Chapter XCIII: Letter I: found that Will was fallen off from his former Gayety, having (2)

As I was the other day standing in my Bookseller's Shop, a pretty young Thing about Eighteen Years of Age, stept out of her Coach, and brushing by me, beck'ned the Man of the Shop to the further end of his Counter, where she whispered something to him with an attentive Look, and at the same time presented him with a Letter: After which, pressing the End of her Fan upon his Hand, she delivered the remaining part of her Message, and withdrew. I observed, in the midst of her Discourse, that she flushed, and cast an Eye upon me over her Shoulder, having been informed by my Bookseller, that I was the Man of the short Face, whom she had so often read of. Upon her passing by me, the pretty blooming Creature smiled in my Face, and dropped me a Curtsie. She scarce gave me time to return her Salute, before she quitted the Shop with an easie Scuttle, and stepped again into her Coach, giving the Footman Directions to drive where they were bid. Upon her Departure, my Bookseller gave me a Letter, superscribed, _To the ingenious Spectator_, which the young Lady had desired him to deliver into my own Hands, and to tell me that the speedy Publication of it would not only oblige her self, but a whole Tea-Table of my Friends. I opened it therefore, with a Resolution to publish it, whatever it should contain, and am sure, if any of my Male Readers will be so severely critical as not to like it, they would have been as well pleased with it as my self, had they seen the Face of the pretty Scribe.

_London, Nov._ 1712.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'You are always ready to receive any useful Hint or Proposal, and
such, I believe, you will think one that may put you in a way to
employ the most idle part of the Kingdom; I mean that part of Mankind
who are known by the Name of the Womens-Men or Beaus, _&c. Mr._
SPECTATOR, you are sensible these pretty Gentlemen are not made for
any Manly Imployments, and for want of Business are often as much in
the Vapours as the Ladies. Now what I propose is this, that since
Knotting is again in fashion, which has been found a very pretty
Amusement, that you would recommend it to these Gentlemen as something
that may make them useful to the Ladies they admire. And since 'tis
not inconsistent with any Game, or other Diversion, for it may be done
in the Playhouse, in their Coaches, at the Tea-Table, and, in short,
in all Places where they come for the sake of the Ladies (except at
Church, be pleased to forbid it there, to prevent Mistakes) it will be
easily complied with. 'Tis beside an Imployment that allows, as we see
by the Fair Sex, of many Graces, which will make the Beaus more
readily come into it; it shews a white Hand and Diamond Ring to great
advantage; it leaves the Eyes at full liberty to be employed as
before, as also the Thoughts, and the Tongue. In short, it seems in
every respect so proper, that 'tis needless to urge it further, by
speaking of the Satisfaction these Male-Knotters will find, when they
see their Work mixed up in a Fringe, and worn by the fair Lady for
whom and with whom it was done. Truly, _Mr._ SPECTATOR, I cannot but
be pleased I have hit upon something that these Gentlemen are capable
of; for 'tis sad so considerable a part of the Kingdom (I mean for
Numbers) should be of no manner of use. I shall not trouble you
farther at this time, but only to say, that I am always your Reader,
and generally your Admirer, C. B.

_P. S._ 'The sooner these fine Gentlemen are set to Work the better;
there being at this time several fine Fringes that stay only for more
Hands.'

I shall, in the next place, present my Reader with the Description of a Set of Men who are common enough in the World, tho' I do not remember that I have yet taken notice of them, as they are drawn in the following Letter.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'Since you have lately, to so good purpose, enlarged upon Conjugal
Love, it's to be hoped you'll discourage every Practice that rather
proceeds from a regard to Interest, than to Happiness. Now you cannot
but observe, that most of our fine young Ladies readily fall in with
the Direction of the graver sort, to retain in their Service, by some
small Encouragement, as great a Number as they can of supernumerary
and insignificant Fellows, which they use like Whifflers, and commonly
call _Shoeing-Horns_. These are never designed to know the length of
the Foot, but only, when a good Offer comes, to whet and spur him up
to the Point. Nay, 'tis the Opinion of that grave Lady, Madam
_Matchwell_, that it's absolutely convenient for every prudent Family
to have several of these Implements about the House, to clap on as
Occasion serves, and that every Spark ought to produce a Certificate
of his being a Shoeing-Horn, before he be admitted as a Shoe. A
certain Lady, whom I could name, if it was necessary, has at present
more Shoeing-Horns of all Sizes, Countries, and Colours, in her
Service, than ever she had new Shoes in her Life. I have known a Woman
make use of a Shoeing-Horn for several Years, and finding him
unsuccessful in that Function, convert him at length into a Shoe. I am
mistaken if your Friend _Mr_. WILLIAM HONEYCOMB, was not a cast
Shoeing-Horn before his late Marriage. As for my self, I must frankly
declare to you, that I have been an errant Shoeing-Horn for above
these twenty Years. I served my first Mistress in that Capacity above
five of the Number, before she was shod. I confess, though she had
many who made their Applications to her, I always thought my self the
best Shoe in her Shop, and it was not till a Month before her Marriage
that I discovered what I was. This had like to have broke my Heart,
and raised such Suspicions in me, that I told the next I made Love to,
upon receiving some unkind Usage from her, that I began to look upon
my self as no more than her Shoeing-Horn. Upon which, my Dear, who was
a Coquet in her Nature, told me I was Hypocondriacal, and that I might
as well look upon my self to be an Egg or a Pipkin. But in a very
short time after she gave me to know that I was not mistaken in my
self. It would be tedious to recount to you the Life of an unfortunate
Shoeing-Horn, or I might entertain you with a very long and melancholy
Relation of my Sufferings. Upon the whole, I think, Sir, it would very
well become a Man in your Post, to determine in what Cases a Woman may
be allowed, with Honour, to make use of a Shoeing-Horn, as also to
declare whether a Maid on this side Five and Twenty, or a Widow who
has not been three Years in that State, may be granted such a
Privilege, with other Difficulties which will naturally occur to you
upon that Subject.

_I am, SIR,

With the most profound Veneration,

Yours, &c._

O.

* * * * *

No. 537. Saturday, November 15, 1712. J. Hughes.

[Greek: Tou mèn gàr génos esmén--]

_To the_ SPECTATOR.

_SIR,_

'It has been usual to remind Persons of Rank, on great Occasions in
Life, of their Race and Quality, and to what Expectations they were
born; that by considering what is worthy of them, they may be
withdrawn from mean Pursuits, and encouraged to laudable Undertakings.
This is turning Nobility into a Principle of Virtue, and making it
productive of Merit, as it is understood to have been originally a
Reward of it.

'It is for the like reason, I imagine, that you have in some of your
Speculations asserted to your Readers the _Dignity of Human Nature_.
But you cannot be insensible that this is a controverted Doctrine;
there are Authors who consider Human Nature in a very different View,
and Books of Maxims have been written to shew the _Falsity of all
Human Virtues_. The Reflections which are made on this Subject usually
take some Tincture from the Tempers and Characters of those that make
them. Politicians can resolve the most shining Actions among Men into
Artifice and Design; others, who are soured by Discontent, Repulses,
or ill Usage, are apt to mistake their Spleen for Philosophy; Men of
profligate Lives, and such as find themselves incapable of rising to
any Distinction among their Fellow-Creatures, are for pulling down all
Appearances of Merit, which seem to upbraid them: and Satirists
describe nothing but Deformity. From all these Hands we have such
Draughts of Mankind as are represented in those burlesque Pictures,
which the _Italians_ call _Caracatura's;_ where the Art consists in
preserving, amidst distorted Proportions and aggravated Features, some
distinguishing Likeness of the Person, but in such a manner as to
transform the most agreeable Beauty into the most odious Monster.

'It is very disingenuous to level the best of Mankind with the worst,
and for the Faults of Particulars to degrade the whole Species. Such
Methods tend not only to remove a Man's good Opinion of others, but to
destroy that Reverence for himself, which is a great Guard of
Innocence, and a Spring of Virtue.

'It is true indeed that there are surprizing Mixtures of Beauty and
Deformity, of Wisdom and Folly, Virtue and Vice, in the Human Make;
such a Disparity is found among Numbers of the same Kind, and every
Individual, in some Instances, or at some Times, is so unequal to
himself, that _Man_ seems to be the most wavering and inconsistent
Being in the whole Creation. So that the Question in Morality,
concerning the Dignity of our Nature, may at first sight appear like
some difficult Questions in Natural Philosophy, in which the Arguments
on both Sides seem to be of equal Strength. But as I began with
considering this Point as it relates to Action, I shall here borrow an
admirable Reflection from Monsieur _Pascal_, which I think sets it in
its proper Light.

'_It is of dangerous Consequence_, says he, _to represent to Man how
near he is to the Level of Beasts, without shewing him at the same
time his_ Greatness. _It is likewise dangerous to let him see his
Greatness, without his_ Meanness. _It is more dangerous yet to leave
him ignorant of either; but very beneficial that he should be made
sensible of both._ [1]

Whatever Imperfections we may have in our Nature, it is the Business
of Religion and Virtue to rectify them, as far as is consistent with
our present State. In the mean time, it is no small Encouragement to
generous Minds to consider that we shall put them all off with our
Mortality. That sublime Manner of Salutation with which the _Jews_
approached their Kings,

O King, _live for ever!_

may be addressed to the lowest and most despised Mortal among us,
under all the Infirmities and Distresses with which we see him
surrounded. And whoever believes the _Immortality of the Soul_, will
not need a better Argument for the Dignity of his Nature, nor a
stronger Incitement to Actions suitable to it.

'I am naturally led by this Reflection to a Subject I have already
touched upon in a former Letter, and cannot without pleasure call to
mind the Thoughts of _Cicero_ to this purpose, in the close of his
Book concerning _Old Age_. Every one who is acquainted with his
Writings, will remember that the elder _Cato_ is introduced in that
Discourse as the Speaker, and _Scipio_ and _Lelius_ as his Auditors.
This venerable Person is represented looking forward as it were from
the Verge of extreme Old Age, into a future State, and rising into a
Contemplation on the unperishable Part of his Nature, and its
Existence after Death. I shall collect Part of his Discourse. And as
you have formerly offered some Arguments for the Soul's Immortality,
agreeable both to Reason and the Christian Doctrine, I believe your
Readers will not be displeased to see how the same great Truth shines
in the Pomp of _Roman_ Eloquence.

"This, says _Cato_, my firm Persuasion, that since the human Soul
exerts it self with so great Activity, since it has such a
Remembrance of the Past, such a Concern for the Future, since it is
enriched with so many Arts, Sciences and Discoveries, it is
impossible but the Being which contains all these must be Immortal.

"The elder _Cyrus_, just before his Death, is represented by
XENOPHON speaking after this Manner."

'_Think not, my dearest Children, that when I depart from you I
shall be no more, but remember, that my Soul, even while I lived
among you, was invisible to you; yet by my Actions you were
sensible it existed in this Body. Believe it therefore existing
still, though it be still unseen. How quickly would the Honours of
illustrious Men perish after Death, if their Souls performed
nothing to preserve their Fame? For my own part, I never could
think that the Soul while in a mortal Body, lives, but when
departed out of it, dies; or that its Consciousness is lost when
it is discharged out of an unconscious Habitation. But when it is
freed from all corporeal Alliance, then it truly exists. Further,
since the Human Frame is broken by Death, tell us what becomes of
its Parts? It is visible whither the Materials of other Beings are
translated, namely to the Source from whence they had their Birth.
The Soul alone, neither present nor departed, is the Object of our
Eyes._' [2]

"Thus _Cyrus_. But to proceed. No one shall persuade me, _Scipio_,
that your worthy Father, or your Grandfathers _Paulus_ and
_Africanus_, or _Africanus_ his Father, or Uncle, or many other
excellent Men whom I need not name, performed so many Actions to be
remembered by Posterity, without being sensible that Futurity was
their Right. And, if I may be allowed an old Man's Privilege, to
speak of my self, do you think I would have endured the Fatigue of
so many wearisome Days and Nights both at home and abroad, if I
imagined that the same Boundary which is set to my Life must
terminate my Glory? Were it not more desirable to have worn out my
days in Ease and Tranquility, free from Labour, and without
Emulation? But I know not how, my Soul has always raised it self,
and looked forward on Futurity, in this View and Expectation, that
when it shall depart out of Life, it shall then live for ever; and
if this were not true, that the Mind is immortal, the Souls of the
most worthy would not, above all others, have the strongest Impulse
to Glory.

"What besides this is the Cause that the wisest Men die with the
greatest Æquanimity, the ignorant with the greatest Concern? Does it
not seem that those Minds which have the most extensive Views,
foresee they are removing to a happier Condition, which those of a
narrower Sight do not perceive? I, for my part, am transported with
the Hope of seeing your Ancestors, whom I have honoured and loved,
and am earnestly desirous of meeting not only those excellent
Persons whom I have known, but those too of whom I have heard and
read, and of whom I myself have written: nor would I be detained
from so pleasing a Journey. O happy Day, when I shall escape from
this Croud, this Heap of Pollution, and be admitted to that Divine
Assembly of exalted Spirits! When I shall go not only to those great
Persons I have named, but to my _Cato_, my Son, than whom a better
Man was never born, and whose Funeral Rites I my self performed,
whereas he ought rather to have attended mine. Yet has not his Soul
deserted me, but, seeming to cast back a Look on me, is gone before
to those Habitations to which it was sensible I should follow him.
And though I might appear to have born my Loss with Courage, I was
not unaffected with it, but I comforted myself in the Assurance that
it would not be long before we should meet again, and be divorced no
more.

_I am, SIR, &c._"'

_I question not but my Reader will be very much pleased to hear, that the Gentleman who has obliged the World with the foregoing Letter, and who was the Author of the 210th Speculation on the Immortality of the Soul, [the 375th on Virtue in Distress,] the 525th on Conjugal Love, and two or three other very fine ones among those which are not lettered at the end, will soon publish a noble Poem, Intitled_ An Ode to the Creator of the World, _occasioned by the Fragments of_ Orpheus.

[Footnote 1: _Pensées_. Part I. Art. iv. 7.]

[Footnote 2: Cyropædia, Book viii.]

* * * * *

No. 538. Monday, November 17, 1712. Addison.

'--Ultra
Finem tendere opus.'

Hor.

Surprize is so much the Life of Stories, that every one aims at it, who endeavours to please by telling them. Smooth Delivery, an elegant Choice of Words, and a sweet Arrangement, are all beautifying _Graces_, but not the particulars in this Point of Conversation which either long command the Attention, or strike with the Violence of a sudden Passion, or occasion the burst of Laughter which accompanies Humour. I have sometimes fancied that the Mind is in this case like a Traveller who sees a fine Seat in Haste; he acknowledges the Delightfulness of a Walk set with Regularity, but would be uneasy if he were obliged to pass it over, when the first View had let him into all its Beauties from one End to the other.

However, a knowledge of the Success which Stories will have when they are attended with a Turn of Surprize, as it has happily made the Characters of some, so has it also been the Ruin of the Characters of others. There is a Set of Men who outrage Truth, instead of affecting us with a Manner in telling it; who over-leap the Line of Probability, that they may be seen to move out of the common Road; and endeavour only to make their Hearers stare, by imposing upon them with a kind of Nonsense against the Philosophy of Nature, or such a Heap of Wonders told upon their own Knowledge, as it is not likely one Man should ever have met with.

I have been led to this Observation by a Company into which I fell accidentally. The Subject of _Antipathies_ was a proper Field wherein such false Surprizes might expatiate, and there were those present who appeared very fond to shew it in its full Extent of traditional History. Some of them, in a learned manner, offered to our Consideration the miraculous Powers which the Effluviums of Cheese have over Bodies whose Pores are dispos'd to receive them in a noxious manner; others gave an account of such who could indeed bear the sight of Cheese, but not the Taste; for which they brought a Reason from the Milk of their Nurses. Others again discours'd, without endeavouring at Reasons, concerning an unconquerable Aversion which some Stomachs have against a Joint of Meat when it is whole, and the eager Inclination they have for it, when, by its being cut up, the Shape which had affected them is altered. From hence they passed to Eels, then to Parsnips, and so from one Aversion to another, till we had work'd up our selves to such a pitch of Complaisance, that when the Dinner was to come in, we enquired the name of every Dish, and hop'd it would be no Offence to any in Company, before it was admitted. When we had sat down, this Civility amongst us turned the Discourse from Eatables to other sorts of Aversions; and the eternal Cat, which plagues every Conversation of this nature, began then to engross the Subject. One had sweated at the Sight of it, another had smelled it out as it lay concealed in a very distant Cupboard; and he who crowned the whole set of these Stories, reckon'd up the Number of Times in which it had occasion'd him to swoon away. At last, says he, that you may all be satisfy'd of my invincible Aversion to a Cat, I shall give an unanswerable Instance: As I was going through a Street of _London_, where I had never been till then, I felt a general Damp and Faintness all over me, which I could not tell how to account for, till I chanced to cast my Eyes upwards, and found that I was passing under a Sign-Post on which the Picture of a Cat was hung.

The Extravagance of this Turn in the way of Surprize, gave a stop to the Talk we had been carrying on: Some were silent because they doubted, and others because they were conquered in their own Way; so that the Gentleman had Opportunity to press the Belief of it upon us, and let us see that he was rather exposing himself than ridiculing others.

I must freely own that I did not all this while disbelieve every thing that was said; but yet I thought some in the Company had been endeavouring who should pitch the Bar farthest; that it had for some time been a measuring Cast, and at last my Friend of the Cat and Sign-post had thrown beyond them all.

I then consider'd the Manner in which this Story had been received, and the Possibility that it might have pass'd for a Jest upon others, if he had not labour'd against himself. From hence, thought I, there are two Ways which the well-bred World generally takes to correct such a Practice, when they do not think fit to contradict it flatly.

The first of these is a general Silence, which I would not advise any one to interpret in his own behalf. It is often the Effect of Prudence in avoiding a Quarrel, when they see another drive so fast, that there is no stopping him without being run against; and but very seldom the Effect of Weakness in believing suddenly. The generality of Mankind are not so grossly ignorant, as some over-bearing Spirits would persuade themselves; and if the Authority of a Character or a Caution against Danger make us suppress our Opinions, yet neither of these are of force enough to suppress our Thoughts of them. If a Man who has endeavoured to amuse his Company with Improbabilities could but look into their Minds, he would find that they imagine he lightly esteems of their Sense when he thinks to impose upon them, and that he is less esteemed by them for his Attempt in doing so. His endeavour to glory at their Expence becomes a Ground of Quarrel, and the Scorn and Indifference with which they entertain it begins the immediate Punishment: And indeed (if we should even go no further) Silence, or a negligent Indifference has a deeper way of wounding than Opposition; because Opposition proceeds from an Anger that has a sort of generous Sentiment for the Adversary mingling along with it, while it shews that there is some Esteem in your Mind for him; in short, that you think him worth while to contest with: But Silence, or a negligent Indifference, proceeds from Anger, mixed with a Scorn that shews another he is thought by you too contemptible to be regarded.

The other Method which the World has taken for correcting this Practice of false Surprize, is to over-shoot such Talkers in their own Bow, or to raise the Story with further Degrees of Impossibility, and set up for a Voucher to them in such a manner as must let them see they stand detected. Thus I have heard a Discourse was once managed upon the Effects of Fear. One of the Company had given an account how it had turn'd his Friend's Hair grey in a Night, while the Terrors of a Shipwrack encompassed him. Another taking the Hint from hence, began, upon his own Knowledge, to enlarge his Instances of the like nature to such a Number, that it was not probable he could ever have met with them; and as he still grounded these upon different Causes, for the sake of Variety, it might seem at last, from his Share of the Conversation, almost impossible that any one who can feel the Passion of Fear should all his Life escape so common an Effect of it. By this time some of the Company grew negligent, or desirous to contradict him: But one rebuked the rest with an appearance of Severity, and with the known old Story in his Head, assured them they need not scruple to believe that the Fear of any thing can make a Man's Hair grey, since he knew one whose Perriwig had suffered so by it. Thus he stopped the Talk, and made them easy. Thus is the same Method taken to bring us to Shame, which we fondly take to increase our Character. It is indeed a kind of Mimickry, by which another puts on our Air of Conversation to show us to our selves: He seems to look ridiculous before you, that you may remember how near a Resemblance you bear to him, or that you may know he will not lie under the Imputation of believing you. Then it is that you are struck dumb immediately with a conscientious Shame for what you have been saying, Then it is that you are inwardly grieved at the Sentiments which you cannot but perceive others entertain concerning you. In short, you are against your self; the Laugh of the Company runs against you; the censuring World is obliged to you for that Triumph which you have allowed them at your own Expence; and Truth, which you have injured, has a near way of being revenged on you, when by the bare Repetition of your Story you become a frequent Diversion for the [Publick. [1]]

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'The other Day, walking in _Pancras_ Churchyard, I thought of your
Paper wherein you mention Epitaphs, and am of opinion this has a
Thought in it worth being communicated to your Readers.

'Here Innocence and Beauty lies, whose Breath
Was snatch'd by early, not untimely Death.
Hence did she go, just as she did begin
Sorrow to know, before she knew to sin.
Death, that does Sin and Sorrow thus prevent,
Is the next Blessing to a Life well spent.'

[I am, SIR, Your Servant.]

[Footnote 1: [Publick. _I am, Sir, your Servant.]]

* * * * *

No. 539. Tuesday, November 18, 1712. Budgell.

'Heteroclyta sunto.--Quæ Genus.'

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'I am a young Widow of a good Fortune and Family, and just come to
Town; where I find I have Clusters of pretty Fellows come already to
visit me, some dying with Hopes, others with Fears, tho' they never
saw me. Now what I would beg of you, would be to know whether I may
venture to use these pert Fellows with the same Freedom as I did my
Country Acquaintance. I desire your Leave to use them as to me shall
seem meet, without Imputation of a Jilt; for since I make Declaration
that not one of them shall have me, I think I ought to be allowed the
Liberty of insulting those who have the Vanity to believe it is in
their power to make me break that Resolution. There are Schools for
learning to use Foils, frequented by those who never design to fight;
and this useless way of aiming at the Heart, without design to wound
it on either side, is the Play with which I am resolved to divert my
self: The Man who pretends to win, I shall use like him who comes into
a Fencing-School to pick a Quarrel. I hope, upon this Foundation, you
will give me the free use of the natural and artificial Force of my
Eyes, Looks, and Gestures. As for verbal Promises, I will make none,
but shall have no mercy on the conceited Interpreters of Glances and
Motions. I am particularly skill'd in the downcast Eye, and the
Recovery into a sudden full Aspect, and away again, as you may have
seen sometimes practised by us Country Beauties beyond all that you
have observed in Courts and Cities. Add to this, Sir, that I have a
ruddy heedless Look, which covers Artifice the best of any thing. Tho'
I can dance very well, I affect a tottering untaught way of walking,
by which I appear an easy Prey and never exert my instructed Charms
till I find I have engaged a Pursuer. Be pleased, Sir, to print this
Letter; which will certainly begin the Chace of a rich Widow: The many
Foldings, Escapes, Returns and Doublings which I make, I shall from
time to time communicate to you, for the better Instruction of all
Females who set up, like me, for reducing the present exorbitant Power
and Insolence of Man.'

_I am, SIR,

Your faithful Correspondent_,

Relicta Lovely.

_Dear Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'I depend upon your profess'd Respect for virtuous Love, for your
immediate answering the Design of this Letter; which is no other than
to lay before the World the Severity of certain Parents who desire to
suspend the Marriage of a discreet young Woman of eighteen, three
Years longer, for no other reason but that of her being too young to
enter into that State. As to the consideration of Riches, my
Circumstances are such, that I cannot be suspected to make my
Addresses to her on such low Motives as Avarice or Ambition. If ever
Innocence, Wit and Beauty, united their utmost Charms, they have in
her. I wish you would expatiate a little on this Subject, and admonish
her Parents that it may be from the very Imperfection of Human Nature
it self, and not any personal Frailty of her or me, that our
Inclinations baffled at present may alter; and while we are arguing
with our selves to put off the Enjoyment of our present Passions, our
Affections may change their Objects in the Operation. It is a very
delicate Subject to talk upon; but if it were but hinted, I am in
hopes it would give the Parties concern'd some Reflection that might
expedite our Happiness. There is a Possibility, and I hope I may say
it without Imputation of Immodesty to her I love with the highest
Honour; I say, there is a Possibility this Delay may be as painful to
her as it is to me. If it be as much, it must be more, by reason of
the severe Rules the Sex are under in being denied even the Relief of
Complaint. If you oblige me in this, and I succeed, I promise you a
Place at my Wedding, and a Treatment suitable to your Spectatorial
Dignity.'

_Your most humble Servant_,

Eustace.

_SIR_,

'I Yesterday heard a young Gentleman, that look'd as if he was just
come to the Town, and a Scarf, upon Evil-speaking; which Subject, you
know, Archbishop _Tillotson_ has so nobly handled in a Sermon in his
_Folio_. As soon as ever he had named his Text, and had opened a
little the Drift of his Discourse, I was in great hopes he had been
one of Sir ROGER'S Chaplains. I have conceived so great an Idea of the
charming Discourse above, that I should have thought one part of my
Sabbath very well spent in hearing a Repetition of it. But alas! Mr.
SPECTATOR, this Reverend Divine gave us his Grace's Sermon, and yet I
don't know how; even I, that I am sure have read it at least twenty
times, could not tell what to make of it, and was at a loss sometimes
to guess what the Man aim'd at. He was so just indeed, as to give us
all the Heads and the Sub-divisions of the Sermon; and farther I think
there was not one beautiful Thought in it but what we had. But then,
Sir, this Gentleman made so many pretty Additions; and he could never
give us a Paragraph of the Sermon, but he introduced it with something
which, methought, look'd more like a Design to shew his own Ingenuity,
than to instruct the People. In short, he added and curtailed in such
a manner that he vexed me; insomuch that I could not forbear thinking
(what, I confess, I ought not to have thought of in so holy a Place)
that this young Spark was as justly blameable as _Bullock_ or
_Penkethman_ when they mend a noble Play of _Shakespear_ or _Johnson_.
Pray, Sir, take this into your Consideration; and if we must be
entertained with the Works of any of those great Men, desire these
Gentlemen to give them us as they find them, that so, when we read
them to our Families at home, they may the better remember they have
heard them at Church.'

_SIR,

Your humble Servant_.

* * * * *

No. 540. Wednesday, November 19, 1712. Steele.

'--Non Deficit Alter--'

Virg.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'There is no Part of your Writings which I have in more Esteem than
your Criticism upon _Milton_. It is an honourable and candid Endeavour
to set the Works of our Noble Writers in the graceful Light which they
deserve. You will lose much of my kind Inclination towards you, if you
do not attempt the Encomium of _Spencer_ also, or at least indulge my
Passion for that charming Author so far as to print the loose Hints I
now give you on that Subject.

'Spencer's general Plan is the Representation of six Virtues,
Holiness, Temperance, Chastity, Friendship, Justice and Courtesy, in
six Legends by six Persons. The six Personages are supposed under
proper Allegories suitable to their respective Characters, to do all
that is necessary for the full Manifestation of the respective Virtues
which they are to exert.

'These one might undertake to shew under the several Heads, are
admirably drawn; no Images improper, and most surprizingly beautiful.
The Red-cross Knight runs through the whole Steps of the Christian
Life; _Guyon_ does all that Temperance can possibly require;
_Britomartis_ (a Woman) observes the true Rules of unaffected
Chastity; _Arthegal_ is in every Respect of Life strictly and wisely
just; _Calidore_ is rightly courteous.

'In short, in _Fairy-Land_, where Knights Errant have a full Scope to
range, and to do even what _Ariosto's_ or _Orlando's_ could not do in
the World without breaking into Credibility, _Spencer's_ Knights have,
under those six Heads, given a full and a truly Poetical System of
Christian, Public, and Low Life.

'His Legend of Friendship is more diffuse, and yet even there the
Allegory is finely drawn, only the Heads various, one Knight could not
there support all the Parts.

'To do honour to his Country, Prince _Arthur_ is an Universal Hero; in
Holiness, Temperance, Chastity, and Justice super-excellent. For the
same Reason, and to compliment Queen _Elizabeth_, _Gloriana_, Queen of
Fairies, whose Court was the Asylum of the Oppressed, represents that
Glorious Queen. At her Commands all these Knights set forth, and only
at her's the Red-cross Knight destroys the Dragon. _Guyon_ overturns
the Bower of Bliss, _Arthegal_ (i. e. _Justice_) beats down _Geryoneo_
(i. e. _Phil._ II. King of _Spain_) to rescue _Belge_ (i. e.
_Holland_) and he beats the _Grantorto_ (the same _Philip_ in another
Light) to restore _Irena_ (i. e. _Peace_ to Europe.)

'Chastity being the first Female Virtue, _Britomartis_ is a _Britain_;
her Part is fine, though it requires Explication. His stile is very
Poetical; no Puns, Affectations of Wit, forced Antitheses, or any of
that low Tribe.

'His old Words are all true _English_, and numbers exquisite; and
since of Words there is the _Multa Renascentur_, since they are all
proper, such a Poem should not (any more than _Milton's_) subsist all
of it of common ordinary Words. See Instances of Descriptions.

'Causeless Jealousy in _Britomartis_, V. 6, 14, in its Restlessness.

'Like as a wayward Child whose sounder Sleep
Is broken with some fearful Dream's Affright,
With froward Will doth set himself to weep,
Ne can be stil'd for all his Nurse's Might,
But kicks, and squalls, and shrieks for fell Despight;
Now scratching her, and her loose Locks misusing,
Now seeking Darkness, and now seeking Light;
Then craving Suck, and then the Suck refusing:
Such was this Lady's Loves in her Love's fond accusing.'

Curiosity occasioned by Jealousy, upon occasion of her Lover's
Absence. _Ibid, Stan_. 8, 9.

'Then as she looked long, at last she spy'd
One coming towards her with hasty Speed,
Well ween'd she then, e'er him she plain descry'd,
That it was one sent from her Love indeed;
Whereat her Heart was fill'd with Hope and Dread,
Ne would she stay till he in Place could come,
But ran to weet him forth to know his Tidings somme;
Even in the Door him meeting, she begun,
And where is he, thy Lord, and how far hence?
Declare at once; and hath he lost or won?'

_Care_ and his _House_ are described thus, IV. 6, 33, 34, 35.

'Not far away, not meet for any Guest,
They spy'd a little Cottage, like some poor Man's Nest.'

34.

'There entring in, they found the Good-Man's self,
Full busily unto his Work ybent,
Who was so weel a wretched wearish Elf,
With hollow Eyes and raw-bone Cheeks forspent,
As if he had in Prison long been pent.
Full black and griesly did his Face appear,
Besmear'd with Smoke that nigh his Eye-sight blent,
With rugged Beard and Hoary shaggy Heare,
The which he never wont to comb, or comely shear.'

35.

'Rude was his Garment and to Rags all rent,
Ne better had he, ne for better cared;
His blistred Hands amongst the Cinders brent,
And Fingers filthy, with long Nails prepared,
Right fit to rend the Food on which he fared.
His Name was_ Care; _a Blacksmith by his Trade,
That neither Day nor Night from working spared,
But to small purpose Iron Wedges made:
These be unquiet Thoughts that careful Minds invade.'

'Homer's Epithets were much admired by Antiquity: See what great
Justness and Variety there is in these Epithets of the Trees in the
Forest where the Red-cross Knight lost _Truth_, B. I. Cant. i. St. 8,
9.

'The sailing Pine, the Cedar proud and tall,
The Vine-prop Elm, the Poplar never dry,
The Builder Oak, sole King of Forests all.
The Aspine good for Staves, the Cypress Funeral.
The Laurel, Meed of mighty Conquerors,
And Poets sage; the Fir that weepeth still,
The Willow worn of forlorn Paramours,
The Yew obedient to the Bender's Will.
The Birch for Shafts, the Sallow for the Mill;
The Myrrhe sweet bleeding in the bitter Wound,
The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill,
The fruitful Olive, and the Plantane round,
The Carver Helm, the Maple seldom inward sound.'

'I shall trouble you no more, but desire you to let me conclude with
these Verses, though I think they have already been quoted by you;
They are Directions to young Ladies opprest with Calumny. VI. 6, 14.

'The best_ (said he) _that I can you advise,
Is to avoid the Occasion of the Ill;
For when the Cause whence Evil doth arise
Removed is, the Effect surceaseth still.
Abstain from Pleasure, and restrain your Will,
Subdue Desire, and bridle loose Delight,
Use scanted Diet, and forbear your Fill,
Shun Secrecy, and talk in open Sight;
So shall you soon repair your present evil Plight.'

T.

* * * * *

No. 541. Thursday, November 20, 1712. John Hughes.

'Format enim Natura prius nos intus ad omnem
Fortunarum habitum; juvat, aut impellit ad iram,
Aut ad humum mærore gravi deducit et angit;
Post effert animi motus interprete Lingua.'

Hor.

My Friend the _Templar_, whom I have so often mentioned in these Writings, having determined to lay aside his Poetical Studies, in order to a closer Pursuit of the Law, has put together, as a Farewell Essay, some Thoughts concerning [_Pronunciation_ and _Action_, [1]] which he has given me leave to communicate to the Publick. They are chiefly collected from his Favourite Author, _Cicero_, who is known to have been an intimate Friend of _Rostius_ the Actor, and a good Judge of [Dramatick [2]] Performances, as well as the most Eloquent Pleader of the Time in which he lived.

Cicero concludes his celebrated Books _de Oratore_ with some Precepts for Pronunciation and Action, without which Part he affirms that the best Orator in the World can never succeed; and an indifferent one, who is Master of this, shall gain much greater Applause. What could make a stronger Impression, says he, than those Exclamations of _Gracchus_:

'Whither shall I turn? Wretch that I am! To what Place betake my self?
Shall I go to the_ Capitol?--_Alas! it is overflowed with my Brother's
Blood. Or shall I retire to my House? Yet there I behold my Mother
plung'd in Misery, weeping and despairing!'

These Breaks and Turns of Passion, it seems, were so enforced by the Eyes, Voice, and Gesture of the Speaker, that his very Enemies could not refrain from Tears. I insist, says _Tully_, upon this the rather, because our Orators, who are as it were Actors of the Truth it self, have quitted this manner of speaking; and the Players, who are but the Imitators of Truth, have taken it up.

I shall therefore pursue the Hint he has here given me, and for the Service of the _British Stage_ I shall copy some of the Rules which this great _Roman_ Master has laid down; yet, without confining my self wholly to his Thoughts or Words: and to adapt this Essay the more to the Purpose for which I intend it, instead of the Examples he has inserted in his Discourse, out of the ancient Tragedies, I shall make use of parallel Passages out of the most celebrated of our own.

The Design of Art is to assist Action as much as possible in the Representation of Nature; for the Appearance of Reality is that which moves us in all Representations, and these have always the greater Force, the nearer they approach to Nature, and the less they shew of Imitation.

Nature herself has assigned to every Emotion of the Soul, its peculiar Cast of the Countenance, Tone of Voice, and Manner of Gesture; and the whole Person, all the Features of the Face and Tones of the Voice, answer, like Strings upon musical Instruments, to the Impressions made on them by the Mind. Thus the Sounds of the Voice, according to the various Touches which raise them, form themselves into an Acute or Grave, Quick or Slow, Loud or Soft Tone. These too may be subdivided into various kinds of Tones, as the gentle, the rough, the contracted, the diffuse, the continued, the intermitted, the broken, abrupt, winding, softned, or elevated. Every one of these may be employed with Art and Judgment; and all supply the Actor, as Colours do the Painter, with an expressive Variety.

Anger exerts its peculiar Voice in an acute, raised, and hurrying sound. The passionate Character of _King Lear_, as it is admirably drawn by _Shakespear_, abounds with the strongest Instances of this kind.

'--Death! Confusion!
Fiery!--what Quality?--why_ Gloster! Gloster!
I'd speak with the Duke of_ Cornwall _and his Wife.
Are they informed of this? My Breath and Blood!
Fiery? the fiery Duke?--&c.'

Sorrow and Complaint demand a Voice quite different, flexible, slow, interrupted, and modulated in a mournful Tone; as in that pathetical Soliloquy of Cardinal _Wolsey_ on his Fall.

'Farewel!--a long Farewel to all my Greatness!
This is the State of Man!--to-day he puts forth
The tender Leaves of Hopes; to-morrow Blossoms,
And bears his blushing Honours thick upon him,
The third Day comes a Frost, a killing Frost,
And when he thinks, good easie Man, full surely
His Greatness is a ripening, nips his Root,
And then he falls as I do.'

We have likewise a fine Example of this in the whole Part of _Andromache_ in the 'Distrest-Mother', particularly in these Lines.

'I'll go, and in the Anguish of my Heart
Weep o'er my Child--If he must die, my Life
Is wrapt in his, I shall not long survive.
'Tis for his sake that I have suffer'd Life,
Groan'd in Captivity, and out-liv'd Hector.
Yes, my_ Astyanax, _we'll go together!
Together to the Realms of Night we'll go; }
There to thy ravish'd Eyes thy Sire I'll show,}
And point him out among the Shades below.' }

Fear expresses it self in a low, hesitating and abject Sound. If the Reader considers the following Speech of _Lady Macbeth_, while her husband is about the Murder of _Duncan_ and his Grooms, he will imagine her even affrighted with the Sound of her own Voice, while she is speaking it.

'Alas! I am afraid they have awak'd,
And 'tis not done; th' Attempt, and not the Deed,
Confounds us--Hark!--I laid the Daggers ready,
He could not miss them. Had he not resembled
My Father as he slept, I had done it.'

Courage assumes a louder tone, as in that Speech of Don _Sebastian_. [3]

'Here satiate all your Fury:
Let Fortune empty her whole Quiver on me,
I have a Soul that like an ample Shield
Can take in all, and Verge enough for more.'

Pleasure dissolves into a luxurious, mild, tender, and joyous Modulation; as in the following Lines in 'Caius Marius'. [4]

'_Lavinia! _O there's Musick in the Name,
That softning me to infant Tenderness,
Makes my Heart spring, like the first Leaps of Life.'

And Perplexity is different from all these; grave, but not bemoaning, with an earnest uniform Sound of Voice; as in that celebrated Speech of _Hamlet_.

'To be, or not to be?--that is the Question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the Mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of Troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep;
No more; and by a Sleep to say we end
The Heart-ach, and the thousand natural Shocks
That Flesh is Heir to; 'tis a Consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep--
To sleep; perchance to dream! Ay, there's the Rub.
For in that sleep of Death what Dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this Mortal Coil,
Must give us pause--There's the Respect
That makes Calamity of so long Life;
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of Time,
Th' Oppressor's Wrongs, the proud Man's contumely,
The Pangs of despis'd Love, the Law's Delay,
The Insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient Merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardles bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary Life?
But that the Dread of something after Death,
The undiscover'd Country, from whose Bourn
No Traveller returns, puzzles the Will,
And makes us rather chuse those Ills we have,
Than fly to others that--we know not of.'

As all these Varieties of Voice are to be directed by the Sense, so the Action is to be directed by the Voice, and with a beautiful Propriety, as it were to enforce it. The Arm, which by a strong Figure _Tully_ calls _The Orator's Weapon_, is to be sometimes raised and extended; and the Hand, by its Motion, sometimes to lead, and sometimes to follow the Words, as they are uttered. The Stamping of the Foot too has its proper Expression in Contention, Anger, or absolute Command. But the Face is the Epitome of the whole Man, and the Eyes are as it were the Epitome of the Face; for which Reason, he says, the best Judges among the _Romans_ were not extremely pleased, even with _Roscius_ himself in his Masque. No Part of the Body, besides the Face, is capable of as many Changes as there are different Emotions in the Mind, and of expressing them all by those Changes. Nor is this to be done without the Freedom of the Eyes; therefore _Theophrastus_ call'd one, who barely rehearsed his Speech with his Eyes fix'd, an _absent Actor_.

As the Countenance admits of so great Variety, it requires also great Judgment to govern it. Not that the Form of the Face is to be shifted on every Occasion, lest it turn to Farce and Buffoonery; but it is certain that the Eyes have a wonderful Power of marking the Emotions of the Mind, sometimes by a stedfast Look, sometimes by a careless one, now by a sudden Regard, then by a joyful Sparkling, as the Sense of the Words is diversified: for Action is, as it were, the Speech of the Features and Limbs, and must therefore conform itself always to the Sentiments of the Soul. And it may be observed, that in all which relates to the Gesture, there is a wonderful Force implanted by Nature, since the Vulgar, the Unskilful, and even the most Barbarous are chiefly affected by this. None are moved by the Sound of Words, but those who understand the Language; and the Sense of many things is lost upon Men of a dull Apprehension: but Action is a kind of Universal Tongue; all Men are subject to the same Passions, and consequently know the same Marks of them in others, by which they themselves express them.

Perhaps some of my Readers may be of Opinion, that the Hints I have here made use of, out of _Cicero_, are somewhat too refined for the Players on our Theatre: In answer to which, I venture to lay it down as a Maxim, that without Good Sense no one can be a good Player, and that he is very unfit to personate the Dignity of a _Roman_ Hero, who cannot enter into the Rules for Pronunciation and Gesture delivered by a _Roman_ Orator.

There is another thing which my Author does not think too minute to insist on, though it is purely mechanical: and that is the right _pitching_ of the Voice. On this occasion he tells the Story of _Gracchus_, who employed a Servant with a little Ivory Pipe to stand behind him, and give him the right Pitch, as often as he wandered too far from the proper Modulation. Every Voice, says _Tully_, [5] has its particular Medium and Compass, and the Sweetness of Speech consists in leading it through all the Variety of Tones naturally, and without touching any Extreme. Therefore, says he,

'Leave the Pipe at home, but carry the Sense of this Custom with you.'

[Footnote 1: Action_ and _Pronunciation.]

[Footnote 2: Dramatical, and in first reprint.]

[Footnote 3: Dryden's.]

[Footnote 4: Otway's.]

[Footnote 5: Near the end of the De Oratore.]

* * * * *

No. 542. Friday, November 21, 1712. Addison.

'Et sibi præferri se gaudet.'

Ovid.