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 PR 1365.S74 1898 
 v.1-8 
 
 The Spectator; 
 
 3 1924 013 337 203 
 

 Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013337203 
 
THE SPECTATOR 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 GEORGE A. AITKEN 
 
 IN EIGHT VOLUMES 
 VOLUME THE FIRST 
 
JOSEPH ADDISON 
 
THE 
 
 SPECTATOR 
 
 HOLLAND HOUSE 
 
 VOLUME THE FIRST 
 
 LONDON 
 
 JOHN C. NIMMO 
 
 NEW YORK: LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. 
 
 mDcccxcviii 
 
THE 
 
 SPECTATOR 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY 
 
 GEORGE A. AITKEN 
 
 AUTHOR or "THE LIFE Or RICHARD STEELE," ETC. 
 
 IVITH EIGHT ORIGINAL PORTRAITS 
 AND EIGHT HGNETTES 
 
 IN EIGHT VOLUMES 
 
 VOLUME THE FIRST 
 
 LONDON 
 
 JOHN C. NIMMO 
 
 NEW YORK : LONGMANS, GREEN, Sr' CO. 
 
 MDCCCXCVIII 
 
 "Hi 
 
PREFACE 
 
 HE present edition of the Spectator 
 has been printed from a copy of the 
 original collected and revised edition 
 published in 171 2- 15, with the ex- 
 ception that modern rules of spelling 
 have been followed. The principal variations 
 between the text as corrected by the authors and 
 the original version in the folio numbers have at 
 the same time been indicated in the notes ; it has 
 not been thought necessary to point out slight 
 differences of no importance. 
 
 In the notes I have aimed at the greatest con- 
 ciseness compatible with the satisfactory explana- 
 tion of the less obvious allusions to literary or 
 social matters. The first attempt to annotate the 
 Tatler and Spectator was made by Bishop Percy., 
 Dr. Calder, fohn Nichols and others, with the 
 result that an elaborate edition of the Tatler, in 
 six volumes, was published in 1786, and a much 
 less fully annotated edition of the Spectator, in 
 eight volumes, in 1789. This edition was reissued 
 in 1797 ; and the editions subsequently brought 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 out by Bmet, Chalmers, Lynam, Ferguson, and 
 others contained little or no fresh information, while 
 the errors in the text grew in number. Bishop 
 Hurd's notes, in his edition of Addison s works, 
 are of little use, since he concerned himself chief y 
 in pointing out inaccuracies in the author s gram- 
 mar. I have acknowledged my principal obliga- 
 tions to more recent editors, but in some cases notes 
 have been handed down from one editor to another, 
 and cannot be traced to their original author. 
 Many of the older notes, moreover, were obsolete, 
 or needed correction in the light of subsequent 
 knowledge. I have endeavoured to preserve 
 what is of value, without burdening the pages 
 with the contradictions and inaccuracies which 
 are inevitable in a ' variorum ' edition. Among 
 works of general reference I have found the 
 '^Dictionary of National Biography^ and Messrs. 
 Wheatley and Cunningham^ s ' London Past and 
 
 Present ' of the greatest service. 
 
 G. A. A. 
 
 July 1897. 
 
m 
 
 ' 
 
 ■» 
 
 1 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 |N any account of the Spectator, some- 
 thing must be said of the periodicals 
 that preceded it ; but what is more 
 essential to a right understariding of 
 the book is some knowledge of the 
 earlier history of Addison and of Steele. A brief 
 sketch of the life of these friends will therefore be 
 the best framework for other matters that call for 
 notice. 
 
 Richard Steele, son of a solicitor in Dublin, was 
 born in March 1672 ; Joseph Addison, who was 
 about seven weeks younger, was the son of Lance- 
 lot Addison, Dean of Lichfield. Steele's father died 
 when he was about five, and he has left us in the 
 Tatler (No. iSil a touching account of the grief 
 of his mother, ' a very beautiful woman, of a noble 
 spirit? SKe does not appear to have lived very 
 long afterwards, but Steele was fortunate in finding 
 a kind guardian in his uncle, Henry Gascoigne, 
 private secretary to the Duke of Ormond. Through 
 Gascoigne's influence he was sent to the Charter- 
 house, where he was admitted in November 1684; 
 and in 1686, with Addison's arrival at the school, 
 began the friendship which was to have such im- 
 portant results. Steele never forgot the kindness 
 
VIU 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 with which he was welcomed at Addison's home ; 
 the dean, he says, loved him as one of his own 
 family; 'his method was to make it the only 
 pretension in his children to his favour to be kind 
 to each other. It was an unspeakable pleasure to 
 visit or sit at a meal in that family.' 
 
 Addison was sent to Queen's College, Oxford, in 
 1687 ; it was not until 1689 that Steele was elected 
 to the University, when he was entered at Christ 
 Church. In 1691 he was made a postmaster of 
 Merton College; Addison had in the meantime 
 gained a demyship at Magdalen, and in due course 
 took his degree and obtained a fellowship. Steele 
 took no degree, but enlisted, in 1694, as a private 
 soldier in the Duke of Ormond's regiment of Guards, 
 and ' planted himself behind King William the 
 Third against Lewis the Fourteenth.' The dedica- 
 tion to Lord Cutts of a patriotic poem, ' The Pro- 
 cession,' published on the death of Queen Mary in 
 1695, brought to Steele an ensign's commission in 
 Lord Cutts's regiment of Coldstream Guards, and 
 he soon became secretary to that nobleman. By 
 1700 he was Captain Steele, and was in friendly 
 intercourse with the wits at Will's CofFee-House. In 
 that year, too, he fought a duel, and formed that 
 dislike of the practice which afterwards so often 
 found expression in his writings. Steele was now 
 stationed at the Tower, and there he composed, for 
 his own use, a little book called 'The Christian 
 Hero,' designed ' to fix upon his own mind a strong 
 impression of virtue and religion, in opposition to a 
 stronger propensity towards unwarrantable pleasures.' 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 This secret admonition being too weak, he published 
 the book, which was described as 'an argument, 
 proving that no principles but those of religion are 
 sufficient to make a great man.' Such a work, from 
 one in his position, naturally brought ridicule upon 
 him ; and in order to ' enliven his character ' he 
 produced a comedy called ' The Funeral,' which, 
 thanks to the support of his comrades, was a great 
 success. The play contained much satire upon 
 undertakers and lawyers, and in the purity of its 
 tone it showed clearly the effect of Jeremy Collier's 
 recent attack on the immorality of the stage. Steele's 
 hopes from William III. were dissipated by the king's 
 death, but he became captain in the regiment of foot 
 raised by Lord Lucas in 1702. Next year he wrote 
 a very serious comedy, ' The Lying Lover,' which, he 
 says, was ' damned for its piety.' 
 
 Addison and Steele were again together in London 
 in 1704. Addison had spent the preceding ten 
 years very differently from his friend. In 1694 he 
 had attracted notice by an ' Account of the Greatest 
 English Poets,' and Dryden spoke of him as ' the 
 ingenious Mr. Addison of Oxford.' The friendship 
 of Charles Montague and Lord Somers, to both of 
 whom he dedicated poems, gained for him a pension 
 of ;^300 a year, to enable him to travel abroad. 
 Leaving England in 1699, Addison spent some 
 months at Blois, studying French, and from thence 
 proceeded to Italy, Switzerland, Austria, and Ger- 
 many. The pension, however, had not been paid 
 after the first year, and Addison was disappointed in 
 his hope of obtaining a diplomatic appointment. 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 He returned to England in the autumn of 1703, 
 and, after long waiting, his opportunity came with 
 a request from the Government for a poem in 
 celebration of the battle of Blenheim. The success 
 of this piece, ' The Campaign,' brought for him an 
 under-secretaryship in 1706, and before then, of 
 course, he had renewed or gained many friendships. 
 Steele had introduced him to that brilliant gathering 
 of wits and noblemen, the Kit -Cat Club; and 
 Jonathan Swift, who had printed in 1704 the 'Tale 
 of the Tub ' and the ' Battle of the Books,' was in 
 frequent intercourse with Addison. 
 
 Steele's third play, 'The Tender Husband,' was 
 acted in April 1705, and besides the prologue, 
 Addison contributed to the comedy ' many applauded 
 strokes.' Steele dedicated the piece to his friend, 
 though he knew that Addison would ' be surprised, 
 in the midst of a daily and familiar conversation, 
 with an address which bears so distant an air as a 
 public dedication ; ' but his purpose was ' to show 
 the esteem I have for you, and that I look upon my 
 intimacy with you as one of the most valuable enjoy- 
 ments of my life.' The play furnished useful hints 
 to both Goldsmith and Sheridan ; it would be pleas- 
 anter to modern readers if the scenes relating to the 
 trial of his wife by Clerimont, senior, the 'tender 
 husband,' were omitted. 
 
 Immediately after the production of his play Steele 
 married a widow from Barbados, Margaret Stretch, 
 who brought him an estate in that island ; but she 
 died at the close of 1706. In April or May 1707, 
 Steele, who had already been made gentleman- 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 waiter to Prince George of Denmark, was ap- 
 pointed Gazetteer, with a salary of ^300, less a 
 tax of ;^45 a year; and in the summer he was 
 courting a Welsh lady, Mary Scurlock, whom he 
 married in September. This is the ' Dear Prue,' 
 who has been immortalised by the charming letters 
 and notes which Steele constantly sent to her, letters 
 which were intended for her eye only, but which she 
 carefully preserved, and so placed it in the power 
 of the antiquary Nichols to print. The fierce light 
 thus thrown on the intimate correspondence of hus- 
 band and wife has emphasised, to an undue extent, 
 the weakness of Steele's impulsive nature ; but it has 
 proved also how real was his affection for his wife 
 and children, though his reckless habits caused many 
 anxieties, and sometimes not unnatural reproaches. 
 It is only fair to add that Lady Steele, ' a cried-up 
 beauty,' was something of a prude, and was herself 
 sometimes inclined to extravagance. What we know 
 of her suggests that there might have been difficul- 
 ties even with a husband much more prudent than 
 Steele. As it was, Steele retained to the end 'the 
 tenderest love ' for his ' dear and honoured wife.' 
 
 Addison had in the meantime been increasing his 
 reputation in public life. He was elected member 
 of parliament for Lostwithiel in 1708, and when that 
 election was set aside he became member for Malmes- 
 biiry, a seat which he kept throughout his life with- 
 out contest. He wrote pamphlets on behalf of the 
 Government, and in December 1708 his services were 
 rewarded by the appointment of secretary to Lord 
 Wharton, the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, together 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 with the post of keeper for life of the records in 
 the Birmingham Tower, Dublin. Steele hoped to 
 receive the under-secretaryship vacated by Addison, 
 but was disappointed. In April 1709, at the chris- 
 tening of his eldest daugkter, the godfathers were 
 Edward Wortley Montague and Addison; and a 
 week later the Tatler was commenced. 
 
 Little need be said of the various periodicals that 
 preceded the Tatler, for none of them had much 
 influence upon that paper, and only one of them is 
 of importance in itself.^ The early seventeenth- 
 century news-sheets led to the issue of the official 
 London Gazette (1666), and to daily newspapers, 
 of which the Daily Courant (1702) was the first. 
 Controversial periodicals like John Tutchin's 
 Observator and Charles Leslie's Rehearsal were 
 really series of political pamphlets. John Dunton's 
 Athenian Mercury, which was begun in 1690, 
 contained questions to the editor on every variety 
 of subject, with suitable answers ; it was, in fact, 
 the forerunner of our Notes and Queries. The 
 British Apollo, which appeared between February 
 1708 and May 171 1, was conducted on similar 
 lines, but there was a larger element of verse and 
 other occasional contributions. The second title 
 of this paper was ' Curious Amusements for the 
 Ingenious. To which are added the most Material 
 Occurrences, Foreign and Domestic. Performed by a 
 
 1 In speaking of this matter, and elsewhere in this Introduction, 
 I have occasionally repeated a sentence from the ' Life of Richard 
 Steele,' published in 1889, where I dealt fully with the whole 
 subject. 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 Society of Gentlemen.' There had also been several 
 monthly papers of poems and other miscellaneous 
 matter. The Gentleman s Journal oi 1692-4 was 
 succeeded by Oldmixon's Muses' Mercury ; or, the 
 Monthly Miscellany, in 1707, a periodical which 
 contained also notices of new plays and books, and 
 numbered among its contributors ' Captain Steel.' 
 
 More important than all these, however, in the 
 history of the periodical press is Defoe's Review. 
 The full title of the first number was, ' A Weekly 
 Review of the Affairs of France. Purg'd from the 
 Errors and Partiality of News- Writers and Petty- 
 Statesmen, of all Sides.' Defoe says that his object 
 was to set the affairs of Europe in a clearer light ; 
 to form a complete history of France ; and to 
 pursue Truth, regardless of party. And then he 
 proceeds : ' After our serious matters are over, we 
 shall at the end of every paper present you with a 
 little diversion, as anything occurs to make the 
 world merry ; and whether friend or foe, one party 
 or another, if anything happens so scandalous as to 
 require an open reproof, the world will meet with 
 it there.' Accordingly, of the eight pages in the 
 first number, one and a half pages consist of 
 ' Mercure Scandale ; or. Advice from the Scandalous 
 Club, Translated out of French.' The censure was 
 to be of the actions of men, not of parties ; and the 
 design was to expose not persons but things. The 
 expression 'Translated out of French' was not 
 repeated ; and in the eighteenth number the ' Mer- 
 cure Scandale' was dropped, and there was left 
 simply 'Advice from the Scandalous Club.' But 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 the title was still criticised, and in the forty-sixth 
 number Defoe changed it to 'Advice from the 
 Scandal. Club,' maintaining the sign of contraction 
 after ' Scandal ' to show that he himself regarded it 
 only as an abbreviation. After the fourth number 
 the paper was reduced to four pages, with smaller 
 type ; with the ninth number it began to appear 
 twice a week instead of once only, and eventually 
 it was published three times a week — on Tuesday, 
 Thursday, and Saturday. A monthly supplement 
 of twenty-eight pages was commenced in September, 
 with the title, ' A Supplementary Journal, to the 
 Advice from the Scandal. Club ; for the month of 
 September 1704. To be continued monthly.' Its 
 object was to entice readers to the more solid por- 
 tion of the Review by an entertainment at the end, 
 'upon the immediate subject then on the tongues i 
 of the town'; but in May 1705 Defoe said that 
 pressure on his space prevented him finding room 
 in future for the Scandal Club ; their * Advice ' 
 would, however, be published separately. 
 
 On March 2, 17 10, Defoe remarked, ' When first 
 this paper appeared in the World, I erected a Court 
 of Justice, for the censuring and exposing Vice . . . 
 but tired with the mass of filth, the stench of which i 
 was hardly to be endured, I laid aside the Herculean \ h 
 labour for a while, and am glad to see the Society 
 honoured by the succession (in those just endeavours) 
 of the Venerable Isaac BickerstafF, Esq. ; ' but having 
 by long experience found that reformation is a work I j 
 of time, he proposed a scheme for ' a Faculty Office I I 
 or a Licence Book for the modern crimes of the 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 Town, upon a price to be paid during the term of 
 their usage among us, so long as, and no longer, 
 than till the laudable endeavour and just authority 
 of Esq. Bickerstaff, aforesaid, has effectually sup- 
 pressed them.' ^ 
 
 The name of Isaac Bickerstaff, it may at once be 
 said, was borrowed by Steele from a pamphlet by 
 Swift. The wits had amused themselves in 1708 
 by an attack on John Partridge, compiler of an 
 astrological almanac called Merlinus Liberatus. 
 On the appearance of this almanac for 1708, Swift 
 published 'Predictions for the year 1708, wherein 
 the month and day of the month are set down, the 
 persons named, and the great actions and events of 
 next year particularly related, as they will come to 
 pass. Written to prevent the people of England 
 from being further imposed on by vulgar almanack- 
 makers. By Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.' Isaac Bicker- 
 staff professed to be a true astrologer, disgusted at 
 the lies told by impostors. He was willing to be 
 hooted at as a cheat if his prophecies were not 
 exactly fulfilled. 'My first prediction is but a 
 trifle, yet I will mention it, to show how ignorant 
 these sottish pretenders to astrology are in their 
 own concerns : it relates to Partridge the almanack- 
 maker ; I have consulted the star of his nativity by 
 my own rules, and find he will infallibly die upon 
 the 29th of March next, about eleven at night, of 
 a raging fever ; therefore I advise him to consider 
 of it, and settle his affairs in time.' On the 30th 
 of March a second pamphlet was published, ' The 
 
 * Reiileiu, vol. vi. No. 1 41. 
 
XVI 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 accomplishment of the first of Mr. BickerstafF's 
 Predictions ... in a letter to a Person of Quality,' 
 in which a detailed account is given of Partridge's 
 death, at five minutes after seven, * by which it is 
 clear that Mr. BickerstafF was mistaken almost four 
 hours in his calculation. . . . Whether he had been 
 the cause of this poor man's death, as well as the 
 predictor, may be very reasonably disputed.' Other 
 pamphlets followed, and then Partridge published 
 his almanac for 1709, and protested that he was 
 still living. But the author of ' A Vindication ot 
 Isaac BickerstafF, Esq.,' replied that he could prove 
 Partridge was not alive; for no one living could 
 write such rubbish as the new almanac. In the 
 Tatler, Steele afterwards wrote that Swift had made 
 Mr. BickerstafF's name famous through all parts of 
 Europe. Steele himself summed up the controversy 
 when he said that ' if a man's art is gone, the man is 
 gone, though his body still appear.' 
 
 The first number of the Tatler was published on 
 April 12, 1709, and the paper appeared three times 
 a week. The first four numbers, each consisting 
 of a single folio leaf, were issued gratuitously ; 
 afterwards the price was one penny. The nature 
 of the topic discussed was shown by the na,me of 
 the place from which the article was supposed to 
 have come. ' All accounts of gallantry, pleasure, 
 and entertainment shall be under the article of 
 White's CofFee-House ; Poetry, under that of Will's 
 CofFee-House ; Learning, under the title of Grecian ; 
 Foreign and Domestic News you will have from 
 Saint James's CofFee-House ; and what else I have 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 to offer on any other subject shall be dated from my 
 own Apartment." ^ The earlier numbers contained 
 short papers from all or several of these addresses ; 
 but as the periodical progressed it became more and 
 more usual to confine a number to one subject ; and 
 the article of news gradually disappeared entirely. 
 No doubt Steele thought that his position of Gazet- 
 teer would enable him to give fresh information, 
 which, he says, brought in a multitude of readers ; 
 but as the Tatler grew, the support of the para- 
 graphs of news was felt to be unnecessary. 
 
 The motto of the first forty numbers was ' Quic- 
 quid agunt homines nostri farrago libelli ' ; but 
 Nos. 41 and 42 had for their motto, ' Celebrare 
 domestica facia.' Bickerstaff's chief scenes of ac- 
 tion, as Addison said, were the coffee-houses and 
 theatres, rather than camps and battle-fields. ' I 
 shall still be safe as long as there are men or women, 
 or politicians, or lovers, or poets, or nymphs, or 
 swains, or courtiers in being.' In the Tatler there 
 is nothing approaching to the machinery of the club 
 which plays so important a part in the Spectator, but 
 besides Isaac Bickerstaff we meet with other members 
 of his family, especially his half-sister, Jenny Distaff, 
 and her husband, and his three nephews. In the last 
 number Steele wrote : ' It has been a most exquisite 
 pleasure to me to frame characters of domestic life.' 
 Use, too, is made of a familiar named Pacolet. 
 Quite late in the periodical there is a description 
 of some of the members of Isaac Bickerstaff's club, 
 the Trumpet, in Shire Lane : Sir Geoffrey Notch, a 
 
 1 No. I. 
 
 V0L."-I. b 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 gentleman of an ancient family, who had wasted 
 his estate in his youth, and called every thriving 
 man a pitiful upstart; Major Matchlock, Dick 
 Reptile, and the Bencher who was always telling 
 stories of Jack Ogle, with whom he pretended to 
 have been intimate in his youth. 
 V)' The general purpose of this paper,' said Steele, 
 * is to expose the false arts of life, to pull off the 
 disguises of cunning, vanity, and affectation, and to 
 recommend a general simplicity in our dress, our 
 discourse, and our behaviour.' And in another place 
 he says :^'' As for my labours, which he is pleased 
 to inquire after, if they but wear one impertinence 
 out of human life, destroy a single vice, or give a 
 morning's cheerfulness to an honest mind ; in short, 
 if the world can be but one virtue the better, or 
 in any degree less vicious, or receive from them 
 the smallest addition to their innocent diversions ; I 
 shall not think my pains, or indeed my life, to have 
 been spent in vain.' ^ At the close, speaking in his 
 own name, Steele wrote v* ' The general purpose of 
 the whole has been to recommend truth, innocence, 
 honour, and virtue, as the chief ornaments of life ; 
 but I considered, that severity of manners was abso- 
 lutely necessary to him who would censure others, 
 and for that reason, and that only, chose to talk in a 
 mask. I shall not carry my humility so far as to 
 call myself a vicious man, but at the same time must 
 confess my life is at best but pardonable.' ^ 
 
 Of the 271 numbers of the Tatler Steele wrote 
 about 188 and Addison 42, while they were jointly 
 1 No. 89. 2 No. 271. 
 
INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 responsible for 2^- Addison was not consulted 
 when the paper was started, and did not at first know 
 who was the author of it. His contributions were 
 neither numerous nor important until after eighty 
 numbers had appeared. The papers by Swift and 
 others were so few that they need not be noticed 
 here ; yet Steele, with a generous impulsiveness which 
 has given rise to much unfair depreciation of his 
 work, said that the most approved pieces in the 
 Tatler were written by others, especially by one ' who 
 is too fondly my friend ever to own them ; but I 
 should little deserve to be his, if I usurped the glory 
 of them.' In the preface to the collected edition 
 he wrote of Addison : ' I have only one gentleman, 
 who will be nameless, to thank for any frequent 
 assistance to me, which indeed it would have been 
 barbarous in him to have denied to one with whom 
 he had lived in an intimacy from childhood, con- 
 sidering the great ease with which he is able to 
 despatch the most entertaining pieces of this nature. 
 This good oiEce he performed with such force of 
 genius, humour, wit, and learning that I fared like 
 a distressed prince, who calls in a powerful neighbour 
 to his aid ; I was undone by my auxiliary ; when I 
 had called him in I could not subsist without 
 dependence on him.' And after Addison's death, 
 in a preface to his friend's play, 'The Drummer,' 
 Steele spoke again to the same effect of the Tatler. 
 ' That paper was advanced indeed ! for it was 
 raised to a greater thing than I intended it ! For 
 the elegance, purity, and correctness which appeared 
 in his writings were not so much my purpose, as (in 
 
XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 any intelligible manner, as I could) to rally all those 
 singularities of human life, through the different 
 professions and characters in it, which obstruct any- 
 thing that was truly good and great.' It is such 
 generous statements as these that furnished Macaulay 
 with the excuse for saying that almost everything 
 good in the Tatler was Addison's, any five of whose 
 papers were of more value than all the two hundred 
 in which he did not take part. 
 
 Though Addison's work is more finished than 
 Steele's, the initiative usually came from Steele, who 
 was fully entitled to say, ' I claim to myself the 
 merit of having extorted excellent productions from 
 a person of the greatest abilities, who would not 
 have let them appear by any other means.' ^ This 
 is not the place to dwell upon the merits of the 
 Tatler ; but any one who reads the Spectator with 
 pleasure will do well to turn to the earlier periodical. 
 There he will find most of the features of the 
 Spectator anticipated, and though there are fewer 
 elaborate moral or critical discourses, there is a cer- 
 tain freshness and absence of study that fully makes 
 up for their absence. There is the same kindly 
 satire on follies of the day ; the same denunciation 
 of duelling, brutal sports, swindlers, and the like. 
 
 Steele's comments on gambling in the Tatler 
 were so severe that they brought upon him the 
 anger of many of the sharpers. There is a well- 
 known story that Lord Forbes, Major-General 
 Davenport, and Brigadier Bisset were in the St. 
 James's CofFee-House when some well-dressed men 
 
 ' Spectator, No. 532. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 entered, and began to abuse Steele as the author of 
 the Tatler. One of them swore that he would cut 
 Steele's throat or teach him better manners. ' In 
 this country,' said Lord Forbes, ' you will find it 
 easier to cut a purse than to cut a throat ' ; and the 
 cut-throats were soon turned out of the house 
 with every mark of disgrace. A similar incident is 
 described in a recently-published letter from Lady 
 Marow to her daughter, Lady Kaye.^ Writing on 
 January 5, 1709-10, Lady Marow says: 'AH the 
 town are full of the Tatler, which I hope you have 
 to prepare you for discourse, for no visit is made 
 that I hear of but Mr. BickerstafF is mentioned, 
 and I am told he has done so much good that the 
 sharpers cannot increase their stocks as they did 
 formerly; for one Young came into the Chocolate 
 House, and said he would stop Mr. BickerstafF if 
 he knew him. Mr. Steele, who is thought to write 
 the Tatler, heard Young say so, and, when he went 
 out of the house, said he should walk in St. James's 
 Park an hour, if any would speak with him; but 
 the Hector took no notice.' 
 
 The Tatler, like the Spectator, contains many 
 friendly notices of the stage ; and there are the 
 same short stories of domestic life, in which Steele 
 excelled. There is, too, the same respect for women ; 
 with, in fact, a tone perhaps more remarkable than 
 that of the Spectator, where Addison adopted a 
 certain patronising air in dealing with the foibles 
 of his lady readers. It was in the Tatler that 
 
 1 'Manuscripts of the Earl of Dartmouth,' iii. 148 (Hist. 
 MSS. Comm., Fifteenth Report, Part I., 1896). 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Steele wrote, ' As charity is esteemed a conjunction 
 of the good qualities necessary to a virtuous man, 
 so love is the happy composition of all the accom- 
 plishments that make a fine gentleman.' And in 
 this same paper ^ he made his memorable remark 
 of Lady Elizabeth Hastings: 'Though her mien 
 carries much more invitation than command, to be- 
 hold her is an immediate check to loose behaviour, 
 and to love her is a liberal education.' ' Wife,' he 
 says, ' is the most amiable term in human life.' ^ But 
 the graces of a woman's mind must be cultivated, 
 as well as those of the body ; ' a woman must think 
 well to look well.' ^ 
 
 No one has given a better account of the work 
 accomplished by Addison and Steele than the poet 
 John Gay, in a pamphlet called ' The Present State 
 of Wit ' ( 1 7 1 1 ). Speaking of the discontinuance of 
 the Tatler, Gay says : ' His disappearing seemed to 
 be bewailed as some general calamity : every one 
 wanted so agreeable an amusement; and the coffee- 
 houses began to be sensible that the Esquire's lucu- 
 brations alone had brought them more customers 
 than all their other newspapers put together. It 
 must, indeed, be confessed that never man threw up 
 his pen under stronger temptations to have employed 
 it longer; his reputation was at a greater height than, 
 I believe, ever any living author's was before him. . . . 
 There is this noble difference between him and all the 
 rest of our polite and gallant authors: the latter have 
 endeavoured to please the age by falling in with them, 
 and encouraging them in their fashionable vices and 
 > No. 49. 2 No. 33. 3 No. 212. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 false notions of things. It would have been a jest 
 sonie time since, for a man to have asserted that any- 
 thing witty could be said in praise of a married state; 
 or that devotion and virtue were any way necessary 
 to the character of a fine gentleman. BickerstafF] 
 ventured to tell the town that they were a parcel of i 
 fops, fools, and vain coquettes; but in such a manner; 
 as even .pleased them, and made them more than half 
 inclined to believe that he spoke truth. Instead 
 complying with the false sentiments or vicious tastjfs 
 of the age, either in morality, criticism, or good 
 breeding, he has boldly assured them that they were 
 altogether in the wrong, and commanded them, with 
 an authority which perfectly well became him, to 
 surrender themselves to his arguments for virtue and 
 good sense. 
 
 ' It is incredible to conceive the effect his writings 
 have had on the town ; how many thousand follies 
 they have either quite banished, or given a very great 
 check to ; how much countenance they have added 
 to virtue and religion ; how many people they have 
 rendered happy, by showing them it was their own 
 fault if they were not so ; and, lastly, how entirely 
 they have convinced our fops and young fellows of 
 the value and advantages of learning. He has indeed 
 rescued it out of the hands of pedants and fools, and 
 discovered the true method of making it amiable and 
 lovely to all mankind. In the dress he gives it, it is 
 a most welcome guest at tea-tables and assemblies, 
 and is relished and caressed by the merchants on the 
 Change ; accordingly, there is not a lady at court, 
 nor a banker in Lombard Street, who is not verily 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 persuaded that Captain Steele is the greatest scholar 
 and best casuist of any man in England. 
 
 'Lastly, his writings have set all our wits and 
 men of letters upon a new way of thinking, of which 
 they had little or no notion before ; and though we 
 cannot yet say that any of them have come up to the 
 beauties of the original, I think we may venture to 
 affirm that every one of them writes and thinks much 
 more justly than they did some time since.' 
 
 The numbers of the Tatler were regularly re- 
 printed in Dublin and Edinburgh as soon as they 
 reached those cities; and the arrival of the paper 
 was looked forward to with great eagerness in many 
 country towns. At Spalding a barrister named 
 Maurice Johnson founded, by the encouragement 
 of Addison and his friends, a ' Gentleman's Society'; 
 but the movement had its beginning in the arrival 
 of the Tatler. The numbers ' were taken in by a 
 gentleman, who communicated them to his acquaint- 
 ances at the coffee-house then in the Abbey Yard ; 
 and these papers being universally approved as both 
 instructive and entertaining, they ordered them to be 
 sent down thither, with the Gazettes and Votes, for 
 which they paid out of charity to the person who 
 kept the coffee-house, and they were accordingly 
 had and read there every post day, generally aloud 
 to the company, who would sit and talk over the 
 subject afterwards. This insensibly drew the men 
 of sense and letters into a sociable way of con- 
 versing, and continued the next year, 1710, until the 
 publication of these papers desisted, which was in 
 December, to their great regret.' 
 
INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 The year 1710 witnessed the fall of the Whigs, 
 and in October Steele lost his post of Gazetteer. 
 There was a growing estrangement with Swift, who 
 was now writing in the Tory Examiner, a paper 
 that was answered by Addison's short-lived Whig 
 Examiner ; but Harley did not wish to make an 
 enemy of Steele, and after an interview with that 
 statesman, Steele brought the Tatler to a sudden 
 close (January 2, 171 1), without consulting even 
 Addison. It was commonly supposed that the 
 paper was discontinued for want of matter, until 
 the speedy appearance of the Spectator proved this 
 not to be the case. As Steele himself said, he had 
 touched upon state matters, and was not so cool as 
 to conceal his opinion. Gay was probably not far 
 wrong in surmising that the paper was discontinued 
 ' as a sort of submission to, or composition with, the 
 Government for some past offences.' 
 
 Several spurious continuations of the Tatler were 
 commenced, one of them by a young poet, William 
 Harrison, with Swift's patronage and aid ; but their 
 opportunity was short, for on the ist of March 
 1 7 1 1 the first number of the Spectator appeared. 
 The new paper was published daily, and it was 
 continued until the 6th of December 17 12, when 
 the original series ended with No. 555 ; the paper 
 was revived for a time by Addison in 17 14, but in 
 that continuation Steele seems to have taken no part. 
 The Spectator was printed by Samuel Buckley, at 
 the Dolphin in Little Britain, in the form of a single 
 folio sheet; and there was a notice that advertise- 
 ments would be taken in by Buckley, or by Charles 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 Lillie, the perfumer, at the corner of Beaufort Build- 
 ings, Strand, or (towards the end) by Jacob Tonson. 
 The first number of the new paper was by Addi- 
 son, and consisted of an autobiography of the 
 Spectator himself, a man who frequented all places 
 of general resort in town, though he seldom opened 
 his lips. He was resolved to be neutral in politics, 
 unless forced to declare himself by the hostilities of 
 either side. The plan of the undertaking was laid 
 at a club ; and in the second number, which was 
 written by Steele, we have the first sketches of 
 the members : the immortal baronet. Sir Roger de 
 Coverley ; the Templar ; Sir Andrew Freeport, the 
 merchant; Captain Sentry; the elderly beau, "Will 
 Honeycomb, who ultimately marries a farmer's 
 daughter ; and the anonymous Clergyman. It is a 
 remarkable testimony to the skill with which these 
 characters are sketched that, with the exception of Sir 
 Roger, and, to a less extent. Will Honeycomb, we are 
 told comparatively little about them in later numbers ; 
 yet they all stand out clearly before us. Sir Roger's 
 character, indeed, is the most confused, owing to 
 the fact that it was dealt with, apparently without 
 much consultation, by several writers. The Sir 
 Roger drawn by Addison is not always consistent 
 with Steele's original sketch, and Tickell introduced 
 a jarring note incompatible with Addison's charming 
 work. Budgell's contributions to the story are in 
 harmony with Addison, who hardly alludes to the 
 Perverse Widow, and other touches of Steele's. 
 Tickell, in his edition of Addison's writings, says 
 that 'the plan of the Spectator, as far as regards 
 
INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 the feigned person of the author, and of the several 
 characters that compose his club, was projected in 
 concert with Sir Richard Steele.' ' As for the dis- 
 tinct papers,' he adds, ' they were never or seldom 
 shown to each other by their respective authors.' 
 
 Foolish attempts have been made, as explained in 
 the notes, to identify the various members of the 
 club with real persons, in spite of Tickell's opinion 
 that all the characters were feigned, and the express 
 declaration in No. 262 that everything had been 
 rejected that might create uneasiness in the minds 
 of particular persons. ' When I place an imaginary 
 name at the head of a character, I examine every 
 syllable and letter of it, that it may not bear any 
 resemblance to one that is real. I know very well 
 the value which every man sets upon his reputation, 
 and how painful it is to be exposed to the mirth 
 and derision of the public, and should therefore 
 scorn to divert my reader at the expense of any 
 private man.' 
 
 When Addison said, in one of the hymns which 
 he printed in the Spectator, 
 
 ' Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss 
 Has made my cup run o'er, 
 And in a kind and faithful friend 
 Has doubled all my store,' 
 
 he certainly had Steele in his mind. In the last 
 number of their joint work, Steele once more gave 
 all the praise to Addison. ' I am indeed much more 
 proud of his long-continued friendship, than I should 
 be of the fame of being thought the author of any 
 writings which he himself is capable of producing. 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 I remember when I finished the " Tender Husband," 
 I told him there was nothing I so ardently wished, 
 as that we might some time or other publish a work 
 written by us both, which should bear the name of 
 "The Monument," in memory of our friendship.' 
 No more lasting monument could have been found 
 than the Spectator. Of the 555 numbers of the 
 original series, Addison wrote 274, and Steele 236, 
 leaving only 45 for occasional contributors. 
 
 Addison was certainly at his best in the Spec- 
 tator. He rendered a great service in his series of 
 papers on Milton's ' Paradise Lost,' a poem then 
 little known ; and he was still more in advance 
 of his time in praising ' Chevy Chase ' and the 
 ' Children in the Wood.' But his apology, based 
 on classical comparisons, is now out 6f date, and 
 the modern reader finds less pleasure in these essays, 
 or in those on the ' Pleasures of the Imagination ' 
 or on ' True and False Wit,' than in the short 
 stories or the papers on social matters which form 
 the bulk of the work. It is difficult to select from 
 such a wealth of matter, but every reader will re- 
 member with pleasure Steele's stories of Inkle and 
 Yarico,^ and of Brunetta and Phillis ; ^ Addison's 
 story of Eudoxus and Leontine,^ and the Vision of 
 Mirzah ; * Steele's account of the death of Estcourt ' 
 and of Stephen Clay ; * Addison's account of the 
 Indian kings in London ; ' Steele's criticism of im- 
 morality on the stage, in articles on plays by Etherege 
 
 1 No. II. 2 No. 80. s No. 123. 
 
 * No. 159. 5 No. 468. « No. 133. 
 
 ' No. 50. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxlx 
 
 and Beaumont and Fletcher;^ and his essays on 
 youth and age ; ^ on parents and children ; * on ser- 
 vants ; * on short -faced and ordinary people ; ^ on 
 envy, affectation, and other faults;® and on Raf- 
 faelle's cartoons/ There are many papers in praise 
 of marriage, in opposition to the cynical tone of 
 the day ; ' I have long entertained an ambition,' 
 said Steele, ' to make the word wife the most agree- 
 able and delightful name in nature.' * ' There is 
 nothing of so great importance to us,' Addison 
 wrote,® ' as the good qualities of one to whom we 
 join ourselves for life ; they do not only make our 
 present state agreeable, but often determine our 
 happiness to all eternity.' 
 
 Women occupy a large share of attention in the 
 Spectator, and both Addison and Steele constantly 
 aimed at increasing their interest in serious matters, 
 and securing their aid in the refining and civilising 
 of society. ' There are none,' said Addison," ' to 
 whom this paper will be more useful than to the 
 female world. I have often thought there has not 
 been sufficient pains taken in finding out proper 
 employments 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.' Of course there were many women 
 of a more elevated life and conversation ; and 
 
 1 Nos. 65, 270. 2 No. 153. 3 No. 192. 
 
 * Nos. 88, 96, 107. * Nos. 4, 17. 
 6 Nos. 19, 38, 82, 438. "< No. 226. 
 
 8 No. 490. ^ No. 261. " No. 10. 
 
XXX INTRODUCTION 
 
 Addison's hope was to increase their number. 
 Swift found the tone of the paper too feminine 
 for his taste ; ' 1 will not meddle with the Spectator^ 
 he wrote to Esther Johnson, ' let him fair sex it 
 to the world's end ; ' but Swift was not a representa- 
 tive reader, and the popularity of the paper was 
 certainly not confined to the ladies. ' I am glad 
 to find,' said Hughes in No. 525, 'that my dis- 
 courses on marriage have been well received. A 
 friend of mine gives me to understand, from 
 Doctors' Commons, that more licences have been 
 taken out there of late than usual. I am likewise 
 informed of several pretty fellows who have re- 
 solved to commence heads of families by the first 
 favourable opportunity. One of them writes me 
 word that he is ready to enter into the bonds of 
 matrimony, provided I will give it him under my 
 hand (as I now do) that a man may show his 
 face in good company after he is married, and that 
 he need not be ashamed to treat a woman with 
 kindness who puts herself into his power for life.' 
 Women prefer reason and sense, says one of Steele's 
 imaginary correspondents,^ but they will not give 
 up the conversation of ' a woman's man ' until men 
 of sense think fit to give them their company. ' We 
 are made for the cements of society, and come into 
 the world to create relations amongst mankind, and 
 solitude is an unnatural being to us.' 
 
 A 'fine gentleman,' as commonly understood, 
 had often nothing to be proud of except his clothes : 
 ' When a gentleman speaks coarsely, he has dressed 
 ^ No. 158. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxi 
 
 himself clean to no purpose ; the clothing of our 
 minds certainly ought to be regarded before that of 
 our bodies.' ^ The true art of female education is, 
 * to make the mind and body improve together ; and, 
 if possible, to make gesture follow thought, and not 
 let thought be employed upon gesture.' ^ Steele 
 did not forget to denounce flogging in schools : ' A 
 great or good mind must necessarily be the worse for 
 such indignities ; and it is a sad change to lose of 
 its virtue for the improvement of its knowledge.' * 
 
 ' I shall be ambitious to have it said of me,' wrote 
 Addison, ' that I have brought philosophy out of 
 closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell 
 in clubs and assemblies, at the tea-tables and in 
 coiFee-houses.' * That philosophy is best shown in 
 the humorous papers in which he ridiculed the 
 foibles of the time. ' If I have any other merit in 
 me,' he says,^ ' besides endeavouring to advance truth 
 and virtue, it is that I have new-pointed all the 
 batteries of ridicule. They have been generally 
 planted against persons who have appeared serious 
 rather than absurd ; or at best, have aimed rather 
 at what is unfashionable than what is vicious. For 
 my own part I have endeavoured to make nothing 
 ridiculous that is not in some measure criminal. I 
 have set up the immoral man as the object of deri- 
 sion. In short, if I have not formed a new weapon 
 against vice and irreligion, I have at least shown 
 how that weapon may be put to a right use, which 
 has so often fought the battles of impiety and pro- 
 
 1 No. 75. 2 No. 66. 3 No. 157. 
 
 * No. 10. No. 445. 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 faneness.' Pains were taken that nothing could be 
 interpreted as aimed at private persons ; and it was 
 to the credit of the readers of the Spectator that 
 the demand for the paper increased month by month 
 in spite of the absence of scandal or party strokes.^ 
 The Saturday papers were usually of a serious cast, 
 suitable as a preparation for Sunday ; it was this 
 series of Saturday essays, some of which contained 
 excellent hymns by Addison, that led to his being 
 called ' a parson in a tye-wig.' Addison divided his 
 readers into the mercurial and the saturnine,^ and 
 his aim was to find entertainment for both classes, 
 and also to cause the sprightly reader to find him- 
 self sometimes engaged unawares in serious thought ; 
 and the thoughtful man to be insensibly betrayed 
 into mirth. ' I must confess, were I left to myself, 
 I should rather aim at instructing than diverting; 
 but if we will be useful to the world, we must take 
 it as we find it.' Yet Addison's disposition was 
 essentially cheerful, and he often wrote against the 
 Puritan view that mirth and pleasantry are the marks 
 of a carnal mind. Those who represent religion 
 as an unsociable state, without joy and gladness, 
 are its greatest enemies.' 
 
 In any comparison of the contributions of Addi- 
 son and Steele to the periodicals which they brought 
 out, it must be remembered that, especially in the 
 case of the Tatler, it was Steele who was responsible 
 for the regular issue of the paper. It was he who 
 had to find matter if other writers failed ; and the , 
 inevitable result was that much of his work was 
 1 No. 262. ^ No. 179. 3 ]vjo_ ^g^_ 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxiii 
 
 hastily written, the result of the passing impression 
 of the moment. Addison, on the other hand, pre- 
 pared his contributions at his leisure, with opportu- 
 nities to study the style and to make use of the 
 results of his reading and travel, or, in some cases, 
 of manuscripts that he had probably prepared long 
 before for other purposes. Sometimes, however, 
 this elaboration and perfection of workmanship is 
 less attractive than the spontaneity of Steele's con- 
 tributions, which came straight from his heart. 
 
 The great work of Addison and Steele was to \ 
 form public opinion on matters respecting which it | 
 can hardly be said to have existed before, and to / 
 cause their readers, at a critical time in our history,/ 
 to consider moral and social questions from a highen 
 standpoint than had been their wont. The press,! 
 so far as it can be said to have existed before thel 
 appearance of the Review, the Tatler, and the) 
 Spectator, had merely echoed the views of the un- 
 informed crowd, or of the members of a clique, 
 without attempting to instruct. The success of the 
 Spectator was decided and immediate. Swift acknow- 
 ledged that the papers were ' very pretty ' ; Defoe 
 said : ' There is not a man in this nation that pays 
 a greater veneration to the writings of the inimitable 
 Spectator than the author of the Review ; and that 
 not only for his learning and wit, but especially for 
 his applying that learning and wit to the true ends 
 for which they are given, viz. the establishing virtue 
 in, and the shaming vice out of the world.' ^ Gay, 
 in the tract already referred to, has given the follow- 
 
 1 The Remenv, vol. viii. No. 82. 
 VOL. I. C 
 
xxxiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 ing admirable sketch of the effect produced by the 
 new periodical. 
 
 ' You may remember I told you before, that one 
 cause assigned for the laying down of the Tatler 
 was want of matter ; and, indeed, this was the pre- 
 vailing opinion in town, when we were surprised all 
 at once by a paper called the Spectator, which was 
 promised to be continued every day, and was written 
 in so excellent a style, with so nice a judgment, and 
 such a noble profusion of wit and humour that it 
 was not difficult to determine it could come from 
 no other hands but those which had penned the 
 Lucubrations. This immediately alarmed those 
 gentlemen who (as it is said Mr. Steele phrases it) 
 had the censorship in commission. They found the 
 new Spectator come on like a torrent, and swept 
 away all before him ; they despaired ever to equal 
 him in wit, humour, or learning (which had been 
 their true and certain way of opposing him), and, 
 therefore, rather chose to fall on the author, and to 
 call out for help to all good Christians, by assuring 
 them again and again that they were the first, original, 
 true, and undisputed Isaac Bickerstaff. 
 
 ' Meanwhile the Spectator, whom we regard as 
 our shelter from that flood of false wit and imper- 
 tinence which was breaking in upon us, is in every 
 one's hand, and a constant topic for our morning 
 conversation at tea-tables and coffee-houses. We 
 had at first, indeed, no manner of notion how a 
 diurnal paper could be continued in the spirit and 
 style of our present Spectators ; but, to our no small 
 surprise, we find them still rising upon us, and can 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxv 
 
 only wonder from whence so prodigious a run of 
 wit and learning can proceed; since some of our 
 best judges seem to think that they have hitherto, 
 in general, outshone the Squire's first Tatlers. Most 
 people fancy, from their frequency, that they must 
 be composed by a Society; I, withall, assign the 
 first place to Mr. Steele and his Friend. 
 
 ' I have often thought that the conjunction of 
 those two great geniuses (who seem to stand in a 
 class by themselves, so high above all our other 
 wits) resembles that of two famous statesmen^ in 
 a late reign, whose characters are very well expressed 
 in their two mottoes, viz. Prodesse quam conspici, 
 and Otium cum dignitate. Accordingly the first 
 was continually at work behind the curtain ; drew up 
 and prepared all these schemes and designs which 
 the latter still drove on ; and stood out exposed to 
 the world, to receive its praises or censures. 
 
 ' Meantime, all our unbiassed well -wishers to 
 learning are in hopes that the known temper and 
 prudence of one of these gentlemen will hinder the 
 other from ever lashing out into party, and render- 
 ing that wit, which is at present a common good, 
 odious and ungrateful to the better part of the nation. 
 If this piece of imprudence does not spoil so excel- 
 lent a paper, I propose to myself the highest satis- 
 faction in reading it with you over a dish of tea, 
 every morning next winter.' 
 
 Addison was fully aware of the danger feared by 
 Gay. ' As I am very sensible,' he says,^ ' my paper 
 would lose its whole effect, should it run into the 
 1 Lord Somers and the Earl of Halifax. ^ No. i6. 
 
xxxvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 outrages of a party, I shall take care to keep clear 
 of everything which looks that way. If I can any 
 way arrange private inflammations, or allay public 
 ferments, I shall apply myself to it with the utmost 
 endeavours; but will never let my heart reproach 
 me with having done anything towards increasing 
 those feuds and animosities that extinguish religion, 
 deface government, and make a nation miserable.' 
 And again,^ 'Among those advantages which the 
 public may reap from this paper, it is not the least, 
 that it draws men's minds off from the bitterness of 
 party, and furnishes them with subject of discourse 
 that may be treated without warmth or passion.' 
 
 The arrival of the Spectator was awaited in all 
 parts of the country with, even greater eagerness 
 than the Tatler, and much regret was expressed 
 when the discontinuance of the paper was announced, 
 after the disposal of the various members of the 
 imaginary club. In the tenth number Addison said 
 that 3000 copies a day were already distributed, and 
 he reckoned that each copy found twenty readers. 
 The sale increased month by month, until August 
 17 12, when a halfpenny stamp was imposed upon 
 all newspapers and periodicals, with disastrous results 
 to many of them. Swift wrote to Esther Johnson, 
 'Do you know that all Grub Street is dead and 
 gone last week ? . . . The Observator is fallen ; the 
 Medleys are jumbled together with the Flying Post; 
 the Examiner is deadly sick ; the Spectator keeps 
 up and doubles its price : I know not how long it 
 will last.' Though the tax was only a halfpenny, 
 1 No. 262. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxvii 
 
 the price of the Spectator, as Swift says, was raised 
 from one penny to twopence, though not without 
 protest from some of its readers.^ The sale was 
 reduced by more than half.^ Addison said that a 
 little self-denial would enable subscribers to pay the 
 extra halfpenny, or they could buy the paper when 
 reprinted in volumes. The octavo edition of the 
 first four volumes consisted of nine or ten thousand 
 copies, some of which were printed on large and 
 thick paper, at a guinea a volume ; and there was 
 also a pocket edition, which no doubt had a wide 
 sale. The stamp-tax brought in over £^o a week 
 from the folio issue of the Spectator, representing a 
 daily sale, from August to December 17 12, of more 
 than 1 600 copies a day. The sale before August 
 must therefore have been nearly 4000. 
 
 With few exceptions, the authorship of the in- 
 dividual papers in the Spectator is placed beyond 
 doubt by the initials appended by the several writers. 
 Steele tells us^ that Addison's papers are marked 
 by one of the letters in the name of the Muse Clio. 
 Budgell used the letter X ; Steele marked his papers 
 R, up to No. 91 ; with T, and sometimes R, up to 
 No. 134; and after that always with T. Some- 
 times, however, Tickell also used the letter T. 
 Later theories that Addison signed C when writing 
 at Chelsea, L when in London, I when in Ireland, 
 and O when at the office, and that Steele used T 
 instead of R when he had merely transcribed a paper 
 received from another writer, are groundless, and 
 inconsistent with the facts. Addison himself laughed 
 
 1 No. 488. 2 No. 555. 3 No. 555. 
 
xxxvlii INTRODUCTION 
 
 at the ingenious eflForts to assign meanings to the 
 initials affixed to the papers.^ 
 
 We do not know why the Spectator was brought 
 to a close in December 1 7 1 2 ; but in the preceding 
 month Steele told Pope of a design — the Guardian 
 — to be opened a month or two hence, and requested 
 his assistance. About the same time Addison and 
 Steele assigned to Samuel Buckley, for the sum of 
 ^575, a half-share in the four volumes of the 
 Spectator already published, and in the three which ~ 
 were yet to come ; it was intended to continue the 
 paper until the end of November. On the 7 th of 
 March 17 13, George Berkeley, afterwards Bishop 
 of Cloyne, but then a young man newly arrived 
 from Dublin, told Sir John Perceval that he would 
 soon hear of Steele under the character of the 
 Guardian, which would be published daily; and 
 the first number of that paper appeared accordingly 
 on March 12. The Guardian extended to one 
 hundred and seventy-five numbers, nearly half of 
 them being by Steele ; Addison wrote frequently 
 after the paper had been well established, and among 
 others who helped were Pope, Berkeley, Tickell, 
 Budgell, and Hughes. The essays are on the same 
 lines as those in the Spectator, but the machinery, 
 consisting chiefly of Mr. Nestor Ironside (the 
 Guardian) and the Lizard family, is not so happy 
 as that in the earlier periodical ; and unfortunately, 
 before many weeks had passed, Steele was drawn' into 
 a political controversy with the Examiner, greatly 
 to the detriment of the paper. By June he had 
 ' No. 221. 
 
INTRODUCTION xxxlx 
 
 decided to enter Parliament, and with that object he 
 resigned his commissionership of stamp duties and 
 his pension as gentleman-waiter to the late Prince 
 George. In August he was elected M.P. for 
 Stockbridge, and embarked in a war of pamphlets 
 respecting the failure to demolish Dunkirk, which 
 had been provided for by the Treaty of Utrecht. 
 In October the Guardian was brought to a sudden 
 end, and its place was taken by the Englishman, a 
 paper professedly political. Addison said that he was 
 'in a thousand troubles for poor Dick,' but knew 
 that his friend was determined to go on. Addison 
 had himself brought out in the spring, with great 
 success, his tragedy of ' Cato ; ' he now declined 
 to join in a new periodical proposed by Hughes 
 on the ground that he required rest to lay in fuel. 
 
 After the publication of Swift's bitter 'The Im- 
 portance of the Guardian Considered,' and of Steele's 
 ' Crisis,' Steele was expelled by a Tory House of 
 Commons in March 17 14. He had in the pre- 
 ceding month commenced a paper called the Lover, 
 a rather feeble imitation of the Tatler. The Lover 
 reached to forty numbers, including one by Addi- 
 son, and it then gave place to the Reader, of which 
 nine numbers appeared, two of them being by 
 Addison. On the i8th of June Addison began a 
 new series of the Spectator, without Steele's assist- 
 ance. This issue, which was published three times 
 weekly until December, afterwards formed the 
 eighth volume of the collected edition. The closing 
 numbers gf the original series had left the way open 
 for a continuation, by the promise of a new club. 
 
x] INTRODUCTION 
 
 in which the Spectator's mouth would be opened. 
 But of this opportunity Addison made little use. 
 The chief aim of his papers, he said, would be to 
 inspire mutual good-will and benevolence; 'it is 
 not my ambition to increase the number either of 
 Whigs or Tories, but of wise and good men.' ^ 
 The absence of Steele's hand is very marked; the 
 number of moral and philosophical discourses is 
 much greater than in the original series ; and there 
 are comparatively few of the lighter papers on social 
 questions of the day. 
 
 The death of Queen Anne and the accession of 
 George I. brought the Whigs again into office. 
 Addison was at once appointed Secretary to the 
 Lords Justices, and soon afterwards Chief Secretary 
 to Lord Sunderland, the new Lord-Lieutenant of 
 Ireland. Steele was made Supervisor of the Theatre, 
 with other honours. Of his writings in the autumn 
 of 1 7 14, his ' Apology for Himself and his Writings ' 
 is his best political pamphlet ; while the compilation 
 called ' The Ladies' Library ' was the indirect result 
 of papers on the subject in the Spectator. Early 
 in 1715, Steele received a patent appointing him 
 manager of Drury Lane Theatre, and became M.P. 
 for Boroughbridge ; in April he was knighted. It 
 is unnecessary here to follow his changing fortunes ; 
 his monetary difficulties; his visits to Scotland 
 as Commissioner of Forfeited Estates, and his 
 hopes from various inventions. Addison in the 
 meantime became one of the Lords Commissioners 
 of Trade, and brought out the Freeholder, a peri- 
 1 No. 556. 
 
INTRODUCTION xli 
 
 odical of a political complexion, but now known 
 only by the character of a Tory fox-hunter which 
 it contains. In August 1 7 1 6 he married the Coun- 
 tess of Warwick, and in the following year became 
 fellow Secretary of State with Sunderland. 
 
 Sadly enough, a coolness sprang up between Addi- 
 son and his old friend Steele, and in the controversy 
 over the Peerage Bill of 17 19 they took opposite 
 sides. Addison's health had for some time been 
 failing, and no opportunity for reconciliation 
 occurred before his death in June 17 19. Steele 
 had acted in opposition to his party because he 
 believed — and rightly — that they were in the 
 wrong ; and he was punished for his independence 
 by the loss of his patent. His grievances formed 
 a principal topic of a new periodical, the Theatre, 
 and about the same time he published pamphlets on 
 the South-Sea Scheme. One real success remained 
 for him — the production of his best play, 'The 
 Conscious Lovers,' in November 1722. After that 
 there is little but a story of failing health, troubled 
 by litigation and schemes for the settlement of 
 debts, and brightened only by his charming letters 
 to his children. His closing years were spent in 
 retirement in Carmarthenshire. After a stroke of 
 paralysis he never entirely recovered his mental 
 powers, and he died in September 1729. The last 
 glimpse we have of him comes from the actor 
 Benjamin Victor, who had sought from him an 
 introduction to Walpole: 'I was told he retained 
 his cheerful sweetness of temper to the last, and 
 would often be carried out on a summer's evening. 
 
xlii INTRODUCTION 
 
 when the country lads, and lasses were assembled at 
 their rural sports, and, with his pencil, give an 
 order on his agent, the mercer, for a new gown to 
 the best dancer.' Before the end came, Steele's 
 debts — never so heavy as might at first appear — had 
 all been paid. 
 
 The influence of the Spectator and the other 
 periodicals published by Addison and Steele upon 
 journalism, both at home and abroad, was immediate 
 and widespread. Many now forgotten papers were 
 brought out in London, including Sir Richard 
 Blackmore's Lay Monk, 1713-14, and a continua- 
 tion of the Spectator by William Bond in 17 15. 
 But more important than any of these were the 
 periodicals published on the Continent. The first 
 in order of date was Le Misanthrope, by Justus 
 van Effen, a member of the Royal Society of 
 London, which was commenced in May 171 1 and 
 continued until December 17 12. In the Notice to 
 the Reader prefixed to the collected edition pub- 
 lished at the Hague in 17 12-13, EiFen referred to 
 one of the finest geniuses of the time who started 
 two years before in England the Tatler, with which 
 all the world was charmed. There was hardly a 
 family in London, he said, where the Tatler was 
 not taken in regularly, to read in the morning while 
 drinking tea, for the instruction both of young and 
 old : and he was assured that from twelve to fifteen 
 thousand copies were sold every time. The Specta- 
 tor, published daily, was meeting with equal success. 
 Effen was one of the translators of ' Robinson 
 
INTRODUCTION xliii 
 
 Crusoe ' in 1720, and he afterwards wrote Le Nou- 
 veau Spectateur Franfais, the Hollansche Spectator, 
 and other periodicals. The Spectator was translated 
 into French in 17 15-18, and was a favourite book 
 with Rousseau in his youth. A French imitation, 
 Le Spectateur frangais, ou le Socrate moderne, 
 appeared in 17 19-21, and it was followed by Le 
 Spectateur inconnu, 1724; Le Babillard, oii le 
 Nouvelliste Philosopke, 1724-5, &c. 
 
 In Germany the effect was still more marked. 
 Der Vernunftler was published at Hamburg in 
 17 13, and Der Spectateur oder Betrachtung iiber 
 die verdorbenen Sitten at Nuremburg in 17 19. In 
 1 72 1 Bodmer and Breitinger began, at Zurich, the 
 Discurse der Maler, afterwards republished as Die 
 Maler der Sitten. In October 1721 the authors 
 sent a long letter to Steele, and they dedicated to 
 him the second volume of their work.^ In 1725 
 Gottsched, the leader of the opposite school of 
 German writers, brought out another paper, Die 
 verniinftigen Tadlerinnen. Other periodicals were 
 Der Leipziger Spectateur, 1723; Der freimutlige 
 Tadler, 1725; 2t.n6. Der getreue Hofmeister, 1725. 
 It is unnecessary to follow the movement further, 
 or to mention similar papers published in other 
 countries. By 1750 the number of such papers in 
 England had reached 94, and in Germany about 150.^ 
 
 1 Der spectator ah Quelle der 'Discurse der Maler,' by Dr. 
 Theodor Vetter, 1887. 
 
 2 ' Selections from the Works of Sir Richard Steele,' by Prof. 
 G. R. Carpenter, Boston, U.S.A., 1B97, pp. lv.-lx.,and the autho- 
 rities there quoted ; Aitken's ' Life of Richard Steele,' ii. 424-8. 
 
xliv 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 In America the influence of the Spectator seems to 
 have appeared first in the New England Courant, 
 after the publication of that periodical was under- 
 taken by Benjamin Franklin in 1723. 
 
 A word must be said, in conclusion, of the minor 
 contributors to the Spectator. In No. 555, after 
 thanking Addison and Budgell, Steele said that he 
 had received some assistance from unknown hands ; 
 but those to whom he could trace such favours 
 were ' Mr. Henry Martyn, Mr. Pope, Mr. Hughes, 
 Mr. Carey of New College in Oxford, Mr. Tickell 
 of Queen's in the same University, Mr. Parnell, and 
 Mr. Eusden of Trinity in Cambridge.' Dr. Drake, 
 in his ' Essays Illustrative of the Tatler, Spectator, 
 and Guardian,' drew up a table of 'contributors,, 
 given below,^ which appears to be substantially 
 
 1 Contributors to the Spectator : — 
 
 Contributors. 
 
 Entire 
 Papers. 
 
 Letters 
 and Parts 
 of Papers. 
 
 Contributors. 
 
 Entire 
 Papers. 
 
 Letters 
 and Parts 
 of Papers, 
 
 Addison . . 
 
 274 
 
 
 Philips, Ambrose 
 
 
 2 
 
 Steele . . . 
 
 240 
 
 
 Eusden. . . . 
 
 ... 
 
 2 
 
 Budgell . . . 
 
 37 
 
 
 Henley, John . 
 
 
 2 
 
 Hughes 
 
 II 
 
 13 
 
 Shepherd, Miss . 
 
 
 2 
 
 Grove . 
 
 4 
 
 
 Perry, Mrs. . . 
 
 
 
 Pope 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 Heywood . . . 
 
 ... 
 
 
 Parnell 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 Watts . . 
 
 
 
 Pearce 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 Weaver . . . 
 
 
 
 Martyn 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 Parker .... 
 
 
 
 Byrom 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 Gelding . . . 
 
 
 
 Swift 
 
 
 
 
 Harper. . . . 
 
 
 
 Brome 
 
 
 
 
 Motteux . . . 
 
 
 
 Francham . 
 
 
 
 Budgell, Gilbert 
 
 
 
 Dunlop 
 
 
 
 Bland . . . . 
 
 
 
 Hardwicke . 
 
 
 
 Ince 
 
 
 
 Fleetwood . . 
 
 
 
 Carey .... 
 
 
 
 Tickell. . 
 
 
 2 
 
 Anonymous . . 
 
 53 
 
 
 .^it 
 
INTRODUCTION xlv 
 
 correct ; it will be seen that Steele's list is far from 
 complete, while, on the other hand, it has not been 
 found possible to identify any of the papers by 
 William Carey. Most of the names can be dealt 
 with sufficiently in notes to the several papers ; but 
 Hughes, Budgell, and Tickell, who were among 
 Addison's most intimate friends, deserve some 
 special notice, 
 
 John Hughes, born in 1677 at Marlborough, was 
 educated at a dissenting academy in Little Britain, 
 where Isaac Watts was a fellow-scholar. He ob- 
 tained a place in the Ordnance Office, and published 
 several historical works and a translation of Fonte- 
 nelle's 'Dialogues of the Dead.' In 17 12 his 
 English opera of ' Calypso and Telemachus ' was 
 produced at the Haymarket, and in 17 15 he pub- 
 lished an edition of Spenser. Lord Chancellor 
 Cowper gave him a post in the Court of Chancery 
 in 1 7 17; and in 1720 he brought out, with great 
 success, his tragedy of ' The Siege of Damascus.' 
 On the night of its production Hughes died of 
 consumption, after a long illness. Steele published 
 a eulogy upon him in the fifteenth number of the 
 Theatre. Pope, who agreed with Swift that Hughes 
 was a mediocrity, said that ' what he wanted in 
 genius he made up as an honest man.' His papers 
 in the Spectator, especially the letters attributed to 
 him, largely relate to women; but he wrote also 
 upon the stage, and contributed papers on critical, 
 moral, and religious subjects. 
 
 Eustace Budgell, born in 1686, was the son of 
 Gilbert Budgell, D.D., of Exeter, by his first wife 
 
xlvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 Mary, daughter of Bishop Gulston, whose sister 
 was Addison's mother. He was called to the bar ; 
 but when his cousin Addison became secretary to 
 Wharton, the Lord-Lieutenant, Budgell was ap- 
 pointed a clerk in his office. He lived much with 
 Addison, and wrote many papers for the Spectator 
 in imitation of his patron's style ; in fact, some said 
 that Addison revised his articles. In 17 14 Budgell 
 published a translation of ' Theophrastus,' and next 
 year was made, by Addison's influence, Under- 
 Secretary at Dublin, and Chief Secretary to the Lords 
 Justices. In 17 17 he became Accountant-General, 
 after losing his other post through a quarrel with 
 the secretary to Lord Sunderland, the new Lord- 
 Lieutenant. Budgell lost much money at the time 
 of the South-Sea Bubble, and further sums in litiga- 
 tion, with the result that his mind became affected. 
 Of his later writings mention need be made only of 
 the ' Memoirs of the Life and Character of the late 
 Earl of Orrery and the Family of the Boyles,' 1732, 
 and a weekly periodical called the Bee (1733-35)- 
 In the end he drowned himself in the Thames, 
 leaving a paper on his desk : — 
 
 ' What Cato did and Addison approved 
 Cannot be wrong.' 
 
 Thomas Tickell, son of a Cumberland clergyman, 
 was born in 1686, and entered Queen's College, 
 Oxford, in 1 70 1. He made Addison's acquaint- 
 ance by a copy of verses in praise of the opera of 
 ' Rosamond,' and he afterwards contributed to the 
 Spectator ; little of his work, however, can be iden- 
 
INTRODUCTION xlvii 
 
 tified. In No. 523 Addison praised his poem on 
 ' The Prospect of Peace,' though it was opposed to 
 his own political views. In later numbers (Nos. 
 523, 620) two poems by Tickell were printed, one 
 ' To the supposed Author of the Spectator^ the 
 other, ' The Royal Progress,' in honour of George I. 
 When Addison was appointed Secretary in Ireland 
 he took Tickell with him ; and on Addison be- 
 coming Secretary of State in 17 17, Tickell became 
 Under-Secretary. His best poem was written in 
 memory of his patron, whose works he edited in 
 1 72 1. Tickell became Secretary to the Lords Jus- 
 tices in 1725, and soon afterwards married. He 
 died at Bath in 1740. The story of the quarrel of 
 Pope and Addison, arising out of the publication, 
 in 17 1 5, of the first book of a rival translation of 
 the ' Iliad ' by Tickell, is well known. It was Pope 
 who described Addison ' giving his little senate laws ; ' 
 in that senate at Button's Coffee-House Tickell was 
 a conspicuous member. 
 
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 JOHN LORD SOMERS, 
 
 BARON OF EVESHAM.i 
 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 SHO ULD not act the part of an 
 
 impartial Spectator, if I dedicated 
 
 the following papers to one who is 
 
 not of the most consummate and most 
 
 acknowledged merit. 
 
 None but a person of a finished character can 
 
 be the proper patron of a work which endeavours 
 
 to cultivate and polish human life, by promoting 
 
 virtue and knowledge, and by recommending what- 
 
 1 John Somers, born in 1652 at Worcester, where his father 
 was an attorney, was junior counsel for the Seven Bishops who 
 were tried in 1688. He took an active part in the expulsion of the 
 Stuarts, and drew up the Declaration of Right at the Revolution. 
 William III. made him Solicitor-General, and in 1692 he was 
 knighted and became Attorney-General. Next year he was ap- 
 pointed Lord Keeper, and in 1697 was raised to the peerage - 
 and made Lord Chancellor. Political opponents in the House of 
 Commons succeeded in depriving him of his office in 1700, but 
 
 VOL. I. d 
 
I DEDICATION 
 
 soever may be either useful or ornamental to 
 society. 
 
 I know that the homage I now pay you is 
 offering a kind of violence to one who is as solici- 
 tous to shun applause, as he is assiduous to deserve 
 it. But, my Lord, this is perhaps the only par- 
 ticular in which your prudence will be always 
 disappointed. 
 
 While justice, candour, equanimity, a zeal for 
 the good of your country, and the most persuasive 
 eloquence in bringing over others to it, are valuable 
 distinctions, you are not to expect that the public 
 will so far comply with your inclinations, as to 
 forbear celebrating such extraordinary qualities. 
 It is in vain that you have endeavoured to conceal 
 your share of merit, in the many national services 
 which you have effected. Do what you will, the 
 
 they failed when they brought an impeachment against him in the 
 House of Lords in 1701. Quitting public life, Somers returned 
 to the study of his books, and became President of the Royal 
 Society. From 1708 to 1710 he again held ofSce as President of 
 the Council during the Whig administration, but his health was 
 bad, and he lived in retirement until his death from apoplexy in 
 1 7 16. As early as 1695 Addison, then aged twenty-three, had 
 dedicated to Somers, after the capture of Namur, lines in honour of 
 William III., and Somers procured for the young man a pension 
 which enabled him to travel, and recommended him to Lord 
 Halifax. Addison's 'Remarks on Italy,' 1705, were dedicated 
 to Lord Somers, and upon that nobleman's death Addison pub- 
 lished, in No. 39 of the Freeholder, an admirable eulogy on the 
 friend and patron who ' made it his endeavour rather to do worthy 
 actions, than to gain an illustrious character.' 
 
DEDICATION li 
 
 present age will be talking of your virtues, though 
 posterity alone will do them justice. 
 
 Other men pass through oppositions and contend- 
 ing interests in the ways of ambition, but your 
 great abilities have been invited to power, and 
 importuned to accept of advancement. Nor is it 
 strange that this should happen to your Lordship, 
 who could bring into the service (f your sovereign 
 the arts and policies of ancient Greece and Rome, 
 as well as the most exact knowledge of our own 
 constitution in particular, and of the interests of 
 Europe in general ; to which I must also add, a 
 certain dignity in yourself, that {to say the least 
 of it) has been always equal to those great honours 
 which have been conferred upon you. 
 
 It is very well known how much the Church 
 owed to you in the most dangerous day it ever 
 saw, that of the arraignment of its prelates ; and 
 how far the civil power, in the late and present 
 reign, has been indebted to your counsels and 
 wisdom. 
 
 But to enumerate the great advantages which 
 the public has received from your administration, 
 would be a more proper work for an history, than 
 for an address of this nature. 
 
 Your Lordship appears as great in your private 
 life, as in the most important offices which you 
 have borne. I would therefore rather choose to 
 speak of the pleasure you afford all who are ad- 
 
Hi DEDICATION 
 
 mitted into your conversation, of your elegant taste 
 in all the polite parts of learning, of your great 
 humanity and complacency of manners, and of the 
 surprising influence which is peculiar to you in 
 making every one who converses with your Lord- 
 ship prefer you to himself, without thinking the 
 less meanly of his own talents. But if I should 
 take notice of all that might be observed in your 
 Lordship, I should have nothing new to say upon 
 any other character of distinction. »■- 
 
 I am, my Lord, 
 Your Lordship's most obedient. 
 Most devoted, humble servant, 
 
 THE SPECTATOR. 
 
THE 
 
 SPECTATOR 
 
 YJO L. I. 
 
 N°- I. Thursday^ March i. 
 
 1711 
 
 [AliDISON. 
 
 Nonfurrmm exfulgore, sed exfumo dare lucem 
 Cogitat, tit speciosa dehinc miracula promai. 
 
 — HoR.j Ars Poet. 143. 
 
 HAVE observed that a reader seldom 
 peruses a book with pleasure until 
 he knows whether the writer of it 
 be a black or a fair man, of a mild 
 or choleric disposition, married or 
 a bachelor, with other particulars of 
 the like nature that conduce very much to the 
 right understanding of an author. To gratify this 
 curiosity, which is so natural to a reader, I design 
 this paper and my next as prefatory discourses to 
 my following writings, and shall give some account 
 in thdm of the several persons that are engaged 
 in this work. As the chief trouble of compiling, 
 
 VOL. I. A 
 
2 The SPECTATOR No. i 
 
 digesting, and correcting will fall to my share, I 
 must do myself the justice to open the work with 
 my own history. 
 
 I was born to a small hereditary estate, which, 
 according to the tradition of the village where it lies,^ 
 was bounded by the same hedges and ditches in 
 William the Conqueror's time that it is at present, 
 and has been delivered down from father to son 
 whole and entire, without the loss or acquisition of a 
 single field or meadow, during the space of six hundred 
 years. There runs ^ a story in the family that when 
 my mother was gone with child of me about three 
 months she dreamt that she was brought to bed of a 
 judge. Whether this might proceed from a lawsuit 
 which was then depending in the family, or my 
 father's being a Justice of the Peace, I cannot deter- 
 mine ; for I am. not so vain as to think it presaged 
 any dignity that I should arrive at in my future life, 
 though that was the interpretation which the neigh- 
 bourhood put upon it. The gravity of my behaviour 
 at my very first appearance in the world, and all the 
 time that I sucked, seemed to favour my mother's 
 dream ; for, as she has often told me, I threw 
 away my rattle before I was two months old, and 
 Tvould not make use of my coral until they had 
 taken away the bells from it. 
 
 As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing 
 in it remarkable, I shall pass it over in silence. I 
 find that during my nonage I had the reputation of a 
 very sullen youth, but was always a favourite of my 
 schoolmaster, who used to say that my parts were 
 solid, and would wear well. I had not been long 
 
 1 'Which I find by the writings of the family,' in the folio 
 issue. 
 
 2 'Goes' (folio). 
 
No. I T:he SPECTATOR 3 
 
 at the University before I distinguished myself by 
 a most profound silence ; for during the space of 
 eight years, excepting in the public exercises of the 
 college, I scarce uttered the quantity of a hundred 
 words; and, indeed, do not remember that I ever 
 spoke three sentences together in my whole life. 
 Whilst I was in this learned body I applied myself 
 with so much diligence to my studies, that there are 
 very few celebrated books, either in the learned or 
 the modern tongues, which I am not acquainted 
 with. 
 
 Upon the death of my father I was resolved to 
 travel into foreign countries, and therefore left the 
 University with the character of an odd, unaccount- 
 able fellow that had a great deal of learning, if I 
 would but show it. An insatiable thirst after know- 
 ledge carried me into all the countries of Europe 
 in which there was anything new or strange to be 
 seen ; nay, to such a degree was my curiosity raised, 
 that having read the controversies of some great 
 men concerning the antiquities of Egypt, I made 
 a voyage to Grand Cairo on purpose to take the 
 measure of a pyramid ; and as soon as I had set my- 
 self right in that particular, returned to my native 
 country with great satisfaction.^ 
 
 I have passed my latter years in this city, where I 
 am frequently seen in most public places, though 
 
 1 It is supposed that Addison here alludes to John Greaves 
 {1602-1652J, mathematician and Oriental scholar, who visited 
 Egypt in 1038, and measured the Pyramids with mathematical 
 instruments. In 1646 he published ' Pyramidographia ; or, a Dis- 
 course of the Pyramids in Egypt.' Sixty years afterwards, in 
 Addison's own day (1706), a posthumous pamphlet appeared with 
 the title, ♦ The Origin and Antiquity of our English Weights and 
 Measures discovered by their near agreement with such standards 
 that are now found in one of the Egyptian Pyramids.' 
 
4 T:he SPECTATOR No. r 
 
 there are not above half-a-dozen of my select friends 
 that know me ; of whom my next paper shall give 
 a more particular account. There is no place of 
 general resort wherein I do not often make my ap- 
 pearance ; sometimes I am seen thrusting my head 
 into a round of politicians at Will's/ and listening 
 with great attention to the narratives that are made 
 in those little circular audiences. Sometimes I smoke 
 a pipe at Child's,^ and whilst I seem attentive to 
 nothing but the Postman^ overhear the conversation 
 of every table in the room. I appear on Sunday 
 nights at St. James's CofFee-House,* and sometimes 
 join the little committee of politics in the inner 
 room, as one who comes there to hear and improve. 
 
 ^ Will's CofFee-House stood at the corner of Russell Street and 
 Bow Street, on the west side. It was named from its proprietor,. 
 William Urwin ; and the room where the wits met was on the first 
 floor, over a shop. ' The Wits' Coffee-House,' as it was called 
 by Prior and others, was the resort of Dryden until his death in 
 1700; Addison made Button's, on the other side of the street,, 
 his headquarters. In the first number of the Tatler, Steele said 
 that articles on poetry would be under the heading of 'Will's 
 CofFee-House,' but in the same number he wrote, ' This place is very 
 much altered since Mr. Dryden frequented it ; where you used to 
 see songs, epigrams, and satires in the hands of every man you met,, 
 you have now only a pack of cards.' 
 
 2 Child's Coffee-House was in St. Paul's Churchyard, and was 
 the resort of clergymen and doctors, owing to its nearness to St. 
 Paul's, Doctors' Commons, the College of Physicians in Warwick 
 Lane, and the Royal Society at Gresham College. 
 
 2 The Postman, which John Dunton described as ' the best for 
 everything,' was edited by Fontive, a French Protestant. 
 
 * The St. James's CofFee-House was the last house but one on 
 the south-west corner of St. James's Street. It was used by Whig, 
 politicians and officers of the Guards until late in the century, and 
 Swift had letters addressed there at the date of the Spectator. This- 
 house, which was closed about 1806, was the origin of Goldsmith's 
 ' Retaliation.' Swift and Steele were both present at the christening, 
 of a child of Elliot, the cofFee-man, in 17 10. 
 
No. I rhe SPECTATOR 5 
 
 My face is likewise very well known at the Grecian/ 
 the Cocoa-Tree,^ and in the theatres, both of Drury 
 Lane and the Haymarket.' I have been taken for 
 a merchant upon the Exchange for above these ten 
 years, and sometimes pass for a Jew in the assembly 
 of stock-jobbers at Jonathan's.* In short, wherever 
 I see a cluster of people I always mix with them, 
 though I never open my lips but in my own club. 
 
 Thus I live in the world rather as a spectator of 
 mankind than as one of the species, by which means 
 I have made myself a speculative statesman, sol- 
 dier, merchant, and artisan, without ever meddling 
 with any practical part in life. I am very well 
 versed in the theory of a husband, or a father, and 
 can discern the errors in the economy, business, and 
 diversion of others, better than those who are en- 
 gaged in them, as standers-by discover blots which 
 are apt to escape those who are in the game. I 
 never espoused any party with violence, and am re- 
 
 i The Grecian CofFee-House, in Devereux Court, Strand, was 
 used for that purpose until 1843. Accounts of learning in the 
 Tatler appeared under the title of ' Grecian,' and Steele said that 
 the members inquired into antiquity, while the rest of the town 
 discussed Marlborough's actions. This coffee-house was visited 
 by Sir Isaac Newton and other members of the Royal Society, and 
 afterwards by Goldsmith and his brother templars. The house 
 was called Grecian because it was kept by Constantine, a Greek. 
 
 ^ The Cocoa-Tree, in Pall Mall, was the Tory chocolate-house. 
 As Macky wrote in 1722, 'A Whig will no more go to the Cocoa- 
 Tree or Ozinda's, than a Tory will be seen at the coffee-house of 
 St. James's.' 
 
 3 The Drury Lane Theatre of Addison's day was built by 
 Wren, and had been opened in 1674. It was rebuilt in 1741. 
 The Haymarket Theatre, built by Vanbrugh, was opened iiji 1706, 
 and it soon became the headquarters of the new Italian Opera. 
 
 ^ Jonathan's CofFee-House, in Change Alley, was, as the Tatler 
 says, 'the general resort for stock-jobbers' (No. 38). Merchants 
 of substance preferred Garraway's, also in Change Alley. 
 
6 The SPECTATOR No. i 
 
 solved to observe an exact neutrality between the 
 Whigs and Tories, unless I shall be forced to declare 
 myself by the hostilities of either side. In short, 
 I have acted in all the parts of my life as a looker- 
 on, which is the character I intend to preserve in 
 this paper. 
 
 I have given the reader just so much of my history 
 and character as to let him see I am not altogether 
 unqualified for the business I have undertaken. As 
 for other particulars in my life and adventures, I 
 shall insert them in following papers as I shall see 
 occasion. In the meantime, when I consider how 
 much I have seen, read, and heard, I begin to blame 
 my own taciturnity ; and since I have neither time 
 nor inclination to communicate the fulness of my 
 heart in speech, I am resolved to do it in writing, 
 and to print myself out, if possible, before I die. I 
 have been often told by my friends that it is pity so 
 many useful discoveries which I have made should 
 be in the possession of a silent man. For this reason, 
 therefore, I shall publish a sheet-full of thoughts 
 every morning, for the benefit of my contemporaries ; 
 and if I can any way contribute to the diversion or 
 improvement of the country in which I live, I shall 
 leave it, when I am summoned out of it, with the 
 secret satisfaction of thinking that I have not lived 
 in vain. 
 
 There are three very material points which I have 
 not spoken to in this paper, and which, for several 
 important reasons, I must keep to myself, at least 
 for some time : I mean an account of my name, my 
 age, and my lodgings. I must confess I would 
 gratify my reader in anything that is reasonable ; but 
 as for these three particulars, though I am sensible 
 they might tend very much to the embellishment of 
 
No. I "The SPECTATOR 7 
 
 my paper, I cannot yet come to a resolution of com- 
 municating them to the public. They would indeed 
 draw me out of that obscurity which I have enjoyed 
 for many years, and expose me in public places to 
 several salutes and civilities, which have been always 
 very disagreeable to me ; for the greatest pain I can 
 suffer is^ the being talked to and being stared at. 
 It is for this reason likewise that I keep my com- 
 plexion and dress as very great' secrets, though it is 
 not impossible but I may make discoveries of both 
 in the progress of the work I have undertaken. 
 
 After having been thus particular upon myself, I 
 shall in to-morrow's paper give an account of those 
 gentlemen who are concerned with me in this work. 
 For, as I have before intimated, a plan of it is laid 
 and concerted (as all other matters of importance 
 are) in a club. However, as my friends have en- 
 gaged me to stand in the front, those who have a 
 mind to correspond with me may direct their letters 
 to the Spectator, at Mr. Buckley's ^ in Little Britain. 
 For I must further acquaint the reader, that though 
 our club meets only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, 
 we have appointed a committee to sit every night, 
 for the inspection of all such papers as may contri- 
 bute to the advancement of the public weal. C. 
 
 ' 'Pains I can suffer are' (folio). 
 
 ^ The original numbers of the Spectator were « printed for Sam. 
 Buckley, at the Dolphin, in Little Britain.' In November 17 12 
 Addison and Steele assigned to Buckley a half-share in the four 
 volumes of the Spectator already published, and in their forthcoming 
 volumes. Buckley paid them ^575, and two years later reassigned 
 his half-share to Jacob Tonson, jun., for 5^500. In 17 14 Buckley 
 published Steele's Englishman, and in 1724, when he was printer of 
 the London Gazette and the Daily Courant, he was classed among 
 the printers friendly to George I. Buckley died, much esteemed, 
 in 1741, at the age of sixty-seven. 
 
8 T:^^ SPECTATOR No. 2 
 
 N°- 2. Friday^ March 2, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 Ast alii sex 
 
 Et plures uno conclamant ore. 
 
 — }vv., Sat. vii. 167. 
 
 THE first of our society is a gentleman of 
 Worcestershire, of ancient descent, a baronet, 
 his name Sir Roger de Coverley.-' 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 Roger. He is a gentleman that is 
 very singular in his behaviour, but his singularities 
 
 1 Tyers, writing in 1783, said that it was understood that the 
 original of Sir Roger de Coverley was Sir John Pakington, or 
 Packington (1671-1727), a Tory not without sense, but abound- 
 ing in absurdities. This tradition is certainly baseless. Tickell 
 expressly said, in editing Addison's papers, that all the characters 
 in the Spectator were feigned ; and it is difEcult to find any likeness 
 between Sir Roger and Sir John Pakington, beyond the fact that 
 both were baronets of Worcestershire. As I have pointed out in 
 the « Dictionary of National Biography,' Pakington married twice, 
 while Sir Roger was a bachelor ; in 171 1, the date of these papers, 
 Pakington was an energetic politician of the age of thirty-nine, 
 whereas Sir Roger was fifty-five, had no enemies, and rarely visited 
 London. Sir Roger was not given to lawsuits, though he sat on 
 the bench at Assizes ; but Pakington was a lawyer, and was made 
 Recorder of Worcester in 1726. Sir Roger, unlike Paking- 
 ton, was a much stronger Tory in the country than in town. 
 Pakmgton opposed the Union with Scotland in 1706, and in 1715, 
 was suspected of taking part in Jacobite intrigues ; he was a typical 
 high Tory and Churchman. Sir Roger's name is usually spelt 
 ' Coverly ' in the original edition. 
 
 2 The dance is believed to have been named after a knight of the 
 time of Richard I. Ashton (' Social Life in the Reign of Queen 
 Anne, u. 268-9) quotes from a pamphlet of 1648 a reference to 
 • a tune called Roger of Caulverley.' 
 
No. 2 T'>^^ SPECTATOR 9 
 
 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 forms 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 disappoint- 
 ment. Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, 
 had often supped with my Lord Rochester ^ and 
 Sir George Etherege,* fought a duel upon his first 
 coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson^ in a 
 
 1 Soho Square was built in 1681, and among its fashionable in- 
 habitants in Queen Anne's time were Lord Berkeley, Lord Carlisle, 
 Lord George Howard, Sir Thomas Mansel, Lord Nottingham, 
 Lord Leicester, the Bishop of Salisbury, and Sir Cloudesley 
 Shovel. The Spectator gives other addresses for Sir Roger de 
 Coverley in later Nos. (335, 410). 
 
 2 Some have Identified the widow with Mrs. Catherine Bovey, 
 to whom the second volume of Steele's 'Ladies' Library' was 
 dedicated in 17 14. See No. 113. 
 
 5 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1648-1680), author of a 
 poem on • Nothing,' and other verses, died, after a life of dissipa- 
 tion, at the age of thirty-one. Bishop Burnet wrote an account of 
 his repentance. 
 
 * Sir George Etherege (1635-1691), wit and dramatist, was a 
 friend of Rochester's, and the two were obliged to abscond for a 
 time after a fatal brawl with watchmen in 1676. Etherege wrote 
 three amusing comedies, 'The Comical Revenge,' 1664; 'She 
 would if she could,' 1667; and 'The Man of Mode; or, Sir 
 Foppling Flutter,' 1676 ; but the indecency which he shared with 
 other dramatists of the time exposed him to a severe attack by 
 Steele in Nos. 51 and 65 of the Spectator. 
 
 ^ Bully Dawson, a swaggering sharper of Whitefriars, is said by 
 Oldys to have been sketched by Shadwell in the Captain Hackum 
 of his comedy called 'The Squire of Alsatia.' 
 
lo The SPECTATOR No. 2 
 
 public coffee-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 out twelve times since he first 
 wore it. 'Tis said Sir Roger grew humble in his 
 desires after he had forgot this cruel beauty, inso- 
 much that it is reported he has frequently offended 
 in point of chastity with beggars and gipsies : but 
 this is looked upon by his friends rather as matter 
 of raillery than truth. He is now in his fifty-sixth 
 year, cheerful, gay, and hearty ; keeps a good house 
 both in town and country; a great lover of man- 
 kind ; but there is such a mirthful cast in his be- 
 haviour that he is rather beloved 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 Roger is a Justice of the 
 Quorum ; that he fills the chair at a Quarter Session 
 with great abilities, and three months ago gained 
 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 understanding ; but he has chosen his place 
 of residence rather to obey the direction of an 
 old humorsome father than in pursuit of his own 
 
No. 2 The SPECTATOR ii 
 
 inclinations. 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 understood 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 inquiring into the debates among men 
 which arise from them. He knows the argument of 
 each of the orations of Demosthenes 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 delicate 
 observer of what occurs to him in the present world. 
 He is an excellent critic, and the time of the play is 
 his hour of business ; exactly at five he passes through 
 New Inn, crosses through Russell Court, and takes a 
 turn at Will's until the play begins. He has his shoes 
 rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's as 
 you go into the Rose.* It is for the good of the 
 
 ' Longinus wrote a treatise ' On the Sublime,' which was much 
 quoted by seventeenth-century critics. 
 
 ^ Lord Chief-Justice Coke wrote a commentary on Judge 
 Littleton's treatise on Tenures, which is commonly known as 
 ' Coke upon Littleton.' 
 
 ^ The Rose Tavern, in Russell Street, Covent Garden, adjoined 
 Drury Lane Theatre, and was partially demolished in 1776, when 
 
12 r>^f SPECTATOR No. 2 
 
 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 person of indefatigable industry, strong 
 reason, and great experience. His notions of trade 
 are noble and generous, and, as every rich man has 
 usually some sly way of jesting which would 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 will tell you that it is a 
 stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion by 
 arms ; for true power is to be got by arts and industry. 
 He will often argue, that if this part of our trade were 
 well cultivated we should gain from one nation ; and 
 if another, from another. I have heard him prove 
 that diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than 
 valour, and that sloth has ruined more nations than 
 the sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, 
 among 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 unaffected elo- 
 quence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives the 
 same pleasure that wit would in another man. He 
 has made his fortunes himself, and says that Eng- 
 land may be 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 
 
 a new front was built to the theatre for Garrick. This tavern is 
 frequently mentioned in Restoration plays, and it was here that 
 Prior and Montagu laid the opening scene of ' The Hind and the 
 Panther Transversed.' Pepys speaks of slipping out from the 
 theatre during the first performance of Sedley's 'Mulberry Garden,' 
 to obtain some dinner at the Rose. 
 
No. 2 r-^f SPECTATOR 13 
 
 there is not a point in the compass 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 courage, good under- 
 standing, but invincible modesty. He is one of 
 those that deserve very well, but are very awkward 
 at putting their talents within the observation of 
 such as should take notice of them. He was some 
 years a captain, and behaved himself with great 
 gallantry in several engagements and at several 
 sieges ; but having a small estate of his own, and 
 being next heir to Sir Roger, he has quitted a way 
 of life in which no man can rise suitably to his 
 merit who is not something of a courtier as well as 
 a soldier. I have heard him often lament that, in a 
 profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous, 
 a view, impudence should get the better of modesty. 
 When he has talked to this purpose I never heard 
 him make a sour expression, 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 himself, 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 
 into 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 
 
 1 There is a tradition that Captain Sentry was drawn from 
 Colonel Magnus Kempenfelt, father of the admiral who was lost 
 with the Royal George in 1782. Colonel Kempenfelt, a native 
 of Sweden, was, towards the end of his life, Lieutenant-Governor 
 of Jersey. He is mentioned in No. 544 of the Spectator. 
 
14 r>^f SPECTATOR No. 2 
 
 figure, especially in a military way, must get over 
 all false modesty, and assist his patron against the 
 importunity of other pretenders by a proper assur- 
 ance 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 
 attacking when it is your duty. With this candour 
 does the gentleman speak of himself and others. 
 The same frankness runs through all his conversa- 
 tion. The military part of his life has furnished 
 him with 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 a habit of obeying men highly 
 above him. 
 
 But that our society may not appear a set of 
 humorists unacquainted with the gallantries and 
 pleasures of the age, we have among us the gallant 
 Will Honeycomb,^ a gentleman 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 fore- 
 head or traces in his brain. His person is well turned, 
 of a good height. He is very ready at that sort of 
 discourse with which men usually 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 
 
 1 Will Honeycomb has been identified, with but little reason, 
 with William Cleland, Pope's friend, who died in 1741, aged 
 about sixty-seven. Swift mentions a Colonel Cleland in a letter of 
 17 14, but it is not known whether the two are identical. 
 
No. 2 T:he SPECTATOR 15 
 
 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, and whose vanity to show 
 her foot made that part of the dress so short in such 
 a year. In a word, all his conversation and know- 
 ledge has been in the female world : as other men 
 of his age will take notice to you what such a minis- 
 ter said upon such and such an occasion, he will 
 tell 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 kind 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 
 Mirabell begot him, the rogue cheated me in 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 
 
 ^ The son of Charles II. and Lucy Walters. 
 
i6 T/^f SPECTATOR No. j 
 
 good breeding. He has the misfbrtune to be of 
 a very weak constitution, and consequently cannot 
 accept of such cares and business as preferments in 
 his function would oblige him to; he is therefore 
 among divines what a chamber-counsellor is among 
 lawyers. The probity of his mind and the integrity 
 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 con- 
 ceives hope from his decays and infirmities. These 
 are my ordinary companions. R. 
 
 N°" 3. Saturday J March 3, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Qiio'i quisque fere studio devinctus adhceret : 
 jiiit quihus in rebus midtum sumus ante morati : 
 Atque in qud rations fuit contenta magis mens / 
 In somnis eadem plerumque videmur obire. 
 
 — LuCR. iv. 3S9. 
 
 IN one of my late rambles, 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 all the other members- 
 of that wealthy corporation, ranged in their several 
 stations, according to the parts they act in that just 
 and regular economy. This revived in my memory 
 the many discourses which I had both read and heard. 
 
 ^ The Bank of England was founded in 1694. 
 
No. 3 T/^^ SPECTATOR 17 
 
 concerning the decay of public credit, with the 
 methods of restoring it, and which in my 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 employ- 
 ment for the whole night, so that I fell insensibly - 
 into a kind of methodical dream, which disposed all 
 my contemplations into a vision or allegory, or what 
 else the reader shall please to call it. 
 
 Methought 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, instead of 
 being adorned with pictures and maps, were hung 
 with many Acts of Parliament written in golden 
 letters. At the upper end of the hall was the 
 Magna Charta, with the Act of Uniformity on the 
 right hand and the Act of Toleration on the left. 
 At the lower end of the hall was the Act of Settle- 
 ment, which was placed full in the eye of the virgin 
 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 set an unspeakable value upon 
 these several pieces of furniture, 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 
 uneasiness if she saw anything approaching that 
 might hurt them. She appeared, indeed, infinitely 
 timorous in all her behaviour; and, whether it was 
 from the delicacy of her constitution, or that she 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
i8 r/^^ SPECTATOR No. 3 
 
 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 in 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 moment out of a wasting distem- 
 per, into a habit of the highest health arid vigour. 
 
 I had very soon an opportunity of observing these 
 quick turns and changes in her constitution. There 
 sat at her feet a couple of secretaries, who received 
 every hour letters from all 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 I did not so much wonder at, 
 when I heard, upon inquiry, that she had the same 
 virtue in her touch, which the poets tell 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 
 ^ King Midas. 
 
No. 3 rhe SPECTATOR 
 
 19 
 
 thought, which a man often meets with in a dream, 
 methought the hall was alarmed, the doors flew 
 open, and there entered half-a-dozen of the most 
 hideous phantoms that I had ever seen, even in a 
 dream, before that time. They came in two by two, 
 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 sponge in his left hand. The 
 dance of so many jarring natures put me in mind 
 of the sun, moon, and earth in the ' Rehearsal,' ^ 
 that danced together 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 these spectres; what then must have 
 
 1 James Stuart, 'the elder Pretender,' born in June 1688, was, 
 as Addison says, in his twenty-third year in March 171 1. The 
 Act of Settlement, passed at the Revolution, excluded the Stuarts 
 from the throne. 
 
 2 The ' Rehearsal,' a burlesque on the heroic dramas of the day, 
 by George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, was first acted in ' 
 1 67 1. The poet Bayes (Dry den) introduces an eclipse, making 
 
 ' the earth, sun, and moon come out upon the stage, and dance 
 the " hey." ' When they dance Bayes cries, ' Now the earth's 
 before the moon ; now the moon's before the sun ; there's the 
 eclipse again.' 
 
20 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 3 
 
 been her condition when she saw them all in a 
 body ? She fainted and died away at the sight. 
 
 Et neque jam color est mixto candore rubori ; 
 Nee vigor, et vires, et quae modo visa placebant ; 
 Nee corpus remanet. — Ov. Met., Lib. iii. 491. 
 
 There was as great a 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 tEoIus.'^ The great heaps of gold on 
 either side the throne now appeared 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 Monarchy 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 their first entrance the lady re- 
 vived, the bags swelled to their former bulk, the 
 piles of faggots and heaps of paper changed into 
 pyramids of guineas ; * and for my own part I was 
 
 1 Odyssey, x. 1 9. 2 Exchequer tallies. 
 
 3 Probably the Elector of Hanover, afterwards George I. 
 
 * In 1695 Charles Montague (afterwards Earl of Halifax), the 
 
No. 4 T/^^ SPECTATOR 21 
 
 so transported with joy that I awaked, though, 
 I must confess, I would fain have fallen asleep 
 again to have closed my vision, if I could have 
 done it. C. 
 
 N°- 4. Monday^ March 5, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Egregii mortalem, altique silenti ! 
 
 — HoR., a Sat. vi. 58. 
 
 AN author, when he first appears in the world, 
 is very apt to believe it has nothing to think 
 of but his performances. With a good share 
 of this vanity in my heart, I made it my business 
 these three days to listen after my own fame ; and 
 as I have sometimes met with circumstances which 
 did not displease me, I have been encountered by 
 others which gave me as much mortification. It is 
 incredible to think how empty I have in this time 
 observed some part of the species to be, what mere 
 blanks they are when they first come abroad in the 
 morning, how utterly they are at a stand until they 
 are set agoing by some paragraph in a newspaper. 
 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer, restored the silver currency to a just 
 standard. The process of recoinage caused for a time a scarcity of 
 coin and stoppage of trade. The paper of the Bank of England 
 fell to 20 per cent, discount. Montague then collected and paid 
 public debts from taxes imposed for the purpose, and invented, to 
 relieve the want of currency, the issue of Exchequer bills. Public 
 credit revived, the Bank capital increased, the currency sufficed, 
 and, says Earl Russell in his ' Essay on the English Government 
 and Constitution,' 'from this time loans were made of a vast in- 
 creasing amount with great facility, and generally at a low interest, 
 by which the nation were enabled to resist their enemies. ... In 
 all French projects drawn up in imitation of England, one little 
 element was omitted, videlicet, her free constitution' (Morley). 
 
22 T"^^ SPECTATOR No. 4 
 
 Such persons are very acceptable to a young author, 
 for they desire no more in anything but to be new, 
 to be agreeable. If I found consolation among 
 such, I was as much disquieted by the incapacity 
 of others. These are mortals who have a certain 
 curiosity without power of reflection, and perused 
 my papers like spectators rather than readers. But 
 there is so little pleasure in inquiries that so nearly 
 concern ourselves (it being the worst way in the 
 world to fame to be too anxious about it), that upon 
 the whole I resolved for the future to go on in my 
 ordinary way, and without too much fear or hope 
 about the business of reputation, to be very careful 
 of the design of my actions, but very negligent of 
 the consequences of them. 
 
 It is an endless and frivolous pursuit to act by 
 any other rule than the care of satisfying our own 
 minds in what we do. One would think a silent 
 man, who concerned himself with no one breathing, 
 should be very little liable to misinterpretations; 
 and yet I remember I was once taken up for a Jesuit, 
 for no other reason but my profound taciturnity. 
 It is from this misfortune that to be out of harm's 
 way I have ever since affected crowds. He who 
 comes into assemblies only to gratify his curiosity, 
 and not to make a figure, enjoys the pleasures of 
 retirement in a more exquisite degree than he pos- 
 sibly could in his closet ; the lover, the ambitious, 
 and the miser are followed thither by a worse crowd 
 than any they can withdraw from. To be exempt 
 from the passions with which others are tormented 
 is the only pleasing solitude. I can very justly say 
 with the ancient sage, I am never less alone than 
 when alone. As I am insignificant to the company 
 in public places, and as it is visible I do not come 
 
No. 4 7^4? SPECTATOR 23 
 
 thither, as most do, to show myself, I gratify the 
 vanity of all who pretend to make an appearance, 
 and have often as kind looks from well-dressed 
 gentlemen and ladies as a poet would bestow upon 
 one of his audience. There are so many gratifica- 
 tions attend this public sort of obscurity that some 
 little distastes I daily receive have lost their anguish ; 
 and I did the other day,^ without the least displea- 
 sure, overhear one say of me, ' That strange fellow,' 
 and another answer, ' I have known the fellow's 
 face these twelve years, and so must you ; but I 
 believe you are the first ever asked who he was.' 
 There are, I must confess, many to whom my person 
 is as well known as that of their nearest relations, 
 who give themselves no further trouble about call- 
 ing me by my name or quality, but speak of me 
 very currently by ' Mr. What-d'ye-call-him.' 
 
 To make up for these trivial disadvantages, I have 
 the high satisfaction of beholding all nature with an 
 unprejudiced eye ; and having nothing to do with 
 men's passions or interests, I can with the greater 
 sagacity consider their talents, manners, failings, and 
 merits. 
 
 It is remarkable that those who want any one 
 sense possess the others with greater force and 
 vivacity. Thus my want of, or 'rather resignation 
 of speech, gives me all the advantages of a dumb 
 man. I have, methinks, a more than ordinary pene- 
 tration in seeing, and flatter myself that I have 
 looked into the highest and lowest of mankind, and 
 make shrewd guesses, without being admitted to 
 their conversation, at the inmost thoughts and re- 
 flections of all whom I behold. It is from hence 
 that good or ill fortune has no manner of force 
 
 1 'And I can' (folio). 
 
24 T"/^^ SPECTATOR No. 4 
 
 towards affecting my judgment. I see men flourish- 
 ing in courts and languishing in jails without being 
 prejudiced from their circumstances to their favour 
 or disadvantage, but from their inward manner of 
 bearing their condition, often pity the prosperous 
 and admire the unhappy. 
 
 Those who converse with the dumb know from 
 the turn of their eyes, and the changes of their 
 countenance, their sentiments of the objects before 
 them. I have indulged my silence to such an ex- 
 travagance that the few who are intimate with me 
 answer my smiles with concurrent sentences, and 
 argue to the very point I shaked my head at without 
 my speaking.^ Will Honeycomb was very entertaining 
 the other night at a play to a gentleman who sat on 
 his right hand, while I was at his left. The gentle- 
 man believed Will was talking to himself when, 
 upon my looking with great approbation at a young 
 thing in a box before us, he said, ' I am quite of 
 another opinion. She has, I will allow, a very 
 pleasing aspect, but methinks that simplicity in her 
 countenance is rather childish than innocent.' When 
 I observed her a second time, he said, ' I grant her 
 dress is very becoming, but perhaps the merit of that 
 choice is owing to her mother; for though,' continued 
 he, ' I allow a beauty to be as much to be commended 
 for the elegance of her dress as a wit for that of his 
 language, yet, if she has stolen the colour of her 
 ribands from another, or had advice about her 
 trimmings, I shall not allow her the praise of dress 
 any more than I would call a plagiary an author.' 
 
 1 John Dennis printed a letter to the Spectator at the end of his 
 'Essay on Shakespeare,' 17 12, to show that those who think they 
 know people's thoughts by their eyes are often mistaken. We 
 really know very little of ' even those with whom we daily converse.' 
 
No. 4 T/^f SPECTATOR 25 
 
 When I threw my eye towards the next woman to 
 her, Will spoke what I looked, according to his 
 romantic imagination, in the following manner : — 
 
 ' Behold, you who dare, that charming virgin. 
 Behold the beauty of her person chastised by the 
 innocence of her thoughts. Chastity, good nature, \ 
 and affability are the graces that play in her coun- 
 tenance ; she knows she is handsome, but she knows 
 she is good. Conscious beauty adorned with con- 
 scious virtue ! What a spirit is there in those eyes ! 
 What a bloom in that person ! How is the whole 
 woman expressed in her appearance ! Her air has 
 the beauty of motion, and her look the force of 
 language.' 
 
 It was prudence to turn away my eyes from this 
 object, and therefore I turned them to the thought- 
 less creatures who make up the lump of that sex, 
 and move a knowing eye no more than the por- 
 traitures of insignificant people by ordinary painters, 
 which are but pictures of pictures. 
 
 Thus the working of my own mind is the general 
 entertainment of my life ; I never enter into the 
 commerce of discourse with any but my particular 
 friends, and not in public even with them. Such 
 a habit has perhaps raised in me uncommon reflec- 
 tions ; but this effect I cannot communicate but by 
 my writings. As my pleasures are almost wholly 
 confined to those of the sight, I take it for a 
 peculiar happiness that I have always had an easy 
 and familiar admittance to the fair sex. If I never 
 praised or flattered, I never belied or contradicted 
 them. As these compose half the world, and are 
 by the just complaisance and gallantry of our 
 nation the more powerful part of our people, I 
 shall dedicate a considerable share of these my 
 
26 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 4 
 
 speculations to their service, and shall lead the 
 young through all the becoming duties of virginity, 
 marriage, and widowhood. When it is a woman's 
 day, in my works, I shall endeavour at a style and 
 air suitable to their understanding. When I say 
 this, I must be understood to mean that I shall 
 not lower but exalt the subjects I treat upon. 
 Discourse for their entertainment is not to be 
 debased but refined. A man may appear learned 
 without talking sentences, as in his ordinary gesture 
 he discovers he can dance, though he does not cut 
 capers. In a word, I shall take it for the greatest 
 glory of my work, if among reasonable women this 
 paper may furnish tea-table talk.^ In order to it, 
 I shall treat on matters which relate to females, 
 as they are concerned to approach or fly from the 
 other sex, or as they are tied to them by blood, 
 interest, or affection. Upon this occasion I think 
 it but reasonable to declare, that whatever skill I 
 may have in speculation, I shall never betray what 
 the eyes of lovers say to each other in my presence. 
 At the same time I shall not think myself obliged 
 by this promise to conceal any false protestations 
 which I observe made by glances in public assem- 
 blies, but endeavour to make both sexes appear in 
 their conduct what they are in their hearts. By 
 this means love, during the time of my speculations, 
 shall be carried on with the same sincerity as any 
 other affair of less consideration. As this is the 
 greatest concern, men shall be from henceforth 
 liable to the greatest reproach for misbehaviour in 
 it. Falsehood in love shall hereafter bear a blacker 
 aspect than infidelity in friendship, or villainy in 
 
 '■ In 1 7 16 Steele started a paper called the Tea-Tabk, but only 
 three numbers appeared, and no copies seem to have been preserved. 
 
No. 5 T:he SPECTATOR 27 
 
 business. For this great and good end all breaches 
 against that noble passion, the cement of society, 
 shall be severely examined. But this, and all other 
 matters loosely hinted at now, and in my former 
 papers, shall have their proper place in my follow- 
 ing discourses. The present writing is only to 
 admonish the world, that they shall not find me 
 an idle, but a very busy spectator. R. 
 
 N°' 5. Tuesday^ March 6, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Spectatum admissi risum teneatis ? 
 
 — HoR., Ars Poet. 5. 
 
 AN opera may be allowed to be extravagantly 
 lavish in its decorations, as its only design is 
 to gratify the senses, and keep up an indolent 
 attention in 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 wits of King Charles's time have 
 laughed, to have seen Nicolini ^ exposed to a tempest 
 in robes of ermine, and sailing in an open boat upon 
 a sea of pasteboard ^ What a field of raillery would 
 they have been let into, had they been entertained 
 
 ^ Cavalier Nicolino Grinialdi, a Neapolitan actor and singer, 
 appeared first in the opera 'Pyrrhus and Demetrius' (1709), a 
 translation by Owen M'Swiny from the Italian of Scarlatti. 
 Nicolini's voice, at first a soprano, changed to a contralto. See 
 Nos. 13, 405. In the Tatler (No. 115) Steele says that Nicolini 
 ' sets off the character he bears in an opera by his action, as much 
 as he does the words of it by his voice,' and Gibber thought 
 that none of his successors equalled Nicolini, who, ' by pleasing the 
 eye as well as the ear, filled us with a more various and rational 
 delight.' 
 
28 The SPECTATOR No. 5 
 
 with painted dragons spitting wildfire, enchanted 
 chariots drawn by Flanders mares, and real cascades 
 in artificial landscapes ? A little skill and criticism 
 would inform us that shadows and realities ought 
 not to be mixed together in the same piece, and 
 that scenes which are designed as the representations 
 of nature should be filled with resemblances, and 
 not with the things themselves. If one would re- 
 present a wide champaign country filled with herds 
 and flocks, it would be ridiculous to draw the 
 country only upon the scenes, and to crowd several 
 parts of the stage with sheep and oxen. This is 
 joining together inconsistencies, 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 in 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 wonder- 
 ing with myself what use he would put them to, he 
 was met very luckily by an acquaintance, who had 
 the same curiosity. Upon his asking him what he 
 had upon his shoulder, he told him that he had 
 been buying sparrows for the opera. ' Sparrows for 
 the opera,' says his friend, licking his lips ; ' what, 
 are they to be roasted >. ' ' 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 that the sparrows were to act the 
 part of singing-birds in a delightful grove ; though 
 upon a nearer inquiry I found the sparrows put 
 the same trick upon the audience that Sir Martin 
 
No. 5 T"/^^ SPECTATOR 29 
 
 Mar-all practised upon his mistress ; ^ for, though 
 they flew in sight, the music proceeded from a 
 consort of flageolets and bird-calls which was 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 im- 
 provement of the opera ; that it had been proposed 
 to break down a part of the wall, and to surprise 
 the audience with a party of an hundred horse, and 
 that there was actually a project of bringing the 
 New River into the house, to be employed in jetteaus 
 and waterworks. This project, as I have since 
 heard, is postponed until the summer season ; when 
 it is thought the coolness that proceeds from foun- 
 tains and cascades will be more acceptable and re- 
 freshing to people of quality. In the meantime, 
 to find out a more agreeable entertainment for the 
 winter season, the opera of ' Rinaldo ' ^ is filled with 
 thunder and lightning, illuminations and fireworks ; 
 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 accident should happen. However, 
 as I have a very great friendship for the owner of 
 
 1 In the last act of Dryden's 'Sir Martin Mar-all' (1666), Sir 
 Martin made his man Warner play and sing under Millicent's 
 window, while he himself stood with a lute, on which he pretended 
 to produce the music. Unfortunately, he continued to open his 
 mouth and finger the lute for some time after Warner had finished 
 the song, whereupon Millicent jest^ngly urged him to sing louder. 
 
 2 Handel came to England from Hanover in 17 10, and on 
 February 24, 1 7 1 1 , his opera ' Rinaldo ' was produced at the Hay- 
 market Theatre. The opera was arranged by Aaron Hill, and 
 the Italian words were by G. Rossi. The story of Rinaldo and 
 Armida was taken from Jasso's 'Jerusalem Delivered.' 
 
30 T:he SPECTATOR No. 5 
 
 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 
 surprising, which were contrived by two poets of 
 different nations, and raised by two magicians of 
 different sexes. Armida (as we are told in the 
 argument) was an Amazonian enchantress, and poor 
 Signior Cassani ^ (as we learn from the persons re- 
 presented), a Christian conjurer {Mago Christiano). 
 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 conjurers, I shall 
 give you a taste of the Italian from the first lines 
 of his Preface. Eccoti, benigno Lettore, un parto 
 di poche sere, che se ben nato di Notte, non e perb 
 aborto di Tenebre, m^ si fara conoscere figlio d" 
 Apollo con quale he raggio di Parnasso. ' Behold, 
 gentle reader, the birth of a few evenings, which, 
 though it be the offspring of the night, is not the 
 abortive of darkness, but will make itself known 
 to be the son of Apollo, with a certain ray of Par- 
 nassus.' He afterwards proceeds to call Minheer 
 Hendel the Orpheus of our age, and to acquaint us, 
 in the same sublimity of style, that he composed this 
 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 modern 
 Italians express themselves in such a florid form of 
 words, and such tedious circumlocutions, as are used 
 
 1 Signior Cassani came to London from Italy in February 1708, 
 and first appeared in the part of Mitius in ' Camilla ' (Burney's 'His- 
 tory of Music,' iv. 206). 
 
No. c T:he SPECTATOR 
 
 31 
 
 by none but pedants in our own country ; and at 
 the same time fill their writings with such poor 
 imaginations 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 produces this difference in the works 
 of the two nations ; but to show there is nothing 
 in this, if we look into the writings of the old 
 Italians, such as Cicero and Virgil, we shall find that 
 the English writers, in their way of thinking and 
 expressing 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 clinquant, 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 will never get rid of them, 
 and that in other plays they may 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. Rich,^ the proprietor of the play- 
 house, very prudently considered that it would be 
 impossible for the cat to kill them all, and that 
 consequently the princes of his stage might be as 
 
 ' Satire ix. 
 
 2 Christopher Rich, manager of Drury Lane Theatre, died in 
 
 1714- 
 
32 r>^f SPECTATOR No. 6 
 
 much infested with mice as the 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 Germany 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 Wise ^ (who will be appointed gar- 
 deners of the play-house) to furnish the opera of 
 ' Rinaldo 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. C. 
 
 N°- 6. Wednesday^ March 7, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Credehant hoc grande nefas, et morte pimidum, 
 Sijuvenis vetiilo non assurrexerat. 
 
 — Juv., Sat. xiii. 54. 
 
 I KNOW no evil under the sun so great as the 
 abuse of the understanding, and yet there is no 
 one vice more common. It has diffused itself 
 through both sexes and all qualities of mankind,, 
 
 1 The Pied Piper of Hamelin, now best known through Brown- 
 ing's poem. 
 
 2 Evelyn, writing in 1701, says that the nursery of Messrs, 
 London and Wise, which exceeded one hundred acres in extent^ 
 
No. 6 rhe SPECTATOR 
 
 33 
 
 and there is hardly that person to be found who is 
 not more concerned for the reputation of wit and 
 sense than honesty and virtue. But this unhappy 
 affectation of being wise rather than honest, witty 
 than good-natured, is the source of most of the ill 
 habits of life. Such false impressions are owing to 
 the abandoned writings of men of wit and the awk- 
 ward imitation of the rest of mankind. 
 
 For this reason Sir Roger was saying last night 
 that he was of opinion none but men of fine parts 
 deserve to be hanged. The reflections of such men 
 are so delicate upon all occurrences which they are 
 concerned in, that they should be exposed to more 
 than ordinary infamy and punishment for offending 
 against such quick admonitions as their own souls 
 give them, and blunting the fine edge of their minds 
 in such a manner that they are no more shocked at 
 vice and folly than men of slower capacities. There 
 is no greater monster in being than a very ill man 
 of great parts : he lives like a man in a palsy, with 
 one side of him dead. While perhaps he enjoys 
 the satisfaction of luxury, of wealth, of ambition, 
 he has lost the taste of goodwill, of friendship, of 
 innocence. Scarecrow, the beggar in Lincoln's Inn 
 Fields, who disabled himself in his right leg, and 
 asks alms all day to get himself a warm supper and 
 a trull at night, is not half so despicable a wretch 
 as such a man of sense. The beggar has no relish 
 above sensations ; he finds rest more agreeable than 
 
 far surpassed all the others in England put together. George 
 London was chief gardener to William and Mary, and afterwards 
 to Queen Anne. In 1 7 1 1 the nursery belonged to a man named 
 Swinhoe, but the old name was retained. George London and 
 Henry Wise published, in 1 706, ' The Retir'd Gard'ner,' in two 
 volumes, a translation from the French, with additions. 
 VOL. I. C 
 
34 The SPECTATOR No. 6 
 
 motion ; and while he has a warm fire and his 
 doxy, never reflects that he deserves to be whipped. 
 'Every man who terminates his satisfactions and 
 enjoyments within the supply of his own necessities 
 and passions is,' says Sir Roger, ' in my eye as poor 
 a rogue as Scarecrow. But,' continued he, ' for the 
 loss of public and private virtue we are beholden 
 to your men of parts, forsooth ; it is with them 
 no matter what is done, so it is done with an air. 
 But to me, who am so whimsical in a corrupt age 
 as to act according to nature and reason, a selfish 
 man, in the most shining circumstance and equipage, 
 appears in the same condition with the fellow above- 
 mentioned, but more contemptible, in proportion to 
 what more he robs the public of and enjoys above 
 him. I lay it down, therefore, for a rule, that the 
 "whole man is to move together, that every action 
 of any importance is to have a prospect of public 
 good, and that the general tendency of our indif- 
 ferent actions ought to be agreeable to the dictates 
 of reason, of religion, of good breeding ; without 
 this, a man, as I before have hinted, is hopping 
 instead of walking — he is not in his entire and 
 proper motion.' 
 
 While the honest knight was thus bewildering 
 himself in good starts, I looked intentively upon 
 him, which made him, I thought, collect his mind 
 a little. ' What I aim at,' says he, ' is to represent 
 that I am of opinion, to polish our understandings 
 and neglect our manners is of all things the most 
 inexcusable. Reason should govern passion, but 
 instead of that, you see, it is often subservient to 
 it, and, as unaccountable as one would think it, a 
 wise man is not always a good man. This degene- 
 racy is not only the guilt of particular persons, but 
 
No. 6 rhe SPECTATOR 35 
 
 also at some times of a whole people ; and perhaps 
 it may appear upon examination that the most polite 
 ages are the least virtuous. This may be attributed 
 to the folly of admitting wit and learning as merit 
 in themselves, without considering the application 
 of them. By this means it becomes a rule, not so 
 much to regard what we do, as how we do it. But 
 this false beauty will not pass upon men of honest 
 minds and true taste. Sir Richard Blackmore says,^ 
 with as much good sense as virtue, "It is a mighty 
 dishonour and shame to employ excellent faculties 
 and abundance of wit to humour and please men in 
 their vices and follies. The great enemy of man- 
 kind, notwithstanding his wit and angelic faculties, 
 is the most odious being in the whole creation." 
 He goes on soon after to say very generously, that 
 he undertook the writing of his poem " to rescue the 
 Muses out of the hands of ravishers, to restore them 
 to their sweet and chaste mansions, and to engage 
 them in an employment suitable to their dignity." 
 This certainly ought to be the purpose of every man 
 who appears in public, and whoever does not pro- 
 ceed upon that foundation injures his country as 
 fast as he succeeds in his studies. When modesty 
 ceases to be the chief ornament of one sex and in- 
 tegrity of the other, society is upon a wrong basis, 
 
 1 The following passages, which Steele seems to have quoted 
 {not very accurately) from memory, are taken from the preface to 
 Sir Richard Blackmore's epic, 'Prince Arthur,' 1695. Black- 
 more was a Whig physician, and had been knighted by William 
 III. He was a man of religion, but no poet, and when he 
 attacked the stage and the wits in his ' Satire against Wit,' 1 700, 
 and elsewhere, there were many, including Steele himself, who 
 were ready to ridicule him. That Steele and Addison appreciated 
 the real worth of Blackmore is evident, however, from the present 
 paper, and from the praise of Blackmore's 'Creation' in No. 339. 
 
36 r>^? SPECTATOR No. 6 
 
 and we shall be ever after without rules to guide 
 our judgment in what is really becoming and orna- 
 mental. Nature and reason direct one thing, passion 
 and humour another. To follow the dictates of 
 the two latter, is going into a road that is both 
 endless and intricate; when we pursue the other 
 our passage is delightful, and what we aim at easily 
 attainable.' 
 
 I do not doubt but England is at present as polite 
 a nation as any in the world ; but any man who 
 thinks can easily see that the affectation of being 
 gay and in fashion has very near eaten up our good 
 sense and our religion. Is there anything so just as 
 that mode and gallantry should be built upon exert- 
 ing ourselves in what is proper and agreeable to the 
 institutions of justice and piety among us ? And 
 yet is there anything more common than that we 
 run in perfect contradiction to them ? All which is 
 supported by no other pretension than that it is done 
 with what we call a good grace. 
 
 Nothing ought to be held laudable or becoming 
 but what nature itself should prompt us to think 
 so. Respect to all kind of superiors is founded, 
 methinks, upon instinct ; and yet what is so ridicu- 
 lous as age ? I make this abrupt transition to the 
 mention of this vice more than any other in order 
 to introduce a little story, which I think a pretty 
 instance that the most polite age is in danger of 
 being the most vicious. 
 
 ' It happened at Athens during a public repre- 
 sentation of some play exhibited in honour of the 
 Commonwealth, that an old gentleman came too 
 late for a place suitable to his age and quality. 
 Many of the young gentlemen who observed the 
 difficulty and confusion he was in made signs to him 
 
No. 7 r/^f SPECTATOR 37 
 
 that they would accommodate him if he came where 
 they sat. The good man bustled through the 
 crowd accordingly, but when he came to the seats 
 to which he was invited the jest was to sit close and 
 expose him, as he stood out of countenance, to the 
 whole audience. The frolic went round all the 
 Athenian benches. But on those occasions there 
 were also particular places assigned for foreigners. 
 When the good man skulked towards the boxes 
 appointed for the Lacedemonians, that honest people, 
 more virtuous than polite, rose up all to a man and 
 with the greatest respect received him among them. 
 The Athenians, being suddenly touched with a sense 
 of the Spartan virtue and their own degeneracy, gave 
 a thunder of applause, and the old man cried out, 
 "The Athenians understand what is good, but the 
 Lacedemonians practise it." ' R. 
 
 N°- 7. Thursday^ March 8, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, 
 Nocturnos lemures, portentaque Thessala rides ? 
 
 — HoR., 2 Ep. ii. ao8. 
 
 GOING yesterday to dine with an old acquaint- 
 ance, 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 very strange dream the night before, which 
 they were afraid portended some misfortune to them- 
 selves or to their children. At her coming into the 
 room I observed a settled melancholy in her coun- 
 tenance, which I should have been troubled for, had 
 I not heard from whence it proceeded. We were no 
 
38 r/^^ SPECTATOR No. 7 
 
 sooner sat down but, after having looked upon me 
 a little while, ' My dear,' says she, turning to her 
 husband, ' you may now see the stranger that was in 
 the candle last night.' Soon after this, as they began 
 to talk of family affairs, a little boy at the lower end 
 of the table told her that he was to go into join-hand 
 on Thursday. ' Thursday ? ' says she ; ' no, child, if 
 it please God, 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 any- 
 body would establish 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 fell 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, how- 
 ever, 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 underpart 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-fellow : ' Do not you remember, child,' 
 says she, ' that the pigeon-house fell the very after- 
 noon that our careless wench spilt the salt upon 
 the table ? ' ' Yes,' says he, ' my dear, and the 
 next post brought us an account of the battle of 
 Almanza.' ^ The reader may guess at the figure I 
 
 ' The Feast of the Holy Innocents (Dec. 28). 
 
 ^ At the battle of Almanza (April 25, 1707) the English and 
 
No. 7 T'/^^ SPECTATOR 39 
 
 made after having done all this mischief. I de- 
 spatched 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 laying 
 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 difficult for a man to see that a person 
 has conceived an aversion to him. For my own 
 part, I quickly found by the lady's looks that she 
 regarded me as a very odd kind of fellow, with an 
 unfortunate aspect ; for which reason I took my 
 leave immediately after dinner and withdrew to my 
 own lodgings. Upon my return home I fell into 
 a profound contemplation on 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 the natural calamities of life were not sufficient 
 for it, we turn the most indifferent circumstances 
 into misfortunes, and suffer as much from trifling 
 accidents as from real evils. I have known 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 merry-thought. A screech-owL 
 
 their allies, led by Lord Galway, were defeated by the French and 
 Spaniards, under the Duke of Berwick, son of James II. 
 > 'Cleaning' (folio). 
 
40 The SPECTATOR No. 7 
 
 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 mixed assembly that 
 was full of noise and mirth, when on a sudden an 
 old woman unluckily 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 born. 
 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 prophesies 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 ill of the toothache. Such an extrava- 
 
 I 'That' (folio). See the Petition of Who and Which in 
 No. 78. 
 
 = 'That' (folio). 
 
No. 7 r/^^ SPECTATOR 41 
 
 gant cast of mind engages multitudes of people, not 
 only in impertinent terrors, but in supernumerary 
 duties of life ; and arises from that fear and ignor- 
 ance which are natural to the soul of man. The 
 horror with which we entertain the thoughts of 
 death (or indeed of any future evil) and the un- 
 certainty of its approach, fill a melancholy mind 
 with innumerable apprehensions and suspicions, and 
 consequently dispose it to the observation of such 
 groundless prodigies and predictions. For as it is 
 the chief concern of wise men. to retrench the evils 
 of life by the reasonings of philosophy, it is the 
 employment of fools to multiply them by the 
 sentiments of superstition. 
 
 For my own part I should be very much troubled 
 were 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 securing to myself the friendship and pro- 
 tection 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 direc- 
 tion. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will 
 look up to Him for help, and question not but He 
 will 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 solicitous 
 
42 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 8 
 
 about it ; because I am sure that He knows them 
 both, and that He will not fail to comfort and 
 support me under them. C. 
 
 N°- 8. Friday^ March 9, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 At Venus ohscuro gradient es aere sepsit, 
 Et multo nelulce circum Deafudit amiciu, 
 
 Cernere ne quis eos 
 
 — ViRG., ^n. i. 415. 
 
 I SHALL here communicate to the world a 
 couple of letters, which I believe will give 
 the reader as good an entertainment as any 
 that I am able to furnish him with, and therefore 
 shall make no apology for them. 
 
 ' To the Spectator, &c. 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' T AM one of the directors of the Society for the 
 Reformation of Manners, and therefore think 
 myself a proper person for your correspondence. 
 I have thoroughly examined the present state of 
 religion in Great Britain, and am able to acquaint 
 you with the predominant vice of every market 
 town in the whole 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. 
 
No. 8 The SPECTATOR 
 
 43 
 
 ' 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. I can describe every parish by its impieties, 
 and can tell you in which of our streets lewdness 
 prevails, which gaming has taken the possession 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 encour- 
 age the hospital of Bridewell^ 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 
 you information of a certain irregular assembly 
 which, I think, falls very properly under your 
 observation, especially since the persons it is com- 
 posed of are criminals too considerable for the 
 animadversions 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 con- 
 tinued with additions and improvements. As all 
 the persons who compose this lawless assembly are 
 masked, 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 
 
 1 A house of correction for ' vagrants and strumpets.' Foible, 
 in Congreve's ' The Way of the World,' says, ' O madam, 
 my lady's gone for a constable, — I shall be had to a justice, and 
 sent to Bridewell to beat hemp.' Bridewell is the scene of the 
 fourth plate in Hogarth's ' Harlot's Progress.' 
 
44 T^he SPECTATOR No. 8 
 
 Counter;-^ besides that, their numbers are so very 
 great, that I am afraid they would be able to rout 
 our whole fraternity, 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 disguise and their 
 numbers will give no particular person reason to 
 think himself aiFronted by you. 
 
 ' If we are rightly informed, the rules that are 
 observed by this new society are wonderfully con- 
 trived for the advancement of cuckoldom. The 
 women either come by themselves or are introduced 
 by friends, who are obliged to quit them, upon their 
 first entrance, to the conversation of anybody 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 libi- 
 dinous 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 promiscuous 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. 
 
 1 The Compter, a prison at St. Margaret's Hill, Southwark, 
 was used for debtors and others. This prison was burnt down in 
 1676, but a new Compter was built in Mill Lane, Tooley Street. 
 
No. 8 The SPECTATOR 45 
 
 ' gjj^ ' Middle Temple, 1711. 
 
 ' A^THEN a man has been guilty of any vice or 
 folly, 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 mas- 
 querade. Upon my first going in I was attacked 
 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, as 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 masks, 
 and as I am very well read in Waller, I repeated to 
 her the four following verses out of his poem to 
 Vandyck : — 
 
 The heedless lover does not know 
 Whose eyes they are that wound him so ; 
 But confounded with thy art, 
 Inquires her name that has his heart. 
 
 I pronounced these words with such a languishing 
 air that I had some reason to conclude I had made 
 a conquest. She told me that she hoped my face 
 was not akin to my tongue ; and looking upon her 
 watch I accidentally discovered the figure of a coro- 
 net on the back 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, without page or footman, coach or 
 equipage. My heart danced in raptures ; but I had 
 
46 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 9 
 
 not lived in this golden dream above three days, 
 before I found good reason to wish that I had con- 
 tinued 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 vsfhom 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 adven- 
 ture 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, 
 Your most humble admirer, 
 
 B. L.' 
 
 I design to visit the next masquerade myself in 
 the same habit I wore at Grand Cairo ;^ and till 
 then shall suspend my judgment of this midnight 
 entertainment. C. 
 
 N°' 9. Saturday^ March 10, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Tigris agit rahidd cum tigride pacem 
 
 Perpetuam, scevis inter se convenit ursis. 
 
 — Juv., Sat. XV. 163. 
 
 MAN is said to be a sociable animal, and, as an 
 instance of it, we may observe that we take 
 all occasions and pretences of forming our- 
 selves into those little nocturnal assemblies, which 
 are commonly known by the name of Clubs. When 
 a set of men find themselves agree in any particular, 
 
 1 See No. i. 
 
No. 9 T/^? SPECTATOR 47 
 
 though never so trivial, they establish themselves 
 into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or twice a 
 week, upon the account of such a fantastic resem- 
 blance. I know a considerable 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 another in countenance. 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 folding-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 recep- 
 tion, and he was saluted as a brother. I have heard 
 that this club, though it consisted but of fifteen 
 persons, weighed above three tons. 
 
 In opposition to this society there sprung up 
 another composed of scarecrows 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, till 
 at length they worked them out of the favour of 
 the people, and consequently out of the magistracy. 
 These factions tore the Corporation in pieces for 
 several years, till at length they came to this accom- 
 modation, that the two bailiffs 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 
 
48 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 9 
 
 Second, and admitted into it men of all qualities 
 and professions, provided they agreed in this sur- 
 name of King, which, as they imagined, suffi- 
 ciently 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 distinction, 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 call Street Clubs, in which the chief in- 
 habitants 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 further 
 discourse with him, that two or three noisy country 
 squires, who were settled there the year before, had 
 considerably sunk the price of house-rent, and that 
 the club, to prevent the like inconveniences for the 
 future, had thoughts of taking every house that 
 became vacant into their own hands till they had 
 found a tenant for it of a sociable nature and good 
 conversation. 
 
 The Humdrum Club, of which I was formerly 
 an unworthy 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 
 
No. 9 T/^^ SPECTATOR 49 
 
 mentioning 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 com- 
 bat, 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 opportunity 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 modern 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 
 buiFoon, can all of them bear a part. The Kit- 
 Cat ^ itself is said to have taken its original from a 
 
 1 The Kit-Cat Club, founded about 1700 by Jacob Ton- 
 son, Dryden's bookseller, first met at a house in Shire Lane. 
 Afterwards statesmen and persons of rank joined the wits, and 
 meetings were held at the Upper Flask, Hampstead, or at Barn 
 Elms, where Tonson had a villa. The portraits of the members, 
 painted by Sir Godfrey Kneller, were placed in a room built for 
 the purpose at Barn Elms ; they are now in the possession of 
 Tonson's descendant, Mr. R. W. Baker, of Bayfordbury, Herts. 
 In 1725 Vanbrugh wrote to Tonson of pleasant Kit-Cat days, 
 and proposed a meeting of such members as were living, ' not 
 as a club, but as old friends that have been of a club, and the 
 best club that ever met.' Addison suggests that the name 
 Kit-Cat was taken from that of a mutton-pie ; others derive it 
 from Christopher Katt, the pastry-cook who made those pies. 
 Dr. William King ('Art of Cookery') says, 'Immortal made 
 as Kit-Cat by his pies.' Ned Ward said the name came from 
 a man named Christopher, who lived at the Cat and Fiddle ; 
 
 VOL. I D 
 
50 The SPECTATOR No. 9 
 
 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 don't 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 institu- 
 tions and establishments. 
 
 I cannot forbear concluding this paper with a 
 scheme of laws that I met with upon a wall in a 
 little alehouse : how I came thither I may inform 
 my reader at a more convenient time. These laws 
 were enacted by a knot of artisans and mechanics, 
 who used to meet every night, and as there is some- 
 thing in them which gives iis a pretty picture of low 
 life, I shall transcribe them word for word. 
 
 and Arbuthnot suggests that the title was derived from none of 
 
 ' ' But from this pell-mell pack of toasts, 
 
 Of old cats and young kits.' 
 
 The custom of 'toasting' ladies was prevalent at the Kit-Cat 
 Club, and some of the verses engraved on the glasses have been 
 preserved. The portraits of the members of this brilliant Whig 
 club were engraved by Faber in 1735. 
 
 1 The original Beef-Steak Club, founded in Queen Anne's reign, 
 had Richard Estcourt, the actor, for provitore. He wore round 
 his neck, as badge, a small gridiron of gold. King wrote in 1 709 — 
 
 ' He that of honour, wit, and mirth partakes, 
 May be a fit companion o'er beefsteaks.' 
 
 ^ The October Club consisted of above 150 High Tories, mostly 
 country members of Parliament. They met first at the Bell, in 
 King Street, Westminster, and there drank October ale. 
 
No. 9 T/^^ SPECTATOR 51 
 
 Rules to be observed in the Twopenny Club, 
 erected in this place, for the Preservation of 
 Friendship and Good Neighbourhood. 
 
 I. Every member at his first coming in shall lay 
 down his twopence. 
 
 II. Every member shall fill his pipe out of his 
 own box. 
 
 III. If any member absents himself he shall for- 
 feit a penny for the use of the club, unless in case 
 of sickness or imprisonment. 
 
 IV. If any member swears or curses, his neigh- 
 bour 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 wrongfully, 
 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 calls another cuckold, he shall 
 be turned out of the club. 
 
 X. None 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 non-juror shall be capable of being a 
 member. 
 
 The morality of this little club is guarded by 
 such wholesome laws and penalties that I question 
 not but my reader will be as well pleased with them 
 
52 rhe SPECTATOR No. lo 
 
 as he would have been with the leges convivales of 
 Ben Jonson/ the regulations of an old Roman club 
 cited by Lipsius,^ or the rules of a symposium in an 
 ancient Greek author. C. 
 
 N°- lo. Monday^ March 12, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Non aliter quam qui adverso vix Jlumine lemhum 
 Remigiis subigit : si hrachia forte remisit, 
 Atque ilium in prceceps prono rapit alveus amni. 
 
 — ViRG.^ Georg. i. 201. 
 
 IT is with much satisfaction that I hear this great 
 city inquiring day by day after these my papers, 
 and receiving my morning lectures with a be- 
 coming 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 computation, 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 unatten- 
 tive 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 
 
 1 Twenty-four Latin sentences engraved over the chimney of 
 Ben Jonson's club-room in the ' Apollo ' or ' Old Devil ' Tavern 
 at Temple Bar. These club rules are described in the Tatler as 
 'in gold letters.' They are still preserved at Messrs. Childs' 
 bank. 
 
 2 Justus Lipsius's 'Opuscula, quae antiquitates Romanas spectant, 
 selectissima,' were published in collected form in 1693. 
 
No. lo rhe SPECTATOR 53 
 
 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, tran- 
 sient, 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 assemblies, at tea-tables and in coffee-houses. 
 
 I would therefore in a very particular manner re- 
 commend these my speculations to all well-regulated 
 families that set apart an hour in every morning for 
 tea and bread and butter, and would earnestly advise 
 them for their good to order this paper to be punc- 
 tually 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' serpent, that immediately swallowed up 
 and devoured those of the Egyptians. I shall not 
 be so vain as to think that where the Spectator 
 appears the other public prints will vanish, but 
 shall leave it to my reader's consideration whether, 
 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 
 
 1 'Advancement of Learning,' Book ii., Introd., sec. 14 
 (Arnold). 
 
54 The SPECTATOR No. lo 
 
 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 fraternity of spectators who live in the 
 world without having anything to do in it, and 
 either by the affluence 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 contem- 
 plative tradesmen, titular physicians. Fellows of the 
 Royal 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 commiseration, when 
 I have heard them asking the first 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 talk of till about twelve o'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 impertinent 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 
 
No. lo rhe SPECTATOR 
 
 55 
 
 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 effect on their conversation for the ensuing 
 twelve hours. 
 
 But there are none to whom this paper will be 
 more useful than to the female world. I have often 
 thought there has not been sufficient pains taken in 
 finding out proper employments 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 
 morning'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 sweetmeats. This, I say, is the state of ordinary 
 women ; though I know there are multitudes 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 orna- 
 ments of dress, and inspire a kind of awe and respect, 
 as well as love, into their male beholders. I hope 
 to increase the number of these by publishing this 
 daily 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 
 
56 The SPECTATOR No. ii 
 
 nature, I shall endeavour to point out all those imper- 
 fections that are the blemishes, as well 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 hindrance 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 will promise them faithfully to 
 give it over as soon as I grow dull. This, I know, 
 will 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 little 
 pleasantries of the like nature, which men of a little 
 smart genius cannot forbear throwing out against 
 their best friends when they have such a handle 
 given them of being witty. But let them remember 
 that I do hereby enter my caveat against this piece 
 of raillery. C. 
 
 N°' II. Tuesday^ March 13, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura columhas. 
 
 — Juv., Sat. ii. 63. 
 
 ARIETTA is visited by all persons of both 
 sexes who have any pretence to wit and 
 gallantry. She is in that time of life which 
 is neither affected with the follies of youth or in- 
 firmities of age ; and her conversation is so mixed 
 
No. II rhe SPECTATOR 
 
 57 
 
 with gaiety and prudence, that she is agreeable both 
 to the young and the old. Her behaviour is very 
 frank, without being in the least blamable ; and as 
 she is out of the track of any amorous or ambitious 
 pursuits of her own, her visitants entertain her with 
 accounts of themselves very freely, whether they 
 concern their passions or their interests. I made 
 her a visit this afternoon, having been formerly in- 
 troduced to the honour of her acquaintance by my 
 friend Will Honeycomb, who has prevailed upon 
 her to admit me sometimes into her assembly, as 
 a civil inoffensive man. I found her accompanied 
 with one person only, a commonplace talker, who 
 upon my entrance rose, and after a very slight 
 civility sat down again ; then turning to Arietta, 
 pursued his discourse, which I found was upon the 
 old topic of constancy in love. He went on with 
 great facility in repeating what he talks every day 
 of his life, and, with the ornaments of insignificant 
 laughs and gestures, enforced his arguments by quo- 
 tations out of plays and songs, which allude to the 
 perjuries of the fair, and the general levity of women. 
 Methought he strove to shine more than ordinarily 
 in his talkative way, that he might insult my silence, 
 and distinguish himself before a woman of Arietta's 
 taste and understanding. She had often an inclination 
 to interrupt him, but could find no opportunity till 
 the larum ceased of itself, which it did not until he 
 had repeated and murdered the celebrated story of 
 the Ephesian matron.^ 
 
 1 According to Petronius Arbiter, this matron proposed to die 
 in the vault in which her husband's remains were placed ; but she 
 was persuaded to share the supper of a soldier who was watching 
 the bodies of some men who had been hung, and the same night, in 
 her husband's grave, she married her new friend. 
 
58 T:he SPECTATOR No. ii 
 
 Arietta seemed to regard this piece of raillery as 
 an outrage done to her sex ; as indeed I have always 
 observed that women, whether out of a nicer regard 
 to their honour, or what other reason I cannot tell, 
 are more sensibly touched with those general asper- 
 sions which are cast upon their sex than men are by 
 what is said of theirs. 
 
 When she had a little recovered herself from the 
 serious anger she was in, she replied in the following 
 manner : — 
 
 ' Sir, when I consider how perfectly new all you 
 have said on this subject is, and that the story you 
 have given us is not quite two thousand years old, 
 I cannot but think it a piece of presumption to dis- 
 pute with you : but your quotations put me in mind 
 of the fable of the lion and the man. The man 
 walking with that noble animal showed him, in the 
 ostentation of human superiority, a sign of a man 
 killing a lion. Upon which the lion said very justly, 
 " We lions are none of us painters, else we could 
 show a hundred men killed by lions for one lion 
 killed by a man." You men are writers, and can 
 represent us women as unbecoming as you please 
 in your works, while we are unable to return the 
 injury. You have twice or thrice observed in your 
 discourse that hypocrisy is the very foundation of 
 our education, and that an ability to dissemble 
 our affections is a professed part of our breeding. 
 These and such other reflections are sprinkled up 
 and down the writings of all ages by authors, who 
 leave behind them memorials of their resentment 
 against the scorn of particular women, in invectives 
 against the whole sex. Such a writer, I doubt 
 not, was the celebrated Petronius, who invented the 
 pleasant aggravations of the frailty of the Ephesian 
 
No. II T:he SPECTATOR 59 
 
 lady; but when we consider this question between 
 the sexes, which has been either a point of dispute 
 or raillery ever since there were men and women, 
 let us take facts from plain people, and from such 
 as have not either ambition or capacity to embellish 
 their narrations with any beauties of imagination. 
 I was the other day amusing myself with Ligon's 
 account of Barbados, and, in answer to your well- 
 wrought tale, I will give you (as it dwells upon my 
 memory) out of that honest traveller, in his fifty- 
 fifth page, the history of Inkle and Yarico.'' 
 
 1 Richard Ligon's ' A True and Exact History of the Island 
 of Barbados' appeared in 1657, and there was a new edition in 
 1673. Yarico was an Indian slave woman of Ligon's, 'of excel- 
 lent shape and colour,' who could not be induced to wear clothes. 
 
 ' This Indian,' Ligon says, ' dwelling near the sea-coast, upon the 
 main, an English ship put into a bay, and sent some of her men 
 ashore to try what victuals or water they could find, for in some 
 distress they were. But the Indians, perceiving them to go up so 
 far into the country as they were sure they could not make a safe 
 retreat, intercepted them in their return and fell upon them, chasing 
 them into a wood, and being dispersed there, some were taken and 
 some killed. But a young man amongst them, straggling from the 
 rest, was met by this Indian maid, who upon the first sight fell in 
 love with him, and hid him close from her countrymen (the Indijins) 
 in a cave, and there fed him till they could safely go down to the 
 shore, where the ship lay at anchor expecting the return of their 
 friends ; but at last, seeing them upon the shore, sent the longboat 
 for them, took them aboard, and brought them away. But the 
 youth, when he came ashore in the Barbados, forgot the kindness 
 of the poor maid that had ventured her life for his safety, and sold 
 her for a slave, who was as free born as he. And so poor Yarico 
 for her love lost her liberty.' 
 
 The name Inkle is Steele's own invention ; the Achilles was the 
 ship in which Ligon himself sailed to the West Indies in 1647. 
 Steele added, as will be seen, many touches to Ligon's account, 
 including the statement that Inkle demanded a larger sum for the 
 girl because he found she would soon be a jnother. Some further 
 particulars will be found in ' The Spectator Essays relating to the 
 West Indies,' by the Hon. N. Darnell Davis, 1885. 
 
6o The SPECTATOR No. ii 
 
 'Mr. Thomas Inkle of London, aged twenty 
 years, embarked in the Downs on the good ship 
 called the Achilles, bound for the West Indies, on 
 the 1 6th of June 1647, in order to improve his 
 fortune by trade and merchandise. Our adventurer 
 was the third son of an eminent citizen, who had 
 taken particular care to instil into his mind an 
 early love of gain, by making him a perfect master 
 of numbers, and consequently giving him a quick 
 view of loss and advantage, and preventing the 
 natural impulses of his passions by prepossession 
 towards his interests. With a mind thus turned, 
 young Inkle had a person every way agreeable, a 
 ruddy vigour in his countenance, strength in his 
 limbs, with ringlets of fair hair loosely flowing on his 
 shoulders. It happened, in the course of the voyage, 
 that the Achilles, in some distress, put into a creek 
 on the main of America in search of provisions : 
 the youth, who is the hero of my story, among 
 others went ashore on this occasion. From their 
 first landing they were observed by a party of 
 Indians, who hid themselves in the woods for that 
 purpose. The English unadvisedly marched a great 
 distance from the shore into the country, and were 
 intercepted by the natives, who slew the greatest 
 number of them. Our adventurer escaped, among 
 others, by flying into a forest. Upon his coming 
 into a remote and pathless part of the wood he 
 threw himself, tired and breathless, on a little 
 hillock, when an Indian maid rushed from a 
 thicket behind him. After the first surprise they 
 appeared mutually agreeable to each other. If 
 the European was highly charmed with the limbs, 
 features, and wild graces of the naked American, 
 the American was no less taken with the dress, 
 
No. II rhe SPECTATOR 6i 
 
 complexion, and shape of an European covered 
 from head to foot. The Indian grew immediately 
 enamoured of him, and consequently solicitous for 
 his preservation. She therefore conveyed him to 
 a cave, where she gave him a delicious repast of 
 fruits, and led him to a stream to slake his thirst. 
 In the midst of these good offices, she would 
 sometimes play with his hair, and delight in the 
 opposition of its colour to that of her fingers; 
 then open his bosom, then laugh at him for cover- 
 ing it. She was, it seems, a person of distinction, 
 for she every day came to him in a different dress, 
 of the most beautiful shells, bugles,^ and bredes.^ 
 She likewise brought him a great many spoils, which 
 her other lovers had presented to her; so that his 
 cave was richly adorned with all the spotted skins 
 of beasts, and most party-coloured feathers of fowls, 
 which that world afforded. To make his confine- 
 ment more tolerable, she would carry him in the 
 dusk of the evening, or by the favour of moonlight, 
 to unfrequented groves and solitudes, and show him 
 where to lie down in safety, and sleep amidst the 
 falls of waters, and melody of nightingales. Her 
 part was to watch and hold him awake in her arms, 
 for fear of her countrymen, and wake him on occa- 
 sions to consult his safety. In this manner did the 
 lovers pass away their time, till they had learned 
 a language of their own, in which the voyager com- 
 municated to his mistress how happy he should be 
 to have her in his country, where she should be 
 clothed in such silks as his waistcoat was made of, 
 and be carried in houses drawn by horses, without 
 being exposed to wind or weather. All this he 
 
 1 Beads. In the Tatler, No. 245, Steele speaks of ' Adam and 
 Eve in bugle-work.' ^ Braids. 
 
62 T:he SPECTATOR No. ii 
 
 promised her the enjoyment of, without such fears 
 and alarms as they were there tormented with. In 
 this tender correspondence these lovers lived for 
 several months, when Yarico, instructed by her lover, 
 discovered a vessel on the coast, to which she made 
 signals ; and in the night, with the utmost joy and 
 satisfaction, accompanied him to a ship's crew of his 
 countrymen, bound for Barbados; When a vessel 
 from the main arrives in that island, it seems the 
 planters come down to the shore, where there is an 
 immediate market of the Indians and other slaves, 
 as with us of horses and oxen. 
 
 'To be short, Mr. Thomas Inkle, now coming 
 into English territories, began seriously to reflect 
 upon his loss of time, and to weigh with himself 
 how many days' interest of his money he had lost 
 during his stay with Yarico. This thought made 
 the young man very pensive, and careful what account 
 he should be able to give his friends of his voyage. 
 Upon which considerations, the prudent and frugal 
 young man sold Yarico to a Barbadian merchant, 
 notwithstanding that the poor girl, to incline him 
 to commiserate her condition, told him that she 
 was with child by him : but he only made use of 
 that information to rise in his demands upon the 
 purchaser.' 
 
 I was so touched with this story, which I think 
 should be always a counterpart to the Ephesian 
 matron, that I left the room with tears in my eyes, 
 which a woman of Arietta's good sense did, I am 
 sure, take for greater applause than any compli- 
 ments I could make her. R. 
 
No. 12 T:he SPECTATOR 63 
 
 N°" 12. Wednesday^ March 14, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON., 
 
 Veteres avias tihi de pulmone revello. 
 
 — Per., Sat. v. 9a. 
 
 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 lodg- 
 ings, 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 jolly good-natured man, took it into his head 
 that I wanted company, and therefore would fre- 
 quently 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 afterwards 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 fishmonger 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 
 
64 The SPECTATOR No. 12 
 
 humour in everything. I do not remember that 
 we have exchanged a word together 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 basin : upon which 
 my landlady nods, as much as to say she takes 
 my meaning, and immediately obeys my signals. 
 She has likewise modelled her family so well, that 
 when her little boy offers to pull me by the coat, or 
 prattle in my face, his eldest sister immediately calls 
 him off, and bids him not disturb the gentleman. 
 At my first entering 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 occasions I always cried ' pish ' and 
 went out again, has forbidden any such ceremony to 
 be used in the house, so that at present I walk into 
 the kitchen or parlour without being taken notice 
 of, or giving any interruption to the business or 
 discourse of the family. The maid will ask her 
 mistress (though I am by) whether the gentleman 
 is ready to go to dinner, as the mistress, who is in- 
 deed 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 domestic 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 fire 
 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 which I go 
 
No. 12 "The SPECTATOR 65 
 
 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 the table at one end of 
 the room, and pretending to read a book that I took, 
 out of my pocket, heard several dreadful stories of 
 ghosts as pale as ashes that had stood at the foot of 
 a bed or walked over a churchyard by moonlight ; 
 and of others that had been conjured into the Red 
 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 himself this twelve- 
 month. Indeed they talked so long, that the imagi- 
 nations of the whole assembly were manifestly crazed, 
 and I am sure will be the worse for it as long as they 
 live. I heard one of the girls, that had looked upon 
 mp over her shoulder, asking the company how long 
 I had beeh 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 weak- 
 ness in reasonable creatures, that they should love ^ 
 to astonish and terrify one another. Were I a father, 
 I should take a particular 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 
 
 1 'Who love' (folio). 
 VOL. I. E 
 
66 The SPECTATOR No. 12 
 
 at his own shadow, and look pale upon a little 
 scratching 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 bulrush. The truth of it is, I look 
 upon a sound imagination as the greatest blessing of 
 life, next to a clear judgment and a good conscience. 
 In the meantime, since there are very few whose 
 minds are not more or less subject to these dreadful 
 thoughts and apprehensions, we ought to arm our- 
 selves against them by the dictates of reason and 
 religion, to pull the old woman out of our hearts 
 (as Persius 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 
 phantoms and apparitions as those I have been 
 speaking of, let us endeavour to establish to our- 
 selves an interest in Him who holds the reins of 
 the whole creation in His hand, and moderates 
 them after such a manner, that it is impossible for 
 one being to break loose upon another without His 
 knowledge and permission. 
 
 For my own part, I am apt to join 'in opinion 
 with those who believe that all the regions of nature 
 swarm with spirits ; and that we have multitudes 
 of spectators on all our actions when we think our- 
 selves most alone ; but instead of terrifying myself 
 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 crea- 
 tion, and joining in the same consort of praise and 
 adoration. 
 
No. 13 The SPECTATOR 67 
 
 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 same 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 Heaven.' 
 
 N°- 13. Thursday, March 15, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Die mihi, si fueras tu leo, qualis eris ? 
 
 — Mart., Sat. xii. 92. 
 
 THERE is nothing that of late years has 
 afforded matter of greater amusement to 
 the town than Signor Nicolini's^ combat 
 with a lion in the Haymarket, which has been 
 
 1 'Paradise Lost,' iv. 675-688. 
 
 2 Prof. Morley quotes from Book i. of the ' Works and Days ' 
 (Chapman's translation), descriptive of the period following the 
 Golden Age, when the good after death 
 
 ' Yet still held state on earth, and guardians were 
 Of all best mortals still surviving there. 
 Observed works just and unjust, clad in air. 
 And gliding undiscovered everywhere.' 
 
 3 See No. 5. The opera of ' Hydaspes,' by Francesco Man- 
 
68 "The SPECTATOR No. 13 
 
 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 altogether groundless, so uni- 
 versally prevailed in the upper regions of the play- 
 house, that some of the most refined politicians in 
 those parts of the audience gave it out in whisper 
 that the lion 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 Signor 
 Nicolini. Some supposed that he was to subdue 
 him in recitativo, as Orpheus used to serve the wild 
 beasts in his time, and afterwards to knock him on 
 the head; some fancied that the lion would not 
 pretend to lay his paws upon the hero, by reason 
 of the received opinion that a lion will not hurt a 
 virgin. Several, who pretended to have seen the 
 opera in Italy, had informed their friends that 
 the lion was to act a part in high Dutch, and 
 roar twice or thrice to a thorough bass, 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. 
 
 cini, was first produced in May 17 lo, when it proved very 
 successful. Hydaspes is thrown into an amphitheatre to be de- 
 voured by a lion, but the sight of Jiis mistress in the crowd inspires 
 him with such courage that he strangles the beast. 
 
No. 13 rhe SPECTATOR 69 
 
 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 some- 
 thing else, I accidentally jostled against a monstrous 
 animal that extremely startled me, and upon my 
 nearer survey of it, appeared to be a lion rampant. 
 The lion, seeing me very much surprised, told me 
 in a gentle voice that I might come by him if I 
 pleased. ' For,' says he, ' I do not intend to hurt 
 anybody.' I thanked him very kindly and passed 
 by him, and in a little time after saw him leap upon 
 the stage, and act his part with very great applause. 
 It has been observed by several that the lion has 
 changed his manner of acting twice or thrice since 
 his first appearance, which will not seem strange, 
 when I acquaint my reader that the lion has been 
 changed upon the audience three several times. The 
 first lion was a candle-snufFer, who, being a fellow 
 of a testy, choleric temper, overdid his part, and 
 would not suffer himself 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 lion ; and having dropped some words 
 in ordinary conversation, as if he had not fought 
 his best, and that he suffered himself to be thrown 
 upon his back in the scufHe, and that he would 
 wrestle with Mr. Nicolini for what he pleased, out 
 of his lion's skin, it was thought proper to discard 
 him ; and it is verily believed 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 lion, that he reared 
 himself so high upon his hinder paws, and walked 
 in so erect a posture, that he looked more like an 
 old man than a lion. 
 
70 The SPECTATOR No. 13 
 
 The second lion was a tailor by trade, who be- 
 longed to the playhouse, and had the character of 
 a mild and peaceable man in his profession. If the 
 former was too furious, this was too sheepish for 
 his part ; insomuch that 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-colour 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 behind 
 the scenes. 
 
 The acting 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 innocent 
 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 raillery upon himself, that if his name 
 should be known, the ill-natured world might call 
 him, ' The ass in the lipn's skin.' This gentle- 
 man's temper is made out of such a happy mixture 
 of the mild and the choleric, that he outdoes both 
 his predecessors, and has drawn together greater 
 audiences than have been known in the memory 
 of man. 
 
 I must not conclude my narrative, without tak- 
 ing notice of a groundless report that has been 
 raised, to a gentleman's disadvantage, of whom 
 I must declare myself an admirer; namely, that 
 Signor Nicolini and the lion have been seen sitting 
 
No. 13 rhe SPECTATOR 71 
 
 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 inquiry I find, that if any such correspondence 
 has passed between them, it was not till 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 West- 
 minster Hall, where nothing is more usual than to 
 see a couple of lawyers, who have been tearing each 
 other to pieces in the court, embracing one another 
 as soon as they are out of it. 
 
 I would not be thought, in any part of this rela- 
 tion, to reflect upon Signor Nicolini, 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; as they say 
 of the famous equestrian statue on the Pont-Neuf 
 at Paris, that more people go to see the horse than 
 the king ^ who sits upon it. On the contrary, it 
 gives me a just indignation 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 character 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 
 
 1 Henri IV. This statue, erected in ,1635, was destroyed at 
 the French Revolution in 1792. A new statue was, however, 
 placed on the bridge in 18 18. 
 
72 T:he SPECTATOR No. 14 
 
 thoughts, cold conceits, and unnatural expressions 
 of an Italian opera. In the meantime, I have re- 
 lated this combat of the lion to show what are at 
 present the reigning entertainments of the politer 
 part of Great Britain. 
 
 Audiences have often been reproached by writers 
 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. C. 
 
 N°- 14. Friday^ March 16, 17 11 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Teque his, infelix, exue monstris. 
 
 — Ovid, Met. iv. 590. 
 
 I WAS reflecting this morning upon the spirit and 
 humour of the public diversions five-and-twenty 
 years ago and those of the present time, and 
 lamented to myself, that though in those days they 
 neglected their morality, they kept up their good 
 sense ; but that the deau monde at present is only 
 grown more childish, not more innocent, than the 
 former. While I was in this train of thought, an 
 odd fellow, whose face I have often seen at the 
 playhouse, gave me the following letter, with these 
 words : ' Sir, the Lion ^ presents his humble service 
 to you, and desired me to give this into your own 
 hands ' : — 
 
 ' From my Den in the Haymarket, 
 'Sir, March \i. 
 
 ' J HAVE read all your papers, and have stifled 
 my resentment against your reflections upon 
 operas, until that of this day, wherein you plainly 
 1 See No. 1 3. 
 
No. 14 T:he SPECTATOR 73 
 
 insinuate that Signer Grimaldi and myself have a 
 correspondence more friendly than is consistent 
 with the valour of his character, or the fierceness 
 of mine. I desire you would for your own sake 
 forbear such intimations for the future ; and must 
 say it is a great piece of ill-nature in you, to show so 
 great an esteem for a foreigner, and to discourage 
 a lion that is your own countryman. 
 
 ' I take notice of your fable of the lion and man,^ 
 but am so equally concerned in that matter, thd,t I 
 shall not be offended to which soever of the animals 
 the superiority is given. You have misrepresented 
 me, in saying that I am a country gentleman who 
 act only for my diversion ; whereas, had I still the 
 same woods to range in which I once had when I 
 was a fox-hunter, I should not resign my manhood 
 for a maintenance ; and assure you, as low as my 
 circumstances are at present, I am so much a man 
 of honour, that I would scorn to be any beast for 
 bread but a lion. Yours, &c.' 
 
 I had no sooner ended this, than one of my land- 
 lady's children brought me in several others, with 
 some of which I shall make up my present paper, 
 they all having a tendency to the same subject, viz., 
 the elegance of our present diversions. 
 
 'Sir, 'Covent Garden, March 13. 
 
 ' T HAVE been for twenty years under-sexton of 
 this parish of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, and 
 have not missed tolling in to. prayers six times in 
 all those years ; which office I have performed to 
 my great satisfaction, till this fortnight last past, 
 
 ^ See No. II. 
 
74 The SPECTATOR No. 14 
 
 during which time I find my congregation take the 
 warning of my bell, morning and evening, to go to 
 a puppet-show set forth by one Powell ^ under the 
 Piazzas.^ By this means I have not only lost my 
 two customers, whom I used to place for sixpence 
 a-piece over against Mrs. Rachel Eyebright, but 
 Mrs. Rachel herself is gone thither also. There 
 now appear among us none but a few ordinary 
 people, who come to church only to say their 
 prayers, so that I have no work worth speaking 
 of but on Sundays. I have placed my son at the 
 Piazzas, to acquaint the ladies that the bell rings 
 for church, and that it stands on the other side of 
 the Garden ; but they only laugh at the child. 
 
 ' Martin Powell, puppet showman, brought his marionettes to 
 London from the provinces in 1710, and established himself in the 
 galleries of Covent Garden, where he produced puppet operas ' at 
 Punch's Theatre in Covent Garden.' Powell is often alluded 
 to in the Tatler (Nos. 45, 50, 115, 142), and it is said that he 
 was employed by the ministry in 17 10 to bring ridicule upon the 
 fanatics called French Prophets by making Punch turn prophet. 
 Defoe lamented Powell's popularity, and said ('Groans of Great 
 Britain') that he was rich enough to buy up all the poets in 
 England. In 1715, Thomas Burnett satirised Harley in a 
 pamphlet called the ' History of Robert Powell, the Puppet 
 Showman.' A letter from the sexton, in reparation of what is 
 here said of Powell, will be found in No. 372. The following 
 is one of Powell's advertisements : ' At the particular request 
 of several ladies. At Punch's Theatre, alias Powell from Bath. 
 In the Little Piazza, Covent Garden, being a place warm and 
 commodious for the reception of persons of quality and distinction, 
 this present Monday, being the 7th, and to-morrow the 8th of 
 January, will be acted an opera called Heroic Love, or the Death 
 of Hero and Leander. With variety of scenes, and machines 
 after the Italian manner. Beginning exactly at six a clock. The 
 boxes 2s., pit is. No persons to be admitted with Masks.' 
 [Daily Courant, January 7, 17 12.) 
 
 ^ Open arcades on the north and east sides of Covent Garden 
 market-place. They were built by Inigo Jones about 1633. 
 
No. 14 T:he SPECTATOR 75 
 
 ' I desire you would lay this before all the world, 
 that I may not be made such a tool for the future, 
 and that Punchinello may choose hours less cano- 
 nical. As things are now, Mr. Powell has a full 
 congregation, while we have a very thin house, 
 which if you can remedy, you will very much 
 oblige, Sir, 
 
 Yours, &c.' 
 
 The following epistle I find is from the under- 
 taker of the masquerade : ^ — 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' T HAVE observed the rules of my masque so 
 carefully (in not inquiring into persons), that 
 I cannot tell whether you were one of the company 
 or not last Tuesday ; but if you were not, and still 
 design to come, I desire you would, for your own 
 entertainment, please to admonish the town that 
 all persons indifferently are not fit for this sort of 
 diversion. I could wish, sir, you could make them 
 understand that it is a kind of acting to go in 
 masquerade, and a man should be able to say or do 
 things proper for the dress in which he appears. 
 We have now and then rakes in the habit of Roman 
 senators, and grave politicians in the dress of rakes. 
 The misfortune of the thing is, that people dress 
 themselves in what they have a mind to be, and not 
 what they are fit for. There is not a girl in the 
 town, but let her have her will in going to a masque, 
 
 1 Masquerades were made a fashionable form of amusement by 
 John James Heidegger, son of a Swiss clergyman, who came to 
 England in 1708. He lived until 1749, and claimed to have 
 made ^^5000 a year in this country. For many years he was 
 manager of the opera. A paper of Addison's on masquerades will 
 be found in the Guardian, No. 151. 
 
76 rhe SPECTATOR No. 14 
 
 and she shall dress as a shepherdess. But let me 
 beg of them to read the " Arcadia," ^ or some other 
 good romance, before they appear in any such char- 
 acter at my house. The last day we presented, 
 everybody was so rashly habited, that when they 
 came to speak to each other a nymph with a crook 
 had not a word to say but in the pert style of the 
 pit bawdry ; and a man in the habit of a philo- 
 sopher was speechless, till an occasion offered of 
 expressing himself in the refuse of the tiring-rooms. 
 We had a judge that danced a minuet, with a quaker 
 for his partner, while half-a-dozen harlequins stood 
 by as spectators : a Turk drank me off two bottles 
 of wine, and a Jew eat me up half a ham of bacon. 
 If I can bring my design to bear, and make the 
 masquers preserve their characters in my assemblies, 
 I hope you will allow there is a foundation laid for 
 more elegant and improving gallantries than any the 
 town at present affords ; and consequently, that you 
 will give your approbation to the endeavours of. 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most obedient humble Servant.' 
 
 I am very glad the following epistle obliges me 
 to mention Mr. Powell a second time in the same 
 paper ; for indeed there cannot be too great en- 
 couragement given to his skill in motions,^ pro- 
 vided he is under proper restrictions. 
 
 ' Sir, 
 "^HE opera at the Haymarket, and that under 
 the Little Piazza in Covent Garden, being at 
 present the two leading diversions of the town, and 
 
 1 Sir Philip Sidney's romance, published in 1590. 
 
 2 An old name for puppet-shows. 
 
No. 14 T:he SPECTATOR 77 
 
 Mr. Powell professing in his advertisements to set 
 up "Whittington and his Cat" against " Rinaldo 
 and Armida," ^ rriy curiosity led me the beginning 
 of last week to view both these performances, and 
 make my observations upon them. 
 
 ' First, therefore, I cannot but observe that Mr. 
 Powell wisely forbearing to give his company a bill 
 of fare beforehand, every scene is new and unex- 
 pected; whereas it is certain that the undertakers 
 of the Haymarket, having raised too great an expec- 
 tation in their printed opera, very much disappoint 
 their audience on the stage. 
 
 ' The King of Jerusalem is obliged to come from 
 the city on foot, instead of being drawn in a trium- 
 phant chariot by white horses, as my opera-book had 
 promised me ; and thus, while I expected Armida's 
 dragons should rush forward towards Argantes, I 
 found the hero was obliged to go to Armida, and 
 hand her out of her coach. We had also but a 
 very short allowance of thunder and lightning ; 
 though I cannot in this place omit doing justice to 
 the boy who had the direction of the two painted 
 dragons, and made them spit fire and smoke ; he 
 flashed out his rosin in such just proportions 
 and in such due time that I could not forbear 
 conceiving hopes of his being one day a most 
 excellent player. I saw indeed but two things 
 wanting to render his whole action complete — I 
 mean the keeping his head a little lower, and hiding 
 his candle. 
 
 ' I observe that Mr. Powell and the undertakers 
 had both the same thought, and I think much about 
 the same time, of introducing animals on their seve- 
 ral stages, though indeed with very different success. 
 
 1 See No. 5. 
 
78 The SPECTATOR No. 14 
 
 The sparrows and chaffinches at the Haymarket fly 
 as yet very irregularly over the stage, and, instead 
 of perching on the trees and performing their parts, 
 these young actors either get into the galleries or 
 put out the candles; whereas Mr. Powell has so 
 well disciplined his pig that, in the first scene, he 
 and Punch dance a minuet together. I am informed, 
 however, that Mr. Powell resolves to excel his ad- 
 versaries in their own way, and introduce larks in his 
 next opera of " Susanna, or Innocence Betrayed," ^ 
 which will be exhibited next week with a pair of 
 new elders. 
 
 ' The moral of Mr. Powell's drama is violated, I 
 confess, by Punch's national reflections on the French, 
 and King Harry's laying his leg upon the Queen's 
 lap in too ludicrous a manner before so great an 
 assembly. 
 
 ' As to the mechanism and scenery, everything 
 indeed was uniform and of a piece, and the scenes 
 were managed very dexterously ; which calls on me 
 to take notice that, at the Haymarket, the under- 
 takers forgetting to change their side-scenes, we 
 were presented with a prospect of the ocean in the 
 midst of a delightful grove ; and though the gentle- 
 men on the stage had very much contributed to 
 the beauty of the grove by walking up and down 
 between the trees, I must own I was not a little 
 astonished to see a well-dressed young fellow, in 
 a full-bottomed wig, appear in the midst of the 
 sea, and, without any visible concern, taking snufi^. 
 
 ' I shall only observe one thing further, in which 
 both dramas agree, which is that, by the squeak of 
 their voices, the heroes of each are eunuchs ; and as 
 
 1 The ' History of Susanna ' was a favourite subject for puppet- 
 £hows. 
 
No. 15 T:he SPECTATOR 79 
 
 the wit in both pieces are equal, I must prefer the 
 performance of Mr. Powell, because it is in our own 
 language. I am, &c.' -^ R. 
 
 N°- 15. Saturday^ March 17, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Parva leves capiunt animos 
 
 — Ovid, Ars Am. i. 159. 
 
 WHEN I was in France I used to gaze with 
 astonishment at the splendid equipages and 
 party-coloured habits of that fantastic nation. 
 I was one day in particular contemplating 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 
 laden behind with the same number of powdered 
 footmen. Just before the lady were a couple of 
 beautiful pages that were stuck among the harness, 
 
 1 The folio issue had the following advertisement : — 
 
 ' On the first of April will be performed, at the play-house in 
 the Haymarket, an opera, called "The Cruelty of Atreus." 
 
 ' A''.^. — The scene wherein Thyestes eats his own children is 
 to be performed by the famous Mr. Psalmanazar, lately arrived 
 from Formosa, the whole supper being set to kettle-drums.' 
 
 George Psalmanazar, an impostor, was born in Languedoc in 
 1680. He pretended to be a converted Formosan, and was 
 patronised by Bishop Compton. In an apocryphal 'Description 
 of Formosa,' which he printed in 1704, he said that the Formosans 
 sacrificed 1 8,000 male infants yearly. The imposture began to be 
 detected by 1708, but as late as 1716 money was collected for him 
 as a Formosan convert, and it was not until 1728 that he wrote a 
 confession of his fraud, thus ' eating his own children ' by swallow- 
 ing his own words. Psalmanazar became a bookseller's hack, and 
 died In 1763. He was spoken of with respect in his old age by 
 Smollett and Dr. Johnson. 
 
8o The SPECTATOR No. 15 
 
 and, by their gay dresses and smiling features, looked 
 like the elder brothers of the little boys that were 
 carved and painted in every corner of the coach. 
 
 The lady was the unfortunate Cleanthe, who after- 
 wards 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 acquain- 
 tance, she forsook, upon the account of this shining 
 equipage, which had been offered to her by one of 
 great riches, but a crazy constitution. The circum- 
 stances in which I saw her were, it seems, the dis- 
 guises only of a broken heart, and a kind of pageantry 
 to cover distress, for in two months after she was 
 carried to her grave with the same pomp and mag- 
 nificence, 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 unac^ 
 countable 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 them- 
 selves 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 be- 
 thought 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 immediately hear whether they keep- 
 
No. 15 T:he SPECTATOR 81 
 
 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 birthday furnishes 
 conversation for a twelvemonth after. A furbelow 
 of precious stones, a 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 or- 
 naments of the mind that make persons illustrious 
 in themselves and useful to others. When women 
 are thus perpetually dazzling one another's imagina- 
 tions, and filling their heads with nothing but colours, 
 it is no wonder that they are more attentive to the 
 superficial parts of life than to the solid and substan- 
 tial 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, silver and gold galloons,^ with the like 
 glittering gewgaws, are so many lures to women of 
 weak minds or 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 enjoyment of oneself; and, in the 
 next, from the friendship and conversation of a few 
 select companions. It loves shade and solitude, and 
 naturally haunts groves and fountains, fields and 
 meadows. In short, it feels everything it wants 
 within itself, and receives no ad'dition from multi- 
 tudes of witnesses and spectators. On the contrary, 
 false happiness loves to be in a crowd, and to draw 
 1 Narrow shoe-ribbons or laces. 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
82 rhe SPECTATOR No. 15 
 
 the eyes of the world upon her. She does not re- 
 ceive any satisfaction from the applauses which she 
 gives herself, but from the admiration which she 
 raises in 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, de- 
 lights in the privacy of a country life, and passes 
 away a great part of her time in her own 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 abound 
 with good sense, consummate virtue, and a mutual 
 esteem ; and are a perpetual entertainment to one 
 another. Their family is under so regular an eco- 
 nomy, in its hours of devotion and repast, em- 
 ployment 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 Fulvia ! 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 herself out 
 of the world when she is not in the Ring,^ the play- 
 house, or the drawing-room : she lives in a perpetual 
 
 1 A favourite promenade in Hyde Park, partly destroyed when 
 the Serpentine was formed. 
 
No. 15 T:he SPECTATOR 83 
 
 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 night would be more afflicting to her 
 than the death of a child. She pities all the valu- 
 able part of her own sex, and calls every woman of 
 a prudent, modest, retired life a poor-spirited un- 
 polished 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 dress and show in the character of Ca- 
 milla,^ who, though she seems to have shaken off all 
 the other weaknesses of her sex, is still described as 
 a woman in this particular. The poet tells us that 
 after having made a great slaughter of the enemy, 
 she unfortunately cast her eye on a Trojan who wore 
 an embroidered tunic, a beautiful coat-of-mail, with 
 a mantle of the finest purple. 'A golden bow,' 
 says he, ' hung upon his shoulder ; his garment was 
 buckled with a golden clasp, and his head covered 
 with a 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 prasdae et spoliorum ardebat amore. 
 
 This heedless pursuit after these glittering trifles, the 
 poet (by a nice concealed moral) represents to have 
 been the destruction of his female hero. C. 
 
 1 The virgin queen of the Volscians. See .ffineid, xi. 774-782. 
 
84 "The SPECTATOR No. i6 
 
 N°' 1 6. Monday^ March 19, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Quod, verum atque decens euro el rogo, et omnis 
 m hoc sum. — Hor., i Ep. i. ji. 
 
 I HAVE received a letter, desiring me to be very 
 satirical 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 Rainbow CofFee-House ^ in Fleet 
 Street ; a third sends me a 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 inveighed 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 
 this my paper with reflections upon red heels or 
 top-knots, but rather to enter into the passions of 
 mankind, and to correct those depraved sentiments 
 that give birth to all those little extravagances 
 which appear in their outward dress and behaviour. 
 Foppish and fantastic ornaments are only indica- 
 tions of vice, not criminal in themselves. Ex- 
 tinguish vanity in the mind, and you naturally 
 retrench the little superfluities of garniture and 
 equipage. The blossoms will fall of themselves, 
 when the root that nourishes them is destroyed. 
 
 I shall therefore, as I have said, apply my 
 remedies to the first seeds and principles of an 
 
 1 The Rainbow CofFee-House ( 1 5 Fleet Street) was established 
 by James Farr, a barber, about 1657, near the Inner Temple Gate. 
 It was one of the earliest coffee-houses in England, and in due 
 course it was converted into a tavern, which remains to this day. 
 
No. i6 rhe SPECTATOR 85 
 
 aiFected dress, without descending to the dress itself; 
 though at the same time I must own that I have 
 thoughts of creating an officer under me, to be en- 
 titled the Censor of Small Wares, and of alloting 
 him one day in a week for the execution of such his 
 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 en- 
 cumbrances of dress, that they stand in need of 
 being pruned very frequently, lest they should ^ be 
 oppressed with ornaments, and overrun with the 
 luxuriancy 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 laden with such a redundance 
 of excrescences. I must therefore desire my cor- 
 respondents 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 emolu- 
 ment 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 fill their 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 
 1 ' That they may not ' (folio). 
 
86 rhe SPECTATOR No. i6 
 
 write. By the last post in particular I received a 
 packet of scandal which is not legible ; and have a 
 whole bundle of letters in women's hands that are 
 full of blots and calumnies, insomuch that when 
 I see the name Caelia, Phillis, 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 little infamous stories out 
 of their present lurking-holes into broad daylight. 
 If I attack the vicious, I shall only set upon them 
 in a body ; and will not be provoked by the worst 
 usage I can receive from others, to make an ex- 
 ample of any particular criminal. In short, I have 
 so much of a Drawcansir ^ 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 con- 
 sider the crime as it appears in a species, not as it 
 is circumstanced in an individual. I think it was 
 Caligula who wished the whole city of Rome had 
 but one neck, that he might behead them at a blow. 
 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 calumny and defama- 
 
 1 A character in the ' Rehearsal,' in ridicule of the heroic 
 dramas of the time. At a battle between Foot and great Hobby- 
 horses, Drawcansir kills them all, on both sides : 
 
 ' Others may boast a single man to kill, 
 But I the blood of thousands daily spill.' 
 
No. i6 T:he SPECTATOR 87 
 
 tion; 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 correspondents, 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 everything 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 religion, 
 deface government, and make a nation miserable. 
 
 What I have said under the three foregoing heads 
 will, I am afraid, very much retrench the number of 
 my correspondents ; I shall therefore acquaint my 
 reader, that if he has 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 shall promise him my best 
 assistance in the working of them up for a public 
 entertainment. 
 
88 The SPECTATOR No. i6 
 
 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 
 in particular, who has made me so very humble a 
 request, that I cannot forbear complying with it. 
 
 To the Spectator. 
 
 'Sir, March x^,x^\\. 
 
 ' T AM at present so unfortunate as to have nothing 
 to do but to mind my own business, and there- 
 fore 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 
 advertisements for the city of Westminster and the 
 Duchy of Lancaster. Though I cannot promise to 
 fill such an employment 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, 
 C. Charles LiLLiE.'^ 
 
 1 Charles Lillie, a perfumer in the Strand, at the corner of Beau- 
 fort Buildings, was one of the agents for the sale of the Spectator ; and 
 in 1725 he published two volumes of ' Original and Genuine Letters 
 sent to the Tatler and Spectator,' with a dedication to Steele, who 
 had given his consent to the publication. 
 
No. 17 the SPECTATOR 89 
 
 N°- 17. Tuesday^ March 20, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Tetrum ante omnia vultum. — Juv., Sat. x. 191. 
 
 SINCE our persons are not of our own making, 
 when they are such as appear defective or un- 
 comely it is, methinks, an honest and laudable 
 fortitude to dare to be ugly ; at least to keep our- 
 selves from being abashed with a consciousness of 
 imperfections which we cannot help, and in which 
 there is no guilt. I would not defend a haggard 
 beau for passing away much time at a glass, and 
 giving softnesses and languishing graces to defor- 
 mity : all I intend is, that we ought to be contented 
 with our countenance and shape so far as never to 
 give ourselves an uneasy reflection on that subject. 
 It is to the ordinary people, who are not accustomed 
 to make very proper remarks on any occasion, matter 
 of great jest if a man enters with a prominent pair 
 of shoulders into an assembly, or is distinguished by 
 an expansion of mouth or obliquity of aspect. It 
 is happy for a man, that has any of these oddnesses 
 about him, if he can be as merry upon himself, as 
 others are apt to be upon that occasion : when he 
 can possess himself with such a cheerfulness, women 
 and children, who were at first frightened at him, 
 will afterwards be as much pleased with him. As it 
 is barbarous in others to rally him for natural defects, 
 it is extremely agreeable when he can jest upon 
 himself for them. 
 
 Madam Maintenon's first husband ^ was a hero in 
 
 1 The Abbe Paul Scarron, author of the 'Roman Comique,' 
 165 1, married in the following year Frangoise d'Aubigne, a girl 
 
90 T:he SPECTATOR No. 17 
 
 this kind, and has drawn many pleasantries from the 
 irregularity of his shape, which he describes as very 
 much resembling the letter Z. He diverts himself 
 likewise by representing to his reader the make of 
 an engine and pulley, with which he used to take 
 off his hat. When there happens to be anything 
 ridiculous in a visage, and the owner of it thinks 
 it an aspect of dignity, he must be of very great 
 quality to be exempt from raillery : the best expe- 
 dient therefore is to be pleasant upon himself. 
 Prince Harry and FalstaiF, in Shakespeare, have 
 carried the ridicule upon fat and lean as far as it 
 will go. FalstafF is humorously called ' woolsack,' 
 ' bed-presser,' and ' hill of flesh ' ; Harry a ' starve- 
 ling,' an ' elves-skin,' a ' sheath,' a ' bow-case,' and 
 a ' tuck.' ^ There is, in several incidents of the 
 conversation between them, the jest still kept up 
 upon the person. Great tenderness and sensibility 
 in this point is one of the greatest weaknesses of 
 self-love. For my own part, I am a little unhappy 
 in the mould of my face, which is not quite so long 
 as it is broad ; whether this might not partly arise 
 from my opening my mouth much seldomer than 
 other people, and by consequence not so much 
 lengthening the fibres of my visage, I am not at 
 leisure to determine. However it be, I have been 
 often put out of countenance by the shortness of 
 
 of sixteen, who afterwards became Madame de Maintenon. Born 
 in 1610, Scarron became paralysed about 1637. In 1648, in his 
 ' La Relation Veritable de tout ce qui s'est passe dans I'autre 
 Monde, au Combat des Parques et des Po&tes sur la Mort de 
 Voiture,' Scarron compared his crippled figure to the letter Z, 
 and prefixed to the book a frontispiece (reproduced in M. Jus- 
 serand's edition of the 'Comical Romance') showing his back as 
 he was seated in a chair, surrounded by a mocking crowd. 
 1 A rapier. 
 
No. 17 The SPECTATOR 91 
 
 my face, and was formerly at great pains in conceal- 
 ing it by wearing a periwig with a high foretop, and 
 letting my beard grow. But now I have thoroughly 
 got over this delicacy, and could be contented it 
 were much shorter, provided it might qualify me 
 for a member of the Merry Club, which the follow- 
 ing letter gives me an account of. I have received it 
 from Oxford, and as it abounds with the spirit of 
 mirth^ and good humour which is natural to that 
 place, I shall set it down word for word as it came 
 to me. 
 
 'Most Profound Sir, 
 ' tJ AVING been very well entertained, in the last 
 of your speculations^ that I have yet seen, by 
 your specimen upon clubs, which I therefore hope 
 you will continue, I shall take the liberty to furnish 
 you with a brief account of such a one as perhaps 
 you have not seen in all your travels, unless it was 
 your fortune to touch upon some of the woody parts 
 of the African continent in your voyage to or from 
 Grand Cairo.^ There have arisen in this university 
 (long since you left us, without saying anything) 
 several of these inferior hebdomadal societies, as 
 the Punning Club, the Witty Club, and amongst 
 the rest the Handsome Club ; as a burlesque upon 
 which a certain merry species, that seem to have 
 come into the world in masquerade, for some years 
 last past have associated themselves together and 
 assumed the name of the Ugly Club. This ill- 
 favoured fraternity consists of a president and twelve 
 fellows ; the choice of which is not confined by 
 patent to any particular foundation (as St. John's 
 men would have the world believe, and have there- 
 1 No. 9. 2 See No. i. 
 
92 The SPECTATOR No. 17 
 
 fore erected a separate society within themselves), 
 but liberty is left to elect from any school in Great 
 Britain, provided the candidates be within the rules 
 of the club, as set forth in a table entitled 'The 
 Act of Deformity,' a clause or two of which I shall 
 transmit to you. 
 
 ' I. That no person whatsoever shall be admitted 
 without a visible queerity ^ in his aspect or peculiar 
 cast of countenance ; of which the president and 
 officers for the time being are to determine, and the 
 president to have the casting voice. 
 
 ' II. That a singular regard be had, upon examina- 
 tion, to the gibbosity^ of the gentlemen that offer 
 themselves as founders' kinsmen, or to the obliquity 
 of their figure in what sort soever. 
 
 ' III. That if the quantity of any man's nose be 
 eminently miscalculated, whether as to length or 
 breadth, he shall have a just pretence to be elected. 
 
 ' Lastly. That if there shall be two or more 
 competitors for the same vacancy, ccsteris paribus, 
 he that has the thickest skin to have the preference. 
 
 'Every fresh member, upon his first night, is to 
 entertain the company with a dish of cod-fish, and 
 a speech in praise of iEsop,^ whose portraiture they 
 have in full proportion, or rather disproportion, 
 over the chimney ; and their design is, as soon as 
 their funds are sufficient, to purchase the heads of 
 Thersites,* Duns Scotus,^ Scarron, Hudibras,^ and 
 
 1 Oddity. The word is not found elsewhere. 
 
 2 Convexity. 
 
 ' ^sop is said to have been ' the most deformed of all men of 
 his age, . . . perhaps even uglier than Homer's Thersites.' 
 
 * See Iliad, Book ii. He was lame and crook-backed, and squinted. 
 
 " Duns Scotus was alleged by the followers of Thomas Aquinas, 
 an opposing school of philosophers, to have been very ugly. 
 
 ^ See Butler's poem, Part I., i. Z40, seq. 
 
No. 17 rhe SPECTATOR 93 
 
 the old gentleman in Oldham/ with all the cele- 
 brated ill faces of antiquity, as furniture for the 
 club-room. 
 
 ' As they have always been professed admirers of 
 the other sex, so they unanimously declare that they 
 will give all possible encouragement to such as will 
 take the benefit of the statute, though none yet 
 have appeared to do it. 
 
 ' The worthy president, who is their most devoted 
 champion, has lately shown me two copies of verses 
 composed by a gentleman of his society; the first, 
 a congratulatory ode inscribed to Mrs. Touchwood, 
 upon the loss of her two fore-teeth ; the other, 
 a panegyric upon Mrs. Andiron's left shoulder. 
 Mrs. Vizard, he says, since the small-pox is grown 
 tolerably ugly, and a top toast in the club ; but I 
 never hear him so lavish of his fine things as upon 
 old Nell Trot, who constantly officiates at their 
 table ; her he even adores, and extols as the very 
 counterpart of Mother Shipton ; in short Nell, says 
 he, is one of the extraordinary works of nature ; 
 but as for complexion, shape, and features, so 
 valued by others, they are all mere outside and 
 symmetry, which is his aversion. Give me leave 
 to add that the president is a facetious pleasant 
 gentleman, and never more so than when he has 
 got, as he calls them, his dear mummers about 
 him, and he often protests it does him good to 
 meet a fellow with a right genuine grimace in his 
 air (which is so agreeable in the generality of the 
 French nation) ; and, as an instance of his sincerity 
 in this particular, he gave me a sight of a list in 
 his pocket-book of all of this class, who for these 
 
 1 Loyola, described in the third of Oldham's ' Satires upon the 
 Jesuits.' 
 
94 T^he SPECTATOR No. i8 
 
 five years have fallen under his observation, with 
 himself at the head of them, and in the rear (as one 
 of a promising and improving aspect), 
 Sir, 
 Your obliged and humble Servant, 
 
 Alexander Carbuncle.' 
 
 Oxford, March 12, 17 10. 
 
 R. 
 
 N°- 1 8 . Wednesday^ March 21, 1 7 1 1 
 
 ADDISON. 
 -Equitis quoquejam migravit ah aure volvptas 
 
 Omnis ad incertos oculos, et gaudia vana. 
 
 — HoR., a Ep. i. 187. 
 
 IT is my design in this paper to deliver down to 
 posterity a faithful account of the Italian opera, 
 and of the gradual 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 forefathers 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, 
 
 1 This opera was produced at Drury Lane in 1705. It was a 
 translation from the Italian, with new music by Thomas Clayton, 
 who set to music Addison's opera of ' Rosamond.' 
 
No. i8 "The SPECTATOR 
 
 9'5 
 
 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 im- 
 mediately fell to translating the Italian operas ; and 
 as there was no great 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 num- 
 bers 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,' &c. 
 (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 dying away and lan- 
 guishing to notes that were filled with a spirit of 
 rage and indignation. It happened also very fre- 
 quently, 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 
 
 ' 'This very' (folio). 
 2 'Which they' (folio). 
 
 5 An opera by Buononcini, produced at the Haymarket in 1705. 
 The heroine sang in English, the hero in Italian. 
 
96 !r>^£' SPECTATOR No. i8 
 
 that was very natural in the other. I remember an 
 Italian verse that ran thus word for word, 
 
 ' And turned my rage into pity,' 
 
 which 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 happened 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 been 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 intro- 
 ducing of Italian actors into our opera, who sung 
 their parts in their own language at the same time 
 that our countrymen performed 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, without 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 understand- 
 ing half the opera, and therefore, to ease themselves 
 
No. i8 T:he SPECTATOR 97 
 
 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 Italian 
 performers chattering in the vehemence of action, 
 that they have been calling us names and abusing 
 us among themselves ; but I hope, since we do 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 meantime, I cannot forbear thinking 
 how naturally a historian who writes two or three 
 hundred years hence, and does not know the taste 
 of his wise forefathers, will make the following 
 reflection : In the beginning of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, the Italian tongue was so well understood in 
 England that operas were acted on the public stage 
 in that language. 
 
 One scarce knows how to be serious in the con- 
 futation 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 greatest 
 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 " Phasdra 
 and Hippolitus " ^) for a people to be so stupidly 
 
 1 'Was' (folio). 
 
 2 A feeble tragedy by Edmund Smith, produced in 1709, with 
 VOL. I. G 
 
98 The SPECTATOR No. i8 
 
 fond of the Italian opera, as scarce to give a third 
 day's hearing to that admirable tragedy ? Music is 
 certainly a very agreeable entertainment, but if it 
 would take the entire possession of our ears, if 
 it would make us incapable of hearing sense, if it 
 would exclude arts that have a much greater ten- 
 dency to the refinement of human nature, I must 
 confess I would allow it no better quarter than 
 Plato has done, who banishes it out of his common- 
 wealth. 
 
 At present our notions of music are so very un- 
 certain that we do not know what it is we like ; 
 only, in general, we are transported with anything 
 that is not English. 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 in its stead. 
 
 When a royal palace is burnt to the ground, every 
 man is at liberty to present his plan for a new one ; 
 and though it be but indifferently 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 
 problematical manner, to be considered by those who 
 are masters in the art. C 
 
 a prologue by Addison and an epilogue by Prior. Smith died 
 in 1 7 1 o, only a few months before this number of the Spectator 
 •was written. In his prologue Addison had satirised the Italian 
 opera : — 
 
 ' How would it please, should she [the Queen^ in English 
 speak, 
 And could Hippolitus reply in Greek ! ' 
 
No. 19 "The SPECTATOR 99 
 
 N°- 19. Thursday^ March 22, 17 11 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Hi bene fecerunt, inopis me quodque pusilli 
 Finxerunt animi, raro et perpauca loquentis. 
 
 — HoR., I Sat, iv. 17. 
 
 OBSERVING one person behold another, who 
 was an utter stranger to hira, with a cast of 
 his eye which, methought, expressed an emo- 
 tion of heart very different from what could be 
 raised by an object so agreeable as the gentleman 
 he looked at, I began to consider, not without some 
 secret sorrow, the condition of an envious man. 
 Some have fancied that envy has a certain magical 
 force in it, and that the eyes of the envious have 
 by their fascination blasted the enjoyments of the 
 happy. Sir Francis Bacon says ^ some have been so 
 curious as to remark the times and seasons when 
 the stroke of an envious eye is most effectually 
 pernicious, and have observed that it has been when 
 the person envied has been in any circumstance of 
 glory and triumph. At such a time the mind of 
 the prosperous man goes, as it were, abroad, among 
 things without him, and is more exposed to the 
 malignity. But I shall not dwell upon speculations 
 so abstracted as this, or repeat the many excellent 
 things which one might collect out of authors upon 
 this miserable affection, but, keeping in the road of 
 common life, consider the envious man with relation 
 to these three heads — his pains, his reliefs, and his 
 happiness. 
 
 1 Bacon's " Essays," ix. " Of Envy." 
 
loo T:he SPECTATOR No. 19 
 
 The envious man is in pain upon all occasions 
 which ought to give him pleasure. The relish of 
 his life is inverted, and the objects which administer 
 the highest satisfaction to those who are exempt 
 from this passion, give the quickest pangs to persons 
 who are subject to it. All the perfections of their 
 fellow-creatures are odious ; youth, beauty, valour, 
 and wisdom are provocations of their displeasure. 
 What a wretched and apostate state is this ! To be 
 offended with excellence, and to hate a man because 
 we approve him ! The condition of the envious 
 man is the most emphatically miserable ; he is not 
 only incapable of rejoicing in another's merit or 
 success, but lives in a world wherein all mankind 
 are in a plot against his quiet, by studying their own 
 happiness and advantage. Will Prosper is an honest 
 tale-bearer ; he makes it his business to join in con- 
 versation with envious men. He points to such a 
 handsome young fellow, and whispers that he is 
 secretly married to a great fortune. When they 
 doubt, he adds circumstances to prove it, and never 
 fails to aggravate their distress by assuring them 
 that to his knowledge he has an uncle will leave 
 him some thousands. Will has many arts of this 
 kind to torture this sort of temper, and delights in 
 it. When he finds them change colour, and say 
 faintly they wish such a piece of news is true, he 
 has the malice to speak some good or other of every 
 man of their acquaintance. 
 
 The reliefs of the envious man are those little 
 blemishes and imperfections that discover them- 
 selves in an illustrious character. It is matter of 
 great consolation to an envious person when a man 
 of known honour does a thing unworthy himself; 
 
No. 19 T:he SPECTATOR loi 
 
 or when any action which was well executed, upon 
 better information appears so altered in its circum- 
 stances that the fame of it is divided among many, 
 instead of being attributed to one. This is a secret 
 satisfaction to these malignants ; for the person whom 
 they before could not but admire, they fancy is 
 nearer their own condition as soon as his merit is 
 shared among others. I remember, some years ago, 
 there came out an excellent poem without the name 
 of the author. The little wits, who were incapable 
 of writing it, began to pull in pieces the supposed 
 writer. When that would not do, they took great 
 pains to suppress the opinion that it was his. That 
 again failed. The next refuge was to say it was 
 overlooked by one man, and many pages wholly 
 written by another. An honest fellow, who sat 
 among a cluster of them in debate on this subject, 
 cried out, ' Gentlemen, if you are sure none of you 
 yourselves had a hand in it, you are but where you 
 were, whoever writ it.' But the most usual succour 
 to the envious, in cases of nameless merit in this 
 kind, is to keep the property, if possible, unfixed, 
 and by that means to hinder the reputation of it 
 from falling upon any particular person. You see 
 an envious man clear up his countenance, if in the 
 relation of any man's great happiness in one point 
 you mention his uneasiness in another. When he 
 hears such a one is very rich he turns pale, but 
 recovers when you add that he has many children. 
 In a word, the only sure way to an envious man's 
 favour is not to deserve it. 
 
 But if we consider the envious man in delight, it 
 is like reading the seat of a giant in a romance ; the 
 magnificence of his house consists in the many limbs 
 
102 rhe SPECTATOR No. 19 
 
 of men whom he has slain. If any who promised 
 themselves success in any uncommon undertaking 
 miscarry in the attempt, or he that aimed at what 
 would have been useful and laudable meets with 
 contempt and derision, the envious man, under the 
 colour of hating vainglory, can smile with an in- 
 ward wantonness of heart at the ill effect it may 
 have upon an honest ambition for the future. 
 
 Having thoroughly considered the nature of this 
 passion, I have made it my study how to avoid the 
 envy that may accrue to me from these my specula- 
 tions, and, if I am not mistaken in myself, I think 
 I have a genius to escape it. Upon hearing in a 
 coffee-house one of my papers commended, I imme- 
 diately apprehended the envy that would spring from 
 that applause, and therefore gave a description of 
 my face the next day, being resolved, as I grow in 
 reputation for wit, to resign my pretensions to beauty. 
 This, I hope, may give some ease to those unhappy 
 gentlemen who do me the honour to torment them- 
 selves upon the account of this my paper. As their 
 case is very deplorable, and deserves compassion, I 
 shall sometimes be dull, in pity to them, and will 
 from time to time administer consolations to them 
 by further discoveries of my person. In the mean- 
 while, if any one says the Spectator has wit, it may 
 be some relief to them to think that he does not 
 show it in company; and if any one praises his 
 morality, they may comfort themselves by consider- 
 ing that his face is none of the longest. R. 
 
No. 20 r/^^ SPECTATOR 103 
 
 N°' 20. Friday J March 23, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 K 
 
 Kwa vfifiaT e^oyv Hom., Iliad, i. 325. 
 
 MONG the other hardy undertakings which I 
 
 have proposed to myself, that of the cor- 
 rection of impudence is what I have very 
 much at heart. This in a particular manner is my 
 province as Spectator, for it is generally an offence 
 committed by the eyes, and that against such as the 
 offenders would perhaps never have an opportunity 
 of injuring any other way. The following letter is 
 a complaint of a young lady, who sets forth a tres- 
 pass of this kind with that command of herself as 
 befits beauty and innocence, and yet with so much 
 spirit as sufficiently expresses her indignation. The 
 whole transaction is performed with the eyes, and the 
 crime is no less than employing them in such a manner 
 as to divert the eyes of others from the best use they 
 can make of them, even looking up to heaven. 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' npHERE never was, I believe, an acceptable man 
 but had some awkward imitators. Ever since 
 the Spectator appeared, have I remarked a kind of 
 men, whom I choose to call starers, that without 
 any regard to time, place, or modesty, disturb a 
 large company with their impertinent eyes. Spec- 
 tators make up a proper assembly for a puppet-show 
 or a bear-garden, but devout supplicants and atten- 
 tive hearers are the audience one ought to expect in 
 churches. I am, sir, member of a small pious con- 
 gregation near one of the north gates of this city ; 
 
I04 T:^^ SPECTATOR No. 20 
 
 much the greater part of us indeed are females, 
 and used to behave ourselves in a regular attentive 
 manner, till very lately one whole aisle has been 
 disturbed with one of these monstrous starers. He's 
 the head taller than any one in the church, but for 
 the greater advantage of exposing himself, stands 
 upon a hassock, and commands the whole congrega- 
 tion, to the great annoyance of the devoutest part 
 of the auditory ; for what with blushing, confusion, 
 and vexation, we can neither mind the prayers nor 
 sermon. Your animadversion upon this insolence 
 would be a great favour to. 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most humble Servant, 
 
 S. C 
 
 I have frequently seen of this sort of fellows, 
 and do not think there can be a greater aggravation 
 of an offence than that it is committed where the 
 criminal is protected by the sacredness of the place 
 which he violates. Many reflections of this sort 
 might be very justly made upon this kind of beha- 
 viour, but a starer is not usually a person to be con- 
 vinced by the reason of the thing ; and a fellow that 
 is capable of showing an impudent front before a 
 whole congregation, and can bear being a public 
 spectacle, is not so easily rebuked as to amend by 
 admonitions. If, therefore, my correspondent does 
 not inform me that within seven days after this date 
 the barbarian does not at least stand upon his own 
 legs only, without an eminence, my friend Will 
 Prosper^ has promised to take an hassock opposite 
 to him, and stare against him in defence of the 
 ladies. I have given him directions, according to 
 
 ' See No. 19. 
 
No. 20 r^^ SPECTATOR 105 
 
 the most exact rules of optics, to place himself in 
 such a manner that he shall meet his eyes wherever 
 he throws them. I have hopes that when Will con- 
 fronts him, and all the ladies in whose behalf he 
 engages him cast kind looks and wishes of success 
 at their champion, he will have some shame, and 
 feel a little of the pain he has so often put others to, 
 of being out of countenance. 
 
 It has indeed been time out of mind generally 
 remarked, and as often lamented, that this family of 
 starers have infested public assemblies, and I know 
 no other way to obviate so great an evil except, in 
 the case of fixing their eyes upon women, some male 
 friend will take the part of such as are under the 
 oppression of impudence, and encounter the eyes of 
 the starers wherever they meet them. While we 
 suffer our women to be thus impudently attacked, 
 they have no defence, but in the end to cast yielding 
 glances at the starers : and in this case, a man who 
 has no sense of shame has the same advantage over 
 his mistress, as he who has no regard for his own life 
 has over his adversary. While the generality of the 
 world are fettered by rules, and move by proper and 
 just methods, he who has no respect to any of them 
 carries away the reward due to that propriety of 
 behaviour, with no other merit but that of having 
 neglected it. 
 
 I take an impudent fellow to be a sort of outlaw 
 in good breeding, and therefore what is said of him 
 no nation or person can be concerned for. For this 
 reason, one may be free upon him. I have put my- 
 self to great pains in considering this prevailing 
 quality which we call impudence, and have taken 
 notice that it exerts itself in a different manner, 
 according to the different soils wherein such subjects 
 
io6 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 20 
 
 of these dominions as are masters of it were born. 
 Impudence in an Englishman is sullen and insolent ; 
 in a Scotchman it is untractable and rapacious ; in 
 an Irishman absurd and fawning. As the course 
 of the world now runs, the impudent Englishman 
 behaves like a surly landlord, the Scot like an ill- 
 received guest, and the Irishman like a stranger who 
 knows he is not welcome. There is seldom any- 
 thing entertaining either in the impudence of a 
 south or north Briton, but that of an Irishman is 
 always comic : a true and genuine impudence is 
 ever the effect of ignorance, without the least sense 
 of it. The best and most successful starers now in 
 this town are of that nation ; they have usually the 
 advantage of the stature mentioned in the above 
 letter of my correspondent, and generally take their 
 stands in the eye of women of fortune ; insomuch 
 that I have known one of them, three months after 
 he came from the plough, with a tolerable good air 
 lead out a woman from a play, which one of our 
 own breed, after four years at Oxford, and two at 
 the Temple, would have been afraid to look at. 
 
 I cannot tell how to account for it, but these 
 people have usually the preference to our own 
 fools, in the opinion of the sillier part of woman- 
 kind. Perhaps it is that an English coxcomb is 
 seldom so obsequious as an Irish one ; and when 
 the design of pleasing is visible, an absurdity in the 
 way toward it is easily forgiven. 
 
 But those who are downright impudent, and go 
 on without reflection that they are such, are more 
 to be tolerated than a set of fellows among us who 
 profess impudence with an air of humour, and think 
 to carry off the most inexcusable of all faults in the 
 world, with no other apology than saying in a gay 
 
No. 21 rhe SPECTATOR 107 
 
 tone, ' I put an impudent face upon the matter.' 
 No ; no man shall be allowed the advantages of 
 impudence who is conscious that he is such. If he 
 knows he is impudent, he may as well be otherwise, 
 and it shall be expected that he blush when he sees 
 he makes another do it. For nothing can atone for 
 the want of modesty ; without which beauty is un- 
 graceful, and wit detestable. R. 
 
 N°- 21. Saturday^ March 24, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Locus est et pluribus umhris. — Hor., i Ep. v. 28. 
 
 I AM sometimes very much troubled, when I 
 reflect upon the three great professions of 
 divinity, law, and physic ; how 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 archdeacons. Among 
 the second are doctors of divinity, prebendaries, and 
 all that wear scarfs. The rest are comprehended 
 under the subalterns. As for the first class, our 
 constitution preserves it from any redundancy of 
 incumbents, notwithstanding competitors are num- 
 berless. 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 scarf-officers; 
 insomuch that within my memory the price of lute- 
 string ^ is raised above twopence in a yard. As for 
 
 1 A stout glossy silk, used for ladies' dresses and for scarfs. 
 
io8 The SPECTATOR No. 21 
 
 the subalterns, 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 
 superfluous members, that are like Virgil's army, 
 which he tells us was so crowded that ^ many of them 
 had not room to use their weapons.^ This prodigi- 
 ous society of men may be divided into the litigious 
 and peaceable. Under the first are comprehended 
 all those who are carried down in coachfuls to 
 Westminster Hall every morning in term time. 
 Martial's description of this species of lawyers is full 
 of humour : 
 
 Iras et verba 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 are 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 
 Hall every day, that they may show themselves in a 
 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 en- 
 dowed with those qualifications of mind that accom- 
 
 1 This word is omitted in the 1712 collected edition. 
 
 2 Mn., X. 432. 
 
No. 21 T:he SPECTATOR 109 
 
 plish a man rather for a ruler than a pleader. These 
 men live peaceably in their habitations, eating once 
 a day, and dancing once a year,^ for the honour of 
 their 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 playhouse 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 physicians 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 
 
 1 In Dugdale's Origines Juridkiales we read how in the Middle 
 Temple, on All Saints' Day, when the judges and Serjeants who 
 had belonged to the Inn were feasted, ' the music being begun, the 
 Master of the Revels was twice called. At the second call, the 
 Reader with the white staff advanced, and began to lead the 
 measures, followed by the barristers and students in order ; and 
 when one measure was ended, the Reader at the cupboard called 
 for another' (Morley). 
 
 2 « Observations upon the United Provinces,' chap. i. (Arnold). 
 
no r/^? SPECTATOR No. 21 
 
 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 de- 
 scribed like the British army in Csesar'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 quar- 
 ters 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, innumer- 
 able retainers 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 micro- 
 scopical observations ; besides those that are em- 
 ployed in the gathering of weeds, and the chase of 
 butterflies : not to mention the cockle-shell merchants 
 and spider-catchers. 
 
 When I consider how each of these professions are 
 crowded with multitudes that seek their livelihood 
 in them, and how many men of merit there are in 
 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 in- 
 dustry cannot but thrive, than in stations where the 
 greatest probity, learning, and good sense may mis- 
 carry. How many men are country curates that 
 might have made themselves aldermen of London 
 by a right improvement of a smaller sum of money 
 than what is usually laid out upon a learned educa- 
 tion ? A sober, frugal person, of slender parts and 
 
No. 22 r/^^ SPECTATOR iii 
 
 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 client, but might 
 have had abundance of customers. The misfortune 
 is that parents take a liking to a particular profes- 
 sion, and therefore desire their sons may be of it. 
 Whereas, 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 employ- 
 ment to all its professors. Fleets 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. C. 
 
 N°' 2 2. Monday^ March 26, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic incredulus odi. 
 
 — HoR., Ars Poet. i88. 
 
 THE word Spectator being most usually under- 
 stood as one of the audience at public repre- 
 sentations in our theatres, I seldom fail of 
 many letters relating to plays and operas. But in- 
 
112 t:^^ SPECTATOR No. 22 
 
 deed there are such monstrous things done in both, 
 that if one had not been an eye-witness of them, 
 one could not believe that such matters had really- 
 been exhibited. There is very little which concerns 
 human life, or is a picture of nature, that is regarded 
 by the greater part of the company. The under- 
 standing is dismissed from our entertainments. Our 
 mirth is the laughter of fools, and our admiration 
 the wonder of idiots ; else such improbable, mon- 
 strous, and incoherent dreams could not go off as 
 they do, not only without the utmost scorn and 
 contempt, but even with the loudest applause and 
 approbation. But the letters of my correspondents 
 will represent this affair in a more lively manner 
 than any discourse of my own. I shall, therefore,^ 
 give them to my reader with only this preparation, 
 that they all come from players, and that the business 
 of playing is now so managed that you are not to 
 be surprised when I say one or two of them ^ are 
 rational, others sensitive and vegetative actors, and 
 others wholly inanimate. I shall not place these aa 
 I have named them, but as they have precedence in 
 the opinion of their audiences. 
 
 'Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' VOUR having been so humble as to take notice 
 
 of the epistles of other animals, emboldens 
 
 me, who am the wild boar that was killed by 
 
 Mrs. Tofts,* to represent to you, that I think I was 
 
 1 ' I therefore shall ' (folio). 
 
 2 « They all come from players, one or two of whom ' (folio). 
 
 ^ In the opera of ' Camilla,' Mrs. Tofts, who acted the heroine, 
 killed with a dart a boar which was pursuing Prenesto. Mrs. 
 Katherine Tofts, who was charming alike in voice and person, was 
 obliged to leave the stage in 1709, owing to her intellect becoming 
 
No. 22 T/^? SPECTATOR 113 
 
 hardly used in not having the part of the lion in 
 " Hydaspes " ' given to me. It would have been but 
 a natural step for me to have personated that noble 
 creature, after having behaved myself to satisfaction 
 in the part above-mentioned ; but that of a lion is 
 too great a character for one that never trod the 
 stage before but upon two legs. As for the little 
 resistance which I made, I hope it may be excused, 
 when it is considered that the dart was thrown at 
 me by so fair a hand. I must confess I had but 
 just put on my brutality ; and Camilla's charms 
 were such, that beholding her erect mien, hearing 
 her charming voice, and astonished with her graceful 
 motion, I could not keep up to my assumed fierce- 
 ness, but died like a man. 
 
 I am. Sir, 
 Your most huhible Servant, 
 
 Thomas Prone.' 
 
 'Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' npHIS is to let you understand, that the play- 
 house is a representation of the world in 
 nothing so much as in this particular, that no one 
 rises in it according to his merit. I have acted 
 several parts of household stuff with great applause 
 for many years : I am one of the men in the hang- 
 disordered. Having recovered, she married Mr. Joseph Smith, a 
 patron of art, who became consul at Venice ; but afterwards insanity 
 returned. She lived in seclusion, imagining herself to be one or 
 other of the princesses whom she had represented on the stage, until 
 her death in 1760. (See Sir John Hawkins's ' History of Music,' 
 i. 153.) In 1709, in the Tatkr (No. 20), Addison spoke of '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.' 
 
 1 See No. 1 3. 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
114 "The SPECTATOR No. 22 
 
 ings in the "Emperor of the Moon";^^ I have 
 twice performed the third chair in an English opera, 
 and have rehearsed the pump in the "Fortune 
 Hunters."- I am now grown old, and hope you 
 will recommend me so eiFectually, as that I may say 
 something before I go off the stage : in which you 
 will do a great act of charity to 
 
 Your most humble Servant, 
 
 William Screne.' 
 
 1 The ' Emperor of the Moon ' is a farce from the French, by 
 Mrs. Aphra Behn, first acted in London in 1687. It was origi- 
 nally Italian, and had run eighty nights in Paris as ' Harlequin 
 I'Empereur dans le Monde de la Lune.' In Act ii. sc. 3, 'the 
 front of the scene is only a curtain or hangings to be drawn up at 
 pleasure.' Various gay masqueraders, interrupted by return of the 
 Doctor, are carried by iScaramouch behind the curtain. The Doctor 
 ■enters in wrath, vowing he has heard fiddles. Presently the curtain 
 is drawn up and discovers where Scaramouch has ' placed them all 
 in the hanging, in which they make the figures, where they stand 
 without motion in postures.' Scaramouch professes that the noise 
 was made by putting up this piece of tapestry, ' the best in Italy for 
 the rareness of the figures, sir.' While the Doctor is admiring the 
 new tapestry, said to have been sent him as a gift. Harlequin, who 
 is ' placed on a tree in the hangings, hits him on the head with his 
 truncheon.' The place of a particular figure in the picture, with a 
 hand on a tree, is that supposed to be aspired to by the Spectator's 
 next correspondent (Morley). 
 
 2 ' The Fortune Hunters ; or. Two Fools well met,' a comedy 
 first produced in 1685, was the only work of James Carlile, a 
 player who quitted the stage to serve King William III. in the 
 Irish wars, and was killed at the battle of Aghrim. The crowning 
 joke of the second act of ' The Fortune Hunters ' is the return at 
 night of Mr. Spruce, an Exchange man, drunk and musical, to the 
 garden door of his house, when Mrs. Spruce is just taking leave of 
 young Wealthy. Wealthy hides behind the pump. The drunken 
 husband, who has been in a gutter, goes to the pump to clean him- 
 self, and seizes a man's arm instead of a pump-handle. He works 
 it as a pump-handle, and complains that ' the pump's dry ' ; upon 
 which young Wealthy empties a bottle of orange-flower water into 
 his face (Morley). 
 
No. 22 T:he SPECTATOR 115 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' UNDERSTANDING that Mr. Serene has writ 
 to you, and desired to be raised from dumb 
 and still parts ; I desire, if you give him motion or 
 speech, that you would advance me in my way, and 
 let me keep on in what I humbly presume I am a 
 master, to wit, in representing human and still life 
 together. I have several times acted one of the 
 finest flower-pots in the same opera wherein Mr. 
 Serene is a chair; therefore, upon his promotion, 
 request that I may succeed him in the hangings, 
 with my hand in the orange trees. 
 
 Your humble Servant, 
 
 Ralph Simple.' 
 
 'Sir 'Drury Lane, March 24, I7yx. 
 
 ' T SAW your friend the templar this evening in 
 the pit, and thought he looked very little 
 pleased with the representation of the mad scene of 
 the " Pilgrim." ^ I wish, sir, you would do us the 
 favour to animadvert frequently upon the false taste 
 the town is in, with relation to plays as well as operas. 
 It certainly requires a degree of understanding to play 
 justly; but such is our condition, that we are to 
 suspend our reason to perform our parts. As to 
 scenes of madness, you know, sir, there are noble 
 instances of this kind in Shakespeare ; but then it 
 is the disturbance of a noble mind from generous 
 and human resentments ; it is like that grief which 
 we have for the decease of our friends ; it is no 
 
 1 A comedy by Fletcher. In Act iii. there is a scene in a 
 Spanish madhouse. One madman, an Englishman, cries, ' Give 
 me some drink, ... fill me a thousand pots and froth 'em, 
 froth 'era ! ' 
 
ii6 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 22 
 
 diminution, but a recommendation of human nature, 
 that in such incidents passion gets the better of 
 reason, and all we can think to comfort ourselves 
 is impotent against half what we feel. I will not 
 mention that we had an idiot in the scene, and all 
 the sense it is represented to have is that of lust. 
 As for myself, who have long taken pains in per- 
 sonating the passions, I have to-night acted only an 
 appetite. The part I played is " Thrift," but it is 
 represented as written rather by a drayman than a 
 poet. I come in with a tub about me, that tub 
 hung with quart pots, with a full gallon at my 
 mouth. I am ashamed to tell you that I pleased 
 very much, and this was introduced as a madness; 
 but sure it was not human madness, for a mule or 
 an ass^ may have been as dry as ever I was in my 
 life. I am. Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient 
 
 and humble Servant.' 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, ' ^^""^ """^ ^^^°^ "* ^"^ ^^^*'*''- 
 
 ' JF you can read it with dry eyes, I give you this 
 trouble to acquaint you that I am the unfor- 
 tunate King Latinus,^ and believe I am the first 
 prince that dated from this palace since John of 
 Gaunt. Such is the uncertainty of all human great- 
 ness, that I, who lately never moved without a guard, 
 am now pressed as a common soldier, and am to sail 
 with the first fair wind against my brother Lewis of 
 France. It is a very hard thing to put off a character 
 which one has appeared in with applause. This I 
 
 1 'Horse' (folio). 
 
 2 In the opera of 'Camilla,' the King of Latium has a part 
 (recitativo) of about sixty lines. 
 
No. 22 T/^^ SPECTATOR 117 
 
 experienced since the loss of my diadem ; for upon 
 quarrelling with another recruit, I spoke my indigna- 
 tion out of my part in recitativo — 
 
 Most audacious slave, 
 Dar'st thou an angry monarch's fury brave ? i 
 
 The words were no sooner out of my mouth, when 
 a sergeant knocked me down, and asked me if I had 
 a mind to mutiny, in talking things nobody under- 
 stood. You see, sir, my unhappy circumstances, and 
 if by your mediation you can procure a subsidy for 
 a prince who never failed to make all that beheld 
 him merry at his appearance, you will merit the 
 thanks of Your friend. 
 
 The King of Latium.' 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 FOR THE GOOD OF THE PUBLIC. 
 
 Within two doors of the Masquerade, lives an 
 eminent Italian Chirurgeon, arrived from the Carni- 
 val at Venice, of great experience in private cures. 
 Accommodations are provided, and persons admitted 
 in their masquing habits. 
 
 He has cured since his coming thither, in less 
 than a fortnight, four scaramouches, a mountebank 
 doctor, two Turkish bassas, three nuns, and a morris- 
 dancer. 
 
 Venienti occurrite morbo. 
 
 N.B. — Any person may agree by the great, and 
 be kept in repair by the year. The Doctor draws 
 teeth without pulling off your mask. R. 
 
 1 'Camilla,' Act ii. sc. lO. 
 
ii8 Tthe SPECTATOR No. 23 
 
 N°- 2 3 . Tuesday^ March 27, 1 7 1 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Scevit atrox Volscens, nee teli conspicit usquam 
 Auctorem, nee quo se ardens immittere possit. 
 
 — ViRG., Mn. ix. 420. 
 
 THERE is nothing that more betrays a base 
 ungenerous spirit, than the giving of secret 
 stabs to a man's reputation. Lampoons and 
 satires, that are written with wit and spirit, are like 
 poisoned darts, which not only inflict a wound, but 
 make it incurable. For this reason, I am very much 
 troubled when I see the talents of humour and 
 ridicule in the possession of an ill-natured man. 
 There cannot be a greater gratification to a barbar- 
 ous 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 ridicule and buiFoonery. It is impossible 
 to enumerate the evils which arise from these arrows 
 that fly in the dark, and I know no other excuse 
 that is or can be made for them, than that the 
 wounds they give are only imaginary, and produce 
 nothing more than a secret shame or sorrow in the 
 mind of the suffering person. It must indeed be 
 
No. 23 The SPECTATOR 119 
 
 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 a mark 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 
 outrages of this nature which are offered them, are 
 not without their secret anguish. I have often 
 observed a passage in Socrates's behaviour at his 
 death, in a light wherein none of the critics have 
 considered it. That excellent man, entertaining 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 Aristo- 
 phanes, who wrote 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 treatment 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 
 
 1 See Aristophanes' ' The Clouds,' and Plato's ' Phaedon.' 
 
I20 r/^f SPECTATOR No. 23 
 
 friend ever after/ Cardinal Mazarin gave the same 
 kind of treatment to the learned Quillet,^ 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 Quintus was not of so generous and for- 
 giving a temper. Upon his being made pope, the 
 statue of Pasquin ^ was one night dressed in a very 
 
 1 Suetonius's ' Life of Julius Csesar.' But the attack on Cxsar 
 and Mamurra remains among Catullus's Poems (No. 29). 
 
 2 Claude Quillet published a Latin poem in four books, entitled 
 * Callipasdia, seu de pulchrse prolis habenda ratione,' at Leyden, 
 under the name of Calvidius Lxtus, in 1655. In discussing unions 
 harmonious and inharmonious, he digressed into an invective against 
 liiarriages of Powers, when not in accordance with certain con- 
 ditions ; and complained that France entered into such unions 
 prolific only of ill, witness her gift of sovereign power to a Sicilian 
 stranger. 
 
 Trinacriis devectus ab oris advena. 
 
 Mazarin, though born at Rome, was of Sicilian family. In the 
 second edition, published at Paris in 1656, dedicated to the Cardinal 
 Mazarin, the passages complained of were omitted for the reason 
 and with the result told in the text ; the poet getting ' une jolie 
 Abbaye de 400 pistoles,' which he enjoyed until his death (aged 
 fifty-nine) in 1661 (Morley). 
 
 ^ Pasquino is said to have been a cobbler or tailor, who lived in 
 Rome early in the sixteenth century, and had a very satirical tongue. 
 After his death the broken statue of a gladiator was discovered 
 under the foundations of his stall, and was set up in the Piazza di 
 Pasquino. The wits said that Pasquino lived again in this statue, 
 which carried on lively controversy with a neighbouring statue, by 
 
No. 23 T:he SPECTATOR 121 
 
 dirty shirt, with an excuse written 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. As this pasquinade made 
 a great noise in Rome, the Pope offered a consi- 
 derable 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 discovery 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 oiF.^ 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 
 Sophy of Persia under contribution. 
 
 Though in the various examples which I have here 
 drawn 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 received them 
 as very great injuries. For my own part, I would 
 never trust a man that I thought was capable of 
 
 means of questions and answers affixed to one or the other. Camilla, 
 the sister of Pope Sextus V., who was the son of a gardener, had 
 been a laundress. 
 
 1 'Life of Sextus V.,' by Gregorio Leti, 1669. This book, 
 however, appears to be worthy of little credence. 
 
 2 Pietro d'Arezzo (1492-15 57), the satirist, was called 'the 
 Scourge of Princes.' Pope Clement VII., Francis I. of France, 
 and the Emperor Charles V. all gave him presents. 
 
122 T/^? SPECTATOR No. 23 
 
 giving these secret wounds; and cannot but think 
 that he would hurt the person, whose Reputation he 
 thus assaults, in his body or in his fortune, could he 
 do it with the same security. There is indeed some- 
 thing very barbarous and inhuman 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 
 calamity ; a wife be made uneasy all her life, for a 
 misinterpreted word or action. Nay, a good, a 
 temperate, and a just man shall be put out of coun- 
 tenance 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 
 humanity. 
 
 I have indeed heard of heedless inconsiderate 
 writers, that, without any malice, have sacrificed the 
 reputation of their friends and acquaintance to a 
 certain levity of temper and a silly ambition of dis- 
 tinguishing themselves by a spirit of raillery and 
 satire : as if it were not infinitely more honourable 
 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. 
 For 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 former will only attack his enemies, 
 and those he wishes ill to, the other injures indiffer- 
 ently both friends and foes. I cannot forbear on 
 this occasion transcribing a fable out of Sir Roger 
 I'Estrange,^ which accidentally lies before me. ' A 
 company of waggish boys were watching of frogs at 
 the side of a pond, and still as any of them put up 
 
 1 L'Estrange's ' Fables of ^sop and other eminent Mytholo- 
 gists, with Morals and Reflections,' first appeared in 1692, in folio. 
 
No. 24 r/^^ SPECTATOR 123 
 
 their heads they'd be pelting them down again with 
 stones. " Children," says one of the frogs, " you 
 never consider that though this may be play to you, 
 'tis death to us." ' 
 
 As this week Ms in a manner set apart and dedi- 
 cated to serious thoughts, I shall indulge myself in 
 such speculations as may not be altogether unsuit- 
 able to the season ; and in the meantime, as the 
 settling 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 charity which has been generally overlooked 
 by divines, because they are but few who can be 
 guilty of it. C. 
 
 N°' 24. Wednesday^ March 28, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Accurrit quidam notus mihi nomine tanium ; 
 Arreptaque manu, Quid agis dulcissime rerum ? 
 
 — HoR., I Sat. ix. 3. 
 
 THERE are in this town a great number of 
 insignificant people, who are by no means 
 fit for the better sort of conversation, and 
 yet have an impertinent ambition of appearing with 
 those to whom they are not welcome. If you walk 
 in the park, one of them will certainly join with 
 you, though you are in company with ladies ; if you 
 drink a bottle, they will find your haunts. What 
 makes such fellows ^ the more burdensome is, that 
 they neither offend nor please so far as to be taken 
 notice of for either. It is, I presume, for this 
 
 1 Passion week. Easter Sunday was on April i in 171 1. 
 
 2 ' What makes these people ' (folio). 
 
124 T-^^ SPECTATOR No. 24 
 
 reason that my correspondents are willing, by my 
 means, to be rid of them. The two following 
 letters are writ by persons who suffer by such 
 impertinence. A worthy old bachelor, who sets in 
 for his dose of claret every night at such an hour, 
 is teased by a swarm of them ; who, because they 
 are sure of room and a good fire, have taken it into 
 their heads to keep a sort of club in his company — 
 though the sober gentleman himself is an utter enemy 
 to such meetings. 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' '"PHE aversion I for some years have had to clubs 
 in general, gave me a perfect relish for your 
 speculation on that subject ; ^ but I have since been 
 extremely mortified by the malicious world's ranking 
 me amongst the supporters of such impertinent 
 assemblies. I beg leave to state my case fairly, 
 and that done, I shall expect redress from your 
 judicious pen. 
 
 ' I am, sir, a bachelor of some standing, and a tra- 
 veller; my business, to consult my own humour, which 
 I gratify without controlling other people's. I have 
 a room and a whole bed to myself; and I have a 
 dog, a fiddle, and a gun ; they please me, and injure 
 no creature alive. My chief meal is a supper, which 
 I always make at a tavern. I am constant to an 
 hour, and not ill-humoured ; for which reasons — 
 though I invite nobody — I have no sooner supped 
 than I have a crowd about me of that sort of good 
 company that know not whither else to go. It is 
 true every" man pays his share, yet as they are in- 
 truders, I have an undoubted right to be the only 
 
 1 See No. 9. 
 
No. 24 T:he SPECTATOR 125 
 
 speaker, or at least the loudest ; which I maintain, 
 and that to the great emolument of my audience. 
 I sometimes tell them their own in pretty free 
 language, and sometimes divert them with merry 
 tales, according as I am in humour. I am one of 
 those who live in taverns to a great age, by a sort 
 of regular intemperance. I never go to bed drunk, 
 but always flustered ; I wear away very gently ; am 
 apt to be peevish, but never angry. Mr. Spectator, 
 if you have kept various company, you know there is 
 in every tavern in town some old humorist or other, 
 who is master of the house as much as he that keeps 
 it. The drawers are all in awe of him, and all the 
 customers who frequent his company yield him a 
 sort of comical obedience. I do not know but I 
 may be such a fellow as this myself. But I appeal 
 to you whether this is to be called a club, because 
 so many impertinents will break in upon me, and 
 come without appointment. Clinch of Barnet ^ has 
 a nightly meeting, and shows to every one that will 
 come in and pay; but then he is the only actor. 
 Why should people miscall things .'' If his is 
 allowed to be a consort, why may not mine be a 
 lecture .'' However, sir, I submit to you, and am, 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most obedient, &c., 
 
 Tho. Kimbow.' 
 
 1 Clinch of Barnet was a man who imitated with his own 
 voice, • horses, the huntsmen, and a pack of hounds, a sham doctor, 
 an old woman, the bells, the flute, the double curtell, and the organ.' 
 He exhibited at the corner of Bartholomew Lane, by the Royal 
 Exchange, and died in 1734, aged about seventy. Steele (Tatler, 
 No. 51) and Thoresby ('Diary,' Jan. 14, 1 709) speak highly of 
 Clinch's skm. 
 
126 "The SPECTATOR No. 24 
 
 'Good Sir, 
 
 ' Y^U and I were pressed against each other last 
 winter in a crowd, in which uneasy posture we 
 suffered together for almost half-an-hour. I thank 
 you for all your civilities ever since, in being of my 
 acquaintance wherever you meet me. But the other 
 day you pulled off your hat to me in the park, when 
 I was walking with my mistress. She did not like 
 your air, and said she wondered what strange fellows 
 I was acquainted with. Dear sir, consider it is as 
 much as my life is worth, if she should think we 
 were intimate ; therefore I earnestly entreat you for 
 the future to take no manner of notice of. 
 
 Sir, 
 Your obliged humble Servant, 
 
 Will Fashion.' 
 
 A like impertinence ^ is also very troublesome to 
 the superior and more intelligent part of the fair 
 sex. It is, it seems, a great inconvenience that 
 those of the meanest capacities will pretend to make 
 visits, though indeed they are qualified rather to add 
 to the furniture of the house (by filling an empty 
 chair) than to the conversation they come into when 
 they visit. A friend of mine hopes for redress in this 
 case, by the publication of her letter in my paper, 
 which she thinks those she would be rid of will take 
 to themselves. It seems to be written with an eye 
 to one of those pert, giddy, unthinking girls, who, 
 upon the recommendation only of an agreeable 
 person and a fashionable air, take themselves to be 
 upon a level with women of the greatest merit. 
 
 1 « This impertinence ' (folio). 
 
No. 24 T:he SPECTATOR 127 
 
 ' Madam, 
 
 ' J TAKE this way to acquaint you with what 
 common rules and forms would never permit 
 me to tell you otherwise, to wit, that you and I, 
 though equals in quality and fortune, are by no 
 means suitable companions. You are, 'tis true, very 
 pretty, can dance, and make a very good figure in a 
 public assembly ; but alas, madam, you must go no 
 further ; distance and silence are your best recom- 
 mendations, therefore let me beg of you never to 
 make me any more visits. You come in a literal 
 ■sense to see one, for you have nothing to say. I 
 do not say this that I would by any means lose your 
 acquaintance, but I would keep it up with the 
 strictest forms of good breeding. Let us pay visits, 
 but never see one another. If you will be so good 
 as to deny yourself always to me, I shall return the 
 obligation by giving the same orders to my servants. 
 "When accident makes us meet at a third place, we 
 may mutually lament the misfortune of never finding 
 •one another at honie, go in the same party to a 
 benefit play, and smile at each other and put down 
 glasses as we pass in our coaches. Thus we may 
 enjoy as much of each other's friendship as we are 
 capable : for there are some people who are to be 
 known only by sight, with which sort of friendship 
 I hope you will always honour, 
 Madam, 
 Your most obedient humble Servant, 
 
 Mary Tuesday.' 
 
 ' P.S. — I subscribe myself by the name of the 
 ■day I keep, that my supernumerary friends may know 
 Tvho I am.' 
 
128 The SPECTATOR No. 25 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 To prevent all mistakes that may happen among 
 gentlemen of the other end of the town who come 
 but once a week to St. James's CofFee-House, either 
 by miscalling the servants, or requiring such things 
 from them as are not properly within their respective 
 provinces ; this is to give notice, that Kidney,^ keeper 
 of the book-debts of the outlying customers, and 
 observer of those who go off without paying, having- 
 resigned that employment, is succeeded- by John 
 Sowton ; to whose place of enterer of messages and 
 first coffee-grinder William Bird is promoted ; and. 
 Samuel Burdock comes as shoe-cleaner in the room, 
 of the said Bird. R. 
 
 N°' 25. Thursday^ March 29, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON.. 
 
 JEgresdtque medendo. — Virg., ^En. xii. 46. 
 
 THE following letter will explain itself, and. 
 needs no apology :- — 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' T 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 not 
 fancy myself afflicted with. Dr. Sydenham's learned . 
 
 1 For other allusions to Kidney see the Tatler, Nos. i, 10, 16. 
 
No. 25 T/^^ SPECTATOR 129 
 
 Treatise of Fevers ^ threw me into a lingering hectic, 
 which hung upon me all the while I was reading 
 that excellent piece. I 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 ingenious 
 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, accidentally 
 taking into my hand that ingenious discourse written 
 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 well 
 acquainted with that gentleman'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 anything as 
 well as a pair of scales. By this means he discovered 
 how many ounces of his food passed by perspiration, 
 
 1 The Methodus curandi Febres of Dr. Thomas Sydenham 
 (1624-1689) was published in 1666. It embodied the results of 
 experience gained during the Plague of London in the preceding 
 year. 
 
 2 Sanctorius, a professor of medicine at Padua, who died in 1636, 
 aged seventy-five, was the first to discover the insensible perspira- 
 tion, and he discriminated the amount of loss by it in experiments 
 upon himself by means of his statical chair. His observations were 
 published at Venice in 16 14, in his Ars de Staticd Medicind, and 
 led to the increased use of sudorifics. A translation of Sanctorius 
 by Dr. John Quincy appeared in 1 7 1 2, the year after the publica- 
 tion of this essay (Morley). There had been an earlier translation 
 in 1676. 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
I30 the SPECTATOR No. 25 
 
 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. 1 compute 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 ordinary meals I fetch myself 
 up to two hundredweight and a half pound,^ and if 
 after having dined I find myself fall short of it, I 
 drink just so much small beer, or eat such a quantity 
 of bread, as is sufficient to make me weight. In my 
 greatest excesses 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 re- 
 duced, I fall to my books, and study away three 
 ounces more. As for the remaining parts of the 
 pound, I keep no account of them. I do not dine 
 and sup by the clock, but by my chair ; for when 
 that informs me my pound of food is exhausted, I 
 conclude myself to be hungry, and lay in another 
 with all diligence. In my days of abstinence I lose 
 a pound and a half, and on solemn fasts am two 
 pound 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 
 1 'And an half (folio). 
 
No. 25 rhe SPECTATOR 131 
 
 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, which I always 
 register in a book, I find the medium to be two 
 hundredweight, 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 con- 
 dition. My complexion is grown very sallow, my 
 pulse low, and my body hydropical. Let me there- 
 fore 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 
 
 Your 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 applied to those mul- 
 titudes 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 
 
 ^ The usual translation is, ' I was well, but wishing to be better, 
 I am here.' 
 
132 r/^e SPECTATOR No. 25 
 
 preservation 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 continual anxiety 
 for life vitiates all the relishes of it, and casts a 
 gloom over the whole face of nature ; as it is im- 
 possible we should delight in anything that we are 
 every moment afraid of losing. 
 
 I do not mean, by what I have here said, that I 
 think any one to blame for taking due care of their 
 health. On the contrary, as cheerfulness of mind 
 and capacity for business are in a great measure the 
 effects 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 engage us in groundless 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 direc- 
 tion 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, I shall 
 tell him a short fable. Jupiter, says the mytholo- 
 
No. 26 "The SPECTATOR 133 
 
 gist, to reward the piety of a certain countryman, 
 promised to give him whatever he would ask. The 
 countryman desired that he might have the manage- 
 ment of the weather in his own estate. He obtained 
 his request, and immediately distributed 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 
 neighbours, 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. C. 
 
 N°- 26. Friday^ March 30, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Pallida mors cequo pulsat pede pauper um tahernas 
 
 Regumque turres, o heate Sexti. 
 VitcB summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam. 
 
 Jam te premet nox, fahulceque manes, 
 
 Et domus exilis Plutonia 
 
 — HoR., I Od. iv. 13. 
 
 WHEN 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 in 
 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 church- 
 yard, 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 
 
134 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 26 
 
 recorded nothing else of the buried person but that 
 he was born 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 persons ; who had left 
 no other memorial of them, but that they were born 
 and that they died. They put me in mind of several 
 persons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, 
 who hav6 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. 
 
 TXauKO'j T€ MeSoVra re &egsiXo^6v re. — HoM.^ 
 Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque. — Vir.^ 
 
 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 
 shovelful of it that was thrown up, the fragment of 
 a bone or skull intermixed 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 innumer- 
 able multitudes of people lay confused together 
 under the pavement of that ancient cathedral ; how 
 men and women, friends and enemies, priests and 
 soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled 
 amongst one another, and blended together in the 
 same common mass ; how beauty, strength, and youth, 
 with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay undistin- 
 guished in the same promiscuous heap of matter. 
 1 Iliad xvii. 216. 2 ^n. vi. 483. 
 
No. 26 r^^ SPECTATOR 135 
 
 After having thus surveyed this great magazine 
 of mortality, as it were in the lump, I examined it 
 more particularly by the accounts which I found on 
 several of the monuments which are raised in every 
 quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of them 
 were covered with such extravagant epitaphs that, 
 if it were possible for the dead person to be ac- 
 quainted 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 modern 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 politeness of 
 a nation from the turn of their public monuments 
 and inscriptions, 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 
 
 1 « Poets that had no monuments, and monuments that' (folio). 
 
 2 The war of the Spanish succession, which was terminated by 
 the Peace of Utrecht in 1 7 1 3. 
 
136 T:he SPECTATOR No. 26 
 
 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 
 remarkable actions he had performed in the service 
 of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner 
 of his death, in which it was impossible for him to 
 reap any honour. The Dutch, whom we are apt to 
 despise for want of genius, show an infinitely 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 admirals, which have been erected at the public 
 expense, represent them like themselves, and are 
 adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments, 
 with beautiful festoons of seaweed, shells, and coral. 
 But to return to our subject. I have left the 
 repository of our English kings for the contempla- 
 tion of another day, when I shall find my mind 
 disposed for so serious an amusement. 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 always serious, I 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 plea- 
 sure as in her most gay and delightful ones. By 
 this means, I can improve myself with those ob- 
 jects which others consider with terror. When I 
 look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion 
 of envy dies in me ; when I read the epitaphs of 
 
 1 Sir Cloudesly Shovel rose from the position of cabin-boy to 
 that of admiral. 
 
No. 27 TAf SPECTATOR 137 
 
 the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; 
 when I meet with the grief of parents upon a 
 tombstone, 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 competi- 
 tions, 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 all of 
 us be contemporaries, and make our appearance 
 together. C. 
 
 N°" 27. Saturday^ March 31, 1 7 1 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Ut nox longa quihus mentitur arnica, diesque 
 Longa videtur opus dehentihus, tit piger annus 
 Pupillis, quos dura premit custodia matrum ; 
 Sic mifii tarda Jluunt ingrataque tempora, quce spem 
 Consiliumque moraniur agendi gnaviter, id quod 
 JE.que pauperilus prodest, locupletihus ceque, 
 JEque neglectum pueris senibusque nocehit. 
 
 — HoR., I. Ep. i. 20. 
 
 THERE is scarce a thinking man in the world, 
 who is involved in the business of it, but 
 lives under a secret impatience of the hurry 
 and fatigue he suffers, and has formed a resolution 
 to fix himself, one time or other, in such a state as 
 is suitable to the end of his being. You hear men 
 every day in conversation profess that all the honour. 
 
138 T:he SPECTATOR No. 27 
 
 power, and riches which they propose to themselves, 
 cannot give satisfaction enough to reward them for 
 half the anxiety they undergo in the pursuit or pos- 
 session of them. While men are in this temper, 
 which happens very frequently, how inconsistent 
 are they with themselves } They are wearied with 
 the toil they bear, but cannot find in their hearts 
 to relinquish it ; retirement is what they want, but 
 they cannot betake themselves to it : while they pant 
 after shade and covert, they still affect to appear in 
 the most glittering scenes of life : but sure this is 
 but just as reasonable as if a man should call for 
 more lights when he has a mind to go to sleep. 
 
 Since, then, it is certain that our own hearts deceive 
 us in the love of the world, and that we cannot com- 
 mand ourselves enough to resign it, though we every 
 day wish ourselves disengaged from its allurements, 
 let us not stand upon a formal taking of leave, but 
 wean ourselves from them while we are in the midst 
 of them. 
 
 It is certainly the general intention of the greater 
 part of mankind to accomplish this work, and live 
 according to their own approbation as soon as they 
 possibly can. But since the duration of life is so un- 
 certain — and that has been a common topic of dis- 
 course ever since there was such a thing as life 
 itself — how is it possible that we should defer a 
 moment the beginning to live according to the rules 
 of reason .? 
 
 The man of business has ever some one point to 
 carry, and then he tells himself he will bid adieu to 
 all the vanity of ambition. The man of pleasure 
 resolves to take his leave at least, and part civilly 
 with his mistress ; but the ambitious man is en- 
 tangled every moment in a fresh pursuit, and the 
 
No. 27 rhe SPECTATOR 139 
 
 lover sees new charms in the object he fancied he 
 could abandon. It is therefore a fantastical way of 
 thinking, when we promise ourselves an alteration 
 in our conduct from change of place and difference 
 of circumstances ; the same passions will attend us 
 wherever we are, till they are conquered ; and we 
 can never live to our satisfaction in the deepest 
 retirement, unless we are capable of living so in some 
 measure amidst the noise and business of the world. 
 I have ever thought men were better known by 
 what could be observed of them from a perusal of 
 their private letters than any other way. My friend 
 the clergyman, the other day, upon serious discourse 
 with him concerning the danger of procrastination, 
 gave me the following letters from persons with 
 whom he lives in great friendship and intimacy, ac- 
 cording to the good breeding and good sense of his 
 character. The first is from a man of business, who 
 is his convert ; the second from one of whom he 
 conceives good hopes ; the third from one who is in no 
 state at all, but carried one way and another by starts. 
 
 'Sir, 
 ' T KNOW not with what words to express to you 
 the sense I have of the high obligation you have 
 laid upon me, in the penance you enjoined me of 
 doing some good or other, to a person of worth, 
 every day I live. The station I am in furnishes me 
 with daily opportunities of this kind, and the noble 
 principle with which you have inspired me, of bene- 
 volence to all I have to deal with, quickens my 
 application in everything I undertake. When I 
 relieve merit from discountenance, when I assist a 
 friendless person, when I produce concealed worth, 
 I am displeased with myself for having designed to 
 
I40 T:he SPECTATOR No. 27 
 
 leave the world in order to be virtuous. I am sorry 
 you decline the occasions which the condition I am 
 in might afford me of enlarging your fortunes, hut 
 know I contribute more to your satisfaction when I 
 acknowledge I am the better man from the influence 
 and authority you have over, 
 Sir, 
 Your most obliged and 
 
 most humble Servant, R. O.' 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' T AM entirely convinced of the truth of what you 
 were pleased to say to me when I was last with 
 you alone. You told me then of the silly way I was 
 in, but you told me so as I saw you loved me, other- 
 wise I could not obey your commands in letting you 
 know my thoughts so sincerely as I do at present. 
 I know the creature for whom I resign so much of 
 my character is all that you said of her, but then the 
 trifler has something in her so undesigning and harm- 
 less, that her guilt in one kind disappears by the 
 comparison of her innocence in another. Will you, 
 virtuous men, allow no alteration of offences .'' Must 
 dear Chloe be called by the hard name you pious 
 people give to common women } I keep the solemn 
 promise I made you in writing to you the state of 
 my mind after your kind admonition, and will endea- 
 vour to get the better of this fondness, which makes 
 me so much her humble servant, that I am almost 
 ashamed to subscribe myself yours, T. D.' 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' npHERE is no state of life so anxious as that of 
 
 a man who does not live according to the 
 
 dictates of his own reason. It will seem odd to you. 
 
No. 28 rhe SPECTATOR 141 
 
 when I assure you that my love of retirement first 
 of all brought me to court, but this will be no 
 riddle when I acquaint you that I placed myself 
 here with a design of getting so much money as 
 might enable me to purchase a handsome retreat in 
 the country. At present my circumstances enable 
 me, and my duty prompts me, to pass away the 
 remaining part of my life in such a retirement as I 
 at first proposed to myself, but to my great mis- 
 fortune I have entirely lost the relish of it, and 
 should now return to the country with greater re- 
 luctance than I at first came to court. I am so 
 unhappy as to know that what I am fond of are 
 trifles, and that what I neglect is of the greatest 
 importance. In short, I find a contest in my own 
 mind between reason and fashion. I remember you 
 once told me that I might live in the world and 
 out of it at the same time. Let me beg of you 
 to explain this paradox more at large to me, that 
 I may conform my life, if possible, both to my 
 duty and my inclination. 
 
 I am, 
 R. Your most humble Servant, R. B.' 
 
 N°- 28. Monday, April 2, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Neque semper arcum 
 
 Tendit Apollo. — Hor., a Od. x. 19. 
 
 I SHALL here present my reader with a letter 
 from a projector concerning a new office which 
 he thinks may very much contribute to the em- 
 bellishment of the city, and to the driving barbarity 
 out of our streets. I consider it as a satire upon 
 
142 "the SPECTATOR No. 28 
 
 projectors in general, and a lively picture of the 
 whole art of modern criticism.^ 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' QBSERVING that you have thoughts of creating 
 certain officers under you for the inspection of 
 several petty enormities v/hich you yourself cannot 
 attend to, and finding daily absurdities hung out 
 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 
 propose that you would be pleased to make me your 
 superintendent 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 endeavour- 
 ing to become visible. Our streets are filled with 
 blue boars, black swans, and red lions, not to men- 
 tion flying pigs, and hogs in armour, with many 
 other creatures more extraordinary than any in the 
 deserts of Africa. Strange ! that one who has all 
 the birds and beasts -in Nature to choose out of 
 should live at the sign of an ens 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 Bell and the Neat's-Tongue, 
 the Dog and Gridiron. The Fox and Goose may 
 
 1 'Streets. It is as follows ' (folio). 
 
 2 With few exceptions, houses were still distinguished, at the 
 time of the Spectator, by signs instead of numbers. 
 
No. 28 The SPECTATOR 143 
 
 be supposed to have met, but what has the Fox and 
 the Seven Stars to do together ? And when did the 
 Lamb ^ and Dolphin ever meet except upon a sign- 
 post ? As for the Cat and Fiddle,^ there is a conceit 
 in it, and therefore I do not intend that anything I 
 have here said should affect it. I must, however, 
 observe to you upon this subject, that it is usual for 
 a young tradesman, at his first setting up, to add to 
 his own sign that of the master whom he served ; as 
 the husband, after marriage, gives a place to his mis- 
 tress'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 
 sfee so frequently joined together. I would there- 
 fore 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 incon- 
 sistent 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 ; 
 
 1 'Sheep' (folio). 
 2 See No. 9, note on the Kit-Cat Club. 
 
144 r-^^ SPECTATOR No. 28 
 
 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 ingeni- 
 ous sign-post, I would likewise advise the owner to 
 take that opportunity of letting the world know 
 who he is. It would have 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. Bell 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 bell has given occasion to several pieces 
 of wit in this kind. A man of your reading must 
 know that Abel Drugger gained great applause by 
 it in the time of Ben Jonson.^ 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 savage 
 man standing by a bell, I was formerly very much 
 
 1 Mrs. Salmon kept a waxwork exhibition at the Golden 
 Salmon, near Temple Bar. 
 
 ^ The Alchemist, in Ben Jonson's play, was paid by Abel 
 Drugger, the tobacco man, for a device for a lucky sign. Subtle 
 says (Act ii. ) : — 
 
 ' He shall have a bell, that's Abel ; 
 And by it standing one whose name is Dee 
 In a rug gown, there's D and rug, that's Drug : 
 And right anenst him a dog snarlingfr, 
 There's Drugger, Abel Drugger. That's his sign.' 
 
 3 Bel, in the apocryphal ' History of the Destruction of Bel and 
 the Dragon.' 
 
No. 28 The SPECTATOR 145 
 
 puzzled upon the conceit of it, till I accidentally fell 
 into the reading of an old romance translated out 
 of the French, which 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 countryman the Bell- 
 Savage.'' This piece of philology will, I hope, con- 
 vince you that I have made sign-posts my study, 
 and consequently qualified myself for the employ- 
 ment which I solicit at your hands. But before I 
 conclude my letter, I must communicate to you 
 another remark which I have made upon the subject 
 with which I am now entertaining you, namely, that 
 1 can give a shrewd guess at the humour of the in- 
 habitant 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 gar- 
 nished 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 agrdments 
 upon his sign, that he was a Frenchman. 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.' 
 
 ' Many derivations of ' Bell Savage,' the name of an inn on 
 Ludgate Hill, have been suggested. Pennant accepted Addison's 
 story. Douce said the sign was really that of the Queen of Sheba, 
 while Burn says that the inn was originally the Bell, but by the 
 middle of the fifteenth century was known as Savage's Inn, and as 
 early as 1576 the two names became united (' London Traders' and 
 Tavern Signs,' p. 175). The old inn gave place in 1873 ^^ ^^ 
 printing offices of Messrs. Cassell & Co. 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
146 The SPECTATOR No. 28 
 
 I shall add to the foregoing letter, another which 
 came to me by the same penny post. 
 
 ' From my own Apartment, 
 'Honoured Sir, "^^'^ Charing Cross. 
 
 ' JJAVING heard that this nation is a great en- 
 courager 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 will send for a brother 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 
 entertainment in a readiness for the next winter, and 
 doubt not but it will please more than the opera or 
 puppet show. I will not say that a monkey is a 
 better man than some of the opera heroes, but cer- 
 tainly 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.' 
 C. 
 
 1 Rope - dancing was one of the favourite entertainments at 
 Bartholomew Fair and elsewhere in Queen Anne's reign. 
 
No. 29 t:^^ SPECTATOR 147 
 
 N°" 29. Tuesday^ April 3, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Sermo lingud concinnus utrdque 
 
 Suavior : ut Chio nota si commista Falerni est. 
 
 — HoR., I Sat. X. 33. 
 
 THERE is nothing that has more startled our 
 English audience than the Italian recitativo 
 at its first entrance upon the stage. People 
 were wonderfully surprised to hear gpnerals singing 
 the word of command, and ladies delivering messages 
 in music. Our countrymen could not forbear laugh- 
 ing when they heard a lover chanting out a billet- 
 dotix, 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 instru- 
 ments. 
 
 But however this Italian method of acting in reci- 
 tativo 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 recitative music being 
 more natural than the passing from a song to 
 plain and ordinary speaking, which was the common 
 method in Purcell's operas.'^ 
 
 1 Henry Purcell (1658-1695), whom Mr. Fuller Maitland 
 rightly calls ' the greatest composer England has produced,' wrote 
 many operas, besides church music. When he was twenty-two 
 he produced ' Dido and .ffineas,' which is entirely without spoken 
 dialogue. In Dryden's ' King Arthur' (1691), for which Purcell 
 composed the music, the singing characters occupy a subordinate 
 
148 T/^e SPECTATOR No. 29 
 
 The only fault I find in our present practice is 
 the making use of Italian recitative with English 
 words. 
 
 To go to the bottom of this matter, I must ob- 
 serve that the tone or, as the French call it, the 
 accent of every nation in their ordinary speech is 
 altogether different 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 I 
 do not mean the pronunciation of each particular 
 word, but the sound of the whole sentence. Thus 
 it is very common for an English gentleman, when 
 he hears a French 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. 
 
 For 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 very well that the cadences in the reci- 
 tativo 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 
 the Italian music, if one may so call them, which 
 resemble their accents in discourse on such occasions, 
 are not unlike the ordinary tones of an English voice 
 when we are angry ; insomuch that I have often seen 
 
 position : ' Experience hath taught us,' said the Gentleman's Maga- 
 zine for Jan. 1691-92, 'that our English genius will not relish that 
 perpetual singing.' 
 
No. 29 T/^? SPECTATOR 149 
 
 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. 
 
 For this reason the Italian artists cannot agree 
 with our English musicians in admiring Purcell's 
 compositions, and thinking his tunes so wonder- 
 fully 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 Eng- 
 lish composer should not follow the Italian recitative 
 too servilely, but make use of many gentle deviations 
 from it in compliance with his own native language. 
 He may copy out of it all the lulling softness and 
 ' dying falls,' as Shakespeare calls them,^ but should 
 still remember that he ought to accommodate himself 
 to an English audience, and by humouring the tone 
 of our voices in ordinary conversation, have the 
 same regard to the accent of his own language as 
 those persons had to theirs whom he professes to 
 imitate. It is observed, that several of the singing- 
 birds of our own country learn to sweeten their 
 voices, and mellow the harshness of their natural 
 notes, by practising under those that come from 
 warmer climates. In the same manner I would 
 allow the Italian opera to lend our English music 
 as much as may grace and soften it, but never 
 entirely to annihilate and destroy it. Let the in- 
 fusion be as strong as you please, but still let the 
 subject matter of it be English. 
 
 A composer should fit his music to the genius of 
 the people, and consider that the delicacy of hearing 
 
 1 'Twelfth Night,' Act i. sc. i. 
 
I50 r/^^ SPECTATOR No. 29 
 
 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 har- 
 mony to one ear may be dissonance to another. 
 
 The same observations which I have made upon 
 the recitative 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 particular. He found the French music 
 extremely defective, and very often barbarous : how- 
 ever, 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 civilise it with innumerable graces 
 and modulations 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 properly 
 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 consort with the stage. This inclina- 
 tion 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 
 
 1 The Florentine musician, John Baptist LuUi (died 1687), was 
 superintendent of music to Lewis XIV., and composed, among 
 other things, the incidental music for Moli^re's comedies. 
 
No. 29 77/f SPECTATOR 151 
 
 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 milkmaids. The shepherds 
 are all embroidered, and acquit themselves in a ball 
 better than our English dancing-masters. I have 
 seen a couple of rivers appear in red stockings ; and 
 Alpheus, instead of having his head covered with 
 sedge and bulrushes, making 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 Rape of Proserpine,' where Pluto, to 
 make the more tempting figure, puts himself in a 
 French equipage, and brings Ascalaphus along with 
 him as his valet-de-chambre. This is what we call 
 folly 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 oratory, 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 capable 
 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. C. 
 
152 T:^^ SPECTATOR No. 30 
 
 N°- 30. Wednesday^ April \^ 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Si, Mimnermus uti censet, sine amore jocisque 
 Nil est jucundmn ; vivas in amore jocisque. 
 
 — HoR.j I Ep. vi. 6^. 
 
 ONE common calamity makes men extremely 
 afFect each other, though they diiFer in every 
 other particular. The passion of love is the 
 most general concern among men ; and I am glad to 
 hear by my last advices from Oxford, that there are 
 a set of sighers in that university, who have erected 
 themselves into a society in honour of that tender 
 passion. These gentlemen are of that sort of ina- 
 moratos, who are not so very much lost to common 
 sense, but that they understand the folly they are 
 guilty of; and for that reason separate themselves 
 from all other company, because they will enjoy 
 the pleasure of talking incoherently, without being 
 ridiculous to any but each other. When a man 
 comes into the club, he is not obliged to make any 
 introduction to his discourse, but at once, as he is 
 seating himself in his chair, speaks in the thread of 
 his own thoughts, ' She gave me a very obliging 
 glance,' ' She never looked so well in her life as this 
 evening,' or the like reflection, without regard to 
 any other member of the society ; for in this assembly 
 they do not meet to talk to each other, but every 
 man claims the full liberty of talking to himself. 
 Instead of snuff-boxes and canes, which are usual 
 helps to discourse with other young fellows, these 
 have each some piece of ribbon, a broken fan, or an 
 old girdle, which they play with while they talk of 
 
No. 30 T/^^ SPECTATOR 153 
 
 the fair person remembered by each respective token. 
 According to the representation of the matter from 
 my letters, the company appear like so many players 
 rehearsing behind the scenes ; one is sighing and 
 lamenting his destiny in beseeching terms, another 
 declaring he will break his chain, and another in 
 dumb show striving to express his passion by his 
 gesture. It is very ordinary in the assembly for one 
 of a sudden to rise and make a discourse concerning 
 his passion in general, and describe the temper of 
 his mind in such a manner as that the whole company 
 shall join in the description and feel the force of it. . 
 In this case, if any man has declared the violence of 
 his flame in more pathetic terms, he is made president 
 for that night, out of respect to his superior passion. 
 We had some years ago in this town a set of 
 people who met and dressed like lovers, and were 
 distinguished by the name of the Fringe-Glove^ 
 Club ; but they were persons of such moderate in- 
 tellects, even before they were impaired by their 
 passion, that their irregularities could not furnish 
 sufficient variety of folly to afford daily new imper- 
 tinences, by which means that institution dropped. 
 These fellows could express their passion in nothing 
 but their dress, but the Oxonians are fantastical 
 now they are lovers, in proportion to their learning 
 and understanding before they became such. The 
 thoughts of the ancient poets on this agreeable 
 frenzy are translated in honour of some modern 
 beauty, and Chloris is won to-day by the same com- 
 pliment that was made to Lesbia a thousand years 
 
 1 ' It is impossible to describe all the execution that was done by 
 the shoulder-knot while that fashion prevailed, or to reckon up all 
 the virgins that have fallen a sacrifice to a pair of fringed gloves ' 
 [Tatler, No. 151). 
 
154 r,^^ SPECTATOR No. 30 
 
 ago. But as far as I can learn, the patron of the 
 club is the renowned Don Quixote. The adventures 
 of that gentle knight are frequently mentioned in 
 the society under the colour of laughing at the pas- 
 sion and themselves ; but at the same time, though 
 they are sensible of the extravagances of that un- 
 happy warrior, they do not observe that to turn all 
 the reading of the best and wisest writings into 
 rhapsodies of love, is a frenzy no less diverting 
 than that of the aforesaid accomplished Spaniard. 
 A gentleman who, I hope, will continue his corre- 
 spondence is lately admitted into the fraternity, and 
 sent me the following letter : — 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' QINCE I find you take notice of clubs, I beg leave 
 to give you an account of one in Oxford which 
 you have nowhere mentioned, and perhaps never 
 heard of. We distinguish ourselves by the title of 
 the Amorous Club, are all votaries of Cupid, and 
 admirers of the fair sex. The reason that we are 
 so little known in the world is the secrecy which we 
 are obliged to live under in the university. Our 
 constitution runs counter to that of the place where- 
 in we live, for in love there are no doctors, and we 
 all profess so high passion that we admit of no gra- 
 duates in it. Our presidentship is bestowed according 
 to the dignity of passion ; our number is unlimited ; 
 and our statutes are like those of the Druids, re- 
 corded in our own breasts only, and explained by 
 the majority of the company. A mistress, and a 
 poem in her praise, will introduce any candidate. 
 Without the latter no one can be admitted, for he 
 that is not in love enough to rhyme is unqualified 
 for our society. To speak disrespectfully of any 
 
No. 30 T/^^ SPECTATOR 155 
 
 woman is expulsion from our gentle society. As 
 we are at present all of us gownmen, instead of 
 duelling when we are rivals, we drink together the 
 health of our mistress. The manner of doing this 
 sometimes indeed creates debates. On such occa- 
 sions we have recourse to the rules of love among 
 the ancients : — 
 
 Nasvia sex cyathis, septem Justina bibatur.i 
 
 This method of a glass to every letter of her name 
 occasioned the other night a dispute of some warmth. 
 A young student, who is in love with Mrs. Elizabeth 
 Dimple, was so unreasonable as to begin her health 
 under the name of Elizabetha, which so exasperated 
 the club that by common consent we retrenched it 
 to Betty. We look upon a man as no company that 
 does not sigh five times in a quarter of an hour, 
 and look upon a member as very absurd that is so 
 much himself as to make a direct answer to a ques- 
 tion. In fine, the whole assembly is made up of 
 absent men, that is, of such persons as have lost 
 their locality, and whose minds and bodies never 
 keep company with one another. As I am an un- 
 fortunate member of this distracted society, you 
 cannot expect a very regular account of it, for 
 which reason I hope you will pardon me that I so 
 abruptly subscribe myself. 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most obedient 
 
 humble Servant, 
 
 T. B. 
 
 ' I forgot to tell you that Albina, who has six 
 votaries in this club, is one of your readers.' R. 
 
 1 Martial, Epig. i. 72. 
 
156 r/^f SPECTATOR No. 31 
 
 N°- 31. Thursday^ April 5, 17 11 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Sit mihifas audita loqui. — Virg., J&n. vi. 266. 
 
 LAST night, upon my going into a coiFee- 
 house not far from the Haymarket Theatre, 
 I diverted myself for above half-an-hour with 
 overhearing the discourse of one who, by the shabbi- 
 ness of his dress, the extravagance of his conceptions, 
 and the hurry of his speech, I discovered to be of 
 that species who are generally distinguished by the 
 title of projectors. 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 exhibited in different quarters of the town. 
 The dancing monkeys are in one place, the puppet- 
 show in another, the 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 all 
 the remarkable shows about town among the scenes 
 and decorations of his piece. The thought, he con- 
 
No. 31 The SPECTATOR 157 
 
 fessed, was not originally 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,i in another a ladder-dance,^ and in 
 others a posture-man,^ a moving picture, with many 
 curiosities of the like nature. 
 
 This expedition of Alexander opens with his con- 
 sulting 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 Clinch of Barnet * 
 is represented in another corner of the temple as 
 ringing the bells of Delphos for joy of his arrival. 
 The tent of Darius is to be peopled by the ingenious 
 Mrs. Salmon,® where Alexander is to fall in love with 
 a piece of waxwork that represents the beautiful 
 Statira. When Alexander comes into that country, 
 in which Quintus Curtius tells us the dogs were so 
 exceeding 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 
 
 1 A show carried in a box. ' Of raree-shows he sung, and 
 Punch's feats' (Gay's 'Shepherd's Week,' Saturday). 
 
 2 An order of the Lord Chamberlain to the managers of the 
 theatres, dated Dec. 24, 1709, forbade representations on the stage 
 not necessary to the due performance of the play, ' such as ladder- 
 dancing, antic postures, &c.,' without leave being first had (Steele's 
 Plays, ed. Aitken, 1894, p. 9). In the Tatler, No. 12, Steele 
 complains that Rich had introduced, for the sake of profit, ' ladder- 
 dancers, jugglers, and mountebanks, to strut in the place of 
 Shakespeare's heroes and Jonson's humorists.' See, too, Tatler, 
 No. 99. 
 
 s There were many posture-men, or acrobats, in Addison's day. 
 Some of their advertisements are given in Ashton's ' Social Life 
 in the Reign of Queen Anne,' i. 280, 281. 
 
 * See No, 24. ' See No. 28. 
 
158 r/^^ SPECTATOR No. 31 
 
 be a scene of Hockley-in-the-Hole,^ in which is to 
 be represented all 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 Alex- 
 ander must be supposed to pass through, will give 
 the audience a sight of monkeys dancing upon ropes, 
 with the many other pleasantries of that ludicrous 
 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, Pinkethman ^ is to 
 personate King Porus upon an elephant, and is to be 
 encountered by Powell,^ representing Alexander the 
 Great, upon a dromedary, which nevertheless Mr. 
 Powell 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 
 
 1 At Hockley-in-the-Hole, near Clerkenwell Green, there was 
 a popular bear-garden, where dog-fights and other sports were to 
 be seen, including, as Steele describes in No. 436, exhibitions of 
 the noble science of defence. An advertisement of 1 7 10 announced 
 that on a certain Monday there would be a fight between two dogs 
 and a bull ; ' likewise a green bull to be baited, which was never 
 baited before, and a bull to be turned loose with fireworks all over 
 him ; also a mad ass to be baited ; with variety of bull-baiting and 
 bear-baiting ; and a dog to be drawn up with fireworks.' 
 
 2 William Pinkethman or Penkethman, called ' honest Pinkey ' 
 by Colley Gibber, was a comedian and proprietor of a booth 
 at Bartholomew Fair. He created parts in some of Steele's 
 comedies, and is praised in both Toiler and Spectator (see No. 370). 
 Pinkethman indulged in ' gag,' and was a favourite of the gallery. 
 
 ^ George Powell, who died in 17 14, was an excellent tragedian, 
 whose life was ruined by drink. In April 1713 he acted as Por- 
 tius in Addison's ' Cato,' but soon afterwards his name disappeared 
 from the bills. See Addison's remarks on Powell in No. 40, 
 especially the ' Advertisement ' ; and the Tatler, No. 3. 
 
No. 31 T:^? SPECTATOR 159 
 
 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 tlie 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 inhabited by 
 the pigmies. But this objection was looked upon as 
 frivolous, and the proposal immediately over-ruled. 
 Our projector further 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 
 told 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 
 
 1 Martin Powell. See No. 14. 
 
 2 A worker in glass. See Tatler (1786), vi. 298. 
 
 3 ' Mr. Pinkethman's wonderful invention called the Pantheon ; 
 or, the Temple of the Heathen Gods. The work of several years 
 and great expense is now perfected, being a most surprising and 
 magnificent machine, consisting of five several curious Pictures, the 
 painting and contrivance whereof is beyond expression admirable. 
 The figures, which are above 100, and move their heads, legs, 
 arms, and fingers so exactly to what they perform, and setting one 
 foot before another, like living creatures, that it justly deserves to be 
 esteemed the greatest Wonder of the Age. To be seen from 10 in 
 the Morning till 10 at Night in the Little Piazza, Covent Garden, 
 in the same house where Punch's Opera is. Price is. 6d., is., 
 and the lowest, 6d.' (^Spectator, No. 46, advertisement). 
 
i6o r/^^ SPECTATOR No. 31 
 
 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 audience, because there 
 are fewer of them who understand Greek than 
 Italian. The only difficulty that remained was 
 how to get performers, unless we could persuade 
 some gentlemen of the universities to learn to 
 sing, in order to qualify themselves 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 Turkish fleet ; besides, 
 says he, if we want any single voice for any lower 
 part in the opera, Lawrence ^ 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 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 be more attentive than ordinary, I 
 cannot tell, but he had not stood by me above a 
 quarter of a minute, but he turned short upon me 
 on a sudden, 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 extra- 
 ordinary genius for music that lives in Switzerland,^ 
 
 1 ' Wonderfully acceptable ' (folio). 
 
 2 An English tenor singer, who appeared in under parts in Italian 
 operas until 17 17 (Burney's 'History of Music,' iv. 212). 
 
 3 Heidegger. See No. 14. 
 
No. 32 T-^e SPECTATOR i6i 
 
 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 under- 
 take to fetch him over, and oblige him by articles 
 to set everything that should be sung upon the 
 English stage.' After this he looked full in my 
 face, expecting I would make an answer, when, by 
 good luck, a gentleman that had entered the coffee- 
 house since the projector applied himself to me, 
 hearing him talk of his Swiss compositions, cried 
 out with a kind of laugh, ' Is our music then to 
 receive further improvements from Switzerland ? ' 
 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 in favour of me, and laying down my 
 penny upon the bar, retired with some precipi- 
 tation. C. 
 
 N°' 32. Friday, April (i, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Nil illi larva aut iragicis opus esse cothurnis. 
 
 — HoR., I Sat. V. 64. 
 
 THE late discourse^ concerning the statutes of 
 the Ugly Club having been so well received at 
 Oxford that, contrary to the strict rules of the 
 society, they have been so partial as to take my own 
 testimonial, and admit me into that select body, I 
 could not restrain the vanity of publishing to the 
 world the honour which is done me. It is no small 
 satisfaction that I have given occasion for the presi- 
 1 No. 17. 
 VOL. I. L 
 
i62 r.^f SPECTATOR No. 32 
 
 dent's showing both his invention and reading to 
 such advantage as my correspondent reports he did ; 
 but it is not to be doubted there were many very 
 proper hums and pauses in his harangue, which lose 
 their ugliness in the narration, and which my corres- 
 pondent, begging his pardon, has no very good talent 
 at representing. I very much approve of the con- 
 tempt the society has of beauty ; nothing ought to 
 be laudable in a man in which his will is not con- 
 cerned ; therefore our society can follow nature, and 
 where she has thought fit, as it were, to mock her- 
 self, we can do so too, and be merry upon the 
 occasion. 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, 
 
 'YOUR making public the late trouble I gave 
 you, you will find to have been the occasion 
 of this : who should I meet at the coffee-house door 
 t'other night but my old friend Mr. President ! I 
 saw somewhat had pleased him ; and as soon as he 
 had cast his eye upon me, " Oho, doctor, rare news 
 from London," says he ; " the Spectator has made 
 honourable mention of the club, man, and published 
 to the world his sincere desire to be a member, with 
 a recommendatory description of his phiz. And 
 though our constitution has made no particular 
 provision for short faces, yet, his being an extra- 
 ordinary case, I believe we shall find an hole for him 
 to creep in at, for I assure you he is not against the 
 canon ; and if his sides are as compact as his joles, 
 he need not disguise himself to make one of us." I 
 presently called for the paper to see how you looked 
 in print, and after we had regaled ourselves awhile 
 upon the pleasant image of our proselyte, Mr. Pre- 
 sident told me I should be his stranger at\ the next 
 
No. 32 The SPECTATOR 163 
 
 night's club ; where we were no sooner come, and 
 pipes brought, but Mr. President began an harangue 
 upon your introduction to my epistle, setting forth 
 with no less volubility of speech than strength of 
 reason, " That a speculation of this nature was 
 what had been long and much wanted ; and that he 
 doubted not but it would be of inestimable value 
 to the public, in reconciling even of bodies and 
 souls ; in composing and quieting the minds of men 
 under all corporal redundancies, deficiencies, and 
 irregularities whatsoever ; and making every one sit 
 down content in his own carcass, though it were not 
 perhaps so mathematically put together as he could 
 wish." And again : " How that for want of a due 
 consideration of what you first advance, viz. that 
 our faces are not of our own choosing, people had 
 been transported beyond all good breeding, and 
 hurried themselves into unaccountable and fatal 
 extravagances : as, how many impartial looking- 
 glasses had been censured and calumniated — nay, 
 and sometimes shivered into ten thousand splinters, 
 only for a fair representation of the truth } How 
 many headstrings and garters had been made acces- 
 sory, and actually forfeited, only because folks must 
 needs quarrel with their own shadows } And who," 
 continues he, " but is deeply sensible that one great 
 source of the uneasiness and misery of human life, 
 especially amongst those of distinction, arises from 
 nothing in the world else but too severe a contem- 
 plation of an indefeasible contexture of our external 
 parts, or certain natural and invincible dispositions 
 to be fat or lean, when a little more of Mr. 
 Spectator's philosophy would take off all this ; and 
 in the meantime let them observe that there is not 
 one of their grievances of this sort but perhaps in 
 
i64 r^^d- SPECTATOR No. 32 
 
 some ages of the world has been highly in vogue, 
 and may be so again — nay, in some country or other, 
 ten to one, is so at this day. My Lady Ample is 
 the most miserable woman in the world, purely of 
 her own making. She even grudges herself meat 
 and drink for fear she should thrive by them ; and 
 is constantly crying out, " In a quarter of a year 
 more I shall be quite out of all manner of shape ! " 
 Now the lady's misfortune seems to be only this, 
 that she is planted in a wrong soil, for go but 
 t'other side of the water, it's a jest at Haarlem to 
 talk of a shape under eighteen stone. These wise 
 traders regulate their beauties as they do their 
 butter, by the pound ; and Miss Cross, when she 
 first arrived in the Low Countries, was not com- 
 puted to be so handsome as Madam van Brisket 
 by nearly half a ton. On the other hand, there's 
 Squire Lath, a proper gentleman of fifteen hundred 
 pound per annum, as well as of an unblamable life 
 and conversation ; yet would not I be the esquire 
 for half his estate, for if it was as much more, he'd 
 freely part with it all for a pair of legs to his mind ; 
 whereas in the reign of our first King Edward of 
 glorious memory, nothing more modish than a brace 
 of your fine taper supporters ; and his majesty, 
 without an inch of calf, managed affairs in peace 
 and war as laudably as the bravest and most politic 
 of his ancestors, and was as terrible to his neigh- 
 bours under the royal name of Longshanks as Cceur 
 de Lion to the Saracens before him. If we look 
 further back into history, we shall find that Alex- 
 ander the Great wore his head a little over the left 
 shoulder, and then not a soul stirred out till he had 
 adjusted his neck-bone ; the whole nobility addressed 
 the prince and each other obliquely, and all matters 
 
No. 32 r^? SPECTATOR 165 
 
 of importance were concerted and carried on in the 
 Macedonian court with their polls on one side. 
 For about the first century nothing made more 
 noise in the world than Roman noses, and then not 
 a word of them till they revived again in eighty-« 
 eight.^ Nor is it so very long since Richard the 
 Third set up half the backs of the nation ; and high 
 shoulders, as well as high noses, were the top of 
 the fashion. But to come to ourselves, gentlemen, 
 though I find by my quinquennial observations that 
 we shall never get ladies enough to make a party in 
 our own country, yet might we meet with better 
 success among some of our allies. And what think 
 you if our board sat for a Dutch piece ? Truly I 
 am of opinion that as odd as we appear in flesh and 
 blood, we should be no such strange things in mezzo- 
 tint. But this project may rest till our number 
 is complete ; and this being our election night, give 
 me leave to propose Mr. Spectator ; you see his in- 
 clinations, gnd perhaps we may not have his fellow." 
 ' I found most of them, as it is usual in all such 
 cases, were prepared, but one of the seniors (whom, 
 by-the-bye, Mr. President had taken all this pains 
 to bring over), sat still, and cocking his chin, which 
 seemed only to be levelled at his nose, very gravely 
 declared : " That in case he had had sufficient know- 
 ledge of you, no man should have been more willing 
 to have served you, but that he, for his part, had 
 always had regard to his own conscience as well as 
 other people's merit, and he did not know but that 
 you might be a handsome fellow; for as for your 
 own certificate, it was everybody's business to speak 
 for themselves." Mr. President immediately retorted, 
 " A handsome fellow ! why he is a wit, sir, and you 
 
 1 The coming of William III. 
 
i66 t:^? SPECTATOR No. 32 
 
 know the proverb ; " and to ease the old gentleman 
 of his scruples, cried, "That for matter of merit it 
 was all one, you might wear a mask." This threw 
 him into a pause, and he looked desirous of three 
 days to consider on it ; but Mr. President improved 
 the thought, and followed him up with an old story, 
 " That wits were privileged to wear what masks 
 they pleased in all ages, and that a vizard had been 
 the constant crown of their labours, which was 
 generally presented them by the hand of some satyr, 
 and sometimes of Apollo himself." For the truth 
 of which he appealed to the frontispiece of several 
 books, and particularly to the English Juvenal,^ to 
 which he referred him, and only added, " That such 
 authors were the larvati^ or larva donati of the 
 ancients." This cleared up all, and in the conclu- 
 sion you were chose probationer, and Mr. President 
 put round your health as such, protesting, " That 
 though indeed he talked of a vizard, he did not 
 believe all the while you had any more occasion for 
 it than the cat-a-mountain." So that all you have 
 to do now is to pay your fees, which here are very 
 reasonable if you are not imposed upon, and you 
 may style yourself Informis societatis socius, which 
 I am desired to acquaint you with, and upon the 
 same I beg you to accept of the congratulation of. 
 
 Sir, 
 Your obliged humble Servant, 
 
 A C ' 
 
 Oxford, March 21. 
 
 R. 
 
 1 The frontispiece to the third edition of Dryden's translation o^ 
 -Juvenal and Persius' (1702) represents Juvenal receiving a mask 
 of a satyr from Apollo. 
 
 2 Bewitched persons. ' Larva ' is a ghost, with the secondary 
 meaning of a mask. 
 
No. 33 r-^^ SPECTATOR 167 
 
 N°' 33. Saturday^ April 7, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Fervidus tecum puer, et solutis 
 GraticB zonis, properentque nymphcs, 
 Et parum comissme te juventas, 
 Merairiusque. 
 
 — HOR. (ad Venerem), i Od. xxx. 5. 
 
 A FRIEND of mine has two daughters, whom 
 I will call Lastitia and Daphne. The former 
 is one of the greatest beauties of the age 
 in which she lives, the latter no way remarkable 
 for any charms in her person. Upon this one 
 circumstance of their Outward form the good and ill 
 of their life seems to turn. Lastitia has not from 
 her very childhood heard anything else but com- 
 mendations of her features and complexion ; by 
 which means she is no other than nature made her, 
 a very beautiful outside. The consciousness of her 
 charms has rendered her insupportably vain and in- 
 solent towards all who have to do with her. Daphne, 
 who was almost twenty before one civil thing had 
 ever been said to her, found herself obliged to 
 acquire some accomplishments to make up for the 
 want of those attractions which she saw in her sister. 
 Poor Daphne was seldom submitted to in a debate 
 wherein she was concerned ; her discourse had no- 
 thing to recommend it but the good sense of it, and 
 she was always under a necessity to have very well 
 considered what she was to say before she uttered 
 it, while Laetitia was listened to with partiality, and 
 approbation sat in the countenances of those she 
 conversed with before she communicated what she 
 had to say. These causes have produced suitable 
 
i68 r^f SPECTATOR No. 33 
 
 efFects, and Laetitia is as insipid a companion as 
 Daphne is an agreeable one. Laetitia, confident of 
 favour, has studied no arts to please ; Daphne, de- 
 spairing of any inclination towards her person, has 
 depended only on her merit. Laetitia has always 
 something in her air that is sullen, grave, and dis- 
 consolate. Daphne has a countenance that appears 
 cheerful, open, and unconcerned. A young gentle- 
 man saw Laetitia this winter at a play, and became 
 her captive. His fortune was such that he wanted 
 very little introduction to speak his sentiments to 
 her father. The lover was admitted with the utmost 
 freedom into the family, where a constrained be- 
 haviour, severe looks, and distant civilities were the 
 highest favours he could obtain of Laetitia ; while 
 Daphne used him with the good humour, familiarity, 
 and innocence of a sister : insomuch that he would 
 often say to her, ' Dear Daphne, wert thou but as 
 handsome as Lastitia ! ' She received such language 
 with that ingenuous and pleasing mirth which is 
 natural to a woman without design. He still sighed 
 in vain for Lastitia, but found certain relief in 
 the agreeable conversation of Daphne. At length, 
 heartily tired with the haughty impertinence of 
 Lastitia and charmed with repeated instances of 
 good humour he had observed in Daphne, he one 
 day told the latter that he had something to say to 
 her he hoped she would be pleased with. ' Faith, 
 Daphne,' continued he, 'I am in love with thee, 
 and despise thy sister sincerely.' The manner of 
 his declaring himself gave his mistress occasion for 
 a very hearty laughter. ' Nay,' says he, 'I knew 
 you would laugh at me ; but I'll ask your father.' 
 He did so ; the father received his intelligence with 
 no less joy than surprise, and was very glad he had 
 
No. 33 T/^^ SPECTATOR 169 
 
 now no care left but for his beauty, which he 
 thought he could carry to market at his leisure. I 
 do not know anything that has pleased me so much 
 a great while as this conquest of my friend Daphne's. 
 All her acquaintance congratulate her upon her 
 chance-medley, and laugh at that premeditating 
 murderer her sister. As it is an argument of a light 
 mind to think the worse of ourselves for the imper- 
 fections of our persons, it is equally below us to 
 value ourselves upon the advantages of them. The 
 female world seem to be almost incorrigibly gone 
 astray in this particular, for which reason I shall 
 recommend the following extract out of a friend's 
 letter^ to the professed beauties, who are a people 
 almost as insufferable as the professed wits : — 
 
 'jy/[ONSIEUR St. Evremont^ has concluded one 
 of his essays with affirming that the last 
 sighs of a handsome woman are not so much for 
 the loss of her life, as of her beauty. Perhaps this 
 raillery is pursued too far, yet it is turned upon a 
 very obvious remark, that woman's strongest passion 
 is for her own beauty, and that she values it as her 
 favourite distinction. From hence it is that all arts 
 which pretend to improve or preserve it meet with 
 so general a reception among the sex. To say 
 
 1 The writer of this letter is said to be John Hughes. See 
 No. 53. 
 
 2 * Miscellaneous Essays, by Mons. de St. Evremont,' trans- 
 lated by Tom Brown, 1694, ii. 135, 'Of the Pleasure that Women 
 take in their Beauty.' Charles de St. Denis, Sieur de St. Evre- 
 mond, died in 1703, aged about ninety. After his attack on 
 Mazarin, St. Evremond took refuge in England, where he was 
 granted a pension by Charles II. The pension lapsed at Charles's 
 death, but St. Evremond remained in this country, and was be- 
 friended by William III. 
 
lyo The SPECTATOR No. 33 
 
 nothing of false helps and contraband wares of 
 beauty which are daily vended in this great mart, 
 there is not a maiden gentlewoman of a good family 
 in any county of South Britain who has not heard 
 of the virtues of May-dew/ or is unfurnished with 
 some receipt or other in favour of her complexion ; 
 and I have known a physician of learning and sense, 
 after eight years' study in the university and a 
 course of travels into most countries of Europe, 
 owe the first raising of his fortunes to a cosmetic 
 wash. 
 
 ' This has given me occasion to consider how so 
 universal a disposition in womankind, which springs 
 from a laudable motive — the desire of pleasing, and 
 proceeds upon an opinion, not altogether ground- 
 less, that nature may be helped by art, may be 
 turned to their advantage. And, methinks, it would 
 be an acceptable service to take them out of the 
 hands of quacks and pretenders, and to prevent 
 their imposing upon themselves, by discovering 
 to them the true secret and art of improving 
 beauty. 
 
 ' In order to this, before I touch upon it directly, 
 it will be necessary to lay down a few preliminary 
 maxims, viz. : — 
 
 ' That no woman can be handsome by the force 
 of features alone, any more than she can be witty 
 only by the help of speech. 
 
 ' That pride destroys all symmetry and grace, and 
 affectation is a more terrible enemy to fine faces 
 than the smallpox. 
 
 ' That no woman is capable of being beautiful 
 who is not incapable of being false. 
 
 1 The morning dew of the first day of May was supposed to 
 have magical properties. 
 
No. 33 T:^^ SPECTATOR 171 
 
 ' And, That what would be odious in a friend, is 
 deformity in a mistress. 
 
 ' From these few principles thus laid down it will 
 be easy to prove that the true art of assisting beauty 
 consists in embellishing the whole person by the 
 proper ornaments of virtuous and commendable 
 qualities. By this help alone it is that those who 
 are the favourite work of nature, or, as Mr. Dryden 
 expresses it, " the porcelain clay of human kind," ^ 
 become animated, and are in a capacity of exerting 
 their charms ; and those who seem to have been 
 neglected by her, like models wrought in haste, are 
 capable in a great measure of finishing what she has 
 left imperfect. 
 
 ' It is, methinks, a low and degrading idea of that 
 sex which was created to refine the joys and soften 
 the cares of humanity by the most agreeable partici- 
 pation, to consider theni merely as objects of sight. 
 This is abridging them of their natural extent of 
 power, to put them upon a level with their pic- 
 tures at Kneller's.^ How much nobler is the 
 contemplation of beauty heightened by virtue, and 
 commanding our esteem and love while it draws 
 our observation .'' How faint and spiritless are the 
 charms of a coquet when compared with the real 
 
 1 In ' Don Sebastian,' Act i., when Sebastian, Almayda, &c., 
 are brought before Muley Moluch, Emperor of Barbary, the Em- 
 peror says : — 
 
 ' Ay ; these look like the workmanship of Heaven ; 
 This is the porcelain clay of human kind, 
 And therefore cast into these noble moulds.' 
 
 2 Sir GeoiFrey Kneller (i 646-1 723), the favourite portrait- 
 painter of his time, is perhaps best known by his portraits of the 
 members of the Kit-Cat Club, which were engriived by Faber in 
 
 1 73 5- 
 
172 r/^^- SPECTATOR No. 33 
 
 loveliness of Sophronia's innocence, piety, good 
 humour, and truth, virtues which add a new soft- 
 ness to her sex, and even beautify her beauty ! That 
 agreeableness, which must otherwise have appeared 
 no longer in the modest virgin, is now preserved in 
 the tender mother, the prudent friend, and the faith- 
 ful wife. Colours artfully spread upon canvas may 
 entertain the eye, but not affect the heart ; and she 
 who takes no care to add to the natural graces of 
 her person any excelling qualities, may be allowed 
 still to amuse as a picture, but not to triumph as a 
 beauty. 
 
 ' When Adam is introduced by Milton describing 
 Eve in paradise, and relating to the angel the im- 
 pressions he felt upon seeing her at her first creation, 
 he does not represent her like a Grecian Venus, by 
 her shape or features, but by the lustre of her mind 
 which shone in them and gave them their power of 
 charming. 
 
 " Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, 
 In all her gestures dignity and love." ^ 
 
 ' Without this irradiating power the proudest 
 fair one ought to know, whatever her glass may tell 
 her to the contrary, that her most perfect features 
 are uninformed and dead. 
 
 ' I cannot better close this moral than by a 
 short epitaph,^ written by Ben Jonson with a spirit 
 
 1 ' Paradise Lost,' viii. 488. 
 
 2 ' Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H.' Jonson's words are as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 ' Underneath this stone doth lie 
 As much beauty as could die ; 
 Which in life did harbour give 
 To more virtue than doth live.' 
 
No. 34 T'/^f SPECTATOR 173 
 
 which nothing could inspire but such an object as 
 I have been describing : — 
 
 " Underneath this stone doth lie 
 As much virtue as could die ; 
 Which when alive did vigour give 
 To as much beauty as could live." 
 
 1 am, Sir, 
 
 Your most humble Servant, 
 R. R. B.' 
 
 N°- 34. Monday^ April 9, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 -parcit 
 
 Cognatis maculis similis fera- 
 
 — Juv., Sat. XV. 159. 
 
 THE club of which I am a member is very 
 luckily composed of such persons as are 
 engaged in different ways of life, and de- 
 puted, 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 satis- 
 faction 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 will take care of their respective interests, that 
 nothing may be written or published to the pre- 
 judice or infringement of their just rights and 
 privileges. 
 
 I last night sat very late in company with this 
 
174 r^f SPECTATOR No. 34 
 
 select body of friends, who entertained 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 Will, 
 ' they are not those of the most wit ') that were 
 oifended at the liberties I had taken with the opera 
 and the puppet-show ; that some of them were like- 
 wise 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 folly as they appear in a multitude, without 
 condescending to be a publisher of particular in- 
 trigues and cuckoldoms. ' In short,' says Sir Andrew, 
 ' if you avoid that foolish 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 manner; that the city had always been 
 the province for satire, and that the wits of King 
 Charles's time jested upon nothing else during his 
 whole reign. He then showed, by the examples of 
 Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and the best writers ot 
 every age, that the follies of the stage and court had 
 
No. 34 T"/^^ SPECTATOR 175 
 
 never been accounted too sacred for ridicule, how 
 great soever the persons might be that patronised 
 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 Coverley, who had 
 said nothing all this while, began his speech with a 
 ' Pish ! ' and told us that he wondered to see so many 
 men of sense so very serious upon fooleries. ' Let 
 our good friends,' says he, ' attack every one that 
 deserves it ; I would only advise you, Mr. Spectator ' 
 — applying himself to me — ' to take care how you 
 meddle with country squires. They are the orna- 
 ments of the English nation — men of good heads 
 and sound bodies ! And let me tell you, some of 
 them take it ill of you that you mention fox-hunters 
 with so little respect.' 
 
 Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occa- 
 sion. What he said was only to commend my 
 prudence in not touching upon the army, and ad- 
 vised me to continue to act discreetly in that 
 point. 
 
 By this time I found every subject of my specu- 
 lations 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 
 dislike 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 
 
176 r^^ SPECTATOR No. 34 
 
 told us that he wondered any order of persons 
 should think themselves too considerable to be ad- 
 vised ; that it was not quality, but innocence, 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 measure 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 chastisement of the law, and too 
 fanatical for the cognisance of the pulpit. He then 
 advised me to prosecute my undertaking with cheer- 
 fulness ; 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 
 whom they are bestowed. 
 
 The whole club pays a particular deference to the 
 discourse of this gentleman, and are drawn into what 
 he says as much by the candid ingenuous manner 
 with which he delivers himself, as by the strength 
 of argument and force of reason which he makes 
 use of. Will Honeycomb immediately 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 the same frankness. The Templar would 
 not stand out, and was followed by Sir Roger and 
 the Captain, who all agreed that I should be at 
 liberty to carry the war into what quarter I pleased, 
 provided I continued to combat with criminals in a 
 
No. 34 T/^f SPECTATOR 177 
 
 body, and to assault the vice without hurting the 
 person. 
 
 This debate, which was held for the good of 
 mankind, put me in mind of that which the Roman 
 triumvirate^ were formerly engaged in 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, fur- 
 nished 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 adversaries in whatever degree or rank 
 of men they may be found, I shall be deaf for the 
 future to all the remonstrances that shall be made 
 to me on this account. If Punch grows extrava- 
 gant, I shall reprimand him very freely ; if the stage 
 becomes a nursery of folly and impertinence, I shall 
 not be afraid to animadvert upon it. In short, if I 
 meet with anything in city, court, or country, that 
 shocks modesty or good manners, I shall use my 
 utmost endeavours to make an example 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 with a love to mankind. C. 
 
 1 The triumvirate of Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus. 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
178 ^/^^ SPECTATOR No. 35 
 
 N°- 35. Tuesday^ April 10, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est. — Mart. 
 
 AMONG all kinds of writing, there is none in 
 2^\^ 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 with monsters, an head that 
 is filled with extravagant conceptions, which is cap- 
 able of furnishing the world with diversions of this 
 nature ; and yet if we look into the productions of 
 several writers who set up for men of humour, what 
 wild irregular fancies, what unnatural distortions 
 of thought, do we meet with ? If they speak non- 
 sense, they believe they are talking humour ; and 
 when they have drawn together a scheme of absurd 
 inconsistent ideas, they are not able to read it over 
 to themselves without laughing. These poor gentle- 
 men endeavour to gain themselves the reputation 
 of wits and humorists by 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 judgment, by so much the more as it indulges 
 itself in the most boundless freedoms. There is a 
 kind of nature that is to be observed in this sort 
 of compositions, as well 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 
 unskilful author, I cannot be so barbarous as to 
 
No. 35 T:he SPECTATOR 179 
 
 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, re- 
 presents 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 dis- 
 tempered 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, in a kind of allegory, 
 and by supposing Humour to be a person, deduce to 
 him all his qualifications according to the following 
 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 youngest of this illus- 
 trious family, and descended from parents of such 
 different dispositions, is very various and unequal 
 in his temper; sometimes you see him putting on 
 
 1 Among the plays of Thomas Shadwell (1640-1692), poet 
 laureate, was 'The Scowrers' (1691), which throws much light 
 on the street rioters of the time ; and there is further illustration of 
 window-breaking in the same writer's 'Woman Captain' (1680). 
 
 2 Cowley's Ode, ' Of Wit ' :— 
 
 ' What is it then, which like the Power Divine, 
 We only can by negatives define ? 
 In a true piece of wit all things must be, 
 Yet all things there agree.' 
 
i8o T/^e SPECTATOR No. 35 
 
 grave looks and a solemn habit, sometimes airy in 
 his behaviour and fantastic 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 persons may not be. imposed 
 upon by cheats,^ I would desire my readers, when 
 they meet with this pretender,* to look into his 
 parentage, and to examine him strictly, whether or 
 no he be remotely allied to Truth, and lineally 
 descended from Good Sense ; if not, they may con- 
 clude him a counterfeit. They may likewise dis- 
 tinguish him by a loud and excessive laughter, in 
 which he seldom gets his company to join with him. 
 For as True Humour generally looks serious, whilst 
 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 
 
 1 'Are several imposters ' (folio). 
 
 2 ' Take upon them ' (folio). 
 2 'Counterfeits' (folio). 
 
 * ' With any of these pretenders ' (folio). 
 ' ' Laughs that is about him ' (folio). 
 
No. 35 T:he SPECTATOR i8i 
 
 Frenzy, who married one of the daughters of Folly, 
 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 genea- 
 logy of True Humour, that the reader may at 
 one view behold their different pedigrees and 
 relations : — 
 
 Falsehood. 
 Nonsense. 
 
 Frenzy. Laughter. 
 
 False Humour. 
 
 Truth. 
 Good Sense. 
 
 Wit. Mirth. 
 
 Humour. 
 
 I might extend the allegory by mentioning several 
 of the 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 • in this island. But as this 
 would be a very invidious task, I shall only observe 
 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 wisdom, pain and poverty. 
 
 Thirdly, he is wonderfully unlucky, insomuch 
 
i82 r^f SPECTATOR No. 35 
 
 that he will bite the hand that feeds him, and 
 endeavour to ridicule both friends and foes indif- 
 ferently. For having but small 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 
 representations, his ridicule is always personal, and 
 aimed at the vicious man, or the writer ; not at the 
 vice, or at the writing. 
 
 I have here only pointed at the whole species of 
 false humorists, but as one of my principal designs 
 in this paper is to beat down that malignant spirit 
 which discovers itself in the writings of the present 
 age, I shall not scruple for the future to single out 
 any of the small wits that infest the world with 
 such compositions as are ill-natured, immoral, and 
 absurd. This is the only exception which I shall 
 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 libeller 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. C. 
 
No. 36 T/^^ SPECTATOR 183 
 
 N°' 36. Wednesday^ April 11, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 Immania monstra 
 
 Perferimus 
 
 — ViRG., ^n. iii. 583. 
 
 I SHALL not put myself to any further pains for 
 this day's entertainment than barely to publish 
 the letters and titles of petitions from the play- 
 house, with the minutes I have made upon the latter 
 for my conduct in relation to them. 
 
 ' Drury Lane, March i the gth. 
 
 ' TJPON reading the project which is set forth in 
 one of your late papers,^ of making an alliance 
 between all the bulls, bears, elephants, and lions 
 which are separately exposed to public view in the 
 cities of London and Westminster, together with 
 the other wonders, shows, and monsters whereof 
 you made respective mention in the said specula- 
 tion ; we, the chief actors of this playhouse, met 
 and sat upon the said design. It is with great 
 delight that we expect the execution of this work ; 
 and, in order to contribute to it, we have given 
 warning to all our ghosts to get their livelihoods 
 where they can, and not to appear among us after 
 daybreak of the i6th instant. We are resolved to 
 take this opportunity to part with everything which 
 does not contribute to the representation of human 
 life ; and shall make a free gift of all animated 
 utensils to your projector. The hangings you 
 formerly mentioned are run away, as are likewise a 
 
 1 An oversight for Aprih ^ No. 31. 
 
i84 r^e SPECTATOR No. 36 
 
 set of chairs, each of which was met upon two legs 
 going through the Rose Tavern ^ at two this morning. 
 We hope, sir, you will give proper notice to the 
 town that we are endeavouring at these regulations, 
 and that we intend for the future to show no 
 monsters but men who are converted into such by 
 their own industry and affectation. If you will 
 please to be at the house to-night, you will see 
 me do my endeavour to show some unnatural 
 appearances which are in vogue among the polite 
 and well-bred. I am to represent, in the character 
 of a fine lady dancing, all the distortions which are 
 frequently taken for graces in mien and gesture. 
 This, sir, is a specimen of the method we shall 
 take to expose the monsters which come within the 
 notice of a regular theatre, and we desire nothing 
 more gross may be admitted by your spectators for 
 the future. We have cashiered three companies of 
 theatrical guards, and design our kings shall for the 
 future make love and sit in council without an 
 army ; and wait only your direction, whether you 
 will have them reinforce King Porus, or join the 
 troops of Macedon. Mr. Pinkethman resolves to 
 consult his Pantheon of heathen gods in opposition 
 to the oracle of Delphos, and doubts not but he 
 shall turn the fortunes of Porus when he personates 
 him. I am desired by the company to inform you 
 that they submit to your censures, and shall have 
 you in greater veneration than Hercules was in of 
 old if you can drive monsters from the theatre, and 
 think your merit will be as much greater than his, 
 as to convince is more than to conquer. 
 I am. Sir, 
 Your most obedient Servant, T. D.' 
 
 1 See No. 2. 
 
No. 36 T-^e SPECTATOR 185 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 '"^^HEN I acquaint you with the great and un- 
 expected vicissitudes of my fortune, I doubt 
 not but I shall obtain your pity and favour. I have 
 for many years last past been thunderer to the play- 
 house, and have not only made as much noise out of 
 the clouds as any predecessor of mine in the theatre 
 that ever bore that character, but also have descended 
 and spoke on the stage, as the bold Thunder in the 
 " Rehearsal." ^ When they got me down thus low, 
 they thought fit to degrade me further, and make 
 me a ghost. I was contented with this for these 
 two last winters; but they carry their tyranny still 
 further, and not satisfied that I am banished from 
 above ground, they have given me to understand 
 that I am wholly to depart from their dominions, 
 and taken from me even my subterraneous employ- 
 ment. Now, sir, what I desire of you is, that if 
 
 1 Bayes, the poet in the ' Rehearsal,' says : — 
 ' Come out, Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Enter Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Thun. I am the bold Thunder. 
 
 Bayes. Mr. Cartwright, prithee speak that a little louder, and 
 with a hoarse voice. I am the bold Thunder : pshaw ! Speak 
 it me in a voice that thunders it out indeed : I am the bold 
 Thunder. 
 
 Thun. I am the bold Thunder. 
 
 Light. The brisk Lightning, I.' 
 
 The caricature here, and in following lines, is of a passage in Sir 
 Robert Stapylton's ' Slighted Maid ' : ' I am the Evening, dark as 
 Night,' &c. 
 
 In the Spectator's time the • Rehearsal ' was an acted play, in 
 which Penkethman had the part of the Gentleman Usher, and 
 Bullock was one of the two Kings of Brentford ; Thunder was 
 Johnson, who played also the Grave-digger in Hamlet, and other 
 reputable parts (Morley). 
 
i86 T:^^ SPECTATOR No. 36 
 
 your undertaker thinks fit to use fire-arms (as other 
 authors have done) in the time of Alexander, I may 
 be a cannon against Porus, or else provide for me 
 in the burning of Persepolis, or what other method 
 you shall think fit. 
 
 Salmoneus of Covent Garden. 
 
 The Petition of all the Devils of the Playhouse 
 in behalf of themselves and families, setting forth 
 their expulsion from thence, with certificates of their 
 good life and conversation, and praying relief. 
 
 The merit of this petition referred to Mr. Chr. 
 Rich,^ who made them devils. 
 
 The Petition of the Grave-digger in Hamlet to com- 
 mand the pioneers in the expedition of Alexander. 
 Granted. 
 
 The Petition of William Bullock ^ to be Hephes- 
 tion to Pinkethman the Great. 
 Granted. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 A Widow Gentlewoman, well born both by father 
 and mother's side, being the daughter of Thomas 
 Prater, once an eminent practitioner in the law, and 
 of Letitia Tattle, a family well known in all parts 
 
 1 See No. 5, 258. 
 
 2 William Bullock was a good and popular comedian, whom 
 some preferred to Penkethman, because he spoke no more than was 
 set down for him, and did not overact his parts. He was now 
 with Penkethman, now with Gibber, and others, joint-manager of 
 a theatrical booth at Bartholomew Fair. When this essay was 
 written Bullock and Penkethman were acting together in a play 
 called ' Injured Love,' produced at Drury Lane on the 7th of 
 ATjril, Bullock as ' Sir Bookish Outside,' Penkethman as ' Tipple,' 
 
No. 36 r^^? SPECTATOR 187 
 
 of this kingdom, having been reduced by misfortunes 
 to wait on several great persons, and for some time 
 to be teacher at a boarding-school of young ladies ; 
 giveth notice to the public that she hath lately taken 
 a house near Bloomsbury Square, commodiously 
 situated next the fields in a .good air, where she 
 teaches all sorts of birds of the loquacious kind, as 
 parrots, starlings, magpies, and others, to imitate 
 human voices in greater perfection than ever yet was 
 practised. They are not only instructed to pro- 
 nounce words distinctly, and in a proper tone and 
 accent, but to speak the language with great purity 
 and volubility of tongue, together with all the 
 fashionable phrases and compliments now in use 
 either at tea-tables or visiting days. Those that 
 have good voices may be taught to sing the newest 
 opera airs, and, if required, to speak either Italian or 
 French, paying something extraordinary above the 
 common rates. They whose friends are not able to 
 pay the full prices may be taken as half-boarders. 
 She teaches such as are designed for the diversion 
 of the public, and to act in enchanted woods on the 
 theatres, by the great. As she has often observed 
 with much concern how indecent an education is 
 usually given these innocent creatures, which in 
 some measure is owing to their being placed in 
 rooms next the street, where, to the great offence of 
 chaste and tender ears, they learn ribaldry, obscene 
 songs, and immodest expressions from passengers 
 and idle people, as also to cry fish and card-matches, 
 
 a servant. Penkethman, Bullock, and Dogget were in those days 
 Macbeth's three witches. Bullock had a son on the stage capable 
 of courtly parts, who really had played Hephestion in ' The Rival 
 Queens,' in a theatre opened by Penkethman at Greenwich in the 
 preceding summer (Morley). 
 
i88 r>^e SPECTATOR No. 37 
 
 with other useless parts of learning, to birds who 
 have rich friends, she has fitted up proper and neat 
 apartments for them in the back part of her said 
 house, where she suffers none to approach them but 
 herself and a servant-maid who is deaf and dumb, 
 and whom she provided on purpose to prepare their 
 food and cleanse their cages ; having found by long 
 experience how hard a thing it is for those to keep 
 silence who have the use of speech, and the dangers 
 her scholars are exposed to by the strong impres- 
 sions that are made by -harsh sounds and vulgar 
 dialects. In short, if they are birds of any parts 
 or capacity, she will undertake to render them so 
 accomplished in the compass of a twelvemonth, that 
 they shall be fit conversation for such ladies as love 
 to choose their friends and companions out of this 
 species. R. 
 
 N°- 3 7 . Thursday^ April 12, 1 7 1 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 ATora ilia colo calathisve Minervce 
 
 Foemineas assueta manus. 
 
 — ViRG., Mn. vii. 805. 
 
 SOME months ago, my friend Sir Roger being in 
 the country, enclosed a letter to me, directed 
 to a certain lady whom I shall here call by 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 in the morning, and was desired by 
 her woman to walk into her lady's library till such 
 
 1 Leonora was a Miss Shepherd, afterwards Mrs. Perry. See 
 No. 92. 
 
No. 37 T^/^f SPECTATOR 189 
 
 time as she was in readiness to receive me. The 
 very sound of a lady's library gave me a great 
 curiosity to see it ; and, as it was some time before 
 the lady came to me, I had an opportunity of turn- 
 ing 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 smaller 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 
 grotesque works that ever I saw, and made up of 
 scaramouches, lions, monkeys, mandarins, 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 number, like 
 fagots in the muster of a regiment. I was wonder- 
 fully pleased with such a mixed kind of furniture 
 as seemed very suitable both to 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 found there 
 
 1 ' Very delightful' (folio). 
 
I90 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 37 
 
 were some few which the lady had bought for her 
 own use, but that most of them had been got to- 
 gether either because she had heard them praised, or 
 because she had seen the authors of them. Among 
 several that I examined, I very well remember these 
 that follow : ^ — 
 
 Ogleby's ' Virgil.' 
 Dryden's ' Juvenal.' 
 ' Cassandra.' 
 ' Cleopatra.' 
 ' Astraea.' 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton's works. 
 
 'The Grand Cyrus,' with a pin stuck in one of 
 the middle leaves. 
 
 Pembroke's ' Arcadia.' 
 
 1 John Ogilby's ' Virgil,' the first translation of the whole work 
 into English, appeared in 1649. Dryden's 'Juvenal and Persius,' 
 portions of which were by other hands, was published in 1693. 
 ' Cassandra ' and ' Cleopatra ' were from the French of the 
 Seigneur de la Calpren^de, the former being translated by Sir Charles 
 Cotterell (1652), and the latter by Richard Loveday (1668). 
 ' Astrasa,' by Honore D'Urfe, was translated for the second time 
 in 1657. Sir Isaac Newton died in 1727, and Sir William Temple 
 in 1699. Locke's 'Essay of the Human Understanding' ap- 
 peared in 1690. 'The Grand Cyrus,' by Mdlle. de Scudery, 
 was translated in 1653; ' Clelia,' by the same writer, was trans- 
 lated by John Davis. Dr. William Sherlock, Dean of St. Paul's, 
 published his 'Practical Discourse concerning Death' in 1689. 
 Father Nicholas Malbranche's 'Recherche de la Verite' (1673) 
 was translated in 1694. The ' Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony' 
 (1682) was satirical, and called forth various imitations. The 
 'Academy of Compliments' first appeared in 1640, and Nicholas 
 Culpeper's 'Directory for Midwifery' in 1651. 'The Ladies' 
 Calling,' a very popular work, was freely used by Steele in com- 
 piling his 'Ladies' Library' in 17 14. Thomas D'Urfey (nephew 
 of Honore D'Urfe) published several collections of songs, and 
 'Tales, Tragical and Comical' (1704). Sir Richard Baker's 
 'Chronicle of the Kings of England' appeared first in 1643. 
 
No. 37 T-^^ SPECTATOR 191 
 
 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,' trans- 
 lated 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 Elzevirs by the same hand. 
 
 ' Clelia,' which opened of itself in the place that 
 describes two lovers in a bower. 
 
 Baker's ' Chronicle.' 
 
 'Advice to a Daughter.' 
 
 ' The New Atlantis,' with a key to it. 
 Mr. Steele's ' Christian Hero.' 
 A Prayer-Book, with a bottle of Hungary water 
 by the side of it. 
 
 The ' Advice to a Daughter ' (also used by Steele) was by 
 George Savile, Marquis of Halifax. Mrs. de la Riviere Manley's 
 scandalous ' Secret Memoirs and Manners of Several Persons of 
 Quality of Both Sexes, from the New Atlantis ' ( 1 709-1 1 ) attacked 
 many political opponents and leaders of fashion. Steele's ' Christian 
 Hero' (1701) had reached a fifth edition in 1711. Dr. Henry 
 Sacheverell's trial was in 17 10; Robert Fielding's (for bigamy 
 with Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland) in 1706. Seneca's ' Morals ' 
 were translated by L'Estrange in 1693 ; and La Ferte had a 
 dancing-school in Compton Street, Soho. 
 
192 rhe SPECTATOR No. 37 
 
 Dr. Sacheverell's Speech. 
 
 Feilding's Trial. 
 
 Seneca's ' Morals.' 
 
 Taylor's ' Holy Living and Dying.' 
 
 La Ferte's ' Instructions for Country Dances.' 
 
 I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of 
 these and several other authors, when Leonora en- 
 tered, and upon my presenting her with the letter 
 from the knight, told me, with an unspeakable 
 grace, that she hoped Sir Roger was in good health. 
 I answered ' Yes,' for I hate long speeches, and after 
 a bow or two retired. 
 
 Leonora was formerly a celebrated beauty, and is 
 still a very lovely woman. She has been a widow 
 for two or three years, and being unfortunate in 
 her first marriage, has taken a 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 natur- 
 ally sinks into a kind of lethargy, and falls asleep, 
 that is not agitated by some favourite pleasures and 
 pursuits, Leonora has turned all the passions of her 
 sex into a love of books and retirement. She con- 
 verses 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 discovers itself even in her house, her 
 gardens, and her furniture. Sir Roger has enter- 
 tained me an hour together with a description of 
 her country seat, which is situated in a kind of 
 wilderness, about an hundred miles distant froin 
 
No. 37 T:^^ SPECTATOR 193 
 
 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 like- 
 wise 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 likewise tells me that this lady 
 preserves her game better than any of the gentle- 
 men in the country; not, says Sir Roger, that she 
 sets so great a value upon her partridges and phea- 
 sants as upon her larks and nightingales. For she 
 says that every bird which is killed in her ground 
 will spoil a consort, and that he 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 enter- 
 tainments which she has formed to herself, how 
 much more valuable does she appear than those of 
 her sex who employ themselves in diversions that 
 are less reasonable though more in fashion ? What 
 improvements 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 understanding 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 use- 
 fully in reading shall be the subject of another paper, 
 in which I design to recommend such particular 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
194 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 38 
 
 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. C. 
 
 N°- 3 8 . Friday^ April 13, 1 7 1 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Cupias non placuisse nimis. — Mart. 
 
 A LATE conversation which I fell into gave me 
 an opportunity of observing a great deal of 
 beauty in a very handsome woman, and as 
 much wit in an ingenious man, turned into defor- 
 mity in the one, and absurdity in the other, by the 
 mere force of ■ affectation. The fair one had some- 
 thing in her person upon which her thoughts were 
 fixed, that she attempted to show to advantage in 
 every look, word, and gesture. The gentleman was 
 as diligent to do justice to his fine parts as the lady 
 to her beauteous form. You might see his imagina- 
 tion on the stretch to find out something uncommon, 
 and what they call bright, to entertain her, while 
 she writhed herself into as many different postures 
 to engage him. When she laughed, her lips were to 
 sever at a greater distance than ordinary to show 
 her teeth ; her fan was to point to somewhat at a 
 distance, that in the reach she may discover the 
 roundness of her arm ; then she is utterly mistaken 
 in what she saw, falls back, smiles at her own folly, 
 and is so wholly discomposed that her tucker is to 
 be adjusted, her bosom exposed, and the whole 
 woman put into new airs and graces. While she 
 was doing all this, the gallant had time to think of 
 something very pleasant to say next to her, or make 
 
No. 38 ^/^^ SPECTATOR 195 
 
 some unkind observation on some other Jady to feed 
 her vanity. These unhappy effects of affectation 
 naturally led me to look into that strange state of 
 mind which so generally discolours the behaviour of 
 most people we meet with. 
 
 The learned Dr. Burnet,^ in his 'Theory of the 
 Earth,' takes occasion to observe that every thought 
 is attended with consciousness and representativeness ; 
 the mind has nothing presented to it but what is 
 immediately followed by a reflection or conscience, 
 which tells you whether that which was so presented 
 is graceful or unbecoming. This act of the mind 
 discovers itself in the gesture, by a proper behaviour 
 in those whose consciousness goes no further than to 
 direct them in the just progress of their present 
 thought or action, but betrays an interruption in 
 every second thought when the consciousness is 
 employed in too fondly approving a man's own 
 conceptions; which sort of consciousness is what 
 we call affectation. 
 
 As the love of praise is implanted in our bosoms 
 as a strong incentive to worthy actions, it is a very 
 difficult task to get above a desire of it for things 
 that should be wholly indifferent. Women, whose 
 hearts are fixed upon the pleasure they have in the 
 consciousness that they are the objects of love and 
 admiration, are ever changing the air of their coun- 
 tenances, and altering the attitude of their bodies, 
 to strike the hearts of their beholders with new 
 
 1 Dr. Thomas Burnet was Master of the Charterhouse from 
 1685 until his death in 17 15. He published in 1681-9 his 
 Telluris Theor'ta Sacra, which was translated in complete form 
 in 1689. Steele speaks with admiration of the 'Theory of the 
 Earth ' in No. 1 46, and Addison addressed a Latin ode to Burnet 
 in 1699. 
 
196 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 38 
 
 sense of their beauty. The dressing part of our 
 sex, whose minds are the same with the sillier part 
 of the other, are exactly in the like uneasy condition 
 to be regarded for a well-tied cravat, an hat cocked 
 with an unusual briskness, a very well-chosen coat, 
 or other instances of merit, which they are impatient 
 to see unobserved. 
 
 But this apparent affectation, arising from an ill- 
 governed consciousness, is not so much to be won- 
 dered at in such loose and trivial minds as these : 
 but when you see it reign in characters of worth 
 and distinction, it is what you cannot but lament, 
 not without some indignation. It creeps into the 
 heart of the wise man, as well as that of the cox- 
 comb. When you see a man of sense look about 
 for applause, and discover an itching inclination to 
 be commended ; lay traps for a little incense, even 
 from those whose opinion he values in nothing but 
 his own favour ; who is safe against this weakness ? 
 or who knows whether he is guilty of it or not ? 
 The best way to get clear of such a light fondness 
 for applause is, to take all possible care to throw off 
 the love of it upon occasions that are not in them- 
 selves laudable, but, as it appears, we hope for no 
 praise from them. Of this nature are all graces in 
 men's persons, dress, and bodily deportment, which 
 will naturally be winning and attractive if we think 
 not of them, but lose their force in proportion to 
 our endeavour to make them such. 
 
 When our consciousness turns upon the main 
 design of life, and our thoughts are employed upon 
 the chief purpose either in business or pleasure, we 
 shall never betray an affectation, for we cannot be 
 guilty of it ; but when we give the passion for praise 
 an uubridled liberty, our pleasure in little perfec- 
 
No. 38 "The SPECTATOR 197 
 
 tions robs us of what is due to us for great virtues 
 and worthy qualities. How many excellent speeches 
 and honest actions are lost for want of being in- 
 different where we ought ? Men are oppressed with 
 regard to their way of speaking and acting, instead 
 of having their thought bent upon what they should 
 do or say; and by that means bury a capacity for 
 great things by their fear of failing in indifferent 
 things. This, perhaps, cannot be called affectation ; 
 but it has some tincture of it, at least so far as that 
 their fear of erring in a thing of no consequence argues 
 they would be too much pleased in performing it. 
 
 It is only from a thorough disregard to himself in 
 such particulars that a man can act with a laudable 
 sufficiency. His heart is fixed upon one point in view ; 
 and he commits no errors, because he thinks nothing 
 an error but what deviates from that intention. 
 
 The wild havoc affectation makes in that part of 
 the world which should be most polite is visible 
 wherever we turn our eyes. It pushes men not only 
 into impertinences in conversation, but also in their 
 premeditated speeches. At the Bar it torments the 
 Bench, whose business it is to cut off all superfluities 
 in what is spoken before it by the practitioner, as 
 well as several little pieces of injustice which arise 
 from the law itself. I have seen it make a man run 
 from the purpose before a judge, who was, when at 
 the Bar himself, so close and logical a pleader that, 
 with all the pomp of eloquence in his power, he 
 never spoke a word too much.^ 
 
 It might be borne even here, but it often ascends 
 the pulpit itself, and the declaimer, in that sacred 
 
 1 William, Earl Cowper, Lord Chancellor, died in 1723. See 
 the character of ' Manilius ' in No. 467. Steele dedicated the 
 third volume of the Tatler to Lord Cowper. 
 
198 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 38 
 
 place, is frequently so impertinently witty, speaks of 
 the last day itself with so many quaint phrases, that 
 there is no man who understands raillery but must 
 resolve to sin no more : nay, you may behold him 
 sometimes in prayer, for a proper delivery of the 
 great truths he is to utter, humble himself with so 
 very well-turned phrase, and mention his own un- 
 worthiness in a way so very becoming, that the air 
 of the pretty gentleman is preserved under the low- 
 liness of the preacher. 
 
 I shall end this with a short letter I writ the other 
 day to a very witty man overrun with the fault I 
 am speaking of. 
 
 ' Dear Sir, 
 
 ' T SPENT some time with you the other day, and 
 must take the liberty of a friend to tell you of 
 the unsufferable affectation you are guilty of in all 
 you say and do. When I gave you an hint of it, you 
 asked me whether a man is to be cold to what his 
 friends think of him ? No ; but praise is not to be 
 the entertainment of every moment. He that hopes 
 for it must be able to suspend the possession of it 
 till proper periods of life, or death itself. If you 
 would not rather be commended than be praise- 
 worthy, contemn little merits, and allow no man to 
 be so free with you as to praise you to your face. 
 Your vanity by this means .will want its food. At 
 the same time, your passion for esteem will be more 
 fully gratified ; men will praise you in their actions ; 
 where you now receive one compliment you will 
 then receive twenty civilities. Till then you will 
 never have of either, further than, 
 Sir, 
 R. Your humble Servant.' 
 
No. 39 T/^^ SPECTATOR 199 
 
 N°' 39. Saturday^ April 14, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Multafero, ut placem genus irritabile vatum, 
 Cum scribo — Hor., 2 Ep. ii. loa. 
 
 AS a perfect tragedy is the noblest production of 
 2~\. human nature, so it is capable of giving the 
 mind one of the most delightful and most 
 improving entertainments. ' A virtuous man,' says 
 Seneca, ' struggling 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 representation of a well-written tragedy. Diver- 
 sions of this kind wear out of our thoughts every- 
 thing that is mean and little. They cherish and 
 cultivate that humanity which is the ornament 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 polite 
 nations of the world this part of the drama has met 
 with public encouragement. 
 
 The modern tragedy excels that of Greece and 
 Rome in the intricacy and disposition of the fable ; 
 but, what a Christian writer would be ashamed to 
 own, falls infinitely shprt of it in the moral part of 
 the performance. 
 
 This I may ^ show more at large hereafter ; and, 
 in the meantime, that I may contribute something 
 towards the improvement 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. 
 
 1 Seneca, De Pro-videntia, § 2. 2 'Shall' (folio). 
 
200 rhe SPECTATOR No. 
 
 39 
 
 Aristotle observes ^ that the iambic verse in the 
 Greek tongue was the most proper for tragedy ; 
 because at the same time that it lifted up the dis- 
 course 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 discourse 
 very often speak iambics, withoiit 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 is such a due medium between rhyme and prose, 
 that it seems wonderfully adapted to tragedy. I am 
 therefore very much offended when I see a play in 
 rhyme, which is as absurd in English as a tragedy 
 of hexameters would have been in Greek or Latin. 
 The solecism is, I think, still 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 every- 
 thing about them lies in blank verse. I would not, 
 however, debar the poet from concluding his tragedy, 
 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 con- 
 tinued modulation of voice. For the same reason I 
 do not dislike the speeches in our English tragedy 
 that close with an hemistich, or half verse, notwith- 
 standing the person who speaks after it begins a new 
 verse, without filling up the preceding one ; nor with 
 abrupt pauses and breakings-off in the middle of a 
 1 Poetics, Part I. § 7. 
 
No. 39 T-^? SPECTATOR 201 
 
 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 language is very often noble and sonorous, but 
 the sense either very trifling or very common. On 
 the contrary, in the ancient tragedies, and indeed in 
 those of Corneille and Racine, though the expressions 
 are very great, it is the thought that bears them up 
 and swells them. For my own part, I prefer a noble 
 sentiment that is depressed with homely language, 
 infinitely before a vulgar one that is blown up with 
 all the sound and energy of expression. Whether 
 this defect in our tragedies may arise from want of 
 genius, knowledge, or experience in the writers, 
 or from their compliance with 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 rectify the conduct both of the 
 one and of the other if the writer laid down the 
 whole contexture of his dialogue in plain English, 
 before he turned it into blank verse ; and if the 
 reader, after the perusal of a scene, would consider 
 the naked thought of every speech in it, when 
 divested of all its tragic ornaments : by this means, 
 without being imposed upon by words, we may 
 judge impartially of the thought, and consider 
 whether it be natural or great enough for the 
 person that utters it, whether it deserves to shine 
 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 
 
202 T:he SPECTATOR No. 39 
 
 thoughts are great and just, they are often obscured 
 by the sounding phrases, hard metaphors, and forced 
 expressions in which they are clothed. Shakespeare 
 is often very faulty in this particular. There is a 
 fine observation in Aristotle to this purpose v^hich 
 I have never seen quoted. 'The expression,' says 
 he,^ 'ought to be very much laboured in the un- 
 active parts of the fable, as in descriptions, simili- 
 tudes, 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 tragicus pleruraque 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 modern English poets, there is none 
 who was better turned for tragedy than Lee ; ^ if, 
 instead of favouring the impetuosity of his genius, 
 he had restrained it, and kept it within its proper 
 
 1 Poetics, Part III. (end). ^ A.rs Poet., 95. 
 
 s Nathaniel Lee died in 1692. He is best known by his 
 tragedy, ' The Rival Queens ; or, the Death of Alexander the 
 Great,' 1677. ' CEdipus ' and 'The Duke of Guise' were 
 written in collaboration with Dryden. Intemperance led to mad- 
 ness, which necessitated confinement in Bedlam for five years ; 
 Steele speaks of Lee's Alexander as 'a mad hero, drawn by a mad 
 poet' (Noi 438). 
 
No. 39 The SPECTATOR 203 
 
 bounds. His thoughts are wonderfully suited 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 involved 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 Alexander's conversation } 
 
 Then he would talk : good gods ! how he would talk ! i 
 
 That unexpected break in the line, and turning 
 the description of his 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 outshines 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 something 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 
 
 1 ' Then he will talk ; good gods ! how he will talk ! 
 Even when the joy he sighed for is possessed, 
 He speaks the kindest words and looks such things, 
 Vows with such passion, vows with so much grace. 
 That 'tis a kind of heaven to be deluded by him.' 
 
 — The Rival Queens, Act i. 
 2 Thomas Otway (165 2- 1685) wrote two famous tragedies, 
 'The Orphan' (1680), and 'Venice Preserved' (1682), and 
 some very inferior comedies. Unlike Lee, Otway put aside the 
 emperors and princes of the heroic drama, and drew touching 
 scenes of ordinary life. 
 
204 T^y^f SPECTATOR No. 40 
 
 his expressions. For which reason, though he has 
 admirably succeeded in the tender and melting 
 part of his tragedies, he sometimes falls into too 
 great a familiarity of phrase in 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 traitors. Had the hero of 
 his play discovered the same good qualities in the 
 defence of his country, that he showed for its ruin 
 and subversion, 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 patrid sic concidissei) had he so 
 fallen in the service of his country. C. 
 
 N°- 40. Monday^ April 16, 171 1. 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Ac ne forte putes me, quce facer e ipse recusem, 
 Cum recte tractant alii, laudare maligne ; 
 Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur 
 Ire poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit, 
 Irritat, mulcet,falsis terrorihus implet, 
 Ut magus ; et modo me TheJjvs, modo ponit Athenis. 
 
 — HOR., 2 Ep. i. 208. 
 
 THE English writers of tragedy are possessed 
 with 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 
 
 l-Sallust's Catalina. 
 
No. 40 T/^^ SPECTATOR 205 
 
 enemies. This error they have been led into by a 
 ridiculous doctrine in modern 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 established this 
 rule I know not ; but I am sure it has no founda- 
 tion 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 prin- 
 cipal design of tragedy is to raise commiseration and 
 terror in the minds of the audience, we shall defeat 
 this great end, if we always make virtue and inno- 
 cence happy and successful. Whatever crosses and 
 disappointments 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 afflictions, 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. For this reason the ancient 
 writers of tragedy treated men in their plays as they 
 are dealt with in the world, by making virtue some- 
 times happy and sometimes miserable, as they found 
 it in the fable which they made choice of, or as it 
 might affect their audience in the most agreeable 
 manner. Aristotle considers the tragedies that were 
 written in either of these kinds, and observes, that 
 those which ended unhappily 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 
 
 1 Aristotle says that upon the stage, and in dramatic contests, 
 tragedies which end unhappily, if they succeed, have the most 
 tragic efFect (Poetics, Part II. § 12). 
 
2o6 T/^e SPECTATOR No. 40 
 
 in the mind ; and fix the audience in such a serious 
 composure of thought, as is much more lasting and 
 delightful than any little transient starts of joy and 
 satisfaction. Accordingly we find, that more of 
 our English tragedies have succeeded in which the 
 favourites of the audience sink under their cala- 
 mities, than those in which they recover themselves 
 out of them. The best plays of this kind are ' The 
 Orphan,' ' Venice Preserved,' 'Alexander the Great,' 
 'Theodosius,'i'AllforLove,' 'CEdipus,' 'Oroonoko," 
 ' Othello,' &c. ' King Lear ' is an admirable tragedy 
 of the same kind, as Shakespeare 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-mentioned criticism, have taken this turn ; 
 as ' The Mourning Bride,' ' Tamerlane,' ' Ulysses,' 
 ' Phasdra and Hyppolitus,' ^ with most of Mr. 
 Dryden's. I must also allow, that many of Shake- 
 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, 
 
 1 This tragedy, like ' Alexander the Great ' and ' CEdipus,' was 
 by Lee. 
 
 2 ' Oroonoko,' by Thomas Southern, was produced in 1699. 
 
 2 ' The Mourning Bride,' Congreve's sole tragedy, was produced 
 in 1697. 'Tamerlane' (1702) and 'Ulysses' (1706) are by 
 Nicholas Rowe; and 'Phaedra and Hyppolitus' (see No. 18) by 
 Edmund Smith. 
 
No. 40 r-^f- SPECTATOR 207 
 
 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 in- 
 ventions that ever entered into a poet's thoughts. 
 An author might as well think of weaving the ad- 
 ventures of yEneas and Hudibras into one poem, as 
 of writing such a motley piece of mirth and sorrow. 
 But the absurdity of these performances is so very 
 visible, that I shall not insist upon it. 
 
 The same objections which are made to tragi- 
 comedy may, in 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 grief of the audience 
 in such performances be not changed into another 
 passion, as in tragi-comedies, it is diverted upon 
 another object, which weakens their concern for the 
 principal action, and breaks the tide of sorrow by 
 throwing it. into different channels. This incon- 
 venience, however, may in a great measure be cured, 
 if not wholly removed, by the skilful choice of an 
 under-pJot, which may bear such a near relation to the 
 principal design as to contribute towards the comple- 
 tion 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 English tragedy ; I mean those par- 
 ticular speeches which are commonly known by the 
 name of rants. The warm and passionate parts of 
 a tragedy are always the most taking with the 
 audience, for which reason we often see the players 
 pronouncing, in all the violence of action, several 
 
 1 Tragi-comedies are found in Spain before they appear in 
 England. 
 
208 T"/^^ SPECTATOR No. 40 
 
 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 
 himself a loud clap by this artifice. The poets that 
 were acquainted with this secret have given frequent 
 occasion for such emotions in the actor by adding 
 vehemence to words where there was no passion, or 
 inflaming a real passion into fustian. This hath 
 filled the mouths of our heroes with bombast, and 
 given them such sentiments as proceed rather from 
 a swelling than a greatness of mind. Unnatural ex- 
 clamations, curses, vows, blasphemies, a defiance of 
 mankind, and an outraging of the gods, frequently 
 pass upon the audience for towering thoughts, and 
 have accordingly 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 blus- 
 tering 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 throwing him- 
 self at the feet of his mistress in another. Let him 
 behave himself 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 with good success. 
 
 But to show how a rant pleases beyond the most 
 just and natural thought that is not pronounced with 
 vehemence, I would desire the reader, when he sees 
 the tragedy of ' CEdipus,' to observe how quietly the 
 hero is dismissed at the end of the third act,^ after 
 
 1 See No. 3 1 . 
 
 2 The third act was by Dryden, the fourth by Lee. 
 
No. 40 T/^^ SPECTATOR 209 
 
 having pronounced the following lines, in which the 
 thought is very natural, and apt to move compas- 
 sion : — 
 
 To you, good gods, I make my last appeal, 
 
 Or clear my virtues, 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 ' GEdipus.'] 
 
 The stage arise, and the big clouds descend ; 
 So now, in very deed, I might behold 
 This pond'rous globe, and all yon marble roof. 
 Meet, like the hands of Jove, and crush mankind. 
 For all the elements, &c. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Having spoken of Mr. Powell, as sometimes raising 
 himself applause from the ill taste of an audience, 
 I must do him the justice to own, that he is excel- 
 lently formed for a tragedian, and, when he pleases, 
 deserves the admiration of the best judges ; as I 
 doubt not but he will in the ' Conquest of Mexico,' 
 which is acted for his own benefit to - morrow 
 night.' C. 
 
 ^ In the following number, in the folio issue, there was an adver- 
 tisement of the performance at Drury Lane, for Powell's benefit, of 
 Dryden's ' Indian Emperor ; or, the Conquest of Mexico,' with 
 Powell as Cortez. 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
2IO r>^f SPECTATOR No. 41 
 
 N°- 41. Tuesday^ April 17, 1711 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Tu non inventa repertn, es. 
 
 — Ovid, Met. i. 6^4. 
 
 COMPASSION for the gentleman who writes 
 the following letter should not prevail upon 
 me to fall upon the fair sex, if it were not 
 that I find they are frequently fairer than they ought 
 to be. Such impostures are not to be tolerated in 
 civil society ; and I think his misfortune ought to 
 be made public, as a warning for other men always 
 to examine into what they admire. 
 
 'Sir, 
 ' CUPPOSING you to be a person of general 
 knowledge, I make my application to you on 
 a very particular occasion. I have a great mind to 
 be rid of my wife, and hope, when you consider my 
 case, you will be of opinion I have very just preten- 
 sions to a divorce. I am a mere man of the town, 
 and have very little improvement but what I have 
 got from plays. I remember in 'The Silent Wo- 
 man,' ^ the learned Dr. Cutbeard, or Dr. Otter (I 
 forget which), makes one of the causes of separation 
 to be error personcB, when a man marries a woman, 
 and finds her not to be the same woman whom he 
 intended to marry, but another. If that be law, it 
 
 1 In Ben Jonson's ' Epiccene ; or, the Silent Woman,' Morose 
 discovers that the silent woman whom he has married is far from 
 silent ; and Otter and Cutbeard, disguised as a divine and a canon 
 lawyer respectively, pretend to advise him upon the grounds upon 
 which a man may obtain a divorce, one being error personts, ' if you 
 contract yourself to one person, thinking her .-mother.' 
 
No. 41 T/^^ SPECTATOR 211 
 
 is, I presume, exactly my case. For you are to 
 know, Mr. Spectator, that there are women who do 
 not let their husbands see their faces till they are 
 married. 
 
 ' Not to keep you in suspense, I mean plainly that 
 part of the sex who paint. They are some of them 
 so exquisitely skilful this way, that give them but 
 a tolerable pair of eyes to set up with, and they 
 will make bosom, lips, cheeks, and eyebrows by their 
 own industry. As for my dear, never man was so 
 enamoured as I was of her fair forehead, neck, and 
 arms, as well as the bright jet of her hair ; but to 
 my great astonishment, I find they were all the effect 
 of art : her skin is so tarnished with this practice, that 
 when she first wakes in a morning, she scarce seems 
 young enough to be the mother of her whom I 
 carried to bed the night before. I shall take the 
 liberty to part with her by the first opportunity, 
 unless her father will make her portion suitable to 
 her real, not her assumed, countenance. This I 
 thought fit to let him and her know by your means. 
 I am, 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most obedient humble Servant.' 
 
 I cannot tell what the law or the parents of the 
 lady will do for this injured gentleman, but must 
 allow he has very much justice on his side. I have, 
 indeed, very long observed this evil, and distin- 
 guished those of our women who wear their own, 
 from those in borrowed complexions, by the Picts 
 and the British. There does not need any great 
 discernment to judge which are which. The British 
 have a lively animated aspect; the Picts, though 
 never so beautiful, have dead uninformed counte- 
 
212 T:he SPECTATOR No. 
 
 41 
 
 nances. The muscles of a real face sometimes swell 
 with soft passion, sudden surprise, and are flushed 
 with agreeable confusions, according as the objects 
 before them, or the ideas presented to them, affect 
 their imagination. But the Picts behold all things 
 with the same air, whether they are joyful or sad ; the 
 same fixed insensibility appears upon all occasions. 
 A Pict, though she takes all that pains to invite the 
 approach of lovers, is obliged to keep them at a 
 certain distance ; a sigh in a languishing lover, if 
 fetched too near her, would dissolve a feature ; and 
 a kiss snatched by a forward one, might transfer the 
 complexion of the mistress to the admirer. It is 
 hard to speak of these false fair ones, without saying 
 something uncomplaisant, but I would only recom- 
 mend to them to consider how they like coming 
 into a room new painted ; they may assure them- 
 selves, the near approach of a lady who uses this 
 practice is much more offensive. 
 
 Will Honeycomb told us, one day, an adventure 
 he once had with a Pict. This lady had wit, as well 
 as beauty, at will ; and made it her business to gain 
 hearts, for no other reason but to rally the torments 
 of her lovers. She would make great advances to 
 ensnare men, but without any manner of scruple 
 break off when there was no provocation. Her ill- 
 nature and vanity made my friend very easily proof 
 against the charms of her wit and conversation ; but 
 her beauteous form, instead of being blemished by her 
 falsehood and inconstancy, every day increased upon 
 him, and she had new attractions every time he saw 
 her. When she observed Will irrevocably her slave, 
 she began to use him as such, and after many steps 
 toward such a cruelty, she at last utterly banished 
 him. The unhappy lover strove in vain, by servile 
 
No. 41 ^y^^ SPECTATOR 213 
 
 epistles, to revoke his doom ; till at length he was 
 forced to the last refuge, a round sum of money to 
 her maid. This corrupt attendant placed him early 
 in the morning behind the hangings in her mistress's 
 dressing-room. He stood very conveniently to ob- 
 serve, without being seen. The Pict begins the face 
 she designed to wear that day, and I have heard him 
 protest she had worked a full half-hour before he 
 knew her to be the same woman. As soon as he 
 saw the dawn of that complexion, for which he had 
 so long languished, he thought fit to break from his 
 concealment, repeating that of Cowley : — 
 
 Th' adorning thee with so much art, 
 
 Is but a barb'rous skill ; 
 'Tis like the pois'ning of a dart, 
 
 Too apt before to kill.i 
 
 The Pict stood before him in the utmost con- 
 fusion, with the prettiest smirk imaginable on the 
 finished side of her face, pale as ashes on the other. 
 Honeycomb seized all her gallipots and washes, and 
 carried oflF his handkerchief full of brushes, scraps of 
 Spanish wool,^ and phials of unguents. The lady 
 went into the country ; the lover was cured. 
 
 It is certain no faith ought to be kept with cheats, 
 and an oath made to a Pict is of itself void. I 
 would therefore exhort all the British ladies to single 
 them out, nor do I know any but Lindamira who 
 should be exempt from discovery; for her own com- 
 plexion is so delicate, that she ought to be allowed 
 
 1 'The Waiting-Maid,' in Cowley's 'The Mistress.' 
 
 2 Charles Lillie ('The British Perfumer,' 1822), in describing 
 colours for the face, says that there were several kinds of Spanish 
 wool ; the best, made by Jews in London, gave a bright pale red. 
 If made in dry and hot weather it struck the finest blooming 
 colour. 
 
214 T;^^ SPECTATOR No. 41 
 
 the covering it with paint, as a punishment for 
 choosing to be the worst piece of art extant, instead 
 of the masterpiece of nature. As for my part, who 
 have no expectations from women, and consider 
 them only as they are part of the species, I do not 
 half so much fear offending a beauty as a woman 
 of sense ; I shall therefore produce several faces 
 which have been in public this many years, and 
 never appeared ; it will be a very pretty entertain- 
 ment in the playhouse (when I have abolished this 
 custom) to see so many ladies, when they first lay it 
 down, incog, in their own faces. 
 
 In the meantime, as a pattern for improving their 
 charms, let the sex study the agreeable Statira. Her 
 features are enlivened with the cheerfulness of her 
 mind, and good humour gives an alacrity to her 
 eyes. She is graceful without affecting an air, and 
 unconcerned without appearing careless. Her hav- 
 ing no manner of art in her mind, makes her want 
 none in her person. 
 
 How like is this lady, and how unlike is a Pict, 
 to that description Dr. Donne gives of his mistress ? 
 
 Her pure and eloquent blood 
 Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought. 
 That one would almost say her body thought.i 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 A Young Gentlewoman of about nineteen years of 
 age (bred in the family of a person of quality lately 
 deceased), who paints the finest flesh-colour, wants 
 a place, and is to be heard of at the house of Min- 
 heer Grotesque, a Dutch painter in Barbican. 
 
 1 Donne's ' Funeral Elegies,' on occasion of the untimely death 
 of Mistress Elizabeth Drury, wife of Sir Robert Drury. 
 
No. 42 T'.^e' SPECTATOR 215 
 
 N.B. — She is also well skilled in the drapery- 
 part, and puts on hoods and mixes ribbons so as 
 to suit the colours of the face with great art and 
 success. R. 
 
 N°- 42 . Wednesday^ April 18, 1 7 1 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Garganum mugire putes nemus aut mare Thuscum 
 
 Tanto cum strepitu ludi spedantur, et artes, 
 
 Diviticegue peregrines ; quilus oblitus actor 
 
 Citm stetit in scena, concurrit dextera Icbvcb. 
 
 Dixit adhuc aliquid ? Nil sane. Quid placet ergo ? 
 
 Lana ta?-entino violas imitata veneno. 
 
 — HoR., a Ep. i. 202. 
 
 ARISTOTLE 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 kind very 
 ridiculous in 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 offended 
 at those which are made use of to inspire us with 
 magnificent ideas of the persons that speak. 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 would believe that we thought 
 a great man and a tall man the same thing. This 
 very much embarrasses the actor, who is forced to 
 hold his neck extremely stiff and steady all the while 
 
 1 Poetics, Part II. § 13. 
 
2i6 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 42 
 
 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 up with the 
 page's part ; and as for the queen, I am not so 
 attentive to anything she speaks as to the 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 incur 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 
 
No. 42 T"/^^ SPECTATOR 217 
 
 decayed. This artifice for moving pity seems as ill 
 contrived as that we have been speaking of to 
 inspire us with a great idea of the persons intro- 
 duced upon the stage. In short, I would have our 
 conceptions raised by 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 kings and queens, is 
 to accompany them with halberts and battle-axes. 
 Two or three shifters of scenes, with the two candle- 
 snufFers, 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 gene- 
 rals. It is impossible for the reader's imagination 
 to multiply twenty men into such prodigious mul- 
 titudes, 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 geri promes in scenam : multaque tolles 
 Ex oculis, qu£ mox narret facundia prassens. 
 
 — H0R.1 
 Yet there are things improper for a scene, 
 Which men of judgment only will relate. 
 
 — Ld. Roscommon. 
 
 I should therefore, in this particular, recommend 
 to my countrymen the example of the French stage, 
 where the kings and queens always appear un- 
 attended, and leave their guards behind the scenes. 
 
 1 Ars Poet., 182. 
 
2i8 "The SPECTATOR No. 42 
 
 I should likewise be 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 aggrandise the 
 persons of a tragedy ; 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 
 affect 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 imposing upon the spectators 
 by appearances. They call it the fourberia della 
 scena, the knavery or trickish part of the drama. 
 But however the show and outside of the tragedy 
 may work upon the vulgar, the more understanding 
 part of the audience immediately 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 in the confusion of a fight. 
 Our minds should be opened 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 few lines in Shakespeare .'' C. 
 
No. 43 T/^^ SPECTATOR 219 
 
 N°- 43. Thursday^ April 19, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Hce tibi einint artes ; pacisque imponere morem, 
 Parcere suhjectis, et dehellare superbos. 
 
 — ViRG., Mn. vi. 854. 
 
 THERE are crowds of men, whose great mis- 
 fortune it is that they were not bound to 
 mechanic arts or trades ; it being absolutely 
 necessary for them to be led by some continual task 
 or employment. These are such as we commonly 
 call dull fellows ; persons who, for want of some- 
 thing to do, out of a certain vacancy of thought, 
 rather than curiosity, are ever meddling with things 
 for which they are unfit. I cannot give you a notion 
 of them better than by presenting you with a letter 
 from a gentleman ^ who belongs to a society of this 
 order of men, residing at Oxford. 
 
 1 Thomas Hearne, writing on April 22, lyii ('Collections,' 
 ed. Doble, iii. 153, 154), says : ' Abraham Froth is designed for Dr. 
 Arthur Charlett, an empty, frothy man, and indeed the letter per- 
 sonates him incomparably well, being written, as he used to do, upon 
 great variety of things, and yet about nothing of moment. It brings 
 in his cronies, George Clarke, of All Souls, Dr. Wm. Lancaster, 
 Provost of Queen's, and Dr. Gardiner, Warden of All Soul^ Dr. 
 Lancaster is called in it Sly Boots, and Dr. Gardiner is called in 
 it Dominick. Queen's people are angry at it, and the Common- 
 Room say there 'tis silly, dull stuff, and they are seconded by some 
 that have been of the same college. But men that are indifferent 
 commend it highly, as it deserves.' Dr. Charlett was Master of 
 University College from 1692 until his death in 1722. He was 
 a friend of Arbuthnot and other scholars, and was a man of learn- 
 ing ; but his vanity and love of gossip caused him, says Hearne, 
 to be called the Gazetteer, or Oxford Intelligencer. Hearne had 
 personal reasons for disliking Charlett. 
 
220 T-^f SPECTATOR No. 43 
 
 'Oxford, /ipril 13, 171 1, 
 ' Sir Four o'clock in the Morning. 
 
 JN some of your late speculations, I find some 
 sketches towards an history of clubs : but you 
 seem to me to show them in somewhat too ludicrous 
 a light. I have well weighed that matter, and think 
 that the most important negotiations may best be 
 carried on in such assemblies. I shall therefore, for 
 the good of mankind (which, I trust, you and I are 
 equally concerned for), propose an institution of that 
 nature for example sake. 
 
 ' I must confess, the design and transactions of too 
 many clubs are trifling, and manifestly of no con- 
 sequence to the nation or public weal : those I'll 
 give you up. But you must do me then the justice 
 to own, that nothing can be more useful or laudable, 
 than the scheme we go upon. To avoid nicknames 
 and witticisms, we call ourselves the Hebdomadal 
 Meeting. Our president continues for a year at 
 least, and sometimes four or five. We are all grave, 
 serious, designing men, in our way. We think it 
 our duty, as far as in us lies, to take care the con- 
 stitution receives no harm, — JMe quid detrimenti 
 Res capiat publica ; ^ to censure doctrines or facts, 
 persons or things, which we don't like ; to settle the 
 nation at home, and to carry on the war abroad, 
 where and in what manner we see fit : if other 
 people are not of our opinion, we can't help that. 
 'Twere better they were. Moreover, we now and 
 then condescend to direct, in some measure, the 
 little affairs of our own university. 
 
 1 Roman consuls were instructed to see ne quid Respublica detri- 
 menti capiat. The mistake in the quotation is meant as an illustration 
 of the ignorance of the members of the Hebdomadal Meeting. 
 
No. 43 ^/^^ SPECTATOR 221 
 
 ' Verily, Mr. Spectator, we are much offended at 
 the Act for importing French wines.^ A bottle or 
 two of good solid edifying port, at honest George's, 
 made a night cheerful, and threw off reserve : but 
 this plaguy French claret will not only cost us more 
 money, but do us less good. Had we been aware 
 of it, before it had gone too far, I must tell you we 
 would have petitioned to be heard upon that subject. 
 But let that pass. 
 
 ' I must let you know likewise, good sir, that we 
 look upon a certain northern prince's march, in 
 conjunction with infidels,^ to be palpably against our 
 good will and liking : and, for all Monsieur Palm- 
 quist,^ a most dangerous innovation ; and we are by 
 no means yet sure, that some people are not at the 
 bottom on't. At least, my own private letters leave 
 room for a politician, well versed in matters of this 
 nature, to suspect as much, as a penetrating friend 
 of mine tells me. 
 
 ' We think we have at last done the business with 
 the malcontejits in Hungary, and shall clap up a 
 peace there.* 
 
 1 There was, of course, no such Act, but in 1 703 it was provided 
 by the Methuen Treaty that England should admit Portuguese wines 
 at one-third less duty than those of France (Morley). 
 
 2 The Turks. The march of Charles XII. of Sweden to the 
 Ukraine in 1709 resulted in the battle of Pultowa, which secured 
 the power of Peter the Great, the Emperor of Russia. Charles 
 took refuge with the Turks at Bender. 
 
 5 Probably a confused recollection of the name of Charles's 
 general, Count Poniatowski. 
 
 * Curiously enough, the Emperor Joseph I. died on April 17, 
 only a few days after the date of this letter. During his reign the 
 Hungarians, desiring independence, fought for France. The 
 Archduke Charles, who now became Emperor, was willing to 
 give the Hungarians such privileges as restored their friendship 
 (Morley). 
 
222 7"/^^ SPECTATOR No. 43 
 
 ' What the neutrality army ^ is to do, or what the 
 army in Flanders, and what two or three other 
 princes, is not yet fully determined among us; and 
 we wait impatiently for the coming in of the next 
 Dyer's,^ who, you must know, is our authentic 
 intelligence, our Aristotle in politics. And 'tis 
 indeed but fit there should be some dernier ressort, 
 the absolute decider of all controversies. 
 
 ' We were lately informed, that the gallant trained 
 bands had patrolled all night long about the streets 
 of London. We indeed could not imagine any 
 occasion for it, we guessed not a tittle on't afore- 
 hand, we were in nothing of the secret ; and that 
 city tradesmen, or their apprentices, should do duty, 
 or work, during the holidays, we thought absolutely 
 impossible. But Dyer being positive in it, and some 
 letters from other people who had talked with some 
 who had it from those who should know, giving 
 some countenance to it, the chairman reported from 
 the committee, appointed to examine into that affair, 
 
 ' This phrase was put into Mr. Froth's head by the treaties of 
 17 10, between the Emperor of Germany, Great Britain, and the 
 States-General, which guaranteed the neutrality of all the States of 
 the Empire (Morley). 
 
 2 John Dyer, a Jacobite printer, issued manuscript news-letters 
 to customers in the country. He was more than once in trouble 
 for spreading false news, and is laughed at by Addison in No. 127, 
 though his letters were held in high esteem by Sir Roger de 
 Coverley. Dyer died in T712, and an advertisement in the Flying 
 Post for January 5-7, 17 1 3, desired all who were indebted to him 
 to remit their debts to Thomas Dyer, attorney-at-law, and only son 
 and administrator, at his chambers in Staples Inn. Defoe said that 
 Dyer knew ' very well how to take a dish of coffee in his face, or 
 a cane upon his surface, decently and like a gentleman. . . . He 
 does not so much write what his readers should believe, as what 
 they would believe.' He cared not for truth, so long as he lashed 
 the Whigs. ' Truly, gentlemen, this is the humour of this party ' 
 {Review, vol. vi. No. 132; Feb. 9, 17 10). 
 
No. 43 T/^^ SPECTATOR 223 
 
 that 'twas possible there might be something in't. 
 I have much more to say to you, but my two good 
 friends and neighbours, Dominic and Slyboots, are 
 just come in, and the coffee's ready. 
 ' I am, in the meantime, 
 
 Mr. Spectator, 
 Your admirer and humble Servant, 
 
 Abraham Froth.' 
 
 You may observe the turn of their minds tends 
 only to novelty, and not satisfaction in anything. 
 It would be disappointment to them, to come to 
 certainty in anything, for that would gravel them, 
 and put an end to their inquiries, which dull fellows 
 do not make for information, but for exercise. I 
 do not know but this may be a very good way of 
 accounting for what we frequently see, to wit, that 
 dull fellows prove very good men of business. 
 Business relieves them from their own natural 
 heaviness, by furnishing them with what to do ; 
 whereas business to mercurial men is an interruption 
 from their real existence and happiness. Though 
 the dull part of mankind are harmless in their 
 amusements, it were to be wished they had no 
 vacant time, because they usually undertake some- 
 thing that makes their wants conspicuous, by their 
 manner of supplying them. You shall seldom find 
 a dull fellow of good education, but (if he happens 
 to have any leisure upon his hands) will turn his 
 head to one of those two amusements for all fools 
 of eminence, politics or poetry. The former of 
 these arts is the study of all dull people in general ; 
 but when dulness is lodged in a person of a quick 
 animal life, it generally exerts itself in poetry. One 
 might here mention a few military writers, who give 
 
224 r/i^ SPECTATOR No. 43 
 
 great entertainment to the age, by reason that the 
 stupidity of their heads is quickened by the alacrity 
 of their hearts. This constitution is a dull fellow, 
 gives vigour to nonsense, and makes the puddle boil, 
 which would otherwise stagnate. 'The British Prince,' 
 that celebrated poem, which was written in the reign 
 of King Charles the Second, and deservedly called by 
 the wits of that age incomparable,^ was the effect of 
 such an happy genius as we are speaking of. From 
 among many other distichs no less to be quoted on 
 this account, I cannot but recite the two following 
 lines : — 
 
 A painted vest Prince Voltager had on, 
 Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won. 
 
 Here, if the poet had not been vivacious as well 
 as stupid, he could not, in the warmth and hurry of 
 nonsense, have been capable of forgetting that neither 
 Prince Voltager nor his grandfather could strip a 
 naked man of his doublet; but a fool of a colder 
 constitution would have stayed to have flayed the 
 Pict, and made buff of his skin, for the wearing of 
 the conqueror. 
 
 To bring these observations to some useful pur- 
 
 1 ' The British Princes, an Heroick Poem,' by the Hon. Edward 
 Howard, was published in 1669. The author produced also five 
 plays, and a volume of poems and essays, with a paraphrase on 
 Cicero's Lselius in heroic verse. The Earls of Rochester and 
 Dorset devoted some verses to jest both on ' The British Princes ' 
 and on Edward Howard's plays. Even Dr. Sprat had his rhymed 
 joke with the rest, in lines to a person of honour ' upon his incom- 
 parable, incomprehensible poem, entitled " The British Princes." ' 
 Edward Howard did not print the nonsense here ascribed to him. 
 It was a burlesque of his lines : — 
 
 ' A vest as admired Vortiger had on, 
 Which from this island's foes his grandsire won' (Morley). 
 
No. 44 T/^? SPECTATOR 225 
 
 pose of life, what I would propose should be, that 
 we imitated those wise nations, wherein every man 
 learns some handicraft work. Would it not employ 
 a beau prettily enough, if instead of eternally play- 
 ing with a snuff-box, he spent some part of his time 
 in making one ? Such a method as this would very 
 much conduce to the public emolument, by making 
 every man living good for something ; for there 
 would then be no one member of human society, 
 but would have some little pretension for some 
 degree in it ; like him who came to Will's Coffee- 
 House, upon the merit of having writ a posie of a 
 ring.' R. 
 
 N°- 44. Friday^ April 20^ 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Tu quid ego et populus mecum defideret audi. 
 
 — HoR., Ars Poet. 153. 
 
 AMONG 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 often made use 
 of at the descending of a god, or the rising of a 
 ghost, at the vanishing of a devil, or at the death 
 of a tyrant. I have known a bell introduced into 
 several tragedies with good effect; 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 theatre so 
 
 1 A posy or posie was a poetical motto attached to or inscribed 
 on a ring or other article. Cf. ' Hamlet,' iii. 2 — 
 
 ' Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring ? ' 
 
 2 ' The ' (folio). 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
226 r.^^ SPECTATOR No. 44 
 
 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 terrors; 
 and when they only come in as aids and assistances 
 to the poet, they are not only to be excused, but to 
 be applauded. 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 in ' Hamlet ' is a masterpiece 
 in its kind, and wrought up with all the circum- 
 stances that can create either attention or horror. 
 The mind of the reader is wonderfully prepared for 
 his reception, by the discourses that precede it : his 
 dumb behaviour at his first entrance 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 damned ; 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell ; 
 Be thy events ^ 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 canonised bones, hearsed in death, 
 Have burst their cerements ? Why the sepulchre, 
 
 1 In Act v., in the last scene between JafEer and Belvidera, the 
 passing bell tolls for Pierre. 
 
 2 Advents, visits. The accepted reading is now ' intents.' 
 
No. 44 T/^^ SPECTATOR 227 
 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned, 
 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- 
 mentioned, when they are introduced with skill, and 
 accompanied by proportionable sentiments and ex- 
 pressions 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 anything they say, if they 
 did not from time to time apply their handkerchiefs 
 to their eyes. Far be it from me to think of banish- 
 ing this instrument of sorrow from the stage ; I 
 know a tragedy could not subsist without it : all 
 that I would contend for is, to keep it from being 
 misapplied. In a word, I would have the actor's 
 tongue sympathise with his eyes. 
 
 A disconsolate mother, with a child in her hand, 
 has frequently drawn compassion from the audience, 
 and has therefore gained a place in several tragedies. 
 A modern writer, that observed how this had took 
 in other plays, being resolved 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 outwrite all his predecessors, a few 
 years ago introduced three children, with great suc- 
 cess; and, as I am informed, a young gentleman, 
 who is fully determined to break the most obdurate 
 hearts, has a tragedy by him, where the first person 
 
228 T:he SPECTATOR No. 
 
 44 
 
 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 beautiful 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 grateful spectacles to us, take 
 occasion from them to represent us as a people that 
 delight 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 
 playhouse 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 polite and 
 civilised people ; but as there are no exceptions to 
 this rule on the French stage, it leads them into 
 absurdities almost as ridiculous as that which falls 
 under our present censure. I remember in the 
 famous play of Corneille,^ written upon the sub- 
 
 1 Rapin, whose ' Reflections on Aristotle's Treatise of Poetry' 
 were translated by Rymer in 1694, says that the English 'love 
 blood in their sports ' ; the spirit of the nation ' delights in 
 cruelty.' 
 
 2 ' Les Horaces.' 
 
No. 44 T/^^ SPECTATOR 229 
 
 ject 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 unnatural, and looks like killing in cold blood. 
 To give my opinion upon this case, the fact ought 
 not to have been represented, but to have been told, 
 if there was any occasion for it. 
 
 It may not be unacceptable to the reader, to see 
 how Sophocles has conducted a tragedy^ under the 
 like delicate circumstances. Orestes was in the same 
 condition with Hamlet in Shakespeare, his mother 
 having murdered his father, and taken possession of 
 his kingdom in conspiracy with her adulterer. 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 
 calling out to her son for mercy ; and the son 
 answering her, that she showed no mercy to his 
 
 ' The « Electra.' 
 
230 t:^^ SPECTATOR No. 44 
 
 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 affecting 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 despatch him, and by ordering him to re- 
 tire 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 murders before the 
 audience. 
 
 Nee coram populo natos Medea trucidet.^ 
 Let not Medea draw her murth'ring knife, 
 And spill her children's blood upon the stage. 
 
 The French have therefore refined too much upon 
 Horace's rule, who never designed to banish all 
 kinds of death from the stage; but only such as 
 had too much horror in them, and which would 
 have a better effect upon the audience when trans- 
 acted behind the scenes. I would therefore recom- 
 mend to my countrymen the practice of the ancient 
 ^ Horace's actual words are quoted on the next page. 
 
No. 44 T/^^ SPECTATOR 231 
 
 poets, who were very sparing of their public execu- 
 tions, 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 ob- 
 serve, that though the devoted persons of the 
 tragedy were seldom slain before the audience, 
 which has generally something ridiculous in it, their 
 bodies were often produced after their death, which 
 has always in it something melancholy or terrifying ; 
 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, Cadmus in anguem, 
 Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi. 
 
 — HoR. 1 
 
 Medea must not draw her murth'ring 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 in- 
 numerable shifts that small wits put in practice to 
 
 1 Ars Poet., 115. 
 
 2 The Earl of Roscommon's translation of Horace's • Art of 
 Poetry ' into English blank verse appeared in 1680. 
 
232 T/^ SPECTATOR No. 45 
 
 raise a laugh. Bullock ^ in a short coat, and Norris ^ 
 in a long one, seldom fail of this effect. In ordi- 
 nary comedies, a broad and a narrow brimmed hat 
 are different characters. Sometimes the wit of the 
 scene lies in 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 
 indulgence to be allowed them. C. 
 
 N°- 45. Saturday^ April 21, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Natio comceda est — Juv., Sat. iii. lOO. 
 
 THERE is nothing which I more desire than 
 a safe and honourable peace,* though at the 
 same time I am very apprehensive of many 
 ill consequences that may attend it. I do not mean 
 in regard to our politics, but to our manners. What 
 an inundation of ribbons and brocades will break in 
 
 1 See No. 36. 
 
 2 Henry Norris was known as Jubilee Dicky, from the part of 
 Dicky which he played in Farquhar's ' Constant Couple ; or, a Trip 
 to the Jubilee.' His little figure looked droll in a long coat. 
 
 2 Sir George Etherege. Norris was the original Lovis in 
 Etherege's ' Comical Revenge ; or, Love in a Tub.' 
 
 * After the death of the Emperor Joseph in April 171 1, hopes 
 of peace were entertained, and preliminaries were signed in the 
 following October. 
 
No. 45 T;^^ SPECTATOR 233 
 
 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 for prohibiting the impor- 
 tation of French 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 of our well-bred countrywomen 
 kept their valet-de-chambre, because, forsooth, a 
 man was much more handy about them than one 
 of their own sex. I myself have seen one of these 
 male Abigails tripping about the room with a look- 
 ing-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 lyere 
 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 be- 
 cause 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 
 
 1 The 'ruelle' is the path between a bedside and the wall. 
 Hence it denoted among the French Predeuses, the bed-chamber 
 of fashionable ladies, and we find such phrases as ' un po^te de 
 ruelles,' ' cet homme passe sa vie dans les ruelles,' &c. 
 
234 r.^^ SPECTATOR No. 45 
 
 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 
 obliged to bear a part in the discourse. The lady, 
 though willing to appear undressed, had put on her 
 best looks, and painted herself for our reception. 
 Her hair appeared in very nice disorder, as the night- 
 gown, which was thrown upon her shoulders, was 
 ruffled with great care. For my part, I am so 
 shocked with everything which looks immodest in 
 the fair sex, that I could not forbear 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 coquettes who in- 
 troduced 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 impressions. 
 
 Sempronia is at present the most professed 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 beautiful 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 discourse between 
 her women and her visitants ! What sprightly 
 transitions does she make from an opera or a sermon, 
 to an ivory comb or a pin-cushion ! How have 1 
 been pleased to see her interrupted in an account of 
 her travels, by a message to her footman ; and hold- 
 ing 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 dangers, than that gaiety and airiness of 
 
No. 45 T:^? SPECTATOR 235 
 
 temper which are natural 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 French 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 edu- 
 cation. At the same time, a blush is unfashionable, 
 and silence more ill-bred than anything that can be 
 spoken. In short, discretion 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, unfortunately, placed myself under a woman 
 of quality that is since dead ; who, as I found by 
 the noise she made, was 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 all over the pit, ' We must not expect to see 
 
 1 Thomas Betterton died in 1710, and at the time of his funeral 
 Steele wrote an eloquent eulogy of the great actor in the Taller 
 (No. 167). 
 
236 T*;^^ SPECTATOR No. 45 
 
 Balloon ^ to-night.' Not long after, calling out to 
 a young baronet by his name, who sat three seats 
 before me, she asked him whether 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 corners of the pit. 
 
 This pretty childishness of behaviour is one of the 
 most refined parts of coquetry, and is not to be 
 attained in perfection 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 hit, when it 
 is not born with us, that people often make them- 
 selves ridiculous in attempting it. 
 
 A very ingenious French author tells 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, 
 
 ' Apparently the name of a person j but there was a game called 
 ' balloon,' resembling tennis, but played with a football. 
 
No. 46 T/^^ SPECTATOR 237 
 
 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 that never was 
 out of the parish of St. James's, betray^ as many 
 foreign fopperies in her carriage, as she could have 
 gleaned up in half the countries of Europe. C. 
 
 N°- 46. Monday, April 23, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 'Nan hene junciarum discordia semincs rerum. 
 
 — Ovid, Met. i. 9. 
 
 WHEN I want materials for this paper, it is my 
 custom to go abroad in quest of game, and 
 when I meet any proper subject I take the 
 first opportunity of setting down an hint of it upon 
 paper. At the same time I look into the letters of 
 my correspondents, and if I find anything suggested 
 in 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 sheetful 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 accident, by reason of one of these my papers 
 of minutes which I had accidentally dropped at 
 
 1 'With' (folio). 
 
238 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 46 
 
 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 own 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 : — 
 
 MINUTES 
 
 Sir Roger de Coverley's country-seat. — Yes, for 
 I hate long speeches. — Query, if a good Christian 
 may be a conjurer. — Childermas-day, salt-cellar, 
 house-dog, screech-owl, cricket. — Mr. Thomas Inkle 
 of London, in the good ship called the Achilles. 
 Yarico. — Egrescitque medendo. — Ghosts. — The 
 ladies' library. — Lion by trade a tailor. — Drome- 
 dary called Bucephalus. — Equipage the ladies' sum- 
 
 1 Lloyd's CoiFee-House, from whence ' Lloyd's Subscription- 
 Rooms ' have sprung, had its first home in Little Tower Street, 
 where Edward Lloyd opened a cofFee-house. In 1692 he moved 
 to the corner of Abchurch Lane in Lombard Street, and in 1696" 
 started Lloyd's News, a paper especially intended to give shipping 
 news. The cofFee-house became the recognised meeting-place for 
 underwriters and shipowners, and there ships and other property 
 were sold ' by candle.' A letter from customers of Lloyd's to 
 Isaac BickerstafF is printed in the Tatler, No. 268. Lloyd died 
 on February 15, 1713 [Flying Post, Feb. 14-17, 1712-13). 
 
No. 46 T'/^? SPECTATOR 239 
 
 mum bonum. — Charles Lillie to be taken notice 
 of. — Short face a relief to envy. — Redundancies in 
 the three professions. — King Latinus a recruit, — 
 Jew devouring an ham of bacon. — Westminster 
 Abbey. — Grand 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 half 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 
 and gridiron. — Flower dyers. — The soldier's prayer. 
 — ' Thank ye for nothing,' says the gallipot.^ — Pac- 
 tolus in stockings, with golden clocks to them. — 
 Bamboos, cudgels, drumsticks. — Slip of my land- 
 lady's eldest daughter. — -The black mare with a star 
 in her forehead. — The barber's pole. — Will Honey- 
 comb's coat-pocket. — Caesar's behaviour and my own 
 in parallel circumstances. — Poem in patchwork. — 
 Nulli gravis est perctissus Achilles. — The female 
 conventicler. — The ogle-master. 
 
 The reading of this paper made the whole coflTee- 
 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, with 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 
 
240 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 46 
 
 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 out- 
 landish man with the golden clock in his stockings. 
 A young Oxford scholar,^ who chanced 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 citizen 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 me, which he did accordingly. This drew 
 the eyes of the whole company upon me ; but after 
 haying 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 with it. My 
 profound silence, together with the steadiness of 
 my countenance 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 
 Postman, took no further 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 suppose, that those subjects which are 
 yet untouched, were such provisions as I had made 
 for his future entertaiment. But as I have been un- 
 luckily prevented by this accident, I shall only give 
 
 1 'Oxonian' (folio). 
 
 2 'No notice' (folio). 
 
No. 46 r>^^ SPECTATOR 241 
 
 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 affairs by the indis- 
 creet 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. 
 
 'Sir, 
 ' J AM one of those unhappy men that are plagued 
 with a Gospel-gossip, so common among Dis- 
 senters (especially Friends). Lectures in the morn- 
 ing, 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, unless 
 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 till towards morning. The misery of my case, 
 and great numbers of such sufferers, plead your pity 
 and speedy relief; otherwise must expect, in a little 
 time, to be lectured, preached, and prayed into 
 
 ■^ Gilbert Burnet, author of the ' History of the Reformation 
 and 'History of his own Times,' died in 17 1 5. Addison's 
 reference is to the first of Burnet's ' Some Letters containing an 
 Account of what seemed most remarkable in travelling through 
 Switzerland, Italy, some parts of Germany, &c., in 1685 and 
 1686,' published in 1687. The subject of the inscription ' Quas- 
 dam nimia pia fuit, facta est impia,' with its false Latin ' nimia,' 
 was Suria Anthis, wife of Cecaelius Calistis. 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
242 r/^^ SPECTATOR No. 47 
 
 want, unless the happiness of being sooner talked to 
 death prevent it. I am, &c., R. G.' 
 
 The second letter, relating to the ogling-master, 
 runs thus : — 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, 
 ' T AM an Irish gentleman, that have travelled many 
 years for my improvement ; during which time 
 I have accomplished myself in the whole art of 
 ogling, as it is at present practised in all the polite 
 nations of Europe. Being thus qualified, I intend, 
 by the advice of my friends, to set up for an ogling- 
 master. I teach the church ogle in the morning, 
 and the playhouse ogle by 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 manuscript by me called " The 
 Complete Ogler," which I shall be ready to show 
 you upon any occasion. In the meantime, I beg 
 you will publish the substance of this letter in an 
 advertisement, and you will very much oblige, 
 
 C. Your, &c.' 
 
 N°' 47. Tuesday^ April 24, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Ride si sapis — Mart. 
 
 MR. HOBBES, in his 'Discourse of Human 
 Nature,'^ which, in my humble opinion, 
 is much the best of all his works, after some 
 very curious observations upon laughter, concludes 
 
 1 Chap. ix. § 1 3. 
 
No. 47 T^^f SPECTATOR 243 
 
 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 themselves past, 
 when they come suddenly to remembrance, except 
 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 tell 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 his opinion. Every one laughs at somebody that 
 is in an inferior state of folly to himself. It was 
 formerly the custom for every great house in Eng- 
 land to keep a tame fool dressed in petticoats, that 
 the heir of the family might have an opportunity 
 of joking upon him, and divert himself with his 
 absurdities. For the same reason idiots are still in 
 request in most of the courts of Germany, where 
 there is not a prince of any great magnificence who 
 has not two or three dressed, distinguished, undis- 
 puted 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 Gaper, that is, the head of an idiot 
 dressed in a cap and bells, and gaping in a most 
 immoderate manner. This is a standing jest at 
 Amsterdam. 
 
 Thus every one diverts himself with some person 
 or other that is below him in point of understand- 
 ing, and triumphs in the superiority of his genius, 
 whilst he has such objects of derision before his eyes. 
 
244 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 47 
 
 Mr. Dennis ^ has very well expressed this in a couple 
 of humorous lines, which are part 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. Hobbes's reflection gives us the reason why 
 the insignificant people above-mentioned are stirrers 
 up of laughter among men of a gross taste. But 
 as the more understanding 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 drolls, whom the common people of 
 all countries admire, 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 France, ' Jean potages ' ; in 
 Italy, ' maccaronies ' ; and in Great Britain, ' Jack 
 puddings.' These merry wags, from whatsoever 
 food they receive their titles, that they may make 
 their audiences laugh, always appear in a fool's coat, 
 and commit such blunders and mistakes in every 
 step they take, and every word they utter, as tho^e 
 who listen to them would be ashamed of. 
 
 But this little triumph of the understanding, 
 under the disguise of laughter, is nowhere more 
 visible than in that custom which prevails every- 
 where among us on the first day of the present 
 
 1 John Dennis, critic and dramatist, died in 1734. 
 
 "^ Fourth satire. 3 Wandering, vagrant. 
 
No. 47 Ty^f SPECTATOR 245 
 
 month, when everybody takes it in his head to make 
 as many fools as he can. In proportion as there are 
 more follies discovered, so there is more laughter 
 raised on this day, than in any other in the whole 
 year. A neighbour of mine, who is a haberdasher 
 by trade, and a very shallow 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 sending 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 
 fellow 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 distinguished by the name 
 of ' biters ' ; ^ a race of men that are perpetually 
 
 1 Steele afterwards devoted a whole paper (No. 504) to 'biters,' 
 a subject of which he had already treated in the Tatler, where 
 (No. 12) he defined a 'biter' as 'a dull fellow, that tells you a 
 lie with a grave face, and laughs at you for knowing him no better 
 than to believe him.' Swift, who himself indulged in the sport, 
 wrote, in the ' Journal to Stella ' : ' I'll teach you a way to outwit 
 Mrs. Johnson ; it is a new-fashioned way of being witty, and they 
 call it a " bite." You must ask a bantering question, or tell some 
 He in a serious manner, then she will answer, or speak as if you were 
 in earnest, and then cry you, " Madam, there's a ' bite.' " I would 
 not have you undervalue this, for it is the constant amusement in 
 court, and everywhere else among the great people ; and I let you 
 know it, in order to have it among you, and to teach you a new 
 refinement.' 
 
246 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 47 
 
 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 pos- 
 sible, that the persons we laugh at may in the main 
 of their characters be much wiser men than our- 
 selves; 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 
 speculations, 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 represen- 
 tation 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 consideration of those stage coxcombs that are 
 able to shake a whole audience, and take notice of 
 a particular sort of men who are such provokers of 
 mirth in conversation, that it is impossible for a 
 club 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 companions ; that are pelted by men, women, 
 and children, friends and foes, and, in a word, stand 
 as ' butts ' in conversation, for every one to shoot at 
 
No. 48 r/^f SPECTATOR 247 
 
 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 con- 
 versation 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 accomplishments frequently gets the laugh of 
 his side, and turns the ridicule upon him that attacks 
 him. Sir John Falstaff was an hero of this species, 
 and gives a good description of himself in his 
 capacity of a ' butt,' after the following manner : 
 ' Men of all sorts,' says that merry knight,^ ' take a 
 pride to gird at me. The brain of man is not able 
 to invent anything that tends to laughter more 
 than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not 
 only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in 
 other men.' C. 
 
 N°' 48. Wednesday^ April 25, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Per multas aditum sihi scepejiguras 
 
 Repperit — Ovid, Met. xiv. 653. 
 
 MY correspondents take it ill if I do not, 
 from time to time, let them know I have 
 received their letters. The most effectual 
 way will be to publish some of them that are upon 
 important subjects ; which I shall introduce with a 
 
 ' « 2 Henry IV.,' Act i. sc, 2. 
 
248 t:^^ SPECTATOR No. 48 
 
 letter of my own, that I writ a fortnight ago to a 
 fraternity who thought fit to make me an honorary 
 member.^ 
 
 ' To the President and Fellows of the 
 Ugly Club. 
 
 ' May it please your Deformities, 
 
 ' T HAVE received the notification of the honour 
 you have done me, in admitting me into your 
 society. I acknowledge my want of merit, and for 
 that reason shall endeavour at all times to make up 
 my own failures, by introducing and recommending 
 to the club persons of more undoubted qualifications 
 than I can pretend to. I shall next week come down 
 in the stage coach, in order to take my seat at the 
 board ; and shall bring with me a candidate of each 
 sex. The persons I shall present to you, are an old 
 beau and a modern Pict. If they are not so eminently 
 gifted by nature as our assembly expects, give me 
 leave to say, their acquired ugliness is greater than 
 any that has ever appeared before you. The beau 
 has varied his dress every day of his life for these 
 thirty years last past, and still added to the deformity 
 he was born with. The Pict has still greater merit 
 towards us ; and has, ever since she came to years of 
 discretion, deserted the handsome party, and taken 
 all possible pains to acquire the face in which I shall 
 present her to your consideration and favour. I am, 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 Your most obliged humble Servant, 
 
 The Spectator. 
 
 ' P.S. — I desire to know whether you admit 
 people of quality.' 
 
 ' See No. 32. 
 
No. 48 T/^^ SPECTATOR 249 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, ^W/ 17. 
 
 ' npO show you there are among us of the vain 
 weak sex, some that have honesty and fortitude 
 enough to dare to be ugly, and willing to be thought 
 so, I apply myself to you, to beg your interest and 
 recommendation to the Ugly Club. If my own 
 word will not be taken (though in this case a 
 woman's may), I can bring credible witness of my 
 qualifications for their company, whether they insist 
 upon hair, forehead, eyes, cheeks, or chin ; to which 
 I must add, that I find it easier to lean to my left 
 side than my right. I hope I am in all respects 
 agreeable : and for humour and mirth I'll keep up 
 to the president himself. All thej favour I'll pretend 
 to is, that as I am the 'Stit" woman has appeared 
 ~i^531^'Q£-g^^i«3i^ffiEanxju^ 
 tion, I may take and keep the upper ena or the 
 table. And indeed I think they want a carver, 
 which I can be after as ugly a manner as they can 
 wish. I desire your thoughts of my claim as soon 
 as you can. Add to my features the length of my 
 face, which is full half-yard ; though I never knew 
 the reason of it till you gave one for the shortness 
 of yours. If I knew a name ugly enough to belong 
 to the above-described face, I would feign one ; but, 
 to my unspeakable misfortune, my name is the only 
 disagreeable prettiness about me ; so prithee make 
 one for me, that signifies all the deformity in the 
 world. You understand Latin, but be sure bring 
 it in with my being, in the sincerity of my heart, 
 Your most frightful Admirer 
 
 and Servant, 
 
 Hecatissa.' 
 
250 7"/^^ SPECTATOR No. 48 
 
 'Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' J READ your discourse upon affectation,^ and 
 from the remarks made in it examined my 
 own heart so strictly, that I thought I had found 
 out its most secret avenues, with a resolution to be 
 aware of them for the future. But alas ! to my 
 sorrow I now understand, that I have several follies 
 which I do not know the root of. I am an old 
 fellow, and extremely troubled with the gout ; but 
 having always a strong vanity towards being pleasing 
 in the eyes of women, I never have a moment's ease, 
 but I am mounted in high-heeled shoes with a glazed 
 wax-leather instep. Two days after a severe fit I 
 was invited to a friend's house in the city, where 
 I believed I should see ladies ; and with my usual 
 complaisance crippled myself to wait upon them. 
 A very sumptuous table, agreeable company, and 
 kind reception, were but so many importunate addi- 
 tions to the torment I was in. A gentleman of the 
 family observed my condition ; and soon after the 
 Qjieen's health, he, in the presence of the whole 
 company, with his own hands degraded me into an 
 old pair of his own shoes. This operation, before 
 fine ladies, to me (who am by nature a coxcomb) 
 was suffered with the same reluctance as they admit 
 the help of men in their greatest extremity. The 
 return of ease made me forgive the rough obligation 
 laid upon me, which at that time relieved my body 
 from a distemper, and will my mind for ever from 
 a folly. For the charity received I return my thanks 
 this way. 
 
 Your. most humble Servant.' 
 
 1 No. 38. 
 
No. 48 r/^^ SPECTATOR 251 
 
 'Sir, 'Epping, April 18. 
 
 ' "\^E have your papers here the morning they 
 come out, and we have been very well enter- 
 tained with your last,^ upon the false ornaments of 
 persons who represent heroes in a tragedy. What 
 made your speculation come very seasonably among 
 us is, that we have now at this place a company of 
 strollers, who are very far from offending in the 
 impertinent splendour of the drama. They are so 
 far from falling into these false gallantries, that 
 the stage is here in its original situation of a cart. 
 Alexander the Great was acted by a fellow in a 
 paper cravat. The next day, the Earl of Essex ^ 
 seemed to have no distress but his poverty ; and my 
 Lord Foppington^ the same morning wanted any 
 better means to show himself a fop, than by wearing 
 stockings of different colours. In a word, though 
 they have had a full barn for many days together, 
 our itinerants are still so wretchedly poor, that 
 without you can prevail to send us the furniture 
 you forbid at the playhouse, the heroes appear only 
 like sturdy beggars, and the heroines gipsies. We 
 have had but one part which was performed and 
 dressed with propriety, and that was Justice Clod- 
 pate.* This was so well done that it offended Mr. 
 Justice Overdo,^ who, in the midst of our whole 
 audience, was (like Quixote in the puppet-show) 
 
 1 See No. 42. 
 
 2 John Banks's 'The Unhappy Favourite; or, the Earl of Essex,' 
 appeared in 1682. 
 
 ' A character in Colley Gibber's ' The Careless Husband,' 1 704. 
 * Justice Clodpate appears in Shadwell's ' Epsom Wells,' 1676. 
 ' Adam Overdo is a Justice in Ben Jonson's * Bartholomew 
 Fair.' 
 
252 r^^ SPECTATOR No. 49 
 
 so highly provoked, that he told them, if they 
 would move compassion, it should be in their own 
 persons, and not in the characters of distressed 
 princes and potentates. He told them, if they 
 were so good at finding the way to people's hearts, 
 they should do it at the end of bridges or church 
 porches, in their proper vocation of beggars. This, 
 the Justice says, they must expect, since they could 
 not be contented to act heathen warriors, and such 
 fellows as Alexander, but must presume to make a 
 mockery of one of the quorum. 
 
 Your Servant.' 
 
 N°' 49. Thursday^ April 2^^ 1 711 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Hominem pagina nostra sapit. — Mart. x. 4. 
 
 IT is very natural for a man, who is not turned 
 for mirthful meetings of men, or assemblies of 
 the fair sex, to delight in that sort of conversa- 
 tion which we find in coffee-houses. Here a man 
 of my temper is in his element ; for, if he cannot 
 talk, he can still be more agreeable to his company, 
 as well as pleased in himself, in being only an hearer. 
 It is a secret known but to few, yet of no small use 
 in the conduct of life, that when you fall into a 
 man's conversation, the first thing you should con- 
 sider is, whether he has a greater inclination to hear 
 you, or that you should hear him. The latter is 
 the more general desire, and I know very able flat- 
 terers that never speak a word in praise of the 
 persons from whom they obtain daily favours, but 
 still practise a skilful attention to whatever is uttered 
 by those with whom they converse. We are very 
 
No. 49 T^/^f SPECTATOR 253 
 
 curious to observe the behaviour of great men and 
 their clients ; but the same passions and interests 
 move men in lower spheres ; and I, that have no- 
 thing else to do but makfe observations, see in every 
 parish, street, lane, and alley of this populous city a 
 little potentate that has his court and his flatterers, 
 who lay snares for his affection and favour, by the 
 same arts that are practised upon men in higher 
 stations. 
 
 In the place I most usually frequent, men differ 
 rather in the time of day in which they make a 
 figure, than in any real greatness above one another. 
 I, who am at the coffee-house at six in a morning, 
 know that my friend Beaver the haberdasher has a 
 levee of more undissembled friends and admirers, 
 than most of the courtiers or generals of Great 
 Britain. Every man about him has, perhaps, a 
 newspaper in his hand ; but none can pretend to 
 guess what step will be taken in any one court of 
 Europe, until Mr. Beaver has thrown down his pipe, 
 and declares what measures the allies must enter 
 into upon this new posture of affairs. Our coffee- 
 house is near one of the Inns of Court, and Beaver 
 has the audience and admiration of his neighbours 
 from six until within a quarter of eight, at which 
 time he is interrupted by the students of the house ; 
 some of whom are ready dressed for Westminster, 
 at eight in a morning, with faces as busy as if they 
 were retained in every cause there ; and others come 
 in their night-gowns ^ to saunter away their time, as 
 if they never designed to go thither. I do not know 
 that I meet, in any of my walks, objects which move 
 both my spleen and laughter so effectually as those 
 
 1 These ' night-gowns,' or, as we should say, dressing-gowns, 
 were often very gorgeous garments. 
 
254 r/^f SPECTATOR No. 49 
 
 young fellows at the Grecian,^ Squire's,^ Searle's/ 
 and all other cofFee-houses adjacent to the law, who 
 rise early for no other purpose but to publish their 
 laziness. One would think these young virtuosos 
 take a gay cap and slippers, with a scarf and party- 
 coloured gown, to be ensigns of dignity ; for the 
 vain things approach each other with an air which 
 shows they regard one another for their vestments. 
 I have observed that the superiority among these 
 proceeds from an opinion of gallantry and fashion : 
 the gentleman in the strawberry sash, who presides 
 so much over the rest, has, it seems, subscribed to 
 every opera this last winter, and is supposed to 
 receive favours from one of the actresses. . 
 
 When the day grows too busy for these gentle- 
 men to enjoy any longer the pleasures of their 
 deshabille, with any manner of confidence, they give 
 place to men who have business or good sense in 
 their faces, and come to the cofFee-house either to 
 transact affairs, or enjoy conversation. The persons 
 to whose behaviour and discourse I have most re- 
 gard, are such as are between these two sorts of 
 men : such as have not spirits too active to be 
 happy and well pleased in a private condition, nor 
 complexions too warm to make them neglect the 
 duties and relations of life. Of these sort of men 
 consist the worthier part of mankind ; of these are 
 all good fathers, generous brothers, sincere friends, 
 and faithful subjects. Their entertainments are de- 
 
 1 See No. I. 
 
 2 Squire's CofFee-House, in Fulwood's Rents, was kept by a 
 cofFee-man named Squire, who died in 1717. The house was 
 frequented by lawyers from Gray's Inn. 
 
 3 Serle's CofFee-House, at the corner of Serle Street and Por- 
 tugal Street, was used by students and others at Lincoln's Inn. 
 
No. 49 T/^^ SPECTATOR 255 
 
 rived rather from reason than imagination : which is 
 the cause that there is no impatience or instability in 
 their speech or action. You see in their countenances 
 they are at home, and in quiet possession of the pre- 
 sent instant as it passes, without desiring to quicken 
 it by gratifying any passion, or prosecuting any new 
 design. These are the men formed for society, and 
 those little communities which we express by the 
 word neighbourhoods. 
 
 The coffee-house is the place of rendezvous to all 
 that live near it, who are thus turned to relish calm 
 and ordinary life. Eubulus presides over the middle 
 hours of the day, when this assembly of men meet 
 together. He enjoys a great fortune handsomely, 
 without launching into expense ; and exerts many 
 noble and useful qualities, without appearing in any 
 public employment. His wisdom and knowledge 
 are serviceable to all that think fit to make use of 
 them ; and he does the office of a counsel, a judge, 
 .an executor, and a friend to all his acquaintance, not 
 only without the profits which attend such offices, 
 but also without the deference and homage which 
 are usually paid to them. The giving of thanks is 
 displeasing to him. The greatest gratitude you can 
 show him, is to let him see you are the better man 
 for his services ; and that you are as ready to oblige 
 others as he is to oblige you. 
 
 In the private exigencies of his friends he lends, 
 at legal value, considerable sums, which he might 
 highly increase by rolling in the public stocks. He 
 does not consider in whose hands his money will 
 improve most, but where it will do most good. 
 
 Eubulus has so great an authority in his little 
 diurnal audience, that when he shakes his head at 
 .any piece of public news, they all of them appear 
 
2s6 "The SPECTATOR No. 50 
 
 dejected; and, on the contrary, go home to their 
 dinners with a good stomach and cheerful aspect, 
 when Eubulus seems to intimate that things go well. 
 Nay, their veneration towards him is so great, that 
 when they are in other company they speak and act 
 after him ; are wise in his sentences, and are no 
 sooner sat down at their own tables, but they hope 
 or fear, rejoice or despond as they saw him do at 
 the coffee-house. In a word, every man is Eubulus 
 as soon as his back is turned. 
 
 Having here given an account of the several reigns 
 that succeed each other from daybreak till dinner- 
 time, I shall mention the monarchs of the afternoon 
 on another occasion, and shut up the whole series of 
 them with the history of Tom the Tyrant ; ^ who, 
 as first minister of the coffee-house, takes the govern- 
 ment upon him between the hours of eleven and 
 twelve at night, and gives his orders in the most ar- 
 bitrary manner to the servants below him, as to the 
 disposition of liquors, coal, and cinders. R. 
 
 N°- 50. Friday^ April 27, 171 1 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 Nunquam aliud natura, aliud sapientia dixit. 
 
 — Juv., Sat. xix. 331. 
 
 WHEN the four Indian kings* were in this 
 country about a twelvemonth ago, I often 
 mixed with the rabble, and followed them 
 a whole day together, being wonderfully struck with 
 
 1 ' Sir Thomas,' the waiter at White's Coffee- House, is referred 
 to several times in the Tat/er (Nos. i6, 17, 26, 36). 
 
 2 Steele wrote about the Indian kings in the Tat/er (No. 171). 
 The four kings, Te Yee Neen Ho Ga Prow, Sa Ga Yean Qua 
 
No. 50 T:he SPECTATOR 257 
 
 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 uphol- 
 sterer,^ 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.^ 
 
 The upholsterer, finding my friend very inquisi- 
 tive about these his lodgers, brought him some time 
 since a little bundle of papers, which he assured him 
 were written by King Sa Ga Yean Qua Rash Tow, 
 and, as he supposes, left behind by some mistake. 
 These papers are now translated, and contain abund- 
 ance of very odd observations, which I find this little 
 fraternity of kings made during their stay in the isle 
 of Great Britain. I shall present my reader with a 
 
 Rash Tow, E Tow O Koam, and Oh Nee Yeath Ton Now Prow 
 were chiefs of the Iroquois Indians who had been persuaded by 
 British colonists to come and pay their respects to Queen Anne, 
 and see for themselves the untruth of the assertion made among 
 them by the Jesuits, that the English and all other nations were 
 vassals to the French king. The kings returned to Boston in July 
 171 1, after being painted in whole lengths by John Verelst. 
 
 1 The kings were lodged * in a handsome apartment at an uphol- 
 sterer's in King Street, Covent Garden.' This political upholsterer, 
 whose sign was ' The two Crowns and Cushion,' is alleged to have 
 had for original Thomas Arne, father of the musician, and of the 
 actress, Mrs. Cibber. Addison had referred to him several times 
 in the Tatler (Nos. 155, 160, 171). 
 
 2 ' The Spectator is written by Steele, with Addison's help ; 'tis 
 often very pretty. Yesterday it was made of a noble hint I gave 
 him long ago for his Tatlers, about an Indian, supposed to write his 
 travels into England. I repent he ever had it. I intended to have 
 written a book on that subject. I believe he has spent it all in one 
 paper, and all the under hints there are mine too ; but I never see 
 him or Addison' (Swift, 'Journal to Stella,' April 28, 171 1). 
 This paper was by Addison, not Steele. 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
258 rhe SPECTATOR No. 50 
 
 short specimen of them in this paper, and may, per- 
 haps, communicate more to him hereafter. In the 
 article of ' London ' are the following 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 O Koam, king of the Rivers, is of opinion 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 in- 
 formation 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 instru- 
 ments, of which they have a wonderful variety in 
 this country. It was probably at first a huge mis- 
 shapen 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 number of hands must have been em- 
 ployed in chipping the outside of it, which is now as 
 smooth as the surface of a pebble ; ^ and is in several 
 places hewn out into pillars that stand like the 
 trunks of so many trees bound about the top with 
 garlands 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, 
 ' 'As smooth as polished marble' (folio). 
 
No. 50 "The SPECTATOR 259 
 
 and have a tradition that it was designed for men 
 to pay their devotions in. And indeed there are 
 several reasons which make us think that the natives 
 of this country had formerly among them some sort 
 of worship ; for they set apart every seventh day as 
 sacred. But upon my going into one of these holy 
 houses on that day, I could not observe any circum- 
 stance 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 paying their worship to the deity of the 
 place, they were most of them bowing and curtseying 
 to one another, and a considerable 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 understood in some few particulars. But 
 we soon perceived these two were great enemies to 
 one another, and did not always 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, in 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 rhinoceros. But as we saw none of either 
 of these species, we are apt to think that our guides 
 
26o t:^^ SPECTATOR No. 50 
 
 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 under- 
 stand but here and there a word of what they said, 
 and afterwards making up the meaning 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 dress is likewise very bar- 
 barous, 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 
 distempers among them which our country 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 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 diver- 
 sions, where we hoped to have seen the great men 
 of their country running down a stag or pitching a 
 bar, that we might have discovered who were the 
 persons of the greatest abilities among them,^ but 
 instead of that they conveyed us into an huge room 
 lighted up with abundance of candles, where this 
 lazy people sat still above three hours to see several 
 
 1 ' Who were the men of the greatest perfections in their country * 
 (folio). 
 
No. 50 The SPECTATOR 261 
 
 feats of ingenuity 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 with 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 knot, 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 another, 
 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 absurdity 
 of breeches and petticoats, with many other curious 
 observations, which I shall reserve for another occa- 
 sion. I cannot, however, conclude this paper with- 
 out taking notice that amidst these wild remarks 
 there now and then appears something very reason- 
 able. I cannot likewise forbear observing that we 
 are all guilty in some measure of the same narrow 
 way of thinking which we meet with in this abstract 
 
 1 The patch-box was an important part of a lady's toilet arrange- 
 ments. In Steele's ' Lying Lover,' Penelope says to Victoria : 
 ' But also, madam, who patched you to-day \ Let me see. It is 
 the hardest thing in dress. I may say without vanity I know a 
 little of it. That so low on the cheeks pulps the flesh too much. 
 Hold still, ray dear, I'll place it just by your eye. — (^Aside) Now 
 she downright squints.' Addison speaks of the use of patches as 
 party symbols in No. 8i. 
 
262 rhe SPECTATOR No. 51 
 
 of the Indian journal, when we fancy the customs, 
 dresses, and manners of other countries are ridicu- 
 lous and extravagant if they do not resemble those 
 of our own. C. 
 
 N°- 5 1 . Saturday^ April 28, 1 7 1 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Torquet ah ohscenis jam nunc sermonibus aurem ! 
 
 — HoR., I Ep. ii. 137. 
 'Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' TV ^ Y fortune, quality, and person are such as 
 XV J. render me as conspicuous as any young 
 woman in town. It is in my power to 
 enjoy it in all its vanities ; but I have, from a very 
 careful education, contracted a great aversion to the 
 forward air and fashion which is practised in all 
 public places and assemblies. I attribute this very 
 much to the style and manners of our plays. I was 
 last night at the ' Funeral,' where a confident lover 
 in the play, speaking of his mistress, cries out, ' Oh 
 that Harriot ! To fold these arms about the waist 
 of that beauteous, struggling, and at last yielding 
 fair ! ' Such an image as this ought by no means 
 to be presented to a chaste and regular audience.^ 
 I expect your opinion of this sentence, and recom- 
 
 1 The ' Funeral ' was Steele's own play, produced in December 
 1 701. The passage here condemned (Act ii. sc. l) was thus 
 altered in later editions : — 
 
 Campley. ' Oh that Harriot ! to embrace that beauteous 
 
 Lord Hardy. ' Ay, Tom ; but methinks your head runs too 
 much on the wedding night only to make your happiness lasting ; 
 mine is fixed on the married state ; I expect my felicity from Lady 
 Sharlot in her friendship, her constancy, her piety, her household 
 cares, her maternal tenderness — You think not of any excellence of 
 your mistress that is more than skin deep.' 
 
No. 51 rhe SPECTATOR 263 
 
 mend to your consideration, as a Spectator, the 
 conduct of the stage at present with relation to 
 chastity and modesty. I am, Sir, 
 
 Your constant Reader and Well-wisher.' 
 
 The complaint of this young lady is so just, that 
 the offence is gross ^ enough to have displeased persons 
 who cannot pretend to that delicacy and modesty of 
 which she is mistress. But there is a great deal to be 
 said in behalf of an author : if the audience would 
 but consider the difficulty of keeping up a sprightly 
 dialogue for five acts together, they would allow a 
 writer, when he wants wit, and can't please any other- 
 wise, to help it out with a little smuttiness. I will 
 answer for the poets, that no one ever writ bawdry 
 for any other reason but dearth of invention. When 
 the author cannot strike out of himself any more of 
 that which he has superior to those who make up 
 the bulk of his audience, his natural recourse is to 
 that which he has in common with them ; and a 
 description which gratifies a sensual appetite will 
 please, when the author has nothing about him to 
 delight^ a refined imagination. It is to such a 
 poverty we must impute this and all other sen- 
 tences in plays which are of this kind, and which 
 are commonly termed luscious expressions. 
 
 This expedient, to supply the deficiencies of wit, 
 has been used more or less by most of the authors 
 who have succeeded on the stage; though I know not 
 but one who has professedly writ a play upon the 
 basis of the desire of multiplying our species, and 
 that is the polite Sir George Etherege ; ^ if I under- 
 stand what the lady would be at, in the play called 
 
 1 'Great' (folio). ^ « Nothing else to gratify ' (folio). 
 
 3 See No. 2. 
 
264 The SPECTATOR No. 51 
 
 'She Would if she Could.' Other poets have, here 
 and there, given an intimation that there is this 
 design, under all the disguises and affectations which 
 a lady may put on ; but no author except this has 
 made sure work of it, and put the imaginations of 
 the audience upon this one purpose, from the begin- 
 ning to the end of the comedy. It has always fared 
 accordingly ; for whether it be, that all who go to 
 this piece would if they could, or that the innocents 
 go to it, to guess only what ' she would if she could,' 
 the play has always been well received. 
 
 It lifts an heavy empty sentence, when there is 
 added to it a lascivious gesture of body ; and when 
 it is too low to be raised even by that, a flat meaning 
 is enlivened by making it a double one. Writers 
 who want genius never fail of keeping this secret in 
 reserve, to create a laugh, or raise a clap. I, who 
 know nothing of women but from seeing plays, can 
 give great guesses at the whole structure of the fair 
 sex, by being innocently placed in the pit, and in- 
 sulted by the petticoats of their dancers ; the advan- 
 tages of whose pretty persons are a great help to a 
 dull play. When a poet flags in writing lusciously, 
 a pretty girl can move lasciviously, and have the 
 same good consequence for the author. Dull poets, 
 in this case, use their audiences as dull parasites do 
 their patrons ; when they cannot longer divert them 
 with their wit or humour, they bait their ears with 
 something which is agreeable to their temper, though 
 below their understanding. Apicius cannot resist 
 being pleased, if you give him an account of a 
 delicious meal ; or Clodius, if you describe a wanton 
 beauty : though at the same time, if you do awake 
 those inclinations in them, no men are better judges 
 of what is just and delicate in conversation. But, as 
 
No. 51 The SPECTATOR 265 
 
 I have before observed, it is easier to talk to the 
 man, than to the man of sense. 
 
 It is remarkable, that the writers of least learning 
 are best skilled in the luscious way. The poetesses 
 of the age have done wonders in this kind ; and we 
 are obliged to the lady who writ 'Ibrahim,'^ for intro- 
 ducing a preparatory scene to the very action, when 
 the Emperor throws his handkerchief as a signal for 
 his mistress to follow him into the most retired part 
 of the seraglio. It must be confessed his Turkish 
 majesty went oS with a good air, but, methought, 
 we made but a sad figure who waited without. This 
 ingenious gentlewoman, in this piece of bawdry, 
 refined upon an author of the same sex, who, in 
 ' The Rover,' ^ makes a country squire strip to 
 his hoUand drawers. For Blunt is disappointed, 
 and the Emperor is understood to go on to the 
 utmost. The pleasantry of stripping almost naked 
 has been since practised ^ (where indeed it should have 
 been begun) very successfully at Bartholomew fair. 
 
 It is not here to be omitted, that in one of the 
 above-mentioned female compositions, the Rover is 
 very frequently sent on the same errand ; as I take 
 it, above once every act. This is not wholly 
 unnatural; for, they say, the men-authors draw 
 themselves in their chief characters, and the women- 
 writers may be allowed the same liberty. Thus, as 
 the male wit gives his hero a great fortune, the 
 female gives her heroine a good gallant, at the end 
 of the play. But, indeed, there is hardly a play 
 
 1 ' Ibrahim, the thirteenth Emperor of the Turks,' 1696, was the, 
 first play of Mary Pix, novelist and dramatist. 
 
 2 « The Rover ; or, the Banished Cavaliers,' was a comedy in two 
 parts (1677-1681), by Aphra Behn. 
 
 3 By a rope-dancer named ' Lady Mary.' 
 
266 T:he SPECTATOR No. 51 
 
 one can go to, but the hero or fine gentleman of 
 it struts off upon the same account, and leaves us 
 to consider what good office he has put us to, or 
 to employ ourselves as we please. To be plain, a 
 man who frequents plays, would have a very respect- 
 ful notion of himself, were he to recollect how often 
 he has been used as a pimp to ravishing tyrants, or 
 successful rakes. When the actors make their exit 
 on this good occasion, the ladies are sure to have an 
 examining glance from the pit, to see how they 
 relish what passes; and a few lewd fools are very 
 ready to employ their talents upon the composure 
 or freedom of their looks. Such incidents as these 
 make some ladies wholly absent themselves from the 
 playhouse ; and others never miss the first day of a 
 play, lest it should prove too luscious to admit their 
 going with any countenance to it on the second. 
 
 If men of wit, who think fit to write for the 
 stage, instead of this pitiful way of giving delight, 
 would turn their thoughts upon raising it from good 
 natural impulses as are in the audience, but are 
 choked up by vice and luxury, they would not only 
 please, but befriend us at the same time. If a man 
 had a mind to be new in his way of writing, might 
 not he who is now represented as a fine gentleman, 
 though he betrays the honour and bed of his neigh- 
 bour and friend, and lies with half the women in the 
 play, and is at last rewarded with her of the best cha- 
 racter in it ; I say, upon giving the comedy another 
 cast, might not such a one divert the audience quite 
 as well, if at the catastrophe he were found out for a 
 traitor, and met with contempt accordingly .? There 
 is seldom a person devoted to above one darling vice 
 at a time, so that there is room enough to catch at 
 men's hearts to their good and advantage, if the 
 
No. 52 ^/^^ SPECTATOR 267 
 
 poets will attempt it with the honesty which becomes 
 their characters. 
 
 There is no man who loves his bottle or his 
 mistress in a manner so very abandoned as not 
 to be capable of relishing an agreeable character, 
 that is no way a slave to either of those pursuits. 
 A man that is temperate, generous, valiant, chaste, 
 faithful, and honest, may at the same time have 
 wit, humour, mirth, good breeding, and gallantry. 
 While he exerts these latter qualities, twenty occa- 
 sions might be invented to show he is master of the 
 other noble virtues. Such characters would smite 
 and reprove the heart of a man of sense, when he is 
 given up to his pleasures. He would see he has 
 been mistaken all this while, and be convinced that 
 a sound constitution and an innocent mind are the 
 true ingredients for becoming and enjoying life. All 
 men of true taste would call a man of wit, who 
 should turn his ambition this way, a friend and 
 benefactor to his country ; but I am at a loss what 
 name they would give him who makes use of his 
 capacity for contrary purposes. R. 
 
 N°- 52. Monday^ April 30, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Omnes tit tecum mentis pro talibus annos 
 Exigat, et pulchra faciat te prole parentem. 
 
 — ViRG., ^n. i. 78. 
 
 AN ingenious correspondent, like a sprightly 
 wife, will always have the last word. I did 
 not think my last letter to the deformed 
 fraternity * would have occasioned any answer, espe- 
 
 1 See No. 48. 
 
268 T:he SPECTATOR No. 52 
 
 cially since I had promised them so sudden a visit : 
 but as they think they cannot show too great a 
 veneration for my person, they have already sent me 
 up an answer. As to the proposal of a marriage 
 between myself and the matchless Hecatissa, I have 
 but one objection to it ; which is, that all the society 
 will expect to be acquainted with her ; and who can 
 be sure of keeping a woman's heart long, where she 
 may have so much choice } I am the more alarmed 
 at this, because the lady seems particularly smitten 
 with men of their make. 
 
 I believe I shall set my heart upon her ; and think 
 never the worse of my mistress for an epigram a 
 smart fellow writ, as he thought, against her; it 
 does but the more recommend her to me. At the 
 same time I cannot but discover that his malice is 
 stolen from Martial : — 
 
 Tacta places, audita places, si non videare 
 Tola places, neutro si, videare, places.^ 
 
 Whilst in the dark on thy soft hand I hung, 
 And heard the tempting syren in thy tongue, 
 What flames, what darts, what anguish I endured ? 
 But when the candle entered I was cured. 
 
 ' VOUR letter to us we have received as a signal 
 mark of your favour and brotherly affection. 
 We shall be heartily glad to see your short face in 
 Oxford. And since the wisdom of our legislature 
 has been immortalised in your speculations, and our 
 personal deformities in some sort by you recorded 
 to all posterity ; we hold ourselves in gratitude 
 bound to receive, with the highest respect, all such 
 persons as for their extraordinary merit you shall 
 '^ Epig., lib. vii. 1 01. 
 
No. 52 rhe SPECTATOR 269 
 
 think fit, from time to time, to recommend unto 
 the board. As for the Pictish damsel, we have an 
 easy-chair prepared at the upper end of the table ; 
 which we doubt not but she will grace with a very 
 hideous aspect, and much better become the seat in 
 the native and unaffected uncomeliness of her person, 
 than with all the superficial airs of the pencil, which 
 (as you have very ingeniously observed) vanish with 
 a breath ; and the most innocent adorer may deface 
 the shrine with a salutation, and in the literal sense 
 of our poets, snatch and imprint his balmy kisses, 
 and devour her melting lips. In short, the only 
 faces of the Pictish kind that will endure the 
 weather must be of Dr. Carbuncle's dye ; though 
 his, in truth, has cost him a world the painting ; 
 but then he boasts with Zeuxis, In eternitatem 
 pingo ; ^ and oft jocosely tells the fair ones, would 
 they acquire colours that would stand killing, they 
 must no longer paint but drink for a complexion : 
 a maxim that in this our age has been pursued with 
 no ill success ; and has been as admirable in its 
 effects' as the famous cosmetic mentioned in the 
 Postman, and invented by the renowned British 
 Hippocrates of the pestle and mortar; making 
 the party, after a due course, rosy, hale, and airy; 
 and the best and most approved receipt now ex- 
 tant for the fever of the spirits. But to return 
 to our female candidate, who, I understand, is re- 
 turned to herself, and will no longer hang out false 
 colours ; as she is the first of her sex that has done 
 us so great an honour, she will certainly, in a very 
 short time, both in prose and verse, be a lady of 
 the most celebrated deformity now living ; and meet 
 
 1 This was the answer of Zeuxis the painter, when he was re- 
 proached for the slowness of his work. 
 
270 The SPECTATOR No. 52 
 
 with admirers here as frightful as herself. But 
 being a long-headed gentlewoman, I am apt to 
 imagine she has done some further design than you 
 have yet penetrated ; and perhaps has more mind to 
 the Spectator than any of his fraternity, as the per- 
 son of all the world she could like for a paramour. 
 And if so, really I cannot but applaud her choice, 
 and should be glad, if it might lie in my power, 
 to effect an amicable accommodation betwixt two 
 faces of such different extremes as the only possible 
 expedient to mend the breed, and rectify the 
 physiognomy of the family on both sides. And 
 again, as she is a lady of a very fluent elocution, 
 you need not fear that your first child will be born 
 dumb, which otherwise you might have some reason 
 to be apprehensive of. To be plain with you, I 
 can see nothing shocking in it ; for though she has 
 not a face like a John-apple, yet as a late friend 
 of mine, who at sixty-five ventured on a lass of 
 fifteen, very frequently, in the remaining five years 
 of his life, gave me to understand, that, as old as 
 he then seemed, when they were first married he 
 and his spouse could ^ make but fourscore ; so may 
 Madam Hecatissa very justly allege hereafter, that, 
 as long-visaged as she may then be thought, upon 
 their wedding-day Mr. Spectator and she had but 
 half an ell of face betwixt them. And this my very 
 worthy predecessor, Mr. Serjeant Chin, always main- 
 tained to be no more than the true oval proportion 
 between man and wife. But as this may be a new 
 thing to you, who have hitherto had no expecta- 
 tions from women, I shall allow you what time 
 you think fit to consider on it ; not without some 
 1 'Could both' (folio). 
 
No. 52 "The SPECTATOR 271 
 
 hope of seeing at last your thoughts hereupon sub- 
 joined to mine, and which is an honour much 
 desired by, 
 
 Sir, 
 Your assured Friend and 
 
 most humble Servant, 
 
 Hugh Goblin, Presses.'' 
 
 The following letter has not much in it, but as 
 it is written in my own praise I cannot for my 
 heart suppress it : — 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 VOU proposed in your Spectator of last Tuesday ^ 
 Mr. Hobbes's hypothesis, for solving that 
 very odd phenomenon of laughter. You have made 
 the hypothesis valuable by espousing it yourself; 
 for had it continued Mr. Hobbes's, nobody would 
 have minded it Now here this perplexed case 
 arises. A certain company laughed very heartily 
 upon the reading of that very paper of yours. And 
 the truth on it is, he must be a man of more than 
 ordinary constancy that could stand it out against 
 so much comedy, and not do as we did. Now there 
 are few men in the world so far lost to all good 
 sense, as to look upon you to be a man in a state 
 of folly inferior to himself. Pray then, how do you 
 justify your hypothesis of laughter } 
 
 Your most humble, 
 
 Thursday, the z6th of the 
 Month of Fools. 
 
 1 No. 47. 
 
272 "The SPECTATOR No. 53 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' JN answer to your letter, I must desire you to 
 recollect yourself; and you will find, that when 
 you did me the honour to be so merry over my 
 paper, you laughed at the Idiot, the German Cour- 
 tier, the Gaper, the Merry-Andrew, the Haberdasher, 
 the Biter, the Butt, and not at 
 
 Your humble Servant, 
 R. The Spectator.' 
 
 N°- 5 3 . Tuesday^ May i , 1 7 1 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 M 
 
 — Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus. 
 
 — HoR., Ars Poet. 359. 
 
 Y correspondents grow so numerous, that 
 I cannot avoid frequently inserting their 
 applications to me. 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' r AM glad I can inform you, that your en- 
 deavours to adorn that sex, which is the fairest 
 part of the visible creation, are well received, and 
 like to prove not unsuccessful. The triumph of 
 Daphne over her sister Letitia ^ has been the subject 
 of conversation at several tea-tables where I have 
 been present ; and I have observed the fair circle not 
 a little pleased to find you considering them as 
 reasonable creatures, and endeavouring to banish 
 that Mahomedan custom, which had too much pre- 
 vailed even in this island, of treating women as if 
 
 ' See No. 33. 
 
No. 53 7^/^^ SPECTATOR 273 
 
 they had no souls. I must do them the justice to 
 say, that there seems to be nothing wanting to the 
 finishing of these lovely pieces of human nature, 
 besides the turning and applying their ambition 
 properly, and the keeping them up to a sense of what 
 is their true merit. Epictetus, that plain honest 
 philosopher, as little as he had of gallantry, appears 
 to have understood them, as well as the polite St. 
 Evremont, and has hit this point very luckily. 
 " When young women," says he, " arrive at a certain 
 age, they hear themselves called mistresses, and are 
 made to believe that their only business is to please 
 the men ; they immediately begin to dress, and place 
 all their hopes in the adorning of their persons ; it 
 is therefore," continues he, "worth the while to 
 endeavour by all means to make them sensible that 
 the honour paid to them is only upon account of 
 their conducting themselves with virtue, modesty, 
 and discretion." ^ 
 
 ' Now to pursue the matter yet further, and to 
 render your cares for the improvement of the fair 
 ones more effectual, I would propose a new method, 
 like those applications which are said to convey their 
 virtue by sympathy ; and that is, that in order to 
 embellish the mistress, you should give a new edu- 
 cation to the lover, and teach the men not to be 
 any longer dazzled by false charms and unreal 
 beauty. I cannot but think that if our sex knew 
 always how to place their esteem justly, the other 
 would not be so often wanting to themselves in 
 deserving it. For as the being enamoured with a 
 woman of sense and virtue is an improvement to a 
 man's understanding and morals, and the passion is 
 ennobled by the object which inspires it ; so on the 
 
 ^ This is the purport of chap. 62 of Epictetus's 'Morals.' 
 VOL. I. S 
 
274 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 53 
 
 other side, the appearing amiable to a man of a wise 
 and elegant mind, carries in itself no small degree 
 of merit and accomplishment. I conclude, there- 
 fore, that one way to make the women yet more 
 agreeable is, to make the men more virtuous. 
 I am, Sir, 
 Your most humble Servant, 
 
 R. B.' 1 
 
 ' Sir, ^P"' 26. 
 
 'YOURS of Saturday^ last I read, not without 
 some resentment ; but I will suppose when 
 you say you expect an inundation of ribbons and 
 brocades, and to see many new vanities which the 
 women will fall into upon a peace with France, that 
 you intend only the unthinking part of our sex : 
 and what methods can reduce them to reason is 
 hard to imagine. 
 
 ' But, sir, there are others yet that your instruc- 
 tions might be of great use to, who, after their best 
 endeavours, are sometimes at a loss to acquit them- 
 selves to a censorious world : I am far from thinking 
 you can altogether disapprove of conversation be- 
 tween ladies and gentlemen, regulated by the rules 
 of honour and prudence ; and have thought it an 
 observation not ill made, that where that was wholly 
 denied, the women lost their wit, and the men their 
 good manners. 'Tis sure, from those improper 
 liberties you mentioned, that a sort of undistinguish- 
 ing people shall banish from their drawing-rooms 
 the best bred men in the world, and condemn those 
 
 1 This letter, like that in No. 33 on the same subject, is believed 
 to be by John Hughes. 
 
 2 No. 45. 
 
No. 53 rhe SPECTATOR 275 
 
 that do not. Your stating this point might, I 
 think, be of good use, as well as much oblige, 
 Sir, 
 Your Admirer and most humble Servant, 
 
 Anna Bella.' 
 
 No answer to this, until Anna Bella finds a descrip- 
 tion of those she calls the best bred men in the world. 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' J AM a gentleman who for many years last past 
 have been well known to be truly splenetic, and 
 that my spleen arises from having contracted so great 
 a delicacy, by reading the best authors, and keeping 
 the most refined company, that I cannot bear the 
 least impropriety of language, or rusticity of beha- 
 viour. Now, sir, I have ever looked upon this as a 
 wise distemper ; but by late observations find that 
 every heavy wretch, who has nothing to say, excuses 
 his dulness by complaining of the spleen. Nay, I 
 saw the other day two fellows in a tavern kitchen 
 set up for it, call for a pint and pipes, and only by 
 guzzling liquor to each other's health, and wafting 
 smoke in each other's face, pretend to throw off the 
 spleen. I appeal to you, whether these dishonours 
 are to be done to the distemper of the great and 
 the polite. I beseech you, sir, to inform these 
 fellows that they have not the spleen, because they 
 cannot talk without the help of a glass at their 
 mouths, or convey their meaning to each other 
 without the interposition of clouds. If you will 
 not do this with all speed, I assure you, for my part, 
 I will wholly quit the disease, and for the future 
 be merry with the vulgar. I am, Sir 
 
 Your humble Servant.' 
 
276 r>^^ SPECTATOR No. 53 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' npHIS is to let you understand, that I am a 
 reformed starer, and conceived a detestation 
 for that practice from what you have vs^rit upon the 
 subject/ But as you have been very severe upon 
 the behaviour of us men at divine service, I hope 
 you will not be so apparently partial to the women 
 as to let them go wholly unobserved. If they do 
 everything that is possible to attract our eyes, are 
 we more culpable than they for looking at them? 
 I happened last Sunday to be shut into a pew, which 
 was full of young ladies in the bloom of youth and 
 beauty. When the service began, I had not room 
 to kneel at the confession ; but as I stood kept my 
 eyes from wandering as well as I was able, till one 
 of the young ladies, who is a peeper, resolved to 
 bring down my looks, and fix my devotion on her- 
 self. You are to know, sir, that a peeper works 
 with her hands, eyes, and fan ; one of which is con- 
 tinually in motion, while she thinks she is not actually 
 the admiration of some ogler or starer in the congre- 
 gation. As I stood utterly at a loss how to behave 
 myself, surrounded as I was, this peeper so placed 
 herself as to be kneeling just before me. She dis- 
 played the most beautiful bosom imaginable, which 
 heaved and fell with some fervour, while a delicate 
 well-shaped arm held a fan over her face. It was 
 not in nature to command one's eyes from this 
 object ; I could not avoid taking notice also of her 
 fan, which had on it various figures, very improper 
 to behold on that occasion. There lay in the body 
 of the piece a Venus, under a purple canopy furled 
 with curious wreaths of drapery, half naked, attended 
 
 1 See No. 20. 
 
No. 53 The SPECTATOR 277 
 
 with a train of cupids, who were busied in fanning 
 her as she slept. Behind her was drawn a satyr 
 peeping over the silken fence, and threatening to 
 break through it. I frequently offered to turn my 
 sight another way, but was still detained by the 
 fascination of the peeper's eyes, who had long prac- 
 tised a skill in them, to recall the parting glances of 
 her beholders. You see my complaint, and hope 
 you will take these mischievous people, the peepers, 
 into your consideration : I doubt not but you will 
 think a peeper as much more pernicious than a 
 starer, as an ambuscade is more to be feared than 
 an open assault. 
 
 I am, Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient Servant.' 
 
 This peeper using both fan and eyes to be con- 
 sidered as a Pict, and proceed accordingly. 
 
 'King Latinus to the Spectator, Greeting} 
 
 ' npHOUGH some may think we descend from 
 our imperial dignity, in holding correspondence 
 with a private litterato ; yet as we have great respect 
 to all good intentions for our service, we do not 
 esteem it beneath us to return you our royal thanks 
 for what you published in our behalf, while under 
 confinement in the enchanted castle of the Savoy, 
 and for your mention of a subsidy for a prince in 
 misfortune. This your timely zeal has inclined the 
 hearts of divers to be aiding unto us, if we could 
 propose the means. We have taken their good-will 
 into consideration, and have contrived a method 
 which will be easy to those who shall give the aid, 
 
 ^ See No. 22. 
 
278 The SPECTATOR No. 54 
 
 and not unacceptable to us who receive it. A con- 
 cert of music shall be prepared at Haberdashers' 
 Hall for Wednesday the second of May, and we 
 will honour the said entertainment with our own 
 presence, where each person shall be assessed but at 
 two shillings and sixpence. What we expect from 
 you is, that you publish these our royal intentions, 
 with injunction that they be read at all tea-tables 
 within the cities of London and Westminster ; and 
 so we bid you heartily farewell. 
 
 Latinus, King of the Volscians. 
 
 Given at our Court in Vinegar Yard,^ storey the 
 third from the earth, April 28, 17 11.' 
 
 R. 
 
 N°- 54. Wednesday^ May 2, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Strenua nos exercet inertia. 
 
 — HoR., I Ep. xi. 28. 
 
 THE following letter being the first that I have 
 received from the learned university of Cam- 
 bridge, I could not but do myself the honour 
 of publishing it. It gives an account of a new sect 
 of philosophers which has arose in that famous resi- 
 dence of learning ; and is, perhaps, the only sect this 
 age is likely to produce. 
 
 1 Vinegar Yard [i.e. Vine Garden Yard), Drury Lane, is often 
 mentioned by eighteenth-century writers, in Act ii. of the 'Beg- 
 gar's Opera,' the drawer says > to Captain Macheath, 'You know, 
 sir, you sent him as far as Hockley-in-the-HoIe for three of the 
 ladies, for one in Vinegar Yand, and for the rest of them somewhere 
 about Jewkner's Lane.' 
 
No. 54 ^/^^ SPECTATOR 279 
 
 'Mr. Spectator, Cambridge, ^pril 26. 
 
 * RELIEVING you to be an universal encourager 
 of liberal arts and sciences, and glad of any 
 information from the learned world, I thought an 
 account of a sect of philosophers very frequent 
 among us, but not taken notice of, as far as I can 
 remember, by any writers either ancient or modern, 
 would not be unacceptable to you. The philosophers 
 of this sect are, in the language of our university, 
 called loungers. I am of opinion that, as in many 
 other things, so likewise in this, the ancients have 
 been defective ; viz. in mentioning no philosophers 
 of this sort. Some indeed will affirm that they are 
 a kind of peripatetics, because we see them continu- 
 ally walking about. But I would have these gentle- 
 men consider, that though the ancient peripatetics 
 walked much, yet they wrote much also (witness, 
 to the sorrow of this sect, Aristotle and others) : 
 whereas it is notorious that most of our professors 
 never lay out a farthing either in pen, ink, or paper. 
 Others are for deriving them from Diogenes, because 
 several of the leading men of the sect have a great 
 deal of the cynical humour in them, and delight 
 much in sunshine. But then again, Diogenes was 
 content to have his constant habitation in a narrow 
 tub ; whilst our philosophers are so far from being 
 of his opinion, that it's death to them to be confined 
 within the limits of a good handsome convenient 
 chamber but for half-an-hour. Others there are 
 who, from the clearness of their heads, deduce the 
 pedigree of loungers from that gre^t man (I think 
 it was either Plato or Socrates^ who after all his 
 study and learning professed, that all he then knew 
 
 ' Socrates' 'Apology.' 
 
28o The SPECTATOR No. 54 
 
 was, that he knew nothing. You easily see this is 
 but a shallow argument, and may be soon confuted. 
 ' I have with great pains and industry made my 
 observations, from time to time, upon these sages; 
 and having now all materials ready, am compiling a 
 treatise, wherein I shall set forth the rise and pro- 
 gress of this famous sect, together with their maxims, 
 austerities, manner of living, &c. Having prevailed 
 with a friend who designs shortly to publish a new 
 edition of " Diogenes Laertius," to add this treatise 
 of mine by way of supplement ; I shall now, to let 
 the world see what may be expected from me (first 
 begging Mr. Spectator's leave that the world may 
 see it), briefly touch upon some of my chief observa- 
 tions, and then subscribe myself your humble servant. 
 In the first place, I shall give you two or three of their 
 maxims : the fundamental one, upon which their 
 whole system is built, is this, viz. that time being 
 an implacable enemy to and destroyer of all things, 
 ought to be paid in his own coin, and be destroyed 
 and murdered without mercy, by all the ways that 
 can be invented. Another favourite saying of theirs 
 is, that business was designed only for knaves, and 
 study for blockheads. A third seems to be a ludic- 
 rous one, but has a great effect upon their lives, and 
 is this, that the devil is at home. Now for their 
 manner of living : and here I have a large field to 
 expatiate in ; but I shall reserve particulars for my 
 intended discourse, and now only mention one or 
 two of their principal exercises. The elder proficients 
 employ themselves in inspecting mores hominum 
 multorum, in getting acquainted with all the signs 
 and windows in the town. Some are arrived to so 
 great knowledge, that they can tell every time any 
 butcher kills a calf, every time any old woman's cat 
 
No. 54 The SPECTATOR 281 
 
 is in the straw ; and a thousand other matters as 
 important. One ancient philosopher contemplates 
 two or three hours every day over a sun-dial ; and is 
 true to the dial 
 
 As the dial to the sun, 
 Although it be not shone upon.i 
 
 Our younger students are content to carry their 
 speculations as yet no farther than bowling-greens, 
 billiard tables, and such like places. This may serve 
 for a sketch of my design ; in which I hope I shall 
 have your encouragement. 
 
 I am. Sir, 
 
 Yours.' " 
 
 I must be so just as to observe I have formerly 
 seen of this sect at our other university ; though not 
 distinguished by the appellation which the learned 
 historian, my correspondent, reports they bear at 
 Cambridge. They were ever looked upon as a 
 people that impaired themselves more by their strict 
 application to the rules of their order, than any other 
 students whatever. Others seldom hurt themselves, 
 any further than to gain weak eyes and sometimes 
 headaches ; but these philosophers are seized all over 
 with a general inability, indolence, and weariness, 
 and a certain impatience of the place they are in, 
 with an heaviness in removing to another. 
 
 The loungers are satisfied with being merely part 
 of the number of mankind, without distinguishing 
 themselves from amongst them. They may be said 
 
 ^ • True as dial to the sun, 
 
 Although it be not sliined upon.' 
 
 — Hudibras, Part III. canto ii. 
 
 2 This letter is attributed to Lawrence Eusden. See No. 78. 
 
282 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 54 
 
 rather to sufFer their time to pass, than to spend it, 
 without regard to the past, or prospect of the future. 
 All they know of life is only the present instant, 
 and do not taste even that. When one of this 
 order happens to be a man of fortune, the expense 
 of his time is transferred to his coach and horses, 
 and his life is to be measured by their motion, not 
 his own enjoyments or sufferings. The chief enter- 
 tainment one of these philosophers can possibly pro- 
 pose to himself, is to get a relish of dress : this, 
 methinks, might diversify the person he is weary of 
 (his own dear self) to himself. I have known these 
 two amusements make one of these philosophers 
 make a tolerable figure in the world ; with variety 
 of dresses in public assemblies in town, and quick 
 motion of his horses out of it, now to Bath, now to 
 Tunbridge, then to Newmarket, and then to London, 
 he has in process of time brought it to pass, that his 
 coach and his horses have been mentioned in all 
 those places. When the loungers leave an academic 
 life, and instead of this more elegant way of appear- 
 ing in the polite world, retire to the seats of their 
 ancestors, they usually join a pack of dogs, and 
 employ their days in defending their poultry from 
 foxes : I do not know any other method that any of 
 this order has ever taken to make a noise in the 
 world ; but I shall inquire into such about this town 
 as have arrived at the dignity of being loungers by 
 the force of natural parts, without having ever seen 
 an university; and send my correspondent, for the 
 embellishment of his book, the names and history of 
 those who pass their lives without any incidents at 
 all ; and how they shift coffee-houses and chocolate- 
 houses from hour to hour, to get over the insupport- 
 able labour of doing nothing. R. 
 
No. 55 rhe SPECTATOR 283 
 
 N°- 55. Thursday^ May 3, 17 11 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 -Intus, et in jecore CBgro 
 
 Nascuntur domini- 
 
 -Pers., Sat. V. 139. 
 
 MOST of the trades, professions, and ways of 
 living among mankind, take their original 
 either from the love of pleasure, or the fear 
 of want. The former, when it becomes too violent, 
 degenerates into 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 imaginary persons, as they are in the 
 original, with Mr. Dryden's translation of them : — 
 
 Mane, piger, stertis : surge inquit Avaritia ; heia 
 Surge. Negas, instat, Surge, inquit. ' Non queo.' Surge. 
 ' Et quid agam ? ' Rogitas ? Saperdas advehe Ponto, 
 Castoreum, stuppas, hebenum, thus, lubrica Coa. 
 ToUe recens primus piper h sitiente camelo. 
 Verte aliquid ; jura. ' Sed Jupiter audiet.' Eheu ! 
 Baro, regustatum digito terebrare salinum 
 Contentus parages, si vivere cum Jove tendis. 
 Jam pueris pellem succinctus et oenophorum aptas ; 
 Ocyus ad navem. Nil obstat quin trabe vasta 
 JE.g2snm rapias, nisi soUers Luxuria ante 
 Seductum moneat ; quo deinde, insane ruis ? Quo P 
 Quid tibi vis ? Calido sub pectore mascula bilis 
 Intumuit, quam non extinxerit urna cicutx. 
 Tun' mare transilias ? Tibi torta cannabe fulto 
 
 1 Sat. V. 131. 
 
284 T^he SPECTATOR No. 55 
 
 Caena sit in transtro, Veientanumque rubellum 
 
 Exhalet vapida Isesum pice sessilis obba \ 
 
 Quid petis ? Ut nummi, quos hie quincunce modesto 
 
 Nutrieras, pergant avidos sudare deunces ? 
 
 Indulge genio : carpamus dulcia ; nostrum est 
 
 Quod vivis ; cinis, et manes, et fabula fies. 
 
 Vive memor lethi : fugit hora,' hoc quod loquor, inde est. 
 
 En quid agis ? Duplici in diversum scinderis hamo, 
 
 Hunccine, an hunc sequeris ? 
 
 Whether alone, or in thy harlot's lap, 
 When thou would'st 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. 
 ' What must I do,' he cries ; ' What ? ' says his lord : 
 • Why, rise, make ready, and go straight aboard : 
 With fish, from Euxine seas, thy vessel freight ; 
 Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight 
 Of pepper, and Sabean incense, take 
 With thy own hands, from the tired camel's back, | 
 And with post-haste thy running markets make. 
 Be sure to turn the penny ; lie and swear, 
 'Tis wholesome sin : but Jove, thou sayest, will hear. 
 Swear, fool, or starve ; for the dilemma's even : 
 A tradesman thou, 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 would'st tempt the sea ? 
 Cubbed in a cabin, on a mattress laid. 
 On a brown George, with lousie swobbers fed, 
 Dead wine that stinks of the Borachio, sup 
 From a foul jack, or greasy maple cup ? 
 Say, would'st thou bear all this to raise thy store, 
 From six i' th' hundred, to six hundred more ? 
 Indulge, and to thy genius freely give : 
 For, not to live at ease, is not to live : 
 
No. 55 "The SPECTATOR 285 
 
 Death stalks behind thee, and each flying hour 
 Does some loose remnant of thy life 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 flourishes 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 fresh supplies of money, by 
 all the methods of rapaciousness and corruption ; so 
 that avarice and luxury very often become one com- 
 plicated principle of action, in those whose hearts 
 are wholly set upon ease, magnificence, and pleasure. 
 The most elegant and correct of all the Latin his- 
 torians^ observes, that in his time, when the most 
 formidable states of the world were subdued by the 
 Romans, the republic sunk into those two vices of a 
 quite different nature, luxury and avarice ; and ac- 
 cordingly described Catiline as one who coveted the 
 wealth of other men, at the same time that he 
 squandered away his own. This observation on the 
 commonwealth, when it was in its height of power 
 and riches, holds good of all governments that are 
 settled in a state of ease and prosperity. At such 
 times men naturally endeavour to outshine one an- 
 other in pomp and splendour, and having no fears to 
 alarm them from abroad, indulge themselves in 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 
 
 1 Sallust. ' Alieni appetens, sui profusus.' 
 
286 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 55 
 
 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 perpetual 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 mankind. Luxury had 
 many generals under him, who did him great service, 
 as Pleasure, Mirth, Pomp, and Fashion. Avarice 
 was likewise very strong in his officers, being faith- 
 fully served by Hunger, Industry, Care, and Watch- 
 fulness ; he had likewise 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 himself by the 
 counsels of Poverty, his antagonist was entirely 
 guided by the dictates and advice of Plenty, who 
 was his first counsellor and minister of state, that 
 concerted all his measures for him, and never de- 
 parted out of his sight. While these two great 
 rivals were thus contending for empire, their con- 
 quests were very various. Luxury got possession 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 Luxury. 
 The wife and husband would often declare them- 
 selves 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 ! 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 
 
No. 55 The SPECTATOR 287 
 
 to be present. It is said that Luxury began the 
 parley, and after having represented the endless state 
 of war in which they were engaged, told his enemy, 
 with a frankness of heart which is natural to him, 
 that he believed they two should be very good 
 friends, were it not for the instigations of Poverty, 
 that pernicious counsellor, who made an ill use of 
 his ear, and filled him with groundless apprehensions 
 and prejudices. To this Avarice replied, that he 
 looked upon Plenty (the first minister of his anta- 
 gonist) 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 undermining 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-councillor. When 
 things were thus far adjusted towards a peace, all 
 other differences were soon accommodated, insomuch 
 that for the future they resolved to live as good 
 friends 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. C. 
 
288 ^/^^ SPECTATOR No. 56 
 
 N°- 56. Friday^ May 4, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Felices errore suo — Lucan., i. 454. 
 
 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 
 inhabited 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 maintained several 
 notions altogether as improbable. Some of Plato's 
 followers in particular, when they talk of the world 
 of ideas, entertain us with substances and beings no 
 less extravagant and chimerical. Many Aristote- 
 lians have likewise spoken as unintelligilily of their 
 substantial forms. I shall only instance Xlbertus 
 Magnus, who in his dissertation upon the load- 
 stone, 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.^ 
 
 1 Albertus Magnus, a learned Dominican who resigned, for love 
 of study, his bishopric of Ratisbon, died at Cologne in 1280. In 
 
No. 56 T:he SPECTATOR 289 
 
 There is a tradition among the Americans, that 
 one of their countrymen descended in a vision to 
 the great repository 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 everything 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 of them, if possible, what 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 substance 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 pathway 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 immedi- 
 ately 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 
 grasped nothing, and found the supposed stone to 
 be only the apparition of one. If he was dis- 
 appointed on this side, he was as much pleased 
 
 alchemy a distinction was made between stone and spirit, as between 
 body and soul, substance and accident. The evaporable parts were 
 called, in alchemy, spirit and soul and accident (Morley). 
 
 1 No. 50. 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
290 rhe SPECTATOR No. 56 
 
 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 surveyed it for some 
 time, endeavoured to press into one part of it that 
 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 briars 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 quickset hedge to 
 the ghosts it enclosed ; and that probably their soft 
 substances might be torn by these subtle points 
 and prickles, which were too weak to make any 
 impressions in flesh and blood. With this thought 
 he resolved to travel through this intricate 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 
 briars to end, and give place to a thousand beautiful 
 green trees covered with blossoms of the finest 
 scents and colours, that formed a wilderness of 
 sweets, and were a kind of lining to those ragged 
 scenes which he had before passed through. As 
 he was coming 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 appari- 
 tion of a milk-white steed, with a young man on 
 
No. 56 T:he SPECTATOR 291 
 
 the back of it, advancing 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 Prince 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 entertained with such a landscape of flowery 
 plains, green meadows, running streams, sunny hills, 
 and shady vales, as were not to be represented ^ by 
 his own expressions, nor, as he said, by the concep- 
 tions of others. This happy region was peopled with 
 innumerable swarms of spirits, who applied them- 
 selves to exercises and diversions according as their 
 fancies led them. Some of them were tossing the 
 figure of a quoit ; others were pitching the shadow 
 of a bar ; others were breaking the apparition of a 
 horse ; and multitudes employing themselves upon 
 ingenious handicrafts with the souls 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 own 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 
 
 1 « Described' (folio). 
 
292 rhe SPECTATOR No. 56 
 
 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 country, by whom he had several children. 
 This couple were so famous for their love and con- 
 stancy 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 
 Yaratilda. Marraton had not stood long by the 
 fisherman when he saw the shadow of his beloved 
 Yaratilda, 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 
 called him over to her ; and at the same time seemed 
 to tell him that the river was impassable. Who 
 can describe the passion made up of joy, sorrow, 
 love, desire, astonishment, that rose in the Indian 
 upon the sight of his dear Yaratilda .'' 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, walked 
 on the bottom of it till he arose on the other side. 
 At his approach Yaratilda flew into his arms, whilst 
 Marraton wished himself disencumbered of that 
 body which kept her from his embraces. After 
 many questions and endearments on both sides, she 
 conducted him to a bower which she had dressed 
 with her own hands, with all the ornaments that 
 could be met with in those blooming regions. She 
 had made it gay beyond imagination, and was every 
 day adding something new to it. As Marraton 
 
No. 57 rhe SPECTATOR 293 
 
 stood astonished at the unspeakable beauty of her 
 habitation, and ravished with the fragrancy that 
 came from every part of it, Yaratilda told him that 
 she was preparing this bower for his reception, as 
 well knowing that his piety to his God, 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 before, and resided with 
 her in the same delightful bower ; advising him to 
 breed up those others which were still with him in 
 such a manner that they might hereafter all of them 
 meet together in this happy place. 
 
 The tradition tells us further that he had after- 
 wards a sight of those dismal habitations which are 
 the portion of ill men after death, and mentions 
 several molten s^eas 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. C. 
 
 N°- 57. Saturday^ May 5, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Quern presstare potest mulier galeata pudorem, 
 Qucefugit a sexuf — Juv., Sat. vii. 31. 
 
 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 
 
 1 vi. 490. 
 
294 T^he SPECTATOR No. 57 
 
 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 gentle- 
 man 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 cambric and muslins, 
 and will talk an hour together upon a sweetmeat. 
 He entertains his mother every night with observa- 
 tions that he makes both in town and court : as what 
 lady shows the nicest fancy in her dress ; what man of 
 quality wears the fairest wig ; who has the finest linen ; 
 who the prettiest snuff-box ; with many other the like 
 curious remarks that may be made in good company. 
 
 On the other hand, I have very frequently the 
 opportunity of seeing a rural Andromache, who 
 came up to town last winter, and is one of the 
 greatest fox-hunters in the country. She talks of 
 hounds and horses, and makes 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 business, 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 own 
 nature are indifferent, appear ridiculous when they 
 proceed from a wrong sex, the faults and imperfec- 
 tions of one sex transplanted into another appear 
 black and monstrous. As for the men, I shall not 
 
No. 57 T:he SPECTATOR 295 
 
 in this paper any further concern myself about them ; 
 but as I would fain contribute to make womankind, 
 which is the most beautiful part of the creation, 
 entirely amiable, and wear out all those little spots 
 and blemishes that are apt to rise among the charms 
 which nature has poured 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 soft- 
 ness, the modesty, and those other endearing qualities 
 which are natural to the fair sex. Women were 
 formed to temper mankind, and soothe them into 
 tenderness 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 
 stopped it ? How have I been troubled to see some 
 of the finest features in the world grow pale, and 
 tremble with party rage ? Camilla is one of the 
 greatest beauties in the British nation, and yet values 
 herself more upon being the virago of one party 
 than upon being the toast of both. The dear 
 creature, about a week ago, encountered the fierce 
 and beautiful Penthesilea acrbss 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 petti- 
 coat. Had not this accident broke off the debate, 
 nobody knows where it would have ended. 
 
 There is one consideration which I would earnestly 
 recommend to all my female readers, and which, I 
 
296 Hhe SPECTATOR No. 57 
 
 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 lines 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 all superannuated motherly partisans to be as 
 violent as they please, since there will be no danger 
 either of their spoiling their faces, or of their 
 gaining converts. 
 
 For 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 requi- 
 site 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 lapdog 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. Titus Oates ^ was in all his 
 
 1 Oates was the inventor of the Popish Plot in the reign of 
 Charles II. Addison wished to suggest that the Tory enthusiasm 
 for Dr. Henry Sacheverell, who had been tried in 1 710 for preach- 
 ing the divine right of kings, was as gross a case of party excess as 
 the popularity of Oates. 
 
No. 57 rhe SPECTATOR 297 
 
 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 abo^ the 
 room, I found in almost every corner of it a print 
 that represented the doctor in all magnitudes and 
 dimensions. A little after, as the lady was discours- 
 ing my friend, and held her snuff-box 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 dis- 
 covered 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. Truelove'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. Honey- 
 comb, you are a Tory ; tell me truly, are you a 
 friend to the doctor or not } ' Will, 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 dropping off. She immediately adjusted 
 it, and looking a little seriously, ' Well,' says she, 
 ' I'll be hanged if you and your silent friend there 
 are not against the doctor in your hearts; I sus- 
 pected as much by his saying nothing.' Upon this 
 she took her fan into her hand, and upon the open- 
 ing 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 discourse, 
 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 accord- 
 ingly. C. 
 
 1 ' Othello,' iii. 3, 4 ; iv. i. 
 
298 rhe SPECTATOR No. 58 
 
 N°- 58. Monday^ Mayj, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 Ut pictura poesis erit- 
 
 -HoR., Ars Poet. 361. 
 
 NOTHING is so much admired, and so little 
 understood, as wit. No author that I know 
 of has written professedly upon it ; and 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 shall en- 
 deavour to do in a manner suitable to it, that I may 
 not incur the censure which a famous critic ^ bestows 
 upon one who had written a treatise upon -the 
 sublime in a low grovelling 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 will give me a week's attention, that this 
 great city will be very much changed for the 
 better by next Saturday night. I shall endeavour 
 to make what I say intelligible to ordinary capa- 
 cities ; 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 my specula- 
 1 Longinus's criticism of Csecilius. 
 
No. 58 rhe SPECTATOR 299 
 
 tions is to banish vice and ignorance out of the 
 territories of Great 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 perfec- 
 tion. I find by my bookseller that these papers of 
 criticism, with that upon humour, have met with 
 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 
 greater cheerfulness. 
 
 In this and one or two following papers, I shall 
 trace out the history of false wit, and distinguish 
 the several kinds of it as they have prevailed in 
 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 ex- 
 ploded 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 himself a man of a beautiful genius, but 
 of great industry. 
 
 The first species of false wit which I have met 
 with is very venerable for its antiquity, and has 
 produced several pieces which have lived very 
 near as long as the Iliad itself. I mean those 
 short poems printed among the minor Greek 
 
300 The SPECTATOR No. 58 
 
 poets/ which resemble the figure of an egg, a pair 
 of wings, an axe, a shepherd's pipe, and an altar. 
 
 As for the first, it is a little oval poem, and may 
 not improperly be called a scholar's egg. I would 
 endeavour to hatch it, or, in more intelligible lan- 
 guage, 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 consist of twelve verses, or 
 rather feathers, every verse decreasing gradually in 
 its measure -according 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 axe 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 have been nothing else 
 but the posy of an axe 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 posy was written originally upon the axe, 
 like those which our modern cutlers inscribe upon 
 their knives ; and that therefore the posy still re- 
 mains in its ancient shape, though the axe 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 
 
 ^ See the Anthologia Palat'tna, in Didot's BiUiotheca Gracorum 
 Scriptorum. 
 
No. 58 rhe SPECTATOR 301 
 
 the nine stops of the old musical instrument, that 
 is likewise the subject of the poem.^ 
 
 The altar is inscribed with the epitaph of Troilus 
 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 will 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 
 performances who was not a kind of painter, or at 
 least a designer : he was first of all to draw the out- 
 line of the subject which he intended to write upon, 
 and afterwards conform the description to the figure 
 of his subject. The poetry was to contract or dilate 
 itself according to the mould in which it was cast. 
 In a word, the verses were to be cramped or extended 
 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 Fleckno,' 
 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. 
 
 1 The ' Syrinx ' of Theocritus consists of twenty verses, so 
 arranged that the length of each pair is less than that of the pair 
 
302 The SPECTATOR No. 58 
 
 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 translation of-Du Bartas.^ I 
 do not remember any other kind of work among 
 the moderns which more resembles the performances 
 I have mentioned, than that famous picture of King 
 Charles I. 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 
 fellow-travellers, who all of them pressed to see 
 such a piece of curiosity. I have since heard, that 
 there is now an eminent writing-master in town, 
 who has transcribed all the Old Testament in a full- 
 bottomed periwig ; and if the fashion should intro- 
 duce the thick kind of wigs which were in vogue 
 some few years ago, he promises to add two or three 
 supernumerary locks that shall contain all the Apo- 
 crypha. He designed this wig originally for King 
 
 before, and the whole resembles the ten reeds of the mouth- 
 organ or pan-pipes (cri'/Dty^). Simmias of Rhodes, who lived 
 about 324 B.C., is said to have been the inventor of shaped verses 
 (Morley). 
 
 1 George Herbert, author of ' The Temple.' 
 
 2 Joshua Sylvester's dedication to King James the First of his 
 translation of the ' Divine Weeks and Works ' of Du Bartas, begins 
 with a sonnet on the royal anagram ' James Stuart ; a just Master ; ' 
 celebrates his Majesty in French and Italian, and then fills six pages 
 with verse built in his Majesty's honour, in the form of bases and 
 capitals of colunms, inscribed each with the name of one of the 
 Muses. Puttenham's 'Art of Poetry,' published in 1589, book II. 
 chap, ii., contains the fullest account of the mysteries and varieties 
 of this sort of versification (Morley). 
 
 3 This picture is in the library of St. John's College, Oxford. 
 
No. 58 T.^^ SPECTATOR 303 
 
 William, having disposed of the two books of Kings 
 in the two forks of the foretop ; 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 humbly propose, for the benefit of our modern 
 smatterers in poetry, that they would imitate their 
 brethren among the ancients 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 posy 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 will apply what I have said to 
 many other particulars; and that we shall see the 
 town filled in a very little time with poetical tippets, 
 handkerchiefs, snuff-boxes, and the like female orna- 
 ments. I shall therefore conclude with a word of 
 advice to those admirable English authors who call 
 themselves Pindaric writers,^ that they would apply 
 themselves to this kind of wit without loss of time, 
 as being provided better than any other poets with 
 verses of all sizes and dimensions. C. 
 
 1 Cowley's Pindariques had been followed by similar verses by 
 Dryden, Swift, and others. 
 
304 T:he SPECTATOR No. 59 
 
 N°- 59. Tuesday^ May 8, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Operosi nihil agunt. — Sen. 
 
 THERE is nothing more certain than that 
 every man would be a wit if he could, and 
 notwithstanding pedants of pretended 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 masters of great learning 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 lipogrammatists or 
 letter-droppers^ of antiquity, that would take an 
 exception, without any reason, against some par- 
 ticular letter in the alphabet, so as not to admit 
 it once into a whole poem. One Tryphiodorus ^ 
 
 1 Lipogrammatic verse dates back to the sixth century, when it 
 was written by the Greek poet Lasus. Lope de Vega wrote five 
 novels, each with one of the vowels excluded from it. 
 
 2 Tryphiodorus, a Greek grammarian, lived in the fifth century 
 A.D. According to Eustathius, he omitted throughout his Odyssey 
 the letter ' s ' ; Addison follows the account of Hesychius. The 
 only work by Tryphiodorus which has come down to us is a short 
 epic poem on the taking of Troy (Arnold). 
 
No. 59 The SPECTATOR 305 
 
 was a great master in this kind of writing. He 
 composed an Odyssey or epic poem on the ad- 
 ventures of Ulysses, consisting of four and twenty 
 books, having entirely banished the letter A from 
 his first book, which was called ' Alpha ' (as Lucus a 
 non lucendd) because there was not an alpha in it. 
 His second book was inscribed ' Beta ' for the same 
 reason. In short, the poet excluded the whole four 
 and twenty letters in their turns, and showed them, 
 one after another, that he could do his business 
 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 \t through the several Greek dialects, 
 when he was pressed with it in any particular syl- 
 lable. 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 Tryphiodorus, in all pro- 
 bability, would have been oftener quoted by our, 
 learned pedants, than the Odyssey of Homer. 
 What a perpetual fund would it have been of 
 obsolete words and phrases, unusual barbarisms 
 and rusticities, absurd spellings and complicated 
 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 rebus, that does not sink a letter but 
 a whole word, by substituting a picture in its place. 
 When Caesar was one of the masters of the Roman 
 
 VOL. I. u 
 
3o6 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 59 
 
 Mint, he placed the figure of an elephant upon the 
 reverse of the public money ; the word Cassar signi- 
 fying an elephant in the Punic language. This was 
 artificially contrived by Caesar, because it was not 
 lawful 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 wen like a 
 vetch (which Is cicer in Latin), instead of Marcus 
 TuUius Cicero, ordered the words ' Marcus Tullius ' 
 with the figure of a vetch at the end of them 
 to be inscribed on a public monument. This was 
 done probably to show that he was neither ashamed 
 of his name or family, notwithstanding the envy of 
 his competitors had often reproached him with both. 
 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 been the names of the architects, who by the 
 laws of their country were never permitted to inscribe 
 their own names upon their works. For the same 
 reason, it is thought that the forelock of the horse 
 in the antique equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius 
 represents at a distance the shape of an owl, to in- 
 timate the country of the statuary, who, in all 
 probability, was an Athenian. This kind of wit 
 was very much in vogue among our own country- 
 men 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 Mr. 
 Newberry, as I find it mentioned by our learned 
 Camden in his 'Remains.'^ Mr. Newberry, to re- 
 ^ In the chapter on Rebus, or name devices. 
 
No. 59 The SPECTATOR 307 
 
 present his name by a picture, 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 rebus, which 
 has been lately hewn out in freestone, and erected 
 over two of the portals of Blenheim House, being 
 the figure of a monstrous lion tearing to pieces a 
 little cock. For the better understanding of which 
 device, I must acquaint my English reader that a 
 cock has the misfortune to be called in Latin by 
 the same word that signifies a Frenchman, as a lion 
 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 will 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 introduces the echo 
 as a nymph, before she was worn away into nothing 
 but a voice.^ The learned Erasmus, though a man 
 of wit and genius, has composed a dialogue upon 
 this silly 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, 
 Greek, and Hebrew, according as she found the 
 syllables which she was to repeat in any of those 
 
 1 Sir John Vanbrugh was the architect of Blenheim Palace. 
 
 2 Met., iii. 358. ^ ' Echo,' in the Colhquia Familiarla. 
 
3o8 r.^^ SPECTATOR No. 59 
 
 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 with 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 nothing 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 ' ) ? 
 
 I thought th' hadst scorned to budge a step 
 
 For fear.' Quoth Echo, ' Marry guep.' 
 
 ' Am not I here to take thy part ! 
 
 Then what has quelled 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.' 
 
 ' Think' st thou 'twill not be laid i' th' dish 
 
 Thou turn'dst 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 ? 
 
 1 Book I. canto iii. 183. 
 
No. 6o T^^ SPECTATOR 309 
 
 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 pudding.' 
 
 N°- 60. Wednesday^ May 9, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Hoc est quod palles f Cur quis nan prandeat, Hoc est ? 
 
 — Per.j Sat. iii. 85. 
 
 SEVERAL kinds of false wit that vanished in the 
 refined 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 business, it is no 
 wonder that several of 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 Mne\d turned into Latin rhymes by one of the 
 beaux esprits of that dark age, who says in his 
 preface to it that the ^neid 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 filled a whole 
 book, though it consisted but of the eight following 
 words : — 
 
 Tot, tibi, sunt, virgo, dotes, quot, sidera, coelo. 
 Thou hast as many virtues, O virgin, as there are stars in heaven. 
 
 The poet rung the changes ^ upon these eight several 
 I 'Chimes' (folio). 
 
3IO t:^^ SPECTATOR No. 60 
 
 words, and bv 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 different words; which may change night 
 into day, or black into white, if Chance, who is the 
 goddess that presides over these sorts of composi- 
 tion, 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 in the search of it : 
 for it is his business to find out one word that con- 
 ceals itself in another, and to examine the letters in 
 all the variety of stations in which they can possibly 
 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 writing converted it into Moll ; and 
 after having shut himself up for half-a-year, with 
 indefatigable industry produced an anagram. Upon 
 the presenting it to his mistress, who was a little 
 
 1 'Was called' (folio). 
 
No. 60 rhe SPECTATOR 311 
 
 vexed in her heart to see herself degraded into Moll 
 Boon, she told him, to his infinite surprise, that he 
 had mistaken her surname, for that it was not Boon 
 but Bohun. 
 
 Ibi omnis 
 EfFusus labor- • 
 
 The lover was thunderstruck 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 whether 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, where 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 extremity, 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 chrono- 
 gram. This kind of wit appears very often on many 
 modern medals, especially those of Germany, when 
 they represent in the inscription the year in which 
 they were coined. Thus we see on a medal of 
 Gustavus Adolphus the following words : — 
 
 ChrIstVs DuX ergo trIVMphVs. 
 
 1 'Was' (folio). 2 « Known by the name of ' (folio). 
 
312 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 60 
 
 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 mdcxvvvii, or 1627, 
 the year in which the medal was stamped : for as 
 some of the letters distinguish themselves from the 
 rest, and overtop their fellows, they are to be con- 
 sidered in a double capacity, both as letters and as 
 figures. Your laborious German wits will turn over 
 a whole dictionary 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 inscrip- 
 tions, we are not so much to look in them for the 
 thought, as for the year of the Lord. 
 
 The Bouts-Rimes 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 uncommon 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 learn- 
 ing among the French (which generally follows the 
 declension of empire) than the endeavouring to 
 restore this foolish kind of wit. If the reader will 
 be at the trouble to see examples of it, let him look 
 into the new Mercure Galant ; ^ where the author 
 every month gives a list of rhymes to be filled up 
 
 1 The new Mercure Galant, by M. Du Fresny de la Riviere, 
 was commenced in June 1710. The earlier periodical of that name 
 was published in 1673 and following years. 
 
No. 6o T/^^ SPECTATOR 313 
 
 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 
 
 Cesars 
 
 . 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 passage : — 
 
 ' Monsieur de la Chambre has told me, that he 
 never knew what he was going to write when he 
 took his pen into his hand ; but that one sentence 
 always produced another. For my own part, I 
 never knew what I should write next when I was 
 making 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, Phillis, Marne, 
 
 1 Menagiana, vol. i. p. 174, ed. Arast., 1713. The Menaglana 
 were published in four volumes, in 1695 and 1696. Gilles Menage 
 died at Paris in 1692, aged seventy-nine. He was a scholar and 
 man of the world, who had a retentive memory, and, says Bayle, 
 ' could say a thousand good things in a thousand pleasing ways.' 
 The repertory here quoted from is the best of the numerous collec- 
 tions of ' ana ' (Morley). 
 
314 T^he SPECTATOR No. 60 
 
 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 pains I have been at." 
 But by Monsieur Gombaud's leave, notwithstanding 
 the severity of the criticism, the verses were good ' 
 (vid. Menagiana). Thus far the learned Menage, 
 whom I have translated word for word. 
 
 The first occasion of these Bouts-Rimes made them 
 in some manner excusable, as they were tasks which 
 the French ladies used to impose on their lovers. 
 But when a grave author, like him above-mentioned, 
 tasked himself, could there be anything more ridicu- 
 lous ? Or would not one be apt to believe that 
 the author played booty,i and did not make his list 
 of rhymes till he had finished his poem .? 
 
 I shall only add, that this piece of false wit has 
 been finely ridiculed by Monsieur Sarasin,^ in a poem 
 entitled La Defaite des Bouts-Rimes, ' The Rout 
 of the Bouts-Rim6s.' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 'Double' (folio). 
 
 2 Jean Frangois Sarasin, whose works were first collected by 
 Menage, and published in 1656, two years after his death. His 
 ' Defeat of the Bouts-Rimes ' has for first title Dulot Vaincu, is in 
 four cantos, and was written in four or five days (Morley). 
 
 3 'Nothing' (folio). 
 
No. 6i r/ie SPECTATOR 315 
 
 I am afraid that great numbers of those who admire 
 the incomparable ' Hudibras,' do it more on account 
 of these doggerel rhymes than of the parts that really 
 deserve admiration. I am sure I have heard the 
 
 and 
 
 Pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, 
 Was beat with fist instead of a stick. 
 
 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. C. 
 
 N°- 61. Thursday^ May 10, 17 11 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 Non equidem studeo, hullatis ut rnihi nugis 
 Pagina hirgescal, dare pondus idoneafumo. 
 
 — Pers., Sat. V. 19. 
 
 THERE is no kind of false wit which has been 
 so recommended 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, reflec- 
 tion, and good sense, they will 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 poetry, 
 painting, music, or other more noble arts, it often 
 breaks out in puns and quibbles. 
 
 Aristotle in the eleventh chapter of his ' Book of 
 
3i6 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 6i 
 
 Rhetoric' describes two or three kinds of puns, 
 which he calls paragrams, among the beauties of 
 good writing, and produces instances of them out 
 of some of the greatest authors in the Greek tongue. 
 Cicero has sprinkled 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 First. That learned 
 monarch was himself a tolerable punster, and made 
 very few bishops or privy councillors that had not 
 some time or other signalised themselves by a clinch 
 or a conundrum. It was therefore in this age that 
 the pun appeared with pomp and dignity. It had 
 before been admitted into merry speeches and ludi- 
 crous compositions, but was now delivered with 
 great gravity from the pulpit, or pronounced in the 
 most solemn manner at the council-table. The 
 greatest authors in their most serious works made 
 frequent use of puns. The Sermons of Bishop 
 Andrewes,^ and the Tragedies of Shakespeare, are 
 full of them. The sinner was punned into re- 
 pentance by the former, as in the latter nothing is 
 more usual than to see a hero weeping and quibbling 
 for a dozen lines 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 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 
 
 I Lancelot Andiewes (i 555-1626), Bishop of Winchester, 
 was described as an ' angel in the pulpit.' His sermons abound in 
 euphuistic verbal conceits. 
 
No. 6i T:he SPECTATOR 317 
 
 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 paragrammatist 
 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 Paronomasia, that 
 he sometimes gave in to the Place, but that in his 
 humble opinion he shined most in the Antanaclasis. 
 
 I must not here omit, that a famous university^ 
 of this land was formerly 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 deter- 
 mination 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 authors, who were the 
 great heroes in writing, were destitute of all rules 
 and arts of criticism ; and for that reason, though 
 they excel later writers in greatness of genius, they 
 fall far short of them in accuracy and correctness. 
 The moderns cannot reach their beauties, but can 
 avoid their imperfections. 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 
 1 Cambridge. , 
 
3i8 T/if SPECTATOR No. 6i 
 
 authors to distinguish 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 
 blemishes 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 separation made between 
 puns and true ^ wit by any of the ancient authors, 
 except Quintilian and Longinus. But when this 
 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 recover itself in some distant period of time, as 
 pedantry and ignorance shall prevail upon wit and 
 sense. And, to speak the truth, I do very much 
 apprehend, by some of the last winter's productions, 
 which had their sets of admirers, that our posterity 
 will in a few years degenerate into a race of pun- 
 sters : at least, a man may be very excusable for any 
 apprehensions 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 Witches' Prayer,' that fell into verse 
 when it was read either backward or forward, 
 excepting 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, 
 
 ' ' Fine ' (folio). 
 
No. 6 1 T/^^ SPECTATOR 319 
 
 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 acrostics and Whig ana- 
 grams, and do not quarrel with either of them be- 
 cause 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 downfall, 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 different 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 it is 
 vox et prcBterea nihil — a sound, and nothing but a 
 sound. On the contrary, one may represent true 
 -wit by the description which Aristasnetus makes of a 
 fine woman, ' When she is dressed she is beautiful, 
 when she is undressed she is beautiful : ' or, as Mer- 
 cerus^ has translated it more emphatically, Induitur^ 
 formosa est : exuitur, ipsa forTna est. C. 
 
 -1 Joseph Mercer edited Aristoenetus, and supplied a Latin 
 translation. 
 
320 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 62 
 
 N°' 62. Friday^ May ii, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Scrihendi recte sapere est et princip'mm etfons. 
 
 — HoR., Ars Poet. 309. 
 
 MR. LOCKE has an admirable reflection upon 
 the difi^erence of wit and judgment, whereby 
 he endeavours to show the reason 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. For wit lying most in the assem- 
 blage of ideas, and putting those together with 
 quickness and variety, wherein can be found any 
 resemblance or congruity, thereby to make up plea- 
 sant pictures and agreeable visions in the fancy;, 
 judgment, on the contrary, 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 pro- 
 ceeding 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 acceptable to all people.' ^ 
 This is, I think, the best and most philosophical 
 account that I have ever met with of wit, which 
 generally, though not always, consists in such a re- 
 semblance and congruity of ideas as this author 
 mentions. I shall only add to it, by way of explana- 
 
 ' ' Essay concerning Human Understanding,' Book II. chap. 2. 
 
No. 62 T-^^ SPECTATOR 321 
 
 tion, 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 re- 
 semblance 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 of 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 resemblance, 
 there be some further congruity discovered in the 
 two ideas that is capable of giving the reader some 
 surprise. 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 
 fill the mind with great conceptions, than to divert 
 it with such as are new and surprising, have seldom 
 anything in them that can be called wit. Mr. Locke's 
 account of wit, with this short explanation, com- 
 prehends most of the species of wit, as metaphors, 
 similitudes, allegories, enigmas, mottoes, 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 examination will be found to agree 
 with it. 
 
 As true wit generally consists in this resemblance 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
322 T-^f SPECTATOR No. 62 
 
 and congruity of ideas, false wit chiefly consists in 
 the resemblance and congruity sometimes of single 
 letters, as in anagrams, chronograms, lipograms, and 
 acrostics ; sometimes of syllables, 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's sake I shall call mixed wit. This kind 
 of wit is that which abounds in Cowley, more than 
 in any author that ever wrote. Mr. Waller has like- 
 wise a great deal of it. Mr. Dryden is very sparing 
 in it. Milton had a genius much above it. Spenser 
 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 
 mixed wit among the Greek writers, we shall find it 
 nowhere but in the epigrammatists. There are indeed 
 some strokes of it in the little poem ascribed to 
 Musseus, which by that, as well as many other marks, 
 betrays itself to be a modern composition. If we 
 look into the Latin writers, we find none of this 
 mixed 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 mixed wit. 
 
No. 62 T/^^ SPECTATOR | 323 
 
 I shall choose one instance which may be met with 
 in 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 meaning of 
 the word fire, to make an infinite number of wit- 
 ticisms. 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 lemon 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 distilled 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 natu- 
 rally 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 
 written flames had burned 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 fire. 
 His heart is an iEtna, that instead of Vulcan'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 
 
 1 Alembic. 
 
324 !r>^^ SPECTATOR No. 62 
 
 love, like that of the sun (which produces so many 
 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. 
 
 The reader may observe in every one of these 
 instances, that the poet mixes the qualities of fire 
 with those of love ; and in the same sentence speak- 
 ing of it both as a passion, and as real fire, surprises 
 the reader with those seeming resemblances or con- 
 tradictions that make up all the wit in this kind of 
 writing. Mixed wit therefore is a composition of 
 pun and true wit, and is more or less perfect as 
 the resemblance 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 wit, 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 mixed 
 wit, without owning that the admirable poet out 
 of whom I have taken the examples of it, had as 
 much true wit as any author that ever writ ; and 
 indeed all other talents of an extraordinary genius. 
 
 It may be expected, since I am upon this subject, 
 that I should take notice of Mr. Dryden'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 writing in general. 
 Wit, as he defines it, is ' a propriety of words and 
 thoughts adapted to the subject.'^ If this be a 
 
 1 Dryden's words are : ' The definition of wit . . . is only this: that 
 it is a propriety of thoughts and words ; or, in other terms, thoughts 
 
No. 62 T^f SPECTATOR 325 
 
 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 pro- 
 priety 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 facetious 
 man than either Ovid or Martial. 
 
 Bouhours,^ whom I look upon to be the most 
 penetrating of all the French 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 
 valuable, 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 natural way of 
 
 and words elegantly adapted to the subject ' (Preface to ' The State of 
 Innocence'). This he repeats in the preface to 'Albion and Albanius': 
 • If wit has truly been defined as " a propriety of thoughts and words," 
 then that definition will extend to all sorts of poetry. . . . Propriety 
 of thought is that fancy which arises naturally from the subject, or 
 which the poet adapts to it. Propriety of words is the clothing of 
 these thoughts with such expressions as are naturally proper to them.' 
 
 1 'Is' (folio). 
 
 2 Dominique Boubours, a Jesuit Father, and Professor of the 
 Humanities in Paris, died in 1 702. His ' Art of Criticism ' was 
 translated into English in 1705. 
 
 3 As in the lines — 
 
 ' Tout doit tendre au Bon Sens : mais pour y parvenir 
 Le chemin est glissant et penible a tenir.' 
 
 Art. Poetique, chant I. 
 And again — 
 
 ' Aux depens du Bon Sens gardez de plaisanter.' 
 
 Art. Poetique, chant 3 (Morley). 
 
326 t:^^ SPECTATOR No. 62 
 
 writing, that beautiful simplicity, which we so much 
 admire in the compositions of the ancients; and 
 which nobody deviates from, but those who want 
 strength of genius to make a thought shine in its 
 own natural beauties. Poets who want this strength 
 of genius to give that majestic simplicity to nature, 
 which we so much admire in the works of 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 Goths in 
 poetry, who, like those in architecture, not being 
 able to come up to the beautiful simplicity of the 
 old Greeks and Romans, have endeavoured to 
 supply its place with all the extravagances of an 
 irregular fancy. Mr. Dryden makes a very hand- 
 some observation on Ovid's writing a letter from 
 Dido to ^neas, in the following words : ^ ' Ovid 
 (says he, speaking of Virgil's fiction of Dido and 
 ^neas) takes it up after him, even in the same age, 
 and makes an ancient heroine of Virgil's new-created 
 Dido ; dictates 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 sub- 
 ject. 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 own profession, and, which is 
 worse, improves nothing which he finds: nature fails 
 him, and being forced to his old shift, he has re- 
 course to witticism. 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 
 
 1 Translation of the ^Eneid ; dedication to Lord Normanby. 
 
No. 62 772^ SPECTATOR 327 
 
 that of Mr. Dryden, I should not venture to observe, 
 that the taste of most of our English poets, as well 
 as readers, is extremely Gothic. He quotes Monsieur 
 Segrais ^ for a threefold distinction 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 calls 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 Virgil and Martial stood for parliament- 
 men, we know already who would carry it. But 
 though they make the greatest appearance in the 
 field, and cry the loudest, the best on't is they are 
 but a sort of French Huguenots, or Dutch boors, 
 brought over in herds, but not naturalised ; 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 masters of 
 the ceremonies in a bear-garden : yet these are they 
 who have the most admirers. But it often happens, 
 
 1 Jean Regnauld de Segrais (1624-1701) was known as the 
 Voiture of Caen. Besides poems, a tragedy, and other works, he 
 translated into French verse the jEneid and the Georgics, with a 
 prefatory dissertation, from which Addison quotes. 
 
 2 'Poll' is here used for 'vote.' A forty-shilling freehold con- 
 ferred a vote for the county. 
 
328 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 63 
 
 to their mortification, that as their readers improve 
 their stock of sense (as they may by reading better 
 books, and by conversation 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. For not only the resemblance but the oppo- 
 sition of ideas does very often produce wit ; as I 
 could show in several little points, turns, and anti- 
 theses, that I may possibly enlarge upon in some 
 future speculation. C. 
 
 N°" 63. Saturday^ May 12, 1711 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam 
 Jungere si velit et varias inducere plumas 
 Undique collatis membris, ut turpiter atrum 
 Desinat in piscem mulier formosa superne ; 
 Spectatum admissi risum tenealis amici ? 
 Credite Pisonis, isti tahulcB fore librum 
 Fersimilem, cvjus, velut mgri somnia, varus 
 
 Finguntur species 
 
 — HoR., Ars Poet. i-8. 
 
 IT is very hard for the mind to disengage itself 
 from a subject in which it has been long employed. 
 The thoughts will be rising of themselves from 
 time to time, though we give them no encourage- 
 ment; 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 allegory 
 
No. 63 T.^^ SPECTATOR 329 
 
 the several schemes of wit, whether false, mixed, or 
 true, that have been the subject of my late papers. 
 
 Meth ought I was transported into a country that 
 was filled with prodigies and enchantments, governed 
 by the goddess of Falsehood, and entitled the Region 
 of False 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, ambergris, and pulvillios ^ ; 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 
 everything 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 that barbarous kind of sculp- 
 
 1 Bags of perfumed powder. Cf. Gay ('Thy Fan,' i. 131) : — 
 
 ' The patch, the powder-box, pulville, perfumes, 
 Pins, paint, a flattering glass, and black-lead combs.' 
 
330 The SPECTATOR No. (,2> 
 
 ture. I immediately went up to it, and found it to 
 be a kind of heathen temple consecrated to the god 
 of Dulness. Upon my entrance I 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, shift- 
 ing their stations, and throwing themselves into all 
 the figures and counter-marches of the most change- 
 able and perplexed exercise. 
 
 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 feet high, and 
 made three rows of very proper men ; but the com- 
 mon 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- 
 
No. 63 T-^^ SPECTATOR 331 
 
 miscuously among the private men whom they 
 commanded. 
 
 In the body of the temple, and before the very 
 face of the Deity, methought I saw the phantom 
 of Tryphiodorus the lipogrammatist,^ engaged in a 
 ball with four and twenty persons, who pursued him 
 by turns through all 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 found there was in that quarter the great 
 magazine of rebuses. These were several things of 
 the most different natures tied up in bundles, and 
 thrown upon one another in heaps like fagots. 
 You might behold an anchor, a night-rail, and an 
 hobby-horse bound up together. One of the work- 
 men, seeing me very much surprised, told me there 
 was an infinite deal of wit 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 corner of it a clus- 
 ter of men and women laughing very heartily, and 
 diverting 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 engaged at a diversion, in which the whole 
 
 1 See No. 59. 
 
 2 A game in which one person or side has to find a rhyme to a 
 word given by another. Thus (No. 504), 'Those who can play 
 at crambo, or cap verses ' ; and Congreve (' Love for Love,' L i.), 
 ' Get the maids to crambo in an evening, and learn the knack of 
 rhyming.' 
 
332 T^^f SPECTATOR No. 63 
 
 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. By this means an old man was some- 
 times mistaken for a boy, a woman for a man, and 
 a blackamoor for an European, which 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 brain, I left the temple, and crossed over 
 the fields that lay about it with all the speed I could 
 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 afterwards found, 
 was in reality what I apprehended it. There appeared 
 at a great distance a very shining light, 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 quivers on his 
 shoulders, and grasped several arrows in his hand. 
 His name was Wit. The approach of these two 
 enemies filled all the territories of False Wit with an 
 unspeakable consternation, insomuch that the god- 
 dess of those regions appeared in person upon her 
 frontiers, with 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 Falsehood to draw their forces into a 
 body, with a design to stand upon their guard as 
 neuters, and attend the issue of the combat. 
 
No. 63 T/^f SPECTATOR 333 
 
 I must here inform my reader, that the frontiers 
 of the enchanted region, which I have before de- 
 scribed, 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 
 behind 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 her army ; but as the dazzling light, which flowed 
 from Truth, began to shine upon her, she faded in- 
 sensibly ; insomuch that in a little space she looked 
 rather like a huge phantom than a real substance. 
 At length, as the goddess of Truth approached still 
 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 hemisphere is extinguished ; such was 
 the vanishing of the goddess ; and not only of the 
 goddess herself, but of the whole army that attended 
 her, which sympathised with their leader, and shrunk 
 into nothing, in proportion as the goddess dis- 
 appeared. At the same time the whole temple 
 sunk, the fish betook themselves to the streams, 
 and the wild beasts to the woods ; the fountains 
 
334 r.^^ SPECTATOR No. 63 
 
 recovered their murmurs, 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 prodigies 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 impossible 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 under her garment. Rhetoric 
 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 expedition 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 amiable 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 reaching 
 out my hand to receive it of him, I knocked it 
 against a chair, and by that means awaked. C. 
 
No. 64 ^/^^ SPECTATOR 3:^5 
 
 N°- 64. Monday^ May 14, 17 11 
 
 [STEELE. 
 Hie vivvmus ambitiosa 
 
 Paupertate omnes — Juv., Sat. iii. 183. 
 
 THE most improper things we commit in the 
 conduct of our lives we are led into by the 
 force of fashion. Instances might be given 
 in which a prevailing custom makes us act against 
 the rules of nature, law, and common sense : but at 
 present I shall confine my consideration of the 
 effect it has upon men's minds, by looking into 
 our behaviour when it is the fashion to go into 
 mourning. The custom of representing the grief 
 we have for the loss of the dead by our habits, cer- 
 tainly had its rise from the real sorrow of such as 
 were too much distressed to take the proper care 
 they ought of their dress. By degrees it prevailed, 
 that such as had this inward oppression upon their 
 minds, made an apology for not joining with the 
 rest of the world in their ordinary diversions, by a 
 dress suited to their condition. This, therefore, 
 was at first assumed by such only as were under 
 real distress, to whom it was a relief that they had 
 nothing about them so light and gay as to be irk- 
 some to the gloom and melancholy of their inward 
 reflections, or that might misrepresent them to 
 others. In process of time this laudable distinction 
 of the sorrowful was lost, and mourning is now 
 worn by heirs and widows. You see nothing but 
 magnificence and solemnity in the equipage of the 
 relict, and an air of release from servitude in the 
 pomp of a son who has lost a wealthy father. This 
 
336 T-^^ SPECTATOR No. 64 
 
 fashion of sorrow is now become a generous part of 
 the ceremonial between princes and sovereigns, who 
 in the language of all nations are styled brothers to 
 each other, and put on the purple upon the death 
 of any potentate with whom they live in amity. 
 Courtiers, and all who wish themselves such, are 
 immediately seized with grief from head to foot 
 upon this disaster to their prince ; so that one may 
 know by the very buckles of a gentleman-usher 
 what degree of friendship any deceased monarch 
 maintained with the court to which he belongs. A 
 good courtier's habit and behaviour is hieroglyphical 
 on these occasions : he deals much in whispers, 
 and you may see he dresses according to the best 
 intelligence. 
 
 The general affectation among men, of appearing 
 greater than they are, makes the whole world run 
 into the habit of the court. You see the lady, 
 who the day before was as various as a rainbow, 
 upon the time appointed for beginning to mourn, 
 as dark as a cloud. This humour does not prevail 
 only on those whose fortunes can support any 
 change in their equipage, not on those only whose 
 incomes demand the wantonness of new appearances ; 
 but on such also who have just enough to clothe 
 them. An old acquaintance of mine, of ninety 
 pounds a year, who has naturally the vanity of being 
 a man of fashion deep at his heart, is very much 
 put to it to bear the mortality of princes. He 
 made a new black suit upon the death of the King 
 of Spain, he turned it for the King of Portugal, 
 and he now keeps his chamber while it is scouring 
 for the emperor.^ He is a good economist in his 
 
 1 Charles II. of Spain died in 1700 ; John V., King of Portugal, 
 in 1706 ; and the Emperor Joseph I. on April 17, 17 11. 
 
No. 64 T-^? SPECTATOR 337 
 
 extravagance, and makes only a fresh black button 
 upon his iron-grey suit for any potentate of small 
 territories ; he indeed adds his crape hatband for a 
 prince whose exploits he has admired in the Gazette. 
 But whatever compliments may be made on these oc- 
 casions, the true mourners are the mercers, silkmen, 
 lacemen, and milliners. A prince of a merciful and 
 royal disposition would reflect with great anxiety 
 upon the prospect of his death, if he considered 
 what numbers would be reduced to misery by that 
 accident only. He would think it of moment 
 enough to direct that in the notification of his 
 departure the honour to him might be restrained 
 to those of the household of the prince to whom 
 it should be signified. He would think a general 
 mourning to be in a less degree the same ceremony 
 which is practised in barbarous nations, of killing 
 their slaves to attend the obsequies of their kings. 
 
 I had been wonderfully at a loss for many months 
 together, to guess at the character of a man who 
 came now and then to our coffee-house. He ever 
 -ended a newspaper with this reflection, ' Well, I see 
 all the foreign princes are in good health.' If you 
 asked, ' Pray, sir, what says the Postman from 
 Vienna .'' ' he answered, ' Make us thankful, the 
 German princes are all well.' ' What does he say 
 from Barcelona } ' ' He does not speak but that 
 the country agrees very well with the new Queen.' 
 After very much inquiry, I found this man of 
 universal loyalty was a wholesale dealer in silks and 
 ribbons. His way is, it seems, if he hires a weaver 
 or workman, to have it inserted in his articles, 
 'That all this shall be well and truly performed, 
 provided no foreign potentate shall depart this life 
 within the time above mentioned.' It happens in 
 
 VOL. I. Y 
 
338 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 64 
 
 all public mournings, that the many trades which 
 depend upon our habits, are during that folly either 
 pinched with present want, or terrified with the 
 apparent approach of it. All the atonement which 
 men can make for wanton expenses (which is a sort 
 of insulting the scarcity under which others labour) 
 is, that the superfluities of the wealthy give sup- 
 plies to the necessities of the poor ; but instead of 
 any other good arising from the affectation of being 
 in courtly habits of mourning, all order seems to 
 be destroyed by it ; and the true honour which one 
 court does to another on that occasion, loses its 
 force and efficacy. When a foreign minister be- 
 holds the court of a nation (which flourishes in 
 riches and plenty) lay aside, upon the loss of his 
 master, all marks of splendour and magnificence, 
 though the head of such a joyful people, he will 
 conceive a greater idea of the honour done his 
 master, than when he sees the generality of the 
 people in the same habit. When one is afraid to 
 ask the wife of a tradesman whom she has lost of 
 her family, and after some preparation endeavours 
 to know whom she mourns for, how ridiculous is 
 it to hear her explain herself, that we have lost 
 one of the House of Austria? Princes are elevated 
 so highly above the rest of mankind, that it is a 
 presumptuous distinction to take a part in honours 
 done to their memories, except we have authority 
 for it, by being related in a particular manner to the 
 court which pays that veneration to their friend- 
 ship, and seems to express on Such an occasion 
 the sense of the uncertainty of human life in general, 
 by assuming the habit of sorrow though in the full 
 possession of triumph and royalty. R. 
 
No. 65 r>^f SPECTATOR 339 
 
 N°" 65. Tuesday^ May 15, 171 1. 
 
 [STEELE. 
 -Demetri teque Tigelli 
 
 Discipularum inter juheo plorare cathedras. 
 
 — HoR., I Sat. X. 90. 
 
 AFTER having at large explained what wit 
 is, and described the false appearances of it,^ 
 all that labour seems but an useless inquiry, 
 without some time be spent in considering the 
 application of it. The seat of wit, when one speaks 
 as a man of the town and the world, is the play- 
 house ; I shall therefore fill this paper with re- 
 flections upon the use of it in that place. The 
 application of wit in the theatre has as strong an 
 effect upon the manners of our gentlemen, as the 
 taste of it has upon the writings of our authors. 
 It may, perhaps, look like a very presumptuous 
 work, though not foreign from the duty of a 
 Spectator, to tax the writings of such as have long 
 had the general applause of a nation. But I shall 
 always make reason, truth, and nature the measures 
 of praise and dispraise ; if those are for me, the 
 generality of opinion is of no consequence against 
 me ; if they are against me, the general opinion 
 cannot long support me. 
 
 Without further preface, I am going to look into 
 some of our most applauded plays, and see whether 
 they deserve the figure they at present bear in the 
 imaginations of men, or not. 
 
 In reflecting upon these works, I shall chiefly 
 dwell upon that for which each respective play is 
 
 1 Nos. 58-63. 
 
340 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 65 
 
 most celebrated. The present paper shall be em- 
 ployed upon Sir Fopling Flutter.^ • The received 
 character of this play is, that it is the pattern 
 of genteel comedy. Dorimant and Harriot are the 
 characters of greatest consequence, and if these are 
 low and mean, the reputation of the play is very 
 unjust. 
 
 I will take for granted that a fine gentleman 
 should be honest in his actions and refined in his 
 language. Instead of this, our hero in this piece 
 is a direct knave in his designs and a clown in his 
 langviage. Bellair is his admirer and friend ; in 
 return for which, because he is forsooth a greater 
 wit than his said friend, he thinks it reasonable to 
 persuade him to marry a young lady, whose virtue, 
 he thinks, will last no longer than till she is a wife, 
 and then she cannot but fall to his share, as he is an 
 irresistible fine gentleman. The falsehood to Mrs. 
 Loveit, and the barbarity of triumphing over her 
 anguish for losing him, is another instance of his 
 honesty, as well as his good nature. As to his fine 
 language, he calls the orange-woman, who, it seems, 
 is inclined to grow fat, ' an overgrown jade, with a 
 flasket of guts before her ; ' and salutes her with a 
 pretty phrase of, ' How now, double tripe ! ' Upon 
 the mention of a country gentlewoman, whom he 
 knows nothing of (no one can imagine why), he 
 ' will lay his life she is some awkward, ill-fasliioned 
 country toad, who not having above four dozen of 
 hairs on her head, has adorned her baldness with a 
 
 1 Etherege's ' Man of Mode ; or, Sir Fopling Flutter,' was pro- 
 duced in 1676. See No. 75. It is said that the original of Sir 
 Fopling was Beau Hewit, son of Sir Thomas Hewit, Bart., of 
 Pishiobury, Herts; that Bellair is Etherege himself; and that 
 Dorimant represents the Earl of Rochester. 
 
No. 65 T:^^ SPECTATOR 341 
 
 large white fruz, that she may look sparkishly in 
 the forefront of the king's box at an old play.' 
 Unnatural mixture of senseless commonplace ! 
 
 As to the generosity of his temper, he tells his 
 
 poor footman, ' If he did not wait better ' he 
 
 would turn him away, in the insolent phrase of ' I'll 
 uncase you.' 
 
 Now for Mrs. Harriot : she laughs at obedience 
 to an absent mother, whose tenderness Busy de- 
 scribes to be very exquisite, for ' that she is so 
 pleased with finding Harriot again, that she cannot 
 chide her for being out of the way.' This witty 
 daughter and fine lady has so little respect for this 
 good woman, that she ridicules her air in taking 
 leave, and cries, ' In what struggle is my poor 
 mother yonder ? See, see ! her head tottering, her 
 eyes staring, and her under lip trembling.' But all 
 this is atoned for, because ' she has more wit than is 
 usual in her sex, and as much malice, though she is 
 as wild as you would wish her, and has a demure- 
 ness in her looks that makes it so surprising ! ' 
 Then to recommend her as a fit spouse for his hero, 
 the poet makes her speak her sense of marriage 
 very ingeniously. ' I think,' says she, ' I might be 
 brought to endure him, and that is all a reasonable 
 woman should expect in an husband.' It is, methinks, 
 unnatural that we are not made to understand how 
 she that was bred under a silly pious old mother, 
 that would never trust her out of her sight, came to 
 be so polite. 
 
 It cannot be denied but that the negligence of 
 everything which engages the attention of the sober 
 and valuable part of mankind appears very well 
 drawn in this piece ; but it is denied that it is 
 necessary to the character of a fine gentleman that 
 
342 'r>^^ SPECTATOR No. 65 
 
 he should in that manner trample upon all order 
 and decency. As for the character of Dorimant, it 
 is more of a coxcomb than that of Fopling. He 
 says of one of his companions, that a good corre- 
 spondence between them is their mutual interest. 
 Speaking of that friend, he declares their being much 
 together ' makes the women think the better of his 
 understanding, and judge more favourably of my 
 reputation. It makes him pass upon some for a 
 man of very good sense, and me upon others for a 
 very civil person.' 
 
 This whole celebrated piece is a perfect contra- 
 diction to good manners, good sense, and common 
 honesty ; and as there is nothing in it but what is 
 built upon the ruin of virtue and innocence, accord- 
 ing to the notion of merit in this comedy, I take 
 the shoemaker to be, in reality, the fine gentleman 
 of the play ; for it seems he is an atheist, if we may 
 depend upon his character as given by the orange- 
 woman, who is herself far from being the lowest in 
 the play. She says of a fine man who is Dorimant's 
 companion, ' There is not such another heathen in 
 the town, except the shoemaker.' His pretension 
 to be the hero of the drama appears still more in 
 his own description of his way of living with his 
 lady. ' There is,' says he, ' never a man in town 
 lives more like a gentleman with his wife than I do ; 
 I never mind her motions ; she never inquires into 
 mine. We speak to one another civilly, hate one 
 another heartily ; and because it is vulgar to lie 
 and soak together, we have each of us our several 
 settle-bed.' That of ' soaking together ' is as good 
 as if Dorimant had spoken it himself; and I think, 
 since he puts human nature in as ugly a form as the 
 circumstance will bear, and is a staunch unbeliever, 
 
No. 66 T/^^ SPECTATOR 343 
 
 he is very much wronged in having no part of the 
 good fortune bestowed in the last act. 
 
 To speak plainly of this whole work, I think 
 nothing but being lost to a sense of innocence and 
 virtue can make any one see this comedy, without 
 observing more frequent occasion to move sorrow 
 and indignation, than mirth and laughter. At the 
 same time I allow it to be nature, but it is nature 
 in its utmost corruption and degeneracy.^ R. 
 
 N°' 66. Wednesday^ May 16, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Motus doceri gaudet lonicos 
 Matura virgo, etjingitur artibus 
 Jam nunc, et incestos amores 
 De tenero meditatur ungui, 
 
 — HoR., 3 Od. vi. 21. 
 
 THE two following letters are upon a subject 
 of very great importance, though expressed 
 without any air of gravity : — 
 
 ' To the Spectator. 
 'Sir, 
 
 * T TAKE the freedom of asking your advice in 
 behalf of a young country kinswoman of mine 
 who is lately come to town, and under my care for 
 her education. She is very pretty, but you can't 
 imagine how unformed a creature it is. She comes 
 to my hands just as nature left her, half finished, 
 and without any acquired improvements. When I 
 look on her I often think of the Belle Sauvage 
 
 'In an epilogue appended to Leonard Welsted's 'Prologue 
 to the Town,' 1721, Steele deplored the fact that Etherege's 
 
344 r/^e SPECTATOR No. 66 
 
 mentioned in one of your papers.^ Dear Mr. 
 Spectator, help me to make her comprehend the 
 visible graces of speech, and the dumb eloquence of 
 motion; for she is at present a perfect stranger to 
 both. She knows no way to express herself but by 
 her tongue, and that always to signify her meaning. 
 Her eyes serve her yet only to see with, and she 
 is utterly a foreigner to the language of looks and 
 glances. In this I fancy you could help her better 
 than anybody. I have bestowed two months in 
 teaching her to sigh when she is not concerned, and 
 to smile when she is not pleased ; and am ashamed 
 to own she makes little or no improvement. Then 
 she is no more able now to walk than she was to go 
 at a year old. By walking you will easily know I 
 mean that regular but easy motion which gives our 
 persons so irresistible a grace as if we moved to 
 music, and is a kind of disengaged figure, or, if I 
 may so speak, recitative dancing. But the want of 
 this I cannot blame in her, for I find she has no ear, 
 and means nothing by walking but to change her 
 place. I could pardon too her blushing, if she knew 
 
 ' Man of Mode ' was preferred to Shakespeare's ' Measure for 
 Measure ' : — 
 
 ' Loveit unpitied mourns, unpitied wooes ; 
 Still Dorimant triumphant guilt pursues ; 
 You've lost the sense of giving virgins aid, 
 'Tis comedy to you, an injured maid : 
 The perjured Dorimant the beaux admire, 
 Gay, perjured Dorimant, the belles desire.' 
 
 In 1722, when Steele's 'Conscious Lovers' was about to be 
 produced, Dennis published a pamphlet, ' A Defence of Sir Fop- 
 ling Flutter, a Comedy written by Sir George Etherege ... By 
 which it appears that the latter Knight [Steele] knows nothing of 
 the nature of Comedy.' 
 
 1 No. 28. 
 
No. 66 The SPECTATOR 345 
 
 how to carry herself in it, and if it did not manifestly 
 injure her complexion. 
 
 'They tell me you are a person who have seen 
 the world, and are a judge of fine breeding ; which 
 makes me ambitious of some instructions from 
 you for her improvement : which when you have 
 favoured me with, I shall further advise with you 
 about the disposal of this fair forester in marriage ; 
 for I will make it no secret to you that her person 
 and education are to be her fortune. 
 I am. Sir, 
 Your very humble Servant, 
 
 Celimene.' 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' jDEING employed by Celimene to make up and 
 send to you her letter, I make bold to recom- 
 mend the case therein mentioned to your considera- 
 tion, because she and I happen to differ a little in 
 our notions. I, who am a rough man, am afraid 
 the young girl is in a fair way to be spoiled : there- 
 fore pray, Mr. Spectator, let us have your opinion 
 of this fine thing called fine breeding ; for I am 
 afraid it differs too much from that plain thing 
 called good breeding. 
 
 Your most humble Servant.' ^ 
 
 The general mistake among us in the educating 
 our children is, that in our daughters we take care 
 of their persons and neglect their minds; in our 
 sons, we are so intent upon adorning their minds 
 that we wholly neglect their bodies. It is from 
 this that you shall see a young lady celebrated and 
 admired in all the assemblies about town ; when her 
 
 1 These two letters were written by John Hughes. 
 
346 T:he SPECTATOR No. 66 
 
 elder brother is afraid to come into a room. From 
 this ill management it arises that we frequently 
 observe a man's life is half spent before he is taken 
 notice of; and a woman in the prime of her years 
 is out of fashion and neglected. The boy I shall 
 consider upon some other occasion, and at present 
 stick to the girl : and I am the more inclined to 
 this because I have several letters which complain 
 to me that my female readers have not understood 
 me for some days last past, and take themselves to 
 be unconcerned in the present turn of my writings. 
 When a girl is safely brought from her nurse, before 
 she is capable of forming one simple notion of any- 
 thing in life, she is delivered to the hands of her 
 dancing-master ; and with a collar round her neck, 
 the pretty wild thing is taught a fantastical gravity 
 of behaviour, and forced to a particular way of 
 holding her head, heaving her breast, and moving 
 with her whole body ; and all this under pain of 
 never having an husband if she steps, looks, or 
 moves awry. This gives the young lady wonderful 
 workings of imagination, what is to pass between 
 her and this husband that she is every moment told 
 of, and for whom she seems to be educated. Thus 
 her fancy is engaged to turn all her endeavours to 
 the ornament of her person, as what must determine 
 her good and ill in this life ; and she naturally 
 thinks, if she is tall enough, she is wise enough for 
 anything for which her education makes her think 
 she is designed. To make her an agreeable person is 
 the main purpose of her parents ; to that is all their 
 cost, to that all their care directed ; and from this 
 general folly of parents we owe our present numer- 
 ous race of coquettes. These reflections puzzle 
 me when I think of giving my advice on the subject 
 
No. 67 ^/^^ SPECTATOR 347 
 
 of managing the wild thing mentioned in the letter 
 of my correspondent. But sure there is a middle 
 way to be followed ; the management of a young 
 lady's person is not to be overlooked, but the erudi- 
 tion' of her mind is much more to be regarded. 
 According as this is managed, you will see the mind 
 follow the appetites of the body, or the body ex- 
 press the virtues of the mind. 
 
 Cleomira dances with all the elegance of motion 
 imaginable ; but her eyes are so chastised with the 
 simplicity and innocence of her thoughts, that she 
 raises in her beholders admiration and good will, 
 but no loose hope or wild imagination. The true 
 art in this case is to make the mind and body im- 
 prove together ; and if possible, to make gesture 
 follow thought, and not let thought be employed 
 upon gesture. R. 
 
 N°' 67. Thursday^ May 17, 171 1 
 
 [BUDGELL.2 
 
 — \ 1 
 
 Saltare elegantiiis quam necesse est probes. 
 
 — Sallust. 
 
 LUCIAN, in one of his dialogues,* introduces a 
 J philosopher chiding his friend for his being 
 a lover of dancing and a frequenter of balls. 
 The other undertakes the defence of his favourite 
 diversion, which, he says, was at first invented by 
 
 1 Instruction. 
 
 2 This is the first of the papers by Addison's cousin, Eustace 
 Budgell. 
 
 3 Dialogue ' Of Dancing,' given in vol. iii. of a translation of 
 Lucian's works ' by several eminent hands,' which was published 
 in 171 1. 
 
348 r.^^ SPECTATOR No. 67 
 
 the goddess Rhea, and preserved the fife of Jupiter 
 himself from the cruelty of his father Saturn. He 
 proceeds to show, that it had been approved by the 
 greatest men in all ages ; that Homer calls Merion 
 a fine dancer ; and says, that the graceful mien and 
 great agility which he had acquired by that exercise, 
 distinguished him above the rest in the armies, both 
 of Greeks and Trojans. 
 
 He adds, that Pyrrhus gained more reputation by 
 inventing the dance which is called after his name, 
 than by all his other actions : that the Lacede- 
 monians, who were the bravest people in Greece, 
 gave great encouragement to this diversion, and 
 made their hormus (a dance much resembling the 
 French brawl) famous over all Asia : that there were 
 still extant some Thessalian statues erected to the 
 honour of their best dancers : and that he wondered 
 how his brother philosopher could declare himself 
 against the opinions of those two persons, whom he 
 professed so much to admire. Homer and Hesiod ; 
 the latter of which compares valour and dancing 
 together ; and says, that the gods have bestowed 
 fortitude on some men, and on others a disposition 
 for dancing. 
 
 Lastly, he puts him in mind that Socrates (who, 
 in the judgment of Apollo, was the wisest of men) 
 was not only a professed admirer of this exercise in 
 others, but learned it himself when he was an old 
 man. 
 
 The morose philosopher is so much affected by 
 these, and some other authorities, that he becomes 
 a convert to his friend, and desires he would take 
 him with him when he went to his next ball. 
 
 I love to shelter myself under the examples of 
 great men ; and, I think, I have sujffiiciently showed 
 
No. 67 TA? SPECTATOR 349 
 
 that it is not below the dignity of these my specula- 
 tions, to take notice of the following letter, which, 
 I suppose, is sent me by some substantial tradesman 
 about 'Change : — 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' J AM a man in years, and by an honest industry 
 in the world have acquired enough to give my 
 children a liberal education, though I was an utter 
 stranger to it myself. My eldest daughter, a girl 
 of sixteen, has for some time been under the tuition 
 of Monsieur Rigadoon,^ a dancing-master in the 
 City ; and I was prevailed upon by her and her 
 mother to go last night to one of his balls. I must 
 own to you, sir, that having never been at any such 
 place before, I was very much pleased and surprised 
 with that part of his entertainment which he called 
 French dancing. There were several young men 
 and women, whose limbs seemed to have no other 
 motion, but purely what the music gave them. 
 After this part was over, they began a diversion 
 which they call country dancing, and wherein there 
 were also some. things not disagreeable, and divers 
 emblematical figures, composed, as I guess, by wise 
 men, for the instruction of youth. 
 
 ' Among the rest I observed one, which, I think, 
 they call Hunt the Squirrel, in which while the 
 woman flies the man pursues her ; but as soon as 
 she turns, he runs away, and she is obliged to 
 follow. 
 
 ' The moral of this dance does, I think, very aptly 
 recommend modesty and discretion to the female sex, 
 
 1 The rigadoon was a lively dance for one couple, popular in the 
 seventeenth century. 
 
350 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 67 
 
 ' But as the best institutions are liable to corrup- 
 tions, so, sir, I must acquaint you, that very great 
 abuses are crept into this entertainment. I was 
 amazed to see my girl handed by, and handing 
 young fellows with so much familiarity ; and I 
 could not have thought it had been in the child. 
 They very often made use of a most impudent and 
 lascivious step called setting, which I know not how 
 to describe to you, but by telling you that it is the 
 very reverse of back-to-back. At last an impudent 
 young dog bid the fiddlers play a dance called Mol. 
 Pately, and after having made two or three capers, 
 ran to his partner, locked his arms in hers, and 
 whisked her round cleverly above ground in such 
 manner that I, who sat upon one of the lowest 
 benches, saw further above her shoe than I can think 
 fit to acquaint you with. I could no longer endure 
 these enormities, wherefore just as my girl was going 
 to be made a whirligig, I ran in, seized on the child, 
 and carried her home. 
 
 'Sir, I am not yet old enough to be a fool. I 
 suppose this diversion might be at first invented to 
 keep up a good understanding between young men 
 and women, and so far I am not against it ; but I 
 shall never allow of these things. I know not what 
 you will say to this case at present, but am sure that 
 had you been with me you would have seen matter 
 of great speculation. I am. 
 
 Yours, &c.' 
 
 I must confess I am afraid that my correspondent 
 had too much reason to be a little out of humour 
 at the treatment of his daughter, but I conclude 
 that he would have been much more so, had he seen 
 one of those kissing dances in which Will Honey- 
 
No. 67 T/^^ SPECTATOR 351 
 
 comb assures me they are obliged to dwell almost a 
 minute on the fair one's lips, or they will be too 
 quick for the music, and dance quite out of time. 
 
 I am not able however to give my final sentence 
 against this diversion; and am of Mr. Cowley's 
 opinion,^ that so much of dancing, at least, as 
 belongs to the behaviour and an handsome carriage 
 of the body, is extremely useful, if not absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 We generally form such ideas of people at first 
 sight, as we are hardly ever persuaded to lay aside 
 afterwards. For this reason, a man would wish to 
 have nothing disagreeable or uncomely in his ap- 
 proaches, and to be able to enter a room with a 
 good grace. 
 
 I might add, that a moderate knowledge in the 
 little rules of good breeding gives a man some 
 assurance, and makes him easy in all companies. 
 For want of this, I have seen a professor of a liberal 
 science at a loss to salute a lady; and a most excel- 
 lent mathematician not able to determine whether he 
 ■should stand or sit while my lord drank to him. 
 
 It is the proper business of a dancing-master to 
 regulate these matters ; though I take it to be a just 
 observation, that unless you add something of your 
 •own to what these fine gentlemen teach you, and 
 which they are wholly ignorant of themselves, you 
 will much sooner get the character of an affected fop, 
 than of a well-bred man. 
 
 As for country dancing, it must indeed be con- 
 fessed, that the great familiarities between the two 
 sexes on this occasion may sometimes produce very 
 dangerous consequences ; and I have often thought 
 
 '^ * A Proposition for the Advancement of Experimental Philo- 
 sophy,' 1661. 
 
352 r>^^ SPECTATOR No. 67 
 
 that few ladies' hearts are so obdurate as not to be 
 melted by the charms of music, the force of motion, 
 and an handsome young fellow who is continually 
 playing before their eyes, and convincing them that 
 he has the perfect use of all his limbs. 
 
 But as this kind of dance is the particular inven- 
 tion of our own country, and as every one is more 
 or less a proficient in it, I would not discountenance 
 it ; but rather suppose it may be practised innocently 
 by others, as well as myself, who am often partner to 
 my landlady's eldest daughter. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 Having heard a good character of the collection of 
 pictures which is to be exposed to sale on Friday 
 next ; ^ and concluding, from the following letter, 
 that the person who collected them is a man of no 
 unelegant taste, I will be so much his friend as to 
 publish it, provided the reader will only look upon 
 it as filling up the place of an advertisement. 
 
 From the Three Chairs in the Piazza, 
 
 CovENT Garden 
 
 'Sir, May 16, 171 1. 
 
 ' A S you are Spectator, I think we who make it our 
 
 business to exhibit anything to public view, 
 
 ought to apply ourselves to you for your approba- 
 
 J An advertisement in the original issue announced a sale by 
 auction on the i8th May, at the Three Chairs (the corner house 
 of the Little Piazza), of 'a curious collection of Italian Paintings,' 
 lately brought from beyond sea, by Giacomo and Leandro Bassan, 
 Tintoret, Claude Lorain, Salvator Rosa, &c. ; as also by Reubens 
 and Vandyck, Holbein, Teniers, &c. 
 
No. 68 r>^^ SPECTATOR 353 
 
 tion. I have travelled Europe to furnish out a show 
 for you, and have brought with me what has been 
 admired in every country through which I passed. 
 You have declared in many papers, that your greatest 
 delights are those of the eye, which I do not doubt 
 but I shall gratify with as beautiful objects as yours 
 ever beheld. If castles, forests, ruins, fine women, 
 and graceful men can please you, I dare promise you 
 much satisfaction, if you will appear at my auction 
 on Friday next. A sight is, I suppose, as grateful 
 to a Spectator as a treat to another person, and 
 therefore I hope you will pardon this invitation 
 from. Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient humble Servant, 
 X. J. Graham.' 
 
 N°-68. Friday^ May 18, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 Nos duo turha sumus 
 
 —Ovid, Met. i. ■^^S- 
 
 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 conver- 
 sation is never so much straitened and confined as 
 in numerous assemblies. When a multitude meet 
 together upon any subject of discourse, their debates 
 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 pubHc topics. 
 Tn proportion as conversation gets into clubs and 
 knots of friends, it descends into particulars, and 
 
 VOL. I. z 
 
354 T^he SPECTATOR No. 68 
 
 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 occasions 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 friend- 
 ship improves happiness and abates misery, by the 
 doubling of our joy and dividing of our grief; a 
 thought in which he hath been followed by all the 
 essayers upon friendship, that have written since his 
 time. Sir Francis Bacon ^ has finely described other 
 advantages, or, as he calls them, ' fruits of friend- 
 ship ' ; 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 very ancient author, whose book 
 would be regarded by our modern 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 delivered as his . own, 
 that we should have many well-wishers, but few 
 friends. ' Sweet language will multiply friends ; and 
 a fair-speaking tongue will increase kind greetings. 
 
 1 Cicero, De Amkitm, cap. 6. 
 
 2 Essay on Friendship. 
 
No. 68 The SPECTATOR 355 
 
 Be in peace with many, nevertheless have but one 
 counsellor of 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 behaviour of 
 a treacherous and self-interested friend ? ' If thou 
 wouldst 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 re- 
 proach.' Again, 'Some friend is a companion at 
 the table, and will not continue in the day of thy 
 affliction : but in thy prosperity he will be as thy- 
 self, 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 particularises 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 
 invaluable. 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 neighbour (that 
 is his friend) be also.' ^ I do not remember to have 
 met with any saying that has pleased me more 
 
 1 Ecclesiasticus vii. 5, 6. ^ Ibid. vi. 7, seq. 
 
 3 Ibid. 15-18. 
 
356 t:^^ SPECTATOR No. 68 
 
 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 ; and am wonderfully 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 another saying in 
 the same author, which would have been very much 
 admired in an heathen writer, ' Forsake 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 ? ' Whoso 
 casteth a stone at the birds frayeth them away ; and 
 he that upbraideth his friend, breaketh friendship. 
 Though thou drawest a sword at a friend yet de- 
 spair not, for there may be a returning 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 treacherous wound ; for, for these things every 
 friend will depart.' ^ 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. Love thy friend, and 
 be faithful unto him ; but if thou betrayest his 
 secrets, follow no more after him : for as a man 
 hath destroyed his enemy, so hast thou lost the 
 
 1 Ecclesiasticus ix. lo. ^ Ibid. ix. 20-22. 
 
No. 68 r.^^ SPECTATOR 357 
 
 love of thy friend ; as one that letteth a bird go 
 out of his hand, so hast thou let thy friend go, 
 and shalt not get him again. Follow 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 betrayeth secrets is without hope.' ' 
 
 Among the several qualifications of a good friend, 
 this wise man has very justly singled out constancy 
 and faithfulness 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 
 equability or evenness of behaviour. A man often 
 contracts a friendship with one whom perhaps he 
 does not find out until after a year's conversation ; 
 when on a sudden some latent ill-humour breaks 
 out upon him, which he never discovered or sus- 
 pected 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 in others as odious and detestable. Martial 
 has given us a very pretty picture of one of this 
 species in the following epigram : — 
 
 DifHcilis, facilis, jucundus, acerbus 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 ; 
 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 
 
 1 Ecclesiasticus xxvii. 1 6, j'ifj'. ^ De Amkitid. ^ Epig. xlvii. iz. 
 
35^ r/^f SPECTATOR No. 69 
 
 friendship with one, who by these changes and vicis- 
 situdes of humour is sometimes amiable and some- 
 times odious : and as most men are at some times 
 in 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. C. 
 
 N°' 69, Saturday^ May 19, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Hie segetes, illic veniunt felicius uv<b : 
 Arhoreifcstus alibi, atque injussa virescunt 
 Gramina. Nonne vides, croceos ut Tmolus odores, 
 India mittit elur, molles sua thura Sahcsi ? 
 At Chalyhes nudi ferrum, virosaque Pontus. 
 Castorea, Eliadum palmas Epirus equarum ? 
 Continuo has legp.s ceternaque fcedera certis 
 
 Imposidt natura locis 
 
 — ViR., Georg. i. 54. 
 
 THERE is no place in the town which I so 
 much love to frequent as the Royal Ex- 
 change.^ It gives me a secret satisfaction, 
 and, in some measure, gratifies my vanity, as I 
 am an Englishman, to see so rich an assembly of 
 countrymen and foreigners consulting together upon 
 the private business of mankind, and making this 
 metropolis a kind of emporium for the whole earth. 
 I must confess I look upon High 'Change to be a 
 great council, in which all considerable nations have 
 their representatives. Factors in the trading world 
 are what ambassadors are in the politic world ; they 
 
 1 The second Royal Exchange, built after the Great Fire from 
 designs by Edward Jarman, was burnt down in 1838. 
 
No. 69 T/^^ SPECTATOR 359 
 
 negotiate affairs, conclude treaties, and maintain a 
 good correspondence between those wealthy societies 
 of men that are divided from one another by seas 
 and oceans, or live on the different extremities of a 
 continent. I have often been pleased to hear dis- 
 putes adjusted between an inhabitant of Japan and 
 an alderman of London, or to see a subject of the 
 Great Mogul entering into a league with one of 
 the Czar of Muscovy. I am infinitely delighted in 
 mixing with these several ministers of commerce, 
 as they are distinguished by their different walks 
 and different languages : sometimes I am jostled 
 among a body of Armenians ; sometimes I am lost 
 in a crowd of Jews ; and sometimes make one in 
 a group of Dutchmen. I am a Dane, Swede, or 
 Frenchman at different times, or rather fancy myself 
 like the old philosopher,^ who, upon being asked 
 what countryman he was, replied that he was a 
 citizen of the world. 
 
 Though I very frequently visit this busy multitude 
 of people, I am known to nobody there but my friend 
 Sir Andrew, who often smiles upon me as he sees 
 me bustling in the crowd, but at the same time 
 connives at my presence without taking any further 
 notice of me. There is indeed a merchant of Egypt 
 who just knows me by sight, having formerly re- 
 mitted me some money to Grand Cairo ; ^ but as 
 I am not versed in the modern Coptic, our con- 
 ferences go no further than a bow and a grimace. 
 
 This grand scene of business gives me an infinite 
 variety of solid and substantial entertainments. As 
 I am a great lover of mankind, my heart naturally 
 overflows with pleasure at the sight of a prosperous 
 and happy multitude, insomuch that at many public 
 
 1 Diogenes (Lucian's ^liav Tr/aatrts). ^ See No. I. 
 
36o T-^f SPECTATOR No. 69 
 
 solemnities I cannot forbear expressing my joy with 
 tears that have stolen down my cheeks. For this 
 reason I am wonderfully delighted to see such a 
 body of men thriving in their own private fortunes, 
 and at the same time promoting the public stock ; or 
 in other words, raising estates for their own families, 
 by bringing into their country whatever is wanting, 
 and carrying out of it whatever is superfluous. 
 
 Nature seems to have taken a particular care to 
 disseminate her blessings among the different regions 
 of the world, with an eye to this mutual intercourse 
 and traffic among mankind, that the natives of the 
 several parts of the globe might have a kind of 
 dependence upon one another, and be united to- 
 gether by their common interest. Almost every 
 degree produces something peculiar to it. The 
 food often grows in one country, and the sauce 
 in another. The fruits of Portugal are corrected 
 by the products of Barbados ; the infusion of a 
 China plant sweetened with the pith of an Indian 
 cane ; the Philippic Islands give a flavour to our 
 European bowls. Thesingle_4ress of a woman of 
 qjiality_is often the productof aiThtmdfgS^&ES^s. 
 Xhe-mufF-anErthriknr-xDrfir together. from the dif- 
 ferent ends of the eartK.""Tlie scarf is sent from the 
 torrid zone, and the tippet from beneath the pole. 
 The brocade petticoat rises out of the mines of 
 Peru, and the diamond necklace out of the bowels 
 of Indostan. 
 
 If we consider our own country in its natural 
 prospect, without any of the benefits and advantages 
 of commerce, what a barren uncomfortable spot of 
 earth falls to our share ! Natural historians tell us, 
 that no fruit grows originally among us, besides 
 hips and haws, acorns and pig-nuts, with other 
 
No. 69 T/^f SPECTATOR 361 
 
 delicacies of the like nature ; that our climate of 
 itself, and without the assistances of art, can make 
 no further advances towards a plum than to a sloe, 
 and carries an apple to no greater a perfection 
 than a crab ; that our ^ melons, our peaches, our figs, 
 our apricots, and cherries, are strangers among us, 
 imported in different ages, and naturalised in our 
 English gardens ; and that they would all degenerate 
 and fall away into the trash of our own country, if 
 they were wholly neglected by the planter, and left 
 to the mercy of our sun and soil. Nor has traffic 
 more enriched our vegetable world, than it has im- 
 proved the whole face of nature among us. Our 
 ships are laden with the harvest of every climate ; 
 our tables are stored with spices, and oils, and wines ; 
 our rooms are filled with pyramids of China, and 
 adorned with the workmanship of Japan. Our 
 morning's draught comes to us from the remotest 
 corners of the earth. We repair our bodies by the 
 drugs of America, and repose ourselves under Indian 
 canopies. My friend Sir Andrew calls the vineyards 
 of France our gardens, the Spice Islands our hotbeds, 
 the Persians our silk-weavers, and the Chinese our 
 potters. Nature indeed furnishes us with the bare 
 necessaries of life, but traffic gives us a great variety 
 of what is useful, and at the same time supplies us 
 with everything that is convenient and ornamental. 
 Nor is it the least part of this our happiness, that 
 whilst we enjoy the remotest products of the North 
 and South, we are free from those extremities of 
 weather which give them birth ; that our eyes are 
 refreshed with the green fields of Britain, at the same 
 time that our palates are feasted with fruits that rise 
 between the tropics. 
 
 1 ' That these fruits, in their present state, as well as our ' (folio). 
 
362 The SPECTATOR No. 69 
 
 For these reasons there are not more useful mem- 
 bers In a commonwealth than merchants. They knit 
 mankind together in a mutual intercourse of good 
 offices, distribute the gifts of nature, find work 
 for the poor, add wealth to the rich, and magnifi- 
 cence to the great. Our English merchant converts 
 the tin of his own country into gold, and exchanges 
 his wool for rubles. The Mahomedans are clothed 
 in our British manufacture, and the inhabitants of 
 the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our 
 sheep. 
 
 When I have been upon the 'Change, I have often 
 fancied one of our old kings standing in person, 
 where he Is represented In effigy,^ and looking down 
 upon the wealthy concourse of people with which 
 that place is every day filled. In this case, how 
 would he be surprised to hear all the languages 
 of Europe spoken in this little spot of his former 
 dominions, and to see so many private men, who in 
 his time would have been the vassals of some power- 
 ful baron, negotiating like princes for greater sums 
 of money than were formerly to be met with in the 
 royal treasury ! Trade, without enlarging the British 
 territories, has given us a kind of additional em- 
 pire. It has multiplied the number of the rich, 
 made our landed estates infinitely more valuable 
 than they were formerly, and added to them an 
 accession of other estates as valuable as the lands 
 themselves. C. 
 
 1 There were nineteen statues of English kings in niches in the 
 old Royal Exchange ; most of them were carved by Caius Gabriel 
 Gibber. 
 
No. 70 T/^f SPECTATOR 363 
 
 N°- 70. Monday^ May 21, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Interduvn vulgus rectum videt. 
 
 — HoR., I Ep. ii. 63. 
 
 WHEN I travelled, I took a particular delight 
 in hearing the songs and fables that are come 
 from father to son, and are most in vogue 
 among the common people of the countries through 
 which I passed ; for it is impossible that anything 
 should be universally tasted and approved by a mul- 
 titude, though they are only the rabble of a nation, 
 which hath not in it some peculiar aptness to please 
 and gratify the mind of man. Human nature is 
 the same in all reasonable creatures ; and whatever 
 falls in with it will meet with admirers amongst 
 readers of all qualities and conditions. Moliere, 
 as we are told by Monsieur Boileau, used to read 
 all his comedies to an old woman who^ was his 
 housekeeper, as she sat with him at her work by 
 the chimney corner ; and could foretell the success of 
 his play in the theatre, from the reception it met 
 at his fireside ; for he tells us the audience always 
 followed the old woman, and never failed to laugh 
 in the same place. 
 
 I know nothing which more shows the essential 
 and inherent perfection of simplicity of thought, 
 above that which I call the Gothic manner in writing, 
 than this, that the first pleases all kinds of palates, 
 and the latter only such as have formed to themselves 
 a wrong artificial taste upon little fanciful authors 
 and writers of epigram. Homer, Virgil, or Milton, 
 
 1 ' To a little old woman that ' (folio). 
 
364 "the SPECTATOR No. 70 
 
 so far as the language of their poems is understood, 
 will please a reader of plain common sense, who 
 would neither relish nor comprehend an epigram of 
 Martial, or a poem of Cowley : so, on the contrary, 
 an ordinary song or ballad that is the delight of the 
 common people, cannot fail to please all such readers 
 as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their 
 affectation or ignorance ; and the reason is plain, 
 because the same paintings of nature which recom- 
 mend it to the most ordinary reader, will appear 
 beautiful to the most refined. 
 
 The old song of ' Chevy Chase ' ^ is the favourite 
 ballad of the common people of England ; and Ben 
 Jonson used to say he had rather have been the 
 author of it than of all his works. Sir Philip Sidney 
 in his ' Discourse of Poetry ' ^ speaks of it in the fol- 
 lowing words : ' I never heard the old song of Piercy 
 and Douglas, that I found not my heart more moved 
 
 1 Both the ancient and the more modern ballads of ' Chevy Chase ' 
 are given in Percy's ' Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.' The 
 version quoted by Addison is not that of which Sidney spoke, but 
 a more modern version, written probably after Sidney's death. The 
 ballad is quite unhistorical, and there seems to have been some con- 
 fusion in the author's mind with the Battle of Otterburn, fought in 
 1388. It has been suggested, though apparently without ground, 
 that the ballad refers to a battle at Pepperden, near the Cheviot 
 Hills, fought in 1436 between the Earl of Northumberland and 
 Earl William Douglas of Angus. The original ballad seems to 
 have been written in the first half of the fifteenth century, and pro- 
 bably the author designedly used incidents relating to various fights 
 in order to form a stirring tale. 
 
 Addison's praise of 'Chevy Chase' surprised eighteenth-century 
 critics, and brought upon him the ridicule of John Dennis and the 
 author of the ' Comment upon the History of Tom Thumb,' a piece 
 afterwards included in the volume known as the ' Miscellaneous 
 Works of Dr. William Wagstaffe.' Dr. Johnson found in the 
 poem only 'chill and lifeless imbecility.' 
 
 2 - Defence of Poesy.' 
 
No. 70 T"/^^ SPECTATOR 365 
 
 than with a trumpet ; and yet is sung by some blind 
 crowder with no rougher voice than rude style ; 
 which being so evil apparelled in the dust and 
 cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work 
 trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar ? ' 
 For my own part, I am so professed an admirer of 
 this antiquated song, that I shall give my reader 
 a critique upon it, without any further apology for 
 so doing. 
 
 The greatest modern critics have laid it down as 
 a rule, that an heroic poem should be founded 
 upon some important precept of morality, adapted 
 to the constitution of the country in which the 
 poet writes. Homer and Virgil have formed their 
 plans in this view. As Greece was a collection of 
 many governments, who suffered very much among 
 themselves, and gave the Persian Emperor, who was 
 their common enemy, many advantages over them by 
 their mutual jealousies and animosities, Homer, in 
 order to establish among them an union, which was 
 so necessary for their safety, grounds his poem upon 
 the discords of the several Grecian princes who were 
 engaged in a confederacy against an Asiatic prince, 
 and the several advantages which the enemy gained 
 by such their discords.^ At the time the poem we 
 are now treating of was written, the dissensions of 
 the barons, who were then so many petty princes, 
 ran very high, whether they quarrelled among them- 
 selves, or with their neighbours, and produced un- 
 speakable calamities to the country. The poet, to 
 deter men from such unnatural contentions, describes 
 a bloody battle and dreadful scene of death, occa- 
 sioned by the mutual feuds which reigned in the 
 
 1 This theory is based on an anachronism, as Homer's poem was 
 written several centuries before the founding of the Persian empire. 
 
366 T:^? SPECTATOR No. 70 
 
 families of an English and Scotch nobleman. That 
 he designed this for the instruction of his poem, we 
 may learn from his four last lines, in which, after 
 the example of the modern tragedians, he draws from 
 it a precept for the benefit of his readers. 
 
 God save the king, and bless the land 
 
 In plenty, joy, and peace ; 
 And grant henceforth that foul debate 
 
 'Twixt noblemen may cease. 
 
 The next point observed by the greatest heroic poets 
 hath been to celebrate persons and actions which do 
 honour to their country. Thus Virgil's hero was 
 the founder of Rome, Homer's a prince of Greece ; 
 and for this reason Valerius Flaccus and Statius, 
 who were both Romans, might be justly derided for 
 having chosen the expedition of the Golden Fleece 
 and the wars of Thebes for the subjects of their 
 epic writings. 
 
 The poet before us has not only found out an hero 
 in his own country, but raises the reputation of it 
 by several beautiful incidents. The English are the 
 first who take the field, and the last who quit it. 
 The English bring only fifteen hundred to the 
 battle, the Scotch two thousand. The English keep 
 the field with fifty-three ; the Scotch retire with fifty- 
 five ; all the rest on each side being slain in battle. 
 But the most remarkable circumstance of this kind 
 is the different manner in which the Scotch and 
 English kings receive the news of this fight, and of 
 the great men's deaths who commanded in it. 
 
 This news was brought to Edinburgh, 
 Where Scotland's king did reign, 
 
 That brave Earl Douglas suddenly 
 Was with an arrow slain. 
 
No. 70 T/^^ SPECTATOR 367 
 
 ' Oh heavy news,' King James did say ; 
 
 ' Scotland can witness be,' 
 1 have not any captain more 
 
 Of such account as he.' 
 
 Like tidings to King Henry came 
 
 Within as short a space. 
 That Piercy of Northumberland 
 
 Was slain in Chevy Chase. 
 
 ' Now God be with him,' said our king ; 
 
 ' Sith 'twill no better be, 
 I trust I have within my realm 
 
 Five hundred as good as he. 
 
 ' Yet shall not Scot nor Scotland say 
 
 But I will vengeance take. 
 And be revenged on them all 
 
 For brave Lord Piercy's sake.' 
 
 This vow full well the king performed 
 
 After on Humble Down; 
 In one day fifty knights were slain, 
 
 With lords of great renown. 
 
 And of the rest of small account 
 Did many thousands die, &c. 
 
 At the same time that our poet shows a laudable 
 partiality to his countrymen, he represents the Scots 
 after a manner not unbecoming so bold and brave a 
 people. 
 
 Earl Douglas on a milk-white steed. 
 
 Most like a baron bold. 
 Rode foremost of the company 
 
 Whose armour shone like gold. 
 
 His sentiments and actions are every way suitable to 
 an hero. ' One of us two,' says he, ' must die ; I am 
 an earl as well as yourself, so that you can have no 
 pretence for refusing the combat. However,' says 
 
368 ^/^f SPECTATOR No. 70 
 
 he, ' 'tis pity, and indeed would be a sin, that so many 
 innocent men should perish for our sakes ; rather 
 let you and I end our quarrel in single fight.' ^ 
 
 ' Ere thus I will out-bravSd be, 
 
 One of us two shall die ; 
 I know thee well, an earl thou art. 
 
 Lord Piercy, so am I. 
 
 ' But trust me, Piercy, pity it were. 
 
 And great offence, to kill 
 Any of these our harmless men. 
 
 For they have done no ill. 
 
 ' Let thou and I the battle try. 
 
 And set our men aside. 
 * Accurst be he,' Lord Piercy said, 
 
 ' By whom this is denied.' 
 
 When these brave men had distinguished them- 
 selves in the battle and in single combat with each 
 other, in the midst of a generous parley, full of 
 heroic sentiments, the Scotch earl falls, and with 
 his dying words encourages his men to revenge his 
 death, representing to them, as the most bitter cir- 
 cumstance of it, that his rival saw him fall. 
 
 With that there came an arrow keen 
 
 Out of an English bow, 
 Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart 
 
 A deep and deadly blow. 
 
 Who never spoke more words than these, 
 
 ' Fight on, my merry men all ; 
 For why, my life is at an end. 
 
 Lord Piercy sees my fall.' 
 
 Merry men, in the language of those times, is no 
 more than a cheerful word for companions and 
 fellow-soldiers. A passage in the eleventh book of 
 
 ' ' By a single combat' (folio). 
 
No. 70 T/^^ SPECTATOR 369 
 
 Virgil's ^neids ^ is very much to be admired, where 
 Camilla in her last agonies, instead of weeping over 
 the wound she had received, as one might have 
 expected from a warrior of her sex, considers only 
 (like the hero of whom we are now speaking) how 
 the battle should be continued after her death. 
 
 Turn sic expirans, &c. 
 
 A gathering mist o'erclouds her cheerful eyes ; 
 And from her cheeks the rosy colour flies. 
 Then turns to her, whom of her female train 
 She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain : 
 ' Acca, 'tis past ! He swims before my sight. 
 Inexorable Death, and claims his right. 
 Bear my last words to Turnus, fly with speed. 
 And bid him timely to my charge succeed : 
 Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve. 
 Farewell ' 
 
 Turnus did not die in so heroic a manner ; though 
 our poet seems to have had his eye upon Turnus's 
 speech in the last verse : — 
 
 Lord Piercy sees my fall. 
 -Vicisti, et victum tendere palmas 
 
 Ausonii videre ^ 
 
 Earl Piercy's lamentation over his enemy is gene- 
 rous, beautiful, and passionate ; I must only caution 
 the reader not to let the simplicity of the style, 
 which one may well pardon in so old a poet, preju- 
 dice him against the greatness of the thought. 
 
 Then leaving life Earl Piercy took 
 
 The dead man by the hand. 
 And said, ' Earl Douglas, for thy life 
 
 Would I had lost my land. 
 
 1 Lines 820, seq. ^ Mn. xii. 936. 
 
 VOL. I. 2 A 
 
370 r>^e SPECTATOR No. 71 
 
 ' O Christ ! My very heart doth bleed 
 With sorrow for thy sake ; 
 For sure a more renowned knight 
 Mischance did never take.' 
 
 That beautiful line, ' Taking the dead man by the 
 hand,' will put the reader in mind of iEneas's be- 
 haviour towards Lausus, whom he himself had slain 
 as he came to the rescue of his aged father. 
 
 At vero ut vultum vidit morientis, et ora, 
 
 Ora raodis Anchisiades, pallentia miris : 
 
 Ingemuit, miserans graviter, dextramque tetendit, &c.i 
 
 The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead ; 
 He grieved, he wept ; then grasped his hand and said, 
 ' Poor hapless youth ! What praises can be paid 
 To worth so great ' 
 
 I shall take another opportunity to consider the 
 other parts of this old song.^ C. 
 
 N°' 7 1 . Tuesday^ May 22, 1 7 1 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Scrihere jussit amor. 
 
 — Ovid, Epis. iv. 10. 
 
 THE entire conquest of our passions is so diffi- 
 cult a work, that they who despair of it 
 should think of a less difficult task, and only 
 attempt to regulate them. But there is a third 
 thing which may contribute not only to the ease, 
 but also to the pleasure of our life; and that is, 
 refining our passions to a greater elegance than we 
 receive them from nature. When the passion is 
 love, this work is performed in innocent, though 
 
 1 Mn. xii. 822. 2 See No. 74. 
 
No. 71 TA^ SPECTATOR 371 
 
 rude and uncultivated minds, by the mere force 
 and dignity of the object. There are forms which 
 naturally create respect in the beholders, and at 
 once inflame and chastise the imagination. Such an 
 impression as this gives an immediate ambition to 
 deserve, in order to please. This cause and effect 
 are beautifully described by Mr. Dryden in the fable 
 of ' Cymon and Iphigenia.' After he has represented 
 Cymon so stupid, that 
 
 He whistled as he went, for want of thought, 
 
 he makes him fall into the following scene, and 
 shows its influence upon him so excellently, that it 
 appears as natural as wonderful : — 
 
 It happened on a summer's holiday, 
 That to the greenwood shade he took his way ; 
 His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake, 
 Hung half before and half behind his back. 
 He trudged along unknowing what he sought, 
 And whistled as he went, for want of thought. 
 
 By chance conducted, or by thirst constrained. 
 The deep recesses of the grove he gained ; 
 Where in a plain, defended by the wood. 
 Crept through the matted grass a crystal flood. 
 By which an alabaster fountain stood ; 
 And on the margin of the fount was laid 
 (Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid. 
 Like Dian and her nymphs, when tired with sport, 
 To rest by cool Eurotas they resort. 
 The dame herself the goddess well expressed. 
 Not more distinguished by her purple vest 
 Than by the charming features of her face. 
 And even in slumber a superior grace : 
 Her comely limbs composed with decent care, 
 Her body shaded with a slight cymar ; 
 Her bosom to the view was only bare.^ 
 
 1 Steele here omits a couplet — 
 
 ' Where two beginning paps were scarcely spied, 
 For yet their places were but signified.' 
 
372 r^^ SPECTATOR No. 71 
 
 The fanning wind upon her bosom blows, 
 
 To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose ; 
 
 The fanning wind and purling streams continue her repose. 
 
 The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes 
 And gaping mouth, that testified surprise, 
 Fixed on her face, nor could remove his sight. 
 New as he was to love, and novice in delight. 
 Long mute he stood, and leaning on his staff, 
 His wonder witnessed with an idiot laugh ; 
 Then would have spoke, but by his glimmering sense 
 First found his want of words, and feared offence ; 
 Doubted for what he was he should be known, 
 By his clown accent and his country tone. 
 
 But lest this fine description should be excepted 
 against, as the creation of that great master Mr. 
 Dryden, and not an account of what has really ever 
 happened in the world, I shall give you, verbatim, 
 the epistle of an enamoured footman in the country 
 to his mistress.^ Their surnames shall not be in- 
 serted, because their passion demands a greater re- 
 spect than is due to their quality. James is servant 
 in a great family, and Elizabeth waits upon the 
 daughter of one as numerous, some miles off of 
 her lover. James, before he beheld Betty, was vain 
 of his strength, a rough wrestler, and quarrelsome 
 cudgel-player ; Betty a public dancer at maypoles, 
 a romp at stool-ball : he always following idle 
 women, she playing among the peasants : he a 
 country bully, she a country coquette. But love 
 
 1 James Hirst, a servant to the Hon. Edward Wortley (who was a 
 close friend of Addison's and Steele's) , by mistake gave to his master, 
 with a parcel of letters, one that he had himself written to his 
 sweetheart. Mr. Wortley opened it, read it, and would not return 
 it. ' No, James,' he said, ' you shall be a great man. This letter 
 must appear in the Spectator.' Betty died when on the point of 
 marriage to James, and James, out of love to her, married her sister. 
 He died at Pennistone, near Leeds. 
 
No. 71 T/^^ SPECTATOR 373 
 
 has made her constantly in her mistress's chamber, 
 where the young lady gratifies a secret passion of 
 her own, by making Betty talk of James ; and James 
 is become a constant waiter near his master's apart- 
 ment, in reading, as well as he can, romances. I 
 cannot learn who Molly is, who it seems walked 
 ten miles to carry the angry message which gave 
 occasion to what follows. 
 
 ' To Elizabeth 
 
 'My dear Betty, J/aj' 14, 1711. 
 
 ' D EMEMBER your bleeding lover, who lies 
 bleeding at the wounds Cupid made with 
 the arrows he borrowed at the eyes of Venus, 
 which is your sweet person. 
 
 ' Nay more, with the token you sent me for my 
 love and service offered to your sweet person, which 
 was your base respects to my ill conditions, when 
 alas ! there is no ill conditions in me, but quite 
 contrary; all love and purity, especially to your 
 sweet person ; but all this I take as a jest. 
 
 ' But the sad and dismal news which Molly 
 brought me, struck me to the heart, which was, it 
 seems, and is your ill conditions for my love and 
 respects to you. 
 
 ' For she told me, if I came forty times to you, 
 you would not speak with me, which words I am 
 sure is a great grief to me. 
 
 ' Now, my dear, if I may not be permitted to 
 your sweet company, and to have the happiness of 
 speaking with your sweet person, I beg the favour 
 of you to accept of this my secret mind and 
 thoughts, which hath so long lodged in my breast ; 
 
374 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 71 
 
 the which if you do not accept, I believe will go 
 nigh to break my heart. 
 
 'For indeed, my dear, I love you above all the 
 beauties I ever saw in all my life. 
 
 ' The young gentleman, and my master's daughter, 
 the Londoner that is come down to marry her, sat 
 in the arbour most part of last night. Oh ! dear 
 Betty, must the nightingales sing to those who 
 marry for money, and not to us true lovers ! Oh, 
 my dear Betty, that we could meet this night where 
 we used to do in the wood ! 
 
 ' Now, my dear, if I may not have the blessing of 
 kissing yovir sweet lips, I beg I may have the happi- 
 ness of kissing your fair hand, with a few lines from 
 your dear self, presented by whom you please or 
 think fit. I believe, if time would permit me, I 
 could write all day ; but the time being short, and 
 paper little, no more from your never-failing lover 
 till death. James ' 
 
 Poor James ! Since his time and paper were so 
 short, I, that have more than I can use well of 
 both, will put the sentiments of his kind letter (the 
 style of which seems to be confused with scraps he 
 had got in hearing and reading what he did not 
 understand) into what he meant to express. 
 
 ' Dear Creature, 
 
 ' (^AN you then neglect him who has forgot all his 
 recreations and enjoyments, to pine away his 
 life in thinking of you .? When I do so, you appear 
 more amiable to me than Venus does in the most 
 beautiful description that was ever made of her. 
 All this kindness you return with an accusation that 
 
No. 72 T:he SPECTATOR 375 
 
 I do not love you : but the contrary is so manifest, 
 that I cannot think you in earnest. But the cer- 
 tainty given me in your message by Molly, that you 
 do not love me, is what robs me of all comfort. 
 She says you will not see me : if you can have so 
 much cruelty, at least write to me, that I may kiss 
 the impression made by your fair hand. I love you 
 above all things, and, in my condition, what you 
 look upon with indiiference is to me the most 
 exquisite pleasure or pain. Our young lady, and a 
 fine gentleman from London, who are to marry for 
 mercenary ends, walk about our gardens, and hear 
 the voice of evening nightingales, as if for fashion- 
 sake they courted those solitudes, because they had 
 heard lovers do so. O Betty ! could I hear these 
 rivulets murmur, and birds sing while you stood 
 near me, how little sensible should I be that we are 
 both servants, that there is anything on earth above 
 us. Oh ! I could write to you as long as I love you, 
 till death itself. James.' 
 
 N.B. — By the words ill conditions, James means, 
 in a woman coquetry, in a man inconstancy. R. 
 
 N°- 72. Wednesday, May 23, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 Genus immortale manet, multosque per annos 
 
 Stat fortuna domus, et avi numerantur avorum. 
 
 — ViRG,, Georg. iv. 208. 
 
 HAVING already given my reader an account 
 of several extraordinary clubs both ancient 
 and modern, I did not design to have troubled 
 him with any more narratives of this nature ; but I 
 
376 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 72 
 
 have lately received information of a club which I 
 can call neither ancient nor modern, that I dare say 
 will be no less surprising to my reader than it was 
 to myself; for which reason I shall communicate it 
 to the public as one of the greatest curiosities in 
 its kind. 
 
 A friend of mine complaining of a tradesman 
 who is related to him, after having represented him 
 as a very idle worthless fellow, who neglected his 
 family, and spent most of his time over a bottle, 
 told me, to conclude his character, that he was a 
 member of the Everlasting Club. So very odd a 
 title raised my curiosity to inquire into the nature 
 of a club that had such a sounding name ; upon 
 which my friend gave me the following account : — 
 
 ' 'Y^HE Everlasting Club consists of an hundred 
 members, who divide the whole twenty-four 
 hours among them in such a manner that the club 
 sits day and night from one end of the year to 
 another ; ^ no party presuming to rise till they are 
 relieved by those who are in course to succeed them. 
 By this means a member of the Everlasting Club 
 never wants company ; for though he is not upon 
 duty himself, he is sure to find some who are ; so 
 that if he be disposed to take a whet, a nooning, 
 an evening's draught, or a bottle after midnight, he 
 goes to the club, and finds a knot of friends to his 
 mind. 
 
 ' It is a maxim in this club that the steward never 
 dies ; for as they succeed one another by way of 
 rotation, no man is to quit the great elbow-chair 
 which stands at the upper end of the table till his 
 
 1 'The other' (folio). 
 
No. 72 r>^^ SPECTATOR 377 
 
 successor is in a readiness to fill it ; insomuch that 
 there has not been a sede vacante in the memory of 
 man. 
 
 ' This club was instituted towards the end (or, as 
 some of them say, about the middle) of the Civil 
 Wars, and continued without interruption till the 
 time of the Great Fire,^ which burnt them out, and 
 dispersed them for several weeks. The steward at 
 that time maintained his post till he had like to 
 have been blown up with a neighbouring house 
 (which was demolished in order to stop the fire) ; 
 and would not leave the chair at last until he had 
 emptied all the bottles upon the table, and received 
 repeated directions from the club to withdraw him- 
 self. This steward is frequently talked of in the 
 club, and looked upon by every member of it as 
 a greater man than the famous captain mentioned 
 in my Lord Clarendpn, who was burnt in his ship 
 because he would not quit it without orders. It is 
 said that towards the close of 1700, being the great 
 year of jubilee, the club had it under consideration 
 whether they should break up or continue their 
 session ; but after many speeches and debates, it was 
 at length agreed to sit out the other century. This 
 resolution passed in a general club nemine contra- 
 dicente.^ 
 
 Having given this short account of the institution 
 and continuation of the Everlasting Club, I should 
 here endeavour to say something of the manners and 
 characters of its several members, which I shall do 
 according to the best lights I have received in this 
 matter. 
 
 It appears by their books in general that since 
 
 1 The Fire of London, 1666. 
 
378 The SPECTATOR No. 72 
 
 their first institution they have smoked fifty tons of 
 tobacco, drank thirty thousand butts of ale, one 
 thousand hogsheads of red port, two hundred barrels 
 of brandy, and a kilderkin of small beer : there has 
 been likewise a great consumption of cards. It is 
 also said that they observe the law in Ben Jonson's 
 Club,^ which orders the fire to be always kept in 
 {focus perennis esto), as well for the convenience 
 of lighting their pipes, as to cure the dampness of 
 the club-room. They have an old woman in the 
 nature of a vestal, whose business it is to cherish and 
 perpetuate the fire, which burns from generation to 
 generation, and has seen the glass-house fires in and 
 out above an hundred times. 
 
 The Everlasting Club treats all other clubs with 
 an eye of contempt, and talks even of the Kit-Cat 
 and October^ as of a couple of upstarts. Their 
 ordinary discourse (as much as I have been able to 
 learn of it), turns altogether upon such adventures 
 as have passed in their own assembly ; of members 
 who have taken the glass in their turns for a week 
 together without stirring out of the club ; of others 
 who have smoked an hundred pipes at a sitting ; of 
 others who have not missed their morning's draught 
 for twenty years together : sometimes they speak in 
 raptures of a run of ale in King Charles's reign; 
 and sometimes reflect with astonishment upon games 
 at whist which have been miraculously recovered by 
 members of the society when in all human proba- 
 bility the case was desperate. 
 
 They delight in several old catches, which they 
 sing at all hours to encourage one another to mois- 
 ten their clay, and grow immortal by drinking ; with 
 many other edifying exhortations of the like nature. 
 1 See No. 9. 2 See No. 9. 
 
No. 73 The SPECTATOR 379 
 
 There are four general clubs held in a year, at 
 which times they fill up vacancies, appoint waiters, 
 confirm the old firemaker or elect a new one, settle 
 contributions for coals, pipes, tobacco, and other 
 necessaries. 
 
 The senior member has outlived the whole club 
 twice over, and has been drunk with the grandfathers 
 of some of the present sitting members. C. 
 
 N°- 73. Thursday^ May 24, 171 1 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 Dea eerie! — Virg., Mn. i. 333. 
 
 IT is very strange to consider that a creature like 
 man, who is sensible of so many weaknesses and 
 imperfections, should be actuated by a love of 
 fame ; that vice and ignorance, imperfection and 
 misery, should contend for praise, and endeavour 
 as much as possible to make themselves objects of 
 admiration. 
 
 But, notwithstanding man's essential perfection is 
 but very little, his comparative perfection may be 
 very considerable. If he looks upon himself in an 
 abstracted light, he has not much to boast of ; but if 
 he considers himself with regard to others, he may 
 find occasion of glorying, if not in his own virtues, 
 at least in the absence of another's imperfections. 
 This gives a different turn to the reflections of the 
 wise man and the fool. The first endeavours to 
 shine in himself, and the last to outshine others. 
 The first is humbled by the sense of his own in- 
 firmities ; the last is lifted up by the discovery of 
 those which he observes in other men. The wise 
 man considers what he wants, and the fool what he 
 
38o The SPECTATOR No. 73 
 
 abounds in. The wise man is happy, when he gains 
 his own approbation, and the fool when he re- 
 commends himself to the applause of those about 
 him. 
 
 But, however unreasonable and absurd this passion 
 for admiration may appear in such a creature as man, 
 it is not wholly to be discouraged, since it often 
 produces very good effects, not only as it restrains 
 him from doing anything which is mean and con- 
 temptible, but as it pushes him to actions which are 
 great and glorious. The principle may be defective 
 or faulty, but the consequences it produces are so 
 good that, for the benefit of mankind, it ought not 
 to be extinguished. 
 
 It is observed by Cicero,^ that men of the greatest 
 and the most shining parts are the most actuated 
 by ambition ; and if we look into the two sexes, I 
 believe we shall find this principle of action stronger 
 in women than in men. 
 
 The passion for praise, which is so very vehement 
 in the fair sex, produces excellent effects in women 
 of sense, who desire to be admired for that only 
 which deserves admiration ; and I think we may 
 observe, without a compliment to them, that many 
 of them do not only live in a more uniform course 
 of virtue, but with an infinitely greater regard to 
 their honour, than what we find in the generality 
 of our own sex. How many instances have we 
 of chastity, fidelity, devotion? How many ladies 
 distinguish themselves by the education of their 
 children, care of their families, and love of their 
 husbands, which are the great qualities and achieve- 
 ments of women ; as the making of war, the carrying 
 on of traffic, the administration of justice, are those 
 
 1 Tusc. Quasi., lib. v. § 243. 
 
No, 73 T*/^^ SPECTATOR 381 
 
 by which men grow famous and get themselves a 
 name. 
 
 But as this passion for admiration, when it works 
 according to reason, improves the beautiful part of 
 our species in everything that is laudable, so nothing 
 is more destructive to them when it is governed by 
 vanity and folly. What I have therefore here to say, 
 only regards the vain part of the sex, whom, for 
 certain reasons which the reader will hereafter see 
 at large, I shall distinguish by the name of idols. 
 An idol is wholly taken up in the adorning of her 
 person. You see in every posture of her body, air 
 of her face, and motion of her head, that it is her 
 business and employment to gain adorers. For this 
 reason your idols appear in all public places and 
 assemblies, in order to seduce men to their worship. 
 The playhouse is very frequently filled with idols ; 
 several of them are carried in procession every even- 
 ing about the Ring,^ and several of them set up their 
 worship even in churches. They are to be accosted 
 in the language proper to the Deity. Life and death 
 are in their power ; joys of heaven and pains of hell 
 are at their disposal ; paradise is in their arms, and 
 eternity in every moment that you are present with 
 them. Raptures, transports, and ecstasies are the 
 rewards which they confer ; sighs and tears, prayers 
 and broken hearts, are the offerings which are paid 
 to them. Their smiles make men happy ; their 
 frowns drive them to despair. I shall only add 
 under this head that Ovid's book of the 'Art of 
 Love' is a kind of heathen ritual, which contains 
 all the forms of worship which are made use of to 
 an idol. 
 
 It would be as difficult a task to reckon up these 
 
 1 See No. 15. 
 
382 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 73 
 
 difFerent kinds of idols, as Milton's was to number 
 those that were known in Canaan and the lands ad- 
 joining.^ Most of them are worshipped, like Moloch, 
 in fires and flames. Some of them, like Baal, love to 
 see their votaries cut and slashed, and shedding their 
 blood for them. Some of them, like the idol in the 
 Apocrypha, must have treats and collations prepared 
 for them every night. It has indeed been known 
 that some of them have been used by their incensed 
 worshippers like the Chinese idols, who are whipped 
 and scourged when they refuse to comply with the 
 prayers that are offered to them. 
 
 I must here observe, that those idolaters who 
 devote themselves to the idols I am here speak- 
 ing of, differ very much from all other kinds of 
 idolaters. For as others fall out because they wor- 
 ship difFerent idols, these idolaters quarrel because 
 they worship the same. 
 
 The intention therefore of the idol is quite con- 
 trary to the wishes of the idolater ; as the one 
 desires to confine the idol to himself, the whole 
 business and ambition of the other is to multiply 
 adorers. This humour of an idol is prettily de- 
 scribed in a tale of Chaucer.^ He represents one 
 of them sitting at a table with three of her votaries 
 about her, who are all of them courting her favour, 
 and paying their adorations. She smiled upon one, 
 drank to another, and trod upon the other's foot 
 which was under the table. 'Now which of these 
 three,' says the old bard, ' do you think was the 
 favourite ? In troth,' says he, ' not one of all 
 the three.' 
 
 The behaviour of this old idol in Chaucer puts 
 me in mind of the beautiful Clarinda, one of the 
 
 1 'Paradise Lost,' i. 374. 2 <The Remedy of Love.' 
 
No. 73 T:he SPECTATOR 383 
 
 greatest idols among the moderns. She is wor- 
 shipped once a week by candle-light in the midst 
 of a large congregation generally called an assembly. 
 Some of the gayest youths in the nation endeavour 
 to plant themselves in her eye, while she sits in 
 form with multitudes of tapers burning about her. 
 To encourage the zeal of her idolaters, she bestows 
 a mark of her favour upon every one of them 
 before they go out of her presence. She asks a 
 question of one, tells a story to another, glances 
 an ogle upon a third, takes a pinch of snuiF from 
 the fourth, lets her fan drop by accident to give 
 the fifth an occasion of taking it up. In short, 
 every one goes away satisfied with his success, and 
 encouraged to renew his devotions on the same 
 canonical hour that day sevennight. 
 
 An idol may be undeified by many accidental 
 causes. Marriage in particular is a kind of counter- 
 apotheosis, or a deification inverted. When a man 
 becomes familiar with his goddess, she quickly sinks 
 into a woman. 
 
 Old age is likewise a great decayer of your 
 idol. The truth of it is, there is not a more un- 
 happy being than a superannuated idol, especially 
 when she has contracted such airs and behaviour 
 as are only graceful when her worshippers are 
 about her. 
 
 Considering, therefore, that in these and many 
 other cases the woman generally outlives the idol, 
 I must return to the moral of this paper, and desire 
 my fair readers to give a proper direction to their 
 passion for being admired : in order to which, they 
 must endeavour to make themselves the objects of 
 a reasonable and lasting admiration. This is not to 
 be hoped for from beauty, or dress, or fashion. 
 
384 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 74 
 
 but from those inward ornaments which are not to 
 be defaced by time or sickness, and which appear 
 most amiable to those who are most acquainted 
 with them. C. 
 
 N°- 74. Friday^ May 25, 171 1. 
 
 [ADDISON. 
 
 -Pendent opera interrupta 
 
 — ViRG., Mn. iv. 88. 
 
 IN my last Monday's paper ^ I gave some general 
 instances of those beautiful strokes which please 
 the reader in the old song of ' Chevy Chase ' ; 
 I shall here, according to my promise, be more 
 particular, and show that the sentiments in that 
 ballad are extremely natural and poetical, and full 
 of the majestic simplicity which we admire in the 
 greatest of the ancient poets. For which reason 
 I shall quote several passages of it, in which the 
 thought is altogether the same with what we meet 
 in several passages of the ^neid ; not that I would 
 infer from thence, that the poet (whoever he was) 
 proposed to himself any imitation of those passages, 
 but that he was directed to them in general, by 
 the same kind of poetical genius, and by the same 
 copyings after nature. 
 
 Had this old song been filled with epigramma- 
 tical turns and points of wit, it might perhaps 
 have pleased the wrong taste of some readers ; but 
 it would never have become the delight of the 
 common people, nor have warmed the heart of Sir 
 Philip Sidney like the sound of a trumpet ; it is 
 only nature that can have this effect, and please 
 ^ No. 70. 
 
No. 74 r.^^ SPECTATOR 385 
 
 those tastes which are the most unprejudiced or the 
 most refined. I must however beg leave to dissent 
 from so great an authority as that of Sir Philip 
 Sidney, in the judgment which he has passed as to 
 the rude style and evil apparel of this antiquated 
 song ; for there are several parts in it where not 
 only the thought but the language is majestic, and 
 the numbers sonorous ; ^ at least, the apparel is much 
 more gorgeous than many of the poets made use 
 of in Queen Elizabeth's time, as the reader will 
 see in several of the following quotations. 
 
 What can be greater than either the thought or 
 the expression in that stanza — 
 
 To drive the deer with hound and horn 
 
 Earl Piercy took his way ; 
 The child may rue that was unborn 
 
 The hunting of that day ? 
 
 This way of considering the misfortunes which this 
 battle would bring upon posterity, not only on 
 those who were born immediately after the battle 
 and lost their fathers in it, but on those also who 
 perished 2 in future battles which took their rise^ 
 from this quarrel of the two earls, is wonderfully 
 beautiful, and conformable to the way of thinking 
 among the ancient poets — 
 
 Audiet pugnas vitio parentum 
 
 Rara juventus. — Hor.* 
 
 What can be more sounding and poetical, or re- 
 semble more the majestic simplicity of the ancients, 
 than the following stanzas : — 
 
 1 ' Very sonorous ' (folio). ^ ' Should perish ' (folio). 
 
 3 'Which should arise' (folio). * i Od. ii. 23. 
 VOL. I. 2 B 
 
386 T:he SPECTATOR No. 74 
 
 The stout Earl of Northumberland 
 
 A vow to God did make, 
 His pleasure in the Scottish woods 
 
 Three summer's days to take, 
 
 With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, 
 
 AH chosen men of might. 
 Who knew full well, in time of need. 
 
 To aim their shafts aright. 
 
 The hounds ran swiftly through the woods 
 
 The nimble deer to take, 
 And with their cries the hills and dales 
 
 An echo shrill did make. 
 
 [Vocat ingenti clamore Cithaeron 
 Taygetique canes, domitrixque Epldaurus equorum : 
 Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit.'] 
 
 Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come, 
 
 His men in armour bright ; 
 Full twenty hundred Scottish spears, 
 
 All marching in our sight. 
 
 All men of pleasant Tividale, 
 Fast by the river Tweed, &c. 
 
 The country of the Scotch warriors, described in 
 these two last verses, has a fine romantic situation, 
 and afFords a couple of smooth words for verse. If 
 the reader compares the foregoing six lines of the 
 song with the following Latin verses, he will see 
 how much they are written in the spirit of Virgil : — 
 
 Adversi campo apparent, hastasque reductis 
 Protendunt longe dextris ; et spicula vibrant : 
 Quique altum Preneste viri, quique arva Gabinas 
 Junonis, gelidumque Anienem, et roscida rivis 
 
 ' Virg. Georg. iii. 43. 
 
No. 74 Ty^f SPECTATOR 387 
 
 Hernica saxa colunt : qui rosea rura Velini, 
 Qui Tetricas horrentes rupes, montemque Severum, 
 Casperiamque colunt, Forulosque et flumen Himellas : 
 Qui Tiberim Fabarimque bibunt * 
 
 But to proceed : — 
 
 Earl Douglas on a milk-white steed, 
 
 Most like a baron bold. 
 Rode foremost of the company, 
 
 Whose armour shone like gold. 
 
 [Turnus ut antevolans tardum precesserat agmen, &c. 
 Vidisti, quo Turnus equo, quibus ibat in armis 
 Aureus ] 
 
 Our English archers bent their bows. 
 
 Their hearts were good and true ; 
 At the first flight of arrows sent. 
 
 Full threescore Scots they slew. 
 
 They closed full fast on every side, ' 
 
 No slackness there was found ; 
 And many a gallant gentleman 
 
 Lay gasping on the ground. 
 
 With that there came an arrow keen 
 
 Out of an English bow. 
 Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart 
 
 A deep and deadly blow. 
 
 JEneas was wounded after the same manner by an 
 unknown hand in the midst of a parley — 
 
 Has inter voces, media inter talia verba, 
 Ecce viro stridens alis allapsa sagitta est, 
 Incertum qua pulsa manu ^ 
 
 But of all the descriptive parts of this song, there 
 are none more beautiful than the four following 
 stanzas, which have a great force and spirit in them, 
 and are filled with very natural circumstances. The 
 1 JEn., xi. 605 ; vii. 682, 712. ^ jE^.^ xii. 918. 
 
388 T/^^ SPECTATOR No. 74 
 
 thought in the third stanza was never touched by 
 any other poet, and is such an one as would have 
 shined in Homer or in Virgil. 
 
 So thus did both these nobles die, 
 Whose courage none could stain ; 
 
 An English archer then perceived 
 The noble earl was slain. 
 
 He had a bow bent in his hand. 
 
 Made of a trusty tree. 
 An arrow of a cloth-yard long 
 
 Unto the head drew he. 
 
 Against Sir Hugh Montgomery 
 
 So right his shaft he set, 
 The grey goose- wing that was thereon 
 
 In his heart-blood was wet. 
 
 This fight did last from break of day 
 
 Till setting of the sun ; 
 For when they rung the evening bell 
 
 The battle scarce was done. 
 
 One may observe likewise, that in the catalogue of 
 the slain the author has followed the example of the 
 greatest ancient poets, not only in giving a long list 
 of the dead, but by diversifying it with little charac- 
 ters of particular persons. 
 
 And with Earl Douglas there was slain 
 
 Sir Hugh Montgomery, 
 Sir Charles Carrell, that from the field 
 
 One foot would never fly : 
 
 Sir Charles Murrell of Ratcliff too. 
 
 His sister's son was he. 
 Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, 
 
 Yet sav^d could not be. 
 
 The familiar sound in these names destroys the 
 majesty of the description ; for this reason I do 
 
No. 74 T:he SPECTATOR 389 
 
 not mention this part of the poem but to show 
 the natural cast of thought which appears in it, 
 as the two last verses look almost like a translation 
 of Virgil : — 
 
 Cadit et Ripheus justissimus unus 
 
 Qui fuit in Teucris et serrantissimus sequi, 
 
 Diis aliter visum est ' 
 
 In the catalogue of the English who fell, Wither- 
 ington's behaviour is in the same manner particu- 
 larised very artfully, as the reader is prepared for 
 it by that account which is given of him in the be- 
 ginning of the battle ; ^ though I am satisfied your 
 little buffoon readers (who have seen that passage 
 ridiculed in ' Hudibras ' ^) will not be able to take 
 the beauty of it : for which reason I dare not so 
 much as quote it. 
 
 Then stepped a gallant squire forth, 
 
 Witherington was his name, 
 Who said, ' I would not have it told 
 
 To Henry our king for shame. 
 
 That e'er my captain fought on foot. 
 And I stood looking on.' 
 
 We meet with the same heroic sentiment in Virgil. 
 
 Non pudet, O Rutuli, cunctis pro talibus unam 
 Objectare animam ? numerone an viribus aequi 
 Non sumus ? * 
 
 ^ jEn., ii. 426. 
 
 2 The remainder of this paragraph was added when the Spectator 
 was reprinted in volumes. 
 
 s 'Hudibras,' Part I. Book iii. 97. The bear fought on 
 desperately — 
 
 ' As Widdrington, in doleful dumps. 
 Is said to fight sfon his stumps.' 
 * ^n., xii. 229. 
 
390 "The SPECTATOR No. 74 
 
 What can be more natural or more moving, than 
 the circumstances in which he describes the be- 
 haviour of those women who had lost their 
 husbands on this fatal day? 
 
 Next day did many widows come 
 
 Their husbands to bewail ; 
 They washed their wounds in brinish tears, 
 
 But all would not prevail. 
 
 Their bodies bathed in purple blood 
 
 They bore with them away ; 
 They kissed them dead a thousand times, 
 
 When they were clad in clay. 
 
 Thus we see how the thoughts of this poem, which 
 naturally arise from the subject, are always simple, 
 and sometimes exquisitely noble ; that the language 
 is often very sounding, and that the whole is written 
 with a true poetical spirit. 
 
 If this song had been written in the Gothic 
 manner, which is the delight of all our little wits, 
 whether writers or readers, it would not have hit 
 the taste of so many ages, and have pleased the 
 readers of all ranks and conditions. I shall only 
 beg pardon for such a profusion of Latin quota- 
 tions; which I should not have made use of, but 
 that I feared my own judgment would have looked 
 too singular on such- a subject, had not I supported 
 it by the practice and authority of Virgil. C. 
 
No. 75 T:^^ SPECTATOR 391 
 
 N°- 75. Saturday^ May 26, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res. 
 
 — HOR., I Epis, xvii. 33. 
 
 IT was with some mortification that I suffered the 
 raillery of a fine lady of my acquaintance, for 
 calling, in one of my papers,^ Dorimant a clown. 
 She was so unmerciful as to take advantage of my 
 invincible taciturnity, and on that occasion, with 
 great freedom to consider the air, the height, the 
 face, the gesture of him who could pretend to judge 
 so arrogantly of gallantry. She is full of motion, 
 jaunty and lively in her impertinence, and one of 
 those that commonly pass, among the ignorant, for 
 persons who have a great deal of humour. She had 
 the play of 'Sir Fopling' in her hand, and after 
 she had said it was happy for her there was not so 
 charming a creature as Dorimant now living, she 
 began with a theatrical tone of voice to read, by 
 way of triumph over me, some of his speeches. 
 "Tis she, that lovely hair, that easy shape, those 
 wanton eyes, and all those melting charms about 
 her mouth, which Medley spoke of; I'll follow 
 the lottery, and put in for a prize with my friend 
 Bellair. 
 
 ' " In love the victors from the vanquished fly ; 
 They fly that v/^ound, and they pursue that die." 
 
 Then turning over the leaves, she reads alternately 
 and speaks : — 
 
 ' " And you and Loveit to her cost shall find, 
 I fathom all the depths of womankind." 
 
 1 No. 65. 
 
392 7:^^ SPECTATOR No. 75 
 
 ' Oh the fine gentleman ! But here,' continues she, 
 ' is the passage I admire most, where he begins to 
 tease Loveit, and mimic Sir Fopling. Oh the pretty 
 satire, in his resolving to be a coxcomb to please, 
 since noise and nonsense have such powerful charms ' 
 
 ' " I, that I may successful prove, 
 
 Transform myself to what you love." 
 
 'Then how like a man of the town, so wild and 
 gay is that — 
 
 « " The wife will find a difference in our fate ; 
 You wed a woman, I a good estate." ' 
 
 It would have been a very wild endeavour for a 
 man of my tempter to offer any opposition to so 
 nimble a speaker as my fair enemy is, but her dis- 
 course gave me very many reflections, when I had 
 left her company. Among others, I could not but 
 consider, with some attention, the false impressions 
 the generality (the fair sex more especially) have 
 of what should be intended, when they say a fine 
 gentleman ; and could not help revolving that sub- 
 ject in my thoughts, and settling, as it were, an idea 
 of that character in my own imagination. 
 
 No man ought to have the esteem of the rest of 
 the world, for any actions which are disagreeable 
 to those maxims which prevail as the standards of 
 behaviour, in the country wherein he lives. What 
 is opposite to the eternal rules of reason and good 
 sense, must be excluded from any place in the 
 carriage of a well-bred man. I did not, I confess, 
 explain myself enough on this subject, when I called 
 Dorimant a clown, and made it an instance of it, 
 that he\,called the orange wench Double Tripe : I 
 
No. 75 T:^? SPECTATOR 393 
 
 should have showed that humanity obliges a gentle- 
 man to give no part of humankind reproach for 
 what they, whom they reproach, may possibly have 
 in common with the most virtuous and worthy 
 amongst us. When a gentleman speaks coarsely, 
 he has dressed himself clean to no purpose : the 
 clothing of our minds certainly ought to be regarded 
 before that of our bodies. To betray in a man's 
 talk a corrupted imagination, is a much greater 
 oifence against the conversation of gentlemen, than 
 any negligence of dress imaginable. But this sense 
 of the matter is so far from being received among 
 people even of condition, that Vocifer passes for 
 a fine gentleman. He is loud, haughty, gentle, 
 soft, lewd, and obsequious by turns, just as a little 
 understanding and great impudence prompt him at 
 the present moment. He passes among the silly 
 part of our women for a man of wit, because he is 
 generally in doubt. He contradicts with a shrug, 
 and confutes with a certain sufficiency, in professing 
 such or such a thing is above his capacity. What 
 makes his character the pleasanter is, that he is a 
 professed deluder of women ; and because the empty 
 coxcomb has no regard to anything that is of itself 
 sacred and inviolable, I have heard an unmarried 
 lady of fortune say it is a pity so fine a gentleman 
 as Vocifer is so great an atheist. The crowds of 
 such inconsiderable creatures that infest all places 
 of assembling, every reader will have in his eye from 
 his own observation ; but would it not be worth 
 considering what sort of figure a man who formed 
 himself upon those principles among us which are 
 agreeable to the dictates of honour and religion, 
 would make in the familiar and ordinary occur- 
 rences of life ? 
 
394 T^he SPECTATOR No. 75 
 
 I hardly have observed any one fill his several 
 duties of life better than Ignotus. All the under 
 parts of his behaviour, and such as are exposed to 
 common observation, have their rise in him from 
 great and noble motives. A firm and unshaken ex- 
 pectation of another life makes him become this; 
 humanity and good nature, fortified by the sense of 
 virtue, has the same effect upon him as the neglect 
 of all goodness has upon many others. Being firmly 
 established in all matters of importance, that cer- 
 tain inattention which makes men's actions look 
 easy, appears in him with greater beauty : by a tho- 
 rough contempt of little excellences, he is perfectly 
 master of them. This temper of mind leaves him 
 under no necessity of studying his air, and he 
 has this peculiar distinction, that his negligence is 
 unaffected. 
 
 He that can work himself into a pleasure in con- 
 sidering this being as an uncertain one, and think to 
 reap an advantage by its discontinuance, is in a fair 
 way of doing all things with a graceful unconcern, 
 and gentlemanlike ease. Such a one does not be- 
 hold his life as a short, transient, perplexing state, 
 made up of trifling pleasures and great anxieties ; 
 but sees it in quite another light ; his griefs are 
 momentary, and his joys immortal. Reflection upon 
 death is not a gloomy and sad thought of resigning 
 everything that he delights ^in, but it is a short 
 night followed by an endless day. What I would 
 here contend for is, that the more virtuous the man 
 is, the nearer he will naturally be to the character 
 of genteel and agreeable. A man whose fortune is 
 plentifuj, shows an ease in his countenance, and 
 confidence in his behaviour, which he that is under 
 wants and difficulties cannot assume. It is thus 
 
No. 76 T"/^^ SPECTATOR 395 
 
 with the state of the mind ; he that governs his 
 thoughts with the everlasting rules of reason and 
 sense, must have something so inexpressibly graceful 
 in his words and actions, that every circumstance 
 must become him. The change of persons or things 
 around him does not at all alter his situation, but 
 he looks disinterested in the occurrences with which 
 others are distracted, because the greatest purpose 
 of his life is to maintain an indifference both to 
 it and all its enjoyments. In a word, to be a fine 
 gentleman, is to be a generous and a brave man. 
 What can make a man so much in constant good 
 humour and shine, as we call it, than to be supported 
 by what can never fail him, and to believe that what- 
 ever happens to him was the best thing that could 
 possibly befall him, or else He on whom it depends 
 would not have permitted it to have befallen him 
 at all ? R. 
 
 N°- 76. Monday^ May 28, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Ut tufortunam, sic nos te, Celse,ferem,us. 
 
 — HoR., I Epis. viii. 17. 
 
 THERE is nothing so common as to find a man 
 whom in the general observation of his car- 
 riage you take to be of an uniform temper, 
 subject to such unaccountable starts of humour and 
 passion, that he is as much unlike himself, and differs 
 as much from the man you at first thought him, as 
 any two distinct persons can differ from each other. 
 This proceeds from the want of forming some law 
 of life to ourselves, or fixing some notion of things 
 in general, which may affect us in such manner as 
 
396 r>^f SPECTATOR No. 76 
 
 to create proper habits both in our minds and bodies. 
 The negligence of this leaves us exposed not only 
 to an unbecoming levity in our usual conversation, 
 but also to the same instability in our friendships, 
 interests, and alliances. A man who is but a mere 
 spectator of what passes around him, and not engaged 
 in commerces of any consideration, is but an ill judge 
 of the secret motions of the heart of man, and by 
 what degrees it is actuated to make such visible 
 alterations in the same person : but at the same time, 
 when a man is no way concerned in the effect of such 
 inconsistencies in the behaviour of men of the world, 
 the speculation must be in the utmost degree both 
 diverting and instructive ; yet to enjoy such obser- 
 vations in the highest relish, he ought to be placed 
 in a post of direction, and have the dealing of their 
 fortunes to them. I have therefore been wonderfully 
 diverted with some pieces of secret history, which an 
 antiquary, my very good friend, lent me as a curiosity. 
 They are ' Memoirs of the Private Life of Pharamond 
 of France.' ^ ' Pharamond,' says my author, ' was a 
 prince of infinite humanity and generosity, and at the 
 same time the most pleasant and facetious companion 
 of his time. He had a peculiar taste in him (which 
 would have been unlucky in any prince but himself) ; 
 he thought there could be no exquisite pleasure in 
 conversation but among equals, and would pleasantly 
 bewail himself that he always lived in a crowd, but 
 was the only man in France that could never get into 
 company. This turn of mind made him delight in 
 midnight rambles, attended only with one person of 
 his bedchamber ; he would in these excursions get 
 acquainted with men (whose temper he had a mind 
 
 1 M. de la Calpren^de's romance of ' Pharamond ' was published 
 in 1 66 1, and was translated into English by John Phillips in 1677. 
 
No. 76 T/^e SPECTATOR 397 
 
 to try) and recommend them privately to the par- 
 ticular observation of his First Minister. He gene- 
 rally found himself neglected by his new acquaintance 
 as soon as they had hopes of growing great, and used 
 on such occasions to remark, that it was a great in- 
 justice to tax princes of forgetting themselves in 
 their high fortunes, when there were so few that 
 could with constancy bear the favour of their very 
 creatures.' My author in these loose hints has one 
 passage that gives us a very lively idea of the un- 
 common genius of Pharamond. He met with one 
 man whom he had put to all the usual proofs he 
 made of those he had a mind to know thoroughly, 
 and found him for his purpose. In discourse with 
 him one day, he gave him opportunity of saying how 
 much would satisfy all his wishes. The prince im- 
 mediately revealed himself, doubled the sum, and 
 spoke to him in this manner : ' Sir, you have twice 
 what you desired by the favour of Pharamond ; but 
 look to it that you are satisfied with it, for 'tis the 
 last you shall ever receive. I from this moment 
 consider you as mine, and to make you truly so, I 
 give you my royal word you shall never be greater 
 or less than you are at present. Answer me not,' 
 concluded the prince, smiling ; ' but enjoy the for- 
 tune I have put you in, which is above my own 
 condition, for you have hereafter nothing to hope 
 or to fear.' 
 
 His majesty having thus well chosen and bought 
 a friend and companion, he enjoyed alternately all 
 the pleasures of an agreeable private man and a great 
 and powerful monarch. He gave himself, with his 
 companion, the name of the merry tyrant, for he 
 punished his courtiers for their insolence and folly, 
 not by any act of public disfavour, but by humor- 
 
398 T:he SPECTATOR No. 76 
 
 ously practising upon their imaginations. If he 
 observed a man untractable to his inferiors, he 
 would find an opportunity to take some favourable 
 notice of him, and render him insupportable. He 
 knew all his own looks, words, and actions had their 
 interpretations ; and his friend Monsieur Eucrate 
 (for so he was called) having a great soul without 
 ambition, he could communicate all his thoughts to 
 him, and fear no artful use would be made of that 
 freedom. It was no small delight, when they were 
 in private, to reflect upon all which had passed in 
 public. 
 
 Pharamond would often, to satisfy a vain fool of 
 power in his country, talk to him in a full court, 
 and with one whisper make him despise all his old 
 friends and acquaintances. He was come to that 
 knowledge of men by long observation, that he 
 would profess altering the whole mass of blood in 
 some tempers by thrice speaking to them. As for- 
 tune was in his power, he gave himself constant 
 entertainment in managing the mere followers of it 
 with the treatment they deserved. He would, by a 
 skilful cast of his eye and half a smile, make two 
 fellows who hated embrace and fall upon each 
 other's neck with as much eagerness as if they fol- 
 lowed their real inclinations, and intended to stifle 
 one another. When he was in high good humour 
 he would lay the scene with Eucrate, and on a public 
 night exercise the passions of his whole court. He 
 was pleased to see an haughty beauty watch the looks 
 of the man she had long despised, from observation 
 of his being taken notice of by Pharamond ; and the 
 lover conceive higher hopes than to follow the woman 
 he was dying for the day before. In a court where 
 men speak aff^ection in the strongest terms and 
 
No. 76 T"/^^ SPECTATOR 399 
 
 dislike in the faintest, it was a comical mixture of 
 incidents to see disguises thrown aside in one case 
 and increased on the other, according as favour or 
 disgrace attended the respective objects of men's 
 approbation or disesteem. Pharamond in his mirth 
 upon the meanness of mankind used to say, as he 
 could take away a man's five senses, he could give 
 him a hundred. The man in disgrace shall imme- 
 diately lose all his natural endowments, and he that 
 finds favour have the attributes of an angel. He 
 would carry it so far as to say it should not be only 
 so in the opinion of the lower part of his court, but 
 the men themselves shall think thus meanly or 
 greatly of themselves as they are out or in the good 
 graces of a court. 
 
 A monarch who had wit and humour like Phara- 
 mond must have pleasures which no man else can 
 ever have opportunity of enjoying. He gave fortune 
 to none but those whom he knew could receive it 
 without transport; he made a noble and generous 
 use of his observations, and did not regard his 
 ministers as they were agreeable to himself, but as 
 they were useful to his kingdom. By this means 
 the king appeared in every officer of state, and no 
 man had a participation of the power who had not a 
 similitude of the virtue of Pharamond.-' R. 
 
 1 Further references to Pharamond will be found in Nos. 84 
 and 97. 
 
400 rhe SPECTATOR No. 77 
 
 N°- 77. Tuesday^ May 29, 17 11 
 
 [BUDGELL. 
 
 Non cunvivere licet, nee urhe tota 
 Quisquam est tarn prope tarn proculque nolis. 
 
 Mart., Epig. i. 87. 
 
 MY friend Will Honeycomb is one of those sort 
 of men who are very often absent in con- 
 versation, and what the French call a reveur 
 and a distrait. A little before our club-time last 
 night we were walking together in Somerset Garden, 
 where Will had picked up a small pebble of so odd 
 a make that he said he would present it to a friend 
 of his, an eminent virtuoso. After we had walked 
 some time, I made a full stop with my face towards 
 the west, which Will knowing to be my usual 
 method of asking what's o'clock in an afternoon, 
 immediately pulled out his watch, and told me we 
 had seven minutes good. We took a turn or two 
 more, when, to my great surprise, I saw him squirt ^ 
 away his watch a considerable way into the Thames^ 
 and with great sedateness in his looks put up the 
 pebble he had before found in his fob. As I have 
 naturally an aversion to much speaking, and do not 
 love to be the messenger of ill news, especially when 
 it comes too late to be useful, I left him to be con- 
 vinced of his mistake in due time, and continued 
 my walk, reflecting on these little absences and dis- 
 tractions in mankind, and resolving to make them 
 the subject of a further speculation. 
 
 I was the more confirmed in my design when I 
 considered that they were very often blemishes in 
 
 1 Throw with a jerk. 
 
No. 77 The SPECTATOR 401 
 
 the characters of men of excellent sense ; and helped 
 to keep up the reputation of that Latin proverb 
 which Mr. Dryden has translated in the following 
 lines : ^ — 
 
 Great wit to madness sure is near allied, 
 And thin partitions do their bounds divide. 
 
 My reader does, I hope, perceive that I dis- 
 tinguish a man who is absent because he thinks of 
 something else, from one who is absent because he 
 thinks of nothing at all : the latter is too inno- 
 cent a creature to be taken notice of; but the 
 distractions of the former may, I believe, be 
 generally accounted for from one of these reasons : 
 Either their minds are wholly fixed on some par- 
 ticular science, which is often the case of mathe- 
 maticians and other learned men ; or are wholly 
 taken up with some violent passion, such as anger, 
 fear, or love, which ties the mind to some distant 
 object ; or, lastly, these distractions proceed from a 
 certain vivacity and fickleness in a man's temper, 
 which while it raises up infinite numbers of ideas 
 in the mind, is continually pushing it on, without 
 allowing it to rest on any particular image. No- 
 thing therefore is more unnatural than the thoughts 
 and conceptions of such a man, which are seldom 
 occasioned either by the company he is in, or any of 
 those objects which are placed before him. While 
 you fancy he is admiring a beautiful woman, 'tis 
 an even wager that he is solving a proposition in 
 Euclid ; and while you may imagine he is reading 
 the Paris Gazette, 'tis far from being impossible 
 
 1 'Absalom and Achitophel,' 163. The first line should be 
 ' Great wits are sure to madness near allied.' The Latin proverb 
 is in Seneca's De Tranquillitate Animl, cap. 15:' Nullum magnum 
 ingenium sine mixtura dementias.' 
 
 VOL. I. 2 C 
 
402 T:^^ SPECTATOR No. 77 
 
 that he is pulling down and rebuilding the front of 
 his country house. 
 
 At the same time that I am endeavouring to 
 expose this weakness in others, I shall readily con- 
 fess that I once laboured' under the same infirmity 
 myself. The method I took to conquer it was a 
 firm resolution to learn something from whatever I 
 was obliged to see or hear. There is a way of 
 thinking, if a man can attain to it, by which he ma;y 
 strike somewhat out of anything. I can at present 
 observe those starts of good sense and struggles of 
 unimproved reason in the conversation of a clown 
 with as much satisfaction as the most shining periods 
 of the most finished orator; and can make a shift 
 to command my attention at a puppet-show or an 
 opera, as well as at ' Hamlet ' or ' Othello.' I always 
 make one of the company I am in ; for though 
 I say little myself, my attention to others, and those 
 nods of approbation which I never bestow unmerited, 
 sufficiently show that I am among them. Whereas 
 Will Honeycomb, though a fellow of good sense, is 
 every day doing and saying an hundred things which 
 he afterwards confesses, with a well-bred frankness, 
 were somewhat mal d propos and undesigned. 
 
 I chanced the other day to go into a coffee-house, 
 where Will was standing in the midst of several 
 auditors whom he had gathered round him, and was 
 giving them an account of the person and character 
 of Moll Hinton. My appearance before him just 
 put him in mind of me, without making him re- 
 flect that I was actually present. So that, keeping 
 his eyes full upon me, to the great surprise of 
 his audience, he broke off his first harangue, and 
 proceeded thus : ' Why, now, there's my friend ' 
 (mentioning me by name) ; ' he is a fellow that 
 
No. 77 T.^^ SPECTATOR 403 
 
 thinks a great deal, but never opens his mouth ; I 
 warrant you he is now thrusting his short face into 
 some cofFee-house about 'Change. I was his bail in 
 the time of the Popish Plot, when he was taken up 
 for a Jesuit.' If he had looked on me a little longer, 
 he had certainly described me so particularly, with- 
 out ever considering what led him into it, that the 
 whole company must necessarily have found me 
 out ; for which reason, remembering the old proverb, 
 ' Out of sight, out of mind,' I left the room ; and 
 upon meeting him an hour afterwards, was asked by 
 him, with a great deal of good humour, in what 
 part of the world I had lived, that he had not seen 
 me these three days. 
 
 Monsieur Bruyere has given us the character of 
 an absent man, with a great deal of humour, which 
 he has pushed to an agreeable extravagance ; with 
 the heads of it I shall conclude my present paper. 
 
 ' Menalcas (says that excellent author ^) comes 
 down in a morning, opens his door to go out, but 
 shuts it again, because he perceives that he has his 
 nightcap on ; and examining himself further, finds 
 that he is but half shaved, that he has stuck his 
 sword on his right side, that his stockings are about 
 his heels, and that his shirt is over his breeches. 
 When he is dressed he goes to court, comes into 
 the drawing-room, and walking bolt upright under 
 a branch of candlesticks his wig is caught up by one 
 
 1 Caracteres, chap. xi. 'de I'homme.' La Bruy&re's Menalque 
 was identified with a M. de Brancas, brother of the Due de 
 Villars. The adventure of the wig is said really to have happened 
 to him at a reception by the queen-mother. He was said also on 
 his wedding-day to have forgotten that he had been married. He 
 went abroad as usual, and only remembered the ceremony of the 
 morning upon finding the changed state of his household when, as 
 usual, he came home in the evening (Morley). 
 
404 "the SPECTATOR No. 77 
 
 of them, and hangs dangling in the air. All the 
 courtiers fall a laughing, but Menalcas laughs louder 
 than any of them, and looks about for the person 
 that is the jest of the company. Coming down to 
 the court-gate he finds a coach, which taking for 
 his own he whips into it ; and the coachman drives 
 off, not doubting but he carries his master. As soon 
 as he stops, Menalcas throws himself out of the 
 coach, crosses the court, ascends the staircase, and 
 runs through all the chambers with the greatest 
 familiarity, reposes himself on a couch, and fancies 
 himself at home. The master of the house at last 
 comes in ; Menalcas rises to receive him, and desires 
 him to sit down ; he talks, muses, and then talks 
 again. The gentleman of the house is tired and 
 amazed ; Menalcas is no less so, but is every moment 
 in hopes that his impertinent guest will at last end 
 his tedious visit. Night comes on, when Menalcas 
 is hardly undeceived. 
 
 ' When he Is playing at backgammon, he calls for 
 a full glass of wine and water ; 'tis his turn to 
 throw, he has the box in one hand and his glass in 
 the other, and being extremely dry, and unwilling 
 to lose time, he swallows down both the dice, and 
 at the same time throws his wine into the tables. 
 He writes a letter, and flings the sand into the ink- 
 bottle ; he writes a second, and mistakes the super- 
 scription : a nobleman receives one of them, and 
 upon opening it reads as follows : " I would have 
 you, honest Jack, immediately upon the receipt of 
 this, take in hay enough to serve me the winter." 
 His farmer receives the other, and is amazed to see 
 in it, " My lord, I received your grace's commands 
 with an entire submission to . . ." If he is at an 
 entertainment, you may see the pieces of bread con- 
 
No. 78 rhe SPECTATOR 405 
 
 tinually multiplying round his plate : 'tis true, the 
 rest of the company want it, as well as their knives 
 and forks, which Menalcas does not let them keep 
 long. Sometimes in a morning he puts his whole 
 family in an hurry, and at last goes out without being 
 able to stay for his coach or dinner ; and for that 
 day you may see him in every part of the town, 
 except the very place where he had appointed to be 
 upon a business of importance. You would often 
 take him for everything that he is not ; for a fellow 
 quite stupid, for he hears nothing ; for a fool, for 
 he talks to himself, and has an hundred grimaces 
 and motions with his head, which are altogether 
 involuntary ; for a proud man, for he looks full 
 upon you, and takes no notice of your saluting him. 
 The truth on't is, his eyes are open, but he makes 
 no use of them, and neither sees you, nor any 
 man, nor anything else. He came once from his 
 country house, and his own footmen undertook to 
 rob him, and succeeded : they held a flambeau to 
 his throat, and bid him deliver his purse ; he did 
 so, and coming home told his friends he had been 
 robbed ; they desire to know the particulars. " Ask 
 my servants," says Menalcas, "for they were with 
 me." ' X. 
 
 N°' 78. Wednesday^ May 30, 171 1 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Cum talis sis, utinam noster esses ! 
 
 THE following letters are so pleasant, that I 
 doubt not but the reader will be as much 
 diverted with them as I was. I have nothing 
 to do in this day's entertainment, but taking the 
 
4o6 The SPECTATOR No. 78 
 
 sentence from the end of the Cambridge letter, and 
 placing it at the front of my paper ; to show the 
 author I wish him my companion with as much 
 earnestness as he invites me to be his. 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 ' J SEND you the enclosed, to be inserted (if you 
 think them worthy of it) in your Spectators ; 
 in which so surprising a genius appears, that it is no 
 wonder if all mankind endeavours to get somewhat 
 into a paper which will always live. 
 
 'As to the Cambridge affair, the humour was 
 really carried on in the way I describe it. However, 
 you have a full commission to put out or in, and to 
 do whatever you think fit with it. I have already 
 had the satisfaction of seeing you take that liberty 
 with some things I have before sent you. 
 
 ' Go on, sir, and prosper. You have the best 
 wishes of. Sir, 
 
 Your very affectionate and 
 
 obliged humble Servant.' ^ 
 
 ' Mr. Spectator, Cambridge. 
 
 'VOU well know it is of great consequence to 
 clear titles, and it is of importance that it be 
 done in the proper season ; on which account this 
 is to assure you that the Club of Ugly Faces ^ was 
 instituted originally at Cambridge, in the merry 
 reign of K — g Ch — les II. As in great bodies of 
 men it is not difficult to find members enough for 
 such a club, so I remember it was then feared, upon 
 
 1 This letter is believed to be by Laurence Eusden. See 
 No. 54. 
 
 2 See Nos. 17, 32. 
 
No. 78 7"/^^ SPECTATOR 407 
 
 their intention of dining together, that the hall be- 
 longing to Clare Hall (the ugliest then in the town, 
 though now the neatest) would not be large enough 
 handsomely to hold the company. Invitations were 
 made to great numbers, but very few accepted them 
 without much difficulty. One pleaded that, being 
 at London in a bookseller's shop, a lady going by 
 with a great belly longed to kiss him. He had 
 certainly been excused, but that evidence appeared, 
 that indeed one in London did pretend she longed 
 to kiss him, but that it was only a pickpocket who, 
 during his kissing her, stole away all his money. 
 Another would have got off by a dimple, in his chin ; 
 but it was proved upon him, that he had by coming 
 into a room made a woman miscarry, and frighted 
 two children into fits. A third alleged that he was 
 taken by a lady for another gentleman, who was one 
 of the handsomest in the university ; but upon 
 inquiry it was found that the lady had actually lost 
 one eye, and the other was very much upon the de- 
 cline. A fourth produced letters out of the country 
 in his vindication, in which a gentleman offered him 
 his daughter, who had lately fallen in love with him, 
 with a good fortune : but it was made appear that 
 the young lady was amorous, and had like to have 
 run away with her father's coachman ; so that 'twas 
 supposed that her pretence of falling in love with 
 him was only in order to be well married. It was 
 pleasant to hear the several excuses which were 
 made, insomuch that some "made as much interest 
 to be excused, as they would from serving sheriff; 
 however, at last the society was formed, and proper 
 officers vi^ere appointed ; and the day was fixed for 
 the entertainment, which was in venison season. A 
 pleasant Fellow of King's College (commonly called 
 
4o8 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 78 
 
 Crab from his sour look, and the only man who did 
 not pretend to get off) was nominated for chaplain ; 
 and nothing was wanting but some one to sit in the 
 elbow-chair by way of president, at the upper end of 
 the table ; and there the business stuck, for there 
 was no contention for superiority there. This affair 
 made so great a noise that the k — g, who was then 
 at Newmarket, heard of it, a,nd was pleased merrily 
 and graciously to say he could not be there himself, 
 but he would send them a brace of bucks. 
 
 ' I would desire you, sir, to set this affair in a true 
 light, that posterity may not be misled in so im- 
 portant a point : for, when the wise man who shall 
 write your true history shall acquaint the world that 
 you had a diploma sent from the Ugly Club at 
 Oxford, and that by virtue of it you were admitted 
 into it ; what a learned war will there be among 
 future critics about the original of that club, which 
 both universities will contend so warmly for ? and 
 perhaps some hardy Cantabrigian author may then 
 boldly affirm, that the word Oxford was an inter- 
 polation of some Oxonian instead of Cambridge. 
 This affair will be best adjusted in your lifetime ; 
 but I hope your affection to your mother will not 
 make you partial to your aunt. 
 
 ' To tell you, sir, my own opinion : though I 
 cannot find any ancient records of any acts of the 
 Society of the Ugly Faces, considered in a public 
 capacity ; yet in a private one they have certainly 
 antiquity on their side. I am persuaded they 
 will hardly give place to the Loungers, and the 
 Loungers are of the same standing with the uni- 
 versity itself. 
 
 ' Though we well know, sir, you want no motives 
 to do justice, yet I am commissioned to tell you, 
 
No. 78 ^/^^ SPECTATOR 409 
 
 that you are invited to be admitted ad eundem at 
 Cambridge ; and I believe I may venture safely to 
 deliver this as the wish of our whole university.' 
 
 ' To Mr. Spectator. 
 ' The Humble Petition o/Who «;««? Which, 
 ' Sheweth, 
 
 ' TpHAT your poor petitioners being in a forlorn 
 and destitute condition, know not to whom 
 we should apply ourselves for relief, because there 
 is hardly any man alive who has not injured us. 
 Nay, we speak it with sorrow, even you yourself, 
 whom we should suspect of such a practice the last 
 of all mankind, can hardly acquit yourself of having 
 given us some cause of complaint.-' We are de- 
 scended of ancient families, and kept up our 
 dignity and honour many years, till the jack-sprat 
 That supplanted us. How often have we found 
 ourselves slighted by the clergy in their pulpits, 
 and the lawyers at the bar ? Nay, how often have 
 we heard in one of the most polite and august 
 assemblies in the universe, to our great mortifi- 
 cation, these words, " That that that noble L — d 
 urged " ? which if one of us had had justice done, 
 would have sounded nobler thus, " That which 
 that noble L — d urged." Senates themselves, the 
 guardians of British liberty, have degraded us, and 
 preferred That to us ; and yet no decree was ever 
 given against us. In the very Acts of Parliament, 
 in which the utmost right should be done to every- 
 body, word, and thing, we find ourselves often 
 
 1 « That ' in the folio issue was frequently altered to ' who ' or 
 ' which ' when the Spectator was reprinted in volumes. 
 
4IO The SPECTATOR No. 78 
 
 either not used, or used one instead of another. 
 In the first and best prayer children are taught 
 they learn to misuse us : " Our Father Which art 
 in heaven," should be, " Our Father Who art in 
 heaven " ; and even a Convocation, after long de- 
 bates, refused to consent to an alteration of it. 
 In our General Confession we say : " Spare thou 
 them, O God, Which confess their faults " ; which 
 ought to be, " Who confess their faults." What 
 hopes then have we of having justice done us, when 
 the makers of our very prayers and laws, and the 
 most learned in all faculties, seem to be in a con- 
 federacy against us, and our enemies themselves 
 must be our judges 1 
 
 ' The Spanish proverb says, // sabio muda conscio, 
 il necio no — i.e. " A wise man changes his mind, 
 a fool never will." So that we think you, sir, a 
 very proper person to address to, since we know 
 you to be capable of being convinced, and changing 
 your judgment. You are well able to settle this 
 affair, and to you we submit our cause. We desire 
 you to assign the butts ^ and bounds of each of us ; 
 and that for the future we may both enjoy our own. 
 We would desire to be heard by our council, but 
 that we fear in their very pleadings they would 
 betray our cause. Besides, we have been oppressed 
 so many years, that we can appear no other way 
 but in forntd pauperis. All which considered, we 
 hope you will be pleased to do that which to right 
 and justice shall appertain. 
 
 R. And your Petitioners, &c.' 
 
 1 Cf. ' Othello,' V. 2— 
 
 ' Here is my journey's end ; here is my butt, 
 And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.' 
 
No. 79 r,^e SPECTATOR 411 
 
 N°' 79. Thursday^ May 31, 171 1. 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Oderunt peccare honi virtutis amore. 
 
 — HoR., I Ep. xvi. 53. 
 
 I HAVE received very many letters of late from 
 my female correspondents, most of whom are 
 very angry with me for abridging their pleasures, 
 and looking severely upon things, in themselves 
 indifferent. But I think they are extremely unjust 
 to me in this imputation. All that I contend for 
 is, that those excellences which are to be regarded 
 but in the second place, should not precede more 
 weighty considerations. The heart of man deceives 
 him in spite of the lectures of half a life spent in 
 discourses on the subjection of passion ; and I do 
 not know why one may not think the heart of 
 woman as unfaithful to itself. If we grant an 
 equality in the faculties of both sexes, the minds 
 of women are less cultivated with precepts, and con- 
 sequently may, without disrespect to them, be ac- 
 counted more liable to illusion in cases wherein 
 natural inclination is out of the interests of virtue. 
 I shall take up my present time in commenting 
 upon a billet or two which came from ladies, and 
 from thence leave the reader to judge whether I am 
 in the right or not, in thinking it is possible fine 
 women may be mistaken. 
 
 The following address seems to have no other 
 design in it, but to tell me the writer will do what 
 she pleases for all me : — 
 
412 rhe SPECTATOR No. 79 
 
 Mr. Spectator, 
 
 ' T AM young, and very much inclined to follow 
 the paths of innocence ; but, at the same time, 
 as I have a plentiful fortune, and am of quality, I 
 am unwilling to resign the pleasures of distinction, 
 some little satisfaction in being admired in general, 
 and much greater in being beloved by a gentleman 
 whom I design to make my husband. But I have a 
 mind to put off entering into matrimony till another 
 winter is over my head, which (whatever, musty sir, 
 you may think of the matter) I design to pass away 
 in hearing music, going to plays, visiting, and all 
 other satisfactions which fortune and youth, protected 
 by innocence and virtue, can procure for, 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most humble Servant, 
 
 M. T. 
 
 ' My lover does not know I like him, therefore, 
 having no engagements upon me, I think to stay, 
 and know whether I may not like any one else 
 better.' 
 
 I have heard Will Honeycomb say, ' A woman 
 seldom writes her mind but in her postscript.' I 
 think this gentlewoman has sufficiently discovered 
 hers in this. I'll lay what wager she pleases against 
 her present favourite, and can tell her that she will 
 like ten more before she is fixed, and then will take 
 the worst man she ever liked in her life. There is 
 no end of affection taken in at the eyes only; and 
 you may as well satisfy those eyes with seeing, as 
 control any passion received by them only. It is 
 from loving by sight that coxcombs so frequently 
 
No. 79 T:he SPECTATOR 413 
 
 succeed with women, and very often a young lady is 
 bestowed by her parents to a man who weds her (as 
 innocence itself), though she has, in her own heart, 
 given her approbation of a different man in every 
 assembly she was in the whole year before. What 
 is wanting among women, as well as among men, is 
 the love of laudable things, and not to rest only in 
 the forbearance of such as are reproachful. 
 
 How far removed from a woman of this light 
 imagination is Eudosia ! Eudosia has all the arts of 
 life and good breeding with so much ease, that the 
 virtue of her conduct looks more like an instinct 
 than choice. It is as little difficult to her to think 
 justly of persons and things, as it is to a woman 
 of different accomplishments to move ill or look 
 awkward. That which was at first the effect of 
 instruction, is grown into an habit ; and it would be 
 as hard for Eudosia to indulge a wrong suggestion 
 of thought, as it would be to Flavia, the fine dancer, 
 to come into a room with an unbecoming air. 
 
 But the misapprehensions people themselves have 
 of their own state of mind, is laid down with much 
 discerning in the following letter, which is but an 
 extract of a kind epistle from my charming Mistress 
 Hecatissa, who is above the vanity of external beauty, 
 and is the better judge of the perfections of the 
 mind : — 
 
 'Mr. Spectator, 
 
 'T WRITE this this to acquaint you, that very 
 
 many ladies, as well as myself, spend many hours 
 
 more than we used at the glass, for want of the 
 
 female library of which you promised us a catalogue.^ 
 
 1 See No. 37. 
 
414 T/^f SPECTATOR No. 79 
 
 I hope, sir, in the choice of authors for us, you 
 will have a particular regard to books of devotion. 
 What they are, and how many, must be your chief 
 care; for upon the propriety of such writings de- 
 pends a great deal. I have known those among 
 us who think, if they every morning and evening 
 spend an hour in their closet, and read over so 
 many prayers in six or seven books of devotion, 
 all equally nonsensical, with a sort of warmth (that 
 might as well be raised by a glass of wine, or a 
 dram of citron), they may all the rest of their time 
 go on in whatever their particular passion leads 
 them to. The beautous Philauthia, who is (in your 
 language) an idoP, is one of these votaries ; she has 
 a very pretty furnished closet, to which she retires 
 at her appointed hours : this is her dressing-room, 
 as well as chapel ; she has constantly before her a 
 large looking-glass, and upon the table, according to 
 a very witty author, 
 
 Together lie her prayer-book and paint, 
 At once t' improve the sinner and the saint. 
 
 ' It must be a good scene, if one could be present 
 at it, to see this idol by turns lift up her eyes to 
 heaven, and steal glances at her own dear person. 
 It cannot but be a pleasant conflict between vanity 
 and humiliation. When you are upon this subject, 
 choose books which elevate the mind above the 
 world, and give a pleasing indifference to little 
 things in it. For want of such instructions, I am 
 apt to believe so many people take it in their heads 
 to be sullen, cross, and angry, under pretence of 
 being abstracted from the affairs of this life ; when 
 at the same time they betray their fondness for 
 
 ^ See No. 73. 
 
No. 79 "The SPECTATOR 415 
 
 them by doing their duty as a task, and pouting 
 and reading good books for a week together. 
 Much of this I take to proceed from the indis- 
 cretion of the books themselves, whose very titles 
 of weekly preparations, and such limited godliness, 
 lead people of ordinary capacities into great errors, 
 and raise in them a mechanical religion, entirely 
 distinct from morality. I know a lady so given 
 up to this sort of devotion that though she em- 
 ploys six or eight hours of the twenty-four at cards, 
 she never misses one constant hour of prayer, for 
 which time another holds her cards, to which she 
 returns with no little anxiousness till two or three 
 in the morning. All these acts are but empty 
 shows, and, as it were, compliments made to virtue ; 
 the mind is all the while untouched with any true 
 pleasure in the pursuit of it. From hence I pre- 
 sume it arises that so many people call themselves 
 virtuous, from no other pretence to it but an absence 
 of ill. There is Dulcianara is the most insolent of 
 all creatures to her friends and domestics, upon no 
 other pretence in nature, but that (as her silly phrase 
 is) no one can say black is her eye. She has no 
 secrets, forsooth, which should make her afraid to 
 speak her mind, and therefore she is impertinently 
 blunt to all her acquaintance, and unseasonably im- 
 perious to all her family. Dear sir, be pleased to 
 put such books in our hands, as may make our 
 virtue more inward, and convince some of us that 
 in a mind truly virtuous the scorn of vice is always 
 accompanied with the pity of it. This, and other 
 things, are impatiently expected from you by our 
 whole sex, among the rest by. 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most humble Servant, B. D.' 
 
4i6 The SPECTATOR No. 80 
 
 N°- 80. Friday^ June i, 17 11 
 
 [STEELE. 
 
 Ccehim non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt. 
 
 — HoR., I Ep. xi. 37. 
 
 IN the year 1688, and on the same day of that 
 year, were born in Cheapside, London, two 
 females of exquisite feature and shape; the 
 one we shall call Brunetta, the other Phillis.-' A 
 close intimacy between their parents made each of 
 them the first acquaintance the other knew in the 
 world : they played, dressed babies,^ acted visitings, 
 
 ' Mr. Darnell Davis has shown ('The Spectator Essays relating 
 to the West Indies,' 1885, p. 10) that this story is based upon 
 fact. In the British Museum (Sloane MS. 2302, fF. 13-16) is a 
 letter, dated Barbados, Nov. 12, 17 10, from Captain Walduck, 
 then living in that island, to James Pettiver, F.R.S., apothecary to 
 the Chartreux — Steele's old school — which Steele has evidently 
 seen. Walduck writes : ' There are two gentlewomen in this 
 island of the best rank, that have ever endeavoured to outvie one 
 the other, as well in housekeeping as in housewifery, and above all 
 in making a figure in this little world. One of these ladies bought 
 her a charming manto and petticoat of brogade silk, the richest that 
 ever came to this island. This she appeared at a ball in, where 
 the other lady was, with such a port and air that increased envy in 
 the other lady. The emulator went all over the town and to 
 every shop to furnish herself with as good a silk, but the country 
 could not afford such another, or come anything near it ; but this 
 lady learning where the other lady bought her silk, went there, 
 where there was a remnant left of some yards, which she bought, 
 with the same trimming that the other lady had, and with this she 
 privately made a petticoat for her negro woman that waited on her, 
 and contrived an entertainment for the other lady to appear at in all 
 her glory, where she likewise came, waited upon by her negro 
 woman with this petticoat on, which when the other lady saw she 
 fell into a fit, went home and unrobed herself, and has appeared in 
 Norfolk stuffs ever since.' 
 
 2 Dolls. Cf. Tatler, No. 95 : ' The pleasure I used to take in 
 . . . asking my girl questions about the disposal of her baby.' 
 
No. 80 rhe SPECTATOR 417 
 
 learned to dance and make curtseys, together. 
 They were inseparable companions in all the little 
 entertainments their tender years were capable of: 
 which innocent happiness continued till the begin- 
 ning of their fifteenth year, when it happened that 
 Mrs. Phillis had an head-dress on which became her 
 so very well, that instead of being beheld any more 
 with pleasure for their amity to each other, the eyes 
 of the neighbourhood were turned to remark them 
 with comparison of their beauty. They now no 
 longer enjoyed the ease of mind and pleasing in- 
 dolence in which they were formerly happy, but 
 all their words and actions were misinterpreted 
 by each other, and every excellence in their speech 
 and behaviour was looked upon as an act of emu- 
 lation to surpass the other. These beginnings of 
 disinclination soon improved into a formality of 
 behaviour, a general coldness, and by natural steps 
 into an irreconcilable hatred. 
 
 These two rivals for the reputation of beauty, 
 were in their stature, countenance, and mien so very 
 much alike, that if you were speaking of them in 
 their absence, the words in which you described the 
 one must give you an idea of the other. They 
 were hardly distinguishable, you would think, when 
 they were apart, though extremely different when 
 , together. What made their enmity the more enter- 
 taining to all the rest of their sex was, that in 
 detraction from each other neither could fall upon 
 terms which did not hit herself as much as her 
 adversary. Their nights grew restless with medi- 
 tation of new dresses to outvie each other, and 
 inventing new devices to recall admirers, who ob- 
 served the charms of the one rather than those of 
 the other on the last meeting. Their colours failed 
 VOL. I. 20 
 
4i8 the SPECTATOR No. 80 
 
 at each other's appearance, flushed with pleasure at 
 the report of a disadvantage, and their countenances 
 withered upon instances of applause. The decencies 
 to which women are obliged, made these virgins 
 stifle their resentment so far as not to break into 
 open violences, while they equally suffered the tor- 
 ments of a regulated anger. Their mothers, as it 
 is usual, engaged in the quarrel, and supported the 
 several pretensions of the daughters with all that 
 ill-chosen sort of expense which is common with 
 people of plentiful fortunes and mean taste. The 
 girls preceded their parents like Queens of May, in 
 all the gaudy colours imaginable, on every Sunday 
 to church, and were exposed to the examination of 
 the audience for superiority of beauty. 
 
 During this constant struggle it happened that 
 Phillis one day at public prayers smote the heart of 
 a gay West Indian, who appeared in all the colours 
 which can aff^ect an eye that could not distinguish 
 between being fine and tawdry. This American in 
 a Summer Island ^ suit was too shining and too gay 
 to be resisted by Phillis, and too intent upon her 
 charms to be diverted by any of the laboured at- 
 tractions of Brunetta. Soon after, Brunetta had 
 the mortification to see her rival disposed of in a 
 wealthy marriage, while she was only addressed to 
 in a manner that showed she was the admiration of 
 all men, but the choice of none. Phillis was car- 
 ried to the habitation of her spouse in Barbados. 
 Brunetta had the ill nature to inquire for her by 
 every opportunity, and had the misfortune to hear 
 of her being attended by numerous slaves, fanned 
 into slumbers by successive bands of them, and car- 
 
 1 Strictly speaking, the Summer Islands is another name for the 
 Bermudas. Here the phrase appears to mean only West Indian. 
 
No. 80 T:he SPECTATOR 419 
 
 ried from place to place in all the pomp of barbarous 
 magnificence. Brunetta could not endure these re- 
 peated advices, but employed all her arts and charms 
 in laying baits for any of condition of the same 
 island, out of a mere ambition to confront her once 
 more before she died. She at last succeeded in her 
 design, and was taken to wife by a gentleman whose 
 estate was contiguous to that of her enemy's hus- 
 band. It would be endless to enumerate the many 
 occasions on which these irreconcilable beauties 
 laboured to excel each other ; but in process of 
 time it happened that a ship put into the island 
 consigned to a friend of Phillis, who had directions 
 to give her the refusal of all goods for apparel 
 before Brunetta could be alarmed^ of their arrival. 
 He did so, and Phillis was dressed in a few days 
 in a brocade more gorgeous and costly than had 
 ever before appeared in that latitude. Brunetta 
 languished at the sight, and could by no means 
 come up to the bravery^ of her antagonist. She 
 communicated her anguish of mind to a faithful 
 friend, who by an interest in the wife of Phillis' 
 merchant procured a remnant of the same silk for 
 Brunetta. Phillis took pains to appear in all 
 public places where she was sure to meet Brunetta ; 
 Brunetta was now prepared for the insult, and came 
 to a public ball in a plain black silk mantua,^ at- 
 
 1 Notified, informed. ^ Display, magnificence. 
 
 3 The raantua or manteau was a loose gown. Gay (' Trivia,' 
 i. 100) says — 
 
 ' And a long trailing manteau sweeps the ground.' 
 Swift made a clever pun on this word (Delany's ' Observations on 
 Lord Orrery's Remarks, &c.,' 212-3): 'Being in a company 
 where a lady, whisking about her long train (long trains were then 
 in fashion), swept down a fine fiddle and broke it, Swift cried out, 
 " Mantua me misera nimium •vicina Cremona " ' (Dobson). 
 
420 T:he SPECTATOR No. 80 
 
 tended by a beautiful negro girl in a petticoat of 
 the same brocade with which Phillis was attired. 
 This drew the attention of the whole company; 
 upon which the unhappy Phillis swooned away, and 
 was immediately conveyed to her house. As soon 
 as she came to herself she fled from her husband's 
 house, went on board a ship in the road, and is now 
 landed in inconsolable despair at Plymouth. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 After the above melancholy narration, it may 
 perhaps be a relief to the reader to peruse the 
 following expostulation : — 
 
 ' To Mr. Spectator. 
 
 ' The Just Remonstrance of affronted That. 
 
 ' ^HOUGH I deny not the petition of Mr. Who 
 and Which,^ yet you should not suffer them 
 to be rude and to call honest people names, for that 
 bears very hard on some of those rules of decency 
 which you are justly famous for establishing. They 
 may find fault, and correct speeches in the Senate 
 and at the Bar ; but let them try to get themselves 
 so often and with so much eloquence repeated in a 
 sentence, as a great orator doth frequently intro- 
 duce me. 
 
 ' " My lords," says he, with humble submission, 
 " That that I say is this : that, that that that gentle- 
 man has advanced is not that that he should have 
 
 ' See No. 78. 
 
No. 80 rhe SPECTATOR 421 
 
 proved to your lordships." Let these two question- 
 ary petitioners try to do thus with their Whos and 
 their Whiches. 
 
 ' What great advantage was I of to Mr. Dryden 
 in his " Indian Emperor," 
 
 You force me still to answer you in That, 
 
 to furnish out a rhyme to Morat ? ^ And what a 
 poor figure would Mr. Bayes have made without his 
 " Egad and all that " ! ^ How can a judicious man 
 distinguish one thing from another without saying 
 " This here," or " That there " ? And how can a 
 sober man, without using the expletives of oaths 
 (in which indeed the rakes and bullies have a great 
 advantage over others), make a discourse of any 
 -tolerable length without "That is;" and if he be 
 a very grave man indeed, without " That is to say " ? 
 And how instructive as well as entertaining are those 
 usual expressions in the mouths of great men, " Such 
 things as that," and " The like of that." 
 
 ' I am not against reforming the corruptions of 
 speech you mention, and own there are proper 
 seasons for the introduction of other words besides 
 That; but I scorn as much to supply the place 
 
 1 It is in ' Aureng-Zebe,' not ' The Indian Emperor,' that 
 Morat appears. Aureng-Zebe says to Indamora (Act iv. sc. i ) : — 
 
 ' Are you so lost to shame ! 
 Morat, Morat, Morat ! You love the name 
 So well, your every question ends in that ; 
 You force me still to answer you, Morat.' 
 
 2 Thus, in Act i. of ' The Rehearsal,' Bayes says : ■ ' A sort of 
 envious persons that . . . think to build their fame by calumniating 
 of persons that, egad, to my knowledge, of all persons in the world 
 are, in nature, the persons that do as much despise all that, as — a — 
 In fine, I'll say no more of 'em.' 
 
422 "The SPECTATOR No. 80 
 
 of a Who or a Which at every turn, as they are 
 unequal always to fill mine; and I expect good 
 language and civil treatment, and hope to receive 
 it for the future : That, that I shall only add is, 
 that I am, Yours, 
 
 R. That.'i 
 
 ' Another petition from ' That,' with a letter from ' What,' will 
 bs found in Lillie's ' Original and Genuine Letters sent to the Tatler 
 and Spectator^ i. 308-311. 
 
 THE END OF THE FIRST VOLUME 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &^ Co. 
 Edinburgh &* London