced in raptures ; but I had not lived in this golden dream above three days, before I found good reason to wish that I had continued true to my laundress. I have since heard, by a very great accident, that this fine lady does not live far from Covent Garden, and that I am not the first cully whom she has passed herself upon for a countess. " Thus, sir, you see how I have mistaken a cloud' for a Juno ; and if you can make any use of this adventure, for the benefit of those who may possibly be as vain young coxcombs as myself, I do most heartily give you leave. I am, Sir, Tour most humble admirer, B. L." I design to visit the next masquerade myself, in the same habit I wore at Grand Cairo ; and tUl then shall suspend my judgment of this midnight entertainment. No. 9. SATIJEDAT, MAECH 10. Tigris agit rabid^ cum tigride pacem Perpetuam, ssevis inter se convenit ursis. Juv. Man is said to be a sociable animal, and, as an instance of it, we may observe, that we take all occasions and pre- tences of formmg ourselves into those little nocturnal as- semblies, whicb are commonly known by the name of clubs. When a set of men find themselves agree in any particular, though never so trivial, they establish themselves into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or twice a week, upon the ac- count of such a fantastic resemblance. I know a consider- able market town, in which there was a club of fat men, that did not come together (as you may well suppose) to enter- tain one another with sprightliness and wit, but to keep one 250 aipdison's •works. another in covintenance ; the room where the club met was something of the largest, and had two entrances, the one by a door of a moderate size, and the other by a pair of foldmg doors. If a candidate for this corpulent club could make his entrance through the first, he was looked upon as unqualified ; but if he stuck in the passage, and could not force his way through it, the folding doors were immediately thrown open for his reception, and he was saluted as a brother. I have heard that this club, though it consisted but of fifteen per- sons, weighed above three ton. In opposition to this society, there sprung up another, composed of scare-crows and skeletons, who being very meagre and envious, did all they could to thwart the designs of their bulky brethren, whom they represented as men of dangerous principles ; tiU at length they worked them out of the favour of the people, and consequently out of the magistracy. These factions tore the corporation ia pieces for several years, till at length they came to this accommo- dation ; that the two baUiifs of the town should be annually chosen out of the two clubs ; by which means the principal magistrates are at this day coupled like rabbits, one fat and one lean. Every one has heard of the club, or rather the confederacy, of the Kings. This grand alliance was formed a little after the return of King Charles the Second, and admitted into it men of aU qualities and professions, provided they agreed in this surname of King, which, as they imagined, suffici- ently declared the owners of it to be altogether untainted with republican and anti-monarchical principles. A Christian name has likewise been often used as a badge of distiuction, and made the occasion of a club. That of the Georges, which used to meet at the sign of the George, on St. George's day, and swear "Before George," is still fresh in every one's memory. There are at present in several parts of this city what they caU Street Clubs, in which the chief inhabitants of the street converse together every night. I remember, upon my inquiring after lodgings in Ormond Street, the landlord, to recommend that quarter of the town, told me, there was at that time a very good club in it : he also told me, upon fur- ther discourse with him, that two or three noisy country sqmres, who were settled there the year before, had con- No. 9. THE SPEOTATOE. 251 siderably sunk the price of house rent ; and that the club (to prevent the like inconveniencies for the future) had thoughts of taking every house that became vacant into their own hands, till they had foimd a tenant for it, of a sociable nature and good conversation. The Hum-Drum Club, of which I was formerly an un- worthy member, was made up of very honest gentlemen, of peaceable dispositions, that used to sit together, smoke their pipes, and say nothing till midnight. The Mum Club (as I am informed) is an institution of the same nature, and as great an enemy to noise. After these two innocent societies, I cannot forbear men- tioning a very mischievous one, that was erected in the reign of King Charles the Second : I mean, the Club of Duellists, in which none was to be admitted that had not fought his man. The president of it was said to have killed half a dozen in single combat ; and as for the other members, they took their seats according to the number of their slain. There was likewise a side-table for such as had only drawn blood, and shown a laudable ambition of taking the first op- portunity to qualify themselves for the first table. This club, consisting only of men of honour, did not continue long, most of the members of it being put to the sword, or hanged, a little after its institution. Our modem celebrated clubs are founded upon eating and drinking, which are points wherein most men agree, and in which the learned and illiterate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher and the buffoon, can all of them bear a part. The Kit-Cat itself is said to have taken its original from a mutton-pie. The Beef-steak and October Clubs are neither of them averse to eating and drinking, if we may form a judgment of them from their respective titles. When men are thus knit together by a love of society, not a spirit of faction, and do not meet to censure or annoy those that are absent, but to enjoy one another ; when they are thus combined for their own improvement, or for the good of others, or at least to relax themselves from the business of the day, by an innocent and cheerful conversation ; there may be something very useful in these little institutions and establishments. I cannot forbear concluding this paper with a scheme of laws that I met with upon a wall in a little ale-house : how 252 Addison's woeks. I came thither, I may inform my reader at a more conveni- ent time. These laws were enacted by a knot of artisans and mechanics, who used to meet every night ; and as there is something in them which gives us a pretty picture of low- life, I shall transcribe them word for word. Btoes to be observed in the Two-penny Club, erected in this place, for the preservation of friendship and good neighbour- hood. I. Every member at his first coming in shall lay down liis two-pence. II.' Every member shall fiU his pipe out of his own box. III. If any member absents himself, he shall forfeit n, penny for the use of the club, unless in case of sickness or imprisonment. IV. If any member swears or curses, his neighbour may give him a kick upon the shins. V. If any member tells stories in the club that are not true, he shall forfeit for every third lie an halfpenny. VI. If any member strikes another wrougfuUy, he shall pay his club for him. VII. If any member brings his wife into the club, he shall pay for whatever she drinks or smokes. VIII. If any member's wife comes to fetch him home from the club, she shall speak to him without the door. IX. If any member caUs another cuckold, he shall be turned out of the club. X. Hone shall be admitted into the club that is of the same trade with any member of it. XI. None of the club shall have his clothes or shoes made or mended, but by a brother member. XII. No Nonjuror shall be capable of being a member. The morality of this little club is guarded by such whole- some laws and penalties, that I question not but my reader will be as well pleased vrith them, as he would have beau with the Leges Convivales of Ben Jonson, the regulations of an old Roman club cited by Lipsius, or the rules of a Sympo- sium in an ancient Greek author. No 10 THE SPECTATOR. 259 No. 10. MONDAY, MAECH 12. Non aliter quam qui adverse vix flumine lembum Remigiis subigit ; si biachia forte remisit, Atque ilium in praeceps prono rapit alveus amni. Vibg. It is witli muoh satisfaction that I hear this great city in- quiring day by day after these my papers, and receiving my morning lectures with a becoming seriousness and attention. My publisher tells me, that there are already three thousand of them distributed every day : so that if I allow twenty readers to every paper, which I look upon as a modest com- putation, I may reckon about threescore thousand disciples in London and Westminster, who I hope wiLL take care to distinguish themselves from the thoughtless herd of their ignorant and unattentive brethren. Since I have raised to myself so great an audience, I shall spare no pains to make their instruction agreeable, and their diversion useful. For which reasons I shall endeavour to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with morality, that my readers may, if possible, both ways find their account in the speculation of the day. And to the end that their virtue and discretion may not be short, transient, intermitting starts of thought, I have resolved to refresh their memories from day to day, till I have recovered them out of that desperate state of vice and folly into which the age is fallen. The mind that lies fallow but a single day, sprouts up in follies that are only to be killed by a constant and assiduous culture. It was said of Socrates that he brought Philosophy down from heaven, to inhabit among men ; and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought Philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and as- semblies, at tea-tables and in coffee-houses. I would therefore in a very particular manner recommend these my speculations to all well-regulated families that set apart an hour in every morning for tea and bread and but- ter ; and would earnestly advise them for their good to order this paper to be punctually served up, and to be looked upon as a part of the tea equipage. Sir Francis Bacon observes, that a well-written book, compared with its rivals and antagonists, is like Moses's serpent, that immediately swallowed up and devoured those 254 Addison's woeks. of the Egyptians. I shall not be so vain as to think that, where the Spectatob, appears, the other public prints will vanish ; but shall leave it to my readers' consideration, whe- ther, is it not much better to be let into the knowledge of one's self, than to hear what passes in Muscovy or Poland ; and to amuse ourselves with such writings as tend to the wearing out of ignorance, passion, and prejudice, than such as naturally conduce to inflame, hatreds, and make enmities irreconcilable ? In the next place, I would recommend this paper to the daily perusal of those gentlemen whom I cannot but consider as my good brothers and allies, I mean the fratemHy of Spectators, who live in the world without having anything to do in it ; and either by the afiluence of their fortunes, or laziness of their dispositions, have no other business with the rest of mankind, but to look upon them. Under this class of men are comprehended all contemplative tradesmen, titular physicians, feUows of the Eoyal Society, Templars that are not given to be contentious, and statesmen that are out of business ; in short, every one that considers the world as a theatre, and desires to form a right judgment of those who are the actors on it. There is another set of men that I must likewise lay a claim to, whom I have lately called the blanks of society, as being altogether unfurnished with ideas, till the business and conversation of the day has supplied them. I have often considered these poor souls with an eye of great commisera- tion, when I have heard them asking the &st man they have met with, whether there was any news stirring ? and by that means gathering together materials for thinking. These needy persons do not know what to tallt of, tiU about twelve; a clock in the morning ; for by that time they are pretty good judges of the weather, know which way the wind sits, and whether the Dutch mail be come in. As they lie at the mercy of the first man they meet, and are grave or imperti- nent all the day long, according to the notions which they have imbibed in the morning, I would earnestly entreat them not to stir out of their chambers till they have read this paper, and do promise them that I will daily instil into them such sound and wholesome sentiments, as shall have a good eflfect on their conversation for the ensuing twelve hours. But there are none to whom this paper wiU be more useful, No. 10. THE SPECTATOR. 255 than to the female world. I have often thought there has not been sufficient pains taken in finding out proper em- ployments and diversions for the fair ones. Their amusements seem contrived for them, rather as they are women, than as they are reasonable creatures ; and are more adapted to the sex than to the species. The toilet is their great scene of business, and the right adjusting of their hair the principal employment of their lives. The sorting of a suit of ribbons is reckoned a very good morn- ing's work ; and if they make an excursion to a mercer's or a toy-shop, so great a fatigue makes them unfit for anything else all the day after. Their more serious occupations are sewing and embroidery, and their greatest drudgery, the preparation of jellies and sweet-meats. This, I say, is the state of ordinary women ; though I know there are midti- tudes of those of a more elevated life and conversation, that move in an exalted sphere of knowledge and virtue, that join all the beauties of the mind to the ornaments of dress, and inspire a kind of awe and respect, as weE as love, into their male beholders. I hope to increase the number of these by publishing this daOy paper, which I shall always endeavour to make an innocent if not an improving entertainment, and by that means at least divert the minds of my female readers from greater trifles. At the same time, as I would fain give some finishing touches to those which are already the most beautiful pieces in human nature, I shall endeavour to point out all those imperfections that are the blemishes, as weU. as those virtues which are the embellishments, of the sex. In the mean while I hope these my gentle readers, who have so much time on their hands, will not grudge throwing away a quarter of an hour in a day on this paper, since they may do it without any hinderance to business. I know several of my friends and well-wishers are in great pain for me, lest I should not be able to keep up the spirit of a paper which I oblige myself to furnish every day : but to make them easy in this particular, I wiU promise them faithfully to give it over as soon as I grow dull. This I know wiU be matter of great raillery to the small wits ; who will frequently put me in mind of my promise, desire me to keep my word, assure me that it is high time to give over, with many other pleasantries of the Uke nature, which men of a little saiart genius cannot forbear throwing out against their best 256 Addison's wobkb. friends, when they have such a handle given them of bein" witty. But let them remember that I do hereby enter my caveat against this piece of raillery. No. 12. WEDNESDAY, MAECH 14. — Veteres avias tibi de pulmone revello. Pers, At my coming to London, it was some time before I could settle myself in a house to my liking. I was forced to quit my first lodgings, by reason of an officious landlady, that would be asking me every morning how I had slept. I then fell into an honest family, and lived very happily for above a week ; when my landlord, who was a joUy, good-natured man, took it into his head that I wanted company, and therefore would frequently come into my chamber to keep me from being alone. This I bore for two or three days ; but telling me one day that he was afraid I was melancholy, I thought it was high time for me to be gone, and accordingly took new lodgings that very night. About a week after, I found my jolly landlord, who, as I said before, was an honest, hearty man, had put me into an advertisement of the Daily Courant, in the following words : " Whereas a melancholy man left his lodgings on Thursday last in the afternoon, and was aflerwardfl seen going towards Islington ; if any one can give notice of him to R. B., Fishmonger in the Strand, he shall be very well rewarded for his pains." As I am the best man in the world to keep my own counsel, and my landlord the Fish- monger not knowing my name,' this accident of my life was never discovered to this very day. I am now settled with a widow-woman, who has a great many children, and complies with my humour in everything. I do not remember that we have exchanged a word toge- ther these five years ; my coffee comes into my chamber every morning without asking for it ; if I want fire I point to my chimney, if water, to my bason : upon which my landlady nods, as much as to say she takes my meaning, and imme- ' The construction irregular. It should be — " and aa my landlord, ihi fishmonger, did not know my name : " or else thus — " Beiti^ the lre»i,,i(i> and my landlord, §0., not knowing my name." No. 12. THE SPBCTATOB. 257 diately obeys my signals. She has likewise modelled Ler family so well, that when her little boy offers to pull me by the coat, or prattle in my face, his elder sister immediately calls him off, and bids him not to disturb the Gentleman. At my first enteriag into the family, I was troubled with the civility of their rising up to me every time I came into the room ; but my landlady observing that upon these occa- sions I always cried pish, and went out again, has forbidden any such ceremony to be used in the house ; so that at pre- sent I walk into the kitchen or parlour without being taken notice of, or giving any interruption to the business or dis- course of the family. The maid wiU ask her mistress (though I am by) whether the Gentleman is ready to go to dinner, as the mistress (who is indeed an excellent housewife) scolds at the servants as heartily before my face as behind my back. In short, I move up and down the house and enter into all companies, with the same liberty as a cat or any other do- mestic animal, and am as little suspected of telling anything that I hear or see. I remember last winter there were several young girls of the neighbourhood sitting about the flre with my landlady's daughters, and telling stories of spirits and apparitions. Upon my opening the door the young women broke off their discourse, but my landlady's daughters telling them that it was nobody but the Gentleman, (for that is the name that I go by in the neighbourhood as well as in the family,)' they went on without minding me. I seated myself by the candle that stood on a table at one end of the room ; and pretending to read a book that 1 took out of my pocket, heard several dreadful stories of ghosts as pale as ashes, that had stood at the feet of a bed, or walked over a church-yard by moon-light : and of others that had been conjured into the Eed Sea, for disturbing people's rest, and drawing their curtains at midnight ; with many other old women's fables of the like nature. As one spirit raised another, I observed that at the end of every story the whole company closed their ranks, and crowded about the fire : I took notice in particular of a little boy, who was so attentive to every story, that I am mistaken if he ventures to go to bed by him- self this twelvemonth. Indeed they talked so long, that the imaginations of the whole assembly were manifestly crazed^ and I am sure will be the worse for it as Isng as they live I 258 Addison's wokks. heard one of the girls, that had looked upon me over her shoulder, asking the company how long I had been in the room, and whether I did not look paler than I used to do. This put me under some apprehensions that I should be forced to explain myself if I did not retire ; for which reason I took the candle in my hand, and went up into my chamber, not without wondering at this unaccountable weakness in reasonable creatures, that they should love to astonish and terrify one another. Were I a father, I should take a par- ticular care to preserve my children from these little horrors of imagination, which they are apt to contract when they are young, and are not able to shake off when they are in years. I have known a soldier that has entered a breach, affrighted at his own shadow ; and look pale upon a little scratchiag at his door, who the day before had marched up against a battery of cannon. There are instances of persons, who have been terrified even to distraction at the figure of a tree, or the shaking of a bull-rush. The truth of it is, I look upon a sound imagination as the greatest blessing of Ufe, next to a clear judgment and a good conscience. In the mean' time, since there are very few whose minds are not more or less subject to these dreadful thoughts and apprehensions, we ought to arm ourselves against them by the dictates of reason and religion, " to puU the old woman out of our hearts," (as Per- sius expresses it in the motto of my paper,) and extinguish those impertinent notions which we imbibed at a time that we were not able to judge of their absurdity. Or if we believe, as many wise and good men have done, that there are such phan- tom-S and apparitions as those I have been speaking of, let us endeavour to establish to ourselves an interest in Him who holds the reins of the whole creation in his hand, and mode- rates them after such a manner, that it is impossible for one being to break loose upon another vrithout his knowledge and permission. Tor my own part, I am apt to join in opinion with those who believe that aU the regions of nature swarm with spirits ; and that we have multitudes of spectators on aU our actions, when we think ourselves most alone : but instead of terrifying my- self with such a notion, I am wonderfully pleased to think that I am always engaged with such an innumerable society, in searching out the wonders of the creation, and joining ui the same consort of praise and adoration. No. 13. THE SPEOTATOE. 259 Milton has finely described this mixed communion of men and spirits in Paradise ; and had doubtless his eye upon a verse in old Hesiod, which is almost word for word the samp with his third line in the following passage. — Nor think, though men were none, That Heaven "would want spectators, God want praise : Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep ; All these with ceaseless praise his works behold Both day and night. How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket, have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight-air, Sole or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator ! Oft in bands. While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds In full harmonic number joined, their songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to hijaven. No. 13. THTJESDAT, MAECH 15. Die mihi si fueras tu Leo qualis eris ? Mart. Thbee is nothing that of late years has afforded matter of greater amusement to the town than Siguier NicoHni's com- bat with a lion in the Haymarket, which has been very often exhibited to the general satisfaction of most of the nobility and gentry in the kingdom of Great Britain. Upon the first rumour of this intended combat, it was confidently affirmed, and is still believed by many in both galleries, that there would be a tame lion sent from the Tower every opera night, in order to be killed by Hydaspes ; this report, though alto- gether groundless, so universally prevailed in the upper re- gions of the playhouse, that some of the most refined politi- cians in those parts of the audience gave it out in whisper, that the Hon was a cousin-german of the tiger who made his appearance in King William's days, and that the stage would be supplied with lions at the public expense, during the whole session. Many likewise were the conjectures of the treatment which this lion was to meet with from the hands of Signior Nicolini : some supposed that he was to subdue him in recitativo, as Orpheus used to serve the wild beasts iu Ms time, and afterwards to knock him on the head ; some s2' 260 ADDISOIf S ■WOBKS. fancied that tlie lion would not pretend to lay his paws upon the hero, by reason of the received opinion, that a lion will not hurt a yirgin : several, who pretended to have seen the opera in Italy, had informed their friends, that the Hon was to act a part in High-Dutch, and roar twice or thrice to a thorough-haas, before he fell at the feet of Hydaspes. To clear up a matter that was so variously reported, I have made it my business to examine whether this pretended lion is really the savage he appears to be, or only a counterfeit. But before I communicate my discoveries, I must acquaint the reader, that upon my walking behind the scenes last winter, as I was thinking on something else, I accidentally justled against a monstrous animal that exteemely startled me, and upon my nearer survey of it, appeared to be a Hon rampant. The lion seeing me very much surprised, told me, in a gentle voice, that I might come by him if I pleased: "Eor," says he, "I do not intend to hurt anybody." I thanked him very kindly, and passed by him. And in a Httle time after saw him leap upon the stage, and act his part with very great applause. It has been observed by several, that the Hon has changed his manner of acting twice or thrice since his &st appearance; which will not seem strange, when I acquaint my reader that the Hon has been changed upon the audience three several times. The first Hon was a candle-snuffer, who being a fellow of a testy, choleric temper, over-did his part, and would not suifer HmseK to be killed so easily as he ought to have done ; besides, it was observed of him, that he grew more surly every time he came out of the Hon, and having dropt some words in ordinary conversa- tion, as if he had not fought his best, and that he suffered himself to be thrown upon his back in the scuffle, and that he would wrestle vpith Mr. NicoHni for what he pleased, out of his Hon's skin, it was thought proper to discard him : and it is verUy beHeved, to this day, that had he been brought upon the stage another time, he would certainly have done mischief. Besides, it was objected against the first Hon, that he reared himself so high upon his hinder paws, and walked in so erect a posture, that he looked more Hke an old man than a Hon. The second lion was a tailor by trade, who belonged to the playhouse, and had the character of a mild and peaceable man in his profession. If the former was too furious, this No. 13. THE SPECTATOE. 201 was too sheepisli for his part ; insomucli, tliat after a short modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first touch of Hydaspes, without grappling with him, and giving him an opportunity of showing his variety of Italian trips. It is said, indeed, that he once gave him a rip in his flesh-coloured doublet ; but this was only to make work for himself, in his private character of a tailor. I must not omit that it was this second lion who treated me with so much humanity be- hind the scenes. The actiug lion at present is, as I am informed, a country gentleman, who does it for his diversion, but desires his name may be concealed. He says, very handsomely, in his own excuse, that he does not act for gain ; that he indulges an in- nocent pleasure in it ; and that it is better to pass away an evening in this manner than in gaming and drinking : but at the same time says, with a very agreeable raUlery upon himseK, that if his name should be known, the iU-natured world might call him, "the ass in the lion's skin." This gentleman's temper is made out of such a happy mixture of the mild and the choleric, that he outdoes both his prede- cessors, and has drawn together greater audiences than have been known in the memory of man. I must not conclude my narrative, without taking notice of a groundless report that has been raised to a gentleman's disadvantage, of whom I must declare myself an admirer ; namely, that Signior Nicolini and the lion have been seen sitting peaceably by one another, and smoking a pipe to- gether behind the scenes ; by which their common enemies would insinuate, that it is but a sham combat which they represent upon the stage : but upon iuquiry I find, that if any such correspondence has passed between them, it was not tiU the combat was over, when the lion was to be looked upon as dead, according to the received rules of the drama. Besides, this is what is practised every day in Westminster HaU, where nothiug is more usual than to see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing each other to pieces iu the court, embracing one another as soon as they are out of it. I would not be thought, in any part of this relation, to reflect upon Signior Nicohni, who in acting this part only complies with the wretched taste of his audience ; he knows very well, that the lion has many more admirers than himself ; fts they say of the famous equestrian statue on the Pont Neuf 262 addison'b woeks. at Paris, that more people go to see the horse than the king who sits upoait. On the contrary, it gives me a just indigna- tion to see a person whose action gives new majesty to kings resolution to heroes, and softness to lovers, thus sinking from the greatness of his behaviour, and degraded into the charac- ter of the London Prentice. I have often wished, that our tragedians would copy after this great master in action. Could they make the same use of their arms and legs, and inform their faces with as significant looks and passions how glorious would an English tragedy appear with that action which is capable of giving a dignity to the forced thoughts, cold conceits, and unnatural expressions of an Italian opera! In the mean time, I have related this combat of the Hon, to show what are at present the reigning enter- tainments of the politer part of Great Britain. Audiences have often been reproached by vrrifcers for the coarseness of their taste ; but our present grievance does not seem to be the want of a good taste, but of common sense. No. 15. SATTTEDAT, MAECH 17. Parva leves capiunt animos — Ovid. When I was in Prance, I used to gaze with great aston- ishment at the splendid equipages, and party-coloured habits, of that fantastic nation. I was one day in particular con- templating a lady that sat in a coach adorned with gilded Cupids, and finely painted with the loves of Venus and Adonis. The coach was drawn by six milk-white horses, and loaden behind with the same number of powdered footmen. Just before the lady were a couple of beautiful pages, that were stuck among the harness, and, by their gay dresses, and smiling features, looked like the elder brothers of the little boys that were carved and painted in every comer of the coach. The lady was the unfortunate Cleanthe, who afterwards gave an occasion to a pretty melancholy novel. She had, for several years, received the addresses of a gentleman, whom, after a long and intimate acquaintance, she forsook, upon the Recount of this shining equipage, which had been offered tc No. 15. THE SPBCTATOH. 2G3 her by one of great riches, but a crazy constitution. The circumstances in which I saw her were, it seems, the disguises only of a broken heart, and a kind o± pageantry to cover distress; for in two months after, she was carried to her grave with the same pomp and magniiicence ; being sent thither partly by the loss of one lover, and partly by the possession of another. I have often reflected with myself on this unaccountable humour in womankind, of being smitten with everything that is showy and superficial ; and on the numberless evils that befall the sex, from this light fantastical disposition. I myself remember a young lady, that was very warmly solicited by a couple of importunate rivals, who, for several months together, did all they could to recommend themselves, by complacency of behaviour and agreeableness of .conversation. At length, when the competition was doubtful, and the lady undetermined in her choice, one of the young lovers very luckily bethought himself of adding a supernumerary lace to his liveries, which had so good an effect, that he married her the very week after. The usual conversation of ordinary women very much cherishes this natural weakness of being taken with outside and appearance. Talk of a new-married couple, and you im- mediately hear whether they keep their coach and six, or eat in plate. Mention the name of an absent lady, and it is ten to one but you learn something of her gown and petticoat. A ball is a great help to discourse, and a birth-day furnishes conversation for a twelvemonth after. A furbelow of pre- cious stones, an hat buttoned with a diamond, a brocade waistcoat or petticoat, are standing topics. In short, they consider only the drapery of the species, and never cast away a thought on those ornaments of the mind, that make persons illustrious in themselves, and useful to others. When women are thus perpetually dazzling one another's imaginations, and filling their heads with nothing but colours, it is no won- der that they are more attentive to the superficial parts of life, than the soHd and substantial blessings of it. A girl who has been trained up in this kind of conversation, is in danger of every embroidered coat that comes in her way. A pair of fringed gloves may be her ruin. In a word, lace and ribbons, sUver and gold galloons, with the like glitter- ing gewgaws, are so many lures to women of weak minds or 26'! Addison's woeks. low educations, and, when artificially displayed, are able to fetch down the most airy coquette from the wildest of her flights and rambles. True happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and noise : it arises, in the first place, from the enjoy- ment of one's self ; and in the next, from the friendshro and conversation of a few select companions. It loves shade and solitude, and naturally haunts groves smd fountains, fields and meadows : in short, it feels everything it wants within itself, and receives no addition from multitudes of witnesses and spectators. On the contrary, false happiness loves to be in a crowd, and to draw the eyes of the world upon her. She does not receive any satisfaction from the applauses which she gives herself, but from the admiration which she raises ia others. She flourishes in courts and palaces, theatres and assemblies, and has no existence but when she is looked upon. Aurelia, though a woman of great quality, delights in the privacy of a country life, and passes away a great part of her time in her ovm walks and gardens. Her husband, who is her bosom friend, and companion in her solitudes, has been in love with her ever since he knew her. They both abomid with good sense, consummate virtue, and a mutual esteem ; and are a perpetual entertainment to one another. Their family is under so regular an economy, in its hours of devo- tion and repast, employment and diversion, that it looks like a little commonwealth within itself. They often go into company, that they may return with the greater delight to one another ; and sometimes live in town, not to enjoy it so properly, as to grow weary of it, that they may renew in themselves the relish of a country life. By this means they are happy in each other, beloved by their children, adored by their servants, and are become the envy, or rather the delight, of all that know them. How different to this is the life of Pulvia ! She considers her husband as her steward, and looks upon discretion and good housewifery as little domestic virtues, unbecoming a woman of quality. She thinks life lost in her own family, and fancies herseK out of the world, when she is not in the ring, the playhouse, or the drawing-room. She lives in a, perpetual motion of body and restlessness of thought, and is never easy in any one place, when she thinks there is more company in another. The missing of an opera the first No. 16. THE SPECTATOB. 265 night, would be more afflicting to her than the death of a child. She pities all the valuable part of her own sex ; and calls every woman of a prudent, modest, retired Ufe, a poor- spirited, unpolished creature. What a mortification would it be to Fulvia, if she knew that her setting herself to view, is but exposing herself, and that she grows contemptible by being conspicuous ! I cannot conclude my paper without observing, that Virgil has very finely touched upon this female passion for dresa and show, in the character of Camilla ; who, though she seems to have shaken off all the other weaknesses of her sex, is still described as a woman in this particiilar. The poet tells us, that, after having made a great slaughter of the enemy, she unfor- tunately cast her eye on a Trojan, who wore an embroidered tunic, a beautiful coat of mail, with a mantle of the finest Eurple. " A golden bow," says he, "hung upon his shoulder; is garment was buckled with a golden clasp ; and his head covered with an helmet of the same shining metal." The Amazon immediately singled out this well-dressed warrior, being seized with a woman's longing for the pretty trappings that he was adorned with. — Totumque incauta per agmen Foemineo praedee et spoliorum ardebat amore. This heedless pursuit after these glittering trifles, the poet (by a nice concealed moral) represents to have been the de- struction of his female hero. No. 16. MONDAY, MAECH, 19. Quod verum atque decens euro et rogo, et omnis in hoc sum. HoH. I HATE received a letter, desiring me to be very satiridal upon the little muff that is now in fashion ; another informs me of a pair of silver garters buckled below the knee, that have been lately seen at the Eainbow Coffee-house, in Fleet Street : a third sends me an heavy complaint against fringed gloves. To be brief, there is scarce an ornament of either sex, which one or other of my correspondents has not in- veighed against with some bitterness, and recommended to my observation. I must therefore, once for all, inform my readers, that it is not my intention to sink the dignity of 266 Addison's woeks. this my paper with reflections upon red-heels or top-knots, hut rather to enter into the passions of mankind, and to cot- rect those depraved sentiments that gave hirth to all those little extravagancies which appear in their outward dress and behaviour. Foppish and faiitastic ornaments are only indications of vice, not criminal in themselves. ExtiDguisn vanity in the mind, and you naturally retrench the httle superfluities of garniture and equipage. The blossoms wiD fall of themselves, when the root that nourishes them is de stroyed. I shall therefore, as I have said, apply my remedies to the first seeds and principles of an aflfected dress, without de- scending to the dress itself; though at the same time I must own, that I have thoughts of creating an officer under me, to be entitled, " The Censor of small Wares," and of allot- ting him one day in a week for the execution of such Ms office. An operator of this nature might act under me, with the same regard as a surgeon to a physician ; the one might be employed in healing those blotches and tumours which break out in the body, while the other is sweetening the blood, and rectifying the constitution. To speak truly, the young people of both sexes are so wonderfully apt to shoot out into long swords or sweeping trains, bushy head-dresses or full-bottomed periwigs, with several other encumbrances of dress, that they stand in need of being pruned very fre- quently, lest they should be oppressed with ornaments, and overrun with the luxuriance of their habits. I am much in doubt, whether I should give the preference to a Quaker, that is trimmed close, and almost cut to the quick, or to a beau, that is loaden with such a redundance of excrescences. I must, therefore, desire my correspondents to let me know how they approve my project, and whether they think the erecting of such a petty censorship may not turn to the emolument of the public ; for I would not do anything of this nature rashly and without advice. There is another set of correspondents to whom I must address myself in the second place ; I mean, such as fiU then- letters with private scandal, and black accounts of particular persons and families. The world is so full of ill-nature, that I have lampoons sent me by people who cannot spell, and satires composed by those who scarce know how to wnto. By the last post in particular, I received a packet of scandal No »6. THE SPEOTATOE. 267 ■whicli is not legible ; and have a whole bundle of letters in women's bands that are full of blots and calumnies, inso- much, that when I see the name Cselia, PhUlis, Pastora, or the like, at the bottom of a scrawl, I conclude of course that it brings me some account of a fallen virgin, a faithless wife, or an amorous widow. I must therefore inform these my correspondents, that it is not my design to be a publisher of intrigues and cuckoldoms, or to bring Kttle infamous stories out of their present lurking holes into broad day-light. If I attack the vicious, I shall only set upon them in a body ; and will not he provoked by the worst usage I can receive from others, to make an example of any particular criminal. In short, I have so much of a Drawcansin in me, that I shall pass over a single foe to charge whole armies. It is not Lais or Silenus, but the harlot and the drunkard, whom I shall endeavour to expose ; and shall consider the crime as it appears in a species, not as it is circumstanced in an in- dividual. I think it was Caligula, who wished the whole city of Eome had hut one neck, that he might behead them at a hlow. I shall do out of humanity what that emperor would have done in the cruelty of his temper, and aim every stroke at a collective body of offenders. At the same time I am very sensible, that nothing spreads a paper like private caliunny and defamation ; but as my speculations are not under this necessity, they are not exposed to this temptation. In the next place I must apply myself to my party cor- respondents, who are continually teasing me to take notice of one another's proceedings. How often am I asked by both sides, if it is possible for me to be an unconcerned spectator of the rogueries that are committed by the party which is opposite to him that writes the letter. About two days since I was reproached with an old Grecian law, that forbids any man to stand as a neuter or a looker-on in the divisions of his country. However, as I am very sensible my paper would lose its whole effect, should it run into the outrages of a party, I shall take care to keep clear of every- thing which looks that way. If I can any way assuage private inflammations, or allay public ferments, I shall apply myself to it with my utmost endeavours ; but will never let my heart reproach me with having done anything • towards increasing those feuds and animosities that extinguish re- ligion, deface government, and make a nation miserable. 268 Addison's woeks. "WTiat I have said under the three foregoing heads, will I am afraid, very much retrench the number of my correspond- ents : I shall therefore acquaint my reader, that if he Ima started any hint which he is not able to pursue, if he has met with any surprising story which he does not know how to tell, if he has discovered any epidemical vice which has escaped my observation, or has heard of any uncommon virtue which he would desire to publish, — in short, if he has any materials that can furnish out an innocent diversion, I shaU promise him my best assistance in the working of them up for a public entertainment. This paper my reader will find was intended for an answer to a multitude of correspondents ; but I hope he will pardon me if I single out one of them ia particular, who has made me so very humble a request, that I cannot forbear comply- ing with it. "to the spectatoe. " SiE, March 15th, 1710-11. I am at present so unfortunate, as to have nothing to do but to mind my own business ; and therefore beg of you that you will be pleased to put me into some small post under you. I observe that you have appointed your printer and publisher to receive letters and advertisements for the city of London ; and shall think myself very much honoured by you, if you will appoint me to take in letters and ad- vertisements for the city of "Westminster and the duchy of Lancaster. Though I cannot promise to fill such an em- ployment with sufficient abilities, I will endeavour to make up with industry and fidelity what I want in parts and genius. I am, Sir, Your most obedient servant,, Chaeies Lillie." No. 18. WEDNESDAY, MAECH 21. — Equitis quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas Omnis ad incertos ociilos et gaudia vana. Hob. It is my design in this paper to deliver down to posterity s faithful account of the Italian Opera, and of the gradual TSO. 18. THE SPEOTATOE. 2G9 progress which it has made upon the English stage: for there is no question but our great-grandchildren will be very curious to know the reason why their fore-fathers used to sit together like an audience of foreigners in their own country, and to hear whole plays acted before them in a tongue which they did not understand. Arsinoe was the first opera that gave us a taste of Italian music. The great success this opera met with, produced some attempts of forming pieces upon Italian plans, which should give a more natural and reasonable entertainment than what can be met with in the elaborate trifles of that nation. This alarmed the poetasters and fiddlers of the town, who were used to deal in a more ordinary kind of ware ; and therefore laid down an established rule, which is received as such to this day, " That nothing is capable of being well set to music, that is not nonsense." This maxim was no sooner received, but we immediately feU to translating the Italian operas ; and as there was no danger of hurting the sense of those extraordinary pieces, our authors would often make words of their own, which were entirely foreign to the meaning of the passages they pretended to translate ; their chief care being to make the numbers of the English verse answer to those of the Italian, that both of them might go to the same tune. Thus the famous song in Camilla, Barbara si t'intendo, " Barbarous woman, yes, I know your meaning." which expresses the resentments of an angry lover, was translated into that English lamentation, " Frail are a lover's hopes," &c. And it was pleasant enough to see the most refined persons of the British nation dyiag away and languishing to notes that were fiUed with a spirit of rage and indignation. It happened also very frequently, where the sense was rightly translated, the necessary transposition of words which were drawn out of the phrase of one tongue into that of another, made the music appear very absurd in one tongue that was very natural in the other. I remember an Italian verse that ran thus, word for word, " And iurned my rage into pity ;" 270 abdison's woeks. wliich the English for rhyme' sake translated, ' And into pity turned my rage." By this means the soft notes that were adapted to pity in the Italian, fell upon the word rage in the English; and the angry sounds that were tuned to rage in the original, were made to express pity in the translation. It oftentimes hap- pened likewise, that the finest notes in the air fell upon the most insignificant words in the sentence. I have known the word and pursued through the whole gamut, have heen entertained with many a melodious the, and have heard the most beautiful graces, quavers, and divisions bestowed upon then, for, and from ; to the eternal honour of our English particles. The next step to our refinement, was the introducing of Italian actors into our opera ; who sung their parts in their own language, at the same time that our countrymen per- formed theirs in our native tongue. The king or hero of the play generally spoke in Italian, and his slaves answered him in English : the lover frequently made his court, and gained the heart of his princess, in a language which she did not understand. One would have thought it very difficult to have carried on dialogues after this manner, vrithout an interpreter between the persons that conversed together : but this was the state of the English stage for about three years. At length the audience grew tired of understanding half the opera ; and therefore to ease themselves entirely of the fatigue of thinking, have so ordered it at present, that the whole opera is performed in an unknown tongue. We no longer understand the language of our own stage ; insomuch, that I have often been afraid, when I have seen our Itaham performers chattering in the vehemence of action, that they have been calling us names, and abusing us among them- selves ; but I hope, since we put such an entire confidence in them, they will not talk against us before our faces, though they may do it with the same safety as if it were behind our backs. In the mean time, I cannot forbear thinking how naturally an historian who writes two or three hundred years hence, and does not know the taste of his wise fort- fathers, will make the foUowing reflection, " In the begin- ning of the eighteenth century the Italian tongue was go well understood in England, that operas were acted on the public stage in that language." No. 18. THE SPECTATOE. 271 One scarce knows how to be serious in the confutation of an absurdity that shows itself at the first sight. It does not want any great measure of sense to see the ridicule of this monstrous practice ; but what makes it the more astonishing, it is not the taste of the rabble, but of persons of the great- est politeness, which has established it. If the Italians have a genius for music above the English, the English have a genius for other performances of a much higher nature, and capable of giving the mind a much nobler entertainment. Would one think it was possible (at a time when an author lived that was able to write the Phsedra and Hippolitus) for a people to be so stupidly fond of the Italian opera, as scarce to give a third day's hearing to that admir- able tragedy ? Music is certainly a very agreeable entertain- ment, but if it would take the entire possession of our ears, jf it would make us incapable of hearing sense, if it would exclude arts that have a much greater tendency to the refine- ment of human nature, I must confess I would allow it no better quarter than Plato has done, who banishes it out of his commonwealth. At present, our notions of music are so very uncertain, that we do not know what it is we like ; only in general, we are transported with anything that is not English i so it be of a foreign growth, let it be Italian, French, or High-Dutch, it is the same thing. In short, our English music is quite rooted out, and- nothing yet planted ia its stead. When a royal palace is burnt to the ground, every man ia at liberty to present his plan for a new one ; and though it be but indiiferently put together, it may furnish several hints that may be of use to a good architect. I shall take the same liberty in a following paper, of giving my opinion upon the subject of music ; which I shall lay down only in a pro- blematical manner, to be considered by those who are masters in the art. No. 21. SATIJEDAT, MAECH 24. — Locus est et pluribus umbris. Hoe. I AM sometimes very much troubled, when I reflect upon the three great professions of divinity, law, and physic ; how 272 Addison's •vioeks. they are each of them over-burdened with practitioners, and filled with multitudes of ingenious gentlemen that starve one another. We may divide the clergy into generals, field-officers, and subalterns. Among the first we may reckon bishops, deans, and arch-deacons. Among the second are doctors of divinity, prebendaries, and all that wear scarfs. The rest are compre- hended under the subalterns. As for the iirst class, our constitution preserves it from any redundancy of iucumbents, notwithstanding competitors are numberless. Upon a strict calculation it is found that there has been a great exceeding of late years in the second division, several brevets having been granted for the converting of subalterns into scart- officers ; insomuch that within my memory the price of lus- tring is raised above two-pence in a yard. As for the subal- terns, they are not to be numbered. Should our clergy once enter into the corrupt practice of the laity, by the splitting of their freeholds, they would be able to carry most of the elections in England. The body of the law is no less encumbered with super- fluous members, that are like Virgil's army, which he tells us was so crowded, many of them had not room to use their weapons. This prodigious society of men may be divided into the litigious and peaceable. Under the first are com- prehended all those who are carried down in coachfuls to Westminster Hall, every morning in term-time. Martial's descriptions of this species of lawyers is full of hmnom: : Iras et verta locant, " Men that hire out their words and anger ;" that are more or less passionate according as they are paid for it, and allow their client a quantity of wrath proportionable to the fee which they receive from him. I must, however, observe to the reader, that above three parts of those whom I reckon among the litigious, are such as axe only quarrelsome in their hearts, and have no opportunity of showing their passion at the bar. Nevertheless, as they do not know what strifes may arise, they appear at the haU every day, that they may show themselves in readiness to enter the lists, whenever there shall be occasion for them. The peaceable lawyers are, in the first place, many of the benchers of the several inns of court, who seem to be the dignitaries of the law, and are endowed with those qualifies- No. 21. THE SPECTATOB. 273 tions of mind that accomplisli a man rather for a ruler than a pleader. These men live peaceably in their habitations, eatins' once a day, and dancing once a year, for the honour of the respective societies. Another numberless branch of peaceable lawyers, are those young men, who being placed at the inns of court in order to study the laws of their country, frequent the play- house more than Westminster Hall, and are seen in all public assemblies except in a court of justice. I shall say nothing of those silent and busy multitudes that are employed within doors, in the drawing up of writings and conveyances ; nor of those greater numbers that palliate their want of business with a pretence to such chamber-practice. If, in the third place, we look into the profession of physic, we shall find a most formidable body of men : the sight of them is enough to make a man serious ; for we may lay it down as a maxim, that when a nation abounds in phy- sicians, it grows thin of people. Sir William Temple is very much puzzled to find out a reason why the northern hive, as he calls it, does not send out such prodigious swarms, and over-run the world with Goths and Vandals, as it did formerly ; but had that excellent author observed, that there were no students in physic among the subjects of Thor and Woden, and that this science very much flourishes in the north at present, he might have found a better solution for this difficulty than any of those he has made use of. This body of men, in our own country, may be described like the British army in Caesar's time : some of them slay in chariots, and some on foot. If the infantry do less execution than the charioteers, it is because they cannot be carried so soon into all quarters of the town, and despatch so much business in so short a time. Besides this body of regular troops, there are stragglers, who, without being duly listed and enrolled, do infinite mischief to those who are so unlucky as to fall into their hands. There are, besides the above-mentioned, innumerable re- tainers to physic, who, for want of other patients, amuse themselves with the stifling of cats in an air-pump, cutting up dogs alive, or impaling of insects^ upon the point of a needle for microscopical observations ; besides those that are ' There would be no objection to this raillery, if it were fit that raillery slioiild be at all employed on a subject of this nature, vol. II. T 274 Addison's wobks. employed in the gathering of weeds, and the chase of butter- flies ; not to mention the cockleshell-merchants and spider- catchers. "When I consider how each of these professions are crowded with mtdtitudes that seek their livelihood in them, and how many men of merit there are in each of them, who may be rather said to be of the science than the profession-; I very much wonder at the humour of parents^ who will not rather choose to place their sons in a way of life where an honest industry cannot but thrive, than in stations where the great- est probity, learning, and good sense may miscarry. How many men are country curates, that might have made them- selves aldermen of London, by a right improvement of a smaller sum of money than what is usually laid out upon a learned education ! A sober, frugal person, of slender parts and a slow apprehension, might have thrived in trade, though he starves upon physic ; as a man would be well enough pleased to buy silks of one, whom he would not venture^ to feel his pulse. Vagellius is careful, studious, and obliging, but withal a little thick-skulled ; he has not a single cEent, but might have had abundance of customers. The misfor- tune is, that parents take a liking to a particular profes- sion, and therefore desire their sons may be of it. Where- as, in so great an affair of life, they should consider the' genius and abilities of their children, more than their own inclinations. It is the great advantage of a trading nation, that there are very few in it so dull and heavy, who may not be placed in stations of life, which may give them an opportunity of making their fortunes. A well-regulated commerce is not, like law, physic, or divinity, to be overstocked with hands ; but, on the contrary, flourishes by multitudes, and gives em- ployment to all its professors. Meets of merchantmen are so many squadrons of floating shops, that vend our wares and manufactures in all the markets of the world, and find out chapmen under both the tropics. ' Venture is a neutral verb, and so cannot stand in this construction. It should be employ, call in, or some such transitive verb, of which " vihom. " might be governed ; and through which the ;)erso» and the o«<, i, a. " wAom " and "/«e?," should be necessarily connected. No. 22. THE SPEOTATOB. 275 No. 23. TTJESDAT, MAEOH 27. Seevit atrox Volscens, nee teli conspicit u«quam Auctorem, neo qu5 se ardens immittere possit. Virg. Theee is notMng that more betrays a base, ungenerous spirit, tbantbe giving of secret stabs to a man's reputation. Lampoons and satires, tbat are written with wit and spirit, are like poisoned darts, which not only indict a wound, but make it incurable. Tor this reason I am very much troubled when I see the taletits of humour and ridicule in the pos- session of an ill-natured man. There cannot be a greater gratification to a barbarous and inhuman wit, than to stir up sorrow in the heart of a private person, to raise uneasiness among near relations, and to expose whole families to derision, at the same time that he remains unseen and undiscovered. If, besides the accomplishments of being witty and ill- natured, a man is vicious into the bargain, he is one of the most mischievous creatures that can enter into a civil society. His satire will then chiefly fall upon those who ought to be the most exempt from it. Virtue, merit, and everything that is praiseworthy, will be made the subject of ridictde and buffoonery. It is impossible to enumerate the evils which arise from these arrows that fly ia the dark ; ^ and I know no other excuse that is or can be made for them, than that ' Th« giving of.} Tlaa Mse oi th.e participle, mstenA ol iiie substantive, is agi'eeable to the English idiom, and has a good effect in our language, which in this, as in other instances, resembles the Greek much more than the Latin tongue. But our polite writers, being generally most convers- ant in the latter of these languages, have gradually introduced the sub- stantive, or a verb in the infinitive mood, into the place of the participle. Thus, they would say, " detraction," or " to detract from the reputation of others, shows a base spirit." Yet the practice is not so far established, but that the other mode of expression may, sometimes, (though more sparingly, perhaps, than heretofore,) be employed. An exact writer, in- deed, would not set out with a sentence in this form ; but, in the body of a discourse, " currente calamo," he would not scruple to make use of it. Never to employ the participle, would be finical and affected : to em- ploy it constantly, or frequently, would now be thought careless : but to employ it occasionally, contributes plainly to the variety, and, I think, to the grace, of a good English style. 2 Which arise from these allows that fiy in the dark."] This sentence had been more exact, arjd less languid, if he had said, "Innumerable eeili arise from those arrows that fiy in the dark. 276 Addison's woeks. the wounds they give are only imaginary, and produce nothing more than a Secret shame or sorrow in the mind of the suf- fering person. It must indeed be confessed, that a lampoon or a satire do not carry in them robbery or murder ; but at the same time, how many are there that would not rather lose a considerable sum of money, or even life itself, than be set up as marks of infamy and derision ? And in this case a man should consider, that an injury is not to be measured by the notions of him that gives, but of him that receives it. Those who can put the best countenance upon the out- rages of this nature which are offered them, are not without their secret anguish. I have often observed a passage ia Socrates's behaviour at his death, in a light wherein none of the critics have considered it. That excellent man, enter- taining his friends, a little before he drank the bowl of poison, with a discourse on the immortality of the soul, at his entering upon it says, that he does not believe any, the most comic genius, can censure him for talking upon such a subject at such a time. This passage, I think, evidently glances upon Aristophanes, who writ a comedy on purpose to ridicule the discourses of that divine philosopher. It has been observed by many writers, that Socrates was so little moved at this piece of buffoonery, that he was several times present at its being acted upon the stage, and never expressed the least resentment of it. But with submission, I think the remark I have here made shows us that this unworthy treat- ment made an impression upon his mind, though he had been too wise to discover it. When Julius Caesar was lampooned by Catullus, he invited him to a supper, and treated him with such a generous civility, that he made the poet his friend ever after. Cardinal Mazarine gave the same kind of treatment to the learned QuiUet, who had reflected upon his Eminence in a famous Latin poem. The cardinal sent for him, and, after some kind expostulations upon what he had written, assured him of his esteem, and dismissed him with a promise of the next good abbey that should fall, which he accordingly conferred upon him in a few months after. This had so good an effect upon the author, that he dedicated the second edition of his book to the cardinal, after having expunged the passages which had given him offence. Sextus QuintuB was not of so generous and forgiving a No. 23. THE SPEOTATOE. 277 temper. TJpon his being made pope, tlie statue Pasquin was one night dressed in a very dirty shirt, "with an excuse writ- ten under it, that he was forced to wear foul linen because his laundress was made a princess. This was a reflection upon the pope's sister, who, before the promotion of her brother, was in those mean circumstances that Pasquin represented her.i As this pasquinade made a great noise in Eome, the pope offered a considerable sum of money to any person that should discover the author of it. The author, relying upon his Holiness' s generosity, as also on some private overtures which he had received from him, made the dis- covery himself; upon which the pope gave him the reward he had promised, but at the same time, to disable the satirist for the future, ordered his tongue to be cut out, and both his hands to be chopped off. Aretine is too trite an instance. Every one knows that all the kings of Europe were his tributaries. Nay, there is a letter of his extant, in which he makes his boasts that he had laid the Sophi of Persia imder contribution. Though, in the various examples which I have here dravm together, these several great men behaved themselves very differently towards the wits of the age who had reproached them ; they all of them plainly showed that they were very sensible of their reproaches, and consequently that they re- ceived them as very great injuries. Por my own part, I would never trust a man that I thought was capable of giv- ing these secret wounds ; and cannot but think that he would hurt the person, whose reptitation he thus assaults, in his body or in his fortune, could he do it with the same security. There is indeed something very barbarous and in- human in the ordinary scribblers of lampoons. An innocent young lady shall be exposed for an unhappy feature. A father of a family turned to ridicule for some domestic cala- mity. A wife be made uneasy all her life for a misinter- preted word or action. Nay, a good, a temperate, and a just man, shall be put out of countenance, by the representation of those qualities that should do him honour. So pernicious a thing is wit, when it is not tempered with virtue and hu- manity. I have indeed heard of heedless, inconsiderate writers, that ' Circumstances that Pasquin represented her.l Carelessly ind ellipti- cally expressed. 278 Addison's works. without any malice tave sacrificed the reputation of their friends and acquaintance, to a certain levity of temper, and a silly ambition of distiaguishing themselves by a spirit of raillery and satire : as if it were not infinitely more honour- able to be a good-natured man than a wit. Where there is this little petulant humour in an author, he is often very mischievous without designing to be so. Por which reason I always lay it down as a rule, that an indiscreet man is more hurtful than an ill-natured one ; for as the one will only attack his enemies, and those he wishes ill to, the other injures indifierently both friends and foes. I cannot forbear, on this occasion, transcribing a fable out of Sir Eo- ger L'Estrange, which accidentally lies before me. " A com- pany of waggish boys were watching of frogs at the side of a pond, and still as any of them put up their heads, they'd be pelting them down agaia with stones. ' Children,' says one of the frogs, ' you never consider, that though this be play to you, 'tis death to us.'" As this week is iu a manner set apart and dedicated to serious thoughts, I shall indulge myself in such speculations as may not be altogether unsuitable to the season ; and in the mean time, as the setting in ourselves a charitable frame of mind is a work very proper for the time, I have in this paper endeavoured to expose that particular breach of cha- rity which has been generally overlooked by divines, because they are but few who can be guilty of it. No. 25. THIJESDAT, MAECH 29. — ^JJgrescitque medendo. Vikg. The following letter wdH explain itself, and needs no apo- logy- " SlE, I am one of that sickly tribe who are commonly known by the name of Valetudinarians ; and do confess to you, that I first contracted this ill habit of body, or rather of mind, by the study of physic. I no sooner began to peruse books of this nature, .but I found my pulse was irregular; and scarce ever read the account of any disease, that I did No. 25. THE SPECTATOR. 279 not fancy myself afflicted witli. Dr. Sydenham's learned treatise of fevers threw me into a lingering hectic, which hung upon me all the while I was reading that excellent piece. 1 then applied myself to the study of several authors, who have written upon phthisical distempers, and by that means fell into a consumption ; till at length growing very fat, I was in a manner shamed out of that imagination. Not long after this I found in myself all the symptoms of the gout, except pain ; but was cured of it by a treatise upon the gravel, written by a very iugenious author, who (as it is usual for physicians to convert one distemper into another) eased me of the gout by giving me the stone. I at length studied myself into a complication of distempers ; but, acci- dentally taking into my hand that ingenious discourse vsrit- ten by Sanctorius, I was resolved to direct myself by a scheme of rules which I had collected from his observations The learned world are very w6ll acquaiuted with that gen- tleman's invention; who, for the better carrying on of his experiments, contrived a certain mathematical chair, which was so artificially hung upon springs, that it would weigh any- thing as well as a pair ol^ scales. By this means he discovered how many ounces of his food passed by perspiration, what quantity of it was turned into nourishment, and how much went away by the other channels and distributions of nature " Having provided myself with this chair, I used to study, eat, drink, and sleep in it ; insomuch that I may be said, for these three last years, to have lived in a pair of scales. I com- pute myself, when I am in full health, to be precisely two hundredweight, falling short of it about a pound after a day's fast, and exceeding it as much after a very full meal ; so that it is my continual employment to trim the balance between these two volatile pounds in my constitution. In my or- dinary meals I fetch myself up to two hundredweight and half a pound ; and if after having dined I find myself fall short of it, I drink just so much smaU-beer, or eat such a quantity of bread, as is sufficient to make me weight. In my greatest excessus I do not transgress more than the other half pound ; which, for my health's sake, I do the first Monday in every month. As soon as I find myself duly poised after dinner, I walk till I have perspired five ounces and four scruples ; and when I discover, by my chair, that I am so far reduced, I fall to my books, and study away three ounces more. A.8 280 ADDisoir's -woeks. for the remaining parts of the pound, I keep no account of tliem. I do not dine and sup hj the clock, but by my chair ; for when that informs me my pound of food is exhausted, 1 conclude myself to be hungry, and lay iu another with all diligence. In my days of abstiaence I lose a pound and an half ; and on solemn fasts, am two pounds lighter than on other days in the year. " I allow myself, one night with another, a quarter of a pound of sleep within a few grains more or less ; and if upon my rising I find that I have not consumed my whole quantity, I take out the rest in. my chair. Upon an exact calculation of what I expended and received the last year, whijch I al- ways register in a book, I iind the medium to be two hun- dredweight, so that I cannot discover that I am impaired one ounce in my health during a whole twelvemonth. And yet, sir, notwithstanding this my great care to ballast myself equally every day, and to keep my body in its proper poise, so it is, that I find myself in a sick and languishing condition. My complexion is grown very saUow, my pulse low, and my body hydropical. Let me therefore beg you, sir, to consider me as your patient, and to give me more certain rules to walk by than those I have already observed, and you will very much oblige " Tour humble servant.'' This letter puts me in mind of an Italian epitaph written on the monument of a Valetudinarian ; Stavo ben, ma per star meglio, sto qui : which it is impossible to translate. The fear of death often proves mortal, and sets people on methods to save their lives, which infallibly destroy them. This is a reflection made by some historians, upon observing that there are many more thousands killed in a flight than in a battle ; and may be appUed to those multitudes of imaginary sick persons that break their constitutions by physic, and throw themselves into the arms of death by endeavouring to escape it. This method is not only dangerous, but below the practice of a reasonable creature. To consult the pre- servation of life as the only end of it, to make our health our business, to engage in no action that is not part of a regimen or course of physic ; are purposes so abject, so mean, so unworthy human nature, that a generous soul would rather die than submit to them. Besides that a con- No. 25. THE SPECTATOE. 281 tinual anxiety for life vitiates all the relishes of it, and casta a gloom over the whole face of nature ; as it is impossible we should take delight in anything that we are every mo- ment afraid of losing. I do not mean hy what I have here said, that I think any one to blame for taking due care of their health. On the con- trary, as cheerfulness of mind, and capacity for business, are iu a great measure the eflFects of a well-tempered constitution, a man cannot be at too much pains to cultivate and preserve it. But this care, which we are prompted to, not only by common sense, but by duty and instinct, should never en- gage us in groimdless fears, melancholy apprehensions, and imaginary distempers, which are natural to every man who is more anxious to live than how to live. In short, the preservation of life should be only a secondary concern, and the direction of it our principal. If we have this frame of mind, we shall take the best means to preserve life, without being over-solicitous about the event; and shall arrive at that point of felicity which Martial has mentioned as the perfection of happiness, of neither fearing nor wishing for death. In answer to the gentleman, who tempers his health by ounces and by scruples, and instead of complying with those natural solicitations of hunger and thirst, drowsiness or love of exercise, governs himself by the prescriptions of his chair, 1 shall tell him a short fable. Jupiter, says the mythologist, to reward the piety of a certain countryman, promised to give him whatever he would ask. The countryman desired that he might have the management of the weather ia his own estate. He obtained his request, and immediately dis- tributed rain, snow, and sunshine among his several fields, as he thought the nature of the soil required. At the end of the year, when he expected to see a more than ordinary crop, his harvest fell infinitely short of that of his neigh- bours : upon which (says the fable) he desired Jupiter to take the weather again into his own hands, or that otherwise he should utterly ruin himself. 282 . Addison's ■wobks. No. 26. FEIDAY, MAECH 30. Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede paupenim tabemas Regumque turres, O beate Sexti. Vitse summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam : Jam te premet nox, fabulseque manes, Et domus exilis Plutonia — Hor Whek I am in a serious humour, I very often walk by myself in Westminster Abbey ; where the gloominess of the place, and the use to which it is applied., with the solemnity of the building, and the condition of the people who lie ia it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable. I yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the chvtrchyard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tombstones and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that he was bom upon one day, and died upon another : the whole history of his life being comprehended in those two circumstances, that are common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed per- sons ; who had left no other memorial of them, but that they were bom and that they died. They put me in mind of several persons mentioned iu the battles of heroic poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other reason but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the head. rXavKov TC MkSovra re Qipff'iXoxiv rt. HoM. Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque. Virg. The life of these men is finely described in holy writ by " the path of an arrow," which is immediately closed up and lost. Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a grave ; and saw in every shovelfiil of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skulL iutermixt with a kind of fresh mouldering earth, that some time or other had a place in the composition of a human body. Upon this I began to consider with myself what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under the pave- ment of that ancient cathedral ; how men and women, friends So iS. THE SPECTATOE. 283 and enemies, j^nests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled amongst one another, and blended together ia the same common mass ; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous heap of matter. After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mor- tality, as it were, in the lump ; I examined it more particu- larly by the accounts which I found on several of the monuments which are raised in every quarter of thai ancient fahvic' Some of them were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that, if it were possible for the dead person to he acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon him. There are others so excessively modest, that they deliver the character of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means are not understood once in a twelvemonth. In the poetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, and monuments which had no poets. I observed, indeed, that the present war had filled the church with many of these uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were perhaps buried in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean. I could not but be very much delighted with several modem epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and justness of thought, and therefore do honour to the living as well as to the dead. As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of^ the ignorance or poHtenessof a nation, from the turn of their public monuments and inscrip- tions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of learning and genius, before they are put in execution. Sir Cloudesly Shovel's monument has very often given me great offence : instead of the brave rough English Admiral, which was the distinguishing character of that plain gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy of state. The inscription is answerable to the monument ; for instead of celebrating the many remark- able actions he had performed in the service of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which it ' Accounts, which — Monuments, which. ' If he 'lad said, "to pass a judgment on" the double genitive (ase had been avoided. 2S4 AUDISOlf'S WOEKS. was impossible for tim to reap any honour. The Dutch, •whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an in- finitely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their buildings and works of this nature, than what we meet with in those of our own country. The monuments of their ad- mirals, which have been erected at the public expense, re- present them like themselves ; and are adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons of sea- weed, shells, and coral. But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amuse- ment. I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations ; but for my own part, though I am al- ways serious, 1 do not know what it is to be melancholy ; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delight- ful ones. By this means I can improve myself with those objects which others consider with terror. When I loot upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me ; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tomb-stone, my heart melts with compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow : when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall aU of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together. ' Wlien I read the several dates of the tombs, of some, &c^ Better thus, " WJien, in reading the several dates of the tomhs, I find that s:wte," &B- No. 28. THE SPECTATOB. 285 No. 28. MONDAY, APEIL 2. — Neque semper arcum Tendit Apollo. Hon. 1 SHALL here present my reader with a letter from a prr.- jector, concerning a new office which he thinks may very much contribute to the embellishment of the city, and to the driving barbarity out of our streets. I consider it as a satire upon projectors in general, and a lively picture of the whole art of modern criticism. " SlE, Observing that you have thoughts of creating certain officers under you, for the inspection of several petty enormi- ties which you yourself cannot attend to ; and finthng daily absurdities hung upon the sign-posts of this city, to the great scandal of foreigners, as well as those of our own country, who are curious spectators of the same : I do humbly pro- pose, that you would be pleased to make me your Superin- tendent of all such figures and devices as are or shall be made use of on this occasion ; with full powers to rectify or expunge whatever I shall find irregular or defective. For want of such an officer, there is nothing like sound literature and good sense to be met with in those objects, that are everywhere thrusting themselves out to the eye, and endea- vouring to become visible. Our streets are filled with blue boars, black swans, and red lions ; not to mention flying pigs, and hogs in armour, with many other creatures more extraor- dinary than any in the deserts of Afric. Strange ! that one who has aU the birds and beasts in nature to choose out of, should live at the sign of an Etis Rationis ! " My first task therefore should be, like that of Hercules, to clear the city from monsters. In the second place I would forbid, that creatures of jarring and incongruous natures should be joined together in the same sign ; such as the beU and the neat's-tongue, the dog and grid-iron. The fox and goose may be supposed to have met ; but what has the fox and the seven stars to do together P And when did the lamb and dolphin ever meet, except upon a sign-post ? As for the eat and fiddle, there is a conceit in it ; and therefore I do not intend that anything I have here said should affect it. I 286 ADDISON S ■WORKS. must however observe to you upon this subject, that it ig usual for a young tradesman, at his first setting up, to add to his sign that of the master whom he served ; as the hus- band, after marriage, gives a place to his mistress's arms in his own coat. This I take to have given rise to many of those absurdities which are committed over our heads ; and, as I am informed, first occasioned the three nuns and a hare, which we see so frequently joined together. I would therefore establish certain rules, for the determining how far one tradesman may give the sign of another, and in what cases he may be allowed to quarter it with his own. " In the third place, I would enjoin every shop to make use of a sign which bears some affinity to the wares in which it deals. What can be more inconsistent than to see a bawd at the sign of the angel, or a tailor at the lion ? A cook should not live at the boot, nor a shoemaker at the roasted pig ; and yet, for want of this regulation, I have seen a goat set up before the door of a perfumer, and the French king's head at a sword-cutler's. " An ingenious foreigner observes, that several of those gentlemen who value themselves upon their families, and overlook such as are bred to trade, bear the tools of their forefathers in their coats of arms. I will not examine how true this is in fact : but though it may not be necessary for posterity thus to set up the sign of their forefathers, I think it highly proper for those who actually profess the trade, to show some such marks of it before their doors. " When the name gives an occasion for an ingenious sign- post, I would likewise advise the owner to take that oppor- tunity of letting the world know who he is. It would nave been ridiculous for the ingenious Mrs. Salmon to have lived at the sign of the trout ; for which reason she has erected before her house the figure of the fish that is her namesake. Mr. BeU has likewise distinguished himself by a device of the same nature : and here, sir, I must beg leave to observe to you, that this particular figure of a beU has given occa- sion to several pieces of wit in this kind. A man of your reading must know that Able Drugger gained great applause by it in the time of Ben Johnson. Our apocryphal heathen god is also represented by this figure ; which, in conjunction with the dragon, makes a very handsome picture in several of our streets. As for the "Bell Savage, which is the sign of a No. 28. THE SPECTATOB. 287 savage man standing by a bell, I was formerly very miich puzzled upon the conceit of it, till I accidentally fell into the reading of an old romance translated out of the Prencb ; wbicb gives an account of a very beautiful woman who was found in a wilderness, and is called in the French La Belle Sauvage ; and is everywhere translated by our countrymen the BeU Savage. This piece of philology will, I hope, con- vince you that I have made sign-posts my study, and conse- quently qualified myself for the employment which I solicit at your hands. But before I conclude my letter, I must communicate to you another remark which T have made upon the subject with which I am now entertaining you, namely, that I can give a shrewd guess at the humour of the inhabitant by the sign that hangs before his door. A surly, choleric fellow generally makes choice of a bear ; as men of milder dispositions frequently live at the lamb. Seeing a punch-bowl painted upon a sign near Charing-Cross, and very curiously garnished, with a couple of angels hovering over it, and squeezing a lemon into it, I had the curiosity to ask after the master of the house, and found upon inquiry, as I had guessed by the little agremens upon Hs sign, that he was a Trenchman.. I know, sir, it is not requisite for me to enlarge upon these hints to a gentleman of your great abilities ; so, humbly recommending myself to your favour and patronage, " I remain," &c. I shall add to the foregoing letter another, which came to me by the same penny-post. "From my own Apartment near Charing-Crcss. " HoNOTOED Sir, Having heard that this nation is a great encourager of ingenuity, I have brought with me a rope-dancer that was caught in one of the woods belonging to the Great Mogul. He is by birth a monkey ; but swings upon a rope, takes a pipe of tobacco, and drinks a glass of ale, like any reasonable creature. He gives great satisfaction to the quality ; and if they will make a subscription for him, I wiU send for a bro- ther of his out of Holland that is a very good tumbler ; and also for another of the same family, whom I design for my merry-andrew, as being an excellent mimic, and the greatest droll in the country where he now is. I hope to have this 288 ADDISON S WOEJiS. entertainment in a readiness for the next winter ; and doubt not but it will please more than the opera or puppet-Bhow. I will not say that a monkey is a better man than some of the opera heroes ; but certainly he is a better representative of a man than the most artificial composition of wood and wire. If you will be pleased to give me a good word in your paper, you shall be every night a spectator at my show for nothing. " I am," &c. No. 29. TUESDAY, APEIL 3. — Sermo lingu& concinnus utraque Suavior : ut Ohio nota si commista Falemi est. Hor. Theee is nothing than has more startled our English au- dience, than the Italian recitativo at its first entrance upon the stage. People were wonderfully surprised to hear ge- nerals singing the word of command, and ladies delivering messages in music. Our countrymen could not forbear laughing when they heard a lover chanting out a biUet-doux, and even the superscription of a letter set to a tune. The famous blunder in an old play of " Enter a king and two fiddlers solus," was now no longer an absurdity ; when it was impossible for a hero in a desert, or a princess in her closet, to speak anything unaccompanied with musical instruments. But however this Italian method of acting in recitativo might appear^ at first hearing, I cannot but think it much more just than that which prevailed in our English opera before this innovation : the transition from an air to recitar tive music being more natural, than the passing from a song to plain and ordinary speaking, which was the common method in Purcell's operas. The only fault I find in our present prastice, is the making iise of Italian recitativo with English words. To go to the bottom of this matter, 1 must observe, that the tone or (as the French call it) the accent of every nation in their ordinary speech, is altogether diflferent from that of every other people ; as we may see even in the Welsh and Scotch, who border so near upon us. By the tone or accent, ' Might appear. 1 I should rather have said, " might affect us at first hearing." IfO. 89. THE SPBOTATOE. 289 I do not mean the pronunciation of each particular word, but the sound of the whole sentence. Thus it is very conunon for an English gentleman, when he hears a Prench tragedy, to complain that the actors all of them speak in a tone ; and therefore he very wisely prefers his own countrymen, not considering that a foreigner complains of the same tone in an English actor. Por this reason, the recitative music in every language should be as different as the tone or accent of each language; for otherwise, what may properly express a passion in one language, will not do it in another. Every one who has been long in Italy knows vegr well, that the cadences in the re- citativo bear a remote affinity to the tone of their voices in ordinary conversation ; or, to speak more properly, are only the accents of their language made more musical and tuneful. Thus the notes of interrogation, or admiration, in theltalian music, (if one may so call them,) which resemble their ac- cents in discourse on such occasions, are not unlike the ordinary tones of an English voice when we are angry ; inso- much that I have often seen our audiences extremely mistaken as to what has been doing upon the stage, and expecting to see the hero knock down his messenger, when he has been asking him a question ; or fancying that he quarrels with his friend, when he only bids him good-morrow. Eor this reason the Italian artists cannot agree with our English musicians in admiring Purcell's compositions, and thinking his tunes so wonderfully adapted to his words ; because both nations do not always express the same passions by the same sounds. I am therefore humbly of opinion, that an English com- poser should not follow the Italian recitative too servilely, but make use of many gentle deviations from it, in com- pliance with his own native language. He may copy out of it all the lulling softness and " dying falls," (as Shakspeare calls them,) but should stiU remember that he ought to ac- commodate himself to an English audience ; and by humour- ing the tone of our voices in ordinary conversation, have the same regard to the accent of his own language, as those per- sons had to theirs whom he professes to imitate. It is observed, that several of the singing birds of our own coun- try learn to sweeten their voices, and mellow the harshness of their natural notes, by practising under those that come 290 aidisom's woeks. from warmer climates. In the same maimer I would allow the ItaUan opera to lend our English music as much as may grace and soften it, hut never entirely to annihilate and destroy it. Let the infusion be as strong as you please, hut etiU. let the subject matter of it he Enghsh. A composer should fit his music to the genius of the people, and consider that the delicacy of hearing, and taste of harmony, has been formed upon those sounds which every country abounds with : in short, that music is of a relative nature ; and what is harmony to one ear, may be dissonance to another. The same observations which I have made upon the recit- ative part of music, may be applied to all our songs and airs in general. Signior Baptist Lully acted like a man of sense in this par- ticular. He found the French music extremely defective, and very often barbarous : however, knowing the genius of the people, the humour of their language, and the prejudiced ears he had to deal with, he did not pretend to extirpate the French music, and plant the Italian in its stead ; but only to cultivate and civilize it with innumerable graces and modula- tions which he borrowed from the Italian. By this means the French music is now perfect in its kind ; and when you say it is not so good as the Italian, you only mean that it does not please you so well, for there is scarce a Frenchman who would not wonder to hear you give the Italian such a preference. The music of the French is indeed very pro- perly adapted to their pronunciation and accent, as their whole opera wonderfully favours the genius of such a gay, airy people. The chorus in which that opera abounds gives the parterre frequent opportunities of joining in concert with the stage. This inclination of the audience to sing along with the actors, so prevails with them, that I have sometimes known the performer on the stage do no more in a celebrated song, than the clerk of a parish church, who serves only to raise the psalm, and is afterwards drowned in the music of the congregation. Every actor that comes on the stage is a beau. The queens and heroines are so painted, that they appear as ruddy and cherry-cheeked as mUk-maids. The sliepherds are all embroidered, and acquit themselves better in a ball than our English dancing-masters. I have seen a oouple of rivers appear in red stockings ; and Alpheus, instfjad "No. 31. THE SPECTATOB. 291 of having his head covered with sedge and bull-rushes, makiag love in a fair full-bottomed periwig, and a plume of feathers ; but with a voice so full of shakes and quavers, that I should have thought the murmurs of a country brook the much more agreeable music. I remember the last opera I saw in that merry nation was the Eape of Proserpine ; where Pluto, to make the more tempting figure, puts himself in a Erench equipage, and brings Ascalaphus along with him as his valet de chambre. This is what we call foUy and impertinence ; but what the French look upon as gay and polite. I shall add no more to what I have here offered, than that music, architecture, and painting, as well as poetry and ora- tory, are to deduce their laws and rules from the general sense and taste of mankind, and not from the principles of those arts themselves ; or, in other words, the taste is not to conform to the art, but the art to the taste. Music is not designed to please only chromatic ears, but all that are capa^ ble of distinguishing harsh from disagreeable notes. A man of an ordinary ear is a judge whether a passion is expressed in proper sounds, and whether the melody of those sounds be more or less pleasing. No. 31. THTJE8DAT, APEIL 5. Sit mihi fas audita loqui ! — Vieg. Last night, upon my going into a coffee-house not far from the Haymarket Theatre, I diverted myself for above half an hour with overhearing the discourse of one, who, by the shabbiness of his dress, the extravagance of his concep- tions, and the 'hurry of his speech, I discovered to be of that species who are generally distinguished by the title of pro- jectors. This gentleman, for I found he was treated as such by his audience, was entertaining a whole table of listeners with the project of an opera, which he told us had not cost him above two or three mornings in the contrivance, and which he was ready to put in execution, provided he might find his account in it. He said, that he had observed the great trouble and inconvenience which ladies were at, in travelling up and down to the several shows that are ex- hibited in different quarters of the town. The dancing mon- V 2 292 ' ABDISOir'S WOEKg. keys are in one place ; tlie puppet-show in another ; tlie opera in a third ; not to mention the lions, that are almost a whole day's journey from the politer part of the town. By this means people of figure are forced to lose half the winter after their coming to town, before they have seen all the strange sights about it. In order to remedy this great in- convenience, our projector drew out of his pocket the scheme of an opera, entitled, The Expedition of Alexander the Great ; in which he had disposed aU the remarkable shows about town, among the scenes and decorations of his piece. The thought, he confessed, was not origiaaUy his own, but that he had taken the hint of it from several performances which he had seen upon our stage ; in one of which there was a raree-show ; in another a ladder-dance ; and in others a pos- ture-man, a moving picture, with many curiosities of the like nature. This Expedition of Alexander opens vrith his consulting the Oracle at Delphos, in which the dumb conjurer, who has been visited by so many persons of quality of late years, is to be introduced as telling him his fortune : at the same time Clench of Bamet is represented in another comer of the temple, as ringing the bells of Delphos, for joy of his ar- rival. The tent of Darius is to be peopled by the ingenious Mrs. Salmon, where Alexander is to fall in love with a piece of wax-work, that represents the beautiful Statira. When Alexander comes into that country, in which Quintus Curtius teUs us the dogs were so exceemng fierce that they would not loose their hold, though they were cut to pieces limb by limb, and that they would hang upon their prey by their teeth when they had nothing but a mouth left, there is to be a scene of Hockley in the Hole, in which is to be repre- sented aU the diversions of that place, the bull-baiting only excepted, which cannot possibly be exhibited in the theatre, by reason of the lowness of the roof. The several woods in Asia, which Alexander must be supposed to pass through, wiU give the audience a sight of monkeys dancing upon ropes, with the many other pleasantries of that ludlsrous species. At the same time, if there chance to be any strange animals in town, whether birds or beasts, they may be either let loose among the woods, or driven across the stage by some of the country people of Asia. In the last great battle, Piokethman is to personate King Porus upon an elephant, No. 31. THE SPEOTATOE. 293 and is to be encountered hj Powell, representing Alexander the Great, upon a dromedary, whicli nevertheless Mr. PoweU is desired to call by the name of Bucephalus. Upon the close of this great decisive battle, when the two kings are ' thoroughly reconciled, to show the mutual friendship and good correspondence that reigns between them, they both of them go together to a puppet-show, in which the ingenious Mr. Powell, junior, may have an opportunity of displaying his whole art of machinery, for the diversion of the two monarchs. Some at the table urged, that a puppet-show was not a suitable entertainment for Alexander the Great ; and that it might be introduced more properly, if we suppose the conqueror touched upon that part of India which is said to be iahabited by the Pigmies. But this objection was looked upon as frivolous, and the proposal immediately over- ruled. Our projector fiirther added, that after the recon- ciliation of these two kings, they might invite one another to dinner, and either of them entertain his guest with the German artist Mr. Pinkethman's heathen gods, or any of the like diversions, which shall then chance to be in vogue. This project was received with very great applause by the whole table. Upon which the undertaker two. us, that he had not yet communicated to us above half his design ; for that Alexander being a Greek, it was his intention that the whole opera should be acted in that language, which was a tongue he was sure would wonderfully please the ladies, especially when it was a little raised and rounded by the Ionic dialect ; and could not but be acceptable to the whole audi- ence, because there are fewer of them who understand Greek than Italian. The only difficulty that remaiaed was, how to get performers, unless we could persuade some gentlemen of the universities to learn to sing, in order to quaEfy them- selves for the stage ; but this objection soon vanished, when the projector informed us, that the Greeks were at present the only musicians in the Turkish empire, and that it would be very easy for our factory at Smyrna to furnish us every year with a colony of musicians, by the opportunity of the Turkey fleet. " Besides, (says he,) if we want any single voice for any lower part in the opera, Lavraence can learn to speak Greek, as well as he does Italian, in a fortnight's time." The projector having thus settled matters to the good liking of all that heard him, he left his seat at the table, and planted 294 Addison's ttoeks. himself before the fire, where I had unluckily taken my stand for the convenience of overhearing what he said. Whether he had observed me to he more attentive than or- dinary, I cannot tell, hut he had not stood by me above a quarter of a minute, but he turned short upon me on a sud- den, and catching me by a button of my coat, attacked me very abruptly after the following manner. Besides, sir, I have heard of a very extraordinary genius for music that lives in Switzerland, who has so strong a spring in his fingers, that he can make the board of an organ sound like a drum ; and if I could but procure a subscription of about ten thousand pounds every winter, I would undertake to fetch him over, and oblige him by articles to set everything that should he sung upon the English stage. After this he looked fuU in in my face, expecting I would make an answer ; when, by good luck, a gentleman that had entered the coffee-house flince the projector applied himself to me, hearing him talk of his Swiss compositions, cried out vrith a kind of laugh, Is our music then to receive further improvements from Switzer- land ? This alarmed the projector, who immediately let go my button, and turned about to answer him. I took the opportunity of the diversion which seemed to be made ia favour of me, and laying down my penny upon the bar, retired with some precipitation. No. 34. MONDAY, APEIL 9. — paroit Cognatis maculis similis fera — Jnv. The club of which I am a member is very luckily com- posed of such persons as are engaged in different ways of life, and deputed as it were out of the most conspicuous classes of mankind : by this means I am furnished with the greatest variety of hints and materials, and know everything that passes in the different quarters and divisions, not only of this great city, but of the whole kingdom. My readers, too, have the satisfaction to find, that there is no rank or degree among them who have not.their representative in this club, and that there is always somebody present who wiU take care of their respective interests, that nothing may be written or published to the prejudice or infringement of their just rights and privileges. No. 34. THE SPEOl'ATOB. 295 I last night sate very late in company with this select body of friends, who entertaiaed me with several remarks which they and others had made upon these my speculations, as also with the various success which they had met with among their several ranks and degrees of readers. Will. Honeycomb told me, in the softest manner he could, that there were some ladies (but for your comfort, says WUl., they are not those of the most wit) that were offended at the liberties I had taken with the opera and the puppet-show ; that some of them were likewise very much surprised, that I should think such serious points as the dress and equipage of persons of quality proper subjects for raillery. He was going on, when Sir Andrew Freeport took him up short, and told him, that the papers he hinted at had done great good in the city, and that all their wives and daughters were the better for them : and further added, that the whole city thought themselves very much obliged to me for declaring my generous intentions to scourge vice and foUy as they ap- pear in a multitude, without condescending to be a publisher of particular intrigues and cuckoldoms. In short, says Sir Andrew, if you avoid that fooHsh beaten road of falling upon aldermen and citizens, and employ your pen upon the vanity and luxury of courts, your paper must needs be of general use. Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew, That he wondered to hear a man of his sense talk after that man- ner ; that the city had always been the province for satire ; and that the vrits of King Charles's time jested upon nothing else during his whole reign. He then showed, by the ex- amples of Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and the best writers of every age, that the foUies of the stage and court had never been accounted too sacred for ridicule, how great soever the persons might be that patronized them. But after all, says he, I think your raillery has made too great an excursion in attacking several persons of the inns of court ; and I do not believe you can show me any precedent for your behaviour in that particular. My good friend Sir Roger de Ooverley, who had said no- thing all this while, began his speech with a pish ! and told us, that he wondered to see so many men of sense so very se- rious upon fooleries. Let our good friend, said he, attack every one that deserves it : I would only advise you, Mr. Spectator, applying h;mself to me, to take care how you 296 Addison's woeks. meddle with country squires : they are the ornaments of the English natiori ; men of good heads and sound bodies ! and, let me tell you, some of them take it ill of you, that you men- tion fox-hunters with so little respect. Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion. What he said was only to commend my prudence in not touching upon the army, and advised me to continue to act discreetly in that point. By this time I found every subject of my speculations was taken away from me, by one or other of the club ; and began to think myself in the condition of the good man that had one wife who took a disEke to his grey hairs, and another to his black, till by their picking out what each of them had an aversion to, they left his head altogether bald and naked. "While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy friend the clergyman, who, very luckily for me, was at the club that night, undertook my cause. He told us, that he won- dered any order of persons should think themselves too con- siderable to be advised : that it was not quality, but inno- cence, which exempted men from reproof: that vice and folly ought to be attacked wherever they could be met with, and especially when they were placed in high and conspicuous stations of life. He further added, that my paper would only serve to aggravate the pains of poverty, if it chiefly exposed those who are already depressed, and in some mea- sure turned into ridicule, by the meanness of their conditions and circumstances. He afterwards proceeded to take notice of the great use this paper might be of to the public, by reprehending those vices which are too trivial for the chastise- ment of the law, and too fantastical for the cognizance of the pulpit. He then advised me to prosecute my undertaking with cheerfulness, and assured me, that whoever might be displeased with me, I should be approved by all those whose praises do honour to the persons on whpm they are bestowed. The whole club pays a particular deference to the dis- course of this gentleman, and are drawn into what he says, as much by the candid, ingenious manner with which he de- livers himself, as by the strength of argument and force of reason which he makes use of. Will. Honeycomb immedi- ately agreed, that what he had said was right ; and that for his part, he would not insist upon the quarter which he had demanded for the ladies. Sir Andrew gave up the city ■with No. 35. THE SPECTATOB. 297 the same frankness. The Templar would not stand out : and was followed by Sir Eoger and the Captain : who all agreed that I should be at liberty to carry the war into what quar- ter I pleased ; provided I contiaued to combat with crimi- nals iu a body, and to assault the rice without hurting the person. This debate, which was held for the good of mankind, put me in mind of that which the Eoman triumvirate were for- merly engaged ia, for their destruction. Every man at first stood hard for his friend, tiLL they found that by this means they should spoil their proscription : and at length, making a sacrifice of all their acquaintance and relations, fiimished out a very decent execution. Having thus taken my resolutions to march on boldly in the cause of virtue and good sense, and to annoy their ad- versaries in whatever degree or rank of men they may be found, I shall be deaf for the future to aU the remonstrances that shall be made to me on this account. If Punch grows extravagant, I shall reprimand him very freely : if the stage becomes a nursery of foUy and impertinence, I shall not be afraid to animadvert upon it. In short, if I meet with any- thing in city, court, or country, that shocks modesty or good manners, I shaH use my utmost endeavours to make an ex- ample of it. I must, however, entreat every particular person, who does me the honour to be a reader of this paper, never to think himself, or any one of his friends or enemies, aimed at in what is said : for I promise him, never to draw a faulty character which does not fit at least a thousand people ; or to publish a single paper that is not written in the spirit of benevolence, and vrith a love to mankind. No. 35. TUESDAY, APEIL 10. Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est. Mart. AMOsa all kinds of writing, there is none in which authors are more apt to miscarry than in works of humour, as there is none in which they are more ambitious to excel. It is not an imagination that teems vsdth monsters, an head that is filled with extravagant conceptions, which is capable of furnishing the world with diversions of this nature ; and yet, if we look into the productions of several vmters, who set 298 Addison's wohks. up for men of humotir, what -wild irregular fancies, what unnatural distortions of thought, do we meet with ? If they speak nonsense, they heUeve they are talking humour ; and when they have drawn together a scheme of ahsurd, incon- sistent ideas, they are not ahle to read it over to themselves without laughing. These poor gentlemen endeavour to gain themselves the reputation of wits and humourists, hy such monstrous conceits as almost qualify them for Bedlam ; not considering that humour should always lie under the check of reason, and that it requires the direction of the nicest judg- ment, by so much the more as it indulges itself in the moat boundless freedoms. There is a kind of nature that is to he observed iu this sort of compositions, as weU. as in all other; and a certain regularity of thought which must discover the writer to be a man of sense, at the same time that he appears altogether given up to caprice. For my part, when I read the delirious mirth of an imskilful author, I cannot be so barbarous as to divert myself with it, but am rather apt to pity the man, than to laugh at anything he writes. The deceased Mr. Shadwell, who had himself a great deal of the talent which I am treating of, represents an empty rake, in one of his plays, as very much surprised to hear one say that breaking of windows was not humour ; and I question not but several English readers will be as much startled to hear me affirm, that many of those raving incoherent pieces, which are often spread among us, under odd chimerical titles, are rather the offsprings of a distempered brain, than works of humour. It is indeed much easier to describe what is not humour, than what is ; and very difficult to define it otherwise than as Cowley has done wit, by negatives. Were I to give my own notions of it, I would deliver them after Plato's manner, ia a kind of allegory, and by supposing Humour to be a person, deduce to him all his qualifications, according to the follow- ing genealogy. Truth was the founder of the family, and the father of Good Sense. Good Sense was the father of Wit, who married a lady of a collateral line, called Mirth, by whom he had issue Humour. Humour therefore being the young- est of this illustrious family, and descended from parents of Huch different dispositions, is very various and unequal in his temper ; sometimes you see him putting on grave looks and a solemn habit, sometimes airy in his behaviour, and fentastie No. 35. THE Sl'EOTATOE. 299 in his dress : insomuch that at different times he appears as serious as a judge, and as jocular as a merry-andrew. But as he has a great deal of the mother in his constitution, whatever mood he is in, he never fails to make his company- laugh. But since there is an impostor abroad, who takes upon him the name of this young gentleman, and would willingly pass for him in the world ; to the end that well-meaning per- sons may not be imposed upon by cheats, I would desire my readers, when they meet wdth this pretender, to look into his parentage, and to examine him strictly, whether or no he be remotely aUied to Truth, and lineally descended from Grood Sense ; if not, they may conclude him a counterfeit. They may likewise distinguish him by a loud and excessive laughter, in which he seldom gets his company to join with him. For as True Jlumour generally looks serious, while \ everybody laughs about him, False Humour is always laughing, whilst everybody about him looks serious. I shall only add, if he has not in him a mixture of both parents, that is, if he would pass for the offspring of "Wit without Mirth, or Mirth without "Wit, you may conclude him to be altogether spurious and a cheat. The impostor of whom I am speaking, descends originally from falsehood, who was the mother of Nonsense, who was brought to bed of a son called Frenzy, who married one of the daughters of FoUy, commonly known by the name of Laughter, on whom he begot that monstrous infant of which I have been here speaking. I shall set down at length the genealogical table of False Humour, and, at the same time, place under it the genealogy of True Humour, that the reader may at one view behold their different pedigrees and relations. Falsehood. Nonsense. Febnzt. Lattghtek. False HuMorE. TErTH. G-ooD Sense. "Wit. MiETH HrMOTTE. T. snight extend the allegory, by mentioning several of the 800 Addison's woetcs. children of False Humour, who are more in number than the sands of the sea, and might in particular enumerate the many sons and daughters which he has begot ia this island. But as this would be a very invidious task, I shall only ob- serve in general, that False Humour differs from the True, as a monkey does from a man. First of all, He is exceedingly given to little apish tricks and buffooneries. Secondly, He so much delights in mimicry, that it is all one to him whether he exposes by it vice and folly, luxury and avarice ; or, on the contrary, virtue and vnsdom, pain and poverty. Thirdly, He is wonderftilly unlucky, insomuch that he vriU bite the hand that feeds him, and endeavour to ridicule both friends and foes indifferently. For having but smaE talents, he must be merry where he can, not where he should. Fourthly, Being entirely void of reason, he pursues no point either of morality or instruction, but is ludicrous only for the sake of being so. Fifthly, Being incapable of anything but mock-represent- ations, his ridicule is always personal, and aimed at the vici- ous man, or the vmter ; not at the vice, or at the vmtiag. I have here only pointed at the whole species of false humourists ; but as one of my principal designs in this paper is to beat down that malignant spirit which discovers itself in the vfiitings of the present age, I shaU. not scruple, for the future, to single out any of the small wits that infest the world vyith such compositions as are ill-natured, immoral, and absurd. This is the only exception which I shaU, make to the general rule I have prescribed myself, of attacking multitudes ; since every honest man ought to look upon ' himself as in a natural state of war with the libeUer and lampooner, and to annoy them wherever they fall in his way. This is but retaliating upon them, and treating them as they treat others. No. 37. THTJESDAT, APEIL 12. — ^Non ilia colo calathisve Minervae Foemlneas assueta manus. Virg. Some months ago, my friend Sir Eoger, being in the country, enclosed a letter to me, directed to a certain lady No. 37. THE SPECTATOE. 301 whom I shall here call hy the name of Leonora, and as it contained matters of consequence, desired me to deliver it to ' her with my own hand. Accordingly I waited upon her lady- ship pretty early ia the morning, and was desired by her women to walk into her lady's library, till such time as she was in readiness to receive me. The very sound of a lady's library gave me a great curiosity to see in it ; and as it was some time before the lady came to me, I had an opportunity of turning over a great many of her books, which were ranged together in a very beautiful order. At the end of the folios (which were finely bound and gilt) were great jars of China placed one above another in a very noble piece of architecture. The quartos were separated from the octavos by a pile of small- er vessels, which rose in a delightful pyramid. The octavos were bounded by tea-dishes of all shapes, colours, and sizes, which were so disposed on a wooden frame, that they looked like one continued pillar indented with the finest strokes of sculpture, and stained with the greatest variety of dyes. That part of the library which was designed for the reception of plays and pamphlets, and other loose papers, was enclosed in a kind of square, consisting of one of the prettiest gro- tesque works that ever I saw, and made up of scaramouches, lions, monkeys, mandarines, trees, shells, and a thousand other odd figures in China ware. In the midst of the room was a little Japan table, with a quire of gilt paper upon it, and on the paper a silver snuff-box made in the shape of a little book. I found there were several other counterfeit books upon the upper shelves, which were carved in wood, and served only to fill up the numbers, like fagots in the muster of a regi- ment. I was wonderfully pleased with such a mist kind of furniture, as seemed very suitable to both the lady and the scholar, and did not know at first whether I should fancy myself in a grotto, or in a library. Upon my looking into the books, I foimd there were some few which the lady had bought for her own use, but most of them had been got together, either because she had heard them praised, or because she had seen the authors of them. Among several that I examined, I very weU remember these that follow. Ogilby's Virgil. Dry den's Juvenal. 802 ADDison's ■w6eks. Cassandra. Cleopatra. Aatraea. Sir Isaac Newion's "Works. The Grrand Cyrus ; with a pin stuck in cue of the middle leaves. Pembroke's Arcadia. Locke of Human Understanding ; with a paper of patches in it. A spelling-book. A Dictionary for the explanation of hard words. Sherlock upon Death. The fifteen Comforts of Matrimony. Sir "William Temple's Essays. Father Malbranche's Search after Truth, translated into English. A book of Novels. The Academy of Compliments. Culpepper's Midwifery. The Ladies' Calling. Tales in "Verse by Mr. Durfey : bound in red leather, gilt on the back, and doubled down in several places. All the Classic Authors, in wood. A set of Elzivir's, by the same hand. CleHa : which opened of itself in the place that describes two lovers in a bower. Baker's Chronicle. Advice to a Daughter. The new Atalantis, with a Key to it. Mr. Steele's Christian Hero. A Prayer-book ; with a bottle of Hungary water by the side of it. Dr. SachevereU's Speech. Fielding's Trial. Seneca's Morals. Taylor's holy Living and Dying. La Eerte's instructions for Country Dances. I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of these, and several other authors, when Leonora entered, and, upon my presenting her with a letter from the Knight, told me, with an xmspeaiable grace, that she hoped Sir Eoger was ia good No. 87. THE SPECTATOE. 303 health. I answered t/es ; for I hate long speeches, and after a how or two retired. Leonora was formerly a celehrated heauty, and is still a very lovely woman. She has heen a widow for two or three years, and heing unfortunate in her first marriage, has taken SI resolution never to venture upon a second. She has no children to take care of, and leaves the management of her estate to my good friend Sir Roger. But as the mind na- turally sinks into a kind of lethargy, and falls asleep, that is not agitated by some favourite pleasures and pursuits, Leo- nora has turned aU the passions of her sex into a love of hooks and retirement. She converses chiefly with men, (as she has often said herself,) but it is only in their writings ; and admits of very few male-visitants, except my friend Sir Roger, whom she hears with great pleasure, and without scandal. As her reading has lain very much among romances, it has given her a very particular turn of thinking, and dis- covers itself even in her house, her gardens, and her furni- ture. Sir Roger has entertained me an hour together with a description of her country-seat, which is situated in a kind of wilderness, about an hundred miles distant from London, and looks like a little enchanted palace. The rocks about her are shaped into artificial grottoes, covered with woodbines and jessamines. The woods are cut into shady walks, twisted into bowers, and filled with cages of turtles. The springs are made to run among pebbles, and by that means taught to murmur very agreeably. They are likewise collected into a beautiful lake, that is inhabited by a couple of swans, and empties itself by a little rivulet which runs through a green meadow, and is known in the family by the name of The Purling Stream. The Knight hkevnse tells me, that this lady preserves her game better than any of the gentlemen in the country. " Not (says Sir Roger) that she sets so great a value upon her partridges and pheasants, as upon her larks and nightingales. For she says that every bird which is killed in her ground, will spoil a concert, and that she shall certainly miss him the next year." When I think how oddly this lady is improved by learning, I look upon her with a mixture of admiration and pity. Amidst these innocent entertainments which she has formed to herself, how much more valuable does she appear than those of her sex who employ themselves in. diversions that 804 abbison's -woBffs. are less reasonable, thougli more in fashion ! "WTiat imprjve- ments would a woman have made, who is so susceptible of impressions from what she reads, had she been guided to such books as have a tendency to enlighten the understand- ing and rectify the passions, as well as to those which are of little more use than to divert the imagination! But the manner of a lady's employing herself usefuUy in reading shall be the subject of another paper, in which I de- sign to recommend such particular books as may be proper for the improvement of the sex. And as this is a subject of a very nice nature, I shall desire my correspondents to give me their thoughts upon it. No. 39. SATUEDAY, APEIL 14. Multa fero, ut placeam geims irritaMe vatum, Cum scribo — Hos. As a perfect tragedy is the noblest production of human nature, so it is capable of giving the mdnd one of the most deUghtfiil and most improving entertainments. " A virtu- ous man (says Seneca) struggUng with misfortunes, is such a spectacle as gods might look upon with pleasure;" and such a pleasure it is which one meets with in the represent- ation of a well- written tragedy. Diversions of this kind wear out of our thoughts everything that is mean and little. They cherish and cultivate that humanity which is the orna- ment of our nature. They soften insolence, soothe affliction, and subdue the mind to the dispensations of Providence. It is no wonder, therefore, that in all the poUte nations of the world, this part of the drama has met with pubhc en- couragement. The modern tragedy excels that of Grreece and Eome, in the intricacy and disposition of the fable ; but, what a Chris- tian writer would be ashamed to own, faUs infinitely short of it in the moral part of the performance. This I may show more at large hereafter ; and in the mean time, that I may contribute something towards the improve- ment of the English tragedy, I shall take notice, in this, and in other following papers, of some particular parts in it that seem liable to exception. Na. 39. THE SPBOTATOB. 305 Aristotle observes, that tte Iambic verse in the Greek tongue was the most proper for tragedy ; because at the same time that it lifted up the discourse from prose, it was that which approached nearer to it than any other kind of verse. " For, (says he,) we may observe that men in ordinary dis- course very often speak Iambics, without taking notice of it." We may make the same observation of our English blank verse, which often enters into our common discourse, though we do not attend to it, and in such a due medium between rhyme and prose, that it seems wonderfully adapted to tra- gedy. I am therefore very much offended when I see a play \J in rhyme ; which is as absurd in English, as a tragedy of Hexameters would have been in Greek or Latin. The sole- cism is, I think, stiU greater in those plays that have some scenes in rhyme and some in blank verse, which are to be looked upon as two several languages ; or where we see some particular similes dignified with rhyme, at the same time that everythiug about them lies in blank verse. I would not, however, debar the poet from concluding his tra- gedy, or, if he pleases-, every act of it, with two or three" couplets, which may have the same effect as an air in the Italian opera after a long recitativo, and give the actor a graceful exit. Besides that we see a diversity of numbers in some parts of the old tragedy, in order to hinder the ear from being tired with the same contiuued modulation of voice. Tor the same reason I do not dislike the speeches iu our English tragedy that close with an hemistic, or half verse, notwithstanding the person who speaks after it begins a new verse, without filUng up the preceding one ; nor with abrupt pauses and breakings off in the middle of a verse, when they humour any passion that is expressed by it. Since I am upon this subject, I must observe, that our English poets have succeeded much better in the style than ^•^ in the sentiments of their tragedies. Their langua.ge is very often noble and sonorous, but the sense either very trifling or very common. On the contrary, in the ancient -bragediea, and indeed in those of Comeille and Eacine, though the ex- pressions are very great, it is the thought that bears them up and swells them. Eor my own part, I prefer a noble senti- / ment that is depressed with homely language, infinitely be- fore a vulgar one that is blown up with all the sound and energy of expression. WTiether this defect in our tragedies 30G addiboh's woeks. nJ may rise from want of genius, knowledge, or experience in the writers, or from their compliance witli the vicious taste of their readers, who are better judges of the language than of the sentiments, and consequently relish the one more than the other, I cannot determine. But I believe it might rec- tify the conduct both of the one and of the other, if the vmter laid down the whole contexture of his dialogue in plainJEngUsh, before he turned it iato blank verse ; and if the reader, after the perusal of a scene, would consider the 1/ naked thought of every speech in it, when divested of all its tragic ornaments ; by this means, withoutbeingimposed \ upoi L by word s, we may judge impartiaUy~of the thought, and consider whether it be natural or great enough for the person that utters it, whether it deserves to shiae in such a blaze of eloquence, or show itself in such a variety of lights as are generally made use of by the writers of our English tragedy. I must in the next place observe, that when our thoughts are great and just, they are often obscured by the sounding phrases, hard metaphors, and forced expressions in which they are clothed. Shakspeare is often very faulty ia this particular. There is a fine observation in Aristotle to this purpose, which I have never seen quoted. " The expression (says he) ought to be very much laboured in the imactive parts of the fable, as in descriptions, similitudes, narrations, and the like ; in which the opinions, manners, and passions of men are not represented ; for these (namely, the opinions, manners, and passions) are apt to be obscured by pompous phrases and elaborate expressions." Horace, who copied most of his criticisms after Aristotle, seems to have had his eye on the foregoing rule, in the following verses ; Et tragiciis plerumque dolet sermone pedestri. Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et exul uterque, Projicit ampuUas et sesquipedalia verba, Si curat cor spectantis tetigisse querela. Tragedians too lay by their state, to grieve. Peleus and Telephus, exiled and poor, Forget their swelling and gigantic words. Ld. Roscommon. Among our modem English poets, there is none who was better turned for tragedy than Lee ; if, instead of favouring the impetuosity of his genius, he ha4 restrained it, and kept J it within its proper bounds. His thoughts are wondeffuUy No. 39. THE SPECTATOE. 307 Buited to tragedy, but frequently lost in such a cloud of words, that it is hard to see the beauty of them ; there is an infinite fire in his works, but so involTed in smoke, that it does not appear in half its lustre. He frequently succeeds in the passionate parts of the tragedy, but more particularly where he slackens his efforts, and eases the style of those epithets and metaphors, in which he so much abounds. What can be more natural, more soft, or more passionate, than that line in Statira's speech, where she describes the charms of Alexan- der's conversation ? Then he would talk : — Good Gods ! how he would talk ! That unexpected break in the line, and turning the de- scription of Ins manner of talking into an admiration of it, is inexpressibly beautiful, and wonderfully suited to the fond character of the person that speaks it. There is a simplicity in the words, that outshiues the utmost pride of expression. Otway has followed nature in the language of his tragedy, and therefore shines in the passionate parts, more than any of our English poets. As there is somethiug familiar and domestic in the fable of his tragedy, more than in those of any other poet, he has little pomp, but great force, in his ex- pressions. For which reason, though he has admirably suc- ceeded in the tender and meltiag part of his tragedies, he sometimes falls into too great a familiarity of phrase ia those parts, which, by Aristotle's rule, ought to have been raised and supported by the dignity of expression. It has been observed by others, that this poet has founded his tragedy of Venice Preserved on so wrong a plot, that the greatest characters in it are those of rebels and traitprs. Had the hero of his play discovered the same good qualities in the defence of his country, that he showed for its ruia and sub- version, the audience could not enough pity and admire him : but as he is now represented, we can only say of him what the Roman historian says of Catiline, that his fall would have been glorious (si pro patriA sic coneidisset) had he so fallen in the service of his country .^ ' This, and the four following critical papers, are very judicious, £nd extremely well written. Xi 308 aidison's woeks. JSTo. 40. MONDAY, APRIL 16. Ac ne forte putes me, quae facere ipse recusem, Cum recte tractant alii, laudare maligna ; lUe per extentum fonem mihi posse videtur Ire Poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit, Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet, Ut magus ; et mode me TheWs, modo ponit Atlienis. HoR. The Engliali writers of tragedy are possessed ynth. a notion, that when they represent a virtuous or innocent person in distress, they ought not to leave him till they have delivered him out of his troubles, or made him triumph over his enemies. This error they have been led into by a ridiculous doctrine in modem criticism, that they are obliged to an equal distribution of rewards and punishments, and an impartial execution of poetical justice. Who were the first that estab- ; lished this rule I kaow not ; but I am sure it has no found- ' ation in nature, in reason, or in the practice of the ancients. "We find that good and evil happen alike to all men on this side the grave : and as the principal design of tragedy is to V raise commiseration and terror in the minds of the audience, we shaU defeat this great end, if we always make virtue and innocence happy and successful. Wbatever crosses and disap- pointments a good man suffers in the body of the tragedy, they will make but small impression on our minds, when we know that in the last act he is to arrive at the end of his wishes and desires. When we see him engaged in the depth of his afllictions, we are apt to comfort ourselves, because we are sure he will find his way out of them ; and that his grief, how great soever it may be at present, will soon terminate in gladness. Por this reason the ancient writers of tragedy J treated men in their plays as they are dealt with in the world, by making virtue sometimes happy and sometimes miserable, as they found it in the fable which they made choice of, or as it might aifect their audience in the most agreeable manner. Aristotle considers the tragedies that were written in either 01 these kinds, and observes, that those which ended unhap- pily had always pleased the people, and carried away the prize in the public disputes of the stage, from those that ended happily. Terror and commiseration leave a pleasing anguish in the mind ; and fix the audience in such a serious composure of thought as is much more lasting and delight- No. 40. THE SPBCTATOE. 309 ful t,liaii any little transient starts of joy and satisfaction. Accordingly, we find that more of our EngUsli tragedies have succeeded, in which the favourites of the audience sink under their calamities, than those in which they recover themselves out of them. The best plays of this kind are the Orphan, Tenice Preserved, Alexander the Grreat, Theodosius, All for Love, CEdipus, Oroonoko, Othello, &c. King Lear is an ad- mirable tragedy of the same kind, as Shakspeare wrote it ; but as it is reformed according to the chimerical notion of poetical justice, in my humble opinion it has lost half its beauty. At the same time I must allow, that there are very noble tragedies, which have been framed upon the other plan, and have ended happily ; as indeed most of the good tragedies, which have been written since the starting of the above-men- tioned criticism, have taken this turn; as, the Mourning Bride, Tam^erlane, Ulysses, Phaedra and Hippolytus, with most of Mr. Dryden's. I must also allow, that many of Shak- speare's, and several of the celebrated tragedies of antiquity, are cast in the same form. I do not therefore dispute against this way of writing tragedies, but against the criticism that would establish this as the only method ; and by that means would very much cramp the English tragedy, and perhaps give a wrong bent to the genius of our writers. The tragi-comedy, which is the product of the English theatre, is one of the most monstrous inventions that ever entered into a poet's thoughts. An author might as well think of weaving the adventures of ^neas and Hudibras in- ,0 one poem, as of Writing such a motley piece of mirth and sorrow. But the absurdity of these performances is so very tdsible, that I shall not insist upon it. The same objections which are made to tragi-comedy, may '.n some measure be applied to all tragedies that have a double plot in them ; which are likewise more frequent upon the English stage than upon any other : for though the griei of the audience, in such performances, be not changed into another passion, as in tragi-comedies, it is diverted upon an- other object, which weakens their concern for the principal action, and breaks the tide of sorrow by throwing it into differ- ent channels. This inconvenience, however, may in a great measure be cured, if not wholly removed, by the skilful choice of an under-plot, which may bear such a near relation, to the 310 Addison's woees. principal design, as to contribute towards the completion of it, and be concluded by the same catastrophe. There is also another particular, which may be reckoned among the blemishes, or rather the false beauties, of our Eng- lish tragedy : I mean those particular speeches which are commonly known by the name of rants. The warm and pas- sionate parts of a tragedy are always the most taking with the audience ; for which reason we often see the players pro- nouncing, iu all the violence of action, several parts of the tragedy which the author writ with great temper, and designed that they should have been so acted. I have seen Powell very often raise himseK a loud clap by this artifice. The poets that were acquainted with this secret, have given fre- quent occasion for such emotions in the actor, by adding ve- hemence to words where there was no passion, or ioflaming^ a real passion iato fustian. This hath filled the mouths of our heroes vrith bombast ; and given them such sentiments, as proceeded rather from a swelling than a greatness of mind. Unnatural exclamations, curses, vows, blasphemies, a defiance of mankind, and an outraging of the gods, frequently pass upon the audience for towering thoughts, and have accord- ingly met with infinite applause. I shall here add a remark, which I am afraid our tragic writers may make an ill use of. As our heroes are generally lovers, their swelling and blustering upon the stage very much recommends them to the fair part of their audience. The ladies are wonderfully pleased to see a man insulting kings, or affronting the gods, in one scene, and throvring himself at the feet of his mistress in another. Let him behave him- self insolently towards the men, and abjectly towards the fair one, and it is ten to one but he proves a favourite of the boxes. Dryden and Lee, in several of their tragedies, have practised this secret vsdth good success. But to show how a rant pleases beyond the most just and natural thought that is not pronounced vrith vehemence, I would desire the reader, when he sees the tragedy of (Edipus, to observe how quietly the hero is dismissed at the end of the third act, after having pronounced the following lines, in which the thought is very natural, and apt to move compas- bIou. ' Inflaming.^ I should prefer stiffening, in this place, to inflaming. No. 48 THE SPECTATOE. 311 To you, good gods, I make my last appeal ; Or clear my Tirtues, or my crimes reveal. If in the maze of fate I blindly run. And backward trod those paths I sought to shun, Impute my errors to your own decree : My hands are guilty, but my heart is free. Let US then observe with what thunder-claps of applause he leaves the stage, after the impieties and execrations at the end of the fourth act ; and you will wonder to see an audience so cursed, and so pleased at the same time. Oh that, as oft I have at Athens seen [where, by the way, there was no stage till many years after (Edipus] The stage arise, and the big clouds descend ; So now in very deed I might behold This ponderous globe, and all yon marble roof. Meet like the hands of Jove, and crush mankind, For all the elements, &c. ADVEBTISEMENT. Having spoken of Mr. Powell, as sometimes raising himself applause from the iU taste of an audience ; I must do him the justice to own, that he is excellently formed for a tragedian, and, when he pleases, deserves the admiration of the best judges ; as I doubt not but he wiLL in the Con- quest of Mexico, which is acted for his own benefit to- morrow night. No. 42. WEDNESDAY, APEIL 18. Garganum mugire putes nemus aut mare Thuscum, Tanto cum strepitu ludi spectantur, et artes, Divitiseque peregrinse ; quibus oblitus actor Cum stetit in scena, concurrit dextera laevsB. Dixit adhuc aliquid ? Nil sane. Quid placet ergo ? Lana Tarentino violas imitata veneno. Hob. Aeistotle has observed, that ordinary writers in tragedy endeavour to raise terror and pity in their audience, not by proper sentiments and expressions, but by the dresses and decorations of the stage. There is something of this kiad very ridiculous ia the English theatre. When the author has a mind to terrify us, it thunders ; when he would make us melancholy, the stage is darkened. But among all our tragic artifices, I am the most ofiended at those which are 312 Addison's wokks. made use of to inspire us witli magnificent ideas of tbe per- sons that speafc.i The ordinary method of making an hero, is to clap a huge plume of feathers upon his head, which rises so very high, that there is often a greater length from his chin, to the .top of his head, than, to the sole of his foot. .^ One woiild believe, that we thought a great man and a tail man the same thing. This very much embarrasses the actor, who is forced to hold his neck extremely stiff and steady all the while he speaks ; and, notwithstanding any anxieties which he pretends for his mistress, his country, or his friends, one may see by his action, that his greatest care and concern is to keep the plume of feathers from falling off his head. For my own part, when I see a man uttering his complaints under such a mountain of feathers, I am apt to look upon him rather as an unfortunate lunatic than a distressed hero. As these superfluous ornaments upon the head make a great man, a princess generally receives her grandeur from those additional encumbrances that fall into her tail : I mean the broad sweeping train that follows her in all her motions, and finds constant employment for a boy who stands behind her to open and spread it to advantage. I do not know how others are affected at this sight, but I must confess, my eyes are wholly taken iip with the page's part ; and as for the queen, I am not so attentive to anything she speaks, as to ■Qie right adjusting of her train, lest it should chance to trip up her heels, or incommode her, as she walks to and fro upon the stage. It is, in my opinion, a very odd spectacle, to see a queen venting her passion in a disordered motion, and a little boy taking care all the while that they do not ruffle the tail of her gown. The parts that the two persons act on the stage at the same time, are very different : the princess is afraid lest she should indu- the displeasure of the king her father, or lose the hero her lover, whilst her attendant is only concerned lest she should entangle her feet in her petticoat. We are told, that an ancient tragic poet, to move the pity of his audience for his exiled kings and distressed heroes, used to make the actors represent them in dresses and clothes that were threadbare and decayed. This artifice for moving pity seems as iU-contrived, as that we have been speaking ' Persons that speak.] Flat, and, at the same time, inaccurate — which — that. ^To. «. THE SPECTATOE. 313 of, to inspire us witli a great idea of the persons introduced upon the stage. In short, I would have our conceptions raised hy the dignity of thought and sublimity of expression, rather than by a train of robes or a plume of feathers. Another mechanical method of making great men, and adding dignity to tings and queens, is to accompany them with halberts and battle-axes. Two or three shifters of scenes, witb the two candle-snuifers, make up a complete body of guards upon the English stage ; and, by the addition of a few porters dressed in red coats, can represent above a dozen legions. I have sometimes seen a couple of armies drawn up together upon the stage, when the poet has been disposed to do honour to his generals. It is impossible for the reader's imagination to multiply twenty men into such prodigious multitudes, or to fancy that two or three hundred thousand soldiers are fighting in a room of forty or fifty yards in compass. Incidents of such nature should be told, not represented. Non tamen intus Digna geii promes in scenam : multaqne tolles Ex oculis, qua; mox narret faoundia praesens. HoR. Yet there are things improper for a scene, Which men of judgment only will relate. Ld. Roscommon. I sbould therefore, in this particular, recommend to my countrymen the example of the French stage, where the kings and queens always appear unattended, and leave their guards behind the scenes. I should Kkevrisebe glad if we imitated the French in banishing from our stage the noise of drums, trumpets, and huzzas ; which is sometimes so very great, that when there is a battle in the Haymarket theatre, one may hear it as far as Charing-Cross. I have here only touched upon those particulars which are made use of to raise and aggrandize the persons of a tra- gedy ; and shall show in another paper the several expedients which are practised by authors of a vulgar genius, to move terror, pity, or admiration in their hearers. The tailor and the painter often contribute to the success of a tragedy more than the poet. Scenes aifect ordinary minds as much as speeches ; and our actors are very sensible that a well-dressed play has sometimes brought them as full audiences as a well-written one. The Italians have a very good phrase to express this art of iraposing upon the spec- 314 Addison's woeks. tatora by appearances ; tHey call it the Fourberia della seena, " The knavery or trickish part of the drama." But however the show and outside of the tragedy may work upon the N vulgar, the more understanding part of the audience immedi- ately see through it, and despise it. A good poet will give the reader a more lively idea of an army or a battle in a description, than if he actually saw them * drawn up in squadrons and battalions, or engaged ia the confusion of a fight. Our minds should be open to great \ conceptions, and inflamed with glorious sentiments, by what the actor speaks, more than by what he appears. Can all the trappings or equipage of a king or hero, give Brutus half that pomp and majesty which he receives from a fevf lines in Shakspeare ? No. 44. PEIDAT, APEIL 20. Tu, quid ego et populus mecum desideret, audi. Hon. AMONa the several artifices which are put in practice by the poets to fill the minds of an audience with terror, the first place is due to thunder and lightning, which are oftai made use of at the descending of a god, or the rising of a ghost, at the vanishing of the devil, or at the death of a tyrant. I have known a bell introduced into several trage- dies vrith good efiect ; and have seen the whole assembly in a very great alarm all the while it has been ringing. But there is nothing which delights and terrifies our English the- atre so much as a ghost, especially when he appears in a bloody shirt. A spectre has very often saved a play, though he has done nothing but stalked across the stage, or rose through a cleft of it, and sunk again without speaking one word. There may be a proper season for these several ter- rors ; and when they only come in as aids and assistances to the poet, they are not only to be excused, but to be applaud- ed. Thus the sounding of the clock in Venice Preserved, makes the hearts of the whole audience quake ; and conveys a stronger terror to the mind, than it is possible for words to do. The appearance of the ghost of Hamlet is a master- piece in its kind, and wrought up with all the circumstances that can create either attention or horror. The mind of the reader is wonderfully prepared for his reception by the dis- No. 44. THE 8PECTAT0E. 315 courses that precede it ; Hs dumb behaTiour at Lis first en- traace, strikes the imagination very strongly ; but every time he enters, he is still more terrifying. Who can read the speech with which young Hamlet accosts him without trembling ? Hor. Look, my Lord, it comes ! Ham,. Angels and ministers of grace, defend us ! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd; Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell ; Be thy intent wicked or charitable ; Thou com'st in such a questionable shape. That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane. Oh ! oh ! answer me. Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cearments ? why the sepulchre. Wherein we saw thee quietly inumed, Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws To cast thee up again ? what may this mean ? That thou dead corse again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous ? I do not therefore find fault with the artifices above-men- tioned, when they are introduced with skill and accompanied by proportionable sentiments and expressions in the writing. !For the moving of pity, our principal machine is the handkerchief ; and indeed, in our common tragedies, we should not know very often that the persons are in distress by any- thing they say, if they did not from time to time apply their handkerchiefs to their eyes. Par be it from me to think of banishing this instrument of sorrow from the stage ; I know a tragedy could not subsist without it : all that I would con- tend for is, to keep it from being misapplied. In a word, I would have the actor's tongue sympathize with his eyes. A disconsolate mother, with a child in her hand, has fre- quently drawn compassion from the audience, and has there- fore gained a place in several tragedies. A modem writer, that observed how this had took in other plays, being re- solved to double the distress, and melt his audience twice as much as those before him had done, brought a princess upon the stage with a little boy in one hand and a girl in the other. This too had a very good effect. A third poet, being resolved to out-write aU his predecessors, a few years ago in- troduced three children, with great success : and, as I am informed, a young gentlenan, who is fuRy determined to 816 Addison's works. break the most obdurate hearts, has a tragedy by him, where the first person that appears upon the stage is an afflicted widow in her mourning-weeds, with half a dozen fatherless children attending her, like those that usually hang about the figure of Charity. Thus several incidents that are beau- tiful in a good writer, become ridiculous by falling into the hands of a bad one. But among all our methods of moving pity or terror, there is none so absurd and barbarous, and what more exposes us to the contempt and ridicule of our neighbours, than that dreadful butchering of one another, which is so very frequent upon the English stage. To delight in seeing men stabbed, poisoned, racked, or impaled, is certainly the sign of a cruel temper; and as this is often practised before the British audience, several French critics, who think these are grate- ful spectacles to us, take occasion from them to represent ua as a people that deHght in blood. It is indeed very odd, to see our stage strewed with carcasses in the last scene of a tragedy ; and to observe in the wardrobe of the play-house several daggers, poniards, wheels, bowls for poison, and many other instruments of death. Murders and executions are always transacted behind the scenes in the French theatre ; which in general is very agreeable to the manners of a pohte / and civilized people : but as there are no exceptions to this rule on the French stage, it leads them into absurdities al- most as ridicidous as that which falls under our present cen- sure. I remember in the famous play of ComeiUe, written upon the subject of the Horatii and Curiatii ; the fierce young hero who had overcome the Curiatii one after another, (instead of being congratulated by his sister for his victory, being upbraided by her for having slain her lover,) in the height of his passion and resentment kills her. If anything could extenuate so brutal an action, it would be the doing of it on a sudden, before the sentiments of nature, reason, or manhood, could take place in him. However, to avoid public bloodshed, as soon as his passion is wrought to its height, he follows his sister the whole length of the stage, and forbears killing her till they are both withdrawn behind the scenes. I must confess, had he murdered her before the audience, the indecency might have been greater ; but as it is, it appears very ixnnatural, and looks like killing in cold blood. To give my opinion upon this case ; the fact ought not to have been No. 44. THE SPECTATOE. 317 represented, but to have been told, if there was any occasion for It. It may not be unacceptable to the reader, to see bow So- phocles has conducted a tragedy under the like delicate cir- cumstances. Orestes was in the same condition with Hamlet in Shakspeare, his mother having murdered his father, and taken possession of his kingdom in conspiracy with her adul- terer. That young prince, therefore, being determined to revenge his father's death upon those who filled his throne, conveys himself by a beautiful stratagem into his mother's apartment, with a resolution to kill her. But because such a spectacle would have been too shocking to the audience, this dreadful resolution is executed behind the scenes : the mother is heard caUing out to her son for mercy ; and the son answering her, that she showed no mercy to his father : after which she shrieks out that she is wounded, and by what follows we find that she is slain. I do not remember that in any of our plays there are speeches made behind the scenes, though there are other instances of this nature to be met with in those of the ancients : and I believe my reader will agree with me, that there is something infinitely more [ afiecting in this dreadful dialogue between the mother and her son behind the scenes, than could have been in anything transacted before the audience. Orestes immediately after meets the usurper at the entrance of his palace ; and by a very happy thought of the poet avoids killing him before the audience, by telling him that he should live some time in his present bitterness of soul before he would despatehhim, and by orderiag him to retire into that part of the palace where he had slain his father, whose murder he would revenge in the very same place where it was committed. By this means the poet observes that decency which Horace afterwards established by a rule, of forbearing to commit parricides or unnatural murthers before the audience. Nee coram populo natos Medea tmcidet. Let not Medea draw her murthering knife, , ) And spill her children's blood upon the stage. *', f^ The French have therefore refined too much upon Horace s rule, who never designed to banish aH kinds of death from the stage ; but only such as had too much horror in them, and which would have a better efiect upon the audience when transacted behind the scenes. I would therefore recommend 318 Addison's wobks. to my countrymen the practice of the ancient poets, who were very sparing of their public executions, and rather chose to perform them behind the scenes, if it could be done with as great an effect upon the audience. At the same time I must observe, that though the devoted persons of the tragedy were seldom slain before the audience, which has generally something ridiculous iu it, their bodies were often produced after their death, which has always in it something melancholy or terriJfying ; so that the killing on the stage does not seem to have been avoided only as an indecency, but also as an improbability. Nee pueros coram populo Medea trucidet ; Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus ; Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadirras in anguem. Quodcnnque ostendis miM sic, incredulus odi. Hoe. Medea must not draw her murSiering knife, Nor Atreus there his horrid feast prepare. Cadmus and Progne's metamorphosis, (She to a swallow turned, he to a snake,) And whatsoever contradicts my sense, I hate to see, and never can believe. Ld. Roscommon. I have now gone through the several dramatic inventions which are made use of by the ignorant poets to supply the place of tragedy, and by the skilful to improve it; some of which I could wish entirely rejected, and the rest to be. used with caution. It would be an endless task to consider , comedy in the same light, and to mention the innumerable shifts that small wits put in practice to raise a laugh. Bul- lock in a short coat, and Norris in. a long one, seldom fail of this effect. In ordinary comedies, a broad and a nairow brimmed hat are different characters. Sometimes the wit of the scene lies iu a shoulder-belt, and sometimes in a pair of whiskers. A lover running about the stage, with his head peeping out of a barrel, was thought a very good jest in King Charles the Second's time ; and invented by one of the first wits of that age. But because ridicule is not so delicate as compassion, and because the objects that make us laugh are infinitely more numerous than those that make us weep, there is a much greater latitude for comic than tragic artifices, and by consequence a much greater indul- gence to be allowed them. TSo. tS. THE SPECTATOB. 319 No. 45. SATTJEDAT, APEIL 21. Natio ComcEda est — Jnv. Theee is notlung -wliicli I more desire than a safe and honourable peace, thougli at the same time I am very appre- hensive of many ill consequences that may attend it. I do not mean in regard to our politics, hut to our manners. What an inundation of ribhons and brocades wiU. break in upon us ! what peals of laughter and impertinence shall we be exposed to ! For the prevention of these great evils, I could heartily wish that there was an act of parliament foP' prohibiting the importation of Erench fopperies. The female inhabitants of our island have already received very strong impressions from this ludicrous nation, though by the length of the war (as there is no evil which has not some good attending it) they are pretty well worn out and forgotten. I remember the time when some pf our well-bred country-women kept their valet de chamhre, because, for- sooth, a man was much more handy about them thail one of their own sex. I myself have seen one of these male Abigails tripping about the room with a looking-glass in his hand, and combing his lady's hair a whole morning together. "Whether or no there was any truth in the story of a lady's being got with child by one of these her handmaids, I cannot tell ; but I think at present the whole race of them is extinct in our own country. About the time that several of our sex were taken into this kind of service, the ladies likewise brought up the fashion of receiving visits in their beds. It was then looked upon as a piece of ill-breeding for a woman to refuse to see a man because she was not stirring ; and a porter would have been thought unfit for his place, that could have made so awkward an excuse. As I love to see everything that is new, I once prevailed upon my friend Will. Honeycomb to carry me along with him to one of these travelled ladies, desiring him, at the same time, to present me as a foreigner who could not speak English, that so I might not be obGged to bear a part in the discourse. The lady, though willing to appear undrest, had put on her best looks, and painted her- self for our reception. Her hair appeared in a very nice disorder, as the night-gown which was thrown upon hep 820 AJJDISOTr'S WOfiKS. shoulders was ruffled witli great care. Eor my part, I am so shocked with everything which looks immlodest in the fair sex, that I could not forhear taking off my eye from her when she moved in her bed, and was in the greatest confusion imaginable every time she stirred a leg or an arm. As the coquets, who introduced this custom, grew old, they left it off by degrees ; well knowing that a woman of threescore may kick and tumble her heart out, without making any im- pressions. Sempronia is at present the most profest admirer of the French nation, but is so modest as to admit her visitants no further than her toilet. It is a very odd sight that beauti- ful creature makes, when she is talking politics with her tresses flowing about her shoulders, and examining that face in the glass, which does such execution upon all the male standers-by. How prettily does she divide her dis- course between her woman and her visitants ! What sprightly transitions does she make from an opera or a sermon, to an ivory comb or a pincushion ! How have I been pleased to see her interrupted in an account of her travels by a message to her footman ! and holding her tongue in the midst of a moral reflection by applying the tip of it to a patch ! There is nothing which exposes a woman to greater dan- gers, than that gaiety and airiness of temper, which are na- tural to most of the sex. It should be therefore the concern of every wise and virtuous woman, to keep this sprightliness from degenerating into levity. On the contrary, the whole discourse and behaviour of the Trench is to make the sex more fantastical, or (as they are pleased to term it) more awakened, than is consistent either with virtue or discretion. To speak loud in public assemblies, to let every one hear you talk of things that should only be mentioned in private, or in whisper, are looked upon as parts of a refined education. At the same time, a blush is imfashionable, and sUence more iU-bred than anything that can be spoken. In short, discre- tion and modesty, which in all other ages and countries have been regarded as the greatest ornaments of the fair sex, are considered as the ingredients of narrow conversation and family behaviour. Some years ago I was at the tragedy of Macbeth, and un- fortunately placed myself under a woman of quality that w since dead ; who, as I found by the noise she made, was No. 45. THE SPECTATOB. 321 newly returned from France. A little before the rising of the curtain, she broke out into a loud soliloquy, " When will the dear witches enter? " and immediately upon their first appearance, asked a lady that sat three boxes from her, on her right hand, if those witches were not charming creatures. A little after, as Betterton was in one of the finest speeches of the play, she shook her fan at another lady, who sat as far on the left hand, and told her with a whisper, that might be heard aU over the pit, we must not expect to see Balloon to- night. Not long after, calling out to a young baronet by his name, who sat three seats before me, she asked him whe- ther Macbeth's wife was still alive ; and before he could give an answer, fell a talking of the ghost of Banquo. She had by this time formed a little audience to herself, and fixed the attention of all about her. But as I had a mind to hear the play, I got out of the sphere of her impertinence, and planted myself in one of the remotest comers of the pit. This pretty childishness of behaviour is one of the most refined parts of coquetry, and is not to be attained in perfec- tion by ladies that do not travel for their improvement. A natural and unconstrained behaviour has something in it so agreeable, that it is no wonder to see people endeavouring after it. But at the same time, it is so very hard to hitj when it is not born with us, that people often make them- selves ridiculous in attempting it. A very ingenious French author teUs us, that the ladies of the court of France, in his time, thought it ill-breeding, and a kind of female pedantry, to pronounce an hard word right ; for which reason they took frequent occasion to use hard words, that they might show a politeness in murdering them. He further adds, that a lady of some quality at court, having accidentally made use of an hard word in a proper place, and pronounced it right, the whole assembly was out of countenance for her. I must, however, be so just to own, that there are many ladies who have travelled several thousands of miles without being the worse for it, and have brought home with them all the modesty, discretion, and good sense, that they went abroad with. As, on the contrary, there are great numbers of travelled ladies, who have lived all their days within the smoke of London. I have known a woman thst never was out of the parish of St. James's betray as many foreign fop- 322 Addison's woeks. peries in her carriage, as she could have gleamed up in half the countries of Europe. No. 46. MONDAY, APEIL 23. Non bene junctarum discordia semina rerum. Ovie. "When I want materials for this paper, it is mj custom to go abroad in quest of game ; and when I meet any proper subject, I take the first opportunity of setting down an hmt of it upon paper. At the same time I look into the letters of my correspondents, and if I find anything suggested ia them that may afford matter of speculation, I likewise enter a minute of it in my collection of materials. By this means I frequently carry about me a whole sheet full of hints, that would look like a rhapsody of nonsense to anybody but myself: there is nothing in them but obscurity and con- fusion, raving and inconsistency. In short, they are my speculations in the first principles, that (like the world in its chaos) are void of all light, distinction, and order. About a week since, there happened to me a very odd acci- dent, by reason of one of these my papers of miautes which I had accidentally dropped at Lloyd's Coffee-house, where the auctions are usually kept. Before I missed it, there were a cluster of people who had found it, and were diverting them- selves with it at one end of the coffee-house : it had raised so much laughter among them before I had observed what they were about, that I had not the courage to owa it. The boy of the coffee-house, when they had done with it, carried it about in his hand, asking everybody if they had dropped a written paper ; but nobody challenging it, he was ordered by those merry gentlemen who had before perused it, to get up into the auction-pulpit, and read it to the whole room, that if any one would own it, they might. The boy accordingly mounted the pulpit, and with a very audible voice read as follows. MINDTES. Sir Eoger de Coverley's country seat — ^Tes, for I hate long speeches — Query, if a good Christian may be a con- jurer — Childermas-day, Salt-seller, House-dog, Screech-owl, Cricket — -Mr. Thomas Inkle of London, in the good ship called the Achilles. Ya3ioo-—JEffrescitque medendo — Grhosts — The Lady's Library — Lion by trade a tailor — ^Dromedary ^O. 46. THE SPECTATOE. 328 called Bucephalus — ^Equipage the Lady's summum honum — Charles Lilly to be taken notice of — Short face a relief to envy — Eedundancies in the three professions — King Latinus a recruit — Jew devouring an ham of bacon — "Westminster Abbey — Grrand Cairo — Procrastination — ^April Fools — Blue Boars, Red Lions, Hogs in armour — Enter a King and two Fiddlers, solus — Admission into the Ugly Club — Beauty, how improvable — Families of true and false humour — The parrot's school-mistress — Face haK Pict half British — No man to be an hero of a tragedy under six foot — Club of Sighers — Letters from Flower-pots, Elbow-chairs, Tapestry figures. Lion, Thunder — The Bell rings to the puppet-show — Old Woman with a beard married to a smock-faced Boy — My next coat to be turned up with blue — Fable of Tongs anJd Gridiron — Flower Dyers — The Soldier's Prayer — Thank ye Ibr-nQthing, says the Gally-pot — Pactolus in Stockings, with golden clocks to them — Bamboos, Cudgels, Drumsticks ■ — Slip of my Landlady's eldest daughter — The black mare with a star in her forehead — The barber's pole — WiU. Honey- comb's coat-pocket — Csssar's behaviour and my ovsm in pa- rallel circumstances — Poem in patch-work — NuUi gravis est ^ereussus Achilles — The Female Conventicler — The Ogle- master. The reading of this paper made the whole cofiee-house very merry : some of them concluded it was written by a madman, and others by somebody that had been taking notes out of the Spectator. One who had the appearance of a very substantial citizen, told us, vnth several politic winks and nods, that he wished there was no more in the paper than what was expressed in it ; that, for his part, he looked upon the Dromedary, the Gridiron, and the Barber's pole, to signify something more than what is usually meant by those words ; and that he thought the coffee-man could not do better than to carry the paper to one of the Secretaries of State. He further added, that he did not like the name of the outland- ish man with the golden clock in his stockings. A young Oxford scholar, who cJhanced to be with his uncle at the Coffee-house, discovered to us who this Pactolus was ; and by that means turned the whole scheme of this worthy citi- zen into ridicule. While they were making their several conjectures upon this innocent paper, I reached out my arm to the boy, as he was coming out of the pulpit, to give it 324 Addison's woeks. me ; 'vrhicli he did accordingly. This drew the eyes of the whole company upon me ; hut, after having cast a cursory glance over it, and shook my head twice or thrice at the reading of it, I twisted it into a kind of match, and lit my pipe vrith it. My profound silence, together with the steadi- ness of my coimtenance, and the gravity of my behaviour during this whole transaction, raised a very loud laugh on all sides of me ; but as I had escaped all suspicion of being the author, I was very well satisfied, and applying myself to my pipe and the post-man, took, no fiurtiher notice of anything that passed about me. My reader will find, that I have already made use of above half the contents of the foregoing paper ; and will easily sup- pose, that those subjects which are yet untouched, were such provisions as I had made for his future entertainment. But as I have been unluckily prevented by this accident, I shall only give him the letters which relate to the two last hints. The first of them I should not have published, were I not informed that there is many an husband who suffers very much in his private afiairs by the indiscreet zeal of such a partner as is hereafter mentioned ; to whom I may apply the barbarous inscription quoted by the bishop of Salisbury in his travels : Dum nimia pia est, facta est impia. " Sib, I am one of those unhappy men that are plagued with a gospel-gossip, so common among dissenters (especially Friends) . Lectures in the morning, church-meetings at noon, and preparation sermons at night, take up so much of her time, 'tis very rare she knows what we have for dinner, un- less when the preacher is to be at it. With him come a tribe, all brothers and sisters it seems ; while others, really such, are deemed no relations. If at any time I have her company alone, she is a mere sermon pop-gun, repeating and discharging texts, proofs, and applications, so perpetually, that however weary I may go to bed, the noise in my head will not let me sleep tiU towards morning. The misery of my case, and great numbers of such sufferers, j)lead your pity and speedy relief; otherwise must expect, in a little time, to be lectured, preached, and prayed into want, unless the happiness of being sooner talked to death prevent it. « I am, &c. «B. G." No. 47. THE SPECTATOE. 325 The second letter, relating to the Ogling Master, runs thus: " Me. Spectatoe, I am an Irish gentleman, that have travelled many years for my improvement ; during vrhich time I have ac- complished myself in the vfhole art of ogling, as it is at pre- sent practised in all the polite nations of Europe. Being thus qualified, I intend, by the advice of my friends, to set up for an ogUng-master. I teach the church ogle in the morning, and the playhouse ogle hy candle-light. I have also brought over with me a new flying ogle fit for the ring, which I teach in the dusk of the evening, or in any hour of the day by darkening one of my windows. I have a manu- script by me called The Complete Ogler, which I shall be ready to show you upon any occasion. In the mean time, I beg you will publish the substance of this" letter in an adver- tisement, and you will very much oblige, " Yours," &c. No. 47. TUESDAY, APEIL 24. Bide si sapis — Makt. Me. Hobbs, in his discourse of human nature, which, in my humble opinion, is much the best of aU his works, after some very curious observations upon laughter, concludes thus : " The passion of laughter is nothing else but sudden glory arising from some sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves by comparison with the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly : for men laugh at the follies of them- selves past, when they come suddenly to remembrance, ex- cept they bring with them any present dishonour. According to this author, therefore, when we hear a man laugh excessively, instead of saying he is very merry, we \ ought to teU him he is very proud. And indeed, if we look into the bottom of this matter, we shall meet with many observations to confirm us in this opinion. Every one laughs at somebody that is in an inferior state of foUy to himself. It was formerly the custom for every great house in England to keep a tame fool dressed in petticoats, that the heir of the famUy might have an opportunity of joking upon him, and diverting himself with his absurdities. Eor the same reason idiots are still in request in most of the courts of (xermanj, 826 AJJDISOW'S WOEKS. I where there is not a prince of any great magnificence, who has not two or three dressed, distinguished, undisputed fools in his retinue, whom the rest of the courtiers are always breaking their jests upon. The Dutch, who are more famous for their industry and application, than for wit and humour, hang up in several of their streets what they call the sign of the G-aper ; that is, the head of an idiot dressed in a cap and hells, and gaping in a most immoderate manner : this is a standing jest at Amsterdam. Thus every one diverts himself with some person or other v/ that is below him in point of understanding, and triumphs in the superiority of his genius, whilst he has such objects of derision before his eyes. Mr. Dennis has very well ex- pressed this in a couple of humorous lines, which are part v* of a translation of a satire in Monsieur Boileau. Thus one fool lolls his tongue out at another. And shakes his empty noddle at his brother. Mr. Hobbs's reflection gives us the reason why the insig- nificant people above-mentioned are stirrers up of laughter among men of a gross taste : but as the more xmderstanding part of mankind do not find their risibility affected by such ordinary objects, it may be worth the while to examine into ; the several provocatives of laughter in men of superior sense and knowledge. In the first place I must observe, that there is a set of merry droUs, whom the common people of all countries ad- mire, and seem to love so well that they could eat them, according to the old proverb ; I mean those circumforaneous wits whom every nation calls by the name of that dish of meat which it loves best. In Holland they are termed Pickled Herrings ; in Prance, Jean Pottages ; in Italy, Maccaronies ; and in Great Britain, Jack Puddings. These merry wags, from whatsoever food they receive their title, that they may make their audiences laugh, always appear ia a fool's coat, and commit such blunders and mistakes in every step they take, and every word they utter, as those who listen to them would be ashamed of. But this little triumph of the understanding, under the -J disguise of laughter, is nowhere more visible than in that custom which prevails everywhere among us on the first day of the present month, when everybody takes it into his head to make as many foois as he can. In proportion as there No. 47. THE SPECTATOE. 327 are more follies discovered, so there is more laughter raised on this day than on any other ia the whole year. A neigh- bour of mine, who is a haberdasher by trade, and a very shaUow, conceited fellow, makes his boasts, that, for these ten years successively, he has not made less than an hundred April fools. My landlady had a falling out with him about a fort- night ago, for sen(£ng every one of her children upon some " sleeveless errand," as she terms it. Her eldest son went to buy an halfpenny worth of inkle at a shoemaker's ; the eldest daughter was despatched half a mile to see a monster ; and, in short, the whole family of innocent children made April fools. Nay, my landlady herself did not escape him. This empty' feUow has laughed upon these conceits ever since. This art of wit is well enough, when confined to one day in a twelvemonth ; but there is an ingenious tribe of men sprung up of late years, who are for making April fools every day in the year. These gentlemen are commonly distin- guished by the name of Biters ; a race of men that are per- petually employed in laughing at those mistakes which are of their own production. Thus we see, in proportion as one man is more refined than another, he chooses his fool out of a lower or higher class of mankind ; or, to speak in a more philosophical language, that . secret elation and pride of heart which is generally called laughter, arises in him from his comparing himself with an object below him, whether it so happens that it be a natural or an artificial fool. It is indeed very possible, that the persons we laugh at may, in the main of their characters, be much wiser men than ourselves ; but if they would have us laugh at them, they must fall short of us in those respects which stir up this passion. I am afraid I shall appear too abstracted in my specula- tions, if I show that when a man of wit makes us laugh, it is by betraying some oddness or infirmity in his own character, or in the representation which he makes of others ; and that/ when we laugh at a brute, or even at an inanimate thing, it' is at some action or incident that bears a remote analogy to* any blunder or absurdity in reasonable creatures. But, to come into common life, I shall pass by the con- sideration of those stage coxcombs that are able to shake a wliole audience, and take notice of a particular sort of men who are such provokers of mirth in conversation, that it is 328 Addison's woeks. impossible for a dub or merry-meeting to subsist without them ; I mean those honest gentlemen that are always ex- posed to the wit and raillery of their well-wishers and com- E anions ; that are pelted by men, women, and children, •iends, and foes ; and, in a word, stand as Butts in convers- ation, for every one to shoot at that pleases. I know several of these Butts who are men of wit and sense, though by some odd turn of humour, some unlucky cast in their person or behaviour, they have always the misfortune to make the company merry. The truth of it is, a man is not qualified . for a Butt, who has not a good deal of wit and vivacity, even in the ridiculous side of his character. A stupid Butt is only fit for the conversation of ordinary people : men of wit require one that will give them play, and bestir himself in the absurd part of his behaviour. A Butt with these accom- plishments frequently gets the laugh on his side, and turns the ridicule upon him that attacks him. Sir John Palstaff was an hero of this species, and gives a good description of himself in his capacity of a Butt, after the foUovring mariner : " Men of all sorts (says that merry knight) take a pride to gird at me. The brain of men is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only vdtty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men." No. 50. EEIDAT, APEIL 27. Nimquain aliud natura, aliud sapientia, dixit. Juv. "When' the four Indian kings were in this country about a twelvemonth ago, I often mixed with the rabble, and fol- lowed them a whole day together, being wonderfully struck with the sight of everything that is new or uncommon. I have, since their departure, employed a friend to make many inquiries of their landlord, the upholsterer, relating to their manners and conversation, as also concerning the remarks which they made in this country : for, next to the forming a right notion of such strangers, I should be desirous of learning what ideas they have conceived of us. > Swift tells Mr. Johnson (Letter 21, April 14, 1711) that the hint on which this speciil?i,tion is formed, came from him ; and that he intended to have written a book upon it. Mr. Addison judged much better to work op his materials in a single paper. See noie on No. 470 of the Spectatoe "Sfo. 50. THE SPECTATOB. 829 The upholsterer, finding my friend very inquisitive about these his lodgers, brought him some time since a little bundle of papers, which he assiired him were written by Bang Sa Ga Tean Qua Eash Tow, and, as he supposes, left behind by some mistake. These papers are now translated, and contain abundance of very odd observations, which I find this little fraternity of kings made during their stay in the Isle of Great Britian. I shall present my reader with a short speci- men of them in this paper, and may perhaps communicate more to him hereafter. In the article of London are the fol- lowing words, which, without doubt, are meant of the Church of St. Paul. " On the most rising part of the town there stands a huge house, big enough to contain the whole nation of which I am king. Our good brother E Tow Koam, king of the rivers, is of opicion it was made by the hands of that great god to whom it is consecrated. The kings of Granajah, and of the six nations, believe that it was created with the earth, and produced on the same day with the sun and moon. But, for my own part, by the best information that I could get of this matter, I am apt to think, that this prodigious pile was fashioned into the shape it now bears by several tools and instruments, of which they have a wonderful variety in this country. It was probably at first an huge misshapen rock that grew upon the top of the hill, which the natives of the country (after having cut it into a kind of regular figure) bored and hollowed with incredible pains and industry, till they had wrought in it all those beautiful vaults and caverns into which it is divided at this day. As soon as this rock was thus curiously scooped to their liking, a prodigious num- ber of hands must have been employed in chipping the out- side of it, which is now as smooth as the surface of a pebble ; and is in several places hewn out into piUars, that stand Hke the trunks of so many trees bound about the top with gar- lands of leaves. It is probable that when this great work was begun, which must have been many hundred years ago, . there was some religion among this people, for they give it the name of a temple, and have a tradition that it was de- signed for men to pay their devotion in. And, indeed, there are several reasons which make us think, that tte natives of this country had formerly among them some sort of worship ; for they set apart every seventh day as sacred ; but upon my 8dU ADDISOK S WOEKS. going into one of these holy houses on that day, I could not observe any circumstance of devotion in their behaviour; there was, indeed, a man in black who was mounted above the rest, and seemed to utter something with a great deal of vehemence ; but as for those underneath him, instead of pay- ing their worship to the deity of the place, they were most of them bowing and curtseying to one another, and a consider- able number of them fast asleep. " The queen of the country appointed two men to attend us, that had enough of our language to make themselves un- derstood in some few particulars. But we soon perceived these two were great enemies to one another, and did not al- ways agree in the same story. We could make a shift to gather out of one of them, that this island was very much infested with a monstrous kind of animals, iu the shape of men, called Whigs ; and he often told us, that he hoped we should meet with none of them in our way, for that, if we did, they would be apt to knock us down for being kings. " Our other interpreter used to talk very much of a kind of animal called a Tory, that was as great a monster as the Whig, and would treat us as ill for being foreigners. These two creatures, it seems, are born with a secret antipathy to one another, and engage' when they meet as naturally as the elephant and the rhiaoceros. But as we saw none of either of these species, we are apt to think that our guides deceived us with misrepresentations and fictions, and amused us with an account of such monsters as are not really in their country. " -These particulars we made a shift to pick out from the discourse of our interpreters ; which we put together as well as we could, being able to understand but here and there a word of what they said, and aftervards making up the mean- ing of it among ourselves. The men of the country are very cunning and ingenious in handicraft works ; but withal so very idle, that we often saw young, lusty, raw-boned fellows carried up and down the streets in little covered rooms by a couple of porters, who are hired for that service. Their dresf is likewise very barbarous, for they almost strangle themselves about the neck, and bind their bodies with many ligatures, that we are apt to think are the occasion of several dis- tempers among them, which our coimtry is entirely free from. Instead of those beautiful feathers with which we adorn our heads, they often buy up a monstrous bush of hair, which No. 50. THE SPEOTATOB. 331 covers their heads, and falls down in a large fleece below the middle of their backs ; with which they walk up and down the streets, and are as proud of it as if it was of their own growth. " We were invited to one of their public diversions, where we hoped to have seen the great men of their country run- ning down a stag, or pitching a bar, that we might have dis- covered who were the persons of the greatest abilities among them ; but instead of that, they conveyed us into an huge room lighted up vrith abundance of candles, where this lazy people sat still above three hours to see several feats of ia- genuity performed by others, who it seems were paid for it. " As for the women of the country, not being able to talk with them, we could only make our remarks upon them at a distance. They let the hair of their heads grow to a great length ; but as the men make a great show vrith heads of hair that are none of their own, the women, who they say have very fine heads of hair, tie it up in a linot, and cover it from being seen. The women look like angels, and would be more beautiful than the sun, were it not for little black spots that are apt to break out in their faces, and sometimes rise in very odd figures. I have observed that those little blemishes wear off very soon ; but when they disappear in one part of the face, they are very apt to break out in ano- ther, insomuch that I have seen a spot upon the forehead in the afternoon, which was upon the chin in the morning." The author then proceeds to show the absiwdity of breeches and petticoats, with many other curious observations, which I shall reserve for another occasion. I cannot, however, con- clude this paper vrithout taking notice, that amidst these wild remarks, there now and then appears something very reason- able. I cannot likevrise forbear observing, that we are all guilty in some measure of the same narrow way of thinking, which we meet with in this abstract of the Indian Journal, when we fancy the customs, dresses, and manners of other coimtries are ridicidous and extravagant, if they do not resem- ble those of our own. 832 ADDISON S WOEKS. No. 55. THUESDAT, MAT 3. — Intus, et in jeoore aegro, Nascuntur Dommi — Pers. Most of the trades, professions, and ways of living among mankind, take their original either from the love of pleasure or the fear of vrant. The former, when it becomes too vio- lent, degenerates iato luxury, and the latter into avarice. As these two principles of action draw different ways, Persius has given us a very humorous account of a young fellow who was roused out of his bed, in order to be sent upon a long voyage by Avarice, and afterwards over-persuaded and kept at home by Luxury. I shall set down at length the pleadings of these two imagiaary persons, as they are in. the original, with Mr. Dryden's translation of them. Mane, piger, stertis : surge, in quit Avaritia ; eja Surge. Negas ? instat, Surge, inquit. Non queo. Surge. Et quid agam ? Eogitas ? Saperdas advehe Ponto, Castoreum, stuppas, hebenum, thus, lubrica Coa. Tolle reoens primus piper e sitieute cameio ; Verte aliquid ; jura. Sed Jupiter audiet. Eheu ! Bare, regustatura digito terebrare salinum Contentus perages, si vivere cum Jove tendis. Jam pueris pellem succinctus et senophorum aptas ; Ocyus ad navem. Nil obstat quin trabe vastft .^geum rapias, nisi solars Luxnria ante Seductum moneat ; Qu6 deinde, insane ruis ? Quo ? Quid tibi vis ? Calido sub pectore mascula bilis Intumuit, quam non extinxerit uma cicutse ? Tun' mare transilias ? Tibi torta cannabe fulto Coena sit in transtro ? Veientanumque rubellum Exhalet vapida Isesum pice sessilis obba ? Quid petis ? Ut nummi, quos hie quincimoe modesto Nutrieras, pergant avidos sudare deunoes ? Indulge genio : carpamus dulcia ; nostrum est Quod vivis ; cinis, et manes, et fabula fies. Vive memor lethi : fugit hora. Hoc quod loquor, inde en, En quid agis ? Duplici in diversum scinderis hamo. Hunccine, an hunc sequeris ? — Whether alone, or in thy harlot's lap, When thou wouldst take a lazy morning's nap, Up, up, says Avarice. Thou snor'st again, Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain ; The rugged tyrant no denial takes ; At his command th' unwilling sluggard wakes. No. 55. THE SPBCTATOE. 383 What must I do ? (he criea). What? (says his lord,) Why rise, make ready, and go straight abroad : Wiih fish, from Euxine seas, thy vessel ireight ; Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight Of pepper, and Sabean incense, take With thy own hands from the tired camel's back, And wiii post-haste thy running markets make- Be sure to turn the penny ; lie and swear ; *Tis wholesome sin. — But JoYe, thou.say'st, will hear.— Swear, fool, or starve ; for the dilemma 's even : A tradesman thoil ! and hope to go to heaven ? Resolved for sea, the slaves thy baggage pack. Each saddled with his burden on his back : Nothing retards thy voyage now, but he. That soft voluptuous prince, called Luxury ; And he may ask this civil question ; Friend, What dost thou make a-shipboard ? to what end ? Art thou of Bethlem's noble college free ? Stark, staring mad, that thou wouldst tempt the sea t Cubbed ui a cabin, on a mattress laid. On a brown George, with lousy swabbers fed ; Dead wine, that stinks of the Borachio, sup From a iou\ jack, or greasy maple cup ? Say, wouldst thou bear all this, to raise thy store From six i' the' hundred to six himdred more ? Indulge, and to thy genius freely give ; For, not to live at ease, is not to hve : Death stalks behind thee, and each flying hour Does some loose remnant of thy lil'e devour. Live while thou liv'st ; for death will make us all A name, a nothing but an old wife's tale. Speak ; wilt thou Avarice or Pleasure choose To be thy lord ? Take one ; and one refuse. When a government flourislies in conquests, and is secure from foreign attacks, it naturally falls into all the pleasures of luxury ; and as these pleasures are very expensive, they put those who are addicted to them upon raising feesh sup- plies of money, by all the methods of rapaciousness and cor- ruption ; so that avarice and luxury very often become one complicated principle of action, in -those whose hearts are whoUy set upon ease, magnificence, and pleasure. The most elegant and correct of aU the Latin historians observes, that in his time, when the most formidable states of the world were subdued by the Eomans, the republic sunk into those two vices of a quite different nature, luxury and avarice ; and accordingly describes Catiline as one who coveted the wealth^ of other men, at the same time that he squandered away bis 834 Addison's works. own. This observation on the commonwealtli, when it was in its height of power and riches, holds good of' all govern- ments that are settled in a state of ease and prosperity. At such times men naturally endeavour to outshine one another in pomp and splendour, and having no fears to alarm them from ahroad, indulge themselves ia the enjoyment of all the pleasures they can get into their possession ; which naturally produces avarice, and an immoderate pursuit after wealth and riches. As I was humouring myself in the speculation of these two great principles of action, I could not forbear throwing my thoughts into a little kind of allegory or fable, with which I shall here present my reader. There were two very powerful tyrants engaged in a per- petual war against each other: the name of the first was Luxury, and of the second Avarice. The aim of each of them was no less than universal monarchy over the hearts of man- kind. Luxury had many generals under him, who did him great service, as Pleasure, Mirth, Pomp, and Pashion. Avarice was likewise very strong in his of&cers, being faithfully served by Hunger, Indiistry, Care, and Watchfulness : he had like- wise a privy-counsellor who was always at his elbow, and whispering something or other in his ear : the name of this privy-counsellor was Poverty. As Avarice conducted him- self by the counsels of Poverty, his antagonist was entirely guided by the dictates and advice of Plen^, who was his first counsellor and minister of state, that concerted all his measui'es for him, and never departed out of his sight. While these two great rivals were thus contending for em- pire, their conquests were very various. Luxury got pos- session of one heart, and Avarice of another. The father of a family would often range himself under the banners of Avarice, and the son 'under those of Luxxu^y. The wife and husband would often declare themselves on the two different parties ; nay, the same person would very often side with one in his youth, and revolt to the other in his old age. Indeed, the wise men of the world stood neuter : but, alas 1 their numbers were not considerable. At length, when these two potentates had wearied themselves with waging war upon one another, they agreed upon an interview, at which neither of their counsellors were to be present. It is said that Luxury began the parley, and after having represented the endless No. 56. THE SPEOTATOB. 335 state of war in wMch they were engaged, told his enemy, 'witli a frankness of heart which is natural to him, that he believed they two should be very good friends, were it not for the in- stigations of Poverty, that pernicious counsellor, who made an iU use of his ear, and filled him with groundless apprehen- sions and prejudices. To this Avarice replied, that he looked upon Plenty (the first minister of his antagonist) to be a much more destructive counsellor than Poverty, for that he was perpetually suggesting pleasures, banishing all the necessary cautions against want, and consequently imdermining those principles on which the government of Avarice was founded. At last, in order to an accommodation, they agreed upon this preliminary ; that each of them should immediately dismiss his privy-counsellor. When things were thus far adjusted towards a peace, all other difierences were soon accommo- dated, insomuch, that for the future they resolved to live as good fi-iends and confederates, and to share between them whatever conquests were made on either side. For this reason, we now find Luxury and Avarice taking possession of the same heart, and dividing the same person between them. To-which I shall only add, that since the discarding of the counsellors above-mentioned, Avarice supplies Luxury in the room of Plenty, as Luxury prompts Avarice in the place of Poverty. . Ko. 56. FEIDAT, MAT 4. Felices errore suo — Lucan. The Americans believe that all creatures have souls, not only men and women, but brutes, vegetables, nay, even the most inanimate things, as stocks and stones. They believe the same of all the works of art, as of knives, boats, looking- glasses : and that as any of these things perish, their souls go into another world, which is habited by the ghosts of men and women. For this reason they always place by the corpse of their dead friend a bow and arrows, that he may make use of the souls of them in the other world, as he did of their wooden bodies in this. How absurd soever such an opinion as this may appear, our European philosophers have main- tained several notions altogether as improbable. Some of Plato's followers in particular, when they talk of the worlc'. 886 Addison's wobes. cf ideas, entertain us ■with substances and beings uo less ex. travagant and chimerical. Many Aristotelians have likewise spoten as unintelligibly of their substantial forms. I shall only instance Albertus Magnus, who in his dissertation upon the loadstone, observing that fire will destroy its magnetic virtues, tells us that he took particular notice of one as it lay glowing amidst an heap of burning coals, and that he perceived a certain blue vapour to arise from it, which he believed might be the substantial form, that is, in our "West Indian phrase, the soul of the loadstone. There is a tradition among the Americans, that one of their countrymen descended in. a vision to the great reposi- tory of souls, or, as we call it here, to the other world ; and that upon his return he gave his friends a distinct account of everythiug he saw among those regions of the dead. A friend of mine, whom I have formerly mentioned, prevailed upon one of the interpreters of the Indian kings, to inquire 01 them, if possible, vvhat tradition they have among them of this matter ; which, as well as he could learn by those many questions which he asked them at several times, was in sub- stance as follows. The visionary, whose name was Marraton, after having travelled for a long space under an hollow mountain, arrived at length on the confines of this world of spirits ; but could not enter it by reason of a thick forest made up of bushes, brambles, and pointed thorns, so perplexed and interwoven with one another, that it was impossible to find a passage through it. Whilst he was looking about for some track or path-Way that might be worn in any part of it, he saw an huge lion couched under the side of it, who kept his eye upon him in the same posture as when he watches for his prey. The Indian immediately started back, whilst the lion rose with a spring, and leaped towards him. Being wholly destitute of all other weapons, he stooped down to take up an huge stone in his hand : but to his infinite surprise grasp- ed nothing, and found the supposed stone to be only the ap- parition of one. If he was disappointed on this side, he was as much pleased on the other, when he found the lion, which had seized on his left shoulder, had no power to hurt him, and was only the ghost of that ravenous creature which it appeared to be. He no sooner got rid of his impotent enemy, but he marched up to the wood, and after having No. 56. THE SPEOTATOB. 337 surveyed it for some time, endeavoured to press into one part of it tliat was a little thinner than the rest ; when again, to his great surprise, he found the bushes made no resistance, but that he walked through briers and brambles with the same ease as through the open air ; and, in short, that the whole wood was nothing else but a wood of shades. He immediately concluded, that this huge thicket of thorns and brakes was designed as a kind of fence or quick-set hedge to the ghosts it enclosed ; and that probably their soft substances might be torn by these subtle poiuts and prickles, which were too weak to make any impressions in flesh and blood. With this thought he resolved to travel through this iutri- cate wood ; when by degrees he felt a gale of perfumes breathing upon him, that grew stronger and sweeter in pro- portion as he advanced. He had not proceeded much farther when he observed the thorns and briers to end, and give place to a thousand beautiful green trees covered vsdth blos- soms of the finest scents and colours, that formed a wilder- ness of sweets, and were a kind of lining to those ragged scenes which he had before passed through. As he was com- ing out of this delightful part of the wood, and entering upon the plains it enclosed, he saw several horsemen rushing by him, and a little while after heard the cry of a pack of dogs. He had not listened long before he saw the apparition of a milk-white steed, with a young man on the back of it, ad- vancing upon full stretch after the souls of about an hundred beagles that were hunting down the ghost of an hare, which ran away before them with an unspeakable swiftness. As the man on the miLk- white steed came by him, he looked upon him very attentively, and found him to be the young priace Nicharagua, who died about half a year before, and by reason of his great virtues was at that time lamented over all the western parts of America. He had no sooner got out of the wood, but^ he was enter- tained with such a landskip of flowery plains, green mea- dows, running streams, sunny hUls, and shady vales, as were not to be represented by his own expressions, nor, as he said, by the conceptions of others. This happy region was peopled with inaumerable swarms of spirits, who applied themselves to exercises and diversions according as their fan- cies led them. Some of them were tossing the figure ot a ' BtU.'] The comparative adverb requires "than." VOL. II. z 338 ADDISOS'S WOEKS. coit ; others were pitching the shadow of a bar ; others were breaking the apparition of a horse ; and multitudes employ, ing themselves upon ingenious handicrafts with the soiis of departed utensils ; for that is the name which in the Indian language they give their tools when they are burnt or broken. As he travelled, through this delightful scene, he was very often tempted to pluck the flowers that rose everywhere about him in the greatest variety and profusion, having never seen several of them in his ovm country ; but he quickly found, that though they were objects of his sight, they were not liable to his touch. He at length came to the side of a great river, and being a good fisherman himself, stood upon the banks of it some time to look upon an angler that had taken a great many shapes of fishes, which lay flouncing up and down by him. I should have told my reader, that this Indian had been formerly married to one of the greatest beauties of his coun- try, by whom he had several children. This couple were so famous for their love and constancy to one another, that the Indians to this day, when they give a married man joy of his wife, wish that they may live together like Marraton and Taratnda. Marraton had not stood long by the fisherman when he saw the shadow of his beloved Taratilda, who had for some time fixed her eye upon him, before he discovered her. Her arms were stretched out towards him, floods of tears ran down her eyes ; her looks, her hands, her voice call- ed him over to her ; and at the same time seemed to tell him that the river was unpassable. Who can describe the passion made up of joy, sorrow, love, desire, astonishment, that rose in the Indian upon the sight of his dear Taratilda ? he could express it by nothing but his tears, which ran like a river down his cheeks as he looked upon her. He had not stood in this posture long, before he plunged into the stream that lay before him ; and finding it to be nothing but the phantom of a river, stalked on the bottom of it till he arose on the other side. At his approach Taratilda flew into his arms, whilst Marraton wished himself disencumbered of that body which kept her from his embraces. After many qiiestions and endearments on both sides, she conducted him to a bower which she had dressed with her own hands with all the orna- ments that could be met with in those blooming regions. She had made it gay beyond imagination, and was every day No. 57. THE SPECTATOB. 339 adding something new to it. As Marraton stood astonished at the unspeakable beauty of her habitation, and ravished with the fragrancy that came from every part of it, TaratUda told him that she was preparing this bower for his reception, as well knowing that his piety to his G-od, and his faithful dealing towards men, would certainly bring him to that happy place, whenever his life should be at an end. She then brought two of her children to him, who died some years be- fore, and resided with her in the same delightful bower ; ad- vising him to breed up those others which were stiU. with him in such a manner, that they might hereafter aU of them meet together in this happy place. This tradition teHs us further, that he had afterwards a sight of those dismal habitations which are the portion of ill men after death ; and mentions several molten seas of gold, in which were plunged the souls of barbarous Europeans, who put to the sword so many thousands of poor Indians for the sake of that precious metal : but having already touched upon the chief points of this tradition, and exceeded the measure of my paper, I shall not give any further account of it.i No. 57. SATUEDAT, MAT 5. Quern prsestare potest mulier galeata pudorem Quee fugit a sexH ? — Juv. "When' the wife of Hector, in Homer's Iliads, discourses with her. husband about the battle in which he was going to engage, the hero, desiring her to leave that matter to his care, bids her go to her maids and mind her spinning : by which the poet intimates, that men and women ought to busy themselves in their proper spheres, and on such matters only as are suitable to their respective sex. I am at this time acquainted with a young gentleman, who has passed a great part of his life in the nursery, and upon occasion can make a caudle or a sack posset better than any man in England. He is likewise a wonderful critic in cam- ' This little fanciful paper is written, throughout, in the very spirit of its author. All the graces of imagination are here joined with all the light and lustre of expression ; but it was not for nothing (as the concluding moral shows) that so mu3h wit and elegance was employed on this subject. See his introduction to No. 152, in the I'atler, z 2 310 Addison's ■woeks. brie and muslins, and will talk an liour together upon a sweet-meat. He entertains his mother every night witn ob- servations that he makes both in town and court : as what lady shows the nicest fancy in. her dress ; what man of qua- lity wears the fairest wig ; who has the finest liuen, who the prettiest snuff-box, with many other the like curious remarks that may be made ia good company. On the other hand, I have very frequently the oppor- tunity of seeing a rural Andromache, who came up to town last winter, and is one of the greatest fox-hunters ia the country. She talks of hounds and horses, and ma;kes nothing of leaping over a six-bar gate. If a man tells her a waggish story, she gives him a push with her hand in jest, and calls him an impudent dog ; and if her servant neglects his busi- ness, threatens to kick him out of the house. I have heard her, in her wrath, call a substantial tradesman a lousy cur ; and remember one day, when she could not think of the name of a person, she described him, in a large company of men and ladies, by the fellow with the broad shoulders. If those speeches and actions, which in their ovra nature are indifferent, appear ridiculous when they proceed from a wrong sex, the faults and imperfections of one sex, trans- planted into another, appear black and monstrous. As for the men, I shall not in this paper auy further concern my- self about them ; but as I would fain contribute to make woman-kind, which is the most beautiful part of the creation, entirely amiable, and wear out aU those little spots and blemishes that are apt to rise among the charms which nature has poiu'ed out upon them, I shall dedicate this paper to their service. The spot which I would here endeavour to clear them of, is that party-rage which of late years is very much crept into their conversation. This is, in its nature, a male vice, and made up of many angry and cruel passions, that are altogether repugnant to the softness, the modesty,' and those endearing qualities which are natural to the fair sex. Women were formed to temper mankind and soothe them into tenderuuss and compassion ; not to set an edge upon their minds, and blow up in them those passions which are too apt to rise of their own accord. When I have seen a pretty mouth uttering calumnies and invectives, what would I not have given to have stopt it ! how have I been troubled to see some of the finest features in the world grow No. 57. THE SPECTATOE. 341 pale, and tremMe with party-rage ! Camilla is one of the greatest beauties in the British nation, and yet values her- self more tipon being the virago of one party, than being the toast of both. The dear creature, about a week ago, en- countered the fierce and beautiful Penthesilea across a tea- table ; but in the height of her anger, as her hand chanced to shake with the earnestness of the dispute, she scalded her fingers, and spilt a dish of tea upon her petticoat. Had not this accident broke off the debate, nobody knows where it would have ended. There is one consideration which I would earnestly recom- mend to all my female readers, and which, I hope, will have some weight with them. In short, it is this, that there is . nothing so bad for the face as party-zeal. It gives an ill- natured cast to the eye, and a disagreeable sourness to the look ; besides, that it makes the Haes too strong, and flushes them worse than brandy. I have seen a woman's face break out in heats, as she has been talking against a great lord, whom she had never seen in her life ; and indeed never knew a party-woman that kept her beauty for a twelvemonth. I would therefore advise all my female readers, as they value their complexions, to let alone all disputes of this nature ; though, at the same time, I would give free liberty to aU superannuated motherly partisans to be as violent as they please, since there will be no danger either of their spoOing their faces or of their gaining converts. Por my own part, I think a man makes an odious and despicable figure that is violent in a party ; but a woman is too sincere to mitigate the fury of her principles with temper and discretion, and to act with that caution and reservedness which are requisite in our sex. "When this unnatural zeal gets into them, it throws them into ten thousand heats and extravagances ; their generous souls set no bounds to their love, or to their hatred ; and whether a whig or tory, a lap- dog or a gallant, an opera or a puppet-show, be' the object of it, the passion, while it reigns, engrosses the whole woman. I remember when Dr. Tfitus Oates was in aU his glory, I accompanied my friend "Will. Honeycomb in a visit to a lady of his acquaintance : we were no sooner sat down, but upon casting my eyes about the room, I found in almost every corner of it a print that represented the doctor in all magni- tudes and dimensions. A Httle after, as the lady was dis* 342 Addison's woeks. coursiiig my friend, and held her snuff-tox in her hand, who should I see in the lid of it but the doctor. It was not long after this, when she had occasion for her handkerchief, which upon the first opening discovered among the plaits of it the figure of the doctor. Upon this my friend Will., who loves raillery, told her, that if he was in Mr. True-love's place (for that was the name of her husband) he should be made as uneasy by a handkerchief as ever Othello was. " I am afraid, (said she,) Mr. Honeycomb, you are a tory : teU me truly, are you a friend to the doctor or not ? " WiU., instead of making her a reply, smiled in her face (for indeed she was very pretty) and told her, that one of her patches was drop- ping off. She immediately ad.iusted it, and looking a little seriously, " "Well, (says she,) I'U be hanged if you and your silent friend there are not against the doctor in your hearts ; I suspected as much by his saying nothing." Upon this she took her fan into her hand, and upon the opening of it again displayed to us the figure of the doctor, who was placed with great gravity among the sticks of it. In a word, I found that the doctor had taken possession of her thoughts, her dis- course, and most of her furniture ; but finding myself pressed too close by her question, I winked upon my friend to take his leave, which he did accordingly. No. 58. MONDAY, MAT 7. Ut pictura, poesis erit — Hoe. NoTHiFO is SO much admired, and so little understood, as wit. No author that I know of has written professedly upon it ; as for those who make any mention of it, they only treat on the subject as it has accidentally fallen in their way, and that too in little short reflections, or in general declamatory flourishes, without entering into the bottom of the matter. I hope, therefore, I shall perform an acceptable work to my countrymen, if I treat at large upon this subject;' which I ' What the author calls " treating at large upon this subfect," is only giving the history of false wit, in the four first of these papers ; a general idea of the true, in the fifth, and a recapitulation of the whole, by way of vision, in the sixth. An accurate treatise on this nice subject is among the desiderata of literature. However, this essay upon it, so far as it goes, is elegant and useful ; and such, in point of composition, as might be expected from Mr. Addison, when he took time and pains to methodize No. 58. THE SPECTATOR. 343 shall endeavour to do in a manner suitable to it, that I may not incur the censure whicli a famous critic bestows upon one who had -written a treatise upon the sublime in a low, groveling style. I intend to lay aside a whole week for this undertaking, that the scheme of my thoughts may not be broken and interrupted ; and I dare promise myself, if my readers wiO. give me a week's attention, that this great city wiU be very much changed for the better by next Saturday night. I shall endeavour to make what I say intelligible to ordinary capacities ; but if my readers meet with any paper that in some parts of it may be a little out of their reach, I would not have them discouraged, for they may assure themselves the next shall be much clearer. As the great and only end of these speculations, is to banish vice and ignorance out of the territories of Grreat Britain, I shall endeavour as much as possible to establish among us a taste of polite writing. It is with this view that I have endeavoured to set my readers right in several points relating to operas and tragedies ; and shall from time- to time impart my notions of comedy, as I think they may tend to its refinement and perfection. I find by my book- seller that these papers of criticism, with that upon humour, have met vrith a more kind reception than, indeed, I could have hoped for from such subjects ; for which reason I shall enter upon my present undertaking with great cheerfulness. In this, and one or two foUovring papers, I shall trace out the history of false wit, and distinguish the several kinds of it as they have prevailed ra different ages of the world. This I think the more necessary at present, because I observed there were attempts on foot last winter to revive some of those antiquated modes of wit that have been long exploded out of the commonwealth of letters. There were several satires and panegyrics handed about in acrostic, by which means some of the most arrant, undisputed blockheads about the town began to entertain ambitious thoughts, and to set up for polite authors. I shall, therefore, describe at length those many arts of false wit, in which a writer does not show Jiimself a man of a beautiful genius, but of great industry. The first species of false wit whicli I have met with, is \ery jid correct what lie wrote, (which Mr. Tickell tells us was the case with fliese papers,) and did not apply himself in haste to print an occasional mtertainment for the day. 344 Addison's woeks. venerable for its antiquity, and lias produced several pieces wliicli have lived very near as long as the lUad itself: I mean those short poems priated among the minor Greek poets, which resemhle the figure of an egg, a pair of wings, an ax, a shepherd's pipe, and an altar. As for the first, it is a little oval poem, and may not im- properly be caEed a scholar's egg. I would endeavour to hatch it, or, in more intelligible language, to translate it into English, did not I find the interpretation of it very difficult ; for the author seems to have been more intent upon the figure of his poem, than upon the sense of it. The pair of wings consists of twelve verses, or rather feathers, every verse decreasiag gradually in its measure ac- cording to its situation in the wing. The subject of it (as in the rest of the poems which follow) bears some remote affinity with the figure, for it describes a god of Love, who is always painted with wings. The ax, methinks, would have been a good figure for a lampoon, had the edge of it consisted of the most satirical parts of the work ; but as it is in the original, I take it to nave been nothing else but the poesy of an ax which was consecrated to Minerva, and was thought to have been the same that Epeus made use of in the building of the Trojan horse ; which is a hint I shall leave to the consideration of the critics. I am apt to think that the poesy was written originally upon the ax, like those which our modern cutlers inscribe upon their knives ; and that, therefore, the poesy still remains in its ancient shape, though the ax itself is lost. The shepherd's pipe may be said to be full of music, for it is composed of nine different kinds of verses, which by their several lengths resemble the nine stops of the old musical instrument, that is likewise the subject of the poem. The altar is inscribed with the epitaph of TroUus, the son of Hecuba ; which, by the way, makes me believe, that these false pieces of wit are much more ancient than the authors to whom they are generally ascribed ; at least I wiU never be persuaded that so fine a writer as Theocritus could have been the author of any such simple works. It was impossible for a man to succeed in these perform- ances who was not a kind of painter, or at least a designer . he was first of all to draw the outline of the subject which he intended to write upon, and afterwards conform the de- No. 58. THE SPECTATOE. 345 scription to the figure of his subject. The poetry was to contract or dilate itself accordiug to the moiild in which it was cast. In a word, the verses were to he cramped or ex- tended to the dimensions of the frame that was prepared for them ; and to undergo the fate of those persons whom the tyrant Procrustes used to lodge in his iron bed : if they were too short, he stretched them on a rack ; and if they were too long, chopped off a part of their legs, till they fitted the couch which he had prepared for them. Mr. Dryden hints at this obsolete kind of wit in one of the following verses in his Mac Flecno ; which an English reader cannot understand, who does not know that there are those little poems above-mentioned in. the shape of wings and altars. — Choose for thy command Some peaceful province in Acrostic land ; There may'st thou wings display, and altars raise, And torture one poor word a thousand ways. This fashion of false wit was revived by several poets of the last age, and in particular may be met with among Mr. Herbert's Poems ; and, if I am not mistaken, in the transla- tion of Du Bartas. I do not remember any other kind of work among the modems which more resembles the perform- ances I have mentioned, than that famous picture of King Charles the First, which has the whole book of Psalms written in the lines of the face and the hair of the head. When I was last at Oxford I perused one of the whiskers ; and was reading the other, but could not go so far in it as I would have done, by reason of the impatience of my friends and %llow-traveUers, who all of them pressed to see such a piece of curiosity. I have since heard, that there is now an emi- nent writing-master in town, who has transcribed all the Old Testament in a full-bottomed periwig ; and if the fashion should introduce the thick kind of wigs which were in vogue some few jeaxa ago, he promises to add two or three super- numerary locks that shall contain all the Apocrypha. He designed this wig originally for King William, having dis- posed of the two books of Kings in the two forks of the fore- top ; but that glorious monarch dying before the wig was finished, there is a space left in it for the face of any one that has a mind to purchase it. But to return to our ancient poems in picture, I would 346 ABBisoir's woeks. humbly propose, for the benefit of our modern smatterers in poetry, that they would imitate their brethren among the an- cients in those ingenious devices. I have communicated this thought to a young poetical lover of my acquaintance, who intends to present his mistress with a copy of verses made in the shape of her fan ; and, if he tells me true, has already finished the three first sticks of it. He has likewise promised me to get the measure of his mistress's marriage finger, with a design to make a poesy in the fashion of a ring which shall exactly fit it. It is so very easy to enlarge upon a good hint, that I do not question but my ingenious readers wiU apply what I have said to many other particulars ; and that we shall see the town fiUed in a very little time with poetical tippets, handkerchiefs, snuft'-boxes, and the like female ornaments. I shall therefore conclude with a word of advice to those ad- mirable English authors who call themselves Pindaric writers, that they would apply themselves to this kind of vsdt with- out loss of time, as being provided better than any other poets with verses of all sizes and dimensions. No. 59. TTJESDAT, MAT 8. Operose nihil agunt. Sen. Thebe is nothing more certain than that every man would be a wit if he could, and, notwithstanding pedants of pre- tended depth and solidity are apt to decry the writings of a polite author as flash and froth, they all of them show upon occasion that they would spare no pains to arrive at the character of those whom they seem to despise. For this reason we often find them endeavouring at works of fancy, which cost them infinite pangs in the production. The truth of it is, a man had better be a galley-slave than a wit, were one to gain that title by those elaborate trifles which have been the inventions of such authors as were often mas- ters of great leamiug, but no genius. In my last paper I mentioned some of these false wits among the ancients, and in this shall give the reader two or three other species of them that flourished in the same early ages of the world. The first I shall produce are the Lipo- grammatists, or letter-droppers of antiquity, that would take an exception, without any reason, against some particular No. 59. THE SPECTATOB. Si? letter in the alphabet, so as not to admit it once into a whole poem. One Tryphiodorus was a great master in this kind of writing. He composed an Odyssey, or epic poem, on the adventures of Ulysses, consisting of four-and -twenty hooks, having entirely banished the letter A from his first book, which was called Alpha (as hjctis a non lueendo) because there was not an Alpha ia it. His second book was in- scribed Beta, for the same reason. In short, the poet ex- cluded the wbole. four-and-twenty letters in their turns, and showed them, one after another, that he could do his busi- ness without them. It must have been very pleasant to have seen this poet avoiding the reprobate letter, as much as another would a false quantity, and making his escape from it through the several Greek dialects, when he was pressed with it in any particular syllable. For the most apt and elegant word in the whole language was rejected, like a diamond with a flaw in it, if it appeared blemished with a wrong letter. I shall only observe upon this head, that if the work I have here mentioned had been now extant, the Odyssey of Tryphiodo- rus, in all probability, would have been oftener quoted by our learned pedants, than the Odyssey of Homer. What a per- petual fund would it have been of obsolete words and phrases, - unusual barbarisms and rusticities, absurd spellings and com- plicated dialects ! I make no question but it would have been looked upon as one of the most valuable treasuries of the Greek tongue. I find, likewise, among the ancients that ingenious kind of conceit, which the moderns distinguish by the name of a Eebus, that does not sink a letter, but a whole word, by sub- stituting a picture in its place. When Csesar was one of the masters of the Eoman mint, he placed the figure of an ele- phant upon the reverse of the public money ; the word Csesar signifying an elephant in the Punic language. This was artificially contrived by Caesar, because it was not lavrful for a private man to stamp his own figure upon the coin of the commonwealth. Cicero, who was so called from the founder of his family, that was marked on the nose with a little w^en like a vetch, (which is cicer in Latin,) instead of Marcus TuUius Cicero, ordered the words Marcus TulUus, with the figure of a vetch at the end of them, to be inscribed on a public monument. This was done probably to show 348 Addison's woeks. that he was neither ashamed of his name or family, notwitb' standing the envy of his competitors had often reproached him with hoth. In the same manner we read of a famous building that was marked in several parts of it with the figures of a frog and a lizard : those words in Greek having heen the names of the architects, who by the laws of their country were never permitted to inscribe their own names upon their works. Por the same reason it is thought that the forelock of the horse, in the antique equestrian statue of Marcus Anrelius, represents at a distance the shape of an owl, to intimate the country of the statuary, who, in all pro- bability, was an Athenian. This kind of wit was very much in vogue among our own countrymen about an age or two ago, who did not practise it for any oblique reason, as the ancients above-mentioned, but purely for the sake of being witty. Among innumerable instances that may be given of this nature, I shall produce the device of one llr. Newberry, as I find it mentioned by our learned Camden in his remains. Mr. Newberry, to represent his name by a pictiu-e, hung up at his door the sign of a yew-tree, that had several berries upon it, and in the midst of them a great golden N hung upon a bough of the tree, which by the help of a little false spelling made up the word N-ew-berry. I shall conclude this topic with a Eebus, which has been lately hevm out in free-stone, and erected over two of the portals of Blenheim House, being the figure of a mon- strous lion tearing to pieces a little cock. Por the better understanding of which device, I must acquaint my Enghsh reader, that a cock has the misfortune to be called in Latin by the same word that signifies a Erench-man, as a Hon is the emblem of the English nation. Such a device in so noble a pile of building, looks like a pun in an heroic poem ; and I am very sorry the truly ingenious architect would suffer the statuary to blemish his excellent plan with so poor a conceit : but I hope what I have said wUl gain quarter for the cock, and deliver him out of the lion's paw. I find likewise in ancient times the conceit of making an echo talk sensibly, and give rational answers. If this could be excusable in any writer, it would be in Ovid, where he in- troduces the echo as a nymph, before she was worn away in- to nothing but a voice. The learned Erasmus, though a man of wit and genius, has composed a dialogue upon this siLy No. 59. THE SPEOTATOE. 349 kind of device, and made use of an echo who seems to have been a very extraordinary linguist, for she answers the person she talks with in Latin, Grreek, and Hebrew, according as she found the syllahles which she was to repeat in any of those learned languages. Hudibras, in ridicule of this false kind of wit, has described "Bruin bewailing the loss of his bear to a solitary echo, who is of great use to the poet in several distichs, as she does not only repeat after him, but helps out his verse, and furnishes him vrith rhymes. He raged, and kept as heavy a coil as Stout Hercules for loss of Hylas ; Forcing the valleys to repeat The accents of his sad) regret ; He beat his breast, and tore his hair, For loss of his dear crony Bear, That Echo from the hollow ground His doleful wailings did resound, More -wistfully, by many times. Than in small' poets' splay-foot rhymes. That make her in their rueful stories, To answer to int'rogatories, And most unconscionably depose Things of which she notliing knows : And when she has said all she can say, 'Tis wrested to the lover's fancy. Quoth he, O whither, wicked Bruin, Art thou fled to my Echo, Ruin t I thought th' hadst scorned to budge a step For fear — (Quoth Echo) Marry guep. Am I not here to take thy part ? Then what has (luelled thy stubborn heart ? Have these bones rattled, and this head So often in thy quarrel bled ? Nor did I ever winch or grudge it, For thy dear sake ? — (Quoth she) Mum budget, Tliink'st thou 'twill not be laid i' th' dish Thou turn'd'st thy back ? quoth Echo, Pish. To run from those th' hadst overcome. Thus cowardly ? quoth Echo, Mum. But what a-vengeance makes thee fly From me too, as thine enemy ? Or if thou hadst no thought of me, Nor what I have endured for thee. Yet shame and honour might prevail To keep thee thus from turning tail : For who would grudge to spend his blood in His honour's cause ? Quoth she, A puddiitfr 350 Addison's -wobks. No. 60. WEDNESDAY, MAT 9. Hoc est quod palles ? cur quis non prandeat, hoc est ? Per. Sat. 3. Seteeai kinds of false wit, that vanished in the reiined ages of the world, discovered themselves again in the times of monkish ignorance. As the monks were the masters of all that little learning which was then extant, and had their whole lives entirely disengaged from husiaess, it is no wonder that several ot them, who wanted genius for higher performances, employed many hours in the composition of such tricks in writing as required much time and little capacity. I have seen half the -iEneid turned iato Latin rhymes hy one of the Beaux Bsprits of that dark age ; who says ia his preface to it, that the -Slneid wanted nothing but the sweets of rhyme to make it the most perfect work in its kind. I have likewise seen an hymn in hexameters to the virgin Mary, which fiUed a whole book, though it consisted but of the eight followiug words ; Tot, tibi, sunt, Virgo, dotes, quot, sidera, coelo. " Thou hast as many virtues, virgin, as there are stars in heaven." The poet rung the changes upon these eight several words, and by that means made his verses almost as numerous as the virtues and the stars which they celebrated. It is no wonder that men who had so much time upon their hands, did not only restore all the antiquated pieces of false wit, but enriched the world with inventions of their own. It was to this age that we owe the production of anagrams, which is nothing else but a transmutation of one word into another, or the turning of the same set of letters into dif- ferent words ; wliich may change night into day, or black into white, if chance, who is the goddess that presides over these sorts of composition, shall so direct. I remember a witty author, in allusion to this kind of writing, calls his rival, who (it seems) was distorted, and had his limbs set in places that did not properly belong to them, " The Anagram of a Man." When the anagrammatist takes a name to work -upon, he considers it at first as a mine not broken up, which will not show the treasure it contains till he shall have spent many hours iu the search of it : for it is his business to find out No. 60. THE SPECTATOE. 351 one word that conceals itself in another, and to examine the letters in all the variety of stations in which they can possi- bly be ranged. I have heard of a gentleman who, when this kind of wit was in fashion, endeavoured to gain his mistress's heart by it. She was one of the finest women of her age, and known by the name of the Lady Mary Boon. The lover not being able to make anything of Mary, by certain liberties indulged to this kind of writiag, converted it into Moll ; and after having shut himseK up for half a year, with inde- fatigable industry produced an anagram. Upon the present- ing it to his mistress, who was a little vexed in her heart to see herself degraded into MoU Boon, she told him, to his infinite surprise, that he had mistaken her surname, for that it was not Booii, but Bohun. — Ibi omnis Eifusiis labor — The lover was thunder-struck with his misfortune, insomuch that in a little time after he lost his senses, which, indeed, had been very much impaired by that continual application he had given to his anagram. The acrostic was probably invented about the same time with the anagram, though it is impossible to decide whe- ther the inventor of the one or the other were the greater blockhead. The simple acrostic is nothing but the name or title of a person or thing made out of the initial letters of several verses, and by that means written, after the manner of the Chinese, in a perpendicular line. But besides these, there are compound acrostics, when the principal letters stand two or three deep. I have seen some of them where the verses have not only been edged by a name at each ex- tremity, but have had the same name running down like a seam through the middle of the poem. There is another near relation of the anagrams and acrostics, which is commonly called a chronogram. This kind of wit appears very oftrai on many modern medals, especially those of Germany, when they represent in the in- scription the year in which they were coined. Thus we see on a medal of Grustavus Adolphus the following words, CheIstVs DrX bego tbIUMph vs. If you take the pains to pick the figures out of the several words, and range them in their proper order, you will find they amount to JVIDOXYVVII, or 1627, the year in which the medal was 852 Addison's woeks. stamped ; for as some of the letters distinguish themselves from the rest, and over-top their fellows, they are to be con- sidered in a double capacity, both as letters and as figures. Tour laborious German wits will turn over a whole dic- tionary for one of these ingenious devices. A man would think they were searching after an apt classical term, but instead of that, they are looking out a word that has an L, an M, or a D in it. "When, therefore, we meet with any of these inscriptions, we are not so much to look in them for the thought, as for the year of the Lord. The Bouts-Rimez were the favourites of the French nation for a whole age together, and that at a time when it abounded in wit and learning. They were a list of words that rhyme to one another, drawn up by another hand and given to a poet, who was to make a poem to the rhymes in the same order that they were placed upon the list ; the more imcom- mon the rhymes were, the more extraordinary was the genius of the poet that could accommodate his verses to them. I do not know any greater instance of the decay of wit and learning among the Prench (which generally follows the de- clension of empire) than the endeavouring to restore this foolish kind of wit. If the reader wiU be at the trouble to see examples of it, let him look into the new Mercure Gal- lant ; where the author every month gives a list of rhymes to be filled up by the ingenious, in order to be communicated to the public in the Mercure for the succeeding month. That for the month of November last, which now lies before me, is as follows : - - - - Lauriers - - - - - - - Guerriers - - - Musette - - - Lisette - - - - - Etendars - - Houlette - - - - Folette One would be amazed to see so learned a man as Menage talking seriously on this kind of trifle in the following pas- " Monsieur de la Chambre has told me, that he never knew what he was going to vprite when he took his pen into his No. 60. THE SPECTATOE. 353 hand ; but that one sentence always produced anotlier. For my own part, I never knew what I should write next when I was makiug verses. In the first place, I got all my rhymes together, and was afterwards, perhaps, three or four months in filling them up. I one day showed Monsieur Gombaud a composition of this nature, in which, among others, I had made use of the four following rhymes, Amaryllis, Phyllis, Mame, Arne, desiring him to give me his opinion of it. He told me immediately, that my verses were good for nothing. And upon my asking his reason, he said, because the rhymes are too common ; and for that reason easy to be put into verse. Marry, says I, if it be so, I am very well rewarded for all the paias I have been at. But by Monsieur Gom- baud' s leave, notwithstanding the severity of the criticism, the verses were good." Yid. Menagian-a. Thus far the learned Menage, whom I have translated word for word. The first occasion of these Bouts Rimez made them in some manner excusable, as they were tasks which the Prench ladies used to impose on their lovers. But when a grave au- thor, like him above-mentioned, tasked himself, coiUd there be anything more ridiculous ? or would not one be apt to believe that the author played booty, and did not make his list of rhymes tiU he had fibaished his poem ? I shall only add, that this piece of false wit has been finely ridiculed by Monsieur Sarasiu, in a poem entituled. La De~ faite des Bouts-Rimez, "The Eout of the Bouts-Eimez." I must subjoin to this last kind of wit the double rhymes, which are used in doggerel poetry, and generally applauded by ignorant readers. If the thought of the couplet in such compositions is good, the rhyme adds little to it ; and if bad, it will not be in the power of the rhyme to recommend it. I am afraid that great numbers of those who admire the in- comparable Hudibras, do it more on account of these dog- gerel rhymes, than of the parts that reaUy deserve admiration. I am sure I have heard the Pulpit, drum ecclesiastic. Was beat with fist instead of a stick ; and There was an ancient sage philosopher, Who had read Alexander Ross over ; more frequently quoted, than the finest pieces of wit in the whole poem. VOL. II. 2 A 354 abdison's ttorks. No. 61. THUESDAT, MAT 10. Non equidem studeo, bullatis ut mihi nugis Pagina turgescat, dare pondus idonea fumo. Pers. Theee is no kind of false wit wkicli has been so recom- mended by the practice of all ages, as that which consists in a jingle of words, and is comprehended under the general name of punning. It is, indeed, impossible to kill a weed, which the soil has a natural disposition to produce. The seeds of punning are in the minds of all men, and though they may be subdued by reason, reflection, and good sense, they wUl be very apt to shoot up in the greatest genius, that is not broken and cultivated by the rules of art. Imitation is natural to us, and when it does not raise the mind to poet- ry, painting, music, or other more noble arts, it often breaks out in puns and quibbles. Aristotle, in the eleventh chapter of his book of Ehetorie, describes two or three kinds of puns, which he calls para- grams, among the beauties of good writing, and produces in- S'tances of them out of some of the greatest authors in the Q-reek tongue. Cicero ha^ spriakled several of his works with puns, and in his book where he lays down the rules of oratory, quotes abundance of sayings as pieces of wit, which also upon examination prove arrant puns. But the age in which the pun chiefly flourished, was the reign of King James the Pirst. That learned monarch was himself a tolerable pun- ster, and made very few bishops or privy-counsellors that had not some time or other signalized themselves^by a cliach or a conundrum. It was therefore ia this age that the pun appeared with pomp and dignity. It had before been ad- mitted into merry speeches and ludicrous compositions, but was now delivered vrith great gravity from the pulpit, or pro- nounced in the most solemn manner at the council table. The greatest authors, in their most serious works, made fre- quent use of puns. The sermons of Bishop Andrews and the tragedies of Shakspeare are full of them. The sinner was punned into repentance by the former, as in the latter nothiag is more usual than to see a hero weeping and quib- bling for a dozen Unes together. I must add to these great authorities, which seem to have , given a kind of sanction to this piece of false wit, that all No. 61. THE SPECTATOB. 355 the writers of rhetoric have treated of punning with very great respect, and divided the several kinds of it into hard names, that are reckoned among the figures of speech, and recommended as ornaments in discourse. I remember a country schoolmaster of my acquaintance told me once, that he had been in company with a gentleman whom he looked upon to be the greatest Paragraromatist among the moderns. Upon inquiry, I found my learned friend had dined that day with Mr. Swan, the famous punster ; and desiring him to give me some account of Mr. Swan's conversation, he told me that he generally talked in the Paranomasia, that he sometimes gave in to the Ploce, but that ia his humble opinion he shined most in the Antanaclasis. I must not here omit, that a famous university of this land was fonnerly very much infested with puns ; but whether or no this might not arise from the fens and marshes in which it was situated, and which are now drained, I must leave to the determination of more skilful naturalists. After this short history of punning, one would wonder how it should be so entirely banished out of the learned world, as it is at present, especially since it had found a place in the writings of the most ancient polite authors. To account for this we must consider, that the first race of au- thors who were the great heroes in vpriting, were destitute of aU rules and arts of criticism ; and for that reason, though they excel later writers in greatness of genius, they fall short of them in accuracy and correctness. The moderns cannot reach their beauties, but can avoid their imperfec- tions. When the world was furnished with these authors of the first eminence, there grew up another set of writers, who gained themselves a reputation by the remarks which they made on the works of those who preceded them. It was one of the employments of these secondary authors, to distiuguish the several kinds of wit by terms of art, and to consider them as more or less perfect, according as they were founded in truth. It is no wonder, therefore, that even such authors as Isocrates, Plato, and Cicero, should have such little blem- ishes as are not to be met with in authors of a much inferior character, who have written since those several blemishes were discovered. I do not find that there was a proper separ- ation made between puns and true vrit by any of the ancient 2 A 2 356 ADBISOW'S WOEKS. autliors, except Quintilian and Longinus. But wlien thig distinction was once settled, it was very natural for all men of sense to agree in it. As for the revival of this false wit, it happened about the time of the revival of letters ; but as soon as it was once detected, it immediately vanished and disappeared. At the same time there is no question, but as it has sunk in one age, and rose in another, it will again re- cover itself in some distant period of time, as pedantry and ignorance shaO. prevail upon wit and sense. And, to speak the truth, I do very much apprehend, by some of the last wtQter's productions, which had their sets of admirers, that our posterity wiU in a few years degenerate into a race of punsters : at least, a man may be very excusable for any ap- prehensions of this kind, that has seen acrostics handed about the town with great secrecy and applause ; to which I must also add a little epigram called the Witch's Prayer, that fell iato verse when it was read either backward or forward, ex- cepting only that it cursed one way and blessed the other. When one sees there are actually such painstakers among our British wits, who can tell what it may end in ? If we must lash one another, let it be with the manly strokes of wit and satire ; for I am of the old philosopher's opinion, that if I must suffer from one or the other, I would rather it should be from the paw of a lion than the hoof of an ass. I do not speak this out of any spirit of party. There is a most crying dulness on both sides. I have seen Tory acros- tics, and Whig anagrams, and do not quarrel with either of them because they are Whigs or Tories, but because they are anagrams and acrostics. But to return to punning. Having pursued the history of a pun, from its original to its downfal, I shall here define it to be a conceit arising from the use of two words that agree in the sound, but differ in the sense. The only way, therefore, to try a piece of wit, is to translate it into a differ- ent language : if it bears the test, you may pronounce it true ; but if it vanishes in the experiment, you may conclude it to have been a pun. In short, one may say of a pun as the countryman described his nightingale, that is, vox et prmterea nihil; a sound, and nothing but a sound. On the contrary, one may represent true wit by the description which Aris-" tenetus makes of a fine woman ; when she is dressed, she is No. 62 THE SPECTATOH. 357 beautiful ; when she is tindressed, she is beautiful : or, as Mercerus has translated it more emphatically, Induitur, for- mosa est: Exuitur, ipsa forma est. No. 62. FEIDAT, MAT 11. ': Scribendi recte sapere est et principiura et fons. Hor. Mb. Locke has an admirable reiiection upon the difference of wit and judgment, whereby he endeavours to show the rea/- son why they are not always the talents of the same person. His words are as follow : " And hence, perhaps, may be given some reason of that common observation, that men who have a great deal of wit, and prompt memories, have not always the clearest judgment, or deepest reason. Por wit lying most in the assemblage of ideas, and putting those together with quickness and variety, wherein can be found any resem- blance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures and agreeable visions in the fancy ; judgment, on the con- trary, lies quite on the other side, in separating carefully one from another, ideas wherein can be found the least difference, thereby to avoid being misled by similitude, and by affinity, to take one thing for another. This is a way of proceeding quite contrary to metaphor and allusion ; wherein, for the most part, lies that entertainment and pleasantry of wit which strikes so lively on the fancy, and is therefore so ac- ceptable to aL. people." This is, I think, the best and most philosophical account that I have ever met with of vpit, which generally, though not always, consists in such a resemblance and congruity of ideas as this author mentions. I shaU only add to it, by way of explanation, that every resemblance of ideas is not that which we call wit, unless it be such an one that gives delight and surprise to the reader ; these two properties seem essential to wit, more particularly the- last of them. In. order, therefore, that the resemblance in the ideas be wit, it is necessary that the ideas should not lie too near one another in the nature of things ; for where the likeness is obvious, it gives no surprise. To compare one man's singing to that ot another, or to represent the whiteness of any object by that of milk and snow, or the variety of its colours by those of the rainbow, cannot be called wit, unless, besides this obvious 358 Addison's woeks. resemblance, there be some further congruity discovered in the two ideas, that is capable of giving the reader some sur- prise. Thus when a poet tells us, the bosom of his mistress is as white as snow, there is no wit in the comparison ; but when he adds, with a sigh, that it is as cold too, it then grows into wit. Every reader's memory may supply him with innumerable instances of the same nature. For this reason, the similitudes in heroic poets, who endeavour rather to fiU the mind with great conceptions, than to divert it with such as are new and suprising, have seldom anything in them that can be called wit. Mr. Locke's account of wit, with this short explanation, comprehends most of the species of wit ; as metaphors, similitudes, allegories, enigmas, mottos, parables, fables, dreams, visions, dramatic writings, burlesque, and all the methods of allusion : as there are many other pieces of wit (how remote soever they may appear at first sight from the foregoing description) which upon examin- ation will be found to agree with it. As tiTie wit generally consists in this resemblance and con. gruity of ideas, false wit chiefly consists in the resemblance and congruity sometimes of single letters, as in anagrams, chronograms, lipograms, and acrostics ; sometimes of sylla- bles, as in echoes and doggerel rhymes ; sometimes of words, as in puns and quibbles ; and sometimes of whole sentences or poems, cast into the figures of eggs, axes, or altars : nay, some carry the notion of wit so far, as to ascribe it even to external mimicry ; and to look upon a man as an ingenious person, that can resemble the tone, posture, or face of another. As true wit consists in the resemblance of ideas, and false wit in the resemblance of words, according to the foregoing instances ; there is another kind of wit, which consists partly in the resemblance of ideas, and partly in the resemblance of words ; which, for distinction' sake, I shall call mixt wit. This kind of wit is that which abounds in Cowley, more than in any author that ever wrote. Mr. Waller has likewise a great deal of it. Mr. Dryden is very sparing in it. Milton had a genius much above it. Spencer is in the same class with Milton. The Italians, even in their epic poetry, are full of it. Monsieur Boileau, who formed himself upon the ancient poets, has everywhere rejected it with scorn. If we look after mixt wit among the Grreek writers, we shaU. find i nowhere but in the epigrammatists. There are, indeed, No 62. THE SPBOTATOK. 359 some strokes of it in the little poem ascribed to Musseus, wMch by tbat, as well as many other marks, betrays itself to be a modem composition. If we look into the Latin writers, we find none of this mixt wit in Virgil, Lucretius, or Catullus ; very little in Horace ■; but a great deal of it in Ovid ; and scarce anything else in Martial. • Out of the innumerable branches of mixt wit, I shall choose one instance which may be met with ia all the writers of this class. The passion of love in its nature has been thought to resemble fire ; for which reason the words fire and flame are made use of to signify love. The witty poets, therefore, have taken an advantage from the doubtful meaidng of the word fire, to make an infinite number of witticisms. Cowley observing the cold regard of his mistress's eyes, and at the same time their power of producing love in him, considers them as burning-glasses made of ice ; and finding himself able to live in the greatest extremities of love, concludes the torrid zone to be habitable. When his mistress has read his letter written in juice of leipon by holding it to the fire, he desires her to read it- over a second time by love's flames. When she weeps, he wishes it were inward heat that dis- tilled those drops from the limbec. When she is absent, he is beyond eighty ; that is, thirty degrees nearer the pole than when she is with him. His ambitious love is a fire that na- turally mounts upwards ; his happy love is the beams of heaven, and his unhappy love flames of hell. When it does not let him sleep, it is a flame that sends up no smoke ; when it is opposed by counsel and advice, it is a fire that rages the more by the wind's blowing upon it. Upon the dying of a tree in which he had cut his loves, he observes that his writ- ten flames had burnt up and withered the tree. When he resolves to give over his passion, he tells us that one burnt like him for ever dreads the fixe. His heart is an ^tna, that instead of Yulcan's shop, encloses Cupid's forge in it. His endeavouring to drown his love in wine, is throwing oil upon the fire. He would insinuate to his mistress, that the fire of love, like that of the sun, (which produces so manv living creatures,) should not only warm but beget. Love in another place cooks pleasure at his fire. Sometimes the poet's heart is frozen in every breast, and sometimes scorched in every eye. Sometimes he is drowned in tears, and burnt in love, like a ship set on fire in the middle of the sea. 3G0 ADBISOlf's WOEKS. The reader may observe m every one of these inataiices, that the poet mixes the qualities of fire with those of love ; and in the same sentence, speaking of it both as a passion and as real fire, surprises the reader with those seeming re- semblances or contradictions that make up all the wit in this kind of writing. Mixt wit, therefore, is a composition of pun and true wit, and is more or less perfect as the re- semblance lies in the ideas, or in the words : its foundations are laid partly in falsehood, and partly in truth : reason puts in her claim for one half of it, and extravagance for the other. The only province, therefore, for this kind of vrit, is epigram, or those little occasional poems, that in their own nature are nothing else but a tissue of epigrams. I cannot conclude this head of mixt wit, without owning that the ad- mirable poet out of whom I have taken the examples of it, had as much true vrit as any author that ever writ ; and, indeed, all other talents of an extraordinary genius. It may be expected, siace I am upon this subject, that I should take notice of Mr. Dry den's definition of wit ; which, with all the deference that is due to the judgment of so great a man, is not so properly a definition of wit, as of good writ- ing in general. Wit, as he defines it, is " a propriety of words and thoughts adapted to the subject." If this be a true definition of wit, I am apt to think that Euclid was the greatest wit that ever set pen to paper : it is certain there never was a greater propriety of words and thoughts adapted to the subject, than what that author has made use of in his Elements. I shall only appeal to my reader, if this definition agrees with any notion he has of wit. If it be a true one, I am sure Mr. Dryden was not only a better poet, but a greater wit, than Mr. Cowley ; and Virgil a much more face- tious man than either Ovid or Martial. Bouhours, whom I look upon to be the most penetrating of all the Erench critics, has taken pains to show, that it is impossible for any thought to be beautiful which is not just, and has not its foundation in the nature of things ; that the basis of all wit is truth ; and that no thought can be valu- able, of which good sense is not the ground-work. Boileau has endeavoured to inculcate the same notion in several parts of his writings, both in prose and verse. This is that natmal way of writing, that beautiful simplicity, which we so nmch admire in the compositions of the ancients ; and which no- No. 62. THE SPECTATOE. 361 body deviates from, but those -wbo want strengtlj. of genius to make a thought shiae in its own natural beauties. Poets who want this strength of genius to give that majestic sim- plicity to nature, which we so much admire in the works ol the ancients, are forced to hunt after foreign ornaments, and not to let any piece of wit, of what kind soever, escape them. I look upon these writers as Groths in poetry, who, like those in architecture, not being able to come up to the beautiful simplicity of the old Grreeks and Romans, have endeavoured to supply its place with all the extravagancies of an irregular fancy. Mr. Dryden makes a very handsome observation on Ovid's writing a letter from Dido to Mneae, in the following words : " Ovid (says he, speaking of Virgil's fiction of Dido and jEneas) takes it up after him, even in the same age, and makes an ancient heroine of Virgil's new-created Dido ; dic- tates a letter for her, just before her death, to the ungrateful fugitive ; and, very unluckily for himself, is for measuring a sword with a man so much superior in force to him on the same subject. I think I may be judge of this, because I have translated both. The famous author of the Art of Love has nothing of his own ; he borrows all from a greater master in his ovm profession, and, which is worse, improves nothing which he fcids : nature fails him, and being forced to his old shift, he has recourse to vritticism. This passes, indeed, with his soft admirers, and gives him the preference to Virgil in their esteem." Were not I supported by so great an authority as that of Mr. Dryden, I should not venture to observe, that the taste of most of our BngHsh poets, as well as readers, is extremely' Grothic. He qiiotes Monsieur Segrais for a threefold dis- tinction of the readers of poetry : in the first of which he comprehends the rabble of readers, whom he does not treat as such with regard to their quality, but to their numbers, and the coarseness of their taste. His words are as follow : " Segrais has distinguished the readers of poetry, according to their capacity of judging, into three classes. (He might have said the same of writers too, if he had pleased.) In the lowest form he places those whom he C£dls Les Petits Esprits ; such things as are our upper-gallery audience in a play-house ; who like nothing but the husk and rind of wit ; prefer a quibble, a conceit, an epigram, before solid sense and elegant expression : these are mob readers. If Vii'gil 302 Addison's woeks. and Martial stood for parliament-men, we know already who would carry it. But though they make the greatest appear- ance in the field, and cry the loudest, the hest on't is, they are but a sort of French Huguenots, or Dutch boors, brought over in herds, but not naturalized ; who have not lands of two pounds per annum in Parnassus, and therefore are not privileged to poll. Their authors are of the same level, fit to represent them on a mountebank's stage, or to be mas- ters of the ceremonies in a bear-garden : yet these are they who have the most admirers. But it often happens, to their mortification, that as their readers improve their stock of sense, (as they may by reading better books, and by convers- ation with men of judgment,) they soon forsake them. I must not dismiss this subject without observing, that as Mr. Locke, in the passage above-mentioned, has discovered the most fruitful source of wit, so there is another of a quite contrary nature to it, which does likewise branch itself out into several kinds. Por not only the resemblance, but the opposition of ideas, does very often produce wit ; as I could show in several little points, turns, and antitheses, that I may possibly enlarge upon in some future speculation. No. 63. SATURDAY, MAT 12. Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam Jungere si velit, et varias inducere plumas Undique coUatis membris, ut turpiter atrum Desinat in piscem mulier formosa supemfe ; Spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amici ? Credite, Pisones, isti tabulae fore librum Persimilem, cujus, velut segri somnia, vanae Finguntur species — Hoe. It is very hard for the mind to disengage itself from a subject in which it has been long employed. The thoughts wiU. be rising of themselves from time to time, though we give them no encouragement ; as the tossings and fluctuations of the sea continue several hours after the winds are laid. It is to this that I impute my last night's dream, or vision, which formed into one continued aUegory the several schemes of wit, whether false, mixed, or true, that have been the sub- ject of my late papers. Methoughts I was transported into a country that was No. 63. THE SPECTATOR. 863 filled with prodigies and enchantments, governed by the Goddess of Falsehood, and entitled the Eegion of Pake Wit. There was nothing in the fields, the woods, and the rivers, that appeared natural. Several of the trees blossomed in leaf-gold, some of them produced bone-lace, and some of them precious stones. The fountains bubbled in an opera tune, and were filled with stags, wild boars, and mermaids, that lived among the waters ; at the same time that dolphins and several kinds of fish played upon the banks, or took their pastime in the meadows. The birds had many of them golden beaks and human voices. The flowers perfumed the air with smells of incense, ambergrease, and pulvillos ; and were so interwoven with one another, that they grew up in pieces of embroidery. The winds were filled with sighs and messages of distant lovers. As I was walking to and fro in this enchanted wilderness, I could not forbear breaking out into soliloquies upon the several wonders which lay before me, when, to my great surprise, I found there were artificial echoes in every walk, that by repetitions of certain words which I spoke, agreed with me, or contradicted me, in every- thing I said. In the midst of my conversation with these invisible companions, I discovered in the centre of a very dark grove, a monstrous fabric built after the Gothic manner, and covered with innumerable devices in tha.t barbarous kind of sculpture. I immediately went up to it, and found it to be a kind of heathen temple consecrated to the God of Dul- ness. Upon my entrance T saw the deity of the place dressed in the habit of a monk, with a book in one hand and a rattle in the other. Upon his right hand was Industry, with a lamp burning before her ; and on his left. Caprice, with a monkey sitting on her shoulder. Before his feet there stood an altar of a very odd make, which, as I afterwards found, was shaped in that manner to comply with the inscription that surrounded it. Upon the altar there lay several offerings of axes, wings, and eggs, cut in paper, and inscribed with verses. The temple was filled with votaries, who applied themselves to different diversions, as their fancies directed them. In one part of it I saw a regiment of Anagrams, who were continually in motion, turning to the right or to the left, facing about, doubling their ranks, shifting their stations, and throwing themselves into all the figures and counter- marches of the most changeable and perplexed exercise. 364 abdison's woeks. Not far from these was a body of Acrostics, made up of very disproportioned persons. It was disposed into three columns, the officers planting themselves in a line on the left hand of each column. The officers were all of them at least six foot high, and made three rows of very proper men ; but the common soldiers, who filled up the spaces between the officers, were such dwarfs, cripples, and scarecrows, that one could hardly look upon them without laughing. There were behind the Acrostics two or three files of Chronograms, which differed only from the former, as their officers were equipped (like the figure of Time) with an hour-glass in one hand and a scythe in the other, and took their posts pro- miscuously among the private men whom they commanded. In the body of the temple, and before the very face of the deity, methoughts I saw the phantom of Tryphiodorus the Lipogrammatist, engaged in a ball with four-and-twenty persons, who pursued him by turns through aU the intricacies and labyrinths of a country dance, without being able to overtake him. Observing several to be very busy at the western end of the temple, I inquired into what they were doing, and fouad there was in that quarter the great magazine of Eebuses. These were several things of the most diiferent natures tied up in bundles, and thrown upon one another in heaps like faggots. Tou might behold an anchor, a night-rail, and a hobby-horse bound up together. One of the workmen see- ing me very much surprised, told me, there was an infinite deal of vrit in several of those bundles, and that he would explain them to me if I pleased. I thanked him for his civility, but told him I was in very great haste at that time. As I was going out of the temple, I observed in one comer of it a cluster of men and women laughing very heartily, and divert- ing themselves at a game of crambo. I heard several double rhymes as I passed by them, which raised a great deal of mirth. Not far from these was another set of merry people, en- gaged at a diversion, in which the whole jest was to mistake one person for another. To give occasion for these ludicrous mistakes, they were divided into pairs, every pair being covered from head to foot with the same kind of dress, though perhaps there was not the least resemblance in their faces. JBy this means an old man was sometimes mistaken for a boy, a woman for a man, and a Black-a-Moor for an Europeau, No. 63. THE SPEOTATOH. 365 whicli very often produced great peals of laughter. These I guessed to be a party of Puns. But being very desirous to get out of this world of magic, which had almost turned my braia, I left the temple, and crossed over the fields that lay about it -^-ith all the speed I coidd make. I was not gone far before I heard the sound of trumpets and alarms, which seemed to proclaim the march of an enemy ; and, as I after- wards found, was in reality what I apprehended it. There appeared at a great distance a very shining Ught, and in the midst of it a person of a most beautiful aspect ; her name was Truth. On her right hand there marched a male deity, who bore several q^uivers on his shoulders, and grasped several arrows in his hand: his namie was Wit. The approach of these two enemies filled aU the territories of False Wit with an unspeakable consternation, insomuch that the goddess of those regions appeared in person upon the frontiers, vith the several inferior deities, and the different bodies of forces which I had before seen in the temple, who were now drawn up in array, and prepared to give their foes a warm reception. As the march of the enemy was very slow, it gave time to the several inhabitants who bordered upon the regions of Talse- hood to draw their forces into a body, with a design to stand upon their guard as neuters, and attend the issue of the combat. I must here inform my reader, that the frontiers of the en- chanted region, whicli I have before described, were inhabited by the species of mixed wit, who made a very odd appearance when they were mustered together in an army. There were men whose bodies were stuck full of darts, and women whose eyes were burning-glasses : men that had hearts of fire, and women that had breasts of snow. It would be endless to describe several monsters of the like nature, that composed this great army ; which immediately fell asunder and divided itself into two parts, the one half throwing themselves be- hind the banners of Truth, and the others behind those of Falsehood. The Goddess of Falsehood was of a gigantic stature, and advanced some paces before the front of the army ; but as the dazzling light, which fiowed from Truth, began to shine upon her, she faded insensibly ; insomuch that in a little space she looked rather like an huge phantom than a real sub- Btance At length, as the Goddess of Truth approached stiU 366 Addison's ■works. nearer to her, she fell away entirely, and vanished amidst the brightness of her presence, so that there did not remain the least trace or impression of her figure in the place where she had been seen. As at the rising of the sun the constellations grow thin, and the stars go out one after another, till the whole hemi- sphere is extinguished ; such was the vanishing of the god- dess : and not only of the goddess herself, but of the whole army that attended her, which sympathized with their leader, and shrunk into nothing in proportion as the goddess disap- peared. At the same time the whole temple sunk, the flsh betook themselves to the streams, and the wild beasts to the woods, the fountains recovered their rummurs, the birds their voices, the trees their leaves, the flowers their scents, and the whole face of nature its true and genuine appearance. Though I still continued asleep, I fancied myself as it were awakened out of a dream, when I saw this region of prodi- gies restored to woods and rivers, fields and meadows. Upon the removal of that wild scene of wonders, which had very much disturbed my imagination, I took a full survey of the persons of Wit and Truth ; for indeed it was impos- sible to look upon the first without seeing the other at the same time. There was behind them a strong and compact body of figures. The genius of Heroic Poetry appeared with a sword in her hand and a laurel on her head. Tragedy was crowned with cypress, and covered with robes dipped in blood. Satire had smiles in her look, and a dagger imder her garment. Ehetoric was known by her thunderbolt ; and Comedy, by her mask. After several other figures. Epigram marched up in the rear, who had been posted there at the beginning of the ezpedition, that he might not revolt to the enemy, whom he was suspected to favour in his heart. I was very much awed and delighted with the appearance of the God of Wit ; there was something so arniable and yet so piercing in his looks, as inspired me at once with love and terror. As I was gazing on him, to my unspeakable'joy, he took a quiver of arrows from his shoulder, in order to make me a present of it ; but as I was reachiug out my hand to receive it of him, I knocked it against a chair, and by that means awaked. ^0. 68. TUB SPEOTATOE. 367 No. 68. FEIDAT, MAT 18. Nos duo turba sumus — Ovid. One would think that the larger the company is in which we are engaged, the greater variety of thoughts and subjects would be started in discourse ; but instead of this, we find that conversation is never so much straitened and confined as in numerous assemblies. When a multitude meet to- gether upon any subject of discourse, their debatea are taken up chiefly with forms and general positions ; nay, if we come into a more contracted assembly of men and women, the talk generally runs upon the weather, fashions, news, and the like public topics. In proportion as conversation gets into clubs and knots of friends, it descends into particulars, and grows more free and communicative ; but the most open, instructive, and unreserved discourse, is that which passes between two persons who are familiar and intimate friends. On these oc- casions, a man gives a loose to every passion and every thought that is uppermost, discovers his most retired opinions of persons and things, tries the beauty and strength of his sentiments, and exposes his whole soul to the examination of his friend. TuUy was the first who observed, that friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy and dividing of our grief; a thought in which he hath been fol- lowed by all the essayers upon friendship, that have vmtten since his time. Sir Francis Bacon has finely described other advantages, or, as he calls them, fruits of friendship ; and indeed there is no subject of morality which has been better handled and more exhausted than this. Among the several fine things which have been spoken of it, I shall beg leave to quote some out of a vary ancient author, vyhose book would be regarded by our modem wits as one of the most shining tracts of morality that is extant, if it appeared under the name of a Confucius, or of any celebrated Grecian philosopher : I mean the little apocryphal treatise entitled, " The "Wisdom of the Son of Sirach." How finely has he described the art of making friends, by an obliging and affable behaviour ! and laid down that precept which a late excellent author has de- livered as his own, " That we should have many well-wishers, but few friends." " Sweet language wiU multiply friends : 368 addisok's woeks. and a fair-speaking tongue will increase kind greetings. Be in peace with many, nevertheless, have but one counsellor oi a thousand." With what prudence does he caution us in the choice of our friends ; and with what strokes of nature (I could almost say of humour) has he described the beha- viour of a treacherous and self-interested friend ! " If thou wouldest get a friend, prove him first, and be not hasty to credit him : for some man is a friend for his own occasion, and will not abide in the day of thy trouble. And there is a friend who, being turned to enmity and strife, will discover thy reproach." Again, " Some friend is a companion at the table, and will not continue in the day of thy affliction : but in thy prosperity he wiU be as thyself, and will be bold over thy servants. If thou be brought low, he will be against thee, and hide himself from thy face." What can be more strong and pointed than the following verse ? " Separate thyself from thine enemies, and take heed of thy friends." In the next words he particularizes one of those fruits of friendship which is described at length by the two famous authors above-mentioned, and falls into a general eulogium of friendship, which is very just as well as very sublime, " A faithful friend is a strong defence ; and he that hath found such an one, hath found a treasure. Nothing doth- countervail a faithful friend, and his excellency is unvaluable. A faithful friend is the medicine of life ; and they that fear the Lord shall find him. Whoso feareth the Lord shall direct his friendship aright ; for as he is, so shall his neigh- bour (that is, his friend) be also." I do not remember to have met with any saying that has pleased me more than that of a friend's being the medicine of life, to express the efficacy of friendship in healing the pains and anguish which naturally cleave to our existence in this world i and am won- derfully pleased with the turn in the last sentence ; That a virtuous man shall as a blessing meet with a friend who is as virtuous as himself. There is anothei saying in the same author, which would have been very much admired in an heathen writer ; " Eorsake not an old friend, for the new is not comparable to him ; a new friend is as new wine ; when it is old thou shalt drink it with pleasure." With what strength of allusion, and force of thought, has he described the breaches and violations of friendship ! " Who casteth a etone at the birds, frajeth them away ; and he that upbraid« No. 68, THE SPECTATOE. 369 eth his friend, breateth friendship. Though thou drawest a sword at a friend, yet despair not, for there may be a return- ing to favour, if thou hast opened thy mouth against thy friend, fear not, for there may be a reconciliation ; except for upbraiding, or pride, or disclosing of secrets, or a trea- cherous wound ; for, for these things every friend will de- part." "We may observe in this and several other precepts in this author, those little familiar instances and illustrations which are so much admired in the moral writings of Horace and Epictetus. There are very beautiful instances of this nature in the following passages, which are likewise written upon the same subject : " Whoso discovereth secrets, loseth his credit, and shall never find a friend to his mind. Loye thy friend and be faithful unto him ; but if thou bevrrayest his secrets, follow no more after him : for as a man hath de- stroyed his enemy, so hast thou lost the love of thy friend ; as one that letteth a bird go out of his hand, so hast thou let thy friend go, and shall not get him again. Eollow after him no more, for he is too far off; he is as a roe escaped out of the snare. As for a wound, it may be bound up, and after reviling there may be reconciliation ; but he that bewrayeth secrets is without hope." 'Among the several qualifications of a good friend, this wise man has very justly singled out constancy and faithful- ness as the principal : to these "others have added virtue, knowledge, discretion, equality in age and fortune, and as Cicero calls it, morum comitas, a pleasantness of temper. If I.were to give my opinion upon such an exhausted subject, I should join to these other qualifications a certain equa- bility or evenness of behaviour. A man often contracts a friendship with one whom perhaps he does not find out tUl after a year's conversation ; when on a sudden some latent ill humour breaks out upon him, which he never discovered or suspected at his first entering into an intimacy with him. There are several persons who in some certain periods of their lives are inexpressibly agreeable, and at others as odious and detestable. Martial has given us a very pretty picture of one of this species in the following epigram ; Difficilis, facilis, jucundus, aceibus es idem. Nee tecum possum vivere, nee sine te. In all thy humours, whether grave or mellow, Thou 'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow ; VOL. II. 2 B 370 Addison's ■woeks. Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee, There is no living with thee, nor without thee. It is very unlucky for a man to be entangled in a friendship \ with one, who by these changes and vicissitudes of humour is sometimes amiable and sometimes odious : and as most men are at some times iu an admirable frame and disposition! of mind, it should be one of the greatest tasks of wisdom to keep ourselves well when we are so, and never to go out of that which is the agreeable part of our character. No. 69. SATUEDAT, MAY 19. Hie segetes, illic veniunt felioius uvse : Arborei foetus alibi, atque injussa virescunt Gramina. Nonne vides, croceos ut Tmolus odores, India mittit ebur, moUes si»t was this excellent writer, even in his mirth! IfO. 85. THE SPECTATOE. 397 old ballad of tlie Two Children in the "Wood, -which is one of the darling songs of the common people, and has been the delight of most Englishmen in sdme part of their age. This song is a plain, simple copy of nature, destitute of all the helps and ornaments of art. The tale of it is a prettj tragical story, and pleases for no other reason but because it is a copy of nature. There is even a despicable simplicity in the verse ; and yet, because the sentiments appear genuine and unaffected, they are able to move the mind of the most polite reader vsdth inward meltings of humanity and com- passion. The incidents grow out of the subject, and are such as are the most proper to excite pity ; for which reason the whole narration has something in it very moving, not- withstanding the author of it (whoever he was) has delivered it in such an abject phrase and poorness of expression, that the quoting any part of it would look lite a design of turn- ing it into ridicule. But though the language is mean, the thoughts, as I have before said, from one end to the other are natural, and therefore cannot faO. to please those who are not judges of language, or those who, notwithstanding they are judges of language, have a true and unprejudiced taste of nature. The condition, speech, and behaviour of the dying parents, vrith the age, innocence, and distress of the children, are set forth iu such tender circumstances, that it is impos- sible for a reader of common humanity not to be affected with them. As for the circumstance of the Eobin-red-breast, it is indeed a Uttle poetical ornament; and to show the genius of the author amidst all his simplicity, it is just the same kind of fiction which one of the greatest of the Latin poets has made use of upon a parallel occasion ; I mean that passage in Horace, where he describes himself when he waa a child, fallen asleep in a desert wood, and covered with leaves by the turtles that took pity on him. Me fabulosEB Vulture in Appulo, Altricis extra limen Apuliee, Ludo fatigatumque somno Fronde novS, puenim palumbes Texere — I have heard that the late Lord Dorset, who had the greatest wit tempered with the greatest candour, and waa one of the finest critics, as well as the best poets, of his age, bad a numerous collection of old English ballads, and took a 398 Addison's woeks. particular pleasure in the reading of them. I can affirm the same of Mr. Dryden ; and know several of the most refined writers of our present age who are of the same humour. I might likewise refer my reader to Moliere's thoughts on this subject, as he has expressed them in the character of the Misanthrope ; but those only who are endowed with a true greatness of soul and genius, can divest themselves of the little images of ridicule, and admire nature in her simplicity and nakedness. As for the little conceited wits of the age, who can only show their judgment by finding fault, they cannot be supposed to admire these productions which have nothing to recommend them but the beauties of natm'e, when they do not know how to relish even those compo- sitions that, with all the beauties of nature, have also the additional advantages of art. No. 86. PEIDAT, JIJlSrE 8. Heu quam difficile est crimen non prodere vxiltu ! Ovid. There are several arts which all men are in some measure masters of, without having been at the pains of learning them. Every one that speaks or reasons is a grammarian and a logician, though he may be wholly unacquainted with the rules of grammar or logic, as they are delivered in hooks and systems. In the same manner, every one is in some de- gree a master of that art which is generally distinguished by the name of physiognomy ; and naturally forms to himself the character or fortune of a stranger,^ from the features and lineaments of his face. We are no sooner presented to any one we never saw before, but we are immediately struck with the idea of a proud, a reserved, an affable, or a good-natured man ; and upon our first going into a company of strangers, our benevolence or aversion, awe or contempt, rises na- turally towards several particular persons, before we have heard them speak a single word, or so much as know who they are. Every passion gives a particular cast to the coimtenance, and is apt to discover itself in some feature or other. I have ' A man cannot be said to "form to himself the character or fortune" of another, but an idea of the character or fortune. He says below, mora properly, " to frame a notion of," &o. J^O. 86. THE SPECTATOE. 390 seeu an eye curse for lialf an hour together, and an eye-brow call a man scoundrel. Nothing is more common than for lovers to complain, resent, languish, despair, and die, in dumb show. Tor my own part, 1 am so apt to fra,me a notion of every man's humour or circumstances by his looks, that I have sometimes employed myself from Oharing-Oross to the Eoyal Exchange in drawing the characters of those who have passed by me. When I see a man with a sour, rivelled fafie, I cannot forbear pitying his wife; and when I meet with an open, ingenuous countenance, think ^ on the happi- ness of his friends, his family, and relations. I cannot recollect the author of a famous saying to a stranger who stood silent in his company, " Speak, that I may see thee." But, with submission, I think we may be better known by our looks than by our words, and that a man's speech is much more easily disguised than Ms counte- nance. In this case, however, I think the air of the whole face is much more expressive than the lines of it : the truth of it is, the air is generally nothing else but the inward dis- position of the mind made visible. Those who have established physiognomy into an art, and laid down rules of judging men's tempers by their faces, have regarded the features much more than the air. Martial has a pretty epigram on this subject. Crine ruber, niger ore, brevis pede, lumine liesus ; Kem magnam prsestas, Zoile, si bonus es. Thy beard and head are of a different dye ; Short of one foot, distorted in an eye ; With all these tokens of a knave complete, Should'st thou be honest, thou'rt a dev'lish cheat. I have seen a very ingenious author on this subject, who founds his speculations on the supposition, that as a; man hath in the mould of his face a remote likeness to that of an ox, a sheep, a lion, an hog, or any other creature, he hath the same resemblance in the frame of his mind, and is sub- ject to those passions which are predominant in the creature that appears in his countenance. Accordingly he gives the prints of several faces that are of a diiferent mould, and by a little overcharging the likeness, discovers the figures of these several kinds of brutal faces in human features. I re- ' Think.'] It should either be, " thmking " in reference to " can-Mt forbear," in tjie former part of this sentence, or else, " / think." 400 Addison's woeks. member in the Life of the famous Prince of Conde, the writer observes, the face of that prince was like the face of an eagle, and that the prince was very well pleased to be told so. In this case, therefore, we maybe sure, that he had in his mind some general, implicit notion of this art of physiognomy which I have just now mentioned ; and that when his courtiers told him his face was made like an eagle's, he understood them in the same manner as if they had told him,, there was some- thing ia his looks which showed him to be strong, active, piercing, and of a royal descent. Whether or no the different motions of the animal spirits in different passions, may have any effect on the mould of the face when the lineaments are pliable and tender, or whether the same kind of souls require the same kind of habitations, I shall leave to the consider- ation of the curious. ' In the mean time I think nothing can be more glorious than for a man to give the lie to his face, and to be an honest, just, and good-natured man, in spite of all those marks and signatures which nature seems to have set upon him for the contrary. This very often happens among those, who, instead of being exasperated by their own looks, or envying the looks of others, apply themselves en- tirely to the cultivating of their minds, and getting those beauties which are more lasting, and more ornamental. I have seen many an amiable piece of deformity : and have observed a certain cheerfulness in as bad a system of fea- tures as ever was clapped together, which hath appeared more lovely than all the blooming charms of an insolent beauty. There is a double praise due to virtue, when it is lodged in a body that seems to have been prepared for the reception of vice ; in many such cases the soul and the body do not seem to be fellows. Socrates was an extraordinary instance of this nature. There chanced to be a great physiognomist in his time at Athens, who had made strange discoveries of men's tempers and inclinations by their outward appearances. Socrates's disciples, that they might put this artist to the trial, carried him to their master, whom he had never seen before, and did not know he was then in company with him.' After a short examination of his face, the physiognomist pronounced him the most rude, libidinous, drunken old fellow that he had ' Better, " and did not know to be then in company witJt him," as re- ferring to " whom." No. 89. THE SPECTATOE. 401 ever met witli in his whole life. Upon which the disciples all burst out a laughing, as thinking they had detected the falsehood and vanity of his art. But Socrates told them, that the principles of his art might be very true, notwith- standing his present mistake ; for that he himself was na- turally inclined to those particular vices which the physiog- nomist had discovered in his countenance, but that he had conquered the strong dispositions he was born with, by the dictates of philosophy. "We are indeed told by an ancient author, that Socrates very much resembled Silenus in his face ; which we find to have been very rightly observed from the statues and busts of both that are still extant ; as well as on several antique seals and precious stones, which are frequently enough to be met with in the cabinets of the curious. But, however ob- servations of this nature may sometimes hold, a wise man should be particularly cautious how he gives credit to a man's outward appearance. It is an irreparable injustice we are guilty of towards one another, when we are prejudiced by the looks and features of those whom we do not know. How often do we conceive hatred against a person of worth ; or fancy a man to be proud and iU-natured by his aspect, whom we think we cannot esteem too much when we are acquaint- ed with his real character ! Dr. Moore, in his admirable ' System of Ethics, reckons this particular inclination to take a prejudice against a man for his ■ looks, among the smaller vices in morality, andj if I remember, gives it the name of a -Prosopolepsia. ISTo. 89. TTJESDAT, JUNE 12. — Petite hinc juvencsque senesque Finem animo certum, miserisque viatica canis. Cras hoc fiet. Idem eras fiet. Quid ? quasi magnum Nempe diem donas ; sed cum lux altera venit. Jam eras hestemum coiisumpsimus ; ecce aliud eras Egerit hos amios, et semper paulum erit ultra. Nam quamvis prope te, quamvis temone sub uno Vertentem sese frustra sectabere canthum. Pek. As my correspondents upon the subjects of love are very numerous, it is my design, if possible, to range them under ' Rightly so called, though now much neglected and almost forgotten. VOL. II. 2 D 402 Addison's ttoeks. several teads, and address myself to them at different times, The first branch of them, to whose service I shall dedicate this paper, are those that have to do with women of dilatory tempers, who are for spinning out the time of courtship to an immoderate length, without being able either to close with their lovers or to dismiss them. I have many letters by me filled with complaints against this sort of women. In one of them no less a man than a brother of the coiff tells me, that he began his suit Vicesimo nono Caroli Secundi, before he had been a twelvemonth at the Temple ; that he prosecuted it for many years after he was called to the bar ; that at present he is a serjeant-at-law ; and, notwithstanding he hoped that matters would have been long since brought to an issue, the fair one demurs. I am so well pleased with this gentleman's phrase, that I shall distinguish this sect of women by the title of Demurrers. I find by another letter, from one that calls himself Thyrsis, that his mistress has been demurring above these seven years. But among fill my plaintiffs of this nature, I most pity the unfortunate Philaii- der, a man of a constant passion and plentiful fortune, who sets forth, that the timorous and irresolute Sylvia has demur- red till she is past chUd-bearing. Strephon appears by his letter to be a very choleric lover, and irrevocably smitten with one that demurs out of self-interest. He tells me with great passion, that she has bubbled him out of his youth; that she drilled him on to five-and-fiffcy ; and that he verily believes she will drop him in his old age if she can fijid her account in another. I shall conclude this narrative with a letter from honest Sam. HopeweU, a very pleasant fellow, who it seems has at last married a demurrer : I must only premise, that Sam, who is a very good bottle companion, has been the diversion of his friends, upon account of his passion, ever since the year one thousand six hundred and eighty-one. i " Deab Sih, Ton know very well my passion for Mrs. Martha, and what a dance she has led me : she took me out at the age of two-and-twenty, and dodged with me above thirty years. I have loved her till she is grovm as grey as a cat, and am with much ado become the master of her person, such as it is at present. She is, however, in my eye, a very charming old woman. We often lament that we did not marry sooner, but JJO. 89. THE SPEOTATOn. 403 slie has nobody to blame for it but berself. Tou know very well that she would never think of me whilst she had a tooth in her head. I have put the date of my passion, (Anno Amoris trigesimo prima,) instead of a posie, on my weddingh' ring. I expect you should send me a congratulatory letter ; or, if you please, an epithalamium, upon this occasion. " Mrs. Martha's and yours eternally, Sam. Hopewell." In order to banish an evil out of the world, that does not only produce great uneasiness to private persons, but has also a very bad influence on the public, I shall endeavour to show the folly of demurring, from two or three reflections, which I earnestly recommend to the thoughts of my fair readers. First of all, I would have them seriously think on the short- ness of their time. Life is not long enough for a coquette to play all her tricks in. A timorous woman drops into her grave before she has done deliberating. "Were the age of man the same that it was before the flood, a lady might sa- crifice half a century to a scruple, and be two or three ages in demurring. Had she nine hundred years good, she might hold out to the conversion of the Jews before she thought fit to be prevailed upon. But, alas ! she ought to play her part in haste, when she considers that she is suddenly to quit the stage, and make room for others. In the second place, I would desire my female readers to consider, that as the term of life is short, that of beauty is much shorter. The finest skin wrinkles in a few years, and loses the strength of its colouring so soon, that we have scarce time to admire it. I might embellish this subject with roses and rainbows, and several other ingenious conceits, which I may possibly reserve for another opportunity. There is a third consideration, which I would likewise re- commend to a demurrer, and that is, the great danger of her falling in love when she is about threescore, if she cannot satisfy her doubts and scruples before that time. There is a kind of latter spring, that sometimes gets into the blood of an old woman, and turns her into a very odd sort of an animal. I would therefore have the demurrer consider what a strange figure she will make, if she chances to get over aU difficulties, and comes to a final resolution, in that unseasonable part of her life. 2 o 2 404 Addison's woeks. I Would not, however, he understood by anything I have here said, to discourage that natural modesty in the sex, which renders a retreat from the first approaches of a lover both fashionable and graceful ; all that I intend is, to advise them, when they are prompted by reason and inclination, to demur only out of form, and so far as decency requires. A virtuous woman should reject the first oifer of marriage, as a good man does that of a bishopric ; but I would advise neither the one nor the other to persist in refusing what they secretly approve. I would in this particular propose the example of Eve to all her daughters, as Milton has represented her in the following passage, which I cannot forbear transcribing entire, though only the twelve last Unes are to my present purpose. The lib he formed and fashioned with his hands ; Under his forming hands a creature grew, Manlike, but different sex, so lovely fair, That what seemed fair in all the world seemed now Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained, And in her looks, which from that time infused Sweetness into my heart unfelt before. And into all things from her air inspired The spirit of love and amorous delight. She disappeared, and left me dark. I waked To find her_, or for ever to deplore Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure : When out of hope, behold her, not far off. Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned With what all earth or heaven could bestow To make her amiable. On she came, Led by her heavenly Maker, though unseen, And guided by his voice, nor uninformed Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites : Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye. In every gesture dignity and love. I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud : This turn hath made amends ; thou hast fulfilled Thy words. Creator, bounteous and benign ! Giver of all things fair, but fairest this Of all thy gifts ; nor enviest. I now see Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself She heard me thus, and though divinely brought, Yet innocence and virgin modesty, Her virtue and the conscience of her worth. That would be wooed, and not unsought be woa. Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired The more desirable ; or, to say all, Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought, Wrought in her so, Uiat seeing me she tunied : Uo. 90. THE SPECTATOE. 403 I followed her : she what was honour knew, And with obsequious majesty approved My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower I led her blushing like the mom — No. 90. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13. — Magnus sine viribus ignis Incassum furit — Vikg. Theke is not, in my opinion, a consideration more effectual to extinguish inordinate desires in the soul of man, than the notions of Plato and his followers upon that suhject. They teU us, that every passion which has heen contracted hy the soul during her residence in the body, remains with her in a separate state ; and that the soul in the body, or out of the body, differs no more than the man does from himself when he is in his house, or in open air. When, therefore, the ob- scene passions in particular have once taken root, and spread themselves in the soul, they cleave to her inseparably, and remain in her for ever, after the body is cast off and thrown aside. As an argument to confirm this their doctrine, they observe, that a lewd youth, who goes on in a continued course of voluptuousness, advances by degrees into a libidinous old man ; and that the passion survives in the mind when it is al- together dead in the body ; nay, that the desire grows more violent, and (Uke all other habits) gathers strength by age, at the same time that it has no power of executing its own pur- poses. If, say they, the soul is the most subject to these pas- sions at a time when she has the least instigation from the body, we may well suppose she wiU still retain them when she is entirely divested of it. The very substance of the soul is festered with them ; the gangrene is gone too far to be ever cured ; the inflammation wiU rage to aU eternity. In this, therefore, (say the Platonists,) consists the pun- ishment of a voluptuous man after death : he is tormented with desires which it is impossible for him to gratify, solicited by a passion that has neither objects nor organs adapted to it : he lives in a state of invincible desire and impotence, and always bums in the pursuit of what he always despairs to possess. It is for this reason (says Plato) that the souls of the dead appear frequently in cemeteries, and hover about the places where their bodies are bxu-ied, as still hankering 406 Addison's ■works. after their old brutal pleasures, and desiring again to enter tlie body that gave them an opportunity of fulfilling them. Some of our most eminent divines have made use of this Platonic notion, so far as it regards the subsistence of our passions after death, v?ith great beauty and strength of rea- son. Plato, indeed, carries his thought very far, when he grafts upon it his opinion of ghosts appearing in places of burial. Though, I must confess, if one did believe that the departed souls of men and women wandered up and down these lower regions, and entertained themselves with the sight of their species, one could not devise a more proper hell for an impure spirit than that which Plato has touched uponi The ancients seem to have drawn such a state of torments in the description of Tantalus, who was punished with the rage of an eternal thirst, and set up to the chin in water^ that fled from his lips whenever he attempted to drink it. Virgil, who has cast the whole system of Platonic philoso- phy, so far as it relates to the soul of man, into beautiful allegories, in the sixth book of his Mneii, gives us the pun- ishment of a voluptuary after death, not unlike that which we are here speaking of. — Lncent genialibus altis Aurea fulcra toris, epulaeque ante ora paratse Eegifico luxu ; furianim maxima juxta Accubat, et manibus prohibet contingere mensas ; Exurgitque facem attoUens, atque intonat ore. They lie below on golden beds displayed. And genial feasts ■with regal pomp are made. The queen of furies by their side is set, And snatches from their mouths the untasted meat; Which if they touch, her hissing snakes she rears, Tossing her torch, and thundering in their ears. Dryden. That I may a little alleviate the severity of this my specu- lation, (which otherwise may lose me several of my polite readers,) I shall translate a story that has been quoted upon another occasion by one of the most learned men of the pre- sent age, as I find it in the original. The reader will see it is not foreign to my present subject, and I dare say will think it a lively representation of a person lying under the torments of such a kind of tantalism, or Platonic hell, as that which we have now under consideration. Monsieur Pontignan, speaking of a love-adventure that hajwened to him in the country, gives the following account of^ it. No. 90. THE SPECTATOB. 407 " "WTien I was in tte country last summer, I W^as often iu company witli a couple of charming women, who had all the wit and beauty one could desire iu female companions, with a dash of coquetry, that from time to time gave me a great many agreeable torments. I was, after my way, in love with both of them, and had such frequent opportunities of plead- ing my passion to them when they were asunder, that I had reason to hope for particular favours from each of them. As I was walking one evening in my chamber with nothing about me but my night-gown, they both came iuto my room, and told me they had a very pleasant trick to put upon a gentleman that was ia the same house, provided I would bear a part ia it. Upon this they told me such a plausible story, that I laughed at their contrivance, and agreed to do whatever they should require of me. They immediately be- gan to swaddle me up in my night-gown with long pieces of Gnen, which they folded about me till they had wrapt me in. above an hundred yards of swathe : my arms were pressed to my sides, and my legs closed together by so many wrappers one over another, that I looked like an Egyptian mummy. As I stood bolt upright upon one end in this antique figure, one of the ladies burst out a laughing. ' And now, Pontig- nan, (says she,) we intend to perform the promise that we find you have extorted from each of us. Tou have often asked the favour of us, and I dare say you are a better bred cavalier than to refuse to go to bed to ladies that desire it of you.' After having stood a fit of laughter, I begged them to uncase me, and do with me what they pleased. ' No, no, (say they,) we like you very well as you are ; ' and upon that ordered me to be carried to one of their houses, and put to bed in all my swaddles. The room was lighted up on aU sides ; and I' was laid very decently between a pair of sheets, with my head (which was, indeed, the only part I could move) upon a very high piUow: this was no sooner done, but my two female friends came into bed to me in their finest night-clothes. You may easily guess at the condition of a man that saw a couple of the most beautiful women in the world undrest and abed with him, without being able to stir hand or foot. I begged them to release me, and strug- gled all I could to get loose, which I did with so much vio- lence, that about midnight they both leaped out of the bed, crying out they were undone. But seeing me safe, they took 408 Addison's woeks. tHeir posts again, and renewed their raillery. Fiading all my prayers and endeavours were lost, I composed myself as well as I could ; and told them, that if they would not un- bind me, I would fall asleep between them, and by that means disgrace them for ever. But, alas ! this was impossible ; could I have been disposed to it, they would have prevented me by several little ill-natured caresses and endearments which they bestowed upon me. As much devoted as I am to womankind, I would not pass such another night to be master of the whole sex. My reader will doubtless be curi- ous to know what became of me the next morning : why, truly, my bed-fellows left me about an hour before day, and told me if I would be good, and lie still, they would send somebody to take me up as soon as it was time for me to rise. Accordingly about nine o'clock in the morning an old woman came to unswathe me. I bore all this very patiently, being resolved to take my revenge of my tormentors, and to keep no measures with them as soon as I was at liberty ; but upon asking my old woman what was become of the two ladies, she told me she believed they were by that time within sight of Paris, for that they went away in a coach and six before five- a-clock in the morning." No. 92. FRIDAY, JUNE 15. — ConvivjE prope dissentire videntur, Poscentes vario multum diversa palato ; Quid dem ? quid noii dem ? — Hob. LooEiNG- over the late packets of letters which have been sent to me, I found the following one. " Me. Spectator, Tour paper is a part of my tea-equipage ; and my servant knows my humour so well, that calling for my break- fast this morning (it being past my usual hour) she answer- ed, the Spectatoe was not yet come in ; but that the tea-ket- tle boiled, and she expected it every moment. Having thus in part signified to you the esteem and veneration which I have for you, I must put you in mind of the catalogue of books which you have promised to recommend to our sex ; for I have deferred furnishing my closet with autliors, tUl I No. 92. THE BPECTATOE. 409 receive your advice in this particular, being your daily disci- ple and humble servant, " Leonoea." In answer to my fair disciple, whom I am very proud of, I must acquaint her, and the rest of my readers, that since I have called out for help in my catalogue of a lady's library, I have received many letters upon that head, some of which I shall give an account of. In the first class I shall take notice of those which come to me from eminent booksellers, who every one of them men- tion with respect the authors they have printed, and conse- quently have an eye to their own advantage more than to that of the ladies. One tells me, that he thinks it abso- lutely necessary for women to have true notions of right and equity, and that therefore they cannot peruse a better book than Dalton's Country Justice : another thinks they cannot be without The Complete Jockey. A third, observing the curiosity and desire of prying into secrets, which he teUs me is natural to the fair sex, is of opinion this female inclination, if well directed, might turn very much to their advantage, and therefore recommends to me Mr. Mode upon the Revela- tions.' A fourth lays it down as an unquestioned truth, that a lady cannot be thoroughly accomplished who has not read The secret Treaties and Negotiations of the Marshal D'Es- trades. Mr. Jacob Tonson, jun., is of opinion, that Bayle's •Dictionary might be of very great use to the ladies, in order to make them general scholars. Another, whose name I have forgotten, thinks it highly proper that every woman with child should read Mr. Wall's History of Irdant Baptism ; as another is very importunate with me to recommend to all my female readers The finishing Stroke ; being a Yindication of the Patriarchal Scheme, &c. In the second class I shall mention books which are re- commended by husbands, if I may believe the writers of them. Whether or no they are real husbands or personated ones I cannot tell, but the books they recommend are as fol- lows. A Paraphrase on the History of Susanna. Rules to keep Lent. The Christian's Overthrow prevented. A Dis- ' This gaiety on Mr. Mede's book may be forgiven to Mr. Addison, who was not likely to comprehend the subject, or the merit of it, when ■o many of our best divines did not. 410 Addison's woeks. Buasive from tlie Play-liouse. The Virtues of Canipliire, with Directions to make Camphire Tea. The Pleasures of a Country Life. The G-ovemment of the Tongue. A letter dated from Cheapside desires me that I would advise all young wives to make themselves mistresses of "Wingate's Arithmetic, and concludes with a postscript, that he hopes I will not forget The Countess of Kent's Eeceipts. I may reckon the ladies themselves as a third class among these my correspondents and privy-counsellors. In a letter from one of them, I am advised to place Pharamond at the head of my catalogue, and, if I thini proper, to give the second place to Cassandra. Coquetilla tegs me not to think of nailing women upon their knees with manuals of devotion, nor of scorching their faces with books of housewifery. Flo- rella desires to know if there are any hooks written againat prudes, and entreats me, if there are, to give them a place in my library. Plays of all sorts have their several advocates : All for Love is mentioned in above fifteen letters ; Sophonisba, or Hannibal's Overthrow, in a dozen ; the Innocent Adultery- is likevrise highly approved of; Mithridates King of Pontus has many friends ; Alexander the Great and Aurenzebe have the same number of voices : but Theodosius, or the Torce of Love, carries it from all the rest. I should, in the last place, mention such books as have been proposed by men of learning, and those who appear competent judges of this matter, and must here take occasion to thank A B, whoever it is that conceals himself under those two letters, for his advice upon this subject : but as I find the work I have undertaken to be very difficult, I shall defer the executing of it till I am further acquainted with the thoughts of my judicious contemporaries, and have time to examine the several books they offer to me ; being resolved, in an affair of this moment, to proceed with the greatest caution. In the mean while, as I have taken the ladies under my particular care, I shall make it my business to fibid out iu the best authors, ancient and modern, such passages as maj be for their use, and endeavour to accommodate them as well as I can to their taste ; not questioning but the valuable part of the sex will easily pardon me, if from time to time ] laugh at those little vanities and follies which appear in the behaviour of some of them, and which are more proper foi No. 93. THE SPECTATOE. 411 ridicule than a serious censure. Most books bein'g calculated for male readers, and generally written with an eye to men of learning, makes a work of this nature the more necessary ; besides, I am the more encouraged, because I flatter myself that I see the sex daily improving by these my speculations. My fair readers are already deeper scholars than the beaus : I could name some of them who talk much better than several gentlemen that make a figure at Will's ; and as I frequently receive letters from the fine ladies and pretty fellows, I can- not but observe, that the former are superior to the others, not only in the sense, but in the spelling. This cannot but have a good effect upon the female world, and keep them from being charmed by those empty coxcombs that have hitherto been admired among the women, though laughed at among the men. I am credibly informed that Tom Tattle passes for an im- pertinent fellow, that "Will. Trippet begins to be smoked, and that Prank Smoothly himself is within a month of a cox- comb, in case I think fit to continue this paper. For my part, as it is my business in some measure to detect such as would lead astray weak minds by their fals^ pretences to wit and judgment, humour and gallantry, I shall not fail to lend the best lights I am able to the fair sex for the continuation of these discoveries. No. 93. SATIJEDAT, JUNE 16. — Spatio brevi Spem loQgam reseces : dum loquimur, fugerit invida .^tas : carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero. HoK. "We all of us complain of the shortness of time, saith Seneca, and yet have much more than we know what to do with. " Our lives (says he) are spent either in doing nothing at all, or in doing nothing to the purpose, or in doing nothing that we ought to do : we are always complaining our days are few, and acting as though there would be no end of them." That noble philosopher has described our inconsistency with ourselves in this particular, by all those various turns of ex- pression and thought wHich are peculiar to his writings. I often consider mankind as whoUy inconsistent with it- self in a point that bears some affinity to the former. Though we seem grieved at the shortness of Hfe in general, we arc 412 Addison's ■woeks. wiBhing every penoQ of it at an end. The minor longs to be at age, then to be a man of business, then to make up an estate, then to arrive at honours, then to. retire. Thus, al- though the whole life is allowed, by every one to be short, the several divisions of it appear long and tedious. "We are for lengthening our span in general, but would faia con. tract the parts of which it is composed. The usurer would be very well satisfied to have all the time annihilated that lies between the present moment and next quarter-day. The politician would be contented to lose three years in his life, could he place things in the posture which he fancies they vsdll stand in after such a revolution of time. The lover would be glad to strike out of his existence all the moments that are to pass away before the happy meeting. Thus, as fast as our time runs, we should be very glad in most parts of our lives that it ran much faster than it does. Several hours of the day hang upon onr hands ; nay, we vrish away whole years ; and travel through time as through a country filled with many wild and empty wastes, which we would fain hurry over, that we may arrive at those several little settlements or imaginary poiats of rest which are dispersed up and down in it. If we divide the life of most men into twenty parts, we shall find that at least nineteen of them are mere gaps and chasms, which are neither filled with pleasure nor business. .1 do not, however, include in this calculation the life of those men who are in a perpetual hurry of afiairs, but of those only who are not always engaged iu scenes of action ; and I hope I shall not do an unacceptable piece of service to these persons, if I point out to them certain methods for the filling up of their empty spaces of life. The methods I shall pro- pose to them are as foUow. The first is the exercise of virtue, in the most general ac- ceptation of the word. That particular scheme which com- prehends the social virtues, may give employment to the most industrious temper, and find a man in business more than the most active station of life. To advise the ignorant, relieve the needy, comfort the afflicted, are duties that fall in our way almost every day in our lives. A man has fre- quent opportunities of mitigating the fierceness of a party ; of doing justice to the character of a deserving man; ol softening the envious, quieting the angry, and rectifying the No. 93. THE SPECTATOE. 413 prejudiced ; which are all of them employments suited to a reasonable nature, and bring great satisfaction to the person who can busy himself in them with discretion. There is another kind of virtue, that may find employment for those retired hours in which we are altogether left to ourselves, and destitute of company and conversation ; I mean that intercourse and communication which every rea- sonable creature ought to maintain with the great Autlior of his being. The man who lives under an habitual sense of the Divine presence, keeps up a perpetual cheerfulness of temper, and enjoys every moment the satisfaction of think- ing himself in company with his dearest and best of friends.' The time never lies heavy upon him : it is impossible for him to be alone. His thoughts and passions are the most busied at such hours, when those of other men are the most unactive : he no sooner steps out of the world, but his heart burns with devotion, swells with hope, and triumphs in the consciousness of that Presence which everywhere surrounds him ; or, on the contrary, pours out its fears, its sorrows, its apprehensions, to the great Supporter of its existence. I have here only considered the necessity of a man's being virtuous, that he may have something to do ; but if we con* sider further, that the exercise of virtue is not only an amusement for the time it lasts, but that its influence ex- tends to those parts of our existence which lie beyond the grave, and that our whole eternity is to take its colour from those hours which we here employ in virtue or in vice, the argument redoubles upon us for putting iu practice this me- thod of passing away our time. When a man has but a little stock to improve, and has opportunities of turning it all to good account, what shall we think of him if he suffers nineteen parts of it to lie dead, and perhaps employs even the twentieth to his ruin or dis- advantage? But because the mind cannot be always in its fervours, nor strained up to a pitch of virtue, it is necessary to find out proper employments for it in its relaxations. The next method, therefore, that I would propose to fill up our time, should be useful and innocent diversions. I must confess I think it is below reasonable creatures to be ' With his dearest and best of friends.'] Inaccurate. It should either be, " with the dearest and best of friends ; " or " with his dearest and best friend." 414 ADDISOlf'a WOEKS. altogether conversant in such diversions as are merely inno- cent, and have nothing else to recommend them but that there is no hurt in them. Whether any kind of gamiag has even thus much to say for itself, I shall not determine ; hut I think it is very wonderful to see persons of the best sense passing away a dozen hours together in shuffling and dividing a pack of cards, with no other conversation but what is made up of a few game phrases, and no other ideas but those oi black or red spots ranged together in different figures. Would not a man laugh to hear any one of this species com- plaining that life is short ? The stage might be made a perpetual source of the most noble and useful entertainments, were it under proper regu- lations. But the mind never unbends itself so agreeably as in the conversation of a weR-chosen friend. There is indeed no blessing of life thai is any way comparable to the enjoyment of a discreet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears and improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and knowledge, animates virtue and good resolu- tions, soothes and allays the passions, and finds employment for most of the vacant hours of life. Next to such an intimacy with a particular person, one would endeavour after a more general conversation with such as are able to entertain and improve those with whom they converse, which are qualifications that seldom go asunder. There are many other useful amusements of life, which one would endeavour to multiply, that one might on all oc- casions have recourse to something, rather than suffer the mind to lie idle, or run adrift with any passion that chances to rise in it. A man that has a taste of music, painting, or architecture is like one that has another sense, when compared with sucl as have no relish of those arts. The florist, the planter, th( gardener, the husbandman, when they are only as accom' plishments to the man of fortune, are great reliefs to a couU' try life, and many ways useful to those who are possessed a them. But of all the diversions of life, there is none so prope: to fill up its empty spaces as the reading of useful and en tertaining authors. But this I shall only touch upon, be cause it in some measure interferes with the third method No. 94. THE SPECTATOB. 415 which I shall propose in another paper, for the employment of our dead, unactive hours, and which I shaU only mention in general to be, the pursuit of knowledge. No. 94. MONDAY, JUNE 18. . — Hoc est Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui. Mart. The last method which I proposed in my Saturday's paper, for iiUing up those empty spaces of life which are so tedious and burthensome to idle people, is the employing ourselves in the pursuit of knowledge. I remember Mr. Boyle, speak- ing of a certain miiieral, tells us, that a man may consume his whole life in the study of it, without arriving at the knowledge of all its qualities. The truth of it is, there is not a single science, or any branch of it, that might not fiimish a man with business for life, though it were much longer than it is. I shall not here engage on those beaten subjects of the usefulness of knowledge, nor of the pleasure and perfection it gives the mind, nor on the methods of attaining it, nor re- commend any particular branch of it, all which have been the topics of many other writers ; but shall indulge myself in a speculation that is more uncommon, and may therefore, perhaps, be more entertaining. I have before shown how the unemployed parts of life ap- pear long and tedious ; and shall here endeavour to show now those parts of life which are exercised in study, reading, and the pursuits of knowledge, are long, but not tedious, and by that means discover a method of lengthening our Eves, and at the same time of turning all the parts of them to our advantage. Mr. liocke observes, " That we get the idea of time, or dura- tion, by reflecting on that train of ideas which succeed one another in our minds : that for this reason, when we sleep soundly, without dreaming, we have no perception of time, or the length of it, whilst we sleep ; and that the moment wherein we leave off to think, till the moment we begin to think again, seem to have no distance." To which the au- thor adds, " And so I doubt not but it would be to a waking man, if it were possible for him to keep only one idea in Lis 416 Addison's woeks. mind, without variation, and the succession of others : and w see, that one who fixes his thoughts very intently on one thinj so as to take but little notice of the succession of ideas tha pass in his mind whilst he is taken up with that earnest cor templation, lets slip out of his account a good part of tha duration, and thinks that time shorter than it is." "We iiiight carry this thought further, and consider a maj as, on one side, shortening his time by thinking on nothing or but a few things ; so, on the other, as lengthening it, h; employing his thoughts on many subjects, or by entertaiq ing a quick and constant succession of ideas. According]; Monsieur Mallebranche, in his Inquiry after Truth, (whicl was published several years before Mr. Locke's Essay oi Human Understanding,) tells us, that it is possible som( creatures may think half an hour as long as we do a thou sand years ; or look upon that space of duration which wi call a minute, as an hour, a week, a month, or an whole age This notion of Monsieur Mallebranche is capable of 8om( little explanation from what I have quoted out of Mr. Locke for if our notion of time is produced by our reflecting on thi succession of ideas in our mind, and this succession may bi infinitely accelerated or retarded, it wiU follow, that differem beings may have diiferent notions of the same parts of dura tion, according as their ideas, which we suppose are equaUi distinct in each of them, foUow one another in a greater oj less degree of rapidity. There is a famous passage in the Alcoran, which looks a if Mahomet had been possessed of the notion we are nov speaking of. It is there said, that the angel Gabriel tool Mahomet out of his bed one morning to give him a sigh of all things in the seven heavens, in paradise, and in heU which the prophet took a distinct view of :i and after havinj ' Which the prophet took a distinct view o/.] This way of throwing th preposition to the end of a sentence, is among the peculiarities of Mi Addison's manner ; and was derived from his nice ear. The secret de serves to be explained. The English tongue is naturally grave and ma jestic. The rhythm corresponds to the genius of it ; and runs, almos whether we will or no, into iambics. But the continuity of this solem measure has an ill effect where the subject is not of moment. Mr. Ad dison's delicate ear made him sensible of this defect in the rhythm of ou language, and suggested to him tlie proper cure for it ; which was, t break the continued iambic measure, especially at the end of a sentence where the weight of it would be most felt, by a preposition, or other shoi word, of no emphasis in the sense, and without accent, thrown into tlui JfO. 94. THE SPECTATOR 417 held ninety thousand conferences with God, was 'brouglit back again to his bed. All this, says the Alcoran, was trans- acted in so small a space of time, that Mahomet at his return found his bed still warm, and took up an earthen pitcher (which was thrown down at the very instant that the angel Gabriel carried him away) before the water was all spilt. _ There is a very pretty story in the Turkish Tales which relates to this passage of that famous impostor, and bears some affinity to the subject we are now upon. A sultan of Egypt, who was an infidel, used to laugh at this circumstance in Mahomet's life, as what was altogether impossible and absurd ; but conversing one day with a great doctor in the law, who had the gift of working miracles, the doctor told him he would quickly convince him of the truth of this passage in the history of Mahomet, if he would con- sent to do what he should desire of him. Upon this the sultan was directed to place himself by an huge tub of water, which he did accordingly ; and as he stood by the tub amidst a circle of his great men, the holy man bid him plunge his head into the water, and draw it up again ; the king accord- ingly thrust his head into the water, and at the same -time found himself at the foot of a mountain on a sea-shore. The king immediately began to rage against his doctor for this, piece of treachery and vritchcrafb ; but at length, knowing it part ; whence a trochee, being introduced into the place of an iambus, would give that air of negligence, and what the French call "legeret^," which, in a work of gaiety or elegance, is found so taking. For instance, had the author said, " of which the prophSt took a distinct view " — the metre had been wholly iambic, or, what is worse, would have been loaded with a spondee in the last foot, and the accent must have fallen, with so- lemnity, on the word " view." But by reserving the preposition " of" to the end of the sentence, he gains this advantage, that " view of" be- comes a trochee ; and the ear is not only relieved by the variety, but escapes the " ictus " of a too important close. For the same reason, he frequently terminates a sentence, or a paragraph, by such unpretending phrases, as, of it — of him— to her— from them, &c. ; which have the same effect on the ear, (the accent, here, falling on the preposition,^ and give a careless air to the rhythm, exactly suited to the subject and genius of these littl« essays : though the common reader, who does not enter into the beauty of this contrivance, is ready to censure the author, as wanting nerves and force. In ihe formal style, it is evident, this liberty should be sparingly used . but in conversation, in letters, in narratives, and, universally, in all the lighter forms of composition, the Addisonian termination, as we may call it, has an extreme grace. VOL. II. 2 B 418 abdison's woeks. was in vain to be augry, lie set himself to think on proper methods for getting a livelihood in. this strange country : ac- cordingly he applied himself to some people whom he saw at work in a neighbouring wood ; these people conducted him to a town that stood at a little distance from the wood, where, after some adventures, he married a woman of great beauty and fortune. He lived with this woman so long that he had by her seven sons and seven daughters : he was afterwards reduced to great want, and forced to think of plying in the streets as a porter for his livelihood. One day as he was walking alone by the sea-side, being seized with many melan- choly reflections upon his former and his present state of hfe, which had raised a fit of devotion in him, he threw off his clothes with a design to wash himself, according to the ciis- tom of the Mahometans, before he said his prayers. After his first plunge into the sea, he no sooner raised his head above the water but he found himself standing by the side of the tub, with the great men of his court about him, and the holy man at his. side. He immediately upbraided his teacher for having %ent him on such a course of adven- tures, and betrayed him into so long a state of misery and servitude ; but was wonderfully surprised when he heard that the state he talked of was only a dream and delusion ; that he had not stirred from the place where he then stood ; and that he had only dipped his head into the water, and imme- diately taken it out again. The Mahometan doctor took this occasion of instructing the sultan, that nothing was impossible with G-od : and that He, vrith whom a thousand years are but as one day, can, if he pleases, make a single day, nay, a single moment, appear to any of his creatures as a thousand years. I shall leave my reader to compare these eastern fables with the notions of those two great philosophers whom I havft quoted in this paper ; and shaU. only, by way of apphcation, desire him to consider how we may extend life beyond its natural dimensions, by applying ourselves diligently to the pursuits of knowledge. The hours of a wise man are lengthened by his ideas, as those of a fool are by his passions : the time of the one is long, because he does not know what to do with it ; so ia that of the other, because he distinguishes every moment of it with useful or amusing thoughts : or, in other words, be- UO. 98. THE SPECTATOE. 419 cause the one is always wisting it away, and the other always enJOTing it. How different is the view of past life, in the man who is grown old ia knowledge and wisdom, from that of him who is grown old in ignorance and folly ! The latter is like the owner of a barren country, that iiUs his eye with the prospect of naked hiUs and plains, which produce nothing either profit- able or ornamental ; the other beholds a beautiftd and spaci- . ous landscape, divided iato delightful gardens, green meadows, finiitful fields ; and can scarce cast his eye on a single spot of his possessions that is not covered with some beautiful ^ plant or flower.^ No. 98. PEIDAT, JUNE 22. — Tanta est quserendi cura decoris. Juv. Theee is not so variable a thing in nature as a lady's head-dress : within my own memory I have known it rise and fall above thirty degrees. About ten years ago it shot up to a very great height, insomuch that the female part of our species were much taUer than the men. The women were of such an enormous stature, that " we appeared as grasshoppers before them :" at present the whole sex is in a manner dwarfed and shrunk into a race of beauties that seems almost another species. I remember several ladies, who were once veij near seven foot high, that at present want some inches of five : how they came to be thus curtailed I cannot learn ; whether the whole sex be at present under any penance which we know nothing of, or whether they have cast their head-dresses in order to surprise us with something iq that kind which shall be entirely new ; or ' Tlie plain good sense ■which runs through the former of these two papers, ore the employment of time, and the ingenuity of the laat, may satisfy us that the author possessed, in an eminent degree, the two great quali- ties of a popular moralist — " — simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitae." It should further be observed, how exactly the style of these papers cor- responds to the subject of them ; simple, pure, perspicuous, in the highest degree ; such, in a word, as shows the writer to be in earnest, and not, like Seneca, solicitous to illustrate himself, rather than the truths he de- livers, (which are best seen by their own light,) in the false glare of an iunbitious rhetoric. 2 E 2 •120 Addison's woeks. whether some of the tallest of the sex, "being too cunning fo the rest, have contrived this method to make themselves ap pear sizeable, is still a secret ; though I find most are o opinion, they are at present like trees new lopped and pruned that will certainly sprout up and flourish with greater headi than before. For my own part, as I do not love to be ia suited by women who are taller than myself, I admire the sej much more in their present humiliation, which has reducet them to their natural dimensions, than when they had ex tended their persons, and lengthened themselves out into for midahle and gigantic figures. I am not for adding to the beaU' tiful edifice of nature, nor for raising any whimsical super structure upon her plans : I must, therefore, repeat it, that ] am highly pleased with the coifiure now in fashion, and think i1 shows the good sense which at presentyerymuchreigns among the valuable part of the sex. One may observe, that women in all ages have taken more pains than men to adorn the out- side of their heads ; and, indeed, I very much admire, that those female architects, who raise such wonderful structures out of ribbons, lace, and wire, have not been recorded for theii respective inventions. It is certaia there have been as many orders ia these kiads of building, as in those which have been made of marble : sometimes they rise in the shape of a pyra- mid, sometimes like a tower, and sometimes like a steeple. In Juvenal's time the building grew by several orders and stories, as he has very humorously described it. Tot premit ordinibus, tot adhuc compagibus altum .iEdificat caput : Andromachen a fronte videbis; Post minor est : aliam credas. Juv. But I do not remember, ia any part of my reading, that the head-dress aspired to so great an extravagance as ia the fourteenth century ; when it was built up in a couple of cones or spires, which stood so excessively high on each side of the head, that a woman who was but a Pigmy without her head-dress, appeared like a Colossus upon putting it on. Monsieur Paradin says, " That these old-fashioned fontangee rose an ell above the head; that they were pointed like steeples, and had long loose pieces of crape fastened to the tops of them, which were curiously fringed, and hung down their backs like streamers." The women might possibly have carried this Grothic build- jiig much higher, had not a famous monk, Thomas Conneete No. 18. THE SPECTATOB. 421 by name, attacked it with great zeal and resolution. This holy man travelled from place to place to preach down this monstrous commode ; and succeeded so well in it, that as the magicians sacriiiced their hooks to the flames upon the preafihirig of an apostle, many of the women threw down their head-dresses in the middle of his sermon, and made a honflre of them within sight of the pulpit. He was so re- nowned, as well for the sanctity of his hfe as his manner of preaching, that he had often a congregation of twenty thou- sand people ; the men placing themselves on the one side of his pulpit, and the women on the other, that appeared (to ' use the similitude of an ingenious writer) like a forest of cedars with their heads reaching to the clouds. He so warmed and animated the people against this monstrous or- nament, that it lay under a kind of persecution ; and when- ever it appeared in public, was pelted down hy the rabble, who flung stones at the persons that wore it. But notwithstand- ing this prodigy vanished while the preacher was among them, it began to appear again some months after his depar- ture ; or, to tell it in Monsieur Paradin's own words, " The women, that, hke snails in a Sight, had drawn in their horns, shot them out again as soon as the danger was over." This extravagance of the women's head-dresses in that age is taken notice of by Monsieur D ' Axgentre in his History of Bre- tagne, and by other historians as well as the person I have here quoted. It is usually observed, that a good reign is the only time for the making of laws against the exorbitance of power ; in the same manner, an excessive head-dress may be attacked the most efiectuaUy when the fashion is against it. I do, therefore, reccommend this paper to my female readers by way of prevention. I would desire the fair sex to consider how impossible it is for them to add anything that can be ornamental to what is already the master-piece of nature. The head has the most beautiful appearance, as well as the highest station, in a human figure. Nature has laid out aU her art in beauti- fying the face : she has touched it with vermilion, planted in it a double row of ivory, made it the seat of smiles and blushes, lighted it up and enlivened it with the brightness of '' To use the similitude of an ingenious writer.] An artful apology foi &e following hyperbolical similitude. 422 ADDISOy's WOEKS. the eyes, hung it on each side -with curio as organs of sense given it airs and graces that cannot be described, and sur rounded it with such a flowing shade of hair as sets all itsbeau ties in the most agreeable light ; iu short, she seems to hari designed the head as the cupola to the most glorious of hei works ; and when we load it with such a pile of supemumer ary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the human figure and foolishly contrive to call off the eye from great anc real beauties, to childish gew-gaws, ribbons, and bone-lace. No. 99. SATTJE.DAT, JIJNE 23. — Turpi secemis honestum. Hoh. The club, of which I have often declared myself a member were last night engaged in a discourse upon that whicl passes for the chief poiut of honour among men and women and started a great many hints upon the subject, which ] thought were entirely new. I shall, therefore, methodize the several reflections that arose upon this occasion, and pre- sent my reader with them for the speculation of this day ; after having premised, that if there is anything in this papei which seems to differ with any passage of last Thursday's the reader will consider this as the sentiments of the club, and the other as my own private thoughts, or rather those ol Pharamond. The great point of honour in men is courage, and in womei chastity. If a man loses his honour in one rencounter, it ii not impossible for him to regain it in another ; a slip in s woman's honour is irrecoverable. I can give no reason fo) fixing the point of honour to these two qualities, unless it b( that each sex sets the greatest value on the qualificatioi which renders them the most amiable in the eyes of the con trary sex. Had men chosen for themselves, without regarc to the opinions of the fair sex, I should believe the choia would have fallen on wisdom or virtue ; or had women deter mined their ovm point of honour, it is probable that wit o: good-nature would have carried it against chastity. Nothing recommends a man more to the female sex thai courage ; whether it be that they are pleased to see one wh( is a terror to others fall like a slave at their feet, or that thi; quality supplies their own principal defect, in guarding theii No. 99. THE SPEOTATOE. 423 from insults and avenging their quarrels, or that courage is a natural indication of a strong and sprightly constitution. On the other side, nothing makes a woman more esteemed by the opposite sex than chastity ; whether it be that we always prize those most who are hardest to come at, or that nothing besides chastity, with its collateral attendants, truth, fidelity, tod constancy, gives the man a property in the person he loves, and consequently endears her to him above aU things. I am very much pleased vrith a passage in the inscription ' on a monument erected in "Westminster Abbey to the late ■ Duke and Duchess of Newcastle : " Her name was Margaret Lucas, youngest sister to the Lord Lucas of Colchester : a noble family ; for all the brothers were valiant, and all the sisters virtuous. " hx books of chivalry, where the point of honour is strained to madness, the whole story runs on chastity and courage. The damsel is mounted on a white palfrey, as an emblem of her innocence ; and, to avoid scandal, must have a dwarf for her page. She is not to think of a man, till some misfor- tune has brought a knight-errant to her relief The knight falls in love ; and did not gratitude restrain her from murder- ing her deliverer, would die at her feet by her disdain. However, he must waste many years in the desert, before her virgin-heart can think of a surrender. The knight goes off, attacks everything he meets that is bigger and stronger than himself, seeks aU opportunities of being knocked on the head, and after seven years' rambling returns to his mistress, whose chastity has been attacked in the mean time by giants and tyrants, and undergone as many trials as her lover's valour. In Spain, where there are still great remains of this roman- tic humour, it is a transporting favour for a lady to cast an ftccidental glance on her lover from a window, though it be two or three stories high ; as it is usual for a lover to assert his passion for his mistress, in single combat with a mad bull. ■ The great violation of the point of honour from man to man, is giving the lie. One may teU another he whores, drinks, blasphemes, and it may pass unresented ; but to say he lies, though but in jest, is an affront that nothing but blood can expiate. The reason perhaps may be, because no other vice implies a want of courage so much as the making 424 ADDisoir's woeks. of a lie ; and, therefore, telling a man te lies, is toucliing him in the most sensible part of honour, and indirectly call- ing him a coward. I cannot omit under this head what Herodotus tells us of the ancient Persians, that, from the age of five years to twenty, they instruct their sons only in three things, to manage the horse, to make use of the bow, and tc speak truth. The placing the point of honour in this false kind ol courage, has given occasion to the very refuse of mankind, who have neither virtue nor common sense, to set up for men of honour. An English peer, who has not been long dead, used to teU a pleasant story of a Prench gentleman that visited him early one morning at Paris, and, after great professions of respect, let him know that he had it in his power to oblige him ; which in short amounted to this, that he believed he could tell his lordship the person's name who jostled him as he came out from the opera ; but, before he would proceed, he begged his lordship that he would not deny him the honour of making him his second. The English lord, to avoid being drawn into a very foolish affair, told him that he was under engagements for his two next duels to a couple ol particular friends. Upon which the gentleman immediately withdrew, hoping his lordship would not take it HR, if he meddled no fiirther in an affair from whence he himself was to receive no advantage. The beating down this false notion of honour, in so vain and lively a people as those of Erance, is deservedly looked upon as one of the most glorious parts of their present king's reign. It is pity but the punishment of these mischievous notions should have in it some particular circumstances o: shame and infamy ; that those who are slaves to them maj see, that instead of advancing their reputations, they leac them to ignominy and dishonour. " Death is not sufficient to deter men, who make it theii glory to despise it ; but if every one that fought a duel werf to stand in the piUory, it would quickly lessen the numbei of . these imaginary men of honour, and put an end to b( absurd a practice. When honour is a support to virtuous principles, and rum parallel with the laws of God and our country, it cannot b( too much cherished and encouraged ; but when the dictatei of honour are contrary to those of religion and equity, thei No. 101. THE SPECTA.TOB. 425 are the greatest depravations of human nature, by giving wrong ambitions and false ideas of what is good and laud- able ; and should, therefore, be exploded by all governments, and driven out as the bane and plague of human society. No. 101. TUESDAY, JUNE 26. Eomulus, et Liber pater, et cum Oastore Pollux, Post ingentia facta, deorum in templa recepti ; DuDi terras hominumque colunt genus, aspera bella Componunt, agros assignant, oppida condunt ; Ploravere suis non respondere favorem Speratum meritis ; — Hoe. CENSTjaB, says a late ingenious author, " is the tax a man pays to the public for being eminent." It is a folly for an eminent man to think of escaping it, and a weakness to be affected with it. All the illustrious persons of antiquity, and, indeed, of every age in the world, have passed through this iiery persecution. There is no defence against reproach, but obscurity ; it is a kind of concomitant to greatness, as satires and invectives were an essential part of a Eoman triumph. If men of eminence are exposed to censure on one hand, they are as much liable to flattery on the other. If they receive reproaches which are not due to them, they likewise receive praises which they do not, deserve. In a word, the maji in a high post is never regarded with an indifferent eye, but always considered as a fnend or an enemy. For this reason persons in great stations have seldom their true cha- racters drawn tiU several years after their deaths. Their personal friendships and enmities must cease, and the par- ties they were engaged in be at an end, before their faults or their virtues can have justice done them. When writers have the least opportunities of knowing the truth, they are in the best disposition to teL. it. It is, therefore, the privilege of posterity to adjust the characters of illustrious persons, and to set matters right be- tween those antagonists, who by their rivalry for greatness divided a whole age into factions. "We can now allow Caesar to be a great man, without derogating from Pompey ; and celebrate the virtues of Cato, without detracting from those of Caesar. Every one that has been long dead has a due pro- 426 ABDisoir's wobks. Eortion. of praise allotteil him, in which whilst he lived his ■iends were too profiise, and his enemies too sparing. According to Sir Isaac Newton's calculations, the last comet, that made its appearance ia 1680, imbibed so much heat by its approaches to the sun, that it would have been two thousand times hotter than red-hot iron, had it been a globe of that metal ; and that supposing it as big as the earth, and at the same distance from the sun, it would be fifty thousand years in cooling, before it recovered its natural temper. In the like manner, if an Englishman considers the great ferment into which our political world is thrown at present, and how intensely it is heated in all its parts, he cannot suppose that it mU. cool again in less than three hundred years. In such a tract of time it is possible that the heats of the present age may be extinguished, and our several classes of great men represented under their proper characters. Some eminent historian may then probably arise, that will not write recentibus odiis (as Tacitus expresses it) with the passions and prejudices of a contemporary author, but make an impartial distribution of fame among the great men of the present age. I cannot forbear entertaining myself very often with the idea of such an imaginary historian describing the reign of Anne the first, and introducing it with a preface to his reader ; that he is now entering upon the most shining part of the English story. The great rivals in fame will be then distinguished according to their respective merits, and shine in their proper points of light. Such an one, (says the his- torian,) though variously represented by the writers of his own age, appears to have been a man of more than ordinary abilities, great application, and uncommon integrity; nor was such an one (though of an opposite party and interest) inferior to him in any of these respects. The several anta- gonists who now endeavour to depreciate one another, and ■ are celebrated or traduced by different parties, wiU then have the same body of admirers, and appear illustrious in the opinion of the whole British nation. The deserving man, who can now recommend himself to the esteem of but hali his countrymen, will then receive the approbations and ap- plauses of a whole age. Among the several persons that flourish in this glorious reign, there is no qiiestion but such a future historian as the No. 101. THE SPECTATOB. 427 person of -wliom I am speaking, will make mention at tlie men of genius and learning, who have now any figure in the British nation. Eor my own part, I often flatter myself with the honourable mention which wiU then be made of me : and have drawn up a paragraph in my own imagination, that I fancy will not be altogether unlike what wiE be found in some page or other of this imaginary historian. It was under this reign, says he, that the Spectatoe pub- lished those little diurnal essays which are still extant. "We know very little of the name or person of this author, ex- cept only that he was a man of a very short face, extremely addicted to silence, and so great a lover of knowledge, that he made a voyage to Grand Cairo for no other reason, but to take the measure of a pyramid. His chief friend was one Sir Eoger de Coverley, a whimsical country knight, and a tem- plar whose name he has not transmitted to us. He lived as a lodger at the house of a widow-woman, and was a great humourist in all parts of his life. This is al we can affirm with any certainty of his person and character. As for his speculations, notwithstanding the several obsolete words and obscure phrases of the age in which he lived, we still under- stand enough of them to see the diversions and characters of the English nation in his time : not but that we are to make allowance for the mirth and humour of the author, who has doubtless strained many representations of things beyond the truth. For if we interpret his words in their literal meaning, we must suppose that women of the first quality used to pass away whole mornings at a puppet-show ; that they attested their principles by their patches ; that an audi- ence would sit out an evening to hear a dramatical perform- ance written in a language which they did not understand ; that chairs and fiower-pots were introduced as actors upon the British stage ; that a promiscuous assembly of men and women were allowed to meet at midnight in masques within the verge of the court ; with many improbabilities of the like nature. "We must therefore, in these and the like cases, suppose that these remote hints and allusions aimed at some certain foUies which were then in vogue, and which at pre- sent we have not any notion of. "We may guess by several passages in the speculations, that there were writers who endeavoured to detract from the works of this author ; but as nothing of this nature is come down to us, we cannot guess 428 Addison's ■wqeks. at any objections that could be made to his paper. If w consider his style with that indulgence which we must she to old English writers, or if we look into the variety of h: subjects, with those several critical dissertations, moral r( flections, ******* *#***«*# »**«*»#* The following part of the paragraph is so much to my ac vantage, and beyond anythiug I can pretend to, that I hop my reader wiU excuse me for not inserting it. No. 102. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 27. — Lusus animo debent aliquando dari, Ad cogitandum meUor ut redeat sibi. PhjEdk. I DO not know whether to caU the following letter a satiri upon coquettes, or a representation of their several fantasti cal accomplishments, or what other title to give it ; but as i is I shall communicate it to the pubHc. It vriU sufficient! explain its own intentions, so that I shall give it my reade" at length, without either preface or postscript. "Me. Speotatob, Women are armed with fans as men with swords, am sometimes do more execution with them. To the end, there fore, that ladies may be entire mistresses of the weapo] which they bear, I have erected an Academy for the tr ainin . up of young women in the Exercise of the Fan, according t the most fashionable airs and motions that are now practise at court. The ladies who carry fans under me are drawn u twice a day in my great hall, where they are instructed iu th use of their arms, and exercised by the following words c command : Handle your Fans, Unfurl your Fans, Discharge your Fans, Ground your Fans, Recover your Fans, Flutter your Fans, By the right observation of these few plain words of con mand, a woman of a tolerable genius who will apply herse 1^0, 102. THE SPEOTATOE. 429 diligently to her exercise for the space of one half year, shall be able to give her fan all the graces that can possibly enter into that little modish machine. " But to the end that my readers may form to themselves a right notion of this exercise, I beg leave to explain it to them in all its parts. When my female regiment is drawn up in array, with every one her weapon in her hand, upon my giving the word to Handle their Eans, each of them shakes her fan at me with a smile, then gives her right-hand woman a tap upon the shonlder, then presses her lips with the extremity of her fan, then lets her arms fall in an easy motion, and stands in readiness to receive the next word of command. All this is done with a close fan, and is generally learned in the first week. " The next motion is that of TJnfurling the Fan, in which are comprehended several little flirts and vibrations, as also gradual and deliberate openings, with many voluntary fall- ings asunder in the fan itseK, that are seldom learned under a month's practice. This part of the exercise pleases the spectators more than any other, as it discovers on a sudden an infinite number of Cupids, garlands, altars, birds, beasts, rainbows, and the like agreeable figures, that display them- selves to view, whilst every one in the regiment holds a pic- ture in her hand. " Upon my giving the word to Discharge their Fans, they give one general crack, that may be heard at a considerable distance when the wind sits fair. This is one of the most difficult parts of the exercise ; but I have several ladies with me, who at their first entrance could not give a pop loud enough to be heard at the further end of a room, who can now Discharge a Fan in such a manner, that it shall make a report like a pocket-pistol. I have likewise taken care (in order to hinder young women from letting off their fans in wrong places or unsuitable occasions) to show upon what sub- ject the crack of a fan may come in properly. I have like- wise invented a fan, with which a girl of sixteen, by the help of a little wind which is enclosed about one of the largest sticks, can make as loud a crack as a woman of fifty with an ordinary fan. , " When the fans are thus discharged, the word of com- mand in course is to Ground their Pans. This teaches g lady to quit her fan gracefully when she throws it aside, iu 430 Addison's tvobes order to take up a pack of cards, adjust a curl of hair, i place a fallen pin, or apply herself to any other, matter importance. This part of the exercise, as it only consists tossing a fan with an air upon a long table (which stau by for that purpose) may be learnt in two days' time as w as in a twelvemonth. "When my female regiment is thus disarmed, I generally ] them walk about the room for some time ; when on a sudd (like ladies that look upon their watches after a long visi they all of them hasten to their arpis, catch them up in hurry, and place themselves in their proper stations, upi my calling out Eecover your Pans. This part of the exerci is not difficult, provided a woman applies her thoughts to " The Muttering of the Pan is the last, and, indeed, t master-piece of the whole exercise ; but if a lady does n misspend her time, she may make herself mistress of it three months. I generally lay aside the dog-days and tl hot tim^e of the summer for the teaching of this part of t] exercise ; for as soon as ever I pronounce Flutter your Fai the place is filled with so many zephyrs and gentle breez as are very refreshing in that season of the year, thouj they might be dangerous to ladies of a tender constitutii in any other. " There is an infinite variety of motions to be made u of in the Plutter of a Pan : there is the angry flutter, t modest flutter, the timorous flutter, the confused flutter, t merry flutter, and the amorous flutter. Not to be tedioi there is scarce any emotion in the mind which does not pr duce a suitable agitation in the fan; insomuch, that if only see the fan of a disciplined lady, I know very wi whether she laughs, frowns, or blushes. I have seen a f so very angry, that it would have been dangerous for t absent lover who provoked it to have come within the wi of it ; and at other times so very languishing, that I ha been glad for the lady's sake the lover was at a sufficient d tance from it. I need not add, that a fan is either a pru or coquette, according to the nature of the person w bears it. To conclude my letter, I must acquaint you, tl I have from my own observations compiled a little treat ^ for the use of my scholars, entitled. The Passions of the Pa Vhich I will communicate to you, if you think it may be use to the public. I shall have a general review on Thursd Uo. 105. THE SPECTATOR. *31 next ; to whicli you bMI be very welcome if you will honour it with yrnirpreseuce. "I am, &c. " P. S. I teach young gentlemen the whole art of gallant- ing a fan. ' " N. B. I have several little plain fans made tor this use, to avoid expense." No. 105. SATUEDAT, JUNE 30. — Id arMtror Adprime in vita esse utile, ne quid nimis. Tek. Asd. Mt friend WiU. Honeycomb values himself very much upon what he caUs the knowledge of mankind, which has cost him many disasters in his youth; for "WiU. reckons every misfortune that he has met with among the women, and every rencoimter among the men, as parts of his educar tion, and fancies he should never have been the man he is, hac not he broke windows, knocked down constables, disturbec honest people with his midnight serenades, and beat up i lewd woman's quarters, when he was a young fellow. Th« engaging in adventures of this nature "Will, calls the study ing of mankind ; and terms this knowledge of the town, th« knowledge of the world. WiU. ingenuously confesses, thai for half his hfe his head ached every morning with reading o: men over-night ; and at present comforts himself under cer ,tain pains which he endures from time to time, that withoui them he could not have been acquainted with the gaUantriei of the age. This "WiU. looks upon as the learning of a gen tleman, and regards aU other kinds of science as the accom plishments of one whom he caUs a scholar, a bookish man, o: a phUosopher. For these reasons WiU. shines in mixed company, wher( he has the discretion not to go out of his depth, and ha often a certain way of making his real ignorance appear i seeming one. Our club, however, has frequently caugh him tripping, at which times they never spare him. For a WiU. often insults us with the knowledge of the town, w sometimes take our revenge upon TiiTn by our knowledge o books. He was last week producing two or three letters 'nhich h 432 ADDISON'S -WOEES. ■wnt in Ms youtli ta a coquette lady. The raillery of tliein was natural, and well enougli for a mere man of the town ; but, very unluckily, several of the words were wrong spelt. "Will, laught this off at first as well as he could, but finding himself pushed on all sides, and especially by the templar, he told us, vsdth a little passion, that he never Hked pe- dantry in spelling, and that he spelt like a gentleman, and not Hke a scholar : upon this Will, had recourse to his old topic of showing the narrow-spiritedness, the pride, and ig- norance of pedants ; which he carried so far, that upon my retiring to my lodgings, I could not forbear throwing toge- ther such reflections as occurred to me upon that subject. A man who has been brought up among books, and is able to talk of nothing else, is a very indifferent companion, and what we call a pedant. But, methinks, we should enlarge the title, and give it every one that does not know how to think out of his profession, and particular way of hfe. "What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the town ? Bar him the play-houses, a catalogue of the reigning beau- ties, and an account of a few fashionable distempers that have befallen him, and you strike him dumb. How many a pretty gentleman's' knowledge lies all within the verge of the court ? He will tell you the names of the principal far vourites, repeat the shrewd sayings of a man of quaUty, whisper an intrigue that is not yet blown upon by common fame ; or, if the sphere of his observations is a little larger than ordinary, will perhaps enter into all the incidents, turns, and revolutions in a game of ombre. When he has gone thus far, he has shown you the whole circle of his accom- plishments, his parts are drained, and he is disabled from any further conversation. What are these but rank pedants ? ' Many a man, is used in familiar discourse for, many men. This way of speaking is anomalous, and seemingly absurd, but may, in some sort, be accounted for, by observdng that tibe indefinite particle "a" means " one," in reference to m^re. So that many a man, is the same thing as one man of many. But we cannot, that is, we do not, say, interrogatively, " hmo muny a man'* for " how many men ; " I know not for what reason, unless it be that the intensive adverb " how," prefixed to " many," im- plies so great a number, as makes the anomaly of the expression more shocking ; I think this must be the reason, because, when " how " is ap- plied to the verb, and not to the adjective, we still use this form of speech, interrogatively : as, Aow is many a man distressed by his own folly ! i. c. how much is many a man distressed — ^which shows, that the other question is not asked, because the sense of "many" is heightened by the prefix. UO. 105. THE SPECTATOE. 433 and yet these are the men who value themselves most on their exemption from the pedantry of colleges. I might here mention the military pedant, who always talks in a camp, and is storming towns, making lodgments, and fighting battles from one end of the year to the other. Everything he speaks smells of gunpowder; if you take away his artillery from him, he has not a word to say for himself. I might likewise mention the law pedant, that is perpetually putting cases, repeating the transactions of "West- minster Hall, wrangUng with you upon the most indifferent circumstances of life, and not to he convinced of the distance of a place, or of the most trivial point in conversation, but by dint of argument. The state pedant is wrapt up in news, and lost in politics. If you mention either of the kings of Spain or Poland, he talks very notably ; but if you go out of the Gazette, you drop him. In short, a mere couttier, a mere soldier, a mere scholar, a merie anything, is an insipid pedantic character, and equally ridiculous. Of all the species of pedants which I have mentioned, the book-pedant is much the most supportable ; he has at least an exercised understanding, and a head which is full, though confused ; so that a man who converses with him may often receive from him hints of things that are worth knowing, and what he may possibly turn to his own advantage, though they are of little use to the owner. The worst kind of pedants among learned men, are such as are naturally en- dued with a very small share of common sense, and have read a great number of books without taste or distinction. The truth of it is, learning, like travelling, and all other methods of improvement, as it finishes good sense, so it makes a silly man ten thousand times more insufferable, by supplying variety of matter to his impertinence, and giving him an opportunity of abounding in absurdities. Shallow pedants cry up one another much more than men of solid and useful learning. To read -the titles they give an editor, or collator of a manuscript, you would take" him for the glory of the commonwealth of letters, and the wonder of his age ; when perhaps, upon examination, you find th^ he has only rectified a Greek particle, or laid out a whole sen- tence in proper commas. t They are obliged, indeed, to be thus lavish of their praises,- that they may keep one another in countenance ; and it is no VOL. II. 2 F 434! ADDISON S WOEKS. wonder if a great deal of knowledge, wliich is not capable of making a man wise, lias a natural tendency to make him vain and arrogant. No. lOG. MONDAY, JULY 2. — Hinc tibi copia Manatit ad plenum benigno Buris honorum opulenta comu. HoK. HiTiNa often received an invitation from my fiiend Sir Eoger de Coverley to pass away a month vrith him in the country,' I last week accompanied him thither, and am set- tled with him for some time at his country-house, where I intend to form several of my ensuing speculations. Sir Eoger, who is very well acquainted with my humour, lets me rise and go to bed when I please ; dine at his own table, or in my chamber, as I think fit ; sit still, and say nothing, without bidding me be merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only shows me at a distance. As I have been walking in his fields, I have observed them stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and have heard the knight desiring them not to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. I am the more at ease in Sir Eoger's family, because it consists of sober and staid persons ; for as the knight is the best master in the world, he seldom changes his servants ; and as he is beloved by aU about him, his servants never care for leaving him : by this means his domestics are all in years, and grown old with their master. You would take his valet de chambre for his brother ; his butler is gray-headed ; his froom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen; and is coachman has the looks of a privy-councillor. Tou see the goodness of the master even in the old house-dog; and in a gray pad, that is kept ia the stable with great care and tenderness out of regard to his past services, though he ias been useless for several years. ' These papers from the country abound in beauties of all sorts, and, among others, are remarkable for the utmost purity and grace of expres- sion. The character of his knight is a master-piece in its kind, and only squalled (for, I think, it is not excelled) by that of Falstaff in Shakspeare. The comic genms of the author nowhere shines out to more adv»niage than in this instance. JjiO. 106. THE SPECTATOE. 435 I could not but observe witb a great deal of pleasure, the joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domes- tics upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Someof them could not refrain from tears at the sight of their old master ; every one of them pressed forward to do something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the same time the good old knight, with a mixture of the father and the master of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs with several kmd questions relating to them- selves. This humanity and "good-nature engages everybody to him, so that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his , family are in good humour, and none so much as the person whom he diverts himseK with : on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy for a stander- by to observe a secret concern in the looks of all his servants. My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of his feUow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because they have often heard their master talk of me as of his particular friend. My chief companion, when Sir Eoger is diverting himself in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man, who is ever with Sir Eoger, and has lived at his house in the nature ' of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of good sense, and some learning, of a very regular life, and obliging conversation : he heartily loves Sir Eoger, and knows that he is very much in the old knight's esteem ; so that he lives in the family rather as a relation than a dependant. I have observed in several of my papers, that my firiend Sir Eoger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of an humourist ; and that his virtues, as well as imperfections, are, as it were, tinged by a certain extragavance, which makes them particularly his, and distinguishes them from those of other men. This cast of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, so it renders his conversation highly agreeable, and more deUghtful than the same degree of sense and virtue would appear in their common and ordinary colours. As I was walking with him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man whom I have just now mentioned ; and, with- out staying for my answer, told me, that he was afraid of ' The word " nature " is used here a little licentiously. He should have said " in the office," or, " the quality of a chaplain." 2 F 2 436 Addison's -woeks. being iEisulttd. with Latin and Grreek at his own table ; for which reason, he desired a particular Mend of his at the Uni- versity, to find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense than much learning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, and, if possible, a man that understood a little of backgammon. My friend (says Sir Eoger) found me out this gentleman, who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they teU me, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I have given him the parsonage of the parish ; and because I know his value, have settled upon him a good annuity for hfe. If he outlives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years ; and, though he does not know I have taken notice of it, has never in all that time asked anything of me for himself, though he is every day soliciting me for something in behalf of one or other of my tenants, his parish- ioners. There has not been a law-suit in the parish since he has lived among them : if any dispute arises, they apply them- selves to him for the decision ; if they do not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened above once, or twice at most, they appeal to me. At his first settling with me, I made him a present of all the good sermons which have been printed in EngUsh, and only begged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce one of them in the pulpit. Ac- cordingly, he has digested them into such a series, that they follow one another naturally, and make a continued system of practical divinity. As Sir Eoger was going on in his story, the gentleman we were talking of came up to us ; and upon the knight's ask- ing him who preached to-morrow, (for it was Saturday night,) told us, the Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning, and Dr. South in the afternoon. He then showed us his Est of preachers for the whole year, where I saw with a great deal of pleasure. Archbishop TUlotson, Bishop Saunderson, Do(^or Barrow, Doctor Calamy, with several living authors who have published discourses of practical divinity. I no sooner sav/ this venerable man in the pulpit, but I very much approved of my friend's insisting upon the qualifications of a good aspect and a clear voice ; for I was so charmed with the gracefulness of his figure and delivery, as weU as the discourses he pro- nounced, that I think I never passed any time more to my B3tisf9.ctior. A sermon repeated after this planner, is like No. 108. THE SPECTATOB. 437 like the compositisa of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor. I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy would foUow this example; and, instead of wasting their spirits in laborious compositions of their own, would endea- vour after a handsome elocution, and aU those other talents that are proper to enforce what has been penned by greater masters. This would not only be more easy to themselves, but more edifying to the people. No. 108. WEDNESDAY, JTJLT 4. Gratis anhelans, multa agendo nihil agens. Ph^d. As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Eoger be- fore his house, a country feUow brought him a huge fish, which, he told him, Mr. WiUiam Wimble had caught that very morning ; and that he presented it with his service to him, and intended to come and dine vsdth him. At the same time he delivered a letter, which my friend read to me as soon as the messenger left him. "SiE EoaEH, I desire you to accept of a Jack, which is the best I have caught this season. I intend to come and stay with you a week, and see how the Jerch bite in the Black river. I observed with some concern, the last time I saw you upon the Bowling-green, that your whip wanted a lash to it : I wiU bring half a dozen with me that I twisted last week, which I hope will serve you aU the time you are in the coun- try. I have not been out of the saddle for six days last past, having been at Eaton with Sir John's eldest son. He takes to his learning hugely. " I am. Sir, your humble Servant, Will. Wimble." This extraordinary letter, and message that accompanied it, made me very curious to know the character and quality of the gentleman who sent them ; which I found to be as follows. WiU. Wimble is younger brother to a baronet, and descended of the ancient family of the Wimbles. He is now between forty and fifty ; but being bred to no business, and 'wm to no estate, he generally lives with his elder brother 438 Addison's woeks. as superintendent of his game. He hunts a pack of dogs better than any man in the country, and is very famous for finding out^ a hare. He is extremely well versed in all the little handicrafts of an idle man : ^he makes a May-fly to a miracle ; and furnishes the vrhole country with angle-rods. As he is a good-natured, of&cious fellow, and very much esteemed upon account of his family, he is a welcome guest at every house, and keeps up a good correspondence among aL. the gentlemen about him. He carries a tulip root in his pocket from one to another, or exchanges a puppy between a couple of friends that live perhaps in the opposite sides of the county. Will, is a particular favourite of aU the young heirs, whom he frequently obliges vsdth a net that he has weaved, or a setting-dog that he has made himself ; he now and then presents a pair of garters of his own knitting to their mothers or sisters ; and raises a great deal of mirth among them, by inquiring, as often as he meets them, " how they wear?" These gentleman-like manufactures, and ob- liging little humours, make Will, the darling of the country. Sir Roger was proceeding in the character of him, when he saw him make up to us with two or three hazel-twigs in his hand, that he had cut in Sir Roger's woods, as he came through them in his way to the house. I was very much pleased to observe on one side the hearty and sincere wel- come with which Sir Roger received him, and on the other, the secret joy which his guest discovered at sight of the good old knight. After the first salutes were over, "Will, desired Sir Roger to lend him one of his servants to carry a set of shuttle-cocks, he had with him in a little box, to a lady that lived about a mile ofi', to whom it seems he had promised such a present for above this half-year. Sir Roger's back was no sooner turned, but honest Will, began to teU me of a large cock pheasant that he had sprung in one of the neighbouring woods, with two or three other adventures of the same nature. Odd and uncommon characters are the game that I look for, and most delight in ; for which reason I was as much pleased vrith the novelty of the person that talked to me, as he could be for his life with the springing of a pheasant, and therefore listened to him with more than ordinary attention. ' Finding out'] The technical phrase had been better — "Jlnding a hare." No. 108. THE SPHOTATOB. 439 In tte midst of Ms discourse tte bell rung to dinner, where the gentleman I have been speaking of had the plea- sure of seeing the huge Jack, he had caught, served up for the first dish in a most sumptuous manner. Upon our sitting down to it, he gave us a long account how he had hooked it, played with it, foiled it, and at length drew it out upon the i bank, with several other particulars, that lasted all the first t course. A dish of wild fowl, that came afterwards, furnished 1 conversation for the rest of the dinner, which concluded vfith I a late invention of Will.'s for improving the quail-pipe. 1 Upon withdrawing into my room after diuner, I was se- cretly touched with compassion towards the honest gentle- man that had dined with us ; and could not but consider, with a great deal of concern, how so good an hedirt, and such busy hands, were whoUy employed in trifles ; that so much humanity should be so little beneficial to others, and so much industry so little advantageous to himself. The same temper of mind, and application to affairs, might have re- commended him to the public esteem, and have raised his fortune in another station of life. What good to his coun- try, or himself, might not a trader or merchant have done vpith such useful, though ordinary, qualifications ? Will. Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother of a great family, who had rather see their children starve like gentlemen, than thrive in a trade or profession that is be- neath their quality. This humour fills several parts of Eu- rope with pride and beggary. It is the happiness of a trading nation, like ours, that the younger sons, though incapable of any liberal art or profession, may be placed in such a way of life, as may perhaps enable them to vie with the best of their family: accordingly, we find several citizens that were launch- ed into the world vrith narrow fortunes, rising by an honest industry to greater estates than those of their elder brothers. \ It is not improbable but WiU. was formerly tried at divinity, '. law, or physic ; and that finding his genius did not lie that i. way, his parents gave him up at length to his own inven- ' tions. But certainly, however improper he might have been for studies of a higher nature, he was perfectly well turned for the occupations of trade and commerce. As I think this is a point which cannot be too much inculcated, I shall desire my reader to compare what I have here written with what I have said in my twenty-first speculation. 440 abdisok's woezs. No. 110. PEIDAT, JTJLT 6. Horror ubique animos, simiil ipsa silentia terrent. Virg. At a little distance from Sir Eoger's house, among the ruias of an old abbey, there is a long walk of aged elms ; which are shot up so very high, that when one passes under them, the rooks and crows that rest upon the tops of them seem to be cawing in another region. I am very much de- lighted with this sort of noise, which I consider as a kind of natural prayer to that Being who supplies the wants of his whole creation, and who, in the beautifal language of the Psalms, feedeth the young ravens that call upon him. I like this retirement the better, because of an iLL report it lies under of being haunted ; for which reason, (as I have been told in the family,) no Uviug creature ever walks ia it besides the chaplain. My good friend the butler desired me, with a very grave face, not to venture myself iu it after sunset, for that one of the footmen had been almost frightened out of his wits by a spirit that appeared to him in the shape of a black horse without an head ; to which he added, that about a month ago one of the maids coming home late that way with a pail of milk upon her head, heard such a rustling among the bushes that she let it fall. I was taking a walk in this place last night between the hours of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it one of the most proper scenes in the world for a ghost to appear in. The ruins of the abbey are scattered up and down on every side, and half covered with ivy and elder bushes, the harbours of several solitary birds, which seldom make their appearance tUl the dusk of the evening. The place was for- merly a chUrch-yard, and has still several marks iu it of graves and burying-places. There is such an echo among the old ruins and vaults, that if you stamp but a little louder than ordinary, you hear the sound repeated. At the same time the walk of elms, with the croaking of the ravens, which from time to time are heard from the tops of them, looks exceeding solemn and venerable. These objects naturally raise seriousness and attention : and when night heightens the awfulness of the place, and pours out her supernumerary horrors upon everything in it, I do not at all wonder that weak minds fill it with spectres and apparitions. No. no. THE BPBOTATOE. 441 Mr. Locke, ia hia chapter of the association of ideas, has very curious remarks to sbow how, by the prejudice of educa- tion, one idea often introduces into the mmd a whole set that hear no resemblance to one another in the nature of things. Among several examples of this kind, he produces the following instance. " The ideas of goblins and sprites have really no more to do with darkness than light ; yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these often on the mind of a child, and raise them there together, possibly he shall never be able to separate them again so long as he lives ; but dark- ness shall ever afterward bring with it those frightful ideas, and they shall be so joined, that he can no more bear the one than the other." As I was walking ia this solitude, where the dusk of the evening conspired with so many other occasions of terror, I observed a cow grazing not far from me, which an imagination that is apt to startle might easily have construed into a black horse without an head : and I dare say the poor footman lost his wits upon some such trivial occasion. My friend Sir Eoger has often told me, with a great deal of mirth, that at his first coming to hia estate, he found three parts of his house altogether useless ; that the best room in it had the reputation of being haunted, and by that means'- was locked up ; that noises had been heard in his long gal- lery, so that he could not get a servant to enter it after eight o'clock at night ; that the door of one of his chambers was nailed up, because there went a story in the family, that a butler had formerly hanged himself in it ; and that his mo- ther, who lived to a great age, had shut up half the rooms in the house, in which either a husband, a son, or daughter, had died. The knight seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and himself in a manner shut out of his own house, upon the death of his mother ordered all the apartments to be flung open, and exorcised by his chaplain, who lay in every room one after another, and by that means dissipated the fears which had so long reigned in the family. I should not have been thus particular upon these ridiculous horrors, did not I find them so very much prevail in all parts of the country. At the same time I think a person who is thus terrified with the imagination of ghosts and spectres much more reasonable, than one who, contrary to the reports of ' By that means.'] Bather " on that account." 442 Addison's ■woees. all historians, sacred and profane, ancient sad modem, and to the traditions of all nations, thinks the appearance of spirits fabulous and groundless.^ Could not I give myself up to this general testimony of mankind, I should to the re- lations of particular persons who are now living, and whom I cannot distrust in other matters of fact. I might here add, that not only the historians, to whom we may join the poets, hut likewise the philosophers of antiquity, have favour- ed this opinion. Lucretius himself, though by the course of his philosophy he was obliged to maintain that the soul did not exist separate from the body, makes no doubt of the reality of apparitions, and that men have often appeared after their death. This I think very remarkable ; he was so press- ed with the matter of fact, which he could not have the con- fidence to deny, that he was forced to account for it by one of the most absurd, unphilosophical notions that was ever started. He tells us, " that the surfaces of all bodies are perpetually flying off from their respective bodies, one after •mother ; and that these surfaces, or thin cases, that in- cluded each other whilst they were joined in the body, like the coats of an onion, are sometimes seen entire when they are separated from it ; by which means we often behold the shapes and shadows of persons who are either dead or absent." I shall dismiss this paper with a story out of Josephus, not so much for the sake of the story itself, as for the moral reflections with which the author concludes it, and which I shall here set down in his own words. " Glaphyra, the daughter of King ArchUaus, after the death of her two first husbands, (being married to a third, who was brother to her first husband, and so passionately in love with her that he turned off his former wife to make room for this marriage,) had a very odd kind of dream. She fancied that she saw her first husband coming towards her, and that she embraced him with great tenderness ; when, in the midst of the pleasure which she expressed at the sight of him, he reproached her after the fol- lowing manner : Glaphyra, says he, thou hast made good the old saying, that women are not to be trusted. "Was not I the husband of thy virginity? Have I not children by thee ? How couldst thou forget our loves so far as to enter into a second ' What credulity, it will be said, in our good Spectator ! but let the ecnsurer read on to the end of the paper. No. 111. THE SPECTATOE. 443 marriage, and after that into a third ; nay, to take for thy husband a man who has so shamelessly crept into the bed of his brother S However, for the sake of our passed loves, I shall free thee from thy present reproach, and make thee mine for ever. Grlaphyra told this dream to several women of her acquaintance, and died soon after. I thought this story might not be impertinent in this place, wherein I speak ' of those kings : besides that, the example deserves to be taken notice of, as it contains a most certain proof of the im- mortality of the soul, and of Divine providence. If any man i thinks these facts incredible, let him enjoy his opinion to " himself; but let him not endeavour to disturb the belief of others, who by instances of this nature are excited to the study of virtue." No. 111. SATUEDAT, JULY 7. — Inter silvas Aca.demi quserere verum. Hor. The course of my last speculation led me insensibly into a subject upon which I always meditate with great delight ; I mean the immortality of the soul. I was yesterday walk- ing alone in one of my friend's woods, and lost myself in it very agreeably, as I was running over in my mind the several arguments that establish this great point, which is the basis of morality, and the source of all the pleasing hopes and secret joys that can arise in the heart of a reasonable crea- ture. I consider those several proofs drawn : First, From the nature of the soul itself, and particularly its immateriality ; which'though not absolutely necessary to the eternity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced to almost a demonstration. Secondly, From its passions and sentiments, as particularly from its love of existence, its horror of annihilation, and its hopes of immortality, with that secret satisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue, and that uneasiness which fol- lows in it upon the commission of vice. Thirdly, From the nature of the Supreme Being, whose 'ustice, goodness, wisdom, and veracity are aU concerned in this great point. But among these and other excellent arguments for the immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the peik 444 Addison's woees. petua. progress of the soul to its perfection, without a pDssi- bility of ever arriving at it ; which is a hint that I do not re- member to have seen opened and improved by others who have written on this subject, though it seems to me to carry a great weight with it. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the soul, which is capable of such immense per- fections, and of receiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fail away into nothiag almost as soon as it is created ? Are such abilities made for no purpose ? A brute arrives at a point of perfection that he can never pass : in a few years he has aU the endowments he is capable of; and were he to live ten thousand more, would be the same thing he is at pre- Lient. "Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomphsh- .•aents, were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable of iVirther enlargements, I could imagine it might faU away ia- . sensibly, and drop at once into a state of aanihilatioD. But can we believe a thinking being, that is in a perpetual pro- gress of improvements, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad into the works of its Creator, and made a few discoveries of his infinite good- ness, wisdom, and power, must perish at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her inquiries P^ A man, considered in his present state, seems only sent into the world to propagate his kind. He provides himself with a successor, and immediately quits his post to make room for him. — liaeres Haeredem alteiius, velut unda supervenit uiidam. He does not seem bom to enjoy life, but to deliver it down to others. This is not surprising to consider in animals, which are formed for our use, and can finish their business in a short life. The silk-worm, after having spun her task, lays her eggs and dies. But a man can never have taken in his full measure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, establish his soul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, before he is hurried oflf the stage. Would an infinitely wise Being make such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose ? Can he delight in the production of ■ See this subject finely pursued by Mr. Wollaston. — Still, there are those who will acknowledge no force in this argument. It may be so. But let them keep their own secret. Assuredly, I should never esteem the man, who told me he was not capable of being affected by it. No !U. THE SPECTATOE. 4fl6 such abortive intelligences, such short-lived reasonable be- ings ? "Would he give us talents that are not to be exerted ? capacities that are never to be gratified ? How can we find that wisdom, which shines through all his works, in the formation of man, without looking on this world as only a nursery for the next, and believing that the several genera- tions of rational creatures, which rise up and disappear in such quick successions, are only to receive their rudiments of existence here, and afterwards to be transplanted into a more friendly climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity ? _ There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and triumph- ant consideration in religion, than this of the perpetual pro- gress which the soul makes towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. Tb look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength, to consider that she is to shine for ever with new accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity; that she wiU be stiU adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge ; carries in it something wonderfully agreeable to that ambition which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a prospect, pleasing to God himself, to see his creation for ever beauti- fying in his eyes, and drawing nearer to him. by greater de- grees of resemblance. , Methinks this single consideration, of the progress of a finite spirit to perfection, wUl be sufficient to extinguish all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. That cherubim which now appears as a god to a human soul, knows very well that the period will come about in eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect as he him- self now is : nay, when she shaU look down upon that degree of perfection, as much as she now falls short of it.' It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale of being ; but he knows, how high soever the station is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior nature will at length mount up to it, and shine forth in the same degree of glory. With what astonishment and veneration may we look into • The two parts of this sentence do not correspond to each other, and the comparative, as much as, is used improperly. The connecting link may be supplied thus — " When she shall look down upon that degree ot perfection, and see herself as much advanced above it, as she now," &c. 446 Addison's wohks. our own souls, where there are such hidden stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfection ! We know not yet what we shall be, nor will it ever enter into the heart of man to conceive the glory that will be always ■.in reserve for him. The soul considered with its Creator, is !like one of those mathematical lines that may draw nearer ;to another to all eternity without a possibility of touching it : and can there be a thought so transporting, as to con- sider ourselves in these perpetual approaches to him, who is not only the standard of perfection, but of happiness ! No. 112. MONDAY, JULY 9. 'ABavdrovc jilv vpSiTa Qtovi, vofiif i>Q SiaKurai, Tijia — Pyth. I AM always very well pleased vfith a country Sunday ; and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it would be the best method that could have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of man kin d. It is certain the country-people would soon degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet to- gether vfith their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together in adora- tion of the Supreme Being. Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon ap- pearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. A country-fellow distinguishes himself as much in the church-yard as a citizen does upon the Change, the whole parish-politics being generally discussed in that place either after sermon or before the bell rings. My friend Sir Eoger, being a good church-man, has beau- tified the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing : he has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the communion-table at his own expense. He has often told me, that at his coming to his estate he found his parishioners very irregular ; and that in order to make them kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of them a IfO. 112. THE SPECTATOE. 447 hassoc and a Common Prayer Book ; and at the same time employed an itinerant singing-master, who goes about tha country for that purpose, to instruct them nghtly in the tunes of the psalms ; upon which they now very much value themselves, and indeed out-do most of the country churches that I have ever heard. As Sir Eoger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nohody to sleep in it besides himself; for if hy chance he has been sur- prised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his servant to them. Several other of the old knight's particularities break out upon these occasions : sometimes he will be length- ening out a verse in the singing-psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it; sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pro- nounces Amen three or four times to the same prayer ; and sometimes stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of Ms tenants are missing. I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was about, and not disturb the congre- gation. This John Matthews, it seems, is remarkable for being an idle feUow, and at that tune was kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority of the knight, though ex- erted in that odd manner which accompanies him in all cir- cumstances of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see anything ridiculous in his behaviour ; besides that the general good sense and worthi- ness of his character, make his friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities. As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir till Sir Eoger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down from his seat in the chancel between a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side ; and every now and then he inquires' how such an one's wife, or mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at church ; which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent. 448 Addison's woeks. The chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechising-day, when Sir Eoger has been pleased with a boy that answers weU, he has ordered a Bible to be given him next day for his encouragement ; and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Eoger has likewise added five pounds a year to the clerk's place ; and that he may en- courage the young fellows to make themselves perfect ia the church-service, has promised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according to merit. The fair understanding between Sir Eoger and his chap- lain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remarkable, because the very next village is famous for the differences and contentions that rise between the parson and the 'squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. The parson is always at the 'squire, and the 'squire, to be revenged on the parson, never comes to church. The 'squire has made all his tenants atheists and tithe-stealers ; while the parson instructs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, and insinuates to them, almost in every sermon, that he is a better man than his patron. In short, matters are come to such an extremity, that the 'squire has not said his prayers either in public or private this half year ; and that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for him in the face of the whole congregation. Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, are very fatal to the ordinary people ; who are so used to be dazzled with riches, that they pay as much deference to the understanding of a man of an estate, as of a man of learning ; and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how import- ant soever it may be, that is preached to them, when they know there are several men of five hundred a year who do not believe it. No. 115. THUESDAT, JULY 12. — Ut sit mens sana in corpore sano. Juv. BoDiLT labour is of two kinds ; either that which a man submits to for his UveUhood, or that which he undergoes for his pleasure. The latter of them generally changes the name of laboxir for that of exercise, but differs only from ordinary labour as it rises from another motive. No. 115. THE SPEOTATOE. 449 A country life abounds in both these kinds of labour, and for that reason gives a man a greater stock of health, and consequently a more perfect enjoyment of himself, than any other way of life. I consider the body as a system of tubes and glands, or to use a more rustic phiase, a bundle of pipes and strainers, fitted to one another after so wonderful a manner, as to make Bi proper engine for the soul to work with. This description does not only comprehend the bowels, bones, tendons, veins, nerves, and arteries, but every muscle and every ligature, which is a composition of fibres, that are so many imperceptible tubes or pipes interwoven on aU sides with invisible glands or strainers. This general idea of a human body, without considering it in the niceties of anatomy, lets us see how absolutely neces- sary labour is for the right preservation of it. There must be frequent motions and agitations, to mix, digest, and separ- ate the juices contained in it, as well as to clear and cleanse that infinitude of pipes and strainers of which it is composed, and to give their solid parts a more firm and lasting tone. Labour or exercise ferments the humours, casts them into their proper channels, throws ofi" redundancies, and helps na- ture in those secret distributions without which the body cannot subsist in its vigour, nor the soul act with cheer- fulness. I might here mention the effects which this has upon all the faculties of the mind, by keeping the understanding clear, the imagiaation untroubled, and refining those spirits that are necessary for the proper exertion of our intellectual facul- ties, during the present laws of union between soul and body. It is to a neglect ia this particular that we must ascribe the spleen, which is so frequent in men of studious and sedentarv' tempers, as weU as the vapours to which those of the other sex are so often subject. Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our well- beiag, nature would not have made the body so proper for it, by giving such an activity to the limbs, and such a pliancy to every part as necessarily produces those compressions, exten- sions, contortions, dilatations, and all other kinds of motions that are necessary for the preservation of such a system of tubes and glands as has been before mentioned. And that ' We may say, studious, but not sedentary tempers • the proper word if we would retain both the adjectives, is, lives. ' 450 ADDIS03S''S V^OEKS. we might not want inducements to engage us in such an ex- ercise of the body as is proper for its welfare, it is so ordered that nothing valuable can be procured without it. Not to mention riches and honour, even food and raiment are not to be come at without the toil of the hands and sweat of the brows. Providence furnishes materials, but expects that we should work them up ourselves. The earth must be laboured before it gives its increase ; and when it is forced into its several products, how many hands must they pass through before they are fit for use ! Manufactures, trade, and agri- culture, naturally employ more than nineteen parts of the species in twenty ; and as for those who are not obliged to labour, by the condition in which they are bom, they are more miserable than the rest of mankind, unless they indulge themselves in that voluntary labour which goes by the name of exercise. My friend Sir Roger has been an indefatigable man in business of this kind, and has hung several parts of his house with the trophies of his former labours. The walls of his great hall are covered with the horns of several kinds of deer that he has killed in the chase, which he thinks the most valuable furniture of his house, as they afford him frequent topics of discourse, and show that he has not been idle. At the lower end of the hall is a large otter's skin stuffed with hay, which his mother ordered to be hung up in that manner; and the knight looks upon with great satisfaction, because, it seems, he was but nine years old when his dog killed him. A little room adjoining to the hall is a kind of arsenal, filled with guns of several sizes and inventions, with which the knight has made great havoc in the woods, and destroyed many thousands of pheasants, partridges, and woodcocks. His stable doors are patched with noses that belonged to foxes of the knight's own hunting down. Sir Roger showed me one of them that, for distinction' sake, has a brass nail struck through it, which cost him about fifteen hours' riding, carried him through half a dozen counties, killed him a brace of geldings, and lost above half his dogs. This the knight looks upon as one of the greatest exploits of his life. The perverse widow, whom I have given some account of, was the death of several foxes ; for Sir Roger has told me that in the course of his amours he patched the western door of hi« stable. "Whenever the widow was cruel, the foxes were B\iro No. us. THE SPECTATOB. 451 to pay for it. In proportion as his passion for tie widow abated, and old age came on, he left his fox-hunting ; but a hare is not yet safe that sits within ten miles of his house. There is no kind of exercise which I would so recommend to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, as there is none which so much conduces to health, and is every way accom^ modated to the body, according to the idea which I havt given of it. Doctor Sydenham is very lavish in its praises and if the English reader would see the mechanical eifects o; it described at length, he may find them in a book publishec not many years since, under the title of the Medicina Gym- nastica. For my own part, when I am in town,for want of these opportunities, I exercise myself an hour every morning upon a dumb bell that is placed in a corner of a room, and pleases me the more because it does everything I require of it in the most profound silence. My landlady and her daughters are so well acquainted with my hours of exercise, that they never come into my room to disturb me whilst I am ringing. When I was some years younger than I am at present, I used to employ mysettin a more laborious diversion, which I learned from a Latin treatise of exercises, that is written with great erudition : it is there called the mio/jaxia, or the fight- ing with a man's own shadow ; and consists in the brandish- ing of two short sticks grasped in each hand, and loaden with plugs of lead at either end. This opens the chest, exercises the limbs, and gives a man all the pleasure of boxing without the blows._ I could wish that several learned men would lay out that time which they employ in controversies and disputes about nothing, in this method of fighting with their own shadows. It might conduce very much to evaporate the spleen, which makes them uneasy to the public as well as to themselves. To conclude, as I am a compound of soul and body, I con- sider myself as obliged to a double scheme of duties ; and I think I have not fulfilled the business of the day, when I do not thus employ the one in labour and exercise, as well as the other in study and contemplation. 2ai 452 Addison's woeks. No. 117. SATUEDAY, JULY 14. — Ipsi sibi somnia fingunt. Virg. Theee are some opinions in which a man should stand neuter, without engaging his assent to one side or the other. Such a hoveriag faith as this, which refiises to settle upon any determination, is absolutely necessary in a mind that is careful to avoid errors and prepossessions. When the argu- ments press equally on both sides in matters that are indif- ferent to us, the safest method is to give up om-selves to neither. It is with this temper of mind that I consider the subject of witchcraft. When I hear the relations that are made from all parts of the world, not only from Norway and Lap- land, from the East and West Indies, but from every par- ticular nation in Europe, I cannot forbear thinking that there is such an intercourse and commerce with evil spirits, as that which we express by the name of witchcraft. But when I consider that the ignorant and credulous parts of the world abound most in these relations, and that the persons among us who are supposed to engage in such an infernal commerce, are people of a weak understanding and crazed imagination, and at the same time reflect upon the many impostures and delusions of this nature that have been detected in all ages, I endeavour to suspend my belief, tiU I hear more certain accounts than any which have yet come to my knowledge. In short, when I consider the question. Whether there are riuch persons in the world as those we call vritches ? my mind IS divided between two opposite opinions ; or rather (to speak :ny thoughts freely) I believe in general that there is, and has been, such a thing as vritchcraft ; but at the same time can give no credit to any particular instance of it. I am engaged in this speculation, by some occurrences that I met with yesterday, which I shall give my reader an account of at large. As I was walking with my friend Sir Roger, by the side of one of his woods, an old woman ap- plied herself to me for my charity. Her dress and figure put me in mind of the following description in Otway : In a close lane, as I pursued my journey, I spied a wrinkled hag, -with age grown double, Picking dry sticks, and mumbling to ijsrsidlf. JfO. 117. THE SPECTATOR. 453 Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red ; Cold palsy shook her head ; her hands seemed withered ; And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapped The tattered remnants of an old stripped hanging, Which served to keep her carcass from the cold, So there was nothing of a piece about her. Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patched With different coloured rags, black, red, white, yellow, And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness. As I was musing on this description, and comparing it with the object before me, the knight told me, that this very old woman had the reputation of a witch all over the coun- try, that her lips were observed to be always in motion, and that there was not a switch about her house which her neighbours did not believe had carried her several hundreds of miles. If she chanced to stumble, they always found sticks or straws that lay in the figure of a cross before her. If she made any mistake at church, and cried Amen in a wrong place, they never failed to conclude that she was say- ing her prayers backwards. There was not a maid in the parish that would take a pin of her, though she should offer a bag of money with it. She goes by the name of Moll White, and has made the country ring with several imaginary exploits which are p'almed upon her. If the dairy-maid does not make her butter to come so soon as she would have it, Moll White is at the bottom of the churn. If a horse sweats in the stable, Moll White has been upon his back. If a hare makes an unexpected escape from the hounds, the huntsman curses Moll White. Nay, (says Sir Eoger,) I have known the master of the pack, upcm such an occasion, send one of his servants to see if Moll White had been out that morning. This account raised my curiosity so far, that I begged my friend Sir Eoger to go with me into her hovel, which stood in a solitary corner under the side of the wood. Upon our first entering, Sir Eoger winked to me, and pointed to some- thing that stood behind the door, which, upon looking that way, I found to be an old broom-stafi". At the same time he whispered me in the ear, to take notice of a tabby cat that sat in the chimney-corner, which, as the knight told me, lay under as bad a report as MoU White herself ; for hesides that Moll is said often to accompany her in the same shape, the eat is reported to have spoken twice or thrice in her life, and to have played several pranks above the capa- ?ity of an ordinary cat. ■ 454 Addison's ttohes. I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so mucli wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time could not forbear smiling to hear Sir Eoger, who is a little puzzled about the old woman, advising her, as a justice of peace, to avoid aU communication with the devil, and never to hurt any of her neighbours' cattle. "We concluded our visit with a bounty, which was very acceptable. In our return home. Sir Eoger told me, that old MoU had been often brought before him for making children spit pins, and giving maids the night-mare ; and that the country people would be tossing her into a pond, and trying expe- riments with her every day, if it was not for him and his chaplain. I have since found, upon inquiry, that Sir Eoger was seve- ral times staggered with the reports that had been brought him concerning this old woman, and would frequently have bound her over to the county sessions, had not his chaplain with much ado persuaded him to the contrary. I have been the more particular in this account, because I hear there is scarce a village in England that has not a Moll White in it. When an old woman begins to dote, and grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally turned into a witch, and fills the whole country with extravagant fancies, ima- ginary distempers, and terrifying dreams. In the mean time the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so many evils, begins to be frighted at herself, and sometimes confesses secret commerces and familiarities that her imagination forms in a delirious old age. This frequently cuts oif charity from the greatest objects of compassion, and inspires people with a malevolence towards those poor decrepit parts of our spe- cies, in whom human nature is defaced by infirmity and dotage. No. 119. TUESDAY, JULY 17. XJrbem quam dicnnt Bomam, Melibaee, putavi Stultus ego huio nostrse similem — Vieg. The first and most obvious reflections which arise in a man who changes the city for the country, are upon the dif- ferent manners of the people whom he meets with in those two different scenes of life. By manners I do not mean mo- No. 119. THE SPECTATOE. 455 rals, "but behaviour and good-breeding, as they sbo\i- them- selves in the town and in the country. And here, in the iirst place, I must observe a very great revolution that has happened in this article of good-breed- ing. Several obliging deferences, condescensions, and sub- missions, with many outward forms and ceremonies that accompany them, were first of all brought up among the politer part of mankind, who lived in courts and cities, and . distinguished themselves from the rustic part of the species (who on all occasions acted bluntly and naturally) by such a mutual complaisance and intercourse of civilities. These forms of conversation by degrees multiplied, and grew trou- blesome ; the modish world found too great a constraint in them, and have therefore thrown most of them aside. Con- versation, like the Romish religion, was so encumbered with show and ceremony, that it stood in need of a reformation to retrench its superfluities, and restore its natural good sense and beauty. At present, therefore, an unconstrained carriage, and a certain openness of behaviour, are the height of good-breeding. The fashionable world is grown free and easy ; our manners sit more loose upon us : nothing is so modish' as an agreeable negligence. In a word, good-breed- ing shows itself most, where to an ordiaary eye it appears the least. If after this we look on the people of mode in the country, we find in them the manners of the last age. They have no sooner fetched themselves up to the fashion of a polite world, but the town has dropped them, and are nearer to the first state of nature, than to those refinements which formerly reigned in the court, and still prevail in the country. One may now know a man that never conversed in the world by his excess of good-breeding. A polite country squire shall make you as many bows iu half an hour, as would serve a courtier for a week. There is infinitely more to do about place and precedency in a meeting of justices' wives, than in an assembly of duchesses. This rural politeness is very troublesome to a man of my temper, who generally takes the chair that is next me, and walk first or last, m the front or in the rear, as chance di- ' Modish.] The vulgar use of this term has, I suppose, disgraced it. It would uot now be endured ir. polite conversation, much less in polite 456 ADDISOlf's WORKS. rects I have kiioT\Ti my friend Sir Eoger's dinner almost cold before the company could adjust the ceremonial, and be prevailed upon to sit down ; and have heartily pitied my old friend, when I have seen him forced to pick and cull his guests, as they sat at the several parts of his table, that he might drink their healths according to their respective ranks and qualities. Honest WUl. Wimble, who I should have thought had been altogether uninfected with ceremony, gives me abundance of trouble in this particular. Though he has been fishing all the morning, he will not help himself at din- ner till I am served. When we are going out of the haU, he runs behind me ; and last night, as we were walking ia the fields, stopped short at a stile till I came up to it, and upon my making signs to him to get over, told me, with a serious smile, that sure I believed they had no manners in the country. There has happened another revolution in the point of good-breeding, which relates to the conversation among men of mode, and which I cannot but look upon as very extraor- dinary. It was certainly one of the first distinctions of a well-bred man, to express everything that had the most re- mote appearance of being obscene in modest terms and dis- tant phrases ; whilst the clown, who had no such delicacy of conception and expression, clothed his ideas in those plain homely terms that are the most obvious and natural. This kind of good manners was perhaps carried to an excess, so as to make conversation too stiff, formal, and precise ; for which reason (as hypocrisy in one age is generally succeeded by atheism in another) conversation is in a great measure re- lapsed into the first extreme ; so that at present several oi our men of the town, and particularly those who have been polished in France, inake use of the most coarse, uncivilized words in our language, and utter themselves often in such a manner as a clown would blush to hear. This infamous piece of good-breeding, which reigns among the coxcombs of the town, has not yet made its way into the country ; and as it is impossible for such an irrational way of conversation to last long among a people that makes any profession of religion, or show of modesty, if the countiy gentlemen get into it, they will certainly be left in the lurch. Their good-breeding will come too late to them, and they will be thought a parcel of lewd clovms, whilfl No. 120. THE SPEOTATOB. 457 they fancy themselves talking together like men of wit and pleasure. As the two points of good-breeding, which I have hitherto insisted upon, regard behaviour and conversation, there is a third which tifwis upon dress. In this too the country are very much behindhand. The rural beaus are not yet got out of the fashion that took place at the time of the Eevolu- tion, but ride about the country in red coats and laced hats ; while the women in many parts are still trying to outvie one another in the height of their head-dresses. But a friend of mine, who is now upon the western circuit, having promised to give me an account of the several modes and fashions that prevail in the different parts of the nation through which he passes, I shall defer the enlarging uj)ou this last topic till I have received a letter from him, which I expect every post. No. 120. "WEDNESDAY, JULY 18. — Equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis Ingenium — Vieg. Mr friend Sir Roger is very often merry with me upon my passing so much of my time among his poultry : he has caught me twice or thrice looking after a bird's nest, and several times sitting an hour or two together near a hen and chickens. He tells me he believes I am personally acquainted with every fowl about his house ; calls such a particular cock my favourite, and frequently complains that his ducks and geese have more of my company than himself. I must confess I am infinitely delighted' with those specu- lations of nature which are to be made in a country -life ; and as my reading has very much lain among books of natural history, I cannot forbear recollecting upon this occasion the several remarks which I have met vrith in authors, and com- paring them with what falls under my own observation : the arguments for Providence drawn from the natural history of animals being in my opinion demonstrative. The make of every kind of animal is different from that of every other kind ; and yet there is not the least turn in the muscles, or twist in the fibres, of any one which does not render them more proper for that particular animal's 458 akdison's woeks. way of life, than auy other cast or texture of them would have been. The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and hunger : the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate their kind ; the latter, to preserve themselves. It is astonishing to consider the different degrees of care that descend from the parent to the young, so far as is ab- solutely necessary for the leaving a posterity. Some crea- tures cast their eggs as chance directs them, and think of them no further, as insects, and several kiads of fish : others, of a nicer frame, find out proper beds to deposit them in, and there leave them ; as the serpent, the crocodile, and ostrich : others hatch their eggs, and tend the birth, till it is able to shift for itself. What can we call the principle which directs every dif- ferent kind of bird to observe a particular plan in the struc- ture of its nest, and directs all of the same species to work after the same model ? It cannot be imitation ; for though you hatch a crow under a hen, and never let it see any of the works of its own kind, the nest it makes shall be the same, to the laying of a stick, with all the other nests of the same species. It cannot be reason ; for were animals endued I with it to as great a degree as man, their buildings would be as different as ours, according to the different conveniences that they would propose to themselves. Is it not remarkable, that the same temper of weather which raises this genial warmth in animals, should cover the trees with leaves, and the fields with grass, for their security and concealment, and produce such infinite swarms of insects for the support and sustenance of their respective broods ? Is it not wonderful, that the love of the parent should be so violent while it lasts ; and that it should last no longer than is necessary for the preservation of the young ? The violence of this natural love is exemplified by a very barbarous experiment ; which I shall quote at length as I find it in an excellent author, and hope my readers will pardon the mentioning such an instance of cruelty, because there is no- thing can so effectually show the strength of that principle in animals, of which I am here speaking. " A person who was well skilled in dissections, opened a bitch, and as she lay in the most exquisite tortures, offered her one of her young puppies, which she immediately feU a licking ; and for tLd No. 120. THE 8PECTAT0B. 459 time seemed insensible of her own pain : on the removal, she kept her eyes fixt on it, and began a wailing sort of cry, which seemed rather to proceed from the loss of her young one, than the sense of her own torments." But notwithstanding this natural love in brutes is much more violent and intense than in rational creatures, Provi- dence has taken care that it should be no longer trouble- some to the parent than it is useful to the young ; for so soon as the wants of the latter cease, the mother withdraws her fondness, and leaves them to provide for themselves : and, what is a very remarkable circumstance in this part of in- stinct, we find that the love of the parent may be lengthened out beyond its usual time, if the preservation of the species requires it ; as we may see in birds, that drive away their young as soon as they are able to get their livelihood, but continue to feed them if they are tied to the nest, or confined within a cage, or by any other means appear to be out of a condition of supplying their own necessities. This natural love is not observed in animals to ascend from , the young to the parent, which is not at aU necessary for the continuance of the species: nor, indeed, in reasonable crea-~ tures does it rise in any proportion, as it spreads itself down- wards ; for in all family afiectioii we find protection grantet and favours bestowed, are greater motives to love and tend- erness, than safety, benefits, or life received. One would wonder to hear sceptical men disputing for the reason of animals, and telling us it is only our pride and pre- judices that wiU not allow them the use of that faculty. Eeason shows itself in aU occurrences of life ; whereas the brute makes no discovery of such a talent, but in what immediately regards his own preservation, or the continuance of his species. Animals ia their generation are wiser than the sons of men ; but their wisdom is confined to a few par- ticulars, and lies in. a very narrow compass. Take a brute out of his iastinct, and you find him wholly deprived of un- derstanding. To use an instance that comes often under ob- servation. With what caution does the hen provide herself a nest in pkces unfrequented and free from noise and disturbance ! When she has laid her eggs in such a manner that she can cover them, what care does she take in turning them fre- quently, that all pa,rts may partake of the vital warmth ! Wheis 46C Addison's wobkb. she leaves them to provide for her necessary sustenance, how punctually does she return hefore they have time to cool, and become incapable of producing an animal ! In the summer you see her giving herself greater freedoms, and quitting her care for above two hours together ; but in vpinter, when the rigour of the season would chUl the principles of Kfe, and destroy the young one, she grows more assiduous in her at- tendance, and stays away but half the time. When the birth approaches, with how much nicety and attention does she ' help the chick to break its prison ! Not to take notice of her covering it from the injuries of the weather, providing it proper nourishment, and teaching it to help itself; iior to mention her forsaking the nest, if after the usual time of reckoning the young one does not make its appearance. A chemical operation could not be followed with greater art or diligence, than is seen in the hatching of a chick ; though there are many other birds that show an infinitely greater sagacity in all the forementioned particulars. But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeming in- genuity, (which is indeed absolutely necessary for the propa- gation of the species,) considered in other respects, is i^dthout the least glimmerings of thought or common sense. She mis- takes a piece of chalk for an egg, and sits upon it in the same manner : she is insensible of an increase or diminution in the number of those she lays : she does not distinguish between her own and those of another species ; and when the birth ap- pears of never so different a bird, will cherish it for her own. In all these circumstances, which do not carry an immediate regard to the subsistence of herself, or her species, she is a very idiot. There is not, in my opinion, anything more mysterious in nature than this instinct in animals, which thus rises above reason, and falls infinitely short of it. It cannot be accounted for by any properties in matter, and at the same time works after so odd a manner, that one cannot think it the faculty of an intellectual being. For my own part, I look upon it as upon the principle of gravitation in bodies, which is not to be explained by any known qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor from any laws of mechanism, but, according to the best notions of the greatest philosophers, is an imme- diate impression from the first mover, and the Divine energy acting in the creatures. No. 121. THE SPECTATOR. 4G1 No. 121. THTJESDAT, JULY 19. — Jovis omnia plena. Virg. As I was walking this morning in the great yard that belongs to my friend's country-house, I was wonderfully pleased to see the different workings of instinct in a hen fol- lowed by a brood of ducks. The young, upon the sight of a pond, immediately ran into it ; while the step-mother, with ill imaginable anxiety, hovered about the borders of it, to sail them out of an element that appeared to her so dangerous ind destructive. As the different principle which acted in these different animals cannot be termed reason, so when we call it instinct, we mean something we have no knowledge of. To me, as I hinted iu my last paper, it seems the immediate direction of Providence, and such an operation of the Su- preme Being, as that which determines all the portions of matter to their proper centres. A modem philosopher, quoted by Monsieur Bayle in his learned dissertation on the souls of brutes, delivers the same opinion, though in a bolder form of words, where he says, Deus est anima brutorum: " God himself is the soul of brutes." "Who can tell what to call that seeming sagacity in animals, which directs them to such food as is proper for them, and makes them naturally avoid whatever is noxious or unwholesome ? Tully has observed, that a lamb no sooner faUs from its mother, but immediately, and of its own accord, applies itself to the teat. Dampier, in his travels, teUs us, that when seamen are thrown upon any of the unknown coasts of America, they never venture upon the fruit of any tree, how tempting soever it may appear, unless they observe that it is marked with the pecking of birds ; but fall on without any fear or apprehension where the birds have been before them. But notwithstanding animals have nothing like the use of reason, we find ia them all the lower parts of our nature, the passions and senses ia their greatest strength and perfection. And here it is worth our observation, that all beasts and birds of prey are wonderfully subject to anger, malice, revenge, and all other violent passions that may animate them in search of their proper food ; as those that are iacapable of defending themselves, or annoying others, or whose safety lies chiefly in their flight, are suspicious, fearful, and apprehensive of every 462 Addison's woees. tiling they see or hear ; whilst others, that are of assistance and use to man, have their natures softened with something mild and tractable, and hy that means are qualified for a do- mestic life. In this case the passions generally correspond with the make of the body. We do not find the fury of a lion in so weak and defenceless an animal as a lamb, nor the meekness of a lamb in a creature so armed for battle and as- sault as the lion. In the same manner, we find that particu- lar animals have a more or less exquisite sharpness and sa- gacity in those particular senses which most turn to their advantage, and in which their safety and welfare is the most concerned. Nor must we here omit that great variety of arms with which nature has differently fortified the bodies of several kinds of animals, such as claws, hoofs, and horns, teeth and tusks, a tail, a sting, a trunk, or a proboscis. It is like- wise observed by naturalists, that it must be some hidden principle, distinct from what we call reason, which instructs animals in the use of these their arms, and teaches them to manage them to the best advantage ; because they naturally defend themselves with that part in which their strength lies, before the weapon be formed in it ; as is remarkable ia lambs, which, though they are bred within-doors, and never saw the actions of their own species, push at those who ap- proach them with their foreheads, before the iirst budding of a horn appears. I shall add to these general observations an instance which Mr. Locke has given us of Providence, even in the im- perfections of a creature which seems the meanest and most despicable in the whole animal world. " We may, (says he,) from the make of an oyster, or cockle, conclude, that it has not so many nor so quick senses as a man, or several other animals ; nor, if it had, would it, in that state and incapacity of transferring itself from one place to another, be bettered by them. What good would sight and hearing do to a crea- ture that cannot move itself to or from the object, wherein at a distance it perceives good or evil ? And would not quick- ness of sensation be an inconvenience to an animal, that must be stiU where chance has once placed it ; and there re- ceive the afflux of colder or warmer, clean or foul water, as happens to come to it ?" I shall add to this instance out of Mr. Locke, another out No. 121. THE SPECTATOR. 463 of the learned Dr. More, who cites it from Cardan, in rela- tion to another animal whicli Providence has left defective, but at the same time has shown its wisdom in the formation of that organ in which it seems chiefly to have failed. " "What is more obvious and ordinary than a mole ; and yet what mv>re palpable argument of Providence than she ? the mem- bers of her body are so exactly fitted to her nature and man- ner of life : for her dweUing being under ground, where no- thing is to be seen, nature has so obscurely fitted her with eyes, that naturalists can scarce agree w^hether she have any^ sight at aU -or no. But, for amends, what she is capable of for her defence, and warning of danger, she has very emi- nently conferred upon her ; for she is exceeding quick of hearing. And then her short tail and short legs, but broad fore-feet, armed with sharp claws, we see by the event to what purpose they are, she so swiftly working herself under ground, and making her way so fast in the earth, as they that behold it cannot but admire' it. Her legs therefore are short, that she need dig no more than wiU serve the mere thickness of her body ; and her fore-feet are broad, that she may scoop away much earth at a time ; and little or no tail she has, because she courses it not on the ground, like the rat or mouse, of whose kindred she is, but lives under the earth, and is fain to dig herself a dwelling there. And she making her way through so thick an element, which will not yield easily, as the air or the water, it had been dangerous to have drawn so long a train behind her ; for her enemy might fall upon her rear, and fetch her out before she had com- pleted or got full possession of her works." I cannot forbear mentioning Mr. Boyle's remark upon this last creature, who, I remember, somewhere in his works ob- serves, that though the mole be not totally blind, (as it is commonly thought,) she has not sight enough to distinguish particular objects. Her eye is said to have but one humour in it, which is supposed to give her the idea of light, but of nothing else, and is so formed that this idea is probably painful to the animal. Whenever she comes up into broad day she might be in danger of being taken, unless she were thus affected by a light striking upon her eye, and immediately warning her to bury herself in her proper element. More sight would be useless to her, as none at all might be fatal. I have only instanced such animals as seem the most im- 464 Addison's woees. perfect works of nature ; and if Providence shows itself even in the blemishes of these creatures, how much more does it discover itself' in the several endowments which it has va- riously bestowed upon such creatures as are more or less finished and completed in their several faculties, according to the condition of life in which they axe posted ! I could wish our Eoyal Society would compile a body of natural history, the best that could be gathered together from books and observations. If the several writers among them took each his particular species, and gave us a distinct account of its original, birth, education; its policies, hostilities, and alliances, with the frame and teiture of its inward and outward parts, and particularly those that distinguish it from aU other animals, with their peculiar aptitudes for the state of being in which Providence has placed them, it would be one of the best services their studies could do mankind, and not a little redound to the glory of the all-wise Contriver. It is true, such a natural history, after all the disquisi- tions of the learned, would be iniinitely short and defective. Seas and deserts hide millions of animals from our observa- tion. Innumerable artifices and stratagems are acted in the howling wilderness and in the great deep, that can never come to our knowledge. Besides that there are infinitely more spe- cies of creatures which are not to be seen without, nor indeed with, the help of the finest glasses, than of such as are bulky enough for the naked eye to take hold of. However, from the consideration of such animals as lie within the compass of our knowledge, we might easily form a conclusion of the rest, that the same variety of wisdom and goodness runs through the whole creation, and puts every creature in a condition to provide for its safety and subsistence in its proper station. TuUy has given us an admirable sketch of natural history,' 'n his second book, concerning the nature of the gods ; and that in a style so raised by metaphors and descriptions, that it lifts the subject above raiUery and ridicule, which fre- quently fall on such nice observations, when they pass through the hands of an ordinary writer. ' How superficial is the philosophy of such men as Cicero and Mr- Addison ! A work of the sort here mentioned, as reflecting so much honour on the great Creator, has been attempted, in our days, by a French writer of name ; * but so much on his guard against superstition, as not to .see design in what men had hitherto caSei final causes. * M. Buff'on; ' No. 122. THE SPECTATOB. 465 No. 122. FEIDAT, JULY 20. Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est. Pub. Syr. Fkag. A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his own heart ; his next, to escape the censures of the world : if the last interferes with the former, it ought to he entirely neglected ; but otherwise there cannot be a greater satis- faction to an honest mind, than to see those approbations which it gives itseK seconded by the applauses of the public : a man is more sure of his conduct, when the verdict which he passes upon his own behaviour is thus warranted and con- firmed by the opinion of all that know him. My worthy friend Sir Eoger is one of those who is not only at peace within himself, but beloved and esteemed by aU about him. He receives a suitable tribute for his universal benevolence to mankind, in the returns of affection and good- will which are paid him by every one that lives within his neighbourhood. I lately met with two or three odd instances of that general respect which is shown to the good old knight. He w^ould needs carry Will. Wimble and myself with him to the country assizes : as we were upon the road, WiU. Wimble joined a couple of plain men who rid before us, and conversed with them for some time ; during which my friend Sir Eoger acquainted me with their characters. The first of them, says he, that has a spaniel by his side, is a yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year, an honest man : he is just within the game act, and qualified to kill an hare or a pheasant : he knocks down a dinner with his gun twice or thrice a week; and by that means lives much cheaper than those who have not so good an estate as him- self. He would be a good neighbour if he did not destroy so many partridges : in short, he is a very sensible man ; shoots flying; and has been several times fore-man of the petty-jury. The other that rides with him is Tom Touchy, a fellow famous for taking the law of everybody. There is not one in the town where he lives that he has not sued at a quarter- sessions. The rogue had once the impudence to go to law with the widow. His head is full of costs, damages, and ejectments : he plagued a couple of honest gentleman so long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges, tiU he wajs VOL. n. 2 H 46fi ADDISOIf'S WOEKS. forced to sell the ground it enclosed to defray the charges of the prosecution. His father left him fourscore pounds a year ; but he has cast and been cast so often, that he is not now worth thirty. I suppose he is going upon the old busiaesa of the willow-tree. As Sir E-oger was giving me this account of Tom Touchy, Will. Wimble and his two companions stopped short tiU we came up to them. After having paid their respects to Sir Eoger, "Win. told him that Mr. Touchy and he must appeal to him upon a dispute that arose between them. Will., it seems, had been giving his fellow-traveUers an account of his angling one day in such a hole ; when Tom Touchy, instead of hearing out his story, told him, that Mr. such an one, if he pleased, might take the law of him for fishing in that part of the river. My friend Sir Eoger heard them both, upon a round trot, and after having paused some time, told them, with an air of a man who would not give his judgment rashly, that much might be said on both sides. They were neither of them dissatisfied with the knight's determination, because neither of them found himself in the wrong by it : upon which we made the best of our way to the assizes. The court was sat before Sir Eoger came, but notwith- standing all the justices had taken their places upon the bench, they made room for the old knight at the head of them ; who, for his reputation in the country, took occasion to whisper in the judge's ear, that he was glad his lordship had met with so much good weather in his circuit. I was listen- ing to the proceedings of the court with much attention, and infinitely pleased with that great appearance of solemnity which so properly accompanies such a public administration of our laws ; when, after about an hour's sitting, I observed, to my great surprise, in the midst of a trial, that my friend Sir Eoger was getting up to speak. I was in some pain for him, till I found he had acquitted himself of two or three sentences, with a look of much business and great intrepidity. Upon his first rising the court was hushed, and a general whisper ran among the country people that Sir Eoger was up. The speech he made was so little to the purpose, that I shall not trouble my readers with an account of it ; and I believe was not so much designed by the knight himself tc inform the court, as to give him a, figure in my eye, and keef up his credit m the country. No. 122. THE aPHOTATOE. 467 I was highly delighted, when t>e court rose, to see the gentlemen of the country gathering about my old friend, and striving who should compliment him most ; at the same time that the ordinary people gazed upon him at a distance, not a little admiring his courage, that was not afraid to speak to the judge. In our return home we met with a very odd accident ; which I cannot forbear relating, because it shows how de- sirous all who know Sir Eoger are of giving him marks of their esteem. "When we were arrived upon the verge of his estate, we stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves and our horses, The man of the house had, it seems, been formerly a servant in the knight's family ; and to do honour to his old master, had some time since, unknown to Sir Eoger, put him up in a sign-post before the door; so that The Knight's Head had hung out upon the road about a week before he himseK knew anything of the matter. As soon as Sir Eoger was acquainted with it, iiading that his servant's indiscre- tion proceeded wholly from affection and good-will, he only told him that he had made him too high a compliment : and when the fellow seemed to think that could hardly be, added with a more decisive look, that it was too great an honour for any man under a duke ; but told him at the same time, that it might be altered with a very few touches, and that he himself would be at the charge of it. Accordingly they got a paiuter by the knight's directions to add a pair of whiskers to the face, and by a little aggravation of the fea- tures to change it into the Saracen's Head. I should not have known this story, had not the inn-keeper, upon Sir Eogei's alighting, told him in my hearing, that his Honour's head was brought back last night, with the alterations that he had ordered to be made in it. Upon this my friend, with his usual cheerfulness, related the particulars above- mentioned, and ordered the head to be brought into the room. I could not forbear discovering greater expressions of mirth than ordinary upon the b,ppearance of this mon- strous face, under which, notwithstanding it was made to frown and stare in the most extraordinary manner, I could still discover a distant resemblance of my old friend. Sir Eoger, upon seeing me laugh, desired me to tell him truly if I thought it possible for people to know him in that disguise. I at first kepi m-y usual silence ; but upon the knight's con- 2 a 2 468 Addison's woeks. juring me to tell him wBether it was not stiU more like Mm- seK than a Saracen, I composed my countenance in. the best manner I could, and replied, ' That much might he said on both sides.' These several adventures, with the knight's behaviour in them, gave me as pleasant' a day as ever I met with in any of my travels. No. 123. SATUEDAT, JFLT 21. Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam, Rectique cultus pectora roborant : Utcunque defecere mores, Dedecorant bene nata culpse. Hob. As I was yesterday taking the air with my friend Sir Eoger, we were met by a fresh-coloured, ruddy young man, who rid by us frill speed, with a couple of servants behind him. Upon my inquiry who he was. Sir Eoger told me that he was a young gentleman of a considerable estate, who had been edu- cated by a tender mother that lived not many miles from the place where we were. She is a very good lady, says my friend, but took so much care of her son's health, that she has made him good for nothing. She quickly found that reading was bad for his eyes, and that writing made his hand ache. He was let loose among the woods as soon as he was able to ride on horse-back, or to carry a gun upon his shoulder. To be brief, I found, by my friend's account of him, that he had got a great stock of health, but nothing else ; and that if it were a man's business only to live, there would not be a more accomplished young feUow in the whole county. The truth of it is, since my residing in these parts, I have seen and heard innumerable instances of young heirs and elder brothers , who either from their own reflecting upon the estates they are bom to, and therefore thinking all other accomplishments unnecessary, or from hearing these notions frequently inculcated to them by the flattery of their servants and domestics, or from the same foolish thoughts prevaiUng in those who have the care of their education, are of no man- ner of use but to keep up their families, and transmit their lands and houses in a line to posterity. ' Mr. Addison could not help giving himself this little applause, for one of the most humorous papers that ever was written. N^O. 125 THE SPECTAIOB 4C9 This makes me often tlunt on a story I have heard of two friends, which I shall give my reader at large, under feigned names. The moral of it may, I hope, be useful, though there are some circumstances which make it rather appear ' like a novel than a true story. Eudoxus and Leontine began the world with small estates. They were both of them men of good sense and great virtue. They prosecuted their studies together in their earlier years, and entered into such a friendship as lasted to the end of their lives. Eudoxus, at his first setting out in the world, threw himself into a court, where, by his natural endow- ments and his acquired abilities, he made his way from one post to another, till at length he had raised a very .consider- able fortune. Leontine, on the contrary, sought all opportu- nities of improving his mind by study, conversation, and travel. He was not only acquainted with all the sciences, but with the most eminent professors of them throughout Europe. He knew'' perfectly well the interests of its princes, with the customs and fashions of their courts, and could scarce meet vrith the name of an extraordinary person in the Gazette whom he had not either talked to or seen. In short, he had so well mixt and digested his knowledge of men and books, that he made one of the most accomplished persons of his age. During the whole course of his studies and tra- vels he kept up a punctual correspondence with Eudoxus, who often made himself acceptable to the principal men about court by the intelligence which he received from Leontine. When they were both turned of forty, (an age in which, according to Mr. Cowley, there is no dallying with life,) they determined, pursuant to the resolution they had taken ia the beginning of their Hves, to retire, and pass the remainder of their days in the country. In order to this, they both of them married much about the same time. Leon- tine, with his own and his wife's fortune, bought a farm oi three hundred a year, which lay within the neighbourhood of his friend Eudoxus, who had purchased an estate of as many thousands. They were both of them fathers about the same time, Eudoxus having a son bom to him, and Leontine a daughter ; but, to the unspeakable grief of the Litter, his young wife (in whom aU his happiness was wrapt up) died in a few days after the birth of her daughter. His affliction would have been insupportable, had he not been comforted 470 ADDISOir'S WOEKS. by the daily visits and conversations of his friend. As thev were one day talking together with their usual intimacy, Leontiue, considering how incapable he was of giving hig daughter a proper education ia his own house, and Eudoxus reflecting on the ordinary behaviour of a son who knows himself to be the heir of a great estate, they both agreed upon an exchange of children, that the boy should be bred up with Leontine as his son, and that the girl should live with Eudoxus as his daughter, till they were each of them arrived at years of discretion. The wife of Eudoxus, know- ing that her son could not be so advantageously brought up as under the care of Leontine, and considering at the same time that he would be perpetually under her own eye, was by degrees prevailed upon to faU in vdth the project. She therefore took LeoniUa, for that was the name of the girl, and educated her as her own daughter. The two friends on each side had wrought themselves to such an habitual ten- derness for the children who were under their direction, that each of them had the real passion of a father, where the title was but imaginary. Elorio, the name of the young heir that lived with Leontine, though he had all the duty and affec- tion imaginable for his supposed parent, was taught to re- joice at the sight of Eudoxus, who visited his firiend very fre- quently, and was dictated' by his natural affection, as well as by the rules of prudence, to make himself esteemed and beloved by Elorio. The boy wa^ now old enough to know his supposed father's circumstances, and that^ therefore he was to make his way in the world by his own industry. This consideration jrew stronger in him every day, and produced so good an effect, that he applied himself with more than ordinary attention to the purstiit of everything which Leontine recommended to him. His natural abilities, which were very good, assisted by the directions of so excellent a counsellor, enabled him to make a quicker progress than or- dinary through all the parts of his education. Before he was twenty years of age, having finished his studies and ex ereises with great applause, he was removed from the ' Dictated.] If used at all, it should be dictated to ; but the pro] word, in this place, is carried, or led. ' Know his circumataneea, and that.'] It is not exact to make two such dififerent forms of construction dependent on the same verb. Better thus : " to know his supposed father's circumstances, and the necessity he wal under of making," &c. It ropW JfO, 123. THE SPECTATOE. 471 versity to the inns of court, wtere there are very few that make themselves considerable proficients in the studies of the place, who know they shall arrive at great estates with- out them. This was not Florio's case, he found that three hundred a year was hut a poor estate for Leontine and him- self to live upon, so that he studied without intermission tUl he gained a very good insight into the constitution and laws of his country. I should have told my reader, that whilst Plorio lived at the house of his foster-father, he was always an acceptable guest in the family of Eudoxus, where he became acquainted with LeoniUa from her infancy. His acquaintance with her by degrees grew into love, which, in a mind trained up in all the sentiments of honour and virtue, became a very uneasy passion. He despaired of gaining an heiress of so great a fortune, and would rather have died than attempted it by any indirect methods. LeoniUa, who was a woman of the great- est beauty joined with the greatest modesty, entertained at the same time a secret passion for Morio, but conducted her- seK with so much prudence that she never gave him the least intimation of it. Elorio was now engaged in aU those arts and improvements that are proper to raise a man's private fortune, and give him a figure ia his country, but secretly tormented with that passion which bums with the greatest fury in a virtuous and noble heart, when he received a sud- den summons from Leontine to repair to him into the country the next day. For it seems Eudoxus was so fiUed with the report of his son's reputation, that he could no longer with- hold making himself known to him. The morning after his arrival at the house of his supposed father, Leontine told him that Eudoxus had something of great importance to com- municate to him : upon which the good man embraced him, and wept. Elorio was no sooner arrived at the great house that stood in his neighbourhood, but Eudoxus took him by the hand, after the first salutes i were over, and conducted him into his closet. He there opened to him the whole se- cret of his parentage and education, concluding after this manner: "I have no other way left of acknowledging my gratitude to Leontine, than by marrying you to his daughter. He shall not lose the pleasure of being your father, by the discovery I have made to you. LeoniUa too shall be still iny ' " Salutations " is better. 472 Addison's woeks. daughter ; her filial piety, though misplaced, has beers so cz- emplary that it deserves the greatest reward I can confer upon it. Tou shall have the pleasure of seeing a great estate fall to you, which you would have lost the relish of had you known yourself horn to it. Continue only to deserve it in the same manner you did before you were possessed of it. I have left your mother in the next room. Her heart yearns towards you. She is making the same discoveries to LeoniUa which I have made to yourself." Florio was so overwhelmed with this profusion of happiaess, that he was not able to make a reply, but threw himself down at his father's feet, and amidst a flood of tears, kissed and embraced his knees, asking his blessing, and expressing in dumb show those senti- ments of love, duty, and gratitude, that were too big for utterance. To conclude, the happy pair were married, and half Eudoxus' estate settled upon them. Leontine and Budoxus passed the remainder of their lives together ; and received in the dutiful and affectionate behaviour of Tlorio and LeoniUa the just recompence, as well as the natural effects, of that care which they had bestowed upon them in their education. No. 124. MONDAY, JULY 23. Miya jStjSXtov, fikya kukov. A MAN who publishes his works in a volume, has an infi . nite advantage over one who communicates his writings to the world in loose tracts and single pieces. "We do not ex- pect to meet with anything in a bulky volume, till after some heavy preamble, and several words of course to prepare the reader for what foUows : nay, authors have established it as a kind of rule, that a man ought to be duU sometimes ; as the most severe reader makes allowances for many rests and nodding-places in a voluminous writer. This gave occasion to the famous Greek proverb which I have chosen for my motto, " that a great book is a great evil." On the contrary, those who publish their thoughts in dis- tinct sheets, and as it were by piece-meal, have none of these advantages. AVe must immediately fall into our subject, and treat every part of it in a lively manner, or our papers are thrown by as dull and insipid : our matter must ie close to- No. 12*. THE SPECTATOB. ITS gether, and either Le whoUy new in itseK, or in the turn it receives from our expressions. Were the hooks of our hest authors thus to he retailed to the puhlic, and every page submitted to the taste of forty or fifty thousand readers, I am afraid we should complain of many flat expressions, tri- vial observations, beaten topics, and common thoughts, which go off very well in the lump. At the same time, notwithstand- ing some papers may be made up of broken hints and irre- gular sketches, it is often expectedthatevery sheet should ho a kind of treatise, and make out in thought what it wants ia bulk ; that a point of humour should be worked up in all its parts ; and a subject touched upon iu its most essential arti- cles, withouttherepetitions,tautologies, and enlargements that are indulged to longer labours. The ordinary writers of mo- rality prescribe to their readers after the Galenic way ; their medicines are made up ia large quantities. An essay writer must practise in the chymical method, and give the virtue of a fuU draught in a few drops. Were all books reduced thus to their quintessence, many a bulky author would make his appearance in a penny paper : there would be scarce such a thing in nature as a foUo : the works of an age would be con- tained on a few shelves ; not to mention millions of volumes that would be utterly annihilated. I cannot think that the difficulty of furnishing out separate papers of this nature has hindered authors from communicat- ing their thoughts to the world after such a manner ; though I must confess I am amazed that the press should be only made use of in this way by news-writers, and the zealots ol parties : as if it were not more advantageous to mankind, to be instructed in wisdom and virtue, than in politics ; and to be made good fathers, husbands, and sons, than counsellors and statesmen. Had the philosophers and great men of antiquity, who took so much pains in order to instruct man- kind, and leave the world wiser and better than they found it; had they, I say, been possessed of the art of printing, there is no question but they would have made such an advantage of it, in dealing out their lectures to the public. Our common prints would be of great use, were they thus calculated to diffuse good sense through the bulk of a people, to clear up their understandings, animate their minds with virtue, dissi- pate the sorrows of a heavy heart, or unbend the mind from its more severe employments with innocent amusements. 47-i ADDISON'S -VTOEKS. "When knowledge, instead of being bound up in books, ana kept in libraries and retirements, is tbus obtruded upon the public ; when it is canvassed in every assembly, and exposed upon every table ; I cannot forbear reflectiag upon that pass- age in the Proverbs, " Wisdom erieth without : she uttereth her voice in the streets, she erieth in the chief place of con- course, in the openings of the gates. In the city she uttereth her words, saying. How long, ye simple ones, wiU. ye love simplicity ? and the scorners delight in their scorning ? and fools hate knowledge ?" The many letters which come to me from persons of the best sense in both sexes, (for I may pronounce their cha- racters from their way of writing,) do not a little encourage me in the prosecution of this my undertaking : besides that, my bookseller teUs me, the demand for these my papers in- creases daily. It is at his instance that I shall continue my rural speculations to the end of this month ; several having made up separate sets of them, as they have done before of those relating to vrit, to operas, to points of morality, or sub- jects of humour. I am not at all mortified, when sometimes I see my works thrown aside by men of no taste nor learning. There is a kind of heaviness and ignorance that hangs upon the minds of ordinary men, which is too thick for knowledge to break through : their souls are not to be enlightened, — Nox atra cava circumrolat umbra. To these I must apply the fable of the mole. That after having consulted many oculists for the bettering of his sight, was at last provided with a good pair of spectacles ; but upon his endeavouring to make use of them, his mother told him very prudently, " That spectacles, though they might help the eye of a man, could be of no use to a mole." It is not there- fore for the benefit of moles that I publish these my daily But besides such as are moles through, ignorance, there are others who are moles through envy. As it is said in the Latin proverb, " That one man is a wolf to another ; " so, generally speaking, one author is a mole to another author. It is impossible for them to discover beauties in one another's works ; they have eyes only for spots and blemishes : they can indeed see the bglit, as it is said of the animals which JfO. 125. THE SPECTATOE. 475 are their namesakes, but the idea of it is painful to them , they immediately shut their eyes upon it, and withdraw themselves into a wilful obscurity. I have already caught two or three of these dark imdermining vermin, and intend to make a string of them, in order to hang them up in one of my papers, as an example to all such voluntary moles. No. 125. TTTESDAT, JULY 24. Ne pueri, ne tanta animis assuescite bella ; Neu patriae validas in viscera vertite vires. Vieg. Mt worthy friend Sir Eoger, when we are talking of the malice of parties, very frequently tells us an accident that happened to him when he was a school-boy, whi<;h was at a time when the feuds ran high between the Eound-heads and Cavaliers. This worthy knight being then but a stripling, had occasion to inquire which was the way to St. Anne's Lane, upon which the person whom he spoke to, instead of answering his question, called him a young popish cur, and asked him who had made Anne a saint ! The boy being in some confusion, inquired of the next he met, which was the way to Anne's Lane ; but was called a prick-eared cur fcr bis pains ; and instead of being shown the way, was told, that she had been a saint before he was bom, and would be one after he was hanged. Upon this, says Sir Eoger, I did not think fit to repeat the former question, but going into every lane of the neighbourhood, asked what they called the name of that lane. By which ingenious artifice he found out the place he inquired after, without giving offence to any party. Sir Eoger generally closes this narrative with reflections on the mischief that parties do in the country ; how they spoil good neighbourhood, and make honest gentlemen hate one another ; besides that they manifestly tend to the prejudice of the land-tax, and the destruction of the game. There cannot a greater judgment befall a country than such a dreadful spirit of division as rends a government into two distinct people, and makes them greater strangers and more averse to one another, than if they were actually two differ- ent nations. The effects of sucb a division are pernicious to the last degree, not only with regard to those advantages which they give the common enemy, but to those private 476 Addison's "woeks. evils whicli they produce in the heart of almost every parti- cular person. This influence is very fatal both to men's morals and their understandings ; it sinks the virtue of a nation, and not only so, but destroys even common sense. A furious party-spirit, when it rages in its fuU violence, ex- erts itself iu civil war and bloodshed ; and when it is under its greatest restraints, naturally breaks out iu falsehood, de- traction, calumny, and a partial administration of justice. In a word, it fills a nation with spleen and rancour, and extinguishes all the seeds of good-nature, compassion, and humanity. Plutarch says very finely, that a man should not allow himself to hate even his enemies, because, says he, if you in- dulge this passion ia some occasions, it will rise of itseK in others ; if you hate your enemies, you will contract such a vicious babit of mind, as by degrees will break out upon those who are your friends, or those who are indifferent to you. I might here observe how admirably this precept of morality (which derives the malignity of hatred from the passion itself, and not from its object) answers to that great rule which was dictated to the world about an hundred years before this philosopher vfrote ; but instead of that, I shall only take notice, with a real grief of heart, that the miuds of many good men among us appear soured with party-prin- ciples, and alienated from one another in such a manner, as seems to me altogether iaconsistent with the dictates either of reason or religion. Zeal for a public cause is apt to breed passions in the hearts of virtuous persons, to which the re- gard of their own private interest would never have betrayed them. If this party-spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it has likewise a very great one upon our judgments. We often hear a poor insipid paper or pamphlet cried up, and sometimes a noble piece depreciated, by those who are of a different principle from the author. One who is actuated by this spirit, is almost under an incapacity of discerning either real blemishes or beauties. A man of merit in a dif- ferent principle, is like an object seen in two different me- diums, that appears crooked or broken, however straight ami entire it may be in itself. For this reason there is scarce a person of any figure in England, who does not go by twc ' The regard of.'] I would rather say, " a regard for," No 125. THE SPECTATOS. 477 contrary cliaracters, as opposite to one another as light and darkness. Knowledge and learning suifer in a particular manner from this strange prejudice, which at present pre- vails amongst all ranks and degrees in the British nation. As men formerly became eminent in learned societies by tneir parts and acquisitions, they now distinguish themselves by the warmth and violence vrith which they espouse their respective parties. Books are valued upon the like consider- ations : an abusive, scurrilous style passes for satire, and a dull scheme of party -notions is called fine writing. There is one piece of sophistry practised by both sides, and that is the taking any scandalous story that has been ever whispered or invented of a private man, for a known, undoubted truth, and raising suitable speculations upon it. Calumnies that have been never proved, or have been often refuted, are the ordinary postulatums of these infamous scribblers, upon which they proceed as upon first principles granted by aU men, though in their hearts they know they are false, or at be^t very doubtful. When they have laid these foundations of scurrility, it is no wonder that their su- perstructure is every way answerable to them. If this shameless practice of the present age endures much longer, praise and reproach wiU cease to be motives of action in good men. There are certain periods of time in all governments when this inhuman spirit prevails. Italy was long torn in pieces by the Guelfes and Gibelines, and France by those who were for and against the League : but it is very unhappy for a man to be born in such a stormy and tempestuous season. It is the restless ambition of artful men that thus breaks a people into factions, and draws several well-meaning persons to their interest by a specious concern for their country. How many honest minds are filled' with uncharitable and barbarous notions, out of their zeal for the public good! What cruelties and outrages would they not commit against men of an adverse party, whom they would honour and esteem, if, instead of considering them as they are represent- ed, they knew them as they are ? Thus are persons of the greatest probity seduced into shameful errors and preju- dices, and made bad men even by that noblest of principles, the love of their country. I cannot here forbear mentioning 478 Addison's -woeks. the famous Spanish proverb, " If there were neither fools nor knaves in the world, all people would be of one mind." For my own part, I could heartily wish that aU honest men would enter into an association, for the support of one another against the endeavours of those whom they ought to look upon as their common enemies, whatsoever side they may belong to. Were there such an honest body of neu- tral forces, we should never see the worst of men in great figures of life, because they are usefal to a party ; nor the best unregarded, because they are above practising those me- thods which would be grateful to their faction. We should ■'hen single every criminal out of the herd, and hunt him -own, however formidable and overgrown he might appear : on the contrary, we should shelter distressed innocence, and defend virtue, however beset with contempt or ridicule, envy or defamation. In short, we should not any longer regard our fellow-subjects as Whigs and Tories, but should make the man of merit our friend, and the villain our enemy. No. 126. WEDNESDAY, JIJ.LT 25. Tros Rutulusve fuat, nullo discrimine habebo. Vikg. Is my yesterday's paper I proposed, that the honest men of all parties should enter into a kind of association for the defence of one another, and the confusion of their common enemies. As it is designed this neutral body should act with a regard to nothing but truth and equity, and divest them- selves of the little heats and prepossessions that cleave to parties of all kinds, I have prepared for them the following form of an association, which may express their intentions in the most plain and simple manner. " We whose names are hereunto subscribed, do solenmly declare, that we do in our consciences believe two and two make four ; and that we shall adjudge any man whatsoever to be our enemy, who endeavours to persuade us to the con- trary. We are likewise ready to maintain, with the hazard of all that is near and dear to us, that six is less than seven in aU times and all places ; and that ten will not be more three years hence than it is at present. We do also firmly JfO. 126. THE SPECTATOR. 479 declare, that it is our resolution as long as we live, -uO call blaok black, and white white. And we shall upon all occa- sions oppose such persons that upon any day of the year shall call black white, or white black, with the utmost peril of our lives and fortunes." Were there such a combination of honest men, who, with- out any regard to places, would endeavour to extirpate aU such furious zealots as would sacrifice one half of their coun- try to the passion and interest of the other ; as also such in- famous hypocrites, that are for promoting their own advan- tage, under colour of the public good ; with all the profligate, immoral retainers to each side, that have nothing to recom- mend them but an implicit submission to their leaders ; we should soon see that furious party-spirit extinguished, which may in time expose us to the derision and contempt of all the nations about us. A member of this society, that would thus carefully employ himself in making room for merit, by throwing down the worthless and depraved part of mankind from those conspicu- ous stations of Me to which they have been sometimes ad- vanced, and all this without any regard to his private interest, would be no small benefactor to his country. I remember to have read in Diodorus Siculus, an account of a very active little animal, which I think he calls the Ich- neumon, that makes it the whole business of his life to break the eggs of the crocodile, which he is always in search after. This instinct is the more remarkable, because the Ichneumon never feeds upon the eggs he has broken, nor any other way finds his account in them. Were it not for the incessant labours of this industrious animal, ^gypt (says the historian) would be over-run with crocodiles ; for the Egyptians are so far from destroying those pernicious creatures, that they worship them as god.-_ K we look into the behaviour of ordinary partisans, we ihaR find them far from resembling this disinterested animal; and rather acting after the example of the wild Tartars, who are ambitious of destroying a man of the most extraordinary parts and accomplishments, as thinking that, upon his de- cease, the same talents, whatever post they qualified him for, enter of course into his destroyer. As in the whole train of my speciilations I have endea- 480 ADDISOS'S WOEES. voured, as much as I am able, to extinguisli that pernicious spirit of passion and prejudice, which rages with the same violence in all parties, I am still the more desirous of doing some good in this particular, because I observe that the spirit of party reigns more in the country than in the town. It here contracts a kind of brutality and rustic fierceness, to which men of a politer conversation are whoUy strangers. It extends itself even to the return of the bow and the hat ; and at the same time that the- heads of parties preserve to- wards one another an outward show of" good breeding, and keep up a perpetual intercourse of civilities, their tools that are dispersed in these outlying parts, wiU. not so much as mingle together at a cock-match. This humour fills the country with seyeral periodical meetings of Whig jockeys and Tory fox-hunters ; not to mention the innumerable curses, frowns, and whispers it produces at a quarter-sessions. I do not know whether I have observed in any of my for- mer papers, that my friends. Sir Eoger de Coverley and Sir Andrew Preeport, are of difierent principles; the first of them inclined to the landed, and the other to the moneyed interest. This humour is so moderate in each of them, that it proceeds no further than to an agreeable raillery, which very often diverts the rest of the club. I find, however, that the knight is a much stronger Tory in the country than in town, which, as he has told me in my ear, is absolutely neces- sary for the keeping of his interest. In all our journey from London to his house, we did not so much as bait at a Whig ion ; or if by chance the coachman stopped at a wrong place, one of Sir Soger's servants would ride up to his master full speed, and whisper to him that the master of the house was against such an one in the last election. This often betrayed us into hard beds and bad cheer ; for we were not so inquisi- tive about the inn as the inn-keeper ; and provided our land- lord's principles were sound, did not taJie any notice of the staleness of his provisions. This I found still the more in- convenient, because the better the host was, the worse gener- ally were his accommodations ; the fellow knowing very well, that those who were his friends would take up with coarse diet and an hard lodging. For these reasons, all the while I was upon the road, I dreaded enteriag into an house of any one that Sir Eoger had applauded for an honest man. Since my stay at Sir Soger's in the country, I daily fiad ^0. 127. THE SPECTATOB. 481 more instances of tHs narrow- party humour. Being Upon the bowling-green at a neighbouring market-town the other day, (for that is the place where the gentlemen of one side meet once a week,) I observed a stranger among them of a better presence and genteeler behaviour than ordinary ; but was much surprised, that notwithstanding he was a very fair better, nobody would take him up. But upon inquiry I found, that he was one who had given a disagreeable vote ia a former parliament, for which reason there was not a man upon that bowling-green who WQuld have so much corre- spondence with him as to win his money of him. Among other instances of this nature, I must not omit one which concerns myself. "WUl. Wimble was the other day relating several strange stories that he had picked up, nobody knows where, of a certain great man ; and upon my staring at him, as one that was surprised to hear such things in the country, which had never been so much as whispered in the town, WUl. stopped short in the thread of his discourse, and after dinner asked my friend Sir Eoger in his ear, if he was sure that I was not a fanatic. It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dis- sension in the country ; not only as it destroys virtue and common sense, and renders us in a manner barbarians towards one another, but as it perpetuates our animosities, widens our breaches, and transmits our present passions and preju- dices to our posterity. For my own part, I am sometimes afraid that I discover the seeds of a civil war in these our divisions : and therefore cannot but bewaU, as in their first principles, the miseries and calamities of our children. No. 127. THUESDAT, JULY 26. — Quantum est in rebus inane ? Peks. It is our custom at Sir Soger's, upon the coming in of the post, to sit about a pot of coffee, and hear the old knight read Dyer's letter; which he does with his spectacles upon his nose, and in an audible voice, smiling very often at those httle strokes of satire, which are so frequent in the writings of that author. I afterwards communicate to the knight such packets as I receive under the quality of Spectatoe. The following letter chancing to please him more than ordi- uary, I shall publish it at his request. VOL. II. 2 I 482 Addison's atoeks. "Me. Spectatoe, Tou have diverted the tovm almost a vphole month at the expense of the country ; it is now high time that you should give the country their revenge. Since yourvnthdrawing from this place, the fair sex are run into great extravagancies. Their petticoats, which began to heave and sweU. before you left us, are now blown up into a most enormous concave, and rise every day more and more : in short, sir, since our women know themselves to be out of the eye of the Spbotatoe, they will be kept within no compass. Tou praised them a little too soon for the modesty of their head-dresses ; for as the humour of a sick person is often driven out of one limb into another, their superfluity of ornaments, instead of being en- tirely banished, seems only fallen from their heads upon their lower parts. What they have lost in height they make up in breadth, and contrary to all rules of arcbitecture, widen the foundations at the same time that they shorten the su- perstructure. Were they, like Spanish jennets, to impreg- nate by the wind, they could not have thought on a more proper iavention. But as we do not yet hear any particular use in this petticoat, or that it contains anything more than what was supposed to be in those of scantier make, we are wonderfully at a loss about it. " The women give out, in defence of these wide bottoms, that they are airy, and very proper for the season ; but this I look upon to be only a pretence, and a piece of art ; for it is well Imown, we have not had a more moderate summer these many years, so that it is certain the heat they complain of cannot be in the weather : besides, I would fain ask these tender-constitutioned ladies, why they should require more cooling than their mothers before them. " I find several speculative persons are of opinion, that our sex has of late years been very saucy, and that the hoop- petticoat is made use of to keep us at a distance. It is most certain that a woman's honour cannot be better entrenched than after this manner, in circle within circle, amidst such a variety of out- works and lines of circumvallation. A female who is thus invested in whalebone, is sufficiently secured against the approaches of an ill-bred fellow, who might as well think of Sir Greorge Etheridge's way of making love in a tub as in the midst of so many hoops. " Among these various conjectures, there are men of super- JfO. 127 THE SPECTATOB. 483 Btitious tempers, who look upon the hoop-petticoat as a kind of prodigy. Some will have it that it portends the downfal of the Erench king, and ohserre that the farthingale ap- peared in England a little before the ruin of the Spanish mon- archy. Others are of opinion, that it foreteUs battle and bloodshed, and believe it of the same prognostication as the tail of a blazing star. Por my part, I am apt to think it is a sign that multitudes are coming into the world, rather than going out of it. " The first time I saw a lady dressed in one of these petti- coats, I could not forbear blaming her in my own thoughts, for walking abroad when she was so near her time ; but soon recovered myseK out of my error, when I found all the mod- ish part of the sex as far gone as herself. It is generally thought some crafty women have thus betrayed their com- panions into hoops, that they might make them accessary to their own concealments, and by that means escape the cen- sure of the world ; as wary generals have sometimes dressed two or three dozen of their own friends in their own habit, that they might not draw upon themselves any particular attacks from the enemy. The strutting petticoat smooths all distinctions, levels the mother with the daughter, and sets maids and matrons, wives and widows, upon the same bottom. In the mean while, I cannot but be troubled to see so many well-shaped, innocent virgins bloated up, and waddling up and down like big-bellied women. " Should this fashion get among the ordinary people, our public ways would be so crowded that we should want street- room. Several congregations of the best fashion find them- selves already very much straitened, and if the mode in- crease, I wish it may not drive many ordinary women into meetings and conventicles. Should our sex at the same time take it into their heads to wear trunk breeches, (as who knows what their indignation at this female treatment may drive them to,) a man and his wife would fill a whole pew. " Tou know, sir, it is recorded of Alexander the Great, that in his Indian expedition he buried several suits of armour, which by his directions were made much too big for any of his soldiers, in order to give posterity an extraordinary idea of him, and make them believe he had commanded an army of giants. I am persuaded that if one of the present petti- coats happens to be hung up in any repository of curiosities, ^ I ^ 484 ADDISON'S WOEKS. it will lead into the same error the generations that lie some removes from us ; unless we can believe our posterity will tl'mk so disrespectfully of their great-grandmothers, that they made themselves monstrous to appear amiable. " "When I survey this nevr-fashioned rotunda in all its parts, I cannot but think of the old philosopher, vrho, after having entered into an ^Egyptian temple, and looked about for the idol of the place, at length discovered a little black monkey enshrined ia the midst of it ; upon which he could not for- bear crying out, (to the great scandal of the worshippers,) ' What a magnificent palace is here for such a ridiculous in- habitant ! ' " Though you have taken a resolution, in one of your papers, to avoid descending to particularities of dress, I be- lieve you will not think it below you on so extraordinary an occasion, to unhoop the fair sex, and cure this fashionable tympany that ia got among them. I am apt to think the petticoat will shrink of its own accord at your first coining to town ; at least a touch of your pen will make it contract itself, Uke the sensitive plant, and by that means oblige seve- ral who are either terrified or astonished at this portentous novelty, and among the rest, " Tour humble servant," &c. No. 128. PEIDAT, JULY 27. — Concordia discors. Luc. Women in their nature are much more gay and joyous than men ; whether it be that their blood is more refined, their fibres more delicate, and their animal spirits more light and volatile ; or whether, as some have imagined, there may not be a kind of sex in the very soul, I shall not pretend to determine. As vivacity is the gift of women, gravity is that of men. They should each of them, therefore, keep a watch upon the particular bias which nature has fixed in their minds, that it may not draw too much, and lead them out of the paths of reason. This will certainly happen, if the one in every word and action affects the character of being rigid and severe, and the other of being brisk and airy. Men should beware of being captivated by a kind of savage phi- losophy, women by a thoughtless gallantry. Where these IfO. 128. THE SPECTATOE. 485 precautious are not observed, the man often degenerates into a cynic, the woman iuto a coquette ; the man grows sullen and morose, the woman impertiaent and fantastical. By what I have said we may conclude, men and women were made as counterparts to one another, that the pains and anxieties of the husband might be relieved by the spright- liness and good humour of the wife. When these are rightly tempered, care and cheerfulness go hand in hand ; and the family, like a ship that is duly trimmed, wants neither sail nor ballast. Natural historians observe (for whilst I am in the country I must fetch my allusions from thence) that only the male birds have voices ; that their songs begin a little before breed- ing-time, and end a little after ; that whUst the hen is cover- ing her eggs, the male generally takes his stand upon a neighbouring bough within her hearing ; and by that means amuses and diverts her with his songs during the whole time of her sitting. This contract among birds lasts no longer than till a brood of young ones arises from it ; so that in the feathered kind, the cares and fatigues of the married state, if T may so call it, lie principally upon the female. On the contrary, as in our species, the man and the woman are joined together for life, and the main burden rests upon the former. Nature has given all the little arts of soothing and blandishment to the female, that she may cheer and animate her companion in a constant and assiduous application to the making a provision for his family, and the educating of their common children. This, however, is not to be taken so strictly, as if the same duties were not often reciprocal, and incumbent on both parties ; but only to set forth what seems to have been the general intention of nature, in the different inclinations and endowments which are bestowed on the different seies. * Buc whatever was the reason that man and woman were made with this variety of temper, if we observe the conduct of the fair sex, we find that they choose rather to associate them- selves with a person who resembles them in that light and volatile humour which is natural to them, than to such as are qualified to moderate and counterbalance it. It has been an old complaint, that the coxcomb carries it vrith them before the man of sense. "When we see a fellow loud and talkative, full of insipid hfe and laughter, we may venture to pronounce 48G Addison's ■woees. him a female favourite : noise and flutter are such accomplish- ments as they cannot withstand. To he short, the passion of an ordinary woman for a man, is nothing else but self-love diverted upon another object ; she would have the lover a woman in everything but the sex. I do not know a finer piece of satire on this part of womankind, than those lines of Mr. Dryden: Our thoughtless sex is caught by outward form And empty noise, and loves itself in man. This is a source of infinite calamities to the sex, as it fre- quently joins them to men who in their own thoughts are as fine creatures as themselves ; or if they chance to be good- humoured, serve only to dissipate their fortunes, inflame their follies, and aggravate their indiscretions. The same female levity is no less fatal to them after mar- riage than before : it represents to their imaginations the faithful, prudent husband, as an honest, tractable, and do- mestic animal ; and turns their thoughts upon the fine gay gentleman, that laughs, and sings, and dresses so much more agreeably. As this irregular vivacity of temper leads astray the hearts of ordinary women in the choice of their lovers, and the treatment of their husbands, it operates with the same per- nicious influence towards their children, who are taught to accomplish themselves in all those' sublime perfections that appear captivating in the eye of their mother. She admires in her son what she loved in her gallant ; and by that means contributes all she can to perpetuate herself in a worthless progeny. The younger Faustina was a lively instance of this sort of women. Notwithstanding she was married to Marcus Aure- lius, one of the greatest, wisest, and best of the Eoman empe- rors, she thought a common gladiator much the prettier gentleman ; and had taken such care to accomplish her son Commodus according to her own notions of a fine man, that when he ascended the throne of his father, he became the most foolish and abandoned tyrant that was ever placed at the head of the Eoman empire, signalizing himself in nothing but the fighting of prizes, and knocking out men's brains. As he had no taste of true glory, we see him in several medals and statues which are still extant of bim, equipped like an Hercules with a club and a lion's skin. Na 129. THE SPECTATOB,. 'ti*7 I have been led into this speculation by the charafiters I have heard of a country gentleman and his lady, who do not live many miles from Sir Eoger. The wife is an old coquette, that is always hankering after the diversions of the town ;^the husband a morose rustic, that frowns and frets at the name of it. The wife is over-run with affectation, the husband sunk into brutality: the lady cannot bear the noise of the larks and nightingales, hates yoiu" tedious sum- mer days, and is sick at the sight of shady woods and purling streams ; the husband wonders how any one can be pleased with the fooleries of plays and operas, and rails from morn- ing to night at essenced fops and tawdry courtiers. The children are educated in these different notions of their parents. The sons foUow the father about his grounds, while the daughters read volumes of love-letters and ro- mances to their mother. By this means it comes to pass that the girls look upon their father as a clown, and the boys think their mother no better than she should be. How different are the lives of Aristus and Aspatia ! The innocent vivacity of the one is tempered and composed by the cheerful gravity of the other. The wife grows wise by the discourses of the husband, and the husband good-hu- moured by the conversations of the wife. Aristus would not be so amiable were it not for his Aspatia, nor Aspatia so much to be esteemed were it not for her Aristus. Their virtues are blended in their children, and diffuse through the whole family a perpetual spirit of benevolence, complacency, and satisfaction. No. 129. SATUEDAT, JULY 28. Vertentem sese frustra sectabere canthum, Cum rota posterior curras et in axe secundo. Pers. Gbeat masters in painting never care for drawing people in the fashion ; as very weU knowing that the head-dress, or periwig, that now prevails, and gives a grace to their por- traitiu-es at present, will make a very odd figure, and perhaps look monstrous iu the eyes of posterity. Por this reason they often represent an illuatrious person in a Eoman habit, or in some other dress that never varies. I could wish, for the sake of my country friends, that there was such a kind 488 ADDISON S WOEKS. of everlasting drapery to be made use of by all who live at a certain distance from the town, and that they would agree upon such fashions as should never be liable to changes and itinovations. Por want of this standing dress, a man who takes a journey into the country, is as much surprised as one who walks in a gallery of old family pictures ; and finds as great a variety of garbs and habits in the persons he con- verses with. Did they keep to one constant dress, they would sometimes be in the fashion, which they never axe as matters are managed at present. If instead of running after the mode, they would continue fixed in one certain habit, the mode would some time or other overtake them, as a clock that stands still is sure to point right once in twelve hours : in this case, therefore, I would advise them, as a gentleman did his friend who was hunting about the whole town after a rambling fellow : If you follow him, you will never find him ; but if you plant yourself at the comer of any one street, I'll engage it vrill not be long before you see him. I have already touched upon this subject, in a speculation which shows how cruelly the country are led astray in follow- ing the tovm ; and equipped in a ridiculous habit, when they fancy themselves in the height of the mode. Since that speculation, I have received a letter (which I there hinted at) from a gentleman who is now in the western circuit. "Me. Spectatob, Being a lawyer of the Middle Temple, a Cornish man by birth, I generally ride the western circuit for my health, and as I am not interrupted by clients, have leisure to make many observations that escape the notice of my fellow-travellers. " One of the most fashionable women I met with in all the circuit, was imr landlady at Staines, where I chanced to be on a holiday. Her commode was not half a foot high, and her petticoat within some yards of a modish circumference. In the same place I observed a young fellow with a tolerable periwig, had it not been covered vrith a hat that was shaped in the EamiUie cock. As I proceeded on my journey, I observed the petticoat grew scantier and scantier, and about three- score miles from London was so very unfashionable, that a woman might walk in it without any manner of inconvenience UO. 129. THE SPEOTATOB. ^^'^ " Not far from Salisbury I took notice of a justice of peace's lady, who was at least ten years behind-hand in her dress, but at the same time as fine as hands could make her. She was iounced and furbelowed from head to foot ; every ribbon was wrinkled, and every part of her garments in curl, so that she looked like one of those animals which in the country we call a Priezeland hen. " Not many miles beyond this place, I was informed, that one of the last year's little muffs had by some means or other straggled into those parts, and that all the women of fashion were cutting their old muffs in two, or retrenching them, ac- cording to the little model which was got among them. I connot believe the report they have there, that it was sent down franked by a parliament-man in a little packet ; but probably by next winter this fashion will be at the height in the country, when it is quite out at London. " The greatest beau at ovir next country sessions was dressed iu a most monstrous flaxen periwig, that was made in King William's reign. The wearer of it goes, it seems, in his own hair, when he is at home, and lets his wig lie in buckle for a whole half year, that he may put it on upon occasion to meet the judges in it. " I must not here omit an adventure which happened to us in a country church upon the frontiers of Cornwall. As we were in the midst of the service, a lady, who is the chief woman of the place, and had passed the winter at London with her husband, entered the congregation in a little head-dress and a hooped petticoat. The people, who were wonderfully startled at such a sight, all of them rose up. Some stared at the prodigious bottom, and some at the little top of this strange dress. In the mean time the lady of the manor filled the area of the church, and walked up to her pew with an unspeakable satisfaction, amidst the whispers, conjectures, and astonishments of the whole congregation. " Upon our way from hence we saw a young fellow riding towards us fiill gaUop, with a bob-wig, and a black sUkeu bag tied to it. He stopt short at the coach, to ask us how far the judges were behind us. His stay was so very short, that we had only time to observe his new silk waistcoat, which was unbuttoned in several places to let us see that he had a clean shirt on, which was ruffled down to his middle. " From this place, during our progress through the most 490 Addison's ■wokks. western parts of the kingdom, we fancied ourselves in King Charles the Second's reign, the people having made very little variations in their dress since that time. The smartest of the coTintry squires appear still in the Monmouth cock ; and vrhen they go a wooing (whether they have any post ia the militia or not) they generaUy put on a red coat. "We were, indeed, very much surprised, at the place we lay at last night, to meet with a gentleman that had accoutered himself in a night-cap wig, a coat with long pockets and slit sleeves, and a pair of shoes with high scollop tops ; but we soon found by his conversation that he was a person who laughed at the ignorance and rusticity of the country people, and was resolved to live and die in the mode. " Sir, if you think this accoimt of my travels may be of any advantage to the public, I will next year trouble you with such occurrences as I shaU. meet with in other parts of England. Por I am informed there are greater curiosities in the northern circuit than in the western; and that a fashion makes its progress much slower into Cumberland than into Cornwall. I have heard, in particular, that the Steenkirk arrived but two months ago at Newcastle, and that there are several commodes in those parts which are worth taking a journey thither to see." No. 130. MONDAY, JULY 30. — Semperque recentes Convectare juvat prsedas, et vivere rapto. Vibg. As I was yesterday ridiag out ia the fields with my friend Sir Eoger, we saw at a little distance from us a troop of gyp- sies. IJpon the first discovery of them, my friend was in some doubt whether he should not exert the justice of peace upon such a band of lawless vagrants : but not having his clerk with him, who is a necessary counsellor on these occasions, and fearing that his poultry might fare the worse for it, he let the thought drop. But at the same time gave me a particular account of the mischiefs they do in the coun- try, in stealing people's goods, and spoiling their servants. " K a stray piece of linen hangs upon an hedge, (says Sir Eoger,) they are sure to have it ; if a hog kses his way in the fields, it is ten to one but he becomes their prey : our No. ISO. THE SPECTATOR. i«-i geese cannot live in peace for them. If a man proserates them with severity, his hen-roost is sure to pay for it. They generally straggle into these parts about this time of the year ; and set the heads of our servant-maids so agog for husbands, that we do not expect to have any business done, as it should be, whilst they are in the country. I have an honest dairy-maid who crosses their hands with a piece of silver every summer ; and never fails being promised the handsomest young fellow in the parish for her pains. Tour friend the butler has been fool enough to be seduced by them ; and though he is sure to lose a knife, a fork, or a spoon, every time his fortune is told him, generally shuts himself up in the pantry with an old gipsy for about half an hour once in a twelvemonth. Sweethearts are the things they live upon, which they bestow very plentifully upon all those that apply themselves to them. Tou see now and then some handsome young jades among them: the sluts have very often white teeth and black eyes." Sir Eoger observing that I listened with great attention to his account of a people who were so entirely new to me, told me, that if I would, they should tell us our fortunes. As I was very well pleased with the knight's prraosal, we rid up and communicated our hands to them. A Cassandra of the crew, after having examined my lines very diligently, told me, that I loved a pretty maid in a comer, that I was a good woman's man, with some other particulars which I do not think proper to relate. My friend Sir Eoger alighted from his horse, and exposing his palm to two or three that stood by him, they crumpled it into all shapes, and diligently scanned every wrinkle that could be made in it ; when one of them, who was older and more sun-burnt than the rest, told him, that he had a widow in his line of life : upon which the knight cried, " Go, go, you are an idle baggage ;" and at the same time smiled upon me. The gipsy finding he was not displeased in his heart, told him, after a further inquiry into his hand, that his true love was constant, and that she should dream of him to-night. My old friend cried pish, and bid her go on. The gipsy told him that he was a bachelor, but would not be so long ; and that he was 'dearer to some- body than he thought. The knight stUl repeated, she was an idle baggage, and bid her go on. " Ah, master, (says the gipsy,) that roguish leer of yours makes a pretty woman's 492 ADDisoir s WOEKS. heart ache ; you ha'n't that simper ahout the mouth for no- thing." The uncouth gibberish with which all this was uttered, like the darkness of an oracle, made us the more attentive to it. To be short, the knight left the money with her that he had crossed her hand with, and got up again on his horse. As we were riding away, Sir Eoger told me, that he knew several sensible people who believed these gipsies now and then foretold very strange things ; and for half an hour toge- ther appeared more jocund than ordinary. In the height of this good humour, meeting a common beggar upon the road who was no conjurer, as he went to relieve him, he found his pocket was picked ! ^ that being a kind of palmistry at which this race of vermin are very dexterous. I might here entertain my reader with historical remarks on this idle, profligate people, who infest aU the countries of Europe, and live in the midst of governments in a kind of commonwealth by themselves. But, instead of entering iato observations of this nature, I shall fill the remaining part of my paper with a story which is still fresh in HoUand, and was printed in one of our monthly accoimts about twenty years ago. " As the Trekschuyt, or Hackney-boat, which carries passengers from Leyden to Amsterdam, was putting off, a boy running along the side of the canal desired to be taken in ; which the master of the boat refused, because the lad had not quite money enough to pay the usual fare. An eminent merchant being pleased with the looks of the boy, and secretly touched with compassion towards him, paid the money for him, and ordered him to betaken onboard. Upon talking with him afterwards, he found that he could speak readily in three or four languages, and learned upon further examination, that he had been stolen away when he was a child by a gipsy, and had rambled ever since vrith a gang of those stroUers up and down several parts of Europe. It happened that the merchant, whose heart seems to have in- clined towards the boy by a secret kind of instinct, had himself lost a child some years before. The parents, after a long search for him, gave him for drovsmed in one of the canals with which that country abounds ; and the mother was so afflicted at the loss of a fine boy, who was her only sou, that she died for grief of it. Upon laying together aU ' Was picked."] Rather iad been picked." JfO 131. THE SPEOTATOE. ^o Barticidars, and examining the several moles and marks by Shthe mother nsed to describe the child when he waa first missing, the boy proved to be the son of the merchant whose heart had so unaccountably melted at the sight of him. The lad was very well pleased to fifd a father who was so rich, and likely to leave him a good estate : the tather, on the other hand, was not a little dehghted to see a son return to him, whom he had given for lost, vnth such a strength of constitution, sharpness of understanding, and skill m languages." Here the printed story leaves ott ; but if I may give credit to reports, our hnguist having received such extraordinary rudiments towards a good education, was afterwards trained up in everything that becomes a gentle- man ; wearing off, by little and little, all the vicious habits and practices that he had been used to in the course of his peregrinations : nay, it is said, that he has since been em- ployed in foreign courts upon national business, with' great reputation to himself, and honour to those who sent him, and that he has visited several countries as a public minister, in which he formerly wandered as a gipsy. No. 131. TUESDAY, JULY 31. — Ipsse nirsum concedite sylvEB. Virg. It is usual for a man who loves country sports to preserve the game in his own grounds, and divert himself upon those that belong to his neighbour. My friend Sir Eoger generally goes two or three miles from his house, and gets into the frontiers of his estate, before he beats about in search of a hare or partridge, on purpose to spare his own fields, where he is always sure of iinding diversion when the worst comes to the worst. By this means the breed about his house has time to increase and multiply, besides that the sport is more agreeable where the game is harder to come at, and where it does not lie so thick as to produce any perplexity or con- fusion in the pursuit. For these reasons the country gentle- man, like the fox, seldom preys near his own home. In the same manner I have made a month's excursion out of the town, which is the great field of game for sportsmen of my species, to try my fortune in the country, where I have started several subjects, and hunted them dovm, with some 49-i Addison's works. pleasure to myself, and I liope to others. I am here forced to use a great deal of diligence before I can spring anything to my mind, whereas in town, whilst I am following one character, it is ten to one but I am crossed in my way by another, and put lip such a variety of odd creatures ia both sexes, that they foil the scent of one another, and puzzle the chase. My greatest difficulty in the country is to find sport, and ia town to choose it. In the mean time, as I have given a whole month's rest to the cities of London and Westminster, I promise myself abundance of new game upon my return thither. It is indeed high time for me to leave the country, since I find the whole neighbourhood begin to grow very inquisitive after my name and character : my love of solitude, tacitur- nity, and particular way of Ufe, having raised a great curiosity in all these parts. The notions which have been framed of me are various ; some look upon me as very proud, some as very modest, and some as very melancholy. "WiU. "Wimble, as my friend the butler teUs me, observing me very much alone, and extremely silent when I am in company, is afraid I have killed a man. The country people seem to suspect me for a conjurer; and some of them hearing of the visit which 1 made to MoU White, will needs have it that Sir Roger has brought down a cunning man with him, to cure the old woman, and free the country from her charms. So that the character which I go under in part of the neighbourhood, is what they here call a white witch. A justice of peace, who lives about iive miles off, and is not of Sir Eoger's party, has, it seems, said twice or thrice at his table, that he wishes Sir Eoger does not harbour a Jesuit in his house, and that he thinks the gentlemen of the country would do very well to make me give some account of myself. On the other side, some of Sir Eoger's friends are afraid the old knight is imposed upon by a designing fellow, and as they have heard he converses very promiscuously when he is in town, do not know but he has brought down with him some discarded Whig, that is sullen, and says nothing, because he is out of place. Such is the variety of opinions which are here entertained of me, so that I pass among some for a disaffected person, and JfO. 131, THE SPECTATOE. • ^195 among others for a Popish priest ; among some for a wizard, and among others for a murderer ; and ail this for no other reason, that I can imagine, hut hecause I do not hoot and halloo and make a noise. It is true, my friend Sir Eoger tells them that it is my way, and that I am only a philosopher ; but this win not satisfy them. They think there is more in me than he discovers, and that I do not hold my tongue for nothing. For these and other reasons I shall set out for London to- morrow, having found hy experience that the country is not a place for a person of my temper, who does not love jollity, and wliat they call good-neighbourhood. A man that is out of humour when an unexpected guest breaks in upon him, and does not care for sacrificing an afternoon to every chance- comer ; that will he the master of his ovni time, and the pursuer of his own incliuations ; makes hut a very unsoci- able figure in this kind of life. I shall therefore retire into the town, if I may make use of that phrase, and get into the crowd again as fast as I can, in order to be alone. I can there raise what speculations I please upon others, without being observed myself, and at the same time enjoy all the advantages of company with aU the privileges of solitude. In the mean whUe, to finish the month, and conclude these my rural speculations, I shall here insert a letter from my friend Will. Honeycomb, who has not lived a month for these forty years out of the smoke of London, and rallies me after his way upon my country life. "Dbae Spec, I suppose this letter vnll find thee picking of daisies, or smeUiog to a lock of hay, or passing away thy time in some innocent country diversions of the like nkture. I have how- ever orders from the club to summon thee up to town heins all of us cursedly afraid thou wilt not be able to relish am company after thy conversations vrith MoE "White andWiU. Wimble. Pr'ythee don't send us up any more stories of a cock and a buU, nor frighten the town with spirits and witches. Thy speculations begin to smeH confoundedly of woods and meadows. If thou dost not come up quickly, we Bha,il conclude thou art in love with one of Sir Eoger's Mrv maids. Service to Knight. Sir Andrew is grown the cock oi 496 ADDISON'S WOEKS. the club since he left us, and if he does not return quietly, vdll make everj mother's son of us commonwealth's men. " Dear Spec, thine eternally, Will. Honeycomb." No. 135. SATTJEDAT, ATJGXTST 4. Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia. — Hoe. I HATE somewhere read of an eminent person, who used in his private of&ces of devotion to give thanks to heaven that he was born a Frenchman : for my own part, I look upon it as a peculiar blessing that I was bom an Englishman. Among many other reasons, I think myself very happy in my country, as the language of it is wonderfully adapted to a man who is sparing of his words, and an enemy to loquacity. As I have frequently reflected on my good fortune in this particular, I shall communicate to the public my speculations upon the English tongue, not doubting but they will be ac- ceptable to all my curious readers. The English delight in silence more than any other Euro- pean nation, if the remarks which are made on us by foreign- ers are true. Our discourse is not kept up in conversation; but falls into more pauses and intervals than in our neigh- touring countries ; as it is observed that the matter of oui writings is thrown much closer together, and lies in a nar- rower compass than is usual in the works of foreign authors: for, to favour our natural taciturnity, when we are obliged to utter our thoughts, we do it in the shortest way we are able, and give as quick a birth to our conceptions as possible. This humour shows itself in several remarks that we may make upon the English language. As, first of all, by its abounding in monosyllables, which gives us an opportunity of delivering our thoughts in few sounds. This indeed takes off from the elegance of our tongue, but at the same time ex- presses our ideas in the readiest manner, and consequently answers the first design of speech better than the multitude of syllables, which make the words of other languages more tunable and sonorous. The sounds of our English words are commonly like those of string music, short and transient, which rise and perish upon a single touch ; those of other ku- No. 135. THE SPECTATOB. 497 guages are like the notes of wind instruments, sweet and swelling, and lengthened out into variety of modulation. In the next place we may observe, that where the words are not monosyllables, we often make them so, as much as lies in our power, by our rapidity of pronunciation ; as it ge- nerally happens in most of our long words which are derived from the Latin, where we contract the length of the syllables that gives them a grave and solemn air in their own language, to make them more proper for despatch, and more conformable to the genius of our tongue. This we may find in a multi- tude of words, as Liberty, Conspiracy, Theatre, Orator, &c. The same natural aversion to loq^uacity has of late years made a very considerable alteration in our language, by closing in one syllable the termination of our preterperfect tense, as in the words drown'd, walk'd, arriv'd. for drowned, walked, arrived, which has very much disfigured the tongue, and turned a tenth part of our smoothest words into so many clusters of consonants. This is the more remarkable, because the want of vowels in our language has been the general complaint of our politest authors, who nevertheless are the men that have made these retrenchments, and conse- quently very much increased our former scarcity. This reflection on the words that end in ed, I have heard in conversation from one of the greatest geniuses this age ha,s produced. I think we may add to the foregoing observ- ation, the change which has happened in our language, by the abbreviation of several words that are terminated in eth by substituting an « in the room of the last syllable, as in drowns, walks, arrives, and innumerable other words, which m the pronunciation of our forefathers were drowneth loalk- eth, arriveth. This has wonderfully multiplied a letter which was before too frequent in the English tongue, and added to that hissing m our language, which is taken so much notice ot by foreigners ; but at the same time humours our taciturn- ity, and eases us of many superfluous sj'llables. I might here observe, that the same single letter on mauTi occasions does the office of a whole word, and represents the Mis and Her of our forefathers. There is no doubt but the ear of a foreigner, which is the best judge in this case, would very much disapprove of such innovations, which indeed we do ourselves m some measure, by retaining the old termina- tioium wntmg, and in all the solemn offices of our relieioE, VOL. II, 2 K 498 abdisok's works. As in the instances I have given, we have epitomized many of our particular words to the detriment of our tongue, so on other occasions we have dra^n two words into one, which has likewise very much untuned our language, and clogged it with consonants, as mayn't, can't, sha'n't, wo'n't, and the like, for may not, cannot, shall not, will not, &c. It is perhaps this humour of speaking no more than we needs must, which has so miserably curtailed some of our words, that in familiar writings and conversations they often lose all hut their first syllables, as in mob. rep. pos. incog, and the like ; and as all ridiculous words make their first entry into a language by familiar phrases, I dare pot answer for these that they will not in time be looked upon as a part of our tongue. We see some of our poets have been so indis-i creet as to imitate Hudibras's doggrel expressions in their serious compositions, by throwing out the signs of our sub- stantives, which are essential to the English language. Nay, this humour of shortening our language had once run so far, that some of our celebrated authors, among whom we may reckon Sir Eoger L' Estrange in particular, began to prune their words of all superfluous letters, as they termed them, in order to adjust the spelling to the pronunciation ; which would have confounded all our etymologies, and have quite destroyed ouj tongue. We may here likewise observe, that our proper names, when familiarized in English, generally dwindle to monosyl- lables, whereas in other modem Ian guages they receive a softer turn on this occasion, by the addition of a new syllable. JSTick in Itahan is McoUni ; Jack, in French Janot ; and so of the rest. There is another particular in our language which is a .Q:reat instance of our frugality in words, and that is the sup- preBoing of several particles which must be produced iu other tongues to make a sentence intelligible : this often perplexes the best writers, when they find the relatives whom, which, or they, at their mercy, whether they may have admission or not, and will never be decided till we have something like an academy, that, by the best authorities and rules drawn from the analogy of languages, shall settle all controversies be- tween grammar and idiom. I have only considered our language, as it shows the ge- nius and natural temper of the English, which is modest, JfO. 159. THE SPECTATOB. 499 thoughtM, and sincere, and whicli perhaps may recommend the people, though it has spoiled the tongue. We might perhaps carry the same thought into other languages, and deduce a great part of what is peculiar to them from the genius of the people who speak them. It is certain the light, talkative humour of the French has not a little infected their tongue, which might he shown by many instances ; as the genius of the Italians, which is so much addicted to music and ceremony, has moulded all their words and phrases to those particular uses. The stateliness and gravity of the Spaniards shows itself to perfection in the solemnity of their ■Maga&ge ; and the blunt, honest humour of the Germans sounds better in the roughness of the High Dutch, than it would in a politer tongue. No. 159. SATUEDAT, SEPTEMBEE 1. — Omnem quse nunc obduota tuenti Mortales hebetat visus tibi, et huniida circum Caligat, nubem eripiam — Vieg. Whew I was at Grand Cairo I picked up several oriental manuscripts, which I have stiU by me. Among others I met with one entitled, The Visions of Mirzah, which I have read over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when I have no other entertainment for them ; and shall be- gin with the first vision, which I have translated word for word as follows : " On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the custom of my forefathers I always kept holy, after having washed myself and offered up my morning devotions, I as- cended the high hills of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day m meditation and prayer. As I was here airing my- self on the tops of the mountains, I feH into a profound con- templation on the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to another, surely, said I, man is But a shadow and hfe a dream. Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from me 500 ADDISOir's TfOEKS. applied it to his lips, and tegan to play upon it. The soimd of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and altogether dif- ferent from anything I had ever heard. They put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of their last agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. My heart melted 3?vfay in secret raptures. " I had been often told that the rock before me was the ftaunt of a genius ; and that several had been entertained with music who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible. "When he had raised my thoughts, by those transporting airs which he played, to taste the pleasures of his conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed me to approach the place where he sat. I drew near with that reverence which is due to a superior nature ; and as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a look of com- passion and affability that familiarized him to my imagina- tion, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, Mirzah, said he, I have heard thee in thy soKloquies, follow me. " He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, ana placed me on the top of it. Cast thy eyes eastward, said he, and tell me what thou seest. I see, said I, a huge valley and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it. The valley that thou seest, said he, is the vale of misery, and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the great tide of eternity. "What is the reason, said I, that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other ? "What thou seest, says he, is that portion of eternity which is called time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consum- mation. Examine now, said he, this sea that is thus bounded ticn ; but to raise our ideas of that charming philosophy, which is the srab- ject of it — " Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools supposCj But musical as is Apollo's lute—" MiLTOK. JfO. 159. THE BPECTATOE. 501 with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou discover- est m it. I see a bridge, said I, standing in the midst of the tide. The bridge thou seest, said he, is human life ; consider it attentively. Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which added to those that were entire, made up the number about an hundred. As I was counting the arches the genius told me that this bridge consisted at first of a thousand arches ; but that a great flood swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it. But tell me further, said he, what thou discoverest on it. I see multitudes of people passing over it, said I, and a black cloud hanging on each end of it. As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge, into the great tide that flowed underneath it ; and upon further examination, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the passen- gers no sooner trod upon, but ' they fell through them into the tide and immediately disappeared. These hidden pit-falls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner broke through the cloud, but many of them feU. into them. They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together towards the end of the arches that were entire. " There were indeed some persons, but their number was very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired and spent with so long a walk. " I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonder- ful structure, and the great variety of objects which it pre- sented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jolhty, and catching at everything that stood by them to save themselves. Some were looking up towards the heavens in ' I before observed [m No. 56] this licentious use of hut for than. The same fault occurs here, in two sentences together ; and is the more offen- sive m both, because but meets us again (in its proper sense, indeed-) m the next sentence. > •'•^j ^^ ^ZltT" *J'?J°""«= ""^y ^«. pleaded for this practice, it is better fiT,?L ^™"^ '5' ^^J^ '"* " ^° frequency and necessarily employed m us common adversative sense, that to use it aomparative!itooJZ l^w^ralfcbJ:.^^"'"'^ "' *^ ^^-"^ ^°'-^' '' ^^ ~' •' -- 602 ADDISON S WOKKS. a thDiiglitful posture, and in tte midst of a speculation stum- bled and fell out of sight. Multitudes were very busy iu the pursuit of baubles that glittered in their eyes and danced be- fore them, but often when they thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing faiLed and down they sunk. In this confusion of objects, I observed some with scimetara in their hands, and others with urinals,' who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on trap-doora which did not seem to lie in their way, and which they might have escaped, had they not been thus forced upon them. " The genius seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it : take thine eyes off the bridge, said he, and tell me if thou seest anything thou dost not comprehend. Upon looking up, what mean, said I, those great flights of birds that are perpetually hover- ing about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to time ? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and among many other feathered creatures, several little winged boys, that perch in great numbers upon the middle arches. These, said the genius, are envy, avarice, superstition, despair, love, with the like cares and passions, that infect human hfe. " 1 here fetched a deep sigh ; alas, said I, man was made in vain ! How is he given away to misery and mortahty ! tortured in life, and swallowed up in death ! The genius, being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. Look no more, said he, on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eter- nity ; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it. I directed my sight as I was ordered, and (whether or no the good genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds stUl rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it : but the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with innumerable islands, that were covered vrith fruits and flowers, and inter- woven with a thousand little shining seas that ran among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits with gar- ' This stroke of ridicule is ill-placed in so serious a paper. J^O. 159. THE SPECTATOE. 503 lands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying do-sm by the sides of the fountains, or resting on beds of flowers ; and could hear a confased harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy seats; but the genius told me there was no passage to them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. The islands, mid he, that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with ffhich the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as "hou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the •ea-shore ; there are myriads of islands behind those which hou here discoverest, reaching farther than thine eye, or even chine imagination, can extend itself. These are the mansions jf good men after death, who, according to the. degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among ■;hese several islands, which abound vrith pleasures of diiferent kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them : every island is a paradise, accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirzah, habitations worth contending for ? Does life ap- pear -miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such a reward ? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence ? Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him. I gazed with inex- pressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other lide of the rock of adamant. The genius making me no an- )wer,' I turned about to address myself to him a second time )ut I found that he had left me. I then turned again to the ■■ision which I had been so long contemplating, but, instead It the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands saw nothmg but the long hollow valley of Bagdat, with )xen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it." 2 The end of the first vision of Mirzah. ,hl J'^'^/'^f^J °^ the genius has something terrible in it, and lays open Ae secrets of the great deep more effectaaUy than the most hboMed de° scription of them could have done. moourea ae- ' ^l Addison is a much better poet in prose than in verse Thi« ision has all the merit of the finest canto in Spenser. 504 addisok's woeks. JN'o. 160. MONDAY, SEPTEMBEE 3. — Cui mens diTinior, atque os Magna sonaturum, des nominis hujus houorem. Hor. Theee is no character more frequently given to a ■writer, than ttat of being a genius. I have heard many a little son. netteer caOed a fine genius. There is not an heroic scribbler ' in the nation, that has not his admirers, who think him a great genius ; and as for your smatterers in tragedy, there is scarce a man among them who is not cried up by one or other for a prodigious genius. My design in this paper is to consider what is properly a great genius, and to throw some thoughts together on so im- common a subject. Among great geniuses, those few draw the admiration of aU the world upon them, and stand up as the prodigies of manktud, who by the mere strength of natural parts, and without any assistance of art or learning, have produced works that were the delight of their ovm times, and the wonder of posterity. There appears something nobly wild and extravagant in these great natural geniuses, that is in- finitely more beautiful than all the turn and polishing of what the Prench call a Bel Esprit, by which they would ex- press a genius refined by conversation, reflection, and the reading of the most polite authors. The greatest genius which runs through the arts and sciences, takes a kind of tiacture from them, and falls unavoidably into imitation. Many of these great natural geniuses, that were never dis- ciplined and broken by rules of art, are to be found among the ancients, and, in particular, among those of the more eastern parts of the world. Homer has innumerable flights that Virgil was not able to reach ; and in the Old Testament we find several passages more elevated and sublime than any in Homer. At the same time that we allow a greater and more dariag genius to the ancients, we must own that the greatest of them very much failed ia, or, if you wiU, that they were much above, the nicety and correctness of the moSerns. In their similitudes and allusions, provided there was a likeness, they did not much trouble themselves about ' He means a scribbler in what is called heroic verse, not a scribbler of heroic, i. e. epic, poems : otherwise, what follows would be an anti-climax. JJ^O. 160. THi: SPECTATOR. 505 the decency of the comparison: thus Solomon resembles' the nose of his beloved to the tower of Lebanon which look- eth toward Damascus ; as the coming of a thief in the night, is a similitude of the same kind in the New Testament. It would be endless to make collections of this nature : Homer illustrates one of his heroes encompassed with the enemy, by an ass in a field of com, that has his sides belaboured by aU. the boys of the village without stirring a foot for it ; and another of them tossing to and fro ia his bed, and burning with resentment, to a piece of flesh broiled on the coals. This particular failure in the ancients opens a large field of raillery to the little wits, who can laugh at an indecency, but not relish the sublime m these sorts of writings. The pre- sent emperor of Persia, conformable to this eastern way of thinking, amidst a great many pompous titles, denominates himseK the Sun of Glory, and the Nutmeg of Delight. In short, to cut off all cavilling against the ancients, and par- ticularly those of the warmer climates, who had most neat and life in their imaginations, we are to consider that the rule of observing what the French call the Bienseanee in an aUusion, has been foimd out of latter years, and in the colder regions of the world ; where we would make some amends for our want of force and spirit, by a scrupulous nicety and exactness in our compositions. Our countryman Shakspeare was a remarkable instance of this first kind of great geniuses. I cannot quit this head, without observing that Pindar was a great genius of the first class, who was hurried on by a natural fire and impetuosity to vast conceptions of things, and noble sallies of imagination. At the same time, can any- thing be more ridiculous than for men of a sober and mo- derate fancy, to imitate this poet's way of writing in those monstrous compositions which go among us under the name of Pindarics ? When I see people copying works, which, as Horace has represented them, are singular in their kind and mimitable ; when I see men following irregularities by rule, and by the little tricks of art straining after the most unbounded flights of nature, I cannot but apply to them that passage in Terence. — incerta hsec si tu postules Ratione certa facere, nihilo plus agaa, Quam si des operam, ut cum ratione insanias. ^Sesmbles.-] For " compares." But resemblet is a neutral rerb. and «, therefore, used improperly. TOT., n. 2 L 506 addison's woeks. In sHort, a modem Pindaric -writer compared with Pindar, is like a sister among tte Camisars compared with Yirgil's Sibyl : there is the distortion, grimace, and outward figure, but nothing of that divine impulse which raises the miad above itself, and makes the sounds more human. There is another kind of great geniuses which I shall place in. a second class, not as I think '^ them inferior to the first, but only for distinction's sake, as they are of a different kind. This second class of great geniuses are those that have formed themselves by rules, and submitted the greatness of their natural talents to the corrections and restraints of art. Such among the Grreeks were Plato and Aristotle ; among the Eomans, Virgil and Tully ; among the EngHsh, Milton and Sir Francis Bacon. The genius in both these classes of authors may be equally great, but shows itself after a different manner. In the first it is like a rich soil ki a happy climate, that produces a whole wilderness of noble plants, rising in a thousand beautiful landscapes, without any certain order or regularity. In the other it is the same rich soil under the same happy climate, that has been laid out in walks and parterres, and cut iato shape and beauty by the skiU. of the gardener. The great danger in these latter land of geniuses, is, lest they cramp their own abilities too much by imitation, and form themselves altogether upon models, without giving the full play to their own natural parts. An imitation of the best authors is not to compare with a good original ; and I believe we may observe that very few writers make an extraordinary figure in the world, who have not something in their way of thinking, or expressing themselves, that is pe- culiar to them, and entirely their own. It is odd to consider what great geniuses are sometimes thrown away upon trifles. I once saw a shepherd, says a famous Italian author, who used to divert himself in his solitudes with tossing up eggs, and catching them again, vrithout breaking them : in which he had arrived to so great a degree of perfection, that he would keep up four at a time for several minutes together, playing in the air, and falling into his hand by turns. 1 think, says the author, I never saw a greater severity than in this man's face ; for by his wonderful perseverance andappli* ' Not a» I think, &c.] It should have been " not ehat I think,"— «r, " not a$ being inferior," — or, " not as thinkint; them," &c No. 18£. THE SPECTATOR. ^0^ cation, he had contracted the seriousness and gravity of a privy-counsellor : I could not but reflect with myself, that the same assiduity and attention, had they been rightly applied, might have made him a greater mathematician than Archi- medes. SSli OE vol. II. LOKDOH: lEIKTED BT WM. CWWES ABD SOK£"T^tIEm eiAMFOBD STBEEI ASD CBAUKO Cho5. 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