Chapter CIV: Letter I: found that Will was fallen off from his former Gayety, having (13)

Not many Years ago an _English_ Gentleman, who in a Rencounter by Night in the Streets of _Madrid_ had the Misfortune to kill his Man, fled into a Church-Porch for Sanctuary. Leaning against the Door, he was surprized to find it open, and a glimmering Light in the Church. He had the Courage to advance towards the Light; but was terribly startled at the sight of a Woman in White who ascended from a Grave with a bloody Knife in her Hand. The Phantome marched up to him, and asked him what he did there. He told her the Truth, without reserve, believing that he had met a Ghost: Upon which, she spoke to him in the following Manner. 'Stranger, thou art in my Power: I am a Murderer as thou art. Know then, that I am a Nun of a noble Family. A base perjur'd Man undid me, and boasted of it. I soon had him dispatched; but not content with the Murder, I have brib'd the Sexton to let me enter his Grave, and have now pluck'd out his False Heart from his Body; and thus I use a Traitor's Heart.' At these Words she tore it in Pieces, and trampled it under her Feet.

* * * * *

No. 612. Wednesday, October 27, 1714.

'Murranum hic atavos et avorum antiqua sonantem
Nomina per regesque actum genus omne Latinos,
Præcipitem scopulo, atque ingentis turbine saxi
Excutit, effunditque solo.'

Virg.

It is highly laudable to pay Respect to Men who are descended from worthy Ancestors, not only out of Gratitude to those who have done Good to Mankind, but as it is an Encouragement to others to follow their Example. But this is an Honour to be receiv'd, not demanded, by the Descendants of great Men; and they who are apt to remind us of their Ancestors, only put us upon making Comparisons to their own Disadvantage.

There is some Pretence for boasting of Wit, Beauty, Strength or Wealth, because the Communication of them may give Pleasure or Profit to others; but we can have no Merit, nor ought we to claim any Respect, because our Fathers acted well, whether we would or no.

The following Letter ridicules the Folly I have mentioned, in a new, and, I think, not disagreeable Light.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'Were the Genealogy of every Family preserved, there would probably be
no Man valued or despis'd on Account of his Birth. There is scarce a
Beggar in the Streets, who would not find himself lineally descended
from some great Man; nor any one of the highest Title, who would not
discover several base and indigent Persons among his Ancestors. It
would be a pleasant Entertainment to see one Pedigree of Men appear
together, under the same Characters they bore when they acted their
respective Parts among the Living. Suppose therefore a Gentleman, full
of his illustrious Family, should, in the same manner as _Virgil_
makes _Æneas_ look over his Descendants, see the whole Line of his
Progenitors pass in a Review before his Eyes, and with how many
varying Passions would he behold Shepherds and Soldiers, Statesmen and
Artificers, Princes and Beggars, walk in the Procession of five
thousand Years! How would his Heart sink or flutter at the several
Sports of Fortune in a Scene so diversified with Rags and Purple,
Handicraft Tools and Scepters, Ensigns of Dignity and Emblems of
Disgrace; and how would his Fears and Apprehensions, his Transports
and Mortifications, succeed one another, as the Line of his Genealogy
appear'd bright or obscure?

'In most of the Pedigrees hung up in old Mansion Houses, you are sure
to find the first in the Catalogue a great Statesman, or a Soldier
with an honourable Commission. The Honest Artificer that begot him,
and all his frugal Ancestors before him, are torn off from the Top of
the Register; and you are not left to imagine, that the noble Founder
of the Family ever had a Father. Were we to trace many boasted Lines
farther backwards, we should lose them in a Mob of Tradesmen, or a
Crowd of Rusticks, without hope of seeing them emerge again: Not
unlike the old _Appian_ Way, which after having run many Miles in
Length, loses it self in a Bog.

'I lately made a Visit to an old Country Gentleman, who is very far
gone in this sort of _Family Madness_. I found him in his Study
perusing an old Register of his Family, which he had just then
discover'd, as it was branched out in the Form of a Tree, upon a Skin
of Parchment. Having the Honour to have some of his Blood in my Veins,
he permitted me to cast my Eye over the Boughs of this venerable
Plant; and asked my Advice in the Reforming of some of the superfluous
Branches.

'We passed slightly over three or four of our immediate Fore-fathers,
whom we knew by Tradition, but were soon stopped by an Alderman of
_London_, who, I perceived, made my Kinsman's Heart go pit-a-pat. His
Confusion increased when he found the Alderman's Father to be a
Grasier; but he recovered his Fright upon seeing _Justice of the
Quorum_ at the end of his Titles. Things went on pretty well, as we
threw our Eyes occasionally over the Tree, when unfortunately he
perceived a Merchant-Tailor perched on a Bough, who was said greatly
to have encreased the Estate; he was just a going to cut him off, if
he had not seen _Gent._ after the Name of his Son; who was recorded to
have mortgaged one of the Manors his honest Father had purchased. A
Weaver, who was burnt for his Religion in the Reign of Queen _Mary_,
was pruned away without Mercy; as was likewise a Yeoman, who died of a
Fall from his own Cart. But great was our Triumph in one of the Blood
who was beheaded for High-Treason; which nevertheless was not a little
allayed by another of our Ancestors, who was hanged for stealing
Sheep. The Expectations of my good Cousin were wonderfully raised by a
Match into the Family of a Knight, but unfortunately for us this
Branch proved Barren: On the other hand _Margery_ the Milk-maid being
twined round a Bough, it flourished out into so many Shoots, and bent
with so much Fruit, that the old Gentleman was quite out of
Countenance. To comfort me, under this Disgrace, he singled out a
Branch ten times more fruitful than the other, which, he told me, he
valued more than any in the Tree, and bad me be of good Comfort. This
enormous Bough was a Graft out of a _Welsh_ Heiress, with so many
_Ap's_ upon it that it might have made a little Grove by it self. From
the Trunk of the Pedigree, which was chiefly composed of Labourers and
Shepherds, arose a huge Sprout of Farmers; this was branched out into
Yeomen; and ended in a Sheriff of the County, who was Knighted for his
good Service to the Crown, in bringing up an Address. Several of the
Names that seemed to disparage the Family, being looked upon as
Mistakes, were lopped off as rotten or withered; as, on the contrary,
no small Number appearing without any Titles, my Cousin, to supply the
Defects of the Manuscript, added _Esq_; at the End of each of them.

'This Tree so pruned, dressed, and cultivated, was, within few Days,
transplanted into a large Sheet of Vellum and placed in the great
Hall, where it attracts the Veneration of his Tenants every _Sunday_
Morning, while they wait till his Worship is ready to go to Church;
wondering that a Man who had so many Fathers before him, should not be
made a [Knight,] [1] or at least a Justice of the Peace.'

[Footnote 1: Lord,]

* * * * *

No. 613. Friday, October 29, 1714.

'--Studiis florentem ignobilis oti--'

Virg.

It is reckoned a Piece of Ill-breeding for one Man to engross the whole Talk to himself. For this Reason, since I keep three Visiting-Days in the Week, I am content now and then to let my Friends put in a Word. There are several Advantages hereby accruing both to my Readers and my self. As first, Young and modest Writers have an Opportunity of getting into Print: Again, The Town enjoys the Pleasure of Variety; and Posterity will see the Humour of the present Age, by the help of these little Lights into private and domestick Life. The Benefits I receive from thence, are such as these: I gain more Time for future Speculations; pick up Hints which I improve for the publick Good; give Advice; redress Grievances; and, by leaving commodious Spaces between the several Letters that I print, furnish out a _Spectator_ with little Labour and great Ostentation.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'I was mightily pleased with your Speculation of _Friday_. Your
Sentiments are Noble, and the whole worked up in such a manner, as
cannot but strike upon every Reader. But give me leave to make this
Remark: That while you write so Pathetically on Contentment, and a
retired Life, you sooth the Passion of Melancholy, and depress the
Mind from Actions truly Glorious. Titles and Honours are the Reward of
Virtue: We therefore ought to be affected with them: And tho' light
Minds are too much puffed up with exterior Pomp, yet I cannot see why
it is not as truly Philosophical, to admire the glowing Ruby, or the
sparkling Green of an Emerald, as the fainter and less permanent
Beauties of a Rose or a Myrtle. If there are Men of extraordinary
Capacities who lye concealed from the World, I should impute it to
them as a Blot in their Character, did not I believe it owing to the
Meanness of their Fortune rather than of their Spirit. _Cowley_, who
tells the Story of _Agla¸s_ with so much Pleasure, was no Stranger to
Courts, nor insensible of Praise.

'What shall I do to be for ever known,
And make the Age to come my own?'

was the Result of a laudable Ambition. It was not till after frequent
Disappointments, that he termed himself the Melancholy _Cowley_; and
he praised Solitude, when he despair'd of shining in a Court. The Soul
of Man is an active Principle. He therefore, who withdraws himself
from the Scene before he has play'd his Part, ought to be hissed off
the Stage, and cannot be deemed Virtuous, because he refuses to answer
his End. I must own I am fired with an honest Ambition to imitate
every illustrious Example. The Battles of _Blenheim_ and _Ramillies_
have more than once made me wish my self a Soldier. And when I have
seen those Actions so nobly celebrated by our Poets, I have secretly
aspir'd to be one of that distinguished Class. But in vain I wish, in
vain I pant with the Desire of Action. I am chained down in Obscurity,
and the only Pleasure I can take is in seeing so many brighter
Genius's join their friendly Lights, to add to the Splendor of the
Throne. Farewel then dear _Spec_, and believe me to be with great
Emulation, and no Envy,'

_Your profess'd Admirer_,

Will. Hopeless.

_Middle-Temple, October_ 26, 1714.

_SIR_,

'Tho' you have formerly made _Eloquence_ the Subject of one or more of
your Papers, I do not remember that you ever consider'd it as
possessed by a Set of People, who are so far from making
_Quintilian's_ Rules their Practice, that, I dare say for them, they
never heard of such an Author, and yet are no less Masters of it than
_Tully_ or _Demosthenes_ among the Ancients, or whom you please
amongst the Moderns. The Persons I am speaking of are our common
Beggars about this Town; and that what I say is true, I appeal to any
Man who has a Heart one Degree softer than a Stone. As for my part,
who don't pretend to more Humanity than my Neighbours, I have
oftentimes gone from my Chambers with Money in my Pocket, and returned
to them not only Pennyless, but destitute of a Farthing, without
bestowing of it any other way than on these seeming Objects of Pity.
In short, I have seen more Eloquence in a _Look_ from one of these
despicable Creatures, than in the _Eye_ of the fairest _She_ I ever
saw, yet no one is a greater Admirer of that Sex than my self. What I
have to desire of you is, to lay down some Directions in order to
guard against these powerful Orators, or else I know nothing to the
contrary but I must my self be forced to leave the Profession of the
Law, and endeavour to get the Qualifications necessary to that more
profitable one of Begging. But in which soever of these two Capacities
I shine, I shall always desire to be your constant Reader, and ever
will be'

_Your most humble Servant_,

J. B.

_SIR_,

'Upon Reading a _Spectator_ last Week, where Mrs. _Fanny Fickle_
submitted the Choice of a Lover for Life to your decisive
Determination, and imagining I might claim the Favour of your Advice
in an Affair of the like, but much more difficult Nature, I called for
Pen and Ink, in order to draw the Characters of Seven Humble Servants,
whom I have equally encouraged for some time. But alas! while I was
reflecting on the agreeable Subject, and contriving an advantageous
Description of the dear Person I was most inclined to favour, I
happened to look into my Glass. The sight of the Small-Pox, out of
which I am just recovered, tormented me at once with the loss of my
captivating Arts and my Captives. The Confusion I was in, on this
unhappy, unseasonable Discovery, is inexpressible. Believe me, Sir, I
was so taken up with the Thoughts of your fair Correspondent's Case,
and so intent on my own Design, that I fancied myself as Triumphant in
my Conquests as ever.

'Now, Sir, finding I was incapacitated to Amuse my self on that
pleasing Subject, I resolved to apply my self to you, or your
Casuistical Agent, for Advice in my present Circumstances. I am
sensible the Tincture of my Skin, and the Regularity of my Features,
which the Malice of my late Illness has altered, are irrecoverable;
yet don't despair, but that Loss, by your Assistance, may in some
measure be reparable, if you'll please to propose a way for the
Recovery of one only of my Fugitives.

'One of them is in a more particular Manner beholden to me than the
rest; he for some private Reasons being desirous to be a Lover
incognito, always addressed me with _Billet-Doux_, which I was so
careful of in my Sickness, that I secured the Key of my Love-Magazine
under my Head, and hearing a noise of opening a Lock in my Chamber,
indangered my Life by getting out of Bed, to prevent, if it had been
attempted, the Discovery of that Amour.

'I have formerly made use of all those Artifices, which our Sex daily
practises over yours, to draw, as it were undesignedly, the eyes of a
whole Congregation to my Pew; I have taken a Pride in the number of
Admirers at my Afternoon LevÈe; but am now quite another Creature. I
think, could I regain the attractive Influence I once had, if I had a
Legion of Suitors, I should never be ambitious of Entertaining more
than one. I have almost contracted an Antipathy to the trifling
Discourses of Impertinent Lovers, though I must needs own, I have
thought it very odd of late, to hear Gentlemen, instead of their usual
Complacencies, fall into Disputes before me of Politicks, or else
weary me with the tedious Repetition of how thankful I ought to be,
and satisfied with my Recovery out of so dangerous a Distemper: This,
though I am very sensible of the Blessing, yet I cannot but dislike,
because such Advice from them rather seems to Insult than Comfort me,
and reminds me too much of what I was; which melancholy Consideration
I cannot yet perfectly surmount, but hope your Sentiments on this Head
will make it supportable.

'To shew you what a Value I have for your Dictates, these are to
certify the Persons concern'd, that unless one of them returns to his
Colours, (if I may so call them now) before the Winter is over, I'll
voluntarily confine my self to a Retirement, where I'll punish them
all with my Needle. I'll be reveng'd on them by deciphering them on a
Carpet, humbly begging Admittance, my self scornfully refusing it: If
you disapprove of this, as favouring too much of Malice, be pleased to
acquaint me with a Draught you like better, and it shall be faithfully
performed'

_By the Unfortunate_

Monimia.

* * * * *

No. 614. Monday, November 1, 1712.

'Si mihi non animo fixum, immotumque sederet,
Ne cui me vinclo vellem sociare jugali,
Postquam primus amor deceptam morte fefellit;
Si non pertæsum thalami, tedæque fuisset:
Huic uni forsan potui succumbere culpæ.'

Virg.

The following Account hath been transmitted to me by the Love Casuist.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

'Having, in some former Papers, taken Care of the two States of
Virginity and Marriage, and being willing that all People should be
served in their Turn; I this Day drew out my Drawer of Widows, where I
met with several Cases, to each whereof I have returned satisfactory
Answers by the Post. The Cases are as follow:

'_Q._ Whether _Amoret_ be bound by a Promise of Marriage to
_Philander_, made during her Husband's Life?

'_Q._ Whether _Sempronia_, having faithfully given a Promise to two
several Persons during the last Sickness of her Husband, is not
thereby left at Liberty to chase which of them she pleases, or to
reject them both for the sake of a new Lover?

'_Cleora_ asks me, Whether she be obliged to continue single,
according to a Vow made to her Husband at the time of his presenting
her with a Diamond Necklace; she being informed by a very pretty young
Fellow of a good Conscience, that such Vows are in their Nature
sinful?

'Another enquires, Whether she hath not the Right of Widowhood, to
dispose of her self to a Gentleman of great Merit, who presses very
hard; her Husband being irrecoverably gone in a Consumption?

'An unreasonable Creature hath the Confidence to ask, Whether it be
proper for her to marry a Man who is younger than her eldest Son?

'A scrupulous well-spoken Matron, who gives me a great many good
Words, only doubts, Whether she is not obliged in Conscience to shut
up her two marriageable Daughters, till such time as she hath
comfortably disposed of her self?

'_Sophronia_, who seems by her Phrase and Spelling to be a Person of
Condition, sets forth, That whereas she hath a great Estate, and is
but a Woman, she desires to be informed, whether she would not do
prudently to marry _Camillus_, a very idle tall young Fellow, who hath
no Fortune of his own, and consequently hath nothing else to do but to
manage hers.'

Before I speak of Widows, I cannot but observe one thing, which I do not know how to account for; a Widow is always more sought after, than an old Maid of the same Age. It is common enough among ordinary People, for a stale Virgin to set up a Shop in a Place where she is not known; where the large Thumb Ring, supposed to be given her by her Husband, quickly recommends her to some wealthy Neighbour, who takes a Liking to the jolly Widow, that would have overlooked the venerable Spinster.

The Truth of it is, if we look into this Sett of Women, we find, according to the different Characters or Circumstances wherein they are left, that Widows may be divided into those who raise Love, and those who raise Compassion.

But not to ramble from this Subject, there are two Things in which consists chiefly the Glory of a Widow; The Love of her deceased Husband, and the Care of her Children: To which may be added a third arising out of the former, Such a prudent Conduct as may do Honour to both.

A Widow possessed of all these three Qualities, makes not only a virtuous but a sublime Character.

There is something so great and so generous in this State of Life, when it is accompanied with all its Virtues, that it is the Subject of one of the finest among our modern Tragedies in the Person of _Andromache_; and hath met with an universal and deserved Applause, when introduced upon our _English_ Stage by Mr. _Philips_.

The most memorable Widow in History is Queen _Artemisia_, who not only erected the famous _Mausoleum_, but drank up the Ashes of her dead Lord; thereby enclosing them in a nobler Monument than that which she had built, though deservedly esteemed one of the Wonders of Architecture.

This last Lady seems to have had a better Title to a second Husband than any I have read of, since not one Dust of her First was remaining. Our modern Heroines might think a Husband a very bitter Draught, and would have good Reason to complain, if they might not accept of a second Partner, till they had taken such a troublesome Method of losing the Memory of the first.

I shall add to these illustrious Examples out of ancient Story, a remarkable instance of the Delicacy of our Ancestors in Relation to the State of Widowhood, as I find it recorded in _Cowell's_ Interpreter. _At_ East _and_ West-Enborne, _in the County of_ Berks, _if a Customary Tenant die, the Widow shall have what the Law calls her_ Free-Bench _in all his Copy-hold Lands_, dum sola & casta fuerit; _that is_, while she lives single and chaste; _but if she commit Incontinency, she forfeits her Estate: Yet if she will come into the Court riding backward upon a Black Ram, with his Tail in her Hand, and say the Words following, the Steward is bound by the Custom to re-admit her to her_ Free-Bench. [1]

'Here I am,
Riding upon a Black Ram,
Like a Whore as I am;
And, for my_ Crincum Crancum,
_Have lost my_ Bincum Bancum;
And, for my Tail's Game,
Have done this worldly Shame;
Therefore, I pray you Mr. Steward, let me have my Land again.'

The like Custom there is in the Manor of _Torre_ in _Devonshire_, and other Parts of the _West_.

It is not impossible but I may in a little Time present you with a Register of _Berkshire_ Ladies and other Western Dames, who rode publickly upon this Occasion; and I hope the Town will be entertained with a Cavalcade of Widows.

[Footnote 1: Frank Bank or Free bench are copyhold lands which the wife, being married a spinster, had after her husband's death for dower.]

* * * * *

No. 615. Wednesday, November 3, 1714.

'--Qui Deorum
Muneribus sapienter uti,
Duramque callet pauperiem pati,
Pejusque letho flagitium timet:
Non ille pro caris amicis
Aut patriâ timidus perire.'

Hor.

It must be owned that Fear is a very powerful Passion, since it is esteemed one of the greatest of Virtues to subdue it. It being implanted in us for our Preservation, it is no Wonder it sticks close to us, as long as we have any thing we are willing to preserve. But as Life, and all its Enjoyments, would be scarce worth the keeping, if we were under a perpetual Dread of losing them; it is the Business of Religion and Philosophy to free us from all unnecessary Anxieties, and direct our Fear to its proper Object.

If we consider the Painfulness of this Passion, and the violent Effects it produces, we shall see how dangerous it is to give way to it upon slight Occasions. Some have frightened themselves into Madness, others have given up their Lives to these Apprehensions. The Story of a Man who grew grey in the Space of one Night's Anxiety is very famous;

'O! Nox, quam longa es, quæ facis una Senem.'

These Apprehensions, if they proceed from a Consciousness of Guilt, are the sad Warnings of Reason; and may excite our Pity, but admit of no Remedy. When the Hand of the Almighty is visibly lifted against the Impious, the Heart of mortal Man cannot withstand him. We have this Passion sublimely represented in the Punishment of the _Egyptians_, tormented with the Plague of Darkness, in the _Apocryphal_ Book. of _Wisdom_ ascribed to _Solomon_.

'For when unrighteous Men thought to oppress the holy Nation; they
being shut up in their Houses, the Prisoners of Darkness, and fetter'd
with the Bonds of a long Night, lay here exiled from the eternal
Providence. For while they supposed to lye hid in their secret Sins,
they were scattered under a dark Veil of Forgetfulness, being horribly
astonished and troubled with strange Apparitions--For Wickedness,
condemned by her own Witness, is very timorous, and being oppressed
with Conscience, always forecasteth grievous things. For Fear is
nothing else but a betraying of the Succours which Reason
offereth--For the whole World shined with clear Light, and none were
hindered in their Labour. Over them only was spread a heavy Night, an
Image of that Darkness which should afterwards receive them; but yet
were they unto themselves more grievous than the Darkness.' [1]

To Fear, so justly grounded, no Remedy can be proposed; but a Man (who hath no great Guilt hanging upon his Mind, who walks in the plain Path of Justice and Integrity, and yet either by natural Complection, or confirmed Prejudices, or Neglect of serious Reflection, suffers himself to be moved by this abject and unmanly Passion) would do well to consider, That there is nothing which deserves his Fear, but that beneficent Being who is his Friend, his Protector, his Father. Were this one Thought strongly fixed in the Mind, what Calamity would be dreadful? What Load can Infamy lay upon us when we are sure of the Approbation of him, who will repay the Disgrace of a Moment with the Glory of Eternity? What Sharpness is there in Pain and Diseases, when they only hasten us on to the Pleasures that will never fade? What sting is in Death, when we are assured that it is only the Beginning of Life? A Man who lives so, as not to fear to die, is inconsistent with himself, if he delivers himself up to any incidental Anxiety.

The Intrepidity of a just good Man is so nobly set forth by _Horace_, that it cannot be too often repeated.

'The Man resolved and steady to his Trust,
Inflexible to Ill, and obstinately just,
May the rude Rabble's Insolence despise,
Their senseless Clamours and tumultuous Cries;
The Tyrant's Fierceness he beguiles,
And the stern Brow, and the harsh Voice defies,
And with superior Greatness smiles.

Not the rough Whirlwind, that deforms_
Adria's _black Gulf, and vexes it with Storms,
The stubborn Virtue of his Soul can move;
Not the Red Arm of angry Jove,
That flings the Thunder from the Sky,
And gives it Rage to roar, and Strength to fly.

Should the whole Frame of Nature round him break,
In Ruin and Confusion hurl'd,
He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty Crack,
And Stand secure amidst a falling World.' [2]

The Vanity of Fear may be yet farther illustrated, if we reflect,

_First_, What we fear may not come to pass. No human Scheme can be so accurately projected, but some little Circumstance intervening may spoil it. He, who directs the Heart of Man at his Pleasure, and understands the Thoughts long before, may by ten thousand Accidents, or an immediate Change in the Inclinations of Men, disconcert the most subtle Project, and turn it to the Benefit of his own Servants.

In the next Place we should consider, though the Evil we imagine should come to pass, it may be much more supportable than it appeared to be. As there is no prosperous State of Life without its Calamities, so there is no Adversity without its Benefits, Ask the Great and Powerful, if they do not feel the Pangs of Envy and Ambition. Enquire of the Poor and Needy, if they have not tasted the Sweets of Quiet and Contentment. Even under the Pains of Body; the Infidelity of Friends; or the Misconstructions put upon our laudable Actions, our Minds (when for some Time accustomed to these Pressures) are sensible of secret Flowings of Comfort, the present Reward of a pious Resignation. The Evils of this Life appear like Rocks and Precipices, rugged and barren at a Distance, but at our nearer Approach, we find little fruitful Spots, and refreshing Springs, mixed with the Harshness and Deformities of Nature.

In the last Place, we may comfort our selves with this Consideration; that, as the Thing feared may not reach us, so we may not reach what we fear: Our Lives may not extend to that dreadful Point which we have in View. He who knows all our Failings, and will not suffer us to be tempted beyond our Strength, is often pleased in his tender Severity, to separate the Soul from its Body and Miseries together.

If we look forward to him for Help, we shall never be in Danger of falling down those Precipices which our Imagination is apt to create. Like those who walk upon a Line, if we keep our Eye fixed upon one Point, we may step forward securely; whereas an imprudent or cowardly Glance on either Side will infallibly destroy us.

[Footnote 1: Wisd. xvii. _passim_.]

[Footnote 2: Horace, Bk III. Od. 3.]

* * * * *

No. 616. Friday, November 5, 1714.

'Qui bellus homo est, Cotta, pusillus homo est.'

Martial.

_Cicero_ hath observed, that a Jest is never uttered with a better Grace, than when it is accompanied with a serious Countenance. When a pleasant Thought plays in the Features, before it discovers it self in Words, it raises too great an Expectation, and loses the Advantage of giving Surprize. Wit and Humour are no less poorly recommended by a Levity of Phrase, and that kind of Language which may be distinguished by the Name of _Cant_. Ridicule is never more strong, than when it is concealed in Gravity. True Humour lies in the Thought, and arises from the Representation of Images in odd Circumstances, and uncommon Lights. A pleasant Thought strikes us by the Force of its natural Beauty; and the Mirth of it is generally rather palled, than heightened by that ridiculous Phraseology, which is so much in Fashion among the Pretenders to Humour and Pleasantry. This Tribe of Men are like our Mountebanks; they make a Man a Wit, by putting him in a fantastick Habit.

Our little Burlesque Authors, who are the Delight of ordinary Readers, generally abound in these pert Phrases, which have in them more Vivacity than Wit.

I lately saw an Instance of this kind of Writing, which gave me so lively an Idea of it, that I could not forbear begging a Copy of the Letter from the Gentleman who shew'd it to me. It is written by a Country Wit, upon the Occasion of the Rejoycings on the Day of the King's Coronation.

_Dear_ Jack, (_Past two a Clock and a frosty Morning_.) [1]

I have just left the Right Worshipful and his Myrmidons about a
Sneaker of Five Gallons. The whole Magistracy was pretty well
disguised before I gave 'em the Slip. Our Friend the Alderman was half
Seas over before the Bonfire was out. We had with us the Attorney, and
two or three other bright Fellows. The Doctor plays least in Sight.

At Nine a Clock in the Evening we set Fire to the Whore of _Babylon_.
The Devil acted his Part to a Miracle. He has made his Fortune by it.
We equip'd the young Dog with a Tester a-piece. Honest old _Brown_ of
_England_ was very drunk, and showed his Loyalty to the Tune of a
hundred Rockets. The Mob drank the King's Health, on their
Marrow-bones, in Mother _Day's_ Double. They whip'd us half a dozen
Hogsheads. Poor _Tom Tyler_ had like to have been demolished with the
End of a Sky-Rocket, that fell upon the Bridge of his Nose as he was
drinking the King's Health, and spoiled his Tip. The Mob were very
loyal 'till about Midnight, when they grew a little mutinous for more
Liquor. They had like to have dumfounded the Justice; but his Clerk
came in to his Assistance, and took them all down in Black and White.

When I had been huzza'd out of my Seven Senses, I made a Visit to the
Women, who were guzzling very comfortably. Mrs. Mayoress clip'd the
King's _English_. Clack was the Word.

I forgot to tell thee, that every one of the Posse had his Hat cocked
with a Distich: The Senators sent us down a Cargo of Ribbon and Metre
for the Occasion.

Sir _Richard_ to shew his Zeal for the Protestant Religion, is at the
Expence of a Tar-Barrel and a Ball. I peeped into the Knight's great
Hall, and saw a very pretty Bevy of Spinsters. My dear Relict was
amongst them, and ambled in a Country-Dance as notably as the best of
'em.

May all his Majesty's liege Subjects love him as well as his good
People of this his ancient Borough. Adieu.

[Footnote 1: (Two in the Morning is the Word, old Boy.)]

* * * * *

No. 617. Monday, November 8, 1714.

'Torva Mimalloneis implerunt cornua bombis,
Et raptum vitulo caput ablatura superbo
Bassaris, et lyncem Mænas flexura corymbis,
Evion ingeminat reparabilis adsonat Echo.'

Persius.

There are two Extreams in the Stile of Humour, one of which consists in the Use of that little pert Phraseology which I took Notice of in my last Paper; the other in the Affectation of strained and pompous Expressions, fetched from the learned Languages. The first savours too much of the Town; the other of the College.

As nothing illustrates better than Example, I shall here present my Reader with a Letter of Pedantick Humour, which was written by a young Gentleman of the University to his Friend; on the same Occasion, and from the same Place, as the lively Epistle published in my last _Spectator_.

_Dear Chum_,

'It is now the third Watch of the Night, the greatest Part of which I
have spent round a capacious Bowl of _China_, filled with the choicest
Products of both the _Indies_. I was placed at a quadrangular Table,
diametrically opposite to the Mace-bearer. The Visage of that
venerable Herald was, according to Custom, most gloriously illuminated
on this joyful occasion. The Mayor and Aldermen, those Pillars of our
Constitution, began to totter; and if any one at the Board could have
so far articulated, as to have demanded intelligibly a Reinforcement
of Liquor, the whole Assembly had been by this time extended under the
Table.

'The Celebration of this Night's Solemnity was opened by the
Obstreperous Joy of Drummers, who, with their Parchment Thunder, gave
a signal for the Appearance of the Mob under their several Classes and
Denominations. They were quickly joined by the melodious Clank of
Marrow-bone and Cleaver, whilst a Chorus of Bells filled up the
Consort. A Pyramid of Stack-Faggots cheared the Hearts of the Populace
with the Promise of a Blaze: The Guns had no sooner uttered the
Prologue, but the Heavens were brightned with artificial Meteors, and
Stars of our own making; and all the _High-street_ lighted up from one
End to another, with a Galaxy of Candles. We collected a Largess for
the Multitude, who tippled Eleemosynary till they grew exceeding
Vociferous. There was a Paste-board Pontiff with a little swarthy
Dæmon at his Elbow, who, by his diabolical Whispers and Insinuations
tempted his Holiness into the Fire, and then left him to shift for
himself. The Mobile were very sarcastick with their Clubs, and gave
the old Gentleman several Thumps upon his triple Head-piece. _Tom
Tyler's_ Phiz is something damaged by the Fall of a Rocket, which hath
almost spoiled the Gnomon of his Countenance. The Mirth of the Commons
grew so very outragious, that it found Work for our Friend of the
_Quorum_, who, by the help of his _Amanuensis_, took down all their
Names and their Crimes, with a Design to produce his Manuscript at the
next Quarter-Sessions, _&c. &c. &c_.

'I shall subjoin to the foregoing Piece of a Letter, the following
Copy of Verses translated from an Italian Poet, who was the
_Cleveland_ of his Age, and had Multitudes of Admirers. The Subject is
an Accident that happened under the Reign of Pope _Leo_, when a
Firework, that had been prepared upon the Castle of St. _Angelo_,
begun to play before its Time, being kindled by a Flash of Lightning.
The Author hath written his Poem [1] in the same kind of Style, as
that I have already exemplified in Prose. Every Line in it is a
Riddle, and the Reader must be forced to consider it twice or thrice,
before he will know that the _Cynick's_ Tenement is a _Tub_, and
_Bacchus_ his Cast-coat a _Hogs-head_, &c.

' 'Twas Night, and Heav'n, a_ Cyclops, _all the Day,
An Argus now did countless Eyes display;
In ev'ry Window_ Rome _her Joy declares,
All bright, and studded with terrestrial Stars.
A blazing Chain of Lights her Roofs entwines.
And round her Neck the mingled Lustre shines,
The_ Cynick's _rowling Tenement conspires,
With_ Bacchus _his Cast-coat, to feed the Fires.

The Pile, still big with undiscover'd Shows,
The_ Tuscan _Pile did last its Freight disclose,
Where the proud Tops of_ Rome's _new_ Ætna _rise,
Whence Giants sally, and invade the Skies.

Whilst now the Multitude expect the Time,
And their tir'd Eyes the lofty Mountain climb,
A thousand Iron Mouths their Voices try,
And thunder out a dreadful Harmony;
In treble Notes the small Artill'ry plays,
The deep-mouth'd Cannon bellows in the Bass.
The lab'ring Pile now heaves; and having giv'n
Proofs of its Travail sighs in Flames to Heav'n.

The Clouds invelop'd Heav'n from Human Sight,
Quench'd every Star, and put out ev'ry Light;
Now Real Thunder grumbles in the Skies,
And in disdainful Murmurs_ Rome _defies;
Nor doth its answer'd Challenge_ Rome _decline;
But whilst both Parties in full Consort join,
While Heav'n and Earth in Rival Peals resound,
The doubtful Cracks the Hearer's Sense confound;
Whether the Claps of Thunderbolts they hear,
Or else the Burst of Canon wounds their Ear;
Whether Clouds raged by struggling Metals rent,
Or struggling Clouds in_ Roman _Metals pent.
But O, my Muse, the whole Adventure tell,
As ev'ry Accident in order fell.

Tall Groves of Trees the_ Hadrian _Tow'r surround,
Fictitious Trees with Paper Garlands crown'd,
These know no Spring, but when their Bodies sprout
In Fire, and shoot their gilded Blossoms out;
When blazing Leaves appear above their Head,
And into branching Flames their Bodies spread.
Whilst real Thunder splits the Firmament,
And Heav'n's whole Roof in one vast Cleft is rent,
The three-fork'd Tongue amidst the Rupture lolls,
Then drops and on the Airy Turret falls.
The Trees now kindle, and the Garland burns,
And thousand Thunderbolts for one returns.
Brigades of burning Archers upward fly,
Bright Spears and shining Spear-men mount on high,
Flash in the Clouds, and glitter in the Sky.
A Seven-fold Shield of Spheres doth Heav'n defend,
And back again the blunted Weapons send;
Unwillingly they fall, and dropping down,
Pour out their Souls, their sulph'rous Souls, and groan.

With Joy, great Sir, we viewed this pompous Show,
While Heaven, that sate Spectator still 'till now,
It self turn'd Actor, proud to Pleasure you.
And so 'tis fit, when_ Leo's _fires appear,
That Heav'n it self should turn an Engineer;
That Heav'n it self should all its Wonders show,
And Orbs above consent with Orbs below.'

[Footnote 1: Translated from the Latin in Strada's Prolusions.]

* * * * *

No. 618. Wednesday, November 10, 1714.

'--Neque enim concludere versum
Dixeris esse satis: neque siquis scribat, uti nos,
Sermoni propiora, putes hunc esse Poetam.'

Hor.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

You having, in your two last _Spectators_, given the Town a couple of
Remarkable Letters, in very different Styles: I take this Opportunity
to offer to you some Remarks upon the _Epistolary_ way of writing in
Verse. This is a _Species_ of Poetry by it self; and has not so much
as been hinted at in any of the Arts of Poetry, that have ever fallen
into my Hands: Neither has it in any Age, or any Nation, been so much
cultivated, as the other several Kinds of Poesie. A Man of _Genius_
may, if he pleases, write Letters in Verse upon all manner of
Subjects, that are capable of being embellished with Wit and Language,
and may render them new and agreeable by giving the proper Turn to
them. But in speaking, at present, of _Epistolary Poetry_, I would be
understood to mean only such Writings in this Kind, as have been in
Use amongst the Ancients, and have been copied from them by some
Moderns. These may be reduced into two _Classes_: In the one I shall
range Love-Letters, Letters of Friendship, and Letters upon mournful
Occasions: In the other I shall place such Epistles in Verse, as may
properly be called Familiar, Critical, and Moral; to which may be
added Letters of Mirth and Humour. _Ovid_ for the first, and _Horace_
for the Latter, are the best Originals we have left.

'He that is ambitious of succeeding in the _Ovidian_ way, should first
examine his Heart well, and feel whether his Passions (especially
those of the gentler Kind) play easie, since it is not his Wit, but
the Delicacy and Tenderness of his Sentiments, that will affect his
Readers. His Versification likewise should be soft, and all his
Numbers flowing and querulous.

'The Qualifications requisite for writing Epistles, after the Model
given us by _Horace_, are of a quite different Nature. He that would
excel in this kind must have a good Fund of strong Masculine Sense: To
this there must be joined a thorough Knowledge of Mankind, together
with an Insight into the Business, and the prevailing Humours of the
Age. Our Author must have his Mind well seasoned with the finest
Precepts of Morality, and be filled with nice Reflections upon the
bright and the dark sides of human Life: He must be a Master of
refined Raillery, and understand the Delicacies, as well as the
Absurdities of Conversation. He must have a lively Turn of Wit, with
an easie and concise manner of Expression; Every thing he says, must
be in a free and disengaged manner. He must be guilty of nothing that
betrays the Air of a Recluse, but appear a Man of the World
throughout. His Illustrations, his Comparisons, and the greatest part
of his Images must be drawn from common Life. Strokes of Satyr and
Criticism, as well as Panegyrick, judiciously thrown in (and as it
were by the by) give a wonderful Life and Ornament to Compositions of
this kind. But let our Poet, while he writes Epistles, though never so
familiar, still remember that he writes in Verse, and must for that
reason have a more than ordinary care not to fall into Prose, and a
vulgar Diction, excepting where the Nature and Humour of the Thing
does necessarily require it. In this Point _Horace_ hath been thought
by some Criticks to be sometimes careless, as well as too negligent of
his Versification; of which he seems to have been sensible himself.

'All I have to add is, that both these Manners of Writing may be made
as entertaining, in their Way, as any other Species of Poetry, if
undertaken by Persons duly qualify'd; and the latter sort may be
managed so as to become in a peculiar manner Instructive. _I am, &ct_.'

I shall add an Observation or two to the Remarks of my ingenious Correspondent, and, in the First place, take Notice, that Subjects of the most sublime Nature are often treated in the Epistolary way with Advantage, as in the famous Epistle of _Horace_ to _Augustus_. The Poet surprizes us with his Pomp, and seems rather betrayed into his Subject, than to have aimed at it by Design: He appears like the Visit of a King _Incognito_, with a mixture of Familiarity, and Grandeur. In Works of this kind, when the Dignity of the Subject hurries the Poet into Descriptions and Sentiments, seemingly unpremeditated, by a sort of Inspiration; it is usual for him to recollect himself, and fall back gracefully into the natural Stile of a Letter.

I might here mention an Epistolary Poem, just published by Mr. _Eusden_ on the King's Accession to the Throne: Wherein, amongst many other noble and beautiful Strokes of Poetry, his Reader may see this Rule very happily observed.

* * * * *

No. 619. Friday, November 12, 1714.

'--dura
Exerce imperia, et ramos compesce fluentes.'

Virg.

I have often thought, that if the several Letters, which are written to me under the Character of SPECTATOR, and which I have not made use of, were published in a Volume, they would not be an unentertaining Collection. The Variety of the Subjects, Styles, Sentiments, and Informations, which are transmitted to me, would lead a very curious, or very idle Reader, insensibly along, through a great many Pages. I know some Authors, who would pick up a _Secret History_ out of such Materials, and make a Bookseller an Alderman by the Copy. [1] I shall therefore carefully preserve the Original Papers in a Room set apart for that Purpose, to the end that they may be of Service to Posterity; but shall at present content my self, with owning the Receipt of several Letters, lately come to my Hands, the Authors whereof are impatient for an Answer.

_CHARISSA_, whose Letter is dated from _Cornhill_, desires to be eased in some Scruples relating to the Skill of Astrologers. _Referred to the Dumb Man for an Answer._

_J. C_. who proposes a Love-Case, as he calls it, to the Love-Casuist, is hereby desir'd to speak of it to the Minister of the Parish; it being a Case of Conscience.

The poor young Lady, whose Letter is dated _October 26_, who complains of a harsh Guardian, and an unkind Brother, can only have my good Wishes, unless she pleases to be more particular.

The Petition of a certain Gentleman, whose Name I have forgot, famous for renewing the Curls of decayed Perriwigs, is referred to _the Censor of small Wares_.

The Remonstrance of _T. C._ against the Profanation of the Sabbath by Barbers, Shoe-cleaners, _&c._ had better be offer'd to _the Society of Reformers_.

A learned and laborious Treatise upon the Art of Fencing, _returned to the Author_.

To the Gentleman of _Oxford_, who desires me to insert a Copy of _Latin_ Verses which were denied a Place in the University Book. Answer. _Nonumque prematur in annum_.

To my learned Correspondent who writes against Master's Gowns, and Poke Sleeves, with a Word in Defence of large Scarves. Answer. _I resolve not to raise Animosities amongst the Clergy_.

To the Lady, who writes with Rage against one of her own Sex, upon the Account of Party Warmth. Answer. _Is not the Lady she writes against reckoned Handsome_?

I desire _Tom Truelove_, (who sends me a Sonnet upon his Mistress, with a desire to print it immediately) to consider, that it is long since I was in Love.

I shall answer a very profound Letter from my old Friend the Upholsterer, who is still inquisitive whether the King of _Sweden_ be living or dead, by whispering him in the Ear, _That I believe he is alive_.

Let Mr. _Dapperwit_ consider, _What is that long Story of the Cuckoldom to me_?

At the earnest Desire of _Monimia's_ Lover, who declares himself very penitent, he is recorded in my Paper by the Name of _The Faithful_ Castalio.

The Petition of _Charles Cocksure_, which the Petitioner styles _very reasonable--Rejected_.

The Memorial of _Philander_, which he desires may be dispatched out of Hand, _Postponed_.

I desire _S. R._ not to repeat the Expression _under the Sun_ so often in his next Letter.

The Letter of _P. S._ who desires either to have it printed entire, or committed to the Flames. _Not to be printed entire_.

[Footnote 1: Charles Lillie published, in 1725, 'Original and Genuine Letters sent 'to the _Tatler_ and _Spectator_ during the time those Works were publishing, none of which have been before printed.']

* * * * *

No. 620. Monday, November 15, 1714. Tickell.

'Hic Vir, hic est, tibi quem promitti sæpius audis.'

Virg.

Having lately presented my Reader with a Copy of Verses full of the False Sublime, I shall here communicate to him an excellent Specimen of the True: Though it hath not yet been published, the judicious Reader will readily discern it to be the Work of a Master: And if he hath read that noble Poem on _The Prospect of Peace_, he will not be at a Loss to guess at the Author.

[The ROYAL PROGRESS.]

'When_ BRUNSWICK _first appear'd, each honest Heart,
Intent on Verse, disdain'd the Rules of Art;
For him the Songsters, in unmeasur'd Odes,
Debas'd_ Alcides, _and dethron'd the Gods,
In Golden Chains the Kings of_ India _led,
Or rent the Turban from the_ Sultan's _Head.
One, in old Fables, and the_ Pagan _Strain,
With_ Nymphs _and_ Tritons, _wafts him o'er the Main;
Another draws fierce_ Lucifer _in Arms,
And fills th' Infernal Region with Alarms;
A Third awakes some_ Druid, _to foretel
Each future Triumph from his dreary Cell.
Exploded Fancies! that in vain deceive,
While the Mind nauseates what she can't believe.
My [Muse th' expected [1]] Hero shall pursue
From Clime to Clime, and keep him still in View;
His shining March describe in faithful Lays,
Content to paint him, nor presume to praise;
Their Charms, if Charms they have, the Truth supplies,
And from the Theme unlabour'd Beauties rise.

By longing Nations for the Throne design'd,
And call'd to guard the Rights of Human-kind;
With secret Grief his God-like Soul repines,
And_ Britain's _Crown with joyless Lustre shines,
While Prayers and Tears his destin'd Progress stay,
And Crowds of Mourners choak their Sovereign's Way.
Not so he march'd, when Hostile Squadrons stood
In Scenes of Death, and fir'd his generous Blood;
When his hot Courser paw'd th'_ Hungarian _Plain,
And adverse Legions stood the Shock in vain.

His Frontiers past, the_ Belgian _Bounds he views,
And cross the level Fields his March pursues.
Here pleas'd the Land of Freedom to survey,
He greatly scorns the Thirst of boundless Sway.
O'er the thin Soil, with silent Joy he spies
Transplanted Woods, and borrow'd Verdure rise;
Where every Meadow won with Toil and Blood,
From haughty Tyrants, and the raging Flood,
With Fruits and Flowers the careful Hind supplies,
And cloathes the Marshes in a rich Disguise.
Such Wealth for frugal Hands doth Heaven decree,
And such thy Gifts, Celestial Liberty!

Through stately Towns, and many a fertile Plain,
The Pomp advances to the neighbouring Main.
Whole Nations crowd around with joyful Cries,
And view the Heroe with insatiate Eyes.
In_ Haga's _Towers he waits, 'till Eastern Gales
Propitious rise to swell the_ British _Sails.
Hither the Fame of_ England's _Monarch brings
The Vows and Friendships of the neighb'ring Kings;
Mature in Wisdom, his extensive Mind
Takes in the blended Int'rests of Mankind,
The World's great Patriot. Calm thy anxious Breast,
Secure in him_, O Europe _take thy Rest;
Henceforth thy Kingdoms shall remain confined
By Rocks or Streams, the Mounds which Heav'n design'd:
The_ Alps _their new-made Monarch shall restrain,
Nor shall thy Hills_, Pirene, _rise in vain

But see! to_ Britain's _Isle the Squadrons stand,
And leave the sinking Towers, and lessening Land,
The Royal Bark bounds o'er the floating Plain,
Breaks thro' the Billows, and divides the Main,
O'er the vast Deep, Great Monarch, dart thine Eyes,
A watry Prospect bounded by the Skies:
Ten thousand Vessels, from ten thousand Shores,
Bring Gums and Gold, and either_ India's _Stores:
Behold the Tributes hastening to thy Throne,
And see the wide Horizon all thy own.

Still is it thine; tho' now the cheerful Crew
Hail_ Albion's _Cliffs, just whitening to the View.
Before the Wind with swelling Sails they ride,
Till_ Thames _receives them in his opening Tide.
The Monarch hears the thundering Peals around,
From trembling Woods and ecchoing Hills rebound,
Nor misses yet, amid the deafening Train,
The Roarings of the hoarse-resounding Main.

As in the Flood he sails, from either Side
He views his Kingdom in its rural Pride;
A various Scene the wide-spread Landskip yields,
O'er rich Enclosures and luxuriant Fields:
A lowing Herd each fertile Pasture fills,
And distant Flocks stray o'er a thousand Hills.
Fair_ Greenwich _hid in Woods, with new Delight,
(Shade above Shade) now rises to the Sight:
His Woods ordain'd to visit every Shore,
And guard the Island which they graced before.

The Sun now rowling down the Western Way,
A Blaze of Fires renews the fading Day;
Unnumbered Barks the Regal Barge infold,
Brightening the Twilight with its beamy Gold;
Less thick the finny Shoals, a countless Fry,
Before the Whale or kingly Dolphin fly.
In one vast Shout he seeks the crowded Strand,
And in a Peal of Thunder gains the Land.