Chapter LXXXVIII: Book I: of his Epistles; showing how it would read in the customary (3)

There are many Authors who have shewn wherein the Malignity of a _Lie_ consists, and set forth in proper Colours, the Heinousness of the Offence. I shall here consider one Particular Kind of this Crime, which has not been so much spoken to; I mean that abominable Practice of _Party-lying_. This Vice is so very predominant among us at present, that a Man is thought of no Principles, who does not propagate a certain System of Lies. The Coffee-Houses are supported by them, the Press is choaked with them, eminent Authors live upon them. Our Bottle-Conversation is so infected with them, that a Party-Lie is grown as fashionable an Entertainment, as a lively Catch or a merry Story: The Truth of it is, half the great Talkers in the Nation would be struck dumb, were this Fountain of Discourse dried up. There is however one Advantage resulting from this detestable Practice; the very Appearances of Truth are so little regarded, that Lies are at present discharg'd in the Air, and begin to hurt no Body. When we hear a Party-story from a Stranger, we consider whether he is a Whig or a Tory that relates it, and immediately conclude they are Words of course, in which the honest Gentleman designs to recommend his Zeal, without any Concern for his Veracity. A Man is looked upon as bereft of common Sense, that gives Credit to the Relations of Party-Writers; [nay] his own Friends shake their Heads at him, and consider him in no other Light than as an officious Tool or a well-meaning Ideot. When it was formerly the Fashion to husband a Lie, and trump it up in some extraordinary Emergency, it generally did Execution, and was not a little serviceable to the Faction that made use of it; but at present every Man is upon his Guard, the Artifice has been too often repeated to take Effect.

I have frequently wonder'd to see Men of Probity, who would scorn to utter a Falshood for their own particular Advantage, give so readily into a Lie when it becomes the Voice of their Faction, notwithstanding they are thoroughly sensible of it as such. How is it possible for those who are Men of Honour in their Persons, thus to become notorious Liars in their Party? If we look into the Bottom of this Matter, we may find, I think, three Reasons for it, and at the same time discover the Insufficiency of these Reasons to justify so Criminal a Practice.

In the first place, Men are apt to think that the Guilt of a Lie, and consequently the Punishment, may be very much diminish'd, if not wholly worn out, by the Multitudes of those who partake in it. Tho' the Weight of a Falshood would be too heavy for _one_ to bear, it grows light in their Imaginations, when it is shared among _many_. But in this Case a Man very much deceives himself; Guilt, when it spreads thro' numbers, is not so properly divided as multiplied: Every one is criminal in proportion to the Offence which he commits, not to the Number of those who are his Companions in it. Both the Crime and the Penalty lie as heavy upon every Individual of an offending Multitude, as they would upon any single Person had none shared with him in the Offence. In a word, the Division of Guilt is like that of Matter; tho' it may be separated into infinite Portions, every Portion shall have the whole Essence of Matter in it, and consist of as many Parts as the Whole did before it was divided.

But in the second place, tho' Multitudes, who join in a Lie, cannot exempt themselves from the Guilt, they may from the Shame of it. The Scandal of a Lie is in a manner lost and annihilated, when diffused among several Thousands; as a Drop of the blackest Tincture wears away and vanishes, when mixed and confused in a considerable Body of Water; the Blot is still in it, but is not able to discover it self. This is certainly a very great Motive to several Party-Offenders, who avoid Crimes, not as they are prejudicial to their Virtue, but to their Reputation. It is enough to shew the Weakness of this Reason, which palliates Guilt without removing it, that every Man who is influenced by it declares himself in effect an infamous Hypocrite, prefers the Appearance of Virtue to its Reality, and is determined in his Conduct neither by the Dictates of his own Conscience, the Suggestions of true Honour, nor the Principles of Religion.

The third and last great Motive for Mens joining in a popular Falshood, or, as I have hitherto called it, a Party-Lie, notwithstanding they are convinced of it as such, is the doing Good to a Cause which every Party may be supposed to look upon as the most meritorious. The Unsoundness of this Principle has been so often exposed, and is so universally acknowledged, that a Man must be an utter Stranger to the Principles, either of natural Religion or Christianity, who suffers himself to be guided by it. If a Man might promote the supposed Good of his Country by the blackest Calumnies and Falshoods, our Nation abounds more in Patriots than any other of the Christian World. When _Pompey_ was desired not to set Sail in a Tempest that would hazard his Life, _It is necessary for me_, says he, _to Sail, but it is not necessary for me to Live_: [1] Every Man should say to himself, with the same Spirit, It is my Duty to speak Truth, tho' it is not my Duty to be in an Office. One of the Fathers hath carried this Point so high, as to declare, _He would not tell a Lie, tho' he were sure to gain Heaven by it_. However extravagant such a Protestation may appear, every one will own, that a Man may say very reasonably, _He would not tell a Lie, if he were sure to gain Hell by it_; or, if you have a mind to soften the Expression, that he would not tell a Lie to gain any Temporal Reward by it, when he should run the hazard of losing much more than it was possible for him to gain.

O.

[Footnote 1: Quoted from Plutarch's Life, § 50. Terser in the original:--'[Greek: Plein anágkae, zaen ouk anágkae.]']

* * * * *

No. 508. Monday, October 13, 1712. Steele.

'Omnes autem et habentur et dicuntur Tyranni, qui potestate sunt
perpetua, in ea Civitate quæ libertate usa est.'

Corn. Nepos.

The following Letters complain of what I have frequently observed with very much Indignation; therefore I shall give them to the Publick in the Words with which my Correspondents, who suffer under the Hardships mention'd in them, describe them.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'In former Ages all Pretensions to Dominion have been supported and
submitted to, either upon Account of Inheritance, Conquest or
Election; and all such Persons who have taken upon 'em any Soveraignty
over their Fellow-Creatures upon any other Account, have been always
called Tyrants, not so much because they were guilty of any particular
Barbarities, as because every Attempt to such a Superiority was in its
Nature tyrannical. But there is another sort of Potentates, who may
with greater Propriety be call'd Tyrants, than those last mention'd,
both as they assume a despotick Dominion over those as free as
themselves, and as they support it by Acts of notable Oppression and
Injustice; and these are the Rulers in all Clubs and Meetings. In
other Governments, the Punishments of some have been alleviated by the
Reward of others; but what makes the Reign of these Potentates so
particularly grievous, is, that they are exquisite in punishing their
Subjects, at the same time they have it not in their power to reward
'em. That the Reader may the better comprehend the Nature of these
Monarchs, as well as the miserable State of those that are their
Vassals, I shall give an Account of the King of the Company I am
fallen into, whom for his particular Tyranny I shall call _Dionysius_;
as also of the Seeds that sprung up to this odd sort of Empire.

'Upon all Meetings at Taverns, 'tis necessary some one of the Company
should take it upon him to get all things in such order and readiness,
as may contribute as much as possible to the Felicity of the
Convention; such as hastening the Fire, getting a sufficient number of
Candles, tasting the Wine with a judicious Smack, fixing the Supper,
and being brisk for the Dispatch of it. Know then, that _Dionysius_
went thro' these Offices with an Air that seem'd to express a
Satisfaction rather in serving the Publick, than in gratifying any
particular Inclination of his own. We thought him a Person of an
exquisite Palate, and therefore by consent beseeched him to be always
our Proveditor; which Post, after he had handsomely denied, he could
do no otherwise than accept. At first he made no other use of his
Power, than in recommending such and such things to the Company, ever
allowing these Points to be disputable; insomuch that I have often
carried the Debate for Partridge, when his Majesty has given
Intimation of the high Relish of Duck, but at the same time has
chearfully submitted, and devour'd his Partridge with most gracious
Resignation. This Submission on his side naturally produc'd the like
on ours; of which he in a little time made such barbarous Advantage,
as in all those Matters, which before seem'd indifferent to him, to
issue out certain Edicts as uncontroulable and unalterable as the Laws
of the _Medes_ and _Persians_. He is by turns outragious, peevish,
froward and jovial. He thinks it our Duty for the little Offices, as
Proveditor, that in Return all Conversation is to be interrupted or
promoted by his Inclination for or against the present Humour of the
Company. We feel, at present, in the utmost Extremity, the Insolence
of Office; however, I being naturally warm, ventur'd to oppose him in
a Dispute about a Haunch of Venison. I was altogether for roasting,
but _Dionysius_ declar'd himself for boiling with so much Prowess and
Resolution, that the Cook thought it necessary to consult his own
Safety rather than the Luxury of my Proposition. With the same
Authority that he orders what we shall eat and drink, he also commands
us where to do it, and we change our Taverns according as he suspects
any Treasonable Practices in the settling the Bill by the Master, or
sees any bold Rebellion in point of Attendance by the Waiters. Another
Reason for changing the Seat of Empire, I conceive to be the Pride he
takes in the Promulgation of our Slavery, tho' we pay our Club for our
Entertainments even in these Palaces of our grand Monarch. When he has
a mind to take the Air, a Party of us are commanded out by way of
Life-Guard, and we march under as great Restrictions as they do. If we
meet a neighbouring King, we give or keep the Way according as we are
outnumber'd or not; and if the Train of each is equal in number,
rather than give Battle, the Superiority is soon adjusted by a
Desertion from one of 'em.

'Now, the Expulsion of these unjust Rulers out of all Societies, would
gain a Man as everlasting a Reputation, as either of the _Brutus's_
got from their Endeavours to extirpate Tyranny from among the
_Romans_. I confess my self to be in a Conspiracy against the Usurper
of our Club; and to shew my Reading, as well as my merciful
Disposition, shall allow him till the Ides of _March_ to dethrone
himself. If he seems to affect Empire till that time, and does not
gradually recede from the Incursions he has made upon our Liberties,
he shall find a Dinner dress'd which he has no Hand in, and shall be
treated with an Order, Magnificence and Luxury as shall break his
proud Heart; at the same time that he shall be convinc'd in his
Stomach he was unfit for his Post, and a more mild and skilful Prince
receive the Acclamations of the People, and be set up in his Room:
but, as _Milton_ says,

'--These Thoughts
Full Counsel must mature. Peace is despair'd,
And who can think Submission? War, then War
Open, or understood, must be resolved.' [1]

'I am, Sir, Your most obedient humble Servant.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'I am a young Woman at a Gentleman's Seat in the Country, who is a
particular Friend of my Father's, and came hither to pass away a Month
or two with his Daughters. I have been entertained with the utmost
Civility by the whole Family, and nothing has been omitted which can
make my Stay easy and agreeable on the Part of the Family; but there
is a Gentleman here, a Visitant as I am, whose Behaviour has given me
great Uneasinesses. When I first arrived here, he used me with the
utmost Complaisance; but, forsooth, that was not with regard to my
Sex, and since he has no Designs upon me, he does not know why he
should distinguish me from a Man in things indifferent. He is, you
must know, one of those familiar Coxcombs, who have observed some
well-bred Men with a good Grace converse with Women, and say no fine
things, but yet treat them with that sort of Respect which flows from
the Heart and the Understanding, but is exerted in no Professions or
Compliments. This Puppy, to imitate this Excellence, or avoid the
contrary Fault of being troublesome in Complaisance, takes upon him to
try his Talent upon me, insomuch that he contradicts me upon all
Occasions, and one day told me I lied. If I had stuck him with my
Bodkin, and behaved my self like a Man, since he won't treat me as a
Woman, I had, I think, served him right. I wish, Sir, you would please
to give him some Maxims of Behaviour in these Points, and resolve me
if all Maids are not in point of Conversation to be treated by all
Batchelors as their Mistresses? if not so, are they not to be used as
gently as their Sisters? Is it sufferable, that the Fop of whom I
complain should say, as he would rather have such a-one without a
Groat, than me with the _Indies_? What right has any Man to make
Suppositions of things not in his Power, and then declare his Will to
the dislike of one that has never offended him? I assure you these are
things worthy your Consideration, and I hope we shall have your
Thoughts upon them. I am, tho' a Woman justly offended, ready to
forgive all this, because I have no Remedy but leaving very agreeable
Company sooner than I desire. This also is an heinous Aggravation of
his Offence, that he is inflicting Banishment upon me. Your printing
this Letter may perhaps be an Admonition to reform him: As soon as it
appears I will write my Name at the End of it, and lay it in his Way;
the making which just Reprimand, I hope you will put in the Power of,

_SIR,
Your constant Reader,
and humble Servant_.

T.

[Footnote 1: Paradise Lost, i. 659-662.]

* * * * *

No. 509. Tuesday, October 14, 1712. Steele.

'Hominis frugi et temperantis functus officium.'

Ter.

The useful Knowledge in the following Letter shall have a Place in my Paper, tho' there is nothing in it which immediately regards the Polite or the Learned World; I say immediately, for upon Reflection every Man will find there is a remote Influence upon his own Affairs, in the Prosperity or Decay of the Trading Part of Mankind. My present Correspondent, I believe, was never in Print before; but what he says well deserves a general Attention, tho' delivered in his own homely Maxims, and a Kind of Proverbial Simplicity; which Sort of Learning has rais'd more Estates than ever were, or will be, from attention to _Virgil, Horace, Tully, Seneca, Plutarch_, or any of the rest, whom, I dare say, this worthy Citizen would hold to be indeed ingenious, but unprofitable Writers. But to the Letter.

_Broadstreet, Oct._ 10, 1712.

_Mr._ WILLIAM SPECTATOR,

SIR,

'I accuse you of many Discourses on the Subject of Money, which you
have heretofore promis'd the Publick, but have not discharg'd your
self thereof. But, forasmuch as you seem to depend upon Advice from
others what to do in that Point, have sate down to write you the
Needful upon that Subject. But, before I enter thereupon, I shall take
this Opportunity to observe to you, that the thriving frugal Man shews
it in every Part of his Expence, Dress, Servants, and House; and I
must in the first place, complain to you, as SPECTATOR, that in these
Particulars there is at this Time, throughout the City of _London_, a
lamentable Change from that Simplicity of Manners, which is the true
Source of Wealth and Prosperity. I just now said, the Man of Thrift
shews Regularity in every thing; but you may, perhaps, laugh that I
take Notice of such a Particular as I am going to do, for an Instance
that this City is declining, if their antient Oeconomy is not
restor'd. The Thing which gives me this Prospect, and so much Offence,
is the Neglect of the _Royal-Exchange_, I mean the Edifice so called,
and the Walks appertaining thereunto. The _Royal-Exchange_ is a
Fabrick that well deserves to be so called, as well to express that
our Monarch's highest Glory and Advantage consists in being the
Patrons of Trade, as that it is commodious for Business, and an
Instance of the Grandeur both of Prince and People. But alas! at
present it hardly seems to be set apart for any such Use or Purpose.
Instead of the Assembly of honourable Merchants, substantial
Tradesmen, and knowing Masters of Ships; the Mumpers, the Halt, the
Blind, and the Lame; your Venders of Trash, Apples, Plumbs; your
Ragamuffins, Rakeshames, and Wenches, have justled the greater Number
of the former out of that Place. Thus it is, especially on the
Evening-Change; so that what with the Din of Squalings, Oaths and
Cries of Beggars, Men of the greatest Consequence in our City absent
themselves from the Place. This Particular, by the way, is of evil
Consequence; for if the Change be no Place for Men of the highest
Credit to frequent, it will not be a Disgrace to those of less
Abilities to absent. I remember the time when Rascally Company were
kept out, and the unlucky Boys with Toys and Balls were whipped away
by a Beadle. I have seen this done indeed of late, but then it has
been only to chase the Lads from Chuck, that the Beadle might seize
their Copper.

I must repeat the Abomination, that the Walnut Trade is carry'd on by
old Women within the Walks, which makes the Place impassable by reason
of Shells and Trash. The Benches around are so filthy, that no one can
sit down, yet the Beadles and Officers have the Impudence at
_Christmas_ to ask for their Box, though they deserve the Strapado. I
do not think it impertinent to have mentioned this, because it speaks
a neglect in the Domestick Care of the City, and the Domestick is the
truest Picture of a Man every where else.

But I designed to speak on the Business of Money and Advancement of
Gain. The Man proper for this, speaking in the general, is of a
sedate, plain, good Understanding, not apt to go out of his way, but
so behaving himself at home, that Business may come to him. Sir
_William Turner_, that valuable Citizen, has left behind him a most
excellent Rule, and couched it in very few Words, suited to the
meanest Capacity. He would say, _Keep your Shop and your Shop will
keep you_. It must be confessed, that if a Man of a great Genius could
add Steadiness to his Vivacities, or substitute slower Men of Fidelity
to transact the methodical part of his Affairs, such a one would
outstrip the rest of the World: But Business and Trade is not to be
managed by the same Heads which write Poetry, and make Plans for the
Conduct of Life in general. So tho' we are at this day beholden to the
late witty and inventive Duke of _Buckingham_ for the whole Trade and
Manufacture of Glass, yet I suppose there is no one will aver, that,
were his Grace yet living, they would not rather deal with my diligent
Friend and Neighbour, Mr. _Gumley_, for any Goods to be prepared and
delivered on such a Day, than he would with that illustrious Mechanick
abovementioned.

'No, no, _Mr_. SPECTATOR, you Wits must not pretend to be rich; and it
is possible the Reason may be, in some Measure, because you despise,
or at least you do not value it enough to let it take up your chief
Attention; which the Trader must do, or lose his Credit, which is to
him what Honour, Reputation, Fame, or Glory is to other sort of Men.

'I shall not speak to the Point of Cash it self, till I see how you
approve of these my Maxims in general: But, I think, a Speculation
upon _Many a Little makes a Mickle, A Penny sav'd is a Penny got,
Penny wise and Pound foolish, It is Need that makes the old Wife
trot_, would be very useful to the World, and if you treated them with
Knowledge would be useful to your self, for it would make Demands for
your Paper among those who have no Notion of it at present. But of
these Matters more hereafter. If you did this, as you excel many
Writers of the present Age for Politeness, so you would outgo the
Author of the true Strops of Razors for Use.

'I shall conclude this Discourse with an Explanation of a Proverb,
which by vulgar Errour is taken and used when a Man is reduced to an
Extremity, whereas the Propriety of the Maxim is to use it when you
would say, there is Plenty, but you must make such a Choice, as not to
hurt another who is to come after you.

'Mr. _Tobias Hobson_, from whom we have the Expression, was a very
honourable Man, for I shall ever call the Man so who gets an Estate
honestly. Mr. _Tobias Hobson_ was a Carrier, and being a Man of great
Abilities and Invention, and one that saw where there might good
Profit arise, though the duller Men overlooked it; this ingenious Man
was the first in this Island who let out Hackney-Horses. He lived in
_Cambridge_, and observing that the Scholars rid hard, his manner was
to keep a large Stable of Horses, with Boots, Bridles, and Whips to
furnish the Gentlemen at once, without going from College to College
to borrow, as they have done since the Death of this worthy Man: I
say, Mr. _Hobson_ kept a Stable of forty good Cattle, always ready and
fit for travelling; but when a Man came for a Horse, he was led into
the Stable, where there was great Choice, but he obliged him to take
the Horse which stood next to the Stable-Door; so that every Customer
was alike well served according to his Chance, and every Horse ridden
with the same Justice: From whence it became a Proverb, when what
ought to be your Election was forced upon you, to say, _Hobson's
Choice_. This memorable Man stands drawn in Fresco at an Inn (which he
used) in _Bishopsgate-street_, with an hundred Pound Bag under his
Arm, with this Inscription upon the said Bag,

'The fruitful Mother of an Hundred more.'

'Whatever Tradesman will try the Experiment, and begin the day after
you publish this my Discourse to treat his Customers all alike, and
all reasonably and honestly, I will ensure him the same Success.

I am, Sir,
Your loving Friend,

Hezekiah Thrift

T.

* * * * *

No. 510. Wednesday, October 15, 1712. Steele.

'--Si sapis
Neque præterquam quas ipse amor molestias
Habet addas; et illas, quas habet, recte feras.'

Ter.

I was the other day driving in [a [1]] Hack thro' _Gerrard-street_, when my Eye was immediately catch'd with the prettiest Object imaginable, the Face of a very fair Girl, between Thirteen and Fourteen, fixed at the Chin to a painted Sash, and made part of the Landskip. It seemed admirably done, and upon throwing my self eagerly out of the Coach to look at it, it laugh'd and flung from the Window. This amiable Figure dwelt upon me; and I was considering the Vanity of the Girl, and her pleasant Coquettry in acting a Picture till she was taken Notice of, and raised the Admiration of her Beholders. This little Circumstance made me run into Reflections upon the Force of Beauty, and the wonderful Influence the Female Sex has upon the other part of the Species. Our Hearts are seized with their Enchantments, and there are few of us, but brutal Men, who by that Hardness lose the chief Pleasure in them, can resist their Insinuations, tho' never so much against our own Interest and Opinion. It is common with Women to destroy the good Effects a Man's following his own Way and Inclination might have upon his Honour and Fortune, by interposing their Power over him in matters wherein they cannot influence him, but to his Loss and Disparagement. I do not know therefore a Task so difficult in human Life, as to be proof against the Importunities of a Woman a Man loves. There is certainly no Armour against Tears, sullen Looks, or at best constrained Familiarities, in her whom you usually meet with Transport and Alacrity. Sir _Walter Rawleigh_ was quoted in a Letter (of a very ingenious Correspondent of mine) on this Subject. That Author, who had lived in Courts, Camps, travelled through many Countries, and seen many Men under several Climates, and of as various Complections, speaks of our Impotence to resist the Wiles of Women, in very severe Terms. His words are as follows: [2]

_What Means did the Devil find out, or what Instruments did his own
Subtlety present him, as fittest and aptest to work his Mischief by?
Even the unquiet Vanity of the Woman; so as by_ Adam's _hearkening to
the Voice of his Wife, contrary to the express Commandment of the
living God, Mankind by that her Incantation became the subject of
Labour, Sorrow, and Death; the Woman being given to Man for a
Comforter and Companion, but not for a Counsellor. It is also to be
noted by whom the Woman was tempted; even by the most ugly and
unworthy of all Beasts, into whom the Devil entered and persuaded.
Secondly, What was the Motive of her Disobedience? Even a desire to
know what was most unfitting her Knowledge; an Affection which has
ever since remained in all the Posterity of her Sex. Thirdly, What was
it that moved the Man to yield to her Persuasions; even the same Cause
which hath moved all Men since to the like Consent, namely, an
Unwillingness to grieve her or make her sad, lest she should pine, and
be overcome with Sorrow. But if _Adam _in the state of Perfection,
and_ Solomon_ the Son of _David, _God's chosen Servant, and himself a
Man endued with the greatest Wisdom, did both of them disobey their
Creator by the Persuasion and for the Love they bare to a Woman, it is
not so wonderful as lamentable, that other Men in succeeding Ages have
been allured to so many inconvenient and wicked Practices by the
Persuasion of their Wives, or other beloved Darlings, who cover over
and shadow many malicious Purposes with a counterfeit Passion of
dissimulate Sorrow and Unquietness._

The Motions of the Minds of Lovers are no where so well described, as in the Works of skillful Writers for the Stage. The Scene between _Fulvia_ and _Curius_, in the second Act of _Johnson's Catiline_, is an excellent Picture of the Power of a Lady over her Gallant. The Wench plays with his Affections; and as a Man of all Places in the World wishes to make a good Figure with his Mistress, upon her upbraiding him with Want of Spirit, he alludes to Enterprizes which he cannot reveal but with the Hazard of his Life. When he is worked thus far, with a little Flattery of her Opinion of his Gallantry, and desire to know more of it out of her overflowing Fondness to him, he brags to her till his Life is in her Disposal.

When a Man is thus liable to be vanquished by the Charms of her he loves, the safest Way is to determine what is proper to be done, but to avoid all Expostulation with her before he executes what he has resolved. Women are ever too hard for us upon a Treaty, and one must consider how senseless a thing it is to argue with one whose Looks and Gestures are more prevalent with you, than your Reason and Arguments can be with her. It is a most miserable Slavery to submit to what you disapprove, and give up a Truth for no other Reason, but that you had not Fortitude to support you in asserting it. A Man has enough to do to conquer his own unreasonable Wishes and Desires; but he does that in vain, if he has those of another to gratify. Let his Pride be in his Wife and Family, let him give them all the Conveniences of Life in such a manner as if he were proud of them; but let it be his own innocent Pride, and not their exorbitant Desires, which are indulged by him. In this case all the little Arts imaginable are used to soften a Man's Heart, and raise his Passion above his Understanding; but in all Concessions of this Kind, a Man should consider whether the Present he makes flows from his own Love, or the Importunity of his Beloved: If from the latter, he is her Slave; if from the former, her Friend. We laugh it off, and do not weigh this Subjection to Women with that Seriousness which so important a Circumstance deserves. Why was Courage given to Man, if his Wife's Fears are to frustrate it? When this is once indulged, you are no longer her Guardian and Protector, as you were designed by Nature; but, in Compliance to her Weaknesses, you have disabled your self from avoiding the Misfortunes into which they will lead you both, and you are to see the Hour in which you are to be reproached by her self for that very Complaisance to her. It is indeed the most difficult Mastery over our selves we can possibly attain, to resist the Grief of her who charms us; but let the Heart ake, be the Anguish never so quick and painful, it is what must be suffered and passed through, if you think to live like a Gentleman, or be conscious to your self that you are a Man of Honesty. The old Argument, that _You do not love me if you deny me this_, which first was used to obtain a Trifle, by habitual Success will oblige the unhappy Man who gives Way to it, to resign the Cause even of his Country and his Honour.

T.

[Footnote 1: [an] and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 2: History of the World, Bk. i. ch. 4, sect. 4.]

* * * * *

No. 511. Thursday, October 16, 1712. Addison.

'Quis non invenit turbâ quod amaret in illâ?'

Ovid,

_Dear_ SPEC.

'Finding that my last Letter took, I do intend to continue my
epistolary Correspondence with thee, on those dear confounded
Creatures, _Women_. Thou knowest, all the little Learning I am Master
of is upon that Subject; I never looked in a Book, but for their
sakes. I have lately met with two pure Stories for a _Spectator_,
which I am sure will please mightily, if they pass through thy Hands.
The first of them I found by chance in a _English_ Book called
_Herodotus_, that lay in my Friend _Dapperwit's_ Window, as I visited
him one Morning. It luckily opened in the Place where I met with the
following Account. He tells us that it was the Manner among the
_Persians_ to have several Fairs in the Kingdom, at which all the
young unmarried Women were annually exposed to Sale. The Men who
wanted Wives came hither to provide themselves: Every Woman was given
to the highest Bidder, and the Mony which she fetched laid aside for
the publick Use, to be employed as thou shalt hear by and by. By this
means the richest People had the Choice of the Market, and culled out
all the most extraordinary Beauties. As soon as the Fair was thus
picked, the Refuse was to be distributed among the Poor, and among
those who could not go to the Price of a _Beauty_ Several of these
married the _Agreeables_, without paying a Farthing for them, unless
somebody chanced to think it worth his while to bid for them, in which
Case the best Bidder was always the Purchaser. But now you must know,
SPEC. it happened in _Persia_ as it does in our own Country, that
there were as many _ugly Women_, as _Beauties_ or _Agreeables;_ so
that by Consequence, after the Magistrates had put off a great many,
there were still a great many that stuck upon their Hands. In order
therefore to clear the Market, the Money which the Beauties had sold
for, was disposed of among the Ugly; so that a poor Man, who could not
afford to have a Beauty for his Wife, was forced to take up with a
Fortune; the greatest Portion being always given to the most Deformed.
To this the Author adds, that every poor Man was forced to live kindly
with his Wife, or in case he repented of his Bargain, to return her
Portion with her to the next publick Sale.

What I would recommend to thee on this Occasion is, to establish such
an imaginary Fair in _Great Britain_: Thou couldst make it very
pleasant, by matching Women of Quality with Coblers and Carmen, or
describing Titles and Garters leading off in great Ceremony
Shop-keepers and Farmers Daughters. Tho' to tell thee the Truth, I am
confoundedly afraid that as the love of Mony prevails in our Island
more than it did in _Persia_, we should find that some of our greatest
Men would chuse out the Portions, and rival one another for the
richest Piece of Deformity; and that on the contrary, the Toasts and
Belles would be bought up by extravagant Heirs, Gamesters and
Spendthrifts. Thou couldst make very pretty Reflections upon this
Occasion in Honour of the _Persian_ Politicks, who took care, by such
Marriages, to beautify the upper part of the Species, and to make the
greatest Persons in the Government the most graceful. But this I shall
leave to thy judicious Pen.

'I have another Story to tell thee, which I likewise met with in a
Book. It seems the General of the _Tartars_, after having laid siege
to a strong Town in _China_, and taken it by Storm, would set to Sale
all the Women that were found in it. Accordingly, he put each of them
into a Sack, and after having thoroughly considered the Value of the
Woman who was inclosed, marked the Price that was demanded for her
upon the Sack. There were a great Confluence of Chapmen, that resorted
from every Part, with a Design to purchase, which they were to do
_unsight unseen_. The Book mentions a Merchant in particular, who
observing one of the Sacks to be marked pretty high, bargained for it,
and carried it off with him to his House. As he was resting with it
upon a half-way Bridge, he was resolved to take a Survey of his
Purchase: Upon opening the Sack, a little old Woman popped her Head
out of it; at which the Adventurer was in so great a Rage, that he was
going to shoot her out into the River. The old Lady, however, begged
him first of all to hear her Story, by which he learned that she was
sister to a great _Mandarin_, who would infallibly make the Fortune of
his Brother-in-Law as soon as he should know to whose Lot she fell.
Upon which the Merchant again tied her up in his Sack, and carried her
to his House, where she proved an excellent Wife, and procured him all
the Riches from her Brother that she had promised him.

'I fancy, if I was disposed to dream a second time, I could make a
tolerable Vision upon this Plan. I would suppose all the unmarried
Women in _London_ and _Westminster_ brought to Market in Sacks, with
their respective Prices on each Sack. The first Sack that is sold is
marked with five thousand Pound: Upon the opening of it, I find it
filled with an admirable Housewife, of an agreeable Countenance: The
Purchaser, upon hearing her good Qualities, pays down her Price very
chearfully. The second I would open, should be a five hundred Pound
Sack: The Lady in it, to our surprize, has the Face and Person of a
Toast: As we are wondering how she came to be set at so low a Price,
we hear that she would have been valued at ten thousand Pound, but
that the Publick had made those Abatements for her being a Scold. I
would afterwards find some beautiful, modest, and discreet Woman, that
should be the top of the Market; and perhaps discover half a dozen
Romps tyed up together in the same Sack, at one hundred Pound an Head.
The Prude and the Coquet should be valued at the same Price, tho' the
first should go off the better of the two. I fancy thou wouldst like
such a Vision, had I time to finish it; because, to talk in thy own
way, there is a Moral in it. Whatever thou may'st think of it,
pr'ythee do not make any of thy queer Apologies for this Letter, as
thou didst for my last. The Women love a gay lively Fellow, and are
never angry at the Railleries of one who is their known Admirer. I am
always bitter upon them, but well with them.

_Thine_,

HONEYCOMB.

O.

* * * * *

No. 512. Friday, October 17, 1712. Addison.

'Lectorem delectando pariterque monendo.'

Hor.

There is nothing which we receive with so much Reluctance as Advice. We look upon the Man who gives it us as offering an Affront to our Understanding, and treating us like Children or Ideots. We consider the Instruction as an implicit Censure, and the Zeal which any one shews for our Good on such an Occasion as a Piece of Presumption or Impertinence. The Truth of it is, the Person who pretends to advise, does, in that particular, exercise a Superiority over us, and can have no other Reason for it, but that in comparing us with himself, he thinks us defective either in our Conduct or our Understanding. For these Reasons, there is nothing so difficult as the Art of making Advice agreeable; and indeed all the Writers, both Ancient and Modern, have distinguished themselves among one another, according to the Perfection at which they have arrived in this Art. How many Devices have been made use of, to render this bitter Potion palatable? Some convey their Instructions to us in the best chosen Words, others in the most harmonious Numbers, some in Points of Wit, and others in short Proverbs.

In the next place, if we look into human Nature, we shall find that the Mind is never so much pleased, as when she exerts her self in any Action that gives her an Idea of her own Perfections and Abilities. This natural Pride and Ambition of the Soul is very much gratified in the reading of a Fable: for in Writings of this kind, the Reader comes in for half of the Performance; every thing appears to him like a Discovery of his own; he is busied all the while in applying Characters and Circumstances, and is in this respect both a Reader and a Composer. It is no wonder therefore that on such Occasions, when the Mind is thus pleased with it self, and amused with its own Discoveries, that it is highly delighted with the Writing which is the occasion of it. For this reason the _Absalom_ and _Achitophel_ [1] was one of the most popular Poems that ever appeared in _English_. The poetry is indeed very fine, but had it been much finer, it would not have so much pleased, without a plan which gave the Reader an Opportunity of exerting his own Talents.

This oblique manner of giving Advice is so inoffensive, that if we look into ancient Histories, we find the wise Men of old very often chose to give Counsel to their Kings in Fables. To omit many which will occur to every one's Memory, there is a pretty Instance of this Nature in a _Turkish_ Tale, which I do not like the worse for that little Oriental Extravagance which is mixed with it.

We are told that the Sultan _Mahmoud_, by his perpetual Wars abroad, and his Tyranny at home, had filled his Dominions with Ruin and Desolation, and half unpeopled the _Persian_ Empire. The Visier to this great Sultan (whether an Humourist or an Enthusiast, we are not informed) pretended to have learned of a certain Dervise to understand the Language of Birds, so that there was not a Bird that could open his Mouth, but the Visier knew what it was he said. As he was one Evening with the Emperor, in their return from Hunting, they saw a couple of Owls upon a Tree that grew near an old Wall out of an Heap of Rubbish. _I would fain know_, says the Sultan, _what those two Owls are saying to one another; listen to their Discourse, and give me an account of it_. The Visier approached the Tree, pretending to be very attentive to the two Owls. Upon his return to the Sultan, _Sir_, says he, _I have heard part of their Conversation, but dare not tell you what it is_. The Sultan would not be satisfied with such an Answer, but forced him to repeat word for word every thing the Owls had said. _You must know then_, said the Visier, _that one of these Owls has a Son, and the other a Daughter, between whom they are now upon a Treaty of Marriage. The Father of the Son said to the Father of the Daughter, in my hearing, Brother, I consent to this Marriage, provided you will settle upon your Daughter fifty ruined Villages for her Portion. To which the Father of the Daughter replied, Instead of fifty I will give her five hundred, if you please. God grant a long Life to Sultan_ Mahmoud; _whilst he reigns over us, we shall never want ruined Villages_.

The Story says, the Sultan was so touched with the Fable, that he rebuilt the Towns and Villages which had been destroyed, and from that time forward consulted the Good of his People. [2]

To fill up my Paper, I shall add a most ridiculous piece of natural Magic, which was taught by no less a Philosopher than _Democritus_, namely, that if the Blood of certain Birds, which he mentioned, were mixed together, it would produce a Serpent of such a wonderful Virtue, that whoever did eat it should be skill'd in the Language of Birds, and understand every thing they said to one another. Whether the Dervise abovementioned might not have eaten such a Serpent, I shall leave to the Determinations of the Learned.

O.

[Footnote 1: Dryden's satire on the intrigues of the Duke of Monmouth and Lord Shaftesbury to exclude the King's brother from the Throne. Monmouth was Absalom, and Shaftesbury Achitophel.]

[Footnote 2: Pilpay's Fables.]

* * * * *

No. 513. Saturday, October 18, 1712. Addison.

'--Afflata est numine quando
Jam propiore Dei--'

Virg.

The following Letter comes to me from that excellent Man in Holy Orders, whom I have mentioned more than once as one of that Society who assist me in my Speculations. It is a _Thought in Sickness_, and of a very serious Nature, for which Reason I give it a place in the Paper of this Day.

_SIR_,

'The Indisposition which has long hung upon me, is at last grown to
such [a [1]] Head, that it must quickly make an End of me, or of it
self. You may imagine, that whilst I am in this bad state of Health,
there are none of your Works which I read with greater Pleasure than
your _Saturday's_ Papers. I should be very glad if I could furnish you
with any Hints for that Day's Entertainment. Were I able to dress up
several Thoughts of a serious nature, which have made great
Impressions on my Mind during a long Fit of Sickness, they might not
be an improper Entertainment for that Occasion.

'Among all the Reflections which usually rise in the Mind of a sick
Man, who has Time and Inclination to consider his approaching End,
there is none more natural than that of his going to appear Naked and
Unbodied before Him who made him. When a Man considers, that as soon
as the vital Union is dissolved, he shall see that Supreme Being, whom
he now contemplates at a Distance, and only in his Works; or, to speak
more philosophically, when by some Faculty in the Soul he shall
apprehend the Divine Being, and be more sensible of his Presence, than
we are now of the Presence of any Object which the Eye beholds, a Man
must be lost in Carelessness and Stupidity, who is not alarmed at such
a Thought. Dr. _Sherlock_, in his excellent Treatise upon Death, has
represented, in very strong and lively Colours, the State of the Soul
in its first Separation from the Body, with regard to that invisible
World which every where surrounds us, tho' we are not able to discover
it through this grosser World of Matter, which is accommodated to our
Senses in this Life. His Words are as follow.

'_That Death, which is our leaving this World, is nothing else but
our putting off these Bodies, teaches us, that it is only our Union
to these Bodies, which intercepts the sight of the other World: The
other World is not at such a distance from us, as we may imagine;
the Throne of God indeed is at a great remove from this Earth, above
the third Heavens, where he displays his Glory to those blessed
Spirits which encompass his Throne; but as soon as we step out of
these Bodies, we step into the other World, which is not so properly
another World, (for there is the same Heaven and Earth still) as a
new state of Life. To live in these Bodies is to live in this World;
to live out of them is to remove into the next: For while our Souls
are confined to these Bodies, and can look only thro' these material
Casements, nothing but what is material can affect us; nay, nothing
but what is so gross, that it can reflect Light, and convey the
Shapes and Colours of Things with it to the Eye: So that though
within this visible World, there be a more glorious Scene of Things
than what appears to us, we perceive nothing at all of it; for this
Veil of Flesh parts the visible and invisible World: But when we put
off these Bodies, there are new and surprizing Wonders present
themselves to our Views; when these material Spectacles are taken
off, the Soul, with its own naked Eyes, sees what was invisible
before: And then we are in the other World, when we can see it, and
converse with it: Thus St._ Paul _tell us, That_ when we are at home
in the Body, we are absent from the Lord; but when we are absent
from the Body, we are present with the Lord, 2 _Cor._ 5. 6, 8. _And
methinks this is enough to cure us of our Fondness for these Bodies,
unless we think it more desirable to be confined to a Prison, and to
look through a Grate all our Lives, which gives us but a very narrow
prospect, and that none of the best neither, than to be set at
liberty to view all the Glories of the World. What would we give now
for the least Glimpse of that invisible World, which the first step
we take out of these Bodies will present us with? There are such
things_ as Eye hath not seen, nor Ear heard, neither hath it entered
into the Heart of Man to conceive: _Death opens our Eyes, enlarges
our Prospect, presents us with a new and more glorious World, which
we can never see while we are shut up in Flesh; which should make us
as willing to part with this Veil, as to take the Film off of our
Eyes, which hinders our Sight_.

'As a thinking Man cannot but be very much affected with the Idea of
his appearing in the presence of that Being _whom none can see and
live_; he must be much more affected when he considers that this Being
whom he appears before, will examine all the Actions of his past Life,
and reward or punish him accordingly. I must confess that I think
there is no Scheme of Religion, besides that of Christianity, which
can possibly support the most virtuous Person under this Thought. Let
a Man's Innocence be what it will, let his Virtues rise to the highest
pitch of Perfection attainable in this Life, there will be still in
him so many secret Sins, so many human Frailties, so many Offences of
Ignorance, Passion and Prejudice, so many unguarded Words and
Thoughts, and in short, so many Defects in his best Actions, that,
without the Advantages of such an Expiation and Atonement as
Christianity has revealed to us, it is impossible that he should be
cleared before his Sovereign Judge, or that he should be able _to
stand in his Sight_. Our Holy Religion suggests to us the only Means
whereby our Guilt may be taken away, and our imperfect Obedience
accepted.

'It is this Series of Thought that I have endeavoured to express in
the following Hymn, which I have composed during this my Sickness.

I. When rising from the Bed of Death,
O'erwhelm'd with Guilt and Fear,
I see my Maker, Face to Face,
O how shall I appear!

II. If yet, while Pardon may be found,
And Mercy may be sought,
My Heart with inward Horrour shrinks,
And trembles at the Thought;

III. When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd
In Majesty severe,
And sit in Judgment on my Soul,
O how shall I appear!

IV. But thou hast told the troubled Mind,
Who does her Sins lament,
The timely Tribute of her Tears
Shall endless Woe prevent.

V. Then see the Sorrows of my Heart,
Ere yet it be too late;
And hear my Saviour's dying Groans,
To give those Sorrows Weight.

VI. For never shall my Soul despair
Her Pardon to procure,
Who knows thine only Son has dy'd
To make her Pardon sure.

'There is a noble Hymn in _French_, which Monsieur _Bayle_ has
celebrated for a _very fine one_, and which the famous Author of the
Art of Speaking calls an _Admirable one_, that turns upon a Thought of
the same Nature. If I could have done it Justice in _English_, I would
have sent it you translated; it was written by Monsieur _Des
Barreaux_; who had been one of the greatest Wits and Libertines in
_France_, but in his last Years was as remarkable a Penitent. [2]

'Grand Dieu, tes jugemens sont remplis d'equité;
Toûjours tu prens plaisir à nous être propice:
Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bonté
Ne me pardonnera sans choquer ta Justice.
Ouy, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impieté
Ne laisse à ton pouvoir que le choix du suplice:
Ton interest s' oppose a ma felicité;
Et ta clemence meme attend que je perisse.
Contente ton desir puis qu'il t'est glorieux;
Offense toy des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux;
Tonne, frappe, il est temps, rens moi guerre pour guerre.
J'adore en perissant la raison qui t'aigrit:
Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnerre,
Qui ne soit tout convert du sang de_ JESUS CHRIST.'

'If these Thoughts may be serviceable to you, I desire you would place them in a proper Light, and am ever, with great Sincerity,'

_SIR_,

_Yours, &c_.

O.

[Footnote 1: _an_ in first reprint.]