Chapter LXXXVII: Book I: of his Epistles; showing how it would read in the customary (2)

How are we tortured with the Absence of what we covet to possess, when it appears to be lost to us! What Excursions does the Soul make in Imagination after it! And how does it turn into it self again, more foolishly fond and dejected, at the Disappointment? Our Grief, instead of having recourse to Reason, which might restrain it, searches to find a further Nourishment. It calls upon Memory to relate the several Passages and Circumstances of Satisfactions which we formerly enjoyed: the Pleasures we purchased by those Riches that are taken from us; or the Power and Splendour of our departed Honours; or the Voice, the Words, the Looks, the Temper, and Affections of our Friends that are deceased. It needs must happen from hence that the Passion should often swell to such a Size as to burst the Heart which contains it, if Time did not make these Circumstances less strong and lively, so that Reason should become a more equal Match for the Passion, or if another Desire which becomes more present did not overpower them with a livelier Representation. These are Thoughts which I had, when I fell into a kind of Vision upon this Subject, and may therefore stand for a proper Introduction to a Relation of it.

I found my self upon a naked Shore, with Company whose afflicted Countenances witnessed their Conditions. Before us flowed a Water deep, silent, and called the River of _Tears_, which issuing from two Fountains on an upper Ground, encompassed an Island that lay before us. The Boat which plied in it was old and shattered, having been sometimes overset by the Impatience and Haste of single Passengers to arrive at the other side. This immediately was brought to us by _Misfortune_ who steers it, and we were all preparing to take our places, when there appeared a Woman of a mild and composed Behaviour, who began to deter us from it, by representing the Dangers which would attend our Voyage. Hereupon some who knew her for _Patience_, and some of those too who till then cry'd the loudest, were persuaded by her, and returned back. The rest of us went in, and she (whose Good-nature would not suffer her to forsake Persons in Trouble) desired leave to accompany us, that she might at least administer some small Comfort or Advice while we sailed. We were no sooner embarked but the Boat was push'd off, the Sheet was spread; and being filled with _Sighs_, which are the Winds of that Country, we made a passage to the farther Bank, through several Difficulties of which the most of us seemed utterly regardless.

When we landed, we perceived the Island to be strangely overcast with Fogs, which no Brightness could pierce, so that a kind of gloomy Horror sat always brooding over it. This had something in it very shocking to easy Tempers, insomuch that some others, whom _Patience_ had by this time gained over, left us here, and privily convey'd themselves round the Verge of the Island to find a Ford by which she told them they might escape.

For my part, I still went along with those who were for piercing into the Centre of the Place; and joining our selves to others whom we found upon the same Journey, we marched solemnly as at a Funeral, through bordering Hedges of Rosemary, and through a Grove of Yew-trees, which love to overshadow Tombs and flourish in Church-yards. Here we heard on every side the Wailings and Complaints of several of the Inhabitants, who had cast themselves disconsolately at the Feet of Trees; and as we chanced to approach any of these, we might perceive them wringing their Hands, beating their Breasts, tearing their Hair, or after some other manner visibly agitated with Vexation. Our Sorrows were heightened by the Influence of what we heard and saw, and one of our Number was wrought up to such a Pitch of Wildness, as to talk of hanging himself upon a Bough which shot temptingly across the Path we travelled in; but he was restrained from it by the kind Endeavours of our above-mentioned Companion.

We had now gotten into the most dusky silent part of the Island, and by the redoubled Sounds of Sighs, which made a doleful Whistling in the Branches, the thickness of Air which occasioned faintish Respiration, and the violent Throbbings of Heart which more and more affected us, we found that we approached the _Grotto of Grief_. It was a wide, hollow, and melancholy Cave, sunk deep in a Dale, and watered by Rivulets that had a Colour between Red and Black. These crept slow and half congealed amongst its Windings, and mixed their heavy Murmur with the Echo of Groans that rolled through all the Passages. In the most retired Part of it sat the _Doleful Being_ her self; the Path to her was strowed with Goads, Stings and Thorns; and her Throne on which she sat was broken into a Rock, with ragged Pieces pointing upwards for her to lean upon. A heavy Mist hung above her, her Head oppressed with it reclined upon her Arm: Thus did she reign over her disconsolate Subjects, full of her self to stupidity, in eternal Pensiveness, and the profoundest Silence. On one side of her stood _Dejection_ just dropping into a Swoon, and _Paleness_ wasting to a Skeleton; on the other side were _Care_ inwardly tormented with Imaginations, and _Anguish_ suffering outward _Troubles_ to suck the Blood from her Heart in the shape of _Vultures_. The whole Vault had a genuine Dismalness in it, which a few scattered Lamps, whose bluish Flames arose and sunk in their Urns, discovered to our Eyes with Encrease. Some of us fell down, overcome and spent with what they suffered in the way, and were given over to those Tormentors that stood on either hand of the Presence; others, galled and mortified with Pain, recover'd the Entrance, where _Patience_, whom we had left behind, was still waiting to receive us.

With her (whose Company was now become more grateful to us by the want we had found of her) we winded round the Grotto, and ascended at the back of it, out of the mournful Dale in whose Bottom it lay. On this Eminence we halted, by her Advice, to pant for Breath; and lifting our Eyes, which till then were fixed downwards, felt a sullen sort of Satisfaction, in observing through the Shades what Numbers had entred the Island. The Satisfaction, which appears to have Ill-nature in it, was excusable, because it happened at a time when we were too much taken up with our own concern, to have respect to that of others; and therefore we did not consider them as suffering, but ourselves as not suffering in the most forlorn Estate. It had also the Ground-work of Humanity and Compassion in it, tho' the Mind was then too dark and too deeply engaged to perceive it; but as we proceeded onwards, it began to discover it self, and from observing that others were unhappy, we came to question one another, when it was that we met, and what were the sad Occasions that brought us together. Then we heard our Stories, we compared them, we mutually gave and received Pity, and so by degrees became tolerable Company.

A considerable part of the troublesome Road was thus deceived; at length the Openings among the Trees grew larger, the Air seemed thinner, it lay with less oppression upon us, and we could now and then discern tracks in it of a lighter Greyness, like the Breakings of Day, short in duration, much enlivening, and called in that Country _Gleams of Amusement_. Within a short while these Gleams began to appear more frequent, and then brighter and of a longer continuance; the _Sighs_ that hitherto filled the Air with so much Dolefulness, altered to the Sound of common Breezes, and in general the Horrors of the Island were abated.

When we had arrived at last at the Ford by which we were to pass out, we met with those fashionable Mourners who had been ferried over along with us, and who being unwilling to go as far as we, had coasted by the Shore to find the place, where they waited our coming; that by shewing themselves to the World only at the time when we did, they might seem also to have been among the Troubles of the Grotto. Here the Waters that rolled on the other side so deep and silent, were much dried up, and it was an easier matter for us to wade over.

The River being crossed, we were received upon the further Bank by our Friends and Acquaintance, whom _Comfort_ had brought out to congratulate our Appearance in the World again. Some of these blamed us for staying so long away from them, others advised us against all Temptations of going back again; every one was cautious not to renew our Trouble, by asking any particulars of the Journey; and all concluded, that in a case of so much Melancholy and Affliction, we could not have made choice of a fitter Companion than _Patience_. Here _Patience_, appearing serene at her Praises, delivered us over to _Comfort_. _Comfort_ smiled at his receiving the Charge; immediately the Sky purpled on that side to which he turned, and double Day at once broke in upon me.

* * * * *

No. 502. Monday, October 6, 1712. Steele.

'Melius, pejus, prosit, obsit, nil vident nisi quod lubent.'

Ter.

When Men read, they taste the Matter with which they are entertained, according as their own respective Studies and Inclinations have prepared them, and make their Reflections accordingly. Some perusing _Roman_ Writers, would find in them, whatever the Subject of the Discourses were, parts which implied the Grandeur of that People in their Warfare or their Politicks. As for my part, who am a meer SPECTATOR, I drew this Morning Conclusions of their Eminence in what I think great, to wit, in having worthy Sentiments, from the reading a Comedy of _Terence_. The Play was the _Self-Tormentor_. It is from the Beginning to the End a perfect Picture of human Life, but I did not observe in the whole one Passage that could raise a Laugh. How well disposed must that People be, who could be entertained with Satisfaction by so sober and polite Mirth? In the first Scene of the Comedy, when one of the old Men accuses the other of Impertinence for interposing in his Affairs, he answers, _I am a Man, and cannot help feeling any Sorrow that can arrive at Man_. It is said, this Sentence was received with an universal Applause. There cannot be a greater Argument of the general good Understanding of a People, than a sudden Consent to give their Approbation of a Sentiment which has no Emotion in it. If it were spoken with never so great Skill in the Actor, the Manner of uttering that Sentence could have nothing in it which could strike any but People of the greatest Humanity, nay People elegant and skilful in Observations upon it. It is possible he might have laid his Hand on his Breast, and with a winning Insinuation in his Countenance, expressed to his Neighbour that he was a Man who made his case his own; yet I'll engage a Player in _Covent-Garden_ might hit such an Attitude a thousand times before he would have been regarded. I have heard that a Minister of State in the Reign of Queen _Elizabeth_ had all manner of Books and Ballads brought to him, of what kind soever, and took great Notice how much they took with the People; upon which he would, and certainly might, very well judge of their present Dispositions, and the most proper way of applying them according to his own purposes. [1] What passes on the Stage, and the Reception it meets with from the Audience, is a very useful Instruction of this Kind. According to what you may observe there on our Stage, you see them often moved so directly against all common Sense and Humanity, that you would be apt to pronounce us a Nation of Savages. It cannot be called a Mistake of what is pleasant, but the very contrary to it is what most assuredly takes with them. The other Night an old Woman carried off with a Pain in her Side, with all the Distortions and Anguish of Countenance which is natural to one in that Condition, was laughed and clapped off the Stage. _Terence's_ Comedy, which I am speaking of, is indeed written as if he hoped to please none but such as had as good a Taste as himself. I could not but reflect upon the natural Description of the innocent young Woman made by the Servant to his Master. _When I came to the House_, said he, _an old Woman opened the Door, and I followed her in, because I could by entring upon them unawares better observe what was your Mistress's ordinary manner of spending her Time, the only way of judging any one's Inclinations and Genius. I found her at her Needle in a sort of second Mourning, which she wore for an Aunt she had lately lost. She had nothing on but what shewed she dressed only for herself. Her Hair hung negligently about her Shoulders. She had none of the Arts with which others use to set themselves off, but had that Negligence of Person which is remarkable in those who are careful of their Minds--Then she had a Maid who was at work near her, that was a Slattern, because her Mistress was careless; which I take to be another Argument of your security in her; for the_ Go-betweens _of Women of Intrigue are rewarded too well to be dirty. When you were named, I told her you desired to see her, she threw down her Work for Joy, covered her Face, and decently hid her Tears_ [2]--He must be a very good Actor, and draw Attention rather from his own Character than the Words of the Author, that could gain it among us for this Speech, though so full of Nature and good Sense.

The intolerable Folly and Confidence of Players putting in Words of their own, does in a great measure feed the absurd Taste of the Audience. But however that is, it is ordinary for a Cluster of Coxcombs to take up the House to themselves, and equally insult both the Actors and the Company. These Savages, who want all manner of Regard and Deference to the rest of Mankind, come only to shew themselves to us, without any other Purpose than to let us know they despise us.

The gross of an Audience is composed of two sorts of People, those who know no Pleasure but of the Body, and those who improve or command corporeal Pleasures by the addition of fine Sentiments of the Mind. At present the intelligent part of the Company are wholly subdued, by the Insurrections of those who know no Satisfactions but what they have in common with all other Animals.

This is the reason that when a Scene tending to Procreation is acted, you see the whole Pit in such a Chuckle, and old Letchers, with Mouths open, stare at the loose Gesticulations on the Stage with shameful Earnestness; when the justest Pictures of human Life in its calm Dignity, and the properest Sentiments for the Conduct of it, pass by like meer Narration, as conducing only to somewhat much better which is to come after. I have seen the whole House at some times in so proper a Disposition, that indeed I have trembled for the Boxes, and feared the Entertainment would end in the Representation of the Rape of the _Sabines_.

I would not be understood in this Talk to argue, that nothing is tolerable on the Stage but what has an immediate Tendency to the Promotion of Virtue. On the contrary, I can allow, provided there is nothing against the Interests of Virtue, and is not offensive to Good-manners, that things of an indifferent nature may be represented. For this Reason I have no Exception to the well-drawn Rusticities in the _Country-Wake_[2]; and there is something so miraculously pleasant in _Dogget's_ acting the aukward Triumph and comick Sorrow of _Hob_ in different Circumstances, that I shall not be able to stay away whenever it is acted. All that vexes me is, that the Gallantry of taking the Cudgels for _Gloucestershire_, with the Pride of Heart in tucking himself up, and taking Aim at his Adversary, as well as the other's Protestation in the Humanity of low Romance, That he could not promise the Squire to break _Hob's_ Head, but he would, if he could, do it in Love; then flourish and begin: I say, what vexes me is, that such excellent Touches as these, as well as the Squire's being out of all patience at _Hob's_ Success, and venturing himself into the Croud, are Circumstances hardly taken Notice of, and the height of the Jest is only in the very Point that Heads are broken. I am confident, were there a Scene written, wherein _Penkethman_ should break his Leg by wrestling with _Bullock_, and _Dicky_ come in to set it, without one word said but what should be according to the exact Rules of Surgery in making this Extention, and binding up the Leg, the whole House should be in a Roar of Applause at the dissembled Anguish of the Patient, the help given by him who threw him down, and the handy Address and arch Looks of the Surgeon. To enumerate the entrance of Ghosts, the Embattling of Armies, the Noise of Heroes in Love, with a thousand other Enormities, would be to transgress the bounds of this Paper, for which reason it is possible they may have hereafter distinct Discourses; not forgetting any of the Audience who shall set up for Actors, and interrupt the Play on the Stage; and Players who shall prefer the Applause of Fools to that of the reasonable part of the Company.

T.

[Footnote 1: Is this another version of the very wise man whom Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun, in a letter to Montrose, said that he knew, who

'believed, that if a Man were permitted to make all the ballads, he
need not care who should make the laws of a nation'?

Andrew Fletcher, who could not have known any of Elizabeth's statesmen, was yet alive when this paper was written.]

[Footnote 2: Heautontimoroumenos, Act ii. sc. 2.]

[Footnote 3: Dogget had been acting a few nights before in _the Country Wake_. The part of Hob was his own in every sense, he being the author of the farce, which afterwards was made into a very popular ballad opera called _Flora_, or _Hob in the Well_.]

* * * * *

No. 503. Tuesday, October 7, 1712. Steele.

'Deleo omnes dehinc ex animo Mulieres.'

Ter.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'You have often mention'd with great Vehemence and Indignation the
Misbehaviour of People at Church; but I am at present to talk to you
on that Subject, and complain to you of one, whom at the same time I
know not what to accuse of, except it be looking too well there, and
diverting the Eyes of the Congregation to that one Object. However I
have this to say, that she might have stay'd at her own Parish, and
not come to perplex those who are otherwise intent upon their Duty.

'Last _Sunday_ was Seven-night I went into a Church not far from
_London_-Bridge; but I wish I had been contented to go to my own
Parish, I am sure it had been better for me: I say, I went to Church
thither, and got into a Pew very near the Pulpit. I had hardly been
accommodated with a Seat, before there entered into the Isle a young
Lady in the very Bloom of Youth and Beauty, and dressed in the most
elegant manner imaginable. Her Form was such, that it engaged the Eyes
of the whole Congregation in an Instant, and mine among the rest. Tho'
we were all thus fixed upon her, she was not in the least out of
Countenance, or under the least Disorder, tho' unattended by any one,
and not seeming to know particularly where to place her self. However,
she had not in the least a confident Aspect, but moved on with the
most graceful Modesty, every one making Way till she came to a Seat
just over-against that in which I was placed. The Deputy of the Ward
sat in that Pew, and she stood opposite to him; and at a Glance into
the Seat, tho' she did not appear the least acquainted with the
Gentleman, was let in, with a Confusion that spoke much Admiration at
the Novelty of the Thing. The Service immediately began, and she
compos'd her self for it with an Air of so much Goodness and
Sweetness, that the Confession which she uttered so as to be heard
where I sat, appeared an Act of Humiliation more than she had Occasion
for. The Truth is, her Beauty had something so innocent, and yet so
sublime, that we all gazed upon her like a Phantom. None of the
Pictures which we behold of the best _Italian_ Painters, have any
thing like the Spirit which appeared in her Countenance, at the
different Sentiments expressed in the several Parts of Divine Service:
That Gratitude and Joy at a Thanksgiving, that Lowliness and Sorrow at
the Prayers for the Sick and Distressed, that Triumph at the Passages
which gave Instances of divine Mercy, which appeared respectively in
her Aspect, will be in my Memory to my last Hour. I protest to you,
Sir, she suspended the Devotion of every one around her; and the Ease
she did every thing with, soon dispersed the churlish Dislike and
Hesitation in approving what is excellent, too frequent amongst us, to
a general Attention and Entertainment in observing her Behaviour. All
the while that we were gazing at her, she took Notice of no Object
about her, but had an Art of seeming awkwardly attentive, whatever
else her Eyes were accidentally thrown upon. One Thing indeed was
particular, she stood the whole Service, and never kneeled or sat; I
do not question but that was to shew her self with the greater
Advantage, and set forth to better Grace her Hands and Arms, lifted up
with the most ardent Devotion, and her Bosom, the fairest Observation;
while she, you must think, knew nothing of the Concern she gave
others, any other than as an Example of Devotion, that threw her self
out, without regard to Dress or Garment, all Contrition, and loose of
all Worldly Regards, in Ecstasy of Devotion. Well, now the Organ was
to play a Voluntary, and she was so skilful in Musick, and so touched
with it, that she kept time not only with some Motion of her Head, but
also with a different Air in her Countenance. When the Musick was
strong and bold, she look'd exalted, but serious; when lively and
airy, she was smiling and gracious; when the Notes were more soft and
languishing, she was kind and full of Pity. When she had now made it
visible to the whole Congregation, by her Motion and Ear, that she
could dance, and she wanted now only to inform us that she could sing
too, when the Psalm was given out, her Voice was distinguished above
all the rest, or rather People did not exert their own in order to
hear her. Never was any heard so sweet and so strong. The Organist
observed it, and he thought fit to play to her only, and she swelled
every Note; when she found she had thrown us all out, and had the last
Verse to herself in such a manner as the whole Congregation was intent
upon her, in the same manner as we see in the Cathedrals, they are on
the Person who sings alone the Anthem. Well, it came at last to the
Sermon, and our young Lady would not lose her Part in that neither;
for she fixed her Eye upon the Preacher, and as he said any thing she
approved, with one of _Charles Mathers's_ fine Tablets she set down
the Sentence, at once shewing her fine Hand, the Gold-Pen, her
Readiness in Writing, and her Judgment in chusing what to write. To
sum up what I intend by this long and particular Account, I mean to
appeal to you, whether it is reasonable that such a Creature as this
shall come from a jaunty Part of the Town, and give herself such
violent Airs, to the disturbance of an innocent and inoffensive
Congregation, with her Sublimities. The Fact, I assure you, was as I
have related; but I had like to have forgot another very considerable
Particular. As soon as Church was done, she immediately stepp'd out of
her Pew, and fell into the finest pitty-pat Air, forsooth, wonderfully
out of Countenance, tossing her Head up and down as she swam along the
Body of the Church. I, with several others of the Inhabitants,
follow'd her out, and saw her hold up her Fan to an Hackney-Coach at a
Distance, who immediately came up to her, and she whipp'd into it with
great Nimbleness, pull'd the Door with a bowing Mein, as if she had
been used to a better Glass. She said aloud, _You know where to go_,
and drove off. By this time the best of the Congregation was at the
Church-Door, and I could hear some say, _A very fine Lady_; others,
_I'll warrant ye, she's no better than she should be_; and one very
wise old Lady said, _She ought to have been taken up_. Mr. SPECTATOR,
I think this Matter lies wholly before you: for the Offence does not
come under any Law, tho' it is apparent this Creature came among us
only to give herself Airs, and enjoy her full Swing in being admir'd.
I desire you would print this, that she may be confin'd to her own
Parish; for I can assure you there is no attending any thing else in a
Place where she is a Novelty. She has been talked of among us ever
since under the Name of the _Phantom_: But I would advise her to come
no more; for there is so strong a Party made by the Women against her,
that she must expect they will not be excell'd a second time in so
outrageous a manner, without doing her some Insult. Young Women, who
assume after this rate, and affect exposing themselves to view in
Congregations at t'other end of the Town, are not so mischievous,
because they are rivall'd by more of the same Ambition, who will not
let the rest of the Company be particular: But in the Name of the
whole Congregation where I was, I desire you to keep these agreeable
Disturbances out of the City, where Sobriety of Manners is still
preserv'd, and all glaring and ostentatious Behaviour, even in things
laudable, discountenanced. I wish you may never see the Phantom, and
am,'

_SIR_,

_Your most humble Servant_,

Ralph Wonder.

T.

* * * * *

No. 504. Wednesday, October 8, 1712. Steele.

'Lepus tute es, et pulpamentum quæris.'

Ter.

It is a great Convenience to those who want Wit to furnish out a Conversation, that there is something or other in all Companies where it is wanted substituted in its stead, which according to their Taste, does the Business as well. Of this nature is the agreeable Pastime in Country-Halls of Cross-purposes, Questions and Commands, and the like. A little superior to these are those who can play at Crambo, or cap Verses. Then above them are such as can make Verses, that is, Rhime; and among those who have the _Latin_ Tongue, such as use to make what they call golden Verses. Commend me also to those who have not Brains enough for any of these Exercises, and yet do not give up their Pretensions to Mirth. These can slap you on the Back unawares, laugh loud, ask you how you do with a Twang on your Shoulders, say you are dull to-day, and laugh a Voluntary to put you in Humour; the laborious Way among the minor Poets, of making things come into such and such a Shape, as that of an Egg, an Hand, an Ax, or any thing that no body had ever thought on before for that purpose, or which would have cost a great deal of Pains to accomplish it if they did. But all these Methods, tho' they are mechanical, and may be arrived at with the smallest Capacity, do not serve an honest Gentleman who wants Wit for his Ordinary Occasions; therefore it is absolutely necessary that the Poor in Imagination should have something which may be serviceable to them at all Hours upon all common Occurrences. That which we call Punning is therefore greatly affected by Men of small Intellects. These Men need not be concerned with you for the whole Sentence; but if they can say a quaint thing, or bring in a Word which sounds like any one Word you have spoken to them they can turn the Discourse, or distract you so that you cannot go on, and by consequence if they cannot be as witty as you are, they can hinder your being any wittier than they are. Thus if you talk of a Candle, he _can deal_ with you; and if you ask him to help you to some Bread, a Punster should think himself very ill-_bred_ if he did not; and if he is not as well-_bred_ as your self, he hopes for _Grains_ of Allowance. If you do not understand that last Fancy, you must recollect that Bread is made of Grain; and so they go on for ever, without Possibility of being exhausted.

There are another Kind of People of small Faculties, who supply want of Wit with want of Breeding; and because Women are both by Nature and Education more offended at any thing which is immodest than we Men are, these are ever harping upon things they ought not to allude to, and deal mightily in double Meanings. Every one's own Observation will suggest Instances enough of this kind, without my mentioning any; for your double Meaners are dispersed up and down thro' all Parts of Town or City where there are any to offend, in order to set off themselves. These Men are mighty loud Laughers, and held very pretty Gentlemen with the sillier and unbred Part of Womankind. But above all already mentioned, or any who ever were, or ever can be in the World, the happiest and surest to be pleasant, are a Sort of People whom we have not indeed lately heard much of, and those are your _Biters_.

A _Biter_ [1] is one who tells you a thing you have no reason to disbelieve in it self; and perhaps has given you, before he bit you, no reason to disbelieve it for his saying it; and if you give him Credit, laughs in your Face, and triumphs that he has deceiv'd you. In a Word, a _Biter_ is one who thinks you a Fool, because you do not think him a Knave. This Description of him one may insist upon to be a just one; for what else but a Degree of Knavery is it, to depend upon Deceit for what you gain of another, be it in point of Wit, or Interest, or any thing else?

This way of Wit is called _Biting_, by a Metaphor taken from Beasts of Prey, which devour harmless and unarmed Animals, and look upon them as their Food wherever they meet them. The Sharpers about Town very ingeniously understood themselves to be to the undesigning Part of Mankind what Foxes are to Lambs, and therefore used the Word _Biting_ to express any Exploit wherein they had over-reach'd any innocent and inadvertent Man of his Purse. These Rascals of late Years have been the Gallants of the Town, and carried it with a fashionable haughty Air, to the discouragement of Modesty and all honest Arts. Shallow Fops, who are govern'd by the Eye, and admire every thing that struts in vogue, took up from the Sharpers the Phrase of _Biting_, and used it upon all Occasions, either to disown any nonsensical Stuff they should talk themselves, or evade the Force of what was reasonably said by others. Thus, when one of these cunning Creatures was enter'd into a Debate with you, whether it was practicable in the present State of Affairs to accomplish such a Proposition, and you thought he had let fall what destroy'd his Side of the Question, as soon as you look'd with an Earnestness ready to lay hold of it, he immediately cry'd, _Bite_, and you were immediately to acknowledge all that Part was in Jest. They carry this to all the Extravagance imaginable, and if one of these Witlings knows any Particulars which may give Authority to what he says, he is still the more ingenious if he imposes upon your Credulity. I remember a remarkable Instance of this Kind. There came up a shrewd young Fellow to a plain young Man, his Countryman, and taking him aside with a grave concern'd Countenance, goes on at this rate: I see you here, and have you heard nothing out of _Yorkshire_--You look so surpriz'd you could not have heard of it--and yet the Particulars are such, that it cannot be false: I am sorry I am got into it so far that I now must tell you; but I know not but it may be for your Service to know--on _Tuesday_ last, just after Dinner--you know his Manner is to smoke, opening his Box, your Father fell down dead in an Apoplexy. The Youth shew'd the filial Sorrow which he ought--Upon which the witty Man cry'd, _Bite, there was nothing in all this_--

To put an end to this silly, pernicious, frivolous Way at once, I will give the Reader one late Instance of a _Bite_, which no _Biter_ for the future will ever be able to equal, tho' I heartily wish him the same Occasion. It is a Superstition with some Surgeons who beg the Bodies of condemn'd Malefactors, to go to the Gaol, and bargain for the Carcase with the Criminal himself. A good honest Fellow did so last Sessions, and was admitted to the condemned Men on the Morning wherein they died. The Surgeon communicated his Business, and fell into discourse with a little Fellow, who refused Twelve Shillings, and insisted upon Fifteen for his Body. The Fellow, who kill'd the Officer of _Newgate_, very forwardly, and like a Man who was willing to deal, told him, Look you, Mr. Surgeon, that little dry Fellow, who has been half-starved all his Life, and is now half-dead with Fear, cannot answer your Purpose. I have ever liv'd high and freely, my Veins are full, I have not pined in Imprisonment; you see my Crest swells to your Knife, and after _Jack-Catch_ has done, upon my Honour you'll find me as sound as e'er a Bullock in any of the Markets. Come, for Twenty Shillings I am your Man--Says the Surgeon, Done, there's a Guinea--This witty Rogue took the Money, and as soon as he had it in his Fist, cries, _Bite, I am to be hang'd in Chains._

T.

[Footnote 1: See No. 47. Swift writes,

'I'll teach you a way to outwit Mrs. Johnson; it is a new fashioned
way of being witty, and they call it a _Bite_. You must ask a
bantering question, or tell some lie in a serious manner, then she
will answer, or speak as if you were in earnest, and then cry you,
"Madam, there's a _Bite_." I would not have you undervalue this, for
it is the constant amusement in Court, and every where else among the
great people; and I let you know it, in order to have it among you,
and to teach you a new refinement.'

Journal to Stella. Although 'bite' and 'biter' have not retained this sense, it remains in an occasional use of the word 'bitten.']

* * * * *

No. 505. Thursday, October 9, 1712. Addison.

'Non habeo denique nauci Marsum Augurem,
Non vicanos Aruspices, non de circo Astrologos,
Non Isiacos Conjectores, non Interpletes somnium:
Non enim sunt ii aut scientiâ, aut arte Divini,
Sed superstitiosi vates, impudentesque harioli,
Aut inertes, aut insani, aut quibus egestas imperat:
Qui sui questus causa fictas suscitant sententias,
Qui sibi semitam non sapiunt, alteri monstrant viam,
Quibus divitias pollicentur, ab iis drachmam petunt;
De divitiis deducant drachmam, reddant coetera.'

Ennius.

Those who have maintain'd that Men would be more miserable than Beasts, were their Hopes confin'd to this Life only; among other Considerations take notice that the latter are only afflicted with the Anguish of the present Evil, whereas the former are very often pained by the Reflection on what is passed, and the Fear of what is to come. This Fear of any Future Difficulties or Misfortunes is so natural to the Mind, that were a Man's Sorrows and Disquietudes summ'd up at the End of his Life, it would generally be found that he had suffer'd more from the Apprehension of such Evils as never happen'd to him, than from those Evils which had really befallen him. To this we may add, that among those Evils which befal us, there are many that have been more painful to us in the Prospect, than by their actual Pressure.

This natural Impatience to look into Futurity, and to know what Accidents may happen to us hereafter, has given birth to many ridiculous Arts and Inventions. Some found their Prescience on the Lines of a Man's Hand, others on the Features of his Face; some on the Signatures which Nature has impressed on his Body, and others on his own Hand-Writing: Some read Men's Fortunes in the Stars, as others have searched after them in the Entrails of Beasts, or the Flights of Birds. Men of the best Sense have been touched, more or less, with these groundless Horrours and Presages of Futurity, upon surveying the most indifferent Works of Nature. Can any thing be more surprizing than to consider _Cicero_, who made the greatest Figure at the Bar, and in the Senate of the _Roman_ Commonwealth, and, at the same time, outshined all the Philosophers of Antiquity in his Library and in his Retirements, as busying himself in the College of Augurs, and observing, with a religious Attention, after what manner the Chickens peck'd the several Grains of Corn which were thrown to them?

Notwithstanding these Follies are pretty well worn out of the Minds of the Wise and Learned in the present Age, Multitudes of weak and ignorant Persons are still Slaves to them. There are numberless Arts of Prediction among the Vulgar, which are too trifling to enumerate; and infinite Observations, of Days, Numbers, Voices, and Figures, which are regarded by them as Portents and Prodigies. In short, every thing Prophesies to the superstitious Man, there is scarce a Straw or a rusty Piece of Iron that lies in his way by Accident.

It is not to be conceiv'd how many Wizards, Gypsies, and Cunning-Men are dispers'd thro' all the Countries and Market-Towns of _Great-Britain_, not to mention the Fortune-tellers and Astrologers, who live very comfortably upon the Curiosity of several well-dispos'd Persons in the Cities of _London_ and _Westminster_.

Among the many pretended Arts of Divination, there is none which so universally amuses as that by Dreams. I have indeed observ'd in a late Speculation, that there have been sometimes, upon very extraordinary Occasions, supernatural Revelations made to certain Persons by this means; but as it is the chief Business of this Paper to root out popular Errors, I must endeavour to expose the Folly and Superstition of those Persons, who, in the common and ordinary course of Life, lay any stress upon things of so uncertain, shadowy, and chimerical a nature. This I cannot do more effectually than by the following Letter, which is dated from a Quarter of the Town that has always been the Habitation of some prophetick _Philomath_; it having been usual, time out of Mind, for all such People as have lost their Wits, to resort to that Place either for their Cure [1] or for their Instruction.

_Moor-Fields_, Oct. 4, 1712.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

'Having long consider'd whether there be any Trade wanting in this
great City, after having survey'd very attentively all kinds of Ranks
and Professions, I do not find in any Quarter of the Town an
_Oneirocritick_, or, in plain _English_, an Interpreter of Dreams. For
want of so useful a Person, there are several good People who are very
much puzled in this Particular, and dream a whole Year together
without being ever the wiser for it. I hope I am pretty well qualify'd
for this Office, having studied by Candlelight all the Rules of Art
which have been laid down upon this Subject. My great Uncle by my
Wife's Side was a _Scotch_ Highlander, and second-sighted. I have four
Fingers and two Thumbs upon one Hand, and was born on the longest
Night of the Year. My Christian and Sir-Name begin and end with the
same Letters. I am lodg'd in _Moorfields_, in a House that for these
fifty years has been always tenanted by a Conjurer.

'If you had been in Company, so much as my self, with ordinary Women
of the Town, you must know that there are many of them who every day
in their Lives, upon seeing or hearing of any thing that is
unexpected, cry, _My Dream is out_; and cannot go to sleep in quiet
the next night, till something or other has happen'd which has
expounded the Visions of the preceding one. There are others who are
in very great pain for not being able to recover the Circumstances of
a Dream, that made strong Impressions upon them while it lasted. In
short, Sir, there are many whose waking Thoughts are wholly employ'd
on their sleeping ones. For the benefit therefore of this curious and
inquisitive Part of my Fellow-Subjects, I shall in the first place
tell those Persons what they dreamt of, who fancy they never dream at
all. In the next place, I shall make out any Dream, upon hearing a
single Circumstance of it; and in the last place, shall expound to
them the good or bad Fortune which such Dreams portend. If they do not
presage good luck, I shall desire nothing for my Pains; not
questioning at the same time that those who consult me will be so
reasonable as to afford me a moderate Share out of any considerable
Estate, Profit or Emolument which I shall thus discover to them. I
interpret to the Poor for nothing, on condition that their Names may
be inserted in Publick Advertisements, to attest the Truth of such my
Interpretations. As for People of Quality or others, who are
indisposed, and do not care to come in Person, I can interpret their
Dreams by seeing their Water. I set aside one Day in the Week for
Lovers; and interpret by the great for any Gentlewoman who is turned
of Sixty, after the rate of half a Crown _per_ Week, with the usual
Allowances for good Luck. I have several Rooms and Apartments fitted
up, at reasonable rates, for such as have not Conveniences for
dreaming at their own Houses.

_Titus Trophonius_.

_N. B_. I am not dumb.

O.

[Footnote 1: Bedlam was then in Moorfields.]

* * * * *

No. 206. Friday, October 10, 1712. Budgell.

'Candida perpetuo reside, concordia, lecto,
Tamque pari semper sit Venus æqua jugo.
Diligat illa, senem quondam: Sed et ipsa marito,
Tunc quoque cum fuerit, non videatur anus.'

Mart.

The following Essay is written by the Gentleman, to whom the World is oblig'd for those several excellent Discourses which have been marked with the Letter X.

I have somewhere met with a Fable that made _Wealth_ the Father of _Love_. It is certain a Mind ought, at least, to be free from the Apprehensions of Want and Poverty, before it can fully attend to all the Softnesses and Endearments of this Passion. Notwithstanding we see Multitudes of married People, who are utter Strangers to this delightful Passion amidst all the Affluence of the most plentiful Fortunes.

It is not sufficient to make a Marriage happy, that the Humours of two People should be alike; I could instance an hundred Pair, who have not the least Sentiment of Love remaining for one another, yet are so like in their Humours, that if they were not already married, the whole World would design them for Man and Wife.

The Spirit of Love has something so extremely fine in it, that it is very often disturbed and lost, by some little Accidents which the Careless and Unpolite never attend to, till it is gone past Recovery.

Nothing has more contributed to banish it from a married State, than too great a Familiarity, and laying aside the common Rules of Decency. Tho' I could give Instances of this in several Particulars, I shall only mention that of _Dress_. The Beaus and Belles about Town, who dress purely to catch one another, think there is no further occasion for the Bait, when their first Design has succeeded. But besides the too common Fault in point of Neatness, there are several others which I do not remember to have seen touched upon, but in one of our modern Comedies, [1] where a _French_ Woman offering to undress and dress herself before the Lover of the Play, and assuring his Mistress that it was very useful in _France_, the Lady tells her that's a Secret in Dress she never knew before, and that she was so unpolish'd an _English_ Woman, as to resolve never to learn even to dress before her Husband.

There is something so gross in the Carriage of some Wives, that they lose their Husbands Hearts for Faults, which, if a Man has either Good-Nature or Good-Breeding, he knows not how to tell them of. I am afraid, indeed, the Ladies are generally most faulty in this Particular, who, at their first giving into Love, find the Way so smooth and pleasant, that they fancy 'tis scarce possible to be tired in it.

There is so much Nicety and Discretion requir'd to keep Love alive after Marriage, and make Conversation still new and agreeable after twenty or thirty years, that I know nothing which seems readily to promise it, but an earnest endeavour to please on both sides, and superior good Sense on the part of Man.

By a Man of Sense, I mean one acquainted with Business and Letters.

A Woman very much settles her Esteem for a Man, according to the Figure he makes in the World, and the Character he bears among his own Sex. As Learning is the chief Advantage we have over them, it is, methinks, as scandalous and inexcusable for a Man of Fortune to be illiterate, as for a Woman not to know how to behave her self on the most ordinary Occasions. It is this which sets the two Sexes at the greatest Distance; a Woman is vexed and surpriz'd, to find nothing more in the Conversation of a Man, than in the common Tattle of her own Sex.

Some small Engagement at least in Business, not only sets a Man's Talents in the fairest Light, and allots him a Part to act, in which a Wife cannot well intermeddle; but gives frequent occasions for those little Absences, which, whatever seeming Uneasiness they may give, are some of the best Preservatives of Love and Desire.

The Fair Sex are so conscious to themselves, that they have nothing in them which can deserve entirely to engross the whole Man, that they heartily despise one, who, to use their own Expression, is always hanging at their Apron-Strings.

_Lætitia_ is pretty, modest, tender, and has Sense enough; she married _Erastus_, who is in a Post of some Business, and has a general Taste in most Parts of polite Learning. _Lætitia_, where ever she visits, has the pleasure to hear of something which was handsomely said or done by _Erastus_. _Erastus_, since his Marriage, is more gay in his Dress than ever, and in all Companies is as complaisant to _Lætitia_ as to any other Lady. I have seen him give her her Fan, when it has dropped, with all the Gallantry of a Lover. When they take the Air together, _Erastus_ is continually improving her Thoughts, and with a Turn of Wit and Spirit which is peculiar to him, giving her an Insight into things she had no notion of before. _Lætitia_ is transported at having a new World thus open'd to her, and hangs upon the Man that gives her such agreeable Informations. _Erastus_ has carried this Point still further, as he makes her daily not only more fond of him, but infinitely more satisfied with herself. _Erastus_ finds a Justness or Beauty in whatever she says or observes, that _Lætitia_ herself was not aware of; and, by his Assistance, she has discovered an hundred good Qualities and Accomplishments in herself, which she never before once dreamed of. _Erastus_, with the most artful Complaisance in the World, by several remote Hints, finds the means to make her say or propose almost whatever he has a mind to, which he always receives as her own Discovery, and gives her all the Reputation of it.

_Erastus_ has a perfect Taste in Painting, and carried _Lætitia_ with him the other day to see a Collection of Pictures. I sometimes visit this happy Couple. As we were last Week walking in the long Gallery before Dinner, _I have lately laid out some Mony in Paintings_, says _Erastus; I bought that_ Venus _and_ Adonis _purely upon_ Lætitia's _Judgment; it cost me three-score Guineas, and I was this morning offer'd [a [2]] hundred for it_. I turned towards _Lætitia_, and saw her Cheeks glow with Pleasure, while at the same time she cast a look upon _Erastus_, the most tender and affectionate I ever beheld.

_Flavilla_ married _Tom Tawdry_; she was taken with his laced Coat and rich Sword-knot; she has the mortification to see _Tom_ despised by all the worthy Part of his own Sex. _Tom_ has nothing to do after Dinner, but to determine whether he will pare his Nails at St. _James's, White's_, or his own House. He has said nothing to _Flavilla_ since they were married, which she might not have heard as well from her own Woman. He however takes great care to keep up the saucy ill-natur'd Authority of a Husband. Whatever _Flavilla_ happens to assert, _Tom_ immediately contradicts with an Oath, by way of Preface, and, _My Dear, I must tell you, you talk most confoundedly silly. Flavilla_ had a Heart naturally as well dispos'd for all the Tenderness of Love as that of _Lætitia_; but as Love seldom continues long after Esteem, it is difficult to determine, at present, whether the unhappy _Flavilla_ hates or despises the Person most, whom she is obliged to lead her whole Life with.

[X.]

[Footnote 1: Steele's _Funeral_, or _Grief a la Mode_, Act III.]

[Footnote 2: [an] and in first reprint.]

* * * * *

No. 507. Saturday, October 11, 1712. Addison.

'Defendit numerus, junctæque umbone Phalanges.'

Juv.

There is something very Sublime, tho' very fanciful, in _Plato's_ Description of the Supreme Being, That _Truth is his Body, and Light his Shadow_. According to this Definition, there is nothing so contradictory to his Nature, as Error and Falshood. The Platonists have so just a Notion of the Almighty's Aversion to every thing which is false and erroneous, that they looked upon _Truth_ as no less necessary than _Virtue_, to qualifie an human Soul for the Enjoyment of a separate State. For this reason as they recommended Moral Duties to qualifie and season the Will for a future Life, so they prescribed several Contemplations and Sciences to rectifie the Understanding. Thus _Plato_ has called Mathematical Demonstrations the Catharticks or Purgatives of the Soul, as being the most proper Means to cleanse it from Error, and to give it a Relish of Truth; which is the natural Food and Nourishment of the Understanding, as Virtue is the Perfection and Happiness of the Will.