The Spectator, Volume 2.
Addison and Steele

Part 18 out of 19

I have been considering the little and frivolous things which give Men
Accesses to one another, and Power with each other, not only in the
common and indifferent Accidents of Life, but also in Matters of greater
importance. You see in Elections for Members to sit in Parliament, how
far saluting Rows of old Women, drinking with Clowns, and being upon a
level with the lowest Part of Mankind in that wherein they themselves
are lowest, their Diversions, will carry a Candidate. A Capacity for
prostituting a Man's Self in his Behaviour, and descending to the
present Humour of the Vulgar, is perhaps as good an Ingredient as any
other for making a considerable Figure in the World; and if a Man has
nothing else, or better, to think of, he could not make his way to
Wealth and Distinction by properer Methods, than studying the particular
Bent or Inclination of People with whom he converses, and working from
the Observation of such their Biass in all Matters wherein he has any
Intercourse with them: For his Ease and Comfort he may assure himself,
he need not be at the Expence of any great Talent or Virtue to please
even those who are possessd of the highest Qualifications. Pride in some
particular Disguise or other, (often a Secret to the proud Man himself)
is the most ordinary Spring of Action among Men. You need no more than
to discover what a Man values himself for; then of all things admire
that Quality, but be sure to be failing in it your self in comparison of
the Man whom you court. I have heard, or read, of a Secretary of State
in Spain, who served a Prince who was happy in an elegant use of the
Latin Tongue, and often writ Dispatches in it with his own Hand. The
King shewed his Secretary a Letter he had written to a foreign Prince,
and under the Colour of asking his Advice, laid a Trap for his Applause.
The honest Man read it as a faithful Counsellor, and not only excepted
against his tying himself down too much by some Expressions, but mended
the Phrase in others. You may guess the Dispatches that Evening did not
take much longer Time. Mr. Secretary, as soon as he came to his own
House, sent for his eldest Son, and communicated to him that the Family
must retire out of Spain as soon as possible; for, said he, the King
knows I understand Latin better than he does.

This egregious Fault in a Man of the World, should be a Lesson to all
who would make their Fortunes: But a Regard must be carefully had to the
Person with whom you have to do; for it is not to be doubted but a great
Man of common Sense must look with secret Indignation or bridled
Laughter, on all the Slaves who stand round him with ready Faces to
approve and smile at all he says in the gross. It is good Comedy enough
to observe a Superior talking half Sentences, and playing an humble
Admirer's Countenance from one thing to another, with such Perplexity
that he knows not what to sneer in Approbation of. But this kind of
Complaisance is peculiarly the Manner of Courts; in all other Places you
must constantly go farther in Compliance with the Persons you have to do
with, than a mere Conformity of Looks and Gestures. If you are in a
Country Life, and would be a leading Man, a good Stomach, a loud Voice,
and a rustick Chearfulness will go a great way, provided you are able to
drink, and drink any thing. But I was just now going to draw the Manner
of Behaviour I would advise People to practise under some Maxim, and
intimated, that every one almost was governed by his Pride. There was an
old Fellow about forty Years ago so peevish and fretful, though a Man of
Business, that no one could come at him: But he frequented a particular
little Coffee-house, where he triumphed over every body at Trick-track
and Baggammon. The way to pass his Office well, was first to be insulted
by him at one of those Games in his leisure Hours; for his Vanity was to
shew, that he was a Man of Pleasure as well as Business. Next to this
sort of Insinuation, which is called in all Places (from its taking its
Birth in the Housholds of Princes) making one's Court, the most
prevailing way is, by what better-bred People call a Present, the Vulgar
a Bribe. I humbly conceive that such a thing is conveyed with more
Gallantry in a Billet-doux that should be understood at the Bank, than
in gross Money; But as to stubborn People, who are so surly as to accept
of neither Note or Cash, having formerly dabbled in Chymistry, I can
only say that one part of Matter asks one thing, and another another, to
make it fluent; but there is nothing but may be dissolved by a proper
Mean: Thus the Virtue which is too obdurate for Gold or Paper, shall
melt away very kindly in a Liquid. The Island of Barbadoes (a shrewd
People) manage all their Appeals to Great-Britain, by a skilful
Distribution of Citron-Water among the Whisperers about Men in Power.
Generous Wines do every Day prevail, and that in great Points, where ten
thousand times their Value would have been rejected with Indignation.

But to wave the Enumeration of the sundry Ways of applying by Presents,
Bribes, Management of People, Passions and Affections, in such a Manner
as it shall appear that the Virtue of the best Man is by one Method or
other corruptible; let us look out for some Expedient to turn those
Passions and Affections on the side of Truth and Honour. When a Man has
laid it down for a Position, that parting with his Integrity, in the
minutest Circumstance, is losing so much of his very Self, Self-love
will become a Virtue. By this means Good and Evil will be the only
Objects of Dislike and Approbation; and he that injures any Man, has
effectually wounded the Man of this Turn as much as if the Harm had been
to himself. This seems to be the only Expedient to arrive at an
Impartiality; and a Man who follows the Dictates of Truth and right
Reason, may by Artifice be led into Error, but never can into Guilt.


* * * * *


My Lord,

Very many Favours and Civilities (received from You in a private
Capacity) which I have no other Way to acknowledge, will, I hope, excuse
this Presumption; but the Justice I, as a Spectator, owe your Character,
places me above the want of an Excuse. Candor and Openness of Heart,
which shine in all your Words and Actions, exacts the highest Esteem
from all who have the Honour to know You, and a winning Condescention to
all subordinate to You, made Business a Pleasure to those who executed
it under You, at the same time that it heightened Her Majesty's Favour
to all who had the Happiness of having it convey'd through Your Hands: A
Secretary of State, in the Interests of Mankind, joined with that of his
Fellow-Subjects, accomplished with a great Facility and Elegance in all
the Modern as well as Ancient Languages, was a happy and proper Member
of a Ministry, by whose Services Your Sovereign and Country are in so
high and flourishing a Condition, as makes all other Princes and
Potentates powerful or inconsiderable in Europe, as they are Friends or
Enemies to Great-Britain. The Importance of those great Events which
happened during that Administration, in which Your Lordship bore so
important a Charge, will be acknowledgd as long as Time shall endure; I
shall not therefore attempt to rehearse those illustrious Passages, but
give this Application a more private and particular Turn, in desiring
Your Lordship would continue your Favour and Patronage to me, as You are
a Gentleman of the most polite Literature, and perfectly accomplished in
the Knowledge of Books and Men, which makes it necessary to beseech Your
Indulgence to the following Leaves, and the Author of them: Who is, with
the greatest Truth and Respect,

My Lord,
Your Lordship's Obliged,
Obedient, and Humble Servant,

[Footnote 1: Charles Spencer, to whom the Sixth Volume of the Spectator
is here inscribed, represented Tiverton, in 1700, when he took the Lady
Anne Churchill, Marlborough's second daughter, for his second wife. On
the death of his father Robert, in 1702, he became Earl of Sunderland.
He was an accomplished man and founder of the library at Althorpe. In
1705 he was employed diplomatically at the courts of Prussia, Austria,
and Hanover. Early in 1706 he was one of the Commissioners for arranging
the Union with Scotland, and in September of that year he was forced by
the Whigs on Queen Anne, as successor to Sir Charles Hedges in the
office of Secretary of State. Steele held under him the office of
Gazetteer, to which he was appointed in the following May. In 1710
Sunderland shared in the political reverse suffered by Marlborough. In
the summer of that year Sunderland was dismissed from office, but with
an offer from the Queen of a pension of L3000 a year. He replied that he
was glad her Majesty was satisfied that he had done his duty; but if he
could not have the honour to serve his country, he would not plunder it.
The accession of George I. restored him to favour and influence. He
became Lord-lieutenant of Ireland; had, in 1715, a pension of L12,000 a
year settled on him; in April, 1717, was again Secretary of State; and
in the following March, Lord President of the Council. His political
influence was broken in 1721, the year before his death.]

* * * * *

No. 395. Tuesday, June 3, 1712. Budgell.

'Quod nunc ratio est, Impetus ante fuit.'


Beware of the Ides of March, said the Roman Augur to Julius Caesar:
Beware of the Month of May, says the British Spectator to his fair
Country-women. The Caution of the first was unhappily neglected, and
Caesar's Confidence cost him his Life. I am apt to flatter my self that
my pretty Readers had much more regard to the Advice I gave them, since
I have yet received very few Accounts of any notorious Trips made in the
last Month.

But tho' I hope for the best, I shall not pronounce too positively on
this point, till I have seen forty Weeks well over, at which Period of
Time, as my good Friend Sir ROGER has often told me, he has more
Business as a Justice of Peace, among the dissolute young People in the
Country, than at any other Season of the Year.

Neither must I forget a Letter which I received near a Fortnight since
from a Lady, who, it seems, could hold out no longer, telling me she
looked upon the Month as then out, for that she had all along reckoned
by the New Style.

On the other hand, I have great reason to believe, from several angry
Letters which have been sent to me by disappointed Lovers, that my
Advice has been of very signal Service to the fair Sex, who, according
to the old Proverb, were Forewarned forearm'd.

One of these Gentlemen tells me, that he would have given me an hundred
Pounds, rather than I should have publishd that Paper; for that his
Mistress, who had promised to explain herself to him about the Beginning
of May, upon reading that Discourse told him that she would give him her
Answer in June.

Thyrsis acquaints me, that when he desired Sylvia to take a Walk in the
Fields, she told him the Spectator had forbidden her.

Another of my Correspondents, who writes himself Mat Meager, complains,
that whereas he constantly used to Breakfast with his Mistress upon
Chocolate, going to wait upon her the first of May he found his usual
Treat very much changed for the worse, and has been forced to feed ever
since upon Green Tea.

As I begun this Critical Season with a Caveat to the Ladies, I shall
conclude it with a Congratulation, and do most heartily wish them Joy of
their happy Deliverance.

They may now reflect with Pleasure on the Dangers they have escaped, and
look back with as much Satisfaction on their Perils that threat'ned
them, as their Great-Grandmothers did formerly on the Burning
Plough-shares, after having passed through the Ordeal Tryal. The
Instigations of the Spring are now abated. The Nightingale gives over
her Love-labourd Song, as Milton phrases it, the Blossoms are fallen,
and the Beds of Flowers swept away by the Scythe of the Mower.

I shall now allow my Fair Readers to return to their Romances and
Chocolate, provided they make use of them with Moderation, till about
the middle of the Month, when the Sun shall have made some Progress in
the Crab. Nothing is more dangerous, than too much Confidence and
Security. The Trojans, who stood upon their Guard all the while the
Grecians lay before their City, when they fancied the Siege was raised,
and the Danger past, were the very next Night burnt in their Beds: I
must also observe, that as in some Climates there is a perpetual Spring,
so in some Female Constitutions there is a perpetual May: These are a
kind of Valetudinarians in Chastity, whom I would continue in a constant
Diet. I cannot think these wholly out of Danger, till they have looked
upon the other Sex at least Five Years through a Pair of Spectacles.
WILL. HONEYCOMB has often assured me, that its much easier to steal one
of this Species, when she has passed her grand Climacterick, than to
carry off an icy Girl on this side Five and Twenty; and that a Rake of
his Acquaintance, who had in vain endeavoured to gain the Affections of
a young Lady of Fifteen, had at last made his Fortune by running away
with her Grandmother.

But as I do not design this Speculation for the Evergreens of the Sex, I
shall again apply my self to those who would willingly listen to the
Dictates of Reason and Virtue, and can now hear me in cold Blood. If
there are any who have forfeited their Innocence, they must now consider
themselves under that Melancholy View, in which Chamont regards his
Sister, in those beautiful Lines.

--Long she flourish'd,
Grew sweet to Sense, and lovely to the Eye;
Till at the last a cruel Spoiler came,
Cropt this fair Rose, and rifled all its Sweetness;
Then cast it like a loathsome Weed away. [1]

On the contrary, she who has observed the timely Cautions I gave her,
and lived up to the Rules of Modesty, will now Flourish like a Rose in
June, with all her Virgin Blushes and Sweetness about her: I must,
however, desire these last to consider, how shameful it would be for a
General, who has made a Successful Campaign, to be surprized in his
Winter Quarters: It would be no less dishonourable for a Lady to lose in
any other Month of the Year, what she has been at the pains to preserve
in May.

There is no Charm in the Female Sex, that can supply the place of
Virtue. Without Innocence, Beauty is unlovely, and Quality contemptible,
Good-breeding degenerates into Wantonness, and Wit into Impudence. It is
observed, that all the Virtues are represented by both Painters and
Statuaries under Female Shapes, but if any one of them has a more
particular Title to that Sex, it is Modesty. I shall leave it to the
Divines to guard them against the opposite Vice, as they may be
overpowerd by Temptations; It is sufficient for me to have warned them
against it, as they may be led astray by Instinct.

I desire this Paper may be read with more than ordinary Attention, at
all Tea-Tables within the Cities of London and Westminster.


[Footnote 1: Otway's Orphan, Act IV.]

* * * * *

No. 396. Wednesday, June 4, 1712. Henley.

'Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton.'


From St. John's College Cambridge, Feb. 3, 1712.


The Monopoly of Punns in this University has been an immemorial
Privilege of the Johnians; and we can't help resenting the late
Invasion of our ancient Right as to that Particular, by a little
Pretender to Clenching in a neighbouring College, who in an
Application to you by way of Letter, a while ago, styled himself
Philobrune. Dear Sir, as you are by Character a profest Well-wisher to
Speculation, you will excuse a Remark which this Gentleman's Passion
for the Brunette has suggested to a Brother Theorist; 'tis an Offer
towards a mechanical Account of his Lapse to Punning, for he belongs
to a Set of Mortals who value themselves upon an uncommon Mastery in
the more humane and polite Part of Letters. A Conquest by one of this
Species of Females gives a very odd Turn to the Intellectuals of the
captivated Person, and very different from that way of thinking which
a Triumph from the Eyes of another more emphatically of the fair Sex,
does generally occasion. It fills the Imagination with an Assemblage
of such Ideas and Pictures as are hardly any thing but Shade, such as
Night, the Devil, &c. These Portraitures very near over-power the
Light of the Understanding, almost benight the Faculties, and give
that melancholy Tincture to the most sanguine Complexion, which this
Gentleman calls an Inclination to be in a Brown-study, and is usually
attended with worse Consequences in case of a Repulse. During this
Twilight of Intellects, the Patient is extremely apt, as Love is the
most witty Passion in Nature, to offer at some pert Sallies now and
then, by way of Flourish, upon the amiable Enchantress, and
unfortunately stumbles upon that Mongrel miscreated (to speak in
Miltonic) kind of Wit, vulgarly termed, the Punn. It would not be much
amiss to consult Dr. T--W--[2] (who is certainly a very able
Projector, and whose system of Divinity and spiritual Mechanicks
obtains very much among the better Part of our Under-Graduates)
whether a general Intermarriage, enjoyned by Parliament, between this
Sisterhood of the Olive Beauties, and the Fraternity of the People
call'd Quakers, would not be a very serviceable Expedient, and abate
that Overflow of Light which shines within them so powerfully, that it
dazzles their Eyes, and dances them into a thousand Vagaries of Error
and Enthusiasm. These Reflections may impart some Light towards a
Discovery of the Origin of Punning among us, and the Foundation of its
prevailing so long in this famous Body. Tis notorious from the
Instance under Consideration, that it must be owing chiefly to the use
of brown Juggs, muddy Belch, and the Fumes of a certain memorable
Place of Rendezvous with us at Meals, known by the Name of Staincoat
Hole: For the Atmosphere of the Kitchen, like the Tail of a Comet,
predominates least about the Fire, but resides behind and fills the
fragrant Receptacle above-mentioned. Besides, 'tis farther observable
that the delicate Spirits among us, who declare against these nauseous
proceedings, sip Tea, and put up for Critic and Amour, profess
likewise an equal Abhorrency for Punning, the ancient innocent
Diversion of this Society. After all, Sir, tho' it may appear
something absurd, that I seem to approach you with the Air of an
Advocate for Punning, (you who have justified your Censures of the
Practice in a set Dissertation upon that Subject;) yet, I'm confident,
you'll think it abundantly atoned for by observing, that this humbler
Exercise may be as instrumental in diverting us from any innovating
Schemes and Hypothesis in Wit. as dwelling upon honest Orthodox Logic
would be in securing us from Heresie in Religion. Had Mr. W--n's [3]
Researches been confined within the Bounds of Ramus or Crackanthorp,
that learned News-monger might have acquiesced in what the holy
Oracles pronounce upon the Deluge, like other Christians; and had the
surprising Mr. L--y[4] been content with the Employment of refining
upon Shakespear's Points and Quibbles, (for which he must be allowed
to have a superlative Genius) and now and then penning a Catch or a
Ditty, instead of inditing Odes, and Sonnets, the Gentlemen of the Bon
Goust in the Pit would never have been put to all that Grimace in
damning the Frippery of State, the Poverty and Languor of Thought, the
unnatural Wit, and inartificial Structure of his Dramas.
I am, SIR,
Your very humble Servant,
Peter de Quir.

[Footnote 1: This letter was by John Henley, commonly called Orator
Henley. The paper is without signature in first issue or reprint, but
the few introductory lines, doubtless, are by Steele. John Henley was at
this time but 20 years old. He was born at Melton Mowbray in 1692, and
entered St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1709. After obtaining his
degree he was invited to take charge of the Grammar School in his native
place, and raised it from decay. He published Esther, a poem; went to
London; introduced action into pulpit oratory; missing preferment, gave
lectures and orations, religious on Sundays, and political on
Wednesdays; was described by Pope in the Dunciad as the Zany of his age,
and represented by Hogarth upon a scaffold with a monkey by his side
saying Amen. He edited a paper of nonsense called the Hip Doctor, and
once attracted to his oratory an audience of shoemakers by announcing
that he would teach a new and short way of making shoes; his way being
to cut off the tops of boots. He died in 1756.]

[Footnote 2: Percy suggests very doubtfully that this may mean Thomas
Woolston, who was bom in 1669, educated at Sidney College, Cambridge,
published, in 1705, The Old Apology for the Truth against the Jews and
Gentiles revived, and afterwards was imprisoned and fined for levity in
discussing sacred subjects. The text points to a medical theory of
intermarriage. There was a Thomas Winston, of Clare Hall, Cambridge, who
travelled over the continent, took degrees at Basle and Padua, returned
to take his M.D. at Cambridge, and settled in London in 1607.]

[Footnote 3: William Whiston, born 1667, educated at Tamworth School and
Clare Hall, Cambridge, became a Fellow in 1693, and then Chaplain to
Bishop Moore. In 1696 he published his New Theory of the Earth, which
divided attention with Burnet's Sacred Theory of the Earth already
mentioned. In 1700 Whiston was invited to Cambridge, to act as deputy to
Sir Isaac Newton, whom he succeeded in 1703 as Lucasian Professor. For
holding some unorthodox opinions as to the doctrines of the early
Christians, he was, in 1710, deprived of his Professorship, and banished
from the University. He was a pious and learned man, who, although he
was denied the Sacrament, did not suffer himself to be driven out of the
Church of England till 1747. At last he established a small congregation
in his own house in accordance with his own notion of primitive
Christianity. He lived till 1752.]

[Footnote 4: No L--y of that time has written plays that are remembered.
The John Lacy whom Charles II. admired so much that he had his picture
painted in three of his characters, died in 1681, leaving four comedies
and an alteration of Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. He was a
handsome man: first dancing-master, then quarter-master, then an admired
comedian. Henley would hardly have used a blank in referring to a
well-known writer who died thirty years before. There was another John
Lacy advertising in the Post Boy, Aug. 3, 1714, The Steeleids, or the
Trial of Wits, a Poem in three cantos, with a motto:

Then will I say, swelled with poetic rage,
That I, John Lacy, have reformed the age.]

* * * * *

No. 397. Thursday, June 5, 1712. Addison.

'--Dolor ipse disertum


As the Stoick Philosophers discard all Passions in general, they will
not allow a Wise Man so much as to pity the Afflictions of another. If
thou seest thy Friend in Trouble, says Epictetus, thou mayst put on a
Look of Sorrow, and condole with him, but take care that thy Sorrow be
not real. [1] The more rigid of this Sect would not comply so far as to
shew even such an outward Appearance of Grief, but when one told them of
any Calamity that had befallen even the nearest of their Acquaintance,
would immediately reply, What is that to me? If you aggravated the
Circumstances of the Affliction, and shewed how one Misfortune was
followed by another, the Answer was still, All this may be true, but
what is it to me?

For my own part, I am of Opinion, Compassion does not only refine and
civilize Humane Nature, but has something in it more pleasing and
agreeable than what can be met with in such an indolent Happiness, such
an Indifference to Mankind as that in which the Stoicks placed their
Wisdom. As Love is the most delightful Passion, Pity is nothing else but
Love softned by a degree of Sorrow: In short, it is a kind of pleasing
Anguish, as well as generous Sympathy, that knits Mankind together, and
blends them in the same common Lot.

Those who have laid down Rules for Rhetorick or Poetry, advise the
Writer to work himself up, if possible, to the Pitch of Sorrow which he
endeavours to produce in others. There are none therefore who stir up
Pity so much as those who indite their own Sufferings. Grief has a
natural Eloquence belonging to it, and breaks out in more moving
Sentiments than be supplied by the finest Imagination. Nature on this
Occasion dictates a thousand passionate things which cannot be supplied
by Art.

It is for this Reason that the short Speeches, or Sentences which we
often meet with in Histories, make a deeper Impression on the Mind of
the Reader, than the most laboured Strokes in a well-written Tragedy.
Truth and Matter of Fact sets the Person actually before us in the one,
whom Fiction places at a greater Distance from us in the other. I do not
remember to have seen any Ancient or Modern Story more affecting than a
Letter of Ann of Bologne, Wife to King Henry the Eighth, and Mother to
Queen Elizabeth, which is still extant in the Cotton Library, as written
by her own Hand.

Shakespear himself could not have made her talk in a Strain so suitable
to her Condition and Character. One sees in it the Expostulations of a
slighted Lover, the Resentments of an injured Woman, and the Sorrows of
an imprisoned Queen. I need not acquaint my Reader that this Princess
was then under Prosecution for Disloyalty to the King's Bed, and that
she was afterwards publickly beheaded upon the same Account, though this
Prosecution was believed by many to proceed, as she her self intimates,
rather from the King's Love to Jane Seymour than from any actual Crime
in Ann of Bologne.

Queen Ann Boleyn's last Letter to King Henry.

[Cotton Libr. Otho C. 10.]


Your Grace's Displeasure, and my Imprisonment, are Things so strange
unto me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether
ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me to confess a Truth, and
so obtain your Favour) by such an one, whom you know to be mine
ancient professed Enemy, I no sooner received this Message by him,
than I rightly conceived your Meaning; and if, as you say, confessing
a Truth indeed may procure my Safety, I shall with all Willingness and
Duty perform your Command.

But let not your Grace ever imagine, that your poor Wife will ever be
brought to acknowledge a Fault, where not so much as a Thought thereof
preceded. And to speak a Truth, never Prince had Wife more Loyal in
all Duty, and in all true Affection, than you have ever found in Ann
Boleyn: with which Name and Place I could willingly have contented my
self, if God and your Grace's Pleasure had been so pleased. Neither
did I at any time so far forget my self in my Exaltation, or received
Queenship, but that I always looked for such an Alteration as now I
find; for the Ground of my Preferment being on no surer Foundation
than your Grace's Fancy, the least Alteration I knew was fit and
sufficient to draw that Fancy to some other [Object. [2]] You have
chosen me, from a low Estate, to be your Queen and Companion, far
beyond my Desert or Desire. If then you found me worthy of such
Honour, good your Grace let not any light Fancy, or bad Counsel of
mine Enemies, withdraw your Princely Favour from me; neither let that
Stain, that unworthy Stain, of a Disloyal Heart towards your good
Grace, ever cast so foul a Blot on your most Dutiful Wife, and the
Infant-Princess your Daughter. Try me, good King, but let me have a
lawful Tryal, and let not my sworn Enemies sit as my Accusers and
Judges; Yea let me receive an open Tryal, for my Truth shall fear no
open Shame; then shall you see either mine Innocence cleared, your
Suspicion and Conscience satisfied, the Ignominy and Slander of the
World stopped, or my Guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or
you may determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open Censure,
and mine Offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty,
both before God and Man, not only to Execute worthy Punishment on me
as an unlawful Wife, but to follow your Affection, already settled on
that Party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose Name I could some
good while since have pointed unto, your Grace being not ignorant of
my Suspicion therein.

But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my Death,
but an Infamous Slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired
Happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your great Sin
therein, and likewise mine Enemies, the Instruments thereof; and that
he will not call you to a strict Account for your unprincely and cruel
Usage of me, at his general Judgment Seat, where both you and my self
must shortly appear, and in whose Judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the
World may think of me) mine Innocence shall be openly known, and
sufficiently cleared.

My last and only Request shall be, that my self may only bear the
Burthen of your Grace's Displeasure, and that it may not touch the
innocent Souls of those poor Gentlemen, who (as I understand) are
likewise in strait Imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found
Favour in your Sight, if ever the Name of Ann Boleyn hath been
pleasing in your Ears, then let me obtain this Request, and I will so
leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest Prayers to
the Trinity to have your Grace in his good Keeping, and to direct you
in all your Actions. From my doleful Prison in the Tower, this sixth
of May;

Your most Loyal,
And ever Faithful Wife,
Ann Boleyn.

[Footnote 1:

When you see a Neighbour in Tears, and hear him lament the Absence of
his Son, the Hazards of his Voyage into some remote Part of the World,
or the Loss of his Estate; keep upon your Guard, for fear lest some
false Ideas that may rise upon these Occasions, surprise you into a
Mistake, as if this Man were really miserable, upon the Account of
these outward Accidents. But be sure to distinguish wisely, and tell
your self immediately, that the Thing which really afflicts this
Person is not really the Accident it self, (for other People, under
his Circumstances, are not equally afflicted with it) but merely the
Opinion which he hath formed to himself concerning this Accident.
Notwithstanding all which, you may be allowed, as far as Expressions
and outward Behaviour go, to comply with him; and if Occasion require,
to bear a part in his Sighs, and Tears too; but then you must be sure
to take care, that this Compliance does not infect your Mind, nor
betray you to an inward and real Sorrow, upon any such

Epictetus his Morals, with Simplicius his Comment.

Made English from the Greek by George Stanhope (1694) chapter xxii.]

[Footnote 2: Subject.]

* * * * *

No. 398. Friday, June 6, 1712. Steele.

'Insanire pares certa ratione modoque.'


Cynthio and Flavia are Persons of Distinction in this Town, who have
been Lovers these ten Months last past, and writ to each other for
Gallantry Sake, under those feigned Names; Mr. Such a one and Mrs. Such
a one not being capable of raising the Soul out of the ordinary Tracts
and Passages of Life, up to that Elevation which makes the Life of the
Enamoured so much superior to that of the rest of the World. But ever
since the beauteous Cecilia has made such a Figure as she now does in
the Circle of Charming Women, Cynthio has been secretly one of her
Adorers. Laetitia has been the finest Woman in Town these three Months,
and so long Cynthio has acted the Part of a Lover very awkwardly in the
Presence of Flavia. Flavia has been too blind towards him, and has too
sincere an Heart of her own to observe a thousand things which would
have discovered this Change of Mind to any one less engaged than she
was. Cynthio was musing Yesterday in the Piazza in Covent-Garden, and
was saying to himself that he was a very ill Man to go on in visiting
and professing Love to Flavia, when his Heart was enthralled to another.
It is an Infirmity that I am not constant to Flavia; but it would be
still a greater Crime, since I cannot continue to love her, to profess
that I do. To marry a Woman with the Coldness that usually indeed comes
on after Marriage, is ruining one's self with one's Eyes open; besides
it is really doing her an Injury. This last Consideration, forsooth, of
injuring her in persisting, made him resolve to break off upon the first
favourable Opportunity of making her angry. When he was in this Thought,
he saw Robin the Porter who waits at Will's Coffee-House, passing by.
Robin, you must know, is the best Man in Town for carrying a Billet; the
Fellow has a thin Body, swift Step, demure Looks, sufficient Sense, and
knows the Town. This Man carried Cynthio's first Letter to Flavia, and
by frequent Errands ever since, is well known to her. The Fellow covers
his Knowledge of the Nature of his Messages with the most exquisite low
Humour imaginable: The first he obliged Flavia to take, was, by
complaining to her that he had a Wife and three Children, and if she did
not take that Letter, which, he was sure, there was no Harm in, but
rather Love, his Family must go supperless to Bed, for the Gentleman
would pay him according as he did his Business. Robin therefore Cynthio
now thought fit to make use of, and gave him Orders to wait before
Flavia's Door, and if she called him to her, and asked whether it was
Cynthio who passed by, he should at first be loth to own it was, but
upon Importunity confess it. There needed not much Search into that Part
of the Town to find a well-dressed Hussey fit for the Purpose Cynthio
designed her. As soon as he believed Robin was posted, he drove by
Flavia's Lodgings in an Hackney-Coach and a Woman in it. Robin was at
the Door talking with Flavia's Maid, and Cynthio pulled up the Glass as
surprized, and hid his Associate. The Report of this Circumstance soon
flew up Stairs, and Robin could not deny but the Gentleman favoured his
Master; yet if it was he, he was sure the Lady was but his Cousin whom
he had seen ask for him; adding that he believed she was a poor
Relation, because they made her wait one Morning till he was awake.
Flavia immediately writ the following Epistle, which Robin brought to

June 4, 1712.


It is in vain to deny it, basest, falsest of Mankind; my Maid, as well
as the Bearer, saw you.

The injur'd Flavia.

After Cynthio had read the Letter, he asked Robin how she looked, and
what she said at the Delivery of it. Robin said she spoke short to him,
and called him back again, and had nothing to say to him, and bid him
and all the Men in the World go out of her Sight; but the Maid followed,
and bid him bring an Answer.

Cynthio returned as follows.

June 4, Three Afternoon, 1712.


That your Maid and the Bearer has seen me very often is very certain;
but I desire to know, being engaged at Picket, what your Letter means
by 'tis in vain to deny it. I shall stay here all the Evening.

Your amazed Cynthio.

As soon as Robin arrived with this, Flavia answered:

Dear Cynthio,

I have walked a Turn or two in my Anti-Chamber since I writ to you,
and have recovered my self from an impertinent Fit which you ought to
forgive me, and desire you would come to me immediately to laugh off a
Jealousy that you and a Creature of the Town went by in an
Hackney-Coach an Hour ago. I am Your most humble Servant,


I will not open the Letter which my Cynthio writ, upon the
Misapprehension you must have been under when you writ, for want of
hearing the whole Circumstance.

Robin came back in an Instant, and Cynthio answered:

Half Hour, six Minutes after Three,

June 4. Will's Coffee-house.

Madam, It is certain I went by your Lodgings with a Gentlewoman to
whom I have the Honour to be known, she is indeed my Relation, and a
pretty sort of Woman. But your starting Manner of Writing, and owning
you have not done me the Honour so much as to open my Letter, has in
it something very unaccountable, and alarms one that has had Thoughts
of passing his Days with you. But I am born to admire you with all
your little Imperfections.


Robin run back, and brought for Answer;

Exact Sir, that are at Will's Coffee-house six Minutes after Three,
June 4; one that has had Thoughts and all my little Imperfections.
Sir, come to me immediately, or I shall determine what may perhaps not
be very pleasing to you.

Robin gave an Account that she looked excessive angry when she gave him
the Letter; and that he told her, for she asked, that Cynthio only
looked at the Clock, taking Snuff, and writ two or three Words on the
Top of the Letter when he gave him his.

Now the Plot thickened so well, as that Cynthio saw he had not much more
to do to accomplish being irreconciliably banished, he writ,

I have that Prejudice in Favour of all you do, that it is not possible
for you to determine upon what will not be very pleasing to Your
Obedient Servant,

This was delivered, and the Answer returned, in a little more than two

Is it come to this? You never loved me; and the Creature you were with
is the properest Person for your Associate. I despise you, and hope I
shall soon hate you as a Villain to
The Credulous Flavia.

Robin ran back, with

Your Credulity when you are to gain your Point, and Suspicion when you
fear to lose it make it a very hard Part to behave as becomes Your
humble Slave,

Robin whipt away, and returned with,

Mr. Wellford,
Flavia and Cynthio are no more. I relieve you from the hard Part of
which you complain, and banish you from my Sight for ever.
Ann Heart.

Robin had a Crown for his Afternoon's Work; and this is published to
admonish Cecilia to avenge the Injury done to Flavia.


* * * * *

No. 399. Saturday, June 7, 1712. Addison.

'Ut nemo in sese tentat descendere!'


Hypocrisie, at the fashionable End of the Town, is very different from
Hypocrisie in the City. The modish Hypocrite endeavours to appear more
vicious than he really is, the other kind of Hypocrite more virtuous.
The former is afraid of every thing that has the Shew of Religion in it,
and would be thought engaged in many Criminal Gallantries and Amours,
which he is not guilty of. The latter assumes a Face of Sanctity, and
covers a Multitude of Vices under a seeming Religious Deportment.

But there is another kind of Hypocrisie, which differs from both these,
and which I intend to make the Subject of this Paper: I mean that
Hypocrisie, by which a Man does not only deceive the World, but very
often imposes on himself; That Hypocrisie, which conceals his own Heart
from him, and makes him believe he is more virtuous than he really is,
and either not attend to his Vices, or mistake even his Vices for
Virtues. It is this fatal Hypocrisie and Self-deceit, which is taken
notice of in those Words, Who can understand his Errors? cleanse thou me
from secret Faults. [1]

If the open Professors of Impiety deserve the utmost Application and
Endeavours of Moral Writers to recover them from Vice and Folly, how
much more may those lay a Claim to their Care and Compassion, who are
walking in the Paths of Death, while they fancy themselves engaged in a
Course of Virtue! I shall endeavour, therefore, to lay down some Rules
for the Discovery of those Vices that lurk in the secret Corners of the
Soul, and to show my Reader those Methods by which he may arrive at a
true and impartial Knowledge of himself. The usual Means prescribed for
this Purpose, are to examine our selves by the Rules which are laid down
for our Direction in Sacred Writ, and to compare our Lives with the Life
of that Person who acted up to the Perfection of Human Nature, and is
the standing Example, as well as the great Guide and Instructor, of
those who receive his Doctrines. Though these two Heads cannot be too
much insisted upon, I shall but just mention them, since they have been
handled by many Great and Eminent Writers.

I would therefore propose the following Methods to the Consideration of
such as would find out their secret Faults, and make a true Estimate of

In the first Place, let them consider well what are the Characters which
they bear among their Enemies. Our Friends very often flatter us, as
much as our own Hearts. They either do not see our Faults, or conceal
them from us, or soften them by their Representations, after such a
manner, that we think them too trivial to be taken notice of. An
Adversary, on the contrary, makes a stricter Search into us, discovers
every Flaw and Imperfection in our Tempers, and though his Malice may
set them in too strong a Light, it has generally some Ground for what it
advances. A Friend exaggerates a Man's Virtues, an Enemy inflames his
Crimes. A Wise Man should give a just Attention to both of them, so far
as they may tend to the Improvement of the one, and Diminution of the
other. Plutarch has written an Essay on the Benefits which a Man may
receive from his Enemies, [2] and, among the good Fruits of Enmity,
mentions this in particular, that by the Reproaches which it casts upon
us we see the worst side of our selves, and open our Eyes to several
Blemishes and Defects in our Lives and Conversations, which we should
not have observed, without the Help of such ill-natured Monitors.

In order likewise to come at a true Knowledge of our selves, we should
consider on the other hand how far we may deserve the Praises and
Approbations which the World bestow upon us: whether the Actions they
celebrate proceed from laudable and worthy Motives; and how far we are
really possessed of the Virtues which gain us Applause among those with
whom we converse. Such a Reflection is absolutely necessary, if we
consider how apt we are either to value or condemn ourselves by the
Opinions of others, and to sacrifice the Report of our own Hearts to the
Judgment of the World.

In the next Place, that we may not deceive our selves in a Point of so
much Importance, we should not lay too great a Stress on any supposed
Virtues we possess that are of a doubtful Nature: And such we may esteem
all those in which Multitudes of Men dissent from us, who are as good
and wise as our selves. We should always act with great Cautiousness and
Circumspection in Points, where it is not impossible that we may be
deceived. Intemperate Zeal, Bigotry and Persecution for any Party or
Opinion, how praiseworthy soever they may appear to weak Men of our own
Principles, produce infinite Calamities among Mankind, and are highly
Criminal in their own Nature; and yet how many Persons eminent for Piety
suffer such monstrous and absurd Principles of Action to take Root in
their Minds under the Colour of Virtues? For my own Part, I must own I
never yet knew any Party so just and reasonable, that a Man could follow
it in its Height and Violence, and at the same time be innocent.

We should likewise be very apprehensive of those Actions which proceed
from natural Constitution, favourite Passions, particular Education, or
whatever promotes our worldly Interest or Advantage. In these and the
like Cases, a Man's Judgment is easily perverted, and a wrong Bias hung
upon his Mind. These are the Inlets of Prejudice, the unguarded Avenues
of the Mind, by which a thousand Errors and secret Faults find
Admission, without being observed or taken Notice of. A wise Man will
suspect those Actions to which he is directed by something [besides [3]]
Reason, and always apprehend some concealed Evil in every Resolution
that is of a disputable Nature, when it is conformable to his particular
Temper, his Age, or Way of Life, or when it favours his Pleasure or his

There is nothing of greater Importance to us than thus diligently to
sift our Thoughts, and examine all these dark Recesses of the Mind, if
we would establish our Souls in such a solid and substantial Virtue as
will turn to Account in that great Day, when it must stand the Test of
infinite Wisdom and Justice.

I shall conclude this Essay with observing that the two kinds of
Hypocrisie I have here spoken of, namely that of deceiving the World,
and that of imposing on our selves, are touched with wonderful Beauty in
the hundred and thirty ninth Psalm. The Folly of the first kind of
Hypocrisie is there set forth by Reflections on God's Omniscience and
Omnipresence, which are celebrated in as noble Strains of Poetry as any
other I ever met with, either Sacred or Profane. The other kind of
Hypocrisie, whereby a Man deceives himself, is intimated in the two last
Verses, where the Psalmist addresses himself to the great Searcher of
Hearts in that emphatical Petition; Try me, O God, and seek the ground
of my heart; prove me, and examine my Thoughts. Look well if there be
any way of wickedness in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.


[Footnote 1: Psalm xix. 12.]

[Footnote 2: See note on p. 441 [Footnote 1 of No. 125], vol. i.]

[Footnote 3: more than]

* * * * *

No. 400. Monday, June 9, 1712. Steele.

'--Latet Anguis in Herba.'


It should, methinks, preserve Modesty and its Interests in the World,
that the Transgression of it always creates Offence; and the very
Purposes of Wantonness are defeated by a Carriage which has in it so
much Boldness, as to intimate that Fear and Reluctance are quite
extinguishd in an Object which would be otherwise desirable. It was said
of a Wit of the last Age,

Sedley has that prevailing gentle Art, }
Which, can with a resistless Charm impart }
The loosest Wishes to the chastest Heart; }
Raise such a Conflict, kindle such a Fire,
Between declining Virtue and Desire,
That the poor vanquished Maid dissolves away
In Dreams all Night, in Sighs and Tears all Day. [1]

This prevailing gentle Art was made up of Complaisance, Courtship, and
artful Conformity to the Modesty of a Woman's Manners. Rusticity, broad
Expression, and forward Obtrusion, offend those of Education, and make
the Transgressors odious to all who have Merit enough to attract Regard.
It is in this Taste that the Scenery is so beautifully ordered in the
Description which Antony makes, in the Dialogue between him and
Dolabella, of Cleopatra in her Barge.

Her Galley down the Silver Cydnos row'd;
The Tackling Silk, the Streamers wav'd with Gold;
The gentle Winds were lodg'd in purple Sails:
Her Nymphs, like Nereids, round her Couch were placed,
Where she, another Sea-born Venus, lay;
She lay, and lean'd her Cheek upon her Hand,
And cast a Look so languishingly sweet,
As if, secure of all Beholders Hearts,
Neglecting she could take 'em. Boys like Cupids
Stood fanning with their painted Wings the Winds
That play'd about her Face; but if she smil'd,
A darting Glory seemed to blaze abroad,
That Men's desiring Eyes were never weary'd,
But hung upon the Object. To soft Flutes
The Silver Oars kept Time; and while they play'd,
The Hearing gave new Pleasure to the Sight,
And both to Thought [2]--

Here the Imagination is warmed with all the Objects presented, and yet
there is nothing that is luscious, or what raises any Idea more loose
than that of a beautiful Woman set off to Advantage. The like, or a more
delicate and careful Spirit of Modesty, appears in the following Passage
in one of Mr. Philip's Pastorals. [3]

'Breathe soft ye Winds, ye Waters gently flow,
Shield her ye Trees, ye Flowers around her grow,
Ye Swains, I beg you, pass in Silence by,
My Love in yonder Vale asleep does lie.'

Desire is corrected when there is a Tenderness or Admiration expressed
which partakes the Passion. Licentious Language has something brutal in
it, which disgraces Humanity, and leaves us in the Condition of the
Savages in the Field. But it may be askd to what good Use can tend a
Discourse of this Kind at all? It is to alarm chaste Ears against such
as have what is above called the prevailing gentle Art. Masters of that
Talent are capable of cloathing their Thoughts in so soft a Dress, and
something so distant from the secret Purpose of their Heart, that the
Imagination of the Unguarded is touched with a Fondness which grows too
insensibly to be resisted. Much Care and Concern for the Lady's Welfare,
to seem afraid lest she should be annoyed by the very Air which
surrounds her, and this uttered rather with kind Looks, and expressed by
an Interjection, an Ah, or an Oh, at some little Hazard in moving or
making a Step, than in my direct Profession of Love, are the Methods of
skilful Admirers: They are honest Arts when their Purpose is such, but
infamous when misapplied. It is certain that many a young Woman in this
Town has had her Heart irrecoverably won, by Men who have not made one
Advance which ties their Admirers, tho' the Females languish with the
utmost Anxiety. I have often, by way of Admonition to my female Readers,
give them Warning against agreeable Company of the other Sex, except
they are well acquainted with their Characters. Women may disguise it if
they think fit, and the more to do it, they may be angry at me for
saying it; but I say it is natural to them, that they have no Manner of
Approbation of Men, without some Degree of Love: For this Reason he is
dangerous to be entertaind as a Friend or Visitant who is capable of
gaining any eminent Esteem or Observation, though it be never so remote
from Pretensions as a Lover. If a Man's Heart has not the Abhorrence of
any treacherous Design, he may easily improve Approbation into Kindness,
and Kindness into Passion. There may possibly be no manner of Love
between them in the Eyes of all their Acquaintance, no it is all
Friendship; and yet they may be as fond as Shepherd and Shepherdess in a
Pastoral, but still the Nymph and the Swain may be to each other no
other I warrant you, than Pylades and Orestes.

When Lucy decks with Flowers her swelling Breast,
And on her Elbow leans, dissembling Rest,
Unable to refrain my madding Mind,
Nor Sleep nor Pasture worth my Care I find.

Once Delia slept, on easie Moss reclin'd,
Her lovely Limbs half bare, and rude the Wind;
I smoothed her Coats, and stole a silent Kiss:
Condemn me Shepherds if I did amiss. [4]

Such good Offices as these, and such friendly Thoughts and Concerns for
one another, are what make up the Amity, as they call it, between Man
and Woman.

It is the Permission of such Intercourse, that makes a young Woman come
to the Arms of her Husband, after the Disappointment of four or five
Passions which she has successively had for different Men, before she is
prudentially given to him for whom she has neither Love nor Friendship.
For what should a poor Creature do that has lost all her Friends?
There's Marinet the Agreeable, has, to my Knowledge, had a Friendship
for Lord Welford, which had like to break her Heart; then she had so
great a Friendship for Colonel Hardy, that she could not endure any
Woman else should do any thing but rail at him. Many and fatal have been
Disasters between Friends who have fallen out, and their Resentments are
more keen than ever those of other Men can possibly be: But in this it
happens unfortunately, that as there ought to be nothing concealed from
one Friend to another, the Friends of different Sexes [very often [5]]
find fatal Effects from their Unanimity.

For my Part, who study to pass Life in as much Innocence and Tranquility
as I can, I shun the Company of agreeable Women as much as possible; and
must confess that I have, though a tolerable good Philosopher, but a low
Opinion of Platonick Love: for which Reason I thought it necessary to
give my fair Readers a Caution against it, having, to my great Concern,
observed the Waste of a Platonist lately swell to a Roundness which is
inconsistent with that Philosophy.


[Footnote 1: Rochester's 'Allusion to the 10th Satire of the 1st Book of

[Footnote 2: Dryden's All for Love, Act III. sc. i. ]

[Footnote 3: The Sixth.]

[Footnote 4: Two stanzas from different parts of Ambrose Philips's sixth
Pastoral. The first in the original follows the second, with three
stanzas intervening.]

[Footnote 5: (, for want of other Amusement, often study Anatomy
together; and what is worse than happens in any other Friendship, they)]

* * * * *

No. 401. Tuesday, June 10, 1712. Budgell.

'In amore haec omnia insunt vitia: Injuriae,
Suspiciones, Inimicitiae, Induciae,
Bellum, pax rursum:'


I shall publish for the Entertainment of this Day, an odd sort of a
Packet, which I have just received from one of my Female Correspondents.


Since you have often confess'd that you are not displeased your Paper
should sometimes convey the Complaints of distressed Lovers to each
other, I am in Hopes you will favour one who gives you an undoubted
Instance of her Reformation, and at the same time a convincing Proof
of the happy Influence your Labours have had over the most
Incorrigible Part of the most Incorrigible Sex. You must know, Sir, I
am one of that Species of Women, whom you have often Characteriz'd
under the Name of Jilts, and that I send you these Lines, as well to
do Publick Penance for having so long continued in a known Error, as
to beg Pardon of the Party offended. I the rather chuse this way,
because it in some measure answers the Terms on which he intimated the
Breach between us might possibly be made up, as you will see by the
Letter he sent me the next Day after I had discarded him; which I
thought fit to send you a Copy of, that you might the better know the
whole Case.

I must further acquaint you, that before I Jilted him, there had been
the greatest Intimacy between us for an Year and half together, during
all which time I cherished his Hopes, and indulged his Flame. I leave
you to guess after this what must be his Surprize, when upon his
pressing for my full Consent one Day, I told him I wondered what could
make him fancy he had ever any Place in my Affections. His own Sex
allow him Sense, and all ours Good-Breeding. His Person is such as
might, without Vanity, make him believe himself not incapable to be
beloved. Our Fortunes indeed, weighed in the nice Scale of Interest,
are not exactly equal, which by the way was the true Case of my
Jilting him, and I had the Assurance to acquaint him with the
following Maxim, That I should always believe that Man's Passion to be
the most Violent, who could offer me the largest Settlement. I have
since changed my Opinion, and have endeavoured to let him know so much
by several Letters, but the barbarous Man has refused them all; so
that I have no way left of writing to him, but by your Assistance. If
we can bring him about once more, I promise to send you all Gloves and
Favours, and shall desire the Favour of Sir ROGER and your self to
stand as God-Fathers to my first Boy.
I am, SIR,
Your most Obedient
most Humble Servant,

Philander to Amoret.


I am so surprised at the Question you were pleased to ask me
Yesterday, that I am still at a loss what to say to it. At least my
Answer would be too long to trouble you with, as it would come from
a Person, who, it seems, is so very indifferent to you. Instead of
it, I shall only recommend to your Consideration the Opinion of one
whose Sentiments on these matters I have often heard you say are
extremely just. A generous and Constant Passion, says your favourite
Author, in an agreeable Lover, where there is not too great a
Disparity in their Circumstances, is the greatest Blessing that can
befal a Person beloved; and if overlook'd in one, may perhaps never
be found in another.

I do not, however, at all despair of being very shortly much better
beloved by you than Antenor is at present; since whenever my Fortune
shall exceed his, you were pleased to intimate your Passion would
encrease accordingly.

The World has seen me shamefully lose that Time to please a fickle
Woman, which might have been employed much more to my Credit and
Advantage in other Pursuits. I shall therefore take the Liberty to
acquaint you, however harsh it may sound in a Lady's Ears, that tho
your Love-Fit should happen to return, unless you could contrive a
way to make your Recantation as well known to the Publick, as they
are already apprised of the manner with which you have treated me,
you shall never more see Philander.

Amoret to Philander.


Upon Reflection, I find the Injury I have done both to you and my
self to be so great, that though the Part I now act may appear
contrary to that Decorum usually observed by our Sex, yet I
purposely break through all Rules, that my Repentance may in some
measure equal my Crime. I assure you that in my present Hopes of
recovering you, I look upon Antenor's Estate with Contempt. The Fop
was here Yesterday in a gilt Chariot and new Liveries, but I refused
to see him. Tho' I dread to meet your Eyes after what has pass'd, I
flatter my self, that amidst all their Confusion you will discover
such a Tenderness in mine, as none can imitate but those who Love. I
shall be all this Month at Lady D--'s in the Country; but the Woods,
the Fields and Gardens, without Philander, afford no Pleasures to
the unhappy Amoret.

I must desire you, dear Mr. Spectator, to publish this my Letter to
Philander as soon as possible, and to assure him that I know nothing
at all of the Death of his rich Uncle in Gloucestershire.


* * * * *

No. 402. Wednesday, June 11, 1712. Steele.

Spectator tradit sibi--

Hor. [1]]

Were I to publish all the Advertisements I receive from different Hands,
and Persons of different Circumstances and Quality, the very Mention of
them, without Reflections on the several Subjects, would raise all the
Passions which can be felt by human Mind[s], As Instances of this, I
shall give you two or three Letters; the Writers of which can have no
Recourse to any legal Power for Redress, and seem to have written rather
to vent their Sorrow than to receive Consolation.


I am a young Woman of Beauty and Quality, and suitably married to a
Gentleman who doats on me. But this Person of mine is the Object of an
unjust Passion in a Nobleman who is very intimate with my Husband.
This Friendship gives him very easie Access, and frequent
Opportunities of entertaining me apart. My Heart is in the utmost
Anguish, and my Face is covered over with Confusion, when I impart to
you another Circumstance, which is, that my Mother, the most mercenary
of all Women, is gained by this false Friend of my Husband to sollicit
me for him. I am frequently chid by the poor believing Man my Husband,
for shewing an Impatience of his Friend's Company; and I am never
alone with my Mother, but she tells me Stories of the discretionary
Part of the World, and such a one, and such a one who are guilty of as
much as she advises me to. She laughs at my Astonishment; and seems to
hint to me, that as virtuous as she has always appeared, I am not the
Daughter of her Husband. It is possible that printing this Letter may
relieve me from the unnatural Importunity of my Mother, and the
perfidious Courtship of my Husband's Friend. I have an unfeigned Love
of Virtue, and am resolved to preserve my Innocence. The only Way I
can think of to avoid the fatal Consequences of the Discovery of this
Matter, is to fly away for ever; which I must do to avoid my Husband's
fatal Resentment against the Man who attempts to abuse him, and the
Shame of exposing the Parent to Infamy. The Persons concerned will
know these Circumstances relate to 'em; and though the Regard to
Virtue is dead in them, I have some Hopes from their Fear of Shame
upon reading this in your Paper; which I conjure you to do, if you
have any Compassion for Injured Virtue.



I am the Husband of a Woman of Merit, but am fallen in Love, as they
call it, with a Lady of her Acquaintance, who is going to be married
to a Gentleman who deserves her. I am in a Trust relating to this
Lady's Fortune, which makes my Concurrence in this Matter necessary;
but I have so irresistible a Rage and Envy rise in me when I consider
his future Happiness, that against all Reason, Equity, and common
Justice, I am ever playing mean Tricks to suspend the Nuptials. I have
no manner of Hopes for my self; Emilia, for so I'll call her, is a
Woman of the most strict Virtue; her Lover is a Gentleman who of all
others I could wish my Friend; but Envy and Jealousie, though placed
so unjustly, waste my very Being, and with the Torment and Sense of a
Daemon, I am ever cursing what I cannot but approve. I wish it were
the Beginning of Repentance, that I sit down and describe my present
Disposition with so hellish an Aspect; but at present the Destruction
of these two excellent Persons would be more welcome to me than their
Happiness. Mr. SPECTATOR, pray let me have a Paper on these terrible
groundless Sufferings, and do all you can to exorcise Crowds who are
in some Degree possessed as I am.



I have no other Means but this to express my Thanks to one Man, and my
Resentment against another. My Circumstances are as follows. I have
been for five Years last past courted by a Gentleman of greater
Fortune than I ought to expect, as the Market for Women goes. You must
to be sure have observed People who live in that sort of Way, as all
their Friends reckon it will be a Match, and are marked out by all the
World for each other. In this View we have been regarded for some
Time, and I have above these three Years loved him tenderly. As he is
very careful of his Fortune, I always thought he lived in a near
Manner to lay up what he thought was wanting in my Fortune to make up
what he might expect in another. Within few Months I have observed his
Carriage very much altered, and he has affected a certain Air of
getting me alone, and talking with a mighty Profusion of passionate
Words, How I am not to be resisted longer, how irresistible his Wishes
are, and the like. As long as I have been acquainted with him, I could
not on such Occasions say down-right to him, You know you may make me
yours when you please. But the other Night he with great Frankness and
Impudence explained to me, that he thought of me only as a Mistress. I
answered this Declaration as it deserv'd; upon which he only doubled
the Terms on which he proposed my yielding. When my Anger heightned
upon him, he told me he was sorry he had made so little Use of the
unguarded Hours we had been together so remote from Company, as
indeed, continued he, so we are at present. I flew from him to a
neighbouring Gentlewoman's House, and tho' her Husband was in the
Room, threw my self on a Couch, and burst into a Passion of Tears. My
Friend desired her Husband to leave the Room. But, said he, there is
something so extraordinary in this, that I will partake in the
Affliction; and be it what it will, she is so much your Friend, that
she knows she may command what Services I can do her. The Man sate
down by me, and spoke so like a Brother, that I told him my whole
Affliction. He spoke of the Injury done me with so much Indignation,
and animated me against the Love he said he saw I had for the Wretch
who would have betrayed me, with so much Reason and Humanity to my
Weakness, that I doubt not of my Perseverance. His Wife and he are my
Comforters, and I am under no more Restraint in their Company than if
I were alone; and I doubt not but in a small time Contempt and Hatred
will take Place of the Remains of Affection to a Rascal.

I am


Your affectionate Reader,



I had the Misfortune to be an Uncle before I knew my Nephews from my
Nieces, and now we are grown up to better Acquaintance they deny me
the Respect they owe. One upbraids me with being their Familiar,
another will hardly be perswaded that I am an Uncle, a third calls me
Little Uncle, and a fourth tells me there is no Duty at all due to an
Uncle. I have a Brother-in-law whose Son will win all my Affection,
unless you shall think this worthy of your Cognizance, and will be
pleased to prescribe some Rules for our future reciprocal Behaviour.
It will be worthy the Particularity of your Genius to lay down Rules
for his Conduct who was as it were born an old Man, in which you will
much oblige,


Your most obedient Servant,

Cornelius Nepos.


[Footnote 1: No motto in the first issue.]

* * * * *

No. 403. Thursday, June 12, 1712. Addison

'Qui mores hominun multorum vidit?'


When I consider this great City in its several Quarters and Divisions, I
look upon it as an Aggregate of various Nations distinguished from each
other by their respective Customs, Manners and Interests. The Courts of
two Countries do not so much differ from one another, as the Court and
City in their peculiar Ways of Life and Conversation. In short, the
Inhabitants of St. James's, notwithstanding they live under the same
Laws, and speak the same Language, are a distinct People from those of
Cheapside, who are likewise removed from those of the Temple on the one
side, and those of Smithfield on the other, by several Climates and
Degrees in their way of Thinking and Conversing together.

For this Reason, when any publick Affair is upon the Anvil, I love to
hear the Reflections that arise upon it in the several Districts and
Parishes of London and Westminster, and to ramble up and down a whole
Day together, in order to make my self acquainted with the Opinions of
my Ingenious Countrymen. By this means I know the Faces of all the
principal Politicians within the Bills of Mortality; and as every
Coffee-house has some particular Statesman belonging to it, who is the
Mouth of the Street where he lives, I always take care to place my self
near him, in order to know his Judgment on the present Posture of
Affairs. The last Progress that I made with this Intention, was about
three Months ago, when we had a current Report of the King of France's
Death. As I foresaw this would produce a new Face of things in Europe,
and many curious Speculations in our British Coffee-houses, I was very
desirous to learn the Thoughts of our most eminent Politicians on that

That I might begin as near the Fountain Head as possible, I first of all
called in at St James's, where I found the whole outward Room in a Buzz
of Politics. The Speculations were but very indifferent towards the
Door, but grew finer as you advanced to the upper end of the Room, and
were so very much improved by a Knot of Theorists, who sat in the inner
Room, within the Steams of the Coffee-Pot, that I there heard the whole
Spanish Monarchy disposed of, and all the Line of Bourbon provided for
in less than a Quarter of an Hour.

I afterwards called in at Giles's, where I saw a Board of French
Gentlemen sitting upon the Life and Death of their Grand Monarque. Those
among them who had espoused the Whig Interest, very positively affirmed,
that he departed this Life about a Week since, and therefore proceeded
without any further Delay to the Release of their Friends on the
Gallies, and to their own Re-establishment; but finding they could not
agree among themselves, I proceeded on my intended Progress.

Upon my Arrival at Jenny Man's, I saw an alerte young Fellow that cocked
his Hat upon a Friend of his who entered just at the same time with my
self, and accosted him after the following Manner. Well, Jack, the old
Prig is dead at last. Sharp's the Word. Now or never, Boy. Up to the
Walls of Paris directly. With several other deep Reflections of the same

I met with very little Variation in the Politics between Charing-Cross
and Covent-Garden. And upon my going into Wills I found their Discourse
was gone off from the Death of the French King to that of Monsieur
Boileau, Racine, Corneile, and several other Poets, whom they regretted
on this Occasion, as Persons who would have obliged the World with very
noble Elegies on the Death of so great a Prince, and so eminent a Patron
of Learning.

At a Coffee-house near the Temple, I found a couple of young Gentlemen
engaged very smartly in a Dispute on the Succession to the Spanish
Monarchy. One of them seemed to have been retained as Advocate for the
Duke of Anjou, the other for his Imperial Majesty. They were both for
regulating the Title to that Kingdom by the Statute Laws of England; but
finding them going out of my Depth, I passed forward to Paul's
Church-Yard, where I listen'd with great Attention to a learned Man, who
gave the Company an Account of the deplorable State of France during the
Minority of the deceased King. I then turned on my right Hand into
Fish-street, where the chief Politician of that Quarter, upon hearing
the News, (after having taken a Pipe of Tobacco, and ruminated for some
time) If, says he, the King of France is certainly dead, we shall have
Plenty of Mackerell this Season; our Fishery will not be disturbed by
Privateers, as it has been for these ten Years past. He afterwards
considered how the Death of this great Man would affect our Pilchards,
and by several other Remarks infused a general Joy into his whole

I afterwards entered a By Coffee-house that stood at the upper end of a
narrow Lane, where I met with a Nonjuror, engaged very warmly with a
Laceman who was the great Support of a neighbouring Conventicle. The
Matter in Debate was, whether the late French King was most like
Augustus Caesar, or Nero. The Controversie was carried on with great Heat
on both Sides, and as each of them looked upon me very frequently during
the Course of their Debate, I was under some Apprehension that they
would appeal to me, and therefore laid down my Penny at the Bar, and
made the best of my way to Cheapside.

I here gazed upon the Signs for some time before I found one to my
Purpose. The first Object I met in the Coffeeroom was a Person who
expressed a great Grief for the Death of the French King; but upon his
explaining himself, I found his Sorrow did not arise from the Loss of
the Monarch, but for his having sold out of the Bank about three Days
before he heard the News of it: Upon which a Haberdasher, who was the
Oracle of the Coffee-house, and had his Circle of Admirers about him,
called several to witness that he had declared his Opinion above a Week
before, that the French King was certainly dead; to which he added, that
considering the late Advices we had received from France, it was
impossible that it could be otherwise. As he was laying these together,
and dictating to his Hearers with great Authority, there came in a
Gentleman from Garraway's, who told us that there were several Letters
from France just come in, with Advice that the King was in good Health,
and was gone out a Hunting the very Morning the Post came away: Upon
which the Haberdasher stole off his Hat that hung upon a wooden Pegg by
him, and retired to his Shop with great Confusion. This Intelligence put
a Stop to my Travels, which I had prosecuted with [much [1]]
Satisfaction; not being a little pleased to hear so many different
Opinions upon so great an Event, and to observe how naturally upon such
a Piece of News every one is apt to consider it with a Regard to his own
particular Interest and Advantage.


[Footnote 1: [great]]

* * * * *

No. 404. Friday, June 13, 1712. Budgell

['--Non omnia possumus omnes.'

Virg. [1]]

Nature does nothing in vain: the Creator of the Universe has appointed
every thing to a certain Use and Purpose, and determin'd it to a settled
Course and Sphere of Action, from which, if it in the least deviates, it
becomes unfit to answer those Ends for which it was designed. In like
manner it is in the Dispositions of Society, the civil Oeconomy is
formed in a Chain as well as the natural; and in either Case the Breach
but of one Link puts the Whole into some Disorder. It is, I think,
pretty plain, that most of the Absurdity and Ridicule we meet with in
the World, is generally owing to the impertinent Affectation of
excelling in Characters Men are not fit for, and for which Nature never
designed them.

Every Man has one or more Qualities which may make him useful both to
himself and others: Nature never fails of pointing them out, and while
the Infant continues under her Guardianship, she brings him on in this
Way; and then offers her self for a Guide in what remains of the
Journey; if he proceeds in that Course, he can hardly miscarry: Nature
makes good her Engagements; for as she never promises what she is not
able to perform, so she never fails of performing what she promises. But
the Misfortune is, Men despise what they may be Masters of, and affect
what they are not fit for; they reckon themselves already possessed of
what their Genius inclined them to, and so bend all their Ambition to
excel in what is out of their Reach: Thus they destroy the Use of their
natural Talents, in the same manner as covetous Men do their Quiet and
Repose; they can enjoy no Satisfaction in what they have, because of the
absurd Inclination they are possessed with for what they have not.

Cleanthes had good Sense, a great Memory, and a Constitution capable of
the closest Application: In a Word, there was no Profession in which
Cleanthes might not have made a very good Figure; but this won't
satisfie him, he takes up an unaccountable Fondness for the Character of
a fine Gentleman; all his Thoughts are bent upon this: instead of
attending a Dissection, frequenting the Courts of Justice, or studying
the Fathers, Cleanthes reads Plays, dances, dresses, and spends his Time
in drawing-rooms; instead of being a good Lawyer, Divine, or Physician,
Cleanthes is a downright Coxcomb, and will remain to all that knew him a
contemptible Example of Talents misapplied. It is to this Affectation
the World owes its whole Race of Coxcombs: Nature in her whole Drama
never drew such a Part: she has sometimes made a Fool, but a Coxcomb is
always of a Man's own making, by applying his Talents otherwise than
Nature designed, who ever bears an high Resentment for being put out of
her Course, and never fails of taking her Revenge on those that do so.
Opposing her Tendency in the Application of a Man's Parts, has the same
Success as declining from her Course in the Production of Vegetables; by
the Assistance of Art and an hot Bed, we may possibly extort an
unwilling Plant, or an untimely Sallad; but how weak, how tasteless and
insipid? Just as insipid as the Poetry of Valerio: Valerio had an
universal Character, was genteel, had Learning, thought justly, spoke
correctly; 'twas believed there was nothing in which Valerio did not
excel; and 'twas so far true, that there was but one; Valerio had no
Genius for Poetry, yet he's resolved to be a Poet; he writes Verses, and
takes great Pains to convince the Town, that Valerio is not that
extraordinary Person he was taken for.

If Men would be content to graft upon Nature, and assist her Operations,
what mighty Effects might we expect? Tully would not stand so much alone
in Oratory, Virgil in Poetry, or Caesar in War. To build upon Nature, is
laying the Foundation upon a Rock; every thing disposes its self into
Order as it were of Course, and the whole Work is half done as soon as
undertaken. Cicero's Genius inclined him to Oratory, Virgil's to follow
the Train of the Muses; they piously obeyed the Admonition, and were
rewarded. Had Virgil attended the Bar, his modest and ingenious Virtue
would surely have made but a very indifferent Figure; and Tully's
declamatory Inclination would have been as useless in Poetry. Nature, if
left to her self, leads us on in the best Course, but will do nothing by
Compulsion and Constraint; and if we are not satisfied to go her Way, we
are always the greatest Sufferers by it.

Wherever Nature designs a Production, she always disposes Seeds proper
for it, which are as absolutely necessary to the Formation of any moral
or intellectual Excellence, as they are to the Being and Growth of
Plants; and I know not by what Fate and Folly it is, that Men are taught
not to reckon him equally absurd that will write Verses in Spite of
Nature, with that Gardener that should undertake to raise a Jonquil or
Tulip without the Help of their respective Seeds.

As there is no Good or bad Quality that does not affect both Sexes, so
it is not to be imagined but the fair Sex must have suffered by an
Affectation of this Nature, at least as much as the other: The ill
Effect of it is in none so conspicuous as in the two opposite Characters
of Caelia and Iras; Caelia has all the Charms of Person, together with an
abundant Sweetness of Nature, but wants Wit, and has a very ill Voice;
Iras is ugly and ungenteel, but has Wit and good Sense: If Caelia would
be silent, her Beholders would adore her; if Iras would talk, her
Hearers would admire her; but Caelia's Tongue runs incessantly, while
Iras gives her self silent Airs and soft Languors; so that 'tis
difficult to persuade one's self that Caelia has Beauty and Iras Wit:
Each neglects her own Excellence, and is ambitious of the other's
Character; Iras would be thought to have as much Beauty as Caelia, and
Caelia as much Wit as Iras.

The great Misfortune of this Affectation is, that Men not only lose a
good Quality, but also contract a bad one: They not only are unfit for
what they were designed, but they assign themselves to what they are not
fit for; and instead of making a very good Figure one Way, make a very
ridiculous one another. If Semanthe would have been satisfied with her
natural Complexion, she might still have been celebrated by the Name of
the Olive Beauty; but Semanthe has taken up an Affectation to White and
Red, and is now distinguished by the Character of the Lady that paints
so well. In a word, could the World be reformed to the Obedience of that
famed Dictate, Follow Nature, which the Oracle of Delphos pronounced to
Cicero when he consulted what Course of Studies he should pursue, we
should see almost every Man as eminent in his proper Sphere as Tully was
in his, and should in a very short time find Impertinence and
Affectation banished from among the Women, and Coxcombs and false
Characters from among the Men. For my Part, I could never consider this
preposterous Repugnancy to Nature any otherwise, than not only as the
greatest Folly, but also one of the most heinous Crimes, since it is a
direct Opposition to the Disposition of Providence, and (as Tully
expresses it) like the Sin of the Giants, an actual Rebellion against


[Footnote 1:

Continuo has leges aeternaque foedera certis
Imposuit natura locis.


* * * * *

No. 405. Saturday, June 14, 1712. Addison.

Oi de panaemerioi molpae theon hilaskonto,
Kalon aeidontes paiaeona kouroi Achaion,
Melpontes Ekaergon. Ho de phrena terpet akouon.]


I am very sorry to find, by the Opera Bills for this Day, that we are
likely to lose the greatest Performer in Dramatick Musick that is now
living, or that perhaps ever appeared upon a Stage. I need not acquaint
my Reader, that I am speaking of Signior Nicolini. [1] The Town is
highly obliged to that Excellent Artist, for having shewn us the Italian
Musick in its Perfection, as well as for that generous Approbation he
lately gave to an Opera of our own Country, in which the Composer
endeavoured to do Justice to the Beauty of the Words, by following that
Noble Example, which has been set him by the greatest Foreign Masters in
that Art.

I could heartily wish there was the same Application and Endeavours to
cultivate and improve our Church-Musick, as have been lately bestowed on
that of the Stage. Our Composers have one very great Incitement to it:
They are sure to meet with Excellent Words, and, at the same time, a
wonderful Variety of them. There is no Passion that is not finely
expressed in those parts of the inspired Writings, which are proper for
Divine Songs and Anthems.

There is a certain Coldness and Indifference in the Phrases of our
European Languages, when they are compared with the Oriental Forms of
Speech: and it happens very luckily, that the Hebrew Idioms run into the
English Tongue with a particular Grace and Beauty. Our Language has
received innumerable Elegancies and Improvements, from that Infusion of
Hebraisms, which are derived to it out of the Poetical Passages in Holy
Writ. They give a Force and Energy to our Expressions, warm and animate
our Language, and convey our Thoughts in more ardent and intense
Phrases, than any that are to be met with in our own Tongue. There is
something so pathetick in this kind of Diction, that it often sets the
Mind in a Flame, and makes our Hearts burn within us. How cold and dead
does a Prayer appear, that is composed in the most Elegant and Polite
Forms of Speech, which are natural to our Tongue, when it is not
heightened by that Solemnity of Phrase, which may be drawn from the
Sacred Writings. It has been said by some of the Ancients, that if the
Gods were to talk with Men, they would certainly speak in Plato's Style;
but I think we may say, with Justice, that when Mortals converse with
their Creator, they cannot do it in so proper a Style as in that of the
Holy Scriptures.

If any one would judge of the Beauties of Poetry that are to be met with
in the Divine Writings, and examine how kindly the Hebrew Manners of
Speech mix and incorporate with the English Language; after having
perused the Book of Psalms, let him read a literal Translation of Horace
or Pindar. He will find in these two last such an Absurdity and
Confusion of Style, with such a Comparative Poverty of Imagination, as
will make him very sensible of what I have been here advancing.

Since we have therefore such a Treasury of Words, so beautiful in
themselves, and so proper for the Airs of Musick, I cannot but wonder
that Persons of Distinction should give so little Attention and
Encouragement to that Kind of Musick, which would have its Foundation in
Reason, and which would improve our Virtue in proportion as it raised
our Delight. The Passions that are excited by ordinary Compositions
generally flow from such silly and absurd Occasions, that a Man is
ashamed to reflect upon them seriously; but the Fear, the Love, the
Sorrow, the Indignation that are awakened in the Mind by Hymns and
Anthems, make the Heart better, and proceed from such Causes as are
altogether reasonable and praise-worthy. Pleasure and Duty go hand in
hand, and the greater our Satisfaction is, the greater is our Religion.

Musick among those who were styled the chosen People was a Religious
Art. The Songs of Sion, which we have reason to believe were in high
Repute among the Courts of the Eastern Monarchs, were nothing else but
Psalms and Pieces of Poetry that adored or celebrated the Supreme Being.
The greatest Conqueror in this Holy Nation, after the manner of the old
Grecian Lyricks, did not only compose the Words of his Divine Odes, but
generally set them to Musick himself: After which, his Works, tho' they
were consecrated to the Tabernacle, became the National Entertainment,
as well as the Devotion of his People.

The first Original of the Drama was a Religious Worship consisting only
of a Chorus, which was nothing else but an Hymn to a Deity. As Luxury
and Voluptuousness prevailed over Innocence and Religion, this Form of
Worship degenerated into Tragedies; in which however the Chorus so far
remembered its first Office, as to brand every thing that was vicious,
and recommend every thing that was laudable, to intercede with Heaven
for the Innocent, and to implore its Vengeance on the Criminal.

Homer and Hesiod intimate to us how this Art should be applied, when
they represent the Muses as surrounding Jupiter, and warbling their
Hymns about his Throne. I might shew from innumerable Passages in
Ancient Writers, not only that Vocal and Instrumental Musick were made
use of in their Religious Worship, but that their most favourite
Diversions were filled with Songs and Hymns to their respective Deities.
Had we frequent Entertainments of this Nature among us, they would not a
little purifie and exalt our Passions, give our Thoughts a proper Turn,
and cherish those Divine Impulses in the Soul, which every one feels
that has not stifled them by sensual and immoderate Pleasures.

Musick, when thus applied, raises noble Hints in the Mind of the Hearer,
and fills it with great Conceptions. It strengthens Devotion, and
advances Praise into Rapture. It lengthens out every Act of Worship, and
produces more lasting and permanent Impressions in the Mind, than those
which accompany any transient Form of Words that are uttered in the
ordinary Method of Religious Worship.


[Footnote 1: See note on p. 51, vol. i [Footnote 1 of No. 13]. He took
leave, June 14, in the Opera of Antiochus.]

* * * * *

No. 406. Monday, June 16, 1712. Steele.

'Haec studia Adolescentiam alunt, Senectutem oblectant, secundas res
ornant, adversis solatium et perfugium praebet delectant domi, non
impediunt foris; Pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur.'


The following Letters bear a pleasing Image of the Joys and
Satisfactions of private Life. The first is from a Gentleman to a
Friend, for whom he has a very great Respect, and to whom he
communicates the Satisfaction he takes in Retirement; the other is a
Letter to me, occasioned by an Ode written by my Lapland Lover; this
Correspondent is so kind as to translate another of Scheffer's Songs [1]
in a very agreeable Manner. I publish them together, that the Young and
Old may find something in the same Paper which may be suitable to their
respective Taste in Solitude; for I know no Fault in the Description of
ardent Desires, provided they are honourable.

Dear Sir,

You have obliged me with a very kind Letter; by which I find you shift
the Scene of your Life from the Town to the Country, and enjoy that
mixt State which wise Men both delight in, and are qualified for.
Methinks most of the Philosophers and Moralists have run too much into
Extreams, in praising entirely either Solitude or publick Life; in the
former Men generally grow useless by too much Rest, and in the latter
are destroyed by too much Precipitation: As Waters lying still,
putrifie and are good for nothing; and running violently on, do but
the more Mischief in their Passage to others, and are swallowed up and
lost the sooner themselves. Those who, like you, can make themselves
useful to all States, should be like gentle Streams, that not only
glide through lonely Vales and Forests amidst the Flocks and
Shepherds, but visit populous Towns in their Course, and are at once
of Ornament and Service to them. But there is another sort of People
who seem designed for Solitude, those I mean who have more to hide
than to shew: As for my own Part, I am one of those of whom Seneca
says, Tum Umbratiles sunt, ut putent in turbido esse quicquid in luce
est. Some Men, like Pictures, are fitter for a Corner than a full
Light; and I believe such as have a natural Bent to Solitude, are like
Waters which may be forced into Fountains, and exalted to a great
Height, may make a much nobler Figure, and a much louder Noise, but
after all run more smoothly, equally and plentifully, in their own
natural Course upon the Ground. The Consideration of this would make
me very well contented with the Possession only of that Quiet which
Cowley calls the Companion of Obscurity; but whoever has the Muses too
for his Companions, can never be idle enough to be uneasie. Thus, Sir,
you see I would flatter my self into a good Opinion of my own Way of
Living; Plutarch just now told me, that 'tis in human Life as in a
Game at Tables, one may wish he had the highest Cast, but if his
Chance be otherwise, he is even to play it as well as he can, and make
the best of it.

I am, SIR,
Your most obliged,
and most humble Servant.


The Town being so well pleased with the fine Picture of artless Love,
which Nature inspired the Laplander to paint in the Ode you lately
printed; we were in Hopes that the ingenious Translator would have
obliged it with the other also which Scheffer has given us; but since
he has not, a much inferior Hand has ventured to send you this.

It is a Custom with the Northern Lovers to divert themselves with a
Song, whilst they Journey through the fenny Moors to pay a visit to
their Mistresses. This is addressed by the Lover to his Rain-Deer,
which is the Creature that in that Country supplies the Want of
Horses. The Circumstances which successively present themselves to him
in his Way, are, I believe you will think, naturally interwoven. The
Anxiety of Absence, the Gloominess of the Roads, and his Resolution of
frequenting only those, since those only can carry him to the Object
of his Desires; the Dissatisfaction he expresses even at the greatest
Swiftness with which he is carried, and his joyful Surprize at an
unexpected Sight of his Mistress as she is bathing, seems beautifully
described in the Original.

If all those pretty Images of Rural Nature are lost in the Imitation,
yet possibly you may think fit to let this supply the Place of a long
Letter, when Want of Leisure or Indisposition for Writing will not
permit our being entertained by your own Hand. I propose such a Time,
because tho it is natural to have a Fondness for what one does ones
self, yet I assure you I would not have any thing of mine displace a
single Line of yours.

I. Haste, my Rain-Deer, and let us nimbly go
Our am'rous Journey through this dreery Waste;
Haste, my Rain-Deer! still still thou art too slow;
Impetuous Love demands the Lightning's Haste.

II. Around us far the Rushy Moors are spread:
Soon will the Sun withdraw her chearful Ray:
Darkling and tir'd we shall the Marshes tread,
No Lay unsung to cheat the tedious Way.

III. The wat'ry Length of these unjoyous Moors
Does all the flow'ry Meadow's Pride excel,
Through these I fly to her my Soul adores;
Ye flowery Meadows, empty Pride, Farewel.

IV. Each Moment from the Charmer I'm confin'd,
My Breast is tortur'd with impatient Fires;
Fly, my Rain-Deer, fly swifter than the Wind,
Thy tardy Feet wing with my fierce Desires.

V. Our pleasing Toil will then be soon o'erpaid,
And thou, in Wonder lost, shalt view my Fair,
Admire each Feature of the lovely Maid,
Her artless Charms, her Bloom, her sprightly Air,

VI. But lo! with graceful Motion there she swims,
Gently moving each ambitious Wave;
The crowding Waves transported clasp her Limbs:
When, when, oh when, shall I such Freedoms have!

VII. In vain, you envious Streams, so fast you flow,
To hide her from a Lover's ardent Gaze:
From ev'ry Touch you more transparent grow,
And all reveal'd the beauteous Wanton plays.


[Footnote 1: See No. 366 and note.]

* * * * *

No. 407. Tuesday, June 17, 1712. Addison.

'--abest facundis Gratia dictis.'


Most Foreign Writers who have given any Character of the English Nation,
whatever Vices they ascribe to it, allow in general, that the People are
naturally Modest. It proceeds perhaps from this our National Virtue,
that our Orators are observed to make use of less Gesture or Action than
those of other Countries. Our Preachers stand stock-still in the Pulpit,
and will not so much as move a Finger to set off the best Sermons in the
World. We meet with the same speaking Statues at our Bars, and in all
publick Places of Debate. Our Words flow from us in a smooth continued
Stream, without those Strainings of the Voice, Motions of the Body, and
Majesty of the Hand, which are so much celebrated in the Orators of
Greece and Rome. We can talk of Life and Death in cold Blood, and keep
our Temper in a Discourse which turns upon every thing that is dear to
us. Though our Zeal breaks out in the finest Tropes and Figures, it is
not able to stir a Limb about us. I have heard it observed more than
once by those who have seen Italy, that an untravelled Englishman cannot
relish all the Beauties of Italian Pictures, because the Postures which
are expressed in them are often such as are peculiar to that Country.
One who has not seen an Italian in the Pulpit, will not know what to
make of that noble Gesture in Raphael's Picture of St. Paul preaching at


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