Chapter XXI: Introduction (21)

It is usually observed, that a good Reign is the only proper Time for making of Laws against the Exorbitance of Power; in the same manner an excessive Head-dress may be attacked the most effectually when the Fashion is against it. I do therefore recommend this Paper to my Female Readers by way of Prevention.

I would desire the Fair Sex to consider how impossible it is for them to add any thing that can be ornamental to what is already the Master-piece of Nature. The Head has the most beautiful Appearance, as well as the highest Station, in a human Figure. Nature has laid out all her Art in beautifying the Face; she has touched it with Vermilion, planted in it a double Row of Ivory, made it the Seat of Smiles and Blushes, lighted it up and enlivened it with the Brightness of the Eyes, hung it on each Side with curious Organs of Sense, given it Airs and Graces that cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a flowing Shade of Hair as sets all its Beauties in the most agreeable Light: In short, she seems to have designed the Head as the Cupola to the most glorious of her Works; and when we load it with such a Pile of supernumerary Ornaments, we destroy the Symmetry of the human Figure, and foolishly contrive to call off the Eye from great and real Beauties, to childish Gewgaws, Ribbands, and Bone-lace.

L.

[Footnote 1: The Commode, called by the French 'Fontange', worn on their heads by ladies at the beginning of the 18th century, was a structure of wire, which bore up the hair and the forepart of the lace cap to a great height. The 'Spectator' tells how completely and suddenly the fashion was abandoned in his time.]

[Footnote 2: Numbers xiii 33.]

[Footnote 3: Guillaume Paradin, a laborious writer of the 16th century, born at Cuizeau, in the Bresse Chalonnoise, and still living in 1581, wrote a great many books. The passages quoted by the 'Spectator' are from his 'Annales de Bourgoigne', published in 1566.]

[Footnote 4: Thomas Conecte, of Bretagne, was a Carmelite monk, who became famous as a preacher in 1428. After reproving the vices of the age in several parts of Europe, he came to Rome, where he reproved the vices he saw at the Pope's court, and was, therefore, burnt as a heretic in 1434.]

[Footnote 5: Bertrand d'Argentré was a French lawyer, who died, aged 71, in 1590. His 'Histoire de Bretagne' was printed at Rennes in 1582.]

* * * * *

No. 99. Saturday, June 23, 1711. Addison.

'... Turpi secernis Honestum.'

Hor.

The Club, of which I have often declared my self a Member, were last Night engaged in a Discourse upon that which passes for the chief Point of Honour among Men and Women; and started a great many Hints upon the Subject, which I thought were entirely new: I shall therefore methodize the several Reflections that arose upon this Occasion, and present my Reader with them for the Speculation of this Day; after having premised, that if there is any thing in this Paper which seems to differ with any Passage of last _Thursday's_, the Reader will consider this as the Sentiments of the Club, and the other as my own private Thoughts, or rather those of _Pharamond_.

The great Point of Honour in Men is Courage, and in Women Chastity. If a Man loses his Honour in one Rencounter, it is not impossible for him to regain it in another; a Slip in a Woman's Honour is irrecoverable. I can give no Reason for fixing the Point of Honour to these two Qualities, unless it be that each Sex sets the greatest Value on the Qualification which renders them the most amiable in the Eyes of the contrary Sex. Had Men chosen for themselves, without Regard to the Opinions of the Fair Sex, I should believe the Choice would have fallen on Wisdom or Virtue; or had Women determined their own Point of Honour, it is probable that Wit or Good-Nature would have carried it against Chastity.

Nothing recommends a Man more to the Female Sex than Courage; whether it be that they are pleased to see one who is a Terror to others fall like a Slave at their Feet, or that this Quality supplies their own principal Defect, in guarding them from Insults and avenging their Quarrels, or that Courage is a natural Indication of a strong and sprightly Constitution. On the other side, nothing makes a Woman more esteemed by the opposite Sex than Chastity; whether it be that we always prize those most who are hardest to come at, or that nothing besides Chastity, with its collateral Attendants, Truth, Fidelity, and Constancy, gives the Man a Property in the Person he loves, and consequently endears her to him above all things.

I am very much pleased with a Passage in the Inscription on a Monument erected in _Westminster Abbey_ to the late Duke and Dutchess of _Newcastle:_ 'Her Name was _Margaret Lucas_, youngest Sister to the Lord _Lucas_ of _Colchester; a noble Family, for all the Brothers were valiant, and all the Sisters virtuous._

In Books of Chivalry, where the Point of Honour is strained to Madness, the whole Story runs on Chastity and Courage. The Damsel is mounted on a white Palfrey, as an Emblem of her Innocence; and, to avoid Scandal, must have a Dwarf for her Page. She is not to think of a Man, 'till some Misfortune has brought a Knight-Errant to her Relief. The Knight falls in Love, and did not Gratitude restrain her from murdering her Deliverer, would die at her Feet by her Disdain. However he must wait some Years in the Desart, before her Virgin Heart can think of a Surrender. The Knight goes off, attacks every thing he meets that is bigger and stronger than himself, seeks all Opportunities of being knock'd on the Head, and after seven Years Rambling returns to his Mistress, whose Chastity has been attacked in the mean time by Giants and Tyrants, and undergone as many Tryals as her Lover's Valour.

In _Spain_, where there are still great Remains of this Romantick Humour, it is a transporting Favour for a Lady to cast an accidental Glance on her Lover from a Window, tho' it be two or three Stories high; as it is usual for the Lover to assert his Passion for his Mistress, in single Combat with a mad Bull.

The great Violation of the Point of Honour from Man to Man, is giving the Lie. One may tell another he Whores, Drinks, Blasphemes, and it may pass unresented; but to say he Lies, tho' but in Jest, is an Affront that nothing but Blood can expiate. The Reason perhaps may be, because no other Vice implies a want of Courage so much as the making of a Lie; and therefore telling a man he Lies, is touching him in the most sensible Part of Honour, and indirectly calling him a Coward. [I cannot omit under this Head what _Herodotus_ tells us of the ancient _Persians_, That from the Age of five Years to twenty they instruct their Sons only in three things, to manage the Horse, to make use of the Bow, and to speak Truth.]

The placing the Point of Honour in this false kind of Courage, has given Occasion to the very Refuse of Mankind, who have neither Virtue nor common Sense, to set up for Men of Honour. An _English_ Peer, [1] who has not been long dead, used to tell a pleasant Story of a _French_ Gentleman that visited him early one Morning at _Paris_, and after great Professions of Respect, let him know that he had it in his Power to oblige him; which in short, amounted to this, that he believed he could tell his Lordship the Person's Name who justled him as he came out from the Opera, but before he would proceed, he begged his Lordship that he would not deny him the Honour of making him his Second. The _English_ Lord, to avoid being drawn into a very foolish Affair, told him, that he was under Engagements for his two next Duels to a Couple of particular Friends. Upon which the Gentleman immediately withdrew, hoping his Lordship would not take it ill if he medled no farther in an Affair from whence he himself was to receive no Advantage.

The beating down this false Notion of Honour, in so vain and lively a People as those of _France_, is deservedly looked upon as one of the most glorious Parts of their present King's Reign. It is pity but the Punishment of these mischievous Notions should have in it some particular Circumstances of Shame and Infamy, that those who are Slaves to them may see, that instead of advancing their Reputations they lead them to Ignominy and Dishonour.

Death is not sufficient to deter Men who make it their Glory to despise it, but if every one that fought a Duel were to stand in the Pillory, it would quickly lessen the Number of these imaginary Men of Honour, and put an end to so absurd a Practice.

When Honour is a Support to virtuous Principles, and runs parallel with the Laws of God and our Country, it cannot be too much cherished and encouraged: But when the Dictates of Honour are contrary to those of Religion and Equity, they are the greatest Depravations of human Nature, by giving wrong Ambitions and false Ideas of what is good and laudable; and should therefore be exploded by all Governments, and driven out as the Bane and Plague of Human Society.

L.

[Footnote 1: Percy said he had been told that this was William Cavendish, first Duke of Devonshire, who died in 1707.]

* * * * *

No. 100. Monday, June 25, 1711. Steele.

'Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.'

Hor.

A man advanced in Years that thinks fit to look back upon his former Life, and calls that only Life which was passed with Satisfaction and Enjoyment, excluding all Parts which were not pleasant to him, will find himself very young, if not in his Infancy. Sickness, Ill-humour, and Idleness, will have robbed him of a great Share of that Space we ordinarily call our Life. It is therefore the Duty of every Man that would be true to himself, to obtain, if possible, a Disposition to be pleased, and place himself in a constant Aptitude for the Satisfactions of his Being. Instead of this, you hardly see a Man who is not uneasy in proportion to his Advancement in the Arts of Life. An affected Delicacy is the common Improvement we meet with in those who pretend to be refined above others: They do not aim at true Pleasures themselves, but turn their Thoughts upon observing the false Pleasures of other Men. Such People are Valetudinarians in Society, and they should no more come into Company than a sick Man should come into the Air: If a Man is too weak to bear what is a Refreshment to Men in Health, he must still keep his Chamber. When any one in Sir ROGER'S Company complains he is out of Order, he immediately calls for some Posset-drink for him; for which reason that sort of People who are ever bewailing their Constitution in other Places are the Chearfullest imaginable when he is present.

It is a wonderful thing that so many, and they not reckoned absurd, shall entertain those with whom they converse by giving them the History of their Pains and Aches; and imagine such Narrations their Quota of the Conversation. This is of all other the meanest Help to Discourse, and a Man must not think at all, or think himself very insignificant, when he finds an Account of his Head-ach answer'd by another's asking what News in the last Mail? Mutual good Humour is a Dress we ought to appear in whenever we meet, and we should make no mention of what concerns our selves, without it be of Matters wherein our Friends ought to rejoyce: But indeed there are Crowds of People who put themselves in no Method of pleasing themselves or others; such are those whom we usually call indolent Persons. Indolence is, methinks, an intermediate State between Pleasure and Pain, and very much unbecoming any Part of our Life after we are out of the Nurse's Arms. Such an Aversion to Labour creates a constant Weariness, and one would think should make Existence it self a Burthen. The indolent Man descends from the Dignity of his Nature, and makes that Being which was Rational merely Vegetative: His Life consists only in the meer Encrease and Decay of a Body, which, with relation to the rest of the World, might as well have been uninformed, as the Habitation of a reasonable Mind.

Of this kind is the Life of that extraordinary Couple _Harry Tersett_ and his Lady. _Harry_ was in the Days of his Celibacy one of those pert Creatures who have much Vivacity and little Understanding; Mrs. _Rebecca Quickly_, whom he married, had all that the Fire of Youth and a lively Manner could do towards making an agreeable Woman. The two People of seeming Merit fell into each other's Arms; and Passion being sated, and no Reason or good Sense in either to succeed it, their Life is now at a Stand; their Meals are insipid, and their Time tedious; their Fortune has placed them above Care, and their Loss of Taste reduced them below Diversion. When we talk of these as Instances of Inexistence, we do not mean, that in order to live it is necessary we should always be in Jovial Crews, or crowned with Chaplets of Roses, as the merry Fellows among the Ancients are described; but it is intended by considering these Contraries to Pleasure, Indolence, and too much Delicacy, to shew that it is Prudence to preserve a Disposition in our selves to receive a certain Delight in all we hear and see.

This portable Quality of good Humour seasons all the Parts and Occurrences we meet with, in such a manner, that, there are no Moments lost; but they all pass with so much Satisfaction, that the heaviest of Loads (when it is a Load) that of Time, is never felt by us. _Varilas_ has this Quality to the highest Perfection, and communicates it wherever he appears: The Sad, the Merry, the Severe, the Melancholy, shew a new Chearfulness when he comes amongst them. At the same time no one can repeat any thing that _Varilas_ has ever said that deserves Repetition; but the Man has that innate Goodness of Temper, that he is welcome to every Body, because every Man thinks he is so to him. He does not seem to contribute any thing to the Mirth of the Company; and yet upon Reflection you find it all happened by his being there. I thought it was whimsically said of a Gentleman, That if _Varilas_ had Wit, it would be the best Wit in the World. It is certain, when a well-corrected lively Imagination and good Breeding are added to a sweet Disposition, they qualify it to be one of the greatest Blessings, as well as Pleasures of Life.

Men would come into Company with ten times the Pleasure they do, if they were sure of hearing nothing which should shock them, as well as expected what would please them. When we know every Person that is spoken of is represented by one who has no ill Will, and every thing that is mentioned described by one that is apt to set it in the best Light, the Entertainment must be delicate; because the Cook has nothing brought to his Hand but what is the most excellent in its Kind. Beautiful Pictures are the Entertainments of pure Minds, and Deformities of the corrupted. It is a Degree towards the Life of Angels, when we enjoy Conversation wherein there is nothing presented but in its Excellence: and a Degree towards that of Daemons, wherein nothing is shewn but in its Degeneracy.

T.

* * * * *

No. 101. Tuesday, June 26, 1711. Addison.

'Romulus, et Liber pater, et cum Castore Pollux,
Post ingentia facta, Deorum in templa recepti;
Dum terras hominumque colunt genus, aspera bella
Componunt, agros assignant, oppida condunt;
Ploravere suis non respondere favorem
Speratum meritis: ...'

Hor.

Censure, says a late ingenious Author, _is the Tax a Man pays to the Publick for being Eminent_. [1] It is a Folly for an eminent Man to think of escaping it, and a Weakness to be affected with it. All the illustrious Persons of Antiquity, and indeed of every Age in the World, have passed through this fiery Persecution. There is no Defence against Reproach, but Obscurity; it is a kind of Concomitant to Greatness, as Satyrs and Invectives were an essential Part of a _Roman_ Triumph.

If Men of Eminence are exposed to Censure on one hand, they are as much liable to Flattery on the other. If they receive Reproaches which are not due to them, they likewise receive Praises which they do not deserve. In a word, the Man in a high Post is never regarded with an indifferent Eye, but always considered as a Friend or an Enemy. For this Reason Persons in great Stations have seldom their true Characters drawn till several Years after their Deaths. Their personal Friendships and Enmities must cease, and the Parties they were engaged in be at an End, before their Faults or their Virtues can have Justice done them. When Writers have the least Opportunities of knowing the Truth they are in the best Disposition to tell it.

It is therefore the Privilege of Posterity to adjust the Characters of illustrious Persons, and to set Matters right between those Antagonists, who by their Rivalry for Greatness divided a whole Age into Factions. We can now allow _Cæsar_ to be a great Man, without derogating from _Pompey_; and celebrate the Virtues of _Cato_, without detracting from those of _Cæsar_. Every one that has been long dead has a due Proportion of Praise allotted him, in which whilst he lived his Friends were too profuse and his Enemies too sparing.

According to Sir _Isaac Newton's_ Calculations, the last Comet that made its Appearance in 1680, imbib'd so much Heat by its Approaches to the Sun, that it would have been two thousand times hotter than red hot Iron, had it been a Globe of that Metal; and that supposing it as big as the Earth, and at the same Distance from the Sun, it would be fifty thousand Years in cooling, before it recovered its natural Temper. [2] In the like manner, if an _Englishman_ considers the great Ferment into which our Political World is thrown at present, and how intensely it is heated in all its Parts, he cannot suppose that it will cool again in less than three hundred Years. In such a Tract of Time it is possible that the Heats of the present Age may be extinguished, and our several Classes of great Men represented under their proper Characters. Some eminent Historian may then probably arise that will not write _recentibus odiis_ (as _Tacitus_ expresses it) with the Passions and Prejudices of a contemporary Author, but make an impartial Distribution of Fame among the Great Men of the present Age.

I cannot forbear entertaining my self very often with the Idea of such an imaginary Historian describing the Reign of _ANNE_ the First, and introducing it with a Preface to his Reader, that he is now entring upon the most shining Part of the _English_ Story. The great Rivals in Fame will then be distinguished according to their respective Merits, and shine in their proper Points of Light. Such [an [3]] one (says the Historian) tho' variously represented by the Writers of his own Age, appears to have been a Man of more than ordinary Abilities, great Application and uncommon Integrity: Nor was such an one (tho' of an opposite Party and Interest) inferior to him in any of these Respects. The several Antagonists who now endeavour to depreciate one another, and are celebrated or traduced by different Parties, will then have the same Body of Admirers, and appear Illustrious in the Opinion of the whole _British_ Nation. The deserving Man, who can now recommend himself to the Esteem of but half his Countrymen, will then receive the Approbations and Applauses of a whole Age.

Among the several Persons that flourish in this Glorious Reign, there is no question but such a future Historian as the Person of whom I am speaking, will make mention of the Men of Genius and Learning, who have now any Figure in the _British_ Nation. For my own part, I often flatter my self with the honourable Mention which will then be made of me; and have drawn up a Paragraph in my own Imagination, that I fancy will not be altogether unlike what will be found in some Page or other of this imaginary Historian.

It was under this Reign, says he, that the SPECTATOR publish'd those
little Diurnal Essays which are still extant. We know very little of
the Name or Person of this Author, except only that he was a Man of a
very short Face, extreamly addicted to Silence, and so great a Lover
of Knowledge, that he made a Voyage to _Grand Cairo_ for no other
Reason, but to take the Measure of a Pyramid. His chief Friend was one
Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY, a whimsical Country Knight, and a _Templar_
whose Name he has not transmitted to us. He lived as a Lodger at the
House of a Widow-Woman, and was a great Humourist in all Parts of his
Life. This is all we can affirm with any Certainty of his Person and
Character. As for his Speculations, notwithstanding the several
obsolete Words and obscure Phrases of the Age in which he lived, we
still understand enough of them to see the Diversions and Characters
of the _English_ Nation in his Time: Not but that we are to make
Allowance for the Mirth and Humour of the Author, who has doubtless
strained many Representations of Things beyond the Truth. For if we
interpret his Words in the literal Meaning, we must suppose that Women
of the first Quality used to pass away whole Mornings at a
Puppet-Show: That they attested their Principles by their _Patches_:
That an Audience would sit out [an [4]] Evening to hear a Dramatical
Performance written in a Language which they did not understand: That
Chairs and Flower-pots were introduced as Actors upon the _British_
Stage: That a promiscuous Assembly of Men and Women were allowed to
meet at Midnight in Masques within the Verge of the Court; with many
Improbabilities of the like Nature. We must therefore, in these and
the like Cases, suppose that these remote Hints and Allusions aimed at
some certain Follies which were then in Vogue, and which at present we
have not any Notion of. We may guess by several Passages in the
_Speculations_, that there were Writers who endeavoured to detract
from the Works of this Author; but as nothing of this nature is come
down to us, we cannot guess at any Objections that could be made to
his Paper. If we consider his Style with that Indulgence which we must
shew to old _English_ Writers, or if we look into the Variety of his
Subjects, with those several Critical Dissertations, Moral Reflections,

The following Part of the Paragraph is so much to my Advantage, and beyond any thing I can pretend to, that I hope my Reader will excuse me for not inserting it.

L.

[Footnote 1: Swift.]

[Footnote 2: In his 'Principia', published 1687, Newton says this to show that the nuclei of Comets must consist of solid matter.]

[Footnote 3: a]

[Footnote 4: a whole]

* * * * *

No. 102. Wednesday, June 27, 1711. Addison.

'... Lusus animo debent aliquando dari,
Ad cogitandum melior ut redeat sibi.'

Phædr.

I do not know whether to call the following Letter a Satyr upon Coquets, or a Representation of their several fantastical Accomplishments, or what other Title to give it; but as it is I shall communicate it to the Publick. It will sufficiently explain its own Intentions, so that I shall give it my Reader at Length, without either Preface or Postscript.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'Women are armed with Fans as Men with Swords, and sometimes do more
Execution with them. To the end therefore that Ladies may be entire
Mistresses of the Weapon which they bear, I have erected an Academy
for the training up of young Women in the _Exercise of the Fan_,
according to the most fashionable Airs and Motions that are now
practis'd at Court. The Ladies who _carry_ Fans under me are drawn up
twice a-day in my great Hall, where they are instructed in the Use of
their Arms, and _exercised_ by the following Words of Command,

_Handle your Fans,
Unfurl your fans.
Discharge your Fans,
Ground your Fans,
Recover your Fans,
Flutter your Fans._

By the right Observation of these few plain Words of Command, a Woman
of a tolerable Genius, [who [1]] will apply herself diligently to her
Exercise for the Space of but one half Year, shall be able to give her
Fan all the Graces that can possibly enter into that little modish
Machine.

But to the end that my Readers may form to themselves a right Notion
of this _Exercise_, I beg leave to explain it to them in all its
Parts. When my Female Regiment is drawn up in Array, with every one
her Weapon in her Hand, upon my giving the Word to _handle their
Fans_, each of them shakes her Fan at me with a Smile, then gives her
Right-hand Woman a Tap upon the Shoulder, then presses her Lips with
the Extremity of her Fan, then lets her Arms fall in an easy Motion,
and stands in a Readiness to receive the next Word of Command. All
this is done with a close Fan, and is generally learned in the first
Week.

The next Motion is that of _unfurling the Fan_, in which [are [2]]
comprehended several little Flirts and Vibrations, as also gradual and
deliberate Openings, with many voluntary Fallings asunder in the Fan
itself, that are seldom learned under a Month's Practice. This Part of
the _Exercise_ pleases the Spectators more than any other, as it
discovers on a sudden an infinite Number of _Cupids_, [Garlands,]
Altars, Birds, Beasts, Rainbows, and the like agreeable Figures, that
display themselves to View, whilst every one in the Regiment holds a
Picture in her Hand.

Upon my giving the Word to _discharge their Fans_, they give one
general Crack that may be heard at a considerable distance when the
Wind sits fair. This is one of the most difficult Parts of the
_Exercise_; but I have several Ladies with me, who at their first
Entrance could not give a Pop loud enough to be heard at the further
end of a Room, who can now _discharge a Fan_ in such a manner, that it
shall make a Report like a Pocket-Pistol. I have likewise taken care
(in order to hinder young Women from letting off their Fans in wrong
Places or unsuitable Occasions) to shew upon what Subject the Crack of
a Fan may come in properly: I have likewise invented a Fan, with which
a Girl of Sixteen, by the help of a little Wind which is inclosed
about one of the largest Sticks, can make as loud a Crack as a Woman
of Fifty with an ordinary Fan.

When the Fans are thus _discharged_, the Word of Command in course is
to _ground their Fans_. This teaches a Lady to quit her Fan gracefully
when she throws it aside in order to take up a Pack of Cards, adjust a
Curl of Hair, replace a falling Pin, or apply her self to any other
Matter of Importance. This Part of the _Exercise_, as it only consists
in tossing a Fan with an Air upon a long Table (which stands by for
that Purpose) may be learned in two Days Time as well as in a
Twelvemonth.

When my Female Regiment is thus disarmed, I generally let them walk
about the Room for some Time; when on a sudden (like Ladies that look
upon their Watches after a long Visit) they all of them hasten to
their Arms, catch them up in a Hurry, and place themselves in their
proper Stations upon my calling out _Recover your Fans_. This Part of
the _Exercise_ is not difficult, provided a Woman applies her Thoughts
to it.

The _Fluttering of the Fan_ is the last, and indeed the Master-piece
of the whole _Exercise_; but if a Lady does not mis-spend her Time,
she may make herself Mistress of it in three Months. I generally lay
aside the Dog-days and the hot Time of the Summer for the teaching
this Part of the _Exercise_; for as soon as ever I pronounce _Flutter
your Fans_, the Place is fill'd with so many Zephyrs and gentle
Breezes as are very refreshing in that Season of the Year, tho' they
might be dangerous to Ladies of a tender Constitution in any other.

There is an infinite Variety of Motions to be made use of in the
_Flutter of a Fan_. There is the angry Flutter, the modest Flutter,
the timorous Flutter, the confused Flutter, the merry Flutter, and the
amorous Flutter. Not to be tedious, there is scarce any Emotion in the
Mind [which [3]] does not produce a suitable Agitation in the Fan;
insomuch, that if I only see the Fan of a disciplin'd Lady, I know
very well whether she laughs, frowns, or blushes. I have seen a Fan so
very angry, that it would have been dangerous for the absent Lover
[who [3]] provoked it to have come within the Wind of it; and at other
times so very languishing, that I have been glad for the Lady's sake
the Lover was at a sufficient Distance from it. I need not add, that a
Fan is either a Prude or Coquet according to the Nature of the Person
[who [3]] bears it. To conclude my Letter, I must acquaint you that I
have from my own Observations compiled a little Treatise for the use
of my Scholars, entitled _The Passions of the Fan_; which I will
communicate to you, if you think it may be of use to the Publick. I
shall have a general Review on _Thursday_ next; to which you shall be
very welcome if you will honour it with your Presence. _I am_, &c.

_P. S._ I teach young Gentlemen the whole Art of Gallanting a Fan.'

_N. B._ I have several little plain Fans made for this Use, to avoid
Expence.'

L.

[Footnote 1: that]

[Footnote 2: is]

[Footnotes 3: that]

* * * * *

No. 103. Thursday, June 28, 1711. Steele.

'... Sibi quivis
Speret idem frusta sudet frustraque laboret
Ausus idem ...'

Hor.

My Friend the Divine having been used with Words of Complaisance (which he thinks could be properly applied to no one living, and I think could be only spoken of him, and that in his Absence) was so extreamly offended with the excessive way of speaking Civilities among us, that he made a Discourse against it at the Club; which he concluded with this Remark, That he had not heard one Compliment made in our Society since its Commencement. Every one was pleased with his Conclusion; and as each knew his good Will to the rest, he was convinced that the many Professions of Kindness and Service, which we ordinarily meet with, are not natural where the Heart is well inclined; but are a Prostitution of Speech, seldom intended to mean Any Part of what they express, never to mean All they express. Our Reverend Friend, upon this Topick, pointed to us two or three Paragraphs on this Subject in the first Sermon of the first Volume of the late Arch-Bishop's Posthumous Works. [1] I do not know that I ever read any thing that pleased me more, and as it is the Praise of _Longinus_, that he Speaks of the Sublime in a Style suitable to it, so one may say of this Author upon Sincerity, that he abhors any Pomp of Rhetorick on this Occasion, and treats it with a more than ordinary Simplicity, at once to be a Preacher and an Example. With what Command of himself does he lay before us, in the Language and Temper of his Profession, a Fault, which by the least Liberty and Warmth of Expression would be the most lively Wit and Satyr? But his Heart was better disposed, and the good Man chastised the great Wit in such a manner, that he was able to speak as follows.

'... Amongst too many other Instances of the great Corruption and
Degeneracy of the Age wherein we live, the great and general Want of
Sincerity in Conversation is none of the least. The World is grown so
full of Dissimulation and Compliment, that Mens Words are hardly any
Signification of their Thoughts; and if any Man measure his Words by
his Heart, and speak as he thinks, and do not express more Kindness to
every Man, than Men usually have for any Man, he can hardly escape the
Censure of want of Breeding. The old _English_ Plainness and
Sincerity, that generous Integrity of Nature, and Honesty of
Disposition, which always argues true Greatness of Mind and is usually
accompanied with undaunted Courage and Resolution, is in a great
measure lost amongst us: There hath been a long Endeavour to transform
us into Foreign Manners and Fashions, and to bring us to a servile
Imitation of none of the best of our Neighbours in some of the worst
of their Qualities. The Dialect of Conversation is now-a-days so
swelled with Vanity and Compliment, and so surfeited (as I may say) of
Expressions of Kindness and Respect, that if a Man that lived an Age
or two ago should return into the World again he would really want a
Dictionary to help him to understand his own Language, and to know the
true intrinsick Value of the Phrase in Fashion, and would hardly at
first believe at what a low Rate the highest Strains and Expressions
of Kindness imaginable do commonly pass in current Payment; and when
he should come to understand it, it would be a great while before he
could bring himself with a good Countenance and a good Conscience to
converse with Men upon equal Terms, and in their own way.

And in truth it is hard to say, whether it should more provoke our
Contempt or our Pity, to hear what solemn Expressions of Respect and
Kindness will pass between Men, almost upon no Occasion; how great
Honour and Esteem they will declare for one whom perhaps they never
saw before, and how entirely they are all on the sudden devoted to his
Service and Interest, for no Reason; how infinitely and eternally
obliged to him, for no Benefit; and how extreamly they will be
concerned for him, yea and afflicted too, for no Cause. I know it is
said, in Justification of this hollow kind of Conversation, that there
is no Harm, no real Deceit in Compliment, but the Matter is well
enough, so long as we understand one another; _et Verba valent ut
Nummi: Words are like Money_; and when the current Value of them is
generally understood, no Man is cheated by them. This is something, if
such Words were any thing; but being brought into the Account, they
are meer Cyphers. However, it is still a just Matter of Complaint,
that Sincerity and Plainness are out of Fashion, and that our Language
is running into a Lie; that Men have almost quite perverted the use of
Speech, and made Words to signifie nothing, that the greatest part of
the Conversation of Mankind is little else but driving a Trade of
Dissimulation; insomuch that it would make a Man heartily sick and
weary of the World, to see the little Sincerity that is in Use and
Practice among Men.

When the Vice is placed in this contemptible Light, he argues
unanswerably against it, in Words and Thoughts so natural, that any
Man who reads them would imagine he himself could have been the Author
of them.

If the Show of any thing be good for any thing, I am sure Sincerity is
better: for why does any Man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is
not, but because he thinks it good to have such a Quality as he
pretends to? For to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the
Appearance of some real Excellency. Now the best way in the World to
seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be.
Besides, that it is many times as troublesome to make good the
Pretence of a good Quality, as to have it; and if a Man have it not,
it is ten to one but he is discovered to want it; and then all his
Pains and Labour to seem to have it, is lost.

In another Part of the same Discourse he goes on to shew, that all Artifice must naturally tend to the Disappointment of him that practises it.

'Whatsoever Convenience may be thought to be in Falshood and
Dissimulation, it is soon over; but the Inconvenience of it is
perpetual, because it brings a Man under an everlasting Jealousie and
Suspicion, so that he is not believed when he speaks Truth, nor
trusted when perhaps he means honestly. When a Man hath once forfeited
the Reputation of his Integrity, he is set fast, and nothing will then
serve his Turn, neither Truth nor Falshood.'

R.

[Footnote 1: This sermon 'on Sincerity,' from John i. 47, is the last Tillotson preached. He preached it in 1694, on the 29th of July, and died, in that year, on the 24th of November, at the age of 64. John Tillotson was the son of a Yorkshire clothier, and was made Archbishop of Canterbury in 1691, on the deprivation of William Sancroft for his refusal to take the oaths to William and Mary.]

* * * * *

No. 104. Friday, June 29, 1711. Steele.

'... Qualis equos Threissa fatigat
Harpalyce ...'

Virg.

It would be a noble Improvement, or rather a Recovery of what we call good Breeding, if nothing were to pass amongst us for agreeable which was the least Transgression against that Rule of Life called Decorum, or a Regard to Decency. This would command the Respect of Mankind, because it carries in it Deference to their good Opinion, as Humility lodged in a worthy Mind is always attended with a certain Homage, which no haughty Soul, with all the Arts imaginable, will ever be able to purchase. _Tully_ says, Virtue and Decency are so nearly related, that it is difficult to separate them from each other but in our Imagination. As the Beauty of the Body always accompanies the Health of it, so certainly is Decency concomitant to Virtue: As Beauty of Body, with an agreeable Carriage, pleases the Eye, and that Pleasure consists in that we observe all the Parts with a certain Elegance are proportioned to each other; so does Decency of Behaviour which appears in our Lives obtain the Approbation of all with whom we converse, from the Order, Consistency, and Moderation of our Words and Actions. This flows from the Reverence we bear towards every good Man, and to the World in general; for to be negligent of what any one thinks of you, does not only shew you arrogant but abandoned. In all these Considerations we are to distinguish how one Virtue differs from another; As it is the Part of Justice never to do Violence, it is of Modesty never to commit Offence. In this last Particular lies the whole Force of what is called Decency; to this purpose that excellent Moralist above-mentioned talks of Decency; but this Quality is more easily comprehended by an ordinary Capacity, than expressed with all his Eloquence. This Decency of Behaviour is generally transgressed among all Orders of Men; nay, the very Women, tho' themselves created as it were for Ornament, are often very much mistaken in this ornamental Part of Life. It would methinks be a short Rule for Behaviour, if every young Lady in her Dress, Words, and Actions were only to recommend her self as a Sister, Daughter, or Wife, and make herself the more esteemed in one of those Characters. The Care of themselves, with regard to the Families in which Women are born, is the best Motive for their being courted to come into the Alliance of other Houses. Nothing can promote this End more than a strict Preservation of Decency. I should be glad if a certain Equestrian Order of Ladies, some of whom one meets in an Evening at every Outlet of the Town, would take this Subject into their serious Consideration; In order thereunto the following Letter may not be wholly unworthy their Perusal. [1]

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'Going lately to take the Air in one of the most beautiful Evenings
this Season has produced, as I was admiring the Serenity of the Sky,
the lively Colours of the Fields, and the Variety of the Landskip
every Way around me, my Eyes were suddenly called off from these
inanimate Objects by a little party of Horsemen I saw passing the
Road. The greater Part of them escaped my particular Observation, by
reason that my whole Attention was fixed on a very fair Youth who rode
in the midst of them, and seemed to have been dressed by some
Description in a Romance. His Features, Complexion, and Habit had a
remarkable Effeminacy, and a certain languishing Vanity appeared in
his Air: His Hair, well curl'd and powder'd, hung to a considerable
Length on his Shoulders, and was wantonly ty'd, as if by the Hands of
his Mistress, in a Scarlet Ribbon, which played like a Streamer behind
him: He had a Coat and Wastecoat of blue Camlet trimm'd and
embroidered with Silver; a Cravat of the finest Lace; and wore, in a
smart Cock, a little Beaver Hat edged with Silver, and made more
sprightly by a Feather. His Horse too, which was a Pacer, was adorned
after the same airy Manner, and seemed to share in the Vanity of the
Rider. As I was pitying the Luxury of this young Person, who appeared
to me to have been educated only as an Object of Sight, I perceived on
my nearer Approach, and as I turned my Eyes downward, a Part of the
Equipage I had not observed before, which was a Petticoat of the same
with the Coat and Wastecoat. After this Discovery, I looked again on
the Face of the fair _Amazon_ who had thus deceived me, and thought
those Features which had before offended me by their Softness, were
now strengthened into as improper a Boldness; and tho' her Eyes Nose
and Mouth seemed to be formed with perfect Symmetry, I am not certain
whether she, who in Appearance was a very handsome Youth, may not be
in Reality a very indifferent Woman.

There is an Objection which naturally presents it self against these
occasional Perplexities and Mixtures of Dress, which is, that they
seem to break in upon that Propriety and Distinction of Appearance in
which the Beauty of different Characters is preserved; and if they
should be more frequent than they are at present, would look like
turning our publick Assemblies into a general Masquerade. The Model of
this _Amazonian_ Hunting-Habit for Ladies, was, as I take it, first
imported from _France_, and well enough expresses the Gaiety of a
People who are taught to do any thing so it be with an Assurance; but
I cannot help thinking it sits awkwardly yet on our _English_ Modesty.
The Petticoat is a kind of Incumbrance upon it, and if the _Amazons_
should think fit to go on in this Plunder of our Sex's Ornaments, they
ought to add to their Spoils, and compleat their Triumph over us, by
wearing the Breeches.

If it be natural to contract insensibly the Manners of those we
imitate, the Ladies who are pleased with assuming our Dresses will do
us more Honour than we deserve, but they will do it at their own
Expence. Why should the lovely _Camilla_ deceive us in more Shapes
than her own, and affect to be represented in her Picture with a Gun
and a Spaniel, while her elder Brother, the Heir of a worthy Family,
is drawn in Silks like his Sister? The Dress and Air of a Man are not
well to be divided; and those who would not be content with the
Latter, ought never to think of assuming the Former. There is so large
a portion of natural Agreeableness among the Fair Sex of our Island,
that they seem betrayed into these romantick Habits without having the
same Occasion for them with their Inventors: All that needs to be
desired of them is, that they would _be themselves_, that is, what
Nature designed them; and to see their Mistake when they depart from
this, let them look upon a Man who affects the Softness and Effeminacy
of a Woman, to learn how their Sex must appear to us, when approaching
to the Resemblance of a Man.

_I am_, SIR,
_Your most humble Servant_.

T.

[Footnote 1: The letter is by John Hughes.]

* * * * *

No. 105. Saturday, June 30, 1711. Addison.

'... Id arbitror
Adprime in vita esse utile, ne quid nimis.'

Ter. And.

My Friend WILL. HONEYCOMB values himself very much upon what he calls the Knowledge of Mankind, which has cost him many Disasters in his Youth; for WILL. reckons every Misfortune that he has met with among the Women, and every Rencounter among the Men, as Parts of his Education, and fancies he should never have been the Man he is, had not he broke Windows, knocked down Constables, disturbed honest People with his Midnight Serenades, and beat up a lewd Woman's Quarters, when he was a young Fellow. The engaging in Adventures of this Nature WILL. calls the studying of Mankind; and terms this Knowledge of the Town, the Knowledge of the World. WILL. ingenuously confesses, that for half his Life his Head ached every Morning with reading of Men over-night; and at present comforts himself under certain Pains which he endures from time to time, that without them he could not have been acquainted with the Gallantries of the Age. This WILL. looks upon as the Learning of a Gentleman, and regards all other kinds of Science as the Accomplishments of one whom he calls a Scholar, a Bookish Man, or a Philosopher.

For these Reasons WILL. shines in mixt Company, where he has the Discretion not to go out of his Depth, and has often a certain way of making his real Ignorance appear a seeming one. Our Club however has frequently caught him tripping, at which times they never spare him. For as WILL. often insults us with the Knowledge of the Town, we sometimes take our Revenge upon him by our Knowledge [of [1]] Books.

He was last Week producing two or three Letters which he writ in his Youth to a Coquet Lady. The Raillery of them was natural, and well enough for a mere Man of the Town; but, very unluckily, several of the Words were wrong spelt. WILL. laught this off at first as well as he could; but finding himself pushed on all sides, and especially by the _Templar_, he told us, with a little Passion, that he never liked Pedantry in Spelling, and that he spelt like a Gentleman, and not like a Scholar: Upon this WILL. had recourse to his old Topick of shewing the narrow-Spiritedness, the Pride, and Ignorance of Pedants; which he carried so far, that upon my retiring to my Lodgings, I could not forbear throwing together such Reflections as occurred to me upon that Subject.

A Man [who [2]] has been brought up among Books, and is able to talk of nothing else, is a very indifferent Companion, and what we call a Pedant. But, methinks, we should enlarge the Title, and give it every one that does not know how to think out of his Profession and particular way of Life.

What is a greater Pedant than a meer Man of the Town? Bar him the Play-houses, a Catalogue of the reigning Beauties, and an Account of a few fashionable Distempers that have befallen him, and you strike him dumb. How many a pretty Gentleman's Knowledge lies all within the Verge of the Court? He will tell you the Names of the principal Favourites, repeat the shrewd Sayings of a Man of Quality, whisper an Intreague that is not yet blown upon by common Fame; or, if the Sphere of his Observations is a little larger than ordinary, will perhaps enter into all the Incidents, Turns, and Revolutions in a Game of Ombre. When he has gone thus far he has shown you the whole Circle of his Accomplishments, his Parts are drained, and he is disabled from any further Conversation. What are these but rank Pedants? and yet these are the Men [who [3]] value themselves most on their Exemption from the Pedantry of Colleges.

I might here mention the Military Pedant who always talks in a Camp, and is storming Towns, making Lodgments and fighting Battles from one end of the Year to the other. Every thing he speaks smells of Gunpowder; if you take away his Artillery from him, he has not a Word to say for himself. I might likewise mention the Law-Pedant, that is perpetually putting Cases, repeating the Transactions of _Westminster-Hall_, wrangling with you upon the most indifferent Circumstances of Life, and not to be convinced of the Distance of a Place, or of the most trivial Point in Conversation, but by dint of Argument. The State-Pedant is wrapt up in News, and lost in Politicks. If you mention either of the Kings of _Spain_ or _Poland_, he talks very notably; but if you go out of the _Gazette_, you drop him. In short, a meer Courtier, a meer Soldier, a meer Scholar, a meer any thing, is an insipid Pedantick Character, and equally ridiculous.

Of all the Species of Pedants, which I have [mentioned [4]], the Book-Pedant is much the most supportable; he has at least an exercised Understanding, and a Head which is full though confused, so that a Man who converses with him may often receive from him hints of things that are worth knowing, and what he may possibly turn to his own Advantage, tho' they are of little Use to the Owner. The worst kind of Pedants among Learned Men, are such as are naturally endued with a very small Share of common Sense, and have read a great number of Books without Taste or Distinction.

The Truth of it is, Learning, like Travelling, and all other Methods of Improvement, as it finishes good Sense, so it makes a silly Man ten thousand times more insufferable, by supplying variety of Matter to his Impertinence, and giving him an Opportunity of abounding in Absurdities.

Shallow Pedants cry up one another much more than Men of solid and useful Learning. To read the Titles they give an Editor, or Collator of a Manuscript, you would take him for the Glory of the Commonwealth of Letters, and the Wonder of his Age, when perhaps upon Examination you find that he has only Rectify'd a _Greek_ Particle, or laid out a whole Sentence in proper Commas.

They are obliged indeed to be thus lavish of their Praises, that they may keep one another in Countenance; and it is no wonder if a great deal of Knowledge, which is not capable of making a Man wise, has a natural Tendency to make him Vain and Arrogant.

L.

[Footnote 1: in]

[Footnote 2: that]

[Footnote 3: that]

[Footnote 4: above mentioned]

* * * * *

No. 106. Monday, July 2, 1711. Addison.

'... Hinc tibi Copia
Manabit ad plenum, benigno
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu.'

Hor.

Having often received an Invitation from my Friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLEY to pass away a Month with him in the Country, I last Week accompanied him thither, and am settled with him for some time at his Country-house, where I intend to form several of my ensuing Speculations. Sir ROGER, who is very well acquainted with my Humour, lets me rise and go to Bed when I please, dine at his own Table or in my Chamber as I think fit, sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When the Gentlemen of the Country come to see him, he only shews me at a Distance: As I have been walking in his Fields I have observed them stealing a Sight of me over an Hedge, and have heard the Knight desiring them not to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at.