Chapter XXVIII: Introduction (28)

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

[Footnote 1: sit]

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

* * * * *

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

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

Ter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T.

[Footnote 1: Aristotle.]

[Footnote 2: Plato.]

[Footnote 3: Socrates.]

[Footnote 4: Theophrastus.]

[Footnote 5: Eudosia]

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

* * * * *

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

'Stultitiam patiuntur opes ...'

Hor.

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

Mr. SPECTATOR,

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

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

_Your humble Servant._

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

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

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

_I am, SIR_, _Your Most Humble Servant_,

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

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

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

_Your Constant Reader and Well-wisher_.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

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

_Your Humble Servant_.

T.

[Footnote 1:

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

Hudibras, Part II. c. i.]

[Footnote 2: need]

* * * * *

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

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

Tull.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

Tull.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

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

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

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

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

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

[Footnote 2: Smalridge?]

[Footnote 3:

Si legis cantas; si cantas, male cantas.

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

* * * * *

No. 148 Monday, August 20, 1711 Steele

'Exempta juvat spinis e pluribus una.'

Hor.

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

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

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

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

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

_SIR_,

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

_Your most Humble Servant_.'

_SIR_,

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

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

T.

[Footnote 1: Waller 'Of Love.']

* * * * *

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

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

Cæcil. apud Tull.

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

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

'I am the young Widow of a Country Gentleman who has left me Entire
Mistress of a large Fortune, which he agreed to as an Equivalent for
the Difference in our Years. In these Circumstances it is not
extraordinary to have a Crowd of Admirers; which I have abridged in my
own Thoughts, and reduced to a couple of Candidates only, both young,
and neither of them disagreeable in their Persons; according to the
common way of computing, in one the Estate more than deserves my
Fortune, and in the other my Fortune more than deserves the Estate.
When I consider the first, I own I am so far a Woman I cannot avoid
being delighted with the Thoughts of living great; but then he seems
to receive such a Degree of Courage from the Knowledge of what he has,
he looks as if he was going to confer an Obligation on me; and the
Readiness he accosts me with, makes me jealous I am only hearing a
Repetition of the same things he has said to a hundred Women before.
When I consider the other, I see myself approached with so much
Modesty and Respect, and such a Doubt of himself, as betrays methinks
an Affection within, and a Belief at the same time that he himself
would be the only Gainer by my Consent. What an unexceptionable
Husband could I make out of both! but since that's impossible, I beg
to be concluded by your Opinion; it is absolutely in your Power to
dispose of

_Your most Obedient Servant_,
Sylvia.

_Madam_,

You do me great Honour in your Application to me on this important
Occasion; I shall therefore talk to you with the Tenderness of a
Father, in Gratitude for your giving me the Authority of one. You do
not seem to make any great Distinction between these Gentlemen as to
their Persons; the whole Question lies upon their Circumstances and
Behaviour; If the one is less respectful because he is rich, and the
other more obsequious because he is not so, they are in that Point
moved by the same Principle, the Consideration of Fortune, and you
must place them in each others Circumstances before you can judge of
their Inclination. To avoid Confusion in discussing this Point, I will
call the richer Man _Strephon_, and the other _Florio_. If you believe
_Florio_ with _Strephon's_ Estate would behave himself as he does now,
_Florio_ is certainly your Man; but if you think _Strephon_, were he
in _Florio's_ Condition, would be as obsequious as _Florio_ is now,
you ought for your own sake to choose _Strephon_; for where the Men
are equal, there is no doubt Riches ought to be a Reason for
Preference. After this manner, my dear Child, I would have you
abstract them from their Circumstances; for you are to take it for
granted, that he who is very humble only because he is poor, is the
very same Man in Nature with him who is haughty because he is rich.

When you have gone thus far, as to consider the Figure they make
towards you; you will please, my Dear, next to consider the Appearance
you make towards them. If they are Men of Discerning, they can observe
the Motives of your Heart; and _Florio_ can see when he is disregarded
only upon your Account of Fortune, which makes you to him a mercenary
Creature: and you are still the same thing to _Strephon_, in taking
him for his Wealth only: You are therefore to consider whether you had
rather oblige, than receive an Obligation.

The Marriage-Life is always an insipid, a vexatious, or an happy
Condition. The first is, when two People of no Genius or Taste for
themselves meet together, upon such a Settlement as has been thought
reasonable by Parents and Conveyancers from an exact Valuation of the
Land and Cash of both Parties: In this Case the young Lady's Person is
no more regarded, than the House and Improvements in Purchase of an
Estate: but she goes with her Fortune, rather than her Fortune with
her. These make up the Crowd or Vulgar of the Rich, and fill up the
Lumber of human Race, without Beneficence towards those below them, or
Respect towards those above them; and lead a despicable, independent
and useless Life, without Sense of the Laws of Kindness, Good-nature,
mutual Offices, and the elegant Satisfactions which flow from Reason
and Virtue.

The vexatious Life arises from a Conjunction of two People of quick
Taste and Resentment, put together for Reasons well known to their
Friends, in which especial Care is taken to avoid (what they think the
chief of Evils) Poverty, and insure to them Riches, with every Evil
besides. These good People live in a constant Constraint before
Company, and too great Familiarity alone; when they are within
Observation they fret at each other's Carriage and Behaviour; when
alone they revile each other's Person and Conduct: In Company they are
in a Purgatory, when only together in an Hell.

The happy Marriage is, where two Persons meet and voluntarily make
Choice of each other, without principally regarding or neglecting the
Circumstances of Fortune or Beauty. These may still love in spite of
Adversity or Sickness: The former we may in some measure defend our
selves from, the other is the Portion of our very Make. When you have
a true Notion of this sort of Passion, your Humour of living great
will vanish out of your Imagination, and you will find Love has
nothing to do with State. Solitude, with the Person beloved, has a
Pleasure, even in a Woman's Mind, beyond Show or Pomp. You are
therefore to consider which of your Lovers will like you best
undressed, which will bear with you most when out of Humour? and your
way to this is to ask your self, which of them you value most for his
own sake? and by that judge which gives the greater Instances of his
valuing you for your self only.

After you have expressed some Sense of the humble Approach of
_Florio_, and a little Disdain at _Strephon's_ Assurance in his
Address, you cry out, _What an unexceptionable Husband could I make
out of both?_ It would therefore methinks be a good way to determine
your self: Take him in whom what you like is not transferable to
another; for if you choose otherwise, there is no Hopes your Husband
will ever have what you liked in his Rival; but intrinsick Qualities
in one Man may very probably purchase every thing that is adventitious
in [another.[1]] In plainer Terms: he whom you take for his personal
Perfections will sooner arrive at the Gifts of Fortune, than he whom
you take for the sake of his Fortune attain to Personal Perfections.
If _Strephon_ is not as accomplished and agreeable as _Florio_,
Marriage to you will never make him so; but Marriage to you may make
_Florio_ as rich as _Strephon?_ Therefore to make a sure Purchase,
employ Fortune upon Certainties, but do not sacrifice Certainties to
Fortune.

_I am, Your most Obedient, Humble Servant_.

T.

[Footnote 1: any other.]

* * * * *

No. 150. Wednesday, August 22, 1711. Budgell.

'Nil habet infelix paupertas durius in se,
Quàm quod ridiculos homines facit ...'

Juv.

As I was walking in my Chamber the Morning before I went last into the Country, I heard the Hawkers with great Vehemence crying about a Paper, entitled, _The ninety nine Plagues of an empty Purse_. I had indeed some Time before observed, that the Orators of _Grub-street_ had dealt very much in _Plagues_. They have already published in the same Month, _The Plagues of Matrimony, The Plagues of a single Life, The nineteen Plagues of a Chambermaid, The Plagues of a Coachman, The Plagues of a Footman_, and _The Plague of Plagues_. The success these several _Plagues_ met with, probably gave Occasion to the above-mentioned Poem on an _empty Purse_. However that be, the same Noise so frequently repeated under my Window, drew me insensibly to think on some of those Inconveniences and Mortifications which usually attend on Poverty, and in short, gave Birth to the present Speculation: For after my Fancy had run over the most obvious and common Calamities which Men of mean Fortunes are liable to, it descended to those little Insults and Contempts, which though they may seem to dwindle into nothing when a Man offers to describe them, are perhaps in themselves more cutting and insupportable than the former. _Juvenal_ with a great deal of Humour and Reason tells us, that nothing bore harder upon a poor Man in his Time, than the continual Ridicule which his Habit and Dress afforded to the Beaus of _Rome_.

_Quid, quod materiam præbet causasque jocorum
Omnibus hic idem? si foeda et scissa lacerna,
Si toga sordidula est, et rupta calceus alter
Pelle patet, vel si consuto vulnere crassum
Atque recens linam ostendit non una Cicatrix_.

(Juv. Sat. 3.)

_Add, that the Rich have still a Gibe in Store,
And will be monstrous witty on the Poor;
For the torn Surtout and the tatter'd Vest,
The Wretch and all his Wardrobe are a Jest:
The greasie Gown sully'd with often turning,
Gives a good Hint to say the Man's in Mourning;
Or if the Shoe be ript, or Patch is put,
He's wounded I see the Plaister on his Foot_.

(Dryd.)

'Tis on this Occasion that he afterwards adds the Reflection which I have chosen for my Motto.

_Want is the Scorn of every wealthy Fool,
And Wit in Rags is turn'd to Ridicule_.

(Dryd.)

It must be confess'd that few things make a Man appear more despicable or more prejudice his Hearers against what he is going to offer, than an awkward or pitiful Dress; insomuch that I fancy, had _Tully_ himself pronounced one of his Orations with a Blanket about his Shoulders, more People would have laughed at his Dress than have admired his Eloquence. This last Reflection made me wonder at a Set of Men, who, without being subjected to it by the Unkindness of their Fortunes, are contented to draw upon themselves the Ridicule of the World in this Particular; I mean such as take it into their Heads, that the first regular Step to be a Wit is to commence a Sloven. It is certain nothing has so much debased that, which must have been otherwise so great a Character; and I know not how to account for it, unless it may possibly be in Complaisance to those narrow Minds who can have no Notion of the same Person's possessing different Accomplishments; or that it is a sort of Sacrifice which some Men are contented to make to Calumny, by allowing it to fasten on one Part of their Character, while they are endeavouring to establish another. Yet however unaccountable this foolish Custom is, I am afraid it could plead a long Prescription; and probably gave too much Occasion for the Vulgar Definition still remaining among us of an _Heathen Philosopher_.

I have seen the Speech of a _Terræ-filius_, spoken in King Charles II's Reign; in which he describes two very eminent Men, who were perhaps the greatest Scholars of their Age; and after having mentioned the entire Friendship between them, concludes, That _they had but one Mind, one Purse, one Chamber, and one Hat_. The Men of Business were also infected with a Sort of Singularity little better than this. I have heard my Father say, that a broad-brimm'd Hat, short Hair, and unfolded Hankerchief, were in his time absolutely necessary to denote a _notable Man;_ and that he had known two or three, who aspired to the Character of _very notable_, wear Shoestrings with great Success.

To the Honour of our present Age it must be allowed, that some of our greatest Genius's for Wit and Business have almost entirely broke the Neck of these Absurdities.

_Victor_, after having dispatched the most important Affairs of the Commonwealth, has appeared at an Assembly, where all the Ladies have declared him the genteelest Man in the Company; and in _Atticus_, though every way one of the greatest Genius's the Age has produced, one sees nothing particular in his Dress or Carriage to denote his Pretensions to Wit and Learning: so that at present a Man may venture to cock up his Hat, and wear a fashionable Wig, without being taken for a Rake or a Fool.

The Medium between a Fop and a Sloven is what a Man of Sense would endeavour to keep; yet I remember Mr. _Osbourn_ advises his Son [1] to appear in his Habit rather above than below his Fortune; and tells him, that he will find an handsom Suit of Cloathes always procures some additional Respect. I have indeed myself observed that my Banker bows lowest to me when I wear my full-bottom'd Wig; and writes me _Mr._ or _Esq._, accordingly as he sees me dressed.

I shall conclude this Paper with an Adventure which I was myself an Eye-witness of very lately.