Chapter LXXVI: Introduction (76)

I must observe that this Fashion was first of all brought to us from _France_, a Country which has Infected all the Nations of _Europe_ with its Levity. I speak not this in derogation of a whole People, having more than once found fault with those general Reflections which strike at Kingdoms or Commonwealths in the Gross: A piece of Cruelty, which an ingenious Writer of our own compares to that of _Caligula_, who wished the _Roman_ People had all but one Neck, that he might behead them at a Blow. I shall therefore only Remark, that as Liveliness and Assurance are in a peculiar manner the Qualifications of the _French_ Nation, the same Habits and Customs will not give the same Offence to that People, which they produce among those of our own Country. Modesty is our distinguishing Character, as Vivacity is theirs: And when this our National Virtue appears in that Female Beauty, for which our _British_ Ladies are celebrated above all others in the Universe, it makes up the most amiable Object that the Eye of Man can possibly behold.

C.

* * * * *

No. 436. Monday, July 21, 1712. Steele

'Verso pollice vulgi
Quemlibet occidunt Populariter.'

Juv.

Being a Person of insatiable Curiosity, I could not forbear going on _Wednesday_ last to a Place of no small Renown for the Gallantry of the lower Order of _Britons_, namely, to the Bear-Garden at _Hockley in the Hole_; [1] where (as a whitish brown Paper, put into my Hands in the Street, informed me) there was to be a Tryal of Skill to be exhibited between two Masters of the Noble Science of Defence, at two of the Clock precisely. I was not a little charm'd with the Solemnity of the Challenge, which ran thus:

"_I_ James Miller, _Serjeant, (lately come from the Frontiers of_
Portugal_) Master of the noble Science of Defence, hearing in most
Places where I have been of the great Fame of_ Timothy Buck _of_
London, _Master of the said Science, do invite him to meet me, and
exercise at the several Weapons following_, viz.

Back-Sword, Single Falchon,
Sword and Dagger, Case of Falchons,
Sword and Buckler, Quarter Staff."

If the generous Ardour in _James Miller_ to dispute the Reputation of _Timothy Buck_, had something resembling the old Heroes of Romance, _Timothy Buck_ return'd Answer in the same Paper with the like Spirit, adding a little Indignation at being challenged, and seeming to condescend to fight _James Miller_, not in regard to _Miller_ himself, but in that, as the Fame went out, he had fought _Parkes_ of _Coventry_. [2] The Acceptance of the Combat ran in these Words:

"_I_ Timothy Buck _of_ Clare-Market, _Master of the Noble Science of
Defence, hearing he did fight Mr._ Parkes _of_ Coventry, _will not
fail (God Willing) to meet this fair Inviter at the Time and Place
appointed, desiring a clear Stage and no Favour._

Vivat Regina."

I shall not here look back on the Spectacles of the _Greeks_ and _Romans_ of this kind, but must believe this Custom took its rise from the Ages of Knight-Errantry; from those who lov'd one Woman so well, that they hated all Men and Women else; from those who would fight you, whether you were or were not of their Mind; from those who demanded the Combat of their Contemporaries, both for admiring their Mistress or discommending her. I cannot therefore but lament, that the terrible Part of the ancient Fight is preserved, when the amorous Side of it is forgotten. We have retained the Barbarity, but lost the Gallantry of the old Combatants. I could wish, methinks, these Gentlemen had consulted me in the Promulgation of the Conflict. I was obliged by a fair young Maid whom I understood to be called _Elizabeth Preston_, Daughter of the Keeper of the Garden, with a Glass of Water; whom I imagined might have been, for Form's sake, the general Representative of the Lady sought for, and from her Beauty the proper _Amarillis_ on these Occasions. It would have ran better in the Challenge, _I_ James Miller, _Serjeant, who have travelled Parts abroad, and came last from the Frontiers of_ Portugal, _for the Love of_ Elizabeth Preston, _do assert, That the said_ Elizabeth is the Fairest of Women. Then the Answer; _I_ Timothy Buck, _who have stay'd in_ Great Britain _during all the War in Foreign Parts, for the Sake of_ Susanna Page, _do deny that_ Elizabeth Preston _is so fair as the said_ Susanna Page. Let _Susanna Page_ look on, and I desire of _James Miller_ no Favour.

This would give the Battel quite another Turn; and a proper Station for the Ladies, whose Complexion was disputed by the Sword, would animate the Disputants with a more gallant Incentive than the Expectation of Money from the Spectators; tho' I would not have that neglected, but thrown to that Fair One, whose Lover was approved by the Donor.

Yet, considering the Thing wants such Amendments, it was carried with great Order. _James Miller_ came on first, preceded by two disabled Drummers, to shew, I suppose, that the Prospect of maimed Bodies did not in the least deter him. There ascended with the daring _Miller_ a Gentleman, whose Name I could not learn, with a dogged Air, as unsatisfied that he was not Principal. This Son of Anger lowred at the whole Assembly, and weighing himself as he march'd around from Side to Side, with a stiff Knee and Shoulder, he gave Intimations of the Purpose he smothered till he saw the Issue of this Encounter. _Miller_ had a blue Ribband tied round the Sword Arm; which Ornament I conceive to be the Remain of that Custom of wearing a Mistress's Favour on such Occasions of old.

_Miller_ is a Man of six Foot eight Inches Height, of a kind but bold Aspect, well-fashioned, and ready of his Limbs: and such Readiness as spoke his Ease in them, was obtained from a Habit of Motion in Military Exercise.

The Expectation of the Spectators was now almost at its Height, and the Crowd pressing in, several active Persons thought they were placed rather according to their Fortune than their Merit, and took it in their Heads to prefer themselves from the open Area, or Pitt, to the Galleries. This Dispute between Desert and Property brought many to the Ground, and raised others in proportion to the highest Seats by Turns for the Space of ten Minutes, till _Timothy Buck_ came on, and the whole Assembly giving up their Disputes, turned their Eyes upon the Champions. Then it was that every Man's Affection turned to one or the other irresistibly. A judicious Gentleman near me said, _I could methinks be_ Miller's _Second, but I had rather have_ Buck _for mine_. _Miller_ had an Audacious Look, that took the Eye; _Buck_ a perfect Composure, that engaged the Judgment. _Buck_ came on in a plain Coat, and kept all his Air till the Instant of Engaging; at which time he undress'd to his Shirt, his Arm adorned with a Bandage of red Ribband. No one can describe the sudden Concern in the whole Assembly; the most tumultuous Crowd in Nature was as still and as much engaged, as if all their Lives depended on the first Blow. The Combatants met in the Middle of the Stage, and shaking Hands as removing all Malice, they retired with much Grace to the Extremities of it; from whence they immediately faced about, and approached each other, _Miller_ with an Heart full of Resolution, _Buck_ with a watchful untroubled Countenance; _Buck_ regarding principally his own Defence, _Miller_ chiefly thoughtful of annoying his Opponent. It is not easie to describe the many Escapes and imperceptible Defences between two Men of quick Eyes and ready Limbs, but _Miller's_ Heat laid him open to the Rebuke of the calm _Buck_, by a large Cut on the Forehead. Much Effusion of Blood covered his Eyes in a Moment, and the Huzzas of the Crowd undoubtedly quickened the Anguish. The Assembly was divided into Parties upon their different ways of Fighting; while a poor Nymph in one of the Galleries apparently suffered for _Miller_, and burst into a Flood of Tears. As soon as his Wound was wrapped up, he came on again with a little Rage, which still disabled him further. But what brave Man can be wounded into more Patience and Caution? The next was a warm eager Onset, which ended in a decisive Stroke on the Left Leg of _Miller_. The Lady in the Gallery, during this second Strife, covered her Face; and for my Part, I could not keep my Thoughts from being mostly employed on the Consideration of her unhappy Circumstance that Moment, hearing the Clash of Swords, and apprehending Life or Victory concerned her Lover in every Blow, but not daring to satisfie her self on whom they fell. The Wound was exposed to the View of all who could delight in it, and sowed up on the Stage. The surly Second of _Miller_ declared at this Time, that he would that Day Fortnight fight Mr. _Buck_ at the same Weapons, declaring himself the Master of the renowned _Gorman_; but _Buck_ denied him the Honour of that couragious Disciple, and asserting that he himself had taught that Champion, accepted the Challenge.

There is something in Nature very unaccountable on such Occasions, when we see the People take a certain painful Gratification in beholding these Encounters. Is it Cruelty that administers this Sort of Delight? Or is it a Pleasure which is taken in the Exercise of Pity? It was methought pretty remarkable, that the Business of the Day being a Tryal of Skill, the Popularity did not run so high as one would have expected on the Side of _Buck_. Is it that People's Passions have their Rise in Self-Love, and thought themselves (in spite of all the Courage they had) liable to the Fate of _Miller_, but could not so easily think themselves qualified like _Buck_?

_Tully_ speaks of this Custom with less Horrour than one would expect, though he confesses it was much abused in his Time, and seems directly to approve of it under its first Regulations, when Criminals only fought before the People.

'Crudele Gladiatorum spectaculum et inhumanum nonnullis videri solet;
et haud scio annon ita sit ut nunc fit; cum vero sontes ferro
depugnabant, auribus fortasse multa, oculis quidem nulla, poterat esse
fortior contra dolorem et mortem disciplina.

The Shows of Gladiators may be thought barbarous and inhumane, and I
know not but it is so as it is now practised; but in those Times when
only Criminals were Combatants, the Ear perhaps might receive many
better Instructions, but it is impossible that any thing which affects
our Eyes, should fortifie us so well against Pain and Death.' [3]

T.

[Footnote 1: See note on p. 118, vol. i. [Footnote 2 of No. 31.]]

[Footnote 2: John Sparkes of Coventry has this piece of biography upon his tombstone:

'To the memory of Mr. John Sparkes, a native of this city; he was a
man of a mild disposition, a gladiator by profession, who, after
having fought 350 battles in the principal parts of Europe with honour
and applause, at length quitted the stage, sheathed his sword, and,
with Christian resignation, submitted to the grand victor in the 52nd
year of his age.

_Anno salutis humanae_, 1733.'

Serjeant James Miller afterwards became a captain, and fought in Scotland, under the Duke of Cumberland in 1745.]

[Footnote 3: Tuscul. Quaest. lib. II., De Tolerando Dolore.]

* * * * *

No. 437. Tuesday, July 22, 1712.

'Tune impune hæc facias? Tune hic homines adolescentulos
Imperitos rerum, eductos libere, in fraudem illicis?
Sollicitando, et pollicitando eorum animos lactas?
Ac meritricios amores nuptiis conglutinas?'

Ter. And.

The other Day passed by me in her Chariot a Lady with that pale and wan Complexion, which we sometimes see in young People, who are fallen into Sorrow and private Anxiety of Mind, which antedate Age and Sickness. It is not three Years ago since she was gay, airy, and a little towards Libertine in her Carriage; but, methought, I easily forgave her that little Insolence, which she so severely pays for in her present Condition. _Favilla_, of whom I am speaking, is married to a sullen Fool with Wealth: Her Beauty and Merit are lost upon the Dolt, who is insensible of Perfection in any thing. Their Hours together are either painful or insipid: The Minutes she has to herself in his Absence, are not sufficient to give Vent at her Eyes to the Grief and Torment of his last Conversation. This poor Creature was sacrificed with a Temper (which, under the Cultivation of a Man of Sense, would have made the most agreeable Companion) into the Arms of this loathsome Yoak-fellow by _Sempronia_. _Sempronia_ is a good Lady, who supports herself in an affluent Condition, by contracting Friendship with rich young Widows and Maids of plentiful Fortunes at their own Disposal, and bestowing her Friends upon worthless indigent Fellows; on the other Side, she ensnares inconsiderate and rash Youths of great Estates into the Arms of vitious Women. For this Purpose, she is accomplished in all the Arts which can make her acceptable at impertinent Visits; she knows all that passes in every Quarter, and is well acquainted with all the favourite Servants, Busiebodies, Dependants, and poor Relations of all Persons of Condition in the whole Town. At the Price of a good Sum of Money, _Sempronia_, by the Instigation of _Favilla's_ Mother, brought about the Match for the Daughter, and the Reputation of this, which is apparently, in point of Fortune, more than _Favilla_ could expect, has gained her the Visits and frequent Attendance of the Crowd of Mothers, who had rather see their Children miserable in great Wealth, than the happiest of the Race of Mankind in a less conspicuous State of Life. When _Sempronia_ is so well acquainted with a Woman's Temper and Circumstance, that she believes Marriage would be acceptable to her, and advantageous to the Man who shall get her; her next Step is to look out for some one, whose Condition has some secret Wound in it, and wants a Sum, yet, in the Eye of the World, not unsuitable to her. If such is not easily had, she immediately adorns a worthless Fellow with what Estate she thinks convenient, and adds as great a Share of good Humour and Sobriety as is requisite: After this is settled, no Importunities, Arts, and Devices are omitted to hasten the Lady to her Happiness. In the general indeed she is a Person of so strict Justice, that she marries a poor Gallant to a rich Wench, and a Moneyless Girl to a Man of Fortune. But then she has no manner of Conscience in the Disparity, when she has a Mind to impose a poor Rogue for one of an Estate, she has no Remorse in adding to it, that he is illiterate, ignorant, and unfashioned; but makes those Imperfections Arguments of the Truth of his Wealth, and will, on such an Occasion, with a very grave Face, charge the People of Condition with Negligence in the Education of their Children. Exception being made t'other Day against an ignorant Booby of her own Cloathing, whom she was putting off for a rich Heir, _Madam_, said she, _you know there is no making Children who know they have Estates attend their Books._

_Sempronia,_ by these Arts, is loaded with Presents, importuned for her Acquaintance, and admired by those who do not know the first Taste of Life, as a Woman of exemplary good Breeding. But sure, to murder and to rob are less Iniquities, than to raise Profit by Abuses, as irreparable as taking away Life; but more grievous, as making it lastingly unhappy. To rob a Lady at Play of Half her Fortune, is not so ill, as giving the whole and her self to an unworthy Husband. But _Sempronia_ can administer Consolation to an unhappy Fair at Home, by leading her to an agreeable Gallant elsewhere. She can then preach the general Condition of all the Married World, and tell an unexperienced young Woman the Methods of softning her Affliction, and laugh at her Simplicity and Want of Knowledge, with an _Oh! my Dear, you will know better._

The Wickedness of _Sempronia,_ one would think, should be superlative; but I cannot but esteem that of some Parents equal to it; I mean such as sacrifice the greatest Endowments and Qualifications to base Bargains. A Parent who forces a Child of a liberal and ingenious Spirit into the Arms of a Clown or a Blockhead, obliges her to a Crime too odious for a Name. It is in a Degree the unnatural Conjunction of rational and brutal Beings. Yet what is there so common, as the bestowing an accomplished Woman with such a Disparity. And I could name Crowds who lead miserable Lives, or want of Knowledge in their Parents, of this Maxim, that good Sense and good Nature always go together. That which is attributed to Fools, and called good Nature, is only an Inability of observing what is faulty, which turns in Marriage, into a Suspicion of every thing as such, from a Consciousness of that Inability.

Mr. Spectator,

'I am entirely of your Opinion with Relation to the Equestrian
Females, who affect both the Masculine and Feminine Air at the same
time; and cannot forbear making a Presentment against another Order of
them who grow very numerous and powerful; and since our Language is
not very capable of good compound Words, I must be contented to call
them only the _Naked Shouldered_. These Beauties are not contented to
make Lovers where-ever they appear, but they must make Rivals at the
same time. Were you to see _Gatty_ walk the _Park_ at high Mall, you
would expect those who followed her and those who met her could
immediately draw their Swords for her. I hope, Sir, you will provide
for the future, that Women may stick to their Faces for doing any
future Mischief and not allow any but direct Traders in Beauty to
expose more than the fore Part of the Neck, unless you please to allow
this After-Game to those who are very defective in the Charms of the
Countenance. I can say, to my Sorrow, the present Practice is very
unfair, when to look back is Death; and it may be said of our
Beauties, as a great Poet did of Bullets,

'They kill and wound like Parthians as they fly.'

I submit this to your Animadversion; and am, for the little while I
have left,

_Your humble Servant, the languishing_ Philanthus.

P. S. Suppose you mended my Letter, and made a Simile about the
Porcupine, but I submit that also.

T.

* * * * *

No. 438. Wednesday, July 23, 1712. Steele.

'--Animum rege qui nisi paret
Imperat--'

Hor.

It is a very common Expression, That such a one is very good-natur'd, but very passionate. The Expression indeed is very good-natur'd, to allow passionate People so much Quarter: But I think a passionate Man deserves the least Indulgence Imaginable. It is said, it is soon over; that is, all the Mischief he does is quickly dispatch'd, which, I think, is no great Recommendation to Favour. I have known one of these good-natur'd passionate Men say in a mix'd Company even to his own Wife or Child, such Things as the most inveterate Enemy of his Family would not have spoke, even in Imagination. It is certain that quick Sensibility is inseparable from a ready Understanding; but why should not that good Understanding call to it self all its Force on such Occasions, to master that sudden Inclination to Anger. One of the greatest Souls now in the World [1] is the most subject by Nature to Anger, and yet so famous from a Conquest of himself this Way, that he is the known Example when you talk of Temper and Command of a Man's Self. To contain the Spirit of Anger, is the worthiest Discipline we can put our selves to. When a Man has made any Progress this way, a frivolous Fellow in a Passion, is to him as contemptible as a froward Child. It ought to be the Study of every Man, for his own Quiet and Peace. When he stands combustible and ready to flame upon every thing that touches him, Life is as uneasie to himself as it is to all about him. _Syncropius_ leads, of all Men living, the most ridiculous Life; he is ever offending, and begging Pardon. If his Man enters the Room without what he sent for, _That Blockhead_, begins he--_Gentlemen, I ask your Pardon, but Servants now a-days_--The wrong Plates are laid, they are thrown into the Middle of the Room; his Wife stands by in Pain for him, which he sees in her Face, and answers as if he had heard all she was thinking; _Why, what the Devil! Why don't you take Care to give Orders in these things?_ His Friends sit down to a tasteless Plenty of every thing, every Minute expecting new Insults from his impertinent Passions. In a Word, to eat with, or visit _Syncropius_, is no other than going to see him exercise his Family, exercise their Patience, and his own Anger.

It is monstrous that the Shame and Confusion in which this good-natured angry Man must needs behold his Friends while he thus lays about him, does not give him so much Reflection as to create an Amendment. This is the most scandalous Disuse of Reason imaginable; all the harmless Part of him is no more than that of a Bull-Dog, they are tame no longer than they are not offended. One of these good-natured angry Men shall, in an Instant, assemble together so many Allusions to secret Circumstances, as are enough to dissolve the Peace of all the Families and Friends he is acquainted with, in a Quarter of an Hour, and yet the next Moment be the best-natured Man in the whole World. If you would see Passion in its Purity, without Mixture of Reason, behold it represented in a mad Hero, drawn by a mad Poet. _Nat Lee_ makes his _Alexander_ say thus:

'Away, begon, and give a Whirlwind Room,
Or I will blow you up like Dust! Avaunt;
Madness but meanly represents my Toil.
Eternal Discord!
Fury! Revenge! Disdain and Indignation!
Tear my swoln Breast, make way for Fire and Tempest.
My Brain is burst, Debate and Reason quench'd;
The Storm is up, and my hot bleeding Heart
Splits with the Rack, while Passions, like the Wind,
Rise up to Heav'n, and put out all the Stars.'

Every passionate Fellow in Town talks half the Day with as little Consistency, and threatens Things as much out of his Power.

The next disagreeable Person to the outrageous Gentleman, is one of a much lower Order of Anger, and he is what we commonly call a peevish Fellow. A peevish Fellow is one who has some Reason in himself for being out of Humour, or has a natural Incapacity for Delight, and therefore disturbs all who are happier than himself with Pishes and Pshaws, or other well-bred Interjections, at every thing that is said or done in his Presence. There should be Physick mixed in the Food of all which these Fellows eat in good Company. This Degree of Anger passes, forsooth, for a Delicacy of Judgment, that won't admit of being easily pleas'd: but none above the Character of wearing a peevish Man's Livery, ought to bear with his ill Manners. All Things among Men of Sense and Condition should pass the Censure, and have the Protection, of the Eye of Reason.

No Man ought to be tolerated in an habitual Humour, Whim, or Particularity of Behaviour, by any who do not wait upon him for Bread. Next to the peevish Fellow is the Snarler. This Gentleman deals mightily in what we call the Irony, and as those sort of People exert themselves most against these below them, you see their Humour best, in their Talk to their Servants. That is so like you, You are a fine Fellow, Thou art the quickest Head-piece, and the like. One would think the Hectoring, the Storming, the Sullen, and all the different Species and Subordinations of the Angry should be cured, by knowing they live only as pardoned Men; and how pityful is the Condition of being only suffered? But I am interrupted by the pleasantest Scene of Anger and the Disappointment of it that I have ever known, which happened while I was yet Writing, and I overheard as I sat in the Backroom at a _French_ Bookseller's. There came into the Shop a very learned Man with an erect Solemn Air, and tho' a Person of great Parts otherwise, slow in understanding anything which makes against himself. The Composure of the faulty Man, and the whimsical Perplexity of him that was justly angry, is perfectly New: After turning over many Volumes, said the Seller to the Buyer, _Sir, you know I have long asked you to send me back the first Volume of French Sermons I formerly lent you;_ Sir, said the Chapman, I have often looked for it but cannot find it; It is certainly lost, and I know not to whom I lent it, it is so many Years ago; _then, Sir, here is the other Volume, I'll send you home that, and please to pay for both_. My Friend, reply'd he, canst thou be so Senseless as not to know that one Volume is as imperfect in my Library as in your Shop? _Yes, Sir, but it is you have lost the first Volume, and to be short I will be Paid._ Sir, answered the Chapman, you are a young Man, your Book is lost, and learn by this little Loss to bear much greater Adversities, which you must expect to meet with. _Yes, Sir, I'll bear when I must, but I have not lost now, for I say you have it and shall pay me._ Friend, you grow Warm, I tell you the Book is lost, and I foresee in the Course even of a prosperous Life, that you will meet Afflictions to make you Mad, if you cannot bear this Trifle. _Sir, there is in this Case no need of bearing, for you have the Book._ I say, Sir, I have not the Book. But your Passion will not let you hear enough to be informed that I have it not. Learn Resignation of your self to the Distresses of this Life: Nay do not fret and fume, it is my Duty to tell you that you are of an impatient Spirit, and an impatient Spirit is never without Woe. _Was ever any thing like this?_ Yes, Sir, there have been many things like this. The Loss is but a Trifle, but your Temper is Wanton, and incapable of the least Pain; therefore let me advise you, be patient, the Book is lost, but do not you for that Reason lose your self.

T.

[Footnote 1: Lord Somers.]

* * * * *

No. 439. Thursday, July 24, 1712. Addison.

'Hi narrata ferunt alio: mensuraque ficti
Crescit; et auditis aliquid novus adjicit auctor.'

Ovid.

Ovid describes the Palace of Fame [1] as situated in the very Center of the Universe, and perforated with so many Windows and Avenues as gave her the Sight of every thing that was done in the Heavens, in the Earth, and in the Sea. The Structure of it was contrived in so admirable a manner, that it Eccho'd every Word which was spoken in the whole Compass of Nature; so that the Palace, says the Poet, was always filled with a confused Hubbub of low dying Sounds, the Voices being almost spent and worn out before they arrived at this General Rendezvous of Speeches and Whispers.

I consider Courts with the same Regard to the Governments which they superintend, as _Ovid's_ Palace of Fame with regard to the Universe. The Eyes of a watchful Minister run through the whole People. There is scarce a Murmur or Complaint that does not reach his Ears. They have News-gatherers and Intelligencers distributed into their several Walks and Quarters, who bring in their respective Quotas, and make them acquainted with the Discourse and Conversation of the whole Kingdom or Common-wealth where they are employed. The wisest of Kings, alluding to these invisible and unsuspected Spies, who are planted by Kings and Rulers over their Fellow-Citizens, as well as to those Voluntary Informers that are buzzing about the Ears of a great Man, and making their Court by such secret Methods of Intelligence, has given us a very prudent Caution: _Curse not the King, no not in thy Thought, and Curse not the Rich in thy Bedchamber: For a Bird of the Air shall carry the Voice, and that which hath Wings shall tell the matter._ [2]

As it is absolutely necessary for Rulers to make use of other People's Eyes and Ears, they should take particular Care to do it in such a manner, that it may not bear too hard on the Person whose Life and Conversation are enquired into. A Man who is capable of so infamous a Calling as that of a Spy, is not very much to be relied upon. He can have no great Ties of Honour, or Checks of Conscience, to restrain him in those covert Evidences, where the Person accused has no Opportunity of vindicating himself. He will be more industrious to carry that which is grateful, than that which is true.

There will be no Occasion for him, if he does not hear and see things worth Discovery; so that he naturally inflames every Word and Circumstance, aggravates what is faulty, perverts what is good, and misrepresents what is indifferent. Nor is it to be doubted but that such ignominious Wretches let their private Passions into these their clandestine Informations, and often wreck their particular Spite or Malice against the Person whom they are set to watch. It is a pleasant Scene enough, which an _Italian_ Author describes between a Spy, and a Cardinal who employed him. The Cardinal is represented as minuting down every thing that is told him. The Spy begins with a low Voice, Such an one, the Advocate, whispered to one of his Friends, within my Hearing, that your Eminence was a very great Poultron; and after having given his Patron time to take it down, adds that another called him a Mercenary Rascal in a publick Conversation. The Cardinal replies, Very well, and bids him go on. The Spy proceeds, and loads him with Reports of the same Nature, till the Cardinal rises in great Wrath, calls him an impudent Scoundrel, and kicks him out of the Room.

It is observed of great and heroick Minds, that they have not only shewn a particular Disregard to those unmerited Reproaches which have been cast upon 'em, but have been altogether free from that Impertinent Curiosity of enquiring after them, or the poor Revenge of resenting them. The Histories of _Alexander_ and _Cæsar_ are full of this kind of Instances. Vulgar Souls are of a quite contrary Character. _Dionysius_, the Tyrant of _Sicily_, had a Dungeon which was a very curious Piece of Architecture; and of which, as I am informed, there are still to be seen some Remains in that Island. It was called _Dionysius's_ Ear, and built with several little Windings and Labyrinths in the form of a real Ear. The Structure of it made it a kind of whispering Place, but such a one as gathered the Voice of him who spoke into a Funnel, which was placed at the very Top of it. The Tyrant used to lodge all his State-Criminals, or those whom he supposed to be engaged together in any Evil Designs upon him, in this Dungeon. He had at the same time an Apartment over it, where he used to apply himself to the Funnel, and by that Means over-hear every thing that was whispered in [the [3]] Dungeon. I believe one may venture to affirm, that a _Cæsar_ or an _Alexander_ would rather have died by the Treason, than have used such disingenuous Means for the detecting of it. A Man, who in ordinary Life is very Inquisitive after every thing which is spoken ill of him, passes his Time but very indifferently. He is wounded by every Arrow that is shot at him, and puts it in the Power of every insignificant Enemy to disquiet him. Nay, he will suffer from what has been said of him, when it is forgotten by those who said or heard it. For this Reason I could never bear one of those officious Friends, that would be telling every malicious Report, every idle Censure that [passed [4]] upon me. The Tongue of Man is so petulant, and his Thoughts so variable, that one should not lay too great a Stress upon any present Speeches and Opinions. Praise and Obloquy proceed very frequently out of the same Mouth upon the same Person, and upon the same Occasion. A generous Enemy will sometimes bestow Commendations, as the dearest Friend cannot sometimes refrain from speaking Ill. The Man who is indifferent in either of these Respects, gives his Opinion at random, and praises or disapproves as he finds himself in Humour.

I shall conclude this Essay with Part of a Character, which is finely drawn by the Earl of _Clarendon_, in the first Book of his History, and which gives us the lively Picture of a great Man teizing himself with an absurd Curiosity.

'He had not that Application and Submission, and Reverence for the
Queen, as might have been expected from his Wisdom and Breeding; and
often crossed her Pretences and Desires with more Rudeness than was
natural to him. Yet he was impertinently sollicitous to know what her
Majesty said of him in private, and what Resentments she had towards
him. And when by some Confidents, who had their Ends upon him from
those Offices, he was informed of some bitter Expressions fallen from
her Majesty, he was so exceedingly afflicted and tormented with the
Sense of it, that sometimes by passionate Complaints and
Representations to the King; sometimes by more dutiful Addresses and
Expostulations with the Queen, in bewailing his Misfortune; he
frequently exposed himself, and left his Condition worse than it was
before, and the Eclaircisment commonly ended in the Discovery of the
Persons from whom he had received his most secret Intelligence.' [5]

C.

[Footnote 1: Metamorphoses, Bk xii.]

[Footnote 2: Eccl. x. 20.]

[Footnote 3: [this]]

[Footnote 4: [passes]]

[Footnote 5: Written of Lord Treasurer Western, Earl of Portland.]

* * * * *

No. 440. Friday, July 25, 1712. Addison

'Vivere si rectè nescis, discede peritis.'

Hor.

I have already given my Reader an Account of a Sett of merry Fellows, who are passing their Summer together in the Country, being provided of a great House, where there is not only a convenient Apartment for every particular Person, but a large Infirmary for the Reception of such of them as are any way indisposed, or out of Humour. Having lately received a Letter from the Secretary of this Society, by Order of the whole Fraternity, which acquaints me with their Behaviour during the last Week, I shall here make a Present of it to the Publick.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

'We are glad to find that you approve the Establishment which we have
here made for the retrieving of good Manners and agreeable
Conversation, and shall use our best Endeavours so to improve our
selves in this our Summer Retirement, that we may next Winter serve as
Patterns to the Town. But to the end that this our Institution may be
no less Advantageous to the Publick than to our selves, we shall
communicate to you one Week of our Proceedings, desiring you at the
same time, if you see any thing faulty in them, to favour us with your
Admonitions. For you must know, Sir, that it has been proposed among
us to chuse you for our Visitor, to which I must further add, that one
of the College having declared last Week, he did not like the
_Spectator_ of the Day, and not being able to assign any just Reasons
for such his Dislike, he was sent to the Infirmary _Nemine
Contradicente_.

'On _Monday_ the Assembly was in very good Humour, having received
some Recruits of _French_ Claret that Morning: when unluckily, towards
the middle of the Dinner, one of the Company swore at his Servant in a
very rough manner, for having put too much Water in his Wine. Upon
which the President of the Day, who is always the Mouth of the
Company, after having convinced him of the Impertinence of his
Passion, and the Insult it had made upon the Company, ordered his Man
to take him from the Table and convey him to the Infirmary. There was
but one more sent away that Day; this was a Gentleman who is reckoned
by some Persons one of the greatest Wits, and by others one of the
greatest Boobies about Town. This you will say is a strange Character,
but what makes it stranger yet, it is a very true one, for he is
perpetually the Reverse of himself, being always merry or dull to
Excess. We brought him hither to divert us, which he did very well
upon the Road, having lavished away as much Wit and Laughter upon the
Hackney Coachman as might have served him during his whole Stay here,
had it been duly managed. He had been lumpish for two or three Days,
but was so far connived at, in hopes of Recovery, that we dispatched
one of the briskest Fellows among the Brotherhood into the Infirmary,
for having told him at Table he was not merry. But our President
observing that he indulged himself in this long Fit of Stupidity, and
construing it as a Contempt of the College, ordered him to retire into
the Place prepared for such Companions. He was no sooner got into it,
but his Wit and Mirth returned upon him in so violent a manner, that
he shook the whole Infirmary with the Noise of it, and had so good an
Effect upon the rest of the Patients, that he brought them all out to
Dinner with him the next Day.

'On _Tuesday_ we were no sooner sat down, but one of the Company
complained that his Head aked; upon which another asked him, in an
insolent manner, what he did there then; this insensibly grew into
some warm Words; so that the President, in order to keep the Peace,
gave directions to take them both from the Table, and lodge them in
the Infirmary. Not long after, another of the Company telling us, he
knew by a Pain in his Shoulder that we should have some Rain, the
President ordered him to be removed, and placed as a Weather-glass in
the Apartment above mentioned.

'On _Wednesday_ a Gentleman having received a Letter written in a
Woman's Hand, and changing Colour twice or thrice as he read it,
desired leave to retire into the Infirmary. The President consented,
but denied him the Use of Pen, Ink and Paper, till such time as he had
slept upon it. One of the Company being seated at the lower end of the
Table, and discovering his secret Discontent by finding fault with
every Dish that was served up, and refusing to Laugh at any thing that
was said, the President told him, that he found he was in an uneasie
Seat, and desired him to accommodate himself better in the Infirmary.
After Dinner a very honest Fellow chancing to let a Punn fall from
him, his Neighbour cryed out, _to the Infirmary_; at the same time
pretending to be Sick at it, as having the same Natural Antipathy to a
Punn, which some have to a Cat. This produced a long Debate. Upon the
whole, the Punnster was Acquitted and his Neighbour sent off.

'On _Thursday_ there was but one Delinquent. This was a Gentleman of
strong Voice, but weak Understanding. He had unluckily engaged himself
in a Dispute with a Man of excellent Sense, but of a modest Elocution.
The Man of Heat replied to every Answer of his Antagonist with a
louder Note than ordinary, and only raised his Voice when he should
have enforced his Argument. Finding himself at length driven to an
Absurdity, he still reasoned in a more clamorous and confused manner,
and to make the greater Impression upon his Hearers, concluded with a
loud Thump upon the Table. The President immediately ordered him to be
carried off, and dieted with Water-gruel, till such time as he should
be sufficiently weakened for Conversation.

'On _Friday_ there passed very little remarkable, saving only, that
several Petitions were read of the Persons in Custody, desiring to be
released from their Confinement, and vouching for one another's good
Behaviour for the future.

'On _Saturday_ we received many Excuses from Persons who had found
themselves in an unsociable Temper, and had voluntarily shut
themselves up. The Infirmary was indeed never so full as on this Day,
which I was at some loss to account for, till upon my going Abroad I
observed that it was an Easterly Wind. The Retirement of most of my
Friends has given me Opportunity and Leisure of writing you this
Letter, which I must not conclude without assuring you, that all the
Members of our College, as well those who are under Confinement, as
those who are at Liberty, are your very humble Servants, tho' none
more than, _&c._'

C.

* * * * *

No. 441. Saturday, July 26, 1712. Addison.

'Si fractus illabatur orbis
Impavidum ferient ruinæ.'

Hor.

Man, considered in himself, is a very helpless and a very wretched Being. He is subject every Moment to the greatest Calamities and Misfortunes. He is beset with Dangers on all sides, and may become unhappy by numberless Casualties, which he could not foresee, nor have prevented, had he foreseen them.

It is our Comfort, while we are obnoxious to so many Accidents, that we are under the Care of one who directs Contingencies, and has in his Hands the Management of every Thing that is capable of annoying or offending us; who knows the Assistance we stand in need of, and is always ready to bestow it on those who ask it of him.

The natural Homage, which such a Creature bears to so infinitely Wise and Good a Being, is a firm Reliance on him for the Blessings and Conveniences of Life, and an habitual Trust in him for Deliverance out of all such Dangers and Difficulties as may befall us.

The Man, who always lives in this Disposition of Mind, has not the same dark and melancholy Views of Human Nature, as he who considers himself abstractedly from this Relation to the Supreme Being. At the same time that he reflects upon his own Weakness and Imperfection, he comforts himself with the Contemplation of those Divine Attributes, which are employed for his Safety and his Welfare. He finds his Want of Foresight made up by the Omniscience of him who is his Support. He is not sensible of his own want of Strength, when he knows that his Helper is Almighty. In short, the Person who has a firm trust on the Supreme Being is Powerful in _his_ Power, Wise by _his_ Wisdom, Happy by _his_ Happiness. He reaps the Benefit of every Divine Attribute, and loses his own Insufficiency in the Fullness of Infinite Perfection.

To make our Lives more easie to us, we are commanded to put our Trust in him, who is thus able to relieve and succour us; the Divine Goodness having made such a Reliance a Duty, notwithstanding we should have been miserable had it been forbidden us.

Among several Motives, which might be made use of to recommend this Duty to us, I shall only take notice of those that follow.

The first and strongest is, that we are promised, He will not fail those who put their Trust in him.

But without considering the Supernatural Blessing which accompanies this Duty, we may observe that it has a natural Tendency to its own Reward, or in other Words, that this firm Trust and Confidence in the great Disposer of all Things, contributes very much to the getting clear of any Affliction, or to the bearing it manfully. A Person who believes he has his Succour at hand, and that he acts in the sight of his Friend, often excites himself beyond his Abilities, and does Wonders that are not to be matched by one who is not animated with such a Confidence of Success. I could produce Instances from History, of Generals, who out of a Belief that they were under the Protection of some invisible Assistant, did not only encourage their Soldiers to do their utmost, but have acted themselves beyond what they would have done, had they not been inspired by such a Belief. I might in the same manner show how such a Trust in the Assistance of an Almighty Being, naturally produces Patience, Hope, Cheerfulness, and all other Dispositions of Mind that alleviate those Calamities which we are not able to remove.

The Practice of this Virtue administers great Comfort to the Mind of Man in Times of Poverty and Affliction, but most of all in the Hour of Death. When the Soul is hovering in the last Moments of its [Separation, [1]] when it is just entring on another State of Existence, to converse with Scenes, and Objects, and Companions that are altogether new, what can support her under such Tremblings of Thought, such Fear, such Anxiety, such Apprehensions, but the casting of all her Cares upon him who first gave her Being, who has conducted her through one Stage of it, and will be always with her to Guide and Comfort her in her [Progress [2]] through Eternity?

_David_ has very beautifully represented this steady Reliance on God Almighty in his twenty third Psalm, which is a kind of _Pastoral_ Hymn, and filled with those Allusions which are usual in that kind of Writing. As the Poetry is very exquisite, I shall present my Reader with the following Translation of it. [3]

I. The Lord my Pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a Shepherd's Care;
His Presence shall my Wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful Eye;
My Noon-day Walks he shall attend,
And all my Mid-night Hours defend.

II. When in the sultry Glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty Mountain pant;
To fertile Vales, and dewy Meads
My weary wand'ring Steps he leads;
Where peaceful Rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant Landskip flow.

III. Tho' in the Paths of Death I tread,
With gloomy Horrors overspread,
My steadfast Heart shall fear no Ill,
For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly Crook shall give me Aid,
And guide me through the dreadful Shade.

IV. Tho' in a bare and rugged Way,
Through devious lonely Wilds I stray,
Thy Bounty shall my Pains beguile;
The barren Wilderness shall smile,
With sudden Greens and Herbage crown'd,
And Streams shall murmur all around.

C.

[Footnote 1: Dissolution]

[Footnote 2: Passage]

[Footnote 3: By Addison]

* * * * *

No. 442. Monday, July 28, 1712. Steele.

'--Scribimus Indocti Doctique--'

Hor.

I do not know whether I enough explained my self to the World, when I invited all Men to be assistant to me in this my Work of Speculation; for I have not yet acquainted my Readers, that besides the Letters and valuable Hints I have from Time to Time received from my Correspondents, I have by me several curious and extraordinary Papers sent with a Design (as no one will doubt when they are published) that they might be printed entire, and without any Alteration, by way of 'Spectator'. I must acknowledge also, that I my self being the first Projector of the Paper, thought I had a Right to make them my own, by dressing them in my own Style, by leaving out what would not appear like mine, and by adding whatever might be proper to adapt them to the Character and Genius of my Paper, with which it was almost impossible these could exactly correspond, it being certain that hardly two Men think alike, and therefore so many Men so many 'Spectators'. Besides, I must own my Weakness for Glory is such, that if I consulted that only, I might be so far sway'd by it, as almost to wish that no one could write a 'Spectator' besides myself; nor can I deny, but upon the first Perusal of those Papers, I felt some secret Inclinations of Ill-will towards the Persons who wrote them. This was the Impression I had upon the first reading them; but upon a late Review (more for the Sake of Entertainment than Use) regarding them with another Eye than I had done at first, (for by converting them as well as I could to my own Use, I thought I had utterly disabled them from ever offending me again as 'Spectators') I found my self moved by a Passion very different from that of Envy; sensibly touched with Pity, the softest and most generous of all Passions, when I reflected what a cruel Disapointment the Neglect of those Papers must needs have been to the Writers who impatiently longed to see them appear in Print, and who, no doubt, triumphed to themselves in the Hopes of having a Share with me in the Applause of the Publick; a Pleasure so great, that none but those who have experienced it can have a Sense of it. In this Manner of viewing these Papers, I really found I had not done them Justice, there being something so extremely natural and peculiarly good in some of them, that I will appeal to the World whether it was possible to alter a Word in them without doing them a manifest Hurt and Violence; and whether they can ever appear rightly, and, as they ought, but in their own native Dress and Colours: And therefore I think I should not only wrong them, but deprive the World of a considerable Satisfaction, should I any longer delay the making them publick.

After I have published a few of these 'Spectators', I doubt not but I shall find the Success of them to equal, if not surpass, that of the best of my own. An Author should take all Methods to humble himself in the Opinion he has of his own Performances. When these Papers appear to the World, I doubt not but they will be followed by many others; and I shall not repine, though I my self shall have left me but very few Days to appear in Publick: But preferring the general Weal and Advantage to any Consideration of my self, I am resolved for the Future to publish any 'Spectator' that deserves it, entire, and without any Alteration; assuring the World (if there can be Need of it) that it is none of mine and if the Authors think fit to subscribe their Names, I will add them.

I think the best way of promoting this generous and useful Design, will be by giving out Subjects or Themes of all Kinds whatsoever, on which (with a Preamble of the extraordinary Benefit and Advantage that may accrue thereby to the Publick) I will invite all manner of Persons, whether Scholars, Citizens, Courtiers, Gentlemen of the Town or Country, and all Beaux, Rakes, Smarts, Prudes, Coquets, Housewives, and all Sorts of Wits, whether Male or Female, and however distinguished, whether they be True-Wits, Whole, or Half-Wits, or whether Arch, Dry, Natural, Acquired, Genuine, or Deprav'd Wits; and Persons of all sorts of Tempers and Complexions, whether the Severe, the Delightful, the Impertinent, the Agreeable, the Thoughtful, Busie, or Careless; the Serene or Cloudy, Jovial or Melancholy, Untowardly or Easie; the Cold, Temperate, or Sanguine; and of what Manners or Dispositions soever, whether the Ambitious or Humble-minded, the Proud or Pitiful, Ingenious or Base-minded, Good or Ill-natur'd, Publick-spirited or Selfish; and under what Fortune or Circumstance soever, whether the Contented or Miserable, Happy or Unfortunate, High or Low, Rich or Poor (whether so through Want of Money, or Desire of more) Healthy or Sickly, Married or Single; nay, whether Tall or Short, Fat or Lean; and of what Trade, Occupation, Profession, Station, Country, Faction, Party, Persuasion, Quality, Age or Condition soever, who have ever made Thinking a Part of their Business or Diversion, and have any thing worthy to impart on these Subjects to the World, according to their several and respective Talents or Genius's, and as the Subject given out hits their Tempers, Humours, or Circumstances, or may be made profitable to the Publick by their particular Knowledge or Experience in the Matter proposed, to do their utmost on them by such a Time; to the End they may receive the inexpressible and irresistible Pleasure of seeing their Essay allowed of and relished by the rest of Mankind.