Chapter C: Footnote 1: that (2)

'Before the Light this Morning dawned upon the Earth I awaked, and
lay in Expectation of its return, not that it cou'd give any new
Sense of Joy to me, but as I hoped it would bless you with its
chearful Face, after a Quiet which I wish'd you last Night. If my
Prayers are heard, the Day appeared with all the Influence of a
Merciful Creator upon your Person and Actions. Let others, my lovely
Charmer, talk of a blind Being that disposes their Hearts, I contemn
their low Images of Love. I have not a Thought which relates to you,
that I cannot with Confidence beseech the All-seeing Power to bless
me in. May he direct you in all your Steps, and reward your
Innocence, your Sanctity of Manners, your Prudent Youth, and
becoming Piety, with the Continuance of his Grace and Protection.
This is an unusual Language to Ladies; but you have a Mind elevated
above the giddy Motions of a Sex insnared by Flattery, and misled by
a false and short Adoration into a solid and long Contempt. Beauty,
my fairest Creature, palls in the Possession, but I love also your
Mind; your Soul is as dear to me as my own; and if the Advantages of
a liberal Education, some Knowledge, and as much Contempt of the
World, join'd with the Endeavours towards a Life of strict Virtue
and Religion, can qualify me to raise new Ideas in a Breast so well
disposed as yours is, our Days will pass away with Joy; and old Age,
instead of introducing melancholy Prospects of Decay, give us hope
of Eternal Youth in a better Life. I have but few Minutes from the
Duty of my Employment to write in, and without time to read over
what I have writ, therefore beseech you to pardon the first Hints of
my Mind, which I have expressed in so little Order.

_I am, dearest Creature,

Your most Obedient,

most Devoted Servant_.'

_The two next were written after the Day of our Marriage was fixed_.

_September 25, 1671

Madam,_

'It is the hardest thing in the World to be in Love, and yet attend
Business. As for me, all that speak to me find me out, and I must
lock myself up, or other People will do it for me. A Gentleman asked
me this Morning what News from _Holland_, and I answered, She's
Exquisitely handsome. Another desir'd to know when I had been last
at _Windsor_, I reply'd, 'She designs to go with me. Prethee, allow
me at least to kiss your Hand before the appointed Day, that my Mind
may be in some Composure. Methinks I could write a Volume to you,
but all the Language on Earth would fail in saying how much, and
with what dis-interested Passion, _I am ever Yours_.

_September 30, 1671_.

_Seven in the Morning_.

_Dear Creature_,

Next to the Influence of Heav'n, I am to thank you that I see the
returning Day with Pleasure. To pass my Evenings in so sweet a
Conversation, and have the Esteem of a Woman of your Merit, has in
it a Particularity of Happiness no more to be express'd than
return'd. But I am, my Lovely Creature, contented to be on the
obliged Side, and to employ all my Days in new Endeavours to
convince you and all the World of the Sense I have of your
Condescension in Chusing,
_MADAM, Your Most Faithful,
Most Obedient Humble Servant._

_He was, when he writ the following Letter, as agreeable and pleasant
a Man as any in England_.

_October 20, 1671_.

_Madam_,

I Beg Pardon that my Paper is not Finer, but I am forced to write
from a Coffee-house where I am attending about Business. There is a
dirty Crowd of Busie Faces all around me talking of Mony, while all
my Ambition, all my Wealth is Love: Love which animates my Heart,
sweetens my Humour, enlarges my Soul, and affects every Action of my
Life. 'Tis to my lovely Charmer I owe that many noble Ideas are
continually affix'd to my Words and Actions: 'Tis the natural Effect
of that generous Passion to create in the Admirer some Similitude of
the Object admired; thus, my Dear, am I every Day to improve from so
sweet a Companion. Look up, my Fair One, to that Heaven which made
thee such, and join with me to implore its Influence on our tender
innocent Hours, and beseech the Author of Love to bless the Rites he
has ordained, and mingle with our Happiness a just Sense of our
transient Condition, and a Resignation to his Will, which only can
regulate our Minds to a steady Endeavour to please him and each
other.
_I am, for Ever,
your Faithful Servant_.

_I will not trouble you with more Letters at this time, but if you
saw the poor withered Hand which sends you these Minutes, I am sure
you will smile to think that there is one who is so gallant as to
speak of it still as so welcome a Present, after forty Years
Possession of the Woman whom he writes to_.

June 23, 1711.

_Madam,_

I Heartily beg your Pardon for my Omission to write Yesterday. It
was of no Failure of my tender Regard for you; but having been very
much perplexed in my Thoughts on the Subject of my last, made me
determine to suspend speaking of it 'till I came to myself. But, my
Lovely Creature, know it is not in the Power of Age, or Misfortune,
or any other Accident which hangs over Human Life, to take from me
the pleasing Esteem I have for you, or the Memory of the bright
Figure you appeared in when you gave your Hand and Heart to,

_MADAM_,
_Your most Grateful Husband_,
_and Obedient Servant_.

[Footnote 1: They are, after the first, with a few changes of phrase and the alteration of date proper to the design of this paper, copies of Steele's own love-letters addressed to Mrs. Scurlock, in August and September, 1707; except the last, a recent one, written since marriage.]

* * * * *

No. 143. Tuesday, August 14, 1711. Steele.

'Non est vivere sed valere Vita.'

Martial.

It is an unreasonable thing some Men expect of their Acquaintance. They are ever complaining that they are out of Order, or Displeased, or they know not how, and are so far from letting that be a Reason for retiring to their own Homes, that they make it their Argument for coming into Company. What has any body to do with Accounts of a Man's being Indispos'd but his Physician? If a Man laments in Company, where the rest are in Humour enough to enjoy themselves, he should not take it ill if a Servant is ordered to present him with a Porringer of Cawdle or Posset-drink, by way of Admonition that he go Home to Bed. That Part of Life which we ordinarily understand by the Word Conversation, is an Indulgence to the Sociable Part of our Make; and should incline us to bring our Proportion of good Will or good Humour among the Friends we meet with, and not to trouble them with Relations which must of necessity oblige them to a real or feigned Affliction. Cares, Distresses, Diseases, Uneasinesses, and Dislikes of our own, are by no means to be obtruded upon our Friends. If we would consider how little of this Vicissitude of Motion and Rest, which we call Life, is spent with Satisfaction, we should be more tender of our Friends, than to bring them little Sorrows which do not belong to them. There is no real Life, but chearful Life; therefore Valetudinarians should be sworn before they enter into Company, not to say a Word of themselves till the Meeting breaks up. It is not here pretended, that we should be always [sitting [1]] with Chaplets of Flowers round our Heads, or be crowned with Roses, in order to make our Entertainment agreeable to us; but if (as it is usually observed) they who resolve to be Merry, seldom are so; it will be much more unlikely for us to be well-pleased, if they are admitted who are always complaining they are sad. Whatever we do we should keep up the Chearfulness of our Spirits, and never let them sink below an Inclination at least to be well-pleased: The Way to this, is to keep our Bodies in Exercise, our Minds at Ease. That insipid State wherein neither are in Vigour, is not to be accounted any part of our Portion of Being. When we are in the Satisfaction of some Innocent Pleasure, or Pursuit of some laudable Design, we are in the Possession of Life, of Human Life. Fortune will give us Disappointments enough, and Nature is attended with Infirmities enough, without our adding to the unhappy Side of our Account by our Spleen or ill Humour. Poor _Cottilus_, among so many real Evils, a Chronical Distemper and a narrow Fortune, is never heard to complain: That equal Spirit of his, which any Man may have, that, like him, will conquer Pride, Vanity and Affectation, and follow Nature, is not to be broken, because it has no Points to contend for. To be anxious for nothing but what Nature demands as necessary, if it is not the Way to an Estate, is the Way to what Men aim at by getting an Estate. This Temper will preserve Health in the Body, as well as Tranquility in the Mind. _Cottilus_ sees the World in a Hurry, with the same Scorn that a Sober Person sees a Man Drunk. Had he been contented with what he ought to have been, how could, says he, such a one have met with such a Disappointment? If another had valued his Mistress for what he ought to have lov'd her, he had not been in her Power. If her Virtue had had a Part of his Passion, her Levity had been his Cure; she could not then have been false and amiable at the same time.

Since we cannot promise ourselves constant Health, let us endeavour at such a Temper as may be our best Support in the Decay of it. _Uranius_ has arrived at that Composure of Soul, and wrought himself up to such a Neglect of every thing with which the Generality of Mankind is enchanted, that nothing but acute Pains can give him Disturbance, and against those too he will tell his intimate Friends he has a Secret which gives him present Ease: _Uranius_ is so thoroughly perswaded of another Life, and endeavours so sincerely to secure an Interest in it, that he looks upon Pain but as a quickening of his Pace to an Home, where he shall be better provided for than in his present Apartment. Instead of the melancholy Views which others are apt to give themselves, he will tell you that he has forgot he is Mortal, nor will he think of himself as such. He thinks at the Time of his Birth he entered into an Eternal Being; and the short Article of Death he will not allow an Interruption of Life, since that Moment is not of half the Duration as is his ordinary Sleep. Thus is his Being one uniform and consistent Series of chearful Diversions and moderate Cares, without Fear or Hope of Futurity. Health to him is more than Pleasure to another Man, and Sickness less affecting to him than Indisposition is to others.

I must confess, if one does not regard Life after this manner, none but Ideots can pass it away with any tolerable Patience. Take a Fine Lady who is of a Delicate Frame, and you may observe from the Hour she rises a certain Weariness of all that passes about her. I know more than one who is much too nice to be quite alive. They are sick of such strange frightful People that they meet; one is so awkward, and another so disagreeable, that it looks like a Penance to breathe the same Air with them. You see this is so very true, that a great Part of Ceremony and Good-breeding among Ladies turns upon their Uneasiness; and I'll undertake, if the How-d'ye Servants of our Women were to make a Weekly Bill of Sickness, as the Parish Clerks do of Mortality, you would not find in an Account of seven Days, one in Thirty that was not downright Sick or indisposed, or but a very little better than she was, and so forth.

It is certain that to enjoy Life and Health as a constant Feast, we should not think Pleasure necessary, but, if possible, to arrive at an Equality of Mind. It is as mean to be overjoyed upon Occasions of Good-Fortune, as to be dejected in Circumstances of Distress. Laughter in one Condition is as unmanly as Weeping in the other. We should not form our Minds to expect Transport on every Occasion, but know how to make it Enjoyment to be out of Pain. Ambition, Envy, vagrant Desire, or impertinent Mirth will take up our Minds, without we can possess our selves in that Sobriety of Heart which is above all Pleasures, and can be felt much better than described. But the ready Way, I believe, to the right Enjoyment of Life, is by a Prospect towards another to have but a very mean Opinion of it. A great Author of our Time has set this in an excellent Light, when with a Philosophick Pity of Human Life, he spoke of it in his _Theory of the Earth_, [2] in the following manner.

_For what is this Life but a Circulation of little mean Actions? We
lie down and rise again, dress and undress, feed and wax hungry, work
or play, and are weary, and then we lie down again, and the Circle
returns. We spend the Day in Trifles, and when the Night comes we
throw our selves into the Bed of Folly, amongst Dreams and broken
Thoughts, and wild Imaginations. Our Reason lies asleep by us, and we
are for the Time as arrant Brutes as those that sleep in the Stalls or
in the Field. Are not the Capacities of Man higher than these? And
ought not his Ambition and Expectations to be greater? Let us be
Adventurers for another World: 'Tis at least a fair and noble Chance;
and there is nothing in this worth our Thoughts or our Passions. If we
should be disappointed, we are still no worse than the rest of our
Fellow-Mortals; and if we succeed in our Expectations, we are
Eternally Happy_.

[Footnote 1: sit]

[Footnote 2: Ed. Amsterdam, 1699, p. 241.]

* * * * *

No. 144. Wednesday, August 15, 1711. Steele.

'... Nôris quam elegans formarum
Spectator siem.'

Ter.

Beauty has been the Delight and Torment of the World ever since it began. The Philosophers have felt its Influence so sensibly, that almost every one of them has left us some Saying or other, which has intimated that he too well knew the Power of it. One [1] has told us, that a graceful Person is a more powerful Recommendation than the best Letter that can be writ in your Favour. Another [2] desires the Possessor of it to consider it as a meer Gift of Nature, and not any Perfection of his own. A Third [3] calls it a short liv'd Tyranny; a Fourth, [4] a silent Fraud, because it imposes upon us without the Help of Language; but I think _Carneades_ spoke as much like a Philosopher as any of them, tho' more like a Lover, when he call'd it Royalty without Force. It is not indeed to be denied, that there is something irresistible in a Beauteous Form; the most Severe will not pretend, that they do not feel an immediate Prepossession in Favour of the Handsome. No one denies them the Privilege of being first heard, and being regarded before others in Matters of ordinary Consideration. At the same time the Handsome should consider that it is a Possession, as it were, foreign to them. No one can give it himself, or preserve it when they have it. Yet so it is, that People can bear any Quality in the World better than Beauty. It is the Consolation of all who are naturally too much affected with the Force of it, that a little Attention, if a Man can attend with Judgment, will cure them. Handsome People usually are so fantastically pleas'd with themselves, that if they do not kill at first Sight, as the Phrase is, a second Interview disarms them of all their Power. But I shall make this Paper rather a Warning-piece to give Notice where the Danger is, than to propose Instructions how to avoid it when you have fallen in the way of it. Handsome Men shall be the Subject of another Chapter, the Women shall take up the present Discourse.

_Amaryllis_, who has been in Town but one Winter, is extreamly improved with the Arts of Good-Breeding, without leaving Nature. She has not lost the Native Simplicity of her Aspect, to substitute that Patience of being stared at, which is the usual Triumph and Distinction of a Town Lady. In Publick Assemblies you meet her careless Eye diverting itself with the Objects around her, insensible that she her self is one of the brightest in the Place.

_Dulcissa_ is quite [of] another Make, she is almost a Beauty by Nature, but more than one by Art. If it were possible for her to let her Fan or any Limb about her rest, she would do some Part of the Execution she meditates; but tho' she designs her self a Prey she will not stay to be taken. No Painter can give you Words for the different Aspects of _Dulcissa_ in half a Moment, whereever she appears: So little does she accomplish what she takes so much pains for, to be gay and careless.

_Merab_ is attended with all the Charms of Woman and Accomplishments of Man. It is not to be doubted but she has a great deal of Wit, if she were not such a Beauty; and she would have more Beauty had she not so much Wit. Affectation prevents her Excellencies from walking together. If she has a Mind to speak such a Thing, it must be done with such an Air of her Body; and if she has an Inclination to look very careless, there is such a smart Thing to be said at the same Time, that the Design of being admired destroys it self. Thus the unhappy _Merab_, tho' a Wit and Beauty, is allowed to be neither, because she will always be both.

_Albacinda_ has the Skill as well as Power of pleasing. Her Form is majestick, but her Aspect humble. All good Men should beware of the Destroyer. She will speak to you like your Sister, till she has you sure; but is the most vexatious of Tyrants when you are so. Her Familiarity of Behaviour, her indifferent Questions, and general Conversation, make the silly Part of her Votaries full of Hopes, while the wise fly from her Power. She well knows she is too Beautiful and too Witty to be indifferent to any who converse with her, and therefore knows she does not lessen herself by Familiarity, but gains Occasions of Admiration, by seeming Ignorance of her Perfections.

_Eudosia_ adds to the Height of her Stature a Nobility of Spirit which still distinguishes her above the rest of her Sex. Beauty in others is lovely, in others agreeable, in others attractive; but in _Eudosia_ it is commanding: Love towards _Eudosia_ is a Sentiment like the Love of Glory. The Lovers of other Women are softened into Fondness, the Admirers of _Eudosia_ exalted into Ambition.

_Eucratia_ presents her self to the Imagination with a more kindly Pleasure, and as she is Woman, her Praise is wholly Feminine. If we were to form an Image of Dignity in a Man, we should give him Wisdom and Valour, as being essential to the Character of Manhood. In like manner, if you describe a right Woman in a laudable Sense, she should have gentle Softness, tender Fear, and all those Parts of Life, which distinguish her from the other Sex; with some Subordination to it, but such an Inferiority that makes her still more lovely. _Eucratia_ is that Creature, she is all over Woman. Kindness is all her Art, and Beauty all her Arms. Her Look, her Voice, her Gesture, and whole Behaviour is truly Feminine. A Goodness mixed with Fear, gives a Tincture to all her Behaviour. It would be Savage to offend her, and Cruelty to use Art to gain her. Others are beautiful, but [_Eucratia_ [5]] thou art Beauty!

_Omnamante_ is made for Deceit, she has an Aspect as Innocent as the famed _Lucrece_, but a Mind as Wild as the more famed _Cleopatra_. Her Face speaks a Vestal, but her Heart a _Messalina_. Who that beheld _Omnamante's_ negligent unobserving Air, would believe that she hid under that regardless Manner the witty Prostitute, the rapacious Wench, the prodigal Courtesan? She can, when she pleases, adorn those Eyes with Tears like an Infant that is chid! She can cast down that pretty Face in Confusion, while you rage with Jealousy, and storm at her Perfidiousness; she can wipe her Eyes, tremble and look frighted, till you think yourself a Brute for your Rage, own yourself an Offender, beg Pardon, and make her new Presents.

But I go too far in reporting only the Dangers in beholding the Beauteous, which I design for the Instruction of the Fair as well as their Beholders; and shall end this Rhapsody with mentioning what I thought was well enough said of an Antient Sage to a Beautiful Youth, whom he saw admiring his own Figure in Brass. What, said the Philosopher, [6] could that Image of yours say for it self if it could speak? It might say, (answered the Youth) _That it is very Beautiful. And are not you ashamed_, reply'd the Cynick, _to value your self upon that only of which a Piece of Brass is capable?

T.

[Footnote 1: Aristotle.]

[Footnote 2: Plato.]

[Footnote 3: Socrates.]

[Footnote 4: Theophrastus.]

[Footnote 5: Eudosia]

[Footnote 6: Antisthenes. Quoted from Diogenes Laertius, Lib. vi. cap. I.]

* * * * *

No. 145. Thursday, August 16, 1711. Steele.

'Stultitiam patiuntur opes ...'

Hor.

If the following Enormities are not amended upon the first Mention, I desire further Notice from my Correspondents.

Mr. SPECTATOR,

'I am obliged to you for your Discourse the other Day upon frivolous
Disputants, who with great Warmth, and Enumeration of many
Circumstances and Authorities, undertake to prove Matters which no
Body living denies. You cannot employ your self more usefully than in
adjusting the Laws of Disputation in Coffee-houses and accidental
Companies, as well as in more formal Debates. Among many other things
which your own Experience must suggest to you, it will be very
obliging if you please to take notice of Wagerers. I will not here
repeat what _Hudibras_ says of such Disputants, which is so true, that
it is almost Proverbial; [1] but shall only acquaint you with a Set of
young Fellows of the Inns of Court, whose Fathers have provided for
them so plentifully, that they need not be very anxious to get Law
into their Heads for the Service of their Country at the Bar; but are
of those who are sent (as the Phrase of Parents is) to the _Temple_ to
know how to keep their own. One of these Gentlemen is very loud and
captious at a Coffee-house which I frequent, and being in his Nature
troubled with an Humour of Contradiction, though withal excessive
Ignorant, he has found a way to indulge this Temper, go on in Idleness
and Ignorance, and yet still give himself the Air of a very learned
and knowing Man, by the Strength of his Pocket. The Misfortune of the
thing is, I have, as it happens sometimes, a greater Stock of Learning
than of Mony. The Gentleman I am speaking of, takes Advantage of the
Narrowness of my Circumstances in such a manner, that he has read all
that I can pretend to, and runs me down with such a positive Air, and
with such powerful Arguments, that from a very Learned Person I am
thought a mere Pretender. Not long ago I was relating that I had read
such a Passage in _Tacitus_, up starts my young Gentleman in a full
Company, and pulling out his Purse offered to lay me ten Guineas, to
be staked immediately in that Gentleman's Hands, (pointing to one
smoaking at another Table) that I was utterly mistaken. I was Dumb for
want of ten Guineas; he went on unmercifully to Triumph over my
Ignorance how to take him up, and told the whole Room he had read
_Tacitus_ twenty times over, and such a remarkable Instance as that
could not escape him. He has at this time three considerable Wagers
depending between him and some of his Companions, who are rich enough
to hold an Argument with him. He has five Guineas upon Questions in
Geography, two that the _Isle of Wight_ is a Peninsula, and three
Guineas to one that the World is round. We have a Gentleman comes to
our Coffee-house, who deals mightily in Antique Scandal; my Disputant
has laid him twenty Pieces upon a Point of History, to wit, that
_Cæsar_ never lay with _Cato's_ Sister, as is scandalously reported by
some People.

There are several of this sort of Fellows in Town, who wager
themselves into Statesmen, Historians, Geographers, Mathematicians,
and every other Art, when the Persons with whom they talk have not
Wealth equal to their Learning. I beg of you to prevent, in these
Youngsters, this compendious Way to Wisdom, which costs other People
so much Time and Pains, and you will oblige

_Your humble Servant._

_Coffee-House near the_ Temple, Aug. 12, 1711.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

'Here's a young Gentleman that sings Opera-Tunes or Whistles in a full
House. Pray let him know that he has no Right to act here as if he
were in an empty Room. Be pleased to divide the Spaces of a Publick
Room, and certify Whistlers, Singers, and Common Orators, that are
heard further than their Portion of the Room comes [to,] that the Law
is open, and that there is an Equity which will relieve us from such
as interrupt us in our Lawful Discourse, as much as against such as
stop us on the Road. I take these Persons, Mr. SPECTATOR, to be such
Trespassers as the Officer in your Stage-Coach, and of the same
Sentiment with Counsellor _Ephraim_. It is true the Young Man is rich,
and, as the Vulgar say, [needs [1]] not care for any Body; but sure
that is no Authority for him to go whistle where he pleases.

_I am, SIR_, _Your Most Humble Servant_,

_P.S._ I have Chambers in the _Temple_, and here are Students that
learn upon the Hautboy; pray desire the Benchers that all Lawyers who
are Proficients in Wind-Musick may lodge to the _Thames_.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

We are a Company of young Women who pass our Time very much together,
and obliged by the mercenary Humour of the Men to be as Mercenarily
inclined as they are. There visits among us an old Batchelor whom each
of us has a Mind to. The Fellow is rich, and knows he may have any of
us, therefore is particular to none, but excessively ill-bred. His
Pleasantry consists in Romping, he snatches Kisses by Surprize, puts
his Hand in our Necks, tears our Fans, robs us of Ribbons, forces
Letters out of our Hands, looks into any of our Papers, and a thousand
other Rudenesses. Now what I'll desire of you is to acquaint him, by
Printing this, that if he does not marry one of us very suddenly, we
have all agreed, the next time he pretends to be merry, to affront
him, and use him like a Clown as he is. In the Name of the Sisterhood
I take my Leave of you, and am, as they all are,

_Your Constant Reader and Well-wisher_.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I and several others of your Female Readers, have conformed our selves
to your Rules, even to our very Dress. There is not one of us but has
reduced our outward Petticoat to its ancient Sizable Circumference,
tho' indeed we retain still a Quilted one underneath, which makes us
not altogether unconformable to the Fashion; but 'tis on Condition,
Mr. SPECTATOR extends not his Censure so far. But we find you Men
secretly approve our Practice, by imitating our Pyramidical Form. The
Skirt of your fashionable Coats forms as large a Circumference as our
Petticoats; as these are set out with Whalebone, so are those with
Wire, to encrease and sustain the Bunch of Fold that hangs down on
each Side; and the Hat, I perceive, is decreased in just proportion to
our Head-dresses. We make a regular Figure, but I defy your
Mathematicks to give Name to the Form you appear in. Your Architecture
is mere _Gothick_, and betrays a worse Genius than ours; therefore if
you are partial to your own Sex, I shall be less than I am now

_Your Humble Servant_.

T.

[Footnote 1:

_I have heard old cunning Stagers
Say Fools for Arguments lay Wagers._

Hudibras, Part II. c. i.]

[Footnote 2: need]

* * * * *

No. 146. Friday, August 17, 1711. Steele.

'Nemo Vir Magnus sine aliquo Afflatu divino unquam fuit.'

Tull.

We know the highest Pleasure our Minds are capable of enjoying with Composure, when we read Sublime Thoughts communicated to us by Men of great Genius and Eloquence. Such is the Entertainment we meet with in the Philosophick Parts of _Cicero_'s Writings. Truth and good Sense have there so charming a Dress, that they could hardly be more agreeably represented with the Addition of Poetical Fiction and the Power of Numbers. This ancient Author, and a modern one, had fallen into my Hands within these few Days; and the Impressions they have left upon me, have at the present quite spoiled me for a merry Fellow. The Modern is that admirable Writer the Author of _The Theory of the Earth_. The Subjects with which I have lately been entertained in them both bear a near Affinity; they are upon Enquiries into Hereafter, and the Thoughts of the latter seem to me to be raised above those of the former in proportion to his Advantages of Scripture and Revelation. If I had a Mind to it, I could not at present talk of any thing else; therefore I shall translate a Passage in the one, and transcribe a Paragraph out of the other, for the Speculation of this Day. _Cicero_ tells us, [1] that _Plato_ reports _Socrates_, upon receiving his Sentence, to have spoken to his Judges in the following manner.

I have great Hopes, oh my Judges, that it is infinitely to my
Advantage that I am sent to Death: For it is of necessity that one of
these two things must be the Consequence. Death must take away all
these Senses, or convey me to another Life. If all Sense is to be
taken away, and Death is no more than that profound Sleep without
Dreams, in which we are sometimes buried, oh Heavens! how desirable is
it to die? how many Days do we know in Life preferable to such a
State? But if it be true that Death is but a Passage to Places which
they who lived before us do now inhabit, how much still happier is it
to go from those who call themselves Judges, to appear before those
that really are such; before _Minos, Rhadamanthus, Æacus_, and
_Triptolemus_, and to meet Men who have lived with Justice and Truth?
Is this, do you think, no happy Journey? Do you think it nothing to
speak with _Orpheus, Musceus, Homer_, and _Hesiod_? I would, indeed,
suffer many Deaths to enjoy these Things. With what particular Delight
should I talk to _Palamedes, Ajax_, and others, who like me have
suffered by the Iniquity of their Judges. I should examine the Wisdom
of that great Prince, who carried such mighty Forces against _Troy_;
and argue with _Ulysses_ and _Sisyphus_, upon difficult Points, as I
have in Conversation here, without being in Danger of being condemned.
But let not those among you who have pronounced me an innocent Man be
afraid of Death. No Harm can arrive at a good Man whether dead or
living; his Affairs are always under the direction of the Gods; nor
will I believe the Fate which is allotted to me myself this Day to
have arrived by Chance; nor have I ought to say either against my
Judges or Accusers, but that they thought they did me an Injury ...
But I detain you too long, it is Time that I retire to Death, and you
to your Affairs of Life; which of us has the Better is known to the
Gods, but to no Mortal Man.

The Divine _Socrates_ is here represented in a Figure worthy his great Wisdom and Philosophy, worthy the greatest mere Man that ever breathed. But the modern Discourse is written upon a Subject no less than the Dissolution of Nature it self. Oh how glorious is the old Age of that great Man, who has spent his Time in such Contemplations as has made this Being, what only it should be, an Education for Heaven! He has, according to the Lights of Reason and Revelation, which seemed to him clearest, traced the Steps of Omnipotence: He has, with a Celestial Ambition, as far as it is consistent with Humility and Devotion, examined the Ways of Providence, from the Creation to the Dissolution of the visible World. How pleasing must have been the Speculation, to observe Nature and Providence move together, the Physical and Moral World march the same Pace: To observe Paradise and eternal Spring the Seat of Innocence, troubled Seasons and angry Skies the Portion of Wickedness and Vice. When this admirable Author has reviewed all that has past, or is to come, which relates to the habitable World, and run through the whole Fate of it, how could a Guardian Angel, that had attended it through all its Courses or Changes, speak more emphatically at the End of his Charge, than does our Author when he makes, as it were, a Funeral Oration over this Globe, looking to the Point where it once stood? [2]

Let us only, if you please, to take leave of this Subject, reflect
upon this Occasion on the Vanity and transient Glory of this habitable
World. How by the Force of one Element breaking loose upon the rest,
all the Vanities of Nature, all the Works of Art, all the Labours of
Men, are reduced to Nothing. All that we admired and adored before as
great and magnificent, is obliterated or vanished; and another Form
and Face of things, plain, simple, and every where the same,
overspreads the whole Earth. Where are now the great Empires of the
World, and their great Imperial Cities? Their Pillars, Trophies, and
Monuments of Glory? Shew me where they stood, read the Inscription,
tell me the Victors Name. What Remains, what Impressions, what
Difference or Distinction, do you see in this Mass of Fire? _Rome_ it
self, eternal _Rome_, the great City, the Empress of the World, whose
Domination and Superstition, ancient and modern, make a great Part of
the History of the Earth, what is become of her now? She laid her
Foundations deep, and her Palaces were strong and sumptuous; _She
glorified her self, and lived deliciously, and said in her Heart, I
sit a Queen, and shall see no Sorrow_: But her Hour is come, she is
wiped away from the Face of the Earth, and buried in everlasting
Oblivion. But it is not Cities only, and Works of Mens Hands, but the
everlasting Hills, the Mountains and Rocks of the Earth are melted as
Wax before the Sun, and _their Place is no where found_. Here stood
the _Alps_, the Load of the Earth, that covered many Countries, and
reached their Arms from the Ocean to the _Black Sea_; this huge Mass
of Stone is softned and dissolved as a tender Cloud into Rain. Here
stood the _African_ Mountains, and _Atlas_ with his Top above the
Clouds; there was frozen _Caucasus_, and _Taurus_, and _Imaus_, and
the Mountains of _Asia_; and yonder towards the North, stood the
_Riphaean_ Hills, cloathd in Ice and Snow. All these are Vanished,
dropt away as the Snow upon their Heads. _Great and Marvellous are thy
Works, Just and True are thy Ways, thou King of Saints! Hallelujah_.

[Footnote 1: 'Tusculan Questions', Bk. I.]

[Footnote 2: 'Theory of the Earth', Book III., ch. xii.]

* * * * *

No. 147. Saturday, August 18, 1711. Steele.

'Pronuntiatio est Vocis et Vultus et Gestus moderatio cum
venustate.'

Tull.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

The well Reading of the Common Prayer is of so great Importance, and
so much neglected, that I take the Liberty to offer to your
Consideration some Particulars on that Subject: And what more worthy
your Observation than this? A thing so Publick, and of so high
Consequence. It is indeed wonderful, that the frequent Exercise of it
should not make the Performers of that Duty more expert in it. This
Inability, as I conceive, proceeds from the little Care that is taken
of their Reading, while Boys and at School, where when they are got
into _Latin_, they are looked upon as above _English_, the Reading of
which is wholly neglected, or at least read to very little purpose,
without any due Observations made to them of the proper Accent and
Manner of Reading; by this means they have acquired such ill Habits as
won't easily be removed. The only way that I know of to remedy this,
is to propose some Person of great Ability that way as a Pattern for
them; Example being most effectual to convince the Learned, as well as
instruct the Ignorant.

You must know, Sir, I've been a constant Frequenter of the Service of
the Church of _England_ for above these four Years last past, and
'till _Sunday_ was Seven-night never discovered, to so great a Degree,
the Excellency of the Common-Prayer. When being at St. _James's
Garlick-Hill_ Church, I heard the Service read so distinctly, so
emphatically, and so fervently, that it was next to an Impossibility
to be unattentive. My Eyes and my Thoughts could not wander as usual,
but were confin'd to my Prayers: I then considered I addressed my self
to the Almighty, and not to a beautiful Face. And when I reflected on
my former Performances of that Duty, I found I had run it over as a
matter of Form, in comparison to the Manner in which I then discharged
it. My Mind was really affected, and fervent Wishes accompanied my
Words. The Confession was read with such a resigned Humility, the
Absolution with such a comfortable Authority, the Thanksgivings with
such a Religious Joy, as made me feel those Affections of the Mind in
a Manner I never did before. To remedy therefore the Grievance above
complained of, I humbly propose, that this excellent Reader, [1] upon
the next and every Annual Assembly of the Clergy of _Sion-College_,
and all other Conventions, should read Prayers before them. For then
those that are afraid of stretching their Mouths, and spoiling their
soft Voice, will learn to Read with Clearness, Loudness, and Strength.
Others that affect a rakish negligent Air by folding their Arms, and
lolling on their Book, will be taught a decent Behaviour, and comely
Erection of Body. Those that Read so fast as if impatient of their
Work, may learn to speak deliberately. There is another sort of
Persons whom I call Pindarick Readers, as being confined to no set
measure; these pronounce five or six Words with great Deliberation,
and the five or six subsequent ones with as great Celerity: The first
part of a Sentence with a very exalted Voice, and the latter part with
a submissive one: Sometimes again with one sort of a Tone, and
immediately after with a very different one. These Gentlemen will
learn of my admired Reader an Evenness of Voice and Delivery, and all
who are innocent of these Affectations, but read with such an
Indifferency as if they did not understand the Language, may then be
informed of the Art of Reading movingly and fervently, how to place
the Emphasis, and give the proper Accent to each Word, and how to vary
the Voice according to the Nature of the Sentence. There is certainly
a very great Difference between the Reading a Prayer and a Gazette,
which I beg of you to inform a Set of Readers, who affect, forsooth, a
certain Gentleman-like Familiarity of Tone, and mend the Language as
they go on, crying instead of Pardoneth and Absolveth, Pardons and
Absolves. These are often pretty Classical Scholars, and would think
it an unpardonable Sin to read _Virgil_ or _Martial_ with so little
Taste as they do Divine Service.

This Indifferency seems to me to arise from the Endeavour of avoiding
the Imputation of Cant, and the false Notion of it. It will be proper
therefore to trace the Original and Signification of this Word. Cant
is, by some People, derived from one _Andrew Cant_, who, they say, was
a Presbyterian Minister in some illiterate Part of _Scotland_, who by
Exercise and Use had obtained the Faculty, _alias_ Gift, of Talking in
the Pulpit in such a Dialect, that it's said he was understood by none
but his own Congregation, and not by all of them. Since _Mas. Cant's_
time, it has been understood in a larger Sense, and signifies all
sudden Exclamations, Whinings, unusual Tones, and in fine all Praying
and Preaching, like the unlearned of the Presbyterians. But I hope a
proper Elevation of Voice, a due Emphasis and Accent, are not to come
within this Description. So that our Readers may still be as unlike
the Presbyterians as they please. The Dissenters (I mean such as I
have heard) do indeed elevate their Voices, but it is with sudden
jumps from the lower to the higher part of them; and that with so
little Sense or Skill, that their Elevation and Cadence is Bawling and
Muttering. They make use of an Emphasis, but so improperly, that it is
often placed on some very insignificant Particle, as upon _if_, or
_and_. Now if these Improprieties have so great an Effect on the
People, as we see they have, how great an Influence would the Service
of our Church, containing the best Prayers that ever were composed,
and that in Terms most affecting, most humble, and most expressive of
our Wants, and Dependance on the Object of our Worship, dispos'd in
most proper Order, and void of all Confusion; what Influence, I say,
would these Prayers have, were they delivered with a due Emphasis, and
apposite Rising and Variation of Voice, the Sentence concluded with a
gentle Cadence, and, in a word, with such an Accent and Turn of Speech
as is peculiar to Prayer?

As the matter of Worship is now managed, in Dissenting Congregations,
you find insignificant Words and Phrases raised by a lively Vehemence;
in our own Churches, the most exalted Sense depreciated, by a
dispassionate Indolence. I remember to have heard Dr. _S_--_e_ [2] say
in his Pulpit, of the Common-prayer, that, at least, it was as perfect
as any thing of Human Institution: If the Gentlemen who err in this
kind would please to recollect the many Pleasantries they have read
upon those who recite good Things with an ill Grace, they would go on
to think that what in that Case is only Ridiculous, in themselves is
Impious. But leaving this to their own Reflections, I shall conclude
this Trouble with what _Cæsar_ said upon the Irregularity of Tone in
one who read before him, _Do you read or sing? If you sing, you sing
very ill_. [3]

[Footnote 1: The Rec. Philip Stubbs, afterwards Archdeacon of St. Alban's.]

[Footnote 2: Smalridge?]

[Footnote 3:

Si legis cantas; si cantas, male cantas.

The word Cant is rather from 'cantare', as a chanting whine, than from the Andrew Cants, father and son, of Charles the Second's time.]

* * * * *

No. 148 Monday, August 20, 1711 Steele

'Exempta juvat spinis e pluribus una.'

Hor.

My Correspondents assure me that the Enormities which they lately complained of, and I published an Account of, are so far from being amended, that new Evils arise every Day to interrupt their Conversation, in Contempt of my Reproofs. My Friend who writes from the Coffee-house near the _Temple_, informs me that the Gentleman who constantly sings a Voluntary in spite of the whole Company, was more musical than ordinary after reading my Paper; and has not been contented with that, but has danced up to the Glass in the Middle of the Room, and practised Minuet-steps to his own Humming. The incorrigible Creature has gone still further, and in the open Coffee-house, with one Hand extended as leading a Lady in it, he has danced both _French_ and Country-Dances, and admonished his supposed Partner by Smiles and Nods to hold up her Head, and fall back, according to the respective Facings and Evolutions of the Dance. Before this Gentleman began this his Exercise, he was pleased to clear his Throat by coughing and spitting a full half Hour; and as soon as he struck up, he appealed to an Attorney's Clerk in the Room, whether he hit as he ought _Since you from Death have saved me?_ and then asked the young Fellow (pointing to a Chancery-Bill under his Arm) whether that was an Opera-Score he carried or not? Without staying for an Answer he fell into the Exercise Above-mentioned, and practised his Airs to the full House who were turned upon him, without the least Shame or Repentance for his former Transgressions.

I am to the last Degree at a Loss what to do with this young Fellow, except I declare him an Outlaw, and pronounce it penal for any one to speak to him in the said House which he frequents, and direct that he be obliged to drink his Tea and Coffee without Sugar, and not receive from any Person whatsoever any thing above mere Necessaries.

As we in _England_ are a sober People, and generally inclined rather to a certain Bashfulness of Behaviour in Publick, it is amazing whence some Fellows come whom one meets with in this Town; they do not at all seem to be the Growth of our Island; the Pert, the Talkative, all such as have no Sense of the Observations of others, are certainly of foreign Extraction. As for my Part, I am as much surprised when I see a talkative _Englishman_, as I should be to see the _Indian_ Pine growing on one of our quick-set Hedges. Where these Creatures get Sun enough, to make them such lively Animals and dull Men, is above my Philosophy.

There are another Kind of Impertinents which a Man is perplexed with in mixed Company, and those are your loud Speakers: These treat Mankind as if we were all deaf; they do not express but declare themselves. Many of these are guilty of this Outrage out of Vanity, because they think all they say is well; or that they have their own Persons in such Veneration, that they believe nothing which concerns them can be insignificant to any Body else. For these Peoples sake, I have often lamented that we cannot close our Ears with as much ease as we can our Eyes: It is very uneasy that we must necessarily be under Persecution. Next to these Bawlers, is a troublesome Creature who comes with the Air of your Friend and your Intimate, and that is your Whisperer. There is one of them at a Coffee-house which I my self frequent, who observing me to be a Man pretty well made for Secrets, gets by me, and with a Whisper tells me things which all the Town knows. It is no very hard matter to guess at the Source of this Impertinence, which is nothing else but a Method or Mechanick Art of being wise. You never see any frequent in it, whom you can suppose to have anything in the World to do. These Persons are worse than Bawlers, as much as a secret Enemy is more dangerous than a declared one. I wish this my Coffee-house Friend would take this for an Intimation, that I have not heard one Word he has told me for these several Years; whereas he now thinks me the most trusty Repository of his Secrets. The Whisperers have a pleasant way of ending the close Conversation, with saying aloud, _Do not you think so?_ Then whisper again, and then aloud, _but you know that Person;_ then whisper again. The thing would be well enough, if they whisper'd to keep the Folly of what they say among Friends; but alas, they do it to preserve the Importance of their Thoughts. I am sure I could name you more than one Person whom no Man living ever heard talk upon any Subject in Nature, or ever saw in his whole Life with a Book in his Hand, that I know not how can whisper something like Knowledge of what has and does pass in the World; which you would think he learned from some familiar Spirit that did not think him worthy to receive the whole Story. But in truth Whisperers deal only in half Accounts of what they entertain you with. A great Help to their Discourse is, 'That the Town says, and People begin to talk very freely, and they had it from Persons too considerable to be named, what they will tell you when things are riper.' My Friend has winked upon me any Day since I came to Town last, and has communicated to me as a Secret, that he designed in a very short Time to tell me a Secret; but I shall know what he means, he now assures me, in less than a Fortnight's Time.

But I must not omit the dearer Part of Mankind, I mean the Ladies, to take up a whole Paper upon Grievances which concern the Men only; but shall humbly propose, that we change Fools for an Experiment only. A certain Set of Ladies complain they are frequently perplexed with a Visitant who affects to be wiser than they are; which Character he hopes to preserve by an obstinate Gravity, and great Guard against discovering his Opinion upon any Occasion whatsoever. A painful Silence has hitherto gained him no further Advantage, than that as he might, if he had behaved himself with Freedom, been excepted against but as to this and that Particular, he now offends in the whole. To relieve these Ladies, my good Friends and Correspondents, I shall exchange my dancing Outlaw for their dumb Visitant, and assign the silent Gentleman all the Haunts of the Dancer; in order to which, I have sent them by the Penny-post the following Letters for their Conduct in their new Conversations.

_SIR_,

I have, you may be sure, heard of your Irregularities without regard
to my Observations upon you; but shall not treat you with so much
Rigour as you deserve. If you will give yourself the Trouble to repair
to the Place mentioned in the Postscript to this Letter at Seven this
Evening, you will be conducted into a spacious Room well-lighted,
where there are Ladies and Musick. You will see a young Lady laughing
next the Window to the Street; you may take her out, for she loves you
as well as she does any Man, tho' she never saw you before. She never
thought in her Life, any more than your self. She will not be
surprised when you accost her, nor concerned when you leave her.
Hasten from a Place where you are laughed at, to one where you will be
admired. You are of no Consequence, therefore go where you will be
welcome for being so.

_Your most Humble Servant_.'

_SIR_,

'The Ladies whom you visit, think a wise Man the most impertinent
Creature living, therefore you cannot be offended that they are
displeased with you. Why will you take pains to appear wise, where you
would not be the more esteemed for being really so? Come to us; forget
the Gigglers; and let your Inclination go along with you whether you
speak or are silent; and let all such Women as are in a Clan or
Sisterhood, go their own way; there is no Room for you in that Company
who are of the common Taste of the Sex.'

_For Women born to be controll'd
Stoop to the forward and the bold;
Affect the haughty, and the proud,
The gay, the frolick, and the loud._ [1]

T.

[Footnote 1: Waller 'Of Love.']

* * * * *

No. 149. Tuesday, August 21, 1711. Steele.

'Cui in manu sit quem esse dementem velit,
Quem sapere, quem sanari, quem in morbum injici,
Quem contra amari, quem accersiri, quem expeti.'

Cæcil. apud Tull.

The following Letter and my Answer shall take up the present Speculation.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,