Chapter CI: Letter I: found that Will was fallen off from his former Gayety, having (10)

Thus have I contended for the Dignity of that Nature I have the Honour to partake of, and, after all the Evidence produced, think I have a Right to conclude, against the Motto of this Paper, that there is such a thing as Generosity in the World. Though if I were under a Mistake in this, I should say as _Cicero_ in Relation to the Immortality of the Soul, I willingly err, and should believe it very much for the Interest of Mankind to lye under the same Delusion. For the contrary Notion naturally tends to dispirit the Mind, and sinks it into a Meanness fatal to the Godlike Zeal of doing good. As on the other hand, it teaches People to be Ungrateful, by possessing them with a Perswasion concerning their Benefactors, that they have no Regard to them in the Benefits they bestow. Now he that banishes Gratitude from among Men, by so doing stops up the Stream of Beneficence. For though in conferring Kindnesses, a truly generous Man doth not aim at a Return, yet he looks to the Qualities of the Person obliged, and as nothing renders a Person more unworthy of a Benefit, than his being without all Resentment of it, he will not be extreamly forward to Oblige such a Man.

[Footnote 1: The Rev. Henry Grove was a Presbyterian minister, who kept school at Taunton. He was born there in 1683, became a teacher at the age of 23 (already married), and worked for the next 18 years in the Taunton Academy, his department Ethics and Pneumatology. He spent his leisure in religious controversy, writing an 'Essay on the Terms of Christian Communion,' a Discourse on Saving Faith, an Essay on the Soul's Immortality, and miscellanies in prose and verse, including Nos. 588, 601, 626, and 635, of the _Spectator_. He received also £20 a year for ministering to two small congregations in the neighbourhood of Taunton. His wife died in 1736, and he in the year following. His works appeared in 1740 in 4 vols. 8vo.]

* * * * *

No. 589. Friday, September 3, 1714.

'Persequitur scelus ille suum: labefactaque tandem
Ictibus innumeris adductaque funibus arbor
Corruit.'

Ovid.

_SIR_,

'I am so great an Admirer of Trees, that the Spot of Ground I have
chosen to build a small Seat upon, in the Country, is almost in the
midst of a large Wood. I was obliged, much against my Will, to cut
down several Trees, that I might have any such thing as a Walk in my
Gardens; but then I have taken Care to leave the Space, between every
Walk, as much a Wood as I found it. The Moment you turn either to the
Right or Left, you are in a Forest, where Nature presents you with a
much more beautiful Scene than could have been raised by Art.

'Instead of _Tulips_ or _Carnations_, I can shew you _Oakes_ in my
Gardens of four hundred Years standing, and a Knot of _Elms_ that
might shelter a Troop of Horse from the Rain.

'It is not without the utmost Indignation, that I observe several
prodigal young Heirs in the Neighbourhood, felling down the most
glorious Monuments of their Ancestors Industry, and ruining, in a Day,
the Product of Ages.

'I am mightily pleased with your Discourse upon Planting, which put me
upon looking into my Books to give you some Account of the Veneration
the Ancients had for Trees. There is an old Tradition, that _Abraham_
planted a _Cypress_, a _Pine_, and a _Cedar_, and that these three
incorporated into one Tree, which was cut down for the building of the
Temple of _Solomon_.

'_Isidorus_, who lived in the Reign of _Constantius_, assures us, that
he saw, even in his Time, that famous _Oak_ in the Plains of _MambrÈ_,
under which _Abraham_ is reported to have dwelt, and adds, that the
People looked upon it with a great Veneration, and preserved it as a
Sacred Tree.

'The Heathens still went farther, and regarded it as the highest Piece
of Sacrilege to injure certain Trees which they took to be protected
by some Deity. The Story of _Erisicthon_, the Grove of _Dodona_, and
that at _Delphi_, are all Instances of this Kind.

'If we consider the Machine in _Virgil_, so much blamed by several
Criticks, in this Light, we shall hardly think it too violent.

'_Æneas_, when he built his Fleet, in order to sail for _Italy_, was
obliged to cut down the Grove on Mount _Ida_, which however he durst
not do till he had obtained leave from _Cybele_, to whom it was
dedicated. The Goddess could not but think her self obliged to protect
these Ships, which were made of Consecrated Timber, after a very
extraordinary Manner, and therefore desired _Jupiter_, that they might
not be obnoxious to the Power of Waves or Winds. _Jupiter_ would not
grant this, but promised her, that as many as came safe to _Italy_
should be transformed into Goddesses of the Sea; which the Poet tells
us was accordingly executed.

'And now at length the number'd Hours were come,
Prefix'd by Fate's irrevocable Doom,
When the great Mother of the Gods was free
To save her Ships, and finish_ Jove's _Decree.
First, from the Quarter of the Morn, there sprung
A Light that sign'd the Heavens, and shot along:
Then from a Cloud, fring'd round with Golden Fires,
Were Timbrels heard, and_ Berecynthian _Quires:
And last a Voice, with more than Mortal Sounds,
Both Hosts in Arms oppos'd, with equal Horror wounds.
O_ Trojan _Race, your needless Aid forbear;
And know my Ships are my peculiar Care.
With greater Ease the bold_ Rutulian _may,
With hissing Brands, attempt to burn the Sea,
Than singe my sacred Pines. But you my Charge,
Loos'd from your crooked Anchors launch at large,
Exalted each a Nymph: Forsake the Sand,
And swim the Seas, at_ Cybele's _Command.
No sooner had the Goddess ceas'd to speak,
When lo, th' obedient Ships their Haulsers break;
And, strange to tell, like Dolphins in the Main,
They plunge their Prows, and dive, and spring again:
As many beauteous Maids the Billows sweep,
As rode before tall Vessels on the Deep.'

Dryden's Virg.

'The common Opinion concerning the Nymphs, whom the Ancients called
_Hamadryads_, is more to the Honour of Trees than any thing yet
mentioned. It was thought the Fate of these Nymphs had so near a
Dependance on some Trees, more especially Oaks, that they lived and
died together. For this Reason they were extremely grateful to such
Persons who preserved those Trees with which their Being subsisted.
_Apollonius_ tells us a very remarkable Story to this Purpose, with
which I shall conclude my Letter.

'A certain Man, called _Rhoecus_, observing an old Oak ready to fall,
and being moved with a sort of Compassion towards the Tree, ordered
his Servants to pour in fresh Earth at the Roots of it, and set it
upright. The _Hamadryad_ or Nymph who must necessarily have perished
with the Tree, appeared to him the next Day, and after having returned
him her Thanks, told him, she was ready to grant whatever he should
ask. As she was extreamly Beautiful, _Rhoecus_ desired he might be
entertained as her Lover. The _Hamadryad_, not much displeased with
the Request, promis'd to give him a Meeting, but commanded him for
some Days to abstain from the Embraces of all other Women, adding that
she would send a Bee to him, to let him know when he was to be Happy.
_Rhoecus_ was, it seems, too much addicted to Gaming, and happened to
be in a Run of ill Luck when the faithful Bee came buzzing about him;
so that instead of minding his kind Invitation, he had like to have
killed him for his Pains. The _Hamadryad_ was so provoked at her own
Disappointment, and the ill Usage of her Messenger, that she deprived
_Rhoecus_ of the Use of his Limbs. However, says the Story, he was not
so much a Criple, but he made a shift to cut down the Tree, and
consequently to fell his Mistress.

* * * * *

No. 590. Monday, September 6, 1714. Addison.

'--Assiduo labuntur tempora motu
Non secus ac flumen. Neque enim consistere flumen,
Nec levis hora potest: sed ut unda, impellitur unda,
Urgeturque prior venienti, urgetque priorem,
Tempora sic fugiunt pariter, pariterque sequuntur;
Et nova sunt semper. Nam quod fuit ante, relictum est;
Fitque quod haud fuerat: momentaque cuncta novantur.'

Ov. Met.

_The following Discourse comes from the same Hand with the Essays upon Infinitude_ [1].

We consider infinite Space as an Expansion without a Circumference: We consider Eternity, or infinite Duration, as a Line that has neither a Beginning nor an End. In our Speculations of infinite Space, we consider that particular Place in which we exist, as a kind of Center to the whole Expansion. In our Speculations of Eternity, we consider the Time which is present to us as the Middle, which divides the whole Line into two equal Parts. For this Reason, many witty Authors compare the present Time to an Isthmus or narrow Neck of Land, that rises in the midst of an Ocean, immeasurably diffused on either Side of it.

Philosophy, and indeed common Sense, naturally throws Eternity under two Divisions; which we may call in _English_, that Eternity which is past, and that Eternity which is to come. The learned Terms of _Æternitas a Parte ante_, and _Æternitas a Parte post_, may be more amusing to the Reader, but can have no other Idea affixed to them than what is conveyed to us by those Words, an Eternity that is past, and an Eternity that is to come. Each of these Eternities is bounded at the one Extream; or, in other Words, the former has an End, and the latter a Beginning.

Let us first of all consider that Eternity which is past, reserving that which is to come for the Subject of another Paper. The Nature of this Eternity is utterly inconceivable by the Mind of Man: Our Reason demonstrates to us that it _has been_, but at the same Time can frame no Idea of it, but what is big with Absurdity and Contradiction. We can have no other Conception of any Duration which is past, than that all of it was once present; and whatever was once present, is at some certain Distance from us, and whatever is at any certain Distance from us, be the Distance never so remote, cannot be Eternity. The very Notion of any Duration's being past, implies that it was once present; for the Idea of being once present, is actually included in the Idea of its being past. This therefore is a Depth not to be sounded by human Understanding. We are sure that there has been an Eternity, and yet contradict our selves when we measure this Eternity by any Notion which we can frame of it.

If we go to the Bottom of this Matter, we shall find, that the Difficulties we meet with in our Conceptions of Eternity proceed from this single Reason, That we can have no other Idea of any kind of Duration, than that by which we our selves, and all other created Beings, do exist; which is, a successive Duration made up of past, present, and to come. There is nothing which exists after this Manner, all the Parts of whose Existence were not once actually present, and consequently may be reached by a certain Number of Years applied to it. We may ascend as high as we please, and employ our Being to that Eternity which is to come, in adding Millions of Years to Millions of Years, and we can never come up to any Fountain-Head of Duration, to any Beginning in Eternity: But at the same time we are sure, that whatever was once present does lye within the Reach of Numbers, though perhaps we can never be able to put enough of them together for that Purpose. We may as well say, that any thing may be actually present in any Part of infinite Space, which does not lye at a certain Distance from us, as that any Part of infinite Duration was once actually present, and does not also lye at some determined Distance from us. The Distance in both Cases may be immeasurable and indefinite as to our Faculties, but our Reason tells us that it cannot be so in it self. Here therefore is that Difficulty which Human Understanding is not capable of surmounting. We are sure that something must have existed from Eternity, and are at the same Time unable to conceive, that any thing which exists, according to our Notion of Existence, can have existed from Eternity.

It is hard for a Reader, who has not rolled this Thought in his own Mind, to follow in such an abstracted Speculation; but I have been the longer on it, because I think it is a demonstrative Argument of the Being and Eternity of a God: And tho' there are many other Demonstrations which lead us to this great Truth, I do not think we ought to lay aside any Proofs in this Matter which the Light of Reason has suggested to us, especially when it is such a one as has been urged by Men famous for their Penetration and Force of Understanding, and which appears altogether conclusive to those who will be at the Pains to examine it.

Having thus considered that Eternity which is past, according to the best Idea we can frame of it, I shall now draw up those several Articles on this Subject which are dictated to us by the Light of Reason, and which may be looked upon as the Creed of a Philosopher in this great Point.

_First_, It is certain that no Being could have made it self; for if so, it must have acted before it was, which is a Contradiction.

_Secondly_, That therefore some Being must have existed from all Eternity.

_Thirdly_, That whatever exists after the manner of created Beings, or according to any Notions which we have of Existence, could not have existed from Eternity.

_Fourthly_, That this eternal Being must therefore be the great Author of Nature, _The Ancient of Days_, who, being at an infinite Distance in his Perfections from all finite and created Beings, exists in a quite different Manner from them, and in a Manner of which they can have no Idea.

I know that several of the School-men, who would not be thought ignorant of any thing, have pretended to explain the Manner of God's Existence, by telling us, That he comprehends infinite Duration in every Moment; That Eternity is with him a _Punctum stans_, a fixed Point; or, which is as good Sense, an _Infinite Instance_; That nothing with Reference to his Existence is either past or to come: To which the ingenious Mr. _Cowley_ alludes in his Description of Heaven,

'Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,
But an Eternal NOW does always last.'

For my own Part, I look upon these Propositions as Words that have no Ideas annexed to them; and think Men had better own their Ignorance than advance Doctrines by which they mean nothing, and which indeed are self-contradictory. We cannot be too modest in our Disquisitions, when we meditate on Him who is environed with so much Glory and Perfection, who is the Source of Being, the Fountain of all that Existence which we and his whole Creation derive from him. Let us therefore with the utmost Humility acknowledge, that as some Being must necessarily have existed from Eternity, so this Being does exist after an incomprehensible manner, since it is impossible for a Being to have existed from Eternity after our Manner or Notions of Existence. Revelation confirms these natural Dictates of Reason in the Accounts which it gives us of the Divine Existence, where it tells us, that he is the same Yesterday, To-day, and for Ever; that he is the _Alpha_ and _Omega_, the Beginning and the Ending; that a thousand Years are with him as one Day, and one Day as a Thousand Years; by which and the like Expressions, we are taught, that his Existence, with Relation to Time or Duration, is infinitely different from the Existence of any of his Creatures, and consequently that it is impossible for us to frame any adequate Conceptions of it.

In the first Revelation which he makes of his own Being, he entitles himself, _I am that I am_; and when _Moses_ desires to know what Name he shall give him in his Embassy to _Pharaoh_, he bids him say that _I am_ hath sent you. Our great Creator, by this Revelation of himself, does in a manner exclude every thing else from a real Existence, and distinguishes himself from his Creatures, as the only Being which truly and really exists. The ancient Platonick Notion, which was drawn from Speculations of Eternity, wonderfully agrees with this Revelation which God has made of himself. There is nothing, say they, which in Reality exists, whose Existence, as we call it, is pieced up of past, present, and to come. Such a flitting and successive Existence is rather a Shadow of Existence, and something which is like it, than Existence it self. He only properly exists whose Existence is intirely present; that is, in other Words, who exists in the most perfect Manner, and in such a Manner as we have no Idea of.

I shall conclude this Speculation with one useful Inference. How can we sufficiently prostrate our selves and fall down before our Maker, when we consider that ineffable Goodness and Wisdom which contrived this Existence for finite Natures? What must be the Overflowings of that good Will, which prompted our Creator to adapt Existence to Beings, in whom it is not necessary? Especially when we consider that he himself was before him in the compleat Possession of Existence and of Happiness, and in the full Enjoyment of Eternity. What Man can think of himself as called out and separated from nothing, of his being made a conscious, a reasonable and a happy Creature, in short, of being taken in as a Sharer of Existence, and a kind of Partner in Eternity, without being swallowed up in Wonder, in Praise, in Adoration! It is indeed a Thought too big for the Mind of Man, and rather to be entertained in the Secrecy of Devotion, and in the Silence of the Soul, than to be expressed by Words. The Supreme Being has not given us Powers or Faculties sufficient to extol and magnifie such unutterable Goodness.

It is however some Comfort to us, that we shall be always doing what we shall be never able to do, and that a Work which cannot be finished, will however be the Work of an Eternity.

[Footnote 1: See Nos. 565, 571, 580, and 628.]

* * * * *

No. 591. Wednesday, September 8, 1714. Budgell.

'--Tenerorum lusor amorum--'

Ovid.

I have just receiv'd a Letter from a Gentleman, who tells me he has observed, with no small Concern, that my Papers have of late been very barren in relation to Love [1]; a Subject which when agreeably handled, can scarce fail of being well receiv'd by both Sexes.

If my Invention therefore should be almost exhausted on this Head, he offers to serve under me in the Quality of a _Love Casuist_; for which Place he conceives himself to be throughly qualified, having made this Passion his Principal Study, and observed it in all its different Shapes and Appearances, from the Fifteenth to the Forty Fifth Year of his Age.

He assures me with an Air of Confidence, which I hope proceeds from his real Abilities, that he does not doubt of giving Judgment to the Satisfaction of the Parties concerned, on the most nice and intricate Cases which can happen in an Amour; as,

How great the Contraction of the Fingers must be before it amounts to
a Squeeze by the Hand.

What can be properly termed an absolute Denial from a Maid, and what
from a Widow.

What Advances a Lover may presume to make, after having received a
Patt upon his Shoulder from his Mistress's Fan.

Whether a Lady, at the first Interview, may allow an Humble Servant to
kiss her Hand.

How far it may be permitted to caress the Maid in order to succeed
with the Mistress.

What Constructions a Man may put upon a Smile, and in what Cases a
Frown goes for nothing.

On what Occasions a sheepish Look may do Service, _&c_.

As a farther Proof of his Skill, he has also sent me several Maxims in Love, which he assures me are the Result of a long and profound Reflection, some of which I think my self obliged to communicate to the Publick, not remembering to have seen them before in any Author.

'There are more Calamities in the World arising from Love than from
Hatred.

'Love is the Daughter of _Idleness_, but the Mother of _Disquietude_.

'Men of grave Natures (says Sir _Francis Bacon_) are the most
constant; for the same Reason Men should be more constant than Women.

'The Gay Part of Mankind is most amorous, the Serious most loving.

'A Coquet often loses her Reputation, whilst she preserves her Virtue.

'A Prude often preserves her Reputation when she has lost her Virtue.

'Love refines a Man's Behaviour, but makes a Woman's ridiculous.

'Love is generally accompanied with Good-will in the Young, Interest
in the Middle-aged, and a Passion too gross to Name in the Old.

'The Endeavours to revive a decaying Passion generally extinguish the
Remains of it.

'A Woman who from being a Slattern becomes over-neat, or from being
over-neat becomes a Slattern, is most certainly in Love.

I shall make use of this Gentleman's Skill as I see Occasion; and since I am got upon the Subject of Love, shall conclude this Paper with a Copy of Verses which were lately sent me by an unknown Hand, as I look upon them to be above the ordinary Run of Sonneteers.

The Author tells me they were written in one of his despairing Fits; and I find entertains some Hope that his Mistress may pity such a Passion as he has described, before she knows that she is herself _Corinna_.

'Conceal, fond Man, conceal the mighty Smart,
Nor tell_ Corinna _she has fir'd thy Heart.
In vain would'st thou complain, in vain pretend
To ask a Pity which she must not lend.
She's too much thy Superior to comply,
And too too fair to let thy Passion dye.
Languish in Secret, and with dumb Surprize
Drink the resistless Glances of her Eyes.
At awful Distance entertain thy Grief,
Be still in Pain, but never ask Relief.
Ne'er tempt her Scorn of thy consuming State;
Be any way undone, but fly her Hate.
Thou must submit to see thy Charmer bless
Some happier Youth that shall admire her less;
Who in that lovely Form, that Heavenly Mind,
Shall miss ten thousand Beauties thou could'st find;
Who with low Fancy shall approach her Charms,
While half enjoy'd she sinks into his Arms.
She knows not, must not know, thy nobler Fire,
Whom she, and whom the Muses do inspire;
Her Image only shall thy Breast employ,
And fill thy captiv'd Soul with Shades of joy;
Direct thy Dreams by Night, thy Thoughts by Day;
And never, never, from thy Bosom stray.' [2]

[Footnote 1: See Nos. 602, 605, 614, 623, and 625.]

[Footnote 2: These verses were by Gilbert Budgell, second brother of Eustace.]

* * * * *

No. 592. Friday, September 10, 1714. Addison.

'--Studium sine divite Vena--'

Hor.

I look upon the Play-house as a World within it self. They have lately furnished the Middle Region of it with a new Sett of Meteors, in order to give the Sublime to many modern Tragedies. I was there last Winter at the first Rehearsal of the new Thunder [1], which is much more deep and sonorous than any hitherto made use of. They have a _Salmoneus_ behind the Scenes, who plays it off with great Success. Their Lightnings are made to flash more briskly than heretofore; their Clouds are also better furbelow'd, and more voluminous; not to mention a violent Storm locked up in a great Chest that is designed for the _Tempest_. They are also provided with above a Dozen Showers of Snow, which, as I am informed, are the Plays of many unsuccessful Poets artificially cut and shreaded for that Use. Mr. _Rimer's Edgar_ is to fall in Snow at the next acting of King _Lear_, in order to heighten, or rather to alleviate, the Distress of that unfortunate Prince; and to serve by way of Decoration to a Piece which that great Critick has written against.

I do not indeed wonder that the Actors should be such professed Enemies to those among our Nation who are commonly known by the Name of Criticks, since it is a Rule among these Gentlemen to fall upon a Play, not because it is ill written, but because it takes. Several of them lay it down as a Maxim, That whatever Dramatick Performance has a long Run, must of Necessity be good for nothing; as though the first Precept in Poetry were _not to please_. Whether this Rule holds good or not, I shall leave to the Determination of those who are better Judges than my self: If it does, I am sure it tends very much to the Honour of those Gentlemen who have established it; few of their Pieces having been disgraced by a Run of three Days, and most of them being so exquisitely written, that the Town would never give them more than one Night's Hearing.

I have a great Esteem for a true Critick, such as _Aristotle_ and _Longinus_ among the _Greeks_, _Horace_ and _Quintilian_ among the _Romans_, _Boileau_ and _Dacier_ among the _French_. But it is our Misfortune, that some who set up for professed Criticks among us are so stupid, that they do not know how to put ten Words together with Elegance or common Propriety, and withal so illiterate, that they have no Taste of the learned Languages, and therefore criticise upon old Authors only at second-hand. They judge of them by what others have written, and not by any Notions they have of the Authors themselves. The Words Unity, Action, Sentiment, and Diction, pronounced with an Air of Authority, give them a Figure among unlearned Readers, who are apt to believe they are very deep, because they are unintelligible. The Ancient Criticks are full of the Praises of their Contemporaries; they discover Beauties which escaped the Observation of the Vulgar, and very often find out Reasons for palliating and excusing such little Slips and Oversights as were committed in the Writings of eminent Authors. On the contrary, most of the Smatterers in Criticism who appear among us, make it their Business to vilifie and depreciate every new Production that gains Applause, to descry imaginary Blemishes, and to prove by far-fetch'd Arguments, that what pass for Beauties in any celebrated Piece are Faults and Errors. In short, the Writings of these Criticks compared with those of the Ancients, are like the Works of the Sophists compared with those of the old Philosophers.

Envy and Cavil are the natural Fruits of Laziness and Ignorance; which was probably the Reason, that in the Heathen Mythology _Momus_ is said to be the Son of _Nox_ and _Somnus_, of Darkness and Sleep. Idle Men, who have not been at the Pains to accomplish or distinguish themselves, are very apt to detract from others; as ignorant Men are very subject to decry those Beauties in a celebrated Work which they have not Eyes to discover. Many of our Sons of _Momus_, who dignify themselves by the Name of Criticks, are the genuine Descendants of these two illustrious Ancestors. They are often led into those numerous Absurdities, in which they daily instruct the People, by not considering that, _1st_, There is sometimes a greater Judgment shewn in deviating from the Rules of Art, than in adhering to them; and, _2dly_, That there is more Beauty in the Works of a great Genius who is ignorant of all the Rules of Art, than in the Works of a little Genius, who not only knows, but scrupulously observes them.

First, We may often take Notice of Men who are perfectly acquainted with all the Rules of good Writing, and notwithstanding chuse to depart from them on extraordinary Occasions. I could give Instances out of all the Tragick Writers of Antiquity who have shewn their Judgment in this Particular; and purposely receded from an established Rule of the Drama, when it has made way for a much higher Beauty than the Observation of such a Rule would have been. Those who have surveyed the noblest Pieces of Architecture and Statuary both ancient and modern, know very well that there are frequent Deviations from Art in the Works of the greatest Masters, which have produced a much nobler Effect than a more accurate and exact way of Proceeding could have done. This often arises from what the _Italians_ call the _Gusto Grande_ in these Arts, which is what we call the Sublime in Writing.

In the next Place, our Criticks do not seem sensible that there is more Beauty in the Works of a great Genius who is ignorant of the Rules of Art, than in those of a little Genius who knows and observes them. It is of these Men of Genius that _Terence_ speaks, in Opposition to the little artificial Cavillers of his Time;

'Quorum æmulari exoptat negligentiam
Potiùs, quàm istorum obscuram diligentiam.'

A Critick may have the same Consolation in the ill Success of his Play, as Dr. _South_ tells us a Physician has at the Death of a Patient, That he was killed _secundum artem_. Our inimitable _Shakespear_ is a Stumbling-Block to the whole Tribe of these rigid Criticks. Who would not rather read one of his Plays, where there is not a single Rule of the Stage observed, than any Production of a modern Critick, where there is not one of them violated? _Shakespear_ was indeed born with all the Seeds of Poetry, and may be compared to the Stone in _Pyrrhus's_ Ring, which, as _Pliny_ tells us, had the Figure of _Apollo_ and the Nine Muses in the Veins of it, produced by the spontaneous Hand of Nature, without any Help from Art.

[Footnote 1: John Dennis's invention, of which he said with exultation, 'That's my thunder.']

* * * * *

No. 593. Monday, September 13, 1714. Byrom.

'Quale per incertam Lunam sub luce maligna
Est iter in Sylvis:--'

Virg.

My dreaming Correspondent, Mr. _Shadow_, has sent me a second Letter, with several curious Observations on Dreams in general, and the Method to render Sleep improving: An Extract of his Letter will not, I presume, be disagreeable to my Readers.

'Since we have so little Time to spare, that none of it may be lost, I
see no Reason why we should neglect to examine those imaginary Scenes
we are presented with in Sleep, only because they have less Reality in
them than our waking Meditations. A Traveller would bring his Judgment
in Question who should despise the Directions of his Map for want of
real Roads in it, because here stands a _Dott_ instead of a Town, or a
_Cypher_ instead of a City, and it must be a long Day's Journey to
travel thro' two or three Inches. Fancy in Dreams gives us much such
another Landskip of Life as that does of Countries, and tho' its
Appearances may seem strangely jumbled together, we may often observe
such Traces and Footsteps of noble Thoughts, as, if carefully pursued,
might lead us into a proper Path of Action. There is so much Rapture
and Extasie in our fancied Bliss, and something so dismal and shocking
in our fancied Misery, that tho' the Inactivity of the Body has given
Occasion for calling Sleep the Image of _Death_, the Briskness of the
Fancy affords us a strong Intimation of something within us that can
never die.

'I have wondered, that _Alexander_ the Great, who came into the World
sufficiently dreamt of by his Parents, and had himself a tolerable
Knack at dreaming, should often say, that

'Sleep was one thing which made him sensible he was Mortal.'

I who have not such Fields of Action in the Daytime to divert my
Attention from this Matter, plainly perceive, that in those Operations
of the Mind, while the Body is at rest, there is a certain Vastness of
Conception very suitable to the Capacity, and demonstrative of the
Force of that Divine Part in our Composition which will last for ever.
Neither do I much doubt but had we a true Account of the Wonders the
Hero last mentioned performed in his Sleep, his conquering this little
Globe would hardly be worth mentioning. I may affirm, without Vanity,
that when I compare several Actions in _Quintus Curtius_ with some
others in my own Noctuary, I appear the greater Hero of the two.

I shall close this Subject with observing, that while we are awake we
are at Liberty to fix our Thoughts on what we please, but in Sleep we
have not the Command of them. The Ideas which strike the Fancy, arise
in us without our Choice, either from the Occurrences of the Day past,
the Temper we lye down in, or it may be the Direction of some superior
Being.

It is certain the Imagination may be so differently affected in Sleep,
that our Actions of the Day might be either rewarded or punished with
a little Age of Happiness or Misery. St. _Austin_ was of Opinion, that
if in _Paradise_ there was the same Vicissitude of sleeping and waking
as in the present World, the Dreams of its Inhabitants would be very
happy.

And so far at present our Dreams are in our Power, that they are
generally conformable to our waking Thoughts, so that it is not
impossible to convey our selves to a Consort of Musick, the
Conversation of Distant Friends, or any other Entertainment which has
been before lodged in the Mind.

My Readers, by applying these Hints will find the Necessity of making
a _good Day_ of it, if they heartily wish themselves a good Night.

I have often consider'd _Marcia's_ Prayer, and _Lucius's_ Account of
_Cato_, in this Light.

Marc. O ye immortal Powers, that guard the Just,
Watch round his Couch, and soften his Repose,
Banish his Sorrows, and becalm his Soul
With easie Dreams; remember all his Virtues;
And shew Mankind that Goodness is your Care.

Luc. Sweet are the Slumbers of the virtuous Man!
O Marcia, I have seen thy Godlike Father:
Some Pow'r invisible supports his Soul,
And bears it up in all its wonted Greatness.
A kind refreshing Sleep is fall'n upon him:
I saw him stretcht at Ease, his Fancy lost
In pleasing Dreams; as I drew near his Couch,
He smil'd, and cry'd, Cæsar, thou canst not hurt me.

Mr. _Shadow_ acquaints me in a Postscript, that he has no manner of Title to the Vision which succeeded his first Letter; but adds, that as the Gentleman who wrote it Dreams very sensibly, he shall be glad to meet him some Night or other, under the great Elm Tree, by which _Virgil_ has given us a fine Metaphorical Image of Sleep, in order to turn over a few of the Leaves together, and oblige the Publick with an Account of the Dreams that lie under them.

* * * * *

No. 594. Wednesday, September 15, 1714.

'--Absentem qui rodit amicum,
Qui non defendit, alio culpante; solutos
Qui captat risus hominum, famamque dicacis,
Fingere qui non visa potest, commissa tacere
Qui nequit, hic niger est: hunc tu Romane caveto.'

Hor.

Were all the Vexations of Life put together, we should find that a great Part of them proceed from those Calumnies and Reproaches which we spread abroad concerning one another.

There is scarce a Man living who is not, in some Degree, guilty of this Offence; tho', at the same time, however we treat one another, it must be confessed, that we all consent in speaking ill of the Persons who are notorious for this Practice. It generally takes its Rise either from an Ill-will to Mankind, a private Inclination to make our selves esteemed, an Ostentation of Wit, a Vanity of being thought in the Secrets of the World, or from a Desire of gratifying any of these Dispositions of Mind in those Persons with whom we converse.

The Publisher of Scandal is more or less odious to Mankind, and criminal in himself, as he is influenced by any one or more of the foregoing Motives. But whatever may be the Occasion of spreading these false Reports, he ought to consider, that the Effect of them is equally prejudicial and pernicious to the Person at whom they are aimed. The Injury is the same, tho' the Principle from whence it proceeds may be different.

As every one looks upon himself with too much Indulgence, when he passes a Judgment on his own Thoughts or Actions, and as very few would be thought guilty of this abominable Proceeding, which is so universally practised, and, at the same time, so universally blamed, I shall lay down three Rules by which I would have a Man examine and search into his own Heart, before he stands acquitted to himself of that evil Disposition of Mind which I am here mentioning.

_First_ of all, Let him consider whether he does not take Delight in
hearing the Faults of others.

_Secondly_, Whether he is not too apt to believe such little blackning
Accounts, and more inclined to be credulous on the uncharitable than
on the good-natured Side.

_Thirdly_, Whether he is not ready to spread and propagate such
Reports as tend to the Disreputation of another. These are the several
Steps by which this Vice proceeds, and grows up into Slander and
Defamation.

In the first Place, A Man who takes delight in hearing the Faults of others, shows sufficiently that he has a true Relish of Scandal, and consequently the Seeds of this Vice within him. If his mind is gratified with hearing the Reproaches [which [1]] are cast on others, he will find the same Pleasure in relating them, and be the more apt to do it, as he will naturally imagine every one he converses with is delighted in the same manner with himself. A Man should endeavour therefore to wear out of his Mind this criminal Curiosity, which is perpetually heightened and inflamed by listening to such Stories as tend to the Disreputation of others.

In the second Place, a Man should consult his own Heart, whether he be not apt to _believe_ such little blackening Accounts, and more enclined to be credulous on the uncharitable, than on the good-natured Side.

Such a Credulity is very vicious in it self, and generally arises from a Man's Consciousness of his own secret Corruptions. It is a pretty Saying of _Thales_, Falshood is just as far distant from Truth, as the Ears are from the Eyes. [2] By which he would intimate, that a wise Man should not easily give Credit to the Reports of Actions which he has not seen. I shall, under this Head, mention two or three remarkable Rules to be observed by the Members of the celebrated Abbey _de la Trape_, as they are Published in a little _French_ Book. [3]

The Fathers are there ordered, never to give an Ear to any Accounts of Base or Criminal Actions; to turn off all such Discourse if possible; but in Case they hear any thing of this Nature so well attested that they cannot disbelieve it, they are then to suppose, that the criminal Action may have proceeded from a good Intention in him who is guilty of it. This is perhaps carrying Charity to an Extravagance, but it is certainly much more Laudable, than to suppose, as the ill-natured part of the World does, that indifferent, and even Good Actions, proceed from bad Principles and wrong Intentions.

In the third Place, a Man should examine his Heart, whether he does not find in it a secret Inclination to propagate such Reports, as tend to the Disreputation of another.

When the Disease of the Mind, which I have hitherto been speaking of, arises to this Degree of Malignity it discovers its self in its worst Symptoms, and is in danger of becoming incurable. I need not therefore insist upon the Guilt in this last Particular, which every one cannot but disapprove, who is not void of Humanity, or even common Discretion. I shall only add, that whatever Pleasure any Man may take in spreading Whispers of this Nature, he will find an infinitely greater Satisfaction in conquering the Temptation he is under, by letting the Secret die within his own Breast.

[Footnote 1: [that]]

[Footnote 2: Stobaji, Serm. 61.]

[Footnote 3: Felibien, Description de l'Abbaye de la Trappe, Paris, 1671, reprinted in 1682. It is a letter from M. Felibien to the Duchess of Liancon.]

* * * * *

No. 595. Friday, September 17, 1714.

'--Non ut placidis coeant immitia, non ut
Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni--'

Hor.

If ordinary Authors would condescend to write as they think, they would at least be allow'd the Praise of being intelligible. But they really take Pains to be ridiculous; and, by the studied Ornaments of Style, perfectly disguise the little Sense they aim at. There is a Grievance of this Sort in the Common-wealth of Letters, which I have for some time resolved to redress, and accordingly I have set this Day apart for Justice. What I mean is, the _Mixture of inconsistent Metaphors_, which is a Fault but too often found in learned Writers, but in all the unlearned without Exception.

In order to set this Matter in a clear Light to every Reader, I shall in the first Place observe, that a Metaphor is a Simile in one Word, which serves to convey the Thoughts of the Mind under Resemblances and Images which affect the Senses. There is not any thing in the World, which may not be compared to several Things, if considered in several distinct Lights; or, in other Words, the same thing may be expressed by different Metaphors. But the Mischief is, that an unskilful Author shall run these Metaphors so absurdly into one another, that there shall be no Simile, no agreeable Picture, no apt Resemblance, but Confusion, Obscurity, and Noise. Thus I have known a Hero compared to a Thunderbolt, a Lion, and the Sea; all and each of them proper Metaphors for impetuosity, Courage or Force. But by bad Management it hath so happened, that the Thunder-bolt hath overflowed its Banks; the Lion hath been darted through the Skies, and the Billows have rolled out of the _Libyan_ Desart.

The Absurdity in this Instance is obvious. And yet every time that clashing Metaphors are put together, this Fault is committed more or less. It hath already been said, that Metaphors are Images of things which affect the Senses. An Image therefore, taken from what acts upon the Sight, cannot, without Violence, be applied to the Hearing; and so of the rest. It is no less an impropriety to make any Being in Nature or Art to do things in its Metaphorical State, which it could not do in its Original. I shall illustrate what I have said by an Instance which I have read more than once in Controversial Writers. _The heavy Lashes_, saith a celebrated Author, _that have dropped from your Pen_, &c. I suppose this Gentleman having frequently heard of _Gall dropping from a Pen_, and _being lashed in a Satyr_, he was resolved to have them both at any Rate, and so uttered this compleat Piece of Nonsense. It will most effectually discover the Absurdity of these monstrous Unions, if we will suppose these Metaphors or Images actually Painted. Imagine then a Hand holding a Pen, and several Lashes of Whip-cord falling from it, and you have the true Representation of this sort of Eloquence. I believe, by this very Rule, a Reader may be able to judge of the Union of all Metaphors whatsoever, and determine which are Homogeneous and which Heterogeneous: or to speak more plainly, which are Consistent, and which Inconsistent.

There is yet one Evil more which I must take notice of, and that is the running of Metaphors into tedious Allegories; which, though an Error on the better Hand, causes Confusion as much as the other. This becomes abominable, when the Lustre of one Word leads a Writer out of his Road, and makes him wander from his Subject for a Page together. I remember a young Fellow, of this Turn, who having said by Chance that his Mistress had a _World_ of Charms, thereupon took Occasion to consider her as one possessed of Frigid and Torrid Zones, and pursued her from the one Pole to the other. I shall conclude this Paper with a Letter written in that enormous Style, which I hope my Reader hath by this time set his Heart against. The Epistle hath heretofore received great Applause; but after what hath been said, let any Man commend it if he dare.

_SIR,_

'After the many heavy _Lashes_ that have fallen from your _Pen_, you
may justly expect in return all the _Load_ that my _Ink_ can lay upon
your Shoulders. You have _Quartered_ all the foul _Language_ upon me,
that could be _raked_ out of the Air of _Billingsgate_, without
knowing who I am, or whether I deserved to be _Cupped_ and _Scarified_
at this rate. I tell you once for all, turn your _Eyes_ where you
please, you shall never _Smell_ me out. Do you think that the
_Panicks_, which you _sow_ about the Parish, will ever _build_ a
Monument to your Glory? No, Sir, you may _Fight_ these Battles as long
as you will, but when you come to _Ballance_ the Account you will find
that you have been _Fishing_ in troubled Waters, and that an _Ignis
fatuus_ hath bewildered you, and that indeed you have _built_ upon a
sandy Foundation, and brought your _Hogs_ to a fair Market.

_I am, SIR,

Yours, &c._

* * * * *

No. 596. Monday, September 20, 1714.

'Molle meum levibus Cor est violabile Telis.'

Ovid.

The Case of my Correspondent who sends me the following Letter has somewhat in it so very whimsical, that I know not how to entertain my Readers better than by laying it before them.

_SIR,_

'I am fully convinced that there is not upon Earth a more impertinent
Creature than an importunate Lover: We are daily complaining of the
Severity of our Fate, to People who are wholly unconcerned in it; and
hourly improving a Passion, which we would persuade the World is the
Torment of our Lives. Notwithstanding this Reflection, Sir, I cannot
forbear acquainting you with my own Case. You must know then, Sir,
that even from my Childhood, the most prevailing Inclination I could
perceive in my self, was a strong Desire to be in Favour with the Fair
Sex. I am at present in the one and twentieth Year of my Age, and
should have made Choice of a She Bed-fellow many Years since, had not
my Father, who has a pretty good Estate of his own getting, and passes
in the World for a prudent Man, being pleased to lay it down as a
Maxim, That nothing spoils a young Fellow's Fortune so much as
marrying early; and that no Man ought to think of Wedlock 'till six
and twenty. Knowing his Sentiments upon this Head, I thought it in
vain to apply my self to Women of Condition, who expect Settlements;
so that all my Amours have hitherto been with Ladies who had no
Fortunes: But I know not how to give you so good an Idea of me, as by
laying before you the History of my Life.

'I can very well remember, that at my School-mistresses, whenever we
broke up, I was always for joining my self with the Miss who _Lay in_,
and was constantly one of the first to make a Party in the Play of
_Husband and Wife_. This Passion for being well with the Females still
increased as I advanced in Years. At the Dancing-School I contracted
so many Quarrels by struggling with my Fellow-Scholars for the Partner
I liked best, that upon a Ball Night, before our Mothers made their
Appearance, I was usually up to the Nose in Blood. My Father, like a
discreet Man, soon removed me from this Stage of Softness to a School
of Discipline, where I learnt _Latin and Greek_. I underwent several
Severities in this Place, 'till it was thought convenient to send me
to the University; though, to confess the Truth, I should not have
arrived so early at that Seat of Learning, but from the Discovery of
an Intrigue between me and my Master's House-Keeper; upon whom I had
employed my Rhetorick so effectually, that, though she was a very
elderly Lady, I had almost brought her to consent to marry me. Upon my
Arrival at _Oxford_, I found Logick so dry, that, instead of giving
Attention to the Dead, I soon fell to addressing the Living. My first
Amour was with a pretty Girl whom I shall call _Parthenope_: Her
Mother sold Ale by the Town-Wall. Being often caught there by the
Proctor, I was forced at last, that my Mistress's Reputation might
receive no Blemish, to confess my Addresses were honourable. Upon this
I was immediately sent Home; but _Parthenope_ soon after marrying a
Shoe-maker, I was again suffered to return. My next Affair was with my
Taylor's Daughter, who deserted me for the sake of a young Barber.
Upon my complaining to one of my particular Friends of this
Misfortune, the cruel Wagg made a meer Jest of my Calamity, and asked
me with a Smile, _Where the_ Needle _should turn but to the_ Pole? [1]
After this I was deeply in Love with a Milliner, and at last with my
Bed-maker, upon which I was sent away, or in the University Phrase,
_Rusticated_ for ever.

'Upon my coming home, I settled to my Studies so heartily, and
contracted so great a Reservedness by being kept from the Company I
most affected, that my Father thought he might venture me at the
_Temple_.

'Within a Week after my Arrival I began to shine again, and became
enamour'd with a mighty pretty Creature, who had every thing but Mony
to recommend her. Having frequent Opportunities of uttering all the
soft things which an Heart formed for Love could inspire me with, I
soon gained her Consent to treat of Marriage; but unfortunately for us
all, in the Absence of my Charmer I usually talked the same Language
to her elder Sister, who is also very pretty. Now I assure you, Mr.
SPECTATOR, this did not proceed from any real Affection I had
conceived for her; but being a perfect Stranger to the Conversation of
Men, and strongly addicted to associate with the Women, I knew no
other Language but that of Love. I should however be very much obliged
to you, if you could free me from the Perplexity I am at present in. I
have sent Word to my old Gentleman in the Country, that I am
desperately in Love with the younger Sister! and her Father, who knew
no better, poor Man! acquainted him by the same Post, that I had for
some time made my Addresses to the Elder. Upon this old Testy sends me
up Word, that he has heard so much of my Exploits, that he intends
immediately to order me to the _South-Sea_. Sir, I have occasionally
talked so much of dying, that I begin to think there is not much in
it; and if the old Squire persists in his Design, I do hereby give him
Notice that I am providing my self with proper Instruments for the
Destruction of despairing Lovers; let him therefore look to it, and
consider that by his Obstinacy he may himself lose the Son of his
Strength, the World an hopeful Lawyer, my Mistress a passionate Lover,
and you, Mr. SPECTATOR,

_Your constant Admirer_,

Jeremy Lovemore.

_Middle-Temple_,

_Sept._ 18.

[Footnote 1: Sign of a Barber's shop.]

* * * * *

No. 597. Wednesday, September 22, 1714. Byrom.

'--Metis sine Pondere ludit--'

Petr.

Since I received my Friend _Shadow's_ Letter, several of my Correspondents have been pleased to send me an Account how they have been employed in Sleep, and what notable Adventures they have been engaged in during that Moonshine in the Brain. I shall lay before my Readers an Abridgment of some few of their Extravagancies, in hopes that they will in Time accustom themselves to dream a little more to the Purpose.